"You owe me 54 million dollars."

Alfred looked up from his sheaf of papers, a blank expression on his face. "What?" he asked finally, the words only half-registering in his brain. Arthur was standing in front of him with a very impatient look in his eyes, and Alfred was just not equipped to deal with the Englishman at 10:30 in the morning, jet-lagged and half-asleep from the conference that had just ended.

Arthur couldn't resist rolling his eyes. "How can you still be tired after sleeping through that conference? I should think you're refreshed by now. And you heard me; you owe me 54 million dollars."

Alfred felt like his mind was in a daze. Yes, he admitted to himself, he did have a habit of borrowing money from other people and taking a while to give it back – but he usually remembered these debts, especially if they had to do with Arthur. Yao was usually pretty easy-going with his lending – seeing as Alfred was already 3 trillion dollars in debt to him – but Arthur was a whole different matter. And he most certainly did not remember borrowing 54 million dollars from him.

"Nice one, Iggy," Alfred said finally, deciding that this was a joke and smiling tiredly as he shuffled his papers back into his briefcase. He was half-asleep and all he wanted was to go back to his hotel and lose himself in the bliss of a well-deserved rest…

"I'm serious, Alfred!" Arthur said sharply, jolting Alfred out of his dozing. Ludwig may have a deep, calming voice that made it easy for Alfred to sleep during his lectures, but Arthur had the voice of a math teacher – able to inspire fear in the most valiant of hearts.

"Okay," Alfred mumbled sleepily, propping his elbow on the table to support his lolling head. "Where do I owe you 54 million dollars from anyways?"

"Oh, very nice," Arthur replied scathingly, giving Alfred a very pointed glare. "Although I suppose it's impossible to keep track of your debts, seeing as you have so many."

"I would have remembered borrowing 54 million dollars from you," came the sleepy reply, as Alfred eyes hovered between staying open and drooping shut. "Hang on, you're not still holding against me the debt from the French and Indian War, are you*?"

Arthur groaned in despair. "Parking tickets, Alfred," he replied, shaking his head in disbelief.

Alfred blinked.

And blinked again.

Because honestly, there was nothing much he could do. The words 54 million dollars and parking tickets kept running around in his head and suddenly, it hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks.

Parking tickets.

Alfred's eyes flew open, all traces of sleepiness vanishing. "That's how I owe you 54 million dollars?" he yelped, his elbow slipping off the table in shock. "Parking tickets?"

"Caught on finally, have you?" Arthur asked ungraciously. "Parking tickets and toll fees, I might add."

"What toll fees?" Alfred asked cluelessly, feeling a yawning chasm of doom open up in the pit of his stomach. He had a feeling Obama would really not like this.

"Under English law, all drivers who enter central London during business hours must pay 8 pounds – or 12 dollars - in order to prevent traffic from clogging up the central gridlock," Arthur recited mechanically. "How do you not know about this?"

"Wait," Alfred replied, brow furrowing. "Isn't there some kind of law that says diplomats are exempt from taxes?"

"Yes, but these aren't taxes," Arthur replied, "they're fees."

"That still counts as a local tax, you know," Alfred said defiantly, squirming slightly under Arthur's soul-sucking green glare. He wasn't used to people hounding him at 10:30 in the morning over an eight-digit debt, and he just wanted to crawl back to his hotel and sleep. He settled for thumping his head onto the table instead, burying his face in his arms.

"They most certainly are not!" Arthur replied indignantly. "My diplomats always pay your fees, so the very lest you could do is return the favor!"

"I still don't understand how I racked up 54 million dollars in traffic fees," Alfred moaned pitifully, his words slightly muffled as he spoke into the polished wood surface of the conference table.

"You know, the initial fee was only $12, but it increases every time you refuse to pay it," Arthur said sympathetically, almost feeling bad for the other nation.

"Couldn't you have sent me a reminder on a Post-it note or something?" Alfred whined.

The sympathy vanished instantly. "I did!" Arthur cried, sputtering in indignation. "Thirty-five thousand, six hundred and two times! I've been reminding you since February 2003!"

"Oh. Shit," Alfred said, in a very small voice. "Guess I never got the memo.**"

"You've been avoiding it for 7 years, and now you're going to pay," Arthur said, a very dangerous look in his eyes.

Alfred laughed. "54 million dollars? Good luck! If you ever want to see a penny of that money again, get in line behind China! Haha!"

Arthur did not become angry. In fact, it was quite the opposite; an air of calm settled over the Englishman, and he seemed to almost be…smiling. Alfred began to feel a cloud of ominous doom hover over him, and he quailed slightly in his seat. "Wh-Why are you looking at me like that?" he mumbled, inching away.

"I figured you weren't going to pay me back," Arthur said calmly, and he reached for his briefcase, fiddling the dials and snapping it open. "So I have another option."

And with that, he pulled out a frilly, French maid uniform.

Alfred's eyes widened.

So did Arthur's smile.

"What are you doing?" Alfred asked nervously, abandoning stealth and scooting his chair away from Arthur.

"You said you aren't going to pay me back," Arthur said innocently, rising to his feet and holding the uniform in front of him like some sort of warhead. "It's 54 million dollars, Alfred…I want some sort of compensation."

"Never mind, I take it back!" Alfred yelped, leaping from his chair and backing away in horror. "I'll pay you back! I'll pay you back!"

His back hit the wall, and he shrank under Arthur's malevolent green gaze, which had never seemed quite so intimidating as it did at that moment.

"To be honest, I think this way would be easier," Arthur said casually, an ominous aura emanating from him. "Come on Alfred, you don't want to see your tax payer's dollars going to this fine, do you? Consider it…taking one for the team…"

Alfred's back hit the wall.

Arthur chuckled darkly. "Welcome to hell."

"GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Author's Note:

*Ironically, Britain trying to get America to pay their debt from the French and Indian War is what made America want to declare independence.

**Yes, this is a reference to a Miley Cyrus song xD Why do I get a feeling Alfred would like that song?

Where did Arthur get that costume? Francis, of course. What is he going to make Alfred do in it? That's up to your discretion. This fic was inspired by an article I read online – my fellow Americans, we really do owe England $56,000,000 over traffic fees OTL.

This one's for my friend Elise Katherine (: