I forgot to say – I don't own Hetalia or any characters, or intend any profit off of this.

Poland arrived for the second day of meetings just a few minutes early. He hoped to see North Italy and ask him about going out for dinner tonight. Last evening had been boring, as Poland suspected it would be. He had watched tv, which was hardly exciting when you couldn't understand what they were saying, and fixed up his nails with a clear polish (another compromise with the boss – Poland was totally professional in meetings, so who cares how he dressed in his free time?) before calling Lithuania to rib him a little about missing the conference.

"And you shoulda been there to kick that little brat's butt, Liet!"

Lithuania's soft chuckle could barely be heard over the long-distance static. "I'm sure you can handle it yourself, Lenkija."

Poland snorted. "Yeah, but we're, like, a team."

Lithuania sighed. "Lenkija –"

"I know, I know." Poland cut him off before he could continue. Seriously, he was so over this whole conversation. They'd only had it about 100 times. "You're dating America. I'm not, like, saying that's a bad thing, you know? But we're still a team, right? Although I totally think you could do better than a dumb blond who's more obsessed with food than with you," he added as an afterthought.

"He is not –" Lithuania started, exasperated.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm sure he's fine. I bet he's amazing in bed, actually. With how much he eats, his tongue must be like – "

"Poland!"

Poland laughed. It was too much fun to tease Lithuania, it almost made up for him not being here. "I'm just kidding. But seriously, still a team, you and me, right?"

Lithuania's reassuring, if slightly put out, voice came through. "Of course. I'll always be your backup in fights with 12-year-olds," he said with a hint of sarcasm.

"Whatever, shut up. He totally came at me in my blind spot. And seriously, he's Sweden's kid. I bet he trained him to do that."

"I hardly think he'd do that."

"Really, Litwa? Do you remember anything from the 1600s? 'Cause he was a scary mother-effer then, and he still kinda is."

Speaking of – Poland looked around to see if the tall nation was lurking around. Usually he and the most of the other Nordics could be counted on to show up to meetings early. Poland saw a couple of them across the room, and Finland, noticing his gaze, waved a hello to him.

Poland cautiously waved back with his free hand, the dreaded reviews left at home for a really fun reading session later. He set his briefcase down at the table as Finland made his way through the room towards him.

"Poland, how are you? How is your hand?" Finland asked.

"Oh, it's totally fine, thanks." Poland rubbed it self-consciously. "So, how are you?"

Finland smiled at him. "I'm fine, thank you for asking." They lapsed into a silence. The other nation was really nice, but Poland had no clue what to talk about with him. Luckily the punctual nations were starting to filter over to their seats, some of them physically dragging over the idle ones.

"Well, I better go sit down. Nice talking to you!" Finland said cheerfully, smiling as he left for his seat.

"Okay, see ya," Poland said, taking his own seat.

The meeting stretched on, and on, and on. He sent a couple texts to Liet, just to break up the monotony, but Lithuania was not much for texting, however much Poland hassled the other nation.

The end of the meeting finally arrived, with many of the nations eyeing their watches and cellphones for the last hour, eager to escape. There was a simultaneous rush to the door as soon as Germany gave the dismissal. Poland shot up out of his chair, quickly putting his documents in his briefcase. Today he would catch North Italy and definitely make plans for the evening. No more being stuck in his hotel room.

Poland scanned the room, looking for the other nation. It was crazy how fast some of the nations were; most were already out the door. Looks like Italy had disappeared too. He quickly grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door, ducking around the slow-moving Greece. God, it was so annoying that Liet wasn't here! At the very least Estonia and Latvia should be around, but if Lithuania wasn't here they had a tendency to hide out in order to avoid Russia.

Poland reached the door to the hallway and slowed down. He didn't see North Italy, or Germany, who he would definitely be hanging over. The faster way to reach him might be a phone call. Poland opened his phone up and started scrolling through his contacts, searching for the number. He jumped, startled, as a heavy hand came down on his shoulder.

"God! What – " His voice died in his throat as he spun around to see Sweden staring down at him.

"Uh." Poland stepped back, unconsciously moving his briefcase in front of him as a barrier. The distressingly tall nation was gazing silently down at him, a terrible look on his face. And what the hell had Poland done? Was this about the kid? That kid had bumped into him, jeez. No way he should be giving Poland that look.

Poland took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes. "What?" he snapped.

The Nordic nation paused for a second. "Heard Peter ran into ya yesterday," he said in a low voice.

"Yeah? So?" Poland gazed up at him defiantly. Sweden stared at him. The moment stretched on. Oh God, what was the other nation going to do? Where was Liet when he needed him?

"Want 'im to apologize. C'mon," Sweden said, turning away and starting to walk down the hall.

He...what? Sweden wanted Poland to go with him? What. The. Hell. Leave the building with this guy? Poland gaped at the broad back, trying to comprehend what was going on. Sweden turned around after a few steps and gave him another terrifying look. "Made 'im wait outside. Not s'posed to be 'ere anyway."

Poland stared at Sweden, who stared back.

"Um, okay?" Poland hesitantly followed after Sweden. He was fine. Totally fine. Nothing bad was going to happen. Poland repeated this mantra to himself as he followed the Nordic nation outside. Sweden motioned him towards a bench, where the kid from yesterday was sitting.

The kid frowned as he saw Poland approach, and crossed his arms in a pout. Poland scowled back at him, the little brat. There was a long pause as no one said anything. Sweden was giving the kid an intense look, but the kid was avoiding looking at him. Wow, this was fun.

"So, like, I haven't got all day," Poland said. The brat shot him a nasty look. Poland glared at him.

"Peter," Sweden said quietly. Peter fidgeted on the bench. Then Sweden did something surprising. He sat down next to the kid and leaned down, speaking softly, his low voice making it difficult for Poland to hear. His hand came up to rest on the boy's shoulder. The kid didn't look the least bit terrified. He even leaned into the touch.

"Sorry," Peter muttered. Then, louder, "Sorry for running into you yesterday, Mr. Poland."

Poland blinked and looked at him, then Sweden. No way. This was way too weird for Poland to even begin to process.

Both Sweden and Peter were looking at him expectantly.

"Um, yeah. F-fine. It's totally fine. Thanks," Poland stammered. He nervously reached up and tucked a loose lock of hair behind his ears with his free hand.

Sweden gave one final squeeze to Peter's shoulder and stood up. "Yer hand?"

"My what? Oh, it's fine. Fer sure, no worries." Poland tucked it behind his back, away from Sweden's dark gaze.

"Hmm." Sweden grunted, eyes traveling back up to stare intensely at Poland.

Poland swallowed. "So, I'll just – "

"Coffee?"

" – be going – wait, what?" Mentally, Poland was completely flailing. This entire exchange was too weird. Sweden was acting – wait for it – nice. First to his kid, and now he was asking Poland if he wanted coffee. This had to be some sort of trick or something.

"Yay! Can I get some scones too? Or maybe some cinnamon buns. You think they have that here?" Peter leapt off the bench, running in front of them.

"Pr'bly." Sweden motioned at Poland to follow him.

"Uh, I should probably – I mean, I have to go to dinner – " Not that Poland had dinner plans, but Sweden didn't need to know that.

Sweden nodded, completely ignoring – or agreeing, who could tell – Poland's comment. "Just coffee," he said, starting toward the street.

"Wait!" Poland was inexplicably following the two down the sidewalk, hurrying his steps to keep up with the taller nation. With Sweden in front of him, wearing his dark blue coat, the people on the sidewalk parted out of the way for them, many of them giving Sweden an apprehensive look. "I mean, like, right before dinner?"

"Fika," was all Sweden said, or what Poland thought he heard over the noise of the crowds. In a minute they were at a coffee shop. Peter darted inside as soon as Sweden had the door open. Sweden stood to the side and held the door open, staring expectantly at Poland.

"Oh, um. Thanks." Poland slipped inside and saw they were in a very modern-looking, brightly colored shop. They stood out a little in their uniforms. Usually he went straight back to his hotel to change, not that he didn't look amazing in his uniform, because he totally rocked it, but he preferred to wear casual clothing when he wasn't at work.

Sweden didn't seem bothered at all, just went straight up to the counter. The employee nodded at him and they conversed briefly. Peter was tugging at Sweden's coat, demanding some kind of sweet roll loudly. Poland stepped back, letting other people move around him. This was getting to be too much. No, no, he had to remain calm. Poland just had to drink a coffee and get out and never repeat this experience ever again.

Sweden turned around and motioned him forward with a sharp movement. "What d'ya want?" he said shortly.

Poland gripped his briefcase tighter. That's right, he had a weapon if he needed it. "I'll take a – " he named off his favorite drink, hoping the employee spoke English. The guy nodded, so he must have, and they moved down the line to pay for their drinks. Poland wondered if he should offer to pay for his. Except that it had been Sweden's idea, so he definitely should be paying for it. The Nordic nation didn't even look at him as he handed the cashier a few bills, so that was good.

They picked up their drinks, and Peter's cinnamon roll, and Sweden immediately moved to sit down at a free table. Poland hesitantly followed him and sat as far away from the other nation as he could get. Unfortunately that put him closer to the kid, who scowled at him and kicked the chair.

"Hey, watch it br – kid," Poland snapped. Probably shouldn't call him a brat in front of his frightening dad.

"It's Sealand," the kid protested. "The Great and Mighty Sealand," he

added with a triumphant flourish of his fork.

"Whatever," Poland muttered, taking a sip of his coffee. Sweden was looking between the two of them, so Poland kept himself from making any more remarks.

He took another sip of his coffee. Sweden seemed fine just sitting there and sipping his coffee, staring at Poland – scary – and there was no way he could have a conversation with the brat. The silence dragged on.

Poland sighed. He was totally going to have to be the one with manners, wasn't he? "So, like, what's a finka?"

"It's fika, you git," Peter glared at him.

"Peter," Sweden growled. Okay, here it was, the act was going to end and Sweden would –

"Sorry," Peter grumbled and shoved another bite of his roll in his mouth.

Act normally? No, act like a father. Wow. Poland's surprise was sky-rocketing.

Sweden turned back to Poland. "It's tradition. Meetin' for tea or coffee."

"Oh. Cool," Poland shrugged his shoulders, then automatically put his hands up to adjust his cape. Sweden was still staring at him with a dark look on his face. "I mean, that sounds totally nice!" Poland tried to assure him. Seriously, what else could he say?

"Yeah." The corner of Sweden's mouth quirked. Was that like a smile or a snarl of anger? It was really time for Poland to get out of here.

He picked up his cup and drank the rest of his coffee quickly, ignoring the slight burn on his tongue.

"So, like, thanks for the coffee!" Poland set his cup down on the table, making to standing up. Sweden's hand suddenly came down on top of his.

Poland jerked back reflexively, pulling his hand away. "Um, what are you doing?"

Sweden slowly drew his hand back to his side. "Yer hand," he said. "Hurt it when Peter ran into ya."

Poland looked down at his hand. "Seriously, it's like nothing." He wasn't such a baby, hello! He was probably older than Sweden. He flexed his hand. It twinged a little. The knuckles were bruised but it wasn't a grave injury.

Sweden slowly sat back in his seat and nodded. "Okay," he said, after Poland gave him a look. That's right, Poland wasn't just a little nation to be pushed around. He reached down for his suitcase and stood up.

"Anyways, so. Thanks for the coffee." Poland pushed his hair back and attempted a smile. If he was going to be polite, might as well go all the way.

Sweden nodded at him again, a dark look on his face. Poland suppressed a shiver and turned and looked at his bratty kid. "And bye...you."

"It's Sealand!"

"Yeah, uh huh. See ya!" Poland turned on his heel and strode through the room. It almost felt like something was bearing into his back. Poland half-turned at the door, using his shoulder to open it, and looked back. Sweden was still staring at him. God, he was such a creeper. Poland quickly exited and practically ran down the street back to his hotel. Okay, so he still had no dinner plans, but at least he had made it through the weirdest encounter ever. And he definitely never had to do it again.

notes:

the 1600s comment refers to the Swedish Deluge, a series of mid-seventeenth century campaigns in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. During these wars the Commonwealth lost an estimated one-third of its population as well as its status as a great power. Don't mess with Sweden, eh?

Nations that are close to another refer to the other nation in their own language. So, Lithuania calls Poland 'Lenkija', which means Poland in Lithuanian.

Fika is a tradition in which friends, family, and/or colleagues meet for coffee or tea. What's intriguing is that it happens multiple times a day. Before lunch, after lunch, before dinner, after dinner...