"I want one of those hats."

Quebec had said it, probably more to himself than anything, and it hung in the room like a fog. He continued to put his concentration on the hem he was sewing, more firmly than before as if to make it very clear he wanted no conversation with Ontario on that point or any other.

Ontario, through the years, had become quite used to all the mumblings and anti-socialism. He'd also become quite good at ignoring when his voice wasn't wanted.

"The big ones all the women are wearing?"

"Oui," Quebec said. He continued to refuse to look up, even at the disgusted head shake Ontario used to try and get his attention.

"That's…. you're such a girl."

"I am not," Quebec insisted. He took a step back to examine the bodice he worked on. "I just like how they look. It would go well with the line for the spring fashion…"

"And also you want to wear one." Ontario's grin grew as the growing silence was filled by the commentators on the television. "Does that mean I'm right?

"It means you're an ass," he insisted. "I'm not whatever you're thinking I am."

Ontario turned fully away from the television, flopped onto his stomach as he grinned up at his former a lot of things, and current neighbor. Quebec looked back on him with suspicion.

"Why do you always act like I'm up to something?"

"You always are up to something," Quebec told him flatly. He looked over his last few stitches, head tilted at he tried to decide if he was truly satisfied with it. Unfortunately, he wasn't given enough time.

"You could use it as a trial run," Ontario replied. His voice dripped with the silkiness he used for negotiation. "One of those dresses you keep working on."

Quebec was well acquainted with the tone, and the last to admit that it was rather successful. Not that it would be this time.

Ontario grinned up at him. "I'll get you a hat and a mint julep, and we'll…"

"Are you just looking for someone to hang off your arm?"

"Kinda," he said with a shrug.

Quebec put the bodice on the dummy, his back firmly kept to his neighbor. "Who turned you down this time?"

"That's not the point." He pouted like a child at the resulting chuckle. "The point is you should do it."

"So, let me get this straight. You want me to go into the southern states, in a dress, to be your date."

"Yeah."

"I'm catholic."

"Yeah, so?"

Quebec gave a hard stare over his shoulder. "And you see no problems in any of this?"

"I see a problem in not seeing you in the blue one over there." Ontario pointed to his selection. The look in his eye said he was planning well beyond the race, into something very broad that he wanted but wouldn't say out loud.

Quebec knew this look, he'd seen it a million times. It was dangerous and greedy, everything that had turned Ontario into what he'd become. That he knew this so well, and that he liked it, meant they spent far too much time together. They had, they still did, and he'd have to rectify it at some point if he was ever to gain the independence he wanted.

Some other day, though.

He turned back to the dressmaker's dummy, so that Ontario couldn't see any reaction from him.

"The hat is going to be fucking amazing."

"The best."

"And you're paying every cent of this."

"Of course."

Ontario flipped onto his back, head pillowed on his hands while he relished in the satisfaction of everything falling into place. Quebec continued his work in the same spirit.