I kind of hate you guys for making me do this... I was just gonna have Different Kind of Conquest be a oneshot... NOW IT'S A FULL BLOWN THING!

Anyway, I've been working on this for a long time-I've got up to chapter four or so already written. I wanted to post the whole story at once, but I kinda lost steam. I need reviewers to kick my butt into gear, I suppose... heh.

The main thought of the continuing story was... a. the fact that Spain continued to fight so hard to regain S. Italy (next two wars) and b. questioning myself as to why HRE and N. Italy never meet up again; Himaruya seems to write it as if those two separated sometime in the late 1500's (if the age-century ratio is to be believed. google image search Growing up Italy or something like that-there's a pic that does a breakdown of his age by century that Himaruya did...) and yet Italy never saw him again? HRE didnt' "die" until 1804 so I was a little confused about the absence of communication-especially when the HRE was so involved in Northern Italy.

For those of you familiar with the original oneshot, this is still a standalone story. Some references to the A Different Kind of Conquest, but over-all it works by itself. All of you may, however, want to brush up on the War of the Spanish Succession (which separated Spain from its South Italian territories to begin with) and the War of the Quadruple Aliance (which Spain fought against EVERYONE to get Roma back XD) Wiki has some pretty nice, succinct, reasonably accurate summaries on the subject. This chapter/arc picks up with the few years of relative peace before the War of the Quadruple Aliance. (relative because there were a whole slew of other smaller wars going on at the time.)

For anyone who actually cares about the history; I have given Feli control of Savoy-technically it was an Italian state until it was traded to France in return for France's support of Italian unification around 1860(? don't quote me on that date). Savoy was, at the time, ruled by an Austrian prince, I think. Venice was currently at war with the Ottoman Turks, and Austria had joined in to defend it. Spain's boss had married a S. Italian princess, and, through politics, was already well on his way to regaining some south italian territories through inheritance of his sons, but one of Spain's leaders eventually get overzealous and provoke war. ^_^;; I guess they got tired of seeing Antonio mope?

anyway, that's enough history for now... I think you'll understand the rest of the chapter from here. I'll include more later if I think you need to know it.

Also note that I attempted to load this much earlier-Ffn was FAIL and wouldn't let me start a new story... CURSES! See just about everyone's rants about error type 2 if you don't know what I'm talking about... It was going on for at least a week. -_- I was finally able to upload this as its own story this week instead of appending it to Different Kind of Conquest. I had to lose some reviews to move it though... which made me really depressed. T_T

It would be some time before he saw Antonio again. Years passed, as they were wont to do. Romano had never realized before just how slowly a year could crawl; being nations they were used to watching time and generations fly past as quickly and gently as the beat of a butterfly's wings. And yet he found that waiting endlessly like this made the days swim by as if through molasses. His nerves were always on edge, jangling at the slightest mention of his dear Spain. He knew it was not in Antonio's nature to wait for something he wanted. He knew that the idiot would come and come soon, and that there would be little that could bar the way. He had to believe in that, or he thought he might just kill himself with waiting.

It was in those dark, heavy days that he found himself appreciating how much his little brother must have suffered, and hating the bastard who'd dared to break Feliciano's heart with this ceaseless torment. At least Spain had a reason, and a damn good one, for seeing him away. The Holy Roman Empire didn't. He very well could have visited Feli in the last century and a half, or perhaps just written a damn letter. Instead he chose to make Austria deal with all things Italy related, even if the politics of it were more to do with the entire Empire than with Roderich's single state. Feliciano had gotten very practiced at hiding his hurt when he was told, every time, that the Holy Roman Empire wouldn't be visiting for this or that political meeting. Maybe Romano was the only one who noticed Feli's shuddering tears late at night, but he still did. He felt as if a knife drove into his heart with every drop. He wished he could make it stop, but Feli tried so hard to keep his pain a secret that helping felt somehow like a betrayal.

Or… perhaps that was a lie. He told himself he didn't want to ruin Felicaino's show, but the truth was he didn't know what he could possibly do to make this right. He knew how he felt for Spain, as embarrassing as it was. He knew how much it hurt to think of that nation's tearstained face, his broken voice when they were torn apart… the mere mention of Spain made his heart feel tight in his chest, as if someone had reached into his soul and was squeezing the life out of him with every breath. It had been barely three years since he and Antonio had parted ways. And if Feliciano felt that way, for more than a hundred years… He hated himself for sitting in the dark of their room and doing nothing, but watching and waiting was all he knew how to do. Feli cried in the dark and Lovi clenched his fists harder and wished he knew how to be strong.

"Feliciano." Austria asked Italy one day over their too-rich, too Austrian breakfast. He and Hungary had been standing off to the side of the table, waiting for their masters to finish like the good servants they were. But the northern Italy was lucky enough that a few of his states were independent now and in various treaties with the rest of the world, so he was treated like some kind of pretty puppet for the time being. Not like Romano; Naples and Sardinia were firmly in the hands of the Austrian-Hapsburgs, and Sicily had been, ironically, given to Savoy and thus to his brother. They'd been kicked around by all the great powers for so very, very long, and now even Feli had torn away a piece of him. His little brother had become like them, however much it was more Italy's bosses' faults then the fault of Feliciano himself. The idiot was still loveable, still a ditz and still a crybaby but there was a new steely bitterness in his eyes sometimes that Romano didn't like. Feli looked at him like that some days, and Romano began to feel himself chafing under his brother's power.

Wasn't it always supposed to have been him who led Feli around? When had the world become so upside down?

"Hm?" his little brother paused for only a hair's breadth of a second before continuing his meal. He, at least, seemed perfectly happy with that jerk's "gourmet" food. Romano fought the urge to scoff and tried to keep his face as impassive as possible. Last time he'd been cuffed for his "impertinence." It hadn't really hurt. But Feliciano's determined ignorance of the event had somewhat. He didn't want to be reminded that his brother didn't really care about him anymore. Had he ever?

"What has Savoy been doing to prepare for the event of a Spanish invasion?" It was pathetic, but Romano's heart set to aching and beating like a hummingbird's in his chest once again simply because the magic word "Spain" had been spoken aloud. He raised his gaze to meet that of his brother, ever so briefly across the room. Feli's eyes were steel and hurt and poison even as Lovino's pleaded with him for help. He wished his brother would do something stupid, would speak out for his sake or sabotage Austria or something. But the look on his brother's face in that instant was enough to tell him it wouldn't happen. He cursed under his breath as he looked away. Was it possible to love someone and to hate them at the same time?

"Ve, the Duke does what he can, I think." Just like that, fast enough to give him whiplash Feliciano had gone back to his regular self, smiling and vapid. Venice is the city of masks, Romano reminded himself bitterly. Feli's break in character had been only a split second's glance in Romano's direction. It was highly unlikely that anyone else had seen it. But Hungary's tense grip on his left arm was enough to make him think maybe he wasn't the only one. "I think he's more worried about the Turks right now. Since they're harassing Venice and you, so nearby… thinking about fighting another war on top of that is a bit—"

"As I thought," Austria interrupted, turning his tea cup in its saucer before lifting the fine china to his lips. Feli immediately quieted himself, his smile a little less potent. Romano vacillated between irritation and pity. He wished his stupid brother would stop allowing this; stop letting Austria and France and whoever else push him around their game-board. And yet… a part of him understood that Feliciano had been in this house for so long. Maybe too long. He felt like he was being crushed in this place after a mere three years of it. What kind of damage did a couple of centuries do? He had a feeling he wouldn't have survived it if their places had been switched. "I may as well tell you now. We think it might be best if Sicily goes to the Holy Roman Empire."

The world seemed to stop turning for a few seconds at this pronouncement. Romano felt as if his eyes had gone impossibly wide, his hands clenched to shaking fists at his sides. Across the room, Feliciano hadn't fared much better. In his shock, he dropped his fork with a clatter back to his plate, spattering the immaculate table cloth with crumbs. This time, he knew he wasn't the only one to see his brother's personality waver. The younger Italy had winced with his whole body to hear his precious Empire's name, one hand flying to fist itself at his chest. Maybe it ached as much as Romano's did.

"Che cosa… Bastardo, don't I get a say in this?" He blurted before he could remember himself. He didn't like belonging to his brother, but Savoy was preferable to the entire goddamn Holy Roman Empire. Spain would already have enough to contend with when he finally decided to take Europe by storm. (And he would. He had to)If the Empire held the island then his chances of being freed were… "You can't just—" Austria's contemptuous glare and Hungary's silent, pleading grasp on his arm were enough to shut him up again. No, no he didn't get a say in this. And it wasn't fair and it wasn't right, but he was a fucking colony right now. To be traded and touted as they wished. He was too weak to do anything but wish and wait. It only made him miss Antonio all the stronger; a kind of longing that settled so deeply in his being that his very bones ached with it.

"Oh, oh really?" Feliciano stammered after a few minutes of silence had passed, acting as though Romano's outburst had never happened at all. His lashes were wet and dark against his too-pale complexion. There was so very much wrong that Romano felt like screaming. Feli was supposed to be all dry eyes and sunshine and olive-tan skin, and Hungary wasn't meant to worriedly, silently acquiesce, and he was meant to belong to Spain! "I don't think the Duke will agree with you very easily…" It was a pretty pathetic attempt at dissuasion.

"Mm," Austria hummed noncommittally. "But I am sure we could come to an agreement. You said it yourself, Italy. Venice is at war with the Turks, and I know you must be feeling stretched thin. As do I—I'd be hard-pressed to come to your aid if the Spaniards invaded Sicily. Give the island to someone for which it wouldn't be a liability." The word liability echoed through his thoughts one more time. Romano felt like mauling someone. He wasn't just a piece of territory to be tossed about strategically in war. He was a nation with a brother and people he loved—just like they were. Would it kill Austria to remember that sometimes?

"Did… did he agree with you?" Feli's voice was filled with such a fragile facsimile of cheer that it was painful to listen to. Romano knew instantly that if the goddamn Holy Roman Empire only asked, his brother would give him up in a heartbeat. It was another hurt to add to his swiftly growing pile, another wedge between them and another reason to hate the world.

"Well… Not in so many words. I suspect he didn't really want to take something of yours."

"His?" Romano couldn't help himself. Only Hungary's glare and slightly-less-than-gentle rap against his skull kept him from exploding in to a full blown rant. Bloody nice of the Holy Roman Empire to consider Felicaino's feelings over Romano's fucking territory! Goddamn it! He felt more frustrated than he could possibly convey. He just wanted to find a good musket and start firing away at the next person who pissed him off.

"In any case," Austria's glare was sharp enough to make his anger abate for the moment. He hated how powerless he was, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. The game was all about self-preservation for now—about living long enough that he'd be able to see his tomato bastard's face again. "He asked to speak to Romano about it first."

"What?" Both Italies said the word at the same time. Romano was loud enough to wake the dead, full of little more than shock. But Feliciano's voice was quiet, and aching with hurt and need and too many other things that Romano whished he couldn't understand. Feli turned to him and his eyes were broken shards of amber. No, this… this wasn't right. He had to do something or risk losing his brother forever.

"Look maybe it… maybe it makes me mad, but if his supreme jerk-ness wants to talk to anyone about it he needs to be talking to Feli." If it were anyone else, he'd be happy that someone was actually considering his opinion on the matter of where his land went, and even though he'd been bitter over the very same subject earlier, he couldn't go along with this. He could already see the jealousy creeping into Feliciano's expressive face, poor kid so full of hurt that he was shaking.

"You know that's not going to happen, Romano." Austria chided softly. He too was watching the younger Italy with worried eyes and a furrowed brow. Romano didn't care to countenance his concern. He felt more like gutting the piano-bastard. If he'd known how much this would hurt Feli, then he should never have said anything at all!

"Why not, Austira?" Feliciano was sitting with his face down turned, head in his hands. He was trying to hide his tears but they were evident enough in his voice. He sounded so broken… Lovino lurched forward to help him but then he remembered darkness and sobbing and the promises he'd made meaninglessly to himself and he paused. He couldn't make anything better before… what made him think he was strong enough to help now? It wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't bring the goddamn Holy Roman Empire back to his senses.

Hungary had no such compunctions. She was racing across the room, ready to take up the big sister act again.

"Italy—"

"Non chiamarmi così!" His little brother suddenly shouted, voice full of enough bitterness and latent anger that even Austria looked a little afraid. "I'm Veneziano, or Feliciano or whatever, ok? But there are two Italies and we aren't… we're not interchangeable." He trailed off into a pitiful whimper. "Are we?" The question was directed at him, he was sure, but Romano only winced and turned away.

"It—Feliciano," Austria started this time. Hungary was still watching with wide, sympathetic eyes. "No, you are not interchangeable. You are being irrational. If you calm down you will see that this is for the best. Now—"

"Shut up, Roderich. You aren't helping." Hungary finally scolded. Romano wondered why she would stand silent as a doll, waiting on Austria hand and foot most of the time, and yet she could get away with talking to him that way when it really mattered. Wasn't Austria going to discipline her or… hurt her or something? Otherwise he didn't know why they had to act so obedient all the time.

He glanced at the older nation, and was a little surprised at what he found. Austria didn't look angry. Rather he seemed worried and a bit deflated. Maybe he genuinely did want to help Feli in his weird, stuffy, Austrian way, and maybe that shouldn't have shocked Romano so much. Deep down, pansy-piano-guy wasn't a complete heartless bastard. He knew that. It didn't mean he was any more ready to forgive that jealous, pompous asshole for taking him away from Spain.

"No, you're right." Feliciano finally murmured, lifting his head up from the shell of his arms. "It's probably for the best. I—I'd distract him or something." Romano chanced a glance at his baby brother. He wished he hadn't. Feliciano looked exhausted and pale, like the tragic heroine of some madman's fifth act. And yet, he'd adopted that goddamn smile again. It looked horrible against the backdrop of tear-tracks and dying hearts. "Ve, I'm pretty worthless, I guess. Why would he want a meeting with me?"

"Feli, no, you aren't—" Hungary tried to console, reaching out to card her fingers through his red-brown hair. He knocked her hand away and stood from the table in one motion.

"Excuse me, Austria. I must write a letter to the Duke." Feliciano murmured in his usual, childish voice, his back still turned, before walking away. Hungary and Austria waited for the sound of the door slamming before springing to motion.

"What were you thinking, bringing that up? Roderich, you know how much it hurts him when—"

"Yes, I do know. Which is why I would rather he hear about it now than for it to be sprung on him later by one of the others." Neither nation seemed to remember Romano's presence. Roderich sat hunched uncharacteristically with his elbows on the table, curled up and defensive like a wild animal. Elizaveta was whirling around him, switching spasmodically between tidying the dishes and making abortive hand motions, as if she would cuff him about the ears.

"Can't you… can't you talk to him? For Feli?" She asked once the silence had dragged on long enough. Romano thought she sounded unusually frail.

"I tried. He doesn't listen." Austria's voice was similarly fragile. He rubbed the space between his eyes as if he had a headache. "He seems very tired these days. I… I worry for him."

For about two seconds, he wondered about the pain they shared. How did it feel to carry the burden of nation, to be at war and yet to have to deal with all this melodrama? He'd heard that the Holy Roman Empire had been like part of the family and he knew that Feli must not have been the only one hurt when that brat left. Did they ache too? Then the moment was gone, and Romano just as swiftly decided he was too angry to care.

They both loved his brother in their own way. That much was blatantly evident. Lovino supposed he should thank them, but he hated them for it too. Sometimes it seemed they cared more for his only family than he himself could and it rankled to think that they probably knew his brother better as well. They'd certainly lived with him for longer. Romano's only real tie was of blood—the heart's innate, fierce love for its own ilk. He loved Feliciano with a protective ardor that bordered on possessiveness, but he could not pretend to know him. These two strangers seemed like they did, and it irked him in a way no words ever could.

"Romano, go and get your things together." Austria's voice, back to its usual hardened steel, broke through his moment of introspection and he snapped back to attention. "I'll have the carriage drawn for you within the hour." He was too wrapped up in it all to protest the short notice he'd been given or to splutter and rant about his mistreatment as he usually might. Feli's hurt and his own confusion weighed heavily on his heart, and he felt that this thing was just so wrong that it must not be real. He watched Roderich push slowly away from the table and waltz elegantly from the room with dim eyes and racing thoughts. Music began drifting to them, lachrymose and haunting, from the main hall not long after his exit.

"Don't worry Roma, I'll get the dishes. You should pack." Hungary prodded him, gently pushing him towards the doorway his captor had most recently used. Romano shook his head and the dream shattered.

"Hungary, I can't go. You know I can't go!" He pleaded, sure he would get nowhere but hoping all the same. "Feli will hate me!" Tears he did not know he still had to shed welled up in his eyes. Now more than ever he felt his own powerlessness and he wanted to burst with it. He eyed the fine china sitting stacked on the breakfast table and wondered if he could get away with breaking some of it.

"Oh, Roma, Feli cannot hate you." Elizaveta cooed. "It will hurt him and he will be jealous, but he will heal in time. It is not in his nature to hate." Yes it is, Romano thought. I know that it is in his nature because it is in mine, and we are cut of the same cloth. "It will be ok, you'll see." And she held him close and petted his hair until he'd shed the last tear and his legs stopped feeling like they might fall out from under him.

"Thanks, I guess," he mumbled, embarrassed once his senses had returned to him. Elizaveta was nice enough, but she was his brother's precious person, not his. He suspected that she could be if he let her, but he didn't want to. Spain took up too much space in his heart and his life already. He didn't want to have to make room for any other. "Not that I needed it, or anything." She laughed, and it made him bristle like a cat.

"Of course not, dear. Now, you'd best pack." She pushed him once more toward the door and he felt all the weight of this morning settle firmly on his shoulders. He bore it with clenched fists; there would be no more tears.

"Tch. 'Carriage drawn within the hour,' he says. Like it's as easy as that to go cavorting across Europe on a whim," Romano complained, mostly just to make himself feel more normal. "Bastard." He threw in for good measure, and he felt the pieces of his composure finally cement into place. So he was going to meet the Holy Roman Empire? So fine. He'd just have to make the best of it. He'd wanted to talk to that brat for a while now. Maybe he'd even thank Austria later for setting this meeting up. Yeah. Good.

It was time to give that neglectful, selfish, cazzo a piece of his mind!

Translation notes: (only doing the really non-obvious ones. I think one word curses are pretty easy to figure out)

Che cosa...- What the...

Non chiamarmi così!- Don't call me that!