APH: Only Light and Momentary [6/8]
Title: Only Light and Momentary [6/8]
Author: grosse_averse, tatterdemalion on fanfiction.net
Characters/Pairings: The relationship between Canada and the Netherlands (OC) will take centre stage - however, other characters involved in their relations will also appear.
Rated: It varies. M for this chapter, just to be safe
Summary: A chronicle of Matthew’s relationship with Lars, from 1611 to present day. In this chapter, the crossing of the Rhine and the liberation of the Netherlands, 1945. Also some indistinguishable time after the end of the WWII.
Author’s Note: This is, hands down, the most frustrating chapter I’ve written and my least favourite so far. Sorry for the long wait but I kept revising this thing until I was sort of content with it.
Chapter One (1611)
Chapter Two (~1640)
Chapter Three (1674)
Chapter Four (1824)
Chapter Five (1940)
On day six, God created animals and man - no.
Two brothers lived at the beginning of time. One represented righteousness and one represented destruction - no.
God said, “Let us make man in our image, in our likeness...” - no.
Gisoolg sent a bolt of lightning down to hit earth, which created a human body shaped out of sand - no.
And God said, “Let there be light” and there was light, and we had it more abundantly, hahaha.
Shells flare around him - Matthew can feel the dirt in his hair from the sporadic explosions. His body spasms once, twice, and he curls in on himself briefly before scrambling to his feet, pushing his toes into the mud and surging forwards with the rest of his children, skin streaked with mud and grit and sweat and the blood of other men. He cannot die, at least not like this, he muses as he watches a young man get shot down, jerking backwards and hitting the ground. His face is still round and youthful. Matthew wonders how many years he has seen.
It is March, 1945. Matthew runs over the logistics in his head - Alfred and Arthur, and Arthur’s brother James are down by the Rhine, struggling across it with their men. It still amazes Matthew that Arthur fights with his men - he had half-expected Arthur to take a higher-up position. A general, maybe, a position where his keen thinking and logistical mind could be put to good use. The first time he saw Arthur Kirkland knee deep in the mud and yelling in the most gentleman-like way possible was startling for Matthew. Alfred he is used to, sunny Alfred who always liked to rough and tumble and care for his people so much his heart ached and his face paled, so it was no surprise to see him waltz into the Allied camp with a gun slung over his shoulder and a cheerful grin on his face. Matthew was not even surprised by the presence of James, a ruddy faced, bristly haired man who seemed too brash, too loud to be a Kirkland, and who had clapped Matthew on the back and told him to, “Give it yer best, ye lil’ bairn!”
Matthew smiles at the memory before he remembers where he is. He and his men are at Beinen, keeping the Germans back while the Scots, the British and the Americans take the Rhine. Up ahead Matthew can see machine gun nests, German soldiers still at it, fighting away.
He wonders how Ludwig has been. He wonders if he is getting nervous.
This war has been going on for far too long, but Matthew is always struck by the sheer horrific ugliness of the whole thing, the way soldiers fall in a carefully orchestrated chaos. America lands south of Wesel. Arthur commandeers Wesel. Matthew is left to fight the citizens.
Shots whizz past him, creating in his ears a crackling of harsh sound. Matthew ducks and keeps going. That is all he can do, now. Move forward. He can’t move back. Sometimes he lies on his cot at night and thinks of moving back, wishes for that day, the one when it was just him and Lars in the kitchen drizzling thick syrup between waffles, lying in bed in the stillness of the evening. Lars would trace patterns on his skin and tell him his eyes were beautiful. Matthew would wriggle uncomfortably under his tickling fingers and tell him that he was being cheesy. Lars would laugh and agree.
“But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” he would add.
Matthew curses when he realizes he has been reminiscing again. Arthur warned him about this when they arrived.
“When you personally know a country, it makes it harder,” the green eyed nation explained as they waited, tense, for orders. “God knows when we landed in Normandy....” Arthur had trailed off, hadn’t finished his sentence, instead adding, “Just focus. The best thing you can do for the Netherlands is focus on our goal.”
Liberation. Matthew wonders if Lars knows they are coming, if he has heard anything. He wonders if he could convince his superiors to switch him to the division in charge of western Holland - if there is any better place to start searching for Lars, it is in Amsterdam.
The Germans fight back - Matthew has to give them that, but his boys are tough, and they overcome the nests, stabilize the bridgehead. Matthew collapses, spent, in the dust, and dabs gingerly at the gash in his arm, from a stray bullet that caught him off guard. He is joined by James, who followed his Black Watch up to Wesel. James holds out a flask, face a little paler.
“Ye did well, bairn.” he congratulates him. Matthew feels a little miffed - he thinks he is past the stage of people being surprised at his efforts in war. Not after Vimy. Not after all this. He takes the flask without complaint, however. The alcohol burns on the way down. It feels nice.
“Arthur tells me ye knew the Netherlands,” James continues, watching as men rush back and forth, attending to the wounded, unloading equipment, securing territory. Several German prisoners are marched past them. Neither nation looks at them. “Dunnae get too soft on me, aye? I dunnae want to see you two canoodlin’ an’ having a sappy reunion.”
Matthew blanches and stares at his....well, his uncle, he figures. “I doubt I’d be canoodling in the middle of the liberation attempt.” he reasons. James smirks.
“Ye should’ve seen me brother when ‘e took Paris. Poor bampot looked near tears!”
Matthew flushes. “I - I haven’t seen him in a while, I don’t know if he’ll want to see me right now.” he mumbles. James swirls his alcohol around and raises his bristly black brows.
“War changes people,” he agrees. “Nations, especially. Bu’ I wouldn’t worry too much, bairn. Time heals all wounds.” the black haired nation pauses, then snorts. “Shite piece of advice, that. But I’m no good a’ reassurance.”
“Thanks.” Matthew says anyways. “It helped. A lot.”
“Oh.” James blinks. “Well, good!” he rises, cracking his knuckles, shifting his weight on his big, burly frame. “Lissen, I gotta go see my boys. Take care o’ yerself, bairn. Catch you around.”
“Yeah. See you.” Matthew lifts his fingers as the other nation disappears in the throngs of soldiers. After a minute, Matthew rises too. He has to get back to the task at hand.
& & &
When Matthew dreams nowadays, he dreams of smoke and dirt and blood and panic. He dreams of other things besides the present and pressing issues - he dreams of the Dutch royal family safe within his borders. He dreams of Juliana, bent over with exasperation, calming her fussing, crying, newborn baby. He dreams of earlier days, of gold streaked fields and him and Alfred, as one, or Francis swinging him in his arms, or Arthur teaching him to grow. He dreams of expansion, of the factories back at home churning and working. His people never giving up hope.
When he wakes it is to a dull grey reality. He and his army are busy opening up a route for the British for supplies - before that, they turn their attention the rest of the Netherlands.
Arthur travels up to their base one evening, and Matthew is surprised to see him there - the last he’d heard, the British were not to accompany them into western Holland. On this particular evening Matthew is picking his way across the campground. The Germans have flooded the dykes, and the soldiers are continually wet and miserable throughout their movements. As Matthew stoops to empty his boots of water (his feet have been white and wrinkled for days), he hears the approaching squelch of boots.
“Mr. Williams.” Arthur greets, and Matthew nods.
“Mr. Kirkland.” he answers. “I didn’t know you were stationed - ”
“Please walk with me to your lodgings.” Arthur interrupts, and Matthew, frowning, obeys. Arthur walks like an old man, he realizes with a bit of humor, straight-backed, hands clasped behind his back, measured steps. He limps a little, and Matthew wonders.
“I have asked your superiors,” Arthur says evenly. “That you be transferred to the Divisions responsible for north-eastern Holland.”
Matthew starts, and his throat goes tight. “Sir,” he says frantically. “I had specifically enrolled so that I - ”
“I know what you did.” Arthur’s voice is distant and professional. “And I know what you are trying to do. I don’t think you want to see...Lars...when he is like this. I don’t think it will be good for your concentration.”
Matthew leans closer to Arthur, aware of all the men around them. “And who are you to decide that?” he demands, almost pleadingly. Arthur curls his lip.
“I won’t take that tone, boy.” he warns, and Matthew backs off, straightens his shoulders.
“Thank you for your consideration,” he says coolly. “But I have a duty to remain with my Division.”
“Matthew.” Arthur looks taken aback, but Matthew salutes.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he murmurs, and then he turns his back and leaves Arthur behind.
The 1st Canadian Corps moves out later that week, their eventual goal to move towards Rotterdam, The Hague, Amsterdam...
Matthew’s heart feels too big to be contained in his chest. He hopes fervently that Amsterdam is where he will find Lars. He hopes Lars has managed to lay low and keep himself safe - though, knowing the older man as he does, Lars has probably managed to get himself into trouble.
Arnhem gives Matthew a jolt of comprehension - well, not that he needed it, all things considering. He goes door to door in the quiet street, breaking in glass with the butt of his gun. German soldiers hide in crevices like rats and shoot at them. Arnold MacMillan, a big, cheerful lad from Nova Scotia, is shot down in the middle of the street by a sniper in a bell tower. Matthew takes great pleasure in gunning down the German soldiers when he reaches the tower.
The absence of townspeople makes his heart stop and his throat constrict, and he fears the worst - but by the time the Canadians have cleared the town and the sound of gunfire has ceased, people begin creeping out from their homes, wide eyed and almost disbelieving.
Matthew marvels at the spirit and exuberance of the Dutch people, when the Canadian tanks roll through - they are greeted with pale, wan, but cheerful faces, and people reach up to shake his hand.
Lars, your children are beautiful, he thinks when he sees a little girl on her father’s shoulders, far too thin for her frame but with a smile far too big for her face.
The Canadians try very hard to open up a supply route through Arnhem, but the Germans make it almost impossible to do so, resisting at several strategic points. When Arthur relays this through a messenger Matthew begins to get worried. The people of Arnhem tell him that they are starving; that fuel is low, food supplies even lower, and transport has ground to a depressing stop. Graves have been half-heartedly dug in the ground, covering the victims of the Hunger with loose soil. Matthew can smell them from here as the air thaws.
The soldiers do their best, of course, sparing extra rations when they can, but there is nothing more they can do until the supply route is cleared - the 5th Division has headed north in order to cut off the Germans at Ijsselmeer. Some soldiers stay in Arnhem, but Matthew is with the others who push west. Towards Amsterdam.
Matthew doesn’t know what he expects when he reaches Lars’s capital city. Did he expect Lars to be waiting for him, holding his tricolors and looking none the worse for wear? Did he expect everything to be all right? A sniper hidden on the roof of an apartment building takes out his left shoulder when he makes a dash across Dam Square; Matthew does not even realize he is bleeding until he has made it inside Lars’s building, panting and red faced and his arm hurts, dammit!
He can hear people inside their apartments, moving around. Nobody makes a sound, and Matthew doesn’t expect them to. His boots are heavy on the stairs as he runs up, up, up to the fourth floor.
When he pounds on the door he receives no reply and for a second a terrible panic grips at his chest. Outside he can hear the shouts and gunfire of the Canadians and he wonders what he will do if Lars is not in Amsterdam. How will he find him? How will he know where he is? Amsterdam is only one of three major cities that they are pushing for, and up north the Germans are still fighting with no signs of slowing.
He presses himself up against the door, holding his breath, trying to listen. Is that a shuffle of feet inside, a moving of cloth against skin?
“Lars!” Matthew calls loudly. “It’s me, Matthew!”
Everything stills. The people in the other apartments are still. There is no answer, and Matthew slams his fist once more against the door.
“Please open up!” he calls, adding for good measure, “Please, Lars!”
Nothing. Matthew feels himself becoming irritated. “Lars, if you don’t open up I’m going to break your door down anyways!” he calls, adding, “And if you really aren’t home, then I’m sorry!”
The door opens before Matthew can make good on his promise. Lars is standing there, silhouetted by the weak sunlight that makes it through his curtains, outlining his body and illuminating the stray hairs on his head. His face is drawn and sunken in, pale. His clavicle juts unsettlingly from his chest and his hips are like shards. What worries Matthew the most is the absolute blankness on his face, the absence of his usual grin and laughing eyes. Matthew would have settled for a twitch of the lips, a raising of the brows, anything besides this smooth-faced individual before him. All the excitement that had filled him when the door had opened drains now, and he feels silly and awkward, standing there with his gun held loosely by his side.
“Lars?” he asks, hesitantly. Lars sighs and there is something so broken about it that it makes him want to cry.
“Matthew.” he answers dully. “I don’t have any coffee to put on, I’m afraid, but you can come in anyways.”
“Lars, come with me.” Matthew insists. “Arthur and Alfred aren’t far behind, and my men are taking care of the city. I’ve come to help you, Lars!”
“Help me?” Lars laughs bitterly. “You know, Ludwig’s people took away my Jews in 1941. They bombed Rotterdam and the Japanese forced my women to comfort them. No one helped me then.”
It is terrifying, Matthew thinks, the way Lars is looking at him like he is just another face. He reaches out and grabs Lars’s forearm.
“We’re helping now.” he insists, and Lars smiles.
“I am so tired, Matthew.” he sighs. “I tried very hard to fight.”
“I know you did.” Matthew murmurs. A woman cautiously sticks her head out of her apartment door and Matthew ushers Lars into his apartment, closing the door behind him.
“I wasn’t prepared,” Lars continues. “I allowed them to - to persecute my Jews, to occupy my cities. This is my fault, I shouldn’t have let this happen...”
“Lars, please.” Matthew begs. “Please don’t talk like that, there’s nothing you could’ve done, you couldn’t have known that Germany - ”
“But I should have known.” Lars snaps. Matthew pulls his hand away, a little fearful. “Everyone should have known, when he took Czechoslovakia, when he started pushing the boundaries...everyone thought that he wouldn’t go farther, and when he did...” Lars shakes his head, runs a hand absently up his arm. Matthew can see raised welts from the bombing, and even now his body carries a rash from the liberation attempts.
Matthew sits in silence. He doesn’t know what to say. He does not know what it’s like to be occupied (unless one counts the colonization, which Matthew doesn’t anymore because he simply Didn’t Know Better), and he can’t imagine what it would be like.
“You know, Ludwig asked me about my neighbors once,” Lars says, voice strained in the quiet. “Asked me about the couple next door. They were sweet kids, newlyweds. They suddenly started eating enough food for five people. But I didn’t tell. No one did.”
Matthew looks up, horrified, at Lars’s face. He looks panicked, a hint of hysteria in the corners of his eyes, and he grips Matthew’s sleeve between his fingers. “You understand, don’t you Matthew?” he asks. “My people aren’t...they aren’t bad. It’s just, one of the other neighbors was being question and questioned, and - ” Lars pauses, swallows. “He had no choice! They took the couple away, and the Jews too, but he had no choice, Matthew, do you understand?”
“Yes.” Matthew mouths the word uselessly, trying to calm the other nation. Beneath Matthew’s hand, Lars’s heart beats wildly against his ribcage like a tangled swallow. “It’s okay, please, Lars...”
Lars turns his head away with a faint sound of longing. “I never saw them again.” he admitted. “Newlyweds, they were newlyweds - ”
Matthew embraces the man, pressing his face into his shoulder. Lars smells like soot and blood and something else that presses into Matthew’s nostrils and leaves him with a sense of dread. The older nation keeps a tight hold on him as if pinning him there.
“I must look like such a train wreck,” Lars mutters sourly into Matthew’s hair. “I feel so useless.”
“Don’t!” Matthew commands. “Don’t feel like that, it - it’s over now, all right? You need to focus on that.” They remain locked in an embrace. After a moment Matthew disentangles himself and stands.
“Lars, come on.” he insists. “Come with me, I can - ”
“No.” Lars remains sitting, stoically, back pressed against the couch cushions. “No, I’m staying.”
“Lars.” Matthew sighs. Lars fixes him with a stern look.
“No.” he repeats. “I couldn’t help stop this, and I couldn’t save my people. The least I can do is stay with them.”
Matthew remains standing for a moment, trembling. Then he kneels and digs through his pack, frantically, pulling out his rations and shoving them into Lars’s astonished hands.
“Eat this.” he orders. “And go help your people.” he moves towards the door, adding, “I’m sorry, for what happened. I’ll try to help you, as much as I can.”
He shuts the door. Lars says nothing.
& & &
Matthew does not see Lars again until May 3rd, when the Canadians organize a truce with the local German authorities. With this truce they will be able to set up a proper supply route to deliver rations to the people.
Matthew’s amazement with the Dutch people has not ceased. They respond to their arrival with such enthusiasm and energy, it is hard to remember that many of them are starving. Dutch resistance fighters, who had been fighting long before the Canadians touched on their soil, help them regain control of the country. Last week, passing through a small town, Matthew saw, “Thank you Canadians” painted on the roof. His heart swells.
Lars is there at the agreement and does not look anyone in the eye except the German officials; these men avert their eyes from the silent, gaunt nation as if sensing something off.
After the proceedings, Matthew follows his generals back to the camp, assuming Lars is still not ready to see him (and it hurts, that Lars doesn't want to see him).
The only bad thing about love, Matthew thinks darkly, retiring without a word to his tent, is that eventually it always leaves.
So it surprises him when Lars pushes into the tent, grey eyes dark, backs Matthew up against his cot, and kisses him so hard their teeth click painfully together.
Matthew clutches at Lars like a lifeline, feeling how thin his friend is beneath his uniform, how frail. In return, Lars grabs at every part of him as if memorizing the young nation’s body, muttering thanks into his mouth, the desperation making him blush.
“Thank you so much,” Lars says, trailing his lips over Matthew’s jaw. “They were so hungry, you’ve saved them.”
“Don’t thank me,” Matthew replies quietly. “You don’t need to thank me, I would do it again, in a heartbeat.”
He knows that he shouldn’t be doing this, as Lars lowers him down onto the cot - not in a military camp, not during a liberation attempt, not while Lars is so (so weak, so hurt, so damaged...), but he has missed this, has missed touching Lars and kissing him and so allows it, giving back as much as he gets, pressing in and in and up as Lars kneels over him, connected by their lips and hands. It is only when Lars smoothes hands up under Matthew’s military jacket that the young nation finally, reluctantly breaks away.
“Not like this,” Matthew says quietly, touching Lars’s face. “You’re upset, and I understand - ”
“Stay with me.” Lars says suddenly, stroking fingers through Matthew’s hair. “Please. I need you.”
Lars looks almost embarrassed to admit this, and Matthew realizes with a jolt that Lars thinks that, by admitting a weakness, he is making his country look weak. It is easy to forget, he muses, that though they represent land, they are also too eerily human for their own good.
“I know how that feels,” Matthew soothes, clutching Lars to him again. “All my life, all I’ve wanted was for someone to stay.” he smiles, takes Lars’s fingers and dips them below his collar so the other man can feel the ever-present pendant. “You’re the only one who ever stayed, Lars. I need you too.”
On April 30th, Adolf Hitler commits suicide. Not long after that, the war ends. Two weeks later, Matthew appears at Lars’s doorstep with a suitcase and a tired smile.
& & &
They only make love the second week of Matthew’s stay. This occurs only when Lars has had enough of Matthew’s waffling (“Are you sure?”...“Maybe we should wait a bit until you’re better, eh?”...“I don’t want to push you if you’re not ready...”), throws Matthew over his shoulder, and hastens to the bedroom.
For all Lars’s impatience and recent fronted cheerfulness, he is painfully delicate and raw when he disrobes and kisses Matthew, and the young nation is careful with him. Sometimes halfway through daily activities Lars’s eyes glaze and his body tenses and Matthew knows to just leave him and wait. Sometimes Lars has nightmares, violent ones where Matthew narrowly misses his flailing limbs; sometimes he can’t sleep, and Matthew wakes to the older nation pacing the floor of the bedroom, murmuring things in Dutch. Matthew pretends to be asleep during these times. He feels powerless to help Lars; this frustrates and upsets him, and oftentimes he spends the day out in Amsterdam alone to clear his head.
When he returns in the evening Lars is almost always cheerful again, cracking jokes as he makes dinner, and constantly pulling Matthew close so he can nuzzle his neck, tease him, kiss his ear. It is horribly reminiscent of the pre-war days, but it is obviously not the same and it makes Matthew upset.
“You’ll wear yourself out, trying to run around after him and “fix” him,” Arthur advises during a phone conversation that started out with, “I don’t care if you’re in the hanging gardens of Babylon, boy, I need those papers!”, and ended with, “Why are you in Amsterdam anyways? You sound positively ill.”
“But I want to help him!” Matthew insists over the phone, keeping an eye on the door for Lars, who is due back from visiting the Royal Family any minute now. Arthur sighs, heavily, over the line.
“I know you do, lad.” he soothes. “But, honestly, the only one who can “fix” Lars is himself.”
Princess Juliana tells him something along those same lines when she come to visit. She has been busy running a post-war relief fund for the country, and looks tired but happy, wrapped in the scarf she used to hide her face on the way over. As Lars exclaims his delight over her impromptu visit and goes into the kitchen to make coffee, Juliana leans over to catch Matthew’s hand.
“I never did say thank you, for keeping my family safe.” she says graciously, and Matthew’s ears heat up.
“Please, don’t mention it. It was my pleasure,” he insists, adding shyly, “How are the girls? How’s Margriet doing?”
“They’re all just fine.” Juliana laughs. Then, with a quick glance at the kitchen, she continues, in a quieter voice, “Lars has been talking to me. About...the war.”
“Oh.” Matthew glances, too, at the kitchen, then back again. “Is he all right?”
“He seems better, mostly because you’re here.” she admits. “He cares a lot about you, and he’s worried for you.”
“Me?” Matthew repeats, incredulously. “Why?”
Juliana’s face is solemn as she says, “Lars is grateful to you. Not just for what your army did, but for what you've done for him. But he’s worried all this is having an effect on you and you’re not taking care of yourself.”
“Of course this has an effect on me!” Matthew exclaims. “I - I don’t like seeing him like this, it hurts because I can’t do anything to help and I just have to trust that he’ll get better. And it’s not like I haven’t seen things too - !” Matthew can still remember coming across a camp with his men, stumbling over mass graves, seeing the shock and revulsion and sheer feeling of, “I don’t understand how any human could do this to another” reflected on his soldier’s faces, and he wanted to protect them from it.
Juliana’s face conveys gentle sympathy and understanding. “Don’t try to be a hero and lock your feelings away,” she advises softly. “Don’t feel as if you don’t have the right to be upset or sad because you did not go through what Lars did. You have still suffered, and if you continue to take responsibility for making Lars feel better, you will neglect yourself.”
Matthew stares at the princess. Then he laughs softly. “You will make a good queen.” he tells her, and Juliana gives him a wry smile.
“One can only hope.” she admits.
Lars returns with a pot of coffee on a tray, and the conversation dissolves into an interesting discussion of Juliana’s relief efforts, and the fact that Prince Bernhard was very displeased at the newfound behavior of his children.
“They are decidedly too “Canadian” for his tastes.” Juliana teases, causing Lars to laugh when Matthew dissolves into frantic apologies.
Juliana kisses him fondly when she leaves, and Lars leaves as well to walk her down to the main street. Matthew gathers the cups and pot and dips them into warm soapy water in the sink. Wash, rinse, repeat.
Matthew thinks of skin stretched over skeletons and wonders if anything will ever be the same.
He does not notice when Lars returns, and jumps when arms slide around his waist and the Dutch nation presses himself against Matthew’s back, a warm presence.
“It’s okay.” Lars murmurs into his ear. “It’s okay to feel this way.”
“I - what are you talking about?” Matthew laughs in a voice far too thick for comfort, hands stilling in the sink. “I’m fine.”
Lars sighs - his breath tickles Matthew’s ear. “You are so brave, konijn. My sweet little savior, my treasure.” he praises, and the use of the nickname evokes such nostalgia and sorrow that a little sound tears itself from his throat. Lars brushes his hair to the side and presses a kiss to the back of his neck.
“Did you see them too?” he asks softly. “The camps? I’m sorry, you and the princess were talking, and I overheard...”
“Yes.” Matthew whimpers, hands clutching the edge of the sink so hard his fingers cramp. “I did, I, I couldn’t believe it...”
“It’s all right.” Lars tells him. Gently, he pulls Matthew away from the sink, takes a towel and dries his hands for him. Matthew is mortified - here he is, close to tears in front of a nation who’s seen much worse.
“I’m - I’m sorry!” he splutters, but Lars catches his hands and squeezes them.
“Please, don’t be.” he reassures. “You are so, so strong, konijn, but it’s not wrong to be upset. We’re nations; we feel the pain of our people.”
“I d-don’t understand,” Matthew protests, sniffing to keep his treacherous tears at bay. “I didn’t act like this af-after the First war...”
“It’s natural,” Lars soothes, then tries to grin at Matthew. “I know it seems impossible to believe, but even us old men of Europe get bothered by things like this.”
Matthew gives a heavy, tearful laugh. “Don’t group yourself in with the “old men”,” he chides. “You’re more middle aged.”
“Am I now?” Lars looks amused and affronted all at the same time; Matthew tries to hide his laughter by turning it into a snort.
Lars kisses him, a simple, relieved press of the lips; when they part the Dutch nation leers, “I’d hate to think what that makes you, baby.”
“Hey!” Matthew gasps, and Lars dances past his playful slap, laughing, grey eyes sparkling with life.
It is the first time in a long while that Matthew’s heart has felt so light.
& & &
Lars teases Matthew for the fact that, though he has been in Amsterdam for a month now, he still hasn’t unpacked his suitcase (though Lars has time and time again offered up space in his cupboard). Matthew smiles and endures it, but doesn’t tell him that, if he were to unpack, he’d be tempted to never leave Lars’s side.
So it was only a matter of time, Matthew supposes, before the stubborn older nation took it upon himself to unpack Matthew’s suitcase. He enters the bedroom to see Lars squatting near his empty suitcase, a bundle of letters in his hands.
Lars looks sheepish. “Sorry.” he apologizes. “I was unpacking your things, and I saw these were addressed to me.”
Matthew takes a breath - then he sits down on the floor with Lars, takes the letters from him and carefully opens them.
“I wrote to you,” he explains. “During the war, when I couldn’t talk to you. I wasn’t going to send them, ever, but it made me feel better pretending you could read them.” He hands them back to Lars and for a few minutes there is silence as Lars reads, mouth moving silently, incredulously over the words. Then he smiles, a soft, sweet grin that makes Matthew blush and become short of breath all at the same time. He points to a word near the end of the letter, mouths it.
Love.
“You've never said it before.” Lars admits with a sheepish grin. “I really - I actually thought you didn’t feel the same way.” he laughs, nervously, hesitantly. “I didn’t mind, I mean, I was happy to love you even if you didn’t return the feelings, I - ”
Several things happen. Matthew lunges forward to kiss Lars; he catches his foot under him, upsetting his balance; they both go tumbling onto the ground; Lars says a particularly nasty swear word.
“Sorry!” Matthew squeaks, tangling his fingers in Lars’s jumper. The surprise attack did not really go as he had planned. “But - but how could you not know? I mean, no offense, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize I love you too!”
“Ow - what?” Lars, who is nursing a bump on his head, raises himself up on his elbows. “Seriously?”
Matthew rolls his eyes and decides to show Lars in a more obvious manner. He presses a hand down on Lars’s chest, pushing the older man flat on his back. Pressing a quick kiss to his face, Matthew smiles and works his way down Lars’s body, pushing up his jumper with one hand. Lars shivers - “Your hands are cold!” - but he stops complaining long enough to help Matthew dispose of his trousers. Matthew strokes Lars through his underwear, revels in the facial expressions he makes.
“I love you.” he says seriously. “I want you to know that.”
Lars looks bewildered at the Canadian’s sudden burst of spontaneity. “O - okaaah!” he bucks as Matthew swallows him to the root, opening his throat to him and pushing down, down, until his nose is pressed flat against the Dutch nation’s abdomen.
“Shi-it, Matthew!” Lars gasps, and despite the younger nation’s protests sits up, cradling Matthew’s skull between his hands, urging him on as he bobs up and down.
“God!” he grunts. “That’s great, you...little minx!! You always know - hah - what to do to get me going - ! Matthew, that’s wonderful, keep...uh.”
Matthew smiles around Lars’s cock, reveling in the (rather vocal) praise, and increases his efforts. When Lars’s thigh muscles tighten, a sign Matthew takes to mean he is near his peak, Matthew pushes down, stays there, and swallows around Lars’s cock.
The result is instantaneous - Lars yelps something in strangled Dutch, digs his heels into the floor and folds over Matthew’s head. The younger nation can hear the hot, harsh panting in his ear as Lars strokes his head with a shaky hand.
Matthew swallows down Lars’s release, gives his head one last teasing lick, and brings his head up. He is met instantly by Lars, who captures his mouth in a rather passionate kiss for one who was so recently satisfied.
“I missed you, konijn.” Lars growls into his mouth, tugging at Matthew’s lower lip with his teeth. “Now, I hope you had enough to eat for dinner, because we’re going to be here for a long time.”
“I definitely had enough to eat now.” Matthew replies playfully, and it takes a minute for Lars to get it but when he does his eyes light up with something that makes heat pool in Matthew’s groin.
“Cheeky boy. Get on the bed, or we might have some bruises in the morning.” Lars purrs, and as Matthew scrambles to obey he can’t help a goofy grin spreading across his features. Lars is back with him; Lars loves him; back at home his people prosper; life is good. Lars catches the grin as he straddles the younger country, and leans down to kiss it.
“Now what could you be smiling about?” he wonders with a brilliant smile of his own.
Matthew laughs and pulls Lars close.
“Everything.”
& & &
Translations:
bairn - Scottish slang for "kid"
dunnae - Scottish slang for "don’t"
bampot - Scottish slang for an "idiot", a "crazy person"
Historical/General Notes:
If the first bit of the chapter was confusing to you, I wanted Canada to be struggling with his identity during the Second World War, since that was one of the big times the country really came into play and was recognized for the things it did. Canada’s thoughts jump sporadically between Christian and Native American beliefs - he references the Algonquin creation myth, quotes from Genesis, the Mi’kmaq creation myth, and for some reason a joke (?) my dad always used to repeat to me when I was younger and which I thought was actually in the Bible. I think he made it up himself, since it isn’t very funny!
Canadian troops weren’t present at the crossing of the Rhine, the beginning of the Allied power’s liberation of the Netherlands, but the 9th Canadian Brigade was present up near Wesel, relieving the 7th Black Watch (Scottish infantry battalion), who were pushing back fierce German resistance. The Canadians then firmly established a bridgehead and by March 27th the bridgehead was 55 km long and 30 km deep. Which was a help, you know.
James is a name I use for the personification of Scotland, which is actually quite popular in fanon, I've found out recently. I think it fits. I bet James took a particular delight when the Jacobites started acting up. He was probably all like, “‘Ey Arthur, they’re named after me!” and Arthur would be all like, “NO, they’re named the poncy king who went crying to Francis!”
The people in the western Holland area (as well as several other areas in the Netherlands) had just gone through what was called the “Hunger Winter”. Thousands of people had perished because of low food supplies.
It sucked mega hard if you were a Jew in the Netherlands, mostly because there was, basically, no way out. Over 100 000 Jews were deported by the Nazis. It was especially difficult to escape from the Netherlands once it was Nazi-occupied because the countries surrounding it were, uh, kind of Nazi occupied as well...
“the Japanese forced my women to comfort them” - My history’s a little rusty on this part, but I think the Japanese took over temporary control of some parts of the Netherlands for a while? During this time they enlisted women into “forced prostitution”, as comfort women for their soldiers.
EDIT: Actually I am an idiot. Thank you to mertseguer for pointing out that the Japanese occupied the DEI (Dutch East Indies) and that's where the whole "comfort women" thing happened. Sorry!
Lars' rash - I think it might be in my head canon that Nations get rashes, like ALL THE TIME, no matter what's going on - civil war, resistance, dry weather. Whatever D:
Princess Juliana returned to the Netherlands almost immediately after the end of World War II, and took part in a post-war relief operation, especially for people in the northern part of the country (where there had been Nazi-caused famines). She was the president of the Dutch Red Cross and worked closely with the National Reconstruction organization. Again, she’s an amazing lady.
“You will make a good queen.” he tells her, and Juliana gives him a wry smile. - the Dutch people were so enamored with Princess Juliana that a majority of them wanted their present Queen Wilhelmina, Juliana’s mother, to abdicate in favor of her daughter!
“They are decidedly too “Canadian” for his tastes.” - At the Royal Family’s first dinner together at the palace, the three girls exhibited such bad table manners (Beatrix complained about the food, Margriet beat her spoon against the table), that their father, Prince Bernhard, was convinced their stay in Canada had corrupted them. This was actually a big issue between Juliana in her husband - Juliana believed that the monarchy should stop being aloof and distant from its subjects and begin adopting a more down to earth attitude (Bernhard was a real playboy, apparently, and that really didn’t sit well with him AT ALL)
“Matthew thinks of skin stretched over skeletons” - the Canadians stumbled across quite a few Nazi camps during World War II. I imagine nobody, not even a nation, would be prepared for that.
Something that has little to do with this story:
The title of the chapter, “We Fixed It Once”, comes from the myth of Old Woman and Old Man in the Blackfoot mythology: (if you are tired of me inserting random Native lore into these stories, just skip over this. It is of no importance to the actual story line and will be the last time I subject you guys to this stuff!)
In the beginning, Old Woman asked Old Man what they should do about life and death.
Old Man said, “I will throw a stick into the river and if it floats, people will never die. If it sinks, people will die forever.” He threw the stick in and it floated.
Old Woman said, “No. I will throw this rock into the river. If it floats, people will live forever. If it sinks, people will die forever.” She threw the rock in and it sank.
“It is better this way,” Old Woman said. “If people did not die forever, they would never feel sorry for each other, and there would never be sympathy.”
“Let it be that way.” Old Man said.
Eventually Old Woman had a child, but that child became sick and eventually died. She ran to Old Man, mad with grief.
“I am very sorry now that it has been fixed so that people die forever.” Old Woman said. “Let us have our say again.”
“No.” Old Man said. “We fixed it once.”
Author’s Note: Thanks so much, you guys, for sticking with me. I know this didn’t really focus on the “war” aspect of World War II, so if you were expecting gun fights and epic battles, I’m sorry to disappoint! The next chapters should come easier than this one, I promise.
Author: grosse_averse, tatterdemalion on fanfiction.net
Characters/Pairings: The relationship between Canada and the Netherlands (OC) will take centre stage - however, other characters involved in their relations will also appear.
Rated: It varies. M for this chapter, just to be safe
Summary: A chronicle of Matthew’s relationship with Lars, from 1611 to present day. In this chapter, the crossing of the Rhine and the liberation of the Netherlands, 1945. Also some indistinguishable time after the end of the WWII.
Author’s Note: This is, hands down, the most frustrating chapter I’ve written and my least favourite so far. Sorry for the long wait but I kept revising this thing until I was sort of content with it.
Chapter One (1611)
Chapter Two (~1640)
Chapter Three (1674)
Chapter Four (1824)
Chapter Five (1940)
On day six, God created animals and man - no.
Two brothers lived at the beginning of time. One represented righteousness and one represented destruction - no.
God said, “Let us make man in our image, in our likeness...” - no.
Gisoolg sent a bolt of lightning down to hit earth, which created a human body shaped out of sand - no.
And God said, “Let there be light” and there was light, and we had it more abundantly, hahaha.
Shells flare around him - Matthew can feel the dirt in his hair from the sporadic explosions. His body spasms once, twice, and he curls in on himself briefly before scrambling to his feet, pushing his toes into the mud and surging forwards with the rest of his children, skin streaked with mud and grit and sweat and the blood of other men. He cannot die, at least not like this, he muses as he watches a young man get shot down, jerking backwards and hitting the ground. His face is still round and youthful. Matthew wonders how many years he has seen.
It is March, 1945. Matthew runs over the logistics in his head - Alfred and Arthur, and Arthur’s brother James are down by the Rhine, struggling across it with their men. It still amazes Matthew that Arthur fights with his men - he had half-expected Arthur to take a higher-up position. A general, maybe, a position where his keen thinking and logistical mind could be put to good use. The first time he saw Arthur Kirkland knee deep in the mud and yelling in the most gentleman-like way possible was startling for Matthew. Alfred he is used to, sunny Alfred who always liked to rough and tumble and care for his people so much his heart ached and his face paled, so it was no surprise to see him waltz into the Allied camp with a gun slung over his shoulder and a cheerful grin on his face. Matthew was not even surprised by the presence of James, a ruddy faced, bristly haired man who seemed too brash, too loud to be a Kirkland, and who had clapped Matthew on the back and told him to, “Give it yer best, ye lil’ bairn!”
Matthew smiles at the memory before he remembers where he is. He and his men are at Beinen, keeping the Germans back while the Scots, the British and the Americans take the Rhine. Up ahead Matthew can see machine gun nests, German soldiers still at it, fighting away.
He wonders how Ludwig has been. He wonders if he is getting nervous.
This war has been going on for far too long, but Matthew is always struck by the sheer horrific ugliness of the whole thing, the way soldiers fall in a carefully orchestrated chaos. America lands south of Wesel. Arthur commandeers Wesel. Matthew is left to fight the citizens.
Shots whizz past him, creating in his ears a crackling of harsh sound. Matthew ducks and keeps going. That is all he can do, now. Move forward. He can’t move back. Sometimes he lies on his cot at night and thinks of moving back, wishes for that day, the one when it was just him and Lars in the kitchen drizzling thick syrup between waffles, lying in bed in the stillness of the evening. Lars would trace patterns on his skin and tell him his eyes were beautiful. Matthew would wriggle uncomfortably under his tickling fingers and tell him that he was being cheesy. Lars would laugh and agree.
“But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” he would add.
Matthew curses when he realizes he has been reminiscing again. Arthur warned him about this when they arrived.
“When you personally know a country, it makes it harder,” the green eyed nation explained as they waited, tense, for orders. “God knows when we landed in Normandy....” Arthur had trailed off, hadn’t finished his sentence, instead adding, “Just focus. The best thing you can do for the Netherlands is focus on our goal.”
Liberation. Matthew wonders if Lars knows they are coming, if he has heard anything. He wonders if he could convince his superiors to switch him to the division in charge of western Holland - if there is any better place to start searching for Lars, it is in Amsterdam.
The Germans fight back - Matthew has to give them that, but his boys are tough, and they overcome the nests, stabilize the bridgehead. Matthew collapses, spent, in the dust, and dabs gingerly at the gash in his arm, from a stray bullet that caught him off guard. He is joined by James, who followed his Black Watch up to Wesel. James holds out a flask, face a little paler.
“Ye did well, bairn.” he congratulates him. Matthew feels a little miffed - he thinks he is past the stage of people being surprised at his efforts in war. Not after Vimy. Not after all this. He takes the flask without complaint, however. The alcohol burns on the way down. It feels nice.
“Arthur tells me ye knew the Netherlands,” James continues, watching as men rush back and forth, attending to the wounded, unloading equipment, securing territory. Several German prisoners are marched past them. Neither nation looks at them. “Dunnae get too soft on me, aye? I dunnae want to see you two canoodlin’ an’ having a sappy reunion.”
Matthew blanches and stares at his....well, his uncle, he figures. “I doubt I’d be canoodling in the middle of the liberation attempt.” he reasons. James smirks.
“Ye should’ve seen me brother when ‘e took Paris. Poor bampot looked near tears!”
Matthew flushes. “I - I haven’t seen him in a while, I don’t know if he’ll want to see me right now.” he mumbles. James swirls his alcohol around and raises his bristly black brows.
“War changes people,” he agrees. “Nations, especially. Bu’ I wouldn’t worry too much, bairn. Time heals all wounds.” the black haired nation pauses, then snorts. “Shite piece of advice, that. But I’m no good a’ reassurance.”
“Thanks.” Matthew says anyways. “It helped. A lot.”
“Oh.” James blinks. “Well, good!” he rises, cracking his knuckles, shifting his weight on his big, burly frame. “Lissen, I gotta go see my boys. Take care o’ yerself, bairn. Catch you around.”
“Yeah. See you.” Matthew lifts his fingers as the other nation disappears in the throngs of soldiers. After a minute, Matthew rises too. He has to get back to the task at hand.
& & &
When Matthew dreams nowadays, he dreams of smoke and dirt and blood and panic. He dreams of other things besides the present and pressing issues - he dreams of the Dutch royal family safe within his borders. He dreams of Juliana, bent over with exasperation, calming her fussing, crying, newborn baby. He dreams of earlier days, of gold streaked fields and him and Alfred, as one, or Francis swinging him in his arms, or Arthur teaching him to grow. He dreams of expansion, of the factories back at home churning and working. His people never giving up hope.
When he wakes it is to a dull grey reality. He and his army are busy opening up a route for the British for supplies - before that, they turn their attention the rest of the Netherlands.
Arthur travels up to their base one evening, and Matthew is surprised to see him there - the last he’d heard, the British were not to accompany them into western Holland. On this particular evening Matthew is picking his way across the campground. The Germans have flooded the dykes, and the soldiers are continually wet and miserable throughout their movements. As Matthew stoops to empty his boots of water (his feet have been white and wrinkled for days), he hears the approaching squelch of boots.
“Mr. Williams.” Arthur greets, and Matthew nods.
“Mr. Kirkland.” he answers. “I didn’t know you were stationed - ”
“Please walk with me to your lodgings.” Arthur interrupts, and Matthew, frowning, obeys. Arthur walks like an old man, he realizes with a bit of humor, straight-backed, hands clasped behind his back, measured steps. He limps a little, and Matthew wonders.
“I have asked your superiors,” Arthur says evenly. “That you be transferred to the Divisions responsible for north-eastern Holland.”
Matthew starts, and his throat goes tight. “Sir,” he says frantically. “I had specifically enrolled so that I - ”
“I know what you did.” Arthur’s voice is distant and professional. “And I know what you are trying to do. I don’t think you want to see...Lars...when he is like this. I don’t think it will be good for your concentration.”
Matthew leans closer to Arthur, aware of all the men around them. “And who are you to decide that?” he demands, almost pleadingly. Arthur curls his lip.
“I won’t take that tone, boy.” he warns, and Matthew backs off, straightens his shoulders.
“Thank you for your consideration,” he says coolly. “But I have a duty to remain with my Division.”
“Matthew.” Arthur looks taken aback, but Matthew salutes.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he murmurs, and then he turns his back and leaves Arthur behind.
The 1st Canadian Corps moves out later that week, their eventual goal to move towards Rotterdam, The Hague, Amsterdam...
Matthew’s heart feels too big to be contained in his chest. He hopes fervently that Amsterdam is where he will find Lars. He hopes Lars has managed to lay low and keep himself safe - though, knowing the older man as he does, Lars has probably managed to get himself into trouble.
Arnhem gives Matthew a jolt of comprehension - well, not that he needed it, all things considering. He goes door to door in the quiet street, breaking in glass with the butt of his gun. German soldiers hide in crevices like rats and shoot at them. Arnold MacMillan, a big, cheerful lad from Nova Scotia, is shot down in the middle of the street by a sniper in a bell tower. Matthew takes great pleasure in gunning down the German soldiers when he reaches the tower.
The absence of townspeople makes his heart stop and his throat constrict, and he fears the worst - but by the time the Canadians have cleared the town and the sound of gunfire has ceased, people begin creeping out from their homes, wide eyed and almost disbelieving.
Matthew marvels at the spirit and exuberance of the Dutch people, when the Canadian tanks roll through - they are greeted with pale, wan, but cheerful faces, and people reach up to shake his hand.
Lars, your children are beautiful, he thinks when he sees a little girl on her father’s shoulders, far too thin for her frame but with a smile far too big for her face.
The Canadians try very hard to open up a supply route through Arnhem, but the Germans make it almost impossible to do so, resisting at several strategic points. When Arthur relays this through a messenger Matthew begins to get worried. The people of Arnhem tell him that they are starving; that fuel is low, food supplies even lower, and transport has ground to a depressing stop. Graves have been half-heartedly dug in the ground, covering the victims of the Hunger with loose soil. Matthew can smell them from here as the air thaws.
The soldiers do their best, of course, sparing extra rations when they can, but there is nothing more they can do until the supply route is cleared - the 5th Division has headed north in order to cut off the Germans at Ijsselmeer. Some soldiers stay in Arnhem, but Matthew is with the others who push west. Towards Amsterdam.
Matthew doesn’t know what he expects when he reaches Lars’s capital city. Did he expect Lars to be waiting for him, holding his tricolors and looking none the worse for wear? Did he expect everything to be all right? A sniper hidden on the roof of an apartment building takes out his left shoulder when he makes a dash across Dam Square; Matthew does not even realize he is bleeding until he has made it inside Lars’s building, panting and red faced and his arm hurts, dammit!
He can hear people inside their apartments, moving around. Nobody makes a sound, and Matthew doesn’t expect them to. His boots are heavy on the stairs as he runs up, up, up to the fourth floor.
When he pounds on the door he receives no reply and for a second a terrible panic grips at his chest. Outside he can hear the shouts and gunfire of the Canadians and he wonders what he will do if Lars is not in Amsterdam. How will he find him? How will he know where he is? Amsterdam is only one of three major cities that they are pushing for, and up north the Germans are still fighting with no signs of slowing.
He presses himself up against the door, holding his breath, trying to listen. Is that a shuffle of feet inside, a moving of cloth against skin?
“Lars!” Matthew calls loudly. “It’s me, Matthew!”
Everything stills. The people in the other apartments are still. There is no answer, and Matthew slams his fist once more against the door.
“Please open up!” he calls, adding for good measure, “Please, Lars!”
Nothing. Matthew feels himself becoming irritated. “Lars, if you don’t open up I’m going to break your door down anyways!” he calls, adding, “And if you really aren’t home, then I’m sorry!”
The door opens before Matthew can make good on his promise. Lars is standing there, silhouetted by the weak sunlight that makes it through his curtains, outlining his body and illuminating the stray hairs on his head. His face is drawn and sunken in, pale. His clavicle juts unsettlingly from his chest and his hips are like shards. What worries Matthew the most is the absolute blankness on his face, the absence of his usual grin and laughing eyes. Matthew would have settled for a twitch of the lips, a raising of the brows, anything besides this smooth-faced individual before him. All the excitement that had filled him when the door had opened drains now, and he feels silly and awkward, standing there with his gun held loosely by his side.
“Lars?” he asks, hesitantly. Lars sighs and there is something so broken about it that it makes him want to cry.
“Matthew.” he answers dully. “I don’t have any coffee to put on, I’m afraid, but you can come in anyways.”
“Lars, come with me.” Matthew insists. “Arthur and Alfred aren’t far behind, and my men are taking care of the city. I’ve come to help you, Lars!”
“Help me?” Lars laughs bitterly. “You know, Ludwig’s people took away my Jews in 1941. They bombed Rotterdam and the Japanese forced my women to comfort them. No one helped me then.”
It is terrifying, Matthew thinks, the way Lars is looking at him like he is just another face. He reaches out and grabs Lars’s forearm.
“We’re helping now.” he insists, and Lars smiles.
“I am so tired, Matthew.” he sighs. “I tried very hard to fight.”
“I know you did.” Matthew murmurs. A woman cautiously sticks her head out of her apartment door and Matthew ushers Lars into his apartment, closing the door behind him.
“I wasn’t prepared,” Lars continues. “I allowed them to - to persecute my Jews, to occupy my cities. This is my fault, I shouldn’t have let this happen...”
“Lars, please.” Matthew begs. “Please don’t talk like that, there’s nothing you could’ve done, you couldn’t have known that Germany - ”
“But I should have known.” Lars snaps. Matthew pulls his hand away, a little fearful. “Everyone should have known, when he took Czechoslovakia, when he started pushing the boundaries...everyone thought that he wouldn’t go farther, and when he did...” Lars shakes his head, runs a hand absently up his arm. Matthew can see raised welts from the bombing, and even now his body carries a rash from the liberation attempts.
Matthew sits in silence. He doesn’t know what to say. He does not know what it’s like to be occupied (unless one counts the colonization, which Matthew doesn’t anymore because he simply Didn’t Know Better), and he can’t imagine what it would be like.
“You know, Ludwig asked me about my neighbors once,” Lars says, voice strained in the quiet. “Asked me about the couple next door. They were sweet kids, newlyweds. They suddenly started eating enough food for five people. But I didn’t tell. No one did.”
Matthew looks up, horrified, at Lars’s face. He looks panicked, a hint of hysteria in the corners of his eyes, and he grips Matthew’s sleeve between his fingers. “You understand, don’t you Matthew?” he asks. “My people aren’t...they aren’t bad. It’s just, one of the other neighbors was being question and questioned, and - ” Lars pauses, swallows. “He had no choice! They took the couple away, and the Jews too, but he had no choice, Matthew, do you understand?”
“Yes.” Matthew mouths the word uselessly, trying to calm the other nation. Beneath Matthew’s hand, Lars’s heart beats wildly against his ribcage like a tangled swallow. “It’s okay, please, Lars...”
Lars turns his head away with a faint sound of longing. “I never saw them again.” he admitted. “Newlyweds, they were newlyweds - ”
Matthew embraces the man, pressing his face into his shoulder. Lars smells like soot and blood and something else that presses into Matthew’s nostrils and leaves him with a sense of dread. The older nation keeps a tight hold on him as if pinning him there.
“I must look like such a train wreck,” Lars mutters sourly into Matthew’s hair. “I feel so useless.”
“Don’t!” Matthew commands. “Don’t feel like that, it - it’s over now, all right? You need to focus on that.” They remain locked in an embrace. After a moment Matthew disentangles himself and stands.
“Lars, come on.” he insists. “Come with me, I can - ”
“No.” Lars remains sitting, stoically, back pressed against the couch cushions. “No, I’m staying.”
“Lars.” Matthew sighs. Lars fixes him with a stern look.
“No.” he repeats. “I couldn’t help stop this, and I couldn’t save my people. The least I can do is stay with them.”
Matthew remains standing for a moment, trembling. Then he kneels and digs through his pack, frantically, pulling out his rations and shoving them into Lars’s astonished hands.
“Eat this.” he orders. “And go help your people.” he moves towards the door, adding, “I’m sorry, for what happened. I’ll try to help you, as much as I can.”
He shuts the door. Lars says nothing.
& & &
Matthew does not see Lars again until May 3rd, when the Canadians organize a truce with the local German authorities. With this truce they will be able to set up a proper supply route to deliver rations to the people.
Matthew’s amazement with the Dutch people has not ceased. They respond to their arrival with such enthusiasm and energy, it is hard to remember that many of them are starving. Dutch resistance fighters, who had been fighting long before the Canadians touched on their soil, help them regain control of the country. Last week, passing through a small town, Matthew saw, “Thank you Canadians” painted on the roof. His heart swells.
Lars is there at the agreement and does not look anyone in the eye except the German officials; these men avert their eyes from the silent, gaunt nation as if sensing something off.
After the proceedings, Matthew follows his generals back to the camp, assuming Lars is still not ready to see him (and it hurts, that Lars doesn't want to see him).
The only bad thing about love, Matthew thinks darkly, retiring without a word to his tent, is that eventually it always leaves.
So it surprises him when Lars pushes into the tent, grey eyes dark, backs Matthew up against his cot, and kisses him so hard their teeth click painfully together.
Matthew clutches at Lars like a lifeline, feeling how thin his friend is beneath his uniform, how frail. In return, Lars grabs at every part of him as if memorizing the young nation’s body, muttering thanks into his mouth, the desperation making him blush.
“Thank you so much,” Lars says, trailing his lips over Matthew’s jaw. “They were so hungry, you’ve saved them.”
“Don’t thank me,” Matthew replies quietly. “You don’t need to thank me, I would do it again, in a heartbeat.”
He knows that he shouldn’t be doing this, as Lars lowers him down onto the cot - not in a military camp, not during a liberation attempt, not while Lars is so (so weak, so hurt, so damaged...), but he has missed this, has missed touching Lars and kissing him and so allows it, giving back as much as he gets, pressing in and in and up as Lars kneels over him, connected by their lips and hands. It is only when Lars smoothes hands up under Matthew’s military jacket that the young nation finally, reluctantly breaks away.
“Not like this,” Matthew says quietly, touching Lars’s face. “You’re upset, and I understand - ”
“Stay with me.” Lars says suddenly, stroking fingers through Matthew’s hair. “Please. I need you.”
Lars looks almost embarrassed to admit this, and Matthew realizes with a jolt that Lars thinks that, by admitting a weakness, he is making his country look weak. It is easy to forget, he muses, that though they represent land, they are also too eerily human for their own good.
“I know how that feels,” Matthew soothes, clutching Lars to him again. “All my life, all I’ve wanted was for someone to stay.” he smiles, takes Lars’s fingers and dips them below his collar so the other man can feel the ever-present pendant. “You’re the only one who ever stayed, Lars. I need you too.”
On April 30th, Adolf Hitler commits suicide. Not long after that, the war ends. Two weeks later, Matthew appears at Lars’s doorstep with a suitcase and a tired smile.
& & &
They only make love the second week of Matthew’s stay. This occurs only when Lars has had enough of Matthew’s waffling (“Are you sure?”...“Maybe we should wait a bit until you’re better, eh?”...“I don’t want to push you if you’re not ready...”), throws Matthew over his shoulder, and hastens to the bedroom.
For all Lars’s impatience and recent fronted cheerfulness, he is painfully delicate and raw when he disrobes and kisses Matthew, and the young nation is careful with him. Sometimes halfway through daily activities Lars’s eyes glaze and his body tenses and Matthew knows to just leave him and wait. Sometimes Lars has nightmares, violent ones where Matthew narrowly misses his flailing limbs; sometimes he can’t sleep, and Matthew wakes to the older nation pacing the floor of the bedroom, murmuring things in Dutch. Matthew pretends to be asleep during these times. He feels powerless to help Lars; this frustrates and upsets him, and oftentimes he spends the day out in Amsterdam alone to clear his head.
When he returns in the evening Lars is almost always cheerful again, cracking jokes as he makes dinner, and constantly pulling Matthew close so he can nuzzle his neck, tease him, kiss his ear. It is horribly reminiscent of the pre-war days, but it is obviously not the same and it makes Matthew upset.
“You’ll wear yourself out, trying to run around after him and “fix” him,” Arthur advises during a phone conversation that started out with, “I don’t care if you’re in the hanging gardens of Babylon, boy, I need those papers!”, and ended with, “Why are you in Amsterdam anyways? You sound positively ill.”
“But I want to help him!” Matthew insists over the phone, keeping an eye on the door for Lars, who is due back from visiting the Royal Family any minute now. Arthur sighs, heavily, over the line.
“I know you do, lad.” he soothes. “But, honestly, the only one who can “fix” Lars is himself.”
Princess Juliana tells him something along those same lines when she come to visit. She has been busy running a post-war relief fund for the country, and looks tired but happy, wrapped in the scarf she used to hide her face on the way over. As Lars exclaims his delight over her impromptu visit and goes into the kitchen to make coffee, Juliana leans over to catch Matthew’s hand.
“I never did say thank you, for keeping my family safe.” she says graciously, and Matthew’s ears heat up.
“Please, don’t mention it. It was my pleasure,” he insists, adding shyly, “How are the girls? How’s Margriet doing?”
“They’re all just fine.” Juliana laughs. Then, with a quick glance at the kitchen, she continues, in a quieter voice, “Lars has been talking to me. About...the war.”
“Oh.” Matthew glances, too, at the kitchen, then back again. “Is he all right?”
“He seems better, mostly because you’re here.” she admits. “He cares a lot about you, and he’s worried for you.”
“Me?” Matthew repeats, incredulously. “Why?”
Juliana’s face is solemn as she says, “Lars is grateful to you. Not just for what your army did, but for what you've done for him. But he’s worried all this is having an effect on you and you’re not taking care of yourself.”
“Of course this has an effect on me!” Matthew exclaims. “I - I don’t like seeing him like this, it hurts because I can’t do anything to help and I just have to trust that he’ll get better. And it’s not like I haven’t seen things too - !” Matthew can still remember coming across a camp with his men, stumbling over mass graves, seeing the shock and revulsion and sheer feeling of, “I don’t understand how any human could do this to another” reflected on his soldier’s faces, and he wanted to protect them from it.
Juliana’s face conveys gentle sympathy and understanding. “Don’t try to be a hero and lock your feelings away,” she advises softly. “Don’t feel as if you don’t have the right to be upset or sad because you did not go through what Lars did. You have still suffered, and if you continue to take responsibility for making Lars feel better, you will neglect yourself.”
Matthew stares at the princess. Then he laughs softly. “You will make a good queen.” he tells her, and Juliana gives him a wry smile.
“One can only hope.” she admits.
Lars returns with a pot of coffee on a tray, and the conversation dissolves into an interesting discussion of Juliana’s relief efforts, and the fact that Prince Bernhard was very displeased at the newfound behavior of his children.
“They are decidedly too “Canadian” for his tastes.” Juliana teases, causing Lars to laugh when Matthew dissolves into frantic apologies.
Juliana kisses him fondly when she leaves, and Lars leaves as well to walk her down to the main street. Matthew gathers the cups and pot and dips them into warm soapy water in the sink. Wash, rinse, repeat.
Matthew thinks of skin stretched over skeletons and wonders if anything will ever be the same.
He does not notice when Lars returns, and jumps when arms slide around his waist and the Dutch nation presses himself against Matthew’s back, a warm presence.
“It’s okay.” Lars murmurs into his ear. “It’s okay to feel this way.”
“I - what are you talking about?” Matthew laughs in a voice far too thick for comfort, hands stilling in the sink. “I’m fine.”
Lars sighs - his breath tickles Matthew’s ear. “You are so brave, konijn. My sweet little savior, my treasure.” he praises, and the use of the nickname evokes such nostalgia and sorrow that a little sound tears itself from his throat. Lars brushes his hair to the side and presses a kiss to the back of his neck.
“Did you see them too?” he asks softly. “The camps? I’m sorry, you and the princess were talking, and I overheard...”
“Yes.” Matthew whimpers, hands clutching the edge of the sink so hard his fingers cramp. “I did, I, I couldn’t believe it...”
“It’s all right.” Lars tells him. Gently, he pulls Matthew away from the sink, takes a towel and dries his hands for him. Matthew is mortified - here he is, close to tears in front of a nation who’s seen much worse.
“I’m - I’m sorry!” he splutters, but Lars catches his hands and squeezes them.
“Please, don’t be.” he reassures. “You are so, so strong, konijn, but it’s not wrong to be upset. We’re nations; we feel the pain of our people.”
“I d-don’t understand,” Matthew protests, sniffing to keep his treacherous tears at bay. “I didn’t act like this af-after the First war...”
“It’s natural,” Lars soothes, then tries to grin at Matthew. “I know it seems impossible to believe, but even us old men of Europe get bothered by things like this.”
Matthew gives a heavy, tearful laugh. “Don’t group yourself in with the “old men”,” he chides. “You’re more middle aged.”
“Am I now?” Lars looks amused and affronted all at the same time; Matthew tries to hide his laughter by turning it into a snort.
Lars kisses him, a simple, relieved press of the lips; when they part the Dutch nation leers, “I’d hate to think what that makes you, baby.”
“Hey!” Matthew gasps, and Lars dances past his playful slap, laughing, grey eyes sparkling with life.
It is the first time in a long while that Matthew’s heart has felt so light.
& & &
Lars teases Matthew for the fact that, though he has been in Amsterdam for a month now, he still hasn’t unpacked his suitcase (though Lars has time and time again offered up space in his cupboard). Matthew smiles and endures it, but doesn’t tell him that, if he were to unpack, he’d be tempted to never leave Lars’s side.
So it was only a matter of time, Matthew supposes, before the stubborn older nation took it upon himself to unpack Matthew’s suitcase. He enters the bedroom to see Lars squatting near his empty suitcase, a bundle of letters in his hands.
Lars looks sheepish. “Sorry.” he apologizes. “I was unpacking your things, and I saw these were addressed to me.”
Matthew takes a breath - then he sits down on the floor with Lars, takes the letters from him and carefully opens them.
“I wrote to you,” he explains. “During the war, when I couldn’t talk to you. I wasn’t going to send them, ever, but it made me feel better pretending you could read them.” He hands them back to Lars and for a few minutes there is silence as Lars reads, mouth moving silently, incredulously over the words. Then he smiles, a soft, sweet grin that makes Matthew blush and become short of breath all at the same time. He points to a word near the end of the letter, mouths it.
Love.
“You've never said it before.” Lars admits with a sheepish grin. “I really - I actually thought you didn’t feel the same way.” he laughs, nervously, hesitantly. “I didn’t mind, I mean, I was happy to love you even if you didn’t return the feelings, I - ”
Several things happen. Matthew lunges forward to kiss Lars; he catches his foot under him, upsetting his balance; they both go tumbling onto the ground; Lars says a particularly nasty swear word.
“Sorry!” Matthew squeaks, tangling his fingers in Lars’s jumper. The surprise attack did not really go as he had planned. “But - but how could you not know? I mean, no offense, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize I love you too!”
“Ow - what?” Lars, who is nursing a bump on his head, raises himself up on his elbows. “Seriously?”
Matthew rolls his eyes and decides to show Lars in a more obvious manner. He presses a hand down on Lars’s chest, pushing the older man flat on his back. Pressing a quick kiss to his face, Matthew smiles and works his way down Lars’s body, pushing up his jumper with one hand. Lars shivers - “Your hands are cold!” - but he stops complaining long enough to help Matthew dispose of his trousers. Matthew strokes Lars through his underwear, revels in the facial expressions he makes.
“I love you.” he says seriously. “I want you to know that.”
Lars looks bewildered at the Canadian’s sudden burst of spontaneity. “O - okaaah!” he bucks as Matthew swallows him to the root, opening his throat to him and pushing down, down, until his nose is pressed flat against the Dutch nation’s abdomen.
“Shi-it, Matthew!” Lars gasps, and despite the younger nation’s protests sits up, cradling Matthew’s skull between his hands, urging him on as he bobs up and down.
“God!” he grunts. “That’s great, you...little minx!! You always know - hah - what to do to get me going - ! Matthew, that’s wonderful, keep...uh.”
Matthew smiles around Lars’s cock, reveling in the (rather vocal) praise, and increases his efforts. When Lars’s thigh muscles tighten, a sign Matthew takes to mean he is near his peak, Matthew pushes down, stays there, and swallows around Lars’s cock.
The result is instantaneous - Lars yelps something in strangled Dutch, digs his heels into the floor and folds over Matthew’s head. The younger nation can hear the hot, harsh panting in his ear as Lars strokes his head with a shaky hand.
Matthew swallows down Lars’s release, gives his head one last teasing lick, and brings his head up. He is met instantly by Lars, who captures his mouth in a rather passionate kiss for one who was so recently satisfied.
“I missed you, konijn.” Lars growls into his mouth, tugging at Matthew’s lower lip with his teeth. “Now, I hope you had enough to eat for dinner, because we’re going to be here for a long time.”
“I definitely had enough to eat now.” Matthew replies playfully, and it takes a minute for Lars to get it but when he does his eyes light up with something that makes heat pool in Matthew’s groin.
“Cheeky boy. Get on the bed, or we might have some bruises in the morning.” Lars purrs, and as Matthew scrambles to obey he can’t help a goofy grin spreading across his features. Lars is back with him; Lars loves him; back at home his people prosper; life is good. Lars catches the grin as he straddles the younger country, and leans down to kiss it.
“Now what could you be smiling about?” he wonders with a brilliant smile of his own.
Matthew laughs and pulls Lars close.
“Everything.”
& & &
Translations:
bairn - Scottish slang for "kid"
dunnae - Scottish slang for "don’t"
bampot - Scottish slang for an "idiot", a "crazy person"
Historical/General Notes:
If the first bit of the chapter was confusing to you, I wanted Canada to be struggling with his identity during the Second World War, since that was one of the big times the country really came into play and was recognized for the things it did. Canada’s thoughts jump sporadically between Christian and Native American beliefs - he references the Algonquin creation myth, quotes from Genesis, the Mi’kmaq creation myth, and for some reason a joke (?) my dad always used to repeat to me when I was younger and which I thought was actually in the Bible. I think he made it up himself, since it isn’t very funny!
Canadian troops weren’t present at the crossing of the Rhine, the beginning of the Allied power’s liberation of the Netherlands, but the 9th Canadian Brigade was present up near Wesel, relieving the 7th Black Watch (Scottish infantry battalion), who were pushing back fierce German resistance. The Canadians then firmly established a bridgehead and by March 27th the bridgehead was 55 km long and 30 km deep. Which was a help, you know.
James is a name I use for the personification of Scotland, which is actually quite popular in fanon, I've found out recently. I think it fits. I bet James took a particular delight when the Jacobites started acting up. He was probably all like, “‘Ey Arthur, they’re named after me!” and Arthur would be all like, “NO, they’re named the poncy king who went crying to Francis!”
The people in the western Holland area (as well as several other areas in the Netherlands) had just gone through what was called the “Hunger Winter”. Thousands of people had perished because of low food supplies.
It sucked mega hard if you were a Jew in the Netherlands, mostly because there was, basically, no way out. Over 100 000 Jews were deported by the Nazis. It was especially difficult to escape from the Netherlands once it was Nazi-occupied because the countries surrounding it were, uh, kind of Nazi occupied as well...
“the Japanese forced my women to comfort them” - My history’s a little rusty on this part, but I think the Japanese took over temporary control of some parts of the Netherlands for a while? During this time they enlisted women into “forced prostitution”, as comfort women for their soldiers.
EDIT: Actually I am an idiot. Thank you to mertseguer for pointing out that the Japanese occupied the DEI (Dutch East Indies) and that's where the whole "comfort women" thing happened. Sorry!
Lars' rash - I think it might be in my head canon that Nations get rashes, like ALL THE TIME, no matter what's going on - civil war, resistance, dry weather. Whatever D:
Princess Juliana returned to the Netherlands almost immediately after the end of World War II, and took part in a post-war relief operation, especially for people in the northern part of the country (where there had been Nazi-caused famines). She was the president of the Dutch Red Cross and worked closely with the National Reconstruction organization. Again, she’s an amazing lady.
“You will make a good queen.” he tells her, and Juliana gives him a wry smile. - the Dutch people were so enamored with Princess Juliana that a majority of them wanted their present Queen Wilhelmina, Juliana’s mother, to abdicate in favor of her daughter!
“They are decidedly too “Canadian” for his tastes.” - At the Royal Family’s first dinner together at the palace, the three girls exhibited such bad table manners (Beatrix complained about the food, Margriet beat her spoon against the table), that their father, Prince Bernhard, was convinced their stay in Canada had corrupted them. This was actually a big issue between Juliana in her husband - Juliana believed that the monarchy should stop being aloof and distant from its subjects and begin adopting a more down to earth attitude (Bernhard was a real playboy, apparently, and that really didn’t sit well with him AT ALL)
“Matthew thinks of skin stretched over skeletons” - the Canadians stumbled across quite a few Nazi camps during World War II. I imagine nobody, not even a nation, would be prepared for that.
Something that has little to do with this story:
The title of the chapter, “We Fixed It Once”, comes from the myth of Old Woman and Old Man in the Blackfoot mythology: (if you are tired of me inserting random Native lore into these stories, just skip over this. It is of no importance to the actual story line and will be the last time I subject you guys to this stuff!)
In the beginning, Old Woman asked Old Man what they should do about life and death.
Old Man said, “I will throw a stick into the river and if it floats, people will never die. If it sinks, people will die forever.” He threw the stick in and it floated.
Old Woman said, “No. I will throw this rock into the river. If it floats, people will live forever. If it sinks, people will die forever.” She threw the rock in and it sank.
“It is better this way,” Old Woman said. “If people did not die forever, they would never feel sorry for each other, and there would never be sympathy.”
“Let it be that way.” Old Man said.
Eventually Old Woman had a child, but that child became sick and eventually died. She ran to Old Man, mad with grief.
“I am very sorry now that it has been fixed so that people die forever.” Old Woman said. “Let us have our say again.”
“No.” Old Man said. “We fixed it once.”
Author’s Note: Thanks so much, you guys, for sticking with me. I know this didn’t really focus on the “war” aspect of World War II, so if you were expecting gun fights and epic battles, I’m sorry to disappoint! The next chapters should come easier than this one, I promise.