As soon as the news spread throughout the compound that Japan had brought information on America's whereabouts, the Nations were calling their respective countries left and right, most donning jackets and calling their drivers at the same time. So what if the FBI and Secret Service were on the job? They knew they could find their brethren Nation faster than any normal human ever could. They knew he had landed at Mitchell International Airport in Milwaukee, the largest city in the state. However, they had no idea where Alfred had gone from there. He could be anywhere in the southeastern part of the state, or even further by now. So all who were going to assist in the search and rescue mission were flying there on the secondary Air Force One, thanks to the support of President Obama.

Arthur was donning a heavier jacket from his winter uniform set when Matthew knocked on his open door. "Arthur?" he called in his quiet voice.

"Come in!" the Englishman called, shrugging his arm through the sleeve. He shook it out and allowed it to settle over him as he watched his younger brother walk into the room, Kumajirou in his arms. The miniature polar bear still looked at Arthur with somewhat of an angry look on his face, but no more growling. "I apologize for my actions earlier," he said, dipping his head in apology to Matthew. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

"It's okay," he told him, smiling. "I know you're just as worried about Alfred as we are."

England walked over to Canada and placed a hand on his head, ruffling the blonde hair around his goggles. "We'll find him, I promise you Matthew."

Canada tilted his head down, staring into the fluffy white fur on top of Kumajirou's head. "I know we will, but…I have a really bad feeling about this. Something has happened, I know it. Y-you should have seen him, after the m-meeting on Wednesday. It was like he was f-falling apart from the i-inside out," the young Nation spoke softly, tears prickling at his eyes once more.

Arthur quickly enveloped him into his arms, while being wary of Kumajirou between them. "You know Alfred. He is a hero, and will always be a hero. Do you think something like this is going to stop him? Even if he is hurt or injured, I know he is probably trying his best to contact us at this very moment. Right?"

Matthew nodded into Arthur's chest, sniffing.

"Then let's go get the poor bloke. Besides, I'm going to give him a good piece of my mind for walking out of here sick like he was!" Arthur said with a scowl, his bushy eyebrows joining together in the center of his forehead as he gently pushed Matthew away from him.

Matthew giggled, wiping his eyes dry with the back of his sleeve. "I agree," he added, smiling once again.

"Good. Now let's go find that perverted France. We don't want to miss our plane, now do we?"

~:~:~

It was later in the day when Alfred next awoke. He could tell because the sun was no longer shining directly in through the window from over the lake, east from where it arose each day to greet his country. He woke slowly, blinking his eyes as blurry scenes greeted him which had been clear only hours ago. Taking stock, he sleepily realized he was in almost the same position as he had been in when the woman had brought his clothes in…when he had started crying.

Quickly Alfred realized what had happened, and was about to get up and go apologize when he felt something moving in his hair. Fingers were moving around on the top of his head, massaging the blonde locks in slow purposeful movements. It was then he also realized that he was lying down upon something very warm, his head upon something soft and his arms wrapped around something slowly moving up and down. This breathing was accentuated by a soft but strong voice, humming a simple lullaby as she ran her fingers through his hair. She had moved Alfred so that his head was resting on her lap, her legs stretched out down the bed for comfort.

Alfred closed his eyes, lulled by the motion of her fingers and the sound of her voice. He listened for a long while, the only sounds being his heartbeat and her song, until he felt the fingers beginning to gradually slow and pausing more often than not. The humming eventually died off as well, and was replaced with deep intakes of breath that exhaled silently. Being ever so careful, Alfred began to turn his head around, trying to look at the woman. Finally replacing himself in the opposite direction and proud of himself for not having disturbed her, he gazed upon her face.

Her chin rested upon her chest, her back against the mahogany headboard. Her right hand rested in his hair, while her left had been lying on top of one of his arms instead. Her eyes still showed signs of the restless night; the shadows still not having completely disappeared. Alfred assumed she had been awake until those few moments ago when she finally succumbed to her much needed rest. She had stayed with him, stayed awake while he fell into a restful slumber, forgoing her own to take care of him. Alfred smiled before sitting up very slowly in order to prevent any of the cuts from opening up again. He did not get the enormous dizzy spell as he had earlier, and the pain had lessened considerably in his stomach. He carefully grabbed her hands and partially her wrists in order to lay them in her lap, but as he grabbed her left she suddenly hissed in pain, eyes flying open.

Seeing Alfred awake, she squeaked and pulled her hands away from him, scrambling further up the headboard. "Y-you're awake!" she stuttered, an enormous blush creeping its way across her face.

Alfred narrowed his eyes at her. "Your wrist," he told her, a statement more than a question.

She looked down at her right hand, which was currently wrapped around said wrist. "I-it's nothing, really," she told him earnestly.

"Really?" he asked, as his hand shot forward and gripped it firmly around her own hand.

The woman cried out in pain, tears blossoming in her eyes. "Ow! Okay, okay, it hurts! Let go!"

Alfred immediately released her, guilt eating at him for hurting her. "Why didn't you get it looked at?"

"It's only a slight sprain," she told him, averting her eyes and looking towards the door. "It'll heal on its own in a day or two."

"You should wrap it at least," he pointed out to her.

"Y-yeah," she said, slipping her feet over the side of the bed and standing up, only to fall to the floor and clutch her knee with a cry of pain.

It was mere moments before Alfred had launched himself off the bed and was at her side. "What's wrong?" he demanded. "Not just your wrist, but your knee too?!"

"I just tripped yesterday, okay?!" she cried back at him, huddling down closer to the floor. "It was…it was when I…" she started to say as her voice lost its bitter edge, biting on her lip to keep the tears from leaking out of her eyes.

A pair of strong arms encircled her. "Now it's my turn to take care of you," he spoke to her gently as he easily scooped her up bridal style, with one arm across her back and one arm under her knees. She eeped! slightly, grabbing Alfred around his neck to steady herself. He chuckled, standing, as he walked the few feet to set her down delicately on the bed, careful to not do anything unnecessary; she seemed to be a very shy person when it came to bodily contact. Letting her go, he sat down next to her. "Show me?" he asked her with a small smile.

"I-it's my right," she said with a blush, turning away as she scrunched the fabric of her pants up over her leg. As her knee came into view, she winced; it was spotted with black and blue bruises, just like her left wrist was, as well as the large band aid she had used over the cuts from the sidewalk.

"That doesn't look too good," Alfred told her honestly as he laid a hand on her knee, moving it around to see how bad the damage really was.

"I'll be fine," she told him, "really. It's just a little tender yet."

"Where are the supplies you used on me?" he asked her bluntly, standing up.

"What?"

"The bandages," he reiterated as he began to walk towards the door.

"The medicine cabinet, above the sink," she told him, pointing to the bathroom.

"Do you have any mineral ice?" he asked her as well, walking into the tiled room and opening the mirrored cabinet.

"Blue jar, middle shelf."

He opened up the medicine cabinet above her sink and grabbed a larger and smaller roll of ace bandages as well as the navy blue container, closing it back up again. He walked back into the room, the flag of the United States waving at her as he moved. "Let me help," he said in a soft, apologetic voice. "Hold out your hand."

She complied, holding her left wrist just above her legs.

Taking off the small metal pin that held the roll together, he took the edge of the roll and placed it on the junction of bone between her hand and arm. He noticed the darkened bruises like on her leg and shook his head. "You have to take better care of yourself," he murmured as he held the end of the roll in place, wrapped it once around, and then began wrapping the rest of her wrist.

The woman was transfixed as she watched Alfred bandage her up. His hands were rough but gentle, working quickly and efficiently from what looked like years of practice. In moments, he had wrapped her wrist completely, hooking it around the base of her fingers and in between her thumb and forefinger, using the metal pin to clasp the end of the bandage to the rest of it on the back of her hand.

She had to admit her wrist felt better already, the pressure relieving some of the previous pain. She flexed her fingers nimbly; the bandage neither too loose nor too tight.

Alfred chuckled as he let go of her hand, reaching for the other bandage and container of ointment. Starting with the container of blue gel, he opened it and set the lid on the comforter, dipping his fingers into the cold material. Satisfied with the amount, he set the open container down on the bed and rubbed the mineral ice between his hands before gently placing them on her knee.

Her body stiffened. "Cold," she hissed softly in explanation when Alfred gave her a curious look.

"Oh, sorry," he told her, and began massaging the joint. His fingers began with the top of her kneecap while avoiding the bandage, working the gel around it and into the muscle, before dipping behind it to the back of her knee. He massaged it gently, his hands rubbing and caressing the muscles as the throbbing ache was slowly relieved.

The woman slowly calmed down, almost mesmerized by his actions. Normally she was wary to let anyone touch her, other than friends or family, but she could feel the built up soreness and aching slowly recede as his fingers did their magic. She even felt herself calming down, taking deeper and deeper breaths until all she could see was the top of Alfred's head as he bent over his work, and his hands and fingers moving back and forth over her skin.

He smiled. Her breathing was slower, deeper. Her hands sat limply in her lap as she watched him take away the pain. Even when Alfred got up to use her bathroom to wash off the blue mineral ice, dry his hands, and come back to put the ace bandage on, she barely moved – only watching him through half lidded eyes. He sat back down and grabbed the last ace bandage, unwinding it before wrapping the wrenched joint as he had done with her wrist.

"There, all done. Feeling better now?" Alfred said quietly as he bent down and kissed the top of her knee, then took her hand in his and brought it up to his lips, kissing the back of it gently while looking up at her. His blue eyes stared unabashedly into her green ones, almost looking through her and seeing her innermost thoughts.

The woman was wide awake now and could practically feel steam coming out of her ears by this point, she was blushing so hard. "Y-yes," she managed to stumble out in a shrill voice.

Alfred laughed at her reaction. "Sorry. My older brother always used to do that when I was little."

"You're feeling better," she snorted in an effort to hide her smile. "But…thank you, Alfred."

"You're welcome," he said with a grin. Suddenly he shivered, bringing his hands up to rub up and down his arms.

"You're cold! Wait one second," the woman told him, throwing one leg after the other over the side of the bed. She stood carefully, not putting too much pressure on her right leg. Brushing passed him she headed for her closet, opened it, and dug around inside for a moment. Alfred came up from behind her, wondering what she was up to. "Here," she suddenly said, turning around and holding out a large sweatshirt. "Put this on so you don't catch a cold."

"Thanks," he told her, grasping the gray material. He held it up to see that is was indeed a man's sweatshirt, with large purple letters that read UWW on the front. He donned it quickly over his head and pulled it down over his midsection, finding that it fit quite well. "It fits," he said to her, "thanks."

"My little brother left it here the last time he visited," she explained. "I wasn't sure if it would fit you or not, but it's better than walking around half nak – um…are you hungry?" she quickly asked, changing the subject as she turned around to close her closet doors. "…I should go make something. I could always run down to the –" she rambled, until Alfred stopped her mid-sentence.

"You never think of yourself, do you?" he murmured, watching her as she paused in the middle of the doorway. "Not once yesterday or today have you thought about yourself, only what I need, to the point of running yourself ragged. Why?"

The woman closed her mouth, her curiosity and her caring nature getting the better of her again. She spoke her next words facing away from him, but with a sharp tone. "It's...it's because you're you. You are…different than anyone I've ever known. Do you know that you smell like twenty different things and places at the same time? For that matter, who can smell like a place?! And those scars…those aren't normal," she ended her outburst with a whisper, clenching her right hand into a fist at her side. "You've been hurt so much in the past. I know you are special, more special than anyone I've ever known." She turned around and strode purposefully up to him, paused, sucking in a deep breath of air as she stared at his chest. "Alfred, what are you?" she whispered as her fingers ran over the sweatshirt, tracing the oldest scar underneath it: Revolution, it had said. "It's like the one on your stomach."

The room was unnaturally still for the next few minutes. Alfred's mind was reeling, trying to figure out what to do. It's not like he could openly tell her "Hey, I'm the United States of America all wrapped up into one flesh and blood bundle! Name's America, but you can call me Alfred F. Jones. Nice to meet you!" He couldn't tell her about the Nations either. But how else could he explain himself to her?!

"I…" he began, swallowing nervously as he tried to decide on the best words to phrase his next thought. "I'm the…"

"Wait," she suddenly said as she changed her mind, standing up tall to try and see him face to face, placing a finger over his lips. Alfred's eyes were large as she shook her head. "Don't tell me."

"But –"

"No. If you can't, or aren't supposed to tell me, don't. I don't want to get you into any trouble." Her fingers gently traced over the two hundred thirty year old scar on his chest. "You have others like this," she finally said, breaking her silence. "On your back, your arms, your legs."

Alfred nodded.

"I've seen what they say; some are so faded they're almost invisible now. Some are still fresh and look like they're about to bleed. The one on your back shoulder," she told him matter-of-factly.

He nodded again, figuring he could at least tell her something. "They're called Marks."

"Marks?"

"Emotional pain turned physical," he explained in simple terms, closing his eyes. He could see each one clear as day, from having to tend to them so often in the past...

1776…

Revolution…

1812…

Civil War…

World War I…

Great Depression…

World War II…

JFK…

Korea…

Vietnam…

Civil Rights…

Colombine…

9/11…

And now…Hood.

"Will these Marks ever go away?" she asked him softly, staring into his sky blue eyes.

Alfred shook his head slowly. "They've been around for this long, so…probably not."

"Are…are they painful?"

"Yes, and no. Most of the older ones only get sore when I think about them. Some of the newer ones more often than not lately."

"And then the new one on your stomach."

"Yes. It's already healing though, thankfully. I am really glad that you found me when you did," he told her gratefully; looking passed her and not meeting her gaze.

"Anyone would have done the same," she murmured, looking anywhere but his face as she felt her own heat up magnificently. She felt such a strong connection to him as if she had known him all her life, and feeling so strange, being here next to him. His presence exuded an ancient calm, as if she would never have to worry about anything ever again. Like he was her knight in shining armor come riding on his glorious white stallion to carry her off into the sunset.

~:~:~

The second Air Force One owned by the Federal government of the United States of America shot through the sky at a breakneck pace, making it's way towards the interestingly enough glove-shaped state. Matthew watched the fluffy white clouds sail by his window, as Arthur sat next to him reading his daily copy of The Times. Occasionally he would ruffle one of the sheets as he paged through it, a more subtle noise compared to the quiet chatter of Nations spread out throughout the plane.

Russia had discovered the President's alcohol storage, and was currently sipping away at one of his favorite brands of vodka. France was flirting with the flight attendants as well as the other female staff. Italy was bouncing from window to window, telling Germany everything he could see (which wasn't much) while Germany tried to catch some shuteye. Japan sat still, watching everyone going about their business, while China was hungrily snacking on some fried rice he had brought with him.

Watching the sunny sky through the window, Matthew couldn't help but think about Alfred. Yesterday he had flown through these same skies, heading towards Wisconsin, but for what purpose? Obviously there was a lot to see within his own country, and like the other Nations he enjoyed making sure his people were living good and happy lifestyles, and nudging his leaders in the right direction when he found something that was wrong or could be improved upon. He wish he knew what exactly Alfred had gone to Wisconsin for; if he had a destination in mind, they could at least check there first, but they didn't even know where to start looking.

The Nations were going to split up, one group per county, and start looking around for their friend. No matter how long it took, they would find Alfred and bring him home.

"Can I get you anything sirs?" he heard a polite voice ask. Matthew turned around to see a kind faced government employee smiling down at him.

"Tea, Earl Grey, no cream or sugar, side of lemon," Arthur replied without missing a beat, his eyes still scanning the stock market exchange prices.

"Water, please, and some raw beef?"

The lady quirked an eyebrow at the still bear in his arms. "Raw…sir?"

"Yes, please. Just cut it up and put it on a plate and it will be fine. Thank you!"

"Of course. It will be just a few minutes," she told them with a nod before leaving.

"Didn't you feed him this morning?" Arthur questioned Matthew as he turned yet another page.

"Of course! But long plane rides make him especially hungry, right Kumajirou?" As if on cue, a low rumbling noise was emitted from the small bear's stomach. Matthew and Arthur laughed, the underlying tension slightly relieved. It was silent for a few minutes as they waited for the woman to return with their drinks and raw beef. Matthew finally broke it, asking, "How long do you think it is until we land?"

"Well, it's only a four hour flight, and we've already been up here for two hours already, so probably another two or so. Getting cabin fever already?" He turned another page, squinting at some of the smaller texts.

"Oh, no. Just…anxious, I suppose," he admitted.

Arthur turned away from his paper to look at him. His head was down as he petted Kumajirou, his lone curl not as gravity defying as usual. "I told you before Matthew, we'll find him. Alfred doesn't go down that easily," he added in a softer voice, flashes of red, white, blue coat-tailed uniforms racing across his vision. "He's a strong Nation, just like you."

Matthew blushed a little, hearing this kind of praise from Arthur. Which was quite unusual in itself. Which also meant that without saying it, he was exceedingly worried.

"Here you are sirs. Your Earl Grey tea, your water, and your…raw beef. Please enjoy," the woman from before said, suddenly appearing next to them with a small tray.

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek, smiling and thanking her at the same time as he took the cup of tea and leaned back as she handed Matthew his water and Kumajirou his plate of raw beef chunks. That was too close, he thought to himself. He didn't know how many people on this plane knew who they were; the pilots did, since Alfred got use of this plane more often than not when the President wasn't using it, as well as two suits that were traveling with them. Beyond that he and the other Nations had agreed to keep their true identities under wraps, only referring to themselves with their human names. However, he kept this concern to himself; Matthew was still feeling guilty enough as it was.

Matthew set the plate down on the floor, placing Kumajirou next to it. He heard him murmur a quiet "thanks" before he started munching happily on the meat. Matthew scratched behind his ear momentarily, before leaning back into his seat and taking a small sip of his water to try and calm his nerves. They still had two hours before they could begin their search.

~:~:~

On the other hand, on the ground in Wisconsin, Alfred was up and walking around the small apartment while his new friend cleaned up a bit and got dressed. Neither of them could really take a proper shower or bath with their minor and major injuries, but they tried their best.

Alfred had never been in a woman's home before; well, other than passing by Hungary's room when she had left it open while she was talking to Belarus. Hungary had frills everywhere, lots of flowers and lace too. This apartment was a bit more sophisticated, in his perception, by the fact that it wasn't overly crowded with unnecessary items. He was currently in her living room slash kitchen; all of the walls were painted a neutral but cheery light brown, with several paintings and photographs hung on open spaces. One looked like a Georgia O'Keefe print, another by Christian Reese Lawson. One large frame held many pictures in it; he could see her with what was probably her family, two tall boys seated next to her and an older man and woman standing behind them as they smiled for the camera. Others were of vacations; he could see a sparkling coast, Mount Rushmore, a mountain hidden by clouds, and a dark cave. Other pictures she had two younger boys on either side of her – one Caucasian but the other interestingly enough African American. Others were of her with two young girls of Asian descent with heavy winter coats on.

Cousins, maybe? he thought to himself. Moving on, he strolled into her living room and admired the nice sofa and chair around a dark wood coffee table. He practically jumped in delight when he saw a large flat screen television and a new Playstation 3 system underneath it. Ah, a female gamer, alright! Turning, he also admired the view out the window of the lakefront, but it was blocked by several tall buildings, so only partial views of it could be seen. It was clear this apartment was neither on the poor nor the rich end of the spectrum, but somewhere in the middle.

Suddenly Alfred noticed in the opposite corner many black and blue cases, some only a few feet long, others almost as tall as he was. Walking over to them, he also noticed some kind of metal contraption, with three feet on the bottom, a long body, and a flat top with an edge that looked like you could put something on it. A music stand? he thought to himself. Then these must be…

"Oh, I see you've found my instruments," a voice called from behind him. He turned around sheepishly to see that the woman had cleaned herself up, putting her mass of curls into an easy ponytail and wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that read Treble Maker. "I swear, I should keep some of them at school," she sighed as she turned around and walked into the kitchen.

"School?" Alfred questioned her as he trotted over to where she was.

She nodded. "I'm the orchestra teacher at the high school about two miles from here. I'm just glad I decided not to drag any with me last night!" she laughed. "Now, you're probably hungry, right? What did you want to eat?"

"Burgers!" Alfred blurted out, before he turned red and closed his mouth. "Uh, I mean…"

"Burgers for lunch it is then!" the woman said with a laugh. She turned away from him and walked over to her freezer. "I should have some – creak – in her somewhere…" she murmured as she opened up the side-by-side refrigerator and freezer. After a minute of digging, she made a negative sound. "Huh. I guess I don't. You want me to run and get some?"

Alfred bit his lip, his inner burger urge he was trying so desperately to hide, came out in almost a puppy dog look that she could only laugh at. "Okay, okay, burgers it is. Do you have a preference?"

"McDonalds!" Alfred cried out happily. "Thanks!" He was almost jumping in place.

The woman laughed again. "Alright. There's one a couple of blocks from here, just let me grab my coat." She walked passed him and towards her bedroom. "If you want to use the bathroom to freshen up, go ahead. Your uniform is hanging from the bar next to the washing machine and dryer, as well as your jacket. I'll be back in about twenty minutes or so, but help yourself to whatever's in the fridge for now," she called from the back room, her voice getting louder as she walked back into the front room shrugging on her dark brown jacket, her purse slung over her arm. "Hey, you okay?" she asked him as he blinked several times at her.

"You didn't happen to see my glasses at all, did you?" he asked her, noting that his surroundings still were slightly blurry from when he woke up.

She shook her head. "No, but the alley I found you in is close by, so I'll check on my way there. Are you going to be okay without them for a little while longer?"

"I'll be fine," Alfred promised her.

"Alright then. I'll be back shortly."

~:~:~

The second Air Force One jet landed without any problems whatsoever, but startling the technicians in the tower and on the ground. Since the Nations did not want to make a large fuss, they had the pilots' taxi up to one of the private docks instead. Even so, they could not help but draw attention to themselves once they were traversing through the concourse.

In the shape they were in, who wouldn't have stared? Twenty gorgeous and handsome young men and women in pristine uniforms and dresses who seemed to be from all corners of the globe walking and talking together as if they did this every day. Accents flowed into many ears; Italian, French, British, German, Chinese, Japanese, Russian, and even one that seemed almost English but with a slight French undertone.

Francis winked at several young ladies as they enjoyed their midday coffee, tossing out several French phrases at them.

"Francis!" Arthur hissed, poking him in his side.

"Vat?" the blonde Frenchman side, looking hurtfully at the shorter Englishmen.

"We are here to find Alfred, not to flirt!"

"Well maybe you should try it! It might soothe that nasty English temper of yours!"

"Arthur, Francis, please," Matthew begged his older brothers. "Not here!"

"Sorry," the two Nations mumbled together, bowing their heads in shame.

"Now, let's find some transportation," he said, taking the lead. He looked around and found the signs that said Baggage. "That way – down the escalators," he indicated, taking the lead with Kumajirou. The poor bear had been adamant about being left alone on the plane by himself, so Matthew had no choice but to take his friend with him – at least, after cautioning him to pretend he was a stuffed polar bear.

"Good idea, Comrade Matvey," Russia agreed in his light voice. The two of them were the first to step onto the escalators and begin their descent off of the concourse, the rest of the Nations filing into step behind them. France and England just happened to step on it at the same time, squishing themselves together between China, Japan, and Belarus – whom most of them gave a wide berth anyway.

Stepping off, Canada looked around at the baggage claim center, watching as people grabbed their luggage off of the rotating machines to his right. To his left he could see the doors leading to the outside. "This way – we'll each get a taxi to share," he told the rest of them as he began walking towards the rotating doors. As a couple walked in passed them, a blistering, freezing wind accompanied them, forcing the Nations to pull their coats around them tighter.

"Ah! A brisk Siberian wind," Russia grinned as they stepped out into the bright sunshine of a wintery Wisconsin day.

"It's cold," Italy whined, pulling his jacket tighter around him.

"It's not that bad," Germany told him, throwing an arm around his axial friend.

"Where is the taxi service station?" Japan asked quietly, looking around as the Nations processed out of the building.

"Over there!" Matthew pointed out as he began to hurriedly walk down the sidewalk. He had seen the bright yellow sign in the middle of the street, one side being local traffic as people were picked up and the other a stream of waiting taxis. As he hurried towards it, he saw several people had gathered around the small booth, talking as they waited for customers. "Excuse me!" he called.

Several men and women looked up, some with surprised looks on their faces as the contingent of men and women suddenly surround them. "Can we help you?" one woman asked Matthew, closing her mouth and smiling at him.

"We need six taxis please," he told her.

"Y-yes sir!" she said. "Carlos, Marie, John, Bill, Sergey! We've got customers!" Two more men came running, and the two women and one man who were already there waited for instructions. "Carlos, take 516. Marie, 234. John, 489. Bill, 165. Sergey, 664. I'll take 393. Got all that Tom?" she called into the booth.

"All set. Head on out!" a man called as he gave her a thumbs up with the hand that wasn't writing.

Sergey? Russia thought. He walked towards the shorter, stockier man that had nodded at the name, pulling Matthew along with him. "Ve vill go with you, da?" he said.

The man looked surprised. "You are Russian?"

"Да. Меня зовут Иван Брагинский. Ты Сергей?" (Yes I am. My name is Ivan Braginsky. You are Sergey?)

The man grinned at him. "Конечно товарища. Где вы хотите пойти сегодня?" (Of course comrade. Where do you want to go today?)

Matthew could only roll his eyes. Apparently the man was Russian, hence why Russia wanted to ride in his taxi. "Ivan," he prodded him softly, pulling on his sleeve. Arthur and Francis had come walking up behind them, after having shared last minute directions and advice with each of their brethren Nations before they had watched the rest of them climb into the other five taxis. Arthur raised an eyebrow at Matthew as he listened to Russia speak, waiting for him to finish.

"Мы ищем друг наш. Возможно вы видели ему? Высоту, белокурыми волос, ношение коричневый кожаные пальто с звездой на передней панели и число 50 на задней панели?" (We are looking for a friend of ours. Perhaps you have seen him? Tall, blonde hair, wearing a brown leather coat with a star on the front and the number 50 on the back?)

The man's eyes widened. He was so surprised, he switched back to English. "Da! The generous coffee drinker!"

The three non-Russian speaking Nations spun around as they heard his cry of surprise. "You know Alfred?" Matthew said hopefully, stepping closer to the man.

"Al…fred? Tall man, brown uniform, leather coat, wavy blonde hair?" the man reiterated with a small frown.

"Yes!" France, England, and Canada shouted at once.

"Downtown. Intersection of Water and State streets. I will take you right now." The man quickly turned around and opened the door of the taxi, allowing the three overjoyed Nations to quickly file in. Russia walked around the taxi and got in on the passenger side so he could speak to Sergey more, and maybe figure out where America had gone.

~:~:~

"Brr, it's freezing out here," the woman complained, fighting against a cold wind as she walked down the street. She was only a few blocks away from her apartment, taking the same trip she had made last night but while trying to support Alfred. The wind had picked up since then, but the bright sunshine was helping to alleviate some of the bitter cold.

She looked around as she walked trying to regain her bearings. She remembered that the alley was five blocks away from her home, and was in between the two rows of restaurants and shops along the riverfront. One sign, she remembered seeing, was for her favorite Thai restaurant – it had been just after she had began dragging Alfred home with her.

Pulling up the collar on her jacket, she shivered before shoving her hands in her pockets. She could see the sign for Curry on the Corner one block in front of her, and thankfully there wasn't anyone else on the street today. There was the normal everyday traffic, of course, but most of it was cars and trucks rather than pedestrians. She saw several people several blocks up in front of her, and several that would pass her in a minute on the opposite side of the street, but other than that she was alone. Perfect; she could scrounge around in the alley without arousing any suspicion.

As she drew closer to the alleyway, she knew this was the place. Stepping in front of the alley, she saw the small spots of blood that had alerted her to Alfred's presence. This is the place, she nodded to herself. Looking around in all directions, but trying to be discreet, she ducked into the alleyway and began walking passed the enormous green garbage bins. "One, two, three, four," she counted until she saw the dried pool of blood she had found Alfred lying in the night before. He throat constricted at the sight, a painful reminder of his egregious wounds.

Not now, she thought to herself. She had to find Alfred's glasses. Bending down, she looked all over the ground nearest to her. No dice. Standing she moved passed the dried blood and vomit pools. Sweeping her gaze around, a shimmer caught her attention from a few feet from where Alfred had been lying. Kneeling down, she saw glass shards glimmering in the little bit of sunshine that penetrated the alleyway from high above the buildings. In the center of the shards was a pair of rectangular framed glasses. Picking it up, she was disappointed to see that the glass had all but broken out of them, so Alfred was going to need them repaired.

However, at the sound of several pairs of heavy footsteps, she froze.

"Hey! What are you doing over there!" a male voice called, angry.

She slowly stood up, gripping the frames in her right hand, while her left carefully dug into her purse to retrieve her mace. Her heart began to race, adrenaline coursing through her system.

"I believe he was asking you a question, my dear," a smooth voice spoke, joining the first.

"She might know something – let's ask her!" a third but softer voice chimed in.

"We only want you to answer some questions," a heavily accented voice added.

Not wanting to find out the intentions of these gentlemen, she stood up to her full height…before taking off at a frantic run down the alleyway.

"Well, let's – hey, wait! We only want to talk with you!" the first voice called as four pairs of footsteps began to chase her.

"No! Leave me alone!" she screamed as she pushed her legs to their limit. However, her right knee was still not quite healed, so as a shot of searing pain shot up her leg it stopped her mid-step, tumbling to the ground. Several male voices shouted at seeing her fall. She bit her lip, crying at the pain. Just she was just about to rise to her feet a hand was placed on her shoulder. "L-leave me alone! I've got mace!" she screamed, crossing her arms in front of her, mace in one and Alfred's glasses in the other.

"Bloody hell!" the voice said, retracting his hand. "Those are Alfred's!"

The woman froze, confused. Slowly she lowered her arms to see four young men kneeling around her, giving her surprised but concerned stares.

"You…you know Alfred?"