Warnings: Swearing in Tagalog
Disclaimer: I don't own APH. Hidekaz Himaruya does.
I Promise You
Staccato gunfire ripped through the darkness, the humid, tropical air heavy with the bitter stench of cordite. Explosions flashed from somewhere beyond the dense tangle of balete, banana and coconut trees.
"Please… Don't go! You know I'm not strong enough to fight Japan by myself!"
The Philippines was half wild with fear, clawing at America's khaki shirt, her words breaking out in halting sobs.
"I can't stay here, I'm so sorry," he said quietly, turning his face so he wouldn't have to look at her. "I just can't."
Snarling, she started to pummel his chest with her fists. America did not flinch. "Damn you! Putang ina! You said you would help me get rid of Spain so I could become independent, but then you told me that I couldn't look after myself! That I had to wait. You said that you would protect me!"
America caught hold of her hands easily and held them still as she wept.
"I shall return… I promise you that, Philippines." Gently, like a parent comforting a frightened child, he cupped her face. The flares from the distant blasts lit the faint, metallic streaks of her unchecked tears.
"I promise you."
What can you possibly give to the nation who has everything? The Philippines asks herself this question weeks before America's actual birthday. She does not mind that he has forgotten her own birthday as she knows how busy he is and how absent-minded. There is never any malice in his forgetfulness, it is just part of his character. Always willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, she wonders if he simply got confused with the dates. It would not have been difficult. America had granted his former colony independence on the same day that he had won his, but one of her bosses later decided that it was more appropriate to celebrate her birthday on the date of the first declaration of independence from Spain almost half a century before. Yes, she decides, that must be it; he's just got mixed up.
She leans on the balcony and listens to the chirruping of the crickets and the lowing of carabao. The evening breeze blows the soft smell of jasmine into the room. The Philippines closes her eyes and thinks.
The white-hot sand stung the soles of her bare feet as she raced along the shore. Overhead, a stream of American bombers roared as they fanned across the sky. The landing barge crunched aground in the shallows of the turquoise sea and a tall, uniformed figure disembarked into the knee-deep surf. He splashed towards her, breaking the glittering brightness of the water, his hair a burnished gold in the midday sun. The exhaustion and pain melted from her bruised and battered limbs as she ran. He had come back for her!
They met in the water. He caught her, spinning her in the air, she didn't know if she was laughing or crying, perhaps it was both, but all that mattered was that he was here, after all this time, like he said he would be, his hands around her waist now, his lips pressing on hers. Camera flashbulbs burst around them like fireworks. It had been the largest naval battle ever fought; the image of him lifting her into his arms, his general and his entourage behind them, wading through the shallows, emblematised the victory and was splashed on newspapers across the globe.
America turned to the assembled throng on the beach, his arm around the Philippines' shoulder. "I have returned! The hour of your redemption is here…" He pumped a fist into the air. "Rally to me!"
The crowd erupted into cheers, profanities and prayers.
The Philippines' fingers lingered on her smiling lips that still felt the heat of their kiss.
It is 4th July and the Philippines thinks that America must have invited the whole world to his birthday party. The garden is full of nations, politicians and celebrities. Everything is red, white and blue, from the balloons to the party hats, the stars and stripes are everywhere. The Philippines spots him immediately, he is heads and shoulders above most of the others there and, as usual, is surrounded. She clutches the slim box she holds in her hands and feels conscious of everything, from the way her palms become clammy to the way that something so simple as breathing suddenly and inexplicably becomes a conscious effort.
She hangs back from the crowd slightly and watches as the other nations hand over their birthday presents.
In the post-war years, after America finally gave her independence, they seemed to drift apart. But the Philippines felt no ill-will. After the war, America had become the most powerful nation in the world. He was always in demand, everyone wanted a piece of him.
However, there were times that her mind became treacherous. What did that moment in Leyte actually mean to him? The kiss, the grand speech, had it been nothing but a photo opportunity, a front page story?
But, he had returned, she reasoned with herself. He was as good as his promise.
Took him long enough though, hadn't it? And he had to finish playing the hero in Europe first before he even thought of you…
She shook her head, as if trying to dislodge these poison-filled thoughts.
No, she thought, the blood of his men and my own was spilled on my soil. Death united us, it made brothers of us all.
After the other countries have given their gifts, the Philippines walks over to America.
"Hi, Kuya America!" for some reason, the Philippines thinks her voice sounds unnaturally high. Her cheeks grow painfully hot, and to her annoyance, knowing that she is starting to blush makes her blush even more fiercely. "Happy birthday!"
"Hey, Philippines!" America beams, pulling her into a hug. "It's great to see you."
He does sound genuinely pleased to see her and it makes her stomach flip over. The Philippines wishes she has something witty to say, but can only smile at him foolishly.
"You too. It's been too long." She passes him the present and he thanks her, untying the ribbon.
As he opens the box and pulls out a delicate garland of jasmine, the Philippines wants to say to America, "This is the sampaguita, my national flower. There is a legend of a young princess who fell in love with a prince. The princess had recently inherited the kingdom after the death of her father and had many enemies. Swearing to defend her, the prince set sail to seek her foes."
She wants to say to him, "Before he left, they embraced on a hilltop overlooking the sea, and told each other, 'Sumpa kita', I promise you, pledging a vow to marry on his return. Every day the princess would wait for her love on that hill by the sea, but he was never seen again. Overwhelmed by grief, the princess died. Fragrant white blossoms sprang from her grave like stars, singing 'Sumpa kita' in the wind. The sampaguita became a symbol of true and pure love."
More than anything, she aches to say, "And that's why I chose them, Kuya America, because they remind me of you… of us. Only you came back to me, like you said you would."
But she finds she cannot say any of those things. The Philippines realises as soon as she drapes the garland around his shoulders that it is a stupid present, that she is an idiot. America looks at them with indifference. He doesn't laugh, like he did at Russia's presents, or yelp delightedly like he did with Japan's. He acquiesces, probably for politeness' sake, but if anything, he seems to be slightly embarrassed at wearing a necklace of flowers.
What the Philippines actually does say is, "This is the sampaguita, my national flower. I… uh… They're very pretty and smell nice." She inwardly curses herself for her inanity.
"Err… yes, they are," America says, examining one of the small, white flowers. "Umm… thanks, Philippines, they're terrific!"
Something beyond the crowd catches America's eye and his lips curve into a broad smile.
"Ah… You came!"
The Philippines sees the way that America looks at England. A former colony looking at the erstwhile master. He's stronger than him now, he's stronger than everyone, but there is a gleam in America's eyes that wasn't there before. A childlike hopefulness.
Is that how she looks at him?
"I'm about to cut the cake if you'd like some?" America asks, waving his hand towards an elaborate three-tiered cake festooned with miniature flags.
Glaring at him, England informs America how much he hates this day, how it resurrects the old memories he would rather remain buried, how he can think of nothing else a week before.
"Me too, England. Whenever it gets near to my birthday, I think of your white-eyed chagrined face and how much of a loser you were," America grins. "And I always feel awesome a week in advance!"
"Ah." England looks utterly dejected. America's grin grows even wider.
"I lied!" he says, laughing. England fixes him with a hard stare.
"Well, har bloody har! I'm glad you seem to think this is all so funny." He thrusts a bag into America's hands. "I only came here to give you this. So, I'll be going, then."
"You're not staying?" America asks, his blue eyes crestfallen. "Not even for cake?"
"No," England replies, turning to leave.
"It's chocolate."
"No."
"OK. Well, thanks for the present," America calls after him.
"Wow," he says to himself quietly as he removes a parcel wrapped in brightly coloured paper from the bag. "I really thought he wouldn't get me anything."
As she observes the scene unfolding, the Philippines understands everything.
His heart would never miss a beat for her.
Because it had already been claimed by someone else.
Notes
'Putang ina' translates as 'your mother is a whore' and is used in the same way as 'you son of a bitch.' [I did originally had this as 'Puta ang ina mo' but changed it after a couple of people corrected me – obviously I fail at Tagalog :D ]
'Kuya' is a deferential name given to an older male relative, like a brother or male cousin.
And a potted history: The Philippines was a Spanish colony for about three centuries and was handed over to the US in 1898 after the Spanish-American War. Following a number of bloody revolts, the US agreed in 1934 to grant the Philippines independence after completing 12 years of self-rule under US supervision.
Japan attacked the Philippines in 1941. US general Douglas MacArthur was ordered to withdraw from the Philippines in 1942, and some of America's lines in the WWII part this story ('I shall return', 'The hour of your redemption is here…') are direct quotes from MacArthur.
The Philippines was finally given independence in 1946, but later decided to change it's independence day from 4 July to 12 June.