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sheepwithspecs · 10 months ago

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Echar Agua al Mar: Chapter 1

|| DP Coco (2017) || Rated T ||

Ao3 Link

For Imelda, trying to prevent Héctor from coming back into her life is like throwing water into the sea: pointless. With her family keen to accept the strange musician, and a challenge she can hardly refuse, she soon finds herself caught up in the continuation of a romance decades in the making. [Updates every Saturday]

Author's Note:

A lot of people wanted this one back, so I took the time to sit down and rewrite it properly. I plan on writing a proper ending, but it will be finished as-is (with no added chapters). I don't plan to write anything else for the DP-Coco fandom, so please accept this reworked fic as a celebration of my short, but meaningful time here. As roughly as it ended, I still would not trade those years for the world. I met some of the best people in that fandom, many of which I am still in contact with as friends and mutuals.

I want to take the time to thank each and every reader who has reached out over the years asking about this fic (as well as other DPC fics). The fact that you remember my work fondly means more to me than words can really describe. I wanted to finish this for you, so it's my fervent hope that you enjoy it just as much, if not more, as you enjoyed the original WIP. Please don't stop reaching out, either! In this day and age, it's rare to get reviews on fics anymore. If there's something you enjoyed, no matter how small, I promise that it would make my day to hear it!

The Rivera family was in distress.

Before the last Día de Los Muertos, they had been perfectly content with their lives—if a skeletal soul could indeed be called "living". They had a certain pride in being the best shoemakers in the Land of the Dead, and in death they worked much as they had in life: hard. But now production had slacked off unexpectedly; the twins fulfilled the quota of only one man, Julio made more mistakes in one hour than he had in nearly twenty years, Rosita polished at a tortoise's speed, and even Victoria made simple errors, growing frustrated as she was forced to thread and rethread her needle.

If Mamá Imelda saw them, she might have gloated that her ban on music was well and just. It was music—or the lack of it—that kept the family working at a plodding pace. They'd had a taste of the tunes, a bite of the proverbial apple, and now they were tempted for more. They heard rhythm in the steady ringing of the twins' hammers, in the swish-swish of Victoria's needle, in the scrubbing of Rosita's polishing brush. The Rivera harmony, so easy to recognize, to hum along to… if they weren't in the habit of suppressing those same urges.

But the family matriarch was nowhere to be found downstairs, and could not scold their behavior from the living quarters on the second floor. It was early afternoon, and so Imelda was in her bedroom, hiding… though no one would have dared suggest such a thing within earshot.

"Mamá Imelda can't blame us now," Julio murmured. "Not when she herself sang at the Sunrise Spectacular. In front of everyone, too." It was a conversation they'd repeated over and over again for three months.

"It's true," Oscar added. "She sang again, and so beautifully! But if she heard us…." He was irritated, more with himself than with his older sister. He hated working as though he were a greenhorn cobbler. If he could only finish the day's quota, he could spend the rest of the afternoon tinkering on inventions with his twin. But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't stop his foot from tapping along in time with his hammer.

"Then let her hear us," Victoria huffed, squinting over the rims of her spectacles. The needle was mere inches from her eye sockets, shaking slightly as she aimed. "Maybe that will be what makes her come downstairs for a change."

"She won't." Felipe looked over his shoulder, shaking his skull at his great-niece. "Not so early in the afternoon. Not before…" he trailed off, gazing pointedly at the clock just above her elegant bun.

"And so? Why not sing?" Victoria lifted her eyes from her work, pushing the spectacles up her skull with one dainty finger. "If there's no danger of her coming down." She sighed as the twins shook their heads in unison. "Oh, if my mamá could see us now. She'd have a good laugh at us all."

"Ah, he's coming!" Rosita announced suddenly, rising from her chair at the window. She let the unfinished shoe in her hand fall to the table, the brush tossed aside as she raced for the door. Everyone paused in their work, following Felipe's eyes towards the clock.

"Right on schedule," Julio said with a smile. "By the way, what will today's excuse be? The corner store?"

"No, we used that one yesterday."

"A walk?"

"We used that one two days ago." They stared at one another with growing concern, each racking their brain for some useful idea. Finally Rosita shook her head, shrugging helplessly at Julio. He blew out a low breath, hands stuck deep into his pockets.

"You say something," Oscar muttered, elbowing his brother in the ribs.

"Why me?" Felipe gulped. "You know I can't think under pressure!"

"Neither can I!"

"I'll say something." Victoria stood as well, brushing bits of thread from her apron. The twins sighed in relief, dropping their hammers simultaneously to the workbench as everyone in the room turned towards the open door in anticipation of their daily visitor. A moment later, there was a self-conscious knock as a man stepped just past the threshold. He was dressed in ragged clothing—espantapájaros, Victoria often muttered under her breath—with his sleeve barely hanging by a thread and shoeless as the day he was born. His gold tooth glinted in the afternoon sunlight as he grinned sheepishly, his hat clutched in nervous hands.

"Hello, Héctor," the Riveras chanted in unison, the start of their new daily routine.

"Hello, everyone." The hat brim began its revolution as Héctor's anxious fingers began to twist. "I've come to… I mean: is Imelda at home today?" The twins shared a sympathetic wince. Rosita's fingers clacked against her cheekbones as she raised her hands to her face. Victoria looked around the room, adjusted her glasses, and scowled.

"This has gone on long enough!" she declared, ignoring the shocked gasps from the rest of the family. "Of course she's here! She's been here every day for as long as you've been coming."

"Ahaha… I, uh… I thought that might be the case." Héctor sighed, looking down at his bare feet. "There's only so many times someone might go to the markets, after all." He looked so pitiable, dashed hopes and guilt and shame, standing in their doorway like a beggar searching for alms. Rosita clucked and guided him to her empty chair, inviting him in properly now that Victoria had broken the routine.

Héctor had given them all of a month before showing up out of the blue, hoping to speak with his wife. Of course, they had all been under strict orders after day one to not let him inside. If he asked, they were supposed to offer some excuse as to why Imelda was not downstairs with the rest of the family. Every afternoon she avoided the workshop like the plague, waiting until he had come and gone before venturing downstairs to complete her portion of the day's work.

This left the rest of the family with no choice but to scramble and find sixty days' worth of excuses to feed him, along with their best what-can-be-done expressions. They would have much rather invited him in, treated him as one of their own, and marched him up to Imelda's room without a word of protest. But the family matriarch's orders overruled any personal attachment to Héctor. At least, it had… until today.

"So." Héctor placed his hat on the table, linking his fingers politely in his lap. "She asked you to cover for her."

"She did," Victoria answered for them, "but this is getting out of hand."

"Even though you knew we were lying, and that Imelda didn't want to see you… you still came every day?" Oscar asked curiously, running a finger over his thin mustache. Héctor managed a one-sided shrug, smiling sadly. "That's pretty stubborn of you."

"Imelda's just as stubborn as you, though," Felipe pointed out, leaning against the workbench. "She won't come downstairs. Not even if you come every day for the next century."

"Victoria?" Julio waved his hand in his daughter's face, a frown twisting his mustache. "Go upstairs and ask Mamá Imelda to come down. For your Papá Héctor's sake."

"No! No, don't bother her. If she doesn't want to see me, then…." Héctor stood quickly, scratching at his thin goatee before offering them a much happier smile. "Tell me, how much would I have to pay for a pair of genuine Rivera boots?"

"What?!" Rosita shook her head in dismay. "What on earth are you talking about? You're family, of course they'd be free—" Oscar and Felipe immediately bent, each studying one of his feet.

"Come now, I'm willing to pay something—"

"No, Héctor." Julio crossed his arms. "Rosita's right. Family doesn't pay for shoes. But, eh…." He glanced warily at Victoria. "What do you think Mamá Imelda will have to say?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. You can leave her to me-e-e—!" Héctor jerked his foot away from Oscar, the appendage flopping loosely as he hopped off-balance. "Hey, watch it! That tickles!"

"But—"

"Listen: Imelda is your mamá. Of course you will do as she says, and don't ask questions. That's the way it should be. But she's my Imelda." His eyes twinkled. "I know how to deal with her. You can leave that to me. I just thought that since I have no plans to stop visiting my family, I might as well have a proper excuse of my own." He leaned in, motioning for them to join him. They huddled around him, close enough that their heads were nearly touching.

"As far as you're concerned," he whispered, "I've given up on seeing Imelda. I've accepted that she doesn't want to see me. And if you do see us together, just… y'know." He smiled again, but this time the expression was far more playful. "She's my wife, isn't she? Act natural."

"Natural?" Oscar parroted, only to get thumped on the skull. "Oh, right! Natural!" They all chuckled, save for Victoria's modest headshake. Héctor nodded and they broke apart.

"I'm sure boots take quite a while to make, yes?" He asked in a much louder tone, directing his voice towards the stairs. "Especially custom boots for your Papá Héctor!"

"You're right!" Julio agreed just as loudly, winking at Rosita. "Custom boots take a very long time!"

"Yes! Weeks!" Rosita giggled.

"Then I'll leave you all," Héctor nearly shouted, taking his hat and waving it with a flourish, "to your work!" As he jammed the hat on his head, there was a soft sound… almost like the rustling of skirts at the head of a grand staircase.

"Come back tomorrow for a proper sizing," Victoria advised, one eye on the stairs. "That way, we won't have to second-guess ourselves once we begin."

"Understood!" He winked once more before turning, offering a little wave over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow, everyone."

"Adiós, Héctor!" The Riveras waved him out the door, looking at one another before stifling their laughter. If Héctor was volunteering to take the brunt of Imelda's anger, they were more than willing to sneak around and help them any way they could. After all, her mighty arm was often the only thing that kept them in line, and something about Héctor's goofy charm made him hard to resist. Maybe that was what she had meant, blaming him for Miguel's naughtiness on Día de Los Muertos: his mischief was catching.

"It's all right, Mamá!" Julio called at the foot of the stairs. "He's gone now." There wasn't a full thirty seconds of silence before Imelda was among them, eyeing them all suspiciously with her usual motherly intuition.

"It took longer than normal to make him leave this time…." She trailed off expectantly, waiting for someone to explain. Without batting an eye, Victoria took over.

"We ran out of excuses and had to think of something else." It was a lie by omission, but it rang enough of the truth that she felt confident staring directly into her grandmother's eyes. "He stayed because he wanted to order some boots."

"Boots?" Imelda repeated, her mouth pursing in distaste. "What sort of boots?"

"Custom boots," Rosita explained. "He's tired of walking around in his bare feet."

"And you accepted him?" For the first time, Imelda seemed unhappy about a potential sale. "Why? Now he has an excuse to come inside and—anyway, you should have turned him away," she fussed, running both hands over her immaculate hairstyle and patting it into place nervously.

"It's our fault," Oscar spoke up, hands clasped in false penitence. "Felipe and I couldn't turn him down."

"We haven't made a custom order of boots in so long. We were excited, Imelda."

"We didn't think, and he is—"

"—like a brother to us, after all."

"It's not just anyone," Rosita pointed out gently. "It's Papá Héctor. We can't refuse him."

"Papá Héctor?" Imelda groaned. "Since when is he— Never mind." She crossed her arms, staring out the open door. "I can't even blame you for it. A Rivera has never been able to turn away someone in need of shoes. Even if it's him. And it's only for a few more days."

"Maybe a week," Julio corrected her. "Or more. We have a lot of orders…."

"Ay… heaven help me."

Héctor sat at the edge of Shantytown, kicking his feet off the ledge as he thought. People passed by, shouting greetings to him from the docks, but he was far too lost in his own mind to pay much attention. As was the case lately, his thoughts were focused on one goal: Imelda.

Admittedly he was out of practice, and quite rusty when it came to the art of courtship. In the olden days, back when they were alive, it had been more a scheme of getting her to notice him at all. He had even rejected the help of his best friend, afraid that Ernesto might catch her eye before he could ever hope to. That was good: he hadn't needed him then, and certainly didn't need him now.

Most of his ideas for getting back into her good graces were the same as his former exploits: serenading by moonlight, offering her gifts, winning her over with his irresistible charm… he no longer had the dimples she so admired, by he was still quite handsome, if he said so himself.

The real question was: would she ever indulge him?

Probably not at first. He frowned, staring up at the city lights dancing above him. He'd given her a full month, slipping away after the Sunrise Spectacular and biding his time. Imelda could hold a nasty grudge—he had firsthand knowledge of that. Years of bitterness would not disappear overnight, just because they'd had one song together, one small adventure with their living progeny. Before Miguel had come, he'd given up hope of reaching her at all.

But.

That's for murdering the love of my life!

The thwap of the huarache against bone rang over and over in his head: a sound of hope. He was the love of her life! Even all these months later, he still couldn't quite believe it.

I still have a chance. I'm the love of her life.

It was that mentality that had him coming to the Rivera household day after day, standing awkwardly in the doorway and asking to see her. He could tell that the family was willing, even if the woman was not. There was pity in their expressions as they lied to his face, telling him that he'd just missed her, that she'd gone for a walk, or to get more thread, or to deliver a rush order of shoes.

Imelda was a stubborn woman, that was for sure. But he was a stubborn man. Year after year he'd gone to that dumb bridge, knowing full well that he would not be able to cross. Compared to that, romancing his own estranged wife would be a piece of cake! He planned it out in his head, days of shoemaking and nights of wooing. She'd be begging him to stay within the month. Maybe. Hopefully.

It was a foolproof plan… so long as she didn't call for Pepita.

#fanfiction #my writing #dp coco #coco #disney pixar coco #imelda x héctor #imector #pixar coco

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