Day two, and still no Alfred. Roosevelt didn't bother sending anyone out this time.

Alfred didn't trust easily. That much had become clear over their short association, and perhaps that had been a well-founded instinct. It'd certainly been a while since anyone trusted him in return.

So Roosevelt would have to place his trust in Alfred. And hope he resurfaced soon. The sooner the better-they had things to accomplish.

He turned his attention to the vague outlines of his latest antitrust venture. It would be long in the coming, but absolutely worth it if he could get it past the planning stages. Big business were not meant to have so much say in government. Especially ones that barely toed to line of legality with their obvious monopolies. Government was not meant for the self-interested.

And someday that might even be true.

Another agent sighted, alone on the semi-busy street just blocks away from the White House.

America came up behind him, smoothly relieving him of his wallet. He'd return it later of course, with the contents completely undisturbed. But the opportunity was just too good to pass up. Maybe in the future he wouldn't leave his wallet poking halfway out of his back pocket like some willy-nilly tourist.

"What the-Thief! Stop that man!"

Oops. He was apparently getting rusty.

A well-meaning civilian took him roughly by the sleeve of his long jacket. America shook him off and took off into an alleyway.

A police whistle sounded off somewhere behind him. He took that as a sign that it was time to return 'home'.

He initiated his in-…intra-...intra-bordery-whatever-thing. Someone really needed to come up with a better name for it.

His pursuers were left alone, scratching their heads at an empty dead end with echoes of lightly mocking laughter bouncing off of the high brick and plaster walls.

An assistant slammed into Theodore Roosevelt's office, heaving as though he'd been running. "He's back!"

Roosevelt didn't need to ask who. He'd given explicit instructions to be informed the moment Alfred reappeared. He stood up, shoving the Canadian-originated letters sitting on his desk into his jacket. "Where?"

"The library."

Roosevelt didn't think he'd ever crossed the White House so quickly before.

The library was serenely lit with filtered sunlight, lending a peaceful air to a place that hardly saw any activity anyways. Alfred sat alone among a cluster of chairs near one of the windows, leaning back and twirling something shiny in his hands.

Roosevelt sat down across from him, close enough to be noticed but far enough to be unobtrusive. He didn't know where this sudden need for prudence came from, but ultimately decided to heed his instinct. He still didn't know what to expect. "I need to speak with you about something that you've been putting off for a long time."

No answer.

"Alfred, m'boy?"

The semi-immortal didn't appear to be paying attention. His gaze was strangely blank, and faraway. A silver letter opener danced in his hands, fliting back and forth with surprising dexterity.

Roosevelt suddenly felt uneasy, recalling what that Mister William's letter had told him and unable to stop from drawing conclusions. America was naturally prone to daydreaming. Even Thomas Jefferson had attested to as much. But there was still that wriggling suspicion. That gut-feeling of something not being right that warned him that it might be too late to save his dear Nation.

Still, America made no outward sign of actually seeing him.

Unable to take any more, the president snapped his fingers a few times. "I've heard of flighty but this is just ridiculous."

America inhaled sharply, snapping out of his strange trance with wide eyes as he slammed the letter opener back onto the coffee table it came from. The little implement clacked horribly as it gouged the finish of the table.

A long silence ensued. Roosevelt studied the damage done to the old, time-tested furniture before giving America an even look. "Are you going to tell me what that was?"

Alfred averted his gaze as though ashamed. "No." Then the moment was gone, and he leaned back with a causal ease that hadn't previously been there. "What did you want to talk about?"

Roosevelt frowned. However he allowed the subject to drop, as he drew out the opened envelope that had opened his eyes so. I received a letter recently from-"

America glimpsed the return address, and his expression closed. "From Canada."

"Yes." The president drew out the formal letter, and recited the words he was quickly coming to know by heart.

Mister President,

This is a formal inquiry as to the American Anthropomorphic Representative's (Nation's) health and whereabouts. It has come to international attention that he has not met expectation by breaking his personal isolation in favor of attending to his responsibilities. Nor has he made any private attempt to contact another Anthropomorphic Representative (Nation) in order to maintain regular in-person contact with them.

Perhaps it is because you do not know.

Nations cannot be alone forever. We have long learned through trial and error that it inevitably drives our kind violently mad. As things stand, Mister United States is in great danger of this eventuality.

In light of the situation, the committee has agreed to override Mister United States's standing request of being left out of international affairs in favor of extending to him an invitation to the World Meeting (personal invitation enclosed). This letter has been sent to you in the hopes that you might convince him to preserve his mind and attend the next one that he is able. The annual schedule is copied on the back of the invitation.

Very Sincerely,
Matthew Williams

America had sunk lower and lower into his seat with every word. By the time Roosevelt was finished, he was half-way out of his chair. The first words out of his mouth were not promising ones, either. "I don't want to go. Too many Europeans."

"It says here that you have to go," the president pointed out, "and that is my responsibility to make you attend."

"Will you?" America queried cautiously, as though he were afraid of the answer.

Theodore sighed. "You should know by now that I would not. It must be your choice, else there is little point." He offered the envelope. "There's something else in here for you."

America took it like he expected it to bite him. Bypassing the invitation, he withdrew the last folded piece of parchment, the one with his own human name in simple-yet-elegant lettering. He made no attempt to open it. "You have not read it?"

Roosevelt raised an eyebrow, pushing up his pince-nez with a sniff. "You're far too old to have me going through your personal correspondence."

The western Nation seemed oddly warmed by this response. He slowly opened the letter, and silently read it through. Roosevelt was able to peek over the edge of the paper to see a short personal missive in looping letters and almost flowery language that bespoke a finer education.

He waited.

Eventually, America set the letter on the coffee table with an indescribable expression. He stood, his voice distant. "I need to go think. Excuse me."

The library door closed behind him with a finalizing boom. Theodore took up the abandoned letter.

Alfred,

The likeliness of you reading this is demoralizingly slim. Perhaps it is only wishful thinking that has me writing to you again, as though there was some chance of repairing the relationship we had before you came to hate me.

But if by some miracle you are reading this…Francis tells me that you haven't attended any meetings, and that most have yet to even see you in person. Others have told me that such a thing is unnatural. That Nations do not typically do this, and your continued absence only confirms their suspicions that you are too far gone, already.

Once upon a time we were as close as brothers could be. I wish we hadn't taken that bond for granted, for we may not have ended up in this situation.

Please, Alfred. Let us put the past behind us as our people have. I'm worried about you.

-Matthew

Yaaaay, chapter. The next one should be up any minute so hold on a tic...