"… I'm not terrible like they say I am, am I?" it's the alcohol that talks for him, slurring his words out in the bar they're in as they're seated at a far corner of the room where their fellow patrons can neither see nor hear the happenings of their little bubble, distracted by the noise and life. She usually doesn't mind the cheer and fanfare brought by the nightlife, but America isn't proving to be a proactive drinking buddy tonight. Still, the question causes her to pause, holding her drink a mere few centimeters from her lips as soon as it registers. Maybe it's the alcohol talking, she's sure of it, because he never usually asks such daunting questions.
(Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's the impulsive nature he's adopting as of late, or maybe it's the sheer desperate longing worming its way out of his heart and out of his mouth when his defenses happen to be low. Maybe—maybe it's all three.)
"Do you think you're terrible?" she asks in return.
He snorts. "I don't reckon anybody wants to think that about themselves."
It's not an admission—typical, as she expects from one who likes to wrap himself in the light of providence to shield away from the realities of his faults. But it's not an outright denial—perhaps more self-aware than she expects out of him, but it has to be alcohol doing the talking.
She doesn't know how to answer him.
Yes, Philippines wants to say, red-anger flashing and burning as it sears through her mind, the cauldron of resentments bubbling forth from the lid she presses down to shut out. He's selfish and she knows it, despite his claims of good intentions—what good intentions did he have when he, colossus glorifying liberty, had ripped hers from her hands? What good intentions were there when he had kept so much from her in his quest to stamp out the red menace, leading to a near ten years of darkness that shrouded heaven's light from her? She thinks of China, and how she doesn't trust China, but how she should know better than to trust—
No, Philippines wants to say, calm-blues setting in like waves to quell hell's flames. She remembers the first time he unfurls blueprints for universities and roads he gifts to her later on, wearing a vibrant smile that masks heavier sentiments because "Hey, it's the least I could do for you." She remembers the long nights they spent in the mountains of Camp John Hay, watching the stars, and he talks about dreams and ideals and desires for better things and for a moment she almost (almost) forgets he can be simultaneously cruel in his genuine desire to be good. He is terrifying and exhilarating all at once, like the angels in the Catholic texts Spain had forced her to read once upon a time (they burn with holy brightness), and it makes her wish for just a moment that he was everything he made himself out to be—
"… I think you try your best."
It's a diplomatic answer, but a question like that has no easy answer, as much as she wishes there was, wishes there was a way to sort through her rage and attachment in the tangled mess they happen to be wrapped up in. In the end,
America never apologizes, and Philippines never expects him to.
(Instead he offers to buy her another drink. She declines at first, but he insists anyway and orders another for the both of them—because America doesn't believe in sentiments in words but in actions, and Philippines wishes he better understood the weighted value simple dialogue can hold.)
Some notes:
Their relationship from a historical standpoint interests me, so I tried to get a feel of it.
I don't think America's the type of guy to dwell on his faults, but he does seem a bit more self-aware of them in my perspective, especially when he knows they contradict his own ideals and values. It doesn't really absolve him of anything, but it is interesting to watch him struggle sometimes, and I figure current events would have him more contemplative lately.
Philippines tends to have an odd relationship with America: specifically, she resents him, but also trusts him enough when she knows better. Maybe it comes from being familiar with both his worst and best, his potential for terrible and wonderful things. Probably why she still likes his company despite everything.