A/N: Before you either make a mad dash to read the chapter in case it's a hallucination that'll disappear like a desert mirage, or try to reach through the nearest screen to try and strangle me (or make me listen to France prattling on about hair care until he runs out of information, which is extremely unlikely in this century) for not properly updating in months and months and months on end...I'm sorry, truly, I am. I had a new school to adjust to, mountainloads of homework and projects and enough notes taken to bulk up a set of 1950s filing cabinets all full to exploding, end-of-the-semester exams, helping out with family issues again, and trying to get past a case of selective writer's block buggering with my attempts to write chapters for all of my stories at the same time. So yes, real life is rather prone to interfering, but I'm trying to get back into the swing of things, so please enjoy!
Now, on to reunions, bubble bathtimes for little kid-mochis, and potential death-by-fluff. You have thus been warned.
And before you ask...yes, all the dishes and tomato-attributed items shown here actually do exist (which is precisely why I wanted Amato to have them, the little cutie deserves the best, after all~). Also, all misspelt words on the part of Amato are done purposefully, as he's essentially, for all intents and purposes, a very smart (but still young and niave) "toddler" mochi, and getting overemotional tends to make him "lisp" and mispronounce words a bit more.
The next chapter will be the first meeting between our littlest Vargas and our beloved axe-wielding, tomato-and-Romano-adoring Spain, an unwilling invitation to possibly the oddest family dinner in all of Sicily, and, of course, we find out just what, exactly, is going on with Prussia!
Romano had never felt so relieved and yet so angry in his entire life, and, given the span of it, that was simultaneously quite impressive and rather worrying. Feliciano would likely tell him to calm down, or else "the funny vein in his head", as he'd once called it, would turn red and start pulsing hard enough to give him another headache, something which had been attributed as the source of multiple moments of lost temper.
"Amato Vargas, you are in SO much trouble, mister! Why did you go off on your own like that? The garden's huge, everything here's bigger than you are!" Thin hands, tanned slightly from sun-drenched gardening work, waved around in agitation, gesturing to the enourmous, towering bounty of vegetables surrounding them. "What if you got lost and couldn't find your way out?"
He let out a sigh, shaking slightly as it hit him, once again, just how very tiny Amato was, and the veritable encyclopedia of things that could so easily go wrong when one was so very little and naive. His little friend had never even known any other place than the house and the surrounding grounds, and even then only under Romano's supervision. If something had gone wrong on his little one's recent adventure...
No, no, no, don't think about it, don't think about it-!
Staring down at his tiny charge, the Southern Italian looked on as Amato's eyes grew impossibly larger, glimmering at the edges with diamond-bright tears as he hopped over immediately. Reaching his guardian's feet, the tiny mochi stared up pleadingly, a whimper of "Sorry, Mama..." escaping.
Dammit, he knows how effective those big eyes are now.
Nonetheless, having Amato upset was not something he wanted at all, and so he knelt down and held out his hands. Instantly, the little creature hopped back into his Mama's hold, nestling into place in the warm, cannoli-and-bread-scented palms with a coo of relief. Romano let out a sigh as he straightened up, hands automatically bringing up his little one to eye level so as he checked the tiny body over for scrapes, bruises, or too much dirt. Finding nothing too terrible, save for loose dirt sticking on from traipsing about the tomato beds unaided, he poked Amato on the forehead, grumbling softly, "You need a bath after all this, you're all filthy now!"
"But I want to keep playing with Lovi, Mama! Pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaasssseeee?" came the drawn out, plaintive cry from the tiny mochi in his cupped hands. Romano stared at his housemate as those big green eyes watered again, a pout forming upon the small, cherubic features as Amato shuffled around in place, turning to stare at the other mochi on the ground. Judging by his expression, he was in apparent distress at the thought of leaving his new friend behind, even if it was only to get cleaned up.
The Southern Italian pinched the bridge of his nose, trying valiantly to keep the headache from worsening. The things I do for love...
Kneeling down again, he carefully shunted Amato to his right hand, curling the fingers inwards a little to keep him from falling, and then held out the left one at the remaining mochi's height, palm up and open in offering. "Well, are you coming or not? Amato needs to get cleaned up, and he won't leave without you."
The scowl on the tiny features of the other mochi was rather impressive, in comparison to overall size, but Romano would not be swayed by a simple glare.
"Don't wanna go yet."
"Oh yeah?" An eyebrow was lifted in question, Amato being shifted back and forth in gently cupped palms to keep him occupied. "Why the hell not?"
"Tomato Bastard's not here yet."
At the prospect of his new friend possibly not coming along with them rearing its ugly head, Amato's eyes immediately wavered with impending tears again, and the sweet little voice promptly broke out into a wail filled with the sort of childish impatience that often comes along when the most terrible thing imaginable is threatening to occur. "Loviiiiiiiiiiiiii, come oooooooooooooooon...!"
Great, first the stupidhead gives his mochi MY name, and now he's got him calling him Tomato Bastard too? A flicker of unhappy protest flared to life at the thought, and he quickly smothered it back down into silence before it could start squalling in complaint. There were more important issues to be dealing with, such as the fact that judging by the look on his tiny fact, Amato was about to throw what was, in all honesty, given the overall good behavior of the little thing since being sprouted in the garden, his first real "toddler tantrum".
Ruefully, he considered his own rather short "fuse" concerning patience and general tranquility when life seemed to be trying actively to make him miserable. If he's got anything like my temper, I'd better nip this in the bud before it gets out of hand.
Wasting no time, he knelt down and scooped up his name-bequeathed mochi in his remaining free hand, ignoring the tiny "bite" done to his fingers in response, and curled his pointer finger inwards to tap the little creature's forehead sharply. "Hey, stop that. You're coming along, and that's final! Now stop biting me or I'll drop you before I give you back to Spain, got it?"
Despite the glare he received for the poke, Little Lovi gave no sign of disagreeing, and instead settled into his palm to sulk. Self-preservation instincts had won out over pride, at least for the moment, but that did not mean that the mochi could not demonstrate how unhappy he was at being carted around while still separated from his "more tolerable" nation caretaker.
With the issue of the other mochi taken care of, he turned to attend to his primary charge. "Amato Vargas, you stop that fussing around right now. He's coming with us, anyway, the garden's too big and he can't get out by himself. We're taking him back with us, so there's no need to fuss and yell about it. That'll just give me a headache and make a lot of noise. The tomatoes don't like that, remember?"
Big green eyes blinked up at him solemnly as the little mochi took a moment to think over his words, before a tiny, understanding nod was offered. "Oh, right," Amato replied, "Sorry, I forgot!" He shuffled around in place, turning to face the nearest batch of tomato plants and squeaking out an suitably quiet, but nonetheless, earnest cry of "Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. and Ms. Tomato plants!".
Romano felt the corners of his mouth quirk upwards at the sweet, innocent response, and he gently patted Amato on the top of his little curly leaf "hair" in approval. "Good, now let's go already, it's going to get dark soon and you need a bath."
A tiny rumbling was suddenly audible from the vicinity of his cupped hands, and a chuckle escaped him before he could stop it. "Looks like a bit of an early dinner's in order too, huh?"
An eager nod was more than answer enough, Amato's tiny body practically dancing with excitement at the prospect of more delicious food (and possibly dessert). "Can we have muffuletta and olive salad and sun-dried tomatoes and olive oil?"
"To start with, yes. Just don't fill up on the bread too much."
"And soup, yummy soup?"
"Yeah, yeah, but we don't have any meat left, I'll have to make vegetable soup."
"And can we have dessert too?"
"If you're good."
"And I eat all the vegetables?"
"Yes. And no, eating tomatoes doesn't count this time, you don't get any for a week after that stunt you just pulled."
"But Mamaaaaaaaaa...!"
"No buts!"
Little Lovi squirmed in place in Romano's other hand, a sulky expression on his face as he looked at the fingers cradling him like a makeshift "seat-belt" as if every digit had personally insulted him, his family relations, and every tomato in existence all at the same time. Amato nudged his new friend's face companionably with a chubby, tanned cheek, giggling at the stuck-out tongue and raspberry blown in response.
"Do I have to eat too? I'm not hungry."
"If he's eating, you're eating, too. No buts, I mean it!"
"But I'm not hungry-"
"I SAID NO BUTS!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~AT HOME, WITH TWO MOCHIS, A BUBBLE BATH, AND A RUBBER DUCKY~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Romano had never given someone a bath before, apart from helping Feli keep soap and shampoo out of his eyes while washing his hair when they were either still very small nations, or were grown up and stuck sharing a hotel room for a World Meeting and the silly fool had gotten shampoo left over in his hair that refused to come out without stinging his eyes.
However, since acquiring the gift of his tiny little one, that had changed rather significantly.
Nowadays, with the help of several discrete trips to the local store in the town over, he'd stocked up on a number of items that, previously, had very little chance of ever making it to the Southern Italian's household, including baby-safe shampoo and conditioner, gentle-washing body soap, several little floating bath toys (including a few squishy bath sponges, a water-squirting toddler playset, and a little inflatable pool ring of the kind generally meant for plastic figures), a soft-bristle shower brush that was really supposed to be for exfoliating and scrubbing fragile skin, and several soft, fluffy, cream-and-coffee-shade hand towels usually meant to keep for special guests, instead of tiny, magical tomato-grown mochi children.
The Southern Italian had gotten home with both mochis in hand, scraped off mud from his boots before leaving them by the door, and then stared for only a moment at the wreckage of his previously-beautiful kitchen (and fantasizing for a brief, blissful second what strangling the idiot nation that had done such a travesty would be like) before he promptly shouted at large to the nations left in his house that "You broke this wall, you better fix it NOW!" and left, shouldering his way past the stunned form of France (who had, meanwhile, drained half a bottle of vintage wine with Austria, who had at least the courtesy to clean up most of the plaster that had arisen from the ruination of the wall) and heading into the master bathroom.
Now, the little mountain of bathing items bought for his tiny housemate's use were being put to work, as Romano, having quickly scrubbed his own hands clean in the sink, placed both mochis safely above drowning level in an shallow, extra-large, plastic washing bin formerly used for soaking dishes (as Amato liked to use it during previous baths to make him create impromptu "waterfalls") in the rather spacious bathtub. Testing the water as he turned on the tap to a low flow, he filled the tub, and then about half of the washing bin, a quarter of the way full with toasty-warm, sudsy water and a few generous squirts of eye-friendly, child-safe cherry-tomato-scented body-washing soap (this had been a slightly pricey expenditure, given the apparent novelty of tomato-smelling body soap for a local establishment, but it was worth it to scrub away garden dirt after a long day and make his little one happy when he could apparently pretend to "eat" the soap bubbles).
The tub filled, he deftly began washing his tiny charge free of dirt and grime with the aid of of the little shower brush, ignoring the occasional token squirm of protest as dirt was scrubbed, gently but firmly, away. Every time the water turned brown, it was waved out with a few sweeps of Romano's hands, and then slowly refilled with more slow-flowing warm water and more bubbles, and within only a little while (they really were rather small), the water ran completely clear for what would be the remainder of the bath.
His cleanup of Amato finished, he stepped back from the tub and set himself on the lid of the toilet across the room, content to watch his mochi "tomato" play and giggle among the soap bubbles until the water turned cold enough to cause protest. Knowing that the other mochi likely would try to (futilely) bite him again if he got involved (and that, if the name really was as fitting as it seemed, instead of merely a gesture of whimsy on Spain's part, it would be far easier for everyone involved to let the mochi do his own washing up), he left Little Lovi to his own devices. The tiny creature, as predicted, scooted over to the other side of the washing bin and began sloshing around in the soapy mix, bubbles floating everywhere in the process.
Amato, meanwhile, was having a grand old time playing with the soap bubbles as he was scrubbed clean of dirt and grass stains, and had quickly taken to begging for a "bubble-crown" of the translucent, pearly foam as he blew soap bubbles of varying sizes out of the tub to float around the room at random. Romano had rolled his eyes, but nonetheless walked back to the bathtub, scooped up a thick handful of foam and dropped it into place on his little friend's curly brown leaf "hair" as requested, to cries of delight as the glittering mass popped every so often while he shuffled around in his Mama's hands.
After a little while of this, Amato turned to his fellow mochi, a thick wad of bubbly foam dripping down one side of his face as he looked at his friend sitting idly in the bath water, eyes closed and chubby, soft form relaxed among the little floating islands of bubbles. A mischievous look crossed the sweet face, flickering into being for a split second and then vanishing the next, and suddenly he took a deep breath, took a great big hop forwards-
Romano only had a split second to think Uh oh, wait a sec- and take a step forward before a great splash! rolled through the washing bin and Little Lovi was soaked by a tiny tidal wave of bubbles and bathwater. When the wave receded, there was an angry, cranky expression on the tiny features, and with a well-placed, somewhat haughty-sounding sniff, Little Lovi turned around and scooted all the way to the very end of the washing basin to sulk, veritable waves of displeasure emanating from the tiny body like stink clouds.
Amato, seeing that his new friend was not trying to play and splash him back, turned to stare at Romano in worry, sadness in the big green orbs. "I...I didn't mean to make him sad, but he didn' like the bubbles, an' now he's mad at me..."
Wordlessly, Romano pointed to the other mochi and mimed And what do we do when we do something wrong?, which was something learned from experience after what had become known between them as the Fruit Bowl Incident. Amato nodded in understanding, and, a spark of determination lighting in his eyes, quickly shuffled through the foam to nudge Little Lovi to get his attention.
Disgruntled golden-brown eyes stared back at him as the other mochi pointedly looked away, but Amato had far, far too much determination to give up so easily. He promptly shuffled right back into Little Lovi's field of vision and offered a blunt "I'm sorry that I made you mad when I splashed you. I just wanted to play, nobody around here but Mama likes to play fun stuff..."
At this, the other mochi started slightly, surprised. Spain, while not exactly the most competent of people to care for a mochi (though the pampering with pats on the head, treats of tomatoes snuck into pockets, and the constant stream of compliments never hurt), was clearly more than willing to entertain him, and he didn't even act like he wanted to play! Why did this tiny, too-cuddly little thing with the big gooey eyes not have anyone else but his caretaker to play with him?
Huffing slightly, he made a decision. Granted, it might come back and bite him later, but it would be forth it, at least for now, to make the pouting stop and a smile put back on that rosy-cheeked face. The bouncy little mochi was so friendly, even in the short time they'd known each other, that to have him sad felt utterly unnatural. Not that he actually cared or anything, but still!
It was for the greater good, Little Lovi tried to convince himself, looking into the bright eyes and sorrowful expression. It's just so he doesn't mope around like this like a puppy.
Letting out a sigh, he shuffled around a bit, making little tiny waves, and hissed in frustration when his efforts made no sign of being like the big one Amato had made earlier. "Darn it! Stupid water's not working right...supposed to make big ones, not teeny ones..."
Amato, hearing this, gleefully noted what his new friend was trying to do, and instead of pointing out the problem (and possibly embarrassing him in the process), he began to turn in circles too, making his own little waves in turn and giggling.
From his seat at the other end of the room, Romano hid a grin behind one hand as he watched the sight of the two tiny mochis having what could only be described, in truth, as possibly the strangest and most adorable playdate in all of Europe.