Author's Note: ERMAHGEWRD. I'm so happy that I did this. :D I just recently got into X-Files, and I have loved it from the start. I just made it a couple episodes past the first movie! So, as I do anytime I enter a new fandom, I read a couple fanfictions that relate to that fandom. And I thought "Wouldn't it be amazing if my favorite fandom Hetalia and X-Files were combined?" But, when I went to find said crossover, I found that no one had ever made it! So I took it upon myself to correct this wrong. Also, if you're confused, this is set sometime BEFORE the first movie. Anyway, I please enjoy, and let me know if you spot any spelling/grammar mistakes so I can correct it! I am human, after all. SAPPHIRE OUT.

Question of the Day: I plan on having some kind of pairing with fem!Canada, but I just can't decide between her being with Romano or Prussia. So, what do you think? Which one of the two should she be with?

Warning: Genderbends and very mild language will be used. Don't like, don't read.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Hetalia or X-Files. Those wonderful shows belong to their original owners.

Chapter One: The X-File of Alfred F. Jones

Alfred groaned and shifted in his mountain of blankets that were all stamped with a proud American flag, the bed moaning and creaking as he did so. The light of day gently tiptoed in, walking through the window and into the large, cluttered room with the quietest of footsteps. It gently moved closer and closer to the blonde man, just crawling ever-so silently and delicately until it finally rested on his face. It poked at his eyes, which caused the man to groan even louder and position his body away from the light. The light, determined to pull the blonde from his slumber and into a new day, tickled his neck and tried to move further down his body where it could spread its warmth. Finally, having finally given up at drifting back into sleep's wonderful embrace, Alfred threw his blankets to the side. He muttered angrily and sat up, rubbing his eyes blearily.

"Ugh . . . Why does the sun have to come up so freakin' early?" he murmured to himself in a rather irritated manner. He swung his long legs sideways and jumped off his king-sized bed, the wooden floor immediately voicing its protest with a loud creak as his bare feet connected with it. He stopped for a moment to stretch his arms towards the pale and plain ceiling, letting out a pleased moan as his bones made dulcet popping sounds, then let his arms fall back to their original position as if they had been weighted.

Alfred moved sluggishly through his large room and into the connecting hallway. The hallway itself was nothing special, but the paintings dating back many, many years ago of the founding fathers of America and anyone worth mentioning in American history that hung on the creamy, textured walls gave the hallway a certain feel. It was rather hard to describe, but it almost made one feel nostalgic and solemn.

He continued down this hallway, passing Thomas Edison, Benjamin Franklin, and eventually reaching George Washington as he moved into the next room, coincidentally the kitchen. The kitchen was relatively medium-sized compared to the rest of the house, or more appropriately, mansion. The peach-colored, marble counters were pressed against the right half of the room, only to be interrupted by things like a sink, a stove, a dishwasher, etc. A pantry was blocked off by a simple door beside the left corner and a silver phone rested on the counter near the door. Just as he was about to enter the pantry in search of food, the phone began ringing.

Surprised, Alfred blinked at the ringing phone. Who would be calling him? It was a Sunday, and countries tended to be busy doing their own things on Sundays. Yet, there the phone was, actually ringing.

"It could always be one of those annoying telemarketers," Alfred told himself, "or some kind of emergency is about to happen and the White House is calling me. Either way, I should probably pick up the phone and see who it is."

And so, with that in mind, he reached out and grabbed the phone, clicking the talk button then pressing the object to his ear. "Hello, hero of the world speaking!" Alfred greeted excitedly, talking in grand tones.

There was an irritated sigh on the other end of the line, then a quiet response, "You're not a hero, Al. Bonjour, though."

An awkward pause filled the line. "Um . . . Who is this?" Alfred asked in confusion.

"I'm Canada! Your sister!"

"Oh, Canadia!" Alfred exclaimed in realization, his rather teeth-grinding laugh filling the phone and no doubt causing Canada to pull her own phone away from her ear for a brief moment, "I haven't seen you in ages! What's up, Maddie?"

Madeline rolled her eyes and sighed, simply shaking her head at her brother's antics. "Well, that's just it, you see. You haven't been seeing me because I've been sick-"

"What?! You're sick?! Are you okay?"

"Oui, oui. I'm fine. It was just a little fever; I don't think it even had anything to do with my nation. Just a natural virus that even countries will catch now and again," she explained quickly in her shy, whispery voice, "Anyway, that's not the real point, eh! Because I was sick, I missed the last meeting and need the notes over it. I tried calling Britain, Papa, Cuba, Romano, and even Prussia, but they wouldn't answer. That's why I called you. I really need those notes, if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

Alfred laughed his loud laugh once more as he replied, "Is that all, dude? Sure! We can meet for lunch at my McDonalds!"

"I don't know. I'll have to buy a plane ticket to your place-"

"So it's settled! I'll see you there at 11:30!"

"But-"

"See ya!"

Madeline sighed as she heard beeping sounds fill the phone. Her brother really was troublesome and had a clear ability of not being able to read the atmosphere. Really, how would she ever get through to him?

"What exactly am I looking at, Mulder?" Agent Dana Scully asked skeptically, raising one of her slender red eyebrows. A face of a young man was displayed on Agent Fox Mulder's white screen by a projector. The man had a boyish face and his eyes made one think that you were actually looking at the sky on a clear day. With wire-framed glasses perched on his nose, the man had a wide, toothy grin. An unzipped bomber jacket covered his torso with a tan uniform peaking out from beneath it that reminded Dana of something her father would have worn once, but that was not the point. What she really wanted to know was what kind of reason this man had to be in the x-files.

"This is Alfred F. Jones," Mulder began, his body resting against his desk, "He was first involved in the 'The Clockwork Case,' which is still unsolved. In Plano, Texas there was a string of murders with seemingly no explanation. In every murder, however, a man named Alex Johnson, a government employee, would turn up. Of course, it was merely thought to be a coincidence, but the FBI received a tip from this man.

"He gave extreme details of the case that had not even been released to public, then told the lead detective of the case just where Mr. Johnson fit in to it all. Mr. Jones even offered to lead the FBI to him. Sadly, on arrival to the building, a massive gunfight ensued. Mr. Johnson escaped and when the detective tried to find Mr. Jones-"

Scully looked at Mulder plainly and filled in the rest, "Let me guess. He was nowhere to be found?"

Mulder confirmed the guess with a nod. "Right," the agent responded, waiting for any input that Scully might have before he continued.

"It seems to me, Mulder," Scully drawled out, as if talking to a small child, "that the answer is quite simple. This Alfred F. Jones was involved in the crime and ran for it once his colleague was able to retreat."

Mulder smiled his goofy, lopsided smile at his partner's answer. He had expected that much from her. After all, the case did seem that simple on the outside, but he would explain his thoughts a bit later. For now, he had to finish telling what exactly Dana needed to know about this x-file.

"The rest of the FBI thought so too," he replied, "but it was never proven, so it was put in the x-files. However, new evidence has been found to Mr. Jones's whereabouts." Mulder removed his large pale hand from his pocket and clicked a button on a remote, changing the picture on the white screen. It now showed a picture of a beautiful, middle-aged woman with long, wavy brunette hair. She appeared to be posing for a picture, which made the whole thing seem rather ordinary, but if you were to look at the background of the picture and stared at one of the McDonalds' windows, you saw Alfred F. Jones sitting nonchalantly and eating a hamburger.

"When out with his wife, the man that just so happened to be the lead detective on the Clockwork Case accidentally managed to find where Mr. Jones had run off to, Washington D.C. He actually frequently visits the McDonalds there," Mulder finished off his explanation with a slight snicker to his voice at the silliness of it all.

"I see," Scully said indifferently, the fact not breaking her mask of emotions. "If you don't mind me asking, Mulder, why exactly do you want to find this man? Isn't it a little less unusual than your usual cases?"

"It does rather seem like a simple case, doesn't it?" Mulder turned and walked to the front of his desk, picking something up then walking back over and handing it to Scully. The woman looked down at what had been handed to her. It was a picture of what seemed to be a younger version of Mulder's late father and the suspect of the current x-file.

"While I was reading through this case, I knew I recognized Mr. Jones, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it," Mulder clarified, resting against his desk once more, "so I showed the first picture in the slide to my mother to see if she knew him. She got that picture out from one of the family albums. Now, I might have just dismissed this, but I noticed something strange. That photo was taken thirty years ago, and the first picture in the slide was taken three years ago. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"He hasn't aged at all in thirty years," Scully said, although it was clear she was having a hard time believing her own response.

"That's right. This Alfred F. Jones hasn't aged in a day in thirty years." Mulder's lopsided smile appeared once more. "Does this case seem strange enough now?"