Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. I thank Himaruya Hidekaz for letting me play with his characters.
Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: CactusNoir, Simonana, Spearsem, IrishMaid, Blueladymare, PeppermintTwertle, Ever Blazin, I am Sweden, Elizablue, Cathrag, Arkanhari, ScarheartofDarkclan, xxcatxx, NightshadeHetalia, Becky999, .me.1, fire hores is awesome, Lani Carmine, xxEu-chan, ChubbyCubby23, AFreezingFlame, Animechic420, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.
Warnings: crack, angst, pure crack, bit more angst.
Chapter 37: Eagle
Vienna Airport
Various Nations were either boarding planes, going through security, or going through the gift shops or in the case of America and Belgium having a steamy goodbye in the hotel bar.
Toris, Ed (carrying a very large package) and Raivis/Aija had managed to steer Russia through security without incident. Actually, since he'd found out he was going to be a father, or possibly since the previous evenings 'activities' with Latvia, he'd had a pink glow emanating from him and he'd not lost his temper once.
Poland followed them through, grumbling. The reason why he was grumbling was that Raivis had told him that she wanted all the money that he'd spent on expenses/hotel/clothes/make-up back and if she didn't get it back then Russia would confiscate his pink Ferrari.
Belarus was in a much better mood than the Pole. She was in the jewellery shop picking out rings. Arthur followed her around as she ooohed and aaahed. The jeweller was beside himself, pulling out the most expensive diamond engagement rings in stock.
Of course, Natalya already had a wedding ring – two in fact, one to fit herself and one for her dear brother. However, she ascertained that Ivan's ring would be far too big for Arthur's much smaller more delicate digits and so they were perusing the rings.
Arthur sighed and took out his wallet – which contained a measly 5 pounds and 25 pence. However, Natalya peered in and relieved him of his credit card.
Arthur decided it was wise to just agree to anything. He loved her, he really did and was thrilled actually at the idea of becoming a father again. He'd decided that he would introduce this new Nation/region/city or whatever to the finest English cuisine as soon as possible. Also cricket, football, English pop music, Yorkshire puddings, Doctor Who... England smiled, he wouldn't make the same mistakes he'd made with America and Hong Kong, not that the former was his child. He went into a little reverie as he thought of the good old fashioned English country wedding they could have. In a little village church, with a proper English vicar, a carriage and horses for Natalya, perhaps he could arrive on horseback...
"Arthur darling!" Natalya's syrupy sweet voice cut through his daydreams (the same syrupy sweet voice that haunted Russia's nightmares) and Arthur loped back to her side and paid probably way too much for an engagement ring and two matching his and hers wedding rings.
"And I'll take you Disneyland! I won't puke this time... Man! That was hilarious..." Alfred was saying to Louise.
Belgium sighed and sipped her non-alcoholic beverage. Perhaps he was too immature for her, too young, too irresponsible. She listened as he told her about SeaWorld and the latest attractions in Florida.
"Alfred, that's all very nice but have you thought about settling down?" she asked carefully.
"Settling down for what? I went to the cinema with Arty and watched a film about an alien called Allen or something..."
"...Alien..." Belgium said with a sigh.
"...And I only screamed three times. Arty fell asleep. Tony laughed all the way through."
"I don't mean settling down as in settling down to watch a movie..."
America continued to chatter, his mouth lubricated by another bottle of beer, "The dude chick in it was really hot, she kicked ass..."
Belgium sighed again. They'd been sat in the airport bar waiting for her flight, Alfred's was an hour later than hers and in that time she'd tried and failed several times to tell him she was pregnant.
They were sat side by side on a comfy sofa, him on his third beer, she on her third lemonade and so far she'd got nowhere and was starting to think this was all a big mistake. All he'd talked about were his 'dudes', the holidays with his 'dudes', playing pranks with his 'dudes' on Arty and the epic awesomest stag night he was arranging – solely in his head – for Arty.
"But I bet I could have kicked ass like her..." Alfred continued, oblivious, "Arty said I could with my lightsabre. It was hilarious when that crabby thing burst out of that man's chest, I thought Arty was going to have a fit... I didn't scream, well I did a bit. Tony nodded, I don't know why... I bet even fat commie dude would have screamed. Even heroes scream sometimes."
Belgium gave up, leaned across and shut him up by kissing him firmly on the mouth.
Alfred wrapped his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap. Never one for doing things by halves, he kissed her back and ran his fingers through her hair, while she ran her fingers up and down his biceps.
"Hmmm, Alfie..." she murmured.
"I know right? Last night was good though wasn't it?" he whispered.
She nodded. After he'd been to MacDonalds, fuelled himself up on four happy meals and found the remainder of the Star Wars collection, he'd been like an over-excited puppy and had cuddled her all night just like a large puppy she'd rescued from the pound.
"But Alfie, what about if..." here she traced her fingers through his Indiana Jones t-shirt and felt his six-pack, "...we kind of made it a regular thing?" she said quietly.
"Woohoo, dude that would be awesome!" Alfred punched the air, "You mean I could stay at your place and have sleepovers? I could bring Tony ... can I bring Mr Pillow and my Atari?"
Belgium sighed, "I was thinking more of an adult relationship..."
"Oh riiiiight... I know, Arty was warning me about this and that I shouldn't wear my Spiderman pyjamas to bed..."
Belgium shook her head, but smiled. He really was just too cute, "Alfie, what I meant was that we could be a proper couple..."
"What and go on dates?" America's eyes lit up, "Hell yeah... I know I threw up at Disneyland and you didn't like the chilidogs but next time it will be better..."
"I mean a couple like... erm..." Belgium struggled to think, "Arthur and Natalya or Ivan and Raivis..."
America pulled a face, he didn't think either of those couples were 'cool' and said as much. "Arty and crazy Natty are like an old married couple already, she keeps nagging at him and he's likes it! I bet they have matching Horlicks mugs and matching slippers. And fat commie dude and little Latvina are weird man... she looks like she's scared of him and then she keeps hitting him and he has this soppy look on his face!"
Belgium couldn't help but smile at Alfred's remarkable insight into the other two couples' dynamics. She thought Arthur and Natalya were well-matched – Arthur needed someone to nurture and Natalya needed to be nurtured. Both wore a hard exterior shell but inside they were both softies she thought, well... maybe not Natalya...
She didn't know Latvia or Russia that well, but thought they looked cute together. Who'd have thought that the smallest, trembling Baltic would end up with the biggest, meanest badass Nation and totally own him, punch him and generally order him around? And even funnier was that Russia seemed to love it and loped around after the small Baltic like a love-sick puppy, albeit one with claws and teeth.
"So you don't think that me and you...?" she started to say and then heard the announcement for the boarding of her flight. "... I have to go..." she said.
"Aw, man..."
Belgium got to her feet and held out her hand. Perhaps it was for the best, she thought. He was clearly too young for commitment of any kind.
Alfred took her hand and shook it, completely confused.
"That's my flight, Alfie, I have to go..." she said and picked up her handbag, rummaged through for her passport and tickets, "I'll see you around, perhaps..."
"I could come over to erm..." America struggled to think of the capital of Belgium, his handsome face scrunched up in concentration, "...Brasilia!"
"That's Brazil..."
America frowned and ran a hand through his messy blond hair, "...Erm...Br...Brest!"
Belgium shook her head, "That's in France... and it's not even a..."
"Ha! Only Francis would have a city called Brest!" America all but yelled.
Belgium carried on walking, "Brussels! My capital is called Brussels!" she yelled at him over her shoulder.
America loped after her, "So I can come visit with my buds and have a sleepover?"
Belgium stopped and turned to look him in the eye, "Alfie, you're sweet, you really are. I would love to keep you as my toyboy, but I don't think it's going to work..." she said sadly, stood on tiptoe, kissed him on the cheek and then walked off towards the barrier.
America stood alone, watching Belgium walk away and feeling very un-heroic and sad.
Just as he was contemplating running after her like the heroes in all those movies which made Arthur splutter into his popcorn, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He expected it to be security like last time, telling him to move on.
The hand belonged to someone more formidable than Austrian Airport Security, Belarus prodded him and said, "So, Amerika why aren't you going with her? You do not care? You men are all alike... apart from my Arthur of course. And big brother. Just leave a girl just when she needs you..."
America frowned again, "What?" he said.
England nodded in agreement with Belarus. That was another thing that America disliked about their relationship, Arty was always agreeing with the Belorussian. Then again with her knife-throwing skills, Alfred was sure he'd also be quick to agree with her.
"Yes, Alfred, I thought you'd be pleased and supportive. I brought you up better than that..." England began to say.
"Eh?"
"Aren't you pleased about the baby?" Belarus asked. She'd seen them getting all cosy in the airport bar, Belgium had told her and Latvia that she was going to tell America and...
"Baby?" America looked from one to the other.
England and Belarus exchanged glances, "Shit," England said, with feeling.
"Baby?" America said again. "What baby?"
He looked from one to the other, "I think it's nice that I'm going to have a little brother or sister..."
"I am not your bloody father!" England shouted.
Belarus shook her head, "Not our baby, you moron, your baby..."
"The States are all grown up now..." America started to say and then, "...Oh..." as he watched Belgium go through the security at the other end of the airport, a lightbulb appearing above his head.
"Gotta go..." he all but yelled at Arthur.
Arthur pulled Natalya into a hug and decided to stand back and watch.
America ran along the airport hall yelling, "Lou!" He skidded to a dramatic stop as he came to the security barriers, leapt over them in true James Bond/Indiana Jones/Han Solo style, shoved aside several security officers and slid to a stop on his knees in front of a startled woman.
"Lou, will you...?"
The large Austrian housefrau glared at him.
"You're not Lou!" America said, utterly appalled.
Belgium couldn't help but laugh when she saw the American on his knees in front of the bewildered Austrian couple.
"I'm here!" Lou shouted and then sighed.
America found himself being manhandled by two burly security guards.
"You can't go through there, that's for departures only," one of them told him.
"I know... but I..." America thought about having an awesome fight and punching them out, after all that's what Russia would do wasn't it? Instead he dredged up all the romantic and 'soppy' movie endings that he'd ever seen and said, "Lou, I love you! No barrier can ever keep us apart..."
The security guard and a few other people who had congregated to watch disagreed with this statement.
Belgium sighed again, "I know but Alfie... you and me... it would never work out..."
"Why not?"
The assembled crowd all 'aahed' and then looked to Belgium for her answer.
"I think you're too young for me..." she said and then realised how lame that sounded.
The crowd all looked back at America for his answer to this (rather like a crowd watching a tennis match).
"But you're only a couple of hundred years older than me..."
The crowd all frowned.
"... I mean er... a couple of years older than me..." America amended quickly realising his mistake. "It'll be great. I'm going to be a dad! You can't do this on your own!"
Belgium disagreed with this, being a strong independent female Nation, she'd certainly done more perilous things in her long life than bring up a child on her own.
However the crowd all looked back at her, clearly moved by the young, handsome American's pleas.
"Awwww!" the crowd all murmured as one.
Alfred, borne up by such support, not that he needed that much anyway, leapt to his feet, jumped over the remaining barrier, clasped Belgium in his arms, bent her over and kissed her passionately.
"Oooh Alfie!" Belgium all but swooned.
As did the crowd.
Several women battered their respective husbands around the head, saying "Why can't you be that romantic?"
Vienna city centre
Two awesome dudes high-fived each other as they watched the police van sink beneath the Danube.
"We did it, man!"
"Woohoo!"
"What a ride!"
Pru and Den danced a jig around and around until slowly one of them stopped as they realised that they should have done a runner when they could. Prussia batted his friend on the shoulder, "Man... we... oh..." he muttered.
The two awesome dudes were completely surrounded by severely pissed off Austrian police officers pointing firearms at them.
It was going to take something fantastically awesome to get them out of this hole, Prussia thought.
Which is precisely what happened.
There was a screeching sound and a flapping, and then all hell broke loose. The policemen scattered as the air seemed to be full of feathers and talons.
Prussia and Denmark both looked up to see, to their utter astonishment, a large Golden Eagle battering down on their foes.
"Dude!"
"Gilbird dude!" Prussia yelled.
"Gilbird? I thought he was a little yellow chick, man?" Den asked as they began running.
"He was a little yellow chickman... but now he's grown up and he's a big fuck-off eagle dude..."
"Woohoo!" Den yelled as they skidded down the street and then hid in a doorway. They were soon joined by the 'big fuck-off eagle dude' who perched on Gil's shoulder and squawked lovingly in his ear.
"Man, he's a lot heavier..." Pru said as his shoulder sagged under the bird's weight. "Hey Gilbird dude, danke for saving us... you're my main man. Why did you grow up?"
He listened intently as the bird of prey squawked.
"Hmmm, I see... I was supposed to be Germany and now I'm not... you were waiting for me?"
Den shook his head, "You're like Dr Doolittle dude!" he said, completely impressed.
"Aw man..." Prussia gently stroked Gilbird's head and then said quietly, "You go, dude, we'll catch up with you later... see if you can find bruder..."
The eagle took off into the air with a screech and soared high above the city.
"Go on... go free my friend..." Prussia yelled.
"Come on, dude..." Den said, patting his friend on the head.
Somewhere else in the city
"So we can be together forever and ever, Luddy-kins?"
"Ja, but stop calling me Luddy-kins..."
"Ve, oh Luddy..."
"Sigh..."
The two Nations held hands as they sat on the park bench, eating their respective ice-creams (as 'Luddy' had promised). The smaller Nation smiled happily, the larger one almost smiled, all was well with the world. Until a large winged shadow fell from the sky.
"Nein!"
"Non!"
The two Nations (one more annoyed than the other, the smaller one merely scared – jumping into the taller one's arms) leapt to their feet as the large eagle swooped down, snatched their ice-creams in its out-stretched talons and soared away, squawking loudly.
"That bloody chick... eagle...!" The tall blond Nation yelled in German at the diminishing silhouette before turning back to his snivelling companion. "Come on, Italy... I'll buy you another one..."
"Ve... Oooh Luddy..."
"Stop calling me that!"
Berne, Switzerland
Vash was not one for 'adjusting' or 'accommodating' others' wishes. However, he found, for the first time in many centuries he had to do just that. He loved Lily like a sister or the daughter he'd never had and in his head his protectiveness was justified due to the number of wars on his borders and the sheer number of idiotic Nations that surrounded him – included Austria in this calculation. However, he realised that if he was going to keep Lily with him then he was going to have to adjust to a new way of living.
"Icy will be staying with us for the foreseeable future, Vash," Lily told him as they entered the house (she still called Iceland 'Icy' – it was cuter than his human name of Emil).
Vash said nothing. He'd decided on the flight back that Iceland was alright – far better than some of the horrors his darling Lily could have chosen and besides he didn't want her to go all gothic and kiss Russia again. He knew he would never get over that for another 1000 years.
Also on the flight over, Lily had taken herself off to the aeroplane toilet, removed her 'piercings', make-up, switched her high-heeled boots for sneakers and combed her hair back into a normal style with ribbons. However, she threatened her big brother/uncle that it would all return should he make any disparaging remarks about her husband.
"Icy! Sweetheart!" Lily called up the stairs.
A silver-haired young man ventured slowly out of her room upstairs and peered down.
"It's okay, Uncle er big bruder Vash won't hurt you..."
Vash shook his head, but his hand itched on his rifle.
Icy, who was not without quite a bit of courage, after all he had Viking blood coursing through his veins, had holidayed with Denmark and Norway – which required nerves of steel, but he inched down the stairs, one at a time.
"I think I'm pregnant..." Lily told him and flung her arms around his neck.
"Oooh," Icy hugged her back, and eyed Vash carefully.
"Ja... it is very nice... I suppose..." Vash said noncommittally. He was, in all honestly, quietly pleased and looked forward to the pitter-patter of tiny feet.
Within half an hour, Vash was out in the gardens of the mansion showing Iceland how to handle a rifle. The young Icelandic knew already how to shoot, but allowed the Swissman to 'teach' him.
"You will have to learn to protect young Lily and her... your... family, Iceland. You never know if that pervert France will turn up waving his pants in the air or whether Italy will streak across this lawn again. If you are going to be a father to my little Lily's baby I expect you to be able to look after her."
Icy, used to dealing with nutty Nations who liked bossing people around, just shrugged, kept his explosive temper in check, smiled and went along with it.
London
Arthur and Natalya smiled at each other as the taxi pulled up at 69 Trafalgar Gardens. "Home!" they both sighed in unison and linked hands.
However, it was not the homecoming they expected.
"What are yer dooin' 'ere?" Hamish said as Arthur unlocked the front door and carried Natalya over the threshold.
"Oh, Hamish. I forgot you were here..." Arthur said as he placed Belarus down gently.
"Aye, I bet yer did. Ah've bin dooin' yer job fer yer whilst yer've been dilly-dallying aroond Europe with yon lassie," Hamish answered, waving a large glass of Scotch at them, his sporran waving menacingly.
Belarus had no idea what the Scotsman was saying, so she ignored him, picked up Daisy in her arms (at least the dog had been looked after she noted) and marched past him into the kitchen to switch the kettle on 'for a brew'. She was turning more and more English as time went on and found that if she didn't have a 'cuppa' every hour or so her nerves were in shreds.
"Right, well Natty and I are back now so you can go home," Arthur told him.
"Well I like that! Ach, man ah've been standing in fer yer wit yer bossman and her Maj..."
"You've met Her Majesty? Why? What's happened?" Arthur was surprised, to say the least. He met the Queen only a few times a year. Unless something very urgent happened, there was no other need. They exchanged presents at Christmas and he often attended the Trooping the Colour, the Cenotaph on Remembrance Day and would sometimes lurk at the back when the Royal Family were on the balcony at Buckingham Palace – he liked to keep an eye on the younger members – the upcoming generation.
"Nothin's 'appened, yer big eejit. I went along and had tea with her. She didna have any shortbread so I made her some... aye she's a grand lass. I only get to see her at Balmoral."
"What did you say to her?" Arthur asked, suddenly suspicious.
"I told her, 'Yer know, yer Maj, yer need to get a guid Scottish cook to make yer shortbread'"
"No... about me, you fool?"
"I told her that you'd gone doolally, man. Away with the fairies and such..."
"Nooooo," Arthur pulled at his hair, "Why?"
"Cos man, yer were. Yer took off with yon lassie and wee Alfie and Francy-pants and when I last saw yer, yer were talking Shakespeare rubbish..."
"Who authorised you to be in charge?"
"Mrs Thatcher! She scared me though and told me to stop drinkin', aye an' she said I wasnae to tell anyone I was Britain for a bit or invite anyone here... Her Maj was more welcoming..."
Belarus came back out and gently took Arthur's hand, "We were worried about you, so we asked your boss if you could have some time out," she said.
"Well, I'm alright now aren't I? So, thank you, Hamish and goodbye..." Arthur opened the door ready to shove the Scotsman out.
However, a sound he dreaded was heard coming down the stairs – of the yap yap of a small, annoying dog and the slap of rubber on Arthur's parquet floor.
"Nooo, please tell me you didn't?" he asked Hamish.
"Aye he bloody did, chuck," came a voice.
Arthur groaned audibly, Belarus took a step back.
The man now stood in front of them was a sight to behold. He was shorter than Arthur but built like a barrel. He wore a scruffy tweed jacket, scruffy trousers (with a cord around the waist in lieu of a belt), muddy wellington boots, a flat cap on his sandy hair, in his large hands he held a very annoyed looking Yorkshire Terrier that growled at Belarus and, alarmingly, a ferret peeking out of his trouser pocket.
"Bob..." Arthur said lamely.
"Who?" Belarus asked, impatiently. She tried to ignore the small dog's growling and, much as she liked dogs, was tempted to drop-kick it.
"Yorkshire... my son..." England said.
"Aye. I am that... Uncle 'Amish invited me over ter keep 'im company, like." The Yorkshireman's flat vowels made Arthur wince.
Belarus understood him slightly better than Hamish, but not by much.
"I taught you to speak properly," Arthur remonstrated. "Anyway, you can both leave now," he said commandingly, "I'm back in charge. I'll go and see Mrs Thatcher and inform her. You can go back to Glasgow or whatever other infernal place you've come from, Hamish."
"I've come all the way from Biggleswade-on-the-Water, Pa," Yorkshire said.
"Of course you have."
"Are tha not pleased ter see me then? And what's this?" Bob pointed at Belarus, "Are you my new stepma?"
"Yes and you're going to have a little brother or sister," Arthur told him.
"By eck!" Bob said, obviously much surprised.
"Right, bye then," Arthur said, opening the door for them, "I'll see you both at the wedding..." (he shook his head at Belarus at this).
"Aye, well... I do have my sheep to see to..." Bob muttered, "Come on, Uncle 'Amish, we know when we're not wanted."
The Scotsman and Yorkshireman walked down the driveway, both grumbling about 'mean relatives', deliberately banging the gate as they went.
"Bloody relatives... I bet they've emptied the fridge and drunk all my beer," Arthur said.
And they had.
Warsaw
"My beautiful car..." Poland was lamenting at his pink Ferrari with the busted tyres.
Russia shrugged and sauntered into the house to steal some vodka before they had to make their connecting flight to Leningrad.
"It's no longer your car. It's now mine," Latvia told the Pole.
"But why?" Pol asked, and looked as if he were going to cry.
"You bought it with my money!"
"Well... technically it was yours, but earned by me..." Pol said lamely.
Lithuania shook his head and followed Russia into the house.
"Hand over the keys or I tell Vanya," Latvia said, her hand outstretched and added just to rub it in, "Me and Vanya can drive it back to Leningrad."
The wail and moaning could be heard from inside the house – evidently the thought of 'Braginski' who was clearly uncool and unfashionable driving something as groovy and 'on trend' as his pink Ferrari was too much for the Pole.
Toris was just switching on the kettle, whilst Russia raided Poland's fridge when they were disturbed by a ruffled-looking small Italian.
"Ah... mmm... ciao signores!" Romano said and then fled, pulling an equally ruffled Russian KGB officer after him.
"Wut?" Russia asked, puzzled. His flaky memory nudged at him. Wasn't he angry at Romano for something? But then he smiled, the possible anger instantly forgotten as Latvia came in.
"Never mind, Sir," Lithuania said.
"We're driving back to Leningrad," Latvia told Russia as she fluffed his hair.
Russia nodded. If she'd told him that he was to crawl on his hands and knees all the way back, he'd have nodded.
Estonia interrupted the little 'love-fest' as Poland called it, "Er, Sir? We have to get Sweden's Volvo back to him," he told his boss.
Russia frowned and the nodded, "Okay," he said.
"But I would suggest we take it to a garage and get it sorted first," Estonia said.
"Why? A quick run through a car wash and it will be okay," Russia said, much puzzled.
Estonia did not think that 'a quick run through a car wash' would solve the problem of the broken windscreen, the bullet holes, the lack of engine... and said so, "I think, Sir, we need to get that car sorted before we deliver it to Mr Sweden..." he said slowly and quietly. He knew, having been under Sweden's rule that the Swede, intimidating anyway in his silence could be almost as frightening as Russia when in full Viking mode. He couldn't imagine the results of a Russia/Sweden clash.
No-one noticed as Romano and Miss Bollockoff escaped out of the back door for freedom. Romano promising his ex-captor that he would show her the Colosseum.
Above the skies of Belgium (not Brazilia or Brest or any other city beginning with Br) America and Belgium sat side by side in their aeroplane seats (obviously - as neither could fly, even though America wished he could just like every other awesome hero) and talked about the coming change in their lives.
"It'll be awesome, man! I loved being a dad. I was even a dad to some kids who weren't mine!" (This was indeed true of many of his States and of Alaska who he'd brought up as his own.) "We'll get them one of those beds that looks like a car and a life-time ticket for Disneyland!"
Belgium couldn't help but smile. All her anxieties about America being a less than attentive father were washed away. Obviously he was still immature and silly, but you couldn't have everything, she could be mature and sensible for both of them.
Author's Note:
Horlicks is an instant malted milk drink popular in Britain – usually drunk at bed-time.
Dr Doolittle – a character that can talk to the animals
Iceland's human name – I read a few fanfics where it's Emil so that was good enough for me.
Mrs Thatcher – Margaret Thatcher – the prime minster of Great Britain during the 1980s (shudders)
And being from Yorkshire I couldn't resist shoving 'Bob' aka Yorkshire into this story. I think someone else did a fanfic of all the counties of England and their relationship with England...
Next chapter (yes I know this was supposed to be the last chapter, but unless I publish a massive 8000 words...), a road trip for Russia and Latvia with fluff, Sweden's Volvo, Pru-Den and the start of their awesome world tour and Ukr-Est... oh and somebody gets an uncool job...