(Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Hetalia: Axis Powers in any way.)

7:23 a.m, Friday, Washington, D.C.

The recently turned red light earned a groan of displeasure from the blond driver. At this rate he was going to be late for work. The Washington traffic had really caught up with him today.

Suddenly, as if coming out of the air, a bike sped by him. The bike wove through blaring horns and oncoming traffic. The man behind the wheel was glad he wasn't the bicyclist. That man must have been extremely late.

He was. Alfred F. Jones, closest friend to the President, was late for a meeting at the White House. He looked down and cursed at the numbers shinning at him from his watch. The President was going to kill him. Well, if the Washington traffic didn't take care of the job first.

Alfred pulled up to the gates outside the building. He fished around hurriedly for his wallet which contained his pass for the gate's guards. All the men were stiff and despite the fact that he came on his bike every day and knew them all by name, they wouldn't let him through without his pass. Dread began to sink in when he came out empty. How could he lose that?

"The President is expecting you, Mr. Jones. Let him in." The Captain of the Secret Service waved to the doormen to open the gates and let the bicyclist through.

"Thanks, Ron," Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. When the gates opened, Alfred walked his bike through.

"President's orders. You're late for the meeting. I suggest you hurry before you miss anything else, Mr. Jones." Well, wasn't he always just a wonderful breath of fresh air? The Captain was not helping Alfred's already frazzled mood any.

The man insisted on walking him to the meeting room - not that Alfred didn't know where it was. He hardly waited for Alfred to stop and lock up his bike outside, and while he did, he waited impatiently. The President had been kind enough to install the bike parking for Alfred's lonely bike when he constantly refused to buy a car - he had no where to put it - or be chauffeured around - he didn't want to have to rely on someone.

The Secret Service agent opened the door for him, and Alfred scurried inside. He kept close to the wall to avoid detection - though that was a fool's task - until he noticed the room was unusually quiet for a meeting, and the President was the only one in the room.

"The meeting, sir?" Alfred asked sheepishly. He readjusted the papers in his arms. They had been threatening to tumble since he had left his apartment in his hurry. It would be a surprise if he hadn't lost a few pages of documents on the precarious commute to the White House.

"I canceled it."

Alfred smiled nervously. The President certainly wouldn't cancel a meeting simply because of his absence. Right? Of course. Alfred was just a personal assistant. He knew the President relied on him for many things, but being a fundamental component for a meeting was not one of them. Right?

"Sir?"

"We have guests arriving in a few hours. I needed an open schedule to cater to our guests. I would appreciate it if you could do the same, Alfred." The President studied his steeped fingers calmly. "It's a request, of course, not an obligation."

"Who's coming?"

"I'm not allowed to disclose that information. The matter is of the highest security. I understand if you're prefer to take the week off and stay home however. The following few days could be very dangerous ones for everyone involved."

"I'm not going home. We stick together, right?" It was a rhetorical question really. Of course they did.

This announcement seemed to be a large relief for the President. His shoulders sagged, and he leaned back in his chair comfortably. "Thank you, Alfred," he breathed. "This is a very small operation. Only those that need to know do, so please, keep it a secret."

"Of course!"

The President smiled gently. "Thank you, Alfred," he repeated. "Now go clean yourself up. We have company coming."

"I can ditch the briefcase?"

A chuckle came form the President's lips. "Ditch the briefcase," he nodded. Before Alfred could ask, the President added, "Not the suit. You'll be entertaining one of our guests. He has a similar position as you. I need you to be nice, Alfred, even if that means wearing the suit all the time."

An exaggerated sigh left Alfred's lips. "I suppose I can do that." He winked. "I'll go straighten myself up and be back here in an hour."

The President stopped him when the tips of his fingers touched the door's polished, brass knobs. "I do mean for you to straighten yourself up, Alfred, not lounge around until the last minute. This is important to me."

"Aye, aye, chief!" Alfred saluted playfully while the President just rolled his eyes. The man waved him out, and Alfred was happy to oblige. He shut the door quietly behind himself. The President could do with some time alone.

Ron Butcher, Captain of the Secret Service, was across the hall, smirking. Apparently he'd been lurking around outside for the duration of Alfred's talk with the President. "How did your chat go?" Seriously, Ron had it out for him, of that Alfred was sure. If the President didn't like him so much, Ron would find out jut how much Alfred didn't like him.

"Quite pleasant," Alfred smiled. "Awesome really."

"Well, that's quite a relief. I would hate to think he'd fired you," Ron said. He turned on his shinning black shoes and sauntered away. Strutting about like he did, someone would think he owned the place.

Alfred stuck out his tongue at the Captain's back. All right, fine, that had been a bit childish. Ron had started it anyway. He didn't have to officially be an adult for another hour anyway.

10:23 a.m., Friday, London, England

The young lady with the trolley stopped at the next row. She offered her goods to the family before moving on. "Can I get you anything?" she asked politely.

"An Earl Grey," the British man answered. He rubbed his temples wearily. Plane rides always made him like this. He hoped they wouldn't be traveling very far. Arthur Kirkland, special friend of the Queen's, glanced over at her. She had fallen asleep almost immediately after the plane had left the ground.

The American woman handed him a full glass. She smiled at him and winked. He failed to notice her flirtations and the disappointed look when he turned away form her. He was too focused on his queen. She hardly looked like herself anymore. She was just like so many other, regular people.

"Excuse me?" Arthur stopped the trolley before it could move on to the next row. She seemed more than happy to have finally gained his attention. "Where is our destination?"

The attendant looked surprised. She laughed. "Across the pond!" she exclaimed in an incredibly cheesy imitation of his own, natural accent. Arthur simply stared at her blankly. "To America," she added in a calmer, almost embarrassed voice. "The capital to be exact."

"The capital? The American capital?" He needed a drink and something stronger than tea. The tea, he found out, was cold anyway. "Why are we needed in the bloody American capital?" The attendant sighed when Arthur paid her no more mind. This was going to be a long flight.

"Arthur? Wake up, dear."

Arthur groaned in annoyance. His head ached. "Let me help you, ma'am," he said nevertheless. He took the bag from her hands, using his other hand to carry his own. He filed down the isle after the disembarking passengers.

"I'm not helpless, Arthur," the Queen protested. "I can carry my own things." She pouted lightly and crossed her arms over her chest. Her voice held little conviction in it however, and her protests were only half-hearted.

Arthur smiled back at her with a bit of amusement. "You're carrying your purse, ma'am," Arthur replied patiently. He allowed her to walk before him as they exited the plane. The Englishman watched people as they walked by. Hardly anyone spared the couple a second glance. "Will there be someone here to retrieve us, ma'am?"

"You may stop with the formalities, Arthur, we're in the states now. The beautiful United States of America." She smiled pleasantly back at the Englishman following her. He couldn't help but notice the affectionate tone she held when speaking of the country they were presently in. "Don't look so sour! This should be fun. It'll be like a large vacation."

"We're here for a vacation?" Arthur asked incredulously. The blond nearly dropped his bags in surprise. Vacation? He'd never had a real vacation before. The Queen deserved them, of course, with all the pressure she was constantly under. Arthur was simply humbled that he had been brought along with her.

"You're here for vacation. There will be a bit of work for me unfortunately." The Queen frowned a bit. "The accommodations also are not what I wish for you to have while we are here, but I did manage to a arrange a tour guide for you."

"Ma'am?"

"I'll have business to attend to."

"Tea, ma'am?"

"That would be lovely, Arthur, thank you."

The White House, their destination, had welcomed them graciously. Charles Damien, Captain of the Royal Guard, had met them at the front gates and had been with them ever since.

"Down the left hall there's a conference room to the right. There's a small kitchenette there you may use," the President said evenly. He smiled pleasantly at the blond Englishman.

"Thank you, sir," Arthur nodded politely to the President. The blond Englishman paused beside the single present member of the Royal Guard. He hardly trusted these bloody Americans to watch after his Queen. After all, if something were to happen to her it would most certainly be their doing.

Charles didn't even bother to look at the much shorter blond. Rather, he remained impassive. "Don't worry about her highness," the guard said softly so they were the only two privy to the conversation. "Worry about yourself instead. She's in good hands. I can't watch over the both of you at once."

That was fair enough. Charles wouldn't allow for harm to come to the Queen while he had the power to stop it. Arthur, on the other hand, would be putting himself in harms way by leaving the guard's vicinity. The Queen certainly wouldn't have taken him anywhere dangerous. Right?

Arthur left the room quietly. The door shut after him with a gentle click. The Englishman looked in both directions with a sigh. There was no point in going back inside now. After all, the atmosphere of the room had been awkward enough as it was. He had promised the Queen a cup of tea too, and he could use a calming one himself.

Arthur followed the President's instructions carefully until reaching the kitchenette he'd been directed too. The halls he walked through were completely deserted. Arthur wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried. "Excuse me," Arthur apologized. "I didn't know the room was already occupied."

"No worries, there's plenty of room in here." The American blond whom Arthur had intruded on smirked brightly. He used his hands to push himself up onto the counter. "So who are you? What do you do?"

The Englishman resisted an irritated scowl. Enough years in politics back home had allowed him to do that. He had to put up a good face for his Queen, right? He set a pan boiling on the small oven while he rummaged through the full cupboards for any signs of tea. "What makes you think that I haven't worked here for years?"

"I know everyone who works here!" the American boasted. Well, he had no semblance of humility. "Anyway, I'd remember someone with such an awesome accent." The blond's smile just widened at the eye-roll he received from the Englishman. "And someone as hot. Well, for an old man."

An indignant sputter came from Arthur's lips. He turned on the American, and he could feel his cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment. Emerald eyes glared over at the cheeky twat frostily. Who did he think he was talking too? Sure, Arthur was probably older but not by more than a few years.

After a pregnant pause where Arthur averted his eyes back into the cupboards for the missing tea, it occurred to him that he should probably take into account the true situation. He was in a small kitchenette, he was alone with a strange American, and he was hot - apparently.

"So you're..." Arthur coughed in embarrassment for having brought the topic back up. He could feel the blush darkening on his cheeks, and he was glad he was facing away from the other man.

"Gay?" the American questioned easily. Arthur allowed himself a glance furtively over at the blond American. He was smiling gently. "Yeah." His grin turned a bit sheepish. "Didn't mean to make you feel awkward or anything. I forget sometimes..."

"Well, you're sexual preferences really are none of my business," Arthur blushed. He poured the boiling water over the tea bags he had recently found up in the cupboards. "Nor is that a respectable conversation topic."

Nevertheless, the Englishman's words didn't seem to deter the other blond at all. "So you're not gay then?"

"Of course not!" Arthur flushed deeply again. "What makes you-"

The other blond carried on as if he hadn't heard the Englishman. "'Cause, you know, I just recently found out that I wasn't attracted to women. I thought maybe you'd like to go out for a drink sometime?"

Arthur didn't dare look at the other. He felt a nauseating lurch in his chest. He was being hit-on? Arthur couldn't remember that last time someone had asked him out on a date or even just out for a drink like the other had suggested. Would it really be so bad to accept? Yes, of course it would, he reasoned, he wasn't interested in other men. He'd just be leading the poor twat of an American along.

"Aww, man!" the American exclaimed loudly. Arthur looked at him a bit nervously. What was happening now? The blond pounded his hand against his head. "I'm so late! I'll see you around!"

The American was in a flurry to get his things all gathered together. He took a large swallow of his brewed coffee before hurrying out of the small kitchenette. Arthur noted that he left with two coffee cups in hand.

The bloody American hadn't even left his name. 'You're fine, Arthur, old boy,' he told himself, 'no need to get worked up over the bloody twat.' Arthur couldn't understand the almost guilty pangs in his chest.

Arthur quickly added a bit of sugar to the tea before preparing for the voyage back to the uncomfortable conference room. He knew if he put it off too much longer the tea would begin to cool. The charged secrecy of the conference room was not something the Englishman was looking forward to returning to.

Eight years had passed since Arthur had become a private aid to the Queen. He had been a young delinquent at the time. Nothing had been a greater thrill for him then going to parties and playing his music loudly.

Age seventeen had found a youthful Arthur searching for any trouble he could find. This need for danger had led Arthur to sneak into a government building with the intent of finding a couch to pass out on for the night.

When the Royal Guard found the intruder, he was already on his second cup of sobering tea with the Queen. The two of them had been having a rather engaging conversation about the nature of the plant and its wondrous properties.

The Queen had hired him the next day for the simple task of being her best friend. He had no political ties or obligations making him the perfect person to administer advise.

Being withheld information from her now was unnerving. He was the only one she told anything and everything to. If she wasn't even telling him what they were doing in America, who could she trust?

"Your tea, ma'am," he told her quietly. He set the plastic glass carefully on the table before her.

"Thank you, Arthur," she smiled.

Arthur took a long, calming drink from his own glass immediately after. The Englishman resisted the urge to pucker in disgust at the unaccustomed taste. It wasn't a familiar kind he personally would have indulged in.

"Arthur," the Queen smiled at him, "I'd like you to meet Alfred. You'll be staying with him while we're in America. He's your guild to Washington as well."

Arthur caught the sight of cerulean eyes and coughed in surprise. The blond set his drink down quickly as not to spill any of the hot liquid inside. The Queen looked over at him in relative concern for his well-being.

This man had flirted with him earlier. He could now put a name with the man, however. Alfred had flirted with him earlier.

"I'm sure the two of you will get along brilliantly." Apparently the Queen couldn't feel the awkward vibrations echoing through the room. Apparently neither could Alfred. The American stuck out his hand from across the table. Arthur took it stiffly with a tight smile to accompany it.

"Alfred F. Jones, adviser to the President!"

"Arthur Kirkland, aid to the Queen," the Englishman supplied.

"So you're like the British me!"

Oh, yes, they would get along brilliantly.