Ah, I feel like I'm under so much pressure to create a wonderful fic now. Well, no matter; I will do my best!
Spain blinked. "I what?"
Romano blanched. "He what?"
Dr. Lorca nodded.
The room went silent.
"Really?" Spain gushed, beaming. "I've always wanted to be a papá! Or, in this case, a mamá, I guess… Hey, Lovi, isn't that great news?" Romano looked like he'd just been hit by a train.
"Señor…Vargas, was it?" Dr. Lorca inquired. "Are you all right?"
"Pinch me," Romano breathed dazedly.
"There, there, Lovi, it's okay," said Spain soothingly, taking the Italian's hand. "We'll be just fine! Children are wonderful! And besides, wouldn't you enjoy hearing the patter of little feet in the house?" There was no response. "Lovi?" A few guttural sounds escaped from Romano's throat as he tried to form coherent words. "Lovi, please don't make me abort it…"
"H—how?" Romano finally managed to choke out. He collapsed onto the chair. "How?" he repeated, looking at Dr. Lorca.
"Well," said the doctor, "I'm sure you already know that babies are the result of sexual intercourse." Spain blushed. Romano just continued staring. "Now, as for how a man like Señor Carriedo got pregnant… Countries have both male and female reproductive organs; it is simply a matter of which set dominates that determines gender. Yes, Señor Vargas, you have a uterus too," he added when Romano clutched his stomach with a squeak.
"I see," Spain muttered. "Hey, Lovi, isn't that cool? I'm a hermaphrodite!" But Romano wasn't listening. He stood up and staggered out of the room. A series of irregular thumps were heard as he stumbled down the stairs and out the door.
"Oh dear… I hope this didn't cause any trouble in your relationship," said Dr. Lorca.
Spain merely smiled and replied, "He'll be back."
Romano closed the front door quietly behind him and walked shakily back to his car. Dr. Lorca's words were still swimming around undigested in his head. Spain? Pregnant? How could it be? The doctor had to be lying. But what else could it be? He himself had said it couldn't be the flu. It might have been work stress, but the tomato bastard had stayed at home for the last month and he was still sick. Granted, a tumor might cause the nausea and fatigue, but didn't people usually lose weight from that instead of gaining it? The only probable option seemed to be… Dio! Romano's realization smashed into him like a brick wall, knocking the air from his lungs. He slumped dizzily against the car. No way. No. Way.
He let out a strangled cry and started banging his head on the window. What the fuck! What—the—fuck! How the hell had he gotten into this mess? It wasn't that he opposed the idea—he was quite okay with him and Antonio having a child—wait, none of you heard that! Forget everything!—but rather that his lover was a fucking MAN with a fucking [BEEP] and last time he checked Antonio didn't have fucking boobs or a fucking [other BEEP] or AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! He whirled around and started storming down the street, still in a daze. There was a strange squirmy feeling in the pit of his stomach, as though he'd swallowed a bunch of live snakes. The repeated head trauma was making him see stars—more than before, anyway—and he found himself veering onto the road. Luckily, the cars decided not to occupy that little stretch of tarmac at the exact same time, or the paramedics would've had to peel bits of squashed Italian from the tires. He leaned against a streetlight and waited for the world to stop spinning.
It didn't.
He flipped open his cell phone and started punching the number keys. Maybe talking to someone would make him feel better.
Halfway through the number, he realized he'd subconsciously been dialing Spain's house. "Shit!" he muttered, berating himself for not paying a little more attention to what his fingers were doing. Whenever Romano was in a pinch, he always phoned Spain for consolation—you lot didn't hear that either, okay? —but how could he do that when Spain was the problem, damn it? He sighed. Who else was he going to call?
Veneziano? No, that dumb jerk would let slip to the whole world his predicament.
The potato basta—No. Never.
Belgium? Romano blushed. She would spend more time commenting on his promiscuity than helping him…
Japan? But the guy rarely strayed from his house, and when he did it was mostly to go to world conferences… or Greece's place. (Hmm.) He wouldn't likely be able to help.
Maybe one of Spain's friends…
France? Ugh. No. He hated talking to the wine freak.
Prussia… Um.
Mexico? No; that temperamental little whelp would only fly all the way here and kick Romano's balls to a bloody pulp if he found out what had happened to his adoptive father. And besides, long distance calls cost an arm and a leg. Or his manhood…
Romano groaned in frustration and continued on his way. They were all a bunch of idiots anyways, now that he thought about it.
He'd stumbled on for about twenty minutes when a black car pulled over and the window rolled down. Romano tensed, half expecting a pair of black-suited henchmen to leap out and drag him kicking and screaming into the vehicle, but relaxed when he saw the old man in the driver's seat. "You look troubled," said Dr. Lorca. "Where are you going?"
"I don't know," Romano mumbled.
"Come in," the doctor said kindly.
Romano hesitated. Decades of being caught up in crazy Mafia antics had taught him never to trust anyone telling him to get into a vehicle. Especially not when the vehicle was black and the back windows were tinted. But Dr. Lorca seemed so trustworthy, and refusing the offer would sully the doctor's probably already low opinion of him. Romano patted his breast pocket to make sure his penknife was still there and climbed in.
"How do you feel?" Dr. Lorca asked as he lifted his foot off the brake.
"Weird," Romano replied shakily. Dr. Lorca made a right turn. "Where are we going?"
"I am driving back to my office. I'll drop you off whenever you like. I just wanted to make sure you were all right; you seemed quite upset when you left."
"Oh." A moment of silence passed. Then Romano asked, "How is he?"
"Señor Carriedo? He is quite healthy. I would estimate he is about three months in. He's progressing well, though he should increase his fat intake to reduce the strain on his body. His morning sickness is a little severe. I prescribed him some medicine, but he told me he would do fine without it. He is quite remarkable, that Señor Carriedo." He turned to Romano with a serious expression. "However, remarkable as he is, he won't manage without you, Señor Vargas. Please support him through his pregnancy, and after it as well."
"I never said I wouldn't."
Romano looked out the window. They were driving past a playground. He watched the mothers fuss over their children, annoying little brats with shrill voices and grubby little hands they were sticking everywhere. His heart softened. It wouldn't be so bad, he supposed—he'd never seen businessmen or lawyers smile as much as parents did. He turned to Dr. Lorca. "Can you drop me off at the store?" he asked.
Dr. Lorca nodded. "Do you want me to send you back too?"
"I'll walk. Thanks, though." He didn't want to trouble the doctor any more.
It would also give him a chance to think while he returned to Antonio.
Spain hadn't even been aware of dozing off after the doctor left, but when he woke up again it was dark. He stretched his arms with a loud yawn and gasped as he elbow struck something on the bedside table. There was a strange crunch and when he pulled away his skin was covered in flaky crumbs. He sat up, brushed them off and turned on the light. Then he laughed. He'd crushed a plate of soda crackers.
He heard movement in the next room. A moment later, the door cracked open and Romano peered inside. When he saw Spain was awake, he entered the room and sat on the bed, next to him. When their eyes met he quickly looked away, frowning slightly. Finally he mumbled, "How are you feeling?"
"Much better, now that you're here," Spain purred, hugging the Italian. For once, Romano didn't resist. "How are you?"
Romano didn't reply.
"Listen, I think we need to talk about—"
"What do you want for dinner?"
"Eh?"
"I—I said—" Romano turned, and Spain couldn't help but smile upon seeing how flustered he was, "Wh-what do you want f-for dinner, damn it!" He blushed.
Spain grinned like he'd just won the lottery. "I want Lovi!" he announced, jumping up and pinning Romano to the bed. The younger nation froze as he leaned over and nibbled at his ear. "Just kidding~~" he whispered, smirking as Romano squirmed in his grip. He let go. Romano shot him a disgruntled look as he sat up and adjusted himself. "Lovi is for dessert! For the main course I want…" he thought of something Lovi was good at making, "pasta!" He smiled innocently. Romano snorted and left without another word.
A few minutes later, Spain joined him in the kitchen, munching on the crackers to get rid of the renewed sour taste in his mouth. "By the way, what are these for?" he said, sitting at the table to watch Romano at work.
"They'll help settle your stomach," Romano replied.
"How nice…" Spain poured himself a glass of water. "That's very thoughtful of you~~~"
"Mm."
Spain chuckled.
The crackers did work, to a certain extent—he found himself downing spaghetti like he hadn't eaten in days, and without that nasty queasy feeling that had plagued him at mealtimes for the past week. Romano glared at him when he finished his own share and began eating from the Italian's plate, but relented with a sigh. After dinner, Spain managed to talk him into cuddling on the couch while they watched the evening news. "You seem less grumpy today," he commented as Romano leaned his head against his shoulder. "Are you happy about the baby?"
"I'm worried," Romano mumbled. "About the responsibilities. And about you."
Spain gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "It'll be fine," he said. "We're in this together, aren't we? We'll help each other through thick and thin. Why else do you suppose there are two parents? It's so they can be there for each other when things get tough. And don't worry about me. I'll take good care of the bebé while he's in my tummy." Romano looked at him. "Ahaha, and myself too, I promise. But you know, things are already much better with you by my side." He kissed Romano on the forehead. "Thank you."
Romano wrapped his arms around Spain's back. Just being with Antonio seemed to make his worries dissolve away. He could almost imagine the three of them, him, Antonio, and the baby, living happily in their house in the suburbs—ah, crap, he was getting sentimental again. But being sentimental was something you couldn't avoid when you were about to become a father. He snuggled against the Spaniard, feeling the warmth radiate from his lover's body, purging him of unhappiness. "No," he said. "Thank you."
Spain smiled. "Te amo, mi tomate." He laid him down on the couch. "Now, about that dessert…"
Merci beaucoup d'avoir lu ce chapitre. Je suis heureuse que vous aimiez mon histoire :3
And watch as dozens of angry French people flame me for writing that wrong...