Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters are owned by Himaruya Hidekaz.

Author's Note: Thanks to all the following who have reviewed, commented, alerted, favourited: chattie 98, WinterLake25, PJTL156, renabug97, DragoncatKHfan, Hanhula, Athesia, Allidiah, Amdeloa, GoodnessCoconuts, VengefulCat, Widdiful Echidna, L-chan the Great, Pyololi, silvermoonbutterfly, MightySwordPen, Schmo703529, Alaska-Acadia Jones, 101Icestormxx, Little-Bloody-Thing, Girloki, I am Sweden, Flyingraven, Chickenkitty, Sashenka Alexandra, Ninjakat405, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Elemental Cat, Tamarutaca, ludwigmylove, cross-over-lover232, Chelseaj500, QAQ, Xou, iTorchic, Latnien, citrine sunflower, Ankhasia Riddle, HiddenChaser, Kiyomisa, SullyWullybunny, , shadowraven45662, DrawedSoul, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, AmberFox and Lyell.

Warnings: so much fluff and sugar you'll get cavities.

Epilogue – Baby Love

4 or so years after the events at Austria's mansion

Another day, another meeting. This one was held at Austria's refurbished mansion. It had cost Austria's government and the governments of many of the delegates several million pounds to refurbish, redecorate, replace the roof and generally make the mansion habitable again. Austria had actually done quite well out of it and had finally, for the first time in 500 years, got central heating and electric lighting upstairs. Also the 'awful plumbing' as Hungary called it, had been sorted.

Why he was hosting this meeting after the events of the last one is unsure. Everyone had been surprised when the details of the venue had been announced, and when Hungary, (who was now residing in Austria's mansion with her ex-husband) insisted the Nations all bring certain 'extra delegates' they had decided not to argue.

In fact it had been Hungary who'd insisted on the conference being held at the mansion, against Austria's pleas. The reason being, quite simply, that a certain small person absolutely refused to be parted from their grand piano. This small person was not Austria, but they ruled the household with an imperious air.

"It's Manchester not Manchesterham you bloody fool, and it's not drank, it's drunk," England was shouting.

"Haha, I'm drunk!" Denmark said to no-one's surprise.

"I wish I was," someone said morosely.

"When you are all finished releasing sexual tension, we can carry on with zis meeting," France was saying.

"As the oldest nation here I am calling a halt to the meeting, aru."

"What?" America said, "Why?"

"Wut?" Russia asked and took his feet off the table.

"Because I want to see the little ones. I have not met them, yet, aru." China said simply.

In the makeshift crèche downstairs in Austria's basement which had been totally refurbished into a child's playroom, all traces of Prussia's brief sojourn obliterated, there was chaos.

The English nanny that England and Belarus had brought with them had long since fled and was now sat in a dark corner of the library drinking gin and shaking. "A shpoonful of sugar helpsh the medicine go down..." the poor lady was singing, her voice slurring.

Instead, Spain and Italy were acting as nannies, and they were loving it.

In the middle of a heap of beanbags was Spain, with a guitar, singing to a small crowd of children. Every so often they would all clap and sing, 'Viva espana!"

America scooped up one of the little girls who wriggled in his arms, "Daddy!" she squealed. She had long blond plaits and had her father's blue eyes. She wore a Supergirl t-shirt, was inexplicably carrying a red-coloured light-sabre with which she hit anyone who disagreed with her and had been coaxed down four times from a high bookshelf before she could practise her 'flying'. Diana Leia (named after Wonder Woman and Princess Leia respectively) struggled in her father's arms, "Don't like being picked up..." she said. You wouldn't find Wonder Woman being carried around she thought.

"My little girl," America said proudly to China.

"Hmm," China said, gently rubbing the young girl's hair as she dashed past.

China was already guessing whose child was whose.

"Can you guess which is mine?" England asked China.

China spotted the small, determined-looking platinum-blond haired girl sat apart from the other children. She wore a witch's hat, a dark cloak, had very vivid green eyes and, to England's utter joy, was making Lego bricks float.

China went up to her, "Hello... erm Victoria? That is your name, yes?"

Belarus nodded and picked her daughter up.

"Mama..." here Victoria came out with a bizarre mixture of broad cockney and Belorussian. No-one understood a word, even England struggled to understand his own daughter.

"No, Victoria sweetie, you know you can't have real knives, Papa says no," here Belarus nodded (with regret) at England (this issue had been a contentious one in the Bela-English household). She cuddled her daughter close and whispered something in her ear, which seemed to quieten the child.

The child came out with another stream of unintelligible cockney English and Belorussian.

"Da, Dmitri will play if you are nice..." Belarus said.

The child had, China thought, a very old look in her eyes, ageless and also, the old Nation thought, scary. He felt very sorry for Dmitri, whoever he was.

Denmark interrupted them, "Guess which one is mine?"

But a tall, long streak of energy whizzed past them, all wild, vertical blond hair, huge smile and a battered rubber axe. "Hahahahaha!" the child yelled.

"Dude Carl!" Denmark yelled.

"Dude Dad!" the child yelled back, skidded to a stop where he'd almost collided with Diana – who'd immediately tried to whack him. He spun back and jumped into his father's arms.

"I lost my hat and my boat but I'm going to get them back! It's war, Dad!" the child yelled, his voice resembling a foghorn.

"That's m'boy!" Denmark said proudly.

"Who are you at war with, young man?" England asked the child.

Carl (for that was the young boy's name) pointed to an ominous pile of cushions in the corner of the room – it looked like a make-shift fortress and there was a weird purple glow emanating from it. "Russkie dude," he said and drew himself up to his full height of 3 and a half feet, "I'm going to hit him. Dude Dad, will you help me?"

"Hahaha..." Denmark laughed and then added when he saw his son's eager face, "No."

"I bet Auntie Tino will help me."

"I'm not your auntie!" came a voice, "We are not Auntie Tino, Auntie Ber or Auntie Erik," the voice shouted from the kitchen. England guessed that it belonged to Finland.

"Denmark, stop encouraging him to call us aunties," Norway said.

"Hahaha, you're all such girlies." Denmark answered.

"You're a fool," Norway said, picking up his little niece, Maisie. Maisie cuddled her 'Uncle Norge' as she called him. "At least Maisie doesn't go around hitting people with axes and trying to drink beer." The Norwegian said, "You're a disgrace as a father, Mathias, and naming your child after an alcoholic beverage is just wrong on so many levels."

"I thought he was called Carl?" England said.

"Carlsberg!" Denmark yelled unnecessarily as England was stood next to him. The Dane held his son upside down and then set him on the floor, made sure the kid's hair was still vertical, before the small child dashed off.

"Oh dear... aru," China shook his head. Some people, he thought, should not reproduce.

"Awesome!" 'Carlsberg' said and ran off in a mad blur of energy to try and breach the 'Russkie' dude's citadel with his trusty axe.

China turned to the little platinum-blond haired girl in Norway's arms, "So this is Maisie?"

Lily was about to take her daughter from 'Uncle' Norge, but was beaten to it by Switzerland, "I'll take her from here. You have a rest, Lily."

"She's so sweet," China said.

"Yes, she is. Sweet and quiet and she shouldn't be mixing with these..." here, Switzerland glared around the room at the other children, "... horrors."

"They're just children, Vash," Lily said.

"Hmmmm, perhaps I should take her home, she looks tired."

"Well, Icy said..."

"Well, what does he know?"

"Well, he is her father..." Lily tried to say.

Vash humphed at this (he still didn't think 'Icy' was fit to be his beloved Lily's husband, never mind his beloved Maisie's father), rocking the small girl in his arms, "Come on, little Maisie, you're obviously exhausted, you come with your godfather, Uncle Vash."

Lily shook her head. Vash had been even more protective of Maisie than he had ever been with her, if that was at all possible. He had insisted on vetting the kindergarten teachers himself as well as the parents of any children Maisie played with. She'd been terrified when she'd found she was pregnant and thought Vash would kill Iceland, as it happened, he'd only wounded him and then his protectiveness had transferred itself onto their daughter. Never mind, she thought, they were never short of a babysitter. And Vash was the only one who could cope with her daughter's eruptive temper tantrums. Iceland and Liechtenstein's daughter looked very sweet, gentle and mild but when she didn't get her own way, it was frightening, and she erupted like an Icelandic volcano.

"And this must be... Amadeus?" China approached the baby grand piano that stood in the centre of the room. On it Chopin's piano concerto No. 1 was being perfectly played by a small, serious looking boy with dark messy hair and angry green eyes.

Denmark sniggered, "Haha, what a stupid name!"

Norway nudged him.

The boy looked up at the Nations and said very slowly and very clearly as if speaking to a bunch of three year olds, "Shut up and listen to the music or please leave!" Actually, only Italy was listening, on his knees next to the little boy (he had to kneel down so that he was level with the boy), his head in his hands, totally enrapt.

A small immaculately-dressed blond haired girl tugged at the Chinaman's trousers so that he had to bend down, "S'il vous plait, monsieur?"

"Ah, oui?" China said, "You are little Charlotte?"

"Oui, monsieur," the little girl said, beaming with bright blue eyes. She swished her long hair, which was dressed elaborately in red, white and blue ribbons and then, from nowhere, produced a perfect rose and handed it to him.

"Ah! So cute!" China beamed.

"Hmmm," England said, unsure about this.

The French girl then gave a rose to America, who also beamed, one to Denmark and Norway and then went up to England and tugged on his trouser leg.

"Monsieur Arthur!"

He bent down level to the little girl.

"Vous sentez une odeur!" she said in sweet lispy French.

All the assembled adult Nations "awwwed" at this, having no idea what she said, but it sounded cute.

England frowned, he knew, from experience, and the fact that Francis was watching with his hands clasped in fatherly pride, that the little girl had insulted him, but he had no idea what to say back. He couldn't get into an argument with a three and a half year old girl could he?

Thankfully, Victoria, his own sweet little daughter heard the exchange and launched herself at Charlotte.

"Do not insult my Papa!" she hissed, and in that moment, it was rather a good job about England's rule on knives.

Charlotte, so like her father, threw herself on the floor dramatically, "Aaaah! Je suis blesse!" and put her hand to her head, a single tear like a little dewdrop fell from her eye. She peered at her audience, like a consummate actress, to see the effect.

"Victoria!" Belarus snatched up her daughter, "You do not fight with little girls! She is only a small, delicate thing!" (Which seemed to indicate that it was quite alright to fight with boys.)

Francis scooped up his daughter, "Aah ma petite fille, petite lapin!" he said, smoothing her long blond hair and cooing gentle French phrases along the lines of "Zay are only English, leetle one, they are uncultured and they do not understand. We have to educate them, non?"

There followed a stream of rapid, incomprehensible French between father and daughter and then a hug as he set her back down.

"Who is her mother?" China asked the question everyone had wondered.

The child had just turned up on France's doorstep a year ago and had attended nearly every world meeting since. England had suggested that she was a clone, a product of a weird scientific experiment France had conducted. She was so much like her father – a 3 foot package of drama, hair-swishing, incoherent French with a penchant for climbing on any free lap and manoeuvring that person out of their valuables. Both Italies had lost several euros to the child (cold, cynical, super-troll Romano turning into a pile of goo when the small girl turned her puppy dog eyes on him). Even Germany was not immune and had lost several pens to the child. Russia had learnt several French lullabies from her and had given her a sunflower. Even Switzerland had given her pocket money. Only England was immune. England had decided that the child would be a professional pickpocket at best when she grew up, he didn't want to think of the alternatives.

"Ah, monsieur la Chine," France said, (China winced at the feminised version of his name) "I do not know, there are so many suspects..."

"Dear Lord," England said, tutting.

"Uncle Arthur... can you hold my bear for me while I go to the toilet?" a small voice said to England.

"Who said that?" America said.

"I'll take you, Suzie, come with me!" Diana grabbed her cousin by the hand and started dragging her to the door.

"My name's not Suzie! It's Susan!" the girl said. She was fed up of being bossed around by her cousin and, in many cases, being mistaken for her. Although Susan didn't wear superheroine costumes.

"Who was that?" America said.

"Canada's daughter."

"What?"

"Your niece, Susan."

"Eh?"

"Matthew and Adelaide's daughter, oh for heaven's sake Alfred. You and Louise babysat last week for them." England told him, whacking him smartly around the head.

"Ow! We did?"

"She is a very quiet child then?" China said as he watched the two blond-haired cousins, one dragging the other, go out of the door.

England smiled, unconsciously hugging the polar bear toy to his chest, "She's no trouble. You forget you've got her."

"Who?" America said.

China hit him, hard.

"Where is Russia's child?" China asked, "Did they have a daughter as well? There does seem to be a lot of girls...and all born within a couple of weeks of one another?"

Hungary stalked in and picked up her son, "Yes, they were all supposed to be girls..." she said, ignoring her child prodigy, who was yelling.

"Mama, I hadn't finished that last movement!" the boy protested.

"Well, you're going to go and have a movement. A bowel movement. And then you're going to have some lunch. You will not miss out on meals just so you can play on that damned piano like your father," she told the child. "Italy! Please take him to the kitchen and feed him."

Italy woke out of his reverie and happily took the still-complaining child, skipping (Italy was, not Amadeus) out of the room. It is doubtful whether Amadeus, who was so much like both his mother and father would ever skip anywhere.

"We were supposed to have girls. I'm not counting idiot Denmark or France of course... they're not women, so..."

Here, England harrumphed, in his eyes France had always been a big girl's blouse. Belarus had actually told him about the potion when they'd discovered she was pregnant (what a day that was...) but he'd barely believed it, now he did.

"But I don't know why I had a boy. Perhaps Austria is too manly to father a girl."

There was much snorting and giggling at this and Hungary turned and glared at Denmark and Norway.

"... and I don't think magic works on that big idiot Russia... I don't know what Latvia did, maybe she didn't drink enough...?"

"Erm, Miss Hungary?" a small hand tugged at Hungary's skirt.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"It's actually a fifty percent chance either way of a lady having a boy or a girl. And as there are..." here the child tapped some figures into the calculator which went everywhere with her, "eight children, five girls and three boys – that's..." here the child tapped some more figures into the calculator, pushed her glasses up her nose and added, "a ratio of 3 to 5, when it should be 4 to 4, but in natural circumstances with such a small population..." here the child began calculating again, "it would even out over time, with a more than 60 per cent chance that the next child will be a boy."

"Who on earth are you?" Hungary asked.

"She's Miss Ukraine's child," England answered.

Hungary looked at the small girl, "You're a very clever little girl," she said.

"Yes, I know." The girl answered.

"She's already enrolled at the top private school and is top of her class in the year above," England explained. He'd found since marrying Belarus he was more involved with her family than he'd liked. Having Russia as a brother-in-law and Ukraine as a sister-in-law was interesting.

"I never knew Katya was so... erm intelligent? Who does she take after? Who is her father?" Hungary asked the questions that quite a few of the Nations, including Russia, had already asked.

England shrugged, "I have no idea, don't ask me, I know nothing" he said as Belarus shook her head meaningfully at him, still holding on to their daughter.

"Mama! Dmitri won't play!" Victoria wailed to her mother.

Alexandra, for that was the child genius' name, went up to her cousin and said gravely, "You frighten him, Vicky, he's a boy and he's just fulfilling traditional gender roles."

"Good God! And I thought Amadeus was weird!" Hungary blurted out.

"Hmmm," England said. It was no wonder the child was the way she was, spending a month with her mother on the smallholding where she kept chickens and goats and a month in Russia's house being tutored by Estonia.

"What does she mean it will even out over time? And that the next child will be a boy?" Hungary asked and then she realised what the little girl had meant when Latvia walked in. She hadn't noticed the younger Nation's swollen stomach before as they'd all been sat around a conference table.

"Are you expecting again?" Hungary asked her.

Latvia stroked her stomach, "Well it's not just through lots of cookies," she answered ruefully.

"How far on?" Hungary asked.

"Six months," Latvia answered.

"Poor you," Hungary shook her head.

"Hmm, I'm going to kill Vanya..." Latvia said.

"Boy or girl?" Hungary asked.

"I'm hoping for a girl," Latvia said, as she eyed the cushion fortress in the corner with trepidation.

"It's like, totally going to be a girl, brilliant!" Poland interrupted, "then we can dress her in sweet little pink dresses and ribbons."

"You tried that with Dmitri," Latvia began.

"I know! Braginski's such a spoilsport. You should let kids be themselves, express themselves, be who they want to be," Poland said.

A large hand clamped on the Pole's shoulder, "Yes, but that does not mean my son should wear pink ribbons in his hair," Russia said in a 'don't argue' tone.

"Dmitri, come out and say hello..." Latvia called and then made her precarious way around the fortress. She shoved aside a wall of Lego and cushions and an upturned coffee table.

Inside the 'fortress', a tall (well, tall for his age) boy with violet eyes clutching a toy rifle was sat chewing his 'rations' – Lithuanian-made cookies. He had indeed 'captured' several of his fellow children's possessions – Carlsberg's hat and toy boat, Victoria's plastic wand and Diana's dressing-up cloak.

"Nyet!" the boy said and clutched his blue scarf – hand-knitted (by his father) with teddies on it – around his neck and blew out his pale chubby cheeks with exasperation. He would have to rebuild his stronghold again, and who knew how long this siege would last?

Latvia shook her head, removed the plastic rifle from him, and took his hand, "Out, now!" she said with as much authority as she could muster and tried to drag him out. She couldn't pick him up, notwithstanding being pregnant, he weighed a ton and was abnormally strong and now dug in his heels.

Dmitri shook his beige-blond curls, "Nyet, Mama," and muttered a weird mix of Latvian, Russian and Lithuanian in protest. When Dmitri decided he wasn't doing something, it was generally only his father who could shift him.

Latvia gave up, picked up the seized toys and made her way out of her son's hideaway to reconcile the other children with their plundered possessions.

"I'll, like, try. He'll come out for his Auntie Pol." Poland said as it appeared Russia didn't appear to want to admonish his son.

Russia thought it was funny that no-one could shift the child and his chest swelled with pride.

"Come on, sweetie, come with Auntie Pol..." Poland attempted, he wanted to prove that he could put one over on Russia "... if you don't come out... I'm going to..." here Poland thought desperately and whispered to the child, "... cut your hair!"

Dmitri's violet eyes widened in horror, clutched his scarf tighter around his neck, let out a huge wail and then proceeded to demolish the lego wall.

"You're just like your father," Poland exclaimed as the child, with abnormal strength, punched a small hole in the upturned table.

Russia took charge, shoved Poland out of the way and scooped his son up under his arm like a parcel and said, "That's enough, Dmitri."

"Papa..." the boy started to remonstrate in his strange mix of Russian/Latvian/Lithuanian language as his father carried him out of his 'fortress'.

Russia set the boy down and sank to his knees so he was level with him and said, "You should not scare smaller Nations, Dmitri Ivanovich Braginski. Mr Poland is a very small, very confused Nation."

"Hey!" Poland said, outraged.

As soon as Dmitri's feet touched the ground, Victoria flung herself at him and threw her arms around his neck. Although she barely came up to her cousin's shoulder she almost knocked him over, "шахта!" the small girl exclaimed triumphantly.

Dmitri's eyes filled with tears and he pulled away from his cousin's embrace. "отец волк!" he wailed in panic and lifted his arms to be picked up.

Russia sighed, understanding his son better than anyone, got up from his knees and picked him up. Dmitri buried his head in his father's scarf, wrapped his hands around Ivan's neck and snuffled.

China smiled, "He looks just like you, Vanya, when you were that age!" the Nation exclaimed happily, reminding everyone just how old he really was. "Soooo cute!" China added.

The other Nations stared at China as if he'd lost his mind.

Victoria, thwarted yet again – this time by her Uncle Vanya (sometimes it was Latvia, sometimes her father, another time Uncle Toris, only her mother was her ally), flounced off to practise her magic some more. 'One day,' she thought, 'he will be mine'. She didn't really understand why, but she was very possessive over her cousin and had decided that one day he would belong to her and her alone.

Latvia patted her son's head – so much like his father's (apart from the 'mad as a madman's arse' curls – Poland's words).

"I bloody hope this is a girl," she said and then stroked her expanding belly worriedly.

Russia smiled softly at her and pulled her, with his one free arm, into a loving bear hug, "I love you, my little Latvia."

Latvia hugged him back, her arms encircling his waist. "I love you too, Vanya," she said, happily.

Latvia, her arms wrapped around Russia's waist, reached down and pinched his arse.

"Ah, Latvina and Russia, that's nice!" America said, dreamily.

"It's Latvia, fool." England corrected him.

"Bleurgh..." Denmark made retching noises.

And so... another argument broke out, another fight began, another world meeting. It is to be hoped that destruction did not follow in its wake.

Author's Notes:

A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down – a line from the song 'A spoonful of sugar' from the musical Mary Poppins (sorry, I just had to...)

Vous sentez une odeur – 'you smell' in French

Petite fille – 'little girl/daughter' in French

Petite lapin – 'little rabbit' in French

Susan – I thought Canada and Adelaide would name their child, ironically and with sarcasm, after the Invisible Woman.

Victoria – I thought England would name his child after one of his queens.

Louise – Belgium's human name - in my headcanon - apologies in advance if you disagree

Шахта – 'mine' in Belarussian

отец волк – Papa wolf in Russian

I'm assuming everyone's understood whose is whose child? The story of each of the pregnancies might just appear in a series of sequels...