There was a dangerous silence.

'A what?' said Norway carefully, because even though he wasn't exactly twenty any more (both by human and nations standards), that did not mean that was old enough to start hearing things.

Denmark brandished the brochure at him. 'We,' he repeated cheerfully, 'are going on a marriage counselling course.'

Norway stared at the front of the brochure. A happy smiling couple walking hand in hand through some beautiful green grounds stared back at him.

'You have got to be joking.'

'I'm not. I'm dead serious.'

'And I am to believe you when you are "dead serious"?'

'Well yeah.'

'I have work, as do you. I certainly cannot go around gallivanting with you on some inane counselling course.'

'Don't worry about that,' Denmark gave a sheepish grin. 'I already took care of it.'

Norway narrowed his eyes. 'Oh, did you, now?'

'Jep, I had my boss call your boss and tell him there was this really, really big emergency and so we needed time off today.'

'And what was this…really, really big emergency?'

'You got pregnant.'

Norway took one dangerous step with each word, cornering the other against a wall. 'I. Will. End. You.'

'Whoa, whoa,' Denmark raised his hands in surrender. 'It was a joke, man. Just because we don't have sex any more doesn't mean that you literally and figuratively got to be so tight arsed all the time.'

Smack.

'Look,' Denmark sighed, nursing a growing bruise on his jaw. 'Just give this a chance. If things don't work out, I'll sign them papers and not be a dick about it. I promise.'

And that was how Norway found himself on the next flight to the Parisian airport of Charles de Gaulle from Kastrup.

Denmark was Denmark throughout the flight. He looked out of the window, pointed out ridiculous shapes in the clouds below, flirted with the French air hostesses complained about how the carbon footprints of most, if not all, modern aeroplanes was too damn big and how he would have happily cycled all the way to France had he not been so eager, and finally fell asleep when the excitement – idiocy – managed to exhaust him.

Norway noted that did not actually fall asleep on his shoulder like he used to in the past.

He almost – almost – missed having a faceful of spiky blonde hair for the remainder of the journey.

France opened the exactly 5 seconds after they'd rung the bell with a charming smile in place – the picture of a perfect host. After greeting them in the stereotypically French way by giving each of them flamboyant hugs and an equally flamboyant kiss on each cheek (Norway discreetly wiped his face with the back of his hand and the back of his hand on a hanging curtain when the other two weren't looking), he led them to the room where, he assured, all their marital problems would be solved faster than an adventurous whore who rides a handsome young millionaire's manhood.

Only sheer diplomacy prevented Norway from rolling his eyes and leaving through the nearest bay window right then and there.

The room was well furnished and looked pretty much like almost any other of those therapists' rooms that you often saw on TV, albeit with expensive 19th century antique oak furniture and a large and disturbingly well detailed chart about the male and female reproductive organs, their stimulating spots, and the best ways to, ah, stimulate them taking up a major portion of the north wall.

Denmark wolf whistled and made a beeline for it, agreeing to sit down only after a very happy France let him take pictures on his iPhone.

Norway sat down beside Denmark – there was no other place anyway – while France took the large armchair opposite them. After staring at them somewhat leisurely for five minutes, he spoke:

'I understand you have been together a long time, yes?'

Denmark nodded sagely.

'How long, if I may ask?'

'Thirty six years,' Denmark answered as soon as Norway said, 'Thirty eight years.'

France raised his brows.

'Thirty eight,' Denmark corrected himself.

'Thirty six,' Norway conceded.

The two Nordic nations glanced at each other.

'A very long time,' they said simultaneously.

France scribbled something down on his generic counsellor's notepad.

'I see,' he said, looking up from the paper. 'So let's get down to business, my friends! You have applied for a two week long course to iron out the wrinkles in your otherwise beautiful union. Your counsellor, of course, shall be none other than the humble me, le pays d'amour, the country of love. In the days to come, I shall be asking you some questions which I would like to be answered as honestly as possible. Should you feel it is something that you cannot say in front of your spouse, or you feel that you want to discuss something you cannot discuss in front of your spouse, you may,' he gave a flirtatious wink here, 'approach me in private. You are free, no, requested to call me at any time should even the tiniest need arise. Here is my number,' he handed them a gilded business card each, 'and as of now you are my topmost priority. Any questions?'

'What if, theoretically, I think that these…sessions are a waste of time?' Norway asked.

'Ah,' France smiled a creepy smile that reminded the Norwegian of a hawk – a blonde bearded hawk that was infamous for making something overrated as true love win, no matter what the circumstances. If you dare think so, the upward slant of those lips said, I will destroy your pride because I know that you are a proud, proud man. 'I am sure you won't think that!'

Maybe he was reading too much into things, but Norway decided to back down for the time being.

'I won't let him think that!' Denmark chirped from beside him.

'That's the spirit~!' France beamed. 'Now, from what I've observed, one of the main problems of your relationship is that both of you are rather introverted.'

Denmark chuckled while Norway looked at the mid-European nation like he'd grown an extra head.

'Introverted? Me?'

'Exactly. This idiot is too social for his own good.'

'I mean as a couple. You act as friends, very close friends, but not lovers. You do not put your relationship on display; a few stray kisses here and there but nothing intimate, nothing passionate. Everything takes place a huis clos – behind closed doors. Publicly, you're withdrawn. Submissive, even.'

It was, well, true and not true at the same time. Norway liked things to be private and quiet, and Denmark had a tendency to be immeasurably sweet only when no one was looking. Their relationship, or what it had been at any rate, was intimate and personal and just between the two of them. Not that there hadn't been any lusty groping under the desk when world meetings got too boring, or making out in someone's closet or bar/restaurant bathroom which more often than not led to sex, of course.

But that was in the past.

'Norway, I think your request for a divorce may simply be an act of passive aggression.'

Norway frowned. So what if it was? That didn't mean he wasn't serious about leaving Denmark; if anything, it gave him more reason to because his passive-aggressiveness was definitely said nation's fault. However, he did not like that he was already acquiring psychological labels.

'I do not judge you, of course,' France added graciously, having obviously seen the Norwegian's displeased face. 'I merely ask you to respect my opinions. Anyway, in view of this, I have some homework for you. From now on, I want you to tell Denmark exactly what you want – as blatant, embarrassing, irrational or impractical it may be for the either of you. I want you to tell him what you want him to do at every point of time and relevance, or irrelevance, for that matter.'

'Like…to eat his shoe.'

'Hey, that's not nice. Shoes aren't tasty!'

'You'll never know unless you try, yes?'

'Well maybe I did, you wouldn't kno-'

'He doesn't necessarily have to obey,' France interrupted with a smile. 'He just has to know. Our main objective here is to open the flow of communication. And Denmark, I need you to be more assertive. Don't shy away from responsibilities, be more involved, enthusiastic.'

There was a pause. Norway's lips twitched at the irony of the request.

'I…can do that, yeah.'

'And for both of you – I want you to be with each other every day. Take time out of your schedules, an hour at least, to see each other. And communicate.'

Norway glanced out of the window at the well trimmed rose bushes that were blushing with tiny buds. What this guy was saying did make sense, but…

It was one thing for family members – the rest of the Nordic 5 (as Denmark called their dysfunctional family) – to offer unnecessary input, but another for friends, colleagues, gossip mongers…

Denmark didn't have a shred of propierity in him. He liked it when people affectionately called him weird and hyper and immature and things like that, he revelled in attention. And Norway wasn't exactly super shy or agoraphobic; he just didn't want his marital problems to leak out, confidentiality agreement or no confidentiality agreement. He liked his privacy and he liked to maintain a separate public/business profile to protect said privacy.

In that way they were similar - they worked somewhat hard to maintain what other people thought of them by showing only one side of their personality to the outside world.

'Any questions?'

Denmark shook his head while Norway idly inspected his well kept fingernails.

'Excellent! Now, to wrap thing up, would you be so kind as to give each other a hug?'

'A hug.'

'Why yes of course! A hug! The most basic, the most primitive form of affection, the embrace of-'

Norway inwardly sighed and lifted his arms as Denmark granted him a quick hug.

France didn't look too pleased.

'Mon dieu…' He muttered, scratching something on his pad. 'Mes amis, I think you need to go on a date.'

A date, Denmark thought, scanning the crowd for his soon-to-be-ex-if-he-didn't-do-anything-about-it husband. It was late, and while it would have been more convenient for both of them to go directly home, they had agreed to meet in front of the bar near the bridge. They had never dated per se, what with them being too close to go through the whole courting/wooing/other-shit-that-youngsters-these-d ays-did process, but apparently their therapist had thought it was a good idea to go on one, and he didn't exactly want to disobey the doctor's orders this early on.

That being said and done, he really did not actually know how to treat Norway at this point in their relationship. What were they, friends, lovers, what? Could he just be as he was, or did he have to change himself so that Norway changed his mind? Was he allowed to make tasteless jokes? Yes, he had been asked to be more assertive, but what if he got too clingy?

Denmark gave a frustrated growl. He wished things weren't so fucking complicated and he wished that the fucking crowd would just fucking disappear.

He caught a glint of gold and a flash of purple, a teasing smirk, and he zeroed in on it.

'Norge,' Denmark greeted.

A small nod. 'What's for dinner?'

Denmark presented Norway with an apple which the latter carefully accepted. 'There's some leftover chicken from last night.'

They began their walk home. Both were tired and cab would have been quicker, but they were supposed to be on a date.

Denmark cautiously took Norway's hand in his.

'I'm being assertive,' he explained when the other tensed slightly.

'Jump off a cliff,' Norway murmured, relaxing into his hold.

Denmark did not reply.

'I'm trying to open the flow of communication,' he added. 'Do you not have a comeback?'

'Well…' Denmark intertwined their fingers, suddenly not feeling as frustrated as he had been any more. 'Can you give me like two minutes to come up with something awesome and mindblowing?'

So it wasn't exactly a stereotypical date, but it was a start.

Sort of.

So Denmark has an iPhone. Apparently Apple products are all the rage in Denmark. owo

OMFG THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING AND REVIEWING AND FOLLOWING AND FAVOURITING, I MEAN WTF ALREADY I DON'T EVEN- THANK YOU SO MUCH!

Also to the anon reviewer who said:"in Norway, it is unlawful to get a divorce. lol, just thought you should know"

I would like to tell them that almost 20% of my Norwegian friends' parents have been divorced, and anyway, it goes against basic human rights to make divorce unlawful because you're literally forcing two people to stay together even though they'd rather move on/be happy with someone else. Also, if it was supposed to be an April Fools' troll (because they reviewed on the 1st of April), better luck next time. ;D One simply cannot troll the person whose favourite hobby is to pull stupid pranks on people, yes?

I've never written France before so some help would be appreciated. =w=

Reviews, feedback, constructive criticism and criticism which actually makes sense is the best weapon against writers' block! c:

Also, if you want France to make these two do something as an exercise (like, er, handcuffing them together or something), don't hesitate to let me know!