A/N: I do not own Hetalia.

This is made in the style of the original webcomics, so expect notes at the end referencing the historical events alluded.

Warnings: Contains several OC nations: Mexico, Peru, Haiti, Jamaica, Martinique, Guadeloupe, and Dominican Republic (mentioned). Some simplifications of historical events (but its Hetalia, so I guess its expected). Vague allusions to slavery (very vague, but just warning some of you)

September 14th, 1784: Island of Hispaniola, Spanish Colony of Santo Domingo (Modern Day Dominican Republic)*

France's laugh ringed throughout the meeting room, joined almost instantly with Spain's incessantly cheerful gibberish. England's voice was rising in defiance and volume; his eyebrows were furrowed so tightly that it was as if they were attempting to merge with one another.

From the far-end corner of the room, Haiti sighed as she prepared to tune out the imminent Anglo-French war that was about to erupt.

"Shut up you frog!, I'll have you know this is nothing but a minor setback. That brat will not last for more than a decade on his own. His idea of governance is just a step short of mob rule."

"Perhaps, but then what makes you think he'll want to be a British colony again?" France retorted, his eyes suddenly filled with a mischievous twist. "He gets along much better with me these days. Don't you think that he'd enjoy being a French territory for a change; I can certainly offer better food than the burnt meat your people believe is edible"

"Why You!"

England rose from his chair, a murderous look in his eye. His arms twisted themselves around France's neck, much like an executioner's noose around a marooner.

"Both of you stop fighting already" shouted Spain, rolling his eyes at the scene. Sighing, he gestured toward a pile of official government papers and scattered news pamphlets. "Here, let's all just finish the meeting already"

Startled by the Spaniard's scream, England loosened his grip on France, though he had yet to fully release him. His eyes now studied Spain's face, assessing whether the Spaniard could be considered a neutral arbitrator. He was an ally of France after all...*

In the end England relented and let go of France, but not without glaring first. Finally, he turned towards Spain.

"Fine, I'll follow along with your games for now...what is the matter?"

Haiti signed loudly, no longer caring whether France or any of the other nations heard her. They most likely were too occupied trying to outmaneuver one another to pay attention to growing discontent of a colony. The last she heard before tuning out the rabble was a sarcastic comment of the state of France's finances (by England of course) and another voice bitterly muttering something along the lines of "We'll be here forever at this rate; Romano will be mad if I'm late again for evening mass".

Redoubling her efforts to keep her composure, she turned to face her other companions at the table. Seated to her right, Mexico, a slight, dark-haired teenage girl, held a fiery gaze leading to the smiling face of a certain Spaniard. She was gripping the side of the table with such force that Haiti was almost certain Mexico could break half a dozen pieces of sugar cane and extracted the sticky sweet syrup inside with more efficiency than a plantation mill.

Well, perhaps it would be best not to bother her for the moment being...

A glance to the left revealed that Peru was not feeling any more merciful towards his caretaker. The dominant emotion on his face was not frustration, however, but boredom. He nodded curtly, noticing Haiti's furtive glances, and gestured towards the window. Haiti turned her head. The previously harsh rays of the Dominican summer heat were becoming milder. Evening was quickly approaching, which meant the European nations could only drag on the meeting for so long before the darkness forced them to disband.

Chancing one last look towards Peru, Haiti noticed that he held what appeared to be a wooden musical instrument shaped much like a flute*. Haiti's eyes widened as Peru brought the flute-like object up towards his lips and turned to look at Spain defiantly. A low-pitched sound came out, soft and airy but loud at the same time. Darting her head towards France's table, Haiti searched his face, along with Spain's, for any indication of annoyance or even acknowledgment of this disturbance. But their faces revealed nothing more than amusement, at the expense of one fuming English nation.

Once more the colonies' "antics" had gone unnoticed.

Directly across the table, Jamaica shifted slightly into his own chair, weariness evident in his expression. Cuba had been gazing curiously at the former Spanish colony turned British colony for the majority of the meeting, but had yet to utter a single word towards him. Jamaica in turn was facing the opposite direction, although he would occasionally sneak glances at his former comrade.

Haiti knew from her (admittedly rather limited) interactions with Dominic that the pair had interacted in the past, during their joint guardianship under Spain. They shared a generally friendly disposition towards others, and a passion for music and dance*. Haiti herself could understand the latter, as she loved the mixture of music traditions that had developed ever since Spain started bringing people to her island. Although it had been a while since the last time she danced openly with her people. Lately, France's enthusiasm at increasing the sugar production left her with very little free time.

Surveying the table one last time revealed two girls around the ages of twelve. At first glance both could pass as twins, with their matching floral outfits and their long flowing hair tamed into a couple of ponytails, one on each side of their faces. Closer inspection revealed tiny differences: a slightly more elongated face, thinner brows or fuller lips. They were seated together in one chair, at the far end of the table, but despite this conspicuous seating arrangement they had not attracted the attention of any of the others.

She had seen them before, only once, not long ago at a similar conference. France had even approached Haiti directly, the first time in quite a while, and introduced them both as Martinique and Guadeloupe*. Proclaiming quite loudly his views on the "cuteness" of the pair, for he could not distinguish one from the other, he had urged her to act as a "big sister": teach them proper French (none of that Creole nonsense, my dear) and how to grow sugarcane more efficiently. Over an hour later, as France continued his lecture, she found herself unwillingly cursing New France's invisibility, which seemed to be more effective that day than ever.*

She cut short her inner monologue as she realized she had not seen Canada at the meeting. A quick survey of the room proved this last point right; he wasn't seated at the table and there were no empty chairs for him to use his invisibility. Surely England would bring him along; that was the main point of these meetings: to flaunt their imperial possessions. It wasn't like anything else was accomplished.

It was then that Haiti found herself voicing her thoughts out loud.

"Shouldn't he be here today?"

It was barely louder than a whisper, but her statement seemed to have woken every colony at the table from their reverie. Haiti had unwittingly been the first to break the silence.

The others looked at her with shocked eyes, as if wondering what had sparked such an outburst. Despite the underlying currents of dissatisfaction her people held towards each other and towards France*, she was still one of the least likely to speak out, certainly not before the talkative Cuba or the short-tempered (towards Spain) Mexico.

It was precisely Cuba who spoke next: "Who?"

Bracing herself at the reactions, Haiti nonetheless decided to continue; up until now none of the Europeans paid the least amount of attention towards their table.

"New Fr...I mean Canada"

The others turned towards her again. Their initial shock was now replaced by confusion.

"Who?". This time it was Mexico who had spoken out. Peru echoed her question, just a few moments later.

A third set of stares threatened to break her resolve. Her hands felt clammy; her shoulders shook rather violently. Her throat had become so dry over the past few minutes that it was almost impossible for her to speak.

Almost.

"Canada!"

She was now standing up, hand on each side of the table. Her voice laced with desperation.

"What the bloody hell is going on over there?"

Haiti turned around to face the three European nations, who now focused on the makeshift colonial table. Now the panic really began to set in, as Haiti reflected upon how the scene would be perceived: herself standing up and screaming, with the others looking alarmed but also curious and attentive. She looked just short of inciting rebellion...

"France, before you criticize others' colonial affairs perhaps you should worry about controlling your own colonies".

It was England who had spoken, driving even more concern from both France, who eyed her suspiciously, and Spain, who looked at Mexico and Peru with strange paranoia.

It was France who broke the silence that followed.

"My, its late now, perhaps we should all retire to bed" he said, with a cheeky smile directed towards his companions. "I would not waste such a beautiful evening discussing politics when there are more enticing options at hand"

England was the first to recoil, muttering insults as he dragged Jamaica out of the room and back to the harbor. The loud slam of the door indicating that he had left the building.

Spain was quick to leave after that, already panicking as he realized the sun was setting over the island. He turned towards his own colonies and urged them to get up and leave, his usual smile and good humor lessening with each subsequent order. Haiti shot an apologetic look at them, but received only scorn in return.

France had not said a single word as they left the city's plaza. Taking each one of the twins along by the hand, he continued walking along the streets towards the harbor. His face held no visible anger; instead he looked unnaturally calm. It had been ten minutes since they had started walking and despite his previous comment France had yet to utter any lecherous comments.

"Martinique, Guadeloupe, go to bed as soon as we get home"

France's voice had lost its customary teasing edge, adopting a more serious tone usually reserved for only the most delicate of situations.

Feeling the sheer amount of panic bubble inside her, and fighting desperately to refrain from any other display of extreme emotion, Haiti turned her attention away from France's gaze and towards the sunset. The reddish tint was slowly fading; replaced instead by the darker tones of the approaching night. The ocean was unnaturally calm, unaffected by the ongoing storm in her mind. A warm breeze of air passed by every so often. It was as if the land itself wanted to offer some reassurance to the troubled nation, although given that this was the land that bore her perhaps that was not so preposterous.

The calming scenery was just enough to free her thought process from its previous panicked conclusions.

Above all, she could not find a suitable reason for her outburst. She never interacted much with Canada during the last few years since they lived so far away from each other. Sure, she had talked to him at most of the meetings (and found out that despite his apparent shyness, he could speak quite passionately about even the most mundane topics), but they had little interaction outside of those sparse conversations. In fact she had spent the majority of the meeting without noticing his absence. So despite being the subject of her outburst, he was not the cause of it.

But that conclusion left her with even more questions: Why would she overreact to a problem that held no significance to herself or her people? Why had she not stopped upon seeing the others' panicked reactions? Had something happened to her people during her short absence?

Her eyes grew wide at this idea, and her head shot up from its previous bowing position. Haiti checking for any signs of disaster, any developing scars along her arms or trickles of blood along her legs. But she felt no pain and found no signs of violence.

Perhaps, it it's nothing after all...and yet I cannot stop feeling this sense of dread.

She stood in front of the makeshift vanity table, absentmindedly combing her hair, as she waited. France had retreated to his own quarters without a word, yet Haiti could not shake off the idea that he would come back, angrier than ever. She'd seen his rage full-force during the recent wars with England, but he had never subjected her to such anger.

It had been a while since she last spoke out against him; even since those early settlement days, when the first privateers landed on her shores. She'd been quite the small child, only recently awakened to the world. France had found her lying asleep under the shade of the forest trees.

They struggled to get along at first; she'd run off from the tobacco plantations to search for the pieces of fruit that fell from the trees, she'd dance and sing with all the newcomers France's people brought to the island. Anything to avoid the drear of the endless harvest season.

Once, prompted by a fit of irrational rage, she'd left the plantation after hours. France caught her sneaking into a crowded meeting in one of the poorer houses in the region. The house decorations of colorful men and god statues scattered along the shelves. The candlelight highlighted the outfits of the hosts as they gathered to share the scraps of food from a day's work. Afterward, everyone inside huddled together to form a circle at the center of the room, chanting various songs from old folktales to church hymns.

He stormed through the crowds to pick her up roughly under her stomach. The other humans stood silent, awaiting their punishment. They were not disappointed.

"Do not think for a moment that I will not inform the authorities about your little gatherings. I'm sure the church will wish to deal with this swiftly"

France dragged her by the hand to her room. She was kept there as a prisoner, alone in the house, for the next month. All she hear from him were stern admonishments at her childishly rebellious tendencies. There was no acknowledgment, no dialogue between them, just patronizing words. France would not yield and neither would she.

That had been the worst she'd experienced of his fiery temperament.

Over the years, as she matured into a young woman, she'd left those tendencies aside. The realities and complications of life on the island blurred the distinctions between the righteous and the sinners. The heavy consequences of any major change weighed heavily on her mind. If anything were to happen now, what could become of her island...nothing but complete chaos.*

Knock, knock. "Haiti, my dear. May I come in?" knock, knock.

She dropped the brush onto the floor, leaving behind the realm of memories. Now the time had come to face reality. Just as she thought, France would be back. She was no longer a child and furthermore she humiliated him in front of the other powers; a simple reproach would not be enough.

And so with one last glance at herself in the mirror, she picked up the brush. She set it aside gently on the dresser and turned. With one last breath, she walked towards the wooden door and slowly turned the handle.

"Your behavior during the last meeting was unacceptable!"

France's lecture began unusually subdued considering the circumstances, as he slipped back in the routine of lecturing a disobedient child. It was nerve-wracking enough to sit still waiting for the blows to come.

In retrospect she should have expected this type of punishment. France, for all his military might, was not one to resort to violence. No, the other nation was a trickster. He'd anticipate her thoughts and drag out the situation as much as possible, so as to maximize the dread that weighed heavily on her heart. That was the form of punishment he'd perfected.

As if on cue with her thoughts, France's voice stopped talking abruptly. An uncomfortable silence enveloped the room, piercing her far more effectively than the harsh screams from before. To make matters worse, his face now held a sickeningly sweet smile.

France knew how to wield his weapons effectively.

"Now, you will tell me what caused you to make such a scene, will you not?"

She made no move to respond; France would never believe her in any case...

"Now darling, I just want to know the reason~" he half-spoke, half-sung. "If something upsets you, it is of my concern. I should know, shouldn't I?"

She knew that tone of voice. It was the tone France used when he knew he would get what he wanted. He was sure he'd get his way, having since grown accustomed to Haiti's obedience. Any other day, she would have answered in a panicked, frantic voice that carried her thoughts with no regards to logic. France would nod, pat her head and head out as if he never heard a word. He'd ask, but he never listened.

Today, however, she felt possessed by some strange force: one that whispered softly but surely into her ears: make him listen...

Because if he did not, he'd misinterpret it. He'd never see her as anything more than an innocent, misguided child. Something that needed to be kept guarded, like a precious jewel. He'd never punish her, not because he was not capable, but because he never thought her to be responsible.

"I wanted to know where Canada was, that's all," she responded flatly.

France raised his brows at the response as he tried to restrain his eyes from twitching in their sockets. He regained his composure shortly afterward, willing his facial features to return to their normal positions.

"Is that so? Nothing else?"

"No."

"I see"

With a swift motion of his hands, France gathered the hair dangling in front of her face and tried to settle it behind her shoulders. She halted the attempt with her own hand, lifting her eyes to meet him, all while maintaining a veneer of calmness.

He held out his hand for her to take, beckoning her to leave the room, and leading her outside. Again, she rejected the offer. Instead she chose to stand alongside him as they climbed up the stairs into France's inner quarters. Once inside, France sat on the bed, surveying her from her position under the doorway.

"You've grown..." he said with a light chuckle. "I've been away for so long, I've failed to notice, haven't I?"

He gestured towards her dress, which ended just below her knees. She'd worn that same one since the last time France came to visit, bearing gifts from the latest fashions in Paris. It was out of style by now, as the ladies in town often reminded her. The length had become a problem; she'd realized once some men stopped her during one of her errands to the assembly to inquire about certain services. If only she had the time to sew a new one herself.

"Come with me, let's go to the balcony."

The request startled her, mostly because France draped his his arm around her waist to pull her towards the outside.

A gentle sea breeze greeted them as they stepped into the cover of night. From their position, with their back to the port city, they could see nothing but the vastness of the ocean. And Haiti thought, despite the sounds of the crashing waves against the ship or the passing birds, that this was probably the first moment that she had spent with France that wasn't filled with unnecessary pleasantries or mindless arguments. How strange, that it had taken them so long to share a calm memory.

"People are strange creatures, Haiti. They are filled with life and vitality; their existence is short so they fill every moment. Their emotions run like a river, ready to overflow at the slightest rain." He paused for a second before continuing. "One morning you feel calm and the next you wake to find that their emotions are nothing short of overwhelming."

France kept staring across the ocean with unfocused eyes, as if he longed for those words to reach someone else farther away; they certainly weren't directed at her. He'd never encourage her to follow such emotions; that would be reckless, forbidden, dangerous...

"They become a larger part of you, as you grow older, interrupting you thoughts and threatening your stability."

"France-" she stopped to reconsider. Of all the things she expected France to bring up, this was not one of them. Yet, perhaps he was right...all those voices as of late, stuck in her head, stubbornly refusing to leave her alone, like children clinging to their mother.

"I-I will not let myself be disturbed, if that is what worries you..."

He frowned at her response, but kept going with his reflections nonetheless.

"You can ignore them, if you want, but they only become louder and louder," he muttered, as he titled his head towards her, letting out a heavy sigh. "And one day, they will go after what they seek, even without your approval."

"What will you do when that day comes?"

She had no answer to give. What could she say, when France predicted such a rebellion, and did nothing to stop it. As if he was controlled by some unknown force that led him towards destruction*. His leaders would have his head for just suggesting these thoughts to her.

"Perhaps it is best that we keep this conversation to ourselves...a secret between only us," he winked owlishly, before reverting to his usual teasing smile.

He winked again.

"Oh, and Canada was sleeping by the wall, if you really wished to know."

And without another word, he left, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Port-au-Prince, September 20th, 1789

"Wh-what!" she shouted at the paper in her hand. "Liberte, Egalite, Franternite..."*

France had gone mad. Burning prisons, chasing down the nobility, plotting against his own king. The metropolis was caught up in a searing inferno of passions, with all of its residents pursuing their own vision for the country's future. She shuddered as she read the incoming reports of the barricaded neighborhoods, of dissatisfied men and women rising up against a higher authority.

She had not heard from France since that night on the balcony, when he spoke of revolution, his mind muddled by the summer heat. She often thought back to that conversation, to the question France asked her without really expecting an answer. One that ironically he'd had to answer before herself.

What was your answer, France, what are you doing now...? Did you suspect this would happen all along?

He'd been overtaken by these ideas, these wonderful, tempting ideas of freedom and equality, and she understood why. She'd read about them herself in between the last harvest season. In the darkness of the empty refineries, she lay down with a candle at her side and the latest copy of news from France's National Assembly, devouring the words contained in the documents. She began to crave them; their words were much sweeter than the cubes of sugar, and much more intoxicating than the distilled bottles of rum.

And yet, even with all these influences, nearly five years later, she was not closer to answering his question.

She did not know! At days she'd storm off inexplicably angered to the city center, only to stare at those men in charge of her domestic affairs. She never spoke a word. It took all of her willpower to contain herself, as she fought to keep her realistic side afloat in the face of such impulsiveness.

Under such pressures, someday she too would inevitable crack. She supposed she would not have an answer until that moment came...

You never knew the right answer to that did you, France?

She smiled softly despite her worries as she remembered their brief meeting. In his own roundabout way, France had given her something much more valuable than the fancy dresses and jewels he usually brought for her to wear for the European meetings. He gave her the last push she needed to stop running.

Armed with a new sense of purpose, of responsibility, she strode towards the assembly hall.

Perhaps, someday, she would find that courage she'd burrowed deep in her obedient persona. One day, she'd find the strength to rise above her insecurities and listen to the cries of her people.

And when that day came, she'd stand firm alongside them, every single one of them. She'd follow the path they carved, not as a bystander, but as an equal.

A/N: Lots of notes from the historical events alluded to in the fic.

This story is the product of one of those plot bunnies that would just not leave my brain alone. OC Characters are based on my own perceptions, although they have been influenced by previous designs I have seen. (Though Haiti, herself, is entirely my own creation.)

Also for those wondering, since I was pretty vague on the past Cuba/Jamaica friendship aspect (my own headcanon says that they bonded together under Spain, a bit of personal preference here I admit!), its a reference to the exclusive export policies of mercantilism that drove these two apart. Its been over 100 years since the British conquest of Jamaica from the Spanish (1655) so its been a while since they have seen each other. This is also why the colonies of opposing powers have little contact with each other in this fic.

*The meeting is fictional and does not represent any significant historic event at the time; It is mostly an attempt by all parties to discuss current events and bicker. They bring the colonies along as a way to demonstrate their power. The meeting takes place on the Spanish side as opposed to the French side because of England's insistence (although he would have preferred to have it on his own nearby colony, Jamaica).

*France and Spain both sided with each other in most recent wars, (Austrian Succession, 7 Years War) including the American Revolutionary war, over which England is still resentful.

*The instrument mentioned here is a quena; an instrument created by the indigenous cultures inhabiting Peru before Spanish colonization. Its somewhat of a heirloom for Peru from his mother/father The Incan Empire; a reminder of his cultural roots. The famous Tupac Amaru II rebellion, composed mostly of Peru's indigenous population had just ended in 1781, so Peru is still bitter. Hence his passive resistance to Spain.

*I apologize if this comes off as a bit stereotypical, but the story is told from Haiti's perspective. She doesn't know the pair that well, so she resorts to the surface level reasons for their friendship. Music is an important part of the culture, and it is quite visible to outsiders, hence the reference to it.

*Martinique and Guadeloupe were actually settled before Haiti, but the latter island overtook them in sugar production. Hence why France wants to get Haiti to mentor them.

*This meeting follows the peace settlement at the end of the 7 Years War, in which France chose to cede Canada to England over his Caribbean possessions, hence why Haiti can't find him to share the pain of France's lectures. The sugar trade was just much more profitable and Canadian fur (their main export) was in decline.

*Haiti's economy was largely based upon sugar plantations run by slave labor. Much like in other areas, slave revolts were a cause for near paranoid fear. This fear then channeled into anger, and resulted in atrocious "living" conditions for these slaves: be warned if you look it up as it is very gruesome. The hate towards France is based on the exclusive mercantilism policies (again!), which meant that almost the entirety of Haiti's sugar production had to go directly to France. (Unless it was sold through the black market to other countries)

*Haiti's slave owning community comprised both whites (a large majority) and blacks (who were not known to treat slaves much better). Reading up on the different factions of the revolution, it becomes a far more complex and interesting affair.

*July 14th, 1789. That is all.

*If anyone knows how to insert the accents, please tell me...Oh and the quote is France and Haiti's motto (as well as other countries), as well as the 3 pillars of the French Revolution. Actually, this motto was not popularized until after the revolution, so there is a bit of an anachronism here.