Desaparición

Part 1

He wasn't worried. There was no way that he was worried about that Spanish bastard. He was only here because he had to yell at the idiot for not sending him his weekly shipment of tomatoes yesterday. Just because Spain had ignored his phone calls and messages of "Where the hell are my tomatoes, you bastard?!!" was no reason to be worried. Even if Spain never ignored him. Ever. He usually received about fifty text messages from the bastard a day, after all. And it wasn't worrying him at all that he hadn't received anything from Spain for the past four days.

No, he just wanted his tomatoes. That was the only reason he was here.

Unfortunately, he was finding it rather hard to believe these arguments as he stood in front of the door to Spain's house and stared in horror at the browning tomato plants wilting on the front porch. Something was really wrong. Spain would never let something like this happen to his beloved tomatoes.

"Oi! Spagna! Bastard! Where are my tomatoes?! And why aren't you taking care of these? They better not be the ones you were supposed to send me, bastard!" he called, slamming on the door with his fists. That hurt…He switched to kicking at it, which created a much louder, more satisfying sound.

There was no response from inside. Okay, that was weird. Usually the bastard would practically throw himself down the stairs in his haste to attack Romano when he came to visit—not that he was visiting because he wanted to see the bastard, he just came for the free food.

He finally groaned and tugged a key ring from his pocket, complete with a tomato-shaped keychain, compliments of the idiot in question. Spain had given him a key to his house centuries ago, telling him to come in "Anytime, Lovi! Stay as long as you want! Aw, you're so cute! Just like a little tomato!"

He'd told Spain that he'd thrown it away—with the intention of doing so, but then decided that it was always useful to have the key to someone else's house. It would make the mafia's job easier when he finally ordered a hit on the jerk.

If Spain was somewhere doing something stupid like sleeping, he was going to order the hit right from the house.

"Spagna! Where are you, bastard?!" He called, as he made his way into the house, slamming the door back so it hit the wall. He was rather disappointed that the doorknob hadn't left any sort of mark, so he slammed it again against the wall and grinned when it left a tiny hole in the paint.

The house was completely silent. Completely silent and completely still, almost like no one had ever lived here. He hesitated, and then cursed at himself. He was the great South Italy! He wasn't afraid of anything!

Except France, but it was entirely reasonable to be afraid of that pervert…

And Russia, but everyone was afraid of that creepy bastard…

Okay, and a few other things, but damn it! He wasn't afraid of some creepy, overly quiet, still house. Even if Spain had disappeared rather mysteriously…

He paused again and then called, a little softer this time, "Spagna? Where are you?"

There had to be a reasonable explanation for this. He wandered through the entryway into the kitchen. The sink was empty, no signs that anyone had been there in days. The same in the living room and dining room. He was starting to walk faster, throwing the doors open to peek inside each room and call out, "Spagna! Answer me, damn it!"

He kept getting images flashing through his mind of Spain lying in a ditch, injured or maybe even dead. What if he'd been attacked by another nation? He could still remember when England had defeated Spain's armada. Spain had made it inside the entryway, attempted to flash him his signature goofy smile, and then collapsed in a dead faint.

But he'd know by now if another country had attacked Spain, right?

The silence of the house wasn't reassuring him at all.

He finally paused in front of the last door. The one to Spain's bedroom. His fingers hesitated around the doorknob; he already knew that Spain wouldn't be there.

But he still had to look.

He pushed the door open and was greeted by the sight of an empty room, the sheets rumpled at the end of the large, four-poster bed. He just stared at the sight for a few moments, attempting to keep himself from panicking.

He wasn't worried. He wasn't worried. He wasn't worried.

Damn it…

He walked across the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, his sightless eyes resting on the framed photo of a tomato that Spain had hung on the opposite wall. Then he lay back on the mattress, his fingers reaching out automatically to the side for some sort of comforter. He grabbed at the sheets scrunched at the foot of the bed and tugged them to his face, breathing in the fading scent of his former guardian. Sunlit fields, amontillado, and of course, tomatoes.

"Damn it, bastard," he breathed, "where are you?"

A/N: So, I finally gave in to myself and wrote a fanfiction. I hope it wasn't too horrible and OOC.

And this came from a dream I had a few nights ago that involved Lovi panicking when Spain suddenly disappeared on him. It was cute, so I decided to write it out, even though I've never written a fanfiction before.

Reviews are always appreciated and loved :) I think this is going to be a 3 or 4-shot once it's all written out.

The title means "Disappearance" for anyone who was curious.