Lupe juggled her basket full of plump tomatoes and peppers so she could push her glasses further up her nose as she squinted into the distance. Though she could see nothing but the warm expanse of desert, she could feel a disturbance — and her senses hadn't failed her yet.

Still wary, Lupe kept an eye on the horizon to the north and went back inside. She mopped her brow with a towel from the kitchen and began washing the produce in her basin. She quickly lost herself in the task, the odd niggling sensation of something's being out of place settling in the back of her mind. Once the washing was done, she pulled out a knife from the assortment on the counter and her trusty chopping block and started dicing them, expertly mixing and tossing the bits into a large brown bowl. Once or twice, she had to gingerly remove her glasses to wipe jalapeño juice from them; otherwise, the process was relaxingly monotonous.

And that's when it happened. Lupe glanced up at the window to fathom the time and noticed an approaching dust cloud.

"Mierda," she spat under her breath. It was him, she just knew it. After all, when had he ever been known for his subtlety? Lupe looked at her knife-wielding hand, wondering if she should put it away and clean up. But seeing as who her arriving company was going to be, she thought better of it and gripped the knife tighter.

Lupe moved the rest of the now finely chopped fruits into the bowl and took a final swipe at her glasses. By then, the horses — the cause for the dust cloud and bane of her existence — had stopped just outside her yard-turned-farm. Showtime.

Lupe burst from her front door, brandishing her knife, just as her self-proclaimed father had taught her to do any blade, and stalked torward the men, who were now dismounting from their beasts.

"Who the hell do you think you are, showing up like this?" she called when she was within earshot. "I should think you had learned better manners." She took up a defensive stance and waited for the blond to address her.

"Easy, now," he said, turning and fixing her with a bright smile. "Can't friends visit each other without bloodshed?" He held his hands up, palms forward, in a mixture of inquiry and yeilding.

Lupe sniffed. "Mexico and America, friends? That'll be the day." Despite her words, Lupe let her blade-holding hand drop to her side. "¿Que quieres?"

Alfred shrugged. "Just to talk. Oh, and —" he waved a hand casually to the men behind him — "they wanna discuss business."

Lupe pointed her knife at Alfred's chest. "You, come. They stay." When he looked ready to protest, she added, "Or I could go get my musket." She quirked an eyebrow. "Your choice."

Alfred exchanged a glance with his lackeys before nodding solemnly to Lupe and following her back to the little villa.

Once inside, Lupe beckoned to a seat at her kitchen table and returned her attention to her peppers and tomatoes. She began picking spices out of her cupboard and caught Alfred removing his beloved wide-brimmed hat that made him look so much like his pesky little vaqueros.

Though Lupe was eager to be rid of the northern nation, she didn't give him the satisfaction of showing it. Instead, she ignored him as best she could in favor of her fruits that would soon become salsa.

"Well, Lupe," Alfred began finally, "straight to business then?"

Lupe laughed dryly and turned to lean against the counter. "No propriety at all. You sure know how to charm a girl."

Alfred placed his hand on his chest, the very picture of sincerity. "I was under the impression that we were on a first-name basis. Guess I was mistaken. What should I call you, then? Carriedo?" Lupe stiffened; he smirked.

Alfred knew, she was sure, how painfully uncomfortable that name made her. After all, that was the game they played: shoot until your clip was empty. Yet, if she looked into his endless blue eyes, she could almost believe that it meant nothing, was a slip of the tongue, that he'd actually forgotten the bloody war that had occurred quite literally under his nose.

"Oh, that's right," he continued as though uninterrupted, "you don't go by that anymore. Tell me, then, Guadalupe, what should I call you?"

"Señora," she answered without missing a beat. "I know your former caretaker was infatuated with his own language, but you will be bilingual if I can help it." She smiled sweetly. "How is England these days, anyway? You two aren't fighting again, are you? I don't think your people could handle yet another war so soon."

Alfred's lips pressed firmly together. "We're fine," and he stressed the adjective. "Last I checked, he was in Hong Kong." He looked up at Lupe as if seeing her really for the first time, and she knew what was coming: the ceasefire. "Seems like they replaced us pretty quickly," he said softly, maybe even ruefully.

"Good riddance," Lupe said, rolling her eyes. "They were looking for the Orient all along, anyway. Though I could do without the extra familia."

"Same here."

Lupe narrowed her eyes. "At least you've met all of yours."

"Touché." Lupe said nothing about Alfred's use of non-English. Instead, she waited for him clear his throat and resume speaking. "We really must have a serious conversation," he said, eyes searching for compliance in hers.

Lupe hesitated a moment before finally releasing her knife and taking the seat opposite her guest. "Hablame."

"It's come to our attention that many of my people have settled just north of here."

Lupe suppressed a groan and settled for pushing her glasses further up her nose, out of habit or nervousness even she couldn't tell. She knew where this was going.

"To make sure they are afforded all the benefits of any American citizen, they need to live in an American territory."

Lupe laughed at his tone. "How many times did you practice that in the mirror?"

Alfred sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, and she wondered if he knew how much like Arthur he looked then. "Guadalupe, this is serious. We can't and won't force them to leave their homes, and we sure as hell won't abandon them."

Lupe's smile fell. "So what will you do?" She knew what he'd do.

"Take Texas." She wondered what Alfred would look like with glasses — her glasses. Would they always be slipping off his face like they did hers?

"By whatever means necessary." He had fought harder for less, she supposed.

But so had she. Lupe was not giving in — and not to Alfred, of all people — without a fight.

"Tejas was a spoil of victory from El Jefe," she said coolly. "You will not take it."

"But my people —"

"Are on Mexican soil." She leaned forward to rest her chin on her interlaced fingers. "There is a simpler solution, Alfred. Your people can become Mexican citizens." She smirked. "Unlike yours, everyone is welcome to life and liberty."

Alfred stood, slamming his hands down on the table. "Out of the question. They are Americans and have a right to live in American territory."

Lupe stood to meet his gaze, hands on hips. "They've denounced you, and yet you remain loyal. Do you think me incapable of doing the same?" Her voice dropped an octave. "You think I cannot protect my people?"

Alfred wisely chose not to answer. Instead, he stood up fully and reached into his vest. Lupe watched with guarded expression the careful movements of Alfred's hand as he extracted a rolled up piece of paper. He hesitated before handing it to her. She smacked it from his hand. She knew exactly what the paper would say.

He sighed but made no move to retrieve the paper. "Prepare yourself," Alfred said. He put his hat on, making sure to tip it to Lupe, before turning to leave.

When the door had shut, Lupe slowly sat back down at the table. She removed her glasses and set them down in front of her before rubbing her forehead. She stared absently at the contested accessory. How much she was willing to sacrifice for them was no longer the question; now, it was only a matter of when.