France has always been in love with Spain, but he is in love with Romano, then something happens that makes the spaniard realize he will never get him (Romano could be in love with another nation or something else) and after a depression time when he looks comfort with his best friends (AKA. France, Prussia, Belgium and Austria), he starts moving on again.
And so, France who's been in love with him time ago, tries to get a way to his heart now that he has the chance and Spain starts slowly falling in love with him.
Anon would love to see this and how Spain is still unsure, because he haven't loved someone else than Romano and seeing him makes him doubt. Smut is optional, but loved and the end must be happy. Also, I don't care if it's AU or current timeline, anything it's fine!
Anon Notes: I always wanted to try to write a France/Spain so I really hope the OP likes. I'm trying my best, thank you!!
A Tomato Whose Name I Don’t Know Yet Chapter One
A long time ago, a nation named itself the country of love.
It happened long before there were the cute brothers of Italy to own, or the Americas to teach how to become fully grown. It happened before there were voyages across the seas, or even Britain to tease.
It happened even before there were many other countries to love, or gods above; when the world was old and the people in it had very little knowledge beyond what they saw, tasted and felt. Before all that –
There was France.
“You’re looking a bit wistful, aren’t you?”
“Ah,” France looked away from the window of his house to rest his blue eyes on his most current boss. It was important for a nation to pay attention to what the president wanted, no matter what the point in time. Otherwise, it would be far too easy for a country to get stuck.
The president sat behind his lavish desk and was paused in the signing of a huge stack of papers. “It’s, well…” He stopped himself short and ducked his head with a slight frown as he concentrated on his papers once more. “Pardon.”
France cocked an eyebrow at the behaviour. “What is it?” He asked, setting his glass of deep red wine down on the finely carved wood of the desk. Sensing his boss’ unrest, he grinned, mouth curving into his usual genial expression. “You cannot hide much from your country, no?”
He poked his boss’ cheek in a cute fashion and the man scowled then, a slight blush overcame his middle-aged cheek.
“And you cannot hide when you are feeling amorous, can you?” The boss sighed in retaliation.
France grinned even harder, his eyes squinting shut. “I would never want to hide my love! Love is the feeling that pours. If I kept it bottled up, why— I’d be wet all the time.” He paused, and then his grin became lecherous.
The boss of France pushed back his chair at that. His country waved was waving his hands in glee, tiny hearts that fluttered around his head trying to dodge him.
The man looked out the large window behind the desk, the same his country had been using just a moment ago. The same window his country had been staring out of since before his presidency. He didn’t know for how long; it could have been years, decades, or even centuries.
The house of France had hundreds of windows, none of them more special than the last. Except for that one on the side which backed onto North Italy’s house. France could sometimes get a great peepshow in if he was lucky. And France definitely knew how to get lucky.
France joined his boss by the sill, sipping his wine idly and chattering about how many roses he needed cut from the bushes for that day. The boss watched and then sighed, returning to his papers. He shook his head with a bored sort of look but an amused smile was fighting to spring free when his country began to hum a bit off-key.
“You will have to tell me one day— that object out there that you love so much.” The president began signing again.
France spared his boss one last glance before he scanned the scenery, searching for something a mere human couldn’t see.
When Spain moped he became more oblivious than normal. Not that many people saw his depressed side, but that night more than half of Europe had him wandering through their homes.
He groaned something about Romano, tomatoes and marriage. One by one they kicked him out, forcing him to wander over to the next house. It took a good amount of lead in his rear from Switzerland to land him at his next haunt.
“What... are you doing here?” Germany asked wearily. Spain showing up on his doorstep was not something the blond country was prepared for.
“Oh…” He slipped easily into the house between Germany’s arm and the strong door. He ambled his way over to the couch, somehow leaving wet footprints on the floor.
Germany took a quick look outside; it wasn’t raining.
He had heard the details about the failed marriage proposal Spain had incurred, over and over again from North Italy. He cringed.
“Er,” Germany said awkwardly, then tried to say something more sympathetic. “Hmm.”
That didn’t work. Spain was already curled up in a ball on his couch and muttering something about tomatoes.
His own failed proposal to the north of the Italian nation had left him crippled from feelings he hadn’t felt in a long time. There were no books that worked on Italians, and he wasn’t even sure Spain could read one in the first place so that did make the matters a bit grim. Germany understood in a weird sort of way what Spain was going through, but he definitely didn’t have a book on ‘How to Console Spanish Men” lying around.
“Of course!” He smacked his fist into his palm. “Don’t get too comfortable,” The blue eyed nation ordered and grabbed Spain by the scruff of his neck.
Spain didn’t seem to notice as he was hoisted up over Germany’s shoulder and carted off through the house until he was unceremoniously dumped (again), this time on Austria’s doorstep. Germany rammed his fist on the door a couple times; three as was customary. He immediately marched away.
An irate country appeared behind the ornate wooden doors. “Why do you insist on banging my—Ah.” Austria looked down his nose at the nation on his doorstep.
“Oh…” Spain said gloomily as he shuffled in around Austria, unaware that the other brunette was slightly red in the face and already wore an annoyed look.
He dragged himself over to the most well-worn surface in the room, Austria’s piano bench, and sat down. His head hit the keys in an unflattering sound of gloom.
“Hm,” Austria looked at Spain with even more consternation than normal. “What do you want?”
Spain didn’t seem to even hear him.
“Hey!” The vein on Austria’s head ticked and he chopped Spain on the back of the head with his violin bow. “Wake up!”
“Oh…” Spain said, his head rolling up, creating a disastrous melody on the keys. “Hi Austria, I didn’t see you there.”
The beautiful and musical country gave Spain a once over, concluding he was a wreck. There were bags under his eyes, a squashed carnation in his shirt pocket, random dirt smudges – and Austria didn’t even know how he’d managed to waterlog his shoes.
“Don’t tell me you’re still upset about the other day.” He adjusted his glasses and sat down next to Spain.
“The other day?” Spain actually had the decency to sit up and Austria took the opportunity to start playing a calming song.
“It’s been seventy-two days.” Spain clarified.
Austria’s eyes widened in slight horror. “How… How very observant of you.”
He eyed an escape route just in case the apocalypse began at that very moment.
“Yeah…” Spain said, oblivious to Austria’s sudden tension. “I guess being rejected puts some stuff into perspective…”
Austria’s delicate eyebrows lowered as he thought, his fingers slowing down as he came to a calm in the song. He was curious what Spain thought, but was unnerved that the country had managed to piece together an idea at all. Spain had never been the brightest crayon in the box when it came to reading other people’s feelings.
Austria was ninety percent certain Spain had come up with some tomato-brained reasoning. It wasn’t like Romano had out-rightly rejected his proposal after all. Though it was probably one of the worst proposals Austria had ever witnessed.
How to be sensitive about this situation…
“You’re a fool.” Austria said.
Spain fell off the bench in dismay.
“You do realize that marriage between countries doesn’t happen on a whim, right?” Austria lectured.
“T-There was no whim about it.” Spain replied, unsure.
Austria glowered and pushed up his glasses. “Marriage is a political course of action. Don’t you remember being married to me?”
Spain laughed uneasily and rubbed the back of his head. He crossed his legs and sat on the cool marble floor under Austria like some sort of young student who’d monumentally screwed things up.
“Well, yeah, b-but that was different.” He grinned and gave a little chuckle.
“Do you really think to marry another nation just because you have made it possible for… ehem..”
“For gay marriage?” Spain said absentmindedly.
“Right.” Austria schooled his features to try and will away his blush. “It’s definitely not the same thing.”
Spain opened his mouth to counter but Austria held up his hand. “And you simply cannot ask another nation for something more.”
“Huh?” Spain was genuinely confused.
Austria sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose above his glasses.
“Hey! Spain!!” A loud and obnoxious German accented voice said, reverberating through the perfect acoustics of his house.
Austria grit his teeth, imperceptibly.
“Prussia!” Spain actually cracked a somewhat pleased expression, which was a vast improvement on his previous gloomy-eyed stare.
“Heard you got dumped big time.” Prussia immediately blurted.
Spain’s face fell.
Austria let all pretences slide and rubbed his face in his hands. “Prussia, I don’t have time for this.”
The white haired nation replied with a shit eating grin and swung his arm around Austria’s neck, crushing his cravat.
“Oh I’m sorry,” Prussia soldiered on in complete disregard. “I forgot. You guys weren’t even dating in the first place!”
The underside of Spain’s top lip quivered.
“Enough!” Austria shouted, which shut up the unbearable country.
“Relax four-eyes,” Prussia wearily let go and then set his sights on Spain, who looked like a sad and un-watered plant rooted to the spot.
“What I’m saying here is, you’re better off without a ball n’ chain. And you could do so much better than South Italy.”
Spain groaned. “Veneziano doesn’t want me either.”
“In any case,” Austria said, playing Chopin angrily on the piano behind them, “I was trying to explain to Spain that just because his citizens have…ehem..”
“Even more ways to make themselves miserable?” Prussia supplied helpfully.
“Yes, well, it doesn’t mean that the same rules apply to us.”
“But I’m already miserable. I miss Romano.” Spain crooned softly, somehow he had found a classical guitar and was strumming a sad tune.
“What happened to him?”
“He doesn’t visit me, he doesn’t call me…”
“Sounds just like any other day.” Prussia rationalized and Austria gave him a cold look.
“Countries don’t get married based on love. Also, love between countries is hard to come by.” Austria said as bluntly as he could, severely hoping it would get through that thick Spanish skull.
The two German-speaking countries stared down at Spain, wondering what he would say.
“Oh…” He started in an unsure tone, “So… Romano might still love me!”
His audience groaned. That wasn’t quite the point Austria was trying to make…
Spain wandered back to the side of his own house a few days later. He flopped down on a slight hill with no regard for the state of his already well-worn clothes.
The country looked like he’d gone to hell and back.
He’d been on the receiving end of a never-ending lecture by Austria and Prussia. As much as he liked his friends, they hadn’t made much sense about the whole thing.
Finally they cut him loose, making him promise to think things over.
So here he sat, in one of his best thinking spots. Too bad it was starting to get chilly in the nights as the summer was drawing to a close.
He’d always loved South Italy, ever since Austria had given him the little nation to take care of. Spain reminisced fondly at all the times the tiny country had wet the bed, or slept instead of cleaning, and ate all his food.
“Hrm…” He frowned just a little bit.
He remembered all the times he’d tried to be a good boss and remembered being shut down by little Romano. He remembered clearly the sheer confusion and unluckiness he had felt for not being able to understand Romano.
He also remembered never getting any better at it as the years went by and South Italy grew up into the country he was now.
He remembered telling both halves of Italy that he wanted to marry them one day, and somehow he had gotten caught up in a fantasy of domestic bliss. He didn’t want to remember the day his boss legalized gay marriage which led him running stupidly across Europe and getting his ass kicked by annoyed nations.
The country thought about how Romano hadn’t lived with him for a very, very long time, and how sometimes promises didn’t mean anything after a while. Otherwise… well…
Spain shrugged and pet a turtle friend that had climbed onto his knee.
“Turtle, you remind me of Romano too.” He said sadly, patting the creature on his shell.
The turtle didn’t reply.
“A country doesn’t get married based on love.” He repeated Austria’s words. The turtle blushed. “Love between countries is hard to come by.”
Spain smiled unsurely, staring at the turtle. “That’s not totally true.” He muttered to himself. The turtle looked about ready to swoon.
“Oh dear… Spain, what are you doing here?” France appeared at the bottom of the grassy slope.
“Ah! France!” He waved even as his neighbour climbed the hill and sat down next to him.
“Just, you know…” He grinned, but France could tell it was fake. “Being alone…”
“Oh,” France tapped his chin, remembering a long time ago when he did not have the short hairs that grew there now.
He and Spain had sat here in the very same way that day. He would have to play counsellor again, for his oldest friend.
“Don’t tell me you’re here moping about Romano again?”
A dark cloud appeared above Spain’s head at the question and France got the hint. He laughed and waved his hand, rose petals flying out of his sleeve as he batted away the little cloud.
“What am I supposed to do?” Spain bowed over like a wilted flower. His turtle friend crawled away in the direction of his house.
Spain ground the palm of his hand into his forehead. “I’ve never loved anyone else before.”
France grimaced, but quickly made a kissy face instead. “You’re an idiot.”
Spain groaned and hung his head even lower. “You guys keep telling me that. It must be true!”
The blond stared at that tussled head of hair and his hand shot out of its own volition to caress his friend.
Spain didn’t even seem to care as France ran fingers through his hair, feeling the warmth of the Spanish sun captured in the thick brown strands.
The side of France’s mouth curved up into a half smile. Spain was, without a doubt, the most oblivious country in the world. At least, when it came to what was right in front of him.
The other side of his mouth completed the tight-lipped smile as his hand trailed down Spain’s back, smoothing out the wrinkled summer shirt.
“Mon dieu,” France sighed in exasperation. “Do I have to tell you again? If you listen right from the start, you’ll understand someone’s true feelings.” France snuck his finger under Spain’s chin and tilted the depressed nation’s face up.
“That includes your own, no?” France placed a kiss on his cheek.
Spain’s wide expressive green eyes caught his own. “That’s it! I have to listen to my heart!” He laughed and this time France could tell it was the real deal. He groped Spain’s ass in return happiness.
“It’s-It’s so simple!” Spain said in awe. He slumped closer to France, almost lying in his lap as the blond country slipped his wondering hand under his cotton shirt and caressed his back. “Being honest with myself…! Why didn’t I think of that?”
France busied himself with tweaking one of Spain’s nipples, superbly pleased when a bright blush spread over his tanned skin.
“That’s what you have me for!” France proclaimed with relish. “Be honest to yourself and your heart will be as clear as a summer day.”
“Or as sweet as the ripest tomato!” Spain joined in.
France paused, “Yes, that too.”
“Hey,” Spain smiled, finally having some sort of direction. “How do you always know when I need a good, hard—”
“Eh??” France stopped his ministrations in surprise and pulled back. “What?”
“A good hard reality trip. Yeah, you always say it in a way I can understand!” Spain actually stretched out causing France to fall flat on his back. Spain stared down at the other nation, the sun’s setting rays slipping past his shoulders and highlighting his hair. “You’re always there for me.”
“Ah, well,” France scooted away and ran a hand through his pale locks. A few blades of grass fell from them and gusted away on the wind. “It’s hard not to notice you, from my window.”
Then France’s nose twitched as if he had come across something unpleasant. “Your bad mood is starting to waft into my house!”
Spain rolled over and stretched out into the grass, looking much more peaceful than before.
“Thanks,” He said obliviously.
France stood up and brushed the earth from his slacks. He held his hands out for the other nation and Spain took them.
“Romano and I can never be together.” Spain said suddenly on his feet.
“Did… he tell you that?” France asked suspiciously.
“Nah,” Spain dismissed. “But, I’ll never understand Romano,” He laughed slightly and knocked his fist on his own head. “And… love between countries is hard to come by.”
France gave him a dubious look and Spain laughed with a slightly embarrassed shrug.
“It’s what Austria told me. Prussia said it’s time to get out there and find some new hoes!” Spain exclaimed dramatically in typical Prussian fashion.
“Er, yes that does sound like something he would say…” France said in distastefulness at the other nation’s lack of finesse.
“Or at least, I shouldn’t stay stuck on… 'rotten fruit'…” The brunette’s mouth twisted up at the comparison.
France crossed his arms and seemed to analyze his neighbour. Any other nation would sense impending molestation when faced with that look, but seeing as how Spain had already been groped he didn’t really think much of it.
“And what do you honestly think?” France asked.
Spain rubbed the back of his head, “Er, well… even if Romano was really cute… he is extremely hard to be with…”
“Being honest with yourself is difficult too, no?” France said with a trickster smile and Spain actually blushed.
“Yeah. So, I’m going to till the land until I find what I’m looking for.” Spain pursed his lips in concentration. He looked warm and alive, as if he’d been injected with some sort of determination to move on.
It could have been the fact that France had reached out and pinched his ass.
“I’m looking for a tomato whose name I don’t know yet!”
“Erghg,” A green eyed nation grumbled loudly, blocking his path.
“Bonjour Angleterre!” France greeted in the early evening light just outside his home. He adjusted the baguette underneath his arm and surreptitiously tried to circle around the other nation so he didn’t have to stop and chat.
For once the island nation looked genuinely disgruntled – with something other than France!
“Hold it. You’ve got to take some responsibility!”
France stared, and then blinked, remembering all the acts he’d committed that would require his responsibility. A dark smirk spread across his face. “For what in particular…?”
“You heard me!” The shorter nation launched himself at the long haired nation and grabbed him by the lapels. “You’ve created a monster!”
France’s head bobbed from side to side like a paddle ball. “Q-Quoi—?”
England dropped the country. “It’s Spain, you complete flake! He’s gone nutburgers!”
“Really?” France asked, waving away some of the cuckoo birds that had been flying around his head with his bread. “He was quite, quite fine the last time I saw him.” A ping of light sparkled at the corner of his eye.
The English speaking country wasn’t fooled. “Don’t make me laugh! Everyone knows you haven’t conquered some real vital region in ages.”
France turned his nose up. “Neither have you.”
England’s eyebrows danced up and down like angry popcorn kernels in a hot oven. “It’d do you well not to mind other people’s business!”
“What’s gotten into you?” France relented, and then tacked on: “Oh. Right. Nothing in ages.”
England scowled, taming the wild beasts above his eyes and pulled France down by his frilly collar. “Listen closely. I’m only going to tell you to this once. There’ll be no repeating it on my behalf, ever again!”
France blinked and leaned ever closer, enough to sneak his hand into the other nation’s back pocket.
England took the baguette and smashed it over France’s head.
As France lay prone on the ground, roses and little Britannia angels fluttering over him, England announced the most disturbing piece of news.
“Spain tried to accost me last night.”
France sat up. “Are you serious? He hasn’t had the power to do something like that in a rather long time.”
England’s face was red and severely pissed. “Not. That. Type of… accosting.”
“Sacre bleu,” France was shocked but also a bit impressed. “I stand corrected.”
“You bloody well do not. Emphasis on the ‘tried.’”
“Ah,” France stood and dusted the crumbs and dirt off his cashmere coat. He picked up the remnants of his dinner’s appetizer and placed them in a wastebasket.
“And you want me to do something about this? You’ve never been very bright,” He smirked and tossed a rose at the country’s head. “When Spain and I get together, things can become… quite… how do I put this? More than you can handle?”
“Look. You’re a bad influence on him.” England retorted with a strained smirk as he combed petals and thorns out of his hair. “I know you somehow got into that thick skull of his and fondued his brain. He thinks he can go about, purporting himself as the ‘Country of Passion,’ and bothering other countries about being his ‘precious tomato!’”
“Pfft, Fondu is such an uncultured form of cuisine…”
“He’s spewing cheese, France. Honest to goodness cheese about finding his true love or some tripe like that!
France backpedalled, trying to put some distance between himself and the raving nation known as the United Kingdom.
“Yes, run away France!” England shouted. “Just wait ‘till you see it with your own eyes!”
“What’s all the yelling about?” Belgium asked. She was walking by and carrying her own loaf of bread.
“Nothing. Everything.” England tersely clarified.
“Oh, I do hope he finds what he’s looking for.” She smiled and scratched her cheek. “But Spain has never been good at seeing what’s right beside him.” She stuck her tongue out as if she was telling a joke. “And France can’t ever seem to look away.”
England gave her a blank stare. “You’re all a bit barmy, aren’t you? –Oh, Unicorn!” He laughed boyishly. “So good to see you again!”
“Bizarre.” France combed his fingers through his coiffed hair as he rounded the bend and made it up the decadent steps to his house.
“Ah there you are France.” His boss’ voice wafted out of the large office.
The country trotted through the double doors with a beautiful smile. “I am here!”
“I need you to vote on this updated Pacte civil de solidarité.”
“Civil unions? Men and women of this day and age are so complicated…” The blond country tilted his head, reading the papers. After a few pages, he turned the papers upside down and continued reading.
His boss made an exasperated face.
“Oui.” France declared.
The president raised an eyebrow. “Did you even read it all?”
France didn’t reply but started to rearrange his hair with a divine looking bone china comb in a jewel encrusted mirror.
“Our brother Spain wants his homosexual marriages to be recognized in our land.” The president summarized, flipping through the documents. He shook his head when he saw the signatures France had bestowed were actually just fragrances.
The boss stood up and looked out the window. “However, we aren’t ready for that yet. This is the best compromise.”
France joined him at the window. “You’ll all come around one day and realize that love is actually just love,” He smirked, “and not political jurisdiction.”
“Isn’t it the opposite for countries?” His boss countered.
France didn’t reply, staring at something beyond the window. For a long moment the two just enjoyed the scenic view from the house.
“Well, the night is still young and I haven’t had my supper yet!” France stretched and suddenly he was wearing a very striking pink shirt and tight pants.
The president looked pensive for a moment. “If you find Spain, maybe you can talk to him more about this?” He tapped the document folder. “In fact, take it with you. Persuade him of our policy.”
“Er… Of course.” France took the folder and stored it in a large Louis Vuitton bag. “I’m very certain about my skills in persuasion.” He wiggled his eyebrows merrily. “Spain and I… we’ve always been together.”
“Yes,” The boss’s mouth twisted to the side a bit, as if he didn’t know whether to be polite or upset. “It’s also… how do I put this? Not very desirable.”
France stopped his prancing at that. “But we’re inseparable.”
“Yes,” His boss said again, “Quite because of that.”
“Do you know why?” France asked bluntly.
His boss stuttered at the bold-face question, “Well-er, the trade, and the relations, treaties and pacts that are practically old as time itself…”
France smiled and tilted his head, surveying his boss in a way that made the citizen feel uncomfortable and almost certain he would be molested in some manner.
France was bowled over like he had been in World War Two. “What in the world…?” He groaned.
“Ahh! Big brother France!” North Italy was on top of him and wearing his adorable sailor outfit so it wasn’t France’s fault his hands immediately attached themselves to the country’s cute hips.
“You’ve got to talk some sense into him!” Veneziano pleaded. There was a sweet pink liquid dripping off the country’s cheek and slipping down to stain his white shirt and collar.
France’s eyes dilated and he began to steam.
“It’s Spain!” The brunette declared, freeing himself from France’s grasp. “He started rubbing me with a tomato and saying weird things.”
France smacked his forehead. “Zut alors… Maybe Angleterre wasn’t so crazy after all.”
“Ahhh! There he is!” Italy booked it, somehow managing to retreat straight into an Italian restaurant serving fourteen types of pasta.
France shook his head sadly at his failed conquest but didn’t have time to contemplate further.
Spain ran straight up to him, his face red and breath coming in fast puffs as if he’d run all the way there.
“Which, -huff- way did he go?” The green eyed country asked.
“Mon dieu! Spain!” France chastised. “Don’t tell me it’s true! Rubbing tomatoes? Britain?! Maybe you are moving on in the wrong way!”
Spain chuckled. “There’s no time like the present. You’ve said so yourself. Love is the feeling that roars.” He misquoted. “My passionate heart is a lion France, and it’s hungry!”
France’s eye twitched. “That’s… yes. Alright,” He tried a different approach and grabbed Spain’s face instead of his ass.
The blond held the other nation’s blushing cheeks in his pale hands, cradling his oldest friend’s head with a gentle touch.
“Cher, that is your stomach growling. Let’s go have supper.”
He made Spain nod which in turn made Spain grin. “You’re going to help me, aren’t you?” The Spanish speaking nation stated. There really wasn’t any question about it.
France smiled back. “I do know a thing or two about finding love.”
“Lesson one.” France announced after taking a sip of his soup. “The Objective. Basically, knowing what you want.”
Spain poked his salad with a fork, separating the tomatoes from the lettuce. “Hmm…” He stuffed his mouth full of the sweet red fruit so he didn’t have to answer.
“I know that trick.” France tapped Spain on the nose. “But don’t talk with your mouth full.” He said seriously, and then a perverted look crossed his face.
Spain chuckled after he had swallowed. “It’s simple for you, you know. You’ve always known what you wanted.”
A troubled look overcame Spain’s features and he stirred his rice around in his plate, coating everything in sight with the grains. The side of France’s mouth twitched but he didn’t say anything.
“Moving on isn’t as easy as I thought.” He sighed, long and desperately.
France thought he felt the Eiffel Tower light up in glee. He coughed into his hand. “Why not just list off the first things that come to your mind?”
“Domestic bliss.” He breathed out with stars in his green eyes.
France raised an eyebrow.
“Living together side by side and taking care of each other.” Spain continued. “Tomatoes.”
France sighed deeply. “What is your infatuation with that ridiculous plant?”
Spain looked hurt for a moment before actually reaching down and picking up a random potted tomato plant he had sitting next to him. France balked. He hadn’t even seen where Spain had been carrying that thing!
The Spanish speaking nation set it down heavily on the small table, upsetting their dishes.
“At one time in history, this little guy was considered a sign of love.” Spain explained fondly. He stroked the side of the plant’s soft clay pot. France watched in a stupor.
“I don’t care if no one else sees it like that anymore, but it still means something to me. The only person I really shared that with was Romano.” Spain gave a half hearted smile and shrugged a bit helplessly.
“No one else really seems that receptive…”
France looked at the plant carefully, remembering the days when he too believed in what Spain said. Back then, all those years ago, he’d even received a tomato of his very own. He could understand the sentimentality that went into Spain’s ideals.
But that had been a very long time ago.
France said something completely different: “No more tomatoes.”
“B-But, it’s my love plant.”
France rapidly thrashed Spain on the head with a bouquet of roses.
“Lesson two: Ammunition! Gifts that can be used to woo!”
~~~
France and Spain were standing outside of one of the most expensive stores he had in Paris. Louis Vuitton.
France gleefully pulled out his handbag, ready to get a matching pair of gloves for the upcoming winter, and then paused. He saw the folder his boss had given him inside.
Talking politics wasn’t as fun as shopping.
He shoved the files deeper.
“Uh… France…” Spain said is a small voice, an embarrassed blush on his cheek. “You know I’m not exactly rich enough to buy just anyone something from here. Can’t I show my passion through something a bit…” He made some random hand gestures.
“Cheaper?” France deadpanned, but suddenly felt a bit ashamed at his tone. He was trying to help Spain, not bankrupt him. “No problem, we’ll go somewhere that’s affordable and also, always open!”
The two European countries were assaulted by the sounds and smells of Chinatown as they trekked through the Asian country’s home.
“You can definitely find some trinkets here that will help you to woo potential lovers.” France lectured. They walked by a very sparkly store that sold nothing but Swarovski crystal creations and then directly beside it a little grocery store with strong medicinal smells.
“Until you build on your natural ability to be able to cop a feel within seconds of a meeting someone like me, gift-giving is one of the oldest tricks in the book.”
“Since no one liked my first plan, I don’t really have anyone in mind…” Spain replied unsurely, picking up some scarves. “I guess I could go by Romano’s house tomorrow and see if he—”
France pinched Spain’s cheek. Hard.
“Listen to yourself, mon ami. You’re reverting!”
“Oh, right…” Spain rubbed his reddened cheek. “I forgot I wasn’t in love with him anymore.”
France pinched the bridge of his own aristocratic nose in dismay.
“What are you two doing here?” China asked in a very suspicious tone behind the counter of a stall.
The two shoppers jumped in surprise. They hadn’t even noticed the country standing there.
China’s panda bear gave France a vicious bite on the hand where it had been caressing his master’s thigh.
“Arhhggg!” France yowled in pain.
“Serves you right.” China smirked.
Spain caught the French speaking nation’s hand and examined it. He turned the dainty hand over in his own callused ones and France calmed down enough to stop his overdramatic screaming.
“It should be okay.” Spain scrutinized the bite and then without warning brought France’s hand to his lips to give it a kiss.
France blinked, and watched as the brunette ripped off some of his uniform spats to bandage the wound.
“There.” Spain happily patted the top of the dressed hand.
“Who…” France’s mouth made a funny twist like he’d eaten something unexpectedly sweet. “Who woos people in their uniform?”
“Huh?” Spain looked down at himself and then tapped his cheek thoughtfully. “I guess you’re right.”
“You can buy some clothes here.” China pointed to a discount bin that had clothing of all sorts piled high. “Three for five dollars.”
Spain’s face lit up like a sunny day. “That’s a steal!” He dove into the bin, digging for all he was worth. “Any ideas France?” He asked, voice muffled as he fought with a maroon sweater.
“Er…” France replied. “Go for V-necks, a size smaller than normal, and green or red are your friends!” He watched as Spain made a grab for an absolutely hideous pair of goldenrod jeans.
“For all that is holy, stay away from that yellow!” He shouted.
This would be the perfect time to lean behind his tanned companion and ‘help’ him sort through the clothes. Instead, he touched his bandaged hand and figured he was a bit too surprised to capitalize on the opportunity.
~~~
“Mou… I’m disappointed that you didn’t work. Sayonara.” Japan said in a quiet, sad tone to his garbage. He tossed the bag of junk into his bin, which happened to be right behind China’s shop.
Of course, France overheard.
“You keep digging! I’m going to look over there.” France patted Spain on the back, and then a few more times a bit lower. Spain gave him a grin over his shoulder. “Don’t be too long!”
“I can’t help that.” France replied with heavy innuendo, and pranced off to investigate Japan’s wastebasket.
“What do we have here…” He muttered to himself, sifting through the electronic gadgets and random failed moe items. Also… he dug deeper into the pile, some very interesting toys. He quickly stowed them in his epic LV bag for personal use.
Another country came to scrounge with him and it just so happened to be Korea.
They both grabbed the same binoculars-that-can-see-into-brains-looking-thing at the same time.
“Hey, hands off.” Korea said in his flighty manner. “I invented that!”
“Of course you did, France replied with a tight grin, pulling the object. “I just want to take un petit look—”
“Not inside my head!” Korea suddenly let go to cover his face with his unnecessarily long sleeves and France went flying backward.
The binoculars clonked hard against the ground but France didn’t care as he darted away, throwing them into his bag as he ran.
“Oh, look who’s buying scarves here, France!” Spain called out to him as he neared the shop. France nearly tripped all over himself when he saw Russia.
He didn’t slow down while he grabbed a newly dressed Spain by the arm and high-tailed it out of there.
~~~
The two made it back to the little field between their houses, out of breath and a bit sweaty. The cool autumn air left exposed skin red and slightly stinging as the heat evaporated into the night.
Spain was laughing under his breath. “I always knew you were fast.”
France stopped his embarrassingly out-of-shape breathing just long enough to retort, “Did you just make a joke about my sexual prowess?”
Spain looked smug for just a second, but like always, his expression dissolved back into a kind, happy look. France was glad that dopey face was back.
“So what’s lesson three?” The brunette country asked. He rocked back and forth on his heels.
“C-Can’t you guess?” France chuckled and rubbed his forehead, a little horrified at knowing his hair was probably ruined beyond imagination. “Strategic retreat!”
He straightened up and tapped Spain on the nose with a rose. “You have to choose your target carefully, and know when to attack and when to back off.”
Spain looked unsure and France hurried to explain in a way he could understand. “You have to give your plant lots of water and sunshine before you can taste the fruit, no?”
“True…” Spain nodded obediently. Then, “this seems kinda different from what you normally do.”
“N-Nonsense.” France denied. “I’m the Country of Love, I’m allowed to take shortcuts.”
“I guess.” Spain conceded. He gently took France’s bandaged hand and held it for a moment. “Don’t forget to show your wound a little of that same treatment too, okay?”
“I won’t.” France nearly whispered, with a wide-eyed look that was handsome in the night time light.
“Buenas noches.”
“Bon nuit.” France replied. He watched quietly as his oldest friend walked away.
~~~
France stared out the window in the study, his fingers idly twirling the tips of his lightly curled hair. His boss had left to his own home long before he’d even returned to the house. It was cold and quiet and very European on the autumn night.
He wrapped a housecoat around himself and scooped something much too heavy and large to have obeyed the laws of physics out of his precious Louis V.
He dumped it on the desk. A potted plant rolled onto its side, sprinkling dirt across important looking papers, but France didn’t care.
He righted the pot and dusted it off, straightening up the leaves. It was indeed a fetching plant.
France placed the tomato plant on his windowsill and turned off the light.
I hope orginal!anon isn't won't object to a second fill, I just can't help it, this idea just won't leave me alone! *embarrassed*
Warning: Italy!cest mentioned.
Prologue
If anyone asks him, he would say that he did not really think it would end up like this. He always has this presumption in the back of his mind that someday, somehow, Romano will admit to him, or maybe to himself first, that he doesn’t really hate Spain. And then there will be happily ever after for them.
Well, he is partially right at least, Romano doesn’t hate him. At least he has said so. Although nowadays he is not very sure he should believe what Romano says anymore.
Nonetheless, Romano has said so. Most seriously in fact. Spain has never seen Romano this serious when speaking to himself. Well, maybe not never, but at least he hasn’t seen him like that for a very, very long time.
He looked so different from what Spain always remembers him as. He stands tall and talks like an adult. He is an adult, has been for quite a long time. Spain doesn’t think he has been denying this. After all, he harbours thoughts of happily ever after, and he can’t have that if Romano is not grown up. Yet Romano still looks so different, standing beside his younger brother, whose left hand is laced with his right hand. They stand together, serious yet proud, quiet happiness uncontained. It’s almost too bright a sight to watch, Spain muses almost absentmindedly.
Otherwise why do his eyes hurt so much?
He nods solemnly, assures Romano that he understands perfectly what he is saying. And no, he doesn't take Romano’s childhood promise of marrying Spain one day to be serious. Of course not, he knows that was a kid’s babbling, merely a joke, a misunderstanding… And he congratulates them, for finally finding each other.
Romano’s genuine smile is the best present he can ask for that day. Although the Italian becomes embarrassed almost immediately and reverts back to his insult-hurling self (although with a flushed face), Spain feels that he has more than enough to keep in his memory. And hopefully, enough to make him move on.
But later that night when no other people are seeing, cursing and thrashing in France’s embrace, he vents all his frustration against his brother, whom he has know since time forgotten.
France kisses Spain’s temple gently as exhaustion finally claims him, and soft soothing words are whispered.
“Sleep now, my dear Spain. All will be well, you will see.”
“Lesson four.” France stirred his morning café in a little seaside shop on the north of his land. “Inside information.”
“How do we get that?” Spain yawned. He would have rather stayed in bed. That was until France decided he would awaken him by sneaking in and stealing the blankets. He then replaced them with rose petals. Not that Spain didn’t like the scent of roses in the morning, but they hardly offered anything to snuggle into.
Spain yawned again and he heard France crunch into a heavily buttered croissant. It was way too early to be out learning how to get over one country and rope in another one.
He rubbed his eyes and pillowed his head in his arms on the quaint breakfast table. His left ear, Valencia, was almost resting in the butter.
“It means we spy.”
Spain gave him an irritable look over his elbow. “That’s not going to go very well… Actually, that sounds kind of…”
A dazed sort of look overcame Spain’s features and a little bit of drool appeared at the side of the mouth. “Wait, why didn’t you teach me this when the cute Italy brothers were young?”
“Hey,” France laughed with superiority and pointed his nose to the sky. “I have many secrets. Did you know I can make a killing on selling certain photos to Hungary?”
“Wait—Hungary?” Spain exclaimed with some apprehension.
“Oui,” France carried on, bringing out his pilfered binoculars from his bag to adjust them. They could come in handy. “She’ll pay a handsome sum for anything involving that uptight Austria.”
“You never happened to take any of me and Austria, did you?” Spain looked a little strained.
“Why?” France batted his eyelashes devilishly. They were fair, just like his hair. He playfully looked at his friend through the Japanese gadget.
Spain was unnaturally attractive in a deep green V-neck shirt. France smiled a little uncertainly, pleased that the country had taken his advice but wondering if his own loose cornflower blue shirt flattered him enough.
“Did you do anything worth taking a photo of?” France teased.
“N-No.”
Strangely, a speech bubble appeared on Spain’s chest very much like a comic book and France read: ‘Unless you count that awful wedding night.’
France’s jaw nearly fell off his face and he rubbed the lenses of the binoculars on his shirt, wondering if they were just a supped up beer-goggle prototype.
Spain looked like his everyday, normal, attractive self without the Japanese technology. The blond put the binoculars back up to his eyes and the supernatural text was gone.
The French speaking nation patted his flushed forehead with a distressed laugh. Now he was seeing things like England!
“Allons-y, Spain, we’re wasting the morning light.” He grabbed Spain by the back of his collar and literally had to drag the other nation out of his chair and into the sunlit street.
“The faster I help you, the faster you’ll find happiness again!” France nodded in satisfaction at his words. “You should have come to me from the start. Us romantic nations know so much more when it involves matters of the heart.”
“I don’t know about that,” Spain laughed, running a hand through his brown hair messily. “Austria had a book and everything.”
“Details, details…” France muttered and then spotted the perfect practice subject. “Look, there’s the Netherlands.” He pointed across the street to a tall nation holding some bags with a very stony expression.
“Ah,” Spain smiled nervously. “I’m not really int—”
“Shhsh!!!” France sputtered and dove, pushing Spain down into some bushes on the side. The orange bastard had almost spotted them. Spying didn’t really work if the subject knew someone was watching.
France immediately flipped open the binoculars and peered out from between some branches.
“F-France.” Spain whispered and the blond nation turned his magnified gaze on his friend.
France hadn’t even realized he’d been sitting on top of Spain. He automatically smirked but the side of his mouth quivered as he started to see things again.
A speech bubble appeared across Spain’s chest. It read: ‘Not that lying here isn’t nice…’
France slid back as Spain sat up. The Spanish speaking nation spit out some random pine needles and laughed, his breath ghosting across France’s face like a little caress. It was minty fresh.
“A little warning next time!”
‘I wonder why he hasn’t groped me yet? Oh—his hand.’
As if following the completely bizarre monologue France was reading, Spain reached out and lifted France’s hand holding the binoculars. He set the gadget down and inspected the aristocratic hand still covered in the makeshift bandage from the day before.
“Well it seems alright…” He murmured.
France didn’t really hear it, pulling at his flaxen hair in obvious dismay. “After all these years, my mind is finally going…!”
A shadow fell over the two nations that was large and distinctly orange.
“Don’t spy on me.” The Netherlands intoned from above them.
His glare was bland but intimidating enough that both France and Spain sat still until he left.
“So uncute.” Spain shuddered, a little raincloud over his head.
France brushed it off for him.
~~~
“Bon. A different approach! I will watch you use your techniques from here,” France pointed to his spot behind a mailbox.
“On who?” Spain was shading his eyes, scouting around the vicinity for someone worth hitting on. “I guess I could always go see if Romano’s home and—”
France didn’t even bother to say anything and just kicked the other nation out into the open. “Remember, I’ll be watching!” He tapped his trusty binoculars and Spain shrugged, shuffling around looking hopeless.
“Ok, watch my back!” Spain shouted and waved when he’d reached the end of the street and France hunkered down, trying to look very inconspicuous.
The blond nearly cried when words danced in front of his vision again, spelling their way across Spain’s chest once more.
‘Check out my amazing ass.’
Alright, so maybe going crazy wasn’t that bad after all.
~~~
“Beh, dannato! Stop blocking the mailbox or I’ll be forced t—!!!”
“Ohhh, Romano~” France hid the binoculars behind his back and greeted the brunette’s sudden appearance with an immediate grope to his hip.
“H-Hey!! You stupid wine bastard! Don’t touch me.” South Italy clenched out.
His fists shook out of their own accord and his cheeks were already nearing the ripe colour of a tomato. France could see why Spain was so hung up. However, this definitely wasn’t the best time for the Spanish speaking country to run into the younger nation. He hoped Spain had found someone to talk to and had wandered far, far away.
“What are you doing here…?” France asked with a squinted look. He waved a couple of roses in front of his face to try and disguise his unease.
“Mailing a letter, what does it look like?” Romano stomped his foot and waved an envelope. France just stared.
“Grr… What, now you wanna make me admit your stupid mail system is better than mine?”
“Um,” France laughed flightily. “No?”
“I-I…” The angry nation stared France straight in the eye. “I hate you!”
“It’s really quite unnecessary to hate a nation’s nature,” France said with a tight grin, weary of what the former flame of Spain had to say. He was definitely a violent little nation.
“You’re a pervert,” The shorter nation spit out rudely.
France quirked an eyebrow. “I go by many names, but I prefer the Country of Love.”
“Yeah, sure,” Romano scowled fiercely down at his own shoes. “L-Love.”
France wondered if the binoculars worked on reading sealed mail, and tested it out. Nothing. He grimaced, but even that expression was more attractive than the one Romano was making.
“Are you getting to some sort of point?” France relented.
“H-He… The bastard moved on. Without even asking me!” Romano replied from between clenched teeth.
The blond nation gaped. His mind’s eye immediately picked out three openings where he could get an inappropriate touch in quickly, but he didn’t really feel up to it. France looked the Italian speaking nation up and down with a critical eye through the binoculars, taking in his angry face and twitching eye.
“Are you upset?” That was the understatement of the year.
Romano didn’t bother replying, but his binoculars-bubble was loud and clear: ‘Now I feel even more worthless.’
France didn’t have much time to process exactly what he’d seen because a familiar voice called out, “Hey France! Were you watching me talk to—Oh.”
Spain stopped short behind the mailbox, which wasn’t a very good hiding spot at all, and a half grin spread across his features.
“Hey, Romano! How are you today?”
France read this as: ‘Hola, my little on-again off-again love interest, I really hope I don’t misunderstand you and screw up today!’
The South of Italy’s face immediately contorted into a grimace and his middle finger shot up. “Up yours, Spain! I was having a decent day until you showed up!”
‘You have an amazing ass, Spain! I was busy trying to appear independent and strong, but seeing you reminds me of how much I’m not!’
“Oh,” Spain laughed and rubbed the back of his head. “Er, well. It’s nice to see you still.”
France read: ‘You could be so cute, but you make me feel upset.
“Putain merde!” France slapped his forehead. A nervous tick had started to assault his cheek. He was ready to step in and—
“Whatever, you stupid bastard.” The Italian speaking nation ground out.
‘I wish I were different. Oh shit, t-tits!’
“B-Belgium!” Romano announced.
~~~
Belgium had a cheery smile on her face as she waved to the other nations. Her big brother was in tow, carrying quite a few more packages than before.
“I found him, thanks for the directions Spain.” She said.
France gave his friend a sharp look out the corner of his eye. “You weren’t chatting her up at all, were you?”
Spain rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. If his slight blush was endearing, Romano’s beet red cheeks were… well, they were something.
True to Italian fashion, he sidled up to Belgium and proceeded to use some lines.
France wanted to smash his beautiful face on something soft, maybe a pillow, to alleviate his frustration. He tapped his forehead intensely instead. “Spain, take a good look at this.”
Spain was.
France immediately felt guilty. Spain looked devastated.
“I can take you to an Italian store. You don’t need these cheap French clothes.” Romano smiled invitingly to the older nation but cowered when The Netherlands’ shadow fell across him.
“It’s best we go home now. There’s much work to do.” He said with a flat stare.
“Oh,” Romano cowered back and bumped into Spain, then stood behind him.
France stepped on Spain’s foot.
“AH,” Spain said loudly, feigning a smile. Galvanized into action he took the binoculars from France’s idle hand and put them up to his face. He looked ridiculous. “Belgium, do…do you…” He searched for a question that would help him gather inside information.
“Mon dieu. Is that the best you’ve got?!” France waved his arm dramatically and rose petals swarmed the group of nations like a small floral tornado.
“Hey! Watch it you stupid perfumed bastard!” Romano shouted. A petal had nailed him in the eye and he was blinking furiously trying to get it out.
Spain must have noticed the binoculars’ special powers because all of a sudden his magnified gaze was firmly situated on Belgium’s chest.
“Er…” Belgium looked uneasy and her brother put a protective arm around her shoulders.
Spain grinned and turned his binocular’d sight on France. “I did it! I got the inside scoop—”
France couldn’t help but grin back. “I knew you would.”
And then the Netherlands plucked the amazing Japanese gadget out of Spain’s hands and tossed it into the sea.
“Oops.” He said unremarkably, and France nearly cried.
“Nooooo!” He dove in after them.
~~~
“Okay, that probably wasn’t the best idea.” Spain told him while ringing out the water in his newly ruined shirt.
France gave up trying to fix his hair in his mirror and was actually considering covering himself with a hat.
“That was one of the most unique treasures I’d ever had in my grasp,” France mourned. “Reading someone’s mind…It could have been so useful.”
“It was only really useful in almost drowning you.” Spain replied in a serious tone. His shirt was beyond help so he just took it off. “If I didn’t jump in to fish you out you’d be halfway to America’s house by now!”
“And think how much fun that would have been with those miraculous binoculars!” France said pitifully.
They’d resurfaced on the dock completely waterlogged to find that the other nations had neatly disappeared.
It wasn’t summer. The seawater was much too cold to go swimming in and France’s teeth chattered together in a really unflattering way. He pulled Spain down to sit next to him and cupped the brunette’s ribs in his cold hand anyway.
Spain didn’t seem to mind, even if he sneezed.
“We should go back to the house and never try to spy ever again.”
France completely agreed.
Spain’s bare arm encircled his shoulders for a moment just rubbing slowly to warm up the French speaking country. France let the warmth creep up inside him, content for once to not have to work for his kicks.
“Oh those binoculars,” Spain said out of the blue, “I think they were broken. Instead of your mind, I think it was reading your heart.”
“…” France had no words at the moment. “What did it say…?”
Spain laughed as if it was obvious, and France felt his heart sink for a second. “You’d have to tell me. It was all written in French!”
“You know, I’ve been thinking about what Austria said to me.”
Spain was enjoying a siesta in the front of his yard with a cool class of sangria glued to his hand. It wasn’t as relaxing as a hot summer day, but it was nice enough that the sun was out and the sharp smell of freshly cut foliage clung to the air.
France had been helping him a lot the past few days. Spain didn’t have the heart to tell him he was harvesting his King’s rose bush.
France hummed to himself as he pruned off the gorgeous blossoms one by one, delighted in the Spanish roses he could adorn himself with.
“What, that drivel about countries and marriage and what have you?” France replied absentmindedly. His sleeve had caught on a thorn and now he had a loose thread.
“Yeah, well—no, it’s not that untrue, now that I’ve thought about it. Countries really aren’t like normal men at all.”
“Oui, we’re quite bigger than mere men.” France raised his eyebrows and clicked his tongue against his teeth. The thread was annoying him.
Spain laughed. “I mean, it’s easy for a citizen to love his country. And it’s even easier for a country to love its people, since they’re what make us, us, or something. I’m not really sure about the reasoning behind that...”
“Get to the point.” France said, digging through his Louis V bag for a smaller pair of shears.
Spain poked France in the cheek. “What I’m saying is, he’s right. It’s actually not easy at all for nations to love each other.”
France’s followed the line from the tip of Spain’s index finger, up his arm, all the way to those green eyes. He bit his lip and refrained from rolling his eyes. “And yet, Austria is a bit easy, isn’t he?”
“Hm?”
France waved a gloved hand quickly to ward off the topic. “Ah, I agree, nations do have lots of history together that makes it très difficile.”
“Then there are our bosses who make things even more complicated! I swear I’ve always had problems with mine.” Spain flopped down onto the grass, not really caring that he was getting sprigs of rose bush in his hair as France chose his flowers. “It makes it even worse to love a country like that.”
“I have had a good feel for what my president wants, on occasion.” France chatted. A delicate white rose was cut off and made its way into his frilly sleeve. He missed the days when he could wear his most decadent coats and lace. He cut two more white blossoms to make up for it.
“Ohhhh, don’t tell me that!” Spain said chuckling even as a blush came to his cheeks. “You didn’t. To your boss?!”
“Every man, woman and child should feel the loving touch of their country at some point in their lives.” France had a twinkle in his eye and he said this, a gentle wind stirring his rose bush and rustling up a beautiful petal effect.
“That is how patriotism is born. This is one of my beliefs as a nation and something I’m proud of executing on a daily basis.”
Spain stared at the other country for a long moment, at least until the wind and petal effect died down, and then he snorted. “Ok. You’re definitely a pervert.” He began laughing in earnest as France chased him with the garden shears.
~~~
France huffed and took a long sip of Spain’s drink. He was prepared to face the lesson for today, laden with the beautiful flower of love and sweet wine. He took an even longer sip. He would need it, today’s lesson was:
“Penetration.”
Spain spit out his drink.
“Infiltration. Getting inside!” France smirked deviously. “For this, you should get out your heavy artillery and—”
“Wait, wait.” Spain looked uneasy. “Don’t we have a practical test on any of the other lessons? I think we failed miserably at the last one. Let’s have a redo.”
“Let’s not beat around the bush,” France announced instead. “If the other lessons failed then this is your best bet.”
“Or last resort,” Spain laughed. “How are we going to accomplish this?”
“We’re going,” France pointed, “To the United Kingdom.”
Spain scratched the side of his cheek as his French speaking companion knocked on the door. “Not that this isn’t a good idea, because it isn’t, but I’m pretty sure England doesn’t want to see either of us.”
“Nonsense.” France replied. “This is perfect. Not that our charms and good looks aren’t irresistible, because they are, but we need someone who won’t get obsessed with you.”
“Why’s that?” Spain asked innocently, rocking back and forth on his heels. England always took way too long to answer his door.
“Well I don’t think I’d like that very much.” France looked over his shoulder at his friend and winked; a milky white rose by his cheek.
Spain could feel the blush rising to his face like the mercury in a thermometer.
“The world only needs one Casanova, Spain.” France finished, and picked the lock on the door with his rose stem.
The brunette rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, following after the other romantic. The house smelt distinctly like mothballs.
~~~
“YOU!”
A sound of a rifle going off was their only warning. Spain pushed France behind him for cover and then produced his own shotgun.
“Britain!” Spain shouted out in an attempt to find the source of the insanity. “Show yourself!”
“Stay where you are!” The accented English was shouted from beyond the parlour. A few more shots were fired off, making France scream and dive behind a shaggy coach.
Part of the ceiling fell down, causing Spain to drop his gun and roll out of the way.
“Angleterre!” France called. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”
“So. You brought the French with you this time then?” England appeared from behind a wall in his dining room. The only reason they saw him was because he’d blasted a hole clean through. He had a mad look on his face like he was ready for a war to sweep in through the awful paisley curtains.
“It seems he’s upped his ante since I last visited.” Spain explained, laughing a little nervously and brushing the wall plaster from his hair.
“Oh please.” France stood from his hiding spot. “Stop being ridiculous, we just came for a visit!”
“Right.” England ran a gloved hand through his own dull blonde hair, ceiling plaster and dust smoking out from it. He looked about ready to take aim again until the grandfather clock in the den began chiming.
“Well, come along then. It’s tea time.”
~~~
“I swear, I’m not here to try and get some!” Spain pleaded. Then, “This time.”
“Eat the damned scones!” England thrust the plate at the brunette’s head and Spain had no choice but to hold the dish on his lap, looking terrified.
They were in England’s sitting room, squashed into a too small tweed couch behind a coffee table while the short nation steadied his gun at them.
England sat down in a flowered print arm chair in front of them, gun still poised as his assistant served them tea and scones.
France tried to placate the angry nation with a small smile. “Please. I brought Spain here to teach him about penetration! Hm, that is to say…Infiltration.” Obviously he hadn’t thought this lesson out enough, judging by England’s purple face.
“Have you been drinking?” The English speaking nation asked plainly. “I can smell your wine breath from here!”
“It was sangria.” Spain chimed in helpfully.
The shotgun was cocked at his head and the hostage nation had no choice but to lift one of the rock hard scones to his lips.
England watched with one beady eye, almost looking like he was enjoying himself, as Spain was forced to bite into the pastry.
Spain’s eyes watered. “Mm... Yum.” He chewed slowly.
“Yes…” The side of England’s lip was twitching pleasantly.
“O..Ok,” France tried again, deeply disturbed. “Well there’s no reason to torture us! Spain has been under my wing ever since that day you hit me with my baguette.” His mouth pursed as if he’d eaten smelt something sour. Maybe it was the pudding.
“He’s back on the path to love with my help!” France proudly preened, poking Spain’s scone-filled cheek.
The United Kingdom did not look convinced. He leaned forward, setting down his gun. Spain swallowed in relief, but then his eyes widened in alarm, realizing what he’d just ingested.
“Listen.” England said lowly, and France wondered if he should risk stealing a kiss when his firearm was so close. Any other day he might have, but the awful cook nation had it out for Spain today and that was a good enough reason as any not to play around with England anymore.
“Oui?” France tilted his head, watching as a smirk besmirched England’s face.
“You two can stay for supper, or leave right now.”
Beside them Spain was groaning and gripping his stomach, hoping the scones would come back up. His face was turning a slight green.
“Maybe we will.” France’s eye twitched in irritation.
“Please no!” Spain gasped, pitching himself sideways to dry heave over the side of the couch.
“If you’re going to be sick, do it outside!” England’s head seemed to be roasting. Annoyance was coming off him in visible waves. A tiny tear was at the corner of his eye. “What went wrong with that batch…?” He muttered as Spain bolted for the door.
France figured Austria would have been a more accommodating guest. Sometimes playing with England wasn’t fun at all. He stood to leave.
“One moment.” The gun was trained on him this time and France blushed in dismay.
England eyed him with no mild frustration. “France, you’ve never won any wars. Who told you comparing love lessons to battlefield tactics was a good idea?”
The long haired blond bristled with a tight smile stretched across his lips. “It’s not the metaphor that matters; it’s the meaning behind it.”
“And what’s that? That’s he’s going to end up falling in love using your idiotic rules? That’s a laugh if I’ve ever heard one.”
“Non. The message is simply that one must fight for what one loves.”
As soon as the words left his mouth France had an epiphany. He paused, turning the idea over in his mind.
“Newsflash!” English always grated on his nerves. It sounded so uncultured. “He lost what he loves and he’s trying to find something new! You can’t just send a soldier into battle to fight blind! Ugh, this is like trying to draw blood from a bloody stone!”
France raised a delicate eyebrow at that and chuckled, but his mouth became a thin line, demeanour no longer able to be hidden with a smile. “Stop being a jackass for moment, hm?”
England’s eyebrows narrowed dangerously at that. France was sure one of these days those monstrous brows were going to overtake the shorter nation’s lower face and then strike for the heart. It was a tragedy waiting to happen.
“I never said the message was for him.” France touched the bite mark on his hand. “Spain can’t read the atmosphere. There’s no point in trying to convey a romantic message in that way.”
“Then what is the point of this?”
“To make him happy.” France replied as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.
The sentient eyebrows shot up to the English speaking nation’s hairline in surprise.
France watched in fascinated horror. He should have known; England’s brain had always been the first to go.
~~~
End Chapter Six
Thank you sooo much to those who left comments for me. Such amazing comments. *_* I stopped replying to them individually so I wouldn’t flood the thread with my gratitude. Thanks again!! And yes, I am quite insane.
A Tomato Whose Name I Don’t Know Yet Chapter Seven
“I got a letter.”
Spain hummed to himself as he used a random dagger on his King’s desk to slice it open.
France had arrived to an unexpected flutter of activity that morning. It was the weekend and therefore a lot of cleaning up was needed in certain rooms of the Spanish house.
Spain had been up since an early hour; dusting, filing, and even making some phone calls. Now he was signing documents he’d put off for way too long, like homework he just didn’t want to do.
That job included opening and responding to his mountainous pile of mail.
France admired the many pieces of history and artwork that decorated the room. It was sometimes easy to forget when faced with Spain’s country bumpkin attitude and vagabond appearance that he was a very old and noble nation. France had never forgotten though.
He trailed his pale hand over the smooth pounded metal of a suit of arms, realizing he couldn’t see his reflection in the surface anymore. He could remember clearly the way he’d check his smile in the shining metal on Spain’s shoulder, right before a battle.
He and Spain had gotten old together. France smiled. If the armour had been still new maybe he would have noticed he had a tiny pair of crow’s feet by his eyes.
“It’s from Romano.” Spain was incredulous.
France’s hand clenched. “Really?”
“Y-Yeah.” There was a bubble of emotion running through Spain’s words. France couldn’t tell what it was. “It says… a lot.”
France wasn’t the type to worry about stepping on people’s sudden heaps of feelings, so nothing stopped him from kicking aside the heavy pile gathering next to Spain. He snatched the letter from Spain’s unresisting fingers to read what it said.
France’s blue eyes moved back and forth on the page a total of two times and then settled on Spain.
The brunette shrugged.
In reality, the letter didn’t say that much at all.
Hey. It’s your fault I miss my best friend. ~South Italy (Romano)
~~~
“You’re really going to go?” France asked.
Spain was pulling on his shoes haphazardly. The pile of mail sat totally forgotten as he balanced on one foot, trying to jump into his other shoe. He ended up tripping over his unwrapped spats instead.
France face-palmed.
“I’ve got to!” Spain said, his face muffled against the floor. He peeled himself off the carpet and sat down properly, shoving his left foot into a right-footed shoe. He banged it on in frustration. “Romano waited exactly one hundred days to contact me again.”
“This…This isn’t part of the lessons.” France tried weakly.
It was harder than it looked to fight Spain when he was actually in a good mood.
Spain chucked his boot and put sandals on with his uniform instead.
…Especially when met with such blockheadedness.
“Don’t tell me you’ll go like that.” France intoned dreadfully.
“Like what?” The back of Spain’s hair was half flat and half fluffy as he pulled on his jacket. “Come on, let’s go.”
France’s eyebrow ticked up and down. “Perhaps this is the redo test you were looking for, mon ami. I’ll stay right here.”
“Really?” Spain paused and looked at him. Really looked at him, as if he was actually thinking.
France tapped his foot in time with his eyebrow twitch. “So?”
Spain took a step forward and, those shoes… with that uniform… He’d already failed lesson two.
The Spanish speaking nation put the tip of his finger to France’s twitch. It stopped under his touch and Spain smiled, lighting up the whole room with his emotions alone.
“You can be really cute, you know?” He said.
France blinked and watched Spain run out the door.
Spain ran his fastest to get to the Southern Italian house.
That was really hard to do seeing as he was wearing sandals. Obviously, everyone except Spain knew that that if you didn’t want to mow the lawn with your feet then it wasn’t a very good idea to go out running in sandals.
He knew that now.
“Ughhh…” He ran past the he fields and ponds that littered the lands of France’s home and then Monaco’s and then… Finally, the path to Romano’s house eased up and he could empty out his shoes of all the grass, dirt and gravel he’d collected.
North Italy opened the door to Spain, who was barefoot and pouring clumps of dirt on his steps.
“Ahh, big brother Spain…” Veneziano eyed the dirt pile and then Spain’s face. The older nation hastened to wipe sweat from his temple and managed to swipe dirt across it instead.
“H-How are you?” Italy laughed and patted Spain on the back heartedly. “You’re not here to season me with tomato sauce again, are you?”
Spain had the decency enough to be sheepish as he rubbed the soles of his feet on the welcome mat and entered in after the shorter nation.
“No, no, no! I’m here to see Romano.”
“’Cause ya know, my favourite’s carbonara even though marinara is just a liiiiittle bit away from being my number one~” Veneziano lilted happily, not really chatting about anything as he took the broom from the hallway cupboard and immediately brushed down his doorway.
“Romano!” Spain called out.
The telltale curl came into view. “Oh it’s you.” Romano seemed as happy as ever to see him. “What happened to you? You’ve tracked dirt in all the way to the carpet!” His eyes narrowed.
“Oh, y’know,” Spain coughed. “Just er, doing…um. Football.”
“You’re a horrible liar.” Veneziano said from behind them with a carefree grin. “I can see your nose growing from over here, Pinocchio! And believe me, your nose is already kinda big!”
Spain grabbed at his face in horror.
“Would you shut up?” Romano yelled. “Geppetto couldn’t carve out something this stupid even if he tried.” He speared Spain in the gut with his index finger.
“H-Hey, I’m right here.” Spain sweatdropped. “Is that any way to treat your best friend?”
Romano stared at him for a moment. His baleful eyes bore into Spain like he was concentrating very hard on reading something.
The Spanish speaking nation looked down at himself, but there were nothing strange there that he could see.
“Shut up, Spain.” Romano concluded. “This changes nothing.”
For once, he’d never felt better to hear those words.
~~~
It was time for revenge.
France pranced around the Spanish house, messing up Spain’s bedroom with more rose petals and drinking out the supply of sangria in his fridge.
This served Spain right for leaving the house when there was still so much to be done. France pulled all the books with subjects he was interested in and left them on the floor. And he was interested in a lot of things.
As he tore through the office, he stopped. The window in the gently decorated room faced his own land and he could see his house from there.
The field that connected their two homes stretched out in front of him, not as scenic as it was during the spring months, but full of beautiful memories all the same.
He remembered all those years ago, when he’d been counselling Spain on his relationship with South Italy. He’d told him: ‘You have to expect nothing in return for love! Love is something that pours. If the love you poured out isn’t returned, you can’t get depressed over it.’
“You tidied.” Spain said in awe, even with his coat only halfway down his arms. “But there’re flower petals everywhere.” He dropped the coat on the floor and kicked his way through the thick piles of flowers.
“How did you manage this?” Spain asked, looking around in wonder.
“Hm?” France uncovered his eyes. He’d been dozing on the office loveseat, covered in rose petals and apparently holding a feather duster.
He sat up, feeling the sleepiness fall away from him in shreds. “What time is it?” He froze in horror. “You’re filthy.”
“You collected my mail!” Spain exclaimed, pointing stupidly at his desk where a neat row of envelopes sat, already opened.
“Correction,” France replied with a dark and mischievous smile, “I went through your mail.”
Spain didn’t hear him, going around the desk to observe the orderliness.
“All my books are on the floor.” He noted, but didn’t seem to care. His tone was even a little… fond.
France yawned and stretched. He inspected the feather duster in his hand, sweeping the air in amusement. Suddenly there were two callused hands gripping his arms.
“What the hell?”
“France.” Spain shook him, an intense expression renting the space in between his ears for once. “There are tomato-shaped cookies on the table.”
“Are there?” The blond looked even more amused. “How was your date with Romano?”
“Tomato. Shaped. Cookies!” Spain let the other nation go. He stood proudly over the plate of biscuits. “And a glass of milk.” He took it into his hand and never before had Spain seemed so strong.
Really, the cookies weren’t tomato-shaped. They were round. Ninety-eight percent of all cookies in the universe were round. Also, it just so happened that France loved to partake of dessert when he worked. It wasn’t like he’d thought of Spain or anything like that.
France wasn’t going to make things complicated by saying so.
The nation rested his stubble-covered chin on the palm of his hand. He watched the scene like it was his life’s greatest indulgence, because everything France had ever done of his own accord was of great indulgence.
“I love you, France.” Spain told him seriously.
France let out a puff of air that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. It started as chuckles when Spain crunched through three more of the treats in one mouthful. It turned into full blown laughter as Spain tried to hug him and down the glass of milk in one gulp.
“I mean it.” Spain gargled out around the milk and some spilt to the floor and a little on France’s wool pants.
The blond wiped the side of Spain’s grinning mouth and then the dirt smeared side of his face with his pale fingers. The Spanish speaking nation’s lips were chapped dry but his eyes were fresh and so very green. It didn’t even occur to France to grab Spain’s ass.
Spain hugged him tightly. His cropped hair curled into France’s ear.
France felt his eyes get a little wet too but there was no use crying over spilt milk.
A Tomato Whose Name I Don’t Know Yet Chapter Eight
“Hey France…” Spain whispered.
“Fraaaaaance.” The country poked France in the sleep-softened cheek.
France had spent so much time getting him up in the morning the past few weeks; it was only fair to do the same. The first thing to do was to wake the country up in a creative way, just like France would do.
Spain didn’t like working with flowers that much, so he had to think of a better way.
France let out a delicate snore. Yes, delicate. The brunette bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing.
The French house had always been decadent and the bedroom where France himself slept was nothing short of fantastic.
Silks and velvets and jewels and filigree spun together almost garishly to create an atmosphere that was completely too much to take in but gorgeous anyway. Kind of just like France.
He peeled the blonde nation’s duvet back.
“Wake uuup—Oh.” He didn’t bother to hide his laughter then. “Someone’s already up.” Spain slapped his forehead in amusement. He stared.
Spain dragged his hand through the course locks on his head. One day he was going to have to ask France why he slept naked with cat ears on.
“Hey!” Spain threw a tomato at the sleeping nation’s head.
It ended up getting lodged in France’s open mouth and choking him.
“Oh shit,” The brunette dodged the flying vegetable as France sat up, waving his arms around wildly.
“Are you trying to kill me?!” France demanded.
Hacking up tomatoes in the morning was probably not what France thought of when being creative.
“No,” He replied with a small blush, embarrassed. “I was just surprising you. Get dressed and let’s go out!”
France rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, falling back amongst his sixteen pillows in dismay. “What time is it?”
“Happy hour.” Spain laughed and pointed to France’s lap which was doing no good job at being discreet.
“Oh la la,” France chuckled along with the other country. “I suppose it is time to rise to the occasion.” He stretched languidly.
“Yeah,” Spain smiled quietly at him then, just watching him laze about. For some reason he was dressed quite more acceptably that morning in a lovely maroon V-neck sweater and crisp white shirt underneath. His jeans still had an offensive tear at the knee, but a moment was all one could expect of perfection after all.
“I haven’t bothered Austria in a while,” France suggested. “I do need to take care of mon petit ami.” He grinned lecherously. “We could show him how much you’ve progressed. You and Romano might even be hearing wedding bells soon.”
Spain’s good mood fell right off his face.
“Cher, don’t bother to clean that up,” France waved his hand. Somehow he’d gotten into a beautiful cashmere housecoat and some slippers – cat ears still intact. “Alright, let’s go.”
“Er,” Spain scratched his head and stared at his shoes. “It’s a bit cool outside…”
“I won’t need clothes for this little expedition.” France lowered his eyebrows with great smugness.
“That’s not exactly where I planned to go, but,” Spain gave a little laugh and tapped the side of his head with a fist. “Okay, we can go to his house.”
“Puurrrfect.” France… purred.
Spain just followed him out the door.
~~~
“Well what d’ya know.” Prussia stood in the doorway with a devilish look about him. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“If you’re referring to me,” France strut inside with his nose in the air, “I didn’t have to drag Spain anywhere.”
“Yeah, we’re,” Spain made a little hand gesture in explanation that no country in the world could comprehend. “We’re here together.”
“I can see that.” Prussia looked them both up and down as they entered the foyer; Spain was actually put together for once and looked healthily determined. It was a far cry from the last time he’d been around.
“What are you doing here, Prussia?” France gave the white haired nation a look up and down of his own, Cheshire grin in place. “Well maybe this could be fun…”
Prussia slammed the door and his bird friend popped out of his hair in fright. “H-Hell no man. I am not here for the same reason as you!”
“Which is why the world is such a boring place.” France replied woefully.
Spain separated the two by walking in between them. “We’re just here –together— to visit. Not for very long.”
“Spaaain,” France moaned dramatically. “There you go again, making jokes about me.”
“T-That’s not it.” Spain said hastily, he took France’s hand in his own. “I didn’t mean it like that!”
Prussia and France shared a momentary glance of confusion.
“Relaaax,” The albino nation placated with that grating voice. “He’s not Romano.” The obnoxious laugh began. “Kesesese, you’re not gonna get verbally castrated. Unless you’re into that kinda thing.”
“Ah oui, we also came here with an announcement. Those two are back together tighter than ever!” France’s smirk twitched. He went to wave a rose in front of his face but realized he didn’t pack any in the flimsy robe. Instead he just pretended to lick his paw and slid it against one of his cat ears.
“Shit, I didn’t know you were into it!” Prussia was amazed.
“I-I…I-I, I—”
“Spain,” Tiny crows had stepped near France’s eyes as he paused in his grooming. Those twinkling blues gave him the most affectionate gaze. “You look like a tomato.”
Spain’s brain froze.
“Look dude,” Prussia sat the brunette down on one of Austria’s plastic-covered sofas. “You should have just said something. Hell, you were probably having the time of your life trying to get that little bastard to take you back. What the hell did you do?”
“I, I…”
Prussia lovingly slapped him in the face like an appliance on the fritz.
“I fell in love.” Spain blinked, brain rebooted. He twisted around so fast to look over his shoulder that he slid right off the upholstery. It didn’t seem to faze him as he sat sprawled on the floor, looking at the still preening France, a wide grin in place.
“Fuck, if Austria weren’t so damn stingy we wouldn’t have this problem!” Prussia shook an aggravated fist in the general vicinity of the country’s private rooms.
“Cheep! Cheep!” The tiny yellow chick included.
“Damn right he is.”
“As long as we’re going to listen to our cocks around here, I might as well bid you all adieu.” France winked and tiptoed down the hallway.
Spain and Prussia rushed to follow him and both watched as France slinked through the chamber doors.
The moment they shut, something in Spain’s head broke down again.
“Y’know, for the longest time I could’ve sworn France had a thing for you man.” Prussia whispered right out of the blue. He laughed and elbowed the other country in the side. “Guess not! Hah!”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
France/Spain :: Spain has been in love with Romano before
(Anonymous) 2010-08-16 05:06 pm (UTC)(link)And so, France who's been in love with him time ago, tries to get a way to his heart now that he has the chance and Spain starts slowly falling in love with him.
Anon would love to see this and how Spain is still unsure, because he haven't loved someone else than Romano and seeing him makes him doubt. Smut is optional, but loved and the end must be happy. Also, I don't care if it's AU or current timeline, anything it's fine!
A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 1a/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-02 07:14 pm (UTC)(link)A Tomato Whose Name I Don’t Know Yet
Chapter One
A long time ago, a nation named itself the country of love.
It happened long before there were the cute brothers of Italy to own, or the Americas to teach how to become fully grown. It happened before there were voyages across the seas, or even Britain to tease.
It happened even before there were many other countries to love, or gods above; when the world was old and the people in it had very little knowledge beyond what they saw, tasted and felt. Before all that –
There was France.
“You’re looking a bit wistful, aren’t you?”
“Ah,” France looked away from the window of his house to rest his blue eyes on his most current boss. It was important for a nation to pay attention to what the president wanted, no matter what the point in time. Otherwise, it would be far too easy for a country to get stuck.
The president sat behind his lavish desk and was paused in the signing of a huge stack of papers. “It’s, well…” He stopped himself short and ducked his head with a slight frown as he concentrated on his papers once more. “Pardon.”
France cocked an eyebrow at the behaviour. “What is it?” He asked, setting his glass of deep red wine down on the finely carved wood of the desk. Sensing his boss’ unrest, he grinned, mouth curving into his usual genial expression. “You cannot hide much from your country, no?”
He poked his boss’ cheek in a cute fashion and the man scowled then, a slight blush overcame his middle-aged cheek.
“And you cannot hide when you are feeling amorous, can you?” The boss sighed in retaliation.
France grinned even harder, his eyes squinting shut. “I would never want to hide my love! Love is the feeling that pours. If I kept it bottled up, why— I’d be wet all the time.” He paused, and then his grin became lecherous.
The boss of France pushed back his chair at that. His country waved was waving his hands in glee, tiny hearts that fluttered around his head trying to dodge him.
The man looked out the large window behind the desk, the same his country had been using just a moment ago. The same window his country had been staring out of since before his presidency. He didn’t know for how long; it could have been years, decades, or even centuries.
The house of France had hundreds of windows, none of them more special than the last. Except for that one on the side which backed onto North Italy’s house. France could sometimes get a great peepshow in if he was lucky. And France definitely knew how to get lucky.
France joined his boss by the sill, sipping his wine idly and chattering about how many roses he needed cut from the bushes for that day. The boss watched and then sighed, returning to his papers. He shook his head with a bored sort of look but an amused smile was fighting to spring free when his country began to hum a bit off-key.
“You will have to tell me one day— that object out there that you love so much.” The president began signing again.
France spared his boss one last glance before he scanned the scenery, searching for something a mere human couldn’t see.
~~~
Con't in Chapter 1b
A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 1b/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-02 07:22 pm (UTC)(link)When Spain moped he became more oblivious than normal. Not that many people saw his depressed side, but that night more than half of Europe had him wandering through their homes.
He groaned something about Romano, tomatoes and marriage. One by one they kicked him out, forcing him to wander over to the next house. It took a good amount of lead in his rear from Switzerland to land him at his next haunt.
“What... are you doing here?” Germany asked wearily. Spain showing up on his doorstep was not something the blond country was prepared for.
“Oh…” He slipped easily into the house between Germany’s arm and the strong door. He ambled his way over to the couch, somehow leaving wet footprints on the floor.
Germany took a quick look outside; it wasn’t raining.
He had heard the details about the failed marriage proposal Spain had incurred, over and over again from North Italy. He cringed.
“Er,” Germany said awkwardly, then tried to say something more sympathetic. “Hmm.”
That didn’t work. Spain was already curled up in a ball on his couch and muttering something about tomatoes.
His own failed proposal to the north of the Italian nation had left him crippled from feelings he hadn’t felt in a long time. There were no books that worked on Italians, and he wasn’t even sure Spain could read one in the first place so that did make the matters a bit grim. Germany understood in a weird sort of way what Spain was going through, but he definitely didn’t have a book on ‘How to Console Spanish Men” lying around.
“Of course!” He smacked his fist into his palm. “Don’t get too comfortable,” The blue eyed nation ordered and grabbed Spain by the scruff of his neck.
Spain didn’t seem to notice as he was hoisted up over Germany’s shoulder and carted off through the house until he was unceremoniously dumped (again), this time on Austria’s doorstep. Germany rammed his fist on the door a couple times; three as was customary. He immediately marched away.
An irate country appeared behind the ornate wooden doors. “Why do you insist on banging my—Ah.” Austria looked down his nose at the nation on his doorstep.
“Oh…” Spain said gloomily as he shuffled in around Austria, unaware that the other brunette was slightly red in the face and already wore an annoyed look.
He dragged himself over to the most well-worn surface in the room, Austria’s piano bench, and sat down. His head hit the keys in an unflattering sound of gloom.
“Hm,” Austria looked at Spain with even more consternation than normal. “What do you want?”
Spain didn’t seem to even hear him.
“Hey!” The vein on Austria’s head ticked and he chopped Spain on the back of the head with his violin bow. “Wake up!”
“Oh…” Spain said, his head rolling up, creating a disastrous melody on the keys. “Hi Austria, I didn’t see you there.”
The beautiful and musical country gave Spain a once over, concluding he was a wreck. There were bags under his eyes, a squashed carnation in his shirt pocket, random dirt smudges – and Austria didn’t even know how he’d managed to waterlog his shoes.
“Don’t tell me you’re still upset about the other day.” He adjusted his glasses and sat down next to Spain.
“The other day?” Spain actually had the decency to sit up and Austria took the opportunity to start playing a calming song.
“It’s been seventy-two days.” Spain clarified.
Austria’s eyes widened in slight horror. “How… How very observant of you.”
He eyed an escape route just in case the apocalypse began at that very moment.
“Yeah…” Spain said, oblivious to Austria’s sudden tension. “I guess being rejected puts some stuff into perspective…”
~~~
Con’t in Chapter 1c
A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 1c/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-02 07:24 pm (UTC)(link)Austria was ninety percent certain Spain had come up with some tomato-brained reasoning. It wasn’t like Romano had out-rightly rejected his proposal after all. Though it was probably one of the worst proposals Austria had ever witnessed.
How to be sensitive about this situation…
“You’re a fool.” Austria said.
Spain fell off the bench in dismay.
“You do realize that marriage between countries doesn’t happen on a whim, right?” Austria lectured.
“T-There was no whim about it.” Spain replied, unsure.
Austria glowered and pushed up his glasses. “Marriage is a political course of action. Don’t you remember being married to me?”
Spain laughed uneasily and rubbed the back of his head. He crossed his legs and sat on the cool marble floor under Austria like some sort of young student who’d monumentally screwed things up.
“Well, yeah, b-but that was different.” He grinned and gave a little chuckle.
“Do you really think to marry another nation just because you have made it possible for… ehem..”
“For gay marriage?” Spain said absentmindedly.
“Right.” Austria schooled his features to try and will away his blush. “It’s definitely not the same thing.”
Spain opened his mouth to counter but Austria held up his hand. “And you simply cannot ask another nation for something more.”
“Huh?” Spain was genuinely confused.
Austria sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose above his glasses.
“Hey! Spain!!” A loud and obnoxious German accented voice said, reverberating through the perfect acoustics of his house.
Austria grit his teeth, imperceptibly.
“Prussia!” Spain actually cracked a somewhat pleased expression, which was a vast improvement on his previous gloomy-eyed stare.
“Heard you got dumped big time.” Prussia immediately blurted.
Spain’s face fell.
Austria let all pretences slide and rubbed his face in his hands. “Prussia, I don’t have time for this.”
The white haired nation replied with a shit eating grin and swung his arm around Austria’s neck, crushing his cravat.
“Oh I’m sorry,” Prussia soldiered on in complete disregard. “I forgot. You guys weren’t even dating in the first place!”
The underside of Spain’s top lip quivered.
“Enough!” Austria shouted, which shut up the unbearable country.
“Relax four-eyes,” Prussia wearily let go and then set his sights on Spain, who looked like a sad and un-watered plant rooted to the spot.
“What I’m saying here is, you’re better off without a ball n’ chain. And you could do so much better than South Italy.”
Spain groaned. “Veneziano doesn’t want me either.”
“Woah, tough luck.” Prussia looked genuinely concerned.
“In any case,” Austria said, playing Chopin angrily on the piano behind them, “I was trying to explain to Spain that just because his citizens have…ehem..”
“Even more ways to make themselves miserable?” Prussia supplied helpfully.
“Yes, well, it doesn’t mean that the same rules apply to us.”
“But I’m already miserable. I miss Romano.” Spain crooned softly, somehow he had found a classical guitar and was strumming a sad tune.
“What happened to him?”
“He doesn’t visit me, he doesn’t call me…”
“Sounds just like any other day.” Prussia rationalized and Austria gave him a cold look.
“Countries don’t get married based on love. Also, love between countries is hard to come by.” Austria said as bluntly as he could, severely hoping it would get through that thick Spanish skull.
The two German-speaking countries stared down at Spain, wondering what he would say.
“Oh…” He started in an unsure tone, “So… Romano might still love me!”
His audience groaned. That wasn’t quite the point Austria was trying to make…
~~~
End Chapter One
Re: A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 1c/?
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-02 19:44 (UTC) - ExpandOP
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-02 21:17 (UTC) - ExpandA Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 2a/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-02 08:53 pm (UTC)(link)Chapter Two
Spain wandered back to the side of his own house a few days later. He flopped down on a slight hill with no regard for the state of his already well-worn clothes.
The country looked like he’d gone to hell and back.
He’d been on the receiving end of a never-ending lecture by Austria and Prussia. As much as he liked his friends, they hadn’t made much sense about the whole thing.
Finally they cut him loose, making him promise to think things over.
So here he sat, in one of his best thinking spots. Too bad it was starting to get chilly in the nights as the summer was drawing to a close.
He’d always loved South Italy, ever since Austria had given him the little nation to take care of. Spain reminisced fondly at all the times the tiny country had wet the bed, or slept instead of cleaning, and ate all his food.
“Hrm…” He frowned just a little bit.
He remembered all the times he’d tried to be a good boss and remembered being shut down by little Romano. He remembered clearly the sheer confusion and unluckiness he had felt for not being able to understand Romano.
He also remembered never getting any better at it as the years went by and South Italy grew up into the country he was now.
He remembered telling both halves of Italy that he wanted to marry them one day, and somehow he had gotten caught up in a fantasy of domestic bliss. He didn’t want to remember the day his boss legalized gay marriage which led him running stupidly across Europe and getting his ass kicked by annoyed nations.
The country thought about how Romano hadn’t lived with him for a very, very long time, and how sometimes promises didn’t mean anything after a while. Otherwise… well…
Spain shrugged and pet a turtle friend that had climbed onto his knee.
“Turtle, you remind me of Romano too.” He said sadly, patting the creature on his shell.
The turtle didn’t reply.
“A country doesn’t get married based on love.” He repeated Austria’s words. The turtle blushed. “Love between countries is hard to come by.”
Spain smiled unsurely, staring at the turtle. “That’s not totally true.” He muttered to himself. The turtle looked about ready to swoon.
“Oh dear… Spain, what are you doing here?” France appeared at the bottom of the grassy slope.
“Ah! France!” He waved even as his neighbour climbed the hill and sat down next to him.
“Just, you know…” He grinned, but France could tell it was fake. “Being alone…”
“Oh,” France tapped his chin, remembering a long time ago when he did not have the short hairs that grew there now.
He and Spain had sat here in the very same way that day. He would have to play counsellor again, for his oldest friend.
“Don’t tell me you’re here moping about Romano again?”
A dark cloud appeared above Spain’s head at the question and France got the hint. He laughed and waved his hand, rose petals flying out of his sleeve as he batted away the little cloud.
“What am I supposed to do?” Spain bowed over like a wilted flower. His turtle friend crawled away in the direction of his house.
Spain ground the palm of his hand into his forehead. “I’ve never loved anyone else before.”
France grimaced, but quickly made a kissy face instead. “You’re an idiot.”
Spain groaned and hung his head even lower. “You guys keep telling me that. It must be true!”
The blond stared at that tussled head of hair and his hand shot out of its own volition to caress his friend.
Spain didn’t even seem to care as France ran fingers through his hair, feeling the warmth of the Spanish sun captured in the thick brown strands.
The side of France’s mouth curved up into a half smile. Spain was, without a doubt, the most oblivious country in the world. At least, when it came to what was right in front of him.
The other side of his mouth completed the tight-lipped smile as his hand trailed down Spain’s back, smoothing out the wrinkled summer shirt.
~~~
Con’t in Chapter 2b
A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 2b/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-02 08:58 pm (UTC)(link)“That includes your own, no?” France placed a kiss on his cheek.
Spain’s wide expressive green eyes caught his own. “That’s it! I have to listen to my heart!” He laughed and this time France could tell it was the real deal. He groped Spain’s ass in return happiness.
“It’s-It’s so simple!” Spain said in awe. He slumped closer to France, almost lying in his lap as the blond country slipped his wondering hand under his cotton shirt and caressed his back. “Being honest with myself…! Why didn’t I think of that?”
France busied himself with tweaking one of Spain’s nipples, superbly pleased when a bright blush spread over his tanned skin.
“That’s what you have me for!” France proclaimed with relish. “Be honest to yourself and your heart will be as clear as a summer day.”
“Or as sweet as the ripest tomato!” Spain joined in.
France paused, “Yes, that too.”
“Hey,” Spain smiled, finally having some sort of direction. “How do you always know when I need a good, hard—”
“Eh??” France stopped his ministrations in surprise and pulled back. “What?”
“A good hard reality trip. Yeah, you always say it in a way I can understand!” Spain actually stretched out causing France to fall flat on his back. Spain stared down at the other nation, the sun’s setting rays slipping past his shoulders and highlighting his hair. “You’re always there for me.”
“Ah, well,” France scooted away and ran a hand through his pale locks. A few blades of grass fell from them and gusted away on the wind. “It’s hard not to notice you, from my window.”
Then France’s nose twitched as if he had come across something unpleasant. “Your bad mood is starting to waft into my house!”
Spain rolled over and stretched out into the grass, looking much more peaceful than before.
“Thanks,” He said obliviously.
France stood up and brushed the earth from his slacks. He held his hands out for the other nation and Spain took them.
“Romano and I can never be together.” Spain said suddenly on his feet.
“Did… he tell you that?” France asked suspiciously.
“Nah,” Spain dismissed. “But, I’ll never understand Romano,” He laughed slightly and knocked his fist on his own head. “And… love between countries is hard to come by.”
France gave him a dubious look and Spain laughed with a slightly embarrassed shrug.
“It’s what Austria told me. Prussia said it’s time to get out there and find some new hoes!” Spain exclaimed dramatically in typical Prussian fashion.
“Er, yes that does sound like something he would say…” France said in distastefulness at the other nation’s lack of finesse.
“Or at least, I shouldn’t stay stuck on… 'rotten fruit'…” The brunette’s mouth twisted up at the comparison.
France crossed his arms and seemed to analyze his neighbour. Any other nation would sense impending molestation when faced with that look, but seeing as how Spain had already been groped he didn’t really think much of it.
“And what do you honestly think?” France asked.
Spain rubbed the back of his head, “Er, well… even if Romano was really cute… he is extremely hard to be with…”
“Being honest with yourself is difficult too, no?” France said with a trickster smile and Spain actually blushed.
“Yeah. So, I’m going to till the land until I find what I’m looking for.” Spain pursed his lips in concentration. He looked warm and alive, as if he’d been injected with some sort of determination to move on.
It could have been the fact that France had reached out and pinched his ass.
“I’m looking for a tomato whose name I don’t know yet!”
France face-palmed.
~~~
End Chapter Two
Re: A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 2b/?
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-02 21:23 (UTC) - ExpandAuthor!Anon
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-03 04:01 (UTC) - ExpandOP~
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-03 03:44 (UTC) - ExpandAuthor!Anon
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-03 04:03 (UTC) - ExpandRe: A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 2b/?
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-03 04:04 (UTC) - ExpandAuthor!Anon
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-03 15:18 (UTC) - ExpandA Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 3a/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-03 03:46 am (UTC)(link)Chapter 3
“Erghg,” A green eyed nation grumbled loudly, blocking his path.
“Bonjour Angleterre!” France greeted in the early evening light just outside his home. He adjusted the baguette underneath his arm and surreptitiously tried to circle around the other nation so he didn’t have to stop and chat.
For once the island nation looked genuinely disgruntled – with something other than France!
“Hold it. You’ve got to take some responsibility!”
France stared, and then blinked, remembering all the acts he’d committed that would require his responsibility. A dark smirk spread across his face. “For what in particular…?”
“You heard me!” The shorter nation launched himself at the long haired nation and grabbed him by the lapels. “You’ve created a monster!”
France’s head bobbed from side to side like a paddle ball. “Q-Quoi—?”
England dropped the country. “It’s Spain, you complete flake! He’s gone nutburgers!”
“Really?” France asked, waving away some of the cuckoo birds that had been flying around his head with his bread. “He was quite, quite fine the last time I saw him.” A ping of light sparkled at the corner of his eye.
The English speaking country wasn’t fooled. “Don’t make me laugh! Everyone knows you haven’t conquered some real vital region in ages.”
France turned his nose up. “Neither have you.”
England’s eyebrows danced up and down like angry popcorn kernels in a hot oven. “It’d do you well not to mind other people’s business!”
“What’s gotten into you?” France relented, and then tacked on: “Oh. Right. Nothing in ages.”
England scowled, taming the wild beasts above his eyes and pulled France down by his frilly collar. “Listen closely. I’m only going to tell you to this once. There’ll be no repeating it on my behalf, ever again!”
France blinked and leaned ever closer, enough to sneak his hand into the other nation’s back pocket.
England took the baguette and smashed it over France’s head.
As France lay prone on the ground, roses and little Britannia angels fluttering over him, England announced the most disturbing piece of news.
“Spain tried to accost me last night.”
France sat up. “Are you serious? He hasn’t had the power to do something like that in a rather long time.”
England’s face was red and severely pissed. “Not. That. Type of… accosting.”
“Sacre bleu,” France was shocked but also a bit impressed. “I stand corrected.”
“You bloody well do not. Emphasis on the ‘tried.’”
“Ah,” France stood and dusted the crumbs and dirt off his cashmere coat. He picked up the remnants of his dinner’s appetizer and placed them in a wastebasket.
“And you want me to do something about this? You’ve never been very bright,” He smirked and tossed a rose at the country’s head. “When Spain and I get together, things can become… quite… how do I put this? More than you can handle?”
“Look. You’re a bad influence on him.” England retorted with a strained smirk as he combed petals and thorns out of his hair. “I know you somehow got into that thick skull of his and fondued his brain. He thinks he can go about, purporting himself as the ‘Country of Passion,’ and bothering other countries about being his ‘precious tomato!’”
“Pfft, Fondu is such an uncultured form of cuisine…”
“He’s spewing cheese, France. Honest to goodness cheese about finding his true love or some tripe like that!
France backpedalled, trying to put some distance between himself and the raving nation known as the United Kingdom.
“Yes, run away France!” England shouted. “Just wait ‘till you see it with your own eyes!”
“What’s all the yelling about?” Belgium asked. She was walking by and carrying her own loaf of bread.
“Nothing. Everything.” England tersely clarified.
“Oh, I do hope he finds what he’s looking for.” She smiled and scratched her cheek. “But Spain has never been good at seeing what’s right beside him.” She stuck her tongue out as if she was telling a joke. “And France can’t ever seem to look away.”
England gave her a blank stare. “You’re all a bit barmy, aren’t you? –Oh, Unicorn!” He laughed boyishly. “So good to see you again!”
Belgium sweatdropped.
~~~
Con’t in Chapter 3b
Re: A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 3a/?
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-03 09:12 (UTC) - ExpandAuthor!Anon
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-03 15:33 (UTC) - ExpandRe: A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 3a/?
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-03 16:00 (UTC) - ExpandAuthor!Anon
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-03 21:11 (UTC) - ExpandA Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 3b/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-03 03:03 pm (UTC)(link)“Ah there you are France.” His boss’ voice wafted out of the large office.
The country trotted through the double doors with a beautiful smile. “I am here!”
“I need you to vote on this updated Pacte civil de solidarité.”
“Civil unions? Men and women of this day and age are so complicated…” The blond country tilted his head, reading the papers. After a few pages, he turned the papers upside down and continued reading.
His boss made an exasperated face.
“Oui.” France declared.
The president raised an eyebrow. “Did you even read it all?”
France didn’t reply but started to rearrange his hair with a divine looking bone china comb in a jewel encrusted mirror.
“Our brother Spain wants his homosexual marriages to be recognized in our land.” The president summarized, flipping through the documents. He shook his head when he saw the signatures France had bestowed were actually just fragrances.
The boss stood up and looked out the window. “However, we aren’t ready for that yet. This is the best compromise.”
France joined him at the window. “You’ll all come around one day and realize that love is actually just love,” He smirked, “and not political jurisdiction.”
“Isn’t it the opposite for countries?” His boss countered.
France didn’t reply, staring at something beyond the window. For a long moment the two just enjoyed the scenic view from the house.
“Well, the night is still young and I haven’t had my supper yet!” France stretched and suddenly he was wearing a very striking pink shirt and tight pants.
The president looked pensive for a moment. “If you find Spain, maybe you can talk to him more about this?” He tapped the document folder. “In fact, take it with you. Persuade him of our policy.”
“Er… Of course.” France took the folder and stored it in a large Louis Vuitton bag. “I’m very certain about my skills in persuasion.” He wiggled his eyebrows merrily. “Spain and I… we’ve always been together.”
“Yes,” The boss’s mouth twisted to the side a bit, as if he didn’t know whether to be polite or upset. “It’s also… how do I put this? Not very desirable.”
France stopped his prancing at that. “But we’re inseparable.”
“Yes,” His boss said again, “Quite because of that.”
“Do you know why?” France asked bluntly.
His boss stuttered at the bold-face question, “Well-er, the trade, and the relations, treaties and pacts that are practically old as time itself…”
France smiled and tilted his head, surveying his boss in a way that made the citizen feel uncomfortable and almost certain he would be molested in some manner.
“Yes,” He finally said. “All of that.”
And he groped his boss for good measure.
~~~
Con't in Chapter 3c
A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 3c/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-03 03:04 pm (UTC)(link)France was bowled over like he had been in World War Two. “What in the world…?” He groaned.
“Ahh! Big brother France!” North Italy was on top of him and wearing his adorable sailor outfit so it wasn’t France’s fault his hands immediately attached themselves to the country’s cute hips.
“You’ve got to talk some sense into him!” Veneziano pleaded. There was a sweet pink liquid dripping off the country’s cheek and slipping down to stain his white shirt and collar.
France’s eyes dilated and he began to steam.
“It’s Spain!” The brunette declared, freeing himself from France’s grasp. “He started rubbing me with a tomato and saying weird things.”
France smacked his forehead. “Zut alors… Maybe Angleterre wasn’t so crazy after all.”
“Ahhh! There he is!” Italy booked it, somehow managing to retreat straight into an Italian restaurant serving fourteen types of pasta.
France shook his head sadly at his failed conquest but didn’t have time to contemplate further.
Spain ran straight up to him, his face red and breath coming in fast puffs as if he’d run all the way there.
“Which, -huff- way did he go?” The green eyed country asked.
“Mon dieu! Spain!” France chastised. “Don’t tell me it’s true! Rubbing tomatoes? Britain?! Maybe you are moving on in the wrong way!”
Spain chuckled. “There’s no time like the present. You’ve said so yourself. Love is the feeling that roars.” He misquoted. “My passionate heart is a lion France, and it’s hungry!”
France’s eye twitched. “That’s… yes. Alright,” He tried a different approach and grabbed Spain’s face instead of his ass.
The blond held the other nation’s blushing cheeks in his pale hands, cradling his oldest friend’s head with a gentle touch.
“Cher, that is your stomach growling. Let’s go have supper.”
He made Spain nod which in turn made Spain grin. “You’re going to help me, aren’t you?” The Spanish speaking nation stated. There really wasn’t any question about it.
France smiled back. “I do know a thing or two about finding love.”
~~~
End Chapter Three
OP
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-03 23:20 (UTC) - ExpandA Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 4a/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-03 08:58 pm (UTC)(link)Chapter Four
“Lesson one.” France announced after taking a sip of his soup. “The Objective. Basically, knowing what you want.”
Spain poked his salad with a fork, separating the tomatoes from the lettuce. “Hmm…” He stuffed his mouth full of the sweet red fruit so he didn’t have to answer.
“I know that trick.” France tapped Spain on the nose. “But don’t talk with your mouth full.” He said seriously, and then a perverted look crossed his face.
Spain chuckled after he had swallowed. “It’s simple for you, you know. You’ve always known what you wanted.”
A troubled look overcame Spain’s features and he stirred his rice around in his plate, coating everything in sight with the grains. The side of France’s mouth twitched but he didn’t say anything.
“Moving on isn’t as easy as I thought.” He sighed, long and desperately.
France thought he felt the Eiffel Tower light up in glee. He coughed into his hand. “Why not just list off the first things that come to your mind?”
“Domestic bliss.” He breathed out with stars in his green eyes.
France raised an eyebrow.
“Living together side by side and taking care of each other.” Spain continued. “Tomatoes.”
France sighed deeply. “What is your infatuation with that ridiculous plant?”
Spain looked hurt for a moment before actually reaching down and picking up a random potted tomato plant he had sitting next to him. France balked. He hadn’t even seen where Spain had been carrying that thing!
The Spanish speaking nation set it down heavily on the small table, upsetting their dishes.
“At one time in history, this little guy was considered a sign of love.” Spain explained fondly. He stroked the side of the plant’s soft clay pot. France watched in a stupor.
“I don’t care if no one else sees it like that anymore, but it still means something to me. The only person I really shared that with was Romano.” Spain gave a half hearted smile and shrugged a bit helplessly.
“No one else really seems that receptive…”
France looked at the plant carefully, remembering the days when he too believed in what Spain said. Back then, all those years ago, he’d even received a tomato of his very own. He could understand the sentimentality that went into Spain’s ideals.
But that had been a very long time ago.
France said something completely different: “No more tomatoes.”
“B-But, it’s my love plant.”
France rapidly thrashed Spain on the head with a bouquet of roses.
“Lesson two: Ammunition! Gifts that can be used to woo!”
~~~
France and Spain were standing outside of one of the most expensive stores he had in Paris. Louis Vuitton.
France gleefully pulled out his handbag, ready to get a matching pair of gloves for the upcoming winter, and then paused. He saw the folder his boss had given him inside.
Talking politics wasn’t as fun as shopping.
He shoved the files deeper.
“Uh… France…” Spain said is a small voice, an embarrassed blush on his cheek. “You know I’m not exactly rich enough to buy just anyone something from here. Can’t I show my passion through something a bit…” He made some random hand gestures.
“Cheaper?” France deadpanned, but suddenly felt a bit ashamed at his tone. He was trying to help Spain, not bankrupt him. “No problem, we’ll go somewhere that’s affordable and also, always open!”
They went to China’s house.
~~~
Con’t in Chapter 4b
A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 4b/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-03 09:02 pm (UTC)(link)“You can definitely find some trinkets here that will help you to woo potential lovers.” France lectured. They walked by a very sparkly store that sold nothing but Swarovski crystal creations and then directly beside it a little grocery store with strong medicinal smells.
“Until you build on your natural ability to be able to cop a feel within seconds of a meeting someone like me, gift-giving is one of the oldest tricks in the book.”
“Since no one liked my first plan, I don’t really have anyone in mind…” Spain replied unsurely, picking up some scarves. “I guess I could go by Romano’s house tomorrow and see if he—”
France pinched Spain’s cheek. Hard.
“Listen to yourself, mon ami. You’re reverting!”
“Oh, right…” Spain rubbed his reddened cheek. “I forgot I wasn’t in love with him anymore.”
France pinched the bridge of his own aristocratic nose in dismay.
“What are you two doing here?” China asked in a very suspicious tone behind the counter of a stall.
The two shoppers jumped in surprise. They hadn’t even noticed the country standing there.
China’s panda bear gave France a vicious bite on the hand where it had been caressing his master’s thigh.
“Arhhggg!” France yowled in pain.
“Serves you right.” China smirked.
Spain caught the French speaking nation’s hand and examined it. He turned the dainty hand over in his own callused ones and France calmed down enough to stop his overdramatic screaming.
“It should be okay.” Spain scrutinized the bite and then without warning brought France’s hand to his lips to give it a kiss.
France blinked, and watched as the brunette ripped off some of his uniform spats to bandage the wound.
“There.” Spain happily patted the top of the dressed hand.
“Who…” France’s mouth made a funny twist like he’d eaten something unexpectedly sweet. “Who woos people in their uniform?”
“Huh?” Spain looked down at himself and then tapped his cheek thoughtfully. “I guess you’re right.”
“You can buy some clothes here.” China pointed to a discount bin that had clothing of all sorts piled high. “Three for five dollars.”
Spain’s face lit up like a sunny day. “That’s a steal!” He dove into the bin, digging for all he was worth. “Any ideas France?” He asked, voice muffled as he fought with a maroon sweater.
“Er…” France replied. “Go for V-necks, a size smaller than normal, and green or red are your friends!” He watched as Spain made a grab for an absolutely hideous pair of goldenrod jeans.
“For all that is holy, stay away from that yellow!” He shouted.
This would be the perfect time to lean behind his tanned companion and ‘help’ him sort through the clothes. Instead, he touched his bandaged hand and figured he was a bit too surprised to capitalize on the opportunity.
~~~
“Mou… I’m disappointed that you didn’t work. Sayonara.” Japan said in a quiet, sad tone to his garbage. He tossed the bag of junk into his bin, which happened to be right behind China’s shop.
Of course, France overheard.
“You keep digging! I’m going to look over there.” France patted Spain on the back, and then a few more times a bit lower. Spain gave him a grin over his shoulder. “Don’t be too long!”
“I can’t help that.” France replied with heavy innuendo, and pranced off to investigate Japan’s wastebasket.
“What do we have here…” He muttered to himself, sifting through the electronic gadgets and random failed moe items. Also… he dug deeper into the pile, some very interesting toys. He quickly stowed them in his epic LV bag for personal use.
Another country came to scrounge with him and it just so happened to be Korea.
They both grabbed the same binoculars-that-can-see-into-brains-looking-thing at the same time.
“Hey, hands off.” Korea said in his flighty manner. “I invented that!”
“Of course you did, France replied with a tight grin, pulling the object. “I just want to take un petit look—”
~~~
Con’t in Chapter 4c
A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 4c/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-03 09:03 pm (UTC)(link)The binoculars clonked hard against the ground but France didn’t care as he darted away, throwing them into his bag as he ran.
“Oh, look who’s buying scarves here, France!” Spain called out to him as he neared the shop. France nearly tripped all over himself when he saw Russia.
He didn’t slow down while he grabbed a newly dressed Spain by the arm and high-tailed it out of there.
~~~
The two made it back to the little field between their houses, out of breath and a bit sweaty. The cool autumn air left exposed skin red and slightly stinging as the heat evaporated into the night.
Spain was laughing under his breath. “I always knew you were fast.”
France stopped his embarrassingly out-of-shape breathing just long enough to retort, “Did you just make a joke about my sexual prowess?”
Spain looked smug for just a second, but like always, his expression dissolved back into a kind, happy look. France was glad that dopey face was back.
“So what’s lesson three?” The brunette country asked. He rocked back and forth on his heels.
“C-Can’t you guess?” France chuckled and rubbed his forehead, a little horrified at knowing his hair was probably ruined beyond imagination. “Strategic retreat!”
He straightened up and tapped Spain on the nose with a rose. “You have to choose your target carefully, and know when to attack and when to back off.”
Spain looked unsure and France hurried to explain in a way he could understand. “You have to give your plant lots of water and sunshine before you can taste the fruit, no?”
“True…” Spain nodded obediently. Then, “this seems kinda different from what you normally do.”
“N-Nonsense.” France denied. “I’m the Country of Love, I’m allowed to take shortcuts.”
“I guess.” Spain conceded. He gently took France’s bandaged hand and held it for a moment. “Don’t forget to show your wound a little of that same treatment too, okay?”
“I won’t.” France nearly whispered, with a wide-eyed look that was handsome in the night time light.
“Buenas noches.”
“Bon nuit.” France replied. He watched quietly as his oldest friend walked away.
~~~
France stared out the window in the study, his fingers idly twirling the tips of his lightly curled hair. His boss had left to his own home long before he’d even returned to the house. It was cold and quiet and very European on the autumn night.
He wrapped a housecoat around himself and scooped something much too heavy and large to have obeyed the laws of physics out of his precious Louis V.
He dumped it on the desk. A potted plant rolled onto its side, sprinkling dirt across important looking papers, but France didn’t care.
He righted the pot and dusted it off, straightening up the leaves. It was indeed a fetching plant.
France placed the tomato plant on his windowsill and turned off the light.
~~~
End Chapter Four
Re: A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 4c/?
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-04 23:56 (UTC) - ExpandRe: A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 4c/?
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-05 02:58 (UTC) - ExpandRe: A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 4c/?
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-07 00:14 (UTC) - ExpandA Journey of Uncertainty (Prologue/?)
(Anonymous) 2010-09-05 04:45 pm (UTC)(link)Warning: Italy!cest mentioned.
Prologue
If anyone asks him, he would say that he did not really think it would end up like this. He always has this presumption in the back of his mind that someday, somehow, Romano will admit to him, or maybe to himself first, that he doesn’t really hate Spain. And then there will be happily ever after for them.
Well, he is partially right at least, Romano doesn’t hate him. At least he has said so. Although nowadays he is not very sure he should believe what Romano says anymore.
Nonetheless, Romano has said so. Most seriously in fact. Spain has never seen Romano this serious when speaking to himself. Well, maybe not never, but at least he hasn’t seen him like that for a very, very long time.
He looked so different from what Spain always remembers him as. He stands tall and talks like an adult. He is an adult, has been for quite a long time. Spain doesn’t think he has been denying this. After all, he harbours thoughts of happily ever after, and he can’t have that if Romano is not grown up. Yet Romano still looks so different, standing beside his younger brother, whose left hand is laced with his right hand. They stand together, serious yet proud, quiet happiness uncontained. It’s almost too bright a sight to watch, Spain muses almost absentmindedly.
Otherwise why do his eyes hurt so much?
He nods solemnly, assures Romano that he understands perfectly what he is saying. And no, he doesn't take Romano’s childhood promise of marrying Spain one day to be serious. Of course not, he knows that was a kid’s babbling, merely a joke, a misunderstanding… And he congratulates them, for finally finding each other.
Romano’s genuine smile is the best present he can ask for that day. Although the Italian becomes embarrassed almost immediately and reverts back to his insult-hurling self (although with a flushed face), Spain feels that he has more than enough to keep in his memory. And hopefully, enough to make him move on.
But later that night when no other people are seeing, cursing and thrashing in France’s embrace, he vents all his frustration against his brother, whom he has know since time forgotten.
France kisses Spain’s temple gently as exhaustion finally claims him, and soft soothing words are whispered.
“Sleep now, my dear Spain. All will be well, you will see.”
tbc
Re: A Journey of Uncertainty (Prologue/?)
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-05 17:47 (UTC) - ExpandOP
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-05 20:06 (UTC) - ExpandRe: A Journey of Uncertainty (Prologue/?)
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-05 20:32 (UTC) - ExpandRe: A Journey of Uncertainty (Prologue/?)
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-07 00:10 (UTC) - ExpandA Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 5a/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-07 04:46 pm (UTC)(link)Chapter Five
“Lesson four.” France stirred his morning café in a little seaside shop on the north of his land. “Inside information.”
“How do we get that?” Spain yawned. He would have rather stayed in bed. That was until France decided he would awaken him by sneaking in and stealing the blankets. He then replaced them with rose petals. Not that Spain didn’t like the scent of roses in the morning, but they hardly offered anything to snuggle into.
Spain yawned again and he heard France crunch into a heavily buttered croissant. It was way too early to be out learning how to get over one country and rope in another one.
He rubbed his eyes and pillowed his head in his arms on the quaint breakfast table. His left ear, Valencia, was almost resting in the butter.
“It means we spy.”
Spain gave him an irritable look over his elbow. “That’s not going to go very well… Actually, that sounds kind of…”
A dazed sort of look overcame Spain’s features and a little bit of drool appeared at the side of the mouth. “Wait, why didn’t you teach me this when the cute Italy brothers were young?”
“Hey,” France laughed with superiority and pointed his nose to the sky. “I have many secrets. Did you know I can make a killing on selling certain photos to Hungary?”
“Wait—Hungary?” Spain exclaimed with some apprehension.
“Oui,” France carried on, bringing out his pilfered binoculars from his bag to adjust them. They could come in handy. “She’ll pay a handsome sum for anything involving that uptight Austria.”
“You never happened to take any of me and Austria, did you?” Spain looked a little strained.
“Why?” France batted his eyelashes devilishly. They were fair, just like his hair. He playfully looked at his friend through the Japanese gadget.
Spain was unnaturally attractive in a deep green V-neck shirt. France smiled a little uncertainly, pleased that the country had taken his advice but wondering if his own loose cornflower blue shirt flattered him enough.
“Did you do anything worth taking a photo of?” France teased.
“N-No.”
Strangely, a speech bubble appeared on Spain’s chest very much like a comic book and France read: ‘Unless you count that awful wedding night.’
France’s jaw nearly fell off his face and he rubbed the lenses of the binoculars on his shirt, wondering if they were just a supped up beer-goggle prototype.
Spain looked like his everyday, normal, attractive self without the Japanese technology. The blond put the binoculars back up to his eyes and the supernatural text was gone.
The French speaking nation patted his flushed forehead with a distressed laugh. Now he was seeing things like England!
“Allons-y, Spain, we’re wasting the morning light.” He grabbed Spain by the back of his collar and literally had to drag the other nation out of his chair and into the sunlit street.
“The faster I help you, the faster you’ll find happiness again!” France nodded in satisfaction at his words. “You should have come to me from the start. Us romantic nations know so much more when it involves matters of the heart.”
“I don’t know about that,” Spain laughed, running a hand through his brown hair messily. “Austria had a book and everything.”
“Details, details…” France muttered and then spotted the perfect practice subject. “Look, there’s the Netherlands.” He pointed across the street to a tall nation holding some bags with a very stony expression.
“Ah,” Spain smiled nervously. “I’m not really int—”
“Shhsh!!!” France sputtered and dove, pushing Spain down into some bushes on the side. The orange bastard had almost spotted them. Spying didn’t really work if the subject knew someone was watching.
France immediately flipped open the binoculars and peered out from between some branches.
“F-France.” Spain whispered and the blond nation turned his magnified gaze on his friend.
~~~
Con’t in Chapter 5b
A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 5b/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-07 04:51 pm (UTC)(link)France hadn’t even realized he’d been sitting on top of Spain. He automatically smirked but the side of his mouth quivered as he started to see things again.
A speech bubble appeared across Spain’s chest. It read: ‘Not that lying here isn’t nice…’
France slid back as Spain sat up. The Spanish speaking nation spit out some random pine needles and laughed, his breath ghosting across France’s face like a little caress. It was minty fresh.
“A little warning next time!”
‘I wonder why he hasn’t groped me yet? Oh—his hand.’
As if following the completely bizarre monologue France was reading, Spain reached out and lifted France’s hand holding the binoculars. He set the gadget down and inspected the aristocratic hand still covered in the makeshift bandage from the day before.
“Well it seems alright…” He murmured.
France didn’t really hear it, pulling at his flaxen hair in obvious dismay. “After all these years, my mind is finally going…!”
A shadow fell over the two nations that was large and distinctly orange.
“Don’t spy on me.” The Netherlands intoned from above them.
His glare was bland but intimidating enough that both France and Spain sat still until he left.
“So uncute.” Spain shuddered, a little raincloud over his head.
France brushed it off for him.
~~~
“Bon. A different approach! I will watch you use your techniques from here,” France pointed to his spot behind a mailbox.
“On who?” Spain was shading his eyes, scouting around the vicinity for someone worth hitting on. “I guess I could always go see if Romano’s home and—”
France didn’t even bother to say anything and just kicked the other nation out into the open. “Remember, I’ll be watching!” He tapped his trusty binoculars and Spain shrugged, shuffling around looking hopeless.
“Ok, watch my back!” Spain shouted and waved when he’d reached the end of the street and France hunkered down, trying to look very inconspicuous.
The blond nearly cried when words danced in front of his vision again, spelling their way across Spain’s chest once more.
‘Check out my amazing ass.’
Alright, so maybe going crazy wasn’t that bad after all.
~~~
“Beh, dannato! Stop blocking the mailbox or I’ll be forced t—!!!”
“Ohhh, Romano~” France hid the binoculars behind his back and greeted the brunette’s sudden appearance with an immediate grope to his hip.
“H-Hey!! You stupid wine bastard! Don’t touch me.” South Italy clenched out.
His fists shook out of their own accord and his cheeks were already nearing the ripe colour of a tomato. France could see why Spain was so hung up. However, this definitely wasn’t the best time for the Spanish speaking country to run into the younger nation. He hoped Spain had found someone to talk to and had wandered far, far away.
“What are you doing here…?” France asked with a squinted look. He waved a couple of roses in front of his face to try and disguise his unease.
“Mailing a letter, what does it look like?” Romano stomped his foot and waved an envelope. France just stared.
“Grr… What, now you wanna make me admit your stupid mail system is better than mine?”
“Um,” France laughed flightily. “No?”
“I-I…” The angry nation stared France straight in the eye. “I hate you!”
“It’s really quite unnecessary to hate a nation’s nature,” France said with a tight grin, weary of what the former flame of Spain had to say. He was definitely a violent little nation.
“You’re a pervert,” The shorter nation spit out rudely.
France quirked an eyebrow. “I go by many names, but I prefer the Country of Love.”
“Yeah, sure,” Romano scowled fiercely down at his own shoes. “L-Love.”
~~~
Con’t in Chapter 5c
A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 5c/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-07 04:53 pm (UTC)(link)“Are you getting to some sort of point?” France relented.
“H-He… The bastard moved on. Without even asking me!” Romano replied from between clenched teeth.
The blond nation gaped. His mind’s eye immediately picked out three openings where he could get an inappropriate touch in quickly, but he didn’t really feel up to it. France looked the Italian speaking nation up and down with a critical eye through the binoculars, taking in his angry face and twitching eye.
“Are you upset?” That was the understatement of the year.
Romano didn’t bother replying, but his binoculars-bubble was loud and clear: ‘Now I feel even more worthless.’
France didn’t have much time to process exactly what he’d seen because a familiar voice called out, “Hey France! Were you watching me talk to—Oh.”
Spain stopped short behind the mailbox, which wasn’t a very good hiding spot at all, and a half grin spread across his features.
“Hey, Romano! How are you today?”
France read this as: ‘Hola, my little on-again off-again love interest, I really hope I don’t misunderstand you and screw up today!’
The South of Italy’s face immediately contorted into a grimace and his middle finger shot up. “Up yours, Spain! I was having a decent day until you showed up!”
‘You have an amazing ass, Spain! I was busy trying to appear independent and strong, but seeing you reminds me of how much I’m not!’
“Oh,” Spain laughed and rubbed the back of his head. “Er, well. It’s nice to see you still.”
France read: ‘You could be so cute, but you make me feel upset.
“Putain merde!” France slapped his forehead. A nervous tick had started to assault his cheek. He was ready to step in and—
“Whatever, you stupid bastard.” The Italian speaking nation ground out.
‘I wish I were different. Oh shit, t-tits!’
“B-Belgium!” Romano announced.
~~~
Belgium had a cheery smile on her face as she waved to the other nations. Her big brother was in tow, carrying quite a few more packages than before.
“I found him, thanks for the directions Spain.” She said.
France gave his friend a sharp look out the corner of his eye. “You weren’t chatting her up at all, were you?”
Spain rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. If his slight blush was endearing, Romano’s beet red cheeks were… well, they were something.
True to Italian fashion, he sidled up to Belgium and proceeded to use some lines.
France wanted to smash his beautiful face on something soft, maybe a pillow, to alleviate his frustration. He tapped his forehead intensely instead. “Spain, take a good look at this.”
Spain was.
France immediately felt guilty. Spain looked devastated.
“I can take you to an Italian store. You don’t need these cheap French clothes.” Romano smiled invitingly to the older nation but cowered when The Netherlands’ shadow fell across him.
“It’s best we go home now. There’s much work to do.” He said with a flat stare.
“Oh,” Romano cowered back and bumped into Spain, then stood behind him.
France stepped on Spain’s foot.
“AH,” Spain said loudly, feigning a smile. Galvanized into action he took the binoculars from France’s idle hand and put them up to his face. He looked ridiculous. “Belgium, do…do you…” He searched for a question that would help him gather inside information.
“Do you like tomatoes?”
His audience groaned.
~~~
Con’t in Chapter 5d
A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 5d/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-07 04:55 pm (UTC)(link)“Hey! Watch it you stupid perfumed bastard!” Romano shouted. A petal had nailed him in the eye and he was blinking furiously trying to get it out.
Spain must have noticed the binoculars’ special powers because all of a sudden his magnified gaze was firmly situated on Belgium’s chest.
“Er…” Belgium looked uneasy and her brother put a protective arm around her shoulders.
Spain grinned and turned his binocular’d sight on France. “I did it! I got the inside scoop—”
France couldn’t help but grin back. “I knew you would.”
And then the Netherlands plucked the amazing Japanese gadget out of Spain’s hands and tossed it into the sea.
“Oops.” He said unremarkably, and France nearly cried.
“Nooooo!” He dove in after them.
~~~
“Okay, that probably wasn’t the best idea.” Spain told him while ringing out the water in his newly ruined shirt.
France gave up trying to fix his hair in his mirror and was actually considering covering himself with a hat.
“That was one of the most unique treasures I’d ever had in my grasp,” France mourned. “Reading someone’s mind…It could have been so useful.”
“It was only really useful in almost drowning you.” Spain replied in a serious tone. His shirt was beyond help so he just took it off. “If I didn’t jump in to fish you out you’d be halfway to America’s house by now!”
“And think how much fun that would have been with those miraculous binoculars!” France said pitifully.
They’d resurfaced on the dock completely waterlogged to find that the other nations had neatly disappeared.
It wasn’t summer. The seawater was much too cold to go swimming in and France’s teeth chattered together in a really unflattering way. He pulled Spain down to sit next to him and cupped the brunette’s ribs in his cold hand anyway.
Spain didn’t seem to mind, even if he sneezed.
“We should go back to the house and never try to spy ever again.”
France completely agreed.
Spain’s bare arm encircled his shoulders for a moment just rubbing slowly to warm up the French speaking country. France let the warmth creep up inside him, content for once to not have to work for his kicks.
“Oh those binoculars,” Spain said out of the blue, “I think they were broken. Instead of your mind, I think it was reading your heart.”
“…” France had no words at the moment. “What did it say…?”
Spain laughed as if it was obvious, and France felt his heart sink for a second. “You’d have to tell me. It was all written in French!”
Oh. Well that was the language of love.
~~~
End Chapter Five
Re: A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 5d/?
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-07 18:04 (UTC) - ExpandRe: A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 5d/?
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-07 22:36 (UTC) - ExpandA Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 6a/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-08 03:56 pm (UTC)(link)Chapter Six
“You know, I’ve been thinking about what Austria said to me.”
Spain was enjoying a siesta in the front of his yard with a cool class of sangria glued to his hand. It wasn’t as relaxing as a hot summer day, but it was nice enough that the sun was out and the sharp smell of freshly cut foliage clung to the air.
France had been helping him a lot the past few days. Spain didn’t have the heart to tell him he was harvesting his King’s rose bush.
France hummed to himself as he pruned off the gorgeous blossoms one by one, delighted in the Spanish roses he could adorn himself with.
“What, that drivel about countries and marriage and what have you?” France replied absentmindedly. His sleeve had caught on a thorn and now he had a loose thread.
“Yeah, well—no, it’s not that untrue, now that I’ve thought about it. Countries really aren’t like normal men at all.”
“Oui, we’re quite bigger than mere men.” France raised his eyebrows and clicked his tongue against his teeth. The thread was annoying him.
Spain laughed. “I mean, it’s easy for a citizen to love his country. And it’s even easier for a country to love its people, since they’re what make us, us, or something. I’m not really sure about the reasoning behind that...”
“Get to the point.” France said, digging through his Louis V bag for a smaller pair of shears.
Spain poked France in the cheek. “What I’m saying is, he’s right. It’s actually not easy at all for nations to love each other.”
France’s followed the line from the tip of Spain’s index finger, up his arm, all the way to those green eyes. He bit his lip and refrained from rolling his eyes. “And yet, Austria is a bit easy, isn’t he?”
“Hm?”
France waved a gloved hand quickly to ward off the topic. “Ah, I agree, nations do have lots of history together that makes it très difficile.”
“Then there are our bosses who make things even more complicated! I swear I’ve always had problems with mine.” Spain flopped down onto the grass, not really caring that he was getting sprigs of rose bush in his hair as France chose his flowers. “It makes it even worse to love a country like that.”
“I have had a good feel for what my president wants, on occasion.” France chatted. A delicate white rose was cut off and made its way into his frilly sleeve. He missed the days when he could wear his most decadent coats and lace. He cut two more white blossoms to make up for it.
“Ohhhh, don’t tell me that!” Spain said chuckling even as a blush came to his cheeks. “You didn’t. To your boss?!”
“Every man, woman and child should feel the loving touch of their country at some point in their lives.” France had a twinkle in his eye and he said this, a gentle wind stirring his rose bush and rustling up a beautiful petal effect.
“That is how patriotism is born. This is one of my beliefs as a nation and something I’m proud of executing on a daily basis.”
Spain stared at the other country for a long moment, at least until the wind and petal effect died down, and then he snorted. “Ok. You’re definitely a pervert.” He began laughing in earnest as France chased him with the garden shears.
~~~
France huffed and took a long sip of Spain’s drink. He was prepared to face the lesson for today, laden with the beautiful flower of love and sweet wine. He took an even longer sip. He would need it, today’s lesson was:
“Penetration.”
Spain spit out his drink.
“Infiltration. Getting inside!” France smirked deviously. “For this, you should get out your heavy artillery and—”
“Wait, wait.” Spain looked uneasy. “Don’t we have a practical test on any of the other lessons? I think we failed miserably at the last one. Let’s have a redo.”
“Let’s not beat around the bush,” France announced instead. “If the other lessons failed then this is your best bet.”
“Or last resort,” Spain laughed. “How are we going to accomplish this?”
“We’re going,” France pointed, “To the United Kingdom.”
“Errrr…”
~~~
Con’t in Chapter 6b
A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 6b/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-08 03:57 pm (UTC)(link)“Nonsense.” France replied. “This is perfect. Not that our charms and good looks aren’t irresistible, because they are, but we need someone who won’t get obsessed with you.”
“Why’s that?” Spain asked innocently, rocking back and forth on his heels. England always took way too long to answer his door.
“Well I don’t think I’d like that very much.” France looked over his shoulder at his friend and winked; a milky white rose by his cheek.
Spain could feel the blush rising to his face like the mercury in a thermometer.
“The world only needs one Casanova, Spain.” France finished, and picked the lock on the door with his rose stem.
The brunette rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, following after the other romantic. The house smelt distinctly like mothballs.
~~~
“YOU!”
A sound of a rifle going off was their only warning. Spain pushed France behind him for cover and then produced his own shotgun.
“Britain!” Spain shouted out in an attempt to find the source of the insanity. “Show yourself!”
“Stay where you are!” The accented English was shouted from beyond the parlour. A few more shots were fired off, making France scream and dive behind a shaggy coach.
Part of the ceiling fell down, causing Spain to drop his gun and roll out of the way.
“Angleterre!” France called. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”
“So. You brought the French with you this time then?” England appeared from behind a wall in his dining room. The only reason they saw him was because he’d blasted a hole clean through. He had a mad look on his face like he was ready for a war to sweep in through the awful paisley curtains.
“It seems he’s upped his ante since I last visited.” Spain explained, laughing a little nervously and brushing the wall plaster from his hair.
“Oh please.” France stood from his hiding spot. “Stop being ridiculous, we just came for a visit!”
“Right.” England ran a gloved hand through his own dull blonde hair, ceiling plaster and dust smoking out from it. He looked about ready to take aim again until the grandfather clock in the den began chiming.
“Well, come along then. It’s tea time.”
~~~
“I swear, I’m not here to try and get some!” Spain pleaded. Then, “This time.”
“Eat the damned scones!” England thrust the plate at the brunette’s head and Spain had no choice but to hold the dish on his lap, looking terrified.
They were in England’s sitting room, squashed into a too small tweed couch behind a coffee table while the short nation steadied his gun at them.
England sat down in a flowered print arm chair in front of them, gun still poised as his assistant served them tea and scones.
France tried to placate the angry nation with a small smile. “Please. I brought Spain here to teach him about penetration! Hm, that is to say…Infiltration.” Obviously he hadn’t thought this lesson out enough, judging by England’s purple face.
“Have you been drinking?” The English speaking nation asked plainly. “I can smell your wine breath from here!”
“It was sangria.” Spain chimed in helpfully.
The shotgun was cocked at his head and the hostage nation had no choice but to lift one of the rock hard scones to his lips.
England watched with one beady eye, almost looking like he was enjoying himself, as Spain was forced to bite into the pastry.
Spain’s eyes watered. “Mm... Yum.” He chewed slowly.
“Yes…” The side of England’s lip was twitching pleasantly.
“O..Ok,” France tried again, deeply disturbed. “Well there’s no reason to torture us! Spain has been under my wing ever since that day you hit me with my baguette.” His mouth pursed as if he’d eaten smelt something sour. Maybe it was the pudding.
“Really.”
~~~
Con’t in Chapter 6c
A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 6c/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-08 03:58 pm (UTC)(link)The United Kingdom did not look convinced. He leaned forward, setting down his gun. Spain swallowed in relief, but then his eyes widened in alarm, realizing what he’d just ingested.
“Listen.” England said lowly, and France wondered if he should risk stealing a kiss when his firearm was so close. Any other day he might have, but the awful cook nation had it out for Spain today and that was a good enough reason as any not to play around with England anymore.
“Oui?” France tilted his head, watching as a smirk besmirched England’s face.
“You two can stay for supper, or leave right now.”
Beside them Spain was groaning and gripping his stomach, hoping the scones would come back up. His face was turning a slight green.
“Maybe we will.” France’s eye twitched in irritation.
“Please no!” Spain gasped, pitching himself sideways to dry heave over the side of the couch.
“If you’re going to be sick, do it outside!” England’s head seemed to be roasting. Annoyance was coming off him in visible waves. A tiny tear was at the corner of his eye. “What went wrong with that batch…?” He muttered as Spain bolted for the door.
France figured Austria would have been a more accommodating guest. Sometimes playing with England wasn’t fun at all. He stood to leave.
“One moment.” The gun was trained on him this time and France blushed in dismay.
England eyed him with no mild frustration. “France, you’ve never won any wars. Who told you comparing love lessons to battlefield tactics was a good idea?”
The long haired blond bristled with a tight smile stretched across his lips. “It’s not the metaphor that matters; it’s the meaning behind it.”
“And what’s that? That’s he’s going to end up falling in love using your idiotic rules? That’s a laugh if I’ve ever heard one.”
“Non. The message is simply that one must fight for what one loves.”
As soon as the words left his mouth France had an epiphany. He paused, turning the idea over in his mind.
“Newsflash!” English always grated on his nerves. It sounded so uncultured. “He lost what he loves and he’s trying to find something new! You can’t just send a soldier into battle to fight blind! Ugh, this is like trying to draw blood from a bloody stone!”
France raised a delicate eyebrow at that and chuckled, but his mouth became a thin line, demeanour no longer able to be hidden with a smile. “Stop being a jackass for moment, hm?”
England’s eyebrows narrowed dangerously at that. France was sure one of these days those monstrous brows were going to overtake the shorter nation’s lower face and then strike for the heart. It was a tragedy waiting to happen.
“I never said the message was for him.” France touched the bite mark on his hand. “Spain can’t read the atmosphere. There’s no point in trying to convey a romantic message in that way.”
“Then what is the point of this?”
“To make him happy.” France replied as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.
The sentient eyebrows shot up to the English speaking nation’s hairline in surprise.
France watched in fascinated horror. He should have known; England’s brain had always been the first to go.
~~~
End Chapter Six
Thank you sooo much to those who left comments for me. Such amazing comments. *_* I stopped replying to them individually so I wouldn’t flood the thread with my gratitude. Thanks again!! And yes, I am quite insane.
Re: A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 6c/?
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-08 18:58 (UTC) - ExpandRe: A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 6c/?
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-08 18:59 (UTC) - ExpandRe: A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 6c/?
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-08 20:30 (UTC) - ExpandRe: A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 6c/?
(Anonymous) - 2010-09-08 21:53 (UTC) - ExpandA Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 7a/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-09 03:34 pm (UTC)(link)Chapter Seven
“I got a letter.”
Spain hummed to himself as he used a random dagger on his King’s desk to slice it open.
France had arrived to an unexpected flutter of activity that morning. It was the weekend and therefore a lot of cleaning up was needed in certain rooms of the Spanish house.
Spain had been up since an early hour; dusting, filing, and even making some phone calls. Now he was signing documents he’d put off for way too long, like homework he just didn’t want to do.
That job included opening and responding to his mountainous pile of mail.
France admired the many pieces of history and artwork that decorated the room. It was sometimes easy to forget when faced with Spain’s country bumpkin attitude and vagabond appearance that he was a very old and noble nation. France had never forgotten though.
He trailed his pale hand over the smooth pounded metal of a suit of arms, realizing he couldn’t see his reflection in the surface anymore. He could remember clearly the way he’d check his smile in the shining metal on Spain’s shoulder, right before a battle.
He and Spain had gotten old together. France smiled. If the armour had been still new maybe he would have noticed he had a tiny pair of crow’s feet by his eyes.
“It’s from Romano.” Spain was incredulous.
France’s hand clenched. “Really?”
“Y-Yeah.” There was a bubble of emotion running through Spain’s words. France couldn’t tell what it was. “It says… a lot.”
France wasn’t the type to worry about stepping on people’s sudden heaps of feelings, so nothing stopped him from kicking aside the heavy pile gathering next to Spain. He snatched the letter from Spain’s unresisting fingers to read what it said.
France’s blue eyes moved back and forth on the page a total of two times and then settled on Spain.
The brunette shrugged.
In reality, the letter didn’t say that much at all.
Hey. It’s your fault I miss my best friend.
~South Italy (Romano)
~~~
“You’re really going to go?” France asked.
Spain was pulling on his shoes haphazardly. The pile of mail sat totally forgotten as he balanced on one foot, trying to jump into his other shoe. He ended up tripping over his unwrapped spats instead.
France face-palmed.
“I’ve got to!” Spain said, his face muffled against the floor. He peeled himself off the carpet and sat down properly, shoving his left foot into a right-footed shoe. He banged it on in frustration. “Romano waited exactly one hundred days to contact me again.”
“This…This isn’t part of the lessons.” France tried weakly.
It was harder than it looked to fight Spain when he was actually in a good mood.
Spain chucked his boot and put sandals on with his uniform instead.
…Especially when met with such blockheadedness.
“Don’t tell me you’ll go like that.” France intoned dreadfully.
“Like what?” The back of Spain’s hair was half flat and half fluffy as he pulled on his jacket. “Come on, let’s go.”
France’s eyebrow ticked up and down. “Perhaps this is the redo test you were looking for, mon ami. I’ll stay right here.”
“Really?” Spain paused and looked at him. Really looked at him, as if he was actually thinking.
France tapped his foot in time with his eyebrow twitch. “So?”
Spain took a step forward and, those shoes… with that uniform… He’d already failed lesson two.
The Spanish speaking nation put the tip of his finger to France’s twitch. It stopped under his touch and Spain smiled, lighting up the whole room with his emotions alone.
“You can be really cute, you know?” He said.
France blinked and watched Spain run out the door.
~~~
Con’t in Chapter 7b
A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 7b/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-09 03:35 pm (UTC)(link)That was really hard to do seeing as he was wearing sandals. Obviously, everyone except Spain knew that that if you didn’t want to mow the lawn with your feet then it wasn’t a very good idea to go out running in sandals.
He knew that now.
“Ughhh…” He ran past the he fields and ponds that littered the lands of France’s home and then Monaco’s and then… Finally, the path to Romano’s house eased up and he could empty out his shoes of all the grass, dirt and gravel he’d collected.
North Italy opened the door to Spain, who was barefoot and pouring clumps of dirt on his steps.
“Ahh, big brother Spain…” Veneziano eyed the dirt pile and then Spain’s face. The older nation hastened to wipe sweat from his temple and managed to swipe dirt across it instead.
“H-How are you?” Italy laughed and patted Spain on the back heartedly. “You’re not here to season me with tomato sauce again, are you?”
Spain had the decency enough to be sheepish as he rubbed the soles of his feet on the welcome mat and entered in after the shorter nation.
“No, no, no! I’m here to see Romano.”
“’Cause ya know, my favourite’s carbonara even though marinara is just a liiiiittle bit away from being my number one~” Veneziano lilted happily, not really chatting about anything as he took the broom from the hallway cupboard and immediately brushed down his doorway.
“Romano!” Spain called out.
The telltale curl came into view. “Oh it’s you.” Romano seemed as happy as ever to see him. “What happened to you? You’ve tracked dirt in all the way to the carpet!” His eyes narrowed.
“Oh, y’know,” Spain coughed. “Just er, doing…um. Football.”
“You’re a horrible liar.” Veneziano said from behind them with a carefree grin. “I can see your nose growing from over here, Pinocchio! And believe me, your nose is already kinda big!”
Spain grabbed at his face in horror.
“Would you shut up?” Romano yelled. “Geppetto couldn’t carve out something this stupid even if he tried.” He speared Spain in the gut with his index finger.
“H-Hey, I’m right here.” Spain sweatdropped. “Is that any way to treat your best friend?”
Romano stared at him for a moment. His baleful eyes bore into Spain like he was concentrating very hard on reading something.
The Spanish speaking nation looked down at himself, but there were nothing strange there that he could see.
“Shut up, Spain.” Romano concluded. “This changes nothing.”
For once, he’d never felt better to hear those words.
~~~
It was time for revenge.
France pranced around the Spanish house, messing up Spain’s bedroom with more rose petals and drinking out the supply of sangria in his fridge.
This served Spain right for leaving the house when there was still so much to be done. France pulled all the books with subjects he was interested in and left them on the floor. And he was interested in a lot of things.
As he tore through the office, he stopped. The window in the gently decorated room faced his own land and he could see his house from there.
The field that connected their two homes stretched out in front of him, not as scenic as it was during the spring months, but full of beautiful memories all the same.
He remembered all those years ago, when he’d been counselling Spain on his relationship with South Italy. He’d told him: ‘You have to expect nothing in return for love! Love is something that pours. If the love you poured out isn’t returned, you can’t get depressed over it.’
France had never wanted to be a hypocrite.
He didn’t even notice as he straightened up.
~~~
Con’t in Chapter 7c
A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 7c/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-09 03:36 pm (UTC)(link)“How did you manage this?” Spain asked, looking around in wonder.
“Hm?” France uncovered his eyes. He’d been dozing on the office loveseat, covered in rose petals and apparently holding a feather duster.
He sat up, feeling the sleepiness fall away from him in shreds. “What time is it?” He froze in horror. “You’re filthy.”
“You collected my mail!” Spain exclaimed, pointing stupidly at his desk where a neat row of envelopes sat, already opened.
“Correction,” France replied with a dark and mischievous smile, “I went through your mail.”
Spain didn’t hear him, going around the desk to observe the orderliness.
“All my books are on the floor.” He noted, but didn’t seem to care. His tone was even a little… fond.
France yawned and stretched. He inspected the feather duster in his hand, sweeping the air in amusement. Suddenly there were two callused hands gripping his arms.
“What the hell?”
“France.” Spain shook him, an intense expression renting the space in between his ears for once. “There are tomato-shaped cookies on the table.”
“Are there?” The blond looked even more amused. “How was your date with Romano?”
“Tomato. Shaped. Cookies!” Spain let the other nation go. He stood proudly over the plate of biscuits. “And a glass of milk.” He took it into his hand and never before had Spain seemed so strong.
Really, the cookies weren’t tomato-shaped. They were round. Ninety-eight percent of all cookies in the universe were round. Also, it just so happened that France loved to partake of dessert when he worked. It wasn’t like he’d thought of Spain or anything like that.
France wasn’t going to make things complicated by saying so.
The nation rested his stubble-covered chin on the palm of his hand. He watched the scene like it was his life’s greatest indulgence, because everything France had ever done of his own accord was of great indulgence.
“I love you, France.” Spain told him seriously.
France let out a puff of air that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. It started as chuckles when Spain crunched through three more of the treats in one mouthful. It turned into full blown laughter as Spain tried to hug him and down the glass of milk in one gulp.
“I mean it.” Spain gargled out around the milk and some spilt to the floor and a little on France’s wool pants.
The blond wiped the side of Spain’s grinning mouth and then the dirt smeared side of his face with his pale fingers. The Spanish speaking nation’s lips were chapped dry but his eyes were fresh and so very green. It didn’t even occur to France to grab Spain’s ass.
Spain hugged him tightly. His cropped hair curled into France’s ear.
France felt his eyes get a little wet too but there was no use crying over spilt milk.
~~~
End Chapter Seven
One or two more chapters to go! Thanks so much~
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(Anonymous) 2010-09-09 08:56 pm (UTC)(link)Chapter Eight
“Hey France…” Spain whispered.
“Fraaaaaance.” The country poked France in the sleep-softened cheek.
France had spent so much time getting him up in the morning the past few weeks; it was only fair to do the same. The first thing to do was to wake the country up in a creative way, just like France would do.
Spain didn’t like working with flowers that much, so he had to think of a better way.
France let out a delicate snore. Yes, delicate. The brunette bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing.
The French house had always been decadent and the bedroom where France himself slept was nothing short of fantastic.
Silks and velvets and jewels and filigree spun together almost garishly to create an atmosphere that was completely too much to take in but gorgeous anyway. Kind of just like France.
He peeled the blonde nation’s duvet back.
“Wake uuup—Oh.” He didn’t bother to hide his laughter then. “Someone’s already up.” Spain slapped his forehead in amusement. He stared.
Spain dragged his hand through the course locks on his head. One day he was going to have to ask France why he slept naked with cat ears on.
“Hey!” Spain threw a tomato at the sleeping nation’s head.
It ended up getting lodged in France’s open mouth and choking him.
“Oh shit,” The brunette dodged the flying vegetable as France sat up, waving his arms around wildly.
“Are you trying to kill me?!” France demanded.
Hacking up tomatoes in the morning was probably not what France thought of when being creative.
“No,” He replied with a small blush, embarrassed. “I was just surprising you. Get dressed and let’s go out!”
France rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, falling back amongst his sixteen pillows in dismay. “What time is it?”
“Happy hour.” Spain laughed and pointed to France’s lap which was doing no good job at being discreet.
“Oh la la,” France chuckled along with the other country. “I suppose it is time to rise to the occasion.” He stretched languidly.
“Yeah,” Spain smiled quietly at him then, just watching him laze about. For some reason he was dressed quite more acceptably that morning in a lovely maroon V-neck sweater and crisp white shirt underneath. His jeans still had an offensive tear at the knee, but a moment was all one could expect of perfection after all.
“I haven’t bothered Austria in a while,” France suggested. “I do need to take care of mon petit ami.” He grinned lecherously. “We could show him how much you’ve progressed. You and Romano might even be hearing wedding bells soon.”
Spain’s good mood fell right off his face.
“Cher, don’t bother to clean that up,” France waved his hand. Somehow he’d gotten into a beautiful cashmere housecoat and some slippers – cat ears still intact. “Alright, let’s go.”
“Er,” Spain scratched his head and stared at his shoes. “It’s a bit cool outside…”
“I won’t need clothes for this little expedition.” France lowered his eyebrows with great smugness.
“That’s not exactly where I planned to go, but,” Spain gave a little laugh and tapped the side of his head with a fist. “Okay, we can go to his house.”
“Puurrrfect.” France… purred.
Spain just followed him out the door.
~~~
“Well what d’ya know.” Prussia stood in the doorway with a devilish look about him. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“If you’re referring to me,” France strut inside with his nose in the air, “I didn’t have to drag Spain anywhere.”
“Yeah, we’re,” Spain made a little hand gesture in explanation that no country in the world could comprehend. “We’re here together.”
“I can see that.” Prussia looked them both up and down as they entered the foyer; Spain was actually put together for once and looked healthily determined. It was a far cry from the last time he’d been around.
France was... France.
~~~
Con’t in Chapter 8b
A Tomato Whose Name I Don't Know Yet 8b/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-09 08:57 pm (UTC)(link)Prussia slammed the door and his bird friend popped out of his hair in fright. “H-Hell no man. I am not here for the same reason as you!”
“Which is why the world is such a boring place.” France replied woefully.
Spain separated the two by walking in between them. “We’re just here –together— to visit. Not for very long.”
“Spaaain,” France moaned dramatically. “There you go again, making jokes about me.”
“T-That’s not it.” Spain said hastily, he took France’s hand in his own. “I didn’t mean it like that!”
Prussia and France shared a momentary glance of confusion.
“Relaaax,” The albino nation placated with that grating voice. “He’s not Romano.” The obnoxious laugh began. “Kesesese, you’re not gonna get verbally castrated. Unless you’re into that kinda thing.”
“Ah oui, we also came here with an announcement. Those two are back together tighter than ever!” France’s smirk twitched. He went to wave a rose in front of his face but realized he didn’t pack any in the flimsy robe. Instead he just pretended to lick his paw and slid it against one of his cat ears.
“Shit, I didn’t know you were into it!” Prussia was amazed.
“I-I…I-I, I—”
“Spain,” Tiny crows had stepped near France’s eyes as he paused in his grooming. Those twinkling blues gave him the most affectionate gaze. “You look like a tomato.”
Spain’s brain froze.
“Look dude,” Prussia sat the brunette down on one of Austria’s plastic-covered sofas. “You should have just said something. Hell, you were probably having the time of your life trying to get that little bastard to take you back. What the hell did you do?”
“I, I…”
Prussia lovingly slapped him in the face like an appliance on the fritz.
“I fell in love.” Spain blinked, brain rebooted. He twisted around so fast to look over his shoulder that he slid right off the upholstery. It didn’t seem to faze him as he sat sprawled on the floor, looking at the still preening France, a wide grin in place.
“Fuck, if Austria weren’t so damn stingy we wouldn’t have this problem!” Prussia shook an aggravated fist in the general vicinity of the country’s private rooms.
“Cheep! Cheep!” The tiny yellow chick included.
“Damn right he is.”
“As long as we’re going to listen to our cocks around here, I might as well bid you all adieu.” France winked and tiptoed down the hallway.
Spain and Prussia rushed to follow him and both watched as France slinked through the chamber doors.
The moment they shut, something in Spain’s head broke down again.
“Y’know, for the longest time I could’ve sworn France had a thing for you man.” Prussia whispered right out of the blue. He laughed and elbowed the other country in the side. “Guess not! Hah!”
~~~
Con’t in Chapter 8c
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