Ugh. I haven't written in a while and I've been RPing Spamano and pRussia (the pairing, not a typo) a lot lately… So here's some sweet nice Spamano for all! XD
Again, to those who don't know, I'm not going to be continuing any more of my Maximum Ride stories (except for maybe Dark Angel)! For more details, skip to the last "chapter" of each story or check the summaries.
spain sighed and turned over in his bed. He tucked a hand under his head and stared at the inside of his tent.
He missed Lovi. Being at war was lonely. Sure his people were there and it was, of course, for a good cause, but what if, when he came back, Romano would no longer be small? What if he was all grown up and he'd never need Spain again?
Despite the little Italian's protests, he really was the cutest of all. Spain didn't understand Lovi's inferiority complex at all. He liked both Italians, but Lovi would always be his favorite. The way Romano would puff out his cheeks when he was mad or the way his cute curl turned into a little heart when he was embarrassed or when he was eating a ripe tomato still made his heart palpitate a bit faster.
As soon as this war is over, Spain vowed, I'll go back and eat tomatoes with Lovi again. We will be happy.
Antonio stumbled to the gates of his villa and rested against the iron gate's post. Panting slightly he gingerly checked his bandaged side. That last man he fought with had got him pretty good in the last town. He'd come out of nowhere and he had let his guard down.
A child's scream pieced the air, making Antonio flinch. His first thought was that Lovi was in some sort of trouble. Despite still knowing he was at war, his instincts told him to go to the sound. He rushed past his fellow soldier and ran down the street, looking for the source. A few of his people shouted at him to come back but he ignored all of the calls and focused. Lovi, Lovi, Lovi…
Finally he turned the corner and saw it, his eyes going wide. A pain exploded in his shoulder and he fought the scream that tore its way out of his throat. When he'd been able to push away some of the pain and clear his mind, he focused on the scene again.
There was a man, a scruffy looking man. Not as tall as Antonio but well built. In his right hand was a Spanish gun, probably stolen off of one of his own men who'd fallen in battle. Antonio's team was the first one on the scene when they'd heard of an ambush in one of the small towns. They had no idea how serious it actually was.
But it was what was in the man's left hand which made the country's blood chill.
It was a small boy, probably no older than what Romano looked like, that had tears streaming down his face. The child shook, glancing between the man and the Spanish Empire.
"Let us go… Leave us alone!" The man's voice was rough and his grip tightened on the boy's arm. Obviously, the child feared the man because everyone in a while, he would tug on his arm experimentally, only to have the hand placed firmly on his arm limit his movement. Spain had to be cautious here. His predicament as dangerous as lighting a match in a room full of gunpowder.
"I don't want to hurt you… I'll let you go… just… don't hurt him." Spain tried to say confidently and smoothly. He didn't want to alarm the man at all. He took a careful step forward only to have the man lower his gun to the child.
"You don't care at all about us." The man spat at Antonio. "You and your soldiers did nothing but destroy this town! If you had, my family would still be alive!" Spain narrowed his eyes at the man. The rumors of this town told of a rebel base sanctioned somewhere among the tiny shops. This man and his family were probably part of the rebel forces. The goal of Antonio's mission.
"I did what was best for the country." Spain said. Only the political and military leaders knew of his existence as a country, normal citizens knew nothing of his presence.
"Toro merida." The man retorted, his face full of disgust and pain. "I'm even surprised you feel this kid should live." The boy shook in the man's grasp and tried pulling away again. The gun was pressed closer.
"Life is a sacred thing." Antonio nodded slowly. But sometimes lives had to be lost for a greater cause. He thought guiltily. His empire was slowly coming apart at the seams. One battle lost and Spain could fall prey to the other country's hungry claws. His survival depended on his victories.
"Who are you? What right do you have to come here and destroy this town?" the man demanded.
"Antonio Carriedo." Spain said. He wanted to tell him the real reason why he had to go on the military campaign. That he wanted to stay alive as the Spanish Empire. To be a worthy opponent, or at least to be able to hold his own, against the British. But of course, giving that away might make the matter worse. Being able to torture the actual country might help the rebel forces in his empire. It would tip the scales against the Spanish forces. "Please, let the child go."
The man began to laugh humorlessly and he looked around, gun still pressed firmly against the temple of the boy. Antonio heard his men around him, their guns and bayonets at ready.
"He has no use to me now. I am going to die anyways." And with that, he pulled the trigger, the metal burying itself in the child's brain with a loud pop. Antonio jumped and yelled abruptly. His face twisted into one of panic and of apprehension as he watched the boy fall to the ground like a marionette with cut strings.
"NO!" He raced towards the man, a bullet whizzing past his cheek. He pulled out his own revolver and fired two shots. Two bullets in his chest. He fell with a hollow thud back on the dusty ground and coughed, blood staining his lips red.
"Let the sun set on the Spanish Empire and the blood run free…" The man croaked. Spain clenched his jaw and refused to look at the man. He would not mourn for the life he took.
The boy in his arms was small to begin with but looked tiny in Spain's arms. His eyes were frozen open, the terror captured in the empty eyes forever. Gently, Spain pressed two fingers on his eyelids and closed them gently and wipes off the tear trails on the child's dusty cheeks with his crimson cloak.
"Lo siento… I couldn't protect you…" Spain said, sitting back on his heels. He held the boy gently in his arms silently.
"Signor Carriedo… Is everything alright?" One of Antonio's officers came from behind and asked. Antonio nodded sadly. Spain stayed silent for a while, keeping his short vigil with the boy.
"We have to win," Antonio said softly. He didn't turn around but his voice was cold and raw. "We have to get things under control."
"We'll do our best." The officer nodded. The two men met eyes and Antonio finally stood. He carried the boy all the way back to his camp and dug a hole alone in silence. The officer kept the other soldiers in line and told them to leave Antonio alone. Clearly, something had happened they didn't know about. Something that had shattered Spain's usual demeanor.
"He's in shock," the doctor said. Antonio hadn't eaten for nearly three days, drinking the minimal amount of water. His wounds had been bandaged several times but they never closed because Antonio could not sit still. "He needs to take a break." The doctor told the second in command. The officer nodded and walked into the tent where Antonio was lying down, for once. Utter exhaustion had taken over his body and he'd collapsed in the middle of a spar with a few soldiers.
"I'm finally going home, aren't I?" Antonio smiled, but his eyes were still empty, almost dead.
"Si. You need to rest and get away from the front lines." The man nodded and Antonio sighed.
"Alright, I'll leave tomorrow morning. You'll be able to take care until I return?" He looked at him, wide and alert now. The officer looked back warily. The doctor and the man didn't really think that Antonio would be able to return for a while, but Spain intended to fight beside his people.
"I'll do my best." Antonio smiled, relieved. He didn't want to leave his people in danger in these tense times.
"We look forward to your return." The officer returned the smile and then stepped out of the tent, into the hot Spanish sun. Antonio was leaving and he'd have to prepare to break the news to the troops. Not everyone liked him as leader.
Antonio took a deep breath and then reached for the door. Pushing it open, he stumbled in and sighed, smelling the old scent of his villa. He was finally home. He gulped and stepped on the old carpet near the door and walked through the empty halls.
Where was everyone?
"Lovino? Emma?" He called, but only heard his echos. The house seemed empty. "Anyone?"
He walked to his study. His bedroom. The dining room.
Panicking slightly he hurried to the garden. If the tomato plants were still cared for, that means that someone had to still be around. He limped towards the glass doors that led to the garden and pushed them open.
Panting heavily, his white bandages being stained red, he stood before the small figure that struggled with the rather large watering pot.
Falling to his knees, he smiled, relieved. He sighed and then tasted salt. Touching his cheeks, he found the tears rolling down his cheeks like the child from before.
"What the hell took you so long, tomato bastard?" Lovino rushed towards the Spaniard. He stopped just before hugging him, appalled at the injuries his boss had sustained. "Are you alright?" Lovino didn't know if he should be shocked at the sight of Antonio's tears or his injuries. He had no idea what Spain had been doing besides fighting in a war. No idea he was actually on the front lines.
"Lo siento, Lovi…" He smiled gently and hugged Lovino to him. The little Italian struggled but eventually settled into Spain's hug. He had been incredibly lonely while Spain had been away but he was also mad for having been lonely for so long. Wasn't a boss supposed to take care of his henchman?
"You owe me," Lovino puffed out his cheeks. "And don't call me that. I'm not a pet."
"I know, Lovi," he said, disregarding Lovino's request. "I'll make you all the pasta and tomato dishes you want." He holds Lovino close to him, almost too close for Lovino's comfort but he really needed to make sure that Lovi was alright. That the boy from days before wasn't Lovi. That it would never be Lovi.
"Te queirro, Lovi." He finally pulls back. Lovino's eyes widen and the tomato red blush spreads across his cheeks.
"What the hell are you talking about, tomato bastard? You can't love me!" Lovino cries, apprehensive of the Spaniard's sudden declaration of love.
"I do, I do," he reassured. He knew he'd be rejected now… but in a few years possibly? "You'll marry me later though, right?" The little Italian shook with his confused emotions.
And just resorted to head butting the ditz in chin. Spain rolled back and rubbed his jaw, but laughing and wiping away his tears.
"So that's a yes?" he grins and then promptly stood, limping away as fast as he could as Lovino chased him, shouting insults all the rest of the way.
War is to protect loved ones, to protect what we hold dear, Spain thought. I am fighting this war to keep Lovino and myself safe, so that we can be happy in the future.
Well, is it safe to say that I suck and ending stuff? Yeah it is. You can go ahead and tell me that in a review. ((hehe)) Anyways, I hope you enjoyed that. I don't exactly know how to finish the story or where the story was going. I thought I had an idea but I still enjoyed writing it. Please tell me how I did! I appreciate ALL reviews (feel free to give constructive criticism).