AN. Just a quick note to say thank you so much for all the wonderful comments I've received on this fic. It's so wonderful and I so appreciate it!
Coco wished she could tell her children about her Papa, but Imelda was always there, so she never could. Whenever she thought about talking about his kind eyes and the infinite caring in his voice, she remembered the pain on Imelda's face when she'd fallen pregnant. The hurt and longing and anger. She loved her mother so much, and the idea of doing anything that would hurt her further made Coco's heart break. It was the last thing she wanted.
Still, seeing her daughters gravitate towards music and then be pushed forcibly away hurt too. Seeing them start to form melodies then jolt out of their stupor and cast cautious looks around sliced deep into her heart.
She had stopped dancing, even with Julio. Even in their private moments, they didn't dance together. She privately mourned that part of their lives, but recognised the necessity of the loss. It hurt too much to dance now, brought up too many bitter memories.
She glanced over. Julio was breathing in long, slow breaths that soothed her soul. With a gentle movement, she spooned against his back and leaned her head on his shoulder. He shifted slightly, huffed out breath, and a sleep-warmed hand covered hers.
"Love you," he mumbled, and there was a smile in his voice.
Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, she nuzzled close and murmured, "I love you too, Julio." She closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep, trying to forget about music and her father, and the heartache that the persistent memory was bringing.
The minivan did not fit through the gate. He recognised this fact as he approached at speed and was unable to stop in time.
"Get out of the way!" Leaning out of the window and waving his hand. Trying to wrestle the unresponsive steering column around. It wouldn't shift. The van was dedicated to its course now. Héctor, who had never driven before and had only the very crudest idea of how it worked, started slamming his feet on the pedals. Missing the one in the middle, of course. Gears grinding together. The engine rising an exhausted scream.
Luckily the skeletons did dive out of the way. Those in the checkpoint already rushed through without being scanned. The clerk ducked beneath her desk. Van met gate. Rending metal and crashing stone. Jolting in the seat. His head flying off his spine. Bouncing off the windshield. Leaving a gleaming spider web of cracks.
When he woke up he was surrounded by anxious faces. And furious faces. And pitying faces.
"Is…everyone okay?" he asked. His voice muffled. His head resting on his lap. He looked up at his own torso. Winced when he noticed the almost surgically straight crack in his right lower rib. The edges abutted each other, but there was an ever so slight step in the usually smooth curve and it made him feel incredibly nauseous.
"Héctor…" It was Eduardo, one of the guards he knew quite well. Fond of apricots and songs about spring time. His voice was shaking.
"Eduardo, is anyone hurt?"
He lifted his skull. Reaffixed it to his spine. Looked anxiously around. There wasn't anyone hurt, it seemed. A lot of shaken and shocked faces. Children in their mother's arms. Couples holding each other tight. Eduardo pulled him out of the van. Yanking him from the seat and onto the ground.
"I'm…I'm sorry…"
But he was already being dragged away. From the checkpoint and the bridge. He looked at the crushed minivan, the severely mangled gate, and felt a now familiar guilt coat his bones. He was not going to be able to return that to Cheech.
Óscar and Felipe loved their grandnieces.
Felipe would spend hours reading with Victoria. Sometimes he would read to her, sometimes she would read to him. Usually they read together, him doing all the deep, growly voices of men and monsters, her giggling as she lisped princesses and screeched witches.
Óscar taught Elena how to sew and stitch. She wasn't ready for leather or shoes yet, but she adored creating things with her hands. Just like her Mama and Abuelita before her. She'd make toys with scraps of cloth. Form dogs and cats and fish, before making more complex creatures. Crabs. Squids. Dragons with wispy orange frayed flame emanating from their mouths.
It wasn't long before Victoria was writing her own stories. Before Elena was designing her own creatures. Soon they combined their imaginations. Elena would create characters and monsters, and Victoria would send them on epic adventures. Tío Óscar and Felipe starred as the gallant duo of princes. Abuelita Imelda and Mama Coco were a team of queenly dragon slayers. And, of course, they themselves were the princesses, who invariably saved the day.
Their stories all had happy endings, where the family was safe and reunited. Their real family praised them highly. Óscar and Felipe wore the crowns Elena made for them with pride. Coco would playfully slap the stuffed dragon with her shoe as she passed. Imelda, overwhelmed with pride, would sweep her granddaughters into her arms and kiss all over their faces. Thanking them for rescuing her.
They would giggle. Blush. Wave her away. And go back to working on their next big story.
The minivan had been a mistake. He could recognise that now. Too risky. He wanted to get over the bridge. He desperately wanted to reach his girls. But he didn't want to hurt anyone. Plus he'd ended up in a cell for three whole months before Cheech could bail him out. No, he needed a new plan. A plan that wouldn't put anyone else at risk.
That year, for the first time in a long time, he returned to the Arts District. Wandered towards his old studio, breathing in the colour and the music and the light here. This was where he should be. This was where his spirit came alive, truly lit up from within, but the Arts District had rejected him once. A soul with no ofrenda and no offerings couldn't sustain an afterlife here.
He shook his head, recollected his thoughts, and pressed on. His feet found the path to his old studio. He almost went up to the front door, before shaking the memory from his bones and instead moving next door. Knocked with a confident rattle of his knuckles.
Ceci opened the door. Pins between her bony lips and cloth draped over her shoulder.
"Ceci! Sorry to bother you, could I come in?"
She eyed him, a narrowed suspicious up and down, before she recognised him.
"Ah, Héctor, I wondered where you'd gone off to." She moved away, leaving the door open. After a moment's hesitation, he followed. Closed the door behind him. Her apartment was bigger than his had been. A large living room with windows that caught the afternoon sun. Every available surface was covered in cloth, bolts leaning against the walls. Mannequins of varying sizes were positioned around the room, each wearing a different pinned on outfit.
In seeing all this, Héctor breathed a sigh of relief. Ceci was a tailor, he'd remembered right.
"Now, how can I help you?" She turned to him. Raised an eyebrow ridge.
"Okay…okay, okay…" He took a deep breath "This is going to sound crazy, okay, but hear me out."
She narrowed her eyes. He offered a winning smile. The best he could muster considering how nervous he was.
"I'm listening, Héctor," she said after a moment.
"Okay…" Still hesitating. Feeling more and more ridiculous with every moment that passed. "So, I need to get across on Día de Muertos. But I'm not up on any ofrenda." There was a momentary flash of pity in her eyes. That flash he knew so well and hated so much. The flash that followed him everywhere here, it seemed. "So, I'm trying to…sneak my way over…" He took a deep calming breath. Grabbed Ceci's hands and leaned forward. "I need you to dress me up like an alebrije."
Ceci didn't laugh. She didn't hesitate. She just nodded, pulled her hands free, and started to size him up. And he let out a low sigh of relief when she started talking specifics. Cloth type, accessories, variation of type. She didn't quite have the Rivera skill with fabric, but she was still talented. She used scraps of cloth, brilliant colours shining, and fashioned into a crude cloak. She cinched it tight around him and covered up his dark hair.
"Hmm. I can't cover your face." She pushed on his cheekbones, making him flinch. "Or your hands and feet." She poked at his long fingers. "You'll have to paint them. I'm sure I've got some around…"
She fished out a small pot of iridescent blue. He let out a single nervous chuckle, then let her smear the blue pain over his hands and face. She pushed the pot into his hand then ushered him outside.
"You can do the rest. Good luck, Héctor."
"Thanks, Ceci."
"And, Héctor?" He paused, blinked at her. "Maybe head out the window, eh? You can't go down the street like that."
He looked down and laughed as he poked at the shining coloured threads. Opened the window and slipped out. Crept through back alleys. As he got closer to the gate he sat down. Smeared the blue paint on his hands and feet. They still looked skeletal, but with a coat of glimmering blue they were distracting enough that hopefully no one would look too closely.
It was a crazy plan. It might have even worked too. Except as he climbed the outside of the gate, determined to bypass the checkpoint however possible, he slipped. Was caught by Eduardo who raised his eyebrow ridges in exasperated confusion. Only then did Héctor see the bright blue smudges of his hands and feet, staining the Aztec stones.
"This…was never going to work, was it?" he asked as Eduardo dropped him to his feet and gripped his shoulder. Steering him away from the gate.
"Probably not, Héctor," Eduardo said. Unable to stop a small smile. Héctor grinned in return. Shrugged his shoulders. It had been worth a go.