Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters do not belong to me - unfortunately - they belong to their respective creator/owner.
Author Note: I apologize if Turkey seems OOC, I haven't gotten to study him as much as he's only appeared a handful of times so far. The Turkey in my head is a bit perverted like Greece but really only shows it when dealing with certain countries. Enjoy and leave feedback!

Assignment 3

It was the second month since Colin started his new Parliament paid job. His new higher paid job. Right now? He was cleaning up his boss's living room.

He couldn't help but think there was something all-kinds-of-wrong with that sentence.

As he swiped up an old newspaper from under a dozing cat (and it stayed on its back where it landed) he heard the public telephone ring. His employer had his own cell phone for whichever private government-whatever secrets they told each other, so Colin was free to answer the house phone without running the risk of knowing something he shouldn't. Although, since working for Mister Karpusi, he already wished he could un-learn certain things.

As the ringing was getting annoying – and Mister Karpusi had yet to emerge from his room – Colin walked over to the telephone (reflecting in his head again that answering his employer's phone while cleaning his house was a normal-enough action and that it didn't make him a maid or a secretary) and answered it, believing the person on the other end would range from a telemarketer to some neighborly-type well-wisher.

"Hello, Karpusi resi-?"

"What the holy hell is wrong with you, you stupid bastard! You leave that kind of message on my answering machine? I have TRNC living over here, you dumb gutter-eater! What if he was home to hear that kind of language? I'd say use your brain, but I know you only think with one head-!"

"Uh…" Colin was not prepared for this kind of verbal abuse at the house of man who didn't appear to have made one enemy (or friend but he guessed wrong about that) in his entire life. "…I'm sorry…I think you have the wrong number."

Silence. Then a happy, "Oh, I'm sorry. Disregard what I said, then. Apologies for bothering you, sir."

Colin breathed a sigh of relief. The person didn't sound as crazy now as he first thought. "No, it's alright. Er…goodbye."

"Hoşçakalın."

Then there was no one on the line.

Perplexed at the unusual call, but willing to do as the foreign voice said and disregard it, he turned away only for the phone to ring right away. With a sense of bemusement at who the next mysterious caller might be, he answered it.

"Hello, Kar–?"

"What the holy hell is wrong with you, you stupid bastard! You leave that kind of message –!"

"Er…this is the person from before?"

"What!"

Colin couldn't stop his shoulders from jerking at the bark. This person sounded as if he was a drill sergeant getting ready to shoot someone for insubordination. He never dealt well with people like this, preferring quiet company. "Um, this is the same person as before, sir. Did you get the wrong number again?"

"Wha– Hold on!" There came the sound of ruffling papers in the background. Then, "No, this is the right number. Who the hell is this?"

Colin narrowed his eyes at the commanding tone but replied, "This is the Karpusi residence. May I ask who's calling?"

"Karpu-? Ohhh! Well, that explains it. Who are you? Some visiting Parliament guy? What'd the cat-pervert do this time?" Snickering. "He forget to tie his shoes and had to get one of his lackeys to do it for him?"

Colin wasn't sure how to respond to this animosity, this sense of rivalry. He didn't know if he should defend his employer or let the man defend himself.

"Er…I…I could take a message for him…."

"So? I don't care about that anymore. Well, I do, but I can just spam his e-mail again with past pictures of Belgium's Kattenstoet. But I asked before – who are you?"

"I'm mister Karpusi's assistant. Colin Galanos."

"…Assistant?"

"Yes, his hired personal assistant."

A silence on the other end.

"…Hello?" He was rewarded with laughter blasting in his ear.

"Hahaha! Hahahaha! Oh, God-! Ahahaha! You're a- you're his bitch!"

Colin's eyes widened in outrage. "I am not anyone's-! I'm an assistant and that's my only job! We don't do anything like that here!" He was being insulted by a stranger from who-knows-where just by association.

"Yeah, sure. I bet Jerkules pays you a bunch for your 'job'! I've never heard of a no-strings-attached assistant – where were you born? Certainly not there. Hee hee hee!"

He sputtered, not liking the crude insinuations but too socially awkward to return the favor. "Ah…I…I'm hanging up now!"

"Ahahaha! Please, stop! My sides! I hurt! Ahaha!"

Colin jammed the phone back into its cradle and stalked away. He was not answering the next few calls no matter what – let the narcoleptic handle his own house!

Elsewhere, Turkey was clutching his stomach and almost in tears. That assistant who answered the phone didn't know what he got himself into! Oh, this was priceless! Turkey had to see the poor bastard in a few months if he still worked there. After squeezing off a few more chuckles, he shakily picked up the phone – Greece's message forgotten – and dialed another number. He had to tell someone about this!

TBC...

Post Script - Colin is a prude. And of course, it wouldn't be Hetalia if rumors weren't spread around to ruin a nation's reputation. Not that Greece would really care, anyway. I imagine "assistant" to nations is synonymous with "paid intercourse" - just think of what France would do wih a personal assistant. No, I changed my mind. Don't.