New Years SuFin fic. Yep.
Finland was dithering.
He displayed this by chewing his nails, a bad habit of his. It dated back to a few hundred years ago when he had been the northern European equivalent of a squash ball.
He still had nightmares from the 18th century.
With an effort he let his arms fall to his sides as he took a deep breath. Then he slowly raised his hand. And stopped, poised to knock. He chewed on his lip in frustration.
This was ridiculous! He had no call at all to be nervous. He was only going to talk to an old...old friend, that was all. Right. Let’s try this again…
And just like that the door in front of him swung open, leaving him standing with his fist raised and a nonplussed look on his face.
“…Finland?” Sweden’s voice was as low and even as ever, but there was a tinge of something in it. Surprise, Finland guessed, and…perhaps happiness? To see him? Well, it had been some time since they’d last met like this personally. Even longer since they’d gotten together for something other than strictly business-related matters. Perhaps after this, they could…
He resolutely derailed that train of thought before it could pick up any momentum.
“Hello, S…Sweden,” he said, and tried a cheerful smile. It seemed to work, since Sweden’s brows didn’t immediately lower into that terrifying, well-known scowl. Not that he returned the smile, but some things were to be expected. ”I…hope I’m not interrupting something.”
“No,” came the reply, and Sweden stepped back in what was obviously an invitation. Fighting down the impulse to take another deep breath to calm himself down, Finland entered the office. It was a new one: Finland had never set foot in it before. It was small, and sparsely furnished with only one window at the far end. A work desk, a potted plant in one corner, a lone chair standing against the wall and a wooden bookshelf stacked with binders.
It would have been a dreary room if not for what cheerfully covered the walls. Finland felt himself warm at the sight of the colorful drawings: there was one with a red cottage on the edge of a lake. There was also a small jetty, with three small figures with names attached to them standing on it. The smallest figure proudly proclaimed itself “Me!!!”, while the tallest one had the word “Dad” attached to it. And the middle one…
Oh. Um. Well. So that was still going on. He probably ought to speak to the boy about…that. Though he supposed it was a bit flattering, if in an…off sort of way.
Sweden brought up the chair to the desk, motioning for Finland to take a seat. Finland smiled in thanks, and told himself that he was silly for thinking that Sweden looked a bit flustered.
“I’m sorry to, well, barge in like this without any prior notice,” he said apologetically, sitting down. Sweden grunted, taking his own seat behind the desk. “But there was something I wanted to discuss with you.” Now came the hard part. “It’s…not something my ministers agree with me on.” In fact, they’d probably go through the roof if they ever found out…which they undoubtedly would, eventually. He tried not to think about that too much.
Sweden was staring at him intently. The right lens of his glasses caught the outside light of the setting sun and glowed. It was only around three o’clock in the afternoon. The short winter days had arrived so quickly, it seemed.
”You’ve…recently decided to cut back a significant part of your military budget.” He felt silly: why did he try to make his visit sound more official than it really was? He cleared his throat and carried on: “Both the regular army and the air force will be affected. It will take effect starting next year, 2005.”
“Nn, that’s right.”
“I just…wanted you to know that…you can always count on support from me. I can…protect you, if the need arises.” That…that hadn’t been how he’d initially phrased it. And it had sounded significantly less awkward in his mind.
Sweden blinked, slowly. . Finland tried not to squirm uncomfortably under that scrutinizing gaze.
“W-well,” he tried, swallowed, and tried again. “I mean…I don’t mean to presume, b-but…” Pull yourself together! This man is not the Lion of Scandinavia anymore and he’s not…has never been your husband!
Maybe boyfriend…argh!
“I mean…partnership between us as…as nations is a very important issue and my own military can, in the event of...um, hostility offer aid in the form of…” What, exactly? He couldn’t make any formal promises without going through the Eduskunta. “I mean, you can always count on my support…” Really, this was stupid. Idiotic. Not to mention pointless. He’d rushed here without thinking anything through. What had he been thinking? Barging in here and nobly proclaiming he’d protect Sweden’s interests? What did he take himself for? A shining knight, straight out of a fairytale? He should go while he still retained a shred of his abused dignity. Yes, that would be best.
Sweden gave a puzzled frown when Finland abruptly stood up, nearly knocking the chair back in his hurry to escape the office. ”Well, that’s all I wanted to say, really!” His cheerful voice felt forced, even to him. “So I guess I’ll…see myself out now. I’m sorry I disturbed you with something so silly. You must be busy. Yes.”
He must think I’m such a fool. And he’d be quite right, too. He reached for the doorknob.
“Finland!” It was almost a shout, and it stopped Finland dead in his tracks. “I…wait…would y’…” Sweden trailed off, and when Finland turned around, he was shocked to see the almost pained expression on the other’s face. He actually swallowed before saying: “Would y’…Spend…New Years…wit’ us...?”
Of all the things Finland might’ve expected to hear, it had not been that. For a moment, he could only gape like an idiot. And when his tongue finally began working again, it completely ran away with him;
“Of course. I’d love to.”
*****
What in the world am I doing here? The elevator doors slid open and Finland stepped out into a softly lit corridor, doors made of light wood that almost seemed to gleam surrounding him on both sides. The place felt…very new. There was a clean and fresh smell in the air.
He freely admitted that the location somewhat baffled him. Never would he have imagined that Sweden would invite him to a hotel. A Danish hotel. In Copenhagen, of all places. Not that he was prepared to admit it, but Finland did suppose that he had initially believed they would celebrate New Years in Sweden’s old cottage in the archipelago or something akin to it. Now he felt silly for thinking that. It wasn’t like they were famil…
”Mom!” The excited shout shook him out of his thoughts just as a bundle of energy careened down the hall and more or less flung itself at him. Oof! “I’ve missed you!”
“S-Sealand…” He managed to gasp out. “I’ve…missed you, too.” And he really had, he realized. They hadn’t seen each other since…well…
It was somewhat distressing to realize that he wasn’t quite sure when last they’d met. His conscience contemptuously turned its back on him.
“’Course you have! Who wouldn’t miss the awesome Sealand?” Sealand showed off a wide grin, relinquishing his hold around Finland’s waist. “But why’re you so late? I’ve been waiting forever!”
”I…got a bit lost,” Finland admitted, a bit ruefully. “I haven’t been in Copenhagen for quite some time, and I didn’t remember this hotel at all, I’m afraid.”
"Yeah! Dad and uncle Den just opened this place! Isn't it awesome?" Sealand fired off another bright grin as they started down the corridor. Number 528, 529…they were headed for room 540, if Finland recalled correctly. And was it just him, or was the distance between the doors increasing? "And uncle Den and Norway and Iceland," Sealand's face darkened for the briefest of moments before the grin returned in full force. "...are also staying here! Umm…" Finland's sudden anxiety must have been evident, since the boy cautiously asked: "Are you okay, mom?"
"I’m sorry, but please don't call me that," came the automatic and absentminded reply. "Sealand, are your uncles...coming over? Will they be celebrating with us?" He didn't dislike the other Scandinavian brothers, not at all. On the contrary, he very much enjoyed their company. That being said, having Sweden and Denmark together in the same space for a duration longer than the average coffee-break was, at the best of times, a risky venture. At worst disastrous. Factoring in the heavy drinking that would inevitably take place...
"Nuh-uh, they won't," said Sealand, and Finland immediately relaxed. "Dad insisted. He wanted it to be only the three of us tonight, and that we’ll see the others tomorrow. Uncle Den wasn't very happy. I think he really wanted to celebrate with us. But then uncle Norway hit him on the head and told him not to be an idiot, and everything was suddenly okay." He laughed. "Funny, huh? Uncle Den says he's the strongest and coolest guy around, but he always does what uncle Norway tells him. Isn't that weird?"
Finland found himself smiling as he said: "They have a complicated relationship." Then he thought about it and laughed a bit, too. "Or maybe not that complicated."
"Is it like you and dad's? Uncle Den said it was, and then uncle Norway hit him again. A lot harder." Sealand snickered. “Don’t think he was that mad, though. I even think he smiled a bit. Maybe. Hard to tell with uncle Norway, don’t you think?”
“He’s a very guarded person,” Finland agreed and made a mental note to ask Norway just what kind of preconceptions the other had about Finland and Sweden’s relationship. “But kind,” he added, because it was, well, true.
“Yeah, I know. ‘Specially to Ice,” said Sealand, and there was that frown again. Finland supposed that there must be a story in there somewhere, but wasn’t sure if it was his place to ask about it.
By this time, they had reached the room. Finland found, to his consternation, that he’d grown nervous again. Of all the ridiculous, silly…
“You know,” said Sealand suddenly, almost somberly. “Dad didn’t really want to be here. But he’d already promised uncle Den. Sort of an opening ceremony, y’know? Of this place, I mean. So he had to.” The boy looked up at Finland. “But he really wanted to show you the new house he built, back home.” And here he broke into a sunny smile once again. “But it’s okay! We’ll show it to you later. Bet you’ll like it lots. Dad said it’s modeled after your old house, back when you two lived together. And I helped, too, so that guarantees its awesomeness!”
Finland stood like one thunderstruck for a moment, and before he’d gathered his wits enough to ask one of the many questions on his tongue, the door opened.
“Finland,” said Sweden, and this time there was no mistaking it: there was genuine and obvious happiness in his voice, in that one word. It made Finland feel…oddly guilty.
“Hello, Sweden.” He smiled and added: “Happy New Years.”
“Nn. ‘Appy New ye’rs,” Sweden replied while Sealand protested “Not yet! It’s not New Years yet! You’re too early! Sheesh!”. These protests soon gave way to: “Why are you guys just standing there? Can’t we go in?”
“Oh! Err, yes.” Finland felt his face redden. “Sorry.” Sweden held up the door for them, and it was almost gratifying to notice the slight coloring on his cheeks. At least Finland wasn’t the only one who felt a bit out of his depth.
Sealand gleefully hurried inside, his sailor hat somehow landing on the hat rack after a perfect arc through the air. “I’m starving! Can’t we make dinner now, dad? Please~?”
Finland blinked.
”Make dinner?”
******
A suite. And lobster for dinner. True, it was New Years, but Sweden had never been prone to extravagancy, even on special occasions like this. Finland wouldn’t call him stingy, but…this was unusual, that was all. It was of course entirely possible that the suite was Denmark’s idea. According to Sweden, the other three Scandinavians were rooming in a similar suite, right below their own.
Sealand had enthusiastically explained that, while the suite’s kitchenette wasn’t equipped to handle a full-fledged New Years dinner (which, the micronation insisted, obviously called for something extra), they could make some things on their own. Such as…
“Perhana!” Finland swore, something he didn’t do very often. He could recall a time when he’d been a capable chef. Well, adequate chef. If nothing else, he could remember a time when he’d be able to cut a cucumber without cutting himself at the same time. Making a simple salad really shouldn’t pose any sort of difficulty. It was even his own recipe, and he had been quite proud of his cucumber salad. And yet…he looked despondently at his index finger, where a thin line of blood had formed, and sighed.
”Are you all right, mom?” Sealand’s worried face peered up at him, a ladle held in one hand and his other arm wrapped around a bowl: the boy had proudly declared that he’d been put in charge of the dessert (“And it’s a French apple-pie! Hah! That’ll show you-know-who!).
“I’m fine. It’s just a little nick.” Finland assured him, regretting his outburst. He held up his finger so Sealand could have a look. “See, nothing to worry about. You can barely see it. Also, Sealand, about calling me…”
“Dad!” cried Sealand, already half-across the room. “Dad! Mom’s bleeding!” There was an audible crash from the balcony, and a second later Sweden stumbled into the room, only just avoiding bowling over his son in his hurry. As he righted himself, his eyes zeroed in on Finland, who almost found himself stepping back from the intensity in that stare. Just like old times, he found himself thinking. He could’ve hit himself.
“Sealand,” Sweden rumbled, his eyes not leaving Finland. “B’nd-aid?”
“Right!” Sealand saluted with a serious look on his face. “Packed them just as you asked me to!” Sweden gave an approving nod. The boy grinned and disappeared into the bathroom, shooting one last concerned look in Finland’s direction.
“Really, that’s, um, not necessary,” Finland said as Sweden moved closer. Strode closer. Three steps and he’d crossed the distance between them. Finland would not bolt. “It’s just a small cut.” He gave a small smile. “I’ve weathered worse.”
He could just as well have said nothing at all as Sweden firmly, yet gently gripped and raised his hand in order to examine the cut. Finland sighed and tried very hard not to blush as the other closely scrutinized the index finger in question.
“You don’t find this the least bit ridiculous, do you?” he asked, somewhat irritably. Sweden gave him a puzzled look and wordlessly shook his head before letting go of Finland’s hand just as Sealand came out of the bathroom carrying what looked like a first aid kit.
“Here you go, mom!” He held up the kit with a toothy grin and Finland decided that enough was enough.
“Sealand,” he began and fought to retain his irritation when Sealand innocently tilted his head curiously to the left. It really should’ve been easier than it was. Facing Russia on the battlefield seemed to pale in comparison. “I would be very grateful if you stopped referring to me as mom…all the time. And you…” he went on, turning to Sweden (pointedly ignoring Sealand’s pout and “Whaaat? But you are my mom, mom!”). “…don’t have to be so very considerate. It’s…nice of you, but you’re behaving…” Like you did back then. “…as if I’m made out of glass. And you of all people should know that I’m…”
Glorp.
Three pairs of eyes blinked. Finland, a sinking feeling in his stomach, slowly turned his hand to look at the hand he’d meant to lightly strike the kitchenette’s wooden counter with.
His hand hadn’t connected with the counter. Instead, he found himself wrist-deep in pie mixture. Sealand’s bowl, his brain told him, momentarily forgotten in the commotion his silly cut had caused. Horrified, Finland immediately attempted to withdraw his hand, an apology already forming on his lips. Unfortunately, in Sealand’s absence, the contents had somehow coagulated into something that, while not quite solid, was just gooey enough to trap the hand stuck in it. For a little while, at least. The thought of what exactly the boy had put into the mixture went through his mind as the bowl separated from his hand and gracefully sailed through the air towards...
Bonk.
Of course.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Part Two~
He displayed this by chewing his nails, a bad habit of his. It dated back to a few hundred years ago when he had been the northern European equivalent of a squash ball.
He still had nightmares from the 18th century.
With an effort he let his arms fall to his sides as he took a deep breath. Then he slowly raised his hand. And stopped, poised to knock. He chewed on his lip in frustration.
This was ridiculous! He had no call at all to be nervous. He was only going to talk to an old...old friend, that was all. Right. Let’s try this again…
And just like that the door in front of him swung open, leaving him standing with his fist raised and a nonplussed look on his face.
“…Finland?” Sweden’s voice was as low and even as ever, but there was a tinge of something in it. Surprise, Finland guessed, and…perhaps happiness? To see him? Well, it had been some time since they’d last met like this personally. Even longer since they’d gotten together for something other than strictly business-related matters. Perhaps after this, they could…
He resolutely derailed that train of thought before it could pick up any momentum.
“Hello, S…Sweden,” he said, and tried a cheerful smile. It seemed to work, since Sweden’s brows didn’t immediately lower into that terrifying, well-known scowl. Not that he returned the smile, but some things were to be expected. ”I…hope I’m not interrupting something.”
“No,” came the reply, and Sweden stepped back in what was obviously an invitation. Fighting down the impulse to take another deep breath to calm himself down, Finland entered the office. It was a new one: Finland had never set foot in it before. It was small, and sparsely furnished with only one window at the far end. A work desk, a potted plant in one corner, a lone chair standing against the wall and a wooden bookshelf stacked with binders.
It would have been a dreary room if not for what cheerfully covered the walls. Finland felt himself warm at the sight of the colorful drawings: there was one with a red cottage on the edge of a lake. There was also a small jetty, with three small figures with names attached to them standing on it. The smallest figure proudly proclaimed itself “Me!!!”, while the tallest one had the word “Dad” attached to it. And the middle one…
Oh. Um. Well. So that was still going on. He probably ought to speak to the boy about…that. Though he supposed it was a bit flattering, if in an…off sort of way.
Sweden brought up the chair to the desk, motioning for Finland to take a seat. Finland smiled in thanks, and told himself that he was silly for thinking that Sweden looked a bit flustered.
“I’m sorry to, well, barge in like this without any prior notice,” he said apologetically, sitting down. Sweden grunted, taking his own seat behind the desk. “But there was something I wanted to discuss with you.” Now came the hard part. “It’s…not something my ministers agree with me on.” In fact, they’d probably go through the roof if they ever found out…which they undoubtedly would, eventually. He tried not to think about that too much.
Sweden was staring at him intently. The right lens of his glasses caught the outside light of the setting sun and glowed. It was only around three o’clock in the afternoon. The short winter days had arrived so quickly, it seemed.
”You’ve…recently decided to cut back a significant part of your military budget.” He felt silly: why did he try to make his visit sound more official than it really was? He cleared his throat and carried on: “Both the regular army and the air force will be affected. It will take effect starting next year, 2005.”
“Nn, that’s right.”
“I just…wanted you to know that…you can always count on support from me. I can…protect you, if the need arises.” That…that hadn’t been how he’d initially phrased it. And it had sounded significantly less awkward in his mind.
Sweden blinked, slowly. . Finland tried not to squirm uncomfortably under that scrutinizing gaze.
“W-well,” he tried, swallowed, and tried again. “I mean…I don’t mean to presume, b-but…” Pull yourself together! This man is not the Lion of Scandinavia anymore and he’s not…has never been your husband!
Maybe boyfriend…argh!
“I mean…partnership between us as…as nations is a very important issue and my own military can, in the event of...um, hostility offer aid in the form of…” What, exactly? He couldn’t make any formal promises without going through the Eduskunta. “I mean, you can always count on my support…” Really, this was stupid. Idiotic. Not to mention pointless. He’d rushed here without thinking anything through. What had he been thinking? Barging in here and nobly proclaiming he’d protect Sweden’s interests? What did he take himself for? A shining knight, straight out of a fairytale? He should go while he still retained a shred of his abused dignity. Yes, that would be best.
Sweden gave a puzzled frown when Finland abruptly stood up, nearly knocking the chair back in his hurry to escape the office. ”Well, that’s all I wanted to say, really!” His cheerful voice felt forced, even to him. “So I guess I’ll…see myself out now. I’m sorry I disturbed you with something so silly. You must be busy. Yes.”
He must think I’m such a fool. And he’d be quite right, too. He reached for the doorknob.
“Finland!” It was almost a shout, and it stopped Finland dead in his tracks. “I…wait…would y’…” Sweden trailed off, and when Finland turned around, he was shocked to see the almost pained expression on the other’s face. He actually swallowed before saying: “Would y’…Spend…New Years…wit’ us...?”
Of all the things Finland might’ve expected to hear, it had not been that. For a moment, he could only gape like an idiot. And when his tongue finally began working again, it completely ran away with him;
“Of course. I’d love to.”
*****
What in the world am I doing here? The elevator doors slid open and Finland stepped out into a softly lit corridor, doors made of light wood that almost seemed to gleam surrounding him on both sides. The place felt…very new. There was a clean and fresh smell in the air.
He freely admitted that the location somewhat baffled him. Never would he have imagined that Sweden would invite him to a hotel. A Danish hotel. In Copenhagen, of all places. Not that he was prepared to admit it, but Finland did suppose that he had initially believed they would celebrate New Years in Sweden’s old cottage in the archipelago or something akin to it. Now he felt silly for thinking that. It wasn’t like they were famil…
”Mom!” The excited shout shook him out of his thoughts just as a bundle of energy careened down the hall and more or less flung itself at him. Oof! “I’ve missed you!”
“S-Sealand…” He managed to gasp out. “I’ve…missed you, too.” And he really had, he realized. They hadn’t seen each other since…well…
It was somewhat distressing to realize that he wasn’t quite sure when last they’d met. His conscience contemptuously turned its back on him.
“’Course you have! Who wouldn’t miss the awesome Sealand?” Sealand showed off a wide grin, relinquishing his hold around Finland’s waist. “But why’re you so late? I’ve been waiting forever!”
”I…got a bit lost,” Finland admitted, a bit ruefully. “I haven’t been in Copenhagen for quite some time, and I didn’t remember this hotel at all, I’m afraid.”
"Yeah! Dad and uncle Den just opened this place! Isn't it awesome?" Sealand fired off another bright grin as they started down the corridor. Number 528, 529…they were headed for room 540, if Finland recalled correctly. And was it just him, or was the distance between the doors increasing? "And uncle Den and Norway and Iceland," Sealand's face darkened for the briefest of moments before the grin returned in full force. "...are also staying here! Umm…" Finland's sudden anxiety must have been evident, since the boy cautiously asked: "Are you okay, mom?"
"I’m sorry, but please don't call me that," came the automatic and absentminded reply. "Sealand, are your uncles...coming over? Will they be celebrating with us?" He didn't dislike the other Scandinavian brothers, not at all. On the contrary, he very much enjoyed their company. That being said, having Sweden and Denmark together in the same space for a duration longer than the average coffee-break was, at the best of times, a risky venture. At worst disastrous. Factoring in the heavy drinking that would inevitably take place...
"Nuh-uh, they won't," said Sealand, and Finland immediately relaxed. "Dad insisted. He wanted it to be only the three of us tonight, and that we’ll see the others tomorrow. Uncle Den wasn't very happy. I think he really wanted to celebrate with us. But then uncle Norway hit him on the head and told him not to be an idiot, and everything was suddenly okay." He laughed. "Funny, huh? Uncle Den says he's the strongest and coolest guy around, but he always does what uncle Norway tells him. Isn't that weird?"
Finland found himself smiling as he said: "They have a complicated relationship." Then he thought about it and laughed a bit, too. "Or maybe not that complicated."
"Is it like you and dad's? Uncle Den said it was, and then uncle Norway hit him again. A lot harder." Sealand snickered. “Don’t think he was that mad, though. I even think he smiled a bit. Maybe. Hard to tell with uncle Norway, don’t you think?”
“He’s a very guarded person,” Finland agreed and made a mental note to ask Norway just what kind of preconceptions the other had about Finland and Sweden’s relationship. “But kind,” he added, because it was, well, true.
“Yeah, I know. ‘Specially to Ice,” said Sealand, and there was that frown again. Finland supposed that there must be a story in there somewhere, but wasn’t sure if it was his place to ask about it.
By this time, they had reached the room. Finland found, to his consternation, that he’d grown nervous again. Of all the ridiculous, silly…
“You know,” said Sealand suddenly, almost somberly. “Dad didn’t really want to be here. But he’d already promised uncle Den. Sort of an opening ceremony, y’know? Of this place, I mean. So he had to.” The boy looked up at Finland. “But he really wanted to show you the new house he built, back home.” And here he broke into a sunny smile once again. “But it’s okay! We’ll show it to you later. Bet you’ll like it lots. Dad said it’s modeled after your old house, back when you two lived together. And I helped, too, so that guarantees its awesomeness!”
Finland stood like one thunderstruck for a moment, and before he’d gathered his wits enough to ask one of the many questions on his tongue, the door opened.
“Finland,” said Sweden, and this time there was no mistaking it: there was genuine and obvious happiness in his voice, in that one word. It made Finland feel…oddly guilty.
“Hello, Sweden.” He smiled and added: “Happy New Years.”
“Nn. ‘Appy New ye’rs,” Sweden replied while Sealand protested “Not yet! It’s not New Years yet! You’re too early! Sheesh!”. These protests soon gave way to: “Why are you guys just standing there? Can’t we go in?”
“Oh! Err, yes.” Finland felt his face redden. “Sorry.” Sweden held up the door for them, and it was almost gratifying to notice the slight coloring on his cheeks. At least Finland wasn’t the only one who felt a bit out of his depth.
Sealand gleefully hurried inside, his sailor hat somehow landing on the hat rack after a perfect arc through the air. “I’m starving! Can’t we make dinner now, dad? Please~?”
Finland blinked.
”Make dinner?”
******
A suite. And lobster for dinner. True, it was New Years, but Sweden had never been prone to extravagancy, even on special occasions like this. Finland wouldn’t call him stingy, but…this was unusual, that was all. It was of course entirely possible that the suite was Denmark’s idea. According to Sweden, the other three Scandinavians were rooming in a similar suite, right below their own.
Sealand had enthusiastically explained that, while the suite’s kitchenette wasn’t equipped to handle a full-fledged New Years dinner (which, the micronation insisted, obviously called for something extra), they could make some things on their own. Such as…
“Perhana!” Finland swore, something he didn’t do very often. He could recall a time when he’d been a capable chef. Well, adequate chef. If nothing else, he could remember a time when he’d be able to cut a cucumber without cutting himself at the same time. Making a simple salad really shouldn’t pose any sort of difficulty. It was even his own recipe, and he had been quite proud of his cucumber salad. And yet…he looked despondently at his index finger, where a thin line of blood had formed, and sighed.
”Are you all right, mom?” Sealand’s worried face peered up at him, a ladle held in one hand and his other arm wrapped around a bowl: the boy had proudly declared that he’d been put in charge of the dessert (“And it’s a French apple-pie! Hah! That’ll show you-know-who!).
“I’m fine. It’s just a little nick.” Finland assured him, regretting his outburst. He held up his finger so Sealand could have a look. “See, nothing to worry about. You can barely see it. Also, Sealand, about calling me…”
“Dad!” cried Sealand, already half-across the room. “Dad! Mom’s bleeding!” There was an audible crash from the balcony, and a second later Sweden stumbled into the room, only just avoiding bowling over his son in his hurry. As he righted himself, his eyes zeroed in on Finland, who almost found himself stepping back from the intensity in that stare. Just like old times, he found himself thinking. He could’ve hit himself.
“Sealand,” Sweden rumbled, his eyes not leaving Finland. “B’nd-aid?”
“Right!” Sealand saluted with a serious look on his face. “Packed them just as you asked me to!” Sweden gave an approving nod. The boy grinned and disappeared into the bathroom, shooting one last concerned look in Finland’s direction.
“Really, that’s, um, not necessary,” Finland said as Sweden moved closer. Strode closer. Three steps and he’d crossed the distance between them. Finland would not bolt. “It’s just a small cut.” He gave a small smile. “I’ve weathered worse.”
He could just as well have said nothing at all as Sweden firmly, yet gently gripped and raised his hand in order to examine the cut. Finland sighed and tried very hard not to blush as the other closely scrutinized the index finger in question.
“You don’t find this the least bit ridiculous, do you?” he asked, somewhat irritably. Sweden gave him a puzzled look and wordlessly shook his head before letting go of Finland’s hand just as Sealand came out of the bathroom carrying what looked like a first aid kit.
“Here you go, mom!” He held up the kit with a toothy grin and Finland decided that enough was enough.
“Sealand,” he began and fought to retain his irritation when Sealand innocently tilted his head curiously to the left. It really should’ve been easier than it was. Facing Russia on the battlefield seemed to pale in comparison. “I would be very grateful if you stopped referring to me as mom…all the time. And you…” he went on, turning to Sweden (pointedly ignoring Sealand’s pout and “Whaaat? But you are my mom, mom!”). “…don’t have to be so very considerate. It’s…nice of you, but you’re behaving…” Like you did back then. “…as if I’m made out of glass. And you of all people should know that I’m…”
Glorp.
Three pairs of eyes blinked. Finland, a sinking feeling in his stomach, slowly turned his hand to look at the hand he’d meant to lightly strike the kitchenette’s wooden counter with.
His hand hadn’t connected with the counter. Instead, he found himself wrist-deep in pie mixture. Sealand’s bowl, his brain told him, momentarily forgotten in the commotion his silly cut had caused. Horrified, Finland immediately attempted to withdraw his hand, an apology already forming on his lips. Unfortunately, in Sealand’s absence, the contents had somehow coagulated into something that, while not quite solid, was just gooey enough to trap the hand stuck in it. For a little while, at least. The thought of what exactly the boy had put into the mixture went through his mind as the bowl separated from his hand and gracefully sailed through the air towards...
Bonk.
Of course.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Part Two~