Hetalia does not belong to me. Neither do any of the countries mentioned. Get back to me after 'World Domination Phase 3' is complete.
* Quick note: a section written in italics represents inner dialogue or a memory.
Tired of Waiting
Prussia stumbled after the blonde, muttering unintelligibly and using lewd hand gestures to coax him into the broom closet. Canada simply laughed and evaded his advances with practiced ease.
When he tried to wrap an arm around his shoulders and steer him towards the cupboard, Canada somehow twisted out of his grip and danced out of reach. When he tried to place a hand on his hips, Canada was suddenly two steps too far forward; laughing flippantly.
It was infuriating, but Prussia had always enjoyed a challenge.
Prussia tried to press a hand into his back pocket and Canada stepped to the side without so much as glancing behind. He smiled.
"How the hell do you keep doing that?" Prussia finally asked; exasperated and well aware that they had passed the broom closet, and his chance, some time ago.
"Doing what?" Canada cocked his head sweetly to the side and again danced out of reach.
"That!" Prussia pointed to the distance between them. "Sidestepping me! How're you doing that?"
Canada took another step to the right and further away as if to demonstrate.
"And stop acting so cute and innocent!" Prussia cried when Canada fluttered his eyelashes. "I'm on to you!"
"Oh, alright then," Canada sighed, standing a little straighter with a small smile playing across his lips. "You're no fun."
Prussia threw his hands over his head in defeat and spun in a circle.
"I give up! I cannot figure it out; you were supposed to be quiet and easy to manipulate. Who the hell are you?" He moaned; confused and taunted by the coy game Canada was playing. Confused, but also intrigued.
"Well then, that is a rather broad question, isn't it?" Canada mused, tapping his chin and staring at the ceiling in concentration. "I believe that the quote is: "I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think that I must have been changed several times since then', yes?"
"... Oh, of course. It makes so much sense now... Or not at all!"
Canada twirled around with a light laugh and Prussia was again reminded of how beautiful he was.
It took him a moment to realize when they had stopped walking; it was only when Canada reached for the suitcase that Prussia had been carrying for him that he even noticed. They stood in front of a painted green door with the brass numbers '701' mounted to the timber. The '7' was crooked.
"So," Canada said as he unlocked the door with a hotel keycard, "to answer your first question; I get around, despite what everyone seems to think. Plus, you know... France. I've had a lot of practice sidestepping his advances. Second question? I am Canada and please, oh please, do not make me say it again. I get enough of that at home; Kumajirou is sweet, but maybe not the brightest crayon in the box. But if you are taking me out for dinner, I suppose that you can call me 'Matthew' instead."
Prussia stared blankly as the door popped open; he could barely remember what he had asked in the first place. Talking to Canada was similar to riding a roller coaster. Backwards. He could never really be sure where he was in the conversation at any given time.
"There is a little Italian restaurant in the centre of town. Please pick me up here," he tapped the brass numbers, "at 1800 hours tomorrow. After the conference. If you pay for dinner, I'll take you out to a movie afterwards. If you are late, or forget, I might be forced to hurt you. Understood?"
"Sir, yes sir," Prussia mumbled automatically because he was still a little confused. He had not known that Canada could be forceful, despite the peppered 'pleases'. It was kind of... Hot.
"Good," Canada said, and he genuinely seemed delighted. He leaned forward to place a soft kiss on his cheek before stepping into the room. "I'll see you then. And thank you."
Canada closed the door with a gentle 'click' and left Prussia standing alone in the corridor. He touched his cheek.
It was like riding a roller coaster backwards. In the dark.
He grinned in wild abandonment before pressing his hands into his pockets and whistling down the corridor. He felt as if he had chosen his distraction well.
Meanwhile, in the conference room, it was absolute chaos. As per usual.
America had drawn several detailed diagrams with robots and aliens battling on high rises and England was burning the diagrams with single minded intent. France had wrapped his arms around England and was blowing out the matches before the fire could catch in an effort to anger him. It was working.
There was a low undercurrent of excitement and vigour running between the nations as they tittered and argued in an attempt to get a word in.
"We should separate them!"
"I do not think that it is proper for Prussia to chase after Canada."
"I agree."
"Damn it, Japan! State your own opinions!"
"I think that we should hang him for treason."
"Isn't that a little extreme?"
"In this case? No."
Germany thought briefly about restoring order but quickly abandoned the idea as a wad of flaming paper sailed overhead.
It could wait.
Canada sank onto the edge of the bed and loosened his tie. It had been long and largely unproductive day. It had been interesting near the end, but long nonetheless.
He began to unbutton his dress shirt before giving up and flopping back onto the pillows. The sheets were lightly starched and as white as the blanket covering them. He allowed his mind to wander and found himself staring out the window feeling wistful. The sun was setting on the horizon.
This would not do.
Canada pushed himself off of the bed and decided to take a shower.
He emerged from the washroom ten minutes later and towelled his hair without care. He fumbled through his luggage for a pair of jeans and a comfortable black cotton shirt with 'In Soviet Russia, Zero Divides by You' scrawled across the front. He had quite the collection of national humour, but this was one of his favourites, and if it managed to irritate Russia then even better. At least it would mean that someone was paying attention to him.
Canada slipped into his boots and stepped into the corridor. He did not make much noise at all as he headed for exit. It was a stroke of luck that this hotel sat nestled on the far corner of the town. It meant he would not have as far of a walk.
It was a little more than half an hour when he found the first sprinkling of trees at the beginning of a forest. A sense of calm washed over him as he shifted between the branches.
It was not well known that he had a mild case of claustrophobia. It was difficult for him to sit in a conference room or in parliament or in an office for any great length of time. Canada spent as little time inside as possible. He kept houses in all of his major cities, of course, but he tried not to be bullied into sleeping there. His current leader was conservative in more ways than one and did not like for Canada to wander too far. Still, whenever he could find a moment he was slinking through the forests or scaling mountaintops or swimming in shallow rivers.
The truth of the matter was that Canada represented a large country that was largely unpopulated. There were only so many Canadians and most of them were spread over the landscape in uneven bursts of population. Most of his country was wild and untamed, and he had been reliant on that nature for centuries before the Europeans arrived on his shore. His native inhabitants had been able to live off of the land and live with the land but the Europeans brought constructs and smoke so harsh as to blind; water so foul that the bottom was hidden beneath a coating of sludge and grease.
It was not that he was ashamed of the Europeans and what the old world offered. He loved the cities, the culture, and the technology that modern culture had brought him, but he still represented the nation as a whole, and sometimes that meant that the cities became stifling. He still needed to roam the woods and splash in the streams. He still needed both sides of the coin; the sophisticated indulgences of the cities coupled with the raw, untamed power of the wilderness.
Canada stalked through the forest, stepping through the underbrush with ease and crouching low when a twig snapped in the distance. When he found a suitable tree, he scrambled up the rough bark and sat on a branch with his legs swinging over the abyss.
He had a lot to think about: federal and provincial laws, elections and the recession, and the fact that Switzerland would soon be baking donuts for Tim Hortons. A Canadian icon owned by an American company and supplied by a Swiss partner. What was the world coming to?
But mostly, he thought about Prussia. He wondered if he remembered.
It seemed like a lifetime since he had spoken to him last but little had changed. He was still as arrogant and loudmouthed as before. He still had odd twitches and tics to match a gruesome history of warfare and constantly shifting borders.
But he was still earnest and he still meant what he said; when he said it. When he smiled, he smiled from the heart and his laugh was contagious. He still fumbled his words and his meanings but he was mischievous and playful too. He told interesting, rambling stories with no beginning or end. He was sweet, in that way where he did not know when he was being sweet.
Most of all, he was an instant cure for the boredom that had been plaguing him for the last decade. He adored the chance to mess around and keep him guessing. He deserved a little fun after waiting for so long.
Canada kicked his feet and leaned back on the branch, smiling to himself.
"What more could I ask for," he sang under his breath, "in a new toy?"
Author's Notes:
The second rewritten chapter. The notes from this point forward will only include anything I deem necessary or interesting, but each one will probably continue to be very long... Oh, well. I often include information pertinent to my stories because I believe that life is about learning, and how can you learn if no one is teaching?
Yes, Tim Hortons is owned by an American company and soon to be supplied by a Swiss partner. Yes, it is a terribly stereotypical concern for a Canadian, but honestly, you would be surprised how few seem to know. I do not drink coffee but when I travel, it is a Tim Hortons in the airport that lets me know I am almost home.
Cookie for the quote!
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