'K, so I've basically been dying to write something like this since I saw Himaruya's interpretation of the American Revolution. Be warned, I am flying without a beta.

[insert standard disclaimer here]

"Welcome -" She paused, her doe-like brown eyes trailing upward to catch the eyes of her older brother, catching all the bruises that were blossoming on his lightly tanned face, as well as the dents in his armor. Tears stung behind her eyelids, threatening to spill over at the sight of her caretaker being injured. "What happened, Antonio?"

Hazel eyes widened at the melodious sound of her soft voice. "Maria, you..." He bit his lip. She wasn't supposed to see him like this. His pride wasn't the only thing that had taken a beating from that damned sea dog. He was bruised, sore, and bloody. But he wasn't supposed to be that way. Not with her present, anyway. He was supposed to be strong, invincible, he was supposed to protect her, young and delicate as she was. But now? He had reduced her to tears, and it almost killed him to see that.
Moving slowly so he wouldn't strain his injuries, he placed a rough, weathered hand on her silky, wavy brown hair. "No te preocupes. I just got a little hurt. It's nothing." Though his tone was casual, he flinched when he started to remove his armor.

She rushed to help him, and tend to his wounds, her chocolate brown eyes reflecting a deep concern for his well-being. "Hermano, that's not 'nothing.' That's - " Her eyes flickered down to a rather large red stain that was proceeding to spread around his lower abdomen "blood. Ay Dios, Antonio! You're bleeding!" She tried to calm herself down, to not panic. She would be strong, like her mama had been. "Let me - OH! I've got some bandages somewhere. Let me go get them. Voy a ayudarse, hermano."

He could see that she was uneasy at the sight of his wounds, and he didn't feel very comfortable being tended to. It made him feel weak. Slowly, the Spaniard got up from the chair - skillfully hiding his discomfort - and took the bandages out.

'What happened to those days? What happened to the adorable little girl who would fun to the door when I came in? What happened to the girl who would cry when I left, begging me not to leave?' His eyes raised to the young woman standing before him, a determined fire in her brown eyes, rifle in her tan hands, aiming to kill. 'When did things go wrong?'

"Maria, you don't really want to do this. Your people are dying, Maria. They're not going to make it through this war, never mind win it." The fierce look of Mexico's former people remained fixed in the young nation's eyes, and dominated the features of her tanned face, the poise and demeanor of an Aztec goddess replacing the timid, shy stance of a young girl that she once was.

"Lo siento, compadre, but that's not up to me to decide anymore." Her voice was hard, and stung him worse than being hit by the flat of a sword. He would not lose. He would break her. He needed to, because he, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, was not about to lose what was left of his God-given empire.

"Your men, they won't win. You won't win. Just give up now, and you won't be in trouble." Well, not too much, anyway...

"That's some tough talk, from a man on his knees." She was staring down the barrel at him when he realized one simple fact. It was over. He was done. Gone. Nothing that he'd fought for remained his. And now, he'd lose the last of his control, and with it, his life.

She placed her finger on the trigger. Her mind screamed for her to pull it, but memories of older times kept coming back. Persistent as they were, they hounded her as she attempted to pull the trigger, preventing her from doing so.

He screwed his eyes shut and lowered his head, praying for a quick death. He anticipated the sound of the gunshot, and the burning, searing pain of an entry wound.

It never came.

Instead, he heard the sound of metal hitting dirt, and saw the rifle laying on the ground, and his former colony standing above him, tears mixing with the blood and dirt on her tanned face, dark brown hair falling in waves, brushing against her cheeks.

Extending a hand out to her former caretaker, she pulled him to his feet, and encircled her arms about his neck, burrowing her face into his shoulder. "I think we both know when it's time to stop."

So. Comments? Suggestions? That's all the plot bunnies would allow me to write before they migrated to warmer climates.
Maybe when they come back, I'll have more to write about it. Unless you think it's good on its own.

Critique away! (I'm tough. I can take it.)