Hello~ Please enjoy. Next chapter involves France, England, and Canada. 3

Ps. White Collar belongs to USA Network and is involved in his fic, but knowledge of the show isn't necessary as this is predominantly hetalia. I just wanted fun characters for the FBI agents, and we all understand what the FBI is, right?


"Here, the case file on Alfred F. Jones." Agent Peter Burke slid the worn manila folder across the table toward his partner. "Read up."

Neal Caffrey, the younger of the two, accepted it, peering down from behind sunglasses even in the darkened room. The two agents sat across from each other at a small table in a glass walled office. The hallways and adjacent offices where agents in pencils skirts and suits had been walking earlier were now dead silent—empty-the lights off save for the dim glow of sleeping computers and bland screensavers.

The first thing Caffrey noticed about this folder was the sheer bulk of it. Too many papers had been crammed in and the folder itself had to be reinforced at the bottom with duct tape. He was sure to lay it open as carefully as possible then to separate paper-clipped documents and files into an arc across the table. He shot Peter Burke a smile and ran fingers through thick brown hair, eyes twinkling. "FBI's got a lot of stuff on this guy, huh. Who is he?"

"Only says Alfred F. Jones. He went missing as of two days ago. Supposedly some kid from DC who worked for the President, but something isn't quite right. Kid's got more files than most of the agents here at FBI combined. You wouldn't believe the number of forms I had to fill out just to get access to this one file." Burke just sighed, corner of his mouth twitching into a bemused smirk. He loosened his tie and let his partner wade through the information while he dug chopsticks through a nearly empty cartoon of orange chicken. He was weary from a long day in the office, and the nature of his work showed in the lines of his face. He was one of the best, seasoned through years of police and FBI work, and he was the only one who could keep ex-criminal-turned-FBI consultant Neal Caffrey in line.

"How old is he?" Caffrey held up a yellowed document, soft and torn with age. It brought to mind documents like the constitution and declaration for independence that had to be kept under special conditions to stay intact. He could not quite decode the bronzed, cursive writing. "Because something tells me this isn't counterfeit." Caffrey had counterfeited something similar and it had not been this convincing. He had the eye of an expert from years of practice. He could tell if he was being tricked and he could trick the best of them.

"According to all this…older than this nation, and that's where it gets weird," Burke replied. He rifled through the information until he found a document dated 1908 and signed by Teddy Roosevelt. "This." He shoved it toward his partner who had to lean close and squint to make out the faded type.

"Alfred F. Jones, personification of the United States of Ameri—"

"Put the files aside, boys, past information won't help us. This is a matter of urgent national security." The FBI director had slipped into the room and was already in the process of scooping up the papers and arranging them carefully back into the file. "I know everything you'll need to know about this Alfred F. Jones, but you must realize the sensitive nature of this information. If so much as one syllable of this gets out to anyone, the President will have all three our asses. As of now, we and a small team in DC area are the only ones trusted with this information."

Caffrey whistled and picked up his fedora, settling it on his head as he straightened. "High profile guy, got more files than I did in my time and is so restricted that no one knows his name. And I thought Iwas good…"

"Caffrey." The warning tone in Burke's voice told his charge to shut up.

"Anyway," The FBI director continued, sitting down and also leaning forward, his eyes very intense, his expression very grave. "Alfred F. Jones has gone missing recently. The last he was seen was by the President following a short meeting in his New York suite arrangements. This was after the press conference and the first round of Presidential debates."

Another whistle from Caffrey. "Personal meetings with the President?"

The Director ignored him. "We don't know if he was taken or by who or if he just walked away. Either option doesn't bode well for our country, especially if his captor knows who he is."

"And just who is he," Burke asked. His brows knitted together, and something told him that this was going to be a very difficult night and couple of weeks. He wondered how he'd tell his wife that he wouldn't be home for a long time. "I mean, what exactly is a personification…?"

"He is America."

Both Caffrey and Burke drew in a sharp breath then stared at each other, equally puzzled. Caffrey had stopped fiddling with his hat. He half expected the Director to start laughing and admit that this was some sort of joke. The young agent drummed his fingers against the table, trying to break the heavy silence.

"You heard me right, boys." The director leaned back in his chair, suddenly looking a lot older, more weary. "He is the United States of America. The embodiment of the nation, the people, the government, the economy, and the land itself all packaged neatly into a 19 year old boy." He drew the most recent picture of Alfred from the file and pushed it toward the two partners.

Caffrey picked it up and scrutinized it. Eyes as bright and blue as the sky gleamed up at him, laughter hidden somewhere in their depths, intertwined with a sort of wisdom wrapped up with strange innocence. He wore simple glasses that added maturity to his face; his whole well-formed jaw was framed with blonde bangs parted to the side where one stubborn cowlick refused to conform. There was something about this guy—Alfred—that had Caffrey's mind reeling, as if he was struggling to remember a word that was on the tip of his tongue. There was something undeniably familiar about him, though he swore he'd never seen him in his life. "Really is just a kid…"

"Indeed," Burke said, back to business. He tapped it back onto the table after his turn. "So he's disappeared. What's the time frame? And how many people do know about this…uh…America personification?" He'd begun to rub his temples, a sure sign that this was all proving a bit much. Caffrey made a mental note to ask him about the tinges of grey he spotted, but when the mood wasn't so grave.

"I learned about this kid the day I took position as director. As far as I know, only the President, his cabinet, and his family know of his existence."

"What about the leaders of other countries? Surely there are other…personifications, right," Burke continued. "I mean, like England and China and Germany. Do those countries have something similar?"

"They do. I know for a fact that the Canada and the England personifications have been to the White House. It seemed like Alfred would have been close to those two, considering the amount of meetings between diplomats."

"Wait," Caffrey interjected. "So the Special Relationship between England and Americ—"

"Irrelevant to this case," Burke hissed, though his cheeks grew red. "A-anyway, what I was trying to get at is that these other countries know about him, which means the prime ministers and possibly the public of other countries know of these personifications. It wouldn't be a far leap for any of them to assume that America has one as well and that it happens to be Alfred F. Jones."

The Director nodded. "So you're saying this is most likely to be an international issue rather than someone who just knew Alfred was connected to the President in some way." He mulled this over, lips pursed. "I was thinking something along the lines as well. Though, it's been three days—"

"There would have been a demand for ransom by now," Caffrey said. "A note or some sort of communication—at least if this is only about money. Most could assume that the United States would pay out the nose to get this guy back, though that might just be my own assumption." He picked his fedora back off his head and smoothed his hair from underneath it.

"That would be ideal, but we've heard nothing from anyone, not even threats," The Director answered. He allowed himself a sigh then glanced at his watch.

Burke's eyes flashed with grave darkness. "How much does Alfred know about the inner workings of the government? Our secrets? Our plans? It's possible that who ever took him wants information and will either try to torture it out of him or exchange him for whatever they can get out of us."

"I'm not sure how much he knows. I was talking to the President on the phone earlier and he told me that Alfred's role is more symbolic than anything. He's not terribly involved in any of the three branches of government or any of our decisions, or at least not anymore."

"Anymore?" Caffrey wondered. He scanned the weary faces of both Burke and the Director with a small sigh. His eyes flitted to one of the windows—bulletproof—that revealed only a patch of night out over New York City where stars no longer gleamed for the overpowering lights of the city, of human progress. "Is it…possible that he just walked away?"

"What?" Burke's brows knitted further. He propped his chin on interlaced fingers, elbows against the table.

"Impossible," The Director said. "That would be like the President or the land this nation rests on walking away."

Caffrey shrugged, suddenly lost in thought. He stroked at his chin and leaned forward. "I was just thinking that if I were the United States of America, I would want my role to be more than purely symbolic, is all. It's not an appointed title-it's who he is, if any of this is to be believed. I would think being reduced to a symbol is a bit demeaning. Just imagine the things this kid has seen and done!"

"Caffrey," Burke said, "While it's a possibility, we don't have much a basis for it. Let's get back to the facts. We need to figure out the moment he was last seen, who might possibly know of him, and his patterns from the past few weeks. We should also get someone in on searching the Presidential suite and track his cell phone conversations. With any luck he's still somewhere in New York."

The Director nodded. "You can pick a team tomorrow. Keep them in the dark on who he is, just tell them to find him."

"Right." Burke agreed.