Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.

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The opinions stated in this fanfiction do not necessarily reflect the author's own.

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Nab Jones

Officer Alfred F. Jones got out of the cop car, dramatically slicking back his hair before securing his cap on his head. Traffic cops didn't get a lot of attention from anyone, really, and he had to make sure every time he performed, he had to be at the top of his game. To utilize his intimidation factor, he stood at the side of his car for a bit – throw the speeders a fast one. The Fornasari was a sweet ride; waxed to a shiny gleam, it could easily have passed as one straight from the showroom. He whistled to himself before sauntering up to the driver's side.

Nice car, he thought as he crossed the short distance from his cruiser to the Italian automobile. Real nice. If the driver could smoothly talk his way out of this one, he might consider letting it slide. Alfred wasn't a crooked cop, but he knew fair was fair. And this was one impressive car.

The driver's side window wasn't rolled down by the time he reached it, which threw him off slightly. Usually, drivers were already pleading with him by the time he got to the rear bumper, but this person was taking his grand old time. Slowly, the window rolled down and Alfred was greeted by a scowling individual, as if he was the cop and Alfred was a civilian who had pulled him over to say I'm sorry, officer, but it seems that I was speeding down this street. You wouldn't mind giving me a ticket, would you?

There was no 'Good day, officer' business either. Alfred made sure to give the scowling man ample time to say any sort of greeting, but when none came, he cut the pleasantries. "Good day. Do you know how fast you were going?"

"Obviously too fast," the brunette grumbled. Alfred cocked his head to look into the car and found a passenger in the passenger seat, looking wide-eyed and completely stupid. He had pulled over a pair of twins. Before he could say anything else, the passenger twin unleashed a wall of blubbering.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry, Romano didn't know, we weren't trying to be fast, I promise, seriously we weren't, officer, you can't do this my brother's already gotten pulled over twice this month, I swear we'll be good, won't we, Romano, we will be good, we'll drive the speed limit, right, right, yes, we're good people, really, we haven't broken any laws, honest, we're not even in a hurry, really we aren't, we're just trying to go back home, we've just bought some sauce for pasta, do you want some, we can make you some, officer, please…" He came to a choking stop as the driver of the car shoved his hand into his brother's mouth.

"I wasn't going that fast," the driver, Romano, said, rolling his eyes. "What was it, five over? You can't pull me over for that."

"You were going sixty down a thirty-five zone," Alfred said seriously. "That's double what it's supposed to be. You could have killed someone."

"Well, if someone is so stupid to walk into oncoming traffic, they deserve to be run over, dammit. Then they can't breed even stupider children." His brother was starting to turn blue the way he was trying to speak around Romano's hand and Alfred blinked. "Oh, was that on the record? Well, damn."

"Do you have your license, registration, and proof of insurance?" Alfred asked, deciding to switch to a new topic before this anarchist started spewing more insane logic.

"Oh, yeah. Hold on. Feliciano! Get the insurance card!" Romano snapped his fingers and Feliciano flew to the glove compartment as the former started looting around in his pockets. Alfred figured if he was going to be paranoid, he could see this as an opportunity for these twins to pull a gun on him and shoot him between the eyes, but somehow he just couldn't see this happening. This thought was supported by the way Feliciano started crying when he couldn't find the insurance card, blubbering about how their mother was going to roll in her grave for this misdemeanor. Romano slapped him away and fished out a white card and proof of registration, and handed that, along with his license, to Alfred.

Romano was in mid-shout in his license picture, which Alfred was pretty sure he could hear an offensive slur about the photographer's mother through the posture. Feliciano was sobbing quietly in the background, which was a more melodramatic than necessary. Cars were driving around the crime scene, a couple rubberneckers slowing down to ogle.

The way Romano was fingering the keys still in the ignition, Alfred had a feeling he should stay next to the car to fill out the ticket. He couldn't risk them getting away; that would look bad on his record. He doubted driving without license would faze this Romano Vargas character much. "This isn't your first ticket this month?" he inquired, thinking back to the chatterbox Feliciano's previous statements.

"No," Romano grumbled. Feliciano burst into a fresh flurry of tears.

"May I ask what those other tickets were for?"

"I don't know. One, I was doing forty apparently through a school zone and the other I completely forgot to stop at a stop sign. But in my defense!" he added, before Alfred could interject, "that stop sign was partially obscured by a tree. So it wasn't my fault."

"You're not a very good driver, Mr. Vargas," Alfred chastised, feeling a little triumphant. How long ago had it been since his driving instructor, an uptight whiner with thick eyebrows, said those very words to him? Now he was older and wiser, yup. "If this keeps up, we're going to have to revoke your license and you're going to have to take remedial classes."

"I'm Italian!" Romano shouted, in a thick, ridiculous Italian accent so that it came out more I'ma Idalian. "It's in my blood. I can't help it." When Alfred didn't look convinced, he sighed and pulled the edges of his eyes back. "Or would it be better if I said I was Asian? They're bad drivers too."

"Brother!" Feliciano wailed. "He could have an Asian relative!"

"He's blonder than that kraut, I find that hard to believe."

Alfred was torn. He could be offended. Or he could laugh. The problem with ethnic jokes was that they were funny because they were based on truth. At least, he thought they were ethnic jokes. This Romano must be a very confident civilian, Alfred thought as he continued filling in each blank in the ticket. Only confident civilians could joke with officers. Officers weren't bad or scary people! They were just carrying out the law.

"Where are you heading so fast?" Alfred asked as Romano nearly started choking Feliciano.

"To a crack house," Romano answered promptly. "Going to go score some cocaine to bring back and calm this stupid brother of mine." He looked serious. Alfred wrestled with believing him.

"I'm going to have to run some checks on your car," he said instead, still debating if he should arrest the Italian for drug use. Surely the brother would have fallen apart if they were; probably would have confessed all this sins for good measure. But the weepy brother was just crying silently and had not detailed all his experiences with hardcore drugs, so Alfred decided to let it be. "Please let me have your keys for a moment."

"I'm not going to drive away," Romano griped. That was probably the biggest lie he had told in the officer's presence. Alfred thanked his lucky stars he played baseball in high school or he might have missed the keys, which were deliberately thrown to the middle of the road onto incoming traffic. As he walked away, he noticed out of the corner of his eye Romano groaning. Surely he had not been hoping for bodily harm…?

The computer came up with no dirt. The car was not stolen and it was insured and under Romano Vargas's name. Alfred studied the car in the cruiser. It really was a nice car. The drivers were a little off, but the car…the car. Maybe if everything went fine when he gave the license and insurance card back, he would turn the other way. Yes, that was what he was going to do. He was feeling a little peckish. A stop at a local McDona!ds would be a good ending to this story.

The window was still rolled down, which was a good sign, but when Alfred reached it, Feliciano suddenly appeared in the window, with his shirt half unbuttoned and a very unattractive seductive expression on his face. "Officer~," he groaned in a way that made Alfred rethink the initial opinion that he was drug-free, "just this once, could you do a favor for me…?"

Alfred looked at him. "Are you trying to flash a police officer? I assure you, kid, it's not going to work on me."

"Ugh! I told you!" Romano shoved him back into his seat. Feliciano whimpered as he buttoned his shirt back up. "Zip up your fly. Do you have boobs? No, you don't. You have absolutely no cleavage to flash at this good officer. No." He shot his hand out and grabbed his brother's hand before he could take his pants off. "Well?" Romano yelled, turning back to Alfred. "How much is it? We don't have all day."

"The fee is on the ticket. Here is your license, registration, and insurance card back. There is a date here; you can take your case to court then if you so choose."

"Italian men don't use the court system to solve their problems," Romano muttered. "Thank you," he added, loudly and insincerely. "I'll drive safely now." Alfred handed him his keys back and Romano rolled up the window, letting a low stream of Italian obscenities out in the process. The car turned on, shifted gears, and shot off. Alfred adjusted his cap and took a deep breath.

Score: over 9000 for the awesome, cool traffic officer, 0 for the crazy roadragers.

Owari

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Note: I haven't written a oneshot for Hetalia in a while, so I'm going to re-enter the scene with a kick in the face. I, personally, haven't been pulled over yet, so I consider myself an exception to the stereotype. Granted, I don't do a complete stop at stop signs, but no one's perfect. I couldn't help this fic; it had to be written. It's all in good fun. Thanks for reading.