There are many things that still don't make since to Imelda after so many years. Why her and her other family members can get sick in the Land of the Dead is one of them.

The way Imelda sees it is: the way of life in the Land of the Dead should be disticntively different from the Land of the Living. And in some ways it is, but in others? Not so much.

Every so often, she or one of the other Riveras gets sick. It usually only lasts a week, sometimes shorter than that, thankfully. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it's never enjoyable. A fever, a mild case of the flu, even something like a severe cough or common cold. Just because Imelda's dead does not mean she's immune to everything, unfortunately.

The same goes for Héctor.

There are only a few times Imelda had seen Héctor actually sick. He always tries to hide it, but he's terrible at it. The smallest things always give him away. His gaze would cloud over, or he would be too tired to do anything. His voice would be hoarse to the point where he almost couldn't talk. Sometimes he hallucinated.

Thankfully, when him and Imelda were alive, Héctor only got sick twice, at least that she can remember. Once when him and Imelda were teens, another when Coco was no more than two, nearly three. Almost being forgotten could count as a type of illness, as Héctor was bedbound for two weeks and in a slight state of pain when he first woke up from being in some sort of coma.

But while those times were severe (and heartbreaking), they didn't happen again. At least, the last one didn't.

This morning, Imelda knows somethings wrong before she even opens her eyes. And once she realizes what the problem is, memories come flooding through her and she feels a wave of fear push to the front of her mind.

She hears Héctor's cries as she gets out of bed, then she sees him curled up in that all too familiar position: his arms wrapped around himself, his legs against his chest. He's shivering; Imelda can tell by the way the blankets of their bed shake slightly, and she can hear Héctor's bones faintly knocking against each other.

Imelda glances at their bedroom door and inwardly cherishes the fact that no one else is awake yet. Never mind that she's uncomfortable seeing Héctor this way, the rest of her family would be an entirely different matter. Especially Coco, Imelda reminds herself as she thinks of Héctor's last illness. The whole two and a half days when Héctor was sick, Coco stayed by his side more than Imelda did.

But Imelda forces herself not to think about that right now. There are more important things to do.

She gently shakes Héctor's shoulder, but he only swats her hand away with suprising strength. She tries again with the same result. When she does it the third time, that's when he actually looks at her.

Suprisingly, when he sees her, all the pain leaves his face as he adjusts himself so he sits up. His eyes light up, and he tilts his head at her with a strangely content (and... worried?) smile.

Imelda can't bring herself to smile back, though. Instead, she gives him a serious look, which makes his grin fade as he slumps a little. Imelda hadn't been expecting that reaction, but at least she has his full attention.

She clears her throat and sits next to him, silently praying that his voice isn't messed up like the other times. "Buenos dias, Héctor," she says.

He grins again, and his eyes sparkle. Seeing his expression makes someting tighten in Imelda's chest.

Héctor returns her greeting, then makes a poor attempt at trying to stand before he falls back onto the bed with a suprised cry. All at once he seems to realize what this means, and he deflates again. He finally speaks after clearing his throat: "I'm sick again, aren't I?"

Imelda just stares back, unblinking. The heavy feeling seems to become more vivid as his words sink in. She nods. "Sí, I guess you are." The temperature in their room seems to drop, though Imelda can't place the reason why.

Héctor frowns at her. "What about you? Are you okay?"

Reading his expression, Imelda feels her heart clench. She knows she's seen this kind of concern in Héctor's eyes before, but she can't remember where. He never looks at her that way, though. Not once had he ever given her that look. For her, Héctor's concern came through a different expression, less tentitive.

Imelda nods again, this time slower. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

Imelda tilts her head, starting to wring her hands out of growing nervousness. "...Sí, of course I am."

Héctor gives that relaxed smile again. "That's good. Better me than you, right?"

An image comes to Imelda's mind right then: Héctor, with his arm around someone else. Not her, but someone with a thirst for popularity, with a face that all girls except Imelda like to moon over. The person's face is bashed and scratched up from Imelda tearing it up too many times, his body bigger, stronger than Héctor's.

Héctor's face once again shifts from happy to alarmed. "Are you sure you're okay? You look different."

Imelda feels all breath leave her body as she makes sense of that memory. And of Héctor's statement. It's true she looks nothing like the person in her memory. She's thinner, tougher, and less vulnerable. Definitely a lot less selfish.

That's when Héctor waves his hand in her face. "Superhero?"

Imelda widens her eyes. The air grows colder as she stands up and looks at him. "What did you just call me?"

Héctor fidgets with his hands, but his gaze never leaves her face. His frown deepens, eyes shiny with worry. "You know... Superhero. The nickname I gave you."

"You've never called me Superhero." Unless... no. That can't be possible.

Tears come to Héctor's eyes. "Of course I have. You don't remember?"

Imelda squeezes her hands to fists, trying to ignore her fear. "N-no. Héctor, you never ever called me Superhero. That was what you called Ernesto."

"Exactly." Héctor gapes at her, his grin widening in an unnerving way. "You are Ernesto."

Now it's Imelda who feels like she might be sick, even though illnesses can't be passed in the Land of the Dead. Imelda tries to keep her voice from giving way to sobs as she starts to speak again. "Héctor, it's me. Remember? Imelda. Your wife."

Héctor's sigh feels like it slices through her. "No. You're my Superhero. Imelda doesn't like me."

"Héctor, stop joking around."

He just stares at her. "I'm not. Why would I be?"

That's when Imelda truly grasps how serious this is. He's forgotten her. He thinks she hates him.

And he thinks she's Ernesto.

Imelda doesn't care that she dashes from the bedroom at that moment, Héctor's voice calling her name (Ernesto's name) skewering her ears.

"It seems like it's a product of fever dreams. Hallucinations." Dr. Menderez, whom Imelda had called almost immidiately after realizing who Héctor thought she was, sighs and peers inside Héctor and Imelda's bedroom. "It's not uncommon when a sickness like this comes along."

"How long will it last?" Imelda looks inside the room, too, seeing Héctor sleeping in that curled up form again.

Dr. Menderez reaches over and pushes the door closed, then he rakes a hand through his thick curly hair. "It depends on how serious this type of sickness is. And what he's thinking, because that determines if it's a minor hallucination or something much more serious." He gazes at her in the silence that follows. "What did he say to you when he saw you?"

Imelda bristles and turns away, the memory of Héctor's soft voice forming in her mind. "He thinks I'm..." Her voice hitches, then comes back. "He thinks I'm Ernesto."

Maybe she shouldn't have said it that outright. She should've given her answer in a broader way, especially as she notices how Dr Menderez's eyes widen, then narrow as his face contorts into a grimace. "You're sure about that?" he asks carefully.

Imelda nods. "He called me Superhero. He only says that when talking about de la Cruz."

Dr. Menderez can't hide the alarm in his expression, nor can he disguise his concern as he steps inside Héctor and Imelda's room to look over Héctor again. Héctor's eyes snap open and that smile is on his face once more. He waves once he sees Imelda, which makes tears threaten to spill out of Imelda's eyes.

And then he speaks.

"Hola, Ernesto."

Imelda feels like she should hit him, or tear him apart, but she nods anyways. "Hola, Héctor."

Héctor frowns. "You look thinner, Ernesto. Have you stopped eating again?" His eyes shift over and he regards Dr. Menderez. "I think he's still upset. I'm worried about him. He hasn't been the same since Imelda almost killed him."

Imelda stares at the ground, remembering that moment and realizing what effects Ernesto must've had after that. Refusing to eat must've been one of them. It would usually make her happy to know how much Ernesto suffered because of her, but now it cuts her deeply because Héctor thinks she's Ernesto.

Dr. Menderez takes a deep breath. "This isn't about Ernesto right now. How do you feel?"

Héctor looks down at the same time Imelda looks up. "I feel okay," Héctor answers. "Just tired."

Imelda stares at Dr. Menderez as he nods and comes to a decision. "You know the drill, right? Take it easy. You're in no state to move around like this. Stay in bed until you get better."

Héctor nods and scowls. "My least favorite thing to do."

After Dr. Menderez leads Imelda out of the room, Imelda stares at him again.

Dr. Menderez sighs. "Give it two days at the most. Just like the last time this happened."

Imelda widens her eyes. "Two days?!" The thought of being confused for someone else that long chills her to the bone.

"I said 'at the most'. It could be sooner, it could be more than that." Dr. Menderez looks at the closed door and shakes his head. "I do whatever I can for my patients, but with illnesses like the one Héctor has now, there's no medicines to keep it down. He will get better, but it takes time. Just be glad he can't actually die from his illness this time."

Imelda doesn't respond; she just turns toward the bedroom door and crosses her arms as Dr. Menderez leaves.

Perhaps the most painful part isn't that Héctor is sick; it's looking at Coco's confused expression when she hears Héctor call Imelda "Superhero" again. Coco just stares back and forth between Imelda and Héctor for a second, but when Imelda explains, Coco's eyes fill with tears. Imelda embraces her and guides her to the living room and sits her down.

"Does that mean he's lost his memory?" she asks.

Imelda shakes her head. "For some reason, he remembers you and everyone else; he just doesn't remember me." Or maybe he does, but in a different way.

Héctor still sees her, and knows who she is. He hasn't forgotten her. He just thinks that she's Ernesto... and when he does bring up her name, he says that she hates him.

Imelda thinks back to Dr. Menderez's words: He knows who you are. He knows you exist. His sickness just makes him think you're someone else.

But Dr. Menderez didn't explain why it's only her and no one else.

Imelda decides to break the news to everyone later that day, her voice shaking no matter how hard she tries to control it. After she's done, she quickly realizes that her brothers look more concerned than she does, both Coco and Rosita are close to tears, Julio's mouth is hanging open, and both Elena and Victoria still have stoic expressions on their faces, but their eyes are shiny. And although Miguel stays turned from Imelda when she delivers the news, it doesn't take her long to realize his jaw is clenched and how still he is.

He's the first to speak after a silence falls upon everyone. "How long until he gets better?" he asks, voice cracking in the middle of the sentence.

"Dr. Menderez said at least two days."

Miguel's voice raises. "At least?" He lets loose a cry of outrage, his hands shooting up in the air.

Imelda silences him with a look before he can do anymore yelling. "Sí. At least two days." She makes them all promise to keep their distance from Héctor, and she tells them not to tell anyone about what's going on with him.

Everyone agrees, not that they'd go against Imelda anyway.

That evening, while Imelda is sitting next to Héctor's bedside just in case he wakes up (and trying to keep memories from years ago out of her mind), Héctor opens his once closed eyes and stares at her.

"Ernesto?"

Imelda bristles, scanning the bedroom until she remembers what happened that morning. She sighs. "Sí, Héctor?"

He lets out a sigh, too, although his sounds more like a wheeze. He adjusts his position so he's leaning against the pillows rather than laying down. He grabs her hand and squeezes it, staring her dead in the eyes. "You don't think Imelda will beat you up again, do you?"

Hearing those words, how scratchy and soft Héctor's voice is, Imelda wants to wrap her arms around him. She wants to hold him, as if her embrace can make his illness go away. But she can't. Even though the time when Ernesto used to visit them is very far behind them, she remembers those times enough to know that Ernesto never ever hugged Héctor like that. Not in front of her, anyway. And her mind is too dazed to work her arms in the right way.

So she just shakes her head and returns his earlier gesture. "I hope not. It was not a very good experience." Or at least it was until Héctor caught her. She looks away from him briefly, hoping he can't read her mind. "I guess he-- I-- got what I deserved, though."

"Don't say that!"

Imelda startles. "Why not?"

Héctor narrows his eyes and frowns. "People like you never deserve things like that. You deserve to respected, not nearly killed." His eyes are still foggy, though now they're simmering with slight rage. He squeezes his hand around hers until it hurts. "I wish Imelda knew how bad it hurt you. I wish I could do to her what she did to you."

Imelda just looks back at him in shock. That's how he thinks about her mistake, she realizes. She never thought about how it would look to Héctor-- all she thought about was the fact that Ernesto was suffering, and he'd be out of her way for a couple of weeks.

But hearing Héctor say that he wanted to hurt her makes her recoil a little, like he slapped her across the face.

Seeing this, Héctor's eyes widen and flash with worry. "You okay, Ernesto?"

Imelda swallows and nods slowly, trying to silence her racing mind, a task proving to be impossible. Héctor's grip on her hand isn't making it easier.

She inhales deeply and finds her words again. "I'm fine, Héctor." She forces a laugh. "And please don't say those things. You would never use violence, especially not against Imelda."

"You're right." Héctor deflates, then gives a small, almost mischievious, smile. "It's a nice idea, though."

"I guess it kind of is."

Héctor's grin widens. "Gracias, Ernesto."

"De nada. And Héctor?"

Héctor stares at her.

Imelda looks down and winces. "You're squeezing my hand too hard."

Héctor looks at their locked hand and gives a sheepish laugh, loosening his grip as he drifts to sleep yet again.

"Will you do something for me, Superhero?"

Imelda glances at Héctor from her place at the bedroom window the next morning. It's the second day of Héctor's wierd mental state, which should be back to normal now.

But no. It's the same as yesterday. He still thinks she's Ernesto.

Still, Imelda will have to wait until noon to discuss this with Dr. Menderez, and at least the others haven't woken up yet. The sun has just started to rise.

Imelda grips the windowsill with one hand, her other hand becoming a half fist, her fingers curling but not completely. "What do you need, Héctor?" she asks.

Héctor smiles wide, tilting his head to the right and leaning forward, his hands folded. "Do you want to play music together?" His voice is wistful and hoping. "I'll let you pick the song if you want."

Imelda shakes her head. "Not right now."

"Why not?"

Imelda turns back to the window, shielding her eyes against the sunlight. "You're supposed to be resting. And I'm too tired right now."

"Well we don't have to go anywhere." Héctor shrugs. "I was thinking we could stay up here instead."

Imelda now has both hands gripping the windowsill, the same way Héctor was gripping her hand. She wants to say yes, and she wants to bash Héctor's skull at the same time.

"I-If you don't want to, that's fine, too."

Imelda hates the way Héctor's voice sounds. Too concerned, like he would fall apart if she didn't answer soon. She'd never admit to siding with Ernesto on anything, but she's starting to understand why Ernesto was constantly annoyed with Héctor's behavior. Héctor is treating her like she's fragile, or so hotheaded that she'd burst if she didn't get her way.

Imelda turns to Héctor, who has his hands held in front of his face in defense, a wide-eyed, careful expression on his face. What she wants is for Héctor to get better, but that's not an option right now.

She sighs and goes over to him, sittting down next to him and folding her hands. "I guess we can play music for a little bit."

"What song?"

Imelda considers her answer. "How about Un Poco Loco?"

She isn't even sure why she suggested it, but in this moment, she really wants to hear Héctor sing to her, wants to hear him sing their song, the one that she'd helped him write.

Héctor frowns. "You hate that song, hermano."

"I do?" Imelda regrets her words immidiately.

Héctor nods. "You don't like who it's for."

Imelda waves a hand. "I still want to hear you play it. And I'll sing with you." She gets up, grabs his guitar, and pushes it into his hands gently. "Please."

Héctor looks at the guitar, but he nods. "Alright. Whatever you want."

They're in the middle of singing when someone opens their door. Victoria's eyes switch between Héctor and Imelda for a few seconds, her arms crossed as she finally settles her gaze on Imelda.

"Dr. Menderez is here," she says.

Héctor beams at her. "Good. I think Ernesto needs to be checked out." He regards Imelda pointedly. "He's stopped eating again."

Victoria narrows her eyes. "Ernesto isn't here, Héctor."

Héctor frowns. "Yes he is." He gestures to Imelda. "You just don't recognize him because he's thinner than usual."

Victoria looks at Imelda and starts to argue further, but Imelda holds up her hand. "Go back downstairs and let him in, Victoria," she says.

When Victoria leaves, Héctor sighs wearily, deflating and collapsing back down.

Imelda widens her eyes at him. "Are you okay, Héctor?"

Her question is answered with another drained wheeze. "No. And you aren't, either."

Imelda experiences that urge again: an urge to pick him up in her arms and just hold him until he remembers who she is. But one look at him, laying there, staring at her with half open eyes, his breathing strained, Imelda knows she has to resist this time.

He obviously doesn't want to be held right now.

And Ernesto would never do that to him.

The third day.

Héctor still isn't himself.

All day, he asks questions to her, still adressing her as Ernesto. Dr. Menderez had said that this would most likely be the last day of Héctor's illness. Imelda hopes she's right.

She's tired of pretending, of grasping for memories of Ernesto every time Héctor asks her something. She upset to the point where she gives him glares instead of answering. It breaks her heart, because she knows Héctor doesn't deserve it, not when his mind is fuzzy and he has no way of knowing that he's talking to his wife instead of his best friend. But what else can she do?

She stays with him anyway, because there's no way she's leaving him alone.

On this day, though, not only is she tired, but she's worn out, too. She didn't get much sleep, nor could she get back to sleep the many times she'd tried to. Sleeping next to Héctor didn't help. He kept his arms around her so she couldn't move.

So when she wakes up, she's cranky, irritable, and in no mood for Héctor's confusion.

Still, he gives it to her.

"You look tired, Superhero."

Imelda keeps her arms crossed, not looking at him from where she's standing.

"Ernesto, please. Just look at me."

I'm not Ernesto, Imelda thinks bitterly.

Héctor's voice grows urgent. "Ernesto--"

And that snaps her.

Imelda whips around, glaring at him and raising her fist.

Héctor widens his eyes as they fill with tears. "Lo siento, Ernesto! Calm down!"

"I'm not Ernesto." Imelda buries her face in her hands and groans. "I'm not your Superhero. It's me, Héctor. It's Imelda. Don't you get that?"

Héctor just gapes at her as the tears gush out of his eyes. His hoarse weeping makes Imelda feel terrible.

"I'm sorry, Ernesto." More sobs. "I just don't want--" His sentence is interrupted as he breaks down crying again.

Imelda feels overcome with shame as she stares at him. Impulsively, she sits next to him and pulls him into her arms. He slumps in her grasp and continus to cry. Even as his eyes close, there are tears leaking out of them, and Imelda feels herself about to crack, too, with every breath Héctor chokes out.

When Imelda wakes up the next day, Héctor's cries are gone. His face is wet, but he's silent. Imelda runs a hand through his hair, and when she does, he opens his eyes and stares at her.

Imelda holds up her hands. "I'm sorry about last night, Héctor."

He frowns. "Why?"

Imelda gets out of bed and paces as she speaks. "I yelled at you. I shouldn't have. I just got so mad because you think I'm Ernesto, but--"

Héctor's face contorts. "What?" He narrows his eyes. "Since when have I ever thought you were Ernesto?"

Imelda stops pacing and raises her eyebrows. "Remember? Yesterday. You kept calling me Superhero."

"No I didn't."

Imelda just stares for a second, but when his confused expression doesn't change, realization dawns on her and she staggers back. "So you don't think I'm Ernesto anymore?"

"No." Héctor laughs. "Don't know where you got that idea, but whatever." He gets out of bed and walks over to her, giving her a kiss on the cheek before grabbing his guitar, "Buenos dias, Imelda." Then he leaves.

Imelda just watches him, the corners of her mouth lifting upward.

He's not sick anymore.

It's enough to make her spin around, run after him, and wrap him in a firm embrace. He laughs and twirls her around, starting to play Un Poco Loco for everyone as he sets her down.

Finally he's better.

Imelda dances to the music with pure energy the whole time he plays, cherishing all the smiles he tosses her way.