Hello! Sorry for putting this off for so long, and when I finally do write it, it's the final chapter. The roleplay did go on after this, but it's difficult to get that into the story and contrive a good ending from that. And of course, I had to delete the messages before I could get it all up. Lots of saddness there.

Anyway, if enough people ask for it, I suppose I can write an epilogue or sequal, but it will be more my writing that's influenced by the roleplay, rather than an adaptation of the roleplay itself.

Thanks again to HipsterMustache for letting me use the roleplay, and I'm really sorry for always dropping roleplays like that. I feel pretty bad.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed roleplaying it. Feel free to leave a review and tell me what you think of it, whether it's good or bad.

Romano woke up with his head pounding and his body aching everywhere. He groaned rubbing his forehead. Dammit, he went and got drunk again. What kind of Italian man was he if he couldn't hold his liquor? The previous night was a blur.

That's when he felt the arm draped over his body.

He gasped, sitting up quickly. A sharp pain shot through his body and he threw himself flat on the bed with a soft cry. "Ouch, dammit, it hurts," he muttered furiously.

All the activity had awoken his companion. "Lovi...?" the other man said groggily.

Romano turned to see Spain lying right next to him, looking back at him sleepily. In bed. The man he loved.

He gasped again in realization, jerking backward and subsequently falling over the side of the bed. He clawed at the sheets, trying to keep himself from crashing to the ground, but only succeeded in pulling them off with him.

"Ouch, merde, merde, merde!" he cried out, rubbing his butt that was way too sore for his liking.

"Lovi? Are you ok?" All of the Italian's shouting and falling off of beds had jerked Spain fully awake. Romano looked up to see the Spaniard right beside him, stark naked.

Suddenly self-conscious, Romano wrapped the sheets tightly around him. He nodded shyly, unable to take his eyes off of Spain. "S—si."

Spain moved closer, taking Romano's burning face in his hands. "Are you sure? Your face is really red, and you were yelling and stuff," he said uncertainly.

Romano hid his face in the sheets. "I'm fine! Stop touching me, bastardo!" he shouted to cover up his embarrassment.

The Spaniard complied, withdrawing his hands. He gazed at Romano, thinking. "Romano? Do you... not remember last night?" he asked.

Romano peeked up at him, shaking his head, feeling ashamed. "No. I... It's all a blur," he admitted.

Spain nodded, trying to not feel hurt that he hadn't left an impression even through Romano's drunk state. "Well, you had been drinking," he said.

Reason wasn't really what Spain was known for. Romano lifted his head to look right at Spain. If he was trying to be reasonable, then he was definitely upset about something. "Spain?"

"Hmm?"

"Did I...? Did we...?" Romano blushed heavily just thinking about it. "Um, you know..."

Surprisingly, Spain understood what Romano was trying to get at. He nodded. "Yes, we did."

Romano wasn't sure what to say. He nodded, looking down.

"Do you... regret it?" Spain asked after a minute of silence.

He shook his head vigorously. "Not at all! I mean, I don't remember it, but I... I... Ti amo," he said.

Spain pulled Romano into a crushing hug. "Oh, Lovi, te amo mucho!"

"Owowow! That hurts idiota!" he cried out.

The Spaniard immediately released him, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry, Lovi. You're just so adorable, and I'm so happy that you finally said that when you were sober and not drunk," he said,

Romano huffed, crossing his arms. "I'm not adorable," he said.

Spain wore a lopsided smile. "Cute like a tomatito," he replied.

They lapsed into silence, Romano deciding to let the subject drop. If he learned anything about Spain over the centuries, then it was that Spain wouldn't give up the idea that Romano was "cute" instead of the awesomely handsome Italian man that he obviously was. Obviously.

Romano was the first to speak. "So, um, was it good?" he asked, too nervous to look Spain in the eyes.

When Spain didn't say anything, Romano felt his stomach tie in a knot. Was it seriously that bad? But when he finally gathered the courage to look directly at the other man, he saw that it was quite the opposite.

Spain's face was a bright red, and he looked positively speechless. When Romano looked at him, he quickly turned his face, apparently just as embarrassed of making eye contact as Romano was.

The Italian grinned, pleased with Spain's reaction. "That good?" he asked teasingly.

Still unable to speak, all Spain could do was nod mutely, amusing the shorter man. Romano shrugged off the sheet and crawled into the Spaniard's lap, draping his arms lightly over Spain's shoulders.

"Ti amo, 'Tonio," he whispered to the flustered man, also lightly blushing.

Automatically, Spain's arms wrapped around the naked Italian's waist, pulling Romano closer to him. "Ti amo, Lovi," he replied, leaning his head against his lover's shoulder.

Romano's blush darkened. The difference was slight, but he still noticed. "…Italian?" Somehow it seemed so much more intimate for Spain to use his and Veneziano's native tongue instead of Spanish.

Spain pressed his lips to Romano's neck. "Just returning the favor from last night, querido," he murmured into the skin.

Romano shivered from Spain's hot breath on his sensitive skin. "I did that?" he breathed.

"Si."

"Oh." He didn't know what else to say, other than return with "Te amo, 'Tonio."

For whatever reason, the response caused a tremor to run through Spain's body. Romano felt it, his own lithe body pressed against the Spaniard's muscular form. Heat bloomed in the pit of his gut, slowly creeping south. Romano bit his lip, feeling himself grow hot.

It wasn't just Romano feeling the heat. Spain's mouth was slightly ajar, and Romano could feel the man's breath grow heavy on his skin.

"Oi, 'Tonio," Romano said, unable to keep the lustful tone from his voice.

"Yes, querido?" Spain replied, unconsciously pressing his hips hard against Romano. And the pressure wasn't the only thing that was hard.

Romano backed away from Spain enough to run his hands down the strong, bare chest in front of him, stopping just at Spain's hips. He looked down, unable to see Spain's erection from where he sat. Although he certainly felt it. The anticipation was killing him. He didn't even care that he was still sore from the previous night.

"Why don't you demonstrate what we did last night? Maybe it'll jog my memory," he suggested.

Spain sucked in breath. Hearing his little Lovi suggest something, sober, was almost too much to bear. He couldn't even find the words to reply. So he didn't try. Instead, he crushed his lips against Romano's in answer.

Romano returned the kiss, just as enthusiastic, just as needy, like if they pressed against each other hard enough, they would melt into the other.

A few weeks later, Romano woke up before the sun had even poked the first rays of light over the horizon. He felt absolutely rotten. A quick glance at the clock told him it was only 3:14 in the morning.

With a groan, he threw an arm over his eyes. Too fucking early.

Next to him, Spain slept soundly, oblivious to the nausea building up in his lover's throat. And Romano intended to keep it that way. He loved Antonio and all, but every time he was sick, the Spaniard was absolutely unbearable with how hard he tried to take care of his "poor little tomatito". It was annoying.

Not the fact that Spain cared, though! That was… pretty sweet and thoughtful of him, actually. And Romano loved to be pampered from time to time. Spain's get-well cooking was the best, almost as good as genuine Italian food (although Italian food was basically from the heavens, so that wasn't really a fair comparison).

It was just that he felt smothered by the worried man.

Suddenly his stomach lurched dangerously. Romano flew out of bed and threw himself in the bathroom, slamming the door shut. He dropped down at the toilet just in time as he was sick.

Back in the bedroom, the sound of the bathroom door slamming closed woke up Spain. He rubbed his eyes. "Lovi?" he called softly.

There was no answer.

Spain opened his eyes to find Romano's side of the bed empty, blankets rumpled and thrown back over Spain as if Romano rushed out of bed. Odd, usually his little Lovi slept like the dead, unable to be woken up until the sun was high in the sky. And from the looks of it, the sun was definitely not there yet.

He slowly pulled himself out of bed. The air conditioned house chilled his bare chest. Spain wrapped his arms around himself as he shuffled into the hall. It was times like these where he wished Romano would let him get a nice fluffy bathrobe. The Italian always refused to allow him one, however, saying that was "the most gay ass thing that any sensible Italian or Spanish man could do, suitable only for girly Frenchmen and Englishmen, and maybe Americans, too, because they are retarded like that".

Spain always thought it weird that Romano used "gay" as an insult. He was pretty sure the two of them were gay… But he never said anything. Romano was Italian, and pride and a fashion sense ran strong in his blood. So it was best to just let him do what he wanted.

There was the sound of retching coming from the bathroom. Spain froze outside the door. Lovi was sick? Why hadn't he said anything?

Tentatively, he reached out and lightly knocked on the door.

Inside the bathroom, the knock made Romano freeze, still poised over the toilet in case of emergency.

"Lovi? Are you ok in there?" Spain's muffled voice carried through the bathroom door.

Romano coughed, clearing his throat so that when he spoke, it wouldn't sound raspy or sick. "Yes, I'm fine. Just not feeling too well," he said. The strangest thing was; that was actually a lie. Now that he'd emptied out his stomach, the nausea had passed and he didn't feel the least bit sick. He bit his lip. Hadn't Hungary described this exact feeling to him and Veneziano, not too long ago when she and Austria had a child?

Wasn't this exactly like morning sickness?

But no, that couldn't be right. He was definitely a male country. Or rather half-country, but that was irrelevant! Either way, he was a man, and men didn't get pregnant!

Well, normal men didn't… As a country personification, he wasn't exactly normal. So, could it be possible?

There was only one way to know for sure.

Spain knocked on the door again, making Romano jump. "What is it, bastardo?" he demanded.

"Did I scare you, Lovi?" The Spaniard sounded amused.

Romano flushed, embarrassed. "No way! I never get scared! Now what do you want?" he demanded, crossing his arms even though Spain couldn't see it through the bathroom door.

There was a deep, rich chuckle before Spain replied. "Well, you said you weren't feeling well, so I made you a cup of tea with honey in it," he said.

Romano huffed, trying to act indifferent about the act of kindness. "Why tea? That's a pansy thing only England and China would drink," he protested, even though he loved the drink to death, especially when he felt under the weather. He'd never admit to it, however, and Spain knew this.

"Awww, come on, Lovi~. Drink it for me~?" Spain pleaded.

Romano opened the bathroom, cheeks puffed out in feigned indignation that didn't fool anybody. "Well, if you're going to go and grovel like that, then I guess it's my duty as a good boyfriend to just go ahead and drink it," he said, trying and failing to inject reluctance in his voice, instead sounding excited to have the hot drink made especially for him by Spain.

Spain smiled that charming smile of his that gave Romano shivers. "Gracias, Lovi~!" he said, playing along and actually succeeding in sounding grateful. He was a much better actor than Romano, which, again, the Italian would never admit.

Taking the steaming mug in his hands, Romano felt a warm glow of appreciation for his ever-patient, ever-loving boyfriend.

The next morning, Romano shook Spain awake. The man awoke reluctantly, moaning and mumbling complaints the entire time. Romano showed no mercy, using his head to wake Spain—literally.

"Oof!" Spain doubled over, clutching at his stomach, which was now in pain from the vicious head-butt that Romano gave him.

At least he was awake.

"I need you to take me to the store," Romano said, crossing his arms.

Spain sighed. "You need me to take you now? You couldn't wait until… I don't know, a little later?" he asked.

Romano shook his head. "No, it has to be now."

"Ok, ok, fine. Let me just get ready and I'll drive you over there," Spain said, dragging himself out of bed to do so.

Romano nodded. "Ok, I'll wait out in the car," he said, and left the room before Spain could reply.

Just a few minutes later, Spain joined him in the car and they were on their way. Ever since Romano nearly got them killed on their first official date, ("I did not almost crash! All Italians drive at least 90 miles an hour at all times. Any less isn't proper for a proud Italian man.") Spain kept the keys hidden away from the reckless driver. Thus, any time Romano wanted to go somewhere too far to walk, Spain would have to take him.

"What's so important that you need to go to the store immediately for?" Spain asked as they pulled into the parking lot.

Romano had been staring out the window, wrapped up in all kinds of anxious thoughts. "Hmm? Oh, a preg—shampoo! A bottle of shampoo!" he caught himself quickly. He'd nearly told Spain that he was going to buy a pregnancy test. That would be embarrassing!

Spain furrowed his eyebrows, confused. "Preg-shampoo? Is that some kind of Italian brand?" he asked.

Romano stared at the Spaniard in disbelief. Seriously? Any normal person would understand that he'd been about to say pregnancy test, or something having to do with pregnancy. Apparently not his oblivious lover. Of course.

"Yes, it's an Italian brand," he said, jumping out of the car the moment Spain stopped. "Now wait here, I'll be right back!"

With that, Romano rushed inside before Spain could even protest, leaving the man feeling awfully confused. His little Lovi was acting so strange today.

After a couple songs on the radio, Romano finally emerged from the store. Spain smiled at him, somewhat bemused. "Find your shampoo alright?" he asked.

For a few seconds, Romano just stared at him, looking confused, which puzzled Spain anymore. Then realization dawned on his face. He nodded. "Ah, yes, found it."

Yes, there was definitely something strange about Romano—wrong even. Spain's heart twisted at the thought that there was something that his love wouldn't (or couldn't) tell him. Still, he hoped his Lovi would eventually come out with it, like he had eventually told Spain that he was in love with him, after a lot of heartache and pain on both sides. So he'd have to be patient and wait.

When they got back to the house—Romano and Italy's house, since Spain never saw the point in moving back to his own—Romano bolted out of the car and into the house. Spain frowned as he turned the car off and just sat inside for a while. Either his Lovi was very enthusiastic about trying out his fancy Italian shampoo, or something was going on here. And Spain may be oblivious at times, but he wasn't stupid. There was most likely something going on.

So Spain turned took his time climbing out of the car and going inside, letting Romano finish up what he presumed to be a shower (not that he heard or saw Romano taking one; he didn't want to know the truth). After a while of dawdling and wasting time downstairs, he finally climbed up the stairs to knock on the bathroom door.

"Lovi, how is the Preg-shampoo?" he called in.

"G—good!" Romano called back out, his voice trembling. That worried Spain. What was so wrong that Romano felt the need to cover it up?

"Ah, that's good. Do you want me to make some lunch?" Spain asked. The least he could do was make a nice, hot meal.

"S—si! Just tomato soup, please."

Now Spain's frown really deepened. Weird, Romano not wanted to eat pasta and being polite. "Of course. I'll be right up once it's done."

Romano listened to the sound of Spain's steps fade down the stairs. He let out a shaky breath, leaning against the bathroom counter for support. The pregnancy test strip was in his hand, the little red plus glaring up at him. It couldn't be possible, but it happened. He, the male half-country, Italy Romano, was pregnant.

He deposited the test into the trash can and went back to his room. Sitting on the bed, he grabbed the phone and dialed the number of Germany's house.

"Hello?" the gruff voice that Romano despised so much answered.

"Put Veneziano on please," he said quietly, not in the mood for insults.

Germany picked up on this immediately. "Romano? Are you alright?" he asked. Romano could hear the suspicious frown in the German's voice.

"Veneziano," Romano repeated, feeling numb all over.

There was a shifting of papers and a creak of a bed. Away from the receiver, a pair of voices talked about something, probably Romano's call and odd mood. Then Italy's voice came through the speaker, excitable and worried as always.

"Ve? Lovi? What's wrong? Are you ok? Luddy says you didn't even try to insult him at all. Are you sick? What's the matter?"

"I'm pregnant."

The silence was heavy. Germany had heard the proclamation, because from farther away, Romano heard his voice say, "impossible". It was weird to not hear Veneziano's chatter.

"Wh—what, Lovi? Are you sure? I thought only girls can get pregnant, and you're a boy, I know because you're my fratello and if you were a girl, you'd be my sorella instead. Are you sure, Lovi?" the stream of words finally came, albeit delayed.

"Feliciano! I know I'm a man. But I took a pregnancy test, and it's positive! I'm PREGNANT, Feli!" he shouted, semi-hysterical by the end.

Behind him, there was the sound of metal crashing to the ground and glass breaking. Romano gasped, whipping around to see Spain standing in the door way, staring at him with wide eyes, a tray of broken dishes and spilled soup at his feet.

"Lovi…"

"Lovi, what happened? That was loud. Are you ok?" Feliciano was tittering along.

"I'll… I'll have to call you back, Feli," Romano say, hanging up the phone.

Spain stepped around the fallen tray. Romano didn't look at him as the Spaniard got closer and sat on the bed beside him. He even flinched when Spain gently took his hands.

"Lovi, you're pregnant?" Spain asked, rubbing his thumbs across Romano's knuckles.

Romano looked down at his lap. He nodded. "Si," he replied in a tiny voice.

A pause. "Why didn't you tell me?"

How could he have told Spain something like this? "Because… Because men aren't supposed to get pregnant. It's freakish. I'm freakish. There's no way you can love someone like me!" Romano cried, jerking his hands out of Spain's grasp, hiding his face behind them.

Spain wrapped his arms around Romano. "Lovi, there's no way that I couldn't love you. You're my tomatito. You're my love. And if we get to have children together, then that's just wonderful," he said.

Romano peeked up at him from behind his hands. "Really?"

Spain stroked the back of his head, smiling gently. "Of course, querido. Ti amo."

The Italian gave a tiny smile back. "Te amo."

It was a relief that Spain still accepted him. Romano didn't think he'd have been able to take it if Spain didn't. And a child… With his love… The thought was somehow appealing. Ok, not just somehow. It was very appealing.

Perhaps… Perhaps everything would be alright after all.