Re: Family Politics
anonymous
December 28 2010, 22:05:51 UTC
...or, 6584 Days of International Drama In Places You Would Least Expect It (e.g, in(volving) Canada)
Contains Canada/Ukraine. Contains Femerica. Contains history that may confuse young children and may be unsuitable for anyone looking for smut. :D Enjoy~
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1. The first day was December 2, 1992. In the aftermath of the Cold War, as Russia’s grand Soviet Union collapsed, Canada was the first Western country to recognize an Ukraine as independent.
It was a kindness she did not expect from someone she did not know, and it endeared him to her forever.
It was a kindness that he did not fully expect of himself, but there were a rather lot of Ukrainians in Canada, for some reason. Perhaps it was their desire to see their home country independent that spoke for him, but perhaps not.
It was the beginning of something--of them.
2. The second day was December 3 of the same year. She thanked him with tears in her eyes. He had never made a woman cry before, and apologized profusely, nearly panicking.
She said, no, no, that was not it at all, and asked timidly if they might be friends. She didn’t, she explained, have friends in the United Nations.
He accepted, of course, because she was pretty and gentle and shy and so lonely, and he thought he might be falling for her already.
7. The seventh day, they were talking in the hallway of the UN building and Canada saw Russia watching them from behind a corner. He did not look happy.
11. The eleventh day, Canada went home and locked all his doors. He wanted a restraining order. Never mind that it probably wouldn’t have any effect on Russia and that nations couldn’t get restraining orders, he wanted one anyway.
25. The twenty-fifth day was January 27, 1992, when formal diplomatic relations were established between their two countries. It did not make things different, only somehow more real. They didn’t just have a friendship, their countries were joined, if even tentatively.
--
I will skip forward to the actual proposal part soon.
Oooh, I like the style you're using for your fill. It reads like we're getting snapshots of Canada and Ukraine's relationship and eventual romance, just enough to get an idea of their relationship progression. I can't wait to read the rest of this fill!
Re: Family Politics
anonymous
December 30 2010, 06:48:02 UTC
First!Author!Anon goes awww. I feel like I never see this pairing, but it's really cute. Canada freaking out about her crying was really sweet, very cute, and very in character. And there's history? If I was a puppy, my tail would be wagging. As it is, smileyyyy :D
Re: Family Politics (Part 2/?)
anonymous
December 30 2010, 22:22:59 UTC
32a. On the thirty-second day, America was not pleased. Her words snapped at Canada like the steel jaws of a bear trap.
“She’s Russia’s sister. Russia’s s-i-s-t-e-r,” as if Canada hadn’t known. “God! I mean, I whipped him good cause I'm that awesome, but Russia's just that much of a bastard. Not just communist but anti-feminist too, I bet! Thinks women should stay in the kitchen! Huh! Probably treats that poor girl like trash. Though she probably doesn't stand up for herself either, which is just as bad, in my opinion.” America was full of life and anger and triumph, her blue eyes flashing. She popped her gum, angrily narrowing her eyes.
America and Russia truly hated each other--even during World War II they hadn't gotten along, but everything had come to head during the Cold War. It was like a particularly extreme family feud-- but the stakes were much, much higher. That they hated each other was understood and expected. But--to bring Ukraine into it was just playing dirty.
Canada snapped back. America hadn’t expected that. “You make it sound like he’s abusing her! And it’s not her fault! And--dieu, America! I’m not marrying her! I’ve got hundreds of thousands of Ukrainian immigrants! It’s to be expected that my boss would want to open relations with them! And, America, in case you haven’t noticed, you’re my sister and I don’t see Russia kicking up a fuss about Ukraine associating with me!”
That wasn’t strictly true, but America didn’t need to know that.
32b. “Sister, he is related to America. America.”
“Yes, brother. I’m aware.” Ukraine smiled, gently. She would have to step carefully, but she could handle this.
“Sister, I do not like this.” Russia retained his smile throughout their conversation.
“Yes, brother. I’m aware.”
"Sister?"
"YES, brother?"
"He is America's brother."
"Yes, brother?"
"She is capitalist. He..." Russia trailed off, looking uncertain.
Ukraine sighed. "Canada, brother. His name is Canada."
Russia brightened, his childlike face lighting up. "Ah! Yes! This Canada- HE is capitalist, no?"
"Yes, brother?"
“Sister, I do not like this.”
Ukraine laughed lightly. "Your sister appreciates your concern, little Russia. But it is not as if I am marrying him! It is only diplomatic relations! Don't you trust your sister?"
He paused, considering. He didn't-or at least didn't trust her to take care of herself. He trusted her to keep his secrets and never betray him, but he would always want to protect his sister against the perils of the world. Even when those perils were only in his mind. But he couldn't very well say that, not to his sister.
He was always so strong against everyone but her and Belarus.
"Perhaps that's why he holds us so close." she thought, sadly. "Oh, little Russia. I hope I am not doing wrong by you, telling you these things."
"Yes, sister. I trust you."
Ukraine clapped her hands. "Thank you, brother! I knew you would! You see, it is all right, no? I do not see America causing a fuss about this arrangement!"
33. On the thirty-third day, they told each other about their respective experiences and laughed.
Everything felt warm and golden for them, sitting at a too-small table in the UN building cafeteria with their knees knocking against each other and their feet tangled together. Ukraine's breasts bounced as she laughed, which just made them both laugh harder.
Ukraine's whole face lit up when she laughed.
Neither brought up the looming implications of the talks, that their two undeniably powerful siblings-even if Russia wasn't really a superpower anymore- hated each other with a passion, that their interactions had a forced congeniality that had less actual friendliness that could fit in a teaspoon.
Neither discussed how their siblings were sure to react if they ever went further than diplomatic relations.
Ah yes, the ever-present overprotective siblings. It was both funny and sad with how both Canada and Ukraine tried to assure their respective siblings that the other sibling wouldn't have any objections to their union.
This is building up into a very interesting piece. I'm eager to see where you're taking this (aside from the obvious proposal, of course)!
Re: Family Politics (Part 2/?)
anonymous
December 31 2010, 15:39:59 UTC
Man, this is so Romeo&Julietesque xD Your Salv family interaction was absolutely adorable, the "sisters" and "little Russias" thrown into it, and Ukraine's assesment of why Russia keeps them close...bawww ;_;
I liked your description of triumphant!Femerica, that's not something you see everyday. I wonder if the relations between her and Russia will change as Ukraine and Canada get closer? or maybe she'll just turn to China directlyXD I like that Canada and Ukraine here are sweet and gentle and easy-going but not pushovers; they both tell their siblings that they have the intention of carrying through with the diplomatic bond and all. Daww~~
Re: Family Politics (Part 2/?)
anonymous
January 2 2011, 10:59:03 UTC
I love the way you wrote about how their situations parallel each other and the last part that ties it all together so flawlessly. This is absolutely lovely work, anon. <3
Re: Family Politics (part 3/?)
anonymous
January 3 2011, 00:41:19 UTC
34. America’s moods were as fleeting as a teenager's-which was really what she was, frankly. So when she apologized to Canada, it wasn't entirely unexpected. Well, it was, because another trait of America's was that she had the attention span of a gnat, and rarely remembered their quarrels long enough to apologize. But this time she did.
"Hey, l'il bro. Listen, I didn't mean that stuff-ya know, that stuff I said."
When Canada stared in surprise, she ruffled her hair awkwardly.
"I just saw you guys--you and Ukraine--talking yesterday, and, uh, m'sorrykay?" She looped an affectionate arm around his neck, nearly choking him in the process. "I mean, I gotta support my little bro! Cause I'm a hero AND your big sister!" She grinned wide. "Actually, you've got England to thank for this. He pointed out that I was being a 'pompous arsehole'. His words, not mine."
There was something in her tone when she said it, that made Canada ask, as soon as he could breathe again, "Did something happen with England?"
America's smile faltered. "Nah," she said. And then again "nah." as if to convince herself. "Nothing happened. Nothing at all."
81. The eighty-first day was when Ukraine invited Canada to Kiev to see the plans for the new Canadian embassy. They spent some time at the plans, then Ukraine shyly suggested they go out in the city for lunch.
They ended up sightseeing for the rest of the day. Ukraine showed him the St Michael's cathedral, it's golden roof seeming to glow faintly even though the sun hid behind gunmetal clouds, and some whitish-grey birds, perhaps pigeons, flapping around, settling and taking off again, feathers scattering everywhere against a pearly grey sky.
There were a few rays of sunshine filtering through the clouds, weak and golden, but mostly the light was grey and soft, the sun an indistinct white glow behind clouds.
Ukraine seemed translucent and glowing with her pale skin and hair as she stood on the steps of the cathedral, something--some feeling, something in the way she stood and in her quiet voice as she spoke--emanating from her like the faintest suggestion of music on the edge of hearing.
Canada realized that it was pride. Pride and love. Pride and love, for her people, her lands, her beautiful cathedral.
He had never thought of Ukraine as having pride.
-- Thank you, kind anons, for your comments. I am glad you are enjoying this fill of mine. <3 <3 <3 Eventually, I'll pull together an author note that explains all these dates and historical/cultural references.
Re: Family Politics (part 4/?)
anonymous
January 4 2011, 01:25:12 UTC
So I said it would be a short fill. And that I would skip to the proposal part soon. Well, I lied. xD
We're closing in, though.
--
310. The three hundred tenth day was the day Ukraine visited to see her new embassy in Ottawa. It had been funded by donations from the all the Ukrainians now living in Canada.
Ukraine never said how happy that made her.
473. April 30, 1993 was the four hundred sixty-third day, and was the day Canada received a package in the mail. It was addressed to him in careful handwriting, and marked ‘Fragile’ and ‘International Express’ with a big red stamp.
He opened it to find masses of bubble wrap and tissue paper. Someone had obviously been worried about the contents. Beneath all the protective packaging was a basket, filled with small, round things wrapped in yet more bubble wrap. And there was a note. It was dated April 18th, and read, in the same neat print in which the box was addressed;
Dear Canada,
Happy Easter. I hope you are well. I am. I am about to go out to Easter mass, and want to put this in the mail on the way. They are pysanky. I believe you call them ‘Easter eggs’. They’re made with wax and dye, and are a tradition here. We make them for Easter, they are considered very special and powerful, and every family had a special way of making them, which was handed down. I made these myself, so they are not from a certain recipe. There are many superstitions about pysanky--they were thought to protect houses from disaster, and held powerful magic, so people ground up the shells and tossed them in a stream so that a witch would not obtain it and it and use it to wreak havoc. Which must seem silly to you in this modern age. Nevertheless, they are very beautiful. I love them very much and I hope you will as well, though I am a bit worried if they will arrive all right. I do wonder if some of my people living in your country make them as well. I should like to find out. Maybe next time I visit, I will.
Yours, Ukraine
He could just imagine Ukraine sitting at her desk, wearing her best clothes, a pair of white gloves and a purse sitting beside her, carefully penning the note as she was about to leave for the church. That would have been--12 days ago.
It took him ten minutes to unwrap the pysanky from their wrapping, but it was worth both the effort Ukraine had put into wrapping them, and the effort Canada had put into unwrapping them. The eggs were beautiful, covered in colors and designs so intricate that they looked like only a fairy could have made them.
Canada spent another twenty minutes gaping at the beautiful things before realizing frantically that had better put them in a safe place, or else Kumariji or whatever his name was might break one accidentally.
After that, he called Ukraine, mindless of the time difference.
956. The nine hundred fifty-sixth day, they were out to lunch, and they had fallen into one of those fascinating, slightly silly side conversations where neither could remember what they were talking about originally. Canada was telling Ukraine about all the words that had originated from the indigenous Canadian people, long before he was really Canada.
They were words like ‘barbecue’ ‘mahogany’ ‘caribou’ ‘chipmunk’ and ‘hurricane’, and they made her laugh, and her laugh made him laugh.
From then on, Ukraine smiled whenever she heard any of those words.
1357. The one thousand, three hundred, fifty-seventh day was the day they started to call each other by human names.
1358. The one thousand, three hundred, fifty-eighth day was when they started thinking of each other by human names.
1359. The one thousand, three hundred, fifty-ninth day was when they realized they’d been thinking of each other in human names nearly the whole time.
Believe me, I don't care one whit that you lied. Especially since everything from the 81st day on made me smile derpily and squeal in my head "Awww! They're so ADORABLE together!"
Can I say that I love the way you work historical events into this here and there? And the way you characterize Canada and Ukraine? And the way you manage to encapsulate the progression of their relationship (especially with the final four sentences!) in as few words as possible? And the way you write them as so cute and sweet and warm and adorable that has reignited my love for this pairing like whoa?
Re: Family Politics (part 5/?)
anonymous
January 8 2011, 02:04:28 UTC
2854. Katyusha realized about Matthew before she realized about herself. That was on the two thousand, eight hundred, fifty-fourth day.
Matthew had a blue button-down dress shirt that he wore a lot. Katyusha remarked that he must like it very much. He had smiled and said yes, something like that.
Then Katyusha remembered something. A thought that sidled diagonally into her mind, slipping in and waiting in a corner, slyly integrating itself until it couldn’t be ignored, burning bright like a fire.
It had been while ago, but she remembered the first time he’d worn that shirt. He had mentioned he wasn’t sure if it suited him, but she said, no, it matched his eyes.
And he’d worn it ever since.
She wasn’t sure what to think, or if to believe the thought that so insistently demanded acknowledgement.
She found herself wanting to believe it, and was afraid.
4233. The four thousand, one hundred, seventy-second day they were visiting a small Saskatchewan town, just because.
It was a beautiful summer day, sunny and hot with a cloudless blue sky. The sun blazed white gold; burning, still, and silent, while the fields of grain shone a deep and mellow gold, sweeping in waves and ripples in the wind.
Katyusha stood in what little shade there was and stared out at the fields, feeling if she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the the brightness and that maybe if she stared long enough she would be able to see the fields and the sun in the darkness when she closed her eyes.
Was this was what her emigrants had seen? Was this why they had come here--and stayed?
In the center of her vision, she saw Matthew, as he talked with one of his people, glance back toward her, and his eyes were the blue of the sky and his hair the gold of the wheat, and that was--so right, because they were in Canada and he was Canada.
Suddenly, she remembered that loving the land of Canada meant loving Matthew, because they were the same, and she didn’t know how she had ever forgotten. It was so obvious.
Of course she was in love with him.
6457. The six thousand, four hundred, fifty-seventh day was the day their bosses formally upgraded their diplomatic relations to ‘Special Partnership’.
It didn’t change. Them didn’t change, because, after all this time, if nation things were a bowl of salt and human things were a bowl of sugar, then the them things were a bowl of sugar and a bowl of salt poured together and mixed and mixed so it was all the same, all equal, and you couldn't tell them apart by looking.
Everything--Ukraine, Canada, Matthew, Katyusha--everything was so hopelessly intertwined it didn’t matter anymore.
They were just--just them.
6994. The last day of the 2010 Winter Olympics was February 28, 2010. It was the six thousand, nine hundred, ninety-fourth day.
Canada was drunk on air and life and a record setting thirteen gold medals with the promise of a fourteenth, and at hockey, no less.
He as a person wasn’t allowed to compete in the Olympics, but he wasn’t content to stay in the stands, he stayed as close as possible to the team for as long as possible, his veins surging with energy and his fingertips numb with cold.
Just before the game started, he went over to where Ukraine was sitting, on some impulse brought on by the sheer thrill of the games.
“Hey,” he said, arriving at her seat. She half-rose, smiling.
“Hello, Matthew. Isn’t the game about to start?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I, uh, just wanted to do something first.”
And he tilted her chin up, leaned down, and kissed her, lightly, gently.
“Just for luck,” he said grinning, and sprinted off.
America was standing by her team, and as he passed them, she wolf-whistled. He didn’t even both to glare. He just mock saluted, and rushed off toward his team. He didn’t care if any other nations saw, not even Russia-who had seen, he knew it. He was smiling that smile, the one that still made Canada want a restraining order and some nuclear missiles. But not today. Not today.
Contains Canada/Ukraine. Contains Femerica. Contains history that may confuse young children and may be unsuitable for anyone looking for smut. :D Enjoy~
--
1. The first day was December 2, 1992. In the aftermath of the Cold War, as Russia’s grand Soviet Union collapsed, Canada was the first Western country to recognize an Ukraine as independent.
It was a kindness she did not expect from someone she did not know, and it endeared him to her forever.
It was a kindness that he did not fully expect of himself, but there were a rather lot of Ukrainians in Canada, for some reason. Perhaps it was their desire to see their home country independent that spoke for him, but perhaps not.
It was the beginning of something--of them.
2. The second day was December 3 of the same year. She thanked him with tears in her eyes.
He had never made a woman cry before, and apologized profusely, nearly panicking.
She said, no, no, that was not it at all, and asked timidly if they might be friends. She didn’t, she explained, have friends in the United Nations.
He accepted, of course, because she was pretty and gentle and shy and so lonely, and he thought he might be falling for her already.
7. The seventh day, they were talking in the hallway of the UN building and Canada saw Russia watching them from behind a corner. He did not look happy.
11. The eleventh day, Canada went home and locked all his doors. He wanted a restraining order. Never mind that it probably wouldn’t have any effect on Russia and that nations couldn’t get restraining orders, he wanted one anyway.
25. The twenty-fifth day was January 27, 1992, when formal diplomatic relations were established between their two countries. It did not make things different, only somehow more real. They didn’t just have a friendship, their countries were joined, if even tentatively.
--
I will skip forward to the actual proposal part soon.
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Man, that description in 2 made me sad; poor Ukraine! She's so beautiful and sweet! These two were meant for each other ^^
Enormous cheers to you for having a Femerica during victorious post-Cold War times. I can't wait to see her!
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“She’s Russia’s sister. Russia’s s-i-s-t-e-r,” as if Canada hadn’t known. “God! I mean, I whipped him good cause I'm that awesome, but Russia's just that much of a bastard. Not just communist but anti-feminist too, I bet! Thinks women should stay in the kitchen! Huh! Probably treats that poor girl like trash. Though she probably doesn't stand up for herself either, which is just as bad, in my opinion.” America was full of life and anger and triumph, her blue eyes flashing. She popped her gum, angrily narrowing her eyes.
America and Russia truly hated each other--even during World War II they hadn't gotten along, but everything had come to head during the Cold War. It was like a particularly extreme family feud-- but the stakes were much, much higher. That they hated each other was understood and expected. But--to bring Ukraine into it was just playing dirty.
Canada snapped back. America hadn’t expected that. “You make it sound like he’s abusing her! And it’s not her fault! And--dieu, America! I’m not marrying her! I’ve got hundreds of thousands of Ukrainian immigrants! It’s to be expected that my boss would want to open relations with them! And, America, in case you haven’t noticed, you’re my sister and I don’t see Russia kicking up a fuss about Ukraine associating with me!”
That wasn’t strictly true, but America didn’t need to know that.
32b. “Sister, he is related to America. America.”
“Yes, brother. I’m aware.” Ukraine smiled, gently. She would have to step carefully, but she could handle this.
“Sister, I do not like this.” Russia retained his smile throughout their conversation.
“Yes, brother. I’m aware.”
"Sister?"
"YES, brother?"
"He is America's brother."
"Yes, brother?"
"She is capitalist. He..." Russia trailed off, looking uncertain.
Ukraine sighed. "Canada, brother. His name is Canada."
Russia brightened, his childlike face lighting up. "Ah! Yes! This Canada- HE is capitalist, no?"
"Yes, brother?"
“Sister, I do not like this.”
Ukraine laughed lightly. "Your sister appreciates your concern, little Russia. But it is not as if I am marrying him! It is only diplomatic relations! Don't you trust your sister?"
He paused, considering. He didn't-or at least didn't trust her to take care of herself. He trusted her to keep his secrets and never betray him, but he would always want to protect his sister against the perils of the world. Even when those perils were only in his mind. But he couldn't very well say that, not to his sister.
He was always so strong against everyone but her and Belarus.
"Perhaps that's why he holds us so close." she thought, sadly. "Oh, little Russia. I hope I am not doing wrong by you, telling you these things."
"Yes, sister. I trust you."
Ukraine clapped her hands. "Thank you, brother! I knew you would! You see, it is all right, no? I do not see America causing a fuss about this arrangement!"
33. On the thirty-third day, they told each other about their respective experiences and laughed.
Everything felt warm and golden for them, sitting at a too-small table in the UN building cafeteria with their knees knocking against each other and their feet tangled together. Ukraine's breasts bounced as she laughed, which just made them both laugh harder.
Ukraine's whole face lit up when she laughed.
Neither brought up the looming implications of the talks, that their two undeniably powerful siblings-even if Russia wasn't really a superpower anymore- hated each other with a passion, that their interactions had a forced congeniality that had less actual friendliness that could fit in a teaspoon.
Neither discussed how their siblings were sure to react if they ever went further than diplomatic relations.
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This is building up into a very interesting piece. I'm eager to see where you're taking this (aside from the obvious proposal, of course)!
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Your Salv family interaction was absolutely adorable, the "sisters" and "little Russias" thrown into it, and Ukraine's assesment of why Russia keeps them close...bawww ;_;
I liked your description of triumphant!Femerica, that's not something you see everyday. I wonder if the relations between her and Russia will change as Ukraine and Canada get closer? or maybe she'll just turn to China directlyXD
I like that Canada and Ukraine here are sweet and gentle and easy-going but not pushovers; they both tell their siblings that they have the intention of carrying through with the diplomatic bond and all. Daww~~
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"Hey, l'il bro. Listen, I didn't mean that stuff-ya know, that stuff I said."
When Canada stared in surprise, she ruffled her hair awkwardly.
"I just saw you guys--you and Ukraine--talking yesterday, and, uh, m'sorrykay?" She looped an affectionate arm around his neck, nearly choking him in the process. "I mean, I gotta support my little bro! Cause I'm a hero AND your big sister!" She grinned wide. "Actually, you've got England to thank for this. He pointed out that I was being a 'pompous arsehole'. His words, not mine."
There was something in her tone when she said it, that made Canada ask, as soon as he could breathe again, "Did something happen with England?"
America's smile faltered. "Nah," she said. And then again "nah." as if to convince herself. "Nothing happened. Nothing at all."
81. The eighty-first day was when Ukraine invited Canada to Kiev to see the plans for the new Canadian embassy. They spent some time at the plans, then Ukraine shyly suggested they go out in the city for lunch.
They ended up sightseeing for the rest of the day. Ukraine showed him the St Michael's cathedral, it's golden roof seeming to glow faintly even though the sun hid behind gunmetal clouds, and some whitish-grey birds, perhaps pigeons, flapping around, settling and taking off again, feathers scattering everywhere against a pearly grey sky.
There were a few rays of sunshine filtering through the clouds, weak and golden, but mostly the light was grey and soft, the sun an indistinct white glow behind clouds.
Ukraine seemed translucent and glowing with her pale skin and hair as she stood on the steps of the cathedral, something--some feeling, something in the way she stood and in her quiet voice as she spoke--emanating from her like the faintest suggestion of music on the edge of hearing.
Canada realized that it was pride. Pride and love. Pride and love, for her people, her lands, her beautiful cathedral.
He had never thought of Ukraine as having pride.
--
Thank you, kind anons, for your comments. I am glad you are enjoying this fill of mine. <3 <3 <3
Eventually, I'll pull together an author note that explains all these dates and historical/cultural references.
Reply
We're closing in, though.
--
310. The three hundred tenth day was the day Ukraine visited to see her new embassy in Ottawa. It had been funded by donations from the all the Ukrainians now living in Canada.
Ukraine never said how happy that made her.
473. April 30, 1993 was the four hundred sixty-third day, and was the day Canada received a package in the mail. It was addressed to him in careful handwriting, and marked ‘Fragile’ and ‘International Express’ with a big red stamp.
He opened it to find masses of bubble wrap and tissue paper. Someone had obviously been worried about the contents. Beneath all the protective packaging was a basket, filled with small, round things wrapped in yet more bubble wrap. And there was a note. It was dated April 18th, and read, in the same neat print in which the box was addressed;
Dear Canada,
Happy Easter. I hope you are well. I am. I am about to go out to Easter mass, and want to put this in the mail on the way. They are pysanky. I believe you call them ‘Easter eggs’.
They’re made with wax and dye, and are a tradition here. We make them for Easter, they are considered very special and powerful, and every family had a special way of making them, which was handed down. I made these myself, so they are not from a certain recipe.
There are many superstitions about pysanky--they were thought to protect houses from disaster, and held powerful magic, so people ground up the shells and tossed them in a stream so that a witch would not obtain it and it and use it to wreak havoc. Which must seem silly to you in this modern age. Nevertheless, they are very beautiful. I love them very much and I hope you will as well, though I am a bit worried if they will arrive all right.
I do wonder if some of my people living in your country make them as well. I should like to find out. Maybe next time I visit, I will.
Yours,
Ukraine
He could just imagine Ukraine sitting at her desk, wearing her best clothes, a pair of white gloves and a purse sitting beside her, carefully penning the note as she was about to leave for the church. That would have been--12 days ago.
It took him ten minutes to unwrap the pysanky from their wrapping, but it was worth both the effort Ukraine had put into wrapping them, and the effort Canada had put into unwrapping them. The eggs were beautiful, covered in colors and designs so intricate that they looked like only a fairy could have made them.
Canada spent another twenty minutes gaping at the beautiful things before realizing frantically that had better put them in a safe place, or else Kumariji or whatever his name was might break one accidentally.
After that, he called Ukraine, mindless of the time difference.
956. The nine hundred fifty-sixth day, they were out to lunch, and they had fallen into one of those fascinating, slightly silly side conversations where neither could remember what they were talking about originally. Canada was telling Ukraine about all the words that had originated from the indigenous Canadian people, long before he was really Canada.
They were words like ‘barbecue’ ‘mahogany’ ‘caribou’ ‘chipmunk’ and ‘hurricane’, and they made her laugh, and her laugh made him laugh.
From then on, Ukraine smiled whenever she heard any of those words.
1357. The one thousand, three hundred, fifty-seventh day was the day they started to call each other by human names.
1358. The one thousand, three hundred, fifty-eighth day was when they started thinking of each other by human names.
1359. The one thousand, three hundred, fifty-ninth day was when they realized they’d been thinking of each other in human names nearly the whole time.
Neither said anything about it.
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Can I say that I love the way you work historical events into this here and there? And the way you characterize Canada and Ukraine? And the way you manage to encapsulate the progression of their relationship (especially with the final four sentences!) in as few words as possible? And the way you write them as so cute and sweet and warm and adorable that has reignited my love for this pairing like whoa?
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Matthew had a blue button-down dress shirt that he wore a lot. Katyusha remarked that he must like it very much. He had smiled and said yes, something like that.
Then Katyusha remembered something. A thought that sidled diagonally into her mind, slipping in and waiting in a corner, slyly integrating itself until it couldn’t be ignored, burning bright like a fire.
It had been while ago, but she remembered the first time he’d worn that shirt. He had mentioned he wasn’t sure if it suited him, but she said, no, it matched his eyes.
And he’d worn it ever since.
She wasn’t sure what to think, or if to believe the thought that so insistently demanded acknowledgement.
She found herself wanting to believe it, and was afraid.
4233. The four thousand, one hundred, seventy-second day they were visiting a small Saskatchewan town, just because.
It was a beautiful summer day, sunny and hot with a cloudless blue sky. The sun blazed white gold; burning, still, and silent, while the fields of grain shone a deep and mellow gold, sweeping in waves and ripples in the wind.
Katyusha stood in what little shade there was and stared out at the fields, feeling if she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the the brightness and that maybe if she stared long enough she would be able to see the fields and the sun in the darkness when she closed her eyes.
Was this was what her emigrants had seen? Was this why they had come here--and stayed?
In the center of her vision, she saw Matthew, as he talked with one of his people, glance back toward her, and his eyes were the blue of the sky and his hair the gold of the wheat, and that was--so right, because they were in Canada and he was Canada.
Suddenly, she remembered that loving the land of Canada meant loving Matthew, because they were the same, and she didn’t know how she had ever forgotten. It was so obvious.
Of course she was in love with him.
6457. The six thousand, four hundred, fifty-seventh day was the day their bosses formally upgraded their diplomatic relations to ‘Special Partnership’.
It didn’t change. Them didn’t change, because, after all this time, if nation things were a bowl of salt and human things were a bowl of sugar, then the them things were a bowl of sugar and a bowl of salt poured together and mixed and mixed so it was all the same, all equal, and you couldn't tell them apart by looking.
Everything--Ukraine, Canada, Matthew, Katyusha--everything was so hopelessly intertwined it didn’t matter anymore.
They were just--just them.
6994. The last day of the 2010 Winter Olympics was February 28, 2010. It was the six thousand, nine hundred, ninety-fourth day.
Canada was drunk on air and life and a record setting thirteen gold medals with the promise of a fourteenth, and at hockey, no less.
He as a person wasn’t allowed to compete in the Olympics, but he wasn’t content to stay in the stands, he stayed as close as possible to the team for as long as possible, his veins surging with energy and his fingertips numb with cold.
Just before the game started, he went over to where Ukraine was sitting, on some impulse brought on by the sheer thrill of the games.
“Hey,” he said, arriving at her seat. She half-rose, smiling.
“Hello, Matthew. Isn’t the game about to start?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I, uh, just wanted to do something first.”
And he tilted her chin up, leaned down, and kissed her, lightly, gently.
“Just for luck,” he said grinning, and sprinted off.
America was standing by her team, and as he passed them, she wolf-whistled. He didn’t even both to glare. He just mock saluted, and rushed off toward his team. He didn’t care if any other nations saw, not even Russia-who had seen, he knew it. He was smiling that smile, the one that still made Canada want a restraining order and some nuclear missiles. But not today. Not today.
They were fucking going to win.
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