Well, this is disheartening. I haven't updated this story in...two, no, make that three going on four months. My inner Hetalia-muse left me for another author, and I've been trying to get back into writing while dealing with school and my other stories. I'm dreadfully sorry about the wait. Hopefully the next chapter will make it out to you lot sooner, and will be longer. I WILL NOT ABANDON THIS STORY! If a story is on hiatus with me, it's because I'm trying to figure out how to continue it properly, and would rather update it later, rather than abandon it entirely.
WARNING: this chapter contains copious amounts of accidental encounters, Romano's colourful vocabulary, Amato being adorably naïve and sweet, Hungary taking up the role of fangirls everywhere to the extreme, Spain being a doting, somewhat creepy Boss, and the unfortunate loss of tree-limb from the tree that Hungary was perched on (tree injuries often are caused by spying fans, did you know?). Oh, and what may or may not be a ridiculous parody done to the tragic romance of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet...for the sake of the plot, I assure you.
Oh, and for those of you reading this, happy (unfortunately belated) Halloween (or for the good people of Cornwall, happy Allantide/Nos Kalan Gwav)!
The end of the world as we know it began when Hungary forgot to leave her flash off on her trusty camera.
In retrospect, it was a bit strange that such a forgettable, simple thing would cause such a ruckus, but then again, nothing involving nations was ever simple. Feliciano's ingenious sculpture of a giant bowl of spaghetti during the Axis Powers' marooning during the World Wars was ample proof of that.
Hungary had just finished repositioning herself in her hiding place. Having decided that she would get much better photos if she was perched up high to get more light and a better view of her subjects, she had left the relative secrecy of the shadows, and instead had skillfully climbed up the tree that had cast them, using branches, knots, and dips in the bark as handholds and footholds. The work had been grueling, but worth it, she decided, as she surveyed her new domain, drinking in the sight of the beauteous tomato garden, the rolling stretches of green grass, the orchard and vegetable garden in the distance, along with the little house. It really is beautiful out here...
Now, she was tucked away in the tree overlooking the tomato garden, her camera clutched securely between her fingers as she contemplated her next move. The day was cooling down as the sun began to slowly descend from its perch in the sky, and the air was tinged with a hint of the comforting scent of tomato. She stared down from her perch with glee, listening contentedly to Amato's happily babbling of newly learned Italian vocabulary through a messy mouthful of squished tomato. Spain, she noted, seemed to have grown bored with simply listening, and instead was now making a valiant effort to find a peephole in the wooden planks that made up the fence of the tomato garden.
Spying on your little ex-henchman and his little one, hmm? Not quite the romantic passion I wanted, but oh well, life doesn't always give us what we want. This'll do for the cuteness factor, though...even if it is a bit creepy.
One could argue that spying on that same ex-henchman from the tree overlooking his tomato garden was also creepy, especially considering Romano's house was considered private property that had just been invaded by somewhat eccentric nations that he didn't have the greatest history of getting along with. However, this thought did not cross her mind, and instead the thought of taking a picture of Spain's determined "love-spying" took root.
Determined to accomplish her very important self-made goal, Hungary began slowly crawling forwards from her place on one of the larger branches of the tree. Unfortunately for the poor tree, the branch in question was unable to successfully bear the weight of a hundred or so odd pounds of determined, lovely Hungarian woman for more than a few seconds. As she shimmied down to the end of the branch, there came an ominous creaking noise.
Only slightly worried (this hadn't been the first time she'd done this, nor would it likely be the last), she continued down the branch, arms and legs hooked around the long arboreal extension, ankles crossed and fingers clutching tight for better grip. The creaking noise got louder. She soldiered on, until she'd gotten about three-quarters of the way across, and held out her camera again, scanning the scene below to observe what would be the most photogenic angle.
Spain, blissfully unaware that he was being watched, had decided to sit down by the fence and listen to the Alphabet lesson being recited. From what Hungary could discern from the expression on his face, he seemed quite content to listen to the babbling of what sounded like a toddler.
Although the fact that Romano sounds pretty gentle and sweet right now may also have been a deciding factor...It's a shame that he doesn't show this side of himself more often, it's pretty cute listening to him act like a doting mother hen.
Romano, by now having finished the alphabet lesson, held Amato in his lap, the apron cushioning the tiny creature as the odd family duo feasted on one of the Southern Italian's pocket handkerchiefs of fresh cherry tomatoes, washed down with a bottle of sparkling mineral water. The air was warm, the ground rather pleasantly soft, and, save for the chirps and squawks of some birds in the distant fruit orchard, there was a peaceful, gentle silence.
But like all good things, time eventually runs out. Spain, while quite happy to listen to the happy family moment, was unable to squash his curiosity concerning the littlest member of the Vargas family. Having the bright idea to peek at both henchman and child from a knothole in the fence, the Spaniard peered through the tiny crack of space, leaning forwards as much as he could to get the most of his limited field of view.
As luck would have it, at this same moment in time, a certain determined Hungarian woman was attempting to make her way valiantly across the remainder of the branch she had chosen as her perch, and the poor, abused wood had decided that enough was enough.
Hungary crawled forwards an inch too far, Spain leaned forwards a bit too much. The result of this was later recounted by Germany as "zhe grenade zhat vasn't thrown fast enough."
The branch broke, the fence broke and fell forwards, and both nations came tumbling down, ending up landing on the ground, staring nervously up into the face of a surprised, increasingly angry-looking Southern Italian nation in a pink uniform. The tiny "tomato" in his lap let out a squeal of surprise and fright, tumbling off the apron and shuffling away to hide behind his Mama.
"TOMATO BASTARD!? WHY ARE YOU HERE?"
"LOVI, IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE-!"
"LIKE HELL IT ISN'T! HOW DID YOU EVEN FIND ME, ARE YOU STALKING ME OR SOMETHING-"
"Romano, calm down, please, he was just worried about you, Feli told us you're a parent now and since that means he's an uncle and you didn't tell him about the baby, he was worried something was wrong-"
"DAMMIT, HOW DID YOU PEOPLE EVEN GET HERE? THIS IS PRIVATE PROPERTY!"
As Romano advanced upon the worried-looking other nations, the hedge clippers he'd stashed in his apron pockets held aloft menacingly, none of them noticed the small movement of the tomato-print handkerchief, as well as its' passenger, falling out of Spain's pocket and onto the ground. The loosely-tied bundle unraveled upon impact, and out rolled a rather miffed-looking Little Lovi, who took one look at the explosive encounter happening far up above his tiny body and promptly obeyed the infamous Italian stereotype of "run for cover, it's the end of the world!". Hopping and shuffling away as fast as his little, orange-sized body would allow, the tiny creature dashed over to the nearest tomato plant, diving for cover under the heavy, fruit-laden underside of the vines.
From behind the relative safety of Romano, little Amato quivered and squeaked in fright, looking around for something to focus on instead of the big scary nations shouting overhead (although he knew that his Mama wouldn't really hurt anyone with the sharp, pointy gardening tool, his Mama was too nice to do that...). Big, emerald green eyes darted back and forth, trying and trying to find something nice to look at amongst all this madness.
Then his gaze alighted upon the tomato plant, and the scowling little being that had taken shelter underneath.
When falling in love, most people say that it's when the couple-to-be lock gazes, and take in the awe that is the other person's eyes, and the beautiful soul blooming from behind this "window of humankind". Others claim that it's those serendipitous little meetings, when you brush hands with someone reaching for the same bargain-priced ice cream carton at the supermarket, or when you knock shoulders with someone at the subway during the late-night rush home and then look up to see their face while you embarrassedly pick up the briefcase, manila folders, and bag you accidently knocked loose from their hands. Sometimes it's when you brush a lock of hair back from that person's face, and wonder, almost absentmindedly, what it would be like to kiss them. Some claim it's when you lean on someone's shoulder in the dark of a movie theater and they let you eat all their popcorn and chocolate without paying for it, or the first time you walk with them in the park and it's raining and they pull you close, reach out for your hand and then walk you back to your apartment under their umbrella. Sometimes it's when you're wrapped up in their jacket on a cold November morning, and then they ask if you want to get coffee because while they aren't cold, you look like you're about to become a popsicle, and also because they want to mooch off your hot chocolate and the fact that your hands are warm, but the teasing smile says it's okay.
With Amato, it was none of these things.
First love is special, and can be defined as many things. If you speak of familial love, then your first love is likely your parents, or whomever you first see and are held by, as if you are the most precious, most fragile thing in the world, a spun-glass fairy bauble the sounds like bells just by breathing. For your first romantic love, you can get "moony-eyed", seeing your beloved as a dream come true, someone you want to kiss and be kissed by, even if that person has the personality of uniform cardboard or has enough facial blemishes to dot a minefield. It's said by many that you never forget your first love, that the echo of memory will remain long after the flesh has waned, the eyes foggy, and the lucidity gone from almost all else.
For Amato, that first glimpse into the golden-brown eyes that stared at him from underneath the concealing veil of the tomato plant was, if you asked him years later, "like getting the most delicious tomato in the world, and then getting to plant it in the ground, so that it will live on and grow forever and ever, like a Christmas present you get every summer."
But as the little one was too small yet to really understand this feeling, he knew only that the little creature in front of him was, quite reasonably in his opinion, scared, and as Amato was scared too, that it would surely be okay to cuddle up next to him and wait the scary fight out. After all, Mama would cuddle with him all the time, so cuddling therefore must be good, because it made him feel happy whenever he got cuddled.
With this thought firmly in mind, Amato bravely risked himself to shuffle and hop as fast as he could across the battlefield of angry nations, finally reaching his destination, and the rather grumpy creature occupying it.
Little Lovi was not having a good time of things. He'd been stuffed into a little square piece of cloth by the crazy Roman guy in a fairy princess tutu, the disgusting taste of the guard he'd bitten wouldn't go away, he'd been subjected to the embarrassment of cuddling by his rescuer from jail. and now that same rescuer was inattentive enough to not notice that he'd fallen out of his pocket and had gotten dirty!
Now he was stuck...under a tomato plant...and the yelling from the angry nations was giving him a headache. The fact that he hadn't gotten any snacks, or a siesta, and was now covered in dirt and grass stains wasn't helping his increasingly grumpy mood. But he refused to break down, it would be undignified to bawl like a baby, especially here, in the dirt.
But tears are traitorous things, and soon enough, big golden-brown eyes began to water, glittering with a telltale sheen of tears. Amato, catching sight of the wavering, watery gaze of the other tomato-plant stowaway, asked, somewhat hesitantly (he didn't want to be rude), "Are...are you okay?"
Pride reared its head, Little Lovi stopped sniffling immediately, instead looking up with watery eyes to hiss out haltingly, "Y-yeah, what's it to you? It's not your business!"
Undeterred, Amato shuffled forwards, emerald eyes shining with gentle kindness. "You don't have to pretend, the big people are being really, really loud and scary, and I don't like it either. Mama's really, really mad now, he's got the sharp, ouchy-making thing with him that he gets the tomatoes from the garden with."
The look of defensive anger faltered for a moment, as golden-brown eyes widened with surprise. "You mean you and that guy have this whole garden?"
Amato smiled proudly, chirping out an affirmative. "Yep, and Mama likes to take me out here to take naptimes and eat yummy tomatoes for lunch!"
Envy flashed in the other's gaze, before vanishing as if in embarrassment. "Wow..."
Amato, though not very observant yet, could still see the look of longing upon Little Lovi's face, for although it had been brief, it had also been quite plain to see. "Well," he replied, "It's really, really big, so you can share, if you want! Mama's still yelling at the other big people, and I'm still hungry, do you want some tomatoes? The ones by the big garden door taste really sweet, like candy!"
Little Lovi was not convinced, at least at first, but looking upon the sweet, honest face of his hideaway companion showed only truth. Surprised, and rather pleased, Little Lovi swallowed thickly, still unused to such blatant kindness, and replied gruffly, "Sure, I guess...".
The cry of delight from Amato was enough to reassure him that he had done the right thing.
In the case of the nations, however, things were not quite so grand. After only a moment or so of ranting at the invaders of his sanctuary, Romano had realized something was wrong, and upon looking around, recognition dawned at what had happened.
"WHERE THE HELL'S AMATO!?"