Hetalia, the land I didn't make up.

Shortie chapter to tide you over.

"And how long will you be gone?" Theresa asked, frowning slightly as she sat on her co-star's bed watching him pack.

"About three days? The weekend and Monday." America answered, stuffing a couple of shirts into his suitcase, and frowned thoughtfully at his closet. "I should be back by Monday night."

"You didn't tell me you were going anywhere." Theresa said, a little piqued.

America shot her a guilty, embarrassed smile. "I sorta forgot."

"You forgot you were going to France for the weekend?" Theresa repeated, disbelieving.

"Well, it's just work." He gave a one-shoulder shrug, wadding up a couple of slacks and jamming them next to the shirts. "Business stuff. It's not like I'm going there to do anything fun or exciting."

"Don't pack them like that, they'll get wrinkled." Theresa admonished, pulling his clothes from the suitcase and folding them neatly. She lifted one of the shirts, frowning at it. "You're not wearing this, are you?"

"Um, yes?" America answered, glancing back over his shoulder as he dug through a drawer for his underwear.

"No." Theresa decided, putting them aside and going to his closet. She threw open the door, rifling through his wardrobe. "This is a business meeting, you say? Your pervert uncle is one of the members, yes?"

"Yes?"

"You show up in that and nobody will take you seriously." Theresa pulled out a shirt, grimaced prettily, and hung it back up. "Alfred, I think we need to go shopping."

"Why? That's what I always wear." America said absently, poking around in his drawers. "Well, not that exactly, but stuff like it."

"Alfred, honey," Theresa turned around and put her hands on her hips, tossing her hair authoritatively, "you're my co-star now, and my responsibility. If there's any chance you'll be seen in public, the way you look and how you act will affect both of us. So since how you dress is going to reflect on me, I can't let you go out dressed like..." she wrinkled her nose, "an American."

"What's wrong with dressing like an American?" America grinned, displaying a pair of star-spangled briefs stretched between his hands. "I was dressed like an American when we met, and you didn't seem to mind then."

She shook her head to hide the colour in her cheeks, and crossed the room again to snatch the briefs from his hand. "Alright, so it might have its own sort of ...clumsy charm, sometimes, but that won't get you very far in our line of work, and certainly not in Europe." She tucked the briefs into his suitcase anyway. "And since there's nothing suitable in your closet, then we'll have to go shopping. When does your plane leave?"

"Um," America paused, and pulled his schedule out of his back pocket, "two hours?"

"Alfred." Theresa closed her eyes, pressing her hand to her forehead. "Your plane is leaving in two hours, and you haven't packed yet?"

"I usually don't pack until just before I leave." America shifted a little uneasily as she turned, crossing her arms and staring at him levelly. "...What?"

"Well, that explains your wardrobe." She sighed, shaking her head. "Well," She decided, grabbing her purse from the bed and zipping his suitcase shut, "there's no choice, then. I'll have to go with you."

"You will?" America asked in surprise, brightening up.

"I'm sure I have enough money with me to buy a ticket to France." Theresa said, handing him his mostly-empty suitcase. "We'll have to go shopping when we get there. When does your meeting start?"

"Tomorrow morning at nine." America took the suitcase and grabbed a briefcase from his bedside table. "You don't have to buy a ticket, I chartered a private plane. Do we have to stop at your place for your passport?"

"I always bring my passport with me." She informed him, patting her purse. "Along with any important papers I might need, makeup, and a few changes of clothes in my car. Something I learned as a model: always be prepared for unexpected trips or parties." She paused thoughtfully. "I'll have to teach you that." She waved dismissively, focusing on the task at hand. "When we get there. You ready to go, Alfred?"

"You really want to come?" America asked hopefully. "I mean, you can't come with me to the meeting, but it'd be great to have you along for the rest."

"Of course." Theresa smiled, reaching for his hand. "It's pretty obvious that I can't leave you alone. Somebody needs to look out for you."

"Great." He beamed, squeezing her hand. "We're gonna have so much fun!"

"But first, shopping." Theresa said, smile widening. She paused with her hand on the doorknob. "...You really chartered a plane?"

"Yep!"

"Alfred." She said cautiously. "Are you in the mafia?"

"What? No!"

"Are you sure?" Theresa narrowed her eyes. "Because if you are, I'd like to know now. "

"No, I'm not in the mafia." America pouted. "I'm a hero, remember?"

"Alright." Theresa's lips twitched, and she squeezed his hand as she opened the door. "I really didn't you could be. You have no sense of style."

"Hey." He mock-protested, grinning again.

"Don't worry honey, I'll fix that." She assured him confidently, tugging him along and gesturing grandly. "We'll get you a whole new wardrobe! You're going to be beautiful, Alfred, wait and see!"

"That may be so." He acknowledged, and stopped in his tracks, catching her other hand when she turned around to see what had happened. Clasping her hands in his, he gazed intently into her eyes. "But with you beside me no-one will notice, because your beauty outshines the sun." He said seriously, voice low and intimate.

She blinked at him for a moment, and then smiled approvingly. "Oh, that's good." She admired, and he grinned. "A little more 'Amando' than 'Alfred'," she added, to keep him from getting too proud of himself, "but your delivery was very good. I'm proud of you."

"Yeah," He admitted, opening the passenger door of the car for her, "I've been having trouble keeping 'Amando' and 'Alfred' separate lately."

Theresa nodded sympathetically, sliding into the passenger seat and releasing his hand. She waited until he'd shut the door and come 'round the car to sit in the driver's side before she commented. "It's because the filming schedule's been so hectic. We're all a little exhausted."

"Yeah, maybe." He nodded, starting the car up. "I don't have a problem keeping Valentíne separate, though. Just Amando and Alfred."

"Well, Valentíne's a very distinctive character." Theresa pointed out. "Alfred and Amando are more alike. That, and we don't really know much about Amando, yet. His backstory hasn't really come to light. It doesn't matter too much, though, because people will just think that 'Alfred' and Amando are very similar."

"I don't think Alfred and Amando are that much alike." America frowned thoughtfully. "I mean, on the surface, yeah, but their ideals and motivations are totally different. Alfred's a bit...darker. Amando's more of a white-knight kinda guy, a straight-shooter. I mean, he's got his dark side and his secrets, but he's not as messed up as Alfred."

"Alfred's not 'messed up'," Theresa defended, frowning a little petulantly, "he's just...troubled."

"Fucked up in the head." America stated, casting a quick sidelong glance at her as he drove.

"No he's not!" Theresa protested, crossing her arms. "He's just been through a lot of things, that's all."

"That doesn't excuse the way he treats women." America continued. "Going through one after the other, just because he can't get—"

"It's romantic." Theresa insisted. "Every woman hopes that she'll be the one, to get through to him and heal his heart, to teach him to love again. It's a woman's romantic ideal."

"A woman's romantic ideal is an asshole?" America inquired, quirking an eyebrow at the road.

"He's not—" Theresa started, then narrowed her eyes when she saw his grin, realizing he was winding her up. "Ooooh!" She growled, slapping his shoulder with her purse, making a face at him when he laughed. Huffing through her nose, she settled back in her seat. "Well, if you're having trouble with Amando and Alfred, maybe we can develop 'Amando' more."

"I was thinking about that." America agreed, frowning as someone cut them off. He leaned on the horn with one hand, and rolled down the window to flip them off with the other, sticking his head out briefly to deliver some colourful speculation about the driver's parentage and personal practices in a mix of Spanish and English as Theresa sank down in the passenger seat, face in her hands to hide her embarrassment. "Anyway," he added conversationally as he rolled the window back up, "I was thinking we could be more active in production and development. Write some episodes, maybe. Direct a bit. I know acting takes up a lot of our time, but I think we could handle it, y'know?"

"Hmm." Theresa considered, pulling on her nails as she thought. "I think we could..." she said slowly, "but it'd be tough. The show's becoming more popular, so we're going to be doing more and more interviews and public appearances. We have to maintain your image as 'Alfred'. And they're still talking about extending the episode length, and if that happens we'll be working almost constantly; but if we worked together..." she nodded, decisively. "Let's think about it some more this weekend, see if we can't come up with a plan."

"Okay!" He smiled widely. "Sounds like fun!"

"Which reminds me." Theresa said absently, pulling her planner from her purse and making a note in it. "We're going to have to talk about sex scenes."

"Do we have to?" He whined, cheeks flushing as he hunched over the wheel. "It's embarrassing."

"We can't keep avoiding it, Alfred." She admonished, putting her planner away again and shutting her purse. "The producers are getting very adamant that we add more sex to the show. There's a lot of pressure from our fans."

"I know, I know." America sighed glumly. "But can we talk about it later? When we get to the hotel. Please?"

"We can't talk about it now, anyway." Theresa reminded him, smiling in amusement. "You're supposed to be 'Alfred' when we're in public. He has a reputation to keep up."

"That's true." America remembered, brightening.

"But we will talk about it when we get to the hotel."

"Boo."

"Oh, Alfred, this is wonderful!" Theresa threw her arms wide in delight when she saw the hotel suite. "It's so big! Look at it!"

"Glad you like it." He grinned her way, tipping the busboys who'd brought their (now plentiful, after a shopping spree) luggage up and shooing them out the door with an amused wave when they lingered in the doorway to stare admiringly at his coworker.

"I love it!" Theresa enthused, and pounced on a vase full of flowers on a table near one of the couches in the expansive main room. "Oh, look, oleander! I love oleander! Oh, Alfred, look at the balcony!" She ran to the glass doors, pressing her hands against it. "Look at the view! It's beautiful." She sighed, leaning against the glass. "The French Riviera. It's so romantic."

"It's nice, huh?" Alfred agreed, gathering her luggage to put away. "Which room do you want?"

"What? Oh, um." Theresa glanced around, and pushed herself off the glass. "Put those down," she flapped a hand at him, striding purposefully towards the bags full of the clothes they'd just bought (mostly for Alfred, but she'd gotten a few things, too. How could she resist? It was France! And besides, Alfred had insisted on paying. She'd thought the 'all Americans are rich' stereotype was a myth, but now she was beginning to wonder), grabbing one from the top of the pile and thrusting it at him, "and go and put this on. We'll work out the rooms later. Right now we have to get dressed."

"What? Why?" Bewildered, Alfred put down the luggage and took the bag.

"We have work to do." She tossed her her hair over her shoulder, rummaging through the bags until she found the one she was looking for. "While you were taking care of the reservations I had a look at the guestbook, and it turns out that the daughter of one of the studio executives is staying here on vacation." She stood, kicking off her heels and pulling a new pair from one of the bags, stuffing them into the one she held as she continued. "I managed to find out that she goes to the hotel bar for a cocktail every day around four-thirty; before she goes out for the evening."

"Oh." Alfred blinked. "So...we're going to say hi?"

"Not 'we.'" Theresa corrected as she changed her earrings. "You, Alfred, are going to sweep her off her feet, show her a very good time, and," she lifted a finger, smiling predatorially, "while you're at it, you're going to mention that you'd like to be more involved in the creative aspect of the show."

"Oh." Alfred puzzled over this for a moment, then his face cleared in realisation. "Oh." He deflated a little. "Do I have to?"

"Alfred, this is a wonderful opportunity." Theresa informed him sternly. "Do you think chances like this happen every day? We have to sieze the moment."

He sighed, ruffling his hair. "Fine, okay." He nodded, resigned. She was right, anyway. "Wait, what about you? Shouldn't I let her know we want to be more involved in the creative aspect?"

Theresa gave him a dry look.

"Absolutely not." She said firmly. "She'll be willing to do anything for you, but if you bring me into it that'll ruin everything. The last thing a woman wants to hear about during a romantic, passion-filled night with a devastatingly attractive man is another woman in his life. Talk about yourself, and her, and that's it. I'll take care of the rest." She hefted the bag in her hand and grabbed her purse from where she'd dropped it on the couch when she'd entered, slinging it over her shoulder. "I'm going to the restroom to get ready. You get dressed, and we'll head down to the bar in half an hour, alright?"

"Alright." He sighed again, slinging his own bag over his shoulder and heading for one of the bedrooms so he could change. "And here I thought this was going to be fun." He muttered under his breath, pouting a little.

"Okay." Theresa murmured as they strode through the foyer a short time later, turning every head in the hotel lobby. Their low-voiced conversation was disguised behind bright smiles and sparkling glances that made it look to those watching as though they were exchanging light banter, rather than the tactical instruction that was actually taking place. "I'll point her out to you, and you move in for a 'chance encounter'. Remember, 'Alfred' doesn't know that she's the studio executive's daughter, so don't mention anything about it. Be evasive about what you do until you've been talking for a while and things are starting to get intimate. If she knows you're an actor straight away, she'll think you're just trying to curry her favour to further your career."

"Which I am." The side of his mouth pulled back in a wry smile. "I feel like a con man."

"It's just business, Alfred." Theresa explained, trying to be patient. No matter how many times they went through this, Alfred just didn't seem to get any more comfortable with it (which was a shame, because he was a natural). "This is how it works. And one night of passion and romance with 'Alfred' will be more than enough to repay any favours she might do you in the future."

"If you say so."

"Trust me." She laughed, smiling brightly and taking his arm as they drew close to the bar. "Now get ready, honey. It's showtime."

AN: Sometimes I get to a point and my brain says 'This is the end of the chapter', whether or not I particularly planned on ending it there. Oddly enough, when that happens, I find myself unable to write the next part until said chapter has been officially closed. I'm not sure why this is. I've found it's best not to argue.