x.x.x

"…Yeah. Boss, yeah. I just landed. The trip was great! There was this really hot stewardess…"

The bespectacled nation in the middle of the line for the Washington Dulles International Airport security checkpoint paused, switching his cell phone to his other shoulder, cradling it closer to his mouth, and then laughed. "Yeah, Michelle is a great lady. You are lucky. How was your Thanksgiving? …You did what? "Apple" and "Cider"? Who are they… Oh. The turkeys! Those turkeys you were mentioning last week!" As recognition crossed America's face, the tanned nation in a floral-print dress and ribboned pigtails behind him rolled her eyes as his voice got steadily louder with each spoken word, "Well, that must have been nice for them. I hope they enjoy it in Virginia—"

Suddenly, a group of three identical-looking men in dark blue shirts, black ties, and headsets approached from the left of the drowsy line of sleep-deprived travelers. "Sir. I need you to step out of line," the one to the far right addressed America who in turn gave him a fleeting grin and shifted his carry-on bag, never removing his mouth from his cell phone.

"Okay. Give me a minute." The blond nation looked away from the TSA agent, talking again to the person in his ear, and frowning, "Boss? You are cutting out. Boss, can you—HEEEEY!" He whined indignantly when his red, white, and blue patriotically striped cell phone was roughly snatched from his very fingers.

The TSA agent on the far left who took the cell phone spoke into it patiently, "Your friend is causing quite a bit of commotion. Who might this be? ...…Me? A member of the Transportation Security Administration of Washington Dulles International Airport." An interested look crossed his heavy-set face. "Oh really? Sir, if you are Obama then I am Lady Gaga in church. Your friend will have to call you back. My apologies, Mister President." Without looking very sorry, he hung up.

America looked momentarily crestfallen. "…hey! I like Lady Gaga. She's actually a very nice person."

"You are coming with us, sir. Take your carry-on bag with you for examination. You have been chosen for the full body scan."

His bright blue eyes widened behind Texas. "Wha…?" One of his arms locked behind him and he yelped, feeling himself be thrust from the now wide-eyed line of people. Over his shoulder, America called to the ribboned and pigtailed nation, "Penelope... Penelope! Tell them I'm not a terrorist!" To his mounting horror, he watched as Seychelles's face lightened up and as she gleefully blew a kiss in his direction.

As a distraught America passed from the safety of the checkpoint, Russia collected his things without interruption, smiling peacefully in America's direction as he was being dragged off. "Listen to me! That guy right there!" He jabbed a finger at the white-haired nation leaving. "That guy with the scarf is suspicious! SUSPICIOUS, I TELL YOU! HE IS A RUSSIAN COMMUNIST!"

The grip on his arm tightened somewhat painfully. "Hey, buddy, my Mother is from Russia. Not all Russians are communist and discrimination is not tolerated here. You are the most suspicious person right now." America was let go at the entrance of the scanner. "Make sure all metal items are removed from your person and just walk through it and we'll get this over with, nice and easy, okay?"

With confidence that he was in the clear after this, the bespectacled nation did as he was told, waiting with his hands in his jeans pockets as his carry-on was ruffled and pursued through. He was… not at all assured by an exchange of grimly knowing glances between two of the TSA agents, muttering into their headsets, zipping up his suede, custom-designed Stephen Colbert bag. "Alright, sir. We are going to take you around the side for a pat down."

"Is there something wrong with the scan?" His heart gave a semi-nervous flutter.

"Sir, we are going to need you to be cooperative. No one wants to suspect you of anything." The middle TSA agent of the group sounded like he was talking to an upset child. America almost expected to be given a lollipop for his troubles — which at this point he believed he deserved at the very least for all this utter nonsense happening to him. He was no terrorist! He was a proud American! How dare they suspect him for hating the country he grew and loved with all his heart!

They led him to a bare room right outside the open lobby of the airport where they ordered him to strip down to his boxers. He argued passionately, of course, for constitution rights and breaches of privacy and countless other violations this represented against human beings and any dignity they were still keeping. They casually mentioned police involvement. And so he ended up stripping anyway. A dirty pair of blue jeans, a leather cowboy belt buckle, Nikes, plain white socks, and a loose-fitting "I *HEART* NEW YORK" shirt laid in a rumpled heap at his feet as America was groped and prodded and fought back resentful tears as the humiliation went on.

x.x.x

"Alfred F. Jones? Is that your name?"

"Yes."

"The reason you were being checked out was that we found suspicious items in your carry-on. We have some questions." Across the long, crusty table in one of the TSA extra rooms, one of the TSA agents held up a pair of stainless steel and clearly abused handcuffs winking under the fluorescent light above them. "What exactly were these doing in your carry-on?"

Already knowing this was going to sound awkward, America said with a shrug, "It wouldn't fit in with the rest of my luggage?"

"…?..."

"…"

Another TSA agent, the slightly bulkier one who previously had a death grip on his arm, cut in gruffly, "Can I ask you what you are planning to do with these?"

"…I've used them already?"

"Sir, answering the question will get you out of here faster." At the pointed silence that followed from the uncomfortable-and-now-somewhat-modestly-reddening blond nation, that agent gave a snort and fished through some papers on the table. "It says on your ticket that you were flying back from London. What were you doing in London with a pair of handcuffs?"

"Visiting… a friend."

"Your friend into the kinky stuff?" A sneer directed to him.

America rolled his bright blue eyes, spreading his hands on the colorless table in front of him, losing his building flush for an exasperated look.

"Fine," he admitted. "They were for sex."

"We figured from these. The records came back as lubricant." Another TSA agent held up a plastic bag from his carry-on with transparent bottles. The tone was unmistakably mocking. "Good job following 3-1-1." America's hands now settled in his lap balled up, knuckles turning white.

"Is that it? Can I go?"

"We would just like to remind you to keep the noise level down when on your cell phone. Especially when you are pretending to be talking to the President of the United States." The group of men in dark blue shirts, black ties, and headsets chuckled to themselves as America was unceremoniously handed back his Stephen Colbert carry-on and its items and led out to the cleared area past the security checkout. They disappeared like vapor into the crowd of bustling passengers and crew members and other staff on duty.

After a moment of composing himself, America checked his watch he clicked back on his wrist and swore under his breath. The new episode of "The Walking Dead" was already airing.

And his DVR was not on.

GodBlessAmerica!

x.x.x

end.


Hetalia is not mine. Or any references to non-fictional persons/places. This was unquestionably a fictionalized/parodied account of the full body scans/pat downs occurring so I have not had the joyful experience of these procedures but I am anticipating it (is that the right word?) for my near-future travels out of my country. THIS WAS FOR LULZ. NOT OFFENDING. Reviews are splendid. I HOPE FOR LULZ.

Requested from the Hetalia Kink Meme. Sorry for not adding Canada, anon.

Penelope: Seychelles's real name... that I made up for her. Doesn't it sound cuuuuuuuuute?