The British Empire frowned at the bold text stamped across the newspaper's front page.

$3,000 REWARD FOR CAPTURE OF ALFRED F. JONES

He set the paper down with a snort. "The Yank went and did something stupid, unsurprisingly."

France swirled his wine, his smile turning into something that could be interpreted as mocking, lecherous, or purely curious. "Is that an American newspaper I spy?"

England quickly covered the New York Herald's incriminating title with a morning edition of the Times. "I don't have to explain myself to the likes of you."

"Of course not," the French Nation said with either acquiescence or sarcasm.

England's frown became a scowl. Christ, talking to his neighbor from across the Channel was like talking to a woman. Everything was an innuendo, and each conversation was accompanied by three others made up of body language and what was being left deliberately unsaid.

France reached over and casually plucked the Herald from the pile of morning papers sitting on the table. He read aloud, "'Recently inaugurated President Roosevelt calls for every police department, sheriff, U.S. Marshal and bounty hunter to be on the lookout for Alfred F. Jones. Blue eyes, dark blond hair, glasses, about eighteen years of age. Bring him alive directly to the White House or send a wire with his location to be handsomely rewarded…'" France trailed off thoughtfully. "It seems as though he's fallen completely from the map."

"Why are we still discussing this?" England wondered aloud.

"Again."

The green-eyed Nation leaned back on his ornate settee, the very picture of an uncaring noble gentleman. "So his own government can't keep track of him. The subject is entirely inconsequential."

France folded the paper and set it aside. "I only thought that…" Then he considered it, and sighed. "Never mind."

England frowned suspiciously. He didn't like things being kept from him. "What is it?" he snapped.

"Oh, but mon ami, you just said that-"

"Tell me."

The French Nation actually flinched at his tone, weighted with the suffocating pressure of a Nation that was realistically much more powerful than he. Still, France hesitated for a moment, as though choosing his words carefully. "I last spoke to him just over thirty years ago. He was not…well."

The Empire's eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. He did not know this. He did not like not knowing things, even if the subject was displeasing. "America was sick?"

"Not exactly," France answered. "He was only…distant. Restless. He didn't seem all there."

England didn't speak for a long, quiet moment. 'Not all there…And now he's run away from his own government without a clear reason.' He shook his head. 'I don't care,' he firmly reminded himself. 'I'm not supposed to care. Not about him.' "If that is all you are worried about, then it is not worth my attention," he informed tersely. "This conversation is over."

France shrugged, his elegantly nonchalant attitude immediately resumed as he stood and gathered his coat and hat. "Whatever you say, Anglettere. Though I might as well add that I stopped receiving his letters seven years ago."

"Hey Al, you're in the paper!"

The young blond's head poked out past the busy storeroom's inner doorway. "Whassat?"

The smuggling ring leader, known only as Jim, slapped his newspaper for emphasis. "You. The paper. A giant-ass bounty on your head from the president, himself." He leaned forward intently. "So…what'd ya do?"

Alfred shrugged, and disappeared back into the dusty backroom.

"You kill a man?" Jim called callously. "One o' them senator types, maybe?"

A beat of silence. "Naw, I ain't like that!"

Jim frowned at the slight hesitation in his lackey's voice. Al had always been kind of…odd. Oh, he was smart and industrious, and charming to boot. But sometimes…

Mutterings in the dark. Mood swings, twitches, and occasional arguments with people that weren't there.

"I can't have killers in my organization," Jim warned, hand instinctively moving to touch the cool wooden grip of his revolver. "'Specially not high-risk ones."

His other employees were none-too-covertly beginning to listen in. Smuggling? No biggie. Stimulating profitable vices and all that. Even lethal self-defense is necessary, at times. But cold-blooded murder…

Murder was serious business. And everyone knew that Jim didn't tolerate it.

Glass broke from within, like someone had dropped a crate. Alfred emerged fully, and faced his employer with crossed arms and an indignant expression. "I didn't kill anyone."

Was that a glimmer of fear Jim caught behind those glasses? Guilt?

"Three thousand dollars," someone muttered wistfully.

Jim's eyes narrowed. "Then why's the gov'ment want you so bad?"

Tension in the room heightened sharply, and men began to talk amongst themselves. Someone brought out a coil of rope.

"I'm not going back," Alfred declared softly, a disturbing note in his tone that made Jim's hairs stand on end. "You can't make me go back."

Alarm bells began to ring in the smuggler's head, and he made his decision. He used his considerable bulk to block the only exit, heaving a belabored sigh. "You seemed like a good kid, Al."

Blue eyes widened in dismay, and warning. "Don't-"

"Grab him!"

The room exploded into violence as his men surged to detain the apparent murderer in their midst. Alfred twisted, dodged, and bodily shouldered people out of the way as he made for the door.

Jim drew his weapon and pointed it at the advancing teen. "Stop, or I'll shoot!"

Alfred wasn't stopping. His expression was frantic, pupils fully dilated as he barreled straight for his former employer. Time slowed, and Jim reacted. He pulled the trigger.

Everyone froze at the ear-shattering BOOM! that sounded within the confined space of the storehouse. No one dared to speak as Alfred abruptly staggered, clutching the area just right of his heart with an expression of intense pain. Blood dripped freely, and the boy dropped to one knee with a hacking cough.

Jim grimaced. He hated watching people die-especially someone so young. And that was a fatal wound if he ever saw one. "You just had to go and mess up, Al. I always knew you weren't right in the head."

The blond teenager surprised them all by struggling to his feet with a pained grunt-an obviously herculean feat for him. He swayed, and removed his hand from his wound. Blood continued to splatter on the ground. The smuggler was both pained and unnerved to hear him chuckle, blood trailing from his mouth as he smiled, "Nice…shot."

Men cleared away from Alfred as though he had the plague. Someone to Jim's left began to mutter a prayer.

Then, the wound stopped bleeding. Blood was already congealing and scabbing over the hole, while the injury itself was beginning to shrink…Alfred lurched forward unsteadily, that disquieting smile still planted on his face.

Jim uttered a panicked oath, and fired off another shot. But Alfred was clearly ready for this one as it hit him in the shoulder and he barely even slowed down.

Jim dropped weapon. He wasn't stupid-he knew when something had proven itself useless. In this case, a mortal weapon against whatever godless creature this was. But now he wasn't sure of what to do, and the fear clouding his brain was making it hard to think.

"I didn't kill anyone," Alfred informed conversationally. "Not since…a long while ago. You should have just believed me."

Both gunshot wounds closed entirely. Jim wondered why his men weren't doing anything.

Alfred's smile twisted into something dangerous, spectacles flashing oddly in the light.

'His eyes were blue a second ago, I swear-'

The blond's tone became flat, his voice utterly alien. "You're in my way."

Jim yelled, felt pain, and then nothing more.

And NOW we get into the problem that very nearly correlates and very much assists with the main conflict that happens to be the main idea of this story. Some of you may recognize it.

Not a very historical chapter, unfortunately. But it is longer, so that's something. Hopefully you guys still found it entertaining to read.

Thanks for the favs, follows, and reviews this story has already gotten. Each one is a gift that is cherished. Tell me what you thought of this, pleeease? I'm not too sure about it...

Later dudes. ^J^