Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.

Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited: Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, Vengeful Cat and all my anonymous readers.

Also thank you to Silver FoxWolf for pointing out that yes, indeed "Is this a dagger I see before me" is from MacBeth and not Hamlet as I erroneously stated (the only Shakespeare play I studied was A Winters Tale... so I would be akin to Belarus, America and France and would need subtitles for Shakespeare!England).

Warnings: Sexual innuendo (as usual), swearing, Prussia, Denmark, silliness

Chapter 11: Joyride

Tuesday noon pm ish - A park somewhere in Helsinki, Finland

Having been told to get Den out of the house, 'get a him a job, take him to the park, anything' (to quote Sweden) and finding that a job was out of the question (there was no demand for tall, annoying, axe-wielding Danes – not that they'd checked the situations vacant in the local newspapers), and Prussia having made his important telephone call (Latvia still being blissfully unaware that she was a hostage), they went to the park.

Prussia and Latvia had managed to persuade Den to leave his axe behind. Actually in reality, they'd given him no choice in the matter. The weapon had been thrown out of the van window before they were even out of Tino's driveway.

So now they were at the park, thankfully minus Denmark's axe as Latvia pointed out to him for the sixth time, 'No, we can't go back for it, you can't take an axe on the swings anyway, it would be dangerous.'

Prussia and Denmark took it in turns to push each other as hard as they could on the roundabout. Sealand and Latvia sat on a nearby bench eating ice-creams.

Finnish mothers had hustled their children away when the Prussian and the Dane had invaded the play area "Awesome, dude – yay!" "I know – I bags the swings." The play area had a notice which proclaimed "Under 12s only".

Sealand pointed this out to Latvia who said, "Yes, but that refers to IQ so we're covered."

One of the mothers said to Latvia as she covered her child's ears to protect them from the audible onslaught of swearing as Denmark fell off the swings (yes, swings as in plural – Latvia was unsure why he insisted on a leg on each of the two swings and attempting to balance his body between them), "I think it's such a good job you do. I don't know how you do it..."

Latvia frowned, "Excuse me?" she said.

"They look like such hard work. But I suppose it's rewarding in itself isn't it?" The young mother patted her child's head, "I'm so lucky that mine are okay..."

Sealand laughed hysterically as the mother walked off, still holding her hands over her child's ears as Prussia yelled "Well bugger me with a green banana, watch this, Dude Den! I bet you can't do this!" whilst throwing himself across the roundabout as it spun with a force approaching 5 g.

"Hahaha, that mum thinks they're special," Sealand laughed.

Latvia shook her head, she was starting to feel like their carer. "Stop doing that now!" she shouted and shut her eyes tightly as Denmark grappled with Prussia on the roundabout – the said contraption whizzing around so fast they were just a blur.

She supposed this would be good training for motherhood. She just hoped that the child she was carrying had more sense than these two brainless goons.

"So dude chick doesn't know you kidnapped her?" Den asked Pru as he shoved the see-saw down, plonked himself on it, opened a beer and smirked while 'Pru' tried to pull the other side down to sit on it.

"Bloody hell, Den, lift your fat beer arse off so I can get on!" Prussia shouted.

"Play nice!" Latvia called.

"You're not my mom!" Prussia yelled and then stood back as Den laughed hysterically, gulping down beer, holding his end of the see-saw down, the other end way out of Prussia's reach. "Chick! Tell him!" Prussia called to Latvia.

Denmark eased his arse off the see-saw allowing the smaller Nation on and they bounced up and down happily.

"Nah man. Chick doesn't know she's a hostage, kesese!"

"Awesome!" Denmark answered, much impressed.

"I know. Fat Russkie will pay up loads to get his little Baltic back." (Prussia said the words 'little Baltic' in a high-pitched Russian accent.)

"Commie dude can get angry, dude. You don't want an un-awesome pipe around your neck. Not cool. Spoils the image, man," Den said as he touched ground and bounced as hard as he could almost sending Prussia into orbit.

"I can handle him but don't tell dude chick."

"Why did she run off, dude?"

"Dunno. Cos fat commie bastard is un-awesome?"

"Damn right. You think he hurt her?" Denmark asked, frowning as Prussia hung mid-air – Gilbert's lighter weight meaning he had to wait for Denmark to bounce on the ground before he could come to earth again.

"Dunno. But I think she likes him," Prussia said with an uncharacteristic moment of clarity and insight (the only one this century).

"I think he likes her. Remember at Austria's place? Fat Russkie went mental. He crushed Francis' vitals just for touching her... not cool. And he punched me and my hair went flat," Denmark automatically touched his hair, checking that it was still defying the laws of gravity. Content that it was, he pushed himself off the ground, bounced high in the air yelling "Copenhagen!"

"Kesese! That was awesome!" Prussia yelled, whether this was a commentary on the force at which the see-saw was being flung up and down or at the memory of his friend's southern regions being crushed in Russia's vice-like grip is unclear.

Latvia watched the two morons (as she'd come to view them) bouncing up and down on the see-saw but could not hear them (amazingly – the sound of toddlers in the nearby sand-pit managing to drown out even the foghorn-like quality of Denmark's reverberating voice).

At first she'd felt some trepidation about Denmark joining them. "Dude Den's coming with us, chick. He needs rescuing!" Prussia had said, before Sweden had even thrown the Dane out of the door – together with his beer. It was bad enough having to deal with Prussia and now she had two male Nations to possibly fend off when they came to booking into a motel... However, over the morning she'd spent with them she'd come to realise that actually they were both fairly harmless. Prussia was the one with brains – if anyone could dignify them as such – and there was a certain amount of deviousness there, whilst Denmark was a big harmless loon, easily tamed with a bottle of beer. They were both startlingly immature. In fact, Sealand was far more mature than either of them.

"What are you going to do, Raivis?" Peter asked her, swinging his legs on the bench, slurping his ice-cream. He was playing for time, they'd evidently forgotten they were supposed to take him to school and he wasn't about to remind them.

"I'm going to Miss Hungary's. She said to go to her if I was in trouble."

"What trouble?" Sealand's eyes widened. His brain ran ahead of himself as he thought of some of the trouble he'd got himself into at Finland and Sweden's house – attempting to give Hanatamago a perm; ringing Jerk England and telling him that the Vikings were on their way for a holiday; and spiking Denmark's beer with Lucozade. The third prank had caused havoc and had almost precipitated the second prank - Denmark was restrained thankfully before he managed to reach the harbour and commandeer a longboat.

"What's happened? Is it something to do with you being a girl?" the micro-nation asked.

"Well..." Latvia hesitated. How do you explain to a teenage boy about the complexities of love? Particularly love and someone like Russia? Of course he wasn't a teenager, he was actually over 40 years old but physically he was about 12.

"If Mr Russia has done something to you, I'll sort him out. One day I'm going to be bigger than him," Sealand said, puffing out his little chest.

Latvia smiled. She had an image in her head of Sealand and Russia squaring up to one another, Russia having to bend double to look the little micro-nation in the eye.

"...and I've got my Rocket Punch!" Sealand added, "I could knock him out... well my Dad could and my Mum... and perhaps Uncle Den," Sealand said looking over at 'Uncle Den' who was waving a half-empty bottle of beer around and shouting about 'having a go on the climbing frame'.

Latvia smiled and felt tears prick her eyes. What on earth was up with her? One minute she was okay and the next she was felt like sobbing. She gave Peter a hug.

"Hey!" Peter protested, "I've got my street cred to think about!" he said, which was bizarre coming from someone dressed in a schoolboy uniform complete with shorts and cute little beret.

"Right! It's time we were off," Latvia said, decisively. "You two!" she called to 'Pru' and 'Den', "Come on!"

"Aw! We haven't been on the slide!" Denmark protested.

Latvia shook her head. There was a queue of children now waiting for the swings (Prussia was swinging as high as he could, whilst Denmark was pushing him).

"She's no fun, dude. Does she have to come with us?" Denmark asked Prussia.

"She's the hostage, fool!" Prussia answered, and reluctantly got off the swings and slouched back to his van.

"Get in there and take me to the shopping centre," Latvia ordered Prussia, as she got in the van, Denmark sat between them.

"Oh no, not shopping..." Denmark wailed like a small child.

Latvia ignored him, "I need some stuff," she said, "Women's stuff," she added with an emphasis on 'women'.

"No. This is my van and I'm in charge. So shut it, chick," Prussia said. It was time, he thought, that he put his foot down and show this chick who was the man around here.

Latvia sighed, she'd hoped she didn't have to do this. She reached into her bag and pulled out Ivan's service revolver, she took off the safety catch and pointed it at Gilbert's head.

"Take me to the shops now," she said, slowly and simply.

"Okay, okay. Jeez. Women!" Prussia hurriedly started the van and pulled away from where he'd haphazardly parked it.

"Ha! Looks like we're the hostages!" Den 'whispered' to Prussia.

"What did you say?" Latvia asked.

"Nothing," the two men said in unison.

"Brilliant! Way to go, Raivis!" Sealand shouted from the back of the van.

"Shut. Your. Mouth." Prussia said turning his awesome van down the road towards the city centre.

"When we've been there we're catching the ferry to Tallin," Latvia said.

"You're not in charge!" Prussia said and then seeing the gleam in Latvia's eyes and gun still pointed at him, added, "Well, I suppose... I mean I'm going that way anyway," he said hurriedly. What was it with her? She looked like a sweet innocent little thing. This is what living with Russia for forty years does to someone, he thought. "But you're paying for the petrol," he told her.

"... and the beer," Denmark added.

"Okay," she sighed, "Just drive..."

Sealand kept quiet. They'd forgotten about the school run and he was missing double history. This was ace.

Fat commie dude's house, Leningrad, Russia

Things were not 'ace' at Russia's house. Russia had flung the rubble off his car, jumped in and indicated to Estonia that he was to follow. They skidded off down the road. Russia's black Volga did not look good or indeed 'ace', the rear bumper was hanging off, a headlight was smashed and there was a huge crack in the windscreen.

Ukraine had embraced both her brother and 'Esty' (she patted the latter Nation's arse) and told Russia she would 'take care of things while he was gone', that he should be 'careful and not catch a cold' and then she'd wrapped a pink hand-knitted scarf around his neck, a similar one around Estonia's neck, kissed them both on the cheek (Estonia blushing madly) and had stood on the doorstep with Lithuania and Poland and waved them off.

The Volga bumped and clattered through the city.

Romano sat in a cafe, turning on the charm with 'Sophia', a glass of vino in his hand, a plate of pasta in front of him.

"More vino, signorina?" he said, "And then perhaps we could..."

But Romano did not get a chance to tell her what he planned. He looked out of the window as he poured the 'vino' and at that moment, a black Volga pulled up outside at the traffic lights which had just turned red. Sat at the wheel was a very alive and healthy Russian. The car did not look so healthy – it had the appearance of having been in a fight with a bulldozer and lost.

"Dammit! Vodka bastard! How can... aaaargh!" the Italian then did something he had never ever done in his long life – he left his pasta, his wine and worst of all, a pretty girl and ran outside and watched in disbelief as Russia sped off as the lights turned green. To put the icing on the proverbial cake, slush from the wheel-spin splattered over Romano's expensive Italian-made leather shoes. Romano looked down at the ruined designer leather, "This means war!" he said. He ran back into the cafe, gave the girl his telephone number, promised he would see her again soon and took off to get his hire car back. So his explosion didn't work, did it? Well, he had lots of tricks up his sleeve. "I'll fix him," the Italian said.

Switzerland's house, Bern

Out in the gardens of Switzerland's modest house, there was the sound of gunfire. Vash was doing his daily target practice. His leg was still in plaster and he was still on crutches but this had not stopped him from his daily regime. With unerring accuracy he hit the bullseye six times in a row, then paused to reload his rifle.

"Bruder! Vash! I've made tea!" Lily called. She came out and watched him, "Oh, you're so disciplined big brother," she said, "I don't know anyone else who would still do target practice with a leg in plaster."

(Or in other words who else would be so fanatical about shooting practice when they should have been resting their injured leg?)

"Hmmm," Switzerland paused, laid down his rifle, "You never know when France might come streaking onto the lawn or if somebody decides to invade or some undesirable decides to come along and carry you off, Lily."

Lily smiled a little at the idea of an 'undesirable' carrying her off – it sounded quite exciting.

"If they think just because I'm injured I can't protect you then they're sadly mistaken," he said and cocked his rifle, aimed and fired.

After kicking Iceland's arse all the way around Seychelles as Ukraine had reported, the Swissman had taken Lily home telling her she wasn't old enough to be married and that 'that Viking' wasn't good enough for her.

She'd protested all the way home and had sulked. She loved Vash, she really did, she owed him her life but by now she was pretty fed up of his over-protectiveness. She also loved Iceland – but obviously in a very different way.

So she'd come to an arrangement. It wasn't ideal but it would do until she could wear Vash down. Besides she had a cunning plan...

"Yes, big bruder, I know..." she said, "... and I won't talk to strangers. And I am not to go visiting Mr Austria's house ever again."

That had been added to the list of places she wasn't allowed to go, along with the abodes of France (for obvious reasons), both Italies (because of France's 'influence'), Germany (one word – Prussia), any of the Nordics, Spain (as a member of the Bad Touch Trio, Switzerland saw Spain as particularly corruptive) and certainly not Russia. Vash had almost had a heart attack when she'd said she wanted to visit Latvia for a 'sleepover'. And this had sparked the beginning of an idea.

"Well, I have a headache," she said, "I'm going upstairs for a lie-down."

Vash frowned. His little sister was spending a lot of her time in her bedroom lately having a lie-down.

Indeed, she was. Every afternoon to be precise. And she wasn't lying down alone either.

She opened the door to her bedroom and sang a little song as she did so – ironically 'Edelweiss' – as a sort of password between her and her little lover. There was movement under her little single bed, the Tweetie Pie duvet cover moved and a silver-haired, blue-eyed young man crawled out.

"Phew!" he said, "It gets a bit cramped under there!" he added and then picked her up and spun her around.

"The code works! I can't believe he hasn't guessed!" Lily laughed in her husband's arms and then pulled Iceland into a kiss.

"I'll have to think of something soon. I can't keep you under my bed forever... although..." she started laughing.

"What shall we do? Do you want me to have a word with him again?" Icy asked, although he didn't relish having a rifle in his face again. "A duel or something? I mean we are married... I'm sure Norway, Finland and Sweden would have a word. They're behind us all the way."

Lily shook her head, "I have a better idea..."

"I'll tell you what ... I'll bring Den in, your brother won't know what hit him," Iceland said, imagining the large Dane crashing through Vash's orderly and neat home with his axe/snow-blower/ride-on lawnmower or whatever vehicle he happened to have stolen that particular day.

Lily shook her head, "No Icy," (she always called him Icy), "That won't be necessary, I have an idea."

They sat on the bed and Lily explained her plan.

"I don't know about that Lily, it could be dangerous."

Lily kissed him softly, "I'll be fine. I know what I'm doing," she said.

Icy shook his head and was about to protest. He didn't like the sound of it at all. It could go very badly wrong and if it did go wrong, he doubted if even his fellow Nordics would be any use.

"Don't worry, Icy, I know Latvia, she's a good friend and I promise I'll be careful."

"I'm not happy," Iceland said.

So Lily leaned across the bed, switched on her tape recorder to play the heavy rock music to drown out any sounds and laid back on the bed. She smiled at Iceland seductively, "Come on, Icy... time to cure my headache," she whispered and went about making her husband happy.

Vash sat downstairs with his tea (bargain teabags) and cake (special offer) and was tempted to shout at Lily to turn her music down, but then thought better of it. After kicking Iceland's arse and bringing her home and then practically 'grounding' her, she had been relatively quiet and had actually not protested as much as he thought she would. Perhaps it had just been a phase she'd gone through and everything was now just going back to normal and that was the end of it. He could not have been more wrong.

Vienna Airport

"Gutan tag, I am American!" America told the Austrian security, handing them his passport. His new outlook of embracing foreign languages was coming along brilliantly, he thought.

"Congratulations, you are now an idiot in two languages," Arthur said. "I say old chap, where are we?"

At first the three other Nations thought that Arthur was back to being Arthur. He answered to Arthur, he knew them, he insulted France at every opportunity, was sarcastic with Alfred and frequently told him not to slouch and was charmingly polite with Belarus. And then...

"So we're behind enemy lines, eh?"

"Eh?"

"It's not 'eh?' It's pardon. I said have we caught Jerry with his pants down eh?" Arthur said.

"Eh?" America said again.

"What?" said Belarus.

"Honhonhon! Allemagne sans pantalons!" France was delighted.

"What?" America said yet again.

"I zink he means Germany – Jerry is his term for Germany..." France translated carefully.

"Ludwig?" America said.

"I'm SAS. Trust me, no-one is better at spying and espionage than I am," Arthur told them.

"Eh?"

"Oh Arthur, you're so manly!" Belarus swooned.

"Erm, Miss Belarus?" Arthur addressed her, with a confused expression, "Why are you here? Oh I see, yes you've been evacuated? Quite right, women should not fight..."

Belarus growled. She'd fought just as much, if not more than these idiots surrounding her, "I was a sniper at the battle of Stalingrad and I helped defend my country against the German oppressor!" she said, getting very riled.

"Jolly good show! I don't know what we'd do without you Russkies and Uncle Joe..." England said.

Belarus growled at this, "I'm Belorussian, not Russian," she said indignantly, "And don't mention Joseph Stalin to me..."

"Moving on..." France said hurriedly, pushing them along towards the exit.

"So, are we here to capture that damn Ludwig or is it that daft Italian?"

"Neither," America said, he still wasn't exactly sure what was going on. "What on earth is going on?" he asked France.

"He zinks it is the War," France explained.

"You don't say!" Belarus said in her most sarcastic tone.

"Well, that's a rotten show, I say," Arthur said and started humming a Vera Lynn song.

"So what are we going to say when we get to Austria's place?" Belarus asked, eyeing England who was gazing around him with his hands in his pockets.

"If we act normal, those damned Gestapo won't spot us," Arthur whispered conspiratorially to them, indicating a brow-beaten looking man with a mop.

"Trust me, I'm American," America said, unhelpfully.

"That's what worries me," Belarus said.

"Et moi," France added.

"Don't draw attention to yourself, Francy-pants. Come on chaps, let's get out of here," Arthur said and sidled very conspicuously towards the exit, checking each corner as he went. However, Alfred was pushing a very wobbly and squeaky trolley with their suitcases perched precariously on it that insisted on going in the opposite direction from which he pushed it and France was winking lasciviously at a girl selling perfume in the shop opposite.

"Well done, chappies," Arthur said, "I think we got away from them. We've entered Germany secretly."

"Honhonhon it is not the first time I have entered Germany secretly and taken him by surprise!" France said, utterly delighted at the memory...

"Dude, that is so not right," America said.

"But we're in Austria and it's not exactly a secret!" Belarus said as various people turned to stare at them.

"... And I have taken him by surprise many times as well, honhonhon," France added.

Belarus was correct (but the author cannot comment if France was), they had not entered anywhere secretly – having the squeakiest trolley on the planet, France blowing kisses at everyone and England creeping around every corner – had caused quite a few heads to turn. Also they were in Austria and not in Germany.

"J'adore Austrian security!" France declared dreamily.

Belarus squealed with delight. But not at the Austrian security. The object of her particular delight was a play area full of toddlers playing happily.

"Soooo cute," she said, her eyes shining.

England shook his head, "Come on chaps and chapesses. We don't have time for all that palaver. There's a war to be won."

Belarus' lip trembled and she looked set to hit him but France put a hand on her arm and said gently, "Come on Miss Natalia. He doesn't have a clue. When he is Arthur again you can tell 'im and he will be thrilled. He will make a good père, oui?"

Belarus nodded, quite touched actually – and not touched in a 'pervy' way either, France did not actually attempt to undo her bra (he was an expert at undoing brassieres – sometimes just a look could do it) and did not say anything suggestive or insulting. What on earth was going on?

The four Nations jumped into a taxi and, to keep England quiet they told him that they were on a secret diplomatic mission. America told the taxi driver Austria's address, it was only afterwards that France said, "But mon cher, Austria's house has burnt down, non? Where are we going to stay?"

"A hotel?" America said, "Next to a MacDonalds of course," he added.

"I know ze perfect 'otel..."

"And not one of your bloody sleazy places where there are girls coming and going all hours of the day and night," Arthur told him.

"Well, Miss Hungary is staying with Mr Austria so there must be somewhere to stay," Belarus said.

"Yeah, we'll stay with them. I bet there's plenty of room. It's a huge place. I bet it's all repaired now," America said with ultimate confidence.

Leningrad, Russia

Also making its way out of the city was another car – however, this one was far more stylish, classy and sophisticated than Russia's beat-up Volga, Romano's hire car and even Prussia's awesome van. The flamingo-pink Ferrari roared through the city. At the wheel was, of course, Poland (who else?). He had the roof down, his shoulder-length blond hair whipping behind him in the breeze. Who else would have the roof down in December, in Leningrad?

"See! Nought to sixty in less than ten seconds, Liet! What a car eh?"

Beside him, Liet was freezing to death. He hugged himself, his threadbare coat pulled tight around him. "Doesn't it have a heater?" he shouted above the noise.

"Like, Liet, we gotta have the roof down!"

"Pol, it's minus 15!"

'Pol' sighed and pressed a button and the roof slid back over them.

"It's okay for you... hey! Where did you get that fur coat from?" Lithuania said.

"It's not real fur, honey, it's fake fur..."

"And what's with all the new clothes? And make-up? And your hair?" Lithuania frowned. Poland was usually as poor if not poorer than him.

"I came into some money, honey. And I've got something that's going to make us even more..." Poland said and nodded to the back seat where, wrapped carefully in cellophane was Latvia/Lucinda Lovelace's latest novel 'Love and Bullets', as yet unpublished...

"No way... you can't..." Lithuania shook his head.

"I'm not stealing, I'll give her the money. I'm just going to take my commission. Think of me as her agent, sweetie," Poland said.

"I need to go home," Lithuania said, shaking his head, he wanted no part in this.

"Sweetie, I've got enough money now that you and I need never work again."

"You never did work," Lithuania pointed out.

"Well... okay. You need never work again."

Lithuania opened his mouth to say something.

"No, don't thank me. I love you too."

"No, Pol, I have to go back. When Mr Russia's gets back..."

"He's going to be gone ages. The big moron will go into maniac mode somewhere, upset loads of people, almost cause world war three and, honey, we don't want to be anywhere within a hundred miles when it all kicks off."

(Poland was more correct about all this than he knew.)

"Think of it like a holiday. We'll go see to some business and then go get ourselves some sun..."

Lithuania shook his head. It was fruitless to argue. Poland was always dragging him into trouble. He may as well just sit back and enjoy the ride...

Author's Notes:

5 g – gravitational force g or g-force 5 – more than equivalent to the gravitational pull you would get from a rollercoaster.

Hanatamago – Sweden and Finland's dog

Lucozade – an energy drink

What is Sealand anyway? A micronation? A principality?

Jerry – a common derogative term for a German soldier in World War II.

Allemagne sans pantolons – Germany without pants

Uncle Joe – the Allies' term for Joseph Stalin (the Soviet leader) during WWII – purely a propaganda name to make him sound more 'friendly'

Vera Lynn – a famous British singer from the 1940s who sang a lot of songs that were popular during the War

Père – French for father

Next Chapter, Author's advice: Never wake a tired Swede, never go shopping with a Dane and a Prussian, never share a caravan with France and England and presenting the new Mrs Russia...