I Am Canada (A Hetalia Fanfic)

1850s-1860s: Political Deadlock

Ontario walks through the various bustling roads as he heads towards Québec's house, momentarily trying to distract his thoughts by looking at the various ships moored in the harbours or the people hurrying around and jabbering to one another in French. He grits his teeth, his bushy eyebrows furrowing with annoyance.

If he's being honest with himself, he thought that the Act of Union would've taken care of this Francophone business. Unfortunately for him, that isn't the case. The French influence is still heavily prominent in the combined province of Canada.

He reaches the correct building and steels himself as he walks up to the door, lifting his hand and smacking the surface with his knuckles rather forcefully. He stands back and waits, hearing the remnants of French floating through a nearby open window.

The door swings open to reveal Québec, completely prim and proper right down to his shining shoes. Everything, that is, save for that one cowlick that sticks up at the part of his brunet hair. No doubt that little piece of hair is a result of America's influence on him when he was younger, Ontario thinks.

"Ah...I suppose I must start speaking English again now that you're here?" he asks, sounding tired at the very idea.

"You could just say hello," Ontario retorts as he pouts. He lifts his chin, trying to look taller. "Someone like me deserves respect."

"Right...sure," the Frenchman continues, rolling his eyes as he steps to the side and gestures. "Canada is already in the living room. I set out drinks if you want some."

Ontario walks inside, forcing himself not to look sideways at Québec as he does. As it was said, Canada sits in the living room looking incredibly bothered by whatever is racing through his mind. His curl is quivering, his violet eyes are wide and distant, and his face is flushed. Ontario feels a stab of worry in his chest, but coughs and regains his composure.

Ontario takes one of the free spots, reaching out to prepare himself a cup of tea. Québec joins them soon after, pulling a cigarette from his vest pocket and lighting it before placing it between his teeth. He glances at Ontario, arching an eyebrow and pointing to the stick. The blond shakes his head and wrinkles his nose.

"Alright, you're both here," Canada says, shifting in place as he runs his fingers through his shaggy hair. "I need to talk about the political deadlock." Both Ontario and Québec let out long groans at that, but Canada perseveres. "You're getting nothing done! No laws, no bills, this country isn't moving forwards. I can't do anything if you guys won't agree."

"It's not my fault! I have lots of great ideas! It's that wanker who's screwing everything up!" Ontario accuses, jabbing a finger at Québec. Québec's brown eyes flash as his jaw clenches. "Whenever I try to pass a new bill, he shuts it down!"

"Everything you want to do undermines my people's wishes," Québec retorts, taking the cigarette from his mouth and blowing the smoke into his frenemy's face. "You can't expect me to agree about anything like that."

"This is because you're a bloody Catholic, isn't it?!"

"Excuse me, but I prefer not to stick with any one religion, Protestant spawn of the black sheep of Europe."

"And now you're insulting Britain! I oughta—"

"GUYS!" Canada shouts as he leaps to his feet, making the both of them shut up. He turns redder, instantly returning to his spot on the ornate couch. "I...I want to fix this, but you have to stop this fighting. You're brothers!"

"He is not my brother," Ontario snaps, jabbing his finger towards Québec. He adjusts his glasses, a bead of sweat appearing on his temple. "He will never be my brother."