Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor any of its characters (sadly). Nor do I own Air Canada, or anything else for that matter. To put it simply, I own nothing. If I did, Canada would get a hell of a lot more screen time…
Just a couple of notes before reading: Though I'm Canadian (and proud of it), that's not the main reason why I like Canada (Matthew Williams) so much. I just happen to really like the character. Though, I do wish he'd speak up a bit more. Trust me, to all non-Canadians reading this: yes, we're polite as hell (for the most part), but we aren't necessarily timid. Except… I must admit that we are a lot less patriotic than Americans (I love you, my neighbours to the South ;) ), but I digress….
By the way, if ever any of you are writing a story with Canada or France (or any other country that speaks French), please don't hesitate in PMing me for an exact translation. Let's be honest: Google translate is good concerning word for word translations, but sucks if you want a complete sentence of something. It makes me cringe when I see these horrible French mistakes (not that I'm blaming you personally; French is a hard language) in really good fics. Thus, feel free to PM me if you need help, m'kay?
All that aside, I hope you amazing people will have fun reading my story as much as I had a blast writing it!
Happy Reading Time!
(I know that's not English; I just invented that expression…. Sometimes I invent my own language, so don't mind me)
Canadian Refuge
"Attention ladies and gentleman, Flight 871 from Paris has now landed. Team Air Canada thanks you for your patience. Thank you for choosing to fly with Air Canada."
« Attention à tous et à toutes, Vol 871 en provenance de Paris est maintenant arrivé. L'équipe Air Canada vous remercie de votre patience. Merci d'avoir choisi de voyager avec Air Canada. »
Matthew Williams let out a breath he had not realized he was holding in, and sighed in relief. The cold Canadian February weather had caused many delays and cancellations of flights. The runways were covered in thin, but nevertheless slippery, sheets of black ice due to the freezing rain the city had been experiencing over the last few days. The Canadian had been rather worried that Romano's flight had had to land in another airport with safe enough conditions to land, such as the J.F.K. airport in New York, where it was currently 7°C (and no, not 45° F, damn Alfred and his stupid need to be different from everyone else) or even worse, to turn back to the Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris.
Soon enough, travellers began spilling out from the arrival gates, and Matthew witnessed heart warming reunions and timid introductions. He patiently waited for the Italian, a smile on his face.
Romano was one of the few people that remembered him and came to visit whenever his busy schedule allowed it. They had become good friends ever since an influx of immigrants from mostly the South of Italy had sought refuge within his borders, back in the days of WWI and WWII. The beginning had been difficult; most had been used to the scorching Mediterranean heat instead of the bitter cold, had had a hard time learning English or French, and had been a cause for suspicion by his people. Now, he was pleased to announce that, over time, the newly arrived Italians had made Canada their home. His people had even embraced their food and culture, if the creation of Little Italy in Montreal and in other big cities had anything to say for it.
Although the list of nations that were able to identify Canada was getting longer and longer with time, he still rather enjoyed the hot-headed man's company.
Lovino felt beyond thankful that he could finally leave the stupid aircraft after having had to stay seated for nearly seven hours. Not only had the plane experienced turbulence throughout most of the duration of the air trip, but the landing had been rough and bumpy. He could not stay mad at the latter aspect, for the weather conditions outside seemed rather unfit for flying, if the view from the window had been anything to go by. The worst, however, was the fact that no direct flight from Catania or even Rome to Montreal had been available. He had had to make a stop in France, of all places, and God only knew how much he loathed the impersonation of said country. On the bright side, at least Francis had not made an appearance for the time he had spent waiting at the airport. He could have kissed the Pope's feet for that.
All that aside, he was uncharacteristically ecstatic at meeting up with the man who graced his dreams at night. Grudgingly, he at least had to admit this much; Matthew was one of the most noble, generous and kind nations he knew. Simply being in his presence put him at ease and relieved his tortured spirit from the pain and misery that the long life of a nation brought. He had been so scared for the many farmers, mainly from the South, that had had to leave their home due to the unification of Italy during the period of the late nineteenth to the early twentieth centuries. Yet, Matthew had accepted them with open arms and a warm, welcoming smile. After that, the World Wars, which had prompted new waves of Italian immigrants, had only deepened his affections.
Sure, Lovino was a grumpy Italian who liked to eat tomatoes while using every colorful word known to man, but ever since the Canadian had taken his people in, he had taken his heart, as well.
Snapping out of his daze, the older nation noticed that he was the last remaining passenger in the airplane. Cleaning ladies were already starting to clear the seats and aisles of trash whilst one of the flight attendants was giving him a quizzical look from in front of the cockpit door. He scowled and quickly emptied the overhead bin containing his luggage and personal items. He then nodded curtly to the woman in thanks and speed walked out of the terminal.
He had purposefully kept all of his belongings with him for the simple reason that he had wanted to see the younger nation as quickly as possible rather than have to wait for checked luggage. That had obviously been in vain judging from the haze he had just woken up from only minutes prior. He had never been a daydreamer; Matthew had changed that. With that realization, he sighed. He guessed he finally understood the true meaning of being 'drunk in love', now that he thought about it.
The reason for his travel to North America was not only to see his beloved Canadian, but to hopefully make him see the hidden feelings he harbored within his heart by seducing him like only Italians knew how. This time, he refused to let himself shy away like what had happened with Belgium that one time back when he lived with Spain. That had been embarrassing…. No. He was going to make Matthew his. If he rejected him, which Romano feared immensely, then he would wallow in self pity and drink his sorrows away, until someone else would tickle his fancy. He cringed at the thought of that; it was Canada, the second largest country in the world, that he wanted, that he desired more than anything. Still, he preferred rejection over being perceived as a friend for the rest of his life.
Burying those thoughts into the deep recesses of his mind, he shook his head and walked faster. He knew that the journey to the Canadian's heart would require a lot of time and effort on his part, but he was determined. The Arctic nation would most probably notice his advances soon enough either way; Matthew was sharp, unlike his hamburger-bastard of a brother, who was immeasurably dense.
Once more, Lovino stopped himself from venturing too deep into his thoughts and turned towards the exit, where he knew he would be waiting.
As soon as he spotted a familiar stray curl from the mass of people flooding the area, Canada felt a tender warmth bubble up in his chest. The world meeting from five months prior was the last time they had seen each other, so he was naturally excited. He had already arranged a time with the local arena so that he could teach his Italian friend how to skate. He was also thinking of going on a ski trip, maybe a day at Mont Sutton or Mont Saint-Bruno. He assumed that the European had gone skiing before; the Alps are shared by eight countries, Italy being one of them. The hills around the Montreal area were rather small in comparison, but they were fun nonetheless. If Romano wanted, they could always bother Alfred and go to Jay Peak, or other ski resorts in Vermont and New Hampshire. Either way, Romano was staying for two and a half weeks; they had plenty of time to come up with a list of activities to do. For now, however, the host nation would stick with greeting his guest.
When eye contact was made between the two men, Matthew frantically waved at his friend. After feeling so lonely for the last number of months, the weeks to come were undoubtedly going to be great; it was the blond's personal conviction.
South Italy inwardly chuckled at his friend's antics. The North American was utterly adorable.
When he reached the place where Matthew was standing, he put his bags down and greeted him the Italian way (pfft! No way was that a French thing): a bear-hug accompanied by a kiss on each cheek.
Red roses bloomed all over Matthew's cheeks and nose, an endearing sight indeed. Romano mentally gave himself a pat on the back; so far, things seemed to be looking up for him.
"I'm glad you made it. The weather this time of year causes the worst take-off and landing conditions." He sighed, before resuming, "Anyways, do you have everything with you? My car is in the airport parking lot, so I could go get it to make it easier for you in case you have more luggage." Matthew's voice was as sweet as always.
"No, I didn't check in any of my bags. I didn't want to have to wait any more time than necessary to see you…. I missed you, maple-bastard." He mentally slapped himself; Dio mio, there was no way in hell one could woo someone by calling said individual a bastard…. Though, he supposed that Matthew should have been used to it by now. Even so, he was going to make a great effort not to call him by any negative term; he resolved himself to either call him Canada or Matthew.
Maybe, just maybe, Lovino would get to call him by a nickname. 'Birdie' was already taken by that jerk Prussia, and 'Mattie' was America's nickname for his twin. He had heard the Netherlands, Denmark and a couple of other nations call him 'Matt' a couple of times. 'Matteo' was sort of cute, but Feliciano had stolen that one. He skipped over France; he did not remember nor did he want to know the Frenchman's name for the Canadian. 'Matvey' had been claimed by Russia, not that Romano complained; Russia called everyone by their Russian name, in his typical creepy way of course, but still.
'I can always call him il mio tesoro, or even il mio angelo, if he lets me. It's not as if he speaks Italian anyways, or at least not that I know of,' South Italy mused silently.
He jumped when he felt a cool hand on his forehead. He looked up to see (what he hoped was) a concerned Matthew with his nose scrunched up in concentration.
"Matthew? It's not that I mind you touching me, on the contrary, but what are you doing?" he asked slyly.
Said nation snatched his hand away as if he had been burned, and took a step back.
'Just great, I scared the poor kid,' thought Lovino, annoyed at himself. He knew the Canadian was shy and easily embarrassed, but he could not help wanting to tease him. It was the cutest thing when the young country was flustered.
"W-well, you seemed to be really out of it, s-so I thought maybe you had a fever or something. I just wanted to check your temperature," the blond stuttered. He sincerely hoped the European did not think he was acting strange or anything. The thought of rendering Romano's stay awkward was a possibility he greatly disliked.
"Oh… no. I'm just feeling a tad out of it. You know, different time zones and all…" he trailed off. 'It's just, being around you turns my insides into a quivering mess. Not that I can tell you that, yet. I don't wanna go too fast,' was the real reason.
"I see. Well, how about I take some of your bags and we can walk to the car together. When we get to my house, I can make you something to eat. I'm sure you're hungry, what with how horrible airplane food is!" the blond joked, relieved he had not spooked his friend.
The Mediterranean nodded and they left soon after, Canada carrying most of the luggage.
Moments after having left the airport, Matthew was feeling slightly nervous; his guest had kept quiet as soon as they had reached the modest sedan, which was unusual to say the least. He glanced at the passenger to his right and gathered the small amount of courage he had left to strike up a conversation. "So, how come you don't have your own private jet? I mean, since France and England have their own, I assumed maybe all of the European nations travelled that way instead of taking commercial flights."
Romano rolled his eyes in annoyance; of course those pompous bastards had their own. "I tend to stay in my country. When I do travel, I usually stay in Europe. As you know, all of the European countries are very close to each other, so I just drive to wherever I need to go. North America is different that way. Your country is isolated and only shares one border, and that's with your brother, unless you count Denmark's Greenland. I mean isn't Canada one of the only countries surrounded by three different oceans or something like that? …Your land is special. It's so large that just the province of Quebec alone is nearly three times the size of France, which I make sure to remind him of every time I get a chance. Just to stick it to him whenever he forgets you…. Sorry. I kinda went off topic there." He mentally punched himself; reminding Canada of why he was always so overlooked and invisible was not something he intended to do. He had meant to give a compliment, but that had obviously been a bust.
Matthew kept his eyes on the road, feeling surprised and touched by Romano's kind words. The Southern Italian had always had that unique way of making him feel special. "No, don't worry about it. I'm used to it by now. Besides, I'm not truly forgotten if nations such as yourself remember me, right?" he chuckled good-naturedly.
The brunet grunted in reply. He would have preferred to be the only one that remembered him; it would have been easier to have him all to himself that way. He then inwardly scolded himself; it was wrong to be so selfish. His little Northern angel deserved to have the world at his feet.
After waking up from a much needed nap, the European nation headed down the stairs of Matthew's Montreal home only to find said Canadian dancing around the kitchen, cooking something other than those beloved pancakes he enjoyed so much. He was humming to an some upbeat song that was playing on his stereo.
Fighting his urge to hug the unsuspecting Canadian from behind and press him flush against his chest, he wisely opted to sit at the table and inform his boss of his safe arrival. He pulled a chair out, producing a scraping sound in the process, and plopped down.
Alerted by the noise, Matthew whirled around and smiled at the newcomer. "Sleep well?" He turned the volume of the radio down.
Romano mumbled out a 'yes' in response, keeping his eyes glued to his mobile phone.
"Who you textin'?" The blond asked, slightly ticked at the prospect of some other nation occupying his friend's attention…. Whoa, where had that come from?
"Just my boss… and done." He lifted his gaze, stuffing the device back into his pocket. "It smells great. What're you making?"
"It's brunch time, so I thought I'd make some Canadian bacon. Alfred loves this stuff. It's not actually bacon though, it's sliced ham that's smoked and given a light maple syrup flavor, du jambon à l'érable in French. I also whipped up a spinach omelette, along with some breakfast potatoes, and some 'sausages in maple syrup' as well. I wanted to make a typical meal that's served in the cabanes à sucre of Quebec, or 'sugar shack' in English, but cabane à sucre is really more of a French term." He twisted the knobs of the oven to 'off', reaching for some plates, to then resume, "We should visit one some time soon. A few years ago, I brought Alfred, and he went absolutely nuts trying the different maple products, such as maple butter or maple candies. His favorite was la tire sur la neige, which is basically this heated maple taffy that is poured over a bank of snow to cool down. Then, you take a popsicle stick and twirl it around the cooling treat until it looks like an amber lollipop of chewy goodness. Alfie had so many of those that I lost count after fifty." He chuckled at the fond memory; it had been one of the funniest things to see his twin stuffed to the brim with the various maple products.
Romano gazed dreamily at the Canadian the entire time; the pride Matthew felt for his country was evident through his passionate words. "Damn… I thought maple syrup was the only thing you could make from maple trees."
Canada stopped what he had been doing to study the Italian, violet eyes intense behind glasses.
He ceased his scrutinizing gaze when the other man started squirming uncomfortably in his seat.
...There was no way Romano had been joking; it seemed he genuinely was unaware.
Relieved yet a tad disappointed, the blond took a moment to pack the plates with food and serve the other nation, who appeared to be scared for his life right about then.
"You could create a variety of foods and drinks from 'maple water', or 'maple sap' if you prefer. You could marinate various meats using maple syrup, kind of like the sausage and bacon on our plates. You could also mix it with other sauces, such as barbecue, to give an extra sweet kick to stuff. My bro particularly likes maple-barbecue pulled pork for some odd reason. Besides that, you could make a ton of treats, like maple cotton candy, maple sugar tarts, maple whippet cookies, maple chocolate and so on. You could also just make granulated maple sugar, which you could use to make a bunch of other desserts instead of using plain white or brown sugar, which aren't as healthy for you. These are only some of the things you can do using les érables…" his voice trailed off.
"Wow, who knew…. What about the drinks? What type of beverage could you make?" he asked curiously, amazed at what Canadians had come up with over time. For such a young country, it was impressive.
"I'll tell you some other time. For now, how about we dig in. Bon appétit."
"Right, buon appetito."
With that, they ate in amiable silence, Romano savouring every bite.
End of Chapter One – Fin du Chapitre Un
Translations (and yes they're all accurate; I speak some Italian, besides French):
Dio mio – 'Oh my God', or just 'my God'
Il mio tesoro – my treasure
Il mio angelo – my angel
Bon appétit/Buon appetito – there is no exact translation for that, but it basically means 'enjoy your meal' in French and Italian.
les érables – the maple trees
A/N: Hello all, in upcoming chapters, we will learn more about Montreal and explore (almost) all of what this busy city has to offer. I find there is a lack of Romano x Canada. Thus, I hope to change that with this. This story will change to M rated in later chapters, just letting you know (I'm already done writing it). But for now, have fun learning a little something about Canada, while learning some new words in Italian and French in the process.
I hope you liked this i miei dolci lettori (my sweet readers).
Sending you all maple-laced kisses,
~SailorHikarinoMu
