A/N: Err, I'm really just fascinated by my home-country's history right now as I'm on vacation. And I wish that Himaruya would create a character for it. Soon.

Warning: Major OOC-ness on Netherlands. I haven't read much strips of him to judge his character wisely, so sorry for that. ;A; I think he's pretty silent and moody... that's what I see. Oh, and this fic might even mess with your knowledge on Humanities. I did twist history a bit. You need skills to do that.

(finally) DISCLAIMER: And we all know who Hetalia belongs to, don't we?

Five Islands and a Kaastengel

There was an odd smell in the house.

Not that Indonesia minded; her house had been scented with moist soil since as far as she could remember, add to that a bit of fume here and there, and the occasional reek of sewage. It didn't bother her much—she was used to it. It became part of her home.

At least, it was her home, until Belanda came. That was what she called the country. She heard others call him by Netherlands, Holland, the Dutchman—whatever. He still sailed in, unexpected, with hundreds of ships on his trail. She remembered chaos, havoc, as she stood by the dock and watched as they swarmed over her land, her people barely having time to prepare for ammunition. Anyway, Netherlands took most of her land and controlled her country since somewhen within the 16th century. Apparently, he 'liked the climate here'.

She shook her arms, relieving her muscles from stretching them up to collect nutmegs for too long. Precious nuts, they were—she had many trees in her house of tens of thousands of islands. Both she and Netherlands (and Portugal and England and Spain) liked them, and she didn't know if that was good or bad.

Her stomach grumbled. She realised she had missed lunch, and her breakfast was barely satisfying. It didn't help at all that the odour from the kitchen was undeniably delicious. Indonesia dropped her basket of nutmegs, dusted off her dress, and reluctantly stepped inside her—and Netherlands'—house.

Inside, the scent was stronger. Indonesia smacked her lips and made to the kitchen. It didn't smell like one of her recipes, but it wasn't bad at all. The door to the kitchen was opened only slightly, allowing a bar of yellow light to shine on the opposite wall. She peered inside. The fire was on. She pushed the door a little bit further, and sure enough, she spotted the familiar, broad shoulders of Netherlands.

She cleared her throat. Netherlands snapped around.

"Indonesia?" he blinked, hard eyes widening. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm hungry," Indonesia replied coolly. "I missed lunch to pluck the nutmegs. One of your people told me to."

Netherlands mumbled something beneath his breath which Indonesia strained to catch. He finally turned back to his creation, and Indonesia frowned. So he decided to forget about Indonesia's empty stomach, huh? Sialan.

"What are you making?" she asked, moving closer. Netherlands, although she wouldn't admit it to his face, always had interesting concoctions. And they were brilliantly tasty.

Netherlands turned around, holding a tray full of narrow, golden-brown, err... treats. Indonesia looked at them, puzzled. Then she gazed upwards. Perhaps it was the glow of the fire, but she could have sworn she saw a different gleam in his eyes.

"It's a Dutch confection," he said, "Called 'Kaastengels'. I was looking at the stocks in the kitchen earlier, and seeing it was possible, why not? It's alright and simple to make."

Indonesia smirked. Netherlands caught this and hurriedly cleared his throat, lowering his gaze. "You're hungry," he said, now gruffly. "Take one. It's coated in cheese."

Indonesia pinched one on the tips of her fingers and half-tauntingly examined it. "Crumbly," she said, trying to sound as mild as possible. She looked at Netherlands. Steely as ever. She rolled her eyes and finally popped it in her mouth.

There was a moment of silence as she let the food melt in her mouth. It tasted... Well, to be honest, Netherlands' baking had always tasted gre—had always most of the time suited her taste.' In fact, she was quite fond of them, and this wasn't an exception. Poffertjes, risoles (or, as he calls them, 'Pannenkoeken'), speculaas—she had tasted them all. She could not say anything, as always when Netherlands introduces her to a new recipe. She licked her lips, feeling uneasy under Netherlands' watchful gaze.

Netherlands voiced her thought. "You're not saying anything," he said.

Indonesia gulped. "Well, what am I supposed to say?"

Netherlands rolled his eyes. "Haven't you been asked to taste a person's cooking before? Comment on it or whatever—unless, maybe, my Kaastengels left you speechless?" he mumbled the last bit, trying to draw a shaky smile. Indonesia had a brow raised. Netherland willed his face not to grow hot, and cleared his throat once more. It was official. Never. Joke. Again. "Well?" he pressed. "Is it okay?"

"Umm, I don't know, it's—"

"So it's bad?"

"No! It's actually pretty—"

"So it's good?"

"It's cheesy," she persisted, grabbing Netherlands' shoulders, "But it's pretty fine."

For a moment, Indonesia could see that the country's hard eyes had slightly broke into a hint of relief. She smiled to herself at this. Then a disturbing grumble erupted.

"You're hungry," Netherlands said again, surprised.

Indonesia smiled sardonically. "Thank you for noticing."

Netherlands scowled and nodded to a side of the kitchen. "Left-overs there. Help yourself."

Indonesia murmured a small thanks and did what she was told to do. Before she could even lift a plate, however, Netherlands began again. "Are you coping well?"

Indonesia turned around. "Huh?"

"Are you coping well with us?" Netherlands asked firmly.

The colony blinked. She let out a nervous laugh. "Well? Wh—sure! Strong as ever; stronger, even. Yes, I do mind that your people did take away our land, but I'm just giving you a warning; I will find a way to get it back, sooner or later."

She smiled, satisfied at what she thought was a rather bold answer. Then she saw the Dutchman's expression. Her lips fell. "Belan—"

Apparently, Netherlands decided to snare a Kaastengel, scurry up to the unsuspecting Indonesia and practically stuff it in her mouth in one swift motion. Indonesia could only allow herself to be shaken, blinking, baffled. She would've spat the thing out if not for Netherlands standing too close, that the now-mushy Kaastengel would stain his shirt.

Indonesia swallowed heavily and glowered. "What in the world was that for?"

Netherlands glared at her. Indonesia felt herself nearly recoiling beneath his stabbing eyes if she had not gripped the edge of the wooden table tightly, daring herself to frown back. The taller man breathed rapidly. Then something seemed to click within him. Indonesia watched him blink, eyes widening for a second. Next, he abruptly turned his head to the side and scowled, now at the ground.

Still, Netherlands did not say anything (Indonesia thought he wasn't really a man of words, anyway). The room was hot, and the only source of light was the fire in the hearth, but through that, she could just see Netherlands' face. It was holding back something, something... sorrowful?

Indonesia nearly shuddered. For a moment, she felt a pang of sympathy for him. It was the beginning of the 20th century, and nearly four centuries after the Dutch came to her land. Indonesia felt that she was growing stronger, and perhaps closer to winning her independence. Netherlands... well, he wasn't as strong as he was in the beginning, was he? She could feel it in her bones, but can Netherlands feel that, too? Maybe not.

She shook the thought off. He doesn't need her sorry. "I'm... I'm serious," she whispered. "I will."

And she would, too. She and her people had been fighting against Netherlands and the other Dutchmen for centuries (three?). It's time to move on.

Netherlands looked stoned for a moment, much to Indonesia's liking. If he was intimidated, Indonesia could not read, but it was great to let it out. She waited for Netherlands to answer, the crackling of fire breaking the silence.

Then, softly but surely, Netherlands murmured, "So I'm of no use to you..."

Indonesia blinked. What? This was not what she had expected him to say. Where was he leading them? What kind of a comeback was that?

Except, it wasn't meant to be a comeback. He was serious.

"Umm, I didn't say that, but—"

He mumbled something, frowning. Indonesia stopped, trying to take in what she heard rationally. It sounded something like, "I thought you liked my Kaastengels...". She almost laughed.

"What was that?" Indonesia asked, trying hard to conceal her smile.

"Nothing," he snapped. Maybe it was Indonesia, but she could almost see a little red on his cheeks. "Get on with your lunch or something. I need to be someplace else..."

Indonesia watched as he turned around and trudged his way out. In the middle, he paused, giving his Kaastengels a final look. "If you want more," Netherlands began, back still turned towards the colony, "Take it. It's not made for anything special, and I'm through with them. They're for you."

The room lit. Indonesia did not know why or how, but in a way, there was a sudden spark of brightness in the kitchen. It wasn't because of the fire. She could sense that.

Her lips quivered. Something was itching to get out at the back of her tongue, but she did not know what to say. 'Thank you?' She did need to thank him, and not only for the Kaastengels. She admitted this to herself—he did bring her many useful things, and passed her the knowledge he could give. At the same time, she wanted to run up to him, kick him on the shins and yell 'I hate you!' at the top of her lungs. But seeing the expression on his face right now...

Why must he make this so damn hard?

She sighed. For now, maybe she would just try to lift a bit of the load he carries around on his wide shoulders all the time.

Taking a deep breath inwardly, she spoke resolutely, "I like your cooking, you know."

Netherlands swept around. He had a brow raised as if he didn't believe her. "What did you say?"

"I said: I like your cooking—your Kaastengels and whatever," Indonesia said, mentally kicking herself for saying this out loud. Netherlands furrowed his brows. Indonesia stopped herself from rolling her eyes, having the feeling that her mentor did not see her point. "So, I'd like it if you teach me how to make them."

"Honestly?" Netherlands asked. Indonesia strained to catch what sounded like a tone of hope in his voice.

"If it makes you happy."

"If it makes you happy," Netherlands said, narrowing his eyes cautiously at Indonesia.

Indonesia laughed softly. Netherlands raised his brows. "Alright, when we are both happy, you teach me."

Netherlands took this in for a bit, his eyes scrunched in a thoughtful frown. "Fair enough." Then he showed Indonesia one of the rarest sights she had been waiting for since the Dutch came. "Then I'll try to teach you as soon as possible," he flashed her a smile.

Now, Netherlands with a smile was something. His eyes lit like a boy's; his cheeks gave a rosy glow and, overall, his face grew all the more handsome. Indonesia wasn't sure if it was just her, but she could almost feel the heat soaring above her collar and into her face. "Fine, fine," she scoffed. "You should be going now, shouldn't you?"

Netherlands cleared his throat. "Oh, yes. I'll be late otherwise."

Both of them exhaled for a bit. Then silence.

"Well, I guess I'll be going..." it was Netherlands who broke it.

"You should, too," Indonesia nodded, feeling uneasy, yet oddly in a pleasant way.

"Enjoy your lunch," Netherlands said. He gave a small wave. "And dag."

Indonesia smiled. Something happened in her chest—she couldn't tell what it was. She drew a shaky breath and mumbled, smiling and waving a little, "Dag to you, too."

Netherlands slipped out of the room. Indonesia was left alone, feeling the softness of the atmosphere enveloping the kitchen. She brushed away her fringe to the side, and sighed.

So now, she realised that not all of what she had experienced under Netherlands' ruling was bad. In fact—somewhat achingly—she now felt that some of the things they found together were a lot like lessons. Treasured ones. But the goodbye will come, and Indonesia would make sure of it.

Yet for now, she just wanted to keep things the way it was, just a little bit longer. She just wanted to feel that, for once, there was no rush to fight.

A/N: WELL, THAT WAS JUST TERRIBLE.

I'm confessing: it's a shame to say that, even though I'm Indonesian, schooling overseas under British curriculum means that I learn largely on British history (I do try to find ways to gain more knowledge on my own country—honest!). So, if any mistakes in translation and facts are found, do tell?

Oh and yes, we do love Holland's cooking. We eat 'em treats often, and they could be found in good bakeries. :D And hundreds of buildings and railways and sites are still found and used in Indonesia, left by the Dutch here before Indonesia even gained independence (17th August 1945, just adding). Dangerous for the railways. Spooky for the buildings.

*Sialan: A sort of way to say 'damn it' or something in Indonesian. Use this new knowledge for good purposes!