Note: I wrote this story in July 2009, when the worldwide recession was on my mind. I originally posted it on Livejournal. My style has changed very much since then, but I re-read this story recently and still liked it, so I decided to share it here. Thank you for reading!

Tea and Memories

Wind brushed his face like feathers. It was night and the moon shone brightly.

There wasn't much to see. The horizon. The ocean. The sky reflecting on the water's surface. The ship glided steadily through it like a bird on a lake and its movement cut up the milky yellow light.

Iceland was by his side. As Norway turned his head to look at him he saw that his eyes were dark in the night's light. Much like his own. Iceland responded to the look with a nod. After a while he asked, "Where are we going?"

Where are we going.

Norway licked his lips. He looked out toward the vast expanse of ocean. Endless. Beautiful in its emptiness. "West," he said. Simple.

"Ah." Iceland knew that was not the answer. He drew closer and leaned against him. His hand rested on Norway's arm.

"Something out there."

"Land?"

"Yes."

"We're going to find it."

"Yes."

It seemed Iceland was satisfied with that. He rested his head on Norway's shoulder and didn't speak. They stayed that way and there was no sound except for the sea and the ship and the wind's whispering. Nothing left to say.

It was mid-afternoon when Norway arrived at the house. Small and out of the way, it seemed to sit quietly, as if waiting for him. He rapped three times and waited, shifting the sturdy paper bags in his arms for a more secure hold as he leaned in to listen at the door for the sound of padding feet. When there was no response, he rapped again and wondered if the one he had come out to visit was napping. It wouldn't be a surprise if he was, he decided. After waiting a moment and debating on the matter of letting himself in, he finally heard the sound of someone shuffling to the door.

When it opened Norway offered a small smile to the pale face that peered out at him. "Hello, Iceland."

Dressed in pyjamas and slippers, a housecoat draped over his shoulders and his hair mussed, Iceland looked tired, glassy-eyed and dishevelled, and Norway would have found the sight startling if he had not seen his brother in similar states rather frequently over the last several months. "H'llo," Iceland mumbled, his voice raw and scratching. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Nor. Hi."

"Did I wake you?" Norway asked. Iceland nodded. "Sorry." Pause. "Brought you some things. Let me in?"

Iceland stepped away from the door and slunk into the house without another word. Norway understood. Better not to irritate his voice too much, he thought as he stepped inside. Economic woes had left Iceland with a plethora of illnesses, a sore throat among them. As he pressed the door shut behind him, Norway decided that perhaps a longer stay than he originally intended was in order.

The two of them made their way to the kitchen. As he set the grocery bags on the table, Norway glanced around the room and took note of the slight state of disarray, the clutter on the counter, the unwashed dishes stacked in the sink. It was so unlike Iceland, who normally kept his little home neat as a pin. Wordlessly, Norway went to the window and drew apart the curtains to let the sun in, deciding that it would do no good to comment on the situation. He knew what it was about.

"Could do with some fresh air," he said as he pushed up the window and locked it in place. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Iceland nodding. Good.

Though there were no arguments on that, he saw that his brother had already begun unpacking the groceries. It wouldn't do, he thought. "Don't mind that," Norway told him. "I'll do it. You go back to bed." Iceland's only response was a stubborn look as he set a tin of tea on the table. Norway sighed. "Fine. Together, then."

In little time they were finished and everything was tucked away in its place, hidden away in cupboards that previously had been far too empty. Soon afterward they were sitting at the table together, Norway talking quietly of recent events while Iceland listened with his head resting against one hand, his eyes half-mast and his expression dozy. Occasionally he would rasp out a word or two, his voice scratching like fingernails on a frosty window, making his face twist in frustration.

"This new turn with the loans should help a bit," Norway said softly, eyeing him. "Think you'll be feeling a bit better soon. Stabilized."

"Tha- nngk." Iceland coughed. "'m glad."

"If I could, it'd be more."

Iceland nodded, then sighed, staring down at the table, tracing the grain lazily with one finger. "Yeah. Understand. 'preciate it." There was a long pause as he seemed to consider the right words. "Means a –" Cough. "A lot."

Norway bit his lower lip and watched him hack for a moment, then simply said, "Bed. Now."

"But-"

"Back to bed with you. Rest. No talking. It'll do you." Pause. "I'll make you some tea."

For a moment it seemed as though Iceland wanted to argue. However, he was in no condition to do so, and they both knew it; nor was his stubborn pout a match for Norway's cool staring. Unable to protest, he rose and shuffled to the bedroom, looking rather put out.

The kettle steamed and whistled. Norway's careful hands set to, pouring a cup of tea and letting it steep before mixing in a spoonful of honey. The sound of Iceland coughing in the next room made him purse his lips. There was no cause for worry; he was a nation, after all, and there was no doubt that he would be fine, but that did not change the fact that seeing his brother in such a state frustrated him. He couldn't fix it. Not easily. Belay that, he told himself. You're helping him as best you can. With that thought in mind he set the teacup on a saucer and made his way to the bedroom.

The window was cracked open and the curtains drawn, and the bedroom was in as much disarray as the rest of the house. Norway made no comment as he sank down onto the side of the bed where Iceland rested and offered his brother the hot drink; he merely glanced about the room, made note, and resolved to take care of it later. For the moment, it could wait. He threaded his fingers through Iceland's hair, pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and cheeks. Not quite right, he thought. A little warm. Even so, it was better than the raging fever he had dealt with right after the collapse. That time, Norway reflected, even though he had known better, he had panicked slightly. Just slightly. It had been a long time since he had last worried so much, and he would never admit to it.

"You should try to go back to sleep," he murmured as he stroked his brother's hair. Iceland shot him an annoyed look over the brim of the teacup, but said nothing. "I'll stay," Norway added. "Two nights." That seemed to put Iceland at ease, as he sighed and relaxed under Norway's attention. "My change of clothes still here?" Norway asked. Iceland responded with a nod. "Good."

For a long while the both of them were quiet and there was no sound other than birdsong floating in from the outside and Iceland's heavy breathing punctuated by the occasional cough. It suddenly seemed strange, Norway thought, that they were in such a situation. "Not much like the old days," he said quietly, taking Iceland's empty teacup and setting it on the bedside table.

"Mm?"

"Loans," Norway said in response to his brother's confused sound. "Money. Remember how there was a time when if we needed something, we'd just go and take it?"

"Long time ago," Iceland mumbled, nestling back against his mountain of pillows.

"Yes," Norway agreed. "Wasn't too great a time," he mused as he drew the quilts over his brother, tucking him in. "But sometimes I miss it. Parts of it."

"Exploring," Iceland murmured.

"Mmhm." Norway smiled faintly and played with his brother's hair. The camomile tea seemed to be doing the trick – or perhaps it was the lazy sunlight and fatigue from illness that was making Iceland so drowsy. "Going out. Wind and spray in our faces. Not sure where we were headed. Not knowing where the hell we were when we got there. You, me, the ocean..." He trailed off as he noticed that Iceland's eyes had drifted shut.

Good.

He waited for a while, then carefully leaned over and brushed a kiss against his brother's forehead. When Iceland did not stir, Norway quietly slipped off the bed, gathered the teacup and made his way to the kitchen, resolved to set it in order.

Surely soon all would be put to rights. Surely. Yet, Norway reflected as he filled the sink with steaming hot water, deep down he couldn't help but long for those days of wind and water and solitude, when his brother was always beside him.