unpocoloco | Daybreak IC Inbox

He flinches, but doesn't withdraw--and she doesn't either. It pains her to hear him sounding so scared, like that man is here in the room with him, still able to take him apart and hurt him.

"Héctor... Look at me." She waits for him to comply, willing herself to hold his gaze even as her own instinct is to look away. She takes a steady breath. She knows he's scared, but that only means that she has to put her own fear away for now. "He's not here; and he's not going to hurt you again. I won't let that happen."

A few more panicked breaths pass before his head does lift, a slow motion done in jerking increments. Such a simple thing, but it feels herculean.

But she's there. It hits him that, for all the shame of this, for all the problems, she's there just like she said she'd be. It's a struggle not to bow his head again after her words.

"I can't stop feeling it. I don't know what to do. He's not here but the memory is in my head. Some part of me just says I'm safer like this. I can't expect people to save me. I don't want to be... that kind of problem for people. Or you."

"You're not a problem, Héctor." At least, not regarding this. "You don't have to expect people to save you. But knowing that you have people who want to... It can help, can't it?" She doesn't expect him to be able to defend himself in a world like this. It's dangerous, and he was never supposed to be involved in the first place. This is her world, not his... But he's here now, and that means she needs to help him adjust.

"I've been talking to my brothers about how I can help. There's a rune they suggested. It'll help me find you, if you run into trouble again. It's not a permanent solution--we can work on other magic to help you defend yourself. But I think it would set both of our minds at ease, if you had something to fall back on that you couldn't lose." At least, that's how she feels. One of the worst feelings she's had is not knowing where he is or what's happened to him--and then feeling like he needed her and she didn't know to be there. She doesn't ever want to feel that way again.

It's a weak but nevertheless doubting look that comes when she tells him he's not a problem. He's been a problem of some kind or other his whole life.

But as she goes on, his free hand moves, rubbing at his arm. But knowing that you have people who want to... knowing he had people who cared... that was true, wasn't it? While it had been true with his primos, loss was too constant among them. They couldn't expend enough of themselves to mourn every soul that was lost.

And then he's blinking in surprise, first at the mention of her brothers, and then a rune . He pulls a sharp breath. "You... want to give me a tracking rune?" A way to be found again. A way to never be lost. He makes a noise between a laugh and a sob. A bit of both really. His free hand moves again, scrubbing at his face. "If found return to Imelda," He jokes, more of that not-quite-laughter following. Then quieter, head bowing a little again, he says, "Dios... is it pathetic if that sounds really good?"

Edited 2019-03-16 09:19 (UTC)

He can make that face at her all he wants. She's not going to rescind that statement, even if it's not one hundred percent true all the time. In this moment, regarding this situation, she doesn't consider him to be the problem. He's just the one dealing with the fallout.

He picks up quickly to her suggestion, and his joke even gets a little smile out of her. A small one, laced with a certain dry humor. For once, she doesn't take the chance to remark that it might have been useful ten years ago.

"No, it's not pathetic." It sounds really good to her, too, and she's glad that he seems on board with that idea. Her hand releases from his, pushing on the floor instead to help get her to her feet. "Do you have a pen around here? Or a marker? That might work better..."

It would have been useful ten years ago. He would've laughed and turned it down then but back then he was stupid. He's glad she takes the joke well because he's not sure he could handle the thought otherwise.

He exhales shakily and looks up at her just as she goes to leave. His hands follow after her, like he's going to push her up, catch her if she falls, but he never actually reaches her. Her question has him starting and rising to stand too, bracing himself one whatever he can and saying, "I do. Wait. Hang on."

He hobbles to the desk in the corner, smiles in a manner closer to a grimace, and says, "Please don't mind the mess." He pulls the top drawer open and a mess is indeed what there is. In the drawer is none of the class paperwork neatly piled but a sea of crumpled and torn pieces of paper, notes, maps and pictures and diagrams and although he's clearly tried to hide it, it's obvious that some of these things are plans, aborted or otherwise. Plans for getting home.

He digs around through it all blindly, shoving back anything that tries to escape. A sharpie is drawn out and he hands it to her, the drawer quickly slammed shut.

He warns, "We might need to re-do this at some point. My bones can get pretty dusty. Even my own markings fade a bit so a marker might not hold forever."

When he turns back to her, it's clear that she's seen the contents of that drawer, despite his efforts. There's a small crease to her brow and a contemplative expression on her face, but it vanishes again when he hands the sharpie to her. She takes it in her hand, refocusing on the task she set out to do.

"A marker like this should hold for a while... But I don't mind touching it up as needed." It doesn't take a lot of time, after all. And it's worth it, if it gives them both a little peace of mind.

Her attention turns to him, then; and her eyes look him over appraisingly for a place to sketch this rune. Finally, she motions back to the desk. "Can you sit back against this for a moment? I need you to be very still while I'm drawing this."

That she's seen anything at all, clearly enough to make that face, it has him looking sort of guilty back, eyes darting. But she doesn't comment so neither does he offer anything up.

He bobs his head at her reasoning and even goes to sit upon request. But as she asks for stillness he looks up at her.

"Where are you drawing this? I can make this easier. I know rune patterns need to be... specific. Most of my limbs can come off if they need to."

"Which is why I'm not drawing it on your limbs." There would be little point in drawing it somewhere that he might lose or injure. She's already seen him with a missing arm once. No, this needs to be some place less likely to get damaged or lost.

"Just hold still," she tells him, uncapping the marker and setting it aside. She places her free hand against his shoulder to keep him steady and seated, but the angle is still a little awkward. She tries to crouch down a little, but there's nothing but his rib cage to brace her arm against--and even then, it leaves her leaning awkwardly over him.

Finally, she gives in and takes the easiest approach. The necessity of getting this right is more important than a little momentary embarrassment. With a small but flustered "excuse me", she seats herself on his lap and leans in to rest her arm against his ribs so that she can inscribe the runes on his sternum. Her strokes are small but precise, layering symbols over one another in the exact manner that her brothers showed her. The markings trail halfway down the length of the bone before she draws back to observe her work.

It looks right. They won't be certain until he tries it. She gives a quick glance up at him, as if taking note again of how close they are in that split second. Then she's getting back to her feet and releasing his shoulder, fetching the cap and affixing it back on the marker so she doesn't have to take notice of the momentary flush in her cheeks.

"You should give it a try. Focus on the rune with your magic, and then imagine it being sent towards me."

"Huh?" He says, and just like that, she demanding him still again, gripping his shoulder. His eyes go wide and he stares, feeling breathless but definitely still breathing. It's something he notices only after a moment and a quick glance at his still moving rib cage.

Just as he thinks he's already overwhelmed by the way she's touch him now, she moves in closer and settles upon his legs. If he were flesh, he'd be red. He is dizzy. If it weren't for using his hands to brace himself up, they'd be moving to her hips on instinct and he's grateful he can't do that because that, that would make things so much worse.

When she draws back, his breath at last shudders out. She'll catch him staring at her, eyes still wide but not with fear. She's so close and he's all too aware of her, wanting to pull her close even as he remains frozen. She releases his shoulder but he's still caught by her, at least until she asks he try it out. He blinks and shakes his head, then bobs it. The bones of his fingers lift, tracing and ghosting over the marks she's left. He brings his power to work, eyes closing as his markings light, a light that travel to his fingertips, then his sternum pooling bright in the runes. He imagines it a message to her, a line between them, and pushes away every little unbidden image of her fingers tracing his sternum, of her kiss...

He laughs nervously. "Is this doing anything?"

She can't look at him right now. Her cheeks feel too hot, and she knows there's a visible flush in her face, even as she's trying to will it away. It's hard enough when she knows that he's looking at her in that way he does.

What does finally catch her attention is the chime in her thoughts--the sound of the spell activating, and a faint tugging sensation in his direction. She turns, her eyes drawn to the glowing rune on his chest, as she sets the marker down on his desk.

"I can hear it. It's working." Which means that for better or for worse, he'll always have a way to reach her if he needs it. There really won't be any excuse for getting lost again.

"It's loud enough that it'll wake me if I'm sleeping. But be mindful that there's a range on it. A few miles, at least, so it should cover the campus and most of the city. If you stay within that, I'll be able to find you."

He laughs, a faint breathy noise of relief. It worked. She can't lose him now. With luck, never again. His hand presses to his chest, holding in the light and that feeling with it.

"I won't be going farther than that besides on missions," He promises. Not willingly anyway. But his eyes trail to the desk drawer, all those plans to run. They dart to her and away.

"About... how things went before. In America. It won't happen again. I... was afraid. I'd never gotten that far before. I've been a real jerk to you these past monthes."

He hangs his head a little.

She's quiet at that. She wasn't expecting an apology--and he's not really giving one, in a sense. It's more an explanation than anything else. An acknowledgement--but not one that she's sure is true. Or if it was, then she's been something of a jerk back to him.

"Maybe." It's barely an acknowledgement in return. Not even an agreement.

It's a hard thing to admit to the things on her mind, and so after another moment of quiet contemplation, she turns instead to the desk and pulls it open. The marker is placed back inside, but she doesn't close the drawer again. She slides the papers around, looking over the notes and plans. So many crazy ideas... all to get back to Santa Cecilia.

"You've been at this a while." Her voice comes quieter. "When we first talked, I thought... this was some phase. That seeing me again reminded you of our family, and that going back was some spur of the moment idea." She hadn't realized how many attempts he'd already made, just to get back to them.

That "maybe" could mean any number of things. It keeps his head bowed.

At least until she pulls open that desk drawer. He starts, eyes going wide again and hands going out, but he freezes when it's clear he's too late. Were it with him, his heart would be pounding in his ears. She pushes through it all, his failures, his betrayals against her. The only thing that can make him tear his eyes away is the compulsion to watch her face too. What's she thinking now? Is she angry? Disgusted? Her quiet words don't illuminate. He rubs at his arm.

"It took a while to get out of the Outlands. I've only been back on Earth maybe a year or less. I got a few jobs. Under the table of course." And he still lost them. "Saved up. Tried going by boat... by plane a few times. A private one. Hopped some borders to try things out elsewhere." A whole lot of plans that had gone terribly.

His voice gets quieter. "In the Outlands... or maybe just my kind, you have to hang on to something. It has to be something you really want. I told you I was heading home before I died. It just made sense to hang on to the both of you. Coco's my reason for still being here. I hardly think about anything else but her and you. But... I'm going to try and reign it in. I'll keep my promise."

She frowns at the mention of his promise. He's still so insistent on that. On the one hand, she's glad that he won't be running off in the middle of missions, leaving her to track him down and drag him back. That was painfully difficult the first time, and she doesn't want to relive it.

But on the other hand, he all but admits that their daughter is his reason for being here.

"And yet, you've kept all of this." He might promise that he'll rein it in, but she still knows what drives him. She closes the drawer quietly, careful not to catch any of the paper as she does. And she turns back to him, a softer expression on her face, but a confidence in her voice.

"Let's try this magic of yours again," she tells him as she heads for her seat on the floor again.

He winces.

"I--" His jaw shuts again. Whatever excuse he might have made, it would be a lie. He can't bear to throw his plans away, in truth. Even as he tries not to act on them.

He expects her to be unhappy about that. He's certainly guilty enough. But that's not what he gets.

Confused but more than willing to be obedient and listen, he joins her again on the floor, as they were. He takes several breaths to steady himself, empty ribcage moving like he's still has lungs. That rune is there on display. Once again he tries to draw on that power settled in his soul.

As she sees him prepare to start, Imelda reaches her hands out, gently taking his metacarpals up in hers. There's no amount of embarrassment or fluster or even wariness in her expression this time, only warm determination.

"I want you to focus on me this time. Don't look away. And if you start to think of something unpleasant, think of Coco instead. Imagine what you'll do when you see her again, when she goes to give you the biggest hug..."

Her hands take up his, soft and gentle around his bones, but still grounding. He grips her hands back, phantom heart racing.

In that moment as she speaks, his power lights. Where he usually keeps his eyes closed, now they fix on her, first just out of surprise, but then in following request. His breath picks up, panic growing automatically, fear visible in his eyes. The light of him flickers like a dying bulb.

Think of Coco. Not of the pain, not of teeth and monsters. Think of Coco-- he laughs, if only because it was always the other way around in his mind, him running to her. Wrapping his arms around tight, kissing her face, her head. Big or small, it made no difference if he could just hold his daughter. Their daughter. He opens his eyes to her again, tears in the corners.

Before he even knows it, he's whole. The hands in hers are rough not from being porous bone but from being calloused guitarist fingers. He holds on tight, breath shuddering, flickers still going off under his skin, but slowly, oh so slowly, they ease, until all that's left is the faint tremble of him. A fragile smile forms upon him, turned on her. There's a gratitude in it.

Edited 2019-04-09 12:20 (UTC)

He smiles at her, and she smiles back, forgetting herself in light of their success and the look on his face. For a brief moment, her urge to kiss him is strong. But only for that moment.

Her smile falters as she realizes where her thoughts have gone. It comes back a moment later, but only after her gaze had dropped to their hands. Only after she's forced that feeling back down to somewhere safe and unseen.

"Magic at its core," she starts, looking at his hands and feeling the calluses on those fingers, "is just willpower. If you want something bad enough--if you want it more than you're afraid of it, then you can do almost anything."

She smiles back and his heart soars. The tears spill and trace down his face. He lets them fall in favor of holding her hands. The terror isn't gone. He still feels sick inside. He's hunched with the energy spent to force this. But she's here before him and Coco is here in his heart and that's what matters.

She looks away as she speaks, but his eyes are even more fixed upon her as she does. He feels a little breathless, hearing that. He's sure he's heard something like it before, maybe long ago, probably met with some teasing question of why everyone couldn't just fly. But here and now, it sinks in deep.

"Do... do you think... that's how I woke up? Because I wanted to go home...?"

Edited 2019-04-09 14:59 (UTC)

"Maybe." She doesn't know for sure. It seems like such a far-fetched idea, but... "Anyone is capable of magic. This whole idea that only mage families can do magic is--" She lets go of his hand to make a dismissive gesture off to the side. Her hand comes back to his a moment later.

"But maybe being in the Outlands gave you that spark you needed, and everything since then has been you. Maybe that's why... this doesn't last forever. There has to be something driving you. Something to hope for. Otherwise, the magic fades." And it's like he said before--about his primos that didn't make it.

It doesn't escape her thoughts that by that logic, she almost killed him. Her smile fades again, and this time it doesn't return. "...I should have realized sooner what taking that from you would do." If he hadn't been so set on going against her wishes to see Coco regardless... He might not be here at all.

He wouldn't be put out if it wasn't true. Having greater magic or none was never some signifier of worth for him. The more he riled the mages he'd met back then the more content he was to be without magic. They knew magic, he knew guitar. And with what Imelda says, maybe it really was just that matter of dedication and time.

His own smile slips as she speaks of fading. With the idea only just in his head, the double meaning to it hadn't yet hit. If this is true, they lost hope. His primos, he could've done something, he could've... somehow...

(He knows in his heart there was nothing more he could do. A temporary cheer up was only that.)

She takes it a step further and he shakes himself from that. "Wait, wait, no. You didn't know. I don't know! We're just guessing. And you were looking after Coco besides..." He shakes his head. "I was already breaking apart before I got here. It's not your fault."

Edited 2019-04-23 01:36 (UTC)

"Héctor." She frowns at him, her brow furrowing as she sighs. "You don't need to defend me. I'm not so proud that I can't admit when I... might have made a mistake. Whether I knew it or not, if you had taken my threats to heart, that could have been the end of you."

It's a thought that twists in her stomach to think about, but it only makes her more sure that what they're doing now is right. If his wish is to see Coco again, then... Then they need to keep that goal in reach.

"...We'll get you home. One way or another. Just promise me you won't lose sight of that."

He flinches a little at his name, anticipating some kind of scolding. He wants to defend her. But put like that, he's not sure if he can argue it.

His eyes drop and he considers it, the chance of going to dust right there, leaving Imelda standing shocked. It wouldn't have happened. He'd never give up on Coco. He rose from the dead for their little girl.

But he's not without weakness is he? Not anymore.

"Back there, that- that won't happen again," he tries to promise. "I-I'll take it. If that ever happens again. I won't forget. I won't let it make me forget. Even if it-" His body flickers, a small warning against the memory before he wields Coco's memory against it, eyes squeezing shut as he focuses. Her laugh, her little hands... "-hurts." His magic holds up, if with his body sagging a bit more.

"But I don't want you to blame yourself," He says, like that moment didn't just happen. "It's not your fault I'm like this. Never was, never will be. If anything, you only gave me more time. Coco isn't the only one I wanted to see. "

Coco isn't the only one I wanted to see.

His words catch her by surprise in a way that... maybe they shouldn't. They've talked so much about how much he wants to see Coco, and all the ways she's denied or delayed him. It had never really crossed her mind that she was still in his thoughts for all of that time. That she had been part of his drive to return home.

It picks sharply at a long buried insecurity, an old thought that maybe he hadn't cared enough about her to come home. It touches her one way and embarrasses her in another. When the surprise fades after a moment, she looks away for something else to focus on.

"Well... You won't have to worry as much. With Coco. I'm not standing in your way anymore. We just need to be careful about what we tell her for now. And we need to get all of this under control."

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