Note: Sorry for the wait! I keep doing this, haha. But I'm back now. Hope you like the next chapter!
"Hey baby, why don't we talk about our international linkages?"
Canada, halfway through sorting his notes, paused and looked up in confusion. Sitting across the table from him, in a seat supposed to be occupied by Russia, was Denmark with a large grin. There were a bunch of red carnations wrapped in wax paper in front of him.
"Did you...did you just use a political pick up line?" Canada wanted to know, a hesitant smile creeping onto his face. Nodding, Denmark picked up the carnations and offered them to him.
"Here. To apologize for freaking you out."
Flushing, Canada took a moment before reaching forward to accept the gift. "You really didn't have to..."
Denmark just grinned again. "It's no big deal. I'm sorry by the way," he added, quickly, as Canada traced gentle fingers over the petals. "I didn't mean to freak you out...but, what did I do wrong? I really - "
"Denmark." Canada interrupted with a little sigh, brows furrowing. "I don't really want to talk about it. Okay? It's in the past, let's just...let's just move on."
Denmark shrugged, and extended his hand. "All right, then, friends?"
Canada reached out to join their hands, a relieved look flitting across his face. "Definitely." he agreed, as Denmark softly pressed his thumb into the side of Canada's hand. "Friends."
Back - 1920
Canada wasn't about to say that he was "shirking his duties", which was what England would have called it if he knew that the reason Canada had crossed the ocean just to deliver papers was that he wanted to explore Europe for a little bit. Sure, the Great War had expanded his traveling experience but not at all in the way any sane person would want. After being privy to destruction and death, all Canada wanted to do was see what the great continent had to offer without dodging shrapnel in a trench. As soon as the papers were sorted in London, Canada crossed the Channel onto the mainland and started off. The first few stops were no brainers - to The City of Light, of course, where France welcomed him with open arms (a little too open; Canada laughed and gently declined the other nation's offer to bunk in the same bed). He stopped by Brussels and Amsterdam, greeting Belgium and the Netherlands enthusiastically - the siblings, though sometimes tense following the Great War, were unarguably two of the best countries to entertain someone, and their enthusiastic offers of an extended stay were almost enough to tempt him.
As he moved further central, Canada hesitated - Soviet territory was still a sticky situation, and the recent scuffle against the Soviets by the Poles and the Ukrainian Republic had Canada wary of intruding. Instead he headed north - it wasn't often that he visited the Nordics, and after a short stop in Germany he crossed the border to Denmark.
With the recent acquisition of northern Schleswig, Canada was expecting Denmark to be in a good mood - but he wasn't expecting Denmark to welcome him with such open arms.
"Hell yeah, welcome to Europe!" Denmark crowed, pulling him into his house in Copenhagen. "We haven't seen you around here a lot...you need to fix that!"
"Well, it's hard to get some time to travel all this way..." Canada mumbled as he was dragged into the sitting room, where Denmark offered him a chair to sit down in before sitting in the one opposite. There was a brief, awkward silence, and Canada cleared his throat. Sure, he knew Denmark but they never talked, and he wasn't sure if they had anything in common.
"H-how is your royal family?" he finally asked, trying to look every which way but at the nation in front of him.
Denmark nodded, looking a little disappointed at the conversation choice. "Good. How are things on your side of the ocean? Managing okay after your first?"
Canada frowned. "My first...?"
"You know," Denmark motioned with his hands. "You never forget your first. And what a way to start out, eh?"
"Oh!" Canada thought, briefly, of all his young, dead, sons. "Yes. What a way."
Denmark gave him a sympathetic look. "You get used to it, if that helps." he offered.
"I'm not sure that really helps," Canada said, forcing a smile. "Thank you though."
Denmark coughed a little, before excusing himself in order to get Canada something to drink. Left alone in the sitting room Canada covered his face with his hands.
"Stupid!" he muttered. "How embarrassing!" He wouldn't be surprised if Denmark was regretting ever letting Canada into his house.
"Stupid." Denmark was saying to himself as he fumbled around in the liquor cabinet. "Probably thinks you're making fun of him."
Denmark came back, with a forced smile and a glass of alcohol, which he handed to the younger country.
"So!" he said, jovially. "How's your brother doing?"
"Oh. Fine." Canada hesitated. "How are Iceland? Norway?"
Denmark suppressed a grimace. "You know...being themselves."
Canada had to laugh at this - Denmark, a little startled, regained his composure and flashed him a brilliant smile.
"Want to start on dinner?"
In the kitchen, Canada leaned awkwardly against the counter, content on watching Denmark pull out a big skillet.
"What are you making?" Canada asked quietly.
"Æbleflæsk!" Denmark announced. "It's traditional, so you can't say you don't want to eat it!"
Canada laughed, hopping up on the counter. "Why wouldn't I want to eat it?" he wanted to know, repeating the word in his mouth, rolling it over and over on his tongue. "Æbleflæsk. Æbleflæsk."
Denmark tried not to wince at his pronunciation, out of politeness.
Canada watched Denmark as he banged around in the kitchen. The older nation's cooking style suited him - loud, enthusiastic, joyful. Denmark grinned while he peeled apples, whistled as he trimmed pork, knocked his elbow against the silverware drawer and sang out a cheerful curse.
Canada had never seen anything so beautiful. Flushing, he was content to watch the Dane's back, long, muscled legs constantly moving and fidgeting, arms swinging carelessly, with no regard for closed spaces or delicate dishes.
Denmark, with a look over his shoulder, caught Canada staring, and the grin that followed brought blood rushing to the younger nation's face.
"Do I have something on my shirt?" Denmark teased. Canada stared very hard at the cutlery drawer.
"N-no, never mind." he mumbled.
As Denmark turned back to his cooking, he racked his brain for a way to bring the young nation out of his shell. His curiosity had been piqued, but he could sense hesitation, trepidation. The way the blond kept his knees pressed together, whole body tense, face hopeful but closed off, made Denmark anxious to see another side. So, he turned to what he always relied on to loosen people up.
Descending the stairs to the cellar, Denmark brought up two bottles of dark beer and handed one off to Canada.
"Here."
"Oh!" Canada eyed it dubiously, and accepted the bottle opener that followed. "Thanks..."
Silence ensued, as Canada politely sipped on his drink.
"Okay, I'm almost done!" Denmark turned to him, taking a large swig from his bottle. "Hurry up and drink, kid, that beer isn't going to get up and fly away on its own!" As Canada hastened to comply, Denmark added, "And set the table wouldja? I need to get this dish together."
Choking the beer down, Canada scrambled to his feet. Denmark, with a kindly hand on his shoulder, directed him to the cutlery drawer. This gave the older nation an opportunity to examine Canada as he went trotting across the kitchen floor, a mass of nerves and excitement. His hands, however, stayed calm, and still, and Denmark paused to take in the way Canada handled the silverware, placing each with European precision. Made sense, Denmark thought as Canada skirted the table, fixing the place mats, if you consider who he was raised by.
Æbleflæsk, Canada found out when Denmark set it down on the table, was a combination of bacon, apple, onions, and sugar. Denmark served it with a dark, rectangular loaf of bread, which he sliced for Canada.
Canada found himself pushing the combination onto his piece of bread with a fork, brazenly using his fingers (a no no, normally!) to catch stray pieces that fell, taking large mouthfuls to avoid the mess that followed. Denmark tore bits of bread to fork-sized pieces and tempered sourdough with sweet-salty.
Chewing thoughtfully, Canada propped his chin up in his hand and watched Denmark for a minute.
"Mr. Denmark - " he began, but Denmark waved at him.
"Hey, hey, none of that - it's Mikkel, got it?"
"M-Mikkel." Canada corrected himself. "Did - do you remember much about when you were young?"
Denmark raised his eyebrows. "You sayin' I'm old?" he said jokingly, and watched Canada's expression turn to one of panic.
"N-n-not at all - !"
"Calm down, I'm teasing." Denmark mirrored Canada's chin-in-hand routine, balancing the tines of his fork on the edge of his plate.
Cute, he couldn't help thinking as Canada straightened out his napkin in embarrassment. His expression turned serious, and he hummed in thought.
"To be honest, it was a long time ago," he admitted. "It's not as if I can pick out details. Why?"
Canada shrugged, bashfully. "It's just...the last few decades have been - they've been a lot to handle." He paused, looked down at his lap, picked at the last of his meal. His beer bottle sat on the table, warm and almost flat. "I've wanted to be independent for a while, and now I have it and I should be happy, and I am, I'm not saying I'm not...but now there are so many dead boys and - and - " Canada turned beautiful, wide violet eyes on him. "How do you deal with it?"
Denmark considered the question, took a piece of apple between his teeth. "I wish I had something for you, kid." he spoke. "When I grew up, and when you grew up, we're talking about different worlds, here. My people flourished in a time that shaped who I was, and not always in a good way. You younger countries - you, your brother, even Germany - you have to deal with things I didn't have to deal with...and you miss out on the things I did. So I figure, I can't give you a blueprint, here. I can tell you some bullshit - be strong, don't pick fights you can't back up, if allies have fucked you over in the past don't try to make them your allies again - but you don't really want to hear that, do you?"
After a second of silence, Canada shook his head, reached up to tuck a wayward curl behind his ear.
"Yeah, I thought so. Listen, the ugly truth? You learn through experience. So you're going to make mistakes, and you're gonna lose lives. That's just the way it goes. And I hope you weren't thinking you'd get an easy ride 'cause you're young."
"Of course not!" Canada shouted, face red. "I wouldn't! It's just...I'm scared I'll mess up. I'm scared England will think I can't handle this. And I don't want that."
Denmark shifted, a little uncomfortably, eyeing the half-full bottle of beer like it could give him a clue to why this young nation was suddenly spilling everything to him. "Maybe you should talk to someone your own age?" he suggested, adding, "You talk to your brother about this?"
Canada shook his head, reaching out to trail his fingers along the neck of his beer bottle. "I don't feel like I can. He has his own stuff, you know? And I know he thinks I'm his boring brother up north who couldn't possibly have any troubles..."
"Your brother's the closest friend you've got." Denmark said, almost scoldingly. "Trust me, kid. It's a blessing for a nation to trust his neighbour the way you two do. Don't ever forget that."
Canada nodded. "I understand." he agreed, offering a shaky smile. "Thank you. I needed that."
Denmark smiled back. "No problem, kid. Now, drink up, what did I tell you?"
"Sorry!"
Denmark didn't consider himself creepy. Really. Norway could say what he liked, but Denmark was perfectly aware of boundaries, even if he considered them...flexible. With the right people, of course!
He had really only come into the guest room because he thought the window was leaking - although Denmark could forget how old he was, he couldn't forget how old his house was, and the guest room window had been giving him trouble for weeks. He had opened the door softly, padded across the length of the room and pushed aside the curtains to lay his palm on the sill. Satisfied with the feel of dry wood under his hand, Denmark turned and found himself leaning against the window, watching the shifting figure sleeping in the bed.
Canada sighed, curling a loose fist under his pillow, corners of his lips twitching before slackening once more. Denmark was lost for words, and if Canada had woken up he doubted he could've even made a good excuse about why he was there.
And maybe Denmark, looking at this pale, northern boy, felt a little bit of nostalgia, of longing...but this was a different time, a different place than Norway's snowy Vinland, and Denmark crossed back to the door, shutting it softly behind him.
Canada opened his eyes, pressing his cheek against the coolness of his pillow, and exhaled.
A week later, Canada found himself standing awkwardly on Denmark's front step, suitcase in hand.
"Well, thank you so much again." Canada said, offering a smile. "I had a lot of fun."
"Yeah. Me too." Denmark scratched his ear. "You were a good guest, kid. I liked showing you around."
Canada's smile widened, and without warning he placed his suitcase down and clasped Denmark's hand, warmly.
"Thank you for all your help." he said, sincerely. "I really appreciated it, and I'm sorry if I was out of line, or..."
Denmark squeezed his fingers around the slender, cold palm in his, felt his pulse beat faster.
"You weren't, at all." he said without thinking. "You were perfect."
The colour of Canada's face made Denmark laugh, and he didn't take the statement back.
Present...Copenhagen
When Canada walked into the empty conference room, having doubled back to search for a forgotten portfolio he found Denmark, back to the door, sitting on the table practicing his speech for the next day. The window was shining sunset light through the spikes of his hair and Canada paused, breathless. Suddenly he felt young again, standing in the doorway of Denmark's clustered kitchen, being told to "stop hovering and siddown, that's what those chairs are there for!"; playing cards with biscuits as stakes; Denmark messing around with the two terriers who lived next door; spoiling the little girl that owned them with sweets and licorice from a bowl that always sat on his kitchen table...
Denmark was mumbling something under his breath, waving a hand around in the air - initially Canada thought he was rehearsing his presentation, when he caught what was actually being said.
"So I thought that, you know, we could get a coffee after the conference...no, fuck, he'll just say no...so I think we should talk about the presentation after, I have a couple of...shit."
Canada cleared his throat, averting his eyes as Denmark whirled around, eyes a little panicked.
"Hey!" Denmark said, a little too loudly, snatching up some papers and shuffling them mindlessly. "I was just...going over some stuff. You headed to dinner?"
"Yeah." Canada smiled at him. "Just came back for my papers. Seen them?"
Turned out Denmark was sitting on them. After apologizing and handing them over, Denmark gave him a hesitant smile.
"So...I'll see you later?"
Canada nudged him gently with his elbow. "I'll walk with you to dinner, if you're going."
"Oh, right! Yeah, totally. Let's go!" As if on cue, the taller nation's stomach growled and he bounded to the door. "I hope they're serving fish!"
Laughing, Canada quickened his pace to catch up with his counterpart. "You always hope they're serving fish."
"Do not!"
"You Scandinavians and your fish..."
"We are sea-faring people, okay - !"
Note: Sorry for the wait D: Also, the "meaning" of red carnations is "my heart aches for you" or "admiration".