Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters.
A/N: So, I'm a little shy about this fic… but I wanted to write something for Canada, because I like him so much. And I like Franada friendship. Tried to get this historically accurate. I was trying to figure out when exactly Canada became independent, and it seemed to be December 11, 1931 with the Statute of Westminster. Canada Day (July 1, 1867) celebrates something else, I guess when Canada became a cohesive country-colony-thing. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
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11 December, 1931
Dear Canada,
By the time you receive this letter, you will already be a free country. I am grateful to you for staying with me for so long, but I do see your point that it simply doesn't make sense for a foreign government to dictate your affairs anymore, and I honestly saw this coming. I suppose you could say that I learnt my lesson with your brother, and I don't want to risk damaging our relationship. That being said, I hope that we can continue to be friends and allies.
Yours sincerely and with affection,
England
The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland
Canada read the letter with a sigh. It was more than a decade old now, but he'd kept it. Now and again he questioned his decision to break free from England. England had at least remembered his existence when he was a colony, even if he didn't pay much attention to him. Now that he was a country, England seemed to have forgotten him altogether. Well, then again, perhaps it hadn't made much of a difference. It wasn't so much, he reasoned, that England had forgotten his existence. It was more that he had spent so little time with Canada when he was a colony that he had never learned to recognize him when they met. It had gotten so bad that Canada almost avoided meeting him.
He looked at a photo on his desk of him and America and smiled a little at it. America recognized him, at least. America's problem was more that he forgot Canada was there. His smile faded a little as he looked at America's face, so similar to his own, and yet so different. America was loud and energetic, and he commanded everyone's attention just by walking into the room. Canada couldn't hope to compete.
He had never been able to compete. Even as a child, England had obviously favored America, in spite of how much he commended Canada's better behavior. This might have seemed odd to the casual observer, but Canada understood. England had been a pirate, after all, and even now the self-proclaimed gentleman had a fiery spirit nothing could put down. England scolded America for his brazen independence, but he loved it all the same; the two were cut from the same cloth. Canada just wasn't. Of course, he was brave, and he could defend himself and step up to the plate when his country or his allies required it, but he had never had a fighter's spirit.
It had now been almost exactly two months since England or America had been in touch with him… not that Canada had been keeping track or anything. World War Two was over, so there weren't as many meetings. Canada would spend time with his human neighbors now and again, but even they didn't seem to remember him, and they almost never visited on their own initiative. He flopped back onto his sofa. Kumajiro, startled by the sudden movement, looked up from the place where he was sitting. "Who are you?" he asked.
Canada closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. Didn't those words just define his whole life? "I'm Canada." He started thinking back, trying to remember the last time someone had visited him, even a human. He searched his memories further and further back until he gave up, feeling even more depressed. "Kumajiro, why doesn't anyone ever visit me? I have a nice house, and I even have good food."
"Who?" Kumajiro asked.
Canada covered his eyes, his throat feeling a little tight. "Canada," he replied morosely. Why did he even bother?
A sudden knock on his door broke him out of his thoughts, and he sat up, heart beating crazily. Then he stifled his excitement. It was probably a traveling salesman, or someone handing out religious tracts, or even a workman. He lay back down, ignoring it. The knock came again. Canada still ignored it.
"Mon petit, are you there?" called a familiar voice through the door.
Canada's heart exploded again and he was on his feet and at the door in seconds. He opened it, breathless. "France!"
France beamed at him. "Indeed, mon cher, who else could it be?" He hugged Canada tightly and kissed him on both cheeks. Laughing, Canada returned the greeting and ushered France inside.
"It's been ages since last I saw you!" Canada said, beaming, sitting on the sofa beside France.
"Oui, I know. But now Angleterre informs me that he no longer has any right to keep me from visiting you, and I may come as often as I like. You must pardon me for not coming sooner; I gave up so long ago on ever being allowed visitation rights that I didn't think about the fact that things must be different now that you are a free country."
Canada stared, then smiled a little. "Oh… that's why?"
"Hmm? Why did you think?"
Canada looked at his hands. "Well, um… I figured you forgot about me. Everyone else does."
"Forget?" France sounded horrified. "Moi? How could I forget you, mon petit? You are my favorite country!"
Canada stared at him, mouth open, and he actually glanced around instinctively to see if France was perhaps talking to someone else. When he saw no one else in the room but Kumajiro, he looked back at France. "I… I am? B-but… but… Spain… and… and Italy… and…."
"Ah, they are friends, but who could ever take the place of my little brother?"
"But… then… why did you give me to England?" He hadn't meant the hurt in his voice to sound so obvious, but it did. He had hated that, being wrenched away from France. He loved England too now, but at the time he had been completely heartbroken.
France looked immediately crestfallen. "Ah, mon lapin… I did not want to." He sighed. "England promised he would no longer attack you if I gave you to him… I could not bear to see you hurt when you were so small. He was stronger than I was, and I knew he would take care of you… he did take good care of Amérique, after all." He looked at his hands. "It was, by far, the hardest thing I ever had to do, mon cher… you must believe that. But I… I could not protect you. I have often cursed myself for my weakness since then. If things had been different…."
"But… you really didn't forget about me?" Canada asked. "All this time… even England forgot about me. I mean, he took care of me, but…."
France met his eyes, looking a bit tearful. He cupped his hand on Canada's cheek. "Never," he promised. "I fought with England so much to allow me to visit you… he seemed to think I was trying to corrupt you or something." He smiled. "As if I would do that to mon lapin."
Canada smiled, his own eyes wet.
"But now, voila! you are your own country, and I can do as I like," France said with a smile. "What about you, mon petit? You have not forgotten your frère, have you?" His smile became a bit teasing. "Parles-tu encore français?"
"Oui." Canada smiled. "Je ne t'es jamais oublié."
"C'est bien," France replied, and with that, took Canada into his arms and kissed his forehead. "Ah, but mon petit," he said still half-hugging Canada. "Do you remember how to cook?"
Canada blushed. "Well… I was pretty little when you left, so…."
"Quelle tragédie!" France explained. "We shall have to remedy this immediately. Come, mon cher!" he said dramatically, heading to the kitchen. Beaming, Canada followed him to what proved to be the first of many fabulous cooking lessons with France.
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French Translations (seriously hope I got this right… was using a computer to supplement my almost non-existent knowledge of French):
mon petit—my little one
mon cher—my dear
mon lapin—my rabbit/bunny
oui—yes
moi—me
frère—brother
Avez-tu encore parler français?—Do you still speak French?
Je ne tu ai jamais oublié.—I have never forgotten you.
c'est bien—that's good
Quelle tragédie!—What a tragedy!