Author Note: Delayed a day because of Labor Day in the USA and because of Hurricane Harvey. 3
Half an hour before dinner, Prussia strode purposefully up to Canada's room. He swiped the keycard and waited for the little light to flash green before carefully opening the door. He moved quietly through the dark room to the chair where he deposited his laptop. Moving to the bed, he noticed that Canada had rolled onto his side, and Kumajiro had assumed his prefered spot behind the Nation's knees.
Reaching the side of the bed, he knelt down and placed a gentle hand on Canada's shoulder. Again, he couldn't avoid the memories of doing something very similar for another vulnerable Nation so long ago. "How are you feeling?" he asked in a soft voice.
Canada slowly opened his eyes, giving Prussia weak smile. "Better," he replied quietly. "Headache's still there but not like earlier." He closed his eyes again for a moment. "What time is it?"
"Almost 4:30," Prussia answered, studying his friend's face carefully for signs of distress.
"Then I need to get up," Canada groaned. He slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. "We have to meet England and France in half an hour, and I at least need to rinse off all the sweat from earlier." Slowly, he rotated and swung his legs over the side. Then, taking a deep breath, he slowly stood up, wary that moving too quickly could worsen the lingering migraine or cause vertigo. Instead he stumbled, suddenly noticing a deep ache in his feet and lower legs. He steadied himself on the nightstand before Prussia could reach out. 'What the hell was wrong with him,' he worried internally.
Prussia, hovering anxiously, took in Canada's worryingly pale face and the tight lines of pain around his eyes. "What is wrong? Are you hurt? That's it. I'm calling this off," he declared.
"No, no, it's ok. This meeting is important," Canada insisted. Once he was upright and steady, he padded to the bathroom. Unlike the night before, he couldn't bring himself to get upset at Prussia for following him in, even after he stripped.
Before he could step into the shower, Prussia put a hand on his arm. With the other, he held out the clear shower cap that had been sitting untouched for days on the bathroom counter.
"I think you will not want to dry your hair, ja?"
"... Right." Taking the cap, Canada settled it over his head and started tucking the long strands under its protective barrier. "Could you get my glasses?" he asked.
"Of course, Birdie."
It took less than ten minutes for Canada to rinse off. The warm water pouring down on him washed away the stress and tension through his head and shoulders, but worryingly the ache in his lower limbs remained constant. Hopefully, in a few hours, he could just fill up the tub and soak away all his cares. And if nothing else, the heat was doing wonders for his head, eating away at the pressure behind his eyes until it was barely there.
Since Prussia had taken it upon himself to make sure Canada was ready for the dinner, Canada found his brown suit clean and freshly pressed laying out on the bed waiting for him. He'd taken the brief amount of time Canada had been in the shower to change his own clothes as well and had eschewed the comfort of his prefered t-shirt and jeans for a dark, silky blue shirt with bold red piping along the edge of the cuff and the front along with a pair of dark gray slacks. It was vaguely reminiscent of one of the uniforms he'd worn back in the 18th century.
"I called the front desk," he explained cheerfully. "They will have four seats ready for us. I am not letting you go down there alone!" Prussia then held up the folder Jennifer had given them earlier. "Plus, my own awesome testimony will no doubt be key in convincing England and France that they are being nothing more than jealous assholes. We made copies of everything, so those losers can have their own." he added in a pleased voice.
A lump formed in Canada's throat. He couldn't believe how much Prussia had thrown himself into this. This was Canada's problem, a fight he had chosen to pick. It was completely unnecessary for Prussia to get himself mixed up in what was basically family drama. (Well, a family drama where several of the family members were armed with nuclear warheads.)
"Thank you," he finally responded. "You didn't have to."
Prussia snickered. "It's been years since I've been able to torment those stuck-up pricks. This is going to be epic."
England looked at his watch with growing irritation. "Frog," he finally snapped, "if you do not stop primping and preening in front of that mirror, we will be late." He crossed his arms, accidently crumpling his fine pressed suit. The goldfish nearby zipped into its underwater castle, startled by his near-shout. For a moment, England, glared at it; the fish in his room only swam in sluggish, half-hearted circles.
He had been ready for nearly half an hour. Knowing how France could get distracted fussing over his appearance, he'd made the decision to personally fetch his obnoxious neighbor and ensure that they were both on time, or perhaps even early, to the lovely dinner he just knew Canada had planned.
What did he get instead of sipping fine wine and engaging in delightful pre-dinner banter with one of his favorite members of the Commonwealth? Twenty minutes of prodding a lazy Frenchman into actually committing to a specific outfit, doing his hair, and picking just the right cologne.
The French were so frivolous sometimes.
"Angleterre, dear Canada has great difficulty being on time to anything." France paused from his intense examination of two different pairs of cufflinks and gave England a dismissive look. "I dare say this is your influence. But it does mean we are in no hurry."
"My influence?!" England sputtered for a moment, actively struggling to suppress the urge to stalk over and throttle the braindead twit. "You forget," he snarled, "that Prussia has apparently decided to come bother Canada. He will no doubt be aware of our dinner plans and likely has invited himself along."
"And that unfortunate dreariness that affects the Germanics will cause him to personally ensure Canada is on time," France realized. He sighed. Prussia was a dear, dear friend, especially now that he was no longer in a position of power, but he and his brother were such sticks in the mud sometimes. All duty and order and tidiness with no room for true passion and intimacy. And now the obsessive hyperfocus that his friend could sometimes have was aimed solely on his darling Canada.
"We will have to have words with him," France concluded. He studied the cufflinks for another moment then set down the slightly more ornate black gem pair, choosing instead to wear the simpler gold bars. Both had been a gift from Canada several years ago.
England blinked. "With Canada?" he asked in bewilderment. "We've already planned that."
France rolled his eyes. God save him from thickheaded Englishmen! "With Prussia," he explained, deliberately adopting a slow paced, mocking tone. "He has the emotional range of a block of wood and his attention span is scarcely greater. Canada requires someone with more ... delicacy. No," he concluded, fastening the last cufflink with a decisive gesture. "He is entirely unsuitable."
There was a moment of silence. "I think that is ultimately up to Canada to decide," England finally said with a frown. "He certainly won't appreciate us meddling in his personal affairs. And given our impending conversation, I see no reason to antagonize him any more than we must."
"You may be right," France sighed. He studied his reflection in the mirror, casting a critical eye from his hair, to the cut and fit of his suit, to the cufflinks peeping out at his wrists. Deciding that the burgundy suit was acceptable, he gave a satisfied nod to his reflection. "Very well. Let us go."
"Finally," England muttered. He spun and hurried over to the door, opening it and holding it open while he waited impatiently for France to stir himself into action.
France breezed out of the room without so much as casting a single look at England, who hurried after him.
The two men descended the single flight of stairs without speaking. They strolled past the long, glossy brown reception desk, through the green walled lounge, and arrived at the white french doors that led to The Dirty Habit.
One of the hotel staff was standing next to the door. She straightened as they walked up and gave them a friendly smile. "Mr. Kirkland, Mr. Bonnefoy," she greeted them. "Good evening. Mr. Williams and Mr. Beilschmidt are waiting inside." Turning, she quickly guided them through the main dining room to a small hallway lined with doors. Pausing in front of one set of heavy brown doors, she pulled them open and politely gestured for them to enter.
The private dining room was unusually narrow, the walls covered in a mixture of paint, wood panels, and faux metal plates. Cage-like light fixtures ran down the length of the ceiling and a large ornate clock was painted on the far wall. Five tables, turned at an angle, took up most of the space in the room. In contrast to the overall industrial design, however, were the high backed chairs placed neatly at each table, a dizzying mixture of fine carved wood and crushed red velvet. Surprisingly, the eclectic design perfectly filled the space: it was unique and visually stunning, but didn't grate or overwhelm any of the senses.
"Hey, losers," Prussia called out as they entered. Unlike Canada, who was sitting calmly with his hands folded neatly in his lap, he was practically lounging in his chair, hands propped behind his head and looking for all the world like he was about to put his feet up on the table. He was certainly better groomed than he usually was of late, however, unlike everyone else in attendance,he wasn't wearing a suit.
Canada, meanwhile, was watching them with an unusual intensity, a hint of wariness in his arctic purple eyes. "Good evening," he said, giving England and France a small wave. "I hope you both have had a good day. It was nice to have time to relax and unwind after the NATO meeting, wasn't it?"
"Yes, I suppose so," England agreed. As he and France approached the square table, he pulled out a chair and seated himself across from Canada. Likewise, France took the seat next to him and across from Prussia.
"Tell me, Prussia," France began after sitting. He picked up the napkin sitting on his plate and laid it across his lap. "What brings you to North America? Germany did not mention you would be arriving."
"Eh, Hungary, Germany, and Spain being here meant things were so boring back home. Austria flipped out when I went to visit him so I decided, hey, who needs my awesome presence in their life?" He grinned and gave Canada a slap on the back. "This guy, that's who!"
Canada winced slightly at the friendly blow. "I don't mind, not really," he hurried to add. A dark look had appeared on England's face when Prussia whacked him on the shoulder. 'If only he'd been this protective centuries ago,' Canada mused silently. "America's traveling right now, so it's going to be pretty quiet around here."
"And if America hadn't flitted off?" England narrowed his eyes.
"Then we'd be having a crazy night," Prussia answered, stepping in neatly when Canada hesitated.
"I'm sure." Leaning back in his chair, England gave the pair across the table a long look. "Well, we may as well get started." He picked up the single sheet of heavy paper sitting underneath the napkin on his plate, skimming through the limited menu. "I haven't had the opportunity to dine here before," he continued. "Any recommendations?"
"Oh, um, it's all very good." Picking up his own menu, Canada looked over the different dishes. Prussia had requested that the menu be limited to just the most popular items. Putting the paper down, he picked up the leather bound wine list he'd been glancing over while he and Prussia had been waiting. He offered it across the table to France. "I was hoping you could suggest what wine we should have with dinner."
France took the wine list with a pleased expression. "It will be my pleasure," he agreed, quickly flipping the booklet open to peruse the different options.
Canada took a quiet breath as he watched England and France. With luck, they'd be able to enjoy a nice meal before they got to the real reason he'd asked for this meeting. His eyes flickered down, quickly confirming that the precious folder was still sitting in his lap. 'It's just one meal,' he told himself, gritting his teeth as the pain from his lower legs sharpened and traveled upwards. 'Just get through this and everything will be fine.'