Revised as of 2020. This one got a lot of changes, because the stuff it leads into are also getting a lot of changes. (Which have not come yet, as of this note.) Same idea, different execution.
New York, 1885
France felt a presence come to the railing beside him, seemingly from nowhere. He didn't have to look to know who it was. "It's been too long, mon ami."
America grunted softly in response. Then he was silent. Waiting, rather than prompting.
Francis sighed, suppressing the urge to fiddle with his fashionable cuffs. He hadn't expected a warm welcome, anyways. "I owe you an apology."
An even longer silence stretched between them, filled only with the distant sounds of seafaring commerce and the ocean. America began to tap a soft beat on the metal railing with his finger.
Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat.
When the younger Nation finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. As though he hadn't been using it much. "Not really."
"Non, I actually do," Francis said emphatically. "I underestimated you." A cargo ship announced its arrival into port with a long, cheerful sounding of its horn. "We might've been good friends, if I had seen past my own arrogance and…rather petty rivalry."
America breathed in the salty air, and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "Maybe."
More uneasy silence.
Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat.
Francis dared to glance at his younger companion, taking in his appearance. Wider in the shoulders—proof of his territory expansion over the last century. Adult muscle was beginning to form underneath the simple white shirt and dark trousers. Industry. Economy. Health.
Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat
But something was wrong.
He was so unlike how France remembered him, and it wasn't just the years. Alfred wasn't talking. That inimitable smile was missing entirely. Constant excited fidgeting replaced with…something painfully restless.
Rat-a-tat.
Francis had a terrible feeling. He hoped he was wrong. "How long has it been since you've talked to another Nation?"
Alfred shrugged noncommittally, his gaze still frustratingly distant. "A while."
These short answers were trying even his considerable patience. Anglettere would already be yelling. "When I asked, Mattieu said you haven't visited."
Alfred looked at him oddly. "Of course not. He hates me, remember?"
"Mattieu most certainly does not hate you," Francis disagreed immediately, incensed at even the idea. Familial bonds were precious. There wasn't a Nation alive that would let history mar it. (Unless you were Britain. But even they still had holidays together. And England still fretted over his boy, no matter how terrible he was at showing it.) "How could you say such a thing?"
Alfred snorted at that. It sounded bitter. "I don't know what he told you, but pretty words don't really measure up against action. The 'revenge for something my government didn't even sanction' bit felt more honest."
"…How long has it been, Alfred? Truly? When is the last year you were in regular contact with one of us?"
The mention of his brother had done more to draw Alfred into the conversation than vague gentle inquiries had managed. Alfred actually thought about it this time. "Regular contact…"
The tapping started up again. Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat.
Compared to the Old World, the United States was a remote nation. It only shared two very long borders with two other nations. Which meant that Alfred was likely to have maybe two people to really talk to openly. Humans never were enough.
Being a Nation was too much to bear alone. They'd learned this the hard way.
"Um…not since Prussia left."
Dieu, that was just over a century. "Mattieu is worried, Alfred."
The younger Nation scowled at him. It was darker than Francis would have expected. "Bullshit. Canada just wants me within firing range."
Francis had yet to hear Alfred use his twin's human name. This epiphany made the older Nation sigh. So much damage done already. And the mind was such a tricky mystery. He wasn't even certain if it wasn't already too late to pull Alfred away from that edge he was fast approaching.
"It doesn't matter, anyways," Alfred said quietly. "I've got my people."
Well. If Francis couldn't break through to Alfred right away, perhaps he should start by bridging the gap between France and America.
France straightened and went into his front pocket, withdrawing a folded parchment. "It does matter. But there is time to talk about that. I'm here for another reason."
America's natural curiosity won out over his trepidation. He took the paper. The lad's expression as he briefly lost composure and ogled the scale drawing that Alexandre Gustave Eiffel and Frederic Auguste Bartholdi had worked together to render—and the surprised urk as he undoubtedly read the real measurements of the finished product…why, it was worth the whole trip.
"T-this—…"
"You're a respectable Nation now, Amerique," France said warmly. "A respectable Nation needs monuments."
This was a semi-historical Statue of Liberty fic. As well as a set-up for some stuff I've got planned later on.
Thanks for reading. Please review?
Later dudes. ^J^
