BASED ON: Hetalia: Axis Powers – Hidekaz Himaruya

120,500 REASONS

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Thank-you and best wishes to the lovely and talented translator, The eleventh moon :D

LONDON 1942

Netherlands, you must evacuate!" England urged. "Do you think that Germany will respect a name he himself owns no loyalty to? Do you think sovereign blood will protect the Queen's family, when Belgium has already been invaded; when France has been taken captive?! Princess Juliana and her daughters must be evacuated to a safe location, they cannot return to The Hague, nor do I recommend they remain in London."

"And just where do you recommend they go?" snapped Netherlands, short-tempered. Despite the tireless efforts of his and his siblings' armies, it had been nearly two years since Zealand had been lost to the Wehrmacht, and—having fled the Low Countries—neither he, nor Belgium or Luxembourg, had been able to reclaim their homes from the powerhouse that was Germany. His Luftwaffe was too strong, and Netherlands' army was exhausted. "Why do you think I'm here, England? I need your help. I need you to—"

"I can't help!" England spelled-out. "I'm sorry, honestly I am, but I haven't exactly been sitting around on my fucking arse all day eating scones. I've been fighting the same goddamned war you have, and I'm just as fucking tired! London is not safe. Germany's Luftwaffe has already tried to destroy me once; who's to say he won't try it again?"

Netherlands opened his mouth to retort, but closed it again.

"France has been taken captive," England repeated, "Russia is starving; America's has finally left the relative safety of North America and decided to join the war-effort—" He stopped.

Perhaps he's feeling overwhelmed, Netherlands thought, detached, having unwittingly sent much of his Commonwealth's populations to their deaths.

"I can't help you, Netherlands," said England quietly.

"I can."

Netherlands hadn't noticed the youth standing diligently behind England until now. How long has he been there? he wondered, studying the young country in interest. He looked like winter, cold and pale—he looked familiar. Netherlands was certain that he had seen him before, but where?

"Canada," said England, gesturing for him.

Ah, yes, Netherlands realized. Canada stood guardedly beside his former sovereign, just as he had done twenty-seven years ago during the Great War; Netherlands had rarely seen a country so cold and fierce. He remembered how Canada had distinguished himself on the battlefield, and how nobody had expected England's sweet, soft-spoken ward to fight so determinedly. Those pretty violet eyes had been ice-cold, Netherlands thought.

But they were soft now—for the time. Canada glanced at England, who nodded in agreement. Then, unafraid of the imposing Dutchman, he said: "Let me take Princess Juliana and her daughters to Ottawa. My Capital is isolated from the European and Pacific battlefields. They'll be safe there, I promise."

Netherlands stared at the youth, holding his gaze. Canada's Ottawa was not a target of Germany's war-machine; it was much too far inland for a naval or air strike, and protected by America from the south. As much as he hated to evacuate his royalty—like a coward in retreat—he knew that Canada's interior would keep Juliana safe until the fighting was finished. Stiffly, Netherlands nodded. He didn't know Canada well, this former-Colony of England's, once belonging to France; the country was exceptionally young—most of England's conquests were—but Netherlands recognized the determination on his face. "Ja," he relented, nodding curtly. "I agree."

Canada, wait," said Netherlands, following him out. He caught Canada's forearm, forcing him to stop. Canada looked up at the Dutchman, blinking in confusion. "I wanted to... thank-you in advance," he said, avoiding those violet eyes. "I really appreciate what you've offered to do, and, well... What do you want in return?"

"What do I—? You mean payment?" Canada asked in surprise. "Nothing."

Netherlands eyed him skeptically; he still held the Canadian's arm. "You're doing me a huge favour and you want nothing in return? You won't profit from their company alone, you know. I can— pay you," he said; the words stuck in his throat. "This is very important to me so... name your price."

To his great astonishment—and embarrassment—Canada laughed. "Honestly, Netherlands, I'm not trying to make a profit off you. I'm glad I can be of service. I don't want anything."

Netherlands released Canada, feeling exasperated. "Fine," he growled, harsher than he meant. "Thank-you."

WESTERN FRONT

JANUARY 1943

Netherlands!" gasped Canada. He buckled-over, clutching his knees; he was holding a letter clenched in his fist. "I've just received word from Mackenzie-King, my Prime Minister," he explained. "Princess Juliana is pregnant— really pregnant. She's due to have the baby any day now."

Netherlands felt his stomach clench. He shook his head, panic fighting logic: "But my homeland is still under Germany's control; we haven't liberated Amsterdam yet. I can't return the Princess to Europe— not in such a state."

Canada's look was sympathetic. "I'm sorry," he said. "But what's important is that Princess Juliana's baby be born into safety. I'll take care of them. Neither mother or child will want for anything as long as they're in Ottawa."

Netherlands was biting his thumbnail in thought. Again, he shook his head. "A princess of the Kingdom of the Netherlands must be born in the Netherlands. She can't be born on foreign ground; she must be a Dutch citizen. Fuck!" he cursed. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have sent her away— Not that I don't appreciate it," he said quickly. He could see Canada twisting an errant curl around his finger, self-conscious perhaps. "I'm just... stressed."

Canada nodded. "I understand. I'm truly sorry about this, and— You know what? Don't worry about it," he said, suddenly hopeful. "Just focus on regaining your homeland so that the royals have a place to return to. I'm going to take care of this. Princess Juliana's baby will be born a Dutch citizen, I promise."

He ran off quickly, leaving Netherlands to stare after him, pondering his intentions. He's young, but a well-meaning little thing, he thought, hiding a smile.

On 19 January 1943, Princess Margriet of the Netherlands was born at Ottawa Civic Hospital, in Canada, as a Dutch citizen. The maternity ward was declared to be officially a temporary part of international territory, so that the baby would be born in no country and therefore inherit only her royal mother's nationality.

In September 1944 Canada participated in Operation Market Garden, which was the first step in liberating the Low Countries from Germany. It was, then, the largest airborne operation to date; a bold move involving England and his two former-Colonies, Canada and America. Exhausted—starving and spent; beaten bloody, but too stubborn to yield—Netherlands also continued to fight. Together the allies forced Germany back: America chased him across the Rhine, while Canada freed Belgium's Antwerp, and then fought Operation Anger in Arnhem, which—finally—successfully freed the Netherlands from Nazi occupation.

May 7th, 1945 was officially named Victory Day (V-Day) in Europe, on which the Allies formally accepted the unconditional surrender of Germany's armed forces.

Everyone was finished—completely spent. But it was over.

Canada," said Netherlands, grabbing his shoulder. The Dutchman was tired, bloody, and malnourished—but smiling. "Thank-you," he said, sage-green eyes lit affectionately. Without warning he pulled Canada into a strong embrace that enveloped the youth; but Canada laughed, hugging him back. "Thank-you for everything you did," Netherlands whispered, holding him. The Canadian's skin was cold to touch, and—despite the blood, sweat, and tears of battle—he smelled like maple-leafs in autumn. "I couldn't have fought Germany alone."

"Nobody should have to fight alone," Canada returned. "We defeated him together, Netherlands."

Slowly Netherlands released the youth, nodding. "I have something I want to give you."

"No, I already told you I don't—" Canada stopped.

Netherlands was holding a perfect red tulip. "Red's your favourite colour, right?"

Shyly, Canada accepted it. "Yes, it is," he said, blushing self-consciously. "It's beautiful."

"I'm glad you like it," Netherlands grinned, "because there's 120,499 more where that came from. Let this be a symbol of friendship and international cooperation between us. Let's always be allies from now on."

Canada smiled. "Yeah, of course. I'd like that."

OTTAWA

MAY 2014

The Canadian Tulip Festival was the largest and most famous in the world, thanks—in no small part—to Netherlands' annual gift of 10,000 tulip bulbs. Every May since 1953, Netherlands would cross the Atlantic and spend three weeks with Canada, admiring the tulips, which embellished every inch of Ottawa, as well as music, food, and entertainment. The festival was always a boisterous time; a friendly and peaceful way to herald in summer after the spring snows had thawed. But as the years passed, Netherlands found that he was becoming less and less drawn to Ottawa for the culture, and more and more for the violet-eyed Canadian who lived there.

"Netherlands," welcomed Canada, hugging him. "I'm glad you're here. The tulips are so beautiful this year."

"Have I ever failed to come?" Netherlands asked rhetorically. He squeezed the youth, tighter perhaps than what politeness allowed, and inhaled his maple-sweet scent. It was mixed with the fragrance of blooming tulips, and the Dutchman felt suddenly charged, knowing that he was responsible.

"Please, enjoy yourself," Canada said, releasing him. "France did most of the catering this year, and—"

"CANADA!"—glomp. "You promised to give me a tour," America whined, draping himself lethargically over Canada's shoulders like an invalid. "C'mon, bro. Show me your White House— or, whatever it is. I want to meet your President! Oh, and England's Duke of New bla-baddy-shire was looking for you earlier; something about, err— something unimportant. Hey, Netherlands. What's up, dude?"

Netherlands watched America drag Canada away, feeling—only the slightest bit—jealous. Oh, well. I'll see him later. He decided to take Canada's advice and get something to eat, then wandered around Ottawa, admiring the tulips on Parliament Hill. There were several World Powers present, some of whom he greeted and some of whom he ignored. Most of them were more interested in the festivities anyway, though some were taking a keen interest in the young host. Netherlands clenched his fists as he watched Germany's older brother, Prussia, inadvertently manhandle Canada; teasing him. He watched as England took one of Canada's arms, and France the other; France's lips touching the youth's cheek affectionately. He watched Cuba sling an arm over Canada's shoulders, laughing boisterously as ice-cream melted over his hand. And he watched Russia draw close to Canada, looming over him seductively, and bluntly say: "When will you become one with Russia, Canada? You would like to be my satellite state, da?"

Politely Canada excused himself, overwhelmed and embarrassed to find himself the centre of attention. The flush on his pale cheeks was— adorable, Netherlands thought. He wanted to see Canada's shy smile; he wanted to be the reason Canada smiled, but he didn't follow him right away. He needs his space, he realized, feeling impatient. He had been waiting all day to be alone with the youth, to talk to him; reminisce with him; just be with him. But he didn't want to seem too eager, so he waited—and was pleasantly surprised when Canada sought him out.

"Netherlands, I'm sorry. I've been so busy today—all month, really." Sighing, he sat down beside Netherlands on a canopied bench. "I'm hiding from my family," he said in confidence, "and pretty much everyone else. I just need a minute to breath," he said, fingering an errant curl. "I'm not really adept at playing host."

"Just because you're not loud and flashy doesn't mean you're a bad host," Netherlands reasoned. "Just look at everyone who came to see you."

"They didn't come to see me, they came to see the tulips."

I'm not so sure. Netherlands watched Canada twist his curl, surveying the capital, and— there's the smile I've been waiting for, he thought, smiling in return.

"I'm glad you're here, Netherlands," said Canada again. "I love my family, but they don't really understand why this festival is so important to me. I suppose it seems like a small thing, celebrating a few thousand flowers, when you've got centuries-old traditions and celebrations, or—if you're my self-indulgent brother—a birthday with more bang than Armageddon. But I think you understand why I love it so much, and, well... thank-you for that."

Netherlands swallowed. "Of course," he managed, feeling suddenly anxious. Cautiously he reached down and placed his hand over Canada's on the bench. "It's important to me too."

"I'm glad we're friends," said Canada sweetly.

"Yes." Netherlands squeezed his hand, heartbeat skipping. "Me too."

"CANADA— Oh, there you are," said America, bounding forward like a golden retriever. Curiously he cocked his head, frowning when he noticed Netherlands' hand holding Canada's, and—feigning ignorance—hastily broke them apart. He grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him up, throwing his arm haphazardly over Canada's shoulders, and shooting Netherlands an over-the-shoulder glare in warning as he led Canada away.

Netherlands sighed and leaned back, watching as Canada was enveloped by his family. It wouldn't be easy to win Canada, especially from such protective—possessive—relatives, but when had the Netherlands ever backed down from hardship? He was stoic and tsundere, but, above all, patient. And if he had to compete for Canada, he would.

He could think of 120,500 reasons to try.

FIN

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