A/N: Okay so I have a BBIIIIGGGG announcement. I am starting a poll! This is because I have this story all mapped out in my head except for one thing: do they ever find out Italy is Sparentano's mom? I could go either way and could make either way work. I even have them both planned out somewhat... It would just be a matter of who finds out what when and all those little technicalities.

So I will be reminding you at the end to vote in your reviews if you want them to find out or not. This poll will be open for a few chapters however, so you can stew over it like I am now if you want. Other than that all I have to say is a giant THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed. You guys seriously make my day.

P.S A huge thank you to my Beta reader DeepSentinel! This chapter is a lot cleaner then the past few have been so thank you so much for that!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, because if I did there would be an entire episode of Romano singing the Tomato Song : )

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Now I need to clear up one thing right now, Mom is a fast runner. I don't care what anyone says, when he puts his mind up to it he can run faster than anyone I have ever known. Faster than Dad, faster than America, faster than Uncle Prussia. I was lucky I wasn't just being dragged along.

It was just one turn after another and I could not have made it back to the room we started out in if I tried. Mom seemed to know where he was going, however, so I just put all my trust in him. He didn't get lost that often, so I figured I was safe. It wasn't until we hit a stairwell that I got worried.

Oh the stairs, my worst enemy. No I'm not accident prone, but stairs just wear you out. I much prefer escalators or elevators.

Mom however did not hesitate at the sight of them and just headed up.

It only took me three steps to feel something moving around in my front pocket. It took a moment for the feeling to register but when it did I could only manage one thought. Oh shit.

I reached into my pocket and felt what at the moment was my worst fear. They were in there. Shit, shit, shit. Why does this kind of stuff always happen to me?

See when I was making the scrapbook, I started by dividing up the pictures into categories. Ones I was definitely going to use were set on the table to my left. Ones I definitely not going to use were on my right. Which left the maybe pile.

I couldn't put the pile in front of me because that was where I had the photo albums I was getting pictures from. So being the genius that I am I decided to keep them in the pocket of my jacket. It seemed smart at the time, but now... not so much.

I quickly grabbed the pictures and held onto them for dear life. I knew that some of these were ones that could change life as I knew it, and I was very content with my life thank you very much.

After what felt like forever, but was only a few flights of stairs, Mom finally stopped going up. I was dragged into another hallway and soon enough we stopped in front of one of the hotel room doors.

"We're here!" said Mom enthusiastically, reaching into his pocket to get out the key card to the door. His other hand was still enclosed around mine.

He then inserted the key card into the door and retracted it quickly. We both waited for the light to turn green and allow us entry into the room.

The light turned red.

Mom's face held only a smile as he tried it again. And again. And again. The same thing happened every time though. Red. Red. Red.

"Um, maybe it's the wrong room?" I asked him.

"No, I don't think so. See the numbers match up!" He said, showing his card to me.

Well he was right, the number on the card was the same as the one on the door.

"Maybe you're putting it in backwards?"

At this, a look of realization seemed to light up his face. He turned the card so that the part that was being scanned was on the left side. He then inserted the key-card in and then back out.

For a moment it was like a suspense scene in an action movie. I could almost see the camera flashing back and forth between my face and the little light. I could hear the epic music playing in the background. It was like a final showdown.

Okay so maybe it wasn't that intense, but it was pretty close.

Thankfully this time the light turned green.

"It worked~!" said Mom as he opened the door and pulled me inside.

I was surprised to see that this room looked a lot like the one I had been staying in before this whole fiasco had started. On one side of the room there was just a simple sitting area with a loveseat and a chair. It also had a glass coffee table, which was covered in papers, and a reasonably sized TV. Or what I assumed was an average sized TV for this time. On the other side of the room was a mini kitchen area which was separated from the rest of the room by a breakfast bar. There were two stools at the bar, and on the adjacent counter I could see a microwave next to a small sink. There was also a stove built into the counter top, and I would bet $1,000 that there was a mini fridge hiding under one of the counters.

"Time for pasta~!" Mom cried gleefully as he ran towards the kitchen, finally letting go of my hand.

He was digging in the cabinets beneath the counter before I even had a chance to move. See what I told you? Mom is fast when it comes to food and retreating.

"So, can I ask you a question?" I asked Mom.

"Sure! But only if you answer my question first~!" He responded coming up from his crouched position with two boxes of pasta in his hands.

"Um... sure. What do you want to know?" I asked, a bit worried about what he might ask me. Mom has been known to be a bit, well, eccentric. The stories I could tell you... but they would take at least a day and a half so I won't waste your time.

"Do you want spaghetti or baked ziti?"

Oh god. That had to be one of the single hardest questions ever! I love baked ziti... a lot. But it takes such a long time to make! I didn't know if I could make it much longer without food. It had already been about 4 hours since I last ate and I was famished. Yes, I have an addictive relationship with food, I know.

Not to mention spaghetti was very delicious and I hadn't had it for about week. My mouth was practically watering already just from thinking about eating Mom's delicious home cooking. I usually have it about 4 times a week but this world conference has been messing with my schedule.

I made up my mind.

"Spaghetti. But could you make it with meat sauce?" I asked, hoping he would say yes.

"Sure~! Now what did you want to ask me?" he said while pulling out a pot from what seemed like nowhere and setting the stove to boil the water. It was like that trick he once showed me with the white flag. I could never manage to make it appear out of thin air like he did. Instead I always ended up with a whisk in my hand. Oh well, whisks hurt more when you hit people with them anyway.

"Do you have an envelope or something I could borrow?" I asked.

"Sure Sparentano! But why?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Well... I just, um, need one is all." I answered, hoping he wouldn't question me any further as to why I needed an envelope.

"Hmmm. They're over there, somewhere~" He said, turning around and pointing to the cluttered coffee table. Thank god he hadn't pressed the issue.

I hurried over to the table and started shifting through the mess. Now I have seen some disorganized things in my life, but Mom's stuff always manages to take the cake. How he can manage to find anything I will never understand.

Now let's see what we have here.

Random important document with tomato sauce on it. No that's not it.

Letter from some official. Nope not that either.

Blank paper. Close, but no cigar.

Stamps. Really now? Where the hell are these envelopes?

After what seemed like an eternity, I was able to find the envelopes. Thankfully, they were on the larger side so it looked like all the photos would fit into one.

I quickly opened the envelope and placed all of the pictures inside. I sealed it quickly and then stuck it into my pocket. Now at least if someone found it, they would just see a white envelope and not something earth shattering.

With that task accomplished, I went over to the little kitchen. Mom was standing over the pot of boiling water, adding in the noodles, while a pot of sauce simmered to the side. It almost was like I was back home, seeing mom like this.

When I was younger, Mom seemed to be cooking, and sleeping, constantly. I'm pretty sure that this is where I picked up my love for food, though my passion is not pasta, but instead desserts. Every country has something they are known for. Italy is known for pasta, romance, and the Mafia. America is guns, baseball, and burgers. England is tea and magic.

Me?

I'm known for sweets, and diversity.

That's right. I wasn't lying when I said most of the nations I was standing with previously had come to my aid when I was young. Austria, in a show of good intentions, taught me music. Japan showed me math and technology. America showed me sports like baseball. China showed me his awesome military. France taught me about the performing arts. Mom taught me religion. Dad taught me industry. Both Mom and Dad taught me their food. The others all contributed in small ways as well.

I didn't pick up on all of these things, and some of the things I did pick up I modified. For example I liked the dedication of China's military, so my military force is also dedicated. However my force is much smaller and there is less pressure on them as a whole.

My people picked up on some of these things much easier than I and soon news of their talents and abilities spread like wildfire. I became the new vaction hotspot, in other words, a tourist trap. But that's not really all I have to offer.

I'm not only a tourist trap, but a tourist trap with one of the best education systems in the world. For some reason education was always a big deal to me, so I made sure that we taught my people well. So now people come from all over the world to learn at my institutions. It's pretty awesome really.

In any case, back to the present.

"Hey, when do you think the food will be done?" I asked.

Mom jumped about a foot in the air and turned around to face me, looking scared half to death. When he realized it was just me, though, he smiled again.

"Sparentano, you scared me! Don't worry the pasta is almost done~!"

"Yes!" I yelled, pumping my fist in the air. A horrible habit I picked up when I was young, though I have no idea when or how.

This however caused something disastrous to happen:

Out of my pocket fluttered a single picture that had somehow escaped my grasp. As if by magic, it didn't flutter to the floor, but instead went over the breakfast bar and towards Mom.

Not knowing any better, Mom grabbed it, and before I could say anything, looked at it.

I didn't know what was in that picture specifically, but I knew it was bad.

Why?

Mom opened his eyes.

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Cliffhanger much?

Sorry but I just feel like this is a good place to stop... so don't hate me too much okay. ( *Authoress has rotten Tomatoes pelted at her*) I SAID SORRY! (*Authoress hides in a corner.*)

Don't forget to review and vote for whether or not Sparentano's Mom shall ever be found out.