Title: Slim Pickings

Pairing: Spain + Chibi Romano

Rating: T for Mano's language.

"Romano~! I'm going outside to pick tomatoes! Come with me~!"

My cheeks burn red at the sound of that voice. What is with that bastard? Doesn't he know what he does to me?

"I don't want to come! Leave me alone, fucking bastard!" I only wish that I meant those words... I say things like that all the time, but I don't mean a thing. Spain is the most important thing to me. Always has been, always will be. I would say he could go to hell for it, but that would be mean.

"Too bad, Mano! It's a beautiful day and I know how you like to eat tomatoes~!" His footsteps on the stairs, his hand on the door, his smile entering the room and glowing like a halo, his beautiful green eyes. I squirm as he picks me up, cradling me easily in his arms. Of course he can do that. I'm such a young country, and even then only half, and I look like I'm four or five, human years. I'm not though. I'm old enough to fall hopelessly in love, so I must be a lot older than I appear.

"Guess what, little Mano! I'm going to make pizza today! I've been practicing, and I think I've got it down~!" Spain begins humming a happy tune against my ear. I wonder what he would do if I kissed him. I bet he'd just think I was acting my age. Maybe I would be, but not the age I look to be.

"Shut up, fucking bastard! I don't want your nasty pizza! It probably tastes worse than fucking cow shit!"

"Maybe, Mano~!" Spain agrees cheerfully. "But, it will be made with love, so it will probably taste better than that!"

I blush, covering my face with my chubby hands so as to hide it. Made with love? Pizza made with love? Didn't he know how much that meant to me? This fucking tomato-bastard is going to kill me if he keeps saying things like that!

"Oh, look, we're there!" Spain cries happily. He hefts me up a bit higher so that I can take in the fields of tomatoes in all of their majesty. Oh, god, it all looks so delicious! If I were big enough, I would just reach out and stuff the whole thing into my mouth, dirt and all. "Come on, Mano, let's go pick some!" He cradles me in his arms even as he says this. How am I supposed to "come on" if he's carrying me anyways? Stupid fucking bastard!

Spain walks around the field carrying me comfortably in his arms, picking only the biggest, juiciest, ripest fruits and carefully, lovingly setting them in whatever basket of his I'm holding at the time. His beautiful curls are hidden from the sun right now by a stupid-looking straw hat that looks adorable on him, and his green eyes laugh even though nothing's funny. He's too much for my little heart. Too, too much.

"Bastard!" I suddenly yell at him, fed up with his... perfection. I grab a plump, juicy tomato out of my woven basket and bite into it, juice dripping down my chin. I feel like a pissed girl on her period biting into a bar of chocolate.

"What is it, mi querido?" he asks, stopping his picking out of concern.

"You're a fucking bastard, that's what is it!" I yell. It doesn't make sense, but I don't care. I squirm my way out of his arms, somehow managing to keep the heavy basket of tomatoes steady. I land on my feet, trying not to fall over, and set the basket on the ground. "I hate you, Spain! I really do, and I mean it this time!" I can feel angry, embarrassing tears welling in my eyes and I furiously wipe them away.

Spain kneels down in front of me, looking every inch the concerned parent, older brother, you name it. He doesn't look like the concerned... the concerned... well, boyfriend, that I want him to be, though.

"Italy Romano, you know I love you, right?" he asks softly. I sniffle and continue wiping the tears from my eyes. They just won't fucking stop.

"I-I know," I stammer in a stupid, tear-choked voice. "You love me as a parent. Or an older brother."

Spain frowns. "Yes, I do. What is so wrong with that?"

I stomp one tiny, useless foot and then hurl my not even half-eaten tomato at him. "Everything! Everything's so wrong with that! Everything everything everything!" I turn and run off into the tomato plants as fast as I can on my short, fat legs, leaving my precious basket of tomatoes-not to mention my precious Spain-behind.

He finds me hidden among a particularly thick swath of vines, sobbing my little eyes out. I'm just sitting there, wishing he could understand, and the next thing I know his arms are lifting me through the air. I struggle and squirm but his grip remains surprisingly strong, and he hugs me close to him and gently moves from side to side in a comforting gesture. Almost instantly my tears are calmed. I wrap my arms around his neck and sniffle into his shirt. Whenever an errant strand of hair brushed my fingertips, I feel like I'm going to die, and when he presses his soft lips gently to my forehead, I'm sure my heart stops beating.

"I don't know what's wrong, Mano." he whispers softly in my ear. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut. This close proximity-it's fucking painful. Why does he do this to me? All the time? I'm dying here. Dying.

"Nothing," I insist. I sniffle, wipe my eyes. "It's nothing."

"If you say so..." he says uncertainly. I turn and look up into his bright green eyes.

"I'll grow up someday," I inform him. "And I'll leave you."

He frowns slightly. "What do you-"

"But I just want you to know that I'll come back!" I growl. "So you'd better wait for me!"

"Okay?" It's more of a question than an answer, but it's good enough for me.

"Okay, tomato bastard, take me home now! I want to eat pizza, even if it does taste gross like yours will." My face heats up as he smiles at me.

"Okay, mi tomate!"

A/N So, this is what happens when I stay up late listening to Romano's "Delicious Tomato Song." It's not late now, because I didn't finish this last night, but whatever. It's short and lame and yeah. I won't blame you for not reading it. BUT READ IT ANYWAYS! *crazy look in her eyes*