#forgive me if there are wrong accents I haven't written in spanish in like a year

[slusheeduck]

A Surprise

Confession time: we weren’t QUITE done with Teacher!AU. There was still one loose end in Hector’s life we thought needed to be tied up.

~

              “Oye, you killed it, Turi! Practically carried us through the whole practice!”

              Arturo chuckled as he shut his cello case. “Que genoroso, Thiago, but I hope that’s not the case on Saturday. It’s a full house, and no one wants to hear a cellist for two hours.”

              Thiago laughed, giving Arturo a friendly punch to the arm as he walked by. “Don’t worry, viejo, we’ll sound perfect on Saturday. We always do.”

              “Well, I…viejo? Oye, I’m not even fifty!” Arturo shook his head with a chuckle as Thiago shrugged and hopped off the stage, then stretched out his back with a grimace. Well, maybe he was getting up there. After all, he’d been doing these same jazz gigs for almost twenty ears now, and the newest crop of orchestra members were practically young enough to be his kids.

              Speaking of…was that who he thought it was, hanging in the back row there? As Arturo took off his glasses, he grinned as he called out, “Oye, Chimo! You actually came to visit?”

              The young man said nothing, just shifted awkwardly, but it wasn’t until Arturo had hopped down from the stage that he realized that was not Chimo.

              “Ay, perdón, perdón,” he said, pausing halfway up the aisle. “From up there, I thought you might be my son.” He laughed, but trailed off as the young man’s face went pale as a ghost. He walked up to him, brows drawn together in concern. “You okay, chico?”

              The man swallowed, staring at him with wide brown eyes before nodding quickly. “Sí! Sí sí sí…I, uh…” He took a breath, then shook out his head and shoulders as he let it out. “You’re…I mean, are you…Arturo Félix?”

              Arturo smiled. “That’s me.”

              The man nodded again, head bobbing slightly. “Bien, bien…uh, I heard you playing, earlier. I-I asked to come in, by the way, just so you know. But it was absolutely beautiful. The way you use staccato in your improvisation was…” He let out a quick laugh as he shook his head. “Sorry, I’m a music teacher. From…from Capula. So I get a little excited with music.”

              Arturo laughed. “Chico, don’t even think about apologizing for that! My daughter, you know what she calls me when I talk about music? A geek. Can you believe that?” The young man laughed, but it seemed a bit choked, and Arturo stuck his hands in his pockets as he looked over him. “You got a name?”

              The man blinked, then pressed a hand to his forehead. “Ave María Purísma, I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Héctor…ah, Héctor Rivera.” He held out his hand sheepishly, and Arturo gave it a nice, solid shake.

              “Mucho gusto, Héctor.” He looked over Héctor again. “You’re from Capula, sí? So what brings you all the way to Monterrey?”

              Héctor swallowed hard. “Ah…do you mind if we sit?”

              “Not at all.”

              Héctor dropped into one of the seats­—not a moment too soon, given how pale he’d gotten again. Arturo settled down in the seat beside him, watching him curiously but waiting for him to speak first.

              “I…well, my wife and I…we’ll be having our first child in just a few months…”

              Arturo smiled warmly. “Felicidades, Héctor. There’s nothing like it, I promise you.”

              Héctor’s eyes flicked up to him, then he gripped his knees before he continued, “I…well, everything’s going well and all. But…” He pressed his lips together tightly before taking a very long, slow breath. “Do you know a woman named Mariana Rivera? O-or Mari?”

              Arturo frowned slightly, then squinted hard at nothing as he racked his brain. Did he know a Mari? Well, he knew a few Maris, and a few Riveras, but together? As he thought, Héctor added, “It, ah, it probably would have been close to thirty years ago? Well, twenty-nine, I guess. But she’s my mother and…”

              Thirty years ago? He’d still been in university, then, and in Fernando’s stupid band. Though, now that he thought about it, there was one night…

              Arturo’s heart flipped in his chest, and he looked back at Héctor with wide eyes, just barely keeping his jaw from dropping. No. No, it couldn’t be. He’d never let that sort of thing happen. But…dios, if this man didn’t look just like Chimo. That could be a Félix nose, and even the faces he made looked so much like Sole when she was in trouble…

              “You think I’m your father.” To Arturo’s surprise, the words came out very even and calm.

              Héctor held up his hands, nearly looking like he was expecting to be yelled at. “I-I don’t…I mean, there’s, ah, there’s three potential…candidates? Let’s say candidates…that we know of. I’ve already talked to one—he’s a violinist in El Distrito—and you’re the second and obviously there’d be no way of knowing until there was a test done but my wife, Imelda, when we pulled up your picture she said you were the spitting image of me so I figured I had to at least see you and…”

              Arturo watched silently as Héctor continued to speak a mile a minute, letting out a slow, shaky breath as he let the possibility sink in. A son he’d never known about. Not only that, but a music teacher. None of his children had gotten his love of music; they liked it certainly, but none of them had the passion he’d seen in Héctor’s eyes just a few minutes ago. Despite the shock, he very nearly wished…but then again, if he was Héctor’s father, he hadn’t been there for thirty years. He couldn’t expect some sort of automatic bonding…and if there were two other potential fathers in the picture, then this might all just be a moot point.

              But…he was already a father to three children. So he could certainly be one, even if for a few hours, to the nervous young man sitting beside him.

              He set a hand on Héctor’s shoulder, cutting off his rambling, and gave him a warm smile.

              “Tranquilo, Héctor, tranquilo,” he said soothingly. Once Héctor relaxed, he added, “Well, I can’t say for certain if I’m your father or not. But, if you have the time, I think we’d have a much better time chatting at the café down the street.”

              Héctor swallowed. “Oh, I don’t want to bother you. I mean, you’re obviously busy rehearsing for a show and I…I just popped up in here with that news and you probably don’t want to…” He trailed off as Arturo chuckled.

              “I would like nothing more than to put off rehearsing. And if you think, of all things, staccato is exciting, then I think we two músicos will find plenty to talk about for an hour or two.”

              Héctor blinked once, twice, then gave a big grin—showing off a pair of dimples practically matched Arturo’s. “Well, if you insist.”

~

              Their talk in the café lasted much longer than an hour or two. It took a bit of prodding, but Héctor was eventually coaxed into being chatty. He had a primo that he was in the process of adopting (“I’d give all the details of what happened leading up to now, but we’d be here for months.”) and had, until very recently, been a part of a reasonably successful musical duo (“We had a big YouTube presence, but…it’s better that we split. I think one of us would have killed the other if it’d gone on any longer.”). And he asked question after question about Chimo (“He’s doing sales and married and has a baby and he’s 24? Ave María Purísma, when I was 24 I was still sleeping ‘til noon.”) and Rocio (“She’s going to be a doctor? Now I’m nervous about you being my father; it sounds like I’d be the underachiever in the family.”) and Sole (“Seventeen’s hard. My tía likes to remind me of how much of a pain I was compared to my primo Enriqué, and I’m not looking forward to it with Miguel.”) and just about every other thing about Arturo’s family, obviously committing as much of it to memory as he could.

              By the time they agreed that they’d best be heading out, Arturo couldn’t help pulling Héctor into a tight hug.

              “Éscuchamé, chico,” he whispered. “I don’t care what the results end up being. You are a bright, kind young man, and if you ever, ever need anything, I don’t want you to hesitate to call me. Claro?”

              For a moment, Héctor stayed frozen in place. But then he practically melted, hugging Arturo back just as tightly.

              “Sí, claro. Gracias, Señor Félix.”

              Arturo tutted as he pulled back, giving a very gentle swat to Héctor’s shoulder. “Ay, none of that. At the very least, call me Turi.”

              Héctor laughed. “Okay! Okay, okay. Gracias, Turi.” He smiled as he rubbed his left arm. “I’ll, ah, I’ll call you in a few days about the test. After that, it’s just a few weeks and…” He shrugged. “…then I’ll have an answer, I guess.”

              Arturo smiled. “And I look forward to hearing all about it, Héctor. I’ll talk to you soon.”

~

              The tests were done the next week, and the results came in just over a month later. And, six weeks after showing up in Monterrey, Héctor was back in the city, standing in front of the Félix’s front door. This time, though, he had support.

              “Don’t be so nervous,” Imelda chided lightly, noticing how his hand shook as it hovered in front of the door. “You’ve been talking with them for weeks now. They were the ones who invited us over, remember?”

              Héctor gave a light, strained laugh. “Yeah, but…it’s a little different now, isn’t it?”

              Imelda rolled her eyes, then raised herself onto her tiptoes—no easy feat at seven-months-pregnant—to press a kiss to his cheek. “Everything will be fine, mi amor. I promise.” With that, she rapped her knuckles on the door before he could argue.

              “They’re here!” came a girl’s voice through the door, along with a rush of footsteps.

              “Sole, we aren’t done with…!”

              The door opened, and a tall teenager with a mouth full of braces practically lunged at the two of them. “You’re here! We’ve been waiting all day! You’re so much taller than I thought you’d be; I guess you’re always sitting during Facetime and the screen makes you look normal-sized but I think you’re taller than Chimo and…”

              “Soledad!” Another woman came to the door, sighing with a fond annoyance as she ushered her daughter back. “I’m so sorry, you two. It’s a long trip and the last thing you need is someone…” She sent a pointed look at Sole. “…launching herself at you.”

              Héctor laughed, leaning down to give her a tight hug. “Valeria, we work with kids all day. This isn’t anything new for us.”

              “Ah, we talked about this. It’s Mamá Valeria now,” she corrected, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before turning to Imelda. “And I finally get to meet you in person, Imelda. Though we really could have gone down visit you all instead.”

              Imelda shook her head. “If I can still work, I can still travel. It’s fine, Val—” She stopped at Valeria’s raised eyebrow. “Mamá Valeria.”

              “Well, let’s at least get you settled,” she said, ushering the two inside and taking Imelda’s arm. “The first one is always the hardest, I think. And my sister says by the fourth…”

              “Four? No, no. That’s not happening. No.”

              Sole grabbed Héctor’s arm with a grin. “So I’ve been going back through your entire Youtube channel and I was actually hoping you’d tell me some more about…”

              “Soledad. The table still needs to be set,” Valeria called over her shoulder. Sole let her head fall back with a loud groan.

              “Fine, Mamá!” She let go of Héctor’s arm and mouthed, “Later,” before heading off to the dining room. Héctor chuckled and nodded, then ran his hand through his hair as he looked around the entryway. There were pictures all over the walls—quinceñeras and weddings and Navidads and school events…Héctor could practically see the family’s whole story laid out right here. Ah, there were some of everyone as kids: Sole playing fútbol, Rocio winning some sort of prize, Chimo at a school fair…

              …and himself, sitting in the shoe shop with a guitar in his lap.

              Héctor’s throat tightened, and he didn’t even have time to calm himself down before he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

              “So you noticed our newest addition,” Arturo said, squeezing his shoulder. “Your Tía Elena was nice enough to give me a few.”

              “I…you didn’t have to…” Héctor croaked, laughing a bit as he struggled to get the words out and giving up as Arturo looked at him seriously.

              “Escúchame, Héctor. Yes, I had to, because you are a part of this family. And you deserve to have your pictures here just as much as you deserve to have them in Santa Cecilia. Claro, mijo?”

              Héctor swallowed down the quickly-growing lump in his throat, and he nodded as he leaned against Arturo. “Gracias, Turi.” He gave a wobbly smile. “I’m sorry, I can barely handle having my picture on the wall. I might just fall apart if I call you papá right now.”

              Arturo chuckled, rubbing Héctor’s back. “I’m not nearly as strict as my Valería, so you’re welcome to take your time, mijo. We’d better head toward the table, though; Sole’s been wanting to talk to you all week and she might just burst if we keep her waiting any longer.”

              Héctor chuckled, letting himself be guided to through the house. And, while he’d only been there for all of fifteen minutes, it felt like he was being welcomed home.