Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

A/n1: Well – here I am again!^^ Hi!~
First of all… I'VE GRADUATED! Yaaaaay! I'm actually becoming an adult – how's that!
So! Let's get busy, shall we? As most of my "old" readers might know, I have studied Pedagogiek (Pedagogy – sadly enough a study that's not recognized as a study outside of Europe). Pedagogiek has got a lot to do with… well, kids. And how to make them develop the way they should develop. Now, I love kids. Babies, toddlers, schoolkids, teens – I love working with them, since they're all special and interesting.
Anyway, as a result of my studies (and the promise made in the ending of Bottoms-Up), this fic will be heavy influenced by… well, kids.
In this Spamano-fic, our happily-married couple Toni and Lovi will become fathers. NOT the Mpreg way, since that creeps the shit out of me, and also not by adoption, but still.
I know it's risky to throw in some kids to the Spamano-stew. I know that most people don't like to read about OC's and other weird bitches, and really, why would you?
Also, the tone of the fic will be more serious. Yep. Yepperdeyep yep. Still, you should give it a shot. Who knows, maybe you'll even like it?^^

A/n2: I remember saying "I hope this fic will become even more popular than This Dance!~" or something like that when I started writing Bottoms-Up, so it's tempting to write that same sentence here again, just to see what happens. But there's no possible way I'll ever be able to top my last fic (I mean, gaaaah, over 3700 effing reviews!), so I'll just shut up and start writing already.

A/n3: Okay, one last thing and then I'll start writing for sure. In this fic, don't expect the kids popping up right away, because it'll take a little while. Also, I may or may not have improved my English grammar. I'll probably won't write too many dot-dot-dot-sentences, either. Then again, I'll just continue using 'these' apostrophes instead of "these", because… well, I'm used to it, really. Hope you don't mind!
And now, prepare yourself for some mild drama and loving and all that corny stuff – you know you love it.

~~ And Three Makes Five ~~

Chapter 1:

A child is a curly dimpled lunatic.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
(American lecturer, essayist and poet)

'Mister South Italy?'

'Hnnnmmnn…'

'Sir?'

'WhatisitdammitIwasalmostsleeping.'

'I'm not sure what you said, mister South Italy, but… we're almost there, sir.'

'Whuh?'

I opened my eyes a little bit and sat up, my back aching from the horrible position I had been lying in this entire time (that's why I hated attempting to sleep in the back of a car, dammit, you ruin your back) and rubbed my eyes.

'Sorry, could you say that again, mister… erm… mister… driver… man?'

'We're almost there,' the patient taxi driver repeated. Bastard didn't tell me his name. Well fuck you too then.

'We're there? Now that's vague. Where's there?' I asked, stretching myself as good as I could, my joints cracking and popping in delight.

'We're at…' The man behind the wheel shuddered and winced upon hearing the cracking and popping sounds. 'W-we're at mister Spain's House, mister South Italy. You know, the place you requested me to bring you? We're almost—'

'Really? We're almost there? You – you're serious?' I interrupted him, and instantly pressed my greyish-from-lack-of-sleep-face against the window. An indescribable feeling of happiness, longing and excitement welled up inside of me when I indeed saw the vague appearances of Antonio's House showing up in the not-so-far distance.

'A-Antonio…' I whispered, dramatically sliding my fingers up and down the condensed glass, and felt myself tearing up when I caught a glimpse of my wedding ring, glittering in the sunlight of the slowly setting red ball in the evening sky of Madrid.

'I-I'm coming home… I'm coming home at last, Antonio…'

'Please stop clawing at the windows, sir, I just washed them.'

…

Oh no he didn't.

Just like that, I lost my rare sentimental mood and turned my head to glare at the driver – baggy-eyed or not baggy-eyed.

'Do you fucking mind? Does my being-happy about finally seeing my fucking perfect husband again annoy you, you senseless bastard? Shit, give me a break, dammit!'

The man looked over his shoulders, startled. 'W-well, excuse me, but I'm—'

'No! Shut up! Do you have any fucking idea just how awful the past few months have been for me?'

'Um—'

'No you haven't! I haven't seen Antonio in freaking months! I haven't decently slept in months, either! I'm so damn tired and exhausted, I feel like crying and sleeping at the same time! But I can't! Too tiresome! So instead, I just claw at your damn window! Hell, I claw at the window as much as I want to, dammit!'

'S-sorry, I didn't know—'

'And you can't stop me! Look, I'm already doing it! I'm clawing at the windows, oohh, somebody stop me, I'm making fucking lines on the glass!'

'S-sir, please…'

'What! What the flipping fuck is it, mister nameless-driver-who-can-see-his-partner-each-and-e very-day-of-the-year?'

'N-no, it's nothing.'

'You're damn right it's nothing!'

Satisfied, I sat back and folded my arms, huffing and glaring and frowning and…

…and feeling pretty mean. Meaner than I had been in a very long time.

God. Looks like my returning to Antonio's House was a very good thing on many, many levels.

Antonio.

I looked out of the window again – and kept my hands to myself in the end anyway, since I wanted to show the hunched driver I actually was a pretty nice guy, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep inside – and swallowed a big lump that had formed inside my throat.

A-Antonio…

I-I can't wait to see you again, d-dammit…

\0o0/

When Antonio and I were busy enjoying our lovely honeymoon in Barcelona a couple of months ago, shit hit the fucking fan.

In Europe, that is.

As for me and Antonio, we were still…

…d-doing good.

W-we were still really in love with each other and stuff, I mean. Shit. Of course we were. I fucking loved him, dammit, and he loved me, so that was all nice and peachy and sweet and huggable and…

I should either shut the fuck up or get to the damn point already and scrape that blush off my face.

Right.

So, anyway…

While the two of us were off enjoying our romantic alone-time together in one of Spain's most beautiful cities, in which we admired multiple wonderful buildings, ate tons of dishes that were wonderful as well and had gloriously wonderful sex whenever we saw an opportunity to have gloriously wonderful sex (on the bed, in bath, up a wall, on the ground, heck, we were so horny, we even did it in the van, during that freaking cramped-up, touristic tour around Barcelona – now that was a "ride" I wasn't going to forget any day soon), the entire European continent had apparently slipped into total fucking despair.

It always did that whenever I was having fun, dammit.

Spain was a mess.

Portugal was a mess.

Belgium was a mess.

Greece was a mess.

And Italy, Italy was a fucking mess as well.

But to be brutally honest, most countries on the continent were, one way or the other, a complete motherfucking mess. Even the really wealthy ones. If the economy wasn't the issue, politics, foreign relations and religions were, and everybody knows just how much all of that sucks balls.

So yeah.

Eventually, one panicky European problem led to another one, and so, in the end, my new boss called me on a cloudy afternoon during my and Antonio's honeymoon – and at a really inconvenient time too: we were just watching a really sappy movie (shut it, that was Antonio's fucking idea, not mine) together on our hotel room that made me want to kiss him and hold onto him and keep on kissing and holding on to him for the rest of the night.

Anyway, after explaining the sad situation in Europe to me, my boss didn't ask me and Antonio to return – nooo, he demanded it, telling me he had discussed the matter with the Spanish king, who also thought it would be best if Antonio and I would come back to our Houses as soon as possible.

'Um. Yeah,' I had said, scratching the back of my head while watching Antonio laughing at something stupid that happened in the movie. 'It's too bad we have to return earlier, but I understand. So. Um. Okay, when do you want me and Antonio to be back in the House?'

It suddenly became awfully quiet on the other side of the phone…line…thing.

'Sir?' I said, frowning.

'South Italy,' my boss slowly said, something sounding a lot like regret in his voice, 'I don't think you quite understand me. When I said that you and Spain should go back to your Houses, I actually really meant Houses.'

I suddenly felt a bit worried.

'What?'

My boss sighed. 'I'm sorry, but you and your brother are needed in Italy. In your own House. And Spain is needed in his own House.'

'What?' I said again, now definitely worried.

Antonio noticed my freaked-out expression, pressed on the pause-button (that reminded me, I should kick his cheeky ass the next time he just continued watching a movie without waiting for me, dammit) and gave me a questioning look.

'What's the matter, Lovi?'

'Shhhh!' I hissed at him, and turned my attention back to the conversation I was having with my boss.

'So, sir, are you saying that we should go back to our own Houses?'

'That's right. For the sake of Europe. For the sake of Italy.'

'So…'

I stared at Antonio, who stared back at me with eyes that probably were just as big as mine. For somebody who couldn't read the atmosphere most of the time, he sure did a good job at it now.

I gulped and gripped my phone a bit tighter.

'…so I can't stay at Antonio's place? But you know about our marriage, right?'

'I know. You just got married.' He uttered another sigh – but this one was an annoyed one.

'South Italy. Please don't forget that, before you are an actual person, you are the spirit of at least half a nation. A nation that needs you – and that must ask you to say goodbye to Spain for now and return to your House in Italy.'

'I—'

'Also, you knew from the start that you weren't going to be able to officially live in the same House as him.'

I widened my eyes even more.

Oh.

Yes, that was true. I remembered.

'I'm really sorry. I understand your situation, but do you understand our situation?' my boss asked me, trying to sound friendlier now.

'Yeah. I understand,' I muttered.

'I'm glad you do.' He breathed out in relief. 'I expect you back in Italy as soon as possible. Contact my agent when you're there.'

'I will.'

'That will be all for now. Good day, South Italy.'

'Uh-huh.'

I hang up.

Then I started biting my lower lip, staring at my phone.

Fucking shitty thing. I knew I really should have tossed it into the water when Antonio and I sat in the park today and jokingly told each other how nice it would be if we could just fling our phones into the body of water in front of us and carry on living like this.

D-dammit.

Finally, I put my phone back in my pocket, took a deep, cold gulp of air, and raised my face to meet Antonio's saddened, but still very beautiful green eyes.

'Antonio. Did you get all of that, or,' I exhaled shakily, 'o-or do I need to explain to you what that conversation was about?'

'No, no. I got it, Lovino.'

Antonio pursed his lips together and, after a few seconds of silently staring at me, put his hand reassuring on my own, clenched one, lying just next to him.

'Lovi?'

'What, dammit…' I sighed.

He smiled and scooted closer to me, squeezing my hand. 'I'd love to see you again when all of this is over.'

…

He'd love to see me when all of this was…

Goddammit.

I stared at him, fighting against hot, burning tears. Then I shook my head furiously.

'No. I-I don't want to be separated from you.'

'Sweetie…'

'I don't want to be separated from you!'

'Lovino, Lovino…'

Antonio came closer and wrapped his arms around me.

'You're my husband!' I stammered, hugging him back as the same tears now started rolling down my cheeks. 'Y-you're my fucking husband! I don't want to be away from you! I-I want to be with you!'

'I-I know, I know.' Antonio swallowed, his eyes glassy and unsteady as well, and pushed my face into his chest. 'So do I, my love… so do I. Of course I want to be with you. But… ah, you could say it was about time that… things went very much downhill in Europe. We all sure had a lot of free time over the last few months, even while we all knew we probably shouldn't have so much of it, so—'

'I don't want to hear it!' I gritted my teeth and looked up to him. 'I-I don't fucking care whether I have much free time or no free time at all – I only want us to be together when we come back from… from work, or whatever that shit is that we do is! Because that's what married people do: they come home in the same house! Is… is that too much to fucking ask?'

'Calm down, sweetie… ah, come here for a second.'

Antonio raised my chin and kissed me on the lips.

I wanted to whine something, but as always as he kissed me, I felt myself getting less angry – and I moaned softly into the tender kiss, grabbing the front of his shirt.

When he pulled back and gently stroke his hand up and down my cheek, he was happy to see I had relaxed and calmed down a bit.

'Feeling better again?' he asked me.

'No,' I huffed, blushing.

'Ohh, but I think you are!~'

'And I think you should watch your face. Before I throw a fish against it.'

'A fish, Lovi?' Antonio blinked confusedly.

I was just as confused, but not for long.

'Fish? Wha—no, not a freaking fish, I-I meant a fist, you dense moron, a fist, dammit! You should know I meant that!'

'I don't know, for some reason, I can see you ruthlessly smacking a fish in my face.'

My face started to twitch – in a pleasant way.

'N-now why the fuck would I be swinging around fishes! That's… that's fucking ridiculous!'

'I know – but the image made you laugh, didn't it?~'

His smile softened.

Not knowing what to say, I just furrowed my brows at him. I also automatically touched the corners of my own mouth… and yes, they were indeed tilted upwards. Not as much as his, but still.

'Moron,' I mumbled, leaning more against him.

Antonio sank a hand into my hair and ran it through the uncoordinated brown mess (because, plot twist, my hair actually isn't hair, but unruly, supposedly brushable heaps of evil).

'Please feel better, Lovino. I don't like it when you're upset.'

'I-I know. But this is just… gah.'

I closed my eyes for a bit, enjoying his careful, wandering touches.

'I just… I-I wish we could live normally. Like a… I don't know, like a family.'

'Like a family, Lovi?'

'Yeah. A real one. A human one.'

'Sounds nice. Let's get us one of those one day, okay?'

Antonio grinned playfully at me and winked.

'Jackass,' I muttered, although there was a slightly bigger smile appearing on my face.

'Sweetheart,' Antonio countered.

My face instantly deepened its already fairly reddish color.

'F-fuck you!'

'Okay.'

'What?'

'I said okay.'

Antonio moved his face closer to my own and kissed my warm cheeks, before falling on his back and dragging me on top of him.

'A-Antonio,' I stuttered, awkwardly moving around in-between his spread legs, 'w-what are you…'

'Who knows when we're seeing each other again after today, Lovino,' he muttered, his hands skillfully unbuttoning my shirt, 'so let's have a good, last round before packing our things and going back. Okay?'

'Y-you sure?' I frowned a bit – but I had already made up my mind, since I slipped my hands into his loose pants and slowly followed the curves of his round, delicious butt.

God, I loved his ass.

Antonio let out a breathy laugh as I shyly kissed his jaw and carried on rubbing his behind.

'Oh, I'm sure, my love… I'm sure.'

'O-okay…'

'…hnnm… you got to hurry up a bit, though… we… ah… we probably have no time to lose…'

I pulled down his pants and snorted. 'Do I look like I fucking care?'

'You look handsome.' He smiled and collected my face in his hands.

'S-so do you,' I murmured.

'I love you.'

'I love you too…'

'I…'

He gasped quietly when I clumsily pushed a finger into him.

'I'll… I'll miss you, Lovi…'

'S-shut up…' I whimpered, and whimpered some more when Antonio pressed our lips together and made sure that they stayed together, the whole time, in spite of our panting, moaning, jolting movements and heaving breathing.

It was good.

And yet it was bad.

Because… I really can't remember the last time I cried this much during sex.

\0o0/

That same day, Antonio and I collected our things and belongings, spitefully lingered when we were checking out of the lobby of the hotel and, ultimately, drove back home.

No, wait – Antonio drove me back to my House.

Not our home.

My House. In Italy.

After dropping me off, kissing me goodbye, and telling me he'd call me when he was back in Spain, he drove away, grinning and waving and giving me ridiculous kissy-hands (I remembered yelling 'Hands on the fucking wheel, you idiot!' at him while fucking bawling my eyes out), and then I was all alone.

Totally, utterly alone…

…until a slightly tanned Feliciano (I guess the weather was sunny in Germany) showed up fifteen minutes later, crying loudly and clasping a depressed-looking German potato, who had to struggle for another fifteen minutes before he could hand over my snot-faced brother to me.

After that, he nodded at me, hugged Feliciano one last time and quickly hopped back into his ugly car.

And then we were all alone again, Feliciano and me.

I mean, sure, we were together, but…

God, were we so alone.

\0o0/

Looking back, I guess we were alone together like this for at least, well, three, four months.

Yes.

Three to four months.

Not just us – every single European nation was three to four months all by his/herself.

Trying to stabilize things in the countries they were representing, motivating the bosses, helping them to come up with new plans to improve the European economy, allowing them to do research and tests on us personifications so they could observe and determine just how bad or how good the country's doing and how it's responding to their interventions and what-not…

It was a very feverish, tense, anxious, unsure and unpleasant period.

And the worst of all was that all this time…

I didn't see Antonio. Not even once.

I didn't have time – and neither did he – to drop by, so that was just plain awful.

Fortunately, we still were able to call each other, which we did, every day, mostly right before we went off to bed.

During those calls, I'd tell him what I had done that day and that I missed him, and then he'd tell me what he had done that day and that he missed me, too, and then we continued whining 'I love you' and 'I want to see you' for at least an hour, before hanging up and feeling slightly less or sometimes even more miserable.

Sleeping was a fucking big task as well, since I couldn't, unless Antonio was there to hold me.

But he wasn't.

So I couldn't.

Really, it's that simple.

'Veee, you love me too, right? So why don't you try it with me?' Feliciano had suggested when I told him about my weird selective insomnia thing, 'I mean, I feel lonely without Luddy as well, after all. Let's brotherly hug each other to bits!~'

'Touch me and you're fucking dead,' I had snarled back at him – and so I naturally ended up sleeping with a snoring, drooling and farting Feliciano anyway, because it's still much better than an empty bed, dammit.

Sure, near the end of these exhausting three/four months, I probably must have slept a little bit, just because even my stubborn body at some point gave up its struggling against the sleep, but that didn't mean I slept very well. Nightmares and sweaty sheets all over the place, dammit.

It was all just so very much awful.

Going to the boring meetings.

Listening to the unsettling problems.

Accepting the sometimes humiliating tests.

Communicating with many important, but scary people.

Living without Antonio.

…

F-fucking torture.

\0o0/

And then, all of a sudden, Feliciano and I were allowed to be together with the ones we loved again.

Bam, just like that.

On the day of our final meeting, right before it started and Feliciano and while I were hanging out in front of the conference room, somewhere in a big and beautiful building in Rome, an European agent came to us and told us that this would be the last national meeting we'd have – for now.

'Of course, this doesn't mean that you can sit back and relax,' the man continued when Feliciano and I drowsily stared at him, hope shining in our eyes, 'because you still need to attend the European meetings.'

'European meetings?' my brother repeated.

'Does that mean that we can, um, well, leave Italy?' I asked, as always thinking a teeny tiny bit faster than Feliciano.

The man smiled understandingly at us.

'Yes. You may go to the ones you love.'

...

...

It...

It was the best news we heard in months.