Oh god, this took me so long to write, and the ending sucks, and the conversations are forced, and GAH! I'M SO SORRY THIS SUCKS SO BAD. Enjoy.

Oh how a week flies, let me count the ways.

Okay, forgive me, that sucked. You'd think that spending almost ever minute of an entire week with the two most artsy countries would have a positive influence on me- but nope. It seems I'm still sadly lacking in the creativity department. At least I gave it the old college try.

Spending my days with Romano and France (on England's insistance that they could teach me more about Spain than any of the other Allies) hasn't been a complete waste though. I think England was understating it when he said that they knew the most of any of the Allies. Talk to his former best friend and the boy he raised for a while, and I doubt even Spain could tell you more about himself.

Lesson number one: Be yourself, but be us too.

France and Romano seem to think that between my pervertedness and mildly angry temperament Spain will like me. But they also know Spain and have advised me to dance the line between being unique and acting like them. Spain misses the time before being France's enemy. If I remind him of his friend he'll be comfortable around me, but if I remind him too much of France it'll just remind him of their current "relationship issues" and scare him off. To make a start, I've been drenching myself in rose scented perfume, lotion, deoderant, soap, and shampoo. France smells like the freaking garden of Eden, so I will too.

Lesson number two: don't mention England. Ever. It pisses him off.

That's really all that needs to be said.

Lesson number three: pretend not to know Spanish. It's a good strategy for obtaining information, and for some reason Spain thinks it's adorable.

Lesson number four: For the most part, Spain is straight as a ruler. Except, of course, for when it comes to Romano. Some strange twist of sexuality made him extremely gay for Romano. I should try not to be too shocked if I catch him putting the moves on Romano while the Axis are in Spain.

Spain the place, not the person. The Axis won't be in Spain the person.

At least, I hope not. That'd be awkward.

They taught me much more than this, but these are the four details that most stuck out to me. And, as I now board Romano's private jet with the Italian himself at one in the morning, I pray that those four will help me get by.

"You understand the plan?" Romano asks three hours later after- I kid you not- parachuting into a forest preserve in Spain at four in the morning. I step out from behind a bushm now wearing a curly red wig and a blue and white striped sundress instead of the helmet and skydiving suit I arrived in.

"I should hope so," I say pleasantly. "I did help think of it." He rolls his eyes.

"I don't need your sarcasm sorellina," he says, fastening the last button of his tan military uniform.

"I told you not to call me that Lovino," I groan. At some point during one of our "lessons" we got really drunk and decided that since we were both sick of being the lesser siblings, Italy could have April and Romano and me could totally be brother and sister instead. He's been jokingly calling me 'little sister' ever since. He laughs.

"Whatever cagna, start getting ready." I sigh and start mussing up my hair while spreading the contents of a packet of, ahem, "fake" blood over my skin and clothing. I continue preparations for about five minuts and when I'm done my clothes are torn, there are twigs in my hair, and my skin looks scratched. However, it still seems like something is missing. I look at Lovi.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" I ask. He nods.

"Nothing you do wil make you uglier than you are naturally," he offers sadly. I slap him on the arm.

"Shut up," I laugh. I step closer, putting a hand on his shoulder lightly. "I have something in mind that could really pull it all together." He gulps and pulls back slightly.

"W-What're you doing bastarda?" I smile and shrug, reaching toward his hair.

"You know, France and I have a bet going about that curl of yours," I murmur. His eyes widen, but before he can move, I grab hold of the curl and give it a good yank. He growls, I yelp, and before I know what's happening, we're in a very, um, compromising position. I'm lying flat on my back and he's leaning over me with a hand on my thigh and his mouth at my neck, biting down slightly. He jumps a little and moves so that he's not touching me.

"Don't touch that," he pants. My eyes are wide at his reaction, then I curse.

"Looks like I owe Francey-pants twenty bucks," I mutter. Romano sighs and pushes his hair out of his face. It's then that I notice the delicate chain hanging around his neck.

It's an old rosary, made mostly of wooden beads but held together in some places with little silver links. Some pieces appear several hundred years old, but others are recent, as if beads broke of and had to be replaced. The shininess on each bead, especially the crucifix, shows it's been prayed over often, and recently. I smile, and for once I'm not being sarcastic when I say, "That's cute Lovi." He turns bright red.

"Shut up," he replies, stuffing it down his shirt and climbing off me. He helps me to my feet, and as he does, I note the feeling of real scratches on the backs of my legs and arms from the ground. Romano looks at me and blushes harder. "I left a bitemark. Sorry." I grin.

"That was the point," I reply. "Now my costume is complete. Shall we go?" He nods.

"We've only got about fifteen minutes to get to the road before him." We start walking, and after a while I smirk at him.

"Curls make you horny, huh?" I say teasingly.

"Shut up!"

A minute or so later, we're crouched in the shadows behind a bush at the side of a rather lonely road. The sun hasn't yet risen and the road is completely unlit, without even any headlights to be seen. I glance at Romano.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" I whisper. He pauses a moment before answering, then points down the orad where two pinpoints of light have appeared. He's arrived just on time. Who would've guessed that even centuries after Romano stopped living with him he followed similar routines?

"Five, four," the lights grow closer, "three, two one," they're almost to us, "Go!" I rise out of the crouching position and stumble into the roadm using my right arm to shield my eyes from the light. The other one, I stretch out before me.

"Stop!" I yell. "Please stop!" The car, a highly overrated red Ferarri, skids to a halt a few feet in front of me and the driver hastily jumps out.

"¿Se encuentra bien? Señorita?" he asks. I begin swaying and stumbling and he gently grabs my shoulders to steady me. I press my fingertips to my forehead, then look at him in confusion.

"No hablo español," I murmur, making sure to pronounce it wrong. "Please help." It's then that I lose my balance and pretend to faint in his arms. He curses fervently and then carries me bridal style to his car.

"Don't worry señorita, I'll get you to the hospital," he mutters, more to himself than to me. While he's climbing into the driver's seat, I glance over to where I left Romano, but he's nowhere to be seen. I fight the urge to sigh. I should've guessed he wouldn't stay after I started. Noticing that he's into his seat now, I rest my head back and allow myself to fall asleep.

I wake up sometime later in a brightly lit room surrounded with machines- which, luckily, are turned off- and for some reason, chairs. At the foot of the hospital bed I'm laying in is a nurse, who is adjusting the blankets which have balled up around my feet. I sit up and she glances up at me, smiling.

"Gracias a Dios que estás despierto!" she says, sounding relieved. "Has estado durmiendo desde hace bastante tiempo. Su novio ha estado preocupando." I run a hand through my hair and pretend to seem confused again.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak Spanish." I think for a moment, then correct myself. "No hablo español." She nods in understanding.

"Un momento por favor." She exits the room, and in a minute or so, returns with another nurse.

"Hola," she says, smiling. "I'm told you have a communication issue." Her English is good, but her thick accent makes it hard for me not to giggle.

"Yes," I say apologetically. "I'm American, I'm afraid the only Spanish I know is what I learned from Dora the Explorer." She laughs.

"That's all right, just consider yourself lucky. In our current situation with America and other countries right now, not everyone would've brought you in," she says, sighing. "Some people are pretty hostile about it."

"So I've noticed," I reply. "My family was trying to get over to France. We heard about some of the stuff going on here." She nods.

"Smart idea," she says. "Now let's get down to business. You have a few cuts and bruises here and there, but other than that and seeming a little shaken up, you'll be fine. We can release you this afternoon." I smile.

"Good, thank you."

"If you really want to thank someone, the young man who brought you in is still here," she says. "He's been waiting out there to make sure you're okay all night. Do you mind if we let him in to see you?" I nod quickly.

"Of course, I need to thank him after all." Both nurses nod and leave the room. A few minutes later, a young man of about 25 years with shaggy brown hair and bright green eyes. I fight the urge to die on the spot. Like all the other nations I've met, Spain is drop dead sexy. He seems a little anxious when he walks in, but his face lights up in a genuine smile when he sees I'm fine.

"Hola, er, hello I mean," he corrects himself in the most stereotypical (and adorable) Spanish accent I've ever heard. "You said you don't speak Spanish, right?" I feign surprise.

"You speak English?" I ask. He nods, still grinning.

"I had friends living in America and England, I speak English very well," he replies. I smile in relief.

"Looks like I got lucky then. I barely know a word of Spanish, and that would make it kind of hard to thank you for bringing me here," I say, then adding awkwardly, "So, uh. Thanks." He laughs.

"It was no problem señorita," he says. "Oh, excuse me I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. You can call me Toni." I laugh.

"That's quite the name you've got there. I'm Liza Schneider," I say, adding teasingly, "You can call me Liza." He grins.

"Encantado!" I smile back, a little awkwardly. Normally my targets aren't so... friendly? Childish? Nice? "So what happened to you anyway?" I'm a little caught off gaurd by the bluntness of his question, but Romano and France warned me that he didn't really understand the whole transitioning thing. I look down at my hands.

"I was on vacation with my family here when the war started," I begin. "We heard about how in some countries, citizens were sort of rioting and attacking people from the Allied nations. We got scared and last night we got tickets to take a train across the border into France. I got a little lost in the train station and ended up missing the train, while the rest of my family made it. So I thought I remembered seeing a cheap little motel a few blocks away and I thought I could just spend the night there. I had a little English to Spanish book my parents bought me, I had some money with me, I didn't think it would be that bad. But it was dark..." I trail off a bit at this part, glancing up to meet his now worried eyes for just a second before looking back down again. "Some guys jumped me from behind. I woke up in the woods somewhere, they were all sitting with their back to me, thinking I was still unconscious. All my money was gone, my clothes were torn, and I could hear them talking about me in Spanish. I snuck off, but after a while they figured it out and started chasing me. I got to the road, and then that's where you found me." I look up and smile at him. He offers me a half-hearted one in return, but he seems saddened by my made up story.

"There's been a lot like that happening since the war started," he says sadly. I know, that's why we picked it as a back story. "All the people who come visiting from our enemy countries get kidnapped, men are forced to work and women are sold into prostitution." He looks so deeply upset by this that I just want to hug him and blurt out that I was lying, that I'm spying on him and I totally deserve to go to prison or something. Yeah. He looked that pitiful.

"Don't feel bad about it. I'll figure out a way out of here," I say. He shakes his head.

"They closed the border between us and France this morning. You're stuck here," he says. I fake a panicked look, then take a deep breath.

"I'll still figure something out. I can work, I'll just get a job somewhere," I say. He looks at me with concern and I smile at him again. "Don't worry about me."

"Please, let me help you," he says pleadingly. I shake my head.

"No, you've done enough for me," I say, offering the worst possible joke in this situation. "If it weren't for you the only job I'd have right now is working the corners." He looks mildly scandalized by this and I mentally facepalm.

"No really, it's no trouble," he insists. "My family has a lot of money, I have a big house, you can stay with me as long as you need."

"Oh no! I could never ask that!" I say just as insistantly.

"No really, do it for me then," he tries. "It's kind of lonely over there now. Several of our staffmembers had to leave because of the war. The groundskeepers got drafted and many of the maids had to leave to look after their families when male family members were drafted." I get a shocked expression when he talks about his workers and he almost smiles. "I told you, I have a lot of money and a big house." I consider this for a moment, remembering something Romano told me during the first few days of our lessons.

"I will stay with you," I say slowly. His face lights up again and he opens his mouth to say something, but I interrupt him. "But on one exception."

"What's that?" he asks.

"I'll help out as a maid," I say. "I don't want to live with you if I have no way of paying you back for any of my expenses, so I'll earn my stay." He begins to argue, but I interrupt him again. "Nothing you say will sway me on this. I either work for you or live on the streets." He sighs, and laughs a little.

"Why so stubborn?" he asks. I grin and jab my thumb into my chest, proclaiming, "Because that's the American way!" He laughs, a real laugh this time.

"You remind me of my friend, Alfred," he explains when I give him a questioning look. "It's something he would say," he sighs. "I haven't seen him in a while." He perks up almost instantly, though, and before I know it we're headed out the door and he's rambling about all the children he and his family fostered while he was growing up. More like countries he colonized, but for obvious reasons, I don't correct him.

"-and then there was Alfred, the one I was telling you about earlier," he says, pointing to one of the dozens of pictures in his wallet as we head towards his car. "Wasn't he just so cute?! He wasn't with us very long, he was too cute for that. He got adopted by a British family when he was about five, and moved to America when he was eighteen." He thinks for a moment. "So last year, I guess then. Anyway, we also had Maria at about that time, she was cute too. She had the most adorable crush on Alfred, but she hated me because I told her that she couldn't like Alfred because until they were adopted they were brother and sister and that would be just gross." He laughs. "She lives in Mexico now. I think she's about seventeen at this point." As we climb into the car, he looks through his pictures and practically squeals at a particular one. He shoves a photo of an angry looking seven year old with big brown eyes, a red face, and a strange curl sticking out of the side of his head. I stifle a burst of laughter upon recognizing him. "And this is mi tomate Lovi! We fostered him starting when he was seven and until he was eighteen. He was just so cute, but nobody adopted him because he swore so much," he said sadly. "His hermano, Feliciano, he got adopted when they were six and moved to Austria. They didn't like Lovi's potty mouth so they only adopted his brother. It's okay though, because when they turned eighteen they both moved to Italy and were together again!" He glances up at me- and as cliche as it sounds- his eyes are sparkling from talking about all the little nations. "You'll probably get to meet them, they visit a lot."

It's at this point that he reluctantly puts his wallet away so that he can begin driving. However, this doesn't stop him from rambling about everything from the tomatoes we'll have with dinner tonight to all the wonderful and exotic people who will eventually be staying with us, and all the while I can't help but laugh at how excited everything makes him. I won't lie, I think I'm going to like this mission a lot more than I expected.

Yeah, I'm sorry that Spain's so out of character. But that was the point of that whole rambling paragraph in which he coos over all the chibinations. I thought it would make him seem more in character, but I think all it did was make him seem like a ditz, and maybe even a pedophile. But, c'est la vie. Please review!