Chapter Text
Tony looked at Alfred, who was sat perched on a chair in his basement with no glasses, as the American stared blankly at the evidence board on the wall in front of him. He had been here for a while - so long that Tony had started to get concerned (see: curious) as to why he had been down here instead of doing his usual shenanigans around his fellow personifications. However, America was catatonic and would yield no answers, so Tony decided to take matters into his own grey hands.
The alien walked up to the American until he was able to see what he was looking at, and then Tony was able to understand Alfred's lack of response. The evidence board was covered from head to foot in hastily scribbled notes, grainy photos and random doodles with only one clear space on the top of it, which said: WHY ARE WE HERE?
'Of course Alfred is so [f-word] absent-minded,' Tony thought, 'his evidence is all [f-word] disorganised, and he must not know where to [f-word] start cleaning it up.' However, when the alien moved towards the board in order to sort it, he was stopped dead by a firm hand on his head. "Don't touch it," Alfred said flatly, without a hint of his cheerful personality or any degree of friendliness. The American then released Tony from his grip.
Thoroughly disturbed, the alien backed off and left the basement shaking. America had let out an intimidating aura when he had spoke, whether deliberately or not, and now Tony was convinced that something was wrong with him. Unfortunately, the alien was also sure that he would be unable to find out - and fix - whatever was wrong with Alfred, because he believed that he was not experienced enough when it came to dealing with representatives. So, Tony called the first personification of a country he could think of who might be best for helping Alfred.
"Hello?" Matthew asked. "Do you need something, Tony?"