Break

A/N: Axis Powers: Hetalia, another new one I'm trying to embrace maybe?

Disclaimer: I do not own anything, the depiction of Philippines and her other half maybe?

Warnings: OCs, possible OoC-ness, language, bad/wrong translations, PoV changes, long one-shot collection(?)

It was dark, darker than the usual night in this country. The moon was grinning in it's silvery-white crescent glory. The stars were dotted across the sky like glitter. The waves lightly pattered along the endless shoreline. And the wind, oh the wind, singing such indescribable melodies to one's ears. The night breeze was special to this place; even despite of the naturally burning hot weather in the summer, there would always be that refreshingly cool breeze at night.

She walked along the sand, watching her sister dance among the waves, singing joyous folk songs.

"Bahay kubo, kahit munti, ang halaman roo'y ay sari-sari. . .[Philippine folk song]" Her voice was melodic, somehow blending in with the night air.

"Why sing that song at night? It isn't even harvesting season yet." I sat down, bare feet digging into the cool, cool sand.

"Bakit? Masama ba?[Why? Is it wrong?]" She laughed, "Ate[Big sister/Older sister], there's nothing wrong with singing you know. . ."

"Alam ko, alam ko. . .[I know, I know]" I smiled and shrugged it off, "I just want to know, why do feel so happy?"

"Happy? Ate, what's not to be happy about?" She looked at me as if I was asking a stupid question.

"Three hundred, thirty-three years, Ate. . ." She looked down, sad, "Three hundred, thirty-three years we've suffered, we've lost our freedom, we've lost everything we could call our own, we were forced to even give up our people, putang inang bastardo[mother f*cking bastard]. . ." She cursed, suddenly feeling angry.

I heard her sniff, "Please don't, Isabel—" I raised a hand to calm her down.

"Minahal mo pa siya! [You even loved him!]" She shouted, tears welling up her eyes. "Minahal mo pa yung putang inang iyon![You even loved that mother f*cker!]"

I rushed to her side as she automatically poured waterfalls of tears onto me, "Isabel, please, parang awa mo na[Similar to; for heaven's sake], stop this—"

"Why? Why did even love him? Despite all of those things he did to us, to our people, to our nation—!" She choked back a sob, "All those people who died in revolutions, all those women abused, ripped of their dignity, all of those children. . ." She paused, eyes widening in a sudden memory recall, "Those innocent, young children, they're now tainted with violence and abuse caused by him!"

I felt guilty, her words struck me a bolo[a kind of short sword used by Katipuneros in revolutions] to a tree, I was silent. . .

"Ate, bakit? Why, why, why did you ever love that bastardo?"

"Hindi ko alam[I don't know], Isabel, I don't know. . ." Now I was the one crying, the sheer irony. . .

"So you still love him up 'til now?"

I didn't answer, as she released herself from me, with a quick whisper; "Salamat[Thank you],"

"Mahal mo pa ba siya?[Do you still love him?]" I asked myself. . . "Oo[Yes], " I paused, "Hindi[No],"

I-I-I don't know. . .

For three hundred, thirty-three years, they were mine and mine alone. No other country has dared to go near them without my permission. I was their guardian, their protector, their owner. . . The two exotic beauties were dancing in the palm of my hand—

"Revolution." Isabel, the younger of the two spoke to me with determination. Her dark brown hair fell into wavy cascades down her back. Her eyes, in a darker shade of brown, shone the native ferocity when I first encountered her. Her skin was tanned under the sun. The simple clothes he gave her were dirtied by hours of running in the fields and forests.

"Revolution?" He asked, dumbfounded by her statement, as he leaned back in his chair.

"Kalayaan[Freedom]," Juana, the eldest of the two spoke hard and cold, "We want our freedom back." Her back was facing me, showing her straight dark brown hair. I've seen her eyes, much like her sister's, but they were soft and caring, even if they're covered by her eyelids. Her skin was tanned also. There was a sheathed bolo in her hand, showing of their intentions.

"Mis queridos[My dears], why revolt? I have given you more than you could ever ask for."

"But that came at a price," Juana,

"Our freedom was lost." Isabel. . .

My dear, dear Philippines. . . They were turning against me.

Isabel glared at me with near animal-like ferocity.

"You gave us your teachings,"

"We gave you our fertile lands,"

Juana turned to glance at me regretfully.

"You gave us your buildings, your culture, your people. . ."

"We gave you our bountiful waters,"

They now said in near-perfect unison

"You took everything from us, you treated our people—you treated us—as your slaves; and for that. . ."

We revolt. We will take everything back, because Las Filipinas[The Philippines] is a title exclusive only for us and us alone.

Isabel, the lands of this country, was determined to make me fall hard and face-first to the soil. She was determined to strike me down hard, and take back everything that was her's. She had armies of katipuneros[members of an anti-Spanish organization in the Philippines] charging at me. No matter how many times her attempts were useless, she never stopped. She was angry, she was mad, she was furious at everything that happened to her people. How could it not? If only those idiotas[idiots] would listen and obey as they're told. No, they're stubborn, just like her.

Juana, the waters of this country, wasn't as determined as her sister. She was calm, collected, and took each situation carefully and analytically. She sent out ilustrados[Filipinos educated in Spanish, ex: Jose Rizal] to expose of my disciplinary measures in her country. They were controversial, they were sickening to my homeland; I had to make her stop. I've hade each of them killed, publicly. She was humiliated, she cried to me, begging for me to stop with the needless deaths. She loved me, yes, she loved me; but she vowed to be the one to kill me, to have my head thrown into the unmerciful waters of her country.

"España[Spain]." Her voice was cold, harsh even.

"Aguas de las Filipinas[Waters of the Philippines], is that what you want now? Back to our old formalities?" He was surprised at her sudden tone change.

"¿Por qué?¿Qué es loquedesea?[Why? What is it that you want?]" He forgot, she was well-educated in Spanish, just like the ilustrados.

"Why turn against me?" Quick as the dawn, she stiffened, hands clutched into fists.

"I have provided you with all the things you can imagine," He reached for her balled-up hand, clutching hers with both of his. Her hands softened, he peeled her fingers away and kissed the palm of hand tenderly.

"You have only given me, my sister and my people chains to have us bound to you like slaves. Mga alipin[Slaves]. . . Los escalvos[The slaves]. . . "

"Esclavos? Pero mi amor, si ellos obedecían, tales normas no se aplicarían a ellos[Slaves? But my love, if they obeyed, these rules will not apply to them]." He whispered tenderly—mockingly, as he placed her hand on his face, caressing it.

"Kapag sumunod sila[If they follow]? Please, España, you know my people. . . Hindi sila susunod nang basta-basta[They won't follow just because]. . ." She let her hand drop to her side.

"And yet you loved me, regardless of everything. . ."

She turned to the side, "I did love you, and you loved me." She whispered the last, but was still loud enough for him to hear.

"Yo todavía hago[I still do]. . ." He pulled close to her, his hand resting on her cheek, half-thanking his gods that she didn't have her usual bolo with her.

His face neared hers slowly; until it was almost, almost close enough for one tender ki—

"Lumayo ka sa akin[Get away from me]," She whipped away, fast, ready to run, "Get away from us, from my sister, from my people. . ."

"Jua—"

"Leave! You don't know how much of my people have died! How much terror you've inflicted on my country! Get out!" She was crying.

"Por favor[Please], Juana, just listen—" He held her forearm.

"Ayoko na[Ayaw ko na, I don't want to anymore]!" She screamed, "I just want my freedom, my country's freedom. I don't want your gifts, your ships, your missionaries, your love; all I want is freedom, independency. . ."

"You know I can never let you go," His voice softened.

"Then if you cannot, we will fight," She harshly pulled her arm away, "If you do love me, you should have thought of what I have wanted, what I have dreamed of. . ."

"I have lost several other colonies; I cannot afford to loose you as well." He reached out to her.

She craned her neck over her shoulder, staring at him with cold, uncaring eyes; "Bastardo egoísta[Selfish bastard]. . ." She hissed out, much like how her sister would, "If you love me, you would fight for me, not cage me in like a bird. As what my sister has said; to revolt is to gain our freedom and our livelihood back. We will revolt against you, and I will be the one to have your head."

She disappeared—

"I don't want your gifts, your ships, your missionaries, your love; all I want is freedom, independen—"

That hit him like stone.

"Sugod! Patayin niyo lahat ng mga Kastila![Charge! Kill all of the Spaniards!]" I roared out, slashing and stabbing my way out of the hoard of enemies.

Enemies, I never called them that before. . .

Then there it was, there they were; looking to similar, yet so different from the Spaniards. What were they? Enemies? Ambush troops? Allies?

"Don't worry! We're here to help you!"

Nope, kaibigan, they were friends.

The Americans. They were better than the Spanish. They were kind, friendly, accepting, they welcomed us to a new age with open arms.

"I don't trust them," Ate, she was always so suspicious of every foreigner who wasn't sent by España.

"You never trust anyone, other than the bastard. . ."

Yes, she never trusted any non-Filipino other than him. All because she loved him, pero sa seryosong usapan[but seriously speaking], what's there to love about him? He was cruel, self-centric, ambitious to a point of perfectionism, selfish, abusive. . . I think she was seduced by the westerner's inventions and "gifts". What? Large wooden boat can be built here, and we already had religion, our agriculture was good, our trades with Asian countries brought bountiful goods; so what is there to love?

"Educación[Education]. He gave us education."

Yes there was education, but we were perfectly fine on our own, aren't we?

"He loved me."

He did look like he loved her, I mean sa mga rosas palang na lagi niyang pinapadala[on only the roses he would send her every time]. . . And all those shy, awkward kisses on the doorway. Halata mo na[It's obovious enough].

Mahal niya.[He loves her] And she loves him too.

I wonder, paano ako? What about me, huh?

So there it was, in almost an instant the bastards were well-away from us, and the Americans were there in their place. I didn't mind, they were our heroes after all. But there was one person I'd like to thank the most;

"Thank you po[used for respect]." I bowed in reverence, as how we were trained when thanking a high-ranked person.

He laughed, whole-heartedly, "What for? I only did what I was supposed to do."

"If not for you, sir, my men and I would surely be dead." A simple 'thank you' was not enough to express my gratitude.

"That would be a shame wouldn't it? A beauty like you should be nowhere near the battlefield." He smiled, a really, really gorgeous one at that—wait, beauty?

"S-Sir?" Was beauty a compliment or an insult? The battlefield is my second home. "Are you telling me that I should stop fighting? Because sir, I will never stop fighting for my people!"

Blue eyes, blue eyes smiled at me, "Never," He said, "It'd just be a really, really sad world without angels." He laughed, wow, now he's trying to be sweet?

"No need for flattery, Kuya[Big brother/older brother]." I smiled back, "I just wanted to thank you, kuya, but I don't know how to repay you. . ." It's a custom, if someone does something good, do something good for them.

"If that's the case then," He stood up, "May I have this dance, milady?"

"Dance?" Sasayaw? Wait—what?

He smiled, so I might as well, "As thanks kuya, I'll dance with you." I smiled, taking in his warm hand.

A soft chuckle, as he leaned in close, "Name's Alfred, by the way," If he stops smiling, I swear I'll cry; he has one of the most beautiful smiles I've ever seen.

"Alright kuya Alfred," I laughed, not looking away from my feet and his, blushing like the red kamatis[tomato/es] in the market "My name is Isabel,"

We danced, if that's what you'd call random sways and strides, but this was a really romantic setting, tipikal na romansa, romance típico. . . Typical romance, like all those novellas I've read; boy meets girl, they talk, they dance, they fall in love, conflict arises, they separate, they reunite again, love appears again, the end. Hindi naman 'to ganon, no[This isn't like those, right]? Ang ngiti nya, gosh, his smile, so I'm the one who's falling in love now?

We sat on the ground, laughing and smiling like mad, my hand still encased in his. . .

"You know, I never really thought that the Philippines was beautiful." Was he insulting the Philippines—my Philippines?

Putang ina mo. . . Sinayaw mo na nga ako, 'tas iinsultohin mo Pilipinas ko?[F*ck you. . . You danced with me, and then you're insulting my Philippines?]

"What are you trying to say—!" I whipped my head to ask him, but I was stopped by his hand, his warm—warm hand on my cheek.

Time stopped then, neither of us was speaking or moving, but he changed it.

Warm, it was warm; it had that amazing sensation, you feel and tingly and fuzzy inside, and you can hear your heartbeats mix and mingle.

That's it, in love na talaga ako[surely, I'm in love].

But that doesn't last. . .

A/N: Belated Happy Independence day, Philippines! I was supposed to upload this yesterday, though, but I feel the need to add the last part. This is my first fic for Hetalia, so read and review please? Sequel coming soon :)