Part Four:

Where Time Fixes More than Bruises and a Broken Arm

As soon as his ship was docked, Spain had gathered Romano in his arms and took off into the port. It was full of people, some shouting for him, others rushing to help unload the ships, but the blood rushing in his ears and the pounding of his heart was still blocking out the noise. All the other things would just have to wait until Romano was up and well again. His house on the small hill looked ever-welcoming, and he practically sprinted up through the grass, past the doors, and up the great stairs to his room. There was a bath ready, that had been prepared for him, but Romano needed it more, as he was in worse condition.

He paused only a moment to kick the door shut and flick on the lights before setting the boy down on the bed. He took a quick moment to strip from his military uniform and throw on some casual clothes, leaving the expensive linens in a rumpled pile on the floor. Returning to Romano's side, the taller began helping him out of his clothes and shushing his soft mumbles. After doing so, he picked up the naked boy and carried him into the bathroom, kissing his hot forehead.

"C'mon Kiddo," he said, lifting him into the tub of hot water. As it lapped over Romano's skin, he woke up a little more, eyes glazed over with pain.

"Fuck! Bastard, what are you doing? Bastard!" But his cries dimmed down as he got used to the water, and he once again slunk into a dizzy state. Spain kept shushing him, scooping water in his hands and dumping it over red cuts and scratches. Romano's closed eyes squeezed shut even tighter again, but didn't cuss this time. Spain bathed him in soap and warm water, being mindful of his busted arm. After he helped him dry off and back into soft clothes. He picked the smaller up again, Romano snuggling up close to him because it made him feel safe. Even when Spain tried to lower him down into his bed and push him under the sheets he grabbed at the taller's clothes and mumbled in a half drug induced state. If it were to be an audible sound it would have been something along the lines of "Don't go".

Romano slept for days, waking only to eat, drink, bathe, and do his business. Even then, he was really only half awake, groggy and therefor everything Spain said to him was lost in the muddled mess that was his mind. The only thing that he was absolutely sure of was the fact he was safe, and he didn't even think about who was taking care of him. If he hadn't been all whacked out on painkillers, he would have thrown a fit and insisted he could do it himself, which he could have, however the fact he wasn't was a sure sign that he had taken too many meds. Spain, meanwhile, didn't care that Romano couldn't hear or comprehend what he was saying. He babied him around more than usual, and sat with him every hour of the day. Meals would be brought to him, and whenever he had to leave, someone else was put in charge of watching the sleeping boy. He would always return right away, shoo the other off, and sit with Romano again.

There was, of course, reason for this. Mostly he blamed himself for having let Romano leave in the first place. Then he reminded himself that the younger was uncommonly stubborn, and that could not be helped. Next he tried to convince himself it was because he didn't raise Romano right when he was a kid, and that he had been compelled to war because he had seen Spain fighting more times than once. That seemed the most plausible, until he realized that when compared with all of his neighbors, he was fairly peaceful now. There was a whole another array of things that he could say that would let the blame fall squarely onto his shoulders, but for the moment Romano was talking in his sleep again, or trying to fight the drowsiness that came with the pain medication. Either way, once Spain saw that the other was even slightly awake, he became focused on Romano and he only.

"Mth... spn... I hrm serry..." All of his mumbles were completely inaudible and could hardly be distinguished as words. Spain quickly pulled himself up on the bed, stroking the side of Romano's head gripping his hand tightly.

"Shh," he cooed softy, trying to keep Romano calm and asleep. He muttered something else, tried turning and ended up bumping his broken arm against the bed, making him flinch and shift the other way. Spain, now standing, helped him move, pulling the covers back around him and shutting the curtain as night was setting in already. He then sat again, resting his head against the mattress and closing his eyes. Rain started to fall against the window, and that combined with Romano's breathing made Spain sleepier. He reached one hand up and grabbed onto Romano's wrist where he felt a weak pulse, another reassurance that he was still around.

Sitting in the ill-fitting position he was, it took a while for Spain to fall asleep, and when he did it was a kind of comatose sleep, with weird dreams about war and a little red flower that resembled a tomato. It was one big ass metaphor, but in his groggy state it was impossible to figure it out. And when he woke up he didn't remember, so there was nothing to figure out. He just blinked, saw Romano was still asleep, and life pushed on him again.

He seemed more depressed than he had been for a while. The last time he felt this way was when France held him territory for a few weeks before losing him back to Spain again. Dark clouds of just shit seemed to hang all over the house, especially around Spain's head. The empty spot in his heart that conscious Romano had possessed had to be filled with other things, which consisted mostly of rereading those books which he and Romano would read together. He would sit at Romano's bedside all day, reading out loud with one hand stroking the other's hair. After all those were gone which took about a day, he had to find other things. So he would take to cleaning Romano's room several times over the course of the hour, brushing away dust that wasn't there, alphabetizing the books, straightening pictures that weren't crooked, anything he could think of that kept him occupied in Romano's room. After there was nothing left, he would sit and hum back on the pillow by Romano's bedside. There was nothing else to do.

It was a few days after he found Romano that Spain was finally convinced he was going to make it. He started leaving more often, always leaving more people to watch in his stead. He left to cook food for himself and Romano, only the favorites that the other was capable of swallowing, to find other books to bring back, to go out shopping for more of whatever they needed. However Romano wasn't without a watchful eye, and Spain was back as soon as he could manage to keep him company. But the guilt and the hurt was no less than the minute the other had left, nor when he found Romano half-dead on the battlefield. He wasn't much of the praying type, but he did, wishing Romano a speedy recovery and maybe some salvation for his greatly tarnished soul.

Days were blurry, and it rained more than was normal in that season of the year. Of course, Romano didn't notice. He was sluggish all the time, with dimmed visions and headaches all around the clock. Time passed, and whenever he was slightly conscious, he had no idea what day it was or what time. He didn't care though, because whenever he was up, Spain was there. Or at least, someone that felt like Spain and sounded like him. The food he was fed had no taste, but his brain told him that it was stuff he liked, so he ate it without complaining. Not that he had the strength anyway; he had to be helped whenever he wanted to do anything, including sitting. Not only that, but his bones felt brittle and cold, so anything warm he had to stay close to, which was more often than not a human body. Spain, actually. And after Romano realized that, he never let him go.

Call it giving back, because even in his state he remembered pushing Spain down, remembered how many times he put him down. He felt awful. Having almost died seemed to flick some switches in his head, and something changed and that sprout inside him blossomed a flower. A red tomato flower. Which is why, whenever he felt himself fading, he forced his body to keep alive. He had to stay for Spain. Lying in bed, the will he lacked previously resurfaced, and he was able to reach his hand up, and touch soft brown hair.

"Romano..." The rest of the words were faded, but the name was all he needed. He tried to make words, but nothing clear would come out of his mouth.

"Ay...Les..." was all he could say, but he wanted to tell the other was, "Stay, please".

"It's okay, Romano." He felt a warm hand push hair away from his face, squeeze his fingers tight. It was a nice reassurance, calmed him, and brought back the guilt all over again. But that was okay. At least now Romano had a pretty good guess as to what he had forced Spain to feel while he was away. It was only right, it was only fair. Remorse would have been the word he would have said he was feeling, but right then Romano was too drugged to formulate such a word. His vision was still hazy and the feelings against him were numb, but he could feel a body wiggle next to him and see some green and a familiar outline of a face. He held on to the warm and soft body, and closed his eyes. He was too tired to keep his head up, so he let it fall on Spain's chest and relaxed.

–

When Romano woke and was finally fully conscious for the first time in two weeks, Spain was not with him. It was one of those rare moments when he had gone out to the small town on the hill above his house and did the shopping. Of course, Romano had no idea of the other's whereabouts, and frankly he was now quietly upset that he was not being looked after. He sat, reaching over and yanking open the curtains. A bright flood of sunlight fell over him, thin frame in a black tank top and soft brown slacks. His arm was still in a sling, but he found it hurt less than before. The white sheets on which he was laying were wrinkled and strewn about, and he noticed a book on his bedside table. He never read on his own. Upon opening it though, he found it was the book he and Spain had been reading before he left. On the floor was a set of empty dishes, and a note to the maid.

Leaning over the edge of the bed, he grabbed the note with his good hand, and found it had Spain's handwriting on it. It told the maid to wait with Romano until he got back from the store. Looking from it back to the bedroom, he found other evidence Spain had been around and stayed; a quilt on the couch, a green long sleeved shirt of Spain's flung on the back of a chair, a pillow right beside the bed that looked to have been sat on for a while. It was with all that evidence and that little flower that had grown bigger inside him that Romano realized that he'd not been left alone after all. So he lept out of bed, mindful of the things on the floor, grabbing Spain's shirt and yanking it over his head and running out the door.

His hair was whipped about in the wind as he ran through the halls and he barely heard the voices of others from rooms adjacent to him. He just kept running barefoot until he burst out the front door, where he paused to look around the courtyard and to all the different exits to see if he could find a familiar face. When he found none, he started off in a random direction, in hopes it lead to Spain. He passed people who whispered about him, and under normal circumstances that would have bothered him. However, now he was searching for something very important and it was imperative that he find it.

He did, just a few minutes later, walking down the path towards him. Spain's arms were loaded with several grocery bags, full of tomatoes and boxes of pasta, and all the other things Romano loved. For just an instant, the small dark-haired boy hid behind a column, watching the other. Spain walked differently than he did when he was in a good mood, that much was evident. His strides were short and sharp, and he looked worried. Romano gave up hiding once their eyes locked, and carefully he stepped out from behind the pillar. It was then he was hit with the rush of energy that had been dormant the entire time he was unconscious, and he ran out to meet the other. Spain had seen him as well, dropped all the bags in shock. He took two steps forward, curious. There was no way Romano could be up this early.

"Romano?" The rest of his words were choked off when the smaller hit him like a hurricane of excitement. Romano lept into Spain's arms, wrapping his busted arm around his neck and Romano's other hand tangled itself in Spain's hair. The taller, meanwhile, tightened his arms around Romano's middle, and a wildly happy smile ran across his face. He spun him around, drawing a lively laugh from Romano that lifted his insides. "Oh, I'm so glad you're okay!" When he rested Romano back on his feet, he stroked the dark-haired boy's face and felt hands hold tightly to his sides.

"Spain," Romano said breathlessly, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "Spain I'm sorry I ran off on you and I wish I wouldn't have left because I missed you and I know you were right all along and I just wish I could take it all back, but I can't so I'm sorry." It all came out in one breath, and the haughty and uncaring facade inside him ripped in two. Spain smiled, and was too happy to find words in his head because Romano's still clogged his heart. So he kissed Romano tenderly, with smiles spreading across both their faces. The now was full of kisses and giggles, surprisingly enough, and touches too. Instead of punching the other in the stomach, Romano purred when his ahoge was tugged on, nuzzling Spain's chest and curling his fingers into orange fabric.

"Spain..." he said softly, and there was love somewhere in that word, in that name. Spain knew it was there, even if Romano didn't. He was happy. The monkey had his weasel again, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the chase started all over. Despite that, they were both perfectly okay about forgetting for the moment. Spain smiled down at the smaller, who returned the grin just as wide.

"Come on, let's go back," the taller said, reaching down and grabbing both bags again. Romano however, snatched one from his arm and carried it himself. Upon noticing Spain giving him a strange look, almost bewildered, he glared.

"What? I feel like carrying something today," was his thrown together response. To make sure Spain wouldn't pester him with further questions, he grabbed the other's free hand in his and began walking down the path towards the house. He smiled to himself. This was exactly what he wanted to wake up to. Of course, then his happiness got him thinking about his brother. Maybe, despite what Romano had set in his brain, Italy was quite happy to marry Germany. So maybe Italy got the ending that Romano hadn't wanted, but at least he got his. Spain smiled down at him, noticing that he was in content thought, but chose not to disturb him. It was nice to see him like that, in an almost day-dreamy state where the troubles of being an adult seemed far off.

"Hey Romano?"

"Yes?" The younger glanced sideways.

"Don't run off again. You scared me." Spain gave him a sincere look, and Romano understood completely.

"Okay..." He moved closer and rested his head against Spain's shoulder, smiling and bringing their conversation to a smooth stop. Of course he wasn't going to run off again. He had everything he wanted, which just so happened to be the very things he needed as well. They laughed and blushed all the way back up to the house, and from that point on those giggles seemed to be a lasting disease for which there was no cure. They knew there would be fights, but for the night they both slept in the same bed, and every one after was spent in the same manner. Romano, although now getting groped on a daily basis, was perfectly okay with that. Spain was cool with it too, not shockingly enough, and for the moment things were fine.

Now later, things would be more than fine. Later there would be fancy clothes, real dates, and sex. Later there would be a small cottage a few miles from home where weekends were spent, later there would be a wedding where Romano would stand by his brother as the grooms said their "I do"'s, and the after party would be killer. There would be other parties after that, with mornings full of headaches and Advil, wake-up blowjobs and then breakfast in bed.

But for now, there were only paper backs, silly chasing games, and kisses. Frankly the smaller, simple things were the easiest and the most comfortable when the relationship was built off of something so fragile as the events they went through. Maybe it made them stronger, which was the assumed idea, but as the weeks turned to months, idea became fact, reality became far better than any dream, and the mulberry bush became their sanctum where red tomato flowers grew and monkeys and weasels got along quite well for a long, long time. And that will never change.

[I apologize it's so short ._.' There will be a sequel eventually. I have it planned, although I don't have the intention of starting soon, as there are many other projects I'm working on as well and hope to post soon, as well as I do have things to read for the upcoming school semester. It'll be out eventually though ^.^]