AN: This fanfiction was inspired by the chapter in my textbook about Latin American independance. It made me feel very sad for Spain, because he lost all his colonies within 25 years except for Cuba, Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines, all four of which he would lose in the year 1889 as a result of a war with the United States. Italy's unification technically took place over the course of a 100-year period, but I decided to make Romano leave when Spain had just lost most of the rest of his colonies for optimal depression stage :P

Enjoy!

Oh, and if you were wondering, the title means The Last Daughter. Other translations can be found at the end.

Romano took one last look around her bedroom. She'd lived here for centuries, grown up here. It was still a mess, as always. It was as if she'd come back tomorrow after staying out a night, as if this wasn't the last time she'd see the familiar, comforting clutter of the one place she'd ever been able to call her own.

The night fell heavily over the room, cloaking all the things she'd have to leave behind in darkness. She couldn't help but think of a mourner's black as she turned away from her room.

She shut her door as silently as she possibly could, hefting her nearly-overflowing knapsack on her shoulder. She had to make sure Spain didn't hear her. That would kind of ruin the whole running-away-to-finally-become-one-nation-with-Veneziano thing she was going for. With her luck though, tonight would be the night Spain chose to be observant for once. Even if he was likely drunk somewhere around the house.

She had to swallow back some rather pungent curses she had learned from Spain in his pirate days when she stubbed her toe against a column. Stuffing her fist in her mouth, she glanced around quickly to see if her caretaker—former caretaker, she reminded herself—had heard the noise of pain she'd made when her foot connected with the wall. No one was around, but her heart was still racing and her palms were moist with sweat.

If anyone asked, she'd vehemently deny it, but she was nervous. What if Spain stopped her? This was it. She had to get out now. If Spain stopped her… She might never have the courage to leave again. Unlike Veneziano, she didn't have much going for her aside from Grandpa Rome's inheritance. Veneziano was the heart of reformation, at the head of many of the changes that had revolutionized Europe in the past three centuries. Romano… She'd been left behind. She didn't change easily like Veneziano. It had taken her centuries to build up the courage to run away, and she just didn't know if she'd ever be able to try it again if he stopped her.

o~O~o

Spain stared into his wineglass, wishing he had lower alcohol tolerance. It took more to get him drunk than he would have liked. It took too much to drown the sorrow of all his beautiful hijitos leaving him all at once.

First it had been Mexico. Then Gran Columbia. And all of his American colonies had followed, one by one. They'd beaten his armies and forced out his citizens. His house grew emptier and emptier each passing year. Right now, the only ones still loyal to him were Cuba, Guam, the Philippines, and Puerto Rico. And Romano. His last daughter, the only hija he had left. The one who thought he didn't know that she was running away tonight.

He tossed back another swallow of wine and set the empty glass down beside him where he sat, his back against his front door. Waiting for his Romano to come to leave.

The lights were all out, so she didn't notice him there against the door until she was practically tripping over him. She squeaked when she realized he was there, leaping a foot in the air.

He chuckled humorlessly. "Buenas noches, Romano."

"Spain!" she cried, trying to control her breathing and pounding heart. When she noticed the wine bottle next to him, though, her shock melted into fury. "What the heck do you think you're doing? I thought I got rid of all the alcohol in the house!" She really thought she had, too. Last night after he'd passed out drunk yet again, she'd hunted down all the wine she could find and poured it down the sink. When she was gone she didn't want him getting even drunker.

"France sent me some as a gift," he told her, gesturing to the French label on the bottle. "It wasn't nice of you to throw it all out, Roma. Some of that wine was almost as old as you. I was saving it for something special."

"You were going to blow through it all within a month anyway," she snapped. "Can't you see what you're doing to yourself? You're such a child!" Furiously she snatched the half-full bottle from the floor beside him and stormed to the kitchen, overturning the bottle over the sink.

Spain stumbled after her. "So you care after all… Even though you're leaving me…"

She froze, cursing internally. She'd been hoping he'd be too tipsy to notice the knapsack. Unable to look him in the eyes, she watched the dark purple wine slosh out of the bottle and down the sink.

Spain knew she'd been planning to run away, but it was still a blow to his already battered heart when she didn't deny it. "Mi última hija está dejándome…" he murmured, leaning against the counter and sliding to the floor. He found a laugh bubbling up his throat from somewhere deep and cold and barren in his heart, where all his children had been before they wrenched themselves out of his life. Where he'd foolishly hoped his Romano would always stay.

Romano tried to shove down the guilt she felt upon translating his words. "Shut up. You're not the boss of me, or Mexico or Peru or any of us. We're grown up now, not just colonies!"

"Mis hijitos," he said mournfully. "Mis queridos…"

"Stop it!" She couldn't stand to see Spain like this, half-drunk on the floor, his bright emerald eyes dull with pain. "You can't make me stay. I have to do this!"

"I'm not stopping you." He sighed and hung his head. He couldn't bear to look at Romano. His beautiful girl. She'd grown up into such a strong, fiery young woman, and he loved her so much. The gap in his heart would be twice as wide once she walked out that door and didn't look back. He knew she wouldn't. Romano never looked back. "I understand. I can't have been a very good papá if you all want to leave me…"

"Spain…" Her heart softened, but she forced iron back into it. "No. Stop it! Stop being all depressed and trying to butter me up! I'm not staying!"

"Just go if that's what you want," he told her, still not looking at her. So beautiful. Should fathers think that about their daughters? All he knew was that the longer she stayed the more his heart was hurting.

She tried to make herself go. She really did. But she couldn't. He looked so forlorn, so lost and alone…

"Dang it, Spain!" Before what she was doing, she'd dropped her bag to the floor and was straddling his lap.

He looked at her in utter shock. "R-Roma?" But as strange as it sounded, he liked it. The weight of her on him, her heat, her proximity… He really shouldn't be thinking this about his daughter.

When she realized what she'd done, Romano turned furiously red. Which wasn't doing much for Spain's attempts to keep his thoughts fatherly. As much as her every instinct was screaming at her to jump off his lap and make excuses, that would have been even more embarrassing, so she stayed. It wasn't because she liked it. Definitely not.

She coughed and tried to find her anger buried under all the…not pleasure, surely not. "You'd better pull yourself together, you hear me? You can't sit around here getting drunk all the time, idiota! Just because we want to move out doesn't mean you failed as a father. It just means we're all grown up! So don't be stupid for once in your life!"

He stared at her. She averted her hazel eyes, glaring furiously at the floor. "You mean that? I didn't fail as a father?"

"Well we all survived this long, didn't we?" she snapped. "And we all got industries going, and governments. Whose fault do you think that was?" She poked him in the chest with her forefinger, hard. "Yeah, you! So—stop—moping!"

Her poke made him fall backwards a little against the counter, and his head connected painfully with the countertop. His vision went white for a second and his head reeled. When he recovered from his dizziness, he realized he had his hands on Romano's waist to brace himself and she was calling his name worriedly.

The dizziness on top of the half-drunkenness made him say something that he might never have been able to say normally. "Maybe…maybe this is good… Good that you're going…" One arm tightened around her waist, and the other slid through her red-tinted dark hair.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, her face heating. "Spain!"

His head still wasn't clear, and honesty came out of his mouth. "If you're not my daughter anymore… Not my hija… Then we could…" His lips caressed hers softly. Ever so softly, and yet it touched the deepest parts of his being, soothing away all the hurt that he'd felt at losing his children. Every hurt he'd ever felt in his life was erased by the touch of her lips on his.

Romano was shocked for a millisecond, and in that millisecond she found herself kissing him back. No! He's an idiota, why am I kissing him? But she couldn't stop herself. It was like a drug. He was like a drug. One taste and she was addicted.

The kiss grew deep enough to surprise them both. This was something they'd never considered, that they could light each other on fire like this…but somehow, they were. Burning together with each touch, each taste, each whisper of each other's names.

When they pulled apart they were both panting for breath, and Romano's hair was a red-brown tangle. Spain's curls were a little mussed too. He leaned his forehead against hers and breathed her in.

"If you're not my hija, we could be amantes," he whispered.

Lovers… With Spain? With this moron? She loved his smile and his kiss was glorious. She was still sitting in his lap and she couldn't make herself get up.

"One last night with me?" he offered. His eyes were dark and she knew what she saw in them. Knew what he was offering, what he might have wanted for a long time without realizing it. He wouldn't have made the offer if he was sober, she was sure, but the alcohol had made him brave and magnified his wanting.

She was tempted. "No, I can't. I promised Veneziano it would be tonight."

He nodded. He was disappointed but he understood. "Then…one last kiss? If you won't…won't come back." Hopefully she didn't notice how his voice broke. Losing her, as a daughter and as a lover that he hadn't even gotten a chance to love, all at once would be too much for him to take.

Their lips met again, slow, unhurried. Spain didn't want it to end. He wanted it to stretch on, through the night and tomorrow and the next day until forever, so he'd never have to let his Roma go.

She broke away, as hard as he clutched her to him. His body sagged in defeat. "Adios, mi amor," he whispered to her, forcing a smile for her.

"Spain, you're so stupid," she told him. With a groan, she pressed another kiss to his lips, too quickly for him to respond like he wanted to. "I'll come visit. You happy now? I'll come visit you sometimes."

"You will? Romano… Te amo." The words came with surprising ease. In his language there were two ways to say I love you—one for family and friends, and one for lovers. He'd always used the family one for Romano, but the confession for a lover felt like it fit on his tongue. Because he did love her, every inch of her fiery pride, and she should know that before she left.

"Yeah, yeah." Red, she got to her feet and jerked her knapsack up off the floor. "Arrivederci, Spain."

"Goodbye." And she vanished while he sat there on his kitchen floor, missing the weight and heat of her body, missing the pressure of her lips touching his. He listened to her footsteps recede, heard the door close, felt a twin door slam shut in his heart. She hadn't said it back. Pity, that was all it had been. Pity for him, a depressed and helpless old drunk.

He touched his lips to feel the ghost of hers. Te amo… Te amo… How had he never known until it was too late?

The door banged back open. His back stiffened to ramrod straightness.

"Dang it, Spain!" howled Romano. "Ti amo anche! But I'm still leaving!"

The door slammed shut again. But the door in his heart remained open to let in the sun, thawing out the winter inside.

"That's okay," he whispered to no one, his old sunny smile returning. "As long as you come back."

Translations (don't be insulted that I put EVERYTHING, I'm assuming the reader needs everything translated!):

Hijito = little one (literally, little son/daughter)

Buenas noches = good evening

Mi última hija está dejándome = My last daughter is leaving me

Mis queridos = my darlings, my loves (it's a pet name)

Hija = daughter

Idiota = idiot

Amantes = lovers

Adios, mi amor = Goodbye, my love

Te amo = I love you (you say I love you to family/friends as te quiero)

Arrivederci = goodbye

Ti amo anche = I love you too

AN: Oh Spamano, how I love you :D

Please review and thanks very much for reading!