Disclaimer: SheWasFlying does not own Hetalia: Axis Powers. There. I said it. Happy? Gosh.

A/N: Ok. Howdy! Forgive me for making this author's note choppy, but here: it is 4:55 in the morning, I am exhausted, my brain is mush, and I am new to Hetalia. So please, let me know how I've done with this? I've read quite a few Hetalia stories already, but this'll be my first time writing one myself, so I'm kinda nervous. Or, at least, I'd be nervous if I wasn't so sleepy.

Also, I'm uploading this on a whim, which is dangerous, but that's how I roll, dawg!

Thank you, and enjoy!

America and the Green Leafy Food

It was only a couple of hours into the 2012 World Conference when Germany called for a lunch break, jaw clenched. The nations stood and stretched and massaged their sore butts and headed off, knowing for certain that they had at least three hours to waste while they waited for Germany to chill out. This might have been a little disconcerting to America, since the meeting was taking place in England's homeland, which was so bo-oring (not really; America just liked to say so to make England start sputtering and get all red and funny) but he'd brought a butt-load of comic books along in his backpack, so he was good.

He joined England outside the meeting place (as did France and Canada) and even though England scoffed and glared at all of them, America knew the Brit was happy to have them all follow him, 'cause they all always ended up together anyway, and 'cause England was a funny guy when it came to showing his glee. And so with suitcases, lunch bags and (in America's case) super awesome backpack in tow, the three visiting nations followed the host to a lovely park (America wasn't going to admit that to England, either.)

The sky was sunnier than usual, and the temperature was pleasant. England led them to a large tree by a sparkling pond, where they stood in the ample shade to admire the view (England preened and admired his beautiful land, France smirked and admired England, Canada admired the way the sun played on the rippling surface of the water, and America admired that everyone would admire his lakes even more.)

"Okay!" America dropped his backpack onto the ground (England could whine all he want about his backpack, but it was leather and black and totally professional,) yanked the zipper down, and pulled out a wide blanket. It was blue, and soft, and had a bunch of big red and white stars stitched all over it. It was awesome. "Lunch time!"

"Do you always carry blankets around on your back?"

"Only when I know you're gonna take us to one of your parks for lunch, bro!"

"H-how did you-?"

"I know you too well, man." America ignored England's scowl and spread the blanket out in the shade.

Mere minutes later, the four blonde men was resting in various positions on the blanket. A group of women joggers jogged by, watching the men as they passed. France smiled and winked and oozed a Oui, we are sexy, and don't I know it, aura.

"So, Canada," England began. He pulled a sandwich, a bag of crisps, a chocolate chip biscuit and a bottle of water from his lunch bag, and began to set them up neatly before him. "What's this I hear about you tightening security along your border?"

Setting his own sandwich and cookie aside, Canada answered with an exasperated gaze. Of course England would only pay attention to him if it meant bugging America. Le sigh. He glanced at his southern brother warily. "Oh, w-well, yes, but it's only because. . . ."

America wasn't listening. He eyed the others' lunches. Pfft. Sandwiches and cookies. Pfft! And France, with his appetizer, entrée, desert and his fancy silverware. Hah! So lame. So yesterday! Didn't they know what was totally in for lunch these days?

America pulled his lunch bag from his backpack with a flourish and tenderly pulled from it a Tupperware bowl (with a blue top) a bottle of Fiji water, a shiny, fat apple, and a plastic spork.

So in. So awesome.

He rolled around until he was comfortably laying on his belly, legs crossed at the ankles (not spread, oh heck no, as if he was going to let France start up on that again) and popped the top of his Tupperware off. He breathed in deeply and grinned. Oh, yum. Yes, this was good. Michelle knew him too well, seriously. She'd made his lunch perfectly; oh, what an awesome woman. He really had her to thank for his new obsession, even though he had never wanted to be obsessed with it in the first place. Who would have thought that he, Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America, would ever find this smell so wonderful?

He stabbed his spork into the bowl a few times, making sure to pick up a little bit of everything, and savored the first bite of his beloved lunch. Yes.

Oh, God. Seriously. This was just too goo—

"America?"

America raised his eyes. England, France, and his brother what's-his-face were staring at him.

"Hum?"

England gaped. He pointed warily, and for some reason seemed unsure of himself. "America, is that . . . is that a salad?"

Oh! Was that all?

"Yeah, man! My favorite! Ice burg lettuce with strips of breaded chicken and these tiny orange wedges that I think are called Mandarin oranges and sliced almonds and oh my God, it's so good, you guys." They stared. America blinked. "Seriously, it's good! You guys should try a salad every once in a while, you don't know what you're missing out on."

America then focused all his attention once again on his lunch.

France, England, and Canada continued to stare at him for a moment longer before looking at each other. And by the looks in each other's eyes, they knew they were all thinking the same thing.

There was something terribly wrong with America.

A/N: And so there you have it. I plan to update this either every Wednesday or every Saturday, depending on my schedule. How'd I do? Was it boring? It's been a while since I've written anything, and it's great to be back, and I hope I didn't do too terribly! Constructive criticism is much loved!

(Oh, gawd, I'm probably going to regret uploading this later, but right now I'm sleepy, so whatevs.)