"Come on, Matt! Hurry up!"

"Alfred, slow down!" a heaving, out of breath boy replied. Alfred had finally held still long enough for him to catch up. His hands were full of heavy-looking bags until he put them on the sidewalk to catch his breath. The boy hunched forward, hands on his knees, panting heavily. "What are you in such a rush for?" Shoulder length wavy blonde locks covered his face and he made no effort to brush them aside. A small white bundle of fur strolled casually up to the boy who scooped it up carefully, cradling it to his chest. "There you are, Kumajirou."

The polar bear looked at its master with distant eyes before ushering a soft "Who?"

The blonde boy stood straight, hair falling comfortably behind his ears. One long ahoge refused to stay down. Thin-rimmed round glasses sat in front of violet-blue eyes.

"Because, Matt!" Alfred began, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "You're just too slow!" The indigo eyed boy—Matt, as he was called—rolled his eyes.

Callie noticed the two of them in the street on her way home from work. It was a long day, a boring day, with the highlight hearing Alfred's antics earlier. What he was doing in there was beyond her, but catching glimpses of the conversations always brought a smile to her face. He was easily the most excitable; a nice change from the more serious, uptight people who worked there.

The two twins—at least they appeared to be to Callie—stuck out on the Washington street. Matt, as she had heard the other boisterous boy address him as, was clutching what looked like a polar bear to his chest. A polar bear in Washington D.C.? Wasn't it too hot for them here? They lived in arctic climates, after all.

Her feet were already programmed to get her where she needed to go, thanks to the almost daily routine that was her life. They knew how to get her home without her having to think about it; she could be sleepwalking home from work and make it there no problem. But today it gave her time to watch the eccentric boys. It was things like this, people like them, that made walking worthwhile.

The other boy, the one with hair the color of golden wheat, scooped up easily the bags that his "twin" Matt was struggling with. He slung them over his shoulders, eyes still fixated on Matt as he shouted a loud, "Hurry up, Mattie, or I'm leaving you here! You can get home by yourself!"

"Eh? Watch out, Alfred!"

"Huh?" Alfred looked forward. Callie met Alfred's eyes for a second before they both found themselves staring at the sky. Callie blinked twice, trying to ascertain what just happened. There were Alfred's strikingly deep ocean blue eyes, pain in her head and back and a collision. He crashed into her, taking them both down. Callie pushed herself up into a sitting position. Alfred sat upright as well, rubbing the back of his head, an apologetic smile resembling that of a child's on his face.

"Alfred! Are you okay?" Matt asked, running up to the pair. Before he could offer his hand, the energetic blonde was back up on his feet. "I'm sorry about my brother." He tried to offer his hand to Callie, who refused.

Alfred finally noticed his vision was blurry when he tried to focus on the grey pair of eyes looking at him. No matter how many times he blinked, the sight before him refused to focus. "Crap! Matt, have you seen Texas?" He turned to the blonde blur, hoping it was his brother.

"Texas?" Callie asked. "You mean these?" She picked up the glasses lying at her feet. They didn't appear to be broken; in fact, they weren't even scratched. Alfred took his glasses, pushing them comfortably up the bridge of his nose. The two boys' glasses were almost identical, she noticed, the only difference being that Alfred's were more rectangular instead of half-circles like Matt's.

"Thanks. Sorry about that; I was in a rush and didn't see you," Alfred said, still smiling. He brushed the dust off his old Bombers Jacket and collected the scattered bags.

"Alfred's in a rush today," Matt said. Callie noticed the Canadian accent as he spoke. It was strange; if they were brothers, why did one have an accent and not the other one? "Much like every other day."

"It's okay," Callie said with a smile.

"I was not in a ru—say, wait a minute..." Blue orbs focused intently on Callie's grey ones, taking in the flecks of blue and green imperfections. Strands of bright auburn hair covered parts of her face, flowing in rhythm with the wind. Alfred's eyes narrowed in concentration. "You look familiar. Do I know you?"

At this, Callie chuckled. "You don't recognize me, Alfred? We work in the same place."

He continued to stare at her for a minute before a broad smile graced his features. Matt and Kumajirou exchanged a quick glance, both lost. Not that Kumajirou cared much for what was going on between the two of them. "Callie! I do know you! Heading home? Hey, have you met my brother?"

"I haven't. Nice to meet you."

Matt smiled. The polar bear in his hands fixed blue eyes on her. "Matthew Williams. Likewise, Callie." The bear fidgeted in his arms, clearly not happy with being forgotten. "Oh! This is Kumajirou." He settled down immediately, turning his blue eyes up to Matthew.

Alfred grabbed his brother's hand, earning him a surprised "Eh?" Callie was shocked at how he could hold that many bags in his left hand only; there were a good amount and they looked to weigh a significant amount. "Come on, Mattie! See you later, Callie!" Alfred ran off, pulling Mattie behind him. The poor kid was tripping over himself trying to keep up with his brother as he yelled an apology over his shoulder. She found herself chuckling as the two blondes disappeared within the Washington crowd.

That was certainly a fun walk home, she decided.

~oOoOoO~

But now nothing made sense. She could easily recognize Alfred's voice and vaguely remembered Matthew's, but what they were talking about made no sense. It might as well have been in French for what it was worth; Callie was never good at French in school, nor was she to this day. Her knowledge of the language didn't extend past a few basic words and numbers.

From behind the White House conference room wall, there were several sets of voices. After Alfred's speech, a very annoyed Briton spoke up, addressing him as "America," who in turn addressed him as "England." Several other voices spoke up, each being called a country name instead of their true given ones.

These men were Nations, she'd overheard. Her mind screamed over and over that the mere thought was ridiculous; she'd simply misheard what they were saying. They weren't being called the country's name; they were talking about the one they each represented. That had to be it. Whether it was true or not, her heart hammered in her chest. She got the feeling she overheard something that was meant for their ears only. Why else would they be having a secluded meeting in the White House of all places? For a place with such high security, she figured soundproof rooms would have been a definite necessity. The best thing to do now would be to walk away and forget the whole thing, she decided.

That wasn't going to happen.