I wrote this back in May, but didn't get around to de-anoning until now.

Prompt: During the World Meetings, the nations' human bosses gather elsewhere for their own meeting, solely to bitch about how embarrassing/annoying/etc their respective nation-tans are. "So who costs more, lawsuits from yours or property damage from mine?"

This wasn't exactly what the OP asked for, but I wrote this back when a particular gaffe on Obama's part was still a point of conversation, and I couldn't resist poking fun at it.

There were things he loved about being president, and things he hated.

One of the things he loved was getting to know Alfred.

One of the things he hated was having to know Alfred.

"Swear to God," his nation groaned, sprawling on the couch in the Oval Office. "I am so tired of this freaking cold. Barry, is my economy fixed yet?"

Barack Obama paused in his working to rest his head in his hands, silently seeking patience. "The answer hasn't changed since you asked me yesterday." After a moment he raised his head and resumed his task. "I thought you said you were feeling better."

"Well, yeah, I mean a little better, but not better-better," Alfred complained. "My throat hurts, I can't breathe through my left nostril, and I'm still coughing up enough to drown a cat."

"Take some Dayquil."

A rolled-up sock (mercifully clean) bounced off the Chief Executive's forehead. "Last I heard, cold and flu relief doesn't cover unemployment."

"Alfred, unemployment's gone downsince I took office."

"It's not down enough. Why can't you be more like FDR?"

The president let out a small groan. "Because I don't have a world war to help speed things up, and I am incredibly glad of that."

"You're not workinghard enough," Alfred whined.

"What have youbeen doing?"

Alfred sat up abruptly. "I have been – oh." He paused, leaning forward. "Oh God, dizzy, blood rushing from head, hang on... okay." He looked up. "Ihave been working on improving foreign relations."

"Is thatwhat you call it."

Alfred scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The president glanced briefly at the third occupant of the room and decided to phrase his response cautiously. "Well, I got a call from Prime Minister Cameron..."

"He took it way out of context!" Alfred broke in, reddening furiously. "We weren't doing anything! You're a crappy president!" Pausing only long enough to sneeze, Alfred dashed out of the room.

"Oh, for the love of– " Exasperated, the president glanced at the third occupant of the room, who sat on the other sofa, reading as if nothing had happened. "Promise me your teenage years won't be like this."

Sasha calmly turned the page. "I will make no such promises."

There were few people who could relate to the difficulties of not only running a country, but keeping an eye on its person-shaped manifestation. Which was why, the next time he caught a moment alone with a fellow world leader, he jumped at the chance to ask, "So, has yours been giving you trouble lately?"

(It was more a conversation catalyst than an actual question; the answer would always be a resounding "Yes.")

Dmitry Medvedev, the president of Russia, spared only a split second to give him a blank look before apparently realizing what he meant. "Oh, yes, you mean Ivan." He hesitated for a moment. "Do I need to answer that question? You havemet him, right?"

Obama chuckled uncomfortably as he tried not to remember the experience. "Uh, heheh, yeah..."

"One of the reasons I am not envying Vladimir," Medvedev went on. "Did you know two thirds of the calls I get are world leaders complaining?"

"Oh," Obama said sheepishly. "...So it's not just me, then?"

"You're not even the one who calls the most," Medvedev replied, in a long-suffering voice. "Dalia Grybauskaitė is. And once in a while I get prank called from President Komorowski's phone, something about making Warsaw my capitol."

"That happened to me last month," Obama told him. "I think Feliks must have misdialed."

"Also we've been paying off Ravis Galante's therapy bills since the nineties, and no one thought to tell me that before I took office," Medvedev went on. "Plus various lawsuits, because those tend to build up, and he's terrifying without trying to be. How about yours?"

"Alfred's four hundred, and he still doesn't know his own strength," Obama told him. "I think I'll leave it at that. Who do you think costs more, property damage from mine or lawsuits from yours?"

Medvedev chuckled humorlessly. "I'd rather not turn it into a contest. That would encourage them."

"Heh, right." Obama grinned, but it quickly faded. "It also doesn't help that I inherited a huge mess when I took over, and he's pretty vocal about his problems. All of them. And he bounces off the walls worse than our dog. The hardest thing is to get him to sit still."

"Have you asked advice from from Prime Minister Cameron's?" Medvedev suggested. "I hear he's known yours the longest."

"Uh, yes..." Obama replied, cringing inwardly as he remembered that particular phone call.

Three years earlier.

"And I heard that you've known him since he was a, ah, child," the newly elected president went on politely. "I was wondering if you had any advice on how to deal with his... energy."

There was a short pause, followed by raucous (and probably slightly tipsy) laughter. "He's your problem now, fucker!"

"He was less than helpful," Obama said tactfully. "At least when I met George Bush right before I took office, he told me running the country was like taking care of a teenager. And he kept winking, which should've been my first warning."

"Vladimir didn't even hint at it," Medvedev mused. "In return I haven't warned him about Natalya's new hiding places."

"Oh, that's mean."

Medvedev blinked. "You've met her, then?"

"Yeah..." Obama smiled wryly. "When Ivan came to visit last year, he didn't realize she'd tagged along."

"She does that," Medvedev remarked. "I believe she gets jealous."

"Makes sense," Obama conceded. "Anyway, she and Alfred clashed, and... that was an interesting weekend."

"Was anyone injured?" Medvedev asked matter-of-factly.

"No, but we had to replace the drapes, Bo still barks whenever he sees a coat hanger, and Borders had to file for bankruptcy. It was a mess."

"They're all insane," Medvedev said soberly. "Some more than others."

"They do make the job exciting," Obama admitted. "And Al's good with kids, I'll give him that."

"Ivan does make good conversation," Medvedev agreed, shrugging. "And I don't think the excitement of knowing one's own nation on such a personal level is something that ever goes away, even if he is terrifying."

"Oh, definitely. I can live with the constant complaining and rampant destruction because once in a while, he'll come out with this amazing insight, the kind that only comes of living for centuries–"

"Are they letting in reporters already?" Medvedev broke in suddenly, looking at the door where, sure enough, members of the press were filing into the room to take remarks.

Obama jumped. "Oh, what? Uh..." How long had they been coming in? Had they overheard? Frantically he hunted for a change of subject and grasped at their last topic of discussion. "Missiles. Putin. Uh... on all these issues, but particularly missile defense, this, this can be solved but it's important for him to give me space." He said it quietly, pretending they were still wrapping up their meeting and hadn't spent the last few minutes discussing a closely-guarded international secret.

Medvedev, also caught off-guard by the arrival of the reporters, stammered a bit. "Uh... yeah, I understand. I understand your message about space."

"This is my last election," Obama went on, not really paying attention to what he was saying as he watched the faces of the reporters closest to the front from the corner of his eye, scanning for any sign that they'd overheard the previous conversation. "After my election I have more flexibility." It was true, in any case; during election season he was a lot busier than usual, what with juggling his campaign with everything else he had on his plate. If by some miracle he didn't get booted out of the job by January, he could negotiate the important things a bit more freely.

Medvedev was also surreptitiously glancing at the reporters. "I understand. I will transmit this information to Vladimir..." He dropped his voice. "Are those microphones on?"

Obama fought the urge to facepalm.

"Let me get this straight," Obama said flatly, the following day. "Some reporter caught the whole thing on the microphone, but we managed to have all of it wiped exceptfor the last part about missile defense?"

Alfred cringed slightly. "Ooh, yeah, that was me. Sorry about that. Steve called, said he was milking the Indecision 2012 thing for all it was worth and could use more material."

Obama stared at him incredulously. "Do you... wantRomney or Santorum? Is that it?"

"Yes. Wait, no!" Alfred looked faintly panicked. "I mean... I mean..." His shoulders slumped slightly. "I don't know."

Obama looked at him worriedly. If his approval ratings were bad enough that even the personification of his country wanted him gone, then he didn't stand a chance in the upcoming election.

His nation apparently noticed the look of concern on his face. "No, wait, that's not what I..." Alfred hesitated, sniffling with his cold and glancing to the side. "Look, I know I said stuff... earlier, but I didn't mean it." He shrugged helplessly. "It's tough sharing opinions with three hundred million people at the same time. Sometimes I don't even know whatI think." He paused, twiddling his fingers. "But I do know that unemployment's gone down since you took office, and overall the economy's improving, at a snail's pace, but I'll take that over straight dropping like it used to, and you aren't trying to shove religion into the government, and I know you're trying really hard and you've been a really good sport about all the crap people have been giving you, including me, and... well, other countries haven't really wanted to work with me since Clinton left office, but now they do, which is awesome, 'cause it was getting a little lonely, so... yeah. Sorry."

The president blinked, taken aback and quite touched. "...That's alright, Alfred. I'm just a little worried about what this microphone gaffe might mean for my campaign."

Alfred shrugged and grinned. "Pfft, don't worry about it, in a couple of weeks people won't even be talking about it anymore," he said airily. He paused, as if suddenly remembering something. "Oh, by the way, me and Ivan met up with Yong Soo while you and Medvedev were meeting, and things kinda got... um."

The gratified feeling quickly began to slip away.

"So... yeah. They've probably found what we left at the National Museum by now. Just a heads-up, you might get a call from... somebody. Tell 'em I'm not here, okay?" The nation fled.

"Alfred, get back here."

Steve, of course, refers to Stephen Colbert, who is too awesome for the job of presidency but would probably rock at it.