1953. New York City, NY.

The hallways of the building were cold even so late in the year, the warm autumn sunlight efficiently blocked from streaming in through the tightly shut blinds over the high windows. As 'suspect-friendly' as their organization tried to appear, the interior of the place was certainly many things, but 'friendly' was not one of the adjectives on the list. Such words as 'cold,' 'down-to-business,' and 'nerve-wracking' would fit the description far more than the cuddly teddy bear the American government was hoping to portray.

Alfred was used to such environments after such a long time spent in them; 'cuddly' was not in his job description, after all. As the United States, it was his duty to target and destroy the threats to his people with a chilling accuracy, and that was precisely what he was here to accomplish.

He clutched the clipboard as calmly as he could, with the barest lingering traces of a tremor in his hands as he looked over the papers for the girl about whom he'd gotten the phone call this morning. Senator McCarthy had decided to let him perform the interrogation this afternoon, which was all well and good – Alfred was practiced in the handling of suspects, especially ones that were suspected of such a mutiny as this.

Amelia Rosenberg was the girl's name, according to her file. The fact that she had the same surname as the '51 trial that had lit the fuse didn't escape his notice; he frowned thoughtfully, muttered to the body guard next to him to stand aside for the interview, and ran his ID card through the slot by the door. It came unlocked with a mechanical sort of noise, and he entered the room, shut the door behind him firmly to get the message across and offered a cold smile to the girl at the table.

"Good afternoon." It was a standard greeting, nothing personal as he came to sit down at the chair across from her with an ear-splitting scrape of metal on a tile floor. "I trust you made yourself comfortable?"

The girl gave him a sickly sweet smile in return like she couldn't help herself. He could tell by the look in her eye that she was going to be trouble, and what she said next didn't help her case.

"Privet," she greeted in Russian – yes, of course, her file had mentioned that she was well versed in the Russian language. The girl looked the part of a well-behaved model young woman: a preppy little blonde thing dressed in a neat white blouse beneath a red cardigan, with a pleated skirt over her crossed legs. "I'm about as comfortable as I can be in this situation. I don't take to metal prisons too well, sir."

Alfred felt his mouth thin out. "Hmm." He took up the pen from behind his ear, made a quick note on his clipboard purposefully and tapped the writing utensil against his lower lip. "Amelia Rosenberg – if that is your name – you've got guts. I like that in a woman." His heart pounded like crazy under his ribs just like it did every time he found himself here. He was dealing with a suspected communist, after all. He couldn't help but recall the bullet hole in the wall of his living room where he'd fired a shot at Arthur in his crippling paranoia, suppressed a shiver as he looked her straight in the eye.

"I take it you're a smartass," he continued coolly. "Says in your file that you're kind of a rabble-rouser. Young, hip, a college student with fair good grades… oh, but what's this? A few arrests, it looks like… for protesting." He gave her a level look here as a long and uncomfortable silence filled the air. He let it drag on a bit before capping his pen again. "Tell me what you know about the Communist party, miss Rosenberg."

"Well, let's see," Amelia said in a near sing-song as she rolled her eyes. Standard behavior – trying to trip him up. It wouldn't work. Her voice was dry, sarcastic as she continued, "The Reds have made and tested an atomic bomb… the Reds believe in an equal line to cap everyone off at rather than in this wonderful country, we're preached that everyone has an equal starting line but I'm sure you know all the truths about that, don't you, sir?" He forced himself not to react, waved his hand to let her continue.

"The Reds are our current enemies, following our opposition to the fascists and the socialists before that during the Industrial Revolution. Oh, and the Reds have women proudly serving their countries." She looked smug. He didn't blame her; the girl knew her stuff. "Have I missed anything? Besides the obvious?"

Alfred didn't hesitate. "Yes, it appears you did miss something, Amelia – do you mind if I call you Amelia?" His voice was sickeningly sweet for now, though his nerves were racketing up with her stupid humor. He felt the sick temptation to hit her with the clipboard but no, he was a gentleman at heart, even to the commies. "The Reds have not only completely destroyed their own people, but are beginning to destroy m- ours as well. Did you know that since the founding of HUAC in 1938, we have uncovered exactly 3, 482 accounts of Communism within our own borders? 205 communists were found within the U.S. Department of State alone."

Amelia ignored his first question – of course he would call her whatever he liked with her at his mercy like this, but she did look genuinely surprised by the information. "No, sir. I was not aware of those statistics."

He laced his fingers, eying her closely to watch for any sudden movements. "I trust you understand the crime of which you've been accused."

The girl swallowed, but not out of nervousness. "Ah, I believe I've been accused of somehow threatening the 'form of government guaranteed by our Constitution,' according to Public Law number 601? Funny. I thought there was a freedom of speech and press in this country. My mistake. I must have crossed the Russian borders without realizing I swam through an entire ocean."

Alfred gave a soft, unamused laugh. "Mm, funny girl. Another likable trait." He took the pen, bit the cap – little nervous habits he was trying to throw out for fear of Arthur seeing them. The bitten nails, the frayed hair where he'd been pulling at it, the circled under his eyes to indicate a lack of sleep. He set the pen down again, worried for a brief moment that Amelia would comment on it. Like some fucking Soviet bitch can ever tell me what to do. The smile vanished from his face.

"Of course our people are entitled to a freedom of speech. But you see, that doesn't factor in when the government – oh, excuse me, the Supreme Court – is concerned about our national security. You're threatening the peace of your own people. I'm not sure if you can see that for yourself, so let me spell it out for you." Here he leaned forward, on his elbows, ready to reach for the gun in his belt at any given moment.

"Public Law number 601 is the only thing keeping this country safe from his enemies. By becoming involved in communist activity, you've put the security of Americans in danger. According to the law, I have full authority to defend this nation any way that I'm able. That includes landing your cute little ass in prison if it comes down to it – are we clear?"

Amelia seemed to make a point of keeping eye contact with him, even when he'd learned forward. She didn't blink; neither did he. But she did sigh a little. "But you see, that's where we find ourselves in a situation that's wasting both of our time, sir. I'm not a Red." Her fingers fidgeted. Nervous. "So you can't do anything to me. Innocent until proven guilty, whether you like it or not."

Alfred couldn't help the smirk that came to his lips. "That's my point precisely. 'Until proven guilty.' Which I can do just by looking at your file." He dropped it heavily onto the table, the slam of the keyboard making her flinch, and flipped a few pages past her general profile (name, birth date, height, appearance, occupation) and onto the sub-paragraphs he needed. "You see, if you are innocent – which I sincerely doubt, if you want my honest opinion – then you really hang out in the wrong crowd. A pretty thing like you, tagging around with known communists?"

He turned the clipboard toward her so she could see the faces of her friends, their mug shots taking up the entire page. "Maya Johnston and Jonathon Devry. Both attend the same college as yourself, also freshmen… arrested yesterday at 2:14 p.m. outside of Shady Glade apartment complex. They were caught holding pro-communism fliers." He made a 'tsk' noise, one of a father disappointed in his little girl, and shook his head. "So if your friends are communists… then why shouldn't you be? All the 'cool kids' are doing it, aren't they?"

"So you would like to think, Big Brother," Amelia replied with that air of calm confidence about her; he could tell that she was about to either deny knowing they were communists or that she hadn't been friends with them at all when she faltered at the mention of their arrest. She faltered there, lips giving a false start.

"I… fail to see what that has to do with me, sir. Opposites attract, after all, and if you look at their records…" She faltered again, and Alfred felt a little thrill of victory. "They hardly fit the profile of a model student such as myself. Lesser grades, absences to do god knows what else. I'm not as brave as they are, Big Brother." His eyebrow twitched a bit in irritation at the new nickname. "Regardless, I was completely unaware of their activities and hidden agenda. Think of it like the Revolutionary War. You've hard of that, haven't you? Or is it too advanced for your comprehension levels?"

"Don't you dare-"

"The Loyalists who didn't flee to Nova Scotia were certainly well versed in keeping their mouths shut. Even if I'm sure there were gatherings and sessions they shared with their fellow believers." Amelia paused, backtracked to answer his questions – a smart girl. "I'm not a communist, not a socialist precluding into communism. You asked why shouldn't I be? Well, why would I? I've got veterans who have served this country, some of whom have given their lives to protect democracy, my own older brother going through god knows what in Korea right now because he's an idealist about this country. While I choose to disenchant myself from the lies my teachers have preached over the years, that hardly makes me a communist. Have you looked into what exactly I was protesting? Because I think it's unfair to be grilled by both a sexist and a racist. Either or is too much for me."

Alfred was shaking again. The Revolution had always been a sensitive topic to him – even now, here in this dim little room, he could only imagine New England rain and Arthur's knees in the mud while he cried. Fuck.

"Don't you lecture me on the Revolution," he hissed out, starting to look his cool just like he did every time he came face to face with Ivan lately. "This is nothing like that was. That Revolution was a fight for justice – fine, so the Loyalists fled to Canada, but that has nothing to do with this, does it? No. Because this fight here isn't for independence, but for the basic freedom to live in peace without another's ideals being shoved down our throats."

He was bitter, angry, eyes burning but not with tears, no, with rage. It was nothing like how this usually went. Hard angles, harsh tones, that stupid tremor in his wrists that he couldn't stop.

"And you've chosen to associate yourself with those who threaten this nation's security. How does that make you feel? Like the traitor you are? That you willingly become the ally of ones set out to destroy the United States from the inside out?" He wanted to hit her. He couldn't hit her – he was a good man and wouldn't do that to a pretty girl like this Rosenberg girl, not after all of the times he'd already fucked up in these areas. He recalled his president outright telling him to calm down at some points.

Amelia had a hot light in her eyes to rival his own cold one. "Then give me a country that doesn't lecture me with hypocrisy and no, don't even dare start to think that's an attack against national security or capitalism. Communism is stupid but the lies about this country's 'ideals' for freedom and equality and justice and safety are completely skewed! Emmett Till – where was the justice to strike against his killers? Where was the safety for the Silent Sentinels as they stood outside the White House years ago for the most basic right required to be an active citizen of this country?"

She was shouting at the top of her lungs, nearly standing up in the process, shouting down her own nation – not that she would know it, look at her, college student all dressed in pretties, her passion flaring. Listing his flaws. Just didn't know it.

"There's no traitorous feelings because it's one thing to agree to disagree with someone and be able to act – act civil enough to sit in the same classroom," she ranted. "And it's another thing entirely to support those differences! How am I a traitor when I'm standing up for what I believe in? For believing and practicing peaceful means? Listen to yourself, you're not proving anything but the fact that the United States is more ass-backwards than the Soviet Union!"

Before he could register it, before he could stop himself, Alfred snarled out a curse and lifted a hand, didn't hesitate before backhanding her across her pretty face – and for that split second, didn't feel sorry that he did it, that light in his eyes flaring, cheeks burning red.

"Backwards?" He knew that the insult had no meaning to her, that she had no clue at all what that word meant to him. He watched the red blossoming on her cheek from the blow, didn't hesitate now either as he removed his gun, flipping it out with frightening speed and aiming the barrel just under her chin.

"You listen to me, you confused little girl," Alfred hissed at her, angry, that tremble really picking up now. He knew the repercussions for this – knew them well, but he couldn't care less. President Eisenhower could do as he liked. Consequences had no meaning here. "This country has done more for you than you'll ever know. You want to be selfish and soak up all of the privileges of being a Red? Do it where you belong, with your communist friends in the USSR. You march your pretty little ass over to the Soviet Union, walk right up to Stalin and say, 'Uncle Joe, I want to be a selfish little bitch just like you.' Then when he sucked you dry of your energy and your spirit, when he leaves you an empty, angry hull compared to what you are right now-"

The image of Ivan came into his mind again – she wouldn't know that either. His best friend in the world, drained of friendliness and now just a bitter shell of a nation with nothing but insults spewing from pale lips.

"-don't come crying to the good USA to save you."

To say that she wasn't expecting that would have been the understatement of the year. The slap was expected, that much was obvious – but with the gun pulled on her, a terrified squeak of a whimper escaped from her lips. Alfred felt victorious in that moment, watching that passion in her eyes dissipate as she tried to lean her head back, back and away from the cold metal of his weapon.

"I – I told you… I'm not a commie!" A much more desperate tone entered her voice when it came to her defense. He didn't care anymore about her arguments, not when he had finally caught her off guard. "I don't want what they have – I- I want to make what we have better!" A doe caught in the headlights as she spoke, confidence clearly breaking down. "You can't… p-put that gun down. Please…"

At the last word, Alfred felt a tingle in his fingertips and pressed the barrel hard up into the soft spot just under her jaw, hard enough to leave a mark. His fingers twitched to pull the trigger if only for stress relief, the thrill of power always overwhelming, how with one simple movement, the pull of a trigger (the push of a button), he could put an end to her life right now (put an end to the 'family' known as the Union), leaving nothing behind but her corpse and the mess (nothing but a pretty mushroom cloud and Soviet bodies humming with radiation). He swallowed, tried to quell the trembling in his hands as he slowly… oh, so slowly pulled the gun away.

"… don't worry. They have security cameras in this room, in case of any unforeseen actions. They don't have sound." There was a long pause between them, and he had to avert his eyes and really calm himself down. Deep breaths. Don't be the bad guy, Alfred. Don't be the bad guy. "I'm going to let you go now. And you're… not going to tell anyone about this little episode. I have ways of knowing if you do. If you tell anyone, a single living soul about our discussion here today…" He twirled the gun back into his belt with a clear threat, giving her a harsh look, but weaker than his ones from before. Exhaustion slept in his bones.

Amelia's eyes were pinched shut now, a steady stream of whispered curses under her breath. Hadn't she said her brother was in Korea? The terror she had faced now was nothing compared to the hell he must've been going through. Her breath shook in her throat as she visibly tried to compose herself. "Th-that's it?" Her tone held relief – good. Hopefully she took up the offer. "You want me to keep quiet? You fucking coward." Alfred hadn't expected that. His eyebrows crept into his hairline. "You can't even hold a civil conversation with someone! You want me to keep quiet… hah… ahaha… Isn't that a laugh. Keep quiet, my government tried to kill me because I looked at someone wrong, oh, won't the camera just eat that right up?"

His anger flared again as he rounded on her, still weaker than before but with that dangerous edge to his voice. "It's that, or I shoot you here and now and deal with the consequences myself." He wouldn't hesitate to shoot her this time, knew he wouldn't, not if she was the one that chose to do that to herself. It was a scary thought to have in his head that he could do it with such ease, such finesse, but he could, and he would. Perhaps that part was more frightening – that he would. "It's your decision, really," he all but begged. "I'm giving you the option. You should be grateful."

Here he recalled something Arthur had said to him when he was young. 'Watch you mouth, for it may get you trouble one day.' He tried to take that advice as much as he could – but this girl… she could've used it now, as she flinched away from him.

"I'm not even a threat to you," she muttered behind a shaky breath. "You pull that trigger and all you'll have is camera proof that my step-cousins were innocent. They'll notice when I don't come home, everyone will. How is that going to help your patriotic cause?" Despite her words, he noticed her standing up from her chair on shaking legs. "You want me out but don't expect me to be quiet. I'll be grateful when the United States of America saves itself and goes back to standing for all that it's supposed to. When it starts to actually be the land of the free, the home of the brave. Not of… handsome cowards who shake guns at pretty little girls for thinking of the bigger picture."

She bit her lip as she moved toward the door. He would have to open it for her, since she had no ID for the building.

"But you know what? I think we might get there someday, if more people started thinking more like me and less like you."

Alfred felt that like a slap. He knew he wasn't perfect, knew that as hard as he tried, he still came up short of what he'd promised the world. He offered as much as he could to Arthur and was only shut down in return – but who could blame him, when Alfred only shot at him every time they met? – and he just felt saddened for a moment, thumbing the hilt of his gun, ready to pull it out if need be. He didn't want to do that, though, not really. He felt so damn tired all of a sudden.

"If people thought more like you, this country would be in ruins, miss," he sighed. "Now if you'll please… just go. Go home. You're right, you're not a communist. I'm sorry, I…" Alfred trailed off. As expected, he felt like total shit now, but couldn't give into her, couldn't. He needed that fire, lived off of it, but went to the door regardless, scanning his ID through and heard the door unlatch. Didn't move to open it for her, though; no, she could do that much herself. "Get out. Go home. Go back to your happy family. But if you mention this to anyone, I'll be forced to silence you. You know I won't hesitate – I can see it in the trembling of your legs."

Amelia narrowed a glare at him. "'Happy family'… teach daddy to walk again, bring Tom home to our arms and not under a draped flag… then we'll be that happy family for you." She was shaking still, nearly stumbled as she made it to the door. It was a sad sight, like a baby deer learning to walk. "And no. You're wrong. I'm an idealist to the core. I don't think you'd pull that trigger, not on me at least. I think you should try to be a gentleman, and open that door for me."

"Really? You think I won't do it?" Alfred felt his thoughts darkening again, going cold, unfeeling and numb the way he needed to be for this whole thing to work. Part of him could sense the others, the security guards scrambling to get there in time; he knew his time was limited in this room and then he'd be locked away again, called a 'bad boy' and have his gun taken, locked in his own house to be left there as a shaky, sweating, sobbing mess. So convinced that the communists were after him, like flies crawling under his skin. He gave her the sweetest of smiles as he cracked that door open just a little bit.

"Well, you want to know something, honey?" He leaned forward, slipped his gun out again as quietly and calmly as he could, once again pressed right up under her jaw. With a little smile, and he pressed his mouth against her ear. "You're wrong."

And without any hesitation, he pulled the trigger, the resounding 'BANG' echoing around the small room and making his ear ring with the sheer pleasure and high of watching the back of her skull burst open in a beautiful blossom like summertime roses – like the end of a friendship he'd thought would last. Her brains splattered like food over the pristine white wall, sure to stain, and he felt himself start to shake again, trembling harshly as she staggered for a moment – motor functions still worked somehow, and it was good that he was practiced in this. He aimed down at her chest and fired, and fired again, a bullet for each of the lives that had fled him for that 'better land' of the USSR, that 'better ideal,' and wasn't he good enough?

Didn't he work hard enough to keep his people safe without them… leaving him like that? Just like England… just like England, all of them, promising their love and then turning away and not coming back, because he'd scared them, his politics had scared them off, and it was all that bastard's fault. All Ivan- Brag- the Soviet fucking Union, all his fault for driving him to this godforsaken point, and before he knew it he was blowing out the brains of not a pretty girl, no, but of a tall man with a brown coat, a pale scarf, and a cold, cold smile that bore right into him, whispering friendships…

'You're my closest friend, Alfred.'

He shouted as he went, bitter rage flooding him, the trigger resounding in nothing but empty clicks – the clip, he'd emptied the clip – and his hands, trembling hard… biting his tongue until he tasted blood, looking down at the body of that poor girl… that poor girl…

And when the others rushed in to grab at his arms, to wrench his gun away, shouting for someone to inform the president, it was all he could do not to pass out. He felt wetness on his cheeks and realized that the tears were his own, and that the sobs echoing in the room were his as well – and he leaned over as he felt bile rise to the back of his throat, emptied his stomach over his shoes in a wet splash.

He let them tug him away with almost no resistance, the only words out of his mouth coming in a shaking whisper:

"Thought I wouldn't fire… just because I promised not to make the first shot…"