Work Text:
June 17th, 1885
The cargo hold of the ship was dark and cramped, a stark difference from the open, sunny space of the upper deck that had been bustling with the activity of sailors preparing to bring the ship into port. Today was the day, according to the Captain, that, after the long, tedious journey across the Atlantic, they would finally be arriving in the United States.
It wasn’t a trip France made often, nor recently, because she hadn’t the reason too. Her relationship with the young, isolated nation had been turbulent, to say the least, and the last time they had seen one another face-to-face hadn’t necessarily gone well. But this was a task that she had felt the need to oversee in person, and, if it was done correctly, it could potentially be the key in repairing the relationship between her and the American personification that she’d lost contact with so long ago. It was hard to believe that the girl had been on her own for one-hundred years.
“Excusez moi mademoiselle,” a man’s voice called, breaking the European nation out of the nostalgia she’d caught herself in, “mais nous sommes arrivés.”
“Merci beaucoup,” she responded, giving the young sailor - one of her own men - a small, polite smile. “Je serai bientôt là.”
The young man gave her a nod and hurried back above deck to continue the docking preparations. France was too old and experienced to be nervous about their arrival, but she knew America would be able to sense her presence and was hesitant to venture a guess as to how she would react. France hadn’t given much thought about the American since their last incident, but the news of her civil war had sparked a sense of worry in her. A civil war was nothing to be scoffed at and she knew, perhaps more than most, about the impact it could have on their kind.
The nation gave one last glance at the Isère ’s precious cargo.
The sunbeams that slipped through the cracks in the ship’s deck and the firelight of the lit lanterns cast glittering light on the seamless, pristine face that sat in the middle of the hold, secured by ropes and harnesses. Its copper surface glowed ethereally in the low light as if it could sense that it had made its way home, and France couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride when she looked it. She could only hope that America would feel the same.
Prying her eyes away from the statue’s face, France finally left the cargo hold and made her way up to the deck of the ship. As she did, a cool, June breeze caught her hair, and the bright summer sun sone in her eyes, blinding her briefly to the city skyline in the distance.
New York City. The statue’s final destination, where it would be assembled and displayed proudly in its harbor as the beacon it was meant to be.
Minutes ticked by like hours until, finally, the Isère made its way into New York Harbor. The French ship was greeted warmly by hundreds of ships and thousands of people, who had all crowded the docks to get a glimpse at the statue they had waited so long for. France couldn’t help but smile at their excitement and enthusiasm as she made her way down the gangplank and stepped foot on American soil for the first time in nearly a hundred years. The city had changed drastically since the last time she’d seen it. Large, brick buildings decorated with colorful advertisements and storefronts tightly lined the streets instead of the smaller, less compacted buildings she remembered; and the streets had been lined with worn cobblestone, replacing the dirt roads that had once run through the city. Around her, dock workers frittered tirelessly to unload and load cargo from ships, laughing children ran down the sidewalks chasing one another, and people had piled into the streets in celebration of their arrival. It was a city full of life and it was clear to her in that moment just how much America had truly grown since her colonial days.
Behind her, France’s men worked with the American dock workers to begin unloading the statue from its hull, while France tried to accomplish something much more important. Her blue eyes scanned the crowd meticulously, searching for the familiar face of one person she had traveled so far to talk to. Even if it was just for a moment or two.
But while France searched for the young nation in the crowd, America watched her carefully from the third story of a nearby apartment building.
She hadn’t known France was going to be there, but she had suspected. Such a large, symbolic exchange was bound to attract both of them, but that didn’t mean that they had to interact with one another. If anything, America was determined to avoid the other nation.
Because she knew France and she knew Europe and she knew nothing ever came without some sort of price. There was always some other angle with them, always some alterior motive that she couldn’t see until it was too late. So instead of the convoluted mind games and the false smiles and the cloak-and-dagger plotting, America just opted to avoid all of them. Why was it so hard to accept that she wanted to be left alone? That she and her people were fine without Europe and its influence? That she didn’t need any of them?
Just like they don’t need you. Just like they don’t want you.
America shook her head, trying to shove the thoughts away and steer her attention to something else. If she kept herself distracted those thoughts would disappear, or at least be less loud than they normally were.
So she turned her attention back towards the ship that had just docked in her harbor, ignoring the searching eyes of France as the other nation moved down the dock they had moored at. Workers had begun to pull pieces of the statue from the Isère ’s cargo hold and, with the help of the complex rigging overhead, large boxes were pulled precariously into the air and moved to a nearby ship to be transported to Bedloe’s Island, where she could vaguely make out the outline of the pedestal being built. It had taken a lot of effort, especially on the people of New York’s part, but they had finally managed to raise enough money to build it.
And now its crowning jewel had finally arrived.
America had yet to see it and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t just a little excited. She didn’t trust France, sure, but that didn’t lessen the fact that her people had been eagerly anticipating its arrival, and they had, in turn, flamed America’s own. That tended to happen a lot. Her people’s feelings affected her own, to a certain extent. She wondered if that was normal.
She worked her bottom lip between her teeth nervously as more boxes were pulled from the ship until, finally, she could see the tell-tale glint of brilliant copper rising from the ship. As the face of the statue rose into the air, the crowd that had remained gave an enthusiastic cheer and America couldn’t help but smile as she laid eyes on it for the first time.
It was a sight to behold and America could feel her mouth drop open at the sheer size and brilliance of it. The statue’s copper metal was gleaming in the full light of the June sun, highlighting the woman’s strong features and serious expression. It was clearly of a woman who meant business and one that wouldn’t allow for any sort of distraction or nonsense.
Determined, America settled on. She was determined.
The thought brought another smile to her face. She’d fit in perfectly here - standing proudly on her pedestal in the middle of New York Harbor, shining in the sunlight as she guided boats coming in and out of the Harbor and welcoming newcomers to her shores.
America allowed her eyes to shift back to France, still searching for her amongst the crowded dock. She worked her jaw. Should she thank France in person? It was, admittedly, a considerate gift from the European country. But she knew - she knew - that gifts commonly came with a price. What would France ask of her if they were to meet in person? What was France trying to get her to do? Because she doubted the gesture was one of just friendship.
As the face of the statue was lowered into the opposite boat, bound for Bedloe Island, America shut the curtains. Europe was Europe, and it should stay that way, she decided. There was an ocean between them for a reason and that’s the way it had always been. No one sought her ‘friendship’ unless they needed something and France was certainly no exception. She couldn’t get caught up in France’s affairs. She wouldn’t. And she would make sure it was going to stay that way for as long as possible.