In Love, War, and Hockey
Summary: Al just wanted to see Matt smile. But Canada wanted to win. And America was not just going to stand back and let that happen. The final hockey showdown between Canada and America at Vancouver. [Canada x America, with splashes of Sweden x Finland, Russia x China, and France x England] [One-shot]
*Note: Translations at the end ~
Hetalia – Axis Powers © Hidekaz Himaruya
Canada was invisible.
Unlike what most thought, America actually knew this. He had seen other nations pass by his neighbor without a second glance, and he had caught the other's frowns and disappointed sighs. Many simply figured that America didn't care. That wasn't true, either; maybe it was worse even. Because Al had to admit that sometimes he enjoyed the fact that nobody could see Canada, that no one could appreciate Matt like he did. He could be the only one to admire Matt's clear blue eyes. He could be the only one allowed to kiss those soft, pliant lips.
But. Al couldn't think like that – at least not completely. Because in the end, he loved Matt with all his heart, and he couldn't bear to see him sad or rejected.
That was why he had jumped nearly as high as Canada when Vancouver won the 2010 Olympics bid. That was why he had sneaked to the opening ceremony with the vice-president (even at the total guarantee of being yelled by the president the next day). And that was why he had kept whispering encouragements in Matt's ears every night since the beginning of the games.
Except. Well. When he was competing against Canada.
Because even though he loved Matt with all his heart and wanted to see that smile grace his gorgeous face, he was still the United States of America, which meant that he was still the most awesome country in the world and that he totally deserved to win the Olympics in every shape and form. Fortunately, because Matt understood his mentality all too well, he never reproached his lover. He simply watched as Canada's goal of thirty medals soon began to slip away from his fingers and as America steamrolled his way to practically every podium.
When Canada began making daily public apologies to his people for his disappointing performance, Al felt a painful twinge. Yet what could he do? He represented his athletes, his people, and they wanted to win, no matter whose soil they were on. No matter to whom their nation's heart belonged to. And America couldn't deny that he also wanted to win, that every medal he brought home gave him the headiest feeling of victory.
Then America won the hockey game against Canada. The siren blew, the signal for all his teammates to lovingly smash him into the side panels of the rink in a semblance of a hug. His yell of victory came forth twenty times as strong – in fact more than a million times as strong as he felt the triumph of his people course through his veins. After more celebratory pats on the back and bone-crushing tackles, Al glanced at the backs of the defeated team and found Matt among them, his head bowed low. Detangling himself from his fellow Americans, he skated to his neighbor. He was about to pat him consolingly on the shoulder when Matt suddenly whipped around.
America froze. Because Canada had the most fucking scary glare that he had ever seen. He looked as if he was milliseconds from impaling the American with his hockey stick. It took all his effort not to stammer when Al finally said:
"Good game out there, Ma – "
"This isn't over yet, America," Canada narrowed his eyes, and an even bigger chill ran across Al's spine, because they never – never – called each other by their nation names unless in the presence of other nations.
But of course Canada would be still sore from losing; he would snap out of it soon enough. So America decided to humor him and gave him a cheeky grin.
"Oh, I'm pretty sure it's over, Canada," he laughed. He then promptly skated away, because Matt's look brought upon sheer terror.
Yet his ally apparently would not 'snap out of it soon enough,' because when Al later tried to sneak into Matt's bed like he had done since the beginning of the games, Canada had slammed the door shut in front of his face. He wouldn't even speak to him the next day. And the next. And the next. And the next.
By the fifth day, Al was getting desperate. And cold and lonely without Matt by his side at night. After soundly vanquishing Finland in hockey, he was celebrating his victory with his teammates (although his smile was not as bright as he would've liked) when he caught Sweden comforting Finland. For some reason, America couldn't stop staring at the two. And then it clicked: Sweden had just lost to Finland in women's hockey a day ago, but here Sweden was, not only not giving his lover the silent treatment but also consoling him after his defeat. How?
Discreetly leaving his team, Al waited until Finland went into the locker rooms before nearly tackling the Swede who was sitting at the sidelines.
"HOW?" Even when practically attacked by an American in full hockey gear, Sweden was unfazed. He simply gaze America blank look.
"I mean," Al insisted when his point clearly wasn't getting across, "how can you still act like nothing happened between you and Finland after he beat you in hockey just a day ago? And you're even trying to cheer him up! Don't you still hate him after what he did to your team? How can you… you guys… just act like this?"
Sweden blinked. A few silent moments passed. America really was getting desperate, because he was just about to yell at Sweden again or actually attack him in his full hockey gear (possible war be damned) when the other at last spoke:
"It's alm'st ov'r."
Before Al could demand what the hell he was talking about, Finland came running out of the locker rooms and America had to make a quick exit before he had two nations breathing on his back in resentment.
At night, because he really missed Matt despite the most frightening look the Canadian gave him every time they met, Al came to watch Canada's game against Slovakia. His eyes never left Canada as the nation made one, two, three goals against Slovakia, only to have their lead almost snatched away when the adversary made two goals of their own near the very end. Quickly getting bored (because hockey was no fun when he wasn't playing it), America started yawning as the most random thoughts passed through his mind.
This totally isn't fair. Matt is being so uncool. I wonder what kind of hamburger I should eat tonight. What is Canada's problem? Blue looks the best on my flag. I can't believe Slovakia is getting so close. I thought Canada would destroy him. (When will that jerk stop being mad at me?) I guess it doesn't matter in the end, as long as Matt wins. No one's going to remember the score anyway.
All of a sudden, Al sat upright, his eyes wide, just as the siren blew, declaring Canada's victory 3 to 2. He figured it out.
With a huge smile on his face, America bolted from his seat and to the ice right after Matt's team tackled Canada to the side. He hopped onto the ice, ignored the referee's warnings and curses (screw Switzerland and his neutrality), and was about to be the first to congratulate Matt when Canada once again spun around to face him.
"I'll see you on the rink again, America," he said, smiling.
Al realized two things then. Number 1: how the hell did Canada suddenly get Russia's ominous aura and creepy smile? (In fact, he noted distantly, Russia had been pretty tame since the time he had tried to bash America's skull after losing to him in men's figure skating; recently, he had spent more time crying in China's arms.) And Number 2 (and even Al had to chide himself for his stupidity here): how the fuck could he had forgotten that if Matt won, they would have to play each other again, but this time in the finals?
By the time America had a reply ready, Canada was long gone. But Al had an idea where his neighbor had gone to.
Instead of heading to the bars or pubs, he went back to the athletes' village and climbed the steepest hill there. At the very top, he found Matt, his back facing the American and his head tilted slightly up to gaze at the stars. Al found himself breath-taken, because again he found himself marveling at how beautiful Canada was.
Fidgeting nervously now (because he knew that Matt was now aware of his presence), Al took a few minutes to start speaking:
"Uh, Matt, I didn't have a chance back there to… uh… congratulate you and stuff."
"Thank you, America," Canada said softly.
Al felt another pang. He could no longer let this game continue.
"Dude, Matt," he said, frowning, "I know hockey's your game and you're tense and all, but this isn't politics or war. The Olympics is going to be over soon, so you don't have to condescend me by calling me 'America' and shit."
Matt didn't say anything, and America suddenly had the sick feeling that he was losing him.
"Look, I know how you feel – Okay! I don't!" he scowled when he heard a quiet scoff. "But I have an idea, okay? I know that you've been feeling a lot of pressure from the games and you feel that you need to show the world that you aren't invisible – no, even I'm not that dense, especially when it comes to you," here his voice softened: "But I don't think that you need to beat yourself so hard for this. The Olympics is going to be over soon, and then it's just going to be history. And besides… I've always thought that you were anything but invisible."
The moment the line left his lips, America cursed himself. He soon corrected himself and cursed England instead – him and his stupid lack of taste in anything romantic.
"Pauvre Alfred," France had once said, smiling indulgently, "Angleterre has only given you horrid clichés as a guide to love. Here, let me teach you the true meaning of amour." And Al would have learned exactly how to save himself in his current situation with Matt if England had not chosen to strangle France at that very moment. On that day, America had only learned one thing: never dine with England and France together ever again. (And he thought that Matt and he had their problems; France and England were dysfunctional.)
So. It was all England's fault that Matt was never going to speak to him again.
But then Matt spoke:
"A lot of people think we're just a frozen land. That there's nothing here. But after all this time – all these fruitless tries to prove that we're here, that I'm here, I finally have this chance. And I can't let it slip away. It's going to be nothing but humiliation if I lose to you on my own soil. Or worse, my people and I will just be forgotten again. It might just be a game to you, but it can't be for me."
Matt bowed his head even lower. Al lowered his eyes, too. He was so close, yet he couldn't touch his ally, his lover, his rival.
"But thank you," Matt whispered after a moment. "Thank you, Al."
The American whipped his head up. Before he knew it, he was grinning and gently pulling Matt's sleeve.
"Let's go to bed," he told the Canadian, and when Matt finally turned to look at him, there was no more resentment in his face.
"All right," he sighed, but he was smiling.
After that, not everything turned the way that Al would have liked. First, Matt still refused to sleep in the same bed ("We're going to play against each other in two days, Al! How can you even think of that?" And when Al insisted: "I might kill you in my sleep!" That finally convinced America to back down.). Second, the game was still on and as the United States of America, he was not going to lose the game. It was his destiny to win, so he was afraid of how Matt would react after his victory (maybe he should go to France before Sunday to pick up lines that were actually romantic.)
And last… well…
On the day of the finals, America and Canada both skated to the center circle, waiting for the whistle to blow and the game to begin. Al looked into Matt's face and saw eyes that were so identical to but so different from his own: so clear, so deep, so stunning. But he felt the roar of his people echoing in his ears, and he knew that as a nation, he could aim for nothing but success. And he knew that Canada understood.
"Good luck, Al," Matt murmured then, quietly, shyly, through his helmet.
"Good luck too, Matt," Al said, grinning.
Then the siren blew and Matt was anything but quiet and shy. When Canada scored the first time and the second time, America heard his country cry out in distress and felt his people's vengeful fury fuel him, helping him score his first goal and motivate his team to stop Canada's merciless offensive. With only twenty-four seconds left, America unexpectedly saw an opening for a goal and took it. He raised his arms, first in jubilance and then to receive the embraces of his team members, as the siren blew, marking a tied game.
Laughing, he patted the others and gently pushed them away. He stole a glance at Canada and stopped. Matt was standing there, his arms to his side and his mouth closed, but Al could see the anguished scream from those heartbreakingly gorgeous blue eyes. The desperation clawing its way out, finding less and less resistance.
Al felt his heart torn.
The game went into sudden-death overtime, and America resumed his blunt offensive. There was tension laden in the air, pushing and forcing each team forward, frantically, maniacally even. Then America saw Canada take the puck, stared into Matt's determined face, and knew it was over even before the siren blew and the Canadian crowd erupted into a triumphant scream of pure ecstasy.
Immediately, a wave of gut-wrenching disappointment crashed into him. His vision clouded to reveal the countless upset faces of his fellow Americans gaping at the television screen, uncomprehending of their defeat. His ears pounded with their moans and cries. He smiled wryly. He was definitely going to make Canada pay for this. He was never going to speak to that asshole again (okay, for a week).
And they weren't going to share a bed for the next millennium, he decided as he watched the Canadians take the gold medal on the podium while his own team had to settle for silver.
And, he thought while watching the Canadian team take pictures, smiling and laughing, he was definitely never going to let Matt touch his Nintendo Wii ever aga – And suddenly Matt sauntered to him and kissed him. And his infinitely long list of punishments evaporated from his head. Poof. Gone, was all he could think stupidly before he eagerly, almost desperately, kissed Matt back.
"Good game," Matt whispered, nuzzling his neck.
"Yeah, whatever," Al muttered. "So now you're not invisible anymore. And I'm going to have competition. Great."
So close besides him, Al heard Matt scoff. And he smiled.
Translations:
Pauvre – Poor
Angleterre – England
Amour – Love
A/N: I'm so happy ~ Canada did so well in the Olympics and broke the record for the most gold in the Winter Olympics. I'm so happy! And I told myself that I would write something if Canada won the hockey game, so here I am. Obviously, this one-shot is about how Canada is invincible in hockey, but I also wanted to explore more of Al and Matt's relationship and even distinguish between what motivates them as a nation and as a human. Hopefully I got that point across, too ~ (If I didn't, at least I hope I made more people aware of CANADA'S SHEER AWESOMENESS through this fanfiction!)
By the way, I'm also sorry for any inaccuracies in this one-shot (I didn't watch a lot of games like the Canada vs. Slovakia and the U.S.A. vs. Finland. I only watched the one, the Canada vs. United States, so I'm pretty sure I got the last game right.) And I'm sorry for making fun of any nations excessively. (Even though Russia really didn't do so well in these Olympics, I still love Russia… as long as it knows where it belongs! Behind Canada in the rankings!) And it's totally true. We Canadians apologize all the time.
Recommendation: Read! Read! Canadino's "You Can't Spell Victory Without Canada", "Once the Ice, Again", and "It's Not For Gold, But." AND. Look at Blue-Fox's amazing art "With Glowing Hearts" and "Fight for the Gold" at DeviantArt (http ://blue-fox. deviantart. com). (Remove the space. Hopefully it works?) YES. I am shamelessly promoting Canadian glory.
(But seriously, the US played a great game and I was admiring and cursing Miller for being so good. That second goal in the last twenty-four seconds? That was amazing and it hurt.)
Do a Random Act of Kindness (DoRAK – seriously, it's a real organization): Review !