Hetalia does NOT belong to me - this idea, however, does. XD I understand that this could be a controversial idea, but please, don't flame me just to tear it down.

If you really don't agree with this idea, please tell me why - and don't just say "because it's not canon!". There's very little that isn't canon in Hetalia, and there's a lot of room to move, too.

If you have any suggestions as to plot holes I've missed, or what you think could improve the overall story, please tell me! ^_^ There's always room to improve, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

The alarm clock was the last thing he wanted to hear right now.

Blue eyes cracked open to glare at the offending device, and the green digits glowing painfully bright against the dark face. A hand snaked out from beneath warm covers and banged the snooze button, forceful enough to unintentionally crack the plastic casing. A hiss of pain and the hand was snatched back, its owner sitting bolt up right to suck on the small gash.

"Shit…." The young man swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, dragging a blanket with him in his rush for the bathroom first aid kit. "This sucks…" He groaned as he daubed away the blood. Fortunately, the gash was just a shallow little thing. Unfortunately, he was out of normal Band-Aids.

Cursing the fact that this Monday was following the trend of all those before it, the young man taped a cotton strip over the gash, then wrapped a few layers of gauze around it to keep it in place. He held the dressing up to the light and scrutinized it for a moment. With any luck, his manager wouldn't notice the added padding beneath his glove tonight.

The young man stood up and shuffled back to the bedroom, sleep forgotten in the wake of the abrupt adrenaline rush. He frowned at the cracked alarm, and the small smear of red blood on the jagged edge of the black plastic. He'd have to replace that before the week was out. With a sigh, he tossed the blanket back onto the bed and moved to get dressed. He had a long day ahead, and he might as well get started.

An hour later, the young man was rushing out the door, pulling a well-worn army jacket over his shoulders as he skidded around the corner of the apartment building. He dashed down the alley an swung around the next corner by hanging on the gutter; the rusty metal creaked warningly, but held firm, as it did every day when the young man was running late.

Shaking rust flakes off his fingers, the young man stopped beside a scratched, dented, and well-used Kawasaki Ninja Z750, painted red beneath the caked on mud and grime. Despite the obvious wear, the engine still roared to life when the young man climbed on and started it up. Tires squealed pavement as he hurried out from behind the apartment complex, and turned onto the street beyond, already five minutes late for work.

Hours later, he was beginning to think that, just maybe, gauze had been a bad idea.

So far, he'd broken three dishes, two cups, and thrown a silverware set underneath the front podium because the material stuck to the wrapping on his hand. Already feeling the beginnings of exhaustion, he took more time clearing an empty table after that, careful to keep the gauze from touching the dishware. Up until the lunch rush, that had been his only problem.

Did you know gauze was flammable? He hadn't. Nor had he known that the radiant heat from the old stone ovens in the back of the kitchen could spark a flame.

Now, he contemplated this as he sat in the back, suffering some halfway deserved verbal abuse from his manager as the woman layered pad upon numbing gel pad onto the (now burned) gash, before wrapping it with a (thankfully nonflammable) ACE bandage, and tossing him back out onto the floor. There were no painkillers of any sort on site at the small cafe, so he had to simply gut through the rest of his shift. The lunch rush had tapered off, and all he had left to do was clear away the tables. Then, if twenty minutes went by with no new customers, he could leave.

Alfred F. Jones was bored.

Not that the condition was uncommon, mind you. As easily as his mind could jump from new topic to new topic, he could just as easily lose interest. The personification of the United States of America glanced around the meeting room, noting that it was in its usual state of chaos. England was trying to strangle France, Russia was scooting closer and closer to China (creepy commie bastard), Greece was asleep (as per usual) Feliciano was whining about being hungry, and Germany looked as though he desperately wanted to bash his head against the edge of the large table.

A devious smirk crossed America's face, and he scooted his chair back ever so slowly. Nobody seemed to notice, so he pushed back a little further, until his knees had cleared the table. With more stealth than most would give him credit for, America slid to his feet and sidled toward the meeting room doors.

"Al, where are you going?" America froze and looked back with a wide-eyed deer-in-the-headlight look. Canada leveled him with a flat, but not confrontational look. "You really can't wait until the break?"

"Another two hours?" America made a show of looking desperate. "Mattie, I can't stand another minute in here!" He brightened up. "Don't worry, though. I'll be sure to bring you back something from McDonald's!"

"But Alfr-" The doors swung shut before Canada could finish. The northern nation sighed and sat back in his seat, sinking dejectedly. "He never listens, Kuma…." He muttered to the polar bear occupying his lap. The bear yawned and looked up with sleepy black eyes.

"Who?"

"Canada."

Once outside the conference center, Alfred realized that he had no real destination in mind. Sure, he could go to McDonald's (he was kind of hungry, now that he'd brought it up), but even he liked a little variety, and he knew all the good places to eat in D.C. Grinning, the blonde nation started walking down the sidewalk.

There was this really nice one a few blocks down the road that he used to visit all the time. He hadn't been there since the world meetings had started. They had the best burgers in the area! Now having made himself hungry, Alfred darted through a crosswalk just before the light changed, and, ignoring the cars that honked in frustration behind him, hurried on to the restaurant.

The bell on the door chimed. The young man cringed, but deposited his stack of dishes behind the counter and trudged back to the counter, where an older blonde in a brown bomber jacket had taken a seat. The young man put on a forced smile as he approached, picking up a notepad and pencil from a shelf beneath the counter.

"Hi!" He chimed. "Welcome to the McDonald's! My name is Nathan, how can I help you?" The man looked up. For a second, Nathan felt as though he were looking into a mirror. Those blue eyes…that hair….even the glasses….Then the man grinned.

"Hey! I'm Alfred! I'll have two hamburgers, please! And a large Coke!" Illusion broken, Nathan blinked.

"Ah, yes, sir!" He paused to write down the order, struggling momentarily to keep the pad balanced in his injured hand. Alfred caught sight of the injury and frowned.

"Ouch. How'd that happen?" Nathan paused.

"Ahh….a series of painful events…" He sighed. "In which I discovered that medical gauze is flammable."

"It is?"

"Yeah, I didn't know, either." Nathan tore off the order and smiled. "You're food will be out in a few minutes, sir, and I'll be right back with your Coke." He turned to leave.

"Alfred." Nathan paused and looked back.

"Huh?" The older man smiled brightly.

"Just call me Alfred. You're new here, aren't you?" Nathan nodded.

"Yes, sir. Just started this month."

"I come down here all the time, so you can just call me Alfred!"

"….okay, Alfred," Nathan chuckled. "I'll be right back with that Coke."

Without giving too much of a spoiler, I think you can tell who Nattie is. XD And just to let y'all know, the McDonald's Alfred went to (and where Nattie works) is one of the few McDonald's where you can sit down and have the waiter come to you. ^_^ I've never been to one, myself...but that would be nice.