A/N: Somehow the author's note for last chapter appeared here, even though I had a perfectly pointless pre-story quip here. Anyway, I'm home again, I took silver in point fighting. Got jilted in forms but hey that's life. On the other hand I look at it this way, I lost my forms division so Netherlands could win, and my sparring match so that Germany could win. I'd also like to wish a happy birthday to Alfred Jones, I hope you're new boyfriend is treating you well.
I don't own Hetalia, if I did then I'd make it required text in history class.
When Norway woke up, he glanced at his alarm clock on the nightstand. He blinked wearily at it for a moment before flinging himself out of bed. His semi-final match was due to start in fifteen minutes, he'd slept through breakfast, lunch, and almost his match. He tore off his pajama bottoms and underwear, grabbing a clean pair of boxers and his curling pants. One hand fumbled with his socks while his other grabbed his shirt. He stumbled pulling up his other sock while sliding in his hair clip. Sliding both feet into his shoes, the Nordic grabbed his broom and a fresh pad for the bottom. Running down the hall he ripped off the old pad and stuck on the new one while leaping down the stairs.
He frowned and glared down the street, one mile to the hall and ten minutes to make it. Kicking into overdrive Norway powered down the street towards the hall, using the ice to slide around corners. The Nordic dashed into the competitor entrance and down to the locker room just in time to follow his team up into the arena. He wiped the sweat on the back of his sleeve, then shook hands with Switzerland.
Switzerland took a hasty glance up into the stands where Belgium and Lichtenstein sat. "After the finals there's going to be a Dance Dance Revolution party at the bar. She wanted me to invite you."
Norway thought for a moment, he wasn't much for parties but he did like music, "I'll be there win or lose. Good luck."
"You too," Switzerland replied as they slid along to the house.
Up in the stands Belgium and Lichtenstein watched the match confused. "Who should we root for?"
Belgium frowned, her new boyfriend or her traumatized friend on the road to recovery. "Both of them?"
Lichtenstein smiled, she had a clear view of her boyfriend on the next sheet over, playing against Sweden. She had a Swiss flag and a Norwegian flag painted on her cheeks, while wearing Canada's favorite sweatshirt waving a small Swedish flag. "It's really confusing..." She frowned her green eyes studied the matches, "but I think you're right!" She stood up, "do your best everybody!"
Norway frowned during the fifth end and sighed, he was down five to four. He knew looking to the stands for support would be risky since all of his friends would be rooting for both him and Switzerland. But down by Iceland someone slid into the empty seat behind the white haired Nordic. Finland waved down at Norway and Sweden, "Hey Norway! I brought someone who wants to talk to you!" He pointed to the group making their way towards him. At the end of the line stood America, in the process of tripping down the stairs. Next to him was Prussia, making a vain attempt to stop his friend from falling, instead being pulled with him. At the head of the group, well away from the commotion stood a nation wearing a red button down shirt, with tee shirt underneath it. His jeans had a tear along the knee and his sneakers had seen better days, but the Nordic didn't pay attention to those. All he cared about was the messy blond spikes, the arrogant smirk and glittering blue eyes.
"Hey Nora! You screw this up and I'll never forgive ya for it!" Denmark shouted waving. "Awesome Trio, let's show these guys how we cheer!"
America stood up holding his pair of broken glasses, "Shit. I BROKE TEXAS! I NEED DUCT TAPE ASAP!"
One of the fans glanced up, setting down a compiled set of notes on curling stats, she stood with a mute look on her face. Though she hadn't said a word even the first time she met a nation at the curling party on the second day of the competition, Ace was willing to sacrifice some data for the sake of a peaceful match. Besides she was pretty sure her physics teacher would forgive her from stopping their neighboring state from falling into the Gulf of Mexico, as amusing as that would be to watch. She thrust out her arms at the nation, around each wrist was a roll of duct tape. "Camoflauge or Tie Dye?"
He blinked up at her, "one of each."
She took the glasses and examined the fracture, and after some brief repairs handed them back, "here ya go."
"Um thanks," He replied and sat down next to Prussia examining the new hardware.
Back down at the curling match, Norway slid along the ice, yelling at his sweepers to brush the ice as hard as they could. The stone collided with Switzerland's knocking it out of the way. Switzerland's next shot ended up grazing Norway's and moving it further towards the center before hitting the edge and being removed from play. Switzerland frowned as the end finished with Norway scoring two and moving into the lead at six to five. The next two ends finished blanked without a score from either of them, then Norway scored one more in the eighth before blanking the last end. Switzerland and Norway shook hands before waving into the crowd at the roar of applause and cheers. The two departed up into the stands, the Nordic trailing as Belgium rushed up to Switzerland.
"Oh Vash that was such a valiant effort, I'm so sorry." She hugged the nation tightly.
Denmark slid past his friends and walked up to Norway, his hand in the air. The smaller Nordic braced to hit the stairs but instead felt the taller's hand on his cheek. "You did good Nils, I'm proud of ya."
"Danma," Norway felt his eyes go wide, that was the first time Denmark had ever used his regular name. Not a nickname, not his nation, but him. "That was only the semi-final, don't feel too proud just yet." He looked over at the scoreboard then at the two nations walking up. He gave a brief smile to Denmark then walked over to where Lichtenstein had her arms draped around Canada.
"Looks like it's you and me in the final," Norway noted.
Canada smiled, "best of luck to you."
The Nordic held out his hand, "loser buys drinks and winner picks the song at DDR night."
The quiet nation shook his hand, "better brush up on your steps then."
"Is that a challenge?" Norway raised an eyebrow.
"You bet," Canada still managed to sound threatening, despite being barely above a whisper.
Denmark walked over, "come on, we have to talk."
"Right," Norway nodded, "bye Lichtenstein, Canada."
Denmark led the way out of the curling hall, down the mile long stretch of road to one of the benches by the pond at the hotel. The taller nation cleared the snow off with his hand then bade the smaller to sit next to him. Norway did so, putting a little space between them on the seat. "I'm sorry for what I said the other day, I didn't think about how much it'd hurt you. Can you ever forgive me?"
The larger Nordic folded his arms, "you remember what I said when I gave you that clip at our wedding?" Denmark flicked his eyes over the beret in the smaller Nordic's hair. "I said 'even if you hate me, it doesn't change the fact I like you.'"
How could Norway forget the aftermath of the Kalmar Union? Sweden and Finland had left the house, leaving Norway alone with Denmark for a long time. Then when his boss sided with Napoleon, he'd ended up being the prize Sweden got, resulting in a shotgun wedding that was basically the two just agreeing to live in the same house. It wasn't until 1905 when he and Sweden agreed to go their separate ways, though the two still remained good friends. But to say staying alone with Denmark hadn't been easy. The two had gotten married immediately after the others had left. For the next three hundred years he had to deal with Denmark's drunken rampages, the one who cleaned the house, the one who held Denmark when things went bad.
"I remember..." Norway sighed and hung his head slightly. "I'm still sorry though."
Denmark scratched his head awkwardly, "I should apologize too. I kinda overreacted... I didn't even listen when you tried to talk to me. How's your cheek doing? I thought I clocked you pretty good."
"You, you did, I mean, I had to see a paladin to get it fixed." He noted rubbing his cheek.
"That one of your imaginary friends?" the other nation asked.
"No, one of my fans. He's one of Italy's, magic user. Doesn't speak a lick of Norwegian, but I'm perfectly fine now. I promise."
Denmark watched him awkwardly, "that's good... I was worried... I want to make it up to you. I mean, it's not like it'd be a date, or anything unless you wanted it to be I mean, that is..."
Norway put his finger over the other Nordic's lips. "Belgium's bar. Tomorrow night? If things work out, you want to come with me to the karaoke party? It'd be a double date with Canada and Lichtenstein. What do you say?"
"Belgium's place, tomorrow, got it," Denmark noted. "But say... um it's only a few months until the World Cup... Want to kick around out here? I mean we'll be playing in the winter and all..."
The smaller nation grinned slightly, "alright. We can bat around for a few." Yes Denmark had beat him in the qualifiers, but he couldn't fault his friend for wanting a friendly.
The larger nation stood up, "cool! I'll meet you at the park, I gotta get my ball!"
Norway watched Denmark run off before standing and brushing the snow off of his bum. He walked back into the hotel, then changed into something more suited for playing soccer. When he walked down to the park where he'd run into Netherlands the other day, he found Denmark standing there bouncing the ball on his knee and head, juggling it fairly efficiently. "What took you so long?" Denmark called as Norway took his hat off along with his jacket.
"Had to put on some shorts," he noted while the other Nordic set the ball on the ground and put his foot on it.
"Alright, I'm gonna warn you now, I won't go easy on you just because we're dating," Denmark smirked.
The Nordic flicked his foot sending the ball to his left, Norway ran over and stole the ball charging down the field. Denmark came up along side him attempting to steal it back. His foot snuck in between the other nation's legs, flicking the ball away. He tapped the ball to stop it then reversed directions to run the other direction. Norway pivoted around and sprinted after Denmark. Both of them stopped when they saw Sweden and Finland standing by the fence. "Hey Bear, Ti, wanna jump in with us?" Denmark called out using his nicknames for his friends.
Sweden and Finland conferred for a moment then slid through the narrow entrance to the field. "I'll be on Danma's team, Svi can be with Nils." Finland declared as he walked over to Denmark.
"Which w'y are w' going?" Sweden asked his new teammate.
"Back that way," Norway pointed his thumb over his shoulder.
The teams of two faced off again, but over the course of the hour, eighteen more people showed up. First Iceland and Ukraine were out on a walk before getting involved, then Germany and Italy showed up en route to getting some dinner. Following those couples, Belgium and Switzerland, accompanied by Canada and Lichtenstein jumped in too. Tenoh and Darnell had wandered by on their return from a shopping expedition and jumped in. After the twins came the Baltic trio plus Poland and Sealand, Netherlands dropped by, and finally the other two members of the Awesome Trio in search of their third hopped the fence into the game.
Norway put his foot on top of the ball and glanced over at his midfielders. Iceland and Germany stood on either side of him, he flicked the ball up and over Latvia's head to Iceland. His brother charged up the field past Prussia heading towards the goal. Finland cut inside and kicked the ball out of bounds. Iceland walked over and picked the ball up examining his options. He had Lithuania and Netherlands standing by with Germany a little further back. He tossed it over to Germany, who trapped it and started to jog down the field.
Unfortunately a scene that had plagued him since the World Cup four years ago at his house returned to haunt him again. Italy came flying out of nowhere and latched onto him with cries of: "Germany! Germany! Hug me! Hug me!" Germany turned both flushed and pale at the same time reminiscing at the familiar sight in the semifinal match against Italy. The Italian team strategy seemed entirely based around removing him as a player, by having Venitizano glomp him. Norway had been reffing the match, only able to shrug instead of calling a foul because of a lack of malicious intent. So with Germany rendered harmless, play defaulted to Prussia, who was easily outmanuvered by Romano, when the latter wasn't spouting insults at Spain up in the stands.
"Germany! Germany! Hug me! Hug me! I love you!" Italy shouted burying his face in the larger nation's chest.
"I love you too, but I'm trying to play right now." Germany used the exact same excuse as he did back then.
Unfortunately for Germany, Darnell had stolen the ball at some point in the exchange and engaged in a passing triangle with Norway and Lithuania. Denmark slid in trying to steal the ball away. He succeeded and booted it down the pitch to a waiting Canada. The oft-invisible nation ran with it for a bit before sliding it over to Switzerland. Netherlands was marking him closely and it forced the neutral nation to pass it off to Sealand. Bounding with over confidence, the small nation ran through the defensive line to the waiting Tenoh between the pipes. He kicked it as hard as he could, but after a strange dark flash and a suspicious hissing noise, he saw the human standing there holding the ball checking her options. She waved over to Italy out on her right and struck it expertly at him.
Italy deftly dodged around anyone in his way, his first pass to Poland, who in turn kicked it over to Estonia. After a nervous glance around he passed it off to Ukraine. She saw Prussia running for her, and in a panic kicked it hard into the air towards Sweden. The larger nation shot for the corner of the goal full force. Between the posts, America flung himself at the ball and caught it holding it to himself for a moment making sure neither Sweden nor Lithuania could take it from him. He booted it across the field to no one in particular, leaving Tenoh to fetch it. She kicked it over to Netherlands watching the team spread like butter on toast. The large nation powered down the field, deftly dodging Germany and Prussia before kicking it over to Norway. The Nordic passed it off to his brother, who after a rebound pass from Lichtenstein kicked it into the air towards Italy. The nation jumped up into the air executing a picture perfect bicycle kick that would have made even Brazil nod in approval. It tipped off of America's hand into the net and the team cheered while the blond nation retrieved the ball.
Everyone glanced up as the light faded from the sky, too dark to play now without the lights only a large stadium could provide. So instead the party shook hands and departed from the field talking loudly. Denmark had his arm around Norway in a slightly possessive manner. In the back Tenoh snapped a picture and tapped out, "To: Boss Hungary, Mission Successful."
A/N: As my idiot puppy pointed out mission successful. The problem: THE STORY'S NOT DONE YET. Also, a couple of chapters ago I had a contest for the person who could correctly spot a reference in the A/N. The two winners are Klooqy and InsomniacFrenchToast. Klooqy had the first guess and it was correct, however the story in question originally referenced what InsomniacFrenchToast pointed out, Trigun. So both of you will get a batch of cookies, and a basket full of Whose Line is it Anyway? points.
