A/N: I'm not sure about this chapter, so I'm sorry if it's not good :(

On the other hand, we introduce Spain, Romano and England! Get ready for some FrUK next chapter!

"Elizaveta?"

Why are you doing this, he's furious with you, you shouldn't have answered...

"R-Roderich?"

She heard a gasp on the end of the line, and God, was that Roderich crying? Why was he crying? Shouldn't he be shouting at her? She gripped her phone tighter, knuckles white. "Roderich, I-"

"Eliza... my God, I thought you hated me. Where are you? Are you okay? Everyone's been so worried... oh Eliza, what's going on? If you don't love me anymore, I completely understand..." and she heard him sobbing quietly (Roderich was a drama queen, but he never cried. Never) on the other end of the line. Much to her horror, she found herself choking up too, a lump the size of Jupiter in her throat, and a throbbing heart, and were those tears rolling down her face? Big, fat, salty tears, like marbles.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered, and then she was bawling, curling up in the deck chair by the side of the pool. "It's my fault, whatever I did, I swear I'd make it up to you... Eliza, I love you. Please - please don't ever forget that."

"It's not your fault," she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. "God, Roderich, it's not your fault. It was me, I don't know what was going through my head." She paused. "I don't know what happened, really... Roderich, don't cry, you're making me cry too." She heard his quiet chuckle on the end of the line, and couldn't keep a smile from breaking out on her face. "I miss you," she whispered.

"Eliza," he said, his voice cracking. "Wherever you are, please - please come home."

She didn't know what to say.

Before Elizaveta knew it, she had hung up the phone and curled into a tiny ball in the deck chair, crying silently.

"Well, that was touching," said a familiar, irritating voice.

She sprang up, furious. "Get out of here! That was nothing to do with you! Get out!"

Gilbert lounged on the chair next to hers, grinning. "It's a free country, Lizzy."

"Just - just leave me alone."

"You didn't tell him?"

"Tell him what, exactly?"

He smirked, and put on a high falsetto. "It's not your fault, Roderich, it was me! I don't know what happened! I miss you, Roddy." He scowled. "Enough to make me sick."

"Gilbert," she warned him. "It's none of your business what I feel for Roderich. Leave me alone."

"Why didn't you tell him you don't want to get married?"

Elizaveta turned on her heel and walked away. She didn't know or care where she was going, but it had to be away from the albino idiot and his stupid questions, making her think at a time like this, goddamnit...

"Hola, mi amiga!"

A familiar, tanned, extraordinarily happy face bounced into her vision. Out of the self-proclaimed 'Bad Touch Trio', the cheery Antonio was the only one she truly got along with. After all, Francis would undoubtedly try to seduce her and Gilbert - well, he had to be trying to annoy her, because she had no idea what else he thought he was doing. Elizaveta would be happy to room with Antonio, but he was sleeping with his adorably grumpy boyfriend Lovino.

"Antonio," she cried and wrapped her arms around the Spaniard. He hugged her happily, rubbing her back. He knows, she realised, and her suspicions were confirmed when he whispered into her ear. "Feliciano told me. I am truly sorry, Elizaveta."

Feliciano! The Italian couldn't keep his mouth shut for five minutes? Oh well; in all honesty, she didn't mind Antonio knowing. He was a sweetheart. She was suddenly hyperaware of the tear tracks on her cheeks, and she couldn't help reliving the moment where Roderich's voice broke with sobs and he begged her to come home.

She had hung up on him. Why was she doing this?

Sensing her sadness, Antonio kept hugging her, kept rubbing her back, and accidentally tugging on her long hair. Her long hair that she seriously needed to brush, thanks to Gilbird making a nest in it the previous night. If Francis didn't pick up anyone else, she was going to move in with him instead. Stupid Gilbert, making her think about Roderich and making her feel bad and oh, he'd say nice things but be extremely irritating at the same time. How did he do that?

'Hey! Jerk bastard!"

Elizaveta recognised the voice immediately. Once you met Lovino Vargas, you'd never forget him.

She broke away from Antonio, composing herself. "Hello, Lovi!" He was so grumpy, but so completely adorable.

"'Lo," he mumbled, turning furiously red. As if suddenly remembering something, all embarrassment rushed from his face, and he turned around, pointing an angry finger at Antonio.

"You jerk bastard! I leave the hotel room for one second and there's an influx of turtles? In the sink? Antonio, those fucking turtles don't just appear out of nowhere! You bastard, did you - DID YOU BUY THE TURTLES? ANTONIO?"

Antonio rubbed his neck bashfully. "Well, Lovi, the little turtles kind of... reminded me of you. A bit. Your head."

"My head? My fucking head? Are you telling me my head looks like a turtle?"

"Only a little bit, Lovi! And not even that much - yeah, the more I think about it, there's, aha, no resemblance at all! No, I'm serious! I'm - Lovi, I'm not smiling!"

"My boyfriend thinks I look like a turtle? I hate you, jerk bastard!"

"Lovi, I'm only smiling because I love you so much!"

"Oh, as i- jeez, Antonioh. Ohh. Bastard, don't kiss me like that, there are ladies around."

"I'm not complaining," said Elizaveta, who had gotten over her teenage yaoi obsession, but did consider male homosexuality an art.

Romano flushed a deep pink. "Weirdo," he muttered, but allowed Antonio to kiss him all the way back to the building. Gilbert had been right about those two.

In actual fact, Elizaveta felt... lonely.

After all, Antonio and Romano were all over each other, not to mention Ludwig and Feliciano, who she hadn't seen all morning. Francis could have one-night stands with anyone he pleased, and Gilbert - well, Gilbert didn't need anyone to feel complete, as he so often boasted. In all the time Elizaveta had known him, he'd never dated, or expressed the will to do so.

He was fine, and everyone else was fine, and she was alone.

"All those bloody lovers making you sick?"

Elizaveta turned around to see a blond, well-dressed gentleman sitting at one of the little breakfast tables, with a killer British accent and a grumpy scowl and holy sweet mother of frying pans, look at those EYEBROWS. Truly magnificent, ridiculous eyebrows that rested on his face like furry caterpillars, demanding her attention. She could not take her eyes off the eyebrows. Were they even real? How could they be real? Surely eyebrows could not be that thick, that fuzzy, that -

No. To continue staring at his eyebrows would be rude and unladylike, and Elizaveta was a lady.

Ladies don't leave their fiancés at the altar and run off with their gay best friends to Spain and share a bed with Prussians and chickens.

"Ngh?" she managed to reply, rather confused.

"I said, are all those bloody lovers making you sick? Swanning around like ballet dancers, stealing kisses in the moonlight, playing each other love songs. It's preposterous."

"Oh," said Elizaveta. "Well... I don't begrudge them their happiness. They're lucky."

"Ahhh," said the gentleman, reaching out and grabbing her arm. He pulled her into a seat next to him. "So, that's why you're in Spain, eh? Running away? Well, so am I, to be honest. Bloke named Alfred. I liked him a lot, maybe even loved him a bit, but I behaved like an arse. Insulted the poor lad once too often and he told me to get out of his house." He sighed. "I bought the plane ticket that afternoon."

Elizaveta wasn't the type to share anything with strangers, but the British gentleman seemed sweet enough. "I was engaged," she said, hesitating a little. "His name is Roderich, and he's a concert pianist. We had the wedding yesterday, and he was there, everyone was there, and I was about to go into the church, but - oh, I don't know, something snapped and I ran away. Like a coward. And my best friend offered me a ticket and we were on a plane two hours later."

The gentleman nodded, eyes kind. "Arthur Kirkland," he said, extending a hand.

"Elizaveta Héderváry," she replied, shaking it.

"Where are you from?"

"New York, what about you?"

"I lived in Texas with Alfred, but I suppose my home is London once again."

She laughed. "I'm in a similar situation. I'm not really sure where I'll live now, because I moved straight from my parents' place to Roderich's. Maybe I'll come to England."

"You're not going back?"

The question was sudden and almost as probing as Gilbert's constant jabbering, and Elizaveta tried to think about what she'd said. "Well, I guess I will. If he'll have me."

Arthur lowered his eyes. "If you'll forgive me, I couldn't help hearing your phone conversation before. It was rather one-sided, but I got the gist of what Roderich said to you. Elizaveta, he will have you back."

All of a sudden, Elizaveta was flooded with sudden thoughts of Roderich. Roderich the awkward, gangly teenager who played the piano at school concerts. The silly little thrill she felt when he stood up and said, "This piece is for my dear Eliza." Tangling limbs in the golden sun. Dancing on their graduation night. Their first time, as strange as it was sweet. Moving in with him, lugging boxes and suitcases past the piano. Crashing into the piano and having to get the damn thing tuned. Going out to dinner and oh god, the time when she accidentally spilt the soup all over the waiter. All those boring concerts where she'd sneak backstage and kiss him senseless before he had to go on. Roderich shaking as he got down on one knee. Comforting her as she got worked up about napkins and lipstick and flowers.

Roderich turning around as she stood outside the church entrance, smiling at the sight of her.

"I don't know how I feel about him," she whispered.

"So you came to Spain to find out."

"I didn't - that's not true..."

Arthur looked at her, smiling a little. "And not only that, you came here to find yourself."

"I know myself!"

"So how do you feel about Roderich?"

Well, he had a point.

Arthur sighed. "I'm sorry for quizzing you. I feel like a teacher. That's what I am, actually. A high school English teacher."

"I'm not anything," she said thoughtfully. "I've never worked."

He stared at her disbelievingly. "Never?"

"I didn't need to, Roderich came from a wealthy family and he got paid a lot to play at..." Her voice trailed off. "God, I've never done anything."

Arthur squeezed her hand and pulled a slip of paper and a pen from his pocket, scribbling a phone number. "If you ever need to call," he said, "or I suppose if you see me around and need to talk..."

"Thank you," she said.

"I have to be going now. I signed up for one of those bloody tours. If those wankers even suggest that I try flamenco dancing, I'll hex them."

She laughed. "Thanks, Arthur. I'll see you some other time."

"With pleasure," he said, standing up and walking away.

"Mon Dieu, I feel like merde," mumbled a husky voice.

Elizaveta turned and saw Francis stumbling toward her table, unshaven, with bloodshot eyes. "Remember anything at all?" she asked.

"Someone shouted at us?"

"You got us kicked out of the bar."

"Fuck," he muttered, slumping into the chair Arthur had left vacant. "Je suis désolé, Élizabeth."

"It was an interesting night, to say the least," she murmured.

Francis's eyes lit up. "Let me guess! You slept with Gilbert?"

"What?"

"I was right, wasn't I? Ahh, I'm always right when it comes to l'amour! You and Gilbert... my dear, it is meant to be. I see it in your eyes."

"No! I'd rather die then do anything with that insufferable, conceited, arrogant little asshole!"

"Oh," said Francis, looking rather disappointed.

"If you dare say one more word..." she hissed.

"Well, I naturally assumed that you ran away from Roderich to be with him, especially since our dear Gilbert was acting so strangely toward you yesterday."

She froze. "You thought that?"

"What else is there to think?"

Oh, Elizaveta could have slapped him.

"We are not all as perverted as you, Francis," she said through clenched teeth, displaying an admirable amount of self-control.

"Perhaps," he said, shrugging nonchalantly.

"I was actually going to ask if I could share a room with you - no, not in that way, Francis! I just don't want to be anywhere near Gilbert or his stupid bird. So if you don't pick up someone else tonight... could I stay with you?"

Francis looked surprised. "Of course, Élizabeth."

"I need a friend right now."

"Gilbert cannot be your friend?"

"Gilbert cannot be anything but annoying."

"Think what you like, but he's been a wonderful friend to Toni and I over the years. Don't judge too quickly, mon chérie. Gilbert may be somewhat brash, but he's a good man, I promise."

"And he seems determined to antagonise me when it comes to Roderich. Which is why I need a friend, and I don't need a Gilbert."

"I would be delighted to assist you in any capacity."

She smiled. "Thank you - and get that smirk off your face!"

Smirk gone, Francis stood up and blinked a few times. "I'm sorry, but I must take my leave. In a moment of weakness, I signed up for one of those ridiculously expensive tours and now I must be shown around this town's highlights with a bunch of obnoxious American tourists. Adieu."

"Bye," she said, watching the Frenchman saunter toward the waiting tour bus.

Well, that was a relief. As much as Francis could be frustrating, he was a million times better than Gilbert. She decided to go back to Room 34 to grab a book to pass the time.

The door was unlocked, and she kicked it gently open, to see the rickety bed, the fading yellow wallpaper, Gilbert stark naked beside the bed, the brown carpet, her bags strewn over the floor - WAIT, WHAT?

She yelped and dashed from the room, shielding her eyes and slamming the door.

From inside Room 34, she heard a cheep and a grunt of confusion, than a gasp. "Jesus fucking Gott shit!"

"Put some clothes on!" she shouted.

"For Gott's sake, don't come in!"

"Why would I want to? My eyes already hurt enough!"

"Just - just wait, okay?"

After a few second, the door reopened and Gilbert, peered out, face a flaming red.

"Please tell me you're wearing clothes," Elizaveta pleaded.

"I-I-I am," he stuttered. He stepped out in swimming shorts. "I was getting changed. Knock next time."

"Believe me, I will," she muttered, much to her horror feeling the blood rush to her cheeks as well. "A-are you going swimming?"

"Yeah," he said, regaining his cool. "I'm really awesome at swimming, you know?"

She sniggered. "Have you ever swum against me?"

"No, because you're so scared I'll beat you. Which I will, one day. Because I am awesome."

"Well, if I had swimmers, I'd thrash you right now."

"You think? Lizzy, just face it. You can't beat the awesome."

"Tomorrow," she said. "Just you wait until tomorrow. I'll buy myself some swimmers and kick your ass to Jupiter."

"Deal," he said, smirking. "Get ready to be beaten!" He ran halfway down the stairs and stopped suddenly.

"Lizzy?"

"What?"

"Did you, ah, see anything?" He coughed nervously.

"Wha- oh."

He was all red and nervous again. Twitchy, like a little kid.

"Well, you're a lady and stuff. And I didn't want you to see anything. So I'm hoping you didn't. See anything, that is."

Elizaveta raised an eyebrow, and grinned as an idea came to her.

"I'd never tell you."

Gilbert's face was now so crimson it looked like Feliciano's famous pasta sauce. "Lizzy..."

She giggled. "I'm not telling you!"

"Aw, Lizzy, come on, I just - it's kind of embarrassing! Tell me!"

"Never!"

He raced up the stairs two at a time and lunged at her. "Just tell me!"

"No! No way! No - Gilbert, get off! Gilbert, stop tickling me! Oh my God, stop!" She couldn't help laughing. He was furious and flushed, eyes determinedly averted from her face. 'I'll never tell - stop it!"

"Tell me, damn it!"

Just then, the door to Room 36 swung open and there stood Ludwig and Feliciano, eyes wide with disbelief. Elizaveta was suddenly aware of the position she was in; pressed against the wall, face inches from Gilbert's, his hand awfully close to her left breast. Shit. Shit shit shit.

Gilbert glanced at his brother, made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, broke away and sprinted down the stairs.

Ludwig and Feliciano were left staring at Elizaveta.

"That - that wasn't..." she said hastily, voice trailing off as Feliciano raised an eyebrow and oh god, he winked.

"Come on Luddy!" he chirped, slipping an arm through his and half pulling him down the stairs. "Let's leave Elizaveta to her fantasies!"

Well, that was humiliating.

Oh God.

She was going to kill Gilbert.