A/N: Happy holidays, you guys! *waves hi to everyone* So I'm Canadian—you can probably tell by the spelling—and new to this fandom and writing in general and would like to thank Maige and IlluminatedShadow for turning me into a UKCan shipper. Seriously though, you guys are amazing!
So, this all started because of a couple of England/fem!Canada fics I read and I fell in love with the idea. But hardly anyone writes for them, so I thought I'd take a crack at it, but I was too chicken to try until I reread The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. Seriously, what's better than Arthur and split personalities?
Unfortunately, all the good stuff doesn't start until the next chapter or two. Now bear in mind this might be terrible, but it's my first time, so be easy on me!
Just to clear things up, Carlos is Cuba, Willem is the Netherlands, Belle is Belgium, Chun Yan is fem!China, PK is India—named after my Indian grandfather, Antonia is fem!Spain; Alastair, Aidan, and Aled are Scotland, Ireland, and Wales respectively; and Catherine is Monaco.
Wait, maybe I should have had this beta-ed first. Oh well, on with the show!
Warnings: Language, possible OOCness
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Arthur Kirkland, the personification of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and North Ireland, was not a nice man. It was a fact that many nations agreed on. Hell, even Arthur himself with his knife-like teeth and equally sharp tongue was inclined to agree.
But that didn't mean that the island of a man felt nothing. His emotions surged and fell, churned as deep as the sea from which his country was born. He felt so much that it physically ached, but he usually choked his feelings back down every time they bubbled to the surface.
Now normally, Arthur could deal with it. Truth to be told, he was a bit of a right bastard.
He could mercilessly mock Alfred about his ever expanding waistline, break his brothers' bones without a second thought, try to castrate that derelict Francis every time the frog tried to sneak a quick grope—and Arthur would have succeeded if it weren't for America trying to wrestle him or that one time where… what was her name again? Oh right, Canada, of all people dragged him away using his own tie as a leash—and come out of it on top of the world without caring what anyone said.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.
Or so he had thought until Madeline had started taking to telling him she was Canada, not America in that half-exasperated, half-resigned tone of voice every time he approached her—
Before he even had the chance to speak.
Now it wasn't as if she didn't have to correct him before. Arthur made that mistake far too many times than he'd like to admit, but he hadn't expected her words to cut as deep as they did. The nation, whose past was rich with famed playwrights and poets, the man who was educated at Oxford and Cambridge in the literary arts, suddenly found himself at a loss for words. What the hell could he possibly say?
I know you're Canada? I don't mean to mistake you for Alfred when you're clearly a girl? I want to say I'm sorry, but I don't know how?
So he kept his distance.
The Canadian had slowly begun to emerge from her shell after being recognized for once at Alfred's Halloween party last year and Arthur had watched her from out of the corner of his eye. Maddie's reaction to the attention was absolutely adorable, he remembered with a quirk of his lips. The former colony had been completely and utterly bewildered; doe-like eyes peeking over the Mordecai Richler book she was trying to hide behind—Jacob Two-Two Meets the Hooded Fang, he believed it was called—face flushed so bright a flustered pink that it drowned out her freckles. She thought that she had done something wrong, not used to being sought out after being overlooked for far too long.
But she was starting to take things in stride one at a time—dancing with Katyusha, getting ice cream with Carlos, smoking a pipe with Willem, making chocolate with Belle, playing hockey with Ivan and the Nordic nations, the occasional trip to the shooting range with Vash, going to Circe du Soleil and Chinatown with Chun Yan, playing the violin with his brothers, bonding with Gilbert and PK over pancakes and maple syrup, sharing stories with Peter, even starting fencing lessons again with Antonia.
He was happy for the northern nation. At least… he ought to have been. Maddie's life was not as lonely as it had once been and there were few more deserving of happiness than her. But it was a happiness that did not include him.
He shook his head roughly, telling himself not to go soft. It was enough for now, getting a kind word and a smile from the Canadian, enough to know that she didn't hate him. And he was pretty bloody sure that he had no right to ask anything more from her.
The corner of his eye caught a flash of red shortly after today's World Conference ended and he turned to see Maddie rummaging through her belongings. She looked no worse for wear, considering she got sat on by Antonia at one point during the meeting. It was completely by accident this time since the fun sized fiesta of a nation had been busy cajoling a sour-faced Lovino into letting her fix his collar. But it was alright in the end as Antonia, maternal as ever, had apologized profusely and cheerfully fussed over the little Canadian querida.
One of his fairy friends—he'd recognize Malcolm anywhere—was giggling madly as he tugged on one of her pigtails. Arthur couldn't tell if he was trying to get the nation's attention or annoy her.
A pause…
He blinked.
Bollocks!
He flung himself out of his chair and tore across the floor, swearing violently all the way. That fairy had better not have mistaken her for America!
"And where are you going, little brother?" Aled caught Arthur by the elbow and swung him around with that infuriatingly effortless ease. "America is over there." He pointed to the other side of the room where Alfred was in the middle of an impassioned argument with Ivan, arms flailing wildly.
"Sod off, Aled." Arthur muttered darkly, brushing nonexistent lint off his waistcoat. "What the hell is that fairy doing with Canada?"
The sandy haired Welshman calmly observed the scene with a critical eye. Malcolm was perched on Maddie's shoulder and it looked like the fairy was trying to whisper into an ear that only recovered a part of its hearing in the decades after the Halifax explosion.
"Perhaps your friends are a little curious as to why the great and powerful Arthur Kirkland has been mooning over her for the past few months."
"I can do without the sarcasm—and I have not been mooning over her!" he hotly protested. "Do you really want to discuss that right now when the poor girl is being molested?"
"That's affection, you halfwit." Aled turned a blue eyed gaze back to Maddie. "Malcolm's only fixing her hair."
"He shouldn't be touching her at all!"
"I didn't know you cared so much for the girl."
"Did you get a face full of fairy dust again?" Arthur felt like tearing out his hair at this point. "What would possess you to think otherwise!"
Of course he cared for her. He had never not cared for her. He took a deep ragged breath, straightening his tie in an effort to force himself to calm down.
"What's her name then?" Arthur wanted to slap the smirk off his brother's face. "You can't go around calling her 'not-Alfred' every time your memory gets dodgy."
Contrary to popular belief, the Brit was well aware of the soft spot his brothers had for the northern nation. She took in so many of their brats that long lost dialects flourished and thrived along the east coast of her country. Really, the chit was too nice for her own good and it had earned her three more overprotective big brothers.
And one overprotective little brother once Peter was included. That tin can brat of a micronation had been practically attached to Maddie ever since the day she gave him a piggy back ride and told him about her log dancing days, all the while granting him that kind closed-eyed smile of hers.
"It's not Matilda. You've tried that one before."
"I know that already, you prat. It's the name of her favourite Roald Dahl book—"
"Not Marguerite either—"
"Bloody shut up already—"
"—or 'you with the beavers and polar bears'—"
"—never going to let me live that one down—"
"I swear," Aled continued disapprovingly. "You forget her name as often as that bear of hers—"
"—for fuck's sake, she's not Rumpelstiltskin!" Arthur snarled viciously, eyes flashing with white hot anger. "And it's Madeline! I don't care what Alfred or Ivan and his sisters or the Nordics call her," he continued, ignoring the smug look on the Welshman's face. "It's not that ridiculous baby name—what kind of a bleeding name is Vinland anyways? Not Magda, not Mads… MADELINE! Do I need to bloody spell it out for you?"
Aled coolly raised an eyebrow as he waited for him to finish his tirade. "And how long have you been holding that in? No need to get your knickers in a twist, little brother."
Arthur barely resisted the snap reaction to glare at his brother. Realization soon set in with a slow smirk. "I got it right, didn't I?"
"Huh. So you finally remember her name for once."
"You don't have to look so bloody surprised," he grumbled, sharply turning away. "I don't always forget about her."
The Welshman shot him an unimpressed look. "So…" he said, dragging out the 'o'. "Why do you still mistake Madeline for Alfred when she's clearly a girl?"
"…"
"…"
Damn it all.
It was understandable, if not excusable, when the North American siblings were children, where they looked too fucking alike that he kept mistaking one for the other.
And it did not help that they occasionally switched clothes so they could prank him, Alfred in a rumpled white muslin dress and sagging red stockings, matching ribbons adorning his hair; Maddie in a collared shirt stuffed into baggy trousers and braces that kept slipping off her shoulders, braided hair tucked under one of Alfred's caps.
The only way he could tell them apart was that Alfred's eyes were brilliant blue while Madeline's were soft violet. But after the two were all grown up and Maddie's wheat blonde curls—a shade or two darker than the wine bastard's—deepened into a warm honey brown and her nose and cheeks became peppered with golden freckles after summers of playing out in the sun too long?
The resemblance between the two suddenly wasn't all that striking anymore.
He visibly deflated, the tips of his ears turning an impressive shade of scarlet. "… I hate you," he growled with a glower aimed at Aled.
"Love you too, little brother."
Madeline felt the fluttering of wings as a stubborn stray curl was brushed aside, heard the tinkling of bells and faint musical laughter before she saw the fuzzy image of a fairy nestled on her shoulder. The sight wasn't an unusual one for her since she had been able to see those elusive spirits of old Canadian folklore, powerful monsters and intangible cryptid creatures—she still prayed that she would never catch glimpse of a Wendigo's eyes—ever since she was a toddler.
She was just more discrete about it than a certain Englishman.
Both Francis and Arthur had forgotten that her precolonial history was deeply rooted with the First Nations people and that she had traces of Viking blood flowing through her veins from the first settlements in Newfoundland. Violet eyes weren't the only thing she inherited from Iceland.
She chose not to say anything in case she drew any unwanted attention, content with just listening to the fairy's babbling instead, stuffing the last of her notes into her coat—another permutation of her favourite red hoodie—as she hummed the last few words of an old children's song. She offered a smile and unconsciously signed a greeting, falling back on the sign language Alfred had taught her in the months following the Halifax explosion.
Maddie still had no idea why Arthur's invisible friends were seeking her out. There were sprites comforting her after a particularly bad day and offering to get revenge—thanks, but she was still more than capable of getting back at someone, fairies hanging out in her garden with the fireflies, brownies occasionally joining her for breakfast—it turned out they liked maple syrup as much as she did, a winged mint-coloured rabbit playing with Kumajirou…
Perhaps it was because she knew all too well what it was like to be invisible to others. There was a high mischievous giggle from Malcolm as she heard the unexpected and purposeful stride of footsteps headed towards her.
"Back already, Aled?" She asked in surprise, not looking up as she absently played with a star-shaped earring, one of the gifts from Arthur's brothers when she finally gained independence. "I thought you were supposed to meet up with Alistair and Aidan."
Arthur flinched, making an undignified startled sound. He felt confused—like he got the wind knocked out of him. "Honestly poppet, I know you need glasses, but you're the last person I expect this from. I'm England, not Wales."
His hands clenched into fists unconsciously as something unwanted lanced through him. He was not jealous that the Canadian seemed so close with his brothers. And he was certainly not noticing how adorable she looked in white stockings and a red hooded coat. He was… he was… he was looking at the little bonsai tree that Kiku had left near Maddie's seat earlier.
Yes, that was it.
Damn it, he was staring at the tree!
"Tabernak!" She swore as she shot up, bangs falling over wide eyes and face flushed in embarrassment as she realized her mistake. "For the love of Trudeau, I didn't mean to! Aled was just here a little while ago and… and… oh maple." She stuffed her hands in her pockets in defeat. "I guess I don't really have an excuse, do I?" For once, she wished she could just will herself into invisibility.
"Madeline, love, calm down."
Arthur hesitated for a split second before laying a hand on her shoulder, stopping a flurry of stammered apologies. He was half afraid that she would politely shrug him off and slip away at the first opportunity.
"It's alright." He said soothingly, thumb gently stroking the tiny Canadian's shoulder—something he hadn't done since she was a child. "I know it was an honest mistake." And I'm sure I bloody deserved it anyways.
Maddie's shoulders once again curved into a slouch under his ministrations—she still had a mild case of scoliosis from when she was a colony—as she sighed in relief.
"I really am sorry though, Arthur." A comfortable silence fell between them as she tipped her head to the side and gave him a good long look. "But now that I think about it, there is a strong family resemblance."
Arthur was about to ask if Alfred had been force feeding her fast food again when something clicked in his mind.
"You're making fun of me," he accused as he loomed over her, murmuring voice velvety and low, a free hand sliding up to join her other shoulder. And no, he was not pouting, thank you very much.
Maddie swallowed thickly, craning her neck to peer up at him as she cursed her eternal shortness. She did not possess the tall willowy frame that Francis and his former colonies—her sisters—shared. The northern nation had taken after her tante Catherine instead, curves and all, but Maddie liked to think that she also got the diminutive nation's intelligence for compensation.
Hell's Gate and Galoshes, it was so not fair that Arthur, still long and lean after all these centuries, was still so much taller than her—she barely even reached his chin—despite the fact that he was shorter than Al. And the big bad Englishman definitely had no right looking like he was going to eat her up, former pirate or not.
"Well…" A small hand clasped around his wrist while the other rubbed the back of her neck self-consciously. She smiled sheepishly and had the audacity to look bashful, but he still caught the spark of mischief in her eyes. "Maybe just a little."
It wasn't until Maddie breathed in the scent of Earl Grey tea, leather, and dusty tomes buried under Arthur's favourite cologne; saw the scar on his chin from when Alistair tried to slam a rock into his face during a heated tussle that she realized they were almost nose to nose. They simultaneously sprang apart, babbling apologies and looking everywhere but each other.
The swell in her heart spilled over as Arthur's earlier words almost bowled her over. He remembered my name. It was probably insignificant—he could have just gotten lucky this time—and she shouldn't be reveling in the moment because she was probably going to be let down the next time she talked with him, but she couldn't stop from ducking her head and smiling.
And, if she could be so bold, it was kind of nice being called Madeline for once instead all the never ending nicknames. Why deprive herself of this little bit of joy? She froze. Wait, what was she thinking?
Sure she liked Arthur well enough—she was a part of the Commonwealth after all and could weather his temper as well as Al and Francis, if not his cooking—but he often forgot who she was or confused her for her southern neighbour. Which absolutely made no sense because she didn't look the least bit like a boy. Okay, so she did wear hoodies and hockey jerseys half the time, but that was no excuse.
Or maybe Arthur thought that Al looked like a girl. There was that time where Al came to a meeting half-asleep and dressed as a Catholic schoolgirl much to everyone's confusion—she had a funny feeling that the fairies had a hand in that.
But she digressed.
"—I swear you're worse than that wine guzzling prick." Arthur thundered, oblivious to Maddie's daydreaming thoughts. "And another thing—"
"—eh?" She blinked owlishly as she came back to earth, a little jumbled and upset and perhaps a little more offended than she let on.
"No, no," Arthur hastily backtracked in a mad scramble to explain himself, a hand knotted in his hair. "Blast, that wasn't meant for you," he continued to ramble. "It was—I just… oh bollocks…" He shot the now hysterical fairy a vicious scowl. "This is entirely your fault!"
'?' was the intelligent thought that ran through Maddie's mind. She followed Arthur's line of sight with a quizzical expression to look at what he was glaring at… oh right. She mentally smacked herself for not realizing it in the first place. So much for being honour student material. She really needed to lay off the late nights watching Food Network reruns and superhero cartoons—Alfred's influence, but it wasn't too bad since Batman: The Animated Series was one of his better productions.
Francis hadn't been too far off the mark when he called her ma petite couche-tard.
"Your fairy friends again?"
"Unfortunately," he replied, too busy plotting the fairy's demise to notice the knowing look from the Canadian.
Inwardly, he was a little relieved that Maddie didn't seem to think he was going bloody senile, unlike certain wine bastards and childish superpowers—true, Alfred had Native American roots, but his Wiccan blood had diluted over the centuries to the point where he could only see magical creatures on Halloween.
Malcolm must have sensed the Brit's uncharitable mood because he immediately zipped behind Maddie, who was thoroughly caught off guard by the action. She squirmed as a startled giggle escaped, the fairy's wings tickling her as he burrowed into her hood.
"Malcolm." Stern dead calm laced Arthur's voice, arms crossed and emerald eyes narrowed to murderous slits. "What the bloody hell have you been doing?"
Maddie rocked back on her heels, wrinkling her nose. "You're not giving the fairies enough credit, Art." She took no notice of the nickname that slipped out as she peered over her glasses at him, Quebec's silver frames glinting in the light. "I doubt tugging on my pigtails, stealing my hair ribbons, or tickling me is the worst they've ever done."
Stealing her hair ribbons? Why on earth would they—
Oh.
Oh!
He had a sneaking suspicion he had just found out where the fairies had gotten the plaid ribbons used in their latest prank against Alfred.
Arthur gave Malcolm a look when the fairy chose this moment to poke his head out of Madeline's hood. Before he had a chance to scold him, the fairy flew up and planted a quick tingling kiss on Maddie's cheek before disappearing with a wink, eliciting a surprised 'oh' from the now blushing Canadian. Needless to say, Arthur was not amused.
No, not the worst they've done, but give them half a chance and they'd steal you away like I did.
"IGGSTER!" Arthur was jolted from his thoughts as a hurricane of blond almost sent them all toppling over like dominoes. "Quit hogging Mads and her super secret hockey muscles already. It's my turn!"
Oh right, Alfred and Maddie were supposed to be playing hockey with Ivan and the Nordic nations tonight. Arthur was seconds away from biting the boisterous attention seeker's head off when his eyes widened at what Alfred was wearing. Maddie went slack jawed in shock as she hastily covered her mouth.
"Alfred," Arthur looked at him in disbelief, eyebrows twitching violently. "What in sanity's name is that idiotic thing on your head?" All the while he was mentally chanting America is a Weeping Angel, America is a Weeping Angel, don't blink, don't even bloody blink!
"Hey, don't knock the hat!" The superpower pouted, sporting a hardboiled fast-talking New England accent as he proudly adjusted the brightly coloured fez. "I'm wearing a fez and fezzes are cool! Suck on that and assimilate already, why don't ya?"
"Lovely." The Brit drawled sarcastically.
He was about to go into another tirade when he was cut off by a peal of laughter erupting from Maddie. Both he and Alfred turned towards the Canadian. It was a bloody distracting sight. Head thrown back, cheeks freckled and full and rosy, milky throat exposed… the only other time he saw her laugh so hard was whenever he tried to speak French—and utterly failed. While he understood more than he let on, he never bothered with the accent and his pronunciation was utter shit—during her first couple of years as his colony.
"You're staring, Artie," Alfred sing-songed, Texas' steel frames glinting in the light.
Arthur merely shot him a withering look. He looked at Maddie unblinkingly, raising a monstrous eyebrow as he asked imperiously, "Are you quite done yet?"
"Don't mind me… oh maple," Maddie bubbled with breathless laughter as she waved him off, her glasses askew. "You guys can, um… just continue, eh?" She ended lamely, signing what she couldn't finish out loud.
"See," Alfred beamed with childlike exuberance, his face almost splitting in two. "Maddie likes the fez."
"Like is a generous term, brother."
"—?—"
"She's laughing at you, twit." Arthur clarified, "Not with you."
"Actually, I'm the one who gave it to him in the first place," Maddie admitted blushingly, knuckles pressed against smiling strawberry stained lips. "There was a Doctor Who marathon playing on the Space Channel and I thought it was a good gift at the time." Her shoulders shook with one last snicker.
"Oh, so it's your fault?"
"Aww, don't get your boxers in a bunch, Artie. Or tighty whities or panties or whatever it is you limeys wear," the American blithely said, adopting a distinctly Texan twang—Alfred had an odd habit off lapsing into different American accents at the drop of a hat—the barked insult from Arthur going over his head as usual.
He continued with a grin, "You're just jealous that Mads gives me awesome presents—"
"Listen you wanker, I am not jealous—"
"—Ooh, and makes me red, white, and blue baked Alaska every year for my birthday! Mmmm, so good…"
Alfred drooled at the thought of chocolate cake smothered with vanilla-and-chocolate chip ice cream and topped with red-and-white striped meringue and blue maple sugar stars. Too bad Mads would only make it for him once a year. So what if he was a little unstable during a sugar high?
"And we've lost him." Arthur muttered with a roll of his eyes. He fixed a questioning gaze on Maddie. "I take it you're responsible for that chaotic mess last Fourth of July?"
She bobbed her head, cheeks burning as she stared at the scuff marks on her boots. Here we go again, she thought, preparing herself for a scolding… only nothing came. Clever fingers grasped her chin and tipped her face up so she would look at him. There was nothing but kind eyes and a crooked half-smile.
"Don't worry about it, pet. I'm not that angry." He leaned over and whispered conspiratorially in her ear. "You can make it up to me after you help get rid of that thing."
Maddie's eyebrows furrowed, but the idea of partnering up with the Brit against Al for once was rather intriguing.
"Okay then," she answered easily. "But we'll have to wait until Al's asleep though." They exchanged knowing looks, remembering what a heavy sleeper the American was. "He probably won't hear us over all the snoring."
"Ay! Only way you're getting this is over my dead body," Alfred bounced back to reality with an indignant squawk, his new accent as cacophonic as New York itself.
He grabbed Maddie in a playful headlock after she rapidly finger-spelled 'hoser' at him. Unfortunately, he once again underestimated his strength.
"Al… let go…" She managed to elbow her twin square in the gut in the middle of her struggling. "Can't breathe…"
"Get off, you bloody octopus!"
"DUDE! Not the fez!"
A/N: Oh Iggy, so tsundere… and hopefully Maddie is adorkable enough as well. *blinks* Holy hell, did I just write this monstrosity? This thing was 19 pages when I finished writing excluding author's notes, but it's way too long for a first chapter so I had to cut it in half. Hopefully the second half will make it into the next chapter. Fun fact, Hell's Gate and Galoshes was the name of an actual town in Upper Canada in the 1880s.
So for the alternate personalities, I've got Britannia Angel!Arthur, pirate!Arthur, kid!Arthur, rake!Arthur, punk rock star!Arthur… and possibly evil!Arthur. I don't know where to start. If anyone has suggestions or ideas, I'm all ears.
Hopefully the French is accurate… French was mandatory for me up until Grade 9 so I still remember something. Here are the translations:
tante = aunt
ma petite couche-tard = my little night owl
So… yay? Nay? *ducks in case of flying objects* I need all the reviews and feedback I can get and if you have any questions, feel free to ask. Oh, and if anyone wants to beta for me, I'll make you cookies of your choosing!
