I was so sure this chapter was all done and ready to post months ago... and then after I did my read-through and had it beta'd, realized there was so much still to be fixed, especially since some characterization had changed since I had first developed Aida. This story has been in the works for over a year now, which is insane.
I'm still working on this story, and thank you for all those still reading it and letting me know you're out there :)
Big thank you to TomatoSoupful and BabyCharmander for betaing!

Chapter 14: A Good Host

January 1926

Aida walked home under the darkening sky, grumpily shifting the heavy-laden shawl on her back filled with maize, limes, and a bottle of cheap liquor that kept jabbing into her ribs. The bottle wasn't necessary (although, technically, none of it was), but it helped the dark nights pass there on the far edge of Shantytown.

For so many years, through her life and death, she had dreamed of living alone, but now that she was living that dream, it was worse than she had expected. She didn't realize the loneliness would hurt so much. For a time her one comfort had been the strange man with the guitar, who would sit and play such beautiful music every night, and she would watch and listen. He had seemed kind. But no more.

She avoided a darkened piece of boardwalk that she knew was too rotten to rely on. Ever since learning he was with Javier's gang, she had to be more careful. She couldn't trust him. But then, she couldn't really trust anyone.

Finally she came to her empty little shack, and it wasn't until she was nearly to the front door, hand outstretched, that she heard it; a voice. Coming from... inside.

For some moments she couldn't move, frozen stiff. Now that she looked, she saw a very faint candle's glow from between the cracks in the wood, and caught the small sound of footsteps as of someone pacing the floor. And a man's voice. Who was it? What did he want? Was it a trap? Of all the empty, ruined shacks out there, why pick hers?

This was dangerous. A man was in her house, and she was alone. Even if she screamed, no one would hear her. No one would come.

Her fingers twitched, the spell broke, and she took a stumbling step back, careful not to make a sound. She couldn't be caught defenseless. Slow moving backwards to the main walkway, she set down her heavy-laden shawl with trembling fingers, and then scoured the wooden planking until she found a good piece of wood: narrow, long, and not too rotten, and pulled.

It was easier to breathe with that in hand, and she tried to think rationally. Not for the first time she mentally swore at herself for not having a lock on the door for when she was away. She had reasoned there wasn't much to steal. Oh, that was an idea… was it a thief? Or someone who thought she had been Forgotten and were scavenging what remained? Except there was no sound of pilfering, and she knew that sound. So then… what? Could her family have found her again?

She considered hiding out elsewhere for the night, hoping that whoever it was would be gone by morning. Then her grip tightened at the thought. No. This was her home, her one place she felt almost safe in that hell. She wasn't going to stand by and let someone take it. Not without trying. She was armed. It was just one man. She had surprise on her side.

It was her home!

Taking deep breaths, she counted to three and then kicked the door open with a shout, her weapon raised high. There in the middle of the room, half-hidden in the darkness, she saw a tall skeleton, completely bare from the waist up who jumped at the sight of her.

"Ah! Hey, wait-wait-wait! Calm down! It's me!" he yelled, waving his hands wildly.

She paused, startled, the wood still raised overhead.

"Oh. It's you," she said stupidly. It was the músico. From the docks. What was he doing there?

A movement caught her attention and she then noticed a second skeleton on the floor, pressed back against the wall. Immediately she saw the bare white bones, the figure naked except for a thin cloth around the hips, staring up at her in terror. Turning to the first one, the damn musician, she again noted his own state of undress, and easily put two and two together.

With a shout she raised the bludgeon and swung it hard and fast at his head, barely missing as he flung himself backwards, stumbling before scrambling backwards.

"Ah! Wait, wait!"

"What do you think you're doing?" she shouted, fresh fury giving her more courage then she had thought possible, advancing upon him as he moved steadily back. "Bastardo! You damn—how dare you come into my home and… and…" she choked on the words. Had she come upon him mid-attack?

"S-señorita, calm do—"

"Don't tell me to calm down!" she screamed, shaking with righteous anger, somewhat alarmed at herself for how loud and shrill she was getting, but she would deal with that later. "What are you doing? What the hell do you think you're doing? How dare you attack this woman!"

"God no! I—"

"I'm not a damn woman!" the skeleton on the floor yelled out in a loud, and definitely masculine, voice.

The sheer shock of it made her jump, pulling her arms tight against her ribs, and in a flash she realized that there were in fact two strange men in her house.

"What-what is going on! What are you doing here? Who is he? What the hell is going on?" She was dimly aware that she was repeating herself, and very loudly at that, but was too panicked to care.

"If you'll stop shouting I'll tell you!" the taller one said, annoyance overcoming his fear of her, and that was dangerous.

She held the bat at arm's length. "Stay back!"

"Ay, all right, all right! Look just… just calm down," he said, as if talking to a frightened child. "I think everyone needs to take a breath and calm down—"

"Fuck you!" she shouted, and he leapt back again, blinking fast. But she was in no mood to be patronized at, least of all by him. "Just what do you think you're doing in my home? You… you just break in and—"

"Yeah, okay, I know, I know! Just listen to me, please!" It was his tone that finally made her pause, breathing hard, ready to take his head off if he made any sudden movements. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know where else to go. He's hurt." He gestured toward the other skeleton, who had yet to stand.

It was only then she realized what had seemed off about him: not only was he missing his clothes, he was missing a leg. It was just… gone. She cast a quick look around but didn't see it anywhere, and then glanced back to the empty space below his waist, and could almost taste bile creeping up her throat. She had seen men lose their arms and legs during the Revolution. Hell, she had had to care for them, bandaging the ugly, seeping, pus-filled stumps while the men screamed at her or bit their sleeves to keep quiet. There was a sudden, unwelcome memory of the stench of rotting flesh and of black blood on her hands.

"What happened?" she demanded again, forcing herself to focus on the present, trying not to show how terrified she was. There was something very wrong going on right in front of her; she couldn't get distracted.

"He, uh, he was attacked."

She glared harder when he didn't say anything more.

"Why bring him here?"

He grimaced, curling his hands at his sides nervously. "Because uh… you were the only person I could trust."

She opened her mouth, then shut it, momentarily too stunned to speak. And then she considered that, and grew angrier.

"Wait, no, that doesn't… no. No, you're lying! I know you're lying. I don't even know your name!"

"What? I told you that weeks ago," he said, sounding hurt. "It's Héctor."

"I don't care!"

The man—Héctor, apparently—sighed.

Then the other one muttered, "This was a bad idea."

Aida swung her bat, pointing it at him. "And who are you?" she demanded, aware of how her hands trembled, and tightened her grip to hide it.

He lifted his hands high, pressing himself further against the wall. "Whoah! Easy, easy, I'm—"

"He's a friend!" Héctor said, jumping between them. "He's uh, just, you know… a friend."

"A friend?" she bit out.

"Uh… sí?" He offered another anxious smile, one gold tooth flashing, and she felt her hackles rise.

There was definitely something going on, something they weren't saying. She already knew that Héctor lived with criminals and rough men; good chance this 'friend' was another one of them. Most likely he was in Javier's gang, men with nothing left to lose, and no rules. Dangerous lawless men, the kind that would be better off Forgotten, the sooner the better.

Once more she looked to the stranger; she wondered how he lost that leg of his. Maybe he had tried going after a girl and she had fought back, grabbing it so he couldn't run after her. Or maybe he was a fool who had gambled his own bones away and now found himself in debt. It was then she noticed that it was Héctor's jacket that he wore at his hips. Where were his clothes?

"Can you tell me why you're both half-naked?"

Héctor grimaced, twisting his fingers. "Oh, that. Well, uh… that is… you see it's ah... you know, that's a long story, I won't bore you with the details," he said cheerily, waving his hand, not looking at her. "If we could just, er, hide out here, just for one night! You won't even notice us."

She glowered at him, trusting him less and less. The gambling theory was sounding the better bet, and perhaps the more dangerous. The last thing she needed was a bunch of men barging into her house looking for payment on a debt. The thought made her heart drop as she suddenly wondered if there was a reason they'd picked her house to hide out in. If a bunch of men came in demanding money from these two, and they saw her… if these two thought they could use her to pay their debts…

"No," she said, trying to sound more intimidating than she felt. "I am not going to be part of whatever scheme you're in. Both of you need to leave."

"It's nothing like that! It'll be fine, just—"

"I said—!"

"Enough, " the second man said in a low voice, shocking them both. He had kept silent almost the entire time, just watching from the shadows, unmoving. "I am putting her in danger. It's best if we leave."

"What do you mean?" she snapped.

The stranger matched her glare with his own, but didn't speak.

"What do you mean you're putting me in danger?" she asked again, her voice rising.

"I mean the men who attacked me may try again, and if they find me here, they may go after you as well."

"Why? Why are they after you?"

When he spoke again, his eyes were sharp and dark as flint.

"Because I'm one of the Forty-One."

A great silence met that declaration, and she had a feeling she was perhaps supposed to be impressed, or to start crossing herself against the devil, but she merely frowned, trying to think why that sounded so familiar.

"Forty-one?" she muttered, fairly sure she was supposed to know that significance. What was it… something the músico had told her that night when his friends had attacked her. But what had he said? Something about… was it those crossdressers who had been sent to prison?

"You mean… you mean that man you were talking about earlier?" she asked slowly, if anything more confused. "Like... with those men in dresses from the City?"

"Uhhh… yes?" Héctor said, grimacing.

She looked back to the man on the wall who didn't answer, just stared back, jaw clenched and head lowered, quietly furious, and she found herself even more confused.

What was she missing? It was right at the edge of her memory. Was he a criminal? Isn't that what Héctor had told her? Was he still wanted by the authorities? Wait… she remembered. How could she forget? He was the soldier, the one who had fought in the Yucatan. Who had fought against her own people.

She stared at the man with fresh eyes. So this was the Huertista. The one who had fought in the Caste War. Another soldier, then, just like the others. Like those that had abducted her and taken her from her family...

"Get out," she said softly, barely seeing them in the abrupt, cold fury filling her empty ribs.

"W-wait, but—"

"No. Absolutely not," she said, her voice shaking. "I am not going to let him stay here. Or you. I… you need… to leave."

"W-wait, please!" Héctor said, now more anxious, and his persistence was beginning to terrify her. He stepped closer. "He's hurt, I can't—"

"I don't care!" she shouted, hating how her voice suddenly cracked. They needed to go. She couldn't stand to be around them. She needed to be alone.

Yet no one moved, and she didn't know if she could fight them off, it would be two on one, and she subconsciously took a step away, towards the door. Too late, she realized she shouldn't have come in at all. It would have been safer to have stayed away.

Then, in the silence, the man on the ground dropped his head, steeled himself, and made to stand.

Aida quickly took another step back, while Héctor nervously moved to his side. "Ah, hey, hey, take it easy."

"Back off!" he said, trying to balance against the wall, his one leg shaking beneath him. "I shouldn't have—"

"You can't walk," Héctor reminded him, reaching out. "Here, at least let me—"

"Get off me!" he shouted, shoving his hand away, very nearly stumbling at the sudden movement. "I don't—"

He didn't finish what he was saying, because his leg—or his arm—gave out and he collapsed to the ground. Héctor jumped back at the clatter, and watched as the man grit his teeth, and tried once more.

"Wait, hang on, if you just…" Héctor hesitated and then turned to Aida again. "Please, let us stay just for one night. I-I can pay you!"

"I don't want your money!" she shrieked, more furious at the implication.

"Ah, okay, okay! Sorry, I just…" He looked around, incredibly out of his depth. At another time she might have felt sorry for him as he floundered about. "Listen, how about we just, uh… can we talk? In private? Really quick?" He clapped his hands in front of him and looked, frankly, desperate.

She looked from him to the fallen man, who had paused and was staring at them, and quickly decided if she could at least get Héctor out of her house that would solve about half her problem. The alternative was trying to force them both out, and she didn't like those odds.

"Fine." She moved to the open door and held it, watching as he passed and stepped outside. She looked to the other man, and a great many things welled up in her. But she only shut the door and followed Héctor.

It was already dark out, and for a moment he was just a dark outline until her eyes adjusted. Again she thought that he was taller than her. Bigger. At least she had a weapon this time, she told herself. One clean shot at his head and she'd have the upper hand.

She kept quiet and waited, standing a good distance away, while Héctor sighed, sounding exhausted.

"Listen," he said slowly, and his voice was different, lower. It strangely calmed her. "The truth is I found him earlier, not far from here. He's been hurt. I had to help."

"Why? You're the one who warned me about him."

"Wha-I don't know!" he cried out, frustrated. "I just… he was all tied up and I couldn't leave him."

"But... then why come to me?"

"I couldn't think of anywhere else to go. No, I'm serious!" he said quickly before she could argue. "I can't take him back to my place, and I have no one else I can turn to. And I just… I can't do this on my own. Please. Just let us stay for one night. That's all I'm asking." He held his hands together, pleading. He sounded genuine.

She twisted her hands around the old wood and turned away, trying to think. Out there in the open, her terror seemed to evaporate into the night, just enough. Was she being naïve, trusting these two strangers? What if it was a trap? Héctor had already told her he lived with Javier and those criminals, that was a major strike against him. Did this change anything? Was he even telling the truth?

"So you were lying then, about him being a friend?" she said, turning toward him.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, that was a lie, sorry about that." He gave a small shrug. "We actually don't know each other at all. I just wasn't sure how you felt about uh… men like him."

So he had at least lied about that. That was another strike against him. She turned away again, twisting and twisting her hands.

What should she do? The whole reason she was out there was to not have to deal with this kind of thing. Although, being so far from everyone, it also meant that even if she screamed for help, no one would hear. No one would save her. She would be on her own. Against the two of them.

That thought brought something churning up her throat, a phantom feeling that felt far too real. Not again. She promised herself it would never happen again.

This was dangerous. She couldn't do this…

Héctor's voice interrupted her growing panic. "Uh, by the way, if you're wondering how we got inside… the door was open. Or not locked, anyway."

"Yeah, I know it wasn't locked," she spat, having momentarily forgotten to be angry about that. "and why couldn't you just wait outside like a normal person?"

"Uhh… honestly didn't feel safe being out in the open like that. I thought I'd seen someone coming and… oh. That was probably you."

She grit her teeth, unsure if he really was dim-witted or just acting it. Either way, she didn't trust him.

But could she really send them away?

She bit her lip, gnawing on the hard bone. In her terror, she had forgotten all about the rules of hospitality. They were already almost guests, weren't they? And there were customs to consider. Could she really turn them out, and so late at night? And with one of them wounded? They were clearly desperate if they had come to her. And surely they wouldn't be so crude as to attack their host. Then again, she had known men who would…

"If I let you stay," she said, staring hard from the corner of her eye. "Then you'll be gone by morning?"

"Yes! And I won't ever ask anything of you again. I promise we won't do a thing!"

One night. Only a few hours. And she would be able to defend herself this time.

God, was she really considering this?

She thought it over and over, running a hand over her arm. If they did decide to attack, she wouldn't be able to fight them both off. But she was armed, and one of them was wounded, and anyway they were all skeletons, no one could kill anyone. They couldn't hurt her like before. Could they? The thoughts spiraled in her head until the words seemed quite meaningless, and she was no closer to making a decision.

"Señorita?"

Chingados, she silently swore, closing her eyes.

"All right."

He sighed, putting a hand to his bare chest in relief. "Gracias."

Too late to change her mind now.

When they stepped inside, the second man hadn't moved from where he sat, and as soon as he heard the creak of the door he looked up, like a man waiting for a sentencing. She would only need to bear with him for a little while.

"My house is at your orders," she said stiffly, remembering the words her father had spoken whenever they had guests. She went to a corner of the room and dug around in a pile before pulling out an old mis-stitched rebozo and tossing it to the man. He nearly dropped it, held it in his hands, and then shot her a filthy look. What on earth was his problem?

"You can cover yourself up with that," she said sharply. Regardless of his bad attitude, determined to be something of a good host. "You may both stay for the night. And then I… I humbly ask that you never come here again." Shoot, that was still rude. But she brushed it off as she thought of what to do. She should know this by now. During the Revolution, she knew her place. Every night she had her tasks to do: make a fire, then make, food, and then clean, and then care for the animals. None of those applied now.

What would her father do?

As a young girl she had watched her father offer up his home and the meager things he had to be a good host. It was in the Bible, he had told her when she asked why they had to give up their bed. It was important to show good hospitality, he would say, as he fed his guests the little food they had, and she and her mother and siblings would go hungry that night, then again the following morning. It was important, he would say. It was good and honorable to treat guests as if they were family. After all, a stranger could be God.

So far she had done a very poor job of it. If her father could see her then, what would he say?

There was a sudden pang of loneliness, the familiar shame, the longing to be home. Then she took a deep breath. She wasn't home anymore. She was dead, and alone, and she had to be an adult about this.

A good host, hospitable… all right, she could do this. First thing would be to set down her weapon... done. What else?

All three stood in an uncomfortable silence as she tried to think. What would they expect of her? Should she light more candles? It was quite dark, now that she thought of it. Candles, right. That seemed a good plan.

"So, uh…" Héctor began, leaning back on his heels while she lit a second and then a third candle, the orange light flickering on their white bones. "Is it alright if I take the floor over here?" he asked, gesturing at the other wall opposite her own thin cot.

Aida nodded, then noticed with a twitch of her eye how poor the floor looked, and thought of options.

"No, wait… one moment."

Crossing over to her loom, she dug through her sparse pile of things and found an old hammock and a woven floor mat, plus some scavenged fabric from her weaving that they could mold into pillows. Then she remembered how her father had offered up his bed for guests, and decided to do the same.

"Actually," she said, thinking fast and standing up to face them both. "You may take my bed for the night. There should be enough space for both of you." Maybe, she thought warily, eyeing the narrow space.

"That's not necessary," the soldier said quickly. Aida noticed he had set aside the shawl she had offered.

"And I already called the floor over here," Héctor said.

"One of you is going to take my bed," she said firmly, then winced at how that sounded.

"He can!" Héctor said, pointing fast.

The other man made to argue, looking from one to the other, then hunched down, as coiled and tense as a rattlesnake. If he started hissing she wouldn't be altogether shocked. "Fine."

It meant she only had to make the one bed now. She took the hammock and went over to the bare patch of floor, kneeling down. There was a sudden hand on her shoulder and she jumped, her bones clattering on the ground as she fell away. For a horrible moment she lay half-sprawled there, looking up to see Héctor looming over her. God, she was defenceless.

"Sorry!" Héctor said quickly, raising his hands. "Didn't mean to startle you."

It took a moment to talk around her heart beating in her mouth "I-I didn't, I'm not... y-you listen here!" she said, hurriedly pulled herself to her feet, shaking. That wasn't supposed to happen. "If either of you try anything, if you so much as touch me again, I will fight, I swear."

She glowered at them, hoping she sounded more threatening than she felt. At that moment she felt nothing more than a scared, stupid little girl who didn't know what she was doing.

"Right, okay! No touching!" Héctor said, hands still raised high. "I uh, I just was going to offer to help. Here, if you'll let me...?"

Carefully he took a step forward and picked up the bedding she had dropped, and she tried to breathe again. She hadn't meant to panic. She needed to calm down.

For a long moment she watched as he knelt and unrolled the fabric, and there was something almost familiar about it. It reminded her strongly of the solemn figure she had watched so often play and sing by the water's edge. Often she had thought how lonely he seemed. Like her. Some of the terror slipped away. Just a little. If it weren't for the feel of the other man's eyes boring into her head, but she ignored it.

"Wait, is this a hammock?" Héctor asked, frowning at the netted material in his arms and looking around. "I can just hang it up if you—"

"Don't," she said quickly, but there was no anger this time. "The beams can't support it. Last time I tried I almost brought the roof down."

Héctor gaped at her then stared up at the worn and rotten ceiling with a faint, "oh."

She looked down, increasingly self-conscious of the place she called her home. But at least it had a roof, and almost four whole walls, with the last one more tarp than boards, but it kept out most of the rain. It was still cold, but she was used to that.

"Señorita," the man on the ground said, startling her. He looked at her with that same cold stare. "Would you prepare the bed for me, por favor."

She held her jaw tight to refrain from saying anything rude. But he was her guest, and injured, and so she bowed her head submissively and did as she was told. He watched her, unblinking, as she knelt near him and began to straighten out the mat that served as her bed. Behind her, Héctor was loudly unrolling and shaking the hammock netting, muttering a little to himself.

As she unfurled the blanket on top—a frayed, dark blue thing—the injured man shifted closer to her, still staring so intensely that she would have liked to snap at him to mind his own business. But she kept her mouth shut. It was best not to antagonize them any more than she already had. All she had to do was get through the night.

She smoothed out the corner nearest him when suddenly the man reached out and grabbed her wrist, holding it tight. She opened her mouth to shout, but stopped short when she met his gaze.

Not breaking eye contact, he leaned forward and said in a voice softer than a whisper, "If he tries anything, wake me up." Not looking away, he squeezed her hand. "Wake me, and I'll help."

Then the hand slipped away and he sat back, once again mean and cold. For a long moment she only stared, too stunned to move. So… so he didn't trust him either. That was terrifying. It reminded her again that Héctor lived with Javier and his gang; maybe he was another like them.

But it also meant… maybe she wasn't as alone as she had thought.

She hadn't planned on sleeping that night anyway. But if something did happen, she might be able to trust him. It was foolish, of course. He wasn't much help to anyone at the moment, and she knew him even less than Héctor. But in that small moment, he had been sincere, she was quite sure of it. And earlier, he had said that he was one of the Forty-One. So did that mean…

There was loud shuffle of fabric behind her as Héctor sank down onto his makeshift bed, and she rose up as if it nothing had happened.

"Sorry I can't offer you any better," she said.

"Eh, this is fine!" Héctor said, smiling up at her. "Better than sleeping on the hard floor, right?"

She wondered if he was always so cheerful. There was something strangely false about it.

"Thank you," the other said.

"De nada," she muttered automatically. The whole thing was beginning to seem unreal. Or maybe she was just becoming very… very tired.

Like every night she went to the front door and set the three latches to lock it, and for the first time felt that she might be trapping herself in instead. Her hand hesitated on the third, just a piece of wood placed on two rusty hooks, and wondered if she was doing something incredibly foolish. Regardless, she closed it and went to blow out the candles before walking to the far corner of the small shack, the closest to the back door, and a possible means of escape if it came to it.

Sitting down, she picked up her old worn piece of wood and lay it across her lap, determined to stay awake until morning. There was faint shifting from the two men, then an uneasy silence. Already her eyes were growing heavy-lidded and her bones seemed to ache with exhaustion. But she could stay awake for a few hours; she had to. Everything would be fine, she told herself.

Just one night, and in the morning they would be gone.

Author Notes:

Next time- Héctor goes to visit Imelda in the present.

Thanks for reading :)