Quebec worked out routinely, but he rarely had defined muscle to show for it. There were the rare occasions, when he felt that a firm bicep would be the intimidation factor he needed, that he would push himself harder and build it up. As soon as the threat had diminished, though, he'd let it slip away almost as an afterthought.

Ontario used his brother's biceps as a barometer, and had seen them firming, enlarging, within his sleeves. Not in person, he hadn't bothered to go over, but over the news cameras. Quebec had spent a great deal of time preparing himself for a fight that was inevitable in his mind, and he was sure Ontario was going to notice.

All it had really done was make Ontario take special note of how the sleeves lay so loosely now. The muscle had faded away and left him back to his normal lithe frame. Maybe a little too lithe. He probably hadn't had a full meal in a while, as told by how he devoured the food Ontario's made for himself earlier that night. The plate was ravaged in the most inconspicuous way possible.

"Like I said," Ontario began.

Quebec looked up as he chewed, the futile attempt to get enjoyment out of cold fried cheese evident on his face.

"I didn't expect to see you over here. I've been hearing that there's enough going on in your house to keep you too busy to travel."

Ontario made an attempt to at least get his beer, but Quebec took it rather quickly to rid his mouth of the taste. Even as he spoke, he kept the drink safely within his hands in full comprehension of what a prize it was.

"Normally, that would be true," Quebec said, "But I've heard that you've been stealing things from me." He looked over the top rim of the glass. "I want them back. All of them, and we can forget any unpleasantness ever happened."

The incorrect theories that had spent the evening swirling about Ontario's head fell away, and left only the single correct one behind. His mouth pulled, ever so slightly, in the unmistakable seriousness he reserved for business. Quebec suppressed a cough to match it.

"I didn't steal anything," he said. "I just kept my arms open when you decided to be inhospitable." He pushed his hair aside in mock casualness. "Didn't you think there'd be consequences when you imposed restrictions like that? Like giving me financial control, which I just love…"

"I love how you talk about this like you didn't spend your days stalking my border and ushering them into Toronto."

Ontario grinned. "Hospitality."

"Bullshit," Quebec snapped. "You're going to send them back."

"I would if they wanted to go back. They don't," Ontario told him. "Bank of Montreal is planning a name change, they're so pissed at you." He raised an eyebrow at the dismissive scoff. "They're in committee."

Quebec paused as he pushed himself back in his seat, not dissuaded as much as surprised. Ontario knew the difference between the looks, quite well, and wondered what had actually stopped him. Perhaps he hadn't realized how much he'd upset the people he'd needed. Maybe it was the first time he'd realized that things might never go back to the way they had been, or just that he hadn't counted on his brother having a ready counter-argument.

Ontario dismissed that one. Quebec knew how awesome he was.

Quebec pouted over the last few sips. "This isn't what I wanted to happen."

"It's what you did." His fingers clenched a bit. "You create a police state right next door to me, and you think I'm not going to…"

"Our heritage was dying," Quebec snapped. He didn't move from his seat, even though it appeared he desperately wanted to. "It couldn't be allowed to rot away like it never mattered, no matter how much you wish it would."

"I don't…" Ontario swallowed his defense in favor of the same cool look he'd retained all night. "Judging by the exodus, it seems it can."

"That's not why they left." Quebec looked down, his fingertips awkwardly padded on the glass. "There were just… execution-related issues I didn't quite iron out." He petered off, eyes focused on something that had probably not happened for a few days.

"Mhm."

"Shut up," he snapped, instantly back in the room and just as surly as before. "I'm rewriting some things, and if I get them back I can get healthy again and…"

"I'm not sending anything back," Ontario told him. "Even if I wanted to give you back the financial capital, it's out of my hands."

He hadn't seen Quebec abandon his glass and close the distance between them. Maybe he'd blinked and missed it, but he was completely unprepared when lips were forced on his, and a tongue forced its way into his mouth. Quebec tasted much too strongly of the cigarettes he must have been using in replacement of food, and left Ontario more surprised than anything.

"We both know what I want isn't in your hands," he said.

He nipped at the exposed neck, and moved his way down. Ontario's hands were on his ex's shoulders, ready to throw him off and then out of the house. He would snap that this was the wrong route to get something he had no business asking for in the first place, to come back when he was thinking clearly about this

But Quebec's hands had worked their way under his shirt, his fingers circled knowingly sensitive areas in the same gentle manner he'd used when they'd been peaceful. His teeth connected as they had when they'd first united for the good of their countrymen, drunk on optimism for their future.

Also, each other, even if it could never be dragged out in the modern day. Ontario continued to dismiss it to that moment in the armchair, just as he dismissed everything else that came up which made him more uncomfortably confined by the moment.

It was just pointless nostalgia that did this to him, but Quebec would pay for dragging this in. He tried to force his mind back to business, and the desire to keep everyone he'd taken in rather than the lust that had once existed.

By the time Quebec had sunk to his stomach, Ontario was a few hundred years back. They were entwined under the down comforters which kept out the winter. He had made another excuse in order to 'explore' their new territory. He had Quebec panting phrases Ontario had known before but had long since forgotten, until there was a satisfied, whispered, 'je t'aime'.

By the time Quebec had made it to Toronto, there wasn't a single thought of businesses to protect. He'd allowed himself to have his mind clouded, all too easily for his taste. Days, weeks, later, Ontario would kick himself for that.