AN: Psst!

Guess what?

I'm not dead!

So I bet you're wondering (or demanding with pitchforks and torches) where I've been and why this fic hasn't been updated in...a year and a half... -_- Long story short, I got distracted when I didn't have writer's block, and then I got writer's block when I wasn't distracted, plus I moved recently, so that took even more time to get used to. If it helps at all (although it probably doesn't), this chapter is longer than the others! That's something, right?

I actually divided this chappie in half and made this one sort of a stepping-stone to build up to some...really crazy things that are still to come. You might get a hint about what it'll be if you read close enough...but that's all I'm going to say for now!

Thanks to my buddy Pink-Kitty-Kela for giving me some excellent tips on how to improve this chapter. She wanted me to tell all of you to be angry with her for also taking a while with the edits, but please don't. She really makes this story a lot better to read.

Lastly, as always, I do not own Hetalia, and this fanfiction is made purely for the sake of fun, practise, and entertainment! I also don't own ctcsherry's provinces. Oh well~


With the flick of Ukraine's finger against the metal lever on her fishing pole, the tiny lure fell with a ker-plunk! into the icy water. She idly watched for a moment as the jig descended, growing increasingly blurry and dark until it was indistinguishable from the freezing water around it.

"Now, you're just going to let it go all the way to the bottom. Try moving your rod up and down a bit," Canada suggested beside her as he pulled open the complementary fold-out chair. Ukraine jerked her wrist a few times and watched as the line whizzed out of the spinner, settling briefly on top of the surface before being dragged down. After a few more jerks, Ukraine felt the rod become slightly, yet noticeably lighter as the twine limply collected on the surface.

"I don't think it's going down anymore," she said, furrowing her eyebrows.

Canada pulled his seat closer to his companion's and peered down through the hole in the ice with her. "Yup, that'll do it. Reel it in just a couple of times, now." Ukraine did just that, listening to each tiny click of the spinner as she brought her line in. The extra weight reapplied itself to the pole as the lure lifted off the bottom of the lake below. Two more revolutions up, and Ukraine brought her hand away from the spinner and back to the padded handle. "Now what do I do?"

"Now, we wait," Canada replied as he leaned back in his chair.

The awkward silence that permeated the earlier drive took its chance to manifest itself again, and it returned in full force. Ukraine lowered her head and scowled, making sure to hide her frown behind her ashen hair. What is this? she asked herself. Canada and I always found something to talk about before. We practically couldn't stop. The fact that today is Valentine's Day shouldn't make this much of a difference!

But it did, she knew. The date and location she found herself in forced her to reevaluate their relationship. From the very day they met, when his vast lands were next to uninhabited and her people were famished and discontent, they forged an unlikely alliance. He gladly took in her citizens when they had nowhere else to go, promising to take care of them, and in return she taught him her culture and showed him how to work his prairies the way that she worked her own steppes.

Then the wars came, and her country fell to invasions, famines, and ultimately to her own brother's rising power. But she would never forget the one morning only a few weeks after she reluctantly moved into Russia's house when she received a small white envelope in the mail, nor the gentle questions Canada had asked in their first letter on "How was the move?" and "Have you made any new friends?" and "Do you think Russia might let you come with me for some coffee after the next meeting?" She locked herself in her room for half of the morning and wept tears of joy as she wrote her reply, then later snuck it out with Russia's mail abroad. As insignificant as she was—as weak, as subservient, as over-emotional, as needy—there was still one person who genuinely cared for her.

But did that translate to romantic terms? Canada and Ukraine, in love. She found the notion rather strange, yes, but not offensive. Canada would be an excellent lover: gentle, funny, patient, and certainly easy on the eyes… And I've got breasts, the cynical voice in her mind scathed and the crease in her forehead deepened. Someone like him should be with someone so much better than me.

With a heavy sigh, Ukraine pushed all of these thoughts to the farthest corners of her consciousness. Now was not the time to dwell on them, she resolved.


On the other side of the lake, two young children were in the midst of the same ritual that Canada and Ukraine had accomplished. They settled in a spot distant from all the other competitors, far enough out of earshot so that they would not draw attention to themselves. After combining their small strengths to break through the thick ice, Newfoundland released his hook and line into the water with an expertise that looked far beyond his infantile appearance. "This is just like normal jigging, isn't it?" he asked the younger territory.

Nunavut nodded affirmatively. "Why are you using the little hook, though?"

"It's part of my strategy," the boy answered. "We're allowed to catch three fish, right?"

"Yeah, and only three," the Inuit said, tilting her head.

"Well, I'm gonna try to get a bait fish." Newfoundland wiggled the rod, sending miniscule ripples across the surface. "We'll get the people in charge to record that one right away, and as soon as they do, I'm going to put that fish on my hook and use it to catch and even bigger fish. Then, after we show the judges that one, we're going to put the bigger fish on the hook and use it to catch the biggest fish all day."

"You really think that will work, Newfoundle?"

At that very moment, the tip of the long rod jiggled without the small province's slight hand motions. Two sets of eyes locked onto the end of the pole, which jiggled about for a few moments—up, down, left, right—before tugging noticeably harder and thrashing around all the way down the line in the frigid lake below.

Newfoundland smiled mysteriously. "Trust me, I'm a professional."


"I'm just trying to understand what is so 'romantic' about fishing. That's all."

"And I'm trying to explain that it has all of the elements of a great first date. A long time to talk and get to know each other better, in between moments of excitement to raise the heartbeat and encourage amorous emotions, and enough food so that the parties involved feel physically content. Plus, when they win, the prize will become a symbol of accomplishment that they achieved together, and whenever my mom looks at it—which will be often—she'll be reminded of Dad."

Manitoba scowled at the explanation. "That doesn't make any sense! You can't just predict that these things will happen."

"Actually, I can," Saskatchewan contradicted. "You become able to intuit these things after studying them for a few decades."

"You've been planning this for decades?" Alberta interrupted with a typical obnoxious laugh. "See, Ilan, he needs you! Why don't we all head back to town, get a few drinks, and let cupid work his magic on you guys?"

The two brothers turned bright red, then paled with disgust. "E—eh?" "Wha—"

"And it's a heave-ho, high-ho, coming down the plains, stealing wheat and barley and all the other gr..."

"Kate. Thank you," Saskatchewan breathed and whipped his phone open. "What's going on?"

"Anne and her family are all splitting up," Yukon answered on the other end. "Nova Scotia and New Brunswick went into the forest, Newfoundland and Nunavut entered the competition, and PEI's just sort of gone off on her own somewhere. I lost sight of her in the crowd."

The Prairie Province bit back a curse. "You think you could follow Joel and Marie? Make sure that whatever they try to do doesn't work?"

"Sure thing. Yukon out." The line went dead.

Saskatchewan pocketed his cell and looked to his brothers. "Newfoundland and Nunavut entered the contest," he put it simply.

"Say no more, we're on it," Alberta declared with a nod and pulled on Manitoba's jacket, causing the brunet to roll his eyes in exasperation but follow after the cowboy that was his younger brother, trudging down the snowy hill and onto the frozen lake. Saskatchewan pulled the hood of his coat as far over his head as he could, nuzzled his chin into his collar, and slipped into a passing group of fishers unnoticed.


Ukraine was jolted out of her ponderings by an unusual wiggle in her rod, one not spurred by her own doing. "Canada, I felt something," she said with a hint of excitement and nervousness as she pulled her body out of its slump in her chair.

"You did?" Her friend's gaze dropped into the icy hole, where Ukraine's line was still jiggling, being toyed with deep underwater. "Very easy, now. Slight movements are the key; don't do anything until you know you have it hooked." Biting her lip, the Slavic Nation barely moved her wrists as she carefully followed Canada's instruction, pressing her elbows into her sides to ward off her anxious shakes. The tense seconds clicked slowly by as two sets locked on to the line, refusing to stray until the twine pulled down a little, and then pulled down a lot.

"That's it!" Ukraine's eyes lit up with a mix of excitement and nervousness, her hands stark white under her gloves as she gripped the rod as hard as her knuckles would allow.

Canada was on the edge of his seat, his eyes pinned inseparably to the violently thrashing line. "Go, go!"

The sounds of the wire being retracted back around the spinner filled the air. Ukraine would lift the rod up high above the surface of the water for a few seconds, then reel in the twine she revealed to the frigid air. Before long, a dark colouration made a presence deep underwater, moving to and fro with each jerk on the fishing rod, and coming closer and closer to the surface. As it neared the surface, the colour grew ichthyne details: a head, a tail, scales, and fins.

Canada knelt by the edge of the ice, removed his gloves, and rolled up his sleeves. He waited...waited...and then shot his arm into the water and pulled out the most impressive freshwater fish Ukraine had seen in a very long time. The pike flapped helplessly in the air, its gills wide open in a hopeless effort to breathe, and Canada quickly turned around and set it on the ice. He rummaged through the toolbox they were provided with at the registration table and removed a pocket knife, flicking it open and pressing it against the fish's head, just behind its eye.

Then, for just a moment, he turned apologetically to Ukraine. "You might want to cover your eyes."

She did, and a heartbeat later she heard a sickening crunch, like the sounds of a tomato squishing flat and thin wooden twigs snapping at the same time, and then silence. She waited a moment more before hesitatingly dropping her hands to see Canada standing over her catch, cleaning the knife off with a tissue. The fish now lay motionless on the ice, a dark hole now present where the knife once was and the colour crimson spreading on the snow and ice underneath.

"It's easier this way on everybody," Canada explained, his tone of voice now much calmer. "Otherwise it could take half an hour for it to...you know."

Ukraine sighed, and then nodded. "Yes, I know. I cull animals on my farm. It's better to do it quick."

"Oh that's right, so you must have done this, too," Canada said as he waved down a representative from the judges' booth to measure and record their catch, who took the fish back with her with a congratulatory smile. Canada settled back down into his fold-out chair and watched as Ukraine set the lure and drop it back into the water. "Farm life..."

Ukraine blinked. "Yes?"

Realizing he was caught daydreaming, Canada shook his head. "I was just thinking...what is it like? Living on a farm, that is."

A happy smile peaked onto Ukraine's face. "It's quite nice, actually," she said, thinking back to her lands. "It takes a lot of work, and I don't get very much money, but…I find it calming." She paused, remembering. "It's hard, to be a Nation. There are so many people who want you do be someone you aren't, and they tell you who you can and cannot associate with. So even though it might be impractical, when I could be close to the capital and not have to commute for very long when my bosses call for me, I think that…keeping my farm is my constant. My way of dealing with everything, and meanwhile I know I can provide something for my people. In that sense, it keeps me sane." A silence hung in the air.

"Some part of me always wished that I could live like that," Canada mused as he toyed with his folded hands, wringing them absently. "Have somewhere that's carefree and just mine, where I can get away from Alfred, and my boss, and my thirteen provinces and territories who always seem to be fighting about something," a chuckle, and then a sigh. "But I think that there's a bigger part of me that just loves to be around people, be friends with people, help people—" he bit his tongue. He was coming dangerously close to a very distinct line in his relationship with the Slavic woman. A line that said woman cautiously breached.

"Back then," Ukraine started to ask, but then she chewed on her lip, unsure about how to phrase her thoughts, "you weren't even entirely independent from Mister England. And you could have gotten in a lot of trouble if Ivan found out that you and me… I mean, why would you do that? You had every reason to leave me, like all the others." She was still, and her eyes softened. "You should have left me."

"That's the funny thing," Canada chuckled, though the seriousness layered below made the laugh sound out of place, "Maybe it's just Alfred being overly influential with his culture as usual, but I can't help but think that I should have done more. I mean, you were starving and getting oppressed and a real hero should have come barging in to take you away from that. Or at least spoken out loud against what Ivan and the other members of the Union were doing to you, and maybe push demands for your freedom. But all I ever really did was…" his voice lowered, humbled in his perceived uselessness, "write you those letters."

The sounds of the frozen lake did little to punctuate the terse stillness that fell over the Nations. The measly weight of the note in Ukraine's pocket felt like it had increased tenfold with the words from Canada's mouth. It took a long minute, but when she found her voice again, "Matvey," she said, for the first time that day calling the other by his human name, "if you had not written those letters, I do not know how I would have made it through."

It took a long time for the implications of this heavy confession to make sense in Canada's mind, and when they did he could not react, anyway. His lips parted, his eyes widened, his voice cracked when he tried to speak, but what could he say to that, anyway? But the reassuring look on Ukraine's face told him that no reaction was an alright reaction. It was better to simply leave the subject alone, if even just for now, was what he read from her silence, and from the slow glimmer in her turquoise irises.

She's so beautiful, his thoughts whispered, echoing deep in the far corners his mind. And strong, and caring, and she has this amazing smile… Canada all but melted at that, and he wished so hard that he could see that very smile right now. He did not even realize that he was leaning closer to her, and she was leaning right back. No one else does this to me. No one but her…

"Oi, did'ja hear?"

A deep, unfamiliar voice boomed right behind Canada's back, causing him to sit up, rigid in his seat. He whipped his head around, only to see the back of a man, supposedly talking to someone else. He shifted back and faced forward, trying to block out the offending voice as best he could, but it was just simply too loud and too deep to fully ignore.

"There were these kids that found some poor guy's Skidoo in the woods back there, pristine condition with gas in the engine and everything. Beautiful machine, all red and white the way it is. It's a shame, really…"

Canada's ears pricked to that. He leapt to his feet and spun to look at the man. "Wait, excuse me, sir. About that snowmobile, what were those kids going to do with it?"

The man still didn't turn around, but he nodded to show that he acknowledged the question. "Uh, I think that they were going to go joyriding, if no one came to get it, that is. Hope they're okay… one of 'em looked a little tipsy."

The two Nations' jaws dropped open to the reply and a sinking feeling of dread ebbed its way into Canada's heart. He turned around to face Ukraine, a small facial tick affecting his eye. "I have to leave."

Ukraine nodded. "Of course, do you want me to come?"

"No, I'll take care of this," Canada said, checking to make sure that he still had his keys in his pocket. "You can manage fishing alone?"

"I—I think so."

"Okay, I'll be as fast as I can," he reassured her and turned to race back in the direction where he left his vehicle, muttering Quebecois curses under his breath the whole way there.

Neither of them could figure out why they felt strangely disappointed by this turn of events.


After a sip of hot chocolate and a small plate of potatoes and fried fish, a particular red-headed girl wove her way around a few dozen holes in the ice and the small assemblies of people around each one. Her peridot eyes searched the lake for her target, noting the surprisingly crowded winter scene. Saskatchewanians of all ages had turned out to compete, from children as young as Nunavut appeared to be to old men who walked with wooden canes. This was indeed a special event, she reasoned, if the rural towns close to the Narrow Hills were willing to pitch in so much: barbeque grills for turning the fish into lunch, booths run by local tackle shops displaying their prized lures and guaranteeing trophy catches with just a single cash purchase, even a giant inflatable castle for the children to bounce around in on the shore. On the surface, it really did appear to be a legitimate fishing derby.

However, Prince Edward Island's entire perception changed as she saw a man and what seemed to be his teenage daughter work together to haul a beautiful speckled pike out of the ice, much to the applause of a group of friends gathered behind them. The two smiled brightly, proudly, but threw each other a knowing glance before the daughter walked off with the fish to the judge's table, chatting with her friends on the way.

From the corner of her eye, Prince Edward Island watched as the man withdrew a small orange bottle out of his coat pocket. Even from her distance, she could clearly see the red-hot chilli pepper printed on the label under the bolded words "Inferno Sauce." He opened the flip-lid up with a snap and drizzled a few drops of the red liquid over his hook. Satisfied, he flicked the lid closed once again, pocketed the bottle, and re-set his line into the lake. The Island Province might not have had the angling experience that Newfoundland or even Nova Scotia possessed, but some part of her recognized that despite (or rather, because of) his successful catch just moments ago, that man just sabotaged all of his chances of a second fish, and thus his shot at winning was forfeit.

"That scumbag," she hissed at the emerging mental image of a certain prairie boy as she forced her legs to keep walking away tossing dirty glances at the shams of fishermen all around her until her gaze landed on just the right place. The sounds of two voices seemed to rise above all of the others around her as she started to make her way to the source.

"You can manage fishing alone?" Prince Edward Island could recognize that voice anywhere.

She then caught sight other person, the woman, who nodded hesitatingly. "I—I think so."

The redheaded girl roughly shoved a small boy out of her way in time to hear the first voice say, "Okay, I'll be as fast as I can," and disappear away from the fishing area. For a split second, Prince Edward Island was tempted to follow the fair-haired young man off of the lake, whisk him back east and feed him his favourite pancake recipe with a side of hash browns made from her world-famous red potatoes until all thoughts of the girl from back East vanished from his mind.

But no, she decided as her sights set on Ukraine. She would stop this problem at the root.

Ukraine sunk back into her seat, a small frown on her face. She gave the line a few quick jigs, watching with feigned interest as the ripples expanded on the water's surface. She waited with half-lidded eyes and a slow sinking feeling in her heart when the sounds of boots crunching brought her out of her trance. "Well, it seemed your man abandoned you, eh?" a high, trilling voice said from behind the Slavic woman. Its owner sat down on the vacant chair across the length of the hole, crossing her legs and putting her hands in her lap like the sweet little girl she appeared to be.

"U-um, I'm sorry, does Matvey know you?" Ukraine asked, pursing her lips.

Does he ever, Prince Edward Island hissed in her thoughts, which she masked through her sweet smile and her carefully chosen words. "No, I'm just a typical local. Call me An—nabelle. Annabelle Monty," she lied through her teeth. Just in case Canada ever spoke of his provinces to the other, she figured it was better to use a fake name.

"I s-see. It's nice to meet you, Annabelle." The Slavic woman nodded courteously, but she squirmed around in her seat. Something about the girl across the ice—maybe it was her piercing sea-green eyes, maybe it was her tense posture, or maybe it was just the bite in her tone of voice—seemed just on the edge of malevolent.

Prince Edward Island grinned wide. "The pleasure is all mine. And you are…?"

"M-me? Um…" Ukraine rubbed her arm softly, no longer able to meet the other girl's gaze.

"Well, no matter," Prince Edward Island waved the issue off. "What's in a name, anyway?"

Ukraine sighed in relief; the situation felt uncomfortable enough without giving away her rarely-used human name away, especially to the strange but very forward girl. "So, are you here to fish? Ukraine asked, looking back up again. "Where is the rest of your team?"

"They're off somewhere else, doing pretty well from what I hear. I'm not much of an angler, personally," Prince Edward Island replied, swinging her legs a bit in her chair. "I am much more interested in where your teammate ran off to. He looked like he could not leave you fast enough."

Ukraine might have been much, much taller than the redhead, but the island province's word choice made her feel very small. "O-oh, well you see, w-we remembered that we left his snowmobile in the woods, a-and he had to go find a safer place to put it."

The corners of the younger girl's lips twitched. "I'm not so sure, it sounds rather sketchy to me."

"What do you mean?" Ukraine turned her head a degree. "I don't see h—"

"—Come now, you seem like a smart young lady, a good head on your shoulders." Prince Edward Island could not believe what she was saying, speaking well of Ukraine and unkindly of Canada. It's for the best, she convinced herself. Anything to get Matty away from this woman.

Ukraine flinched at the sudden interruption. "A-are you suggesting that Matvey is hiding something from me?"

With a little toss of her braided hair, Prince Edward Island narrowed her eyes. "Men do tend to go to strange lengths to keep secrets from their women…"

The Slavic woman flushed in embarrassment. "OH! Oh, no no no, you don't understand!" she protested. She chuckled out loud as the horrible tenseness clenching in her stomach was released, and realization washed over her. "Is that what you were concerned about? I'm sorry, but you're wrong; he and I are just friends. Nothing more."

"Don't bother trying to make excuses with me," Prince Edward Island hissed. "I saw the way you were looking at him. You're attracted to him, aren't you?"

A deep rosehip-rouge colour instantly spread over Ukraine's cheeks. Her breathing stopped short at the sudden allegation, and all of a sudden she felt—for lack of a better word—vulnerable. All words of protest died right there in her throat.

(And as much as Saskatchewan would have normally rejoiced at that, he deemed that here and now it was simply the wrong time and the wrong place.)

"I'm just saying, it is always better to ere on the side of caution when dealing with the greater sex. It's good advice."

As the redheaded girl continued, Ukraine had all but tuned out, choosing to psudo-listen to the loudmouthed redhead's exact words, but still her message was still coming in loud and clear. It couldn't be true, could it? Never mind whatever Canada felt for her, she didn't care for him more than a friend. Or did she? She scowled at the feeling of how silly she was for not knowing her own emotions to answer such a simple question. Her fingers tightened and then loosened again on the handle of her fishing rod as she passively watched the line bob up, and down, and up, and down, and down, and down, and—

"O—oh! I've got one! I've got one!" Ukraine gasped, rising to her feet as she began to whirl the line in, her eyes locked on the break in the ice. Within seconds, she spotted a patch of darkness under the water, which grew bigger and more detailed with each passing moment before a respectably-sized pike broke through the surface, shaking its tail to and fro in a useless attempt to escape again. "Look at this! It's so big!"

Prince Edward Island pressed her lips into a thin line. "What great timing the fish had. How convenient for you."

Ukraine's smile rivaled the Cheshire Cat's own while she grabbed at the line. "It is, isn't it? One of the judges is just making his rounds right now," she noted, glancing at the elderly man testing the weight of a trout a few metres away.

Prince Edward Island wrinkled her nose. "Indeed…" she mused, slowly getting to her feet and slinking away from the distracted Ukrainian, her mind ever wrapped around the notion that this entire encounter was simply too fishy to be true.

Little did she know about the lanky Saskatchewanian in heat-retaining scuba gear below the ice, wrapping up a large net as he made his way toward the shore, where he could easily climb out of the break he made in the ice.

And little did said Saskatchewanian know of what lurked even further down in the darkest depths of the lake.


"Excuse me, lady," a chocolate-haired toddler piped up below the judges' table.

A middle-aged woman leaned over to see the girl's face, but her eyebrows shot up instead when she was met with the sight of a muskie the length of her arm, and more than twice the width around. It was so fresh from the water that it was still laboriously trying to breathe. "Oh my—Paul! Paul, look at this one!"

It only took a few moments more for the entire populace around the adjudication table to erupt in cries of amazement for the tiny tot and her impressive catch. They quickly took the fish from her arms and weighed it on their scale, then returned it so that a few amazed fishers could take a picture of the smallest competitor with one of the largest fish caught so far. In fact, it was second only to an earlier catch made by the adorable young woman with an unusually large bosom and her masculine friend, the pair that her mysterious neighbour claimed must win at all costs…

As the excitement began to die down, the first judge looked back down on the tot, who was basking in all of the sudden attention. "Do you want us to cook that fish for you, little girl? We'll fry it up, nice and tasty."

The girl smiled but shook her head. "No thank you," she replied as she trotted off in the direction that she came from, the enormous fish dragging limp on the ice below.

The woman suppressed a chuckle at the sight and settled back into her seat. As she did, however, a concerning thought passed her mind. "Paul," she asked the elderly man beside her, who turned and gave her his full attention at the hint of concern laced in her voice, "none of us get paid unless that other couple wins. But another catch like that one for that little girl and her friend, and we might not have any choice. Do you think that they know?"

The other judge toyed with the ball-point pen in his hand. "I'm not too worried about it, Marge. They're just two little kids that got very lucky. And their first fish was a tiny thing; this was probably just a coincidence, and I doubt they'll cause any harm."

Meanwhile, back at her fishing hole, Nunavut passed the prized catch back to the unlikely fishing expert. "Are you sure that you want to put him back on your line?" Nunavut asked, bewildered at the concept. "He seems like the kind of fish that eats and doesn't get eaten."

Newfoundland shook his head, a gleam of determination in his eyes. "I've felt something the moment I walked on this ice," he muttered, taking the pair of pliers out of the complimentary tool kit and using them to re-attach the hook deep inside the aquatic animal's mouth. "There's something big down there. Something so huge that you can't catch it by any normal means."

Nunavut watched with confusion and downtrodden worry as Newfoundland grabbed the fish by its gills and slipped it back into the lake, before settling back into his fold-out chair. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I," Newfoundland sighed as he got a feel of the way that the line pulled so he would know if any additional or unusual tension was added onto it. "But there are lots of things that I don't understand, even things about fish. Can you make the hole a little bigger, please?"

Nunavut pursed her lips in concern but grabbed an ice-pick all the same. "Things like what?"

"Things like, why there are fossils of fish found every day in the middle of continents, or how do cold-blooded animals like fish still feed in winter when they should be asleep, or what about the legend of the Ogopogo?"

Nunavut cocked her head, halting the pick in mid-swing. "The what?"

"The Ogopogo. It's a story that BC tells sometimes, like Scotland and his Loch Ness monster. Hold on, I wonder if I can get to the internet from here." Newfoundland shuffled around in his coat pocket and retrieved his cell, entered his password on the miniature keyboard, and began tapping buttons to test his internet connection.

The smaller girl, now curious, left her ice pick and stood beside her friend, peering down with interest on the device. "That's a really fancy phone, Newfoundle."

"Thanks," he said, as he connected to the web. "I've been saving for it for a while now. It helps a little now that now I'm a 'Have' province."

"I guess I've at least got to hand you that much, Newf, you sure are one less sorry mouth that I have to feed. A few years ago, I never would have thought I'd see the day."

The two young children stiffened and looked over their shoulders, eyes wide in shock. "A—Alberta? Manitoba?" Nunavut piped up, a hint of fear in her voice.

"Heh, bet'cha didn't count on us dropping in," Alberta scoffed, a wide grin splayed across his face. "So, what's up?"

Newfoundland gulped. "N—nothing too interesting." His insistence was futile.

"Uh huh," Manitoba said, joining in. "Why aren't you pulling that up?"

The tots looked at the line going into the water, bent over with the weight and swimming of the impressive-sized fish on the end. "Don't wanna," Newfoundland tried again.

"And what are you looking up online?" Alberta didn't even wait for an answer. He snatched the phone right out of Newfoundland's hand, much to the protest to the younger province and territory. "The Ogopogo? That old fish story? What are you, four years old? Oh wait…" he snickered.

Nunavut scowled and rose to her feet, absolutely livid. "Stop picking on Newfoundle! You know that he's really the oldest and it's not his fault he turned back into a baby!"

"Yeah yeah yeah, just let me play with the phone," Alberta laughed and waved the Inuit girl off. "Hey, you can actually get service out here! Anyone else want to prank-call Ontario?"

"What are you, four years old?" Newfoundland huffed, using Alberta's own insulting words against him. "Give it back to me!"

Manitoba shook his head. "There's really no stopping him, you know," he said with a shrug and sat himself down on the ice.

"That's right, there's not," the cowboy agreed and dialed a number into the phone before holding it up to his ear with a devious smirk on his face. A few rings passed and then a voice buzzed out of the speaker, just loud enough for Manitoba, Newfoundland, and Nunavut to hear as well.

"Hello?" it said.

"Yes?" Alberta said back, biting his bottom lip in anticipation.

"Who is this? What do you want?"

"Who am I? Who are you and why did you call me?"

"What are you talking about, you just called me!"

"I didn't call you, you called me. Now tell me: who you are and why are you wasting my time?!"

A scoff could be heard on the other side of the line. "Oh, that's real funny, real funny. I'm hanging up!" Click. Dial tone.

"I bet you feel like an adult," Newfoundland rolled his eyes when Alberta burst into a bout of snickers. "Can I have my phone back, now?"

"Nope, not done," Alberta answered and hit redial, drawing the machine back up to his ear.

"Hey, you listen to me, mister!" Ontario's voice growled through the speaker, "I am a very busy person, and I don't need some smart-aleck like you calling my phone, so if you're just going to waste my time, don't."

"Um, ah, I don't know what's going on, but… I'm Chad from Air Canada," Alberta said through a nasally voice, chewing his lip to hold in a snicker.

"Wha—OH! Oh, I am so sorry. I thought you were—"

"Yeah yeah, whatever," Alberta said plainly, but looked to his elder brother with an expression of barely-restrained hilarity. "Listen, I'm just calling to inform you that your flight next week has been downgraded from first-class to coach."

There were a few beats of confused silence on the other end of the line as Ontario processed what Alberta had said. "O—kay... then am I going to get my money back at the front desk, or will it go directly back into my checking account?"

An evil grin spread over Alberta's face. "No, and no, you will not be refunded. Not one cent."

One second passed, then two more, and then... "Ex-cuse me? I'm not?" Alberta had to press his hand up against his mouth to muffle his cackles at Ontario's indignant response. "I paid for a first-class ticket, thank you very much! If you absolutely must downgrade me, and I don't have the slightest idea why you would do such a thing in the first place, then at least refund me the difference between prices!"

"Sir, your attitude is inappropriate," Alberta reprimanded as he shot a thumbs-up to Manitoba. Newfoundland and Nunavut just exchanged unimpressed expressions. "If you continue to argue with me, then you'll have to pay a $100 courtesy fee."

If it was possible, and that itself was a stretch, Ontario's tone grew even more furious. "A what? That is just wrong; you'll be hearing from my lawyer tonight!"

Alberta shook his head. "No sir, this is all completely legal. Also, I now despise you, a lot, so I'm hitting you with another $350 fine. Just because I can. How do you like them apples?"

"He's gunna explo~ode..." Nunavut sing-sang softly, rocking gently back and forth from her toes to her heels.

"This is outrageous!" Ontario screeched. "I want to talk to whoever's your supervisor! I will have your job for this!"

Grinning his cocky grin, the cowboy switched the phone from one hand to the other. "Sorry, my supervisor's run off with a beautiful blonde bombshell for the day. No idea when he's coming back, or if he's coming back at all." Alberta chuckled at the honesty of his own statement. "Who knows, I might have to use the $450 you owe me to buy a wedding present!"

"I don't owe you anything! And I know you're lying, so let me speak with your supervisor!"

With a roll of his eyes, Newfoundland shifted in his seat to face Manitoba, trying a different approach. "Hey, you, can you make him give me my phone back, please?"

"You think he'll stop just 'cause I tell him to?" the auburn-haired province scoffed, but when Newfoundland only continued to pout at him with sad eyes he sighed. "Okay Ralph, you've pranked Ontario good enough. Give the kid his phone back."

"I told you, my supervisor is with his chick, so you'll have to settle with taking another fine," Alberta continued, waving Manitoba off with his hand. "How does $75 sound for asking for my supervisor? Oh, but you asked twice, so…" An enraged shriek erupted from the phone's speaker.

Manitoba grit his teeth. "You've done enough; give me that phone before he has a seizure!" he raised his voice, grunting as he got back on his feet.

Meanwhile, Ontario's fuming demands continued. "Who is that other person? A coworker? Lemme talk to him! And what's that sound?"

"Just give me the phone already," Manitoba grumbled and reached for the phone, despite his younger brother's attempts to keep him away. "Ontario, it's just Ralph being his usual self. You're not being fined for anything," he called out.

Alberta groaned and shot his brother a frustrated glare. "Really bro? You couldn't just let me have a little fun, really?" he groaned, twisting around in his attempts to keep the elder brother away.

"I'll just sit here and wait patiently for you to finish, then," Newfoundland sighed quietly and jigged his rod, to which Nunavut let out a sad little sigh of her own.

"Whoa whoa, Alberta? And Manitoba? And Newfoundland?" Ontario's voice betrayed his pure bewilderment. "I insist to know exactly what is going on! Where are you?"

Manitoba grit his teeth together and made a desperate swipe at the Alberta's hand high above his head, but he came up just short. "Doesn't matter," he growled at the phone. "Ralph's just acting like usual, making a hoser of himself when we have other things to do."

Alberta whipped his head around. "Hey, I resent that!" he spat. "We're not even doing anything anymore besides babysitting the rugrats! Sask's the one running around, making Matt and Ukraine fa—"

"UKRAINE?!" Ontario interrupted in a loud screech. It was so loud, in fact, that it stunned the younger brother into letting the phone drop to the ground, where it clattered on the ice. "What's Ukraine doing there? What's Canada doing there?"

Spotting an opportunity, Nunavut made one last grab for the phone, and this time she snatched it up as if her life depended on it. "Ontario! Ontario! You have to come help us! Canada and Ukraine are going to fall in love, and then Prince Edward Island is going to never going to let us hear the end of it!"

"They can't do that!" Ontario protested. "What about the economy? Or Russia for crying out loud! He'll pulverize us all if he hears about this!"

Nunavut shook her head, clasping the phone tight as a panicked Alberta and Manitoba realized their blunder and tried to grab it away. "I don't know, okay? But Saskatchewan is trying really hard, and Manitoba and Alberta are being mean to Newfoundle. Please, come help us!"

"Dude, Nunny, give us the phone," Alberta grunted out as he twisted and stretched for the device, which the youngest territory kept just out of reach. Until, that is, Alberta's hand made a swipe at it which made contact and knocked the cell onto the snowy ice, skidding precariously close to the opening drilled for the fishing line.

The sound of rapid footsteps on the other end of the call was enough of a sign to prove that Nunavut's plea had the desired effect. "As if you could keep me away, pah!" the Ontarian quipped. "I'm not about to leave the fate of our whole country in the hands of that woman and a band of lunatic redneck brothers!"

"WHAT did you call us?" Alberta demanded before anyone could shush him otherwise. Too late: the vibrations of his voice was all it took for the cell to traverse the last few millimetres and tip over the edge of the ice. Ker-plunk!

"I'm going to find them, mark my words!" Ontario's voice continued to shout, even as the phone sank and muffled the noise a little more with every passing second. "You can't do this, not to our whole country! I'll find you wherever you are an—break up Mat—raine! Wait and s—I will—" The voice faded and frizzled out, followed a moment later by the bright light of the screen as Newfoundland's cell vanished into the frigid depths.

It was Newfoundland that broke the stillness when he looked up at Alberta with a pout. "Now look what you've done," came the cold accusation and atypical arctic glare from the usually cheerful province.

The cowboy's eyebrows furrowed tightly together and he coughed nervously into his shoulder. "I, uh, guess I stepped over a couple of lines there, eh?" he asked with a small chuckle and a tender scratch to the back of his head.

"A couple?" Nunavut folded her arms across her chest.

Manitoba intervened on his younger brother's behalf. "Hey, cut him some slack. This is as much of an apology as I've ever heard from him." He turned to the cowboy with a frown of his own. "You know that Sask isn't going to be happy about this, right?"

"Don't remind me," Alberta muttered.

Nunavut breathed out a tired breath and sat down cross-legged on the ice, watching Newfoundland jig his rod a few times, still trying to catch whatever it was that he was fishing for.

"…But we're still not going anywhere," Alberta huffed, prompting the two young children to look at each other helplessly.


To be continued...