Okay, Continuation of America's Children (Featuring Daddy Norway)
I own nothing. At all.
OoOoOo
To state it was an awkward silence that settle between the two nations, would have been the politest way to put it.
Norway watched as Minnesota carefully looked around the living room, where the Scandinavian nation had led them. America was smiling at her son...their son. His dull blue eyes glanced from the boy, who he could not deny bore a striking resemblance to him, toward the star-spangled nation.
There was a great deal, he thought, that it would be prudent to ask about. Such as, why hadn't she told him? Or, and this one was possibly his favorite, how old was the child? He was clearly not human, but not a nation either. Norway found that part puzzling.
Admittedly, he had been a tad shocked to be called 'Daddy'.
America was busy ignoring Norway infavor of keeping Minnesota from running all over the house and touching everything. One, because he was a child and it was possible that he might break some of Norway's things. Two, because she was his mother and did not want him getting hurt. And, three, because she wasn't quite ready to be alone with Norway just yet.
She flashed a slightly strained smile, drawing a breath to keep herself from rambling away.
"I don't suppose," she asked calmly with a hint of coaxing, "that you have any hot chocolate here?"
Minnesota's eyes widened with delight, and suddenly he was clutching at America's pants.
"Mama, I want some." His blue eyes turned to pleading in an instant, before he remembered Norway and shyly glanced at the other nation. Minnesota gestured toward America. "Mama, I have a secret."
America grinned, a true expression of amusement, as her son's antics helped her to relax. She put on a faux look of surprise. "Oh?"
"Yeah," Minnesota said as America leaned down to listen.
It was perhaps, the loudest whisper of her life, when her son told her. "Don't tell him I like hot chocolate."
America laughed softly, knowing that Norway had likely heard every word already. However, she was not surprised that now that he was here Minnesota was getting a little shy. It was not entirely unexpected. She ruffled his hair fondly, once again noticing the curl he had that was attached to nothing. Just like his father.
"I do have some hot chocolate," Norway replied, neutrally, his dull blue eyes stared at America for a moment, then at Minnesota. He moved toward the kitchen, allowing the pair a moment alone.
"Mama," Minnesota said with a frown on his face.
"Yes?"
"Why is Daddy so... weird," the boy said softly.
The star-spangled nation startled. Her blue eyes widened behind Texas, as America turned her full attention to the word Minnesota had used.
"What?"
"Why is Daddy-"
"No, I got that part," she said. Her tone turned from surprised to scolding. "And your father is not weird. Where did you get that idea?"
Minnesota looked at his shoes, and then back at his mother. "'Cause he doesn't talk much."
America's features softened slightly. "Like the girls' fathers?"
Her son nodded.
Ah, now she understood. She had told Minnesota certain things about Norway, mostly whatever the little boy had asked on the plane ride over. However, somewhere in there, he had come up with a mental image of how his father was 'supposed' to be. Russia was a quiet nation, as was Sweden, but both were fun loving and America had never allowed Minnesota near them.
So he had probably listened to the stories of his sisters with wonder and longing. Of course, there was always Delaware going on and on about Denmark, and who could compete with New Jersey? Her father was Santa clause! Or at least, where the story had come from.
Now that he had met Norway, expectation and reality were not the same.
"Oh honey," America sighed as she scooped Minnesota up in her arms. She kissed his forehead and smiled at him. "Your Daddy is what we call a 'Quiet type'."
"Quiet type?" The boy repeated as he blinked at his mother.
"Yes. It means that your father is very smart and strong, but he doesn't need to show it like some other nations."
"Like you?"
America laughed brightly, both embarrassed and delighted by her son's ability to grasp concepts, as she hugged Minnesota. "That too."
"But," She continued with a thoughtful look. "You two have only just met and maybe we ought to give it a little time?"
Minnesota did not look overly convinced, but he nodded. "Yes, mama."
"There is my darlin'," America complimented as she set her son down. Her blue eyes caught sight of Norway watching them from the Kitchen.
There was indecision in his dull blue gaze, she could see it now. A waffling between wanting to say something and leaving something alone. He was a wise nation, America recalled, but he was passionate deep down.
This whole thing, was likely confusing and painful for him. As it had been for her when...
No, it was best not to think about it.
"I have an idea," she proclaimed, much louder than needed. "Let's go help Daddy with the cocoa!"
Norway straightened, his face still in a neutral and impassive expression. America beamed at him, as Minnesota gave a little cheer at her side.
The female nation had faith that everything would be alright. It was one of her greatest values.
OoOoOo
"I think he fell asleep," Norway said mildly, as America went to refill the hot chocolate mugs.
She glanced up, noting that Minnesota was in fact, snoozing lightly on the table.
"Hm, I think the time change got him more than I expected," She commented nearly off hand. She set down the mugs, and went to check on Minnesota.
At the boy's soft snores, America gave a motherly look of adoration. "Poor little guy is really worn out."
"You... you could put him upstairs," Norway offered slowly.
America blinked, and her mouth slackened as her gaze landed on Norway. The offer was highly unexpected and a tad unusual. Then again, this entire situation was a bit unorthodox. She felt her lips pull into a nervous grin.
"Ah... sure. If you're okay... with that?" She asked as she picked Minnesota up, his head was pillowed on her shoulder. "I mean, I wouldn't want to put you out, and we have a hotel room booked."
Norway's dull blue eyes met America's and there was a touch of steel in his gaze. She knew he wanted to speak with her, and perhaps it was time to get the worst part over with. He had kept his questions or upset to himself, and that she was exceedingly grateful for.
"Stay. The boy is exhausted."
"Minnesota," she corrected nearly under her breath.
A look of near-apology crossed Norway's eyes. "Minnesota, yes." He repeated with a bit more conviction.
He had come half-way, and now it was time for her to do the same. America nodded her acquiescence, and Norway stood, leading her upstairs. She was surprised, but did not comment, when he did not lead them to a spare room, but his bedroom.
America still knew what it looked like, after all these years.
Though, Norway had updated several things, the house was the same layout that she remembered. There was a sort of symbology with him allowing Minnesota in the room, she thought. However, there were many times when she could not tell what Norway was thinking.
As he turned down the covers, America gently laid their son on the bed. She smoothed back his hair, and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. Norway watched her silently, and pulled the covers back over Minnesota when she was finished.
They quietly exited the bedroom, and managed to make it all the way downstairs, without a word. It was not until they reached the kitchen again, that the silence was broken.
By the ringing of her phone.
America blushed, and glanced at Norway. "Sorry, I have to take this." She muttered as she pressed to answered the call.
"Hello?"
Her tone was slightly worried. However, the worry on her features faded and was replaced by sheer amusement.
"Yes, of course," America replied to the caller. "No, she cannot stay up that late. She knows that."
There was a pause and America schooled her features into an stern mask.
"Don't you 'But Mama' me, little lady." The female nation said. "You know better than to trick your father into thinking your bedtime is later."
America shook her head, though the person over the phone could not see. "No. No buts. You put the remote down and march to bed. This instant."
Ther was another pause.
"Yes, I love you too honey. Goodnight. Yes, put him back on the phone."
America tapped her fingers on her thigh impatiently.
"Yes, yes. I know, its fine Spain. No, you don't have to apologize. Yeah, I understand. Don't let her tell you she gets to ride any animals either. Welll... no, I mean... yeah. A horse is fine. As long as you're with her. Uh, I suppose a gelding would be a good choice. As long as it's pretty tame."
America started nodding.
"Yep. Yep. Okay, have a good night. Call me if you need anything else. Alright? Bye."
She sighed and closed her phone. Her blue eyes wandered to Norway, who had gone a little still.
"You have other children?" He asked in a monotone fashion, but he was clearly surprised.
"I do," America replied, refusing to deny her other kids. "A few in fact."
"With Spain?"
She blushed. Her hands fidgeted nervously. "Well, I have a daughter with Spain, but I have children with several nations."
"Was it through colonization?"
"Yes," America confirmed with a small smile. "They are great kids."
"I am certain that they are." He conceded. "However, I find myself curious about-"
"Minnesota?"
"Yes." Norway said, ignoring America interrupting him.
She sighed heavily.
"He's your son."
"I gathered that much," he commented with a neutral sort of dry wit. "I am admittedly confused by the timeline."
Her blue eyes looked tired, far beyond their years. "He is five, for all intents and purposes."
"How old is he?"
"Old enough," she quipped with some misgivings. "He was born in 1910."
"That long?" Norway questioned, a gruffness to his words. The emotions simmered between them. "You waited this long to tell me?"
"I sent you a letter," America denied, trying not to cry as the memories came flooding back to her.
Norway remained silent, staring at the female nation who shuffled from one foot to the next.
"When I... when we were so close, for that...-"
"For the foreign policy you pulled out of?" He said with a slight bit of heat to his words.
"I did not want that," she said, nearly helplessly. "You know that."
"Do I?" Norway asked with a bit of disbelief about his eyes. "Either way, you greatly benefited. Were you not able to focus more fully on larger nations?"
"That's not fair," America replied through gritted teeth. "We had to separate due to political reasons."
"Which you have thoroughly ignored before,/" he pointed out a little unkindly.
"Oh, here we go," she said. She threw her hands up in the air before bringing them down again. "I can't win for losing. If I ignore the politics, I am at fault. If I heed what I am told, I am still somehow at fault. It took both of us to make Minnesota, and I would greatly appreciate if you would focus on him, and not our past."
They glared at each other. Neither wanting to show weakness in front of someone they had once cared for so deeply. The traces of lingering affection stirred to life, as they ignited the anger over what had never properly been dealt with.
"Am I to believe that this should be a happy occasion?"
"He is your son!" America cried out with her hands fisting.
"What of your other children? How fair their fathers?" Norway asked bluntly.
His words were said without malice, but they wounded all the same.
"My other children, and their fathers, are none of your business. That is between them and I. As our son is between you and I."
She dashed away the look of hurt fury. Her features mimicking Norway's impassive mask.
"Look. The facts are that I sent you a letter about being pregnant with Minnesota," America replied in a much colder tone. "You never responded. Not me. You. And, furthermore, any other children of mine is not a matter of discussion. The only child that concerns you and I, is Minnesota."
There was a very clear warning in the words.
"I don't care if the world hates me. I do not care if you do, but if you want anything to do with our son... then you will act like his father. We will have a kind and caring manner toward one another when Minnesota is around or can hear. If you do not want to do that, then I will be just fine with raising him on my own."
Something clenched in Norway's chest, refusing to let go.
"As you have been?" He asked, with deceptive calmness while internally he was a maelstrom of emotions.
"Yes," she replied, with the wind out of her sails at the blunt statement. "Like I have been."
They both withdrew into themselves a bit, looking away from the other nation.
And, from the memories of a happier time... before it had been torn apart.
OoOoOo
Much later, when the stars were still twinkling in the sky, but he and America had run out of things to say...
Norway entered his study. Confusion, warring excitement, betrayal, and sadness were filtering through his thoughts.
There was a danger in loving someone too much, he thought sagely. Decades ago, when America had come to his shores, looking for allies and support. He'd been cautious, more than enough, he had believed.
Yet, at one point, they'd fallen in love. Tender nights had been spent wrapped in each other's embrace. Those blissful moments had made him feel more than he'd ever thought possible.
Until, things had all turned to ash in his mouth. Politics. All of the politics that he had detested, had surfaced. He had thought America had gotten what she wanted, and her affections had been all for show.
Norway had been, understandably, hurt and angry by it.
It fingers traced the desk momentarily lost. His face never showed his turmoil, but he felt conflicted. To see her show up at his home... because he had ignored the e-mail.
As he had ignored the letter.
His fingers wrapped around a small handle, pulling out a hidden drawer.
Dull blue eyes gazed at a folded and sealed piece of paper. A letter. The letter. It was yellowed by age, and the wax was cracking. He picked it up, as if it would attack him at any moment. However, it was just a simple bit of paper.
He sighed heavily in the empty room. Norway reached for his letter opener, feeling it slightly cathartic to actually read what she had written so long ago.
They had agreed to speak again in the morning, and take Minnesota to a nearby park.
The ripping of the paper, echoed much louder in his ears than by normal perception. Slowly, he unfolded it, watching as it crackled in protest.
The words, printed in neat and tight script, leapt out from the aged background.
May 17th, 1910
My Dearest Norway,
The moments away from you are unending and cruel. Even dreams offer me no respite. I wake to reach for you, but find that you are still gone from me. There is much, upon our parting, I would have dearly loved to say. Almost as much as I love-
He dropped the letter, breathing heavily. For decades now, he had believed that America had only sought to use him. The conclusion he had come to when she grew distant after their falling out.
Yet, the words she written, were not gloating. As he had imagined. Or angry. They did not call him down. He swallowed, scarcely able to think of anything except the very first line of her letter. The one his pride had forced him to put away without reading.
My Dearest Norway.