Second part of "This Day in Hetalia" series.
January 2nd 1974 - Nixon signs national speed limit into law.
"What an amazing Pontiac!" the girl in the passenger seat yelled, the bass and wind rushing past the open windows making her voice virtually of the three girls cramped in the seat behind her giggled as they passed a joint between each other. The third had her head lazily half out the window. A small smile graced her sunburnt face as she watched imaginary horses crossing the Arizona desert through her sunglasses. Sand particles flew by and stuck to her hair as the group of five roared down the highway at 85 miles per hour.
"I know, right?" the driver responded at an equal decibel level, somehow able to hear her. His short blonde hair stayed still, but a damn strand that never stayed down kept flailing around.
"It's like you gotta little angry person dancing on your head, Al," one of the responsive blondes in the back remarked casually, laughing again. She leaned forward to play with it, him laughing in response.
This continued for a long stretch of road as only measurable by the sun's movement in the sky. The sun hadn't actually moved very much when America hazily noticed a car on the side of the road. The hood wasn't up, so it was probably abandoned or something.
Or so he thought.
Until he passed it and unfamiliar colors of the desert flashed in his rear view mirror. He hit the steering wheel with his head, and then sat back.
The girl in the passenger seat gave him a curious look, and turned down the music. With her ears still ringing, the question came out as another yell. "Something wrong Alfred?"
He nodded, not bothering to attempt at reaching her eardrums. The two girls turned to look behind them.
"Aw, he's comin up pretty fast," the one closer to him said.
"He sure is," the other agreed. The third remained staring out the window, oblivious.
"Throw the stuff out the windows girls! Now!" America yelled, eyeing the bag of wonderful marijuana under the dashboard. He certainly didn't need to be caught with that charge again, especially if he didn't get to enjoy it this time. He noticed his companion up front, Cheryl, threw an entire bag out.
"Cheryl!" he snapped, and instantly regretted doing so. In a softer tone he continued, "In bits."
"Kay Al."
The speaker from the police car finally came on with the usual droll, and eventually America slowed to a stop.
Wonderful.
~*~
"Damn it America!" Nixon said, pacing back and forth across the oval office. "You're too old to be drugging out with teenagers!"
"I wasn't drugging out, Rich! I promise!" America refuted, his face falling even more than it already had been.
"And on top of that you decide to drive at eighty-five when you KNOW that I implement a law on the second day of the year and you break it on the fourth! I'm trying to save gas by having everyone drive fifty-five. Do you know how many more you were going above that?"
"Thirty, sir."
"Good to see you can perform arithmetic."
"If it's simple sir," America replied cheesily, saluting, earning himself a stoic once-over.
"You know, 'he reflects the American people and the American people reflect him. As to which one prevails is something we must study hard upon. We are called Fathers but are more of protectors.'"
America cocked an eyebrow, fond memories returning. "Mr. John Kennedy wrote that. In that little black book of yours."
"Yes he did America." Nixon pulled up a chair. "Obviously, nobody's going to take this the right way if you don't. We're in an embargo. Lead by example, America. Heroes set examples."
"All right," America agreed, "I will." He had gotten off fairly well, and his boss was right. America stood and headed for the door.
"Oh, America?"
America winced at the tone.
"You're grounded."
"WHAT!"
Because, yes, I can see America smoking marijuana at some point or another.