Romano didn't know what to think. The tomato bastard had come back from the Americas, decked out in his armor, shining as bright as it had when he left. His hair was the same, eyes were the same, but… Spain wasn't the same. Romano couldn't explain it that well; it was like there was... Not a physical difference, but a spiritual difference. A mental difference.

He seemed almost- darker than usual. He would spend time staring into space, or fiddling with a single golden coin. Occasionally, Romano would sneak over to watch him practice sword fighting, and that unnerved him the most- Spain never practiced with his axe, for some reason. Romano had seen it before, seen how the blade was stained, smelled the iron tang of old blood. He didn't want to again-. Spain was still the graceful fighter he'd know, lunging, thrusting, parrying with the ease of a dancer. But it was different before; if he was a dancer then, he was a panther now.

Spain had told him about panthers before, their sinewy grace and the way you wouldn't see them until they dropped on your horse, screaming like a woman and clawing furrows that cut to the bone. Romano had asked why one would even go to the New World, if so many new dangers existed there. Surely it wasn't worth dying just to convert or conquer the people that already lived there? Even though Spain's boss was happy when he got back, carrying gold and dragging the American Indians on chains, didn't all the bad things that could happen outweigh the glory? Spain just smiled and said he wouldn't understand. Romano was too young. Romano called him a dickhead and stomped off, not seeing the ease with which Spain's smile slipped off his face and a cruel, speculative expression returned.

Romano thought that Spain was like a panther now, beautiful outside, but with something wild hidden inside. You could see it when he smiled. His smile… Spain was an idiot, always grinning, but now his smile was different too. It was a smirk, with teeth, and a hint of malice. You almost expected to see bloodstained teeth when he smiled like that. But Spain always washed off any blood before coming home to Romano.

Finally, Romano couldn't stand it anymore. He cornered Spain, demanding to know what had changed.

"You used to be your stupid smiling dumbass self. What the fucking hell is wrong with you now?" Romano yelled, pushing Spain against a wall and jabbing him in the chest with a finger. "Go back to the way you used to be, damn it! It's like nothing you like even fucking matters anymore! Your stupid fucking too big house doesn't matter, your fucking tomatoes don't matter, I don't matter! You're such a fucking idiot! What the hell are you so fucking preoccupied with?"

Spain's eyes darkened suddenly, and he flipped Romano around, pinning him against the wall.

"In this life," he growled, voice deeper than usual and with a feral edge, sending shivers down Romano's spine. "There are only three things that matter. God, gold, and glory. Remember that."

Romano's eyes were huge; he was staring at Spain like they'd never met before. Spain could see him biting his lip and blinking back tears, and realized that his hands were clutching Romano's arms with a pressure that had to be painful. Spain abruptly spun around, walking outside.

Romano slept in his own room that night.

The next time Spain came back, he insisted on doing his own laundry, told Romano not to try, he'd get to it later, he just needed to sleep now.

Romano went anyway, looked at his clothes… And was sick. Blood, so much blood. Staining his shirts, staining his pants, staining the trunk in which he'd brought them back. Romano went through his other bags, finding gold. Gold, gold, everywhere. Golden coins, golden rings, necklaces, goblets.

Next, Romano went to Spain himself. The idiot was sleeping, spread out over his bed. Romano lifted his candle stub, looking over Spain's bare body. There were no cuts, no scars… All that blood wasn't his.

Romano clasped a hand over his mouth, nails digging into the side of his face, trying to muffle any noises that could escape as the mental images of the native Spain had brought home portraits of flashed behind his closed eyelids. Those same proud, wild people, hacked to pieces and gutted, blood, so much blood, blood everywhere… He could see their mutilated bodies, all those that didn't want to worship Spain's God, or relinquish their gold. He could see the bruised and battered children, the women trying to protect them- only to get killed along with their men. The ground was stained crimson, various arms, legs, heads littered the floor of a temple.

Romano crumpled to the floor, not sure if he was hallucinating or the spirits of the natives had come to haunt Spain, but chosen to torment him instead. He tucked his head between his knees, the visions of all the killed still playing behind his closed eyelids. He wasn't sure how long this would continue, but Romano prayed for it to end soon.

When he felt well enough to get off the floor, he noticed something.

A gold cross hung from a chain around Spain's neck, reflecting the light. Romano gently picked it up and smelled it, the tang of blood still lingered.

Authoress' Random Ramble

Ok, the same person (HuggingLeonardo/Human Element) that did fanart for Choose Me Or Your Pyre drew a pic (http : / hugging leonardo . deviant art . com/# /d2zvgwi) that was amazing. So I pretty much just stared at it and then wrote this. Please look at his awesome pic and comment or something, because he's also the reason for another Spamano fic I'm writing. With awkward Spain dealing with a teenaged fem!Romano. :D

... Yeah...

Less than three. Less than three.