This is how it all got started: "I don't feel so good."
Denmark glanced over at Norway. "I thought you didn't get hungover?" Denmark hugged his pillow closer to his naked chest, taking stock of his bedmate. "And we didn't even drink that much last--" The covers were thrown in Denmark's face as Norway bolted out of the bed for the bathroom, swinging the door behind him. Seconds later, the unmistakable sound of gagging and reclamation of last night's meal could be heard through the door. "Norge? Norge!" Frowning, Denmark got up from bed and padded over to the bathroom to tap on the ajar door. "Norge are you oka--"
"STAY THE FUCK OUT!" The door slammed, nicking Denmark's finger in the process. He howled.
An hour later, Norway finally stumbled out of the bathroom and back into bed, face considerably pale. Warily, Denmark glanced at him from his corner of the bed where he had his injured finger in a glass of ice. "Er... How are you feeling?"
"Exhausted. Shut up." Norway wrapped himself up in the blanket and turned away, soft snores drifting from him moments later.
Denmark was genuinely worried now; he'd never known Norway to get sick. Living within kilometers of the Arctic Circle meant a fairly healthy resistance to, well, anything that wasn't the sun. As quietly as he could, Denmark and his little glass of ice got up from the bed and left the room, making his way to the study down the hall. There he sat down at the computer, jiggled the mouse to wake it up from the Hello Kitty screen saver Japan had installed, and opened up FireFox. If he found out what was wrong with Norway and got the man medicine or helped him get better faster, surely their tumultuous relationship would improve, right? Maybe to the point that Norway would even let him decide when they had sex! Oh man, that would be awesome!! With newfound determination, Denmark steered his browser to WebMD and opened up the symptom diagnosis application.
"Okay, so here we go..." Denmark scrolled down the list of symptoms, checking off the first one he saw: Exhaustion. "Well, Norge did say he was tired." Sneezing, no.... Coughing, no... Rash, he fucking hoped not... "Aha! Headaches! Norge's always complaining about those when we're together." Denmark went through the list as best he could. "Food cravings? Well, Norge really wanted those clams last night, so yeah." Check. Nausea, a definite check. He clicked the submit button, and a new series of questions popped up for Denmark answer.
"Hmmm... Nausea in the morning?" Denmark glanced over at the clock; 7 AM certainly counted as the morning. Check.
The screen popped up a new question, and Denmak cocked his head at it. "Are Norge's breasts tender?" He really didn't know. Last night's tumble in the sheets was a bit foggy; had Norway complained more than usual? "I'm not sure, internet; can I skip this question?" The internet didn't reply, so it was safe to say that no, no he could not skip it. With a sigh, Denmark got up and snuck back into his bedroom.
Norway was still fast asleep, but luckily he hadn't put a shirt on this morning. Not wanting to wake him, Denmark gently pulled back the covers and placed his hand--the one that had been numbed in the glass of ice--on Norway's left pectoral. Norway's eyes flashed open. "Oh, you woke up! Good." Denmark gave a slight squeeze. "Do they feel tender?"
"...I'm going to kill you now."
That was as good as a yes, so Denmark ran back to the study, alarm clock neatly missing his head by a few inches. "Okay, internet, I've got the answer!" Denmark hit the submit button and waited for the answer screen to pop up. Finally it loaded, and Denmark gasped. He stared at the screen. He gasped again. "Oh, man... He's really... is he..." Denmark felt a cold wave of fear wash through his body; Norway was pregnant because the internet said so. Norway was pregnant, and Denmark was the father. (Because Norway would only ever have sex with him, duh.) Denmark slumped in his seat, suddenly drained of all energy. When he finally came back to his senses, a full hour had passed and Japan's stupid screen saver was back on the computer.
How was he to handle this? Denmark wasn't ready to be a father! Sure, he was great with kids--look at Iceland!--and could provide for a family, but but but... He had no idea how to handle this. He needed assistance from someone who had dealt with this before. Denmark picked up his cell phone and went downstairs to make coffee and call Turkey.
"...Denmark? What the hell?"
Denmark gripped the counter as he watched tiny drops of coffee slowly fall into the pot. "Turkey, I need some advice."
"If this is about ottoman footstool things again, for the last time, Ottoman Empire doesn't mean--"
"No! It's about your kid!"
Denmark took a deep breath. "Turkey. What did you do when Greece had Cyprus?"
There was a pause on the other line. "Uh. Come again?"
"How did you feel, when you found out?"
"Well... angry, I guess."
"Well yeah; it was his fault!"
Denmark clucked his tongue. "That's no good; it takes two to tango! You're just as at fault for not using protection!"
"As in... missiles?"
"Well. I don't know how that would work, but sure. Anyway, how are you and Greece taking care of Cyprus now?"
"None of your business," came the gruff reply. "We're dealing with things our own way, trying to do what's best, alright? Split up Cyprus fairly. Nosy bastard."
"Wait--you mean you and Greece are separated?"
"Well. Since the 1800s, yeah."
Aghast, Denmark made a bold declaration: "A child should not have to live in a broken home!" Denmark was really fired up now, and he slammed his cell phone down on the counter--cracked it, even--and poured himself a cup of coffee. He knew what he had to do. He couldn't have his son or daughter growing up in an unstable environment, an un-nurturing environment. Denmark wanted to take Norway and their child to Tivoli Gardens, show the little tyke how to hold an axe and drink a beer when he came of age or was tall enough to reach the bar, whichever came first... Denmark slammed down his coffee cup, shattering it with a righteous fatherly fury, and marched right back upstairs to his bedroom.
Norway was asleep again, but Denmark threw off the covers and at Norway's startled yelp, he kneeled himself on the floor before Norway. "Norge! I swear I will support you no matter what!"
Norway stared at the Dane, unsure if this was a hallucination from his nausea or if Denmark really was this odd. "...you what?"
"I will support you!"
A blond eyebrow rose at that. "Well. Good," Norway said cautiously. Then, a thought occurred to him. "At today's world meeting, you'll support me there too?"
"Yes, of course!" Denmark's eyes were earnest, and despite himself Norway could find nothing displeasing--except the sheer abruptness of this all.
"Al... right then." Norway glanced at the clock and decided he may as well shower and get ready for said meeting. With Denmark's support, his motion was sure to pass this time.
"Easy, easy, watch the steps!" Denmark held onto Norway's hand with a stiff grip, arm wrapped around the shorter man's waist as he helped Norway up the stairs to the meeting room.
"What are you doing," Norway seethed. This was why they were late; Denmark had refused to get in the first taxi because it smelled like tobacco smoke, then he insisted on blocking all traffic just so Norway could cross the street to the building. "You're acting ridiculous!"
"Shhhh, it's okay, I've got you," Denmark whispered, and he finally relinquished his death-grip in the shorter man. He opened the door for Norway and gently ushered the man into the meeting room. All eyes were on them as they took their seats.
"And here I thought America was always the latest," England snorted.
Denmark glared. "Hey, buddy, we had precious cargo to get here!"
Norway eyed the documents in his hand; Denmark was calling his proposal 'precious'? That might be going a little far, to tell the truth. "Well, England, let's just cut right to the chase: Proposal Number 112." Here Norway waved the documents in his hands as everyone around him groaned.
"It's preposterous!" England barked.
"Well I think it's a good idea," Finland piped up.
America groaned. "Can't you put more pictures in the proposal?"
And Italy just smiled. "Ve, is it time for lunch yet, Germany?"
Norway elbowed Denmark and whispered: "Now would be a good time to show your support."
"Huh? Oh, right!" Clearing his throat, Denmark stood. "Excuse me, everyone!" Only a few people bothered to stop talking, but that would have to do. "Norway and I... are having a baby! He's pregnant!"
Well, that certainly got everyone to shut up.
Norway stood up as well, patting Denmark on the back. "Thank you. As you can see, Denmark is also in support of Proposal Number 112 so that essentially means that I'm pregnant." Norway paused, then whirled on Denmark. "I'M WHAT?"
"Pregnant!" America yelled into the silence.
"Pregnant," Denmark confirmed. "You're all invited to the baby shower; we're registered at Ikea." And here he gave a nod to Sweden who nodded back in approval.
"Ve, ve! Congratulations, Norway!"
"Science has come quite far, da?"
Just as Netherlands was giving Denmark a hearty pat on the back, Norway grabbed his tie and shirt and shook him with a troll-like strength. "What the fuck have you done!?"
Denmark blinked. "Well, when a man loves another man--"
"No! That's not even what I--"
England coughed. "Male pregnancy is an impossibility, Denmark."
"Oh England." Denmark rolled his eyes. "How can you say that with America and Canada in this very room?"
France chuckled. "Yes, angleterre, how can you deny the proof of our amour?"
A bushy eyebrow twitched. "We found America and Canada, you fucking frog."
America's voice was small and broken. "I'm... adopted?" Canada pat his brother on the back.
Denmark--still in Norway's death grip--frowned. "But Turkey said that he and Greece had Cyprus."
"He said WHAT?" Greece asked.
"I said WHAT?" Turkey asked.
"Yeah, over the phone this morning, you said that--"
"I was NEVER pregnant," Greece snarled.
Turkey was glaring daggers at Denmark. "So help me if you get me cockblocked for another two centuries, sonnovabitch--"
Norway shook Denmark's attention back to him. "What the hell made you possibly think I could be pregnant with anything besides contempt for you?"
"Well, you always have headaches, you're fatigued, you threw up this morning--"
"Because I ate bad clams last night and topped it off with bad sex with you last night," Norway seethed, shaking Denmark with each word.
"But the internet said--"
"FUCK THE INTERNET!"
Here, America and Estonia both gasped. "Don't bring the internet into this!"
Finland clapped his hands over Sealand's ears.
Denmark frowned, taking great consideration to get through all this. "So... you're not pregnant?"
Norway's eyes were filled with a fire and Viking fury. "No."
Norway threw Denmark out the window. Granted, they were only on the first floor, but it was the principle of the thing.
Finland coughed lightly as he tapped on the door of the first aid station. Norway was wrapping a bandage around Denmark's head--despite everything, he did love he stupid bastard--and nodded to the other blond. "Come in."
"The rest of the meeting went fine, just to let you know. Sweden and I are heading home now, but, ah, I just wanted to let you know that Sealand has always wanted to go to Tivoli Gardens." Finland shrugged. "Maybe the two of you could take him some day so Sweden and I can have a date night? If it's not too much trouble."
Denmark's eyes were eager as he glanced at Norway. Norway sighed. "I don't see any harm in that. Next week would be fine, even."
"Alright!" Denmark pumped his fist in the air. "I can't wait to show that kid how to drink beer!"