Chapter Text
Several days later, Sweden touched down in London with headache, clutching the lyrics sheet that Denmark had been kind enough to send to the group before they all departed for English shores.
He wanted them all to sing.
To sing Spice Girls. And there were stage directions. Embarrassing ones.
It was almost beyond the pale for Sweden, but he couldn’t walk away from Denmark’s offer to help resolve his Finnish dilemma. While the man was brash and irritating, Sweden couldn’t deny that when Denmark set out to do something, like take over the North Sea or become the #1 band in Europe, he typically succeeded, even if his methods left something to be desired.
And so Sweden resigned himself to belting out lines of late nineties girl pop in front of a British television audience of millions. While there was no doubt in his mind that the performance was a stroke of evil genius, as Denmark had assigned their singing parts for maximum drama, Sweden couldn’t help but cringe as he thought about what he was about to do.
Seeking peace and quiet before the X-Factor maelstrom, Sweden ducked into his dressing room, hoping to find solitude. Naturally, he found Denmark lounging on the couch as if he owned the place, humming the tune of Sweden’s impending doom.
“Scary Spice! There you are!” Denmark chortled.
Sweden sighed, dumping his bag on the floor, refusing to acknowledge Denmark’s idiotic nickname.
“Aww, don’t be like that!” Denmark pouted, “Here I am taking time out of my busy schedule of British domination to come and strategize and you’re ignoring me!”
Against his better judgment, Sweden was intrigued, sitting down next to Denmark on the couch, “Strategize?”
Denmark slung his arm around Sweden’s shoulders, smirking, “On how to go down on, I mean, take down, Finland.”
Sweden pinched Denmark’s side, feeling compelled to defend Finland’s virtue. Denmark yelped and shifted away, before casting a side long glance at Sweden, voice suddenly going serious, “But before I put my plan into action, I gotta know, how serious are you about him?”
Sweden murmured lowly, “Very serious, the most serious.”
Denmark pushed on, “Serious enough to risk getting into deep sh*t with your bosses? Serious enough to know that this whole thing might backfire?”
Sweden looked alarmed, “What are you planning?”
“Does it really matter, as long as it works? Are you willing to take that risk?’
Perplexed, Sweden asked, “You’re asking me to trust you blindly?”
Denmark scoffed, “Don’t be stupid. I’m asking if you believe that all’s fair in love and war. If you don’t have the stones for that truth, then I can’t help you.”
Sweden closed his eyes, resting his head on the back of the couch, giving Denmark’s words serious consideration. For so long he’d tread so lightly around Finland, feeling the chains of their complicated past restraining his every movement. Before the adventures of The Nordic Five, he’d been willing to wait, to play it safe, play by the rules Finland had dictated so long ago. But then there was the band and the boys and the back and forth of Finland’s attention and affection and subsequent evasion. Finland had thrown his own rulebook out the window and Sweden was tired of playing the game without a clue.
Slowly, he sat up, facing Denmark, “Yes. I believe that.”
Denmark slapped him forcefully on the back, “Attaboy! It’s about time you manned up and remembered the badass conquering nation you once were!”
Sweden scowled, “So, what do you propose?”
“We’ll do exactly what any great warrior would when facing a familiar and daunting opponent: we’re gonna go on the offensive and exploit his weaknesses until he’s backed so far into a corner he can’t help but surrender!” Denmark said, a disturbingly familiar power hungry glint in his eyes.
Sweden winced, feeling momentary pity for Finland and fear for himself.
Denmark stood up, marching directly in front of Sweden, declaring, “And tonight we’re firing a shot across his bow. Follow the directions I gave you on the lyric sheet exactly, no deviations, and you’ll be back in the driver’s seat.”
“Do I have to?”
Denmark snapped his fingers in Sweden’s face, demeanor every bit the angry general, “Didn’t you just tell me you were serious? This is the easy part, so you better find your inner pop princess, sweetheart, or resign yourself to being co*ckteased on a regular basis.”
Flushing with embarrassment and anger, Sweden growled, “Fine. Fine. I’ll do it. Now get the hell out so I can have some last moments with my dignity.”
Denmark smiled, ruffling Sweden’s hair before darting out of retaliatory striking range, “That’s more like it! Okeedokee, I’ll leave you to it! See you on stage, Scary Spice!”
Finally, blessedly, alone, Sweden lay down on the couch, closing his eyes and reciting an endless mantra of “What would ABBA do? What would ABBA do? What would ABBA do?”
The show must go on.
As The Nordic Five waited for the producer to give them the sign to start making their way onto the X-Factor stage, Sweden’s nerves started to hum. Even Denmark seemed anxious as he defied the explicit instructions to stay out of view by craning his neck around the set.
Denmark’s surprised shriek shocked the group out of silence and gained them a sharp look from a harried man in a headset. He turned to the group, a delighted grin painting his handsome face.
“England’s here! England’s in the audience, about to watch his musical demise!” He sighed happily, “Okay, who’s responsible for this amazing act of awesome?”
Iceland, Finland, and Sweden shook their heads while Norway examined his nails nonchalantly.
Denmark tackled Norway into a hug before pulling back and saying with all seriousness, “I love you. You are the best friend EVER.”
Norway flushed, pushing Denmark off, “Obviously. Moron.”
And then the producer was rushing them onstage as the X-Factor audience went wild and England’s face went sour, prodigious eyebrows expressing his displeasure as Denmark winked obscenely in his direction.
Just as they were taking their places, Denmark breezed by Sweden, casually tossing out, “By the way, I didn’t tell Finland about the changes to the song, so good luck!”
Sweden didn’t even have time to consider the implications of that little revelation as they immediately started rollicking through their big hit, “Perpetual Holiday,” the crowd so enthused that even Cheryl Cole started bouncing in her seat.
As the last chords faded, Sweden’s heart started to race. Ever the showman, Denmark struck an exaggerated pose in the middle of the stage, gesturing for the audience to quiet, “Thank you, X-Factor! It’s so great to be in England and you’ve all been so warm and welcoming, it feels like home. In fact, we love England so much, we wanted to do something special and make a little piece of British pop our own.”
England looked ready to spit nails, which only egged Denmark on, “And in crazy twist, the whole band will be singing this one, so I hope you enjoy and continue to make The Nordic Five your rulers…..of pop!”
The lights dimmed momentarily, as did Sweden’s will to live. Then it began.
Denmark laughed, bounding to the middle of the stage as Finland did the same, both of them bouncing and shifting the mic between them as Denmark sang,
“Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want!”
And Finland returned, smiling brilliantly, “So tell me what you want, what you really really want!”
And then Denmark again, “I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want!”
“So tell me what you want, what you really really want” Finland sang while leaning forward into Denmark’s space.
Denmark pushed him off, jogging across the stage to Norway, Iceland and Sweden, chanting, “ I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really really really wanna zigazig ha.”
If the crowd was going crazy at that point, when it became clear that the others were about to join in the madness, the studio practically exploded with glee.
Sweden swallowed, summoning all his courage, looking directly at Finland as he opened his mouth and sang, “If you want my future forget our past/ If you wanna get with me better make it fast!”
Finland looked shocked, even as Norway rolled his eyes and flatly sang out, “Now don’t go wasting his precious time” and Iceland finished out the verse with his line, “Get your act together, you could be just fine!”
Finland’s astonished expression persisted through the chorus that they sang in unison, along with an enthusiastic audience, “If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends! Make it last forever, friendship never ends!”
Sweden was worried that Finland was going to fall over as be obeyed Denmark’s explicit instructions, moving closer to Finland and maintaining eye contact as he finished his one-time only solo performance, “What do you think about that / Now you know how I feel / say you can’t handle my love are you for real?”
Finland actually stumbled over the next part of the chorus, as he looked at Sweden like he was a man he hadn’t seen in many lifetimes. Sweden found the whole experience simultaneously mortifying and gratifying.
And then the scales tipped firmly on the side of mortifying as Denmark finished out the damned song with his own version of the (real) Scary Spice rap:
“So here's a story from A to Z, you wanna get with me you gotta listen carefully,
We got N in the place who’s got an emo face,
we got F like IC who likes it crazy,
Sve doesn't come for free, he’s a real lady,
and as for me, ahhh, you'll see,
Slam your body down and wind it all around
Slam your body down and wind it all around.”
The crowd went even more insane and England actually got up and walked out in disgust as the song wound down and The Nordic Five took their bows. As they made their way offstage, Denmark snagged Sweden by the elbow, propelling him forward and swiftly away from a Finland who was marching towards them determinedly.
“What the hell was that?” Sweden exclaimed, trying to free himself to no avail.
“That, my friend, was our opening gambit. And it worked like a charm, but now we gotta move on to step two, and quick, before Finland can escape from Norway and Iceland!”
Sweden was so taken aback he forgot to struggle, “They’re helping, too?”
“Duh! We’re all in this band together, right? We want you to be happy and all that good stuff!”
Sweden was touched by this unexpected show of Nordic solidarity. Until Denmark promptly careened them both out of the main backstage door, directly into an overly excited group of fans, many of whom were Sweden’s fanboys.
When he stilled, feeling like a deer in the headlines, Denmark squeezed his arm, hissing in his ear, “Keep going and smile! Look like you love it! f*ck, just pretend to be me for the next few hours.”
Too confused to do anything else, Sweden obeyed, smiling and waving to his now dying of happiness fans as Denmark shoved him into the waiting limo. As the door shut and the car sped off, Denmark settled back into the opposite seat, tossing a bottle of vodka at Sweden.
He smirked,“Drink up, buddy. We’re going clubbing! And don’t argue, this is all part of my grand plan!”
Sweden unscrewed the cap, offered up a quick prayer, and downed a shot.
He was feeling loose and buzzed, memories of the Spice Girls fading as they pulled up to a bustling club, charmingly named Heaven. Denmark and Sweden spilled out of the limo, gaining the attention of the line of smashingly dressed young men waiting to get inside. As they made their way to the VIP entrance, they were bombarded with shouts of:
“Oh my god! That’s Sweden! I have to text everyone I know. Activate the gay grapevine!”
“Sweden! Sweden! Come over here and I’ll give you a proper English welcome!”
Sweden blushed as cameras flashed in his eyes, stumbling after Denmark, who was eating up the attention. They made their way up a set of stairs to a less populated second floor platform.
Denmark stood regally at the railing, as if surveying his kingdom. Shouting over the thumping based, he turned to Sweden, “Welcome to G-A-Y! This is the place to be. Lady GaGa was here and now so are we! Amazing!”
Momentarily, Sweden was breathless, watching the sea of gorgeous men watching him as they danced below. It was almost as intoxicating as the drink that was shoved into his hand by a very friendly server.
As the song ended, the voice of the DJ echoed through the club, “Boys and boys! Tonight we’ve got some very special, and very sexy guests---Denmark and Sweden from The Nordic Five! If you’re all feeling the groove, give some attention and some G-A-Y love to this video of their fabulous tribute to another of Club Heaven’s favorites! Hot off the X-Factor, here’s The Nordic Five performing “Wannabe!”
Sweden buried his head in his hands. He was never going to escape from the curse of the Spice. Denmark nudged him, forcing him to look up at the approaching cadre of shirtless men in sinfully tight leather pants. Denmark smiled wickedly, “Photo Op time! Do yourself a favor and enjoy this!”
Sweden chugged the rest of his co*cktail, letting the burn settle in his stomach as he forced himself to stay put against the railing, looking out at the mass of admirers below, singing and shimmying to “Wannabe.” The hoard of hotness was upon him, surrounding him on all sides, posing for pictures, and putting hands in places that had Sweden squirming uncomfortably as Denmark gave him a thumbs up in the corner.
Finally, the song ended and the men dispersed. Denmark took pity on Sweden, making apologies to the club owner and trundling them back into the limo.
Denmark laughed, slumped against Sweden’s shoulder, “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”
Sweden considered, the events of the night swimming in a sea of vodka, “No. Suppose not,” and promptly fell asleep.
The next morning he woke up face down on the bed with a dry mouth and a raging hang-over. As he rolled over groaning, Sweden tried to piece together the night’s events.
All in all, he supposed it wasn’t too bad, though he was sure he would get an earful from his boss about being drunk in public. He wondered what Denmark had hoped to get out their little excursion. Cradling his head in one hand, he went to the door of his room, picking up the newspaper that had been shoved under the crack.
And there it was. Proof of Denmark’s plotting in bold and inescapable print:
Sweden Takes on the Town with Naughty Tribute to the Spice Girls!
Of course, there was also damning photographic evidence that also explained why those pants had looked so funny the night before. There was Sweden, back turned to the camera, surrounded by men in assless chaps grinning at the camera, their hands on his back and lower. The caption informed him that Heaven had planned it as a special shout-out to the classic Spice Girls movie.
Even as he considered committing ritual suicide, his phone beeped.
From: Denmark
Booze and babes! Look who’s a legit rock star this morning! Haha.
Joking aside, the plan worked. Finland’s about to lose his mind.
And before you run off to make things better: don’t you dare. This is exactly what needs to happen, trust me.
Act like nothing’s happened. Sleep off that hangover, pack your sh*t, go home, and await further instructions from yours truly.
Frame that pic! Classic.
Sweden turned off the phone and went back to bed in the hopes that his sanity would return when he woke.
Trapped inside his Stockholm apartment in an attempt to avoid the swarms of paparazzi camped out side his door, Sweden had little else to do but reject calls from his increasingly irate bosses and read his own press. Someone was feeding the papers and gossip sites with incriminating photos of that night in London: Sweden smiling and waving at fans, Sweden admiring the attractive club-goers, more horrifying shots of Sweden and men in assless chaps, and terrifyingly embarrassing cell phone video clips of the fans in line at G-A-Y making their generous offers of sexual gratification.
Denmark seemed to be enjoying himself a little too much.
Beyond that, Iceland, Norway and Denmark had uniformly broken their silence on discussing the lives of other members of the band, to the delight of an overly eager media. Much to Sweden’s chagrin, it seemed that he was the topic of the hour, as every bolded, breathless, quote revolved around him and his apparently deeply interesting love life. His sense of unease grew with each quote that he read, wondering exactly what plot Denmark had afoot:
“Not that it’s any of your feeble minded business or that I particularly care to fuel your pathetic little interests, but, yes, I think Sweden is unattached.” – Norway
“No comment.” - Finland
“Even though his face is totally scary, Sweden can be kind of awesome. Not as awesome as me, of course, but have you seen his fan club? Dudes aren’t really my thing, but if I were him (and he should wish that I were!), I would definitely be hitting all of that!” – Denmark
“No comment.” – Finland
“Not sure if Sweden’s the type for the quick and dirty, but you never know, this lifestyle can change you.” – Iceland
“No comment. Ask me again and I can’t be held responsible for my actions.” -Finland
Sweden didn’t know how to react to what Norway, Denmark and Iceland had to say about him, wondering exactly how much their dear leader had crafted their answers. He did know that each time he read Finland’s responses he wanted to rush across the sea that separated them to reassure him that his heart would never belong to anyone else, no matter how good looking and easy.
Each time he felt his resolve crumbling, Denmark chimed in with a text or email telling him in no uncertain terms to stick to his guns, that the endgame was in sight. As in years past, Sweden was glad that the supposed conclusion was on the horizon as he was chafing under Denmark’s obnoxious and overly intrusive rule.
The day before he was to depart for their gig in Helsinki, Denmark sent an email with a interview request from one of the web’s most highly trafficked music sites:
From: Kingdom of Denmark
To: Kingdom of Sweden
RE: DO THIS. (Because I said so).
Sweden-
Staying strong in Stockholm? You better be—the plan is working like a charm.
Attached is a set of questions for interview. Because I am a benevolent master, you don’t even have to answer the questions in person (I am aware of your speaking aversion). Just email your answers back to the site.
-Denmark
Ps—Come to Helsinki early. I’ll tell you about our final offensive.
Glowering, Sweden cracked his knuckles, taking some pleasure in imagining how great it was going to be to shake off Denmark’s shackles. If the arrogant bastard thought he could continue to refer to himself as Sweden’s “benevolent master” once this nonsense was over, well, he was about to remind him exactly how the Kalmar Union came apart.
The next day, as he packed his bag for Helsinki, Sweden distractedly scrolled through the website featuring his interview, ignoring all of the irritating speculation and rumor mongering that the editor had seen fit to throw in with his answers, stopping only when his eyes traced over the word “Finland.” It would seem that the site had continued the recent trend of seeking expert input from the rest of The Nordic Five in response to anything Sweden did.
His eyes widened and his heart raced as he read Finland’s reaction to one of his answers:
"How does being a famous pop-star affect your love life?"
Sweden: Being so visible all the time means that very few people know who you truly are. The needs of the band come before your own personal thoughts and feelings, so it often happens that all your actions and choices get perceived through a certain filter. It’s challenging to find someone who would be able to understand that duality—someone who could love both the persona and the person, which can make for a lonely existence, I guess. I want to be with the person who truly understands that.
"Finland, there’s been lots of speculation about your relationship off-stage with Sweden! Care to finally give our readers a reaction?”
Finland: I want Sweden to be happy. With whoever makes him happy. I’ve got nothing else to say about this. Please stop asking.
For several moments, Sweden sat staring at the monitor, wondering for the umpteenth time in his long life how Finland could so radically misinterpret what he was trying to communicate. He’d been thinking only of Finland when had answered and now it appeared that Finland thought himself abandoned.
Shaken, he picked up his phone, quickly tapping out a text message:
Denmark---I can’t do this any more. This ends tomorrow, one way or another.
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