Canada nervously re-read his letter for the fifth time, painstakingly scanning every word to make sure he'd written everything correctly. Then he re-read the French translation in the second half, found an error, and sighed, carefully rubbing out the mistake. It would be his seventeenth letter written today, and each one had gotten the same meticulous treatment; it would not do to mess up an apology.

When he was finally sure that everything was perfect, he folded and sealed his latest letter, and attached it with twine to the outside of a gift box of maple cookies. He had just managed to perfect the bow when a loud knock startled him, making him pull the string a little too hard.

"Bother... just a minute!" he called.

"Okay!"

Canada froze in recognition, the color draining from his face, and his eyes darted to one of the finished letters on his kitchen table. It hadn't been the first he'd written, but now it seemed to him as if he'd done it terribly wrong. He grabbed at it a moment, shook his head, and hid it quickly behind the other letters before hurrying to the door.

On the other side stood Iceland, beaming with an intensity matched only by the brightness of his sparkles. Canada attempted to smile back, but failed, as a surge of guilt struck his gut.

Iceland gave a happy wave. "Hi, Canada! I brought your hockey sticks back. Thanks for letting me borrow them."

"Of course, any time! Please, come in!"

"I actually meant to stop by at America's place soon-"

"Oh, that's alright, then. I don't want to interrupt or anything. It's just that I've done some baking. Would you like to try some cookies? I can get you a box, eh."

Iceland's eyes lit up. "I guess I don't have to go visit America immediately..."

"Good! Come in, come in."

Canada waved him in faster than Iceland was prepared for, and the Nordic nation dropped a hockey stick in his attempt to follow quickly, which only served to launch Canada into a five-minute babble of apologies and fussing.

"I'll just put these by the door, then," Iceland offered, taken aback.

"No, no, I'll take them, don't worry. I'm so sorry, Iceland, please, have a seat and make yourself comfortable."

Canada turned almost the color of his own shirt, as he awkwardly bundled the hockey sticks into a corner, and when Iceland moved to get around him, he visibly jumped, as if touching or getting in Iceland's way would burn him – which, granted, was not always an irrational fear, if Iceland was angry.

Still a little perplexed, but driven by the promising smell of maple cookies, Iceland took a seat at the dining table, staring at the bundle of letters curiously. "Is it a holiday today?"

"What? Oh, those... no, no, just... I'm just sending some gifts."

Canada scurried into the kitchen and swept the letters and boxes aside a little, as far away from Iceland as possible. He seated himself a moment, visibly trying to gain composure. He attempted yet another smile, and failed once more.

"The cookies!" he blurted suddenly, rising too quickly, "Ouch! Oh, this won't do, I'm so sorry..."

"Are you alright, Canada?"

"Yes... no... I mean... I'll just get you some cookies."

Iceland frowned, but didn't press the matter, and Canada neatly arranged the promised food before him. He grabbed a cookie, was about to bite into it, then stopped, puzzled. Canada had not resumed his seat. Rather, he was standing quite close, his hands clasped together in obvious anticipation. Warily, Iceland took a bite, eying Canada out of the corner of his eye.

Instantly, Canada spoke. "You don't like them? I'm sorry, it was a very complicated recipe. Maybe you'd like some beer? I'm afraid I don't have anything like you guys are used to, eh, but I can try to-"

"Whoa, just relax. They taste fine!"

"Really?! I was just so worried-"

"Okay, seriously. What's gotten into you? You're acting like I'm going to bite you. I promise I won't, though I can't speak for my demons."

Canada slumped down into the nearest chair, his face ashen. "I probably deserve to get bitten by one," he moaned.

"No, come on, I was just kidding. They only bite when they're hungry, or there's a sacrifice going on. Or an eruption. Anyway, that's not the point. What's going on with you?"

Canada bit his lower lip, avoiding Iceland's gaze. Then, his eyes slowly drifted to the letters. The guilt came rushing back, all at once, but it was tempered now by a firm resolve. He took a deep, steadying breath, finally looking up. If he didn't do this now, he risked the loss of Iceland's friendship... and that wasn't something he was willing to give up any time soon.

"I've made a lot of bad decisions in the past," Canada began, shakily, "But I want you to know that I've changed for the better now... and I want to make amends to you."

"Uh, wait. Is this like AA? 'Cause I don't really do that sort of thing-"

"I'm sorry!" Canada blurted desperately, rising again with a ferocity that he had subconsciously picked up from America, and startling the life out of Iceland. "I really am sorry! It was such a terrible time, and I was young and foolish, and... oh, but those are all awful excuses... I can't even begin to imagine the pain I caused you, Iceland, and I'm so sorry."

Iceland blinked, stunned.

"You're upset, I understand," Canada went on, "But I have to get this out, or I'm afraid it will be too late. It was a terrible thing for me to do, calling you a... a name like that. It was cruel; selfish-"

"Wait a minute-"

"If there are any reparation costs you need, maybe therapy costs, or anything else, I can pay that back to you. I really have changed, and I can prove it to you-"

"Canada, stop."

Iceland had spoken firmly, deflating Canada's momentary apology seizure. Meekly, Canada sat back down, trembling, just waiting for Iceland's anger to flow over.

"Is this about the 'goolie' thing? Again?" Iceland demanded. "Please don't tell me it's about the 'goolie' thing..."

Canada winced, as if Iceland had cursed at him. But he nodded, hanging his head even further. Iceland sighed.

"You don't have to apologize."

"But-"

"No. Stop it. You might as well have called me a 'big meanie-head-'" Canada audibly gasped, and Iceland pushed his goggles up to rub the bridge of his nose. "What I mean is that I really don't care about being called 'goolie'. It wasn't even a good insult."

"I'm sorry. I just wasn't very good at names, either."

Resisting the overwhelming urge to grab Canada by the shoulders and shake him, Iceland turned his impulse into a rather forceful bite of cookie, as he critically studied his Atlantic neighbor.

"Tell you what. If you really, really feel like you need to make it up to me, come snowboarding with me this weekend."

Canada sat bolt upright, life returning to his eyes. "I can certainly do that for you!"

"Good to hear. I'll consider that your apology, and afterward, you don't ever need to apologize to me again about it. Please. Like, never. Okay?"

"Okay." Gone, now, was Canada's beaten-down, injured stare, replaced by almost teary eyes. "I'm... I'm so glad we're still friends."

Iceland nodded and grinned, hiding his exasperation. "I am, too. And thanks for the cookies. Now can we please talk about normal things? Tell me what else is new."

"Well, I was just finishing these apology letters when you knocked."

Iceland's grip reflexively tightened, and broke the remainder of his cookie.

Manitoba is home to the largest population of ethnic Icelanders outside Iceland, and contains a region in the Lake Winnipeg area known as New Iceland.

New Iceland exists because sometime in the late 1800's, a bunch of Icelanders settled there (surprise!) and were quickly dubbed with the ethnic slur "goolie". The meaning of this slur has mixed origins; the most popular layman's explanation stems from the word "Ghoul", a description apparently fitting for deathly white people moving in alongside other deathly white people.

Today, goolie mostly exists as a term of endearment among some Canadian Icelanders, but that's cold comfort to Canada when he's having a bad day.