Yet again Mexico paused and looked back at America, "You're being quiet. I must have said something horrifying." America found himself suddenly and inexplicably fascinated with his own left hand. He stared at it while he said, "I guess I don't know what to say. I like to let myself forget how fierce you really are. Hearing about you fighting just brings back the reality, that's all." Mexico smiled, "I'm not a sweet little kitten, Al. you've always known that. I shouldn't have to remind you."
America stood up and walked over to his lover, "If you're not a kitten, then why do you purr when I do this?" He put his hand behind Mexico's ear and rubbed softly. As he had predicted, Mexico made a slight sound of pleasure in his throat. The skin right behind Mexico's ear was incredibly sensitive, which was why he was reacting to such a light touch. He spoke anyway, "I'm a jaguar." America used a little piece of trivia he had picked up just for situations like this, "Big cats don't purr." At this point, Mexico pulled away from the hand. It was a lovely distraction, but Mexico had something very important to talk about and his emotions were not in the right place for anything sexual at the moment. Unlike most countries, aggression generally caused him to lose any sort of sexual desire simply because Mexico became so fixated on whatever he was angry at.
Mexico turned to face his lover and said, "Go sit back down. You don't get the rest of the story if you keep distracting me." America sighed and dutifully walked back over to the bed and sat down, "Fine, Alejandro. What happened next?" Mexico started to clench and unclench his hands, but his tone remained calm, "Well, I finally faced Antonio. I can comfortably say that he didn't see it coming."
Philippines leaned forward and put her elbows on the part of the table not covered by a map, "Mexico City is very heavily protected. The Spaniards pretty much left no weaknesses." She looked directly at Mexico, "You're going to need a minor miracle to take the city." Mexico took the information lightly, he had already suspected as much. Spain was no fool, he knew exactly where troops would do the most good. Mexico had heard whispers that there was rebellion rising in the other colonies, but it was perfectly clear that Spain's full attention was here.
Mexico had already figured out how to make it at least plausible that the revolutionary army could take the city. The Spanish army drew all of its power and organization almost directly from Spain. If Mexico could take out Spain, then there was a chance that the city could be taken and the revolution could be won. He turned to Hidalgo, who was also party to this discussion. The priest took the cue, "After the losses we took last battle, our ability to win is a bit questionable." Mexico finally felt that it was time to reveal his plan. He took a deep breath to brace himself before saying, "You have a chance if Antonio is out of the way." Philippines understood the statement perfectly at once. Her eyes widened and she said, "No! You can't fight him one on one." Mexico raised his eyebrow, "Piri, you know that I know how to handle myself. The plan has always been that I would fight Antonio." She stood the rest of the way up and looked him directly in the eyes. He could see that she was deeply concerned, which was touching. The words were deliberate, "You said you'd fight him. You never said you would fight him alone with no reinforcements and no escape. What if he wins? How will you get out?"
Mexico didn't let himself think about defeat, because thinking about it would make it more likely. Confidence would be key and thinking about defeat would just undermine that confidence. His response was careful, "Why can't you just trust me? I will be able to find a way out if I need one." Hidalgo cut in at this point, "Make sure you have a way out. We can't lose you, especially after you proved yourself in the last battle." Mexico had expected this from one of them, but this sort of protectiveness from both was a bit disheartening. It was quite clear that none actually trusted him to fight. Spain was out of practice when it came to one-on-one fighting, whereas, Mexico was sharper than he had ever been or probably ever would be. The odds were in Mexico's favor. He would not let the doubt from everyone else get in his way. Mexico was very confident in his own abilities, confident enough to face off against a Spaniard who would be in a very emotionally unstable state. More importantly, facing Spain now would be the only way to truly see the emotions tearing Spain apart, which was, of course, the entire point. Mexico would get his revenge then and there just by seeing the look on Spain's face.
As it was, he had to change the subject, "I'm leaving part of the discretion in implementing the plan to you, Miguel. It would be wise to wait until I get back, but you can attack whenever you deem it to be the most effective." Philippines slammed her hand into the table; obviously frustrated with the way he had brushed her off, "All the confidence in the world won't save you if Spain gets the upper hand! What do we do if you don't come back?" Mexico only grudgingly gave her a response, "If I am not back by tomorrow, then I expect you and Diego to continue on and do whatever you can. Antonio won't be able to destroy me, I know it." Philippines looked like she wanted to say something else, but she swallowed the comment. She glared at him one more time before turning and leaving the room.
Once she was gone, Hidalgo spoke directly to Mexico, "Are you sure you can handle this? You are still injured, are you not?" Mexico put his hand on his ribs, directly on top of the spot where the bullet had ripped through his skin. The wound had scabbed over well and had almost completely stopped hurting. It was most likely not going to be a problem. Although he understood the fatherly concern, it irked him a bit to be fussed over like a child. He said, "I'm sure I can take whatever Antonio throws at me. My injury is not going to stop me." The priest responded with a slight nod, "I know I cannot stop you from doing this. But, you need to keep your mind clearly on your goal. You need to do this for your own freedom, not because you want to fulfill your own vendetta." Mexico sighed; he found the lecture somewhat boring because he had heard it over and over again. He wouldn't deny the fact that he wanted some sort of payback; it had consumed his mind for so long that he was not going to abandon it. This was about more than just the fight or the victory or even the freedom. It had always been and always been about Spain's reaction. It might be vendetta to want to have Antonio know exactly what it felt like to lose someone precious to him, but that hardly meant that Mexico was going to change his plans. He simply said, "I will keep that in mind. My intentions will be as pure as possible." Hidalgo looked back down at the map for a second and seemed to be mulling over something very important. When he looked back up, he simply said, "I trust you will. Our success will rest entirely on your victory."
Mexico had found it very easy to sneak back into his own home, as heavily guarded as it was. He knew every back street that the Spanish failed to guard. The feeling inside the house had changed dramatically: it was frantic and stressed. Mexico couldn't be entirely sure if the change reflected his own feelings or those of Spain. More likely, it reflected Spain because at the moment Mexico felt strangely calm and confident. Either way, it would add to the tension well. Mexico entered the house using the balcony that was connected to the room that he and Spain had usually shared dinner; it seemed the most likely place to find the Spaniard, especially this early in the morning.
He had just opened the door to the balcony when he heard a familiar voice, "How could you have been so idiotic? You should have perused after the first retreat and put an end to that priest and his farce of a revolution!" Mexico smirked; Spain must be talking to the general who had failed last battle. The frustration was evident in his voice. Spain was realizing now that everything he had taken for granted was slipping out of his control. That was the perfect situation for Mexico to make his move. If Spain was frustrated and confused, his skill with a sword would decrease dramatically. Spain got no response from the man, so he continued to talk, "And most importantly, you would have been able to find Alejandro. I know he must be out there somewhere. God knows what he's gone through because I couldn't be here to protect him." This moment would prove if the general had been scared enough to keep the secret about having seen the boy. Mexico hoped that the power of terror would keep his tongue-tied. His hope seemed fulfilled when the mortal man continued to remain silent. Spain seemed to get even angrier, "Get out of my sight if you aren't going to tell me anything useful." There was the sound of someone scrambling to his feet and then the slamming of a door.
Mexico took this to mean that Spain was now alone. He walked over to the balcony doors and silently opened one of them the rest of the way. The white curtain that had covered the window whipped inward, carried by a slight wind from the outside. Mexico saw that Spain now had his back to the window. The table was covered in assorted dishes that held several different nearly uneaten breakfast foods. One of Spain's hands was holding firmly onto a glass of red wine. The Spaniard spoke to himself with a good deal of anguish, "Why is this happening to me?" Mexico seized his opportunity to make a dramatic entrance. He answered Spain's rhetorical question, "It may be because you are an arrogant fool who only sees what he wants to." As expected, Spain recognized the voice and quickly turned around. Their eyes locked and Mexico could swear that he saw a pure kind of relief well up in the other's green eyes. In fact, he looked close to shedding happy tears. His relief was so great that Spain didn't even seem to comprehend the words Mexico had spoken.
He spoke and his voice was choked with emotion, "I was so worried about you. When you weren't here at my arrival, I thought the worst. But now we can be just like we were." Spain took a couple quick steps forward to close the space between them. Mexico thought about taking a step backwards; the proximity was making him uncomfortable. But he held his ground in order to give Spain a false sense of hope. As Mexico expected, the European reached out to put his hand on the younger man's face, "You will always be mine, my little Aztec boy." At precisely the right moment, Mexico raised his hand and forcefully intercepted the hand. The result was that the hand was slapped away with an audible sound. He looked Spain deliberately in the eyes, "Don't touch me."
Spain's eyes widened as though he couldn't quite understand the situation. He managed a single word, "What?" Mexico knew that his timing had had the intended effect. Spain was completely confused now. Mexico took a step to the side to get farther away from Spain, speaking as he did so, "Oh, was I supposed to play submissive? Was I supposed to give in to your desires? Sorry, but I'm sick of those games." He let his voice drop into the more sinister tone that used to indicate he was letting his dark side out. Now, there was no need to hide his Aztec born side. In the past month, it had become his reality. It felt better to live life without the façade, without the lies. It was a tone that Spain had never heard, which became even more obvious when he responded, "There is something very different about your voice." Mexico laughed, a deep resounding laugh with a sinister undertone, "You don't know me, not really. You believed what I wanted you to believe. This is how my voice has always sounded when I am myself."
Suddenly, something seemed to click in Spain's mind. He spoke through clenched teeth, "What did that priest do to you?" Mexico continued to walk, making a slow circle around Spain, who was turning to keep an eye on him. It was not unlike a jaguar slowly closing in on its prey. Mexico had expected that the conversation would very soon change to the revolution and as he had predicted to Philippines a month ago, Spain was blaming Hidalgo. Mexico was quick to correct this, "Miguel? He did nothing I didn't ask for. I engineered this revolution." The Spaniard's hands slowly curled into fists, as another realization seemed to hit him, "You're on a first name basis with that corrupt man?" Mexico could see the gears churning inside of Spain's head. The confusion was evident. He had not yet reached the ultimate conclusion that would devastate him, but it was close.
Mexico kept his response short "Naturally I am. But this isn't about him. This is about you and me." Spain looked like he had been hit by a heavy blow that had knocked the air out of him. For once, he seemed entirely unable to come up with a response, so he changed the subject again, grasping at something that he could prove he was right about, "The things Francis said you did, they are lies, aren't they?" Now, Mexico knew he could destroy Spain completely. This topic was one that he knew Spain wanted to be right about. The only thing Spain had ever desperately hoped for was that he controlled the Aztec boy and was the only one who would ever lay claim to his body. Spain's heart was absolutely sure that Mexico was still a virgin, completely untouched by anyone else. To this, Mexico had a response that would finally crush that assertion. He rested one hand on the handle of his sword, which entailed brushing his coat back so that the sword was finally visible to Spain. This was a very deliberate gesture; it would show Spain that Mexico was perfectly willing to make this conversation into a fight. It was not lost on the European, whose eyes quickly flitted to the sword and then back to Mexico's face.
Once the effect of the gesture was clear, the Aztec boy said, "You Europeans are so confident in yourself, it's funny and pathetic. France thought he was good enough to enthrall me. You thought you could control me. But, I will give you the truth. I let Francis have a taste because he was useful to me, but he never seduced me. No more than you ever controlled my heart or my brain." The other was quick to respond this time. His expression changed from confusion to anger, "You're loyal to me! You said so, right here in this room!" Mexico loosened the sword in the sheath, but he did so subtly. He was now measuring the space between himself and Spain. He had shattered the man's heart, and now the fight was almost inevitable.
Of course, Mexico needed to urge this forward to a fight. At this point, he expected to feel a deep sense of satisfaction at seeing Spain feel the pain he had felt so long ago. This revenge was supposed to lift the weight off of him, fill the hole in his heart, but it wasn't happening. The hate was still there. Looking at Spain still made Mexico feel irrationally angry and sick at the same time. The only thing the heartbreak in the green eyes made him feel was a shallow satisfaction that his plans had finally come to fruition. Mexico let the emotion sit for a second before he said with something that was supposed to be a sweet smile, "I lied."
Spain had begun to take steps to the side so he was tracing the same circle that Mexico was walking. He didn't seem aware of it, as if it was a reflex developed through years of fighting enemies. His voice shook as he said, with the last of his desperation; "I can forgive you for that. It isn't too late for you to come back to Madrid with me. Let's have the life we deserve." The last word struck Mexico the wrong way. It made his blood boil to think that Spain deserved the happy little fairy tale that imperial life had been. He only deserved death, and a painful death at that. If anything, it should be more painful than the death that the Aztec empire had endured, that was only fair.
Mexico kept his expression well hidden, if Spain knew he had been successful in provoking Mexico, he may use it to his advantage. Instead he said in a tone that was intentionally flat, "The life you deserve? I will give you what you deserve." As quickly as he could, Mexico grabbed the hilt of the sword and pulled the blade out of the sheath. In one motion, he swung the sword upward, intent on hitting Spain. The Spaniard grabbed a knife from the table and was barely able to block the swing. The blades hit each other with surprising force, the sound of it echoed down through the room. It was all Spain could do to keep his grip on the knife. The European man was wearing a sword at his hip, but he hadn't drawn it. This was extremely telling. Not drawing the sword meant that Spain was still refusing to see this as a true fight. For him, this was still an intervention to bring Mexico back to his senses.
Their eyes met, green and gold, hate and confusion. Mexico put more strength into the sword, which caused the blades to rattle together. Spain spoke again, "Put that down now, Alejandro. I don't want to hurt you and you don't know how to use that blade." Mexico smirked and said back, "Oh don't I?" He shifted the blade so that the hilt was right up against the hilt of the knife. Then, he moved the sword upward so that the knife went flying. Mexico then lowered his sword so that the tip was just in front of Spain's throat.
In the distance, a sound was swelling. Spain heard it and desperately looked around. Mexico recognized the sound; it was a call to arms, which meant that Hidalgo had decided to attack now. The sound only worked to reinforce Mexico's message that everything was changing now. This situation was more than serious; it was pivotal. To taunt Spain, he said, "Do you hear that? That's the sound of your reign ending. Now draw your sword and face me like a man or I will cut you down like a dog." Spain put his hand on the hilt of his own sword, but he didn't draw it, "You wouldn't do that to me, after all I have given you, after all we have shared. If you would, then I have lost you." Mexico had expected as much from Spain. Even with all the information telling him that Mexico had turned traitor, he was still denying it and attempting to remedy the situation. The Aztec boy laughed, "You truly don't get it," He swung again and this time Spain was forced to block with his own sword. Mexico snarled, speaking over the interlocked swords, "I was never yours to lose."
They both broke the lock between their swords to free the weapons for the next move. Mexico was already mad, but he kept his mind clear. If there was one thing about fighting that Portugal had taught him, it was that emotion was detrimental during a fight. Getting truly enraged would do nothing to improve Mexico's chances, so his best strategy was to remain calm. Spain was obviously attempting and failing to do the same. His voice shook slightly as he raised the sword into a defensive position and said, "I don't want to fight you, Alejandro." Mexico gritted his teeth attempting to not show his emotion. The denials had been entertaining at first, but now they were just annoying. If possible, Mexico's voice got even colder, "That's really a pity because I want you dead."
With that, he lunged forward and swung again, this time getting much closer to Spain. This forced the European to take a step back as he parried. The stroke was deflected, but Spain made no move to counter-attack. Mexico growled in his throat, frustrated by the fact that he couldn't provoke a response, he shifted from one attack to another, which came across Spain's chest in a silver ark. This one was even harder for the Spaniard to deflect since it was such a quick forceful blow. He took a quick step backwards to adjust. Mexico spoke again, "Fight me, you spineless bastard!" With that, he took a step forward and brought down a hard overhand stroke that would, if on target, hit Spain directly in the head. Spain quickly moved to block the blow. The swords collided with a metallic crash. They were yet again stuck in a deadlock, with both of them holding onto their swords with both hands and they swords were over their heads.
Spain's eyes locked on Mexico's. He spoke with some measure of control, "Your moves are good. But, I know this isn't who you are. You aren't a revolutionary." Spain spat out the last word like it was poisonous. Naturally, it was a word that Spain hated with all his heart because the person branded with that title had the power to bring him down. Mexico leaned forward so he was even closer to his colonizer, "You don't know anything about me." Spain's eyes slowly drifted down to something that Mexico had failed to notice. When he had leaned forward, the pendant of Aztec gold had swung forward out of his shirt, so it was now highly visible. This was what Spain's eyes were now fixed on and his expression slowly shifted from shock to anger. When he finally looked back up at the Aztec boy, he spoke through clenched teeth, "How dare you wear that in front of me? I see now: you are corrupted, even after all I've done for you!"
Mexico had not expected the anger, but was pleased that he had done something to elicit it all the same. This simple piece of gold seemed to have finally made it clear to Spain that he had to fight back. All the same, Mexico felt the need to respond with a biting comment, "I dare because I would rather be the bitter truth than a sweet lie. No matter what you think you did, the truth is that I will always be my mother's son." Spain put more force into the sword, but this time used it to push to the side so that the swords broke apart.
Mexico took a half step backwards to give himself room to maneuver. Spain carefully changed his position so that it was now more offensive and spoke again, "I am going to tear that pendant away from you and then you will remember who you really are and this insanity will end." Mexico tensed his muscles, ready to attack or block depending on the other's move, "I would love to see you try, old man." For the first time, Spain lunged forward. The attack was far faster than anything Mexico had dealt with when practicing with Portugal or Brazil. His reflexes were quick enough that he was able to bring the sword around in time to deflect Spain's blow, which would have slashed across his shoulder, had it made contact. The Spaniard hardly missed a beat. He switched his aim to come across the other's chest. It would be a glancing blow, but the slash that the blade would leave would be enough to disable Mexico. That was, as far as Mexico could tell, Spain's plan now. He meant to cause enough damage to incapacitate the Aztec boy so he could bring his back to Madrid and fully exert his control again. Mexico was yet again able to deflect the strike, but he noticed that he was taking small steps backwards so that he was getting slowly farther away from the table.
He had never truly seen Spain let loose, and this was more than he had bargained for. A third strike came hard and fast from a slightly different angle, and yet again Mexico was able to block. Spain's green eyes were now alight with a manic kind of fire, as though he was finding some sort of pleasure in the sound of the swords clashing. The Spaniard now smirked, "Is this what you wanted? Can you handle it?" Mexico growled, more angered by the taunt than he should be. He was supposed to be good at fighting, but Spain was slowly beating him back. He decided that this was not the time to be honorable, if he wanted to win; Mexico was going to have to fight dirty.
When the next strike came, he intentionally blocked it very near to the hilt so that the hilts of the swords were very close together. Mexico leaned into the sword, which made it harder for Spain to free the sword for another attack. Once he had proximity, he drove a knee upward and caught the Spaniard in the stomach. It wasn't exactly what he had been aiming for, but the immediate effect was enough. The blow knocked the breathe out of Spain, which was enough for him to need a couple seconds to recover. Naturally, Mexico didn't give him that much time.
Once Spain's sword dropped, Mexico used his free hand to smack the Spaniard across the face. As the European man took a couple uncoordinated steps backwards, stunned by the blow, Mexico spun and was able to bring his sword quickly across the back of Spain's hand and arm. The slash was quick and, thus, very shallow. All the same, it made Spain hiss between his teeth in pain. Mexico took a couple steps so that he was on the other side of Spain. The other turned quickly and raised his sword again. Spain held the blade steady despite the pain that he was undoubtedly feeling from the injury. The Spaniard was quite beyond words. The blood had made him even angrier, so he was now completely enraged. Spain swung again and was able to hit again and again in quick succession. However, it was slower now, which made it easier for Mexico to block each stroke.
Slowly, Mexico was able to take the offensive, responding to every attack with one of his own. It looked to be a stalemate, but Mexico could see that Spain's hands were shaking now. He felt confident enough to smirk at Spain. He knew that if the Spaniard continued to weaken; he could easily defeat the Spaniard. If he could just get around Spain again, he would be able to win this fight. He would be able to put his blade to Spain's back, which would give him access to the vital organs. From the front, it was very unlikely that he would hit anything with Spain aggressively blocking. It would be a risky move, moving would break the concentration he was using on the sword fight. However, confidence took over and Mexico decided to go for it.
He took a quick side step. Spain recognized the move for what it was and quickly attempted to counter. He brought his sword down in an n arch over his head. Mexico blocked upward but continued to move in a circle. However, Spain had a second strike that was more effective. He used his free arm to throw an elbow that managed to hit Mexico across the side of the ribs. Spain was definitely not aiming for the bullet wound, since he did not know of its existence, but he managed to bring the point of his elbow across the wound. It sent a spike of pain up Mexico's side, which was enough to cause him to falter. The wound was on the same side as his sword hand, which meant that the shooting pain also caused him to loosen his grip on the sword.
Spain took the opportunity. He brought the hilt of his sword down on Mexico's hand, which caused the Aztec boy to lose his grip on his sword. The blade fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Mexico didn't have time to try to pick the weapon back up; Spain made a quick move. He grabbed Mexico by the shoulder with his free hand, his thumb digging into the hollow above the collar bone, and swung him around in a half-circle, and then slammed him against the table. Mexico's back hit the table, smashing into at least one plate. The rest of the dishes went flying. Mexico put his hand out on instinct and knocked over the glass of red wine, which spilt over the surface of the table like blood. Mexico could feel the liquid seeping into the back of his jacket. Mexico quickly exhaled as the breath was knocked out of him.
Spain pinned the boy to the table using his bleeding arm across Mexico's shoulders. With the other hand, he raised his sword and placed the point against the boy's chest. Mexico knew he had lost now; his split second weakness had given Spain the invaluable upper hand. Now Spain had him completely trapped. But, he had to get out of this situation, he had promised Philippines that he would come back and he needed to make good on her promise to her. She was one of the few people he could never let down. He needed an opportunity, but he didn't see one right now.
Spain finally spoke, "Be still. You are at my mercy. Defy me again and I will run you through." Mexico sensed that this statement was little more than bravado; Spain cared far too much to actually kill him. Even with the conquistador in control, Spain still loved Mexico far too much to kill him. Mexico pushed up against the arm and snarled, "Go ahead. Kill me. Right here, right now, just like you murdered my mother."
The blood drained out of Spain's face. He spoke in a voice devoid of all the distinctive conquistador confidence, "You knew I killed her?" Mexico responded, "Of course, I have always known what you did. You stole my family away from me, you fucking bastard." Spain's hand started to shake. Guilt bubbled up in the green eyes. Mexico saw his opportunity; Spain was distracted by his own guilt, which meant that he could be taken down. The Aztec boy subtly moved his legs so that one was on either side of Spain's. The Spaniard spoke again, "I'm sorry, I have paid for that my entire life. I tried to make it better for you."
Mexico scoffed, "Is that supposed to make it better? I will always hate you, no matter what you do. My heart is treasonous, so kill me, if you have the balls." Spain raised the sword as if he was about to drive it through the other's chest, but he couldn't actually make the movement. It was quite obvious that Spain was trying to figure out the best thing to do, he wanted to have a clear victory and a way to incapacitate Mexico without actually causing that much pain. But, the Aztec boy finally saw his opportunity, "You're sentimental and weak, and I've outgrown you."
With that, he scissored his legs, which meant they came together right at Spain's knees. This caused Spain to lose balance and fall. Mexico simply watched as Spain fell and his head first hit the edge of the table and then the floor. The blows knocked the Spaniard unconscious. Once he was sure Spain was out, Mexico straightened up, "That's what you get when you hesitate." A small puddle of blood was forming under Spain's head, which was all the more satisfying to Mexico. More than anything, Mexico was incredibly mad at the fact that his pride had been so thoroughly crushed by Spain's skill, so it felt much better to see Spain bleeding on the floor.
Mexico could hardly think over what was now a blinding pain in his side. He brushed back his coat to look at his side. The wound had split open and was now bleeding through the bandage and a red spot was now forming on his shirt. He knew he had lost and now needed to make an escape. He picked up his sword from the floor; this was the last thing he wanted to leave with Spain.
He had one last thought that would be a cruel sign to Spain when he woke up. Mexico took off his jacket, which was still dripping with wine and stained with blood and took it over to the only chair still at the table, the one that Mexico had usually occupied when they had dinner together, and hung the jacket over the back of it. After that Mexico walked back to where Spain was laying and he kneeled down next to the unconscious man. He reached out and stroked Spain's face, "I will see you again, Tony. And the next time, I will kill you." With that, Mexico stood up and left, still clutching his bleeding side.
A/N: I am so sorry this took forever, I was being super picky about my writing of this chapter, and even so I am not completely happy with how it turned out. This scene is probably the one I have looked forward to writing the longest, so I really wish I was happier with it.
Please please review so I know what you think. Also, so I know you still love me