"Papa!"

Norway's head snapped up. He had not heard that word directed at him in many centuries…

He looked over to Normandy, who (he thought) had been taking a nap in the cradle on the other side of the tent.

"Papa!" she said again.

Smiling, Norway stood and picked her up. "Who's a clever girl?" he murmured, switching to baby-talk.

Anyone else would have thought it odd that Norway could speak in baby-talk. He just wasn't the type. Of course, he only did it when he was alone with his children (though he had a sneaking suspicion Denmark had walked in on him one time during the 1200's).

Still, there was a swelling of paternal pride in his chest when he looked down at his little girl. She was growing rapidly, as new countries were apt to do. She already looked like a two-year-old. It meant that she was a little behind other (human) children, as far as development went, but Norway was not concerned; Svalbard had been nearly six before he started talking.

And, Norway admitted (perhaps with a bit of conceit, as well as bias), she was a very pretty little girl. She had inherited the blonde hair and blue eyes of both her parents. She was most often seen grinning and laughing (when she wasn't sleeping).

Denmark burst into Norway's tent. "Norge-!"

"Papa!"

"No, Emélie, that's not your papa," Norway murmured, before turning to Denmark. "Yes?"

"A shipment got through today."

The first in over two weeks. "Of what?"

"Medical supplies, food, ammo."

"Thank the gods. How much?"

"Enough food to last two more weeks with only light rationing. That's including you."

Norway frowned at that last statement.

Denmark poked him in the ribs. "Don't think I haven't noticed, Norge. You need to eat, too, you know."

"I really don't. Countries don't. But their people do. And if one less person goes hungry because I give up something I don't need in the first place, I'd say it's well worth it."

"You're much too thin."

Norway shrugged. "I've been thinner before."

A silent accusation hung in the air. Neither of them was comfortable enough with the past to acknowledge it.

"I'll bring you something to eat later, okay? But you have to promise that you'll eat it."

"I promise."

Denmark grinned. "So Normandy is talking, then?"

"Yes."

"You always had such cute kinds, Norge," he said, tickling Normandy under the chin. "Except Svalbard. That kid was creepy."

Norway chuckled. "Why don't you take that up with Russland?"

"I'd rather not."

"Is there any other news? If not, I've got work to do."

Denmark's face fell. "Bad news, I'm afraid. The American lines have moved to within five miles of ours."

Norway frowned. "Are they making preparations to strike?"

"We're thinking an air raid, since they have to have figured out where our camp is by now."

"Do we have time to move camp?"

Denmark shook his head. "Not without being noticed."

Norway sighed. "We've got a few planes. It's no Battle of Britain, but it'll do." He shook his head. "Any news from the eastern front?"

"It's been quiet. But some transmissions haven't been getting through."

"Which side is the problem on?"

Denmark grimaced. "ours. We think the Americans have found a way to block out-going signals."

"That could be a problem. Well, no matter, we fought wars before all of this gadgetry."

Denmark nodded. "Well, that's all the news for right now."

"Thank you."

Denmark smiled wryly. "I'm not sure you should be thanking me for that."

"It is better to be prepared, is it not?"

"I suppose." After an awkward moment, Denmark leaned down to kiss Normandy, and then Norway, both on the cheek.

Then he left.

A/N: Thank you all for over a thousand views on this story. Imaginary cookies for everyone!