Title: Between You and Me
Authoress: Ankaris123
Summary: More-than-one-shot. They used to be one; just North America. Now they were two, and two they will stay. No matter how much they wanted it all back.
A/Ns: I finished the fic in the school library (but will require revision, etc.). Remind me never to do that again. I make really weird repressing-sad-face expressions when I do it. People stared. I also can't describe how much I like the first quote. Enjoy.
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As always, Canada will now bury its war dead, just as the rest of the world, as always, will forget its sacrifice, just as it always forgets nearly everything Canada ever does. It seems that Canada's historic mission is to come to the selfless aid of both its friends and complete strangers, and then, once the crisis is over, to be well and truly ignored. Canada is the perpetual wallflower that stands on the edge of the hall, waiting for someone to come and ask her for a dance. – Kevin Myers
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A stiff silence met with his words. The nations seated along the table stared up blankly at him. Canada fought the impulse to fidget under their scrutiny, behind him he felt his fellow British Dominions grow anxious.
At the centre of the table crowding around the treaty papers, the five Allied Powers and Germany looked up at last. England's judging look was the most piercing but the others were merely puzzled although a brief flicker of recognition appeared in Germany's weary blue eyes.
There was a question hanging in the air that he knew all too well.
Who?
Struggling for his voice, he nearly jumped as a comforting hand rested on his shoulder. He didn't know if it was Australia's or New Zealand's, or South Africa's or India's but it eased the burden of responsibility just a little.
"We want separate signatures on the treaty," he repeated quickly, knowing, or rather, sensing the Briton's disapproval grow.
Still, he stared back at the powerful nations abnormally brazen for his meagre political significance and background personality. He looked from face to face of those in the hall, almost daring them to reject their proposal.
He and the other nations under British control were no less scarred, no less damaged from the war. They sacrificed a great deal and deserved this right. Remembering the harsh terrors of the battlefield, the people who gave their lives for this moment, strengthened his will to argue with anyone who contested with them.
He rose to full height which was not very much, having a body of a growing teenager. They can do this; they fought to be able to send their own delegation to this conference. They can achieve this as well.
A single voice cleared its throat. Canada bristled at the response coming from his southern neighbour.
"But if they all signed, wouldn't that give the British Empire more votes on the proposed League of Nations? He could influence their decisions if they are allowed on the council. Seems like an unfair advantage to me," America said, slowly as though uncertain whether he should say it or not. Canada relished in the fact that his brother nation appeared to wince from the glare he now directed at him, but the words were taking their effect. A murmur rose amongst the delegates, growing louder and louder.
Finally, England put his foot down to all this nonsense and declared that the dominions will sign for Great Britain as an indent under his own signature. The compromise sat reasonably well with everyone. Privately, Canada was seething inside from America's objection however he kept his temper in check and accepted England's suggestion. It was even that he rejected their proposal, but that he did it so readily as though directly opposing him.
Later, after many more meetings and the treaty was finalized, Canada could be found lingering in the Hall of Mirrors as the palace servants bustled around tidying the place up, ignoring him completely. He sat in the designated seat he used when the treaty of Versailles was passed around for the signing, eyes closed, recalling the recent memory with extraordinary vividness.
The feel of the pen in his hand, the scritch-scratch of the nib on the paper, the smell of drying ink...
He stayed for a long time, cherishing that moment and the feelings that came with it, oblivious to the forlorn figure behind just outside the hall, watching him in anguish through the glass window.
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It's time for us to recognize that we have separate identities; that we have significant differences; and that nobody's interests are furthered when these realities are obscured. - Richard Nixon
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There was thud as Canada's shoulder hit the parlour's wall, held firmly against it by a flustered America.
"Why," the superpower rasped, tears pushing against the back of his eyes. Having rushed over immediately after hearing the news, he wasted no time removing his muddy boots when he hurried into the Canadian's household. The door was still open, letting in a chilling breeze.
"This is my decision. My country's decision, I am entitled to my own opinion, you know. If the Third Option proposal goes through, it goes through." His voice was quiet, distant and detached. America's grip on his shirt collar tightened.
"You can't do this, you can't."
If you don't depend on me, if you no longer need me...
Canada's eyes were unusually bright; his wavy blond hair golden and shining against the dark striped wallpaper.
"You don't own me, America."
He was crying now, he knew it. Salty tears dripped off his angular chin onto the lapel of his brother's black suit jacket.
"Is this about Cuba and the Cold war? Or did this start even before then? Maybe..., maybe you're still bitter about the whole Manifest Destiny business? That's in the past, it really is. And, and War Plan Red is just a document in the archive with the war long over and all, and I know you're not going to employ Defence Scheme No. 1 against me. There's really no good reason for this to happen, right?"
He knew one of the main causes was the raise in tariffs on imports and despite his best efforts at lying to himself, he knew he was just avoiding the truth in a futile hope that the real reason was something else entirely. In his haste, he had revealed the nature of the old war plan that was not yet declassified by his country though at the moment, this divulgence of sensitive information was trivial.
His frantically compiled questions were met with a dead silence that gripped his own throat painfully.
Some days America wished that Manifest Destiny came through as it had intended. It was so hard to continually bridge the gap between the two nations, to rekindle decades upon decades of friendship and trust. It was even more painful when all that effort washed away in a flood of current events.
Some nights America dreamed it had happened and they became one again, sharing their burdens, pains, and most importantly, their happiness. They would be isolated from the other world across the oceans, spending all their time together like in the simpler olden days. If someone tried to tear them apart again, they would oppose the enemy forces as one nation. He dreamed they lived content while the world moved on without them and they without regret on their choice.
Some mornings America woke up from these dreams of hypothetical happiness to a cold empty room, miles south from the border. The servant boy would spend the rest of the morning clearing the bedroom of feathers and shredded cloth.
A cold hand reached up and grabbed one of his wrists.
"You know as well as I do that as a nation we need to diversify our trade of goods. Do you deny that?"
He couldn't lie when his eyes met with Canada's, so he said nothing and waited.
Please...don't do this...
"This isn't your fault, America," Canada said in that quiet voice of his, always quiet, almost regretful. "It's not you, it's me." It's his fault for becoming so dependent on trade with the other country.
It's alright to depend on me. I want you to depend on me. Don't make this go away.
"Matthew-" It had been ages since he called him by that name. Caught up in international affairs, they exchanged conversation mostly in professional settings. The hand gripping his, tightened until it hurt to hold on although he had since slackened his hold. It felt like the hand was directly squeezing his throbbing heart.
"No."
Please don't push me away.
"It's not Matthew."
Please, please, please-
"It's Canada."
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Canada is the only country in the world that knows how to live without an identity. – Herbert Marshall McLuhan
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There was a specific routine to the irregularly scheduled world meetings that most nations as well as most common people failed to see. What they saw were representatives arriving in the morning or the day before congregating in the conference room to propose operations or agreements already discussed in private, argue some, pause for a lunch break, argue some more, and then leave for dinner and a night of diplomatic revelry in the bar to improve international relationships.
As the tea trolley made its round during the second part of the meeting, the nations generally leaned back into their chairs more casually from boredom as the latter half of the agenda was usually the most mundane and rarely went anywhere.
The trolley lady rolled past, jumping from Australia to England without missing a beat. As it came by, Canada swiped a cup off the rack unperturbed and poured himself some hot water as she showed the Englishman the new teabags they recently purchased. Carefully avoiding contact with the moving arms, he leaned back and reached into the compartment, pulling out one of the packets from the box two down and one right from the far left corner.
When the lady added sugar to the teacup, Canada added milk to his. When she poured in the milk, he lifted the lid to the sugar bowl and filched two cubes. This was done in perfect unison though mostly on the efforts of only one of the two. The trolley then moved on without incident.
On the podium, Spain gave his report and everyone listened as politely as they could with the least amount of interest they could get away with. No one enjoyed being the one who read the annual report nor did anyone like being the ones listening.
The hours whittled away and finally to general applause, they disbanded. The nations would file out of the room in singles, pairs, trios, and so on until only one nation, Canada, was left. He placed his polar bear on the floor, walked over, and with a regretful smile, kicked the recorder's briefcase under the table.
While the young man searched for his missing possession in distress, Canada took the vacated seat and appended his unheard statements onto the end of the sheet in practiced shorthand. Whispering an apology, he strode back to his seat, snapped his own briefcase closed, and left the room with his bear trailing behind him asking for food and whatnot.
Several minutes later when the search was over and the desired object was recovered, the recorder, who briefly contemplated ghosts in the conference room, would be intercepted around the corner by a hamburger-munching America asking for a copy of the meeting minutes.
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Americans are benevolently ignorant about Canada, while Canadians are malevolently well-informed about the United States. – J. Bartlet Brebner
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"-and you always drag me into your grand schemes that almost always goes wrong somewhere along the way-"
The usually straight-backed and confident figure was hunched over, wincing at each biting remark. His weak protests were cut off before they reached fruition, steadily growing infrequent as time passed by.
"-completely avoidable if you just listened for a moment instead of barrelling in-"
Like a corner mouse, he pressed back against the wall behind him, slightly cowering but not even thinking of escape.
"-of course, nobody would mind America sticking his nose into their business, he was a hero after all, best reason in the world-"
Canada was in his element, setting free a barrage of unrealized complaints that had accumulated in his head over the years. It was almost a ritual between the two nations.
Eventually they'd start to argue when no one was around to interrupt and the whole situation would turn one-sided in a heartbeat. The Northern country would grumble about this and that and his Southern neighbour would go silent and take in the verbal abuse to the point of tears until someone came along and stopped them.
"-really stupid idea, and don't even get me started on-"
A glance at America's face showed that he was already on the verge of crying. This induced a perverse pleasure in Canada.
That's right. Cry. It's your turn to bawl your eyes out from the hurt. Cry, do it.
Each subsequent insult became less and less passive and more and more specific.
Cry, cry, cry, cry.
A single tear fell, followed by another, then another, and another, and another.
And with each one, with each syllable he uttered, like sharp knives it stung Canada's aching heart.
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A/Ns: Oh, Matthew, you're turning into such a vindictive jerk. Also, there's an awful lot of crying in this fic, really. Lots and lots of historical notes ahead. Tread carefully in case of inaccuracy. I'm no history buff, don't take my word for it.
Section 1: The quote (actually the article it came from) really makes me want to elaborate on it in full but I don't think it'll fit into canon context very well, especially not with this fic. Anyways, this section refers to the end of the First World War during the compiling of the Treaty of Versailles. The British Dominions (India was in the middle of a 'revolution' sort of thing but gave their support) contested for the right to send their own delegations and eventually got to sign the Treaty under the British Empire. The United States did object to their signing because it would've been like the BE got 6 votes. The League of Nations was replaced by the United Nations at the end of the Second World War.
Section 2: The quote by President Nixon refers to the end of Canada and the United States' special relationship when tariffs on Canadian imports were raised by 10% (thus on par with all other foreign countries). This part is set some time in 1972. The Third Option Policy was a proposal during Prime Minister Trudeau's time in office to diversify Canada's trade and reduce trade and cultural relations between Canada and the U.S. This was never passed in parliament given the change in office. War Plan Red was an American military strategy created in the mid 1920s against the Great Britain and was withdrawn after the start of the Second World War. The plan outlined an invasion of Canada (and of the other major dominions but mainly Canada for its closer proximity). The title refers to the colour coding of the separate parts of Great Britain (e.g. Canada was coded 'crimson'). The Defence Scheme No.1 was developed against a U.S. invasion after they received evidence of War Plan Red. Manifest Destiny was, in brief, the belief that America destined to annex everybody/place on the continent. I won't even get started on the Cold War, you probably know all about that one.
Section 3 & 4: Just builds on normal stuff that happens. The second is pretty much another incident of the passive-aggressive verbal abuse episode in the canon series.
Thanks for reading! Your reviews were appreciated greatly.
