Inwardly Héctor was wishing that Coco had never requested to see him. Just the thought of the pain and sickness that he would surely see on his daughter's face made his non-existant heart ache so much that it hurt.
It was enough to hear that Coco was sick; that in itself had set Héctor off when Julio had delivered the news. Then Imelda told him to stay away, which had saddened him more than he thought it would, and a small part of him was also burning with rage at the reason behind Imelda's refusal, though an even smaller part of him had already knew the reason before she'd started explaining.
He'd paced in the kitchen for thirty minutes after leaving the room, lost in memories of when Coco was little and when Héctor nearly got sick himself taking care of her more than a few times. Then just when he was sure he was going to break the floor with all of his stomping around, the bedroom door opened, and Imelda told him that Coco wanted him there instead of her.
And that had pierced him with fear.
Now Héctor stood in the hallway that connected all their rooms, Coco and Julio's being the last one on the right. He paused to look at the pictures of Coco and Julio hanging on the wall, and the sight of Coco's white hair and short height made him cringe. It had been nearly a century since Héctor had been with her for anything, and that fact had never made him more uncomfortable than it did now.
What if he didn't know how to help her?
It wasn't like Coco was a baby or a three-year-old anymore. It wasn't like when Héctor knew how to take care of her, what medicines she needed, how to tell how sick she was just by looking at her and feeling her forehead. She was far older now, and Héctor hadn't been by her side to watch her grow up and take care of her as time passed.
Deep down Héctor knew it was silly: Coco was his daughter and he shouldn't be so hesitant about this. But on the other hand, well... he'd only just been reunited with her. And he would hate it if Coco somehow got sicker and he was to blame because of some mistake he made.
You wouldn't know how to take care of her. You'd only make it worse.
Héctor glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching him. Then, after an intake of breath, he slowly, shakily, pushed it open.
"Papá." Her voice was scratchy. She pulled him into a tight embrace, even as weak as she felt and as hard as it was to move.
"Coco." His voice was soft and tense with worry.
She released him and stared into his teary eyes. "Papá, will you stay with me?"
His response was a tearful nod and another tight squeeze. "Of course, mija." That was all he said for a long time as the two of them sat there in silence.