Summery: She would not let fear get the best of her. She had a green-eyed little apple to protect and love. She would not let her fears or new and old wounds get the best of her.
Word Count: 1061
Statetalia fic about Abigail dealing with being a mom for the very first time and the fears and insecurities that came with it :)
Abigail didn’t know what to do. She was all alone, with no one left for her to turn to. Her bosses feared for her and her safety ( or was it the shame they feared?), making her swear not to speak a word of it to anyone, especially other nations. Not that she could entirely blame them. She had just gained independence, and whilst various nations were eager to show their support for her, they were still, well, nations. Eager and power hungry beings who have a tendency to follow orders without hesitancy or care for the damages they may cause. Always looking for a one up in the world or a way to play a sneaky little trick to gain an upper hand.
Her father always seemed like a precautionary man, but thinking about it now, might have just been a tad possessive. Teaching her to fear and not to trust others, humans especially. Dangerous creatures they are, more so than the wolves that stalk the forests.
Her father would always say: If you have to choose between fleeing into a forest or cowering in a village, choose the forest.
So that’s what she did…
…Metaphorically of course. She was all but too terrified to leave the safety and comfort of the one thing she ever truly knew: her home.
Her home that she loved so dearly. The one where her father would sing her old lullabies and mutter comforting words to her in the night when she was scared or sickly. The one where she spent hours playing carefree in the yard, her father joining her or watching from the porch. The one where she learned to read and write and grow. The one where she all too soon had to learn to raise herself. The one she had to flee for a few years out of fear of her father’s rage from the actions of his people, who longed to be her people.
Her father, who turned from this kind caring man, to one of anger and hate. Whose eyes turned from a gentle, glistening green, to cold, venomous and calculating. The man who no longer wished to welcome her with open arms but instead a musket with an intent to kill. The one who went from no harm shall ever come to you as long as I’m here to the one actively hunting her down.
Her father always told her not to be a meek little mouse but a lion. She never really understood what he meant until she had her own game of cat and mouse with him.
Yet even still, after all of that she could never bring herself to hate him. Even a year after the signing of The Treaty of Paris in 1793, she still revered him and craved his approval and attention. She still loved him dearly, although many others couldn't understand why. A part of her doesn’t understand why either, but another part refuses to question it. Yet even still she couldn’t bring herself to tell her father of this new...predicament that she has found herself in. Whether or not it was the actions and still healing wounds from the war, or the knowing disapproval, or the fear that he might try to control her again that made her hesitate, she didn’t know. Nor did she care. All she knew was that he was not to be trusted, her daughterly affections be damned.
Who else did she have left?
Certainly not her loyalist brother. She loves him dearly but is aware that telling him would be all too much of a risk. Potentially she could tell France or Prussia, they did help her after all. However, she knew that they only really helped her out of spite for her father. She had grown rather close to the Prussian, who seemed to act more like a fatherly/brotherly figure to her. That seed of fear her father had planted in her consciousness many many moons ago was still there, always in the back of her mind, now stronger than ever, preventing her from doing so it seems.
You can’t trust other nations, not even your father now.
She wanted to cry. She was terrified and alone.
Well…not really alone.
She had no clue how it happened.
She just knew that it did.
Her congressmen joked and hailed her as the new Virgin Mother Mary. She laughed along with them at the time, but that didn’t stop the anxiety from crawling up her throat (or was that morning sickness?) and fear of the implication that this may not be the last time this occurs. She handled it as well as any fairly young woman with nobody but herself to lean on could. She held her chin up high and braved through the months; just as her father always taught her to do when she was scared. .
She herself never truly had a chance to be much of a child, especially by nation standards. How was she to raise one? Would she do a good job? Would it be human? Would it die like one? Would she grow to resent her child like how her father resented her? She could not say, nor could she (or wanted to) speculate.
But now as wailing subsided and grumpy little eyes opened, she couldn’t help but feel all those insecurities and doubts and fears flood back into her.
Bright green eyes met teary blues.
Oh, he looked so much like his grandfather…
A light dusting of straw blond hair on his head. A stern, yet somehow also joyous expression seemed to be his default. Much like the one her father has.
As close as apples may be to trees, she knew right then and there something would be different. She knew that she had no fear when it came to turning into her father. Unlike him she would never stop loving this little one currently resting in her arms.
She would make sure of it.
However apples still tend to fall close.
The proof was right in front of her.
And so she decided to give him a name. One, to her, that would mean bravery, kindness, and an unwavering refusal to back down. One that reminded her of affection and wanderlust and hope. One that she knew she would always revere.
I think after WW2 England sort of realized how much of a horrible parent he is to his children, and started to try to be better especially in the 90s. However his eldest grandchild is Not Having It™️ and still hates his guts :). Del will come around to him one day...maybe...hopefully...
