Mr. Hurricane, because it is the best song.

This was not supposed to be a story why is it 4 chapters long and not done yet? I also can't remember the last time I posted 4 consecutive chapters in 4 consecutive days. This is a triumph for me!

Black Cherry

Part 4: This Was Supposed to be a One-shot

He's burnt. Oh, he's burnt so bad, and Romano finds this hilarious because Gilbert gets it in his head before they're half-way back to the house that it's all his fault.

"Fuck, even my god-damned legs!" He can't remember the last time he saw someone burn the backs of their calves, but that's what several hours working in the sun will do to pasty German tourists. "You shut the hell up."

No.

"You look like a tomato."

"And you sound like Spain!" That's not necessarily a bad thing, and as they track water and grass in through the repaired back door, Romano snorts as Gilbert waddles wet and stinging over to the living room couch and immediately flops down on his belly, face buried in his arm. His ears are red, and all the curves and dips of his back are slowly darkening from the livid burns.

Romano can't help himself, as he busies around in the kitchen he just has to ask: the mighty Prussia can't take a little sunburn?

"Shut the fuck up."

Couple hours hard work and he curls up in a little ball?

"I'm warning you."

That's right, if he tries curling up his skin'll split open.

"Lovino...!"

Snorting at the murderous voice and the dark red glare firing at him over the back of his couch, Romano finds what he's looking for and struts over to where his friend is suffering. He leans on the threadbare back of the couch and dangles a small white bottle between his fingers.

"Do you want these or not?" Asprin isn't the best cure for sunburns, but Gilbert makes the grabby hands and Romano lets him have the painkillers in exchange for a whimpered 'Thank you, thank you, you're the best, the very best, I mean it.'

Good enough.

Romano fixes up their lunch while Gilbert whines. It'd probably be nicer to sit outside in the breeze, but all he has to do is peer out the window at the (lack of) available shade to rule that out. Maybe he'll get Gilbert to build him a trellis in the garden for some extra shade. They eat at the coffee table with Gilbert still sprawled on the couch and Romano sitting on the cool stone floor, and the Prussian is being pathetic trying to feed himself without bending his elbow.

"This is why you and your brother always fall asleep in meetings, isn't it?" He means from habit? Yep. "It's so damn hot." Yep. "How come you're not burnt to shit all the time?" Because he's a farmer?

Gilbert stops talking for a bit, his sandwich half-eaten and abandoned on the plate while Romano polishes his off. They both need to change out of their damp clothes, and Romano should probably brave the sunny environment to bring in the tools and clothes they left outside. He should do that, but for now he just sits where he is and lets Gilbert watch him with one tired red eye peering out from under a mop of damp white hair.

"Problem?" He asks, because Gilbert just keeps staring long after Romano's done eating. Gilbert's chest expands with a deep breath before he practically sighs his answer.

"You do this every year, don't cha?" Does what? The farming? "You're gonna be here all summer. No North Italy or world meetings, you'll just stay out here and tend the land."

"I go to Naples when Veneziano needs me, or Rome if it's important." He sounds half asleep with these funny questions, but Romano just watches the way Gilbert's eyes begin to darken and his breaths even out. He's a military man, his body is lined with scars from battles and wars, his skin a ghostly white since he hasn't been active or in the field since the end of World War Two. Come to think of it, unless Germany lets him do random things back home in Berlin, Gilbert probably hasn't done hard labour like this in a very long time... "Sleep, you idiot. That's what siestas are for."

Gilbert doesn't answer him, but his cheeks and nose are burnt too because they're a bright pink colour. The Prussian nuzzles his face down into the crook of his own arm and closes his eyes, and as quietly as he can Romano gets up and shuffles away with their dishes.

It's been decades since Romano last suffered from a sunburn, so there's no point looking for some kind of cream or medication in the cupboards or under the sink. Gilbert's sleeping but he can practically hear the bastard going 'Ten acres and you don't have a single aloe plant!-?', but again, if he isn't going to use it then why would he plant it? Instead he finds the landline phone in his next-to-never-used office and shuts the door. He tries to make a brief call to Rome, but with Veneziano nothing is ever brief, especially when there's teasing involved.

"I swear to God if you don't stop I'm going to make you eat marmite."

"Ve~ it's not my fault you don't have internet! What have you and Prussia been doing together? Are you having fun? How'd you get burnt?"

"VENEZIANO SHUT THE FUCK UP AND DO WHAT I ASKED."

In the end he hangs up and calls Belgium instead, because she's a lot more helpful, much further out of the loop, and she doesn't even have to pull up the internet to give him several remedies. It's a forty minute drive to the nearest pharmacy and Romano would really just rather not, especially when Belgium starts naming things he actually does grow in his garden.

"Grazie, Bella. And no, I don't think I'll be in New York next month but thanks. Ciao."

He doesn't take Belgium's advice all the way. For one the idea of slicing up tomatoes and putting them on Gilbert seems like a ridiculous waste of tomatoes, and two, stewing them in vinegar first seems like it would hurt a lot and waste even more tomatoes. But he does busy around in the kitchen and finally remembers to go retrieve the wheelbarrow and clothes from the orchard.

He makes sure there's another pair of asprin and a glass of cold water set out when Gilbert wakes up, because now that he's slept the pain of his burns hits him in full. Romano actually feels sorry for him, and this time he doesn't tease as he fetches a straw so Gilbert doesn't actually have to sit up to drink the water.

"We can try something, and if it doesn't work then I'll drive into town." He actually feels bad for not just leaving while Gilbert was asleep, because by now he'd be half-way back home with some kind of cream or gel to speed up the healing. He'll be fine by tomorrow regardless, but still.

"What's that?" The insides of a few ripe tomatoes mixed with water and chilled in the fridge, with mint leaves lightly crushed and added to the mix. Belgium's instructions were weird, but Romano just dips a rag in the red slurry and wrings it out between his hands before touching it to the back of Gilbert's shoulder. It's cold and he hisses at the contact, but that's why Romano didn't just drop the thing right on the middle of his back.

"If it stings worse I'll take it off."

"S'fine..." Well, he means it about the stinging. Applying acid to a burn seems pretty insane to him, but Belgium's the kind of fair-skinned girl who has to worry about these kinds of things. He doesn't wring as much of the red out of the cloth this time and he folds it twice before setting it on Gilbert's back. The compress is supposed to help, he's not sure how, but the Prussian just shivers again and Romano keeps the cloth there until it starts going warm. The process is repeated again and again as Gilbert hides his face under his arms and Romano asks every few minutes whether or not he should stop.

The inflammation goes down, which is a relief, and Gilbert's skin is still bright pink but it's not that same angry red as before. By the time he's done holding the wet rag to the backs of his legs Romano just drapes the soaked cloth over Gilbert's back again, pressing gently with his cold hands to make sure the juice and water get everywhere. It's almost impossible not to let his mind wander as he works, especially when he catches himself casually brushing his fingers down Gilbert's side to stop wayward drips of water from spilling onto the old couch.

"Okay, look up?" He makes the request but Gilbert doesn't move, and he's not asleep because he's way too rigid on the cushions for that. "Hey, I'm talking to you."

"M'face is fine."

"No it's not, your cheeks are burnt." Just like his ears, which is why when Gilbert ignores him a second time Romano twists the cloth in the cool water and then lightly pinches one red-stained lobe to apply the mixture. Gilbert sucks in a sharp breath, but just pushes his face down further. Seriously?

"Is it not working?"

"It works just fine." Romano can barely understand him right now. It's actually almost cute the way Gilbert won't so much as look at him, but at the same time Romano can see the red staining his face. Soaking the rag one more time, Gilbert hasn't showered since that morning so Romano just unfurls the tomato-stained cloth and drapes it right over the Prussian's messy hair.

"Wash your own face then." It's a triumph that Gilbert's loosened up enough to prop himself up on his elbows, but he keeps his head down until he gets a grip on the rag and drags it down to cover his face. The way he rubs his eyes and cheeks emphasizes his next point:

"It's. Not. Burnt!"

"Well then why are you so red!" And why is he being such a baby? If either of them has something to complain about it's Romano for having to take care of him. "The least you can do is fucking look at me!"

"Then put on a god-damned shirt!" Wha-?

Gilbert whips the cloth down and his face is completely red. There's no pink, no white, no sun-spots or freckles or anything else, his cheeks are almost purple that's how red they are.

"I get it! You're Italian!" Wait, he- "Your brother pulls this shit all the time with West but will you just stop it!" Gilbert's suddenly sitting up but it's awkward, and Romano is stunned and falls back until he's braced with one hand on the tile floor, his back against the coffee table with nowhere to crawl away and hide.

But hang on, hold the fuck up why would he run away in his own house? No. Fuck you.

Romano stands the fuck up.

"You're the one bitching about the heat, asshole!"

So does Gilbert.

"Yeah, well you're fucking used to it!"

"Why do you think I had to ask Belgium for some hackneyed cure for you!"

"You what?"

"You think I just mash up tomatoes for shits and giggles!-?"

"It sounds like some shit you'd do, so yeah!"

"Fuck you!"

"Gladly!"

"What?"

"Huh?"

Oh.

They don't talk for the rest of the evening. Romano storms out of his own house because he's too damn pissed to defend it on principle and kick Gilbert out. He escapes the argument and decides it's much safer to go (hide) amongst his fruit trees.

It's not until he's walked back and forth along that clumsy wall that his temper finally burns itself out. He isn't mad anymore, and he actually doubts he was mad to begin with, and if he was upset then he realizes it's not because of Gilbert.

Well okay that's a lie, of course it's because of Gilbert, but it's more his reaction than anything he actually did. Romano isn't the type to defend his brother when there's a chance it will get back to Veneziano, but he can't quite swallow them both being lumped up together negatively. If Romano forgetting his shirt in the heat sets off the same German modesty alarms that Veneziano's pantless escapades do for Germany, then Romano doesn't... really... want to go back...

He's that embarrassing..? Hah... Veneziano actually doesn't give a shit most of the time, it doesn't bother him to be a bother. He's just got that way with people where they'll put up with anything because it's him. Romano's not like that.

Romano's doing it again: that thing he's better about not doing anymore. As he sits down on the dry grass under the lemon tree, Romano can see the pink cherries across the grove shining in the red dusk, and he can hear his ears ringing like each fruit is a chiming bell. Veneziano doesn't so much as bat an eye at someone giving or holding a negative opinion of him, but Romano's just not that strong.

Shit... bad thoughts... he shouldn't be having these bad thoughts...

But his crush and close friend thinks he's tomato-obsessed and shameless, and when he stormed out he forgot to grab the shirt Prussia scolded him for not wearing. He should probably go back to calling him Prussia now too.

He's been riding a high for the last few days, but the truth of the matter is that Romano doesn't handle these emotions well. He doesn't like being unsettled or compared, he can't handle being examined or judged. Judge the plants and the soil and the weather, comment on the economy or the industries, just not him.

There's a reason why across ten acres there isn't a single dog, cat, sheep or horse to be found, he'd rather till a whole field by hand than cope with a living, breathing dependant. If you leave a fruit grove alone for three months at a time then unless lightning strikes they're all going to be there when you get back. The garden might be full of weeds but the beans will still be there and the herbs will be wild and thriving.

But if you trip over the dog then it doesn't know when to trust you, and if there are mice in the field then the cat won't bother with you. Sheep care more about the herd than the shepherd, and horses and oxen breed and bond in a way that makes extended absences wear on their health. Friends help you out until you do something to set them off. Lovers only connect if the feelings go both ways.

Romano sits under his lemon tree and watches the sun set over his land. He's too hurt to hold back a tear when he hears a rented car engine start and peter away in the night.

OKAY. I looked it up, and believe it or not ketchup seems to be google's favourite non-aloe sunburn recipe. Frankly I agree with Romano and the idea of putting acid (in the form of tomatoes or vinegar) on a sunburn sounds like a form of torture, but apparently the two work wonders. I did, however, find it a stretch that he'd have ketchup since it's a very North American condiment, and although Seborga has a bottle, I doubt picky South Italy would keep any.