Insomnia's a Bitch
Title: Insomnia's a Bitch
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia/Torchwood
Rating: PG
Summary: Ireland can't sleep, Scotland calls to check on her, and this apparently calls for twin cuddles. Kid!canon.
Timeframe: Mid-to late June 2011
Word Count: 2156, including footnotes
Notes/Warnings: OCs, bad accents, references to the economy in Europe, Scotland's mouth.
Ireland leaned against the counter, running her hand over her face as she waited for her water to come to a boil. Didn’t all the baby books say insomnia was supposed to go away during the second trimester? Or was she just a super special case because of the twins -- and God and Patrick above she still wasn’t used to that idea -- and everything seemed to start earlier with them?
She didn’t know. She honestly didn’t care at the moment, she just wanted to sleep again. Though when she wasn’t up for the third time in two hours she wondered if it was just a bad day… or week, and that the next night would mean a return to straight through the night sleeping like she’d missed.
She let her tea steep, and thank God she was able to go back to her breakfast tea instead of that ginger concoction she’d made up or even the tea Ianto had been considerate enough to get for her. She wasn’t ungrateful or anything, but it had been strange for awhile that she was drinking something different after so many centuries. While it did, she nicked a biscuit from the tin. So what if she was supposed to have something “healthy?” When she felt as blue as the ocean, she was going to have some gingerbread!
Too blasted quiet in her house, that was part of the problem, she was almost sure of it. Too blasted quiet and too blasted lonely. She stirred a third spoonful of sugar into her tea and took it and the dish (which had “mysteriously” acquired a second piece of gingerbread) into the living room. How was she going to deal with the day in and day out of maternity leave when she finally took it? Her fae weren’t exactly the best of company, especially when they seemed to be almost jealous that there would be two new people around that would take up her attention.
…It was sort of like having pets in a way, really. Granted they were pets that would trick a person as soon as they would help, and a few that would actually steal children away, but they knew far better than to even attempt that around her, not after the story of Ligeia the mermaid spread. And of course she would never actually call her fae pets, that would be most disrespectful to the Good People and that just wasn’t something that was done. Though it did make her wonder where her Redcaps were, she hadn’t seen them since the snow storms back in December and January.
She was about to start on her second piece of gingerbread and was debating pulling herself back up to add more to her half empty cup when he mobile phone rang. Groaning a bit she rolled slightly to reach it on the end table, pressing the receive button without even looking at the caller ID. “Aye, and who’s callin’ me this late?”
“’ello Erin.”
Ireland sighed and went back to her night time snack. “Evenin’ Douglas. Still askin’ why you’re callin’ me this late.”
There was a huff down the other end of the line, and she could picture her brother puffing up like a cat perfectly in her mind. “Cannae I be callin’ t’check on me twin sister when I’m knowin’ she’s feelin’ like utter shite?”
Which meant he was worried about her in what she’d once heard Japan refer to as “the Tsundere Isles’ language”. It would be cute if it wasn’t nearly eleven at night when she usually went to bed at nine. “’Course you can, me brother. Bit late to be doin’ it though. What if you were wakin’ me up?”
“Ya wake up at the shuffling of a brownie, sis. Ne’er been a heavy sleeper, remember?” He was right, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. So she didn’t reply and let him blunder on. “So… how ya feelin’?”
“Like ‘tis back in the General Post Office durin’ the Risin’ I am, nay sleepin’ cause never knowin’ when Arthur’s goin’ to be sendin’ his blasted army,” she replied shortly, not feeling bad for it in the slightest. She was allowed a night to be snappy when she’d hardly slept for another four, after all.
“That bad?”
She sighed and ran a hand across her face again, this time threading her fingers into her hair as well. “If I cannae be sleepin’ tonight? ‘Twill be worse. Got meetin’s tomorrow and things to be handlin’ ‘fore I’m on leave.” There was a long silence on the line, one that made the elder of the Isles Twins check her mobile to make sure it hadn’t dropped the call. “Douglas?”
“I’ll be seein’ ya in an hour and a half,” he said suddenly, and in the background there were the sounds of things being dug around in.
She blinked and sat up, eyebrow raised even though she knew Douglas couldn’t see it. “Pardon?”
“Look, ya cannae sleep, it’s not that long a flight if I’m flyin’ into Waterford Airport, I’m comin’ over.”
“Douglas Cockburn Allaway, don’t you even think…!”
“I’m comin’ over Erin. No arguin’!” And that was when the] mobile did in fact go silent. She stared at it a long moment before, in a small fit of temper, she tossed it at the other end of the couch and groaned, running both hands through her hair, tea and dish safely on the end table. Fine! Fine, if he wanted to waste his time dealing with an insomnia stricken sister and be bored out of his haggis-filled mind, so be it! France had probably told him he had a headache or some crock and Scotland wanted to take it out on someone.
…And of course she was still awake when her twin breezed in through her door. “You e’er heard of knockin’?” she grumbled in Gaelic, not wanting to bother keeping her English straight any more.
“So you’re tellin’ e’ery time I’m comin’ over. The babby stopped complainin’ decades ago.” He looked around, bushy eyebrow raising before settling on the couch next to her. “So where’s that bastard Harkness?”
Brigid rolled her eyes even as she curled up against Douglas. “In Cardiff ‘course, where else is he goin’ to be?”
Scotland huffed again and Ireland had to smile, he really did look like an angry cat, all puffed up and green eyes angry and flashing. “Here with ya, if I was havin’ me way ‘bout it. He can bring ‘long that Welsh boy yer so fonda too.”
“Aww, does that mean you’re likin’ me Captaen then?” she teased, shifting a little to nuzzle the side of her head against his shoulder.
He made a sort of scoffing, disbelieving noise as he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight against him. “’Course not, but he’s th’da and is needin’ t’be doin’ his bloody job, and ‘tis includin’ makin’ sure ye’re gettin’ sleep.”
“He’s too busy to be bein’ here e’ery night, Dubhghlas, and ‘tis well aware of why you are, aye.” She made a soft humming sound and closed her eyes. “’Sides, I can be sleepin’ on me own, been doin’ it for too many years now. Not needin’ him here.” She would like it though, she wouldn’t lie.
“Aye,” her brother said gruffly, “’tisn’t meanin’ I’m havin’ t’like it though.” He grumbled something under his breath before standing up, tugging gently on his sister’s hand. “Now c’mon, that bed o’yers ‘tis more comfortable than yer bloody couch.”
She let him pull her up and didn’t object when he pulled her close against his side. As long as he didn’t carry her, she really didn’t mind. “’Tisn’t when you’ve goodness is knowin’ how many pounds of twins to be dealin’ with.” She was quiet a moment as they made their way from the living room to her bedroom. “Nay idea how Mother was doin’ this three times, specially with the two of us.”
He shrugged, making a noncommittal sound. “Llewellyn’d be th’one t’be knowin’ ‘bout that.” He pulled off his shirt once they reached the bed, waiting for Ireland to sit down before sliding in himself, pushing the full body pillow out of the way as he did. “Curlin’ up with a bloody pillow ‘stead of callin’ yer family or that bastard, what are you thinkin’ Erin?”
“Thinkin’ ‘tis comfortable and not botherin’ the lot of you,” she mildly snapped back, letting him pull her against him again, resting her head on his chest like they used to do when they were tiny Nations and England was still just a wee baby. “Told you I did that I can be goin’ to sleep on me own.”
“And ya hate doin’ it, I’m knowin’ ya well ‘nough for that.” He absently ran his hand up and down her back, smiling a little when she relaxed against him. “Back still bad?”
“Aye, and getting’ worse long ‘tis goin’. Iohán’s been helpin’ though, ‘tis glad I am of that.”
“He’s one of Llewellyn’s, ‘course he’s been helpin’. They’re good sorts.” Even if the death of one had nearly broken his sister beyond repair, but he knew far better than to say anything against Patrick in front of her. “Don’ be tellin’ him I was sayin’ that,” he added hastily.
“’Course I won’t.”
“…Thought ya were supposed t’be sleepin’ better by now,” he said suddenly, once quiet had set in. At Ireland’s raised eyebrow he looked away. “Mightave read a couplea books after ya were tellin’ us,” he grumbled, a flush appearing quite clearly on his cheeks.
Ireland chuckled softly, closing her eyes and nodding. “Aye, but the past week’s nay after cooperatin’ so sleepin’ hasn’t been easy.” She sighed softly. “Feelin’ like I’m back in the first few weeks, feelin’ all sick and tired, aye.”
“Shoulda told us sooner,” he grumbled, absently stroking her hair. “Ya were lookin’ like shite, refusing’ t’talk ‘bout it t’anyone ‘twasn’t Llewellyn. If ya were takin’ ‘nother week to be doin’ it I was goin’ to make you tell me, ‘least.”
“M’sorry I was scarin’ you,” she murmured, wilting a little.
“Scaring’s puttin’ it mildly, sis. Had me near bloody terrified ya did. Ne’er seen you lookin’ so bad, nay e’en after the Risin’ when you were healin’ from that bullet in yer chest. …Startin’ t’wonder if things were finally bad ‘nough to…”
“Oh Dubhghlas.” She curled up tighter, stretching an arm across his chest for a one armed hug. “’Tis so sorry I am, honest and true. Just… just wasn’t wantin’ to be sayin’ what was happenin’ and then be havin’ things go wrong, honest. Was only tellin’ Deartháir mór ‘cause he’s the closest we’re havin’ to a parent now.”
“’Tis yer twin I am, Erin. Shoulda told me too.” Scotland shifted just enough to rest his head on hers, hugging her tightly. “Scoti and Scotia, aye?”
Ireland’s mouth quirked a little and relaxed again. She hadn’t meant to scare her brother like that, not at all. Though being a bit spooked herself probably wasn’t the best excuse for it. “Aye, always Scoti and Scotia. Now hush Scoti, and be lettin’ me sleep. The twins are makin’ it hard ‘nough as is most nights with the movin’.”
He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her eyebrow, right where the scar he’d given her millennia ago rested above it. “Aye, right.” He reached out, hand shaking slightly, and rested it on the bump. “And be lettin’ yer ma sleep, the two of you, or when you’re eatin’ solid foods there’ll be nay haggis.”
“…’Tis encouragment to be keepin’ me up, Douglas.”
“Hush, sleep.” There was a long silence, one in which Ireland finally felt like she was drifting off, until… “Oi, Erin?”
“Ne’er had this conversation.”
“Ah. Aye, right. …Still sayin’ bastard Harkness should be here.”
“Be shuttin’ up Scoti or I’ll be makin’ you vegetable haggis in the mornin’.”
“…Ya wouldnae.”
“Be tryin’ me.”
“…”
Footnotes:
"story of Ligeia the mermaid": See The Curious Betwitchment of Luís Valdez for the full story.
Redcaps: Faries who must kill constantly (or hover around battlefields) because if the blood that stains their caps red dries out, they die. Of course Ireland would have a pack of them hovering around her.
The Risin': The Easter Rising. Ireland still has said bullet in her chest.
The babby: Northern Ireland, also Scottish slang for baby.
Captaen: Irish for "captain," Ireland's nickname for Jack.
Dubhghlas: Irish version of Douglas.
Iohán: Irish version of Ianto.
Deartháir mór: Irish for "big brother."
The risk window for miscarriage closes at the start of week 15, I'm told that many couples choose not to announce a baby on the way until after that window closes, just in case.
Scoti and Scotia: Very old names for Scotland and Ireland, respectively.
Veggie haggis: Yes, it exists. No, I'm not sure which is stranger.
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia/Torchwood
Rating: PG
Summary: Ireland can't sleep, Scotland calls to check on her, and this apparently calls for twin cuddles. Kid!canon.
Timeframe: Mid-to late June 2011
Word Count: 2156, including footnotes
Notes/Warnings: OCs, bad accents, references to the economy in Europe, Scotland's mouth.
Ireland leaned against the counter, running her hand over her face as she waited for her water to come to a boil. Didn’t all the baby books say insomnia was supposed to go away during the second trimester? Or was she just a super special case because of the twins -- and God and Patrick above she still wasn’t used to that idea -- and everything seemed to start earlier with them?
She didn’t know. She honestly didn’t care at the moment, she just wanted to sleep again. Though when she wasn’t up for the third time in two hours she wondered if it was just a bad day… or week, and that the next night would mean a return to straight through the night sleeping like she’d missed.
She let her tea steep, and thank God she was able to go back to her breakfast tea instead of that ginger concoction she’d made up or even the tea Ianto had been considerate enough to get for her. She wasn’t ungrateful or anything, but it had been strange for awhile that she was drinking something different after so many centuries. While it did, she nicked a biscuit from the tin. So what if she was supposed to have something “healthy?” When she felt as blue as the ocean, she was going to have some gingerbread!
Too blasted quiet in her house, that was part of the problem, she was almost sure of it. Too blasted quiet and too blasted lonely. She stirred a third spoonful of sugar into her tea and took it and the dish (which had “mysteriously” acquired a second piece of gingerbread) into the living room. How was she going to deal with the day in and day out of maternity leave when she finally took it? Her fae weren’t exactly the best of company, especially when they seemed to be almost jealous that there would be two new people around that would take up her attention.
…It was sort of like having pets in a way, really. Granted they were pets that would trick a person as soon as they would help, and a few that would actually steal children away, but they knew far better than to even attempt that around her, not after the story of Ligeia the mermaid spread. And of course she would never actually call her fae pets, that would be most disrespectful to the Good People and that just wasn’t something that was done. Though it did make her wonder where her Redcaps were, she hadn’t seen them since the snow storms back in December and January.
She was about to start on her second piece of gingerbread and was debating pulling herself back up to add more to her half empty cup when he mobile phone rang. Groaning a bit she rolled slightly to reach it on the end table, pressing the receive button without even looking at the caller ID. “Aye, and who’s callin’ me this late?”
“’ello Erin.”
Ireland sighed and went back to her night time snack. “Evenin’ Douglas. Still askin’ why you’re callin’ me this late.”
There was a huff down the other end of the line, and she could picture her brother puffing up like a cat perfectly in her mind. “Cannae I be callin’ t’check on me twin sister when I’m knowin’ she’s feelin’ like utter shite?”
Which meant he was worried about her in what she’d once heard Japan refer to as “the Tsundere Isles’ language”. It would be cute if it wasn’t nearly eleven at night when she usually went to bed at nine. “’Course you can, me brother. Bit late to be doin’ it though. What if you were wakin’ me up?”
“Ya wake up at the shuffling of a brownie, sis. Ne’er been a heavy sleeper, remember?” He was right, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. So she didn’t reply and let him blunder on. “So… how ya feelin’?”
“Like ‘tis back in the General Post Office durin’ the Risin’ I am, nay sleepin’ cause never knowin’ when Arthur’s goin’ to be sendin’ his blasted army,” she replied shortly, not feeling bad for it in the slightest. She was allowed a night to be snappy when she’d hardly slept for another four, after all.
“That bad?”
She sighed and ran a hand across her face again, this time threading her fingers into her hair as well. “If I cannae be sleepin’ tonight? ‘Twill be worse. Got meetin’s tomorrow and things to be handlin’ ‘fore I’m on leave.” There was a long silence on the line, one that made the elder of the Isles Twins check her mobile to make sure it hadn’t dropped the call. “Douglas?”
“I’ll be seein’ ya in an hour and a half,” he said suddenly, and in the background there were the sounds of things being dug around in.
She blinked and sat up, eyebrow raised even though she knew Douglas couldn’t see it. “Pardon?”
“Look, ya cannae sleep, it’s not that long a flight if I’m flyin’ into Waterford Airport, I’m comin’ over.”
“Douglas Cockburn Allaway, don’t you even think…!”
“I’m comin’ over Erin. No arguin’!” And that was when the] mobile did in fact go silent. She stared at it a long moment before, in a small fit of temper, she tossed it at the other end of the couch and groaned, running both hands through her hair, tea and dish safely on the end table. Fine! Fine, if he wanted to waste his time dealing with an insomnia stricken sister and be bored out of his haggis-filled mind, so be it! France had probably told him he had a headache or some crock and Scotland wanted to take it out on someone.
…And of course she was still awake when her twin breezed in through her door. “You e’er heard of knockin’?” she grumbled in Gaelic, not wanting to bother keeping her English straight any more.
“So you’re tellin’ e’ery time I’m comin’ over. The babby stopped complainin’ decades ago.” He looked around, bushy eyebrow raising before settling on the couch next to her. “So where’s that bastard Harkness?”
Brigid rolled her eyes even as she curled up against Douglas. “In Cardiff ‘course, where else is he goin’ to be?”
Scotland huffed again and Ireland had to smile, he really did look like an angry cat, all puffed up and green eyes angry and flashing. “Here with ya, if I was havin’ me way ‘bout it. He can bring ‘long that Welsh boy yer so fonda too.”
“Aww, does that mean you’re likin’ me Captaen then?” she teased, shifting a little to nuzzle the side of her head against his shoulder.
He made a sort of scoffing, disbelieving noise as he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight against him. “’Course not, but he’s th’da and is needin’ t’be doin’ his bloody job, and ‘tis includin’ makin’ sure ye’re gettin’ sleep.”
“He’s too busy to be bein’ here e’ery night, Dubhghlas, and ‘tis well aware of why you are, aye.” She made a soft humming sound and closed her eyes. “’Sides, I can be sleepin’ on me own, been doin’ it for too many years now. Not needin’ him here.” She would like it though, she wouldn’t lie.
“Aye,” her brother said gruffly, “’tisn’t meanin’ I’m havin’ t’like it though.” He grumbled something under his breath before standing up, tugging gently on his sister’s hand. “Now c’mon, that bed o’yers ‘tis more comfortable than yer bloody couch.”
She let him pull her up and didn’t object when he pulled her close against his side. As long as he didn’t carry her, she really didn’t mind. “’Tisn’t when you’ve goodness is knowin’ how many pounds of twins to be dealin’ with.” She was quiet a moment as they made their way from the living room to her bedroom. “Nay idea how Mother was doin’ this three times, specially with the two of us.”
He shrugged, making a noncommittal sound. “Llewellyn’d be th’one t’be knowin’ ‘bout that.” He pulled off his shirt once they reached the bed, waiting for Ireland to sit down before sliding in himself, pushing the full body pillow out of the way as he did. “Curlin’ up with a bloody pillow ‘stead of callin’ yer family or that bastard, what are you thinkin’ Erin?”
“Thinkin’ ‘tis comfortable and not botherin’ the lot of you,” she mildly snapped back, letting him pull her against him again, resting her head on his chest like they used to do when they were tiny Nations and England was still just a wee baby. “Told you I did that I can be goin’ to sleep on me own.”
“And ya hate doin’ it, I’m knowin’ ya well ‘nough for that.” He absently ran his hand up and down her back, smiling a little when she relaxed against him. “Back still bad?”
“Aye, and getting’ worse long ‘tis goin’. Iohán’s been helpin’ though, ‘tis glad I am of that.”
“He’s one of Llewellyn’s, ‘course he’s been helpin’. They’re good sorts.” Even if the death of one had nearly broken his sister beyond repair, but he knew far better than to say anything against Patrick in front of her. “Don’ be tellin’ him I was sayin’ that,” he added hastily.
“’Course I won’t.”
“…Thought ya were supposed t’be sleepin’ better by now,” he said suddenly, once quiet had set in. At Ireland’s raised eyebrow he looked away. “Mightave read a couplea books after ya were tellin’ us,” he grumbled, a flush appearing quite clearly on his cheeks.
Ireland chuckled softly, closing her eyes and nodding. “Aye, but the past week’s nay after cooperatin’ so sleepin’ hasn’t been easy.” She sighed softly. “Feelin’ like I’m back in the first few weeks, feelin’ all sick and tired, aye.”
“Shoulda told us sooner,” he grumbled, absently stroking her hair. “Ya were lookin’ like shite, refusing’ t’talk ‘bout it t’anyone ‘twasn’t Llewellyn. If ya were takin’ ‘nother week to be doin’ it I was goin’ to make you tell me, ‘least.”
“M’sorry I was scarin’ you,” she murmured, wilting a little.
“Scaring’s puttin’ it mildly, sis. Had me near bloody terrified ya did. Ne’er seen you lookin’ so bad, nay e’en after the Risin’ when you were healin’ from that bullet in yer chest. …Startin’ t’wonder if things were finally bad ‘nough to…”
“Oh Dubhghlas.” She curled up tighter, stretching an arm across his chest for a one armed hug. “’Tis so sorry I am, honest and true. Just… just wasn’t wantin’ to be sayin’ what was happenin’ and then be havin’ things go wrong, honest. Was only tellin’ Deartháir mór ‘cause he’s the closest we’re havin’ to a parent now.”
“’Tis yer twin I am, Erin. Shoulda told me too.” Scotland shifted just enough to rest his head on hers, hugging her tightly. “Scoti and Scotia, aye?”
Ireland’s mouth quirked a little and relaxed again. She hadn’t meant to scare her brother like that, not at all. Though being a bit spooked herself probably wasn’t the best excuse for it. “Aye, always Scoti and Scotia. Now hush Scoti, and be lettin’ me sleep. The twins are makin’ it hard ‘nough as is most nights with the movin’.”
He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her eyebrow, right where the scar he’d given her millennia ago rested above it. “Aye, right.” He reached out, hand shaking slightly, and rested it on the bump. “And be lettin’ yer ma sleep, the two of you, or when you’re eatin’ solid foods there’ll be nay haggis.”
“…’Tis encouragment to be keepin’ me up, Douglas.”
“Hush, sleep.” There was a long silence, one in which Ireland finally felt like she was drifting off, until… “Oi, Erin?”
“Ne’er had this conversation.”
“Ah. Aye, right. …Still sayin’ bastard Harkness should be here.”
“Be shuttin’ up Scoti or I’ll be makin’ you vegetable haggis in the mornin’.”
“…Ya wouldnae.”
“Be tryin’ me.”
“…”
Footnotes:
"story of Ligeia the mermaid": See The Curious Betwitchment of Luís Valdez for the full story.
Redcaps: Faries who must kill constantly (or hover around battlefields) because if the blood that stains their caps red dries out, they die. Of course Ireland would have a pack of them hovering around her.
The Risin': The Easter Rising. Ireland still has said bullet in her chest.
The babby: Northern Ireland, also Scottish slang for baby.
Captaen: Irish for "captain," Ireland's nickname for Jack.
Dubhghlas: Irish version of Douglas.
Iohán: Irish version of Ianto.
Deartháir mór: Irish for "big brother."
The risk window for miscarriage closes at the start of week 15, I'm told that many couples choose not to announce a baby on the way until after that window closes, just in case.
Scoti and Scotia: Very old names for Scotland and Ireland, respectively.
Veggie haggis: Yes, it exists. No, I'm not sure which is stranger.