Hetalia does not belong to me. Neither do any of the countries mentioned. Get back to me after 'World Domination Phase 3' is complete.

* Quick note: a section written in italics represents inner dialogue or a memory.

Tired of Waiting

Prussia slumped forward in his chair and kicked his boots on to the conference table. He crossed his arms and growled under his breath in frustration and boredom as the nations around him tittered and argued. He no longer had a voice in the matters of the world, but his brother would be forever adamant that he participate.

It was tedious.

He pinched the bridge of his nose; a habit he had picked up more than a century beforehand. After two calming breathes and a few mumbled swears, he looked up to see the solution to all of his problems.

It was a flash of blonde curls and bright lavender that caught his attention. The nation tapped his pen against important documents in irregular rhythm with a slight frown on his face. He tucked a wisp of blonde behind his ear and pushed his glasses into place, muttering quietly as he circled a section of print in red ink.

Canada.

Prussia had been watching him for a couple of decades now, from the corner of his eye, waiting for a chance to take him home and take advantage of his nature. Perhaps it was finally time.

He felt the inkling of a long forgotten promise whisper in his ear.

Canada was not as invisible as he supposed himself to be. In fact, it could be hard to look away. His was a country found by the Nordics, settled by the French, claimed by the English, and allied with the Americans. Before that, he had been getting along just fine on his own.

Talk about an identity crisis.

His people had yet to carve a niche for themselves but were well on their way to finding it. Canada was young and undefined, and older nations waited with baited breath to see what he would become.

He was a land older than time; a land of animals unimagined and sights unseen. Canada had been home to people both savage and peaceful for centuries. He was a nation raped for resources and pawed from one country to another in the name of glory. He was a nation of trade and diplomatic negotiations. He was a nation of war. A land of suffering; of cold and windswept shores, of storms and blazing forest fires, of blizzards and nights where the sun never set. A land of beauty; of delicate wild flowers and prairie grasses, of winding rivers and glittering diamonds, of rustling leaves and pebble stone beaches.

He had claimed his independence not through war, but through patience; waiting until he was too expensive to keep collared like a dog before bidding farewell, unlike his brother. He was a country forged in the brutality of war; his people finally uniting during the Great War and World War II to speak with one mind. Mostly… He was truly independent with the creation of his own unique flag, or perhaps later, with the signing of the Canada Act.

But more than anything, Canada was simply beautiful.

In his person, you could see all of the aspects of the nation; the beauty and sense of calm, the intrigue and mystery. The adventure that lay beyond every hill and horizon; the untamed cruelty of his land.

He was a tall man, if only he would stand up straight and stop slinking through the halls. He moved with a grace and stealth unmatched; the soft padding of a hunting animal creeping silently through the trees.

His hair framed his features in soft curls the colour of the prairies at dawn. His eyes, highlighted by honey eyelashes, were a peculiar shade of lavender that could be soft and tranquil; the colour of lilacs blooming in early springtime, or cruel and sharp; the sudden, brilliant hue of the sun setting after a snowstorm.

His smile was small and hidden, as if he knew a secret that you never would. His lips were always a shade too red, too dark, as if he had been out in the blowing wind for too long. His cheeks often flushed with the same effect.

He shifted his hands delicately over objects, as if his fingers were dancing. He would flutter his hands as if afraid to leave them still in any one place; fidgeting and impatient. If he would only hold his hands still for a moment, you could see the worn edges and calluses of someone who knew what it meant to work hard for your living.

If you managed to catch the nation without a sweater or jacket, you could see the muscles poised and straining to spring and give chase. His body was covered in scars; some of which the Europeans could claim, but most of which had occurred in the millennia before colonization. Centuries of history that the other countries could only wonder at and Canada would simply shake his head and smoothly change the subject when asked; with that infuriating little smile gracing his features.

The nations of the world had fallen in love with him at one point or another, as their kind was known to do. A nation is primarily curious; perhaps hateful when their people call for it or simpering when their government begs, but mostly curious of other nations. Whatever speeches or treaties or battles may come to pass, they were well aware that everyone was in this together. They were curious of what other nations had to offer the world, and often, they fell in love with those things.

Love for a nation is not as easily defined as it is for a mortal, and that is saying something. A country is defined by their resources, the public opinion, and secrets in the dark. It was the children playing in the streets, the lovers holding hands, and laughter in the rain. It was the excitement of the holidays, the unbridled joy at the terminal return gate, that feeling of safety whilst being tucked into bed. And it was the last kiss before the kill, those hateful words being strewn throughout the cities, the shell shocked crying of a woman with nothing else to lose. Love for a nation could not be easily defined because they themselves were not easily definable. But they could love, as simple or as complicated as it may be.

Some countries loved his quiet nature; his willingness to sit and listen, and to understand that sometimes nothing needed to be said.

Some countries loved him for the recognition he granted them and the friendship he offered.

Some nations loved him for the safe haven he had provided their people and the shelter he offered the nations themselves in desperate times.

Some countries loved him for letting them tramp through and steal resources. And in the end he would forgive them, more or less.

Some nations loved him for his acts of cruelty; for his reserves and internment camps, for his riots and protesters.

Some countries loved him for his peacekeeping and the ability to take what small forces he had and spread them in the name of a greater good. Other countries loved him for the fact that those peacekeeping forces were not always used for peace. When the Canadians marched, other countries took notice.

Some nations loved his festivals and celebrations of multiculturalism; his acceptance of all people no matter their colour, religion, sex, background, or sexual preferences. Other nations loved him for when this acceptance fell apart and children cried themselves to sleep at night.

Some countries loved him for his resources and treasures; for his education system and the dreams of a new generation; for his future.

But all of the countries loved Matthew Williams for his kindness, his consideration, and his compassion.

He was there to hold England's hand when America left him; he was there to help France bury the dead after the wars. He was there to rock America back and forth when the Twin Towers were hit. He recognized the Baltic States first; he accepted Ukraine's immigrants en masse. He played hockey with Russia during the Cold War and he stood by Cuba when he made a mistake. He kept the royal family of The Netherlands safe and bent the rules for their benefit. He fought side by side with India, Australia, and New Zealand under the worst conditions imaginable. He sent foreign aid to more countries than could be counted.

He was special, and the rest of the world was just waiting to see who he might become.

But Prussia was tired of waiting.

"Hello, Birdie."

Canada glanced up from the documents drowning in red ink. Another conference had come to a close and, yet again, little had been accomplished. He shoved the papers into his suitcase and stood up.

"Oh, Prussia. How are you?" He was polite to a fault, but Prussia did not mind.

"Gilbert. And all the better now that you're here." Prussia winked; hoping that his intentions were clear in his unmistakable flirting.

"Gilbert… I've been here all afternoon…" Canada glanced left and right as if to make sure of his surroundings.

Apparently, his intentions were not quite as clear as he had thought. Prussia scoffed.

"Yes, yes, but it should be obvious why I am here now. I'm hitting on you," Prussia cocked his head to the side, staring down the blonde and frowning. "You're not going to make this any easier, are you?"

Canada leant his hip against the desk with wanton abandonment and that infuriating little smile.

"No, not at all."

The other nations were whispering and careful to watch this odd conversation unfold. Prussia knew that he was breaking some sort of unspoken rule by approaching Canada with these intentions, but he had waited long enough. He had never been very patient. What were they going to do about it? What could the 'League of Nations' do to someone who was no longer a nation?

Considering the glares, the nations might just ignore the proper channels of peacekeeping and lynch him. Alright then; time to leave.

"Hey, Birdie. Can I talk to you for a second? Preferably somewhere that is not here."

"Sure. Where?" He looked him over with thoughtfulness.

Prussia paused for a moment and leered at the blonde. That was too easy to pass up.

"Would it be too forward of me to suggest a broom closet?"

Canada cocked an eyebrow.

"You might want to take me out to dinner first. I'm kind of old fashioned."

"Damn. It was worth a try," mumbled Prussia as he took Matthew's suitcase for him and escorted him from the conference room. "In that case, may I take you out for dinner?"

Canada stopped short in the corridor. His face was kept carefully blank even as his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Are you serious?" He asked with mild contempt lacing his words.

"Ummm… Yes?" Prussia was confused. "You said that I should take you out for dinner; I am offering to take you out for dinner. I could have sworn that was what you wanted… Is that not how courting works in your country? Did I miss a step?"

Prussia scratched the back of his head and hummed softly. Canada stared him down for another moment before shrugging his shoulders and sighing; the frost leaving his eyes.

"No, it is. I had just assumed that you were kidding."

"Ummm… No? Why would I do that?"

Canada laughed delicately as Prussia furrowed his eyebrows.

"Maybe because you're you? I have heard stories, you know. Not always the nicest stories either. In fact, I am not sure that I have ever heard a 'nice' story about you. I mostly hear about drunken nights, conquests, and vicious battles."

"Well, don't believe everything you… Okay, never mind. That's all true."

"And now you want to take me out for dinner?"

"Yes?"

"Why," he laughed, "do you sound so unsure?"

"Maybe because you're a hell of a lot more intimidating than I remembered," Prussia grumbled quietly before speaking up, "and yes, I would like very much to take you out on a date."

"Really?" Canada sounded genuinely surprised. "And here I thought that you just wanted into my pants. I might have slept with you too… But a date sounds like a nice change."

Canada sauntered down the corridor as Prussia stared after him in surprise. Coming to his senses, he sprinted after the nation.

"Seriously? Because you know… There is a broom closet down the next hall and…"

The tinkling sound of Canada's laughter drifted through the conference room. The nations were quiet for half of a second before America grabbed several sheets of graphing paper and spread them across the table.

"Alright people, we need to plan this shit out! How the hell do we keep his hands off of my brother?"

The rest of the nations shifted forward, whispering fervently.

America raised his hand excitedly in the air and opened his mouth, only to have England hold a finger in front of his face to silence him.

"No, Alfred," he sighed as if this were a common occurrence. "We are not building 'some sort of cock-blocking robot'. Try again."

Author's Notes:

So... I have been rewriting the chapters to Tired of Waiting in order to continue with the piece. You will find that chapters one through eight have been altered, however slightly. The changes are not too noticeable; I need to update the writing style to match my current one. You do not need to read again from the beginning, but perhaps you will want to.

I originally began writing this as an excuse to present a more interesting, multifaceted Canada. It broke my heart to see my country, and a favourite character, written as either a depressed, invisible, weakling or the complete opposite of a psychopath. I am a firm believer that you can be both, and that there should be more to him. I am trying to write balance, but whether or not I succeed will be up to you. I will be trying to balance all of the characters, somewhat, while still keeping most of their defining characteristics. When I write him, Canada may seem as if he is holding his cards close to his chest because I think that he might be...

Regions: Canada is a very large country with several different physical regions therein; such as the mountains, the arctic, the prairies, the shield, and the atlantic. Most are mentioned in passing and indirectly when describing Canada in this chapter.

Great War and World War II: World War I was solely known as the Great War before there was a there was a second global war. The 'Great War' refers to the 'great' scale of the carnage and the 'great' losses. It is generally agreed upon that Canada as a nation was forged in these wars. It was the first real crisis that Canada could unite against (mostly of one mind, there were still some issues with Quebec, but less than usual) and allowed Canada to step onto the world stage. These wars gave Canada a separate national identity, rather than an identity based on our connection to the United Kingdom. It is important to remember that Canada has always been a nation of settlers and immigrants, and that our loyalties could be split between the old world and the new world.

Please leave a review and feel free to offer opinions, advice, or criticism. All are welcome. You are free to leave an anonymous review, I do not mind. Please let me know what you think of this piece.

... I have had that line used on me and it has never worked. Prussia might need to step up his game...