A/N:

Welp, here I am again. Half a year later.
Once again this chapter ended up being a lot more difficult than expected from when I first wrote it over a year ago to the editing phase, and it was also originally meant to be split into two. (and after many annoying edits I'm not really happy with it... but time to move one so we can get to better things!)

Chapter 17: Sink or Swim

January 1926

Héctor snapped awake to a sharp scream, frantically rolling over to see a shadowy person standing over him with a bat, ready to bash his head in.

"Ahh! Wait, stop!" he shouted, trying to crawl backwards and getting tangled in the weird sheets covering him.

"What's going on!" a man's voice called out from his other side, making Héctor panic even more. What was going on? Where was he?

Then he recognized the woman standing over him, and everything clicked into place. The previous night, finding a broken skeleton in a broken place and taking him to the only place he could think of. Which, in hindsight, might not have been his best idea. "Wait, wait, it's me! It's Héctor! Don't hit me!"

She stared down at him with huge eyes, then relaxed with a faint little 'oh' and staggered back a pace before sinking down against the wall with a clatter of bones, the club hanging loose in her hands.

"What just happened?" the other man said, still frantic. "Did he—"

"No, no, it's fine," she said, rather stunned. "Sorry. I forgot you two were here. Por Dios… I fell asleep."

Héctor fell face down into his lumpy excuse for a pillow.

"So you're okay?" the man said anxiously.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Héctor said, turning his head towards him.

"I didn't mean you!" he snapped, before letting out a weary sigh, rubbing at his eye socket. "Ugh, what time is it?"

"Huh? Ah, it's early," the woman said, still sounding dazed and now slowly tilting sideways towards the floor. "I'll, um, I'll take care of breakfast… in a little bit… if it's… s'all right..."

Héctor gave a sleepy grunt in response, too tired to do much else.

"Señorita," the other man said, making Héctor crack open an eye. "Aquí." He tossed a lumpy ball of fabric to her. Numbly she caught the blanket, wrapped it around herself, and laid down, instantly asleep.

Héctor closed his eyes again and rolled onto his side. There was a vague recollection of a dream, but he couldn't quite grasp it. Had it been about home? Or Imelda? He tried each idea out, but it wasn't quite right. Then remembered: being pressed down, a weight upon his back, terror and shame. His eyes jerked open as the dream faded back into forgetfulness, like a monster slithering back under dark, murky water.

Dumb dream. Although perhaps not surprising. He idly scratched a groove into the soft wood of the old floorboard. The place seemed to be rotting right under them. Then he looked up and saw the other man was also lying awake, his eyes soft and half-open, seeming deep in thought. Then he frowned and looked up. They stared at each other in the early-morning stillness, before the man stiffened and flipped over, putting his back to him. He noticed, bizarrely, that he could see straight through the man's ribs to the tangle of arms curled against his chest.

Even after years among the Dead, even being a skeleton himself, the whole thing still managed to weird him out at times. As he watched, the man hunched forward, his arm bones curling in tighter, possibly holding that spot where his rib had been snapped off. Was he still in pain? Maybe it also hurt to be missing a leg. Probably. Would it tingle? Or feel numb? Would the feeling just fade over time until nothing? Would you still be able to wiggle your toes if you can't feel your leg? How would that even work?

And anyway, who was the man, really? A Huertista soldier, apparently, and one of the infamous Forty-One. Perhaps that meant he was one of the ones in a skirt, but that didn't seem right. Héctor was fairly sure he'd be able to tell. He didn't speak in falsetto or flip his wrist; the man wasn't feminine by any means. So, then, a soldier? One of those men who took advantage of other men?

As his thoughts spun around his head, the man moved again, pulling his head lower. On closer look he seemed to be trembling. Oh God… was he crying? Maybe he really was hurting. Or afraid.

Héctor was still watching when the man suddenly turned over and glared at him. No, he definitely wasn't crying.

"What?" the man mouthed, looking furious.

"Ah… nothing, nothing!" Héctor whispered before rolling onto his back, embarrassed to have been caught staring. How long had he been doing that? And why did the man seem to hate him so much?

Okay, maybe that was a bad question. Still, all he'd done yesterday was help him, didn't that count for something? But then again, all of Shantytown seemed to treat him with suspicion. In fact, that was true even when he was alive and just a kid trying to survive in the world.

But it didn't matter, Héctor thought, closing his eyes, not wanting to think about such things. They wouldn't have to deal with each other soon enough. He wasn't even sure if helping this man was the right thing, but it all seemed too far gone to do otherwise. All he had to do was get him back to that place, they'd find his leg, maybe his clothes if they got lucky, and then go their separate ways, hopefully for good this time. Then he'd try to forget any of this happened, and go back to his normal, miserable existence. Great…

Héctor must have fallen back asleep, because next thing he knew the shack was half-lit with pale morning light, and he could smell the thin, sweet smoke of a cooking fire. Propping himself up on an elbow, he saw the woman kneeling near a pulled back tarp to let the smoke out, pouring a dash of water into a steaming pot before whisking it.

Héctor sat up with a long yawn. "Buenos días."

The woman looked up and only gave a low hum in response. The fire and anger from the past night seemed to have gone out. Now she was once again the skittish, silent woman who had so often listened to him play on the dock. Where that other woman from last night had come from, he wasn't entirely sure.

She even looked different, too, now that he thought of it. He realized he had never seen her in anything other than soft moonlight. Up close, she reminded him uncomfortably of Imelda. Long black hair pulled back away from her face, perhaps even the same age as when he had last seen his wife, standing in the door and waving him off as Coco clung to her skirt. Perhaps this is what Imelda would look like, if she were here. The thought was painful, and he reminded himself that Imelda was fine. She was alive and healthy and with Coco. Hopefully.

When the woman quietly came and put a small cup into his hands, he thanked her and felt like he should have been apologizing instead. It had seemed a good idea at the time, and last night the door to her home had been open, technically. Now it seemed foolish. That she had made them breakfast only made it worse, even if the other man had apparently refused any.

It was quiet. None of them talked. There was only the small crackle of the fire and the faint creak of the water against the rotting wood. Back home, there would be the sound of morning birds and insects, of neighbors and street dogs. Héctor had never quite appreciated how alive those mornings were. The mug was still gently steaming as he lifted it his lips, and then was struck by a memory of Imelda one morning after a long night of playing music, sitting in their little kitchen. God, just to be with her again… He remembered the way she moved about the cluttered space, how she'd brush her hair away with her forearm when her hands were too covered in maize flour. How she had firmly placed a warm cup of hot chocolate between his numb hands and told him to drink. It had been sweet. Imelda had always added a dash of cane sugar; it was how she liked it, and so she figured he would too.

His hands dropped to his lap, the memory making him ache, the low, familiar pain striking like a hammer to an anvil.

He missed her. God, he missed her.

"Is it bad?" the woman's voice came from the corner, startling him. He blinked away the memory of the kitchen and Imelda, and again was in that dark little shack, and he and the world were dead.

"Huh? Ahh… no. I, um, it's fine. It's… good," he said, taking a sip of the thin, porridge-like atole, and suspected it wasn't the drink leaving such a bitter taste in his mouth.

The three sat in an awkward silence after that. Héctor sipped the warm drink and wished someone would say something, but the woman fidgeted in her corner, the other man kept quiet and surly in his corner, and they all tried not to look at each other.

"So…" Héctor said, after the silence was nearly unbearable, "I think we should go find your leg."

The other man looked uncomfortable. Or more uncomfortable, in any case. "You don't have to do that."

"What? You planning on walking there by yourself?" Héctor said, crossing his arms.

He didn't respond, but only sank back a little.

"Do you know where it is?" the woman said suddenly, surprising both of them.

The other man turned toward her, frowning. Héctor watched him closely, wondering if he would reprimand her for interrupting, the kind of man who thought women should be silent. The previous night may well have been an exception.

Instead, the man merely said, "I'm… not sure, to be honest. I think it was thrown into the water." He paused, running a hand along the other leg. "There seems to be something tied to it."

"In the water ?" she said, frowning. "How are you going to find it, then? Can you swim?"

"Well enough," he replied.

Swimming? Héctor hadn't considered that, and studiously kept his eyes to the cup in his hands. He had no idea how to swim. How was he going to help him? Why was he even still doing this? He supposed it was simply an unspoken obligation. Héctor had saved him, and now felt responsible for him. It was just the way of things.

"Guess, uh… we should get going, then," Héctor said, making a face before pulling himself to his feet.

Again there was a wariness as the man looked up, before he steeled himself and took his hand. Héctor carefully pulled him up, and there was a distinct improvement to the previous night. His leg didn't waver nearly so much, and his arm seemed more secure as he hooked it over Héctor's shoulder. At least they both weren't disgustingly terrified of each other, although there was still nervousness, and walking back to that terrible place was not going to be easy. As for how they'd find that leg in the water… hopefully he could think of something by the time they got there.

The woman stood nearby, twisting her hands and looking uncertain, repeatedly asking if she might help, or if they needed to stay longer, a desperate bid to be a good host after a strange night together. It was rather sad and strange, and Héctor smiled brightly as he waved away her concerns. He had promised to never bother her again, and he meant to keep it. He would miss her, though.

It was well after sunrise when they left. The sun had already crested the murky horizon, yet already the thin mist was vanishing, the winter sun bright if not warm, unimpeded by the heavy clouds had all blown away in the night. Walking was easier in the quiet dawn, either because they were more used to it, or because the man's bones were working better, or some combination thereof. It didn't hurt that a lot of the high-strung tension from the night before was gone from both of them. Well, some of it.

"Señor?"

It took Héctor an embarrassingly long moment to realize the man was referring to him, considering there was not another soul nearby.

"I uh, I wanted to apologize for... all this," he said in a low voice, his head tucked into his shoulders. "And for last night... I owe you a great debt, I realize that. So… thank you." He winced, and Héctor felt a sudden tightness in his shoulders.

"Ah, de nada," Héctor said automatically, frowning. Maybe the wince was because of his leg, but it may well have been because the last time he had tried to apologize, Héctor had shouted at him. Threatened him.

Worse, the only reason he had even approached Héctor that night was to show him the safe way down. The man had been trying to apologize. Shame welled up, so strong and sudden he almost tripped before focusing again, blinking against the bright light reflecting off the water. He became keenly aware of the man's arm on his shoulder bones, the lingering tension.

Thinking back, he wasn't sure why he had been so afraid of him. Well, he knew why, but walking there alongside him, out in the bright sun, it only seemed foolish. And cruel. And he had no idea how to explain the deeper reasons behind it. But he could at least do something, right?

"Listen, about earlier…" Héctor began to say, but was distracted by a familiar voice calling out to them.

"Wait! Wait up!"

They both stopped and turned back to where the woman hurried towards them.

"I want to help," she said breathlessly, coming to a stop and leaning over her knees.

"What?" Héctor said.

"Why?" the man at his side said, equally stunned. "I thought you wanted us gone."

"I know, I know, but I just… I can help." She seemed to notice her own wavering voice, and caught herself, straightening up. "I mean, well… it'd be rude to, uh, let you go off… without me."

That didn't make sense, they all knew it, and so she quickly added, "And I know this area."

That made even less sense.

"We know where we're going," Héctor said, growing more confused.

"You really don't have to do that," the man said, frowning.

"I wouldn't mind. And it'd be just for a little bit." She glanced between them, holding her hands tight. It reminded him faintly of when Imelda had begged to join him and Ernesto at the plaza, unwilling to be left alone while the world seemed to move on around them. Not wanting to be left behind.

"Wouldn't hurt to have her," Héctor said, glancing towards the other man, who hesitated.

"I suppose… if you want… if you're sure…"

"Thank you," she said, with some relief. Hadn't she wanted them gone? Had something changed since last night? She fidgeted with a loose strand of hair. "I, um, I'm Aida, by the way."

Héctor grinned. "I'm Héctor. In case you forgot."

She smiled back warmly, and Héctor realized he had never seen her smile in all the weeks of knowing her. Then he glanced at the man at his side, stubbornly quiet and once more broody. Héctor still had no idea what his name was, and he didn't seem up to offer it, making Héctor faintly roll his eyes. Fine, he thought, don't tell me your name, that's fine.

Walking became easier with Aida helping, her presence alone softening that earlier tension. Not long after, they arrived. Even in the bright daylight, there was a deeply unsettling quality about it, and Héctor could better appreciate how dilapidated it was. It really did look ready to collapse.

"This the place?" Aida said in a low voice, holding her arms close as they stood outside the old shack, a place fitting of ghosts. It seemed deserted. She let out a breath. "I'll check it out."

"Careful," the man called out in a hushed voice as Aida crept forward.

She peered through the narrow, crooked doorway and then waved a hand, beckoning them. As they limped closer, Héctor noticed the hesitation from the man at his side, the growing tension, not unlike his own.

"Hey, it'll be fine," Héctor murmured just before they slipped through the door.

The man stiffened at those words, turning sharply towards him.

"Will you just—" he began to say, then abruptly stopped, the harsh look fading into bewilderment, as if shocked to find that Héctor had been genuine.

"So where would it be?" Aida said, distracting both of them as she hitched her skirt a little, nudging a pile of rubbish with a bare foot.

"Oh, uh… I think they threw it out the back," the man said, looking wrong-footed as he turned back to her.

There was an open door in the back wall, gaping like an open wound, leading to a short, broad pier. Beyond was a huge, unending sea stretching far, far out to the hazy horizon.

"Huh, it's a bit like my place," Aida murmured, kicking at an uneven plank and knocking some wood into the water. "So they threw it out here?"

The man's ribs rose a little against his, and then fell with a deep sigh. "I'm not sure. I can't feel it anymore. It could be anywhere."

All three went silent, just the faint sound of water lapping up against the dock beneath their feet.

"Sooo… what? You got a plan here?" Héctor said, glancing at him with a raised brow. "How are we supposed to find it?"

"Someone's going to have to go in and look," Aida said, standing beside them, looking doubtful.

"I'll find it," the man said, the same determined face as he pulled away from Héctor. "I can take it from here. You two don't need to stay."

"You sure about that?" Héctor said skeptically, as he watched the man apparently try and figure out how to sit without pulling them both down.

"Yes, I'll be fine," he said in a low, strained voice, sitting down heavily on the dock. "Señorita, you may wish to look away."

With a quick glance back, he pulled off the jacket from around his bare waist and set it aside before he slipped into the water. For a moment both watched nervously as he seemed to sink deep down… then broke the surface with a gasp. He looked up at them, eyes flitting from one to the other, and then, with something between a sigh and a deep breath, he again ducked under the water, leaving only a faint ripple behind.

"So… what do we do now?" Héctor said, watching the shadow under the water.

"It's a big area to cover by himself," Aida muttered, glancing down and plucking at her skirt. "I think you should go in and help him."

"What? Me?"

"Who else?"

"Uhhh, I don't… I mean, I'm not comfortable with the whole… naked skeleton thing." For some reason that seemed a better excuse than saying he had no idea how to swim, and that the thought of drowning terrified him. And it was true, he argued to himself. Skeletons were weird, and naked ones even more so.

"Come on!" she said scornfully, waving a hand at him. "You're already half-naked, now's not the time to be shy. Besides, it's just me."

"And him." If he were being honest with himself, that was another very, very strong reason not to strip down.

"So what?"

"So I'm uncomfortable, all right?" he said, rather testily.

Apparently sometime between the past night and that moment on the dock, she had decided to not be afraid of him. It should have been a relief, but it was mainly annoying.

"Ay, stop being so scared and go help him!" she said, also growing frustrated. "It's not like you've got a dick to hide anymore."

Héctor could feel his mouth hanging open at that, and she had the very, very slight decency to look a little abashed.

Finally he said, "Yeah… now I'm really uncomfortable."

A third voice rose from the water. "What are you two still doing here?"

Both turned to see the other man staring up, a hand raised to his brow against the water's glare.

"I'm trying to get him to help you, but someone doesn't want to take his pants off."

"Don't say it like that," Héctor said, his face warming despite himself.

"Oh, don't be such a mariquita!" she said.

"Will you stop that!" the man shouted suddenly, glaring this time at Aida. "If he doesn't want to do it, then don't force him, for God's sake! Neither of you are helping, so just leave!"

He pushed backwards in the water and dove again, leaving a heavy tension in the air.

"Is he ever in a good mood?" Héctor muttered sourly. They were only trying to help.

"Ay caray," Aida murmured, uneasy all of a sudden. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Huh?"

Aida pressed her lips together before shaking her head. "Nothing. He's right, though. If you don't want to be here, that's fine. I'm sorry."

"Wha- but…" He was stunned by the abrupt change in her. "I didn't mean… but what about you?"

"I'm going to stay. But it doesn't mean you need to." She strode over the edge and scooped up his jacket, brushing it off before holding it out at arm's length.

"Wait, I, I wasn't…"

"It's fine, you don't need to be here," she said, dismissing him entirely, if not unkindly.

He hesitated before taking it, but didn't immediately put it on. Aida turned her back to him, crossing her arms again and looking out over the huge, sparkling expanse of water. Héctor thought once again that there was a loneliness about her. She was right, though. They didn't need him. Or want him.

Then again, no one did.

It'd be best if he just left. It was early in the day, there was still time to go get his guitar and maybe make a little extra money before evening. The Plaza de Flores might be good this time of year. Yet his feet dragged. Just before he reached the front door he stopped, looking down at his jacket and running a thumb over the thin fabric while he considered. It wasn't like he had anyone else waiting on him, he thought with a growing smile, turning to face the edge of the dock, feeling alive and reckless after so long of being numb, as a surprisingly new realization came to mind.

He was already dead. What was the worst that could happen? Quickly shucking off his suspenders and pants, Héctor ran past Aida's shocked face and leapt, plunging into the cold water before surfacing with a desperate gasp for air.

This immediately seemed like a terrible idea.

"—you push him?" the man called from nearby.

"No, he jumped!" Aida shouted back, her voice wavering between worry and glee.

"Ah! H-hey I, I'm… I'm not floating!" Héctor said, his bones far too heavy as his head dipped lower in the water. He tilted his head up as water splashed into his eye sockets, and he let out a gargled shout. "Ah, help!"

"Think light thoughts," Aida called out, nearly laughing. "Imagine yourself floating and it's easier."

"And breathe!" the man shouted from somewhere to his left.

"Floating… yeah," he said between shallow gasps, staring up at the pale sky and feeling his legs drift lower in the cold water. Think light...

Instead he thought about drowning, and darkness, and the taste of soil filling his mouth, and he sank. It was like something was wrapped tight around his ribs, a growing pressure, dark and cold. He thrashed meaninglessly, with nothing to grab, nothing to push off of. He was drowning; he was going to die except he couldn't …

Then there was something at his arm dragging him up and up, pulling him through the water. He scrambled and kicked out when suddenly his head burst through, blinded by sunlight.

"Cálmese! Cálmese!" Aida shouted in his ear as she supported him, struggling to keep her own head up.

"You're fine, stop thrashing!" came another voice, very close by. There was a pressure on his other arm as he also helped prop him out of the water. Héctor tried not to struggle against them, tried not to swing his arms, even as he felt like he was going to sink again any moment. He wasn't sure if he was breathing or not; his ribs were full of water.

"¡Chingados!" Aida swore in a shaking voice, paddling hard to keep afloat. "What just—"

Héctor's foot suddenly caught the edge of her skirt and he instinctively kicked out, striking something hard instead. The man at his elbow gasped and slipped under, almost dragging him down before heaving back up with a sputter.

"Just get him to the dock!"

Together they brought him to the rotten pilings, which he clung onto with both hands. It was absurd how one could feel so out of breath and yet couldn't physically breathe.

"W-what just happened?" Aida said, also holding on to the old wood and breathing hard.

"I, uh… I don't know how to swim," Héctor muttered, once he felt like he could speak again.

Aida let out a groan while the man glowered.

"What were you thinking!"

"I don't know!" Héctor said, still gasping open-mouthed and trying to brush water from his skull, harder without skin. "I-I thought it'd be easier now, being, you know…"

"Por Dios…" Aida said, letting her head drop to her arms.

"We're already dead," Héctor said defensively. "I didn't think I could, that we could actually drown, but… ugh!"

With a heave he hoisted himself up on the dock and sat there, hunched over his pale bones, covering up his naked waist and feeling foolish and sick. Moments later Aida climbed up beside him. She tried to wring out some of the water out of her skirt, but it was completely soaked, the greens and browns even more dull and dirty.

"Wait, if you can't swim then why did you jump in?" Aida said, pausing mid-wrung.

"I wanted to help," he muttered. Silence met this remark, and he was sure that they both must think him a complete idiot, if they didn't already. He should have just left when he had the chance.

The other man, who had stayed in the water, was the first to speak up. "That's, I mean..." he said, stumbling over the words. "To be honest, I didn't think we could drown either."

"I hate this whole being dead thing," Héctor said, glaring at the sparkling, innocent-looking water and pulling his knees to his chest. "It's confusing."

"Well, just… just stay there," the man said, rubbing his forehead. "I can handle this on my own."

Once more he swam out and then dove with relative ease, the sea rippling softly behind him. How was it that he wasn't sinking?

"You know, you were okay for about five seconds there," Aida said, coming to stand beside him, wringing out the bottom of her blouse. "Want to give that another shot?"

"Huh?"

"Do you want to try to swim?" she said.

"Oh no! No, no, I'm not doing that again!" Héctor said, leaning back. It was hard to shake off the feeling of sinking, of choking. It was a bit like dying. "I'm staying right here where it's safe and dry. I'll just… stand guard."

Or leave, he thought bitterly. There wasn't anything else he could do to help.

"You should go for it. I've seen you out here all the time, what if one day you fall in?" she said, gesturing out the winding series of piers and walkways throughout the shallow sea. "At least now you're not alone if something goes wrong. And you can't actually die again," she added, if a bit doubtfully.

"In theory," Héctor muttered, but thought it over as water dripped off him. When he was alive there had never been a good reason to learn to swim, although Ernesto had been bold enough to go wading in the local creek while Héctor watched from the shallows. One of his cousins nearly drowned him once, but that was another lifetime ago, and allegedly an accident. Besides, what Aida said was true, there had been near misses while walking through Shantytown. It'd be nice to have someone willing to teach him, and certainly an improvement over her trying to take his head off.

"How did you learn?" he asked her. Maybe it was easier when one was dead.

"Badly," Aida said, her lips tight. "Let's say that I learned how to breathe underwater first. But once you get past the initial terror, it's not so hard."

"Huh," Héctor said, deciding he really didn't want to do that. "So it is harder here. I thought maybe you learned to swim when you were alive."

"Oh, I did!" she said, perking up. "It's a bit different here, that's all. I learned as a kid, grew up on the Yucatan coast."

"Yeah?" he said. He had considered it earlier, but now he was sure: whatever fear or nervousness she might have had towards him had evaporated. Perhaps simply because it was hard to be afraid of someone who she had saved the life of. Or… whatever the phrase might be, he thought, getting distracted by his own thoughts. "I'm from a little town in central Oaxaca. Although, I suppose I'm originally from Hidalgo, but never saw the ocean until our first music tour."

"I passed through Hidalgo," Aida said, faintly smiling with a hint of nostalgia. "We were on a train headed north towards the border, it had all the hills, my lips kept bleeding, it was so dry. I prefer the ocean. And this," she said, waving her arm wide about them, "is as close as I can get. It's a little like home."

The idea of this miserable lonely place being like home was depressing. Like a shadow of the real thing. Others had tried to comfort him with such lines, that death could be a second chance, a shot at a new life, a fresh start. He had never wanted any of that. There could never be anything good in the afterlife until he was with his family again, and until then, he was content to wait.

Still. Perhaps learning this, at least, couldn't hurt. What was one afternoon, in the grand scheme of it all?

"Y-yeah, all right. Okay, let's do it!"

"Epa ! There we go," Aida said cheerfully, before awkwardly leaning over to pat his shoulder. "Hey hombre, get over here," she called out to the other man who looked up. "You're gonna teach him to swim!"

"What?" both cried out.

"Why me?" the man said, visibly alarmed. "You were swimming just fine a minute ago. You teach him!"

"I can't," she said, bringing her arms to her sodden blouse. "It's really hard to swim in a skirt, all right. And I can't just… it's not appropriate."

Héctor was reminded of his own nakedness and again pulled his bony legs to his bony chest, and tried not to think about any of that.

"At least he can help," Aida said, when the man seemed ready to argue. "You're not going to be able to search all of this by yourself."

"I can do it just—"

"And the faster we find your leg, the faster we can get out of here."

The man frowned, glanced at Héctor, and then sighed. "Fine," he said, even as Héctor thought this was increasingly a bad idea.

"You'd best not think about drowning while you're at it," she said, crouching down as Héctor carefully lowered himself in the water. "Is that what you did earlier?"

"Ah… maybe. Yes."

The other skeleton came closer, head low and looking perhaps as uncomfortable as Héctor felt. Was the man nervous about the swimming part or the teaching part? From what Héctor had gathered so far, his teaching would involve a lot of yelling and swearing, something he was not looking forward to.

"Ready?" the man asked, as Héctor clung to the pier, unmoving.

"Not particularly."

This was met with a flat look. "If you don't want to, then don't."

"No, it's fine! I can do this."

"All right. First you have to focus on staying afloat."

"Okay…"

"I mean it. You're new, right? Things work differently down here. You can't panic or think about sinking, or you'll just stress yourself out and you really will sink… apparently," he muttered as an afterthought.

"Got it," Héctor said, already worrying about drowning again.

"You're going to kick out with your feet and try to keep your legs up. Use your arms to push through the water. All right then, best to… take my arm." The man held out his forearm as one might hold out a lit firework.

With a deep breath and lingering regrets, Héctor reached out and wrapped his fingers around the white bones, thinking there was no way he'd be able to support him, and imagined both of them sinking fast.

It might have shown on his face, because the man said, "Don't think about drowning! Imagine you can do this. Ready?"

"You've got this!" Aida called out from where she crouched on the edge of the dock.

Héctor grimaced. "Right…" He let go of the wooden dock and pushed out.

"Kick! Kick out your feet—like that," the man said loudly as he floundered and splashed about. "You're fine. Breathe!"

"We're dead! We—I can't breathe!" he said in a sudden panic, kicking and paddling and sinking all the same.

"Just do it anyway," the man said urgently, struggling to support them both.

Héctor tried taking deep breaths, felt the water filling his ribs, and made it worse.

"Hey, hey! Take it easy," the man said, using his other hand to hold him up, a growing edge of panic in his voice. "You're fine! Christ… listen, don't even try swimming, just stop trying to drown."

Oh. The breathing was actually helping, as long as he didn't think too hard on it.

"Oh… okay, yeah! Ha!" Then his head bobbed underwater, water spilling into his eye sockets, and he startled. His legs stuttered and stopped, slipping deeper before he was again pulled up.

"You're fine, relax!" the man said as Héctor spluttered, shaking his head. But it was getting easier. He wasn't sinking like before, the water not as suffocating as before. "Okay, now kick with your feet. Like that, good!"

Slowly it got better. It was rather abysmal swimming, wildly kicking his arms and feet but at least he could stay afloat which was better than before. Little by little he grew more comfortable.

"You got it?"

"Okay… okay, yeah! Ha!" He paddled around, wildly kicking his arms and feet but at least staying above the water.

"Try not to splash so much, smaller movements."

"You know, as long as I don't go under, I'm fine."

"I don't know if that counts much as swimming," he said with a small laugh, before wincing.

"Hey, you okay?" Héctor asked.

The man blinked in confusion a few times before doing a double-take to Héctor. "Me? I'm fine. Just tired." It wasn't surprising, in hindsight, after swimming with one leg for the two of them.

"Maybe we should start looking for your leg," Héctor said, wondering again if it hurt to have a part of yourself missing, and keenly aware he was, in fact, doing the opposite of helping.

"It's fine," he said, his chin dropping to the water as he gazed out. "I don't even know if I'll be able to find it. It could be anywhere..."

"Well, let's look then!" Héctor said cheerfully, feeling far more confident than he probably should have.

The man raised his eyebrows, doubtful.

"Come on, I'm doing great! I totally got this." He pulled away, paddling his arms through the water and trying to look down through the white glare of the sun. But then he sank a little, panicked, and slipped under again, before a hand at his arm pulled him up.

"Madre de Dios…" the man muttered as Héctor came up choking, kicking his feet and steadying himself.

"This is actually much harder than I thought."

"Any luck finding your, uh, leg?" Aida called out from the dock, stepping out from where she had been scavenging in the shack, a coil of rope around one arm and a lumpy white cloth tucked under the other.

"Not exactly," Héctor said, as the two of them swam doggedly to the edge of the pier before clinging on, both exhausted and gasping. Looking over to the other man, a fresh wave of guilt brushed over him. The only reason they had come out was to help find his leg, and that wasn't happening because of him.

"Sorry," Aida said, with a similar look of guilt. "That had been my idea.'

"It's fine," the man said, closing his eyes and looking even more worn.

"Hey, do you think maybe you could help? You can swim," Héctor said, looking to Aida. She frowned in reply, looking down and picking at her still-damp skirt. "Not in your clothes," he clarified, remember her earlier reluctance. "I mean you could, um, hang on…" He stopped and realized he was almost certainly crossing a line by telling her to just take her clothes off. "You know what, never mind! Forget I said—"

"Actually," Aida said, nervously twisting the hem of her blouse. "That might not be a bad idea."

Author Notes:

Some historical language notes, yay!
'Mariquita' means ladybug in Spanish. It also means 'sissy' or 'f*g' when directed towards a guy (a relatively mild slur).
It first appears in literature in 1925, but I'd argue that it was used prior in common culture, and is related to the slur 'marica,' as of 1884, so I don't mind using it here.
I still find it interesting that there were zero positive terms for a gay man at this time, and the mere concept of a gay man didn't really exist in Mexico until after the scandal of the Forty-One, which was also basically true for many other parts of the world as language and culture changed.

Anyway, finally moving on!

Next chapter features a bit of Rosita :)