historize: (america--canada--brotherly glow)
[personal profile] historize
Title: Wasting Away Again III
Author/Artist: [livejournal.com profile] historyblitz, kept track of at [livejournal.com profile] historize
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, England, Canada, Australia and New Zealand
Rating: PG
Warnings: Parrot-headed-ness, lyrics are from Jimmy Buffet's Boat Drinks. Have a listen, here
Summary: The third time England comes in to singing it's at a hockey game.

The third time England comes in to singing, it’s at a hockey game.

Canada is recognized as a government employee and he’s a popular one. He shows up at the hockey game unannounced but someone sees him on the giant television monitor mounted above the ice. Canada sits with America—they both love hockey—and Australia is there too, who tolerates the sport wrapped up in a scarf. New Zealand has a coat on. England was invited because he was visiting Otawa.

So America and Australia and New Zealand and now England, he’s walking down the concrete stairs to the benches they’ve claimed. And England is looking out at the ice.

They came for Canada and hassled him (politely)—couldn’t he please make an appearance on the ice?

Canada had shyly started to shake his head but America but in with, “Of course he will! You got a guitar! He’ll even sing!”


"Get him a guitar!" America commands.

“No, Alfred—what would I sing—“

“Boat Drinks! Sing Boat Drinks!”

“That’s a song for the beach!”

“But he’s in a cold place while he’s singing and hockey is mentioned!”

Canada laughed. “I—all right.”

And so England pauses, a pale beer in one hand, watching Canada walk out onto the ice, alone, with a guitar one of his players had and putting on a headset microphone. The spotlight is on him.

England remembers a little boy who raced away from him. Who ran and hid from him when France gave him up. Who wouldn’t go out into crowds. Who, England feared, would never be able to stand in front of a council.

How wrong he is.

Canada waves to the fans and raises the guitar. It sends a wild cheer up. America and Australia are standing up yelling like the pillocks they are.

“Uh, hi,” Canada says. “Don’t know if all of you know me. I’m Matt Williams. But I’ll skip explaining it for the few Americans on our hockey teams today.”

Rinkside, men roared with laughter and some playful scuffling went between the majority Canadian players with the two Americans on one of their teams.

“We love you guys, we do. We promise.” Canada winks. His people keep laughing.

America cheers for him.

Canada grins. “Okay, okay, I’ll prove it. They asked me to come out here and twirl around in front of you guys. I can’t because I’m Canadian and I’d sooner have all these guys rush me with their sticks than do any kind of twirling. So I’m gonna sing for you. I hope you don’t mind—but my friend sitting with me is American and he requested a song—and since they already did the Anthem, I’m just gonna do that, okay?”

Cheers and jokes and some laughter and scuffling happens again.

So Canada cradles the guitar there in the spotlight and strums.

Boat drinks
Boys in the band ordered boat drinks
Visitors scored on the home rink
Everything seems to be wrong.

In the stands, the visiting team’s supporters send up laughter. Cheering and shaking their signs.

He’s enjoying himself, Canada is. He knows this song—only because America loves it so much—and he continues. He looks wonderful out there on the ice, standing casual and at ease with his people.

Lately, newspaper mentioned cheap air fare
I gotta to fly to saint somewhere
I’m close to bodily harm.

England leans on the railing, remembers a boy who swore at him, who kicked him even. Who jumped on his horse (Éclair!) and raced out into the woods to try and find France before he left on the ship. How England had to chase him—and how the boy’s horse tumbled into a ravine and broke it’s leg and Canada snapped his arm and still that determined little thing tried crawling out.

Twenty degrees and the hockey game’s on
Nobody cares they are way too far gone
Screamin’ boat drinks, something to keep ‘em all warm!

The crowd lifts their beers and cheer.

This mornin’, I shot six holes in my freezer
I think I got cabin fever
Somebody sound the alarm!

He bursts out laughing into the microphone headset because the staff sets off the shrieking alarms they usually turn on when a goal is scored.

The crowd roars with applause.

I’d like to go where the pace of life’s slow
Could you beam me somewhere Mr. Scott?
Any ol’ place here on earth or in space
You pick the century and I'll pick the spot!

England smiles. Canada prefers to harmonize when he and America sing together but in this, he does the melody alone and he sounds wonderful. England chuckles—France has a beautiful voice too, not that he’d ever tell the stupid bastard frog.

Oh I know, America and Austraia yell, I know!
I should be leaving this climate
I got a verse but can't rhyme it
I gotta go where it's warm

Boat drinks
Waitress, I need two more boat drinks
Then I’m headin’ south fore my dream shrinks.

I gotta go where it's warm (I gotta go where it's warm)
I gotta go where it's warm (I gotta go where it's warm)
I gotta go where it's warm!

England sometimes regret the things he did to Canada but more—he regrets the things he didn’t do. Canada doesn’t complain—at least, not to him—but that’s him. Canada is not weak. He’s reserved, quiet, masculine. He had once been so shy…so cripplingly afraid of being with others. And England had assumed he just had a weak constitution.

It had always been more that Canada did not want to be abandoned again.

He started to see it as the boy got older and not only did Canada not trust England or France or any other older nation—he was afraid to get close to America too and Australia and New Zealand later on. France had taught him everything and then gave him up. And England swept into the house and destroyed all signs of France’s presence there.

Canada never forgave him for that. But he never forgave France for abandoning him either. For sugar islands, for beautiful twins with warm, brown skin and talented hands.

But now, Canada has his brothers and he trusts his brothers. He loves them and they love him. There is something between them that he, nor France, nor any other can share with them.

I gotta go where there ain’t any snow
Where there ain’t any blow
Cause my fin sinks so low
I gotta go where it's warm!

The crowd cheers and yells its approval. And when it quiets a little, Canada grins and says, “I take it all back though. I love the snow.”

And that sets up a wild din as his people celebrate.

He turns and runs across the ice—and stops his feet so he slides to the side and he hops off, laughing. Someone takes the guitar and headset. He thanks them and goes back to his seat, where someone hands him a beer on the house.

His three brothers are applauding him.

England descends the rest of the stairs and sits beside New Zealand. “You sounded brilliant, Matthew.”

Canada looks at him. He smiles a bit and nods. “Thanks, Art.”
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