It was only a matter of days before the rental boat reserved to bring Berwald from the shores of Felixstowe departed from the docks. It would take some time, and that meant Peter needed to prepare himself. As the shock of the new offer wore off and desperation grew, he found himself getting antsy. The deal had to go through. It had to. Despite his age, he needed to present an offer that the Swede simply couldn't turn down. Noble titles for him and his friends, of course. Souvenir mugs, bags, and pins? Obviously. Maybe he'd throw in a piece of proper memorabilia, an antique from his days as a fort. Was he allowed to give away an old gun? It was his country, so he'd do as he saw fit! If the British Royal Navy left weapons behind when they abandoned him, that was their problem. It was his supplies now.

Scrubbing the deck seemed like the right thing to do, not that it helped much when it was still scorched. How was one to make a burnt husk of a home into a welcoming – and more importantly, investment-worthy – thing? The very reason he needed money was also preventing him from getting it. He wasn't sure how much more debt his founders could go into before they were left with no choice but to give up, and if that happened…

He scrubbed harder.

It felt like hours, weeks, months, years alone on that deck before he heard the sounds of a speedboat breaking through the constant white noise of waves and wind, a motor whirring that sent Peter rushing to the edge of his little home and staring down over the ledge.

"Oi! Mr. Oxenstierna! Hallå!" Good on him for looking up the Swedish word for 'hello'; Berwald perked up a bit at hearing it. First impression: SUCCESS! For a moment, Peter wondered what Arthur had told Berwald about him. No doubt he said the boy was a rotten, spoiled brat, assuming he bothered to say anything at all. When it came to Arthur, he usually preferred to pretend that the youngest Kirkland didn't exist. He almost made sure that he didn't. If he managed to talk to this potential buyer first…

The youth shook his head, frantically pushing away such thoughts. The last thing he needed was to start off this meeting on anxieties and 'what ifs'. "I'm sending down the crane! Grab on and I'll reel you up!"

All he got in response was a thumbs up. That's right – Sweden wasn't known for being talkative, was he? He'd snuck into enough world meetings to pick up on the quirks of a few nations. Regardless, he lowered the crane, waited for Berwald to secure himself to it, and began reeling him in. It wasn't long before the man stepped onto the fort and Peter stepped back.

Bloody hell, he was tall. He had to be a whole two meters! And that face that looked calm from Peter's vantage point now towered over him and looked… cold. Cold and unmoved, perhaps a touch annoyed. Did Peter do something wrong? He put a bit more space between them, but tried to smile despite the icy chill that was slowly taking hold of him. He cleared his throat to try and force away the tightness of it. "Thank you for coming! If we can head to the sitting room, I'll brew some fresh tea for us, and-"

"Other people here?"

Oh god, he didn't want there to be witnesses. Was he going to kill him? He definitely looked like he could murder someone. He didn't look like a monster or anything, but he was attractive in that serial killer sort of way, like a mugshot that makes you pause to admire it before ultimately deciding that, yeah, that seems about right; that's the face of a man who would chop you to bits and steam them with spinach. Absolutely. Unquestionably.

"I, er, it's – Yes. Well, no, but they're coming back! Two citizens on board today. They went for a little boat trip, but I'm sure they'll come home soon! Very soon!" Too soon for him to get away with going all chainsaw-wielding maniac on him. The sharp glare scanned the top deck, seemingly not trusting Peter's claims, before that baritone rumbled out once more.

"...Ya lifted me yerself?"

"H-Huh? Oh! Right! Yes, the motor is broken, so I crank the crane m-"

"Should take two or three people. Grown people."

"Y-Yes. Yeah, I'm – I'm made of steel, actually, just like Sealand itself! So I'm… quite strong… Yeah."

"Pretty amazin'."

Two simple words caused intense whiplash. In a second, Peter went from fearing for his life to feeling the glowing warmth of a genuine compliment. His strength was impressive to someone like Berwald? Someone bigger and older and probably stronger? What exactly was he supposed to say? Aside from Raivis, none of the other nations complimented him like that. They barely paid him any mind at all. "Thank you?" It sounded far less genuine than he intended it to be, but his guest didn't seem bothered at all. If anything, the man's face grew less severe, brow untensing and the corners of his eyes crinkling the tiniest bit.

"Let's go get the tea ya mentioned."

"Right-o."

It wasn't until Peter turned to lead the way to the main building that it struck him why Berwald's face looked so different. It was subtle, faint, borderline imperceptible, but…

Berwald was smiling.