Howdy readers! Just a few extra details about this story: I'm sorry for you state fans, but there will be no state OCs in this. The states are states, with no personifications. Sorry!
Also, the update schedule should continue to follow this pattern; I will try to update Shatter every two weeks on Wednesday. The only time this might change is if there's a power outage or some other freak thing to keep me from my computer.
Once again, thank you ykwyh26 for beta-ing this and giving me the idea in the first place! ^^
Reviews:
Kat: Thanks, and you're right; it wasn't 100% of the issue, though it was a large majority.
Kay: So help me, God, if your pen name isn't right this time, then I will hang up my keyboard and take up gardening. -_-;
Oniongrass: *Shudders* Historical fics without research hurt my heart. =/ But worry not, this fic won't lack information, that's for sure!
Trumpet-Geek: Ugh, those long work days are a killer! *sympathetic pat* Glad I found a topic you like! I personally love most American history, so this was actually fun to write. ;)
January 9, 1861.
Alfred pressed his forehead to the cool glass pane of the East Room's broad window with a discontented sigh. His breath left opaque patches of vapor against the chilled surface, but he barely noticed the cold at all. His mind was preoccupied with far more troubling matters.
The last three weeks had been like the nation's own personal Hell. The situation with South Carolina had escalated out of control, leaving Alfred aching with loss. His government's attempts to mend the rift had proven useless so far; it seemed there was no consoling the rebellious state into returning to the Union.
Even James Buchanan had tried to quell the rising storm that was the angry southern state to no avail. His declaring the secession an illegal act against the Union hadn't fazed the South Carolinians at all. It only seemed to rile them up further, creating even more tension.
Of course, Buchanan barking empty threats and then refusing to back them up certainly didn't help the situation. It likely only made it worse: showing South Carolina they were free to do as they pleased. Alfred sneered at the thought.
What really irked the young nation was when Alfred had brought it to his leader's attention. The stiff man had merely brushed it off as if it was nothing more than a speck of dust on his shoulder.
"It's no longer my business." He had said so with a sort of melancholic despair that held absolutely no sympathy towards Alfred. It certainly wasn't easy for the blue-eyed nation to deal with, and naturally, Buchanan couldn't possibly have understood the pain the secession had inflicted on Alfred. It felt as though a piece of him was missing, leaving a hollow ache in his body. His cheery demeanor had vanished with it as well; he could barely bring himself to smile anymore.
Alfred huffed another defeated sigh. It had been a particularly abysmal day for Alfred's mood. The young nation had been feeling an ominous, foreboding aura since he had woken up from his shallow sleep this morning. It only further dampened his already sour attitude after he had stumbled out of bed.
A knock on the East Room's tall door suddenly captured his attention. He glanced over his shoulder before calling for whoever was at the door to enter.
An older officer entered with a despondent look upon his visage. Alfred knew it had to be bad news. He felt his stomach sink with dread as he addressed the man.
"What else could have possibly gone wrong?" The young nation mumbled to no one in particular.
The officer stepped up to him, handing him a folded note. The blond nation noticed that the man's old, wrinkled hands were trembling slightly and that his lip quivered. This news must be bad.
He took the note, dismissed the man and waited to open the paper until he heard the door click shut. Swallowing hard, he flipped the letter open.
He only had to read the first few lines for the despair to finally come crashing down upon him. Alfred didn't even bother to read the entire declaratory note before he crumpled it up into a ball. He pitched it angrily at the grand piano. It bounced off, rolling innocently to the floor, further angering the young nation.
Alfred clutched at his heart as the familiar pain of loss renewed within him. With a low snarl emitting from his throat, Alfred returned to glaring out the window. He refused to acknowledge his own reflection in the glass and see his hurt expression as he glared out onto the White House Lawns.
Mississippi had left the Union as well….
January 10, 1861.
Alfred lay on one of the stiff beds of the White House's guest rooms, staring up absently at the plain ceiling. It was nearing afternoon, but he had been avoiding having to get out of bed to greet the day.
He was utterly exhausted: having been unable to sleep from the previous day's heart-wrenching news. The usual strength and boundless energy he felt were completely gone; they had been drained away, replaced instead with the ache in his heart that had become a familiar pain over the past three weeks.
The young nation groaned when someone knocked on his door. The sound was the very bane of his existence. He opted to ignore it, but whoever was on the other side of the door spoke up.
"Mr. America, sir? Are you awake?" An officer called. He sounded older, making Alfred wonder if it was the same man from the previous day.
The nation ran his fingers through his fallow-gold hair before sitting up in bed. He couldn't feign still being asleep this late in the afternoon.
"I am. You may enter."
The officer did so, though it wasn't the same elderly man as he'd thought.
"Sir, I'm afraid it's bad news."
"It's always bad news these days…" Alfred mumbled despondently. He raised his hand, motioning for the man to bring him the note he held in his calloused fingers.
The officer obeyed, leaving quickly once Alfred dismissed him with an affirming grunt.
With trembling hands, Alfred unfolded the note. Unlike with Mississippi's formal declaration of secession, the young nation read the entire note before he set it on the nightstand table.
Alfred removed his glasses, setting them beside the paper. He lay down on his side, pulling the coverlet up to his chin. He tried not to whimper at the pain that stabbed his heart with this newfound information. The young nation wondered how everything had gone so horribly wrong. Now there really was no reason to get out of bed. He had lost any desire to see outside of the dark, plain guest room for the time being.
Florida was no longer a part of the Union…
January 11, 1861.
Alfred found himself snarling when an officer approached him from the Cross Hall. He'd actually made it out of bed today. Spending so much time brooding had left him irate with self-pity and discontent. The anger had boiled over into a fitful energy that had kept him from sleeping yet again. He wondered just what had he done to deserve this?
Nothing! That's what!
He barely even registered how terrifying he might have looked to the man trying to do his job with his teeth slightly bared, and his fists clenched tightly.
The man certainly looked intimidated by his nation's aggressive stance, coupled with the icy glare of his blue eyes. Nonetheless, he bravely dared to step up to Alfred. He handed him yet another a folded piece of parchment without a word.
"Let me guess, New York and Massachusetts have decided to leave me as well?" Alfred spat bitterly as he opened the note with enough force to tear the paper slightly.
The man wisely didn't respond, which was likely the only thing that spared him from the young nation's wrath.
"Even better!" Alfred suddenly snarled, tearing the note in half, before smashing the tattered pieces into the officer's chest. The man stumbled back, loosing his balance and falling to the hard floor from the sheer force of Alfred's open palm. He looked as though he might have objected to the rough treatment, but the blond nation was already storming down the Cross Hall.
Alfred entered the East Room, slamming the door shut behind him with enough force to make the entire frame rattle. A candle on the mantle shelf fell to the floor. The wax stick cracked, shattering into pieces, much like how Alfred's heart felt. The blond nation didn't seem to notice the broken candle; he was absorbed in his own spiteful, despairing thoughts.
His irritation from earlier had escalated to despondent fury. The day prior, he'd spent the entire morning, afternoon and evening brooding mercilessly over the loss of yet another state. He hadn't slept at all either, or eaten for that matter. It didn't help to abate his present anger.
He perched on the windowsill, glaring death through the thick windowpane at nothing in particular. He let his thoughts roam to all that was plaguing him.
As he did the pain he felt intensified even further, flaring his temper up. How had this happened? Why wasn't anyone doing anything to stop it? Did they not notice how badly it hurt him? He didn't feel as if anyone did. As a nation, he felt the cumulativeemotions of his people, and no human government official would ever understand that tremendous burden. It certainly weighed Alfred down, and made him feel smothered by the acute anxiety around him.
Alfred scoffed, noting the haggard look on his face in his window reflection.
I look awful, but I feel even worse. He sighed, leaving a large puff of vapor to cling to the cold window glass.
He tried to let go of his anger, but found only his previous melancholy remained. It was no use; he couldn't dispel the pain of loss he felt yet again.
Alabama had also decided to secede from the Union…
January 19, 1861.
Buchanan walked the long Cross Hall with his nation by his side. He spoke in a low, tired tone that betrayed his normally aloof stance. Alfred's voice, however, was brimming with hurt and determination as they argued. Before the blue-eyed blond could begin another lengthy protest, the ex-president interrupted him.
"If I have told you once, Jones, then I have told you a hundred times: it would be just as illegal to bring them back as to let them leave!"
"We have to do something, James!" Alfred insisted, completely forgetting formalities in his passion. The president sent him a half-hearted glare in return. He detested the young nation speaking with him on a first-name basis, but wasn't inclined to point it out to the usually unmannered man.
"No. The law is the law, and I will not go against something as simple as that."
"You're an attorney! Figure something out!" The nation growled back.
"It's too late for those who have left. All I can do now is hope to keep the rest of our Union together." Buchanan insisted.
The blond nation grumbled something under his breath, but resigned from their argument. There was no winning when it came to trying to convince the ex-president of anything not on his agenda. He may not have liked Buchanan, but even Alfred admired his steadfastness.
The president was surprised that the bespectacled man beside him had given up so easily. When he'd first been inaugurated, the young nation had challenged, questioned, and even laughed at him during most of their debates. This defeated silence was unnerving.
"Jones, are you well?"
Alfred was silent, contemplating whether he ought to tell Buchanan about the shadowy moods that had been haunting him for some time now. He shook off the thought. The stiff man wouldn't understand his plight anyway.
The young nation merely nodded. Those first few days of the secessions had been the worst, but now that he had had some time to recover from the events, he felt a bit better. He'd managed to start eating again, and starting to fall back into dreamless sleep. Hopefully it would continue to trend in his favor.
They continued walking down the Cross Hall, yet just as they passed the usher's room, an officer approached them from within. He kept his eyes cast down to the floor.
The blue-eyed nation groaned as the flaring pain in his heart returned. His body began to quiver, aching with the now familiar sense of loss as Buchanan was handed a note. He read it silently.
The man pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration before passing it to Alfred. The nation simply stuffed the note into the breast pocket of his coat. There was no point in reading it: he knew exactly what it was about. It would only pain him even more to read the declaration of secession yet again.
Buchanan adjusted the stiff jowl collar at his throat, keeping his voice even as he glanced back at his nation.
"I am afraid this Union is crumbling before our eyes, Jones. It seems Georgia has joined her rebellious sisters…"
February 8, 1861.
Alfred leaned his back against the cool bark of one of the White House's knobby magnolia trees. While it may have been chilly, the sun was bright and streaming through the breaks in the sparsely foliated branches to dapple broad patches of light across Alfred's skin. The filtered sunlight left warm spots across his body to offset the chill.
He had decided to sit out on the South Lawn to try and enjoy the beautiful day. In his foul mood, he normally would have preferred to stay in the East Room, but the ushers had adamantly encouraged him to try and relax out here. It was very likely because they were tired of dealing with the moody nation locking himself in the East Room day after day to glare out the window. His dark presence did make it unnerving to try to clean the big space, after all.
Tilting his head back, the blue-eyed nation could see the tiny white spots of the flowers forming between the thick leaves. The frosts were light this year, so the flowers were likely to begin blooming early. Alfred actually smiled at the thought; he couldn't wait for spring to arrive and end this loathsome winter. The White House Lawns were always beautiful in bloom, or at least to Alfred they were. It was nice to think about much simpler things like this, rather than the impending doom of the Union he'd fought so hard to create.
Alfred let his eyes slip shut, just enjoying the subtle, sweet scent of the magnolias, completely pushing his dreadful thoughts from his mind. He became so lost in the simple, aromatic blackness that he didn't hear the sound of approaching footsteps.
"I'm surprised to find you out here, Jones, rather than the East Room."
Alfred didn't bother to open his eyes, content to ignore Buchanan.
"Jones?"
There was a long pause that Alfred intentionally drew out. He didn't want to leave his blissful darkness to answer the ex-president.
Buchanan coughed.
"What is it, sir?" Alfred finally inquired, keeping his voice flat. He reasoned that while it would have been nice, ignoring his leader probably wasn't wise.
"I have news for you."
"Is it bad?"
"Dreadful."
Alfred sighed, letting his eyelids flutter open to look up at Buchanan. There was a collection of papers in his hand that filled Alfred with his familiar despair. He reached up to take the abhorred sheets before bringing them down to his lap to read.
"I'm sure this hurts you as much as it hurts me." The president said.
You're wrong. It hurts much more than you think. You just have no idea.Alfred thought bitterly as he read through the papers. He set them aside when he was done.
The wind picked up the sheets, scattering them across the South Lawn without care. Alfred felt as if those papers were all his hard work and happiness: everything thrown to the wind and gone.
"South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, Texas: they are all traitors now." Alfred declared with a low growl rumbling in his throat. His brief moment of happiness was utterly crushed, replaced only with a familiar anger and hurt.
They had all left him. Even if Kansas had come to join the Union, the one small gain was not enough to fill the loss of his other states. One tiny piece of the puzzle was not enough to complete him again.
"Now do you understand, James? Something has to be done, or there will no longer be a Union law to follow."
"My time is almost up, Jones."
"Didn't stop Adams…" Alfred grumbled.
"It doesn't matter. What's done is done. We will try to mediate this situation as best we can. Maybe Lincoln will have better luck than I." The president dismissed, turning on his heel to head back into the mansion.
"The Confederate States of America…" It left a bad taste in the young nation's mouth when he spoke the words aloud. Reading the words on the papers had been bad enough, but letting them escape his throat felt even worse. It was like poison to him: dangerous and foul.
He looked out across the South Lawn again with his usually bright blue orbs dim and apathetic. He couldn't find the beauty he'd once hoped for earlier. The world was ugly, he decided; ugly and full of traitors just waiting to pounce upon him.
History:
On Jan. 9th, 1861, Mississippi left the Union, the next day, so did Florida. The day after that it was Alabama's turn to leave. Nearly all their secession meetings had unanimous or very closely unanimous votes to leave the Union. The Deep South was really pissed off.
January 19th, Georgia left the union, and on January 26th Louisiana followed. However, on Jan 29th, Kansas joined the Union. Come February 1st, Texas left.
On February 8th, the 7 seceded states met and formed the Confederate States of America. Buchanan refused to do anything about the rebellious states. He had been an attorney before his presidency and took a firm oath to stick to the law and the Constitution. Trying to bring the states back would have been illegal (it meant going to war) if he followed that oath (which he did).
Even though he tried to passively coax them back, the South didn't want anything to do with the North. Buchanan pretty much tried to ignore it and hope everything would fix itself after his compromise attempts failed miserably.
The magnolias were actually there and were Andrew Jackson's favorite trees and he had quite a few planted on the South Lawn.
The bit about Adams: Just before he left office after Jefferson's victory, he did something commonly referred to as the 'midnight appointments', though the real name for it was the Judiciary Act of 1801. Basically in the last few days of his time in office, Adams gave over 60 government positions to his friends and fellow party members. That way, when Jefferson (who had much different views than Adams) took office, Adam's party would still hold some power in the government.
This eventually led to the wholeMarbury v. Madisoncase, which basically gave the Supreme Court its most famous power: Judicial Review. It's actually quite simple. It means the Supreme Court gets to decide if a law is constitutionally legal. If not, stuff gets amended.