Chapter 6: Arrest

He had kept his promise: early the next day men with trucks had arrived. Under Alfred's watchful eye the new bright and odd shaped furniture was placed, the colors helping to liven up the place.

"We'll get some new carpet and wallpaper for you." he had said as had rounded up the men to leave. "Settle in, and think about some colors. I'll be back later."

She had watched him drive away, before taking his advice and settling down on a plush green couch. Joyce had just started to relax when a fierce pounding started on her door. She stood, walking over to answer it when her blood ran cold.

Something was not right: she had goosebumps.

Fighting her instinct to run, she opened the door and the men (a pair of police officers) standing there a smile.

"Good evening officers!" they were clearly on edge. "What do you need?"

"Ms. Mcclain?"

"Yes?" she tilted her head, making her smile softer. "Can I help you?"

"We need you to come with us." one of the men grabbed her arm.

"First of all, ow, deary that hurts. I'm not going to run, so do you mind loosening up? Secondly, why?"

"You're under arrest."

"Pardon?"

"You heard me, pinko."

"Pin- why I never!" her innocent look was gone in an instant. "How dare you compare me to those filthy Soviets?!"

"Oh please." one scoffed.

"Drop the act." the other rolled his eyes, dragging her down the steps.

"What act mate?!" she hissed, watching her neighbors gather on the sidewalk or in their windows to watch what was happening. "You bloody yanks are making a mistake!"

"Yeah, yeah."

Alfred growled as he stalked out of his office in the Congressional building, heading for the parking lot where the senators kept their cars during the cursed under his breath as he made his way to one car in particular, slamming his heel down on the rear bumper as it tried to back out of its spot. The passenger climbed out, glaring daggers at him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"No, Senator McCarthy, what the hell are you doing? This morning two NY police officers showed up at the townhouse where that girl is currently living, and dragged her from the place! What is up with you and all your bullshit, huh? First you tell me that she's the daughter of an important person that I should help out for a bit, then you turn around the next day and tell me she's listed on a watchlist, and now you have her arrested in broad daylight for suspectedly being a Soviet spy?! Make up your mind McCarthy!"

"Oh, so you're here about the Mcclain woman?" he rolled his eyes. "And here I thought you were here about something that was actually important."

"I am! I'm here to demand her release!"

"No."

"She's not a Soviet!"

"That answer is still no, America."

"She's not a threat!"

"She could be."

"Then I'll take responsibility for her."

"I won't - wait, what?"

"I'll take responsibility." Alfred crossed his arms. "Release her into my care."

"Why would you care about the life of one filthy pinko over another?"

"She's a British born girl with a bit of an attitude, but that's about it."

"...You know what, fine. Take the girl, go ahead."

Joyce snarled as a NYP officer pushed her forward, right into Alfred's arms as he lurched to catch her. The man cut his eyes at her, taking the papers from her death glaring 'savior'.

"Mr. America are you sure you want to-"

"Ms. Mcclain is my friend. I don't care about your worry."

Joyce looked up at him in surprise, allowing him to carefully escort her to his car. "America?"

"Ye-ah." he smiled nervously, helping her in. "Kinda didn't want you to find out this way…"

"What?"

"Well," he quickly got behind the wheel. "I'm… kinda the human representation of the United States."

"...Oh you have got to be kidding me…"