#I made this when chapter 119 came out and completely forgot

[dog-violet]

and that’s why verlaine got tossed into the basement

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 119

SYNOPSIS: Dr Foster is with Claire when Murtagh Fitzgibbons arrives at Med Lab to see her and ask about Jamie. The doctor is pleased with their progress and when Murtagh asks to see Jamie he follows the physician on his rounds. However, Jamie’s only thoughts are of his brave Sassenach.

Chapter 118 and all other chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

THANK YOU for reading Covert Operations and continuing on this journey with Jamie and Claire and bravo to Fergus for thinking on his feet.

CHAPTER 119

As Murtagh Fitzgibbons entered Med Lab, a voice behind him stopped him in his tracks. He recognised the sultry voice immediately and turned around to face the smiling face of his paramour Bóinne Rivière. "Hey, Murtagh. I was wondering when you would turn up here again.”  The sight of his lady love was a feast for sore eyes. He suddenly felt a whole lot better and gave her one of his quirky smiles. "Hi yourself."  In return she gave him a candid smile that made her eyes sparkle. "Are you here to see Claire?"  "Yes."  "She's doing quite well actually." The nurse’s eyes gleamed with pleasure as she saw the relief that crossed his face. "It must have been difficult for you to wait out the twenty-four hours … I'm surprised you didn’t sneak back and check up on her again sooner than this."  Murtagh tried to keep his face deadpan. "I've been a bit busy. Things have been chaotic in Comm., that’s why I decided to come here for some peace and quiet."  Bóinne smiled to herself as though his answer had amused her. With tongue in cheek she looked back up at him and replied just as poker-faced, "Of course you did."  “So? Is it okay to visit?” “Wait here, I’ll check with her physician Dr Foster. He’s doing his final rounds at the moment,” she answered. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere real soon. I’ll be right here when you come back.” He replied giving her a wink as she walked away to check with the doctor. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Jeremy Foster stood at the foot of Claire’s Beauchamp’s bed reading her prognosis chart before completing his final rounds for the evening. He was very pleased with her healing prospects despite the atrocities of her incarceration at the hands of the Rising Dragons. He’d dealt with other operatives in the past who had returned from missions in a similar condition as Claire Beauchamp, and they had managed to recuperate fully. He had faith that she too would do the same. If Operations and Madeline put in place the recommendations he’d suggested, then both she and Jamie would heal quicker and be ready to return to the mission sooner rather than later.  He signed Claire’s medication requisites for the next day, then glanced up from the report and looked at the patient. Even though she slept he saw that she was somewhat agitated as she began to thrash about in her bed. Dr Foster quickly replaced the chart and walked closer to her side and with a gentle touch held Claire’s shoulder. With his other hand he gripped her wrist and monitored her pulse rate registering that it had escalated a little. Leaning down he spoke to her in a soothing manner.

“Claire … are you okay?” Somewhere in her subconsciousness she heard her name. She stirred.  Once again, he spoke softly to her not wanting to alarm her if she opened her eyes quickly. “Claire … it’s Dr Foster,” he said soothingly. The person’s quiet demeanour was non alarmist and her jerky movements abated a little at his tone of voice. Blinking once, then twice, Claire slowly opened her eyes to see a person wearing a stark white coat. However, the harsh white lights of the infirmary made her squint even more as she tried to focus on the person standing by her bed. Compounding her disorientation, the incessant high-pitched beeping noises of the monitors exacerbated in her head and in the quietness of the room. Still half-asleep, Claire Beauchamp stared at him in confusion until becoming more lucid. Recognizing who it really was, she nodded and reached out her hand.  Helping her to sit up more comfortably in bed and checking the heart rate monitor at her bedside the doctor asked, “Are you in pain?” “No … I’m fine. Just a little restless … that’s all.” The physician looked at her with an assuring smile on his face. “Yes … your pulse is a little fast but otherwise you are doing very well considering what you’ve been through.” Claire looked down at her hand, “I hope I didn’t dislodge anything I shouldn’t have.” “No … no damage done,” he smiled reassuringly. “Your IV line will be removed in the morning anyway.” Closing her eyes she unconsciously bit her bottom lip. “Dr Foster…?”  The doctor mistook the meaning behind her utterance of his name for another bout of pain. He watched her closely then tried to allay her uneasiness. “You experienced terrible things on this Mission, but physically you're doing fine Claire. It won’t be long before you are back on the road to recovery, but mentally it may take a little while longer I’m afraid. That’s why I’ve suggested that you have some well-earned downtime when you are discharged.” Claire looked at him intently, nodded then closed her eyes again. Although his words were encouraging her thoughts were conflicted. She knew the sooner she got out of here the better but there was one major stumbling block to Dr. Foster’s suggestion … her superiors, Operations and Madeline. Thinking that his patient had begun to doze off he asked, “Will you be okay? I have to check on Jamie.” Suddenly Claire reached out with urgency and gripped his hand tightly. She didn’t need to say another word for he knew exactly what she was thinking. Dr Foster nonchalantly moved his body to shield her face from the surveillance camera. He then looked back at Claire and smiled reassuringly.

“Don't worry. Jamie’s doing much better than we thought. He’s being transfused at the moment. Hopefully in another twenty-four hours he will have passed the worst of it.” Her gaze was fixed on his face as he uttered every word as Claire’s eyes registered her inner feelings. She was extremely relieved to hear that. Sinking back deeper into the pillows she let her thoughts transcend to her mentor, partner and the love of her life in the next room.  “Try and see if you can get back to sleep, hmm? Things will be better in the light of day. Trust me.”  Although she heard the physician’s voice, Claire wasn’t really listening to what he had to say, instead she asked, “When will I be able to see him?” Jeremy Foster leaned down close to her face before replying. “Soon. Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.” Then switching the lights back to their usual dim night setting he made his way out of her room. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Pacing back and forth like an expectant father Murtagh Fitzgibbons turned when he heard muted footsteps echo in the Med Lab. On seeing the doctor leave Claire’s room, he forgot his promise to Bóinne Rivière and rushed over towards him before she could speak with him about his request. “Hey Doc!” He called out stopping in his tracks, “I’m sure glad you’re still here.” “Murtagh,” he acknowledged turning around at the sound of his voice. ‘What are you doing here?” “I came to see Jamie and Claire. Is that okay?” “No … not really. Both patients need their rest and you will only tire them out I’m afraid.” “But Doc?” he protested, “I need to know if Jamie is out of the woods and how is Claire? You said to come back in twenty-four hours and it is well past that. So, what about it? Hey? Give a man a break.”  He looked at the pleading face of the man who had miraculously saved both of Section’s top operatives, and relented. “Okay … you can see Jamie with me, but Claire has just gone back to sleep.” “Thanks Doc … I owe you one … Big time!” “Just make it quick … okay.” “Okay … I’ll be in and out like Flynn. Trust me,” he replied hoping that the doctor would appreciate this little bit of humour. Jeremy Foster noticed the slightly raised eyebrow of the wizened operative’s reply and smiled. Although he knew  Fitzgibbons was keen to see how both his friends were, he wanted his patients to get as much uninterrupted rest as possible for what may lay ahead for them. Unnecessary or prolonged visits would not aid in their recuperation and they had to also deal with Section’s recalcitrant leaders at some point. The road ahead would be tough and while he could lessen the impact a little while they were in Med Lab he would do so.  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ As they made their way over to Jamie’s room, Dr Foster reiterated, “Very well, follow me but remember you can only stay a few moments.” “Sure thing Doc.”  Murtagh held his tongue as they walked along, but he was biting at the bit to ask him if Jamie was going to be okay and that if his blood supplies were adequate to see him through.

Considering all the trouble that he and Fergus had gone to and the chaos that had ensued in Section because of their escapades with the phantom breach, he wondered if his and his buddy’s little adventure had really all been for naught. He hoped that there may be a positive from all that had transpired despite what had happened during the course of the day. If only one thing had come from their adventure it was that he and Fergus had solidified their friendship even if Fergus wasn’t too cognizant of that point at this moment. In time they would look back at what they’d done with a sense of pride that they were able to outwit TPTB … well so far anyway. 

Also, the information they’d found of Jamie’s relationship with the Mackenzie brothers was also very enlightening.  It explained a lot … Operations antagonism towards his Level 5 operative and his partner Claire as well as Colum’s unannounced visits to Section One. Obviously, there was something deep going on between the brothers and it certainly involved James Fraser one way or another.  Jamie was most certainly unaware of the connection but why was it being hidden from him?  It was certainly a mystery wrapped up in a conundrum that hopefully would be solved before too long.  

Trying to wrap his head around all these thoughts was nigh impossible at the moment so Murtagh concentrated on the here and now with Dr Foster.

“We didn’t hear from you in the last 24 hours … so does that mean Jamie is doing much better Doc?” “Decidedly so,” he replied looking over at Murtagh understanding the hidden meaning in his question. Dr Foster happened to notice an unusual expression crisscross the older operative’s face. He nearly missed it but Murtagh wasn’t fast enough to compose himself. He raised a slight eyebrow before asking quietly, “You didn’t do anything stupid … did you?” If only the Doc could read his mind. Classified Intel was hard to access but they had given it their best shot and, in the end, they had unwittingly discovered much more than they had bargained for and that in itself was a major coup in his mind. Their experience had also given him an adrenalin rush like the one being in the field … a feeling that was oh, so good. 

Murtagh  looked at Dr Foster and answered rather sheepishly. “No … No … Of course not. I was just asking out of curiosity.”  They soon reached ICU and entered. “Hmm?” he mumbled under his breath not quite convinced with his answer but he dismissed his misgivings anyway and replied. “Good. I wouldn’t want to see you put into abeyance for disobedience Fitzgibbons.” “Neither would I Doc. Neither would I.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dr Foster entered ICU and approached James Fraser’s bed as Murtagh trailed in behind him. Taking his file from the base of the bed he quickly read the nursing staff’s notes to check on the patient’s progress over the last few hours. Closing the file, he then looked up at the patient. Jamie was breathing soundly and all his vital signs were back to normal. He was also pleased to see that colour had finally returned to his face since having the blood transfusions. Due to his conditioning and fitness what had appeared to be a crisis in the happening had been avoided. It was evident that his patient was surely on the road to recovery and had turned a corner despite the critical trauma he had faced when he’d first come into Med Lab. The physician was confident that both Claire and Jamie would bounce back from their wounds and be ready for any future assignments Madeline and Operations had in store for them with the Rising Dragons’ mission. 

It had been well over 24 hours since Murtagh had seen Jamie and although he was shocked to see the IV drip and monitors surrounding him, he hoped that the worst was finally behind him. His eyes scanned all the equipment and monitors that the Level 5 operative was hooked up to, and as Dr Foster checked his vitals, Murtagh watched the persistent beats of the heart rate monitor at his bedside as it beeped. He also watched the liquid in Jamie’s intravenous drip make its way into his body giving him the nourishment to get better.

Darting his eyes from Dr Foster to Jamie then back to the doctor he tried to gauge his body language. “Is Jamie going to be okay Doc?” The physician looked at him with a wry smile that spoke volumes … it was obvious that James Fraser was going to pull through and there would be no need for additional units of blood.

“He’s stabilized and that’s a good sign.” He was thankful for that Intel even if he and Fergus had risked life and limb to ascertain what Madeline and Operations had had classified about their number one operative. He was a glass half full guy and thus could take a positive out of a negative from their situation. If nothing else living on the edge made each situation a challenge but also a necessity to survive here in Section One. Knowing that at any time you could be killed or put into abeyance meant that you lived what life you had in this hell hole to the fullest … and he and Fergus had certainly done that. What they’d done was dangerous but it was also exciting and exhilarating … it made you feel alive and that was vital to survival in Section. The patient was asleep and Murtagh didn’t want to disturb him unnecessarily by overstaying his visit. He looked back at Dr Foster asking in a hushed tone, “Will he recover fully?” “I don't see why not. He is still in good shape and has the strength to come out of this very well considering that he has been put through the wringer.” “Will there be any complications?” “As long as no infection occurs to his wound, he should be back to normal and as fit as a Mallee bull before we know it.”  “How long will that be do you think?” "It's hard to say ... perhaps a week maybe more depending on how fast he heals. I’ve suggested both he and Claire have some recuperation time away from Section. This will help immensely.”  "That’s good to know. I hope Madeline and Ops think so too." “Yes … that could be a stumbling block, but I’m working on it.” “Yeah … well good luck with that,” Murtagh replied knowing that an immovable object or possibly two, may have just been placed in the way of Jamie and Claire’s recovery. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ As they were quietly talking Murtagh turned his head when he heard Jamie take a deep breath. He was still a bit groggy, but nevertheless he looked around him until his gaze finally settled on the two men standing next to his bed. Jamie tried to sit up, then stopped, wincing in pain.  “Mmmm.” “Hey … How are you feeling?” Jamie knew that voice of concern and taking a deep breath moved his head so that he could look at Murtagh. “Like I've been shot.”  “Yeah. You were shot on the retrieval Mission ... in Hong Kong,”

“Hong Kong?” He was a little disorientated and closing his eyes Jamie rubbed his forehead, trying to remember what happened next.  A little alarmed at Jamie’s lack of recollection about the mission at the monastery and by his rhetorical answer and gestures, he asked, “Do you remember?”  Jamie’s eyes were closed as he spoke. “Aye … we were trapped in the monastery ... you rescued us ...” then without finishing his sentence he suddenly sighed darting his eyes to Murtagh then to the doctor. “Where's Operations? I need to debrief.”  “They’ve seen you already Jamie.” “Do they ken?” As he listened his face showed no expression.  “Yes, they know … I’m sure your mission debrief can wait.” The report was really secondary to what he actually wanted to know … but protocol required him to think of his obligations to Section first but it was not his primary concern. With the one pressing question hovering on his lips, James Fraser turned his head towards Dr Foster and asked solemnly, “How is Claire?” His patient was agitated and that was not good so he checked Jamie carefully for any relapse in his vital signs.  Dr Foster hoped that his next answer would appease some of his concern. “She’s doing very well,” he replied.

“Thank ye.” He spoke softly as if the words he’d just heard were a cool balm that had almost instantaneously made him feel better.  Jamie closed his eyes briefly and opening them he stared up at the ceiling before uttering in a voice cracking with emotion, “Can I see her?” “Not yet ... but soon.” “Soon? How soon?”  “I’m sure it will only be a day or two Jamie, and then you'll be able to see her.” Murtagh chipped in. “You need to build up your strength. You have to rest.”  “I’m fine.” Jeremy Foster had experienced James Fraser’s stoicism on other occasions when he’d been in Med Lab and he expected nothing less from the Level 5 operative. On the rare occasions that he’d been sent to medical, this man had often said he was “fine” even when he’d been bleeding all over the floor, but this time he was not well enough … just yet … to be going anywhere until his IV unit was out. The physician understood his frustration at being confined to a hospital bed but unfortunately there was little he could do about it. James Fraser was here and that was that.  “I’m sure you are fine Jamie … but … we need to look after you first. Press the buzzer if you need anything. And try to do what Murtagh suggests … get some rest, hmmm?"  “That’s right,” the munition’s expert reiterated like a concerned father. “O-kay.”

They heard Jamie’s softly spoken slurred reply as the two men turned and quietly left his room so that he could sleep. Although he was not yet able to visit his Sassenach his thoughts were anything but far away from the woman he loved. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Rest? How could he possibly rest knowing that his beautiful Claire was so close and he was unable to see her? He detested being in Med Lab and would rather discharge himself than be here one day longer than necessary. He moved in bed trying to get comfortable but comfort eluded him. The level of pain in his chest was almost bearable … if he didn’t move … but the pain of not being able to see his Claire was more unbearable. He was uncertain if he could wait another hour before being able to see for himself that she was okay. The worst thing was the not knowing what was going on outside these walls but particularly in her room. He’d been in here for over 24 hours but he had to rely on others for Intel on her progress. How much longer would he have the IV drip in for? Hopefully he would be recovered enough to have it removed tomorrow … then he would see her. He had to believe that his Sassenach was okay. He couldn’t bear to think of any other alternative. He’d lost count of how many times he’d repeated the same mantra over and over in his head, “I can bear pain myself, but I couldna bear yours. That would take more strength than I have.” He couldn’t stand the thought of seeing Claire in any kind of discomfort and he needed to know that she was now okay. Lying here in bed with his brave Sassenach within reach but also too far away was killing him. Murtagh and Dr Foster wouldn’t dare lie to him that’s for sure, so it must be true that everything was okay... that she was okay, but until he saw her with his own eyes, he was not convinced.  Pushing himself up into a better sitting position, Jamie grimaced as his wound started to throb unmercifully. He grimaced in anguish but gritted his teeth until the pain dissipated. He had a high threshold for pain and he wasn’t going to let a bullet wound be a setback. The surgeons had done a mammoth job of piecing him back together and because of his innate determination to fight affliction, he willed himself to be better. Jamie didn’t care about his pain. That was of no consequence … what he did care about was the hurt that his courageous Sassenach had suffered at the hands of the Rising Dragons. What motivated his recovery even more was the thought of the pain that he would inflict on the people who had hurt her. Only then would he be satisfied and then Claire would also be able to move on from the consequences of this mission.

Staring vacantly at the IV line poking out of the back of his left hand, Jamie’s thoughts turned to what would happen when they left Med Lab. 

There was no way known that he or Claire would be able to resume the Rising Dragons’ mission before they were fully recovered. So, he was totally resolute that come what may, the two of them would be out of here and away from the prying eyes of Section One and their superiors to recuperate.  Consumed by these thoughts of his love, James Fraser soon succumbed to the lure of sleep.  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued Tuesday 12th May

[shreddedleopard]

Decided to post AQR on AO3 too ...

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan, 進撃の巨人 | Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan (Movies) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Levi Characters: Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss, Levi, Eren Yeager, Hange Zoë, Mikasa Ackerman, Connie Springer, Jean Kirstein, Sasha Blouse Additional Tags: RivaHisu, Canon Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Feels, Post-Time Skip, Reiss-Ackerman Bond, Ackerman Bond, Royal Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss, Pregnancy, Secret Relationship Summary:

When Historia realises she must become pregnant to delay the plans of the Paradis Government, she is left with the impossible choice of selecting the father of her future child. There are many possible candidates, however Historia knows that there is only one set of genes which will give her child the very best chances of survival. The only problem is, will he consent to it?

Notes:

Important information for you to be aware of before you begin:

+This is a Levihisu fic - despite this, I would invite all shippers to read - I didn't realise I shipped them until I wrote this, either!

+This work was originally posted and is updated on Fanfiction.net, where it is currently at Arc 4. The version posted here is a re-edited, tidied up version.

+I have tried my absolute best to write AQR to run alongside the Manga; there are elements that I've tweaked from canon (timescales, for example) but right now, as of Chapter 119, I don't think there are any plot points which could be seen as diverging hugely from the realms of canon possibility (don't get me wrong, the events of the story are highly, HIGHLY unlikely to be anything like Yam's reveals to us in the Manga, but what I'm saying is they technically COULD be possible.)

+Following on from the above, this story WILL contain manga spoilers right up to the latest chapters - I highly recommend you don't read this unless you're familiar with these, one so that you're not spoiled, and two so that it makes a bit more sense!

ARC 1: REQUEST

ARC 2: FULFILLMENT

ARC 3: THE FORGE

ARC 4: DELIVERANCE

ARC 1: REQUEST

'An act of asking politely, formally or officially for something.'

CHAPTER 1: A Visitor at the Orphanage

Levi pulled his hood tighter around his sullen features and swept quietly along the path to the old farmhouse. There was a faint light drifting through the window, but the usual chatter of young, excitable voices was absent in the late evening air.

He reached the door and gave two swift knocks, before glancing behind him. He was alone still; good.

A moment later, the door cracked ajar, and one pale blue iris met his pale grey through the gap.

"Oh, Captain!" Historia pulled the door open the rest of the way to reveal her short figure, clothed in a plain dress more fitting of a lowly maid than royalty. "Hange told me to expect you."

"Good." Levi swept passed her into the hallway without invitation.

Historia closed the door softly and lead Levi through into the large dining area of the farmhouse. She gestured to one of the many worn, wooden chairs set at the table at the centre of the room. Levi sat, finally removing his hood.

"Tea?" Historia asked.

Levi inclined his head. "Are all of the brats asleep now? Or are we likely to be interrupted?" He raised an eyebrow at Historia, who rolled her eyes but smiled good-naturedly despite Levi's curt words. "They're all asleep. We're good. I'll make us a pot." With that, she disappeared into the adjoining kitchen.

Levi gave an inaudible 'tch' at her eye-roll; her confidence around him these days was far from the nervous demeanour of that honey-haired girl he had threatened in the dining room of a farmhouse not too dissimilar to this those four years ago. He was reminded of the playful punch to his arm she had given not so long after becoming Queen, and her daring him to retaliate. She had been right – what could he do about it, really? He may have once been her Captain and she his subordinate, but she was now his Queen. Check mate.

"I'm surprised you don't have people to make tea for you these days, Your Majesty." He made sure the sarcasm in his voice was especially evident. She may be the Queen, but he was still as difficult as he had ever been. Some things would never change.

Historia popped her head around the door frame, tea leaves in hand. "Surely you know me better that that, Captain? After all these years, and all that tea I brewed you when you helped me open this place!" She gave a soft chuckle before returning to her task. "Keep your voice down. What's the nature of this shady late evening visit, anyway?"

It was Levi's turn to roll his eyes this time. "I forgot how much you enjoy playing woman of the people." He paused, waiting for her retort from the other room. When none came, he continued. "We've uncovered information regarding the situation with Zeke, and the plans for your, ah … future."

Historia returned to the table, a tray of tea in her hands and a frown painted across her pretty features. "What sort of information? From who?"

Levi took a cup in his fingers from the tray she set down, avoiding the dainty handle, as was his way. He sipped quietly, before raising his eyes to meet Historia's across the table. "Premier Zackley and The government don't trust Zeke, and particularly this new-found secretive relationship with Eren." Levi sighed. "Honestly, I can't say I blame them completely; he certainly wouldn't be my first choice of ally." He placed the cup down and knitted his fingers together, elbows on the table.

Historia nodded her head and took a sip of her tea. "Go on, Captain."

"They grow very nervous. They dislike the fact that Zeke is a not a pawn in this game they can easily control. They do, however, have options to change this …" Levi glanced at Historia, trying to gauge her reaction, looking for any sign she understood where this conversation was heading.

"They want control over the Beast Titan. I imagine they'd also like to know a bit more about this 'secret plan' of Zeke's," Historia pointed out. She frowned. "The easiest way to achieve this, I think, would be to have a titan under their control consume Zeke, thus inheriting his power and memories …" She glanced back at The Captain, clearly looking for confirmation.

"So you're not just a pretty face then, Your Majesty. You've been paying attention." Levi sat back in his chair, and simply regarded the young woman before him for a moment.

It was now Historia's turn to give a small 'tsk' of annoyance. "Of course. It's my duty, isn't it?" Her eyes blazed fiercely across the table at the Captain. "So where do I fit into this?"

Levi raised his eyebrows at her. "Surely you know that answer?"

Historia hesitated, her dainty blond eyebrows knitted together in consideration. Suddenly, her eyes widened with realisation. "They want to replicate Zeke's circumstances exactly, using someone from Paradis. They need royal blood … My royal blood. Just like Eren said. They ... want me to transform into a Titan, and consume Zeke...?"

Levi nodded. "They've come back to that idea. Except they want to do it sooner, rather than later, so that everything is done to their terms rather than Zeke's. They think if we wait, he could betray us and use this secret plan for his own gains." He watched Historia gaze down into her now empty tea cup.

"I see." A small frown spread across her features. "So what would you have me do, Captain?" She lifted her eyes to his once again.

"I would not 'have' you do anything, Historia." Levi tried to keep his expression unreadable and his face flat. "Gone are the days where I can coerce you into doing what I believe is the right thing, as you once pointed out to me."

Historia gave a small laugh at that. "I think 'coerce' is putting it lightly, when you decided your hands around my throat were the best approach to 'coerce' me into becoming Queen."

Levi dismissed her last comment with a small flick of his hand, feeling the very faintest trace of guilt at his previous, very physical, methods with the girl. "Either way, this is your decision to make as Queen. Except, if you don't wish to become a Titan and consume Zeke, I honestly don't think a simple 'No' would do it. If they have to do it by force, I imagine they'd have no problem, considering the level of threat they believe Zeke to be."

"I don't particularly want to become a Titan Shifter, if I'm honest."

That is probably the understatement of the century, Levi thought, eyeing Historia's apparently calm exterior disbelievingly. He wondered whether she had always suspected this day might come.

"Do you think Zeke is a threat? Do you trust him?" She asked, her blue eyes searching his.

Levi sighed. "Do I trust him? Absolutely not. Do I think he's a threat? Potentially." He paused, turning his cup in its saucer absent-mindedly. "But do I think turning him into Titan food out of fear is the right thing to do?" He glanced at Historia, and for a second was sure he caught a glimmer of fear in the girl's eyes. "No, it's not. It's a knee-jerk reaction. And we are forgetting one very important element in all of this."

"Eren." Historia murmured.

"Yes. And while I confess that Jaeger can be an idiot at times - reckless and hot headed - I truly believe that his intentions are for the benefit of Paradis, and his comrades. I don't believe he would agree to go along with any detrimental plan Zeke may throw his way, and I don't believe, either, that he could be brainwashed or otherwise persuaded to change this. His will is too strong when he knows what he wants. He's too much of a titan sized pain in the ass, quite frankly." Levi put his head in his hands, suddenly reminded of the headache that the head strong Jaeger had personally caused him over the years. Yet it was somehow because of everything that they had been through together, that Levi still felt that he could trust Eren.

There was a small chuckle from across the table.

Levi looked up "What?"

"Nothing, Captain. It's just – you seem to be speaking from personal experience." Historia chuckled again.

"Hmph."Levi sat back and folded his arms.

"So, you think we're better off letting Zeke continue with his plan?" Historia was thoughtful. "Just go along with it? Because you trust Eren?"

"Erwin trusted Eren, and I trusted Erwin." Levi raised a hand to his temple. "I think, what we need, is time. I don't know what the right answer is, but I know turning you into a titan right now and consuming Zeke is not it."

Historia nodded, slowly. "Agreed, then. But you said saying 'No' is not going to cut it, right?" She folded her arms. "So how can I stop the government from physically forcing this on to me? What, are you going to be my personal body guard? I know you're Humanity's Strongest, Captain, but there's one hell of a lot more MPs than you."

Levi rolled his eyes. "Please. As though I'd have the time to hang out in some farmhouse drinking tea all day." He suddenly lent forward, his fingers steepled. "We've got to be smarter than that, Historia. We don't want them to think we're purposefully delaying their plans. How do you suppose we might do that?"

Historia raised an eyebrow quizzically. "I've no idea, Captain, but I feel as though you might be about to enlighten me?"

Levi tilted his head slightly, wondering how to best phrase what he needed to tell her next. He'd never been very good at this shit. "You're very important to the success of Paradis, Historia. The people love you. You're also the last of the Royal bloodline who is completely, undoubtedly loyal to this island. The government would never risk harming you ... or your offspring."

The Captain sat before Historia quietly, eyebrows raised, hoping that the emphasis placed on his last words would sink in.

"My … offspring?" Historia repeated back quietly. Suddenly, she snapped her head up to meet Levi's expectant gaze. "Wait, what? You want me to get pregnant!?"

[calliopesquill]

A Year in the Life: Chapter 13

It's new chapter time! Thanks for stick with me as I continue Miguel and Nell's adventures. There's more excitement coming!

Thanks again to my betas for proof-reading the chapter and for correcting my Spanish!

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Chapter 13: Due Process

         Marigold Grand Central Station was, to put it lightly, a complete zoo. The entire complex was overflowing with skeletons, dressed in everything from jeans and tee-shirts, to Victorian dresses and suits with massive hats. Somehow seeing all of this in daylight felt so much more incongruent, both more and less real at the same time. Skeletons at night on Día de los Muertos made perfect sense. Seeing skeletons in the middle of the day felt just a little weird, even after a morning with the Riveras. Apparently they felt much the same way about Nell. For the most part everyone was too wrapped up in what they were doing to realize that there was a living spirit among them, but those who did notice could cause quite the disturbance. One skeleton who accidentally bumped into her on the trolley was so startled when he saw her face that he almost flung himself backwards through the open door.

         “Ugh, this is going to be the next year, isn’t it,” Nell sighed as they disembarked onto the station platform. “I feel like the elephant man. It’s a good thing dead people can’t technically have heart attacks.” Maybe she should invest in a hooded cloak or something.

         “It’s not that bad,” Héctor said reassuringly.

         The look she sent him in response was as dry as the autumn leaves back home. “Were you not on the same trolley I was? That one guy literally went to pieces and you had to save a guy from falling out completely. Even if you can’t technically die again, that would still be a hell of a fall.”

         Okay, so maybe it was that bad. But that was not what she needed to hear right now. “Hey, it’s okay. Some of these guys, they’ve been here too long. They don’t handle surprises that well. They’ll get used to it. And hey, maybe the archivists found something already. You could be going home before you know it.”

         Nell smiled, shaking her head. “Thanks Héctor. And hey, if all else fails, we could always get our hands on a giant stash of shoe polish and paint me up like you did with Miguel.”

         “That’s the spirit! Come on. Let’s see what they found.”

         They were half-way up the central staircase when Nell paused, then started snickering.

         “¿Qué? What’s so funny?”

         “You’re the dad friend.” Nell giggled, jogging up the stairs past him.

         “The what?”

         “The dad friend,” she repeated with a grin. “The one who takes care of everyone. Making sure they don’t get lost, looks after them when they’re drunk and tucks them in with an aspirin and a glass of water so they don’t get hungover, or encouraging them when they’re nervous or upset even when you are as rattled as they are. The caretaker friend.”

         “I -- Isn’t that a normal friend thing to do?” He didn’t even think about it, not really. He just...did what was needed. And he was a dad, obviously. Being dead for almost a hundred years would not change that.

         “To a point, but you take it to dad-levels.” Nell shrugged. “It’s sweet. And also a little funny because you are technically younger than I am.”

         “What? No I’m not,” Héctor protested. “I am way older than you.”

         “Technically you are 119 years old,” Nell agreed. “But you are also technically twenty-one. Maybe I should start calling you ‘hermanito’.”

         Héctor gaped in mock-outrage, giving her a brotherly shove. “Bah! I don’t think so, niñita. You’ve got a while to go yet.”

         They bickered over his supposed age until they get to the front desk. Luckily the receptionist was the same woman who had seen them the day before, so while she did jump a bit when they appeared in front of her, she was not nearly as unsettled as she had been that first morning.

         “Ah… hola. Were you looking for Señor Bolivar?” She asked tentatively.

         Nell shook her head. “Actually, could you point me towards the archives? Señora Chavez is doing some research for me and I thought I’d try to help.”

         The receptionist hesitated. Señora Chavez was notorious for not wanting outsiders in her space, but if she was looking into something for the Living Girl, it had to be important. “They’re down the stairs on the left. Bottom level.”

         “Thanks!”

         “You sure you’re going to be okay?” Héctor asked her, shifting his grip on the shoe bags. “You don’t have to do this today, you know.”

         “I’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “Least this way I can feel like I made some progress. And if we find something, I won’t be sitting at the house waiting for a call.” And it would keep her out of the public view so she could get away from people freaking out at the sight of her face for a while. “Go, deliver the shoes. Make some music. And don’t forget Cici’s order. We don’t want your wife to have to come after you with her sharpie because you forgot again.”

         He eyed her measuringly for a moment, then shook his head with a low chuckle. “Si, si. Entiendo. Take it easy today, huh? One of us will come get you tonight.”

         “Okay. I’ll see you tonight.”

         Now, time to dig through some centuries-old records! She had to admit she was actually a little excited at the prospect. She would be handling documents that had never been seen by living eyes. Actual primary sources about the history of the Land of the Dead! And she wouldn’t have to worry about wrecking them with finger oils or anything, like she would in the living world. Nell skipped down the stairs, following the papel picado-like directional signs to the lower levels of the building. About three floors down the white-washed walls were replaced with smooth, cut stone, with large glyphs carved in every few feet.

         I must be down to the pyramid level, Nell mused as she reached the bottom of the stairs. It wasn’t just that everything around her looked old, but it felt old as well. There was a weight here, and a settled kind of quiet. This wasn’t a place that people came to much anymore. Except for Señora Chavez and the other archivists. There was only one office on that level that Nell could see, marked with a single square glyph, and another papel picado sign marked “Archives.”

         Nell took a steadying breath and knocked on the door.

         There was a muffled sigh from inside. “Ugh… ¿Qué deseas? I swear to Mictēcacihuātl, if one of you boneheads misplaced another of my eighteenth century journals, I will speed you on your way to your Final Death myself.”

         Ah. That might be another reason why people didn’t come down here too much.

         “Ah… lo siento. Señora Chavez? It’s Nell.”

         “Who? Oh. Wait. The nagual. Yeah, come on in.”

         Hesitantly she opened the door. “Ah...hi. Sorry. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

         “If you talked to anyone upstairs, they’d probably tell you I’ve been disturbed for centuries.” Lina snorted, not looking up from the heavy, hand-bound book she was paging through. “What do you want?”

         “I thought I’d see if you wanted any help going through the records.”

         Lina glanced up at her, setting the book down on her already-messy desk. “Why?”

         “Because sitting around waiting for an answer might actually kill me, and placing myself equivalently under house arrest for the next year is about the only thing worse than people screaming when they see my face when I go outside,” Nell replied, leaning back against the door-frame with a huff and running one hand agitatedly through her hair.

         The archivist sighed. “Fine, but if you break anything or screw up my filing system --”

         “You have my permission to chuck me off a pyramid. Claro.”

         Lina snorted. “Bueno. So, how’s your Nahuatl?”

         “My...what?”

         “Well, that answers that question.” She shoved herself away from the desk, tucking the book she’d been reading under one arm and heading out into the hallway. “No Aztec texts for you. Come on, I’ll give you a tour.”

         The archive itself was massive and seemed to go on forever. There were entire chambers dedicated to different periods of history. The Aztec and Mayan records each got their own separate rooms on opposite ends of the hall, and each room after that seemed to correspond with the different levels of the towers that made up the city. After that….well, Nell did not understand the system at all. Apparently the Dewey Decimal system had not yet made its way down to the Land of the Dead. She quickly resolved to bring a stash of hair ribbons or scrap paper so she could mark the places of the volumes that she took.

         “Now best guess, the last nagual to cross over the bridge would have been...fifteenth or sixteenth century?” Lina said, heading to one of the heavy built-in shelves on the right side of the room. “Probably?”

         So it hadn’t been a fluke the last time. Well, that answered one question, and raised a few hundred more. “Were nagual more common back then? And how does that work? Like, is it some sort of recessive gene or is it a luck-of-the-draw kind of power manifestation?”

         “Couldn’t tell you,” she answered with a shrug. “Never met any when I was alive. Or not any real ones. I don’t think. Oh there were plenty who claimed they had these special abilities and demanded special treatment, but I always thought that the most vocal were the ones with the least ability. And nagual was more of a blanket term, really. It could refer to the spirit form of the person, or to their guide, and later on it became synonymous with a kind of brujo. It was said that they could travel in spirit form, leaving their physical bodies behind -- something that you have most certainly confirmed. But whether it is a hereditary trait, I couldn’t say.”

         “Scared the crap out of me, first time I did it,” Nell said with a wry smirk. “Gave Miguel a pretty big shock too.”

         “The Rivera kid. What a nightmare of paperwork that was. People stealing offerings is one thing, but actually getting cursed? That one is pretty rare.” Lina pulled a selection of books from the shelf, stuffing them into Nell’s hands. “Okay. Start with these. Thank Tezcatlipoca that at least some of these guys were bilingual. There aren’t many down here who can read the old languages anymore, and having to go through the whole thing myself would be a bitch.”

         “How many languages do you speak?” Nell wondered. “And what about the other archivists?”

         “Bah! Like I would trust these records in their hands. Anything post-seventeenth-century sure, but they’re useless when it comes to filing the earlier records. They’re taking care of the everyday stuff while I deal with this mess.” Lina grabbed another selection for herself, several covered in some kind of glyphs. “And I speak 9 languages fluently. I’m a little rusty on some of the Mayan dialects so I didn’t count those.”

         Nell goggled. Nine?! There were at least a couple dozen Mayan dialects, according to the research she’d done a few weeks before. How many did she consider herself ‘rusty’ in? Nell herself only spoke two languages, three if you counted high school French -- which she didn’t. “Did you learn all of those when you were down here?”

         The archivist shook her head. “I re-learned them. Some of them. I was… a translator, once. A long time ago. Pull up some ground, niñita. This could take a while.”

         The other girl shook her head, sitting down and leaning back against the bookcase opposite. “Is that going to be my official nickname now? I’m not that young, you know.”

         Lina smirked, gently opening the cover of the delicate manuscript she carried. What Nell had first taken to be a regular book was in fact a single long piece of parchment, accordion-folded and bound into a leather cover like restaurant menu, with long loops of leather cording. “Almost everyone here is young compared to me. Twenty-odd years is nothing.”

         Nell bit her lip, her gaze running analytically over her companion. She dearly wanted to ask how old Lina really was, but got the distinct impression that it was not something she would get the answer to. But that didn’t mean that she couldn’t try to figure it out for herself. After they figured out how to get her home.

         Héctor was later than he’d hoped to be. Imelda had to send Coco to get him again -- a wise plan, as his daughter stood by far the best chance of pulling him away from whatever song he was working on. But hey, at least he had remembered to get all of the details for the performers’ shoe commissions this time. The sharpie could stay safely holstered in his wife’s apron.

         Coco’s appearance had been met with cheers all around. She was always a favorite when she visited (Of course she was. Who wouldn’t love his Coco?), which in itself brought a bit of a delay. Everyone wanted to say hello, catch up. Even after promising to return later in the week, it took some time for them to get out the door.

         The night was warm, with just a hint of a breeze cooling the crowded streets. Marigold Grand Central was as crowded as always, but the Department of Family Reunions building was fairly quiet by comparison. There was the usual number of people here to greet newly-arrived family members, but it was nowhere near as packed as it had been on Día de los Muertos. They took the stairway down to the archives, pausing at the last landing when they heard some very angry-sounding English coming from down the hall.

         “-- fucking -- ugh. How was anyone supposed to read this? Frick. Colonial Spanish is even harder to read than Tudor English, and that was fucking brutal. Why did nobody think to write a damn dictionary for this crap?”

         “The first Spanish dictionary was printed in 1611.”

         “That’s not exactly helpful when the book I’m reading predates it by a century.”

         “Oh, stop your whining. At least they had an actual alphabet. Try reading Zapoteco and see how far you get.” Another voice retorted. “And when did you ever have to read Tudor English? You’re, like, twelve.”

         “Took a class on material culture when I was in university. Spent a class looking at the kind of things people would will down to their descendants. One person left their son’s family a set of bedsheets, only they spelled it as ‘shits’,” Nell snickered.

         The other voice let out a bark of laughter. “Ha! Classic.”

         Coco and Héctor followed the voices to a room almost halfway down the hall. Nell sprawled in the floor beside a massive stone bookshelf, a thin, leather-bound volume held gently in her hands. Lina the archivist was somewhere behind her, just barely visible in the dim lantern light, shelving an armful of books. Coco knocked lightly on the carved stone door frame. 

          Nell looked up, blinked at them, then grinned. “Oh, hey! What are you guys doing here?”

         “You’ve been here for almost eight hours, mija,” Coco said, laughing when she saw Nell’s eyes bug out.

         “What? Seriously? That can’t be --” But when she tried to push herself up she dropped back to the floor with a groan. “Okay. Yeah. I can believe that.” Stiffly she pushed herself upright, dusting off her clothes. “Hey Lina, where do you want me to put this?”

         “Just give it here,” she said, returning from the front of the shelf to take the book. “You’ll never put it back right.”

         “You know, people might actually be able to put things back where they belonged if your filing system was not determined by a dart board, a roulette wheel, and a blood sacrifice.”

         “Bah! Get on with you,” Lina scoffed, giving Nell a shove towards the door. “Go bother someone else for a while.”

         “Yeah, yeah. You know you love me.” Nell laughed, sticking her tongue out teasingly. “If you didn’t, you’d have dropped me off a pyramid hours ago.”

         “I still might.”

         “Well, there’s always tomorrow.” Still chuckling, Nell joined the others in the hall. “Sorry, guys. Kind of lost track of time there.”

         “Did you find anything?” Coco asked as they made their was back up the stairs.

         She shook her head, letting out a soft sigh. “Not yet. We’ve narrowed down an approximate time-frame to look in, but nothing we’ve read so far references any living spirits crossing the bridge.” And with easily another couple century’s worth of records to go through, it could be ages before they found anything at all.

         “Hey, it will be okay,” Héctor said, laying one hand reassuringly on her shoulder. “You’ll find something.”

         She hoped so. And that it wouldn’t be too late when they did.

         Nell tried to keep her head up that night, really she did. And for the most part it worked. She chatted with Coco and Héctor about the things she had found in the old records, learned about the show that Héctor was helping out with, and the designs that Coco and the other Riveras would be doing for the dancers’ shoes. But as the trolley approached their stop, she found her enthusiasm flagging. You can only act like everything was normal for so long before the knowledge that nothing was normal snuck up and clobbered you over the head again. What made it worse was how hard the Riveras were working to make it look like it wasn’t an issue, which just seemed to underline how big an issue it actually was.

         The whole family gathered in the living room, spreading out over every available surface. Coco and Julio shared the loveseat, content to snuggle and just be in each other’s company. Oscar and Filipe hunched over a notebook on the coffee table. Imelda sat on the couch, reviewing the account book as Héctor perched on the arm of the couch next to her, picking out an absent tune on his guitar. Victoria and Rosita each had their own chairs and a book in their hands. Rosita was a big fan of romance novels and, surprisingly, true crime accounts. Victoria’s collection was mostly history-based, though tonight she had gone for a more contemporary thriller. It took less than five minutes for Nell to figure out that spending the whole evening in close quarters like this was an aberration. Most of the family spent the whole day together in the workshop, so of course the evening would be their personal time.

         Nell appreciated the company, even if she felt guilty for robbing them of their evening. She had begged some scrap paper and pencils from the shop, and spent the next couple of hours doing studies of the family. Watching the constant shift of the facial bones was fascinating. Their faces, despite being made of solid bone, were somehow elastic, and moved as if the muscles and tissue that allowed such movement in life were still a part of it. The brow bone should not furrow when they frowned, and how bone lips were a thing she would never understand. It also made her question the mechanics of other actions that she had to very quickly force her mind away from.

         Yeah… Do not go there. Keep your mind well away from thoughts of skeleton boning.

         It was almost a relief when they heard the distinctive jingle of the doorbell at the gate. The Riveras exchanged looks. Who could possibly be calling this late? The shop had been closed for hours.

         The twins pushed themselves to their feet and left the room, returning a few minutes later with a pair of uniformed police officers in tow. One was stocky for a skeleton, with rose-colored dots framing his eyes and green fern-like branches along his cheekbones. The other wasn’t much taller, and had a golden band of laurel leaves across her brow like an ancient crown. Though they stood with a determined kind of posture, they both looked like they’d had a long couple of days.

         “Ah… Everyone, this is Officer Vega --”

         “-- and Officer Flores,” Oscar finished. “They want to ask about --”

         “-- what happened on Día de los Muertos.”

         Héctor, who had stiffened noticeably the moment the cops stepped into the room, flexed his fingers over the fretboard of his guitar, willing himself to relax. With his many less-than-legal attempts at crossing the bridge over the last century, his relationship with local law enforcement had been strained at best. He’d had very few interactions with them that did not involve him being in some kind of trouble, and every one of them had been in the last two years. Cálmese, he told himself firmly. They aren’t here for you. Not to arrest him, anyway. No, they were here to ask about what happened with Ernesto, which was both better and so much worse.

         “We’d like to collect a statement from each of you,” Officer Flores explained, her gaze travelling over the assembled Riveras, doing a barely-noticeable double-take when she saw Nell seated behind the coffee table. “There is a warrant out for the arrest of Ernesto De la Cruz, and we want to be sure that we have a complete account of what happened by the time he is brought in.”

         “There has been a warrant out for his arrest for two years,” Imelda pointed out sharply. “Ever since one of your officers let him escape.”

         “The officer responsible for that has been relieved from duty,” Officer Vega informed them. “After that grievous lapse in judgement, we want to make absolutely sure that there is no room for error this time around. We want De la Cruz to pay for his crimes every bit as much as you do.”

         Doubtful, but the sentiment was appreciated.

         “We’d like to speak with you one at a time, if that’s possible,” Officer Flores continued. “Is there a space where we can do that?”

         The Riveras exchanged looks.

         “The kitchen would probably be best,” Victoria said after a moment.

         There was a moment of silence, then Officer Flores cleared her throat. “Right. So… Whenever you’re ready,” she said.

         Nell pushed herself to her feet. “I guess...maybe I should go first. I’ll show you to the kitchen.”

         She could feel their eyes burning into the back of her head as she led them across the courtyard to the family kitchen. Neither of them had said a word, but they didn’t have to. Each unasked question was a deafening shout in the evening air. When they reached the kitchen, Nell closed the door behind them.

         “So, um...take a seat, I guess?” She suggested, gesturing towards the solid wooden table at the center of the room. From what she had seen, the kitchen itself was rarely used given the lack of food in the Land of the Dead, but served more as a place of family discussion. “Sorry. This is weird. I feel like I’m taking the lead here but it’s not even my house.”

         “The Riveras are letting you live with them while you’re here?” Officer Vega confirmed as he and his partner arranged themselves across the table from Nell.

         “Yeah. They’ve kind of unofficially adopted me after what happened.” She knew that the blame for this whole mess rested on De la Cruz’s shoulders, but she couldn’t help but still feel somewhat responsible. And now, after all they’ve already been through, the Riveras had a relative stranger staying with them for the next year. She still felt guilty about that. “They didn’t have to. But...I’m really grateful that they did.”

         Officer Vega pulled a tattered-looking notebook from his pocket. He and Officer Flores had already listened to the recording taken in the Family Grievances offices the morning after the incident. Now they wanted to get their own impressions, and clarify some of the details. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

         Nell’s mouth curved in a wry sort of smile. “How far back do you want me to go?”

         “Let’s start with the evening of Día de los Muertos, and go from there.”

         Nell sighed, dropping into one of the old wooden chairs. “Okay. I planned to meet Miguel a little after midnight…” She told them everything, the plan to astral project in hopes of reuniting Miguel with his deceased family, her own introduction to them, to the moment they realized Miguel had been taken.

         “Did you know it was De la Cruz at the time?” Officer Flores asked.

         Nell shook her head. “Not then. I just saw him slung over the shoulder of a big guy in a dark jacket, and ran after them.”

         “Across the bridge?”

         She nodded before describing the chase across the bridge, and the moment she realized it was De la Cruz who had her friend. How scared she was because she knew the history between them. The search across the city and her reunion with Buttons, and the pyramid at the end of the world. At this the officers exchanged looks. They had visited the site themselves in search of evidence, combed every inch of it in search of De la Cruz. There had been nothing left behind but footprints in the dust and a few scraps of black cloth.

         “And what happened then?”

         Nell sighed, rolling the hem of her dress nervously between her fingertips. She had been dreading this part. “Ernesto would have tossed Miguel off the cliff the moment he saw Héctor or Imelda, so we decided I should distract him. I went through the pyramid while the others went around the side…”

         This was what they had been waiting for, the part of the story that had been skimmed over in the initial recording. Now, hearing it at last, they could understand why. They had known Ernesto De la Cruz was a thief and a murderer, but the repeated poisoning of a person just to keep them with you was something none of them had expected. Nell fought to keep her voice steady, hands clenched in white-knuckled fists under the table as she recounted Ernesto’s admission, and when she told them how he had flung Miguel off the edge, both officers jolted.

         “Pepita caught him, then circled back for us.”

         The rest they knew. That De la Cruz had pulled her back, and that she had been rescued by her own alebrije, who took her back to the bridge. And her final decision to throw Miguel through the barrier as the bridge collapsed beneath her.

         “And then...yeah. Here we are,” Nell finished lamely. “Don’t know how long I’m here for, what’s happening to my physical body, or how long I can be separated from it… Lina -- she’s the head archivist at the Department of Family Reunions -- she said I should be able to cross back over next year but…” There was no way to know for sure if she’d even last that long.

         By unspoken agreement, Héctor and Imelda chose to speak to the officers together. They entered the kitchen with their hands entwined. They had faced this separately for too long. Whatever came next, they would face it together. Héctor was grateful for the support. He tried to step back, to separate himself from the pain and the betrayal, but every word was like tearing off a bandage from a wound that had only barely begun to scab over.

         “And when you saw him on the cliffs,” Officer Vera asked. “How did he look?”

         “How did he look? What kind of question is that?” Imelda frowned.

         “Was he angry? Smiling? Pacing? That kind of thing.”

         “He was...impatient,” Héctor answered softly. He could see it now, if he let himself. “Nervous.”

         Imelda shot him a questioning look. Standing at the edge of the world, she hadn’t seen a hint of nerves. She had never trusted Ernesto. There was something about him that has always rubbed her the wrong way. But Héctor had known Ernesto almost his whole life. If there was anyone who knew those small gestures, it was him.

         “His fingers twitched,” Héctor recalled. “Left hand. They always did that when he was nervous. I don’t know if he ever realized.” There was something surreal about seeing those old familiar gestures after all that had passed between them. For a moment he could almost believe that the Ernesto he knew was still in there. But he knew better. This was what had lived inside of him all along.

         “Anything else?” Officer Flores asked.

         They took the officers through every word, every absent gesture. Hollow-voiced, Héctor recounted Nell’s attempts at a distraction. His stomach churned at the memory, non-existent but somehow every bit as painful as they day he died.

         “And how did he react when he saw you?”

         The same as he always had when caught in a lie. He had excused and justified and tried to turn it around on him, just as he always had. It’s not my fault. They made me. This would not have happened if… How many time had Héctor heard variations of that same tune? And as Ernesto did every time he was denied, he became angry. Héctor could see it in his face when Imelda stepped out to join him. His wife had always been able to see through Ernesto’s excuses, Héctor remembered. It was why they had never gotten along. Héctor had blamed it on a clashing of strong personalities, the filter of a life-long friendship blurring what his wife had seen all too clearly. But none of them could ever have suspected how deep Ernesto’s selfishness had run.

         The rest of the interview passed in a blur. They took the officers through the flight back to the bridge, and Miguel and Nell’s desperate race to the other side. When at last they were satisfied, Héctor and Imelda returned to the living room, dropping onto the couch as Oscar and Filipe headed out for their turn. Coco moved from the love seat to sit next to her parents, leaning into her father’s side. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close and holding her tightly. Ernesto’s words from the cliffside echoed in his thoughts.

         I should have just let you go, maybe even gone back with you for a time… And then killed your bitch and the squalling brat myself.

         Just the memory of it had him holding her closer. Far better for Ernesto to have murdered him that night than for him to return to Santa Cecilia to harm his family. Héctor would gladly live the past century a hundred times over if it meant keeping them safe. Imelda, sensing the direction his thoughts have turned, rubbed her thumb comfortingly over the finger of the hand that she still held. That seemed to soothe him somewhat, that tangible reminder that they were safe, and they were together. De la Cruz would not separate them again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ And there is chapter thirteen!

Join us next week when we check in with Miguel on the living side of the bridge!

As always, thanks for reading!