Ugh, sorry this took so long. I've been busy with school crap and whatnot. By the way, our physics class won the 33rd annual UBC Physics Olympics! (Serves those suckers right for not knowing how to spell our school's name. Three times.) It was the first time our school has won, and most epically, everyone in our class participated! Each team has up to 10 members... Yeah. We have a small class.
So I just narrowed my identity down to 10 people, didn't I...
And of the ten people, only two watch Hetalia...
And of those two, only one is a rabid enough fan to write fics...
Oh crap.
W-well, anyw-w-way, on with th-the chapter! *forced smile*
Romano went to the kitchen to scrounge for food. He knew it wasn't good to eat while his tooth was still loose, but damn it, he was starving to death and anyway as long as he didn't have to chew it would be fine. And the bleeding had finally stopped, thank goodness. He heard Peru's soft footfalls behind him and gestured for him to sit at the table. The boy complied without a sound. Romano found himself marveling at his soft-spoken temperament. Somehow, Peru seemed like the kind of little brother everyone wished they had. Belgium wanted him. The potato bastard wanted him. Heck, even Romano himself wanted him, instead of that annoying Veneziano. Everyone wanted him except Chile, which Romano found a bit of a mystery. Didn't the Andean nation know how lucky he was to have such a well-behaved sibling?
He snuck a glance at Peru as he picked up a baguette. The kid was frowning, deep in thought.
"Señor Romano," he said slowly, "how exactly does a man become pregnant?"
Romano gaped. Whut.
The baguette slipped out of his grasp and fell onto the kitchen counter with a soft thump. "Uh… w-well…" Romano quickly turned away so Peru couldn't see how red his face had become. His hands shook as he broke the bread in half. "Y—you'll f-find out when you're o-older…"
Damn it, way to sneak up on a guy like that! Apparently Peru was a firm believer of Fridge Logic. (A/N: see endnotes)
"Oh. Okay." Romano thought he heard disappointment in his voice. Then, trying to change the subject, "Señor Romano, let's phone Spain."
"All right." Phew, he was glad that was over. Romano dialed Spain's cell phone. A moment later the closet began to ring.
The two exchanged looks. "It's getting late, Señor Romano," said Peru.
Romano nodded, knowing exactly what he was implying. "It is. We should go look for him."
"Nnh… Juan…"
Mexico felt a pair of hands on his face. He looked down, inwardly cringing at their iciness. Spain was smiling weakly at him. His eyes, normally bright green and brimming with cheer, were dull from pain and heavy with resignation. The Spaniard had given up on worrying a long time ago; now, instead of fidgeting fretfully, he was simply lying there as though dead. Somehow Mexico found this even more nerve-wracking than watching him shuffling around. Giving up was bad. It meant surrender. Defeat.
Loss.
"J-Juan," he said, caressing Mexico's cheek, "please stop blaming yourself… ugh… wh-whatever comes next will just happen l-like it was meant to… We sh-shouldn't think too hard about it… no one is at fault, okay? So… ch-cheer up a little…"
Though the corners of his lips moved up, his eyes remained vacant. Mexico realized that, despite trying to be optimistic, Spain himself was in a rather poor state of mind. He could only imagine the sort of anguish the man was going through, to receive a child and risk losing it the very next day. Grasping Spain's hands, he pressed them to his neck. They were frightfully cold. An ominous wind was blowing in, raising goosebumps on Mexico's skin. He sneezed. Of all the times for the weather to make a turn for the worse…
Spain looked at him worriedly. "Are you cold, Juan? Do you want your jacket back?"
Mexico frantically shook his head. "You need to keep warm more than I do." Then he added, as an afterthought, "Please hold on to it."
Spain chuckled, glancing down; by "it" Juan hadn't meant the cardigan wrapped around his middle. He was certain his little one was still fighting to stay alive—it was that tenacious Lovinito's child, after all. He freed a hand from Mexico's grip and rested it on his belly.
"I'll try."
It was then that Mexico heard a faint voice calling out in the distance. "Papá, d-do you hear that?" he said, but Spain wasn't paying attention. The voice called again. Suddenly he was on full alert, extending himself as tall as he could go, ears perked, glancing around apprehensively. Who knew what kind of crazy creeper was out here at this hour, pick-pocketing and mugging innocent passers-by? He heard twigs snapping behind him and whirled around, his body tense, reaching for something, anything, that he could use for defense. His hand closed around the Swiss army knife in his pocket. When a small figure emerged from the darkness, however, all the tension went out of him. "H-Huayna," he said feebly as he collapsed into putty with a sigh.
His cousin raised a hand in greeting. "Sorry I'm late."
When Peru had suggested they split up to cover more ground, Romano had adamantly protested. "It's not safe for you to go alone," he argued. "Besides, what if you get lost?"
"I'll borrow Spain's cell phone, so we can keep in contact," the Peruvian replied. "As for safety, well, I can at least defend myself. We shouldn't worry about me; let's focus on Spain and Juan instead."
Romano was still against the idea, but eventually he relented. And so, they'd split up at Spain's house, Romano searching in the east, while Peru headed west. Perhaps the boy was right after all, he reflected when his phone rang ten minutes later and Peru reported his findings. "Señor Romano, I'm with them right now. Where are you?"
"About a five-minute walk from the house," he replied.
"Eh, I think you'd better get the car."
Romano stopped dead in his tracks. "Wh-what? Why?"
"You'll see. Just—hurry. We're at—ah, what's this place… the park. Yes, that's it. Please get here as soon as you can. I'm phoning the doctor and then I'll take him to the parking lot to meet you. See you then." There was a click as the call disconnected.
Romano slowly lowered the phone. His hands were shaking as he tucked it back into his pocket. Why would the doctor be needed? "Damn it, Antonio!" he muttered as he raced down the street. "What the hell have you been doing to yourself? Shit, shit, this can't be happening…!"
It was fortunate Dr. Lorca lived right upstairs of his clinic. In the time it took Romano to drive there, he'd managed to make preparations for them. The doctor was still in his flannel pajamas and fluffy green bathrobe when he answered the door. "Good grief, Señor Carriedo," he chastised, "it's only the second day and you've already run yourself into this much trouble? How will you survive the remaining thirty weeks?" He rounded on Mexico, who squealed and tried to hide behind Peru. "And you! Out picking fights again, I see! Whatever am I supposed to do with you, Juan Cortés Carriedo?" Mexico flinched at the use of his full name. "Well," he looked at Spain with concern, "I'll take care of your father first, if you don't mind. Follow me, Señor Carriedo, Señor Vargas." Mexico could only nod meekly as Dr. Lorca led Spain and Romano away.
In the examining room, Dr. Lorca instructed Spain to take off his pants and lie down on the cot. "Now, tell me again what happened," he said.
"I-I went to look for Juan," Spain began. "He'd gotten into some kind of trouble, so we had to get away quickly. We were running and running and that was when it started hurting." Romano took the seat beside him, clutching his hand worriedly.
"Is the pain centered around here?" Dr. Lorca asked, prodding him a few inches below his navel. Spain nodded. "On a scale of one to ten, with one being the mildest and ten being the worst, how bad would you say it is?"
"Ah, well, um… I guess… maybe a seven?"
"Has anything come out of you? Blood, tissue, pus, etcetera?"
Spain shook his head.
"All right." Dr. Lorca slipped on a pair of gloves. "Things look promising so far. It's probably just that the stress from running has induced uterine contractions. If that's the case then the contractions will have caused the birth canal opened up. I'm going to check for cervical dilation…"
Spain squirmed. Oh gods, he hated it when doctors stuck their hands up weird places that hurt or otherwise felt funny or—
Mexico looked up from the bathroom sink as a sharp squeal erupted from the examining room. He blinked, then turned back to washing his face. He didn't really want to know what inappropriate things were going on in there…
Dr. Lorca drew back and carefully peeled the gloves off. He shot a reassuring glance at the Spaniard, who was quivering and clutching Romano's arm so tightly his knuckles had gone white. "Señor Romano, I hope you'll be all right," he said. "Your cervix is closed, which is a good sign. But I need to check on the fetus next, and to do that I, well, I have to perform an ultrasound scan… a, um, vaginal ultrasound."
Spain groaned. Today might as well be National Stick-Things-Up-a-Hole-He-Never-Knew-He-Had Day.
He found, however, that it was easy to distract himself with the grainy images the machine projected, rather than getting unnerved by the cold plastic probe the doctor had inserted between his legs. Beside him, Romano was watching the process anxiously, his hands clasped tightly with Spain's, eyes glued to the screen, muttering a prayer as Dr. Lorca adjusted the probe and studied the sonogram intently. Finally, he sat back with a smile. "There. See it?"
Spain and Romano perked up immediately. On the screen, towards one side, was a small flurry of movement. Something round was beating rhythmically. Romano sucked in his breath. "Is that…?"
"Yes. It's a heartbeat," said Dr. Lorca. "From the looks of things, the fetus is healthy. With some extra care, it will likely continue growth normally. However, I'd like to keep Señor Carriedo overnight to monitor his condition." He dropped his professional tone and continued more warmly, "The clinic isn't designed to accommodate inpatients, but I suppose I could lend you the guest bedroom upstairs." He removed the probe and stood up. "Does it still hurt?"
"Less than before," Spain replied.
"See, it does react to stress. Now, I don't want you going out there running entire marathons or working out intensely, do you hear me? I know you nations have resilient bodies, but please don't forget that's a life in there you risk ruining if you're too reckless." Dr. Lorca turned to Romano. "Señor Vargas, please bring Señor Carriedo a change of clothes and all his necessary toiletries. I'd also like you to pick up some medicine for him from the hospital. I shall phone them right now and give them the prescription." He closed the door quietly behind him.
Spain let out a sigh. "Thank goodness…" he muttered. "Lovi, I'm so relieved! The baby is—ah!"
He gasped when Romano whirled around and slapped him. Clutching his reddening cheek, he stared at the Italian in shock. "L-Lovi, wha—"
"You bastard," Romano said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper, "how could you do this? Putting yourself and the baby in danger like that…"
"B-but Lovi, I—no, no! Don't cry! I'm almost fine now, see? So please don't—unh…" He winced as the pain flared up again.
"You're not fine! How dare you say you're fine! Fucking asshole, do you have any idea how worried I was? Do you even care how worried I am now? What were you thinking? One man, no cell phone, hopelessly sick, wandering around in the middle of the night looking for some dumb kid who could've run off anywhere! Do you want me to worry myself to death? Is that it?" Romano sniffled. "Bastard… selfish bastard… What if the baby had died? What if you'd died? Wh-why do you put yourself at risk? Don't you care who else gets hurt when you do?"
"Lovi…" Spain reached for his hand. Romano yanked it away. Spain looked at him forlornly. "Lovino, please don't be angry at me… I went to find Juan because it was my fault he ran off. If you were in the same situation, I'd have done the same. Admittedly, I was kind of stupid in not bringing my phone and in going alone. It probably could've gone better. So, I'm sorry for that. But what's done is done, and things have turned out fine, so let's not focus too much on the past, all right?" Romano glared at him. "You've seen Huayna, right? Do you know why he looks so young? It's because he's still hung up on the past. He refuses to forgive Chile for the War of the Pacific. Or Ecuador for the territorial dispute." He sighed. "Or me, for those tyrannical colonial days. So, I guess the moral of the story is that you should live in the present, and be more optimistic, or else you'll be like Peter Pan~! Then you'll fall in love with a girl called Wendy, and never be able to do her because you're underage!" He smiled innocently.
Romano grimaced. "You make no sense, jackass." But his expression softened, and he inched his hand closer to Spain's. "F-fine, I forgive you. But only this once."
Spain smiled. "Once will be enough."
Romano leaned in and kissed him lightly. "Promise me you won't do it again."
"Of course."
He couldn't help but smile a little as he wiped his eyes. "Bastard, you better mean it."
A/N: Fridge Logic: when something sails right over your head the first time, and you don't even notice it, and hours later when you're opening the fridge to look for munchies it snaps back like a rubber band and hits you in the face. Go TV Trope it: http: / / tvtropes. org /pmwiki/ pmwiki. php/ Main/ FridgeLogic
Don't forget to take the spaces out.
I think we IB kids are a little jealous of Spain right now. He said seven! Seven! Nowadays, with the exams coming up in May, anything containing or referring to the number 7 seems to set us off like fireworks. I mean, the other day I was so ecstatic because I was playing Minesweeper and got a number 7 during the game... and then I took a screenshot and saved it. I was playing go another day and won by 7 points... I took a screenshot of that too. Clearly, we have a case of 7-mania going on here x.x
But anyway, that's enough rambling for one chapter. Thanks for reading! Happy White Day! R&R~
...the grossest thing just came to my mind when I said White Day. =A=