If you're still with me, you deserve a cookie! (or Kanelbulle!)

Poland stood in front of the mirror, smoothing his blond hair back – flyaways, for real? His hair was going to seriously kill him today. It just would not cooperate. At this rate he was going to be late to the first meeting of the day. Why they had them so early anyways, he had yet to figure out. He could always wear a hat, but that was way too formal for his camel-colored merino sweater. Maybe green hair clips? Those would pick up the green in his eyes and his tie. Sweet, he was totally wearing those today.

One last look and then Poland was out the door. He nodded to Romania as he passed, who was also just stepping out of his hotel room. Like, didn't he know that tiny hats were so last year? Whatever, with those creepy red eyes, Poland was definitely not going to be the one to tell him that.

Today was going to be a much better day than the last. Poland hummed to himself as he walked along. Lithuania had definitely been impressed by his survival story last night. Poland couldn't help feeling pretty proud of himself. He had survived the most awkward and terrifying encounter ever, with the scary Nordic and his annoying kid. And he had done his social good deed for the week. Hanging out with Poland's fab self was sure to look good for the other intimidating nation.

Poland entered the conference room feeling much better than before. He had dinner plans tonight with Italy (and probably Germany, then, but whatever, can't win them all), skipping the whole face to face meeting and just sending him a text. Technology was like, so made for Poland.

He settled into his seat just as Germany called the meeting to order. Another long, boring day of talks. He sighed as he leaned back into his seat. Might as well get comfortable.

Poland half-listened as presentations were made, using the time to catch up on other important things. He updated his status and texted Liet, filed his nails down (conferences were always the worst, they gave him too much time to spend picking at his cuticles), and took to checking out the other nations, making mental notes of who needed to update their winter moisturizer (Bulgaria was looking dried out, but then again that was always how he looked). Just a usual meeting really, until he locked eyes with Sweden.

Poland automatically jerked his gaze away. What was the Nordic nation doing? Was he trying to creep out Poland? Wait, wait, maybe he just happened to be glancing that way. Don't freak, casually look over. Poland pretended to reach for his pen, like he was taking notes, haha. Keeping his head tilted down, he looked back over towards Sweden. The other nation was still staring at him. God! What the hell? Poland frowned. Sweden's eyebrow lifted a fraction upwards. Um, okay? What do you think you're doing, creeper? Poland raised his one of his own up in return. The corner of the Sweden's mouth quirked. Okay, what's so funny? Poland narrowed his eyes again. Sweden still had his mouth quirked, but nodded just teeny bit towards Poland. Or past him. What...?

"Excuse me, Poland, do you have a question?" Germany, always the moderator, asked loudly. Belgium, who was presenting, paused to look down the table at him.

Poland realized he was leaning over the table, hand stretched forward. The nations who were still awake were staring at him.

"Um, no!" He scrunched back in his seat. Ohmigod, this is awkward, everyone was so starting at him. He crossed his arms over his chest and concentrated on looking serious and whatever. Belgium continued on and eventually everyone turned their attention back to her.

Poland carefully kept his body angled towards the front, like he was doing the same. After what he deemed an appropriate amount of time he slowly, slowly turned his head to see if the cause of his trouble was still – God! Sweden was still looking at him, this time clearly laughing, if that odd quirk of the lips meant anything. Poland shot him a fierce scowl, and then stuck out his tongue for good measure, before turning back towards the front of the table and resolutely not looking Sweden's way for the rest of the presentations.

Finally Germany dismissed them all for an hour's lunch break. Poland was still feeling a little embarrassed – and therefore a little grumpy – as he packed away his briefcase. He adjusted his hair clip before it fell out of his hair, then picked up his briefcase and turned to go find some lunch. Seriously, where was Latvia and Estonia? Poland had checked the attendees list again, and they were supposed to be at this conference. He had totally taken care of them during the sixteenth century, you'd think the least they could do was stop by and say hi.

Anyways. Poland headed outside into the hallway. There was a cute little cafe that he had passed by on his way over, he would go there for a quick bite before the lunch hour was up. That is, if the scary jerk Nordic would get out of his way. Then, once Denmark moved, of course Sweden was standing in front of him, too.

Sweden looked down at him. "Mornin'."

"It's afternoon, duh," Poland couldn't help but roll his eyes at him, although he probably shouldn't be getting on the Nordic's bad side. Then again, he had made him look ridiculous in front of everyone, and Poland was totally a pro at not getting caught at world meetings. He folded his arms and glared at Sweden.

Sweden just shrugged. "Lunch?"

"Yeah, that's what we usually do during lunch break."

Sweden just nodded like he hadn't heard the sarcasm. "Right, c'mon." He waved his hand forward and turned around to start walking down the hall.

"Wait, what?" Poland glared at the retreating back and just barely refrained from stomping his foot. What was with this guy telling him what to do all the time? And ignoring him when he talked, or staring at him randomly, God.

Poland huffed in annoyance as he caught up to the longer strides of the other nation. "Um, hello," he said, glaring at Sweden.

Sweden paused to finally listen to him, except he was actually holding the door open for Poland to pass through first. Fine. Poland marched through the door out into the courtyard. Then he turned around and boxed Sweden into the door.

"I never said I was, like, going," Poland snapped.

There was a long silence as Sweden just looked at him. "M'treat," he replied.

"That's not – I meant, like – ugh!" Poland threw up his hand (the one that wasn't holding the briefcase). Sweden blinked, but didn't say anything. He just kind of looked at Poland, and they were totally blocking other people trying to get through the door.

"You're like, so weird," Poland muttered.

"Huh?" Sweden asked.

"Nothing!"

Someone jostled Poland from behind, trying to get behind him. "God, people," Poland scowled. Someone muttered something distinctly unflattering back. It was lunchtime so of course there was a million people trying to get through the door. Sweden seemed totally unfazed, but then, people weren't bumping into him.

"Okay, fine," Poland snapped, when it became clear the staring contest wasn't going to get them anywhere. He turned around to get out of the way, and suddenly people were miraculously moving out of his path. That was probably because Sweden was also standing just behind him, if the looks of terror were anything to go by.

"Here," Sweden murmured, and a warm hand wrapped around his elbow and propelled him towards the open street. He was released a few seconds later at the sidewalk, and once again was following Sweden's broad back as he pushed his way through the crowds. Shortly they were at the same coffee place they were yesterday.

"Really? Weren't we just here?" Poland wrinkled his nose.

Sweden turned to say something to him but was interrupted by his kid.

"Berwald!" The kid yelled and waved furiously from an armchair in the back corner. At least he was smart enough not to yell the nation's name.

Sweden raised a hand in acknowledgement and went over to him. Poland followed.

"Peter," Sweden said, and the kid grinned up at him. He caught sight of Poland and glowered.

"What is he doing here?"

Poland glared back and wondered the same thing. Shouldn't the kid be at home or something?

Sweden ignored his question. "What d'ya want to eat?"

"Kanelbulle!" Peter chirped, asking a cinnamon roll.

Sweden shook his head. "Food first, then sweets."

Peter pouted. "Fine, I want a sandwich."

"C'n ya save us a couple of chairs, then?"

"Finnnne," Peter sighed loudly and dramatically.

"Th'nks," Sweden reached down and squeezed Peter's shoulder. Peter sighed theatrically but didn't shrug off his hand.

Poland watched their interaction, standing back a bit. Sweden sure was...nice to this kid. Even though he was actually England's. It was so weird.

Sweden motioned him to follow him up the counter where they stood behind a few other people, waiting to order.

"So, like..." Poland trailed off. "You and, um." He waved his hand towards Peter. Was there any polite way to ask this question? A few hundred years of conquering and being conquered and Poland had yet to figure it out. "How did you get him?"

Sweden didn't say anything for a few moments, seeming to stare off in thought. "Ebay," he said finally.

Poland stared at him. "Are you serious?"

Sweden nodded.

"But why?" Wait, that totally sounded rude. Oh God, he was going to get killed.

Sweden didn't seem to take offense. He blinked. He opened his mouth to speak then abruptly closed it again. He took his glasses off and polished them on his shirt. He put them back on. "Dunno," he finally muttered.

Poland couldn't – for once, haha, Liet would never believe this – think of what to say. Why would...why...just, seriously, why? He stared at Sweden. This guy was becoming a lot less scary and more just totally weird.

They finally reached the counter and ordered and picked up their food, then went back to find Peter had moved over to an open table and gotten some chairs.

They sat down so Peter was between them. Peter took one look at his sandwich and frowned.

"This looks bloody awful," Peter complained.

Sweden took a bite of his own sandwich and chewed thoroughly before replying. "Got'ta try it first."

Poland was totally enjoying his own soup and salad. God, kids were so picky these days. He remembered Estonia and Latvia had eaten whatever was in front of them, back in the day. Although they had done all the cooking and stuff, so maybe that was why.

The kid was poking at his sandwich, lifting up the bread and peering underneath.

"Is it turkey? I hate turkey!"

"'s turkey. You ate some the other –" Sweden started.

"I hate it!"

Sweden leveled a look at the kid. "Mine's ham."

Peter looked mutinously at his own sandwich. "I hate turkey," he pouted, crossing his arms.

"Trade, then."

"But you ate some already!"

"Just 'ave to finish it." Sweden waited patiently, more patiently than Poland would have thought, for the kid to make up his mind.

"Fine, I'll eat yours," he grumbled. Sweden switched plates with him. Peter poked a little more at the sandwich, then turned it and started eating from the other uneaten end. Damn, Sweden managed him so well. Maybe manage wasn't quite the right word. He totally acted like a father, which Poland hadn't really thought possible of any of any nations.

Sweden caught him staring and gave him a look as if to say, Kids, right? Poland hastily gave him a half smile in return. They ate their meals in relative silence, Poland not really feeling up to carrying on the burden of the conversation. Sealand, for all his whining, was still the first to finish. Sweden and Poland finished up soon after that, and then the silence became really awkward for Poland.

"So – " Poland started, then trailed off.

Sweden stood up with a grunt, collecting all the plates. "Coffee," he said quietly as he left the table.

"Um, what?"

"He's going to get some coffee," Peter said, his tone clearly saying he thought Poland was stupid for not knowing.

"Oh." Poland reached up to readjust his barrettes. Peter noticed his actions and narrowed his eyes.

"Why're you wearing hair clips?"

"Why not?"

Peter frowned at him. Then he looked straight at Poland's chest, suspiciously. "You're a...?"

"No, I'm not a girl, duh." Poland rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe Sweden wasn't much of a dad. He clearly needed to explain a few things to his kid.

Sweden came back then with three cups and a kanelbulle for Peter. He set them down before settling back into his chair. "Hot chocolate," he explained as he slid one in front of Peter.

Poland took a sip of his and was pleasantly surprised to find Sweden had apparently remembered what he had ordered yesterday. "Sweet, thanks!"

"Welcome," Sweden grunted.

"So, like," Poland searched for a topic. He couldn't talk about meeting stuff in front of the kid, and...that pretty much left him with nothing to say. "Um. Like, coffee, huh?" Wow, that was pretty bad.

"Duh," Peter sarcastically mimicked back to him.

"Peter," Sweden rumbled threateningly.

"What? Obviously, you love coffee, you drink a million cups a day!"

Sweden looked amused at the exaggeration.

"Really? So, like, how can you ever sleep?" Poland asked.

"S'fine, doesn't keep me up."

And then they lapsed back into silence. Oh, good, this isn't awkward at all, Poland thought, mentally rolling his eyes.

After a bit of silence, Sweden spoke up. "You?"

"What?"

"He wants to know if you drink coffee!" Sealand broke in, mouth full of cinnamon roll.

"Um, okay. I don't know," Poland pushed back a lock of hair. "I guess like maybe two cups a day? I dunno."

Sweden nodded. Peter looked bored. Poland totally felt the same way. Well, maybe he should leave. Except they were going back to the same place. Okay, fine, small talk. What else did he know about Sweden?

"So, you like...ABBA?" Oh my God. Poland mentally prayed for someone to kill him before the Nordic nation did, if only to keep him from saying anything else so dumb.

Both Sweden and Peter were staring at him.

"No," Sweden looked intently at Poland.

"Huh?"

"I hate them." Sweden seemed to be pissed.

Silence stretched out as both Poland and Sealand stared at him.

"What?" Poland asked, confused. He had thought for sure...

Suddenly Sweden's shoulders started shaking, and he pressed a hand against his mouth. Sealand looked puzzled, but not frightened, so the Nordic nation obviously wasn't dying. Wait. Poland thought he had it. Like, this was crazy. Sweden was laughing.

"Oh my God!" He honestly hadn't thought the other nation had it in him.

"'s joke," Sweden calmed himself but a smile was clearly on his face.

"Jerk," Poland said half-heartedly, but he couldn't help the smile that came up on his own face in response. "I totally fell for it, too."

Sweden smiled back.

"Tossers," Peter muttered, sliding down in his seat to frown at the two of them. "Did you know I'm Sealand?" he asked Poland suddenly.

"Um, what?"

"The great and mighty Sealand! You should recognize me!"

"Um..."

"Time t' go," Sweden stood up.

"But –" Peter said.

Poland stood up too. Sweden was looking rather intensely at his kid.

"C'mon," Sweden told Peter with a frown.

Peter scowled. "Fine."

Outside, Sweden turned to Peter. "Back to the room."

"Okay, okay!"

"Call ya."

"I know," Peter groaned. Poland expected them to leave it at that, but instead, Peter darted forward and hugged Sweden. Sweden looked a bit startled, but his arms readily came down around Peter's shoulders. They actually looked like father and son, it was rather sweet, Poland thought. Poland would never have suspected anything unusual, but then he caught Peter peeking out at him with an odd look in he eye. Whatever that meant.

Then the kid was off and flying down the street, shouting "Cheerio!"

Sweden watched him go and shook his head. He turned and gave Poland a look. "Head back?"

"Yeah, guess so," Poland agreed.

They walked at a slower pace back to the conference building. There was less of a crowd so this time Poland could actually walk next to the taller nation. They were nearly back to the building when Sweden rapidly spoke up.

"Ya have plans?" He cleared his throat. "Fer dinner tonight?"

"Oh, totally. Italy and I are going to this cute little place he was telling me about, it's Italian, I'm sure, but it'll be good, the places he finds always are. I'm sure Germany will be there, but God, hopefully not Prussia, I hate that guy. South Italy might be coming too, he's kind of a downer but if he comes then Spain will too and he totally makes up for him. Why?"

Sweden seemed taken aback for a moment. "No..." he started, then paused. "Jus' was going ta..." He trailed off. "Ask. If you wanted ta go eat wit' me and Peter."

"Oh." Well, this was something. Unexpected? Yes. Awkward? Also yes. Didn't he have Finland and the other Nordics to hangout with? He was practically married to Finland, from what he had heard. Actually, now that he thought about it, where was that guy? It probably looked bad to be going out to lunch without him.

"Well, like, what about Finland?"

Sweden frowned.

"Ohhhh, unless you're – " having problems, Poland almost said, but he totally still had an instinct for preservation.

"We're not t'gether."

"Huh? What?" Had Sweden just said what Poland thought he said?

"Haven't been for awhile."

"Oh my God. Are you serious?"

Sweden turned and looked at him. "Yeah."

"O-oh," was all Poland could say. Damn, they weren't together anymore? That was crazy, amazing good gossip. He couldn't wait to tell Liet.

Sweden didn't say anymore as they entered into the building. He didn't look outwardly different from before, but Poland wondered if he was bothered by the mention of Finland. There was a group of nations mingling at the entrance to the meeting room, and Sweden's footsteps didn't slow.

"Thanks," Sweden said with a nod goodbye, already drifting away towards another one of the Nordic nations.

"I'm free tomorrow night," Poland blurted out. Oh my God, his mouth would be the end of him, for sure.

Sweden paused.

Poland pulled himself up and cocked one hand on his hip. "So you should like, take me out. I mean – whatever, like dinner and stuff, not like take out out – just like what you said, not my version. Yeah. Um...yeah." Poland wilted inside. This was so bad, he sounded like America, and ew. No way. He was so much better than that.

"Yeah." Sweden did his quirky little smile.

"Ok, good." Was that relief he felt? He was totally just doing it because he felt bad for the Nordic nation. "Anyways. So, like, thanks for lunch. And stuff." Poland flashed a smile and barely waited for Sweden to say goodbye in turn before heading quickly into the conference room. He sank down into his seat and pulled out his cell phone. Liet was totally missing out on the weirdest conference ever.

Well, maybe not the weirdest, but definitely in the top 5, fer sure.

Notes:

During the sixteenth century, the Livonian Confederation, composed of part of Estonia and Latvia, pretty much ceased to exist after the Livonian war and its lands were incorporated into the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. Sweden and Denmark also took parts, I think.

Kanelbulle is 'cinnamon bun' in Swedish and presumably they originated there as well.