#I hope you weren't hoping for Hector seriously hurting himself

[slusheeduck]

Scenario that's been bugging me: Hector actually getting into an accident on the road. Not a serious one, mostly scrapes, but his wrist/arm is in a cast for a while.

Imelda was used to Rivera coming in late. It’d happened almost every day since he’d been hired, and was no surprise by the end of the year. (If he were any less good at his job, he would have been fired ages ago because of it.) What she wasn’t used to was him having an audience when he arrived.

She’d been doing her morning rounds when she found four of the other teachers greeting him as he arrived. She frowned as she heard the snippets of conversation.

“Does it hurt too badly?”

“Not now, no.  Ay, when it happened, though…”

“I saw your friend’s post! What a way to spend a weekend…”

“He posted about it? Que pesado, he’s just bitter that we have to cancel our next few performances…”

Imelda huffed as she stepped forward. “I’m fairly certain you all have classes you should be…” She trailed off as she caught sight of Rivera, eyes immediately latching onto the sling hanging from his neck, a white cast just peeking out from beneath it. She couldn’t break her gaze, even as he shifted.

“Ah! Lo siento, Directora, my friend drove me today and he–”

“Your arm.”

“What?”

“What did you do to your arm?” she asked quickly, finally looking up to his face as she set a hand on her hip. He glanced down at the cast, as if seeing it for the first time. His eyes flicked up to her, then back down to his arm, then back to her as he straightened and gave her a hesitant smile.

“A motorcycle accident, if you can believe it.”

“What?”

“Mm-hm. A car cut me off and I swerved too hard to avoid it. Flipped right over the handlebars into a busy street. Nearly got hit by another car, too.” Imelda gasped before she could stop herself, and he looked up at her again before shrugging. “Could’ve been a lot worse, though. I’m lucky.”

Imelda swallowed. “You…you certainly are.” How awful. To think that Hec–Rivera could have died…She shook her head and straightened up. “I’ll let this tardy slide. But please go to your classroom, Senor Rivera.”

“Of course, Directora.” He gave her one of his stupidly-wide grins before making his way down the hall. She shook her head. He was still late, still a mess, still going to give her a headache by the end of the day…

But imagine if he was gone.

~

The thought gnawed at her all day. She managed to keep herself contained, of course, because she had a job to do and aimed to do it well. But the ten minute drive back home gave her ten minutes too many to think about Rivera being hurt. She’d never thought it possible. 

And, more importantly, what about that beautiful motorcycle of his? Was it completely wrecked? She’d looked at it longingly every day; the thought of it being gone was just as devastating. She drove around the complex once she got in the gate, looking anxiously at the row of motorbikes that sat outside. She let out a long sigh of relief as she saws his, in all its purple and green glory, sitting in its place. It looked…surprisingly all right–but then, Hector Rivera had said that he’d just swerved and been thrown off. So it was entirely possible the bike just had a few scratches.

Mind at ease, she parked and made her way up to the fifth floor. The bike was fine, Rivera was fine–things at work could progress as usual. So now she could just curl up with Pepita and…

As she reached the fifth floor, she glanced at the door down the hall. 

No, things were fine.

But…

Well, what if he needed help? His useless roommate wouldn’t help him, and he could miss work if anything too terrible happened. 

This is purely for business, she rationalized as she strode up to his door and knocked. She waited for a moment, then stood up straight as the door opened. “Senor Rivera, I–oh.” Her face fell as she was instead greeted by said useless roommate. What was his name again? Armando, Emilio…?

It didn’t matter, she decided as he put on a smile he clearly thought was very charming. He leaned in the doorway.

“I see our neighbor’s dropped by for a visit. You must be here for Hector.” He gave her a wink; she rolled her eyes. 

“I’m here on business. I just wanted to make sure that Senor Rivera’s doing all right after his accident, and…”

“Accident? What accident?”

The roommate blinked. Imelda blinked back, then set her hands on her hips. 

“The motorcycle accident. He said…” She was cut off as he broke into a loud laugh, slapping a hand against the doorway.

“He said it was an accident?! Dios mio, that’s hilarious!”

“What are you…”

“I mean, I guess it’s not wrong. But what really happened is–”

“IMELDA!!” As if he appeared out of thin air, Rivera shoved his way in front of his roommate, a big, forced smile on his face. “What a wonderful surprise! You know, Ernesto was just going and it’s just as well you’re here because I really want to discuss next year’s–”

Ernesto pushed Rivera aside, a smug smile on his face. “What really happened,’ he said over Rivera’s protests, “was that he tripped over his kickstand and fell on his wrist.”

“Ernesto!”

 “He hadn’t even gotten on the bike yet!!” Ernesto let out another loud laugh, shaking his head as he wiped away a tear. “Ay, he didn’t say a word during the whole drive to the hospital. He was just…”

“Okay, gracias, amigo, let me talk to my boss alone.” With no small amount of effort, Rivera forced his way out and slammed the door shut behind him. Imelda stared at him, unable to even begin processing what had just happened.

“So…so, ah, when I said I flipped over my handlebars into traffic? That…was a lie, and I apologize for doing that! But…” He froze as Imelda held up one finger.

“Why on earth would you make up such an outlandish story for such a stupid injury?” she asked sharply, setting her jaw as she looked up at him. The nerve he had, making her worry about his well-being. Her glare seemed to be working, given the way he drew his shoulders in before shrugging.

“Well…I didn’t want you to think I was…”

“A disaster?”

Rivera winced, but nodded. He looked up at her with wide eyes. “But…look, I know this is a tall order, but please don’t tell anyone what really happened, Directora. I-I don’t think I could live down the entire school laughing at me for the rest of the year.”

Imelda rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms, debating. She glanced up at him, biting her lip as he looked at her with big, pleading brown eyes. Finally she threw up her hands.

“Fine. But you’d better be on time for the rest of the year. Claro?”

“Si, claro!” He practically collapsed against the door, giving her another one of those stupidly wide grins. “Imelda, I swear, you are an absolute saint. Really, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a goddess made flesh. You–”

“Basta.” Imelda rolled her eyes, then pointed hard at him. “Remember our deal, okay? I’ll see you, bright and early, tomorrow.”

“Of course, Directora!”

Imelda nodded, then turned on her heel and walked back to her own apartment. She stopped, just for a moment, and glanced over her shoulder to look back at Rivera. He was still leaning against the door, with a stupid look on his face to match the stupid cast on his arm. She darted inside before she could think too much about why she wanted to see that look more often.

~

Since there was only three weeks left in the school year, Rivera managed to keep his promise. And, because of that, Imelda did, too. She played along with his game when the other teachers asked about his arm, and she overheard several students talking about the “crazy motorcycle crash’ Profe Hector had managed to get out of with just a broken arm. 

But…just because she didn’t say anything about his “accident” didn’t mean she couldn’t give him a hard time, though. 

“Ah, Senor Rivera,” she said as she poked her head into his classroom and eyed the cast (now covered in student signatures). “I see you’ve still got that cast on. You must have really done a number on that arm with your motorcycle accident.”

As he looked up, he put on the stiffest smile she’d ever seen from him. “It’s healing just fine, Directora. Thank you for your concern.”

“Of course. I just hate knowing that one of my employees was in such a serious crash.”

It was a good thing she was a professional. If she weren’t, there’d be no way to hold back her laugh as she heard the conversation from the classroom as she walked away.

“Profe Hector, why are you lying on the floor?”

“Is it because of your motorcycle accident?!”

“Yes.”