Mexico walked back still thinking of the idea that Iturbide had planted in his mind. He could be an empire and the thought was tantalizing. He hadn't intended to let Iturbide get under his skin, but that single prospect had pierced deep. It was exactly what his mother had wanted for him, but he had relinquished the idea long ago because of Spain's control. But, now he turned it over again and again in his mind. The title sounded so incredibly sweet, The Mexican Empire. No longer just independence, but complete realization of his potential.
But, there was another side to it that begged to be addressed. How was it to be accomplished? During the negotiations, Iturbide had agreed to a Constitutional monarchy. The two ideas seemed completely contradictory, but perhaps there was a compromise that could be reached. But part of his mind told him that an empire could only be accomplished by abandoning the goal of a republic. It was probably best to say nothing about it to Guerrero; it had not been a real proposal, just a suggestion. Beyond that, Guerrero would take it as disingenuous, and Mexico couldn't risk the independence for something that might only have been a passing statement.
The rest had barely touched on politics, which meant that he would have very little to tell his general. The only moment of substance was too precarious to mention it. When they met again, Mexico would press for more details to tell his general. He reached the door to Guerrero's chambers and hesitated for a moment. It was late and his general was likely already asleep, but it was worth the risk of waking him. Mexico had seen him asleep before on the nights when his guard duty had lasted deep into the night, and it would not be all that different.
But, when he pushed the door open as quietly as he could, he could see the flickering light of a candle. Guerrero was sitting at a table with cards laid out in front of him in a solitary game. But, when he heard the door open, the man turned to look. His spoke, looking at Mexico with a smile, "Alejandro." The sound of his voice, possibly enhanced by the several glasses of wine, softened Mexico. It was not the first time he had ever noticed it, but Guerrero's expression was incredibly endearing in the low light.
Mexico felt himself smile as he walked into the room, saying as he did so, "You stayed up for me." Until this moment, he had not realized how much the wine had gone to his head. It had been a long time since he had good strong wine, but the feeling was not unpleasant. He hadn't been intoxicated like this since he was a colony. But, he was safe and comfortable.
Guerrero responded flippantly, "Of course. I had to make sure that he didn't steal you."
The look on his face made it clear that he wasn't entirely serious, though the concern was genuine. Mexico sat down across from him and looked at him with a slightly drunken heat rising in his cheeks. What a magnificent turn of events this was. Mexico was on the cusp of independence, whatever form it ended up taking, and he had two talented men competing for his attentions. It was flattering to be the ultimate goal of both of their ambitions. He spoke, his voice coming out strong and uninhibited, "You don't need to worry about that. He isn't that compelling."
He leaned back in the chair, letting some of the stress of the past ten years slip away. The other said, "I am glad to hear that. You were gone longer than I thought you would be." Mexico was hard pressed to figure out where the hours had gone. The time with Iturbide had blurred in discussions of Mexico's experience of the war, his own ambitions. The man had opened the discussion and Mexico had been as honest as possible, and the time had passed. The man had a way of coaxing an answer out of Mexico. But, that was not a worthwhile answer especially when he had promised to keep himself guarded.
Instead he said, "He's very long winded. I lost track of the time."
It wasn't a lie, just a half truth. Guerrero responded, "I would expect no less of him. He certainly didn't hold back in his proposal. Did you get anything of use out of him?" Mexico suppressed a sigh of frustration as he considered his response. The only new insight he gained he was keeping to himself for now. It was not certain and he was not about to risk the fight over it.
So, he said, "Not really. He kept avoiding the topic of politics. He wanted to talk to me personally."
He could see the unhappy shadow cross the man's face, but Guerrero did not indicate it when he spoke. He said, sounding careful and restrained, "I had hoped for better. I do not believe his proposal is entirely genuine. I read it while you were gone or tried. He is verbose, more so than I was expecting. From what I can tell, it's exactly what he said. I want to rewrite his section on removing the hierarchies of race." Mexico caught his meaning that he doubted that this was more than show. He was hesitant to trust in a plan that seemed to fulfill all of their goals so well. But it seemed to him that if the plan would bring an acceptable end, then intention barely mattered.
But, Mexico had no desire to fight over Iturbide's intentions tonight. It was late, and he was in a relatively good mood. So, he turned the conversation, "Can I ask you a question, Vicente?" The man looked taken aback at the change of subject, but he nodded nevertheless. Mexico said, finishing his thought, "If you did not have to negotiate with Iturbide, what would you want my future to be?"
It occurred to him that he had never asked directly what his goals were, though he had a general idea. The corner of the mortal's mouth turned upwards. Guerrero shifted in his chair, leaning forward, before he said, "My priority is lasting liberty. Driving out Spain is only the beginning. If you do not tear down the structures in place, nothing will change. That is what I want, to demolish the walls that divide people according to race." He paused for a moment before continuing, "I would prefer to have a republic, but I accept Iturbide's logic. I will accept a monarchy only if it is limited by a fairly elected Congress. I will not let you fell into despotism again."
He paused again and he looked directly at Mexico. He seemed to hesitate for a moment as his eyes met Mexico's. The man was weighing something that seemed to be highly sensitive. Finally, he said, his gaze firmly fixed on his country, "I do not aspire to anything myself. This was never about my own promotion. I am not Iturbide. But, I cannot imagine being a private citizen."
Mexico could feel far more beneath the words, the same promise Guerrero had made when he became his guard so many years ago. He reached across the table, over the cards that were carefully laid out, and took his general's hand in his own. The touch was enough to make Guerrero say, giving voice to his unspoken thought, "I cannot imagine being away from you after all that we have fought for together."
Mexico felt the usual rush of loyalty, but it was tinged by the guilt of knowing that he was keeping something from the man. He replied with an attempt at wit, "That is best. Who knows what I would do without you?"
The other gave him an impossibly hard to read look before he said, "Don't give me too much credit."
With a look of regret, he pulled his hand away so that he could stand and retrieve the proposal. Before he was holding it, Mexico could already see the annotations Guerrero had added in the margins. They were written in the man's rough script and were made with obvious haste. The man handed the paper to Mexico, who glanced over it. He could see the way that Guerrero had crossed out sections of the words. In the scrawling, he could already see the conflicts of the next day. But, with this preparation, Guerrero would be prepared to stand his ground. Mexico was slightly disconcerted by the realization that the idea was not as compelling as it had been earlier. Part of him was craving the power that Iturbide had offered.
But, he turned his mind back to the words on the page. Guerrero's handwriting was rough, but readable, and he had chosen to write heavy notes in the margins. They appeared to be mostly notes to himself, but Mexico read them anyway. He reached the third page and the notes in the margins became more uneven. Mexico couldn't help but notice that there were sections left completely untouched. There was no reason to it, even though he searched for some. The gaps became more frequent as he flipped through the pages, and Mexico found himself questioning it. Eventually, he could not hold the thought in anymore, "Did you not read all of this?"
It was the only answer he could reach, though he was not sure why Guerrero would not have read the document. But, then when he looked up at his general he saw a look of pained contemplation. Guerrero wrung his hands for a moment, the look on his face was tearing at Mexico. He didn't understand why the man was so agonized by the question. He said, not yet certain what to say, "Vicente?"
The man finally said, stilling his hands, "There's something I never told you." He took a deep breath and Mexico felt a terrible rising anticipation. He wasn't used to seeing the man so insecure, and it elicited an unwelcome dread. Mexico wanted to pry, but he was not certain he wanted to know. But, the mortal continued speaking, "You know I had no access to education. It was impossible because of my race. When we met, I could neither read nor write. But, I have been teaching myself."
He paused for a moment, and Mexico stood stock still and silent. He had known nothing about this. Guerrero had spent so much time with him, and never once spoken of it. His mind slipped back to the nights they had spent apart. Had Guerrero spent those struggling over books? Guerrero said, "I knew I could not lead without it. I had to learn if I was ever going to get respect from men like him."
Mexico cut in, asking the only question that occurred to him, "Why didn't you tell me? I would have helped." He was not entirely sure what he could have done, but Mexico was certain he could have.
Guerrero scoffed in a way that was disingenuous, because there was still so much beneath it, "I could tell when we met that you had been tutored. You are so articulate in a way I could never be. The thought of admitting how uneducated I am was embarrassing. Then after I learned who you are, I did not want you to doubt me." He said the last sentence with a look of chagrin, and Mexico found it oddly charming. He had thought that there were no secrets between them, and this one was relatively small. Or, it seemed relatively small to him. Yet, there was charm in the idea that Guerrero had a deep insecurity that he could now soothe. He did not hold any of this against the man; his own education had been forced upon him anyway. He responded, "I did not notice any problems, so you must have taught yourself well."
He could see the relief in he way that the man's shoulders relax. It seemed that he had expected Mexico to judge him harshly for keeping this back. He took a few steps toward Mexico and said, "Well, apparently Iturbide has noticed it. He must have suspected it from my letters. He wrote as verbosely as possible. I know he wants me to misunderstand or need clarification, and I will not bend to that."
Mexico turned his attention back to the proposal, this time looking specifically at the sections that were left untouched. He immediately understood why it was so difficult. Iturbide had chosen some of the most complicated jargon possible to convey his points. It was far too elaborate to be unintentional. Guerrero's assessment seemed entirely correct: Iturbide had done this to expose one of the man's weaknesses. Or, the thought occurred to him, to show Mexico the inadequacy of his general. He believed that it was likely; Iturbide was an ambitious man willing to do what he had to to gain the upper hand. But, Mexico felt a spike of pain in his chest, he had hit a nerve that was incredibly sensitive for the man. Mexico could not let his friend show any sign of weakness, so he said, "It is difficult, but not impossible. If you show me what is giving you trouble, I can help."
The suggestion seemed perfectly logical to Mexico. He owed the help to Guerrero, who already had insight into his own insecurities. But, to his surprise, his general replied, "I did not want you to have to do this." The words were stiff with pride, and they were not particularly compelling. Mexico could see that the other was only scared of being rejected. He responded, "I will not let him put you at a disadvantage. He can't have written anything I don't understand." To take the initiative, Mexico walked to the table and sat down, laying the paper out in front of him. Guerrero walked over and sat next to him, apparently deciding that it was better to take the offer. Once he was seated at Mexico's elbow, he leaned in towards the proposal. The wine still heightening his senses, Mexico could feel the proximity of the man distinctly. His body heat was against Mexico's arm and it was comforting. The thought crossed his mind for a moment to lean into the man's heat and forget about the lesson. The alcohol was making it harder to reason with himself to not do it. With enough effort, he refocused himself and said, "Show me what you are having trouble with."
The night wore on and Mexico was able to slowly parse through the proposal. It was clear that Guerrero had already made significant process learning to read on his own; it was more a question of vocabulary than structure. But, Mexico was able to fill the gap easily, and the process was smooth. Once they got through the document, it was abundantly clear that they were the same points Iturbide had made in person, but made unnecessarily complicated. Once they finished, Guerrero sighed to himself and said, "It appears that he is offering nothing new."
He paused as he considered it, and Mexico decided not to interrupt him as he appeared to mull over Iturbide's proposal. Eventually, the mortal said, "It is not a bad compromise. I will give him that much credit. As I said before, there are parts that I will insist are changed. It seems to have escaped his notice that equality was important to this war." Mexico could see some of the frustration rising, and he knew how to soothe it. He said, now allowing himself to turn to his general and lean slightly back so that he was putting some of his weight against Guerrero's shoulder.
He said, "You will remind him of that. It will take both of you. You are his equal, and I will not let him treat you like you are not. We will rewrite this proposal for peace until you are both satisfied."
He paused for a moment while Guerrero gave him a look that made his heart beat a little faster. Then he said, "We have the time to get this right. Antonio won't be able to do anything." Mexico stopped, though he had more that he could say. It was enough just to offer his support.
A genuine smile spread across the mortal's lips and he said, "I will hold him to account for it. I'm not going to give up anything."
He moved his arm and Mexico wished for a moment that he would wrap it around him. But, instead he put it comfortably back where it was. Guerrero changed the subject, "I think we have done enough for the night. If we are going to face Iturbide, we should get some rest. Mexico nodded, though he was not feeling remotely tired. It had been a long night, but Mexico felt perfectly comfortable. All the same, he stood up to make it clear that he agreed. Guerrero did the same, and Mexico imagined a look that passed between them.
The mortal spoke again, though his eyes were saying something very different, "Tomorrow is a new day and Iturbide will not have it."
He gave Mexico one more confident smile before walking to the door of his chambers. Once he was gone, Mexico sighed to himself. He had the nagging feeling that he should have told the man about the offer of empire. But, he thought as he walked to the single window and glanced out at the moon. It was too big of a risk now, and it would likely come to nothing. But, he resolved to himself to be more guarded with iturbide, no matter what the man offered. The blows thus far had been too precise, but the man could not continue this indefinitely.
Mexico turned away from the window and walked to the door of his own bedroom, where he retired alone. But, as he took off his layers of clothing and laid down he still felt restless. Alone with his thoughts again, Iturbide's words continued to populate his mind. He closed his eyes and tried not to consider what it really meant. But, as he slipped into sleep, his dreams were in gold.
The next morning filtered in bright and clear through the curtains he had not drawn the night before. Mexico turned on his side and stared at the pale sky just outside of the window. The thought crossed his mind that Guerrero had been right the night before: the day belonged to him, not to Spain. It was worth remembering that, despite the differences between his leaders, he was on the verge of independence. He got out of bed and dressed carefully. It was more important now than ever to look impressive so as to not be underestimated.
Mexico buttoned his cuffs with one hand as he let his mind wander again. Negotiations would not be long in comparison to the years he had already spent on this cause. Then he would be back at the head of an army headed back to the capital. His mind had to remain fixed on that, the final end to all of this fighting. He finished dressing and stepped out into the antechamber. It seemed like a different room than it had the night before, full of darkness and possibilities. But there was something else out of place.
There was a large box sitting on the table, with a piece of parchment on top of it. It was strange that someone had already delivered this so early in the morning. Intrigued, he walked over to it and picked up the note. He recognized the handwriting immediately as Iturbide's, which was only more intriguing. The note was relatively short and to the point, "I hope you will accept this gift from me. I have noticed that you are in need of a new one. I did not have your exact measurements, so I will send you my tailor later to make the necessary adjustments." It was signed as his letters always were with a large elaborate signature. Mexico couldn't help admire his gaul; after only their second meeting, he dared to send gifts.
He put the note aside and looked at the size of the box. It was rather large. Without a second thought, he opened the box. Inside was a new uniform jacket. There were two gold epaulets sitting on top of the fabric, meant to be attached to the shoulders of the jacket. The red was so vibrant that it left no doubt as to how expensive this had been, and he could tell that the embroidery was done in gold. He had not owned anything this expensive since he left his old coat with Spain. He ran the fabric between his fingers and he could feel the weight. He let out a breath through his nose. This should not be exciting, but there was something so familiar about receiving gifts like this.
He heard the door open behind him, and he thought for a moment that he should attempt to hide the jacket. But, it was a dangerous precedent to set, and it was better to let Guerrero see it. The man walked with a certain urgency, and Mexico noticed that he had a few pieces of paper clutched in his hand. But, he stopped in the middle of the room when he caught sight of what was on the table. Mexico could hear the scorn in his voice as he said, "What is that?"
Mexico responded, keeping his feelings intentionally vague, "He sent me a gift." Guerrero took a step closer so that he could see exactly what was in the box. When he was close enough, he let out a groan, but said nothing to explain the response. Mexico didn't need an explanation though, he could see every emotion. He said, trying to be comforting, "I can refuse to accept it." Internally, the idea sounded unpleasant. Iturbide had given this to him, and he intended to keep it.
Guerrero shook his head, "If you do that, he'll be offended. We cannot risk that during negotiations."
Before Mexico could say anything in response, Guerrero turned away. He said, rushing over his words, "I need to get these sent."
Mexico wanted to reach out and stop him from leaving, but the man was walking far too quickly. As he turned and took a step after him, Mexico heard Guerrero mutter under his breath, "Rich bastard, if he thinks he can buy everything with blood money…." He couldn't make out the rest as Guerrero walked away, but he understood the feelings. It was exactly what he had feared, that Iturbide's boldness would cause resentment. He looked back at the box. It seemed like such a small thing, but it spoke volumes. Perhaps it would be better to send back the gift and keep his intentions pure. But, it would be just as bad to snub Iturbide. He and his army were essential and it was necessary to draw him in closer. So, still conflicted about how he felt about the gift, he closed the box again.
"He did that for several days in a row." Mexico explained with a look that was halfway between being flattered and annoyed. America was confused at the sudden turn.
He responded, "What did he do?"
The look Mexico flashed him was one of annoyance at the way he was apparently failed to follow. He said with a sigh of annoyance, "He started giving me gifts every day. Every single one of them was lavish, and I knew he was paying for them with the money he earned fighting for Spain."
Alfred shrugged, "So he wanted to get in your good graces. I don't see a problem with that."
Mexico turned to him with one eyebrow raised. America immediately got the feeling that he had missed something important. Mexico said, speaking as though what he was saying was obvious, "It wasn't what he was giving me that was the problem. The problem was the where and when. He made sure that they were always where Vicente could see it. I know what he was trying to do. He wanted to show me that there were things that Vicente could never give me, and he wanted Vicente to see that he would never measure up. If I had been less blinded by my own ambitions, I would have seen that."
America responded with the only question that came to mind, "Did that disrupt the negotiations?"
Mexico shrugged, "I've gotten used to the sound of heated debate. It didn't help them to like each other any better, but that was never completely necessary for the independence." He turned his attention away from America and back to his own memories, "Somehow with all that animosity, they still managed to sort out an agreement."
Guerrero was still obviously angry from that morning, but he put on a facade of calm to speak to Iturbide again. As Mexico walked next to him, he could still feel the anger radiating off the man. It was impossible to completely alleviate the tension, but he made an attempt anyway. He could not stand the thought that his friend was angry at him for something so meaningless. Mexico said, "If it is bothering you that much, I will tell him that I do not want it."
The man glanced at him and some of the anger seemed to evaporate. The mortal's pace slowed and he said, "I'm not angry at you. I'm angry at him because he's every entitled creole I've ever met. I've fought at your side for years and he thinks he can win you over with trinkets. It's absurd." Mexico could see the resentment of years bubbling up as the man talked. It was somewhat inaccessible to him; his life had been one of privilege thus far. But, he could give some modicum of comfort.
He said, "Antonio used to do the same thing. He would give me gifts to buy my loyalty. It means nothing to"
He stopped short of explaining what Spain had actually expected in return for his gifts. He had made his point well enough already. Guerrero nodded, but his gaze was still steely. Seeing that it would be more tactful, Mexico changed the subject, saying, "Who were the letters for?" He had not seen Guerrero writing the letters, so he assumed that it had been while he was with Iturbide. He had very little idea who the letters could be going to. But, the mortal had treated it with urgency. Guerrero answered, "I am writing to a few other commanders who have been fighting for freedom. I want to have backup to face Iturbide. He seems to think he can overwhelm me, but this is bigger than just me."
Mexico thought about this for a moment. It was smart of Guerrero to call for reinforcements. But, he hoped that there would a resolution before the letters were able to reach the others. This should not take long enough for that kind of political move. It seemed rather simple to Mexico. They had already agreed on many of the crucial points of the plan, so all that was left to do was to iron out the details. Only the individual stubbornness of the men involved would slow down the process at this point. But, Iturbide had made it more difficult with his attentions. Mexico finally replied, "I think you can handle him on your own, but it is still a good idea. They will be necessary to validate the compromise."
They reached the door to the negotiation room, and Mexico put his hand on the handle of the door before turning back to Guerrero. He said, "Are you ready?" The man took a deep breath before adopting a carefully neutral facade. Then he said, "Yes."
Mexico put his hand on the other's shoulder and he said, "I'm here with you, don't forget."
Then he opened the door, allowing his general to walk past him. Mexico then turned his attention into the room, where Iturbide was already standing at the head of the table. Mexico caught his eye, and the man gave him a knowing smile. For a moment, Mexico thought back to the dinner the night before, and the sweet words about his imperial potential. But, he pushed the thought away and stepped into the room. He took his usual seat between the two, and had the feeling that Iturbide's eyes had not left him.
Guerrero cleared his throat pointedly, confirming Mexico's suspicion. He put Iturbide's proposal down on the table. Mexico stole a glance at Iturbide quickly enough to see a look of slight surprise on his face. But, it was gone quickly. Iturbide spoke, his voice full of confidence, "You have had time to read every part of my proposed peace. Do we have a compromise yet?"
Guerrero took a deep breath, and Mexico saw a slight spasm of rage at being patronized, but he was calm as he said, "No we do not. I have questions about your solution."
Before Iturbide could speak, Guerrero said, "Firstly, where do you propose to find a king? None of us should reward ourselves with a crown for our efforts."
Iturbide's response was so quick that he must have prepared for it, "We will offer our crown to a Spanish prince. That way we will keep the royalist support." Mexico put his hand over his mouth to stifle his scoff. He had no desire to be ruled by a Spanish king, who could easily fall back under Spain's control. But he kept the idea to himself. He could see his own reservations on Guerrero's face. The man did little to hide his incredulity when he said, "You want to place a Spaniard in power?"
With a smoothness that indicated that he had expected this objection as well, "He will be required to give up all claim to the Spanish throne. It is necessary that we give the royalists something."
Mexico could not help but feel apprehensive about the prospect, but he would not step in yet. The right man could do little damage, especially restrained by a Congress. It was not his place, he reminded himself, to intercede between them. Guerrero spoke again, "My second point is vital. We must guarantee that no king will be able to infringe on the rights of any individual."
This time it was Iturbide who scoffed, "That can be done."
The other pushed the entire stack of papers across the table. But it seemed to be little more than bravado, and Mexico appreciated the theatricality. Guerrero was learning about politics quickly. He said, "I will agree to nothing until equality is enshrined in law."
Iturbide again failed to hide his slight irritation. But, he responded with,"I can write in a new provision." Mexico watched the man with a certain fascination. Iturbide was a politician, and he played the role well. But, he was not completely unassailable. Guerrero was managing to get through his defenses by being as steadfast as possible.
As the shifted topic again to more menial matters that interested Mexico less, he turned his attention to the prospect of the future itself. After so long, he would be free of Spain and his unwanted advances. He would be free to act on his own, with no interference from any outside force. It would be a welcome change to be able to make decisions for himself. He glanced from Iturbide to Guerrero. He was not fond of leaving his fate in the hands of mortals, but this was necessary. He should not intervene in politics himself.
He turned his thoughts to the more immediate future. Soon he would see Spain again, whether it was on the battlefield or at the negotiations for independence. Thus far, Spain had spurned the battle field and preferred to stay in the capital. But, could he really avoid it now that the independence was coming? Mexico mused that he would have to face before he could march into his own capital. He would have to come face to face with Spain again, but it would not be the same as the last time. The idea of fighting Spain one on one again brought up a swell of unwelcome fear. The last time they had fought, he had lost because of his own impatience. This time it would not be the same, he promised himself that. Mexico had learned enough in ten years of wars to know how to win against Spain. He was no longer that boy who thought that this all would be easy . He would be patient and careful, and be able to defeat Spain so he could force him to accept the independence. He smiled to himself at the thought, pushing away the fear that he felt at the idea of Spain defeating him again. He would have to face Spain and he would not balk at the prospect.
Mexico's attention was pulled back to the discussion in front of him when the two men stood up. Guerrero spoke first, "I expect you to rewrite those sections and we will discuss tomorrow."
Iturbide nodded, but the look on his face was still one of frustration. Mexico stood and took a step towards Guerrero. Iturbide spoke directly to him, "Alejandro, my invitation is still open for tonight." He gave him one more knowing smile before leaving the room.
Mexico turned to his general, whose face had fallen back into an angry grimace. Guerrero only said, "He is so smug."
Mexico countered, "But you were able to get him to concede." He stepped towards the door and Guerrero held it open for him. He could see that the man was not relieved in the least.
As they walked down the hallway, the mortal changed the subject abruptly, "Are you going to have dinner with him again? I would prefer if you did not. I do not like the idea of him trying to manipulate you." Mexico sighed to himself. He had expected that this would be a sticking point. The fact of the matter was that he did want the chance to speak to Iturbide again. The last time had been pleasant enough that he wanted another chance. But, he understood his general's trepidation at the idea.
He responded with the easiest response he could find, "I already promised him that I would. I cannot break my word."
It was not the most honest answer. He could write back with an excuse, but he did not like the idea of snubbing the man. But, his excuse was convincing enough that Guerrero made a noise of discontentment, but he said, "I do not like it, but I would not ask you to break your promises." Mexico was glad to have escaped that argument. The mortal took a quick step in front of him, forcing Mexico to stop in his tracks and look right up at him. Guerrero put both of his hands on Mexico's shoulders. Their eyes met and Mexico could see the depth of the emotion there. His own lies suddenly felt like they were physically crawling under his skin. The mortal spoke with absolute conviction, "Be very careful with him. I do not like the way he looks at you."
Mexico replied on instinct, "I promise, Vicente."
The other took one hand off of his shoulder and took Mexico's hand in his own. He raised Mexico's hand to his lips and kissed his hand lightly. He said, "Keep that promise, Ale."
The room looked very much like it had the night before, and Mexico did not find it at all unpleasant. Iturbide was standing again, and he smiled when he saw his country. As before, Iturbide was the first to speak, "I thought your general would talk you out of seeing me."
Mexico said, trying more consciously to keep his guards up, "I make my own decisions, and I still want to hear what you have to say."
He sat down again, and didn't dare to go for the wine again. That would make him weaker, and it was a mistake he was not going to repeat. Iturbide sat across from him and placed the proposal that he had given Guerrero on the table. He said, "i was looking through this and it wasn't all his handwriting." Mexico raised an eyebrow. He wasn't certain where this was about to go, but he was not going to cave to Iturbide's implications. The other flipped open to a page and said, "This is your handwriting, isn't it?"
Mexico leaned forward and said firmly, "Perhaps I have not made this entirely clear to you, but my goal is to facilitate this process. I want to be independent, and i need you to both reach an agreement to do that. I helped Vicente because I do not need either of you making this process longer than necessary."
Whatever point Iturbide had been building up to died in his mouth. Instead, he was left silent as he struggled for a new point. Mexico pressed his advantage, "I am not taking sides here. If you are expecting me to back you up, I am not going to."
Iturbide had recovered enough to say, "I respect that. I want to bring you independence, and I will do it as soon as your general stops making demands."
Mexico scoffed. He was not going to allow this. He said, "He knows what he fought for and he's not going to compromise that. It's honorable."
The other flipped the proposal closed again now that he was done with it. Then he shook his head, "It is impractical. We are not going to fix all of the world's problems now."
Mexico parried back, his mind clear and focused on defending his friend, "He has compromised for you too. He has accepted that there will be a king, which I assure you he did not want. Vicente is not asking you right every inequity, he's just asking for the future to be fair."
Iturbide's expression was unreadable, but Mexico could tell that he was not pleased. The man chose his next words carefully, "And do you share his conviction?" Mexico reached for the wine, deciding that one more glass would strengthen his fire without putting him in any danger of letting go of too much. He poured a glass as he contemplated his own opinions. He said, once he had found a careful answer, "I am seeking the most pragmatic option that helps me to separate from Antonio. Your suggestions are not as pragmatic as you think."
Iturbide raised a doubtful eyebrow, silently questioning his meaning. Mexico countered the look when he said, "You must know that Spain is not about to give me a prince."
He caught a glimmer in Iturbide's eye before the other responded, "I do not see why not. An ambitious enough prince would gladly take the offer." Mexico could feel that this response was not entirely genuine. There was something beneath it that he could not quite place.
He pressed his own position, "You cannot believe that when you have met Antonio."
Iturbide poured himself a glass of wine and took a drink before he said, "I think it is worth extending the offer, even if Spain will be unwilling to spare a single member of his royal family." Again, there was something in his manner of speech that seemed to indicate that this had all already been considered.
Mexico had the urge to delve deeper, to see what Iturbide really had planned. He said, seeking to delve deeper, "If we fail to secure a Spanish prince? What do we do then?"
He was certain that this was exactly the situation he was certain that they would be facing. Spain would give him nothing to aid in his independence. Iturbide smirked, as though he was not surprised in the slightest. He said, sounding more certain than he had during most of the conversation, "In that case, we will find a solution here. Didn't you tell me once that you will reward your own? I do not see why that should be an impediment. If the Spanish solution fails, the throne will not be empty."
Mexico stopped speaking for a moment and he smiled to himself for a reason that was not entirely clear to America. Then, without offering any explanation to America, Mexico said, "I should have been more suspicious of that. But he made sense to me. I still doubt that in that moment he was thinking of placing the crown on his own head."
He paused again, and America went to interject. He had a million questions about how that had come to be. But, before he could ask anything, Mexico spoke again, "I think you have an idea of how the negotiations went. I am not going to bore you with the details of each day. Much of what needed to be decided were details. By the third day, I was bored of hearing the two of them argue about minutia."
America nodded, but he still had so many questions. He wasn't certain that he would get the chance to ask any of them. As soon as he opened his mouth and tried to figure out which question to ask, Mexico spoke again, "Eventually we did all reach a compromise though. And with that plan in place, we marched out to put it in place."
The room was far fuller than it had been during negotiations, but the energy was electric. This was a monumental event and there was an awareness of that in the air. Mexico was standing against the wall, observing the moment he had planned for for so long. Guerrero was standing across from him next to Iturbide, who was laying a formal version of their agreement on the table. The mortal looked very splendid in his uniform. It was not the first time Mexico had noticed it, but it was particularly aparent in this light.
Mexico was in a particularly good mood, having finally had the weight of uncertainty lifted from him. He was certain of the importance of this moment. He was a step closer to the goal that he had held onto for so long. He felt a smile on his face as he watched Guerrero, looking every inch the general, step forward and sign the agreement. When the mortal looked up from the paper, he caught Mexico's eye and the mask of formality broke. Guerrero smiled, apparently reacting to the look of excitement on Mexico's face. If possible, Mexico felt his smile widen further. Iturbide stepped forward as well and signed. With that, it was concluded and Mexico felt his heart beat harder. From here, there was only one path forward, and he was ready to take it.
