unpocoloco | Daybreak IC Inbox

She didn't know how wonderful you are.

The compliment catches her off guard. She looks up and over to Héctor, words failing her. He was always saying things like that, years ago. It was one of the charming things about him--one of the things that she fell hard for. The way he could speak truth from his heart and build her up. The way he was always there when she felt like she was falling.

"I'm not sure how I feel about the ban right now," she admits, looking away again, but not without a flush to her cheeks. "Or myself. It's... I feel like she's still there, like she didn't fall neatly back into place. All of her extra thoughts and feelings are still out of place." Including the ones that she had about herself and about music... and about him.

"Is it the same with you?"

He thinks nothing of it. Even keeping his distance it's not bad if it's true, right? He just offers a small smile and carries on.

He listens. He takes care not to mention that flush. He thinks he understands what she's saying but his mouth presses at her question all the same. How to put it...

"Teto... we don't... feel too different. What I hoped for or was afraid of, it hasn't changed much. Mostly it just kind of makes older disappointments fresh again." Putting it very, very lightly.

"There's a few differences of course, like the fame thing. That was always Ernesto's dream and I just bought it." He breathes deep and smiles down at the ground. "And on the other hand... Coco. I had no idea how much it would mean. How it would feel... the best days of my life, being her Papá." He thinks a little more and says, "I feel less tired, I think. Like I could do more, maybe. I got to play for you. That was nice. I do want to play more thanks to him but I don't know." He shrugs.

Edited 2019-05-17 06:08 (UTC)

She gives a drier look when he mentions Ernesto, but that same look softens as he comes around to Coco again. Their daughter... She had no idea back then how important one little girl could be.

He mentions playing for her just now, and her expression shifts yet again to something a little more troubled.

"Teto said you don't really play anymore. That it... Makes you sad. Is that true?"

Edited 2019-05-17 13:12 (UTC)

His own smile slips. He did say that, didn't he?

"It's... a little more complicated than that. Not as simple as sad, for me." Though immediately he regrets saying that, as it means having to explain.

"But, no, I don't really play anymore. Or at least not as much. I stopped performing a long ago. Played every now and again for people I traveled with or people who were- who didn't have anywhere to go, but some things happened, I stopped wanting to play much at all, and then when the guitar I was using finally broke it was easier to just... not." He shrugs. "I keep being drawn back to it, like a bad habit, I suppose. But eventually, I'll kick it. Or, that was my plan."

Once again, he's less sure now. Especially what with her saying he ought to hang on to the guitar he "borrowed" from this place.

That was his plan... To "kick a bad habit", so he says. She doesn't point out that if he kept coming back to it, he never really wanted to quit it to begin with. But one thing does still bother her, and it's not something that she's going to let slide until she gets a proper answer.

"Some things being... when I found you?" She looks at him more directly, if only to prompt an answer from him that he can't side step. "Am I the reason you stopped wanting to play? Because I was angry with you?"

He falters in place, guts roiling a little at the reminder of that night. His face goes blank a moment, by default, and by the time he recovers he knows it's too late. But he tries to save face.

"No! No," He says, trying to do anything but look at her now. "No, it's not just that. It's a lot of things." His brow furrows, frown deepening as he keeps his gaze to the ground. If his hands were free he'd rub at his arm.

"I went on that tour and I was- I was happy when we played but otherwise I was miserable. I performed for all these strangers I didn't know and stayed in strange hotels and I died for it." There's a sort of breathless disgust with himself that even he can't disguise. "I hung onto music to hang on to Coco or for people who seemed like they needed it. And, okay, when you found me that put a lot in perspective but it wasn't the only thing. I'd never thought it was a choice, but it was and I chose wrong. And then Peter shows me what Ernesto's done since I died and for the first time I really heard the way it all sounded-- how I must have sounded. If Coco had heard that, I couldn't bear it. You had your ban and sometimes I thought maybe that's what I should be doing."

Edited 2019-05-18 06:31 (UTC)

"Well... Ernesto is arrogant and pompous and self-absorbed," she responds briskly and coolly. There's certainly no love lost there. "Always has been. But... You're a different man from that." She's always known that, even from the start. It's one of the reasons she married him, after all.

There's a bit of silence after her words, followed by a small sigh. "And I know that Coco has always hated my ban on music. She'd be upset with you if you followed my lead. And upset with me for... messing us up so badly."

Am I? He thinks, and the only reason he doesn't voice it is simply that she brings up Coco, his sweet Coco, and then tries to put it on herself. His heart aches.

"Imelda, you didn't mess us up. I did. I left. I was selfish. I might not have enjoyed the tour but at the end of the day, I wasn't different at all. That's what I'm saying, he took my songs, made them about him, but he didn't have to change a word. What does that say?"

He shakes his head. "More importantly, our daughter would never think such a thing of you. Our Coco? Even if she was not happy, she would never think of you so poorly. You're her Mamá, Imelda. She loves you. No matter what kind of teenager she becomes I can't imagine that's not true."

There's a note of truth in what he says, but... He didn't have to see the heartbroken way that their daughter looked at her. He didn't have to see those tears and know that she was hurting. Surely he knew that Coco was upset that he left... But knowing it and seeing it feel like two different things.

"I know she does... but I still hurt her. When I realized you weren't coming back, I threw out everything that reminded me of you. I made Coco do the same. She was so upset, but I couldn't bear to watch her waste her life waiting for you." She was so young when he left. A child that young should be playing and making friends, not sitting at the window and waiting for her Papá to come home. It... felt a little like she had lost both of them sometimes.

"I was just trying to do what was best for her... But she was right. This whole time. I forced that pain on her for no reason at all. And I did the same to you, pushing you away like I did."

His defense of Imelda gets more and more difficult to hold up. Thinking of Coco hurt like that. It's all just things, just stuff that was thrown away, things he hasn't had in ten years and doesn't miss at all like he does his girls. But thinking of Coco in all that... He's not so quick to respond this time. The weight of gravity feels heavier and his cane drags as he walks.

His little girl. His dancing girl. Did she still dance? He guesses not.

"...You didn't know," He says quietly. "You couldn't have known. And I wouldn't want her life wasted either. It's like you said. You did what you thought was best. And as for me, I'm not angry." Hurt, a lot of other things, but there was never a moment beside the initial event in which he didn't understand.

"I'm going to apologize to her when I see her again. I'll hug her so tight. And if she wants a song, if you're allowing it, I'll give her a million. But I'll tell her you meant to protect her. And if I still know my little girl, she'll believe me." He doesn't doubt it though. Not for a moment. "If the music makes you unhappy, you don't need to force yourself. I can give her that and still let you have your peace. The past is done, but we have the future. We can do anything, Imelda, whatever would make it right. Even... run away together as a family." The joke comes with a soft laugh. "You, me, Coco... your hermanos."

He defends her, even when she feels she has no defense. She gives him at same long look that she always does when he starts down that path. Sometimes, she wishes that he would just be angry with her over something. It might be easier to stomach this if he could hold her accountable for anything--if he didn't always give her the easy way out. Maybe she wouldn't have to hold so firmly onto that blame herself. She wouldn't have to feel guilty for wanting to just let his excuses for her be the truth.

But he keeps going, and she doesn't stop him. She probably should, but soon he's talking about running away together, and the reference to their silly idea does make her smile despite herself.

With a little reluctance, she plays along. "If we're bringing all five of us, then what are we running away from? Why not just stay in Santa Cecilia?"

He coaxes a smile out and his own grows wider.

"Responsibilities," He says easily. "We can run away to the yard, put up a tent and camp there. No schools, no work, no mage business. The five of us together and not a care in the world. Except for pillow fights. We'll do all our favorite things together. Tell a million stories."

It sounds idealistic. It is. But he doesn't think that should stop them.

"But my point is, if you're sorry, that's all you've got to tell her. You do whatever you feel you need to, whatever you can, and whether it makes up or not isn't really the point. But I'm sure, she'll forgive you, if she hasn't already." So maybe, just maybe, she can forgive herself.

She exhales a small laugh, if only for his silliness. A tent in the yard. Pillow fights and telling stories, and no school or work or mage business. No Nightfall to worry about. Just the five of them--just their family. That sounds... really good to her right now.

He brings her back down just as gently, coming back to the more pressing topic at hand. She knows that her daughter will forgive her. She's every bit as kind and gentle as her Papá, but admitting that she was wrong all those years ago... That's a tall order for her. An even taller order is forgiving herself.

"I know... She's a kind, sweet girl--like someone else I know." She gives Héctor a side glance, but doesn't elaborate there. "I was thinking, though... Do you have time later this evening? Around eleven?"

With that small laugh, he dares to just briefly lean her way, maybe let their arms brush if only for a moment. He really does wish they could do just that. That it could just be there family, even for a little while.

He smiles to think of Coco, his Coco. But he lifts a brow at Imelda's sideglance, as though he doesn't know who she could mean. She leaves him in the dark.

"Eleven? Not that I can recall. Wasn't setting up too many things with Teto running around. What's on your mind?"

She feels that brush against her arm, and it holds that smile in place for a moment. That lift of his brow only pulls it more firmly onto her lips. He doesn't seem to know who she means, but she doesn't intend to enlighten him. Maybe someday.

"Well... When it's eleven o'clock here, it's four in the afternoon in Santa Cecilia. Coco would just be getting home from school, and that's usually when she calls." She slows her pace, one hand lifting to touch against his elbow--to steady him if he needs it for what she's about to say.

"I was thinking that we should tell her that you're here. Tonight. If you're ready for that."

His breath pulls sharp, a wide eyed look to him almost as though something's run him through. He jerks to a stop.

His eyes lift to stare at her, and more than any other time, even as a screaming monster, it's written on his face and in his eyes how desperately he wants. And for so long. But he doesn't quite manage to speak.

When he tries, what comes instead is a shuddery breath, not close enought to a laugh to be called that. His mouth presses and he blinks, trying to control himself.

The moment he does manage to find his voice, it comes out a croak. "Tonight? I- S-si. I... we? You want me... to be there?"

It rocks him like she expects it to. She doesn't realize that her own breath his held as she waits for his reaction. She just keeps her hand against his elbow, a small connection between them. A lifeline, if either of them should need it.

She nods to his question, just a small movement of her head. An exhale. "She'll want to talk to you." She's certain of that. "If it's too soon, I can wait. Or tell her some other evening, but that would only work for so long..."

He needs it. He needs that lifeline, always has, especially now.

He feels dizzy, though there's no reason he should, breathless despite lacking the need for it. Every word she speaks feels like a new imprint on his heart. She'll want to talk to you.

"I want to talk to her," He hears himself say, choked by the want. "I want to talk to my little girl."

Nothing could be too soon. He wishes it were sooner.

"Alright." The word is spoken softly between them, her expression softening just a little more at how choked up he is. With her free hand, she reaches out to take the books and papers from his hand before he drops them. In their place, she moves the hand at his elbow to clasp around his now empty hand.

"Tonight, then. When she calls, I'll explain the situation to her. That you've been sick, and they're treating you here. If she asks to visit, then we tell her not right now. Phone calls, texting--Those are fine. If you get those video calls to work... Those are okay, too. Just be very careful about what you show her."

He doesn't try to hang on to the books when she reaches for them. Though he's just as sure he can manage now as before, her hand in his is a solace. He grips it tight.

"Thank you," He says, struggling not to cry. "Thank you, Imelda, thank you." He has to take a minute, maybe two, as he tries to collect himself.

"I'll be careful," He promises. "I won't let her see anything. No magic, or going too late." Just talking to his little girl. Just asking about her, hearing her voice.

She smiles a little at his promises and the emotion in his expression and his voice. It brings a tender look to her own face, one that she doesn't seem to notice.

"You're welcome," she says quietly, though it feels strange on her tongue. She was the one keeper them apart, after all. She's not so sure that she deserves his thanks simply for relenting. But he's happy enough in this moment that she doesn't point that out.

"I'll write the number down for you when we get back, and we can give her your number tonight. And... please don't tell her about everything that's happened here. With you, and with us. I just don't want her to worry."

She's not just relenting. She's providing a connection he simply didn't have, that would have taken him who knows how long to get. There's a softer look on her face but he's still just trying not to cry.

He shakes his head. "No, no. I don't want to tell her all that. I just want to know about her. I want to hear it all from her. Everything." Every little thing he's missed. He ducks his head but it doesn't help. Those tears leak free. He laughs helplessly without the means to wipe them away.

"Discúlpame. I've just... it's been so long. I've missed her so much. I didn't think... I'd *hoped* maybe by next year..." It's not holding her or seeing her face but it's still so much more. And by doing it like this she's still safe. His throat is painfully tight.

When he finally manages to speak again, albeit in a croak, he asks, "Should I keep the Outlands from her? I don't know how else to explain why I didn't call. Except maybe a coma."

"The Outlands is fine. She knows about that. We don't need to make up more stories to cover what's... honestly already plausible." Getting lost in the Outlands would be a pretty harrowing experience--especially for someone unfamiliar with magic as he is... Was.

"You were lost in the Outlands for a very long time, and it made you sick. That's why you're here. To make you better." She lets go of his hand, reaching up to his face to brush some of those tears away.

"You're going to be a mess, aren't you?" She can hardly blame him, especially after the mess she was in his room not fifteen minutes ago. But that won't stop her from teasing with a small smirk on her lips, softened only by the look of fondness in her eyes.

He smiles and sniffs, a breathy laugh escaping him as she teases. He lets her tend, leaning just a little into her hand.

"I already am a mess," He answers softly. "I'm going to be a disaster. And everyone still in that banquet hall is going to think you teased me to tears or shoved some chopped onions in my face." He tuts, but then quickly laughs again.

"You should've told me later. I'm not going to be able to think of anything else." Under the half-joke, there's some genuine apology. What terrible company he's about to make.

Edited 2019-07-10 04:40 (UTC)

He leans into her hand, and for a moment she leaves it there, cupping the side of his face while her thumb brushes over his cheek. And then she withdraws it again.

"Mmm. I didn't want you making plans. I'd feel bad for you when you had to break them." Because she knows by now that he'd drop almost anything for a chance to talk with their daughter. "Besides, if I told you later, would you have panicked? Just think of this as time to figure out what to say."

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unpocoloco - 2019-07-11 12:23 (UTC) - Expand