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Chapter Text

The Encanto was bustling after the reconstruction of La Casita.  The Madrigals were slowly changing their involvement with the community; still heavily involved as healers and helpers, but taking time out for family and their health.  The village was growing as well, now that the mountain pass had broken.  At the urging of Alma and the other elders of the community, a tall palisade had been built across the crack, with a regular rotation of people to guard it, but people trickled in here and there, allowed in only after intense vetting.

Elena Pascual was taking full advantage of the extra traffic to grow her businesses.  Already she had taken out a loan and bought two shipments of books and one of exotic coffee, with more set up for her to pick up herself along the way.  In a town as small as Encanto, one had to wear many hats if they wanted a niche business to succeed, and so Elena ran a small bookshop that also held Encanto’s bibliotheca and a small coffee shop, because all good books are improved with good coffee.  Café de Libros was a straightforward name for the place, but Elena was a straightforward person, so it suited her just fine.

She did a steady business, more so in lending books (and their late fees) and selling coffees than selling books, but she was happy with that.  More townsfolk were showing an interest recently, with curiosity and the availability of travel now making selections wider and livening imaginations, and she was comfortable as long as she was careful.  She kept her small apartment over the shop frugally, her only extravagance treats for her pet, Chacha the Fuertes parrot.  Chacha liked to nibble on book corners if left to her own devices, and was kept in a large rope enclosure in the apartment at night, free to fly during the day. 

Since the rebuilding of La Casita, all of the Madrigals had, at one point or another, made their way to her shop.  Isabela was quickly devouring her gardening and botany section, and had started in on the natural remedies section with her mother Julieta and little cousin Antonio, who each either bought or borrowed their own stack of literature.  Julieta seemed a bit sheepish at her pile of true crime fiction, but Antonio lapped up his adventure and dinosaur books and came back for more, his reading level already very advanced for his age.  Chacha liked to perch on his head and snuggle into his hair as he read books out loud to her.

Luisa and Camilo would sometimes come in to the coffeeshop side to relax at the end of the day, sipping mochas and reading new comics with their feet kicked up before heading home for supper.  Elena always smiled at the unlikely duo.  Middle children stuck together, it seemed.   She would always weaken Luisa’s coffee so she could get a good night’s sleep, and doubled the cocoa and milk in Camilo’s.  the poor kid was always starving, and any extra calories would help.

Pepa, out of respect for the nature of the shop, would only send in her husband Félix for their drinks and always remembered to borrow the special book protector that Elena had ordered for her.  She didn’t want to buy it outright, afraid the glass would get broken if it lived in Casita.  It certainly made it easier for Dolores to hide in the corners with Mariano, giggling as Félix would shoot her a covert wink.  The courtship was progressing quickly, but both of them wanted a little more privacy to just be themselves that neither of their abuelas would find proper.  Elena wasn’t telling.

Mirabel and her abuela Alma had been the second most frequent visitors, coming at least twice a week to sit, talk, and get to know each other again.  Elena did her best to not listen in and to give them a brightly lit corner table in the café.  It was certainly awkward at first, but by the two had quickly found a love of textiles, and could now be seen working on projects together for hours.  In the café, it was understood to leave the two alone while they worked in the sunlight, fingers flying and needles whizzing through fabric or crochet hooks clacking as yarn became blankets and smiles became laughter at old family stories and bright new ideas.  If Alma gave her the cold shoulder in the meantime, that was fine.  The two of them had never gotten along after she’d taken over the shop.  Mourning for her parents had removed all sense of decorum, and one day, she’d let Alma have it after seeing her overlook and ignore little Mirabel on a trip, who only wanted to show her abuela the project she wanted to make for her from her craft book.  She’d seen the door ceremony and everyone’s reactions to it, and had been just seven levels of done with what she’d heard.  That the two were repairing their relationship now made her happy.

It was the returned Madrigal brother that was a daily constant in her shop.  Bruno Madrigal always hid in one of the leather chairs in the library, nose buried in whatever book was closest at hand when someone came in, nibbling some treat he’d smuggled in under his ruana and sipping an espresso.  Elena had tried to weaken his coffee once as well, thinking the poor man with the sad, tired eyes needed more sleep and the caffeine definitely wasn’t helping, but he’d just started ordering doubles in his quiet voice.  Beyond his coffee order and quiet greetings, he didn’t speak, and would always duck out when she was preoccupied, or when another of the family was nearby.   If Elena hadn’t remembered him from before his disappearance, she would be highly suspicious of his strange behavior.  But Elena did remember.

Bruno had been a frequent at the café and library when her parents had opened it as well, twenty year ago when she was sixteen and her father’s failing health became too much for even Julieta’s arepas to keep at bay any longer.  Always an armchair scholar after a long day in the coffee fields, the business had built up quickly and the old town librarian, Senór Geraldo, had been thrilled to sell them the adjoining building and retire.  Her father had asked Bruno for a prophesy about whether he would see the shop succeed, and had seemed pleased with the result, though he didn’t share it with his wife and daughter. 

After that prophesy, Bruno had made a point to come out at least once a week with his sisters, seemingly trying to drum up business for the place, thinking kindly on her father for appreciating his gift.  He was quiet and slunk into the background even then, hiding in the same leather chair to read while he waited for his sisters to make their selections and drink their coffees outside.   Apparently, this was a break for them too, their toddlers having run them ragged and their brother coming to the rescue for some much-needed time away.  Elena had tried once to ask the man about the vision he had given her father, ailing still, but he’d refused, saying gently that that was for her father to tell her, not him.   It may have been the longest he’d ever spoken to her.  After that she’d pestered her father, but he’d said nothing, only that she would know in time.  Bruno continued to come to the shop regularly, bringing his sobrinos and sisters on occasion and working his way through the books for borrowing.  The once lustrous leather of his favorite chair slowly buffed away to a gentled suede from all the sand in his clothes, and no matter how hard they cleaned or polished the shop, there was always a grit to the floor and in the carpets.

Elena had helped in the shop and gone about her business, kind to the quiet man who read unobtrusively in the corner and bought science fiction and mythology books in turn, leaving little handmade good luck charms tucked into shelves here and there after an especially difficult customer came through.  The most they spoke after her asking about the prophesy was to exchange bits of information on books they’d liked, but she found herself grateful for him, since his presence kept people from bothering her while she worked.

Her father died shortly after what she called the Mirabel Affair, and her mother a few months later.  With so much going on in her life and him being naturally quiet, it took her nearly half a year to realize that the shop shadow was no longer visiting.  She thought perhaps the shakeup of the youngest Madrigal not receiving a gift had distracted the family and thought little of it, other than hoping that he hadn’t started drifting away from his niece like the grandmother was rumored to be doing.   It wasn’t until she had to limp to Julieta’s stall in the market one day after breaking her foot that morning dropping a very large and very heavy book on it that she found out the truth with a sad, hushed “We don’t talk about Bruno” from Julieta.  “He’s made his choice to leave the family without a word and that’s that.”  It had surprised her, because of all the Madrigals, it had been Bruno that seemed the most attentive to his family, even if he didn’t speak to other people much.  He knew what comics Luisa liked the most and all their storylines, just how Pepa took her favorite persnickety coffee, Agustín’s favorite author and when the latest book was coming out and his mother’s secret love of romance novellas.  He had watched over anyone he came to the shop with, a silent guardian.  For him to just leave had caught her off guard.

She had found the prophesy in her father’s things after that.  There were chips and flakes taken out of it here and there, from frequent handling, and a large corner had broken off and been lost at some point, but the image was clear enough.  The storefront, clean and busy, flowers in bloom around it, and her on the window bench outside, smiling at something lost in the broken corner.  The shop would flourish under her, but her father and mother would not live to see it.  A bittersweet vision, but she could understand why her father had been pleased enough. 

For the ten years in between, Elena ran her bookshop, library, and café with military precision, keeping meticulous records of every book and planning her quarterly trips out of Encanto for replacements and new stock down to the centavo and minute.  The mountains were treacherous to get back over, but she’d learned the route in and out in the ten years her parents had run the shop, and she used that knowledge well.  The shop may not have been flourishing like in the glass, but it was doing well enough.

She had always kept good records, better than her father, and when La Casita was being rebuilt, she had done her part to help out.  Not only did she get her hands dirty mixing and applying stucco and paint and hauling stones, but she’d raided her shop to replace as many of the destroyed books as she could.  It wasn’t perfect, but it was appreciated.  She’d run into Bruno more than once during the whole process, but he’d been very quiet still, and had quickly found some other task.  She couldn’t place why, other than perhaps he found her brash attitude, so much different from who she had been in her twenties, off-putting.  He wouldn’t be the first person to do so.

And now the shadow had returned, his eyes more sleep-bruised and mournful than ever and his hair shot through with gray, his smile wary and his voice even quieter than before.  Elena would puzzle over it with Chacha at night, especially after seeing Bruno speak, quiet but sure with other vendors at the market on one of the holidays when she would drag out her better loved books for a flash sale.  Perhaps it was just the fact that he’d always used the shop as a sanctuary and didn’t like to disturb the quiet, but the fact that he never truly spoke to her was starting to wear on Elena’s nerves.  If she had done something to offend him since his return, better he tell her and they hash it out that just skirting the issue.

*****

“You aren’t getting any younger, Brunito,” Alma said teasingly, standing beside her son as they watched the three youngest Madrigals trying and failing to get the futbol past Luisa in the courtyard in their usual post-comida game.  Bruno sighed.

“Mamá, please don’t start this again.  We’re trying to start off on new footing, and we used to have this conversation once a week ten years ago.”

“I have some catching up to do, then,” Alma smiled mischievously.  “You’re so good with the children, and you need someone to talk sense into you.  You stay in your own head far too much.”

“Mamá…don’t go trying to set me up.  You remember how that always ended.

“Senórita Flora was a nice girl!  And Patricia got along so well with your sisters.  Beatriz may not have been the prettiest thing, but she had a heart of gold.”

“None of which mattered because they were all scared of me, Mamá!  Flora cried enough to flood the house the first time she saw my eyes glow because I’d told her abuelo when her abuela would die and she was terrified I was going to give her more sad news.  I had a migraine, that was it!  Beatriz tried so hard to be around me, but she shook like a leaf if I offered her the salt!  Patricia smashed a plate on my head because I’d surprised her in the kitchen offering to help her with the dishes!  It’s always a terrible idea Mamá.  Please let it go.  I’m fifty anyway, that’s far too late.  There’s no guarantee a woman my age would be able to even have children anymore by the time we got to the attempting stage.”  His brow furrowed even as his neck burned red. 

Alma shook her head.  “So look for a younger woman, you silly boy!  You are a handsome man when you aren’t skulking around in the shadows with a pocketful of rats.”

“And get labeled an old pervert?  No gracias, Mamá.  That was the one rumor I managed to avoid, I don’t want to pick it up now!  ‘Lock up your daughters, it’s Bruno!’  ‘Don’t let Bruno linger near the shop girls, he’ll cart them off in the night!’ Really, Mamá!” 

Alma threw up her hands.  “You’re just being impossible.  I wasn’t saying go party with los adolecentes!  But there’s nothing stopping you from at least talking to one of the women in their thirties!  Senóra Pamela and Juanita Valdez, or Carlita the baker!”

Bruno’s frown deepened and he held up a hand, his voice strong.  “Mamá, stop.  I am not having this conversation right now.  You know why I’m not doing any of that.  Let it go,  please?”  With that, he walked away.  That was one thing that he’d learned since coming back; it was healthier to walk away from the immovable object than continue to attempt to be the unstoppable force.  Eventually, he hoped his mother would leave him alone about it.

He made his way to his room and closed the door, sliding down it and running his hands through his hair, scrubbing at his face and groaning.  He’d given up on that idea a long time ago, probably around the time Camilo and Mirabel were born.  He’d seen how young women had started to avoid his mother in the street, afraid the older woman would try to rope them into a dinner sitting next to Maldito Bruno.  Even their children being guaranteed a miraculous gift wasn’t enough to reduce the fear people had of him and his visions.

His chest felt tight.  Needing to get out of the house, he tore through the new oasis that was now his room, with its soft multicolored sand beaches and gentle, tumbledown stone waterfall, to find the corner where his actual room was, a hidden alcove that was just small enough to be cozy without being cramped.  His rats were all sleeping in patches of sunlight that dotted the floor from above, save for Pecasita, with her mottled coat.  Bruno sighed and held out a hand to her.  The little freckled rat scampered up his arm to snuggle into his hood beneath his hair.  Bruno grabbed his tattered wallet, saw he had enough pesos for his goal, cursing under his breath that he’d have to find some way to make a little more money after this.  He didn’t want to go back to charging for visions just yet, but he certainly wasn’t going to ask his hermanas for money, and definitely was not going to his mother.  He paused, stuffed a small bag in his pocket, and headed to the back of his room.

He slunk out the back way that La Casita had provided for him, happy that the house accommodated his readjusting to the real world.  He didn’t want to run into his mother at the moment.

Of course he had the luck to run smack into Antonio, who had left the game and running to escort a rather weather-beaten something with feathers into the kitchens.

“It’s Senóra Pascual’s Chacha!” Antonio said, looking up at Bruno with sad eyes “I heard her coming and went to meet her, she got divebombed by a falcon, but got away!  She doesn’t sound so good.”

Bruno got on his knees eye level with his nephew and looked at the bird.  She was breathing raggedly, something was wrong with both her wings and blood stained her green feathers. 

“Tell her to eat some of this.  If it works on humans, maybe it works on birds?” Bruno said as he dug into his pocket, pulling out the bag with his stash of healing arepas.  They were a couple of days old, but they worked just the same on him.

Antonio and Chacha had a hushed conversation that sounded wholly one sided to his Tio, but in the end, he laid Chacha down on the ground and put the arepa in front of her.  The bird nibbled it curiously, doing that little black tongue thing that always made Antonio laugh, and stopped.  One of the wounds on her back sealed up.  Chacha quirked her head noticing the curiosity, and then dove onto the treat, tearing it to shreds, her wings popping back into their sockets without a hint of pain.  She then flew up, testing her wings, and flapped around Bruno’s head squawking triumphantly.  Bruno flapped his hands at the sudden flurry of feathers and landed on his rear, Antonio doing the same as he cackled. 

“She says ‘Thank you’, Tio Bruno!”

“She’s very…enthusiastic.”

“Will you help me take her back to Senóra Pascual?” Antonio asked, “Mamá doesn’t like me to go into town by myself if I don’t have Parce, and she’s off doing Jaguar stuff in the real jungle.”

Bruno nodded, holding a hand out to his youngest sobrino.  He had been headed to the café anyway.  Maybe he could finally finish Don Quixote and get Mirabel and Agustín off him for having never read the classics.

He laughed at himself.  Wouldn’t that just make his mother’s day?  Him sneaking out of the house to see a woman she couldn’t stand.  Senóra Pascual had a reputation for not taking any nonsense, and that included from his mother, and his mother didn’t care for anyone who didn’t take her nonsense.  Though he supposed she was making exceptions for her family, now.  Bruno could never bring himself to say more than his coffee order to Senóra Pascual.  She had gone from a gawky teenager who wasn’t afraid of him to a lovely, plump, and assertive woman who had been quietly charming him since his return by her simple ability to just let him be.  She was possibly the only person in town who didn’t whisper about him as he passed, who didn’t bother him with digging questions about where he’d been.  She let him exist in his old favorite chair in her shop and read, ignoring when he snuck in snacks or napped.  She’d once chased a group of teens away from him as they tried to snatch the book from his hands as he slept, smacking them away with the long ladle she used to retrieve coffee beans from the sack and threatening that next time it would be something heavier.  He couldn't even remember what book he'd been reading that day afterwards, he'd been so distracted by the sight of her, swearing a blue streak out the door at the punks as the sunlight turned her hair to a writhing halo and brought out the freckles on her nose.

Not that he meant to do a thing about it.  He was fourteen years older than her, and she seemed to have no interest in a domestic life anyway, content to run her businesses, pamper her parrot, and traveling more than many in the village.  Even if she did, she had better options than him.  The handsome butcher was there at least three times a week at the end of the day, and the cocoa farmer she bought her raw chocolate from was always bringing her flowers.  Senór Marquez the tailor seemed to be another man orbiting around her.  Around his age, but with much more to offer.  Even if he did try, he was sure he had no chance of success, given his reputation and social awkwardness.

Antonio looked up at his Tio as he held his hand.  It was odd for him to be so quiet.  Usually, he’d be asking questions about the animals, seeing how his rats were doing and if they wanted anything, but today he seemed lost in his head again.  They made their way into town in silence, the occasional chitter from Chacha the only thing breaking the silence.

                                                            *****

Elena jumped and yelped as the door to the café blew open, a curly head darting in, followed by a green shadow. 

“Hola, Antonio!” she said as she realized who it was that had come flying in.  Bright eyes and a huge grin popped up over the counter as he hopped up on a stool and beamed at her, Chacha in his hands. “And Chacha, you’re home early.”

“She had a fight with a falcon at La Casita.” Antonio stated matter-of-factly.  “She was hurt, but Tio Bruno healed her with his snack stash, and she wanted to come back home for the day.”

Elena looked from the parrot to the little boy to the man standing off to the side, trying not to be seen, and smiled. 

“Well then gracias, Senór Madrigal, and gracias Tonito.  Chacha is special to me, and I’d be very sad to lose her.  Are you just here with Antonio to drop off my bird, or will you have your usual?”

Bruno looked surprised to have been addressed, and muttered “the usual, por favor.”  Elena nodded and got to work grinding fresh beans and compacting them by hand, her strong arms moving with the ease of muscle memory, chatting with Antonio as she did.

“And for you, Tonito?  A hot cocoa?”

“Ooh, yes, please!”

“That book about the South Pole Expedition finally came back if you want to read it.  Why don’t you read to Chacha to calm her down for a while?  That is, if your Tio isn’t in a hurry to get somewhere?”

The man in question shook his head as he reached for his finished cup of espresso.  His fingers brushed hers and seemed to linger as she handed it over, and his ears pinked brightly as he fumbled and looked away, stammering a “thank you.”  Elena pretended not to notice and nodded, turning to complete the cocoa for the little boy, who now had her parrot nesting snugly in his hair, swinging his legs rhythmically waiting for his treat.  She accepted a couple of crinkled pesos from a suddenly bashful Bruno and went back to tidying the library shelves.  ‘It’s like that then,’ she thought to herself.  That surprised her more than her thought of having somehow offended him.  But she couldn't say the idea didn't intrigue her.  

Bruno Madrigal was a gentle, sweet, and handsome man; she’d thought so for years.  How some other woman hadn't seen that and snatched him up before he went into hiding, she'd never understand.  Especially after the rumors she heard from la vidua Gonzalves tittering about with her other raunchy old lady friends during their weekly chinchón game. When she passed his chair a while later to re-shelve some older classics, she gave him a small smile and scooted past his armchair, standing close as she slid books to their places on a low shelf.  He coughed quietly and buried his nose deeper in Don Quixote, his ears even redder, though she caught him looking over the book in her direction, eyes following her as she finished her tidying.  She saw a little nose wiggling under his hair and bright black eyes peeping at her, and knew he’d brought in one of his pet rats.   She’d long since asked his sobrino to tell them not to nibble on her books, and they all knew the deal, so she let it go.  the little rata was pretty cute anyway.

Elena continued on about her cleaning, letting the slow and steady hum of pages turning and Antonio’s reading to Chacha be the background noise of her day.  The books were reshelved and put back in order for the day in due time, interrupted now and again with other villagers coming in and browsing, or grabbing a late afternoon pick-me-up.  They stayed away from the aisle that Bruno occupied, though Elena noticed when they passed by, he’d glance over his book and follow them with his eyes.  Curious that, but considering the reputation he still had in the town, it didn’t really surprise her.  She lost track of the time humming to herself behind the coffee counter, setting things up for the most common orders and the regulars.

The bell on the door to the library rang, and she heard footsteps she recognized, and sighed tiredly.  It was Carlos the butcher.  Again.

Bruno’s ears perked up at the sigh that had cut off the humming he’d been tapping his foot to, and saw the butcher walk in.  He was leaving a trail of something unsavory on the rugs that dulled the sound of foot traffic.

“Cariña Elena!” he greeted her, his voice grating against her ears, it always made her teeth itch. “You look lovely today, as always.  I’ve made a reservation for us at Los Amore’s for tonight.  Won’t you put away these dusty books for an evening and come with me?”

'Los Amore’s’ Bruno thought, sinking into his chair ‘that’s the best place to eat in town.  Things must be getting serious; how did I miss…’

“No.” Elena said clearly, cutting through his mental fog.

“What do you mean ‘No’?  I told you I was going to on Meírcoles.” Carlos asked, his brow falling into an ugly frown and leaning forward over the counter, taking hold of her chin.  Elena looked up at him, a glower on her own face.

“I said ‘no,’ Carlos.  That means I don’t want to go.  I told you no on Miercoles.  I’ve said ‘No’ each time you asked me.  That ‘no’ should be enough.”

“What game are you playing?  I spend all this money trying to get you to come out of this dingy little shop every other day, and you turn me away every time!  I want you, mi gordita, but I won’t be giving you chances forever. Why will you not say yes? You’ll get old and fatter one day, then who will have you?”  He whispered something Bruno couldn’t make out, but that turned Elena’s expression dark.

“Not you, Carlos.  No.  Ten times no.  A hundred times no.  A thousand times, no!” Elena hissed, pulling away, her voice high and agitated.

Bruno looked over his book at the sudden increase in volume.  Antonio had gotten quiet in his corner with Chacha hiding in his curls, and Pecasita was sitting alert under Bruno’s hair.  Elena and Carlos were almost nose to nose, close enough to slap or kiss, and Bruno frankly couldn’t tell which was going to happen next, though he didn’t like the pet name Carlos had for his novia—if she even was his novia.  Elena was clearly less than thrilled about how she was being spoken to.

“You want to know why, “no”, Carlos?  You disrespect my businesses every time you talk about them!  You always drag something foul onto my floors from the butcher shop that I spend hours cleaning!  You never listen to me.  But overlooking todo esa mierda?” She paused to scoff. Bruno thought that was more than reason enough, but was taken aback by what he heard next.

 “I will keep telling you no like I have been every week since you came here two weeks after your wife died asking me out!  And for asking me out before she died as well! Eres una perro for acting like this!  Your little girl was still crying over her Mami and you waltz in here with a bouquet of flowers acting like I should be flattered at the attention before she's cold in the ground!  Well, I’m not flattered.  The only reason I keep letting you in the door and haven’t gotten a guard dog yet is because I keep hoping you’ll get it through your fat head and buy something for your daughter like a real father, but this is the last straw!  Now get out!”

Carlos’ frown deepened, and he slammed his hands on the counter. “You’ll be coming with me tonight, Elena.  I’ll not be made a fool of.  Leave my daughter out of this, she doesn’t need a bunch of fool ideas in her head like some joder puta.”

“I said get out, Carlos.” Elena said flatly, her mouth a hard line and her eyes cold.

Carlos lunged and grabbed her arm, and Bruno was out of his chair in a flash, his fingers crossed and Don Quixote forgotten on the floor before Elena had completed her string of curses.

“La Senóra told you to go.  I think you should listen to her.”

“Says who?” Carlos said, yanking Elena’s hand and turning.  He saw Bruno’s eyes beginning to glow and the ingrained sand in the shop floor start to swirl around them both and blanched pale as a sheet.  “...Senór Madrigal…”

“I believe the lady said to leave, Carlos Martín Bardales.  Perhaps you should listen.”  The sand swirled a bit more fiercely as Bruno raised his voice, flashes of green sparking around the two men and Elena.  Shadows deepened around Bruno’s eyes as they glowed brighter.  The butcher’s eyes widened at the use of his full name and at the green images flashing around the smaller man, dropping Elena’s arm and shuffling away, muttering and crossing himself, rage and fear on his face.  Bruno let the light fade from his eyes and the sand fall once the butcher was out the door.  He leaned on the counter, a light sheen of sweat on his brow.  Elena stared at him like a ruffled owl, absentmindedly trying to brush sand off the counter.

“L-lo siento, Senóra.  I didn’t mean to interrupt.  He got rough and I just…well…”

Elena ran a hand through her hair and patted his arm, causing him to jump.  “It’s fine, Senór Madrigal.  Thank you for chasing him off.  I’m sorry you had to hear that, and that you had to use your gift that way."  Bruno started at that.  "It didn't frighten you?"  Elena shook her head, "Of course not!  Senór Madrigal, you have a niece who could grow a cactus in my lungs, another that could tear out my spine, and a sister that could electrocute, drown, or freeze me.  You being able to see the future doesn't really compare to all that.  Carlos is just stupid and superstitious, lucky for us.  What did you see?"

"Nothing.  It--it wasn't really a vision.  Sometimes I get flashes of things when I'm...when there's a lot going on."

"Well, thank you for chasing him off, regardless.  And Antonio, I'm so sorry you had to hear all that as well.  Forgive me, cariño.”  She sighed, turning to the little boy who’d come to take his tio’s hand.  “It’s late, and I need to clean and close up the shop anyway.  He always tries to ambush me at the end of the day.”

“We--We’ll get out of your hair…yes, Tonito?”

“We can’t leave yet!” Antonio whispered, looking bashful as he tugged Bruno's ruana urgently. “Chacha got scared at the yelling, and now I can’t get her out of my hair!”

“‘Tonio! Dios mi--lo siento again, Senóra Pascual…Mi sobrino seems oddly attached to your parrot!”

Elena laughed and came around the counter, kneeling next to Antonio and attempting to wrestle the parrot out of his riotous hair.  After a few minutes, squawks of protest, and a small yelp from the boy, she gave up, and wry smile on her face.  “I guess you’ll have to take Chacha home with you tonight, mijo.  She’s tangled as grapevines, and I’m not about to do anything to that lovely hair.  Your mama would hang me out to dry.  Anyway, you two should be getting on for supper.”

Antonio looked up at his uncle, who was blushing and fidgety, and Senóra Elena, who looked worried and sad.  He nudged Bruno’s knee.  Bruno ignored it, until Chacha gave him a healthy peck on the hand Antonio was holding.

“Ah…Senóra Pascual, you could always come with us…to dinner I mean…that way you can bring Chacha home yourself after and not have to worry about her?”

            Elena stopped wiping sand off the counter and looked at Bruno.  Red had crept from his neck to his ears, and was spreading on his cheeks.  She’d never seen a man so shy, and she found it inexplicably endearing.  “Why not,” she grinned. “But only if you call me Elena.  Senóra Pascual is going to get tiring to say after a minute.” 

Bruno just ducked his head in agreement and headed to the café door to open it for her.  Elena grabbed her favorite verde shawl before locking the bibliotheca door, slipping her keyring into a beltloop on her trousers and making her way out the open door, locking it too as she exited, letting Bruno close it.  “Bruno.  You can call me Bruno…if you want,” he mumbled quietly.  “I’d like that,” she answered.

Antonio, the polar opposite of his bashful tio, grabbed her hand with his free one and walked between the two adults, mostly oblivious to the nervous chuckle this caused both of them.  He skipped happily all the way down the road to La Casita listening to Chacha and Pecasita talking about their respective people.  He giggled every now and again, asking each adult questions about the things their pets told him.

“Is it true that you once pranked Senór Bonitez into thinking Mami was mad at him by hiding your watering cans, Senóra Elena?”  Elena had cackled and told Chacha to stop spilling her secrets.  “Sí, Sí!  Senór Bonitez was giving your Mamá a hard time over the state of his garden.  It’s not her fault he never fertilizes it!  She’s too nice to do it on purpose and I got sick of hearing him gripe about it.  So yes, watering cans and ropes.  It’s a good thing Senór Bonitez isn’t too bright.”

Bruno snorted quietly before Antonio turned to him. “Tio Bruno, did you really used to hide Tio’s libros so you could read them before they were due back to Senóra Elena’s bibliotheca?”

“Pecasita, cállete!  I told Agustín I’d pay him back those late fees when I could!  Not my fault he’s the only other person in the house that likes sci-fi.” Bruno hissed at his rat friend, looking at Elena apologetically.

Elena shook her head.  “I always just assumed he was taking forever because he kept breaking his glasses or something.  Consider the fees waived, Bruno, now that I know they were being enjoyed.  I imagine it gets lonely being in hiding for ten years.”

Bruno swallowed and looked away awkwardly.  Elena sighed.  “I’m not judging you, you know.  You overhear things in the stores.  Your family is just glad to have you back, I think.  It sounds like you did what you had to, to protect your niece.  It’s a shame your gift isn’t more valued.  Petty people asking petty questions and getting mad at you like you’re the one who’s responsible for their bad decisions!  Ptah!”  She spat that last bit.  “We’re all more than what people think we are, Bruno.  If they think at all.”

Bruno just nodded, tongue-tied.  Antonio filled the silence as he skipped along.  “Chacha says she remembers Tio Bruno from before he hid away?”

“She should!  That ragtag bird is older than me!  Your Tio told my Papá the business would succeed, and then spent ten years with your Mamá and Tia trying to drum up business on his own.” Elena laughed.  “I’m glad she talks to someone.  I spent five years trying to teach her to talk and it never stuck.”

“She says copying people hurts her throat, but she likes when you talk to her!  She says ‘specially when you talk about Tio Bruno.”

Bruno quirked up an eyebrow and managed to look at Elena.  She looked back at him with a smirk. 

“Que?  You barely ever spoke to me besides a coffee order.  I was brainstorming with the parrot over what I could have said to upset you.  We used to trade book titles at least.”

“I…I wasn’t upset. It’s just--hard for me to…talk to people.  Sometimes.  Still.”

“I don’t see why, Tio” Antonio said, confused “You talk about Senóra Elena all the time, Pecasita says.  All the rats say that’s why you read only at la bibliotheca.”

“The rats are snitching little queso thieves,” Bruno grumbled, shrugging his shoulder to dislodge Pecasita, who squeaked and dove into his hood.  Elena giggled and shook her head.  “What could you possibly be telling them?  I’m just boring senóra del libro.”

“I don’t think you’re boring,” Bruno muttered, Elena barely hearing him.  “You actually leave Encanto and bring in news from outside!  That’s not a safe trip at all, and you take it four times a year just so that Encanto gets word of the outside world and new books to read!”

“Anyone else would do the same.  Books are important!” Elena said defensively “Besides, everyone else just says that I’m able to make the trip so often because no one would want to deal with my mouth if something did happen on the road.”

“Senór Geraldo only made the trip once every two years,” Bruno remembered suddenly.  “And people say a lot of silly things.  You run three businesses with no help, que requiere tenacidad y fuerza!”

Elena felt her face grow hot for a moment.  “I think this is both the longest we’ve ever spoken, and that that was the nicest thing I’ve heard in a while.  Gracias, Bruno.”

Chapter Text

Pepa had looked all through Antonio’s room for him.  She hadn’t seen him in several hours, and while it wasn’t unusual for a Madrigal kid to be off helping somewhere and lose track of time, Antonio knew to be home before dinner.  She marched out of the jungle and into the cocina under a thunderous cloud, finding Dolores helping get things ready with Mariano and Julieta.

“Listen for your brother!  I cannot find him anywhere and Casita isn’t helping.”

“Mamá, you’re going to rain on the chuleta valluna!  I just got them all crispy!”

“Listen for Antonio, Dolores.  I haven’t seen him since lunch.”

Dolores sighed and focused, knowing her mother wouldn’t calm down until she pinpointed her little brother.  It didn’t take long, and she went to grab an extra place setting as her mother looked at her pointedly, the clouds darkening again even as she tried to shoo it away.

“He’s with Tio Bruno on the way home now, and they brought company.  Casita, we’ll need another chair!”

“Antonio knows he’s supposed to ask before he brings one of his little friends, what will their parents think?” Pepa sighed, shooing the last of her cloud away in aggravation.  Dolores just smiled and flipped over a few more plantain slices in the fry oil.  She didn’t need to tell her Mamá everything.  She was glad Mariano had made extra for Camilo’s bottomless gut.  Her brother could be a little hungry tonight, it wouldn’t kill him.

  Mirabel, Agustín, and Félix were setting up the table when the extra place setting and chair rolled in on the tiles, squeezing itself in the corner where Bruno had taken to sitting and Abuela’s head of the table.  “Who’s that meant to be for, Casita?” Mirabel wondered out loud, getting no answer from the house but some of the tiles flapping.  “Ok, be that way, silly house.  Not like I won’t find out in ten minutes anyway.  Now help me shuffle this mess right!”  Casita’s tiles and the tables shuddered until the place settings were all even, though Mirabel threw a little salt on the floor when she saw there were thirteen place settings.  Tio Bruno was rubbing off on her.

Camilo was still in the courtyard, with Isabela now, helping her test out some of her plant’s abilities.  She was almost as good a goalie as Luisa now, though her thicker vines were slower.  She played dirty too.  He still had a few prickles in his ankles he’d have to go to Tia Julieta for.  And they itched.  He didn’t really notice when the main door opened and his little brother came darting in, other than to note at least his Mami would stop freaking out and that there was a parrot in his hair.

Then he stopped dead and got a futbol to the face because of it.  Tio Bruno was holding the door open for Senóra Pascual, the two of them grinning and chatting with each other like they’d been doing so their whole lives.  Which Camilo knew they had not.  He darted off to the kitchen like a boy on fire, the drive to gossip too great.  “Dooooloooreees!  Tio Bruno’s back and he brought his giiiirlllfrieeend!”

Bruno immediately went red at his sobrino’s antics, but Elena laughed.  “It’s fine, Bruno.  He’s a teenager.  They’ve all got one track minds and it’s all the same track.  Come on, show me around this house, I haven’t seen it since construction finished!”

“S-sure thing,” Bruno replied, swallowing.  Now that he was in La Casita he was suddenly regretting his boldness from earlier.  He was dreading dealing with his mother and what he knew was going to be a disaster. And he felt bad for dragging Elena into it.  She looked around the new Casita completely unaware of his thoughts, grinning at the paintings and flowers, petting the succulents hanging from pots tenderly.  “I can’t keep mine alive to save my life, you know.  I’ve tried.  They just don’t like me.  Maybe I’ll ask Isabela some care tips one day.”

“She could just make you some that wouldn’t die...” Bruno said, wincing as soon as he said it, not meaning to offer up his sobrina’s gift like that.

“Hm, nah.  It’s more fun to grow and keep them myself.  I can brag on them more that way!   Isabela should have time to herself more than she does, she’s not everyone’s gardener.”

Bruno smiled at that, breathing a sigh of relief, especially as the niece in question joined them from the courtyard.  She looked surprised to see someone at his side, but covered it quickly.

“Hola Tio, Senóra Elena!  Joining us for dinner tonight?”

“I was bullied into it by your primito and a belligerent parrot.”

“Do I want to know?”

“You’ll see at dinner” Bruno said, shaking his head.  “Chacha made a nuisance of herself.”

“Again?” Isabela laughed.  “What do you mean, ‘Again?’” Elena asked.  Bruno was standing behind her, shaking his head, but Isabela ignored her tio and went on. “When the rebuilding was going well and we started going back out in town again, she started visiting Antonio.  We didn’t think anything of it until she spotted Tio Bruno.  She dive-bombed him, stole his wallet, and flew out of the house!  He had to chase her and we didn’t see him for hours.”

“Isabela…!”

Elena turned to Bruno, remembering the first time he’d come back to the shop.  He’d been holding her bird like a supper chicken and telling her off, wagging his threadbare wallet at her beak.  He’d frozen when she’d opened the door, quietly handed her a ruffled Chacha, and meekly asked for a coffee after his apology.  She hadn’t really thought much of it at the time, Chacha being brought back with a little stolen something wasn’t unusual.  “That explains a bit,” Elena said. 

Bruno bustled past the two and opened the door to the dining room, trying and failing to hide his beet red face.  Several other members were already seated, including Pepa’s children, all with cat grins and the three of them trying to untangle that maldito parrot.  Pepa looked on, a fog rolling under the table in aggravation, but was trying not to laugh as well.  “Welcome to dinner,” he mumbled as he made his way to his usual seat. 

Casita had other ideas, and the second chair scooped him up by surprise and deposited him on his feet by Elena, whom his usual chair was nudging towards.  “Ayyi, I get the message, house!”  Elena accepted the corner seat as he pulled it out for her, and she pushed his new seat out for him, eyes wide with surprise at the enchanted furniture's antics but recovering quickly.  “What, it’s your house.  Least I can do is be polite back.”

Bruno was about to sit down when his mother entered, chatting with Luisa about Senór Ortiz and assuring her that once the pen was rebuilt it wasn’t her duty to find the donkeys every time they got loose.  Her face fell as she turned and saw Elena in Bruno’s regular seat, but she schooled it quickly.  Bruno saw the look, and moved away to pull out his mother’s seat.  “I see you brought a dinner guest, mijo.  This is…unexpected.” Alma looked around the table, and seeing Pepa’s children giggling in a pile, “Antonio, please send your parrot friend back to your room for dinner.  We have guests.” 

Antonio tried to protest, but Elena beat him to it, standing to address the older woman.  “That’s actually why I’m here.  Antonio’s parrot friend is my Chacha and currently trapped in his hair.  Rather than she be away from me for the night after getting attacked by a falcon, Bruno suggested I come for dinner so I could collect her after she’s untangled.”

“I see.  Well, welcome to La Casita, Senóra Pascual.  We’re happy to have you.”  Alma said stiffly, giving her son a pointed look after she gave Elena a once over.  She clucked disapprovingly when she noticed Elena wearing men’s trousers, but said nothing, letting her son push her chair in.  She patted the hand he placed on her shoulder, maybe a little more heavily than normal, and put on a smile as the food was brought in.  Mirabel and Mariano came in loaded with steaming plates of chuleta valluna and fried plantains stacked over towels on their arms, Félix with following behind with a tower of bowls that he went around distributing to each place setting, and Julieta following behind with the pot of frijoles antioquenos and a ladle.  Agustín carried various trays of arepas, only sending two buns rolling to the floor, much to the disappointment of the three coatimundis stalking under the china hutch.  Isabela brought up the rear with the drinks; jugo and aquapanela for whoever wanted it, and wine or rum for the adults, the bottles following behind her held in vines. 

Food was distributed quickly, and Elena offered to pour the drinks, though Alma shut her down, saying that as a guest, of course that wasn’t expected of her.  Mariano began to say something, but Dolores nudged him and he hushed.  Félix shrugged, and took over himself, knowing everyone’s preference by heart save for Bruno and Elena. 

“Bruno, Elena? What will you have?” he asked.  Elena mentioned the mango jugo, not wanting to loosen her tongue more than it was.  Bruno, surprising Julieta, who was seated beside him, opted for the wine.  Félix thought nothing of it and poured, tossing half a lime in Elena’s jugo and quickly making himself and Pepa dirty rum punches before sitting back down.  Julieta leaned in to her brother, and they held a whispered conversation.  Elena sat back, just enjoying the smells of the food, waiting for everyone to settle down.  She wasn’t sure if the Madrigals said grace or not, but Alma certainly seemed like the type. 

Dolores tried not to listen in to her Tio and Tia’s whispered conversation, especially after Bruno gave her his saddest eyes, but she couldn’t really not hear it.  She did try, but Mariano loved to whisper to, so it wasn’t like she had much to distract her, even if he was just talking to himself and not noticing it, trying to plan a romantic date.  Tia Julieta was surprised.            

“Bruno, I thought you always said drinking made it harder to control your visions.”

“I’m grown, but that doesn’t mean I want to face Mamá all the way sober.  She’s going to think I invited Elena out of spite.”

“I know Bruno, and I’m not about to tell you how to live your life.  You didn’t bring her here for that, did you?  Dolores said Mamá was bothering you about women again.”

“Her parrot really did get stuck in Tonito’s hair.  I just thought…nobody likes to be alone, even if the only company is a pet.”   Julieta nodded sadly as she sat back up straight.  Dolores wasn’t about to give away that she’d been listening in, though she was sure they suspected.  She wondered why her uncle hadn’t mentioned the altercation with the butcher; whom she was going to find dirt on later and make his life hell.

Alma cleared her throat and clinked her knife to her glass to get everyone’s attention.  Hands came up on the table and connected.  Elena took Alma’s hand immediately, her chin squared, waiting for the older woman to say something, but she gave her credit for holding her tongue, even if her grip was stronger than expected.  Bruno’s hand trembled for a brief moment before taking Elena’s, bowing his head as his ears burned.  Elena gave the clammy palm a gentle squeeze, the poor man looked like he wanted to sink into the floor under his mother’s dubious gaze.

“We thank our miracle for this night with our family and our continued safety in the Encanto.  For our gifts and our passions, for the opportunities the Encanto has given us, for the friends we have made and community we have grown, and for the kindness, understanding, and aid they gave us in our time of need.  Now, everyone, enjoy!”

Elena was surprised. Short and sweet didn’t seem Alma’s speed, but maybe she was making flash judgements again.  Bruno dropped his hand as soon as he could, wiping it subtly on his pantleg before reaching for an arepa.  Remembering his manners, he offered it over to his right, forgetting for a moment the seating arrangement.

“Gracias, Bruno,” Elena said, taking two buns and the tray, offering it to him as he sheepishly took two as well.  “Senóra Madrigal?”  “No, thank you, Senóra Pascual.”  Elena shrugged, not noticing the shocked look from both Pepa and Julieta, who’d never seen their mother turn down one of her daughter’s arepas, healing or not.  She passed the tray to a foggy Pepa, and got to work on her pork, which smelled heavenly.  Chatter broke open around the table, Luisa and Mirabel trying to cajole Mariano into helping them with the burro pen the next day.  Antonio chimed in, saying he could help with the donkeys if they'd like.  Julieta and Agustíne were planning a get together with their friends the Contantinos, who owned the local zapatéria, and Isabella and Dolores whispering to each other and giggling.  Pepa was talking with her mother about the latest request from the farmers, one hand on her fork and the other slowly working Antonio’s curls loose from Chacha’s feet.  Bruno sat quietly, focused on his food and sneaking a couple more arepas for later, most assuredly for his rats and his emergency stash. 

Elena turned to Bruno and smiled while returning the pointed glances his two oldest sobrinas were giving her.

“Your nieces have told me you’re quite the playwright, Bruno.  Dolores has been raving about the plot twists in your teatro rata.  Have you ever thought of writing them out, maybe for people?  Everyone loves a good drama.”

Bruno chuffed, his tongue loosened by a second glass of wine, and nodded.  “They’re just silly little dramas I made to keep myself entertained.  I don’t even remember half of them.”

“They’re still so good, Tio Bruno” Dolores said “Sorry.  They are, though.  I’d love to see them acted out, it would be so fun!”

“All telenovelas are silly, Bruno.  That’s the whole point, to be extravagant.  It’s nice to watch family drama when it’s all made up and not your own family.” Elena said “I’d watch them if they came to the stage.”

“You—you would?  I thought…nevermind…” Bruno started, shaking his head, peppered curls obscuring his face.

“Thought what?  I’d be too busy?” Elena said.  “I’m always busy, but I’d make time for a friend.  Who knows, maybe I’d even audition.  Mamá always said I worked too hard.”

Bruno looked at her, his green eyes inscrutable for a moment, before a soft smile crept onto his face.  “I…like the thought of that.  Maybe…”  He trailed off, lost in thought, and while he knew his mother was itching to bring up it being a waste of time, she said nothing.  “Do you like the theatre, Elena?”

“It depends on the show, really.  I try to catch a show at least once a year on my trips.  And bring back the plays if I can get hold of them.”  Bruno nodded, knowing the little theater in Encanto tended to do the same shows on a rotation.  His next question was interrupted by his nosy sobrino.

Camilo, interest piqued and mouth half full with plantains, gave a little wave to Elena to get her attention.  “Senóra Elena, are you still going to make trips outside the Encanto now that it’s open at the mountains?”

“Probably,” Elena said, pondering. “It’s cheaper to do it myself, and the less people that know about Encanto the better.  It’s still…dicey, traveling out past the mountains.”

“Is it exciting out there?  Is there still fighting?  Encanto is so quiet…”

“Camilo!  Don’t ask such things,” Alma admonished.  Elena shook her head sadly.  “It’s not the good sort of excitement, Camilito.  I make the trip more than I should, if I’m being honest.  If I could find a good trading partner outside I can trust, it’ll be easier to narrow it down to one or two trips a year.  As it is, yes, there is still fighting, and it’s the kind you want to stay away from. The cities are un poquito better, but the countryside… I wouldn’t go if I didn’t feel like it was important.”

“Is it truly so important, Senóra Pascual?” Alma asked, an edge of challenge to her voice “As important as reading is, your life surely is moreso?”

Elena smiled, and looked at the man beside her, who ducked his head and took a large gulp of wine.  “Bruno predicted to my Papá a long time ago that the shops would succeed under me.  I’m trying my best to make that prediction a reality.  His visions are true, but I firmly believe it’s our actions that make them so.”

Alma’s mouth thinned a bit, though Elena wasn’t sure why.  Before she could say anything else, Camilo piped up again “It’s gotta be dangerous out there for someone by themselves.  How do you manage it?”  “Cállete, Camilo!” Félix said, cuffing his son on the arm, but Elena just laughed.  “It’s tricky.  I know a hard route that a lot of people won’t bother with, and rent the meanest burros.  Anything else, I handle with la pistola en mi sosten.”  Camilo turned red and sunk into his ruana at that, much like his tio, who was coughing, having swallowed a bite of chuleta the wrong way.  Pepa snorted and Félix sat cackling “What you get for tantas preguntas, mijo!” 

Alma’s frown darkened.  “This is not appropriate for the dinner table, or around children, Senóra Pascual!”

“Abuela, all she did was mention a bra.” Luisa chimed in.  “It’s not like Camilo hasn’t helped hang out our laundry.”

“Family is different, and even then, it’s not dinner table conversation, Luisa.  Especially none of this talk about pistolas!”

“Lo siento, Senóra Madrigal.  I forget myself sometimes.”  Elena said simply.  She didn’t see the issue, but her parents had always been very matter of fact about things.  The Madrigal matriarch, despite having two daughters and four granddaughters and knowing how the world outside Encanto could be, was not.  Alma accepted the apology, but her glower did not leave as she ate, an icy silence about her.  Elena shrugged it off, unbothered by the glare being sent her way.   Bruno saw the look and tensed up, waiting.

“Brunito, I’m proud of you for taking my advice to heart this morning, but I can’t say if I’m happy with the rebellious turn it’s taken.”  ‘Aquí vamos de nuevo’ he thought as he finished his wine.  His head was just fuzzy enough that there wasn’t a swirl of anxiety whipping around it.

“What do you mean, Mamá?” he said, trying to shoot an apologetic look at Elena out of the corner of his eye.

“Bruno, how am I meant to take it when you leave in a huff, only to come back hours later with a surprise dinner guest almost guaranteed to get under my skin?  It isn’t kind to me or Senóra Pascual to use her just to try and get me off your back.”

“…I’m still here, you know…” Elena said quietly, looking at Bruno’s sisters for help.  Both shrugged, not sure where their mother was going with this.

“Now I didn’t…” Bruno trailed off, hating himself a little.  Hadn’t he thought the same thing, walking Antonio down to the town?  It wasn’t why he’d asked, but it still stung.

“Bruno, I know you don’t like the subject, but all I want is to see you happy and cared for.  You won’t make me drop this just by causing una pelea like you did the last time.” 

“…didn’t realize I was that unwelcome…” Elena muttered, her frown growing darker as she sat, picking at the last of her dinner.   “Of course you’re welcome,” Julieta said, leaning past her brother’s back to say it.  “Mamá just…some things are still hard for her…”  

“Mamá!  That was twelve years ago!  That parrot did get stuck in Antonio’s hair, and I didn’t want to leave Elena alone right then, alright?”

“The parrot is a weak excuse.  What on earth could have happened that you just had to bring her?” 

“Mamá, why are you so hard on her?  You’ve never had an issue going to her shop.” Pepa said, surprised at her mother's vitriol.

“Because she stuck her nose into business that wasn’t hers.” Alma said, lifting her chin.  Elena met her gaze.  “And I’d do it again if I saw what I did that day.  Mirabel was just a baby, she didn’t deserve to be ignored and snapped at like that just for not having some gift.  At least I know that attitude has changed now.”

“My attitude then was none of your concern, Elena Pascual.”

“It is when it was in my shop, Alma.  My father never let anyone treat their ninos or nietos like that when he ran it, and I didn’t plan on letting it start with me!”

“You see how she speaks to me in my own home, Brunito?  And still you bring her to my table?” Alma called out to her son, her voice accusing and sharp.

Bruno felt his face heat up with something other than embarrassment for the first time that evening.  He tried to stop himself, he really did, but his body and mouth didn’t listen as he stood, hand gripping the table. “Not everything I do is to spite you, Mamá!  You didn’t hear the way the butcher spoke to her!  The look in his eye, the way he grabbed her, like he owned her!  I didn’t think she’d be safe!  Don’t be so bitter.”

Elena made a soft sound from her seat.  Bruno winced at the scraping of her chair as she got up “Disculpe…I see that I’ve overstayed my welcome.  Buenos noches Senóra Madrigal, Bruno…  I’ll leave you all to your meal.”  Her shawl shifted as she stood, and Alma was greeted with the sight of ugly, purple, finger-shaped bruises.  Immediately the older woman felt disheartened and her anger deflated.  “Bring Chacha by sometime tomorrow, Antonio, Sí?”  Elena whispered, hurriedly making her way out of the dining area before darting out of Casita’s courtyard. 

“Mamá!” Bruno snapped before sweeping out of his chair, storming away with a thunderous scowl, ignoring the shriek the chair made across the floor as it caught his ruana before clattering free.

Chapter Text

“Elena, wait!” Bruno called as he ran after her, catching up quickly despite her determined stride.  “Elena!”  She turned to stare at him, hurt in her eyes.  “Lo siento mucho,” he said as he drew up even with her, “I didn't mean to bring up Carlos.  It wasn't my place...I just...Mamá was out of line, and my mouth ran away from me.”  Elena sniffed, wiping away tears with her shawl and slowing to a stop. “It’s alright Bruno.  I was out of line too.  She just riles me up, I don't even know why.” 

Bruno said nothing for a moment, before clumsily digging in his pocket.  He handed her a cold arepa from his bag.  “For--for the bruises, a healing one.  I always keep some on me, just in case I...heh, well…”  Elena took it and nibbled thoughtfully as Bruno went on.  The bruises and soreness she’d been hiding faded away with a tingling warmth.  Bruno’s cheeks and nose were flushed from the wine and he stood a little straighter, seemingly freer of anxiety then usual as he continued. 

“Of course you and Mamá fight like mules.  You're both strong willed.  Some things...Mamá doesn't like to see in other people.  I think it makes her sad about who she could have been.” 

“I didn't mean to pop off at dinner, but I'd get onto her again if I saw her treating one of her grandkids like she did Mirabel that day.”  Elena said, though quietly.

“Good.” Bruno said, surprising her.  “Mamá needs someone to do that now and then.  Keeps her lively.”  Elena giggled and shook her head.  “I’ll apologize when I see her next.  Maybe.  I know she’s getting better.”

They stood in silence for a minute, both unsure where to look as the evening sky dimmed.  “Can I ah...can I walk you home?” Bruno asked suddenly, rubbing his arm.  Elena smiled.  “I’d like that.”

Without hesitating, Elena hooked her arm through his, startling him, though he recovered quickly.  They made their way down the path slowly, enjoying a warm breeze and lost in thought.  Bruno snuck glances at Elena now and then, blushing when he was finally caught.  “I’m glad we were able to finally talk, Bruno,” she said quietly.  “You're fun.  And it's nice to see you back with your familia.  Has it been difficult, being back?”

Bruno looked over at her, surprised she cared to ask.  He’d essentially thrown her up as a shield against his mother, and here she was, asking about him. 

“It’s...different.  The sobrinos are all older.  It’s harder to...to connect. My sisters are trying so hard to make up for lost time.  So is Mamá…”

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

“Yeah...sometimes I just...need the quiet, you know?  It...It’s why I like...Café de Libros.  You let me just...be, there.  Does that make sense?”

Elena sighed. “I grew up an only child, Bruno.  One thing I always had was quiet time.  I can’t imagine you get that too often in a house with a dozen people.  You’ve always been a quiet man, I figured you needed it.”

Bruno gave her a crooked grin “Lo aprecio, Elena.  It’s...very kind of you.”

“You deserve more kindness, Bruno.”

“...Still...I mean, after the vision I gave your father, it always surprised me, you knowing they would pass so young and all…”

“I didn’t see that vision until after my father died and you’d disappeared.  It wasn’t your fault my parents had hard lives and passed on early.  That vision gave them peace of mind in their final years that I would be ok after they were gone.  Not all sad news is bad news.”

“I--I like that,” Bruno said, looking away.  He'd never heard anyone really acknowledge that unfortunate reality of his visions in such a way.

“It’s true!  The fact other people don't seem to realize it is the problem.  Your visions are a gift, not a curse!  It’s not your fault life is just hard sometimes!”  Elena said fiercely, hands flying as she spoke and pulling him closer.  “Er...Elena?”  Bruno stuttered as his elbow brushed against what he hoped was her side.  Elena peered at him, pausing her gesticulating to read his expression.  Those sleepy, soulful eyes gazing at her in curious confusion over burning cheeks, his bottom lip half-worried between his teeth.  Boldly, she found his hand and twined their fingers together, smiling at him sweetly as he swallowed, eyes darting between their linked hands and her face.  She decided to forge ahead, knowing if she didn't now, they'd just keep flitting around each other in the bookshop forever.

“I like you, Bruno.  It’s hard for me to realize you haven't had the kindness in your life you should have.  I’m just me, but I’d like to try and be the source of some of that kindness.”

Bruno blinked at her, his eyes flickering with light for a moment before he tamped it down, ignoring the flutter in his chest.  He can’t have heard that right.  “You...You’re a better friend than I’ve had,” he whispered.  Elena sighed and shook her head with a rueful grin, dropping his hand and taking his elbow again with a pat to his arm.  “Come on, silly man, finish walking me home.”

They walked the rest of the way in companionable silence, Bruno ignoring the thump of his pulse in his ears as he berated himself.  ‘Friend.  Come on, cobarde, she left the door right open, you just had to step in!  What even was that?  You’re fifty, not fifteen again!’  Before he really had time to spiral too far down this route he heard Elena's keys jingle as she pulled them free.  “Well, this is me,” she said, gazing at him, almost expectantly.  Bruno cast about for something to say before seeing the mess the butcher had left on her doormat.  “Do you need help cleaning?”

“Que?”

“Your--ah--your floors?  We left before you could...I could help!  If you don’t mind?”

Elena smiled.  “I’m not fool enough to turn that down.  Sure.  Come in, I’ll find the broom and you can get the shop sand back in la lechada where it likes to be.”

“Shop sand?” he asked, puzzled.  Elena smiled as she handed him her tattered broom, bristles down. “Sí.  It comes in with my favorite customer and makes itself at home.  Keeps people from slipping on the tiles when it's wet out.”

Bruno nodded and got to work, lightly dusting any sand off the counter as he watched Elena out of the corner of his eye.  She dug a dented bucket and a bristle brush that had seen better days from under the cafe counter, filling the bucket with water and peroxide from a dark glass bottle, shaking it ruefully for the last drops before tossing it back under with the rest of her cleaning supplies.  She hauled the lot over to the rugs as he swept, laying a towel down to pad the floor, and got on hands and knees to begin.

Bruno couldn’t quite make out what she muttered under her breath as she scrubbed, but figured it was her mouth running away with her temper.  With the thought of her imagined blue streak and the view of her ample bottom that he couldn’t avoid seeing, he felt his face and body grow hot, feeling every bit the old pervert he’d told his mother he didn't want to be accused of being.  He tried to shake off the feeling.  After all, it wasn’t like he’d been denying he was attracted to Elena, just that she wouldn’t return the feeling if she knew.  But it seemed she did know, and wasn’t opposed.  He just had to gather up some courage and actually do something about it. 

He was tired.  Even though he’d been slowly repairing the relationships with his family, and to a lesser extent the town, he still had a creeping exhaustion that took hold every time he came home for the night, after leaving the bibliotheca or the river and wherever else he’d spent his day.  The hollow feeling in his chest, knowing he was going home to his lonely hammock and his rats wouldn’t go away, no matter how much he told himself that he had his family now.  He saw his sisters with their husbands, and Dolores and Luisa with their novios, and had to bite his tongue to tamp down the ugly jealousy that reared up.  He was lonely, had been for years, and the feeling had only made itself more known once he’d set foot in the light again.

He was so tired of being alone.  He couldn’t help but envy what his sisters had, what his sobrinas were working towards.  To have someone to come home to, a partner, had always been out of his reach.  His reputation had always preceded him when he was younger.  Any relationship he'd tried at had crumbled, the girls too eager to see if it would last to give it a chance to last.  They’d get close enough, and then beg for a vision to see where things were going.  He’d oblige, because maybe this time would be different, only to have things come crashing around his ears.  In the images, he’d always see them with husbands that weren’t him, children with features not his, and happy.  Of course he’d let them go after that to pursue their life.  Of course he did.  But there were only so many women you could escort out the door and away from yourself before you gave up, which is exactly what he’d done by thirty.  Besides the occasional bar night fling, he hadn't been close to anyone in years.  His mother had started her match making then, always finding the meekest, quietest girls she could, likely because they were the only ones she could corral into a dinner.

But now, Elena had given him hope with her admission.  He snuck another glance at her, watching her as she swayed and swore and scrubbed on her knees, his mind wandering as he whisked the broom around lightly, distributing the white grit into the dark grout of the tiles.  She looked soft, contrasting her signature bravada.  He liked soft.  He liked her confidence, and her filthy mouth, and her gentle smiles.  He liked watching her with the children, reading to them on Lunes de Lectura and making them cocoas afterwards, always free of charge.  He liked her.  If he was being honest with himself, it wasn’t a new attraction, but something that had brewed from earlier days, when she was a twenty-something taking over shop duties and trading book tidbits with him without fear.

Even lost in thought, he was still done long before Elena had gotten too far on the stains, and opted to help her out rather than awkwardly standing around the shop.  Placing her broom back behind the cafe counter, he went looking where he’d seen her gather her supplies from.  He couldn't find another scrub brush, but some rough burlap coffee bean bag rags would do just as well.  Ten years of having to clean all his own things had taught him a thing or two.

He padded over to Elena and quietly knelt across from her.  “Can I help?”  Elena jolted back and landed on her rear “Mierda, you’re quiet!  S-sure you can help, as soon as I get over this heart attack!”

“Lo-lo siento, Elena, I didn’t mean…”

“I’m teasing you, Bruno.  You just surprised me.  No problema.”

Bruno gave an awkward grin and got to work on the nearest stain, soaking and wringing his rags before pressing into the fabric, having to dig in with his fingers to loosen the worst of the muddy red gunk the butcher had dragged in.  He was focused on his task and certainly not sneaking peaks at Elena through his hair, or the cleavage visible in the gap from her blouse, swaying with her as she bullied a stain into submission.  Elena sighed and set her brush down for a minute, popping her knuckles and wrists before getting back on task.  “Are you alright?”

“Oh, just stiff hands from this.  I really should toss these old rugs out, especially if that pendejo keeps dragging his muck in here, but I just can’t bear to do it.  Papá was so happy when he found them on sale.  Said every library should have Persian rugs.  Mamá hated cleaning them too.”

“It--it’s hard to get rid of something that holds so many good memories.”

“Oh--oh no, Bruno, I’m so sorry!  You had to have lost things when Casita fell.  I didn’t think…” Elena apologized, realizing that even though everything was sorted now, the man in front of her had just recently lost his home.  Bruno shook his head.  “It’s nothing.  Everyone got out safely and in one piece, that’s the important part.  A few lost bits and bobs don’t really matter in the long run.  At least now I don’t have to climb up a thousand stairs just to get to my hammock.”

Elena laughed and quirked her head ‘I knew you had the tower room, but it wasn’t that tall, Bruno.  You’re funny.”  Bruno raised an eyebrow, before realizing that she probably hadn’t seen inside Casita before tonight, outside of the construction process, and of course wouldn’t know how their rooms worked.  Chuckling, he explained. “Our rooms are magical too.  We don’t know why.  Most are...are bigger on the inside. Mine used to be a desert tower with a sandfall.  Antonio has a whole jungle in his.  Luisa got lost in there once.”

“Ok, first, that’s amazing.  Second, how do you lose Luisa?  She’s so tall!”

“Same way you lose us bajitos, surround us by something taller,” he joked, watching her grin and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.  He saw his chance as she tried to get back to work.  He stilled her hand on the brush.  Elena turned her gaze to him, his eyes green and bright.  If it was from the lamps or his gift she wasn't sure.

“Elena...earlier...  Did you mean what you said?”

“About liking you, you mean?”

“Ah-yep!  I mean, yes.  That.”

“Of course I meant it, Bruno.  I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

“But---but why?”  Elena gave him an exasperated look and sighed, “Is it really that hard to believe that someone could find you attractive?  If you don't feel the same, I understand.  Just, please tell me.”  Bruno swallowed and backpedaled, not wanting to put the other foot in his mouth.

“It’s not...I don’t...I just---I mean...I’m me.  Maldicion Bruno.  Creepy old Bruno, whose visions kill your pets and bring bad luck and death.”  He kicked himself mentally.  What was wrong with him?  Was he trying to talk her out of whatever this was?  Elena gave him a sad smile and placed her other hand atop his, sandwiching his palm between hers.

“I don’t see that at all, Bruno.” she began, fixing her gaze to his, watching closely.  “I see a quiet man with the weight of the entire town on his shoulders.  Who’s too kind to refuse anyone and too honest to sugarcoat the truth.  A kind man that cares for his family and will do anything to protect them, to his own expense.  And it doesn’t hurt that he’s muy guapo.”  She said the last bit glibly, trying to get him out of the funk he seemed determined to dig himself into, but he shook his head.  “Elena, I---I don’t...I’m not...I’m just--just…” He looked away, biting his tongue before he made things worse.  Elena sighed and tugged on his hand, pulling him forward suddenly.  Before he could react her lips were on his, gentle but firm, a hum of satisfaction as they met. 

His eyes went wide and flared green at the contact.  But he surprised himself by leaning into it, his lips moving against hers, letting his eyes drift closed.  When was the last time he’d kissed someone like this; been kissed at all?  Too long.  He could taste the honey she'd spread on her plantains at dinner, heady and thick and sweet.  His heartbeat thundered in his ears.  He could smell her spicy perfume of lavender, ginger, and tamarind, the warm scent cutting through the coffee and linseed and paper glue smell of the shop, swirling into his nostrils and sending blood everywhere in his body but his brain.  His stomach clenched and his hand gripped hers as her lips moved gently against his.  It was over too soon, and he fumbled for balance as she broke away, leaving him crouching with his mouth half open, a pretty flush to her cheeks and a shy grin on her face, tucking that same strand of hair back demurely.  She leaned over, taking his chin gently in hand and closing his mouth for him, her thumb brushing at his stubble.  “I don't kiss my friends like that, Bruno Madrigal.  Vamos, hombre tonto.  Help me finish these rugs while you think it over.”  She patted his hand and released it with a small squeeze.

With that, she picked her brush back up and went back to her work, a smile on her face as she scooted to the next stain.  Bruno knelt there mutely as his brain re-circuited itself to work again.  ‘That could not have just happened!’ He thought to himself, but the slightly sticky residue of lipstick he felt as he brought a hand to his tingling mouth told him otherwise.  He sat frozen for a moment, his washcloth still clutched in his hand, wet and forgotten and soaking the knee of his trousers as he let his imagination run.  Thoughts he’d been holding back and ignoring for years were escaping the back of his mind faster than he could catch them, and he saw snatches of possibilities now open to him, unlocked by that kiss.  Images of sunlit walks, him escorting her to his room in Casita, of hidden alcoves in the shop and shaded valleys in the mountains where even Dolores couldn’t hear what they got up to.  Of cerulean cenote pools and campfires, of skin and sound and sensation.  His thoughts went wild, venturing into more dangerous territory.  Territories of cut emeralds and white fabric, of bells and flowers and tender words.  Territories of swollen flesh and cries and high-pitched laughter.

He shook his head vigorously. It wouldn’t help him to build a whole life in his head before he'd given her any kind of answer.  In a daze, he went back to his own scrubbing, letting the repetitive motion calm his racing heart, studying Elena through his lashes as she hummed that familiar song he just couldn't place.  She worked diligently, a light sheen of sweat on her brow from effort and the muscles of her forearms shifting under her skin in rhythm.  He listened to her breathing, slow and steady, the occasional huff of annoyance or effort catching his attention like the lamplight caught her hair.  He watched a single bead of sweat form at her clavicle and disappear into her breasts, and bit his lip, shifting uncomfortably as he scrubbed, desperate to distract himself before he embarrassed them both.  He focused on washing the brown from the gentle paisley patterns of the rugs and hoping Elena didn't hear the flustered huff he had let out.

Elena had heard, and even if he was hiding his flushing face, she could see the back of his neck, just as red, above the collar of his faded maroon shirt.  she grinned to herself as she hummed, hoping that she hadn't played her hand too early or too boldly and that the bashfulness on display was a good thing.  She had no illusions about herself; too boisterous, too argumentative, too curious. Living in what her mother had called a ‘two-child body’--though she’d had no children.  For a lot of people she was just too much.  For others, not enough.  She hoped as she listened to the man in front of her regulating his breathing, that for him she was somewhere in the middle, or that he’d take the hand she’d extended and give her the chance to find out.

They cleaned in a companionable silence for a long while after that, their heads close as they worked, losing track of time as they did.  Before she knew it, Elena had completed her last stain, Bruno almost done as well.  She stood and stretched, bending her back with a pop and sighing in relief, trying not to notice Bruno’s eyes on her as she righted herself.  She offered him a hand to stand.  He took it and sprung up like a shot, his agility surprising her.  His eyes seemed to be looking in every direction but at her, and he rubbed his arm awkwardly.  Elena gave him a sad smile, seeing his hesitance and respecting it, though it hurt.

“Thank you, Bruno, for your help.  I…appreciate it.”  She said, trying not to catch his eye, not wanting him to see her embarrassment.  “Elena,” he murmured, catching her attention instead, his gaze bright and green and hopeful and his bottom lip caught between his teeth.  His shoulders twitched for a moment before he moved again.

His hand cupped her cheek of its’ own accord, calloused thumb stroking the skin gently.  She looked back at him in surprise for only a moment, trapped in the gentle glow of those green eyes as he returned her earlier kiss, noses bumping before his lips met hers with a sweet hesitance, then pressing further, warm and tender and sure, a low whine escaping his throat.  He smelled of sun-soaked sand and clothes dried on the line, the sharp tang of burning herbs, cedar, and salt underneath, permanently bonded to his skin and hair from years of rituals.  She leaned into him, palm brushing over the soft material of his ruana to rest on his chest, where she could feel his heart bounding even through the fabric.  Their lips moved against each other in a slow dance, the undercurrent of urgency held down by the need to explore.  His tongue darted out swiftly to tease her bottom lip before she nipped at his playfully.  She heard his sharp intake of breath, and was left blinking as he pulled away, only to lean in and give her one last sweet peck before stepping back, toothy crooked grin on his flushed face.  She beamed at him as he stroked her arm and headed out the door, breath held and fingers crossed, though he tried to hide it.  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Bruno?”

“Hasta mañana, Elena.  Buenos Noches.”

“Buenos Noches, Bruno.”

She darted forward and left a swift kiss on his cheek before ducking back inside and shutting the door behind her.

He stood and watched as she locked the shop door, lowering the blind and waving to him before making her rounds, shutting off lights and returning cleaning things to their places.  It wasn’t until he saw the light go on in her loft above that he walked away, his smile wider than it had been in a long time.

Chapter Text

Agustín and Félix sat in the courtyard after dinner, having had the sense to step away from the chaos as their wives both lit into their suegra, not wanting any part of the explosive tempers.  Félix puffed occasionally at a cigarro, and Agustín was nursing a spicy brown rum, content to relax for a while.  Agustín was five pesos shorter than he had been before dinner, having lost the bet that it would take less than a month after Casita was rebuilt for the first fight to break out.  Honestly, he hadn’t seen Bruno being the cause of it though.  Maybe Luisa’s new novio, who was a very strange young man, but not the quiet Tio they’d just gotten back.

Knowing that they would just be in the way if they tried to stick up for their cuñado, they ducked out and encouraged the kids to do the same.  Mirabel and Antonio, now free of that loco parrot, had wanted to stay, but had been ushered off to bed by their fathers reminding them that some things just needed to be aired out by the adults sometimes. Better it be out in the open than concealed and left to fester as it had been before.  Their two youngest had accepted that answer, though not happily, and had gone on to hang out with the capybaras.

That had been almost two hours ago, and though they hadn’t said it, both men were just a little worried that Bruno might stay out all night, just to let Alma sweat.  Not that she hadn’t earned a little bit of hassle over her behavior at dinner, but still, she wasn’t a spring chicken any more.  True, the feisty librarian could fend for herself, but it was sweet of him to walk her home.  Félix had enjoyed having her over, even if it had encouraged Camilo had run at the mouth a little.  It was nice that there was someone in Encanto willing to do what she did.  He’d given her more than one package to mail to his family in El Caribe, and he’d never had one go astray.  It was good to hear from the outside on occasion.  That being said, she didn’t live that far away, so whatever was taking Bruno so long to get back wasn’t the distance.

Both men let out a quiet sigh of relief as they saw a familiar curly head of hair coming up the path from the town.  Whatever expression they’d expected him to come back with, the punch-drunk, contented smile he was sporting was not it.

“Oye, Bruno!” Félix called once he was in shouting distance. “What took you so long, bro?  You get lost?”  He’d honestly missed the chance to bust his brother-in-law’s chops over the last ten years, and this was too good to pass up.  Agustín rolled his eyes, feeling they’d picked up their easy camaraderie where they’d left off.   Bruno shook his head at Félix, trying and failing to hide a blush. “N-no.  Just—uh—just walking Elena home is all…”

“Is she alright?” asked Agustín, having seen the state she’d been in when she’d left, and the bruises. 

“She’s perfe—I mean, she’s alright now.  I had one of Juli’s arepa’s on me.”

“What did you do though amigo, go for a hike?  She doesn’t live that far away,” Félix prodded, ignoring Agustín’s elbow in his ribs, enjoying riling Bruno up like old times. Bruno looked at him and shrugged, seeing no harm in telling the truth.  “Ha, no.  I just helped her clean her carpet.” 

Agustín spat out his sip of rum, and Félix’s eyebrows tried to escape into his hairline.

“No jodas!  Agustín, look at Bruno here!  Didn’t think he had it in him!  Ay, man, good going!” Félix boomed, smacking Agustín in the chest as he coughed, trying to catch his breath.  Bruno, after a moment’s confusion, realized what he’d implied, and felt his face burn as he dragged a hand over it, groaning.  He’d forgotten Félix’s dirty sense of humor over the years, and tried to backpedal and sink into the bricks at the same time.

“I didn’t—that’s not what I—we didn’t—would you two jodidamente crecer!  Madre de Cristo!”

“What, you didn’t “clean her carpets?””

“ ‘Ahh, leave him alone, Félix.  Come on.  Have a seat, Bruno.  You don’t want to go in there right now.  Your sisters are still giving Alma hell.”

“Over—over what?

“You.  Dinner.  Elena.  Forty-five years of tension? Take your pick.”

Bruno deflated and flopped onto one of the wicker chairs.  “…pendejos…” he muttered affectionately before throwing up air quotes.  “No I didn’t ‘clean her carpets.’  That idiota butcher dragged in some nasty sludge and got it all over those Persian rugs she keeps on the library side.  I just…literally scrubbed a rug.”

“Whatever you say, man.” Félix laughed, before handing him a tumbler of rum. “Come on, relax!  I have ten years of giving you shit to catch up on, bro.  You think I’m not going to hop on the chance when you bring over a chica that’s been refusing every guy that comes her way since you left that also happens to drive Abuela loco?”

Bruno’s tumbler froze halfway to his lips “Wha--what now?”

“You didn’t know?” Agustín asked.  “I suppose I’m not too surprised.  If you don’t know her you wouldn’t guess.  Elena’s friends have gotten a bit of a reputation of trying to set her up with any bachelor they can think of.  She’s gotten just about as much of a reputation of telling them off for it.”

“I…didn’t know,” Bruno mumbled, letting the rum burn down his throat.  He was going to pay for it one way or the other in the morning, but after this whirlwind night, he didn’t care.  “That’s…very odd.”

“Didn’t you two have a thing, before?  Pepa always swore you were chummy.”

“Ha!  When?” Bruno snorted, rolling his eyes.  “There was no ‘thing.’ She was so young back then.  She--she still is, but...she’s older too…  It…it was just nice…having somebody that wasn’t afraid of me, you know?”

Agustín and Félix exchanged a glance.  They’d forgotten that as well, it seemed.  Making Bruno off limits in the household for the sake of their wives and mother-in-law was one thing, but the town’s vilification of their brother-in-law always slapped them in the face when confronted with it.  It wasn’t a good memory.  They’d both brought him home too many times with bruises or nosebleeds, all for Alma to try and send him out again, before he’d relocated his ritual to his tower entirely and began to disappear.

“It’s not like Elena ever said anything outright, Bruno.  Just, you overhear things, over time.  People got this idea that she was pining for you.  Might have just been because she never put up with people badmouthing you in the shop.”  Agustín told him, watching as he leaned forward, finishing his rum with a wince.  “I never knew she did that,” Bruno said pensively, running a finger over his glass and making it sing absentmindedly.  He sprang up suddenly, turning on his heel and heading into the house. “Late, going to bed.  Hasta mañana!” His cuñados, used to his rapid mood shifts when he was uncomfortable, let him go, saying their good nights as they did.

“Hey, Bruno!” Félix called, a laugh in his voice as he scratched at his lip “You’ve got a little something right there.”

Bruno’s hand went to his lips, knowing there must still have been a smear of Elena’s lipstick staining them.  He felt his face grow hot even as he tried to wave it off.  “Sí, lo se.”

There was no shouting going on as he walked through the house, though he could hear agitated conversation and Luisa’s snoring as he padded through, making his way to his door.  Too late he saw his mother slink out of Pepa’s room, to spot him and rush his way.  He took one look at her face and decided he wasn’t going to stick around for a tirade, and just kept walking as she trailed him, keeping his voice bored.

“Bruno, where have you been!”

“Out, Mamá”

“Out?  That’s no answer!”

“Yes, Mamá.

“Bruno, please tell me you weren’t out all that time with that woman.”

“I’m not going to lie to you. Mamá.”

“Brunito, what is on your face?”

“Lipstick, Mamá”

“Lipsti—Bruno!”

He cut her off as he made it to his door, delivering two swift kicks to the frame, an old signal he had with Casita to open up.  He turned and took his mother’s shoulders in hand before kissing her forehead. “Sí.  Good night, Mamá.  Te quiero.”  With that, he closed his door and made his way to the oasis, kicking off his sandals and rolling up his pant legs before settling down on the sand, long toes wiggling in the gently lapping water.  He ignored the knocking on his door until it subsided, his fingers crossed.  He tossed a bit of salt over one shoulder, then sugar, before drawing a series of concentric circles in the sand around him, impromptu evil eye charms to keep any bad luck away.  He hated that he felt the urge to do that, even after such a good night, but he just couldn’t shake it.   Decades of feeling cursed had carved the habits into his bones as surely as time had carved the lines on his face, and try as he might, a few months of feeling accepted, a few months with no gift, couldn’t shake them.

He almost missed not having his gift.  The headaches, the eyestrain, the overall physical pain from how taxing both having them and resisting them had been a relief, for a time.  But after the first taste of relief came a wave of anxiety that had left him, much as he hated it, backing his mother and the other Encanto elders in the building of the palisade.  In losing the ability to see certain futures, he’d fallen back on expecting the worst, as he always had whenever his mother had woken him up after violent dreams, terror driving her to beg for a vision of the Encanto’s future.  The first thing he’d done, after settling in and getting over the overwhelming new life back in the family, was perform a vision.  All had been well, with nothing seemingly amiss from the loss of seclusion, and the town booming.  So he relaxed, but still the rituals that had both comforted and controlled him for years couldn’t be ignored.

He sat for a while, thinking of nothing for once and petting a couple of his rats, when his door opened of its own accord, Pepa and Julieta waltzing in, arm in arm and giggling, each with a couple of half bottles of wine in hand, leftovers from dinner.  They kicked off their shoes and flopped down on either side of him, splashing his legs as they stuck their feet in the water, laughing as it tickled their ankles.

“Welcome to my room, the door’s always open,” he snarked, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, hush, Bruno,” Pepa said, wrinkling her nose as she poured him a glass and jammed it in his hand before he could protest. “Mamá is going to give us all hell tomorrow, may as well live it up tonight!”

“What did you say to her?”

“Nothing much, really, just tried to remind her that you’re a grown man.  The rant she went on, ay dios mio…” Julieta said, shaking her head.  “I will never understand it.  You actually did what she said, and she still isn’t happy.  After everything…”

“ ‘Ahh, he’s still little precioso Brunito to Mamá.  She never liked anybody he did, why’s that going to change now?”

Bruno shoved Pepa with his shoulder and looked at the wine in his glass, glimmering darkly in the diffuse light of his room.  “I don’t understand it.  Why does she dislike Elena so much?  A single disagreement over Mirabel?”

“More like a feud over all of the kids, I think,” Julieta sighed, taking a drink.  “You remember the Pascuals never came to us much for anything, right?”  Bruno nodded, knowing that Hebér and Sofia Pascual had only gone to Julieta for healing when they’d tried everything else and it had failed them, and had asked Pepa for sun on their orchard only a handful of times, when the rains from the mountains had gotten the soil in such sad shape that even the irrigation systems Senór Pascual had installed failed him.   Hebér had only come to him for one vision, unusual in the time before when people would come to him over any even halfway influential decision or occurrence.  He nodded after chewing on the question for a bit, and Julieta continued.  “Elena continued that.  I don’t think she’s ever asked any of the kids for anything, though Luisa could certainly make unloading her shipments easier and Dolores could always keep an ear out for what’s popular for her next trip.  But she’s never asked for anything since she took over.  She’s always encouraging them to relax for a little while when she sees them.  The last time she came to me, she’d scalded her hand so bad she couldn’t bend the fingers, but she’d waited two days to come because she wanted to see how it would heal on its own.”

“It’s always put Mamá on edge” Pepa cut in “She thinks they never trusted the Miracle.  She’s afraid Elena’s going to help bring too much of the outside world in, with all her travelling back and forth.”

“Elena was born in the Encanto, though.  Her parents were in the group with Mamá.” Bruno said, curious where this was going.  Pepa continued.  “Mamá thinks it’s suspicious.  More than that, she just…doesn’t like being talked back to.”

“I know there was some…something over Mirabel but…”

“Mamá won’t tell me what she said that made Elena so angry.  I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t even remember.  I think it wasn’t long after she’d buried her mother.   Apparently Elena pulled her aside after just giving Mirabel the book she had, that Mamá hadn’t wanted to buy her, and told her that her “granddaughter being just like everyone else didn’t make her anything less, there’s no reason to be such a bitch to a child.”” Bruno’s eyes went wide at that before Pepa joined in.

“Mamá was a bitch then…” Pepa reflected, almost fondly.

 Bruno choked and started snickering, guiltily trying to cover it up before the laughter took over, quickly turning into a hysterical belly laugh that echoed throughout his room and had Julieta and Pepa cackling along with him.  The triplets leaned on each other for support, their sides aching as they wiped tears from their eyes.  Bruno finished the wine in his glass and poured another, deciding that this was long overdue and he was going to be miserable tomorrow anyway.

“When was Mamá not a bitch, growing up?” Julieta cackled, causing more peals of laughter from her siblings.  “ ‘Don’t let me catch you letting that stove cool, Julieta!’ ” She wagged her three last fingers in Pepa’s face, who bit at them playfully and took her turn, flapping her hands as if shooing away something.

“ ‘You have a cloud, Pepa!  A cloud, cloud!’ ” She nudged at Bruno, who chuckled before rolling his hair into a terrible impression of Alma’s chignon.

“ ‘It’s just a nosebleed, Bruno, you’ll be fine!’ ”  Julieta and Pepa paused for a moment, unsure of whether to laugh or not, when Bruno clutched at his face, heaving and making exaggerated dying noises before keeling over backwards with a squeal like a dying burro.  The sisters doubled over, unable to contain themselves, laughing with their brother until their sides ached and they fell back on the sand with him, their heads together as they watched the water reflections on his far away, starry ceiling.  

“I didn’t invite her over just to rile up Mamá, you know” Bruno started when they’d finally calmed down enough to speak again without bursting into giggles again.  “I just…it seemed like the thing to do.  She was going to be alone and I--I’d just scared off that butcher and it just…came out.  Well, Antonio nudged me, but still.”

“We know you wouldn’t do that, hermano, don’t wor--wait.  No offense, but how did you scare off Senór Bardales?  He’s a brick wall!” Pepa asked, getting on an elbow to look at her brother

“Pepa!” Julieta scolded.  Bruno laughed, waving her off.  “No, that’s fair.  I…my gift acted up, like it used to.  Just…he grabbed her arm and started saying foul things to her and I just…it just happened.”  He fiddled with his hands as they fell to his chest, discomfited over the memory.

“We’ll be figuring out somewhere else to get our meat from now on.” Julieta sniffed, patting his shoulder.  “I’ve always liked Elena.  No one deserves some culero getting handsy.”

“For what it’s worth, I say go for it.” Pepa chimed in, whacking her brother on the chest.  “She clearly likes you, and anybody that drives Mamá up the wall that much can’t be bad.  Besides, someone other than us needs to tell her off when she starts backsliding, and we all know it’s not going to be Félix or Agustín.”

“Thanks, Pepa.  Let me just intentionally start an all-out war in the house.”

“Mamá isn’t going to like anyone you pick, Bruno.  You’re her chicito.  You may as well make the most of it before she tries setting up dinner dates again.” Julieta grinned

“Ugh.  Why would you remind me?  I’m still cranky Mamá brought it up.”

“At least this time nobody smashed a plate over your head?”

“Shut up and drink your rosé, Pepa.”

Pepa snorted and took a drink from one of her bottles, before topping off Bruno and Julieta’s glasses and splashing her foot at him.  “She kept you over there an awfully long time, hermanito.  You sure you’ve just been reading when you head into town?”

“Shut up, Pepa!” Bruno groaned, scrubbing at his red face.  She laughed “What can I say, Félix rubbed off on me.”

“I know, I’ve met my sobrinos,” he deadpanned, causing both sisters to snort. “And yes, I’ve just been reading.  This is…this is new.  It’s been a long time.  I--I don’t want to mess this up before I even get anywhere…”

Julieta patted his shoulder. “Considering she’s been harping at any person she’s heard speak ill about you for years now, I don’t think you have anything to worry about on that front.  Just be yourself, rats and all.  We know she lets you sneak them.”

“It’s worked for you so far, unless you’ve started borrowing my make-up”

“Ay dios mio.  When did everyone start studying my face?”

“Can’t help but notice you haven’t rubbed it off yet…” Julieta snickered, finishing her glass and pouring another.  She knew all three of them were going to be out of commission in the morning, but they hadn’t had a night like this in decades, and she was relishing every minute of it.  She looked at the gentle smile on her brother’s face as he touched the spot on his cheek lightly.  Whatever this was, it was good for him, and she wanted to encourage it as much as she could.  Bruno closed his eyes and took in a sharp breath before speaking.

“I…I want to pursue this.  Much as I hate to admit it, Mamá’s right, sort of.  I’m…I’m just...  It’s lonely here, you know, for me?  I don’t want to be alone anymore.  Elena isn’t…afraid of my gift.  She understands it, that I don’t cause the bad things to happen, I just see them.  I don’t want to lose that.  Is that pathetic?”

His sisters sat up as one, rather clumsily, and pulled him up as they did, hugging him tightly, ignoring his yelp of protest.  “Of course it isn’t!” “Nobody wants to be alone, Bruno.”

He let himself be held for a time, just soaking in the warmth with his eyes closed.  It was still hard accepting that he was accepted, and sometimes things got to be too much and overwhelmed him.  The wine wasn’t helping, but it made him feel lighter and he needed that at the moment. 

Pepa stood up first, making her way to his actual room, scattering rats and rummaging around for a minute before dragging out his record player and a samba record.  “You two are getting sappy.  If Bruno’s going to charm us up a cuñada, we’ve gotta remind him how to move!”

Julieta laughed and got to her feet, pulling Bruno up with her, ignoring his protests and red face as the beat of the music started to echo throughout his room.  Julieta pulled him around, guiding his bare feet in half forgotten steps until he’d managed some kind of rhythm, before passing him off to Pepa, who took over as a faster song came on and danced circles around him as he tried to keep up, his brow furrowed in concentration even as his face was split with a silly grin.   They danced the record through, laughing and taking swigs of wine from whatever bottle they found first and falling over each other occasionally. By the end of the first side of the record, he’d remembered at least some of how his feet were supposed to move.  By the end of the other side, he could spin his sisters around, if a little clumsily, without veering off what would have been his balance if he weren’t medio borracho. 

They put on a different album, and spun each other around like children, cracking up whenever one of them fell on their butts.  Pepa had hailstones pelting them, and none of them minded.  They hadn’t done this since their teens, when they would all sneak out to the dance hall after they were supposed to be in bed, Bruno predicting if they would get caught or not.  Their mother always knew the next day, but it had always been worth it to let off some steam.  They danced their feet sore, before falling into an exhausted heap and breathlessly laughing as the record died down and the soft humming of the skipping needle calmed them. 

Bruno saw his sisters to their doors on wobbly legs, all of them whispering too loudly and giggling still, handing Julieta off to a concerned Agustín and Pepa off to Félix, who just laughed and shook his head.  Once he knew his sisters were taken care of, he made his way back to his room, shaking sand off his clothes and hair as he gathered up abandoned shoes and wine bottles and putting them outside his door, not caring if someone saw and made the wrong assumption.  He caught sight of himself in the mirror and smiled at the now faint red smears on his lip and cheek, resolving to do as he’d said and actually see Elena tomorrow. He made his way to his bed, shedding his ruana and shirt before falling bonelessly into his bed.  Sleep, always elusive, came over him at once.

Chapter Text

Breakfast the next day was, predictably, a disaster.  Luisa, Mirabel, Camilo, and Dolores had all pitched in, knowing their mothers were sleeping off massive headaches that had Julieta wearing an eyemask as she drank the strongest coffee that Agustín could brew and Pepa leaving a roiling fog blanketing the room as Félix rubbed her temples and brushed her hair.  The food wasn’t bad, but it had taken forever and the kids were constantly stepping on each other’s toes, leaving dishes either a little charred or a little underdone, the fruit warm, and the coffee cooling, and the cocina a war zone, even with Casita helping.

Alma, who had heard the raucous impromptu party her children had thrown, scowled at all three of them during the meal once they’d finally made a bleary-eyed appearance, and talked to none of them.  Mirabel tried to drag her into a conversation about one of the new residents, Senór Park, who spoke three languages and had lived all over South America.  He was looking for a parcel of land to start a farm with his wife.  Alma nodded along, clearly listening with only half an ear, never taking her eyes off her children, who were too old to be behaving as they had the night before.  Though part of her was happy they had reconnected so well, it left a bitter taste in her mouth that their bonding had taken place at her expense.  By the time the breakfast dishes were clear and her daughters were functional again, she’d already decided she was spending the day at home.  She was too angry to be out in public, too hurt, and needed time to calm down.  She could feel the reprimands clogging her throat, wanting to be spoken, but choked them down.

Her children were grown and responsible, and had had enough of her judgement growing up.  It was hard holding her tongue, but as she looked at her son, ruffled and dozy and his hair more birds’ nest than anything approaching a style, looking all the world like his father after a long night of writing, she kept her words to herself.  She was trying, and fifty years was a long time to make up for, but for him, for her daughters and grandchildren, she would keep trying.  She knew she still had a long way to go, and hoped she had enough time left to make things up to all of them, but especially to Bruno.

She made her excuses and left the table, giving Bruno a heavy look as she did, though he mostly ignored it, still swimming in his coffee and gnawing a tough arepa, mumbling a sleepy, defiant “Love you, Mamá,” as she walked away, his tone that exasperated and apologetic one he’d always used as a teen to try and get out of trouble.  Despite herself, Alma gave him a small smile and squeezed his shoulder gently before entering the house.

The children made their way to their various chores, today one of the days they were all helping the community.  Mirabel, Luisa, and Antonio were meeting with Mariano to help Senór Ortiz with his donkey pen.  Antonio sat at the table, swinging his legs and munching on papaya slices, feeding the wet seeds to Chacha, who sat perched on his chair and had earned her own glare from Abuela earlier on, though Antonio sat unaware. Camilo was helping Senóra Guzman with some roof tiles that needed replacing, a common sight given Pepa’s still unpredictable winds.  Dolores and Isabela were getting their hands dirty and helping the potter Senóra Carmen make new tiles.  She was one of the busier craftspeople thanks to Pepa’s gift, and was always grateful for assistance.  That it was also one of the towns hotspots for gossip given how open it was didn’t hurt.  The task was both quiet and creative to a degree suited both of the older girls, and both were chatting excitedly as they tidied up, hugging their parents and tio before heading out, arm in arm as they went. 

Julieta dragged herself to the stove, Agustín already mixing up her standard arepa cornmeal as well as something separate that smelled of chocolate.  He’d somehow sliced his fingers on one of the paring knives already, but had just run it under water before wrapping it up, helping his wife as best he could while not causing more issues.  Pepa downed another cup of coffee in under three seconds and shook her head like a dog, groaned, and then headed out, grumbling about the almond grove.  Bruno knew she’d always hated that one.  The Sanchezes were a nice family, but their crop required so much water.  Félix went with her, determined to make her laugh so hard she cried.

Bruno chuckled and winced as he took the last plates to the sinks, letting the sound of popping oil and flowing water sooth his headache as he rinsed and scrubbed.  He accepted the second arepa off the griddle, ignoring how it burned his fingers and stuffing it in his mouth hot, his hangover dissipating in a warm trickle down his spine, but the headache remaining.  It troubled him, but it wasn’t the first time he’d just dealt with a daylong headache.  They’d been happening so long that even Julieta’s gift could’t cure them entirely unless she went out of her way to make something really potent.  He made his way to the door, his sister and cuñado giving him a quick thumbs up as he left, gathering up the two rodent companions that had snuck in under his ruana and gone exploring during the oddly quiet meal, freckled Pecasita and Hector the black rat.  Chacha had flown off with Antonio and the girls, so he knew the parrot would be making her way back to Elena’s house.  Hopefully without the falcon this time.

He made his way slowly through town, wincing at the brightness of the day, his eyes still tender even after Julieta’s food, and trying not to slink to back alleys.  It was an old habit, hard to break, made harder by the cobblestones of the street, which he did his best to avoid the cracks in between.  It made walking in a straight line more difficult than it should have, but he couldn’t help himself.  He stopped for a moment at the potter’s, looking over the more eye-catching pieces and watching his sobrinas giggling and flinging wet clay droplets at each other in their borrowed smocks, feet bare and turning the wheels as they worked on their tasks, looking for all the world like the rough and tumble twelve year olds he was still having trouble not seeing them as.  It seemed they’d been put to making plates or bowls, easier on wheels than the more complex wavy tile shapes meant to funnel away rain and freeing up Senóra Carmen for the more difficult work.  He waved at them before moving on, not wanting to stray too far off track and get distracted.  He wanted to see Elena after last night, wanted to make sure he hadn’t overstepped, and really, really needed an espresso and the cool, shadowed interior of the bibliotheca.

He got to her door later than he meant to, only to be greeted by a hand drawn sign jammed between the blind and the window.  “Helping Luisa” and a cute drawing of a donkey was the only message, and he groaned and pulled a face, turning away and waving at Chacha, who was perched on the roof eating a brazil nut from the bird feed dish Elena always left out on sunny days.  He made his way out of town, heading to the Ortiz property, deciding if she was helping with those obstinado burros, so would he, if he could be put to use.  He wasn’t thrilled by the idea, and certainly not dressed for it, his shirt newer and light and guaranteed to pick up dirt and his feet in sandals, but he’d rather be uncomfortable and see Elena than comfortable and not.  He found a bit of rope in his pocket, normally kept for making lucky knots, and tied his hair back messily as he walked.  He’d managed to shake some of his headache by the time he heard the sound of hammers and shovels. 

He was greeted by Mirabel’s wave as she saw him, a length of rope in her mouth as she pulled the other end tight around the end of a beam, prepping it for use as a side rail.  Young Cosmo Ortiz waited nearby with a pot of glue to seal it.  Luisa was laying out beams in order, from a huge stack balanced on her shoulder, and Mariano and Antonio were helping wrangle the burros, laughing as the foals darted around them.  Elena stood up into his line of sight, free of make-up and hair tied away from her face in an old bandana, trousers rolled up to the knee and her blouse tied around her waist, her chemise sticking to her back as she worked.   Worn, thick-soled boots too big for her feet were driving a shovel into the dirt as she muscled out post holes behind Luisa, unconcerned about the flustered looks she was getting from Octavio and his brother Osvaldo from the other side, where they were failing to look like they were also digging.  He tried his best not to glare at the two men, not wanting to sour what little good reputation he’d clawed back, but still not liking the way they looked at Elena.

He shook his head and pushed that thought away.  They’d only shared a couple of kisses.  He didn’t own her, and it wasn’t her fault the two idiotas across the way couldn’t keep their eyeballs in their heads.  He hung his ruana on a tree branch nearby so it wouldn’t get in his way, letting his rats scamper up it to watch as he looked for a task. 

“You can help the boys with the donkeys, Tio!” Mirabel called, starting in on wrapping another plank. “Mariano’s only got so many hands and they’re so stubborn!”

“Gracias, Mira!” he called back, making his way to the other side.  A hand snaked out and grabbed his arm, and he spun to see Elena grinning at him, face flushed from the effort she’d been putting in and sweat trickling down her face and neck.  He forced himself not to follow the droplets’ paths and smiled back at her, lost for what to say.  She took care of that for him, hand moving from his elbow to twine their fingers together, searching to see if he was alright with that.  He swallowed and nodded, and her smile brightened.  “Good morning, hombre tonto.  I like the tie-back.” she said quietly, flicking his hair teasingly before brushing her lips against his and kissing his nose lightly.  He blinked owlishly, rubbing his arm as he chuckled nervously.  He thought he heard a whoop behind him, but was too focused on Elena to be sure. “I’d ask you to help with these post-holes, but you’re in sandalias and I’d hate for you to lose a toe.  I’m happy you came by, Bruno.  Maybe…Maybe we can do something fun after this?”         

“Ye-yeah.  Something fun…that sounds…fun!  I mean…it sounds like a good idea.” 

Elena snickered and let go of his hand, turning him around. “Go, help with the burros.  You’re almost as good with animals as your sobrinito from what he’s told me and Mariano is dying over there.  We’ll all go swimming or something after to clean off.” With that, she patted his back, nudging him in the right direction as he tried to protest, to no avail.  He shrugged and made his way over, face flushing as he thought of Elena at one of the town swimming holes.  Osvaldo and Octavio were looking at him goggle-eyed as he passed, and he managed to quirk an eyebrow up at them, as if daring them to say something.  The two actually turned and focused on their work.

“Tio, Tio!” Antonio called, waving him over.  “How can I help?” Bruno asked the little boy, who had what he was sure was supposed to be a serious expression on his face.  “Can you help Mariano move the grown-ups?  The foals are okay, but the older donkeys just won’t listen to me!”

“To be fair, Antonio, donkeys don’t like to listen to anyone after they grow up.  It’s not you, kiddo.  Where’s Parce?  She’d really get them going.”

“Mamí said no.”

“Of course she did.  Oh well.  She’d probably scare the Ortizes too, then where would we be?”  With that, he ruffled his nephew’s hair and took the bridle of the nearest jenny, letting her sniff his palm before tugging the rope.

“Come on, you.  The sooner you go in the barn and play good donkey the sooner Luisa stops having to throw you in there.”

She resisted for a minute before shifting, following him to the barn and stepping over the planks lain out without too many stops.  She didn’t stop snuffling at his pockets, and it took him a moment to realize it was because she could smell his pouches of salt and sugar.  Rolling his eyes, he bolted her stall and went back out to the pasture, where Mariano was dragging a cranky male inch by inch over the grass, looking fit to pull his back out if he continued.  Bruno bit his lip before making a quick decision, tossing a small pinch of sugar over his shoulder before offering the pouch to Mariano, knowing Dolores would never forgive him if her novio hurt himself doing farm chores when he could have made it easier, even if her tia could heal him.  Mariano looked at the little cloth bag for a moment, confused. 

“Sugar.  It’s…it’s good luck…but burros like it as a treat.  Might—ah, might make it easier.”

The younger man’s eyebrows arched in surprise as he laughed and tucked the pouch in his pocket, offering a little sprinkled on his palm to the grouchy burro, who mellowed enough to move from a standstill to a slow plod.  “Gracias Senór Bruno, lo aprecio!” he laughed, pulling the donkey along much easier now.  Bruno smiled back, fighting back the mild panic that had risen up at the absence of one of his lucky pouches.  He choked back the sour bile that had filled his mouth and shook his head.  He tossed a handful of salt over his shoulder before he continued on, taking another of the more docile creatures and leading her into the barn.  This one was more stubborn than the last, and it took him longer than he thought to get her settled.

Things continued like this for some time, Bruno losing track of how long he’d been there.  They’d had to chase down several of the most stubborn donkeys, the animals roaming away as their companions were wrangled.  He and Mariano both had to keep showing Antonio how to tie the knots on the bridles and open the barn door for him.  It was too heavy for him as he led in foals, chattering away with them, explaining that the barn was to keep them safe and they’d have a new, fun pen before the end of the day.  Even with the boy explaining, the donkeys showed no interest in cooperating with anything, and he and Mariano had both soaked through their shirts and collected a layer of grime by comida.

At that point, a small flock of Orinoco geese zoomed in low, honking rudely as they dropped big, brightly wrapped kerchiefs, loaded down with a variety of arepas, empanadas, fried plantains, and thermoses of savory tortilla soup.  Antonio told everyone he’d asked them to bring lunch from his Tia and he’d sent a note, giggling as the geese surrounded him, angling for the arepas he’d promised them.  Bruno had to hand it to Julieta as he polished off an adobo empanada, fighting off a particularly hateful bird, she took even the craziest requests in stride.  He laughed at the image of his hungover sister filling out a hefty lunch order for a bunch of geese with nothing more than the scribbled note of a five year old for explanation. “ ‘Ahh, vete, tu maldito pollo cobra!” he hissed at the goose, giving up and tossing it half of his second empanada, ears pinking as he heard Elena and his sobrina giggling at his antics.  “Pájaro diablo,” he muttered, sitting down to finish his mangled adobo.

He ate beside Elena and Luisa, resting under the cool shade of a pekea nut tree and watching silently as the two spoke, Luisa grateful for the extra help, Elena happy to have an excuse to close down the shops for a day and get her hands in the dirt, something she’d always enjoyed doing since she was young.  She asked Luisa about her novio, a tall reedy young man named Marco who was a known oddball around town for his intense interest in ancient mythology, art, and history, who made no secret about wanting to take classes at the college in Bogotá.  Bruno remembered him as a child, a gangly ten year old who had come by Bruno’s vision cave several times, not for visions, but to sketch the architecture, fascinated by the similarity it had to the Tierradentro tombs, which he’d told Bruno he’d seen once with his abuelo before moving to the Encanto.

Marco and Luisa had bonded quickly over the reconstruction of Casita, often working together on projects that required taller people and trading their favorite myths over coffees during breaks.  Luisa blushed, gushing about him, how he called her his Atenea and his Atalanta, admiring her strength, but treating her like a princess.  Luisa had always had a fascination with ancient history, had collected books and poems when she’d had the chance.  Bruno had tried to encourage it along with her parents when she was younger, giving her something to focus on outside the parameters of her gift, having seen how the townspeople were already overworking her and wanting her to have something to enjoy in her fast diminishing free time.  Alma had told him off for encouraging her “time wasting,” and he’d had to be sneaky about it, before his disappearance.  It pleased him to see that not only had she been allowed to renew her interests, but had found someone even more enthusiastic about it that could commiserate with her who also made her so happy.

“You should bring him to dinner Luisa,” Bruno said, surprising his sobrina, as he’d been quiet the whole conversation.  “Tu papá, he’s from Bogotá.  Maybe he can give Marco some advice on attending el universidad.”

“Oh no, Tio.  I don’t think I’m brave enough for that after last night.  Abuela looked ready to blow.”

“Lo siento, Luisa,” Elena said, looking bashfully at Bruno, “I truly didn’t mean to start any trouble.”

“Elena, you didn’t…” Bruno began, but Luisa cut him off, an unexpected fire in her voice.  “Senóra Elena, you didn’t do anything wrong!  Abuela still hasn’t gotten used to how things are changing yet.  I think it makes her nervous.”

“Still.  Don’t shy away from something just because your Abuela dislikes me.  Marco sounds like a wonderful young man.”

Luisa blushed and grinned, fiddling with a charm bracelet she had taken to wearing.  Bruno could make out a small owl, a golden apple, a small opal stone, a teddy bear, and a dainty unicorn charm.  He smiled at the sweetness and depth of the gesture, and nudged his niece.  “Let Mamá cool down for a week, mi monita.  She--I don’t think she’ll find anything…objectionable about your young man.”

Luisa beamed at her tio and pulled him into a hug which quickly cut off his air supply.  He floundered before tapping her arm as Elena laughed beside them, and Luisa released him before standing and brushing off the front of her dress.  “We should get back to work.  Elena and the Ortizes have gotten all the post holes dug, so it should go pretty quickly.”

Bruno went to stand as she walked away, but was pulled back down by Elena, who looked at him seriously. “Objectionable?” she asked, an eyebrow raised.  “I didn’t mean…” he fumbled, worried he’d put his foot in his mouth again.

“I’m teasing you again, Bruno.” Elena said simply as she leaned into him.  Bruno bit his lip before taking her hand in his tentatively, thumb stroking the freckles on the back of her hand.  “You know I don’t mean that how it sounded, right?”

“Of course I do, Bruno” Elena said, grasping his hand before standing, bringing him up with her.  In a fit of bravado he didn’t dare or care to question, he tugged her hand and pulled her behind the tree, covering her mouth with his impulsively, his other hand at her jaw, feeling her pulse racing as his tongue swiped her bottom lip.  She held him closer and let him in, their tongues dancing softly against each other as she sank against the tree, a low hum escaping her throat.  He stroked her jawline with his thumb, trailing down her neck to rest at her exposed collarbone.  Her free hand ran up the front of his shirt, fingers scratching at the thin material lightly, drawing a quiet groan from him at the sensation.  He pressed against her briefly, deepening the kiss, heart pounding as her hands clutched his shirt.  He felt her leg shift and step between his, brushing his groin, and he had to break away before he took things too far, face ablaze as he gave a nervous laugh “Perdóname Elena.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Bruno.  You won’t hear me complaining.” Elena winked at him, catching her breath as a pretty blush spread on her cheeks.  His hand came up to her face, brushing at the freckles dusting her skin.

“Oye, Tio! Ayudito?” Antonio called as he and Cosmo tried to raise a post too heavy for them.  With an apologetic look, Bruno bolted off to his sobrino, leaving Elena standing with a speculative smile on her face.  She made her way to the other side of the pen to help Mirabel, the young girl struggling to get a rail in place.  Mirabel adjusted her glasses and grinned at Elena.

“Soo, Tio Bruno, huh?”

“Subtle, Mirabel.  Very subtle” Elena teased, taking the rail and muscling it into place as Mirabel held it steady.  “But yes.”

“I think it’s great!  Tio…Tio needs somebody like you.  Somebody outside la familia to uh…to talk to.”

“Your uncle is a special man, Mirabel.  I wish he’d see that about himself.”

“Mamá said he deserved a chance to have what her and Tia Pepa have.  They argued with Abuela last night...and I probably shouldn’t have said anything…”  Mirabel chuckled awkwardly as the two worked, lifting another rail.  Elena nodded and shrugged.  “Probably not, but your abuela won’t hear anything from me, that’s for sure.  Is that why he looks so rough today?  Una pelea?”  Mirabel laughed.  “I really shouldn’t say anything, buuut they had a triplet’s night last night.  They laughed for hours but paid for it this morning.”  Elena smiled and nodded, not wanting to press the girl further, but eager to get the day’s work done.  The throwaway idea of getting Bruno in the river sounded even more tempting to her now as she stole glances of him working with the younger boys; whip thin but still with defined back muscles standing out against the sweat on his faded tan shirt as he moved.  Mirabel caught her out and scrunched up her nose, laughing as Elena blew a raspberry at her, the two getting along easily, bringing out a childish comradery in Elena.

Bruno dusted his hands on his pantlegs and cracked his knuckles and neck once the post was in the ground.  He was glad that he’d managed to get himself back in some sort of shape during the rebuilding of Casita.  Swinging around in the walls when needed had kept him healthy enough, and his leftover only diet had left him unhealthily thin, but actual physical labor for the four months it had taken to get the house back in order had knocked him back to a healthier weight and taken away some of the aches and stiffnesses he’d accrued in the ten years in the cramped half room in the walls.  If it hadn’t, he may not have been able to wrestle the thick post into place, and while he didn’t normally think himself a prideful man, he was still not willing to ask for help with something as simple as that. He went on to help the boys with a handful more posts before they all had to take a break.  He enjoyed the slight soreness in his hands, the pull at his back muscles, being able to see that what he’d done had actually helped someone, even if it was just the Ortizes’ donkey pen.  His head was still throbbing occasionally, much to his annoyance, and though Julieta’s lunch had helped he had to cover his eyes for a moment, hoping the darkness would bring a little relief from the distracting pounding.  

The flash of green he saw as he pressed the heels of his hands had him tearing them away, shaking his head and blinking furiously, hoping to postpone the inevitable a while longer, just enough to get home.  The green stayed, growing more intense around the edges of his vision as he got up and stumbled away, losing more of his line of sight as he tried to make it to the treeline, feet unsteady as images flashed before him and sand and soil began to swirl at his feet.  He didn’t want Mirabel or Antonio to see him like this, blind and helpless and scared.  The thought of Elena seeing him so vulnerable turned his stomach, and he tried shuffling away faster, the light taking over even more of his sight as panic started to set in and his chest tightened.  Small pains bloomed all over his body; here a slash to his thigh, there a stab to the gut, a blast to the shoulder as the scenes swirled around him, half seen, a murmur of sound only he could hear.

“No. No no no no! Not now, not now!” He gritted out, the pain in his head flaring fiercely, nails of one hand digging into his palm, trying to distract himself with a separate controlled pain as the other hand dug into his pocket, tossing salt over his shoulder panicked, frantically chanting. “Que te vaya bien, que dios te bendiga, buena suerte.  Por favor, buena suarte!” With each word, his view of the real world faded further, the duns and grays and forest greens giving way to the glowing green of his second sight, the images flashed clearer, louder, and more painful.  He stumbled and fell, the pain of hitting his knee distracting him just enough to stand and stumble again, a hoarse scream ripped from his throat as pain blossomed in his abdomen and the sand churned around him, tearing at his hair and shirt, blinding him completely as he knelt, trapped in his vision.

He saw a man with the name Thomas on his dull military gear walking through a jungle only to be caught on a vicious spring trap made of spikes, and felt each one as they pierced his body.  Another military man torn apart by gunfire, each blunt blast echoing through Bruno, trailing fire behind.  A group of Asian men in rough clothes cowered under cover as they watched their compatriots burning from some flaming gel from the sky, motors and gunfire ringing out around them, only for the fire to engulf them as well, the heat and pain flashing over his skin.  Bruno felt the ghosts of all their future pain, no way to warn them, not sure where they were or what language they spoke, no way to stop the vision until it ran its course.  Each new scene and pain drew a cry from him, his eyes burning and skull feeling split in two, shots he couldn’t see, fire he couldn’t put out, and blades he couldn’t fend off tearing into him, invisible, imagined, but soon to be real for some poor soul a world away.

Elena had been laughing with Mirabel over Cosmo and Antonio’s antics as they took their break when she saw Bruno wander away.  She assumed he was headed to the tree line for baño privacy, but his gait was wrong.  He shambled like a blind man, muttering to himself and batting at something no one could see, sand and soil twisting around his feet, eyes blazing green.  Luisa and Mirabel had noticed too, as had the Ortiz brothers, who looked terrified.  “Luisa, what’s happening?” Elena asked eyes wide.  Luisa looked frightened, tears in her eyes as she watched her uncle stumble.

“Mamá was worried about this this morning.  An involuntary vision.  He used to have them, before he…but I’ve never seen one this bad.  Mamá tried to always be with him before the sand came up, but he didn’t…scream…”  Their heads spun at the harsh cry Bruno let out as he fell to his knees, fully enveloped by the seething circle of sand, flashes of an angry green flaring around it as two bright eyes screwed themselves shut.  “It wasn’t like this when he gave me my vision!” Mirabel cried as they ran in his direction “It was just a lot of sand, but he was okay!  I don’t understand, Luisa, why is he screaming?”

“He can feel these, not just see them!  It must be a bad one.” Luisa said as another shout broke through the dome.

“We have to help him,” Elena said, barely able to see the man in the center, holding his stomach, face contorted in pain as a jagged ring of emeralds speared out of the ground.  In a gap in the sands, for a moment, they all saw Bruno’s face twisting in pain and his nose bleeding profusely.  “We can’t!” Luisa shot, grabbing both their arms “The sand turns to glass that’ll cut you up really bad.  Tio…Tio has to wait it out.”  She looked away dejectedly, blinking back tears as she stared at the dome of swirling sand.

Mirabel deflated with a sob as she watched, but Elena’s body was humming, uneasy and instinctive, a pull in her gut driving her to action.  She waited until Luisa let her go, toeing off her too-loose boots unnoticed before darting towards the dome as fast as she could, each hoarse scream piercing something deep in her chest, forcing her to keep going.  She paused only a moment at the circle, reaching her hand out and pulling it back when a sharp pain lanced through her hand, a thin line opened by the glass she’d been warned of.  Luisa was fast approaching, but she would not leave Bruno to face this alone.  Elena backed away, shrugged her blouse back on haphazardly, and bolted forward, diving into the swirling maelstrom of glass and sand and emerald shards, arms guarding her head.

She landed roughly, winding herself as her shoulder hit solid earth, a dozen fine slices opening at random across her body, oozing blood.  She coughed and sat up, batting sand from her eyes and scooting over to Bruno, blind to her as he writhed, still caught in the vision.  His face contorting, tears leaking from his eyes and blood dripping off his chin at an alarming rate.

“Bruno!” Elena coughed, grasping his shoulders and shaking him gently, “Bruno, look at me.”  His eyes opened, fearful and blind and flying, green glow so bright she could barely make out his pupils.  His hands fumbled unseeing, feeling around before finding her arms and digging in painfully, seeking some sort of anchor as a pained moan left him.  She looked around at the spiraling interior of the dome, seeing the images of a war she’d only heard rumors of, a conflict so far from home that even the outside world wasn’t concerned with it.  “Oh, Bruno.  Tu pobrecito.”  She took one last look around at the horror he was being forced to see before wrapping him in an embrace, placing his head on her shoulder, one hand stroking his back in long passes, sticking to his sweat drenched shirt, the other in his curls, gently massaging his scalp.  Wiry arms came up around her, clutching at her shoulders as he muffled a cry into her neck.  She didn’t know what else to do, knew she couldn’t stop the vision, knew nothing but that no one should be alone during this.  Without thinking, she held him closer and closed her eyes, softly singing.  

     “Sana sana colita de rana, Si no sanas hoy, Sanarás mañana.

     Sana sana colita de rana, Si no sanas hoy, Sanarás mañana.

     Te espera Pablo, El patico, Y Don Pasquale, El pececito.

     Sana sana colita de rana, Si no sanas hoy, Sanarás mañana.

     Sana sana colita de rana, Si no sanas hoy, Sanarás mañana.

     Te está llamando, Lorenzo, el loro, Para que vuelvas, A tu pozo.

     Sana sana colita de rana, Si no sanas hoy, Sanarás mañana.

     Sana sana colita de rana, Si no sanas hoy, Sanarás mañana.”

Bruno cried out again, and Elena held him tighter, singing the old childhood song again as his grip on her shifted and his pained cries drifted slowly to sobs.  The sands calmed as she sang and rocked gently, ignoring her stinging cuts and the pain in her knees, pulling the tie from his hair to keep her fingers from snagging and causing him even an ounce more pain. His tears and blood drenched her shoulder, but still she held him, gentle songs from childhood, half remembered, tumbling from her lips as she stroked his back.  Slowly, slowly the sand fell away and the green glow faded into the late afternoon sunlight.  Bruno quieted and stilled, slumping against her.  He shook and burned with what felt like fever, each breath a harsh rattle as he tried to calm his erratic heartbeat.

“Lo siento, lo siento.  Perdóname, por favor perdóname,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and low, trying to turn his face away, ashamed.  Elena loosened her grip on him, letting him turn away, as he wiped at his face weakly.  He tried to stand, only to pitch forward, eyes half gone to the back of his head.  Elena caught him clumsily, an arm under his, helping him stand on legs as limp as a newborn calf’s.

“Tio!”

“Tio Bruno!”

The girls and had run up as soon as the sand settled, jumping over the jagged green spikes to stand beside them, concern etched on their faces.

“We have to get him home, he needs rest,” Mirabel said as she edged towards her uncle.  Luisa took in the scene a little more slowly.  “We can’t drag him all the way back to Casita covered in blood and looking half dead, Mira.  Abuela would have a heart attack and no one in town would look at him the same. We have to get him cleaned up and let him sleep this off, get some food into him.”

“Will the Ortizes let us…” Elena began, looking at the brothers in the distance, standing with Cosmo, Antonio, and Mariano.  The older Ortizes were wide-eyed as spooked horses and looking just as likely to bolt.  Mariano and the two boys looked concerned, and Antonio was trying to pull free of Mariano’s grasp to get to his uncle.

“Not…here…” Bruno rasped, shaking his head and tilting towards Elena from the effort. 

“Ok, Tio, ok.  Not here.”  Luisa said quietly, her large hand steadying him.  “Senóra Elena, your shop is closer, and tio looks ready to fall over.  Can we take him there?”

“Of course!  Mirabel, can you run and get some of your Mamá’s food and let her know what happened?  I’ll need Luisa’s help to get him to the shop.”

“Can do!” Mirabel said with a serious look, sprinting off down the road.  Luisa looked at Elena curiously as they settled Bruno down under the pekea tree and placed his ruana over his shoulders, his rats climbing down and chittering at him in concern, before cowering down into his hair like storm-frightened dogs.  “I could carry you, tio.  It would be faster.”

“Let…let me walk, Luisita.  I n—need to walk out of here.  Let me have that.” Bruno panted, wincing as he tried to sit up, muscles cramping so strongly it could be seen under the skin.  Luisa tried to protest, but Elena shook her head as she stilled the young woman’s hand. “Don’t argue with male pride, Luisa.  It’s a losing battle.”  “You’re right, but I don’t have to like it,” she grumbled.  They had hefted Bruno up as Mariano arrived, ready to help, a tearful Antonio hot on his heels. 

“Tio!  Tio Bruno!” Antonio cried as he barreled forward, eyes huge and terrified.  Elena took the brunt of Bruno’s weight as the little boy went diving for his prima for comfort, her big hand dwarfing his head as she held him.  “Shh, shh, it’s ok, Tonito.  He just had a bad vision, he’ll be alright.  It’s ok, cariño, I promise.”

“He--he looks dead!  Why is there blood!”

“He gets bad nosebleeds and really, really tired like this, but he needs you to be brave for him right now, and not panic, ok?  Stress only makes it harder.  Can you do that for me, chicito?” Luisa whispered, gently rocking the little boy as he hiccupped.  Elena supposed he’d never seen much in the way of blood before, and his fear was understandable. 

“What can I do, Luisa?” Mariano asked, not sure where he was needed.  Luisa handed Antonio to him as he blinked, surprised.

“Take Tonito home, and explain what happened to Dolores and Tia Pepa so they don’t panic.  Mirabel is going to meet us at Café de Libros with some of Mamá’s food and we’ll get this fixed.”  Mariano nodded, unbothered by the sniffling of the little boy on his shoulder as he turned and made his way away from the farm.  Luisa had a quick word with Octavio, promising she would come back when she could to finish the pen.  The man gazed at Bruno fearfully, and agreed, trying to hide the fact that he crossed himself as they passed.  Elena shot him a poisonous glare, making him shrink away shamefaced as she helped Bruno walk, his pace painfully slow as she kept him upright, his arm slung over her shoulder.  Luisa’s hands steadied him, but she tried to let her tio walk under his own power as much as she could.

They made their way slowly into town taking the back alleys, slowed by Bruno’s stumbling as he tried to avoid the cracks.  Elena could tell he was trying to hide it even in his weakened state, and felt a wave of pity for him as he was caught in the hold of his superstitions.  She knew he couldn’t help it.  Their odd procession drew the eyes of a few stray townsfolk going about their day, as did the still bright blood on both their shirts.  She and Luisa glared at those few, daring someone to say something, as Elena wrestled her keys out of her pocket and opened the café door.  Bruno had gone completely dead weight, fully unconscious as they made their way in.  She handed Bruno off to Luisa and went to the back of the shop to open her loft door, hidden cleverly in a pocket frame.

“Bring him upstairs Luisa.  He needs to lay down and wash up.  I’ll leave the café door open for Mirabel if you want to wait for her.”

Luisa was about to protest, saying that someone should stay with her tio, when she saw the soft, concerned look in Elena’s eye.  She picked up her tio, so light still, carefully carried him up the stairs, laying him down on Elena’s couch as the woman in question bustled about, heating her small stove, putting on a kettle and filling her small sink with cold water as she dampened some rags.  Bruno was out cold, his brow fevered and his skin ashen.  “You’ll take care of him, won’t you Senóra Elena?” Luisa asked, brushing the hair out of Bruno’s eyes in a gesture that mirrored when he’d comforted her as a child.  Elena stilled, hand stopping her search in her cupboards, and smiled, crossing the floor and placing her hand gently on Luisa’s arm.  “Of course I will, Luisa.  He’s safe here.  Let him rest for a while.”

“I’ll go wait for Mira.  Thank you for…for caring about him.”  Luisa made her way back to the stairs, turning to watch for a moment as Elena went back to work, digging a faded, out of style men’s shirt from her drawers and chamomile tea from her cupboards, and taking the blanket from her bed, and smiled.  Her tio was in good hands.

Chapter Text

Elena busied herself with tea things for a moment once Luisa left the room, not knowing what Bruno preferred, before kicking off her boots, stripping off her bloodstained blouse and throwing it and chemise both into the cold basin of water to soak, regretting using the last of her peroxide the night before.  She pulled on a loose clean shirt before going to Bruno, still unconscious on her couch, head propped up and nose still bleeding somewhat, dripping down his jaw onto the sheet.  She’d worry about the cover later.  Gently, she lifted his head, pulling the stained ruana from under him and tossing it onto her ironing board, always out.  She then began to unbutton his shirt, easing it off one arm and then the next, slipping it out from under his back.  She noted  pale scars littering his skin, an especially bad one raised over his waistband to circle around his hip and another one slashed diagonally across his left pectoral, cutting a path through his chest hair.  She lay the blanket over him before taking his shirt to the sink to soak as well.  His chest rose and fell gently, skin blanched around the blood stain that had soaked through.  His rats had climbed up on the back of her couch, noses twitching, and she offered them each a small cracker when she returned with a bowl of hot water, a towel, a stool, and a soft washcloth in her hands.  She sat at his head and rolled the towel under his shoulder, eliciting a groan as he stirred, waking and trying to sit up.  She pushed him back gently.

Chapter Text

Elena tried to live her life like her father had, unencumbered by stress borrowed from things that he couldn’t prevent.  She usually failed miserably at it, having inherited her mother’s hot temper, but she at least tried.

She was using every trick in the book to not throw her friends out on their ears.  Miranda and Bea meant well, but they were driving her up every wall.  The shops were surprisingly busy for the middle of the week, she had already burned her hand twice filling coffee orders, the returned book stack was growing, and her idiota friends had decided to bring their rambunctious children, though she’d conned them into weeding her pergola with the promise of free mochas if they did a good enough job and didn’t kill her wisteria or trample her marmalade bushes.  She was giving them the mochas anyway, especially Juancho, because while she loved her friends, she was not above petty revenge, and them losing sleep because she’d purposely over-caffeinated their little duendes was the least they deserved.  At least the Ortiz brothers hadn’t come in today.  It seemed they’d kept their mouths shut over yesterday, and she was grateful.  The rumor mill in Encanto swirled into her shop too often as it was, and had just settled down from Bruno’s return.  She didn’t want to start tossing people out again.

She finished the last order of the moment, haphazardly adding a dash of milk, and handed it off to the Padre, who darted out after giving her an odd look, muttering to himself about plans for the upcoming Mass.  It wasn’t uncommon for him to talk his plans out, so she let it pass, moving to the library side of things.  There was a lull, and all she could hear was the turning of pages, the laughter of her friends’ children, and the gentle conversations in the café.   She grumbled as her hair fell out of its chignon as she gathered loose books and had to try and right it blind, pins in her mouth as she formed a messy roll on the left.  She managed to shelve an armload of books before moving back behind the counter, heaving a sigh at the momentary respite and downing her third cup of coffee for the day, ignoring the looks from her friends.  She had had a restless night, sleep finding her only after hours of fitful tossing and turning.  She picked up her embroidery project for something to do with her hands.  Small encenillo leaves were slowly starting to appear on her torn blouse, disguising and repairing the slashes in the fabric. 

Miranda had noticed Elena’s wistful smile as she worked, and knew that look.

“Elena, you need a night out, especially after today, so busy!  Come out with us tonight, it’s been forever.  We can go to the dance hall.  Or the hoguera the Constantinos have planned for tonight, it’s supposed to be wild!”

“Miranda, I’m still behind from my day off yesterday, I don’t have time to go.  I already have to go shopping tonight, and that’s after dealing with that.” She snorted, pointing at the pile of returns, stacked precariously on her cart, as tall as her.  “You work too hard, Lenita.  How are we ever going to get you a novio if you never leave the shop?”

“I leave,” Elena sighed defensively, rolling her eyes at the same old argument, doing her best to not smile and give herself away.  “Besides, your tastes in men for me have been terrible for years.”

“Come on, Elena,” Bea laughed, trying to talk her into a blind date.  “When are mis primos going to be in town again?  They only make it back every few years.  Orlando is perfect for you!”

“Orlando has three children and no wife,” Elena reminded her pointedly.  That those three children all had different mothers, each of whom had all left them to be raised in the Cortez household she didn’t mention.  “Even better!  A ready-made family without all the hassle of having a baby!”

“Beatriz, I’m not going on a blind date with any more of your cousins.  I love you, but the last one barely said a word to me before he lost his hand down my blouse!  The play you sent us to hadn't even made it to intermission!” 

“He’s still impressed you were able to break three of his fingers.”

“Yeah, I don’t do pain either, Bea.  Paco has a screw loose.”

“Okay, okay, fine, no more of Bea’s cousins,” Miranda giggled, shaking her head.  “What about Galo Ortiz?  Arturo knows him, he’s not as…well, he’s not as bad as his primos.  He’s cute.  And he’s looking for someone right now.”

“Galo has all the personality of a shoe.  If I wanted to be bored I’d just stay home.”

“Eres imposible!” Bea groaned.  “Fine, fine, no dates.  Just come out with us tonight then.  Who knows, maybe with the tequila flowing you won’t be so picky.”

“I’m picky for a reason, you two you know that,” Elena said as she batted at her hair, loose again.   She tossed her embroidery down in agitation and yanked her bobby pins out before throwing it all in a sloppy braid and securing it to her head, jamming pins back in mimbly pimbly.

Miranda and Bea froze, cups halfway to their lips as they shared a look.  As Elena arranged her curls, they both saw it; a vivid purple mark under her ear, half hidden by a lock of hair she had missed.

“What is that!” Bea squealed, eyes locked on her friend’s neck.  Elena resisted the urge to cover the mark.  She had forgotten it was there, but smiled fondly at the memory of Bruno’s lips hot on her skin.  She grinned meanly instead, an eyebrow quirked.  “Un chupetón, what else?   You and Rodrigo forget what those were?” Miranda laughed at Bea’s look of consternation.  “But from who?  That’s the question!”  She whispered theatrically.  “You’ve taken exactly one day off in the last four months, and come back to work with someone’s love bites on you?  The scandal!”  Miranda clutched her chest and gasped.  Elena whacked her with a dishrag.  “Hush, you!  Mind your business.”

“I bet it was Carlos, he comes by all the time!” Bea stage whispered, her thick eyebrows dancing suggestively at Elena, who glared at her.  Before she could correct Bea, Miranda started in. “Ooh, please tell us it was!  He’s so handsome!”

“That face!  Those big hands!” Bea giggled.

“Forget the face, I’m jealous.  Those muscles and that tight culito of his…” Miranda fanned herself.  “Mercedez always had that silly smile on her face, and they weren’t quiet at all.  Lucky puta.”  She stuck her tongue out at Elena, before catching her glare. 

“Elena…?”

“It isn’t Carlos.  Carlos es un pinche perro.  que un gato orine en sus zapatos!” she spat vindictively.  Her friends leaned back, surprised at her ire.  She took a breath to collect herself.  “Sorry, it’s just…it’s not him, ok?”

“Alright, it’s not Carlos.” Bea said in a placating tone, confused at her friend’s reaction to the man, but knowing enough to not pry when Elena was that riled up.  “Did Roberto finally ask you out?  He’s a nice man.”  Elena sighed, the strangest déjà vu sparking as she remembered her conversation with Bruno the night before.  She shook her head.  “No, and before you ask, neither did Tito Marquez.  Now hush and let me get sorted back here, you two.  I’m not telling you.”

Elena turned and began setting up more coffee, ignoring the woebegone groans of her overly invested friends, refilling the standard carafes and grinding more beans, letting the work lull her as she snickered at the two still obnoxiously speculating, some of the guesses getting truly wild, some outright offensive, but meant in good fun.  The Padre?  Alberto the jeweler, who was barely twenty?  Really?

She gazed out the window of the café, watching the suncatcher she’d hung that morning throw a rainbow of greens across the wall, and smiled fondly.  When she’d found the box on her bed, she’d covered her face, embarrassed that he’d found her out.  Her father, never a superstitious man, had told her to throw the silly things away, but she’d thought them sweet, and began collecting them.  The large sun catcher, the last thing he’d left before his disappearance, the item that had given her an inking of hope that he’d finally noticed her, had always been her favorite.

Alma and Mirabel entered as she mused, Alma taking their usual table at the window, peering curiously at the suncatcher before taking her project out of her bag.  A blanket it looked like, a muted floral pattern done in swirling crochet squares.  Mirabel made her way to the counter, Elena already getting their usual coffees started.

“Can you make Tio Bruno his espresso as well please, Senóra?  He’ll be here in a minute.  He—ah…didn’t sleep well last night.”  Mirabel said tactfully, seeing Elena’s lips twitch towards her nosy friends, her eyes playful.

“Of course, Mirabel.” Elena nodded, accepting the fee for the three coffees and handing Mirabel a tray of conchas as well before getting to work on the espresso.  She bit her lip as she overheard her friends tittering to each other as soon as Mirabel was out of earshot, clearly thinking she wasn't listening.

“Maldito Bruno’s coming?  Ugh, I don’t know how Elena stands having him in the shop so much,” Bea muttered, shivering.  “He’s so strange, he just stares at you like you aren’t there if you pass him in the aisle, and those eyes!  Have you ever seen them glow?  It’s so creepy, like a cat in the jungle.”

“He can’t help what his gift makes him,” Miranda shrugged.  “It’s those ratas that do it for me.  Who walks around with rats?  I could maybe understand if he just started when he was in hiding where ever he went off to, but he had them before.  Filthy little things.”

“I never understood what she saw in him, scrawny little man.  At least he’s stayed away from her since he got back.  He used to always be bothering her about her books and leaving those weird little charms, remember?  He’s too old for her anyway.” 

“Didn’t you go to dinner with him once, Bea?”

“Ha!  Not by choice.  My mother and his arranged that, and it was miserable.  He just sat there the whole meal, barely talking, just looking at me with those eyes of his and a scowl on his face.  Senóra Alma said it was because he’d had a busy day with his visions, but it was so unnerving, so eerie!  Like he stares into your soul!  I told Mamá I was never going back.  Worst dinner of my life.”

Elena held her tongue for the moment.  She had forgotten the intense aversion her friends had always harbored for the youngest Madrigal triplet.  When they had been younger, they had teased her mercilessly over her infatuation with him.  If they kept it up though, she was tempted to have Chacha shit on their heads.  She gritted her teeth, tempted to toss them out on their asses but keeping the peace for the moment.

Her plotting was cut short as the man  himself slunk in, so softly the bells on the door barely rang.  Elena ran his coffee through the French press as he swept past his mother, placing a kiss on her temple before ruffling Mirabel’s hair and making his way to the counter. 

“Your mother already paid, Bruno,” she waved him off as he reached for his wallet.  He accepted his cup with a gentle “Thank you,” ready to head to his favorite chair when Elena came around to the front, a neatly folded green bundle in her hands.  Her friends were watching curiously, and she knew it.

“You left these here last night.  Thought you’d like them back,” she said as she planted a swift kiss to his cheek, the scratch of his facial hair making her giggle.  He went red in surprise and fumbled for a moment, almost spilling his drink before finding his balance, ruana and shirt tucked messily over his elbow, having shaken loose.  Elena grinned “Don’t stay a stranger in that chair all day, tonto.  I want to see your face in the sun.”

Bruno nodded, “Th-thanks.  I mean, thank you, Elena” he gulped, wide-eyed and scarlet as he went to pull up a hood he didn’t have, settling for tugging the collar of his brown shirt and giving her hand a squeeze before charging his way to the aisle, eyes locked on his feet.  There were people here!

Elena scoffed and let him go, rolling her eyes fondly, sneaking a look at his rear as he retreated into the stacks.  Mirabel gave her a little thumbs up from her table, earning a huff from Alma, who had been staring raptly out the window the whole exchange, purposely ignoring it.

Miranda and Bea stared goggle-eyed at her as she came back around the counter, picking up her embroidery and raised an eyebrow at them.

“Bruno?!”  They choked out in unison.

“Yes?” She said, sly grin quirking up.  “What about him?”

“He left clothes here last night?  Elena, qué carajo!” Miranda coughed, having inhaled coffee the wrong way.

Elena shrugged, a smile on her face.  “What’s there to say?  I like him, he likes me, we’re adults.  Breathe, Mimi, you’re all red.”

“But he—he’s…he’s cursed, Elena!  You told us yourself he predicted your parents’ deaths!  Who does that?  Why would he tell you?  It’s horrible!” Bea whispered urgently, eyes darting back to the aisle.  Elena ground her teeth, knowing all three Madrigals in the shop had heard that, thanks to her friend’s complete inability to whisper like a person.  She sighed, and placed her hands on the counter, leaning over just a bit before tearing into them both.

“I told you no such thing, Beatriz.  You took it that way because they aren’t in the vision plate and you have bananas where your brains should be!  He didn’t come to my house and fill Papá’s lungs with blood.”  Bea flinched at the image, but Elena continued.  “He didn’t come dig his hand into Mamá’s chest and crush her heart!  He’s just a man, not a monstruo.  And he didn’t tell me anything.  Papá asked for that vision years ago, before we even owned the shop, and never said an unkind word about him!”

“Elena, we…we’re just concerned.  He’s…He’s…”

“He’s what? Cursed? Madre de Cristo!  And don’t give me that mierda about age, Miranda, you’re ten years older than Arturo!  Why is fourteen so different?  I’m not a child!  You don’t know him, just go off stupid rumors that you’d know weren’t remotely true if you’d have got off sus culos and helped with Casita or actually said a damned word to him!  He’d been coming to this shop for ten years, you think I’d have let him start coming back if I didn’t trust him?” Elena exclaimed, her voice raising.

“How can you trust someone who runs away for ten years?” Bea asked pointedly.

“Because I’m not an idiot, Beatriz!  You think I don’t know why he left?  His whole family comes in here, Bea.  If you’d dig la meirda out of your ears you’d pick up on things too.”

Beatriz and Miranda looked at their friend, she was flushed and agitated, knuckles white as she clenched her fists on the countertop.  They were both taken aback, neither had seen her like this since she’d broken Julio Guzman’s nose for making fun of her father’s illness when they were all seventeen.  She deflated suddenly at the hurt on their faces.

“Look, I love you guys.  We’ve been friends forever, and I don’t want to lose you, and that’s the only reason I haven’t kicked you out yet.  Leave Bruno alone, for my sake if nothing else.  He’s a good man.  Better than this whole town gives him credit for.  He’s kind to me, and sweet.  Just stop, alright?  I won’t have you calumniándolo.   He deserves better.”

“Elena…” Miranda started, yanking on Beatriz’ arm as she started to drift off to Bruno’s aisle, where she could see the man in question staring daggers at them over his book, hood of his ruana shading his eyes rather menacingly, “We’re sorry, Elena.  We’ll…we’ll try.  But you will tell us if—if he hurts you, won’t you?  Please?”

Elena gave a heavy sigh and ran a hand over her hair, “There’s no chance of that.  He’s a gentle man.  Please just believe me that I know what I’m doing?”

“Alright, Elena.  Just…consider coming out tonight?  You can…you can bring him if you want to.  His sisters will be there so…” Beatriz said quietly, still smarting from the reprimand she’d caught.  Elena nodded and went silent, making a few small mochas and handing two apiece to her friends.  “Free of charge girls, for the kids.  Leave the mugs by the pergola.  I’ll think about tonight, ok?  Just…can I have some space?”

Miranda juggled the mugs to one hand and gripped her friend’s arm.  “We’ll get out of your hair, amiga.  Be good to yourself, oyes?”  Elena nodded wearily as they left, gathering their grass-stained niños from outside as they went.

Bruno watched the exchange from his chair furiously, understanding now what Agustín had meant about her friends.  They clucked at her like chickens and pecked just as badly, not leaving her alone until she caused a scene.  For him.  He winced internally at the knowledge that his mother and sobrina had heard all that. 

He clenched his jaw as he turned over what was said.  He had worried about this, that she’d be singled out or judged for any association with him.  The thought soured in his stomach, and he felt his chest tighten painfully, making it hard to breathe.  She didn’t deserve that, to lose her friends because of him.  To lose the reputation she’d clawed out for herself.  And she’d defended him, but what if the words stuck?  What if Beatriz found some way to pass on the fear she had of him?  He swallowed thickly at the thought of seeing fear in Elena’s eyes instead of the fiery kindness he was rapidly growing used to.  Of looking at her and seeing only another cold expression.  Or seeing her hiding her fear behind a weak smile.  She was determined, but if the words of her friends took root in her mind, or his mother’s disdain, would she continue, or see him as the lost cause that everyone else did?

That thought stung.  The conversation had dug under his skin the whole time, so badly he’d had to put his hood up like a shield.  Even his brave persona Hernando wasn’t enough to staunch the flow of anxious thoughts swirling around in his head.  What if she listened?  What if they were more important to her?  This was so new why wouldn't they be?  What if she changed her mind?  The last two days flared in his mind's eye, bright and loud and tender, and it hurt all the more, knowing that all of that could ruin her, break her down and leave her like him, adrift and alone, if he didn't make a choice now, a choice that hurt to even think about, before they were both pulled too deep to resurface.

His eyes darted around as her friends left, looking for something, anything to latch onto for focus, but nothing stuck.  He sat trapped in his spiral, every negative thing he’d internalized over the years circling in his head.  He was weak, and ugly, and too old for her.  His visions were a curse, he’d only bring her bad luck and pain.  He wasn’t helping her by taking the hand she had offered, he was dooming her.

He stood up at that last thought, his throat tight and his stomach in knots.  He gave one last sorrowful look at her at her best, embroidery needle in her mouth and trailing thread, her nose scrunched up as she pulverized coffee by hand and giggling at a customer’s joke.  He waited until they had made their way out the door, and secured his hood around his head, ignoring the irritated squeaking Hector was making from his shirt collar as he made his way to the front.

Elena leaned across the counter as he approached, curious eyebrow up at his hood, and smiled.  Her face fell when she saw his expression.  He was screaming internally, voices at war inside his head over what to do, but the one that said to cut ties now was winning out.

“Bruno?  What’s wrong?  If it’s about my friends I’ll...”  He cut her off, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Elena.  This was a mistake.”

“W-what?”

“I shouldn’t have made a decision so quickly.  That was cruel of me.” 

“Bruno, I don’t understand…What…Why are you…?”

“I shouldn’t have led you on.  This was a mistake.  I’m sorry.”  With that, before he could see the tears forming in her confused eyes, he bolted out the shop door in a green blur, leaving his niece and mother sitting and gaping like fish.

Elena stood, hand still clutching the handle of the coffee grinder, vision blurring with tears and questions whirring through her mind.  What had just happened?  Had he really listened to her friends? Did he actually think she’d listened to any of their nonsense?  She saw Mirabel coming to the counter from her seat, and scrubbed at her eyes, heat rising in her chest as she bit the inside of her cheek.  She saw Alma’s almost pleased expression and burned.

“Senóra Elena?”

Elena snorted in disgust and threw the handle of the grinder down and thundered around the counter, knocking over a stack of mugs as she went, her expression dark as she made a decision.  If it was rash or not she’d find out later.

“Mirabel, I trust you, watch the shop.  I have to go murder your tio!” she spat savagely.  Mirabel stood, blinking at her abuela as the woman sprinted out the door, skirt flying around her legs as she did.

Elena hated running, and as soon as she caught Bruno she was going to give him a piece of her mind about it.  What the hell had he been thinking?  She saw a flash of muted green slip into an alley ahead of her and tried speeding up, her knees complaining slightly at the increase in speed but her adrenaline up.  She made the turn and saw him again, closer this time, dart to the left.  She followed, feet pounding, and watched as he was slowed down by a wagon backing up.  She flitted around it, clipping her hip on a sharp corner.

“Carajo, get back here, Bruno Madrigal!” she panted, “You bastardo! No puedes joder decir eso y huir de mí, mierda flaco!”

She kept after him, following every slip of green she saw, huffing as she charged ahead.  Flashes of memory flitted across her eyes, fueling her as what they had begun played before her.  She caught sight of his thin frame, resting for a moment, thinking he’d lost her, and pushed forward, ignoring the pain in her side that lanced through her with each breath.

She almost got a grip on his ruana, but he spotted her, and was so fast, twisting around the corner and disappearing.  Elena’s energy finally failed her halfway through town, having to clamber over the detritus of the back alleys making it worse.  She faltered, panting, and leaned against the wall, tears leaking from her eyes as she tried batting them away, tried to ignore them, shaking her head before giving a shuddering sob.  Why had she believed him?  Why had she given herself hope?

She wasn’t sure how long she leaned against the wall, fighting to keep down tears as she failed to catch her breath, feeling like she’d swallowed a ball of lead, distress sitting heavy and hollow in her stomach.

“E—Elena?”

She looked through tear spiked lashes to see a familiar, concerned face and bolted up, crying out and taking him by surprise, shoving him into the opposite wall, off balance and gripping his ruana in both hands, fury sparking in her eyes.

“How dare you?  How dare you, puta madre?!  I opened my heart to you!  How dare you have your tongue down my throat last night after everything and then do this!  At least have the courage to explain to me like a person, cobarde rata asquerosa!  I thought you were different!  If you don't want me just say it and be done! Don't...Don't...please...”  She cried, tears escaping as she shook him, the string of curses falling from her lips setting his blood on fire.  He took her hands in his, his grip tight, peeling them from his clothes, hissing her name in a voice that froze her, creeping down her spine like the slink of a cat.

“You think I don’t want you?” came his gruff whisper, eyes feral and burning bright.  He surged forward, his lips on hers in a searing kiss, hard and fierce.  He sent her back into the wall, ignoring her yelp of surprise as he gripped her wrists tighter, holding them over her head and pressing against her, his chest bellowing against her own, arousal ground against her, unyielding and pinning her where she stood, surprised by his strength and his reaction.  She fought against him for a moment, angrily twisting in his grip, biting at his lip to try and shake him.  It seemed to only encourage him, and he drove on, grinding against her as he forced his tongue past her lips, teeth clacking as she cried out, infuriated and inflamed at the same time, and he stole her breath from her, bearing down on her till she could feel the texture of the individual bricks through her blouse.  He broke away with a groan, and looked at her, the feirce look replaced by something softer as he moved just enough to give her room to breath.

“How could you think that?  Look at you!  Una mujer fuerte, una ninfa, como Artemisa la cazadora.  Anyone who doesn't want you is a fool.” He rasped, panting as he pulled away from her, his hood falling back, watching her face go from blissful to angry to confused in a fraction of a second.

“Then why would you say what you did?  Why?  Please, I just want to understand why?  What made you do this?”

“I…” he began, dejectedly hanging his head, eyes wavering as he turned his face away from her, ashamed.  “It all came crashing down at once.  I--I couldn’t stop it.  Like--like a hailstorm.  Everything they've all said all just hit at once and I couldn't breathe and couldn't think past the thought I was going to ruin you and the only way to stop it from happening was to stop this and run.  Just run.  Like I always run.”

“Bruno, I meant what I said.  I don’t care what people think.”

“But your friends--”

“My friends are idiots with too much time on their hands.  I love them, but I don’t listen to them when it comes to men, and I certainly won't listen to them when it comes to you.  Do you think I’m that shallow, to believe the silly things they say when I actually know you?” she asked critically.  Bruno shook his head, acutely aware that she was giving him another chance after he'd royally screwed up, and grasped at it, careful with his words as he closed his eyes, trying to beat back the still present dread and say what he actually wanted to. 

“Elena, at that moment, I did mean what I said.”  She gave a hurt little noise, but he forged on, cupping her cheek and forcing himself to make eye contact with her “But!  But--I panic, Elena.  You have to know that about me.  I panic and can”t stop, sometimes.  And I’m sincere when I do, even when I know...when I know what I’m panicking over makes no sense.  I can’t help it.  It’s no excuse, but...this is who I am.  I’m...something in my mind is always fearful.  And I fail people because of it.  I failed you so soon because of it.  I...lo siento.  Perdóname, Elena.  Lo siento.” With each apology he kissed her face softly, as if trying to imprint his pleas on her skin.

Elena searched his eyes for any hint of dishonesty, and saw only nervous hope.  “Bruno.  This is the first and last time I let you hurt me.  I will not chase after you like a lovestruck teenager again, do you understand?”  He flinched at her tone, his face falling, before she continued, “But I understand.  I’ve seen people taken over by panic like that before, so frantic.  It’s like...like you're caught in a whirlpool and can't swim and the only way out is to try to calm down and float away but you just can’t.”

He nodded.  That feeling of being drown was exactly right.  He remembered suddenly one of the few times her parents had come to his sister, her mother white as a sheet and mute.  Of course she knew.  It was a panic induced heart attack that had taken her mother from her, too quick for even Julieta to heal.  His face fell further for not remembering, not having the confidence in her to know.  Elena took his hands in hers, pulling him to her and holding them to her chest, where he could feel her heartbeat on the backs of his hands.  “Bruno.  Please.  If you feel it happening again, talk to me.  Don’t let that fear build walls around you that you don’t need.  If we...if we don’t work out later, at least we’ll have tried.  This is new and I can’t know where it’s going, but I’d rather try to hang on and find out than to just jump ship a few feet from the shore.  Wouldn’t you?”

He nodded mutely before bringing his arms around her shoulders.  “I’m sorry, Elena.  Gracias por ser tan paciente con viejo tonto.”

“You aren’t an old fool Bruno, no matter what I call you when I’m teasing.”

“I like that you tease me,” he admitted, stepping away and rubbing his neck bashfully.  “Not many people have done that."

Elena smiled and took back hold of his hand, twining their fingers.  “Come on you.  I ran out like a madwoman and left your poor sobrina in charge of my shop.  She’s probably tearing her hair out.  Let me show you that I’m not ashamed of being seen with you out in public.”

“Wait, please…” he said quietly, pulling his hood back up.  “I don’t quite have your confidence...when it comes to people in town.”  He explained.  Elena quirked her head at him, but said nothing as she pulled him from behind the business they had found themselves behind.  Bruno winced when he realized it was the cerámico, and that Senóra Carmen was at her wheel in front, smirking as she kept her head down.  Elena simply waved and pulled him along, and he was powerless against the grip of that pretty little hand with it's freckles and burn marks and wide gold thumb ring. 

“What is that anyway, with the hood?  If you don't mind me asking.  It's...You seemed…different…back there.”  Bruno knew she was trying to distract him, but huffed in embarrassment anyway.  “It--it’s easier for me to...to do things that scare me if I’m someone else.  So I’m acting.  It’s--I know it’s stupid, but it helps, you know?”

Elena laughed and tugged him closer, to walk beside her.  “Do you remember the angry little thing I used to be at all, Bruno?  When Papa first opened the shop?”

“I heard you broke someone’s nose?”

“I did.  I had no confidence growing up.  All I had were my books and Chacha and mis padres, and I didn’t make friends well.  Papa told me that even fake confidence is better than none, so...I started pretending.  And I was good at it...if maybe a little aggressive, at first.  It helped me cope with things.  After awhile...I didn’t have to pretend anymore.  Because I was still the person who’d done all these things, just under the surface.  And now here we are.   Just me and...?”  She looked at him expectantly, and he felt the fond smile spread on his face even as he tried to look serious and imposing, knowing he was failing but not really caring.  “I’m Hernando, and I’m scared of nothing.”  Elena gave him a quizzical look before nodding, teasing him.  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Hernando.  So tell me, are you the only one that gets all cachondo when I swear, or does your friend Bruno as well?”

“Elena!” he coughed, neck and ears burning.

“I thought you were scared of nothing?” She laughed, swinging his hand.

Bruno laughed and surprised himself by pulling down his hood, even though he could feel the stares of people as they passed “Hernando is reconsidering his stance on what scares him.”

"And Bruno?”

“I am too, Elena.  Thank you.”  He squeezed her hand as they walked on.

“Elena,” he said suddenly, slowing down, a speculative look on his face.  “Come to the Constantino’s bonfire tonight.   Please?  I know you have things to catch up on...I’d help but I’d only get in the way and then you'd be even more behind.  I...I want to see you in the firelight.  Mi oréade.”

Elena considered him for a moment before giving him that soft, shy look that seemed so counter to her personality, but looked so sweet to him, blush lighting her face at the nickname he’d given her.  She bumped her hip into his affectionately.  “I’ll see you there, sátiro lindo.”  Bruno ducked his head at that, the tips of his ears pink.

They spent the rest of the walk back to her shop in contemplative silence, Elena occasionally glaring at the face someone pulled as they passed and Bruno taking it all in, doing his best to tamp down the little flashes of panic whenever someone looked their way.  He could tell Elena and that fierce scowl of hers had it covered.

He opened the door for her when they made it to the shop, seeing Mirabel behind the counter doing a commendable job of sorting out the few customers that had collected.  His mother gave him a peculiar look as he walked in, not letting go of Elena's hand until she went behind the counter, placing a feather-light kiss on his nose and scratching at his chin as she went, leaving him with a silly smile as she thanked his niece.

“Let me pay you at least a little bit for hopping in, Mira, you’ve done amazing!  Thank you.”

“No, no, Senora, it’s fine!  I’m happy to help!  It’s the least I can do to repay you for taking such good care of Tio Bruno yesterday.  Is...Everything’s okay, right?”

“It is now,” Elena smiled, shoving a handful of bills into Mirabel’s hands and shooing her from behind the counter and ignoring her protests.  “As you see, I didn’t actually murder him.  Couldn't bring my self to do anything to that cute face.”

Bruno sputtered and hid his face in his hands as Mirabel burst into giggles, shrugging her shoulders about the money in her hands and placing it in her pocket before going back to sit with Alma, who's face couldn't seem to decide just which negative emotion to stay on. 

“Thank you for letting me borrow her, Senora Alma.” Elena said offhandedly as another few customers came in.

Bruno watched as she dealt with them, moving between coffee side and book side without breaking her stride, giving out book recommendations and leading people around, fully in her element.  He noticed the agitated look she kept throwing to her return pile, and felt guilty for having compromised her time so much the last couple of days.  He thought briefly about filing them for her, but knew he'd probably just get in her way.  ‘Damn it, what am I doing? I'm just making myself upset,’ he berated himself as he picked a thread from his ruana, tossing a pinch of salt over his shoulder.  “Elena?” he asked as she came back around the counter, the copy of Don Quixote he'd been reading in her hands, spot marked.  She looked at him with those soft eyes again as she placed the book down.  He held out his hand, biting his lip white, and she understood.  She took his hand between her own and squeezed.  “You’re ok,” she said simply.  “What ever it is you're worrying about, it'll be alright.”

“You aren’t upset with me?  For...for taking up so much time?”  He asked, eyes sliding to the work she had left to do. “Of course not.  It’s not going anywhere, I’ll get it sorted soon enough.  You aren’t taking up my time, Bruno.  I’ve given it to you.  And it’s time well spent.”

“Gracias, Elena.  I don’t mean to be…”

“Bruno, you aren’t, alright?  You will never be a bother or a burden.  Please try to be kind to yourself.”  She brought his hand up to her lips and placed a kiss on the back, massaging the palm before setting it down on the counter again.  “Don’t worry about the books.  I’ve had more hectic days.  Tonight I have a date to look forward to, so it’ll fly by once I close up.  Tranquilo, tonto Bruno.”  He nodded and took hold of the book she'd set down, flipping back to his spot.

At some point a mug of regular coffee and a concha appeared in front of him, though he was several sips in before he noticed.  Elena lifted her own cup to him in a cheery toast before going back to her tasks.  He felt a little chirp in his heart at the pure simplicity of it all, how she drifted so easily into and out of his field of awareness, natural like she’d been doing so for years.   He supposed in a way she had, always in the periphery of his awareness when he brought his sisters, a smile or a word or a gesture that would have jangled his tenterhook nerves with anyone else passed by so easily with her.

He read quietly then, mind more at ease and foot kicking lazily off the stool.  He lost track of the time again, until Mirabel appeared at his elbow, letting him know that she and Alma were heading back for cena.  He looked up in surprise, seeing Elena locking the library door for the night, ragged broom in hand.  His mother gave him a pointed look from her seat, and he looked away sheepishly.  “Give me a minute, Mira.  I’ll meet you outside”  His sobrina nodded and went to gather her bag.  He slid from his seat and over to Elena, who looked up in surprise, not having heard him.

“Maybe Bea’s cat comparison wasn’t completely wrong,” she laughed at herself, having been snuck up on again.  “Headed home for now?”

“Sí.  Will I see you at la hoguera tonight?”

“Con cascabeles, Bruno.  Vete, ve, I’ll see you tonight!” She waved him off, giggling as three swift kisses dusted her cheeks before he spun out the door.  “Te veo allí!” he called as he waved, darting out the door.

“Let me carry that, Mamá ,” He said as he caught up to his family.  She looked at him sternly and handed him her sewing bag, walking on in tight, measured steps, her back ramrod straight.  His face fell, knowing that hard look.  “What’s wrong?”

“We need to talk Bruno.  About this--this...infatuation you have for Senóra Pascual.”

Bruno groaned and looked to his niece, who shrugged and whispered “You got this, Tio.”

“What about it?”

“Bruno, you have known this woman for two days, and you're following her around like a lost puppy, acting busca de amor.  Acting foolish."  Alma stated, her mouth a thin line.

“Mamá, we’ve all known Elena for years, don’t act like she just fell down the mountains,” he sighed, hand gesturing widely out to the mountain range.

“And what was that today, leaving her crying only to run out acting loco to have her drag you back?  You’re a grown man, not un adolescente!”

“That...That was a mistake.  That Elena somehow forgave me for.  Demándame por mis nervios."  He groused, shaking his head.  What was his mother on about?

“This behavior is unseemly, Bruno.  You bring her to my dinner table just to rebel, then come home two days in a row looking like you've been en un prostibulo!”

“Abuela!”  Mirabel gasped, Bruno stayed her, shaking his head. 

“Mamá!  Don’t be cruda.  Besides, I am a grown man, you said so yourself. How I come home looking is none of your business!"

“That woman is a bruja, una zorra!  She’s no good for you, Brunito.   Her family never trusted the miracle, and she’s just as bad, leaving the Encanto, encouraging los niños aquien saba que!”

Bruno looked at his mother, color high on her cheeks and her brows furrowed in anger, and was transported back to his younger days, the few times he'd tried to bring a girl home, before he just stopped telling his mother, and later after he'd just stopped trying.  He thought back to the few women she'd tried to match him with, frightened girls with no spines to speak of, no fire, and very little personality.  And nothing objectionable to her about them.  Meek little things like what he'd turned into over the years, so desperate to please their own parents they'd do anything.  Even if it meant being matched with him.  He clenched his jaw, the anger and hurt his family had been slowly working on healing breaking free, filling his chest and twisting his face, his brow twitching. 

“Tio?” came Mirabel’s quiet voice, startled by the furious look.

“Cálmate, Mira.  It’s alright.”  He said, before turning on his mother. “Mamá. Enough.  I'm not going to let you beat me down and talk me out of this.  I don’t know where this is going with Elena, and I don't want to!  For once in my life, let something surprise me.  Were we not looking at the same woman earlier?  Did you not see her with me today?  You act like she's some kind of chudora!”

“Of course she is!” Alma sniffed, her face sour.  “You’re a Madrigal, Bruno.  Of course she would use you to get out of that threadbare life she lives!”  That stung.  He didn’t think his mother even noticed what she'd said, but he’d heard it loud and clear.  So had Mirabel.

“Abuela, please, Elena isn’t--”

“Stay out of this, Mirabel.  This is Bruno’s mess to answer to.”

Bruno laughed coldly, looking over at his mother.  “Am I only good for my name?  You really think I’m so worthless that no woman would want me if she weren’t in it for some access to la familia?  Is that why you dragged those poor girls to dinner all those years ago, because you could bully them into a marriage they didn’t want?  Is that how you see me?  Some pathetic fracasado?”

“Bruno!” Alma choked, her eyes tearful as she realized how what she had said could be taken.  “Of course not!  I don’t want your heart broken!  She’s nothing but trastorno.  I don’t want you to end up alone.”

“Where am I now, Mamá?  Until this week, where was I, if not alone?  All this anger because she called you out?  Maybe someone needs to do that more often! Elena walked through an involuntary vision for me.  She knew she’d get hurt and she did it anyway.  No chudora is going to do that.  No one has done that, walked through flying glass for me.  Bled, for me.  You never did!  I’m not Papá, to always be at your side.  If you’d seen that I might have been able to speak up and speak to her years ago, not wasted so much time.  Might have had someone there for me, to talk me down from hiding away!”

Alma gasped at the anger in his voice at that.  He was right.  She knew he was right.   How many times had she held her daughters back when he was caught in the throes of a wild vision?  They had gotten so strong during the first World War he’d destroyed rooms.  Casita always healed herself and protected them.  But she hadn’t protected him, her only son.  She’d seen the scars littering his skin, remembered Julieta's breakdown when she found her poppy extract missing after he’d left, afraid his second sight had finally become too much.  And Alma’s heart broke.  Broke at the hurt in his voice and the fire in his eyes.  At words left too long unsaid pouring from his mouth like bitter poison.  At the words themselves, each one a knife to her heart that she knew she’d handed him herself over the years.  ”Brunito.  You’re right.  I wasn’t there.  I should have been.  I’m holding on too tightly again.”

She sought out his hand, stopping to hold it to her heart, her face crumpled in a sudden sadness.  “You are so much like your father, and it makes it so, so hard to let you go.  I should have told you, let you see how much like him you truly are, let you know what parts of you are Bruno so you could remind me to be your mother.  So you could be who you are instead of me forcing you into his shoes because I couldn’t see...couldn’t see my own son.”  Tears she had been holding in fell then, and for a moment, Bruno considered walking away, tossing her bag down and just walking back to the café, but he stilled.  The genuine hurt in her voice chased the anger from his body.  He could still feel it, in the background, waiting to pounce again, but contented for now.  He took back the hand his mother was holding, brushing a kiss to her knuckles.   

“No llores, Mamá, por favor?  I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have said anything.  Lo siento.”

“No, Bruno.  Don’t apologize.  It needed to be said.  We can’t let these things sit in our hearts and grow rotten any more, even if they hurt to hear.  Better a small hurt now than something we can’t heal later.”

“Still, Mamá.  I was…that was…I...”

“You’ve been holding things in for years, Bruno.  I can see it.  Even now you look lighter.  Maybe…Maybe this is what we need.  To heal.  To be where we should have been.”

“Where should we have been, Mamá?  What does that mean?”

“Somewhere where the best option for you wasn’t to hide away.  Somewhere I could let you go, Brunito.”  Alma sighed, dropping his hand and starting forward again.  “I don’t care for Elena Pascual.  But I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a fire in your eyes.  I have to let you go fly on your own.  If she makes you happy…I will try.  That’s all I can guarantee, but I will try, Bruno.  For you.  You deserve someone who…who can bring good into your life.  And to see that look on your face, I will try.”

His brows knitted together before he wrapped his arms around her, taking her by surprise.  He brushed a kiss to her temple and squeezed just a little tighter.  “Gracias, Mamá,” he whispered.  “That was all I wanted.”  Alma felt the pain in her chest ease a little, as if a crack had mended, knowing he wasn’t just saying it as he was now, but feeling that doe eyed little boy, the sullen teenager, and the subdued young man all wrapping those skinny arms around her at once, for finally saying what she never had.  What he'd always wanted to hear her say.

Chapter Text

Bruno made his way to the Constantino's house with anxiety gnawing at his belly, feeling ridiculous.  Mirabel had, after brushing off the argument she'd been captive audience to on the road, barged into his room with Dolores, despite his protests, and raided his wardrobe.  He had tried his best to chase them out, but they'd gone strangely deaf.  Dolores had somehow come out with a shirt he hadn't seen in ages.  It had survived Casita's fall safe in the wardrobe, a long sleeved white guayabera Félix had gifted him years before, with forest green embroidery down the front in the shape of mimosa leaves.  He'd sat like a lump when she'd handed it to him with a wink and let her shove him into his room to change.

"The whole point of the shirt is for her to see you in it, Tio," she had giggled when he'd come out, white sleeves poking out from under his ruana.  He'd shaken his head.  "The ruana stays.  Please?"  Dolores had given him an irked chuckle and shaken her head before siccing Mirabel on him, who sat him in his chair and knocked him off kilter by raking a brush through his hair, just enough to clean it up from the mess he'd made of it over the day.  She surprised him by dragging it into a loose tie back.  She'd laughed at his incredulous look.  "What, Tio?  She liked it yesterday."   "Ay, Mirabel, ve pestita!" he had groaned, hopping out of the chair and chasing her away, fingers digging into her sides to tickle her.  She'd shrieked with laughter and dove behind Dolores, who'd just rolled her eyes at them and gathered her cousin.  He'd watched his sobrinas flounce out the door giggling and groaned, heading to dinner.  He paused to look at himself in the mirror, doubtful of his niece's assurances and sure he looked like a plucked chicken.  He was pleasantly surprised.  The shirt contrasted well with his skin, and the queue wasn't too bad.  Left his face too open and he couldn't hide behind his hair, but he supposed that was the point. 

Alma had given him a watery smile as he sat down, loading his plate and avoiding eye contact, silently willing his family to hush and not notice.  His sisters, knowing what was going on well enough, and possibly the entire story if Dolores had felt nosy, gave him nothing more than cheerful smiles and sunshine.  Isabela and Luisa were too busy discussing some local gossip from the dance hall to pay him any mind, and Antonio was busy sneaking arepas under the table to a visiting Capuchin monkey.  Camilo skidded in late on Casita's rolling tiles and sat directly across from him.  The boy had piled his plate high, earning a look from Félix as he threw back three pandebono in under a minute.  He had a fourth in his mouth and a fifth in his hand when he finally looked at his tio, who sunk into his chair.

"What's with the hair, tio?  You got a hot date or somethiieeOWw!"  He had laughed, even as Dolores jabbed her elbow in his ribs.  Bruno had given him a disgruntled look before grinning smugly.

"Yes, actually," he said, not sorry at all when Camilo inhaled his food in shock and started hacking.  Félix had laughed, pounding on his back.  "Leave your tio alone, 'Milo.  And chew."

"Are we just not gonna talk about that?" Camilo had groused, taking smaller bites and flailing a hand at Bruno.

"What's there to talk about?  You're just mad Tio found a girl before you did." Dolores had chirped.  Bruno had hunched in his chair, focusing on his food, his ears burning as he tried not to snicker along with Agustín and Félix as they cracked up.  Camilo had said something about Mariano, who was having dinner with his abuela tonight, having promised to feed her dogs as she attended the bonfire, and the dinner conversation had shifted, leaving him a chance to straighten up and finish his food.  He'd dragged his feet, volunteering for dish duty as his sisters and their husbands made their way out the door, chatting excitedly about the party.  The Constantinos were popular, every one of them a musician, and their regular bonfires were always a wonderful time.  Julieta was free to let her hair down, Pepa could let loose, and the older generations of the town, the shop keepers and parents and field hands all mingled together to drink and dance and reconnect.  He was chewing the inside of his cheek raw as he rolled up his sleeves and got to work, letting the hot water distract him as he tried to bolster his confidence, what little there was.

"Let me finish those, mijo."  He had jumped at his mother's voice.  She still wore the contrite look from earlier, but her eyes were kind as she had taken the plate from his hand.  "You look so handsome.  Go.  Enjoy yourself, Bruno.  Yo quiero."

"Love you too, Mamá."  She had shooed him out the door, barely giving him time to knock on the frame for luck. 

So now he made his way down the stone path, avoiding the cracks and trying to keep his head up, a lump in his throat.  There were going to be so many people there.  He'd already let Elena down once today, and wasn't sure she'd forgiven him all the way.  He didn't want to disappoint her again, but the idea of having to fend off the stares of so many people made his teeth itch and sent his spine crawling angrily.  He fidgeted with his hands, wishing he'd brought one of his rats.  Stroking their fur was always a comfort, and kept him from tearing his nails to shreds, but he'd told them to play in Antonio's room for the night, afraid they'd get stepped on. 

He knew it was too late to turn back when he heard the drums of a samba beat filtering through the trees and saw the orange glow of the fire dying the sky and blotting out the stars.  He held his breath and crossed his fingers as he broke the treeline, before looking around. 

The younger generation of the Constantino family sat in the large gazebo, hands flying over drums and tiples and acordéons, cheeks puffed over horns, hammers tapping out a furious ballet on the marimba, all of them laughing as they watched their parents and tios cut loose for the night, celebrating Diego and Lucia's twenty-seventh anniversary in style.

The Sanchezes were dancing off beat near the bufé tables, bumping into the equally clumsy Ortiz brothers, who had brought their put upon looking wives.  The Valdez sisters had roped Galo Ortiz and a dark-skinned man he didn't recognize into dancing with them as well, twisting in their skirts and flustering the reserved men before them.  Senór Hernandez and Senóra Guzman were in a deep conversation over plates of sweet obleas spread with bright papaya jam.  Tito Marquez was shuffling awkwardly around Ozma, who didn't seem too impressed, but was still smiling.  Some younger folks in faded clothes, the farmhands and field girls around Elena's age or younger, were causing a ruckus off to the side, passing around bottles and spinning each other around, no sense of rhythm but having fun.  His sisters were dancing with their husbands and laughing near the bonfire, Julieta letting Agustín spin her and Pepa rivaling the light of the fire with her sunshine, giggling like a teenager as little hailstones pelted her and Félix.  Senóra Carmen was chatting with her friends the Rosario twins over glasses of wine, all of them worse gossips than Dolores.  They noticed him first, unwelcome stares on their mirrored faces as he passed by, their tongues wagging though he couldn't make out the words.  He found himself already dreading the next day. 

He spotted his three oldest nieces at various points on the periphery.  Luisa and Marco were sitting on a blanket in the grass near the Constantino household, cheeks red as they made eyes at each other, Marco unfazed by the fact that Luisa completely dwarfed him as he gestured widely, explaining who knew what to her.  Dolores and Mariano were cutting a path through the younger crowd as they danced, and he could see little balls of cotton stuffed in her ears as she smiled up at her novio. Mariano was leaning in to whisper near her ear to be heard through the music. He must have gotten the dogs settled; Bruno knew he wasn't the type to skip out on his abuela. Isabela was showing a feisty venus fly trap to a lanky older man with hair redder than Pepa's and dark freckles across his nose under his thick glasses.  Bruno realized he must be Senór O'Conór, the new town doctor who had moved from Mexico last year while he was still in hiding.

He heard the braying cackle of Miranda De Léon and turned, seeing her and Beatriz Cortez spinning arm in arm, already tipsy as their husbands sat on a log out of the way, puffing away at cheap cigarros.  Swallowing and taking a breath, he headed towards them.  The only face he hadn't seen in the crowd was Elena.  His heart clenched, wondering if she'd changed her mind.  He tossed a handful of sugar over his shoulder before thumbing at the smooth little worry-stone he'd found in his things.  She'd said she'd be here, and after the craziness of the day, he found himself hoping and fearful in equal measure.  She'd said she'd come, but his anxiety wouldn't let him believe it fully.

"H-hola.  Have you...have you seen Elena?"  He asked with a nervous wave.  The two stopped their spinning to stare at him, Beatriz wide eyed and Miranda defensive.  "I don't know why she still came, after what you did," Miranda snapped, jutting her chin out defiantly. "Shoving her up against the wall of la Cerámica like un animalia salvaje!  She might think you're all shy and sweet, but I've got my eye on you, Bruno Madrigal, and I don't like what I see."

"We...that...that was a, ah, a regrettable misunderstanding." He said, cringing internally at how pathetic he sounded.  Of course they had heard already.  Senóra Carmen couldn't keep her mouth shut if it was sewn that way, and she'd only heard the worst parts, seen the brick dust on Elena's blouse and assumed.  And started spreading the word that he was exactly the type of creep he'd been afraid of being accused of.

"Estas en un maldito hielo delgado," Beatriz hissed, finger pointed accusingly at him.  “We said we'd try, but we don't have to like it, tu asquerosa!"

"Bea, cierra la boca!  Leave him alone!" Elena's voice cut through from behind him.  He turned to see her, hair down and loaded down with costeña bottles, an impressive four per hand.  She handed four beers over to her friends' husbands, Arturo and Rodrigo looking at Bruno apologetically on their wives' behalf.  "And go get your own cerveza, puta gandul!  Come on, Bruno."  Her friends flinched at her scowl as she flipped a fig and a middle finger at them in rapid succession and grabbed his hand.

He felt himself pulled away by a hand still cold from the icy bottles and followed, a satisfied smirk on his face as he heard the men light into their wives in his defense.  He'd worked with them now and again during the rebuilding of Casita and on the palisade, and while they weren't friends exactly, he knew they didn't hate him.   It was a little reassuring that he had at least someone else, if not in his corner, then not in the opposite one cheering against him.  Elena huffed in agitation, whatever she was saying lost to the music.  He tried to behave himself and not watch her rear as she stamped away with him, but he was a weak man, and the sway of her skirts had thoroughly hypnotized him by the time she found somewhere to sit, some hay bales covered in old blankets set further back from the fire. 

"I'm sorry about them.  Seems word's getting out.  Are you ok?"

"...Yeah..." he muttered, elbows on knees as he accepted a bottle from her with a sigh, opening it with his teeth and taking a long swig.  "...No..."

"What's going on in that head of yours?  Other than a toothache, ouch!" she laughed, holding his dented bottlecap and considering it, mildly impressed as she struggled with her own bottle, cap gripped in a handful of skirt.

"I...It's going to be like this, isn't it?  Everyone thinking I'm some kind of creep.  Your friends scared I'll hurt you."

"Bruno, screw my friends.  Well no, don't actually, but still.  They've got the bad combination of no brains and vivid imaginations.  I told you I don't care what people think, and I don't."

"I wish I had your confidence."

"I've got enough for the both of us.  Let someone say something.  I'll tell them where they can shove it."

"I just...I don't want you to--to...to have to deal with all of this, just for my sake.  I want to give this a chance, but I don't want you to...to regret it..."

They sat for a long moment in silence, eyes scanning the rabble around them.  Most people were too involved in their own evenings to notice the couple sat tucked away, but Elena couldn't help but see the occasional glance thrown their way.  Pitying for her, wary at best and more often scathing for him.  She watched as he took another long swallow of his cerveza, adams apple bobbing and nose twitching in a tiny grimace before sighing, knees on elbows and eyes trained on the ground, where his sandal scuffed at the dirt.  She could almost hear the gears in his head cranking overtime as his gaze flickered between people, taking in every disparaging glance and clearly taking it to heart as he plucked at a thread on his ruana.

"Well," she began after a while, letting him think she'd been mulling it over and leaning into him, placing her head on his shoulder.  "If putting up with people being stupid is the price I have to pay to be where I'm sitting, it doesn't seem like such a bad deal to me."

Bruno hummed against her and finished his drink, grimacing at the hint of bitterness that followed, leaving the dregs to swill in the bottom as he spun it absently in his hands.  "I...I'm glad you came, Elena.  Sorry I'm not..." He gestured broadly, at a loss for words.  He gave out an undignified noise when Elena's arm snaked around him, pulling him closer to her side.  "Bruno, please stop apologizing.  You haven't done anything wrong.  I didn't really expect everyone to tip their glasses to us, you know.  I know what they think of you.  I also know it's completely unwarranted and you got a raw deal because of your gift."

"Still though..." he said, bringing his arm around her tentatively, thumb stroking her side.  "I just...I wish there was something I could do to...I don't know...make this easier for you."

"Bruno," Elena laughed, snuggling closer and giving him a squeeze, "I think the hardest part of this is going to just be me convincing you that I'm not going to run away at the first hint of trouble.  You're stuck with me now, hombre tonto."

"Like a tumor?" he teased, boldly giving her hip a gentle pinch.

"Exactly!" she laughed, stealing the last sip of his beer and pulling a face.  "What?  I can't get mine open.  Hush you!" She snickered at his sardonic look.  He held out his hand pityingly, accepting the bottle and biting off the cap, before grabbing a second off the ground for himself and doing the same.  "Ay no, stop that!  You're going to bust a tooth and your sisters will kill me!"

"Why are we killing you?"  Julieta laughed as she walked up with Agustín, who was nursing a slighty burnt hand.  Bruno gave him a look, and he shrugged, sitting down besides his cuñado, Julieta beside him.

"Ugh, Bruno, you aren't opening those with your teeth again are you?  Ew." Pepa groaned as he spat out the cap, settling in beside Elena, Félix on her other side fanning himself with his sombrero, fine sheen of sweat on his brow, laughing as he sat  "Whoo, you've danced me out, mi vida."

"Also, hola, Elena!  Where have you been hiding?” said Pepa brightly, shoving at Félix playfully.

“Ha, I got roped into helping set up coffee by Maria and Consuela.  Apparently they can burn water.  No es gran cosa.”

“After the day you had…at the shop?” Bruno asked, hoping no one noticed the slip.  “You were so busy…”

“Rumor has it you were part of that busy day, Brunito,” Pepa chimed in, questioning gaze over Elena’s head.  “Pepa, can we not?  You know Ligia blows everything out of proportion.  I'm sure half the town thinks I molested her by now.”

“Elena looks like she could do with a good "'molesting,'"  Pepa cackled, causing both of them to go red.  "Can’t have been too bad if you came tonight, Elena,” she continued, nudging her.  Elena waved her off.  “Simple misunderstanding.  Ligia Carmen is a chismosa who wouldn't know know una sesión de besos if it fell sweaty into her lap!"

"Ay dios mio, Elena!" Bruno lamented dramatically beside her, scrubbing at his face with his hands to try and rid himself of his furious blush.  Pepa whacked him playfully on the shoulder before turning back to Elena, curious look cast at her brother. 

“Have you even had a chance to dance yet?” 

“I’ll get to it later,” Elena shrugged.  “My idiota friends sent me on a beer run as soon as they saw me.  Then I found this guy!”  Bruno gave a silly smile as she rubbed up and down his back under his ruana, trying to reinforce him from where he'd shrunk back to when the teasing began.

“Do you…do you want to dance, Elena?”  Bruno mumbled, looking at the mass of people, trying not to sweat.  She stilled her hand, taking in his unease and shaking her head.  “I’m good, Bruno.  It’s nice to just sit and let the world go by sometimes.  I don’t get to do that often.”  She leaned back on her elbows and drank, staring up at the stars, seeming to forget that Bruno’s sisters were beside them as she swung her legs up and draped them over his knees, her skirt rucking up and exposing her smooth calves.  Bruno took an ankle in hand and rubbed his thumb across the bone without thinking, missing the look his sisters gave each other over his head.  "You've always worked too hard, Elena." He mused, gazing off into the sky.  "Even mis sobrinos noticed.  I--I'm glad you came out tonight."

"I wasn't planning on it until you asked me.  I couldn't turn that down." Elena laughed.  "Chores will be there when I get home.  There are more important things than the return pile and my laundry."

"I think that's a good outlook on things," Julieta said, holding a cool bottle to Agustín's burn, not having brought anything with her.  "Breaks and fun keep you sane.  You run those shops like a general."

"Somebody had too!  Dios mio, I love my father, but that man couldn't organize to save his life!  It took me a year just to get the ledgers straightened out.  Besides, if Bruno says it will succeed, it will, but there's no reason for me to slack."  Elena snorted, finishing her beer before putting her arm behind her head, the other gesturing off into space.  "I don't work nearly as hard as all you Madrigals do, though.  You all do so much for the community, even now.  I know it was one hell of a shake up, but it's good to see you all taking more time for yourselves now.  Mamá always said you'd run yourselves into the grave and never see it coming until the dirt was in your eyes."

"That's a bit morbid." Pepa huffed.  Elena nodded in agreement.  "Mamá liked that whole grim Victorian thing.  She meant well, though.  Thought gifts should be given freely and not demanded." 

"I remember Sofia, a little." Pepa admitted, grinning at the memory.  "She used to babysit us when we were younger.  Before she married your papá.  She was fun, too!  Used to let us slide down Casita's stairs on mattresses and climb trees."

"She let us run wild to wear us out," Julieta giggled "Mamá had her over so often so we'd be nodding off in our dinner plates."

"I didn't realize Mamá and Alma were so close," Elena said, contemplative look on her face. "Oh, they drifted apart once she got married.  I think the gifts were the final nail in that coffin.  Sofia never came to us for anything until we were adults.  Mamá always thought it was odd."  Julieta said with a shrug.  "She still does."

Elena sat back up to look at the older woman.  "I guess I just picked up their attitude over the years.  There's no reason not to do for myself what I can.  "The mountains were miracle enough" Papá said when I asked him about it.  They were content with just being safe in the Encanto, I think."

Julieta's reply was cut off by a grito trill from one of the Constantino daughters, and a Batacuda beat starting up thunderously as the musicians all stood, using their stomping feet on the hollow bottomed gazebo, turning it into a giant drum as they kicked up the tempo.  Pepa lit up and laughed, standing and looking at Félix expectantly, the man still fanning himself.  "Pepi, I have to sit this one out.  Lo siento, amor."

"Es nada, quierdo.  Come on, Julieta, if the men aren't going to dance, let them be lumps!" Julieta chuckled and planted a kiss on Agustín's cheek.  Pepa took Elena by surprise as she snatched her hand declaring "Vete, you!  If Bruno isn't going to dance with you, I will!"  Elena found herself pulled from her seat, sliding for a second solidly into Bruno's lap, causing them both to blush furiously before she was dragged out to the fire laughing.

Bruno blinked for a moment, trying to hide his ruffled nerves as Félix chuckled, watching after Pepa with a fond look on his face.  He followed that gaze out to the bonfire, blazing high and lighting the field.  Pepa had started hailing again, and it had kicked up in the fire, blanketing the whole area in a light haze of steam as they melted and popped, blurring everything in a dreamy mist.  His sisters had Elena in a circle with them, all with beaming grins and they moved to the frantic drumline.  Elena gyrated to the beat, her hips swaying and her arms up as she stamped in time to the music, matching Pepa's energy as they moved through the steps. 

Her style was something younger, more provocative than Pepa's, not caring so much about the beat and more about how she felt in the moment, and Bruno felt his mouth go dry as he watched her.  The fire behind her lit her up, turning her loose hair into flaming copper veil that flew through the air as she shook her head and sparkling in her eyes wildly.  He licked at dry lips and watched, entranced as she moved, circling and dipping and twisting, laughter echoing as his sisters spun with her, linking arms only to let go and let her pitch through the air, gestures broad and inviting as the mountain nymph he'd named her earlier as she spun around in them, hypnotic and completely carefree.  As she moved back into the light, the fire bleached out the gentle sage green of her skirts to look as white as her blouse.  He swallowed nervously at the images that brought to mind, and tried unsuccessfully to hide it with a swig of his drink, tossing back too much and hacking.

"Oye, you've got it bad, hermano," Félix laughed beside him, clapping a hand to his back and breaking his daze.

"...Félix...what are you talking about?" Bruno snorted, giving the man a dubious look.

"Oh, I know that look.  Juli just calls it trouble.  Never thought I'd see it on your face, though."  Agustín jumped in, arm slinging around his shoulders and squashing him in between the two.  Bruno tried to shrug them off, but they just leaned in a little harder.  "What is this, babysit Bruno duty?  You two are just trying to wind me up."

"That's true," Félix chuckled "Doesn't mean we're wrong though.  You got yourself a live one cabrón, look at her go!  Girl can move!"

Bruno grumbled at being caught out and tucked his head into his hood, face burning.

"I haven't gotten myself anything.  Elena's her own person.  I think I'm just along for the ride at this point."  Félix saw his longing expression and snorted.

"Then you're in for a hell of a ride," Bruno buried his face in his hands.  "Madre de Cristo, Félix!  Stop putting thoughts in my head!"

"Because you need so much help with that, hmm?" Agustín teased.  "Thank you, Agustín!  For being exactly no help!" Bruno exclaimed, arms flailing.  "I thought you were on my side here!"

"Why do you think I'm agreeing with Félix?  We've already been dancing half the night, I'm burnt, and he's taking a breather.  You're the only one that hasn't made it out there, and Elena didn't need much persuading to get moving.  Something tells me, as much fun as she's having with your sisters, she'd rather it be you out there with her."

"You know what they say about a man who can dance..." Félix waved off vaguely, winking and digging his elbow into his side.

"Ayyi, deja de romperme los cojónes!  Pendejos!"

"Hey, what you and Elena do is your business," Félix hooted, throwing his head back.  Bruno growled in frustration and leapt up, hood falling.

"Madre de dios you two are the worst!  Cállate, I'll go if it'll get you off my back!"

The two watched him march off, hands jammed in his pockets and shoulders hunched.  "Think we laid it on too thick?" Félix asked once he was out of earshot.  Agustín shrugged.  "Not a bit.  Juli was worried about him sitting here all night.  He needs a little encouragement."

"It's only been a few days.  We sure this isn't just a flash in the pan?  He's in neck deep and doesn't even realize it.  It doesn't last and it'll break him."

"Juli says it's different.  She's got a way with these things.  You remember what he was like before he, you know, gave up?  Was he ever like this?  Besides, he's technically known her for twenty years."

"I suppose.  Not like I have much room to talk.  I get it, it's like I am with Pepi.  Alma was the one that insisted on us taking a whole year."

"I'd forgotten about that.  Good luck to her trying that one once Bruno really comes out of his shell.  It's been fun watching them snipe at each other." Agustín chucked, glad someone else was finally calling out his suegra for her missteps.

"He's got more spine than we give him credit for.  Guess I'd be more than a raw nerve on legs too if I had to see the mierda he does." Félix shuddered.  He'd only seen a handful of Bruno's involuntaries, and it was more than he'd wanted too.

"I think he'll be alright," Agustín said, watching as two silhouettes began to sway in the firelight.

Chapter Text

Elena was woken up by green light filtering in through her eyelids and gentle snoring beside her.  She opened her eyes slowly to see Bruno at her side, their hands clasped and legs tangled.  His hair had come undone from it’s tie and was half covering his peaceful face, a little piece fluttering up and down as he breathed.  The sunlight shimmered on the gray strands sprinkled throughout, and brought out the freckles dusting his nose and cheeks.  In that blurry moment before lucidity finally clicked into place, she wondered briefly what they’d gotten up to the night before, and was disappointed she didn’t remember it.  Then she realized they were still fully clothed, and with that oddity everything came rushing back, and she felt like she’d been punched in the gut.  Ghostly images of his beaten face haunted her vision, and the memory of Carlos’ hands on her body made her skin crawl and her stomach twist.  She pushed that thought down as tears began to form, blinking them away as best she could, not yet wanting to let go of Bruno.  She wasn’t about to let some would-be thug ruin what she was building with the man in front of her.  She’d been through worse, and had dealt with it alone.  Those feelings could wait, safe in their own little box in her mind to examine when she had the time and inclination.  She remembered the night before, Bruno’s startling wrath as he'd appeared from the trees, looking more than willing to kill if need be.  She couldn’t reconcile that with the man laying beside her, couldn’t see those graceful, long fingered hands raining blows in rage, his quiet voice hoarse with fury.  But she had seen it.  He had nearly broken himself to save her.  Something in her chest broke free, and she gave a quiet sob as she pulled her hand loose and moved his hair from his face, gently stroking his cheek until those green eyes she was quickly growing to need cracked open. 

He blinked in confusion for a moment before she saw the realization and memories of the night before hit him as well and he twitched, ready to bolt away. 

“Stay.  Please.”  She said quietly, searching for that glimmer of understanding.  He stilled and settled back into the soft silver artemisia that made their bed, brows knitted in concern as he reached out, mirroring her as he stroked her face, haunted as she had been by wounds remembered but since healed.  She saw the doubt roll over him like a wave, his hand retreating, pulling away as if stung.  He looked at her strangely, apprehension tight on his face as he studied hers, like she was a bird of prey and he didn’t know if she would flit away, attack, or accept his jessed and offered arm.  She closed the gap between them, ignoring her rebellious stomach, and brought their foreheads together after placing a chaste kiss on his lips.  She couldn’t see him like this, but as she took his jaw in her hands it didn’t matter.   “Don’t go.  Please, Bruno.” 

“How--how are you this calm?” he marveled.  Elena shook her head “Trust me, I’m screaming inside, Bruno.  But I don’t want to freak out now.  I won’t give him that power over me.” 

“He nearly--if I hadn’t--Elena…” 

“He didn’t though, because you did.  He hurt you so badly but you never stopped.  It was...you were amazing.” 

“He still…I was so weak…if Luisa hadn't shown up when she did...” 

“Bruno, stop.  He’s twice your size and hauls animal carcasses for a living, bigger men wouldn’t have fared much better.  And he’s gone for good now, if the sun is where I think it is.  They banished him.  Carlos will be lucky if he can stumble to one of the villages before the jaguars or caimans get him.  And good riddance.  Que se pudra en el infierno!  Let this be the last we speak of him!” 

Bruno moved back and scanned her face then, a mix of admiration and worry knitting his brow as he reached for her, placing a tentative touch to her cheek as if afraid she’d fade away.  She leaned into his touch, covering his hand with hers and folding her arm under her head, a quiet smile playing at her lips.  “It didn’t take your fire…” He said tearfully.  Elena made a derisive noise.  “It’ll take dying to put me out, Bruno.  I’m too damn stubborn for anything else.”  He cast a severe look at her, her flippant tone not fooling him.  She gave him that same quivering smile as her facade fell and tears coursed down her face in silence.  He held her hesitantly as she faltered and sobbed, clinging to him limply as her shoulders shook.  He folded his arms around her, whispering tranquil nonsense in her ear as he rubbed her back, letting her hold him, draw what strength from him she could find.  He'd give it all to her if it kept her from breaking. 

Eventually, she shook her head, pulled away to take a deep breath, expelling it out in a final shudder before meeting his eyes again,  hers red-rimmed and swollen.  “I suppose…we have a lot to talk about.”  She sat up for a moment, shaking her hair out of the way before laying back and snugging into his chest.  He blinked, unsure for a moment before she took his arm and wrapped it around her, holding him a little too tightly as her breath shuddered and she gazed up at the sunlight filtering through their bower of wisteria with tears sparkling in her eyes.  “Whatever it is...I'm not going anywhere, Elena.  Please tell me?” He asked quietly.  He was a apprehensive of what he might hear, but if she felt the need to tell him, he wasn’t turning away.  After almost failing her again last night he owed her that much. 

“Bruno…it’s dangerous outside the Encanto.  I made a lot of stupid mistakes when I took over for my father after he…after you…After.  Carlos wasn’t the first man to try that with me.  I'm just...usually better at fighting them off.” 

“Elena!  But…but how? I know you’re strong, but to fight off grown men from outside?  Wait--the pistol?” 

“Yes.  I almost lost the shop after that first time, too afraid to leave.  And I’d gotten away!   They weren’t…able to…well.  They didn't get what they wanted.  After that, I did what I had to, and bought that gun in Bogotá.  I hate it, but it’s saved me enough times that I depend on it.  I never thought I would need it here in the Encanto.  I don't like this.  I don't like feeling weak, especially not in my own home!”   

"You have never been weak, Elena." 

"If I can't defend myself in my own home, what good am I to defend myself on the road?  I can't let this beat me.  I can't be like this..." 

“You’ve been through too much for those shops, Elena.  I know you have faith in that…that stupid vision, but it isn’t worth this.  I’m sorry I ever filled that damned request for your father  Nothing but maldicíon.  You deserve better, mi ninfa.” He whispered into her hair, drawing her closer as what she said slowly clicked into place.  Another vision, another person cursed with bad luck.  Someone else he cared about hurt by his gift. 

“Bruno, me going out into that mess has very little to do with that vision and a lot more to do with my parents.  I’m all that’s left of either of them, outside those shops.  I’ve never married.  Even if I did, there’s no guarantee of children, with all the trouble my mother had with me.  I don’t--I don’t want them to be forgotten, and if I can make that place their legacy then I will have done good by them.  You didn’t cause some violador in the jungle to come after me.  He made that decision himself.” 

“Would you have gone out then if not for the vision?  Or as often as you do?” he countered, his harsh tone surprising even himself.  Elena gave him an odd look, mouth quirked somewhere between amused and agitated.  “Yes!  I don’t know anything else, Bruno.  That shop is my livelihood and legacy as much as my albatross.  I love it, because of all it’s flaws and inconvenience.” 

“You are so smart, you’d succeed at anything you tried, why not something safer?” He pressed, knowing as he did he was pressing his luck.  She huffed impatiently, imploring him as she spoke. 

“Bruno, I like helping the community in safe, quiet ways. It makes me feel useful without having to worry about people's health or anything like that.  But I don’t like my life to be so completely predictable that I’m too bored to live in my own skin.  I’ve been outside dozens of times over the years, and only run into trouble a handful of those.  The rest?  Bruno, have you never wanted to leave the Encanto?  See the world out there?  It’s vibrant and wild and rough, you never know what's going to happen or what you'll see next, and it’s amazing!” 

Bruno considered her a moment, gentle caress running up her arm before he spoke. 

“I did leave, once,” he whispered, trying so hard to keep eye contact.  He forged on at her curious glance, his voice thick with memories he hadn’t dredged up in years.   

“I never told Mirabel, when she found me.  Better she think I just...hid away in the walls all those years than…than what actually happened.  The family is dealing with enough, they don’t need that guilt on them as well…” 

“Wait…The walls? You stayed in Casita’s walls?” she asked, incredulous.  He realized then that he'd never actually told her where he'd hidden away...and she'd never asked.  He had just assumed she'd known from listening to his family and somehow miraculously accepted it.  Where she actually thought he'd been he could only guess.  There were plenty of caves around the Encanto, so it wouldn't have been hard to make that assumption.  

“Pathetic, isn’t it?” he laughed at himself.  “For almost ten years.  Walls, yes.  It was better than the alternative.” Elena prompted him silently to continue, not passing any judgement.  He took a breath.  “The mountains took me two weeks to get over all on their own.  I kept...getting lost. It was...it was almost like they didn't want me to leave.  Is that crazy?  That sounds crazy.  I just roamed around aimlessly, hungry and wet and lost for a couple more weeks before I found a trail.  I followed it for a few days, kind of…keeping to the trees, so no one would see me, but I didn’t see anyone.  I’d…I’d climb a tree every night to keep away from the predators and everything.  I twisted an ankle at some point, had to limp along with a stick.  It made me…made me slow.  An--an old jaguar came after me after a couple of days.  Dios sabe how long it had been trailing me.  I barely had time to lift that st--stupid stick when it charged.  Clawed my leg all to hell.  I…Please never tell Tonito this…I put one of it’s eyes out.  I was desperate and had no clue what I was doing, just flailing trying not to...not to die.  I felt something soft and just…pressed…” 

    “A jaguar!  It must have been old Contraria.  Papá shot her once, ages ago...she used to prowl the mountains looking for wanderers.  Bruno…I…es una milagro you survived at all! She was a man-eater!" 

    “I almost didn’t.  I had to crawl away.  I hid in a hollow log for…I don’t know how long.  I had a fever.  My leg…When I finally crawled out I was starved and weak and…I just.  I had to go home.  I didn’t even care if they hated me at that point, I just wanted to…to die in my bed.  I still don't know how no one saw me crawling home.  Casita had opened a spot for me outside when I finally made it and mi ratas…they hadn’t forgotten me.  Those were trained different than the ones I have now.  They brought me enough food to recuperate.  I think I spent two months on the floor, crawling everywhere, while everything healed."  He shook his head, his mouth watery from the nausea the memories brought up. 

"Bruno...dios mio...I had no idea... " 

"You see why I just don't understand now?  You are brave and foolish and terrifying.  To go back out there willingly, and so often.  I just...I don't have that in me."  He stroked her face gently, not bothering to hide the sadness he felt.  "I don't...I don't want to hold you back.  I know I can't stop you going out again in three months, but...it just...now that I know what you've had happen...what you've been through I..." 

"Bruno...hah" she sighed, closing her eyes and squeezing his arm "I've been thinking about trying to reduce my trips for a while.  I'm not in my twenties anymore.  If I can find a decent distributor that doesn't close up shop in six months I'd be set.  But until I find that, I'm trapped by my obligations.  I'm sorry."  She squeezed him tighter then, turning in his arms and resting her head on his chest, wilting a little.  He ran his hands through her hair, gently pulling tangles free when he found them, humming softly as he did, his mind turning things over slowly.  In truth, he knew that adventurous streak was part of the reason he was so enthralled with her.  She was his polar opposite in that regard, bold and seemingly fearless when it came to the outside world, almost embracing the dangers.  He'd seen her during the rebuilding, before Antonio had gotten his gift back, go after poisonous snakes that had slithered in with nothing more than a forked stick and a bag.  He'd seen her toss grown men out on their ears from her shop for behavior she found objectionable.  Always stepping in to help wrangle bulls and burros that had broken free of their loads and were causing trouble, dodging horns and kicks like it was nothing, only to collapse crowing and panting and vital once everything was done. 

He remembered how she came back from her last trip, after Casita had fallen and she'd replaced all their books, stripping the library half bare to do so.  An off schedule trip a month ago.  She'd come charging through the palisade gates straddling the rumble seat of her wagon, face covered in dirt and scratches, donkeys wild-eyes and kicking up dust as she skidded through, laughing like mad, yelling "Slam 'em shut boys, I pissed off Mamá Oso!"  Bruno had been nearby that day, working with Arturo De Leon on the pulley to raise stones up to the top of the final construction, and had near lost the rope at the sight of her, blazing through and cackling like a madwoman as the gates had slammed shut behind her and the angry deep screeching of the spectacled bear in question could be heard from outside.  She huffed and grunted outside the gates for a few minutes before he couldn't hear it anymore.  Arturo, amused at his lost expression, had cut him loose for the day, shaking his head.  

He remembered her from when they were both younger.  She'd been less vocal then, but it wasn't unusual to see her charging through town on a borrowed horse and chasing after her friends, dancing wildly at the bar between rounds of gloriously lost billiards, or clambering up a tree, chasing one of the thieving local spider monkeys long after others would have let it go, always a bright peel of laughter alighting in the edges of his awareness.  Before the shop, he'd only met her a time or two, in her young teens when his sisters had gone through a revolving door of babysitters for Isabela and Dolores.  She had been quieter then, sullen, but had never hesitated to greet him kindly, not shying away as the others had.  Something had changed after her father opened his businesses and she'd been thrown into interacting with the public, and she had blossomed into the high-spirited woman in his arms.  Respectful of the dangers but not paralyzed by them, ready to face them down as they came with a smile. 

"Don't ever apologize for that, Elena.  For being who you are."  He said after a time, hands still running through her hair.  "Forgive a fearful old man his worries.  Encanto wouldn't know what to do without it's pionera loca raising hell once in a while.  I wouldn't know what to do if your mountain was torn down, mi oréade." 

"So you won't be angry with me in a few months...if we're still...when I have to go pick up my shipments?  I've already half paid for them.  If I miss them it'll wipe out my savings to pay back those loans." 

"No matter where we are by then, I'll probably worry myself sick...but I won't stop you.  I don't think I could even if I really wanted to.  It'd be like fighting with the tides." 

He felt her snort against him and met her eyes as she peeked up at him, amused.   "I'm not actually a force of nature you know.  If...if you were really that worried I'd...I could figure something out."  He shook his head.  "No.  Don't...Don't change who you are on account of anyone, least of all me.  You are...perfecta como eres.  Change nothing."  He knew his face was burning as she giggled, and he held her tighter, taking her chin in hand. 

"Can I kiss you?" He whispered, afraid even after everything that she would shy away, no matter what brave face she wore.   His heart swooped in his chest when she closed the gap between them, her face determined.  He did little but hold her in place, his lips grazing hers gently again and again as she ran her hands over the soft embroidery on his shirt in slow, sweet passes.  "You never have to ask me that, Bruno Madrigal," she whispered quietly as they broke apart, each in quiet contemplation of the other before coming together again, just as gently, no urgency to their movements, letting themselves heal with each feathery touch.

Elena didn't know how long they lay there, hands roaming tenderly over clothes, lips whispering silent secrets over exposed skin, slowly building a sweet tension before unwinding it, only to wind it up again, caressing waves of affection and attraction washing and ebbing over each other as the sun rose in the sky, hidden by the sweet wisteria that sheltered them.  They spoke of nothing in particular, only stories from their pasts and little nothings of the present as they flitted through their minds.  Why she had broken Julio Guzman's nose and the fact that she was terrified of spiders.  The fact that she liked him in a tie-back because it showed more of his face, but couldn't keep her hands out of his hair.  That she thought his hands were elegant and it was a crime he couldn't play the piano.  That she found his eyes mesmerizing, no matter what state they were in.  Bruno's self admitted ridiculous aversion to armadillos and his inspiration for his ratanovellas.  His facination with the softness of her skin and how it contrasted with the boldness of her eyes.  The impish pleasure he got from the fact that she was just slightly shorter than him, laughing that he'd take anything he could get in that department.  His slight obsession with her freckles, demonstrated by kissing each one he found.   

His time in the walls went unspoken of, set aside in the little box they were quickly building of 'important conversations for later.'   Some magic had washed over them after their initial heart-to-heart, and there was a mutual understanding that under the bower, only light topics and touches were to be spoken of; sweetly traded secrets that did nothing but build rungs on the ladder to wherever this thing between them was going.   

The term novia drifted into their consciousness, but was quickly set aside for pareja.  It fit them better, was more flexible, and didn't sound as much like a silly taunt to be thrown at them in mockery by his sobrinos.  Already they could see the little marks they had made on each other, compliments in tandem, he soothing her edges and she bolstering his nerves. 

"How are we this close?" She asked him, head tucked under his chin, curls tickling his nose as they watched clouds roll by through the gaps in the vines with their hands laced together.  "It's been three days.  I'm not complaining, but I feel like I've been swept up in a whirlwind...like we've been like this for years and nobody bothered to tell us about it.  Is that crazy?" 

"Maybe," he laughed, kissing her hair.  "I don't know anyone who'd call either of  us...you know...sane?  But we have known each other for years, in a way, Elena.  Maybe...maybe this is just our brains making up for lost time?  We--we've been through more in the last few days than most people do in months..." 

"Does it worry you, like we're going to burn up too fast?" 

He pondered that for a moment, searching his mind for any hint of that sort of worry, surprised when he found none.  The fear of disappointing her certainly, but somehow, nothing that saw them ending in flames.  He shook his head.  "I don't...I don't think that's likely.  We get along like a house on fire.  I wish I'd have been able to say something sooner.  Months ago.  Years ago."  He paused, reddening.  "Elena...in a way...some of this--isn't new.  To me, I mean.  I might not have noticed your flirting.  I'm kinda...heh, well...I dropped the ball on that I guess...but!  I noticed you.  I just never thought...I'm so much older and you were so busy taking care of your parents and taking over the shops that it just never seemed like a possibility.  What interest would you have in a cursed old man?  Apparently your silly parrot has more sense about us than I do." 

"I owe that bird.  Though I suppose she cheated, hanging out with your sobrino.  And stop calling yourself old!  You aren't, at all." 

He laughed, sitting up to get blood flowing back to his arm more than anything.  Elena rose with him, scooting around until her knees were arranged comfortably, smoothing out her skirt. 

"I guess I still owe you a real first date?" He said after a moment.  She shook her head with a lopsided grin,  holding up two fingers.  "Nope.  Second date.  I'm going to remember you drinking and dancing with me by the bonfire and nothing else, I'm not going to let that...other thing...ruin the night I had with you.  Though I might have to drag you out to the dance hall at some point for...another demonstration?" 

Elena watched as his astonished laugh was cut short by a wince of pain that left him clutching his temple.  "Bruno?  What's wrong?" 

"Damn it.  Not again!" He hissed, fist in his hair as he bit down on a knuckle, trying to distract himself 

"Another vision?  So soon?  What can I do?" 

"They...they cluster.  I--I hoped... mierda..." he mumbled, shaking his head like a dog as his eyes began to glow. 

"Bruno, talk to me.  What can I do?" 

"Sometimes...a focused--a spe--specific vision can...can cut them off... Like...like...rerouting water..."  He said, looking anywhere but her face, some secret worry fighting with his tongue. 

"Ok, so let's do a vision then.  We can do that." 

"Elena..." 

"I just want to help you Bruno.  Please?" 

"Just...please...ok ow.   Please don't ask about...Ask about...us.  The others...they always...it always ended when they asked and--and I just....please, Elena..." 

She drew him to her, stroking his hair, calming him as a wind began to raise up around them, gentle but persistent as it picked up sand and soil.   

"Ok, nothing about us.  What about just me?  What will I be doing....at--at, I don't know, seven-thirty next Míercoles?  Is that specific enough?" 

"That...that should work.  Help me get settled, please."  He asked, half blind as flashes of bright green began to show through the arbor.  She helped him arrange himself, cross legged and palms up, eyes on her but only half seeing.  "Please, take my hands.  It...it helps me focus." 

She knelt opposite him, placing her hands in his, watching those long fingers wrap around her own, squeezing instinctively as the wind kicked up around them, sand filtering in and hissing sussurant throughout the vines that had been sheltering them.  His grasp was warm and dry, his thumbs gently stroking the backs of her hands rhythmically.  He had closed his eyes, worked to even out his breathing, his face stern and serious as he tried to bring his gift under control.  She felt her heart do a series of flips over that furrowed brow and the tense line of his mouth, his jaw clenching reflexively before his eyes opened, the glow intensifying as the winds reached their terminal speed.  She looked around, taken aback by how much calmer this was than his involuntary had been, how peaceful it seemed inside the muted dome, the soft sound of sifting sand gentle to her ears, the smell of ozone and sun baked earth steeping the air.  How had people ever been afraid of this?   

She watched as images flashed around her without sound.  He featured prominently in a lot of them; a lazy walk along the river, a kiss under the streetlamps, talking at the café counter as she did something in the background.  She took note of an image of herself holding a towel to her hand under the tap, a burn in her near future, another of just her helping the local children with books choices for their weekly reading time and tending to a little nosebleed.  Her at the market, balancing a sack of rice on her head as she inspected fruit.  Curled up on her sofa balancing a ledger, pencil in her mouth as she stroked Chacha’s feathers. Mundane things, parts of her week that were sadly as predictable as the course of the moon.  

Then the images shifted, hints of things but not full images.  A thin hand tucked into a soft knee.  Shoulders undulating and blocking the view of a curly head of hair, a familiar chair behind both.  Her hands kneading a thin bare back, working knotted muscles.  Then, it shifted again, the green tinting slightly, becoming richer as the image coalesced in front of her.  Her face immediately flamed red and heat prickled down her skin as electricity ran up her spine. 

A shade of herself lay on her bed, head thrown back, eyes closed and mouth open, hair spreading our like a halo and fully nude.  One hand was kneading her breasts in turn, the nipples peaked as she toyed with them, pinching and rolling.   She watched her vision self trail it's other hand down her body, over her belly to ghost across the tender insides of her thighs before gripping each leg roughly as she rubbed them together, shoving them apart almost roughly and stroking her sex, slicking fingers rapidly and causing her vision form to shudder before plunging them home, arching off the bed. 

Her hands slid out of Bruno's grasp as he reached out to catch the vision plate, dumbstruck at what he saw.  When he realized, the blood drained from his face, his eyes wide in panic and he dropped the plate as if burned. 

"Elena, I'm sorry, lo siento, I didn't---I wasn't trying to...!  Please, I...I wasn't trying to...to see you....des...desnuda..." 

She took the plate up from the soft bed of artemisia, so bright against the muted silvery green, and inspected it closely, face and body burning.  Then she smiled, and placed it back in his nerveless hands with a sly grin, considering what to say carefully.  "I certainly hope that's not the truth after what we got up to on my sofa on Martes.  Don't make any plans with me for next Míercoles, I suppose.  Looks like I'll be busy."  She shot him a wink as he gave a desperate whine before dropping the plate again.  He scrubbed at his face, running his hands through his hair.  "Are you trying to kill me?" He groused, tugging at his collar.  She made a noncommittal noise and shrugged.  "Your heart is stronger than than, tonto.  Come on, we've spent half the day in here, and charming as it is, I'm starving.  Isa must have done something that would let us out when we were ready."  She stood then, stretching like a cat and looking around the arbor before tossing him a sultry look.  "I did sort of assume that's where things were going, you know," she teased, picking up the plate again and handing it to him, wrapping his fingers around it slowly, making sure he had a good hold of it.  "That said...why dont you keep this?  Wouldn't want to leave it here and have anyone else stumble across it." 

She watched as he tried not to look at her vision self, knowing smile on her face as he tucked it past his ruana and under his shirt, safely hidden away in his waistband the glow hidden by the fabric.  They both cast about awkwardly for a moment before finding a patch of vines growing differently, and were easy enough to part and step through.  He went first, giving her his hand as he helped her step over the tangled greenery.  He rubbed his neck awkwardly, out of sorts and fully lost about what to do.  She kept hold of his hand and started down the path in the trees, away from everything that had happened, taking a deep breath and seeming to release it all out into the air as she gazed up at the skies.  Her shoulders seemed to shed a weight carried, and he watched as a lone tear rolled lazily down her cheek to be lost in her smile. 

Bruno stood in awe as he was pulled along behind her.   There were grass stains on her skirt, dirt or worse on her blouse, the shade of bruises still trapped in his gaze as he looked at her, trying as she was to fight down the night before and just to remember their time before, when she'd been a twisting firebrand in his arms.    He paused on the road for a moment, and she stilled beside him.  He hauled her roughly into his arms and held her as tight as he could, face buried in her neck.  "Lo prometo, Elena.  I will not let you down again."  She hummed against him and squeezed.  "You never did."

They made their way slowly back to town, neither one feeling any urgency in the early afternoon sun.  The mists from the mountains, or his sister, were strong, fading their shadows as they walked hand in hand, no real plan for where they were going.  They didn't speak, furtive glances and tugs in one direction or the other all they needed in the moment, listening to the leaves rustle and the monkeys hoot.  Dragonflies flitted around them as they walked, buzzing lazily in the sun.  At some point, Elena was divebombed by a green rocket, Chacha flapping  and squawking around her face and head before pecking at Bruno angrily. 

"He didn't do anything, Cheech, I'm OK.  We both are.  Please go tell the Madrigals we're alright before they all pull their hair out.  We...we just need some time, ok?"   She stroked the bird's wings and gave her a fragile smile, her eyes wet, before sending her off.  Letting Chacha walk across both their shoulders, preening a strand of her hair before gently headbutting Bruno and flapping away.  

Bruno let himself be led away, content in the knowledge that Elena wasn't going to bolt and his family wasn't going to bother them for a while.  She took him through town, seemingly deaf to the whispers that sparked and wide eyed glances that lit up as they passed.  The eyes on him were different this time, speculative rather than outright hostile.  Something shifted inside him at that, as he held her hand and stood straighter.  For whatever reason the attention didn't faze Elena, and he was damn proud to be seen with her.  He could hold his head high at that, and he did as he tightened his grasp and increased his pace.  If she wanted him to walk beside her, he would.   He saw tension in her steps as they passed by the Carnicería, and gripped her hand tighter. 

Elena gave him a watery smile and swung their arms before pulling him close.  He realized they were heading to the shop.  "Elena?  What do you have in mind here?" He asked, unable to figure out the why of it.  She said nothing as she fished her key out of her pocket, leading him inside and nudging him gently to sit at the counter, turning away and digging in her cabinets, movements off, too stilted.  He watched her, not knowing quite what was wrong.   She waved him off brusquely, her voice brittle and bright as rotten ice.

"I'm making us both the strongest coffee in the whole of Encanto, and then I'm making lunch.  Then I'm going to bed.  I'd say you're welcome to join me, but I...but...but..." She crumpled then, face contorted in a mix of rage and pain as her voice hitched and broke.  He was around the counter in a shot, gathering her up in his arms as her shoulders shook, dry sob rending through her as he helped her slide to the floor, bracketing her in his legs and holding her as tight as he dared.  She rocked in his arms, almost fighting him as she pulled at her hair, beating at her skull and shaking her head as she cried wordlessly, tearless wails that ripped into his chest.  Everything in him wanted to panic, wanted to bolt, but he forced it down, biting the inside of his cheek bloody as he held on, eyes screwed shut and fingers crossed.  He could at least be strong for her now if she couldn't be strong for herself.   He dug his chin into her shoulder, pinning her in place as she convulsed, her breathing erratic and harsh and too fast, whispering in her ear "Elena, shh, it's alright, it's...it'll be alright.  Mira, mira, you're safe now.  Please, breathe for me.  No estás solo.  Estoy aquí.  Tú estás a salvo. Él se ha ido.  Respira, mi oréade.  Calma, calma." 

He held her through the tremors as her skin flushed cold and hot beneath his hands, coaxing and soothing her with with endearments and careful strokes to her back as her breathing slowed.  When she slumped against him, he kissed her neck carefully before standing with her and leading her to his favorite chair on the dim aisle of the library side, sitting her down and telling her to stay.  He went back behind the counter, getting water boiling and digging out the herbal tea he knew she kept stashed back there for the odd customer who wanted it.  He deposited a hot mug in her hands as soon it was done, ordering her gently to drink and making his way upstairs, fighting with the pocket door for a minute before getting the latch right.  

Bruno explored her kitchenette guiltily, but they both needed food and Elena was in no shape to make anything.  He took a moment to dig that damned vision plate out of his waistband, where it had dug angry red grooves in his skin as he'd held Elena during her episode.  He did his best to ignore its flagrant display as he found a flour sack to stuff it in for the time being as he got to work.  He didn't find much in the way of groceries, even knowing where a couple of things were from the other day.  Some vegetables and eggs in her nevera, her half stocked spice rack, a nearly empty bag of rice in her cupboard and a couple of sad looking mangoes in a bowl.  It would have to do.  He chewed at his thumbnail as he tried to remember some of what he'd picked up from helping his sister over the last few months. 

He started water boiling in a weathered pot and dumped in the rice, knowing I was probably too much, but they could both use the extra portion.  His stomach rumbled at the starchy smell, and he let it sit, going downstairs to check on Elena.  She sat huddled in his chair, eyes half closed as he peered through the dim light, resting and not noticing him as he tip-toed back upstairs.  As the rice softened, he chopped the onion and peppers thin, slicing his finger and swearing as he did the same with a withered calabaza.  He sautéed them all with a pat of butter and half an avocado, before tossing in three of the eggs and scrambling it all together, setting it off the burner as he retrieved another large pan and crushed the second half of the avocado in it, adding butter in when it got too dry.  Not the best oil, but it would taste decent at least.  He drained the rice and spooned it into the pan, tossing in one more egg to thicken it and seasoning it liberally with various chilies before chopping the mangoes and adding them as well, stirring it brown and leaving it to simmer. 

He went back downstairs and gathered Elena wordlessly, careful as he brought her up to sit her down on her bed, pulling the blanket around her shoulder securely before bringing her a plate.  "It's not much, just...just fried rice and eggs, but I...you need to eat."

He watched as she ate mechanically, taking no offense when she stayed silent.  He knew she was wrung dry and needed the rest as well as the food.  He had to encourage her to finish, dazed stares drawing her away from the present, and he took the plate from her as soon as she was done, rinsing it quickly in the sink before going back to her.  Her head was hanging and her eyes fighting to stay open.  

He helped her lay down, draping the blanket over her and carefully removing her shoes, placing them neatly by the nightstand.  He sat then, as she gazed up at him sleepily, wan smile becoming a little brighter as she yawned.   "Not how I pictured the first time waking up next to you.  Or getting you in my bed." She said, coy and sleepy and sad all at once.  He tucked that stubborn strand of hair behind her ear as he place a gentle kiss to her forehead.   "I'll find some way to make it up to you.  Sleep, ninfa.  You need the rest.   I...I'll see you tomorrow?"

She smiled then, languid and untroubled, the line of her brow smoothing as she dozed, squeezing his hand.  "Con cascabeles, Bruno."  

He watched critically as she drifted finally into sleep, brushing her hair away from her face before going to eat his own now cold portion in silence, no idea how it tasted because it felt like ashes in his mouth, unable to process anything more of the day.  Silently he washed the dishes and put things to rights, opening a window to let that ridiculous bird in, since he hadn't seen her yet and she had to be out somewhere, likely still at his house with Antonio.  He crept down the stairs after leaving a glass of water on her nightstand, shutting the pocket door loosely before making his way out of the shop and locking the door behind him.  Several people saw him, and he glared at them, motioning them away like roaches and snapping. "She's clearly not opening today.  Vamos, largarse!"  They scattered at his word, and for once he didn't care that he may have lost some headway with his reputation.  At least it was doing him some sort of good now.

  Bruno made his way home on heavy feet as he crossed over the cobbled street, tripping over himself with exhaustion, brain too foggy to sift over any more details of the day.  He felt like someone had run him through the laundry mangle.  The closer he got to Casita the darker the clouds got, and the thicker the fog.  Pepa was clearly working herself up and trying so hard to keep it contained, and guilt twisted in his gut at the thought.  Chacha swept forlornly onto his shoulder for a moment as the house came into view, and he stroked her feathers.  "She's home and sleeping if you want to go.  I left a window open for you."  He watched the parrot flit away as Félix and Agustín met him at the door, disquiet and apprehension tight in their jaws and across their brows as they each clasped a shoulder and led him inside.  

    He was immediately swept up in Pepa's arms, Julietta and Luisa not far behind, crushing them all before he was able to tap her forearm, desperate for air.  They all released him, expectant gazes burning.  He rubbed his arm at the scrutiny as he answered their unasked questions.  "I'm alright.  Elena...will be, I think.  She...wanted some time alone, so..." 

    "That bastardo is lucky I didn't kill him," Pepa spat, thunder rumbling in the clearing skies.  "Well, I saw to it he left unhealed," Julieta cut in.  "You did a real number on him, hermano."  Bruno snorted as he made his way to the lounge, sitting heavily.  "I think Elena did more damage with that tree branch than with anything I did.  I just got my ass handed to me long enough to distract him." 

    "Tio, you knocked out one of his teeth and broke his cheekbone.  You almost put out one of his eyes." Luisa said, shaking her head and clearly impressed. 

    "Guess learning to take a punch wasn't such a bad thing," he mumbled.  Julieta smacked him on the shoulder, frowning.  "Knock it off, Bruno.  You saved Elena from something horrible, don't be ashamed you needed a little help at the end.  That puto is ten years younger than you and built like a bull.  You held your own." 

    "Elena said the same thing..." 

    "Ay, then listen to her, since she's clearly the only one with any sense in this...relationship.  Get out of your head about what could have happened and look at what did!" came Alma's unexpected voice from behind, making him jump.  His mother came to sit beside him, pulling him into a hug as he tried to protest.  "Mi pobre chico valiente.  So like your father.  I am so proud of you.  Now never do that again, you'll give your poor mama a heart attack.  Go apologize to your sobrinos for worrying them all sick, and get some sleep, Brunito.  We'll bring you dinner later if you feel up to it."  He sat nonplussed as she kissed his cheek and gently nudged him from the seat.  

    He let Luisa squash him again, feeling a few stray tears in his hair as she held him, silent as she reassured herself he was ok.  He was reminded of her bear hugs from before she got her gift, always holding as tight as she could to make sure everything was set to rights, and smiled.  He made his way to his door, pulling a tearful Dolores into a hug as she stood quivering in her doorway, her nerves shot and her eyes red.  She nodded on his shoulder as he whispered assurances to her, quiet as he could to keep from making things any harder.  He knew she was probably going to spend the afternoon in her room as well, recovering in the one place she could hear like everyone else, no longer subject to the town's secrets unless she opened one of the little port windows stationed in her room. 

    He had his hand on his doorknob when he was descended upon by the last four, sighing sleepily as he fended off their questions.  He ruffled Antonio's hair and picked him up, promising him that everything was ok and that he was fine.  Mirabel and Camilo took longer to convince refusing as he was to answer their questions, before he finally huffed and sent them to their mothers, not wanting to have that delicate conversation with either of them.  Isabela squeezed him and gave him a vicious smile.  "I filled his path out with cacti and corpse flowers, tio.  He's not coming back if any of us have something to say about it."  "Thank you, Isa.  It...that means a lot."  She patted his arm before turning, "Get some sleep, tio.  You look like you need it." 

    He smiled and finally, finally opened his door and shuffled inside, feet dragging in the sand as he pitched towards his bed, shedding ruana and shirt in one go, leaving them abandoned on the floor.  He had just enough presence of mind to yank the vision plate out of his waist band and stuff it securely under his mattress before he collapsed, out cold before he hit the pillow.

Chapter Text

Bruno was woken up by his rats and gravity conspiring against him.  Little whiskers and claws skittered across his face, and as he swatted his hands in sleep he floundered from the edge of his bed to land nose first on the floor.

"Mierda," he swore as he rolled to his side, squinting at Casita's private joke to him, a wall of various clocks, not one set to the same time.  There was no sunlight filtering through his window.  The clock he knew was set to Encanto’s time, a simple brown mantle clock, showed it was well past midnight.  He groaned, calculating if it was worth it to try and go back to sleep only to toss for hours to drag the next day, or to just stay up and be dragging without all the frustration of a failed attempt at sleep.
He scratched at his chin and yawned, stretching and wincing as his shoulders and several vertebrae clacked like castanets.  He finished the process, contorting one way and then the other and grimacing at the deep pops his lower back made before shaking loose his joints and cracking his knuckles, enjoying the relief.  He was dreading the day he finally got arthritis. 

He stood, glaring at the clock and his rats, all six of them gamboling about his pillow as if they hadn't just thrown him out of his own bed.  "Really, guys?" He asked flatly as they squeaked at him.  He scattered them as he stripped his bed, figuring he was up and may as well do something productive in the wee hours.  He hunted for the rest of his laundry, stuffing everything he found into the sheet, before heading to his baño, forever grateful that Casita had had the sense to give each of the adults their own rather than them all sharing the single one that had been in place before.  Fifty years of bitching and fighting and wrestling for counter space had apparently sunk into wherever the house kept her brain.  Technically he could toss it all in with the rest family's, but he'd been cleaning his own things for ten years, and saw no need to add more to the workload of whoever pulled laundry duty the next time.  He filled the tub and dumped everything in, tossing in a zote bar to froth under the tap.

He went and groggily made his bed with fresh sheets, knowing if he didn't do it now he'd be sleeping on a bare mattress for a week like a savage.  His fingers brushed against something underneath it, and he pulled out a vision plate.   The vision plate.  Of Elena.  That his drowsy mind had stupidly forgotten was under there.

He shoved it back under, trying not to look, guilt washing over him as he tossed his bedding down half finished in disgust.  She'd just been attacked, and here he was no better, slobbering over an image of her like the animal her friends had accused him of being.  He bit at his thumb while throwing salt over his shoulder, knocking on the wooden nightstand until he felt his knuckles begin to bruise, unable to stop himself as guilt gnawed at him.  He cared for Elena, what the hell was he doing thinking like this?  He tapped his fingers against his bare chest in sequence as he chewed his thumb to the quick, leg beating a nervous tempo against the floor.  He put his head in his hands, scrubbing his hair back angrily as he wavered, fighting with himself.  He did care for Elena, and the fear of disrespecting her or offending her ate at him...at the same time, he couldn't help but remember the alluring way she'd reacted, her knowing smile when she'd handed the plate back to him the second time, reading him perfectly and knowing the whole situation would rile him up and burrow under his skin until he did something about it.

He slunk back into his bathroom, hoping paying attention to boring chores would distract him from the thoughts that were quickly flooding his brain.

He kept his eyes open as he scrubbed to try and keep his mind from throwing images at him, the cold water serving to wake him up fully.  He was careful with the guayabera, the delicate embroidery somehow intact after the fight.  He smoothed the few frays down with his thumb, the repeating pattern of forest green mimosa leaves pulling his mind to the encenillo leaves Elena had been using to repair her vision torn blouse.  Flashes of his failed escape attempt, of soft skin beneath his hands on her sofa, of her body yielding to his against the wall of the Cerámica flitted across his vision, and the slow pulse to his groin he'd been trying to breath through swung in at full force, cock rising so fast his head spun.  He groaned, sinking to his elbows in the cold water in hopes of mercy.  His body, wound tight as a spring for days, for weeks, if he was being honest with himself, was insistent. 

He'd been ignoring the persistent pull, the near constant tightness of his clothes and his nerves for too long, since that first day he'd run into her at the rebuilding, literally.  He'd been hauling a tall sack of lime and yelling back and forth with Félix for directions when he'd walked right into her as she bent over a sawhorse, retrieving her handsaw and giving him a lovely view of the plush ass he'd just bumped against.  She'd looked back at him and waved, seeing he was loaded down and couldn't see where he was going, and gotten back to her work, rough cutting planks for the second subfloor and blowing her hair from her face.  He'd proceeded to shuffle away, face flaming, and had spent the next few weeks hiding from her whenever he ran into her.  He shook his head angrily, so much time wasted.  His guilt dissipated at that, realizing Elena's teasing had been in earnest, and she had held no judgment towards him for drawing forth the vision nor his reaction to it. 

Bruno rested his forehead on the cold porcelain of his tub for a moment, debating.  If he followed through, he'd definitely be able to sleep a few more hours, but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to face Elena in the morning.  If he didn't, he'd be frustrated on top of tired, and still didn't know if he'd be able to face her, knowing it was her acting out the vision he was going to be seeing in his minds eye either way.  He huffed as he stood drying off his arms and marching back to his bed, "a la mierda." 

He shooed his rats away, sending them to Antonio's room and grateful that for once they listened as they scampered off.  He ran his hands through his hair and scrubbed at his face for a moment, indecision still hemming in at his nerves. 

Biting his lip, his hand shot out and snatched the vision plate from under the mattress and tossed it on his pillow, other hand fumbling with his pants, shoving them and his underwear off his narrow hips, letting his cock spring free and kicking his clothes away before landing on his bed, knuckle between his teeth as a hint of green seeped into the edges of his sight.  He turned to the vision, that damned vision, and studied it silently, ignoring his own body to learn what he could of hers, tracing his fingers slowly down the image, cold emerald in place of warm flesh. 

His visions were accurate, and while certain details would blur now and then, the image was clear enough, cast in tantalizing viridian before him.  His hands twitched at the thought of the weight of her tits filling them, enough to spill over and let him hide his face in their softness, imagining trailing bruising kisses and bites up and down them.  She didn't seem to mind if he marked her up, or if anyone saw.  He twitched at that, the memory of hints of an exhibitionist streak he'd seen in her actions riling him up.  His mouth was dry as he sucked on his knuckle, worrying it between his teeth and wishing it were a nipple, knowing the sound she'd made when he'd just barely teased one through her bra, wanting to see how far he could have driven her if he'd used his mouth on bare skin. 

He took himself in hand as he raked his eyes down the rest of the vision, imagining trailing his hands and mouth down her satin stomach to the apex of her thighs, wondering how those generous hips would buck under his mouth, wanting nothing more than to run his tongue along the seam folded above her thighs, hands full of her ass as he lifted her to him before drowning himself between her legs, nose buried in her curls and her screaming. 

He dropped his head and groaned, eyes closing as he slowly, slowly began to move his fist, loosely wrapped at the base of his cock to slide to the tip, calloused thumb spreading the bead of moisture there before sweeping back down, twisting just slightly to change the friction.  He knew if he went any harder he'd be done for far too soon, and he planned on savoring this.  He kept his strokes long and slow as he imagined her strong little hands on him, his hand guiding her, showing her what he liked.  His cock jumped in his grasp and he pressed his thumb down slowly across the top in opposition with his fingers, letting it pull at his skin teasingly, sending shivers up his spine as his other hand began to trail across his body.  He pulled at his own hair, fingers scratching his scalp and sending fire down him as he flipped onto his back, leg falling off the side of the bed. 

He dragged his hand down his chest, teasing at his scar and his nipples briefly, sensations weak, needing the attention to be from someone else to get him anywhere.  He gripped his chest hair painfully, biting his lip as he twitched, electricity sparking over his skin at the bare hint of pain. He brought both hands into play, one stroking still, faster now, the other raking up his thighs before massaging his balls, rolling them against each other, shuddering at the contact.  He ran a fingernail roughly along the seam, hissing and increasing his pace as he tightened his fist, heat pooling in his lower belly and tension bunching in his spine.  He ran his finger down the slit of his tip, weeping and slick and desperate as he thrust into his hand, head thrown back and teeth clenched as he leaked onto his hand, spurring him on to go faster.  He slowed then, gripping the base tightly for a moment, seizing up at the sensation, letting himself cool down just a little as he shifted his other hand lower, thumb still grazing and slipping over his sack, palm cupping and squeezing against his body loosely as he pressed long fingers urgently against the soft stretch of flesh behind, sending lights and patterns flying across the backs of his eyes.  He stroked the head of his cock teasingly, circling with his thumb and ghosting his nail just underneath over his foreskin, bucking into his hand at the sensation.  He came down again, rougher this time, the image of Elena spread lewdly open on her bed in his mind as he hissed sharply and arched up into his hands, crying out as the pressure at the base of his spine released on one long electric tremor, his balls tightening against his body as he chased his release and broke, lines splashing hot across his belly and arms as he pulsed under his palm, her name on his lips.

He panted and lay back, worn out and sated for now as he cooled off, wondering why the hell he hadn't done this sooner, somewhere in the back of his mind knowing the answer was the guilt he wore like a second skin.  He waited for it to come sweeping in, but it never did, and he was too drained to question its absence.  He'd apologize in church if it started up again.  He stared up at his ceiling, his hands still for once resting on his stomach, letting his brain lazily spiral through whatever thoughts danced across it.  Elena was one of the first, and he followed her image through his mind, picking up the vision plate again and studying it, less desperate this time, wondering how he was going to get her in such a state without being in the room with her.  Because damn him if it was going to be anything other than him that had her writhing like that.  He had twelve days to figure it out. 

He didn't want to take her to bed just yet.  Well, he did, he admitted to himself, but he wanted more to wait, just a bit.  Wanted this to be more than heat and sweat and fire.  And he wanted to wait a little longer for her to recover.  He'd felt her break in his arms twice the previous day, and he didn’t want to send her down that road again.  If he was being really honest, he wanted a chance to seduce her properly, or at least make the effort to do so, since for whatever reason he couldn't see, she didn't seem to need much convincing when it came to him.  Something clicked in his head, and he grinned as he stood and stretched.  A plan started to form as he cleaned himself up, thankful Casita had taken pity on them all a second time and kept their rooms soundproof from the outside most of the time as he took in the mess he'd made of himself, knowing he had not been quiet about it.  By the time he'd found his boxers, begrudgingly finished his laundry, and fallen back into bed, tucking the vision plate under his pillow, he'd solidified at least a few days worth of plotting, contingency plans flitting through his mind as he drifted off, the night just beginning to fade into morning.

How he made it through breakfast the next morning he'd never know, but somehow he managed to drag himself to the table and through the meal without falling asleep in his coffee or broadcasting to the table what he'd been up to the night before.  He chocked it up to the quiet, worried glances the family thought they were being furtive about,  Pepa's dull cloud giving her away, Julieta's insistence on giving him an extra portion, his mother's hand constantly seeking his out at the table.  He was touched, but it was getting stifling.  If it weren't for the fact that he was focused on other things he probably would have been flattered.  He finally had enough and stood, irritated as he spoke.  "I'm fine!  Would you all please stop acting like I'm going to break?  Please?"

"Bruno, we're just worried is all.  You've had a...a rough week, and you've barely said a word all morning." Agustín said.  Bruno pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.  "Sorry, I'm sorry, I know.  I just...I'm alright, ok?  I'm not going to go running back into the walls and dissappear again.  There's just...a lot on my mind.  Just...ease up a little?  Please?"

Félix patted his shoulder as he got up from the table to get the dishes started, having drawn the short straw that morning.  "We'll get off your back, Bruno.  You say you're fine, we believe you.  You going to see her today?"

Bruno smiled as he stacked plates, handing them off and trying to sooth his frazzled nerves as well as his family's.  "I will.  I have to go out to the Ortizes first.  Left something there."

"Vision stuff?" Agustín asked, chipping in with the plates and watching as his wife and daughters filtered out the door to start their day, the lot of them bound for the Gonzalves household to help with a tree that had succumbed to hidden rot and fallen.  Bruno nodded.  "Vision stuff.  This last one was...it was bad.  The sands...they spiked.  Figured it's my mess, I'll clean it."

"Wheelbarrow's out back." Félix said offhandedly, flicking bubbles at him as he scoured a pot.  "We got the dishes, go on, man.  Sooner you get done at the Ortiz place, sooner you can check on tu chica."

Bruno nodded and headed out, circling the house twice before spotting the wheelbarrow, half hidden under some of Isa's vines.  He rolled his eyes and cleared it out, finding his old bucket and trowl underneath it and snatching a pair of work gloves and some sackcloth from the shed as he did.  The emeralds his visions created tended to leave scars if they cut too deep, even with Julieta's cooking.  Two of his rats, the brown twins Coco and Loco, scampered into the barrow just as he was leaving. He shrugged "It's your funeral, ratitas, I'm going to be in the sun all day."

He went around the town, over one of the little burro paths that had been worn down over the years, not having the patience or nerves to navigate his feet over the cobble cracks while also hauling a wheelbarrow.  It had taken enough of his backbone to not put the bucket on his head and hide from the world as Jorge.  He'd retired that character after the rebuilding, realizing he'd done the work with his own hands and was able to do so again.  That he'd been able to help out with the pen the day of the vision and actually enjoyed the physical work had helped keep his worker persona back in his head where he belonged. 

He let his mind wonder as he walked.  He'd been toying with the idea of taking up odd jobs around the village for a while.  He didn't want to do visions for hire again, not yet.  Maybe never again, if he was honest with himself.  He knew he'd still have to do some visions, otherwise he'd be scraping emeralds out of all of the Encanto, but the townspeople were not on the very short list of people he'd take requests from at the moment.  He had some decent carpentry skills, enough for the basics, and Senór DeSoto was always looking for help.  He liked working with his hands, seeing something solid and real be created by his efforts.  He shook his head and set the thought aside for now as he approached the Ortizes door.

Osvaldo's wife Celia answered and greeted him warmly.  That surprised him a little, ready to just say what he was about and go, and he fumbled, rubbing his arm.  "H-hola.  I, ah...I came by to help.  With the field.  To clean up the, er..."

"The glass?  Sí, sí, of course!  The men have been avoiding it like maricas, so silly.   Gracias, Senór Madrigal.  There's quite a bit.  I'll set out some guarapo if you need a break."

"That's...very kind.  Thank you."  He turned and made his way out to the pasture, noting that Luisa had indeed completed the fence and the donkeys were grazing peacefully, save the old jack that was eyeing the gate.  Celia's reaction had thrown him.  He was used to people being just as awkward around him as he was them, and her easy greeting was certainly not what he'd been expecting.  Then again, he didn't really know Celia Ortiz.  Maybe she was just a happy person.   That made more sense than what the wheedling voice at his ear was telling him.  That something had changed.

He shook the thoughts away and settled in on the ground with his bucket and gloves and trowel, digging at the largest of the spikes, a lime green thing thick as his leg.  He worked his way around the perimeter, digging shards and spikes loose and arranging them by color on the bags he'd brought along.  The lightest ones were always poor quality, easily broken, and would go to the quarry do be ground into grit for sanding and cement filler.  The darker ones, the color of spring leaves, would also be ground, but would be turned to fine silicate powder for Senóra Valdez to use in her glassmaking.  It had been a decade since she'd had any of this to use, so maybe some good could come of it. 'Well, some more good' he laughed to himself, mind drifting to Elena's sofa and the gentle touch she'd used to care for him.  The darkest stones he studied more carefully.  There were always very few of these, ranging from true bright emerald green to deep peacock, rich forest and sea greens, vibrant viridian, and the almost black green of licorice and salamanders, that only shone when cut well.  These would go to Alberto Perez, the jeweler, to use or sell as he saw fit. That would be an awkward conversation.  He'd never met the man, only a little older than Luisa, and doubted he remembered him from when he dealt with his grandfather Gustavo.  Bruno looked through the handful of smaller gems, rough but lustrous, and pocketed the clearest, brightest ones of each color.  He set aside some of the flat peices, thick as his pinky, an idea forming as he looked them over, seeing no marks marring them, no imprints of the images he'd been forced to see.

When the bags were laden, he tipped each into the wheelbarrow, surprised at the weight, not realizing just how much this vision had produced.  He stood and gave a sharp whistle for his rats, who scampered back to the wheelbarrow from the field they'd been scouring for food.  Bruno scanned the field, seeing there were still shards of glass and stone in the grass and sighed, stretching and cracking his knuckles before biting his lip.  He hadn't tried to do this in a very long time, wasn't sure if he still could. 

He held his hands up away from himself, palms facing each other in a scooping gesture, and concentrated.  He felt an itch from somewhere behind his eyes form, tendrils of something not quite thought reaching out and stirring over the shards, frozen seconds of time he could always identify.  When he felt as much as he could, vision obscured by the light of each miniscule fragment as they lit up to matched his eyes, twining with energy from their source, his brain starting to fuzz at the edges, a trickle of sweat running down his brow, and he brought his hands together, doubled fists directing the shards to form a loose ball.  He reached for it before it fell, wincing as a couple of edges sliced into his palms, and moved it swiftly to the bucket, tossing a rag over it.  Those could go straight to Senóra Valdez.  He wiped his brow and nose, frowning at the smear of blood there.

He wrangled the wheelbarrow around the burrow pen, making a face at the stubborn jack, who was wagging his upper lip at him.  "Yeah, yeah, I know.  You don't smell like a fresh shot of rum either, listillo," he harped, blowing a raspberry at the donkey and moving on.  He dithered for a moment by the house before accepting the still chilled pitcher of guarapo, letting the sweet taste clear the dust from his throat. 

He hadn't made it very far when little Cosmo came running behind him.  "Senór Bruno! Espera!"  He sighed and set the wheelbarrow on its legs as the little boy made his way up the path, struggling with a basket.  "Mamá wanted to give you this, for Senóra Elena.  She says she hopes she's Ok," he explained, huffing.  "Thanks, kiddo.  That's very kind of your madre," Bruno said, surprised.  Cosmo scuffed his feet as he balanced the basket on his load before starting off again.  "Yes?"  Cosmo grinned, squirming with energy "And the floaty glass thing was so cool!" He shouted as he darted back to his door, leaving Bruno laughing, baffled.

Bruno made his way through town slowly, trying to ignore the whispers that followed him.  He supposed he was an odder sight than usual, missing his signature ruana and hauling a load of stones gently glowing through their bags.  He stopped at the stonemason's first, the burly Castillo brothers surprised at his delivery, but taking it just the same remembering the quality his strange vision remnants had always added to their work when they had it on hand.  Pamela Valdez had been thrilled at the bucket of green shards he'd handed her, excited to start sorting them and experimenting again.  She'd always liked the unexpected ways his glass and crushed stone had interacted with her glass, and used it to make the little crystal figurines she displayed in her window.

Alberto had looked at him strangely, not understanding, until his grandfather had wheezed from the back of the shop where he sat, turning a polishing wheel.  "Use your loupe, boy, not just your eye!"  The young man had made a peevish face before doing as he was told, wedging the lense over his eye and examining the little collection of stones. 

The tool fell from his face a moment later when he realized the strange man in front of him hadn't handed him glass.  Alberto stammered out a thank you as his grandfather cackled hoarsely.  The old man got up to inspect the stones himself, and Bruno felt like a child again, standing there with his mother as Senór Perez examined the strange leavings of his visions, loupe falling from his own eye in surprise.  "Hope you saved a few of these for that new lady friend of yours, hijo.  Green suits her," Gustavo said as he rattled the gems around in his rough palms, chuckling at Bruno’s red face as he nodded.  "Well, gracias for these, Senór Madrigal.  We'll get them sorted and send your cut out to Casita in a few days, sí?"

"That's...that's not necessary Senór Perez," he tried to refuse, having forgotten about that part of the old deal.  He'd always just let his mother manage the money.  Gustavo shook his head, laughing.  "Nonsense!  If you're going after that little spitfire you're going to need some funds, for bribes to get you out of all the trouble she draws if nothing else!  Go on now, I see that basket out there, I know we aren't your last stop."

Bruno rubbed his neck awkwardly and waved as he left the shop, head all out of sorts from too much interaction too quickly.  He took the now mostly empty wheelbarrow and made his way to Café de Libros, regretting the afternoon sun and how long it had taken him to get everything done, as well as his rumpled state, sweatdamp shirt sticking to his back.  But if he went back to change he'd be gone even longer, and he just wanted to see her.  He parked the wheelbarrow under her pergola and went in carrying the basket, grateful that it was a slow Viernes and that no one seemed to be in.  His rats scampered off to squeeze under the door to her loft, and the only reason he could think of was that Hector and Pecasita had shared the news about Chacha’s enclosure.  He'd fetch them later.  Elena was nowhere to be seen, but the doors were unlocked, so he sat the basket on the café counter and looked around. 

He called out softly when he couldn't find her, not wanting to startle her again, and he heard a muffled "here" from the bathroom.  She came out a few moments later, looking agitated and pale, her hair limp and with shadows under her eyes.  "Elena...are you alright?" He asked, startled by her appearance.  She didn't answer, instead sweeping past him to get to work on his usual.  Trying not to be hurt by the slight, he watched her, trying to figure out what was wrong.  Her posture was off, slouched, and she looked like she'd been crying and up half the night.  He stilled her hand as she handed him his cup, setting it aside as he sat at the counter.  "Elena, please.  What's wrong?"

"Bruno, I'm fine!  It's nothing."  She scoffed, shaking her head.  He didn't let go of her hand, stroking the pulse point of her wrist and looking at her critically.   She sighed, resting her head on the cool counter as one hand held her abdomen tenderly.  "Ugh. Fine.  Tengo vampiras.   Sorry Bruno, I know I look rough."

He looked at her, confused for a moment before remembering the silly phrase his sobrinas would grumble when they were...indisposed by mother nature.  "I, uh, I brought food?" He offered, knowing enough from living in a house full of women that if she were showing signs of discomfort he could see, she was probably ten times more miserable internally.  She smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek, her nose crinkling.  "That bad?" He blushed, having gone noseblind over the course of the day. 

"Like un cabro, sátiro lindo.  What on earth were you doing?"

"I cleaned up my mess from Martes at the Ortiz place.  They let it sit there, apparently."

Elena laughed at that, shaking her head and peaking in the basket, releasing the thick, savory smell of cuchuco de cebada and pandebono.  "Senóra Ortiz sent me off with it.  Said to tell you she hopes you're doing alright.  It was...odd.  Like I was just...some guy."

"Celia's not nearly as stupid as her husband.  People aren't going to see you as a boogeyman forever, you know.  Especially not after...well.  Everything."

"Are you doing alright?" He asked, concern thick in his voice as he took her hand again.  She gave him a watery smile.  "Not yet.  But I will be.  It's still kind of...raw now, I guess.  I go back and forth, and I'm ok for a while, but it sneaks up on me.  Don't worry too much if I start crying.  It's not going to be from anything you did."  A few tears tracked down her cheeks at that, and he made his way around to hold her, but she held him off, kissing him apologetically. 

"Sorry.  My sense of smell is stronger right now, and you're ripe.  You can use my shower upstairs if you want?  You left that tan shirt here the other day, you know." 

He sighed and nodded, "I won't be long," heading to her loft, fighting with the pocket door again before making his way up the stairs.  Her bathroom was small, no room for a tub, with guest towels sitting in rolls on a cabinet made with salvaged wood and a sink cluttered with makeup things.  The unexpected mess made him smile, something so domestic about it when she kept the shops downstairs spotless and her loft in neat, sparse order. 

He fiddled with the taps for a minute, near burning his hand when he pulled it to what he assumed was her normal setting, and shed his clothes, giving his shirt a sniff and regretting it immediately.  "Elena's a saint," he grumbled to himself as he folded the shirt small as he could.  He couldn't do much about his bottoms, but hung them up on the door hook to hopefully air out in the steam.  He stepped under the water and let it beat the soreness out of his shoulders as he lathered up with the scentless lye soap, scrubbing dirt and sweat from his skin and fumbling for a moment before finding the ledge it shared with her shampoo.  He gave that a curious sniff, the same handmade formula everyone used from the valero, Senór Gutierrez.  She'd had him add in cinnamon and cedar oil, a nice compliment to the spicy perfume she wore. 

He scrubbed at his hair before shaking his head like a dog and blindly pawing at the taps.  He stepped out dripping and grabbed the first towel he could find, drying off and hanging it over his hair as he shuffled back into his pants.  "Behave, you," he muttered at his groin as he twitched in interest at the smell of Elena's perfume, fragrance floating in the steam of the humid shower.  Pulling on his pants roughly, he shook his head and patted his hair dry as he toed on his sandals. He gave a cursory search of her loft when he stepped out, not seeing the shirt she'd mentioned out and not wanting to snoop in her wardrobe.  He would have looked a little more closely, but his eyes caught on the sheets soaking in her sink, the amount of blood darkening the water startling him.  'No wonder she's in pain, looks like a murder scene,'  he thought, shaking his head. 

He made his way downstairs, blotting his hair still.  "Elena, where'd you say that shirt was?" He called as he made his way into the shop, greeted by a familiar snicker to see Julieta at the bookstore register, the newly translated They Came to Baghdad in her hands.  Elena finished ringing his sister up, making her way to the café counter and handing him the neatly folded shirt, grinning as his blush crept from his neck and ears to his chest.  He scrambled to get dressed as his sister laughed.  "Don't wear him out too fast, Elena."

"Ha, you're funny.  Well, there's no worry of that right now with Tia Roja in town.  I'll send him home in one piece."

"Ah, things I won't miss.  And I get to tease.  It's good to see him so comfortable with you already."

"I can hear you, chato Julieta!" Bruno snorted as he wrestled his head through his collar, fingers tugging his hair into something slightly tamer than a birds nest.

"The fact that you'd rather argue then hide proves I'm right!"

" 'Ahh, go home, you nosy cotilla!"

"Bruno, pick on your sister at home," Elena laughed as Julieta strutted out the door, self satisfied smirk on her face.  He came to the counter and sat, frowning out the after his sister.  Elena was leaning on the counter, eyes closed and cheek in her hand, line at her brow in discomfort.

Bruno sat next to her in a comfortable silence, turning things over in his mind and trying to figure out how to put his plan into action.  That she was in the grip of la regla didn't really put a damper on anything, just meant that he'd have to shift a few ideas he had until later.  Which worked better for him, because he'd need that much time just to build up the courage to even think about doing half of them.  As it was right now, he was starving, she looked miserable, the shop was empty, and he felt, bravely, like being spontaneous.  He made his way behind the counter and took her hands in his, leading her away and into his favorite chair, drawing her boldly into a lingering kiss as he crouched beside her.  "What are you up to, tonto?" She asked at the speculative look in his eye.  "You look terrible," he said, immediately kicking himself at the fuming look she gave him.  "That's not what I...I mean...ay, lo siento, I just...let me take care of you, please?  I...I've been in here every day for months and I've never seen you like this."

"Were you even looking?" She asked sullenly, and he kicked himself again for all the time he'd wasted.  He placed a gentle kiss to her hand as he stood.  "Elena, just because I'm a coward doesn't mean I can't see what's right in front of me."

"I wish you wouldn't talk about yourself like that.  You aren't a coward.  I'm just...being a bitch."

"You are not."  He said, emphatically.  "Elena, I grew up in a house full of women, I know this can be...just the worst."

She laughed then, and shooed him away, hand at her belly.  "Ok, you aren't wrong.  Do what you do.  I'm not going to press my luck and argue with a man who gets it."

Bruno took the little boost to his pride with a silly grin, and got to work.  He flipped the signs on her doors to Closed, and ransacked her café counter, knowing where she kept half of what he needed.  He placed a carafe on to boil a water and milk mixture while he dug out the raw cocoa and vanilla beans, honey and powdered cinnamon. 

She didn't have any chilis on hand, so he ran upstairs to steal what he remembered from her spice rack.  He saw a bottle of dark rum on the counter, and snatched it as well.  He ground the spices together in one of her wide latte mugs with the handle of her espresso tamper before adding them to the boiling water and stirring rapidly, swiping a finger through the froth formed to test it, drizzling in honey and chili powder until he had the taste just right.  He hadn't made xocolatl in over a decade, but he remembered the way he'd always done it for his sisters when they were having an especially bad day.  He added a healthy splash of the rum, a sprinkle of salt, and dusted cinnamon on top when he'd poured it into a mug for her. 

She gave him quizzically when he handed it to her, before taking a careful sip, drink still steaming.  Her face lit up and he cracked a crooked smile as she drank deeply, sinking into the chair as she did.  "This is amazing.  I don't think I've ever had a xocolatl this good, what on earth...I'm jealous, you have to tell me what you did to this!"

"Madrigal family secret," he baited, and she rolled her eyes.  "I'll get it out of you one way or the other, if I have to tie you down!"

"That can be arranged," he said without thinking, all the blood draining from his face as he realized what had come out of his mouth.  He spun on his heel, floundering as he made his way to the counter, shoulders twitching as he pulled at a hood he didn't have.  "Right ah...anyway...food!  Would you...we could walk down the river...unless you...I mean ...Damn it..."

Elena surprised him, snatching him from behind and squeezing, empty mug in her hands and face nuzzled against his shoulders.  "A picnic by the river sounds wonderful, and I won't have to cook tonight."

He stilled at that, and let her around him after giving her arms a squeeze, watching as she rinsed her mug and poured the rest of his concoction into a thermos.  "We're taking this with us.  I don't care if it's early, no one else is coming by that hasn't already.  Lead the way, Bruno."

He took the basket and her hand, leading her out the door, waiting for her to make sure she had her keys as she locked the door.

They made a lazy, roundabout trek down to the river, crossing the bridge, Elena chattering away about floriography of all things, having found an old favorite of her mother's tucked away and halfway through it already.  Bruno listened with half an ear, telling his brain to please shut up as it tried to conjure pictures that featured soft silk ropes and Elena learning sailor's knots.  He lead her into a copse of jacaranda trees off the bank, the ground soft with moss and bright green grass no taller than the top of his foot.  He helped Elena set out the food, passing the thermos between them as they got settled.  They leaned against each other as they ate, dipping pandebono in the thick cuchuco in place of spoons and watching the sun sparkling on the water.

"Sorry I'm not much fun today," Elena said after a while, voice low and laced with sadness as she took a sip from the thermos, her meal finished and her bowl resting on the grass.  Bruno nestled his face into her neck, letting the loose strands of her chignon tickle his cheek as he kissed her pulse, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.  "You have nothing to apologize for, I'm not going to get upset about nature just...existing.   There are quiet days too, Elena.  I'd rather be commiserating with you than spending them alone.  Besides, you're never not fun.  Who knew you could tell someone to piss off with flowers?"

"Isabela?"  She teased, tilting her head to give him better access to her neck, sighing as he dusted torturously light kisses over it.

"Ha, no.  And don't tell her, she'd cover someone's house in them!  She's giving you a run for your money, you know.  Encanto's new wild child."

"Not for long, if Miguel O'Conór has anything to say about it."

"The new doctor?"

"They were getting really chummy at the hoguera before I got out of the kitchen.  He's fascinated with her."

She laughed then, as his mouth turned down in distaste.  "Don't you say a word!" 

"He's fifteen years older than her!"  He griped as he pulled away, surprised.  He felt his face heat in embarrassment at the arched eyebrow she shot his way, giving him a critical once over. 

"Point taken, shutting up now," he mumbled, face back at her neck, kissing under her ear in gentle apology.  She laughed. 

"You know you aren't getting anywhere, right?  Not with..." She gestured vaguely at her pelvis.  He nipped her neck before shifting, sitting behind her to bracket her in his legs.  "What idiot boy told you that mattered?" He chided, voice so low she almost missed it before he continued.  "Wasn't trying to get anywhere but right here."  He grinned at the squeak she made as he pulled her against him, hands clasping at her hips and tugging sharply, teeth gently nibbling at her spine.  He kissed away the goosebumps that rose on her neck at that before moving his hands to her front, unfastening her trousers and pressing under her navel, the heat and pressure of his hands causing her to shiver and slump against him, a sigh of relief escaping. 

"You were right, you know," she said after a while in that position, shifting to get comfortable.  "They aren't always this bad.  Every once in awhile I just get run over.  Happened to Mamá too.  Lucky me."

"You know Julieta wouldn't mind you coming to her.  She's got a special thing she makes for those days." 

"I know, but that poor woman is busy enough.  I'll survive.  Might steal these hands for the next time though." She teased, leaning back to kiss his jaw.  "You've stopped worrying we're going to burn out?" He asked, fingers kneading gentle circles into her skin, pressing a little harder as she hummed appreciatively.  His fingertips brushed lower, teasing at the lace of her underwear, but nothing more.  He laughed as she huffed in irritation, swatting at his hands.  "What happened to taking a little time with things, tímido?"  She goaded him, and he nipped at her ear.

"Still the plan, doesn’t mean I have to behave all the way."  She snorted, and he held her to him tighter, letting her feel his arousal against her rear as she squirmed, hiding his face in her neck again.  "Shy, ninfa, not dead."

"Bolder when I can't see you?"

"For now.  I don't know what I'm doing as far as the...as the long run goes, but I remember this part,"  he murmured as his hand snaked up her side, grazing her regla belt before continuing up, long fingers wriggling under her bra to tenderly cup a breast, weighing it in his palm before rolling his wrist to fondle her, calloused thumb rubbing her nipple to a peak in slow, teasing circles.  He laved at her neck with the tip of his tongue, making his way to her earlobe as she sighed against him.  His grip tightened at her voice, and she tensed.

"Sorry, sorry.  Tender?"

She shook her head as he slid his hand away, turning her face from him as a whimper escaped.  She took his hands in hers, grip too tight and shaky, and he knew.  "Carlos?"  She nodded mutely, and leaned into him.  He cuddled into her, holding her tightly, hands nowhere risky.  "Lo siento, mi oréade, lo siento."  She shook her head again, voice thick as she spoke.  "I don't want it to bother me.  I want you here...I just...I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize for needing time," he whispered.  She snarled in frustration and buried her face in her hands.  "I don't want time, I want you, god damn it!  My stupid joder brain...fuck!"

"Elena..." he began, but she surprised him, taking both his hands and placing them  under her blouse, thumbs brushing against the underside of her bra.  "Please, Bruno.  I want...I want to try again...whatever it was you were getting to.  Please?" 

He tucked his chin into her collarbone, scruffing at her jaw with his facial hair, his hands still.  "Are you sure?  I don't want to...to set you back.  Make things worse..."  She twisted, kissing the corner of his mouth.  "Bruno...please.  Just touch me."

He held her tightly for a moment, lips pressed to her jaw grimly, before doing as she asked.   His hands were jittery and mechanical at first, stroking the fold of her breast too abruptly, and he knew it when she took his hands and guided them up, over the swell of her breasts and past the silk of her bra to hold them, pressing his fingers solidly onto her flesh before letting go, scratching little lines up his arms as she closed her eyes and let her head fall back onto his shoulder, his name a sweet sigh on her lips.  He trailed his mouth along her pulse again, ears perked for any hint of discomfort or distress, but it never came, only soft sighs as he kneaded her in his hands, rolling and pinching her nipples gently, careful circles pebbling her skin, mouth dry as he imagined more.  He shifted away from her, painfully hard, when she started to fidget against him, her sighs growing deeper, more tempting.  "I can feel you, Bruno.  I know I'm on my...but we could still..."

"No, ninfa.  Not yet.  Waiting won't kill me."  He gave one last gentle squeeze to her, memorizing the feel of her breasts heavy in his hands, nipples peaked under his thumbs, and filing it away for later before taking his hands back, placing them back on her lower abdomen. 

"We should head back," Elena said, patting his hands and turning, brushing his hair from his eyes and kissing his nose, "before I make a liar out of you."  He groaned, holding her head still to rest his forehead against hers, nostrils flaring as he huffed, trying to clear his head.  Once he could see clearly again, he stood and helped her up, pulling her against him briefly in a bear hug before leading her out of the trees.  The sun had started to set. 

"You're the only person who's made me loose track of time, Elena," he said as they strolled back to the shop.  She gave him a coy look, hand at her ear to control that flyaway strand of hair. 

"Doesn't sound like such a bad thing, does it?"  She asked, bumping her hip against his fondly.  He kissed her hair as they came to her door.  He knew he had a sappy grin on his face, and didn't care.

"Let me stay lost.  Goodnight, Elena." She moved to him, hands running down his chest before twining their hands together, pulling him forward slightly and sliding her mouth over his, sucking in his bottom lip briefly before he could react, breaking away with a smile.

"Come back to me if you can't find your way back. Goodnight, Bruno."

Chapter Text

Bruno Madrigal was a menace.  A stupid, infuriating, sexy menace.  Elena fumed as she sat on her bed, sitting angrily on her hands and biting her lip as she watched her clock pass seven thirty, pass seven forty-five, pass eight o'clock, wanting to prove that maddening man wrong, just once, turning the last week and a half over in her mind, trying to figure out when exactly he'd turned the tables and become the instigator instead of her, when the reticence had slipped from his skin and he'd taken over this little game of theirs, a game she was quickly losing as heat pooled at her core.  She knew she had lost for sure when she thought of him, knowing he was putting that vision of her to good use, imagining how his hands would feel on her skin instead of her own. 

*****  

    On Sábado he had come by when she opened the bibliotheca at noon, surprising her with lunch as he grabbed her from behind, voice muffled in her shoulder as he just held her.  

    "You do know I can cook, right?"  She'd laughed when she'd seen what he'd brought, basket laden down with an entire almuerzo corriente spread, Julieta's pollo guisado smelling heavenly next to the arroz coco and skewers of spicy steamed shrimp.  "I've seen your icebox.  I'm not convinced you can make anything other than coffee," he'd snickered into her neck.  "Keep it up and I won't even make that for you."

    "Cruelest Elena, to deny a deprived man his morning coffee, the scandal!" He said, clutching at his heart dramatically 

    She snorted, taking the basket as she let him in, heading for the return box as she went.  "It's noon, Bruno.  And the only thing you're deprived of is sleep, you silly man."

     He laughed, leaning against the counter, making no secret about the fact that he was watching her as she bent over, smug grin ruined by the red on his cheeks.  "Sleep is coming easier these days.  Other things, that's a different story."

    She had kissed his nose as she breezed past him, hand waving behind her as she exaggerated the swing of her hips.  "That's your own fault, hombre tonto.  You had me where you wanted me on Martes."  He'd sputtered and dropped his face to the counter laughing, hand flailing towards the café.

    "Ay dios mio, Elena I meant the espresso!"

    "Sure you did,"  she teased, running her hands through his hair as he grumbled, enjoying watching the shiver it sent down his back and taking note.  She sat her stacks of returns down and went to the café side, starting up a single carafe and getting his usual started, humming as she did.  She saw Bruno flipping through the returns, fingers trailing along the spines to her handwritten labels, trying to work out the numbers.  She smiled and handed him his finished espresso.

    "Can you explain the numbers to me?" He asked, surprising her.  "It's...just the classification system, nothing fancy."  He puzzled over it for a moment, looking between two titles trying to figure out why Ornithology of South America was in a different category from The Keeping of Parrots.  "I know that.  I just...I want to understand how it works.  So I could help out when I'm in here.  Take...take some of the burden off you."

    "Bruno, you don't have to do that.  It's my job."

    "I know, but you work too hard.  I didn't mean every day, just...here and there, you know?"  He fidgeted with his hands at that, giving her a slightly pitiful look.  What little resistance she'd had, mostly because she was afraid he'd realize how boring this part of her life was and get frustrated, had melted away.   He knew that look would get him just about anything.  That he didn't use it more was nothing short of miraculous.  "Alright, let me go get my ledger, and I'll show you."  

    When she came back downstairs she caught him halfway through setting out lunch across the café counter, an empanada in his mouth as he poured a coffee for Abuelita Ximena, who always shuffled in to any business open Sábado to say hello.  The old woman patted his cheek affectionately with her knotted hand as he came around to help her up on the stool.  Elena leaned against the doorframe and smiled, heart doing a little flip at the sweet scene and the knowledge that the lovely man responsible for it was stepping in even though she could see him twitching with nerves, his shoulders tense.  She came up behind him as he fiddled with the register, placing her ledger next to a plate he'd sat out.   

    "You could have called me down, you know."  He yelped and jumped, dropping a mug to shatter on the floor.  They bent as one to retrieve it, her laughing and him apologetic, trying to shoo her away.  "It's alright, Bruno, go on," she said as she stilled his hand, "Thank you."  She ran a hand over his cheek, and that seemed to calm him as he leaned into her before standing to finish setting up their meal.  She cleaned up the broken mug and dusted her hands before taking the money he handed her and dropping it in the old brass register after showing him how firmly to press on the buttons. 

    He led her around and sat with her at the counter as they ate their meal, him in silence as he scanned the ledger, squinting a little, she chatting amicably with Ximena, who asked after the shop and Chacha, avoiding speaking about Miércoles night.  She had even asked Bruno about his rats, Loco and Pecasita today, who had cuddled into a little speckled pile in his hood.  "Smart animals, rats.  Cute, too, in their own way."  "I'll ah, tell them you said so, when they wake up, Abuelita," Bruno said shyly.  Elena squeezed his hand, seeing the tightness in his jaw as he warred with himself, seeing the old woman dredging up unpleasant memories still fresh.  "You're ok, Bruno.  I'm ok."  He squeezed her hand and brushed a kiss to her knuckles, and she wasn't sure who the gesture was meant to comfort more.  

    Ximena hobbled down from her stool then, her coffee finished.  She looked at them sharply, hands joined on the counter as he read and she finished her meal, and tittered.  "The two of you...tienes encontrado su media naranja juntos," she said, toothless grin cracked as she patted their joined hands.  "Don't let what those other silly young fools say about you get under your skin," she frowned slightly, pointing at Bruno with a gnarled finger. "And you, young man, stop listing to your mother so much.  Live a little, adivino!  Adios, chicitos!"  With that, she toddled off, leaving both of them snickering at her display.  Ximena had never stopped being the feisty soldadera of her middle age, it seemed.  

    Bruno watched her go out the door before brushing Elena's cheek, taking her by surprise with a sweet kiss.  "When a ninety year old tells you to live a little, you listen.  Vieja could still drink Félix under the table.  Show me how your catalog system works.  I'll help you put them away.  Then I can... hm, rub your shoulders?" 

    "A massuer on top of a chef, I see," she said, nibbling on a shrimp as she jabbed the skewer at him.  He rolled his eyes wryly.  "You cracked your neck earlier and sounded like maracas.  Let me do this?"  "Oh, alright, you've twisted my arm so very viciously, Senór." She said, hand at her brow as she pretended to faint.

    "And yet you call me tonto," he snorted as he pushed her ledger towards her and stole three of her shrimp.  She poked him with the skewer and laughed, halted a moment later as he tossed a shrimp into her open mouth, garlic sauce staining her lip.  He swiped it away with his thumb, touch and gaze lingering, before licking it away and stealing her last shrimp, puffing up his chest as he snickered. "Hey!  Ok ok, fine, I'll show you how this works if you'll quit stealing my lunch!"  

    Bruno had scooted close to her, chin in his hand as she explained the numbers, content to listen to her speak as he rested his other hand on her knee, massaging gently.  Books were split by broad subject, indicated by the first three numbers.  Split further within broad subjects by the tens, and even further by the ones.  Individual books had their own numbers, the middle figures, and were sorted by name and date if they were serial.  

    He had been eager to puzzle it out, and Elena had watched as he tested himself, taking half her return stack and shelving it.  He tended to invert the last numbers, especially 9s and 6s, but he didn't miss many and was close even with those, even catching himself and correcting his mistakes.  He gave her a prideful smile at the end, content at having been helpful.   "I'm impressed.  The system took me forever to learn, and I halfway grew up with it."  He rubbed his arm, looking back.  "I'm not...terrible with numbers and patterns.  They just...make sense, you know?"

    "There's a reason I'm not teaching math Bruno.  I'll take your word for it.  Thank you, though.  That was really sweet of you to step in.  I appreciate it."  

    She let him guide her to one of the low backed café chairs, sitting and smoothing her skirt.  His hands were firm on her shoulders as he nudged her forward, to lay her head in her crossed arms.   A little thrill ran up her spine at that, the possessive caress at the crook of her neck as he pressed her down speaking volumes that she knew he couldn't bring himself to say.  The strength of his grip as he manipulated the tense muscles of her neck, digging his thumbs in at the base of her skull and stroking down quickly had her splaying out, cheek jostling against the cool laminate of the table. 

    He moved lower, slipping his hands under her blouse, points of his knuckles rolling down either side of her spine and under her shoulder blades and the noise she made at the relief was close to obscene.  He kissed her neck after a time, thumbs rubbing small circles over her vertebrae, hair tickling her cheek as he hummed against her neck, moving his hands down and around her, holding her under her navel again, hands warm as he kneaded her belly, another wave of relief washing over her as his fingers eased her pains. 

    "Better?"  

    "You're hired!  I may not let you leave.  Forget the visions, your hands are magic."  She babbled, hiding her face. 

    "Try not to rekink it by tomorrow?"  He asked, kissing her neck again before stepping away.     

    "Where are you off to?"  He shrugged, rubbing his arm. 

    "Félix and Agustín roped me into yard duty with them.  It's cooler now, they'll be expecting me back."  

    "Mmm, I see how it is, visiting just to ply me with food and get your hands down my blouse?" Elena teased against his lips, pinking his ears.  "Mm, tal ves.  Until tomorrow?" 

    "Only you can get me into a church that easily.  Buenos tardes, tonto."  She watched him leave then, the tingle of his tender kiss still on her lips as she smiled. 

*****  

    Elena wasn't one for church, much to the past lamentations of her parents and the eternal judgement of Padre Conseco, whom she respected but disliked for reasons that would remain between them.  Still, that Domingo she found herself in the uncomfortable pews, wearing a blouse that had fit better two cup sizes previously.  She may have chosen it for that specific reason.  Or maybe it was laundry day.  Let the busy bodies fight over it.  In acquiescence to to fact that she was in a church, an old jade rosary of her mother's sat tucked into her cleavage.  God was only her goal if she could get Bruno calling out to him.  That she'd squeezed in between him and Dolores at the last minute had been purely bad luck.  She'd had to turn back and change her shoes, the strap of her alpargatas breaking.  Bruno's rats had been busy in her loft, it seemed.  She didn't mind, the shoes were old and the Constantinos would probably fix them for free, given everything.  

    She knew she drew Alma’s glare as she sat there, listening to the Padre drone on as she completed her embroidery,  encenillo leaves slowly appearing across her vision torn blouse.  She didn't kneel, and would sit through the communion along with a few other stragglers, but that had always been her way, and Alma Madrigal failing to hide the fact that she disapproved of her lack of devout churching wasn't going to change that.  Bruno had held out his hand automatically to hold her thread early on, and she was quietly charmed as he thumbed at his rosary with one hand and her embroidery thread with the other, whatever prayers he had mouthed silently.  He looked peaceful here, with his eyes closed, long lashes fluttering against his cheeks, face slack and shoulders back against the stiff pew, sitting straighter. 

    Elena wondered briefly if in another life he would have joined the church.  It seemed likely.  She knew he was, if not strictly religious, then at least highly spiritual.  But how much of Bruno was indeliblly him and how much of who he was had been carved into him by his gift was hard to tell.  The idea of him in the austere black clothes with the tight collar of a priest around his graceful neck led her mind down a rabbit hole involving confession booths and acts she was certainly not meant to be thinking in the building she was in.  She huffed and focused on her embroidery, her cheeks burning all the brighter when Bruno shifted and lay his hand on her lap.  His eyes were still closed, but he had the slightest smirk quirking at his lip, knowing exactly what he was doing.  The Padre may have given her a curt look then, but she returned it with an arching scowl that had him turning away.  

    When her thread finally wound out and she'd finished what she could, Bruno's hand flipped over, resting solidly on her knee, thumb moving steadily up and down and driving her to distraction as the heat of his hand seeped through her skirt.  It stayed there the rest of the service, Dolores trying not to giggle at the two of them, and drawing the eyes of several parishioners as they got up to leave.  

    Bruno offered her his hand as he stood, filing out of the pew with the rest of his family.  "Will you join us for lunch today, Elena?" He asked, not a hint of a stutter in his voice.  She nodded as he slid his hand down her back, resting just high enough to guide, but not look too possessive.  She enjoyed the boastful look he gave Beatriz as they passed her, her friend's expression dropping in distaste.  Elena stuck out her tongue and bumped her hip against Bruno's.  He caught her by surprise by returning the gesture and squeezing her to his side.  "Oh, alright, since you seem determined to feed me into the next dress size."  "Not what I'm trying to do," he shook his head, though she caught him stealing appraising glances at her tetas and muttering "certain advantages..."  He went crimson when she smirked at him.  "Like what you see there, Brunito?"

      He hid his face in his hand.  "Elena!  We're in church!"

    "We're leaving the church, tonto.  If I haven't  burst into flames yet, I'm not going to.  Not today anyway."

    "Tentadora, destino tentador," he whispered, sweeping a finger over the rosary around her neck.  She crinkled her nose at him.

    "Dulce hablador."  

    "Mamá, you look like you swallowed a lime." Pepa whispered as she and Félix passed Alma, all of them behind Bruno and Elena, watching as they chatted, gestures flying as they laughed, hip to hip.  "Abuela, his arm looks at home around her.  Leave them be." Félix placated.  Alma huffed, warring with herself.

    "You saw how she dressed, how she acted.  In church!"  

    "Déjalo ir, Mamá.  Everyone in town knows Elena isn't in there more than four times a year because she and the Padre haven’t gotten along since her mother's funeral.  But she came because Bruno asked her.  Besides, it's not her fault she's got more senos than three people put together.  Not much could hold those, poor woman."  Alma threw up her hands, still grumbling.  She said she would try for Bruno, but Elena Pascual made that very difficult, just by being herself. 

    Félix nudged his wife as Alma fell behind, jabbing his chin at the couple ahead, watching as Bruno whispered something in her ear that made her swat his shoulder.  Rather than shrinking back, he gave a hunching snicker and stole a kiss.  "How long before we've got sobrinitos running around Casita again, do you think, Pepi?" He chuckled deviously.  Pepa gave a bark of a laugh.  "If she's not preñada in a year, I'll eat my shoes!  I've never seen him like this."

    "I give that six months." Julieta said as she swept by, keeping her eyes down so she didn't burst out laughing.  "Let's hope he can manage to get a ring on her before that.  Mamá may kill him otherwise."

    "She can try." Agustín chuckled, watching Alma shaking her head at the two.  "She knows she's already lost the fight, she just doesn't want to give up yet."  

    Julieta pulled Elena into the kitchen for an extra set of hands, part of an assembly line for tamales going as the kids ran in the yard, Parce chasing after each one as they shrieked.  Bruno came with her, chin on her shoulder and hands running up her arms as she chopped and mixed.  "Bruno shoo, she needs her hands!" Julieta laughed, flicking water at him.  Elena blew a raspberry in his ear, earning a yelp.  "He's convinced himself I don't know how to cook," Elena laughed. 

    "You had four eggs and the saddest mangoes I've ever seen!"

    "Bruno, worry about my eggs later!  Help me prep or scat!"

Julieta burst out laughing as Bruno buried his face in her neck with a pitiful noise before shuffling around to wrap and tie tamales as they were handed to him, his eyes downcast as he worried his lip.  "...I--I know you can cook, Elena.  I was just..."  She stilled his hand.  "Teasing you, Bruno.  Just teasing.  I would never tell you to go away seriously.  I'm sorry."  He nodded, turning into her slightly to rest his head on her shoulder, finishing his work, less sullen than before but still quiet.  Julieta watched them for a moment before nudging Elena away, twitching her lips towards the sitting room.  Elena took the hint and pulled Bruno away, leading him to the loveseat.

    "Bruno, look at me please." She said softly, "You are...very special to me.  I'm not going away, and I'm not going to tell you to either.  If I say it in passing, please know I meant it as a joke.  I'm sorry."

     Bruno pulled her to him and rested his head on her chest, ear to her heart.  "I'm lost in my head again.  You aren't tired of me already?"

    She smiled and scratched at his scalp.  "Come out of your mind, tonto.  I still have to prove I can cook, remember?"  He smiled against her skin, nipping at her collarbone lightly.  "Jueves?"

    "Not sooner?"

    "Ah, but that would be telling..." he said, standing.  "And there's food so..."  Elena rolled her eyes and let him pull her away to the table set up outside.  Both helped set the table, Bruno pulling out a chair for her when it was done, Julieta's sharp whistle summoning everyone from the various corners of the property. 

Alma sat next to her son, watching him and Elena with a critical eye.  His hand had disappeared under the table at some point, resting on her knee warmly and Elena nearly choked when Alma asked where, exactly, it was.  Bruno didn't bother looking up as he squeezed, a solid deadpan  "Where it wants to be," taking his mother by surprise and leaving her looking like she'd sat on a tack as Elena tried not to spit out her drink.  Bruno did nothing but move his hand up further and smirk at her as she felt her cheeks light up.   

    Lunch was a quick enough affair, and Elena stood to help Mariano and Isabela gather the dishes, laying a kiss on Bruno's curls as she passed him, the man still a little sulky.  Camilo had disappeared, meant to be helping gather plates, and Elena laughed as his head popped out of the house, dribbling a futbol with his forehead "Ay, Senóra Elena, do you play?" Camilo shouted as he walked, balancing the ball now on the bridge of his nose.  Elena called back as she set down the last of the plates, laughing.  "Yeah, badly!  Let's go, punk!"  

    "You're feeling alright for that?"  Bruno asked her, running his hand down her arm.  She supposed she was rather pale, but she smiled and squeezed his hand.  "Moving around helps.  I'll be alright, Bruno.  Join us?"  He looked uncertain for a moment, before shrugging and kicking off his sandals.  "Eh, why not?"  

    Sides were quickly chosen, actually having enough people willing to play for once to make short teams. Dolores, Alma, Julieta, and Agustín sat out to watch.  She and Félix, Camilo and Mariano made up one, with Isabela as their goalie, a devious smile on her face.  Pepa had snagged Bruno and Mirabel, with Luisa as goalie and Antonio at the edges, promising to keep Parce out of the game as he footed the ball.  

    Futbol with the Madrigals had three rules: Luisa was always goalie, no hands on the ball, and first goal won.  Beyond that, it was complete, glorious, full contact chaos that looked more like the bastard child of a rugby match and street brawl.  Elena found that out the hard way when Pepa shouldered her out of the way to kick the ball to Mirabel, who made a clumsy pass to Antonio, who punted it off his head and almost made it in, the ball getting whipped away by a vine.  

    Elena jumped and caught it off her head, knocking it to Camilo with a shout.  He went red in the face as he ran with it, and she was snatched from behind and spun, Bruno's tan hands appearing at her bust and pulling her blouse back up over the four inches of exposed blue lace.  "Mine,"  he whispered, squeezing, before darting away, stealing the ball from his nephew and crossing it to his sister, who gave it a fierce kick to the goal, missing only because Félix snatched her in mid air and spun her away as she laughed, heat shimmer surrounding them as she got competitive. 

    Mariano took the ball, running down before making a powerkick at Luisa, tripped up as he went by Mirabel sliding in, missing the defense.  The ball smacked into Luisa's outstretched hand before she tossed it back out, rolling her shoulders and laughing.  Félix and Elena squarepassing between them as they darted up the field, Elena's hand holding up her blouse.  

    Pepa and Mirabel were guarding them both as they ran, darting in circles around them and shoulder-checking each time the ball passed.  Félix got fed up and ducked, picking up his wife, running with her squealing and flailing over his shoulder little fists beating at his back as she laughed.  Elena tried to shake Mirabel, but she was aggressive as a pissed badger, and wouldn't get off her, blocking every pass and feet tripping her up as she tried to steal the ball.  Elena hadn't played in years, and hadn't been good then, but she was sturdy and had more pounds than she was willing to admit on the younger girl, and wasn't shy about using it to her advantage.  She surged forward as Mirabel went for the ball again, crouching and twisting slightly and catching her at the waist with her solid arm, lifting and spinning her out into the open with a yell before trying to punt the ball back to Félix.

    Bruno had snuck in around her, silent on bare feet, kicking a tricky panna between her legs to Mirabel.  Elena squealed in surprise and tripped trying to catch herself, Bruno grabbing for her hand only to be wrenched down himself, landing nose to nose on top of her, bracketed in her legs, her skirts bunched past her knees.

    They froze and blinked at each other, faces blazing before a whoop from Félix shook them from their daze.  Bruno scrambled up, dragging Elena with him, both laughing and looking away from each other as he rubbed his arm.  The ball came sailing wide at them, and Elena hooked her arm through his, using her weight to swing him away and hike a flying kick at the ball, sending it sailing, Mariano crossing and heading it into the goal, surprising Luisa, who was still laughing at her tio's red face.  Elena cheered and did a little dance at the win, bumping Bruno with her hip as she did.  He gave her a lopsided, mischievous grin before pulling her back into him and dropping to the ground, yanking her into his lap solidly, tickling her neck with his nose and spouting melodramatic nonsense at her as she cackled, "You cheated!  The scandal!  The sheer dishonor!  To steal the ball at such a moment, to use me for momentum so cruelly!  Such deceitfulness, Senóra!  Surely I shall die of shock!"

    "You are absolutely ridiculous.  We won fair and square, you silly man!"

    "Fraud!  Chicanery!  Bamboozlement!  To think one so fair capable of such cunning!  My heart, it cannot survive this slight!"  He cried, clutching his heart before putting hand to forehead and pretended to faint.  Elena fell the rest of the way over laughing, covering her face at the scene he was making.

    "Ok there Shakespeare, whatever you say.  We still won, so nyaa!" she laughed, sticking out her tongue.  Bruno twisted up and stole a kiss, hands on either side of her face.

    "Eugh, get a room, tio!" Camilo yelled.  Elena tossed her shoe in his general direction as he cracked up and stood, pulling Bruno up with her.  She kicked off her other shoe, collecting it and the one she'd thrown as everyone made their way to the table, laughing and lazily kicking the ball to each other.  Bruno had slowed, hand in hers, letting them both straggle along down the yard, him angling away towards the town, keeping to grassy paths where their bare feet would be left unbruised.  "Thank you, for asking me to play.  And for playing.  Sorry we're a little...much."

    "I had fun out there.  I haven't played like that, well, ever, but at all in years!  And I liked seeing you out with everyone.  Just be glad nobody noticed those hands, tonto."

    He grinned then, something sharp and wolfish in his gaze as he pulled her to him, a low glint in his eye that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun.  "Who says they didn't?" 

    She'd been off kilter the whole walk home.

*****

Lunes it poured.  Not Pepa's doing, but the tail end of a typhoon that had hit off the coast of Argentina, according to the radio.  A few stubborn children had made it to her weekly reading, Juancho, Antonio, and Cosmo among them.  Bruno had come along with his sobrino, and was catching umbrellas at the door so none came into the bibliotheca fully opened.  The sweet gesture was almost enough to lift her spirits, but the low pressure had triggered a migraine from the seventh circle of hell.  

    She settled into her cushion by the circulation desk of the bibliotheca, watching the kids scrambling to find their favorite pillows among the stack she kept for her reading days.  She rubbed the frown line at her brow for a moment before putting on her cat's eye glasses, worn only for reading days.  Chacha was sitting on Antonio's shoulder, enjoying being down with her owner in the day now that she'd finally had Antonio explain why beaking up the books was bad.  Apparently it all came down to explaining that less sales meant no Brazil nuts, and that was enough of a threat to stop the obnoxious nibbling.  The perch she'd normally be restricted to was currently covered in rats, Bruno having brought gray Palmero and Mozzarella, as well as Hector and Pecasita.  The two gray rats were still a bit shy of her, having only just met, but she'd won them over quickly enough with some macadamia nuts.  She watched fondly as Bruno shuffled behind the counter of the café, digging out her colorful "Cerrado por los Lunes de Lectura!  Espantar!" sign and pulling ingredients from the cabinets, clearly trying to help.  She saw the bottle of rum make an appearance and grinned, sincerely hoping he was making that amazing xocolatl again.  'I need it.'  She grimaced, rubbing her temples.  

    A couple of the kids were looking at him askance, not used to seeing anyone but Senóra Elena behind the counters, let alone Antonio's mysterious tio.  She smiled then as  innocent little Cecilia looked up at her, twirling her braids, having caught her smiling at the man. 

    "Senóra Elena?  Is Senór Bruno your novio?"  She saw Antonio perk up at that, and could hear Bruno stilling at the counter, trying to grind ingredients more quietly.  She smiled at the little girl.  "I suppose you could say that," she said turning to watch as Bruno tried and failed to not listen in, blush blooming as his mouth quirked up.  "We're a little old to be calling each other that, though.  We like pareja better." 

    She scrunched her nose as she smiled, turning to their spot in La Muerte de Arturo.  It was a little advanced for them all, but Cosmo had been so enthusiastic when he'd chosen it she couldn't turn him down, even though it was turning into a serial read.  Clearly he took after his mother.  The boy in question waved his hand as she tried to flip to the right page.  "Does Senór Bruno really have ancient ruins in his room?  That's so cool!"  Elena sighed, removing her glasses and folding them in her shirt pocket before closing the book and leveling a look at them all.  She could hear Bruno snickering from the counter.  "Well, I don't know, I haven't seen his room in Casita, yet.  You'll have to ask him."  A chorus of high pitched chatter broke out, too much to parse through at once.  "Ok, who else has just the most burning questions about Senór Bruno?"  She laughed as seven little hands popped up wiggling with excitement, Antonio's being the only one not in the air, too preoccupied with stifling his giggles.

    "Ok ok ok!  Tonto, ayúdame un poco?"

    "Un segundo, ninfa."  He said, waving his hand at her as he poured something thick and brown into mugs on a tray, two larger ones in the center.  "Oh you better not have made them your xocolatl!  They'll never drink my cocoa again!" She exclaimed, laughing as he canted over, carefully balancing ten mugs at once.

      "That's just for you, Elena.  They get their regular treat."  He said before whistling through his teeth at his sobrino, who hopped up and handed out cocoas to his little friends.  "Thanks tio!" He whispered as he settled back in.  Elena took the mug Bruno handed her as well, scooting over so he could share her cushion, watching him as he got comfortable,  sitting cross legged and leaning into her slightly.

    "Alright, now that were all settled, one at a time.  And no, Juancho I'm not having him go back and add coffee to yours!"  The little boy stuck his lip out in a pout before shrugging.  Cosmo was practically vibrating next to him, and Elena sighed.  "Yes Cosmo, you can ask."

    "Is it really ancient ruins?  Are there tombs?  Do you have mummies in there?" 

    Bruno blinked in surprise, before remembering who the boy's father was and that he'd only seen his room the once.  "It used to look like old ruins, but it wasn't really.  No tombs and definitely no mummies...eesh..." he shivered, making a face that had the kids giggling.  "It's... much better now.  Just an oasis with too many potted plants from mi sobrina Isa and a big set-up for my ratas to play on."

    Cosmo almost looked disappointed.  

    "H-how many rats do you have?" Alejandra asked.  Pecasita and Mozzarella were squirreling up at her knees, sniffing curiously, and she looked a little wary.  Bruno gave a two toned whistle, and his rats came running, scampering up his legs and into his lap to stand, looking out at the children.  "Six!  Two are--are at home today.  But they're all friendly.  And trained, see?"  He took a plain arepa from the bag in his pocket, jostling the rats and setting them to run about in a circle over his crossed legs.  He split the arepa up into little pieces, holding them out in his palm, directing the rats to walk single file up and take a small piece before hopping back to nibble at it.  Pecasita hopped over to Elena's knee, where she patted her head before holding her out to Alejandra.  "They're just as sweet as Chacha, and a lot quieter!  This is Pecasita, see her speckles?  She's the first rat friend I made too."  Alejandra reached out, flinching just a bit when the little rat hopped across to her arm, but was won over by the little wiggling nose at her outstretched finger. She sat back down, rat snuggling into her lap.  

    Bruno stroked Elena's knee, a soft look in his eyes.  "Are you still doing visions, Senór Bruno?"  Martín Rosario asked, finger up his nose.  Bruno shrugged.  "Not really.  They're...not fun.  So I stopped."  Elena took his hand at that, thumb stroking across the back.  Martín looked a little upset at the prospect of no more visions.  "I don't need second sight to see the nosebleed in your future, Mat'o.  Quit digging for gold in my library, chamaco."

    "Lo siento, Senóra."   

    A couple of the hands had fallen, their questions answered one way or the other, little backs free of tension as they sipped on cocoas and watched the funny, nice man sitting next to Senóra Elena and having his rats do tricks across their laps, trying to reconcile him with the boogeyman their parents had always warned them about.  He was a little odd, but they all trusted Antonio, and he loved his tio.  Senóra Elena seemed to well, as best they could tell from how the two acted, closer than some of their own parents as they shared a cushion and talked to them, both absently petting the funny little trained rats he'd brought when they stopped to rest.

    "Did you really save Senóra Elena from bandits?"  Whispered Maria Panadero, Carlita the baker's youngest prima.  Her eyes were huge at the question, and Bruno shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his neck and not sure how exactly to answer that.  Elena took pity on him, knowing her friend liked to exaggerate any halfway decent rumor, occasionally at the expense of her three little primas states of mind. "Not bandits, Maria.  Just a very angry, bad man who can't hurt anyone now.  No need to worry about that anymore, ok cariña?"

    "Senór Bruno must have been very brave!" The little girl whispered starry eyed as she looked over at the unassuming man in the green ruana.  Elena smiled adoringly, forgetting herself for a minute as she swept Bruno's hair from his face, running her thumb across his eyebrow over the ghost of where Carlos had split it a few days before.  "He was...increíblemente valiente.  Even if he doesn't think so himself."

    "Elena..." he said, taking her hand in his, drawing a chorus of awws from the girls and snickers from the boys, whatever he meant to say cut off by the next cheeky question.

    "Have you been cross-starred?" Itzel Carmen interrupted, just as nosy as her mother, if a little confused.

      "Mamá says you must have been hiding away with Senóra Elena 'cus of the "shop scene."  What's the shop scene?"

    Elena laughed as Bruno tensed beside her, taking his hand back in hers.  "Your Mamá misheard us talking the other day, that's all.  He didn't hide away here all those years.  We're...new.  We've just known each other a very long time."

    "Diplomatic," Bruno muttered, scrupulous look on his face, taking note to have a word with Ligia Carmen about what she said in front of her daughter if Elena didn't say it first.  He didn't see the plotting looks between Cecilia and Antonio as they whispered behind their hands at each other.  "Senór Bruno?" Cecilia asked, looking at him with her head cocked to the side curiously.  He gazed up from his mug, waving for her to go on.  "Are you gonna marry Senóra Pascual?"

    "Yeah, Tio!  Am I getting a new Tia yet?"

    Bruno went wide eyed as he spluttered into his drink, xocolatl splashing over the side as he hacked, setting the mug down with a shaky hand as Elena squealed with laughter beside him, a handkerchief she'd produced from under her blouse blotting at the stains of rum infused chocolate on his clothes as his cheeks burned, patting his back as he caught his breath.

    "Tonito, you know better than to surprise your tio like that, behave cariño." 

    "Yes ma'am.  Lo siento, tio."

    "It--it's ok, kiddo.  I know you're just teasing me."  Elena patted his knee as he looked over at her, at a loss for what to do and with his face still burning.  She looked out to the children and shook her head, popping her glasses back on smartly.

    "I think that's enough questions for Senór Bruno today.  Maybe different questions next week, hm?  Now, we've already used up some of our time, so why don't we find out what Rey Arturo does next, in the country of Constantin?"  

    Bruno sat back and watched as she settled in comfortably, snapping her fingers in a quick tune to get their attention, all eight of the ankle biters settling down as she began to read.  He enjoyed listening to her, voice steady as she spun the story, accents and voices of characters wide ranging and expressive as she gestured widely, getting so invested in the story herself the kids couldn't help but do the same, eyes bright as they looked up at her. 

    He noticed a pattern soon enough though; after any especially lively line, Elena would pull a pained face, screw her eyes shut, and take a sip of her xocolatl before continuing, taking a breath.  He was about to say something when she closed the book and clapped her hands.  "Ok, baño break, chicitos!  Ve ahora!"  The kids groaned, but got up quickly, Cosmo and Juancho racing each other to the bathroom on shaky legs.   

Elena took off her glasses and slumped back against the desk, heels of her hands pressed to her eyes.

       "Are you alright, Elena?" He asked, hand on her knee.  She groaned and shook her head, pressing her eyes harder.  "Me head is killing me.  Damned typhoon front.  The low pressure sucks, like I have drums in there."

    "Why didn't you cancel the read?" He asked, "the kids would have been ok."   

    "I know, but I hate to do that to them, they look forward to this all week.  It's miserable out there today, and they still came.  Let them have their fun."

    "Is there anything I can do?"  Elena looked at him a moment, considering as she let the heat of his hand seep through her trouser leg, her head falling on his shoulder  "Mm...magic hands?"

    He laughed then, standing and taking her cup.  "Alright.  Let me get you another drink and I'll be back.  Scoot up, please."   

    She watched him go, shifting forward on her cushion and wondering what exactly he was up to.  She took the mug he offered her, stealing a sip as he tossed down the pillow he had at her back, kicking off his sandals and settling in behind her, wiggling his bare feet under her knees as he framed her legs.  She gave him a curious look as he pulled her back against him, hugging her tightly and placing a kiss on her temple.  The kids started filtering back at that point, getting settled again.  

    Antonio appeared at Bruno's elbow, handing over Pecasita, who was damp.  "I really hope she didn't fall in the baño?" Bruno asked, holding her under her front legs with two fingers, tongue out in distaste before he handed her off to Elena, less squeamish as she held out her handkerchief and wrapped the little speckled rat like a burrito.  "Alejandra dropped her in the sink by accident.  She wanted you after that.  What are you doing?"  Elena snickered, shimmying her shoulders against him as she leaned back.  "What are you doing, Senór Bruno?"  He wavered for a moment before puffing his chest, waggling his eyebrows theatrically as he put his head on her shoulder, hand to his mouth covertly.  "Well, Senóra Elena has a very bad headache.  Being a thoughtful pareja, I'm going to do my best to make it go away.  She's convinced I have magic hands."  He slid off her glasses then, resisting the urge to slip then in her pocket knowing his hands wouldn't behave, and put them on his own head, using them to push back his hair.  Elena sighed and leaned into him a little as warm hands began to work at her temples.  "Thank you, Bruno."

    He hummed and continued, Antonio watching them closely, crinkling his nose.  "You're weird, tio," he giggled before turning back to his pillow.  Bruno shrugged and ruffled his hair before waving him off.  "Eh, sí lo se."  

    Elena began reading again as the children settled down, the rain finally slowing outside as gentle fingers massaged away some of her pain.  She'd gotten a few curious looks from the kids, but nothing that needed addressing.  As she went on, reading about the old English king fighting man eating giants, she felt him weedling the pins from her curls, carefully laying her hair out down her back.  The occasional soft clicking told her he was keeping her bobby pins in his teeth.  The simple ease of the gesture made her smile as his hands threaded through her hair, removing tangles and knots gently from the bottom up, sending tingles up her scalp and down her spine. By the time the rain had stopped, the giant was killed, and the children had filtered out, half of them forgetting their little umbrellas, her migraine was at a manageable level of pain, more beesting than the whole hive.  Antonio was at her and Bruno's side, waiting for his tio.  Bruno gave him a look, his hands woven through her hair and pins in his mouth still.  "Why don't you head on home, 'Tonio?  I'll be back for dinner."  The little boy gave his tio an odd look, but headed out, taking the rats with him.

    "Mm, I need to get back to work, Bruno.  Everyone knows when story hour is over.  They'll be filtering in soon."

    "I don't see you getting up..." he muttered around a mouthful of pins.

    "Your hands are in my hair.  You've trapped me.  I'm not complaining, but it'll make filling coffee orders weird."

    "Give me a few minutes.  No one is here yet."

    With that, he scrubbed at her scalp firmly, nails scritching against her skin until she sighed and melted against him.  He freed his hands and moved her hair off to the side, slipping a hand under her blouse to expose her bra strap, slipping pin after pin along the band until he'd got rid of them all, before pulling her against him and laying warm, open mouthed kisses to her exposed neck.  She squirmed against him, breathy laughter caught in her throat. 

    "Sorry, sorry.  You look so happy sharing stories.  I couldn't help but get a little lost listening."  He stopped here, shifting her hair further to the side, finding the soft spot behind her ear again, and scraping his teeth there before suckling a mark to the surface, stroking her loose hair as he did and chuckling at her gasp.

      "Here, let--let me fix this.  Your hair is so soft, ninfa. And it smells of cinnamon.  You'll have to let me play with it again..."  He efficiently split her hair into sections, weaving gently as he hummed, his legs shifting up and down under her own as he worked, occasionally pulling a pin and sliding it into the braid he was making.  Before she knew it, hypnotized by the steady, methodical patterns his hands were making across her scalp, he had lain a thick braid, completed and tied off with a bit of thread he'd found somewhere, over her shoulder.  

    He stood just as Osvaldo Ortiz walked into the café, pulling Elena up with him.  He helped her gather cushions and pillows, taking them all back to their corral before he left, flicking the braid he'd made her as he went.  "Until tomorrow, mi oréade."  He breezed out the door with a self satisfied smirk on his face. 

*****

On Martes she had chased everyone out of the shops early, closing down so she could finally get her shopping done and end Bruno's continual teasing about her bare shelves.   Which were his fault.  Because he kept distracting her, damn the man.  She'd written out her list after he'd slipped out of the shop, paring it down after she counted out what she had for her budget.  Just staples, it seemed, though she could bulk it up if she dug out her father's old fishing gear and made an effort to go to the river.  Maybe she could con Bruno to go with her, though she wasn't sure if his hands would actually be any use on the extra fishing pole or if he'd have them up her shirt the whole time.   

    She dreaded shopping.  She always wound up haggling too much with the Rosario twins,  perras tacañas that they were, and she knew it was going to be twice as bad after the hoguera.  Neither of them liked her, and they were among the townspeople that were never going to accept Bruno, no matter what he did.  

    She just wanted to get her groceries and go, but Bruno apparently made other plans, appearing at her side as soon as she made it to the market, taking her basket with a grin, his hood up but not covering his face, his gentle smile a welcome sight as she did mental math.  She passed the Sanchezes stall, knowing that if Chacha wanted anything special she'd have to go and steal it on the sly or ask Antonio, who seemed to have an unending supply of animal treats from his magical jungle room.  At least she didn't have to face going to the butcher's this week, Carlos gone and the new carnicera still getting set up, cleaning out his shop and scrubbing it to her seemingly surgical standards.   

    She haggled lightly over a slightly motheaten bag of dried faba beans, balancing it on her shoulder as she moved on, ignoring Bruno's protests that he could carry it for her.  She looked at him askance before shrugging and rolling the bag down her arm.  "I'm going to be a while, Bruno.   At least balance it on your shoulder, that twenty pounds gets heavy in the basket."  He shook his head and hefted it up, the weight not bothering him.  "You know you don't have to do this, right?  Like...this is just boring life stuff, you could be doing something fun?"

    He'd shifted the basket to the other hand and taken hers, pulling her to him and tapping their joined hands against his thigh one, two, all of seven times before shaking his head again, tossing a pinch of salt over one shoulder and sugar over the other.  "I just want to be close.  It's...I haven't really done this in years, a whole trip.  I need to...need to push myself more, or I'll never get back to where I was.  Before.  This helps.  If I can spend the time with you...it's...it's not as hard."

    "Are you sure?  I keep telling you I'm not very exciting most days."

    He bumped her hip with his own.  "Exciting enough for me.  Just don't bring the bears down from the mountains and I'm happy."

    "Oh mierda, were you there that day?" She blanched, remembering the spectacle she'd made of herself, racing in through the palisade howling like a madwoman and covered in grime from the road.  He shot her a cocky grin then, laughing at the stricken look on her face.  "There's a reason I call you mi oréade, you know.  That day...you looked magnífica, wild.  No fear at all when you had a bear chasing you.  Arturo cut me loose for the day and I...I don't remember how I made it home, Elena.  How could I, when I'd just seen this beautiful, feral semidiosa charging down the mountain like she'd...like she'd set it on fire?"

    "Encantador de lengua plateada," she mumbled, looking away as her face blazed.  He squeezed her hand tighter and pulled her close.  "Come on, let me watch you argue with people.  You're very good at it and I need my dose of sadismo."

    "You're an odd man, Senór Madrigal.  But I like it."  She grinned, turning slightly to inspect some of the fruit on display.  He didn't let go of her hand, but snuck a pinch to her bottom in her voluminous skirts that made her squeak and drop the scoop in the dried papaya, before she chucked a carambola at him.  He must have seen it coming,  because he snatched it with his teeth as he chucked a coin to Rodrigo, who fumbled it but waved. 

    Elena couldn't help but watch as Bruno distractedly split the star shaped fruit, slicing it down one seam  with his thumbnail and splitting it open, licking away the juice slowly before doing the same with the other four seams.  She had to wonder if he knew what he looked like he was doing, running his tongue down the angled folds, but the fact that he looked up at her without a hint of a blush anywhere on his face as he offered her a piece had her doubting it.  Then again, it wouldn't be the first time he surprised her.  She took the offered sliver and nibbled at it as she filled her basket with various shades of plantains, enough to ripen and last a while, ignoring the tingling of her skin as she shook her head, trying to clear the images she'd conjured up away.  She selected some under-ripe zapotes and borojó that would also last for a while.  She was prepared to haggle Rodrigo down, he always charged too much as far as she was concerned, but he waved her off, handing her a bag of maracuyá.  "Your money's no good here this week, Leni.  It's the least I can do after Beatriz giving you two a hard time...and all the rest...  And for you putting up with Juancho yesterday."

    "Rodrigo, I'm not that broke, let me at least pay you for what I picked out." She balked, heat pricking up her back at the thought that she'd be caught out by Bruno.  She didn't want him knowing how tight her budget really was.

    " 'Ahh, nope.  Final word.  Shoo.  Senór Madrigal?"

    "Gift horses and all that, Elena.  Es de buena fe."  He said as he pulled her away.  She tried to protest, but shrugged it off, as she made her way to the Zapateria, her alpargatas in their box.   

    Diego greeted her stuffily, inspecting the damage.  "The ties will be easy enough to fix, but these need to be resoled as well.  Or thrown out.  They're very old."  

    "Can you repair the ties, please?  I don't mind that they're a bit beat up.  Comfier that way."

    "What happened with these, anyway?  They look gnawed on.  Chacha?

    "Heh, my ah, my rats, actually.  Lo siento, Elena..." Bruno mumbled, rubbing his arm.  Diego gave him a snotty look, trying to see if any of the rodents in question were on his person, but said nothing.

    "Come back Viernes.  I'll have them done by then.  Free of charge, considering...ah...well."

    "Thank you, Senór Constantino.  Lo aprecio."  

    She dithered her way through the market, Bruno a step back, a mostly quiet shadow carrying her basket.  She saw the appraising glances of people as she passed.  Silvia Gonzalves gave the both of them a saucy look as Elena paid for her vegetables. 

    Silvia pulled her in, handing her a string of garlic and a tiny bag of black pearl peppers as Bruno was gazing off, grumpily distracted as he watched Mariano and Dolores walking past the market stalls, Mariano's hand disappearing up the back of Dolores' blouse as he pulled her in close.  "He likes his ceviche spicy, you know," Silvia said with a wink before continuing.  "Don't let him get away, Lenita, you lucky thing.  He's only tímido in public...pero Bruno se lleva la locura a la alcoba.  You'll find out soon enough if I remember that look in his eye right, salvaje y verde."

    Elena's mouth went dry as she thanked the older woman, sneaking a glance back at Bruno, who didn't notice, and was gazing at her longingly thinking himself unseen.  "I'll...keep that in mind, Silvia."  She whispered, praying Dolores had been distracted enough to not hear.   Her face was burning as she turned, occupying herself with sorting her basket as she glanced surreptitiously at Silvia.  She was a short woman with riotous iron gray curls, her once voluptuous body having given way to cheerful stoutness years before when she became an abuela, but still with an exuberant energy about her, as if she were still the unrestrained, busty young widow she had been in her forties, burning through the available bachelors like they were about to expire, charming them all with her smokey voice and buxom frame.   Bruno had a type, it seemed.  If even half of the gossip she'd heard Silvia cluck about over the years were true, she was in for more than she'd bargained for, and the thought sent a thrill down her spine so strong her knees shook. 

    Silvia smirked at her and sent her on her way, throwing a wink at Bruno as she did, his jaw clenching as his ears went red. 

    Roberto smiled at them when they made it to his stall, Elena putting in her usual order of cocoa.  "We had some trees damaged in this last rain, so I've been too busy to stop by, but something told me I'd see you today."  The older man said as he began packing her order.  "I brought these for you.  Andrea just passed her semester end exams at el universidad!  She'll be coming home to visit next month."  He beamed with pride over his daughter's achievements as he handed Elena a bouquet of flowers, hot pink lilies and peach colored roses, and bright blue hydrangeas.  "I had Camilia pick them out, she says they mean thank you."  

    "Thank you, Roberto, they're lovely.  I'm happy to hear Andrea is doing so well.  It'll be good to see her again!"

    Bruno took the bouquet as she grabbed her cocoa, fingers flickering through the blooms until he found one that stood out, a lily buried in the center to fill out the bunch, pink in the middle with its petals turning a bold red the further they got from the center.  He pulled it out, careful to not jostle the rest of the flowers, and stuck it her hair over her ear, quiet smile on his face as he pulled her along.  

    Elena slowed as she made her way to the Rosario's stall, not liking the calculating looks in their eyes as she came up, knowing they'd been watching her and Bruno this whole time.  They looked down their noses at Bruno, who's smile fell at the sight of them, mouth turning down in distaste.  "Claudia.  Paola."  Elena greeted them, just wanting her bag of rice and sack of flour and to go.  The twins had other plans, completely ignoring Bruno as they grinned.  "Hola, Elena!  I see you've brought your new...novio along.  How...sweet of him to follow along behind."

    "Bruno is a sweet man."  Elena said simply, squeezing his hand in answer to his tapping against his leg, seven times again.

    "Oh, he certainly looks it, eighteen pesos quierda, but don't let that fool you." Claudia simpered, her smile not reaching her eyes.

    "Seven, you always overcharge.  And what is that supposed to mean?"

    "Elena, por favor, I'll pay whatever they want, let's just go."  Bruno muttered, hint of panic in his voice as his eyes darted between the twins, their cold smiles reminding him of sharks.

    "You aren't paying for my groceries, Bruno.  Claudia, stop filling my bag with cagada and just knock the price down.  And leave Bruno out of this."

    "Fine, sixteen pesos.  You two are getting so...cozy.  We just want what's best for you, Lenita.  You've been alone so long, after all...you should know how he really is." Paola giggled, her face mean as a fox.

    "Because you've always been so concerned with my relationship status when you weren't stealing my novios? Nine." Elena snapped, remembering the two from her twenties, eight years older and brazen about their looks, flaunting it over every girl they could.  Claudia tittered, jabbing her finger into the bag of rice they were haggling over.  "Fourteen.  And you should talk about us!  Be glad you don't have a sister for that braguetero to chase!"

    "Claudia, that is enough!" Bruno snapped, furious, before Paola appeared beside him, hissing in his ear loud enough for Elena to hear.  "It wasn't enough when you thought I was her, or when you predicted both out marriages would fail, Maldición Bruno.  Don't let this cute face fool you, Lenita.  He'll ruin what little you are and leave laughing!"

    Elena winced at how tightly Bruno was holding her hand, his grip trembling as his jaw worked, unable to speak as his face burned red, his eyes furious and panicked and glowing.  It had all clicked into place as Paola mentioned her and her sister's divorces, though, and Elena started laughing coldly as she threw down a ten peso note.  Bruno looked at her as she cackled, her smile cruel and her teeth bared at the twins, who looked unsettled, knowing her temper. 

    "Ten, you malditos mentirosos, and don't come after me for more.  You pulled the same shit on him that you did on your husbands, didn't you?  Trading off and not telling and thinking it was funny when people found out?  And you wonder why they divorced you?  I don't blame them, when none of your children look like they belong to the right couple!  A blind man would have seen that coming!"

    Claudia choked at that, enraged. "You take that back!  You don't know anything!"

    "The whole town knows ambos son putas en llamas!  Nobody ever says anything but maybe they should!  Swing all you like but don't drag unwilling people into it!"

    "He broke Claudia's heart!" Paola spat, glaring at the man, Bruno leveled a flat look at her, his voice low.

      "Ha!  Like Manuel broke my nose when he found out what you did?  I don't like being lied to, Paola, and I didn't like your games.  What I ever saw in your sister I'll never know.  I didn't see anything in you and I still don't." 

    "You fell into bed with me easy enough!"

    Elena shook her head and laughed, tugging at Bruno's hand as she hefted the bag of rice onto her head, tossing a sack of cassava flour in the basket as she went, glare daring either sister to say anything when she'd paid.  "So has half the town!  If that's the best argument you have, you're a puta imbécil, Paola.  I'll tell you one time, leave Bruno alone.  He's a better man than either of you ever deserved, and I am not your friend to worry over.  Te jodan, and don't let me see you near my shop.  You and your sister are no longer welcome."  

    She gave an undignified yelp then as Bruno dragged her away, his hood falling as he pulled her rapidly towards the alley at the back of the market, laughter shaking him as he went.  She couldn't see his face, but his shoulders were squared and his head high.  She stumbled, keeping her hand up on her rice as he picked up speed, his hand gripping hers too tightly as they made their way through the back alleys, back to her shop.  She didn't even have to hunt for her keys.  His hand slid into her pocket, smooth as a thief and pulled them out, fingers leaving with a lingering caress to her thigh as he turned and unlocked her door, pulling her inside and dropping the basket, some of her fruit bouncing out and rolling away.  She fell back against the door, slamming it with a loud click when she got a look at his face, dark and severe and eyes blazing.  

    He lifted away the bag balanced on her head deliberately, pulling the flower from her hair and trailing the soft petals down her neck, gauging her reaction.  She licked at dry lips and he swept in, pulling her against him, his mouth on hers bruisingly, sucking in her bottom lip as he pressed her against her door, leg up and between hers and hands roaming her waist, pulling her blouse from her skirt to feel skin, his hands leaving trails of heat wherever they went.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and dug her hands into his hair as he swiped at her tongue, his hands trailing down to cup at her ass and pull her closer, erection nudged against her through their far too many layers of clothes.  She moved her leg to wrap around him, pulling him closer and hitching up on her toes for some kind of friction when he smiled into her mouth and pulled away, foreheads together as she whined. 

    "Thank you,"  he said simply as she tried to focus, gnawing at her lip. 

    "For-for what?"

    "For not believing those two.  For defending me?  For having the filthiest mouth in the Encanto?  Pick one."  He said as he moved away, picking up her shopping as he went.  She followed him, grabbing what he didn't have hands for, and opening the door to her loft stairway, knowing he always had trouble with the latch.  "Bruno, those two burned through every man they came across and half the women.  I'd be more surprised if one of them hadn't set their sights on you."

    "It...doesn't bother you?  That I...with them...you know... well..."

    "That you aren't some blushing virgin?  Why on earth would that bother me?  I do have eyes, Bruno.  And ears.  I'm less interested in those two and their petty mudslinging and more interested in finding out if everything vidua Gonzalves has said over the years is true.  She remembers you very...fondly, let's say."      Bruno pulled a face like he'd swallowed a bug as he set her shopping down on the counter.  "I was...very young.  And Silvia has a big mouth."

    "If memory serves, you were twenty-seven to her forty and I also have a big mouth.  You, Senór, have a type," she grinned.  He rubbed his neck and snickering, caught out, before splaying his hands out and shrugging. 

    "You've found me out.  I cannot resist the charms of una Venus franca.  You have trapped me in your web, arañita."  Elena laughed, shaking her head as she started packing up her shopping, finding a vase for the flowers and bowls for the fruit.  "You are the most ridiculous man!" She said as his arms came around her, hands resting on top of her tits as she moved, fingers wiggling into her cleavage.

    "True.  And yet here I am, in your loft, ardiendo en tu luz del sol." He said, voice low as he pressed her up against her cabinets, grinding against her shallowly, just enough for her to feel him, teasing.

    "Ay, go home Bruno, you silly thing, before we both do something we aren't ready for." She breathed, butting her shoulders against his chest, turning and smoothing her hands down his ruana.  "I'll see you tomorrow.  And thank you, for...all of today."   

    He swept out with a smile on his face, leaving with a gentle kiss to her cheek, replacing the flower in her hair as he went. 

*****  

    She didn't see him in the shop at all the next day, surprising her and making the day go by just a little slower.  It would have been a slow day anyway, but her body was rebellious and every part of her was aching, the dull throb in her abdomen the worst it had been since Viernes.  It was odd, she thought as she swept up, how quickly he'd expanded his role in her life.  While she'd been completely honest with him when she'd told him he had never been just another customer, she'd never treated him any differently, too afraid of chasing him away.  He'd been a quiet constant, but before all this started, before he'd jumped to her defense and thrown himself into her life without realizing it, her days had been this quiet, and she'd never really noticed.  Now her days were as unpredictable as they were sweet, and she found herself unsure of what to do when she didn't have him there, either a quiet presence to tease or the bright, bold distraction he didn't even realize he could be.  She missed him in his chair, quietly turning pages and bouncing his foot, or more recently at the counter, long fingers tapping out a rhythm as they drifted together and apart throughout the day, reaching for her at odd moments or just holding hers when she was still.  Her pareja, she smiled, still surprised by how easily he fit into her life while also being the agent of chaos that he was, even if he didn't realize it.  

    She wondered idly where they would be, if she had spoken up years ago.  He was almost as much a part of the shops as she was, at least at first, when she was still in school and working the last few hours and he had come in to read with his sisters and later his little nieces.  He'd made himself scarce whenever her father had come through, always an intimidating man, but they had respected each other well enough when their paths had crossed.  Her father had even seemed to like him, though from a distance.  She remembered the scowl he'd always worn on those rare days when Bruno had been what passed for talkative, sharing bits from his books when they matched up with hers, or when he caught the man leaving his little good luck charms.  Likely he would have let her down gently, if she thought it through.  He was still self conscious about their age gap, she could only imagine it would have been worse then, if she'd approached him as a fresh faced twenty something as aggressively as she'd done so now.  She hoped he was alright.  This would have been the first time in months outside of her being closed on Domingo that he missed his daily espresso.  

    She was just locking up when he skidded in through the library door, silly grin on his face as he spun, grabbing her hand and taking her with him before taking her face in his hands and smooshing his lips against hers, breaking away and waving something in her face with a triumphant laugh.  She uncrossed her eyes with a shake of her head to see two little green tickets. She took them and quirked a brow at the title.

     "Much Ado About Nothing?"

    "Luisa's novio pulled through and got us good seats."

    "Marco's part of the theater?  Also, what now?"

    Bruno paused and looked at her then, her hair a mess, her eyes tired, her face drawn and pale, and his face fell.  "Unless...you don't want to...I should have asked..."  Elena took his hand and sat him down at the counter, automatically starting an espresso for him.  "Bruno, of course I'd love to go, you just took me by surprise is all.  More than you intended, I think.  Today was...rough."

    His brow furrowed with concern, and he held his hands out to her across the countertop.  "Tell me?"

She sighed, setting his half crushed beans aside and taking his hands, leaning forward and placing them on her cheeks as she rested her forehead on the counter.  "I missed you.  I broke three mugs today, my head is killing me and I feel like a horse is dancing on my stomach.  And I missed you."

    "You said that twice."

    "Emphasis.  It was just...a lot, you know?  The last few days have been amazing and then I just...ugh."  She felt him stand, following without protest as he led her to his favorite chair, sitting down and gathering her into his lap, hands at her belly and chin nuzzled into her neck.  "What's wrong, Elena?  Please?"

    "Nothing's really wrong-wrong.  Just...this day has stunk and I feel gross and I just can't believe you want to be seen out in public with me like this."

   "You look like you didn't sleep."

    She chuffed.  "Yeah, it wasn't great.  Bad dreams.  Not...not from that.  Just...I was there, when Papá... sometimes I still see it."  He hummed against her, lips brushing her shoulder as he dug his fingers into her abdomen, kneading away her pain so easily.  

He remembered hearing about her father's death.  It had been one of the few times Julieta had been at a loss for what to do. 

He'd heard it from the walls, Elena being the one who'd had to come, her mother unable to leave the house due to her nerves and being kept company by some cousin.  She had argued with Julieta for hours, not to try and heal her father, knowing that his sister's gift had long since stopped working on the man beyond surface comfort, but for something to put him to sleep so he wasn't aware of drowning in his own blood.  Julieta didn't have anything that would do the the trick, because he had stolen it and she hadn't had time to make more.

    "I'm sorry his passing was so hard.  I...I remember you coming and asking for help."

    "How? You had left by then...the walls?  While you were healing?"

    He nodded into her neck, a heavy sigh as he came clean, knowing that if he didn't get the thought out now it would eat at him until he did.

    "I...I had a plan, when I went, you know.  My visions...I knew there would be more.  I couldn't risk anyone hearing.  Dolores...she didn't realize I was in the house until a few years later, just knew I hadn't left the Encanto.  Her gift was...weaker, when she was younger.  The visions...I...pain can stop them, sometimes.  Or sleep.  If I don't have...someone to focus on.  If I can...catch them fast enough.  I'd stolen Julieta's poppy extract for the...for the sleep.  It took her so long to make it the right way for it to work with her gift and everything was going crazy...she just hadn't had time.  Lo lamemto, mi ninfa.  I caused you pain even then, there's no way to make up for it."

    Elena rested her head against his, shifting in his lap and holding his arms against her tightly, thumbs circling the bones of his wrists, thinking back and considering that day.  "Julieta wouldn't have given me anything anyway.  She knew I didn't just want Papá to sleep, the same way the doctor did when I asked him.  Papá had been gone for days...his body...his body just...didn't realize it..." she brought her hand to her mouth to smother her sob then, the pain drifting up from her heart, so raw from the dream.  A light touch brushed away the tears as they came, wiry arm holding her tight around the middle as she hiccupped, trying to stop.  She batted his hands away, upset and trying to stand, not knowing where her head was at.   

He pulled her back, turning her to fall straddling over him, and he crushed her to him in a tight hug, hands rubbing down her hair and back as she clung to him.  "It wasn't your fault, Bruno.  It wasn't mine or Julieta's or anyone else's.  Life...isn't kind...I'm sorry, I just...." 

    "I know, Elena.  I'm sorry.  I should have told you, when you asked about...about the vision.  I was...you were kind to me, even then.  I...I didn't want to lose that.  I thought... Hebér was such a practical man... I thought he'd tell you.  To prepare you...save you the pain..."

    "My father always chose the worst times to be protective."  Elena huffed, turning her face into his neck, thumb along his collarbone as she shifted.  "He got worse after I...after I noticed you.  I don't know why.  It's not like I wasn't an adult."  He laughed at the little trill of spite in her voice, his hand shifting down to her leg as he thought.  

    "Men...are stupid.  We always want to defend women we--care about, even if we know they can defend themselves.  Remember how riled up I got when you told me about Isa and the new doctor?"

    She laughed, shaking her head "So silly.  Isa will eat him alive."

    "Still my niece, Elena, please."

    "You're going to have to get used to it quick, you know.  Mariano practically lives with you already and Marco is apparently your scalper."

    "Doesn't mean I have to like it..."

    She kissed his nose then, settling into his lap and rifling in his shirt pockets for the tickets, looking for the play time.

    "I'm sorry, Elena.  If you'd rather not go, I understand.  I just thought...I wanted to...to take you on a real date, you know...not just...be in your hair all day."

    "Bruno, what do you think the last few days have been if not dates?"

    "Me being...clingy?"  He shrugged, half teasing, but there was doubt in his voice as well.

    "Well, you haven't been.  Ok?  The care you've shown me over the last few days...Bruno I don't deserve you."  "No," He said squeezing her against him as he ducked his head into her shoulder, not wanting her to see his face.  "You deserve so much better.  For whatever reason, you've decided on me." 

    "We're really bad at this, aren't we?" Elena huffed, chewing her lip as he jolted in alarm.  "I don't mean we us.  Just...being people.  I just get angry and wild and either explode or hold it all in til I break.  You sacrifice too much of yourself just to avoid upsetting people.  We're a mess.  I can't even grieve properly, have it popping up and ruining a night out with...with someone I really care about..."

    "There's no right way to grieve, not...not really.  But, you know...Ximena was right, the other day.  We complement each other, mi media naranja.  You make me braver, I think."

    She smiled and kissed him then, her hand stroking at the stubble on his jaw.  "And you calm me, soften my edges.  Remind me I don't have to live life all at once."

    "What you get for seeing an old man, I slow you down."

    "One of these day, Bruno, I'm going to convince you you aren't old.  Stop it."  She laughed, smacking his shoulder lightly.  "Now that I've probably ruined it, what did you have planned for tonight?"

    He gave her an exasperated look and pinched her side, making her giggle.  Taking note of that for later, he took her hands in his, lost in thought.  "I wanted to do this right, you know?  Dinner, a show, the...the works.  You didn't ruin anything.  Might have to eat later though.  If...if you still want to." 

    She shifted, sliding off his lap and tugging him up, heading to the café counter with a smile.  "Let me finish this for you.  I don't know what to do with my hands, not making it for you today.  I need to change after that.  We've got the time.  Wait for me?" 

    "Who else would I be waiting for?"  

    She rolled her eyes at him, sitting chin in hand and giving her a sappy look as she finished his coffee.  He'd cleaned himself up for this, his hair tied back and his beard trimmed.  He'd worn the guayabera with the mimosa leaves, and she'd caught a hint of cologne, something earthy with vetiver that suited him very well.  She came around the counter to hand him the espresso, setting his hands down so he wouldn't spill it on his good shirt as she bent in close and trailed a slow kiss up the line of his throat.  "I won't take long."  

    She dipped into her classics section for just a second to grab one of her multiple copies of the old play, stuffing it in her purse before heading upstairs, knowing the little theater never had decent playbills.  She didn't have time for a shower, but she shed her faded trousers as she made her way up the stairs, knowing he was watching when she heard his muffled "mierda."  She dug out her favorite skirt, a deep royal blue, and shuffled into it as she grabbed her seafoam colored blouse, heading to her bathroom to deal with the unpleasant necessities of life and throw something resembling a face on herself.  She chose the dark red lipstick and stuffed her compact into her bra, knowing she'd need it one way or the other before the night was over.  She flipped her hair away, agitated at its oily state, before sprinkling her mother's old remedy of cornstarch and cocoa powder at her roots, rubbing it in and brushing out her curls to some semblance of decent.  She even dug out her mother's old necklace, the little silver frog pendant winking out as she fought with the tarnished clasp. 

    He met her at the door, face split in a hopeful grin as he took her arm.  "Something is missing," he said, stalling before he darted up into her loft.  "Turn for me, please," he asked when he appeared again, hands behind his back.  She turned, snickering as they made their way into her hair, making a quick braid at either of her temples and pinning them down before threading the small, separated flowers of a blue hydrangea throughout.  He wrapped his arms around her then, "Hermosa Elena," he whispered as he pulled her away, leading her down the stairs and out her door. 

    "So, why this particular comedy, other than it's what the teatro is putting on at the moment?"

    "I like the ones...with happy endings.  Shakespeare isn't my favorite, but I always liked this one."

    "I was just curious if you were trying to hint at something with the timing.  I would have gone to any play with you whenever, you know."

    "I...I don't understand..."

    "That's right, you wouldn't have had Raunchy Reyes for that class...Bruno, Senór Shakespeare could have just as easy named it 'Losing Your Mind Over Pussy'"

    He snorted, ears pink. "Elena, ay dios mio!  Wait--what now?"

    "It's true!  Even the title is one big sex joke.  "Nothing" was slang for...that...at one point."

    "And you're sure nothing got lost in translation?"

    "Senóra Reyes was very, very insistent about pointing out all the sex in Shakespeare.  I think she realized it was the only way to get a bunch of bored Colombian teens to pay any attention to five hundred year dead English man."

    "Looks like she made an impression."

    "It's literally the only thing I remember from that year of school   That was the year I broke Julio's nose.  I was...preoccupied."

    Bruno remembered that year. Luisa had just been born and the shops were doing well, but her father's health had started to decline noticeably and Elena had had to take over more and more responsibility.  She'd stopped tearing around after school with her friends and wasn't available to babysit any longer, always with a school book at the counter and a pencil in her mouth or hair as she dashed about to make sales, taking correspondence courses from Bogotá her parents had arranged with Senór Geraldo's help.   The degree hung proudly over the circulation desk even now.  She'd also had problems from some of the older boys harrasing her, including a younger Carlos.  He remembered one of them trying to slip a hand up her skirt one day as she stood on a ladder.  The boy hadn't seen him, his presence in the aisle usually keeping everyone but Elena away, but he hadn't needed too.  Elena had hopped off the ladder with a shrill yelp, landing solidly on both his feet, knee slamming into his crotch before hooking his ear so tightly he thought she'd twist it off.  She'd dragged him swearing the air blue to the door and booted him out so hard she'd left a print on his ass.  He was pretty sure it was the first time she'd heard him laugh, since he could still remember her startled expression as he had applauded from his chair.  Sofia, who'd never had an ill word to say about him, had kicked him out for encouraging her daughter's vulgar language, and he'd had to bring flowers for a week to apologize. 

    He pulled her closer, hip to hip as they made their way trippingly down the road, cursing himself as he still couldn't stop avoiding the cracks.  Elena heard him and shook her head, stilling him for a moment.  "Bruno, it's alright, don't worry about it so much."

    "Sorry, sorry, I can't help it. I hate that I do this...can't even walk in a straight line."

    "I didn't mean that.  Don't worry about it bothering me.  It doesn't."

    "It doesn't bother you, that you're stuck walking with a paranoid, superstitious old fool?"

    "Bruno, if you're mean to yourself one more time tonight I swear will fucking bite you!  You aren't old, and given your gift and the things you've seen, of course you're anxious."  She huffed, taking his face in her hands and kissing him angrily under the streetlamp until he wilted against her, pulling her close.  "Elena...I just...I don't want to be like this...but it's...it's part of me."  She huffed again, shoving him with her hip and pulling him along, dragging his hand around her waist.  "Don't deny you found that box of good luck charms of yours I kept.  I know who you are, Bruno.  I'm not going to turn you away just because you dodge cracks in the street and constantly have sugar in your pockets.  Now, please come out of that mess of a head of yours and take me to this show so I can laugh at Octavio and Miranda failing miserably at acting!" 

    He laughed at that, grateful to whatever twist of fate had thrown her his way.  He grinned  at the slight to the theatre, knowing she was right and it was going to be terrible, and looking forward to it.  Something else she said had latched onto his brain, and he leaned in, his hand snaking up her side, thumb lazily stroking the side if her breast as he whispered, "Now...about you biting me?"

    She squeaked, surprised by his tone, before recovering.  "Only if you ask nicely." 

    The play was, in fact, astonishingly terrible.  Marco was decent as Leonato, but too young for the part, and looked ridiculous in the stage makeup they'd slapped on him.  Luisa didn't seem to mind, from what they could see of her in the front row from their balcony seats, wiggling in excitement when she saw him come onstage and giving a shy little wave.  Miranda tried, but was somehow too overwrought to Octavio's too flat, and it couldn't have been written more terribly, the translation they'd used losing half the poetry and keeping the worst parts of the meaning.  She and Bruno got shushed several times, laughing a little too loudly as she showed him what a good translation looked like and pointed out the raunchiest of the missed jokes, having managed to grab her old copy and not one of the loaners by mistake.  His hand never left her side, though he had to lean awkwardly in the uncomfortable seats to acheive that, arm of the chair jammed in his ribs, face pressed close to hers so he could make out her neat and lewdly illustrated notes, knuckle in his teeth to stifle his laughter after the fifth or sixth angry "Shhh!" Elena started shushing back at one point, and he'd buried his face in her neck just to avoid getting thrown out.  

    They left arm in arm, still laughing, when the show was over to try and find something to eat.  Bruno had originally intended to take her to El Loro Azul, a little house restaurant run by Marta and Maria Castillo, the stone mason's wives, but they'd been closed for an hour by the time the show cut out.  Elena had let him take the lead, and he'd surprised her by leading her back to the town square.  Lili Medina had her food cart out late, like she always did the back half of the week, and waved to them.  "What do you think?  It won't be anything fancy..." he nudged her, considering.  

    Elena shook her head, snorting.  "Exactly what part of me is fancy?" 

    "...I could make a list..." he murmured, leaning back to sweep his eyes over her, thumbs in his belt as he smirked, eyes flashing the slightest of greens.  "L-lili's is fine by me." She stuttered, flushing at the look and tucking her hair behind her ear to hide her face. 

    They ordered two of the day's specials, spicy salchipapas swimming in sauce and sweet avenas sprinkled with cinnamon, making their way to the quiet fountain once Bruno had paid.  Elena had tried to split the costs, but he'd been two steps ahead of her, producing her billfold from his back pocket when she started panic-riffling through her purse, that disarming crooked smirk leaving her wondering when he'd nicked it and how he'd done it without her ever noticing.   

    "So...good show?" Bruno asked, staring into his food and stirring it into a slurry, his earlier confidence slipping away.  Elena laughed, not noticing, her mouth full, "It was the worst!  Octavio looked like a sack of wine up there!"  She stopped then, seeing his shoulders slump, and continued, "but I had a wonderful time anyway.  Because I spent it with you."  He gave a crooked grin and set his food aside, "I guess I remembered more about this than I thought.  I'm...I wish things would have gone a little more smoothly.  I wanted to...to do this right at least once...."

    "Bruno, I had a good time, it's fine.  You didn't have to do all this to impress me, you know."

    "I don't know what you mean," he mumbled, trailing off and looking away to avoid her eye.

    She took his hand, turning it over and examining his fingers, cuticles torn to shreds.  "You were pushing yourself, fighting your nerves the whole time, Bruno.  These weren't like this when you came to get me."

    "That obvious?" He said, shamefaced.

    "I didn't want to say anything.  Does this hurt?"

    "Just leave it.  It doesn't matter...still don't know what you see in me."

    "Bruno, what's gotten into you?  You keep falling into your head tonight.  Come back to me, tonto."  Elena said, seeing the signs of a panic attack growing, his shoulders and jaw tense, his leg jittering against the fountain.

    He leaned against her, hating himself as he felt his plan fall down around his ears.  What on earth had he thought he was doing?  Acting ridiculous and dragging her to a terrible show that she'd hated and pretending like he could act normal around people who hated him and stealing her wallet and then whining about it and being a creep, leering at her; anxiety spiraling in his head, pulling at his eyes and driving his breath and clenching in his hands even as he tried to clamp down on it, knowing he was lost again as he shook.  he saw his actions from the last few days but her face was twisted, disgusted with him, tired of him, trying to get away, spiraling around his head shrieking and shrill as outside sounds tunneled and blacked out around him.

    A shiver ran down his back as her nails scratched unexpectedly as his scalp, removing his hair tie and brushing out his curls, letting them hide his face, her hands resting on his back, tapping out a rhythm of sevens slowly.  Seven fourteen twenty-one twenty-eight thirty-five forty-two forty-nine, all counted in a whisper under her breath and began again until the worst of it was over.  He felt his leg still as she continued, chin resting on his head.  "What do I see in Bruno Madrigal?" She asked herself, voice quiet so as not to carry over to Lili and the crowd of theater goers who had gathered behind them, lining up for food as well.  "I see...someone who doesn't see his own worth, because he takes everyone's words to heart even when they hurt.  Who worries too much about everyone because it's the best way he knows how to show that he cares."

    She held him a little more tightly as someone walked by, dropping her face to his neck and whispering against his skin.  "He's caring and funny and brave, even if he doesn't see any of that in himself."  She took his hands then, placing a kiss in each palm before setting them to rest on her thighs and taking hold of his face, smoothing over his furrowed brow, setting her forehead against his. "Graceful hands.  This handsome face.  The most...infutriatingly complicated brain that comes up with plays and stories and so many creative things he should really start writing them down.  Sweet and brave and selfless, nerves and rats and all." 

    She turned then as he looked up at her expectantly as she leaned back, demurely trailing her hand in the water. 

    "You know what I like the most, right now though?  His amazing ability to take a joke!"  She brought her hand up and splashed him full in the face. 

    He blinked, stunned, before a wickedly shrewd look took over his face and he leaned over, splashing her back.    

    "War it is then!" He laughed as she spat and giggled and swatted back, spraying his chest.  Her eyes went wide, an apology ready for messing up his good shirt, only to shriek and flail laughing when he fanned his arm flat across the water and soaked her legs.  

    She grabbed one of the community dog bowls from the ground and retaliated, drenching him from hair to belt.  He froze, wiping water out of his eyes.  "Bruno?"   

    He shook his head like a dog and opened his eyes, faint glow shining and his smile absolutely feral.

      "Bruno?  No.  No! Nonono NO!  BRUNO MADRIGAL DON'T YOU DARE!" Elena squealed as she tried to get away, bolting halfway off the ledge as he grappled her at the waist, crouching as he pulled her over into the water with shout, her legs flailing in the air.  He found her under the water and wrenched her to him, fingers tangling in her sodden hair and crashing his mouth against hers as bubbles flooded around them, her hands fisted in his shirt as he drew out her tongue with his own before surging back up, gasping for air, both of them howling with breathy laughter so strong it hurt their sides.  

    They'd gathered a bit of an audience as they stood, splashing and shoving at each other like children and clambering out of the fountain together hand in hand laughing.  Elena was ready to glare them down, but Bruno stilled her hand, twining their fingers and pulling her to him, kissing her cheek in full veiw of the crowd before walking on, waving to a goggle-eyed Luisa and Marco as he passed.  "I'll catch up later, don't worry." 

    He walked her home, neither of them able to stop fits of laughter as they squished along in their damp shoes, stealing kisses as they made their way, both of them dodging the cracks in the road, hopping along hip to hip. 

***** 

Jueves came in surprisingly chilly, weather still crazy from the tail of the typhoon, which suited Elena just fine.  She'd gotten started early that morning, setting up dinner for tonight.    Lechona tolimense took her forever using her mother's eight hour long bake, and she'd paid more than she'd wanted to for the pork at Senóra Ruiz's still being renovated carniceria at the crack of dawn, but she was hoping it was worth it.  She'd mixed the rice with scallions and peas and some of the whole garlic cloves she'd gotten from Silvia, along with crushing in a couple of black pearl peppers, before the morning had really started, knowing that she'd have to be popping in and out of her loft all day just to get everything done.  She didn't even know if Bruno had been serious, or remembered glibly inviting himself to dinner with her on Domingo, but she really didn't care.  She might not cook professionally like his sister, but she still wanted to try and impress him with this one.  Or at least convince him she knew more than how to sling coffee.  She would have taken Silvia's advice about the ceviche to heart, but the closest she'd made it to a fish was Bruno tossing her in the fountain, so she'd made other plans.  She'd made rice pudding the night before, after shucking out of her saturated clothes and a quick, very cold, very frustrating shower.  It sat cooling in her icebox now, waiting for tonight.  

    Bruno swept in at noon, looking somehow harried and elated at once as he darted through the door, looking outside before slamming it shut, bolting around the counter to spin her around, crushing her to his chest, his kiss hasty and demanding as his feet danced between hers, milk slinging wide from the frothing pitcher still in her hand.  Silvia, in for a coffee and staying to visit with Elena purely for the spectacle, dabbed milk from her blouse with a smarmy grin, eyeing they two, eye dropping briefly to front of Bruno's pants and sighing "ah, memories," huskily before taking her café au lait and dropping a healthy shot of tequila in it from her flask as both of them groaned, faces red.    

    Elena shook her head, pecking his cheek and shooing him from behind the counter as she grabbed a towel to clean up the mess.  Bruno went to sit, Silvia grabbing his arm and steering him to sit next to her, his ears burning.  "H-hola, Silvia," he muttered, watching as Elena walked off with a pile of returns to shelve before hissing.  "Was that really necessary?"

    "He visto su polla, Bruno.  I can tease."  The older woman chuckled, nudging him with her elbow as he scowled, pointing discreetly at Elena.

    "Yeah, well she hasn't yet so can you not?"

    "Who's fault is that?"

    "I'm not twenty-seven anymore, you know." He said flatly, not wanting to get into it with his old amante.

    "Mm, lucky for her, or she wouldn't be standing, the way you look at her."  She said gently, remembering his moods well enough to see the doubt building in his eyes.

    "Jesús Cristo.  I spent ten years in a wall, Silv. What the hell am I doing?" He muttered, looking over at Elena, hanging precariously off a ladder with books balanced on her head, flipping them up into their spots with the practiced ease of years as she wiggled her hips to the tune she hummed.  He looked completely lost at sea, and she smiled softly, remembering her Sergio giving her the same look, before he'd passed.  She shrugged at him before laughing, trying to lighten her mood.

    "What you should have sixteen years ago when she was practically throwing herself in your arms and everyone who came into the shop noticed it but you. So what if you had time to get even better with those hands? You'll be fine."  

    "Remind me, why do I talk to you again?"

    "Because we fucked ourselves out twenty years ago and became friends, idiota." Silvia cackled, patting his hand.

    "Ok, Rude." He said flatly, finger pointed admonishingly at the ceiling.

    "Meh, you still love me.  Invite me to the wedding."  He dropped his head to the counter, arms up dramatically "It's been two weeks!  First your nieta, now you.  Dolores entrometidos en mi culo!"

    "I'm a people person, what can I say?  Make it an open invitation.  I'll just be here, laughing and reading the writing on the wall."  She laughed as he slumped further into the counter, hiding his head in his gangly arms and pulling his hood up, grumbling inventively. 

    "Don't torture him too much, Silv," Elena laughed as she came back, handing him a copy of 'The Vortex.'  "I think that's my job now.  Something tells me you'd like this one, lindo.  Oh, disculpame, Hernando.  Well, maybe you'd like it too?"

    "Hernando?"  Silvia chuckled, confused.  "Little early to start role-playing isn't it?"

    "Don't, Silvia." Elena told her, hand tight on her wrist warningly, eyes dark.  Silvia blinked at the younger woman, surprised, and saw her other hand, tender in Bruno's under his tight grip.  She smiled.  "Mi culpa, Elena.  I misheard."  Elena nodded and moved on, releasing her wrist and Bruno's hand, scruffing his hair through his hood and placing a kiss where his temple would be.  "Who is Bruno not taking calls from today, 'Nando?"

    Bruno looked up, startled at the nickname, one eye peaking from the hood of his ruana, mouth drawn in aggravation as the bells on the door jangled, Félix strutting in, Pepa behind him nosing at the door.  "Ah.  I see."  Elena sighed and waved her in with an eyeroll "Come on Pepa, it's already cold out there, may as well come in and warm up."   She started up Félix' usual double tinto and made a second espresso for Bruno, waiting for Pepa to decide.  She never had made up her mind about what her usual was, and liked experimenting.     

    The two perched on either side of Bruno, hands on either shoulder as he spread out across the counter, hands dangling over into the syrup bottles and fiddling with them.  Pepa finally decided on a freddo cappuccino, and Elena was convinced it was to distract her, even though she knew the woman loved fiddly drinks.  

    "Heard you two made quite the splash last night."  Félix laughed.  Bruno said nothing, but started clinking the syrup bottles around more insistently.  Elena grinned as she ran the first espresso for Pepa's drink.  A little lighthearted teasing might get him out of the funk he'd thrown himself into.  She took one if his hands, tickling the palm and enjoying his twitch.

    "Splash my ass, he dragged me in the fountain!"  Bruno bolted upright at that, betrayed look on his face until he saw her smile.  He tugged her hand towards him, pulling her awkwardly.

    "You started it!"

    "I was trying to cheer you up!  You're the one who declared war!" She said, tugging her hand back.  He pulled her closer, cracking a  smile

    "Retaliatory strike, ninfa chalado!  You got me with a dog bowl!"

    Pepa leaned behind Bruno's back to look at her husband, eyebrows up at the nickname. 

   "That's new!"

   "Pepi, shush, I want to hear."

    "I can hear you two!" Bruno sniped.

    "Don't try pulling them into this!" Elena giggled, feeling ridiculous as she played at getting loose from his grip, surprisingly strong as his grin crooked a little slyer.  "You threw me into the water like last week's underpants!"

    Pepa and Silvia cracked up at her phrasing.  Félix shrugged, nudging his cuñado with a theater whisper.

    "That's one way to get her wet, I suppose..."

    Silvia inhaled her coffee with a squeal, Pepa choked on air, Elena dropped her espresso tamper, face magenta as she tried to breathe, and Bruno sat bolt upright all in the same second.

    "That's it!  I'm going back in the walls and that's the line that sent me!  Thank you and goodnight, Félix!  Elena, you've been lovely, but I have to disappear forever!"  He lamented, hands thrown in the air and what showed of his face beet red.  There was a hint of laughter in his voice though, and his shoulders were shaking.

    "Ignore them!  Park your flaco culo in that chair and let me feed you, Bruno.  You're the one that brought up dinner!"  He froze and shrugged, flopping into the nearest café seat, face in his hands and shoulder still shaking.

    "Ohh, what are we having?" Pepa cackled as she patted Silvia on the back, the older woman hacking fit to burst.  Elena wielded her tamper at the three of them.  "You brats aren't invited!  How am I the youngest person here?  I'm surrounded by cachondo teenagers!"

    She threw her hands up in the air, snickering, finally ran the second espresso for Pepa's drink and ducked under the counter to the stored iceblock she kept, knocking off a couple good chunks with her chisel.

    She plopped them in the shaker and snuck over to Bruno, taking his hand and pressing one of the powdery milhojas Carlita had gifted her with that morning into his waiting palm. 

    "You alright?  They were getting...a little wild.  Was this all morning?"  He nodded, looking tired.  She could tell he was fighting with himself, trying to be funny to cover his jangling nerves, too easily stripped raw with how hard he'd been trying to do...whatever it was he was up to.   

    She had her suspicions, and was entranced to see where he was taking this.  Part of her knew he was trying to rile her up, the thought of that vision plate never too far from her mind, but he seemed to have a longer game planned.  "I left upstairs unlocked, since I have to check on the food.  Why don't you go up there for a while and just relax, away from people?  My radio is in the night stand if you want to listen to something.  I think Los Millionarios are playing today?" 

    The relief in his eyes was palpable as he sat up, nibbling at the little cake she'd handed him.  "I'll bring you that second coffee and you go up when you need to, ok?" 

    He took her hand, and she let him tap it gently seven times against his cheek as he nodded.  "Thank you.  For...for understanding." 

    She smiled and kissed his knuckles before going back behind the counter.  She arched an eyebrow at the three at the counter, all in various states of contrition, Pepa with a little cloud swirling over her.  "He's alright, Pepa.  Just...needs some quiet I think."   

    "He's been pushing himself too hard again." She fussed, eyes to her brother, picking a thread from his ruana.  "We forget sometimes.  He came back and...it's like he's a peg that doesn't quite fit anymore." 

    Elena gave her a small smile, turning to pour when she slipped on a puddle of milk she'd missed and sent steaming fresh espresso down her left arm.

    "Joder al diablo magullado!  Madre chupapollas de una puta!" She howled, stomping her foot savagely as she shook her arm and gritted her teeth, blisters forming rapidly and skin blotching an angry red.  She stumbled to the basin sink as four sets of eyes flew to her and stools scraped away.  "I'm fine!  It's fine, nothing I haven't had happen before." She hissed, waving them off as they tried to help, cool water hurting almost as much as the burn.  Pepa went to run for Julieta, but Elena shook her head, hissing through her teeth.  "Pepa, it's fine.  I'll just put some aloe on it and be good as new."

    "Lenita, that looks really bad.  Aloe won't fix it." Silvia said. Elena waved her off, pinching a leaf off her sad little aloe plant.  It was plucked from her a split second later by a long fingered hand.  Bruno's grip at her bicep twisted her arm under the tap, inspecting the burn before shaking his head.  

    "This is a second degree burn, Elena.  We're going to my sister."

    "Bruno, no, she's so busy, it's not a big deal!  I'll be fine."

    "Healing you isn't a burden.  We are going."  She let out a mortified little "eep" at the severity of his tone, his face stern as he shut off her tap, crushed the gel out of the aloe leaf, and dabbed it delicately on the worst areas of her burn, blisters already popped and oozing, whispering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like Sana Sana. 

    She let him pull her from the shop, knowing that his family if not Silvia would explain.  The tight grip he had on her hand and the set of his jaw alone told her he was worried, and as they made it to the town square where Julieta sat with her buñuelos, she grew worried when he didn't speak.  Julieta stood to greet them before catching sight of Bruno's face and Elena's arm.     

    "What happened?"

    "It's nothing, really, just a little burn.  There's aloe, I already feel better.  Please don't make a fuss over it."

    "Elena, it's no fuss.  That looks painful." Julieta handed her a fritter and watched, waiting with her arms crossed until she ate it.  Rather than the sweeping warmth she was used to, this trickled down her spine coolly, easing away the burn as the healing magic passed through her.  

    Bruno watched her as well, hovering over her, that same stern look softening somewhat once the scalded skin of her arm healed.  She could feel his eyes on her just as much as she could feel the eyes of the townspeople on then and knew he felt it too.  He pulled her away then, shaking his head to Julieta's questioning gaze, and lead her back to the fountain.  She wanted to joke about how he had better not throw her back in, but something about the set of his shoulders told her now wasn't the time.  She let him guild her down, running his hands down her arms briskly, as if assuring himself she was still there and unharmed.

    "What was that?  Elena, Julieta can't heal everything, and that could have gotten infected if you'd left it."

    She looked away from his scrutinizing eyes, not wanting to say, not wanting him to feel worse.  He took her chin in hand and turned her to look at him.  "Please?"

    "I just...you were already having such a hard day.  I didn't want to make it worse by worrying you."

    "And you walking around half cooked was the way to go?"

    "Yes...no...I don't know.  I thought I could shrug it off.  I have before."

    "Elena...don't worry about me if it means you're going to let yourself be hurt.  Or at least let me take care of you when it does happen.  Please?  You don't have to pretend to be made of stone for me."

    "I'm not!  I just...It's hard, asking for help, sometimes.  It really wasn't that bad."

    "Dios sabe you're independent as hell.  It's ok to ask.  I won't fall apart if you need a little help the same day as me, you know." 

    "We really are bad at this," she laughed as she leaned into him. 

    He shrugged, "Well...we get to be bad at it together at least."

    "Thanks.  For talking sense into me."

    "I wouldn't have to if you weren't so stubborn, ninfa loca."

    "Way to make a girl feel appreciated."

    "I try." he chuckled, before standing.  "Let's get back, please?  There's too many eyes out here.  And Pepa might burn down the shop if we don't get you back."

    She laughed.  "I have to check on the food anyway.  Hope it didn't burn, then you'll really think I can't cook."

    He looked at her expectantly, but she shoved at him as she pulled up his hood, smiling as his body visibly relaxed.  "I'm not telling you what I made.  It would ruin the surprise."

    "Fair enough." he said with a shrug, letting her lead him back to the shop. 

    She watched as he headed upstairs as soon as they made it back, ignoring his family and Silvia in favor of some quiet, and she shook her head ruefully.  "He's alright, just stretched too thin, I think.  Lay off the teasing for a bit though, ok?  He's trying."

    "We know, Elena" Félix smiled, shaking his head.  "It's good to see him making progress, makes it easy to forget he's got a long way to go."

    "He's pushing himself for you, you know," Pepa said accusingly, arms crossed, mouth pursed in agitation.  Elena nodded and got to work replacing the drink that had caused all the shakeup.  "I know, Pepa.  I've tried to tell him he doesn't need to, but he is a very, very determined man." 

    "You don't know the half of it, but you'll find out soon enough." Silvia snorted, sliding off her stool and waved as she left, leaving a little extra in the tip jar as she went.  "Invite me to the wedding, cariña!"

    Elena rolled her eyes and shooed the older woman away before finally handing Pepa her coffee, watching as her cloud and fog dissipated at the first sip.  She heard a yelp from upstairs as her radio fuzzed on, cranked all the way up before quieting, and shook her head.  She cocked an ear to listen, shrugging when she heard nothing but the distant sound of a grainy futbol match.  

    "You really do care about him, don't you?" Pepa asked her shrewdly.  Elena leveled a look at her, a little affronted but not surprised.  Both his sisters were protective of him, in thier own way.  She pointed to the suncatcher in the window, winking greenly in the sunlight as it dangled from its hook.  "What makes you think I ever didn't?  Especially after everything that's happened?  He's almost as much a part of this place as me.  You don't know someone like Bruno for years and not grow to care for him unless you're an idiot."

    "You know what I'll do if you hurt him," Pepa warned.  Félix placed a hand on her arm, "Calma, Pepi, you sound like your mother."

    "Bruno is more than capable of defending himself, but he won't have to.  I would never hurt your brother."  Elena said stiffly.  She supposed it was better getting this from Pepa than Alma.  She sighed, tidying up and avoiding eye contact, knowing her hot face was giving her away.  "I know this is fast.  I know it's new.  I know we look crazy and everything is happening all at once.  I don't care.  That wonderful, infuriating man upstairs sees something in me, when he could have set his sights on anyone if he'd just get out of his head long enough to look.  I'm not going to let him go unless he wants me to.  I won't hurt him."

    Pepa nodded and finished her drink. Elena returned her look before putting up her "5 Minutos!" sign and darting upstairs.  

   Bruno sat on her sofa, her radio humming with the sounds of the game on the side table next to him, as he fiddled with a collection of her yellowed dominos spread out over the table.  Upon closer inspection, he was recreating the game, moving upright or upturned dominos as he followed along with the announcer, brow furrowed in frustration as his team made some blunder and he groaned in disgust, knocking over a player.  She smiled and made her way quietly to the stove, peaking in and flipping the lechona tolimense over with her tongs to crisp on the other side.  She rifled in her cabinets and got him a glass for water, handing it off once she'd filled it and brushing a kiss to his temple as she swept past, smiling indulgently as he blinked up at her in surprise, unused to being the one snuck up on.  "Don't lose any of those, tonto, they're older than your mother.  Let me know who wins, ok?" 

    She squeaked at her door, spooked by the orange blur that flew down in front of her, rolling her eyes.  She leveled a look at Pepa as she pretended to have not moved, looking at the ceiling.  "Believe me now?"

    "Pepa, you didn't?" Félix said as he stepped out of the baño.  "Can't take a Madrigal anywhere without trouble," he sniffed, snorting a minute later when Elena agreed with him.  "Isn't that the truth?"  Pepa came up to her and swiftly kissed her on both cheeks before grabbing her husband and pulling him from the shop in an embarrassed fog, a thin rainbow trailing along behind her.

    She kept an ear and an eye out on Bruno the rest of the day, popping upstairs every half hour or so to check on him and the food.  He'd fallen asleep across her sofa to the sounds of a radionovella at some point, burritoing himself in the sheet she used to cover it as he snored gently.  How he could sleep so easily and never look like he got a wink was beyond her.  She let him rest, making quick work of her evening cleanup and moving upstairs, opening a window as the sun started to set, Chacha flying in right on cue to perch on the couch, flapping and causing him to curl up tighter in the sheet.  She set the table as he slept, wondering briefly if she should break out the candles, but laughed at herself, not wanting to put too much on him at once.  She poured them each a glass of guarapo, chopping a maracuyá and muddling it in, squeezing a healthy dash of lime into it before digging the pork out of the stove and cutting it roughly in half, the larger portion set out for him.  She sliced an avocado, a little clumsy as she scooped it out of its hull with a spoon, and sprinkled it with tajin powder as she set half off to either dish.  

    She'd just set her knife down when thin arms wrapped around her.  "That smells fantastic," he mumbled into her hair, forehead butted up against her shoulder.  She circled his arms with her own.  "Hello, you.  Feeling better after your nap?"

    "Some.  My head is still full of cotton.  I'm...I'm sorry, for the last couple of days.  For getting lost in my head." His voice was sullen even as his arms tightened around her. 

    "You spent ten years in isolation, Bruno.  It doesn't matter where you spent it, that takes time to heal from.  More time than you've had.  I don't expect you to be a social butterfly."

    "What do you expect of me, Elena?" he asked, grip tightening almost painfully as the words left his mouth, voice muffled against her skin. 

    "I learned a long time ago to not have expectations for things not written in stone.  It's better to just roll with everything and see where the tide takes you."

    "Mujer aventudora.  Pero en serio.  What are you expecting of this?  Of...us?  What were you expecting that first night, when you kissed me?"

      She sighed and made to turn, but he held her still, planting his feet firmly around her own.  She braced herself on the counter, off center.  "Bruno, I don't expect anything from you."  He snorted and shook his head against her shoulder.  "Well, outside of the obvious, I guess."

      "The obvious?"

      "I mean...I do sort of expect you to take me to bed eventually.  I'm enjoying myself waiting in the meantime."

      "Mhm." He hummed, shifting a little, his lips brushing her neck, stilling as she shivered before shifting his stance, pressing her against the counter ever so slightly. "And the rest?"

       "Bruno..."

       "Please."  He said, leaning in.  It wasn't a request, and Elena felt her stomach flip at the slight rumble in his chest when he'd said it.  "I didn't expect anything...but I hoped.  While you were thinking.  I wanted this.  Us.  You.  When you were leaving...before you kissed me back I...god it hurt like hell, thinking you weren't interested.  But I didn't want to push anything on you.  If you hadn't kissed me back...I would have let you go."

      "And been alone?"

      "Better that and known for sure than always wondering."

       "I'm glad you live in the present, then," he said as he let her go and spun her around, backing her into the cabinets, hand reaching back quickly and deftly moving plates out of the way before crouching down and catching her at the knees, surging up with a growl and hoisting her onto the countertop.   

       He buried his fingers in her hair and pulled her down to him, lips demanding and fierce against hers, catching her bottom lip, tongue sliding across and muffling her surprised cry, her arms clinging around him for balance.  She brought her legs up to squeeze around his narrow waist, pulling him closer as her fingers drifted into his curls.  He nibbled a line down her jaw as deft fingers freed the buttons of her blouse, mouth leaving a hot path down her skin as he slipped her bra straps down her shoulders along with her sleeves.  He winnowed his hands under her bra, pinching and rolling her nipples as he buried his face in her cleavage, scruff of his jaw scratching enticing patterns along her delicate skin as he traced his tongue from side to side, leaving alternating lovebites as he went.  She brought her head down, arching over him to pepper kisses in his hair, locking her ankles behind him and pushing his head back and shamelessly sucking on his tongue.  She was dragged off the counter with a squeal, an inflamed cry leaving her and breaking the silence as he broke away, taking his hands back and straightening her bra.  

      "Bruno, que carajo!"

      He gave her a devious smile as he fixed her blouse over her shoulders, leaving it open in the front.  "I've wanted to do that since Domingo."  He took her hands and lightly kissed her cheek before pulling her away.           

      "But I also don't want to waste the lechona tolimense you've made.  It really does smell amazing and I'm starving."

        "It'll be fine cold, come back here!"

She saw him war with himself, before shaking his head.  "Not yet, Elena.  I'm sorry."

         She sighed, not unkindly, and brushed his hair from his face.  "Don't apologize, please.  There's nothing wrong with needing time.  Isn't that what you told me?"  He smiled then, taking their plates to her small murphy table.  She went to button her blouse, but he stilled her with a keen look.  "Leave it, please."

She gave him a heated glare as she sat down, passing him his glass and switching their plates, giving him the larger portion.  

         "I did say I was going to feed you," she grinned at his questioning look, jabbing her fork into the crisp skin of the pork belly pointedly.  He shrugged, eyes lighting up at the first bite.

      They ate in silence, trading lively glances over their meals, furtive smiles as they shuffled their feet together under the table, ankles clasped and swinging.  He made no attempt at subtlety as he eyed her bouncing chest, jostled by their shuffling feet, and she taunted him just as boldly, shifting in her seat just enough to rest her breasts on the tabletop, the marks he'd left blooming on display. 

       He helped her with the dishes, flicking soapsuds at her and earning the same in return, both of them sneaking bites from the rice pudding she'd brought out, eating from the same bowl and snickering as hands made tempting passes over skin.  They made their way to the couch, turning up the radio and letting the tinny notes of a classical guitar drift around them.  He lay his head on her lap and closed his eyes, wrapping his arm around her back with a sigh as he got shifted, kicking his sandals off.

      "Comfortable?" She teased, gentle kiss to his forehead.  He smiled.  "Here...my head is quiet.  Maybe that's your gift."

She snorted as she carded through his hair.  "You're insane, you know that?  Hombre tonto, loco, enloquecedor. Te recuperaré."

He snuggled in, pressing a kiss to her stomach that had both of their minds going quickly into dangerous territory before he turned, ears burning.  "I...I'm looking forward to it."

*****

Elena sighed as she dug out extra copies of Ficciones for Senóra Reyes, head lost in the jungle with the capuchins.  Bruno had slunk out later in the night after kissing her absolutely stupid at her door, leaving her with one last lurid lovebite right over her sternum and a quiet "Behave yourself," tone leaving her with no doubt to what he was referring to.  She'd barely slept, tossing and turning, frustrated beyond belief but too deeply entrenched in their little game to give in.  She fully planned on making him pay for all this when she had the chance.  

  Bruno came in at nine that morning, laden down with a bulging shoulder bag and shimmering, light glinting off his ruana as the sun filtered through the window.  Elena blinked, making sure she wasn't seeing things as he set the bag down at the counter.  "Er, Bruno?  Why are you covered in sparkles?" She asked, wondering if Isabela had found a new pollen to experiment with.  He raised a confused eyebrow before snorting and stepping away, patting down his front and shaking his clothes out, beads of light falling from him with the slightest hint of  sound as granules of green and white fell from his hands.  The yellowed tiles beneath him picked up a flicker of green in the sunlight as he came back to the counter, bashfully rubbing at his arm.  

    "Lo siento.  I borrowed the Perez' polishing wheel this morning.  Didn't--didn't remember to dust off in the shop." 

    "You look like a craft store.  What are you up to?" 

    "I had an idea!"  He beamed at her, haphazardly emptying his bag across the counter.  A selection of dried bamboo shafts in various sizes, two long skeins of soft rope, one natural and one dyed a coffee brown.  A beaten pair of snip shears, a rough sketchpad, a collection of rulers and crochet hooks and awls all made their way to the countertop as she tried to puzzle out what he was doing.  Last, he unwrapped the gently glowing remnants of vision glass, polished smooth and into various geometric shapes.  He opened the sketchbook, looking for a certain page before turning it to her, showing her a rough drawing of an ambitious suncatcher covered in abstract tumbledown shapes that coalesced roughly into the impression of a coffee mug and an open book.  He suddenly took in the mess he'd made, crestfallen as Elena studied his drawing, and had started to nervously tidy up when she stilled his hand.  "You take the room you need if you want to work on this.  I'd like to see the real thing." 

    He smiled then, and kissed her hand as he sat, laying out everything in a more ordered way, measuring out cord with his hands and tying it off on one of the bamboo rods until he had an alternating pattern of light and dark laid out as long as his arm.  She watched him hitch knots around the ropes, closing up the gaps and sealing in the bamboo, hands flying as he grabbed awls and hooks to manipulate the cord into a dense mesh, a circle strengthened with a metal hoop at the top to hang it from when the project was completed.   

    Elena turned and pressed his usual espresso, shaking the fuzziness from her head and pressing a second for herself, needing the caffeine.  She dug one of her signs out from their space under the counter and flipped it blank, placing it in front of his work as she handed him his cup.  He accepted it with a thankful hum, not looking at her, absorbed in his task.  He'd propped both his feet up on the next stool, kicking off one sandal and hooking the loop with his big toe for tension as he worked, cord between his teeth and sleeves rolled up as clever hands twisted the rope into various shapes, flat double knots angling and slowly taking form into soft sockets for the waiting green tiles.  

    She found herself so mesmerized by watching the play of his muscles under his skin as he twisted and pulled at the strands of cord that she didn't hear the door bang open. 

    "Chicas, alto!" Carlita called to her primas as they darted in, making their way to the counter, their braids bouncing.  Carlita shook her head as Maria, the youngest, stopped to stare at Bruno, covered in a mad collection of cord that was clearly being woven into something interesting.  She hefted her basket and followed, laughing as Elena came out of her daze and greeted her. 

    "Car, you've got to stop bringing me pastries, I'm gaining weight just smelling them!" 

    The baker rolled her eyes as she dropped her basket on the counter and asked for four mochas.  "Who else can I trust with my experiments?  Mamá refuses to let me put them up in the bakery after the soufflé fiasco." 

    Elena laughed, remembering coming into the bakery towards the end of Nina's career, to see a sad selection of deflated pastries oozing out of their ramekins and staining the floor with sticky chocolate. "How is Nina?" 

    "Blind as ever and driving me batty.  She sniffs the spices every morning and is constantly shuffling around the ovens.  I've got a standing order with Julieta just for the burns she picks up.  She refuses to slow down." 

    "...Sounds familiar..." Bruno chuffed, cord in his mouth as he tied off the first socket, carefully fitting a bit of green into the woven groove, fiddling until it sat just right.  "And hola, senorita.  Can I help you?" he finished, turning to Maria, who was still gazing up at him, puzzling out what he was doing.  She squeaked at being addressed.  "Did...did you bring any of your friends today?" she asked, trying to be brave.  She'd wanted to pet one of the funny little rats on Lunes, but had been too shy to ask.  Bruno smiled and untangled himself from his project, reaching back into his hood and bringing out Coco, petting her soft head with his thumb.  "Just Coco today.  Would you...would you like to hold her?  She's very gentle." 

    The little girl's eyes lit up as she reached for the rat, giving her older prima a questioning look.  Carlita looked to Elena, unsure, always wary of rodents given her job.  Elena shrugged, motioning to go on.  Maria squeaked again as she took Coco in her hands, listening very closely as Bruno showed her how to handle her and the best place to pick her up from.  Carlita watched the interaction with an appraising eye, stifling a laugh at the pitiful, soft sound Elena made as she watched the man, unbothered by the attention for once and being so gentle with her little cousin, who was starry eyed at both him and the admittedly cute, doe eyed little rat he'd handed her, peaking back over her shoulder with a brilliant grin before she scampered off to the reading area with rat and mocha in hand. 

    Elena handed her and her primas their drinks, rifling through the basket to be greeted by gooey, caramel and coconut confections somewhere between the consistency of a brownie and fudge.  "These look ridiculous.  Why is your mother so hellbent on not letting you experiment again?" 

    Carlita shuffled in her seat, not wanting to say but twitching her lips to the side, an apologetic shrug as she indicated Bruno.  He sensed eyes on him and ducked his head, hiding behind his hair.  "Nina blew it out of...out of proportion," he muttered tiredly. "I just saw one of her experiments breaking a stove." 

    "Well, on the plus side, Elena always has nibbles to pass out and we can get honest feedback without it hurting sales!" Carlita said brightly, popping the corner of one of the sticky treats in her mouth.  Bruno looked up from his work, surprised.  Carlita shrugged.  "Elena likes you.  That's good enough for me." 

"Just like that?" 

"Just like that.  Elena gets people.  She says you're good people, I believe her." 

"This is how you wound up drinking paint water in primeria thinking it was coffee, Car.  So trusting."  Elena teased, plating one of the gooey desserts for herself and one for Bruno. "Explain, please?" He asked as she crossed over to him, intrigued. 

"Elena, no!"  Carlita groaned, laughing. 

"Elena, yes!  She followed me around like a little duck.  I was a mierdecilla and wanted to test how trusting she was.  I kept my paint water from art class and gave it to her for comida and she hasn't been right since." 

"Hey!  I brought you French fudge!" 

"In what way is this French and also they're amazing so thank you for that ." 

"Just calling them that.  Looks like something French."  Carlita shrugged, laughing and nibbling another corner of hers.  Elena realized a bit late that Bruno's hands were literally tied, his eyes going between her and the saucer with a flat look.  "Shoosh, you," she said as she broke off a piece and held it out to him.  His ears pinked a bit, but he leaned forward and took the treat from her fingers, licking away any crumbs as his lips stayed just a moment too long to be innocent.  Elena huffed and spun away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear to cover her blush, ignoring Bruno's smarmy grin as he sat back and went back to his knotwork.  Carlita looked between the two, not sure what surprised her more, Elena's embarrassment or Bruno's actions.  The man's timidity was well known, but he seemed to be flourishing around her friend.  She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her friend this flustered, let alone the last time a man had been the cause.

They were too wrapped up in this affair to notice the wagging tongues of the town.  Elena had made herself no friends calling out the Rosario twins for their behavior.  The two had been at la Cerámica since Martes, hissing vile nonsense about her.  Beatriz was only feeding it, lamenting every chance she got about how her dear, dear friend was on track to get burned.  She watched Elena as she packaged books for their old literature teacher across the shop, having passed Bruno and kissed his hair in passing, tripping up his lacings and leaving him fighting out a tough knot.  She looked lighter, somehow.  The stubborn set of her jaw, tight muscle that had always carved a hard edge to her face was gone.  Her smiles were softer, and her shoulders, still straight, had lost some of the tension she'd been carrying since her mother's death. 

Carlita had no real opinion of Bruno.  He was in that nebulous category of older adult that was too young to be parental figure and too old to be friend.  He seemed kind enough, with his quiet smiles and sad, sleep bruised eyes.   And he was good around kids, though that made sense, having so many sobrinos.  She'd never really understood her friend's draw towards the older man, but she didn't see him as cursed or any of the other silly things people said about him.  Odd, certainly, but his gift wasn't his fault, and she'd always thought it was unfair that he'd been judged for it when he couldn't help it.  She finished her musings along with her mocha and placed the cup at the back of the counter, getting ready to collect her primas.  She watched as Maria handed the little rat back to Bruno, who asked her quiet questions about how it had behaved before nodding proudly and patting her head, placing the rat back in his hood with a smile.  

Elena poked her head out of the aisle at the noise, weighed down by a crate.  "I'm headed back before Mamá comes trying and failing to look for me." 

"Be nice, Car!" Elena teased.  Carlita gave a cheeky wave and waved her primas out the door, Maria's hand fluttering at Bruno, who gave a little wave back. 

"Never!  Come on patitos!  Vamos!"  She turned to retrieve a hair ribbon Valencia had lost, and gave Bruno a subtle eye.  "Be good to her," she said simply.  He met her gaze, serious, the expression so out of keeping with his usual bearing that it took her by surprise.  He shifted his eyes to Elena, puttering around with one of her aisle signs and worrying at a chip in the paint, soft smile taking over his face.  "I plan to."   

Elena found herself distracted all day, happy for once that Viernes was usually slow.  Bruno sat, chatting with her and making impressive progress with the suncatcher and occasionally pausing to crack his knuckles or his back, wincing.  She couldn't help but feel a little guilty at that, wondering if he'd done something to it when he'd lifted her the night before..  She'd caught herself more times than was probably healthy staring at his hands as he wove and laced and braided, transported mercilessly back to being twenty and seeing those same hands, a little smoother, tracing the embossed letters on the spine of Journey to the Center of the Earth.  She burned when she realized she still remembered the name of the book, whether in shame or stimulation she wasn't sure.  She felt her face burning for so long it became a constant tingling, imagining what those hands were capable of, remembering the feel of them where they had managed to make it across her skin, calloused and gentle and firm.  He caught her out once, and the crooked grin he gave her as she fumbled for cover told her he knew exactly what path he was leading her mind down.  He slowed his movements then, taking care to skim his fingers through the strands even more slowly, feigned innocence given away by the smug grin he wore whenever he looked at her. 

By the time three o'clock rolled around, they'd made it through half the basket of caramel goodies, with Elena passing out only a few to patrons.  Bruno had gotten about a quarter of his planned project, but was shaking his hands out more frequently and making less progress, rolling his shoulders with a grimace as he straightened from the hunch he'd slumped into.  Elena flipped her signs to closed early and took his hands in hers, untangling him from the cords as she went.  "Why don't you leave this here, take a break?" 

"Probably a good idea.  My hands are getting stiff. Can I...can I leave this here, work on it later?  I don't mean to take up so much room, I just...." 

"Bruno, take all the time you need, what you've gotten done already looks so good.  I couldn't do this if I tried," she said, running her hands over the careful knotwork admiringly.  "Let me find something to roll this in so it won't tangle."  She thought for a moment, considering the length of the cords and doing her best to ignore the lazy hand that had made its way to her back, before going to the supply closet on the library side and digging out the thick moving blanket she used to cover her table on flash sale market days. 

Bruno knelt beside her as she spread it out, shaking out the macrame and laying it flat, looking critically at the loose strands.  Elena pulled the ribbon holding her hair up and swiftly wove it around the cords, bundling them snugly before flipping the blanket over, making a flat packet that she and Bruno rolled up tightly, shoulders bumping as they went.  They went to stand, either one with an end of the bundle so it wouldn't unravel, when Bruno yowled and dropped to his knee, fist pressed into his spine as he winced.  Elena gave him a resigned look and took the bundle, stowing it in her storage closet before grinning. 

"Come on you, upstairs.  You look like you tied yourself in a knot rather than that suncatcher." She said, patting Bruno on the shoulder where he'd sat on the floor, grousing at his back and actually looking his age for once.  His expression went from confused to disquiet as she offered him a hand up, careful as she pulled him standing.   "Don't look at me like that, I'm not saying we do anything.  You did something to your back.  Let me at least try to help you before you go limping to your sister." 

“This is embarrassing,” he grumbled, shaking his head.  “You definitely aren’t convincing me I’m not an old man today.  Throwing out my back on a craft project.” 

She snorted as she followed him up the stairs. “Yeah, and lifting my heavy ass up on the countertop last night had nothing to do with it.” 

He turned on her as they made it into her loft, spinning her up against the wall unexpectedly and taking her rear in his hands, squeezing as he growled into her neck. “Be nice to mi pareja.  Tu culo es perfecta.  Eres perfecta.  You…you’re beautiful.  It’s my own fault if I can’t lift you correctly and tweak my back.” 

“Bruno, I have at least seventy pounds on you!”  She exclaimed as she tried to wiggle free, her plans quickly devolving.  He squeezed her ass again, before wrapping his arms around her belly and holding her against him.  “I believe you noticed, but I do have a type, and it’s you, Elena.  I like that you weigh more than me.  I like that you fill up my arms when I hold you.  Don’t you dare keep acting like it’s a negative thing just because some idiot didn’t have the eyes to see you.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” she giggled, planting a kiss on his nose. 

“It’s the truth, Elena.  You told me to be kind to myself, well the same…the same applies to you.” He let her go, moving away and wincing as he shifted, rueful laugh as he ran a hand down her arm.  “And now I’m going to be kind to my back and sit down, because no matter how much you deny it, I am a fifty year old man who spent the last ten years sleeping in a ratty hammock and wrecking my spine.” 

She made her way to her baño as he made himself comfortable on her sofa, cracking his neck with a series of pops that she could hear from across the loft.  In her medicine cabinet, she found her bottle of coconut oil that she used to deep condition her hair, and ran a sink of hot water.  She left the bottle to sit and gathered up a couple of soft towels. 

“On your front, tonto,” she said, handing him a towel.  “Let me pay you back for that neck rub the other day.” 

Bruno went to shift, before looking at the towel in his hand. “Why do I need…?” 

“Because I’ll be doing your whole back.  Dios sabe where you don’t have a knot, the way you were bent over all day.  Ruana and shirt off, please, unless you want it ruined with coconut oil.” 

“Elena…” he hesitated, rubbing his neck.  She gave him an indulgent look and shook her head.  “Bruno, you just had your hands all over my ass and I’ve already seen you with your shirt off, don’t get all bashful on me now.” 

“I may have had other things on my mind, last Martes…” 

“Bruno…” 

“Fine,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes, feeling his ears heating up. ‘Of all the times to get snotty about your gut, after all you just said to her,’ he thought to himself as he sighed and stood, tossing his ruana off and pulling his shirt over his head.  He crossed his arms and hunched as Elena spread the towel out on her sofa. 

Elena shook her head over him, finding his reticence over his barely-there paunch adorable.  She’d never liked seeing every single muscle or bone on a person like an anatomical model.  The slight softness to his stomach smoothed out his otherwise angular frame and assured her he was actually eating.  It was just cute, honestly.  And it just made the dark line of hair that narrowed down from his chest to disappear enticingly into his waistband that much more noticeable.  She didn’t wait for him to lie down, but went to grab the now warm oil. 

He had found something to tie his hair up with when she came back, his head resting in his folded arms, bare feet kipped up on the arm of the sofa, toes wiggling aimlessly.  She poked the side closest to the back cushions and forced him to shift, ignoring his indignant noise of protest before climbing over him, sitting on the backs of his thighs as she dripped oil lightly down his spine.  “Since when are you a masseuse?” he teased from below as she began lightly spreading oil over his back.  She huffed, giving his side a light pinch, snickering at his yelp. “My father worked in the coffee fields half my life and Mamá was a seamstress with arthritis at thirty.  You learn to rub away sore muscles quick when you’re the only one with working hands that can reach them.  Tell me if I go too hard, please.  Papá had more back than both of us put together.” 

She started at his neck, gentle at first before really digging in, the tension held there surprising her as she ran her thumbs along the tightness between neck and shoulder.  He hummed appreciatively and settled in, wriggling down into the couch.  She resisted the urge to give his ass a pinch, if only to avoid leaving oilstains on his pants. She worked at his shoulders one at a time, fitting her hand under his arm to hold him still as she pressed the heel of her other hand around the curve of his scapula, dragging a groan out of him as she pressed the tension away.  He gave her a limp thumbs up when she asked if he was alright, and she continued, running her thumbs down and then across the thin muscles of his shoulders, feeling them release and relax as she went. 

She raised up on her knees to work his spine, the flat of her knuckles bearing down on him as she bullied away the tension.  There was a series of wet clicks just below his shoulders, and he sighed audibly as he melted, arm lolling off the couch as he went slack.  “…Been trying to get that popped for three days…”  She brushed a kiss to either of his shoulder blades then, the coconut oil mixing with his own herb and salt scent and spinning her head so strongly she had to bite her lip and take a breath before moving on.  The lean muscles of his lower back were a mess of knots, the skin pulled to one side slightly by the scar on his right hip.  She ran a finger across it tentatively, pondering.  “I know you have scars on your leg from Contraria.  Where is this from?  Can you tell me?” 

He hummed a moment, considering, before grunting as she ran her knuckles sharply up either side of his spine, dragging the tightness away roughly.  “It…its not nearly as--oh, there please--as good a story as it looks like it would be…” 

“If you don’t want to say, that’s fine.” 

“No, it’s alright…just…kinda embarrassing, you know?” 

“Did you try to juggle a machete or something?” she teased, giving his hip an affectionate pinch.  He raised his hips slightly, jostling her. 

“Stop that, ninfa.  And no.  I…I slipped and fell in the walls jumping over a pit about six years ago.” 

“A pit?  Inside Casita’s walls?” 

“Ay, it’s a magic house with a jungle in it, but there can’t be pits in the walls?” 

“I don’t know.  I still haven’t seen this oasis room of yours, how would I know to guess what the walls look like?” 

“…Seen my room, she says…” he grumbled, turning his head to peek up at her with one eye.  “But yeah, big hole in the top subfloor that I couldn’t see the bottom of.  After my tower I didn’t trust the house to not have a bottomless pit.  Caught myself, then slipped and fell trying to swing to the next level.  Bamboo piping can, apparently, splinter sharply enough to slice you open if you land on it right.  Heh, Bad luck Bruno strikes agai--OW!” 

“Told you not to talk bad about yourself!” Elena snickered around the mouthful of his shoulder she had in her teeth.  His eye flickered then, and he shifted up unexpectedly, knocking her off balance and flipping around underneath her, coming to rest with her straddling him, raising a knee behind her to nudge her forward into his arms, her slick hands finding no purchase on his chest.  Her lips tasted of coconut oil as he caught them, his own sliding lazily against them as he held her still, fingers digging into her waist as she squirmed against him.  He bucked his hips roughly against hers, just enough get her to start writhing against him, before he twisted and slunk out from under her, leaving her blinking in confusion for a second when all she had under her was a semi-oily towel. 

He had her blouse out of her trousers and halfway up her back before she could blink, nipping a bit of her waist in his own teeth, laughing around the pinch of skin as she yelped and swatted at him.  “Off with this and on your front before my hands get me in trouble.” 

“I like the sound of trouble,” she teased as she began to complied, folding the towel over quickly so she wouldn’t be washing oil out of her bra later.  Her hands flew to her bared chest the next second as agile fingers flicked the closure of her bra away and pulled the straps down her arms.  His thin hands were around her and fondling her before she could recover, nibbling at the crook of her neck as calloused thumbs tweaked at her nipples before his hands came around and dug into her neck, making her squeak before she scowled at him playfully, shifting down.  He moved her hair out of the way as he got settled, one foot planted firmly on the floor and his knee between hers as he oiled his hands.  “So many freckles,” he said admiringly, running a finger faintly down her spine, stroking gently at some of the larger patches.   “When did you have this much time out in the sun?” 

She snorted as he began rubbing small circles at the base of her neck, right at the spot where neck met shoulders, where she tended to hunch after a long day, weighed down by her chest.  “You missed my late twenties, Bruno.  Once Papá wasn’t around to scare me off the roof I started sunbathing.  Had to stop when Rico Chavez started peeping, the creep.  Like--ooh, to the left, please--you have to work to see up there.  Little mancha de mierda had to climb a tree just to see my tits.” 

Bruno knew Rico Chavez.  Creep was underselling it. “Is that why that old palma de cera is gone?” he asked, kneading the crook of her neck still, concentrating to keep his grip light.  She nodded.  “I’d have chopped it down with him in it if I could have.  Mm, that feels amazing…” He grinned as he pressed into her pliant skin, placing as much weight as he dared on each vertebra as he worked his way down her spine. 

“Magic hands, remember?” he teased.  She wiggled under him enticingly, and he clenched his jaw, having to forcibly remind himself he still had several days to go with his plan.  He felt, irrationally, like slapping his past self in the next moment. 

“You keep that up and I won’t remember my name…” she breathed, his gulp audible from behind her, but his hands didn’t stop, knuckles running up either side of her spine almost bruisingly, working out the knots her work beat into her over the week.  He mimicked what she’d done with his shoulders, tentative at first before digging in harder, releasing muscles so tight it was painful.  Her shoulders burned when he moved on, but she felt like she was absolutely boneless.  He moved lower, heels of his hand joined over her lower back.  She yelped when the knee between hers moved up, pressing into her groin as he shifted his weight to focus at the base of her spine.   There was a deep, hollow tlok! as her bones popped, the one place she could never twist away no matter what she did, and the mewl of relief she made was positively vulgar.  She heard him chuckle behind her, shifting that damned knee imperceptibly, just enough to drive her crazy and also deny any type of intentional funny business.  She felt him shift and collect the second towel from the floor, rubbing her oiled back down briskly, massaging the oil into her skin in sure strokes.   He leaned across her back when he was done, lips dusting across her freckled shoulders as he wrapped his hands under her arms and drew her up slightly, his hips swiveling against hers almost passively, the shallowness of his movements contradicted by just how hard he was against her.  She grinned, trying to reach back to stroke his leg, but his hands caught her, quick as a snake, and placed her blouse and bra back in her grasp before darting up and away.  She buried her face in the towel and bunched it around her as she shouted, agitated beyond belief and only worse as he laughed, hands buried in her hair.  “Bruno, usted provocativo follar!” 

He was already back in his clothes by the time she looked back up.  He was watching her, expression inscrutable.  She glared at him and huffed in frustration, gathering the towel around her and throwing the spare at his face before strutting off to her bathroom to straighten herself out.  "No view of my tits for you either!" She called back, sticking her tongue out at him.

He had poured her a glass of maracuyá jugo and brought up the little coconut goodies from downstairs and offered them to her with a shrug to apologize.  She rolled her eyes.  “You’re lucky you’re damn cute, Bruno.  I know you’re doing this on purpose.” 

  He gazed away at the ceiling, confection half in his mouth as he mumbled “No idea what you mean.” 

“You’re also a terrible liar.” 

“I admit to nothing.  Tell Carlita these are a hit, by the way.” 

“Te pillaré, Bruno.  And I’ll make it look like an accident, you impossible man!”  He sighed and drifted over to her, kissing her so softly she barely felt it, drawing her to him before sliding his lips down her jaw.  “La belleza de la ira.  Until tomorrow, mi oréade.  And behave.”

He dodged the shoe she threw at him with a laugh as he slipped out her door.

Chapter Text

The shop had only been open for an hour when he came in the next day, a different shoulder bag slung under his arm, a towel peeking out from under it. The weather had finally settled back to it’s usual heat, but even then she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him in short sleeves.  She liked it.  He disappeared into the aisle with his chair for a moment before appearing, minus the bag, hand behind his back.  She gave him an appraising look as he sat at the counter and she ran his espresso.  When she handed it to him, he pressed something into her hand.  She turned it over.  A compact.  The same shade that she’d always worn, freshly mixed and pressed.  He laughed and rubbed his neck nervously at her questioning look.  “I’d have gotten it to you sooner, but it took boticaria Reyes a couple of days to find your formula.  I figured I spoiled your other one, pulling you into the fountain, so…Surprise?”

    She gave him a soft look.  “Thank you, Bruno.  I hadn’t even thought about replacing this yet.  You’ve kept me busy.”

    “Sorry about that…”

    “Don’t apologize, tonto.  I haven’t had this much fun in ages!  Well, unless you count me being chased by that damned bear!”

    "That sounds like the opposite of fun, to be honest,” Bruno laughed, taking her hand as he looked about the shop.  It was empty.  “Slow day?”  Elena sighed and shook her head.  “It does this sometimes, comes in waves.  I was hoping the interest in the outside would last and business would pick up, but it looks like I’m in for a lean month.” 

    “Mm,” he said, distaste twisting his mouth as he wilted, gnawing at a thumbnail.  “Elena…you don’t think…you don’t think it’s because of--of me, do you?”

    “Bruno, of course not!” she said, coming around the counter and wrapping her arms around him and gently taking his hand away from his mouth.  “Half the town knew or guessed how I felt about you before you did, and it didn’t affect anything then.  Don’t worry about that.  Lulls happen.” 

    He’d perked up a bit, catching something as she spoke.  “Half the town?  Was I really that oblivious?” 

    “Maybe a little,” she teased, kissing his nose and stealing a sip of his espresso. “But I know how people react to you, so it’s not like I don’t know why." 

    "No wonder you call me tonto." 

    "I can stop if it bothers you, Bruno.  I don't mean anything by it, you know."

    "Please don't," he mumbled, stroking her arms as he gave a bashful smile.  "I am a silly man.  It reminds me not to take things so seriously.  And it...it reminds me of that first night." 

    She smiled at him, holding him close, glad she didn't have any customers to deal with and could just have a quiet moment with him. 

    "Hey, why don't we play hooky today?" He said, taking her by surprise as he squirmed, his leg bouncing in sudden excitement. "You’re only open for five hours on Sábado anyway, let's just ah…Fffft! Ve!  Come on!" 

    She laughed at his burst of energy.  "How on earth are you fifty, you hyper thing?  Ok, ok, where are we going, Senór espontáneo?"

    "Get your swimsuit, I know a place." 

    "Bruno, the river is probably still freezing from that typhoon!"  He grinned and quirked an eyebrow.  "When did I mention the river?" 

    "Oh...alright, you've twisted my arm.  Give me a few minutes to change.  And you stay down here, or we'll never leave!" 

    “…Fine…” he grumbled, rolling his eyes with a grin.    

   Elena made her way upstairs, Bruno's hissing snicker following her.  She was digging through her wardrobe when a wave of dread washed over her.  She didn't have a traditional bathing suit, having made her own to fit her more comfortably, and it showed her hips more than was considered proper.  Not that she thought he’d have a problem with that, just with what it revealed.  Normally she would cover with something when she swam, but she knew with Bruno acting the way he had been she'd be lucky to keep it on at all, let alone the wrap she usually had paired with it.  She chewed her lip, wavering.  She knew he hadn’t seen the other night, when she’d teased him with a glance at her rear going up the stairs.  She didn't know how he would react when he saw the marks on her skin.  She'd been so wrapped up in everything she'd never considered. 

    'He would have found out eventually,' she snapped at herself, 'better he see now than toss you out of bed later.'  She shucked out of her clothes and shuffled into her bathing suit, noting that it had gotten a little tighter since the last time she'd worn it, two years previously, grinning despite herself knowing it would drive Bruno crazy if he had to work harder to get his fingers underneath, knowing well enough now he’d at least try.  She gazed at her hips and shook her head one last time before throwing her wrap around them and stepping back into her day clothes, grabbing a towel and stuffing it in a bag.  She gnawed at her lip for a moment before pulling out a pencil and the book she'd been annotating,, adding in a final quick sketch and note before closing it and stuffing it into her bag as well, hidden from view.  She crossed her fingers and spun as she stood, hoping for good luck. She just had to hope he could accept this part of her as well.   

    He'd gathered his own shoulder bag and was waiting for her by the door.  He'd tidied the counter and hung up his mug, and she saw that her door signs were flipped to ‘Cerrado.’   He had that half bottle of rum tucked into his bag and seemed to have stolen one of her thermoses.  She gave him a sweet smile at that, trying to cover her nerves.  Bruno seemed to see the sun rise and set around her, but he was, beneath everything, still a very traditional man as far as she could tell.  She hoped, as he took her hand and led her out the door, that this wasn’t the thing that was finally too much for him.  

    “Ok, will you tell me where we’re going now that you’ve gotten me out of the shops, or are you being all ‘mysterious Madrigal’ right now?”

    “Not a chance until we’re there.  I don’t trust Dolores to not have her ears in my business today,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair before digging out the rum bottle and biting out the cork, taking a healthy swig before passing it to her, leading her down an old donkey trail she wasn’t familiar with.  She took a swig of the brown rum as well, letting it burn its way down her throat, considering the bottle.  “This won’t bother your visions or anything, will it?”

    “Shouldn’t.  Had a big lunch, not planning on getting full borracho.  The world is…sharp today.  I don’t want to be all…” he paused, flapping a hand in front of himself, indicating his frustration.  “I’m tired of getting lost in my head.  Of you having to pull me out.  I want…I want to be all the way here for you.  This helps me shut out the world a bit so I can be.  For now.  Please don’t look at me like that.” he begged, seeing the worry spreading in her face.

    “Bruno, I don’t mind pulling you out of your head.  Just…just don’t get reliant on this, please,” she asked, shaking the rum bottle.  “That involuntary vision was so hard on you.  Prometo?”

    “Lo prometo, Elena.  I’ve seen what that can do to a person.  I don’t want that.  I--I just…I care about you, you know?  I just want…I want to be…in the present for you, like you deserve.”  He turned away for a moment, hitching his shoulder bag for something to do with his hands, shaking his head before bumping his hip against hers, missing her slight jump at the action.  “Besides, Pepa is the vino tia of the family.  Can’t have us both raiding Mamá’s cellar.  Pepa would have have me stuffed.”

    “Well, that’s no fun for me,” she said, taking another drink of the rum before handing him back the bottle, holding his hands as he went for it.  “But if you start pickling yourself you won’t have to worry about your sister.  They’d never find your body when I got done with you.”

    “Eh, as long as it’s well used first, not a bad way to go,” he shrugged, trying not to laugh as he turned and pulled her with him, taking a second drink from the bottle before recorking it soundly, stuffing it resolutely back in his bag.     

    “You had this one planned, didn’t you?” Elena said after a while, swatting at a mosquito and regretting not at least slipping on a pair of bloomers, her inner thighs beginning to smart as they moved steadily upwards, incline increasing harshly as they snuck into the foothills of the Encanto.  Bruno saw her discomfort and slowed his pace slightly.  “I might have,” he teased, kissing her hand and helping her around a tangle of ceiba roots taller than both of them.  “Had to shift a couple of things, vampiras and weather and all…” 

    “I see.  I guess that makes sense.  Mind telling me why you’re so worried about a certain sobrina overhearing where this is, exactly?”  He groaned, smacking a mosquito on his neck harder than was really necessary.  “Nothing…nothing bad, exactly?  Just…ay, they’re all a mess.  The girls keep asking when I’m bringing you back for dinner.  Antonio is trying to find a male Fuertes parrot for Chacha.  I refuse to tell him that crone of a bird is well out of breeding age.  Camilo can’t hear your name without his face turning red or turning into you and being ridiculous.  Absolute menace.”  

    “Since when is Camilo shy around anyone?”  Elena cut in, laughing.  Bruno snorted and waved vaguely at her breasts, eyes mischievous. “Since Domingo when he saw what type of bra you wear to church.  Mamá’s been…just so strange.  She doesn’t seem to know whether to come or go around me.  All sweet when I leave and all cold when I come back.”  

    Elena nodded sagely at that and patted his back.  “You’re her Brunito.  I’m a lemon she has to swallow to make you happy.  She’ll get over it.  Or she won’t, and you’ll get to hear me be…linguistically inventive more often.” 

    “Please don’t start World War Three in my house,” he sighed, nudging her with his shoulder and out of the way of a spiderweb she nearly took in the face.  She shrugged.  “I make no promises.  I’m surprised your sisters aren’t after you.  Pepa threatened me the other day before smooshing my face and leaving a rainbow.  It was…confusing.”

    “They’re the worst of the bunch.  If they pull me aside one more time to see if I need any help with…well, you, I guess, I’m going to just hide out at your place.”  Elena gave an undignified snort at the idea of his sisters trying to give him dating advice. “Ay dios mio, I’m sorry, but that’s just hilarious.  Did they just forget you and Silvia Gonzalves were a thing?  Pretty sure nobody got away from that puma cachonda without the whole damn playbook.” 

    “I can hear you speculating over there.  Stop it,” he laughed, leading her up a steep incline, showing her where to put her feet as rough steps came into view, most the flat, petrified knees of tree roots, but a few carved here and there.  He made do with just the barest of toeholds, using branches and roots where he needed as he helped her climb, off balance and slowed by the shoes she’d chosen, griping in aggravation as she took his hand, surprised again by his strength as he pulled her up.   

    They broke over the crest into a little plateau secluded away by mahogany trees dripping in vines, ceiba elbows fostering ferns and flowers to rival Isabela, and a thick canopy of jacarandas and Colombian oak.  In the center, a bald rim of white stone, stained green by years of plantfall surrounded a cerulean blue cenote pool with steam lilting up from it, the slightest hint of sulfur and iron in the air as the wet towel of humidity slapped them both in the face.  Bruno sat his bag down in the knotted bowl of a tree, smoothed by years of use.  “Told you I knew a place,” he grinned proudly, puffing his chest out a bit as he circled around the rim of the sinkhole, looking for something.

    “How have I never found this place?” Elena asked, taken by the sweet scent of jacaranda blooms and the green of the air, the little grotto charming her instantly. “Not many people do.  It’s…I found it when I was young.  Used to come here just to get away from everything.  Ah, here it is!”  He came up out of a giant fern with a dirty rope ladder, black with old sealant and age.  He started testing it, yanking roughly at each knot and rung and knocking off years of grime before hucking the entire thing to clatter over the side.  Elena watched as he moved back to their bags, digging out his towel and shedding his shirt, back turned to her as he toed out of his sandals and fiddled with his belt before stepping out of his pants, overlong plain brown trunks beneath, stopping at his knees.  His legs had no business being cut like that, lean calf muscles standing out beneath his skin and shifting against each other as he moved.  He folded his clothes neatly before he turned and rubbed his arm self-consciously before making a vague, agitated gesture and jabbing a thumb at the pool.  “Join me?” 

    Belatedly she remembered she wasn’t swimming in her day clothes, and undid the ties on her shoes, wiggling her toes in the thick, soft moss that carpeted the area before it gave wholly away to limestone.  Bruno watched her with ill-hidden interest as she pulled off her blouse and stuffed it into her bag.  She faltered a bit at her skirt, before taking a breath and unfastening it, stepping out of the fabric.  Her bathing suit, dark material covered in a blue and green and red zinnia pattern, fit her just a bit too snugly, and left very little above the waist to the imagination.  She had a black sarong slung around her hips, her leg peeping out at the front, freckles thick at her knees.  Her blush reached down to her chest, her freckles standing out as he gazed at her appraising, blush ruined smirk on his face.  “About how deep is that, do you think?” She asked, trying to shake his consuming gaze.  He shrugged “Ten, twelve feet in the center, maybe.  Why---Elena!” 

    She bolted, laughing madly as she darted past him and dove in with a clumsy flip, her form off as she landed butt first in the heated water, splashing riotously and sinking like a stone.  Her feet touched the bottom where she crouched and sprung up, coming up spitting a line of water and shaking her hair from her eyes.  She sent a spray of water up at Bruno, halfway down the rope ladder and shaking his head.  “Warn a man next time?” 

    “Never!” she laughed, kicking water at him and swimming in lazy circles, letting the heat soak out any residual soreness from her bones that his hands hadn’t gotten the day before.  Bruno dropped into the water with a relieved sigh, dipping under and swimming to the other side to sit on a natural ledge, brushing his hair out of his face as he leaned back, holding himself up and content to watch as Elena did a few laps with a languid backstroke, the line of her cleavage shifting enticingly with each sweep of her arms, the zigzag of chupetóns he'd left there standing out boldly in the green light filtering down from above.  

    A black scrap of fabric floated over to him after a few minutes, and he gathered it up, curious.  It wasn’t really in keeping with Elena to cover up more than necessary, but he supposed everyone had their hangups, and he knew she was a little uncomfortable with her size, though why always puzzled him.  She crossed by in front of him, flicking droplets at him as she scrunched her nose when he saw something under the water that shouldn’t have been there, something that looked like bruises, a flash of black before she paddled away.  He moved away from the ledge and waded out, letting her butt into him on her next lap.  “Hey you,” she said, flipping and running a hand down his chest, toying with his scar briefly.  “I was wondering when you’d get in here… Bruno?”

    “Why are you bruised?” he asked as he ghosted a hand over her hip under the water, careful to not press too hard.  “Did you drop a crate or something?  I wouldn’t have dragged you up here if I’d known you were hurt.”  Elena froze, forgetting to tread for a moment as she looked down and then around, seeing her sarong wadded up where he’d been sitting.  She hung her head before finding his hand under the water with a sad little sigh.  “They…they aren’t bruises.”

    “I don’t understand.” 

    “Let me show you.  My last real secret.  I…I’m sorry if it’s…well…you’ll see.”

    She felt him trailing behind her in the water as she kicked over to the ledge, waiting for him to get seated before she shifted to sit, just her knees in the water, her feet scuffing against the soft sand gathered in the divot there.  She bit her lip and leaned back, letting him see, watching and hoping, fingers crossed where he couldn’t see them that this wouldn’t be the thing that chased him away. 

    Bruno’s eyes flew wide at what he saw.  At each hip, ground into the delicate skin with it’s gentle dimples and stripes and scattered freckles, perched an abstract Aztec hummingbird, stylized chiribiquete emeralds; red and black and blue and vibrantly green, bold lines carved into her skin by ink.  Either bird was in flight, encircled by geometric blue skulls and sunrays in blood red, rings held in their little talons, the end of their narrow beaks pointing upward, staring up at him with jewel toned eyes. 

    He felt his mouth go dry as he took them in, hand reaching out almost reverently to trace the lines of them. The images were large, nearly spanning his splayed hand, and begining to fade slightly with age, lines gentling as time diffused the ink under her skin. 

    “You…you have…tattoos…” he said in a daze, eyes tracing the shapes inscribed on her skin.  Elena sighed and nodded, tight lipped for a long moment before she opened her eyes to look up through the entrance, lost in memory and avoiding his eyes anxiously.   “Mamá…Mamá always believed that our souls…turned to hummingbirds to…to take us up to heaven.  I never really believed her, but when they passed I…I couldn’t think of a better way to keep them with me.  To remember them.  I had these done in Bogotá my second solo trip.  I…I’m sorry.”

    “Why would you ever apologize for these?” he asked, frowning as he stroked down her right hip, feeling the slight rise of scar under the ink, feeling her shiver.  She shook her head, looking away.  “It’s…they’ve been that ‘too much’ for more than one person, Bruno.  I…I was afraid that…that they’d be that for you too.”

    Bruno met her eyes with a heated look, light filtering into his irises, jaw working as his nostrils flared.  Elena gulped visibly and he thought wickedly, ‘fuck the plan.'  He chose his next words carefully, grasping her hips roughly as he knelt before her in the pool, watching steam rise from the water and their skin as he edged her knees apart with his chest.  Her heart hammered in her chest as her breathing began to falter, heat rolling down her skin at the intensity of his gaze.

    “Elena…you will always be too much for me, and I want you to be.  I want you to be who you are; this wild, brave thing you can be.  The madwoman that tosses men out on their ears and races bears down mountains and dances in the embers and makes herself a canvas for beautiful memorials to people she loves.”  Elena stilled then, her heart aching at his words, watching as he brought his lips to her left tattoo, murmuring against it as his hand slowly stroked the other.    

    “Colibríes en tus caderas.  No te merezco…”  He kissed the full circle of the tattoo, his hair leaving wet, ticklish trails down her skin as he went, before gently tracing the lines with his tongue, circling back to suck a mark at the very top before gently biting at the plush line of her hip pressed out by the tight leg of her swimsuit.  He laved the crease between her leg and her body before kissing across her front, the heat of his mouth seeping through her bathing suit as he pressed against her, nose buried in her lap as he trailed his tongue in a V down and up the inlet of her thighs.  He shifted to her other side at the hitching of her breath, smirking as her hand wove into his hair, to copy his actions with the other tattoo there, one hand sliding up the inside of her thighs, the other curling under and up, locking her in place and with his thumbs now stroking at the seams of her bathing suit faintly, teasingly as he bit a line of lovemarks up her right thigh, encouraged by her shuddering breath and the hand she’d now tangled fully in his hair.       

    He had just managed to winnow a hand under the too tight hip of her suit, careful not to pinch at her skin, when a shout sounded above them, followed by four almighty splashes as something hit the water.  He recoiled and yanked Elena into the deeper water, her shrill yelp cut off as she slipped below the surface, neither sure what was happening.  They both surfaced to find his four oldest sobrinos splashing each other and laughing in the deepest part of the cenote.  His expression was thunderous as he groaned and drifted back to the ledge, grinding his teeth as he hissed, deadpan and fuming.  “I am going to murder my mother.  I’m going to murder her and chop her up into little pieces and feed her to Parce!”  Elena moved to sit on a higher ledge, hiding her tattoos with her sarong, and pulled him back into her legs, letting him rest his head above the water on her thigh as she ran a hand over his hair, one foot sliding into his lap unseen to tease him gently.  “I’ll help.  We can hide the body in my loft.  No one will look for her there.”

    “You two know I can hear you, right?” Dolores snickered, looking over at them as they huddled together and plotted, both red in the face and looking like someone had pissed in their cerveza.

    “Yeah, no shit!” they swore in unison, looking back at each other and falling into hopeless, desperate laughter.  Dolores gaped, not sure when the last time she’d directly heard her tio swear had been.

    “Don’t pretend she didn’t put you up to this, Lolo,” Bruno snapped when he could breathe again, looking even less threatening than usual sat between Elena’s knees with her hand in his hair.  “Not a damned one of you knew where this place was because I never told any of you!”

    “Hm.  I wasn’t planning on it,” Dolores snickered, dodging the splash as Camilo was bellyflopped into the water by Luisa, the two of them completely oblivious to the conversation, Camilo climbing over her like a tamarin in a hopeless attempt to overpower or unbalance her.  Isabela was watching with vague interest from the giant lily-pad she’d summoned, twiddling two vines up over the edge of the pool as if she were searching for something. 

    Dolores continued, unfazed by the glower on her uncle’s face, and only a little worried by the unamused look on Elena’s.  “I believe Abuela’s exact words were “Find them before I have to call on the Padre!”  when she realized you’d left with swim stuff this morning.  Sorry tio.  You didn’t see her face.  I wasn’t about to argue.  Everyone else just wanted to go swimming.”

    “Speak for yourself.  I came to watch tio sweat,” Camilo laughed as he leaned up on Isabela’s float.  She popped him with a nettle to the nose and laughed as he fell back in.  “Be nice to tio Bruno, ‘Milo.  You’re lucky I didn’t leave you vined to the jacarandas, you little shit, trying to pull up the ladder on them like I wasn’t here.”

    Bruno dragged his hands down his face in frustration.  Elena bent and kissed his hair, draping her arms over his shoulders and resting her chin on his head as she pulled him back against her, pillowing his head on her chest.  “Just ignore them, tonto.  There’s always tomorrow.” 

    “What’s in the thermos, Tio?” Isabela said, catching it and the bottle of rum as her vines brought them down. 

     “It’s Elena’s and none of your business, you nosy brat,” he groused.  Isabela flicked it over to them, laughing. 

     “Just because you’re frustrated doesn’t mean you get to be an ass.  Just for that, I’m keeping the rum.” 

    “Your next ten orders are double charged if you do, Isabela Madrigal.  That’s mine!” Elena laughed, taking a drink from the thermos and squeezing Bruno with her legs in appreciation before passing it down to him, whispering in his ear.  “If this is the worst your mother can do, then I have very little to worry about.”

    He looked up at her as she slid away, swimming off to snatch the rum from an inattentive Isabela, pulling it straight from her mouth, ignoring her indignant “Hey!” before paddling back and depositing herself in his lap, wiggling against him as she settled in, wrapping her arms around him.  She gave him an inflamed look before laughing “Tio ardiente,” taking a swig of rum, and crushing her mouth to his.  He faltered for a split second, wide eyed until she winked at him.  He drew her close, one hand stroking at her tattoo on the side his sobrinos could see and tasting rum on her lips as he let himself be pulled into the kiss.  She swiped her tongue across his bottom lip, passing rum warmed by her mouth to him as he let her in, letting the alcohol burn their mouths as they laughed at his sobrinos, all of whom had groaned at the display.  

    “Tio, please!  I’ll never be able to go to the bibliotheca again!” Camilo whined as they broke apart, shaking with laughter at him.  “What you get for interrupting us when we’re busy, mocosito,” Elena cracked, salt thick in her voice as she raised an eyebrow at him, arms crossed.

    “Any busier and I’d have a new primo,” he grumbled even as he went scarlet.  Elena threw her sarong at him, hitting him square in the face with the soaked fabric, cackling as he floundered.  “I’ve seen your parents, we’re not half as bad!”   “Don’t remind him, Elena,” Luisa laughed as she dunked her primo again, “He’s still in denial about Tonito.”

    “Era una puta cigüeña and I will go to my grave saying it!” he flailed, hands over his eyes as he bobbed to the surface.

    “Language, ‘Milo!” came four exhausted groans as Isabela whipped him out of the water with a vine.  “You can come down when you can behave, there’s a lady present.”

    Elena laughed, falling against Bruno as Camilo threw out his hands, pointing at her accusingly as he dangled and dripped upside down. “Dolores can’t even listen to her without turning four shades of red!  She’s got a filthier mouth than Pá and you and me put together, Isa!”

    “Yes she does,” Bruno said affectionately, pulling her close and brushing his thumb over her lips as she smirked, both of them enjoying embarrassing his sobrinos a bit meanly as they all groaned again.  “Give up now.  She’s got the whole town beat.”

    “Not sure that’s how we encourage him to stop,” Elena laughed.  Bruno shrugged.  “Meh, let Pepa and her chancla sort him out.  I’ve got more important things to worry about.”  He punctuated his point by dragging her against his chest and grinding into her slyly, casually taking a drink from the thermos as she wiggled, laughing.  “Plans run aground a bit?”

    “It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just from me derailing it myself,” he sighed, rolling his eyes and resting his head on her shoulder.  “As it is…” he shrugged and huffed, pressing his lips to her shoulder remorsefully as he cooled down, glaring out at his sobrinos, who had started throwing around giant, thin skinned string-of-pearl buds Isabela had created as water balloons, shrieking with laughter as they got covered in thin, sticky sap in various colors.   Elena caught a wild one and tossed it in the center, laughing as it hit Isabela in the shoulder and splattered her with blue sap.   

    “Will I see you in church tomorrow, ninfa?  I know you aren’t…all that religious,” he asked curiously, stroking her side.  Elena shook her head, a little sadly.  “I’d go for you if nothing else, but I promised Bea I’d help her and Rodrigo patch their ceiling.  Beatriz is useless with home repair and Rodrigo has that inner ear thing and can’t stand on ladders.  I’ve been putting it off too long as it is.  Tomorrow morning is the only chance I’ll have.”

    “Can’t their son help them? He’s old enough for that sort of thing.”  His face had fallen somewhat, until she kissed him, stroking his cheek.  “Do you not remember the rebuilding?  Would you trust Juancho with laths and plaster?”  He snickered at the image of the over-caffeinated boy swinging from the ceiling fixtures.   “At the Cortez place?  Yes.  But I know she’s your friend…for some reason…Do what you do, manitas astuta.  I’ll miss you tomorrow.” 

    “Come find me after, rub the knots out of my shoulders,” she said craftily, twirling a lazy spiral into his chest hair. “And where ever else they end up.” She laughed as she heard Dolores squeak and tip back in the water to flood her ears.

    “You will be the death of me.”

    “Thought that sounded like a good way to go?”

    He gave her an unimpressed look and stood then, dropping her into the water with an indignant yelp before diving back in and grabbing a couple of the plant buds in preparation.  She came up spitting a stream of water.

    “Bruno!” she cried before getting splashed in the face with an explosion of purple sap.  “Bruno Madrigal! I will --Ahk--!”  He got her again as his sobrinos cheered, laughing, before she dove in and emerged behind him, surging up to dunk him and splashing away.  He surfaced shaking his head and looked around for her, their own fight weaving in with the bigger one with his sobrinos, who seemed content to laugh and toss whichever side they felt like ammo.  

    They circled each other, grappling and coming together and dodging out of the way of the sticky water bombs and cackling like children.  He managed to dive down and get her legs around his shoulders, bounding off a shallower part of the bottom to flip her over his shoulder as she flailed, Luisa failing to catch her.  She sank to the bottom and grabbed his ankles, pulling him down and climbing up him like a ladder to keep him down as he floundered.  He got her in the face with another of Isa’s little bombs, and she and Camilo teamed up with an evil grin to confuse him before he took three to the back.  He latched onto her waist and twined his legs with hers twisted back, spinning like an alligator to leave her dazed before she wiggled free with a little help from Dolores, who poked him in the side so viciously he couldn’t breathe for laughing, hacking as he inhaled springwater.

    Elena dunked him again, this time wrapping her legs around him before he could surface, splaying his arms out as she trapped him, her knees under his armpits and her feet locked behind his shoulders as she dropped back to float both of them facing up as he struggled against her.  She regretted her her decision almost immediately, his neck and shoulders trapped against her and rocking against every sensitive nerve as he struggled to get loose.  Her laugh came out too shrill, and she gave a surprised squawk when he jostled against her harder, chuckling as he shook her off him and into the water, the heat of the springs doing nothing to cool her burning face.   

    The six of them made their way out of the pool after a good hour of horseplaying, limp from the heat and prune-fingered.  Isabela took pity on everyone after Dolores slipped down the rope ladder on her third attempt and brought down vines to pull them up, depositing them gently on the limestone rim.  Elena fussed about with her sarong, trying to hide her tattoos, knowing if word got back about them to Alma the older woman would raise six kinds of hell.  Bruno came up behind her and pulled it away, folding it soundly before wringing it out and placing it in her bag.  “Don’t hide them, mi oréade.  Let them see.  I’ll deal with the fallout, if there is any.”  He stared down his sobrinos as they saw the marks in turn, waiting until they looked away, knowing they’d say nothing to their abuela as they turned away from his unsettlingly stern glare.

    "I didn't know women could get tattoos," Luisa said, intrigued as she sidled up to Elena, who was shuffling into her skirt, stuck for a moment at the hips.  The older woman laughed, shrugging, figuring there was no harm in answering questions now that her secret was out and privately glad Luisa had said nothing about the lovebites, already hearing all the jokes Camilo could make and just how far that rumor would go.  "Nobody was going to stop me.  Way I see it we get to do all the things men can do, we just have to want to.  The Incas or the Aztecs, one of those, used to tattoo themselves, men and women.  Why am I any different?"

    "They're very pretty."

    "Thank you, Luisa."

    "Did they hurt?"  Dolores asked.  Elena shrugged again, toweling at her hair and using the distraction to slip the slim book from her bag into Bruno's.   "Some.  I may have had a few shots of tequila in me to numb the pain.  Healing took forever, though.  They say it hurts worse if you get it over a bone.  Andrés swore he cried like a baby when he had his hands done."

    "Andrés?" Bruno asked, ears perking up at the name.

    "The tattooist who did my colibríes.  Nice man.  Sort of reminds me of Mariano."

    "Mhm, and should I be jealous of this Andrés your next trip to Bogotá?"  Bruno teased, bumping her hip.  She rolled her eyes.  "No, but I might be, if I take you with me.  Andrés would like you.  If him and Ernesto aren't still a thing he might try to steal you, and then I'd have to box that idiot."

    "...I...see..."

    "Don't be stuffy, Bruno.  It's the 1950's.  Let them be themselves.  It doesn't hurt anyone."  Bruno warred with himself for a minute before nodding and shrugging in acceptance.  He rode the line between miracle and being called a brujo by the church himself because of something he couldn't help.  Who was he to judge?

    "Why colibríes though?  Why not something cool, like a jaguar?" Camilo piped up, earning a swat from Dolores.  Elena laughed  "Hummingbirds are plenty cool.  Ask your brother, he'd know all about them."

    "Hummingbirds are symbols of rebirth, 'Milo.  Warriors used to think they'd come back as one if they died in battle," Luisa said, remembering something from her myths.  "Sounds pretty cool to me."  

    They made their way back to town slowly, watching curiously as Isabela hid the trail.  He'd taken her hand as soon as the majority of the climbing was done, and not let go the whole way down the path, carrying her bag for her and pulling her close, his other hand resting right on her hip the whole time, as if keeping her and her hummingbirds from flying away.

*****

    Elena was very, very close to turning Rodrigo Cortez into a widower.  Beatriz was driving her absolutely crazy, having not left her alone since she’d gotten done with the breakfast dishes.  She was half tempted to seal her up into the ceiling, Encanto's own Tale Tell Heart, though with the way her friend kept going, she doubted very much she'd be driven mad.  

    Juancho and little Lucia had come running when she’d come over, decked out in her work clothes and carrying a basket loaded down with slats and shims and plaster, almost toppling her over as the hugged onto her legs and yelling “Tia, tia!”  “Don’t act too excited to be getting out of church, rugrats, I’m putting you to work today too,” she laughed, getting set up.  

    “Juancho, you get to sort these slats out by size and hand them to me when I need them, got it?”

    “Got it!” He shouted, jittering already as she rolled her eyes. “Inside voice, ‘Chito.  I’m not deaf yet.”

    “Sorry Tia,” She ruffled his hair and turned to his little sister, who was wiggling with excitement.

    “What can I do?”  Elena knelt down, handing her a whisk broom and a bucket.  “You’re going to be safety manager!  You get to sweep up all the mess and make sure that nobody hurts their feet.  Both of you don’t come in until your Mamá gives you the clear, ok?  It’s going to be loud and messy for a while before either of you get started.”

    She snickered as they both whined, before they darted off to play and she made her way to the back bedroom, laughing at the sleep set up in the living area and the array of buckets under the hole in the ceiling.  It had buckled after one of the heavy rains, and while the structure and tile shingles had been replaced, the interior damage had had to wait.  Elena had volunteered but had gotten so caught up with Bruno she hadn’t had the time.

    Rodrigo already had the ladder set up, and was sitting in the cocina, waiting to haul off the trash.  He tipped his coffee mug to her as she set up, digging out her hammer and a pocketful of nails, tying a bandanna around her face to keep down the dust.  Bea followed her in, setting sheets down under the ladder and generally getting in the way before sitting down on the bed and staring at her, eyes boring into her back as she drew a line around the ruined plaster and began chiseling it out, doing her best to drop chunks onto the sheets as she exposed the moldy laths beneath.  She sighed as she heard the springs shift for the fifth time in under ten minutes.  “Go on Bea.  Ask.”

    “It’s just…we haven’t really seen you much since…since last Miércoles.  You’ve been closing the shops early…everyone in town is talking...”

    “Did you have an actual question or...?” she laughed as she yanked out the first of the laths with the claw of her hammer, wincing as dust fell in her eye.  

    “Is…is he treating you ok?”

    “Would you believe me if I told you very much yes?” Elena laughed, shaking her head, hand brushing fondly over the lovebites on her breasts as she knocked dust off her shirt.

    "I want to..."

Elena sighed, rolling her eyes.  "You want to but...?  What?"

    “It’s just…Elena, I heard what happened on Martes at the market and Paola said he just dragged you away, his eyes...his eyes glowing...and looking like he wanted to hit you!”

    Elena nearly dropped her hammer before laying into her friend's ceiling wrathfully.  Of course that damned Rosario bitch was spitting poison again.  “That's not what it means when his eyes go off.  Paola is a perra difamatoria!  You know that!  You know what the Rosario twins have always been like.  No, he didn’t want to hit me!”  She didn't feel the need to establish that it had been quite the opposite that Bruno had wanted to do.  That was none of her business.

    “Ozma said she saw him dragging you through town on Jueves, looking furious!” Bea continued, remembering too late her friend had never gotten along with the Rosarios.   Elena grunted and pulled down several laths at once, a shower of plaster dust and splinters raining down on her head.  Beatriz winced.

    “He was taking me to Julieta after I burned the fuck out of my arm!  He had to talk sense into me to get me to go and was worried!  How long have you been hanging out at the Cerámica listening to this nonsense?” 

    "It's not just there that people are talking, Elena!" She went on.  "A bunch of people said you made a scene at the theater and that he wouldn't get off of you."

    Elena rolled her eyes, already exasperated.  "Oh por la mierda, Beatriz, we were laughing!  Remember laughing?  That thing you used to do with me and Miranda and Carlita before you sat on a stick?"

    Beatriz faltered for a moment.  It really had been some time since the four of them had gone out together, not counting the hoguera, which had ended disastrously. 

    "They said he was draped over you all night like a cheap rug." She said, shaking her head.  She knew what she'd heard, knew her friend didn't like men who didn't respect her boundaries, remembering her primo Paco's broken fingers.  There was another clatter as the last of the laths fell, half powdered by black and yellow mold.

    "I'm beginning to wonder how you have kids.  Usually a man not being able to keep his hands off you is considered a good thing if you're ok with it."

    "Don't be like that.  If he's making you uncomfortable just tell me.  You've never liked handsy men."

    "Bea, I didn't like Paco.  That doesn't mean I don't like a man's hands on me at all.  Bruno and I managed to at least have a few conversations before touching got involved, he didn't just dive hand first into my cleavage."

    "Conversations.  Sure.  You know you don't have to keep thanking him for what happened with Carlos.  It's over and done with."  She said sternly.  Elena went stiff, saying nothing as she finished up the edges of the hole in the ceiling, chipping plaster with her hands and sanding with a file, making spaces for the new laths to secure to when she came back with them.   

    Beatriz watched as Elena descended the ladder, face inscrutable, and went to the other room for supplies.  She came back a few moments later with an assortment of thin wood slats in a bag slung across her chest, opposite her pocket heavy with nails.  

    "Is that really what you think this is, Bea?  That I see him as some white knight because he broke Carlos' face for me?"  She asked, tapping a nail into a new shim carefully, concentrating on it perhaps a little too keenly.

    "What else could it be with him, Elena?  Look at him!"

    "I have, damn you.  I like what I’ve seen!"

    "Do you, or are you still seeing him how he was twenty years ago, when he swore your shops would succeed?  Which they aren't really, by the way.  Don't think I don't know how thin your margins are!  Or sixteen years ago, when you got this ridiculous notion that he was attractive in your head?  He's a fifty year old man who's never had a serious relationship.  Something is wrong with him outside his face and those damned visions!"  

    Elena froze, the line of her jaw harsh as she breathed slowly and carefully placed nails between her lips.  Something about her stance shifted, a rigidity to her back that Beatriz hadn't seen in a long time.  "I happen to like his face.  Just because you don't have eyes doesn't mean you get to be a bitch.  Did it ever occur to you, even once, that the way you think is the reason he'd been single so long before he went away?  Everyone in this maldita cuidad thinking the worst of him or begging for visions over stupid shit?  Using him like a dog?"

    "It's his gift!  It's meant to be used!"

    "It's meant to be shared as he sees fit, not trotted out like a trick pony whenever someone can't figure out the writing on the goddamned wall!"

    "All the other Madrigals use their gifts to help the community.  How else was his meant to be used?  What good is seeing the future if it helps no one?  What could his own future show that kept him alone for so long unless it was something awful?"

    "I know he did a vision for you, after that dinner!  You told me yourself you ran out so relieved after you saw yourself being married to Rigo that you didn't even say goodbye or kiss my ass or anything!  You think you're the only girl that did that to him?"  Elena stopped herself then.  It was none of her friend's business, the fear he'd shown, willing to go through another involuntary vision rather than have her ask about their fate together.  She switched tactics, hoping to shake Bea out of this nonsense before she had to shake it out of her herself. 

    "Did you forget that he invited me to the hoguera, Bea?  That you and Miranda were losing your minds over a lovebite before any of that?"

    "The Ortiz brothers let on about that.  Something about him ruining their field with a vision and you helping him.  Temporary insanity."  Beatriz waved off.  Her vision had been terrible, wind and sand and those horrible, horrible eyes.  No one sane could have seen any good in him after dealing with a worse version of that.

    "I don't even know why I'm arguing with you.  He invited me to dinner before that, after chasing out Carlos for being un bastardo."

    "Still sounds like a white knight infatuation that he's taking advantage of to me."

"Ay dios mio, Beatriz!  I kissed him first!   He didn't start anything, I did!  There, happy now?"  She huffed, beating the nails into the shims rapidly, too hard and leaving dents in the wood, but she didn't care.  Beatriz was tap-dancing hard on her last nerve.

    "No, I'm not, Elena!  This is ridiculous.  You've been obsessed with him for years, and all of a sudden he's just there, every day, all over you?  How do you not see he's just taking you for a ride?"

    "You mean like Orlando or Paco would have if I'd have given them half the chance?"

    "At least you knew it with them!  It's like you're blind that he's just using you for sex.  Elena, he's one of the Madrigals...If you cross him he'll ruin your life!"  Elena barked and threw her hammer down, it landing with a dull thunk on the sheet protected floor.  "Nice to know what you think of me!  How, Beatriz?  How the hell is he going to ruin my life?  Why would he?  I've heard that nonsense too often the last week, and I don't like it."

    "The same way he ruined the Rosarios--don't give me that look, you know his visions were responsible for their divorces!  Or how he got Silvia Gonzalves' son killed!  Consuela Rivera lost an eye and even Julieta couldn't fix it!  He's dangerous!"

    "Me estás jodiendo ahora mismo!?  He's the gentlest man I've ever met!  Claudia and Paola ruined their own lives because they decided they liked each other's husbands!"

    "Ok, fine, fair enough with them but what about Guillermo?"

    "That construction accident couldn't have been avoided. They tried everything, and those rocks still fell!  Memo knew it would happen and was able to keep it from being worse!  He was able to get his affairs in order beforehand and keep six other men from dying, including Rigo, you absolute idiot!"

    "Consuela still lost an eye, just a month after they broke up!  Everyone was saying it was his revenge, you remember how crazy everyone was going about it, we even kept hearing about it in school!"

    "And Julieta was in on it, was she?  Consuela had cancer!  The only reason she's still alive is because of that vision letting her father know what to look for and remove!  You think it was easy, operating on his own daughter like that?!  Bruno's vision saved her life!  That tumor was the size of a lulo!"

    "Who's to say he doesn't cause it?  Who's to say he doesn't cause all of it?  If he can see it, why can't he cause it too?"

    Elena paused as she mixed the plaster, her task the only thing keeping her from throttling her friend.  "Beatriz.  Enough.  Just...just enough.  Your kids call me Tia for crying out loud.  Don't make it to where they have to stop."

    "All this over some nasty old creep who'll throw you away as soon as he's done with you just like everyone else does!  Carlos went after you for a year, you'd have been better off with him!  Maybe if you just gone out with him he wouldn't have tried to rape you!" Beatriz hissed before clamping her hands over her mouth, horrified at what she'd said, knowing she'd gone to far.  Elena shook with rage, all the color draining from her face as her lips pressed into a severe line, her eyes blazing.

    "Por la mierda, I said enough!  You don't know him, and now I can see you're not going to try, no matter what I say or what he does.  He saved my life on Miercoles!   You know what, fix your own jodido ceiling, I'm done with you until you get your cabeza fuera de tu culo!  And don't you dare take this out on 'Chito and Lulo, it's not their fault their mother is a maldito idiota." 

He shook his head as he made his way back to his family, clustered under the pergola and waiting on him as Antonio spoke quietly with his new whipsnake friend.  His mother's sour face was countered by Pepa's anxious fog and Julieta's worried frown.  They all waited on his word, but he didn't have any, words trapped in his throat as he turned sharply down the street and began hopping the cracks as quick as his feet would take him, heart pounding and mind flooding with a thousand sharp thoughts, the sight of Elena dancing in the street with a snake, her face tear-stained and a little mad, the sight of her clinging to her friend and not him, had thrown him from the high ground he'd clawed his way up to over the past two weeks. 

    His plan for the night was ruined, but maybe he could talk himself into the dance hall if he gave himself time.  It was definitely the opposite of the quiet dinner he'd worked out, and the thought of being back in the public eye somewhere so obvious had him chewing at his nails.  Too many eyes, too many ears, too many rumors to spread like poison. 

    His mind started whispering to him as the fear shivered up his spine at the thought, latching onto his weakness, spiraling and growing as it grabbed onto all the other fears he’d been trying his best to ignore.  'She broke a friendship.  She broke a friendship for you.  For you!  She's going to hate you.  She's going to hate you and never speak to you again.  What kind of person splits up a thirty year friendship just by existing?  Cursed.  You're cursed, and now she knows it too.  Look at you.  Look at you!  Pitiful, pathetic thing.  Can't even face her friend not liking you, breaking apart when she needs you most.  What good are you?  What good are you to her?  Dirt on her shoe, she tackles vipers and bears and the town and your visions and you're just dirt on her shoe, slowing her down, bringing her down, ruining her, ruining her!'  His hand went grasping out desperately when he tried to catch himself, viciously shaking the thoughts loose with a gritted "NO," but Elena’s hand wasn't there to take his as it had been so often lately, and his heart sunk further, lost and hollow and heavy, thudding in his chest painfully as he broke out in a sweat, twitching as he walked, mind spinning and nerves suddenly raw.

    He stumbled and slowed, eyes lost in the sky, looking for some symbol that it wasn't all going to come crashing down around him, wringing his hands so hard his knuckles went white, nails digging into his palms.  Two heavy hands lit onto his shoulders, making him jump, and Agustín and Félix flanked him, faces unsettled and angry in turn.  A smaller hand patted his back briefly, Dolores' distinct pattern to let people know she was there.  "It's not you, Tio.  It's not you.  I heard what her friend said.  I wasn't trying to, they were just so loud.  Senóra Cortez was horrible to her.  She never stopped defending you."

    "Come on, Bruno.  We aren't going to let you fall into a funk again.  Comida first.  Then we talk." Agustín said, patting his shoulder, seeing the panic in his eyes and feeling the tension in his shoulders.  He'd been fine all morning, a little quiet, but his back straight and his head held up.  Now he stood folded into himself, shrinking away like he had that first day he'd returned.  They were used to his frequent mood changes from before, but ten years of isolation had scraped his nerves raw and only made them more volitile and easier to fall prey to.  He'd shown incredible progress lately, clearly motivated and stubbornly determined.  The reverse side of that particular coin was that when he lost himself, it happened swiftly and often with very little warning, their old tricks working only so well in the face of his struggling mind.

    He found himself flanked again at the table, Félix, Pepa and Dolores to the right and keeping him separated from Alma, Agustín  and Julieta to his left, the rest of the kids across the table, all giving him worried looks as they tried focus on their food, awkward as they watched him spiraling, tried not to watch him trying to hide it.   Too many eyes again.  He picked at his food, trying to pull himself out of his head, not really getting anywhere, every positive thing he could think of shot down my a chorus of negative thoughts, in the voices of the town.  In his own voice, in his mother's, in his familia's voices, in Elena's.  He made a little headway when he remembered her, gentle smiles as she showed him her catalog system, laughing at the theater, her dancing in the firelight, or swimming with him, her smiles and her words still fresh in his mind.  He knew she was honest, knew she was earnest, knew she wasn't going to drop him like he burned.  If he kept telling himself what he knew, maybe he'd start believing it.  He started digging his thumbnail into the soft part of his opposite wrist, one jab for every negative thought.  By the end of the meal he'd gouged his wrist raw, but felt slightly better, a few of the weaker thoughts chased off by the continued pain.  He could feel Julieta glaring at him, but appeased her by choking down half an arepa.  The marks disappeared only to begin reappearing at each hissed little nastiness his brain tried to throw at him.

    As soon as they were done with their plates, Agustín and Félix grabbed him up by the elbows and led him gently to his room, Agustín grabbing a decanter and three glasses, only dropping one that was saved by Chispi, who seemed to want to come along for the ride.  He shook his head and waved the animal on as Félix opened the door.

    "And sit," Félix said, not unkindly, as he pressed Bruno down into the soft sands of his room, the thinner man's knees crumpling under what little force he'd used.  Chispi used the opportunity to splay himself out over Bruno's legs as the man tried to nervously shoo him away.  Chispi wasn't moving and Bruno couldn't shift him, he was pretty sure the giant rodent outweighed him, if he was being honest with himself.   He numbly took the tumbler of aguardiente Félix placed in his hand, his other preoccupied with absently scratching the capybara's wiry hair.  Félix sat down to his right again, Agustín to his left, each with their own tumblers as they watched him fiddle with his glass as his rats came scampering out of his sleeping area and cuddled up under Chispi.

    "Guys, we uh...we don't...I mean...this is thoughtful and all, but I'm fine, I swear," Bruno mumbled, trapped.  Félix patted his shoulder.  "Nope, not buying it.  Look Bruno,  no jokes, no teasing, we just saw you have a panic attack in the street.  We saw Elena nearly pass out, too.  Dolores told us what that damn Cortez woman said to her.  What's going on?"

    "Nothing, just...just a bad day...just a bad day..."

Agustín gave him a look.  "Bruno...you ran off and then froze.  You looked like you'd seen a ghost.  What happened?"

    He sighed, giving up and taking a sip of the anise flavored liquor, letting it sit on his tongue and burn down his throat before he answered, his eyes closed.

    "I happened," he began, bitter taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with the alcohol.  "She just gave up a thirty year friendship because of me.  How much more is she going to lose, because of--because of me?  Her other friends?  Her businesses?  Her home?  Because I'm too damned selfish to give up this one chance?"

    "Didn't you panic the day of the hoguera and try to do that, and she refused to listen?" Félix asked, hand still at his shoulder, warm and solid and grounding against the buzz of his skin and the drone in his head.

    Bruno felt his face crack with a weak smile as he shook his head, bent double over that damned capybara and resting his forehead against the scratchy fur.  "She chased me through town, dragged the truth out of me, and brought me back to the shops like a dog on a leash." Félix kept his mouth shut, the urge to joke too strong to resist if he spoke, knowing he had exactly no room to talk when he'd gleefully handed his own leash to Pepa the day he'd met her.

    "Sounds like she thinks you're worth whatever risks you've thought up."

    "It's not a thought, Agustín.  She lost a friend today.  The Ortizes can't look me in the eye anymore and the Rosario twins are starting the rumor mill grinding again.  She...she's barely making it.  She doesn't want me to see, but I see.  I don't think she realized...when she showed me her ledger...to help her out.  She gives away so much to the community.  She's bleeding money left and right.  She doesn't need me there being a--being a millstone around her neck, weighing her down, making things worse and chasing off customers.  And now her friend thinks she’d want to be seen with me at the dance hall of all places, after breaking down in tears at the sight of me!"  He threw back the rest of his drink and tossed the glass aside, disgusted with himself.

    "You've been helping her out at the bibliotheca?"

    "I say all that and that's what you get, Félix?"

    "Bruno, you're actively helping her.  She's been running herself ragged to run those places for years, but she's always had faith in that vision.  What's to say that this thing between you isn't what leads to that place finally succeeding?" Félix asked, shaking his shoulder.

    "Have you heard how they still talk about me?  Anything I said?" He said, his hands flying.

    "We have.  We also know it's completa caga."  Agustín cut in, hand at his chin, considering.  "We know it's not true.  Elena has never believed it, well before any of this with you and her.  If she started crying, it probably has more to do with that stupid Cortez woman than with you.  You haven't heard the other side of things."

    "Oth--other side?"

    "Word got out quick about the hoguera.  About Carlos.  There's a lot of people in town that are looking at you differently.  It's not a bad thing.  You saved Elena from getting raped, broke Bardales' stupid face, and testified before the whole tribunal.  It's respect, Bruno."

    "From the men," Félix interrupted, sly grin on his face. "Pepi has been laughing herself silly when she comes home.  She's heard so much speculation over just what it is you two are getting up to she’s had a hard time raining she’s cracking up so often.  There’s a lot of women in town that want to be in Elena’s shoes right now.  Silv is just fanning the flames at the market too, laughing her ass off.”

    Bruno snorted as Agustín handed him another shot, rolling his eyes.  “Sure, Félix.  They’ve what?  Just decided I’m Don Juan all of a sudden?  No soy idiota, deja de alimentarme con mierda.  I’m…this was a mistake to think it would work out.  It never does.”  He threw back his shot and folded up, face hidden in his arms as he fell further into his head, laughing bitterly as his eyes stung.

    Agustín and Félix exchanged a look behind his back.  Maybe it was time to switch approaches.  Agustín sighed, volunteering to take the hit knowing that one way or the other, there'd be an angry Madrigal to face at the end of the night.  "You've been doing very well, you know.  You've been pushing yourself to spend time with her.  Good practice for getting yourself back out there.  Maybe she’s just been...too much?"  Agustín said beside him, looking out over the oasis.  “Maybe…you should…find someone a bit more patient, calmer?  Less…vulgar?”

    Bruno peered up at that, face tight and incensed.  “Is that what you think this is?  What Elena is to me?  Practice?  You think I’m stringing her along to ‘get back out there’ like she’s some sort of jodiendo stepping stone?  And she isn’t vulgar!  There is nothing wrong with the way she is, you presumido bastardo!”

    “You’re the one that keeps having second thoughts,” Félix shrugged, trying not to laugh when Bruno’s head spun back to him, glaring. “You’re doing that this early, eh…might be best to let it go…”

    Bruno shoved Chispi as hard as he could and pulled his legs out to stand, pointing vehemently at his door, voice rough in irritation as he shook, color high on his cheeks.  “Get out.  Get out of my room!  The only second thoughts I have about her are the stupid invasive puta mentiras you pendejos know I can’t help!  Vete, anda!  Lárgate!  Y espero que ella escupa en tu cafe!”

    Félix and Agustín dusted themselves off as they stood to go, Bruno shoving at their backs and kicking sand at their shoes.  “Out!”  He yelled as they let him shove them.  “I thought you were on our side.  Don't let me hear you talking about her again!  Get out!”  They let him shove them out the door and slam it in their faces, listening to his receding voice rant against them before two solid thumps hit the door, his sandals thrown in pique. 

    “Going to make dinner awkward,” Félix laughed, shaking sand out of his shoes.  Agustín shook his head as he did the same, “Forget dinner.  Our wives…”  “ ‘Ahh, they know what he’s like.  Best way to pull him out of his head is get him going about something else.  That’s just us this time.” Félix said dismissively.  Agustín perked up with a huff as he heard faint strains of music start up from behind the door, Casita helping out and letting them know they hadn’t pushed him too far by letting them hear.  “Don’t think we’ll see him at dinner tonight.” He said as Félix met his high five, an impromptu victory dance following before they moved away with matching grins. 

Elena had woken up to the sun setting, bleary eyed and drained, but warm and surrounded by the bodies of her friends, cuddled up beside her.  Carlita was napping and Miranda reading a trashy romance novella she'd nicked from the bargain bin downstairs.  When they realized she'd woken they sat her up in her bed, bringing her food and warm carajillo and holding her close as they had done for Carlita when her father passed and her mother's eyesight left her.  They washed her face and soothed her nerves and rubbed her back as they had done when Miranda had slipped into dark silence after her twins were born.

    They cajoled and wheedled her sweetly until she felt like talking, and sat listening as she told them what Beatriz had said, Miranda threatening to kick the woman's ass herself once it was all out in the open.  Carlita waved her off and went back to brushing out Elena's hair gently as she let Chacha sit on her knee, feathered head being stroked absently by her person as she chittered and purring.  "You shouldn't believe any of the silly things that mujer absurda says.  You know how Beatriz is, always jealous.  She was furious when Mimi got married and stole her thunder being 'Senóra esposita.'  She stopped talking to her for a year when she got preñada with the twins right away."

    "What's that got to do with...with me and Bruno?" Elena sighed, leaning into her friends hands as she closed her eyes, her breath still hitching, though her tears had long since dried themselves out.  She had felt empty, like someone had pulled the bottom out of her and let everything leak out the soles of her feet, leaving just a shaky, hollow shell.  Carlita pinched her side gently, bringing her attention back to the present.  "You two have been uñas y mugre for the last two weeks out of nowhere after he set up shop in that old arenosa chair for months, like he never left, watching over you like he always used to do.  It's the talk of the town."

    "Do people really have nothing else to talk about?"

    "Oh, they do, but it isn't nearly as interesting.  He's only been back a few months, and you spent years bitching out anyone who bad mouthed him.  You should hear some of the rumors.  You married him in secret in your twenties, you helped him hide away in the caves, you ran away to Bogotá together but you moved back to keep tabs on his family, you have a secret family hiding in the mountains...you know how the rumor mill goes in this town.  You aren't the lonely one anymore, and Bea is getting bitchy."  Elena began laughing, the sound bubbling up from her chest at the images Carlita had conjured up.  Maybe she needed to focus more on fantasy and romance novels on her next trip out, since people were clearly out of their minds with boredom and jumping at any hint of either.  She laughed until her sides hurt, tears of relief falling from her eyes as the dam broke under Carlita and her soft, gentle hands in her hair, soothing her just as they all had soothed each other ever since they were children playing reinas y brujas in the schoolyard.

    "Car, when has Bea ever cared about that?" She said when she finally stopped laughing, leaning in as Carlita massaged her scalp, rubbing in a few drops of coconut oil warmed over the stove, a hint of lavender scent added in.

    "Since she thought you and Rodrigo were dating in secundaria and never forgave you."

    "Ew.  Rodrigo is practically my brother."

    "And Bea is an idiot.  She's always held it over us that she's married and has kids.  She knows I'm happy where I'm at with mi primas, but you?  You were always the one she was so jealous of, leaving the Encanto and getting a degree and keeping those businesses and running wild?  She could wave all that off because you stayed alone.  Now that you and Bruno are a thing?  She's fuming!"  Carlita stated, brushing the oil briskly into her curls until they shone.  Elena snorted.  "Please.  It's not like I didn't have a date or ten since she got hitched.  What is she on about?"

    "Her handsy cousins and your gay tattooist friend in Bogotá don't count, and you know it.  Memo died before you two got anywhere.  And honestly I don't think it would have worked out, he was too serious."

    "Guillermo was a sweet man," Elena said, remembering him fondly.  He'd never been bothered by her continued infatuation with Bruno even while they'd dated, several years older than her and knowing the man better than most thanks to his mother.  He'd understood her draw towards the Madrigal man as well, having the same feelings for Pepa after a wild summer fling before she'd met Félix.  Carlita nodded as Miranda came back in with her manicure kit, having run to her house to deal with her family quickly before coming back.  "What did I miss?"  She said as she pulled up a stool and got set up.  "Bringing Leni up to speed on the rumor mill and reminding her that Beatriz has always been an idiot."

    Miranda laughed as she rifled through polish colors, "is it working?"

    "A little.  I don't feel like I'm falling through the floor anymore."

    "Good.  Now...tell us about you and...Bruno while I do your nails.  Which look like hell, by the way."

    "Do you really want to hear?  I know you aren't all that excited about it."

Miranda paused and patted her knee, shrugging.  "I...well.  No.  But Lenita, you're happier than I've seen you in ages, especially with everything that's happened lately.  If it's him that's got you like this...I guess he's not all bad.  Don’t expect me to start snuggling up to those rats, though."

    Elena laughed and shook her head, ignoring Carlita's grumbling as she had to reset the clay curlers.  "They're sweet little things, you know.  Wish they hadn't chewed up my shoes, but Tonito got that sorted."  Miranda waved her off as she rubbed down her hands and started in with an emory board.  "Less about the rats, more about the reason you're covered in chupetóns from ears to tetas, please."

    Elena felt her face heat up as she tried not to let slip that they went further down than that, but she wasn't about to show off her bruised hips to her friends.

    "He's...very affectionate..." she smiled fondly, fingers fiddling at her ear, knowing there was a fading mark visible there.  Miranda and Carlita both snorted, poking her in the sides and getting her giggling as she tried to hold her hands still for Miranda, who had begun laquering her nails with a blood red.  "Arturo is affectionate.  This is downright territorial.  Are you...ok with that?  Or is it his thing?"

    "Only thing I mind is he won't let me at him enough to pay him back, the silly man."

    "Ok, I'll bite.  What?" Carlita laughed as she spritzed in a little sugar water to set the curls and running a hot roller down her neck, smoothing out tense muscles. 

    "He's...he's been teasing me.  Constantly, since Viernes.  Since the...the vision on Martes, honestly.  I haven't had this many cold showers since...ever?  He'll tell me to behave myself before he leaves and I just..." She shivered then, the shudder of it traveling over her skin and sparking across the palms of her friends palpably, inspiring a doubtful, knowing look between the two of them that she missed, her face aflame as she laughed.

    "And this is Bruno Madrigal we're talking about?" Miranda laughed, not believing, knowing what he looked like and his awkward demeanor.   

    "Yes, Meems, it is.  He's not a monk, you know.  Just about the opposite."

    Miranda made a face but shook it off.  "It's just...so odd.  By the time we were old enough to notice him he was already so strange.  Does he really carry salt in his pockets?"  Elena smiled softly and looked off to the side, her freckles standing out as she blushed.

    "And sugar.  I'd be superstitious too, with that gift.  He walks crooked because he dodges the cracks.  He can weave, you know.  He started a suncatcher to match the one he left, the one I showed you guys forever ago...he has such lovely hands..."

    "You're gushing, Leni.  I'm sure it's not weaving you're thinking about right now," Carlita teased, prodding at the mark on her neck and snickering.  "Shut up, Car!"

    "You brought it up!  He does have nice hands, though.  Is he at least putting them to good use?"

    "Carlita!"

    "Oh, now we know he is!" Miranda cackled, "You never get tímida unless you've been up to something!  Now that I think about it, maybe I shouldn't be surprised, we all saw the way he danced with you..."

    "You are both awful!"

    "But you love us!  Now let us get you ready, already," Carlita said, hugging her close.  "I told him to meet us at the dance hall.  I'm buying the drinks and José dos dosis is bartender tonight.  Maybe you can finally drag your Madrigal to bed with enough tequila.  I've never seen a man turn down 'Elena ebrio.'  He won't know what to do with you when we get done."

    "He'll have to get me a new kidney the way you two are talking."

    "Just make sure he has his pants back on before he does.  Just because you want to see his skinny ass doesn't mean the rest of us do!"

    "I hate you guys." She laughed, before letting them do as they pleased, knowing she was in good hands.  Carlita styled her hair into a thick, curl laden updo with a long wraparound braid off to the left, a ribbon woven through it, covering up her fading lovebite on that side but leaving the other half of her neck bare before scooting off the bed to run next door.  Miranda finished her nails, sanding them into gentle almond points and applying a drop of oil to each nail to fast set the polish as Carlita emerged, a dress to match her hair and nails in her hands.  She'd quickly sewn in a couple of buttons to account for the difference in waist size, and rummaged through Elena's wardrobe, pulling out a sleevless blouse with a fringe of magenta and peacock and cerulean, one she only wore to carnivál.  Miranda did her face, smokey plum eyeshadow to bring out her eyes and a bold red lipstick far brighter than the deeper colors she usually wore.

    She scooted to her bathroom to get dressed, the blouse indecently tight across her chest, barely secured by two safety pins stuck through her bra, the straps tucked along the band and clasped one size too tightly to keep it secured as well.  The skirt barely made it past her knees.  Carlita was a solid half foot shorter than her and was all torso, but when Elena tried to picture Bruno's face when he saw this getup, she couldn't find it in herself to care.  She let Miranda talk her into a scandalous high pair of espadrilles she knew she'd regret in the morning, but would put her at a hight advantage that something told her Bruno wouldn't be bothered by.  

She greeted Julio at the door as her friends dragged her giggling to the dance hall, the big man seizing her up in a bearhug with a shout of "Primita!" 

    "Put me down before you wreck your back, tu gran simio!"  

    "I'm the same age as you, Lenita Chiquita, not an old man like your new novio!"  He laughed,  swinging her around to her kicking feet and irritation and the delight of her friends before she jammed her fingers sharply into his armpits, landing on her feet as he dropped her and spinning nimbly away as he shrieked like a capuchin, cramming his hands under his arms.  Elena had him hunching and twisting away as she came at him again with her sharp little fingers, thirty-six years of torturing him under her belt put fully to use as he dodged, face aflame as he saw Carlita watching and giggling.  "Rendirse, cabròn!" "AY, tio, tio! I take it back, he's not old, now leave my kidneys alone!  Uñas filudas mierdecilla."

    "Just make sure no one makes any trouble for him when he gets here, Lio," she warned, giving him a stern look that he blithely ignored.

    "Just don't puke my shoes this time."

    "One time twenty years ago, shut up."  Elena said as she waved him off, making him flinch away with one last feinted jab to his middle as she made her way to the bar, wincing a moment before she adjusted to the noise of the band and ignoring the dance floor for a moment as her friends settled in next to her, still laughing.  She rolled her eyes and let Carlita buy her one of José's too-strong borojo margaritas, the chili infused salt at the rim burning her tongue and pairing well with the sweet, tart taste of the fruit and smokey blue bite of the tequila, playing idly with the condensation on the glass, watching the door and pointedly ignoring the looks some of the men were throwing at her chest and legs.  She tipped her glass to Isabela when she saw her, watching as she dissapeared with a wave into the crowd towards a familiar red head of hair, waiting for a familiar head of salted black curls to make an appearance.

    Bruno sat at the edge of his bed, head in his hands as his leg beat a nervous tattoo against the mattress and a record skipping in the player, sounding much the same as his old sandfall had and soothing him slightly along with the sounds of the tumbling waterfall out in his oasis.  He'd lost it at his cuñados, falling for their old trick of pulling him out of his head hook, line and sinker.  If they weren't laughing at him they were probably worrying, having realized by now they'd left him alone with his anger and a bottle of booze.  He shook his head, angry at himself for being so easily fooled and for his temper, for his damnable nerves and the spiraling tension that lived in his head, hair triggered and set off at any hint of trouble.  He hoped Elena was alright.  He'd gouged his wrists full of blood blisters again trying to dissuade the dark thoughts that kept surfacing, the defeatist voice in his head that kept telling him what he knew were lies.

    He'd managed to convince Coco and Hector, the least conspicuous of his little mischief of rats to hunt out and bring him something to settle his anxious stomach, having skipped lunch and now dinner.  He looked anxiously at his wall of clocks, feeling nauseous and slightly woozy wondering when they'd make it back as he poured himself another shot of the aguardiente that had been left in his room.  He knew he shouldn't, not remembering if he was on shot six or seven, but the liquor burned some of his nerves away as he tried to muddle out what to do about tonight and wondering where his little friends had gotten off too.  They were usually quicker than this. 

    He flipped idly through the book he'd found in his things the day before as he waited, Elena's copy of 'Much Ado About Nothing', annotated so much more in her neater adult hand after the play.  Little pencil drawings dotted the pages with notes that had nothing to do with the old playwright.  A sketch of his hands around his espresso mug here, a fractal colored portrait of his eyes there, split through with a starburst of lines, a little note over each section like 'hazel when calm' and 'during visions.'  There was a water stain over a drawing of emerald spikes, scoured into the paper heavy handed as if it had hurt her to draw.  Another page was split in panels, little sketches of him interacting with various people; the town kids, his sobrinos, her, his cuñados.  They were simplified but sweet, good impressions of everyone even in the easy style.  He was completely absorbed in it, not really knowing she had an artistic side, though it didn't surprise him.  More so the subject matter and that she found something worthwhile enough about him to commit it to paper and give it to him.

    He started when he heard his door open, carefully setting the play down on the bed and stuffing the incriminating vision plate under his mattress from it's place beneath his pillow, knowing there wasn't a member of his family one that wouldn't immediately nose at the thing if they brushed against it.  Isabela poked her head in with his rats riding along beside her held in a wide banana leaf at her shoulder, nibbling at a buñuelo as his sobrina came to sit beside him and handed him a covered plate with a smile.  "Papá figured you were hungry when he saw these two sneaking around the cocina, and says no hard feelings over earlier."

    "Isa...I...Thank you, espinita."

    "You haven't called me that in a long time, tio."

    "You didn't like it when you were twelve.  It fits now, though, I think." He gave her a tense smile, nodding to the cuff of vines and thorns she never went without.

    "Are you ok?" She asked, a concern in her voice he didn't think he'd heard in years.  Isabela was confidence personified, and took her impression of the situation as truth.  If she was asking, she must really be worried.  He sighed, and awkwardly handed her the book, as if that explained things.  She looked through it curiously, knowing that sometimes words failed him.  She recognized Senóra Elena's handwriting of course, years of checked out book tickets written in the cramped, pointy style, and looking at the age of the play with the paper brittle and yellowing at the edges, the sloppier notes and rougher doodles had to be as old as her, from when Elena had still been in school and could babysit her and Dolores.  It was the newer entries that caught her eye.

    Careful and flattering drawings of her tio as Elena saw him, little notes on his behavior, the pencil lines shaking and stuttering here and there where she could tell she'd stalled.  There was a drawing of him on one of the emptier pages, an unflattering pose with his expression highlighted as he laughed, the care and sureness of the lines of his face as clear as if he'd posed, though she'd known he hadn't.  She was reminded of Dolores and her silliness over Mariano's poetry when she flipped to the front, sure she'd missed something.  There, on the inside cover of the book, was simply sketch of hands held together over some surface, his grip tight with nerves, hers gentle, the ghost of a lacquer-nailed thumb drawn over the back to denote movement.  "For if I can't be there, to find your way back."  

    She looked over at him as she handed him back the book, cover flipped so he could see what was written, which she suspected he'd missed.  The soft, adoring look that flitted across his face as he traced under the words proving her right a moment later.  Even lost in his thoughts, clearly trying to climb out of the throes of one of his nervous episodes, he held himself differently, straighter somehow, more sure of his place.  She remembered the glare he'd set them all the day before, when they'd been surprised by Elena's tattoos.  There had been no question that none of them would say a word.  None of them had seen a look like that from him, not since the night of Mirabel's ceremony, when he had stormed away after refusing to give, or rather show Abuela the vision she'd asked for.  She knew her sister didn't fully remember that night, having only heard rumors from their father and tio Félix, and that Bruno had never told her of the last words he'd screamed at his mother that had had Dolores weeping for a month straight when he'd gone missing.  There was a certainty to his actions now, something she wasn't sure she remembered ever seeing in him, except perhaps when she'd been very young.  Something had changed in her tio's mind, something slowly clicking into place and bolstering his nerves and spine, correcting the course of him like a wayward river, back into whoever he might have been had the weight of her Abuela's expectations and the accusations of the town not beaten him down like they had the rest of them.  Elena was good for him, and she could see the evidence of that as clear as she could see his worry lifting along with the corners of his mouth, his smile unapologetic and crooked and bright.  She was foul-mouthed and selfless, vibrant and half-crazy.  She bought cheap rum and gave away the endings of too many books and laughed too loudly and she was good for him, and the thought made Isabela smile, genuinely happy for her tio, laughing privately to herself.

    "Her friend told me to meet her at the dance hall, like she'd want to see me there.  I haven't been back there since before you were born."  He said finally, more bemused than anything, as if he couldn't quite understand what it was that he found spinning around him.  And maybe he couldn't, not yet, not really, but he would.  She could see that as clearly as she could see the lines written on the paper and the tear-stains in the margins of the pages covered in green shards and bruised knuckles.  She smiled and opened her hand to him, dropping a large white gardenia flanked by a magenta balsam and zinnia bloom in his palm, laughing at his confusion as she held his hand in both of hers.  "Go Tio.  Of course she'll want to see you there.  Don't disappoint her.  Give her that.  Don't ask her what it means."  With that, she drifted back out of his room, taking a moment at the door to thank Casita for the complete lack of stairs, leaving him to his own devices as she went back to her own room, preparing to sneak out herself.  Just to keep an eye on things, of course.  If a certain Mexican doctor showed up as well, well, that certainly wasn't her fault, now was it? 

    Bruno watched her go, the scent of the flowers she'd left filling his room before he sat them aside, his heart squeezing a bit at the gesture, sweet and out of nowhere as far as he could tell, his relationship with his oldest sobrino still strained somewhat from the lost ten years.  He finished the meal she'd brought him quickly, his mind finally made up over the whole thing and suddenly impatient to go as he watched the only clock set to the correct time hit eight thirty.  He watched as the marks on his wrist healed, felt his head clear partially, Julieta's gift good for hangovers but not clearing all the effects of freshly consumed alcohol.  He corked the decanter and slipped out of his room to replace it, setting it at Pepa and Félix' door to let them all know he hadn't drowned himself in the bottle before heading back, retrieving his sandals from where he'd thrown them and removing the needle from his record, placing it back in it's sleeve and setting it aside, hoping he hadn't damaged it too badly.  He rummaged through his wardrobe, wanting something he could move in rather than his stiff and now rumpled church shirt.

    He settled on a dark green shirt that had originally been Agustín's, embroidered with stippled runner lines of wheat colored diamonds and tailored shorter for him by Dolores as a welcome home present during the rebuilding.  It looked nice enough, and the recycled nature didn't bother him.  He was slightly ashamed that it was in better shape than some of his other clothes, but between moths and his ratas, a house collapse and ten years of neglect save for what little he'd been able to sneak into the walls, he couldn't complain.   

    He snuck out the back way as he tied back his hair, little floral arrangement held gently in his teeth, thumbing nervously at his ruana before shaking his head resolutely.  It would not be Hernando she'd be pulling into a dance tonight.

    He hated himself only slightly when he turned right back around and stuffed his bags of salt and sugar in his pocket fretfully, noticing as he went that the back way Casita provided seemed somewhat more cramped than usual.  Ignoring the odd quirk of the house, he shook his head again, tossed the offending seasonings over his shoulder and made his way quickly towards town before he could talk himself into draging his feet any more.  He remembered the old path he and his sisters used to sneak down, dodging behind gardens and avoiding dogs, always forgetting that while his visions would keep them from getting caught in the moment, that never stopped Senór De León or any of his numerous sons from snitching on them by morning, even if Julieta made sure to stash away something to cure their hangovers.  He laughed at the memory as the sound of music filtered down the path off to the east, not north as he'd remembered.  He'd forgotten the De Leóns had made a deal with Padre Conseco years before, sometime after Luisa had gotten her gift; he would overlook them being open Domingo nights if they'd supply Communion wine and move their establishment.  The confessional stayed full enough and the De Leóns got to add a spare day of business to their names.  He followed the echoing sound of the drumbeats to the adapted shoebox shaped building with its' domed ceiling and it's curved band pit at one end, sunken down into a little mountain holler, the natural amphitheatre amplifying the sound along with the clever architecture tricks Senór De León had incorperated in the building. 

    Mariano's burly cousin Julio was standing at the door, arms crossed and gazing boredly out over the valley and flipping through a beaten mystery paperback as he explained to a group of teens that they were both too broke and too young to come in.   He noticed Bruno with a jerk of his head, indicating the door before he'd even made it shouting distance.  The teens followed his eyes, curiosity swiftly turning to iritation as they saw him.  "You'll let Maldición Bruno in there but not us?  Que carajo, Julio?" one of them spoke up.  Bruno winced at the name but continued on, smiling a bit at Julio's response.  "Hola, Bruno," he waved before turning back to the kid.  "You're free to go in Manny, but only if you tell Senóra Elena why you don't think her novio is welcome.  I didn't think you were that stupid, but hey, your ears, not mine."

    Bruno remembered Manny only vaguely as one of the teens that Elena had chased away from him forever ago as the kid paled visibly and slunk away amid the laughter of his friends, none of them wanting to tangle with Elena and her temper sober, let alone the nebulous threat of what she might do when she was trying to enjoy a night out.

    He slid through the door with a toss of sugar and immediately wished he'd thought to stuff his ears, the dance hall band bigger and louder than he ever remembered it being, half the players raucous younger Constantinos, playing as loud as they knew how, stamping their feet and letting the aluminum and copper lined walls of the hall amplify their wild rhythms.  He did his best to not flinch at every trill or boom, but the tune wasn't one he knew, and kept taking him by surprise.  Suddenly the aguardiente still in his system didn't seem like such a bad thing, those last three or so shots smoothing over his nerves just enough to keep him from panicing. 

    He made his way slowly around the edges, looking for Elena through the crowd as his chest started to grow tight, the inside of his cheek already half bloody from the overstimulation.  There were few times he lamented his height anymore, but right now was definately one of them.  The smell of the place set his teeth on edge, gas lamps and alcohol and sweat, cigarillo smoke and perfume and the sweet scent of frangipani flowers crushed into the floor all mingling to a musky, redolent tang that brought up long buried memories of fumbling nights in the dark and embarrassed shuffles home with his head pouring at the seams.  He felt a strong little hand grabbing the collar of his shirt and yanking, pulling him out of his musings and into the throng, and suddenly he was in front of her, Carlita laughing from behind as she bumped him forward with her hip, hand that had grabbed him twining in the air dismissively as the other tipped back the dregs of a green margarita so strong he could smell it from four feet away.

Elena turned and saw him then, her rosy face lighting up in the gentle glow of the gas lamps as she did.  He hadn't realized the wild thing in the center of the floor spinning like a hurricane in the too-short red skirt had been her, and felt foolish when he realized that of course it was.  She whirled alone like a derviche on too-tall shoes to the beat of the salsa choke tearing apart his ears, her skirts kicking up raucously as she stomped on the down beat, coming in close to him and taking his hand as he waved, off kilter as he took her in, her shoulders gloriously bare as she shimmied them against his chest before spinning under his arm.  She had three inches on him in those damned shoes he kept dodging, but as she pulled his face up to kiss him in front of the crowd, her lips tasting of borojó and tequila, he found he didn't mind.  He paused her only long enough enough thread the spray of flowers in her hair, held in place by by red ribbon she'd woven in.  He let her lead, mirroring her steps and movements as best he could, mesmerized by the sway of her hips as the song faded.  "You made it!" She laughed as the musicians decided on their next song, resting for a few short minutes at the end of a set.   Her voice bright and a little too loud, but her eyes shone in the smoky light as she sought out his hand.  He pulled her against him with a canted smile, a little awkward at having to look up.  "'Course I did.  Pretty sure Carlita would have baked me in an empanada if I hadn't.  Sit with me?"

    She let him pull her to one of the tables at the edge of the dance floor, waving of Carlita, who snuggled up to her mockingly before flouncing off to the bar.  Bruno took both of her hands, holding them tightly and carefully tapping each knuckle, his rhythm of sevens familiar as he observed her.  "You frightened me today," he said after a time, not liking the way her smile faded but needing to clear the air.  "It was just a whipsnake, tonto, no harm done," she waved dismissively, as if going after what could have been a viper was business as usual for librarians.

    "I'm not talking about the snake.  I know you're going to go do loco things, I know you know well enough how to handle them safely, after the rebuilding.  I meant...about Beatriz.  And you...I've only seen you like that once before...I...I just want to make sure you're ok."

    She was subdued when she answered, a wistfulness to her voice he didn't recognize.  "Beatriz...es un gillapollas.  The things she said about you, I should have hit her.  But I couldn't bring myself to do it with her kids there.  Rodrigo has been my friend for just as long, and that's his wife.  I'm just...I was sick over it.  I care about you, so, so much.  To hear what she really thinks of you hurts.  And the snake on top of things just...it was just too much all at once on top of everything else.  My head was too full, everything swimming, swirling away, just pfff, zas, plaf, ido, gone!"  She shook her head, laughing at herself as she rattled his hand along with her sound effects.  "It doesn't happen often, if that's what your wondering.  Sometimes, I get lost in my head too.  It's not my own voices that yell at me.  It's like I'm Alicia en el país de las Maravillas but none of the characters speak the same language.  I just get over...hc...overwhelmed and...shut down.  Does that...make sense?  Am I rambling?  I'm rambling again.  I may be a bit piripi..."

    "A little.  Es linda."  He teased, squeezing her hands as Carlita and Miranda swung by, depositing a margarita in front of her and a cerveza and a shot for him, laughing at his confused look.  "We're getting her jincho al techo, and you're helping, mala copa!" Miranda snickered, watching as Elena sipped her drink, rolling her eyes.  He flinched as Carlita clapped his shoulder, "it's on me, live a little!"

    "Ugh.  Shoo, before I find another snake!  Shoo-shoo-shoo!  Let us talk!"  Elena sniffed, blowing a raspberry and squeezing her lime at them both as they scattered, giggling.  "Sorry!  They're...they mean well.  Well...more...well than Beatriz' stupid ass at least.  Carlita likes you.  Asked if you were putting you hands to good use.  Oh God, forget I said anything!"  She took a swig of her drink and hid her face in her hands, laughing and peeping through her fingers at him, her face burning.  He considered the drinks for a moment before tossing them back, deciding to risk it if it meant keeping that look on her face.  He knew he had to have a dopey look on his own, he could feel it, his smile too wide, his eyes sleepy.  He'd never seen her like this, completely unrestrained, the filter of everyday niceties burned away by the alcohol, leaving her to shine bright as brass and be silly and true as he could tell she wanted to be, even if it turned her crimson down to her toes.  He waggled his hands at her with a grin, "Hm, well, someone has been telling me they were magic.  Wouldn't happen to know who?"  He laughed as she snorted into her drink, splashing some down her front and flicking it at him in mock agitation as she stuck out her tongue.  She grabbed his hands again, squeezing a bit too hard as she pressed them to her lips, her bright lipstick staining his knuckles.     

    "I really am ok, Bruno.  Lo prom--prometo. The bottom fell out and it all drained away once I got home.  I can see you worrying, watching me.  Those big green eyes.  Thank you.  For trusting my friends.  My real friends.  I hope Car wasn't too much of a pest.  I don’t...really remember much after the snake bit."

    "Well, who could remember anything after that, Senóra Tarzána?  That thing was at least eight feet long!  And now it's in my house!  Did you have to name it?"  He lamented playfully. 

    Elena finished her drink and sidled over to him, her hand like a snake as she twined and pecked it at him, laughing and hissing.  "Tss, tss!  Temedme, Latón the overgrown shoelace!"

    He pulled her into his lap, nose in her neck as his arms wrapped around her, kissing away a line of sweat on her feverish skin and laughing at her silliness "How many of those have you had, pavitonto?"

    "Three!  José knows his margaritas, what can I...what can I say?"

    "You good there?"

    "Hushhh, you.  Very good.  You have, hm, a very nice lap."  He closed his eyes, praying for strength when she wiggled in his lap roughly, her arms warm around him as she twisted and brought herself to face him.  "Now I know you're drunk," he laughed, pinching her side.  She smacked his shoulder lightly.  "No being mean!  You be nice to yourself, you hear me!"

    "Or what, you'll bite me again?"

    "Are you asking?"

    A vallenato began to play before he could answer, the band rested enough and hearing the grumbling of the patrons.  She slid off his lap and pulled him up to his feet, both a little unsteady, beckoning him to dance with her.  Between the rocking of her body against his and the alcohol refreshed in his veins, he didn't care that there was a crowd.  They came together and spun apart in a blur of hands and feet and laughter, him holding her too close and she spinning too freely, too short skirt flinging into the air as he sailed a hand over the fabric, gripping at her leg and pulling her over him in an ambitious lean, his hand drifting up to grope at the tattoo on her hip, unseen, exposing the black silk underneath as she squealed and twirled away.  She kissed him each time they came together, his nose and cheeks and lips.  He knew she was leaving him covered in lipmarks, and he reveled in it, pulling her close and circling her waist with his hands, sneaking a hand up the back of her blouse, fingers running up her spine before they separated again.

    Her hands were everywhere as the music changed to a raucous samba, and he fought to keep up with her flying feet, dodging those damnable shoes as they threatened to take out his knees or worse, laughing as she clipped bystanders and warded of her friends, her hair beginning to come loose and tendrils sticking to the sweat of her neck as the heat from her body warmed the flowers in her hair and dispersed their scent.  She canted around him, her hands swiping at his waist as her feet found their place between his, her bare ankles brushing up against his thighs as she spun, her fingers trailing down the front of his shirt and taking their time releasing first one button and then another, blood red nails teasing through his chest hair as she pulled him into another fiery, borojó flavored kiss, a fourth margarita having appeared in her hand somewhere between their sixth or seventh dance.  Carlita's mischievous little smirk as she watched them and flirted mercilessly with an off shift Julio across the way telling him all he needed to know. 

    They danced their feet sore through sambas and merengues, rough batacudas and subtler cumbias, Carlita slipping them a drink or three as they became parched throughout the night, carving out a space for themselves on the dancefloor that no one dared truly interfere with, Elena's tipsy glare paired with a snarl when a couple of adventurous younger men tried to step in with her or her hand on his ass posessively when a speculative woman somewhere between their ages tried to break them up, her hand roughly batted away from where it had landed on his arm.  Bruno stared down an emboldened Rico Chavez, not realizing until that moment that his eyes had gone off, so wrapped up had he been in the spiraling dances Elena had drawn him into, her impetuous laugh and fevered energy all but making him forget where he was.  The younger man backed off, flinching at the green glow, and he couldn't help the fiendish grin he gave, enjoying the discomfort he saw, remembering vindictively what Elena had said about the peeping little shit. 

    She caught sight of his eyes as the band struck up a sensuous bachata, and something shifted in her gaze, the playfulness falling away to something deeper,  her eyes darkening as he turned to her, the first steps of the dance placing his leg between hers salaciously, wrapping her hands around his neck decisively and placing his on her hips, drawing her in close to grind against her and bury his face in her neck, want and need and worry and desire all warring in his mind as she gyrated against him, spinning to bring his hands around her, her hair damp and fragrant and falling in his face as he crossed over her, holding her against him and coursing his hands over her curves slowly, laving her exposed neck and shoulder, his hips never stopping, trying to keep up with her, hands over her tattoos again as the music slowed and she twisted in his arms, pulling his face to hers and drawing him into a searing kiss as her hands made their way into his hair and his half opened shirt, nails leaving trails of electricity as they ran across his skin.  His head was swimming even as they danced, their feet shuffling against each other as the world closed in and his hearing slipped away, the sounds of the band and the bass of the drums muting down to a dull distant roar as his blood sang through his veins, matching hers as he felt her pulse rushing under her burning skin. 

    She broke away and grabbed his lapels, pulling him out of their circle and towards the doors as she walked backwards, hips still undulating as she set him a shamelessly erotic stare that had him shedding every shred of resistance and tripping after her.  They passed Julio and Carlita wrapped up in each other as they made it outside, the night air slapping cold against their skin and sweat drenched clothes, jarring him slightly as she pulled him along, her hand reaching down to cup him as she found somewhere dark enough for her liking, his cock twitching at the heat of her palm as she tangled her other hand in his hair, nibbling at his jaw.  "Bruno, please..." she pleaded, taking one of his hands and dragging it up under her blouse to her breast as she panted against him, voice jagged and slurred as she pulled him closer, clumsily prying loose another two shirt buttons as she found his mouth and slid her tongue across his lips, finding no resistance as he drove her against the bricks to the music playing in the background.  He molded her breast to his hand, pinching and twisting roughly at her nipple as she rubbed his cock through the front of his pants, too much alcohol in his system to get all the way hard without some help. 

    She bit at his lip and sucked on his tongue, losing her footing once just standing as she tried to bring her leg up to his hip.  She was drunk, she was so drunk, and so was he, but not as far gone as her, not enough for this, not enough to abandon his plan when he wasn't sure she would even remember anything in the morning.  She was too free like this, too tempting, and he did not want her to regret anything come the morning.  She pulled him closer then, tongues fighting against each other as she fisted her hand at his scalp, tugging sharply, leg successfully wrapping around his hip as she found her balance, her foot pressing against his ass and the heel of her shoe digging in, hand trapped between them and fumbling at his belt, struggling with tequila numbed fingers.  He batted her away and ground into her, mouth at her ear and voice hot against her skin as he growled, voice rumbling in his chest as he made the decisionhe was sure he'd kick his own ass for in the morning, "Our first time is not going to be up against the dance hall where Julio Guzman can hear us!"  

    "Julio can piss off if he doesn't want his nose broke again!" She slurred loudly, knowing the bouncer would hear her even if he was currently wearing Carlita like a scarf.

    "You're drunk, Elena.  And I want you to remember, not regret."  He pressed against her again, holding her knee up to give him better access, grinding his hips into hers as he ran his tongue up the line of her neck, biting her roughly just under her ear, sucking a mark to the surface as she growled in sweet frustration.  "Then take me to bed and make me remember, tucoño burlas bastardo!"   

    Something in him broke at that, some partial shred of resistance he'd been holding in check for days finally snapped at her words. Words that seeped down through his head, missing his brain entirely and pouring straight to his cock, bringing him standing to full attention and pressed up against her with the rest of him so tight against her she struggled to breathe.  His sight blurred green, bright enough he knew he could be seen from out of the shadows and couldn't give less of a damn.  Slowly, with methodical precision he removed her hands from his shirt and held them gathered up above her head, wrists clamped together in one splayed hand.  Her leg went to slide away from his hip, and he grabbed her ankle, quick as a snake.  "Leave.  It."  He growled before letting her go, switching his grip at her wrists so his other hand couldn't be seen as she sank back into the wall, eyes wide and alive and hungry as they stared into his. 

    She swallowed thickly, her breathing heavy as he manhandled her where he wanted her, her chest a mangled mess of knotwork and her head singing off in a spiral as she stood trapped in that bright green gaze.  His free hand trailed up her inner thigh slowly as he dragged rasping kisses under her jaw, tongue dipping into the hollow of her collarbone.  He bit her there carefully as her breathing hitched, his fingers grazing her through the silk and lace of her underwear, damp with sweat from the dance hall and slicked against her flesh with arousal that had been burning in her all night.  He cupped her briefly, feeling her squirm against the heat of his palm, desperate for some form of friction before he ground the heel of his hand into her, slowly traveling down until she jerked against him, whine caught in her throat as he pulled away, spreading his fingers to tease at her trapped lips, gentle as he circled around them from behind and heavy handed as he brought them back together to graze against her covered slit, heel of his hand grinding into her for only a moment before he began again.  He alternated his movements to either side of her as she panted, dropping her head to muffle her noise in his shoulder with a harsh bite that had him gripping her thigh hard enough to bruise before he pressed his thumb into her silk covered softness and shifting, rutting against her slowly with his cock and hand in turn, releasing her wrists when she began to struggle, letting her dig her fingers in his hair and drag his face from her neck.

    She bucked against him as she sucked in his lower lip, under his jaw, at his adams apple and his collar bone, leaving marks wherever he'd let her, his stubble sharp and rasping on her tongue, trailing her hands down his arms clumsily trying to shift him, guide him, desperate for more friction against her skin, for him to move her clothes aside and touch her with those calloused fingers, instead of this languid taunting dance of ghosting at her sex, every touch burning and freezing at once, just enough to drag her to the edge but not enough to push her over, the brush of his smile on her skin and the sting of his teeth wherever he left them a pooling, pulling heat that seared at her insides to leave her desperate and sweaty with want so strong it hurt.  He'd brushed against her clit at that first pass and knew it, the bastard, and had purposely danced around it, electricity wrapped in fire singing through her skin as he wove his fingers along her covered and swollen lips, taunting her more every second.

    "Ay, Bruno, Bruno, you're going to kill me!" She sobbed as he increased his pace just a little, his fingers digging the silk into her tender flesh with a scintillating pinch at the edge of her entrance before his hand disappeared entirely, leaving her cold to the night air for an instant before he resolutely bustled her skirt back down and nudged her leg to slide from his hip as she protested.

    "A little death may be the end goal here, but not tonight," he lamented into her ear as he pulled away, bracing her shoulders as she followed him, stumbling on twice wobbly legs.  "Let's get you home, and we'll see about tomorrow."

    "Bruno, please!"

    "No.  You can barely stand, and I've already gone too far.  Ask me again when you can see straight, ninfa cachonda."  He teased as he led her away, shaking his head as Julio poked his head out of the shadows suspiciously.  "I'm just--I'm just taking her home.  Swing by in the morning with Carlita if you're that worried."  He sighed, holding onto Elena by the waist as she swayed, her stupid, too-tall shoes.  Julio shook his head and shrugged, letting the little baker pull him back into their dark corner.  A chubby little hand waved them off from the shadows.  "Don't do anything I wouldn't!" Carlita laughed, giggles turning into a breathy squeal as Julio lifted her up against the wall with a grunt.  Bruno lowered Elena down onto a stump momentarily, removing her shoes and tying the straps in a double knot, looping them around his neck before helping her back up, ignoring her efforts to pull him down on top of her as she pouted, petulent.

    "I hate you."

    "No you don't.  Let me take you home Elena, please?  This isn't the time, not like this."

    "I'm-hic-I'm breaking that fucking vision.  This is too much, you're driving me crazy!"

    "Allow an old man his indulgences.  It's not every day I get to hear that."

    "Why are you so detim--detremin--so damn set on it?  Just...Cristo, Bruno I'm right here!"

    "Someone told me our actions make those visions happen.  I'd like to believe her."

    "Who's to--to say I'm not...like that because I'm rememb'ring a good fuck?"

    He felt guilty for laughing at that, at the hurt look she gave him, but continued, his tongue loosened by the alcohol and his head pounding too much to be embarrassed.  "I'm flattered you think it would go so well, but I haven't taken anyone to bed in twelve years.  Don't expect much."  She gave a sharp laugh as they pitched down the road to town, her feet bruising on the stones but her ankles saved from twisting by the shoes now worn around his neck. "You esspect me to believe that after...after you jus' teased me tan remojo at a wall like un salvaje?"  

    "Elena, enough.  You'd have found out tonight if you weren't eight sheets to the wind!  I'm not sleeping with you when you're so borracha you're falling over!" She tripped then, him barely catching her, droll eyebrow raised at her to emphasize his point.  She wiggled in his arms, furious.

    "Why the hell not!  Never stopped anyone else.  Don't you like me drunk?"

    "I want you no matter what state you're in, mujer ridicula.  I'm not taking advantage of you like some violodor past the mountains because your idiota friends drowned you in tequila and convinced me to let them!"

    "Jesucristo Bruno I'm here begging you like a dog!  Are you made of stone?  Just fuck me already!"

    He winced at that, brain choked and lost for words and quickly losing his resolve when he found her shop in his line of sight, a wave of relief washing over him, not sure if he could have resisted much longer.

    She whined at him as he guided her to her door, finding her keys in her pocket for her after watching her resigned search for them fail for minutes on end, her hands too clumsy and her eyes drooping.  He struggled with her pocket door, promising himself he was going to fix the damned thing himself if she didn't do it soon before helping her up the stairs, catching her when she stumbled, glad he'd removed her shoes earlier.  He felt the heaving of her stomach under his hand before he heard her groan, and rushed her to her baño, toeing the lid open and holding her hair back as she retched and emptied her stomach. He bit his cheek and flinched away unseen, trying to not listen as he looked away, always a sympathetic puker himself.

    He gathered her up and sat her on her bed, going and finding a soft washcloth and wiping down her face gently, using a dab of coconut oil to loosen her make up as he did.  He pulled the pins and ribbons and flowers from her hair gently as she nodded on and off leant up on his shoulder, whispering apologies and nonsense and half dreams to him as he brushed out her curls with unsteady hands, careful as he could muster to not pull her hair.  He removed the safety pins from her blouse gently and unhooked her bra, slipping it out of her blouse before shifting away and lifting her feet into his lap, delicately massaging away the lines and hotspots those shoes and the cobblestones had left her with.  She snuggled into her pillow, content as he finished, pulling the blanket over her.  He poured her a glass of water and left it for her on the nightstand.  She fumbled sleepily for his hand as he leaned down, placing a kiss on her forehead before turning to leave.  He froze then, striken and heartsick as her eyes cracked back open for a brief moment, dozey smile on her face as she murmured "...hombre dulce... encantador...love you, Bruno..." before drifting immediately to sleep, head falling into the pillow as she curled around herself like a fieldmouse. 

    His heart hammered in his chest as he skittered away, almost falling into Chacha's enclosure before viciously shaking his head and creeping out of her loft.  'She doesn't know what she's saying.  Don't fall.  Don't fall, it's too soon, don't fall!'  Maybe if he told himself that enough, he'd be able to avoid sinking head first into the dark and still waters her words had dragged him out to, a frightful tranquility waiting for him there, the finality of it wonderful and terrifying at once.  He could only hope she didn't remember this come morning.

    He made his way home quickly, his thoughts burning and twisting in on themselves, a roiling vibrant snake swallowing it's own tail, his head a spinning inferno and tired out of his mind, in desperate need of his hand and a piss and sleep, not necessarily in that order.  He found his secret door bolted and grumbled swearing at the house and aiming a furious kick at the door posts, tiles clacking at him in reproach as he fell on his rear before leading him around to the front.  Miguel O'Conór , his glasses askew and his shirt half on, was making his way down a vine provided by Isabela, who went silent when she saw her tio round the corner, eyes wide and going wider when he snatched the vine from Miguel's hands before she could retract it.  Bruno's mood had immediately fallen at the sight, long buried paternal instincts rising from the depths of his drunk brain as he hissed "Que carajo esta pasando aqui?" O'Conór looked unperturbed despite his face flaming darker than his hair as he stood tall and straightened his shirt.  "Senór Madrigal."

    "Doctor O'Conór.  Was the front door broken?"

    The younger man gave an easy shrug, caught out and unashamed, not bothered by the anger of the unimpressive older man. "Eh, sabes que no es."

    "I do know.  Use it next time or don't let there be a next time," he said coldly, not liking what he was seeing but knowing they were both adults.  A red eyebrow arched at him dubiously before Miguel gave a respectful nod and made his way down the yard, remembering suddenly the night of the hoguera and that looks were often the cause of false confidence.  Bruno tugged on the vine sharply as he dissapeared into the gloom, to be yanked up roughly through Isabela's window as she glared at him, arms crossed defiantly over her robe, her hair an absolute mess as she hissed furiously.  "Tio, what are you doing?"

    "Blame Casita, she locked me out the back way and I left my key.  I'd ask what you were doing, but I just saw him walk away." He said, unimpressed by her anger.  "At least I can trust you not to make me a gran tio yet, him being a doctor and all."

    "Ay dios mio, just get out!" she yelled, pointing at her door, hand over her face as a vine shoved at him ineffectively.  He grinned, knowing he'd gotten her as he swatted the vine away.  "You're sneaking him in and out because Abuela doesn't approve, and neither do tus padres.  You want to keep sneaking him, or should I let something slip over desayuno?"

    "What do you want?" she glared, tapping her foot impatiently as a cactus began to grow behind her, a big seguara with its arms out, looking for all the world like a prickly bodyguard.  "You're volunteering to help me at the Bibliotheca tomorrow when I ask.  Elena needs the help and I only have two hands."

    "Why didn't you just spend the night and help her?" she sniped.  He shrugged, hurt a little by the implication but not surprised.  Isa had definatly inherited her abuela's spiteful temper.

    "Because José De León makes his drinks strong enough to choke a donkey and I respect her more than that, Isa.  Don't be vindictive."

    "You are literally blackmailing me, I'll be how I want!"

    "Still your tio, comes with privelages.  Help me out tomorrow and we're square."

    "Fine.  Cabròn."

    "Good night to you too, espinita," he snickered, shaking his head.  She sighed, giving him a brief hug at the door before shoving him out.  "Did she at least like the flowers?"

    "That's one way of putting it," he mused as she shut the door on him, rolling her eyes.

    He made his way to his own room, pausing at the stairs out of habit and sitting down on a whim in front of the portrait of his father.  Casita's tiles rattled slightly, the forgotten aquardiente clicking and clinking its way towards him, two tumblers following.  He blinked with understanding, pouring one last shot for the night, and another for his father, placed carefully on the little table that sat to the side, littered with a plain novena candle lit and flickering to only him and the little mementos and brikabrak left by his grandchildren.  It was not unusual now, to see someone sitting below the portrait in repose, reading or speaking quietly.  It was the one place in Casita where it was garaunteed someone wouldn't be overheard unless they wanted to be, wouldn't be interrupted until the pressure of their silence got to be too much and they left of thier own accord, always a token of gratitude left to the silent patriarch of the Madrigal family, the father Bruno had never known, who would listen to any trouble without judgement, keeping la familia's secrets in exchange for their time, his frame never dusty, the oil paint never fading.

    He sat and studied his father's young face, half his age and more handsome than he could ever hope to be, having inherited the rounded features of some uncle or cousin he didn't know.  He wondered aloud, idly, what his father would have thought of Elena.  "You'd probably laugh at me," he mused, maudlin, considering the licorice smell of the alcohol in his glass.  "Laugh at me for being a coward and laugh at me for finding someone like her, la rata y el colibrí.  Ah, but maybe not.  Mamá keeps saying I'm like you.  Don't see how.  Heh, certainly not the face."  He looked up at the painted brown eyes, familiar but unknown.  Julieta's eyes, Luisa's, never his.  "You would like her, I think.  Like that she doesn't fight with mi hermanas and does fight with Mamá.  She's so smart, like Agustín, with a degree and everything."  He sighed, his elbows resting on his knees as he swirled the liqour in his glass, watching the light of the candle glinting off of it as he turned and rested his head against the frame.  "Elena lives up to her name.  A burning torch.  Light.  What do you do with that, when you've been drowning for longer than you remember?  What do you do when una ninfa de la montaña tells you she loves you?"

    His father's painted eyes looked back at him with the same kindness they always had, but the candle beside him seemed to flicker, not a shuddering loss of fuel, but a bright flaring that through some trick of the light had those same eyes dancing spritely as shadows shifted, the mischevious and sure gleam of old men who knew too much, but would say nothing.  Bruno laughed at the impression, more sure than ever than he had been in the walls that he had finally and completely lost his mind, and raised his glass to his father.  "To love then," he laughed, toasting and letting the liqour burn down his throat before finally, finally heading to his room, leaving his glass to dry besides its full partner on the little table, the flame of the candle whipping about to try and reach out to him in its glass as he went.

Chapter Text

    Bruno woke up to his eyes blazing and burning in his head and his back in agony, having fallen against his door and sunk to the soft sand of his oasis before he'd even made it to his bed, curled into the fetal position and cramped from neck to ankles from the unforgiving floor.  Desperate, he cast about for something, anything to focus on as he crawled away from his door, his head splitting at the seams and his mouth full of sour bile, his nose dripping blood already across the white sand, little dull burgundy jewels trailing under him.  "Hijo de puta I am so done with this maldición gift!" he swore as he tried to sit, swiping at his nose as sands began to swirl around him, green light stabbing into his eyes with each breath.  

    He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, pressing and gritting through the pain until black and white geometric patterns and blue bolts of lightning broke across the backs of them, relieving the stabbing in his nerves for a moment and letting him settle enough to try and think.  "Nothing big, nothing important...just...just something..." he muttered to himself, panic rising despite his efforts as he felt a hint of pain ghost at his side, sounds beginning to filter into the sands, high pitched screams that couldn't belong to soldiers.  His chest was too tight, each breath a sharp rattle behind his sternum as he scrambled through his thoughts, scrabbling in the sand for purchase on something more solid than the sifting sands of his room.  "Think, think dammit!  Not Elena.  Ow.   OW...shit...Definitely not Isa... Dolores!  What...what will...what will she be doing for...for Día de la Raza?"  The holiday was at the end of the week, but far enough out to distract his gift, and he felt himself pulled from whatever violence he'd been dragged into to images of his sobrina swirling into the coalescing sand.  Standing on a ladder and helping Mirabel and Elena decorate Casita, in the cocina throwing a wet handful of masa at Camilo's face as he laughed, running from Latón out of Antonio's room with a mute but clearly terrified shriek, dancing arm in arm with Luisa as they laughed in the crowd, Marco and Mariano clapping in the background.  The vision began to solidify at the admittedly sweet image of her and Mariano on Casita's roof, sharing a blanket and staring up at the sky, apparently stargazing.    

    He caught the plate as it fell, shaking sand from his hair and standing, dizzy and worn out but no worse for wear than after a regular vision.  It was a good vision, nothing earth shattering or disappointing, as far as he could tell.  Just...nice.  A quiet moment for his niece and her novio when they deserved it.  He knew the party would be hard for her, even if she used the little wax and cotton earplugs she'd fashioned for herself.  

    He'd seen her wearing them more and more these days, allowing her to go about and interact with the town without the constant over-stimulation and wash of secrets she was subject too otherwise.   He knew his mother wasn't fond of it, thinking she was denying her gift, but he knew better.  Dolores heard too much, knew too much, and every adult in the family save his mother had found themselves comforting her when she was small over things she'd heard but couldn't understand.  The amount of times they'd sent her to bed with placating lies about why men sometimes hit their wives had had turned his stomach when he was younger.  That said, it had quickly become known that the Madrigals would not tolerate such behavior when the five of them had started appearing at houses, Pepa's storm black and thunderous and Félix' knuckles cracking menacingly in a fury to protect their little girl.  There had only been a couple of dustups over the subject before a handful of men, either original members of the Encanto refugees or the sons they'd raised poorly, were brought before the tribunal and given a choice to shape up or ship out.  All but two had taken the first option, spending weeks with Jorge Rivera and his psychiatrist brother Joaquin, long since dead, to find the root of the issue.     

    It had been one of the few times Julieta had truly experimented with the limits of her gift, testing various combinations of borrachero shrub and ayahuasca and half a dozen other herbs he couldn't name within her cooking to mute and dampen the memories.  Bruno had volunteered as her guinea pig, more than willing to deal with the sick and fevers that came with the failures if it meant he could forget some of the things he had seen.  When they finally found something that worked, he didn't bother to ask what was in it, happy to just be unburdened by some of the things that he'd been forced to see.  If the earplugs began to fail his sobrina, he'd mention the practice to her, now that she was old enough to make the decision for herself. 

    He shook his head and scratched at his chin sullenly, his pulse throbbing in his ears.  Melancholy mornings always seemed to follow nights spent drinking, but this one was different, sharper somehow.  The one sided conversation with his father following the turbulence of the day before had his nerves raw again.  His heart forgot its rhythm and fluttered against his chest as he remembered words spoken in vexed lust and the misty, brutal honesty of intoxication.  He'd lost count of just how many drinks he'd had, let alone her, but he'd never been a forgetful drunk.  He wondered if Elena was, unsure of whether it was a good thing or not for her to remember what she'd told him.   

    He pulled himself out of his musing and placed the vision on his desk, tired already, and tried to make his way to the bathroom, immediate danger over and crinkling his nose at the stale smell he caught off himself.   

    Little black eyes peeped at him from various points across the room, and he sighed, taking a minute with each of the little creatures, letting them creep over him and sniff at his hair, little paws scrabbling and whiskers tickling at his face and neck, inspecting the marks on his skin curiously and nuzzling against them.  He wondered briefly if they recognized Elena's scent on him.  He patted furry heads in reassurance as he rustled blindly in his desk drawer for the little jar of roasted seeds and nuts he kept for them now, scattering a generous handful across his desktop for them and watching as they took turns hopping on and off him to snatch a bite, perching back on him as they nibbled.  "I'm ok, ratasitos.  You'll have to get used to Papá being out more now that we're out of the walls, you know.  Cheeky things."  Pecasita and Loco squeaked at him curiously, nosing at the borrowed copy of Don Quixote beside them, finally brought home when he realized he'd given up trying to pay attention to anything besides Elena when he was in the shops.  "Yes because of the nice lady with the parrot.  Now hush, eat your breakfast."     

    He went and scrubbed his face, washing away still fresh bloodstains, blowing his nose to clear it, groaning as his sinuses cleared with a coppery tang and brushing his teeth to get the taste of stale alcohol and iron off his tongue.  He was a mess, hair flying in every direction but down and covered in sand powdered smears of cherry lipstick and lovebites that had him grinning like an idiot.  There was no avoiding the breakfast table and the inevitable teasing he was in for he realized, but he found it didn't bother him as much as it might have not long ago.  Let them see and say something.  He wasn't ashamed of her.  

    He stepped into his shower fully clothed and shucked out of his sweat stained shirt and pants as the water hit them, kicking them to the back of his tub to soak as he let the steam and hot water beat the sand and sweat and smell of the dance hall out of his hair and off his skin, forehead resting against the warming tiles as he rested his sore eyes and fumbled for the soap.  He found the new bar, smelling of vetiver and balsam, calming scents meant to sooth his nerves, wondering who had thought to put it in there, since it wasn't the boring lye bar he normally used.  His back seized with a quick tremor of worry at the thought of someone having been in his room, before remembering he'd stashed that vision plate away and his bed had been just as unmade as he'd left it.  Probably just Julieta playing mother hen again, like she always did after one of his episodes.  He scrubbed himself down too briskly, scratching at his skin where sweat had dried and sand had settled, before scrubbing at his hair and wincing as shampoo stung his eyes.   

    He rinsed the body soap from his clothes and gave it all a quick scrub before wringing them out and leaving them to drip over the curtain rod.  He stretched and regretted it as his head screamed, imminent danger of the vision having passed but leaving the vengeful hangover he'd dreaded, making even blotting his hair dry a task that left him cringing.  He dressed for the day, his favorite maroon shirt and ruana soft and bolstering his nerves just a little as he headed out the door, pausing briefly to wrap Dolores' vision in some bright tissue paper, wincing at the crinkling.   

    He found a seat between Luisa and Agustín, hoping that the height of the two would hide him away somewhat from the rest of the family.  His cuñado noticed the marks on him immediately but looked away with a knowing nod, his smirk saying all he needed to.  Luisa was absorbed in a little hardback book of South American mythology, based on the image of Ixchel he could make out on the page, and had barely noticed him beyond absently dropping a stack of arepas on his plate and scooting him a bowl of caldo de costilla.  

    "Thanks, 'Sita," he mumbled at the first bite, soaking an arepa in the beef broth and sighing with relief as the drums in his head receded to a metronome, obnoxious in his ears but tolerable.  His other sobrinos had different ideas as Isabela nudged Camilo across the table.  The boy blinked, but his eyes were red and bleary and his head hanging as he held it, wincing in pain and fumbling for an arepa blindly, his complexion pale and green, his freckles standing out.  Bruno knew that look, having worn it himself a time or two around the same age, and wondered which one of the teens he'd seen turned away from the dance hall his sobrino had been disguised as.    

    He found Dolores' eyes across the table and twitched his lips at her brother, watching her subtle conspiratory nod; she knew, but wasn't telling yet, enjoying Camilo's inevitable misery a little too much.  "Feliz Día de la Raza, by the way," he said as he handed her the wrapped vision.  She looked at him confused, having not heard or requested anything, when he shrugged, failing at casualty.  "Managed to distract an involuntary this morning.  Finally some good news."    

    Dolores squealed happily at the vision once unwrapped, giving her tio a sweet smile as the table began to wake up.  Camilo looked much better after two rapid-fire cups of coffee and the first arepa, radiating mischief as Isabela whispered in his ear.  Before his nephew could say anything, grin curling up devilishly, his mother looked over at him, having tapped her fork smartly at Agustín to get him to move back.  "You were missed at meals yesterday Bruno, and now a vision?  Is everything alright?"   

    Bruno looked across the table, taking in his mother's face.  Worry and agitation danced across it briefly, chased by a scandalized jolt when her eyes flickered over his neck, settling finally on a terse resignation at what she saw.  He gave a noncommittal nod as he put his fork down, considering. "Just reminding myself I'm not getting any younger, I guess."  Let her remember her words from before and interpret that how she pleased.  Félix and Pepa looked away from each other, throats clearing and failing to hide their amusement as he rolled his eyes and sat back.     

    "Reminding yourself with what, a pack of leeches?" Camilo snickered in the pause. "It looks like she tried to eat you."   

     Julieta and Agustín snorted into their drinks and Luisa had to catch her food, half spat out as she laughed.  He could feel the heat creeping up his neck and flaming at his ears, but he was in good enough spirits to give it right back.  "Your interest in my love life is getting out of hand, Camilo.  If you want pointers you could just ask.  Not sure they're right for the breakfast table, though..." he chuckled over his coffee, smug despite his blush as his sobrino buried his disgusted face in his hands, groaning in remorse as the grownups cracked up at his expense.  Alma gave a long suffering sigh at the head of the table, giving up and shaking her head, trying not to laugh as well.  Her son looked happy, if more impulsive than she would like, taunting his sobrinos and making his sisters and their husbands laugh like he had in the old days, before he'd started isolating himself and before he'd hidden away.  She'd seen the bottle of liquor and the full glass left at Pedro's ofrendita, and hoped that, whatever he'd said to his father, the conversation had offered him some solace.  

    She watched as he helped clear the table with the children, packaging up a plate of leftover arepas in sackcloth.     

    "I've been in Senóra Elena's hair a lot the last few days," he spoke up, getting their attention as he tied the ends together. "She's...she's probably fallen behind at the shops.  Who wants to come help me help her out?  Camilo, not you."   

    "Aw, why not, tio, afraid I'll embarrass you in front of her?"   

    "I can do that well enough on my own, thanks.  Dolores is talking to your mother.  You might want to make yourself scarce."   

    Alma watched as Camilo went paler than he'd been at the start of breakfast and run after Luisa, volunteering to help her with clearing out a gravel pit that had fallen near the palisade on Sábado, pulling her hand in a panic to get her moving.  Mirabel eagerly stepped up to help her tio, snatching an apron from the hook on the wall and tying back her hair.  Isabela sighed and followed her younger sister's lead, irksome glare thrown at Bruno as she braided back her hair.  She shrieked as an orange blur charged through them and out the door raging "Camilo Joaquin Alejandro Madrigal!"  Pepa's thunder rolling behind pouring rain across the floor.  Félix and Dolores trailed behind, laughing and shuffling over towels to soak up the mess.   

    "Know anything about any of that?" Alma smiled as Bruno handed her a steaming mug of ginger and spearmint tea, placing a kiss to her hair.  He chuckled again.  "No, Mamá.  Let them have a few secrets."   

    "Brunito..." she began, hesitant but needing to resolve her worries.  "Is there...anything you need to tell me?  About...all of this?"  She couldn't stop the downturn of her mouth at the blemishes on his neck, flagrant and undignified for anyone, but especially a man his age to have so boldly on display.  His eyes slid away as he brought a hand to his neck, but not to cover the marks as she'd expected.   

    His face shone with an unabashed adoration as he thumbed over a vivid bruise at his collar, and a memory rose unbidden to the surface.  Her standing, hands clasped and shamefaced as Doña Remedios Madrigal had come to her home and given her the tongue lashing of her life in front of her parents for leaving a single, much less bold mark on Pedro, so close to Navidad that her father had dragged her directly to the church, lamenting his wayward daughter.  She couldn't recall what Remedios or her father had said, just the impressions of their mood.  What she did remember was seeing Pedro wearing the same tenderhearted look behind his mother, shaking his head and quivering with silent laughter, making faces behind his mother's back to let her know it would be alright.    

    "...Er...Mamá?  Where did you go?" Bruno laughed, bringing her out of her woolgathering as the girls stood by the door.  She smiled up at him and brought his cheek to her lips, patting his arm as she let him go.  "Estoy bien, mijo.  Go on, go and help...Elena.  Bring me a copy of La Edad De La Inocencia when you come back for comida, oye?"   

    He looked at her confused for a moment, before nodding.  "Te quiero, Mamá."  

    He let his mind wander as he walked, silent as he listened to the girls.  Isabela was trying to contain her irritation, but spiky little patches of swordgrass kept popping up unexpectedly behind her and pricking his sandaled feet.  He didn't remember if he'd locked the door when he'd fled the night before.  He hoped he had.  The last thing Elena needed was people roaming through the shops with no supervision while her head was in a drum.     

    Isabela, of course, proved him wrong, striding through the library doors like she owned the place.  "Really, tio?"  She said, looking back "is the only time you lock a door when the house locks it for you?"   

    "Be nice, Isa."  Mirabel shushed, looking around carefully with a theatre whisper.  "Senóra Elena?  Are you in here?  Tio brought you breakfast."   

    "She'll probably still be upstairs, Mira."  He said, closing the door behind them and rubbing his arm.  "I'm not sure--not sure how much either of us drank last night..."   

    "Jincho," Isabela scoffed.  A loud, sharp rattle sounded from the top floor, making them all jump.  "Mierda, she rattles the ceiling!  Well, thanks for not dragging that home, I guess.  Ugh, what did you want us to do, tio?"  Isabela groused, rolling her eyes as Mirabel giggled, making her way to the café counter.  Bruno waved her off, ignoring the attitude as he followed and began running an espresso, knowing it wouldn't be great but wanting to make her something stronger than the regular mix.      

    "Help your sister.  She knows it a little bit.  Elena keeps old cheat sheets in a box under here somewhere."  He finished what he was doing and jiggled the catch on the door to her loft stairs, the plate of arepas held in his teeth by its sackcloth wrapping.    

    She was sprawled flat on her stomach with her parrot loose and beaking at her hair, trapped in blankets and with one leg dangling off the bed as she snored, quieter now with her face in the pillow.  Her hair had tangled itself into a tumbleweed, and he briefly wondered if he should have braided it before letting her drift to sleep.  He shook his head and tiptoed to her sink, the tap slow as he filled a glass for her.  He placed it on her nightstand with the food, using her towel trick to keep the espresso warm.  He carefully drew a strand of hair away from her mouth, worried the fluttering of it would wake her.  With a scribbled brief note and a dish of seed set out for Chacha he slipped out unseen.    

    Elena woke up with her head in a vice and her eyes welded shut against the sun, Chacha loose and gently preening the hair at her temple as she groaned, looking at the sun and trying to dart out of bed when she realized the time, three hours past opening.   "...Mierda... Come on Chacha, shoo.  Scat loro pestilencia.  You aren't a chicken, don't mother hen at me, you relic.  Shooo!  Ay, my head..."  She groaned as she tried to nudge her bird away, trying to stand.  She had to sit down heavily, feet tripped up on blankets as she tried to will the pain away, her head spinning as her blood pressure flopped at the shift in position, regretting several life choices as boulders went rolling in her skull and lights went lancing behind her eyes.  Her feet hurt less than she thought they would, before she remembered what she could of the night before.  Bruno had brought her home, fishing her keys out of her pocket when she couldn't get her hands to work, and had put her to bed, taking her hair out of it's pins and washing her face.  Her mouth was bitter and acidic, so she must have thrown up at some point.  Hopefully not on anyone this time.  She was going to smack her primo for jinxing her next time she saw him.  He must have unlaced her borrowed shoes at some point in the night she couldn't quite remember and had rubbed her sore feet until she'd fallen asleep, well past midnight.  Something else niggled at the back of her mind, but the words, whatever they'd been, were trapped in her brain, hidden behind a fog that she couldn't shake.  She knew she'd let her mouth run away with her, but what had she said?    

    She groaned again, scrubbing at her eyes before making out her nightstand.  A tall glass of water, a double espresso wrapped in a towel and covered with a saucer to keep it warm, and a plate of arepas con huevos sat waiting for her, a note tucked under the plate.  It said simply 'Take your time ~B~'  She couldn't help the smile she gave at that, sure as she was that it was sappy as everything.  They were still on speaking terms, at least.  Today was going to be...awkward, she knew.  Drunk Elena had even less filter than sober Elena.  What had she said?  She knew she'd said something, a blurry memory of his stricken face popping up in her mind, but she couldn't remember what caused it.  Maybe she'd just...been really crude?  That sounded like her.   She ate one of the arepas begrudgingly, letting the expected tingle of warmth sooth and clear her head and ease her queasy stomach, before standing to get dressed for the day.  She was curious how he'd made it upstairs without her noticing, always a fitful sleeper when she'd overindulged.  At this point, she wouldn't be surprised if he'd talked Antonio into helping out with the assistance of some of his animal friends.  If geese could bring them lunch, why not this, after all?  Maybe Latón had slithered it up and was still slinking around her loft as she pondered, waiting to scare her silly, and wouldn't that just be the most peevish of revenge for him?   

    She shuffled out of Carlita's borrowed dress and jolted with the realization that her bra was missing from under her blouse.  Had she managed to shuffle out of that in the night?  There was no damage to the embroidery where the safety pins had been, and she knew she hadn't been functioning well enough to manage that.  Bruno was a saint, she laughed to herself as she saw the pins on her cluttered nightstand, set neatly beside the bobby pins from her hair.   

    She shook her head and stripped inattentively of the rest of her clothes, grabbing a towel and pouring herself into her shower, letting the hot water scald her clean and ease the rest of the aches and soreness out of her shoulders.  There were thumb shaped bruises dotting her skin, here at her waist and at the junction of her thighs, wonderfully tender when she brushed against them.  Julieta's gift didn't heal lovemarks it seemed, but she couldn't quite remember how those had gotten there, much to her chagrin.  She decided she'd find out later if she hadn't chased him off entirely, and toweled her hair as she hunted for something comfortable, too worn down to even consider chasing the little thrill that had sparked through her when she'd found those bruises. She stepped into a pair of her more practical trousers and a warm, if not wholly professional work shirt, fraying a bit at the seams but still serviceable enough.   She hadn't missed her read, though it would be close getting set up once she handled the mess that she'd left the shop in on Sábado, too boneless from the heat of the hotsprings to really face doing much in the way of work.  She threw on her usual face and rolled her hair into a messy chignon to the left before finishing the espresso, a little weak for a double, and descending the stairs.   

She was greeted by the sight of the café bustling and cleaner than it had been in days, Mirabel and Isabela behind the counter, hair bound up away from their faces in loose ties and flitting around each other to fill orders, her old cheat sheets for drinks dug out from their dusty box under the counter and propped up by a colorful collection of saplings, strange paper flowers whipping in the light breeze of arms reaching and coffee and money changing busy hands unfamiliar with the rhythm.  Mirabel was wrestling with the register, seeming to know she had to press the buttons down roughly, but not quite able to master the fast, hard taps the old hunk of junk needed.   Silvia and Miranda smiled at her as she blinked, tipping their mugs and nodding to the aisles of the library side.  Miranda looked like a coati, the circles under her eyes bold against her skin as she swam in her coffee, wincing at Silvia's boisterous laughter.    

    Bruno stood there by her cart, loaded with her returns, sorting through the titles and thumbing over the labels before placing books carefully in their spaces, double checking each one dutifully before he looked up and noticed her, bright crooked smile breaking as he saw her.  She couldn't help but laugh, taken by the surprise and sheer absurdity of finding her shops invaded and invigorated by him and his sobrinas on top of being crowded on Lunes.  "What is all this?" She asked, gesturing around as she came to him in the aisle, his hand taking hers and leading her to the circulation desk, where her regular reading circle was already set up, the colorful copy of La Muerte de Arturo she'd been working on the week before sitting alone on the cushion they'd shared, waiting for the children to make their way in after comida.    

   "I wanted to make today easier for you...after--after everything.  I ah, couldn't talk the girls out of helping.  I...hope this is alright?" he explained, hand reaching for his arm before freezing and clenching to a fist and falling away, the assertive shake of his head faint but not unmissed by Elena, who smiled at him and sat, moving the book away and patting the cushion.  He sat next to her, his manner somewhat shy even as his arm found it's way around her shoulder, drawing her to him and near pulling her into his lap.   

    "How much of a fool did I make of myself last night?" she asked once he'd got situated.  He held her close, humming quietly in her hair.  "What makes you think you did at all?"    

    "Twenty years of bad decisions and friends who never let me live any of them down?  And you're...a little bashful this morning?"   

   "You may have been a little...ok, a lot...franca... about some things?" he said, trying to hide in her shoulder, wanting to tell her but unable to bring the words to the surface.  She could feel the heat of his face through her shirt.  "What did I say?"   

    "There was a lot of...er...swearing involved."    

    "When is there not?" she laughed, nudging him.  "I said something else, I know I did...I just, my head is all neblinosa, worse than Pepa, nothing but clouds.  You like when I swear."   

    "Fair.  You may have...demanded the, ah...obvious expectations..." She could feel him, scratching at his neck awkwardly even as he squeezed her with his legs, contrarian as always.   

    She buried her face in her hands, laughing as he kissed her hair, a placating gesture as much as an affectionate one, she was beginning to realize.  "I didn't!  Oh, mierda, I did, didn't I?"  Clearly nothing had happened, or not everything, since she'd woken up alone, but the thought of having been that bold with him had her burning.  Mostly with embarrassment, but the fact that he'd come and done all this even after everything gave her hope.  She took his hands in hers, bringing them up to her face and kissing his palms as she fumbled.  "I am so sorry.  Bruno, please, I didn't mean...I just... mierda..."  

    He took his hands back and encircled her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder and pulling her backwards to rest her back on his chest.  He didn't laugh at her, but she could hear the humor in his voice as he held her, thumbs stroking across the front of her shirt, toying aimlessly with the buttons.  "You did mean it, or most of it, anyway.  But...well, I'm not going to complain about what I heard.  Nope, not repeating what you said."   

    "Bruno, please at least tell me I didn't say anything either of us regret?"   

    "Would I be here conning my sobrinas for help if I had regrets?"   

    She laughed.  "No, you wouldn't.  And I though you said you couldn't stop them?"   

    He placed a slow kiss to her jaw then, sweet enough to anyone observing, but the fingers that slid under her shirt hidden by his other hand spoke otherwise.  "Mirabel was happy enough to help out, I think she likes the work.  I caught Isa with the young doctor making a house call."   

    "Told you so," she laughed, slightly giddy that he still felt comfortable enough to tease her.   

    "Damn it woman, we haven't been together long enough for you to be right about everything yet!" He grumbled, fingers digging into her sides and forcing a peal of laughter from her, making her spring up and dart away before he tickled her stupid in front of the patrons.    

    He laughed as he watched her skid behind the counter, scooping his nieces into one armed bearhugs that took them both by surprise and lifted them three inches off the ground.     

    "Eres las mejores!  Thank you so much for this."   

    "It's nothing, Elena, honestly.  We're happy to help you and tio Bruno!" Mirabel said as she finished what she was set down.  Isabela rolled her eyes but squeezed back.  "Next time you two go to the dance hall, keep him here, would you?" she laughed, flicking vaguely at the sad potted plants in their hanging terracotta pots, which sprang back to life somewhat.  "And stop watering them so much!  You're drowning them worse than you are tio.  At least he likes it."  Elena rolled her eyes and thanked them again, pleased to see that prickly nature rising to the surface after such a long time held back as she waved them out the door.  

    "Go on, you two, go enjoy your day, let me back here.  And thank you again, girls!" 

    'She doesn't remember,' he thought to himself, a bittersweet realization.  He watched her as she sent his nieces away without a thought, a day's pay rifled from the register slipped in each of their apron pockets surreptitiously.  He frowned slightly at that, knowing she didn't really have it to spare.  If he thought he'd bring it up later, but something told him it would do him no good, Elena's pride in her shops overshadowed only by her perpetual indignation at her financial status.   

     He felt the smile creeping its way onto his face as he leaned against the circulation desk where she'd left him.  Something had settled into his skin in the night, beyond the sand of his floor and the slight ache left behind by the involuntary vision on top of dancing the night away.  A subtle calming warmth sitting in his chest, awkward and ungainly as a potoo bird in the rain, and just as much a harbinger of change.  He felt a layer of his fear slough away as he watched her, chatting with Miranda as she made her a cocoa con queso for her head and rolling her eyes at Silvia, who was trying to pass on her flask, always a firm believer in pelo del perro.  In its place grew in a pillar of sweet apprehension along his spine, tangled vines curling through his ribs before surrounding his heart and constricting.  He was completely lost at sea, but the waters were calm around him, and he found himself more worried about what might raise to disturb the surface than the temperament of the gentle waves around him.    

    Contentedly he made his way to his chair, and it truly had became his chair now.  He might have seen a child or two curled up in it now that he sat at the counter more, but no one else, people seeming to realize he'd woven himself back into the fabric of the town, securing his thread both here and at Casita.  He thought briefly of digging out the suncatcher and working on it, but was still a bit frail from the morning and the night before and didn't feel up to subjecting his back to the inevitable hunching he'd fall into.  Elena looked for him at the counter, but saw him shadowed in the aisle when he waved, and gave him a soft smile, hand at her ear to tuck that stubborn strand of hair away, always coming loose no matter how she wrangled it, unbothered that it revealed a mark at her neck.  He was at ease enough to fall back partially into his habits, shedding the pretense of reading simply to watch her go about her day as he considered.   

    The shops were busy today, busier than he'd seen it in some time, sending Elena scrambling between the registers of the cafe and the bookshop side as people stopped in for a quick coffee and little abuelas clustered with their paperbacks and to catch up on gossip with Silvia.  There were a lot more eyes making their way back to his little corner thanks to her, most disbelieving, but not unfriendly.  Roberto Hernandez made an appearance, dusting himself free of grit from his cocoa field and sitting beside Silvia, a bright bouquet of pink chrysanthemums, yellow and orange marigolds, and pale blue freesia handed to Elena with a note tied in green ribbon.  She read it with a smile and popped the flowers into a beaten percolator as a vase, dropping in a handful of spent coffee grounds into the bottom to help them keep, setting them up on a low shelf to keep them out of the way of shifting hands.   

    "Rico says you and Senor Madrigal... enjoyed yourselves at the dance hall, cariña.  It's good to hear you're going out again.  You've been working too hard these last few months."   

    "Berto, we both know that's not what Rico said, but thank you.  And we've all worked hard the last few months, I'm not special."   

    "Ha!" Silvia laughed, "You tried to work through a burn just last week and that poor man had to drag you to his sister.  Live a little, remind people you exist outside of being your friend's obrera por defecto.  We got used to seeing you again during the rebuilding, todo en la sopa, y fue una alegria!"   

   "You two act like I never went out."   

    "You never did, outside of your work trips" Miranda cut in, wincing as she rubbed her temples.  "It's taken me and Car and...Bruno dragging you out to get you out of here, away from your ledgers and coffee beans."   

    "There's a lot to do, Mimi, you know that."   

    "And you don't have to do all of it.  You know how worried you had me and Arturo, when you skipped lunch for a month straight to work on the construction?"   

    "Ok yes, that was a bad idea, but I wasn't just going to not help.  They needed the hands, at Casita and the palisade."   

    "You left the shops open until ten and kept doing it for weeks straight!  Work work sleep and repeat, that's no life!"   

    "I had to make up the hours, and people come here to relax, you know that.  It's quiet." She laughed, indicating the group of bedraggled women who'd just walked in, handing off a gaggle of toddlers to abuelas and equally tired looking fathers, right on time to emphasize her point.  She took their orders in rapid succession and directed them to the lounge on the bookshop side, a coffee table littered with battered old comfort copies of library books, set out for easy pick-up reading. The youngest of the four immediately passing out on a friend's shoulder upon sitting.  Elena rolled her eyes and walked the drinks over before returning behind the counter. "Look at them; I'm not going to take that away just because I was tired."   

    "You aren't obligated to be the town's sanctuary just because your father was, you know." Silvia said, not unkindly.  Elena gave her a look, somewhere between resigned and wistful, her eyes sliding off into the middle distance as she looked around at the shops, lost in thought.  The beaten Persian rugs and aging appliances, copper and brass and aluminum shining unevenly from years of use.  Leather seats worn soft and burnished smooth again by careful oiling, cushions and covers sewn by her own hand and her mother's, the counter made from the repurposed furniture of their old home nearer the coffee fields, years of nicks and burns and dents beaten into it from first her father's hand and then her own.  The signs he'd painted to mark the aisles of the bibliotheca and the bookshop.  Her mother's full embroidery hoops hung in the café, the green light from Bruno's old macramé winking off them in the sun.  "Si lo se.  But I want to.  This place...They're still alive here, helping me learn how to grow up.  I miss them.  I want them to be remembered, and the peace Papá tried to make here is part of that."  

    "They would want you to live too, Lenita," Roberto said, finishing his coffee and patting her hand.  "Your father would want you to experience life outside of here, beyond just being the town's go to for when things go loco.  Vivir un poco loco for them, when they never got to."   

    "I try to, but the shops come first.  I've already been slacking."   

    "Sla--you are impossible!" Miranda hissed, wagging her hand, "You need help!  This place still runs like the army, even if the hours have gone a bit screwy.  Ugh, where's your boyfriend, he'll talk sense into you!"   

    "No I won't," Bruno laughed from his chair, enjoying the acknowledgement as her partner and the back and forth with his eyes closed, not quite dozing but close, lulled into a restful ease by the sounds of conversation.  He wasn't happy about what he'd heard, though he'd known some of it, the late hours, though he had never realized how late, always leaving before sundown, and her obdurate dedication to the shops her parents had built.  "Smart man," Roberto said, shaking his head and heading out to leave, already having stayed too long.  The sun was getting too high in the sky, and he had to go relieve his workers.  He yelped as Silvia gave his bottom a pinch, speculative look in her eye as his skin darkened with a dusky blush.  "Senóras...Silv."  He said, tipping his sombrero and strutting away, jaunty smile on his face.  Elena whacked the older woman with a dishtowel.  "What is this, the new hook up spot?  Down, old girl!"   

    "You and Bruno started it.  And Roberto has no strings and a good back.  I'm old, not dead."   

    "Images, Silvia, Jesúcristo!  You're my mother's age." Miranda groaned, still fighting her head, her smile crooked.   

    "Even better, no consequences!"   

    "Hola, Padre," Elena snickered, getting started in on his usual americano as he walked in, ignoring the sanctimonious pinch of his face at their conversation, "Perfect timing."   

    "Senóra Pascual, Vidua Gonzalves.  It appears I'll have to reevaluate some of my sermons.  I feel like they've passed you by."   

    "Oh, don't be so sofacante, Plácido," Silvia dismissed with a wave of her hand.  "You see me every Domingo, let me live the rest of the week, Dios sabe he hasn't struck me down yet!"  He accepted his drink from Elena tersely, "And you, Senóra Pascual?"  

    "You'll see me when you see me, Padre.  If I feel like I've got sinning to do I'll let you know afterward, hm." she shrugged.  Faithful patron or not, the man got on her nerves with his constant wheedling.   

    "So this coming week then?" he countered, eyes sliding back to the aisle Bruno roosted in, clearly scandalized by what they'd gotten up to at the dance hall.  She rolled her eyes.  "I highly doubt it.  Like I said, I'll make it to the confession booth when I feel I need it, not when you do.  You know why." She watched his mouth turn down at that, but he said nothing, leaving with a firm nod as he paid.  Miranda and Silvia gave her a curious look, but she said nothing.  She had promised she wouldn't, even though the reason to do so had long passed.   

    She sighed as the crowd lightened some, the group of young mothers leaving and the regulars quick with their orders and out the door in minutes, and used the lull to go to her cart.  Bruno had done an admirable job, but there were a few left and more in the return bin that she could put back before lunch.  She yelped when a hand wrapped around hers halfway to the shelf, not having heard him again as an arm snaked around her middle, his mouth at her neck, warm and gently insistent.   

    "Nope.  Go relax, don't worry about these.  Make yourself a coffee that I didn't burn, ninfa."   

    "What is it with you all today?  You'd think I was falling apart," she groused as he took the next book and scanned the label, avoiding her eye as he held her close, his grip overstrong at her side, concern radiating from him.  "You did.  You broke in the street and we all saw it.  None--none of us want to see that again."  

    "Bruno, I'm alright now!"    

    "I know.  I know you are.  But it shouldn't take breaking and pulling yourself back together to get you to enjoy yourself."   

    "Did I enjoy myself?" she asked him, pensive as he held her, still wondering, flashes coming back of steamy dances and fevered hands and feral glowing eyes, but the entirety of the night still hazy. His hand eased at her side even as he drew her closer, whispering in her ear.  "I'd...I'd like to think so.  It would--would be nice to see you that...lively again.  Sober, though.  I don't think I can handle holding your hair back again."   

    She laughed as he pulled a face, green at the prospect alone.  At least that answered one of her questions.  He looked at her expectantly before shooing her away with a book, crooked grin in place as she threw up her hands and made her way back to the counter.  Silv and Miranda were getting up to leave, waving as they gathered their purses, and in the lull she followed his advice, pulling herself a tinto the way she liked it, when she could bother to make herself something.    

    Hopping up on her stool, she watched him as he drifted and disappeared through the aisles, placing books back in their slots and straightening things, fiddling with her mix and match bookends and righting the minor issues as he found them.  It was a sight she could get used to seeing, the prideful little 'aha' moment he had each time he got it right, a boyish light flitting across his face.  The twist to his mouth when he caught a mistake, his hand tracing invisible patterns in the air as he checked her ledger and puzzled out what he'd missed.  He stood a little straighter, it seemed, and when someone passed him in the aisle, his flinch was less noticeable.  

    She didn't think he'd ever be the socialite his sisters were, in everything, present everywhere, always visible.  He'd never been the most outgoing of men, and she remembered, from before he'd hidden away, how quiet he'd always been, and when his ruana had slowly started to become a shield against the outside world.  Around when Beatriz had gone to dinner with him, when rumors of Alma's matchmaking had swirled in the market place and girls had started trying to pair themselves off before the familiar sight of a rouge colored dress made it to their doors.  She'd been too wrapped up to pay it any mind, in the confused mire of feelings Guillermo's death had left her in, dealing more and more with the shops, her father barely able to make it down the stairs most days and her mother's hands no longer able to handle much of the work.  She'd grown even more outspoken in those days, having to rely on Rodrigo in a pinch now and then to remove some of the angriest of patrons, people coming to confront Bruno after the construction accident.  It had made her sick, watching them blame him for Memo's death, telling her she should blame him as well, for taking her chance at happiness away.  She had put a swift end to that, doing her best to reassure him before hauling the offenders out by their ears, fingers twisting the cartilage so fiercely he'd flinched at their shrieks.  She still saw a few people cover their ears on reflex when they heard her voice raise.   

    He'd made so much progress in so short a time, and she had to hope that some of it was because of her.  She had gotten used to him so quickly, his shifting moods and unstable frame of mind burrowing under her skin, an incongruous mess that for whatever reason made sense to her, fitting into the little gaps and hollows of her mind and her life like he'd always been there, like he hadn't disappeared for ten years and left the chair she'd grown to think of as his chair empty and her shelves free of good luck charms after a hard day.  Like his quiet laugh at her constant running at the mouth hadn't been missing for those same ten years.  Like his near silent presence in that chair hadn't kept Rico Chavez and Joaquin Ruiz and Carlos and their whole crew away from her once her father's health had declined, before she'd earned her reputation with her ladle and her temper and her willingness to fight.     

    Bruno looked up then, feeling eyes on him, and caught her out staring, a shy smile and little wave thrown her way before turning back to his self imposed task, taken up only because he wanted to help her.  Her stomach dropped at the comfortable domesticity of such a simple gesture, taken only because he cared for her.  And he had proven beyond any reason that he did care for her, not just accepting who she was but reveling in it, taking each damaged and dented part of who she was and holding it close to his chest and sheltering it like a wounded bird, never judging or questioning the broken wings and bad decisions, taking all of her in stride with no explanation needed.  She shook her head, trying to bat away the thoughts that had clustered, fluttering against her skull, past her heart and down into her stomach to flit about, a trapped hummingbird of lead and gold, bright and heavy and swift.    

    Her heart had clenched at the realization so harshly she found herself struggling to breathe, the delightful brutality of it all crashing around her in a scalding wave, washing over her and burning away the little veneer of lies she'd been telling herself since that first night.  Little lies of not wanting to fall too fast, of not falling at all, of all of this just being the ambitious chasing of a years-long crush, and that they would burn out like a candle in the wind after a few months of fun.  She set her coffee down with a decisive clink and made her way to the bathroom, not wanting anyone to see the tears that were forming in her eyes, welling over before she could catch them as her chest grew too tight and her skin burned.  She closed the door and slid down against it, her hand pressed to her mouth so tightly it hurt, tears falling freely from the corners of her eyes as she let the waves wash her away piece by piece, dragging her out to recombine in the center of the whirlpool she found herself drawn into.    

    She was in love with Bruno Madrigal.   

    She wasn't sure how long she sat there, completely overwhelmed by her realization. It had only been two weeks, after all.  Could someone really fall in love so quickly?  She didn't have time to dwell on it, as a quiet knocking sounded along with his nervous voice, letting her know there were customers and asking if she was ok, not knowing he was constricting her heart as he did so.  She took a deep breath and popped to her feet, assuring him she was fine, blaming too much sugarcane in her coffee and fixing her face as best she could, pinching her cheeks and doing her best to make it look like she hadn't just fallen apart on the floor.  He started slightly at the lingering kiss she gave him, searching her eyes for some reason, but she just shrugged and made her way to the counter, patting his chest lightly as she went. 

    She immediately found herself wishing she'd locked herself in there and flushed the key.  Roberto's crew had made their way in from the fields to avoid the midday heat, tired and dusty and riled up.  She had a soft spot for Senór Hernandez, but she hated the men he hired to help him, rough men lacking the good manners that she'd grown used to with Rodrigo and Julio and her father, always toeing the line around the Encanto's rules.  They were usually the ones behind the most recent fight at the bar, and Julio had sent more than one of them to Julieta after tossing them out of the dance hall.  Campeón Garza seemed to have stepped into the role of their Jefe in Carlos' absence; Bruno's age and grinning at her, his missing front teeth on display as he snickered with the three younger men, eyes all speculative as they watched her.  They'd made themselves scarce since the hoguera, but it seemed her reprieve was over.  Normally she'd see one of them, maybe two, as they dropped in after work or during breaks, and they made little trouble for her besides smelling like mules and taking up too much room and too many of Carlita's experiments when she had them.  Arturo and Rodrigo were also in, and their presence was the only reason she wasn't shaking.  Those two nodded her way, Rodrigo tapping his throat to let her know he was unlikely to speak today, his little slate by his side, and she smiled, trying not to show she was relieved.  Superstitious as the other four were, she didn't think Bruno could scare them off even with the spiking fury of an involuntary, and she still hadn't thought to start wearing her pistola, lulled into a false sense of security by Carlos’ expulsion.    

    She sighed and made her way behind the counter, putting on her best fake smile as she began the machines, running Arturo and Rodrigo's usual romanos, wondering about their tastes as she always did, keeping the knife she used to chop the lemon at the back counter where none of the peanut gallery could get to it, hoping the sinking feeling in her stomach was just Bruno's paranoia rubbing off on her and not her instincts jangling.   

    "Hola!  What can I get everyone?"  Manuel and Joaquin ordered, bored as they always were, easy enough lungos that she had done in a couple of minutes.  They’d made a mess of her counter in that time, cluttering it up with their rolling papers, Joaquin already with a lit cigarette in his lips and cleaning his nails with his knife.   She didn’t normally allow smoking, the smell turning her stomach as well as being an old habit in concession to her father’s illness, but she gritted her teeth, willing to overlook it to avoid a fight.    

    Campeón took his time, raking his eyes over her and the chalkboard menu before ordering a black eye with the beans ground extra fine.  His eyes didn't leave her breasts the whole time she worked on his drink, of course today being the day the grinder stuck again.  She tried to ignore his nasty grin, but Bruno caught her uneasy eye from where he’d been hanging back in the aisles.  He tried to make his way back behind the counter, ostensibly to hand her the ledger he’d been using to doublecheck his placements, but was pulled away when Campeón’s meaty hand found his elbow and yanked him down beside him in the empty stool.  The man's breath stank of stale rum, and he saw a flask passed between Rico and Joaquin.  

    “Ah, pequeño Brunito!  Come sit, sit, have a drink with me.  It’s been years! Tell me what you’ve been up to!  And who you’ve been up to it with.”       

    “I’m don't remember being your--your friend, Garza,” Bruno grumbled, exceptionally aware of the situation, his skin too tight suddenly as he found himself and Elena surrounded by his childhood bully and Carlos’ friends. Something twisted in his gut and he knew, with the sudden, verdant flash of clarity, that this was not good, and he couldn't stop his hand from running under the counter in a rapid series of knocks.  Campeón laughed and clapped him on the back, too hard, pulling him close.  “‘Ahh, all in the past!  Childhood squabbles, you know how it is.  Come, Chica con suerte, a corretto for mi amigo, to celebrate the end of a decade long dry spell!”   

    "That's not--that's no way to speak around her!"  he snapped, disgusted.   

    "Campeón, you know how I feel about you riling up the...customers," Elena said with an apologetic glance at Bruno, hoping to defuse things before someone's mouth ran away with them.   

    "Ah, but we both know Bruno's more than a customer, Lenita.  Go, go.  Una corretta ahora, hazlo." She felt her mouth turn down in distaste at being bossed like a child, but said nothing.   

    "Campeón, leave her alone," Bruno began, voice tight in his throat as he saw the look on the man's face, smile sharp.  Elena shook her head, giving him a pointed look as she began the espresso, selecting her big cast iron tamper carefully and keeping her head down.  Bruno looked over at Arturo and Rodrigo, both of them watching and waiting as well, the air around them all stale and stinging with tension and cigarette smoke.  Manuel turned to light his cigarette as Campeón turned to bum one off of Joaquin, and Bruno felt something heavy pressed into his hands along with the drink in the distraction, tucking it swiftly under his ruana before Manuel turned back, cherry of his smoke too close to his face.   

    "Come on, old man, don't be bashful.  Mírate, suerte asalta cunas!"   

    "I have nothing to say to you, now get--get off me!" Bruno glared, clenching his teeth as the man's hand clapped onto his shoulder, joined by Campeón's heavy grip, trapping him on the stool, and he failed to shake them off.  "Get off of me," he said again, a little stronger, trying to jostle them loose.   

    "Leave Bruno alone, Manuel.  Comportarse o largate.  Order something else or leave, you're smoking up my air."  Elena spat, ignored as Campeón continued, snide as he patted Bruno on the shoulder, pretense of renewing an old friendship sitting slimy on his skin, an oily sheen of cruelty that had nothing to do with the grit from the orchard staining him.  Manuel grinned at both of them with the cutting look of a hidden razor and Campeón laughed, " 'Ahh, no reason to get all cabreado, we're just curious what you did to charm la melindrosa zorra exigente."   

    "Cállate!  You have no right!"  Bruno seethed, his fist slamming down on the counter.  He saw Rodrigo and Arturo shift in their seats, jaws tense, waiting.   

    "Cuida tu boca!"  Elena hissed, furious.  The older man waved her off, puffing a ring of smoke at her as he cuffed Bruno in the gut, forcing a cough from him.   

    "Hush, Leni.  The men are speaking.  Now don't be tímido, viejo, we're all friends here, and friends talk.  So talk."  Campeón had a hand jammed into Bruno's sternum, knuckles close to bruising as they ground against him.  

"Come on, cobardito, tell us how how she was, for poor Rico, he's so curious.  Does she really have a tattoo on her coño?"  Before Elena could scrape her jaw from the floor from the blind shock of the throwaway comment, Rico snickered nastily, his beady eyes mean as a snake and twice as stupid.   

    "If all it costs is a few margaritas, shouldn't be to hard to find out.   Not like I haven’t already seen half the goods.  Come on, Lenita, you gave the old man a spin, why not me?"   

    "Why not all of us?" Manuel laughed, his grip on Bruno's shoulder squeezing tight as he struggled.   

    "Cállate!  Enough!  Especially out of you, Bardales!  You're just as disgusting as your primo!"  Bruno ranted, jerking loose from the hands pressing him into the stool and twisting away furiously.  Manuel let him, standing in unison with Campeón as he hissed.  "Don't you talk about my cousin."     

   "Fuck you Rico, tu meirdecilla.  Get out of my shop!" Elena spat, still focused on the little creep, finally done with their behavior.   

    Joaquin had taken to fiddling with his knife as they spoke, flipping the blade between his fingers, the sun glinting off of it.  When he gave a hollow laugh, they all froze.  She threw a wary eye at her friend’s husbands; they were watching, biding time, knowing that they'd have to be quick to prevent anything going too far, the air so thick with tension they could taste it along with the cigarette smoke.  Joaquin was quiet, and liked to hunt.  They all knew he knew how to use that knife.   

    "I don’t think so.  You've both got a lot to answer to, chasing Carlos out of town. Way I see it, she owes Rico a dance at the least, after all the trouble she caused and teasing half the dance hall hard last night to leave with you.  I say she...dances."    

    "Come on, finchada, give us a dance and we'll leave precioso Brunito alone like you asked," Manuel said as he grabbed her arm, trying to drag her around the counter.   

    "Let her go!" came Bruno and Rodrigo's joint shout, Campeón barking a laugh.  "Idiota mudo can speak today!  That's alright, we'll leave a dance for you too." 

    Somewhere, a nervous cable snapped, whipping through them and flinging all into a sharp chaos as it sliced the tight strings of tension quivering a sickly yellow in the air.  Bruno dodged a lumbering punch by Campeón, age having slowed and fattened him from the muscled wannabe luchador he'd been in their adolescence.  He ducked under his arms and shot a jab of his own, only glancing the taller man's jaw, but hearing his teeth clack as his vision began to narrow in, his focus shifting. Rodrigo sprung up and knocked the knife from Joaquin's hand with his slate, breaking it on the counter and kicking the blade under one of the shelves before hooking the gangly neck in his elbow and dragging Joaquin out the door, heading straight for Juez Aguilar's house as he went, ignoring the man's gagging as his arm tightened.   Elena had twisted around in Manuel's grasp, spraying his face with hot coffee and kicking his shin before he dragged her around the counter struggling.  "Galicoso desgracia!  Get out!"     

    Bruno took a vicious punch to the jaw, distracted by the shout, and caught himself at the counter, his eyes uncrossing long enough to dodge the chaser.  Elena's head slammed into Manuel’s nose with a sickening crunch before she twisted, her knee crashing into his groin and her sharp thumbnail driving into his ear as he doubled over wheezing, something popping as she twisted the cartilage around so fiercely blood blisters bloomed under his skin and he squealed like a wounded rabbit, dripping blood across the floor, her knee and foot making contact with any soft spot she could find as she yanked him towards the door as well, every foul thing she could think to call him falling from her mouth.  Rico, frozen after his usual shield Joaquin was dragged away, saw Arturo stand and bolted, the combination of the man built like a wall and the hellish green light shining past Campeón seeing him sprinting out the door, crossing himself as he went.  He tripped on a chair on his way out, busting his chin and passing Manuel as Elena's foot left a print on his ass and tripped him out the door.  Bruno dodged another punch, his eyes flashing as the sand in the grout began to sift upwards into the air, his gift going wild again, his whole body radiating a cold fury.      

    "Get.  Out."  He spat as he shook his head, flashes of green sparking at his feet. Campeón laughed as he came towards him.  "Your little parlor tricks don't work on me anymore, Madrigal.  I'd be more out of breath fighting your little puta.  Or fucking her."    

    His mind went blank at that, his hand gripping the rough cast iron of the tamper Elena had handed him and swinging wide, twisting up high and swift and catching the larger man in the face.  Campeón was on the ground in an instant, his eyes dazed as he held his cheek, blood filtering through his fingers where the tamper had opened it.  The iron sat limply in Bruno's grasp as he stood, glaring down at the man on the floor, his breathing labored.  "I said get out," he panted, nearly blind as the flaring of his eyes blotted out his vision  "Ambos están jodidamente locos!" Campeón spat as he wiped blood away, face paling slightly and trying to stand.  

    Julio fell through the door then, Elena's tirade having been heard clear across the street at the bakery, to be greeted by fallen chairs, Manuel Bardales hunching over his stomach as Arturo held his arms locked, Elena rubbing at bruises on her elbow as she wiped blood off her thumb, looking ready to tear someone’s throat out, and Bruno standing over Campeón Garza, the acidic burn of his eyes highlighting the splash of blood across his cheek and dripping from the iron in his hand as a black bruise bloomed across his jaw.  Carlita poked her head in behind him, scooting past to begin cleaning up, sighing heavily. 

    "Do I want to know?"  Julio said as he grabbed the older man off the floor and twisted his arms behind his back, ignoring his protests and the straining of his shoulders.   

    "Get Pilar.  Let her and Ben Aguilar sort them out," Bruno spat, body vibrating with nerves but standing tall as he was able.   

    "Leni ok?"   

    "Sorprendente!" he huffed, looking out the door at her as she dusted herself off, caught between enrapture and apprehension.  “She near tore his ear off.”   

    "Good.  Hebér taught her well.  Car, can you get mi tia?  I don't trust this one to not do something stupid," he asked, shaking Garza roughly.  Now being held back by a man near half his age and bigger than him, he'd clammed up, his bravado withered as he glared at them all.   

    Carlita dusted her hands off on her apron and leveled a look at the men.  "Do you want me to get Senora Madrigal as well?  I'm too fat to be running all across town."   

    "No, if she's not here already she's--she'll be staying out of it.  D-Dolores..." Bruno shuddered, sitting down, the iron dropping from his nerveless hands as his stomach plunged.  'What the hell just happened?' he shook, his vision returning.  Carlita nodded and patted Elena's arm as they crossed at the doorway, and Bruno found himself swept into a crushing hug, a thumb running across his cheek and smearing the wetness there, realizing too late his eyes were running as his adrenaline crashed.  "Not...It's not mine.  I.  Elena..." Despite his tears she gave him an inflamed look, her eyes burning and her mouth slightly open as she wiped the blood from his cheek before taking his hand.

    She pulled him to the lounge on the bookshop side and sat him down before curling up beside him and laying her head in his lap, her breathing shaking as she closed her eyes and huffed, clearly trying to bring it under control, her hands clenched tightly against her mouth, knuckles bloodless.  His hands found their way into her hair automatically, removing pins and brushing out curls in gentle motions that soothed them both.   

    "Never a dull moment," she laughed quietly, her voice oddly flat.  "Those four have always been trouble.  Are you ok?"  

    "Don't worry about me, I can take a punch and Garza has let himself go.  Are you alright?"   

    "I’m more angry than anything.  This is my life.  My home," she paused, fingers ghosting across the bruise on his jaw, her expression the tender ferocity of a jaguar with her cubs.  "My Bruno.  They do not get to come in here and break every ounce of peace I've built for the last ten years.  I hope Ben throws the book at them and blacks their eyes with it.  Maldito capullo cretinos."     

    He did his best to ignore the little flip-flopping of his heart when she called him hers as he carded his hand through her hair.  “What can I do, Elena?  I…I feel like I need to do something…I know I should do something, but I don’t know…I’m lost, mi oréade.”  Elena looked up at him, pulling him down and resting his forehead on hers, her fingers gentle in his hair as she just held him close.  “We need to get you cleaned up, and healed up.  And let your mother know you’re ok.  Just…I need to get out of here, clear my head.  I don't care how you do it, just make me forget the last hour, please?” 

    He kissed her forehead, and nudged her to stand, going to wash his face and knuckles in her cafe sink, grabbing up cups and that tamper and tossing them in the basin before snatching a book from the cart and grabbing her hand and leading her out the door.  Julio and Arturo nodded to him where they stood, glaring out at the little crowd that had gathered and holding onto Campeón and Manuel, Arturo jerking his chin down the road.  “Rigo has el juez on the way.  Tenemos esto, cuídala, Bruno.”   

    She let him lead her down the road, knowing from the time and the path that he was headed home, for healing or comfort or habit or all three she wasn't sure.  His mouth was set in a hard line, his eyes stuttering in their sockets as he kept his head down, boring holes into the cobblestones and his lip pulling up in distaste every time he had to dodge a crack.  His thumb pressed out his pattern of sevens against the back of her hand as he worked his jaw, the bruise blooming and fading slightly in time with his clenching.  He was warring with something, thoughts tumbling against each other in his mind clear as his face flitted between rage and regret and worry.   

    "Bruno, it's alright,  We're both ok.  You..."   

    "How do they know about...about your tattoos?" he said, before he could stop himself, his face falling along with hers as his stomach rolled, ice pouring down his spine at his mistake.  Her hand went limp in his and he knew instantly that he'd just stuck one foot in his mouth and the other in his grave and he scrambled to backtrack.  "I didn't--I mean--It's not...Elena!  Perdóname, por favor, perdóname!  Ay, I didn't mean how that...how that sounds..."   

    "If you're wondering if I ever went off with one of them, no," she said coldly, watching as he flinched, his eyes gone wide.  "I wasn't...Elena, lo lamento, I just..." he flailed desperately, words caught in his throat before he could speak them, shrinking under her withering glare, one he'd hoped he'd never have pointed at him.  She saw his misery, realizing he truly hadn't meant it how it sounded even if he couldn't articulate it as he twisted his ruana tightly against his chest, knuckles white and his face twisted in panic, the bruise on his jaw standing out as the color drained from him, those big green eyes wide and begging as he fought with his rebellious throat.  With a sigh she let go of his hand, threading her arm under his ruana and pulling him close, draping his arm across her shoulders, knowing from her admission to herself that she would forgive the ridiculous man beside her for just about anything.  "You are lucky I know your mouth runs away from your brain.  You know that, right?"   

    "El más afortunado, Elena.  Please, I am so, so sorry.  I didn't mean...soy un enorme idiota..."   

    "Yes you are, but only for this.  They probably just heard some half rumor.  I'm not a nun, you know, but people miss things drunk and in the dark, and men say stupid things to each other in the bar."  She paused for a moment, the need for honesty clashing with her own embarrassment.  She huffed, shaking her head and sucking it up.  "It was probably Franco Sanchez."   

   "The velero's apprentice?  He's an idiot!"   

    Elena sighed and shook her head, a little sheepish at the admission.  "I did tell you I make bad decisions when I'm borracha.  It was five years ago, he was sweet enough and he...he looked like you then if you squinted, with his hair long and before he gained all that weight."  He gave her a curious look at her embarrassed confession, confused and touched and a little disquiet.  It was one thing to know she'd been with other men, of course she had.  As she'd pointed out, she wasn't a nun, and he'd always known that.  Her experience and brashness were part of what drew him to her.  Knowing the name of one of them was something different, and he had to fight down the grudging wave of possessiveness he felt rise up.  Five years ago he'd been living in a wall, rationing poppy extract and slicing into his skin with dull blades just to fend off visions of the second World War.  He had no room to judge her and he knew it.  He chewed over it for a moment, the stale jealousy that sat in his mind like a gray stone, the anger at himself, again, for all the lost time and his own obliviousness to the woman beside him.  He looked at it all and wrapped it in a little box in his mind and put it away.  It would do him no good now.  He needed to make this up to her, somehow.  He searched for her hand, bringing it up to his mouth and pressing it to his lips, his shaky grip just a hint too tight.  

    "I screwed up.  I really screwed up.  Please...What can I do to...to just...unsay that?"   

    "Unless you can rewind time as well as see into it, nothing," she sighed, before squeezing him close.  "To be honest...It's kinda cute to see you get all jealous over me."   

    "...Still I...It shouldn't have mattered, I shouldn't have said..."   

    "It's not a surprising question, Bruno.  We're still learning each other.  There will be...hiccups.  I'll get mad and you'll get upset, or you'll get mad and I'll get upset.  I think...I think as long as we're honest with each other we'll be ok."   

    "If the damned town would just settle down..."   

    "Ah, they're all just waiting to meet our kids," she teased, her anger dissolving the rest of the way as she bumped him with her hip, laughing at the scandalized squawk he made.   

    "QÚE?"

    "Hadn't heard that rumor yet?"   

    "Dios, mi corazon, estoy muerto!  What the hell?"   

    "You really would find a market for a human version of your teatro rata here, you know.  These folks are desperate for a good story and I'm not selling the right ones.  Someone decided we've been married for years and have a secret family of hill children!"   

    "You sure I can't go back in the walls?  I'd...I'd take you with me?"   

    "Hmm.  Tempting, but no.  I feel like Chacha would give us away.  Or all the wild-monkey sex."   

    It was Bruno's stuttering belly laugh that let the rest of the Madrigals know he and Elena had made it, Dolores having updated Alma on the goings on at the first whisper of trouble before plugging her ears in an attempt to give her tio some privacy, though her cheeks were still stained red from second-hand embarrassment.  How her tio could go from being the biggest flirt one minute to the biggest idiot the next she'd never understand.  She wasn't sure if Senóra Pascual was bringing him out of his shell or corrupting him beyond repair.  There were some days she really, really hated her gift.   

    Julieta was up and on them the minute they came into view, handing each a bunuelo before shoving them to the table and sitting them down, mother hen gone and mamá oso in full swing.   

    "Bruno, can you please go more than two weeks without giving Mamá a heart attack?  Dolores told us what happened.  Couldn't you have just had Senór Cortez handle Campeón?"  

    "It was four against four, and I wasn't going after the one with the knife, Juli!" he hissed, the bun crushed in his hand as he jabbed his finger into the table to emphasize his point.   

    "Quién diablos had a knife!" Julieta started, eyes wide.  What had Dolores missed?   

    "Joaquin Ruiz," Elena said, taking the squashed bunuelo from Bruno's hand and stuffing it in his open mouth before he could say anything else, watching as the bruising faded from his jaw, stroking at the newly healed skin as he swallowed, ignoring his flat look of agitation.  "Rigo handled him.  I think he broke his wrist with his chalkboard.  Bruno was brilliant.  He only got that bruise because I can't keep my mouth shut in a fight."   

    "We...heard."  Alma cut in from the head of the table, ignoring the snickering of her yernos as they made plates for her son and his...novia, congratulatory claps to their backs as they went, Félix giving Bruno a jostling punch to the shoulder as he laughed.  She swallowed sourly at the thought as she looked at them, Senóra Pascual with her hair down and in her men's clothes again, looking ruffled as a tamarin out in the rain.  Bruno's hair had gone wild, and his gaze still held the slightest sliver of light as he met her eyes, his shoulders squared and his brow drawn and bitter, preparing for a fight.  That hurt, but didn't surprise her.  If he'd proven anything in the last few weeks, it was that he was becoming more willing to fight for what, or who, he cared about.  "I see that look, cariño.  Cálmate, por favor.  The rest of the elders were worried about this after the hoguera, represalias.  We were hoping we were wrong."   

    "It's alright, Alma," Elena shrugged, "I don't think we'll have any more issues.  Bruno and my friends' husbands put things down real quick."   

    "Don't forget yourself.  I think you popped Manuel's eardrum," Bruno said, nudging her with a painfully smitten look on his face.  She waved him off at the stares of the rest of the table, various shades of impressed, Mariano and Camilo vaguely intimidated as they reflexively went for their ears.    

    "Still.  It could have been prevented, had we known." Alma said with a look at Bruno, who tensed at the implication.  Elena bristled at that, knowing nothing had been said to him about any fears of retaliation.  "There's no way to tell when people will act foolish," she said simply, taking his hand and twining their fingers together in full view on the table.  Alma gave her an acute look, "Of course there is, people are very...predictable."  Elena met her look, and Bruno felt that bright spark of tension in the air again, tugging through him this time as the two stared each other down over stony smiles.  He found a little thrill going up his spine at the possessiveness of Elena's hand in his as she grinned, her look sharp as she weighed her words carefully.  "Yes, they are.  You can read most of them without having to look out very far."   

    "That's true.  Still though, why leave it up to conjecture when a line can be clearly drawn in the sand?"   

    "Because some lines should only be drawn willingly." 

     Pepa and Julieta exchanged glances with each other and then their brother.  He looked adrift as their mother and Elena danced around each other, saying everything they meant to without saying it outright.  He shrugged, tipping a bottle of pearl pepper sauce into his ceviche and shaking in enough to make Elena's eyes water next to him, willfully oblivious to the battle of wills going on across him, content to eat one-handed and let the women fight over him.  He had raised their joined hands halfway through the discourse, tapping them against his chest in his pattern of sevens, not noticing he was leaving Elena to struggle slightly with her left hand.     

    "You're seeing this, right?" Pepa whispered, nudging Félix to cover her conversation as she leaned over.  Julieta nodded, a soft, pained smile on her face as she watched them.  "This is good for him.  He stood up to two men who've broken his nose for her today."   

    "She's staring Mamá down like she's fire-proof.  And he's not sinking into the floor.  What am I seeing?"   

    "The good fortune he deserves."  

    They watched as Elena and their mother came to an impasse, neither giving ground but looking to Bruno and dropping the subject for the time being, though their mother's knitted brow and Elena's tense jaw told them they hadn't heard the last of it, and both doubted it would be so subtle next time.  Elena took her hand back with some difficulty, Bruno holding on and teasing her, not letting her go until she agreed to try his ceviche, which she'd been eyeing suspiciously since he'd seasoned it.  She gave in, only to jab him in the belly when he laughed at her streaming face, snickering something about paying her back for her shower temperature.     

    There was a lightness to their interaction, an ease so enmeshed in each other's habits and imperfections already that it seemed strange that Elena had not been at their table for far longer.  She didn't try and blend herself into the fabric of them, but wove herself in with Bruno's help in bold colors that stood out and highlighted that she was there, strong and reparatory but not overshadowing the frays she was slowly mending in their brother.  Julieta chewed at her lip in worry, observing them, wondering if el otro zapato would fall before or after they fully committed to each other, knowing it would be close, knowing if she interfered she'd likely ruin the happiness they'd found.  

    Bruno chewed on the inside of his cheek as he and Elena walked back to the shops, comida over and her Lunes de Lectura only a few minutes away.  Boldly, he'd spoken to Dolores before they'd left, warning her gently to keep her ears out of the library if she didn't want to hear more about them than she already had.  He had had an idea midway through the meal, taking to heart Elena's comment about making her forget the fight.  It was something he'd toyed with for a while, since he first decided on his plan, but he hadn't had the nerve to do it yet.  He hadn't been sure he ever would, his nerves and his embarrassed stutter stumbling blocks to it, knowing if he fell victim to either he'd just sound like an idiot, which was the opposite of what he wanted.  But today was different.  Sure he'd needed a weapon to do it, but he'd done his best to stand up to those putos bastardos and opened Garza's cheek.  Between that, the smoldering look she'd given him right after, and the quiet battle of wills she'd had with is mother over lunch, his blood was up and his skin and clothes too tight.  He shifted, slightly uncomfortable as he sifted through things in his mind, glad he'd worn his ruana.  Hernando would help, but Bruno was no longer so worried.  He felt a trill of confidence creep up the pillar that had grown around his spine, the vines at his heart again constricting, and he felt himself smirking.  He could do this.  

    He helped her get settled as kids filtered in, more than last week, and did his best to not shrink back under the curious little eyes on him as he settled in beside her as he let Palmero play in his lap, the little gray rat having snuck into his hood at lunch and coming along for the ride.  His hand found its way around her waist as she read about the adventures of a narcoleptic Lancelot and various other Caballeros de la Mesa Redonda.  He had shaken his head at the first question from one of the children, and Elena had lowered her glasses, leveling a look at little Hugo Sanchez.  "Senór Bruno has had a very eventful day today, so no preguntas this time, ok, chicitos? If you ask nicely, he may let you hold Mozzarella--"  

    "Palmero..."  

    "Oh, perdón, Palmero.  Would you like that?"  

    The little boy had nodded, and Bruno sent the rat dashing away with a whistle.  His other hand now free, he sidled up closer to Elena and placed it on her knee, content for now to listen to her as she read, watching the little faces light up at her voice, soft and lilting as she spoke about Morgan le Fay, bold and gruff in turn as she voiced the caballeros and their battles, hands always moving, leaning and shifting as she dodged and slashed and jolted, bringing the book alive.  He waited, watching as she tended to the predictable nosebleed from a Martín Rosario during the baño break, who had constantly had a finger jammed up his nostrils again.  He was surprised the kid was allowed to come back, before remembering that the first half of the week he lived with his father. She was so good with the kids, and while that thought sent him down the path of a completely different and dangerous fantasy, he filed it away for later, focused on his plotting before the kids came back.   

    "Let's play a game," he whispered in her ear as he pulled his hood up, squeezing her side as he drew his hand up under her shirt, slipping his hand under her bra for a moment, smirking as she gave him a dubious side eye.  "After the kids leave," he clarified with a pinch, smirk widening as she squeaked.  "Estoy...intrigada..."  

    "Let's see how long before I can get you to...kick me out of the shop."  

    "Why would I...?"  

    "Because I plan on...ah, let's say... expanding your expectations."  He laughed as she swallowed, dropping the book in nerves and hiding her face with her loose hair as the children filtered back to their cushions as she rushed to find her place.  He took his hands back and leaned on his elbows, waiting.  He let her finish her reading hour unmolested, sending Palmero up to play in Chacha's enclosure for the time being when he tired of the children.  He was getting old and cranky.  He watched as she sent them all away after their cocoas, giving extra tight hugs to Juancho and Lucia Cortez, letting them know she was still their tia, even if she and their mother weren't speaking.  He waited until she was distracted with customers at the counter before he stood, knocking on the wood of the circulation desk all the way up, salt and sugar going over both shoulders as he tapped out his sevens across his chest.  'Puedes hacerlo, Bruno.  You've had your hand up her skirt and you're nervous now? Idiot.'   He held his breath a moment before slinking up behind her, quiet as a cat. 

    It started out innocently enough, sweet complements meant sincerely.  "You're beautiful, you know," as he flitted around behind her, never touching, as he made her a xocolatl. She looked at him askance, his presence behind the counter odd while there were customers, but she shrugged it off, curious to see just what this little game of his entailed and not minding the drink, which he seemed to know she'd quickly become addicted to.  The Valdez sisters looked at her strangely, Juanita more than her sister, the spice merchant less familiar with him than the glass blower.   Elena laughed when he whispered "you smell amazing," into her hair, the hush of his breath tickling her neck as he drifted away, quieter than any man had business to be.  She was beyond intrigued at this game of his, that had his hands ghosting over her clothes but never making full contact with her skin, his breath playing across her neck and shoulders as they drifted apart and came back together throughout the rest of the day.  She tried to reach for him, but he shook his head, holding up a hand, devious grin splitting his face as he backed away.  Her cheeks pinked even as she tried to shrug it off, puzzling him out after only a moment, and his smile twisted.  She knew the setup and wanted to see how far he would go, and how far he could.     

    He found her in a dark corner sometime later, returning some references, and hissed "I want to see you bare," into her ear, trailing a finger down the loose seam of her shirtwaist before darting away at her intake of breath.  She shook her blush away, but couldn't shake the sensation of his eyes on her, boring into her and under her skin.  He found her again in the next aisle, and in passing taunted her "I can't stop thinking of you naked and writhing on your bed."  She had squeaked and swatted at him, missing as her face burned, and he felt his cock twitch as he watched her blush spreading, thankful again he'd worn his ruana.  He proceeded to torture her slowly through the day, murmuring filthier and filthier things in her ear whenever he could find her alone, the two of them dancing around the shop, never quite touching, tension building like the tuning of a guitar string, waiting to be plucked.      

    He found her a third time behind the café counter, ostensibly offering to wash her cups and enjoying the dubious stare of Luis Aguilar perhaps a bit impulsively.  He knew people were still unused to seeing him out of his chair, let alone volunteering himself to help behind the counter in full view of the public, hood notwithstanding.  He crept close behind her as Luis turned away, rifling in his wallet to pay.  His voice filtered in, soft and insistent and heard only by Elena.  He cheated a little at their game, the long handle of one of her pilfered coffee tampers in his hand, running unseen between her thighs, teasing but not quite at her sex.  "Do you know how hard I am for you?"  He chuckled and drifted away as Elena dropped the mug she was holding and swore as it smashed apart, pocketing the tamper surreptitiously, ignoring the agitated throat clearing at the counter.    

    He waited for a while after that one, sitting and appearing to read for a time, crossed legs and ruana hiding the fact he had his bulge cupped in his hand, taunting himself and watching her until she saw the judge's son out the door.  As soon as the bells chimed, he descended, breath hot across her ear again, "I'll bring you wine and drink it cupped in your tetas," he teased, dragging the handle of the stolen tamper down between her breasts, just enough for fabric to ghost on skin, watching her expression going swiftly from confused to inflamed as she worked out just how he would do that, memories of his hands on her from previous nights playing clearly across her face.   

    He ducked into the public restroom after that one, face crimson in the little hanging mirror as he gripped his hood and huffed overstimulated into his hands, his heart hammering and astonished at his own mouth.  He wasn't sure who he was riling up more, her or himself.  Thinking those thoughts and getting them out without stuttering were two entirely different things, but somehow he was managing and successfully getting Elena progressively more flustered.  He leaned against the door for a moment, hand tugging at his hair as he tried to get his heart to settle down.  And his brain.  And his crotch.   'What the hell am I doing?  She's going to think I've lost my mind!'  His mind raced as he rested his head on the cool porcelain of the sink.  He shook his head, laughing at himself as he remembered just what she'd demanded and what she'd told him the night before.  His nerves were buzzing, and he felt the need for a drink, but shook it off, not wanting to go down the easy path.  It might be the only time she heard him like this, but he could do this.  'Come on, cobarde, you've already said enough to get her glowing.  You're making her wait this long, at least make her burn.'  

    He stood, splashing some cold water on his face, a couple of deep breaths serving to steady him as he went back out there, his shoulders twitching and his hood secure.  He was going to finish this if it killed him.  He made his way to his chair, purposely selected Jules Verne novel in his hand as he stroked the spine contemplatively, knowing her eyes were on him and his hands, and waited.  he chewed his lip behind the pages, second guessing himself again as he wondered what was going on in her mind as she watched him.  He was taking an obscene amount of pleasure in teasing her, when her very presence did the same to him, but he couldn't help but worry he'd take things too far, already having put his foot in his mouth once today.   

    Elena watched him out of the corner of her eye, her head spinning at the things he'd already said, wondering what was going to come out of his mouth next and just where he was pulling this from.  She knew he could run at the mouth when they were caught up together, remembering what he'd murmured over her tattoos or things he'd said when pressed against her with his face hidden away, but this was a slightly different beast. She could see him in his chair, watching her over his book, the barest hint of light in his eyes, lounging with one leg kicked gracelessly over the arm, the slow scuffing of his foot on the floor, drawing concentric circles in sequence hinting at tension brewing under the surface. 

    She eventually made her way to him after taking care of a couple of quick coffee orders and a loan from the library.  She stood before him for a minute, waiting for him to say something, but he only smiled and turned a page, pretending to be absorbed in Journey to the Center of the Earth.  When she squeezed past his chair to shelve the armload of books she held, he rose and followed her, cheating their little game a bit more by dragging the soft edge of the paperback down her spine with one hand as the other brought the handle of the tamper up, sliding it down from the cleft of her ass to the front of her, pressing up against her tauntingly and stroking back and forth.  "I want to make a map of your body with my tongue until you're begging."  He stepped away as she groaned, three volumes slipping from her grasp as she fumbled, biting her lip and stamping her foot in flustered aggravation.  He went to sit at the counter then, his book still in his hand, legs crossed and foot bouncing lazily, sandal slapping rhythmically against his heel.  He tapped his fingers in a nervous rhythm on the counter, in time with his bouncing foot to a tune only he could hear.  He kept it up for a while, only pausing to turn a page now and then.       

    He could feel Elena’s gaze boring into him, and continued to pretend at reading until she shoved a mug into his hand, growling "at least it will keep that damn hand occupied!" He smiled, hand limp on the mug until she huffed and curled his fingers around the handle, muttering about ridiculous men before he leaned forward, catching her eyes but never quite returning her touch, his breath tickling her cheek.  "You have beautiful hands, you know.  I wonder what they'll look like occupied on my cock." 

     Elena had blanched then, and he worried he'd gone too far as she made her way to the little bathroom as well, vehemently grabbing a pillow from a chair as she did.  He winced at the slam of the door, but couldn't help but grin at the muffled and very flustered scream, ears perking up as he heard the strains of muted curses drifting under the door.  He allowed himself a satisfied smirk and went back to reading and sipping his coffee.  She glared at him when she made it back behind the counter, pretty blush taking over her face and creeping down her chest.       

    "Are you enjoying yourself, driving me up the wall?" She hissed at him, agitation and intrigue in her voice.  He had to force himself to not look up at her, keeping his nose in his book, stroking the spine slowly, knowing she was watching his hands. "Oh, inmensamente," he chuckled smugly, struggling at keeping his face serious when she stuck a finger in his book, scowling at him overtop the pages as she lowered it.  He relished in the little gulp she gave when he raised his eyebrow at her and said nothing, his expression stern.      

    "I've felt how hot you burn drunk, Elena.  How much hotter will you burn sober?" 

    Her eyes grew wide as she huffed away and failed at ignoring him, flushing so vividly it crossed her shoulders.  The bells of the door jingling as Carlita and her three little primas came in, Carlita with a basket that smelled of rum and spices.  He listened in unobtrusively as she and Elena talked, working on four mochas at once, having the girls' standard Lunes order memorized.     

    "More experiments?  What's this for?"  Elena laughed, peaking in the basket and trying desperately to get back to an even keel.  Carlita pushed it towards her.  "For yesterday, and today.  Julio has been sitting at my counter all day, letting me spoil him, and he wouldn't be there if you hadn't needed a night out.  And the girls insisted we do something nice for you since you played snake wrangler.  They still aren't convinced it wasn't a viper, even if Antonio adopted it."  

    "You didn't have to go through all this trouble, Carlita.  Julio has been pining after you forever and it was just a whipsnake."     

    "In the baño!  The girls were losing their minds.  Besides, you're the only person I know outside of Tonito who will willingly go near a snake, much less fish it out of the toilet."    

    "We live surrounded by a jungle, eres solo una bebé."     

    "True enough!  As for Julio...how do we fall for men so dense?  I'd been making eyes at him for months, if he was pining you think he'd notice."  Elena couldn't help the little snort she gave, "I knocked his brains loose when he shit-talked Papá.  No one ever accused Julio Guzman of being a bright man."  

    "Ah, that explains it.  I like them big and dumb and pretty, what can I say?  But anyway, madalena negras!  I know they're your favorite." Carlita laughed before leaning in, conspiratorial.  "And I made you enough to share.  You two seem...cozy." She pointed between Elena and Bruno, eyebrows wagging, not missing the sultry tension in the air or her friend's red face.  Elena smiled then, crooked grin showing the gap in her teeth.     

    "Not as cozy as you and Julio were, but...we're getting there,"  Carlita gave her a surprised look.  "I thought he walked you home last night?  Did you two not...?"  She whispered, twiddling her fingers vaguely, not wanting to say anything where little ears could hear.  Elena laughed and shook her head, a pitiful, besotted look crossing over her that had the baker gleefully biting back her tongue.  "No.  Bruno brought me home and took care of me while I was sick and just put me to bed.  I woke up at nine-thirty this morning to breakfast and him and his nieces down here picking up my slack from the weekend."  Her friend shook her head, disbelieving, glancing over at Bruno, who sat hiding in his hood, reading his book and sipping his coffee, valiantly pretending to ignore the two of them. "Dios mio, first that and then he opens Garza's cheek for you.  He really is un caballero.  Cristo, just marry him already," she laughed, head still shaking.  "I've never seen a man turn you down when you're all teq'd up."   

    "You don't know the half of it," Elena murmured, shooting a look over at him that left Carlita no doubts where her mind was.  "Go back to the bakery, you silly thing.  I can see Julio with his face pressed against the glass.  Don't tell me what you did to get him over there."  Carlita laughed and gathered her primas and their drinks, waving out the door.     

    "I tried something a little different this time, let me know what you think.  I'll leave the mugs by the pergola."    

    Elena dug out a couple of saucers and took out two of the muffins, rich black and moist, the smell of rum and cloves drifting up and complementing the scent of coffee that permeated the shop.  She handed one to him, grumbling, "At least you'll hush if you're eating," thankful he'd stayed quiet while Carlita had been in, knowing she wouldn't have been able to hide her reactions from her friend and not wanting to lose the game just yet.  She was loathe to admit it, but she knew she was losing, her skin pricking too hot when he looked at her, her throat tight and the silk of her underwear sticking stubbornly to her tender skin since he'd taunted her with the hard handle of that damned tamper.  Flashes from the night before had continued returning as he spoke, hands hot on her skin, just how the bruises had gotten on her thighs, slim fingers stroking maddeningly over cloth.  She still couldn't remember what they'd said, but the hidden resolve he was showing now suddenly seemed less surprising, knowing he actually remembered all they'd gotten up to while she was left grasping at straws.  

    He smiled, finishing the treat she'd handed him in four quick bites, watching her thoughts play out across her face as she cleaned the counter.  It was good, the rum and port wine really coming out, complimented by the surprise addition of salt caramel, but better was the bit of inspiration it gave him, something he'd been trying to puzzle out how to say finally clicking into place.  He waited until she was turned around to toss another pinch of salt over his shoulder, and kept his crossed fingers hidden.  He waited for her to retrieve his saucer, dabbing his finger over it to collect the crumbs, appraising the flavor as he pulled it away, teasing and making her lean over the counter to grab it so he could get close, murmuring against her ear, "They taste of caramel.  I wonder how you'd taste, quierda, spread for me like in the vision."

      Something broke in her voice as she gave an undignified squawk of surprise, turning into a low and feral groan, and he grinned, knowing from the flame in her eye that he'd won.       

    She came around the counter, red-faced and trying to sound angry, devolving into flustered giggling as she whacked at him with a dish towel, snapping it at his rear as he played along, letting her chase him out the door laughing.      

    "Out, out you!  Lascivo cabrío!  You're driving me spare!  Plaga cachonda loco!  Shoo!  Scat!  Largarse, hombre exasperante!  Bruno, Hernando, whichever one you are right now!  Out of my shop!  You cheating sneak, putting thoughts in my head!  Come back tomorrow when you can behave!"  He paused at the door and spun around, throwing off his hood and pulling her against him and kissing her fiercely, teeth clacking as he caught her mid-word, tasting caramel and rum on her tongue as he slid his over, exploring the corners of her mouth and swallowing her gasp of surprise as he ground her against the doorpost before breaking away, hand buried in her curls and the other possessively on her ass, crushing her close and growling into her ear, lips brushing against her with each syllable, "I'll leave you to yourself the day of the vision, mi ninfa, but next time I won't just be watching as you fall apart.  And behave yourself."     

    At her strangled screeching he darted out the door, dodging the wet dishrag ball that went sailing past his head, handful of sugar flying behind him as he sprinted home, heart hammering in elation and ignoring the cracks in the road as he went for the first time in years.    

*****  

    He was quiet the next day when he came in, pensive almost.  Not worryingly so, but after the gentle conversations and dry jokes she'd grown used to, the last few days of ardent attention, and the torturous game they'd played yesterday, it seemed almost out of place for him now.  If someone had told her three weeks before that she would find Bruno Madrigal being quiet odd she'd have sent them out to go searching for their marbles.  He'd come in a little before comida, missing his ruana and smelling of sweat and and wood sap and sawdust, his hair a sandy brown from how much of the stuff had stuck to him.  Even little Pecasita was unrecognizable, her speckles blotted out by the dust as she stuck her twitchy nose out of his pocket to say hello and accept the tiny pan de yuca Elena had made special for any rodent visitors when she'd done a rare breakfast that morning.  Bruno'd spent the morning helping out Senór De Soto, he said, tearing down several old teak trees set aside for harvesting at the Gonzalves farm.  He looked dead on his feet, his hands were covered in nicks and cuts from knifing out splinters, but the pride shining through his expression when he told her what he'd been up to had her elated for him.  She knew now he liked to work with his hands, to see something solid made from his own effort brought into existence, rather than some magical slab that just appeared from the sands.  

    He'd brought them both a late lunch, not from his sister, but from Senóra Park's little house window, something she'd started doing just recently to help out as her husband still haggled for a patch of farmland, looking for someplace arable in the slopes to grow tea and rice, and flat land for soybeans. He'd carried the heirloom seeds with him all the way from Korea when he'd fled with his wife, and was growing increasingly worried they wouldn't survive much longer in storage.  The meal was something called bibimbap, a lovely rice dish full of soft shredded beef and pickled vegetables, a fried egg, and seasonings both new and familiar that she'd taken to very quickly, stealing his mushrooms when he got distracted again, something clearly on his mind as he fought with his borrowed chopsticks, hand resting almost absently on her knee.    

    "I'm thinking of working for him, you know," he said offhandedly as he went behind the counter to wash their bowls, comfortable doing so now, the layout familiar to him.  "Senór Park?" she asked, surprised.  She knew Bruno liked a little physical labor to keep healthy, but couldn't picture him taking up being a field hand, well ever truthfully, but especially not at his age.  she didn't doubt his ability, having been constantly surprised by his energy, but it seemed so contrary to who he was she wasn't sure how to take the news.   He scoffed and flicked water at her.  "Sorry, no, sorry.  Broke my chain of thought.  Senór De Soto.  It's honest work, and I can do some carpentry.  It's better than dealing with the damned visions.  I won't get beyond apprentice, I don't think, but he--he needs the hands."    

    "What brought this on?" she asked, curious at his motivation, but loathe to lose him and his company during the day.  He looked away, silent while he made his way to a stool, rubbing his neck awkwardly as he got settled.   

    "It's...I want to feel...useful, I guess?  I don't really contribute at home, all I do here is put away some books and take up your time.  I'm just...drifting.  At fifty.  Fifty-one soon.  It's...kind of pathetic, don't you think?"    

    "Why would you think that?" She asked cautiously, not sure where this had came from.  He wasn't really an outlier in his family.  Agustín and Félix were rather notorious as house husbands, Agustín occasionally helping out Tito Marquez with a surge in tailoring jobs and Félix popping up like clockwork at construction projects when they weren't at Casita or out helping their wives.  She knew he did plenty at his house, getting roped into chores more so than most now that he was back.  Whether he did it for lack of something else to do or from guilt she didn't know, but it wasn't like the Madrigals were hurting for anything.  He shrugged noncommittally, disquiet marring his eyes as he reached out across the counter to her, his hand palm up and vulnerable with its raw scrapes and nicks and scratches.  She took his hand gently, careful of the abuse he'd given it, and let him wrap his fingers around hers too tightly, grip shaking with more than fatigue. 

    "It's just...I don't feel like I'm all that useful, you know.  I want to be, but not...not with my gift.  People are starting to...accept me again.  I don't want to go back to how it was before."    

    "After everything that's happened, I don't think it can, Bruno.  People are starting to see you how they should have all along.  And no, by the way."    

    "No?"   

    "I don't think it's pathetic and no you don't take up my time.  You worked like a dog for this town since you were five years old, before I was born!"    

    "Less of that, please," he winced, the reminder of their age difference stinging more than he'd like, still a little raw from the comments thrown at him the day before.  Cradle Robber.  He shuddered.  

    "I'm serious, Bruno.  Retire!  Your gift hurts you, I've seen it hurt you.  How often did those people wear you down?  How many times did your mother send you back out?"  She reached behind her as they spoke, pinching a leaf from her piddly aloe plant and crushing out the gel, dabbing it carefully on the cuts of his hands and massaging it into his skin with gentle strokes as he sat in silence, considering her words.  He watched as she ran her thumbs solidly up his wrists, easing tendons and muscles in their path, flitting over the nicks and scars he'd acquired without questioning them, absorbed in the sustained motion of those strong, pretty little hands with their blood painted nails and that bright gold thumb ring.  

    "Elena, it's more than that.  I can't just...just float around like a bum the rest of my life.  I need to do something with myself or I'll loose what's left of my mind."    

    "Do you really want to be un carpintero aprendiz for the next...however long?"  She asked him, massaging his palms as she scrutinized him, eyes keen on his own.  He sighed, resenting only slightly how observant she was, hoping she hadn't caught his resignation to the facts of his life.  He shook his head and leaned back, running a hand through his sawdust infested hair and grimacing at the texture, grit sticking under his fingernails and mixing with the oil of his scalp, shifting unpleasantly.  "No.  But what else can I do?  It's the closest thing to a skill I have.  A man should...a man should have a job.  I can't go back to doing visions all the time.  I'd still have to do some, I guess, you know, keep the involuntary ones down.  You weren't wrong about...about all that.  But I just..."    

    "If this is from your mother I have several places she can shove it," Elena said, ignoring the giggling from the café side.  Luisa and Camilo had made an appearance together, rifling through her historietas as they failed to spy on their tio.  His mouth turned down sourly.  He didn't want to say the reason why he felt this sudden drive towards industriousness, only half understanding it himself, a vague feeling of it being something a man was supposed to do, when there was a woman in his life.  One that had told him, however drunkenly, that she loved him.  Where he'd picked that up he could only guess, certainly not from growing up and watching his mother make her indomitable way alone, much like Elena did now.  Not from his cuñados, who had blithely taken a backseat to his sisters the moment they'd met, dedicating themselves to the family and leaving what careers they'd had in their twenties permanently on the backburner, still using their skills when needed or wanted and content with that.  Not that he was about to say any of that to her when she didn't even remember saying what she'd said or the tumult it had hurtled his mind into.  "It's not Mamá.  At least not all the way.  It's what you do, isn't it?  Work because it's what's done?"    

    "I don't know," Elena said, thoughtfully turning his hand over in hers and stroking the back, watching the play of veins and tendons under his taut skin.  "I do what I do because I know it will eventually succeed, and to remember my parents.  And because Encanto needs a library if nothing else.  But I love the work too, tedious as it can be sometimes.  I could never imagine taking over Mamá's seamstress job or working the coffee fields with Papá growing up.  I think...I think Papá chose this because he knew me well enough to know I wouldn't want that life, because he hadn't wanted it, wanted better for me."    

    "You don't seem to think I should do this," he said, curious and probing as he eyed her sharply.  She felt the weight of his unasked questions, his suspicions of her expectations of him, and cast him a rueful glance before placing her hand on his cheek, thumb gently stroking along his stubble.  "Sana sana, sospechoso.  This is unexpected.  If it's really what you want to do, then of course do it.  But if it's just some weird 'what I'm supposed to do' misplaced machismo or something...I just think you deserve a chance to do what Bruno wants to do with his life, and not what's expected of him.  Not by me or his mother or anyone else, whatever that might be."  

    She bustled away to make mochas for his sobrinos as he thought about that, his face having fallen at the implications of what she'd said.  What did he want to do with his life?  The last few months had been a whirlwind of activity after ten years of being frozen in place, that after thirty-five years of being at the beck and call of his mother and the town.  He hadn't really had much time to think about any greater motivation beyond just reintegrating into real life with his family and the town, getting over the worst of his nerves and more recently, pursuing her.  Before that he'd resigned himself to hiding in the walls with no further thought put to it, hoping that staying hidden would be enough to protect his niece and the family.  The most he'd done in that regard was to just do whatever came to mind that he could achieve quietly to keep from going completely insane, though he wasn't sure he'd managed quite as well as he'd hoped.  

    He wasn't really a goals person.  Goals were what people gave themselves when they had ambition.  What kind of ambition was it possible to have when you could just look into the future and see how it would go?  He'd tried to explain that to his mother years ago, when people had come to him for every little thing, before he'd fully utilized his vision cave and before the stairs had started to lengthen.  That sometimes not knowing was better.  It had fallen on deaf ears and he'd given up, seeing a life stretching before him he didn't like, too afraid to look into his own future beyond what was asked of him.  All that had left him with was a crate's worth of smashed visions that had gone straight to the stone masons, hobbies given up before they were even begun and a string of failed relationships that had left him hopeless for years.  

    He thought about the unfinished suncatcher in her storage closet, helping out with the Ortizes fence and the following cleanup and today with Senór De Soto, the progress he'd made during the rebuilding as well as what he had learned, and what she'd said at that first dinner, about him writing out his silly telenovelas, wanting to see them on stage.  Could he do any of that?  He had put some thought of following in his cuñados footsteps, odd jobs around the town more than a real set schedule, but something about it rankled him.  His sisters did so much for the community, enabled by their supportive spouses, but he didn't have that.  His gift wasn't practical, not the way the people had utilized it in the past, and beyond that and the pain it caused him, he wasn't about to saddle that level of responsibility on Elena, no matter how she felt about him.  It wasn't her job to support his whims when she worked just as hard to provide comfort and knowledge as his sisters did to provide weather for the crops and healing for the town.    

    Much as he enjoyed occasionally working with his hands and the fulfilling ache of his muscles after some physical labor, he knew he wasn't built for it, never a strong man even when he was younger and still recovering from ten years of near malnutrition.  The idea of writing had occurred to him, years ago, but he'd put it aside along with so much else when he realized that there was little room for things like that in the Madrigal household as it had been, especially when so much focus had been on him.  But judgement given to creative works of his own was a scrutiny that he thought, maybe, he could handle.  There was no accounting for taste, and if people didn't like it, well, that was more a clash between their tastes and him as a writer than on him just existing.  No one was going to accuse some short story or telenovela for killing their pets or ruining their marriage.  Hopefully anyway.  He let Pecasita run down his arm at her insistence, pawing at his shirt pocket from the counter.  "What do you think, ratita?  You think she's right, do what I want for a change, not worry about the rest?" he whispered as he pulled out the little tattered sketchbook he'd taken to carrying with him since he started that suncatcher.  She turned in a circle and squeaked, twitching her whiskers at him, nosing at the paper curiously as he stroked her soft ears.     

    There was a certain allure to the thought, the more it burrowed down into his brain.  Literature class had always been his favorite in school, despite his poor grades, often too tired from being Senór Adivino to really focus on the schoolwork.  How Julieta and Pepa had managed to get decent grades he'd always wondered.  One of the few things he knew of his father, the few things that their mother had revealed about her life before the Encanto, was that he had been a writer, working odd newspaper jobs, commissions, and translations and very occasionally his own work.  She'd sworn nothing had survived of his writing, but Dolores had told him once, right after she'd gotten her gift and too young to know to keep certain things secret, that she'd heard her abuela shuffling old paper and crying softly before locking something and had wondered if he'd known why.  His mother, who had always admonished them for getting upset over their books, who never got upset at her own, even when she liked the sad stories.  It had made him suspicious, but even in the walls, he hadn't been tempted to sneak a look, too afraid of being caught, too afraid of what he might, or might not find.    

    He thought back to his half-room in the walls, the things he'd created as a way to try to keep himself from losing his mind.  Some of it had been recovered in the rebuilding, Mirabel trying to keep what she could safe in a sweet attempt to help him reintegrate into the family.  He'd locked it up, ashamed, as he had been of most of his diversions, realizing that when taken collectively with where he'd been, they made him look absolutely insane.  Maybe he had been.  Half starved, always cold, sleeping only when he collapsed.   Or trapped in the manic cycle of too much energy pulled from somewhere he couldn't fathom, running through the walls like his rats in their mazes when the family was out just to keep from tearing his hair out, always followed by a days long lethargy that had him near-crippled in his hammock, relying on the rats to bring him food.  He'd made the mistake early on of letting Julieta and his mother see him with his shirt open, to see the scars he'd collected along with the weight he'd lost around the distention of his malnourished gut, ways to keep his visions at bay once the poppy extract had run out and he couldn't steal more, always careful with the eyedropper to not take more than could be explained away by evaporation.  He flinched as Pecasita bit his thumb, knowing that when he froze while petting her he was getting sad again, and he smiled.   

    "Well...I'd certainly have a lot to write about, I suppose," he said to her, scratching at her little ears.  He drifted off to the Arts section of the library side, running his hands over the covers of the books, some with titles from thirty years previously, but still crisp, little used outside of schoolchildren sent there by Senóra Reyes and the rest of the teachers.  He selected a couple of titles after waffling for a minute and rifled in his pockets, the nub of a pencil buried under his bag of salt.  He considered for a moment before pouring a small amount in his palm, drawing the concentric circles of a nazar in it before tossing it over his shoulder. 

    When Elena came to check on him a while later, she found him curled up with his feet on the seat and lost in his imagination as he scribbled in his ratty sketchbook, propped on the winged back of his chair.  He had the paperback of Artesanía Escénica Simplificada held open on the arm of the chair by his elbow, a hardback copy of La Imaginación Dramática perched on his knees, in serious danger from the angle he'd kipped it at of falling and whacking him in the nose.  He was squinting slightly, his lip worried in his teeth as he scratched his chin with the flat end of his pencil.  Pecasita was perched in his hair, watching what he was doing, whiskers twitching in curiosity.  He jumped slightly when her hand alighted on his arm, placing a mug at the little table by his chair and kissing his cheek.  "Te ves intrigado," she laughed at the indignant noise he made as the hardback tottered and smacked the bridge of his nose.  He unfolded and his shoulders clacked woefully as he accepted the coffee with a grateful little shrug, downing half the mug in one go.  "Someone smart gave me some good advice.  Thought I'd, you know, try it out, give it a go," he grinned, setting the coffee and books on the arm of the chair and pulling her onto his knee.  She made to reach for his sketchbook, but he pulled it away, reluctant, and she stopped with a little nod, settling for laying her hands flat on his chest and running her thumbs down any seam they found, teasing him along the fabric of his pockets.   

     "Well, whatever you've decided on, it's good to see you so enthusiastic.  Don't get too many projects going at once, though.  Best way to get lost."   

    "Speaking from experience?"   

    "There's a reason I only read one book at a time and force myself to keep this place so neat.  I can't think if everything clutters in on itself.  Something tells me that head of yours is the same," she smiled, brushing his cheek and letting Pecasita hop onto her arm, her pinky gently petting at her silken, mismatched ears.   

    "You aren't wrong," he laughed, rolling his eyes as his hand made it's way to her knee, thumb stroking in lost consideration.  "Are you doing alright?  I don't...I don't think I've seen you take a break today.  And you keep wiping down the floor."   

    "That idiota bled on my tiles and it sat and stained."   

    "Lo--lo siento.  I didn't mean..."   

    "Don't apologize Bruno, you were amazing. 'Beware the fury of a patient man.'"   

    "Is that a quote from something or...something?"   

    "Some old political poem I read somewhere.  Used to remind me of Papá.  Now I can see it applies to you too."  He felt she was giving him too much credit, but couldn't ignore the hot little spark of pride that set off in his chest as she carded her fingers through his hair, pulling a face at the grit the sawdust had left there.  

    "I'm not a fighter, Elena.  I don't know what's gotten into me.  I just...I know you can handle yourself, but I...When I'm around you, I just want to keep you safe."  

    She smiled at that, shifting to get more comfortable on his bony knees and wrapping her arms around him, placing his books off to the side table.  "Isn't that what people do, when they...care about each other?  Want to protect one another?"  

    "I think it just might be," he said, resting his head on her chest and rubbing at his dry eyes, wondering briefly if he'd finally reached the age where glasses were inevitable.  He turned to her suddenly, bumping his nose against her chin in his haste as he asked "Come to dinner with me tonight?"   

    "You sure you want me arguing with your mother again so soon?" she grinned with an affectionate scratching of his chin.  He bit at her fingers playfully and scratched at her chest with his stubble.  "Absolutely.  Luisa is bringing over Marco, and she looked just...so full of nerves this morning when she told Agustín."  They heard a muffled thump from the café and a laugh, confirming that they were being listened to.  She rolled her eyes and shifted fully into his lap, wiggling her hips against his, the sideways angle a little awkward.  

    "Ah, so I'm a distraction then?"  

    "Oh, always," he teased, his thumb stroking little circles up her knee.  "Please?  It would mean a lot to her."  

    She looked at him speculatively, considering as she trailed a finger down the line of his neck, pausing at the marks she'd made on him, just beginning to fade.  "Did anyone give you trouble over these?  I didn't get to ask yesterday."  He gave a sheepish grin and shook his head.  "Less than I thought.  Mamá with her comments, Agustín giving me looks.  Camilo being...Camilo.  I'm not going to hide them.  I...I like them."  

    "Mhm.  Is that why I'm always covered in them now?"  

    He fretted for a moment, his thumb brushing a mark on her own neck, half hidden in her hair.  "Do...do you want me to...to stop?"  

    "Don't you dare!" She said, poking him sharply in the stomach as he tried to fend her off, laughing.   

    "Ok, ok!  Don't have to tell me twice.  Anyway, ah, about...dinner?"  

    "I think I can manage to make a spectacle of myself," she laughed.  He looked up, catching her mouth quickly, sucking in her bottom lip before she had a chance to react.  She gave an undignified little 'eep' at the look in his eye as he shooed her off his lap, the smug curl of his lip sending her mind racing.  

    "Don't think I'll let you have all the fun."  

She darted behind the counter to the echos of his laugh as the bells on the door jingled, her face flaming at the implication and the memory of all the wonderfully foul things he'd hissed in her ear the day before.  Marco and his abuelo had come in, ostensibly for a coffee but clearly because the young man was a basket of nerves.  That they were dressed near identically was the only indication they were related, as different from each other as family could be, their battered black trilby hats with their parrot feather plumes and dusty caqui work clothes almost a uniform.  Marco stood tall and rangy, straight black hair tied back in a queue that went halfway down his back as he slung a dusty bag onto the floor, wire rimmed glasses speckled with dust.  His abuelo was round and short and bald as an egg, with a violently blond eyebrows and a permanent sunburn, puffing a cigar stump that he quickly stubbed out in his spit covered hand when he saw Elena's glare at it.   

    "Perdóname, Senóra Pascual," he laughed as he lumbered onto the stool, "We've heard what happens to men who smoke on the premises!  Oh, and two tintos, por favor, extra sweet for mine."  

    "You're fine, Senór Cespedes.  An honest mistake, here's the bin."  She shared the eyebrow she gave him as he threw his butt away with Bruno, who she saw peeking curiously out of the aisle.  Luisa had come to sit beside her novio, shyly letting him take her hand, her other arm preoccupied with keeping Camilo away, big hand in his hair and directing him away by the head like a wayward goose.  Marco was toying with the woodgrain of the counter and Luisa's thumb joint, chewing his lip and clearly out of his element next to Camilo's rambunctiousness.  

    "'Milo, can you please go home?  I'd like to talk to Marco alone before dinner."  

    "What, I can't hang out with my favorite prima?  You aren't going to introduce me? I'm wounded, Luisa.  Besides, Tio Bruno is in the back, Elena is right there, and his abuelo.  How is that alone?"  

    "Camilo, please?" Luisa asked again, her eyes huge.  Elena's heart went out to her, never realizing how bashful she was.  It made sense, though.  Luisa had always been a sweet girl, and held things close to her chest when she felt they were private.  Camilo went to open his mouth again when Elena brought her ladle out, banging it on the counter and leveling a look at him as he jumped, resigning herself to her café counter becoming the new couple's spot it seemed to be morphing into.  "Scat, you gallito.  Let them talk in peace."  

    "What's in it for me?" he snickered peevishly.  He'd shifted into Bruno's face, giving her what she was sure he thought was a seductive look, his eyebrows waggling as he pursed his lips.  She rolled her eyes and shrugged, feeling childish as she flicked aguapanela at that borrowed nose.  "Tell you what, you leave now and I won't use your bed to molest your tio in after dinner tonight."  He coughed in surprise as he fell back into his own form, face blazing as Senór Cespedes and Bruno both cackled at his expense, Bruno redder than his nephew as he buried his face in his elbow, Luisa and Marco trying not to look at each other, failing to stifle their own laughter as he turned and shuffled out the door, muttering.  "...people think Tio is the crazy one..."  

    Elena shook her head and made herself scarce in the bookshop after handing off the drinks, giving Luisa what privacy she could, straightening up and updating her ledger from her receipts for a while, listening for the bells of her doors.  Bruno drifted into her line of sight after a time, the books he'd had earlier as well as a crisp copy of El Arte de la Novela tucked under his arm, the fingers of his left hand and a couple of spots on his chin stained with graphite.  He had a subtle grin and a light in his eyes, his back a little straighter than she was used to.  She watched as he put his little sketchbook back in his shirt pocket, letting Pecasita run up his arm to snuggle in his collar, putting the books down on the circulation desk sharply, a little nod to himself before he turned, looking for her.  She had a flash of inspiration at the buoyant smile he gave her, and she made a mental note to pay the talabartero Senóra Sandoval a visit before dinner.  

    "These three?  Working on something special?" she teased, knowing he wouldn't answer.  He shrugged as she pulled the cards and sorted everything, noticing she took care with his name as she wrote it out.  "Ah, ya sabes, no es nada.  Just...curiosity," he mumbled, his bashfulness on full display as he rubbed at his arm, and she smiled, handing them back to him before looking at the time, realizing it was getting late.  "Why don't you head home, catch a good bath?  I don't think Alma would want you at dinner with splinters in your hair."  

    "I could wait for you.  It's not--not an issue."  

    "I know, tonto," she sighed, laughing privately at his determination.  "I have a couple of errands to run that I've been putting off, and that doesn't solve the whole sawdust issue.  I'll be alright.  I'll chaperone those two," she said jerking her thumb back at Luisa and Marco, their heads together over something he'd pulled out of his bag.  Bruno shrugged, sensing she was up to something but not worried enough to argue the point.  That he didn't have to deal with watching his sobrina canoodle with her novio on the way back was a plus.  He gave her a crooked smile, hesitant to leave but knowing she was right, and let her pull him into a quick kiss before he made his way out the door.  She watched him, checking her clock and giving him about fifteen minutes to get down the road.   

    She made her way back to the counter, waylaid by dealing with the Castillo brothers as they charged their way through a pot of coffee apiece, covered in stone dust from their day.  Sawdust, dirt, sand, vision grit, and now granite dust.  She'd have to hire someone to sweep at this rate, she thought as she shook her head, grabbing her broom and getting to work trying to keep her floor from turning into a beach, humming and clucking her tongue at the brown stain by the counter that wouldn't lift.  The twins were usually pretty quiet, and today was no exception.  They waved to Luisa and rolled their eyes at the Cespedes', the former having helped them in the quarry frequently and the latter two making nuisances of themselves at it, always digging with their little shovels and picks and blocking the way.  

    "You look happy, Lenita," Abe said after a while, looking around, seeing the suncatcher and the flowers and the potted plants looking less dead than usual, as well as her smile.  She rolled her eyes.  They'd teased her mercilessly in school, but had become friends when she'd dated Memo, and it had stuck after his death.  "I'm always happy, tu terrón grande."  

    "Una incendaria is what you are.  Nah, you're different." Mando huffed, twirling his empty mug on his finger before she snatched it.  "I'm down six mugs already.  Quit that."  

    "That'd be Tio Bruno's fault," Luisa grinned.  Mirrored eyebrows raised at her.  "Thought that was a rumor.  Like you two running off to Cali."  

    "I heard Bogotá."  

    "You two need to come out of the quarry more.  You've got rocks in your heads.  But yes, Bruno and I are una pareja."  

    "Huh.  Good for you both, then.  About time someone was brave enough to tangle with you besides the Cortez cousins, chica loca.  Let Senór Madrigal know he's welcome to come to us with any more of his emeralds if he has another vision.  The last batch we powdered really strengthened the mortar we've been using without weighing it down." Armando said as they paid.  She looked at them curiously, mirror images of each other as they sat at the end of the counter.  "Emeralds?  Do you...do you mean his vision glass?"  Abelardo nodded, grinning as he scratched his beard.  "Kept that one close to his vest, eh?  Some of it's glass, sure.  Sharp too.  Whatever those sands do though...most of it is beryl.  Low quality, but strong."  

    They left as she chewed over that bit of information.  It made a funny kind of sense.  Of course the green slab framed in her upstairs, her future emblazoned on it with a million inclusions, was emerald, the stone rumored to give people a glimpse into the future.  She laughed herself silly all the way to the saddler's shop, trusting Luisa and Marco and Ricardo by themselves for a few minutes once she flipped the signs to closed.     

    Teresa Sandoval took after her father, a large woman with rough hands that got along better with horses than people, rather than her mother tiny Bisabuelita Imelda.  She wasn't much of a reader, and was the practical sort to make her own coffee by the kettle every morning, but she and Elena got along well enough, hard workers recognizing each other.  When Elena explained what she wanted, an unusual request but not unheard of, though she had to have Elena sketch out the rather exacting details she wanted, she shrugged.  "I'll have to charge extra to get it too you by the seventeenth, you know," she said, not unkindly.  "It's fine.  Can I do payments?"  Teresa sighed.  She hated payments, the math of the interest always hurting her head, but she nodded.  It seemed a frivolous thing, but what did she know?  "Get me paid by Día de las Velitas, and we're all set."  

   "Thank you.  This...this means a lot."  

    "I can tell," Teresa said as she wrote her up.  "You usually beat around the bush about needing to spread things out.  Things going better down the road?"  

    "You know how it is, business comes and goes.  I think things might be looking up soon."  Elena waved, taking her receipt.  Teresa shook her head as she watched her go, wondering what on earth about her gangly old schoolmate could have caught the eye of a woman who not two days before had been seen dancing in the street with a snake.  There was no accounting for taste, she supposed. 

    Luisa and Marco still had their heads together when she came back, arranging a terra cotta puzzle on her counter as Ricardo flipped through a journal, looking at sketches of geometric shapes that seemed to correspond with the mess his grandson had made.  

    "Clean it up, Marco.  My counter isn't your dig site." She laughed as she grabbed her shawl, flipping it up onto her shoulders as she went to lock the library door.  He jumped in his seat and started collecting pieces, careful of them as he set them back in his bag, remembering too many days set scrubbing the counters of grit when she'd first taken over.  

    "Yes ma'am!"  

    "Luisa, you don't mind too much if I walk with you two to Casita, do you?"  

    "Of course not, Senóra!  I know Tio invited you.  I...Well, I appreciate it." She smiled, standing and going to dust off the counter until Elena flicked her hands away, smiling again at the little charm bracelet.  "Nope, none of that.  My shop, my worries.  Ve, ve, wash your hands in the sink before we go, both of you."  

    Ricardo tapped his journal in her direction, looking worriedly over at his grandson as the two washed up, bumping elbows and giggling.  "Try not to let him go off on a tangent tonight.  I know Senórita Luisa doesn't mind, but I know how Alma can get."    

    "Way ahead of you, Senór Cespedes, I'll do my best," she said with a wink as she shooed him out the door.  

    She let the young couple drift ahead of her down the road as she locked up, watching as their joined hands swayed between them.  They made an unusual picture, Luisa broad as a ceiba tree and overshadowing Marco, a slim wax palm in her shade, but as they whispered to each other, hands never stilling, she had to smile.  She'd never tell Bruno, but Marco reminded her of him as well as Agustín, and she couldn't think of a more perfect match for Luisa, calm and accepting with just enough madness to make him stand out.  Now she just had to make enough of a nuisance of herself to let them have a chance before Alma chased him away.  

    Bruno met them at Casita's door, freshly showered and with his hair tied back.  He gave Marco a dismissive nod as he made his way through, before taking Elena's elbow.  She bumped her hip to his with a laugh, "We're supposed to be helping.  Don't pick on him too much.  You still owe him for those tickets."  

    "He's fine.  Then I remember he's seeing my sobrina."  

    She snickered at the little charge his misplaced protective instinct sent through her.  "You know she's got this, right?  She could squash him if he hurt her."  

    Bruno gave Luisa a tender look unseen as they made it to the table.  "She has such a soft heart.  I don't want to see it broken."  She ran her hand down his arm at that, giving him a small smile.  "I don't think you have to worry."  

    "We'll see."  

    Elena didn't have much time to think on that as she sat in the chair he offered her, near the end of the table.  Casita had other plans, and sent her giggling around two spaces from Isabela, depositing Bruno between them and Marco and Luisa to her left with a clacking roll of her tiles.  There was a quiet growl from under the table, and Elena felt the swishing of a thick tail against her leg.    

    "Hola Parce," she smiled, offering the big cat her hand to sniff as Bruno eyed her, still understandably wary of the jaguar in the house.  She was rewarded with the dry rasp of the cat's tongue across her palm before she butted her hand with a snuffling whine. "Don't mind us tonight, hm?  Buena gatita."  She seemed content with her scratching her soft ears, and settled in at their feet.   

    The rest of the table filled in, Camilo, Dolores and Mariano nearest them and  furthest from Luisa, with her parents across from her, the siblings doing their best to avoid eye contact with her and their tio, cheeks tinted red at the matching set of lovebites they wore.  Mirabel and Antonio sat between Mariano and Julieta across from them, the two youngest chatting excitedly about their plans for Día de la Raza as they chased coatis from their chairs.  Antonio had never liked the bull fighting, but had been having conversations with the vaqueros, with Mirabel's help, and their bulls about something he was calling lucha de toros, which immediately had Elena intrigued, laughing when Bruno gave a resigned sigh beside her.  "Please at least warn me before you jump in the ring with un toro enojado."  

    "Aguafiestas," she teased, sticking her tongue out at his sour face.  Félix capped the table with Pepa to his left, whispering quietly to each other and enjoying the respite from watching their youngest.  He laughed as he got settled, turning to her.  "Oye, you going to join Tonito's rodeo grande too, Elena?  Me and Luisa can't be the only Madrigals out there, and Lola doesn't want anything to happen to Mariano's pretty face." 

    "Oh, Félix don't tease them," Pepa snickered, clearly having no intention to stop him.  

    "Last I checked I'm not a Madrigal, Félix," she laughed even as Bruno's arm snaked around her waist, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder.   Félix chuckled again, shaking his head.  "Not yet, but give him time, you've already marked your territory.  Until then?  Honorary!"  

    She ignored Bruno's put upon groan as he squeezed her tighter, muttering under his breath as his mother finally entered the dining room, her spot at the head of the table under the mural saved for her, as always.    

    The house itself seemed excited to have company, and while Elena had seen little displays of it's magic before, she couldn't contain the grin that split her face as carts came rolling in on their own to nudge insistently at family and guests alike.  Mariano seemed completely unfazed, and she supposed it made sense, he was here so frequently, and was also too busy whispering to Dolores to take much notice.  Poor Marco was goggle-eyed and quickly loosing his glasses.  Luisa slid them back up his nose offhandedly as platters and trays were set in the center, and Elena couldn't help but snicker at the quiet look of resignation all three of the older Madrigal men shared across the table.  

    Hot plates of sobrebarriga were passed down, the spicy creole sauce still sizzling over the steak, savory and starchy smells rising from the beef and the rice with the steam.  She shifted, laughing again at the cart nudging at her elbow as she moved bowls of pan de bono onto the table, accepting the glass of aguapanela that made it into her hands as food was shuffled around and everyone got situated, Mirabel laughing at Casita's enthusiasm, sending the carts back with an affectionate pat.  "Good going, Casita.  Presumir tonto."  

    "Casita has always liked company," Alma nodded to Mirabel as she seated herself.  "Which we're all thankful for.  Such a full table.  Welcome again, Senóra Pascual, and welcome Senór Cespedes.  It's lovely to finally meet the young man that's had our Luisa's head in the clouds for so long."  

    "Abuela, I haven't been..."  Luisa began, but Alma gave her a smile and waved her off  "I meant only it's good to see you happy, mi pequeña.  I look forward to getting to know your young man."  

    Marco adjusted his glasses and stood awkwardly, extending his hand to her and shaking it like a leaf in the wind as Luisa's cheeks went pink.  "I'm happy to be here, Doña Alma.  Luisa tells me so many stories about Casita's magic, but it's amazing to finally see it in person.  Una cos tan maravillosa!  I'd missed out on the ceremonies, Abuelo and I lose track of time so easily at our dig sites when we've found something!  We missed Antonio's ceremony because Abuelo was convinced he'd found a statue of Acat.  Oh! Er, Acat's the Mayan tattoo god!  Very important, you know.  It's actually really interesting how he...."  

    Elena and Bruno shared a look and she quickly pretended to swallow her drink the wrong way, hacking loudly and shooting a wink at Luisa as Bruno thumped her back, his eyebrow raised as Marco sat scratching awkwardly at his collarbone, leaving Alma a little ruffled.  "Yes, well...Casita's miracle was restored to us, thanks to Mirabel, and we're grateful for them both.  Hm, no use in going on, I suppose.  Enjoy, everyone."  

    Elena listened in as Agustín and Julieta quickly started asking Marco questions, not having much chance to get to know him during the rebuilding, and he was off at the races again, eyes lighting up and having to collect his glasses every few minutes, ill fitting nose piece leaving them to slide down the long slope of his nose.  "I'd love to really study Arqueología at Universidad Nacional, Senór Madrigal," he said, when asked about his future goals. "History is so fascinating, but there's more to it than just potshards and old bones.  Luisa shares all these myths with me, things I'd never thought to look into, and I just want to dig in and figure out how it's all connected!  I love the Encanto, but there's only so far I could go with that here." 

    A slim hand had found her leg under the table, and she gave Bruno a curious look as he squeezed.  "See, he's harmless," she grinned at him, watching his face for any sign of what he was thinking.  Under the tablecloth, hidden from view, he fisted her skirt and begin pulling it up slowly, slipping his hand underneath to her bare knee and tightening his grip as he dug his fingers into her tender skin.  She raised her eyebrow at his smirk, and he leaned in to whisper, "told you I wouldn't let you have all the fun."  

    She stifled a laugh as she caught Dolores' squeak, nudging Mariano who immediately handed her two little brown lumps of waxed cotton from a paper in his shirt pocket, meeting her glare with an apologetic look as she warmed them and stuffed them furtively in her ears.  Isabela rolled her eyes and chatted across the table, catching up on gossip and trying not to perk up when Dolores mentioned Dr. O'Conór.  Bruno leaned over to catch Marco's attention, his hand shifting up another couple inches as he did, fingers dancing in a slow rhythm, his other hand gesturing distractedly with his fork.  "You know, Elena has a correspondence degree.  Why haven't you asked her?"  

    "Oh, I'm sure he doesn't want to hear about that, Bruno," she said as she rubbed her legs together, trying to shift his hand, which crept up another inch, nudging at her other thigh with his knuckles, edging her to open her legs a little and teasing at the lace trim of her lady's boxers.  His hands were always so warm, but right now, under the unknowing scrutiny of the table, they burned.  He smirked as she swallowed nervously, feeling her face flush as Marco went on, none the wiser.  

    "Well...Library Science is one thing, but for archeology you have to travel.  You know, different dig sights and everything.  There's only so much you can find in one place."  

    "Marco, I'm a part time tailor.  I could tell you about life in the city twenty years ago, but Bruno is right, Elena would be the better person to ask about all the rest."  Agustín said casually, before waving his hand.  "Ah, enough about that, talk for another time.  The future comes when it comes.  What interested you in that field?"  

    "Abuelo, actually!  We were always traveling, después de...después de que mis padres murieran.  He took me to Chichen Itza when I was seven and Tierrodentro just before we found the Encanto.  Oh!"  He hopped in his seat and turned to Bruno, missing the odd glance Luisa's parents shared at his energy, "Senór Bruno!  Your room, you let me take sketches, remember?  Is it back to normal, now that the house is rebuilt?  I'd love to study it again!"  

    "Marco, please don't bother Tio Bruno," Luisa said, her hand on his shoulder.  His hand came up over hers unconsciously, waiting for an answer and looking for all the world like an overeager pila puppy as he vibrated in his seat.  

    "Sorry, kid.  The old set up is gone.  Casita took pity on me...All those stairs..." he sighed, giving an exaggerated shudder to cover the movement of his hand, only an inch away from the apex of her thighs now, fingers stroking slow, lazy circles into the silk.  He pinched lightly when Elena glared at him, mixing pepper sauce in her rice in an attempt to cover up just why her face was so red.  No one had noticed yet, though she was extremely aware of her own breathing as the heat of his hands soaked into her skin, her whole leg burning from his touch.  The slight roughness of the skin of his knuckles, always so dry from the sand that seemed to live on him, snagged at the delicate material, and she could feel as little fibers pulled loose, could practically hear them popping with each maddening pass of his thumb, and was imminently grateful Dolores had taken the hint and stuffed her ears.  

    "That's...well that's disappointing.   The statues were so imposing.  Like Hun Hunahpu or Xochipilli.  Which is really odd when you think about it because they were gods of crops and fertility but maybe those were just intimidating aspects back then.  I wonder...."  

    Elena saw Alma's mouth quirk in distaste, though if it was from the reminder of her son's ignored vision cave, the reminder of Casita's fall, or Marco going on about Pre-Christian deities she wasn't sure.  She had just opened her mouth to speak, her brow furrowed at the young man to Elena's left when Bruno squeezed her leg again, grabbing a handful of flesh and tugging just slightly, and she turned to Luisa, nudging her conspiratorially behind Marco's back with a theatre whisper.  "My Papá never told me anything about the vision cave.  If you can get those drawings I'd appreciate it.  I'm curious and your tio is being Senór tímido abou--Oh!"  

    "Tímido, she says," he laughed as he pinched her side with his free hand in full view of the table, "If you want to see, all you have to do is ask, you know," Bruno murmured as he leaned against her, mouth at her ear and his neck craned enough to show off the marks on it, his hand creeping up that final inch, knuckles turning to skim carefully over the dampening silk before pressing swiftly into her, a quick roll of his wrist sending lightning up her spine as he brushed down her covered slit, pressing in enough to tease soft material into her folds, but not quite enough to feel the points of his knuckles.  The shrill giggle she gave was only played up a little as he moved to brush a kiss to her neck, the barest hint of his thumb ghosting over her clit through damp silk.  Alma cleared her throat as his sobrinos looked away, giggling at the above table display. "Please respect our other guests at the dinner table, Bruno.  And where is your hand?"  

    In a fluid motion he'd flipped her skirt back smoothly and given Parce's shedding jaw a rough scratch before shrugging.  "Trying to keep Parce from eating me, Mamá," he sighed as he brought up his hand, gold and white fur clinging all over it with static, making a show of dusting his hand on his pantleg, rolling his eyes before brushing his thumb along Elena's cheek, nothing performative about the admiring smile he gave her.  "Not all of us can sit next to a jaguar and not sweat, you know."  

    "Antonio, send your friend to your room, please, the dinner table is really no place for a jaguar."   

    "Lo siento, Abuela, I tried before dinner started.  Parce does what she wants.  She likes Senóra Elena."  

    "I suppose that's alright for now, Antonio.  Cats will be cats." Alma sighed, knowing if her grandson couldn't convince the beast then she certainly couldn't.  She turned to Elena and Bruno, still sitting too close than was entirely appropriate as far as she was concerned.  She wasn't certain one of them wasn't going to end up in the other's lap before the meal was over.  

    "First a snake charmer and now unafraid of jaguars.  What other surprises do you have in store for us, Senóra Elena?"  Alma said.  She had meant it kindly enough, seeing Antonio's big smile, her grandson still sensitive to people being afraid of his animal friends, but her tone was sharper than she meant it, Bruno's facetious, brash behavior taking her by surprise.  Elena shrugged, scanning the table to see Julieta and Agustín, who had their heads together across the way as they spoke with Marco and Luisa quietly, the young couple buzzing with suppressed glee.  "Oh, you never know with me," she waved off with a laugh, though the slight edge to her voice caught the attention of everyone at the head of the table.  "I've always liked animals, and I can't say the idea of Tonito's rodeo doesn't intrigue me, but I'm finding myself fond of rats lately.  Clever little things; breed like crazy though."  

    "I...see..." Alma said, doing her best to ignore the implication for Bruno's sake, the enamored look on his face, and the snickers surrounding her.  "Well, that explains a bit, I suppose.  Bruno's choice in...pets has always been questionable.  But if it makes him happy, well I can't judge too harshly."  

    Elena shrugged again and sat back, not because she was already tired of nettling Alma, but Bruno's hand had found it's way back under her skirt and those long fingers had set themselves to stroking the creases at the junction of her thighs, and it was all she could do to not give herself away at the table as he pressed into her covered skin, fingers slipping easily across the sodden fabric as he skimmed them possessively down her, heat of his hand soaking into her mound as he hooked them just slightly, the barest hint of pressure at her clit, the swollen bundle of nerves throbbing rhythmically at his taunting. 

    "Did you really have to say it like that?" He muttered as he teased her, and she grinned innocently, viciously, crossing her legs to clamp down on his hand and playing dumb as she swung her foot and brushed it against his leg, trapping and jostling his hand against her, voice breathy even as she tried to hide it, hoping it came off as just her being silly.  "Say what like what, hombre tonto?  You have six rats, and an even split, I'm surprised you don't have more."  

    "Oh there were more, but those six are the ones I kept and trained.  I--I always keep the runts.  They...they need the extra care."  He admitted, hand drifting away from her covered sex and thumb pressing gentle circles into her thigh as she tucked a loose curl behind his ear.  "Sweet man."   

    He realized she'd given up the game to focus just on him in the moment, and he smiled, basking in the attention and removing his hand entirely, trailing it up and around her shoulder to pull her close before nudging her to watch Marco and Luisa as he murmured in her ear.  "I really do wish you weren't right about things so soon, mi ninfa.  I'm going to have to start cheating and doing visions again just to prove you wrong."  He had found a tense spot on her neck, and was digging his thumb into it gently, soothing circles that did nothing to ease her pulsing nerves.  The pads of his fingers held just a hint of dampness, and she could smell herself on his hand, the realization sending a jolt of heat through her as she leaned into him, swallowing thickly.

    "Well that's no fun," she said as her own hand made it's way under the table, wasting no time in grabbing his inner thigh and squeezing, trailing roughly up the seam of his pantleg only to stop short of the straining tent in his pants, her little finger teasing delicately at the buttons of his fly.  "And here I was thinking we could place bets and see what we can think to do to each other when one of us loses?"  She felt him twitch under her hand as he gave her a simmering look, muscle of his jaw working as he clenched his teeth.

    "Don't give me ideas when my mother is one seat away.  Shush, look at those two."  His voice was rough as he nudged her cheek with his nose, moving her hand away from him decisively, making her to turn and watch his sobrina and her novio, who were sitting with their hands joined on the table and their shoulders pressed together, speaking near in tandem to Julieta and explaining the myth of La Madre Monte.  

"...She's like you and Abuela and Isa and Tia Pepa all put together, Mamá," Luisa beamed.  "She rules the wind and rain and plants, and she heals..." Marco cut in, his glasses slipping down his nose again before he fumbled to catch them, knocking his fork with his elbow to go sailing past Agustín. Luisa froze, but her father just laughed, looking back at where the utensil stuck out of the wall, still vibrating.  "Lo-lo siento, Senór Madrigal, I didn't mean...!" 

    "You'll fit right in here, Marco," Félix chuckled as Agustín pulled the fork from the wall and fumbled it, jabbing his palm as he caught it clumsily and grumbling under his breath.  "Just try not to put out one of Agustín's eyes, they're already bad enough," Pepa teased, handing her cuñado an empanada with a sigh.  

     Julieta shook her head fondly as Agustín  and Marco shook hands over the table, content to see Luisa's smile brightening at her father's approval.  She saw her daughter's broad shoulders relax, and watched as their heads came back together, Marco going on to compare La Madre Monte and Ixchel and the two of them debating quietly over where the similarities ended and where they led off too, off in their own little world immediately, stealing bites off each other's plates as they spoke, too preoccupied to notice.  She turned her eyes to her brother and the woman beside him, their own heads together, her cheeks and his ears blazing, giving away they were up to something, whispering and giving furtive glances between Luisa and Alma, and realized then with her mother's glare that they'd thrown themselves up in their blatant display as shield between Alma and Marco, giving him a chance to speak with her and Agustín as privately as was possible at the crowded table.   

    She could tell her mother didn't wholly approve of the young man, his talk of ancient deities and lost civilizations putting her on edge the same as Luisa and Bruno's shared fascination in mythology always had, fearful that learning such things would put the miracle at risk, firmly believing it came from God above.  Julieta had never seen anything wrong with understanding the legends of the land, always liking the poetry of the stories, but she'd kept it far quieter from her mother than her brother or daughter had been able to.  The fact that Luisa had been taking three days out of the week to simply relax and spend time with her friends, sisters, and Marco had stuck in Alma's craw after their gifts had returned, but Julieta knew her mother was trying.    

    That her brother had conspired with his pareja to run interference in full view of the family had her crowing inside, the returning specter of the high-spirited bickering, glibly contentious man he'd been in his twenties made her laugh.  She'd could see Elena truly becoming his partner, in crime as well as in care as they teased each other and kept Alma's irritation aimed at them.  She had missed this Bruno, the one who'd bided his time to snipe sharply at their mother when she and Pepa had exhausted their arguments, who had slyly half poisoned Agustín with black pearl pepper sauce at his first dinner at Casita, using the opportunity to point out that Julieta almost had to marry him, he'd be dead in a week otherwise, laughing as her then-novio had choked himself purple.  He'd begun to disappear long before Bruno had gone into the walls, buried under the weight of their mother's expectations and the accusations of the town, opinion of him souring completely after Consuela Rivera had lost her eye to a rapid bone cancer that her father had barely been able to catch in time, one of Julieta's few failures, her gift unable to do anything but keep the malignancy from spreading further once caught.  That Bruno's visions had been the reason she'd survived went unacknowledged, and the town had pulled away, believing he'd cursed her because she'd been predicted to marry one of the De León boys and not him.   

    Elena felt eyes on her throughout the meal, but was doing her best to ignore them as Bruno's hand slowly crept its way down her back, across her ass, stroking down and wiggling under her to tease at her from behind before circling back around and dipping back between her legs, planted solidly across the front of her.  The heel of his hand sat just over her clit, but did not move, the subtle pressure enough to kindle a slow burning of nerves that settled into her skin and had her breaking into the lightest sheen of sweat.  His hand was still but for his middle finger, which was currently sliding up and down her clothed slit in agonizing slowness, pushing against her entrance with the smooth slip of fabric when his hand laid flat against her before starting his torturous path back up.  She knew her face was burning, but somehow, somehow they had made it through the main meal to dessert with nothing more than a concerned look from Julieta when she'd genuinely swallowed something the wrong way, that damned hand going from pinching lightly at her folds to pulling the cat maneuver again in a split second and littering her good shawl with jaguar fur as he thumped her back, teasing her about her inability to handle the heat of the pepper sauce. 

    Luisa, Marco, and Agustín got up to grab the tres leches cake from the kitchen, Marco struggling to balance too many saucers along his arms and trying to reassure Luisa, who was snickering at him as she carried a more sensible tray.  "I'm alright, mi Atena, I've got this!"  Bruno quickly rescued two saucers in danger of crashing to the floor and sat them down in front of Elena and himself.  "Shame to let this go to waste, Marco, even if smashing a plate is good luck," 

    "There will be no broken plates tonight, I hope," Alma said from her seat, watching Marco carefully as he passed plates out around the table and wincing as her plate slipped from his sweaty hand at the last second, whipped cream splattering the front of her dress on impact.  The table was silent for a second before Bruno burst out laughing, unconcerned at his mother's irritation as he elbowed Marco back to his seat. 

    "Now young man, this is disgraceful!"

    Elena spoke up even as Marco and Luisa flinched, "Oh, Alma, leave him alone!  It's nothing a little vinegar won't fix."  She went to stand, a mauw of distaste twisting her mouth, when Bruno grinned, considering the bite of cake on his fork. 

    "Is vinegar all?"

    "Yes, wh--ahk! Bruno!"  Elena squawked, a plap of whipped cream splattering on her cheek.  "Cielos!  Te pillaré!"

    She swiped a dollop of cream on his nose as he snickered, and instantly regretted it.

    There was the barest flash of light in his eyes as he swiped at his face, his hands digging viciously into her sides a second later.  Any eyes that weren't already on them did as she bolted from her chair squealing, holding it between her and Bruno as he stood as well, his grin too wide in mock challenge.  "Oh, no, don't you dare!  Bruno!"  

    Alma's hiss of "Siéntate!" was lost as he lunged, slipping over the seat to grab her waist, dragging another peal of laughter from her as his sobrinos giggled and his sisters shared a look.  She jabbed him in the side and darted out of the dining room, into the cocina, him hot on her heels as she giggled. 

    He chased her around the table island, catching her at corners and wrapping his arms around her to dig his fingers in, stealing kisses at her neck and turning away from the view the the mariposa screen to cop a quick feel before letting her wiggle loose as she blew a raspberry directly in his ear.  She bolted through the courtyard only to be caught on the other side and hauled shrieking backwards into a loveseat, one arm trapped under his as he held her against him, the other pinned by the leg he'd wedged around her.  She struggled against him crowing as he tickled her, her feet kicking uselessly as he laughed, licking the whipped cream from her cheek as they fought, her hands slipping loose and quickly recaptured as they made fools of themselves on the sofa.  Every time she'd wriggle free to jab him or poke him or tug on his hair he'd be back around her in an instant, a spider with too many limbs, gangly and grabbing and everywhere at once, forcing laughter from her mouth to fill the house and echo across the courtyard, bouncing along and joining with the amused clacking of Casita's tiles, chased and undercut by his own tenor.

    "Bruno Madrigal I cannot believe you!" She wheezed as as he shifted his hands, one finding the sensitive skin behind her knee and the other digging in just under her armpit, her spine trying to squirm away before the rest of her as she squealed again.

    "Neither can I!"  Came his mother's voice, hand on hip and another pointing at them, the air around her radiating a noxious tension.  "We have guests!  I'd expect this out of you, Senóra Pascual, but not from him.  You are a grown man, as you keep reminding me, Bruno.  Now act like one!"

    Bruno sat up out of the tangle of limbs, unraveling from around her and standing to offer his hand to Elena, who took it tentatively.  She watched as he stood straight, never letting go of her hand, arching an eyebrow at his mother.  "Pretty sure that's what I was doing, Mamá."  Alma said nothing at that, her jaw ticking in a motion so like his own it was all Elena could do to keep her smile down.  Alma stared down her son for a moment, and though his grip on her hand tightened a bit, he didn't turn away.  Elena started when Alma turned to her, not expecting the resigned tone.

    "Elena, Marco and his abuelo live near you.  Why don't you and Luisa see him home?"

    Knowing an olive branch when she saw one, threadbare as it may have been, she took it, letting go of Bruno's hand slowly, wiping away a melted line of whip cream that had sunk down one of his laugh lines.  "Thank you for...dinner.  I'll  see you tomorrow?"

    Something shifted under her feet as he smiled at her, Casita's tiles clicking again to push them closer together, and he caught her arms as she faltered.  His laughing kiss was gentle, his lips warm and still sticky from their little food fight, the tingling their insistence left behind going straight to whirl in her skull, leaving her lightheaded as he stepped away with a cockeyed grin, tucking that stubborn strand of hair away.  "Con cascabeles.  Good night, mi oréade."  

    She watched as he passed his mother, her face still set rigidly, and placed a gentle kiss on her temple before making his way to the stairs, clearly heading to his room for the night, his weary shoulders falling as he went, hand twitching in sevens at his side in overstimulated nerves.

    She let Luisa and Marco trail ahead again, her head swimming over rough seas, still processing the night.  Whatever being a distraction and meant to her when she'd agreed to it, he'd swept that thought and most others from her mind at the first pass of those clever fingers.

    She hung back as Luisa said her goodbyes, giving her some privacy and picking fur from her shawl by the light of the streetlamps.  She jumped when a heavy hand patted her shoulder.

    "Thank you, Senóra Elena.  I...really appreciate you and Tio Bruno keeping Abuela distracted tonight."

    "Any time, Luisa.  And just Elena is fine.  Marco is a lovely young man, but I can see why you were nervous.  He's a little..."

    "Enthusiastic?"

    "Ha, we'll go with that.  It's very sweet, watching you two.  Do your parents like him?"

    "They do!" Luisa gushed, almost surprised.  "Papá wanted to talk to you, before you ran off, see if you could help him with Marco's college."

    Elena chewed on that as she fished for her keys, lost again in her too deep pockets. "I was younger than you, I'm not sure what mis padres set up.  I suppose I could try and ask Senór Geraldo.  I can't promise anything."

    "I know.  Senór Geraldo's been going senile for ages.  But, thank you."

    "You have a good night, oye?"

    "You too."

    "If you're late getting home, I offered you a coffee."

    "Senóra!"

    "No dije nada!"

    Elena went to close her door, but stopped when she noticed Luisa hadn't left yet.  

    "Is something wrong?"

    "No.  Just...Tio Bruno really likes you.  It's good to see him laughing again."

    "It is," she admitted with a smile.  "I missed it, while he was...away.  Good-night, Luisa." 

***** 

    Bruno woke with a start, jolted from his dream of plush skin and the gentle valleys of a freckled back and ink dark colibríes writhing in the sun by his insistent body dragging him out into the real world.  He'd clambered onto his pillow in sleep, dragging it to him, and caught himself grinding against it with his hands fisted in the sheets. "Fóllame," he hissed, lost in sensation and his heart bounding in his chest as he slid across satin softness, his path slicked by his leaking cock. 

    The vision plate he'd been willfully ignoring since he'd started his little game sat exposed, and he didn't resist the temptation now that it lay before him.  Now he knew the cushion of her breasts and the tenderness of her inner thighs, the gentle dip of her waist and the eager heat and scent of her cunt against his hand.  The cold image paled to what his fingers knew, and he shook his head, closing his eyes and folding the pillow around him, imagining her love bite covered tits rocking under his hands with each thrust.  Or the lush cleft of her ass enfolding him as he guided her hips, her tattoos lost in his grip.

    He groaned and brought his hand to his face, the scent of her faint but still there, left lewdly as he'd fallen into bed as soon as he'd hit his room, his overstimulated nerves forcing him to a fitful unconsciousness.  The hint of musk and salt and sweet filled his senses, the sharp tang of arousal shooting bright and electric down his spine.  He shoved the pillow away and licked his hand, arching and gritting his teeth as he stroked himself, mind flying with thoughts of her at the cenote pool and the dance hall, cursing his restraint as he panted.

    He moved his fist in rough, tight strokes, desperately chasing sensation as he circled his thumb over the head, spreading precum all along his shaft along with his spit, a poor imitation of soft giving flesh.  He was going too fast, too hard, a bite of pain following each pull, only spurring him harder.  He buried his face in his own hair, imagining it was hers, the memory of tamarind and lavender and salt coursing through his veins as he pumped his cock, lost in his mind and the ghost of of his visions.  He turned to bite at the skin of his forearm still clutching the sheet, the coiling fire in his belly spreading down his spine in a violent shiver as he jerked in his hand.

    He loosened his grip and thrust into his hand, his hips jerking roughly as his cock twitched.  He saw her again, drunk and begging him to fuck her against the dance hall wall, sweaty and panting and recklessly beautiful and his orgasm swept over him in an instant, frantic moan escaping as he broke, rearing up and spilling in thick ropes across his pillowcase as fire scorched down his spine, his thighs twitching and chest heaving for breath.

    He had just enough thought to yank his pillowcase off and toss it to the floor before falling flat, hiding his face and panting.  "...mierda..."

    He flopped to his back and dragged his hair back, looking over at the time and wincing at the late hour, knowing he'd missed breakfast and glad he'd locked his door as his mind wandered.  He couldn't say he didn't know what had gotten into him, because he did, but the continued intensity surprised him, like his body was trying to make up for lost time.  He scrubbed at his face, embarrassed at himself, feeling like a teenager all over again.  The last few days had not helped.  His skin was constantly too tight, a persistent tingle running just below the surface, aggravated and alleviated at once by Elena's presence, his hands itching to take the final few steps, his brain and his little brain constantly at war with each other.

    He had run out of ideas to draw things out, and beyond that, he was tired of waiting.  Elena had told him she loved him, and even if she didn't remember, nothing about her actions said otherwise.  Her willingness to wait and go along with his nonsense as it came.  Her total lack of fear of his gift and the curious but calm acceptance of the less than sane aspects of him; his salt, his rituals, his persona, knowing them and even defending their existence.  Somehow, through some miracle, she understood his moods and his madness and his runaway mouth.  He still didn't understand quite what she saw in him, a shadow against her vibrancy, but he wasn't going to second guess it any longer, the fear that she'd laugh him out of her bed having flown the day she'd let her guard down and shown him her colibríes.  The restless, sharp anticipation that coiled along his spine in its place had bolstered his nerves enough that he was sure she would be able to forgive him the inevitable disappointment as he learned her.  

    He had no illusions that she wouldn't be at least somewhat disappointed when he finally took her to bed.  It had been over twenty years since his wild days with Silvia and more than a decade since his last drunken tumble from the bar, and he remembered nothing of that encounter beyond breaking his toe on the way out when he'd knocked over one of Pamela's glassblowing pipes and having to limp home bleeding.  And Julieta and Félix laughing at him as he stumbled in the door for breakfast, the kids buying his excuse of dropping a vision plate as explanation enough for his injury when they'd asked.  He shook his head and got to his feet, getting dressed for the day and taking the extra minute to drag a comb through his hair and dig out his old cologne.  Elena had seemed to like it the night of the play, and it wasn't like he was saving it for anything other than time with her.  

    He kicked himself as he was pounced upon right outside his door, he really should have seen it coming, gift or no gift, especially since he'd missed breakfast.  Pepa on his right and Julieta on his left, hands hooked tight against his arms as they scooped him up and swept him out of the house, his protests falling on deaf ears as they dragged him to the town square.  Pepa was taking a day away from the fields to help Julieta, and rather than just let him drift off to the bibliotheca they'd decided in unison that today was a dia de trillizos.  He really should have known.  The air had been itching with that familiar tingle he always felt when any two of them were thinking the same thing. 

    His hermanas ignored his grumbling as he helped them set up Julieta's table and pass out the empanadas she'd made for the town.  The lines were getting longer, little accidents happening across town as everyone prepped for the holiday at the end of the week, excited for a chance to let loose after the last celebration had ended in near disaster.  He couldn't resent them for that, though he caught the whispers his sisters didn't, the looks that he was given when their backs were turned.  There may have been less of them, but the ones that had stayed were especially venomous.  He found himself tapping out his pattern of sevens against his leg as it bounced, his other hand hidden and cross-fingered in an attempt to not tear his cuticles to shreds again. 

    Teresa Sandoval had given herself a gory puncture wound to the meat of her hand with an awl, towel wrapped around it and knowing enough to not remove it until she saw Julieta.  He watched as his sister eased the leather punch out of their old class-mates hand, too familiar with seeing his own blood for it to bother him, though the little glob of fat that poked yellow through the wound surprised him and had bile itching at the back of his throat.  She gave him an oddly appraising look as she left, empanada in hand, and he wondered just what was going on in her head.  They'd really never known each other, beyond the schoolyard comradery of bad grade buddies in primeria. 

    They heard Gustavo before they saw him, Alberto having managed to explosively shatter a large aquamarine meant for several projects along its fracture line and both of them needled by fine shards of stone on opposite sides.  Gustavo had puffed up the trail, punctuating every point to his grandson with a slap to the back of the head, questioning if he'd learned anything from growing up in the shop or if it had poured out of his ears like slag.  He'd volunteered to help tweeze those out after a toss of salt, knowing from his vision plates how much of a pain stone slivers could be if left under the skin after it healed.  Gustavo had sat before him, heaving a sigh as he got to work on his arm, taking his time as they laughed at Alberto, wincing and whining under Pepa's less delicate touch, telling the young man to hold still as a little cloud of agitation began to form over her head. 

    "Heard you tore up the dance hall with Lenita the other night, chamaco" Gustavo said, unflinching as the sharp, fine points of Julieta's medical tweezers were dug into his arm.  Bruno didn't look up, shrugging as he concentrated, the old jeweler's skin frailer than the muscles beneath.  "Tal vez, ya sabes cómo es." 

    "Heard about the reñirse on Lunes too." 

    "Bardales' friends and his...and his primo.  And Campeón Garza," Bruno muttered, picking out a rough shard and placing it off to the side with the little pile that was collecting.  He didn't want to talk about it, but that had never stopped Gustavo, who could barrel through any conversation like a warhorse, just as boisterous and twice as loud, his laugh echoing across the square and making Bruno flinch. 

    "Told you that little pistola drew trouble like a fire draws moths." 

    "She had nothing to do with it!  Those four are...they're basura." 

    "'Ahh, Garza has always been un idiota mierdecilla.  About time someone knocked him down a peg or three.  Ben and Tomás were frothing to get them under heel, and between Cortez and the De Leon boy and the rest?  Those old goats were practically dancing.  Didn't hurt that it was you split Garza's cheek." 

    "What difference did that make?"   

    "Half the town's wanted to deck him for ages, but for a Madrigal to finally do it?  Carries weight.  For it to be you?  That's when people know he went too far." 

    "Elena and I've been staying out of it.  What's going on with them?" 

    "Ah, it's 'Elena and I' now, eh?" 

    "Senór Perez, please..." 

    "Surprised Alma didn't tell you.  Hefty fine for the four of them.  And they're stuck on the palisade for six months until they get their acts together.  Roberto is livid at them, scrambling for workers." 

    "Good.  Bad for Senór Hernandez but...but good that they're out of everyone's hair," Bruno said, putting the tweezers down and washing his hands in the basin set off to the side.  "Juli?"   

    His sister handed the jeweler an empanada and watched as his nicks and cuts sealed, his arms crossed as he waited for his grandson, still whimpering as Pepa dug the last shard out of his thumb. 

    "Hold still!  Tu bebé grande, it is not that bad!"   

    "Senóra Pepa, por favor, I need my hands to work!" 

    "Boy, cállate before she rains on you.  You'd have been fine if you'd listened and not decided you knew better about where to break that damned stone.  Julita?" 

    "Don't be too hard on him, Gustavo.  Go on.  I've got other folks that need the table." 

    The pair of them left, Gustavo berating his grandson the whole way back to the shop, handful of aguamarine shards held delicately in his rough hands.   

    "Gus is right, you know," Pepa said as she washed her hands in the basin beside him.  "No one expects you to fight, it gets people attention when you do." 

    "Pepa, please don't start." 

    "I'm just saying..." 

    "Well don't.  It's not her fault.  She can't...She can't help that Carlos fixated on her, that his crew are creeps." 

    "I was just going to say it's good to finally see you care about someone, but fine, be a little shit"  She dried her hands by flicking them in his face and flouncing back to her side of the table as Julieta rolled her eyes, wiping her hands on her apron as she sat down, handing out empanadas to folks as they came up, the minor ailments needing little attention.  "Ok, clearly you two can't behave.  Let's leave Elena out of it for a while.  And...Talk."  Her triplets flinched in tandem and gave each other a wavering look.  They knew that tone.  It was her voz de madre from when they were kids, and always meant she was getting ready to try and drag something out of them. 

    "Juli, we aren't going to have another heart to heart are we?" Bruno groaned, leaning his chair back on two legs and covering his eyes dramatically.  Pepa squeaked and flopped onto the table, arms out in a pleading gesture to the skies as her cloud flipped around itself, the edges lightening as the bottom sifted into a fog. "Julieta, please no!  I'll do anything!  I'll even apologize!" 

    "Nope, we're talking." 

    "About what?  You're just going to try and psychoanalyze us again.  We already know we're crazy!" Pepa grumbled, grabbing an empanada blindly and shoving it in her mouth whole.  Bruno's hand flailed up at the sun.  "It's not even noon!  How are we going to do this if we can't even get respectfully drunk?  Have you forgotten the mess my brain is?"

    "You've had three involuntaries in two weeks, the last thing you need is more alcohol."

    "Three?" Pepa perked up, smelling blood in the water as Bruno clammed up with a gulp, "When was the third one?"

    "I don't know what you're talking about," he grumbled, staring off into the middle distance, sweat breaking out on his neck.  

    "Oh, so I imagined the one you've got tucked under your pillow, did I?"

    "Hiding dirty visions again?  Really Bruno?" Pepa laughed, shoving him as her lingering cloud dispersed, dragging up the unfortunate reminder of their teen years and the havoc that puberty had caused all of them and their gifts.  Three years of unpredictable rains and snows and sunshine from Pepa, a year of shuffling levels of healing from Julieta's cooking, sometimes nothing happening at all, other times things long since scarred over disappearing completely.  She'd regrown Nina Panadero's tonsils and adenoids by accident and the woman hadn't forgiven her for months.  And him, his dreams driving involuntary visions in his sleep that woke him up violently, the subject matter of the vision plates as salacious as his dreams.  It had only taken getting caught the once by his mother and the humiliating lecture that followed for him to begin shattering them instantly, taken straight to the old stone mason Arcadio Castillo for destruction.

    "Am I allowed no privacy?  Keep your noses out of my room," he hissed, flinching as he realized he'd given himself away at the raised eyebrows of his sisters.  Julieta laughed and patted his shoulder.

    "You're out of practice.  But I didn't look.  I'm more worried about your gift acting up so often."

    "It's...It's nothing.  I went ten years without those damn visions.  They're playing catch-up," he groused, pinching the bridge of his nose and regretting again the loss of time, the loss of rhythm he'd once had with his sisters, once so ingrained and instinctive they had near read each other's minds even before receiving their gifts.  A sadness slipped over him at the realization of the loss, and suddenly the rhythm was there again, a warm flitting at the ends of his consciousness.

    He felt Pepa's hand slip into his and squeeze, and he studied it blankly, the faint Lichtenberg figure scars that only shone silver in the brightest of sunlight tracing through her freckles and the slowly fragiling skin of the back of her hands.  She knew the pain of a gift gone wild, knew the pain they caused and the blind spot in Julieta's own gift in healing the damage they left behind.  Julieta took his other hand, and he saw there too the littering of nicks and cuts and smoothed burns from decades in the cocina, the creases of her wrist worn deeper than that of him or their sister, though they all bore the same burden of years, and he saw the weight of the town ground into her skin as surely as as it had been pressed into his eyes and in the frightful anxiety of Pepa's mind over the years.  "I shouldn't complain," he said, looking at their contrasting hands all together, pulling his sisters too him and holding their hands against his furrowed brow.  

    "You two dealt with the strain of town while I just hid away.  The least I can do is deal with this like an adult.  I'm not doing a dozen visions a day for the town again like a trick monkey.  I won't...I can't go back to that.  I can't.  Taking all the blame when I didn't.... when I didn't do anything.  If it means I have to deal with...with the involuntaries, I'll have to."

    "The town can go to hell if they think we're going to let them come after you like they did before," Pepa spat, taking his hand with hers and pressing it to her own forehead at his admission.  "It took the house and the family and the mountains breaking apart for us to realize we'd been used.  Well, no more!  Let them learn to irrigate better.  Let Doctor O'Conór do more of his job than we did Rivera!  And let them make a decision on their own for once, and not beg for their future like they can't even ver las orejas del lobo!" 

    "You hid away to protect Mirabel, Bruno.  She was able to grow up happy because you gave up ten years of your life," Julieta said quietly, turning a moment to hand out the last two empanadas to Tomás and Tulio Vasquez, the old vaqueros covered in bruises and dust.  They had a quiet word with Pepa, asking after Antonio and his skill with the animals before turning, accepting her nebulous answer of maybe bringing him along with Félix the next day in preparation of the holiday before leaving.  "And let them figure out how to wrangle their own bulls before I let my son fall for the same!"  

    "You're allowed to live for yourself, Bruno," Julieta continued, her free hand reaching across him and calming Pepa's agitated clawing at the air.  "We all are.  Because you were brave enough to sacrifice what you did.  To sit and watch us all in isolation to give my little girl a chance.  Mirabel knows who she is more than any of us because she wasn't trapped by a gift, and whatever else she grew up waiting for, she grew up free.  And you gave her that."  Discomfited by her gentle scrutiny he looked away, hopping up and trying to escape, trapped by their hands as he shrugged.  "It's...well...I was...my gift was...is.  It's expendable.  You know.  Weather and healing, who cares about prophesy?"  He slipped loose of their grip in the brief shock that followed, and had the little table folded up and under his arms along with the baskets before they could blink, regretting the lack of his ruana as he started down the street.  

    "Oh, no.  Nonono, you don't get to slip away that easy," Pepa said as she followed, her stool under her elbow as she snatched his arm.  

    "You are not expendable, te falta un tornillo!" Julieta snapped, making both her siblings jump at her tone as she snatched his ear.  "Get that cagada out of your head.  Did Mamá never tell you what she used those prophesies for?  The ones you had during the war?  The midnight visions?  None of them?"

    He tried to shake his head, wincing as he forgot the fingers on his ear.  Julieta sighed and let him go, walking back to the house to deposit the set up outside in the shed before dragging them all to the little river, the silence over them staying until they sat on the bank with their feet in the water.  Julieta had darted into the house while her siblings put things away, and as they sat with their feet in the cool water, produced from her apron three roscones stuffed with crème and maracuyá jam, wrapped in wax paper and stolen hot from the stove-top while their mother read in the living area, taken by an urge to bake and waiting for them to cool.

    As they giggled together and splashed each others' knees, watching light play off the water as the sun crept past noon, Julieta rested her head on her brother's shoulder, Pepa copying the motion after stealing a bite of his roscone and earning a face full of grass thrown in irritation.  

    "You kept us safe, with those visions," Julieta finally said, wiping a spot of jam from her lip and flicking it to the nibbling fishes.  "Mamá and the rest of the old guard were able to keep the Encanto hidden from everything, the fighting and the flyovers and the recruiters for the navy because of them.  Remember the Palm festivals?  When the whole town looked like a jungle?  Those hid us.  That big surge of people when we were sixteen?  And again when we were thirty?  Refugees from all the fighting the miracle lead here, that everyone knew were safe. Why she never pushed back at the town after Consuela I'll never understand."

    "I'd forgotten the Palm festivals..." he said.  He'd been ill so frequently then, his gift leaving him bedridden for days at a time with green burning fevers that Julieta had been powerless against, the only relief had been Pepa's worried snows.  It was all the confirmation his sisters needed to know their mother had never told him she'd used his gift the way he'd always wanted people to use it, to prepare for what was coming, to alleviate the fear of the unknown that he fought against every day.  He sat silent after that, gazing out at the water as he kicked ripples into it, smiling faintly at the nibbling fish.  He felt his hands pulled away from him and was pulled into the grass with a quiet hum, the smallest cloud shading their eyes from the direct sun.   Pepa rifled in his shirt pocket and found his guilded matchbox, lighting a cigarette from the pack she hid in her bra and blowing clove scented smoke rings up at her cloud, ignoring Julieta's huff of annoyance.  "Oh hush, Juli.  You never give Félix grief."

    "Félix isn't my sister."

    "Well, I'm down to one a day, so tranquillo.  Bruno?"

    "You know I quit."

    "You're both no fun."

    "Yeah, but you love us anyway," Bruno snickered, shoving her in tandem with Julieta as he flapped away the smoke.

    They lay back in the light of the waning afternoon sun with their heads together and their feet in the river, napping in the comfortable heat until Pepa's cheeks and forehead were as red as her hair and even Bruno's dusky skin had begun to burn, the tip of his nose the same pink two glasses of wine would get him.  Julieta stood and shook out her shoulders, cooling her sunkissed skin and waking her siblings with a splash of the water, laughing as Pepa slapped her face in disgust and regretted it as she clambered up, long legs unfolding.  Bruno stretched and clacked and scrubbed at his itching cheeks, blinking like an owl and surprised that he'd managed to pass out outside.  "Go on, Bruno.  She'll be expecting you," Julieta said as she brushed grass from his shoulders,  Pepa straightening his collar.  

    "You two're never this invested, what gives?"

    "We like the sadismo, you two sniping at Mamá," Pepa shrugged, shoulder checking him as she stretched.

    "I really didn't bring her around for that, you know."

    "Doesn't mean we can't sit back and watch the show," she said, hooking his neck in a hug and picking a twig from his hair.  "Estas en todo, go on, shoo.  Charm her up and invite her to Día de la Raza while you're at it.  Can't wait to see what she gets into at the rodeo."

    "Can you not encourage mi pareja to gore herself on a bull, please?

    "We all know your salvajita doesn't need any egging on.  Quit burning daylight with us, go."  Julieta laughed, joining Pepa to shove him down the road, laughing off his annoyance as they went. 

    "Of course I'm going to try it!"  Elena laughed as she popped the spoon in her mouth, Carlita's piña colada pavé melting on her tongue. 

    "You're going to break something.  We aren't twenty anymore.  You and Julio are both loco!"

    "It's just a rodeo, Car.  And you act like I've never broken a bone before."

    "Just because you have doesn't mean you should again!  I really don't want to see your raw shinbone again!"

    "Look, if Luz Ruiz and Teresa are going, I'm going!  It's been years since I let my hair down at Día de la Raza."  Carlita threw up her hands, stealing a bite of Elena's cake and shaking her head.  "You're gonna get yourself gored you ridiculous thing!  Ugh, nevermind.  So no flash sale this year?  I'll miss you at the stalls."

    Elena sighed and shook her head.  "No.  I need the money, but I just don't want to deal with the stress.  Maybe I'll do one for Día de Muertos, but...meh.  You bringing that French fudge you thought up?  We cleared half the basket!"

    "I might.  What are you doing with your stall space?  I know you already paid Osvaldo for it."

    "Oh, I'm letting Park Binna use it.  She's coming by in a bit after hours with Kim to hash out the details, doesn't speak much Spanish.  Her little window business is doing well, figure I could help out until the deal for their farm comes through."

    "They're still looking for a farm?  They've been here for three months!"

    "Franco is being a twat, doesn't want to give up his land even though the Sanchezes have more than enough."

    "I still can't believe you slept with him."

    "Carlita, shut up, ay Dios mio!  You're as bad as Bruno."

    "Speaking of, where is tu adivino?" Carlita said conspiratorially, looking around and noticing the distinct lack of a familiar green shadow.  Elena shrugged, trying to hide her disappointment as she moved to the library, quickly marking down Senór Bonitez' gardening books and seeing him on his way, rolling her eyes as he followed her to the café side and sat down, taking his time to order and changing his mind about four times before settling on a bicerin like he always did.  As she sorted him out she fought with herself, bitter doubts creeping in under her skin like slivers and silverfish.  'He probably realized you're easy,' hissed the little voice in her mind.  'He knows you're gagging for him, no need to keep up the lies now when he knows you'll let him do anything.  Just like the rest.'

    'Shut up!  Shut up shut up.  He isn't like that.  I know he isn't.  Can't you just shut up?'

    'You're already too much and you'll chase him away, you know you will.'

    Carlita watched her through it all, noticing the twisted lip that quirked down whenever she looked out the door and the aggravated shaking of her head, but waiting for her to finish up with Senór Bonitez, knowing he was finicky even on the best days.  

    "I haven't seen Bruno today.  Maybe he got tied up at Casita, the holiday and all..." Elena said, chewing her lip.

    "Ay, bellamente!" Senór Bonitez spoke over his coffee cup and copy of Herbolario Colombiano.  "He's been coming in here for ages.  Thought I'd never get to check these out if he didn't leave."

    The silverfish snapped out of her head as she spun on the dumpy little man dripping weak espresso on her book.  "Excuse me?"

    Senór Bonitez continued sipping his coffee, and Carlita leaned back, moving hers out of the way.  Elena watched the waving hand shooing at her with ill-concealed contempt.  "Such a wretched little man you know.  No spine, ruins anything he touches!  It's good to see you've come to your senses and given him the boot!"

    "Senór Bonitez, explain yourself.  Now."  A wooden creaking and the rasp of nails cut through the air, but he carried on heedless, tapping his book to the counter.

    "Oh, I meant no offense, Senóra Pascual.  Surely you know he's un canalla?  Why, your own Guillermo died because of him!"

    "Memo died saving six other men after weeks of everyone doing everything they could to prevent that rockfall.  Keep his name and Bruno's out of your mouth."

    "Now, querida, people were starting to talk!  What sort of man does what he's done?" He hushed, her tone surprising him.  "Renata's sworn she saw him molesting you in the dance hall, the Chavez boy thinks he's got you under a spell, and everyone knows he paid Carlos to assault you!"

    A frigid blue silence fell over them in a deluge, the ugly bruise of the rumor smelling of sulfur amid the coffee and lignin.  Slicing through it was the stuttered grating of teeth and spine as Elena's jaw squared and her back straightened.  Deliberately she emptied her hands, placing mute tools on the counter before stepping away.  She removed the books from Senór Bonitez' hands and set them aside, and took his cup from his limp grasp, his wet hands offering no resistance.

    He wore his coffee poorly, his limp mustache soaking it up and staining as it dripped onto his shirt, and he howled as hostile nails crumpled his ear, the moist cartilage popping.

    "Ya terminaste.  Doña Alma will hear about this.  You will not come into my shop and spew mierda asquerosa about mi pareja!  Get out, and tell Renata and the Rosario twins and whoever else is spreading bullshit they know where to find me!"

    She threw him out the café door to twist under her pergola, whining and rubbing at his ear with a face like a donkey.

    "The miracle has kept you safe since you fell over the mountains, and he is part of it.  Remember that and get out of my sight."

    It was that scene that Bruno walked up to as he took the back alleys again, a jade inkling at the back of his mind telling him that he'd do better to creep in silently, already having missed the day.  He hung back and watched the door a moment, knowing she was waiting and giving her time to cool off.

    Carlita watched as Elena dusted her hands, taking a breath to collect herself as she sopped up the coffee and cream from the floor and stool.

    "Dolores, if your abuela doesn't already know, you damn well tell her!" she swore as she tossed the rag in the sink and flopped onto the counter, letting Carlita pat her head.  "Ignore him, Domingo has always been an idiot."

    "I just don't understand how they can say all that.  He's not...He's never been..."

    "I know, Leni.  And you know.  That's enough.  Let it go, let them make fools of themselves and let Alma sort it out.  It's only your fight if they bring it here, you won't do him any favors by chasing them down."  Elena sighed, knowing she was right.  "I can't help it.  He can defend himself...he just...doesn't."

    "He will.  Give him time.  He's been dealing with the abuse for years, you know it takes a while to fight back.  He's got you in his corner now.  Let him figure out what that means before you make yourself his bulldog."

    "Car, you're getting philosophical again.  Go have Julio knock some sense out of you."

    "Well when you put it like that...see you at the rodeo!" the baker laughed, hopping off her stool and making her way out the door as the clock chimed five.

    Elena shook her head and went to reshelve the gardening books, looping to grab some of the return pile on her way, wistfully loading the six and seven hundreds and wondering idly if Miércoles would always be their odd day.  It certainly seemed to be shaping up that way, but she didn't want to read too much into it. She heard the door to the café jingle open and shook her head.  "Unless it's the Parks, we're closed!"  She heard no response, and shrugged, figuring on someone's poor timing.

    Books tumbled to the floor as wiry arms came around her waist, her yelp of surprise cut short by familiar lips at her ear, a gravelly desperate whine flitting across her hearing as the smell of grass and vetiver drifted in the air. 

    "Hermosa..."

    "I missed you today," she laughed as he swayed behind her, brushing kisses into the tender spot under her earlobe and pulling her close, heat radiating from him and into her back as he kneaded soft circles into her stomach.  "Lo siento, ninfa.  My nerves and my sisters conspired against us, woke up late and got kidnapped."

    "What are you up to?"

    "Nothing but you," he hummed as he trailed his lips down her shoulder, hand coming up to pull her blouse and bra down in one smooth motion, laugh rattling from his chest to hers as she gasped.  He spun her around, backing her into the shelf, his mouth on hers instantly and insistent, the linen of his shirt dragging at her nipples as he closed the gap between them.  He covered a breast with his hand as his other pulled her skirt up, blunt nails scoring up her leg as he wrapped it around his hip, pressing against her as he strained against his fly.  

    His hands and mouth were everywhere at once, brushing at her back, hot against her inner thigh, pinching and suckling and desperate at her nipples as his stubble scratched her and his hips bucked clothed against hers as her head spun and her throat betrayed her, words lost as her spine burned away electric and heat flooded her, pooling low in her belly and slicking her folds as he teased her nipples with his tongue and his teeth and his twisting fingers, his breath panting across her skin along a pricking path that had gooseflesh running down every part of her.  

    "What's gotten into you?" She panted against him as he nibbled at the underside of her jaw, pausing to trace the line of her ear with his tongue, his hand running up her thigh, tracing blazing lines where it went.  She'd lost a hand in his loose tangle of curls, and crumpled his shirt in the other, fingers twisting at his ever present bag of salt.

    "You.  You live under my skin and scorch me whole.  Vamos a quemar juntas en las sombras, mi oréade.  Mi ninfa."

    The hand at her thigh fisted in her skirt and shoved it roughly in her waistband as she shivered against him, lost and laying her own trail of fire down his neck with her tongue.  He wrenched her underwear down and found her soaking as he jammed his hand between her half trapped legs, fingers ghosting over tender skin before cupping her, her breath hitching little moans into his ear as he slid his palm along her folds, taking her mouth again and teasing at her lips with his tongue, mimicking the motion with his hands at her seam, pad of his finger teasing against her entrance in slow circles.  She sobbed against his neck as her hands twisted against him, and he dipped the very tip of his finger inside her, pressing against the rim of her fluttering muscles only to the first knuckle, sucking a nipple hungrily and worrying it between his teeth, chuckling around her as she gave a weak cry.  She tugged at his hair and pulled his lips back up to hers, biting his lip and dancing her tongue frantically against his.

    He had worn no belt today, and had wrestled two buttons of his fly loose before going to shove them down his hips, cock eager and leaking into his underwear as it strained against them so harshly his abdomen hurt with want.  Then the door to the café opened. 

    "Senóra Pascual?" 

    Elena froze in his grasp as he moved to cover her, all eyes wide with panic even though the entirety of the library shelves stood between them and the café door.  His hand slipped away from her and she moaned from the loss as she cracked her head against the shelf behind her in tooth cracking frustration as she hissed.

   "Shitshitshit it's the Parks on business!  Mierda I forgot!"

   A sound somewhere between a sob and a defeated laugh left him as he pressed her against the shelves, a a hundred chaste kisses falling on her lips and cheeks as he righted her clothes, a quiet sigh and a shake of his head as he stepped back, smoothing her hair down and giving a remorseful smile before turning to leave, his eyes too wide, his shoulders and hands twitching, the hunch he'd been throwing off returning at the prospect of being caught literallywith his pants down, a weatherbeaten fear written deep in the shadowed lines of his face.  "Take care of your shops, Elena.  I should have come earlier.  I won't make that mistake again.  Until tomorrow, mi sol ardiente."

    "Bruno, wait, you could...you could stay!"

    He turned back, fastening his fly and the sheepish blush she'd grown used to on full display as he shook his head.  "No, I can't.  I'm no good like...like this. Y eres tan querida para mi.  Please.  See to this.  Tell me all about it tomorrow.  Misbehave for me tonight, mi hermosa Elena."

    Elena slid down the shelves, derailed and half delirious and furious with herself for not locking the fucking doors.  Senór Park found her there, and asked if she was alright, which she answered too cheerfully as she stood, dusting off her skirt and leading him and his wife to the café counter.  Binna insisted on making the tea, fiddling with taps and cabinets as Kim translated Elena's directions.  A half hour wasted away at that task alone, another half in the drinking and the stilted introductions and awkwardness small talk became when filtered through the center of a Venn diagram of languages.  

    The Parks took another hour to settle on the use and compensation for the stall, not wanting to be indebted to an essential stranger through their cultural sense of gift obligation.  Elena tried to pay attention, she really did, but the searing indolence pulsing through her stole her sharpness away and had her asking for Senór Park to repeat himself enough that she could see him beginning to grow annoyed.

    Park Binna, for her part, watched the faces of her husband and the sturdy woman behind the counter, with her too loud but kind voice and her fly away frizz of curls so common to the people in this new place.  She had seen the small man darting out the same door they'd come in, the one Kim told her was jeomjaeng-i, a soothsayer, that the town seemed to fear.  She saw Senóra Pascual turning her eyes to the door, and the blush on her cheeks, and the fading love bites all along her neck.  She was grateful the older woman had offered her the stall, wanting to do what she could to help her husband, but Kim was taking so long to hash things out.  Senóra Pascual had always stood out as someone who didn't drag her feet, but she was too distracted.  Binna drew on the countertop with a wetted finger and tapped it subtly when Senora Pascual's eyes slid across.  An hourglass, the symbol she'd seen him wearing on his strange robes, and a cup with a line connecting them.  At her smile and nod, Binna gently patted Kim's arm, hand gently cradling her stomach.  Let his nerves take them home.  

    Elena watched them leave, not entirely happy with the final arrangements but not caring as her clock chimed seven and she locked the doors.  She groaned and buried her face in her hands, the vetiver scent of his cologne and the salt and herb smell that clung to his clothes and hair still on her skin.  "Goddamn you, Bruno." She growled, stomping up the stairs to her loft, tearing off her blouse as she went, finally, finally giving in.  She'd known she would, known his visions were always, always true, but damn the man for making this one so. Fucking.  Insistent.  She watched minutes tick by as she ignored the singing in her skin, sitting on her hands as she shook her head, furious that he'd run off but knowing why, the panic in his face too clear to miss, so counter to what he'd said to her that all she could do was laugh.  A stubborn little part of her almost wanted to prove him wrong, to keep sitting on her hands and throw on her thickest robe and go to bed after three glasses of wine and prove that insufferable, inexorable man wrong,  but she burned too brightly and had sat to simmer for too long, and was boiling over.  He would pay for this long game he'd played, though she'd played right along, too intrigued to see how far he'd go to dare ignore his gentle request she behave herself, even though she knew he hadn't, not entirely.  A simple plan of her own formed in her mind as she stood, the throbbing between her legs finally too much to bear.

    She removed the rest of her clothes, letting them all fall in a pile beside her lonely bed before drawing the curtain on Chacha's enclosure, hoping she'd sleep in the dark as she turned down her lights, delighting in the cool air of her room gliding across her bare skin as she flitted around her loft, half lost in her head as she built the scenario, running her hands down her body as she made it back to her sheets, laying town and tensing her thighs together for the barest hint of friction, her lips already slick again from her quick imagination.  She fanned her hair out on her pillow and ran her fingertips down her neck, the faint whisper against her tender lovebites sending a chill across her skin, raising gooseflesh again as she closed her eyes and let herself sink into the fantasy that built there.

     Her hands trailed down slowly between her breasts and then to the tender undersides, where she ran her nails gently, gently, just enough to make her breath hitch, her nipples pinching to peaks at the sensation before she took them, twisting and thumbing and stroking carefully, going harder to remember his hands on her with their warm dry palms and thin callouses that sent licks of flame from her tits to her spine and further.  She cupped them roughly and sighed, twining in the sheets against too-small hands, missing his slight but solid weight beside her.  She craned her neck, twisting awkwardly to trail her tongue over what it could reach of her breasts, licking her thumbs and using them to mimic the nibbling path he'd tasted across her, her cunt pulling at the sensation as she sighed and rubbed her thighs together harder.

    She traced one hand down her sternum, tentatively playing down the line of her stomach with spit slicked fingers, letting the air hit them and chill them in parallel lines of ice that had her wriggling deeper into her bed.  She followed the line of her navel down to her neatly trimmed curls and ran her hand up her thighs, faint up before dragging her nails down the soft flesh, leaving pale tracks as they sparked a lovely scouring pain that had the muscles beneath twitching.  She winnowed a hand between her legs, stroking those maddening little circles of his before digging her hand into the giving softness and forcing them open, planting her feet flat to her mattress for resistance, the cool air hitting her soaked core as she hissed, stroking at the inlet of her thighs and the creases where leg met body with both hands now, wishing her fingers were his and wanting nothing more than to have his face buried in her and lapping at her folds.

    She stroked herself gently with her left hand, the strangeness adding a thrill that she could imagine as him with her eyes closed, wide careful sweeps with three slicked fingers flat against her lips as she spread herself, the first pass drawing out a quiet groan as a thrumming fog began to build behind her eyes, the swell of her lips awakening every nerve as she passed over them, purposely avoiding her clit with each pass until a coiled tension melted down her spine to pool at her center.  She circled it slowly, starting just underneath where it buried into her body to ghost over it, twitching at each movement before speeding her movements, dipping into her opening and spreading her wetness and striking a new and brilliant match with ever pass of her fingers.  She pressed harder and electricity sparked along her skin, her legs twitching as she hitched up, chasing her fingers as one hand came back up to a breast, twisting the nipple firmly as she bit her lip, crying out against it as she bit down, the copper tang in her mouth mixing with her own scent in the air and driving her on, her voice and breath thundering in her ears, her lungs burning as she panted.

     She dipped one finger into her slick, no resistance at all as she crooked it and remembered his hands from before, teasing her ring of muscle mercilessly but going no further.  She needed more, her body on fire and her chest too tight, a second finger joining, pressing into warm flesh and curling upwards to the frilled spot inside her that sent lights dancing across her eyes.  She shook her head, still on fire, blazing, burning, nothing to sooth her, her hands too small, her hands not his, and a third finger joined the others, finally bringing the searing stretch she'd been chasing.  The force of her grip as she ground the heel of her hand into her clit until she saw stars dragged her trembling to the edge, her thighs shaking and her stomach clenched so tightly her body couldn't decide which way to bow and left her rigid on the bed, sweat breaking out at her forehead and breasts and the backs of her knees. 

    She slid her palm across her clit as she pumped her fingers in and out, in and out in a torturous pace, chasing the coiled spring at the base of her spine as it fled from her, as it ran away wild and begged for more.  She twisted her nipple fiercely, nails scoring bright lines of pain that raced to her clit and jolted her to cry out, her fingers diving into her cunt up to the last knuckle, curling up and around and pulling fire from her belly to every nerve of her, her clit pressed desperately down to the bone as suns blinded her behind her eyelids, a rasping keen tearing from her throat as she arched against the mattress, his name on her lips as she drove down the fury and fell over the edge into the waiting swirling sea.  

    She chased it even as she captured it, her fingers fluttering inside her and drawing her further down, and she knew at the bucking of her hips and the rawness of her throat that she screamed, a vision of glowing green eyes haunting her, watching her as she trembled and seized and was pulled down deeper and drowning, voice trapped in her throat as she clamped her legs around her wrist to save herself from the sweet wrenching pain she drew out, and she fell finally back against the bed shuddering in aftershocks, the room spinning one way and her mind the other, a gentle rocking swaying her, limp and sated, legs fallen akimbo, one hand coyly fallen over a breast, the other brought up and tangled in her hair as she drifted off wrung out and exhausted to the illusion of those bright green eyes.

Chapter Text

    It was raining when Bruno made his way to the café early the next morning, actually bothering to set one of Casita's gifted alarm clocks.  He regretted it immediately when Casita saw fit to funnel his mother's conversation to his father's portrait straight to his door.  Meddlesome house.  She only did this at the portrait when she felt the need to, it seemed, probably gun-shy about falling again.  Could a house have a phobia?  He knew she did the same with their rooms, the fear of being overheard always at the edge of his mind when Elena teased him about having not seen it yet.  Though he couldn't help but smirk at his mother's begrudging confession.  Not that he'd ever tell her he'd heard it.  Though if it made it to Elena's ears that was hardly his fault.  He had waited until he felt he was in the clear before forcing himself down to breakfast and enduring the curious stares of his sisters and their husbands as he snuck sweet mojicones into the little bag in his pocket.  He could see Pepa dying to ask him just why he'd come home so late, Julieta nudging her quiet whenever she opened her mouth.  He didn't want to admit he'd spent an hour and a half winding barefoot through the chilled river cooling down and silently venting his frustration by throwing stones into the water to scare the fish before he'd swept home, eating quickly before disappearing into his room and locking his door.   

    He had gone to the very back of his room, to his hidden new vision cave, with the vision plate in hand.  The new cave opened much like his old one had, but the round door opened with a clever hidden mechanism instead of brute force, the ever-cycling sandfall that hid it parting with the grating rumble of stones above to allow him to pass without getting sandblasted to oblivion.  A defuse glow lit the area dimly at night, a far off skylight made of clear crystal spreading sunlight to the furthest corners during the day The floor sloped gently downward until the center, where a raised section stood like the upturned cap of a mushroom, strewn with woven mats and soft cushions inside an ever present circle of sand.  

     A shallow pit was scooped out in the middle, littered with bowls around a crank turning grate to dump the ashes of central fires. Divots in the wall stood open, wind triggered Moroccan screens hiding just in the rocks, to fall when a vision was performed and protect his ritual things.  A palo santo tree grew in one corner, a large patterned screen guarding it as the sun filtered in.  A dead branch reached towards the inner sanctum, clearly meant to be used.  Open bowls heaped high with white copal and brown myrrh, black bezoin and red dragons' blood and gold frankincense sat waiting for his selection.  Glass jars with wide corks sat behind them full of dried leaves; mimosa, rue, coca and yaruma, to be burned along with the resin.  Salt and sugar stood in deep urns tall as his waist on either side of the palo santo tree's gateway. Casita had accepted his ritual as part of his gift and provided well for him.  He almost felt guilty for using the room for this, but shook it off as he gathered what he needed and settled in.  It was his room, to use as he saw fit.  It wasn't like whatever magic ran the house wasn't used to adult shenanigans.  His sisters did have six children between them, after all. 

     He hadn't traced a vision in years, but he felt invigorated to try it again now.  It was only possible when he knew the exact date the vision would occur, and he smiled as he gazed at Elena's form embedded in the emerald slab.  He lit his fires and shed his clothes, storing them in one of the shelves and settling in, the vision plate held tightly in his hands as he breathed in the spiraling smoke and let it soothe his brain, opening the back of his mind where time swirled in a verdant flurry.  He scanned it with his mind's eye until he felt the strand he was looking for, the bluing swirl of turquoise and malachite among the emerald and latched on, his eyes flying open as he fell back onto the cushions.  The winds that picked up during his true visions were still as he traced the line of time to the present, sharper and more vibrant than the far-flung views he was used to.  There was a vague pulling at the backs of his eyes, but this took such little effort that he wasn't worried, too caught up in the ghostly image before him.   
    In all the hues of the forest and sea floated Elena as she had been in the vision, rendered by time in irradiant detail.  Her hair a writhing juniper, her skin a lustrous emerald and shaded in moss, her tattoos outlined in near-black evergreen as her shade drifted in front of him, before he turned to his side, nudging the image with his mind to lie beside him as he watched transparent hands flit over jewel toned skin, hypnotized and hyper aware of the shades movements.  He traced his hands in the hollow air around the form as he observed her, almost clinical as his own body sang and soared and burned, ignoring himself as he took in what the vision had promised in the bower all those days ago.  His fingers tingled with a foggy hum as they passed over the wraith beside him, the pressure at the back of his eyes pulsing as it became just a little more real at his touch.  His palms burned, the rush traveling up his arms and down his body, the shadow of her distant arousal mixing with his own.  It set his pulse thundering in his ribs and roaring in his ears, a violent shiver drafting down his skin like ice. 
    Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt vaguely guilty again, a familiar itch almost, an old wound nearly healed.  He ignored the little voice telling him he was no better than a sucio mirón.  Elena didn't know he could do this, no one did, but he knew that she knew that he knew what she was up to, and had shown precisely no objection to him knowing that since they'd started this dangerous little game of theirs.  He watched as the iridescent shade of her teased and tortured herself before throwing herself from the edge, the ghost of her body an arched bow against the mats, face caught in a delirium that he committed to memory as he fell right along with her, breaking languidly with a twitching cry, his release taking him by surprise from the lack of physical stimulation.  He'd had enough presence of mind to drag himself to his bed afterwards before passing out, dreams full of her but body too worn to do anything else about it.   

    He shook his head free of his reverie and pulled up the hood of his ruana against the steady rain, going the long way around the town as he tried to reign in his mortification from the day before, not sure what was worse, that he'd run out like a coward or that he'd almost gotten them caught and ruined whatever business she had with the Korean couple, knowing she needed it.  He walked under the canopy of the trees, letting them take most of the rain as he went, breaking up a mojicone and feeding tidbits to Hector, Coco, and Pecasita, all of whom had come along for the ride and were clearly regretting their decision as they sheltered in his hood from the rain.  When it was gone, he began scanning the foliage, gathering wild orchids and begonias and Inca lilies in every shade from lavender to oxblood to gold as he went, knowing it was a poor apology but having nothing else to offer her.   

    Elena occasionally found herself hating she wasn't a complete orphan.  This morning was one of those times as Mariano took up Bruno's usual seat at the counter and ordered too many morocchinos, wiggling like a flop-eared puppy in his seat as he passed notes to her.  Why her primito had come to her for help instead of literally any of their other cousins was beyond her, other than maybe he had finally twigged on to the unfortunate Guzman trait of talking too loud that was often paired with not knowing when to shut up.   
    He'd been waiting at the door at six thirty with a bribe bouquet of oleander and aconite that she'd immediately thrown in her bin, cuffing his head after she'd scrubbed her hands and forced him to do the same and lighting into him for trying to poison her customers. 
    "Isabela would have been rid of you in a week, you tonto!  How many times have I told you those are poisonous?" 
    "Lo siento, Leni!  I forgot, I forgot!  Please, I know it's early, but I need your help.  With Dol--" 
    "Aht shh shh shh!" she hissed, cutting him off and grabbing a notebook from under the counter.  ~Don't say it!~ The 'idiot' implied. 
    His eyes had lit up even as a patchy flush bloomed across his slightly crooked nose.  ~I'm going to marry her!~ 
    Elena rolled her eyes, starting up the machines and adding a drop of oil to the sticking grinder.  "Tell me something I don't know." 
    "I mean...Oops."  ~I'm going to ask her to marry me!~ 
    With a long suffering sigh, she shook her head and snatched the book from him, scribbling furiously.   ~not writing a book, say it plain~ 
    Mariano shrugged and nodded, taking back the paper and asking for his too sweet drink.  ~I need a ring.  Can’t give her the one abuela picked  You can draw.  and help with Sr. Perez?~ 
    "Fine.  You owe me."  At least he was smart enough to not recycle a ring.
    "Anything!" 
    Elena grinned, more than pleased to take advantage of her little cousin's gullible nature but keeping the open door in her back pocket for later.  She gathered some better paper and a good pencil, and sat it off to the side as he scratched out descriptions and heavy handed drawings, the two of them going back and forth for over an hour before she could make any sense of his overpoetic scribblings and had a rough sketch building of a rather dainty ring, the set of the stones still nebulous on the top and sideview, but the band clearly lain out, a medium and intricate thing reminiscent of of her worn Persian rugs with its engraved acanthus leaves.     

    She dealt with customers as they filtered in and out in a steady stream in the early morning, the day knocking her off rhythm on already unsteady legs as they split their patronage almost evenly between bookshop, café, and bibliotheca, taking up room at the stools and chatting with her cousin, sitting soggily to dry off at the café tables and the couches and chairs, all but Bruno's, which was left alone.  They brought in an earth smelling dampness and a rise in temperature that made the seams of her blouse stick to her just enough to be constantly aware of them, a persistent tugging at her skin.  The fields were too sodden to work, the rain having sparked some time in the night and had drummed a steady beat against the ground without stopping since, and people were restless in anticipation of the holiday, her shops sheltered and quiet for planning.  She had no time to truly think and was so distracted between the mooring drum of the rain and the constant stream of customers, so when Bruno finally made an appearance an hour and a half after opening, as damp as everyone else and laden with a madcap and dripping bouquet of flowers, it wasn't she who greeted him, but Mariano. 
    "Tio Bruno!"  She had to laugh as Mariano bowled him over, seizing him up in a bearhug and laughing as if he hadn't just seen him two days prior and forgetting himself.  He squealed like a piglet as three rats hopped onto his shoulders from out of Bruno's hood, and dropped him.  Bruno brushed himself down, unimpressed, before pulling his ruana off one handed and hanging it on one of the hooks on the wall to dry.  "You're just dating my niece, I'm not your tio yet," he groused, mouth pulled down in pique. 
      Elena rolled her eyes and rescued Hector, Pecasita, and Coco from Mariano's pitiful shoulders and set them loose, watching as they squeezed under her loft door to play with Chacha, who was chittering noisily enough to be heard downstairs, agitated at the rain trapping her inside.  Mariano laughed, sheepish hand at his neck before gesturing to a stool, clearly meaning Bruno to sit next to him.  "And you're dating my cousin, we're all familia here!" he said boisterously as he sat back down.  Bruno blinked, an eyebrow quirked towards her. 
    "Wait, you're his cousin?"  Elena snorted, shaking her head and marveling at his unpredictable obliviousness.  He could tell almost instinctively now when something was wrong or weighing on her mind, but had somehow missed a detail that everyone in town had known for the entire thirty-six years of her life since she and Julio had been carried and swaddled together everywhere like a pair of mis-matched socks. 
    "He's like my second cousin once removed or something. Pilar is my mother's first cousin.  Could never keep that straight." 
    "Still your cousin though," Mariano laughed, butting in between her and Bruno and wiggling his eyebrows as she began the usual espresso.  She flicked his crooked nose sharply and scoffed as he fell back to his stool.  "Don't be like that Nahno, I changed your diapers," she admonished, shaking the tamper at him as Bruno snorted. 
    "You're only eight years older than me!" 
    "Yes, and sometimes you drove your mother crazy and she handed you to the nine year old.  You also weren't potty trained until four."  Bruno snickered at his mortified face, his eyes darted around, trying to determine if the sound had carried. 
    "Please don't tell Dolores." 
    "You know she already heard...'Nahno,'"  Bruno laughed before remembering the lively bouquet in his hand, which he brought up and thrust at her, his face blazing.  "For you.  For...yesterday.  I'm so sorry...I shouldn't...shouldn't have acted that way..." 
    Elena gave him an indulgent smile and pulled him across the counter along with the flowers, kissing him sweetly and thumbing lightly at his stubble.  "I didn't mind, sátiro lindo," she giggled, plucking the flowers from his grasp and placing them in the broken percolator vase, breathing in their perfume and turning to hang Roberto's just wilting bouquet up on a wall hook to dry, liking the brightness of them.  "You have nothing to apologize for, hombre tonto.  It's my fault.  I need to take better care to lock my doors, next time."  She gave him a wink and handed him his coffee as Mariano turned to him, frowning.  "What have you done that you need to apologize to Leni for?"   
    "Mariano, leave him alone and think about what you just asked," Elena snorted, thumb smoothing down Bruno's nervous tapping fingers.  "Do you really want to know that much about my sex life?" 
    Bruno spluttered into his coffee and stared at her as Mariano paled and ducked away, avoiding eye contact before going to wander in the library shelves at the seven-hundreds, shaking his head. 
    "Elena, we didn't..." Bruno mumbled, coughing at the little white lie.   
    "No," she stroked his cheek and traced his lips with her thumb, her own face burning as she whispered, "but it was so very close.  No one but us needs to know we haven't yet.  Let them believe what they want.  They already think we're fucking like rabbits.  I'm having too much fun riling them all up to let them think otherwise." 
    "Take pity on an old man, would you?" he huffed, the same stricken look she remembered from Domingo flitting across his face as he traced the veins of her wrist with his thumb, lost in thought, the tender smile tinged with something mischievous.  "What did the Parks want?"   
    She explained it in broad strokes, the details fuzzy for reasons obvious enough to him from the continued blazing of her cheeks.  She'd sublet her stall for a percentage of sales.  He hoped the rain held off tomorrow for her sake.  It was a natural rain from the mountains, and Pepa had learned decades ago not to fight too hard with those if she could help it.  

     He watched her work as Silvia and her friends came in for their chinchón game, dashing in as quick as old legs could take them.  Sofia Rendon with her walnut dyed hair and thick glasses, fighting with her ratty umbrella as she stood to the side. Guadalupe Marquez, complaining about her son Tito and his perpetual bachelorhood, glaring over at him and Elena, mostly him, as she sat pulling cards from her purse.  Meme Rivera brought up the rear, the old doctor's wife the oldest and brightest dressed of the lot, waving so enthusiastically at them her white dreads slithered down her back, bright smile splitting her broad face.  Silvia made her way to the counter as her friends got set up.  He groaned as she sat next to him, following his eyes as he watched Elena, who knew the ladies' orders by heart, their chinchón game a law that had only been interrupted twice since the shops had opened. 
"You always did have the patience of a saint, Brunito," she laughed, quiet behind the hiss of the machines.  "You both look like you're starving." 
    "Silv, please," he grumbled, burying his nose in his coffee and hiding his face with his loose hair, "Not for lack of trying..." 
    "Well, there's that at least!  I was this close to taking bets on who would wind up naked in the street first." 
    "Silvia!  Really, you're as bad as mi familia.  You're officially banned from talking to Félix.  Ever." he hacked, espresso going down the wrong way for the second time before he gave up and just set the cup behind the counter.  "What, precisely, is the wait at this point?" she charged on, thin eyebrow arched at him.  "You wind her up any tighter she'll kill you both.  Not a bad way to go, but still!"  She paused, leaning back to consider him a moment before continuing.  "You know...if it's a--ah--performance issue, you can come to me, sí?  You wouldn't be the first man over forty that needed one of my pocións." 
    He blanched and clapped a hand over his eyes, wishing once again he could send a slap through time, this time to his twenty-seven year old self for ever having followed her home from the bar as he tried to sink into the counter.  "Por amor de dios, No, Silv!  I just have horrible timing."  He wavered for a moment, watching Elena again as she came from her storage closet, hefting a fresh sack of coffee beans under their usual spot in the counter, tossing the fifty pounds like it was nothing and swiftly marrying it with the remains of the old sack before tearing the burlap into rags and continuing blithely on humming and placing the ladies orders on their table as she danced to her tune, heedless of his stare as he felt suddenly very aware of the realities of his age.  "But...I'll...keep that in mind."   
    "You do that.  And you treat her well.  In another life...she would have been my nuera, I think."  Her misty eyes looked into the middle distance, and for a moment her smile fell and she looked every one of her sixty-four years, and he took her hand in his, rough from working too long in the fields, knowing she was thinking of her son.  "Silv...I did everything I could to keep it from happening.  The town...I had to filter everything through my mother just to get them to listen.  Time...the future...some things just...lo siento, gran arpía." 
    The old nickname got her out of her head with a laugh.  She had forgotten his interest in mythology over the years.  "I knew the moment you handed me that vision it would happen, ramita.  Guillermo was happy enough in the end.  I've never blamed you.  Tell me, what mítica have you named her?" 
    He felt his ears pink at that, but smiled, eyes trailing as she moved, never still, straightening the bookshop shelves with that same hum and swivel.  "Mi ninfa.  Mi oréade.  The nymph from the mountain." 
    "You're more lost than Memo ever was, but then again, he was half in love with your sister," she said as she patted his arm with a knowing grin, hopping off the stool to titter with her friends and whisper something to Elena, who cackled and shook her head. 

    Strong little arms came around to squeeze his middle unexpectedly, her chin resting on his shoulder as she leaned her head against his, pulling him against her chest as she snickered.   
    "Silvia makes you blush almost as much as I do.  Should I be jealous?" 
    "Not--not a chance." 
    "Good.  I like Silv.  And I don't have anyplace to hide the body." 
    "Tal una guerrera over me." 
    "You're worth fighting for, mi tonto.  And don't act like you don't enjoy every minute of watching me do it." 
    He chuckled at that, caught out again by her sharpness.  "There's a...placer freudiano to watching you.  Especially when you start sparring with my mother.”  Her hands drifted further down, not caring that the shop was full of patrons as one slipped his belt loose and the other snuck under his fly to cup him, making him bite his tongue to keep from whining.  His eyes darted, blindsided by her boldness and the speed she had blood rushing to his groin with that clever little hand. 
    "You shouldn't talk about your mother when my hands are on your cock." she hissed in his ear, leaning them both forward and squeezing as he swelled in her hand, tongue teasing at his ear as he gulped audibly. 
    "I rea--really shouldn't," he stuttered, leaning back against her before batting her hands away, shaking his head and looking vaguely green as he fought with himself before taking them in his own and covering himself with his shirt and holding them to his chest, considering as he stroked that broad gold thumb ring, his mouth working in distaste.  He shook his head again, failing to jostle loose the thoughts that had taken hold and squeezing her hands in apology. 
    "I hate my brain somedays.  I can't help it.  I heard her talking to...to my father this morning, before anyone else was up.  She sees herself in you, you know.  How she was before the Encanto.  It's why she...why she hates you..." 
    "Now I know you're pulling my leg!  And Alma doesn't hate me...I don't think....I'm just the bitch stealing her son."   
    "You are not.  Pero soy serio," he said as she drifted back to the counter, interrupted to fill the carafes as the Castillo brothers came in under canvas shaking their heads like dogs, Mando's mustache drooping and Abe's beard dripping as they grumbled.  "I just got all your grit out of my seats from Martes!" she exclaimed with a sigh as she got their usual pots going, calling them idiots for trying to work at the quarry in the rain.  "Memo would have smacked you both stupid.  But his mother's here, maybe she can do you the favor.  Silv?"   
    He laughed quietly as his old amante obliged, getting up from her chinchón hand and whacking them both upside the head with her hefty purse before sitting back down with a wink to Elena as they sat, chastised.   

    He took her hand back as soon as she was behind the counter and pressed it to his lips, ignoring the snickers of the stone masons down at the corner and keen to continue.       
    "Does...does it bother you?  The...that she can...that I can...see it?" 
    Elena debated with herself, but nodded, deciding on honesty, curious more than anything to see what he would say.  "You know how I feel about your mother. Please. Explain what you see.  I won't be mad, I just...your Mamá has some ways I just can't stand." 
    "You..." he started, then stopped himself, looking at her pitifully and fighting with his throat.  "It's not...so much the way you act.  It's the...the glow around you.  Indomable y firme."  He paused, turning her hand over in his own and studying it,  acting every inch the fortune teller as he traced the lines of her palm, all distinct against her skin, the head line branching and independent, the heart line broken just under her index finger, arrow straight and solid after the split, her life line carved so deeply into her thumb he could have found it in the dark.      
    "You could survive anything and come up roaring.  I see it.  I can't help but see it when it's there in every move you make, under your skin as you dance in the street with...with snakes and defend me as easy as breathing.  But...there's a...a softness too.  You...you don't...you aren't…made of stone.  You pour your heart out to anyone who needs it and I don't know how you can have so much left, but you do.  Even when it hurts you you open your heart and make room for whoever needs that...that care"  He felt his face burning, aware by the shrill eyes raking his back that he could be heard, but didn't care, not when she looked like he'd just handed her his heart.  And maybe he had.  Of course he had.  "Before...before she became "Doña Alma" ...she was just my mother.  Our gifts...I think they broke something in her.  She lost that...that openness.  She knows it, and it...it hurts her to see it in you. When...when Casita fell...she told Mirabel she thought she'd be a different woman.  She said the same to the portrait this morning, then just...started ranting about you.  Breakfast was awkward." 
    Elena laughed at that, shaking her head and resting her face in the palms of his hands, open and trusting and smiling against his fingers and kissing each one before standing.  "Ridículo dulce hablador.  Freudiano indeed.  Eres Edipo?  Should I start hiding my hair pins?"  
    "Ugh, I didn't mean it like that!" he huffed, face crumpling in distaste.  "Forget I said anything, chalada."
    "Never," she teased, waving him off as she took advantage of the lull to straighten up, ignoring the snickers of the Castillo brothers, who'd heard the whole thing and never going to let her live it down.  A notebook was shifted in front of him and he saw the drawings of a ring, clearly an engagement ring, and his mind went blank with a gray wash of dread, breaking out in a cold sweat as his stomach dropped.  His eyes darted as his heart hammered, before he remembered to put out his hand.    

    "...Elena...?"
    She paused only long enough to set the mug she was drying on it's hook before taking his hand in hers.
    "You're ok, Bruno.  Whatever it is, you're ok.  I've got you."
    Mutely he showed her the drawings, his eyes darting still, eyebrows immediately running for his hairline as she laughed and switched hands, scribbling on the back of the picture and turning the paper around.  ~no wedding bells for us tonto.  Idiot primo needs help.  you get a new sobrino!~
    Panic washed off him so quickly she saw him shiver.  If they hadn't been so new she might have been offended, but Bruno was the type of man who would have panicked about that sort of slip up even if they'd been living in sin for ten years and had the family the town was convinced lived in the mountains.  He reached for the pencil, his brow furrowed as he scratched across the paper, twigging onto the why of it instantly. ~should have seen it.  why's it unfinished?~
    She shrugged and went to the stacks for a moment, dragging Mariano back to the stool by his elbow.  He'd been looking for a book on jewelry making and gotten distracted in the arts section.  "Ask him."
    "Ask me what?" Mariano said, confused as to why his prima had dragged him back to the front when he'd been absorbed in a book about fly-tying.  Bruno pointed to the page and his question, and waited for the younger man to write his answer.  ~can't decide.  also what stone?~  

     "You're hopeless, Mariano.  You do know that, right?" he snarked before hunching over the notebook.  Elena knew that squint by now as the pencil danced over the paper, and poured him another coffee, placing it in arms reach and telling Mariano to let him be.  He asked for a frothing spatula and used it as a ruler without looking up, pencil twirling in his hand as he sketched and erased and redrew slowly, hand lifted off the paper to avoid smudging.  She kissed the crown of his head and patted his shoulder before turning to her cousin.
    "He'll be a while, Nahno.  May as well get comfy.  And check out that book before you bring it to my café counter."   

    The next hour passed in relative quiet.  The Castillo brothers teased her as they left, saying they never would have guessed she'd fall for a poet, and she lost her best dishtowel throwing it at their heads, Mando stuffing it in his pocket and saying he'd bring it back later, which meant never.  Silvia dragged Mariano into a game of manotazo with the ladies.
     He started confidently enough, young enough to be their son or grandson and thinking his reflexes would be fast enough to save him, but was quickly set to yelping and hissing in pain by the bony hands of all four women, honed for speed by thousands of hours of wielding chancletas at invading insects and unruly sons alike.  Beatriz poked her head in the door tentatively around ten, and poked it right back out when Elena glared at her, slamming a tamper down so hard on the counter she cracked it, swearing.  Rodrigo came in fifteen minutes later with the kids, all of them covered in rainspots as they sat at the counter.  She sent them upstairs to play with Chacha and the rats in her loft, knowing she would be coming back to a bed jumped to oblivion and the most ambitious of pillow forts.  Chacha was going to kill her.      

"And be careful with la ratas, 'Chito!" she called up the stairs as they went, knowing Bruno would never forgive her if her sobrinitos hurt one of his pets.
    "They'll be fine," he'd assured her, still enthralled in his task, not looking up and utterly distracted.  "Hector bites.  Coco will piss on him if he squeezes too hard." 
    She wondered if he meant to say the quiet part out loud as she laughed, Rigo shaking his head as they caught up, able to speak today and agitated he couldn't get anything done the day before the festival.  "Should have prepped it sooner, you nuez.  I've been telling you for thirty years to stop procrastinating."
    "And I've ignored you for thirty years, too."
    "And look where it got you, pendejo."
    "You kiss him with that mouth?" Rigo snorted, snorting harder when she slugged him in the shoulder.  
    "You want a demonstration?"  she asked, her arms crossed, "or are you going to shut up and keep ruining my espresso with lemons?"  Rodrigo made a bitter face and waved her off, letting his eyes pass over Bruno, still hunched over his sketching.  "Lemons.  You menace."

     "Bea misses you," he said after she handed him his romano, and she snorted.

     "She should have thought of that before she said what she said.  I know you heard all that.  She'll have to find me when I'm not at work and work her ass off to apologize before I'm even willing to listen to her again, and it better not be in the next week!  There's too much going on now and I do not need the stress."
     "Why don't you close up tomorrow?" Bruno piped up, blinking up and rubbing at his wrist.  He didn't look completely satisfied with what he'd drawn, but she could tell from the little shake he'd given that he was finished as he could be.  
     "The whole town will be busy.  Even if I can't run my stall I could still keep the café running."
     "I thought you wanted to let your hair down?"
     She laughed as he took her hand in his, "I do, but I just...I don't know what to do with myself if I'm not working..."
     "Ay, you're as bad as Luisa," he muttered, shaking his head.  "I was going to ask yesterday but...er...well."  His eyes flickered pointedly to the flowers he'd brought her, sitting brightly over the carafes.  "Come to Casita tomorrow, spend the day?  If you're gonna get ants in your pants to work so bad there's always stuff to do there before a party."
     She cocked an eyebrow at him and smirked, leaning in close to whisper against his ear, tongue flitting out to tease him.

     "One of those ants had better be named Bruno."

     "Elena!" He groused, hand at his chest theatrically before losing the thread and snickering, his face covered.  One eye peeped through his long fingers.  "Please? I...I'm not really good with...parties.  Especially not after..." Elena hummed at that but still wavered, glancing around at the shop and making a mental tally of where she was before he squeezed her hand.  There was that pitiful look again, his green eyes wide and hopeful and the slightest pout to his lip. 'Oh damn, he's weaponized it,' she thought as her heart flopped in her chest. 'Dammit Bruno.'

     "Ohh, alright, just put that face away!  You look like a kicked puppy!"

     He grinned at that and turned the paper to her.  She was surprised at the clean, technical lines he'd made, a marquise stone flanked by a triangle of circle cut stones on either side, the rough band she'd drawn fleshed out underneath it.  She stole his pencil with a smile.  
     ~Bruno, this is beautiful!~

     ~She's been planning her wedding since she was nine.  made it easy~
     "You're a good tio, you know that, right?" She said fondly, stroking his cheek.  He turned his face into her hand and smiled before taking the initiative and pulling her across the counter to kiss her, only to snort across her skin a moment later when Rodrigo started making gagging noises.
     "Shut up you!" Elena laughed, turning and tossing half a lemon at him to bounce of his forehead.  "Pinchazo," she muttered, letting Bruno pull her into another kiss across the counter, the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement.  
     "Don't run him off, ninfa.  We both owe him for Lunes."
     "I already thanked him, I'll run him where I please.  Why do you think I'm letting the duendes run amok up in my loft?"
     "The dangers of being una casi tia."
     "Exactly."
     "I'm ignoring the both of you chiflados.  Warn me when the kids come down, Leni."
     "Oh, hush and go read about vaqueros, you gran bulto."
  He made a disgruntled noise as he trailed off, finding a seat out of sight and heaving the most set upon sigh when he got situated.
     “He acts like your brother,” Bruno pondered, watching him go.  Elena shrugged.  “He might as well be.  He adopted me eons ago.”
     “He’s…a good man.  Why did you never…?” Bruno clapped a hand to his mouth.  ‘Not again.  Shut up you idiot, before she kicks you out!  Viejo celoso.’ Elena looked at him curiously, before a tiny blush spread on her cheeks as she decided again on honesty.
     “We did, once.  We were teens and it was awkward and awful and we realized it was a mistake.  Maybe I need to make you jealous more often,” she said as she came around the counter to hold him close, her hand sneaking up his shirt to run her fingers through his chest hair, stroking him like a cat as he clenched his jaw, swallowing.
     “I wish you could see the look you just gave me.  I may need to change mi lencería.”  She slid her hand down and cupped him through his pants, thumb stroking across him almost thoughtfully as she smiled innocently.  “I did tell you I’d get you back.  Don’t get too comfy today, tonto.”
     He swallowed again as she drifted away to check out the gaggle of teens that had gathered around the historietas, loud and obnoxious and the perfect distraction.  No wonder she hadn’t been worried about being caught.  Or maybe that little exhibitionist streak was wider than he'd thought.  He wasn’t even bothered by her admission.  Who didn’t have an encounter like that somewhere in the back of their head, after all?  Outside of Silvia, his entire and unimpressive sexual history was an entire anthology of them.  Bruno groaned and rested his head on his arms on the counter, wishing his ruana was dry so he could hide away, just a little, as he rapped his knuckles on the counter.  Silv had been right, she was going to kill him.  And he couldn’t say he minded. 
He watched as she went about the day, carrying the note pad between Mariano and himself, the written conversation gone from his mind immediately, simply because she found ways to distract him every time she was near him for more than three minutes.
     She'd chased the kids out of her loft before comida, sending them home with their father after letting them run rampant for far too long, laughing something about a fort and never letting Juancho near her pantry again as she knocked flour off her shoes, her ranita necklace now glinting over her blouse.  Chacha had flapped down after them to sulk on her Lunes perch and the rats had made themselves scarce in his ruana, still on its hook, snuggling in the pockets Mirabel had sewn inside for them.  After a heated written argument with Mariano, punctuated by ever fiercer rustling of paper and a yelp from a yanked beard, Mariano did a lunch run, which left him and Elena alone in the café.  She disappeared into her loft for a moment, returning with a small canvas bag.  She took his hand and led him to his chair after taking care to lock the doors, and pressed him gently into the seat.  His throat filled with sand as she smirked at him, a predatory squint to her eyes, a hungry fox bearing down on a trapped rat.

     She ran her hands down his arms, thumbs smoothing down his arm hair and slowly slipping his hands into his pockets one at a time, lifting the material to prevent any difficulties.  He let her go, curious and confused and twitching before she shifted, finger to her lips as she straddled him, trapping his hands against him as she got settled.  She carefully traced her thumbs over his eyelids, and he obliged, closing his eyes and depriving himself of sight as well as sound and half of touch.  She trailed a finger down his nose before kissing it, holding his head down as she followed up the bridge, to between his eyebrows, and the crown of his head.  He could smell the warmed scent of her perfume, lavender and tamarind and cinnamon, and the faint salty-milky scent of her skin, and tried to chase it, to bury his nose in her cleavage and refresh her fading love bites, but she pushed him back against the chair solidly, her mouth at his ear.  "Not unless you've brought the wine to drink from them." 
     Her hand was tracing figure eights against the buttons of his already straining fly, and he couldn't stop the little whine he made, his face blazing.  She traced his lips then, and his jaw, scratching at his stubbly beard before going lower, down the line of his neck, pausing to circle his adams apple.  Quick fingers made short work of his shirt buttons, and his heart missed a beat when she arched back so she could her tongue ran hot down the scar, her nails grazing little embers down his sternum.  He wanted so badly to open his eyes and watch her, but the way she clamped her legs around him when his eyelids fluttered told him not to.   He listened instead to the ticking of the clock, the burbling of the carafes in the café, and Elena's too-steady breathing as she feathered kisses down from his chest to his navel, sliding down onto the floor on her knees, hands stroking gently over the slight softness of his stomach.  He sucked it in on reflex, only for her to pinch him, not letting go until he let his breath out.  "You don't get to hide your pancita away when you've seen me desnudo en las esmeraldas"

     She skimmed her lips just over his waistband, and he groaned as she traced her tongue back the other way, his head falling back as images of her on her knees before him flitted against the back of his eyes, his cock throbbing and insistent against his clothes.  And then she was gone.  He had almost opened his eyes when her palm slipped over them, and something cool trailed across his lips as she settled back over him, trapping his hands again and grinding against him ever so slightly, squeezing those strong thighs against his own and locking him in place when he tried to buck into her.  "Elena, Cristo!" He hissed through gritted teeth.

     "Open.  Guess right, and you get to find out what my hands feel like under your clothes."  Cold and sweet, with a slight acidic tang, and slightly stringy.

     "Mango," he smirked, playing along.  She slipped the slice past his lips and kissed the side of his mouth as he chewed, her thumbs stroking his nipples slowly.  "Correct.  And easy."

     She pinched him carefully before breaking away, leaning over to reach in her bag, and he heard a soft rasp.  His nose twitched as she held whatever she had under it, and he hissed again as she wriggled on his lap, scooting lower this time and putting just a little more pressure on his groin.  Sweet again, soft, and with pips all along the surface.

     "Fre-fresa."  She stuffed the fruit in his mouth, giggling.

     "Right again."  Her hair tickled his chin briefly as she slid down tongue first to his scar again, laving it before tracing around his nipples and the tender, ignored skin under his pectorals, pausing to bury her nose in his chest hair and place a gritty lovebite on his sternum, paying him back for days before.

     "Still too easy."  He didn't need to see her to know she had a smug smile on her face.  He wasn't able to get his hands out of his pockets without jamming his wrist or hurting her, but he clenched them into fists and shifted.  The hard points of his bony hands now rested the tops of his thighs, and she ground down on them, harder than she meant to because she lurched forward and gasped in his ear.  He chuckled, and she bit his earlobe before pulling away again.

     He heard a soft, wet tearing, fruit being opened by hand, and she outlined his lips with it, little finger playing with his stubble to coax his mouth open.

     "Sweetsop," he said as he swallowed, and she shifted away.  "No...wait, cherimoya."

     "You almost missed," she whispered against his jaw, tongue playing at his pulse as her hands flicked two buttons of his fly open.  His pant of anticipation faded to a groan as she slid her hands around and grabbed his ass while her tongue did wicked things to the shell of his ear.  "Are you trying to kill me?" He heard himself say, his voice a rasp he almost didn't recognize.  She squeezed him cheerily and took back her hands.  "Two more, ansioso."  How could you hear someone smiling?  He had little time to wonder as a sticky finger brushed his lip, forcing him to lick away whatever sweet she'd placed there. 

     "Dulce de le--...no.  Cajeta?  Really?"

     She didn't answer this time, but rose up to better roll her hips against his and his knuckles, taking his face in her hands and swiping away the rest of the mellow sweet and dipping her tongue into his mouth quickly, sharing the taste.

     There was a rustling of clothes, and an odd squeak he couldn't quite place, and the burning tang of alcohol as she leaned back again, jostling.  She threaded her hands through his hair and brought his head down this time.  The smell and heat of her again. 

     "Skin," he whispered against her, feeling his stubble brush over her.  She tugged at his hair lightly, sending a jolt down his spine. 

     "Try again," she said, teasing at his bottom lip.  He ran his tongue across her breast, swirling around and sucking at the liquor painted areola and listening to her sighs.  She tugged at his hair again, reminding him to answer, and he pulled his mouth away. 

     "Rum."

     "Close," she breathed, popping the third button on his fly as he fought the whine back into his throat.  "So close.  Last chance, querido."  Her lips were against his ear, her voice barely above a whisper as she traced the hard line of his cock through his underwear, thumb teasing against that last button as she rolled her hips, her knees still trapping his hands. 

     He moved his head blindly until he found her breast, pushing her back clumsily so he could get under it and nibble at the underside, her blouse tickling his chin.  He ran his tongue up the inside and purposely scratched at her with his stubble, smiling against her as she shivered, her hand still in his hair.  He laved her nipple carefully, considering, taking his time as she played with him.  Burnt sugar, vanilla and caramel, spices, and the salt and gentle blandness of her skin as it peaked under his tongue.  He pulled away, resting his head on her chest as he murmured against her skin.  "You cheated.  Blended...blended spiced and dark rum.  Moza socarrón."

     "Good boy," she laughed, scratching at his scalp, and he had to bite his lip at the unexpected thrill that sent down him.  She eased the final button loose and slid her hand under the waistband of his underwear, teasing her fingers down through his hair, only to ignore his aching cock entirely and cup his balls, stroking one with obscene tenderness before she took her hand back, pulling his head back to kiss him as he growled and bucked up in frustration, repeating that damnable phrase against his lips as a knock sounded at the door and her hand disappeared, leaving a fiery ghost of sensation in its wake.  "Behave yourself." 

     Mariano had returned with lunch, marranitos seasoned with chili and clove and patacones with hagao.  Elena got up from the chair to let him in, straightening her blouse before leaving the aisle, smoothing her skirt and giving Bruno a blazing look behind as she left the aisle.  He swallowed and shook his head as he sank back into the chair, knowing now just what sort of trouble that look meant, and how much he still had to atone for.  He buttoned his shirt and pants back up furiously and sat sulking until he could stand without embarrassing himself. 

     They ate slowly once he came to the counter, though he barely tasted the food, his brain still full of cotton from her scrambling it in the aisle. The notebook passed between them as they hashed out the final details of their plan, Elena conferring with him and then viciously editing Mariano's ideas with a red pen that had them both flinching at the memories of bad marks from their school days.  Bruno had laughed for a solid minute at one of her revisions ~I don't care how grand it is, you drag a Mariachi band to Casita when I'm there you'll be playing a trumpet with your culo!  Her gift is super hearing, idiota, you want her to go deaf?~

     ~grand but quiet,~ was all he offered, knowing his sobrina's love of romantic gestures, but not wanting it obvious he'd had a hand in it.  ~Let him sweat a little~ he passed to Elena on their own note with a petulant pout.  ~you promised hands and he ruined it~

     Elena refused to tell Mariano what had her hiding her face in her hands laughing so hard.

     The next few hours were an exercise in patience for Bruno, going back to his chair to avoid getting caught out by her cousin at her turn of their game.  Like clockwork, she would check on him every half hour, whether patrons were in the shop or not, and her hands were everywhere.  He fell for it easily the first time, when she brought him a fresh coffee.  Rather than his regular, she’d brought him something with foam on top, and waited for his opinion.  He swiped a finger through it curiously, only to have his hand snatched away and her in his lap in a second.  She’d taken his finger in her mouth and spent a solid minute ostensibly licking the foam away and doing sinful things with her tongue while he sat dumbfounded, his brain misfiring as all the blood left it again.  She’d flitted away with a wink and a kiss to his palm, and he was left to scrub at his face, his skin on fire and his pants too tight as he glared at her through the aisle.  She did nothing but smirk and wave to him.

     When she came to retrieve his cup, she’d done nothing but lean into the chair, hands on his knees and mimicking those little circles, whispering in his ear, “Be glad that I am not a patient woman, Bruno.”  She’d dusted kisses down his jaw and run her fingers up the seams of his pantlegs, squeezing his thighs, and darted of again.

     In an effort to distract himself, he wandered to the returns and began shelving while she dealt with customers at the bookshop, two mothers and their younger children, and he had assumed he was safe.  His mistake was kneeling on the floor as he placed books.  Hands found their way down the collar of his shirt while he was drowned by the smell of her perfume as she rested her tits on his head, leaning forward and pretending to be interested in a copy of Viente Poemas.  “What are you doing?” He hissed, resisting the urge to turn around and bury his face in her cleavage again, to be lost in their softness.  She laughed, and he whined as they shifted and she pulled him against her stomach.  “I like watching you,” she said simply, playing with his collarbone.  “Did you know you bite your lip when you get stuck replacing these?”

     “No…why?  How long have you been watching me?”

     “Long enough to know I’d rather be the one biting it.”  She moved away then, and he let the chill of her absence roll down his spine with a grin.  His face was burning and so was his skin as he finished his task.  It kept his hands occupied, though he couldn’t help snatching a hidden copy of the Kama Sutra and taking it to his chair, ignoring the distant bite of shame that came with it as he read.  A solid half of the book was out of the question, either because it involved other people assisting and that was definitely not happening, or because he wasn’t sure it was anatomically possible.  But he wasn’t about to let her catch him off guard when the tension finally broke.  Damn the woman.  He felt like a schoolboy again, sneaking looks in the limited adult section while Senor Geraldo was distracted.  At least he could complement her on that particular improvement to the library, having expanded the selection, though she’d conceded to his mother and Pilar Guzman’s indignation and plastered over the covers of the erotica and more explicit romances with patterned sack-cloth.  Not that it made any difference, since everyone knew what those floral covers meant.

      There was a lull at around three, and he found himself trapped in the aisle as she cleaned, or made the pretense of cleaning, at least.  Her blouse had slipped off one shoulder to reveal a dark bra strap, and she had chosen now as a good time to polish the wood of the lowest shelves near him, her ass up in the air and wiggling with each sweep of the linseed dabbed cloth, the sweet, woody smell invading the narrow space and drawing his eye to her.  She was purposely slow with her movements, and her skirts had gotten trapped under her knees at some point and were pulled tight against her.  He bit his lip and tried to distract himself with reading, but all he could think of was how easy it would be to get behind her and raise that skirt.  That she would look back at him every other minute, her eyes half lidded and her smirk wide, was not helping the persistent tingling that had moved into his skin.  She looked pointedly at his hands, which were unconsciously tapping out his sevens.  He clenched his hands to stop them, but the itch of his nerves was too strong, and he found himself reaching for his salt under her scrutiny.  He panicked for an agonized few seconds when he realized it was missing from his shirt pocket, before Elena stood and produced the little drawstring bag from between her breasts, smiling slyly.  She placed it open in his palm before licking a finger and dipping it into the salt, spreading the dampened crystals on her lips and trailing them up and around his left shoulder as he sat frozen, gripping the bag so tightly he could hear the salt crunching.  She dusted it across his shirt before trailing warm, dry kisses up his neck.  “Don’t worry too much about luck today, Bruno,” she whispered as her hand snaked around his waist.  She took another pinch and tossed it over her own shoulder before brushing her lips against his, leaving the taste of salt in her wake.

     She tortured him at three-thirty without even coming close to him.  She flowed in and out of his line of sight across the aisle with a bland look on her face that caught his attention because it was so out of place.  Whenever she saw him looking, she would scan the shops for the briefest moment, and would hike the side of her skirt up to flash him her smooth calf, then her freckled knee, and last, there and gone in a splash of only half expected color, her tattoos.  She was almost caught out by Senorita Medina, but played it off by spinning and twirling her skirt with a light laugh, pulling Lili into an impromptu and giggling dance to the tune of the radio playing in the background, winking past the girl’s hair at him and smirking.  She repeated her circuit three times before she stopped, eyes on the clock, and went back to tending the shops with a taunting ‘hm.’

     At almost four on the dot, Elena swore after a loud thump, and threw up her hands.  She'd caught her necklace on the handle of her grinder, and it had snapped the chain.  She chased out the few patrons left, saying she wasn't going to wait to have her mother's necklace repaired until the next Lunes, knowing if she didn't do it know, it would wind up in her box of broken things.  She grabbed Mariano by the arm and told him with a look to hush.  "Bruno, you stay and...catch a nap.  You'll need it," she had hissed low in his ear as she left, and he found himself planted in his chair, unable to move at the swirl of thoughts that had going around his skull, and he'd listened, and tried fitfully to keep his eyes closed, enjoying the play that danced behind them and daydreaming

     Elena dragged Mariano to the Perez’ shop after teasing him mercilessly for being scared of Gustavo.  She didn’t for a second trust Alberto to not spill the beans.  She knew it was unfair, but she’d disliked him since he took up the apprenticeship with his abuelo, going from a quiet but sweet boy to a bit of a menace.  He was harmless in a stupid way, but obnoxious and convinced because he could make them shiny things that any girl he went after would be lucky to have him.  That he was one of the people that continued to view Bruno as bad luck didn’t help.  No, they would be dealing with Gustavo, and her primo would have to suck it up.  Her help didn’t come cheap, and she wasn’t about to coddle him just because the big man scared him.

     Alberto gave her grief immediately, offended on the offset that her pretense of fixing her necklace chain was too big a job for him.

     “Listen, Beto, your abuelo made this necklace and he’s the only one that’s going to fix it until he’s in the ground.  It was my mother’s favorite, and I’m not trusting it to anyone else.  Get over it and get Gus.”

     The old man lumbered from the polishing wheel in back and sent Alberto to run for dinner from El Loro Azul at Elena’s discreet nod.

     “What do we have, Lenita?  The ranita again?” he huffed, glancing at her hand.  The notebook came up from her purse and slid across the counter, and Gustavo raised one wild eyebrow past her to Mariano, who gave a nervous wave from his seat.   “Your primo paying for the…repairs?” he asked, looking not at her broken chain, but at the sketches, curious and impressed.  They were technical, not as good as his own designs, but very good regardless.  ~Who?~ he wrote next to the sketch of the ring, his handwriting elegant dispite his rough hands.  She smiled and doodled a quick hourglass with a nod before continuing the doublespeak and tapping her foot in mock irritation

     “He’d better, his fault I broke it, all those morocchinos today, caught it on the grinder.  I know I lost some links, couldn’t find them.  How long will it take?”

     She could have laughed at the pitifully hopeful face her cousin made, before shrinking back from Gustavo’s stink-eye.  “I’ve got a lot on my plate, and I know you don’t want me giving this to Beto.  For you?  Two weeks.  I’ll remake the chain with the original silver and recast them.  They’ll be stronger that way.”

     She meant to protest at that, because whatever double dealing they were doing with Mariano’s ring, Gustavo wouldn’t have offered that unless he meant to do it.  He shrugged, and tapped his finger over a selection of emerald jewelry in the case, and then back to her little hourglass sketch, and cut his hand through the air with a finality that didn’t let her argue.  Gifts from his visions, why he was so at ease with borrowing the polishing wheel when he had so much trouble going to the market all clicked into place, and Elena smiled with a shrug.  “Two weeks sounds good to me.  Thank you, Gus.  Mariano, pay the man.”  She laughed as he did, trying to shrink into his shirt the whole time.  One of these days she was going to dig out why the old jeweler was such a sore spot for him.

     She sent Mariano home afterwards, cautioning him to remember that morning when he tried to follow her back to her shop.  He blanched and turned on his heel, content to walk home in the drizzle and trying very hard to keep his mind blank for the sake of his sanity.

    Bruno stirred from his doze when he heard the deliberate loud closing of a door and purposeful clicking of a lock.  He shook himself and stood to go, only to find Elena staring him down at the end of the aisle.  She marched up to him and grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him to her in a furious, bruising kiss, forcing her tongue past his lips to slip against his before she bit his bottom lip, hard, and shoved him back into his chair.  Her eyes were wild as she brought her bare foot up between his legs to rest in front of his crotch, pants already too tight, his head spinning from her audacity and the blood rushing to his cock.  She leaned forward, angling her knee out as she bent and giving him the briefest flash of oxblood lace through her rucked skirts as she took his chin in hand, her thumb circling his lips, her other hand on his chest, scratching gently at a nipple through the fabric.      

    "...Elena...?"    

     "You tortured me for twelve days, Senór Madrigal.  Twelve.  Days.  Don't think I didn't know what you were up to, all the dates, you pushing yourself, those things you said..." she purred as she made quick work of his shirt buttons, her toes wiggling under his groin teasingly.  "And it worked!  I hope you put that vision of me to good use, tonto.  Still, such distress you put me in.   Such...torment."      

    His eyes darted, caught out and cornered by the character she played, face burning and heart hammering against his ribs as she trailed a fingernail sharply down his chest, considering, watching his adams apple shift as he swallowed thickly.  "Cruel, cruel Bruno, to taunt the heart of Encanto’s lonely librarian.  I think..." she paused, taking her foot off the chair and toying with his waistband as he strained against his fly, aching from the day long stimulation and breath catching from want.  She knelt in before continuing, voice tickling at his ear, "I think...hmm...I think for that, you should be punished."     

    A desperate sound escaped him as she cupped him low, sinking to her knees as her other hand rapidly undid his belt buckle and buttons, before using both hands to pull down his underwear and let him spring free.  He gulped nervously as she eyed him, dusky and average and not at all impressive as far as he was concerned, and turned away.  "Elena...I'm sorry...It's not...ow!  You fucking bit me?  Now!?"   

    "I'll do it again if you apologize to me for that!" She snapped, releasing the pinch of his belly she'd taken in her teeth as she wrapped her fingers around him, pumping slowly.  Turning her face into his stomach, light kisses slowly teasing at the trail of hair, she continued.  "I'm pleasantly surprised, if you must know."  He swallowed again, feeling her face heat up on his skin.  "You're so skinny, I figured you'd be thinner.  Be glad I have a big mouth."   

    "Elena...fuck...I just...I wish I...for later...for you..."   

    "Bruno, please.  Eres bastante, querido.  Believe it or not, I don't want my tonsils shoved out the back of my neck or my insides rearranged, so please stop worrying.  Now would you please shut up!"  Her voice was high and muffled as she shook her head, trying not to laugh at her own words, her face burning into his skin and her blush spreading all the way down to her shoulders.  He swallowed thickly before laughing at himself with barely a sound, hand scraping through his hair as she peppered kisses along the scar on his hip, his cock twitching in her tight little hand.  He whined at the contact, head dropping back and eyes closed.     

    "If this is a punishment what the hell is a reward?" He breathed, forgetting to be quiet.  Elena appeared at his ear, her voice barely audible even as her lips brushed against him, her hand still wrapped around him.  "Actually letting you come, Bruno."     

    His eyes flew open as he turned to her, wicked smirk on her face as she ran that sharp nail town his chest again, following the line of hair on his stomach down, down, down before kneeling again, forcing his legs apart wider with her shoulders and kissing up along the underside of his cock, tongue trailing over the vein there before flicking under and swirling up around the head, teasing carefully at the slight creases of his foreskin.  “Cago en Dios, fuck!” he swore before jamming a knuckle in his mouth to muffle his voice as he groaned, other hand in a white-knuckled grip on the arm of the chair, thighs twitching as she teased him, nibbling and kissing and pressing the hard tip of her tongue just enough for him to hiss, but never taking him in her mouth.  His breath hitched when she moved lower, to run her tongue along the seam of his balls, laving each one hotly before sucking them gently into her mouth one at a time and lavish them, little hand pumping up and down torturously slow on his cock as she did.  Already he felt his spine firing, tension rushing over his skin as his balls pulled close to his body.      

    Elena felt it as well, because she backed away, pressing slow kisses into his thighs, kneading the muscles and stroking the scar on the right one tenderly until his breathing slowed.  He was still hard as a rock, but the danger of getting her right in the eye had passed.      

    She pressed his cock against his belly then, stroking up gently with her thumbs before letting him fall back onto her waiting tongue, curling around him but never closing her mouth, breath heavy and hot as she slid just the head in, sweet torture as he tried his hardest not to move, not to breath, afraid any action would have her stopping again.  Slowly, she closed her lips around him, and the sound he made was somewhere between a growl and a sob.  Her hands were flat against him, fingers and palms taming down his thatch of pubic hair and thumbs circling down around his balls, gently digging underneath into his perineum as her tongue spiraled around him, tip tickling at his slit before doing another circuit, her head bobbing only enough to tease before beginning again.     

    She pulled away with a wet pop, one hand clamping around him, almost painful, to block his release as his balls tightened again. He snarled into his hand, lost and babbling, "Elena, please!  However you think this is going to go I--I know...it won't...it's been years...mierda...."     

    She looked up at him then, pupils blown and lips half swollen, lowering her head to the base of his shaft, humming against it.  "You're still able to talk.  I need to work harder."  A fresh bead of precum welled at his tip, vibrations of her voice shooting electricity up his spine, and she painted her lips with it obscenely before her hand started working him tightly, coming up to meet her lips as they came down, barely there as her tongue laved up and around either side of him, a hard flick to the head with each pass.  He gripped the chair and bucked into her mouth, desperate for more friction before she shifted, pinning him down into the seat with her elbows over his thighs, her tits pillowed up against him through her blouse.  He let out a hoarse whine as he bit the heel of his hand.  

    Elena looked up at him again, panting and sweaty and frenzied, brows knitted as he tried to stay quiet, hand covered in bitemarks as the glow of his eyes filtered through his lashes.  He looked ruined and beautiful and she wanted nothing more in that moment than to see him come undone, abandoning her plan.    

    She released him, standing to take his face in her hands, moving his hand away from his mouth as she kissed him.  "I think I've made my point."  Bruno whined against her, tasting his own salt on her lips before she slid away, trailing kisses down his jaw, biting gently at his jawline and his pulse and running her tongue over his adams apple, moving on to his ear, tracing the shell of it with the hard tip of her tongue, mimicking a kiss before sucking on his earlobe, worrying it gently in her teeth.  He could feel her smiling against him at his shaky breathing before she moved on.  

    She shifted lower, nipping at his collarbone and running her tongue down his scar, across his nipples, rolling each on her tongue until they peaked, grazing them gently with her teeth before moving on.  He watched reverently as she pulled her hands away to snake her arms out of her blouse, revealing a blood red bra that barely contained her tits that she’d denied him the view of earlier.  She slowly unclasped the front closure, his cock twitching unmercifully and ignored with each extra inch of skin uncovered until they swung free, brushing against his stomach softly.  She ran a line of wet, ticklish kisses down his stomach, dipping her tongue into his navel and nipping at his skin, running her nails through his chest hair and down the dark line that trailed down.  She took her tits in hand and pillowed his cock in them, swaying and letting him slip along the softness of her skin for a moment, precum slicking his way, arching her neck to run her tongue across his tip when it peaked out.  His head rolled back as he bucked his hips, and she moved lower, bracing him down with her arms again and peeling his hand from the chair, brushing her hair into it.  "Hold, please," she said simply, a thrill running visibly down her spine when he instinctively wound it around his wrist, long fingers burying themselves at her scalp.

    She framed his cock with her hands again, thumbs stroking at the underside before coming to rest under his balls, palms of her hands pressing into them gently.  She brought her mouth down, placing a mockingly chaste kiss on his tip before lowering her head, drawing slowly down and sealing her slicked lips around him, taking in a little more with each pass, tongue sliding opposite her lips as she slid down, breathing in and relaxing her throat as he hit the back, swallowing as she took him in all the way.  His hand fisted loose in her hair when her tongue writhed, trapped under his cock, squeezing past her lips to tease at his sack before she began in earnest, sliding up and down him slowly, lips rolling and tongue sweeping back and forth and side to side in a dizzying pattern along his shaft, swirling around the head before she came back down to swallow him again, throat squeezing as her muscles worked around him.  She moved one hand to cup him, fingers rolling gently as her opposite thumb pressing roughly into him from below.  He groaned, hips raising from the chair as fire bolted down his nerves, electricity pricking across his skin as patterns flew behind his eyes, thrusting into her mouth as she swallowed hard around him, breathing hot across his skin as her throat shuddered against him, pressure building at the base of his spine harsh and desperate.     

    "Ele--Elena...please..." he panted raggedly she moved over him, his hand tangling deeper into her hair, trying to turn her away, "...move...you should--should move... please...!"  She seized onto his thighs, nails digging into the muscles, and shifted, face pressed against him and taking him in impossibly deeper, cheeks hollowed and throat and tongue convulsing around him in a frantic rhythm as she focused on her breathing, hot against his skin. She looked up to see him watching her, eyes unfocused as green light filtering over her face, and she hummed as she swallowed around him, squeezing his tightened balls carefully and stroking at the flesh behind, and he shattered with a strangled moan, pulsing in time with his thundering heartbeat as she milked his cock, drinking him down.   

    She waited until his last spurt left him, cock softening as she released him, dabbing at the corners of her mouth daintily before discreetly tucking him back in his underwear.  His chest was still heaving as he caught his breath, hand over his face, so she re-buttoned his fly for him as well before climbing gently into his lap, leaning against the back of the chair and bringing his head down to rest on her chest, his curls damp and tangled as she combed through them with nimble fingers.    

    "Are you alright?" She asked after his breathing had slowed and he'd brought his arms around her.  She felt him smile against her skin.  "I think I may be dead.  Am I dead?  I feel dead." 

    "I'll...take that as a compliment?" She giggled, turning to a gasp as he cupped her breasts, running his lips down before wrapping his mouth around a nipple, sucking gently and swirling his tongue in lazy, maddening circles.   

    "You've worn the old man out, querida," he mumbled against her, vibrations of his voice going straight to her core "but the spirit and hands are willing enough."   

    She tried to protest that he wasn't old, but her words were trapped in her throat as his hand crept up her leg, long fingers searching for her, wiggling past her lingerie and finding her slick.  He shifted the fabric to the side and ran his fingers teasingly across her, almost tentative as she sucked in a breath.  She felt him smile against her again as he pulled away just long enough to yank her underwear down over her hips roughly to bunch at her knees.  He grabbed the fabric with the hand he had wrapped around her and pulled her legs up, folding her near in half and resting her feet on his opposite shoulder as she gave a yelp of surprise and tried to wiggle into a slightly more comfortable position.  His other hand came to gently massage her ass, thumb stroking so close to where she wanted it but not quite, each near pass sending a jolt up her spine.   

    He caught her mouth roughly and pressed her further into the chair as he slid a finger into her drenched folds, carefully spreading her wetness around from the cleft of her ass to the peak of her slit, brushing her clit on the first pass.  He purposely avoided it as he petted her, learning the paths of her folds and the pattern of her sighs as he nudged her head back with his nose to kiss under her jaw, his teeth worrying at her earlobe.  He shifted his wrist just slightly, getting a better angle, and slowly slid his index finger inside her, curling up and searching as he carefully bit her throat, increasing the pressure when the sweet whine in her lungs started to break loose.    

    She broke out in a cold, scintillating sweat as he explored her, lazy strokes reaching up and thrumming against her walls as he familiarized himself with her body, rumble in his chest when she bucked against him, and he redoubled his efforts at the frilled patch of flesh, his thumb coming down and glancing over her clit, fire coursing up her spine as her legs jerked, trapped by his arm still as she sighed.  She moaned out weakly a moment later as a second finger joined the first, curling up inside of her and stroking against that spot inside of her as his thumb stroked at her clit, increasing his pace and pressure just enough to make her sob in frustration.  She bit his lip at the next pass, and he took the hint.  He looped the hand holding her lingerie up through it and twisted his hand around to pinch at her nipple as his other hand pressed into her.  He scissored his fingers and spread her to sear and burn and hiss in his ear at the stretch before pumping them in and out of her slowly, so slowly, as far as they would go.   He twisted his hand at the wrist, fingers fluttering inside her as his thumb ground into her clit and she tried to curl into herself, half sobbing into his mouth as he dragged her towards the edge.  

     Despite the ache in her hip and the twinge in her back from the awkward angle, she didn't dare shift, her chest a buzzing wasp nest of exhilaration at the chorus of sighs and the gentle rumble of his appreciation and the wet sounds of his hand against her, clever fingers tracing a slow dance into her skin and burning her down to cinders.  He had brought his mouth to her neck again, and was whispering against her, little prayers and swears and endearments that sparked in her chest and flew around her brain like so many yellow butterflies.  "...hermosa ninfa... bella oréada... ardiente sol, mar ahogándose...  Amante...mi amante..."  Her ears had stopped working except to catch the sounds of their bodies against the fabric of the chair and the things he whispered directly into her ear.  He sucked a mark behind her ear as she moaned into the echoing quiet of the empty shops, her voice carrying as he lit and cooled and lit again the fire wrapped lightning that traveled up her spine and down through her limbs to coalesce in her chest, bright and heavy and liquid, molten copper burning gold.

     Her muscles were fluttering around his fingers, and her breathing was erratic and deafening in both of their ears.  He curled his fingers inside of her as he pressed down on the screaming bundle of nerves, bit the column of her throat and gave a gentle twist to the nipple he had all at once, and she broke against him with a silent jerking sob, clenching down on his hand and riding out her orgasm with the writhing of her hips as she gripped his shoulders hard enough to bruise.  He was breathless against her as she burned in his arms and his lap and flooded his hand.  He cupped his hand against her gently as she shook, not wanting to leave her cold as she shook, shivering against him in a glorious fever that he knew he would do anything to continue seeing.

     He set her to rights as best he could in their awkward position after sucking his hand clean and groaning at the taste of her, the musky sweetness flooding his brain and making his legs twitch uselessly, asleep from her weight and everything form the waist down still trying to reconnect with the rest of him.  They rested in the chair with their foreheads together before she was able to lift her head.  He kissed her carefully, lips barely brushing against her, and shooed her off his numb lap, letting her pull him to stand and into an embrace that threatened to crack his spine, and that he returned, their head on each other’s shoulders and not a word between them.

     Something had shifted again, imperceptibly and irrevocably, and both knew it without saying, without having to say.  She watched him leave as the clouds finally cleared, his shoulders and steps straight despite the numb-legged limp he hadn’t bothered to take the time to shake off.  His rats scampered behind him, climbing up him and under his ruana in full view of the street and he didn’t flinch.  She locked her door that night without worry, knowing she would see him the next day, and that the long game they had played was finally at a draw.

Art

https://64.media. /3a1056e9a3773753b2514d555d97c49a/5408f7026f868329-62/s540x810/bcf6cde9f4210f89f765b3272866b6a7d783c80e.jpg

Chapter Text

Bruno swore to every saint he could remember, a few he was sure he’d made up and every creature of myth and legend that Elena Pascual was going to kill him before he ever made it into her bed.    

    She had shown up after breakfast with a laden bag slung around her shoulder, wearing her patch-kneed work trousers and too-big boots and with her hair tied girlishly back against her skull.  It made her look younger, and he was taken by surprise when she waved to him as she made her way up the path with Chacha circling her head and chittering happily.  With her bright smile and her graceless jog she could have been one of Dolores or Isabela’s older friends coming to visit, and he felt again the twinge of guilt that never really left, of being a dirty old man.  He felt his ears and neck burning as the thought of what they'd gotten up to the day before flooded his brain, and he'd frozen, mortified at the sneaking fear she'd have regrets.

    He had been shoved forward to greet her as the flurry began, and she snatched him at the elbow and spun them both around before pulling him into a kiss by his cheeks and rubbing her nose to his affectionately.

    “Don’t look so surprised, tonto.  You did invite me, and I came ready to help!” 

    She gave him a cheeky peck to the lips before darting off to Mirabel’s call to help her and Camilo string and mount paper lanterns, leaving him blinking.  He was pulled away to help with setting up the yard by Félix’s clap to his back.       

    “Come on, Bruno.  You’ve got all day to squirrel her away in the corners, these tables aren’t going to set up themselves.  Three pesos Gus gets hurt by noon.”  He grumbled but went, failing to hide his longing stare even as he took the bet, Félix laughing and cracking his knuckles before he took the end of one of the tables and lifting.  His mind wandered as he moved the furniture, not willing to show he was struggling a little, biting the inside of his lip.  'Well,' he thought, 'at least she doesn't hate me after yesterday.'  

    Mirabel and Camilo had their heads together as they sorted through the lanterns.  They were arguing over the order to string them, Mirabel wanting a chromatic pattern, Camilo wanting to just get it over with and not caring, eager to get out in town and raid the food stalls.  While they bickered, Elena settled in on the ground and began shifting the stacks of paper lanterns around in a pattern that pleased her, complementary colors in chromatic order, pink to teal, red to green, orange to blue, and yellow to purple.  She eavesdropped on the kids, holding back her laughter as they griped and shoved at each other, reminding her so strongly of her and Julio at the same age, mismatched gremlins out for trouble. 

    "Nobody is going to notice if there's three blues in a row, Mira!  Let's just string them and get out of here!" 

    "Just because you don't care doesn't mean Abuela won't.  Besides, if you run off your mamá will kill me.  She's still mad at you from Domingo." 

    "You were supposed to leave arepas out for me!" 

    "You shouldn't have snuck out and gotten borracho anyway, dumbass.  Not my fault you were gone so long the coatis got them!" 

    "You're still just pissy we didn't bring you with us to swim on Sábado." 

    Mirabel huffed and shoved him, taking the stack of lanterns from his hands and rolling her eyes as she redistributed them, copying what Elena was doing with hers.  "No thanks, thanks.  I couldn't swim anyway...girl stuff.  And I can live without seeing Tio Bruno and his novia making out.   Abuela should have let them be." 

    "You know Dolores can't help it, she'd have given us all away if she'd just taken us to the river." 

    "I know," she sighed, putting the lanterns down and taking up a rope, adding loops every three or so feet, "but still.  We just got tio back, and he's doing so good from how he was right after everything." 

    "Eesh, trust me, tio is fine.  It's my eyes that need to run off after that." 

    "I can hear you two, you know," Elena laughed, making both of them jump, caught up in their squabbling .  Camilo's face turned as red as his hair as he looked away, and Mirabel giggled and adjusted her glasses.  "Sorry, Elena.  And sorry about...Sábado...I don't think they meant anything by it." 

    "Don't apologize.  You didn't do anything and neither did your hermanas o primos.  That's just how it is." 

    "Why...Why doesn't Abuela like you?" Camilo asked, trying to shake of his blush but not looking her in the eye as he rubbed his neck, the gesture reminiscent of his tio and making her smile.  "You're...you're nice.  And funny.  And you always ask how everybody is doing when we come in, even if you're having a bad day.  And you used to babysit Dolores and Isa...I don't get it." 

    Elena sighed and stood, stretching as she reached for a rope and began stringing lanterns, securing them with thin sisal rope to the main line, nodding for the kids to follow her lead.  "Probably because I called her a bitch and a few other things, ages ago," she shrugged, not looking at them.  Mirabel gave a little gasp, and she could practically hear Camilo's jaw scraping the ground.   

    "Wha--Why?" 

    "It was...I wasn't in a good place.  My parents had just died.  And then I saw her being so damn rude to your prima and I just lost it." 

    "I remember that...sort of," Mirabel said, handing lanterns to her automatically.  "You gave me a craft book from the shop for free...I still have it.  Abuela didn't go back to the bibliotheca for six months." 

    "You kids deserve the chance to be kids.  She's always worked Luisa too hard and put too much pressure on the rest of you.  I saw it on your folks when I babysat your sisters and it didn't stop.  It's just...I've never liked that." 

    "But it was so long ago!" Camilo finally said, shaking his head.  She laughed.   

    "Not to Alma.  But it's not a big deal.  Not everyone has to like me.  I wish she'd leave your uncle alone about it though.  It's not his fault." 

    There was a silence then, the kids not really knowing what to say to any of what she'd said.  Then Camilo snickered, looking around conspiratorially.  "Can you keep it up?  I haven't gotten away with this much in ages!"  She raised an eyebrow at him, snorting.  "Talk to your sister about that, not me.  She's the one to worry about." 

    "Eugh, no.  She's too wrapped up in Senór poeta Mariano to worry about me too much."  She shook her head at his disgusted face, poking fun at her cousin.  "Yeah, I don't know what she sees in him either, but to each their own."  They worked in silence for a time, Camilo following their lead begrudgingly and arranging lanterns on the ropes, admitting after a while that it did look pretty good in some kind of order after all.  Mirabel was chewing on her lip and fidgeting with her glasses, shooting Elena a furtive glances and clearly wanting to ask something, but was distracted as Dolores bolted screeching past them through the courtyard for Antonio, pursued lazily by the golden form of Latón, Camilo and Elena falling down howling at the sight.

    "Elena..." Mirabel asked as she stood once the dust had settled, stretching out one of the lines, "What do you know about Doctor O'Conor?" 

    "Why do you ask?  Camilo, go find a ladder, please?"  She watched as he ran off before turning to Mirabel, who was fiddling with a handful of her skirt.  "It's just...I heard...rumors about him and Isa and I... I don't know how I feel about it."  Elena thought for a while, spooling out her own line as she did, twitching her nose at the question in amusement. 

    "I don't know much.  He's still pretty new to town.  I know he's Mexicano-Irlandés, and has family in Mexico City still  He's...a bit of a pinchazo, but he's a good doctor.  He's my age." 

    "He doesn't sound all that great." 

    "He's...ok.  Not my cup of espresso, but I can see why your sister likes him.  They're both really confident people, and he's different around her.  Still a prick but eh, tu se, not so bad." 

    "It's just...he's so much older.  I mean, sorry, I know you're the same age but it's just weird!  Isa and I still fight over clothes and now she's dating an actual adult!" 

    Elena snorted at that, knowing that Isabela's tastes had changed rather drastically in the last few months, having seen her experiment with clothing and interests when she passed through the library and during the rebuilding.  She gave Mirabel a smile, quirking her head.  "Do you think me and your tio are weird?" 

    "Yes.  I mean...not...not weird together.  But you're both kinda...you know...odd?  Sorry!"   

    "It's fine.  You aren't wrong, we are odd!"  She shook her head as she started up the ladder as soon as Camilo set it up, helping Mirabel up behind her.  "You need better work shoes, chicita.  But I meant the age difference.  It's the same as the doctor and your sister." 

    "Oh, that?  No.  Not really.  We've known you forever.  It's different but not in a bad way.  And everybody's known you like him for ages.  Well, except tio, I guess.  But he figured it out!  And he's happy." 

    "And is Isa happy?"  Elena said, pulling the ladder up and swinging it to the next level, tying off the strands of lanterns and swinging the weighted end of the rope wide before letting it go to sail over the other side with a shout of warning.  Mirabel shrugged, a blush across her cheeks even as she stuck out her tongue in distaste.  "She doesn't shut up about him when our parents can't hear.  I know way too much now.  Why did she have to tell me his freckles go all the way down?  Yuck." 

    "Well there you go," Elena laughed, bumping her with her hip and nodding out to the men, specifically Bruno moving tables, and teased her.  "Makes you feel any better, it's genetic, the freckle liking thing.  Don't make that face.  Camilo, toss up the next one!" 

    They laughed and jostled against each other as they caught the lead ropes and swung them sailing away, straightening any knots and throwing leaves at each other as they raced, trying to get ahead of the other as Luisa joined in, helping her primo below toss lines up.  Elena grabbed the ladder and clambered up to the very top of Casita, Bruno's old tower, he'd told her now it was a new and unused wing above his room, calling down to Luisa to toss the lines high as she held onto the weather vane at the top, smiling at the bright brass butterfly seated on a flower.  She laughed and swung around as she caught the first rope and secured it, asking for a second and then a third, exhilarated at the view she got of the Encanto from the height.    

    She could see the curving lines of the streets and the red tile roofs of the town, people bright and colorful specks as they milled around, all in the frenzied hurry of an anthill in the rain as they made last minute preparations for the festival.  The fountain in the town square glimmered in the morning sun, throwing bright reflections up and around the surrounding buildings.  The rodeo was set off outside of town, towards the Constantino property on a flat stretch of land that had been beaten bald of grass from use, community property for futbol games and town events that was never still long enough for anything but the hardiest weeds to survive.  Steam from the night still rose from the mountains and the fields, lilting up smoking from the trees and joining with the low fog that was just starting to lift in the mid-morning sun.  It caught the orange light of the rising sun and hazed it out across the whole valley in a vermilion and marigold blanket.  Dew settled on the wide leaves of palma de cera and the jacaranda blooms and the wide canopies of the Colombian oaks sparkled like jewel chips in the light, and she stood frozen for a moment, just breathing in the fresh, wet scent of the morning, earth and loam and flowers, the faint acrid smell of the farms and the tannery at the outskirts undercutting it on the breeze, the birds and monkeys in the jungle waking up and joining the chorus.  A pair of vibrant blue mountain tanagers flew up and flitted around each other in front of her, and she followed their tilted path as they went, envious of their weightlessness and wondering not for the first time what it would be like to fly.  A fourth line flew up to her and she fumbled it, distracted.   

    Her foot slipped, she landed hard on her rear and shrieked, laughing in an instant as she caught herself on the sturdy weather vane and went to clamber back up on skittering, slipping boots as a panicked shout broke the morning mist. 

    "Qué carajo estás haciendo en el techo!?" 

    Bruno was bolting up the hill, eyes wide in his bloodless face as he looked up, seeing dangling feet and hearing the scream.  She popped up into his line of sight and waved, grabbing hold of the vine that Isabela flung up and sliding down it like a coconut harvester from a tree, still laughing.  She landed in front of him and untangled herself, only to be smothered in an embrace and pulled desperately away into the courtyard of the house, Casita's tiles rattling as Bruno ranted at them, accusing them as he went, asking why the hell they hadn't helped her before rounding on her.   

    "Elena, what the hell?  Are you alright?  What were you thinking!  You could have fallen, could have broken your neck, could have gotten yourself killed you mujer loca exasperante!" 

    She had laughed, but she saw the hurt in his eyes and heard the tightness of his voice, and let him fuss over her for a moment before she stilled him, her palm cupping his cheek.  He was still ranting when she pulled him into a kiss. 

    "I'm alright, tonto.  I'm alright.  It's ok, calm down." 

    He looked at her like he was waking up, his mouth curving down and distraught.  "Elena, I've seen people die from shorter falls!  Please don't make that less than it could have been."  He gripped her arms then, feeling down them as if checking for breaks, and she let him, watching indulgently as he circled around her, hands brushing here and there, assuring himself she was in one piece before he took her hand and dragged her to the loveseat.  He took her jaw in his hands, fingers gentle at her ears and neck, stroking down the planes of her face with his thumbs, his brows knit in worry as he persuaded himself she was ok, placing gentle kisses to her forehead and cheeks, lips and chin, the tip of her nose and her eyelids as his heart slowly came to a regular rhythm, the fear he'd felt at seeing her ugly boots hanging off his tower dissipating in the face of having her under his hands. 

    "...me asusto casi hasta la muerte," he muttered, pulling her against him and pulling her hair free so he could bury his hands in it, his face in her neck.  "I know you know what you're doing.  I know you can take care of yourself, pero por el amor de Dios, Elena, please, please try to be careful!  Juli can't heal a broken neck if she doesn't get to you in time." 

    Elena froze, taken aback by the intensity of his distress.  Of course he was worried, she thought, kicking herself and feeling horrible for not realizing he wasn't just teasing her.  He'd seen just about every disastrous or ill gotten death in the town for over thirty years.  She let him hold her close, feeling the shake of his hands dissipate as he braced himself to her, shedding what could have been for what was. 

    "Lo siento, Bruno.  I really was ok."  He glared at her, the seriousness of his expression surprising her, and she took his hands.  "I'll be more careful.  I'm still wrestling with the bulls today, but I'll try not to get hurt, ok?  I really didn't mean to worry you so much." 

    He sighed and gave her a weak smile, kicking himself.  He really didn't want to hold her back, but the images of her that had flashed through his mind, falling and screaming and bloody and broken on the ground in the instant he'd seen her at risk had shot straight through his body like the cold blades of his visions.  He took a breath, and shook his head, bringing her hands to his lips, pressing his pattern of sevens into them before just holding them there.  "Mi temeraria loca.  Just don't get yourself killed, please?  That's all I ask." 

    "You're just scared of me haunting you," she teased, pulling him forward, afraid he'd throw himself into a funk if she didn't derail him now. 

    "Eres un súcubo, sooo....yep." 

    "Not a very good one, it seems," she laughed, giving him a heated look.  He cocked an eyebrow at her, the tips of his ears going red but his gaze unwavering.  "Yesterday in the chair would beg to differ on that, Elena.  My legs were numb for half an hour."  It was her turn to blush, her face heating as she giggled, turning away and trying to tie her hair back up, unable to meet his eye.  He wrapped his arms round her neck and pulled her forward before she could, his lips warm and insistent on hers as he leaned them back into the cushions, content to hold her close and hide away for a few stolen moments in the shade of the courtyard.  He slid his tongue past her teeth to tangle with her own before biting her bottom lip gently, tugging her even further on top of him, his back jammed against the cushions.   

    He had just begun to slide a hand up her leg when Agustín found them, clearing his throat.  Rather than jerking away at the interruption like she expected from his flinch, Bruno finished kissing her with a squeeze to her thigh and stood, pulling her up with him.   

    "Heh, I know, I know, house won't decorate itself," he grumbled, squeezing her hand before drifting off.  Agustín chuckled as he went, looking over to Elena as she tied back her hair, rolling her eyes.  She gave him a shrug before laughing and moving to help Dolores and Mirabel with the ladder they'd wrangled inside to hang banners and smaller glass lanterns in the courtyard. 

    "Elena, we can cover for you if you have...other things to do," he said in passing.  The girls couldn't help but giggle at the implication and Elena rolled her eyes.  "I did actually come over to help, you know.  Bruno will be alright.  He just needed to reassure himself I didn't fall to my death.  Silly man." 

    "I forgot he could move that fast.  He dropped a table on my foot.  At least Juli left me with an emergency stash." 

    "Hopefully somewhere Camilo and the coatis can't get them?"  She laughed as he winced and darted away.  Agustín gave her a puzzled look as he followed his sobrino.  "Don't ask."  

    "You bring out the worst in tio, you know," Dolores teased from the ladder, fighting with a tangle of banners.  "He swears more now.  You're rubbing off on him." 

    Elena resisted the urge to say they'd done more than that and laughed.

    "It's not me that's corrupted your tio," she grinned, shaking out the garlands.  "Most of what you've heard about Silvia Gonzalves is true.  Blame her.  Besides, he's fifty.  Not like he hasn't lived a little." 

    "You like embarrassing us, don't you?" Dolores asked, her blush growing as Mirabel snickered.  Elena stuck out her tongue.  "Maybe a little.  You're stuck with me one way or the other if things keep going the way they are with you and Nahno, may as well have some fun with it." 

    "...snrk...'Nahno?'" Mirabel snorted, failing to cover her giggles.  She liked Mariano, but wasn't above admitting he could be ridiculous.  Dolores looked to Elena, who shrugged. 

    "Couldn't pronounce his name as a kid, called himself Manahno, and it stuck.  Please call him that every chance you get.  He haaates it!" 

    Mirabel opened her mouth to say something else before being called away by her father, darting out of the courtyard to help, leaving Dolores and Elena on their own.

    Through some silent agreement they worked quietly, listening to the noises of the rest of the family.  Antonio was calling for Chispi out in the back, the capybara prone to making himself a nuisance underfoot at the worst of times.  Camilo was arguing with Pepa, trying to convince her he was really, really sorry for sneaking out and could he please go to the market?  There was a cloud slowly filtering over the east wall, letting both of them know to stay away from that side for the time being until Pepa calmed down.  Mirabel and Agustín had begun setting out tablecloths and food, Mirabel banning her father from touching anything but the fabric after the third platter dropped and he started muttering, calling for Antonio to come and collect the family of tapirs that had decided he was their favorite person and that his feet were the best place to sit in front of.   

    Félix and Bruno had started bickering over the clatter of folding canvas chairs, debating whether Atlético Nacional or Los Millionarios would go on to beat Deportivo Cali this year.  Félix had money riding on Atlético Nacional, and Bruno on Los Millionarios, and both were arguing the best players on their respective teams.  Bruno was fuming about how long he'd had to argue with Enrique De Léon just to place the bet, still furious the man had accused him of cheating thanks to his visions.  Elena made a mental note to tell Arturo about that one, and make a nuisance of himself to his older brother.  Luisa and Isabela were working on decorative plant and stone arrangements to line the path, Isabela testing the limits of her gift to grow hidden bioluminescent fungi in the crevasses, much to Luisa's clapping delight at the delicate mushrooms, thinking they looked like a fairy garden and wondering if their abuela would let them stay after the party.  Julieta and Alma were at the market, Julieta manning her table with her mother's help as the town set up, and Elena felt guilty at being grateful for that, not having the emotional energy for the careful doublespeak she kept finding herself dueling with whenever she and Bruno's mother were in the same space, her nerves a little raw from the last few days, though she wasn't really complaining.

    "Can you come with me to the stalls?" Dolores asked after they finished the courtyard.  "I need to ask you something, but I don't want to be overheard.  I know, don't say it!" she laughed, sliding down the ladder smoothly.  Elena shrugged and nodded, wiping her hands on her trousers, curious.  Dolores darted off for a moment to talk to her father before coming back, jamming Elena's bag into her hands and sweeping her out, little hands clammy at her elbow as she was dragged down the path and into the bustle of the town wondering what Dolores was plotting. 

    They wandered through the stalls, eye shopping and sipping on salpicóns that Elena treated, ignoring Beatriz's attempts to pull her into conversation at the stall with a frosty glare.  She haggled briefly at Meme Rivera's fabric stall for a skein of smooth peacock satin and gold fringe trim.  "Not a word to your tio about how much I spent on that," she hissed at Dolores, "He's convinced himself I'm broke, and I don't want to argue with him." 

    "You are broke, Senóra," Dolores said, squeaking at her tactlessness.  Elena could only laugh as she made another purchase with Senór Gutierrez, to be delivered the next day at the shop.  "Blunt as he is," she chuffed, shaking her head.  "Not as bad as he thinks.  I just don't see any point in being una avara about it.  I've never gone hungry, and that's enough." 

    "Still though...I've heard you haggling.  With everything, not just today." 

    "It's no fun if I can't get a bargain, Lola.  Besides, I do actually like arguing sometimes.  Doesn't hurt that your tio likes to watch me bickering with people."  Dolores gave her a put upon sigh at that, but she ignored it.  She made her last purchase with Juanita Valdez, again having it sent to the shops the next day, not wanting to deal with carrying anything around.  Dolores bit her lip, dying of curiosity to ask, but held back, other questions on her mind as they walked on, watching some of the street displays before diving in. 

    "Elena...what has Mariano said to you...about me?" 

    Elena gave her a curious look, wondering briefly if she could identify words as they were written just by their sounds before realizing that there was no way she wouldn't be bouncing out of her skin if she could. 

      "I'm sure he's told you he loves you by now.  Dios sabe he never shuts up about it to me when we talk." 

    "Sorry.  I just...It's...well..."  

    Elena recognized that look, having seen it on more than one of her friend's faces when they were the same age.  She ignored the twinge at remembering Beatriz being one of those friends, and pulled Dolores aside, finding a shaded bench near the zapatoria. 

     "Don't apologize for him, es lindo, really.  He's just my life long pain in the ass so I rag on him.   Buuut...I feel like this is one of those questions you'd rather be asking one of your married friends and not your mamá or tia.  Am I right?" 

    "I...yes.  I'm sorry.  I know he's your primo, but I just...I can't ask Isa without giving away I know about the doctor, and I've been trying to let them be since everyone is being weird about the age difference. None of my friends are really seeing anyone and I just..."  Dolores twisted the fold of her blouse nervously in her hands, and for a moment Elena swore she saw her tap out a pattern of sevens, but perhaps she'd imagined it. 

    "It's ok," Elena smiled, and then laughed to herself.  She had tiny a premonition of dread, and realized that if she and Bruno continued long enough, she'd be having this conversation at least two more times, the perfect 'older friend' age and familiar enough to not be intimidating to the younger girls.  Cristo, she was becoming this generation's Silvia.  Well, she wasn't going to be selling marital aids from the café at least.  Leave selling aphrodisiacs and 'circulation aids' and suspiciously curved packages to the puma cachondo across the way, hawking at her stall and cackling with the Castillo women.  "Alright, what do you need to know?  I really doubt you need the mechanics." 

    "No, not...not that," Dolores blushed, shaking her head and giggling.  "It's just...We haven't really...done anything yet.  Not really.  He always pulls away, and he looks so sad when he does.  Am I...Am I doing something wrong?  Has he said anything?"  The worry came off her in waves, and Elena took her shoulder carefully, trying to think of the best way to put what she wished she didn't know.   

    "You haven't done anything wrong, get that nonsense out of your head right now.  Look at you, my primito is a lucky son of a bitch and he knows it.  Mariano respects you, Dolores.  And he's terrified of your parents.  Can't blame him.  Your papá is one hell of a bruiser and your mamá?  Do I even need to finish that sentence?" 

    "No.  But they love him!  I just thought..." 

    "I've covered for you two while you fool around in the bibliotheca.  Trust me, I know where your heads are.  He really does respect you, though.   And he loves you.  And he's nervous." 

    "Why is he...?  Why would he be nervous?  I know I'm a...you know...but he isn't.  Is he?" 

    Elena gave her a soft smile.  Some things could only be learned through experience it seemed, no matter how much of an auditory education she was sure Dolores had dealt with growing up with her difficult gift.  

     "You know he's not a virgin, come on now.  He's nervous because you've never been with anyone, and he doesn't want to disappoint you.  He's never been someone's first.  He'll come around.  Give him time.  Or force the issue, whatever works best.  Maybe make a sign? Be blunt. "Take me, Mariano!" should work. He can be kinda dumb.  Family trait, you know." 

    "Ay buen dios...and you're part of his family, Elena!" Dolores squealed, shoving at her gently with her shoulder as she put her hands up to hide her burning cheeks. 

    "And I'm going to hop in the rodeo later today and try to give your tio a heart attack.  I have my moments." 

    "You're actually going to...I thought you were joking!" 

    "Nope.  Adicto a la adrenalina.  I can't spend all my time counting books and beans."  Dolores looked at her keenly, wondering if she had any inkling of just how much her high-spirited ways were bringing light into Bruno's life.  She could hear him back at Casita, bickering loudly with her mother over the layout of the yard, when a few weeks ago he'd have just nodded in agreement and kept his thoughts to himself.  Elena gave her a brief, tentative hug before nudging her and pointing off to the side, shooing her away to Mariano's side as he looked for her over the crowd, a pitiful lost expression on his face.  "Go get him.  Make him too embarrassed to talk to me!" 

    She felt something pressed into her hand, and looked down to see Elena's spare key to the shops, locked for the day.  "Or at least think about it, hm?  Be out by the time the party kicks up, leave this in the pergola, you'll see the space.  And tell him I said he's an idiot."  Dolores felt her cheeks burning, but smiled, and gripped the key. 

    Elena wondered the stalls for a while, avoiding the Rosarios and Renata Marquez, ordering something from Osvaldo to be sent to the shop, and spent an hour catching up and cajoling with Carlita and Julio, her primo teasing her about being a bad influence on the Madrigal children as he watched their younger primo disappear down the street with a smitten look on his face, Dolores leading him by the hand, though it might as well have been a leash.  She shrugged.  "Half of them are grown.  Let them live a little." 

    "You really want to be the one to tell Alma she might have to deal with four shotgun weddings?" 

    "Mirabel and Camilo are good kids, and gawky as hell.  No worries there." 

    "We meant you, Leni," Julio snickered, poking her belly swiftly, receiving a hard punch to the chest for his efforts, rubbing at the spot pitifully.  "Shut up, idiota.  Do you see any kids yet?  Am I a nun?  And what about you two?" 

    "I'm not dating a Madrigal," Carlita shrugged.  "I don't envy you having to argue with her.  I remember when she was trying to marry him off.  Bea and Flora and Patricia?  She wanted a nuerita sumiso and he brings you home?  Ha!" 

    "She does have a way of spoiling the despoiling, I guess." 

    "You still haven't slept with him?" Carlita cracked in disbelief.   Elena and Julio both groaned, Julio clapping his hands over his ears like a child.  Elena huffed.  "Shut up, Car.  We'll get there." 

    "You're buzzing harder than a lit wasp nest.  He waits any longer and I'm poisoning you both with one of Silvia's concoctions." 

    "Julio, distract her please?  I need an escape route."  

     "Gladly if it'll shut you hens up..." 

    She bolted away as her cousin tackled her friend and dragged her onto his lap squealing, and made her way out to where the temporary rodeo ring and pens had been set up, looking for the lists and signing her name somewhere near the bottom, nodding to Luz Ruiz as she signed up as well, the stocky woman gazing over the bulls speculatively.  Luz grinned back, and Elena breathed a sigh of relief, glad she wasn't sore over her brother's verdict from Lunes.  Tomás and Tulio Vasquez grinned at them both, excited that they were getting as much traffic as they were and looking forward to exercising their rowdiest steers, the tips of their horns sawn down to prevent the worst injuries.  She looked over the bulls and steers selected for the event.   

    Black and white splattered Dali, docile until riled; ginger Rojo with his twisted horns and his forehead star.  Chiquito, brown and fifteen hands high and muscled like a mammoth rather than a bull, his horns worn down with age and breaks but imposing still.  There was shaggy-haired Torpe and his cantered walk, the fish-eyed farm borracho; and the mirrored black twins, Diablo and Fiero, each missing a horn on one side from their constant fights and with long scars down their back.  They'd caused a stir when they'd been born three years before, both having an extra leg on their shoulders that Julieta had worked with Consuela Rivera to remove.

       Then there was Ares.  One eyed and mean as flaming piss because of it, the only reason he wasn't someone's boots yet was because he refused to be brought in, and the vaqueros had enough sense not to ask soft hearted Luisa to try.  He'd hurt more cows than bred them, was the bane of veterinaria Rivera's existence, had killed a farmhand the previous year after severely injuring several others throughout his life, and had originally been slated to be the bull for the fight, before Antonio talked the vaqueros out of it.  She understood, but shuddered, pitying whoever got the bastard and hoping he was slated now as Parce's next big lunch.  She had fed several of the others visits to the farms or walks, and when left alone most were friendly, but she wasn't dumb enough to get lulled into a false sense of security about it, having seen some of the injuries the vaqueros had been brought in with.   

    Chiquito was gentle, but so big he'd broken a farmhand's arm just nudging him against a fence.  Fiero regularly chased people over the fence, including his owners.  Rojo was temperamental and had gored Galo Ortiz' leg open two years before when the man had tried to shortcut through his field.  Diablo had listened to exactly one person in his whole life, Antonio, and had made it clear he had no patience for anyone else.  And she was half certain Ares was an incarnation of the war god he was named after, a white ball of rage on hooves.   She sincerely hoped she pulled one of the calmer bulls as she made her way back to Casita, nervous energy making her jittery and tense. 

    The house was littered with people and the trappings of the party meant to begin at sunset, the lanterns and landscaping bringing the same capricious energy it had when Mirabel had restored the miracle, the lights tucked around it promising evening magic as they littered the walls and crannies of the adobe and stone.  A shutter tilted at her as she came up the path, and she waved back bashfully, still getting used to the playful consciousness of the house, reminded too much of Grimm's Fairy Tales.  "Hola to you too, Casita." 

    The tiles of the house saw fit to sweep her through the courtyard and into the cocina as soon as she crossed into the door, tripping her square into Bruno's waiting lap as he desilked corn for grilling, knocking his work to the floor as Julieta shook her head at the sink and Alma ignored her at the stove, back from the town square to get started on the food for later. 

    "Ho-hola, you!"  he stammered, caught off guard and having lost track of her as he'd been dragged from one task to another, trying to keep his hands busy.  "Where'd you come from?" 

    "Your sobrina dragged me into town for girl talk.  And--Oh, Julieta, I talked Carlita into bringing some of her treats!  And...I, uh...I signed up for the rodeo..."  She bit her lip when his face fell, his head resting on her shoulder.  "I really hoped you were teasing me," he mumbled against her skin, pulling her close as she straightened the mess Casita had made.  "Please be careful.  There's no shame in bowing out." 

    "I'm not going to get myself killed, tonto, don't worry.  I do actually know my limits, you know.  They give me big Chiquito and I'll run for the hills." 

    "I know...but still I...I don't want to see you hurt." 

    Elena grinned and stroked a thumb down across his chin as she stood and pulled up her own chair, her knees meshed with his as she helped him, twisting silk fibers off the corn and tossing them into a pile for the family of bright quetzels perched on the chairs to use as she considered him.  She leaned forward after a beat, waiting until his sister and mother were focused on something else before placing her mouth to his ear.  "I promise I won't.  But if I break that promise, you're free to punish me however you see fit.  Deal?" 

    She hummed blithely as he leaned back, his throat bobbing as he stared at her, cheeks ablaze even as a sly, crooked smirk twisted at his lips.  "Deal." 

    They hung close to each other through the day, Bruno's increasing nerves over her a persistent itch between them that was only distracted by constant contact.  Their knees together as they worked in the kitchen, his hand at her back as they laughed at Pepa's children making a mess of the kitchen an hour later, Elena catching the wink Dolores shot her, Mariano so lost and smitten beside her in his inside out shirt that he caught a face full of masa from Camilo, Bruno snickering and leading her out as chaos and corn flour descended.   

    They hid from his mother in Isabela's flower maze that she'd summoned for the occasion, meant to preoccupy the kids and just tall enough to shelter them.  As daylight burned away and the anxious hum grew between them he diverted her with the rambling plotline he'd began working on for one of his telenovelas, having scrapped the old one entirely and begun fresh.  He'd forgotten a lot of his old storyline and had been relying on Dolores too much for details to remain faithful to it.  She'd lost track of the storyline during their third or fourth circuit of the maze, but was captivated watching him as he gesticulated, animated and so invested in the story she could almost see him planning future plot points as they walked.  He was pulling at her hand and spinning her around, tugging her this way and that and didn't even notice it, his face open and free of worry as he followed the rabbit hole of why Arinaldo and Alondra had run away together from their hometown of Cibola to the modern world and how they got entangled in the war that was taking over their new costal home of Vela del Mar.

    He was trying to figure out how to incorporate a sea rescue in there somewhere when she pulled him into a circle of giant foxgloves so tall and so thick they'd never be seen.  She felt only slightly guilty that he completely lost his train of thought as they whiled away the next hour tangled together, basking in the shade and wrinkling their noses at the stink of the foxgloves, too wrapped up to care.  All the mad frenzy from the day before was gone, whether from nerves or lack thereof she wasn't sure and couldn't bring herself to care as he trailed his fingers slowly down her arm and pulled her into a leisurely kiss, his other hand flat at the back of her neck and so possessive that she melted against him.  He rolled on top of her, their legs twined together as he traced the lines of her mouth with his tongue, in no hurry at all and content with running a thumb along her collarbone, the other hand shifting up to her hair as his fell and shielded their faces, sun catching in his grays whenever she opened her eyes.  They rolled this way and that in the grass, flicking bugs and laughing as they pulled each other's hair out of their eyes, soaking in the muggy scent of the flowers and the dull stagnant heat of the hideaway.  He wove fallen leaves into her hair in a limp wreathe, laughing as he made her look like the mountain nymph he'd named her as he smeared a daub of mud on her cheek with a tender thumb.  She made him crooked satyrs' horns of twisted stems and balanced them in his hair and stuck a fuzzy cat-tail to his chin as a goatee in return, getting tumbled squealing back into the grass as she teased him. 

    Antonio found them as they began to hear cheers filtering in from the distance, their only warning to his approach Latón's cool slithering over their tangled ankles and Bruno's resultant shriek, leaping a terrified foot in the air before falling painfully on his rear as Elena laughed and let the snake investigate her, bumping her bronzy-scaled puppy snout against her cheek and flickering her tongue as Bruno tried to catch his breath, keeping well away from the snake, eyes huge.  Elena's hand rested on the back of his neck, rubbing a slow circle into the base of his skull to calm him.  "Tonito, kiddo, please get a...get a different friend to warn people you're coming.  Please?"  Elena patted the snake's blunt head and passed her back to Antonio, who scrunched his nose up at his uncle.  

    "She's harmless, tio.  And she missed Senóra Elena!  She says thanks, by the way."  

    Elena raised an eyebrow at that.  "Thanks for what?"  

    "For getting her out of the bakery.  She didn't like the screaming, just wanted somewhere warm to sleep and got turned around.  And she likes the name you gave her."  

    "Oh.  Well, er...you're welcome Latón?"  

    Antonio motioned for the snake to go back to his room, and held out a little hand to Elena.  "Senór Vasquez says your turn at the lucha del toro is coming up soon.  They're looking for you."  

    "Right," Elena said as she dusted herself off, helping Bruno to his feet as he gave her a pleading, resigned look.  "Do you know who they assigned me?"  

    "Nope!  It's random out of a hat.  Coming?"  

    Elena went to follow when Bruno tugged her back.  "We'll meet you there, Antonio.  Let them know she's on her way." 

    He pulled her to him as soon as his nephew disappeared, desperately kissing her with her face trapped in his hands, teeth clacking as he tried to press his terror away by reassuring himself she was there, leaves and stems falling from their hair as playfulness fell away.  He crossed himself, then her, ignoring her amused grin before brushing her eyes closed with his thumbs.  She felt him draw the series of concentric circles of a nazar on her forehead, first dry, then wet, then powdered with what she was sure was salt and sugar before he brushed it away.  She tried to peek at what he was doing as he mumbled under his breath, catching the strains of a prayer to Santa Cajetan for luck, but he stopped and held his thumbs over her eyes gently.  "Closed, please," all he said, though she filed the shiver that caused away for later.  He tugged at her clothes and the straps of her ill-fitting boots, tucking and tightening and making sure she was as battened down as her threadbare hatches would let her be.  There was the faint sussurance of granules falling on her shoulders before he gripped them tightly, his forehead against hers, pulling her to him and kissing her just as despairingly as before his strange ritual.  "Come back to me whole, tu cosa loca, comprendes?  No quiero perderte."  

    "You won't lose me, querido.  I'm not going anywhere.   You're stuck with me now."  

    "Good.  Come on, I don't want to spoil your...to spoil your fun.  Just...just be careful?"  

    "Nunca y siempre, hombre tonto." 

    He nodded solemnly and took her hands, kissing her palms and then her face gently before leading her out of the foxgloves, his head held high and his shoulders tense.  He held her hand tightly as they made their way to the rodeo enclosure, his palm clammy with nerves and his thumb pressing out frantic sevens, but his jaw set.  He was not going to hold her back, he was not, and he fought the squeamish twisting in his belly as they walked, watching her from the corner of his eye as she bounced on the balls of her feet in excitement, her face looking as young as it had when she'd come charging through the palisade.  His nerves were being scraped raw by the day, by the hour, by the constant press of noise and movement around him that dredged out fresh memories of the hoguera and Lunes and her thrown to the dirt bleeding, but he fought them down.  There was no trouble but what she was happily volunteering for, no violodors waiting in the crowd to pounce and rip her away from him, just the slight danger of her breaking a bone and scaring him half into his grave with her spritely madness pulled straight from the bacchanal she sprang from. 

    He ignored the whispers of the crowd as they made it down the path, cleared off for the bull wranglers.  Elena heard them as well, and he was grateful for the strength of her hand as she gripped his, her face black with fury at what she heard, the crowd less their circle of friends and more the outskirts of the town, people who still kept leary of him regardless of what he did.  She saw Medallin Garza glaring at them, and the Chavez clan snickering meanly, and held his hand tighter, her eyes forward on Tomás, holding the sombrero to draw lots.  

    "He isn't going, is he?" 

    "...should, we'd be rid of him." 

    "...they really are together."  

    "Watch someone get gored, she dragged him here,"  

    "...pesos she loses an eye like Consuela..."  

    There was a beat as they came closer, and he saw his family and the Guzmans and their friends filtering in through the mass of people, Miranda with a tempestuous Carlita by her side blocking off the Rosario twins, Félix and Pepa stationing themselves near the Chavezes.  Rodrigo Cortez stood obnoxiously tall in front of Garza's wife, Juancho on his shoulders and Lucia in his arms, giving them a silent thumbs up as Elena turned back to him, thumb in her mouth.  She popped off her father's wedding band and slipped it over his middle finger in a flash, loose on his thin hand, winking and oblivious to the slamming of his pulse in his ears at the gesture.  "Keep it safe like you've kept me safe, tonto," she grinned before she shoved her hand into the sombrero, covering her eyes and holding her breath.  She grabbed a slip and stuffed it in her shirt pocket, dragging him off to the side as the crowd cheered again.   

    Julio had drawn a bull named Rojo, and had settled into a fighter's crouch as the big beast pawed at the ground, ready to charge.  Julio was a broad man, broader than his younger cousin, but he moved swiftly, jumping out of the way and swatting the beast on his haunches as he passed, laughing.  Carlita was cheering loudly, her little fist in the air and flailing so fiercely she almost blacked Paola Rosario's eye.  Bruno held onto Elena tightly as she crowed, taunting her cousin and calling him every emasculating name she could think of as she laughed.  He watched from over her shoulder, wincing when the bull lowered his head and bucked Julio rolling over his back to land winded on the ground.  How anyone could do that for fun he'd never understand, even if he picked Elena's brain for a century.  He knew from Antonio the bulls had all agreed to not hurt anyone on purpose, but that didn't mean they knew how to actually do that.    

    Julio rolled away and popped back into a crouch, waiting for Rojo's next approach.  He caught the bull running around one horn, his grip was poor and sending him tumbling to the ground again, cracking his neck as the bull circled around.  He hopped on the balls of his feet and darted the same direction as Rojo when he bellowed through, tackling the bull head on, wrapping both arms around his horns and taking the full force of the charge in the chest as they collided.  His heels dug into the dirt and he brought a knee up behind one of Rojo's front legs, tripping the bull and dragging his massive chest down to the ground, holding the beast there for a split second before darting up and sprinting to the fence, clambering out of reach as Rojo threw a raging, kicking, snorting tantrum in the ring and the crowd roared.  

    He watched as Julio fell out of the ring, coated in sweat and panting, to be tackled back down to the ground by Carlita, who grabbed his face and left no one in the crowd wondering where they stood as she straddled him, laughing and smacking his chest and flipping them both off as Elena snarked at them. 

    They watched together laughing as Teresa Sandoval got flung around by Chiquito, who seemed to understand this was all in fun but just couldn't help knocking her to the ground a dozen and a half times before she gave up, panting and patting the big beast on the flank as she left, downing half of Tulio's offered tequila as she did.

    Félix wrestled Torpe under a hailing cloud as Pepa bit her knuckles raw watching, eyes huge with worry.  The bull was a stumbler, and knocked him to the ground three times just trying to circle him.  Each time he got up and dusted himself off, laughing and egging on the crowd, running a circuit around Torpe to dizzy him and giving Antonio a high-five from his perch up on the fence with Pico and Chacha, who had come to join him.  He eventually found his rhythm and danced around him, grabbing one horn at a time and twisting his head this way and that way, tangling the bull's feet under him and leaping to sit on his neck and shoulders when he floundered, pulling his head up by the chin and giving the cross-eyed beast an affectionate scratch to the jowl before he sauntered away under sunshine and his children's laughter, cocky grin splitting his face as Pepa gave him a flustered, blushing ear-full before hauling him off the ground to kiss him.  It was Bruno that got them flipped off this time, pulling a disgusted face and never missing an opportunity to tease his over-sexed sister. 

    Luz Ruiz got crushed in under three minutes by Dali, falling and pulling the bull's tail when she'd been tossed over his head after several unsuccessful attempts, her feet sliding under and tripping up his back legs, and the piebald beast had fallen down on her, both of them bellowing in pain at the hit, the bull bruised, Luz broken.  Elena had bolted out of his arms and over the fence before he could blink, along with Julieta, Arturo, and Tulio, helping his sister drag the butcher out of the way as the bull's owner tried to calm him down with Antonio's help.  One of his sister's tamales solved the broken leg and dislocated hip, but Luz still limped away to a bench pale and shaking as Elena held her up, offering her slow sips from a mug before she was waved off.  

    "You're absolutely insane.  You know that, right?" he hissed into her ear as he pulled her close when she came back to him apologizing, knowing he was holding her too tight even as his arms snaked around her.  She leaned her head back on his shoulder and kissed his jaw, scratching at his stubble and eyes half blown with empathetic adrenaline as she crooned in his ear.  "And you enjoy every minute of watching your ninfa loca be loca, mi sátiro lindo.  Don't deny it."  He held her tighter and ground his hips against hers, lips pressed to her neck.  "Doesn't mean I can't worry."  

    The Castillo brothers had pulled Diablo and Fiero, and hopped in at once to offer a double feature.  They tried a combination of Julio's crouching and Félix' careful steps, and dodged both bulls for a good two minutes before they got winded, never able to grab onto a horn long enough to get a good grip, made harder by the lopsided heads of the bulls they'd gotten.  Abe got hurled into the fence with a thunderous bang by Fiero's back hooves, and Mando got squashed between the bulls' scarred shoulders once his brother was out of the way, spinning like a top and swearing the air blue as he dodged the horns, blunt but still painful.   He lost his balance and fell on his ass when Fiero moved off to chase Abe, hobbled down from the fence to try and help his brother.  Diablo stopped long enough to drop a cowflop on Mando's chest before hooking his one horn under the man's leg and flinging him to the opposite side of the ring, bellowing and bucking as the crowd dithered between laughter and concern.  Luisa pulled them out, trying not to laugh as she offered Mando a towel, before turning to reassure Marco that she'd be alright.     

    Much as Bruno acknowledged the bitter taste in his mouth at his sobrinas and their novios, he shared a longsuffering glance with the young man as he nodded at him and Elena across the way, thumbnail in his teeth with worry as Luisa hopped in the ring.  

    Luisa had requested Chiquito, and had her right hand tied in her belt, and her legs braced with a rope, insisting on being hobbled to even the odds a bit.  He saw her as the stocky little nine year old she'd been when he'd left in his mind's eye, battered and bruised from stopping another rockfall, and his heart sank as the gigantic bull was let out, even though he knew she was more than capable of handling herself even as she was.  Elena cheered her on beside him, hooting and pumping her fist in the air and encouraging Marco to do the same, watching as she shuffled, rolling out of the way of a charge and scrambling back up, bowled over from her slow rise across the ring by the gamboling of Chiquito, who snorted and cantered around her as she struggled to her feet, the rope tangling her movements.  She grabbed one of his thick horns as he charged past and pulled, rolling over his back with a yelp when he corrected his course and threw her off what little balance she had, and she landed with a thud that had Bruno digging his arms into Elena's sides as he flinched.    

    Luisa stood and dusted herself off, shuffling and holding out her arm, swatting at her leg and lowering her head to match the Chiquito's stance, and he pawed at the ground, bellowing and rearing as Antonio laughed on the fence at whatever he'd said.  Luisa dodged to the left as he charged and landed a swat to his haunches, bracing as he turned and charged again, this time leaping up and rolling over his back, landing on her feet with a wide, triumphant grin.  She was playing up the crowd, Bruno realized, and relaxed, his arms raising to clap as he called her name.  She jumped to the right, barely missing a blunted horn, and skidded under the bull's legs on her front, tumbling and letting him trip over her to charge again.  On this pass he could see the old bull's sides were frothing, and his breaths coming shorter and shorter.  Luisa nodded, and crouched. 

      When Chiquito came for her this time, she held her ground, sliding her loose arm under his massive chest and lifting him up over her head in one smooth motion to the cheering of the crowd, laughing at his confused mooing before setting him down and snapping the ropes with a flex, scratching his forehead and ears before lithely hopping over the fence and into Marco's skinny arms. 

    "Ok fine, I'll admit it.  They're...cute.  Together," he mumbled into Elena's hair as she wriggled beside him, arm around his waist as she watched them, her smile curving up meanly when she saw Rico Chavez pushed into the ring by his cousins, allowed out of the palisade because he hadn't actually been involved in the fighting.   

    He lasted less than a minute against clumsy Torpe, bolting around the bull and shrieking every time the confused thing tried to follow him, mooing pitifully.  He'd paused for a breather, pushed back into the ring at the fence by Gustavo's big hand on his face when Torpe managed to focus at least one eye on him.  The bull, trotted over to where the scrawny man sat, cowering, and sniffed his hair before turning and sitting on him, looking all the world like a confused sheepdog in a bad costume as Gustavo patted his shaggy head, the old jeweler's booming laugh echoing across the ring.  

    Elena turned and pulled him to her mouth by the collar of his shirt before sprinting away, handing her slip to Tulio.  His heart sank as he saw the bull they let out for her, watching her freeze up halfway up the fence.  Big white Ares, named for a god of war and just as vicious, previously slated for the bullfights and saved by Tonito's soft heart.  He watched and waited for her to balk, to turn back, to demand a different bull, Chiquito, Rojo, Diablo, any but this one, but he saw her square her shoulders after taking a deep swill of the tequila Tulio offered her and straddle the fence instead.  He pushed his way through the crowd, not caring about the affronted bitching as he tried to get to her, nervously spinning her father's wedding band around his middle finger with his thumb.  Tulio held him back at the fence, and he was powerless as he watched her resolute nod before her too-big boots hit the dirt.  He felt Félix' hand light on his shoulder.  "She's got this, bro.  Just watch."    

    "I wish I had your confidence..." Bruno said as he crossed himself and knocked on the fence until his knuckles bruised. 

    Elena cursed her stupid, stupid need for excitement as she landed, nerves jangling immediately raw and sharp in the air at the animal smell of the ring, undercut by the metallic tang of blood on her tongue, bit and glued to the roof of her mouth as the white bull tossed his head, working himself into a charge.  He was the one bull with full horns, not tolerating the vaqueros long enough to have the tips sawn off, and she bunched her legs under her, prepared to bolt.   'If the bull doesn't kill me Bruno's going to for this.  Fuck.  Fucking fuck.'

    She dove to the left and rolled as he charged, scrambling up and skidding to the right on all fours as Ares pitched back, bellowing and his head low.  The tip of a horn glinted black past her eye and brushed so close it parted her hair, and she heard several screams from the crowd through the narrowed vacuum of her hearing as she was sent spinning.  She felt sweat trickle down her neck and sprinted away from the bull, putting distance between them and trying to assess and not panic, bile and heart in her throat as she realized she'd bitten off more than she'd meant to.  She crouched, copying Julio's move from before and grinding her old boots into the dirt, her arms wide as Ares came around. 

    She caught him by the horns and was winded as he bowled her back over his head, her neck bending unnaturally as she tumbled over the humps of his back and was thrown, knowing flight for a split second before eating the dirt and skinning her chin, her chest knocked hollow as she gasped for air.  She rolled to her back and pulled herself back into a crouch, holding her ground for a brief second as the second impact bruised her ribs before she was tossed to the side. 

    She was slow to get up, and the tip of a horn sliced her pants and clipped her knee, blood trickling hot out of the gash.  

    "Dammit Elena, get out of there!" she heard Bruno yell, tripping as she nodded and was knocked wild again by the bucking flank.  She saw him clamber up the side of the fence and throw out a hand as Félix grabbed up Antonio, who had tried to hop in to break things up and scrambled back to her feet, spitting mud swiping at sweat.  She took his hand, startled by the splash of red she saw on her palm, turning to look back. 

    Ares sped charging towards them, and would hit the fence horns first.  She shoved Bruno flailing off the fence to land shouting on his back and turned, crushed against the boards by the bull's wide head as he bellowed, his horns stuck through the slats in the air where Bruno had stood.  There was a ripple in the crowd as people pulled back, ready to bolt.  She heard boards crack along with something that might have been her ribs as she slid down, her chin hitting each board on the way out, dodging the scrabbling hooves as she crawled out, vibrating with fury and fear and adrenaline as she hopped up on the bull's muscled neck on his blind side, clamping her legs down and grabbing his ears, pulling him loose from the fence he was in danger of destroying and holding on for dear life when he bucked loose, no longer bellowing but roaring.  

    Each rear and crash of his head against her chest cracked that something just a little bit more, and there was a dull ripping sear somewhere along her right side, but she held on, a stubborn campeiro with her teeth bared, even as her vision blurred and right arm went numb.  She held on as her muscles screamed and tore and screamed again, the heat of the bull soaking into her skin as course ropes finally hooked first one horn and then the next as he tired, his flanks frothing behind her and his shoulders twitching in rage.  Tulio and Tómas hopped over the barrier hauling on the lassos and Luisa helped them hold Ares down as they tied him at the fetlocks, his sides heaving. 

    She was pulled up by a burgundy hurricane, Bruno's voice harsh and his eyes wide and blazing as he crushed her face to his, careful of her ribs and shouting at her between kisses, not caring in his spiraling alarm what anyone watching thought of him as he patted her down again, furious.  "Mujer malvada, loca, estúpida, brillante!  Dios te maldiga!  Tu serás mi muerte!  Cristo, you're bleeding." 

      She tried to laugh and folded, clutching at her ribs, and he and Julio had to drag her out of the ring to Julieta, who gave her the same horrified, exasperated look her brother had and handed her a mug of something that smelled of limes and lulos and liquor.  Bruno held it up to her lips as they helped her hobble to the bench off to the side, Félix, Rodrigo and a gaggle of kids and sobrinos hovering around them all. 

    "Leni, this is the dumbest shit I've ever seen you pull." 

    "...Shut up Lio," she panted as her ribs slid back into their places.  It wasn't a gentle healing, and her chest burned bronchritic with each sip of the concoction, a fiery punch in the sternum.  She noticed Bruno sneaking a sip or three as well, the shake of his hands settling as he did. 

    "He's not wrong." 

    "You hush too." 

    "Why did you push me away?  I could have pulled you up.  God, Elena, I heard your ribs cracking!" 

    "Did you not see where those horns came through?  I thought you'd like to keep your dick." she snapped, draining the rest of the drink as the last of the damage melted away, angry at herself and her energy crashing.  She'd told him she'd bow out, but had just had to try and prove herself, for no reason.   

    "You broke your promise," Bruno said, his voice low and his chin on her shoulder as he pulled her close, pulling his legs up on the bench and bracketing her in them.  Julio took that as his cue to leave, and the little crowd around them quickly found other places to look. 

    "Your punishment is to tell me why.  Right now." 

    It wasn't a request, and Elena was too tired to deny him even if it had been.  She leaned against his chest, letting his hair tickle her cheek as her breath slowed to the murmur of the crowd as someone else hopped in the ring with Dali. 

    "I just...I just wanted to prove I could...do something that scared me again.  To myself.  It...I wasn't sure if...after everything..." She felt stupid even as she said it, knowing it wasn't anything more than her stubborn pride that had gotten her hurt, berating herself as tears made tracks down her dirty face, leaving muddy spots on his shoulders. 

    Bruno understood, squeezing her and shaking his head before placing a kiss to her temple, ignoring the blood in her hair as he stroked her cheek.  "You aren't allowed to...to die on me just to prove you've gotten over the hoguera.  You can't...can't force yourself to heal.  You're allowed to take the time you need.  Forcing it...forcing it will just make things worse.  Come on, lets get you home, you're a mess." 

    Elena nodded and let herself be led away, patting Juancho on the head and squeezing Lucia as they ran up to her, babbling and tearful and worried.  Bruno sent them kindly back to Rodrigo and kept on, pulling her along. 

    She didn't realize by home he'd meant his until she was swept away by Casita's vibrating tiles and thrown fully clothed into a steaming bathtub by the floor, the door slamming shut with a decisive click, opening only long enough to pop Bruno on the nose when he tried to open it, more from anxiety than interest.  She laughed at his indignation as he muttered against the door, and she could hear him sliding down it.  She wrestled out of her soaked, torn work clothes, resigned to throwing them and the old boots away finally, and sank back into the water, hot enough to scald her properly clean.  How the heck did the house know her water temperature?  She didn't want to think of the implications of that, didn't want to think of anything, and sank into the depths of the copper guest tub, holding her breath and letting her pulse hum in her ears before she had to come up for air.  She washed and scrubbed at her hair and skin and let the heat of the water soak into her bones and prune her fingers and lull her into a watery doze, a knock sounding to keep her sinking into the water and drowning herself whenever she snored.  She wasn't sure how long she'd been in there, just that the light filtering in from the window had gone from gold to apricot to flaming cerise and the sound of people and laughter and the squeals of children had started to filter in, and there was a gentle knocking at the door. 

    Bruno poked his head in at her call, his eyes to the ceiling as he handed her her bag and two fluffy towels, cursing the capricious house and let her dress.  Carlita had given her the red skirt, a late birthday gift after finishing her tailoring, and she'd brought her blouse with the encenillo leaves, along with a change of the basics and shoes that fit, and she shuffled into all of it, leaving her face bare and her hair down as she woke up, full again of that bright, brittle energy that kept her going, patting the walls of the house as the windowsill raised at her like an eyebrow.  "Thanks Casita.  I...I needed that." 

    Bruno met her at the door, looking exactly as she'd expected him, ruffled like he'd camped on the floor for the last however long she'd been turning herself into soup.  She didn't expect him to be holding a basket and immediately taking her arm, pulling her not to his room but to the balcony at the back of his old tower in the unused wing.  She did finally get a glimpse of his door on the way up, his image shining and imposing until she saw his crooked little smirk carved into the wood, even the house knowing he couldn't keep serious for long.

    He'd set out a blanket and snatched a bottle of champagne from somewhere, sitting down cross-legged with his back against the banister.  He motioned for her to sit, and the look on his face was so painfully earnest she was by his side immediately.  He'd raided the tables to bring up beef carimañolas and a heavy bowl of arroz coco, roasted potatoes on skewers and crisp patacones with hogoa.  He grabbed the wine by the neck and peered over the banister at the crowd, turning to aim the neck out to the yard, that same crooked grin showing his teeth as he looked back at her, snickering.  "Think I can get Octavio from here?" he thumbed at the cork, speculative.  Elena grinned, the mischief sparking over her skin as she looked out, shaking her head.  "I've seen you squinting when you read, no way.  Go for Osvaldo, bigger target."  Surprise at her playing along flickered across his face before his grin spread and he spun, jamming his feet against the banister and aiming the wine bottle in his lap and squinting one eye closed before thumbing the cork loose. 

     There was a muted "ow!" from the yard, and they turned around chuckling, passing the bottle between them since he'd forgotten glasses and eating with their fingers, shoulder to shoulder as the sun set and music began to filter up from the yard, watching the light make pretty patterns on the door. 

    "Won't everyone miss you at the table?" she asked after a bit, realizing the time.  He shrugged.  "Maybe.  Don't care.  Happy right here."  As if to prove his point he finished his skewer and tossed it into the basket before laying his head down in her lap, one hand wrapping around her back and his feet kicked up on the banister.  It was an awkward position that folded him up and made his pancita more obvious, but he didn't seem to care as he settled in, thumb at her back stroking little circles up and down her spine, other hand resting flat on his chest, spinning her father's ring still on his finger.  Elena sipped at the wine and shared bites of patacones with him, watching his eyes shift under his bruised eyelids as his lashes flickered on his cheeks, his faded freckles standing out in the rosy light of the setting sun.  She traced the laugh lines carved into his skin by time and the faint creases at his eyes, watching as he smiled at the attention and jumping when his eyes opened, sad and hazel and catching hers. 

    "You scared me today," he said, his hand never leaving her back.  "You really should be more gentle with this old man, you know.  You're going to break him." 

    "You're so afraid of that," she said, "but you stay.  I think you're lying to yourself.  You're stronger than you think.  And you aren't old!" 

    He turned his face further into her, twisting to kiss her stomach through her blouse, resting his brow in the covered softness of her skin as she brushed his hair out of his eyes, humming thoughtfully.  His ears twitched, catching something in her voice, a hitch that shouldn't have been there.  "What?" he asked, pressing another kiss to her belly.  She squirmed, and he asked again, laughing.  "What?" 

    "Bruno...what are...what are you expecting out of all this?  Putting up with all my...with me?" 

    He paused for a moment at that, at the delicate little catch in her voice, the shadow in her eye.  The closer he got to her the more he saw the chinks in her armor.  Her bravada wasn't a front, but he knew a defense against the world when he saw one.  Where he ran away, she ran towards, fighting and snarling to hide her fear, and the cracks in her could only be seen from under the surface.  But she'd burned brightly today, too brightly for him to allow her shadows to seep through and twist.  He turned in her lap and held her, burying his face in her breasts and shaking his head, teasing her, not wanting to reveal the whole truth of it all so soon.  He shrugged with a grin.   

    "Not too much.  To have run away with you fifteen years ago to Bogotá.  Hiding in the caves and going at it like rabbits.  Five barefoot hill children?" 

    "I'm being serious!" 

    "And I'm not?  How about seven?  Let's beat my sisters!" 

    "Viejo cachondo," she laughed, shoving him, the mood lifting. 

    "And here I was starting to believe you I wasn't old."  He bit at her belly teasingly and she flicked his nose, making him sneeze.   

    "Smartass." 

    He chuckled against her and settled back on her lap, giving her a soft look that she returned with a vexed eyebrow.  "You aren't the only one who learned not to have expectations.  I'm more than happy to just see where this all goes, let you take me along for the ride.  I want our time together to be...to be a surprise."  She brought her hand up to his chest and he twined their fingers together, sliding her father's ring off his finger and back onto her thumb smoothly.  She felt his heart thump stronger at that, but his face stayed calm as he continued, eyes on the purpling sky.  "The Encanto is safe.  You're safe.  The trouble-makers are piss-poor and you aren't leaving until Diciembre.  Let's just...be, Elena.  Let's just be." 

    They cuddled together in the cool of the evening to the sound of the music and laughter below them, picking at the food and finishing the bottle of wine and laughing as they traded stories from the ten years he'd been gone.  She was surprised how much he remembered, and how easily he spoke of it.  She was trying not to think of him in his severe isolation, how hard it had to be to be trapped by his own fears and a sense of duty to his youngest niece a hairs breadth away from his family, going without human contact for a decade.  Self imposed solitude sounded like torture enough, but to be just a wall away from everyone you'd ever loved in the world, hearing them ignore you at best and vilify you to their children at worst?  No.  She couldn't imagine how he'd managed to stay even a semblance of sane, and admired again the strength of his mind to have come out of everything he'd been through as well as he had. 

    He noticed her grip insistent in his, and the wetness of her eyes that she tried to hide, and pulled her down to kiss him, trying to tell her that it was alright, that he was alright, or getting there, through touch alone.   

    "Por favor no llores, not over this.  I know I tease, but I'm not going to disappear again.  Please?" 

    She tangled her hands in his hair as he wiped away her tears, and they didn't speak of it again that night. 

   That was how Camilo found them, earning a basket shoved roughly into his hands as Bruno sprung up, pulling her with him and giving his sobrino a flat look. 

    "Your face is going to get stuck like that, mocoso," he grumbled.  "What?" 

    "Abuela wants you two at the party.  Uhh...there's booze, if that helps?" 

    "It does not.  But fine.  Scat, we're coming." 

    "I wasn't kidding when I said I'd help you hide the body," Elena offered as they trailed down the stairs.  He laughed and kissed her hand as Agustín pulled him away.  "Remind me in the morning.  Let's see where the night takes us." 

    Elena gulped at the flash of green in his eyes and faltered as he walked away before yanking Camilo back by his ruana, ignoring his whining as she hooked his shoulder under her arm, an idea sparking in her mind to make up for frightening his tio so badly.  "I won't say a word about the aguardiente in your pocket if you help me out.  Where are they keeping the tejo boards, and where is Isa cuddled up with the doctor?"  He gave her a confused look before seeing the glint in her eye, smelling mischief and trembling with the prospects before darting off with a curling smirk. 

    Bruno was four glasses of wine into the evening counting the bottle he'd split with Elena and it had done nothing to ease his jangling nerves and everything to increase the pressure behind his eyes as the music played, the older Constantino children in roaring full swing in the yard, his little alcove offering no respite from the noise.  He'd been dragged into a dance with both his sisters and then his mother, Félix' boisterous younger prima Carlota, and Agustín's quiet half-sister, Soledad.  Abuelita Ximena managed to rescue him from his mother the second time, when she'd been giving him speculative looks as she spoke with Lili Medina.  He'd followed her little bobbing bombín and her trail of cigar smoke back to the open bar, accepting the glass of wine she pressed into his hand.

  "Thanks."  He jerked his head back to the dancing, making a face at the dry wine.  Ximena shook her head and tried to blow her smoke away from him. 

    "Your mother...ay, we had words for people like her, back in México." 

    "She means well, Abuelita.  Don't be too hard on her, she's trying." 

   "She tried with sus nietos too, and all it did was crack my front porch off the foundations, which she still hasn't bothered to repair, by the way," she huffed, pulling herself onto a seat with his assistance. 

    "My mother doing construction work, now that's a vision!" He chuffed into his wine, grin quirking up at the thought. 

    "There's Senór Adivinito.  Good to see you laughing again." 

    "Good to be...to be laughing again.  It's...hard, though.  So much time..." 

    "Bah, ten years?  Nothing!  When you're my age you'll be wondering how your grandchildren got so big overnight." 

    "Going for tatarabuela, huh?  Aren't I missing a couple of things?" 

    "For now, Brunito.  But time rolls on.  You know that more than most." 

    He shook his head again and laughed, the sound cutting over the crowd, and a little hand with a bright gold thumb ring popped up past Roberto Hernandez' shoulder to wave at him before twisting away to disappear. 

       He'd watched Elena on the edges of his vision the whole time, spinning and laughing with Rodrigo and Arturo, lifted in the air and yelling at Julio to "put me down, cabrón!"  Félix had stolen her out of his hands the one time he'd caught her when his mother stepped in, and she'd spun so fast with him she'd managed to trip him up and nearly knock him over, which left both him and Pepa laughing and earned Bruno a clap on the back as Félix teased him.  Dolores had shoved her brother into Elena's arms during one of the slower dances, and Bruno couldn't decide if her skirt or his sobrino's face was redder as she twirled around him, dragging him near a gaggle of teens before letting him go, gone before he'd brushed his hair out of his eyes. 

    Mariano had pulled her into a three-person tangle with him and Dolores, and she'd whispered to his sobrina the whole time, laughing and teasing both the younger two.  She'd disappeared entirely after Silvia had pulled her into a ridiculous cha cha, Elena's bird recognizing the music she was named for and circling around her person in a flurry of green before flapping over to Bruno at the bar and preening his hair.  It tickled worse than his rats did, but Chacha had decided she liked him. he chased her off to Antonio's room after she started molting in his drink.

    There was a high grito trill from somewhere in the center of the crowd, and the dancers shifted, making a space in the middle as Isabela swayed through with an ungainly Miguel O'Conór, her vines trailing behind her and carrying six tejo boards along to deposit them in a wide circle.  A samba began to play as Elena stepped into the center of the boards, and he swallowed as she caught his eye with a soft and secret smile before the boards started snapping around her, gunpowder bursting in colorful plumes as tejos struck the metal plates, pollen of every color flying up to stain her skirt and her skin as she whirled and spun in the flashes, laughing and flipping her skirts, a derviche, a falcon spiraling on a thermal.  

    It was not a sensual samba, but a wild one, her arms flinging out too far and too fast and her legs kicked too high, her head thrown back as her hips knocked against the air in a frenetic rhythm that had tracks of sweat cutting through the colors staining her face and hair and leaving rainbow trails down her skin, shining in the air and the light, a female avatar of Cuchavira, a human hummingbird flying over the ground. 

    He stood with his mouth hanging open at the sight as her laughter rang across the yard, over the band and the little explosions and straight down his spine.  She danced in the gunpowder and color for no other reason than she could, color high on her cheeks as she beckoned for anyone who wanted to to join in, linking arms with Mirabel and Camilo when they hopped over the boards, letting them spin her around and bumping her hips with them and smearing color on their faces and in their hair while they all spun and laughed like loons, Julieta and Pepa coming to join their children.  Pepa dragged Félix in and Julieta grabbed Camilo by the arm and laughed as her hair fell loose and was streaked with yellow and red and blue.   Dolores and Luisa spun through giggling arm in arm, Dolores with a thick headband wrapped around her ears to protect them, Marco and Mariano laughing at the spectacle and staying well away from the tejo boards as they watched their novias get splattered with color.  Elena and Mirabel fed off of each other’s massive energy, spiraling around each other in a giggling cyclone of peacock green and scarlet, Elena going so far as to roll his niece over her back as she shrieked and kicked.  

    His heart sank and then clawed its way back into his throat as he watched her, banging around in his chest lighting little fires wherever it landed.  She didn't look real, and he had to twist his fingers savagely just to convince himself he wasn't hallucinating the vibrant wild thing twisting in the firelight of the festival torches and the glow of the gas lamps.  

    He'd seen her like this once before, one of the last times he'd ventured out before he'd shut himself off entirely and gone into the walls.  She'd been dragged out for her birthday by her friends to the bar and had been dared into dancing on the bartop if she lost her next game of billar.  He could see again the younger version of her, a little slimmer, a little faster, icing in her hair still from where Beatriz had smashed a cupcake to her head.  She'd been wearing a vibrant green skirt and an oxblood blouse, her hair loose and flowing. She had been a little quieter then, a little less wild and a little more worried about word getting back to her parents, but she found herself clambering onto the bar after a rousing and terribly fouled game and dancing a solo rumba as her girlfriends pounded a beat under her tapping feet and her laugh ringing out like it did now as she danced with his sobrinos.

    She had been beautiful then too, her brow free of the worry she'd been carrying since her father had become bedridden and she'd taken over most of the shop work. She'd just turned twenty-five, and was less than a year from losing her whole immediate family.  He'd been three months shy of forty and was drowning his loneliness in mezcal and trying not to get caught watching her, resentful of his age and his nerves and his sisters and their happy marriages, wishing he were someone, anyone else.  Someone younger, someone better looking, not the old, scrawny, cursed man he was so he could lift that laughing chica off the bar and have her join him in a dance.  Someone different so he could have spoken to her beyond the occasional book chat that he’d been drawing out for almost three years by that point.  So instead he had sat there all night, getting progressively more drunk and spiraling into another of his episodes of self loathing, cursing his luck and his gift and his face and reminding himself over and over again that he had given up, and that that was for the better.  That she'd never really forgiven him for Guillermo Gonzalves' death, that she would have no interest in a drunk old man and that he'd ruin her even if she did. 

    A flash of memory dredged itself up from the depths, her hand on his shoulder as he hid his swimming head in his arms.  She had looked at him softly, and he had thought pitying then, though he knew that look now, how arousal could soften her edges and gentle her as often as it set her aflame.  "Come by the café when you're done for the night, Senór Madrigal.  It doesn't matter how late.  I'll make you your espresso the way you like it."  And he kicked himself again, berating his younger self and wishing once more he had more control over time so he could go back and smack himself stupid, the invitation nearly twelve years gone and still bright in his mind as the night she'd said it.  'How the hell was I so blind?'  He asked himself as he watched her dance now, flashing him those open smiles whenever she caught sight of him.  She wasn’t trying to pull him into the dance or pouting that he hadn’t joined her.  She knew he was near his limit with the party and the townspeople, and had accepted it gracefully, trusting him enough to go off on her own and pull this brilliant, scatterbrained display out of thin air and soaking in the exhilaration of it until her skin glowed with an exuberance that sent every nerve he had thrumming in time with the music.  He knew if he began to have trouble, if he started to crack at the seams, she’d abandon all her fun to be by his side and help him through it if she could, or to not leave him alone if there was nothing she could do.  

    She had accepted his difficulties so readily it was like she’d known them for years.  Maybe she had.  She had always watched him carefully at the shop, before.  Had always known what days to offer him a quiet seat and bring him his coffee and collect later, when to come by and share something about what she was reading and when to leave him be to nap or sulk in silence.  And she had always seemed to know when he needed one of those soft, gentle smiles that always, always had reassured him at just the right moment that not everyone thought he was cursed, that not everyone was afraid of him.  It had been his own fear of himself and a lingering wariness of her father, that had kept him away after a certain point, and he knew that, knew he really only had himself to blame for all the lost time.  But by some miracle, she had forgiven him all of that and was here now, a sunrise made flesh in his heart.  

    It didn’t so much hit him as it sifted into his skin, the soft warmth and light of a candle on a foggy evening.  She was here now in his life and had woven herself throughout the fabric of it in copper thread, bright and sturdy and stable even as it conducted the electricity of her around him and burned him up whole, only to rebuild him from the chest out in the same form, but stronger, tempering him in the cooling, calm sea and waiting for the salt and sand of him to solidify into something steadier, more grounded.  Still himself with all his faults, but sealed against breaking quite so easily and bolstered by an unswerving confidence that settled along the hollows of his bones and warmed him from the inside out, a constant hazy sun inside his chest, comfort without pain, light without glaring blindness or the harshness of unmitigated observation.  A gentle hand to take his when he needed it, all he had to do was ask.  A shoulder to hide himself in when he couldn’t ask, there when she sensed the turmoil that lived under his skin rising to the surface.   

    ‘To love, then,’ he had told his father’s portrait, lost in a haze of alcohol and fading desire, and in the light of the yard he liked to think he saw the torches and the candles and the gas lamp flames flare mirthfully a little brighter as he finally admitted it to himself, mostly sober, that he loved her.  Of course he loved her.  How could he not, when everything he could have hoped for in a partner was right there in one strident, striking woman who feared so little when he feared so much?  He bobbed contented in the sea of his realization, the waves calm around him as it settled into his skin and scalded down into his bones, a layer of warmth he'd been denied too long.  

    He found himself applauding when she finished her madness, the crowd joining in as she flushed and hid her face before opening the set up to anyone else who wanted to try.  He watched as Julio dragged a tipsy Carlita into the circle before he sidled beside Elena with a cold drink, letting her catch her breath as her laughter trailed off.  He wrapped his arms around her from behind and hid his face in her neck, nose twitching at the smell of pollen and acrid gunpowder and sweat on her skin.  “Make your excuses, get your bag, let me walk you home.” 

    “Party finally getting to you, tonto?” 

    “Something like that,” he murmured, squeezing her tight to him for just a moment too long before letting her go. 

     He watched her keenly then as she went, waiting while she disappeared briefly into the cocina.  She came out a few minutes later with her sodden bag of work clothes slung over her shoulder, her skin mostly free of pollen and powder and shining where she'd scrubbed it, and with two of Carlita’s dulce de leche roscones in her hands, one in her mouth held in a smile as she looped her arm through his and handed him one, tearing the other in half and handing him half of that as well.  "Don't deny you haven't been eyeing those all night, I know how you are with sweets." 

    He ate them without tasting them as they walked back to her shops, his throat drying as they went, heartbeat steadily rising as he fought against it, pounding in his ears as he walked steadily beside her, feet unconsciously stepping on the cracks as his brain slowly began to go blank, one thought circling around in it and careening through his consciousness above anything else.

    When she opened her door, he followed her inside and took her hands in his after he clicked the lock behind him.  As the tumblers of the lock fell in place, the air around them grew heavy, and he heard her sudden intake of breath as she bit her lip, eyes hooded and bright as they found his.  He resisted the urge to swallow, his voice rougher than he meant it as he dragged what he'd been wanting to say for days out of his throat, following a green line of pollen she'd missed as it travelled down her cheek and neck and disappeared into her blouse 

    "I think we've both waited long enough."  

    It wasn't the awkward tangle of limbs and teeth and tongues he had been afraid of subjecting her too, knowing and anxious of his nerves and all too aware that he hadn't been in any sort of intimate position in over a decade.  But he still managed to make a fool of himself three times over and she still somehow forgave him for it all and didn't boot him out the door.   

    She smiled at him, somewhere between shy and sultry, her eyes brass bright and eager in the flicker of her gas lamps, and he took her face on his hand, kissing her like he had that first night, unable to hide his hesitation or the nervous twitch of his shoulders.  She hooked a finger in his belt and tugged him forward, walking backwards to her loft door and sliding it open, an expert with that damned catch.

    He could never remember how they made it up the stairs without killing themselves, her hands tangled in his hair and walking backwards, him completely oblivious to anything that wasn't her scent or her sighs or her skin beneath his hands as he tripped after her, losing his sandals somewhere along the way, hearing her alpargatas tumble down behind them and trying not to laugh at the feeling of her cold little toes against the insides of his feet as she pulled him through her loft and towards her bed.

    His hand was buried in her hair when they came to a stop, his heart flopping discordant in his chest as he tried desperately to stop thinking for once, but his eyes opened at the halt and he was faced with the reality of where he was, standing between Elena's feet with her knees backed up against her mattress, the colors of her quilt blazing at the edges of his vision as he pulled back, his hands falling away as her eyes flicked open, her head still turned to the side, relaxed in arousal and looking so young with her worries gone he feels like he's been slapped.  

    He couldn't stop his own eyes darting over her face, her blown pupils and her blazing cheeks and her freckles standing out against her skin, that stubborn strand of hair curling out madly past her ear, the green line of pollen mixing with a dried splash of blood from the bull wrestling she'd missed on her jaw, brain flooded with the scent of her perfume and sweat and arousal as she leveled a look at him, his lungs twisting up against his ribs and freezing, the vines of apprehension at his spine twining through them and locking them in place, his heart hammering around the empty space and squeezed too tight.  He felt his mouth gaping at her like a fish as he stuttered out the one thing his brain could muster in his sudden panic and he spun away.  

    "...Bye..." 

He made it all of three feet before Elena grabbed him, snatching the back of his shirt and hauling him backwards with a quiet mournful whine, bringing her arms around him and squeezing him too tightly, her face buried in his shoulder.  

    "Stay.  Please stay.  Don't make me beg you, Bruno.  I know I'm too much, that today was too much, and I'm sorry.  I'm sorry.  I'm sorry.  We don't...we don't have to do anything.  Just.  Just please.  Stay."

    Something bright and sharp and heavy broke loose in his chest at that, at her insecurity and her determination and frost fragile sharpness of her vulnerability, and he took her hands, kissing her palms and her wrists and the tip of each finger before he turned in her arms, shaking his head and bringing his lips to her ear as something fell into place and solidified under his skin.

    "We don't have to do anything, but dear God do I want to do everything with you, Elena." 

    She buckled with a whimper, and he barely caught her in time to keep her standing, keeping his eyes on his own hands as he began peeling her free of her clothes, talking the whole time just to keep his treacherous feet from bolting again, not sure where the words he heard himself saying were coming from but feeling each one blaze up his throat and across his tongue as he listened to her, took in ever slight change in her breathing and rustle of clothing against skin.

    "You have told me, every day since we started this, that I am a silly man."  He brought her blouse up and over her head, careful of her hair, dropping the cotton to the floor.  He held her by the shoulders as he kissed them, kissed the jut of her collarbone and the gentle dip of her neck, laving fading lovebites and promising himself to refresh them and add to them later.  Her breath hitched faster and breezed through his hair, and he smiled against her skin as she went for his shirt, batting her hands aside carefully.

    "And I told you that I didn't know what I was doing.  I still don't."  He shifted closer, trailing his hands behind her, following the waistband of her skirt until he found the buttons on the side, slipping his hands in and sliding the fabric around her waist until they were in front of him and he could pop each one open without an awkward reach.  

    "I don't think I ever will, with you.  But I want to try."

    One button.

    "You have burned under my skin since you kissed me that first night."

    Two buttons.

    "And I have been out of the sun for years.  I don't want to fail in the light."

    Three buttons.

    "And I refuse to put you out.  You were una diosa salvaje today, and the only thing that kept me from dragging you away to do all this earlier was my own stupid brain, lost in my head again."

    Last button. 

    He slid his hands back under the waistband of the skirt and pushed it down past her hips.  He bent, stroking his palms up her tattoos, warming down the gooseflesh that had sprung up and pushing her silk ladies boxers up and out of his way as he ran his tongue along the line of one hip and then the next, pausing at the feathering of her hands along his shoulders, taking them and placing them back gently at her side before pressing a kiss to the gentle curve of her belly.

    He stood and brought his hands behind her, mouth hot on her neck as he undid her bra, slipping it off and dropping it with the rest on the floor, her skin burning the tips of his fingers where they brushed against her.  The rush of blood from his head to his cock at the sight of her breasts untethered had him straining at full mast in an instant, but he bit down the instinct to throw her onto the bed and tear her underwear away.  There would be time for that later.

    He took her breasts in his hands, teasing her nipples to peaks with his thumbs as he memorized the weight of them in his palms, the heat of them, the smell of her flushed skin, salt and soap and the faint musky sweat of arousal, the furrow-browed stuttering of her breath through a bitten lip.  He bent again and took one in his mouth, teasing the pebbled skin with the tip of his tongue as he ran his fingers along the tender underside, soothing skin pinched and irritated from the day before trailing down her side, pulling at the waistband of her underwear.  He shifted his mouth to the other breast and slowly pulled her underwear down to meet the rest of her clothes.  He felt her shuffle, closing her legs against the air and kicking her clothes away, and grinned, standing straight and stepping away and taking in the full sight of her, grabbing her hands and holding them away when she tried to cover herself with a stern "No."  

    His eyes had gone off, the green light hazing the edges of his vision and laying underwater and after storm impressions across her skin, tranquil and taunting at once.  He thought if he had his way, she'd never wear clothes again, because everything she owned lied to him about her body.  The weigh of her breasts hid the gentle tuck of her waist, the delicate curve of her stomach perched lightly on the generous swell of her hips, a soft crease over the trimmed triangle of her sex that he knew would double over and across her hips when she sat, little arrows guiding him exactly where he wanted to be. 

    Elena blazed under his hands and his eyes and his scrutiny, biting at her lip as her skin buzzed and simmered and burned under his touch, every brush of his fingers tingling along her skin and staying there long after he'd moved on.  Her head was beginning to float in the anticipation, and the only part of her that felt solid was the circle of skin along her wrists where he held her still, long fingers wrapped around her to meet and fold over, making her feel inexplicably small in his grip.

    She was having trouble keeping her breath steady, watching him watching her, and somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered where this Bruno had come from, where her Bruno with his stuttering and his salt and his nervous hand wringing were as she looked this one over.  It took a moment, not used to seeing him so still, but she found him, in the slight shake of his grip, and the bend to his posture as he tried to hide his obvious arousal, and on the floor where he stood barefoot, toes of one foot twisting nervously over the top of the other.  She shook her hands loose and went for his shirt buttons, but he stilled her again, shaking his head.  

    "Please.  I--I don't want this to be over before it even starts.  Please?"

    She looked down at herself, naked as a jay bird, and took her hands back.  "I want to see you too.  Just the shirt?"

    He scrunched his face, a silent prayer for strength, but nodded and let her go, watching the glinting of her ring as she undid his shirt and brushed it down his arms.  He had to wiggle out of the rolled sleeves, and knew he'd offered her an unflattering view of his belly when he turned back around to see her watching him, trailing a finger down through his chest hair and the line below, stopping when she reached his navel.  She snaked her hands around his waist and pulled him to her, kissing up his collarbone, her breath still halting.  He shuffled to the side and went for her mouth, noses bumping as she was caught off balance and they both fell on the bed with a creak of springs and a tangle of knees, noses and foreheads bumping again.

    Elena blinked like an owl as she watched his eyes gutter out in mortification, same bewildered look as when he'd had her sprawled over him on her sofa, and a cable snapped somewhere in her ribcage to bubble up as laughter.  He froze before joining her, both of them righting themselves on her quilt to lay side by side.  He grabbed her face and peppered it with kisses as their laughter softened, became breathier, as his leg found its way between hers and he lay flush against her chest, one hand leaving her face to trace down her neck, touch so tender it seemed almost reverent as he learned her skin.   

    Elena couldn't remember the last time her skin had been so awake, everywhere his fingers landed tingling so strongly it stayed even as he moved on.  He moved down her neck, her shoulder, gathering a breast in his hand before whispering, so quiet she barely heard it, "is this alright?"

    How he could be so concerned with her comfort when she was burning under him she didn't know, could barely say, and brought her hand shakily up to his curls and sighed back "please..."  He laved the tender underside with the tip of his tongue, skimming his other hand up across her belly to mirror his movements on the other, the rough of his knuckles teasing at sensitive skin, a gentle heat rolling down from her breasts to her core as he moved, teasing at her nipples again with nimble fingers and his clever tongue, twisting and suckling in turn, switching off and changing pace whenever her breathing began to even out.

    She ran her foot up the rough seams of his pants, trying to nudge him closer, but he shook his head, releasing her swollen nipple with a groan before shifting further down on the bed.  She hitched her legs in a flash of anticipation, but he didn't go for his belt.  She rubbed her thighs together to release some of the building tension, slick already and throbbing against her own skin, waiting impatiently for him reach out.  

    His hair tickled her as he left soft, wet kisses down the line of her belly, stroking at the silvered stretch-marks tenderly and kissing each one he found, playing with the softness of her skin to leave it humming in his wake.  He shifted and settled his legs between her knees before leaning into her, nipping carefully at the lines of her hips, the little fold of her stomach, the tensed muscles of her thighs, his hands at her knees and rubbing up the line of her inner thighs, marveling at the softness and give of her skin there.  She'd closed her eyes, her head sinking into the pillows as excitement tightened her chest and the space behind her eyes, her face pinched in need.  She felt the bed shift under his weight as he grabbed a pillow before he halted, his hands resting and burning her down to the bone over her tattoos.  

    "Can I...is this...can I see all of you?"

    She shifted her feet and opened her legs to him, her heart a disjointed bird in her chest, and she bit her lip when she heard him swear under his breath.   There was a light jostling, and then his thumbs cool and wet on the inlet of her thighs, his breath hot across her curls as he leaned down.  He barely touched her, thumbs sliding and ghosting across her soaking skin as they teased her swollen, taunted her open, barely there and the only thing tethering her to reality as every nerve she had rerouted to her sex and fired, intermittent and panicked and flashing bright behind her eyes, little puffs of his breath making her twitch, her legs jerking.  He finally coursed his thumb down her slit, gathering the moisture and spreading it over her folds, slipping across her skin with no resistance as he hummed, his voice making her crack an eye open.  "All this...for me?" He whispered, wide-eyed, and she watched as he sucked his thumb clean before he leveled a look at her, caught out and gasping as she tried to close her legs, lost and desperate for something, anything as long as it was him doing it.  "Dulce Elena."

    He'd wrapped her legs around his narrow shoulders and slid the pillow under her ass before she came out of her stupor, and she felt his breath hot against her lips.  She shivered against him as the heat of his hands seeped into her skin, jerking half out of his grip when his tongue teased at her.  Careful, small licks up her slit, kisses pressed parallel to her lips in between them, his nose pressing just slightly into her clit, trapped under her lips as he played with her.  He took one labia into his mouth and sucked on it, laving it flat and then pressing into the skin with the hardened tip of his tongue, sliding up and down like he was trying to memorize it with his lips.  She sobbed as heat sank into her bones when he began the same on the other side, finally breaking her bitten lipped silence and bucking her hips against him, burning, drowning, wanting more.

    He obliged, grinding his jaw against her entrance and spreading her with three flat, harsh passes of his tongue, pressing against every nerve and sending patterns dancing in her head as she panted, fighting against his grip, hands fluttering to tangle in his hair, half words and swears falling from her as she was pulled along by his mouth, each sweep of his tongue dragging sweet destruction down her spine.  He shifted up and finally, finally placed his mouth over the aching throb of her clit, teasing at the little hood with his tongue before swirling around the jut of it where it disappeared into her skin, flicking up with each pass in a pattern she could half recognize, hazy memories of her mouth on his cock making her jerk against his face, moaning as he dragged her up to the peak with his slow, languid sucking and his flickering tongue.   He backed away as her voice was replaced by stuttering gasps and half moans, all words flying from her conscious.  He ran his tongue up her outer lips and then down her folds, making a flat pass down the center and sucking gently at her clit before dipping his tongue inside her, hot and wet and swirling, before reversing the pattern and dragging numb-mouthed cries out of her as he pulled her closer to the edge.  

    He spread her with his thumbs and used his tongue to press into her, thrusting it in short, fast strokes as he slipped his fingers over her clit in a sharp, long slide that had her grinding against his face, caught between panting and crying out as she fluttered around his tongue, sunspots and colors flying behind her eyes as she teetered on the edge.  He pulled away to let the cool air hit her before taking her clit in his mouth and suckling down hard, his chin and nose pressed into her sex and sending her arching off the bed with a broken scream, lightning breaking free down her nerves, swirling in her muscles as they tensed and jerked and tensed again, her thighs clamping down on his head, her chest sinking into the waiting sea and her head spinning in three directions at once, delirium and desire pulling her down and dragging her up at the same time.

     Bruno had stilled, but when her eyes peeked open after she caught her breath, he smirked with glistening lips, giving her only a second to recover before he buried his head between her legs again, this time curling two fingers inside of her and torturing her clit with slow, shallow licks as he pumped his hand against her walls and the frilled patch of flesh to the front, curling and twisting and beckoning, scissoring to spread her and pushing in as deep as they could go, those long, graceful hands of his playing her to the point of breaking.  He'd trapped her legs, one under his, the other in his arm, and she could do nothing but twitch and hitch and spiral away in his grasp as he dragged a second orgasm out of her humming against her clit as he did and turning her cries into a blissful, tortured sob.

     "Bru-Bruno, please, please,  I can't...can't..."

     He shook his head against her, biting gently at the tender, raw skin of her thighs, and switched around again.  His tongue was spiraling at her entrance one way, his thumb around her clit going the other, his nose pressing down persistent and still against the tender space in between, no part of her left untouched, no space left wanting as he threw her into the searing waves again, pressed a sobbing cry from her and held her while she arched against his hand and mouth, every part of her body floating away except for where the heat of him tethered her to the real world, spinning, spiraling, tumbling dizzy and disoriented away to fall onto the bed with a trapped groan, her vision black around the edges and white in the middle when she tried to blink back into reality.  There was a strained ache in her abdomen and her left leg wouldn't stop twitching, barely able to move as she drifted slowly back into her body, poured back into her skin like mercury, slow and silver and smooth. 

    She felt him hard and insistent against her thigh.  He'd removed his pants while she'd come down, and she gave him a petulant pout as he shuffled up beside her, cock warm against her hip.

    "I wanted to do that."

    "Maybe next time.  If...if there is a next time...?"

    "After that?!  You're lucky if I don't chain you to my bed."

    "Promises, querida...don't make one's you'll regret."

    "You really are a dirty old man, aren't you?" She smirked, pulling him to her and scratching at his chin as he twitched against her.  Interesting.  He buried his face in her neck and scratched at her with his stubble and pinched her side, "I did try to warn you, ninfa."  He ground against her briefly before freezing, tensing at her side, his grip where he'd pinched her shaking and tight as his breath faltered.  She felt the anxiety wash over him, cold under his skin as he swallowed.

    "Elena...we...if you don't want...we can...we can stop here.  I can...I can go."

    There was a sharpness to the air, jabbing into her ears and cutting through the amber haze she'd fallen into, something shifting again, but harsher, more noticeable under both their skins.  She turned to him, taking in the fall of his face and his shivering, disquiet eyes, considering her next actions carefully.

    "I thought I told you not to make me beg," she said slowly, holding his chin still so he couldn't look away, slinging her leg over his and her foot between his knees to roll him on top of her, and they both hissed at the contact.  "It's...I...it's been so long..." he murmured, trying to hold himself up, looking away, awkward on elbows and knees that were quickly failing against her impatience. 

    "Bruno, I finally have you in my bed.  I don't care if you come on my leg like a teenager, just stay.  You said you would stay.  I don't care about the rest."

    He started at that, taking a breath, slow and steady with his eyes closed.  She tasted herself on his lips as he kissed her, an odd mix of musk and salt, her hands in his hair pulling him closer as he shifted.  His hand was between her legs, two fingers slipping inside her and pushing up as his thumb bore down on her clit, her yelp swallowed in his kiss as she jolted in surprise, his fingers pumping in and out and curling up at a languid, firm pace until she was writhing against him, her legs down skimming down his sides as her toes curled on the twisted quilt.

    "Brun-Bruno, please..." she'd meant it to be seductive, but her voice was cracking from the cries he'd brought her to earlier, and she sounded small, so small, and she felt his resolve break as he groaned, pulling away before sucking a mark under her jaw as he slid the head of his cock up and down her clit, lining himself up to her entrance and brushing his knuckles against her folds before finally, finally sinking into her in a slow, solid stroke, slick as sin from his hands and his mouth.  They both shook at the contact, her eyes closing at the bright, biting stretch of him.

    "....f-fuck...." Bruno bit at her ear, his shoulders shaking.  "...don't move...please don't move..."  She laid back, trying not to, trying to listen, her head swimming, but she couldn't resist the urge to run her hands up his arms and across his shoulders, spanning his neck with her hands and bringing his face to hers, resting their foreheads together as his breathing steadied.

     Slowly, he began to move, grinding against her clit with his pelvis, staying buried inside her, barely moving but sending sparks rushing up and down her spine, her mind floating away as their breath mingled.

     There was a jolting burning sear in her belly as he sped his pace, hands fisting in the quilt on either side of her head, hissing through gritted teeth as his hips bucked sharp against hers.  She shifted under him, stroking his legs with her feet before hooking them around his waist, whimpering at the shift in angle and the teeth in her shoulder and the twisting coil in her chest, wound tighter as his thrusts slowed and deepened, his hips rolling against hers, his chest hair an alluring scratch at her nipples, the weight of him nestled between her thighs.   Her hearing began to fade, the world narrowing to just her loft, just her bed, just her and Bruno and the subtle slap of skin and her stilted cries and the gravel of his voice into the sweet pain her bitten shoulder.

    Yellow and blue and black lights began to dance at the back of her eyes, and she rocked her hips against him, her hands falling back to tangle in her quilt, her heels pushing down his back and pressing him hard against her as her muscles began to tense around him, and he was lost, panting through erratic, harsh thrusts before shouting muffled into her shoulder, releasing with a long shudder and stilling, dazed, as he filled her up.  The spring in her chest slacked, and she fell back against the pillows, unable to stop the mournful groan that slipped out as he panted in her ear, trying to come to, swearing against her skin in agitated prayer.

    "...mierda...mierda...carajo..." 

    Elena reached out for him, brushing her hand through his curls and trying to get him to look at her, to let him know it was alright, when he tensed, and turned.  His eyes lit up the room, glowing rabidly from glaring brows, and he crushed his mouth to hers, bruising and bitten and sucking on her tongue before he pulled away, sliding out of her as he slipped down between her legs, pushing three fingers inside of her overstimulated cunt with no resistance and attacking her clit with his lips and tongue and teeth, suckling and grazing, laving every nerve raw as he pumped his hand against her, curling up into that frilled spot at the front and pulling a bucking scream out of her, her thighs quaking as she gripped the quilt, feet flat on the bed as she ground against him, those long fingers twisting inside of her, their path slicked by their juices, and the spring broke, spinning away and slicing her chest open in half a hundred places, molten copper pooling around her as she writhed and snapped and swore his name with her fist in his hair, falling back hoarse and exhausted, slippery with sweat and spend and slick.

    Bruno rolled out from her legs to fall beside her, his arm lolling off the side of the bed and clacking the nightstand, though he didn't seem to notice, catching his breath as he stared up at the dark of her ceiling, the glow behind his eyes fading.  There was enough light from her gas lamp to see her outlined in orange, broadstrokes and impressions against the dark, and he turned, running his hand down her arm to rest on her stomach, comfortable and grounding and just as satin soft as he'd imagined it would be under his hands. 

     Nothing was said as the heat dissipated around them and they began to cool in the air.  The world came back into focus, the sounds of rustling palm fronds and chorus of insects and half a million frogs breaking through the false silence, and he grinned as Elena scooted closer and cuddled against his chest.  He kissed the top of her head, a mad thought falling from his mouth as he did, too drunk on everything to hold it back.  

    "Didn't think sex would be where you forgot how to talk."

    She whined against him, biting at his chest playfully.  "Didn't think it's where you'd never shut up, either."

    "You do the ah, the swearing next time then, I'll be quiet, sound fair?"

    "Not a chance.  I like hearing you cuss like a dirty old man.  You still aren't old, though.  You just proved that four times over...."

     "Pfft, Elena!" he groaned, but shouldn't have been surprised at her teasing.   He liked this, that they slipped into this floating, relaxed place right after, rather than his brain ruining it with the stuttering apologies he'd worried about.  That tender little hand through his hair had been his undoing, and he'd pounced on her without a second thought, one goal in mind and he'd achieved it.  Let her tease him about his age.  He knew it was just a playful lie.

    She shifted and sat up and he grabbed for her lazily, pulling her back limply as she struggled and squealed and kicked her feet as he scrubbed his stubble into her side.  "Where are you going?  You're comfy, come back."

    "Bruno let me up, I have to pee!  I'm not getting an ITU just because you wobbled my knees."

     He released her with a amused huff, rolling his eyes and waving his hands at her dismissively.  As she stood, some dim trick of the light shaded her belly, making her look bowed out and pregnant for the briefest second, and he watched her walk away too tired to shove that particular fantasy down.  The thought of seeing her swollen and fertile and heavy carrying a child had flitted in his mind now and then, but he'd always stifled it, trying not to build worlds in his head before they'd gotten anywhere.   Then it clicked into place that with tonight it might no longer just be a fantasy.  

    "Oh."

    He bolted up, horrified at himself as he buried his face in his hands.

    "Fuck." 

    He waited for her to come out of the bathroom, nervously twisting his hands and his brain spiraling down into fractals, all of which led to a furious Elena, or a sad one, or a silent one, nervous and panicked and waiting in the same bathroom for days for nature to take its course and fail.

    She slipped under the quilt and patted the space beside her, trapped under him still, and he obliged numbly, crawling in beside her and scooping her up, biting at his lip as he held her stomach, the soft, gentle rounding of her weight and not the tight drum of a child under his hands.  He lost track of his grip though, and she winced a quiet "ow" before wedging her hands under his and holding them, holding him away and considering.

    "You're in your head again, tonto.  Not a place to be in this bed unless your plotting fun things for later."

    "Elena...I wasn't...I...it's just been so long and I...I lost control.  I...I came...inside you.  Mierda, what if I've gotten you pregnant?"

    Elena held his hands against her chest, shuffling so one wasn't trapped under her, and hummed, thoughtful. That was one hell of a question, and her brain still hadn't clicked on all the lights yet.  She'd felt him, the spurts of his release and the slip of it against her thighs as she moved, before she'd cleaned up, but where she thought there would be a panic like there had been before, where there should have been one, there sat nothing in her chest but the calm weight of certainty.

    "Well," she said, leaning back into him and answering as honestly as she could, seeing his distress and trying not to smile, his concern endearing and a little misplaced.   "I don't think it's very likely.  I've never had a scare, and you aren't the first man that's slipped.   With all the trouble my mother had, all the trouble I have with la regla...  I wouldn't worry too much."

    "It just takes...just takes the once.  That's not the same."  He heard the desperate whine in his voice, hating himself, not sure exactly which way he wanted this particular chip to fall, and hating himself more.

    "No, it's not but..." she paused, bringing his hands back down to her stomach.  "But if it does happen, however unlikely that is, well...ok."  She braced him in her arms as he jerked back, trying to see her face in the dim light, trying to verify to himself he'd heard her right, that his brain wasn't twisting the scenario inside out, that he'd heard that steady assurance in her voice and hadn't imagined it.

    "Ok? Just...just like that...ok?"

    He knew he was gripping her hands too tightly when she winced, but she let him go, let him waver before answering, seeing if he could calm himself down.

     "Bruno...we're both too old to be freaking out over the possibility.  If it happens...we'll figure it out.  We wouldn't know for a couple of months anyway, and I don't want you worrying over something that there's really no reason to worry about."

    "I just...I don't want to...I don't want to trap you into something you don't want."

    She shifted, lying down and yawning like a cat, stretching with a shake and hooking his shoulders as she settled in, bones heavy and head in a quiet buzz.  He laid his cheek against her chest, listening to her falling heartbeat and the huff of her laugh.   "There are worse things in the world than that kind of surprise.  Sleep, silly man.  We'll talk more in the morning." 

    Body tense in the unfamiliar room, he was lulled into a fitful sleep by the trilling of the arrow frogs outside and the steady thump of her heart. 

    Elena snored.  It was a gentler sound, quieter than the hoarse rattle she'd presented him with when he'd brought her breakfast after the dance hall, but still, the sound echoed hollow in her loft and woke him up.  He could see the time on the little glowing radium dials of her clock when he looked over her shoulder, past midnight but nowhere near dawn.  He sat up, pulling the covers over her when she curled at the air, sliding out of the bed and making his way to the bathroom.  He washed his face and took care of the necessities, and caught a look at himself in the mirror.  His hair was a mess, no surprise there.  There was a new bright mark on his neck, but the unabashed smile he couldn't shake surprised him the most.  A warmth had settled into his bones sometime while he slept, and it showed, and his grin grew wider.  She hadn't thrown him out, had practically cocooned him in the blankets and smuggled him into her bed, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so wanted.  If he hadn't realized he loved her while she danced in colors after scaring him half to death twice in one day, he'd have realized it then.  

    He watched her for a moment as she turned in sleep, blanket slipping down to reveal her breasts, and he laughed at himself at the speed he got hard again.  They really were lovely tits.  It was late, so damned late...but maybe it wouldn't hurt to ask.  He sat on the bed, hand shaking her shoulder gently.  She groaned and curled into him before lifting up, blinking drowsily.

    "mmh--wha...you up?  Whatime isit?"

    "Don't ask.  Late."

    "Couldn't sleep?"

    "You snore.  It woke me up.  Among other things."

    He pulled her to him and ground against her to emphasize his point.  "I see," she laughed, lazily slinging a leg over him and pulling him on top of her, sleepy and slow.  "Nerves calmed down?"

    "No," he began as he trailed a hand down between them, teasing her steadily with the slip of his fingers in her folds, watching as she began to shift and wiggle against him, her breathing quickening as her head lolled back on the pillows.  He could at least pride himself in being a fast learner.  "I'm ignoring the nerves, because this is more important.  Let me...make up for earlier?  Give you a reason to...to sleep in?"

    She bit her lip and nodded as he circled her entrance, slick and getting slicker under his hand, and he grinned before swiping at that bitten lip with his tongue and pulling it into his mouth, his fingers curling into the wet heat of her slowly as his pulse thumped in his ears, excitement climbing up his spine in a disjointed shamble, clambering up and swelling in his chest as he swallowed her sighs, smug at the sounds she was making and the jerking little shifts of her pelvis and legs against him, the soft brushing of her breasts against his chest.  

    He shuffled down to her nipple, teasing around it in slow circles and then hard straight passes with the tip of his tongue, worrying it between his teeth carefully, the fingers inside her never stopping, his other hand trailing slowly up and down her side, touching her everywhere, learning the tenderness of her skin.  If he ran his knuckles up her ribs she would laugh.  The pads of his fingers at her waist and the soft underside of her arm summoned contented sighs and gently rocking hips.  A caress to her stomach made her squirm and croon.  And if he scraped his blunt nails down her tattooed hips her legs would tense and shake before locking around him.  

    He waited for the first real cry to leave her before he slid his hand away and knelt back, pulling her hips up over his spread legs, settling against her and sliding inside as slow as he could stand to, biting his lip to distract himself from her high pitched whine as he sank into the tight heat, swollen still from earlier in the night.

     He set a comfortable pace, the urgency easier to push back as he savored her body, warm and pliable under his hands, letting him hold one thigh off to the side so he could watch himself and the subtle contrast of their skin as his cock disappeared inside her, his eyes adjusted to the dim light, her lips and the muscles behind them gripping him as her knees began to shake.  His chest was tight as his fingers dug into the softest flesh of her thigh, too lost in the sleek friction surrounding him to realize he was leaving bruises.  A cold sweat broke out at the base of his spine as she rocked her hips against him, grinding softly where they met as she twisted lazily on the bed, eyes closed and mouth opened in a pretty pout that had his cock jerking inside her as flashes of what that mouth was capable of flitted across his mind.  He was pulled back to the present by her hand reaching for his in the dark and resting it on her curls before falling away to her misty voice.  "...so close...please..."

    He brought his thumb down on her swollen clit in broad strokes to match his pace, and rolled his hips as she throbbed around him, blood pounding in his ears and his head spinning as she engulfed him.  Every slow thrust was met with a curling moan and the quiver of her muscles around him as her hips writhed and her hands came up to dig nails into his shoulders, sending little sparks of pain tripping over his body and straight to his cock, the air around him heavy and muted as he lost his rhythm, as it all became too much and he grew frantic, pressing down on her clit in hard, fast little circles until she tensed and sobbed, clamping down on him in one long shuddering pulse so tight he was frozen, unable to move as she burned around him and tore him to the ground.  He nearly bit through his lip as they tumbled to the side together, breathing hard as he slipped out of her, spilling across her stomach in long twitching bursts that left him panting and wrung out.  

    He was conscious enough to grab something from the floor and clean them off before splaying out across Elena with an exhausted sigh, his head nestled comfortably on her shoulder as her hand trailed up and down his back idly before playing with his hair, pleasant little tingles dusting down his shot nerves as his eyes grew heavy and his body started to float away in the quiet.  His last ounce of energy gave out as he pulled the blankets over them and snuggled against her, soft under the arm he'd wrapped around her.

     Elena turned and smiled sleepily, resting her cheek on his curls, kissing his scalp before drifting off to the smells of sex and salt and sandalwood and the gentle sound of his breathing.

Chapter Text

Elena was essentially noseblind to the smell of coffee most days.  The dangers of working with it meant that while she loved the smell, she wound up missing it even when she was elbow deep in a sack of beans.   She noticed it more when it was places it wasn't supposed to be, and one place it never was was on her nightstand at eight o'-too-damn-early on Sábado morning.  She slowly drifted awake to realize that several things were different in her loft besides the surprise mystery coffee.  There was a large mug wrapped in a towel on the wrong nightstand explaining that.  She was on the wrong side of the bed because the sun was in her eyes.  There was an enticing ache from her navel to her knees.  And there was a warm body behind her with its arm around her waist.  Memories of the night before sifted to the surface of her mind and she hummed happily, contentment and gentle arousal settling into her skin.  She smiled and snuggled back as Bruno squeezed her, whispering into her shoulder.

     "'Morning, dormilona."

     "Dios mio don't let him be a morning person," Elena whined, giggling when he dug his chin into her shoulder.   

     "Someone woke me up, can't imagine who."  He pulled her closer, his chest warm on her back.  

     "Mhm, how'd I mah-manage that in my sleep?"  She yawned, snorting sleepily when he cupped her ass, massaging slowly up with his thumbs and splaying his warm hands wide, wrapping one around to trace the lines of her tattoo on that side, following the slight raise of scar like he was committing it to memory.

     "Laying naked looking like this would raise the saints.  I'm just a weak, desperate man."  She felt him smirk against her skin, nudging at the back of her thighs with his cock, burning against skin rubbed tender still from his stubble.

    "Put that away, I'm still sore from last night," she mumbled sleepily, folding her pillow over her head to block out the sun.  He got the left side next time.  Bruno gave a smug little chuckle and placed a slow kiss to her shoulder and shifted his hands, kneading at her belly as he rocked his hips against her, just enough to tease. 

    "Putting it away was sort of the plan here..."

She snorted at that, dozy but too awake to fall back asleep and curious to see what he would do.

     "Well...I'd hate to spoil your plans Senór, carry on."

     "You're ridiculous..." He whispered as his hands began to stray, the one trapped under her twisting up to play with her breast, rolling its weight in his hand and caressing the nipple up to a peak, the other slipping down, middle finger trailing into her folds to play with her clit as he nudged her leg up just enough to give him access.  He surprised her, closing her legs down around him, surrounded by the soft flesh of her thighs and the tender skin of her lips, spread around him as he warmed his cock, rolling his hips tauntingly slow.  

     There was a solid heat to him resting there between her legs, spreading up from her lips to her core and up her spine in a gentle shiver, and she scooted back against him as he played with her slowly, in no hurry as he pressed figure eights around her clit, kindling but not burning as she felt herself begin to slick.  She clenched down on him experimentally, clamping her legs in time with his shallow thrusts, barely moving, and he grunted in surprise before nudging at her jaw with his nose, making her turn so he could kiss her as he twisted her nipple harder, but so deliciously slow, rolling it between his thumb and index finger like he was testing the quality of silk.  The kiss was careful and lazy, both of them canted at an awkward angle, but so tender she sank back against him with a sigh, her chest filled with a gentle light that diffused out through her skin as their breath mingled in the muted early morning.

     The heat built in her slowly, tamped down by her drowsiness and the languor he moved in, pressing warm, open mouthed kisses to her shoulder and neck and nibbling at her ear.  He was a gentle weight against her back, slight but grounding as she started to drift away, his hands and his cock searing into her and holding her in place.  There was a little jolt that swirled low in her belly when he was flush against her, the ridge of the head of his cock sliding slow and tantalizing over her clit as he added a second finger and spread the front of her open to give himself access to tease her more. 

    He shifted, pinning her down as he slung one slim, strong thigh across the top of her leg and pressed her thighs tighter, running his mouth along her spine and nuzzling against her, the increase in friction melting her against him an a sensual shiver that had every part of her quivering against him in a longing ache that made her moan as he murmured into her hair.

    "You're so soft.  How can...how can someone be this soft?  Tan sedosa..."  She wanted to laugh, to tease him for being such a silly man, but her head was spinning away in the pink light of the sun and her body was full of candlelight and floating away from her further with each stroke of his fingers and the velvet slick slide of his cock teasing across almost every nerve, every nerve except where she wanted him most.

     "Please...I want you inside..." she sighed as she tried to shift her hips, to catch him if she could at the angle, but he stilled.  "Are...are you sure?"  The doubt in his voice tore at her, still unsure of this all even in the middle of this sweet, mellow intimacy.  She took the hand at her folds and brought it up to her lips, licking his fingers clean of herself before kissing the palm and the still-too-slim wrist before placing it soundly on her hip, fingers twined together.

     The sound she made as he slid inside her almost undid him, and she ground back against his cock as he bit the tender spot between neck and shoulder, her voice obscene in both their ears as she pulsed around him, muscles shifting in lazy, soft ripples around him that flowed out from her core to her clit and poured themselves into every tingling corner of her skin in a molten lilt that had her curling into herself before tilting back, trapped in his arms as she writhed.   He moved slow, pulling out almost entirely before sliding back in, taking his time and grinding his hips against her when he bottomed out, kissing the knotty vertebrae at the base of her neck.  His hand burned at her hip, using the crease at her thigh to pull her  back against him and stroking her skin.  He huffed in her ear, nibbling at the shell of it as he whispered, each little affection punctuating the end of a long, slow thrust that chased lightning up her spine.  

     "You're dangerous, querida."  She clenched around him, reaching for his hand at her hip and dragging it up to her breast.

     "You've trapped me in your bed."  He rolled her nipple in his hand and earned a soft moan for his efforts as she shivered against him.  Tingling spirals rushed up her spine as she rolled her hips back against him. Heat pooled in her belly and was sparking fiercer at each word, each motion, and she chased it, pushing back harder against him, her breath shuddering as tongues of fire trailed slowly into her veins.

    "Bruno, please..."

     "I might...never leave..." he panted into her ear, sucking on her earlobe and slipping out of her to glide his cock between her thighs again, canting his hips and sliding the slick head across her clit again and again.  She cried out at the loss and the stimulation and clamped her legs down on him as heat broke loose and flowed over her skin, one slow, steady burn that seared away her hearing. It twisted tightly in her chest and belly as she went limp in his arms, shivering through the gentle, fierce waves as lights floated behind her eyes with a strangled sob, twisted high into a groan when he bit down on her shoulder and followed behind, hot spurts of his release splashing across the tender skin of her thighs.

     They lay in a daze, the air heavy around them as they panted, breathy laughter and subtle hands and brushed kisses the only thing they could muster, both caught up still in the intangible mantle they'd woven for themselves in the night, light and bright and protective around her bed and the confines of her loft, away from the town and the world and anything that wasn't him and her and them together, breath and body heat mingling in the air.

     He shifted behind her, kissing her shoulder where he'd bitten it and givving her ass an affectionate little pat before getting up, letting cold air between them that woke her up from her langour to roll onto her back and watch him as he walked to the bathroom, admiring hazily seeing him naked in the daylight.  He was well built, if a little disproportionate, long torso and slim, wiry limbs.  Age had softened his angles.  There was a hint of slack to his skin as his muscles shifted under it, dark freckles and spots along his shoulders and down his back.  She could make out the softness at his narrow waist past the scar on his hip, the little belly he seemed so shy of that made her smile.  She was slightly jealous of his legs, trim from years of stairs even after a decade away, and she had to wonder again at how no one had snatched him up before now.  He had the narrow ass to match his slim hips, but there was enough there that she still found herself wanting to pinch it whenever it wasn't hiding under his ruana, and she giggled a little at the thought that she had the freedom to do so now.  

     She lay back and stretched out in the sun, sheet slipping the rest of the way off her and letting the heat soak into her skin, cat-lazy and languid in the light and content to drift away.  She yelped and sprang away when something cool and wet tickled its way up her calf a moment later, and Bruno took the opportunity to hop onto the bed and between her legs, mischievous grin splitting his face as he held an ankle, locking her in place as she peered at him curiously.

    "I've made a mess of you," he shrugged, drawing the washcloth he'd wetted up her inner thigh slowly, sending ice up her and making her muscles clench.  "I...I wanted to be polite, help you clean up?"

     "Are you asking or telling me?"

     "Both?"  Elena laughed.  A grown man had no business looking that innocent staring down her sex with his shoulders between her knees, but somehow Bruno managed it, his ears red and his freckles standing out on his pink cheeks.  She made a vague motion, and he trailed the cloth down the inside of her thighs, sure strokes wiping the stickiness off her skin, soothing the faint scratches his beard had ground into her skin and gently thumbing over the finger shaped bruises he'd left on her right leg.

      "I'm...I'm sorry about these.  I didn't mean to..."

      "Don't apologize.  You don't hear me complaining, do you?"

      "No...but...but I still..."  There was that little waver of doubt in his voice again.  She was going to nip that before it could grow.

      "You got a little wild.  I liked it."  She teased him, running her foot up his side and tickling his ribs.  He looked up at her before his eyes flicked down to her cunt, faint glow lighting in them as he traced her folds lightly with the cloth, making her shiver as his tongue peeked out to wet dry lips.  "Still...I left bruises.  Can I...can I make it up to you?"

      She saw where his mind was going and could only laugh.  "Again?  Aren't you tired of that?"

      "Never."  The finality of that one word dazed her, but he continued, dropping the cloth to dampen the blankets and brushing his lips against her thigh, trailing warm, soft kisses up the line of muscle there, hidden in the softness of her flesh.  "The sounds you make when I'm there...I...they hurt to hear.  Because I... because I never want them to stop."

     She sank into the pillows with a sigh as he ghosted his lips over her, skimming around the edges of her pubic hair to kiss her mound before tracing his tongue hot and slick and burning down her right leg, kissing each bruise he'd left and sucking a mark next to it, pausing to admire the line of her leg.

"I've wanted to do this...since that first night.  I just...I just never thought I'd get here."

Before she could answer his lips were on her, tongue laving deep to tease at her entrance before lapping up, spread flat and spreading her and sending her down into a pool of molten copper, bright and hot and searing every nerve in her skin.

      He was slow and meticulous.  Any sound she made he would pause, and then do again whatever it was that had made that sigh or cry or whimper.  He teased at her folds with his lips, suckling until they were swollen and flush with blood before lapping up them in hard swipes, tongue hot and pressing into her with his stubble scoring prickling lightning behind.  He buried his face in her folds with a shake of his head and lapped at her entrance, pressing against her with the flat of his tongue before slipping it inside, just long enough to tease and taste and retreat before doing it all over again, looping his arms around her legs when she began to shake.

     His tongue traveled up slowly, making lazy arches as it pushed against her, dragging sensation out of places she didn't know could spark so brightly, lapping at her, vigorous and loud and lewd in her ears, swift wet sounds against the morning backdrop.  Her chest was hot, her lungs tight, her face pinched and compressed and skin burning when he finally paid attention to her throbbing clit, gentle suckling at a pace so infuriatingly slow she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and sobbed, grinding against him, trying to get him to move faster, to press harder, but he stayed where he was.  He pinched at her thighs when she groaned in frustration, body on fire, center of the flames right at his mouth, and he pinched her again, a little higher this time.  She cried out something, a swear or his name or both she wasn't sure, and he huffed against her before humming sharply and pressing his tongue down on her abused clit hard, and she broke.  Her cracking sob echoed in the heavy air as she arched, flooding his face and her hands caught in her hair and pulling tight, little lines of pain darting red through the white and gold flashes swirling behind her eyes, her chest knocked breathless as she sank into the mattress, limp again and not sure she'd be able to string together a thought any time soon as he lapped at her slowly, licking clean every last drop of her, listening to her languid sobs.

     He found the cloth again and wiped his dripping face before placing it against her, cold and soothing against flesh used and aching, resting his head on her belly as they both wound down from their highs, heat of his hand slowly seeping through the cool of the cloth before he finally shuffled up to sit beside her. 

     They leaned against each other as they sat against the headboard, sweaty and sated and wrapped in her ivy and peony printed sheets, Elena puzzling over the coffee and smiling sweetly.  "Please tell me you at least put a shirt on before you snuck over to the bakery for arequipes?"  She teased him, leaning over one of the crumbly pasteles on a saucer so she wouldn't get crumbs on the bed.   He snorted, sipping his own coffee and wincing at the flavor, strong enough to get up and march on its own.   "Didn't have to.  Your friend is... a very good friend.  They were in a basket by the door.  She left a note." 

    "What did it say?" 

    "...I don't trust Carlita enough to open it..." he muttered as he handed it to her.  Carlita was no artist, but the crude drawing of a wet donut with little starbursts around it was easy enough to interpret.  

    "Ay dios mio, Car!" She cackled, taking a sip of her coffee before coughing into her mug, giving him a scandalized look.  "Did you brew this through my boots?  I'll be awake for a week!"

     He rubbed at his neck awkwardly, feet wiggling under the sheet.  "Lo...lo siento, I..."

    "Oh, Bruno, don't apologize, I'm teasing you.  This was sweet.  Little over enthusiastic, maybe?"   His grin was crooked, but it was there as he bumped his shoulder to hers, stealing a bite of her pastry.  

      "Ay, dáme un respiro.  I'm...still not used to fresh ingredients, you know?"   She set her cup and saucer down and took his empty hand, tracing over the faint green veins and the fine hairs on the back.  

      "Someday, I'm going to find whoever made you think leaving was your best option and give them several pieces of my mind."

     "....mm.  You'd be starting with my mother and working your way down the family for a bit.  Then the town.  I'd never get to see you."

     "Well...I'll postpone it then...I guess.  Don't want you missing me."  He folded her hand in his grip and brought it to his lips, setting his mug down and curling around her, shuffling them both down under the blankets and resting his head on her chest, her legs trapped in his and his other hand at her stomach, stroking the soft spot slowly, his brows unsettled.  Elena carded through his hair, enjoying how soft his curls were and the play of light on the black strands opposed to the grays, letting him work his jaw and fight whatever he wanted to say into submission.  She really did love his hair.  She'd seen him use it as a shield against the stares of the town, but he'd worn it long for at least twenty years, and she couldn't imagine him any other way.  His grip on her belly through the blankets tightened and drew her out of her musings as he huffed in annoyance.  He'd been working his jaw for the last few minutes, and tension had settled in his shoulders again, sharp under his skin.

     "I...I'm putting my foot in my mouth.  I know I am.  I'm sorry." 

     "Say what you need to, cariño.  I won't throw you out of bed."

     "It's just...what you said...last nigh about...about..." he groaned and buried his face in her chest, fisting the sheet in frustration, words caught in his throat.   "Just...how can you be so calm?  How can you just...just not care that I might have ruined your life?"

    "Oh, Bruno.   Mírame, por favor," she said turning his face to her, running her thumb along his stubble and tracing his jaw.

     "Bruno.  Stop that.  It's not like I didn't know that it was a possibility.  Of course it was; ten years?  Come on now.  That could happen to anyone.   If it takes it takes, but it probably won't.  And if it does?  Pssh, it would take more than a bebito to ruin my life.  Sleep habits maybe...but not my life."

     "But if it...if it does, you're...you'll be...you'll..."

     "What will I be?  Please tell me what's got you so upset."

     "You...you'd hate me.  Because I...because I'd trapped you.  You'd think it was on purpose and resent me and...and...god I'm pathetic, can't even...can't even..." his hands shook, cramped and tight, voice failing him as her hand stalled in his hair.

     "No."  She nudged him to sit, pushing him back a little so he couldn't hide his face.  He had fallen so quickly she was left wondering where the playful man had gone, but knew they were one and the same, knew she had to pull him out of his head before he spiraled, seeing the reticent panic rising to the surface, his eyes jittery in their sockets and his skin cold.  If she ever found out there was someone who'd made him this frightened, that this was from an old influence and not his own mind playing its cruel tricks on him, she wasn't sure what she would do, but it wouldn't be pretty.

     "Bruno, are you afraid of accidentally getting me pregnant or of me hating you if it happens?" 

     "....I...couldn't stand for you to hate me.  Please.  Don't...don't hate me...." She had to strain to hear him, but she smiled.  

     "Alright then, we can work with that."  She rubbed his shoulders like she was trying to bring blood back to the surface.  "I thought so.  And I have to apologize too, I wasn't clear last night.  Doctor...doctor Rivera told me years ago it's really unlikely for me to have kids.  My mother struggled for years.  I wasn't born until she and Papá were in their thirties, even though they got married at nineteen. She lost a set of twins really early on before that and couldn't get pregnant again for years.  She was an only child for the same reason.  So, unless you've had a vision of me with all those hill children, I'm not going to worry."

    Bruno sat in the circle of her arms and warred with himself, hating himself more at her confession, lives he'd been ignoring in the back of his mind fading away at her words.  And it hurt, something deep sank and pulled more of him down with it into the heavy pit of his stomach to see the possibility taken so far away, made even more remote by her admission.  It was something he'd given up on years ago, something that had kindled fresh when she'd pulled him into that kiss and opened this door to him.  And now this room had been closed of and locked, not forgotten, but the keys hidden away in whatever golden ratio it was that brought things into alignment and proved women and doctors wrong.

     He laughed at himself unkindly.  A minute ago the mere possibility had him shaking in his skin and now he was grieving over a loss that wasn't even his to mourn.  'How selfish are you, cobarde?  Terrified 'cause you can't even pull out right, can't wait to trap her then mad you can't? Pathetic old pervert.'  He must have made some noise, because Elena was patting his face, trying to bring him back to the real world.

     "Come out of your head, please?  For me?"

     "Elena I...there's too much that...what if...what if..."

     She kissed him then, holding his face to kiss him so lightly he barely felt it, her lips soft against his own and then against his forehead, thumbs brushing down his brows and eyelids and the worried, pinched lines of his face, the slight warmth and pressure distracting him enough to really look at her, tranquil and patient and a little coddling as she tried to keep the sheet over her chest with her elbows and take care of him at the same time, and there was a sick feeling in his stomach, sloshing like he'd swallowed a live fish.  Couldn't she see the repercussions?  Or did she just...not care?  Doctor Rivera had been wrong before.  Here he'd thought catching pregnant by mistake was a universal fear, but Elena barely seemed to acknowledge the risk, didn't seem to think it was even worth mentioning.

     "After this, we aren't going to talk about this again, unless there's actually a reason to, ok?  I meant what I said last night.  If it happens, and big if there, then we'll figure it out.  You are a wonderful, kind, sweet man.  I've seen you with kids, and you shine around children.  So I don't see any reason to worry.  No man this...anxious about it is going to go running around getting women pregnant because he can.  I'm not about to start thinking bullshit like that about you, not ever, you understand?  I'm not going to hate you or resent you or think you tried to trap me, because I know you'd never do any of that.  Past that, what's the worst could happen?  I'd be surprised more than anything.  I'm not going to chase you away if we wind up with a happy little accident."

     "It's...Elena...it isn't just....it's not just...just that.  Your...your friends and primos...the town...my mother...the church...  Me?  Elena...look at me.  What kind of person...how could I...what if...what if it all happens and...they're...broken.  Like me.  Look at me."  His voice was tight and his chest tighter.  How could she not understand?  How was she not throwing him out for being a bastard?  She ran her knuckles roughly down the column of his spine, clacking along his prominent vertebrae and making him flinch and turn to her again.  Her smile had shifted, from indulgent to wistful, and her eyes were sad.  She traced the bones of his hand under the skin as she spoke, trying to argue down each point he'd made.

     "What my friends think about you and me doesn't matter.  Julio and Mariano and Emilio know better than to mess with me, and the older two have no room to talk.  Tia Pilar isn't going to go and throw us into the church by our ears and your mother definitely isn't.  And if she's angry, let her be angry at me.  I'll take the fall if there's one to take."

    "Elena, she'd be angry at both of us..."

    "And I'll still take the heat for you, if I need to.  I don't want you driving yourself crazy over something that isn't going to happen.  Don't take trouble from the future if it isn't set in stone."

    "Elena, it could be!  Let me see....I could see...we would know, you know?"

     "And what happened to 'let's just be,' Bruno?  What happened to surprise?" She asked, the questions spearing straight into his chest, right through the hard ball of fear he'd been choking on, the one that had taken root when he'd first decided to pursue her, to take the hand she'd offered him, of her asking where this was going and stopping it all before they got anywhere.  And he froze, listening to her with half an ear as she raved, little line between her brows and her eyes sparking in the light, freckles standing out against her skin as color rose on her cheeks, looking like she could drag his fears back into line with words alone.  And maybe she could, because he felt them melting away slowly, words thawing the icy hand that had been squeezing around his brain and heart whenever his overstimulated body stopped taking over and he could think.  

     "....Plácido gives us any trouble I have enough dirt on him to shut him up, and I don't give a wet damn about the town!   And there is nothing wrong with you!  You've put yourself through hell on top of what the town has done, and you're still...oh, Bruno you're still such a good man.  Please stop looking at me like you're going to break me, I can't stand it, not after everything."

     There was the tiniest of hiccups at the end of her voice, but he caught it, and held her as he was able to breathe again, his fingers digging too hard into her back as he laughed at himself, shaking his head.  He wasn't convinced, but she was.  And if she wasn't worried, he could at least try to follow her lead.

     "I'm an old fool with no clue what I'm doing.  Thank you for.. for not letting it get too bad.  I know it's...I know I'm just...just.  'Ahh.  Ahogándome en un vaso de agua.  I'll...try.  To not worry.  I'm sorry.  Its...sometimes the fears, they...it's hard to put them away, you know.  I'll try.   If I haven't convinced you to finally throw me out."   Elena squeezed him against her before smacking her lips to his cheek and reaching across him to hand him his now tepid coffee.  She picked up her own and nudged him with a toothy grin, twining her leg with his and jabbing her pastele at him decisively.  

     "You'll have to find your clothes first, and I'm not letting you out of this bed until you tell me if Alondra and Arinaldo run into pirates, you've hooked me."

    He blinked, the complete lack of segue dragging a laugh out of him.  It was an open, stupid sounding snort of a laugh that felt like something bubbling up and then cooling down to seep into his ribs, and she laughed beside him, unable to stop herself.  His chest was tight and slippery as woven satin, and he put his fears away in their box in his mind and hoped the lid would stay closed for now as he placed the golden weight of her confidence on top of them, borrowing it for his own. 

    Bruno finally managed to pull himself away from her about an hour before she had to open the bibliotheca, and had to fight with his feet to keep from turning back, half not wanting to leave, half not wanting to face his family.  But he went, his hair still a mess even after a very slippery and very distracting shower and wearing last night's rumpled clothes.   He felt himself grinning like a fool, but as he dodged the cracks in the street he didn't feel foolish for doing so.  He floated home, head stuck in a blush colored haze as he let his mind wander down half a hundred different thoughts, fleshed out and vibrant now that he knew the supple heat of her under his fingertips and the sound of her falling apart beneath him carved into his memory with the fiery brand of her intensity.  He was a weak man kept out of the sun too long, but the light and the heat of her had him thriving in her shade.  He still wasn't sure what she saw in him, but was elated enough to stop asking and follow his own advice quoted back at him, and to let them just be.   

    He had expected to sneak in, deal with the inevitable teasing from his cuñados, maybe a good-natured lecture from Julieta, grab a bite to eat and head back to the library with lunch for Elena, but that all went out the window when Mariano was backed out the front door, the red print of a hand on his cheek as Abuela lit into him, her voice carrying out over the yard.

    "Dolores is a good girl, and you disrespect her like this in my house?  Pilar will hear about this!  Now get out!"

    "Turn back now, tio, she's en un alboroto!" Mariano grumbled, rubbing his cheek as they passed each other, but Bruno was too close to the door to have not been seen, and a sharp hand whipped out to grab his ear and pull him into the courtyard yowling before letting him go.  He saw Dolores glaring at her Abuela and slamming her door, Pepa in a muddy fog and Félix trying to make their way to it, but Casita wasn't having it, rolling her tiles under their feet like a track and keeping them away.  Julieta and Agustín were poking their heads out of the cocina and trying to stay out of the line of fire. 

    "And you!" his mother spat, her fingers out at him accusingly.   "Where have you been?  Worried me half sick, gone all night like you can just disappear after everything you've done with no word!  What on earth were you doing?"

    Normally he would have shrunk back from her tone.  Part of him still desperately wanted to, and he couldn't stop himself grabbing at his arm nervously, but he tried to brace himself up rather than hide.  He had had an amazing night and an even more amazing morning, and he wasn't about to let his mother spoil that just because she'd caught his sobrina in a compromising position.  He ignored the distaste at that.  Since he'd helped with the damned ring he couldn't really say anything.

   "You know exactly what I was doing, Mamá.  Well, hopefully not exactly because yeesh, but still."

    "You went off with that Pascual woman."  It sounded like an accusation.  He shrugged, agitated.

    "We're together Mamá, you know that.  Couples do what couples do.  I don't know why you're so surprised."

   "Bruno, do you know what she's done? Feeding this ridiculous rumor about Isabela and the doctor, as if she'd want a man fifteen years older, ha!  Loaning out her loft to Dolores like un...like un prostibulo!  Like la madama!"  The words hit him like slaps, but recovered quickly.  He'd talk to Elena about it later.  Right now it didn't matter, he didn't like his mother's accusations or her tone.

    "So?" 

    "So?  What do you mean, so?  She sits by and encourages her cousin to sin with your niece and all you can say is so?"

    "Ay, Mamá, we all know Mariano's going to marry Dolores, he just has to ask.  Who cares?  Let them live a little."  He pinched the bridge of his nose, headache flaring at the back of his eyes as a wave of exhaustion rolled over him.  The elation of his mood sank down into Casita's tiles, clinking their discontent under his feet as he dug his toes impatiently into them.  He was tired of this already, patience scattered away with his filter by his mother's outdated sense of proprietary.

    "Live a little?  Is that what you were off doing last night?  Living a little?  Bruno, you are a Madrigal, you can't just go out and...and...!  You'll bring down trouble for the family, for our reputation as leaders of the community!"

    He laughed at that, genuinely laughed, because if he didn't laugh he'd be shouting her down from the rafters.  She looked at him in alarm, and it only made him laugh harder, doubling over and holding his sides before the laughter died out, long enough for his mother to take a step back, thinking she was watching him finally lose his mind.  He stilled and wiped at his eye, his gaze hard, and Alma felt like she was looking at a different man with an old, slow anger burning and flaring under his ribs, and not the shy creature she knew her son to be.

    "You're never going to change, are you?" he asked after a long minute, his voice quiet.  "You stood in this courtyard en Mayo and had it shouted down around your ears, and you still will never change."

    "Bruno, I have changed, this has nothing to do with me!  That woman..."

   "'That woman?'  Her name is Elena, mother.  And she has done nothing to you.  You said you would try, and you were still pulling me into dances last night like I don't already have a pareja, and now this?  Try harder!"

    "Bruno, I have been, but how am I supposed to try when she keeps acting like some...like some loca furcia!  Bull wrestling like a man?  Tejo dancing in that short skirt?  Letting girls use her loft for trysts?   What am I supposed to think of her when it's an open secret she's slept around for years?  Like a whore.  What else can I think of her?"

    He worked his jaw, clenching his teeth as he felt his face heat, chest swelling at the old arguments, dragged out of his memory from decades passed.  Maria, sent off because her family had come late to the Encanto.  Socorro because her mother was unmarried.  Fernanda the vaquera, always loud and rude and argumentative, now living with her 'good friend' Juanita Valdez.  And now this.  Finally the real reason, worse than he'd expected.  A cold, white rage trickled down his spine, tempering his anger stronger, more focused.  His voice was low when he finally spoke.  

    "I don't care.  I don't care what you think.  I don't know why I ever did.  Did you forget Luisa wrestled big Chiquito?  Or that you're the only woman in the family that didn't dance in the colors last night?  Why do you think I...Why do you think I was drawn to her in the first place, Mamá?  She's this driven, wild, fiery thing, for some reason it's my pathetic ass she wants, and I'm not stupid enough to throw that away!  You've always done this, with anyone I got close too, because none of them met your stupid stick up your ass sanctimonious standards!  Never with Pepa, never Julieta, always with me.  Always with me.  Nevermind how I felt.  Nevermind what I wanted or how I got along with them, if they aren't good enough for the almighty Alma Madrigal ohh it's out the door they go!  Well enough!"

   "Brunito..."

    "Don't you...don't you Brunito me!  Not after what you just said!  That might have worked when Casita fell, but it's not going to now!  What's more important to you, what a few idiots in town think of us or that your son is actually happy for once?"

    "Of course I want you to be happy mijo, but Elena Pascual has been leading you around by a leash for weeks.  Making a fool of you, treating this all like a joke.  You haven't heard the things people have been saying, Bruno!  There are bets going on in town, in this very house, about whether she's already preñada or when she will be!  What sort of example is that for your sobrinos!"

    "Oh, I've heard plenty," he spat, standing tall as he was able.  "And if you think it's Elena that's going to hurt the family's precious reputation, you're the fool.  Rico Chavez swears I assaulted her at the dancehall, Beatriz Cortez has been saying I've used my gift to trap her, the Rosario twins say I paid Carlos to try and rape her so I could play the hero.  And some people are stupid enough to believe them!  But do you do a damn thing about it? No!  Elena has nothing to do with any of it.  You want to protect...you want to protect our reputation?  Then get your head out of your ass and stand up for your goddamned son for once rather than trying to figure out when I'm in bed with Elena!"

    Alma reared back at that, before her face stilled and she continued, back stiff and words tight.

    "I know none of that is true, there's no reason to confront it.  It's complete nonsense, and acknowledging it would just make the rumors worse."

    "And my own mother ignoring it will just, what, make it go away!?  You'll just ignore it and won't even try?  You know what?  Fine.  That's....That's fine.  It's fine.  Good to finally know where I stand in this house."      

     He spun on his heel, into the cocina past a fishmouthed Agustín and Julieta, grabbing a basket and quickly gathering the breakfast leftovers, shoving a buñuelo down his throat to ease the headache he was nursing before spinning away.  He charged past his mother, trailing after him with tears and rage in her eyes.  He was burning, fuming, the edges of his vision an acidic green that made his head throb, but he shook it off and slammed the door to his room, shoving clothes into a bag once he made it to the back and throwing on his ruana, hood up as he whistled for his rats, all of them a little wary of him as he tore through his room.  And he stopped, taking a breath and crouching to let them climb into their pockets.  

    "It's alright, ratacitos.  We're...going on a trip.  Yes all of us.  Hector, play nice."  He waited for them to get settled before continuing.  He hid the vision plate of Elena in the bottom of his dresser; just because he wasn't planning on running out permanently didn't mean he wanted anyone seeing that, it was private, and it was his.  He grabbed a few other things and shoved them in his bag, and went for the back door.  He turned at the last minute, tossed a handful of salt over his shoulder, and went back, exiting his room with a decisive click of his door, his fingers crossed.  His anger had cooled some, become flat and settled into his skin, and he looked at his mother as she took in the sight of him, loaded down with his shoulders set.  He gritted his teeth to hide the sick quivering in his gut that was rapidly threatening to double him over and throw him into a dry heave.

    "Bruno, enough of this, put all that back and let's talk, we don't have to fight."

    "No.  You're right, we don't.  You have until mi cumpleaños to apologize."

    "I'm sorry, lo siento mi cielito, please..."

    "I didn't mean to just to me, you've said too much.  Figure it out.  You know where we'll be."

    His hand was on the door, resolutely ignoring the screaming of his nerves and the molten lump in his throat as he turned back at Pepa's thunder.  She and Félix were gripping the banister by Dolores' door and staring at him in shock.  Agustín and Julieta had made it out of the cocina, their faces tense.  Luisa and Mirabel had heard the noise and were peeping out of their doors, one tearful, the other glaring at her abuela.  Chacha came flapping out of Antonio's room to perch on his shoulder, clacking her beak angrily at his mother.  He looked at all of them, pointedly ignored his mother, and gave a watery smile  "Don't be strangers, oyes?"  He blinked rapidly and slid out the door, not noticing that his image on the front had changed, one hand held over its heart and its eyes now open as he felt something resolute and solid slam down around his tripping heartbeat.

    Elena was ignoring her cousins and their novias at the counter.  The odd mix of chipper for gossip and silently furious was making her already spinning head worse, and she wasn't sure which way she was getting pulled.  Julio and Carlita were currently commiserating with Mariano, the big baby still holding his cheek, as Dolores scowled out the door and kept an ear cocked, listening for her Abuela or parents after sneaking out.  She'd been forced to listen to Dolores rant in a whisper at Alma, but had to hold her tongue when she let slip it was Mariano's fault they'd been caught.  

    "I did warn you he could be kind of dumb," was all she'd offered, setting out corretos for them, all of them looking like they could use a little something to ease their nerves.  Julio had laughed, but there was an edge to it, not liking that Alma had laid hands on their primito.     

    She puttered around the library, dithering, straightening and putting things away, watching Dolores flinch but not wanting to know, hoping Bruno was alright, knowing he hated real confrontation with anyone, let alone his mother.  He could needle and tease with the best of them, but she'd seen him shake with nerves enough to know that real knock-down drag-outs weren't on the menu.  He'd had too much of that type of physical fighting in the last month to last him years, and the verbal kind wasn't much better, and was harder to heal.  The bells to the door jingled wildly as it was thrown open, Chacha flapping in to roost on her succulent pots and something thumping on the floor, and she was swallowed up by thin arms with a squeak.  "Feliz jodido dia de la raza," he seethed into her neck.  She took his hands in hers before turning in his grip.  

    "What happened?"  He worried his hands, twisting his fingers painfully, trying not to look at her, skin clammy and pale and voice dripping in vindictive spleen.

    "My maldicíon mother.  I...I need to crash.  Can I...I don't want to impose but...I mean..."

    "Of course you can stay here."  She gestured to the group at the counter, shaking her head.  "The shops have turned into lover's lane anyway.  May as well keep mine here for a bit."

    He made to drift to his chair before turning back, hand at her shoulder and his face and odd mixture of emotions she couldn't quite place.  "Did you really give Dolores the key to your loft?"

    He was looking at her with the same keen scrutiny he had the night before, and she couldn't tell what was going on behind those eyes, his face unreadable.  She decided on honesty again, seeing no reason not to.  

    "All I did was give her an opportunity, Bruno.  She was free to do as she pleased."

    "I really need to focus my visions better," he sighed before going to the counter, offering her no explanation and hiding his head in his arms and hood.  Elena fell into old habits, making him his espresso and then making herself one, placing his in front of him with an affectionate pat to his elbow, letting him know it was there.  She watched as his rats, all six of them, trailed single file down his pantleg to sneak along the baseboards and squeeze under her loft door, and gave him a soft smile when he looked up, alarmed.  

    "Rats and all, Bruno.  Rats and all."

    The day passed in an ozone tanged quiet that settled over the shop like a thunderhead.  Dolores and Mariano swept out after a quiet, aggravated chat with Bruno that ended with him hugging Dolores and begrudgingly shaking hands with Mariano.  They left out the library door as Félix came in the door to the café, his cheerful face fallen and looking just as tired as his brother-in-law, sombrero shielding his hair from the petulant drizzle-snow-hail mix that had sprung up around the valley.  He sat beside Bruno and ordered a double café caribe, using up the last of her dark rum and dragging a hand over his hair as he finished it in one long pull.  

    "That bad at Casita, huh?" Elena asked, her hand taking Bruno's without a thought, letting him run his thumb over hers as he needed and glaring her cousin and friend down before they spilled Dolores' beans.  Félix shook his head and sighed.  "Abuela's locked herself in her room.  Mirabel is running through everyone's room and the walls looking for cracks.  Which, thanks, pendejo.  I had to calm her and Antonio down, you running off like that," he grumbled, punching Bruno lightly on the shoulder, nearly knocking him from his stool.  "Elena, don't be surprised if your shop gets flooded with critters.  Antonio will want proof his favorite tio didn't disappear."

    "Don't give me that guilt, Félix, you heard what...what Alma said.  I'm not sticking around to deal with that.  I don't have to...I don't have to take that."

    "Hey, good for you bro, there's that spine.  Just don't camp out too long, Pepi will look funny if she pulls all her hair out."

    "I'm surprised she's not the one here dragging me back."

    "Nah, she knows you meant what you said," he laughed then and shook his head, ruefully looking his age. "Her weather is going loco anyway, well, you see it out there, realizing our pequeña is just like her and going every direction about it at once."

    "Please talk about literally anything else."  Bruno scrubbed at his face, of two minds about the entire thing, neither of them pleased.  He had helped raise most of his sobrinos, and though he knew they were becoming adults, he didn't want to think about it.

    "You do owe me ten pesos, you know.  The Castillos comió mierda yesterday.  Pay up."  Félix laughed, rubbing his fingers together.  Bruno groaned, digging his wallet out of his back pocket and tossing a handful of crumpled bills on the counter to be promptly snatched up.

    "Want anything else along with my cash and sanity?  Arm, leg, first-born?" he grumbled, cheek in hand.  Félix shrugged.

    "Oye, Elena, how's that last one coming?"

    There was an audible thunk on the counter as Bruno hid his face again, hand clawing in the air dramatically as he shook, trying not to laugh as Elena snorted, glad that at least someone in his family wasn't furious with her.  "Give me a couple months.  I'll let you know."

    "And just like that, thrown under the bus!  Left to die on the street like a dog por mi propio pareja!"

    Elena rested her hand on his hood, ruffling his hair underneath and snickering at his theatrics but happy he was able to joke.  "Save me a pothole, tonto.  I'll join you."    

    Félix watched them together as he nursed his second double café caribe, in no mood to deal with whatever he was walking back home to without a few ounces of rum courage in his veins.  Alma in a mood was bad at the best of times, but after the crumbling of their home, he was loath to see what might have happened in the meantime with Bruno charging out in a cold rage.  Little seemed to have changed between them, if he was honest with himself, though it surprised him.  He remembered how Bruno had been during his year-long affair with Silvia, and there was some of that in this, the mad, manic energy that had him even less predictable than usual.  But beyond that, there was a calm to him now, an ease to the tension he held in his jaw and the anxiety that crooked his back and made him hunch into himself.  An ease around her that had been there before when he'd seen them together, but deeper now, dye finally set to it's final shade.  Abuela was in for hell if she thought this was going away.  He hoped for the sake of everyone else she came around.     

    Bruno had found the spine that kept him losing his mind at the onslaught of his visions and found a way to drag it out in the open.  But maybe he shouldn't have been surprised.  He remembered Mirabel telling them all over dinner one night how he had come to her defense, charging out into the river on a stolen horse, (and falling off of it,) to shout down Abuela, though she'd cut the tirade short by scooping him up in open arms, glad to simply see him again, glad to confirm he wasn't dead as they'd all feared. 

     Bruno had hidden his face in his hood during the retelling, still adjusting to being around everyone, flinching and skittish in those first weeks.  Those had been rough days, the family split after Casita's fall, he and Agustín and indominable little Mirabel helping the rest adjust to the loss of their gifts and their home and the return of Bruno, who seemed relieved to be without the constant tug of the future at the back of his eyes.  Dolores had thrived, Camilo had drifted, and Antonio had cried over the loss of his animal friends for a week straight before Pepa had pulled herself from her frightening stupor and had encouraged him to sit near her brother as often as he could.  He'd watched his youngest son smile again as he bonded with his tio over Bruno's odd little pets, and watched as Bruno had shone under the attention from the nephew he'd had to watch grow up form the shadows.  

    The bite of guilt he'd felt when they'd found out where he'd been, not hiding in the caves, not run from the Encanto, and not dead as they had feared for those first few years, had never really gone away.  Dolores had admitted that he had gone missing from the range of her gift for around two months in the beginning, and had sounded so far away and pained for the next few that she had spent several years holding her breath every time she had to pass by the cemetery, with her thumbs tucked into her fist and covering her ears any time she heard whistling after nightfall.  A photo of Bruno had disappeared from one of the family albums when she was twelve, and he'd found it in the ruins of her room with a black ribbon around it and the dried dust of old marigolds staining the frame.  He couldn't blame her,, with what Bruno had shouted that night.  She'd relaxed after a while, and he supposed that was when her gift had really come into it's own and she'd figured out she wasn't hearing her tio's ghost.  None of them had been brave enough to ask exactly why he'd disappeared from her gift's range.  He would tell them when he was ready.

    He was proud of his cuñado, of the progress he'd made.  Bruno was slowly returning to the man that had laughed in his face when he'd started asking after Pepa, happily informing him he didn't need a vision to tell him if he hurt his sister she'd kill him herself, see if Julieta could bring him back, and then let Alma at him.  Bruno had looked down at himself and laughed again, asking Félix if he'd seriously thought he was the one to be afraid of, and the two had gotten along thick as thieves along with Agustín ever since.  Life started knocking Bruno around after that initial meeting, the year and change it had taken to convince Alma to let Félix and Pepa marry was also the beginning of "Bad luck Bruno" and the other nonsense that had swirled around him.  

    A wave of tuberculosis had swept through the Encanto, introduced by a straggler refugee from Cali running from the unending fighting between the two political factions outside the mountains.  Bruno had seen it coming, but people had grown comfortable with Julieta's gift, and didn't see the threat.  Seven people had died, including the refugee, and ten more would be dead over the next few years, the disease sleeping in them and roaring to life again randomly.  Whispers had started to swirl, but Alma had thought she'd put them to bed quietly, since they had no bearing.  

    There had always been an undercurrent of reverence to the triplet's gifts, but awe had easily turned to apprehension toward Bruno.  There was a bout of bluetongue virus at Tulio Vasquez' ranch, and the resulting freeze Pepa had had to bring down to stifle it before it spread to the surrounding herds and killed more cattle had spiraled out of control and killed the almond harvest at the Sanchez farm that year.  Several dogs had to be put down due to a rabies outbreak, luckily before they bit anyone.  Senór Geraldo had almost lost his arm after an attack from the old jaguar that used to prowl over the mountains, Contraria, and Consuela Rivera had her eye removed to save her life.  And amid the chaos Bruno had fallen from the reserved but friendly Senór Adivino to a bad omen, shunned and slowly driven out of life in the town, beaten down into a nervous creature that could disappear at the first hint of trouble,  sometimes for weeks at a time.  

    He had been in a manic phase when he'd come back in the first week, when they were scraping together what had survived of the house and sleeping in the church, but it had fallen away quickly with the constant grind of dealing with the town and the planning and the rebuilding, and he'd gone silent, hiding away and having to be dragged out blinking into the sun, shaking and white-eyed.  More than once Félix had been surprised by the strength of Bruno's nervous grip as he tried to ease himself back into human interaction.   By the time Junio had been in full swing, he'd been able to make it into town by himself, had been able to help out with the rebuilding, some rare days even without that ridiculous bucket, but had still had trouble speaking with most people beyond the bare minimum.  Then that loco parrot had stolen his wallet and he'd slowly started chipping himself out of his walls.  One day Félix was going to ask just what about hiding away in the aisles of the bibliotheca versus hiding out during the reconstruction had served so well towards healing him. 

    "Come on you, time to earn your keep," Elena laughed at the end of the day, tapping Bruno awake where he'd dozed in his chair, the crisp copy of El Aleph perched half open on his knee.  He blinked before cracking a weary smile.  "Mujer insaciable."

    Elena rolled her eyes, shooing him up the stairs and into her kitchenette. 

    "Tempting tonto, but I'm actually putting you to work.  I haven't cooked for two people in ages and last Jueves doesn't count.  Shell these please."

    He took the bowl of fresh peas she'd handed him and got to work, fingers working to pop them from their pods and watching as she made a round of her loft.  Clothes from the floor went into the hamper.  An errant pile of books was gathered from the nooks and crannies of the rooms and arranged by size in a stack on the side table.  She took his bag, she must have brought it upstairs while he was dozing he realized, and placed it on her bed for him to sort later.  She spent a few minutes with Chacha and his rats, all cuddled up in the parrot's enclosure, before grumbling restlessly and kneeling under her bed, upending her shoebox full of charms and shaking it out.  She dug in her rag basket and tore the dishtowel she found into uneven strips, making a bed for the rats and nudging it into the corner after tangling through the ropes.  Finally she stood beside him at the sink, chopping nuts and fruit and carrots and placing them in three bowls, one left on the counter and the other two taken back to the enclosure.  She brought Chacha over on her hand and let her eat as she clicked on the radio and began to sway to a Celia Cruz song he didn't recognize.  The ease at which she accepted suddenly having seven new tenants, albeit six of them very small, stunned him, and he could feel the fond smile splitting his face as he watched her falling into caring for his little friends like it was a perfectly normal thing to do for a man who up until the night before had done little more than tease.

    He stood to help her chop the vegetables for the refrito, recognizing the sancocho setup on the counter, and she gave him a distracted smile as she prepped the meat, slicing and rubbing seasonings into it as she opened a cabinet with her foot.  They bumped into each other and got in each other's way and knocked elbows more than once as they cooked in an unspoken agreement, teasing each other and flicking food trimmings in the awkward, nervous energy that surrounded them.  He bit his tongue at the domesticity of it all, his stomach half rolling from the day, like it had since he'd stormed out of Casita and left his mother in tears.  He couldn't help feel guilty at that, but standing here beside Elena and helping her with something so simple helped, soothing the burs sticking invisible under his skin.

    She set the table and they both tried to shake off the odd buzzing that wouldn't leave their ears.  

    "Today was...weird," he said in between bites of sancocho, knocking anxiously on the leg of the chair.  She'd sensed it too, and nodded.  "It was.  Are you ok?"

    He thought about it.  About everything, the argument, the morning, the strangely liminal day where he couldn't settle and had drifted from one thing to another in the confines of the shop and the pergola outside, his head a jumble of half thoughts and images and fears.  All of which had calmed once he'd started helping her make dinner.  And he smiled.

    "I will be."   

    They were awkward together, the air still holding the sluggish gray energy that neither could shake, and it was Elena that finally broke under the pressure of it, tossing down the copy of Bodas de Sangre she'd been pecking away at, after locking herself in her office with her ledgers for an hour and clicking the radio back on.  "Dance with me," she laughed, pulling him off the couch.  "Today makes my teeth itch, and it's driving me crazy.  Dance with me and tell me about your telenovela.  I'll dig out The Riddle of the Sands and Captain Blood to help you with the sea rescue!"  He'd let her pull him into a string of mad, silly dances that had them laughing and tripping over each other's bare feet for hours, Chacha circling around their heads and tangling their hair.  He rambled on about Arinoldo and Alondra and the sea rescue as they spun and barked their knees on her furniture and dodged around his over-excited rats, dizzy and desperate to stave off the looming gray trepidation of the day.   

      Somewhere around midnight, the tension crumbled away, and they fell onto the blankets fully clothed and sweaty, hands in each other's hair and legs tangled, peeling each other out of their clothes before halting once they made it to their underwear.  The uneasiness in his gut hadn't subsided, and Elena's kisses felt stiff under him.

    "Are you ok?" He asked, pulling away, and she faltered.

      Bashful and halting, Elena scooted up on the bed, away from his hands and hugging her knees, resting her head on her arms and looking at him in a watery apology.  Her back seemed to sink into itself, and he recognized the signs of someone being dragged into their thoughts by something out of their control.  He sat beside her, ignoring the state of half arousal he'd made it to, and gathered her up, their heads together as she sniffled.

    "I'm so sorry, Bruno.  If I'd known she'd react like this I never would have done anything.  I should have let you go home when you...when you pulled away...I wouldn't have...I never should have given Dolores that key...I shouldn't have encouraged it...I... God I'm a horrible person...no wonder she..."

    "Elena, no.  Look...Mamá...Mamá is overreacting.  I'm not really pleased with the decision Dolores made either, but she's an adult, and you...were just being a good friend.  You aren't a horrible person.  Your primo is an idiot, but Dolores loves him.  At least they got to have some privacy for...everything.  That...that means something, in my family.  Heh, you've met Pepa and Félix, you know how they are."  Elena shook her head, hiding her face from him.

    "Your mother thinks...your mother thinks I'm a whore, Bruno.  I know I'm not a saint, but that...hurts.  It really hurts.  I don't like her, but your mother's a good woman, for her to...to think that I'm..."  She shrank into herself even tighter, her fingers gouging white spots in her knees where they dug, and Bruno didn't think he'd ever seen her look so small.  She felt small under his hands, and cold, and he held her closer, ignoring the ache in his jaw from his grinding teeth and the pinching heat in his chest that had nothing to do with being in her bed.

    "Mamá can shove that up her ass unless she wants to start calling all her children whores too.  We weren't innocent growing up.  That's what confession is for."

    "Do you...do you think I'm a whore?  How could you not, after everything we've done..."

    "Dios, Elena, NO!  What is this?  Where is this coming from?"  He could hear himself panicking, voice squeezed high and gripping her shoulders too tightly and pulling her into his lap as best he could, running his hand down her hair as he felt her begin to shake.  Things had been going so well.  Damn his mother and damn her judgement.

    "You asked about...Rodrigo not too long ago.  When...when my mother found out...I'd rather she'd have hit me than what she said.  And...and..."

    The same rage from earlier sparked up in his chest, and he held her tighter.  "Who.  Who has said that to you?"

    "Paola.  Rico.  Carlos.  Beatriz and the Padre, without really saying it...no wonder...no wonder Alma thought...it's true..."

    "Elena.  Stop.  Please stop."  He took her face in his hands, brushing away the tears that had fallen and forcing her to look at him, forcing himself to keep eye contact as his heart sank, sick at her words.  "Mírame, mi oréade."  He waited until she was able to meet his eyes, and he placed the lightest kiss he could on her cheeks.  "You told me once that I wasn't a stupid man.  And more than once that I'm a good man.  Were you lying to me?"

    "N-no!  Why would I...I wouldn't lie about that!"

    "Then stop lying to yourself.  I know it hurts to hear something like that.  Trust me, I know.  But...but you can't take it to heart.  You can't, you can't, or it will eat you up inside until there's nothing left of you.  Look at me.  Don't...don't let words do this to you.  Please.  Please.  They're just lies, and it's not true.  It could never be true."

    "Bruno..."

    He cursed himself for being a coward, but knew if he told her how he felt now she'd probably always doubt it, and the thought of that held his tongue.  He pulled her to him and kissed her eyelids, brushing her hair away from her face.  "I care about you.  Don't do this to yourself, Elena.  My mother...my mother isn't worth all that.  If I really thought that about you, would I have come here to hide out?"

    Elena swallowed thickly and peeked up at him, those kind, sad eyes hurt and earnest and trying to look into her soul.  And it hurt.  The deliberate honesty and the fierce emotion that she was too afraid to put a name too just yet pulled the lump out of her chest and replaced it with that heavy, golden hummingbird again, flitting around her ribs and flickering it's beak into the little wounds those words had opened and sealing them up with gold.  And she smiled, wiping at her eyes, embarrassed and floating and smiling weakly. "No, you wouldn't have.  Too much trouble.  Eres tan querido para mi, and I don't deserve you.  Thank you.  I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  Thank you."

    He held her then, listening to the gentle ticking of the clock and the rhythm of her breathing before nudging her gently from the bed.  "Get your nightgown on, let me just hold you tonight."     

    They fell asleep snuggled under the blankets, grateful for each other in the cool night air.

    They spent the next few days in a liminal dance with each other, interrupted by the constant counterstreams of his family and the town.  He drifted between tasks, never still, trying to occupy his hands.  She had dedicated two hours each night before bed to work in her office, the door closed to the humming clatter of an old foot powered sewing machine or the shuffle and grind of a mortar and pestle.  He didn't ask, and tried to stay out of her hair during that time, knowing well enough that her life outside of him hadn't stopped just because he was bunking with her for the time being.  Something about it, about her natural independence around him made him smile as much as it made him wary.  She was a whole person on her own, and rather than halving herself to fit him into her life, she had instead started building a basket around them both, holding them together as two whole people, compliments side by side.  That she saw him as a whole person rather than the broken thing most people thought he was solidified something under his feet, and once he'd realized that, he found he could bear the constant anxious weight of those awkward floating days more easily. 

Chapter Text

     Julieta had always been a quiet woman.  It came with the territory of her gift, a patient ear to listen when people came for injuries that they would rather not mention in public, a shoulder to cry on for the times when the chronic illnesses she could only treat but not cure became too heavy a burden to carry, a silent hand on shoulders as her gift finally failed and life guttered out of the ones too far gone to save.  She had seen a lot of pain; night terrors, shakes, and trauma, crush injuries and bad births and lost limbs.  She took pain inside of herself and healed it, but the shadows of it brewed dark in her mind.

    She pushed down the sharp maternal guilt at it not boiling to the surface for her daughters, but all of them had covered their own pain so well that she had been able to brush it aside, able to tell herself they were fine even as Isabela stifled, Luisa crumbled, and Mirabel yearned.  And they had begun to recover now, Isabela thriving, Luisa able to relax, and Mirabel becoming so in tune with the house it was like she could read its mind.  Julieta knew she had stood by and watched too long, and the dam that had been cracking for as long as the house finally broke.

    She'd seen Dolores disappear down the trail and said nothing, furious at her mother for her accusations and her overreaction.  Screaming down the rafters and pulling Mariano down the stairs to slap the poor boy stupid had been too far.  Dolores was an adult and in love, and if Casita hadn't seen fit to throw the boy out, then as far as she was concerned, her mother had no right.  The house had tossed out enough of Pepa's novios to line the walk before they'd turned twenty, but had blithely let Félix in the kitchen door once Mamá had gone to sleep.

     But this wasn't about Dolores, willful as her mother and ten times craftier from always living in her own personal spiderweb of sound, but Bruno. Angry and lost and tired of the world Bruno, who'd given away every chance at love he'd had so they could be happy up until now.  Who had just come back to them after ten years of trying to mend their home from the inside out.  Who had been driven into a black rage so quickly the house shook when he'd slammed his door.  This had gone too far, for too long, and Julieta had had enough. She closed her cedar chest, putting away the blanket she had woven so long ago and what it cushioned, and stood.  She was not going to lose her brother again.  There were things to say, and with Pepa driven to distraction and Bruno seeking comfort, it was up to her to say them.  She squared her shoulders and didn't bother knocking on her mother's door, stepping right in when it opened on its own at the hard clack of her shoes.

*****

      There was something grounding in waking up in Bruno's arms Elena thought as she woke up, eyes bleary and feeling hollow.  Their feet had tangled with the sheets in the night, and his arm had to be asleep trapped under her, but he was warm against her back, and while her eyes were gritty from crying, she'd woken up smiling.  A curl of sadness from the night before had stayed wrapped around her heart and hardened in the night, and her smile curled to match it.  She didn't owe Alma Madrigal or anyone else any knowledge of her virtue.  She might not be the best person, but she was a good person, and what she did or had done in her private life was no one's business but her own and Bruno's.  She was not a whore, and she was not a saint.  She was just a woman, heart tempered by years of regimented solitude brightened by the little bedlams of life and her own sporadic need for excitement, adrift in the sea of the town and her circle, never truly alone, never truly belonging.

     Her mother's voice in her mind still told her to slow down, that she had fallen too hard and too fast and was making a fool of herself, dragging up doubts and fears she'd long suppressed with the wild abandon of carelessness and false bravada. But for the first time in years she was warm and safe and right, and she put away the accusations and the guilt and the fear. Her anger had burned away in the night, leaving nothing more than the spiteful playfulness that had earned her the reputation of Encanto's salvajita in the first place. Let her mother's voice be silent. For the rest, let them think what they pleased. It didn't matter, because for now until he tired of her, she was home.

     She did go to church with him that morning, dressed respectably and walking into the chapel with her hand wrapped in his, heads held high as they found a pew across from his family. His sobrinos all gave him little waves and thumbs up throughout the service while she sat, bored with the Padre's dull reading voice and skimming slyly through Song of Songs with her hand innocently perched on the edge of Bruno's knee.

     Alma sat the furthest away, her jaw set against a sour face, mouth twisted in furious contrition as she thumbed at her rosary, the beads clicking together as she twisted them.

     Elena sat and waited for Bruno while he went into the confessional, coming out nearly half an hour later looking more perturbed than at peace. He wouldn't tell her what he'd said, and she hadn't expected him to, but the nerveless way he gripped her hand when he sat painted a mean streak up her spine. She went in after he'd settled, and Silvia would find her later in the week to ask her just what she had told Plácido to make him drop his bible three times. She didn't tell her, and had had to deal with Silvia's wild, frighteningly accurate speculations for the hour she'd sat in the café.

     When Bruno asked the same question once they'd gone back to the loft for comida, she just laughed and teased that he'd been there for most of it. His face fell into a grin she could only call predatory. "Was I, now?" all he said before he promptly dragged her onto the bed and rendered her mute for the next hour.

     Bruno had gently pulled off her shoes, slid his hands up the outside of her legs under her skirt to pull her underwear away, tossing them over his shoulder with a shrug before disappearing from view and setting to work memorizing her legs with his lips. He had fisted her skirt around her ankles, trapping her legs in it so she couldn't see him as he shuffled under.

     She had laughed, his tongue ticklish on her skin, until she couldn't laugh anymore because she'd never known that the back of her knee was that sensitive, would never have guessed that the scratch of his beard on her calf could set her thighs twitching in anticipation. The tender skin of the arch of her foot had her toes spreading out like a cat when he kissed it, his lips at the pulse behind her ankles sent a tingling warmth all the way to the roots of her hair. Gentle suckling bites along the tender inner skin of her thighs, offset by the soft scratch of his stubble had her legs falling away, the path open to her trembling sex.

     He had canted his head to one side then, resting his ear on her right thigh while running his palm slowly up and down her left leg, from ankle to apex and back again. His mouth was barely touching her, mimicking the most hesitant of kisses and whispering, though what she couldn't hear, but some trick of the air made her swear he was quoting Songs against her skin, her head spiraling away at the heat of his breath and the infuriating slowness he teased her with, each barely there meeting of his lips against the lips of her sex jolting through her, heat chased by ice chased by electricity going up her spine to branch out and settle in her hands and feet and dragging her into a scintillating nerveless stupor, every part of her burning awake under his mouth as he kissed and licked and whispered into her.

     Slick spread slowly in a molten pool until his hand joined, his broad thumb sliding to caress inside of her and pressing into her clutching, delicate walls until she fell back finally onto the mattress sobbing, covering her face in shame and lust and adoration as he pulled her whimpering down, stars bursting behind her eyes as her lungs froze in her chest and her voice in her throat, limbs jerking uncoordinated and sharp as her body sank deeper into the mattress, melting against the placid despoiling he'd subjected her to. He kept his lips gently over her clit, tip of his tongue pressing down and flickering flame-soft as she quaked and sobbed and came on his mouth, held down through her shaking by the firm heat of his hands on her thigh and her ankle.

     He shifted slightly, slipping his tongue down to her opening and sliding inside as she shuddered through the end of her orgasm, and began slowly, so slowly thrusting the slick muscle in and out of her, curling it up to lap at her sharply each time he left her. He left wet, sucking kisses on her burning skin, grinding his nose against her clit in time with his tongue at her entrance, one slim finger making lazy teasing circles at the tight ring of muscle below. She came apart again under the gentle onslaught of sensation scalding under her skin, branching like the silver roots of an orchid and spreading warmth in a gray haze down to her bones. She shivered against him as he held still, letting her ride it out against his tongue, humming in quiet appreciation and sending muted sparks of light ricocheting through her skin as he slowly licked her clean.

      He looked almost contrite when he ruffled himself out of her skirt, his hair staticky and half damp where it had been trapped against her leg. Almost, but his crooked little smirk gave him away.

      He'd gone to her kitchenette with a little twitch of his shoulders and rinsed his face as she changed into a pair of trousers, red-faced and bashful, out of sorts at what to do with herself. He had started making dough for empanadas, to be filled with the leftover calentado beans and rice he'd set soaking in sancocho broth. There was a little swoop in her chest watching him, his hair hastily tied back and somehow still in his eyes as he got familiar with her kitchen, near silent as he worked, almost meditating.

      "I never did ask where you learned to cook," she said as she came up and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder and ignoring the twitching, hiding her burning face, a little shyness creeping through. "Oh. Er...Juli...Juli taught me. I figured...you know...I'm not working with much. May as well bring...bring something to the table."

     She grumbled at that, squeezing him tighter and nipping his ear. "You bring plenty to the table tonto, stop that. It's not your fault the women in this town are blind. The fact you can sling a decent meal is just icing."

    "What am I, a cake?"

     "Pfft, crab cake maybe."

     "Woman! Fine, no empanadas for you!" He flicked flour onto her nose, she retaliated with a glob of rice in his hair, and it quickly devolved into an all out war. They ended up in the shower together with flour on their skin and eggs and beans in their hair, laughing like teenagers as they lathered each other up and splashed each other until the tiles were floating, the empanadas sitting forgotten and unfinished on the counter.

     Domingo had been a quiet day spent secluded together after they had burned off the restless energy of the morning. They sat together on the couch, she propped up on a pillow against the arm with her feet in his lap, Chacha preening her hair as she dozed, him lounging and reading one handed, fingers slowly pressing away the twitching tension in her legs, an old symptom of buried anxiety that made her kick in sleep.

     He had actually borrowed the books she'd recommended, checking her notes on how the circulation desk ran and going downstairs to pull and fill the cards himself, not wanting to throw off her ledgers. He'd also taken her copy of Bodas de Sangre, wondering why the local teatro had never performed the drama, which he had instantly fallen in love with. Much as he liked happy endings, a good tragedy made for a great show. When he finished reading it, speeding through the dialog in under an hour, he realized why it had never been shown, the ending more violent than a lot of people were willing to risk given just how the Encanto had come to be. Something about it put a little bug in his ear, and he found himself with something coalescing into comprehension at the back of his mind.

     Dozy Mozzarella had burrowed under his hand as he read, sprawling out along Elena's shin and tickling, making her nose twitch violently in sleep, scrunching her face like a chinchilla. She had absolutely no right being that adorable. He found himself taking comfort in her easy contentment beside him and in stroking the soft gray fur as he followed the thought down its wandering path, eager to distract the dull headache that hadn't really left since late Viernes morning. He knew that he was heading for a crash soon, but some hidden confidence kept the realization from taking over and sending him spiraling towards it even faster.

     He took the initiative and pulled Elena along for a walk to the big river past the palisade when she woke late in the afternoon, near enough to make it back if trouble found them, far enough away for a little privacy. That Antonio had started encouraging Parce and Latón to hunt outside of the Encanto hadn't hurt. They trailed along, kicking off their shoes and walking barefoot on the smooth stones and him helping her balance as she followed and faltered in the cold water, hissing and wiggling her toes. Her grip on his hand was sure as they splashed aimlessly, and the trust of it had his pulse doing a little flip-flop-flip under his ribs. Her mouth had curled up into a demure smile, almost shy, and her hand kept flitting up to her ear to tuck away that wild curl that never stayed contained for long. Her blushing bashfulness made him grin, knowing he was the reason for it, little spark of pride in his chest at the thought that he could bring out this side of her, coy and sweet and a little shy, like he was catching her out thinking about him. Maybe he was.

     "There's a storm coming, you know," he told her as they splashed through the river, Elena mumbling something about missing having time to go fishing as a school of trucha swam past her ankles. He laughed as she looked up at the sky before tapping his head.

     "In here I meant."

     "I...I don't understand, are you alright?"

     "Something's...brewing in my head. Not on purpose, I can just sort of...feel it. Like...Like I'm overdue for something."

     "Another vision?" Elena asked, grip tightening. She hoped not, for his sake. He shook his head.

     "Maybe. It could be anything. I...you've seen me...the...the shakes, the episodes... It's...There's been this...pulling at the backs of my eyes since Miércoles. I don't know when it will hit. I wanted to warn you. I...you deserve to know."

     She pulled him out of the river and sat with him in the grass, hidden from view in a thicket of jacaranda trees and short bamboo, rubbing heat back into her clammy feet and chewing her lip.

     "I'm glad you told me. I don't want you to be alone during...whatever this might be. Do you know why?"

     He shrugged, and pulled her against his chest, idly tracing patterns around the freckles on her arms.

     "I...I've been...I don't want to be...I don't want to be...ugh, come on dammit! The last five months have been...have been a...a hurricane. It's been..."

     "Too much?" There was a waver in her voice even as she tried to hide it, the old fear drifting to the surface. He shook his head again, not wanting her to fall back into the sadness she had in the night, not sure if he could pull her out again so soon.

     "A lot. For everyone."

     "And you've been pushing yourself."

     "I have. I want...I want to get back to where I was...before. You...mi familia--well, most of them anyway...even your friends...It's helping but..." he hesitated, thumbs caught on her wrists and still, words tumbling on his tongue but unable to arrange themselves.

      "But muscles need to break to grow back stronger?" she supplied helpfully, and he nodded, liking the comparison.

      "It's...Yeah. That. It's happened before, when there's a lot going on. After the girls were born I got screamed down for falling down the stairs and breaking my leg. I'd passed out at the top from the stress."

       "And Alma yelled at you for that?"

       "Mamá yelled for a lot of things," he shrugged. "Meant she was worried. It was when she got quiet that you were really in trouble."

       "Mine was the opposite. And I'm too much like her."

       "No you aren't," he'd laughed. "Sofia was a fun babysitter, but she was too hard on you. It was always your papá egging you on. He used to call you his cuatrerita."

       Elena laughed. She hadn't been called little horse thief in years. "How do you even remember that?"

     "Hard to forget when you were charging through on a different one every other week, tormenting your friends."

      "Tia Pilar's never let me live it down that I managed to unshoe Ladrillo twice in one month."

      "That big campolina? He was a menace."

      "He was a sweetheart! You just needed to bribe him. Let me guess, he tried to bite your crotch, didn't he?"

      "How did...?" He trailed off as she jammed a hand down his pocket, snatching out his bag of sugar and bopping him in the nose with it while he was still distracted with where her hand had been. "You remember with burros but not with a horse that stood seventeen hands high?" She gave him a sly grin and trailed a finger along the seam of his pocket

      "....reach in there again and see what happens," he growled, snatching her wrist and flinging himself back to drag her on top of him.

     She bopped him on the nose again, before opening the bag and coating her lips in sugar crystals. She kissed him, dusting sugar on his own lips that he licked away, chasing after her mouth as she held herself away, shaking her head and giving him a sinfully demure smile as she coated her lips again and slid down his torso, her hands at his waistband.

     "Ele-Elena, what if someone sees?"
 

   "Who's going to see? They know we went this way at the palisade. Let them see if they're dumb enough to snoop," she shrugged, working his buttons open as blood fled his brain, lost instantly in the gutter with the mean little grin she gave him.

     "Your mother wants to think I'm a whore, then I'm your whore and I'll be the best damn one there is!"

     "Elena, you're not---folliendo cristo!" He was derailed from arguing as she took him in to the back of her throat, the sugar granules she'd spread on her lips a strange, tingling friction along his cock as she spread them down his shaft in one deep swallow before slowly licking him clean, curling her tongue around the base of his cock, one side and then the other before placing a sucking kiss to the underside and then moving up just a fraction, curling and kissing and sucking again and again as he lay his head back in the grass, letting the sun pink his eyelids as he groaned, unable to move, unable to think, ass rooted to the ground where she held him down, lost in the enveloping heat of her mouth and the swirl of that genius tongue and the grip of her hands on his hipbones, solid and sturdy and keeping him grounded as his mind flew up to the sun.

     She had moved off to the side, running her tongue down him from base to tip along the top of his shaft and then tip to base along the underside, point of her tongue tickling at the creases of his foreskin at each pass and making him jolt up against the empty air gasping. She was slow around him, mapping him out with lips and tongue and the hollows of her cheeks, shifting to something different whenever his breath grew too fast.
 

    He whined low when she nestled her hot mouth around first one ball and then the other, laving them down and suckling gently, careful and slow until he was almost overcome, heels of his hands crushing white lights into his eyes as his body burned and his spine crackled with electric, sharp and biting and scorching every nerve along his skin.

     He must have called her name at some point, because she stopped, and he felt her smile around him as she shifted, mouth at the head of his cock and suckling, maddening and calm, bringing her mouth down him in creeping increments, each new expanse of his skin greeted with the tightness of her lips and the arcing swirl of her tongue, hard and soft and slick at once and dragging him down into the sound of the river and reeds until all he could hear was his ragged breathing and her controlled, hot against him and even, the rush of the river drowned out by the tympanic pulse of his heart.

     He felt his voice cracking as he came, each pulse of his release guided down and swallowed by the tight constrictions of her throat and tongue as she hummed against him, face pressed into his skin as she released his hips, thumbs stroking up and down the bony crest of his pelvis in time with the twitch of his cock, finally releasing him with a quiet, contented sigh when his back dropped boneless out of the arch it had twisted too.

     She shuffled away and came to lay beside him in the grass, covering him carefully with a leg and kissing him. His nose crinkled at the bitterness on her tongue, but he didn't let her pull away, tangling his fingers in her hair and holding her to him until there was nothing between his tongue and her own but the slip of saliva and the neutral taste of skin.

     "I...I don't want you...I don't want you talking about yourself like that. I can't stand it," he murmured into her hair as he pulled her close.

     "I was just teasing, Bruno," she shrugged, and he pulled back, giving her a stern look, his grip strong at her shoulders.

     "No, Elena. Not about that. You are no-one's whore. Eres mi pareja, mi igual. Not some...not some dama escarlata to be used and thrown away."

     She laughed at his phrasing and kissed him before standing. "I know. I just...I wanted to throw it in her face and this was the closest I'll probably get."

      "Still." He stood and straightened his clothes, turning away as his ears went pink to tuck himself back into his pants. He helped her balance as she put her shoes back on, slipping into his sandals and taking her hand, leading her back.

     "Let's get back. It's late, and I don't want to be out...I don't want to be outside the Encanto past sunset. And we need food."

     "How are you so thin? How? You eat more than I do."

     He laughed at her grousing, shaking his head and trying to shake loose the feeling of being watched. He'd seen the too-intelligent eyes of the monkeys here and there, and they were giving him the creeps. He covered it up when she gave him an odd look, stealing some of her bravada for his own and shooting her a lewd grin.

      "Come on. We'll get something scrounged up for cena and then you aren't leaving the sheets 'til morning."

      She raised an eyebrow at his grin before taking off to the palisade gates, squealing and dodging the swat he aimed at her ass as she darted away. He was almost able to shake the paranoia that had perched on his shoulders as he chased her through the gates.

*****

     Luisa, Isabela, and Antonio kidnapped him on Lunes after Antonio and his primas sat in for her story hour. The little boy had run in with a sloth around his neck and a family of armadillos in tow as Bruno had set up her signs and started the cocoas. The poor man had hollered like a stuck pig and bolted up onto the counter when the little armored critters came to investigate, their beady little eyes glinting up at him as dusty snouts sniffed his toes. His eyes were huge as mugs shattered, and Elena had done her best not to laugh as she gathered the little things up out of mug shards and handed them back to Antonio one at a time, curled in little armored balls and oddly cool to the touch, leathery little breathing futbols.

      "Maybe keep these friends out of your Tio's line of sight, Tonito?  Armadillos freak him out."

      "Really? Why?" Antonio had given Bruno the most exasperated look either had ever seen on a five year old, and he'd shaken his head, laughing at himself and coming down from the counter, glaring at the mugs he'd dropped and began cleaning his mess as more kids filtered in.

     "Don't watch silent horror films in the dark after an anxiety attack. They used to use them as 'creepy' animals and it worked."

     "Films?" Antonio looked confused as Elena and Bruno shared a glance. She didn't know how far he'd seen into the future, but both were aware the Encanto was a few decades behind the times. It had never crossed her mind that that meant the majority of the kids had never seen a movie.

     "I'd forgotten about the old movie nights at el teatro. Senór Geraldo stopped them before Papá bought him out. It's special cameras that move pictures to tell stories, Tonito. They have sound now too, though it's hard to set up somewhere like here."

      "Oh. But you tell such good stories, Senóra Elena! What's the point?"

      She'd laughed at that, flattered as she tossed the last of the broken ceramics away.

     "Well, I tell good stories to you kids, but what about other people that want stories? I don't like reading war stories or kissing stories out loud, and grown-ups probably don't want to waste all the energy imagining it."

      "That sounds kinda cool! Why did they stop?"

      "Abuela was getting worried that they were bringing in too much of the outside, so she asked Senór Geraldo to stop."

      Antonio puzzled over that for a minute, and didn't seem satisfied with whatever conclusion he came to.

     "But...there's other people that run the town, didn't they say anything?"

     Bruno shrugged as he helped Elena set up the reading area. "There...was a lot of fighting going on outside then. The bisabuelas and Doctor Rivera weren't happy about it, thought it cut us off too much, but they got outvoted." Antonio didn't seem too happy with that answer either as he got settled in between Alejandra and Cosmo, and Elena smiled.

     "Maybe once things have settled down, I'll ask around about it again Tonito, ok? I think Senór Geraldo still has the set-up."

      She popped on her glasses, let Chacha and the mischief of rats find somewhere to nest, and began reading about the Black Knight. Bruno spent the next hour watching off to the side in quiet conversation with his nieces, who, as far as Elena could tell lost in Camelot, were trying to talk him into something and he was quickly losing the argument.

    Elena had to rub down Bruno's back and legs when he returned hours later, cramped from carrying Antonio through the mountains on the hike they'd conned him into. When she asked why Luisa hadn't done it, he rolled his shoulders and winced.

     "He wanted his tio, I guess."

     "Is he ok? He's a sensitive kid. He wasn't upset, was he?"

     "No, Tonito's smart. He knows sometimes adults just...need time away from each other. He's just..." Bruno shook his head and hid his face in his folded elbows, trying to hide the shake in his shoulders and the heat clenching at his gut.

     "It's alright, cariño. Tell me what's got you upset."

     "I...I missed so much of his life. I mean, I saw him growing up, sort of, in the...in the walls. But he...he didn't know me. And now..."

      "Bruno, that little boy loves you to pieces," Elena said, stroking his shoulder gently. He shook his head and heaved a sigh so close to a sob she stopped everything just to hold him, letting him vent his frustrations and hide his tears to save face as she smoothed down his hair.

     "I know. I...I missed so much. Of his life... of all of their lives. I held them all as babies, you know. Except for him. And I'll...I'll never get that back."

      "No, but you're here now. You're here now, and that's what matters.  We can't change the time we've all lost, but...but we can make the most of what we have left. Watch, you'll live to a hundred to spoil him rotten and be calling him Tonito when he's older than you are now."

      He'd snorted at that, peeking out of his arms, his eyes red but lively. "Think Julieta's going to be able to keep me going that long, huh?"

      "Definitely. She's too stubborn to let you go.  So am I. You'll become the oldest man in the Encanto, older than the mountains."

      He huffed and shook his head at that, turning and pulling her against him. "Only if mi oréade stays to guard those mountains."

     Once she'd worked the knots out of his shoulders and the twisting cramps out of his calves they had spent the rest of the late afternoon curled on the couch talking, her fingers cool on his temples as his legs lopped over the arm of the couch, trying to ease away some of his lingering headache. It worried her how long it was staying, and if it didn't ease soon she was going to Julieta to ask for a jar of whatever-it-was that worked on him, Alma or no Alma. It was enough she had become the conversation piece of the evening.

      "I'm so tired of all this, ninfa. Is it so much to ask I be treated like a grown man at fifty? I'm...look, I know I'm, you know, a...nene de mamá, but this? And the...the absolute shit she said about you? She had no right to say any of that!"

      "Bruno, your mother loves you. She's...she's lost a lot in her life, and she's holding on as tight as she can. I understand, sort of. She'll fight you on this no matter what we do. She'll say whatever she can and grasp at any straw with any decision she doesn't make for you. If it wasn't me it would be something else. I'm trying not to take it personally for your sake."

      "Do you think she'll actually listen to me? Apologize to me...you...us?"

      "She went ten years without you in her life. She isn't going to chase you away again. She needs to rage and piss vinegar for a few days, but she'll realize she can't fuck up the first birthday you're back with the family."

      "How are you so sure about all that? She's eaten enough crow the last few months. What's to say she'd not tired of the taste of it? She can't even defend me against the town."

      Elena had to laugh at being the one to defend Alma Madrigal against her own son, but had just finished with his temples and brought him to the window, slipping a hand to the blinds and letting him see what she had noticed the day before. Alma, sitting under the shade of the pergola and turned away from them, looking at something hooked to her chatelaine. "Trust me. She'll apologize. At least to you. She wouldn't be hanging out waiting for you to come out that door if she wasn't."

      Bruno peered at his mother through the blinds, solid weight of Elena's embrace around him keeping him from turning. When had that stoop in her back happened? Surely she'd never had that much gray hair? Something slapped him somewhere in his head and he realized, closing the blinds and pulling Elena back to the couch, laying his head in her lap and letting her card through his hair as he stared blankly at her ceiling.

     "My mother...she's getting old, isn't she?" he asked, not sure if he was asking himself or Elena or the universe in general.

      "She is."

     "I said...I said so much. I need to apologize too."

     "No you don't. Calling her out for years of--of...of I don't know, being a tyrant? Treating you like a boy instead of a grown man? Somethings people need to hear no matter how much it hurts. Just because she loves you doesn't give her the right to hurt you."

     "I...No, I still need to. I could have...could have pulled her aside. I didn't need to...to raise my voice like that. She raised me better. She's my mother. She was a good mother, she just... I...I don't want her to think I hate her. I don't. Hate her. I just...There's just...she's just..."

     "Fifty years is a lot of time to make mistakes?"

     Bruno wilted with a groan, rubbing his neck, the truth of her statement gentle and harsh at once.

      "I...Yeah. And I know it could have been so much worse. I know she could have been...ugh." He covered his eyes with his hand, rubbing grit from the corners. "I am too old for this! Why can't I just let it go? Why does mierda she said years ago have to live in my damned head?"

      Elena stopped her hand in his curls and got up. He watched her keenly as she went to her rainbow wall of photos and selected three frames. One burgundy, one sienna, and the green frame that housed the broken vision plate of her sitting proud before her successful storefront.

      She handed them to him in the same order she took them down. The first picture was a large family photo, with her standing in front of her mother Sofia, her father behind them, and her Guzman cousins taking up the rest of the frame. She was laughing arm in arm with Julio, both of them about fifteen, gawky and spotty and covered in dirt and scratches like they'd just wrestled out of a tumbleweed. Julio had a streak of manure down his pantleg. Elena's blouse was ripped and she'd clearly borrowed a pair of Julio's trousers. Sofia and Pilar had sour looks on their faces past their tight smiles. Julio's father Sebastian looked furious, thick beetle-brow fallen over his eyes and jaw tense.

      "This was the last photo we had with Tio Seb before he passed. Mamá never forgave me for making him angry. Julio and I had run off to race the horses and Ranuculo nearly broke her leg. Mamá...Mamá could never stop asking my why I was just so much to deal with after that. Why I couldn't control myself for one day so she could have a good last picture of her primo."

     "Elena...you aren't..."

      "This one is...well..."

     He looked as she handed him the second frame. Elena, a little older, twenty or so, with her father and handsome Guillermo Gonzalves. A playful candid shot of the three of them unloading the wagon into the shop. Guillermo, broad like Félix but a good few inches taller, with Silvia's black curls and always laughing face, had snatched her up and was lifting her into the air, her arms trapped as he spun her, the picture blurring at the motion but the awkward pose emphasizing her belly and wide hips.

     "Mamá hated this picture. Memo had to give me his copy--it was Silv that took it--Mamá...she said at least someone didn't mind me looking like I'd already had two kids. She was never happy about my weight or me and Guillermo. She hated Silvia and was terrified there was going to be a shotgun wedding in my future and she'd never live down the shame with Tia Pilar. Papá refused to go to you for another vision. They fought for days after this picture before Papá finally had to put his foot down and tell her to leave me alone."

      She handed him the vision plate without a word then. The weight of it was different behind the glass. He'd never really looked at it, his head elsewhere the last few days, but he did now. She looked a little older in it than he'd originally thought, maybe forty or so judging by the stripe of gray starting through her hair at the center. He wished he could remember giving this vision better than he did. It had gotten lost somewhere in the last two decades since the tablet had formed. It was warm under his hands, comfortable, not the antsy tingling that his ill-received visions gave him, and he smiled, lost in tracing her face and that future strip of gray over the glass. She'd age well, not like wine with the risk of turning sour, but whiskey, getting richer and stronger and more complex as the years rolled on. He wished he could remember if there had been anything in the lost corner. Sometimes the plates weren't centered, and something could have been lost. Or it could have been a fluke of Héber dropping it on his way out. It bothered him that he couldn't remember, another itch adding to the pile at the back of his head.

     "Why this, ninfa? The other two, I can see, but why your vision?"

     "Because neither of my parents trusted me enough to tell me about it.  I asked, after you wouldn't say. Papá hid it away so I wouldn't see, never saw it until after they'd both gone. They loved me but never trusted me."

      "That...sounds familiar..." he mumbled, taking her hands in his and holding them over his heart, lost in thought, but she continued, quiet and steady and far too sensible.

      "Bruno, I never got to tell mis padres how what they said hurt me. You've seen it. I rebelled hard and never stopped, and never got to tell my mother I was just enough, that any shame she felt about me was her own fault and not mine. I never got to call my father out for confusing me, letting me run wild and then being overprotective at the worst times." She leaned down, brushing a kiss to his forehead. "You get that chance. Your mother is still here, still lucid, and still loves you. Alma can be a harridan, but she's a good woman. And she loves you so much. She'll forgive you for what you said because she knows she's in the wrong."

      "I thought you couldn't stand her."

     Elena signed and gazed up at the ceiling, wishing she had her good rum within reach. Damn this man for pulling words out of her she'd like to keep locked away. But she couldn't deny him, not when he looked up at her with those soft, sad eyes.

       "I've never liked her attitude, but...anyone who can go through what she did and come out the other side of it strong and not broken? I can respect her without liking how she treats her family. She helped build this town. Maybe she should have asked for more help along the way, but she's still...she's just a person like the rest of us, and we all have our problems."

      "Because asking for help is so easy?" She froze at the question in his voice, that eyebrow raised at her in gentle judgement. He ran his hand up through her hair on the side where Ares' horn had sliced the skin, the bleeding she hadn't even noticed until Bruno had tried to pull her up. This wasn't supposed to be turned back on her.

      "Damn you, Bruno. Fine. I'll talk to Sister Santiaga. After your birthday. And I am not dealing with Padre Conseco."

     "That's fair. And I'll...I'll remember what you said. I know...I know Mamá loves me, it's just...she's made it really hard to believe, you know? I know things aren't going to be...they aren't going to be perfect. It...she just always came at me from all sides, you know?"

      "I'm...not sure I understand?"

      "I was the only son. There was all this pressure to live up to a man I'd never met. Then to...to take over as head of the household once the girls got married. Be 'Don Madrigal.' Then I...I grew up looking like this and acting like this and it all just...fell apart and she just got worse. Dragging me to tribunal meetings. Multiple visions a day from the merchants and the town leaders. Hours trying to string it all together. Trying to bully me up a wife...those poor girls never asked for that."

      "Oh, Bruno..."

      "She made it so hard, you know. But I'll try and remember. She's still mi madre, I still love her..."

     "We've all got words carved inside our heads from people we love. They wouldn't hurt so badly if we didn't love them. But...they can be filled in, if you give it enough time." He hadn't known what to say to that, and turned silently back to the vision plate as he lay in her lap, trying to remember anything about it and ease the nagging in his mind as she ran her fingers through her hair.

     He'd been subjected to a surprise dinner with the De Léons and their rowdy twins later that evening. Elena had apologized, having forgotten all about having invited them over the week before before everything had gone ass over teakettle. He had taken a breath, bit the bullet, and told her to carry on. It wasn't her fault his mother had decided to be a harridan and he wasn't going to alienate her from anymore of her friends.

       Miranda had been observant enough to be the one to bring over the food, knowing the chaos Sábado had thrown everything into, the rumor mill swirling around the peaceful little island they'd carved for themselves. Alonzo and Álvaro had to be shouted down from Chacha's enclosure three times before Elena threw her hands up in the air and moved them all outside to under the wilting shade of the pergola after threatening that she wasn't responsible for clothes ruined by annoyed pets, and that the kids would deserve it.

      Dinner had been awkward. Miranda tolerated him, but hadn't warmed up to him yet, and while it wouldn't normally have bothered him, used to being disliked, Elena had already lost one friend and he didn't want her to lose anything or anyone else just because of him. Miranda and Elena caught up, and he was half tempted to march down the street within five minutes at the intense ripping the woman was giving Ligia Carmen. Bruno would never hit a woman, but he wouldn't hold Elena back if he happened to sic her on the ceremista for the mud she was slinging about his nieces. Something about Dolores and Isabela being seen with married men, including Ligia's own husband. He could only imagine that had sprung up from Ramón's wondering eye, in danger of getting blackened now that he knew it had turned to his sobrinas. Elena saw the scowl he'd fallen into, and patted his hand with a vicious little grin.

       "I won't get her, your mother will." She turned her face up to the sky and called out, "I don't care how mad she is at me, Dolores, you tell her!"

      He found himself pulled into a conversation with Arturo once they'd stopped laughing, not envying Senóra Carmen's immediate future. It was always easy for him to forget the man was half his age when they spoke, the youngest of the numerous De Léon boys also the most serious, having been the one that had cared for his mother in her last years.

      "Garza's wife won't shut up about Lunes. She keeps coming by insisting we aren't feeding that pinchazo. It's not a jail, and he goes home at night."

     "Garza is a mierdacilla. Let him...let him struggle and ignore Medallin. Those two deserve each other." Bruno scoffed, remembering the amount of bullying he'd put up with at Campeón's hand and how often the man's then-novia Medallin had followed behind to add insult to injury.

      "Caught him and Bardales tossing something over the palisade the other day.  They says it's just some bad rations, but Raf isn't buying it."

      "Rafael Aguilar is more suspicious than anyone has right to be."  Bruno laughed.  Tómas' son had been ten when the Encanto had formed, and would have been a soldier in another life. As it was, he was the closest thing the Encanto had to an alguacil, though he refused to take a spot in the tribunal until his father passed. At eighty-six and still flirting with the viduas in the bar, that seemed less than likely. Arturo shrugged.

      "Still, Raf is antsy and getting on all of our nerves. Asked me to ask you for a vision, see if you could suss out what he was up to. Too much going on with the mountains split, I guess."

      He faltered, looking down at the table, his knuckles white on his fist. Elena placed her hand on his arm discreetly, grounding him in the moment and bringing down his heartrate. "I don't...I don't do visions anymore. Not. Not right now, anyway. Tell Raf to send someone out."

      Arturo lost his eyebrows under his sombrero at that, but nodded. "Your gift, your call, amigo. Told Raf he was barking up the wrong tree. Now, if you aren't doing visions, why is Kiko giving you shit at the bar?"

      "Because your brother was dropped on his head as toddler. I don't use visions to cheat, and I don't cheat with futbol."

      "You do when you play," Elena laughed, bumping shoulders with him and stealing one of his baked plantains. He bumped her back and swiped half of one of her tamales, grinning smugly.

      "That's what you think. Me feet went exactly where I wanted them too."

      Miranda and Arturo shared a look across the table, trying not to laugh as Elena pretended to be scandalized.

      "What about you, Elena, any opinion?" Arturo didn't want to admit it, but Rafael's paranoia was rubbing off on him. Elena shrugged. "Bruno and I went out to the river yesterday, it seemed fine then. It's probably just Campeón bellyaching, but send out someone anyway. Doesn't Julio have a rotation now?"

      "He does, but he's not on 'til Viernes. Maybe Galo?  Big man, most won't mess with him."

     "Galo gets lost in his own house."

     "Fair. Galo and Filipé can go out. At least Flores has a sense of direction. I'll see if Raf can spare them tomorrow."

      Elena nodded before standing to help Alonzo untangle his leg from the wisteria. She shook her head as memories snuck in of the taste of blood and dirt and the feeling of too-large hands on her body as she struggled and failed and shook.

     "Leni-tia, are you ok?"

     Elena came back to herself at Alonzo's little voice, shaking her head and catching him as he finally tangled loose.

     "I'm alright, Zozo.  Just...my head in the clouds."

     Arturo and Miranda exchanged another look, darker and worried, and he quickly re-evaluated who he'd be nominating to send out into the mountains in the morning.

*****

     Elena had nearly murdered his nephew, and neither Bruno nor Mirabel could blame her. Camilo had come calling early, wearing his Abuela's face and looking ready to cry, before he'd opened his mouth and proceeded to ruin whatever he'd been trying to do by sounding exactly like himself in her borrowed voice. Elena had caught on immediately and grabbed him in a headlock, knuckles in his hair as he yelped, dragging him up the stairs and tossing him in his tio's direction as Bruno was stumbling across to the kitchenette wrestling his pants on, both of them yelling in embarrassment.

    "Tame your gremlin before I chuck him in the river!"

    "He's Pepa's gremlin, not mine!" He grumbled. "What did he do?"

     "I didn't do anything, I was just trying to help Abuela out!"

     "Your impression leaves a lot to be desired, chamaco. Did she send you?" Elena sighed, heading back down the stairs to deal with two cranky and eternally starve-gutted Madrigals and the tickling annoyance of a migraine brewing.

     Camilo shook his head and shrugged, folding into himself a little, anxious. "I just wanted to help.  Abuela hasn't really been talking to anyone and she's been...crying..."

     "And you thought faking an apology was the way to go?" Bruno yawned, scratching his scalp as he shoved his nephew, ignoring the twinge of guilt at what he'd said.

     "Maybe. We all know Abuela is stubborn! I don't know, it made sense this morning! She's my Abuela, I don't wanna see her cry, ok?"

     "Next time something sounds good this early that doesn't involve food or sleep or sex, nap on it would ya?" He froze, realizing what he'd said, grumbling and rubbing at his eyes. Camilo at least tried to hide his snickering.  Elena laughed as Bruno tried to sneak back upstairs after that, mortified, but she wasn't having it, and dragged him back to the counter.

     Mirabel poked her head in the café door, laden with a basket fit to bursting with thermoses of changua, a heaping bowl of cayeye, and enough arepas con huevos to choke a horse.  Elena sighed and let her in, resigned to the onslaught of aggressively cheerful chaos that the two of them always dragged in as she set out the food.

     "Mamá wanted to make sure tio knew we weren't upset," she shrugged, sipping at the mead raf Elena had made her and watching as her uncle tried and failed to wake up, eyes bruised as he dove mouthfirst into his coffee and didn't come up for air until he'd drained the second cup, eating mechanically and giving Camilo a run for his money.

     "Julieta worries too much. I know you're not angry." He muttered, cheek in hand as he blinked, rubbing at his eyes. "...might have a talk about all this morning cagada you two picked up, though."

     "Tio, your girlfriend starts work at six-thirty in the morning?" Camilo said.

     "And I've never forgiven my mother for setting those hours," Elena snorted, handing him his usual mocha. "Mornings are evil, but the coffee is strong."

     "You need a sign that says that," Mirabel giggled, stirring even more honey into her already syrupy coffee.  Even Bruno shuddered.

     "Your mamá's arepas are the only reason you don't have a mouthful of caps, kid.  I thought I was bad. What do you two--ah, actually want?"

     "We both missed you."

    "Mira!"

     "Don't be a tough guy, 'Milo. You missed tio.  You've been moping since everyone came back yesterday."

     Elena and Bruno traded a look, doing their best not to laugh at Camilo's fumbling, his ears pinked.

     "Why don't you three go fishing, spend the day together?"  Elena asked, rolling her eyes at the three confused looks it earned her.

     "With what?" Camilo grinned. "Our hands? You live with bears for a year, Tio?"

     "Brat. But fair point. Elena, what did you have in mind?"

     "I want to make pescado frito for dinner and I refuse to pay Ozma's prices. I'll dig out Papá's tackle if you three go? Osvaldo usually has bait at la tienda. If you run into my primo, drop a minnow down his shirt for me?"

     "Trying to get rid of tio Bruno already?" Camilo teased, and Elena flicked foam at his nose, prepping drinks as the morning crowd began. Tito Marquez and his nosy sister had come in dragging a quilt commission that Tito had taken begrudgingly and spreading it out over one of the café tables without asking. Elena was polite as she handed Renata their drinks and took their money, but flipped her off under the counter, muttering under her breath as the kids giggled.

     "Nope. You're stuck with me twice now, until your tio gets tired of me. And I've got eight years of being a professional pain in the ass on Mariano, so be prepared."

     "You're in trouble now, 'Milo. Tio's never getting tired of her, look at them."

     Camilo groaned at Mirabel's stage whisper as Elena disappeared to dig in her storage closet, banging around and swearing as a bucket fell on her shoulders, pausing for a moment to pull Hector and Pecasita out of the nest they had made in an old hat and march them over to Bruno, unamused.  He sighed, taking one in either hand, thumb briefly palpating Pecasita's belly before sighing again.

     "Well, Antonio will be happy. Really Peca, Hector? You're too good for him. Quit nesting in Elena's shops, go upstairs. Shoo."

     Camilo grinned and snatched a rod, happy enough to be playing hookie. Mirabel shrugged and looked at Bruno, who sighed, looking at the time. "I don't think anybody's going to give you kids a hard time about school if you're with me. Do you even remember how to fish?"

     "Nope," sounded in unison, and he couldn't stop the little grin that crept onto his face. "Well, at least you'll be learning something today."

     He paused a moment, looking in the little box of old fishing weights and lures, and spotted something, digging it out a tarnished copper figa charm. He bit his lip, feeling curious eyes on him as he dug out his bag of salt, sprinkling a circle around the charm on the counter before counting to three and blowing it away. He handed it to Elena, a little sheepish, but she slipped it into her pocket with a smile as she came around the counter, patting his shoulder and kissing him sweetly.

     "There's always room for more luck. Go on, have fun.  Oh Camilo! Wait a minute, I need to talk to you."

     Bruno watched curiously as she pulled his nephew out of sight, waiting the ten minutes out by untangling fishing gear and trying his best to not laugh as Mirabel snitched on her primo's latest failed attempt at romance; Martina Castillo had apparently not let him down gently when he'd asked her out during her after school shift at El Loro Azul. This was the third time he'd attempted to ask her out in as many weeks, chased off by her father Mando the first time and her tio Abe the second, and she'd gotten tired of waiting tables on him and his friends, and had dumped a bowl of rondon into his lap in frustration, sending him out looking like he'd wet himself while forcing his friends to split the bill.

     Elena and Camilo came back to see them snickering, and Camilo went red at the ears when they stopped dead at the sight of him. Elena sent them out the door watching them go to Mirabel socking Camilo's shoulder when he made a face, Bruno turning back to give a shy wave that she returned with a smile.

     It was busier than Elena was used to, and there was an uncomfortable amount of people poking their heads in like she was some sort of anthropology exhibit, watching her as they sat at the counter or failed to hide their eyes in the aisles. Ligia Carmen came in all smiles with her daughter, and Elena was as sweet as syrup to her as she lit into her about the rumors she was spreading, playing horrendously dumb as she sang Bruno's praises and wondered just who had started such awful nonsense about such a sweet man who'd done nothing but be kind and defend her. Ligia had laughed uncomfortably, sinking slowly into the floor under the saccharine attack all while Itzel held her hand and skipped in place none the wiser, nibbling on the roscone Elena had handed her. Ligia's face fell and she found a reason to leave quickly when Elena let it drop that Alma knew about what had been said as well and would be just so, so hurt to hear someone so upset as to lie about her beloved son.

     The Rosario twins were less subtle, sitting on the bench outside the café and peering inside with their hands cupped on the glass, whispering animatedly with Renata when she got tired of helping her brother and went to sit with them, a swarm of wasps infesting her marmalade bushes. She tolerated it, since the bench wasn't technically her shop. Tito shook his head at his sister, but continued on his commission wordlessly. Elena sighed and pulled herself an espresso, going to the library side and pulling out a worn copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover to keep open and distract herself, the nervous energy returning in a steel gray haze that made the inside of her head itch and her skin tingle sharply. The customers seemed to notice it as well, and while she did a brisk business, it was brief and too sharp in the air, and a headache formed behind her eyes before noon that wouldn't leave no matter what she did.

     Bruno lay back in the grass and let the gentle Octubre sun soak into his skin, watching clouds roll by as his sobrinos bickered off the the side, fighting over the right way to bait lines and seeing who could cast out the furthest.  He had laughed at Camilo's initial squeamishness at the process.  His own line was just the slightest bit slack in the river, rod jammed into a hole in the bank and watched after lazily by his bare foot on the handle waiting for vibrations.

     "We used to do this when you all were little, you know," he said offhandedly, listening to flies hitting the water and groans as they tangled, too close together. He could feel their eyes on him. "You two were scared of the worms. 'Sita always cried when we'd catch anything. I don't think we ever brought a fish back."

     There was a rustle of grass as they sat down beside him, flanking him.

     "I'm sorry. I don't remember."  Mirabel said.  There was the quiet click of a reel, and the squeaking scuff of a shoe on grass.  Bruno shrugged.

     "Mmyeh, not your fault kid.  It was a long time ago.  I just...I thought you'd like to know."

     "I thought you didn't go out, back then."  Camilo said. The sound of a trowel jabbing into the ground turned a little more aggressive, and he huffed as his tio sighed.

     "I...didn't.  Not really.  But...but you kids would come and ambush me in the tower and I couldn't...I never could deny you duendes anything.  And it was nice to see the sun for a bit."

     He felt Camilo flop down onto the grass beside him, and didn't need to look to know his sobrino was copying him.  He'd always done that at four, and eleven years later it hadn't changed, even if Camilo wouldn't admit it.  They'd been close when he was little, mischief makers even as Bruno had drifted away, always able to pull him out of his moods with Mirabel when they had gathered enough courage to run off and find him.

     "You get to see it a lot more now.  You don't look like el mohán anymore.  You're just...some guy now."  Camilo snorted, flicking a small stone from a pile he'd made into the river.

      "Gee, thanks.  And I'm sure you had nothing to do with me being the town's hombre del saco?"

     "What, me?  Tio, I am wounded.  I did nothing but tell the truth!"

     "Mmhmm.  Just had the wrong version, huh?"

     "Reports of your height were greatly exaggerated.  I had the rat thing right though!"

      As if on cue, Loco and Palmero poked their noses out of the basket they had snuck in, running up his legs and snuggling on his shirt to nap in the light. Bruno muttered something about traitorous pets as Camilo squeaked in surprise before gently stroking the velvety ears, used to the rats after the months of reconstruction, and gentle.

     "Pá and Tio Gus never took us to do this,"  Camilo said, quiet as he ran his fingers over soft fur, face screwed up in thought.  "I can understand with tio...he's kinda...you know.  Fish hooks would be a bad idea.  But Pá?"

     "You aren't wrong about Agustín.  We always had to pack the pliers just for him.  Félix...I don't know.  We all liked to fish, when we were younger.  Good way to get away from...oh."

     Bruno sighed. How much had these kids missed out on because it reminded their parents of him?

     "Dammit. It's me again. I went away and so did it. I'm sorry, Camilo."

     He felt his nephew shrug, flinching at the anger in his voice when he spoke up.  "Not your fault, tio. It's...Pá could have done it. But he didn't. It's his fault. He should have just gotten over it." Bruno laughed at that. Félix didn't hold grudges, but it took him a long time to get over things. And he knew that the fishing gear in the house had sat dusty until Antonio was born.

     "Your pá is a sensitive man, Camilo. He was hurt that I left just like your Mamá. I...by the time it crossed his mind he probably thought you didn't...he probably thought you wouldn't want to, with everything going on. Talk to him about it. He'll...He'd be thrilled, I think."

     Camilo snorted, but Bruno heard him mutter under his breath, and it sounded suspiciously like "I hope so."

    There was a lull, filled only by the lapping of the river and the casting and reeling of lines and the occasional yelp and flurry of activity as someone caught something. Most fish were thrown back, too small or some type no one wanted to eat, but as the sun moved across the sky the loose-woven live-well bag in the river filled with fat, slow trucha. If he lay just the right way, the constant low background pain of his scars pulling tight slacked, his arms cushioned his his head and muffled their voices, filtered them to a higher pitch, and he could pretend he was forty again, and that they were five, and that he hadn't lost a decade of their lives.

     "Are you coming home?" Mirabel asked once the sun had drifted well past noon, waking him up. Camilo was snoring quietly, cradling the two rats to his chest carefully as his feet tangled on the handle of his fishing rod, forgotten in the sun. There was a catch in her voice, and it twisted in his chest as he rubbed at his eyes gritty from more than the sun.

     "Of course I'm coming home, Mirabel. I just...need to not be there for a while."

     "There's a crack. I didn't tell anyone, it's hard to see. I thought I imagined it at first but...but it's running along the floor from Abuela's door to yours."

     Bruno sighed and sat up, elbows on knees and head hanging before he stared out at the sunlight on the river, lapping and slow in the afternoon sun.

     "Mira...there are always going to be cracks. There still are. In the walls. Little splits in the seams and the plaster. There are twelve people in the house. Por supuesto que hay grietas. You can't...you can't try and hide or fix all of them. That's just what being...that's just what being a family is. Little hurts that can't ever go away. Scabs and scars."

     "But...but we fixed the magic! We...you came home. Abuela..."

     "Abuela is old and set in her ways, Mirabel. You brought the magic back, but it's going to take years for her to...to..."

     "To what, tio? I thought everything was fine now!"

     "Not every hurt can be healed like what your Mamá can do." He stopped and tapped his temple, and his heart. "Stuff in here, and here...that takes just as long. Longer. Remember when your tia cut her arm during the rebuilding, how long that took?"

     "Weeks. She's still mad about the scar."

     "Some things...some things never heal all the way. Some things leave marks that fade but...but last. Like a reminder."

     "Is it because of what she said? I only heard some of it but..."

     Bruno sighed. Mirabel and his mother had been getting closer, but her tone told him that might have taken a hit as well. He scrubbed at his face and pulled his niece into a hug, hoping he could make her understand.

     "Some of it is what she said. Some of it is that she felt she could say it at all. And a lot...a lot of it is just...the match in the powder, you know? Just...that little spark it needed and Boom!"

     "Tio Félix said you've done this before...freaked out. Is...Is that true?" He squeezed her a little tighter and tried to push down the hot spark of anger in his chest at that. Félix had every right to tell their sobrina, even if Bruno would rather she never found out just how deep that anger could go, but Mirabel was smart, and she deserved the truth.

     "Yeah. It's...I'm not proud of it. I'm responsible for some of the cracks too, kid. You don't make a child see what I had to growing up and not...some things kids shouldn't see, and I saw a lot of them. I felt a lot of them too. Abuela...It'll take her a long time to...acknowledge that she...that she hurt us all, trying so hard to keep us safe."  Some small part of him hoped Dolores was listening in.  He'd never be able to say it to his mother face to face.

     Mirabel nodded, chewing her lip. It was easy to forget that the things she just read about in school had happened, and that her Tio had probably seen a lot of it. She swiped at her eyes, trying not to imagine Antonio in the same situation. Sweet, kind-hearted little Tonito, forced to see wars and fighting and pain because if he didn't it might become more than just a vision but a reality.

     "What do we do, Tio? Is there anything? I don't want to....I don't think I can do it again."

     "You won't have to, mariposita. If there's one thing I know about, it's time. That's what Casita needs...what the family needs to heal. Just...just time."

     Elena shook her head as she locked the bibliotheca door. She hadn't meant to chase the kids and Bruno out all day. She had missed the three of them, the shops full of the wrong kind of noise and too quiet in turn. She had just locked the café door and pulled the blinds for the night when there was a hesitant knock. She hadn't seen a reason to give Bruno a key; he knew where she kept her spare by now, and it wasn't his usual five and three 'knock on wood' pattern.

     "We're closed," she called as she went to shut off her machines for the night, letting the gas appliances rest. The knock sounded again, a little more forcefully, but still tentative.

     She opened the door to the sight of a burgundy dress and sad, tired brown eyes under a bitter and penitent brow.

     "Good evening Alma. Please, come inside."

     Alma had never been inside the Pascual's second home.  It was smaller than their little house in their old coffee orchard had been, being a simple loft over the shop.  She watched as Senóra Pascual led her in, setting up the kettle on her small stove for tea and pulling a small murphy table down from it's hook on the wall.  There was an overly complicated tangle of ropes along one wall, that ancient bird loudly cracking her way through brazil nuts.  There was very little sign that anyone outside of Senóra Pascual had been staying here, but she saw them all anyway.  An extra mug by the little sink, coffee ring accumulating like Bruno had always done.  A book face down on the back of the neatly covered couch, one of the disagreeable fiction novels her son liked, something to do with pirates.  She had seen the scampering of four bald tails when she'd entered, scattering away from Senóra Pascual's now familiar shoes to hide in corners, beady eyes peeping out at her.  The rumpled sleeve of a maroon shirt hung from an otherwise neat hamper, and the bright quilt on the bed was rumpled on both sides.

      Neatness was not what she had expected.  Senóra Pascual was loud and abrupt, and ill-mannered.  Slovenliness often went hand in hand with those traits, but the only evidence she saw of it was the same evidence that flaunted Bruno's presence and her easy virtue.  Her mouth turned down as her stomach rolled at the thought, and she missed whatever it was that Senóra Pascual had said.

     "Excuse me?"

     "Oh. I was just letting you know the baño is on the right and the tea will be ready soon.  Ginger and spearmint, sí?  Please, have a seat while it boils, no need to stay on your feet."

     Alma nodded numbly.  No.  She was not going to be swayed by such a simple gesture.  Bruno had to have told her the way she preferred her tea, why she didn't know.  The woman couldn't possibly have remembered that.  She watched, standing like a statue as Senóra Pascual bustled around her loft, picking up the book and placing it on the side table, saving the place with a slip of paper.  She rifled in her icebox, taking out a collection of fruit and vegetables and chopping them quickly before giving a short, sharp whistle.  The same whistle she'd heard Bruno use to call his...pets.  Four rats and the parrot made their way to the counter as Senóra Pascual sat a bowl on the counter and one on the floor, washed her hands after patting five tiny heads, and washed out the tan mug but not the blue one with the coffee rings, only rinsing it.

     Alma gave her head a shake and went to sit, placing her back against the wall, not liking the exposure of the other seat.  Senóra Pascual had straightened her quilt and tidied the hamper, gathering up a handful of books and stacking them in a basket by the door.  The kettle had begun to whistle, and she watched as Senóra Pascual poured in mis-matched mugs and steeped, pulling a small pop-latch pot of honey from a cabinet and bringing it all to the table, sitting across from her after placing a mug steaming in front of her.

     Alma watched her as she stirred a spoon of honey into her tea, absorbed in the task and watching the collection of pets finishing their food.  A blouse embroidered with encenillo leaves and black men's trousers over worn brown alpargatas.  Thick, wavy curls contained in a loose chignon to the left, large eyes and wide mouth on a freckled face with more makeup than was tasteful, the modern style.  Her hands were small and well kept, nails done in delicate taupe just beginning to chip, her father's wedding band worn on her thumb like una bruja.

     She might have been pretty if she hadn't gained so much weight on the frame she'd inherited from Sofia, if her smile hadn't curled up quite so mischievously.  If she had just settled down with Guillermo Gonzalves, who's unruly, scandalous mother she reminded Alma of far too much.  As she was, she was a brassy, discordant creature who heard too much and ranged too far to be anything more than a passing curiosity.  Who left undignified bruises on her son and drove him to rage at his own mother after snaring him in whatever trap she'd spun. And she was speaking again, catching Alma unaware and shaking her from her musings.

     "How can I help you, Alma?"

     "Where is my son? I had meant to speak with him."

     Senóra Pascual sighed.  She must have seen the ticking of Alma's jaw, and had known this would be difficult.  She stood, going to her cabinets and pulling out an dusty bottle of Old Parr whiskey, splashing a shot into Alma's tea and then her own, ignoring her protests.

     "Neither of us want to do this, Alma. A hot toddy will get things going. Bruno is out fishing. He should be back soon."

     "Fishing. You're making my son fish?"

     "He didn't seem to need much encouragement, just the gear. But that isn't why you're here. You've known where he's been the last few days. You want him home tomorrow."

     "Of course I want him home! It's where he belongs! He should be home with his familia, not...not traipsing around with a...with you." She watched, expecting the temper to flare, for the screaming she'd inherited from Sofia to start, but there was only a sigh, and the clinking of a spoon on ceramic, too loud in the loft.

     "He should. I don't control him. He's here because...because I suppose here he has room to think."

     "You don't control him?  How else do you explain this...this infatuation he has with you? This...This!"  the gesture she made felt impotent even as her hands waved.  Bruno had always fallen too quickly for the wrong sort of woman, the wild ones, the rough ones.  He did not need someone that would make his nerves worse, he needed someone calm that could sooth them.  Senóra Pascual shrugged, a lazy, inelegant gesture.  She looked tired. Alma supposed perhaps she was.  There was no denying the woman worked hard, even if Alma herself didn't agree with the amount of travel and effort she imposed on herself.

     "Bruno...Bruno makes his own decisions.  He came to me after...After the...argument.  He has friends he could have gone to.  Silvia or Senór Perez.  But he came here. I couldn't turn him away."

     "And it's been a chaste visit among...friends then?"  Alma snapped, sniffing when Senóra Pascual snorted.

     "Of course not.  I'm not going to lie to you, and I'm not ashamed of being with him."

     If anything about their strange partnership had been obvious to Alma, it had been that, made obvious by every action Senóra Pascual had taken with her son and the rumors swirling around them.  She'd had a brief inkling of hope after the hoguera, that things would slow, or stop, or at least sedate themselves to a level befitting both their ages, but this woman and her son had only gotten more bold in their affections, in private and publicly.  Then she'd caught the Guzman boy, simple but she had thought sensible, wrapped around her nieta like an eel, and the tale of the loaned loft had come out, and she'd remembered Pilar's relationship to the Pascuals, and everything had fallen into place and around her ears.

     She took a drink of her tea, letting the whiskey burn down her throat before setting the mug down decisively.

     "Why are you with him?"  She asked sharply.  "You were going to marry the Gonzalves boy.  I know he passed, but surely in fifteen years time you could have found someone else like him, young and strong?  You made no secret you are...adventurous.  Why not someone else more...your speed. Someone from Bogotá?  More...liberal?"

     "Someone who'll put up with a whore, you mean."

     Alma reeled back at that, slapped by her own words.

     "That is not what I said!"

     "Not today, no.  But you made it perfectly clear what you think of me, Alma.  And that's fine.  I don't have to impress you.  I know who and what I am, so think what you want.  It doesn't matter."

     Alma sat blinking.  What could be said to that?  She looked at Senóra Pascual again, and saw, briefly, something of what Bruno must have.  The quiet steel under the brash copper, the squared line of her bones held rigid under her weight, proud and confident in herself in a way Alma had once been.  The surety she was able to stand against whatever was coming, right or wrong.

     She knew now where she had seen the rage burning and flaring out of her son before.  The smoldering ember of righteous anger tempered by time. It had lived in his bones, hidden away but steeping, for decades, breaking out and burning through him when his mind could no longer hold it in.  And it had sat on Elena Pascual's shoulders like a mantle for as long as Alma had known her, settling into place and growing with her as her parents struggled and sickened and passed.  As she had watched after her nietas, then refusing to use their gifts, urging they be allowed time to themselves, for themselves.  As she had calmly torn anyone down who had slipped the exacting standards of behavior she demanded in her shops while ceaselessly doing what Alma herself had failed to do, and defend Bruno from the whispers of the town, never silent but always ignored.

     She saw something glinting in the younger woman's hand, worried between thumb and forefinger and slowly staining her skin green.  A small copper figa, an old good luck charm.  Something she had never seen Senora Pascual deal with, no matter how much that thumb ring screamed bruja to her.  She looked around again, and saw more.  A string of bent keys and glass beads on thread hanging with the oven mitts.  Red corded luck knots on the cabinet knobs.  A clumsy clay rat charm peeping out of the book on the counter, hanging from the bookmark holding her place.

     And her heart sunk into her stomach.

     And she knew.

     Hadn't she started carrying around a rabbit's foot at Pedro's insistence when he'd found out she was pregnant?  Hadn't he been the one to insist on beaded bracelets for the babies to ward off bad luck?  Hadn't he been the one to convince her to walk around with dried lentils in her pockets to attract good fortune?  She had always been the practical one, Pedro the dreamer, keeping a shop in the day and writing at night, knowing he'd never be Cervantes but so full of stories he couldn't keep them in.

     And Alma knew.

     She hung her head for a moment, the rush of memories of a home lost to the years and the fighting, imitated in Casita but never quite the same, littered with papers and ideas, ring-stained coffee mugs and good luck charms, scattered with the pawprints of an obnoxious old cat and the thousand little untidy pieces of love between two people that could turn any place into a home as long as they were in it.

     "You love my son."  It was not a question.

     Senóra Pascual coughed into her mug, but caught herself, swallowing and setting her mug down before nodding.

     "Yes."

     Alma felt her lips pressing, disappearing into a disapproving line at the blunt affirmation. Elena--Senóra Pascual, gazed at her expectantly across the table, her thumb fiddling with the charm as her index finger stroked her mug, an empty gesture meant only to occupy her hands. Her face was steady and calm, the slightest blush on her cheeks clearly born from care for Alma's son and not at shame of the admission.

     "Why?"

     "What?"

     "Why do you love my son?  What do you hope to gain from it?  An escape from...this?"  Alma gestured at the shabby surroundings, faded varnish on the cabinets and the rugs fraying.  "Or is it for Gifted children?  Why Bruno?  Why my son?"

     Alma watched as emotions flitted across Senóra Pascual's face. Confusion, indignation, a hint of shame, and then, there, at last. Anger. Black, biting anger that had Alma leaning back in her seat at the intensity of it. It sat in the tensing of Senora Pascual's jaw and the sharpening of her eyes, predatory and cold.

     "Alma. I don't give a damn about the gifts.  I don't care about what you think of my life.  I know I'm not well off.  I don't care.  If your son decides he wants to stay with me, there will likely be no children.  If there are?  I don't care if they get gifts or not.  After seeing what his 'gift' has done to him, I'd rather they be like everyone else if they ever happen at all."  Senóra Pascual's voice had begun to raise, her face flushing, and then she stopped, sitting back in a slump and taking a long swallow of her tea.  The anger drained, and left her looking tired, and sad.  Alma had to strain to hear her when she spoke again.

     "I love Bruno...because he's Bruno.  He's just Bruno.  I don't know if he loves me back, but he cares.  That's enough.  That's all I need to know.  If he gets tired of me...if I'm too much...then that's his decision to make, and I'll let him make it and let him go.  He deserves that freedom, if he ever wants it. All of the...all the other things everyone seems to think I should care about don't matter."

     Alma began to rise, tried to open her mouth, doubting every word, but Elena continued, staring into her tea as her eyes became watery, her smile fond and shy and pained at once.

     "...Bruno is funny.  He's sweet.  He can't tidy up to save his life and his pets nest in my hats and he's so full of stories and imagination I just want to listen to him for hours.  Alma, he sees me.  I don't know how else to say it.  He sees this...this broken angry mess I am and treats me like I'm whole.  Like I'm actually worth something.  Like...like something in me is worth the effort.  I don't understand it myself, not really.  I don't know why it's me he wants when he could find anyone if he'd just try, but he does.  And I'll love him, even when he leaves."

     Alma sat back, silent at the revelation.  This woman didn't even realize how Bruno felt, couldn't seem to see it through the web of insecurity she'd woven in herself. But it wasn't Alma's place to tell her.

     Something bitter broke loose in her chest, cracking like rotten ice and melting away at the raw confession, and she sighed wearily.

     "You believe he will leave you?" she asked, curious. She had not missed that. Elena shrugged again, as if it was obvious.

     "Bruno is a good man.  And I can't give him the life he deserves.  Eventually...I think he'll want children more than he'll want someone who probably can't provide them.  So yes.  He'll leave me, someday."

     Alma stared keenly at Elena, scrutinizing her and surprising herself when she found no lie in her words, just the subtle pain of brutal honesty, the resigned acceptance of a future where she would be alone, fully prepared to face down the empty ache of that life if it meant she could have this happiness now, however brief it might turn out to be.

     And Alma knew. And she smiled.

     "You are not what I would have chosen for him.  Not what I expected him to choose for himself no matter his...type.  And I will be as honest with you as you have been with me."  She spoke slowly, making sure Elena heard every word she said.

     "I do not care for you.  I don't believe I ever will.  But I am sorry for what I've said.  You are a...modern woman, let's say, and so is my Dolores...and I will have to learn to accept that.  For Bruno's sake.  And la familia's."

     Elena tensed at the slight, but nodded in acceptance.  Alma continued, steeling herself for words that hurt to say, her pride slinking down her spine like a disjointed snake, shrinking away under the warm and growing weight in her chest.

    "You...you are good for my son. He has thrived under you these last few weeks. I don't believe he will leave you, Elena. Be good to him. That is all I can ask."

     There was a pause, and Elena did something that surprised her.  She held out a hand, palm up, across the table.  Open and vulnerable as she smiled.

     "You're his mother, and the founder of the town that's kept me safe my whole life.  I respect you even if we don't agree on anything, Alma.  I'll love him as well I can."

     Alma nodded, and reached for the hand, surprised by the strength in the grip and the imperceptible shake.

     There was a bang below in the shop, and giggling drifting up mixed with muffled swearing as the catch rattled to the stairs.

     "...estúpida puerta rota del diablo! Uno de estos días..."

     The giggling got louder as footsteps pounded up the stairs.  Camilo made it in first, stopping at the sight of his Abuela and Elena sitting at the table and freezing.  Mirabel crashed into his back, and a laugh sounded as Bruno made it the last few steps, laden down with a basket, fishtails poking out.

     "...really are Agustín's kid. Elena, you'll never guess how much we...caught..."

     He froze, taking in the scene, his sobrinos frozen on the floor in a tangle staring past the kitchenette.  Elena, tired and tearful but smiling.  And his mother sitting across from her, holding her hand.

     "Mamá..."

     Camilo and Mirabel looked panicked, caught out playing hookie.  Bruno swept through, grabbing the basket he'd dragged from Casita days ago and quickly splitting the fish as his mother watched him, face unreadable.

     "Take these home, tell your mothers the truth, I pulled you out with me today.  You shouldn't get in any trouble.  And...thanks kids."

     Both of them tumbled up and grabbed the basket, clearing out shouting "Bye Tio!" and clearly relieved.

     Elena stood, taking her mug to the sink and pouring the contents down, pouring him the last of the coffee kept warm in his stained mug.  He gaped at her, but she only took his hand and pulled him numb-legged to the seat she'd just vacated, kissing the back of his hand before turning away.

     "I'll be in my office.  You two...have a good visit."

     She had said it for his benefit he knew, so he wouldn't panic, and he heard the clatter of her sewing machine start up as he stared after her, feeling like he'd missed something again.

     He sat, holding his mug too tightly and staring at the wood grain on the murphy table to avoid his mother's eyes.  She seemed just as hesitant to speak, and time stretched out between them, punctuated by Chacha's gentle chittering and the whir of the sewing machine in the other room.  The bird flapped over to him, loose from her enclosure, and perched on his knee, beaking at a button on his shirt.  He tried to shoo her away, but she was insistent.

     "Ay, Cheech, come on. Elena's busy."

     "That bird has always liked you."  Bruno jumped at his mother's voice, and the jolt was enough to have Chacha flap up to the table and try to stick her beak in his coffee, squawking loudly when he blocked her.  Elena would kill him if he carked her pet. But he took the olive branch.

     "Mamá, this bird has known me for four months.  She's just going senile."

     He watched his mother struggle with something, her smile sad.

     "Sofia had just gotten married.  You had such a little crush on her, and you cried for days after the wedding.  When you met Hebér you kicked him in the shins and ran off and cried."

     Bruno didn't know what he was hearing, but he sat back in his chair, trying to keep Chacha from poisoning herself and swallowing, watching as his mother closed her eyes and drifted off into memories.

     "It was...before you got your Gifts.  You all loved Sofia when she babysat you, and I...I needed so much help in those early days.  We found you an hour later, asleep halfway up in the mimosas and holding this ugly little parrot chick, both of you looking like you'd been blown there by a hurricane.  You pushed that little bird into Sofia's hands and just told her to keep it safe and clung to her knees.  It started bobbing around in her hands and she named it Chacha on the spot."

     "Why are...why are you here, Mamá?"  he asked, in no mood for stories from his childhood no matter how they connected him to Elena or her pet.  His mother started at his tone, but he held her gaze, or as close as he could, eyes locking onto her brow and the lines between them, deeper than he remembered and slacking down as she reached for his hand.  He gave her it reluctantly.

     "Brunito.  Bruno.  This is...difficult for me.  I was...I was wrong, Sábado.  Wrong...about so much.  Please, mijo, come home."

     He looked at her, trying to read her face and failing, too many emotions flitting across it at once.

     "Are you apologizing because you're sorry, or because you want me to come home?"  Her hand twitched around his own, and her brow furrowed as she sniffed.  A tear tracked down her cheek.

     "Ten years you were gone, Bruno.  And I...you...  You were gone so long.  I thought...I thought I'd lost my only son.  Of course I want you back home."

     "I...I don't know if I can do that yet, Mamá," he sighed, shaking his head.  "You...said you would try.  And then you called Elena a whore.  Accused her of being a madam.  Slapped her primo."

     "I know. Bruno I know, and I was wrong!  I was so upset, finding Dolores like that, I just..."

     "It's no excuse, Mamá," he cut her off.  "I don't care why you said what you said.  I care that you...I care that you did!"

     He watched her hang her head and nod slightly, breathing deeply as another tear rolled.

     "I...I have said too much.  And not listened.  Again.  Tell me what you need to, cariño.  I will...I will listen to you now."

     He watched her keenly as Chacha finally vacated the table, bored and hopping to nibble something on the counter.  He took the time to finish the cooling coffee Elena had handed him, and to run his hand through his hair, and to really look at his mother.  She had aged overnight, and it struck him again that she was an old woman now.  He may have called himself an old man, with his creaks and pains and tired eyes, but he didn't really feel it.  But his mother was from a different era entirely, when wars were local and no one could fly in metal birds and there were no miraculous mountains or children who thundered and healed and saw the future.

     He felt the weight of her expectations on him then, heavy and painful on his slim shoulders, never able to live up to what she had wanted him to be, not as a child too young to know why she cried when he asked about their father.  Not as an adult failing every hope she'd had for him, falling short and slipping under the surface, bowing to her demands hoping it would be enough to finally make her smile, to finally make her proud of him.  She gripped his hand, and he realized she'd been crying in silence, and the mantle slipped away.  All that sat there now was a tightness in his chest, breaking out of his ribs and up his throat, melting away the lump that had sat there since he'd walked in.

     "Mamá...this has got to stop.  I have spent fifty years trying to make you proud of me.  Or at least trying not to shame you.  And it was never...It was never enough.  And I'm tired.  I'm so tired.  What has she ever done to you?  What did I do to deserve that?  When do I get to just live?"  He put his face in his hands, not wanting her to see his face.

    "Nothing.  Nothing I did or said was ever enough.  I can't...I can't keep doing this.  I can't run off every time we fight.  I just...I am tired, Mamá."

     "I know, mijo.  I know.  Y lo lamento tanto, mi cielito.  You deserved so much better than I have been able to give you.  And I am sorry."

     "You...the things you said...why?  I just...you felt you could say those things.  Like I...like I would just roll over and listen.  Just take them and give up.  Like I...is that what you think of me, that I'm...that I'm that weak?"  His mouth was bitter.  His mother's was mournful as she sighed and swiped at her eyes.

     "You are not a physically strong man, but no one could call you weak who knew you, mijo.  It is my own mistakes that made me forget that."
He huffed at that, not buying it but desperately wanting to.

     "But here we are."

     "That's true. Here we are."  His mother sighed, and shrank, and broke in front of him, tears breaking and coursing down her dry-skinned cheeks without stopping, and he held out his hands on instinct, flat on the table and palm up to the sky.  "Bruno...please.  I am sorry.  Lo siento, lo siento tanto, vuelve a nosotros. Me equivoqué. Perdóname, por favor.  Perdóname, mihijo."

     He watched, his chest heavy and eyes burning as she blinked, tears never stopping, warring with herself as her eyes slid back to the back of the loft, where the clack-clatter-clack of the sewing machine still sounded muffled under the door of Elena's office.

     There was a smile, pinched and sad, pressed into her lips.  She turned his hands in her own, kissing the backs with dry, quavering lips, tears falling on his wrists.  She ran her thumbs over his knuckles, worrying at the little smattering of scars and dry chaps of skin worn in by years of sand and a decade of isolation away.  She studied his hands, the callouses and the blunt nails, like she'd never seen them before, before putting them on the table and holding them in her grip, warm and weaker than he ever remembered it being.

     "You have an artist's hands, mijo.  I never noticed.  An artist, como tu papá, and I forced you to see...nightmares.  I made you watch the things your Papá was lost keeping us safe from.  And...I denied it. I...told myself you didn't understand.  But you did, didn't you?  You have seen more than anyone should have to.  And it burns in you, so angry.  I know.  Because I put it there.  Put more on your shoulders than any mother should."

     He swallowed, unable to say anything, only nodding as the pinpricks in his own eyes broke loose, his fists clenching as he gritted his teeth.  His stomach rolled as he swallowed around his choking heart, not believing his ears, his face too hot as tracks coursed down the lines of his nose.  His mother's mouth pursed, holding back an identical sob as she squeezed his fists, holding him steady.

      "I thought I'd lost you too, when you...left.  And...I have been afraid of losing you again every day since you came back. I...saw you struggle, saw your progress...but always feared.  I couldn't let you go.  And I smothered you.  And I am so, so sorry."

      "There are still cracks, Mamá. But...they're getting better. I...I'm sor--"

     "No. You don't need to apologize. I...You said what you needed to. What I needed to hear. The cracks...will heal with time. We will heal with time."

     He nodded, bringing her hands to his mouth now, seeing how frail the spotted skin was against his own, and the knots of arthritis that had formed while they'd been without gifts, smelling her perfume, powder and roses and the faint sour scent of age.  He coughed and shook his head, forehead to her hands like a penitent, and shook when he felt her cheek rest on his curls, tears filtering through as they hunched together over the table.

     They sat in repentant silence with each other, letting their tears wash away as much pain as they were able, rolling down the backs of hands and through hair until the air grew too hot for either to stand it.

     Bruno shifted, and came up gulping for air, heels of his hands scrubbing at his eyes and looking away, chuckling flatly, awkward and hoping she understood his rambling.

     "Mamá....  I...  Thank you.  I...didn't mean to worry you.  And...I accept your apology.  I'll...be home...tomorrow.  Lo...lo prometo.  I just...I need..."

     "Take the time you need, Bruno.  You have earned that, and I have been too harsh.  She...Elena...cares about you.  She is...good for you.  And she's afraid you will leave her.  It's not my place, but you deserve to know.  Take the time you need to prove her wrong.  I...I will see you tomorrow."

     He walked his mother down the stairs and through the shops, pausing at the door to fold her into an embrace and kiss her cheeks, and be kissed in return smiles watery as they wished each other a good night, quiet I love yous trailing behind as she made her way home.

     Elena was waiting for him in the kitchen when he came back up.  Wordlessly he put the fish away in her icebox and took her hands, pulling her away to the bed.   

     He kissed her slowly, tender as he cupped the back of her head, other hand pulling pins from her hair to fall to the floor before pulling her blouse from her trousers and lifting it over her head.

     "Bruno..."

     "Please.  I need you."

     He knew his eyes were pleading, but her smile was soft, and she nodded, kissing him back and undoing his shirt buttons slowly, realizing this was not a rushed night.  She was tentative, her touch hesitant and her lips holding his as long as they could stand to.  His hands were too heavy, his fingers numb as they shed the rest of their clothes and crawled under the quilt.  They were quiet as they came together, another something shifting into place along their spines as they lay side by side and mostly silent.  There was no urgency, no rash motions or frenzied bruising touches.  There was only him and her as close as two people could be, curling together in the dying light of the sun, the careful warmth between them waxing and waning and waxing time and again until it crested full and floating and freeing, sending them both into a tangled, sated sleep as the moon filtered into the windows.

Chapter Text

Casita was buzzing.  Mirabel was used to the house's mercurial moods, but she couldn't remember the last time that the house had been this excited.  It wasn't same bright rustling Antonio's gift ceremony had been, but a deep vibration in the floors, a humming in the walls as she helps her sisters and primos decorate and prepare.  Her Pá and Tio Félix have taken her Mamá and Tia Pepa out for the day, and the usual chaos seemed even more wild without them.

     Luisa and Dolores had taken over in the cocina, Dolores roping Mariano into helping, the three of them the most experienced helping Mamá.  Isabela had paired up with Antonio, festooning the house with riotous plants and colorful sprays of feathers that Antonio's bird friends had been saving up from their molts for the occasion, the cleverer animals, the capuchins and coatis helping to tidy up and find trip hazards to try and keep Papá as safe as he could be.  There was a flock of sap-suckers on standby to snatch up any bees.  Antonio had found the blindspot in his gift, stopping short at fish and insects, too different for now for him to understand.

     Mirabel and Camilo had chore duty, tossed in the doghouse not by their mothers, but by their fathers for playing hookie the day before when they knew they'd be called out of school today.  Abuela watched over them, abashed and resigned, careful with her words in a way neither of them could ever remember her being, and patient.  When Camilo knocked a pot of floorwax over and ruined a rug, she had bent to help him blot it up.  And when Mirabel broke the globe of a gas lamp while tackling a cobweb, Abuela had simply tapped her foot, Casita taking the cue and crunching the glass under the tiles until it was powder and pouring it under the grout.  She had been gentle as she bandaged Mirabel's hand, searching for one of the little caches of food Julieta had left, just in case. 

     It was…odd.  She wondered what had been said after she and Camilo had bolted home.  Tio had looked…she wasn’t sure what to call the strange, stormy expression he’d had on his face when he’d noticed Abuela.  There had been concern, for them, and some anger, but the rest had swirled across his face so quickly she couldn’t put a name to them all.  But Abuela had been quiet, and a little sad all morning, but there was a kindness underneath, like she’d had right after Casita fell, and the crack at her door was smaller.  Whatever had been said, Mirabel was glad for it. 

Bruno sat anxious in the shops half the day, chewing his cuticles down until they bled and bashfully accepting the buñuelos from her standing order with Julieta that Carlita handed him at seeing the state of his hands when she and Julio surprised Elena with a late lunch.   

He was fifty-one now, and he didn't know quite how he felt about it all.  He didn't physically feel any different than he had the day before.  At the same time, something had changed.  The persistent itch that had been under his skin since Sábado was gone.  The background headache remained, but he was oddly settled.  It put him on a different sort of edge, the hint that there was another shoe waiting to drop, and he had to wonder at just how many feet his tenacious anxiety had, hanging over him like a false widow spider and waiting.  

He'd woken up sweaty and muzzy-headed and far too late in the day, missing Elena's presence beside him but knowing she was just downstairs in the shops, reluctant early riser that she was.  He had stared at her ceiling aimlessly, lost in the smell of them together still trapped in the blankets and letting his mind wander over thoughts of her as he palmed sleepily at his half hard cock.  He gave up after fruitless minute, too wrung out from the night before to go anywhere, and flopped onto his stomach, hiding his head in the pillow that wasn't quite his and trying to go back to sleep.  He could hear the downstairs, the gentle whir and bustle and chatter of people coming in and out of the doors.  He heard Silvia's loud cackle and Miranda's braying laugh.  He wasn't going down there with those two, not today.  

Birthdays had always left him pensive once he'd reached adulthood.  The expectation of a perfect, happy day had worn thin the older he got, his visions not helping, involuntaries clustering around the date from the added stress, from the millstone of guilt knowing that this was also the day his father had died, and he'd quickly grown to dislike them.  He'd always tried to push the celebrating off to his sister, make it their day, fading in the background and away from focus.   They'd noticed, and tried to pull him back in, but each year they drifted further away from each other.  

Between the chaos of their teens and twenties, he and Julieta running point on the town's occasional anger at Pepa and her hard to control gift before it had turned permanently to him and he'd gone from "Senór Adivino" to the town pariah, he'd mostly stopped caring.  What point was there in celebrating being older if all you wanted to do was stop?  Of course he'd never had the courage to do it, then, and he was glad now he hadn't, but he'd punished his liver and frightened his sisters more than once in the years before his disappearance.  He didn't like to think of the years after.  

His nerves were raw and making his bones itch and he found himself clattering around, gathering his worn clothes and washing them in Elena's sink, his teeth on edge as he went, trying to shake the odd cottony feeling out of his brain.   

That was where Elena found him at noon, hanging shirts from her little retractable line and standing in nothing but his boxers, worrying his knuckle between his teeth and looking lost. 

"I missed you downstairs, you know.  Is...is everything ok?"  He sighed and dropped the shirt he was wringing back in the sink, shaking water off his hands and scrubbing at his face, shoving his hair back in agitation. 

"I...I don't know.  I just...everything is all...my head is...wrong, today.  I can't...settle." 

Elena guided him to the couch and wrapped a light blanket around his shoulders, setting up the tea things again and coming to sit beside him to wait it out.  She yelped when he sighed and buried his head in her lap, hiding his face and huffing, jaw so tight she could feel his grinding teeth through her skirt.  Her hands found their way into his hair, the quick familiarity of it easing his tension as he grumbled.  She let him, knowing he'd tell her when he found his tongue, and sat in the quiet. 

"Today is...I'm officially an old man today." 

"You're only one day older than you were on Martes.  It only means what you want it to." 

"How do I...how do I make up for the last ten years, Elena?  They thought...por dios, they thought I was dead.  Now I'm back and what?  We're just going to go back to the way things were?" 

Elena stilled her hand in his hair, patting him to sit and turning him, working at the knots he'd gotten back in his shoulders with sure thumbs, considering. 

"It'll never go back to the way things were, Bruno.  But...you can't blame them for trying.  They don't know how those years really were for you.  They won't unless you tell them.  There are going to be...growing pains?  Odd days.  Days nobody knows what to do with themselves.  There always are, after...changes." 

He groaned when she hit a sore spot and let his head fall back, staring at the plaster of her ceiling again.  

"I'll never understand how you're so sure of things." 

"Life is hard on everyone, tonto.  Some of us, it sticks to.  Did you know I didn't speak to Rodrigo for two years after the rockslide?" 

Bruno looked back at her quizzically before she nudged his head away.  "I thought he was practically your brother?" 

"He is.  And he was a complete bastardo after everything.  I was pretty raw too.  We fought.  We said...horrible things to each other.  I told him it should have been him." 

"Because of...because of Guillermo?" he winced, but she brushed a kiss to his spine and rested her forehead against him. 

"Because of Memo.  Then the shops, then a million other things.  The next thing I knew it had been two years and Bea was inviting me to her wedding and I was just blindsided.  Rigo came on one of the days he could talk and just...didn't leave until we hashed it all out."

"And now you aren't speaking to Beatriz..." 

"No, but I'm still speaking to Rigo.  We never went back to how we were.  We left scars on each other.  But we're closer than ever now.  Just...give them time, Bruno.  You've only been back since Mayo, and you've been pushing yourself so hard.  Follow your own advice.  Just...be, for a while." 

He sat back, leaning into her, and she wrapped her arms around him, letting him hold her close by the wrists and dusting soft kisses to his prickly cheek.   

"How?" he asked.  "How do I...sólo...estar con mi familia?"  He stroked the pulses of her wrists as she sat and thought, chewing her lip. 

"What has you the most worried, about today?" 

He snorted, leaning back.  Elena shifted back until he lay against her belly, listening to the thump of her heart and the slight gurgling of her stomach, bracketed in her legs. 

"They're going to focus on me, make it all about me being back and 'ohh, isn't it amazing, Bruno's here!'  'It's like he never left, and aren't we all just so damned happy about it!'  I don't...I hate that.  I hate the focus being on me.  Like nothing happened. It's...just more pressure.  Like...I have to enjoy the day and if I don't I'm letting them all down and bringing down the mood and ruining it for everyone and I just don't even want to deal with it at all if it's going to just be me being Bad Luck Bruno again!"  His hands had started flailing as he spoke, freeing hers to drift along his chest, scratching lightly through his chest hair before splaying flat and pulling him back, holding him tightly, laughing.

"Oh, Bruno..." 

"What?  What's so funny?" 

Elena buried her face in his hair, failing not to snicker, and he lifted up, turning to face her, irritated, which only made her laugh harder.  "What?  Que carajo did I say that's so damned funny, ninfa?" 

"You have the...you have the perfect excuse to be a crotchety old bastard and you aren't even going to use it?" she cackled, covering her eyes as he gaped at her.  "Who cares what they think?  You could show up dressed like El Sombrerón and they wouldn't care!  Be a grouch if that's what you feel like.  Show up long enough for cake and then disappear!  It's your birthday and you're grown.  Do what you want, silly man!" 

"And ruin my sisters' birthdays while I'm at it?" 

"If you being all gruñon puts them in a bad mood that's on them, not you.  You're not even the one that can rain on the cake!  They love you, tonto.  They'll deal with it or they won't, but they want you there, no matter what mood you're in."  

He huffed doubtfully as she rolled her eyes and jostled him, and he looked at her then, soft smile curled and full of goading fun, a light blush dusting her cheeks, eyebrow cocked at him curiously.  They'd slipped lower on the couch as she'd laughed, and he was abruptly aware of himself, that he was on top of her, and his state of dress.  Or lack thereof.  And he remembered the doubts about them she couldn't tell him, and desire and determination swirled under his skin. 

Elena reached out with an impish grin, hand trailing down his side before brushing over his cock, making its half hard presence known at the front of his boxers where her finger traced over the line of it through the fabric, hitching as it pulsed against her fingertip, sensitive and swelling further at her touch. 

     She went to say something, but he beat her to the punch, fingers buried in her hair, pins sticking in his palms.  His mouth slid over hers, tongue tracing her lips and flicking at the edges until she hummed and let him in, sighing as their tongues slipped against each other, slick and warm and insistent.  He nipped at her bottom lip, running the flat of his tongue over it in mute apology before tangling with her own again, lips brushing and tender one moment and bruising the next, teeth clacking and tongue exploring and breath hot against her face.  

     His fingers dug deeper into her hair, and he pulled her against him, knee between her legs and mouth furious at her own, his kiss fierce and rasping now, desperate for her and the solace she gave him, solid and real in the face of his insecurities.  His stubble was gritting against her chin and the corners of her mouth as she dragged her hands up his chest, nails scoring lines along his ribs white and then red, the sting of it dragging him deeper into desire.  He sucked on her tongue with a biting groan before trailing down the the soft skin of her neck, sucking a livid mark under her jaw and sweeping to the other side, leaving a mate for the first mark before twisting to gently bite at the column of her throat, his tongue a burning heat against her frozen voicebox as her hips rose to grind against him.

     He pulled away to look down at her.  Her lipstick was a smearing memory, her eye makeup smudged and curling tendrils of hair stuck to the light sheen of sweat on her brow.  Her lips were puffy and swollen, mouth open in a mournful pout as she looked up at him, pupils blown under heavy lids.  Her tongue slid across her bottom lip, pink and demure and so damned tempting, but he held himself away, smirking.

"You're overdressed."  

Elena blinked, huffing to try and clear her head, that little sliver of tongue peeping out again on reflex as she tried to string a thought together, playful glint in her eye as she reared up under his weight, rocking her hips against his tauntingly slow.

     "Am I?"

     He dropped his face to her chest, licking a hot stripe from her cleavage to her ear before biting gently down on her earlobe and sinking against her, hand trailing down the leg trapped between him and the couch, rucking up her skirt and tracing the soft skin beneath it in those slow, maddening circles, fingertips dancing across her skin, nerves tingling in their wake.

     "Oh sí, mi ninfa.  Very overdressed."  He ground against her, cock twitching at the hint of heat between them, warmth teasing through their clothes as he searched for the closure of her skirt.

     "We don't have time to get me out of all this," she huffed, wiggling her hips, and he bit at her pulse, giving up looking for buttons and dragging his nails roughly up the back of her leg, shifting, other hand yanking down the front of her blouse and her bra in one swift jerk, his mouth hot and insistent on a nipple as soon as her tits were free, trapped and pushed up by her clothes, silencing her as he grumbled into her skin.  

     "Don't need to get you out of it all, just have to shift a couple things."

     He shifted at her snorting laugh, pulling her down by her hips to splay out further on the sofa, her legs opening around his, propping her trapped leg up over the sofaback as she squealed in surprise.

     Elena shivered as he bit at the soft flesh of her knee, cold and heat rippling up her spine at the rough treatment, his hands just a little harder on her skin, grip harsher, his mouth pressing tighter wherever it landed, teeth scraping sharp bright lines of almost-pain across her and dragging electric in their wake tingling and blue-bright up her nerves.  Her blood pounded in her ears before abandoning her head entirely to rush to her cunt, slicking in excitement at the pulsing throb at her clit, already building and spiraling up her spine and swirling in her belly.  He hadn't been this aggressive before, and it sent a thrill down her that had her sinking into the cushions in anticipation.

     "What's gotten into you?" She breathed, watching as he pulled himself out of his boxers, stroking his cock slowly with one hand and tucking her skirt into her waistband with the other, giving her a lewd grin when he saw the thin lingerie she wore, sticking to dampening flesh as her breathing quickened and her flush traveled down her chest, his eyes slowly filtering brighter.  He ran a finger under the short leg of the silky things, and pulled them off to the side, exposing her swollen lips and running a knuckle along her seam slowly.  His grin widened as he stroked himself fully hard, taking his time, considering her as his thumb spread precum along the head, knuckle of his other hand teasing at her, slipping between her folds and spreading her wetness slowly, listening carefully to the rhythm of her sighs as she wriggled against his hand.

     "You wake up too early."

     She bit her lip and thrust against his hand, already desperate for more friction, knowing the magic those hands were capable of.

     "Bruno what...ohh..."

     "You left before we could do anything this morning, and I missed you."  He laid the back of his hand against her, spreading her lips with his index and ring finger, dancing the knuckle of his middle finger up and down the short expanse under her clit to just over her opening as she squirmed against him, rough and slick and blunt at once, his touch the smooth burn of a silk rope against her skin.

     "Looks like you're--ah--doing fine on your...on your own."  His cock twitched in his palm, her eyes impatient and hungry on him as they watched the slow up and down of his fist, that damnable little tongue-tip teasing him.

     "Chica descarada.  Hush, and let me touch you."

    He suckled down hard on one nipple, taking it whole into his mouth with a savage suction, slipping two fingers inside her, slick and waiting, scissoring them against her slipping, swollen flesh, curling up and twisting hard and fast, his fingers pumping in and out at a swift, relentless pace, heel of his hand all that stopped him going further bearing down and grinding on her clit, a sweet rush of pain chased by scoring heat blooming inside her.

     She bucked and cried out harshly at the intrusion, and he froze, his hand slipping out of her and his erection flagging as the cry lanced through his hearing, sharp and pained.

     "Mierda...ninfa, I didn't mean...fuck, have I hurt you?  Lo siento, I'll stop, I'll stop."

     "Don't you fucking dare!"  She cried, her hand in his hair wrenching him back to her mouth, tugging sharp and  the red spark of pain jolting down his spine and leaving his cock straining towards her, tight coil of anticipation in his stomach as she held on, rocking her hips against his knee and his hand.

      "Don't tease me and get cold feet.  Finish what you started!"

      "I...I thought...I don't want to hurt you..." he breathed, lips whispering against hers as he reared up, leaving her room to stop if she wanted to.  She pulled him back with impatient hands, her words crashing down his spine, her hand wrapping around his on his cock and tugging him forward.

     "Then don't stop."

     Elena bit his bottom lip and held on until she felt him shiver, felt the reticence leave him, felt the satiny slip of the head of his cock against her clit.  He teased at her, nerves tingling at the wet, firm press of him, slippery with precum and slick.  She yelped in surprise when he shifted, his knee folding under her ass and the leg he'd slung over the sofa, hooking her other leg with his elbow and crouching up, folding her at the hips and spreading her further open, cool air swirling between them and hitting her drenched lips and making her hiss, caught off guard and unbalanced.  

    He planted a foot on the floor and guided himself in past the silk of her underwear, pushed away and pinching at the crease of her leg, his cotton boxers a rough scratch at the tender skin below her entrance, his pubic hair scoring softer against her clit, hard bone of his pelvis pressing down and torturing her as he sank inside, filling her up deeper at the angle, tip of his cock curving up and hitting the frilled spot inside her, sliding up hard and sending a bright bolt of sensation up her spine that had her jerking up against him, gasping and clutching at his shoulders.

     He stilled from a moment, letting her adjust before setting a brutal pace.  She gripped at his arms, nails digging half moons in the muscles as he drove into her, sinking in slow before snapping his hips down, slamming against her, heat scoring through her to spark as he bottomed out, pulling a cry from her as his pelvis hit her clit.

     She was spiraling up and away as her thighs burned from the splaying angle, head flat against the arm of the sofa.  She held on, scratching down his back as she rocked against him, arching her back to meet each thrust with writhing hips.  His hands and mouth are everywhere at once.  The hand hooked at her knee burrowing under her blouse, using it as a handgrip to pull her down on him and keep her still at once.  The other, buried in her hair, twisting at a nipple, raking searing lines down her propped leg as he scratched the back of her thigh. 

     His mouth was molten stone against her, hard and burning wherever it went, livid lovebites suckled under her left breast, bruising kisses that started at her lips and ended at her pulse, bites across her collarbone as he pumped against her, each jerk of his hips jarring him, reminding him to move his lips as she wriggled and moaned and cried out, finding a new expanse of skin each time and lavishing it with rough attention.  The breath was forced from her lungs, the burn of it making her gasp, morphing into a whistling whine as she lost air.  The ticklish itch of his hair across her skin disappeared as Bruno hitched up, panting.

    "...you ok?"

    Elena breathed in greedily, panting from more than being folded over, running her hand up the back of his neck and pulling him back down, voice faint and fierce at once.

"Just...needed air," she licked the prickly line of his jaw to his ear, whispering as she tugged at his hair and relishing the hitching jerk of his cock inside of her.  "Keep going."

     She reared her hips and rippled her muscles around him, begging him silently to move, and it was all he needed to be everywhere again.  She rocked with the force of his snapping hips, a moan wrung from her each time they connected, heat spiraling up her spine and rushing down again to flood and pool in her belly with the impact. 

     His thrusts grew harsher, his grip tight at her side and the soft inlet of her thigh hard and holding her in place, her hips searing and burning and pulling taut as he lost himself, panting, skin hot where his face bristled against her chest.  The pool in her abdomen scalded and boiled and overflowed as the bite of pain mixed with bliss, swirling dizzy from her head to her chest to her sex, her body on fire and her limbs floating, solid only where his hands held her and where they connected, her walls scalding and clutching frantically around the stretch and heat of his pounding cock, relentless against her as she keened.  His hair pinched and pulled in her tangling fist, and she cried out as he groaned, her muscles clenching and releasing around him, seizing onto him with her thighs, trapping him as much as he trapped her, driving her into the springs below.  

     He pulled away, kissed her harshly, lips burning at the force of it, eyes blazing into hers as he shifted back, never breaking eye contact as he bit the skin over her heart, laving down and kissing the marks in gruff apology as he held her up, hips surging against her, off-rhythm and hard and desperate, and she snapped under him in a screaming arch as she boiled over, flooding her skin in a torrent of heat that scorched down her limbs, through her body and cauterizing at the stinging bite mark he'd left, branding him into and under her skin as patterns flew wild behind her eyes and her heart slammed against her ribs, her lungs freezing around it as sound and sensation combined into nerve blazing starbursts swimming in her veins.

     She was lost and dragged him down with her, hiding his face in her neck and stunned, the muscles of her cunt gripping and rippling around him in a dizzying rhythm, her cries twisting high and sweet in his ears.   The crushing tension at the base of his spine crashed up his back and down his legs in a licking curl of heat, and he was barely able to pull away, spilling against her swollen, tender lips and the sodden silk of her underwear with a shouting gasp, holding her burning body against him as he shook, deaf to everything but the bellow of her breathing and her kettledrum heart.

     He held her, catching his breath, letting the sweat cool and prickle down his back, head hazy and hopeful.  How could she think he'd leave her, after that, after everything?  How else could he shake the ridiculous idea from her head?  Maybe biting her over her heart had been too much.  What did he know?   he had no damned clue what he was doing.  He couldn't bring himself to say it yet, but he was hers, and if he had to ravish or grovel or beg her to believe it he would.  He kissed the spot as he listened to her heartbeat settle, hoping she understood what he couldn't say, that he'd imprinted it on her skin through some alchemy of sweat and heat and friction and the foggy telepathy of sex that ran deeper between them. 

    "You know, if you wanted sex for your birthday you could have told me last week, would have been cheaper," she teased once she'd caught her breath, ignoring the intangible heaviness in the air and letting her leg fall down from the back of the couch with a groan, sore from the position.  He rubbed her hip in apology, snorting into her neck, scrubbing his stubble against her skin until she shoved at him, blowing a raspberry right in his ear.  He scrunched his face and wiggled his pinky in his ear canal, rolling his eyes, playing along, hoping good humor was a good sign.

     "Who says this has anything to do with that and not with you just being the most tempting thing I've ever seen?"

     "Common sense?  Find me a man that says he doesn't want it and I'll find you a liar."  He leveled a look at her, his hand roaming under her wrinkled blouse to stroke the soft skin of her stomach, dusting warm, wet kisses up her collarbone, squeezing her close as he settled back into the hollow of her neck.

     "This has nothing to do with my birthday and everything to do with me wanting you."  She snorted into his hair, twisting to kiss his forehead.

     "Hombre tontuelo.  Ugh, let me up, I'm all sticky," she grumbled, trying to sit.  He shifted his weight, trapping her with a vulgar grin, hand snaking under her bra to tease idly at her.

     "Can't imagine why.'

     "Uh-huh.  Sure, completely not your fault, tonto."

     "Myeh, true.  Leave it."

     "Wha...?"

     "Leave.  It.  I want you to feel me the rest of your day.  And at dinner with mi familia.  I want you smelling like me when I get a chance to drag you away again tonight."  She didn’t bother to hide the thrill that sent up her spine.

     "Possessive, aren't you?" She laughed, biting at his chin, letting her teeth scrape across his stubble.  He ground against her, soft but willing to tease, before looking up at her kitchen clock and sighing dramatically, taunting and shaking his hair in her face as she sputtered and swatted at him.

      "I suppose I have to let you get back to work?" He griped, hopping up and righting his boxers before stretching back, twisting a series of wet tloks out of his spine, yelping when she jabbed his middle with her foot before swinging up herself.  She bustled her skirt, scrunching her face as she inspected it for stains, sticking her tongue out at him as she flounced off to the bathroom to his snickering.

      He snatched her up as soon as she made it back, holding her hips, backing her into the door and stealing a kiss slippery and quick as a thief before twining to leave one last violet mark hidden under her repinned chignon, breathing in the cinnamon and cedar scent of her shampoo.  She ran her hands through his sweaty hair and wiggled free as her clock ticked closer to one.  He held her still against him for a moment, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes before moving to the side and letting her go.

     "You never said anything about yourself, you know.  About tonight," he said thoughtfully, studying her as she righted her skirt.  She blushed and went at her ear, failing to tame that errant curl again.  "I didn't want to assume, I thought you were teasing.  We...we're still new.  Your...your family takes precedence, here."

     "Of course I want you there, Elena." He sighed and stood, twining that wild curl around his finger, his thumb stroking her cheek.  "We might be new, but we don't feel new.  I mean...You know...  This...this is...hay un vínculo, una afinidad, aquí.  I...I don't know why but...it doesn't matter.  It's there, and that means more than the actual time.  Come with me tonight?"

     She gave him a shy smile before throwing him a shirt and kissing his cheek.     

     "Don't stay up here all day.  I miss you too, you know."  She made her way downstairs, and he heard her laughing as she opened back up, letting Carlita and Julio in.

He dressed lazily, digging in her icebox for the fruit and vegetables they'd been using to feed their pets, chopping and setting out bowls, opening a window for Chacha and picking up the three frames on her nightstand that she'd never put back. He looked at the photos again, caught up in thought.   She'd stopped growing at fifteen, it seemed, and she and Julio had both been flipping off the camera surreptitiously.  He laughed and hung it up in its spot between a magenta frame with a picture of her with her girlfriends and a scarlet one of her and her father making funny faces while Chacha flapped at their heads.

      The one with Guillermo Gonzalves he was careful with.  She spoke of him fondly, and Bruno didn't doubt for an instant that if the man hadn't died he wouldn't be in this loft at all, and Silvia would have more than just the two grandchildren, no matter what Elena said about her fertility.  

He'd seen them together once, at the café.  It had been an odd interaction, the both of them acting more like friends than lovers, bickering animatedly about a horse race they'd been in, over who had won and who had cheated before plotting to get back at the Chavez men by greasing their pigs.  Hebér had looked put-upon but patient behind the counter, letting them have their date.  He'd given Bruno the oddest look in the aisle, making him shrink back into his book and dart out as soon as he had a chance.  It was probably the last time he'd seen Silvia's son alive, and he felt a twinge at that, hating his gift again.

     He was even more careful with the vision plate as he hung it in it's central hook. He studied it again, but the slab just stared back at him in shades of green.  He wished again he could pull the memory up, just to tell her, but he had no memory of it beyond Hebér coughing in the vision cave, lungs agitated from the dust and sand, and shaking his hand as he left.  It bothered him, but if he was honest with himself it was more than he remembered from most of his visions at all and he really just wanted to remember for her sake, to give her that one extra memory of her father.  She idolized the man, and he could see how much she missed him in how hard she drove herself in the shops below.

     Elena had his espresso waiting for him when he came down, not even bothering to turn when she slugged her primo on the arm at the wolf-whistle he gave, her lips still on Bruno's as the blow landed.

     "Shut up 'Lio," came three voices in unison.  He rolled his eyes and huffed, leaning against the counter and pouting, looking all the world like an oversized and petulant toddler as Carlita teased him, nattering away about their plans for the night, Elena snickering and poking fun at her primo and his date ideas, questioning if he'd ever had an original thought in his life.  Bruno wondered if there was a Guzman playbook tucked away somewhere, recognizing half the dates as ones Dolores had gushed about afterwards at dinners.  He did his best not to say anything.  

The day was still sharp, but not as badly as before, and Bruno found the edges a little easier to bear as he watched Elena go about her day, teasing her friend and her cousin and cracking Rodrigo's back in one of her vicious bearhugs when he came in with Lucia.

     There was something comforting in watching her going on like she always did, practical and determined and buoyant, like they hadn't just spent a blissful hour entwined on her couch, like the night before hadn't altered them irrevocably closer, hadn't burned something ineffable and earnest into their very bones after wringing them out and throwing them back together to coalesce in the spiraling sea.  It tugged at his chest, a warm little pain that had him drifting away, pulling his mind in a gentle flurry of thoughts and sweet recent memories.  Warm hands and cold toes and constant laughter and the sharp ache her smile threw him into when it curled up just a little more, quirking at her cheek and pulling at her barely there laugh lines and making him want nothing more than to see her smile like that until he lost every hint of his sight with age.  

     She gave him that same smile as she took Lucia by the hand to find a book on the library side, and the force of it punched him in the chest, barely managing to return it before hiding his face in his cup, stricken.  Beside him, Rodrigo just shook his head and laughed. 

     "Bruno, it's fine.  Just leave them here."

     "How's it going to look if I tore out of the house with a...with a bag of clothes and don't bring them back?" he stuttered, wide-eyed as he felt his shirts, hanging from her line and damp as a bog.  Elena smiled at him indulgently and came up behind him, hooking her arms around his chest, kissing his neck. 

     "It'll look like you have una pareja that you spend the night with sometimes, silly man.  And that you're sensible enough to leave clothes at her place."

     "You'd...want me spending the night enough for me to keep stuff here?" he started, like the idea had never even crossed his mind.  Elena shrugged, holding him tight, knowing he'd probably never had someone extend that particular offer his way, no matter what him and Silvia had gotten up to.  

     "You've been here since Sábado.  I'm getting used to waking up beside you."

     Heat crept up his neck, and he knew he was blushing hard enough for her to feel it when she laughed.  

     "We've been wrapped around each other like snakes for days and that makes you blush?"  Her giggle turned breathy as her hand trailed down to the front of his pants, cupping him playfully and leaving her hand there, resting warm against him through the linen.

     "Sex and intimacy are two different things, ninfa.  And they both make me go red when you're involved."

     "You have no idea how cute that is, do you, tímido?"

     "Embarrassing is what it is, my age" he groused, shaking his head and batting her hands away.  "And stop that, or we're really going to be late."

     "Pfft, like they'd start without you."

     He stilled a shadow falling across his eyes, scuffing his foot against the floor and holding her hands to his chest, swallowing thickly.   Elena came around and pulled him against her, letting him rest his head on her shoulder and hold her too tightly as panic crashed down his spine so strong he shook, trying to bring his breathing under control.

     "Oh, Bruno," she whispered, barely audible against his shuddering breath.  "They will not start without you.  Never again.  They love you too much for that.  You know they do."

     He looked away and held her tighter as he shook, tears hot on her shoulder and burning as she held him.  "Ten years.  Ten years, Elena.  I don't...I can't...I don't know if I can... I don't know if I can face this..."

     She led him shakily to the couch and sat him down, facing him away from her and running her fingers through his hair, pulling it back and out of his eyes, gathering it at the nape of his neck as he gripped his ankle, knuckles white, letting him pretend it was snarls in his hair that had him flinching.  She waited.  The desolation his doubts dragged up lanced at her gut, and all she could do was listen and try to pull him back to the surface before he drown in his own mind.

     "They...They thought I was dead.  They thought I was dead and banned my name in the house.  I...I didn't even warrant a candle on Día de los Difuntos.  How...how happy can they be for me to be back, acting like that?  What if it's all...what if that's all it's been...an act?"

     She fiddled with a knot, picking it loose slowly as she hummed at his back.

     "Bruno...your familia...hasn't been good with feelings for...for a long time.  They lost you and..." she sighed, giving up the pretense of his hair and resting her head on his shoulder, listening to his tripping heartbeat as she rubbed his back, gentle and firm down the little lines of sand colored diamonds on forest green.

     "Everyone knows two versions of what happened when the Encanto formed. There's the...I don't know, the fairy tale one your mother tells.  Then there's the...real version. People running from bandits.  Losing family in the night when they started picking people off.   Mi abuelo Saúl.  Mi tio Horado.  Dios sabe quien mas. People cut down or…or shot while they ran.  The Miracle and...after.  Did Alma never tell you the bodies of the people we lost showed up in the little river, over the days, after the mountains?  Maybe she didn't know.  I don't know.  Papá made sure I knew."

     He gave a shuddering breath and took hold of her.  In the silence of the loft she could almost hear him blinking, pick out the sounds of his throat working against words trapped, and wondered briefly how Dolores hadn't gone completely insane.

     "Elena...why...?"

     "Your mother made a miracle but can't handle death, Bruno.  How much do you know about your father?"

     His jaw worked, his grip on her arms tight.  

     "I thought so.  Is it any surprise they...didn't handle you being gone well, then?"

     He sighed, head hanging before he leaned back into her, back to chest again and taking comfort in her warmth and softness and the strength of her arms.  

    "Why...Why do you know this?  How...I don't...how would you know this?  Why would Hebér tell you?"

     "Papá said the mountains were miracle enough.  He...Alma never acknowledged the deaths.  Barely even mentioned Pedro. It...bothered him.  Someone...from the family was always the one to find their dead.  Papá was alone.  He was a gravedigger at sixteen.  He didn't want me...living in a fantasy world, especially after we started making trips over the mountains.  I guess it makes sense now, seeing the vision.  He knew he wouldn't always be here."

     Bruno peered at her, turning.  Her face was wistful, but a smile quirked at her lips.  She patted his knee and smiled brighter, pulling him up and buttoning his last couple shirt buttons for him, smoothing his collar and brushing his shoulders off before tying his hair back, stroking his cheek gently as he let her go, bewildered.  

     "Come on, tio guapo.  You've got a birthday party to get to.  Me telling sad stories isn't how this night's supposed to go.  They want you there, tonto.  Don't doubt it.  Your mother isn't going to swallow her pride to apologize to me if she didn't."

     She drifted off to her office, pulling out a large bag and slinging it over her shoulder.  He gave her an odd look, and she shrugged, grinning and settling the strap more soundly.  

     "No peaking," she said before his hand snaked out and he held her to him.  His hands came up, his fingers glancing at her jaw and pulling her to his lips.  He was slow, careful, the complete opposite of the hungry kisses he'd blindsided her with earlier.  He slid his lips against hers, warm and soft and undemanding but persistent.  He held her in place, stroking his thumbs along her cheek, like he was trying to imprint that swirl of emotions into her skin, hope burning that she could help him untie that Gordian knot clear in the soft possession of his grip.  

     When he pulled away, she was trapped in his eyes, the green fading into a melancholy hazel, warm and eager and sharp all at once, his smile tilted and pensive as he twined their fingers together and let her lead the way.  He only held his breath for a second when they passed under her door

Pepa sat on her balcony, one leg swinging in agitation as cigarette smoke spiraled up to join her fog, the sweet smell of the tobacco and clove mixing with the richer, fermented fruit and woodsmoke scent of Félix' cigar, sitting across from her in a rattan chair with his heels up on the footrest.  Her husband had found her earlier in the afternoon, napping on the stairwell against her father's portrait after coming back from their date to change.  He'd taken her horseback riding in the hills, and she didn't want to smell like a barn for dinner, no matter how much fun she'd had and how much she hoped Antonio never spoke to those two particular horses.  

     She'd kept the pretense of sleep, not wanting to admit she was ill at ease, her stomach finicky in the early afternoon, skin too tight.  She knew her sister had spoken to their mother about this whole mess, and she was grateful.  She'd have just raged and left scorch marks on the walls and the tiles flooded, and gotten nowhere.  Alma was used to her outbursts, and could ignore them.

      She wasn't even sure if she could have spoken to their mother.  She'd been so at sixes and sevens with Dolores she hadn't even seen straight when her brother had ripped out of the house.  She had fumed and thundered and fogged and flooded the house with hazy rainbows and hail for hours before finally laughing herself stupid at the irony in Félix' arms, thinking back to all the close calls they'd had.  He'd once been rolled bare-assed into a linen closet for three hours by the house, just to avoid her mother, all to be discovered by a "visiting" Agustín.  Casita was up to something, and whatever it was, a good portion of it involved pushing her mother's boundaries more than it ever had.

     She was genuinely happy for her daughter, once she'd gotten over the initial shock and had apologized for zapping Félix when he'd laughed at her anger.  Mariano was a good man, if a little obtuse.  Now if she could just get Camilo to stop running wild and stealing liquor she'd be content.  She smiled at the thought and took another drag of her smoke.  She wasn't going to feel guilty, not on her birthday, for going over her normal one-a-day.  Julieta didn't have any room to talk, sneaking into the kitchen to make a batch of polvorosas and stress-eating the entire thing, even though the kids had been running around all day trying to get things prepared.  

     She didn't speak to her father's portrait as often as she felt maybe she should, but she didn't know him.  When she had been younger, she'd heard stories, not from her mother, but from the older folks in the Encanto.  Abuelita Ximena and Senór Perez had known the most.  Ximena had owned the shop her Papá had worked at, before, and had known him fairly well.  Senór Perez was only a few years older than her parent's had been, and had been one of Papá's amigos de copas.  So she knew about him, but didn't really know him.  But she wasn't stupid.  

     She'd seen the hurt in her mother's eyes past the annoyance over the years, at little quirks of all their personalities that they couldn't place.  The way she'd never been able to look Julieta in the eye for very long when she was angry.  The little flinch when Pepa put her hands on her her shoulders from behind, to let her know she was there.  The pinch of her lips when Bruno's superstitions had begun to form.  When Julieta danced as she did dishes or laughed her rare belly laugh, her mother found somewhere else to be.  When the children had been younger and Pepa had carried them around like sacks of flour or tossed them in the air or been caught smoking, she'd been admonished quicker.  When Bruno had come to the breakfast table heavy-eyed and ink-stained, he'd gotten a lecture about wasting his time that always seemed too harsh.  

    As they'd grown, as the children had come, the glimpses had become rare, and Pepa could have almost forgotten about them, except for the constant reminder.  Bruno, always the odd one out, had gotten singled out more and more as their mother had gotten distracted away from her daughters' quirks.  His dedication to his little furry friends.  His superstitions and his dirty mugs and his scatterbrained storytelling had all come under fire.  He'd stopped wearing his hair short when they were barely into their twenties, dodging their mother's scissors permanently after a blow-out in front of this same portrait.  She had slipped, Pedro's name ringing hollow and resonant, bouncing off the walls like an indictment, and when she finally dragged herself up his tower to find him after two weeks of fuming, she had known the number of stairs under her feet had grown,

    So she'd gone to her father about the brother that was so much like him, that couldn't see it even when their mother made it clear as day.  She'd brought him two fresh novena candles, a pink one for San Joaquín and a blue one for San Andrés, and lit them, letting the smells of rosemary and lilac ease her mind.

     "I've been a terrible sister, Papá," she'd said, resting her head against the frame and imaging for a moment a dry, heavy hand running down her braid, rather than the wood of the frame.  

"We never helped him enough.  We didn't know how.  We lost him for ten years, and he's never going to be who he was before, who he was supposed to be.  None of us gave him a chance."  She'd shooed away the little cloud that had started, irritated, but taking a deep breath.  She'd be sad later.  

"We caught up to you and kept going.  Now your nieta is seeing someone two years older than you were when you died.  You'll be a bisabuelo soon, I think.  And you never even got to meet your own children, not really."  

She looked down at her hands, at the little luck knot she'd woven from a curtain cord she'd meant to throw away, and smiled, remembering when Bruno had taught her how to make them.  

     They'd been about twelve, and she'd been upset about something, what she couldn't remember.  He'd pulled her away and acted nervous, like the day had gotten to him too quickly, and had her redirect her upset to him.  When they'd both calmed down, he'd shown her the book he'd been reading and handed her a lumpy knot, saying it was good luck and maybe it would help her thundering.   She'd been peeved at how messy it was, and demanded he show her how to do it so she could make it neater, and he'd given that scruffy, goofy grin he'd always worn as he showed her.  It had become a fidget throughout the years, thought she did her best to hide it from Mamá. 

     "I don't know if you're the house or if you were the candle or if you're our gifts.  I don't know.  I don't care.  I wish you'd known us.  I wish you were here now. Maybe...maybe there wouldn't be so much to heal if you could have been here.  I'd rather have mi papá that raining on everything."  There was a clatter under her, Casita's tiles rippling gently to tickle her legs.  The frame had grown warmer, though that might have just been from her head resting there.

     "If you can hear me at all...watch out for him?  Bruno got the worst of you being gone, and it wasn't fair.  It wasn't fair.  Just...cuidalo, Papá." 

By the time Félix had found her, eyes closed and thinking of nothing in particular, the candles had burned down far more than they should have, the flames high.  She made a note to tell Senór Gutierrez that Franco had messed up again and left the lucky knot on the little table. 

     "Pepita, don't worry so much.  He's not going to miss this."

     "Félix, he hates parties.  And he was so angry..."  Félix waved her off, stubbing out his cigar and standing, cracking his back as he did.  The horseback ride had done him no favors.  The wifeback ride even less, and had left his knees sore besides.  He plucked the butt from her fingers and flicked it off in the direction of Isabela's window.  It landed in a pile of it's fellows, left in an empty plant pot by Miguel O'Conór, who wasn't nearly as slick as he thought he was.

     "I wasn't done with that."

     Félix shrugged before hooking his arms under her knees and hefting her over his shoulder with a squawk.  "No, but mi vida isn't going to be sad on her birthday. Forget your brother, he'll show up, you know he will.  Come on, let's air out and get downstairs."

     "Ugh, don't remind me.  I'm officially an old biddy today."  He set her down and nudged her to the door, rolling his eyes.

     "Nonsense!  You're mi cosecha rara.  You just get better with age.  And I turn you over enough to keep you nice and wet."

     "Félix, that's filthy!" she squealed, giving him a heated look.  She could only laugh at the grin he shot her, ushering her out the door and down the stairs, solid grip on her ass steering her, hand sliding further forward as they went.

     "And?"

     Elena hadn't known what to expect from un cumpleaños Madrigal.  Outside of the gift ceremonies, which she had attended but never made it into the house for, birthdays had always been a private affair with the family.  She'd been wrestling with her gut since they'd left the shops, the story from earlier and the words she'd spoken to Alma the night before gnawing away at her belly. 

She'd watched him, these last few days as they'd grown closer, and ice had settled under her skin that she couldn't shake.  They fit together so well it hurt, but he kept putting her first despite the chaos his family was in over the fight.  Kept being strong in little ways he didn't even realize, brushing off the signs he was healing as just something people did.  He'd gone through her salt and half her sugar with nerves, had woven a whole bowl full of little worry dolls, and had knocked his knuckles blue, but the twitching in his shoulders, the flinching if she moved too fast, the uncertainty in his eyes had been slipping away.  He held himself taller, much as he could, some sliver of confidence slipping under his skin.  Not enough to be called a assertive man, but enough to shine through the shadows that clung to him.

     She was waiting for the centavo to drop and him to realize it, to finally see her for what she was, that he didn't really need her.  She kicked herself for starting this with no goal in mind.  She truly hadn't thought he'd see anything, hadn't thought he'd kiss her back, but now that he had, she couldn't figure out what it was he saw.  All she'd done was drag him into fights and drama and scare him half to death.  She was certain he'd tire of it eventually and want peace.  She just hoped she'd be able to let him go when he did.  He deserved that at least, and someone whole and calm, not her and her damaged life.

She paused at the door, uncertain as she watched Bruno reach out to his image on it, his face contorted in concern.  It had changed, its eyes open and intense, hand over where its heart would be.  He swallowed thickly, taking a breath and squeezing her hand before opening the door for her. 

     Casita was lit up, teeming with flowers and lights, bright banners and streamers and sprays of feathers from every bird imaginable that must have been Antonio's contribution, vibrant and cheerful.  A lively tune was playing in the courtyard, Luisa on the piano and Mirabel with her acordéon, Dolores on a tiple and Camilo banging a tambora.  Agustín and Isabela were taking turns dancing with Julieta, drifting apart and coming back together smoothly, steps high and light as they laughed, Isabela's bare feet littering the tiles with tiny blue flowers at every step. 

     Félix was spinning with Pepa, who had Antonio on her shoulders, giggling as he tipped and careened, off balance from his high perch as hummingbirds and swifts flitted around him, dodging his mother's happy hailstones as they fell and popped and got lost in the flowers.

The music trailed off a little, Mirabel and Camilo seeing them first, the others turning to notice.  The hail stopped, Antonio clambered down, and Agustín slipped on a patch of greenery, rescued by a quick vine thrown up under him.  Bruno's hand gripped hers almost painfully, clamming up immediately at the attention, but he managed to catch himself and gave a bashful little wave.  

     "I...ah...I'm back."

     There was a flurry of motion, and Elena barely had time to move aside as an gold blur scooped him up, Pepa yelling the whole time about how worried she'd been.  Julieta's arms came around them both, forcing Pepa to lower Bruno back to ground level and laughing.

    "Pepa, he's fine.  Elena took good care of him.  Now don't do that again!"

    "Sí, madre," Bruno groaned, rolling his eyes, smirking and glad they weren't furious with him.  "Speaking of, where is Mamá?"

    "En la cocina," Julieta said, "You remember, she always used to make our cake? She...she wanted to do that again, this year."

    Bruno nodded and was pulled away, catching up on the little dramas of the last few days he'd missed while he'd been at her place.  Elena stood off to the side, watching as Antonio was ambushed by Bruno's rats, all of them having hitched a ride with her in the bag.  He squealed and wiggled as they ran up and down him before high-tailing it into the house to get away from dancing feet as Bruno was pulled along by his sisters.  There was a little tug at her skirts, and big brown eyes looked up at her fondly.

    "Aren't you going to dance with Tio Bruno?"  He asked, and Elena smiled, gazing over at his uncle, still being tugged around the floor. 

    "If he asks.  I think he wants to catch up with your Mami and tia first."

    "Will you dance with me?"

    She couldn't turn down such a sweet request, and nodded, letting him tug her onto the floor and following his little lead, bouncing through a champeta and giggling when he looked up at her in surprise, clearly not expecting her to be able to keep up.  She made a face and swept him up in her arms as Parce bolted through, bumping into her knees and sending her tumbling back, Casita spinning a chair out to catch her as she yelped, turning to a laugh as momentum slung her around before stopping. 

    "Casita likes you!" Antonio said, bright grin splitting his face.  Elena shrugged, "Nah, Casita's just polite.  Can't have guests breaking their butts on the tile."  He shook his head, wild curls flying back and forth.

    "Nuh-uh.  She doesn't do that with the Guzmans except Mariano.  She likes you! Because you like Tio Bruno."  She didn't know what to say to that as he wiggled on her lap, legs kicking aimlessly as he beckoned her down to listen to him.

    "Arlo told me!"

    "Arlo?"

    "The old Macaw!" he said, pointing up.  An ancient scarlet macaw sat roosting in the roof, half his feathers missing with age, the other half faded and dull.  He must have been at least older than Chacha.  Maybe older than the Encanto itself, a creature caught in the creation  

    "He said...he said the house throws out people it doesn't like."    

    "I'm glad Casita likes me then," she laughed, holding her hand up to Arlo, who wobbled of his perch and landed clumsily, some flight feathers missing.  "What else does Senór Arlo have to say?" she asked, rifling in her pocket for something, a slice of sweet potato she'd grabbed in case Chacha made a nuisance of herself.  The parrot took it and snuggled in Antonio's hair, the little boy snickering before looking around, wide eyed. 

    "He said...he said the house had..." 

    "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.  If you do, I won't tell, Tonito."  He looked around, realizing the dancing had slowed, and made her lean in closer, little hand up to his mouth. 

    "He says the house has more sense than Abuela!  And the other grown-ups too!"  

    Elena couldn't say anything to that, Arlo flapping off as Dolores came to collect her brother and lead them all to the dining room.  Rich savory mamona beef steamed on the table, flanked by plates of starchy pandebono and fried lapingachos.  Boat-like plátanos asados con queso steamed and trays of arepas domino, black beans and white cheese poking out the sides sat, adding to the chorus of scents.  The older kids and Mariano look pleased with themselves as their parents praised their effort, laughing when Mirabel deadpanned that Camilo had only eaten half of it, the two of them bickering all the way to their seats.  

    Elena hung back, hesitant.  Her bag with their gifts had been shunted off to the side, under the table where three large boxes sat, one of each in the triplets' signature color.  One large gift from the family, tradition shining as clear as the surprised, fond mile on Bruno's face when he saw the olive green paper.  Bruno was chatting with his sisters and cuñados, stationed between Pepa and Julieta, caught up in conversation. They made a complete unit, seated together, blue and green and yellow in a row.  The kids had  taken over the other side of the extended table, Dolores at the end and Mariano capping it, leaving only a seat between him and Félix open outside of Alma's head of the table.  Somewhere in her mind the day's hanging shoe dropped, and her stomach sank in cold realization. 

    The sense of being an intruder washed over her so strong she shuddered.  She sat between her primo and Félix and tried to hide her apprehension, shrinking into her shawl and trying to go unnoticed, cursing herself and her stupid insistence on not having expectations.  Because it was a lie.  Her embryonic hopes for the future came crashing down around her ears at the reality of it all. 

    She did not belong here.  No matter what the house thought of her, or even what Bruno thought of her, she did not belong here.  There was no place for her, too set in her ways to ever mesh successfully with the tight-knit clan.  There was no space for her by Bruno's side, and there never would be.  He and his sisters were a unit, and she was an unwanted extra, a sad little hanger-on who'd taken too long to realize it.  Bruno would heal without her, would thrive without her, and she served little purpose beyond getting him to that point.  She'd known it from the beginning, but it was easy enough to deny while they were having fun, before her heart had gotten involved.  

    "Are you ok, Leni?  Why aren't you sitting by Bruno?" Mariano whispered.  She'd been so lost in her own head she hadn't even noticed Alma had come in, or heard her words.  She hadn't really even noticed his hand and Félix' holding hers during grace.  She gave herself a little shake, nailing her cheeks up in a painful sweet smile and shrugged, voice ice-bright. 

    "I'm fine, Nahno.  Those three...they should sit together tonight."  He nodded, her smile real enough to him, though Dolores looked over at her with concern.  Had she heard the tripping of her heart over the din?  She bit the inside of her lip and took a deep breath.  She wasn't going to ruin this night for him.  He deserved this, to reconnect with his family,  to have a fun, normal day of celebration with them, and she wasn't going to spoil it.  Bruno peered around Pepa, looking lost, and she shot him her painfully bright grin.  

    "It's all your night, tonto.  Sit with your sisters.  It's...where you should be." 

    His nod wasn't entirely pleased, but he dropped it, pulled into conversation by Agustín about The Vortex, which she'd forgotten she'd loaned him.  Elena was able to sit in silence and focus on her food.  It was delicious, but it sat heavily in her stomach and she soon found herself nauseous, picking at her plate and hoping no one noticed.  

She spent the next hour watching the three from the side, laughing a moment behind the rest, happy nobody picked up on it.  Choruses of Feliz Cumpleaños were sung through by the family and then the triplets themselves.  Elena kept her voice low, begging off saying she sounded terrible.  Bruno gave her an odd look, but she shrugged it off, waving him on to enjoy the fun.  

Julieta had a lovely singing voice and sang with a hand on either of her siblings' shoulders. Pepa could physically not control her volume, and tugged the other two out onto the floor, spinning them around as she canted and crowed.  Bruno had been caught out, scratching his neck awkwardly before gripping his arm.  His singing voice warbled and was a little grainy, and he was red as she'd ever seen him, but the tearful look he got from his sisters and mother at the end of his verse seemed to make it worth it for him, his crooked grin spreading into a genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the corner and showing all his teeth, lighting up the room and getting squashed between his sisters, Pepa's little cloud dropping hail, sprinkling rain, and spraying rainbows at once.    

    Agustín, Félix, and Mirabel had snuck up behind them.  Félix gave a sharp whistle and as they turned as one.  

    There was a shriek, and a crunch, and a splat. 

    Julieta and Bruno stood, dripping egg and looking betrayed as Pepa howled and began chasing the trouble-makers, rain and wind lashing at them as she hounded them out into the courtyard, flinging egg yolk back at them, catching Agustín and Félix in their hair and splatting a yellow handprint onto Mirabel's blouse before coming back to the table. 

    Bruno stopped at her seat briefly, his hands resting on her shoulders and squeezing as he leaned down.  On any other man it would have been possessive.  His grip reeked of concern. 

    "You're quiet tonight.  Is everything alright?" 

    She nodded, patting his hand and leaning her head back against his chest, hoping he didn't see the waver in her eyes. 

    "I'm just enjoying watching you, tonto.  It's good to see you like this." 

    "Elena..." 

    "It's your night, Bruno.  Enjoy it!" 

    He was uncertain, but she scratched at his chin and distracted him with a kiss, sending him back to his seat with a pinch to his rear and a smile she didn't feel.  

     Alma had fetched the cake in the chaos, a towering tres leches topped with fresas and dragon-fruit rosettes.  She stared down her children, an eyebrow raised as if daring them to try any shenanigans.  Elena wasn't sure who's face was redder.  Camilo had already snatched up her plate, finishing her picked over portion while no one was watching, and was eyeing the slice of cake Félix passed her.  

    "Elena, don't you dare give him any of that," he'd laughed, eyes dancing.  "Abuela would murder all three of us."  His hand had lingered on her arm for a second too long, and he gave her the same look she'd seen him level at his children that she couldn't quite put a name to.  She nodded, and choked down her slice, the sticky sweetness coating her tongue and twisting in her stomach.  She didn't see the concern that passed over her head as she focused on chewing and swallowing, Dolores and her father both at a loss, even Mariano noticing her low energy. 

    There was a yelp further up the table.  Bruno was swiping at his face, whipped cream sticking to his skin, Julieta and Pepa wearing splats of it as well, the three of them cackling.  Alma shook her head, rolling her eyes with a put upon sigh. 

    "What a waste.  You three never change." 

    "Mamá..." Julieta said, grabbing for a napkin.  Bruno just shrugged, "No waste here," and grabbed Pepa's face, dragging his tongue up her cheek as she shrieked, swatting him away as he laughed, whipped cream stuck in his hair as she hooked an arm around his neck and ground her knuckles into his scalp to his yowling.  Julieta wiped her face, clapping her hands together and smearing it sticky across both their faces before cupping her hands to Pepa's gentle rain and using it to scrub off.  Alma laughed at the spectacle fondly, the shadow that normally sat on her brow lifted as she watched her children behave like the babies she'd never stopped seeing them as.  She clapped her hands once they'd cleaned off, dried most of the way by Pepa's vibrant sunshine. 

    "Hora de los regalos!   Vamos a ver!" 

    There was a quick game of rock-paper-scissors that looked almost staged, Julieta grinning and rising at her sibling's exaggerated groans, going to her box, wrapped in a delicate cornflower blue.  She pulled the ribbon away and opened the lid.  She pulled out a light quilted dove gray robe, embroidered all along the bottom and sleeves with beautiful geometric patterns in burnt orange and cerise, saffron yellow and emerald green, royal blue and rich indigo and black, standing out, repeating around up to her knees.  Alma, Agustín, and Mirabel looked very pleased with themselves, and Julieta rushed to hug all of them before her husband shooed her away to finish out her box.  Below the robe, in a little crate of their own, was a selection of tiny plant starts, and the drawn plans for a garden, complete with a stone fountain to be dug, a speculation of what it would look like.  Julieta squinted at it curiously, unable to suss out who besides Isabela had worked on this particular part of her gift.  

    "Told you she wouldn't guess," Bruno snickered, looking at Luisa, who blushed as her mother came and planted a kiss on her cheek, then her older sister's, before going to Bruno and trying to do the same as he jokingly fended her off. 

    The last thing she pulled was the rolled blueprint for plans to expand Casita's kitchen.  She looked up at Pepa in confusion before her sister smiled nudging her husband.  

    "Look again.  We aren't asking you to cook more!  We want to expand it out so it's easier to help!" 

    "What...What are all these extra tables and sinks for, then?" 

    "Remember during the rebuilding, when you were wondering what you'd do without your Gift?" Félix asked.  Julieta's eyes went wide and tearful. 

    "You're putting in room so I can teach?" She gave a little squeal and bolted, tackling them in a joint hug before smacking a kiss to her sobrino's cheeks, knowing they'd be helping as well.  "And Casita agreed?" 

    "The only reason the floor is the same is we convinced her to wait until tomorrow!" Pepa laughed.   Agustín pulled her back into her seat, holding her and whispering something in her ear that made Julieta and Dolores both blush.  Casita's tiles jostled, and the box slid to the ground, carried away to rest in front of Julieta's door, no doubt. 

    "Okay, okay, let's see who's next!" Pepa laughed, flapping her hands before rounding on her brother.  Again the theatrical rock-paper-scissors, Bruno losing and lamenting with his hand over his eyes. 

    Pepa darted to her box, tearing the sunflower colored paper enthusiastically and yanking off the lid.  She squealed and spun and kicked out of her shoes, slipping on the new pair of gold-toned alpargatas with stem green ribbons, dancing on the spot.  They were embroidered with bright blue orchids and peacock feathers.  She pulled another pair out of the box, these scarlet and sewn through with silver fireworks, their ribbons a gentle pink.  

    "You've been dancing so much, Mami," Dolores chirped, grinning.  "We love it!  We don't ever want to see you stop!" 

    "The colors were my idea!" Antonio chimed in, excited.  He was proud he'd been able to help this year.  Little rainbows flashed above Pepa's head, her smile wide as she hugged her children and Mirabel who'd done the embroidery, assuring them she loved the gifts.  She went back to the box at Félix' urging.  Her jaw dropped and she went elbow deep into the box to pull out a thick stack of records.  Celia Cruz, Xavier Cugat, Ernesto de la Cruz, Colombia’s own Elena Ruiz; all of Pepa's favorites.  Elena remembered this gift suddenly.  Félix and Julieta had come to her one day during the rebuilding, money in hand, asking she pick up the records when she made her trip, knowing she was going out off schedule to restock the books she'd replaced.  Pepa's records had all been destroyed during the collapse, and she'd spent years amassing her collection.  She watched, smile on her face small but genuine, as Pepa hugged her mamá, sister, and husband. 

    The last gift had been a surprise to everyone; two gigantic sets of windchimes, one mixed dyed bamboo and rainbow ceramic, one bronze and built like a marimba, the largest tube as long as her arm, the smallest the size of her pinky.  They were on sturdy, weighted wires and built in such a way that they would never tangle, able to survive a hurricane with little need for repair, so Pepa would always have music.  She laughed and pelted them all with hail as she came to hug them, recognizing the handiwork of her oldest nieces in the clay and supplying the metal, and her brother's artistry in the design.  This box too slid away, the flurry of paper shredded in the tiles and fanned up into the air as bright confetti. 

Pepa shooed her cloud away to the courtyard giggling, before falling into her chair and poking Bruno in the side in tandem with Julieta.  He squawked in surprise and jumped up, dodging around his chair, guarding against sharp fingers. 

    "Ok, ok, ok!  I'm going, sheesh!" he chuckled, flapping them away and shuffling to the table.  

    He stilled, staring down the olive green box.  Elena heard him swallow, saw his shoulders twitch, and wanted to get up, to stand with him.  She could see the ticking in his jaw, the tenseness of his muscles as he struggled, uneasy with all eyes on him, but she was frozen in her seat.  He swallowed again and reached out for the box. 

    His hands shook a little as he felt the paper, searching for a seam, running his fingers delicately over the olive green, feeling the texture and blinking slowly before popping the ends of the paper out from under themselves, carefully unwrapping the box until the paper lay flat on the table.  He moved the box and folded the paper neatly, making a little booklet off to the side.  He could feel the eyes of his family on his back, burning gently with hope, but still burning.  He lifted the lid and set it aside, and took another breath before peering in.  

    He pulled out a large wooden box with jointed sides and a latch-catch, and set it on the table, slipping the catch open to reveal a set of cherry handled woodworking tools, meant for fine-work and small projects and the fine tuning of larger pieces.  He went to turn, but caught himself, hand to his mouth as he quietly closed the lid and latched the tools back securely.  Agustín and Félix glanced at each other, worry furrowing their brows, but Bruno carried on, heedless of their silent questioning.  

    The next item was a large canvas and leather apron, plain but full of sturdy pockets of every size and with little leather slots for anything from knives to hammers to paint brushes.  Again, quiet fingers ran over it, feeling the seams and inspecting the pockets and the ties and buckles, lip half-worried in his teeth.  In a flurry of motion, he'd slid his arms in the straps and tightened it around his waist.  It fell to just above his knees, but looked good on him, the clean eggshell of the canvas waiting for paint and dirt and grime, full of potential.  He took another deep breath, and gave a watery smile before slipping out of it wordlessly and folding it, laying it on top of the box.  His sisters and mother shared a look, pleased and a little fretful.  

    The kids were all watching eagerly from the edges of their seats, clearly having all chipped in.  Bruno clenched and unclenched his fists, swallowed, and rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the red that had crept up his neck and his ears at the attention.  He struggled for a moment, before getting whatever was at the bottom balanced in his hands, pulling out a large, complicated box, the same cherry wood as the tools…his tools.  He popped the catches and froze.  Oil pastels, chalks, charcoals and jars of pollen pigments sat in neat little rows.  The back of the box could clearly be propped and arranged into a small easel.  There was a drawer for paper, and in the blank space meant for that sat a small collection of natural clays, gray and white, brown and red, all wrapped in wax paper, and a small box of sculptor's tools. 

    He covered his mouth again, swallowed, swiping at his eyes and blinking up at the ceiling.  He nodded to himself, and placed everything back in the box, including the neat little pamphlet of wrapping paper before resolutely placing the lid back and patting the table, signaling to Casita to send it off.  He made his way back to his seat, sitting ramrod straight under the mute scrutiny of his family.

    "...Ah...Gr--gracias, everyone.  I.  Everything is...Thank you.  So much." 

    Elena smiled at him, happy and hesitant at once, though he missed the doubt in her eyes when he returned the smile.  Her gifts wouldn't compare, she knew, and she the gall of her intruding on tradition had cemented in her chest.  When the tiles rattled her bag over to her, bumping it against her leg like an eager puppy, she tried to shoo it away.  It fell over and the wrapped gifts tumbled out, Félix collecting them and placing them on the table carefully. 

    "What's this, Elena?" 

    She blanched, and shook her head, trying to take them back.  "Nothing, nothing. I--I didn't realize you did one big gift.  Stupid of me.  Should have asked.  I could have chipped in.  I didn't mean to assume..." 

    Félix gave her an odd look.  Pepa and Bruno took note as she failed to hide them, Pepa snatching up the flat box with her name on it and laughing. 

    "Oh, how sweet of you!  You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.  Don't worry about tradition, this year's already been a hurricane, why not shake it up a little more?"     

    Elena held her breath, looking away as Pepa tore into the paper, shaking fabric out of the box with a flourish and a squeal.  She stood and held the dress up to her.  Peacock green and slashed with lines of diagonal gold trim, the full a-line skirts stopped at her calves and the tiny sleeves would fall off the shoulder, skirt swinging one way and gold fringe the other.  She laughed and did a final spin before folding the dress back into the tissue paper. 

    "They'll even go with the shoes!  Thank you so much.  Where did you get this?" 

    Elena shrugged, shifting uncomfortably.  "Oh, I...I made it.  I'm sorry, I had to ask Camilo for help with your measurements.  I shouldn't have..."    

    The odd look returned, and Pepa nudged her husband and brother before leaning over Félix and placing a hand over hers.  "Elena, this is beautiful.  Don't worry about it being a surprise.  I don't know anyone that would turn down something so well-meant."  Elena looked up at her and gave a smile. 

    "You...your kids always talk about how happy they are to watch you dance.  I just...it felt like the thing to do, you know?"  Her smile grew a little stronger as Félix and Bruno switched places.  Félix snagged the heavy box labeled for Julieta and handed it to her as Bruno took Elena's hand.  Elena jumped at the contact, but he seemed to sink into her, a weight lifted off his shoulders as he scooted his seat closer and wrapped his arm around the small of her back.  

    "You didn't have to get us anything, but you have to know that...you have to know we appreciate it, Elena," he said, thumb brushing along the underside of her shawl.  "I never thought it'd be me telling you not to worry, but...don't.  Please?" 

    Elena gave him a small smile and leaned against him in return, trying to shake out the silverfish that had sifted into her brain, the little lies of insecurity that struck at the worst times, stealing the heat of his hands to bolster her own nerves against the niggling doubts.  He pressed a swift kiss to her jaw and nudged her to watch as Julieta opened her gift.    

    She lifted out a collection of earthenware jars, releasing the smell of herbs and coffee across the table.  She opened the lids and smelled each one, her cheeks glowing brighter with each new discovery. 

    "Elena, what is all this?" she asked, holding up a pressed bar that smelled of honey and lavender.  Elena blushed.

    "It's...a spa basket like Mamá used to make for gifts, before her hands went.  You work so hard, I thought...well..."  Elena explained, pointing out the items.  Honey and lavender lotion bars, a sugar scrub with coffee and coconut oil, a selection of bath salts in citrus and floral scents, a frangipani scented jar candle, and a large pot of hand cream that smelled of almond, cinnamon, and ginger.  Julieta took a dollop of the last and tested it on her hands, eyes bright as the gentle heat of it soaked into her skin.  She took her mother's hand and did the same, and even Alma gave an approving, if reluctant, nod.   Julieta's kind arms around her made her jump, but the gentle pat on the shoulder made her feel a little more welcome.  

    She heaved a shaky sigh and handed Bruno his gift, the only one she'd managed to snatch off the table.  His hands brushed over hers, warm as he took the heavy parcel. He split the seam with his little finger, and swiftly pulled it away, folding it as well before taking in what he was holding. 

    Two large new books, leather bound in a rich royal blue.  The top volume had a paisley pattern embossed on the cover, and the pages had been gilded in gold. Acanthus leaves and trumpet flowers were embossed on the second, the pages gilt in silver.  The gold gilt was full of clean, thin-lined paper, the silver home to sturdy drawing paper that would take watercolors well.  The pages were unmarked in both, but each was as thick as the rectory’s bible and heavy.  A slim box sat hidden in the space between paper and table, and had fallen flat when he'd cracked the books open. He opened it curiously, to find a fine, re-fillable black fountain pen with a line of replacement nibs and two extra bodies.  Beneath the pressed board that held everything in place was a collection of pencils and a small folding pen knife to trim them. 

    He set everything on the table and picked the books up again, running his hands along the fine grain of the dyed leather of the spines.  He felt something, and turned to inspect the covers.  His name was engraved there, simple and unadorned, but bold.  He opened one and then the other.  There was a handwritten dedication on the endsheet. 

"A place for your stories to rest their heads," in the gold-gilt book with the lined pages. 

"For the pictures that live in your mind," in the silver gilt.  He brushed his thumb over his name on the books again, turning to her beaming, overwhelmed by the potential in the gift. 

"I...I wasn't able to make these myself.  I...hope that's ok." She said before he could speak.  He took her hand and squeezed it, knowing she’d spent a small fortune to have these made, before dusting a kiss to the back. 

"Thank you, Elena.  I couldn't have asked for a better gift." 

The rest of the table had found other things to focus on, Dolores and Luisa curious about Julieta's present, smelling various jars and trying the lotion and Mirabel and Alma crossing to inspect the stitching on Pepa's new dress.  Mariano and Camilo had drifted off to return with coffee and drinks, and Félix was getting ready to take Antonio off to bed.  Bruno stood, going to his mother and kissing her on the cheek, giving her a brief hug. 

"Good night, Mamá.  Thank you.  For everything.  For tonight.  And...for understanding." 

Elena watched as Alma nodded, a little lost when Bruno appeared before her, gathering up his gift under one arm and taking her hand, pulling her up and toe-kicking the floor near her bag, the tiles rippling to follow behind him as he led her away. 

    "Bruno, it's alright, you don't have to walk me home.  Stay and enjoy yourself."   He shook his head with a wry smile as he led her up the stairs.  

"I'm not taking you home."  His voice was rough, low timbred, and it scratched a shiver from the base of her skull to the base of her spine as they walked, burning through her doubts to sear away entirely in the glow of his smirking door, ushering her inside gracelessly as he struggled with knob and books before punting the frame and toeing it open. 

    The first thing she noticed was the change in temperature.  After the warmth of the dining room, full of people and soaked in the heat of the cocina, the cool drop in degrees prickled chilly across her skin before being swept more comfortably by the gentle humidity.  The second was the smell.  Incense spices and sun-warmed sand, linen and salt and the green scent of growing things.  Bruno's scent, all around her. 

    The sands were multicolored and soft, the green water of the oasis lapping gently.  Plants, some she recognized, many she didn't, some clearly gifted by Isabela in their pots surrounded it, leaving one side open to rest.  Bruno disappeared from her side and appeared again in a flash, unburdened by his gifts and took her hand again. He kicked off his sandals and waited for her to follow, leading her around to the water, licking over their ankles as they walked.  She held his elbow, feeling a tension there as they made it out past the heliconia and San Joaquin flowers.  The rough stone wall, littered with a labyrinth of bamboo and ledges and small wooden toys for his rats, taller than either of them broke away to jut out into the sands, mossy ground cover soft under their feet as the tumbledown waterfall plashed and rumbled.  A dull roar, soothing, mists of the water cool, the pool below sinking darkly into the floor in the direction of the oasis.  

    The sound of falling sand could be heard as they passed by, letting their feet sink into the moss.  Hidden past the waterfall, disguised by the sound of it and the veiling sandfall pouring from the ceiling was another door, round and covered in geometric patterns.  He'd explained about his vision cave, and she relished the little flip in her chest at him showing her even the entrance, but the tension in his arm worried her, and his silence.  He slipped his arm from her hand and around her back, kissing her hair and leading her away, back across the moss and the sand, to a hidden alcove, door an illusion hidden in the stone.  His actual room. 

    It wasn't so much a room as a suite, similar to her loft but larger and somehow tighter at once.  She'd suspected he'd gotten used to cozy spaces over the last ten years, and this confirmed it.  It was astonishing in it's normality.  Other than the wall littered with clocks, their ticking muted through some trick of the magic, it could have been anyone's home, or at least a relojero's.  Stucco walls painted a gentle sage, thick wood beams an espresso brown, bubinga wood molding running along the bottom, stained clear to show off their whorling grain. 

    A door past the clock wall must have lead to the bathroom, and one wall was completely taken over by a forest green painted bookshelf, crammed and haphazard with everything from classics to comics, curios hanging off hooks and poking out of jars and cups and little boxes stashed and stuck throughout.  There was a simple desk with a lamp, his gifts from her placed in the center, a large wardrobe with a sleeve caught in the drawer, and a dresser under the clock wall, three drawers half-open.  And his bed.  Smaller than hers, a full-size, with a square-patterned blanket and sheet flung back from how he must have left them Viernes morning, the dent in his pillow still evident. 

This was his territory.  His home.  The icy hand of isolation slammed back around her heart.  

    She was picking a thread from those blankets a minute later.  She recognized the cornflower blue, the softness of the worn thread.  An old blanket of Nina Panedero's that she'd slept under during sleepovers for years, donated after the house fell.  Bruno's warm grip on her arm brought her back to herself, his eyes worried when she was able to focus again. 

"What's going on with you today?" he asked.  She flinched, and sighed.  She had been hoping he had missed it, too high strung from everything.  'Camino a seguir, perra sin valor,’ she spat at herself.  'Push him away faster.  Idiot.' 

    "Nothing, Bruno.  It's not my day is all.  I just wanted you to enjoy yourself."  He leveled a look at her, taking her hands in his, grip strong and mouth a thin line. 

    "I'd have enjoyed it more if you hadn't looked like you were going to...like you were going to cry every time you looked at me," he said.  Her stomach twisted at that, twisting more as he continued. 

    "Was it...was it earlier?  Elena if I...if it hurt, I didn't mean..." 

    She looked away, unable to meet his eyes.  "It wasn't that.  I...that was...I didn't think you could be like that, and it surprised me.  But I've never felt so...wanted.  It was good, Bruno, I just..." 

    "...Just...?"  He left it open, waiting, the air stiff and stinging. 

    "Have you ever just...known something.  Just...gotten a flash of it so strong it slaps you?"  He nodded, looking troubled, and she went on.  She scoffed at herself, looking away still. 

    "That was today.  I know I ruined your day.  I didn't want to.  I tried not to, Bruno.  But...I don't...belong here.  I can't fit.  I thought maybe I could, for a while, but...but you're whole, here.  You don't need me.  I know it.  You know it.  And you're going to see it one day and regret all the time you’ve wasted on me and I...I..." 

    "Deja esa mierda!" He hissed, releasing her hands, gripping her shoulders.  "Te adoro, Elena.  Who says you need to belong?  You think I want you changing to please them?  Who cares what they think?  Isn't that what you told me?  Te adoro por ti!"  He pulled her close, letting her sag against him as he continued, his voice drained.

    "I always feel like I don't belong, Elena.  Always.  Here, at church, in your loft.  It's just...how I'm built.  I ignore it.  It's getting easier.  It's just a stupid lie in your head.  Tell it to go away.  I know you have shadows too, but don’t let them win." 

    She held still, letting his warmth steep into her skin, his ruana soft under her cheek.  He sighed, slumping and shifting her in his arms, resting his cheek on her head, humming in thought. 

    "And I do need you.  Look at where we are now, because you've brought me here.  A month ago would you...could you have seen us here?  Like this?  You're stuck with me, because you see me.  Like mold.  The only way you're getting rid of me is if you...is if you do it yourself."

    She heard his pulse flying, her mouth going dry as hers followed, tripping across her ribs right down into her stomach like she'd dropped it down the stairs.  Hadn't she said the same thing to Alma the day before, or close enough?  And the old woman had read her like a banner painted red.  He loved her.  Or he was close enough it didn’t matter.  Closer than she'd hoped, let alone thought.  God only knew how long it would take him to actually say it, but she could feel his face burning through her hair, under her hands, and his clamoring heart had betrayed him.  And the fear slid away, leaving a shadow behind with her others but sinking into the spot in her mind where she kept them locked.  Where it belonged.  She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and sank into his chest, letting him be the strong one. 

    “Lo siento, querido.  I let old bullshit get into my head again.  Thanks.  For...you know...” 

    “Understanding?” 

    She nodded as she squeezed him, picking a chunk of eggshell off his ruana and letting herself be soothed by the smells of salt and incense that clung to him. 

    He loosened his grip on her, leaning back a little and rubbing his neck, wearing that awkward, toothy smile.  "Sooo... you ah...finally saw the room. Uh. Heh. Whatcha think?" 

     She saw a flash of an awkward teen she'd never met in the blush across his cheeks and his eager eyes, and could do nothing but giggle.  

     "'Do you like my room?'  Really, Bruno?" She snorted, wiping at the last of her tears.  He had the nerve to look offended. 

     "It's a legitimate question!" 

     "When you're in secundaria!" 

     He grabbed the edges of her shawl and flung back on his mattress, pulling her on top of him before tossing it away. "Oh just answer me, cosa tonta!" 

     The mood shifted, and she was very aware of how tender she was from their afternoon romp, and the heat that had started pooling low in her belly as her heart raced for an entirely more enjoyable reason. 

     "It's very nice, and you'll have to take me on a longer tour later."  She snuggled against him and ran her fingers up his chest and neck, tracing his lips delicately, holding the bottom one when his tongue peeked out.  "Right now, I'm more interested in your bed.  Which...look at that!  We're in." 

    She felt his cock swelling under her, grinning as he gulped and fisted her skirt, voice lust-strangled and thick.  

"Naked.  Clothes off.  Now."  His eyes blazed as he said it, and she felt a rush of slick arousal flood as she rolled off him to the floor, a devious slide against the pinch of his dried spunk from earlier, her cunt quivering at the thought and the sweet soreness still in her skin as she stood, shucking out of her blouse and bra in one swift motion, glad she'd worn something a little loose.  His ruana fell to the floor, followed by his shirt when he turned on the bed, frozen at the sight, breasts heavy and squeezed together as she fought the hook closure of her skirt, nipples peaked and flushed dark in the cool air. 

He pulled her to him by the hips, working the closure himself, long fingers wheedling past her underwear to tease at her curls, sending delicate sparks across her skin.  She arched her hips against his hand, but he ignored it, focused on her skirt.  He took a nipple in his mouth, sucking the pert nub gently, rolling it between lips and tongue before worrying it with his teeth, eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration as his hands continued slowly drawing hooks from their eyelets.  A warmth spread from his mouth through her chest, slow and sweet as he moved to the neglected breast, belying the urgency of his hands as they shoved her skirt down, yanking her underwear roughly to her knees.

     He stood, bending and pulling them to her feet before burying his nose in her mound, breathing in their combined scent deeply, his tongue hot and searching at the top of her slit.  She squealed and scrambled to find purchase, hands fluttering at his shoulders as he shuffled out of the rest of his clothes, tongue and lips still teasing, hand trailing up the inside of her knee for her to spread her legs.  He held her open with his thumb and forefinger, tongue dancing across her clit in light, ticklish licks as his stubble scratched at her lips, tingling shocks going straight to her core, her knees turning to jelly as his hands traveled up the backs of her thighs.  She whined as long fingers found her soaking, teasing against her and spreading her wetness further, pressing against her but never sliding inside, teasing her swollen until every nerve and half the blood in her body was focusing in and swirling dizzy at her sex, soaking and  thrumming desperately at the empty air.  Her left knee would not stop shaking, and she had to grip his shoulders for balance.

    “Bruno, I’m going to…I’m gonna fall over if you keep that up!” she cried, voice twisted high.  

    He laughed and shot up, mouth tasting of her as he pulled her back. He tumbled onto his bed, pulling her with him, climbing awkwardly back onto his mattress.  He shuffled back onto the pillows, hands never leaving her as she tried to lay beside him, but he held her up, hands at her shoulders.  She looked at him, uncertain, before he spoke, trailing his hands down her, cupping her breasts and stroking her nipples to peaks again with his thumbs before moving down.  

    His hands burned at her ribs and her waist and the soft curve of her stomach, pinching her fast when she tried to flatten it before moving down, squeezing at her hips, her thighs, tracing her tattoos and the freckles on her knees.  His gaze was heavy when he looked back up at her, pupils blown and expectant surrounded by the searing green.   

    "How could you ever think I'd want to leave you?  How could I get tired of you?  Look at you.  I can barely breathe for wanting you some days, Elena. You're...everything."

    She looked away as he stroked her face, the ache his word sparked leaving her terrified of believing him.  "I'm just me, Bruno.  I'm not special.  I'm already here, don't lie to me"

    "Mírame, mi oreade," he said, frowning, pulling her forward and cursing his coward's tongue for not being able to choke out the words he couldn’t say, burning in his throat, but he pressed on.  "I wouldn't lie to you.  Not...not about this.  Heh, not about anything.  You’re all the things I'm not.  You make me...better.  You see me."

     She looked at him then, really looked at him.  His hair splayed out on the pillow as he lay stretched out on the bed, naked as she was and even more vulnerable.  He'd shifted his leg, trying to hide his cock, his belly and scars on full display  The slice across his chest.  The curve around his hip from the walls.  The ugly, puckering lines from Contraria on his right thigh.

     "You see this mess, and still..."

     He gazed up at her expectantly, his eyes a muted green as his hands, those warm hands almost too big for the rest of him rested on her tattoos, thumbs tracing the seam where hip met torso.  

     "You see something worthwhile in me, when I never thought I would stand a chance with you.  And here we are."

     He shifted again, pulling her until she had to clamber to straddle his legs.  His cock rested between them, but he seemed intent to ignore it as he held her up cupping her cheek, keeping her eyes trained on his.  

    "I do need you.  Not just...you know..." he made a vague gesture before replacing his hand at her cheek, stroking her hair.  "This mind..." he paused, fingers tentative on her chest, over her heart, over the bruising bite he'd left.  "And here.  Just you."  

    He pulled her down into a sweet kiss, lips sliding gentle and firm across hers, eager and patient at once, and he hummed when she returned it.  He was careful pulling pins from her hair, one hand never leaving the sensitive back of her neck as he shifted, tugging her hair free and placing the pins on his nightstand in an easy gesture like he'd marked a spot for that purpose alone.  

He teased at the seam of her lips, waiting for her to slide her tongue across to capture it and deepen the kiss, leaving her breathless when he crushed her to him, palms burning down her sides to rest and brand their prints into her skin.  He broke away and lay back fully on the pillows, face blazing as he spoke, pulling her forward to slide over his rigid cock, livid and straining between them still.

"You let me have you in your home, so claim me in mine," he murmured at her ear, voice gravelly and rough with desire as his cock jerked at the heat of her, spread wet and waiting, moaning softly at the feel of him there, pulsing against her.

"Ride me like one of your horses and let me see all of you.”   He paused and ground against her, grip gentle and coaxing at her side.  “I'm yours, do what you want with me."

She stilled, hesitant.  He hadn’t insisted on being on top the other times, but she had let him.  It was easier that way, she wasn’t as visible.  And the lights had been low.  He saw her doubt and surged up to kiss her, gripping her hips and urging her to move, trying to shake away her fears.

“Hermosa, please, don’t make an old man beg you.”

The first slick slide of her cunt over his cock sent his head spinning back into the pillows, sultry heat and pressure bolting straight up his spine, bucking at the end as he moved her back.  He kept one hand on her as the other roamed to her belly, her breasts, over her ass and pressing between them to tease at her clit, begging her to please, please move with him.

She found a slow rhythm, grinding down on his trapped cock as her folds enclosed him, a shimmy of her hips at the top meeting her clit to the head of his cock in a gasping shock of electricity before she slid back down.  Her hands twined into his chest hair, using his wiry torso for leverage as she slowly, slowly began the dance her hips had always promised on top of him.  She watched him as he let his head fall back, eyes hooded but watching as she taunted him, mouth open and panting, licking his lips as he touched her, hissing when her nails dug in over his scar, over his heart, bucking up against her with a jolt.

She leaned forward to kiss him, and he held her there by the back of her neck, lips fierce and bruising against hers as his grip on her hip slacked, no more than a gentle rocking, letting her set the pace.  The tip of his cock nudged eager against her soaking entrance, and she brought her hand behind to grasp the base, teasing herself with the silky head and swallowing his groan as she finally took him inside.

She sat up, head lolling back as she sank down on him slowly, drawing out the searing stretch as long as she could.  She bit her lip, watching his eyes as they flared bright and fluttered closed, groaning in unison as she took him in.

She gyrated over him, rocking her hips left and right and then rolling in circles, never lifting, huffing at each new place he hit, so deep at this angle she could barely think, could do nothing but watch his face and listen to his sighing and resist the pull of his burning hands on her hips.  

He was open under her, vulnerable in the lamplight, and she’d never noticed how much noise he made over her own, but now she was quiet, almost studying him as she bit her lip.  A slow roll forward made him grip her harder and chase her with his hips.  Rocking side to side forced a sweet whine from his throat, the column of his neck stretched long, head driven back into the pillows and just open enough to drag her tongue across his pulse and bite that sinfully bobbing adams apple.  Grinding and clenching around his cock had both of them moaning, a surge of slickness easing him into every slip and frill and crevice of her walls, leaving nothing untouched, nothing hidden every nerve on fire and blood singing through her veins, thundering in her ears, counterpoint to his gasping voice.

“Di--dios, you’re going to kill me,” he murmured, trailing his thumbs over the creases of her thighs, meeting at her clit and bearing down in two directions at once, relishing in her cry as she lost her balance, gripping his chest hair for purchase, his hips bucking into her, hitting the frilled spot to the front and the bright bloom of sweet pain as he bottomed out.  She’d never seen his face quite like this, almost enraptured as he watched her, his hands guiding and gentle as they trailed up her sides to her breasts, tugging her down so he could suckle them, heat spreading from his mouth to pool and spread through her body from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes, drawn up and curled under his legs for purchase.  

A hot spark was breaking loose in her abdomen and she chased it, burning her unease away.  She bruised his swollen lips with a searing kiss before straightening, guiding his hands where she wanted them, one pinching at her breast and the other locked on her hip as she gripped the headboard and leaned back, her hair flowing down her back, sticking to the sheen of sweat and brushing her ass and his thighs as she rocked frantic over him.  He had to grapple with her to keep her steady, fingers digging in, prints left red on her hip and her ribs as he reared under her, driving into her with sharp snaps of his hips.

She was close, so close, her stomach clenching and her hand sore from gripping the headboard, spine burning in electric that tingled across her skin and settled in her lips and her nipples and the thrumming pulse of her sex around him.  She leaned back, leaving the headboard and balancing on his chest, thrilling at the hammering of his heart under her palm, the hand he linked with hers.  She leaned further, reaching behind her to score her nails down his leg, careful of his scars and reveling in the moan he tried to strangle back.  She cupped his sack and rolled his balls gently in her hand, and he wailed, surging against her, rearing them both half off the mattress, his grasp bruising as he fell apart, the spasm as he came dragging her down with him, bow bent and crying out as she shuddered around him, the tremor of her walls milking his release from him and consuming her, throwing her into the crash of thunder in her ears, lightning igniting trails bright and black at once through her brain.  

She fell forward shivering and breathless, burrowing her face into his shoulder as his arms came around her, breathless himself and half laughing, giddy and satisfied as he stroked her back, hands tangling in her hair.  Sweat and kisses cooled on their skin as their hearts slowed, and her ears perked up at the unfamiliar noises of the house, creaks and groans she didn’t know as Casita settled around them, nightbirds outside she wasn’t used to, not the old owl and nightjar family that lived on her roof.

They lay in silence for a time before she had to move, her knees smarting.  She shuffled to stand, but he pulled her back against him, snuggled close on his too-small bed, just enough room for them if they twined their legs.  His hands were gentle at her cheek, the light in his eyes receding as he kept her from running off.

“No, ninfa.  You aren’t leaving until we talk about this.”

“Bruno, there’s nothing to talk about,” she grumbled, letting him hold her, hoping he’d distract himself.  He huffed.

“Clearly there is.  Thinking you don’t belong, trying to hide yourself.  What is this?  Where’d Señora se jodan go?”

“It’s nothing, Bruno.  Just…old nonsense.  Don’t worry about it.”

“Elena…” he warned, his hand stilling at her back.  There was a strength back in his voice.  She shook her head, her throat constricting.  He sighed and sat up, grabbing his blankets and cocooning them in it, hands wiggling under her until they were wrapped tight and snug as a tamale, the ends of the blankets tucked into his arms, trapping her.  She struggled, mumbling before giving up, glaring at him.

“Fine.”

“I hate that word.  What is this?  Please?”  He sighed at her mute gaze.  “We can’t both be in our heads.”

She turned her face into his chest, hoping in the warmth of their little blanket chrysalis that he wouldn’t notice the heat rushing to her cheeks.  

“It…I just…look at me, Bruno.  Of course I’m going to hide…all of this.”

He held her tighter, hand running through her hair.  “One day, I’m going to find the idiot boy that made you think about yourself like this.  You are…Elena, I don’t call you what I do to tease.  You’re beautiful.”

“You’d just be yelling at my mother’s headstone.  And she was right.  There’s just…too much of me.  Too much ass and too much mouth and just…too much.  Too much.”

That had not been what he’d expected to hear.  The Sofia he remembered had been sweet, but life had been hard on her, and she had always been hard on her daughter, expectations of civility and diligence clashing too often with Hebér’s protective but permissive attitude.  

“Is that…is that why you tried to hide those gifts, earlier?  I don’t understand.”

“Your family has their own traditions.  And I had the gall to come in and just do what I wanted.  I’m surprised no one said anything.”

He peered at her.  Had that happened before, someone refusing such a sweet gesture.  He didn’t want to think about what she’d spent to make and order all of that, knowing she had no concept of saving when it meant treating someone.  Let alone the time and thought spent on each gift.  He took her hand in his.

“None of us would turn away something like that.  I wasn’t expecting anything.  Pepa and Julieta loved your gifts.  I…Elena, we aren’t going to tear you down for kindness.”

“I just…it was like walking in on a conversation that stops when you do.  I just…I felt like an intruder.  This was your night, and I had to go and ruin it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything!” he rested his forehead on hers, but she shook him away.  “I wanted you beside me, but you said to stay.  I thought…I thought you just wanted a break from…a break from all of this.”  He made a vague gesture to himself.   “No more of this.  Please?   You…you are wanted here.”  He paused, then laughed, the sound rattling in his chest.  “Besides, nevermind my mother, she’s her own polvorín. Even if my sisters hated you--which they don’t-- or their husbands didn’t like you, which, again, not true, they’d be too outnumbered to do anything.”

   She raised her head.  There was nothing on his face but a vague worry and a slight smile.  His grin widened at her curious look.

“I mean, ok, I don’t count for much, but the kids love you!  Tonito’s always hopping to come to the bibliotheca and Dolores came to you for…all that.  Mirabel and Camilo keep trying to drag you into their mayhem.  Luisa is still grateful for the other night.  Don’t let your doubts win, querida.”

She covered her face, swiping at the sting in her eyes and letting him kiss her before wiggling free.  

“I’m just going to wash my face.  And probably be jealous of your baño, Señor ‘do you like my room.’”

He watched her go, hoping she listened to him.  He knew he had no room to talk, but he hated seeing that shadow of doubt.  She was getting worse at hiding it the closer they got, and while part of him soared that she felt comfortable enough to let him see, another part wondered and worried just how deeply her mother’s judgement had scarred her.  She was stronger than him to let it bother her as little as it did, but the scars reached just as deep.  One day, she wouldn’t be able to hide them, and he hoped she would let him help her when that day came.  He knew he’d be there at her side to at least try.

She nestled back into the blankets, letting him get comfortable, pulled together to keep on the bed, not enough space between them for a slip of paper.  “You keep saying you don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m the one that’s bad at this.  I’m a mess.”  Bruno shook his head, taking a handful of her ass and jiggling it playfully, mouth at her ear.

“After all that I hope so!”

She swatted at him, but his fingers were already digging in her side, at her knee, his tongue dragging across her eyebrow, making her shriek and squeal with forced laughter, rolling to get away before grabbing him to keep from going ass over elbow off his bed, laughter no longer forced as he scrubbed her cheek with his stubble.

“Bruno, qué rayos? I’m gonna have beardburn, you ass!”

“Too late!  C’mon, I’m the birthday boy.  I got you laughing.  Besides, I thought you didn’t mind being all marcado.”

She gave him a grin like a fox ans tweaked his nipple.  “That’s you, tonto.  Be glad I’m not taking you seriously.  You don’t have enough ass to survive fifty-one swats.”

  He pulled her to him, mischief in the quirk of his brow as he nipped at her collarbone, hand splayed possessive and heavy on her ass, squeezing pointedly.

“Neither do you, mi ninfa.  But we can certainly try.”  Whatever look he’d been trying to give her was ruined by a cavernous yawn and an ungainly chuckle.  “…er, later though.  Now we sleep.”  He rose only to flick the lamps off and wrapped around her, tossing one of his too many pillows off into the night, snuggling down against her and resting his head on her chest.

She didn't want to face the day, but the sun, wherever it was coming from, had other ideas as it pinked her eyelids.  Bruno wrapped around her like a sloth, snoring, and wasn't going to move anytime soon, so at least she had that as an excuse.  And she had no idea where her keys or anything else had landed.  She jumped a little when Pecasita's piebald nose peeped out of his hair, rolled her eyes and looked down to see the other five at various points on the blanket, curled into little balls.  Of course he let them sleep on his bed.  She shifted, fumbling blindly until her hand landed on a book, figuring she may as well pass the time while he slept, laughing at the title.  Of course he'd been reading The Nunnery Tales, riling himself up.  'Silly man,' she thought fondly as she scratched his scalp, listening to the sounds of the house and the birds raising a racket outside. 

    He'd told her which clock told the actual time, the mantle clock by his dresser. She'd have a short day at the shops, but she saw no reason to leave just yet, settling into the little nest they'd made and turning to a spot in the novel on impulse, reading lazily until he stirred.

    He looked up at her sleepily, a hazy smile breaking as he rolled away before sitting bolt upright, surprised to have woken up in his own room.  She put his book back and he'd rubbed the sleep from his eyes, both resting in a splendid silence, letting the sunlight from the little skylights dance across their faces, pouring themselves to wakefulness slow as molasses.  Their hands were soft over skin, lips drifting across freckled shoulders and lovebitten necks, knees tangling together as he hid his feet from her icy toes.  The peace was broken by the rumbling of both of their stomachs, and they laughed, giving up the ghost and rising.

    "I apologize in advance," Bruno chuckled. "They're...this is going to...ay, you've met them." Elena kissed his shoulder.

    "Honestly if they didn't tease us I'd think something was wrong.  Now where did my clothes go?"  He gave a flat shrug, laying back with his arms behind his head as he watched her slink from the bed and hunt for her clothes, enjoying the view and trailing his eyes down the line of her hip, tracing what he could see of her tattoos, a sleepy, satisfied smirk on his face.  

    There was a space waiting for them when they made it to the table, between Luisa and Agustín, and they sat, Bruno immediately stealing the coffee carafe and Elena trying not to catch anyone's eye as he passed plates to her.  Luisa smiled sweetly and passed things without word, ignoring she was wearing the same clothes as the night before.  Agustín was channeling his inner mierdacilla and nagging to his cuñado in the tacky theatre whisper Mirabel had inherited.

    "About time you brought a girl home," he teased, elbow nudging Bruno as he passed down a platter of arepas con huevos.

    "Shut up, Agustín."

    "Took you twenty years but better late than never."

    "Shut up, Agustín."  Bruno groused, knocking hotsauce over into Agustín's plate.  Not missing a beat, he switched their plates and shrugged, digging in and ignoring Bruno's groan as the late risers made their way to the table.  Camilo, Mirabel and Isabela were hangdog and ragged, clearly having spent too long at the card game they'd been playing the night before.  Elena wondered if Camilo knew a poker chip was stuck in his hair.  She wasn't going to tell him, especially not when his eyes focused on her after his first cup of coffee and his grin curled up.

    "Welcome to la familia Madrigal, Tía!" He laughed, laughing harder as she choked on her jugo.

    "Camilo, que carajo?" she hacked, Bruno thumping her back as she glared at his sobrino, Dolores smacking her brother as she passed and Félix laughed.

    "What was that for!  They can just waltz around, but I get threatened with marrying me off if I got caught with a girl in my room?  How is that fair?"

    "Because you're fifteen and have the self control of a pigeon," Bruno snarked, not looking up from his food, stuffing an arepa soaked in changua in his mouth as he spoke.  "Stop being so eager to make me a gran tio, already."  Camilo squawked in offence before his face shifted to disgust and he sunk into his chair, pouting.

    "See, it's nonsense like that that got you a lap full of rondon last week." Elena said, hunting around for the tajin powder and not finding it.  

    "Mirabel you weren't supposed to tell anyone!"

    "Blame tío, not me!  I told him!"

    "Seriously?  How is that “not anyone?”  And that's what you do with your girlfriend, tio?  Gossip about your sobrinos?"  Bruno shrugged, mouth full again as he pulled Elena against him.  "Seems to work.  There's a distinct lack of soup on my clothes."

    "You two are awful."

    Bruno stole a clementine off his plate and peeled it, ignoring his protests and waving him off.  "Offer still stands if you want pointers."

    Camilo sank further in his chair, arms crossed.  Pepa and Félix gave each other a look as Elena stuck her tongue out at him, looking down the table, avoiding Alma's eye as she tried to find the seasoning.  Avocados were not meant to be eaten plain.

    "Looking for something?" Pepa asked, her grin curling up even more mischievous than her son's.  

    "The ají, please?"

    "Oh, ooh sí, sí mi ninfa, anything for you.  Oh, you take it so well!"

    Elena snatched the shaker with a bland look as Bruno hunched over his breakfast, his ears glowing red.  She felt her own cheeks blazing, but shook it off and continued eating, leveling her fork at Pepa, wondering just how much they'd heard.  She knew Casita soundproofed the rooms, but Bruno had also let slip that sometimes, she chose not to.  Pepa snorted.

    "Oh, come on.  You two are subtle as a heart attack.  Did you at least get to see the oasis before you lost your skivvies?"

    "I did, not that that's your business," Elena sniffed, failing to hide her grin.

    "I just want to know if it's safe to go in there barefoot."

    "Pepa, please!" Bruno groaned, still hiding in his hair.  She turned to him with a shark grin.  "You dragged her out before the food got cold!  Sue me."

    "Maybe I should," Bruno hissed, flicking a crumb of arepa at her.  "It'd shut you up at least."

    "We'd never leave you alone," Félix said, rolling his eyes.  "All that'd do is make us financially invested in the sobrino you two are cooking up."

    Elena and Bruno hacked into their drinks, ignoring Agustín and Julieta's laughter.

    "Traitor," Elena accused, jabbing her fork at Julieta, who had the grace to look embarrassed.

    "Just pass the calentado, would you?" Bruno groused.

    "Ay, sí Bruno!  Right there!  Sí, sí!" Félix cackled as Bruno hid his face in his hands.  

    "Pepa, I'll make you a widow, I swear," he whined.  Elena laughed beside him, rubbing his shoulder and leaning back, leveling a clever look across the table.

    "It's okay, tonto.  They didn't hear anything.  If they had they'd know I wasn't able to talk."

    Bruno choked, grumbling "utterly betrayed," resting his head on the table as his sister and cuñado crowed, happy to have someone to bicker with who'd give as good as she got.   The only thing that kept Elena from melting into a puddle of embarrassment was Bruno's hand on her knee out of sight, little circles reassuring her he was fine.

    "They're just making me pay for a decade of being a little shit to them.  You're collateral damage, mi oréade," he shrugged, refilling their coffees with an easy gesture.

    "Somehow, you being a mierdecilla doesn't surprise me," she laughed as that same hand started to trail distractedly up her two-day skirt.

    Alma watched from the head of the table.  Dolores had distracted Antonio from the conversation by asking about his animal friends, and the rest of the children were purposefully ignoring it, though Mirabel and Luisa were failing to hide embarrassed eyes.  She was glad of the new table Bruno had built them then, though there was a pang of regret to it as well.  She'd have to get used to seeing another new face in the expanded space.

Chapter Text

    Kim Park was a practical man.  He had seen the writing on the wall in his home country and urged his family to start saving money to flee.  He and his wife had been the only ones to do so, and he now had no way of knowing if any of their family were surviving the war or if they had been swept away by it, never to be heard from again. He'd landed on the shores of the Philippines right in the middle of the Hukbalahap Rebellion and had to flee again with his cousins, scattering to the four winds when they'd hit the western hemisphere.  Something had led him to this place in the mountains, something he couldn't put a name to.  Miracle was how the locals referred to it.  Perhaps it was the Buddha that had led him and his wife Binna here all those months ago.  Perhaps it was the Catholic god these people followed.  Perhaps it was some old magic from the land itself, older than any deity and tired of bloodshed.  He could never be sure.

    He did know that he was at the end of his rope, and while the people in town kept telling him to seek out Senora Julieta, that only resolved the symptoms, and provided no hope of the future.  The future was what he needed to know.

    Silvia watched Elena and Miranda from the café counter.  Miranda had come to the circulation desk with a stack of the floral wrapped adult section novels, and the two had gotten to chatting.  There was a gasp at something that caught her attention, and she saw Elena's face drop and her hand brush hesitantly across her stomach, a sympathetic reflex.  Miranda nodded solemnly and left with her selections, and Elena came back to the counter troubled.

    "Centavo for your thoughts?" Silvia asked.  She hadn't seen the resident shop shadow the last couple of days, making himself scarce after his fifty-first birthday, and wondered if that was what the fuss was about.

    "Mimi just...she heard something upsetting."

    "Not our favorite Madrigal, is it?  You still haven't told me what you said to make Plácido drop that bible, you know."

    Elena waved her off as she poured correttos for the Vazquez brothers, dusty on their lunchbreak from the ranch.  

    "Not going to, either.  And Bruno is fine, he just been busy helping Senór De Soto.  Silly man is determined he needs some sort of a job.  He'll probably come in coated in sawdust again."

    Silvia snorted at that.  Bruno had always been good with his hands, and woodworking suited his creative mind.  "He's a little old-fashioned you know. Probably getting all nesty, like he needs to provide for you."

    "That is ridiculous," Elena sighed.  "It's only been a month!"

    "And sixteen years of mutual pining didn't help?"

    "No.  Yes.  Maybe.  I don't know.  And we weren't talking about me!"

    "Ok, ok, cálmate.  What's got you in a snit?"

    Elena sighed, waiting until the Vasquez brothers handed their mugs back before she continued, her shoulders sagging.  

    "Binna Park lost her baby."

    Silvia nodded sadly.  She was no stranger to the tragedy.  Babies in the Encanto were always celebrated and looked forward to, and the town was small enough that everyone knew when someone was pregnant almost as soon as they found out themselves.  Binna was a petite woman, and had begun to show shortly after arriving through the Palisade four months before.

    Silvia had lost a child herself well before she'd lost Guillermo as an adult, and the pain of both, different as they struck, had never truly gone away.  Even with all of Julieta's gift, there were some things she couldn't repair, some lives past saving before you even got to know them.

    "I meant to give you this the other day.  Kim asked me to pass it on when she started to feel sick."  Elena accepted the envelope, knowing it was her cut from the stall deal.  She held it for a moment before handing it back.  

    "They need it more than I do, especially now.  I'll let Julieta know.  That poor woman.  Mamá could never talk about los gamelos...I can't imagine how Binna feels right now."

    "And right after Franco sold them his land, too.  What a mess."

    "Has Meme been to see her yet?  She always knows what to do with things like this."

    Silvia shook her head.  "It's hard with her not speaking the language.  Meme can never get her and Kim in the same place.  He's been working to get the farm in order now that he has the land.  Working through the pain, I suppose."

    "Joder eso!  I thought he had more sense, he should be with his wife!"

    "Sergio was the same," Silvia cut in, patting Elena's arm.  "Some men are bad with pain."  Elena nodded, still on edge.  She didn't know the couple well, but she liked them, and wanted them to do well.  They deserved it after everything they’d survived already.  

    She watched as Silvia left, hoping her sullen mood hadn't ruined the woman's day.  She brushed her hand across her stomach briefly, bittersweet at the thought that at least she'd never have to worry about knowing what kind of pain Binna was going through.  She'd accepted it a long time ago, but Bruno's kindness made her vulnerable, and had sliced open some of her old scars.  Maybe it was better that way.  Scars grew back stronger, and were better protected when torn open on occasion. 

    She closed the shops down early after comida and went for a walk, trying to clear her head.  Her feet led her to the quarry, and she listened for a while to the dissonant music of hammers and picks on stone and the grinding of the stone crusher as the mules whickered below.  Mando and Abe waved at her, and she waved back.  She used to come watch Memo work here, more from worry than anything, and she left when it began to feel like visiting a ghost.

    She found herself at the little river, nearer Casita than her shop, sitting in the grass and throwing stones out into the water.  She didn't know how long she'd sat there, letting her mind drift when she heard an unfamiliar greeting.

    Kim Park sat beside her.  His skin had gone from a healthy bronze to a sallow gray, and he looked like he hadn't slept in a week.  His hair hung limply in his eyes, and his glasses were smudged with grime.

    "Hola, Kim," she said quietly.  He startled, even though he'd greeted her first.  

    "Hola, Senóra," he said, before realizing he'd already said it.  He settled in, elbows on knees, staring into the afternoon sun on the water.

    "You...have heard about...ang sanggol, sí?

    "Perdón...I don't understand."

    "Ano...the ah...agi...the bebe.  We...so many people.  So...all the friendly sadness."

    She assumed he meant condolences.  She nodded.  "I have.  And I'm very sorry for your loss, Kim.  If there's anything I can do..."

    "There is."  It came out so fast she almost missed it.  He didn't turn to look at her.

    "Your...little husband? aniyo, no...Novio!  Ah...Senór Madrigal?  He can...see the future?"

    "He can.  But it's very hard on him."

    "Por...Por favor.  Can...Binna is...pain.  Hurting.  She wants to be a mother. Three have...gone.  We...we want to know if..." he muttered something in Korean and another language she couldn't identify.  "Will she be one, ever?  Should we...take?--take on?--a child?"

    "Adoptar un bebé?"

    He nodded.  "Can you...ask your...jeomjaeng-i.  To look ahead...for us?"

    Elena sighed and stood, brushing off her trousers and offering him a hand.  "Bruno hasn't done visions for people in a long time.  Please understand they can hurt him.  I can't promise you he'll agree."

    "Just to ask...is enough.  If he does not...we will...we will adopt, as you say."

    "I'm sorry, Kim.  I'll let you know."  

    Bruno had begun to worry when he couldn't find Elena after multiple attempts. She'd closed the shops early, and he didn't have a key.  Rather than sit stinking of cedar and sweat he'd gone to find her.  Carlita hadn't seen her since she'd closed up, and was too swamped with the Chavez clan making a racket that she was no help. He'd skirted past the market, not wanting to run into the Rosario twins or Medallin Garza.  He'd run into Rodrigo and Juancho as they walked home from school, but he hadn't known what was going on.  He checked in with Miranda, reading on her front porch, but she hadn't even known Elena had closed up early.  He had to stop after that, the itch of nerves under skin too raw to ignore any longer.

    His head had been lashing all day, a dull throb that the gentle scrape of the planar had only soothed temporarily as he did the gruntwork, smoothing out and sanding boards ready for sale and freeing up the two journeyman apprentices to work on larger projects.  Senor De Soto had been happy for the help.  Bruno knew he thought it was odd for a man his age to be asking for a part time apprenticeship, but he didn't care. He had made up his mind about several things in the last few days, and one of them was following Elena's good advice and doing what he wanted for a change.  Part of that was taking the time to learn things he'd always wanted to, instead of relying on his ability's to teach himself.  Woodworking had made sense to him since he was a child, scabby-fingered from hacking at a chunk of wood to make little fishes and rain frogs and trick mice to scare his sisters.  It wasn't as pressing a need as writing down all the stories his mind thought up, but a good counterpoint to it, something to busy his hands and shut off his mind.

    It felt good to look at the pile of boards he'd moved and finished at the end of his day, the physical proof of progress, the slight soreness in his shoulders and arms that meant he was a little stronger than he had been the day before.  Better to make a chair or a cabinet that could be useful in the present, than a cold image on a slab with little context of how to get there or how to go on afterwards.  If he could just find his pareja it would be the end to a good day.

    He hadn't missed the worry on Elena's face when he'd finally found her.  She had wondered along the little river and wound up on the other side of town.  She was carrying a bunch of wild day lilies and idly kicking stones into the water, her eyes downcast.

    She didn't say anything when he came up to her, grabbing him in a bearhug and burying her face in his neck.

    "Are you alright?" he asked, patting her hair and kicking himself.  Clearly she wasn't.  She heaved a sigh and pulled away, grimacing and patting down her front, then his, clearing sawdust off them both.

    "I need to tell you something..." she mumbled, the 'but' hanging in the air between them.

    "Oookay?"

    "I...don't want you to be mad at me."  What on earth could it be that had her that worried, he wondered, watching as she bit her lip.

    "Is one of my rats dead?" he asked, making her jump.  She shook her head.

    "No, of course not!  They're fine!"

    "Ok.  Did you burn my room down?"

    "What? No!"

    "You're eloping with Raf Aguilar because you have a thing for skinny, paranoid old men?"

    "Bruno!"

    "Made you laugh," he grinned, holding her close.  "If it's not any of that, don't worry.  Tell me.  Please?"

She sighed and tightened her grip before sitting in the grass, the spray of orange lilies in her lap.  He sat beside her, watching as she looked out over the water.

    "These are for Binna, later, whether you agree or not.  They're supposed to symbolize motherhood.  I hope she doesn't take it the wrong way."

    "What's going on?"  He regretted asking as she told him.  It was a heartbreak he hated to hear, that hit closer to home than she knew, and he understood her sympathy for the couple ran deeper than she was willing to admit.

    "Kim came to me today.  He...he asked for a vision.  I tried to tell him they're hard on you, but he still wanted me to ask.  I'm sorry, I just...with everything I couldn't tell him no outright."

    He nodded as they sat in silence on the bank, plucking the flowers from her hand before she could twist them to shreds.  He thought it over.  He hadn't done a vision for anything this sensitive in a decade, and a few years longer when he didn't count family.  The involuntaries and the little visions he'd done for Elena and Dolores, the general one for the palisade he'd done more just to assure himself weren't the same. This, if he did it, would be his first vision given to someone he wasn't connected with some way.  Intimidation slunk down his spine cold as a snake.

    "What, exactly, did he want to know?" he asked.  He needed to know more before he agreed.  The pain in his head flared.  Maybe doing this would fend off the storm brewing in his skull.  Elena saw his discomfort and took his hand.

    “He wants to know if Binna will ever be able to have a child.  He’s prepared himself that she might not, but…they want to know for sure.”

    Bruno gave a solemn nod and kissed her hand before pulling her down into the grass with him, wrapping her in an embrace and gazing up at the sky, tracking the progress of the clouds.  

    It would not be the first vision he’d given like this.  He’d long suspected the magic of the Encanto affected more than just his family, though to a lesser degree.  Elena had as good as confirmed his theory when she’d explained about the finding of the dead.  There was, as far as he knew, only one truly infertile woman in the town, Selena Suarez, and she was still fairly young, only thirty-four.  

    It was that particular quirk that had first made him suspect the range of the magic, the health of the mothers, the amount of twins born over the years, all healthy, the amount of mothers of what Doctor Rivera had confirmed was normally considered an advanced age.  Not that he’d ever tell Pepa he’d heard the doctor say that when he’d heard about her last pregnancy in the walls.

    It had not spared either of his sisters, or Elena’s mother, or other women in town from Binna’s particular heartbreak, but he’d read enough to know that it was a common tragedy, if not one spoken about outside of hushed whispers and silent tears cried out of view and the muted language of compassion among women who knew that pain themselves.

    “I’ll do it,” he said after a long pause, his hand tangled in her chignon.

    “Bruno, are…are you sure?  You don’t have to do this just because they asked me to ask you.”

    “I know.  But this is…this is actually important, you know?  If…If Senór Park is prepared for bad news…then…yes.  I’ll do the vision.  Have…tell Kim and have them come by Casita tomorrow after church.  I…I’ll get things set up.”

    Elena gave him an inscrutable look before standing, smiling as he struggled to not yank her hair out.  

    “Come on, silly man.  Take me for a walk and tell me what Senór De Soto had you doing today.”

    Bruno took her hand and let his mind wonder as they wound around the town.  He liked this.  Even after the heavy topic they’d discussed, they’d fallen back into that comfortable simplicity they always found themselves in when life wasn’t going absolutely mad.  He had the sneaking suspicion that this might have been what normality felt like, and he reveled in it.  Her asking after his day, him asking after hers, the back and forth teasing and joking that settled so easily into their skin.  He felt something sweet and languorous settle into his spine at the contented smile she gave him as he rambled, because he knew he was rambling, on about the task he’d been given.  About the journeymen Enzo and Izan quizzing him as he worked, showing him certain things when he got the answer wrong, other times asking him to show them what he’d meant when something he’d said surprised them.  She even surprised him, adding in bits of knowledge she’d picked up in the ten years her parents had been gone, determined to do for herself rather than rely on help.

     He couldn’t keep his mind from drifting into forbidden territory again, and he caught himself curious if this was what having a wife was like; a partner for the little things and the big.  A friend that lived in your heart and made a home there as well as outside in the real world, that made you stronger and made you want to be stronger just by being them.  He’d watched his sisters with their husbands, but couldn’t equate himself to them, not really.  He was the wrong half of that equation for it to be the same.  The pressure of being the traditionally supportive spouse had been eased for his sisters because of their duties to the community.  But he was the one with a gift, even if he didn’t view it as one.  And he had seen Elena work herself to the bone for people she loved.  He couldn’t do that to her.  He’d simply have to keep wondering until he could puzzle it all out.

    He nearly choked when she told him what Silvia had said, but covered it well enough he hoped she didn’t notice.  It was too close to the truth for comfort, and he didn’t want to give himself away before he’d even managed to tell her he loved her.  He wanted her to say it first, and be conscious when she did it, if he was being honest with himself.  He didn’t want to scare her away if she’d just been rum rambling.  He held the memory of it close to his chest, letting it anchor him when he began to doubt himself, and he could feel the weight of it lending him a confidence to his actions that he hadn’t felt in years.

     Bruno didn’t see her at church the next morning, and he hadn’t expected to.  He’d seen the Padre’s speculative eye at the empty space beside him, and ignored it, a mean bite of pride going up his spine as he ran a hand through his hair.  Plácido was only four years older than him, and had always been a vain skirt chaser before he’d gone to the seminary.  He didn’t doubt for a second that had something to do with Elena’s lack of attendance.  He’d never asked her, knowing only something had happened after her mother’s funeral.  It wasn’t his place to ask, and he’d tripped over enough awkward questions to last at least the rest of the year already.

     He cleaned the vision cave when he made it back to Casita, leaving the door open.  He knew enough that for something like this, his old theatrics weren’t needed.  He was glad again for the lack of stairs, and the combined sounds of the sand and tumbledown waterfall soothed his nerves even as he chewed his thumbnail down to the quick, wincing when he tasted iron.  

     Bruno stopped, and sat at his cluttered desk when the pain of biting his thumb woke him from his nerves.  He’d placed his gifts there, the tools and the supplies and the handsome books Elena had gifted him.  To one side there was a stack of loose cardstock and fabric, small spools of string and balsa wood.  To his left was a stack of borrowed books, some of which he’d need to return soon for fear of Elena hunting them down.  And on top, the tatty, slim volume of Much Ado about Nothing Elena had given him, full of her drawings.  He flipped to the first page and traced his thumb under the sketch of their clasped hands and what she’d written.  "For if I can't be there, to find your way back.”

     “I’m lost now, mi amada.  Bring me back,” he muttered, rubbing at the insistent itch at his temple, aggravated that it hadn’t gone away even after asking Julieta to make him something stronger.  He wanted to smack himself for agreeing to do this. He tried not to berate himself too harshly, tried to tell himself this was part of healing, it was for a good cause, a good vision either way.  If it showed no, a lonely child would get a loving home.  If Binna would have children one day, it assuaged their fears.  But he’d had visions seem that cut and dried before, and had been on the receiving end of abuse regardless.  What did he know?

     He closed the book and set it back in its space in his drawer and stood, shaking out his limbs and shooing his rats off to their play area, promising them treats if they behaved.  He took pity on Pecasita, heavily pregnant now, and carried her off to a soft little nest he’d made nearby, still grumbling about her taste in mates.  If Antonio asked him one more time if there were pinkies yet he was just giving the kid his room until they came.  

     He made his way back to the vision cave and got to work now that the task of cleaning wasn’t flooding his brain. He took his gilded matchbox from its alcove and placed it in his pocket.  He went to grab the shard of vision that was hidden behind it, sharp and wrapped in cloth on one end, a crude knife, but thought better of it.  Kim Park was younger than him, but one of the few men in the Encanto that was shorter, and Bruno truly saw no threat in a man who had to use Elena as an intermediary.  He took out the penknife instead, and went to the withering branch of his Palo Santo tree, carefully making a handful of shavings and giving the tree a splash of aguardiente in thanks.  

     He selected copal and dragon’s blood resin, rue and yaruma leaves, placing them all in their little bowls and setting them around the main birm, selecting a stick in advance to light them.  He took one of his pots, fingers tracing over the geometric patterns, and blended in a mix of salt and sugar, hoping beyond everything that something, anything would ward off bad luck and sweeten this future for the couple.

     Bruno wanted to give them good news.  He wanted to make them happy, he really did, even though he didn’t know them.  There was a sword over his head, and he feared whichever way the emerald hilt swung would affect more than just the couple involved.  Elena had seen his visions twice now.  Once the howling fury of an involuntary, once the relative ease of a diversion.  This was different.  A real vision, reaching along two lifelines at once to see the possibilities of their future, illusioned in the sands until they solidified to be carved in stone, immutable and inescapable.  

     Elena found him seated at the oasis and silently praying the rosary in full view of his door when she led the couple in, both of them goggle-eyed over the cavernous room, lit with its own invisible source and big enough to fit the entirety of Casita itself inside.  

      Kim’s haggard face hadn’t changed, but it was Binna that worried all three of them.  Her normally bronze skin was wan and pale, her hair slicked and matted with grease.  The shadows on her face, the bruises at the hollows of her cheeks and under her bloodshot eyes, all things she refused to heal until she’d seen the future, saw Elena and Kim supporting her shuffle-footed weight as Bruno stood and tucked his rosary away, beckoning them all to follow.  

     Kim had been met with a late morning visitor.  Senóra Pascual brought with her a gift of avenas, blood sausage, and a soothing bathsoak she’d made.  She said they were from her mother’s cookbook, the special ones she’d always made in the cast iron after hard reglas that helped bring iron back into the blood, the bathsoak meant to invigorate the skin and bloodflow.  He’d been too tired to resist when the determined woman had bustled through the house, pulling him along, asking him where Binna kept the cooking things and taking over the kitchen, telling him to go and try and relax with his wife, to take her to the bath if she needed it.  

     Binna had refused to let him wash her hair, but he’d been able to help her clean herself, letting her cry on his shoulder as the sounds of cooking and Spanish swears drifted in from the main floor.  Elena had brought a soft one piece dress with her, and gave it to Kim through the bathroom door, along with another gift, a cooling balm made with aloe for Binna.

     She had sat them down and insisted they eat the heavy Colombian breakfast she’d made them, blood sausage and arepas con huevos and thick avocado mixed in calentado.  When she was confident Binna had actually put something away, she had told them what was happening, and what to expect.

     Kim did not understand it.  Surely Senór Madrigal did not control the sands.  Surely he didn’t control wind or heat or emeralds?  And no man had eyes that would glow.  But Elena had been born in the Encanto.  He had seen other miracles, perhaps Senór Madrigal was not the charlatan some claimed he was.  He told all this to Binna, who nodded along, mournful and silent as she’d been since she’d begun to bleed.   There was the faintest sliver of hope in her eyes, and that was all he could dream of at the moment.  He didn’t care about the outcome.  He just wanted to see his wife smile again.  Wanted to hear her voice and laugh at her silly jokes.  He hadn’t fought his way halfway around the world just to lose her now because of some bodily frailty that wasn’t her fault.

     He knew he was staring as Elena led him through la Casita Madrigal, but he couldn’t help it.  One house with so many people, so many children running through it, it was like a little town all its own, and he was still learning all the names.  The middle children, Mirabel who spoke with him and the shape-shifter whom he didn’t know, had friends over, as did the youngest.  Two of the older girls were entertaining young men in the parlor.  The storm woman was playing some card game with the husband’s relatives.  There were flowers and animals everywhere, and music was playing from the cocina.  The doors were glowing with images of the occupants and their gifts, and they faltered before the door Senóra Pascual led them to.  They had seen Senór Madrigal before.  He was a small man, not intimidating, but perhaps he changed in using his gift.  Kim did not know.  Binna swallowed beside him and gripped his arm, looking up at the door and touching the glowing lines tentatively.

     “It…is safety?” she asked, stilted and unsure of the words.  Elena rested a fond hand on the door, over the place where the image’s heart would have been, and nodded.  

     “You’ll be safe, Binna.  Bruno’s visions are…peaceful, once you’re used to them.  No pain.  Lo prometo.”

     Kim translated, and let Elena lead them in.  He marveled at the room, at the sorcerous display of sand and water and light that made no sense to be hidden behind a simple wooden door.  Elena took Binna’s other hand and led them to the oasis and the robed man waiting.  He finished his prayer, his thumb rolling prayer beads one by one down the length of his finger.  Kim counted seven before the string was tucked away and the Bruno Madrigal stood.  

     Bruno swallowed before straightening his spine, doing his best to look at the couple kindly.  He wasn’t sure he managed it, but Elena gave him an encouraging smile.

     “Bienvenidos.  Please follow…follow me.”

     He led them back, careful of his walk, having seen Binna’s painful steps.  He showed them around the sandfall to the door of the vision cave.  He paused, and held out a hand to Elena.  

     “Elena will you help me, please?  I…”

     “Of course, Bruno,” she said, voice low as she nodded, before turning to the Parks.  “I understand keeping your shoes on indoors is odd for you, and Casita’s layout is…unique.  Would you like to take them off out here?  I’ll come get you in a moment.”

     He swallowed at the implication at her effortless slotting into the roll of assistant, his thoughts earlier swirling around his head along with his doubts and the pain he couldn’t shake, green already hazing into the back of his sight.  He took her hand and pulled her through the door, waiting for her to take in the room.  His stomach did a little flip at the dreamy look she gave the raised circle of cushions, the delicate hand she ran over the Moroccan screens, laughing despite the heavy air when she tasted the pots of sugar and salt curiously and pulled a face.  She came back to him and took his hands, all business.

     “How can I help, tonto?  It looks like you have everything you need.”

     He leaned in to kiss her swiftly, trying not to let her see the twitch he could feel at his temple.  “I’m not…my head is…tender today.  I just…need you here.”

     “Will that affect the vision?”

     “I…don’t think so.  Please?”

     Elena nodded, pressing her thumbs against his pulse in reassurance before she turned to the door and brought the Parks inside.  

     She helped Kim get Binna seated and stood to the side as Bruno got situated, watching curiously as he lit his little fires, clockwise from the central flame, smoke blue and fragrant as it spiraled up and away to the sunlight above, shaded by foliage barely seen high above their heads.  She looked to Bruno as he steadied his breath, his brows furrowed in concentration and a tick in his jaw.  He looked pained, but sturdy, his back straight and his jaw squared.  

     This was not his element.  Even under the calm, he was on edge, but it was ledge he knew every crevice and crack of, a line he had walked for over forty years, and he settled into the smoothed footholds and handgrips of his gift with the wary familiarity of a cazador, knowing the quarry and never comfortable enough to ignore the dangers.  

     His hands came up, and something in her told her to find her seat behind him, to bolster his back with her hands spread on his shoulders, to straighten an awkward fold in his ruana’s hood that had to have been driving him crazy, and finally , to speak.

     “Please take each other’s hands, and then his.  Don’t pull away when he opens his eyes.  You are safe.”

     Bruno felt two small hands settle into his, one smooth, one rough, and Elena’s warm palms on his shoulders even through his ruana.  He took a final deep breath and nodded before opening his eyes, clamping down on the Parks’ hands on reflex as they flinched away form the blazing green, the sand beginning to swirl around the four of them.  He heard Elena gasp at the intensity of the wind, her hair coming loose from its chignon as the sands whipped around her and the air began to sing with the friction of a billion grains of silicate and beryllium and copper.

     He could feel the pulses of the couple in front of him, feel the strands of time weaving through their blood and skin, an electric itch that rose to greet the singing in his own palms, the verdant rush of blood through his body that woke him up and sent his brain careening into the pool of power that rested somewhere outside his body, perceived just under his eyes but not really part of him, a weak shell to let the power flow through for others to comprehend.  A shiver ran down and then back up his spine, and Elena’s hands tightened on his shoulders as he watched the sands and the images flying behind his eyes, searing into his nerves.  

     He couldn’t control what could be seen only by him and what projected onto the swirling grains, but as his eyes burned he wished once again that he could.  Binna, pregnant again and heavily this time, a couple of years older.  A child born sleeping.  Arguments, and heartache and Kim mourning at an empty cradle.  The Parks’ hands slid form his limping grasp as he winced, and stared into the sands, their faces contorted.  He began to sag, time pulling at his chest and squeezing his lungs, and Elena’s arms came around him, bolstering him up as he panted.

     “Lo--lo siento.  I--I can’t…It’s too far…too far…”

     “Senór Madrigal, please…”

     “Bruno, look!” Elena cheered, patting his shoulder and pointing off to the right.  He struggled upright, stumbling towards them.  

     Images that had escaped him coalesced there, in full view of them all as the Parks turned.  A family coming to the Encanto, clearly ill.  Juli’s gift too late to save the parents but the infant surviving.  The Parks running a stall at the market while a little boy with Antonio’s curls and dark skin ran around them, to be picked up and embraced by Kim.  Binna heavily pregnant again, tired but smiling.  And at last, as his eye guttered out and the sands combined into the slab of emerald, an exhausted Binna holding a straight-haired infant girl out to her adopted brother, he and Kim both beaming at the bedside.  

     Bruno caught the vision as Elena caught him at the armpits and lowered him down to a seated position, sweat trickling down his brow and neck as he panted, his heart hammering in a too tight chest.  He swiped at his face and saw the blood on his arm, and swiped again, wiping it away before the Parks could see, still shaking sand from their hands and clothes.

     “What…What does it mean, Senór.  Such mabeob…such magic…how?  It means…?”

     He grimaced, leaning against Elena and handing the plate to the couple, his insides twisting, his temples pounding.

     “Binna…Binna will be a mother.  It will…take time.  There will be loss.  But you will…You’ll have a family.”

     “Gamsahabnida!!  Gamsahabnida, Senór Madrigal!” Binna cried, tearful as she fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around him, leaving Kim to hold the plate, his hand on his mouth.  Bruno patted her back shakily, his arms weak.  

     “De…de nada, Senóra Park.  Please…Be well…”  His voice was weak, and he shivered before falling back against Elena, effort sweat receding to a cold flop-sweat as his skin chilled and heated and chilled again.

     “Bruno?  What’s going on?  Bruno?”

     He coughed as his back began to seize, his nose bleeding again as he looked up at her.  His chest was burning, his scar throbbing and heart bounding, the muscles twisted in a cramp so strong he clutched his chest, panting.

      “Not…not the vision.  Can’t…  Get…See them out.  Please.  Please.  It’s…I’ll be alright…  Storm…just…the storm…”  

     He coughed again, groaning as his back spasmed.  Elena nodded and kissed his temple, laying him down on the cushions, panic in her eyes held back, barely.  “I’ll be right back, mi tonto.  Hold on.”

     He nodded weakly as she lay him down and ushered the Parks out the door, and fell into an iron scented haze as his body broke and contorted around itself, his heart flying and as his lungs froze in his chest.

     Fear rolled down Elena’s spine as she sprinted back through the oasis, ignoring the stream of it sticking in her hair as she darted under the sandfall and through the vision cave.  Her mother had said it was just a little pain too, and she’d seen her clutch her chest and crumble, her knees cut form under her and dead before she’d hit the floor.  

     He’d always made jokes about his flyaway pulse, about her being the death of him, about his heart.  His fear of it being weak.  Had he been trying to warn her?  Prepare her?  She clutched her chest as she ran.  Please let her be wrong.

     ‘Please no.  Please no please no please no PLEASE NO!  Nononono!’

     Bruno was laying stiff-backed on the floor, prisonbar spears and spikes of emerald surrounding him and impaling the cushions.  A few had sliced up through his clothes from the floor, leaving trickling nicks and slivers in their path.  Blood ran down into his hair from his nose and his hands clutched unnaturally tight to his chest, knuckles white where they twisted into the fabric of his ruana.  The tendons of his neck were standing stark against flushed skin, his teeth clenched in rictus as his spine crashed, bowing forward and back violently, and his legs locked, feet curled inward.  Veins stood out under his skin and his eyes were rolled back unseeing, the irises lost and the sclera a sickly, poisonous green.

    “Bruno!?  Por dios, Bruno!”  She was screaming and falling through the stone, her knees sliced and bruising as her hand flew to his neck, his pulse roaring and so, so fast, sweat soaking through his clothes and more blood dribbling from his lips where he’d bitten his tongue.  She tried to move him, but he was thrashing too much to stay in the turned position, falling back and thrashing still.  

     “Bruno, please!  Mierda when you said storm…Please…please…”  She kept her hand at his neck, fingers feeling the too strong pulse, seeing the veins of his neck far too clearly.  She tried to shake him, and it only set the tremors in his body off worse.

     “God, you better not have let him have a heart attack, damn you!  Come on, Bruno!  Wake up!  Shit, Julieta!  I have to get him out.  Have to…”  Elena paused, sucking in a shuddering breath and tried to calm her own racing heart.  He had to get out of this room.  There was no way he was going to be able to walk after…whatever was happening was over.  If it was ever over.    So it was going to be her.  She didn’t think she could carry him.  One-hundred and forty-odd pounds split up over a few crates was one thing, but the dead weight of an unconscious and gangly man she was trying not to hurt any further was another.  She would have to get creative.

     She sliced her foot open kicking down the stone knives surrounding him, grabbing  three intact cushions and stacking them, hefting him at the shoulders and resting him against them before squatting down beside him.  She pulled his arm across her shoulders and fumbled under his ruana until she found his belt, gripping it and raising on cracking knees, swearing the panic down into the leaden lump at her throat.

     “Ok, ok, just gotta get you past the oasis and you’ll…you’ll be ok.  You’ll be okay, querido.  Please be ok.  Cristo how are you this heavy?  You’ll be alright.  Lo prometo.  Por dios estar bien, no puedes morirme hijueputa!  Please be okay.  Please…  You can’t die on me, tonto.  You don’t get to die on me!”

      She took a few tentative steps, testing his weight on her shoulder.  He lost his sandals but was otherwise steady, his head hanging and his body shaking even as it hung heavy off of her.  And she ran.

      “Hold on, Bruno.  Please hold on.  I’m not much help but hold on anyway.  You can’t croak before I tell you te amo, idiot.  Shit, you are out, nothing...Jesucristo, hold on.”

     She bolted out the door, under the sand, and through the oasis, clipping a potted plant with her hip and crying out, ignoring the pain as she made it to his door.  She fell, landing hard before unslinging him, fighting to open it and dragging him out into the hallway, clinging to the banister, Bruno’s limp form hooked in her arm as she screamed.

     “Julieta!  Come, hurry!  Please!  He’s had a heart attack!  JULIETA!  JULIETA!!

      There was a thunder of footsteps from outside and through the courtyard and up the stairs.  A blizzard was starting over Pepa’s head before she snatched her youngest two and Mirabel away, leading them outside so they couldn’t see.  Julieta slid off the vine Isabela had slung up, Agustín and Luisa following.  Alma was making her way up the stairs, her eyes wide in panic.

     “Mamá, what’s going…Tio!”

     “Get him to my room now, ‘Sita.  Elena, what happened?”

     She tried to stand, tried to help load him into Luisa’s arms, but crumpled. Blood trickling down her legs from cuts she hadn’t noticed in her panic.  Agustín caught her and guided her to the floor.  She watched, eyes blank and burning as Luisa bolted her uncle down the stairs, his hand falling limp and heavy out of her grip.

     “He said…He said…Domingo…a storm was coming.  I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry, I didn’t know he meant…por dios let him be alright!”

     “What have you done?” Alma cried at the sight, clutching her own heart as Luisa tried to shield her from the view.

     “I didn’t…we…it was…please, lo siento, I didn’t know, his visions…!”

     Julieta shook her head and waived her mother away, focused on Elena, trying to get her to focus

     “Elena, we’ll get him sorted, he’ll be alright, I promise, but what happened?  I need to know.”  Something about Julieta being so calm in the face of her brother being dragged out looking dead slammed into her, and Elena was able to speak, barely.

     “He…did a vision for the Parks.  It was…so strong.  Then he…he was panting ans sweaty and…and…and holding his heart.  Like…Like Mamá.  He…he always jokes about…his heart…Julieta, please, will he be alright?  I can’t…the vision…it was.  This is my fault… all my fault!  If I hadn’t…so much stress…”

     “Agustín, take her.  I need to focus on Bruno.  Lo siento, Elena, but you’ll just be in the way if you can’t help.”

     Hands at her shoulders pulled her up, calling something out to Félix below and leading her gingerly down the stairs.  He was whispering, giving instructions to Dolores, who she could see flitting around the living area and seeing people out.  

     Agustín and Félix led her to the cocina and sat her down in a chair, Agustín going to the cabinets and hunting for the emergency stash of preserved food his wife always kept on hand now, a fear of leaving them unprepared after the loss of the magic.  

     Elena sat numb in the chair as Bruno’s cuñados tended to her, Félix softly asking permission to look at her legs, a bottle of antiseptic in his hand.

     “The emeralds cut deep.  Juli’s food won’t heal them right if they aren’t clean.”

     She gave an empty nod.  What did it matter.  No one was going to see them.  Not if…not if.  She didn’t want to keep thinking about it.  She took the little jar of dulce de uchuvas Agustín handed her and the spoon in nerveless hands.  

     “Wait ‘til we’ve got you cleaned up, ok?”

      The empty nod again.  No help.  She was no help.  She had caused this.  Would he be dealing with this much stress if she had just left him alone?  He’d been happy without her dragging him into chaos, without her getting him into fights and causing him visions and wearing him so thin.  He didn’t need this.  He didn’t need her.  He needed his family.  She was nothing but trouble for him, and today, encouraging this vision, setting him off…what if he was…no.  No no no.  No.  He was better off without her.  He’d be better off without her.  No matter how much it hurt.

     She stood, knocking the peroxide from Félix’ hands and handing Agustín the jar back.

     “Tell Bru…tell Senór Madrigal I hope he makes a swift recovery.  And I’m sorry for causing him so much pain.  I’m…I’m so sorry…to all of you…for….everything.  Perdóname.”

     She was out the door and halfway down the path before Agustín and Félix realized what was going on.

     “Did she just…pull a Bruno?” Agustín asked, mouth hanging open.  Félix dragged his hand over his hair and across his face, worry and aggravation cutting through his usual smile.

     “Ay these two.  If they don’t cut this shit out, I’m telling them my damn self!”

     “Félix, no.  You know Juli said let them figure it out on their own.  You want to mess with her?”

     “I won’t have to if she murders Elena first!”

     “She won’t.  I’ll go.  Get me a basket.  This…is going to take a while.”

     Félix grumbled and got things together.  When Bruno got better and Gus got back he was smacking them both for ruining his night.  He tossed in a fifth of rum because he knew Elena well enough to know she’d need a drink.  She didn’t panic unless she felt it was already a lost cause.  On second thought, he was smacking Bruno no matter what for scaring her like that.  It didn’t matter that she’d seen an involuntary and he’d warned her.  His brainstorms were always terrifying, no matter what they looked like.  Capullo.

     Agustín caught up with Elena outside the bibliotheca, catching her elbow as she fought for her keys, swearing around her tears, her eyes red and swollen.  

     “Go back…go back home Agustín.  You’ll…they need you there.  If he’s…gon… Go back home.”

     He ignored her, ushering her inside and pulling the blinds on her café windows.  He took her by the elbow and sat her down at one of the tables, setting the basket on the tabletop and shuffling his chair next to her.  She stared out at nothing, the only movement her hands flitting, pulling the ring off her thumb and sliding it over her fingers in sequence, twirling it and replacing it and starting it over again.  He stopped her, pressing her hand down on the table with the ring trapped on her ring finger.  She flinched, and he wrapped his other arm around her shoulders, gathering her against him and patting her back as she broke and cried against him.

     “He’s alright, Elena.  I promise you, Bruno will be alright.  It wasn’t his heart, cariña.”

      “He was holding his chest so hard his knuckles went white!  I’ve seen a heart attack before, Agustín!”

      “And Bruno has been mi cuñado for almost twenty-five years.  This has happened before.  I don’t know about…while he was away…”

      “I know about the walls.”

      “Ah.  Well.  Still.  It’s happened before.  Every few years.  We aren’t sure why.  It wasn’t you.  It wasn’t you, Elena.”

     She huffed against him and shoved away.  “I’m not stupid.  I…it’s only been a month and what, two fights, two screaming matches with his mother.  God knows how badly I’ve damaged his nerves.  Maldita sea, I don’t have to be the cause to contribute to it!”

     “You are too much alike.  Madre de cristo how on earth…” Agustín sighed.  “He runs away and you run towards.  It’s not your fault he’s had seizures since he was three, Elena!  Nothing triggers them, they just happen.  I promise you, as bad as it looked he’ll be alright after a day or two.”

     “Then why…”she crumpled again, her eyes desperate.  “Why now?  Right after a vision?  So soon after…everything…took off?”

      Agustín sighed and rustled the rum out of the basket, along with the wrapped plate of empanadas Félix had packed.

     “Eat, Elena.  You look like you’ve been boxing death and losing.”

     “Thanks, Gus.”

     “Elena, please.  Just…listen to me.  This is not your fault.  Bruno would tell you the same and do dios sabe what else to get the idea out of your head, but something tells me you wouldn’t quite believe him.  Am I right?”

     “Bruno…would probably say whatever he thought I wanted to hear.  Because he hates to see me worry.”

     “Has he ever lied to you?”

     “...no…”

     “Then why would he start now?” Agustín asked, his voice soft as he pushed the plate towards her.  “They aren’t Juli’s so those cuts won’t scar from this.”

     “What’s it matter?  Not like anyone’s going to see them?”

     “I’m sure Bruno would have something to say about that.”

     “He looked dead, Agustín!  His eyes and veins were green!  Like his gift was killing him!  And you want me to think he survived that?  That he’ll come back even if he does?”

     “Elena, enough.  He lo…Bruno cares about you.  He’ll be good as new in a couple days.  He’d want you back at Casita.  I know you’re frightened, but don’t throw away a good thing just because he didn’t think to warn you how bad it could be.”

     Elena looked at the food and pushed it aside, her stomach sloshing and sick.  She uncorked the rum and took a pull straight from the bottle, letting it burn down her throat.  She stood and grabbed a rag from the counter before snatching the peroxide and turning away to clean her cuts.  She tossed the rag in the café sink and stilled her hands gripping the counter as she shook.

     “I thought I was watching him die today Agustín.”

     “I know.  Bruno…he should have warned you.  What did he actually say?”

     “All he said was a storm was coming.  I…I thought it would be like…like one of his involuntaries.  Not…that.  I…it…I panicked.  I just…”  

      Agustín nodded and gathered her back up, leading her back to her seat.  “Elena…Bruno…well, he’s got some quirks, you know?”

     “Sin jodiendo mierda, Gus.”  She glared at him, waiting for the rest of his explanation, worry solidifying into anger as he gave her an awkward grin and pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing under his glasses.

     “Madre de dios…He doesn’t like to admit it, you know.  It’s something…from before the gifts.  Alma…hoped it would go away.”

     “So they’re what?  Some kind of seizure?  Not his heart?”

     “Yes.  He…started calling them brainstorms when they were teens, I think. It…made it easier for them all to hide it from Alma, I think?”

     Elena started at that.  “Why…it’s his health!  Why would Alma…?”

     Agustín sighed and pushed the food towards her again.  He shrugged, thinking of his own children.  Elena was a smart woman, but somethings were only learned from harsh experience.  He hoped she’d get to have the good portions of that experience some day, but for now he just had to hope she’d take his word for it.

     “Luisa…was born early.  It wasn’t too bad, but she was…weak for a while.  It took her months to catch up to where she should have been, and she was sick a lot.  Doctor Rivera and Bruno kept assuring Julieta that she’d be ok, but she worked herself half to death trying to ‘fix’ things.  She just…felt like she’d failed as a mamá.  Nothing anyone did or said would calm her down.  Until Alma talked to her.  I didn’t hear much of it, but…a lot was about Bruno, and when they were young.”

     “And…Bruno…was…he’s said he’s sickly, but I’ve never seen him sick.  Was…Was that what he meant?”

     “It could have been.”  Agustín ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his glasses.  “He’s cryptic at the worst damn times.  He got fevers a lot when they were young, from what Juli says, even after her gift.  Alma doesn’t like to talk about before the gifts but…you pick up things.  They had some kind of fever as toddlers and…”

     “Doctor Rivera is one of the town elders for a reason?”

     “Let’s put it that way.  Yes.  Alma…it was hard on her.  It’s hard to acknowledge how…hard things could have been if…you lost someone.  A child.”

     Elena nodded, her hands clenching on the table to keep from brushing against her stomach, not wanting to send the wrong message.  She’d never know.  And while she’d come to terms with it years ago, the unintentional reminders hurt all the same.  But this wasn’t about her.  

     “Do you swear he’ll be alright?”

     “En la tumba de mi madre.  He’s stronger than any of us give him credit for.”

     She swallowed and took one of the empanadas finally, and he recognized it as the olive branch it was.  “I made a fool of myself.  I…I wasn’t trying to leave I just…”

     “Panicked?”

     “Yeah.”

     He surprised her by laughing.  “Elena, the two of you have been uñas y mugre for weeks.  It’s like you’ve been there so much longer.  It’s easy to forget you haven’t been, and you’ve been through so much already with him.  You’re allowed to freak out over something like this.  You’re human.  Maybe don’t mention the “Senór Madrigal” thing?  Bruno’s the panic expert in the family.”

     She hid her flinch at that, not seeing a need to bring up that she wasn’t part of the family, and never would be.  Félix had made the same slip.  They read too much into things.  “How long…when can I see him?  I don’t…want to…intrude.”

     Agustín smiled and patted her hand.  “Take care of yourself.  Go catch up with your friends and your primos.”  He stopped at her glare, like she couldn’t imagine having a good time while her pareja was laying god-knew-how in his sister’s room after scaring her shitless.  “Or stay in and try to take the edge off, hm?  Come back when you’re ready.”

     She gave him a sad little smile and went to show him the door.  He’d dismissed himself clearly enough.  Agustín was just about to the door when he turned and swept her up in a hug.  She fought against it in shock before sinking into it and crying again, her tears slow and tired and healing.  Agustín let her go, soaking his stained vest and rubbing her back.  Three daughters, a sobrina, his wife, and his emotional cuñada had taught him very quickly that some tears were not something to fix, but a release valve for the pressure women found themselves under in life.  He imagined, given her friend’s reaction to her relationship with Bruno and her lack of female relatives, she didn’t have anyone to go too for this sort of thing.

     He let her wear herself out on his shoulder, and was surprised when she dragged him to the counter.  She set about making a flurry of coffee drinks and pouring them into various mis-matched thermoses, pointing out which ones were for who based on color when they were all lined up.

     “Everyone is going to need a pick-me-up after…all of this.  I’ll…be by later.  I need…I need a shower and a drink and food.  And Chacha will murder me if I don’t feed her.”

     He bumped into the doorframe on his way out and had to suck on the back of his smarting hand as he failed to wave goodbye.  The put-upon “Ay, Agustín,” she muttered behind him made him smile.  He knew that tone all too well, and only his family ever managed it just right.  

     Bruno looked younger in sleep.  She’d thought so the first time she’d seen him napping in his chair at the bibliotheca, and she thought so now.  He could certainly pass for forty, maybe even younger if she just assumed he’d started graying early.  He was pale bur peaceful, cocooned in the quilt Julieta had dug out of her cedar chest.  His sister had smiled when she’d come in, fresher but still puffy eyed from the loft, carrying a battered copy of The Mill on the Floss.  She remembered Bruno having liked this book enough to borrow it repeatedly during her early twenties.  Now that she knew he’d seen something in her, she could understand why if she squinted, seeing a little of herself in the heroine.  She had to imagine he’d seen himself as Felipe, and it made her sad, knowing the bitter ending of the book.

     Julieta pretended to read her own novel, Mary Westmacott’s Unfinished Portrait.  She’d bought it on a whim not too long before, an older book who’s style reminded her of Agatha Christie.  She watched as Elena read to her brother in his sleep, her hand carding through his hair, only lifting to turn the page, and smiled.  Things were going better than she could have ever hoped, despite, or maybe because her brother was trouble incarnate, whether he meant to be or not.  Mamá had never understood that about him, that trying to control that impulse, so like Camilo and Mirabel, so like Papá from what she’d learned, only made the nervous habits worse.  His antics were his way of blowing off the steam of a brain that never stopped spinning.  They were such an odd juxtaposition, nervous but driving action and bold but stable reaction.  Bruno was the powderkeg, and Elena the correct calculation to keep him moored to reality.

     She was tired.  Of all of her family, Bruno had the hardest time healing from his gift’s downsides.  Pepa might occasionally electrocute herself, Camilo had strained more muscles than Julieta could count and was always starving, and Isabela had accidentally poisoned herself more than once, bur it was Bruno that had it the worst.  Whatever magic let him pull images from the future and carve them onto emeralds demanded a strict price.  Or maybe he could have born the price better if he hadn’t always been a little sickly, born last, born smallest, slowest always to heal.  She didn’t know, but her room was a hurricane of hawthorn and hyssop, her tables littered with aloe plants crushed in pestles and mixtures steeping in pots.  He wasn’t done healing, but she’d done her best, letting his body recover before the second round, getting actual food into him and hopefully watching his skin go back to the healthier tan he’d acquired in the last few months in the sun.

     She dithered a moment, undecided between seats, before finally getting settled on her cedar chest.  Her hands itched to open it, to make that final push, but she held off.  They’d get there on their own. It was the only practical seat.  Otherwise, the temptation open it was too great with both of them in the room.  She could be patient.

Chapter Text

             Bruno slept for two days straight.  Elena didn't leave Casita for more than an hour in that time, bringing a change of clothes and Chacha back with her as she helped Julieta care for him.  It wasn't difficult.  He was much shorter and lighter than her father, so turning him, changing him, and keeping him clean so Julieta could continue at least some of her duties with the town had been easy.  It was the waiting that twisted in her lungs and made her stomach churn.  Waiting for his skin to gain its color back, a little more after each time she fed him.  Waiting for his breathing to even out as aftershocks slowly began to slough away.  Waiting for him to open his eyes.

              She read through the book, her throat scratchy and dry despite the never-ending pots of tea Julieta, Mirabel, Pepa, and even Alma sent to her. 

              Alma hadn't said anything when she'd brought a pot personally, a spicy orange blend mixed with honey and a splash of rum that surprised Elena with its thoughtfulness.  She had brushed her son's hair from his feverish brow and given a sad smile as she sat, motioning for Elena to keep reading.  She had read for perhaps an hour when she looked up at a sniffle, to see Alma wiping at her eyes, her cheeks blotchy.

             "It's my fault he's ashamed of them," she said quietly, her hands holding one of Bruno's limp ones.  "I was so worried when they started...he wasn't quite four, and they'd all had horrible fevers.  Doctor Rivera said...that he'd grow out of them.  Then the gifts came and...they continued."

            "Alma...”

           "Please, Elena.  Let me...You deserve to know," Alma frowned, and continued.  "Once or twice a year at first.  Then further apart as he got older.  Stronger.  But he never really recovered.  And I was...I was ashamed.  I shouldn't have been, there shouldn't be shame in an illness, but...nothing healed them.  Julieta's gift.  Doctor Rivera's treatments.  Nothing worked.  People...started talking.  Saying ridiculous things.  You can only watch someone collapse so many times before you start to think they're cursed, I suppose.  It was...it made things harder.  I made him hide them."

             Elena wanted to be angry, but the bottom had fallen out hours before, and in the aching emptiness left, she understood Alma better than she had before.  Not a guardian harridan, but an old woman worrying over her only son, fifty-on years old and forever her niñito.  Would she have fared any better in Alma's position, alone with three children, magic added into the mix, one chronically ill?  She didn't think so.

              "Alma...It can't have been easy.  I know how the town talks.  It...It must have made sense at the time."

              "Gracias, Elena.  But no.  He...He thought I meant hide them entirely.  And I was content enough to believe he'd finally grown out of them.  Ignored the signs.  He was always having accidents.  Hiding away.  I never...never thought...I never thought to ask.  To look into it further."

            Elena didn't know what to say.  Instead, she held out a hand.  Alma surprised her by taking it and placing it in Bruno's, holding their hands all together with her own.

             "You had no idea this happened.  And your first instinct was getting him help even with what you've seen.  Your mother..."

             Elena looked away, the old memory still in sharp in the light, but Alma only squeezed all their hands together, Bruno's bony and clammy in her hold but grasping unconsciously as his mother wrestled with herself.  Alma patted the back of her hand and stood.

            "Thank you, for caring for him.  Let me know if you need anything."

             She'd finished the tea in silence and passed out holding Bruno's hand.

             Julieta had found her late the second night, crying over the ending of the book, and had pulled her away.  "I know it's not about the book.  Go rest.  He'll still be here in the morning.  You've taken good care of him, but you need sleep too."

            She had tried to protest, but Julieta had just made Félix walk her home, where he'd stationed himself just in her loft door until she got prepared for the night and crawled into bed.  She didn't let him see what time she set the alarm for.  When she'd shown up at Casita on Miércoles morning before the sun had melted away the fog, Pepa had only waved her in with a bleary-eyed sigh.

             "I thought you weren't a morning person?"

              "I'm not, but Julieta shouldn't have to be responsible for my mistakes."

              Pepa had stopped short of her sister's door and looked down at her, her eyes sad.  "You know it isn't your fault, right?"  When Elena hadn't answered, she'd gotten a sock to the arm and forcibly pulled into the nearest seat.
        "Elena, it is not your fault.  My idiot brother should have warned you about this like a person instead of being all ocultado.  It would have happened with or without the vision or you.  Don't torture yourself just because we all got sick as kids and it hit him harder."
        "I didn't have to help it along."
        Pepa had just laughed and squeezed her.  "Félix was right, my brother does make you stupid.  Go take care of him so I can kick his ass for worrying you so much, tu cosa tonta."
        She had nodded grimly, mouth set in a thin line as she twisted the doorknob, not seeing Pepa’s falling smile or the worried fog that sparked up at her feet.  The lack of teasing back already felt wrong, and Pepa realized then that her brother had chosen not his opposite, but his media naranja, whole and together and too much like each other under the surface.

        Elena had laughed when Bruno had finally opened his eyes a few hours later, mistaking her for Pepa before he'd shaken the last of the cobwebs and could see straight.  She supposed in the dim light her mousy hair could be mistaken for red.  He'd sat up and eaten something solid with her, asking for her help before the food took full effect.
        He took in the sight of her, oily haired and tired-eyed, and his heart sank.
        "You...haven't been sleeping?"
        When she didn't answer, he sighed, pulling her against him and dragging her back.  "You didn't even leave did you?"
        She shook her head, too happy to hear his voice again to really care if he was angry with her.  He threaded his fingers through her hair and pulling her up to look at him, his face a mix of concern and amusement.
        "Worrying is my job.  Seeing the future and everything, y'know?  Let me worry about this ninfa, please?"  He brushed the tears sticking to her lashes away carefully and snorted, rolling his eyes.
        "How long was I out?"
        "...little over two days..."
        "Ah.  Thought so.  Your amiga Miranda probably thinks I've kidnapped you.  I...don't want to know what Carlita thinks."
        She laughed, and he was grateful for it, tracing her smile with his thumb before standing slowly, tender and stiff and joints clacking riotously as he bent and popped.  He swayed, and flopped back down on the sofa-bed in a creak of springs.  He took her hands in his, stroking the pulses carefully.
        "I know Juli and Pepa are gonna read me the riot act for scaring you.  How bad...how bad was it?"
        He was yanked across the couch and into her arms, her face buried against his neck.  She wasn't crying, but her whole body shook hypothermic with fear.
        "I thought...I thought you'd had a heart attack!  You were...you held your chest so tight I...All I saw was Mamá all over again and I couldn't...I couldn't..."
        He held her, splaying his hands out on her back and letting her shiver against him.  Sofia's death had been another he'd heard about through the walls.  Julieta had torn the kitchen to shreds weeping because there had been nothing she could do.  Sofia had struggled with severe anxiety for as long as they'd known her, but none of them had thought it was strong enough to stop her heart.  Hebér’s death had been hard on his family, and too much for his wife, and she'd finally succumbed one day in the market.  He'd heard Julieta describing it to Agustín; the press of a crowd standing stupid as turkeys in the rain, Beatriz Cortez losing her mind on the outskirts, Miranda Constantino looking for help.  Elena in the center over her mother, shoving the Padre away by his face as he crowded her, trying to give Last Rites while she was pressing up and down on her mother's chest, grim and pale and clinical, her eyes huge.  He felt like he'd been there himself.  The sudden deaths always froze in Julieta's mind, and she could only shake them by talking them over and then writing them out, draining every detail from her mind.  He squeezed Elena tighter to him.
        "Too many...too many jokes about my heart?"
        "...s-sí.  I thought you were dying.  Estúpido viejo pendejo." She butted her head to his chest, hard, and he laughed, half winded and rubbing at the spot.
        "I deserved that.  In...in my defense, I didn't think it'd be any worse than an involuntary."
        "I've seen livelier corpses, hijueputa!"
        He held her face, brushing away the last of her tears.  "I know.  I know, querida.  Lo siento tanto.  It...the last time this happened I was still...still in the walls.  I...didn't really have a good grasp on how bad it would be.  Perdóname."
        She gave him a keen look, her smile tired but genuine.  "Make it up to me?"
        He felt himself beaming as he thought, a weight in his chest he hadn't even realized was there lifting and leaving him light as an idea slipped in, so blindingly normal that it made him laugh.
        "Give me...two hours?  Get your friends to El Loro Azul and I'll meet you there?"
        She blinked at him.  "Did...did you just...offer to go on a lunch date with me and my friends?  Where's your sister, you broke your brain!"
        It was good to laugh with her, even if it was at his own expense.  He shrugged and let her lead him back to his room before shooing her away, swatting at her rear with a paperback the rats had knocked over.
        "Shoo!  Scat back to your mountain, mi oréade.  Believe it or not, I'm not completely socially inept."
        "The hubris!  Now I know you're brain-damaged!"
        "Out, you silly woman!  You've already turned the air blue, and I will not behave if you keep it up!"
        She'd never seen his grin so wide, even if his eyes were still so bruised he looked like an oversized coati.  She planted a kiss to his nose before darting out.

        When he showed up two hours later on the dot, looking freshly showered and only slightly like he'd been tangoing with La Catarina, she'd given Miranda a triumphant eyebrow, Arturo snickering beside her.  Both of her friends had brought their own partners along, doubtful that Bruno would be able to show knowing his nerves, and Elena had just rolled with it, knowing better.  Carlita had just wiggled in her seat and waved him over, leaving Julio to look affronted.  
        "You don't wave at me like that!"
        "I wiggle other things for you, hush!"
        Bruno had earned a glare from both men when he'd pulled a spray of red bleeding hearts out of nowhere and tucked it in Elena's hair, using the wild curl to anchor it and pressing a quick peck to her cheek.  "Told you I'd make it."
        "C'mon, man.  Really?  Making us look bad." Julio had grumbled as Carlita swatted him, still giggling.  
        Bruno had huffed and fidgeted with his shirt sleeves, missing his hood and nerves finally catching up as he realized he may have bitten off more than he could chew.  Elena's hand lit on his knee, warm and steady, and he gave her a shy smile as she lit into her cousin.
        "That's your own fault, tu terrón grande.  How you've read the entire romance section and still have all the brains of a flea I'll never know!"
        "He makes up for it other ways," Carlita snickered, and there was a chorus of groans and clearing throats and rustle of menus as Marta Castillo came to the table, and it covered up Carlita’s yelp as Elena jabbed her in the side, making a face.  Bruno apologized for Camilo, who had come home the day before with another lap full of soup courtesy Martina.  Pepa had still been laughing about it.  Marta had just laughed and waved him off, letting on that this time had been an accident.
        "Ti-ti tripped up laughing at one of his dumb jokes.  Food disappears around that boy anyway, and he paid, es nada."
        There was the usual jumble of a group ordering before things settled down, Julio clearing his throat and looking to Bruno and Elena.
        "Speaking of food disappearing, Raf is on a tear again."
        "...and that has to do with me...why now?"
        "Because it's your sister's food and your fistfight idiotas in the mix."
        Bruno stiffened in his seat, ears perked up as Elena squeezed his knee.  Julio continued.
        "It's been going missing for a minute, but Rigo Cortez was the one that caught them.  Few days back, Ruiz and Bardales got in a scuff.   Joaquin dropped a buñuelo out his shirt on the way out.  They had a search and found a stash under both their racks."
        "Racks?" Elena asked, confused.  "I thought they went home at night?"
        "Just Garza and Chavez do," Arturo huffed, "The other two drew a knife and laid hands on you.  They got a harsher stay."
        "Garza hit Bruno!" she spat, instantly furious.  Arturo raised his hands placatingly.
        "Take it up with Ben, not me!  He's old-fashioned.  Garza didn't hit a woman.  You know how the Aguilars all are."
        "I might!  Es una mierda!  What did those pendejos say about the food?"
        Julio scratched at his beard, trying to put it all into words.  ""Only good cooking in the place.”  Raf doesn't believe them after Garza's little stunt a couple weeks ago."
        "I am not doing a vision because of missing food," Bruno sighed, arms crossed.  "Raf is paranoid, and this is me saying that!"
        "Arturo told him the same thing," Miranda shrugged, accepting her plate as Marta circled the table.   "Ooh, hothothot!  Anyway.  He wasn't asking about you.  He wants to borrow Elena next week."
        Elena felt her face twist, not sure what, exactly, the Encanto's casi-alguacil would want with her.  Miranda leveled her fork at her.
        "Don't give me that look.  He knows tu papá taught you to shoot.  Abuelita Ximena and viejo Gus can't climb the stairs or take the lift.  He wants you to train a few of the men."
        Elena went rigid in her chair, choking on her drink.  "Is he insane!?  There's no need for that!  It's just some rations and a sack of assholes!  The Encanto is safe."
        Bruno sputtered at her phrasing but gave her a look.  "It...might not be a bad idea, ninfa."  She gave him a confused look, and he flinched, rubbing at his eyes and scrubbing at his face, leaning on the table for support.
        "You've been out there, and I've seen out there, Elena.  I don't know how the miracle works, we have to be prepared if...if something slips through.  And there's always bears and jaguars.  Pepa isn't about to risk Tonito for that, gift or not."
        “Bruno, I can shoot for self-defense, nothing else.  I hate that gun.  I just…the Encanto is a safe place.  I don’t want to train men to fight.  Nothing’s ever got past the mountains. ”
        He gave her a sad look and covered her hand with his on the table, squeezing.
        “These days…nothing has to,” he whispered, and something slimy and cold slunk down her back, pale and gray and sickening.  She knew exactly what he meant, but he continued, trying to distract from that.  “The mountains are split.  Things are…different now.”
        She hated to admit he was right.  She hated using her pistol, hated that she had to carry it outside, but she understood the necessity of it far too closely.  
        "Tell Rafael that I'll...I'll...think about it."
        They spent the rest of the meal mostly quiet, their hands clasped under the table and each lost in contemplation of just what the changes to the Encanto could bring.

         
            They fell into a rhythm as easy and painfully sweet as breathing in the approaching solemnity of Día de los Difuntos and the shadow of his recovery, learning this still new part of each other in stolen noon moments when he would lock the doors of the bibliotheca for her and lead her upstairs by the hand, or chase her up then with his fingers digging into her sides, in chilly nights tiptoed up the pergola and into her window, and in dewy mornings slipping from his little back door on grass tickled bare feet, not yet ready to face the knowing smiles of his family over the breakfast table again.  She was afraid of what she would see in his family’s faces after his attack, and couldn’t bear to think of it potentially being pity.
            As much as she had feared him growing bored with her in the initial fragility of everything, he had surprised her, growing familiarity adding fuel to the already incandescent fire he kept burning under his ribs rather than dampening it as it had with past partners.

        She knew now that there was no taming his hair in the morning, and that any attempt to do so would be met with a pillow to the face before he buried his head under it, begging for more sleep.  That he had no real sleep schedule and would wake up for hours in the night to do whatever struck his fancy shouldn't have surprised her, but it did, and explained his frequent dozing in the shops and the permanent bruises under his eyes.  It drove her batty with sleepless nights of her own, unable to rest when the wild mood struck him.
        She had already found him once straddling the pocket doorway at ass o'clock at night, her lock mechanism strewn over the floor between his bare feet as he puzzled over them in nothing more than his underwear, reading a locksmith's manual by the light of her gas lamp, having stolen one of her old paintbrushes to brush oil across everything, fumbling with tweezers and squinting in the light.  She'd been unable to do anything but laugh at him and his continued feud with her door, sitting next to him and teasing him mercilessly as she helped him puzzle it out, both of them creeping back to bed two hours later, hands stinking of copper and lock oil.
        He never let her live down her open mouthed snoring, and she had woken up more than once to him snickering and poking her tongue, though he'd gotten a lot quicker about it after she'd bitten his finger so hard the mark had taken ten minutes to clear. Reflexively, of course.  And she would never be sure if it was really just ten minutes, having to trust his word since the pinch of her teeth had gotten him so riled up he'd flipped her over and given her a fierce collection of bite marks of his own.  He made up for all of it by helping her with her pergola once they'd finally made it out of bed, climbing like a spider monkey and hanging parallel underneath to prune away the deadfall of the wisteria.  She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to his surprising agility, but she couldn't complain about the view.
        She knew now if he showed up in the morning with a project or just to read that he would be gone by the end of the day, content because he'd dragged her up the stairs at lunch to torture her, pinning her to her bed or her couch and wearing her legs like a scarf.  On more than one occasion she’d shown up at the little back door Casita provided for him and spent the night to thank him properly.  If he showed up later in the day clean he'd be bringing her back to his house for dinner, and if he appeared at the final hour of her workday covered in sawdust or clay splatters or smelling of farm animals that he was dragging her into the little shower with him to tease her into a soap slippery stupor before heading home, only to return later in the evening to spend the night, whatever that wound up looking like.  She was glad old Senór Geraldo in the loft next door was going deaf.
        Her favorite days were the quietest ones, not because he was silent, because now that he'd opened up to her he'd taken the doors of his silence off their hinges and burned them up in the fire between them and never stopped talking, whispering, and rambling off his train of thought in a stream of consciousness with so many tributaries he left her feeling she'd been abandoned in the river delta of his labyrinthine brain, but because she got to see him as he might have been if the town hadn't spent years wearing him down and breaking him.  He would sit strewn across the counter with an endless cup of coffee, taking up space rather than shrinking into himself as he propped books open for reference, though what he was referencing and what he was working on she could never keep track of at any one time.
        He shared his stories with her, but he always had at least three going on at once, his handwriting cramped and scratching across the fine lined pages.  She loved seeing him like that, his brow furrowed in concentration as he puzzled out the next steps in Alondra and Arinoldo’s adventures, or studied pictures of hummingbirds for a project he was working on.  He’d come in in a flurry and raid the library shelves, a light in his eyes that would intensify and pinpoint as he grew more focused.  She’d caught him more than once with the book on lapidary skills, sketching out rings or necklace pendants or earring designs for Gustavo, the request blooming from the old man coming to him privately one day to check up on him, having wanted to consult with him but missing him after the attack.
        His fingers were now often stained with the ink from his fountain pen and the graphite of his pencils, not from the inconvenience of having to write left handed, but from a recent fascination with shading the drawings he would scratch out on the rough sketchbook he still carried with him before doing larger, more competent drafts in the leatherbound one she'd gotten him.  He had surprised her one day that way, cracking his knuckles before diving into the pages of both the journals she'd bought him, drawing what looked like the rough plan of a suspension bridge with his left hand while switching his fountain pen to the right and writing out an entire page of dialogue in a hand she didn't recognize.  He'd laughed when he looked up an hour later at her still surprised face, shrugging away that he'd been forced to learn to write with the "correct" hand in primaria and kept the skill out of boredom. 

        For Bruno, the rhythm came not like breathing but like the endless pulsing of the sea.  He felt himself rocked about by the passing waves as he tried desperately to take the advice she'd given him and spread his time between her and his family.  It took more strength than he'd realized, because he found himself lost most days.  He endured the knowing glances of his sisters and cuñados when he came in to breakfast late in the same clothes as the day before, and more than once Agustín or Félix had caught him out late in the evening, circling around from the back, only to tip their nightcaps his way with a nod of acknowledgement.  
        When he’d woken up in Julieta’s room after his episode, Elena at his side and reading quietly to him, her hand threading gently through his curls, his heart had nearly stopped in shock, the scant memories of the attack sharp, and he couldn’t imagine how strong she had to be to face him after that.  When Julieta told him she’d been the one to drag him out of his room and get him help in the first place, he’d felt something nestle into place in his mind, and only had to gather what he needed to make it a reality.  It would take more work than he was really comfortable with, but for her, for Elena, it was worth it.

            He found himself enamored of the small moments, the little instances where she was wholly herself, her self-consciousness at being watched by another person gone. The constant tidying she did in the mornings after the commotion and lost clothing of the night before.  The steady hand she used to apply her makeup and the impatient one she used to wrangle her hair.  The one sided conversations she had with herself as she went about her loft, snarking at everything and shaking her head, a running commentary that often found him laughing out loud and then laughing louder at her fluster.  The long suffering sigh she would give on his restless nights when he woke her up, throwing a pillow in his direction before fishing out her eye-mask and curling like a caterpillar in her quilt, content to let him roam now that she knew he wasn't going to dismantle her door again.
        He knew now that she set aside an hour every other night to balance her ledgers, and could not be dissuaded from it by anything other than the tinny ringing of her alarm clock, having received an eraser to the ear and a sharp tug to his whiskers when he tried to interrupt her by taking her glasses from her face and kissing her hair. Sábado and Domingo were sacred, not for any remittent faith she may or may not have held, but because she had the singular ability to sleep for thirteen to sixteen hours at a stretch and would languish in the bed to do so, rising up to stretch like a cat and yawning so hugely he could now faithfully describe her tonsils and the sharpness of her teeth when he'd given into temptation and poked her tongue.
        She really never stopped moving, just as he'd suspected.  A chronic fidgeter, her foot or knee would bounce against him if they found themselves reading, and would only still if he took it and soothed the nearest joint with little circles.  She would turn on the radio as she cooked and dance along to whatever tune played, not caring as long as it came through clearly, and would make them simple dishes with no recipes, knowing them from years of memory and tasting as she went along, always a hand under her wooden spoon to catch the drips as she found him wherever he'd wandered to and feeding him a taste.  A bottle of pearl pepper sauce had made an appearance beside her spice rack, though he knew she hated it.  His heart did a little flip on those mornings when he woke up in her bed and found something of his waiting on a hanger on the footboard.  He had a bad habit of forgetting to replace the clothes when he did change, so it wasn’t often, but he’d made a point to himself to keep at least three outfits at her place in the future after the fifth time he’d been snickered at for sneaking home in two-day clothes.
        He'd found himself quietly impressed by her over the days, in little ways he would never have thought of.  While she refused to join him for breakfast on the mornings after she wound up spending the night, she was slowly weaving herself into the patchwork of the dinner table, always to his right as she chatted with his sisters, teased her cousin and Dolores with embarrassing stories that had Mariano doing his best to sink into the floor.  Camilo and Isabela had teamed up as menaces, but she gave as good as she got and was not shy about throwing herself and him under the bus if it meant dragging his sobrinos into flame-faced silence.  He couldn't even bring himself to complain because of the creative ways she thought up to make it up to him.   He'd never be able to watch someone do a backbend the same way again.
        He could see his mother's remaining resolve slowly wearing away, her resistance a little further each night Elena sat by his side, pulling Luisa into mythological debates, arguing color theory with Mirabel and Agustín, plotting with Julieta to get Carlita's French fudge recipe or with Pepa swapping drinks with Félix across the table when he was distracted, her mischievous grin hidden in his ruana when called out. 
        She'd once found herself with a lap full of an exuberant Antonio, who insisted on telling her all about how Latón was doing, the snake pregnant and Antonio excited at the prospect of even more little friends on the way.  He’d been ecstatic at Pecasita’s piebald litter, and neither of them had been surprised.  He’d already named the little brown and black spotted runt Pimienta.  Elena hadn't even blinked at the loss of her lap, just ran with it and chattered back at him, promising to see what she could find about baby snake care at the library.  

            The sight of her with a young child on her lap, hands animated as they spoke and fought over the buñuelos on her plate and pointed out food on each other’s faces and giggled over the antics of his loose coatis running roughshod over his tios had his heart aching so strongly he feared the whole table could see it fluttering in his chest, a hoatzin caught in a hurricane.  He had realized he loved her almost as soon as she'd told him the same, the mute conversation with his father never far from his mind, but he hadn't yet told her, and she hadn't said it back to him.  He could be a patient man, and he could wait, but in his waiting, fear had begun to bloom in the uncertainty.  Beneath the sweet apprehension that had invaded his spine still sat the real fear that this would all slip through his fingers like the sand he still dragged into her shops.  And at that image he realized that he did more than love her, and wanted nothing more to meld his bones and heart to hers and live together with her in her skin in the only way it was possible for two people to do so.
            He had believed her that it wasn't likely for them, should they keep together long enough to try and find out, but something in his tactless heart grasped at the image and changed it without his permission, Antonio morphing into a smaller little boy with his own face and her hair, stocky legged and sturdy and giggling as the ghostly image of him patted a swollen belly that wasn't there, Elena's ghost rubbing noses with him with the most painfully fond smile he'd ever seen before turning softly to him.  At her eyes the illusion, in full color and not the green of one of his flashes to prove cruelly that it was an illusion, fell away.  He'd had to excuse himself, begging a headache as he tripped over his chair and apologizing as he rushed to his room.
            She had followed him, and whatever else he'd had planned that night had fallen away as she scooped him up around the shoulders and sat with him through a silent night where he couldn't drag a word from his throat and couldn't stop the hail of them from flying around his head.  She didn't ask him what had him blank-eyed and barely breathing, but simply sat, and held him, and laid him down when his back began to shake, holding him against her until they both fell into a fitful sleep.

        They had their arguments, like any couple, little squabbles as they adjusted to each other that bubble up and pop and quickly forgotten once settled.  Elena's insistence on opening the shop at the same ridiculous hours she always had and her habit of reading late into the night had agitated Bruno to no end, knowing she wasn't getting enough sleep.  It sparked hot when she called him a hypocrite given his complete lack of a sleep schedule, and he took offense, eyes flitting to the kitchen clock over their shared dinner, and had gone straight to bed without a word.  The argument had quickly been forgotten when she brought him the rest of his plate half an hour later, both of them stumbling over apologies and then over blankets.
        Bruno was quickly getting used to dodging items of clothing tossed at his head, his inability to ever find a hamper driving her up the wall after tripping on his shirts one too many times.  He’d learned to expect it from any direction, since Chacha apparently thought it was hilarious to steal his boxers and flap around with them out of his reach, the little shit.  When he caught Elena actively encouraging it so she could watch him run around bare-assed he'd sworn revenge, and spent an entire Domingo lounging nude in her loft, nursing aguardiente slowly just to keep his nerves down.  
        He thought she'd be annoyed.  That he'd wound up limping home at sunset with his face on fire and his back killing him proved otherwise, and he had to endure Julieta’s knowing snickers when he got home, snatching the plate of buñuelos and grumbling all through the rest of the evening.

         Elena had swiftly gotten used to the put-upon sigh that sounded whenever he'd knocked something over in her bathroom or at the state of her small pantry, the only areas of the loft she let get messy.  And waking up with a rat in her hair had only sent her screaming twice before she got used to them.  Hector, Palmero, and Pecasita had adopted her, and she swiftly got used to finding any combination of them cuddled together in her apron pockets, using her stomach as a pillow. Bruno had started competing with them for snuggle space, though he usually won out due to his apparent hatred of seeing her clothed past six o'clock.
        She was protective of Bruno after his seizure.  They bickered constantly over his visions and his work, the absence of structure sometimes leaving him with no rest between one task and the next now that he'd decided to give visions again.  Some of the nights spent at her loft were from necessity rather than desire, covered in sawdust and sand and pale as a sheet from poor management of his time.  On those nights she would feed him in a huff and bluster out of the shops to stalk down whoever had sought him out for visions, since she had asked him to begin writing it all down with times and results. 
        He hadn't thought anything of it, accepting the slim ledger she gave him, one of her blank ones, and did as she asked.  That she had quickly puzzled out that he now had a limit before the migraines and the nose bleeds began, that that limit seemed to be three ('of course' he'd thought) and that she hunted down the people that came to him after that limit and spent however long it took to upbraid them one way and downdress them the other until they found him and apologized went wholly over his head.  Elena had multiple and creative ways of distracting him when he thought to ask.
            Then he heard the mean little nickname hissed in the shops by a taunting Olivia Chavez, and he couldn't be sure who he was more offended for.  "Gerentita de Bruno."  When confronted with it, she'd told Olivia to piss off and worry about managing her husband before he wound up with another conviction and slamming the cracked tamper on the counter, breaking the handle in half and chasing the woman out with a blue streak so vibrant Bruno found himself laughing as he made apologies to his niece in the empty air.  He had pulled her into his lap from his chair when she came to apologize, and he just snickered, taking the broken tamper from her, plans already in his mind as he offered to have it repaired.  A trip to the glass-maker’s was in order.


        She had invited him to spend the day with her on the first of Noviembre.  He’d learned that for the last ten years she had closed the shops the day before Día de los Difuntos, to honor her parents and to give herself a bit of a break before the madness the shops became between then and Día de las Velitas.  He had done his best to hide his dread at that, his doubts roaring up to the surface in the face of the truth under the rug, that she would have to leave in little over a month.  
        It was only a two week trip, but he had seen enough to know what the outside was like.  The nebulous sting of hoping everyone made it back to the Encanto safely was magnitudes different and weaker than the undercurrent of fear for her, paired with the riptide of his own anger at himself, knowing he couldn’t handle a trip out and hating himself for it, knowing even if he could handle the trip, he’d be more a liability than a help to her and her pistola.  

        She’d successfully distracted him from that stream of worry by explaining her hodgepodge of traditions.  Elena’s abuela Concepción Pascual had been from a failing aristocratic family México, who’d fallen in love with a Honduran field hand named Saúl.  She’d run away with him south rather than risk her father finding out and having him shot.  They’d made it to Honduras only to be chased there as well by men Saúl owed money to, and had continued south, meeting up with a friend of Saúl’s in Panama and finding shelter there.  
        They’d started a family, her father Hebér and his twin Horado, but run south again when the Americans had become aggressive in ‘recruiting’ workers for their beastly canal project, which had already killed her abuelo’s friend.  They’d settled in again, only to be chased out once more when the banditos and the fighting had reached the village, a year after her abuela’s death.  By the time the Encanto had formed, Hebér was alone.  He’d been the twin closer to his mother, and had kept her traditions and passed them on to his only daughter.
        A colorful ofrenda had been built in front of her picture wall, and new photos he’d never seen had appeared.  A wedding photo of tall Hebér and petite Sofia, both holding their wedding candle.  Her dress was a size to big, his guayabara at least a size too small, the town only a few years old and still establishing itself when they’d gotten married.
        There was a picture of a younger Sebastian Guzman, his thick eyebrows and hawk nose standing out on a bored face.  A battered daguerreotype of two boys, perhaps ten.  One was tall and muscular, curly haired and handsome, sporting a bandaged left hand; Hebér.  The other was a short, stocky boy with sandy hair and glasses, a wild grin on his freckled face.  Her lost tio Horado.  Another daguerreotype of a couple, the woman pale and smiling widely, the same dimpling quirk to her lip as her nieta. She was wearing a dark, Edwardian style dress and had her light, riotous hair done up in an elaborate style.  The man was dark and tall and heavily muscled, with a thick mustache and even darker freckles dotted across his nose and cheeks, his eyes laughing in spite of his serious expression.  He was in a rumpled but well patched suit, his straight hair combed off to the side.
        There was another photo, her mother’s parents, both small and stern, her abuela Moscote looking far too much like a paler young Pilar Guzman.  There were two small porcelain dolls, realistic infant boys holding each other in a tiny cot.  Elena’s lost twin brothers, born too early.  He felt a pang at that, that she’d never known them but still remembered them at her ofrenda.  He wondered who she’d be if she’d known them.
        “I like to think they’ll come back, to someone else who’s body can carry them and give them a full life out here.  Sometimes I like to think maybe they’re the Castillo twins.”  She smiled when she caught him running a thumb over the ceramic figures.  He nodded.
        “Like…like reincarnation?”
        “You’re the first person I’ve told that who knew what I was talking about.” Bruno ducked his head, rubbing at his neck, running his hands over the marigolds in their pots, orange and yellow and gold and red.  
        “You might  have noticed I spend a lot of time in the library…”
        “And here I thought that was because you were all arrecha to screw the librarian?”  She bumped his hip with hers as he sputtered, his neck burning.   “Help me hang the papel picado, and we’ll see where the day takes us, hm?”
        He took an end of the bright banner and held it up while she tacked it in neat little arches over her picture wall and across her ceiling, using a rickety step ladder that had him flinching with each creak as she looped the skull festooned streamers through her home.  In between the arches were little lead and glass suncatchers of hummingbirds, frogs, snakes and butterflies.  She must have collected them over the years, many were reminiscent of Pamela's apprentice days.  They didn't really detract from the skulls.
        “Little morbid, aren’t they?” he asked once he got a good look at the place.  Bright as the streamers were, he’d seen too many actual skulls in his visions to really appreciate the aesthetic.  Elena shrugged.

“I don’t think so.  It’s more to let my dead know they’re welcome tomorrow.  I think it’s sweet.  Your body changes but you’re still you, you know?”

He nodded, distracted by something he’d seen on the ofrenda, a hand-drawing that seemed familiar.  He pulled it out from the pot of peace lilies it had been hiding behind and nearly dropped it.  His father.

“...Elena…?” he croaked, too many implications swirling in his brain at once to speak more.  His father.  She’d put a picture of his father on her ofrenda.  Her ofrenda for her family.  What was she trying…what was she saying…what…?

She took the picture and took his hand, leading him to her sofa.  

“Bruno, don’t read too much into it, ok?”

“You…you put him up…con tu familia…” he said, pleading silently she’d understand what he was trying to say, and she stroked one cheek before kissing the other.  “Tonto…”

“It’s not a hint at anything if that’s where your brain is going.  I just, you know, didn’t know if you would be here or at your house tomorrow.  If you were here, I wanted him to be able to visit you.”

She said it so easily, and his heart was still thudding in his chest.  Did she really not see how astonished he was?  To offer this, so nonchalantly, no more an issue than handing him a glass of water.

“You’ve seen his picture what, ten times?  At most?  How did you…?  It looks just like him…  This is…”

“It helps that his son takes after him so much,” she giggled, scooting up close to him, holding the image next to his face.  “Same eyebrows.  Same cheekbones. Same hair if he’d worn it long, I think.  Same smile.”

He sniffed, running a hand over his face.  “Weak chin?  Bucket ears? Please. And this…nariz hinchad--OW!”

He rubbed ruefully at his chest, she’d snagged his chest hair through his shirt and twisted, taking a few strands with her.  She glared at him.

“You be nice to mi amante!  I happen to like how he looks, thank you.”   She took him by the cheeks and ran her hands through his hair, making sure to run her thumbs down the shell of his ears before pulling him towards her and kissing the tip of his nose, pressing a fast kiss to his lips and then biting smartly at his chin.  She peppered his face with little kisses and pecks until he wasn’t sure if he was red from embarrassment or her lipstick smearing on him, fanning her away as he laughed, wiping his face and quietly reveling in the attention.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop, I’ll stop!  Cosa loca…”

“Good,” she said resolutely.  “Your Papá was a handsome man.  And his son is even more handsome, even if he doesn’t believe it.”

She pulled him from the sofa and grabbed her purse, propping the window for Chacha to fly in, chittering at them both before landing on her shoulder and preening that stray curl.  He let him lead her out the door, his father’s sketch placed back on the ofrenda beside the vision plate, which she said she always placed so her papá could see her progress, on top of the stack of books she’d placed in offering to her family, readers all.

They made a stop at Senóra Flores’ stall, running into abuelita Ximena and Silvia, both buying flowers for their own dead.  Silvia had three bouquets of orange marigold, cockscomb, and baby’s breath, Ximena two of purple sword lilies and yellow marigolds.

Elena surprised him by making a selection of yellow, violet, and white chrysanthemums, a small spray of blue and orange, and a single red.  She bought four plain novena candles as well, the glass carefully settled in her big woven purse.  He made his own selection, gentian and geranium and a candle for his father, and a red calla lily and a broad clematis surrounded by sunny yarrow sprigs that he pulled her aside to tuck into her chignon, smiling as she blushed.  

The Encanto’s cemetery was tucked out of the way, the land arable enough to grow a vibrant cloak of creeping thyme, multicolored and fragrant as they walked along among the headstones.  A chill ran up Bruno’s back as he entered under the gate, and he dropped a coin to the dirt before pressing it into the ground with his heel, his thumbs tucked into his hands as Elena waited.  She let him take his time, smiling at the coin and doing the same with a centavo.  She surprised him then, biting the stem of the red chrysanthemum short and flicking it over the gates before buttoning his left shirt pocket and slipping the flower inside, taking his wrist in silence so his thumbs could stay tucked and letting him lead the way.  

        He led her back to the very edge of the cemetery.  He hadn’t thought about why so many of the dates were so close together the few times he’d come here as a child, had been too stubborn to come as an adult.  Now he knew.

His father’s grave was simple, just his name, date of birth, and his month and year of death.  None of the original refugees could remember when or how long they’d started running.  He knew he’d been a newborn.  To hear his mother tell it, his father had passed the same day they were all born, but after seeing his sisters fresh from having babies, he doubted whether that was entirely accurate.  It was close enough to not matter.  He hoped his father had gotten a day at least to have time with them before everything went to hell.

He knelt off to the side, knowing his father’s body was actually below changed how he’d normally settle in.  The cemetery always made his skin tingle and crawl, but he’d tolerate it for this.  Elena squeezed his shoulder and kissed his hair, leaving a small bunch of flowers on his father’s headstone before backing away, finding her parents and Guillermo’s graves somewhere in the middle of the plots.  He watched her go, and appreciated her giving him his privacy.  He set the candle out of the wind and guarded the flame until it was solid.

‘Are you laughing yet?  I would be.’  He thought, taking another coin from his pocket and using it to loosen some tenacious lichen that someone had missed last year.  His family would be by tomorrow he knew, but he was here now and there was no need to leave something for them when he could take care of it.  He let the careful scraping lull him as he continued.

‘I know I’m un idiota.  It only took me a week to figure out I felt the same.  Now I can’t even say it to her.  I’m trying.’

He touched the chrysanthemum she’d stuck in his pocket and smiled.  ‘Got any pointers, viejo?  Dreams?  Anything?  I can’t keep up with her forever, but she loves my old ass anyway.’  He turned at a laugh, odd in a cemetery, to see Silvia and Elena at Guillermo’s grave, Elena splayed on the ground having tried to help Silvia up.  The little spray of blue and orange sat beside a pink bouquet.  Silvia’s yerno’s helped her to her feet, one of them having brought a folding stool, and Elena made her way to her parent’s grave, giving the woman a fond hug.

‘She put your picture up this year.  But not one for him.’  Bruno told his father, working on a different patch of moss now, thumbing at the wet mark left behind.  ‘She deserves better than me.  Would you hate me for not letting her go unless she wants to leave?’  He sighed, and twisted his fingers, staring into the flame of the candle, as if that would give him some kind of answer.  It flickered back and forth strongly, a curl of wick popping.  ‘I don’t know what I’m doing, and this is my only chance.  But I can’t hold her back for me.  I’d rather be alone than hurt her.’

He looked back again.  Elena was laying down in the space between her parents’ headstones, one hand behind her head, the other hand up in the air, talking animatedly about something he couldn’t quite pick out.  It was a surreal and serene image, her royal blue skirt and peach blouse complemented by the violet and white flowers of the creeping thyme, her hair spilling where she’d let it down, the flowers he’d tucked there laid on her chest.  That she felt so at ease among her dead astounded him, but maybe it shouldn’t have.  With the things her father had told her, with Sofia’s Victorian fascination with morbidity, it made an odd sort of sense.   He smiled, and turned back to his father’s grave, hoping somehow he could hear him.

“I’m going to do my best to keep her if she’ll have me.  She thinks I’ll let her go.  I…can’t.  Not unless she asks me to.  I love her.”  If the candle flared brighter at his words, or if it was just a trick of a breeze too small to feel he didn’t know.  But his grin widened as she came back, patting his shoulder and asking if he was ready to go.  He placed a flower on two graves Elena couldn’t make out the names for and stood, rubbing one last piece of lichen off the headstone, still thinking.  ‘Now just give me the courage to actually say it to her and make her stop doubting.’  

They found themselves back at her loft when she’d said all she’d wanted to say.  He noticed she left far fewer flowers on her maternal abuelos graves, and given Sofia had to learn her harshness somewhere, he couldn’t say he was surprised.  He’d been on the receiving end of a cuff or two from Patrico, and Valencia had near twisted his ear off once as a child when he’d been caught chasing her guineas with a stick.  If they had been like that to him after he’d gotten his gift, he couldn’t imagine what Sofia’s home life had been like.

It was still early, and he had planned to bring her to comida with his family, but plans had changed with her restlessness and he’d been hypnotized by the sway of her skirts the whole way back.  He shooed Chacha outside with an apology, not wanting the parrot to be a chatterbox at his sobrino if he could help it.  Elena had laughed at him when he’d started putting the pictures on her ofrenda face down, but he’d just pulled her into a kiss and laughed along with her.

“Look, I know you’re a bit of a show-off, but can we not have your dead relatives haunting me because I showed my skinny ass?”

“Eres ridiculo,” she sighed, pulling him to the sofa, shirt buttons quickly failing him as clever little hands traced down the front of his shirt.  He let her pull him from his sleeves, huffing and slipping his hands up the back of her blouse to the catch of her bra, nibbling her ear.

“Foul play, Senóra.  I believe the rule is ladies first.”  He pulled her blouse and bra off in one swift motion, crouching and cupping her breasts in his hands, holding them up as he thumbed her nipples, laving each pebbled tip before running his tongue up her cleavage, slick and slow, and pausing, curling around to the side of first one breast and then the other, kissing and nipping lovebites into the tender skin just where her blouse would cover.  Her hands made it to his hair, her sighs ticklish across his scalp as he continued, the gentle scrub of his stubble raising pink lines across her flesh before he dove to the center, burying his mouth and nose against her sternum, surrounded by the softness of her chest.

        He moved and fisted her skirt, trailing his fingers up the line of her leg, stroking back down when he left gooseflesh in his wake.  His hand curled up, up, up her thigh, hitting nothing but silky skin, and he gripped her and swore, the nipple he’d suckled soft falling from his mouth with a wet pop as he gazed up at her, blood slamming through his veins and down into his cock, straining to full attention in seconds and forcing a whine from his throat.

Elena’s lips curved up wickedly, and she nodded to the couch, lifting his chin with a single finger, tracing his bottom lip with her thumb, giggling at his disbelief.  

“You…you went to the…went to the cemetery without…without any…any... gah!?”

“Such an eloquent man,” she teased, her hands tracing his waistband before sliding the buckle of his belt loose and making short work of his buttons.  “It’s not like the dead are getting a show, unless you plan on dying on me for real today.”

His mouth quirked up at that, and he let his surprise slide away, tracing the line of her throat with his thumb and then his tongue before nipping gently.  That little bold streak did things to him.  His other hand trailed back, stroking her neat curls and the swift slickening flesh they hid, taunting the very tip of her slit and her hood lightly as she swayed into his touch.

“I don’t plan on dying unless it’s inside of you, querida.  Let’s see how much we can cheat the reaper today.”

He chased the whine up her throat with his tongue as she pulled him free, his cock heavy and already leaking, hot in her hand as she pumped him slowly, sucking in his bottom lip as one finger flitted out on the downstroke to tease his balls.  A shiver traveled down his legs, and he gripped her by the waist and hauled her onto the couch, hands tangled in her skirts.  His fingers found her soaking and he slid two inside with no resistance, spreading her wetness up to her clit until she was so slippery he had to switch to his calloused thumb just to stay in place, pressing, sliding, circling as she clenched around him, her fingers tangled and pulling in his curls as he nibbled the underside of her breast, licking the tender skin rubbed red by her bra and tugging at her nipple with his teeth.  He ground against her leg, leaving a trail of precum down her thigh, staining her tattoo.  

He swiped it away and she snatched his hand, sucking the salty fluid clean and swirling her tongue around the pads of his fingers, clamping down on his other hand as she swallowed his digits down to the palm.  His mind went blank as his cock jerked against her leg and his belly, and a third finger slipped inside her, collecting slick and massaging her tight ring of muscle, waiting for her to breath in and working his index finger inside slowly before he froze.

“Is…is this ok?  Do you…I can…”

“Cristo en fuego, don’t fucking stop!” she cried and yanked his hair, the bright line of pain and her words going straight to his cock, jerking against him again and leaking against her leg.  He took the fingers with her spit coating them and pressed them into her gripping heat, his mouth alternating at her breasts, his index finger curling and slowly, slowly edging forward past her tight ring,  

Elena was on fire.  The push of his fingers in her cunt while he worked her ass was tearing her down to cinders, the little veil of muscle inside her all that separated his fingers, fluttering against every wall, every nerve, every blinding spark of sensation railing up her spine as she gripped against him, the salt of his precum still on her tongue and his hands tearing her towards sweet oblivion, his breath across her skin the humid caress of a hotspring, the weight of him between her legs there and whole and right and not enough.  She was spiraling away, the pinch of desire twisting behind her eyes as her body seared and stretched and burned and moaned, melting against him.

He went to lick her, but much as she loved that ravenous tongue she needed more, and pulled him up by his hair, her heart racing and the furious ache he’d stoked between her legs screaming to be filled as she hooked a leg around his.

“Inside.  Inside, now,” she begged, cupping her hand low and squeezing him, giving him a few quick pumps and guiding him to her dripping entrance.

He pulled his fingers free of her cunt and sucked them clean, twisting to brace himself against the arm of the sofa, swearing as he slid inside her, tight and used and quivering and so, so slick from his hand.

She cried out, clamping around him, the slip of his foreskin and the blunted ridge of his cockhead delving against every inch of her walls, and she jolted so harshly when he hit that ruffled patch of flesh and the tip of her cervix she knocked him off balance, crashing into her chest, just aware enough to turn his face to the side to keep their heads from smashing together.  

Bruno huffed and shifted, biting at the line of her neck and her earlobe as he pulled out almost entirely before slamming back, grabbing her leg and folding it up over his shoulder.  She hissed at the stretch beneath him, dragging her nails down his back in bright lines of pain and spurring him on harder, grinding his pelvis against her each time he bottomed out and rolling his hips, huffing into her neck and smothering her writhing cries as he bit her lip, something wild breaking loose and driving him on as her nails scored lines down his shoulders and up his ass as she panted in his ear, voice rough and high and pleading.  

“...Bruno…ay, Bruno…más, por dios!”

She yanked his hair, red slashing across his vision and straight down to his cock and he shifted again, hand sliding down around her thigh, pressing and squeezing and groping.  He slid his thumb between them, gathering slick from under his cock and stroking at the tight ring of her ass, listening to her moans and waiting until she gasped for air before slipping his thumb past the ring of muscle, and Elena screamed beneath him, rearing her hips up to meet his and his hand, her head bent back so far the whole column of her neck was exposed to him, thrashing ecstatic, wretched and beautiful in her ruin.  She pulsed around him with a guttural shriek, the hand in his hair twisting as she came, jerking his head to the side.

He was not about to stop, too desperate to have her fall apart around him again, too focused on her glorious shattering when a flash of green caught his eye.  The sun was glinting on the vision on her ofrenda, right in his face, emerald knives lancing straight through to his brain.  Elena brought her arms around his back, scratching at his shoulders, lead slamming into his gut and heart at once as his head spun and his eyes blazed, blinding him, head splitting.  “No.  Not now!  Jodiamente cristo, for fuck sake, no!” he hissed as jade and emerald and malachite flooded into his eyes, blocking out everything else.  Blocking out Elena’s panicked calling his name, her little fists shaking him as he faded back into his head.

He’d seen the damned thing a dozen times, but now it jolted cold through his brain, unlocking something hidden deep and setting memories flashing before his eyes.  He slid down from where they sprawled, slipping out of her as his muscles failed and he crashed to the floor, his head striking the tiles hard, his vision blurred with a sickening acid swirl.  He heard Elena's muffled shriek and fading cries as she was jostled, but he couldn't see her, his vision completely taken over by green light.

A thread of time and the thrashing slosh of his stomach dragged him back in his mind, to over twenty years before.  He was inside and outside his body at once, lost in mist and able to sense his pasts self’s mind, a ghost of memory as two hearts beat off rhythm in his chest, two minds spiraled and trailed.  He felt the phantom of a heart beating frantically, his current heart, not the young one that hadn’t been weakened by ten years of isolation.  He tried to shake the fog, the floating, trapped further in his head than he’d ever fallen.  He felt the chill of a flopsweat begin, but the body he half inhabited was dry as the sand of his tower.  

His phantom heart hammered faster in his hollow ribs, beating frantic against the air, a swift crushed in his fist. This wasn’t death, it couldn’t be.   He’d been closer than this.  This was something else, something new, some cruel trick of his cursed gift that had thrown him back inside his past head, watching himself live through younger eyes.  He knew this day, had lived it before, though he had never remembered it clearly.

It was early Julio, and the heat outside had made its way even to his shaded room.  He’d been letting Julieta relax in the cooler shade of his bedroom hidden stories below, his poor sister overheated healing the town, just in her second trimester with the baby that would be Luisa.  She had hollered up the stairs that he had a visitor and she’d leave him to it, and the day had spiraled out of control.

He stood before Hebér Pascual.  The stocky, sandy haired man who usually towered over a crowd was red in the face and panting from the stairs, seated comfortably on the gritty floor of his vision cave, fanning himself with his sombrero.  Bruno had offered him a glass of water, which he took, making sure to tell Bruno to wash it well before coughing bloodily into a cloth.  His tuberculosis, chronic and incurable even with Julieta’s gift, was agitated by the floating particles of the room, and Bruno had felt guilty for his new policy of making guests climb his stairs.

“How can I help you today Senór?  I don’t believe we’ve met, officially.”  He’d asked, trying to sound confident.  He’d just sent away Padre Conseco, who, despite liking what he had seen for the upcoming visit by the Bishop next year, had fretted at his carefully arranged hair being undeniably gone in the vision tablet.  Bruno had not looked forward to the upcoming Sunday’s confession, and was very, very tempted to skip.  He’d shaken his head, clearing his mind, and waited for Senór Pascual to catch his breath.

“I’m planning on taking over the bibliotheca from Senór Geraldo, and opening a bookshop and Café in the building next door, combining them.  I can’t support my family any longer working in the coffee fields, not like this.  I just want to know if my Elena and Sofia will be taken care of after I’m gone, or if I need to go down a different route.”

“A worthy concern.  I’ll do my best.  Keep in mind, Senór, I only see what’s ahead.  I have no effect on it.”

“I know chamaco, no worries.” Senór Pascual had said with a smile, settling in and watching with interest as Bruno gathered his supplies.  Small piles of benzoin resin to sooth and copal resin to ground him, a few palo santo shavings he cut himself from a branch he kept for this purpose to purify the air, and leaves of rue and mimosa to ward off bad luck.  All sat in clay pinch pots in a tidy little diamond shape in the center around a small fire.  He’d placed Gomez, his piebald rat friend, on an alcove he’d dug out for him to keep him safe during visions.  He drew out his circle of sand around the area he would be working in.

“You should cover your face, Senór.  It’s going to get very…ah…dusty in here, in a moment.” He warned, handing a bandana to the older man, who nodded and took it without complaint, thankful for the consideration to his illness.

Bruno took his gilded matchbox from his pocket as he sat down, striking the match and lighting the small fires in a clockwise motion.  He had let the sweet-scented smoke spiral upwards for a moment before holding out his hands for Hebér to take.  The man’s hands had dwarfed his own, heavy and already knotted with arthritis, thick with calluses and scars, pinky missing on the left. Bruno had felt a rush of shame, unbidden, at the thought that this man had worked so hard all his life while Bruno himself hid away in his tower, making a living telling people news they didn’t want to hear.  

He had shaken the errant thought, and closed his eyes, taking a breath and focusing on the question asked of him, reaching for that space in his mind that felt like the turbulent swirl of a whirlpool, where time gave way to a floating, pulling sensation.  Once he found it and grabbed onto the strand of time, he had opened his eyes, reflexively clamping down on Hebér’s hands, having had far too many people jerk away and ruin the process.  Hebér didn’t flinch at the brilliant glowing green.

The sands swirled around them, images flashing before the men.  Gawky young Elena and a weaker looking Hebér laughing as they flicked coffee foam at each other, testing new machines.  Hebér and Sofia placing books on shelves, smiling.  Hebér building something with rope and branches. All three Pascuals unloading large sacks of coffee beans off a wagon, Hebér struggling.  Money exchanging hands.

It shifted then; an older, adult Elena, her hair cut short, standing beside her mother at a tombstone, both ashen faced.  Elena, thinner and pained with short hair still, kneeling before two headstones, weeping.  Then Elena, a few years older, possibly Bruno’s age now, leading a laden wagon into the Encanto with a split-lipped grin and a black eye, arm in a makeshift sling.  Last, furthest away in the span as Bruno started to lose his grasp the thread he held onto, pain lancing through him and pulling at his chest, hold weakening along with his body as he drained himself to peer through time, pulling sights from far in the future; Elena, a few years older still, splayed on a sofa with her hands clasped around the bare back of a thin man with curly hair. 

Bruno froze, his younger self and older self vibrating, hearts hammering and skin buzzing and soul swirling in a viridian flood.  A backwards trace, a trail left by time, pulling him through a thousand cycling spirals, stretched thin and compressed, existing in two places at once, his younger self reaching through time to see the moment now, seeing it in the past as he lived it, Elena’s hands burning bright and ephemeral against him and disappearing, separating him from the twisting tunnel of his vision as he fell back into the background of himself twenty years previous, and watched the vision continue, searing into his brain.  He could feel his younger self weakening, dragging himself through time, knowing this vision had been hard on him but never remembering, never knowing why until now.  The last image. 

Elena, the same age or a little older, sitting outside the café surrounded by flowers, a fond smile on her face as she looked to the side.  

His visions usually aligned themselves centrally on their plates, but that was not always the case.  Sometimes they looked more like a photography mistake, with things peeping in around the edges, usually when two timelines met up at a point asked for by only one side.  That was the case in this one.  Off to the left in her line of sight stood the curly-haired man holding a small child.  He had seen Hebér’s expression grow bright, before the man in the vision turned, and Bruno faltered, seeing his own face, older and lined and framed with gray streaked hair, his face now, staring back at him, the little boy in his arms an exact copy of him in his youth.  

His concentration had broken and he’d barely had time to catch the tablet before it fell, hands trembling as his full vision returned.  Hebér had looked at him critically as he’d handed the emerald sheet over, shamefaced and staring at his feet.  Elena was fifteen, nothing more than a child.  He cringed away, waiting for a blow that never landed.

Hebér stood, studying the vision plate seriously, thumb tracing over Elena’s face.

“Your visions are always true, yes?”

“I—yes, they are.  Senór.  Lo—lo siento…”

“How old is mi Lenita in this, do you think?  Can you tell, from the visions?” He asked, tilting the vision so that Bruno could see it, though he hadn’t needed to, the image had carved itself into his brain, present and past.  Bruno had swallowed nervously.

“It’s not…not precise.  I can guess.  My age now…maybe older?”

“And when she has the short hair?  From the sands?”

Bruno remembered having been surprised.  Most people didn’t pay attention to the images in the sands once they had their plate.  Hebér had laughed humorlessly.  

“I am not the smartest man, but I have a good memory, Senór Madrigal.  How old?”

“Maybe…maybe ten years from now.  G-give or take.”

“And the wagon. With the bruised eye?”

“Beyond—beyond the…the burials.  Before the…storefront…”

Hebér had contemplated the vision a while longer.  His face was grim and his brow furrowed.  Bruno had scuffed his feet and worried his hands, unsure what to do but wanting desperately to be anywhere else.  It was rare for someone to stay so long, and Hebér's critical gaze was scraping his nerves raw.  Finally the older man had looked up, his face strangely blank.  

“So.  Correct me if I get anything wrong. Going off the sands and this vision, my shops will succeed, but I won’t live to see it.  Neither will mi esposa.  But my Elena will.  And it will be hard for her."

“Y-yes.  That.  That sounds right.”

“And I will have a grandchild I will never see?”  Bruno had nodded, hand trembling over his mouth, afraid to speak.  Even ill and pale from consumption, Hebér Pascual had been an imposing man, looming over him by at least a foot, built like a bull. “And do you appear in your visions often, Senór Madrigal?”  

Bruno had shaken his head, sweating and pale at the cold edge to the words and the suspicious glint in the man's eye.  His older heart slammed against his chest, the sick swell of nausea shared across time too much.

“Only…only people part of the…part of the v-vision appear…” he’d choked out, nausea rising bitterly in his throat as Hebér voiced the thought that had sent him reeling.

“So.  You will be the child’s father?”

Bruno had said nothing, feeling sick and falling back against the wall with a mournful groan, hiding his face in his hands.  

“Do you have any designs towards my daughter, Senór Madrigal?  Have you approached her in this way?” Hebér asked quietly, his gravelly voice low, a sharp edge cutting through the soft sound of the falling sand.

“No.  No!  I don’t even…she is a child!  I would never…Never!” he had croaked out, trying his best to fight down the bile threatening to choke him, eyes flying and wild with panic.  Of all the things the town accused him of,that was one that he'd never had laid against him.  The implication alone made his gorge rise, his throat constricting as his stomach fought its way up his esophagus. 

Senór Pascual had surprised him then, giving his shoulder a shake, heavy hand tight but not hostile.  

“I will be long gone by the time that child enters the world.  You will both be older then.  You are not by her side in the rest of the visions.  I have seen you with your hermanas, your sobrinas, in town.  You seem an honorable enough man who cares for his family, and I don’t think you would leave her alone in times like that.  So.  Whatever is to be between you and Elena will come later.”

Bruno gave a numb nod, eyes darting, desperate for an out, but Hebér continued, his grip on his shoulder tightening sharply.  

“But I will not have my only child trapped by this vision.  She is a romantic girl beneath everything, and would set her sights on this, on you, before she's had a chance to experience anything else.  Say nothing to her of this. When it is your time, take care of her.  But until then, let her live her life.”

Bruno only nodded again, mouth full of sour bile as he held back his nausea.  He looked on in fear as Hebér let go and took out his knife, his heart in his throat right next to his stomach. He didn't have any of his emergency stash on him, Gomez wasn't fast enough to get something from the kitchens.  If he got shivved up here it was over.  He was puzzled the next moment as the man knelt in the sand, finding a stone and placing the vision plate on it, the edge of the rock between the image of himself and Elena.  He scored a line down the plate before bringing his arm down in one strong stroke, the handle of the knife splitting the plate cleanly along the pressure line.  

He stood, the two pieces in his hands, and handed the smaller one to Bruno; thick, knotted fingers clamping around his and the vision shard painfully.  

“Forget this if you can for now, boy.  Elena’s a smart girl, she’ll notice if the Madrigals don’t come to the shop at all, and everyone in town knows you're a reader.  But watch yourself.  If I catch you sniffing around her before she’s grown…” He gave his knife a nonchalant toss and set it smoothly back in his belt. 

“You won’t!  I swear, please!  She’s just a…just a child.  I...I would never!  Never!”

“One day, you will. But no day soon. Just so we understand each other, Bruno Madrigal.  I’ll say I dropped this and no one needs to be any the wiser.”

With that, Hebér had left him standing there, holding a jagged shard of emerald, gripping it so tightly his fingers bled around it as he sank to the floor, sick to his stomach and shaking, nerves raw.  He wasn’t sure how long he had lain there with his own face staring back at him as he held his future.  He had barely been aware of Elena Pascual before that day, other than the rare occasion where she babysat Isabela or Dolores.  She was a quiet but energetic teen with spots on her face, fond of wearing men’s pants and chasing the local monkeys and getting into fights at school.  A child.  That somehow his fate was tied with, some nebulous time in the future.  

Half the village was already afraid of him, terrified he caused the things he saw after a rash of horrible luck that had started with Consuela Rivera losing an eye and ended with the man who had just left, the last victim of the tuberculosis outbreak.  He knew if Hebér said anything that people would turn on him entirely, calling him a pervert, a predator and worse, not waiting and not caring for the actual reality the shard showed.  And Elena, she’d be ostracized as well, shunned for her association with him, regardless of it existed in the current time or not.  He’d been down that road too long, knew they didn't care when the future would happen, just that it would and assumed the worst.  He had known Hebér would not risk his daughter’s reputation now, wouldn't say anything when he'd threatened him into silence.  But Bruno had also known his complete inability to keep his mouth shut or his nerves under control when he was in the throes of a panic attack.  And there was exactly no way he would not be having them constantly.  Already he had felt his vision fading, light headed, heart clenching as nausea rolled through him.  Senór Pascual had been right.  He needed to forget.       

He was thrown out of his younger self, the feelings a ghost of thought again, and he watched as the final pieces slid into place, molten emerald slashing and burning a curving line through his chest, digging past muscle and bone and linking hot in a tight band around his stuttering heart. 

His younger self flew down the stairs, tripping and falling at one point, tumbling down a solid flight.  He nearly ended it there, the emerald shard he was holding slicing through his ruana and shirt and across his chest, opening a searing line over his heart, his whole arm and chest going numb from the wound out.  He ran, slipping on blood, ignoring the sting and the pain and the blackness closing in, until he was out, the vibrant colors of Casita blinding him for a moment after the monochrome of his cave.  He slipped across the tiles, screaming for his sister as he pitched towards her room.  Julieta had come running to him, catching him and trying to calm him down.  He had broken down, sobbing, thrusting the vision at her.  

“I need to forget!  I need to forget!  He’ll kill me if I don’t!  Ayúdame, Juli, por dios!”  He had cried, his sister completely flummoxed as to what to do with him.  

She’d brought him into her room, sitting him down and trying to get him to breathe as she frantically cleaned the wound on his chest, washing it down with stinging antiseptics and pressing bandages into the bleed.

"Bruno, I need you to calm down!  You're bleeding like a stuck pig and just making it worse flailing around!"  His hands clutched at her, eyes pleading, begging her to understand without having to say it, but she'd just kept trying to comfort him, and he grew desperate.

"Vision....look at...the vision!"

She had looked at the bloodstained shard then, eyes going wide as things crashed into place.  "Who, Bruno?  Who will kill you?  Why would someone hurt you over this?  Over a...child...?  Your...child?"

"Hebér Pascual!  He--he...asked for a...a vision of his shops.  I saw his daughter.  With me.  With our...with our...Juli, she's only fifteen!  I'm not a--I'm not!  No, no no no..." He had fallen sobbing back into her arms, opened chest bleeding all down her front as she shushed him, placing the bloody vision shard down on the floor as she rocked him, one hand holding pressure on the gash still.

"Please stop moving, you're just opening it up more!  Bruno, you're so much older in this.  This isn't you today.  I don't understand."

"You know I can't--can't keep my mouth sh-shut when I'm n-nervous...I'd say something st-stupid!  We can't just sn-snub a whole business...Juli, please!  If I don't remember I'll never say!  She'll never have to know, it doesn't have to happen!  You know how everyone will be to her if they find out about this!  I don't want to ruin her life!  You know what the town thinks of me!  What would they do to her?  I'd ruin her, I'd ruin her, I'd ruin her!  Julieta, please, please!"  His hands were twisted in her apron, and for a moment he could feel the thudding heart of his younger self, the pain in his jaw and sick twisting of his gut at the raw scrape of his future condemning him, closing in to make him the end of that poor girl's life before it had even begun if word got out.  His head echoed a scream from his younger self, knowing seeing the fear.  To take pity on the lonely man for a night was one thing.  To be bound to the bad omen, to give him a family and spread his curse was another, and unforgivable.   

He recognized this as the last crisis he'd never remembered that had sent him finally spiraling into what he'd become in his forties, the spark of fear that had taken his superstitions, already too strong, and twisted them into a compulsion that he couldn't break, the forgotten point where he'd stopped trusting the town and started carrying a shard of a vision.  The promise of a man he respected out of concern for his daughter had marked him body and soul.  There was a slipping, an easement opened in his mind, a break that filled with the colibrí-bright memories of Elena as she had been and as she was, drowning him and building him back stronger as he watched his younger self make the worst decision he hadn't even known to regret.

He watched the heartbroken look his sister had given him then, the fierce hug she gave his younger self, the tears he hadn't seen.  She stepped away to get the rest of her supplies, more antiseptics and warm washcloths and a jar of soft handmade coconut candy she kept for the family to use in a pinch.  She had cleaned him up more thoroughly and force-fed him, healing his wounds, fretting that the slice on his chest sealed but didn't disappear, leaving an ugly, puckering scar that would always ache when it rained or during visions.  Then she'd gotten to work.  He hadn't know what was in the bittersweet mixture she made, but as he drank and the memories slipped out of his mind, he hadn't cared. 

He jolted back into the present, Elena shaking him and calling his name as the green faded from his vision.  "Bruno, please wake up!  Talk to me, please!" She looked like she'd seen a ghost.  Maybe she had, his trance visions left him eerily still.  He could feel the stickiness of blood on his face, trailing from nose to chin.  He stood stiffly, focused on one thing, barely enough thought to tuck himself back in his pants.  He was blind to Elena as she slid away, numbly straightening her clothes as she begged him to explain, pleaded for him to say something, rising to follow him, her hands flitting around him, wounded moths dancing in his vision.  There was a whine of panic in her voice, high pitched and shaking as she pulled at him.  He grabbed the vision plate from the ofrenda and sprinted down her stairs, taking three at a time and skidding out the café door, his heart thundering his ears as she yelled after him, her voice laced with fear. 

He stormed up the path to his house, seeing the family eating comida outside, enjoying the sun.  Mirabel noticed him and waved, but her hand fell when she saw the state he was in, furious and covered in blood.  She cried out, terrified, and Julieta stood as he changed course just enough to grab her arm. 

"We're talking.  Now." he hissed as he pulled her along, surprising her.  She tried to protest, but when she saw the framed vision plate in his other hand she stilled, and knew.  Her heart slipped its moorings and danced up to her throat and down to her stomach, the twenty year anticipation of this very moment breaking loose and swirling nauseous in her belly as her brother shed all pretense of nerves and dragged her to her door, shaking and bloody and lost as he'd been that day all those years ago.

"Open your door.  I'm not talking about this where people can hear."  She obliged, and as they stepped in he rounded on her, kicking it shut and shaking her by her shoulders, not sure which one of them was shaking more. 

"How much?  How much have I had you make me forget?  How long have you known? Why did you never say anything?" He shouted, voice high and dripping with fury. 

Julieta flinched, and he stilled before he broke, all the anger draining from him as he dropped her arms like they burned, horrified at the fear in her eyes.  Julieta took him in her arms as a shuddering sob left him, furious at himself for his temper and his weakness.  His sister steered him to sit, handed him a spare shirt, and went to her cedar chest.

“...siento, lo siento! Juli…please…lo siento.  I shouldn’t have been…like that.  I just…We lost so much…we lost so much time!  I just want to know why you never…”

“You surprised me.  But you’ve always had that temper underneath.”  Julieta shook her head, taking out sheets and blankets and spare shoes.  “There’s nothing to forgive this time, Brunito.  You have every right to be furious with me, but I had my reasons.”

She came to him then, carrying a soft green bundle and spreading it out on his lap.  He held the underside limply and watched as she unfolded it, the edges of his vision blurry with jade and tears.

A hand woven baby blanket.  And there in the center, cushioned for twenty years, so close to him and completely lost; the missing piece of the vision plate lay there, dull until she handed it to him, where it flared in his hands, gentle glow sweeping though his limp fingers.

"I've known since that day.  I made this the same year.  I'd put it all away because you’d asked me to make you forget.  I…I hid it when you left.  It went out, like your door.  We thought you'd died, Bruno.  We didn't know what the door going out meant.  We didn't know.  Dolores couldn't tell us she heard you for years because she was half convinced she was hearing your ghost and terrified she was going crazy.  We thought…Bruno, my poppy extract went missing and you'd been fighting depression for years, we thought you’d killed yourself!  We didn't know." She took a shaky breath and took his hands, trying to rub warmth back into his nerveless fingers.  

"Ten years went by.  Then you were back and we had no gifts and I'd completely forgotten, focused on everything else, trying to get everything back to normal."

Bruno nodded numbly, fingers trapped and studying the fabric clutched in them.  Alpaca wool in a tight weave, the pale green of a ripe avocado, embroidered with gently lapping waves in sage and forest green and soft, so soft.  It was a large piece, four foot by four foot, and had clearly taken hours on the loom and in the hoops, the threads packed so tightly that heat would be trapped and tiny fingers couldn't pull the strands loose.  The edges were soft, lined with an evergreen silk so soft it almost hurt him to touch, his nerves burning.  His hands shook.

"The blanket.  For...for him...when...?"

"Something to hope for.  We all saw you during the rebuilding, flitting around each other but never really connecting.  No one but you missed how she was around her when she was younger.  I didn't say anything then because I remembered, and Hebér was still alive, and you were so, so afraid that day.  You were sick with it.  You'd sliced your chest open near to the bone and hadn't even noticed.  It took me so long to bring you back."  She paused again, regret shaking her. 

"There…there was one night…you’d come back from...from the bar.  You were sick for days after.  You kept saying her name but you didn’t remember anything once you’d gotten over the episode.  I…I was going to say something soon then if you didn’t remember but…Then things just…went to hell that year.   And then you were gone.” 

“I was going to say something soon, but then you came together on your own.  I didn't want to scare either of you away.  I was afraid it would change this.  You deserve the chance to be happy, Bruno.  I was so afraid of ruining it for you."

"Who else...who else knew?"

"No one.  But they all asked, when they saw you light up, that first night, when you started smarting off to Mamá more like you used to, before things got bad.  They all knew something was different.  I didn't tell them anything, just assured them they were right, that this was different. Agustín knew something was going on, but doesn't know this."

He took the backing off the frame with ginger fingers, Elena's half of the plate flaring up brighter under his touch as well, and placed the smaller piece next to it, completing the image.  He replaced the backing, his hands shaking, and turned the frame around.  He felt his heart clench tightly at the completed picture, his own face, his current face, staring back at him, his future so close.  The little boy in his arms haunting him, a ghost of a dream long since forgotten flaring to life in his chest as he ran his hands down the cool glass of the frame.  Water droplets marred the surface, and he looked up in confusion, wondering when Pepa had come in, when he realized it was just his own tears.  Julieta's hand lit on his shoulder, and he broke, huddling over the picture frame and hanging his head, mournful and grateful and fearful at once, elation and terror clashing within him as he shook in ecstatic fear at the future he held in his hands, set in stone.

The only warning they had was Dolores squeaking and covering Antonio's ears, Mariano taking the hint and covering hers in turn.  

"Where is he?!  Where the hell is he?!  You don't get to leave me half-fucked on my couch and run out like a madman, covered in blood looking like you had another seizure, not saying one damn fucking word, Bruno Madrigal! Where is he?!" Elena shrieked as she charged up the path, face red and tear-stained, blood spattering her blouse and skirt, hair wild, fists clenched and feet bare. 

Félix tried to catch her, but she brushed him off, sweeping past the shocked faces at the lunch table with her skirt bunched in her hand.

"Elena, he isn't well.  He's had some kind of episode.  He's...He's with Julieta..."

"He'll be a lot less well if he doesn't COME OUT and tell me what the hell he was thinking running out like that!  Let me go, Félix!" She jerked her arm, but he held on.         

"I said Let Me GO!"  She yanked free of his grip with a shout and stomped up to the house, finding the door in question and pounding furiously, tears breaking free again and her voice harsh. 

"You come out of there right now and explain yourself, Bruno!  If you've had a seizure or heart attack and run out rather than ask for help I'll carve it out myself just to shove it up your ass you infuriating son of a bitch!  Answer.  This.  Door!"

The door swung open, Julieta standing in the way with her face a mix of anger and relief.  "That's enough, Elena.  He's alright, he's not hurt.  It's...  Come in and see for yourself."  

Elena blinked and stepped in, dumbfounded and wilting as her fury melted away.  

Julieta's room was lovely.  Part library, part cozy home, and part eccentric scientist or benevolent forest witch.  Books were stacked neatly in handsome mahogany shelves.  Herbs hung fragrant and drying from the ceiling, along with jars of powders, roots, and dried berries.  Garlic and peppers and onions hung in garlands between bookshelf ends, and there were boxes labeled neatly, if somewhat ominously things like 'Bullet Ants' and 'Arrow Frog Skin.'  

Beakers and flasks and burners bubbled next to a variety of mortars and pestles and hand-powered laboratory tools.  There was a beautiful bronze microscope, and exceptionally detailed charts of the human body, horses and donkeys, and several other animals common in the Encanto.  She'd never realized how much research Julieta put into her natural gift, and it astounded her.  But she wasn't here for a tour, and peeled her eyes away from the display.

Bruno sat, cleaned up but crumpled on the edge of a blue sofa, her vision plate in its frame in his lap, limp hand keeping it from falling, the other hand pressed to his mouth as he shook, eyes closed but a green glow filtering through the swollen lids, hair falling in his face as his shoulders shook. 

Elena went to him slowly, and he held the frame to his body, preventing her from seeing what had him so upset.  She knelt in front of him, taking his hand from his mouth slowly, bringing it to her lips and cupping his cheek to try and get him to look at her, his skin slippery with tears and sweat and the quiet desperation of his sobs squaring his jaw so tightly she feared he'd crack a tooth. 

Wiry arms crushed her to him as he buried his face in her neck, his fingers clutching so tightly into her hair and the small of her back she could feel his grasping nails even through her clothes.  She let herself be held as he soaked her shoulder, his grip so tight she could barely breathe.  The frame of her vision plate dug into her ribs, and it was only when she shifted slightly to keep it from gouging a bruise into her that he came up for air, his eyes searching and lost at once as he took a single deep breath, taking hold of her upper arms and rubbing his thumbs in those slow, steady circles.  He looked to their crowded laps, and she understood, picking up the vision in its frame and turning it.

She was so used to the sight of her own section of the plate that she almost missed the fact that it was completed.  He took her nerveless hand in his and guided it on the corner, heavier now, and she followed the line of his hand to the image, the mystery of the missing piece, so long thought simply lost finally solved.   

Elena slipped the rest of the way to the floor on numb legs, her insides turned to a cold jelly that sat heavy somewhere behind her navel, her abdomen flopping sickly beneath it.  Her head was full of dandelions and silverfish, and the pressure in her right ear had popped and was now droning away, a mosquito trapped in a vacuum that she barely noticed.  She saw three faces, two familiar and one small and strange, but the dandelion fuzz floating in her brain and behind her eyes, white and thick as cotton, wouldn't let her recognize them or anything that they meant. 

There was a pain somewhere above the cold gelatinous mass in her belly, and what vision she had was going black at the edges.   Somewhere, one of Antonio's animals must have gotten loose, because she heard the frantic panting of a dog, sharp around the vacuum of her head.   Vaguely she was aware of voices, muffled by the mosquitoes now in both her ears and the misty dark blanket that had fallen over her, the smell of plant mold and mushrooms and the copper-strange taste of blood in her mouth.

Bruno joined her on the floor, ignoring the protest of his back from his change of position.  He took the plate from her hand and brushed a thumb along her lip, pulling it from her clenched teeth and saving it from further abuse, wiping the smear of blood away on his knee.  He thumbed away the tears that were staining her cheeks and rested his forehead against hers, thumbs stroking down the planes of her face from the edge of her nostrils to the shell of her ears with a gentle pressure as he held her jaw in too-warm hands and breathed with her.  His legs surrounded hers and he had trapped her limp arms under his own, squeezing her as she shook blindly through swirling hysteria so strong he could feel it running frozen under her skin, the fine hairs of her arms standing up under his palms as her pinpoint pupils jittered and danced in their sockets.

"Breathe, amada mia.  Please, breathe with me."  He knew what he'd said as soon as it was out of his mouth, but didn't care as he tried to calm her down, hammering against him like a bird clenched in his fist and just as fragile, but her breathing wouldn't still.  There was nothing his sister could do to clear a panic attack this severe, only soothe the after-effects once it passed, and he was aware at the edge of his conscious of her mixing something at her table, muttering to herself.  Elena wasn’t calming, her skin clammy and paler than he’d ever seen her, her chest vibrating against him, a rabbit in a snare.  He remembered something Félix had done for him once, when he’d been losing his mind over something.  

He placed one hand flush against her chest, and the other on the flat of her back, and pressed the breath out of her with all the strength he had until her last gasp came out as a rattling whistle.  He let her go and caught her as she inhaled shakily and fell against him, brow covered in a light sheen of sweat.

"...amada?" she asked after an eternity on the floor, and he held her more tightly, nodding once.  He could feel the question burning in her lungs, but wouldn't let her say it, wouldn't let her doubt. 

"Of course I love you," he said simply, knowing as he had for weeks it was true.  She gave a weak laugh.  "...always did want you to say it first.  Didn't think it would be in your sister's room."

"Well, I live to disappoint, then," he teased quietly, shifting away and moving to stand, trying to help her up and holding her by the waist when she stumbled, realizing she wasn't ready and sliding back down with her.  "Since you said it first, after I poured you into your bed from the dancehall." 

She gave a humorless laugh and leaned against the couch, feeling herself molding to the floor and floating on the ceiling at once, her head spinning one way and then the other.  The only part of her that felt solid were her bare ankles, where Bruno's hands tied her to the world with their slight, warm weight and their slow, tiny circles.  

"What does this mean, Bruno?" she asked finally, after taking a difficult swallow of the thick, warm avena that Julieta had handed both of them before making herself scarce.  Bruno wavered, afraid again, her eyes darting like a trapped hawk. 

"It's...It doesn't have to mean anything, if...if you don't want it too." He said, not wanting to trap her, hot wanting to scare her away.  She traced the face of the little boy in green, her own mournful. 

"But it does mean something.  This is...you're carrying a toddler.  With your face.  In my father's vision of me.   Our toddler.  Our...our son." The last words came out choked, her hand clutching against her chest, her face twisted.

He nodded against her and pulled her close, taking the vision plate away and placing it on the couch cushions.  His hands made their way to her belly, holding her gently as he whispered against her skin. 

"Yes," he said simply.  "But the when of it we don't know.  I don't know.  That could be us in two years, or in five.  Maybe we both age gracefully and it's us in ten.  This doesn't have to mean or change anything now."

"You were so worried after...was this why?  Why did you never tell me?"  She froze at the storm of emotion that flung up. The thought of him wanting and fearing a child with her, of knowing and not trusting her enough with the knowledge. Of being terrified of trapping her when she'd known it was impossible. He had to have known, he had to. The fear had been written clear on his face and carved in stone. He had to know. How had she not seen? But he was talking, his thumb working those little circles into her skin, every syllable wading through her fog and burning it away before she drowned in it.

"I didn't know either, mi ninfa.  Or I didn't want to, and made Juli make me forget.  You were so, so young.  And I was so afraid." he murmured, before explaining everything. The simple vision request gone wrong. Her father's cold threats. Him frozen and sick with fear. Their future together branding itself into the skin over his heart in his panic to escape it, to keep her safe despite him.  She sat and listened against him, his voice quiet and humming through her chest as he held her, his hands never leaving where they sat, as if he already could feel the little boy destined to grow there.  Maybe he could.  Maybe he couldn't just see the future, but sense it like a second skin.  She felt a cold, deep shiver start in her stomach and seep into her bones, fear and elation and rage and confusion whirlpooling and shaking her whole body, her abdomen trying to run away through her spine, her stomach in her toes.

    "And...you love me.  But you say it now.  Because of this?"  She wanted to slap herself as soon as she'd said it.  'It doesn't matter why he loves you!'  She tried to tell herself, but the doubt had slunk into her brain, the insidious nibbling of her silverfish, and welled in her chest.  His hands shifted.  He shifted behind her, pulling her to him and holding her tightly, whispering against her neck, exasperated defeat in his voice.  

"I realized it when you were tejo dancing, you ridiculous woman," he sighed, hiding his face in her hair, running his fingers through it thoughtfully.  "I let...thoughts of...thoughts of this go after you told me about...after you told me about your...infertility."  She flinched at the clinical word, and he held her tighter.  She was relieved at least he hadn't called her barren like other men had.  

"You were right about something, you are too much." She sobbed and tried to move away, but he held her, keeping her tight against him as he frowned into her skin, his breath like a dam breaking as words poured out of him, bold now even as he shielded his face.

"In the best way.  I can't get enough of you.  You laughing at my stupid jokes. Every surprise you throw at me.  That...god that head of yours.  You make me stupid and reckless and it's amazing.  How have you not seen what you do to me when we argue over something at the bibliotheca?  You're the only person I've met that reads more than I do, and you still find time to build enclosures for every animal under the sun with Antonio and argue color theory with Agustin and force Luisa to take breaks because you know she won't on her own and study anthropology just because you like it!  If your heart were any bigger you couldn’t hold it in. You challenge me!  In every way.  And for whatever reason you see something in me!  You see something in me!  Me!  And I love it all.  And I love you!”  He froze, his hands shaking at her shoulders before he pulled her into a kiss.  It was rough and clumsy, tear-salty and absolutely perfect.  He drifted away, relishing down to his toes that she followed him, their lips lingering before begrudgingly separating, cold from the loss.  He was suddenly giddy “Heh.  My cup runneth over, you know?"

"Did...did you just quote Psalms at me?"

"...well, you did challenge me..." he teased, his tone flat.  "But yes.  That's your sermon for the week.  Because I plan on convincing you how I feel with several unholy things when we get back to yours."

"Yours is closer," she answered, but her voice was hollow, and she shook her head, the silverfish filtering away from her uncertainty, burned away by his words, and attacking her anger as it bubbled up, fueling it from a hot red to a cold, frigid blue in her mind as his words glowed and burned golden into her skin, and the whole of what he'd told her slid into place.  Why he'd forgotten.  Why she'd been alone so long.

Elena had never once in her life hated her father.  He had been her hero and her role model and her comfort for the entirety of her life.  But after Bruno finished his story, not a word of which she doubted because no man would lie about what he had, so honestly painting himself into the ugly, terrified corner he had, if she had found her father standing before her dead or alive she would have chased him over the mountains and into the jaws of old Contraria herself.  The bastard had never told her.  Had thought he was giving her a chance to live her life.  And maybe he had, but she should have had the choice.  He'd had no right to take this from her.  To steal this from both of them through misplaced protection and fear.  If the mountains had not already broken, her rage may have been the final blow.

"If...if he hadn't threatened you.  If...you hadn't felt you needed to forget… would…would we...would we have..." she couldn't get what she wanted to say out past the snarl in her throat.  Her hands came up to clench desperate over his with a sob, pressing them into her belly, over her womb, and he had to tense his arms to keep her from hurting herself as she cried, raging and swearing and calling her father every foul thing under the sun as she bashed her heels against the carpet.  Bruno found himself holding her tightly to him, humming against her skin as she ranted, letting her burn herself out, sixteen years of loss and frustration pouring out of her in one violent torrent, finishing by ripping the gold ring off of her thumb and throwing it as far away from her as she could before sinking against him, sweaty and spent as if they'd just spent the past hour making love on her sofa like he’d intended before everything had run through hell and half of Hispañola.

"No," he said, blunt and harsh through the air.  "I wasn't with you in any of the sands.  Not one of them.  If he had told you, back then...I'd have let you down, one way or the other.  Some things are...are set in stone."

 "Sand isn't stone, Bruno.  You could have been.  We could have had so much more time.  Years!  If he hadn't threatened you...if he...my god...I could kill him.  I could kill him.  The last...the last sixteen years could have been...all I went through...All you went through!  I could kill him!"

"But you can't.  You can't go back and kill him anymore than I can go back and slap myself for being a filthy coward.  Even...Even if I was..."  He stopped, and squeezed her, and breathed in the scent of her hair, before starting again.  "I was blind to you flirting with me at twenty.  But dios sabe I saw you.  Every day I was there in those shops I saw you.  Once you took over, when your mother's hands went...I stopped coming for my sisters and..."

"I...I was twenty-two by then," she whispered, lost in thought.  "...fourteen years.  And fourteen years between us.   You were the age I am now."

"Yeah," he sighed, coming clean.   "And ten years ago I was forty and you were twenty-five, and even then I..."

"I don't..."

"Your birthday.  You danced on the bar and offered to make me a coffee when I was done pickling myself."

Elena peered at him, a light going off and guttering behind her eyes.  Lost time, lost opportunities.  Too much loss.

"I'd forgotten that.  Why didn't you come?  I left the door open all night."

"I...couldn't bring myself to do it.  The gap was still too much.  Ya don't think it's serious, y'know?  Pretty women didn't exactly throw themselves at me."

"I would have told you it was only fourteen years..."

"But if we switched age, I was someone else, would you go after someone so much younger?"

"No...Maybe...I don't know, Bruno.  I can't answer that, because it's always been you at the back of my head!"

"My answer always had to be no.  You know what they said about me.  What some of them have done.  If I started going around with someone I'd first met as a teenager the town would have dragged me through the street back then.  They wouldn't have known or cared that I hadn't groomed you, just...just made the assumption and..."

"Oh, Bruno..."

"The worst part?  I didn't even care by then what they did to me...I just didn't want the lies to get to my family and hurt them.  Or for it to hurt you, when you had nothing to do with anything then."

"Then they were fools, and so were you."  She said, her harshness dragging him out of his sadness before he had a chance to spiral.  She had twisted in his grip, grabbing the vision plate in its frame and wrapping his hand around one edge of it.  "I can forgive you for that.  I know what my father was like.  I might even be able to forgive Papá eventually, but he's off the ofrenda until this little one comes along."  There was a fragility to her voice, brittle but strong, with a finality to it that had him gaping at her, a hapless fish.

"Until?"

"It's written in stone right in front of us.  I can either lose my marbles over it for no reason, or accept it.  Considering I didn't think I'd ever be able to have kids, it's not like it's bad news."

"I.  I didn't think...I don't know what I thought.  I.  You won't...this isn't...Elena...”  He was floundering between a thousand thoughts at once and couldn't say any of them, stuttering and stumbling over his tongue worse than he had in months.  Elena shushed him with a kiss to his cheek, chaste and simple and enough to snap him out of his head.      

"This...he is somewhere in our future together, Bruno, but neither of us know when or where or how past the obvious.  Let's...let's just...keep this as our own, I don't want anything pushing us.  No one and nothing will make this happen faster than it's meant to.  Now we know.  So let's just...be."

"Is this...Is this ok?  Are...we...ok?"

"What do you mean?"

"Two hours ago we were fucking on your couch and now we know that...that at some point we'll have a son.  It's kind of...kind of a big deal, you know?"

"Is it, really?" she asked, and he looked at her, confused.  

"Of course it is!  Elena...I never thought...I gave up on a family decades ago.  With you...I didn't want to hope, and when you explained about...about all your mother's problems and yours I...I tried to put it out of my head, because...well because..."

"Because you love me?" She was trying to tease, trying to keep the mood light, but he wasn't letting her, wanting the air heavy around them to give weight to his words that his tight voice failed at.

"Yes.  I love you.  That.  I didn't want to lose you or chase you away by wanting something that couldn't happen, but now I...I..."

Elena turned to face him, pulling free of his hands and holding them between hers, bringing them up to her mouth to press her lips to his knuckles.  

"You’ve always been amazing with kids.  Your sobrinos, the little duendes at the library, Juancho and Lucia and the twins.  They all love you.  And you have more love in you than someone who's been worn so rough by life has any right to.  Of course you'd want to be a father.  And...something tells me...that when the time comes, you'll be amazing at it."

He leaned back, letting her pull him up onto the seat of Julieta's couch and rest his back against the cushions as he wrestled with himself.  She had the advantage of this being a pleasant surprise for her.  The advantage of growing up with a parent the same sex as her to model after.  The natural affinity with children that he had seen time and again with her.  He had none of that, and he knew it.  The closest thing he'd had to a father had been the myth of a man in a portrait and the random passing advice of the surviving men of the original exodus.  He had Agustín, and Félix, brothers who had come into his life too late.  And his experience with his sobrinos, such as it was, but it paled in comparison to having actually had the parent he was expected, fated to be, some nebulous time in the future.  

He stared up at the ceiling, the same hazy, pale sunset orange it had always been, starting at the sage patterns of herbs pressed into the simple stucco, verdant constellations.  The future stretched before him, lovely in its terror, and he held his hand out to it numbly, unable to speak.  

Her hand was warm and strange in his, when he realized the loss of her father's ring had changed her grip, and he thought fleetingly that he should replace the ring if he couldn't find it, but not with one she could wear on her thumb.  His body slowly sank into the sofa, and in the scent of lavender and valerian that always seemed to come from the air in the room, his mind began to drift away, placid and at peace by Elena's side.

He fell asleep there on his sister's sofa, leaning against Elena beside him, the vision plate resting mute on their laps with their hands clasped over it, covering their own images, the only thing left visible the bright eyes of a child.

Julieta let them rest, and slipped the vision plate out from under their hands, wrapping it in the swaddling blanket she'd made all those years ago before sneaking out, making their apologies for them before taking the bundle to Bruno's room and laying it on his desk.  She smiled as she saw where he'd left off the night before in his journals, the careful linework of a rat and a hummingbird sketched lightly onto the pages.

It had been less than two weeks since the vision with the Parks and Bruno's seizure, and the adults were quick to forgive.  Her mother was still upset about the language Elena was capable of, but Julieta could see she was endeared over the level of worry the woman's actions made clear.  Elena taking over nursing him back to health and then consistently keeping track of it afterward had solidified something in how her mother viewed her, and all for the better.

She could only laugh when Camilo earned a smack to the shoulder when he asked, still snickering. "Ok, but how do you half-fuck someone?"

"Cállate, Camilo!"  Félix huffed, eyes to heaven and grateful Antonio had run off distracted by the tapirs.  

"Oh, she can run in yelling that but I get yelled at for asking?"

"She's old enough to be your mother.  When you can figure out the answer to that question, then you can cuss in the house."

"That's not fair, I live here!"

"Camilo Joaquin!"   Her sobrino darted past her as a cloud chased after him, rushing ahead and pouring, Pepa hot on his heels.

Félix saw the exhaustion behind her smile and rolled his eyes, waving her into la cocina and quickly getting a pitcher of margaritas going after he’d sat her down on a stool, handing her a plate of leftovers to get the color back in her cheeks.

They clinked their glasses together as they leaned against one of the new counters, still smelling of cedar and varnish.

"Salud.  They figure it out?" he asked.  Julieta laughed and shook her head in disbelief at her brother.  She took a long drink of her margarita and rubbed her temples, throwing her hands up.

"He said it on accident.  On accident, Félix!   They can have a heartbreaking conversation on my floor, but it's like pulling teeth from a shark to get two jodiendo words out of either of them!  Those two are...are...ay..."

"Un lío calor?"

"Like soup in a sock!"

"We sure it's going to last?  I'm getting used to having someone new to wind up."

"You mean someone who gives back as good as they get.  And don't lie, you know you're going to gang up on Mariano with her."  Julieta gave him a bright grin.  "And yes, it'll last.  I'll ask her to marry Bruno myself if he doesn't buck up before...Pascua de Resurrección, let's say."

"Fifty pesos he asks her before Navidad?" He smirked, holding out a hand.  His cuñada groaned, before shaking his hand, rolling her eyes.  He'd never seen her take a bet so quickly, but none of them had been this invested in the outcome before. 

"You're quiet," Bruno said as he held Elena, both of them staring up at his starry ceiling, cuddled together in the warm sands of the oasis.  She nodded, but stayed silent, the tightening grip she had on his borrowed shirt the only indication she hadn't just drifted off.  

"Please tell me?"

"...don't want to.  It's...It's stupid."

"I doubt it."  

"I..." she stammered before curling into him, hiding her face in his chest.  She flung up, curling around herself and brushing her hand against the vision plate where it sat off to the side, her finger tracing over the new piece as tears ran down her arm, staining her skirt.  Bruno rose up, his hands on her shoulders and letting her curl into herself harder, giving her space but making sure she knew he was still there.

"I...I'm scared, Bruno.  Isn't that stupid?  This is...This is good news, and...all I can do is...is shake."

He held her.  If he was honest, and there was no room for lying to himself, he was afraid too.  How could he not be?  But he'd had a little more time to process it, and a lot more time to think about it.  Elena had been approaching this whole equation like the answer was always going to be negative, and he'd come in from the exact opposite side, his thoughts running away from him and building worlds in his head from that very first kiss.

"I don't think it's stupid," he said, his voice low.  "What's got you upset?  I just want to understand without putting my feet in my mouth again."

She huffed and folded even further into herself, picking at fluff on her skirt. 

"You grow up thinking you're going to do a thing, you know, and yeah, maybe it'll be hard because of family but you'll do it.  Eventually.  And then...then you sleep with someone you care about but your mother hates and she drags you to the doctor to make sure you aren't already pregnant and you find out you'll never be."

Bruno clenched his fist in the sands, his teeth grinding in impotent rage.  If Sofia had still been alive he'd have given her several pieces of his mind for all the cruelty she'd dragged her only child through just for the sake of her idiotic sense of propriety.  If he had a chance he might still give that rant to Pilar Guzman, just for never stepping in.  Elena took his fist in hand and he twined their fingers together.  Later.  

"I...I got used to it, yeah?  After Memo died...It...the thing with him...we weren't...in love.  Not really.  He had fallen for Pepa.  And me...I...well..."

"Were pining after an old man too dense to realize you were flirting with him?"

She snorted, and bumped his shoulder.  "You figured it out...eventually.  But...Guillermo was a good man.  I just assumed it would lead to the usual, you know?  Little house, kid or two, not entirely happy but at least married to a friend.  Then my mother caught us and lost her mind like she did with...with Rigo.  But worse."

"Elena..."

She batted tears away at the memory, "She dragged me to Doctor Rivera by my hair.  I'd never seen Papá so angry.  He never said why.  I guess he knew nothing would happen...He was always so...so...indulgent.  I guess it was easy, when he knew where my life would go.  Without telling us.  Bastardo.  But he never told me.  Never let me know this..."  She gave a choked sob, tossing a stone out into the oasis.  "I...got used to it.  I just sort of figured I'd adopt, you know.  If anyone would have me, after Memo died.  Once I realized you weren't...noticing.  But...no one else really wanted me, especially not after they found out.  I just..."

"...gave up," he finished for her, the pain too familiar as he nodded.  Hadn't he done essentially the same, for something he couldn't help either?  She nodded and leaned into him, letting him wrap her in his arms, chin resting on her hair, letting her cry into his shoulder.

"It...To have it given back to you...to know it's not just...possible now, but...but inevitable?  It's just...too much.  I...I don't...I can't...It's....I..."

"...Elena..." he paused, knowing she was right, regretting what he had to say but knowing he had to say it if he didn't want to lose her entirely.  "It...it doesn't have to happen.  If it's...If it's too much..."

"Your visions always come true, Bruno,  Always.  The only reason I know I'm not right now is...mi regla..."

He gave her a pained smile, brushing his thumb down her jaw before looking away.  

"It's a vision with me in it.  I don't control what I see, but I can control me, Elena.  If it's...if that future isn't what you want, all you have to do...all you have to do is tell me."

Elena froze in his arms, dizzy from the spinning of her thoughts.  If she closed her eyes she could picture it, somewhere in a future she'd been forcing herself not to imagine.  Bruno's face at the news.  The aches and pains and warm gentle hands helping her ease them.  Seeing him at the end of the day, kissing her with his hands at her belly.  And she wanted it.  More than anything she wanted to see that little boy running to her with messy hair and a tiny ruana to match his father, little hands patting her face and bringing her books to read to him at night.

Wanted to see Bruno holding that little swaddled bundle that he didn't have to hand back to anyone but her.  Wanted the sleepless nights and the pain and the fear and all the mess that came with it just to see the best of both of them together in a new person.  The only thing that rankled her was that because of the vision, she had no choice.  It must happen.  And the stranglehold at her throat constricted.  The fear of being forced to give up everything because she had no choice gripped at her cold and steely and sinking under her skin.

But Bruno was offering her a way out.  The shy, funny, wonderful man holding her, who had balked at the very prospect of being a father if it wasn't what she wanted, but wept at the confirmation, holding cold stone like a lifeline, was offering her a way out.  He'd offer to break both their hearts to protect hers.  He'd risk losing the future that meant so much to him because she meant more, whether they were together or not.  All because she was afraid of something she'd spent the first twenty years of her life assuming would happen anyway.  He'd lose her rather than make her do anything she didn't want, couldn't handle.  'Brave, stupid, lovely idiot man.'

She turned in his arms and clutched at him, fingers digging into his back.  His hold on her was light, like he could already feel her drifting away, and she held him tighter, realizing she'd never answered him back, that he was waiting, his heart tripping under the scar their future had marked him with.  She kissed him, pouring herself into him until his arms tightened back around her.  Back where they belonged.  She waited until he broke away and brought their foreheads together, breath mingling in the cool air of the oasis until his heart slowed under her hand, beat steady again and exact counterpoint to her own.

"I love you.  Te amo siempre, mi Bruno.  Stay."

He kissed the top of her head, holding her like a lifeline. "Te amo tambien, Elena.  But you still haven't  answered.  I can't...I can't leave this...I can't leave this up to interpretation.  Please."

She held onto him, nodding into his chest.  Better to get it all out in the open than leaving it to fester.  

"I...I couldn't want this, not for years.  It was locked away.  But now...now I...I don't want to be...I can't..." she froze, realizing how she sounded as his grip tightened on her again.  Rejection, pure and simple.  This was not what she wanted, not how she meant to say it.

"I don't want this to become our life, Bruno.  We haven't been together long.  And it's been amazing, but this...  This is...this is huge.  I...don't want to lose time with you because of...because of someone that doesn't exist yet."

He pulled away, confused.  

"I don't...I don't understand..."

"Bruno, I love you.  I don't want to lose what we're building now just because...just because we wind up with a kid in the future!  I don't want to stop...going with the flow just because we know where the boat ends up, you know?"  She swiped at her eyes, aggravated.  "I want to meet that little boy more than anything.  But not before it's time to.  I don't want to sit and worry about when that time is.  I don't want your mother or my tia Pilar dragging us into a church and trying to force the issue, because you know if either of them see this they would!  I don't want sex with you to become a means to an end, some ...fucking chore we do just to get this over with!  I want to know who we are together first, Bruno.  Before we make a whole other person!  Mamá almost died to have me.  I don’t…I’m not ready to put either of us through that.  I want you, before any of this.  I don’t want to lose reality for a dream.”

His lips pursed as he went over what she'd said, breaking it down into its parts and words for the meaning underneath.  And he smiled.

"I don't care if we do things out of order, okay?  If we just...keep this up, just back and forth, your place and mine and never, you know, make it permanent?  Okay.  We aren't doing anything you don't want.  I wouldn't let Mamá do that to you. We can live in sin and scandalize the town for the next twenty years for all I care, if it means I get to love you."  He squeezed her, hoping desperately he was making sense.  "I've seen my sisters go through a lot of pregnancies.  I know it's dangerous.  I know it's a giant step. Mierda, I know it's terrifying.  I...Elena, I'm afraid too.  I don't have any clue how to...do any of...anything.  If...if you're alright with the outcome and just not...and just not knowing the when, I'm not about to let you get pushed into it before you're ready."

She glanced up at him, chewing her lip.  "What if...What if I'm never really ready?  I'm not that much older on the plate.  What if...fate just...makes it happen?"

He reached behind her and picked up the vision in its frame.  There was a paler streak in her hair, and her eyes were tired, but she looked happy.

"Mírame.  Mírate.  You're happy here.  Would you be, if you aren't ready?"  

She took the plate from him, popping the entire thing from its frame and holding the emerald slabs in her hands.  She set her image aside after considering it a moment and studied the found corner.  His face in it.  Their future son's face, so small, so happy with his bright smile and big eyes, blank as they were in the vision.  He looked so much like the picture of Bruno she'd seen in the hallway, though he was clearly younger than five, the baby softness of his face giving away his age in the vision, closer to two. 

She hurt.  Her stomach and lungs burned and her heart squeezed so tight her vision blurred, her limbs shaking.  And she knew that, no matter how frightened she was now, the pull of that handsome little face, the desire to meet that big happy smile every day, would win out over her fears, her heart too weak to stand against the future she could see blazing before her with Bruno by her side.  She put everything back in the frame and set it aside, letting Bruno take her hand.

"I wouldn't be, no.  Not if I...not if I had no say.  But I do have a say. You’d hurt yourself to give me one.  I want this.  I want you, and this...this future.  Maybe not right this minute but..."  His quiet chuckle rippled through her own chest as he held her, stroking her back.

"You were right, you know."

"Which time?" She asked through a teary smile, and he tweaked her ear, rolling his eyes.  

"We're too old to be freaking out over this.  I...had time to think about it. You didn't. It's a big step.  Take...take the time you need.  And we'll just...be, in the meantime, yeah?"

"And if we...don't work?"

"We'd figure that out too.  But I don't think...I don't think it's likely that we...won't work."

"You said...make it permanent.  Is that...Is that something you've thought about?"

He swallowed thickly, his arms numb as his hands clutched at her back and his tongue made of wool.  He took a breath and nodded, once.  

"I have.  But...you're right.  We need...We need more foundation than we have.  Now.  For that.  I...don't want to..." his throat constricted, and he couldn't swallow past it.  She pulled away, brushing his jaw as she watched his face, waited for him to say something, but it was all frozen in his traitorous throat.  Because he did want it, but he didn't want to pressure her, didn't want to force her hand, and couldn't bring himself to lie.  So he stayed silent, beyond grateful for the bright spark of understanding in her eye.  

"Then we'll build that foundation and jump in when we're both ready."  She kissed him, gave an assertive little nod, things put neatly in their box, and lay back in the sands, pulling him with her, gazing at the shifting constellations on his distant, starry ceiling.  

She bolted up just as he got comfortable.

"Wait.  When did you have time to think about this?  The last three weeks?  I told you to not worry, you tonto!"

He looked away, torn between mortification and laughter at her indignation.  'Qué mierda!  May as well 'fess up.'  He thought, propping himself up on his elbows, looking out over the water and kicking off his sandals.

"It might have been...maybe...longer than that?"

She smacked his chest when he burst out laughing at the shock on her face.

"Qué carajo, Bruno?"

He held her hands away, laughing even more at her little fingers pinching at him futilely like a crab, his face and ears burning.

"Not...not seriously, cangrejita.  Just...my brain ran away from me...that first night."

"Is that why you kissed me back?" she wilted a little, and he shook his head.

"No, ninfa. No. I kissed you back because I wanted to, not because of some fantasy in my stupid head.  You opened so many doors with that kiss.  I didn't want to...look in every room at once, y'know? Just...my mind going wild, okay?  It was just...something to think.  Before I…ah…before I stopped thinking altogether..."

She leveled a look at him, and he swallowed as the air in the oasis grew several degrees warmer.  That wicked little grin quirked up.

“And when has your head ever stopped?” she murmured, turning in his arms.

"You send my blood rushing to all the wrong places," he grinned, running his hands down her back, resting at her waist. "Or all the right ones."

She laughed, the sound prancing over the sand and straight into his heart, the brittleness gone and replaced with a calm certainty, the fear he'd tire of her washed away by the storm they'd just ridden out.

He kissed her, catching her laughter and pulling her back on top of him, his lips slow dancing with hers, no urgency but the desire to just be.

They held each other close, hands skimming under clothes, warmth from the sands baked into their skin as each article was peeled away. They tangled and shifted across the oasis until their legs hit the water, cool and shocking them out of their daze.

He gave her a cocky grin, softened by his eyes as she stood, dusting of her legs and gloriously nude before him. His hand rested on her knee as he looked up at her, took in the sight of her, gold and amber and rose in the light, Iris and Pacha Mama and Aprhodite all at once. He sat frozen, snared by soft skin and softer smiles he'd seen a dozen times before, each time carving deeper into his eyes and his heart, this time slicing it in two and stitching it back together in a bright copper cage to protect it, to strengthen it, and whatever silly joke he'd meant to make fell away, burned away by the light of her and the little hand she held out to him.

"You look lost."

"Maybe I am," he mouthed, barely able to speak through his dreamy haze "but you always bring me back." She brushed his hair from his eyes, running her thumb over his bruised lids, a pale band across it announcing the loss of her father's ring, and she kissed him slow and sweet before pulling away.

"Take me to bed, Bruno."

He took her hand and kissed her palm before twining their fingers together. They made their way across the oasis slowly, winding their way over the soft multicolored sands, through orchids and Queen Anne's lace, apple blossom and azalea and hydrangeas, cocooned and safe in the scent of the flowers and the liminal hum in the air, losing themselves in time to a dance older than both of them, old and strong as the sea and young and raw as the path through the mountains.  

They ignored the hours as afternoon drifted into evening, as evening faded into night, lost in the quiet solitude of their own making, love murmuring freely over skin and into hearts before sleep took them, together even in their fitful dreams.

Chapter Text

    The weather cooled after Dia de los Difuntos.  It never truly got cold in the Encanto save for at the mountaintops, but the chill in the air was enough that Elena found herself wrapped in her favorite verde shawl once the sun began to set, and she found Bruno struggling with his rolled down shirt-sleeves as he worked more often than not.  He would always give up, scrunching them back in aggravation before finishing whatever coffee he'd been drinking and quietly asking for another, his nose a little red and his eyes a little pitiful.  She and Julieta both told him it was due to lack of insulation.  He'd gotten busier of late, but with her help had managed to create something of a schedule.

    Lunes he would help her in the bibliotheca and spend whatever other time he had at the counter, working on his stories or a project for Gustavo.  The old man had lost some of his ability to draft over the years, though not the skills to craft the jewelry, and Alberto was still learning the fine points, his artistic skills well behind even Elena’s rough ability.  There were a few times he refused to share his work.  She didn't let it rankle her and let him have his privacy.  She liked watching him, bent over a pad of fine tracing paper to layer his design, one or another of the art books open in front of him for inspiration, though she did catch him once or twice caught up mooning over one of the bright color reproductions of a Rubens or Renoir painting.  She teased him mercilessly when she did, enjoying the blush that dusted across his cheeks and ears.  He paid her back by teasing her just as badly during her reading hour while the children couldn’t hear, though they had figured something was up, the girls giggling at her blush and the boys making faces, except for Antonio, who always had a huge grin on his face as he watched them, whispering to the rats and Chacha more than usual.  Elena knew it was just a matter of time before the chaos genes from both parents kicked in, and dreaded whatever he was plotting with their pets.

    The first half of Martes was spent with Senór De Soto doing the simple work of an apprentice and easing the burden for the master carpenter and his two journeymen.  The second half he sat at the café counter with a ledger and Elena at his side, waiting for those few townsfolk who wanted visions.  Some requests were outright refused.  Others were gone over carefully, narrowed down until they had their original vague question pinned down.  Some were pushed forward to the next week, Elena strictly enforcing the rule of no more than three visions in a day, with plenty of time for meals and rest in between.  This had the added benefit of sometimes making them realize that a vision wasn't needed, and his burden was eased further.  Elena had taken a fair bit of abuse for the role at first, and the mean little nickname was heard more than once.  Hernando had made an appearance when Bruno’s own anger had failed him, and she had watched with a fluttering heart as he’d actually restrained Ciro Garza with an arm twisting behind his back and marched him out the door, the younger man too surprised to fight back when the door had slammed in his face.

    Miércoles and Viernes were reserved for visions and rest.  She couldn't be with him for all of them, and he understood, not about to suggest she give up two days of business for him.  Much as he hated it, they'd worked out that either Félix or Agustín would be with him when she could not.  His cuñados had not minded, and grown used to the idea, pleased to see him back in action however intermittently.  Elena was there for the lunch vision, keeping the shops open an hour later to make up the difference of the two hour break.

    She sat behind him, silent since the townsfolk knew at least in part how to behave.  It was a thankless task, listening to the news Bruno delivered, seeing the requesters out before seeing to Bruno, usually exhausted depending on how far he'd had to reach to pull the answer backwards in time.  A family wondering about the chronic illness of their child, treated but incurable.  Their vision had been bittersweet, but they were happy to have so much time left with their son.  An ill grandmother raising her grandson and worried about leaving him alone, assured she'd see him well into adulthood.  A pregnant woman desperate to hide her infidelity, furious that her choices would come to light by her own actions before her child was three. 

    That one had ended with a shattered vision plate and Elena frogmarching the woman out, reading her the riot act and having Pepa make sure she left Casita entirely before tending to Bruno, shaken by the woman's anger and his powerlessness against it given the situation.  Elena had taken the brunt of the abuse for canceling the evening vision, but Ricardo Chavez would just have to stay angry.  Elena didn’t need a gift to be able to tell the man his daughter would probably be pregnant in the year with whoever she was sneaking around with.

    Jueves was the day he broke from visions and the shops.  Elena missed him those days, but he insisted on giving her a few hours without him in her hair.  He would spend the entire day with Senór De Soto and his sons, given simple tasks but also going out with them to various forestry issues.  Senór De Soto had always insisted on taking care of these himself, rather than rely on Luisa or more recently Isabela, to keep his skills sharp. Bruno's surprising agility, thin frame, and gift with knots lent him an advantage over the stockier De Soto men, and he'd quickly been designated the climbing arborist.  He was able to get much higher than the others and was a quick study of trimming diseased limbs, able to save more of the tree by dint of his weight.  Even as a quick study, he’d thrown himself into learning what he could from the limited resources she kept.  Elena had teased him, surprised the heights didn't bother him, but he'd just shuddered "stairs" darkly and gone on grousing about his actual agitation; the boots he had to wear to secure the climbing spikes.  He'd ranted for a good twenty minutes about the injustice of it all, getting more and more dramatic as he went.

    “Boots, Elena!  Leather, hobnail boots.  In Colombia!  In the tropics!  They weigh more than Antonio!  It's disgusting.  I have to wear socks.  My toes need to breathe!”  The man's hatred for real shoes had made her laugh so hard she'd had to sit down, and he hadn't forgiven her for laughing for half an hour.  Then he'd gotten even by weaponizing it, and whispering "boots" in her ear would have her cracking up at the worst times, and he'd taken more than one coffee soaked apron to the face in retribution.

    On Sábado he did nothing.  He'd felt guilty about it at first, but as the days wore on he realized that it was a good thing.  He would spend the morning with either his family or Elena, depending where he'd laid his head the night before, and spend the afternoon hours reading in his chair or at the counter, letting his mind wander along with the stories.  He finally finished Don Quixote.  He couldn't say he liked the ending, of a man gone mad from reading too much and having to be wrangled back into sanity by his servants and family, but there was a lyricality to the work he liked even if he thought the premise was ridiculous.

    More than the chance to read whatever he wanted, a habit he'd grown protective of since his re-emergence, he found himself enjoying the gentle reintegration into the town.  It had been so unobtrusive he hadn't even noticed it at first.  Silvia made a point to visit, chatting with him and Elena both and dragging in her daughters and their husbands and her nietas, Amelia getting lost in the library and Cecilia always asking to see the baby rats, who were growing rapidly.  The little girl was exceptionally gentle with them, and Pecasita had surprised him, no aggression at all when tiny hands came to pet her babies.  Hector was another story, but could be distracted by the handful of almonds Elena had taken to keeping in her apron pocket, the black rat and old Palmero putting their differences aside to snuggle there with her.  He only felt a little betrayed, but had spent enough time resting his own head in her lap to know she was much more comfortable than his own bony torso.

    Roberto Hernandez had come in with his daughter Andrea and the usual bouquet of flowers, and Bruno had watched on the sidelines as the younger woman was pulverized in one of Elena's bearhugs, laughing as she showed her grades from the summer classes and her plans as she took a semester off to search for a home in Bogota.  Andrea didn't remember him, having been a shy child and not in Dolores or Isabela's circle of friends, though they were near the same age, and had been warm towards him when Roberto introduced him as Elena's novio. 

    "Pareja, Berto.  I'm too old for novios."

    Roberto had laughed and warned her not to say that around Silvia, and the four of them had fallen into conversation for hours.  At first they'd discussed Andreas studies, Elena remembering to ask about the programa arqueología for Marco and giving Andrea his current address as well as the advice to speak up if she went to speak with Senór Geraldo next door.  He had completely forgotten about that exchange, too caught up in playing distraction for his sobrina, and fell in love with her just a little more for not just remembering but going out of her way to help.

    Andrea agreed to go to Andrés with Elena's current catalog of requests and orders, growing every day as Navidad approached in return for copies of harder to find works that one of her profesors was requesting for the spring semester.  Elena was loath to part with them, but she agreed in the end, knowing Andrea was responsible and would return them in good condition when the time came.

The conversation soon turned to talk of La Violencia that still persisted. Andrea had brought a group of friends and their families along with her, people she had trusted enough to travel with that wanted to move to the Encanto.  She was not alone in Bogotá's universidad as a country girl, and several of her friends had older parents or grandparents and younger siblings that were in danger of losing their land or lives under the current regime.  She and her friends would be returning to the city at the end of her visit, but their families would be staying.  None had been lost or led astray in the journey, and Bruno took that as a good sign that they would be quickly accepted, though he and Elena had spent a good hour worrying over the state of the Palisade if they’d let in three dozen people with absolutely no vetting just because they knew Andrea.  The group had had a bag of supplies go missing nearer the Encanto than he was comfortable with, but since it was food and they found canvas scraps the next day, he'd made a note to ask Antonio if Mamá Oso was raiding camps again and tried to set it in the back of his mind.

The news of La Violencia had made him uneasy, and more so once he knew the fighting was taking place in the countryside.  With only three weeks until Elena went on her trip, he'd been insistent she take someone with her.

"Andrea said it's getting bad in the valleys, Elena.  Maybe you should consider it, just this time?"

    "Bruno, I've never taken anyone.  Who would I even take?  Julio? Mariano?  God forbid, Emilio?  They're all hopeless with firearms, and not one of them has been out!"

    "Take Rodrigo or Arturo!  Both of them are sensible."

    "Both of them have kids, Bruno!  What if something does happen?  Not even an attack but...I don't know, they get sick or something?  I can't risk them.  I won't."

    He'd looked at her, desperate, trying to make her see sense, make her see that this was important, but she'd just shaken her head.

    "Bruno, you know I come back safe!  How else is that vision going to happen?  I'm not dying or getting strung up anytime soon, quit worrying."

    "There's more than that can happen, you know that!"  She'd frozen, a shiver running visibly down her before she'd clenched her fists and turned on him, wounded.

    "Bruno, don't you dare use that!  Don't you dare.  I know that.  I know the risks.  I know how to defend myself out there!  I wasn't expecting it in my own home!  And don't you dare waste the energy on a vision just to prove what we already know!  I will be FINE."

    "Elena, please reconsider.  My visions don't show everything.  Please. Take...Take Félix!  Take Lui--"

    "Don't you dare finish that name, Bruno.  No."

She'd shot down every idea he'd come up with, not wanting to risk anyone, wholly convinced that with her Lola and her path she would be fine.  The fighting had been going on for four years, and she'd never had an issue, she told him, why get paranoid now.  He'd reminded her that things changed, the fighting was getting closer, and doubled down on his efforts, insistence edging closer to a demand as his voice raised. 

"I don't care who it is, but damn it take someone!  Take Domingo Bonitez for all I care, use him as a human shield, but take someone!"

There had been a flash in her eyes at his tone, and he'd realized he'd messed up the minute the words left his mouth as fury climbed up her face, scorching and scornful.  Through some miracle she'd never thrown up the fact he never mentioned himself, even when she was fuming enough to slam the café door in his face, snarling "I love you, but dios mio can you be an idiot, Bruno Madrigal!"

   He watched the door rattle in its frame as his heart sank into the ground and slunk away from him.  The gap it left in his chest felt numb. There was a sick sloshing in his stomach as the peaks and valleys of the fading green paint of the door swam before his eyes as his shoulders fell.

What had he done?  What the hell had he just done?  He dragged himself home in a spiral, his mind on fire and his chest aching.  He might have been an idiot, but how could she not see that taking someone was the only way for her to stay safe?  He had always known there were dangers outside the Encanto, had seen so many of them in midnight visions from the age of five, had seen them come over the mountains in the form of waves of wounded refugees and residents alike, Senór Geraldo almost losing his arm to wild animals.  His own failed trip over the mountains had ended in a mangled leg and a weeks long fever that had taken months to recover from once he'd dragged himself home.  Andrea Hernandez and her news of La Violencia, the fear shedding off the families she'd brought along with her as virulent as any disease.  He had to focus his breathing as he walked to keep the bile from rising as he pushed down the thought of what other assaults she was vulnerable to, with or without her Lola.  

He cursed himself as he walked, anger sloughing off him in waves.  He didn't see people dodging around him as he stormed home, just the cracks in the cobblestones as he shuffled to avoid them.  

     He skipped church the next day to apologize after getting lambasted by his sisters and their husbands when he'd seethed through the cocina, furious at himself and ranting under his breath.

    "She's una incendaria, of course she's mad at you!" Félix had laughed when he's come in muttering and cursing himself, interrupting a bullshitting session in the kitchen, his cuñados having run into a couple of the new arrivals at the bar an sharing gossip from the outside.

    "What's that got to do with anything?  Elena being wild isn't going to keep her safe out there!  She needs....somebody!  We all know it can't be me."

    "Did she say that?" Agustín asked, pouring a glass of aguardiente and sliding it to Bruno, who grumbled and flopped down on the stool, gut swirling in an odd mix of fondness and irritation.

    "No.  Just that she wasn't going to risk anybody.  Never brought it up being me.  She...she knows I'm...kinda useless.  Guess it doesn't bother her."

    "She's got other uses for you," Pepa snorted, cigarette held pointedly at him.  "She's independent, you nuez.  She's made that trip out by herself for over a decade, and you don't get rights to tell her to change it just because you got your dick wet!"

    "Pepa!  I wasn't trying to...I didn't... Maldita sea I just want her to be safe!"

    Julieta had patted his shoulder and shoved their sister, stubbing out the smoke and muttering "no en mi cocina," before turning to him.  "If it's bothering you that much, can't you just have a vision?  See if she makes it home alright?"

    He'd grimaced.  "Elena...asked me not to.  Because of...well.  You know, Juli.  She says that's proof enough."  He could see the other three dying to ask, but Julieta must have glared at them over his head because they all rapidly found somewhere else to look.  She had squeezed his hand then,

    "She wouldn't have to know, you know."  He'd shaken his head. 

    "No.  She respected me enough to not ask what I've asked her not to.  I can respect this.  I…I have to respect this.  If she can't trust me, how can I...trust...her.  Oh mierda."  Somewhere in his brain a shoe dropped and his head it the table with a dull thunk.   Of course she'd been furious.  A week of 'te amos' and their future together on stone didn't mean he owned her, his chest in a vicegrip as he realized that was exactly how he'd acted.  He hadn't meant too, but the thought of something happening to her sent ice into his lungs and made him stupid with fear.

    "I really am an idiot, aren't I?"

    "In general, no," Agustín laughed.  "Around Elena?  Absolutamente."

    "She must like your ears if she didn't twist them off when she threw you out." Félix snickered, finishing his own drink and shaking his head.  "Guess she needs handles..."

    Bruno dragged a hand down his burning face and threw a handful of jicama slivers at him.

    "You're lucky you're cute.  I'm sure she'd appreciate you groveling," Pepa snickered.  He snatched the last of her roscone. 

    "Shut up and drink your rosé, Pepa.  I need actual help here!"

    She'd neatly shoved him off his stool and laughed.  "Flowers is cheating with our sobrina.  There, I helped."

    He'd groaned and slumped back into his seat, holding his head, wracking his brain as his family debated around him, lump clamping down in his throat as he continued to draw blanks. 

    Dolores flitted through, rummaging for a teapot and the last of the roscones with Mariano trailing behind her.  They'd invited a group of friends over for a night of card games.  Bruno felt the air shift behind him, and turned to see Mariano standing with his arms crossed, trying his best to look intimidating but falling pitifully short of his primos and their wildfire tempers.  That didn't stop him from looming and being twice Bruno's size.

    "Leni is pissed."

    "I know."

    "You screwed up."

    "I know."

    "You need to apologize."

    "Maldita sea, I know!  I'm trying to figure out how!"

The anger left, replaced with Mariano's usual smile.  "Oh!  I thought..." his eyes slid over the aguardiente in Bruno's hand, and Bruno flinched.  Arturo De Léon was a friend of his, of course he remembered Bruno's rough late thirties.   Mariano shook it off with a shrug.  "Never mind!  I can help with that one!" 

    He'd had a quick talk with Julieta and Bruno found himself swept through the cocina in a whirlwind of motion and food preparation.  It started with an apron assault and a cloud of flour and ended in a slightly wobbly torta negra steeped in enough rum to float a horse.  Julieta had hovered over them the entire time, threatening hell and bodily harm if they damaged any part of her kitchen.  Pepa and Félix had made nuisances of themselves, stealing ingredients and sticking fingers in the batter, teasing Bruno and Mariano mercilessly to the point that even Dolores had given up trying to save them from the hectoring rays of sunlight that kept trying to dry out the cake mix.  Agustín stayed well out of the way but offered Bruno a friendly thumbs up when he got flustered.

    Sleep had been more allusive than normal for him that night, the lack of Elena beside him making his skin itch and his room feel to large.  He'd tried to keep himself occupied, but drifted between tasks in agitation.  He walked the hallways and even stalked through the walls, though his space was gone.  He crept up to the roof only to get rained on in a sudden cloudburst, Pepa caught in a nightmare below.  His eyes finally betrayed him at three in the morning after he’d stared at his starry oasis ceiling for well over an hour.

    His dreams tortured him more than the lack of sleep, but he couldn't escape them, sleep paralyzing him and trapping him in his bed, his eyes open to the ceiling as his brain played a reel of nightmares so real that fear gripped him still once the sun had finally melted them away.  Elena, arrested in the city for some imagined crime, thrown into a squalid jail cell.  In the jungle, getting caught unaware by long dead Contraria, the jaguar ripping into her legs like she'd done to his, hunting her down as she screamed and ran, the blood the only thing with any color.  In the fields, fending off the banditos with her gun and getting captured and assaulted and worse.  Flashes of hands and torn freckled skin and blood and screams.

    He watched helpless as it all happened, frozen as he struggled before the images floated away to more selfish fears, more likely with his mistakes.  The café door slamming in his face again.  Elena laughing at him, dressed in white.  A ring thrown at his face, just as harshly as she'd thrown her father's.  The vision crushed beneath her foot in a flash of green that had flung him into a sleep-vision.  No one he knew personally, no details he could make out, nothing but flashes of life and fighting and aftermath that ended when the plate coalesced and landed on his chest, winding him enough to drag him out of his sleep paralysis.  The plate was full of occlusions, images layering over each other so thickly the emerald was almost milky.  It went straight into the box he kept now for the Castillos.

    Domingo morning had seen him at her door with the torta negra and a bottle of red wine he'd lifted from the cellar in a basket, shamefaced as he knocked, knowing she was likely still sleeping but desperate to apologize.  He flinched when she came to the door hollering, relieved when he realized it wasn't at him.

    "Beatriz if it's you again I will not be responsible for...Oh.  Hola Bruno..."  Her mouth twisted before she fell into a smile.  "Come on in, tonto."

    He followed her in quietly, but pulled her towards him when she went to go behind the counter, habit guiding her feet.  She'd come down in her nightdress and her eyes were puffy and red, and he wanted to sink into the sand in her grout, his stomach twisting.  He crossed the fingers of one hand and tossed a handful of sugar over his shoulder, hoping he hadn't screwed up beyond repair.

    "Elena...I'm an idiot.  I never meant...ugh."  He took her hands, looking at the floor as she watched him, her face unreadable.  "You know what you're doing.  I know you do.  Raf Aguilar wouldn't be pestering you to teach the men to shoot if you weren't any good at it.  You wouldn't have survived a decade of...a decade of going out there alone if you weren't una adventudora.  I shouldn't have doubted you."

    "Bruno..."

    "Please let me finish, then you can yell at me all I deserve," he murmured, tightening his grip on her.  "I...had no right to say any of that, not because of the vision or anything else.  I just...I worry, and I let that get in my head and I didn't trust you.  Y soy tan, tanto lamento, mi amada.  You know more than I ever will how to survive out there, and I had no right to question any of that, no right to tell you how to do something you've done for years.  You have every right to be angry with me."

    "Bruno..." she whispered again, but he continued, his mouth running him down into a spiral of doubt, the voice in his head calling him every name under the sun for being an absolute heel, and he accepted them all as truth.

    "No.  I promised to not let you down again and I failed at the first hint of trouble.  I...I need to try harder.  For you.  This was...this was unacceptable.  I can't believe you let me back in the door.  I need to make up for this!  I acted like a...like a pendejo and made you cry and I just...what kind of...of...bastardo treats a woman like that?  I love you damn it, I don't want to be...I don't want to be that sort of man!  I need to make up for this whole mess!"

    She sighed and pulled him forward into a hug, burying her face in his neck.

    "You already did, tonto.  Just by coming back.  I don't care about the fight...I just...I spent all night telling myself last night wasn't the final straw, couldn't be, but it all just...fell apart this morning.  I know we're going to bicker and argue, pero por dios, don't let me kick you out again!  I never should have...you were just worried....how could you not be?" She batted more tears away and held his hands to her chest, her heart tripping under them.  "I'm sorry too.  You just want to make sure I'm safe.  We both...just blew up.  Stupid.  So stupid…"

    "We're a mess, aren't we?"

    "...little bit.  Dummy."

    He laughed and shifted, hands in hers, thumbs going over her pulses and smiling.  "If it makes it any better...I brought cake?"

    She gave him a watery laugh.  "You know the way to a fat girl's heart Bruno, that's for sure."

    "You are not fat, stop it!" He groused, long since weary of her verbal self abuse when it sparked up, "You are healthy and beautiful, and I will take this back and toss it in your idiot primo's face if that's what made you say that!"

    He was rewarded with a snort of laughter before she pulled him into another embrace, her lips scraping across his stubble in a flurry of kisses before she hopped up and drifted upstairs, coming back with two mugs of coffee and two small glasses of milk on a tray.

    "Please don't throw cake at Nahno.  He'd have no clue what he'd done and be sad about his shirt.  And I know it was him, because Lio and Em would have just let you struggle.  Help me with this?"

    "I might have to.  I made it...I'm not certain it's edible.  Maybe get a cage?"

    It was in fact edible, if not as good as Carlita's or his sister's.  But Elena had closed her eyes at the first bite and had difficulty swallowing.

    "Shut up, tonto.  It's good.  I'm just...this was really sweet of you to go through all this effort."

    "After everything else I've put you through, this was nothing, ninfa."

    "You haven't put me through anything I didn't want to go through, you ridiculous man.  And you were right, anyway.  Yeah, yeah, I know, mark it on the calendar, why don't you?"

    "I'm not going to do that," he said softly before snickering, "It's just going to be stamped in my brain forever.  But...ah...about what exactly?"

    She sighed and gave him a tired look, fiddling with the little corroded figa charm he’d found tied to the handle of her coffee cup, putting her words together.

    "I...I looked at that vision for...I don't know how long after we fought. Something just didn't sit right about what I'd said and I just...felt like the answer had to be in there."  He watched as she looked away, her hands leaving the coffee cup and resting tensely on her stomach, and he found himself holding onto her arms, careful of his grip in the face of sudden fragility.  One hand scrubbed at her eye before she spoke again.

    "It's not just about me and the shops anymore.  Or it won't be, soon enough," she said slowly, turning thoughts over in her head as her thumbs stroked the empty front of her nightgown, her smile wistful.

    "Things are different now.  They...It's all changed. Someday...someday I won't be able to fight off trouble.  There's a...there's a child in our future together, Bruno.  A child.  Someday I'm going to be…I'm gonna be pregnant and it won't be safe for me to go by myself.  Nevermind when he's...when he's older and needs...needs his mamá.  And I need to think of that.  I won't be able to make the trip at all for a long time, then.  I need...I need help, and you've seen it for longer than we've known about this."

    "...Elena..." His voice was tight, whatever he'd wanted to say choked back at her voicing their nebulous future.  She shook her head.

    "It wouldn't be you, querido.  I know it can't be," she said, giving him a calm look that eased his panic.  "I couldn't ask that of you after everything."  She squeezed the thigh with the jaguar scars carefully and kissed the palm of his hand.  The twining vines inside his ribs squeezed tight, the unconditional acceptance of his weakness contracting around his chest and twisting his mouth but Elena continued, the hand she'd kissed now held loosely against her stomach as if hoping to share her whirl of emotions.

    "Gustavo came looking for you.  He's going out at the same time to show Alberto the ropes.   Says he's getting too old for the trip.  He...saw I was upset and it all just came out.  They're going to come with me and share a second wagon.  After this trip...I'll have to figure something out.  But I won't be alone, and I trust Gus."

    "I do too," Bruno found himself saying.  "Elena, I'm sorry.  You shouldn't have had to change anything.  I didn't...I didn't mean for this to...become a whole thing.  I don't want you changing just because I'm all..." He made a flapping gesture at himself, and she laughed, grabbing his hands and kissing the knuckles before turning back to the dessert he'd brought her.

    "You've changed for me, Bruno, even if you don't see it.  I can at least try to not scare the pants off you."

    Bruno shrugged, trying at nonchalance and failing spectacularly, his ears flaming even as he grinned.  “You don’t have to scare them off, you know.”  He traced a hand carefully over her ear, tucking that wild curl back.  “Are we…are we okay?”

    “We’re okay, Bruno,” she hummed as she leaned into his touch. 

    His smile was deep enough to make his eyes crinkle as he stood, pulling her up with him and pausing to grab the bottle of wine, not caring that it was early.  She gave him a curious look as he pulled her into the seven-hundreds.

    “Wait, please?  You…you said something and I…I want to show you different, ok?”  She nodded, intrigued and a little ruffled by the glow starting to settle in his eyes, her body responding to it on instinct now, knowing that tell-tale glint of green meant fun and trouble, happy to be dragged away from the heavy air of conversation.  He pulled out a handful of books and set them up on one of the shelves at eye level, propping them open with thicker volumes to the shiny color images of paintings inside. Ruben’s Venus in Front of Mirror and Renoir’s Bather Gazing at Herself in Water.  Paintings she’d teased him about. 

    She tried to tease him again, but he had already turned, threading his arms through hers and up to cradle the back of her head, pulling her to his mouth and chasing every thought out of her head, his fingers twined in her hair and pulling it from it’s loose night braid as his tongue slipped across her bottom lip.  She let him in with a sigh, the taste of spices and coffee still fresh in both their mouths, his lips soft on hers and his hands careful as they traveled down her neck, the pads of his fingers tingling against her skin, barely skimming the linen nightgown. 

    He traced every line and crease of her back and her waist, his touch slow and careful.  He squeezed her, his hands burning through the thin fabric at her shoulders, the tuck of her waist, the swell of her hips before curving around and cupping her ass, pulling her against him and pressing her carefully back into the shelves, one arm sweeping back to push the books out of the way and make room for her.  His thumbs stroked at the little dimples at her back as those long fingers began dragging the gown up, inch by creeping inch, a thrill going up her legs and through her spine as each inch of skin was exposed to the air. 

    There was a kindling in her belly and and a delicious jolt of fear in her chest, knowing neither of them had locked the door, and she felt herself slicking faster at the thought.  He trailed kisses down her jaw and throat, nibbling at her ear and her collarbone before shifting lower, not bothering to move the fabric out of the way as his mouth closed around a nipple.  The feeling was muted and the rasp of the cloth strange, the swirl of his tongue warm and wet, a sensuous slide against her.  He rolled her flesh between his teeth, the gentle burn of fabric and pressure making her gasp, her hand in his hair, the other on the shelf to keep herself steady.

    He shifted and bit the front of her nightdress, tugging it down and jostling until he’d freed both her breasts, one hand curling up around her thigh before he slipped to his knees, kneading her leg and her belly as he rested his head there, his breath fluttering and warm across the twisted fabric.

    “Look at the pages.  What do you see?”

    “Pai--paintings,” she breathed.  His hand had crept around to the inside of her thigh, and anticipation scaled her back in one long shudder.  He nipped at her stomach, teeth blunted by her gown. 

    “Try again.”

    “Class…classic paintings?”

    He pinched the tender inside of her thigh until she looked down at him, his eyes bright and heavy-lidded, his face enraptured and slack in supplication.

    “Works of art, Elena.” He closed his eyes and slid his hand up her leg, lifting the numb limb up to his lips and whispering against her as he positioned it over his shoulder, fingers digging into her giving flesh as his lips danced from the soft inlet of her knee to the very apex of her thighs.

    “You weigh more than some women, that’s true.  And there is nothing, nothing wrong with that.  Whoever told you there was was a fool.  I wish you could see what I see.  I’ll do whatever it takes to make you see it.”

    She cried out as he slid his tongue over the line of her curls, lowering himself between her legs and turning his face to the side, taking her lower lips in his own, kissing her sex as fiercely as he kissed her mouth, his tongue darting out to flick and suckle at the bright throb of her clit, kindling liquid little flames.  His beard was a wicked scratch against her, embers coursing up her skin and under her spine with each broad sweep of his tongue, each slide of his lips against hers, the coarseness of his shirt under her knee and the rasp of his stubble and the sharp forest tang of his cologne flooding her senses.

    His fingers burned where they gripped her thigh, the palm of his other hand stroking across every open inch of skin he could find.  Her calf flexed at the tingling drag of his callouses, her leg shook as his thumb traced the line of a tendon from the crook of her knee to where it disappeared into the softness of her thigh.  Her head fell back onto the shelf when his hand wrapped around, nails scoring gold sears across her tattoo and coming up to cup her ass.  Long fingers teased up and then back down the cleft before he grabbed a handful of her and jerked her further onto his eager mouth, dropping to a deeper kneel and tilting his head back, thrusting his tongue into her opening in  slow, languid slides, sucking and licking at the edges of her folds, the sound of his mouth against her obscene and exhilarating. 

    She panted, her hand slipping from the shelf as she lost her balance, and she flung back to grab the one above her head, her legs and back and core shaking, her belly on fire, her chest sliced open at the ribs and bleeding molten copper and light.  Her head spun, full of electricity and a thousand thought whirlwind as her eyes lost focus and gained it back, vision tunneling to the paintings he’d propped up, bobbing in her line of sight as he worked her below, pulling every nerve to one central point and drowning it in lightning and liquid amber with each press of his lips and flick of his tongue. 

    She groaned in frustration when he pulled away, her sex pulsing frantically, chasing the orgasm he’d denied her and glared at him.  He wiped his face dry on the hem of her nightgown and produced the wine bottle from thin air, speculative face shifting to a devious grin as his eyes flared. 

    “Why…what are you doing?” she asked, swiping hair from her face and trying to catch her breath.  He grinned brightly and took her hands, tucking the wine under his elbow.

    “I made a lot of promises one Lunes.  This is the last one I haven’t filled.  Hold please!”  She couldn’t refuse that lopsided smile, and let him place her hands on her tits, pressing in and up until they spilled over her fingers like a corset-fit, a deep hollow made in her cleavage.  He bit the cork out of the bottle and took a swig, taking another and kissing her, sharing sweet wine across their tongues, chasing an escaping spill down her neck and into her cleavage.  He sucked a blooming love bite to each breast before tipping the wine bottle over into the bowl formed on her chest, pouring until rivulets began to trickle down in the creases the pose formed.  She was laughing at the cool tickling when his tongue slipped across the meniscus of the wine, warm and slow as he gazed up at her, eyes heavy and bright as he took a deep swallow from the pool before tilting his head up to kiss her, sharing wine warm from his tongue again. 

    They laughed and shared wine-wet kisses until the little pool was gone and he’d lapped any drops left from her skin, leaving more lovebites and her skin blazing in his wake, her breath caught in her throat.  She let her breasts fall free and snatched his hair, twining her tongue with his and wrapping a leg around him to pull him closer.  He gripped her shoulders, slipping her nightdress off her trapped arms and to the floor.  The cool air hit her skin and peaked her nipples instantly, chills running across her and settling into her spine.  His feet tangled with hers and they slid tripping to their knees together, lips and teeth drifting over each other’s pulses as she wrestled him out of his clothes and let him guide her to the floor, the tiles cold beneath her.

    Electricity chased his hands as he trailed them down her sides, up her hips, fingertips dancing over her tattoos and across her stomach before he snatched the wine bottle again.

    She yelped at cool wine poured into her navel, his tongue following hot to lap it up and sending tingles and sparks spiraling from her navel to her neglected sex, the ache he’d left her with flaring back to life as he kissed down from her navel to her mound, fingers digging into the softness of her thighs and prying them apart.  She crooned as his tongue slipped inside her folds, flitting against her as he sucked at her clit, his hands massaging down her thighs and her up ass to lift her, basking in her as she cried out, fire coursing down her veins to her cunt, spiking and bright and liquid before he pulled his head away and shuffled around her, tugging at her hips and rolling her onto all fours, thumbs massaging her ass roughly as he pressed biting kisses up each globe.

    She heard the clink of his belt buckle and the shuffle of cloth and bit her lip in anticipation. His tongue slid wet and hot over the small of her back as one hand shimmied into the crease at her hip to hold her, the other cupping her sex, his fingertips slipping into her folds and fluttering in and out, spreading her wetness up and around as he whispered and nipped at her spine, grinding his cock into her ass. 

    "Dios I've wanted to bend you over for ages."

    She huffed and ground against him, lifting on one arm to grab his hand and drag it forward to her clit, pausing to suck on his fingertips clean before setting them where she wanted them.

    "...since...since when, viejo sucio?" She teased, rocking her hips side to side.  He pressed up into her and gave a sharp, wet smack to her clit and she saw stars, her head dropping as he teased at her entrance, pulling her back onto his cock slowly as his fingers flicked and kindled dancing sparks all across her core.

    "You were...working at Casita...and I... ah mierda...I walked right into you...."

    He sank into her slowly, his free hand massaging and kneading at her flesh, pulling and rocking, the press of his fingers spiraling around her skin as he swore.

    "You looked back...fuck...I wanted to bend you over the sawhorse...let everyone see...dios I...had to run..."

    He slid his hand from her clit in a long, delicate drag that left her thighs twitching, her slick trailing and cooling on her skin, his thumbs resting in the little dimples at the base of her spine and digging in, dragging a groan out of her as he hit a pressure point.  She lost her strength and slipped forward, ass canted up to meet each slow roll of his hips, the angle hitting deep inside her, a pliant, writhing heat flaring at each glide of his cock. She squeezed her muscles around him, shivering from toes to scalp at the tremor that rippled through her. 

    "Please...don't stop..." she hissed, the cool tile of the floor soothing against her cheek as he bucked against her.  His palms burned, tracing up her back and around to her tits, tugging at her nipples and edging her up back on all fours. He bit at her side and shifted behind her, his cock glancing at every nerve inside her as he kept pulling, his hands rough at her sides bringing her up to her knees, his hands roaming.  He kneaded her breasts, tweaking her nipples to peaks until her head lolled back on his shoulder, his tongue slick against her jaw.  His fingers danced down her stomach, digging and shifting and sculpting her tighter to him with each gentle thrust, murmuring against her skin. 

    "I woke up...for days...so hard it hurt.  Knew if I...did anything I'd never...be able to show my face...denied it for ages..."

    He groaned and twisted behind her, contorting his legs under her and slowly laying back until he was flush to the floor and she reared above him, her back to him in a supple line hidden by her hair and her knees bent around him.  His hands splayed on her tattoos, fingers gripping in the black and red and green and stroking the lines of the colibrís like he hoped to bring them to life.  He guided her hips, breath harsh as one hand reached up stroking her back and tangling in her hair.

    She was burning.  The slow pulse of him inside her flared hot with each slow gyration of her hips, but it wasn't quite enough, teased too high for too long, her body screaming for more as she moaned, shaking her head back to tangle her hair further in his grasp, red splashes of highlighting pain flitting bold across the back of her eyes. 

    One hand slid down her front, her fingers twitching at her clit as she sped her pace, her knees smarting with each bounce and twist of her pelvis. Her knuckles grazed against his balls, and she followed the blind inspiration his gasp created, shifting her hand further, leaning forward, her head yanked back by his fist in her hair dragging out a sweet whine.  She slid her hand down to cup his balls and bring them close, grinding down on her wrist and his cock as white and black and blue lights began to flash at the back of her eyes, electric dancing up her clit and her cunt and down her scalp to coalesce in and spill over into her belly.  Beneath her, Bruno was frantic, swearing nonsense and praise and thrusting up to meet her with slamming hips, his tangled hands digging into her shoulder and hip and pressing her down onto him like a man possessed.  Fingers twisted at her nipple as he shifted, cock driving into that spot inside of her, lights crashing in her brain and all sounds but their own dying in her ears as she clenched around him, every ridge of his cock searing and scalding against her nerves, her body shaking as her cry echoed out in the shops. 

    She pressed two fingers into the soft flesh behind his balls and crooked them up in one soft, solid stroke as she came, body shuddering down to her bones, and he fell with her, gripping her tight enough to bruise as he shouted, hips bucking into her in shallow thrusts as each spurt left him, heat filling her and throwing her shivering into an aftershock so strong she came again, shaking and panting as he held her through her release. fingers tangled in her hair.

    He pulled her back against him, slipping out of her as they situated themselves on the cool floor, legs tangling together and the tiles leaching the heat from their skin as they caught their breath.

    Elena smacked his chest in mock pique as she sat up, rubbing at her lower back.

    "You didn't even take your shirt off, cabrón?"

    "My mind was...elsewhere?" He shrugged, snorting with laughter as she found her nightgown and whipped it at him before standing with a wince.

    "Obviously.  Ow.  Next time chase me up the stairs, tonto.  My knees aren't going to forgive me for this."

    "Books I wanted aren't up there…” he muttered as he sprung to his feet, threading his legs back into his pants and tucking himself away with a smirk.  Elena walked off, shuffling back into her nightdress when he saw it, the light catching the streak of his seed running down her inner thigh, and his stomach sank, catching up to her as she made it to her door.

    "Elena, I didn't mean..." He gave a weak gesture between them, and silently blessed her for understanding as his eyes froze on her stomach.

    "Don't worry about it, Bruno.  I trust your vision.  I trust you.  It'll happen when it's meant to.  Until then...we'll both try not to worry, hm?  No sense in ruining all the fun." She winked and tugged at his hand, pulling him up the stairs behind her.

His thoughts scattered, the memories of her breaking and shaking in fear at the prospect alone still fresh in his mind, and he squeezed her hand, his thumb tapping out his pattern of sevens.  She surprised him by returning them, seven gentle presses of her hand in his, and relief washed over him unbidden.  She had accepted the vision of their future, had come to terms with it, had let it settle into her skin and become a part of her so easily.  He admired her  again then, the flexibility of her mind and the depth of her ability to accept life as it came at her.  He had grappled endlessly with the thoughts of never having a family, had resigned himself to it time and again through his own inability to handle what life had handed him. 

Elena had been forced into accepting it for years, and had the truth of it thrown in her face with no warning.  For her to have already folded it way into herself and accepted it readily enough to be able to talk about it amazed him.  She'd had one of the strongest panic attacks he'd seen outside of his own when the news came to light, the implications of all it meant and all that had been hidden from her flooding her thoughts.  For her to be able to speak of it so readily, to realize that the constellation of her person had shifted to include more of the possibilities of life solidified his belief that there was more to Elena than the impression she gave everyone, more than the bookish, brash café owner and librarian that she presented to everyone else.  

    He wondered who she would have been if her parents had moved to the city once their health had declined.  Would she have stood out, bright and brash against the bustle of everyone else?  Or would she have faded away among people just as bold as herself.  It was something he regretted about the Encanto, the seclusion that kept them safe but also behind.  He knew the world outside was advancing rapidly, had brought up concerns about it to his mother before his disappearance but had been soundly told to not worry.  That no one would want to leave the Encanto permanently. At some point he had given up trying, focusing on holding his visions of the outside world at bay however he could.  After thirty years of living with the knowledge that they couldn't stay hidden forever he'd begun to chafe at the brush-offs.  With the mountain pass now open, maybe it was time to voice his concerns again.  Later.

    He followed her up the stairs in a daze, and lounged against the kitchenette counter as she washed and got ready for the day.  He watched in a buzzing state of half arousal as she brushed out her hair with a mouth full of pins, walking back and forth across the loft in decreasing levels of nudity as she wrestled out tangles and picked up stray articles of clothing with her toes, never still.  It was silly and domestic, and the guileless little 'hah' she made when she managed to hook a loose blouse into the hamper had him smiling like a fool.  She pecked his cheek in passing to the baño to apply her makeup, and he found himself leaning over the counter lost, watching the delicate movements as she blacked her eyelashes and rouged her lips. 

    Elena gave him a mischievous look once she was dressed for the day, comfortable in her tailored men's work clothes and her hair pulled back in a tail with the fly-aways tethered down, grinning at his mooning look.

    "I suppose I've got you for the rest of the day?"

    He was still trapped in a haze, and grinned.  "You've got me as long as you want me, ninfa."

    "I meant are they expecting you back at Casita, mi satiro lindo," she snorted, rolling her eyes at him as he rubbed his arm bashfully.

    "Er, no.  I think they figured I was gonna...make myself scarce today."

    "Perfecto!  Since we have the time, I think it's time you met an old friend."

    He let her lead him out of the café as Chacha flew on ahead, curious more than anything at the basket she'd perched on her arm as they walked.  His heart was swooping a little as they made their way through town.  Elena paused here and there to talk to people as they made their way out from the church and went about their day.  He caught sight of his family heading to Casita and bashfully returned Félix and Agustín's thumbs up, snickering as Pepa handed something to Agustín, a little cloud sparking over her head before she shooed it away in pique.  Izan and Enzo stopped them at one point to ask if he had the time the next day to help them trim a couple of trees at the Park's new property, which he agreed to after checking in with Elena, who had only grinned and shaken her head over him asking.  Miranda waylaid them for a full ten minutes, exasperation clear as she handed over an envelope and dragged Alonzo and Álvaro from behind her to apologize. 

    Bruno had earned a glare from Miranda for snickering at the story, the boys having taken the books they'd borrowed and reading in a tree, caught first in a cloudburst and then by a troop of thieving capuchins, ending in an indignant heap of manure at the back of the property they'd been hounding.  The boys had survived, but their pride and the books hadn't. 

    "Please just replace them when you go out.  These two will not stop moping until they finish the stories."

    Elena grabbed the twins in a hug and admonished them to be more careful next time.  "If you have to climb, ask your mamá if you can come to the pergola.  That's what it's there for, tontitos."

    Miranda nodded and gathered her boys.  She turned to go before pausing. 

    "Arturo said Raf's getting antsy dealing with Ruiz and Bardales' nonsense.  Have you...thought any more about..."

    Elena squeezed his hand and took a breath.  She had been dragging her feet giving an answer, wanting nothing more than to stay away from the palisade and seeing Joaquin Ruiz and Manuel Bardales for as long as possible, but knew if she didn't it would eat at her all day and Miranda would just keep asking her.

    "Tell Arturo I'll be there on the twenty-fourth."  It was decisive, and Miranda gave her a brief hug before turning to Bruno.  

    "Be there for her, would you?"

    "Por supuesto."  He ignored the implication he wouldn't.  Gunshots were familiar to him, but most didn't know that.  He could suffer through it for Elena.  Miranda gave him a genuine smile and shuffled her sons on about their day, waving as she went.

    They went on, and Bruno couldn't help the line that kept running through his head, half remembered from Fantasma de la Ópera, about being like everyone else and having someone to take out on Domingo, and he let go of her hand, wrapping his arm around her waist instead, content to follow wherever she took him, and purposely not thinking about her out past the palisade teaching men to shoot.  

    He hadn't been sure what he was expecting, but Julio Guzman's ranch was not it.  Tomás and Tulio were arguing off to the side with Senór Rendon, but he couldn't make out the words.  Elena handed him the basket, darting forward and over the rough fence in a second.  She bolted across the pen to the giant bay Campolina stallion that canted around her, prancing and tossing his head, lipping and nuzzling at her hair and her shoulders and her belly as she fed him apple slices from her hand.  

    "Ladrillito, no!" she squealed as she went to pat him and he nudged his big oblong head under her armpits and neighed in her face before finally calming, letting her pat him and scritch at his dark, wavy mane.  She whispered to him, leading him over to the fence like a pair of conspirators as Chacha completed the picture, landing between the horse's ears and preening a tuft of hair as Bruno watched.

    The beast towered over both of them just at the withers, his shoulders muscular and rippling, and must have been close to seven foot at the ears.  His hair was graying and in need of a good brushing at the face and withers.  Bruno could see he was long in the tooth as he wiggled his lip at him, and he had a fist sized tumor on his left flank.  Beyond the obvious signs of aging, Ladrillo was a very healthy and very intimidating horse.  Bruno stood stock still as the big animal sniffled and huffled and snorted at him, nosing through the fence before nudging his shirt pocket aggressively and knocking him of balance.  Chacha flapped off in a squawking flurry towards Casita, clacking her beak at them both.

    "Oye EM!" Elena hollered behind her, her youngest primo skidding out of the barn without his shirt, the blue eyes of one of the Chavez daughters peeping out after him before disappearing.  Elena shook her head as he jogged up, trying and failing to get all the straw out of his hair, flashing a charming grin.

    Bruno found himself suddenly very glad the Guzman boys were Elena's cousins.  Emilio, like his older brother and primo, was tall and broad, though he had some filling out to do before he caught up with any of them, Elena included, her own sturdy arms now wrapped around his neck as she ground knuckles into his carefully arranged hair, ruining his work.

    "Don't let Julio catch you with Constanza Torrez in his barn again.  Go tack up Ladrillo for me and I won't say anything."

    "...That's Yolanda Chavez..." Bruno whispered to her, tentatively patting the big horse, still snuffling for the sugar in his pocket.  Elena blanched and set after her cousin as he squirmed loose and sprinted away, a string of swears leaving Bruno wheezing following poor Emilio as the unfortunate Chavez girl escaped out the back holding up her dress.

    "Estúpido perro cachondo!  Te haré un nudo en la polla si embarazas a Chávez! Harías mejor follando con un pez!  Sacaré al tio Sebastian del infierno y haré que patee tu estúpido trasero!  Ladrones de pollos lamiendo pintura!"

    Tomás and Tulio were howling off to the side, and even Senór Rendon was covering his mouth.  Emilio came out loaded down with horsetack and went to work, rubbing his ear and grumbling as Elena continued to lay down the law.

    "...cannot believe you after all the trouble they caused Tio Seb and your mamá and Tia Pilar!"

    Emilio muttered something that Bruno didn't quite catch, but made Elena yank on his ear again.  "And none of that.  My business is my business, and I'm not the one getting caught in barns."

    "Ow, OW, ok Leni, Cristo! We didn't even do anything!"  Emilio whined and got to work as Elena came back to the fence, rolling her eyes at Bruno's chuckling.

    ""Paint licking chicken thieves?"  That's a new one."

    "You know a better way to describe Rico and Chepe?"

    "Mmyeh, Fair enough."

    They watched as her cousin got the big animal ready in , and his arm found its way around her waist again as she spoke, patting Ladrillo's big head and rubbing his velvety nose.  Ladrillo relished the attention, nibbling at her hair and nuzzling against her with quiet whickering. 

    "I don't get to ride him as much as I used to, with work and everything.  Julio takes good care of him, though.  Ladrillo was the first horse he broke, and he wanted me to have a good quinceañera.  He's a good boy.  Aren't you Ladrillito?"  The horse nickered and butted his big head against her chest again, before turning and whuffing at Bruno, who finally relented.  After throwing a handful over his shoulder he poured sugar in his palm and let Ladrillo nibble it away.

    "I'm still mad at you for trying to bite me, pendajo.  But you aren't so bad.  Good for us your person likes cranky old men."

     He watched as Elena mounted the horse in one practiced movement and take up the reins.  They trotted around the pen for a moment, Elena leaning down and patting Ladrillo's thick neck affectionately.  A gentle figure eight followed, and a lazy serpentine motion, and a canter around the perimeter before she gave a sharp whistle and stood in the stirrups.  Ladrillo charged, going from a lope to a gallop as he spiraled and turned, breath thundering as he twisted in a wide circle and pivoted into a tight one, racing up and down the fence line with Elena gripping his mane, the reins forgotten as a smile split her face.

    His heart did a frightful flop when she gave up the stirrups as well and hugged the animal with her knees, first kneeling with her feet under her and then laying face down on the broad back picking up the reins again.  His stomach dropped when she bolted up from that pose just to lay flat, her feet bouncing on the horse's rump before she slid off the side.  He shouted in alarm, but Elena was sprinting and laughing alongside the horse, hopping trying to get back on before giving up and letting the reins slip and landing hard on her rump, howling with laughter as Emilio did the same.  Bruno clambered over the fence and helped her up as she dusted herself off, a little sweaty and glowing.

    "You didn't tell me you were going to trick ride the thing!" he stammered, and she shrugged. 

    "I wasn't planning on it, tonto!  I had to see if I still could.  Nope!  Can't jump over his haunches anymore.  But he's in good shape."  She patted Ladrillo as he came back around, headbutting her back, and climbed back up, holding a hand out to Bruno.

    "Let's go for a ride."

    It was a slow ride down the trail, past all the farms and fields and out into the flat valleys that weren't as arable, left for the trees and for livestock to amble through for exercise and variety.  Bruno sat behind Elena, his arms around her waist as they spoke about whatever came to their minds.  He was careful of where he let his hands rest, knowing she was still grappling with the reality of the vision.  She paid his hands no mind and teased him for borrowing one of the Sanchezes mares months before.

    "How did you even hear about that?" he asked.  He hadn't liked to talk about that first day back, after Casita fell.  Elena laughed.

    "Mirabel isn't nearly as quiet as she thinks she is.  I overheard her and Camilo in the bibliotheca one day.  It's...sort of why I figured you'd been out in the mountains.  Turns out you're just loco and went bareback riding after ten years of isolation."

    "Guilty as charged.  But...a good loco, right?"  He burrowed his nose in her neck and squeezed her tightly, and she hummed, leaning into him.  She twisted in the saddle to kiss his cheek, an unbearably fond look on her face.

    "Te amo, hombre tonto."

    Ladrillo nickered and flicked his ears before Bruno could answer, and Elena chuffed.  "Cállate caballo.  I do.  So no more nipping at his bits, I don't care if he does have sugar in his pockets."

    Ladrillo tossed his head, Elena scratching his ears and leaning over to let Bruno do the same.  Her hand brushed back, resting on his leg bracketing hers, thumb tracing the scar beneath the fabric as she got lost in thought.  Bruno rested his head against her back and threaded his hand in hers, content.

    "Do you think it was fate?" Elena said, pensive voice cutting through the calm as they trailed along the little river. 

    "Do I think what was fate?"  He asked, confused.

    "This.  Us.  Because of the vision.  I mean.  Is it like...we were just likely to happen anyway and you just happened to see it?  Or are we together because you saw it, set it in stone?"

    Bruno sat up straight, trying not to let her doubt wound him.  "I don't make things happen, Elena, you know that."

    "I know, Bruno.  I just meant...Does seeing it solidify it in time?  You aren't doing it, time is, it sets the course, right?"

    He wasn't sure how to answer at first.  No one had ever tried to dig in to quite why what he saw became reality, why the moment frozen in emerald answered the question in it's barest form but didn't tell of the negligible paths he saw in the sands, or anything beyond it.  He chewed on the question for a few minutes, puzzling over it himself.

    "Time...does as it wants.  I just...make things visible.  Open doors for people to see."  He sighed, pressing her palm into his leg, letting the slight ache of his scar distract him so he could speak clearly.

    "I don't think the vision...tied us together, Elena.  It's...it's hard to explain.  You and I...we're very different...but we're very the same too.  I mean...You know..."  He couldn't put it into words, the similarities he'd seen, but she nodded anyway, understanding despite his mumbling tongue.

    "We are very the same.  Go on, it's ok."

    "Visions...are still lifes of time.  But time and people can change.  If someone asked a question for their child as a baby, there's no way to see every possibility outside of that specific question.  So...I could see...Who the child marries, maybe, if that's what's asked.  But not if they're happy.  Not if they move on."

    He bit his lip.  Time was always hard to explain, the solid but fluid quality exactly like sand, always in danger of shifting.  "Some things will happen, no matter what.  The rockslide, Memo's death.  Dolores and Mariano being kept apart.  Casita cracking.  But.  But the events around it?  That I can't always see.  I didn't see the whole town working to stop things or helping us rebuilding Casita.  Guillermo...staying at the on site to cut it off when he did.  I'm so sorry."

    Elena squeezed his leg, humming quietly.  "He let me know, you know," she said, bringing his hand up to her heart.  "We were...It was after Mamá found us.  It...It didn't make it easier, but I...I was prepared at least.  There's nothing to apologize for.  He...He told me to be happy before he left for work that day.  You gave us the chance to say goodbye."

    Bruno stilled at the old pain in her voice, a scar she spoke around but hadn't acknowledged head on before.

    "And are you?   Happy?"

    "You need to ask?"

    He smiled into her skin and held her close, letting the rocking gate of the horse sway them together.

    "I like to think I'll make you happy.  Your...your father wanted to know if you'd be taken care of.  That was all he asked.  What he wanted to see could have effected what I was able to see.  I don't know."  He paused, floundering for words.  "I care for you.  I want to take care of you, Elena.  I think....I think time...it's...Time is like water.  It takes the easiest path.  We've known each other for years, and you were always so kind to me, even before you er...before you noticed me, I guess."

    "And...Time...what?  Could see us together?"

    "Something like that.  There are multiple splits in time.  It's like the head of a river and a delta at once.  Multiple paths to get to a point, multiple streams after a point.  I can only see the smoothest course, but I can sense the rest, sometimes.  I...I'm just the focal point.  The prism that concentrates the light.  The light's the brightest where it has the least obstacles blocking it.  You were never afraid of me.  Never believed all the stupid things people said.  Never thought the little charms I left in the shops were odd or looked at me funny for my...for my quirks or...or any of that."

    "And you.  What about your side of this?"  His hand traced down her side smoothly, caressing the swell of her hip and stroking the tattoo hidden under her clothes. 

    "I...have been accused of having a type.  You are the height of every part of it.  If...if life hadn't knocked me around so much...I saw you.  I knew you.  If there'd been an ounce of courage in me anywhere...well.  Time takes the easiest path.  I tried...not to be obvious about it.  But a lot of the time I spent, before I left, was...was to be around you.  I just...couldn't make myself believe you were anything past friendly."

    "Glad you came around?"

    "Besaste el sentido en mí.  Te amo."

    "Y también te amo, mi Bruno."

    He rested his head on her shoulder, content as she gave Ladrillo a flick of the reins and had him trotting out into the outskirts of the Encanto.  The hills before the mountains rolled, and were half wild, full of wild shrubs and flowers that he didn't recognize, winding and hidden.  Nothing was ever truly hidden here, but it had the same serene feeling of privacy as the cenote pool without the risk of them being ambushed by his sobrinos.

    He didn't think he'd ever get used to hearing it, and he didn't want to.  The trickle of heat that ran down his spine at the words never failed to make his heart thump just that little bit harder.  He snuggled closer into her back, listening to her own heartbeat play counterpoint to the gentle clop of Ladrillo's hooves.  He had worried at first, at how often they did say it now that they'd torn down that last barrier.  He'd wondered it out loud one morning after breakfast, one of the days he stayed at Casita to give visions and been treated to a chorus of groans from his cuñados.

    "Bruno, sometimes you have got to just shut your brain off, ok?  You're not gonna run out of words."

    He'd sighed  and set the plate he was washing down, looking out the window.  Agustín had been helping Julieta prep that morning, and had watched him see Elena off after she'd spent the night.  He'd meant to go back to bed, his pareja's hours too early for him, but had gotten roped into breakfast prep by his sister.  She'd had him roll out the mas arepa and pass it to her in silence, quiet communication of yawns and bumped shoulders passing between them.  Julieta had smiled the whole time, and it took Bruno until the meal was ready to realize it was because he had been humming.  How long had it been since she'd heard him do that, and how long since it had come so naturally he hadn't even realized?  He knew the answer had just made her way down the path to the town after turning his ears red at the door.  He'd shaken himself from his reverie and looked at Félix, chewing his lip.

    "I know there's not an actual limit, y'know.  I just...what if it stops...what if it stops meaning anything, saying it so often?"

    Félix almost looked offended, like he couldn't imagine the concept.  "Look.  The only way te amo ever stops meaning te amo is when the love dies out first, ok?  There isn't a person in town doesn't know how you feel about her."

    "What if it's her that it...stops meaning something for?  I mean...come on..." He'd given a limp gesture to himself, and been promptly sat on a stool by Agustín, who'd banged his knee in the process and ignored it to sit beside him.

    "Why are you trying to talk yourself out of this?"

    "I'm not!  I just...I just don't see...what she sees in me."  Bruno had slumped onto the table and covered his face.  "I'm...I'm a mess.  I have nothing to offer her except...well...not much, anyway.  I just...when will I hear her say it for the last time before I let her down and she realizes she's been wasting time with me?"

    Agustín sighed and patted his back as Félix grumbled something at the sink about all thought and no sense.  "I get it.  You think I had any clue what your sister sees in me?  I still don't.  But I tried not to think about it when we were starting out.  It doesn't do any good, just makes you worry for nothing.  Elena loves you, she'd tell you if she wasn't happy.  You're crazy together, but it works.  Don't keep questioning something you already know the answer to."

    "Besides," Félix chuckled from the sink, "She likes what you offer well enough.  And you're a Madrigal.  That means something."  Bruno had missed the wink that passed between his cuñados as he shrugged. 

    "Elena doesn't care about that..."

    "Then what's the worry?  You think she's shallow enough to get tired of you when she tossed people out just for spreading those stupid rumors for years?  Come on.  You aren't going to make her stop feeling that just because you managed to finally say it."

    "But what if...aahk!"   A wet dishcloth hit him in the mouth, slung by a groaning Félix.

    "Bro.  I love you, and I say this with love.  Shut the hell up.  You could think yourself out of a wet dream!  You keep it up and I'm siccing Pepa and Elena on you to knock some sense in that head!"

    He had groaned again and gone to wash his mouth out in the sink when Julieta found him and pinched him, her fingers twisting in the soft little pancita he'd accumulated and had actually hissed at him, a furious cat in place of his sister.

    "You have the world to offer each other, and you both know it.  I'll drag a psiquiatra from Bogotá myself if I hear you acting this loco again, comprendes?"

    He had nodded, not about to argue with her when she was making that face.  She nodded and set out with her baskets of arepas, leaving him to finish the breakfast dishes with Félix and Agustín.

    They had spent the next hour chatting over a card game once the dishes were put away, Félix cleaning both of them out and laughing as he caught Coco and Mozz stealing from the cash pile to try sneaking it back into Bruno and Agustín's pockets. 

    "I swear I did not train them to do that."

    By the time Ramira Reyes had appeared at the door for the vision she'd requested, they had dragged his worries away with the same easy comradery they'd shared in their younger days.  He didn't realize until later in the day, during the lunch vision with Elena stationed spine to spine behind him, that they had spent that morning hour letting him ramble about her, asking the most random questions and getting him to talk.   They'd assessed him and assured him and he'd never noticed.

    "You're quiet back there.  Did you fall asleep?" Elena's voice shook him from his woolgathering and made him laugh, squeezing her so tightly to him she slid back on the smooth saddle and nearly lost her grip on the reins.

    "Me gusta esto.  Me encanta esto.  Te amo, Elena."  He squeezed her even tighter and hummed against her.

    "This what, silly man?  Horseback?"

    "No.  This.  Just...you and me.  Just...this is...normal.  This is...with you, I'm just like everybody else.  I...I know that doesn't make sense.  I wish I could make it..."

    Elena shifted the reins to one hand and stroked his arms with the other, leaning back into him. 

    "It does make sense.  You are like everybody else.  We're just people, Bruno.  Sometimes...sometimes other people can make you forget that, but we've never been anything else but regular people."

    "Elena, I can see the future.  There's nothing regular about that."  She snickered when he tried to throw out his hand for emphasis, use hand quotes and hold onto her all at once, slipped, and had to flail and grab her shoulders to keep himself upright, squeezing them closer together.

    "And you've lived an enchanted life because of that?" He huffed petulantly at the eyebrow she gave him when she looked back.

    "…Nah.  Not really."

    "So you have an extra talent.  Still sounds like everyone else to me."

    He hummed and nodded, lost in thought.  The rocking of the horse's slow gait swayed him into her back, and he let his mind wander to the morning they'd spent on the bibliotheca floor, and a mad idea curled and held on like a strangling vine.  He bit back the snort of amusement as his cock twitched.  One more animal he’d have to swear to secrecy it was then.

    He stroked his hands up her sides and scooted against her back, pressing as tightly to her as he could and shaking out his ruana to hide them.  Warm lips found her neck as he brushed her hair aside.

    "If I'mm like everyone else, I hope there's something that sets me apart to you at least..." he nibbled up to her neck, his hands shifting to her hips as his thighs squeezed around her, hard against her back.  So it was like that?  She grinned and leaned into him, shrugging coyly.

    "Well...you do have very nice hair."

    "Hmm...that's...pretty common..." She squirmed as he found the tender spot behind her ear, and he gripped her tighter, keeping them both balanced on Ladrillo's gently swaying back.

    "You're fishing...but I suppose there's those...ah...those lovely green eyes..."

    "I like fishing.  But I'm not the only green-eyed man in town."  He trailed his lips to the other ear, stubble scratching as he his tongue traced over the shell of it, chuckling as her hands twisted a tight creak into the leather reins.  There was a tic forming in her jaw and cheek, smile-tight and and steady and he bit at it gently to get an answer.

    "There is...this rumor of...magic hands..." came out, breathy and amorous as she let her head tip back onto his shoulder, curious to see just what he was up to.  If she hadn't figured it out from rumors and experience, the new coffee tamper he'd had to buy her after the questionable repair to her broken one was evidence enough that he liked to get creative.

    He pulled her shirt loose from her waistband and made quick work of the trouser buttons, slipping a hand past her underwear to winnow his fingers to the top of her slit, chuckling as she raised up on the stirrups and gripping her hip, grinding against her as much as he could.

    “That…is not a rumor.”  Elena hummed as he teased at the hood of her clit, his fingers quick and clever and sending sparks up her spine as he sucked another mark to the surface on the back of her neck.

    She'd worn a tailored pair of trousers, a panel in the back closed with lacing to be tightened or loosened as needed, and he was in need.  He slipped the leather cord loose from the grommets and folded the panel down, the satin of her underwear bobbing before him.  He covered her swiftly with his ruana and worked blind, sucking a mark onto the knot of her spine as he kneaded her ass up from the saddle with pushing, pinching fingers and moved the satin to the side.  She stood straighter in the stirrups and leaned harder onto the hand hidden under her shirt, biting back a moan when his fingers dug into her clit and one from the blind hand slipped inside her, crooking back before another joined, pumping in deep and pulling out, spreading slick from her opening to halfway up the cleft of her ass until ever motion was a slippery squelch against him and she was white-knuckling the reins, Ladrillo wickering and tossing his mane, laughing.

    "Wha...what are you...we're going to fall off...I'm not...oh...I'm not explaining this!"

    "Trust me?" He whispered, removing his hand. She didn't answer, but groaned and shook her head, grinding down on his hand and nodding over a bitten lip.  He popped the buttons of his own fly free and shifted, gripping the back of the horse in his knees as he freed himself, settling his cock into the warm cleft of her ass, letting the rocking ease him forward.  He crooked his fingers against her and grunted as she slid back against him, the heat of her folds surrounding him, her weight and the solid leather of the saddle pressing them together, melded together as she leaned into him.   She lifted her ass and tipped forward, a roll of her hips catching the head of his cock at her entrance and letting him slip inside.  He curved just enough to stay inside her, each minuscule movement shifting him just in and out of the clutching ring of muscle as she wiggled against his hand, panting and doing her best to stay balanced.  

    She struggled to stay on the saddle as heat built in her core, her knees turned in just to keep balance as his free hand snaked into her bra and played with her, little flashes of lightning sparking from three places at once as they rocked in tandem, hie breath measured and heavy in her ear.

    She yelped as Bruno kicked Ladrillo, spurring the horse on faster, the increased pace rocking them closer together, Bruno shifting his grip to her hips and pulling her fully into his lap as he leaned back, slipping further inside of her.  Lights burst behind her eyes at the sharp thrust, his cock hitting that spot inside of her again and again as they fought to stay upright, her grip on the reins weakening as the trail disappeared and she lost all focus, to caught up in the rough bite of his arms around her middle and the sharp, jerking slide of him inside her, hitting just the right angle to set her spine on fire.

    There was a painful jolt as Ladrillo came to a stop and went down, whinnying in annoyance and half rolling, throwing them both to the ground as Bruno twisted to soften Elena's fall, wincing as she landed with her full weight on his stomach.  The horse wedged his big head between them and nipped at their hands until they stood; agitated before licking Elena up the face and nuzzling into her neck, a petulant whicker aimed at Bruno as he huffed and righted his ruana.  Ladrillo twisted around as Elena tried to calm him and nipped once at Bruno's rear, making him yelp and dart away.

    "That was rude, Ladrillo." Elena huffed, dusting herself off and trying not to laugh.  "But I guess you got uncomfortable.  Lo siento, caballo cariño.  Now stop biting Bruno's ass, I'm rather attached to it.  Go nibble."  Bruno glared at the horse as he ambled away lazily, shaking his head like he was laughing at them.

    Ladrillo had steered them into a secluded patch of the woods past one of the farms.  Elena wasn't sure she recognized it, but it was decidedly quiet.  Bruno noticed the silence as well, and despite the agitated look he was giving the roaming horse, had a smirk on his face.  He was looking speculatively between her and an old feijoa tree, and the quirk at his lip was devious. 

    Elena was giggling as she tried to right the ties to her trousers when he came up behind her, kissing her neck and slipping a hand back into the front of her pants, cupping her sex with swift, wriggling fingers.

    "Still?  You just tried to fuck me on a horse.  Riding a horse, Bruno! You're crazy!" Her laughter turned to a gasp as he worked, biting her neck.

    "You liked it."

    "That's not the point!"

    "No, that's a little further south,"

    "Viejo sucio"

    "You like that too."

Elena keened sharply as he pulled her close and swooped her away, tugging her towards the tree and nuzzling the bite he’d left.  He untangled himself long enough to strip off his ruana and spread it across two low branches.

“I’m an old man with a bad back, but I can improvise!” He laughed as he pulled her to him and backed her against the trunk, mouth ravenous on hers as he fought the lacing of her trousers before ripping them down and helping her step out.

“You want me up on a tree?”

“Como la ninfa que eres, mi oréade.” He whispered against her leg, his tongue running up in a molten stripe from knee to thigh.  He helped her climb into the wide bowl formed by the branches, though she wasn’t sure how much help he actually was, palming her ass and his fingers sliding against her.

She hung open and exposed across the branches, bark of the tree padded under her knees by his ruana.  Bruno’s eyes raked over her, his throat bobbing as he closed the space between them, pressing her back into the trunk of the tree and guiding himself inside her waiting heat in one rough stroke, hooking her thighs like he was holding her up under his own power and pushing into her as her arms came around his shoulders, fingers caught in his hair.

He was in no hurry, his hands roaming from her thighs to her ass and squeezing, pressing her closer and plying her slowly with each slow slide of his cock.  His lips trailed from ear to jaw to neck and collarbone, repeating the path on the other side, his voice soft at her ears as they came together and broke apart.

“…Te amo, te amo…”

Elena held onto him like a lifeline, too open and made vulnerable by the ferocity of his attention.  She felt safe and exhilarated in his arms, nothing but the woods and the sky behind him as he held her, loved her, drew her down slowly and sweetly into oblivion.  She was spiraling up inside her own skin, her whole body aching and singing and desperate to hold him closer, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt and holding him burning and panting against her chest.  Her heart pinched tight as she rocked against him, the rough scratch of the bark at her back and the sear of him between her legs kept her rooted to the real world as her head spun away, the twisting swirl in her chest draining in the glowing cerise of molten glass, tempering in the cool of the evening air as it coursed and molded itself under her skin.

Bruno buried his face in her neck, letting her pulse hammer against his skin as she held him as close as it was possible, where she ended and he began lost as they moved together.  He clung to her, nails leaving little halfmoons in the softness of her skin.  He could feel each sigh and moan as it bubbled up from her chest, sifting into his ears to get trapped in his brain, each sigh and soft whimper sending warm currents flowing down his spine, settling into his bones and driving him on, trying not to bring them both to climax but to combine them into one consciousness, to slip under her skin and live there, held safe in the copper and bronze and gold of her ribcage until the world fell away.

Elena cried out, clamping around him and huddling around him, tangling in his ruana as she clasped his shoulders, ankles hooked behind his back.  He swayed but caught himself and her, lowering slowly to the ground until they were seated, still connected as she shook and clutched at his back.  He followed her down, unable to pull away and part of him not wanting too, letting the pulses of his release trickle hot down their legs as he lay back on the grass and cuddled her down over him, holding her close as possible as they caught their breath, neither of them ready yet to speak.

Elena rolled away and snuggled into his side, scratching at his scalp.  He kissed the top of her head, hazy and wrung out as his heart slowed.  His heart swooped in his chest, a hoatzin again, circling its nest before coming home.  The surge of emotion at her snuggling in deeper coursed around him and forced his hand.  He knew what he had said, but he had to speak with Gustavo.

There was a nickering off to the side, and he groaned as he sat up and scanned the mess he’d made of both of them, rolling to stand and shuffling back into his pants, helping Elena stand and do the same before going to the horse and hopping up onto the saddle.

     Elena took Bruno's hand and swung up onto Ladrillo's back behind him, her knees wobbly.  The horse had a jaunt to his step that reminded her of shaking shoulders, but she was not about to ask Antonio if horses could laugh.  And maybe he could.  In horse years, Ladrillo was older than both of them, and had seen his fair share of human shenanigans in that time, the barn a favorite spot for the Guzman boys and herself for a little fun when it wasn't the Vazquez brothers abusing the same privilege.  A good portion of the horses in the Encanto were his children, and thanks to his outstanding size there had been talk of establishing a breed between her and Julio.  More than once she had taken one of his foals out to the city to trade, though she'd never revealed where they were from to the tradesmen, and the mares she'd brought back in return were also healthy and gentle and outsized. 

    Bruno struggled with the reins slightly, out of practice nonwithstanding his illicit ride months before, and she took pity on him, her hands slipping around him and under his palms to help him lead until he'd gotten his bearings.

    "You know I'm never letting Antonio near Ladrillo now, right?"  He shrugged, chuckling.

    "Between us, my sister, and the rest of the town, he's going to be banned from the stables entirely soon.  Honestly we're lucky Pepa couldn't join the military, ready made spy network!"

    She snickered into his shoulder before pausing, again taken aback by the restrictions the Miracle was capable of placing on it's recipients whether it meant to or not.  A thought sparked so quick she couldn't stop it, her heart twisting even as she said it.  Acknowledging the reality in some vague future was different than asking about the reality directly.

    "Do you think he'll have a gift?"

    Bruno's back stiffened under her, aware as she was that the question and it's answer had the power to recast them both into something new, tempering them by stripping away the brittleness they both sheltered the knowledge in.  His hands shifted, steady on hers and he hummed.

    "It's...likely.  Part of me...part of me hopes he does get one.  It hurt...It hurt Mirabel so much to not have one.  It wasn't even about what it would have been...just that it...that it..."

    "Not having one set her apart?"

    "It's hard, being the odd one out.  I...don't want that for him.  He'll have you, but...he'll have me too and I...I'm not blind to what they say about me.  I know the rumors.  That's.  It'll already be hard on him."

    "Things are changing, Bruno.  You know that.  People don't..." He interrupted her with a snort.

    "Enrique De Leon will never not blame me for his wife missing an eye.  Renata Marquez hates us both because of...because of Memo Gonzalves.  Different reasons but still.  Nevermind the rest of the nonsense.  He's already at a disadvantage."

    Elena nodded, knowing he could feel her, and held him close.  "Mirabel is so resilient.  I have to admire that in her.  When...after everything's happened...I want to make sure she's included."

    "What do you mean "included?""

    "Once he's born...If he's without a gift...I can't help.  Félix and Agustín and your mother can't help.  We aren't expected to have a gift.  Mirabel is the only one with the experience we'd need to help him be happy with who he is.  That's...That's all I want for him, when he comes.  To be healthy and happy.  I don't care about the rest, not really.  I know it's a lot to ask, but she'll be in her twenties by then..."

     Bruno took a breath and turned, making her out in his peripheral vision.  He trusted the big campolina enough to not walk them into a ditch, so he let go of the reins and brought her hands to his chest. 

    "We don't even know if it's possible, to be honest, ninfa."

    "What do you mean?"

    "You've seen the house.  It's...different now.  Casita was always erratic, but something about it feels strange to me.  I don't know.  It might just...be me.  The wall thing.  But...There's no telling if any new Madrigal would get a gift.  The candle is gone.  The Miracle has...changed.  We don't know."

    "Would it bother you if he didn't?"

    "Would it bother you if he did?"

    They sat in silence, mulling over the questions they'd asked one another, letting them steep in their minds as the sun sank lower in the afternoon.  Dragonflies and bees flitted around them, drawn to the bright colors of Elena's shirt, but it was when they crossed the little river and the swirl of yellow mariposas fluttered around them that they came out of their shared stupor. 

    "I don't want him to go unnoticed," Bruno finally whispered, running his thumb over the divot in hers where her father's ring had once sat, almost healed away now.  Elena nodded.   She knew he was more familiar with that pain than she was, but even she'd suffered from being the last one standing in the line more than enough in her life.  It was a rotten feeling, and could warp in the mind and close a person off even further the stronger it grew.

    "And I'm scared of him being used."  Bruno hummed at that, looking off into the trees. 

    He had the fear as well.  The change in the family was slow, and he couldn't say if in six or eight or ten years from now, whenever the vision proved true, if it would have changed enough for any new Madrigal child to avoid becoming another pillar of the town.  Antonio was being allowed to choose when to use his gift for the village and when not, with varying levels of success, but he could already see a pattern forming again in the townspeople.  People coming and asking for help with small problems that they could handle on their own if they would just try.  Pepa and Félix and even his mother were fighting against it, but if they could continue to stand strong or if they would crumble under the pressure again had yet to be seen.  There was a sudden outpouring of love for Elena, the memory of her wrangling Laton from the bakery rising fresh in his mind.  

    He knew the same strain would be multiplied on any child of his own.  To make up for his own failures, for the flaws others saw in Elena, for the fear of losing the miracle again, for the fact that that future child would be the son of the son of Pedro Madrigal.

    The fear he'd had weeks ago when they'd first come together resurfaced; that any resulting child, unlikely as they'd thought, would be stained by association with him as their father, either physically or in their mind or by the town.  He wanted to believe otherwise.  The vision had shown all of them happy.  He had to have faith in it.  Elena did.

    He studied her hands in his.  Soft and bright in the sun.  Strong from years of constant work, but well cared for, the nails a light pink that stood out against her skin.  They were gentle just as she could be under the surface, the brass and steel of her guarding the mellow vitality inside. 

    He had puzzled over a lot of things since the memory of the vision and the vision itself had resurfaced.  His own relationship with his faith wavered with the health of his mind, growing stronger and weaker by turns as he became more or less secure in who he was.  It would likely always be that way.  His relationship with the church was just as complicated as the rest of his family's, the Gifts and the Miracle unexplainable and inexplicable.  Elena was Catholic in name only, and the only time he saw her in a church was when she came for him or the holidays and the anniversaries of her parent's deaths.  Whatever faith she had she kept for the living world, and what she could see and touch and know.  It had grated at his mother, and even Julieta and Félix had expressed at one point or another, some small concern over the difference.  It might have troubled him as well, if she were not so grounded and so passionate at once.  Any just deity would see the good she brought into the world just to look at her, foul mouthed and wild and all.  So he could have faith in her faith in him if nothing else.

    He squeezed Elena's hands before setting them around his waist, steering Ladrillo back towards the Guzman ranch at a slow walk.  Both of their stomach were rumbling, and the air had chilled, damp and heavy with impending rain and their own words.

    "Someone told me not to worry about things.  I want to try and listen.  I'll be...wary if there's no Gift, but...you're right.  As long as you and him are healthy and happy after...everything...it doesn't matter in the long run."

    Elena stayed silent, snuggling closer to him, one hand reaching out onto the shoulder of the horse.  He almost missed the shake in the one around him for the movement of the saddle.  Once Ladrillo was stabled and they were well down the footpath back to the loft, she took his elbow and leaned into him.

    "Your gifts are miracles, but they're burdens as well.  People don't see it if they don't know to look.  You made me see it, you know."

    "How'd I do that?  You never saw one of my visions, back then."

    "I saw you, Bruno.  The hiding, the sleeping, the exhaustion.  I saw it and wondered, and I started picking it up watching the rest of your family, here and there.  Your sisters, the girls.  Camilo haunted the café for quick sugar fixes any time he had pocket money.  Sometimes Luisa looked so close to tears I'd make up a job for her just so she could hide in the baño and breathe for a minute."

    "The kids mentioned you asking them to take breaks.  I wondered what they meant."

    "When was that?" Elena asked.  She'd never really thought anything of offering the café and library as a way to relax, but it must have made an impression on the Madrigal grandkids.  Bruno shrugged.

    "I thought it was just during the rebuilding, but I know better now.  Thank you.  For...for being in their corner."

    "They're good kids.  They just needed chances to be kids.  I know it wasn't my place, I just..."

    Bruno caught the hitch of doubt in her voice, and held her tighter.  "It could have been.  It will be, one day.  They already act like you're their tia."

    Elena blushed and hid her face in his shoulder as they walked.  She didn't want to worry over what they could have had if he'd noticed her earlier.  She knew it would have been different, that they'd be almost entirely different people.  It didn't do any good to worry about time lost, they just had to move forward.  She didn't know quite how she felt about what he'd said.   The older girls she'd babysat as a teen, and they occupied an odd space in her head, almost like Mariano and Emilio but not quite.  Nearer to cousins than would-be sobrinas.  It would be odd, if she joined the family officially.  They'd never be her sobrinas in truth and she'd never be their tia.  The title felt like it would be hollow.  She'd been there for all of Miranda and Beatriz' children's lives.  Even then the kids all knew she wasn't really their tia.  She didn't really know what having those relatives was like herself, if she thought about it.  She tried to shake the feeling as she went to fidget with the ring that no longer sat on her thumb.  Bruno squeezed her tighter again.

    "Would it bother you, if I weren't their tia?  If they...didn't really accept me?  The older girls are already adults..."

    "And Dolores comes to you for advice.  Luisa hangs on your every word when you get really into something.   Isa...is Isa.  But she likes you.  She's the one that talked me into going to the dance hall when my nerve went all...Bah.  You and Mirabel are hell on wheels together and Camilo is half sweet on you, which is really funny to watch when you come over by the way."  He paused and tickled her cheek with his nose until she giggled.  "And Tonito?  Pretty sure he adopted you the minute Chacha got stuck in his hair.  They love you, or they will.  Let them."

    "Says the man who's been worried they'd never forgive you?"

    "Never said I made sense, ninfa.  It's...I have to learn to be Tio Bruno all over again.  You don't just become a person to someone.  You have to earn it.  You...I don't think...if we...y'know.  I don't think you'd have any trouble with that."

    He paused and stepped off the path for a moment, coming up with a pink honeysuckle and tucking in behind her ear before twining their fingers together and following her down the path.  Elena was lost in thought, running her fingers over the flower carefully, a small smile on her face and the faintest blush on her cheeks.  

    "Have they always smelled this sweet, this strong?" She mumbled, almost to herself, "Or is it just what being in love does to you?"

    Bruno tapped their hands against their legs, grinning like a fool.  The gentle scent of the honeysuckle was so light he'd barely noticed it except now that it was right in front of his nose.  He liked to think maybe it was.

Chapter Text

   It wasn't often Pilar Guzman found herself in Café de Libros.  She was a casual reader at best, and had never understood just why her prima Sofia had agreed to her husband's hare-brained scheme of running three businesses at once, one of which was partially funded by the town and the other two consistently floundering, despite her honorary sobrina's best efforts. 

    The café was different from the last time she'd had a chance to stop by in Agosto.  The return pile, always teetering towards the end of the day, was barely noticeable.  The raggedy plants Lenita had always desperately tried to cultivate were thriving for once, the hoya and rhipsalis even showing a few bright blooms of red and pink.  The cabinet knobs and walls were decorated in bright clay milagros and red knotwork, glittering strings of ceramic that chimed in the air, and shiny beadwork threaded keys, all of it right jarring alongside Sofia's old handiwork.  A jar of jumbled and colorful worry dolls sat by the register, a little hand drawn sign underneath stating 'gratis si lo necesitas.'  Two suncatchers hung in the twin windows of the café side, one a plain jumble of sisal rope and green glass, the other an intricate black and beige piece with the glass set in an impression of a cup over an open book.  Red knotwork hung at the very base with the beige and black, little bells tied set at the ends to jingle quietly when a breeze passed by.   Even the paint of the bibliotheca aisle signs had been touched up by a careful hand.

    What was most surprising was that it was bustling when she entered, unusual especially for a Sabado.  The club de viejas viudas was playing a rousing chinchón game, cackling like hens and ignoring her like always as they made fun of their children, Sofia Rendon lamenting her son to Guadalupe Marquez, who sniped something about fishwives and tossed down her hand in disgust, Silvia Gonzalves raking in the cards and setting up another hand as Meme Rivera shook out her snowy dreads.  Why the doctor's wife was included but not Pilar herself she'd never understand, since Jorge was still very much alive.  Not that she would have joined the game.  Silvia Gonzalves stuck in her craw like a fishbone, and it would have been a disaster.  That scandalous De Léon woman was wrangling her twins and three of their friends in the bookshop, each with a small children's book in hand.  Julio poked his head out of the back aisle of the library at the bells, went red and immediately dove back into the shelves at the sight of her, and she shook her head when the plump little baker flounced out laughing a second later, an unseemly bruise on her jaw.  Pilar shook her head and chose to ignore it, having lost all control of her brother's son at sixteen and never quite able to shame him back into it.  At least he hadn't completely corrupted her daughter's boys.

    Her sobrina was leaning against the café counter, her hair tied back under a wrap like a scullery maid as she swore at a machine, half apart across the counter.  In one hand she was pouring Osvaldo Ortiz something as his wife Celia stood behind him with her arms crossed in aggravation, other hand twisting a screwdriver into the guts of the cast iron, grease streaking her fingers.  Bruno Madrigal was holding the contraption still for her, giving the other man an agitated scowl.

    "Oz, I don't care how worried you are!  If it's bothering you that much, lay off the roscones and the double sweet tintos and hike up the mountains.  Play futbol with your son.  He said no.  He's not doing a vision just to see if you keep the gut, which is entirely your fault for getting in the first place.  It's not even the right day to ask, the schedule is right there.  No visions on Sabado!  Scram."

    "Now Elena, don't be cruel!  How is it my fault when he said it would happen?"

    She put down the carafe and leveled the screwdriver at him, unamused and seven shades of sick with the argument.     

    "Osvaldo.  C'mon.  I know you flunked a grade in secundaria but you aren't that stupid.  Is the moon going to stop getting full if he sees it new?"

    "Well no but I--"

    "Exactly.  Celia already said it was just in the vision, not what it was about.  You got fat.  You can get thinner if you change your habits, simple as that, no vision required."

    "Elena, that's hardly fair, coming from you," Osvaldo protested.  Even Pilar flinched at that.  And to think she'd wanted to set her niece up with this...idiota's cousin at one point!  Senór Madrigal wiped his hands on a rag calmly and stood, giving Celia a quizzical look.  "Really, what do you see in him?  Out, Oz.  You don't...You don't get to talk to her like that."

    "Sometimes, Senór Bruno, I don't understand it myself.  Come on, Osvaldo, you've been told to go."

    "I didn't say anything, I just asked!  I haven't even gotten to drink my coffee!"

    "We are having a very long conversation when we get home, now march!"

    She watched as the couple left the shop, and as Elena groaned and dragged her hand across her face, leaving a smudge of grease.  Senór Madrigal leaned across the counter to swipe it away with the rag before gathering the pile of cast iron in the same and bundling it up.

    "It's shot, ninfa.  I'll take it to the herrero when I head home.  My fault it broke anyway."

    "I've always been able to fix that grinder.  Of all the times for it to go tits up..."

    "I'm pretty sure this thing is older than me.  Are you alright, querida?"

    Elena looked flustered, and failed to cover a yawn when the strange older man reached out and poked her tongue.  Pilar watched on affronted at the familiarity, and regretted being close enough to hear the exact reason she'd been so tired lately as her sobrina teased Senór Madrigal, hands just as familiar against his chest.

    "Elena!  Please child you're on business hours!"

    Elena and Bruno jumped at the sharp voice, eyes sliding away with a blush before Elena turned, immediately mixing her tia's favored americano and pretending to be an adult.  "Hola tia Pilar," she muttered, hiding her eyeroll as she handed over the drink.  Bruno was worrying his hands with a second rag, focusing a little too closely on getting the iron grease out from under his nails as his ears showed red through his hair.  Pilar sniffed and got settled, adjusting her shawl and taking a sip of her coffee.

    "Well, it's nice to see the quality is still so good.  Thank you cariña."

    "You haven't visited Café de Libros in a while.  To what do I owe the honor?"

    Pilar sipped her coffee and ignored the slight, knowing Elena didn't mean for it to sound like that, didn't know any better despite Sofia's many, many attempts at teaching her decorum.  Hebér had been a rough man, and not what Sofia's mother had wanted for her daughter, but there'd been little dissuading her prima when she'd set a course and gotten caught solidifying it.  Elena might have inherited her mother's height and frame and temper, but her attitude was entirely from her father's side of the family, what little Pilar remembered of the Pasqual boys before the Encanto.  Her questionable taste in men was entirely from Sofia.

    Pilar supposed there was nothing inherently wrong with Alma's only son, but he was so much older than her sobrina, and so undeniably odd.  The ruana worn like a shield, the constant, incessant superstitious rituals, salt and sugar strewn on the floor, the wobbly gait to avoid cracks.  And there, hiding under his sleeve, one of his filthy little pets, barely better than that raucous old bird Elena refused to set free.  She couldn't see quite what it was that was holding them together outside of the distasteful and scandalous obvious.  Elena was loud where he was quiet.  He was bookish and weak looking while Elena made no mystery of her physicality, insisting on doing everything on her own from exercising that ancient horse to nearly getting herself killed wrestling bulls.  She'd never seen a couple quite so ill suited to one another.  Even Mariano had chosen someone who complemented him, though she had to wonder about the logistics in him moving from one Madrigal granddaughter to the other so quickly.  Isabela had been a good match, and her parent's were certainly more agreeable.  But that bridge had been burned, and now they had to cross this new one.

    "Ok, ok, yes, hola, bestitos!  Back to Papá.  Juancho get your mitts out of those beans!  Scat!"

    Pilar watched as Rodrigo sat beside Bruno and let his children run around the shop.  Juancho jittered as Elena made him a cocoa and dug a roscone from a basket, sending him off to the children's section with another warning, shaking her head as he crunched through a pilfered handful of coffee beans.  Lucia stood between her father and Senór Madrigal and tugged shyly at that grimy ruana.  Pilar couldn't hide her distaste when the two held a whispered conference and the man pulled a fat brown rat from under his clothes and handing it, admittedly carefully, to the little girl who scampered of to find her brother, the stuttering sounds of stilted reading drifting up from the aisle.

    "Haven't seen you in a minute, Rigo.  Bea drive you out of the house again?"  

    "When is Bea not chasing me out of the house, Leni?  She still misses you, you know."

    "Oye, and she still hasn't apologized."

    "She says you chased her out with a tamper!"

    "You know I didn't, you came in the same day.  It's been weeks.  Just...ugh.  Just tell her to come by when I'm not busy, ok?"  Elena sighed, handing him the romano she'd made.  "I do miss her.  But...Rodrigo, I don't want to hear her badmouthing Bruno again.  Make sure she understands that.  Things...things are...different now."

    "Different...how?" Rodrigo asked suspiciously, giving her a once over.  She didn't miss his eyes locking on her left hand and her stomach.  She didn't see her Tia noticing it as well.

    "Not like that, you idiot.  Just.  Lo amo, y es serio.  Beatriz isn't going to change my mind."

    Rodrigo sipped his drink and watched the man in question.  He had unwrapped a bundle of machinery and was absently sorting the pieces to fit better in the dishtowel that held them, his neck and ears showing red through his hair.  He smiled when he reached for his own coffee, his eyes focused only on Elena.  It was a strange look to see on a man twelve years his senior, but he couldn't deny the sincerity of it.

    He ignored the huffy breathing of Pilar Guzman beside him, knowing well enough she only showed up to the café when she felt the need to make his hermanita miserable.  It didn't surprise him she was showing up now.  Bruno had been seen going into the joyería at least three days a week, and tongues were wagging, fueled by Ligia Carmen and Medallin Garza.  Since the falling out, Beatriz had come home from the market on several occasions chewing her lip to shreds, each time a different rumor tumbling out as soon as the kids were outside.

    "They say he's gotten her pregnant!"

    "He won't let her leave Casita at night!"

    "Ligia saw him looking at rings at the joyería!"

    "Rigo, they've heard her screaming, you have to do something!"

    "He was seen trying to cart her off on a horse!"

    To some degree, he knew she was worried about Elena, and just couldn't not listen to the rumors, but her overblown fear of Bruno had worn on his nerves enough he'd finally put his foot down and banned her from speaking about it in the house until she had apologized to the both of them.  Instead he'd been surprised by the fact that his wife was capable of being quiet, and had been frozen out of their room for three days.

    Watching Elena return Bruno's soppy look with one of her own made the couch-crick in his neck worth it.  The closest he'd ever seen to how she looked now was when Guillermo Gonzalves was still alive, and that paled in comparison, a candle to a bonfire.  Rodrigo knew he was only able to be sitting where he was, be able to watch his children play, if it hadn't been for Memo waiting at the top of the quarry line to trap most of stones into a hidden sinkhole with a final, well placed charge after shoving him in the lift.  He knew Memo had only known what was coming thanks to Bruno Madrigal and his unfortunate vision.  He had been happy enough for Elena when she had begun seeing Memo, all those years ago, but thought she deserved better than a man half in love with another woman, and a married one at that.  He'd watched them closely when Memo had come into her life, and while there had been genuine affection, it was nothing like what he'd seen in front of him.  Lo amo indeed.

    "Bea will be by when she stops worrying so much, I still want my wife back."  He said.  Elena nodded.  

    "I don't want to fester for two years, Rigo.  We did that once.  I can't do it again.  Drag her in if you have to."

    "What...what is she so worried about?"  Bruno asked.  He felt like he knew, but didn't want to assume and make an ass of himself again.  Rodrigo sighed, draining his cup and rubbing his eyes.

    "Beatriz believes things too easy, and she's always been sort of afraid of things she can't understand.  You're...kind of both?  Not your fault, but it'll take time for her to get used to this."

    Bruno wanted to say she'd had plenty of time, but realized that in reality, she hadn't.  He and Elena had only been together for two months.  It felt like longer.  It felt like years, and he caught himself reflecting again on how quickly things had progressed from barely being able to speak to her to where they sat now.  He must have looked worried, since Rodrigo laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

    "I wouldn't worry too much.  Took Bea six months to come around after Miranda and Arturo got married."

    Bruno couldn't stop the curious eyebrow, but schooled his face when he heard Pilar hrumph behind Rodrigo, getting fed up with being interrupted.  Elena took pity on him; she must have realized he hadn't heard about the drama from the walls.

    "It was a shotgun wedding.  Diego has never forgiven Enrique for letting that barnight fling happen, but they're happy, so who cares.  And they love Alvaro and Alonzo to pieces.  Diego always had a stick up...well.  Just because Miranda's his little sister doesn't mean he owns her."

    "I...had sort of wondered how those two met up." Bruno admitted.  Pilar hrumphed again and Rodrigo rolled his eyes, standing and going to watch his children.  

    "I'll talk to Bea, Leni.  Don't be too hard on her when you read her the riot act, ok?  And Bruno, Rafael is still wanting to talk to you.  Arturo told him what you said about that vision, but he's determined."

    Bruno groaned and scrubbed at his face, muttering something about nosy old men.  "Raf Aguilar needs a vacation.  Or an enema.  I'll talk to him.  After Elena does her shooting class.  He's being...he's being absolutely ridiculo."

    "Still can't believe you're doing that, Leni.  But I'm looking forward to it.  I'll..." he paused to look back at Pilar, glaring  polite daggers in his back and shivered.  "I'll get out of your hair, help 'Chito read for a bit.  Senóra."  He nodded to Pilar and disappeared into the aisle.  Elena watched him speak with Juancho and get settled on the floor between his children, nodding as Lucia held up Coco and carefully patting a tiny, furry head.  Her tia cleared her throat and pulled her away from watching her casi-sobrinos.

    "I expect to see you tonight.  No...engaños.  Alma has made it perfectly clear what you two are up to and it will be...discussed.  Dress respectably, Elena.  You should try to do your mother proud."

    Elena stood gaping as her tia finished her coffee and slid elegantly from her stool, adjusting her shawl and leveling a look at Bruno, who squared his jaw stubbornly.  "And the same goes for you, young man.  I do not want to see that...ratty ruana of yours tonight."

    They both sputtered as she whisped out the door, Elena's hands clawed in a shaking motion as Bruno snagged the envelope, eaten up with curiosity.  He burst out laughing and tossed it to Elena, holding his side in disbelief.

    "She just...she just invited you to my house!  And told me what to wear! In my own house!  Ay, dios, I can't wait to see how the rest of them react to that."

    Elena looked over the invitation, rolling her eyes again at her tia and her primo and that entire side of her family.  At least Mariano was being serious about this.  Now if he could just rein in his abuela.

    Her cousin had come in the week after Día de los Difuntos vibrating to shame a wasps nest and smiling so widely she could see his molars.  He'd bounced when he handed her the box with her ranita necklace in it, fully repaired and with a new feature; dark emerald eyes and a series of smaller, light emerald bumps down its back.  Gustavo's simple note of ~For letting me borrow him~ making her smile.  Mariano had given her just enough time to put it on before tugging her into one of the aisles and thrusting a box in her hands, bouncing on the balls of his feet and biting his tongue to keep from crowing. 

    The ring floored her.  The gold acanthus leaf filigree she'd thought of and Bruno had perfected was so fine she could see light shining through it, but the band was sturdier than it looked, cleverly thickened on the inside to appear delicate outside.  A marquise cut spinel red as blood and bright as sunset sat in the center, surrounded by delicate round coral stones that offset the deep color of the center stone and made it shine all the more brightly.  It was just shy of ostentatious, looking like an exotic flower but small enough to not take up Dolores' whole hand.  Too showy for Elena's tastes, but absolutely perfect for Mariano's novia.  His eyes were huge and hopeful when she'd finally looked up, and she closed the box, slipped it in his pocket, and then crushed him in a bear hug so strong she'd lifted him three inches off the ground and immediately regretted her life choices.

    Bruno had worried over her wincing until she'd pulled him into the aisle by his ruana and smacked Mariano to show him as well.  He had stared at the ring goggle-eyed for a second before lighting up the aisle, his smile and his eyes both blazing in pride, making Mariano jerk in surprise and Elena grab him by the face and kiss him senseless until Mariano had cleared his throat awkwardly.  Elena just elbowed him in the stomach and laughed, letting Bruno drift off mooning to his chair. 

    "Did I really need the elbow?"

    "Yes.  I let you fool around in here enough with Dolores, you hush about me, Nahno."

    ~And she'll love it~ she wrote on a scrap of paper from her pocket. ~just no mariachi band, ok?~

    She was truly happy for her primito.  He was a good man, and while she might have teased him for being a little dense, he wasn't stupid when it came to people he cared about.  He deserved this chance to be happy.  He'd squeezed her right back, popping her back the other way before she could protest, and darted out laughing.

    Bruno watched Elena pin up her hair with military precision, not a curl out of place in a chignon so tight he could see parts of it pulling at her skin.  It was a severe look, one he hadn't seen her wear before.  Between her hair, the reserved makeup she'd put on after scrubbing her face clean, and the muted brown and tan skirt and blouse she wore, she looked older. Not more mature, but more worn, tired.  Maybe it wasn't the clothes at all, but the posture she wore, the tensed slouch as she guarded her middle and tried to shrink into herself, to appear smaller.  He didn't like it.  He knew her mother's relatives were the only family she had left, and he understood her desire to appease them, but this was too much.  She didn't need to make herself less just to please Pilar Guzman of all people, who was never pleased with anything.  He came up behind her and began pulling pins from her hair, releasing curls as she protested.

    "Bruno, I just got that set, shoo!"

    "It was pulling your neck.  You look like a nun!"

    "Gee, thanks," she snarked, trying to shake him, but he persisted. "Bruno, come on.  Stop.  I need to get ready.  I just...don't want to deal with Tia's comments tonight."

    "Is she that bad?"  He remembered hearing Pilar Guzman being rather tactless during the failed proposal dinner, knew even his mother got fed up with her inflated sense of propriety, and her appearance this afternoon had definitely been...interesting.  Elena huffed and tried to bat his hands away. 

    "She'd probably prefer it if I was a nun.  Mamá learned it from somewhere.  The Moscotes...were very...concerned with their girls being proper after some scandal with another branch out in the swamps.  At least that's what I gathered, I never could get all the details.  Mamá and Tia Pilar's grandmother carried that on."

    He held her tightly for a moment before shaking his head.  "That was a hundred years ago.  Eres perfecta como eres, Elena.  Please...please be yourself tonight?  Your tia isn't worth you dragging up your shadows."

    Elena paused in his arms and turned to look at him.

    "Why do you call it that?  When we're...when we get like this?"

    "I'll tell you why...when you look like you again."  He hadn't expected it to work, but the next minute he was sat on the couch, Elena sitting between his knees on the floor, pushing his fingers into her hair.

    "You win," she huffed, "Fix me and tell me."

    He took the pins from her hair slowly, brushing out the soft, cinnamon smelling strands with his fingers, shooing Chacha away when she came to preen, succeeding only in shifting her up to his own shoulder. 

    "There's nothing to...nothing to fix.  I just...you looked sad."

    He felt her struggle a minute before sighing.  "Not...sad.  Just...She treats me like a child and it drives me crazy.  I'm just...pre-emptively pissy, I guess." 

    Bruno nodded as he massaged her scalp, trying to bring life back into her curls.  He understood that impulse as well, the petulance.  He also understood the darkness she carried, though he knew she tried to hide it from him.  He wished she wouldn't; he wasn't much good on the outside, or in a fight, but wrestling with his own head was something he'd been doing since, much as the reminder made him swallow in distaste at the reminder of their age gap, before she was born.  He knew too well how old voices could whisper lies in someone's ears and make them believe any insidious thing about themselves by never going away, a litany of doubts wallpapering the inside of someone's brain.  Shadows that hid the good things no matter what those good things were unless they were clawed away by sheer force of will and whatever support could be gotten from the outside.

    "I call them shadows because it's nicer than the real words for it. That's what they are, shadows in our heads.  They don't go away, we just have to...have to make more light so they don't win."

    "You make it sound easy."

    "It's not.  It's not at all.  But I've been fighting with mine for decades longer than you.  You...find ways.  Mine...weren't healthy for a long time."

    "And now?"

    He said nothing then, but wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, placing a sweet kiss to her cheek.  "Mi luz.  Please.  You're falling more these days, and you've had so much happen...so much brought back.  Talk to Sister Santiaga before you go.  Please?"

    She rested her cheek on his knee and sighed, worn out from having wound herself up.  "Hypocrite."  It was said fondly, and her hand came up to hold one of his, lips dusting across the knuckles.  She stood with her hair free, running her own hands through it and shaking it out, taking special care to find that one impertinent curl on the side and twining it out rebelliously.  She washed her face and reapplied her usual makeup, and traded the boring tan blouse for the seafoam green and the brown skirt for the burgundy she favored, her mother's ranita necklace and a large pair of sculpted clay earrings crafted to look like gladiolus flowers.  The only thing that was missing was the glint of gold at her thumb, the ring squirreled away somewhere in the depths of Casita so soundly that even his rats hadn't found it in two weeks of searching.

    He looked at her keenly before taking her hands.  "There she is."

    Dinner was a crowded affair at Casita.  It wasn't unusual to have Mariano's side of the family over, but even with a leaf added to the table, Elena found herself squashed slightly between Bruno and Félix, who had thanked her again for the gift she'd sent him for his birthday a few days previously; a bottle of Old Parr she'd found hiding in the back of her pantry that was older than his daughter, aged to a honey brown in the cool hiding place her mother must have stuffed it dios sabe how long before.  She'd sent Bruno home with it Lunes after his apology, and his cuñado had been thrilled.

    Her Tia Pilar was sitting beside Alma with Pepa to her left beside Félix, Mariano's parents and Emilio on the other side across from her, Emilio still pouting for his rough treatment on Domingo.  The kids were all on the back half of the table, except for Dolores, seated by Mariano, with Julieta and Agustín separating them from the rest.  Luisa sat by her father, showing him the late birthday gift Marco had gotten her, a triangle cut topaz on a dainty necklace chain.  Agustín looked a strange mix of proud and queasy. 

    There was a strategy to the seating, though Elena couldn't puzzle it out, and the rest of the Madrigal children were giving off the hesitant buzz of anticipation.  If her cousin hadn't been quite so attentive, she would have wondered how whatever he was plotting hadn't gotten through to Dolores, but Bruno's sobrina was lost as Mariano whispered to her, blushing and doe eyed and exuding sweetness across the whole table so strongly Camilo had earned a pinch for a cavity joke twice before the main coarse. 

    Elena was buzzing herself, pleased for Mariano, the second youngest of all of them and the first to marry.  Julio would probably be next, but Tia Pilar had all but given up on him behaving himself the year after Tio Seb had died, and would not be nearly this enthused.  His current and very public carousing with Carlita was probably why he wasn't invited as well.  If she thought about it, she might not have been either, if it weren't for the fact of her and Bruno being together.  Neither of them had missed the terse look her tia had given her when she sat down beside him, cackling over a story he was telling.  She'd missed some of Chacha's antics, and the old buzzard had been giving his rats joyrides around the loft while she was at work, barely able to lift off the floor with little rat rumps trailing behind.  The image alone was enough to leave her wheezing.  The mention of his rats, her loud laugh, and the look of distaste Pilar had given both of them, she in her brighter clothes and him in his ruana, had spoiled her mood for a moment, and it had only lifted again when Bruno's hand found her knee and he whispered "boots" in her ear, making her sputter into her drink.

    Olivia and Teodor were calm throughout the meal, and Elena had enjoyed the chance to catch up with her older cousin, doing her best to ignore Emilio's panic every time she spoke.  She wasn't going to say anything about his indiscretion, but was having too much fun watching him sweat.  Olivia was a little older than the triplets, and had a quiet, peaceful quality to her that Elena had always loved, and when she had been very young, having her cousin watch after her on long days had been some of her fondest memories, the two of them spending hours reading and drawing together.  She privately thought it was Olivia that might have spoken to her parents once her mother had stopped being able to do the delicate seamstress work entirely, to branch outward.  She had worked for Senór Geraldo, and had known he was looking to retire, and it wouldn't have surprised her. 

    Olivia had been kind, asking after her and Bruno and how they were doing as if they'd been together for years, delicately dancing around the actual length of their relationship and ignoring the pointed looks of her mother, who kept trying to take control of the conversation. 

    "It's so good Lenita has someone to go with her out to Bogotá now, especially with what we've heard from the outside.  Are you prepared for the trip, Senór Madrigal?  It isn't an easy one."

    "Bruno is staying in the Encanto, tia Pilar, remember?  Senór Perez and Alberto are coming with me."

    "That hardly seems proper, Elena.  At least Senór Madrigal is your...novio."

    Olivia gave Elena a nod from across the table.  "Mama, I doubt Senór Madrigal has had time to learn much about firearms in the few months he's been back.  Gustavo is the perfect choice, and a sweet gentleman besides."

    Pilar had nothing to say to that, knowing full well her daughter was right, but she kept digging, her eyes boring into Elena and Bruno, searching for a crack in their façade. 

    "Surely Senór Madrigal knows something of how to survive out there! Where else could he have been for the last decade?"

    The Madrigals, Mariano, and Elena all froze, Camilo surreptitiously covering Antonio's mouth before he could accidentally spill the beans. While the family knew and understood to varying degrees Bruno's decision, Mariano and Elena both had been pulled away at one point or another and begged discretion.  Elena hadn't needed the reminder, had understood that it was Bruno's idea, knowing how that final bit of information would sound to anyone less charitable.  The ten years away were left to the town's imagination, and he seemed to prefer it that way.  Bruno shook his head and laughed under Pilar's gaze, rubbing his arm as he pinked at the ears.

    "Not uh...not much.  It's...not so bad...er...outside, once you get past...y'know..."

    Elena took a moment to gently run a hand up his arm and scoop the chorizo from her bandeja paisa onto Bruno's plate, watching her aunt's face grow sour at the exchange.

    "Take these please, tonto?  They aren't sitting well with me tonight," she whispered before turning to Pilar.

    "Bruno clearly wasn't camping in the mountains like a caveman for ten years, tia.  Please stop."  Elena cut in, glaring.  Better to deal with the anger at her disrespect than to force Bruno to admit where he'd been.  The family may have understood, but hers would not, and now was not the time.  Pilar reared up at the slight, but was distracted by Olivia whispering something in her ear.  The older woman pursed her lips, but went silent.

    "It makes sense the Perez men are going out with you, Leni," Olivia said, "Word has gotten 'round about Bruno starting jewelry designs for Gustavo while Beto is still learning.  I think it's a good partnership!"

    Elena grabbed her cousin's life preserver and ran with it, making up a story on the spot about the changes to her ranita necklace, slipping it off to pass to her cousin.  Mariano had watched but said nothing, his nerves jangling so hard she could feel them across the table and rolled her eyes.  If he didn't even out he was going to give away the surprise himself.

    "Of course they aren't real emeralds," Pilar sniffed confidently as she studied the pendant.  She had pointedly ignored Bruno helping Elena with the clasp and the delicate fingers brushing her niece's back as he did.  Bruno said nothing, knowing well enough when he wasn't going to be listened to.

    "They are, actually," Alma said, surprising them all as she glanced over Pilar's favorite broach.  "That's where the stone for that came from.  Admittedly, Bruno's visions produce mostly glass, but occasionally during a good vision we get a pleasant surprise.  Senór Perez has always been pleased with what little we've been able to give him."

    Bruno's mouth hung open until Elena handed him the necklace to put back into place.  His mother had not only defended him, but lied for him to do it.  He wasn't sure how he felt about it, but he understood the necessity.  If people knew what their visions actually were, well...he didn't like the idea of being turned into a workhorse, especially when he had no control over the quality of what the sands created.  He wasn't about to correct the assumption.  Let it remain with the few who knew and said nothing.  Alma nodded to her son as Pilar was distracted, and he was able to meet her eyes with a genuine smile.

    Olivia barreled on throughout the night, the slow, inevitable creep of a glacier any time her mother tried to turn the conversation to Elena.  Pepa redirected Pilar once or twice, and even Alma managed to distract her once more, if only by directing Pilar's obvious agitation to Julio, who wasn't there to defend himself.

    "I'm sure I'll be talking with the Padre far too much next year if him and that Panadero woman keep making fools of themselves.  He's too much like Seb, all impulse, no patience.  At least they're of an age with one another."

    "Oh, Mamá!  Leave them alone.  You've never liked anyone Lio or Leni picked.  I think they've both made wonderful matches for themseves."

    "Olivia, still.  Los medios gamelos need people to take care of them.  Bruno and Carlita are lovely people, but are they the right people?"

     Olivia sighed, giving Bruno and Elena an apologetic shrug.  "Mamá, the twins are happy.  That's what matters.  Besides, you hated Teo too, and look where we are now."

    Teodor, who had been quiet most of the meal, content to chat with Agustín about another hoguera the Constantinos were planning with the Sanchezes, turned to his suegra.

    "Pilar, didn't you say you weren't going to matchmake anymore after, well…  After?"

    Pilar gaped like a fish before turning from the conversation and becoming very interested in where Julieta had gotten the pattern for the cornflower embroidery on her collar from, and Elena and Bruno let out breaths they hadn't realized they were holding.

    Bruno remembered Olivia from his school days, back when the school had been a single room run by Senór Alvarez and there had been children of every age in the class.  Olivia had tutored him and Teresa Sandoval, and a few of the other younger children, and had continued to tutor at the bibliotheca until her first son was born.  He was grateful for the distraction, the gentle normality of the conversation, and he found himself starting to believe what Elena had said forever ago, that people weren't always going to see him as they had before, and he was glad of it.  Teodor he didn't know as well, an orphan that had kept mostly too himself growing up, living in the church with a few of the other orphans before being adopted late in life by one of the women in the traveling party with Sister Santiaga, but it sounded like he and Elena had more of her family in their corner than not.

    He didn't have much time to think about it beyond that and trying to keep up with the multiple conversations at the table without getting lost, when he caught Mariano leaning behind Dolores and giving Antonio a wink.

    The little boy shouted as Parce came knocking him out of his seat, and a trio of Andean Condors lifted him away as he giggled, the thrust from their wings flapping away napkins and upending glasses.  Pico and a small flock of hummingbirds were scattered, and the table surged, chasing after them, Pilar Guzman audibly frustrated at another dinner being swept into chaos.  Bruno looked to Elena, who shrugged and jabbed her thumb at Mariano, who was leading a worried Dolores outside, assuring her everything would be fine.  Mirabel drifted past them both with an even less subtle wink and handed them each a handful of sparklers before gesturing they follow, Antonio's laughter fading fast.

    Bruno held her back for a moment as her tia passed by, waiting for the dining room to empty before pulling her into the kiss he'd been meaning to give her all evening, tired of behaving under her tia's eyes for the sake of peace.

    "I don't like holding my tongue," he said as he broke away, pinking at the ears when she swiped at his lip with a thumb, wiping away her lipstick with a wry grin. 

    "I can see that.  But thank you for doing it anyway.  Tia can be...a handful.  Now lets go rescue your sobrino."

    Dolores had known something was going on in the background, but whatever it was had been plotted and planned in such a way that even she couldn't trace it.  She had heard her primas giggling and disappearing into their rooms, but considering Isabela's continued dalliance with the doctor, Luisa and Marco being abjectly bashful with each other, and Mirabel doing her best to be supportive little sister, that could easily be taken into account.  Mariano had been coming around even more often than usual, but between them getting closer after Abuela's apology to him, awkward as that had been, and his prima's continued presence at the dinner table, that hadn't surprised her either.  Now all she had on her mind was a swiftly rising panic for her hermanito, who had the complete lack of self preservation that all five year olds had as he giggled and shrieked under the custody of his bird friends. 

    The lot of them made it to one of the sunken valleys past Casita, to see Antonio dropped into a soft pile of moss still giggling before running to his mother, who was beaming despite the chaos and had to wave her sunlight away to avoid blinding them.

    There was a hissing crack, and a whoop, and the swift rustling of things in the grass behind her, making her jump into Mariano's arms before she could go to Antonio.

    The valley glowed with bioluminescent plants and fungi, candles set cleverly in the raised bowls of boulders she'd never seen in this place before, little fuse cords hissing away to be wound up on the outskirts. More fireflies than she could count floated out of the grass, startled by the scurrying of coatis and rats and the slow slither of Latón.  In the distance, she could hear the quiet slow playing of a tiple and a mournful, sweet guitar, on opposite ends of the Encanto but playing the same tune at the same time.  The smell of hibiscus and frangipani flowers drifted through the air.  The slow, sinking feeling of being left out of something slowly began replacing itself with a sparkling anticipation as she heard her family and Mariano's sit silently in the grass, the popping hiss of sparklers set in the damp grass, the lights blocking off all of them like a the lamps of a theatre.  As things failed to click into place and her hands and ears began to go numb, she found herself pulled to the ground, Mariano kneeling in front of her, his face more serious than she'd ever seen it.

    He took her hands in his and smiled, and she would later swear that time had stopped around them as the world narrowed in.

    "Dolores, you were the first person to hear me, to understand me for me and not my face or my name.  You don't see Mariano Guzman when you look at me, just...just Nahno.  You make me laugh and listen to my silly poetry and are the most loving, kindest person I've ever met.  You carry the burden of your gift with the patience of a saint, and are so, so, so wonderful to everyone.  I cannot imagine moving forward in life without you beside me.  I've spent weeks trying to write what I wanted to say, but someone else said it better a hundred years ago, so I hope you don't mind me borrowing his words for this."

    She was frozen in his grip as he pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and rolled it out, swallowing nervously.  She was deaf to everything but the soft drone of the lightning bugs and the faint strains of guitars in the distance and the thudding of her own heartbeat.

    "Podrá nublarse el sol eternamente;      

    Podrá secarse en un instante el mar;

    Podrá romperse el eje de la tierra

    Como un débil cristal.

    "Todo sucederá! Podrá la muerte

    Cubrirme con su fúnebre crespón;

    Pero jamás en mí podrá apagarse

    La llama de tu amor."

    Somewhere between the second and fourth line she'd started crying, and as Mariano put the poem away, sheepish and humble, she brought a hand to her mouth.  A small velvet box was in front of her, and there was a slash of panic for a moment before it opened to show a gemstone flower on a leafbed of gold, bright and warm in the light and pulling her eyes to the deep red of the center stone, the lights of the candles and the flowers and the fireflies dancing in it like the stars.  She looked up at Mariano, his own smile watery as he took the ring from the back and hovered, his hand over hers.

    "Dolores Josefina Cardona Madrigal.  I cannot open or close my eyes without seeing you beside me.  I love you, and I could only love you more if you'd do me the honor of letting me be your husband.  Please, will you marry me?"

    She did not answer, but flung herself at him, her face crushed to his as she held him by the jaw, kissing him deeply before marking his face with lip-prints, crying and laughing in a chorus of "Sí, sí, sí!" to the cheering of her family, who she had completely blocked out until that moment.  There was a gentle rain pattering over them, guttering the candles and wetting the lovely glowing of the flowers and driving the fireflies back into the grass. 

    There was a flurry of embraces and kisses and handshakes, and Dolores wasn't sure who hugged them tighter between her Tia, Tios, Elena, and her and Mariano's parents.  Once her father had managed to let her go and fan away her mother's clouds, they made their way back to Casita.  Her primas stayed behind with Camilo to put out the rest of the candles, and tio Agustín offered to put Antonio to bed, but her mother just gathered him up, saying he could stay up late this once as a reward for playing his part so well as long as he stayed in his room.  Dolores was grateful they all spoke in a whisper around her as they made their way back to the house.  Her parents and his were already in a bluster of planning, and she knew she wouldn't get a moment alone with him the rest of the evening, but as the gold of the ring began to warm on her finger, she didn't care.

    Dolores' favorite spot in the Encanto, outside of a few secluded spots where things were muted by natural features of the mountains, was her room.  The floors were covered in soft, deep rugs in a dusty gold that deadened footsteps.  The walls were also soft, alternating between thick, mossgrown limestone and wooden paneling interspersed with fabric bolsters and tapestries of natural landscapes and vibrant geometric patters.  In each of the panels was a hidden porthole window, which she could open if she wanted to hear the blissfully muted sounds of the town.  Her furniture was plush and soft and yielding in the living area, and along one wall sat a selection of scarves and head coverings in varying thicknesses, and special turbans sewn with grain to be heated or cooled in the little cabinets provided for her by the magic to help ease away the headaches and strain her gift left her with.  

    The lights were gentle and a sleepy shade of amber, and near the back of the room where she kept her personal things, a little handcrafted waterwheel wound itself back and fourth under the power of a slow spring, a gift from her tio Bruno years and years before, always a soothing sound in the silence.  What she liked most about her room was the liquid pop! of her ears as she entered the space. As long as none of the ports were open in her new room, she was able to hear only what she wanted, hearing still keen but nowhere near so strong it could cripple her.  The only downside was that it was this peculiarity that had allowed her abuela to walk in on her and Mariano, but very, very soon now that wouldn't matter either.

    Her bedroom and baño were tucked away behind a screen of hanging ferns and fragrant creeping rosemary, the scent gentle and clean and the rustle of the plants just enough to sooth her.  For everyone else they had to part the plants themselves, but for her they opened like a curtain and sconced her away from view.  This was where she darted as soon as she made it to her room, letting her mother gush at Mariano; at her fiancé! She still couldn't believe he'd managed to surprise her.  She'd seen the little parts everyone played, her brothers and primas, and wondered just when Mariano had had the time to plot all of this out.  

    Bruno found himself seated in the living area on the loveseat, Elena beside him as his sobrinos brought them all coffee and cake for the evening before heading off themselves.   Pepa and Félix, Mariano's parents, and Mariano and Dolores themselves were all in Dolores' room, no doubt planning things down to the threadcount of the tablecloths.  He laughed privately now that he no longer had to hide what was going on.  "They really do just need to ask Dolores.  Planned since she was nine."

    "I'm sure some of that's changed, tonto," Elena laughed as the remaining adults got settled.  Luisa said goodnight to everyone, a morning planned at the quarry.  Mirabel and Camilo weren't far behind, bickering over the final touches of their respective school papers about the Panamanian Separation, damp and laughing from cleaning up the valley and heading to Antonio's room for some fun now that they'd returned.  Isabela stayed, a fond eye to her cousin's door as she read in a meshed net made of camelia and vines.  Julieta and Agustín made themselves comfortable off to the side, lost immediately in a game of chess, going over this move verses that move and checking the rule books they'd pulled from the box, though both had known how to play since the age of five.  Emilio had headed home at the urging of his parents, though Elena shook her head, knowing her cousin was headed to the dance hall but too happy for Dolores to care and spoil Olivia's night with worry. 

    Alma and Pilar were chatting quietly, excited for their grandchildren and still gushing over the beautiful proposal, and came to sit across from Elena and Bruno, watching them keenly as they teased each other.

    "You know Dolores is going to spoil you stupid once she finds out you were behind this, right?"

    "I was behind....maybe...eh, twelve and a half percent."

    "You did the math?" Elena snickered, nudging him.  He nudged back and stole a fresa from her cake at once.

    "No, just a nice round number.  Besides, you helped too!  The band was your idea and your primo is terrified of Gustavo."

    "Get your sobrina to find out why, will you?  Nahno refuses to tell me!"

    "Don't you have him over enough barrels?"

    "I'll put you over one if you keep it up," she snickered, bopping his nose with her cake laden fork, leaving a streak of juice as he leaned closer, kissing her cheek and leaving the juice smeared there.  "Promises, querida."

    Pilar cleared her throat, surprised Alma hadn't done it first, but the other woman seemed to have resigned herself to the indignant display her son was taking part in.  A man of his age should have known better than to treat her sobrina so freely.  Elena edged away a little, blushing and tucking a strand of hair away, though it did nothing to make her appear in any way contrite.  Bruno seemed content to steal another bite of her cake while she was distracted.

    "It's lovely, isn't it?  Our Nahno getting married!"

    Elena knew it was a trap.  She knew, but she answered anyway, happy enough for her cousin to hope that maybe she was wrong.  "Dolores is good for him.  I can't wait to see the wedding!"

    "Definitely went better than my proposal..." Isabela quipped from her seat, not looking up from her book as a bat orchid sprouted in her hair. Bruno and her parents tried to cover their snorts.  Alma made a dissatisfied noise, but it was Pilar that jumped.

    "And when can we expect the next one, Elena?"

    She flinched, but did her best not to rise to the bait, shrugging.  "No idea, ask Julio."  Bruno twined their fingers together carefully, her grip tight and shaky.

    "I'm asking you.  Or rather, Senór Madrigal."

    "Tia, please..." Elena whispered.  She wasn't sure who's hand was tighter, hers or Bruno's.  The mosquitos were back in her ears, and she barely made out the thump of Isabela's dropped book or the clatter of a chess piece.  Bruno squeezed her hand in reassurance, trying to speak up when he saw her freezing.

    "Senóra Guzman, Elena and I have spoken about this and..."

    "Then what's the wait?  Elena, cariña, please.  I can't speak to Julio any more than his father could, but it's not his reputation that's going to seed in this town.  What he does with Carlita Panadero is nowhere near as...observed... as this--this...asunto tórrido the two of you have been galivanting around in.  Neither of you are getting any younger.  It's unseemly!"

    "It doesn't matter how it seems, Pilar.  Elena and I are adults.  Somos un pareja.  The rest...the rest doesn't matter."

    "It most certainly does!  The things the town has been saying, the rumors about....about everything!  I haven't been able to believe my ears for weeks!"

    "What Bruno and I do is nobody's business, Tia!" Elena hissed, shamefaced.  Pilar glared at her imperiously, lips narrowing as she watched Bruno's hand light onto her thigh, the gesture far too familiar for her taste.

    "You have made it everyone's business by being entirely indiscreet. Elena, it was bad enough when you got caught with the Gonzalves boy, but at least that was behind closed doors and he planned on marrying you before he died!  Everyone in town knows what you're up to, and half of them know exactly when you're up to it because neither of you have the decency or the shame to keep quiet!"

    Elena's face was burning.  Bruno was sure his was too, but he didn't care.  His stomach was rolling, gnawing at him, and he flicked his eyes to his mother, silently begging her to rein in her friend, but even she was gobsmacked.  There was a hurt under her expression, and he knew she could hear her own words thrown out again, and was realizing just how horrible she'd sounded. 

    "Pilar, please.  This isn't...this isn't the time.  Can't we just...help you plan for Mariano?"

    "You do not get out of this that easily, Senór Madrigal.  You have been living in sin with my niece for weeks, it is disgraceful, and I will not see her taken advantage of."

    "Tia, I'm not sixteen, I can handle myself!"

    "You're right, Elena, you aren't sixteen anymore.  You're thirty-six, unmarried, and getting a reputation worse than that maldita Gonzalves woman with her...matrimonial...her marital...oh I can't even say it!"

    "She sells dildos and borojó supplements, tia, just spit it out. Jesúcristo, just call me a whore and be done with it, why don't you?  Silv is a lovely woman, it's not her fault you and Mamá always hated her!"

    "Elena, enough!” Pilar choked, scandalized and red in the face.  She was looking to the others for support, but there was none to be found.  Alma was looking off to the side, her face pinched.  Julieta and Agustín were watching, their expressions unreadable.  "I promised your mother after your father died that I would watch after you.  You've made that next to impossible, but I can at least make certain this entire debacle is put to bed!"

    "Tia, stop.  I'm not going to...you aren't bullying us into this!  You are not my mother."

    "You are the only unwed woman left in our family, Elena.  Someone has to watch out for you!"

    "And I can't look after myself?"

    "Clearly not!  I wanted to give you time after Guillermo, but you wasted it!  Hopping into bed with Franco Sanchez and the Cortez cousins and Esteban De Léon?  The Chavez boy, who is married, by the way?  Joaquin Ruiz?  Lord knows what you get up to in Bogotá!  And now you finally get into a relationship that lasts more than a night and don't even have the decency to feel guilty about...about...!"  She clasped her hands and swallowed before leveling her fingers at them accusingly. 

    "I thought this would be good for you, after the hoguera...That you'd need someone...patient with you.  I assumed Senór Madrigal would act like the mature man he supposedly is and calm you down and not some...adolecente cachondo!  Especially after you spent years mooning after him like some desperate spinster when you had prospects and kept throwing them away.  But the two of you have proven me wrong at every turn and gone straight to seed!"

    Tears were threatening to spill from Elena's eyes as Bruno worked his jaw.  He knew Elena's history and had blithely thrown it out the window.  It had never mattered to him.  The fact that he was not her first was a strange relief.  He had never taken Pilar Guzman for a fool before, and for her to bring up the hoguera sent hot iron eels twisting in his stomach.

    "Do you really want me in your family if you believe every stupid rumor you hear?" He snapped, breaking Pilar out of her rant to gape at him, thin lipped and going red.  Even his mother was looking at him in shock.  His mouth curled up in a mean grin.

    "Bruno, anyone who's met either of you knows those rumors are nonsense," Alma said, eyes flitting between the three of them.  She was doing her best to keep her face blank. 

    Pilar had been rankling her all night with comments that hit too close to home, but she didn't want to deal with the woman starting a feud if she could avoid it.  Town council meetings had been awkward enough with Meme Rivera pestering her for progress on the relationship when she wasn't busy taking notes for her husband, she didn't need Pilar raising a ruckus and making things harder on them all.  Tómas Aguilar was constantly bringing up issues from his son at the palisade, and the entire tribunal was turning into a headache.  Best to keep the peace where she could.  She was curious about the change she saw in Elena, the shrinking into herself.  She watched on curious to see if Bruno's darkening expression would bear any fruit.

    Pilar stood, her face pale as she took a breath, glowering at Elena, who had shrunk into the loveseat.

    "That is enough!  I don't care what you do in your free time, Senór Madrigal, or what they say about you!  I will not stand by and watch Sofia's daughter act like a common harlot any longer.  Her behavior has been a disgrace for too long.  The only reason I haven't dragged you both into the church already is because I know she can't be pregnant!"

    "TIA, please!"

    The silence rang sharp in Bruno's ears, the gasps of his family sinking into the floor as his knuckles went white and his jaw clenched, his rage swallowed down like bile.

    Pilar barreled on, oblivious to the misery in Elena's voice. 

    "Well it's true child!  Don't tell me you haven't had the decency to tell Senór Madrigal yet.  The man is fifty, if he wants children he has the right to know he won't get them with you!"  Silence crackled sharp and black around Elena as she withered into herself against the cushions of the loveseat, her hand limp in his, her face drained of any ounce of color, washed away by her aunt's cruelty.

    It didn't matter to Bruno that he and Elena knew better.  It didn't matter that he knew Pilar was blowing off steam.  It didn't matter what she'd implied about him in her accusations.  What mattered was that Elena was crying, fat tears sliding rapidly down her cheek to stain her skirt, her eyes jittering in their sockets.  He didn't think as he pitched off the couch, flipping his hood up on instinct, slipping into the role that had served him when he couldn't quite brave things himself.

    "Elena, is this true?" his mother whispered, sad resignation in her voice as her eyes flicked between him and Elena.  Elena sat boring holes into the ground and hands gripping her skirt tightly as tears stained the burgundy of the fabric to black, her teeth clenched as she shook, her breathing erratic.

    "Don't, Mamá.  It doesn't matter.  I know...we know what our future together is," he said, taking one of Elena's hands and and squeezing, glaring at her tia pointedly.

    "You're a guest in this house, and it's just as much mine as my mother's. I don't care if she's your niece, and she's not really, you don't get to talk to her like that."

    He tugged gently at Elena's hand, and she stood with a decisive nod, grip a desperate lifeline.  "Go help Olly plan Mariano's wedding, tia.  You have more important things to worry about than me anyway."

    "Goodnight, Senóra Guzman."

    "Senór Madrigal, really!  You can't just...just!"

    "I can and I will.  I love Elena, and I won't sit here and listen to you and this...this abuse!"  Pilar's eyes widened, scandalized at the accusation, but Bruno didn't care.

    "It's not abuse.  She needs to settle down, even if it is with you."

    "Excuse me?" Alma huffed, standing herself and waving her son off, not liking what Pilar had insinuated no matter what she thought of Elena.

    "I just meant...If the rumors I've heard are true at all...Alma, surely you've heard some of the things they accuse your son of!  There must be some grain of truth somewhere.  Half the town has heard her shouting while....while...ugh!"

    Elena gave a groaning sob, scrubbing at her eyes roughly and dragging her hair away from her face in disgust, unable to speak.  Bruno pulled her up and covered her in his arms.  They made a weak shield, but were better than the sharp, naked air.

    "If you're that worried, where were you when your cousin was dragging her to the doctor by the scalp?  Enough." Bruno turned his back to Pilar, jerking his head away from the scene and losing his hood in the process.  "Mi amada?"

    She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder as they turned away, her footsteps slow and her grip shaking.

    "Where are you going?  We are not done here!" Pilar squawked after them.  Bruno saw his mother trying to pull the woman away, though if it was to Dolores' door or out the front he couldn't tell yet.

    "Yes we are!  I'm taking her to my room, and if you keep it up I won't close the damn door!" His hand flailed out, a gauntlet thrown daring her to continue, but he was never sure what her reaction was.  Elena broke out laughing beside him, the final straw tipping in his favor.  It was a loud, brittle laugh and just a hint mad, and he'd never heard anything so lovely as he ushered her through his door, letting it crash shut behind him.

    Elena was still laughing and wiping tears from her eyes when she spun on him, flipping his hood back up and pressing him against the door, her lips crashing into his, sharp and smiling and miserable.

    "Hernando to the rescue?  I liked that last bit, by the way."  She looked at his door speculatively before rolling her eyes.  She fiddled with a loose string on his ruana, biting her lip.  Her nervous laughter had died, and her eyes were downcast and sad.  There was the sensation of ice shattering around her, like she was sinking under, and Bruno felt it just as strongly as she did, the gooseflesh rising under his fingers.

    "Not Hernando.  Just Bruno, borrowing a little courage."  He tried to stop his hands from fretting with the collar of his ruana, but the shaking he'd been able to tamp down had returned.  His mouth turned down. "Which has now completely failed me.  Great."

    Elena took his hands and placed them at his sides, letting him curl and uncurl them into fists before she divested him of the ruana, careful of his hair.  She folded the fabric carefully and walked away, setting it aside atop one of the chests near the oasis where he kept spare towels.  She smoothed his hair back when she returned, and kissed him lightly, holding his face and pulling him to her.  They stood in silence, letting their aggravated hearts settle.

    "You weren't kidding about her," he grumbled.  Elena shrugged. 

    "She's always been really...concerned with me."

    “That wasn’t concern, Elena.  That was cruel.  She had no business bring up your…well.  She had no business saying what she did.”

    “I don’t want to talk about it, Bruno.  Please let's just…” She kissed him again, angry and wet, her jaw tight.  He regretted breaking away when a tear splatted onto his hand, but he led her through the sands of the oasis.  “Give me…ten minutes, please?  I…I have an idea.” 

    She let him sit her down on his bed and watched curiously as he disappeared into his bathroom before darting out again, pausing to toss his ruana on the hook with a nod.  He’d left the tap running, and steam started to seep under the door as she waited.

    She looked around his room as she let her hair down, worn from the day, and smiled.  He had propped his easel up in the last few days and had started painting.  It looked like he was trying to copy Cézanne’s ‘The Basket of Apples.'  She had wondered why he’d borrowed that particular art book.  It was ambitious for a first attempt, but it looked like he’d made some decent progress.  One of the journals she’d gotten him lay open on his desk, but she resisted the urge to peek at what he was working on.  There was a line of small green stones on one corner of his desk, remnants of his visions in a range of shades, and she arranged them idly into a pleasing pattern.  She picked up one of the books he’d borrowed from the little pile he’d accumulated, a collection of Soledad Acosta’s work.  She felt the old pang of guilt from never having the interest to read it, but put it aside swiftly.  Pilar’s words had gotten under her skin, sliding in her stomach like ipecac on top of the night's persistent nausea, but she was determined to keep it under wraps.

    She hadn’t meant for Bruno to stand up to her family, but watching him defend her had sifted through her heart and calcified in her ribs like the salt of the ocean, slowly burying her anxiety in a gentle tide and sweeping it out to a calm sea to sink and dissolve in the deep.  She hadn't wanted anyone to know.  Julieta had been kind in keeping her issues and the contents of the vision plate quiet, but she had feared this, word getting out. 

    And now Alma knew.  She had been slowly growing more accepting, or at least resigning herself to the reality of her being in Bruno's life, but Elena knew that more than even Bruno longed to be a father, his mother wanted neitos from her only son.  If she hadn't, she would not have fought so hard to pair him off years ago when even she couldn't ignore his misery at the proceedings.  Elena's own assurances about there being no children in their future the weeks before had been pushed to the back of the older woman's mind and ignored, and there had been an anxious dance around each other.  She had not missed the subtle looks over dinners, at her left hand, at her stomach, at Bruno when he was affectionate.  The rigid back when they got too flamboyant in their playful bickering.  The slight questioning brow when Elena chose wine over jugo at the table or mentioned her perpetual mild fatigue, which was Bruno's fault but for only half the reason Alma wanted.  

    Elena knew now there would be questions.  Why had she not said anything?  Why did Bruno not know?  Why was he so confident in their future together otherwise?  The vision plate would come to light, and everything she and Bruno had been building would go out the window.  Her chest was tight as thoughts closed in, swirling in her skull and growing louder, howling down from the mountain and burying her in the avalanche of her anxiety.  

    If Alma thought she was fully infertile, any leeway she and Bruno had gained would be shattered.  If Alma knew about the grandson in her future, so, so close but still so far away, she wouldn't rest until Elena was standing in white beside the returned prince of the Madrigal family, their readiness or reticence be damned.  Because she would browbeat Bruno down into the decision as soon as she realized what lay ahead, not wanting any more scandal for the family.  Because Alma Madrigal wanted her children to be happy and cared for, no matter how they felt about her actions to get them to that state.  Elena could almost admire her dedication to her family's happiness if her drive to achieve it hadn't so often driven it away.

    The muffled echo of a door let her know Bruno had returned, and she drifted back to the bed, her stomach sloshing with nausea and her breath stuttering as she spiraled.  He came in with a small covered basket and a large fluffy robe thrown over his arm.  He disappeared into his baño for a long minute, clattering and shuffling around before coming to her side and pulling her with him.  His hands were warm.  He was talking, but she couldn't make out the words, could barely make out his face through the tears trapped, trying to hold them back so he wouldn't see.  Somewhere in her mind she knew she was blowing things out of proportion, knew that any future, whatever it looked like, with Bruno would be so much better than what the worst corners of her mind could dredge up.  It wouldn't be the frosty silences of her father or the angry explosions of her mother or the subtle constraints of his.  She and Bruno bolstered each other up, were stronger, tempered like steel together.  Bruno would not allow what she saw, feared it too and would not allow it to happen, no matter the turmoil it might have caused. 

    He was speaking again, his thumb brushing against her cheek, trying to chase away the silverfish and soil eating and burying her mind.  Some of her disquiet slid away as he held her, the warmth of his hands spreading to her body and burning away some of the shadows.  He smiled when she blinked and let the tears fall, let them slip down her cheeks for him to wipe away, resting his forehead against hers until she was calm again.

     It was easy to forget she wasn't in a normal home in the main living area of Bruno's suite of rooms.  His furniture and walls, even the ridiculous collection of clocks, were still so homespun and simplistic that it could have been mistaken as the home of any slightly eccentric man in the town.  The cavernous oasis entrance and the grand bathroom always made her very aware that wasn't the case, and as the steam of the bath billowed around her, she was reminded again that Bruno was part of something deeper than the relationship they'd been building.  It was intimidating and secret, an ambedoic shower of warmth that felt like an embrace.  She wondered if others had felt it and only brushed the turbulent surface, and not the calm waters underneath.  The secret parts of Casita, the private rooms of the Madrigals that they allowed only those closest to them explore, gave off the warmth and light that she thought perhaps was what church was supposed to.  But perhaps not.  The private rooms she had seen, only Bruno's and Julieta's, were closer, more personal, and far more intimate than the cold stained glass and pews of the church had ever been to her.  She could have lost herself studying them if she'd been inclined to.  She knew even as that thought fled that if she had that sort of mind, unsatisfied until she found every answer to every question, unable to leave some things to mystery, she would never have seen these rooms.

    It wasn't so much a bathroom as a grotto.  The fixtures were standard enough, brass showerhead at the front and ceramic with China blue and red details on the knobs, an easy cheat for remembering which water was which.  The tub was a deep blue porcelain big enough for two, ensconced in a surrounding wall of rough cut sandstone rising up from the floor.  The sink and baño were plain and tucked away behind a low wall of smooth black and blue river stones and glass.  Succulents and moss, spider plants, bromeliads, ferns, and strings of pearl plants bloomed and crept out of divots and planters and chinks in the walls, splashes of color against the darker background of the roughhewn surfaces.  Theatre backed candles sat in divots and on ledges all around the room, casting a low, warm light across the stone walls and glittering on the water and steam that had settled around the room.  Arabesque tiles in shades of gray, dun, and green were the perfect temperature whenever she crossed them barefoot, and the far wall was a trickledown waterfall of moss and stone and creeping jenny and watercress, the scent of jasmine flowers at the top floating through the air.  It was a pink scent, gentle and warm and bright.

    Bruno sat the basket down on a ledge near the tub and hung the robe and towels on an outcropping of stone and turned off the taps.  She watched as he opened a jar and sifted a large handful of salts into the water, stirring and adding a splash of oil.  The sharp bite of lavender, the gentle warmth of vanilla, and the bright spray of citrus hit her and she smiled as he stood, drying his hands before taking hers.

    "She's gone to Dolores' room for now, but I understand if you'd like to wait to leave until she goes home."  He was quiet, careful not to spook her.  She didn't know whether to laugh or cry again, her mind still reeling from her aunt's petty betrayal. 

    "I...I'm not going home tonight.  I don't want to be alone...I mean...I..."

    "Pilar had no right to say any of that," he cut her off, wincing when he realized he'd done it.  "Sorry, sorry.  Just.  That's private.  Private things...need to stay that way until the person they're private for changes their mind."

    Elena huffed, looking away.  "It was never just my business.  Mamá...oh she cried for days when she found out.  Not that she ever apologized to me.  Heaven forbid I not give her grandchildren she wouldn't even want!"

    She sat down hard on the edge of the tub, her face in her hands.  She had told Bruno that her tattoos had been her last real secret, when she'd thought they would spark and flare and burn away like he and Silvia had done years before.  But she had other secrets, many that weren't her own, and this had been one of them.

    " Mamá told Pilar and Olivia right away.  Made her swear...made them swear to keep it quiet.  Olivia did.  She always did.  She's...she knows what some of it was like.  Pilar hated Teo, but Olly wouldn't give up, and they struggled for a bit before having Nahno."

    "Elena...you don't have to..."

    Bruno held her close, pulling pins from her hair and setting them aside as she ranted, letting her cry on his shirt and crumple it in anger.  His hands were light; wary sparrows fluttering on the edges of her vision.  She could hear him working his throat, trying to speak, fighting with words that wouldn't throw him against the wall.  She patted his knee.

    "I know you don't see me like that.  You...you made it clear ages ago, after we...well.  I know, Bruno."  A humorless laugh echoed against the tiles.  "It hurt more to hear it from my own family.  My aunt.  My mother.  A man, well, it's just sort of…expected, you know?  When he doesn't put that expectation on you?  Listens to you?  Accepts it even when it hurts, when family is something he's wanted for years?  That's love.   What is it when the person who's supposed to love you the most no matter what sees you as broken?  Useless?"

    "You aren't broken or useless or any of those other things, Elena.  And Sofia should never have made you feel that way.  Hebér should have told your mother about...about what he saw in the vision before she did what she did.  It wasn't right to leave you to suffer."

    "Dios it would have been a disaster," Elena sniffed, trying not to cry at the thought, beating down images of where they might have been if maybe her father had said something.  "I was what...fifteen?  Sixteen?  Mamá would have strung you up.  She never would have listened that you'd never even talked to me outside of me babysitting the girls"

    Bruno heaved a sigh and nodded.  "And that's the best case scenario. Hebér...he, er...made sure I had no desire to look your way, and I just made it worse begging Juli to make me forget.  Cristo, if Sofia had found out the wrong way..."

    "We'd probably be celebrating a something-teen anniversary and hate each other.  If Mamá hadn't killed you first."  Elena's lip curled at the thought.  "She'd have been so happy I'd made such a good match she'd have me stuffed in a dress at eighteen no matter how either of us felt about it.  That was all she cared about, me making a good match and making her grandchildren.  She didn't like that I read so much, or raced so much, or...or...or anything!  Ugh!"  She doubled over and pulled at her hair, shaking him loose.  "And Tia Pilar is just like her!  Of course I want all that, but dammit at least let me do it on my own!  Is that so much to ask?  To just...not be treated like a fucking poker chip?"

    Bruno stroked her hair, humming.

    "What does all that say about me?"

    He rubbed her arms, thumbs stroking down tenderly as he thought.  "That...that you've seen what that can do, not being able to accept someone for who they are, and threw it all out.  You're a lot like Sofia in some ways.  Same laugh.  Same fire.  Same heart.  But not...not this.  No one you love could ever question that you love them."

    "You do..."

    "Well, no, not really.  I'm just un idiota neurótico that doesn't understand what you see in me," he snorted, waving her off as he stood.  "You always manage to get the idea out of my head and take care of me.  It's hard to doubt...in light of all the ah, the evidence."  He held out a hand to her, waiting for her to take it before pulling her to him and whispering.

    "It's my turn to take care of you.  Please let me."

    He stripped her slowly, gently encouraging her to raise her arms so he could remove her blouse and bra.  His eyes lit up at the sight of her breasts free like they always did, but he moved on, shifting behind her to unhook her skirt, letting it fall to the ground in a silent wave of linen.  He crouched as he removed her bloomers, lifting first one foot and then the other.  The ties of her shoes slid away last, removed and set aside before he stood, taking her hands and helping her into the tub.

    She slid into the steaming water with a hiss, hot enough to scald even her, and wondered how he was going to stand it if he followed.  He was half tangled out of his shirt by the time she sat finally in the deep bottom, and had stripped the rest of the way before she could reach from the soap, snatching it out of her hand with a tut and carefully lowering himself in the water, wincing as each inch of skin submerged, red creeping up his chest and face.

He straddled behind her and grabbed a soft rag from the ledge, lathering the bar of sweet scented soap and gently coursing it across her shoulders.  He dug his thumbs down the knots in her spine after moving her hair out of the way.  He waited until she slumped in relaxation and ran the cloth slowly down her arms in steady strokes, washing away the stresses of the day and the smoky residue of her tia’s words.

His touch was tender over her skin, soaping her up and rinsing her down, his movements meticulous.  Elena flinched at first, the clinical precision reminding her of the scouring down her mother had subjected her too when she’d found out about Rodrigo.  Bruno noticed almost immediately, and rectified his mistake, gentling his hands and slowing them even more, his lips at her neck, whispering sweet blasphemies into her skin.

“Tu cuello es como una torre de marfil.  Qué hermosa eres y qué agradable, mi amor, con tantas delicias!”  He scrubbed her pink with a mint smelling bath salt, and combed his fingers through her hair, easing out tangles before masking the coiling mass in rosemary and tamarin oil, spicy and sweet, winding it into a knot at the nape of her neck. “El pelo de tu cabeza como hilos morados; el rey es capturado en tus trenzas.

“Oh, so you're a king now,” she teased.  He blew a raspberry into her neck.

"Not by a long shot.  Pero tu eres mi reina, so...you know..."

"Tontuelo," she hummed, reaching back to scratch at his chin.

"Is it working?"

"...Little bit.  Can't wait to hear you confess bathing me naked out of wedlock quoting Songs to the Padre."

"Plácido isn't hearing a thing from me.  No one is but you.  It's no one's business but our own.  If you want to make him drop his bible again I won't stop you."

Fingers found their way to her temples and gingerly began pushing the vices back, pressure loosening at each set of slow little circles and the quiet drone of his voice.  He gave up on Songs soon enough, stumbling over lines and clearly having forgotten a lot of the verses.  When he started quoting Neruda, she sank against him.  She wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it, how utterly soppy he was being, but she couldn't.  She was sinking into a pool of molten gold under the attention, heat and love settling under her skin like an ache, persistent and slow and welcome as it heightened her awareness of herself and him and the quiet solitude they'd carved out for themselves in the jade green lapping of the waters.

He was hard and resting against the cleft of her rear, and she turned, her eyed cast down and unsure.  The pang of desire was losing out to the undercurrent of disquiet still swirling in her stomach, no matter how tenderly he tried to brush it away.

"Do you want to...we might have to let some water out..."

He scoffed and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her still as he mumbled into her neck.

"I have una oréade nude in my tub, it can't be avoided.  Ignore it.  I just want to take care of you right now.  It's still early, there's time for that later, if you want."

“What about you?”

“I’m not going to die, you silly thing.  Rest now.  Molest me later.”

She settled against his slim torso at that, the last little nervous prickle easing away from her and dissolving in the water, weak and slippery and lost to the steam.  His lips were hot but tender at her neck, raising no marks but stoking a fire under her skin until she was glowing inside and out.

Bruno found another bath oil in the basket, lavender and coconut and something mild and sweet she couldn't identify.  He warmed it in his hands for a moment before digging his thumbs into the base of her skull, fingers splayed across her shoulders as he worked away the coils she'd wound herself into.  Her eyes fluttered closed and she sank further into his grip, letting her head loll back.  His stubble scratched at her neck as he kissed her shoulder, oiled hands sliding around her to cup her breasts again.  He kneaded her slowly, and she felt him smile against her skin when she couldn't hold back a sigh. 

He massaged the oil into her skin until she shone like burnished brass in the candlelight, his thumbs working her nipples to peak and soothing them down soft again more times than she could count.  She could feel the slip of her arousal in the water between her legs, but was being lulled into a trance, pulled down and made heavy by his hands and his lips and the gentle, constant presence of him.  She wasn't entirely sure she could move even if she wanted to, content to enjoy the slow, steady pulse between her thighs and the insistent hands guiding her down into blissful oblivion and making her forget everything but the lapping of the water and the warmth of Bruno's lap.

Hands slid away and rested against her belly, tracing lines against her skin lazily under the water.  She could tell even in her haze he was avoiding holding her a certain way, afraid of reminding her of the future they were waiting for, that scared her and excited her in turn.  Those same hands traced the patterns of her tattoos in tandem, memorizing them by the slight rise of scar under the ink.  She shivered, aching, but still could not make herself move, too lost under his hands as he pulled worry after worry invisible from her skin and washed it away in silence.

When both of them were buzzing in stupor and nodding in sleep, Bruno rinsed the oils and lotions from her one last time with a short burst from the shower after pulling her to stand.  He helped her from the tub and wrapped her in the fluffy robe, giving her time to squeeze out her hair before leading her to bed.

Pecasita and Palmero ran to her as soon as she was seated and snuggled in her lap, gently shooed away by Bruno as he sat beside her and pulled her down under the covers, content in each other’s arms.

Elena padded downstairs to the cocina well after midnight, long after everyone else had gone to bed.  She'd foregone the lantern and was relying on the waning moonlight to see, hoping to find the leftover pitcher of cool aquapanela and scuttle back to the warmth of the blankets before Bruno woke again and noticed she was missing.  Casita's tiles rustled under her feet and the kept her from tripping when she missed the last step before the landing.  Hand over her chest, she thanked the house quietly, grateful she wouldn't have to shuffle to Julieta for a busted ankle wearing nothing but a threadbare ruana and fresh lovebites.  There was a muffled gasp from below, and Elena's hopes of staving off dehydration were blown away as Alma caught her breath coming up the short flight leading up.  Elena was silently thanking every saint she could think of she'd at least grabbed the robe belt and fastened it around her waist, but couldn't stop her skin burning as Alma's lantern caught on her bare feet and arms, praying again the older woman wouldn’t see a flash of her tattoos.

    Alma took in the sight of her with a resigned disapproval, but said nothing.  She set her little lantern down on the ofrendita, smiling sadly at Pedro's portrait before patting Elena's arm.

    "Come and help an old woman sit.  I believe we have a lot to talk about."

    Elena swallowed and did as she was asked, careful of her grip and how the ruana settled around her when she sat next to Alma in the space she indicated.

    "Alma, if this is about tonight I'll apologize now.  I don't know what got into Tia Pilar, and I'm so, so sorry she decided to be so..."

    "There's no need to apologize for Senóra Guzman.  Though I did hear something that concerns me.  I don't want to bring it up at breakfast in the morning."

    Elena froze, her shoulders tensing.  She would not reveal the vision. She couldn't.  She couldn't she couldn't she couldn't!  Not here, not without Bruno.  It wasn't time.  They needed more time.  A dry, warm hand took hers, sandwiching it with the other thoughtfully a moment later.  Alma gave a wistful smile.

    "That...Is something for another day.  And...as much as I would like to see mi Brunito with a family of his own, it...is not the most important thing for him right now, I think.  Or for you."

    "Alma...I...ok.  So not that.  Ahh.  Thank you.  For...for letting us have our privacy."  Elena stuttered, trying to ignore the flopping nausea in her belly as her nerves came crashing down.  Alma chuckled.

    "Ay, we'll have that discussion someday, with Bruno present.  Doctors can always be wrong.  No.  I wanted to ask you...Why did Pilar know, and did Sofia really...did she truly treat you so cruelly, Elena?"

    "It was almost twenty years ago, Alma.  It doesn't matter."

    "It certainly does!" Alma said, affronted.  "I despise how you spoke to me that day, but I know you were hurting and understand you were just trying to keep your father's practices in the shops now.  And they are good practices.  It is good of you to remind parents to treat their children kindly.  It's often enough they forget."

    "My parents passed away when I was twenty-four.  I would have been alone if it weren't for my Pedro, and I almost chased him away."  Alma held up her other hand when Elena went to speak, a little shake of her head telling the younger woman to remain silent.  "Losing them almost broke me, and it was hard to carry on.  The velateria had gone to Ignacio, the looms to Meme...I had no other family close and my friends were busy with their own lives.  I drifted until Pedro and I married."

    "I know that pain, losing your last family.  But you...you didn't let it stop you.  Just went on running those shops, going…outside.  Charging ahead.  It is...shameful that your mother didn't see your strengths.  It's shameful that I didn't see them.  Bruno clearly does.  I never thought I'd see him stand up the way he has for you."

    "I keep telling him he doesn't need to.  It's nothing I haven't dealt with before," Elena sighed, shaking her head.  Alma held her in her grip, the weight of her hand oddly familiar.

    "Bruno...loves you.  He has always defended his loved ones more than himself.  Somewhere along the way I lost sight of that and forgot to defend him in return.  It's been too easy for too long for all of us to forget that even the strongest need support sometimes.  It is good to see him being there for you."

     "I thought you hated me?"

    Alma chuckled, and leaned her head against Pedro's frame.  She took her hand back and pulled a small flask from her pocket.  The sharp smell of aguardiente wafted out as she unscrewed the cap, and took a small pull before offering it to Elena, who sat gobsmacked before taking it.

    "Salud.  What boy's mother doesn't get protective of her son?  I don't hate you, Elena.  You are wild, and have been...promiscuous.  I do not like that, and I won’t pretend to for Bruno’s sake.  I do not like how we have spoken in the past.  But I do not hate you.  Come, drink."

    Elena took a pull of the liquor, trying not to cough at the burn of it straight, before passing the flask back to Alma, who nodded before continuing. 

    "I've watched you.  I accused you of terrible things, but you didn't let it change how you felt about my son.  I'd like to say it was a test, but you're smarter than that."  Alma patted her knee.  "You...are a good woman.  Not without your faults, but good.  I don't believe we will ever be friends, but I’ve put away the anger at you.  You've seen Bruno at his worst and done nothing but pull him out of his head and love him.  How could I hate someone who can do that?"

    Elena sat, not sure what to say.  Every instinct was clawing at their cages inside her, but she shook them away and accepted the flask back as a peace offering.  There was a rustling somewhere in the house, a wind she couldn’t feel that flared the novena candle on the little offering table high and bright, illuminating the image of Pedro Madrigal above.  From the angle, he looked even more like his son than from head on, cheekbones sharp and eyes almost mischievous in the candlelight.

    “Tell me about him?” She asked quietly, twisting to study the portrait.  Alma started, but recovered quickly, and smiled.

    “I don’t speak about mi Pedro as much as I should.  Before…it’s still painful, but…seeing where he…seeing where he died again, seeing where he saved us…It has let me mourn.  I couldn’t before.  Not properly.”

    She took another pull from the flask before handing it to Elena again.  “Please finish this.  Or I’ll never make it to my door tonight.”  Elena nodded numbly and shifted again as the tiles beneath her moved, curving slightly to keep her from getting stiff.

    “Pedro was…a dreamer.  I see so much of him in all of them.  Isabela when she’s trying something new with her plants.  Camilo’s laugh.  Mirabel’s determination, and her sweetness, always making time for everyone.  And Bruno…I should have told Bruno so much.  So much of Pedro I see in my son.  The superstitions and the stories.  The way he smiles and when he's upset, he looks so like his father.  All these little habits.  Right down to that disgusting thing with the coffee mugs.”

    “Of all the things to inherit…” Elena smiled.  Alma laughed, loud enough to echo across the courtyard.

    “And he’s seeing you, the one woman it’s guaranteed to drive loca!”

    “I can always say I forgot which mug was his.”

    “But you don’t.”

Chapter Text

    "I don't want to go," Elena mumbled into his shoulder as they drifted awake, snuggled deep in the quilt.  Bruno nodded, not opening his eyes as he pulled her closer.

    "You could always sneak out the back.  No one would say anything after last night."

  Elena shook her her head, burrowing closer into his chest.  "...Brunito no...I don't want to get up..."

    "Call me that again and you won't," he teased, running his hand down her arm briskly.  "You know you'll just beat yourself up if you push off your chores any later, and I know you were looking forward to lunch with Silv.  Still can't believe she talked you into that."  He kissed the top of her head and laughed as she snuggled into his side even deeper before he dug his fingers into her ribs and she squawked, flailing out of the blanket and scattering the rats that had accumulated at the foot of the bed.

    "Menace!" she hissed as she rolled away, swatting his hands and trying to retaliate.  He grabbed her waist and dragged her back as they wrestled back and forth, jabbing and tickling and laughing.  They landed tangled in the blanket on the floor and winded themselves, huffing and grateful his bed was low to the ground.

    Bruno got loose first, rustling in his dresser for something as Elena tried to straighten the bedding, scooping up Palmero and Loco and depositing them on his desk as he handed her something. 

    "I've been looking for this for a week!  Have you had it this whole time?" She asked as she shook out her royal blue skirt.  He shrugged as he pulled his shirt over his head. 

    "I keep stuff at yours.  Didn't ah...didn't want you to keep doing the two-day shuffle back.  Didn't seem fair."

    Elena smiled as she dressed.  The casual nicking of her clothes just to make things easier for her had to be the strangest romantic gesture she'd run across, but he had looked so pleased with himself that she couldn't help but take it as he meant it, even if she'd driven herself batty searching for that particular skirt.

    "Just tell me next time you want to steal my clothes?  I thought someone made off with it off the line!"

    "And you didn't say anything?"

    Elena shrugged "Didn't think to.  Figured it'd turn back up.  Not the first time I've been pranked."

    Bruno gave her a strange look, but old Palmero scrabbled at her ankle, and was not content until she picked him up and poured him into her pocket, snickering as he groomed her fingertips.  Bruno looked betrayed and rolled his eyes.

    "Traitor.  I think the old man's adopted you."

    He slipped into his sandals and shook a handful of seeds from the jar in his desk, handing them to her before taking her elbow and leading her out as she laughed.  

    "It's a very good thing I'm fond of old men, then."

    They managed to make it down to breakfast only twenty minutes late.

    The table was chaos again.  Dolores with her earplugs to avoid distraction, Luisa and Pepa were chatting at full tilt over a large book, the pages filled with drawings and old magazine cut outs and fabric swatches, Pepa poking her head up at their entrance to eye Elena curiously.  Mariano and Félix were trying to outshine one another with jokes and being ignored by the whole table as Camilo, Isabela, and Mirabel tried to eat in peace.  Antonio had stationed himself next to Alma, trying to understand what the fuss was about.  Agustín and Julieta were watching the madness fondly.  Agustín looked relieved.  It was clear he liked Mariano, but was glad to not be dealing with him as a potential son-in-law any longer.  Bruno pulled out the chair beside him, leaving himself buffering her from Alma and Antonio's rambunctious conversation. 

    No one mentioned the quarrel from the night before, and Elena was glad of it.  Alma would occasionally glance her way, but whatever she wanted to say was cut off by Antonio and his endless questions.  She bumped Bruno's shoulder when she noticed he was egging it on.  That was not a conversation for the breakfast table, and he was doing his best to keep it from happening at all.

    After her talk with Alma the night before, she found herself freer of worry about his mother's judgement.  There were still things to discuss, but they would come in due time.  She wasn't sure exactly how or when that time would be, but an easiness had filtered into her nerves on the night, and despite having to drag herself from bed had woken up with no trouble from that front.  Bruno had not noticed the little paper frog she'd left on his father's ofrenda as they passed it on the landing, and she wasn't sure if he'd heard any of the conversation.  She wasn't going to bring it up, but if he wanted to ask she saw no reason to keep it from him.  Alma could tell him what she'd said about his father on her own.  It wasn't Elena's place, and she accepted that.

    "It's funny, you know," Agustín said to her pulling her out of her head, fork wagging as he indicated across the table to Mariano.  "A few months ago I thought it would be me talking to him like that.  The old table was so crowded.  It's odd being on the other side."

    "Nahno and Félix are peas in a pod, they just need to figure it out."

    "They're on their way.  I'm not too proud to admit I'm glad.  I was not ready to be in that seat."

    "What are you going to do when you are, Gus?  Luisa and Marco are sweet together, and they're very close."

    "I'm content to not worry about it.  Marco will probably take years to build up the nerve."

    Bruno and Julieta snorted in unison, leaving Agustín to panic as he tried to get an answer out of his wife or cuñado, neither of whom were forthcoming. 

    "Ay Agustín," Julieta grinned, "Let's just be happy Bruno built in such big leaves for the table."

    "Don't ask Gus, I just made the thing.  There are six kids!  Casita's gonna be a rabbit hutch, just common sense!" Bruno groaned from her side, slouching in his chair. 

    "Might have to build another one in a few years anyway," Félix laughed, tossing a lulo at Elena.  "You two'll need your own the way you're going."  Elena dropped the fruit as half the table froze.  She shook it off and slung the fruit at her cousin, who fumbled it until it landed in his rice.

    "It's not a race, Félix, but you'll be an abuelo before I have to deal with diapers."  Alma and Julieta's side of the family might have known, but there was no reason spill the beans about her uncertain fertility at the breakfast table, and even less to reveal the worry was for nothing.  Bruno pressed her hands to his lips harshly, his jaw tight.  He said nothing, too afraid to speak for fear of putting his foot in his mouth.

    "Nevermind that!  Elena, get over here, we need another eye on the planning."  Pepa called, a hand waving impatiently out at her and scattering the tension.  Elena just looked at her confused.

    "She's marrying your primo, don't you want a word in?" 

    Elena actually had to stop and laugh, really laugh, so hard she wound up snorting and caught the attention of the rest of the table.  When eyes landed on Bruno he just shrugged, lost as well.  Of all the things she'd been expecting in the morning, being asked to play wedding planner for her cousin had not been one if them.  She laughed herself out, catching a surge when Mariano looked downright offended, before finally downing the rest of her juice and fanning herself, red in the face.

    "Sorry, sorry, I just...haha...oh my side...I..."  She paused and snorted again, took a breath, and tried again.  "I'd love to, but you're probably better off asking Nahno.  He was the one that insisted on playing house as a kid.  We stuck--oh haha--we stuck Julio in a dress!  I played priest.  I'd be about as much help as tits on a tom-cat."

    Dolores and her mother giggled, though Luisa managed to turn away, hiding her snicker under her embarrassment.  Alma made a disgruntled noise, but said nothing, rolling her eyes.  Bruno just raised an eyebrow at her phrasing.

    Pepa shook her head.  "Let me put it this way; I'd rather you be a lump than his abuela being a lunatic.  Doves, Elena.  She wants to release doves.  She wants to turn the church into a dovecote and release the things once the candle is lit!  Can you imagine the noise!"

    "Forget the noise, imagine the smell!" Dolores shuddered.  Antonio nodded along in agreement, his sister telling him first thing that morning to not agree to anything the elder Senóra Guzman asked of him.  

    "I can talk to them, I can't tell them when to not go to the bathroom!"    

    "At least your prima Olivia has some sense.  I thought Teodor was going to piss himself laughing."

    Elena sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

    "See, Nahno, this is what you get for not letting me and Lio corrupt you.  Guanal matrimony.  This is worse than the mariachi idea.  No, Dolores, do not ask."

    "Abuela is just...excited.  She hasn't got to do a wedding since Mamá's.”

    "And if she turns the church into a pigeon coop she won't be doing another, ever--Woah! Hey!"

    Casita made the decision for her, tiles clacking away under her chair to whip her around to the other side of the table, squeezed in between Pepa and Luisa.  Bruno handed her her plate, his chin in his hand as he watched her get pulled into the chaos, her eyes lighting up at ideas as each subject turned into a full blown debate.  

    She didn't even realize she was in her element, laughing with his sister and sobrinas, bickering silk over satin and lace verses brocade and whatever else wedding planning entailed.  He had no clue, the most he'd done with his sisters being getting shoved into an itchy outfit and too tight shoes to walk them down the aisle.  Soaking wet in Pepa's case.  His mother and their friends had turned the house into an upholstery and he'd tripped over enough trains to last a lifetime.  He had hated it in his twenties, but couldn't wait to see Dolores happy, even if he knew it meant the house being chaotic and his nerves being scraped raw.  Dolores deserved all the happiness in the world.  All his sobrinos did, and he wanted that for them all, eventually.  It made him feel old, but he could live with that.

    Something warm was dancing in slow circles inside his chest as he watched Elena, climbing slowly up his ribs.  He knew she didn't really believe he was unbothered by the way things were, and he had only himself to blame.  It wasn't important to them right now, but Elena could read him easier than one of her books.  It didn't take a genius to figure out he wanted what his sisters had found earlier in life.  He didn't want to scare her away, but he'd noticed all the glances.  Not from her, but from others.  His sisters and her cousins.  Her friends and his mother.  Furtive glances at her belly and left hand that were hidden with varying levels of success.  He knew she'd seen them too.  He wished for her sake that they would stop, the constant reminder of her supposed infertility well meaning but cruel, the reminder of the vision new and still raw for both of them.

    He wanted to see her walking towards him in whatever color she wanted.  He didn't care who walked her down the aisle or that they'd have to endure a month of awkward visits to Padre Conseco beforehand.  He didn’t care that they’d only been together a short time.  He didn't even care that the end result would leave him technically related Pilar Guzman more directly; in an town as small as the Encanto, everyone's family tree wound up a little confusing, and everyone had that one in-law they despised.  The Constantinos and the Sanchez family alone were a genealogist's nightmares, and them actively avoiding each other for generations was a running joke in the community.  He scratched absently at the itch on his ring finger, persistent for weeks no matter how he ignored it.  Elena had set that itch in motion when she'd jammed her father's ring onto his hand for safe keeping and it hadn't left.  He suspected it wouldn't until he rectified it himself.  

    He needed a ring, and he needed to wait.  Elena loved him, but was so fiercely independent it would take him time to figure out how to mesh their lives together without overshadowing hers.  He loved her for who she was, and had seen how easily she could hide away parts of herself to try and appease people she cared for.  He didn't want that.  He didn't want to make her less by turning her into half of a whole.  He didn't want that for either of them, sacrificing parts of who they were, carving themselves up to make their jagged edges fit together.  She'd proven early on they could be two whole people together without pushing themselves apart, that people weren't puzzle pieces to fit together and form a whole picture only when they were fitted, but disparate books in a collection to sit side by side and complement and highlight one another, writ and crafted separately, richer because of what they added to the context of the other, but complete works on their own.

    He could solve the one lack easily enough.  It was untangling the Gordian knot in his head that would take him time.  He watched as Elena laughed with Pepa, called Julieta for backup, teased Dolores as she mooned over Mariano and her ring and reassured Luisa, who was blushing to the roots of her hair at the mention of Marco.  She belonged here at the table he'd crafted as much as she belonged at her shops where her own hand was evident in every countertop and decoration, even the ones he'd created with her in mind.  Not because he wanted her beside him, much as he did, but because she was an open window letting the sunlight into a dark room, bright light and crisp morning air shaking the dust and cobwebs from the family by her presence alone.  

    Bruno had lost the thread of conversation, jolted back when Isabela laughed from her end of the table, agreeing that given everything it was definitely a bad idea for her to be anything outside of a bridesmaid, asking who Elena had in mind for flower girl if not her.  After choking Mariano with his coffee when she suggested his hermanito, Elena shrugged.

    "There's a whole army of little girls that would love to be involved. Antonio knows most of them, don't you, Tonito?"

    Bruno watched the little boy light up and hop down from his seat to clamber into the only empty lap available, hers, and sank into his hand at the table, lost again at the scene and wondering idly when the next little boy would be sitting in her lap, and if she would look just as happy.  Julieta was up and walking around the table, getting ready for the day at her stall, and paused to pat his shoulder and kiss his hair.  The whisper of "One day, Brunito," nearly went unheard, but he smiled all the same.

    Agustín had to keep nudging him to remind him to finish his food.  He didn't hear half of what the man said the rest of the meal.

    Julieta pulled Elena aside at the end of the meal, a small basket of patacones thrust into her hands.

    "Could you check on Nina for me, please?  I'd go but I have the stall myself today after church."

    "What's going on?"

    "Carlita's been requesting more than Nina's usual half dozen for the last couple of weeks, and I'm worried.  She's been going downhill since she lost her sight and I'm afraid she might have developed a balance issue.  Carlita tries her best, but Nina refuses to stop and it's hard with the girls around."

    Elena nodded as Bruno took her elbow.  "I'll poke my head in.  It might just be the girls, Valencia is helping out more, and Car wouldn't say anything.  Val's always been a little clumsy, but she's shy about it."

    "Thank you, Elena."

    They made their way down the path arm in arm.  There was a haze to the day, just enough to add a chill, and Bruno was loath to leave her to attend church.  She smiled at him and bumped his hip as they walked, rolling her eyes a little.

    "Don't worry about me, tonto.  Last night is over with.  I'm...not happy with tia right now but she'll get over it.  Don't let it ruin your day.  Go and enjoy the service, get some quiet, hm?"

    "Are you sure?  I could stay today, help you sort out the shop?"

    "I appreciate it but go on, querido.  Besides, I need to feed Chacha and maybe you can guilt Tia Pilar into a confession."  He laughed at that and stole a kiss before someone came crashing down the path, panting like a bull and running smack into them.

    "Luz, what's wrong!  What's going on?" Elena recovered first, holding the stocky woman up as she caught her breath and shook her head.

    "Accident--there's been an accident at the Palisade.  There's three hurt at least.  Is Julieta still--"

    "She's still at Casita.  Bruno, take her, I'll get the Padre!"

    "Elena wai--!"  The basket was shoved into his hands as Elena pounded off towards the church, already filling up.  He was left with nothing to do but lead Senora Ruiz back to his sister.

    Elena burst through the door of the church, charging up the aisle and grabbing Padre Conseco by the arm, explaining as she went.  He had stopped struggling by the time they made it to the door.

    "Senóra Madrigal might need help.  You four, come with us!  Doctor O’Conór, get Doctor Rivera and meet us there."  He called out to a group of stout younger farm hands, who followed behind them.  The young doctor bolted out the door after them, hoping to catch the Riveras on his way.

    "Did Luz...say anything else, Elena?"  The Padre panted as they ran. Elena ignored him using her first name and shook her head, gulping for air.

    "Don't make me...run and talk.  We'll see...when we...get there."

    Bruno, Julieta, and Luz caught up to them right before they made it to the gates, where people were running around and clustered together, a huddle of men lowering someone down the stairs and another group in a semicircle near the foot of the stairs.  Julieta was trying to make her way through, but couldn't be heard over the noise of a man bellowing.

    "Make a hole!" Elena shouted, pitching high enough to be heard and startle the crowd out of the way, and the pained hollering became clear.

    Tito Marquez was splayed out against the wall, his head trickling blood.  He was breathing but pale.  Campéon Garza sat spread-eagled on the ground holding his belly, blood oozing dark from between his fingers, his face sweaty and pale as he swore.

    "...gillipollas actually stabbed me!  Don't just stand there, Julieta, I need an arepa!" 

    Rafael Aguilar was stalking around giving orders to the men, and took a second to slap Campéon upside the head sharply.  "Callate, Garza!  Lay down and let Senora Madrigal do her job and tell me what happened without whining like a toddler for once." 

    Elena watched as Julieta treated Tito, spreading a whole bottle of one of her thick syrups in his cheeks and gums to absorb.  Julieta took off her apron and wadded it into a makeshift pillow for the tailor as she scrubbed antiseptic into the matted, bloody hair.  Unconscious and concussed, but likely to be alright.  Tito had never been a strong man or had a good constitution, so knocking him out wouldn't have taken much effort.  Julieta moved away from Tito and inspected Garza's wound before standing.  "It's a surface cut, I'll have to clean it before I heal it, Campéon.  The bleeding has already slowed, and it's good that it's washing the bacteria out.  Hold on just a few minutes for me, alright?"  Campéon grumbled but lay back, groaning as he held his side.  Julieta’s tone left him no question he’d be waiting longer if he kept it up

    The cluster of men at the stairs had settled, and they put down their unconscious passenger.  Rico Chavez was almost unrecognizable.  The only way Elena knew it was him was the gold tooth peeking out through the blood and the yellow kerchief he wore around his neck.  He was limp, but breathing, and his clothes were torn.  Felipe Flores was holding a bleeding arm close to his chest as he came down the stairs, a torn bag slung around his shoulder.

Bruno took her hand as she took in the scene.  Three men hurt, two of them those that had been in the dust up at the café.  She fought down worry at the thought of the other two, wondering what they were up to, and tried to listen as Campéon told Raf what had happened.

“...bastardo just came at me when I told him to leave it alone.  Look at Marquez!  Cabron rang my bell and shanked me!  I want done with this mierda, I’m not getting another six months because he’s loco!”

“Leave what alone?  Who’s loco, Garza?”

“The gate!  I had gate duty today with Tito.  Bardales wanted out.  I said no.  Now can I get healed already?  Julieta?”

Julieta paid him no mind as she worked, grinding herbs in a pestle and mixing them into a thin gruel with water and masarepa that she was spooning into Rico’s broken mouth, spreading a paste of it over his teeth to get them back into place.  Doctor O’Conór was cleaning out Felipe’s arm with something that stained his skin, and had had him sit down.  José Ramirez was limping down the stairs, favoring his left leg and holding a bloody rag to his head.

Elena had seized up at the mention of Manuel Bardales name, and Bruno was doing his best to bring feeling back into her arms, rubbing them briskly as she leaned on him.  

“We don’t have to stay, we can go.”

“I need to hear this, Bruno.  I need to.”

“Are you sure?  Will you be alright?”

“I need to know what’s happened.  I…I can’t…I don’t like this.”

He kissed her hair as they watched his sister work.  The bruises were fading on Rico and he was slowly coming to, groaning and shifting as Julieta continued to spoon feed him.  She stopped long enough to hand arepas to Felipe and José before helping Rico to sit.  He looked confused, eyes flickering left and right unfocused before Julieta instructed him to eat as Rafael went to speak with José and Felipe.

They gave much the same report as Garza; Manuel Bardales had stormed through the halls of the palisade and beaten or sliced anyone who got in his way, starting with Garza who had slunk to a corner to lick his wounds.  With it being Domingo there were few men there, so he hadn’t caused much damage but had also gotten free each time he’d run into an obstacle.  Joaquin Ruiz had been with him, carrying a bag and looking worried.  There was no sign of either man, and the gate was closed.  

“Well they didn’t fly away!” Elena barked after hearing it all.  Raf and Felipe flinched at her tone, but she carried on.  “They can’t have made it out, where are they?”

“We’ve got a couple of armed men combing the halls, Senóra Pascual, don’t worry.”

“Armed with what?  You wanted me to show them all how to use your guns.”

“Machetes work well enough against a kitchen knife, Senóra.  Please.”

“...won’t…won’t find them…” Rico croaked from his seat, rubbing his throat and gums, still cross-eyed.  Raf hauled him up despite Julieta’s protests.  Felipe and José had gotten Garza to his feet and given him the requested arepa, finally healing the wound and ignoring his request for a clean shirt.  Rafael sat Rico down beside Campéon, and crossed his arms.  

“You’re both healed.  Que carajo is going on?  You’re not about to take me for a fool and say nothing, Chavez.  The four of you were thick as thieves when you landed yourselves here.  Now spit it out.  What were Ruiz and Bardales up to, and where are they?”

Rico shook his head when Garza elbowed him.  Rafael didn’t miss the action and had them separated before asking again.

“Helping them isn’t going to help you.  Look what they did to you.  What happened?”

Rico looked away from Rafael’s glare, looking up to lock eyes with Elena and then Bruno.  Elena glared back at him, and his shoulders slumped, his eyes going from angry to anguished before he looked away.  She didn’t want to feel pity for him, this man she’d disliked for decades, but he looked so absolutely pitiful in his dusty, torn clothes and sunken face that she couldn’t help but feel a pang of unease.  Bruno gripped her shoulder tightly as he began to speak, his jaw working but his eyes avoiding the sight.

“I don’t know.  I don’t know what they’re up to, Raf, I swear.  Manuel wanted over the wall.  I said he was loco.  This…isn’t the worst.  I don’t want out there, in the fighting.”

“And what did Joaquin want?”

“He…was just tired of…being here.  I don’t think he thought it through.  I…I didn’t even try to stop them, just said I’d report and…then I was on the floor.  I don’t know where they are.”

“Joaquin was seen with a bag.  What was in it?  Were they hoarding food again?”

Rico looked off to the side, unable to meet Raf’s eye as he answered. “I don’t know.  I don’t think so.  Not…not after they got caught.  Seems kinda dumb, you know?  No, can’t have been food.  Unless they fou--never mind…”  He was worrying his hands, and had begun to sweat.  Rafael grabbed his chin and forced him to look up.

“You blabber when you’re nervous, Chavez.  And you’re always nervous when you lie to me.  Out with the rest, boy.”

Rico shook his head, gnawing on his lip and looking away, fighting with Rafael’s grip.

“You were sneaking food again too, weren’t you?  The four of you?  Why?  To prep for this little trip?”

 “Yes, damn you!”  Rico shouted.  “’Course we were!  Never know when one of your damn guards are going to think it’s funny to trip us down the stairs or slice our hands open at the chow line!  how many times did I report that and you did nada?  All this for some fucking food?”

“It’s not about the food, and you know it!  That food gets out, what it can do, we’re all in danger!  Do you know what the government, whoever the hell is running it now, would do to have that?  Do you realize what you’ve done, letting them out, planning shit with them?  The mountains are a good defence, but a cannon at our gates we can’t stop, traidor sucio!”

“They…they aren’t going to sell the food.  Just…just wanted away.  I didn’t…didn’t want to go.”

“And why’s that?” Rafael hissed.

“I’m not that stupid!  I know it’s good here, same as Campéon.  I told them to give up, they didn’t listen.”

“This did not happen overnight.  What were they planning?”

“I don’t know!  I don’t know.  Manuel wouldn’t tell any of us!”

Rafael’s face grew dark, his suspicions coming to a head as Rico spoke.

“You didn’t come to any of us.  You could have prevented this by coming to me or any of the others, but chose to let them go.  Now all our tradesmen and our home are in danger because of you.  WHY?!”

Rico broke, shaking as his eyes went wet.  “He said he’d come after my boys!  He said he’d come back with Carlos and get Manny and Chepe if I talked, ok?!  Damn you Raf, those are my sons!  Take their mother for all I care, Olivia’s una perra, but leave my boys alone!”

Rafael let the man’s chin go, deflating at the confession.  “They wouldn't be able to, if not for you.  Cobarde, can’t even do the job we gave you and defend your home.  I don’t care why you’re here, you were tasked with defense, and have failed.  Be glad the mountains and the Miracle holds.  They can’t get back, and we wouldn’t let them through the pass even if they did.”

“You don’t know that!  You don’t know they can’t find a way in!  The traders always did, before the pass.  They were born here!  They have dead here, they belong to the Encanto, you think it won’t let them back in?”

Rafael paused at that.  He was about to speak when Galo Ortiz hollered down from the top of the wall.

“We’ve got something, Jefe!  Looks like a body!”

Rafael caught himself in a flinch and raised a hand to Galo, letting him know he'd heard, before sighing heavily and turning to the other men.

“Fernando, lock him up somewhere, dammit.  He’s got more to answer to when I get back.  Chavez, you better think about every single word Bardales and Ruiz said to you.  It might save your hide.”

There was a flurry of action as Rafael ordered the gates flung open and men moved to shift the crank and chain that kept them closed.  

Doctor O’Conór and Julieta made their way out after the group of men, Doctor Rivera stumping behind on his false leg, grumbling that he’d just gotten the thing to stop throbbing.

Elena wasn’t aware her grip had tightened until Bruno winced beside her.  She shook her head and looked out the gates.  It was no different than the last time they had made it outside, that date not so long ago to walk along the big river.  Her skin was crawling at the sudden thought that they may have been seen, that Carlos might still have been out there.  No one had seen him, there was no evidence besides the word of a snake and the fear swirling in her head, but her stomach was sloshing on nauseous seas and her eyes burned even as her feet led her to the gates.

“You don’t have to go, amada.  You don’t have to see.”  Bruno tried to assure her, but she swallowed and looked ahead.

“I need to see.  I need to know.  I leave in three weeks, I can’t have this over me.  I can’t, Bruno!”

He took in her face, the determined square of her jaw setting a muscle twitching in her temple.  Her face was dark and clammy with sweat, and there was the slight glitter of tears in her eyes.  Anger and fear rolled off her so palpably he could feel it, cold and sickly.  But her grip was strong, and her shoulders set in that stubborn ridge that he’d long since learned meant she would not be dissuaded from her course.

He squeezed her hand in a sequence of seven before tossing salt over both their shoulders, his breath held as they crossed the threshold out into the mountains.  His heart was hammering in his chest and he was coated in flopsweat at the thought of what they would find.  The palisade was over forty foot tall, a fall that could easily kill a man, and Galo was leading them into the trees, too far out for a body to have fallen naturally.   He hoped, in that mean little place in his heart where his anger lived, that it was Bardales they found broken.  Ruiz was a mancha de mierda, but he was less risk.  If the other Bardales man was still alive (and Bruno had not been above hoping a jaguar did get it’s claws in him) having the two of them loose in the jungles outside the Encanto was a risk he didn’t want over the town’s heads.  Never mind the implication to Elena and her safety when she went out, no matter if she was taking the Perez men out with her.  He brought her hand up to his mouth, pressing his lips to the back with more force than maybe he’d meant to as they made their way to the group collected under the brush.

He looked behind him briefly, seeing the gap in the trees that had let the body be found, a sliver of sunlight and the glimpse of the palisade not even the width of his hand.  For all he’d made fun of the Ortiz men for being unobservant, their vision was immaculate.

Julieta and Doctor O’Conór were working with two men from the garrison to roll the body onto a litter one had grabbed, Julieta gentle at his head, the neck at an unnatural angle and stairstepped in bloody bruising down the spine.  Julieta yelped in shock when a moan rattled loose as the man was flipped over.

Luz Ruiz, who’d been silent the whole time, appeared at her brother’s side, slapping him across the face as she yelled at him, a tirade that startled the birds out of the trees that this was the last straw and he was on his own before she shoved Rafael off of her and slumped off to the side, biting at a knuckle and scrubbing at her eyes.  Julieta was at work making something to feed him as Miguel sheared off his clothes and began cleaning his wounds.  

His legs were shattered and black with bruises, blood trapped under the skin, lumps raised where the bones struggled to stay under.  His stomach was also black.  Where he wasn’t bruised he was chalky and pale, covered in oozing abrasions.  His ears and mouth and nose were all bleeding, and his eyes stared mostly blank at the sky, twitching at movement.  Elena turned her face into Bruno’s shirt, and it took him a moment to realize why.  Guillermo’s crush injuries had been identical, skin barely broken, all the damage contained inside and his skin looking like an ill-fitting sack.  He held her close and rubbed her back.

“Don’t look, cariña.  Juli’s got him, I’ll…I’ll tell you when.”  He was half nauseous himself, looking at the mess that had been a man not an hour before.  He admired his sister then, how strong her stomach had to be to have seen things like this so often.  Elena didn’t turn away from much, had dragged the man’s sister out of the ring with the bulls with almost as grievous an injury, but he could tell she was already reaching her limit.  He had never wanted a day to be over so early.

Joaquin slowly came to under Miguel, Jorge, and Julieta’s ministrations. Doctor O’Conór had set the bones of the man’s legs and stabilized his neck. Julieta laid her hands on his chest, her brow furrowed and the slightest hint of blue glinting past the brown of her irises, her gift flowing and crackling the air with the scent of petrichor as she felt for all that was wrong within the broken body, the man unable to tell her and the injuries too extensive to just be what they seemed.

 Julieta ground and mashed and pounded before pouring a thin, watery something down his throat, massaging the muscles firmly to force his swallow reflex.  In between swallows, Doctor Rivera would nick the black skin, releasing the blood trapped underneath to collect in rivulets on the ground below, blending with the hummus of leaves and drawing ants.  

He was weak when his eyes opened, and Julieta was holding a conference with the town doctors.

“He lost a lot of blood in those bruises.  I can’t bring that back.  He’ll need at least one transfusion.  Can you get that sorted by the end of the day, Miguel?  I know you have to type it before it can go in.”

The young doctor nodded, surprise written clear on his face.  “I didn’t realize you had limits to your gift, Senóra.”  He murmured.  Julieta shrugged, washing her hands as she encouraged Joaquin to eat.

“We all do, one way or another.  Even Isabela.”  Bruno shook his head as the doctor’s ears pinked, his sister sighing in resignation as she came to stand beside him.  Her hand rested on both his and Elena’s shoulders for a moment before she went to speak with Luz.

“You can look, Elena.  He’s as healed as he’ll get.”  Elena held onto him tighter, working her jaw so hard he could feel it through his shirt.

“I hate this.  I hate this, Bruno.  Everything is going to hell all at once and I hate it.  I’m not letting this mierda ruin my trip.  I refuse!  I put too much work in those shops to let some loose pendejos ruin it for me when it’s finally starting to come around!”

“I…I know, ninfa.  Maybe it’s not as bad as we think?  Let Raf do his thing.  We’ll figure it all out from there.  Please?”

She let him lead her to a fallen log within hearing range as Rafael crouched beside Joaquin.

Joaquin’s sharp features were dull and sluggish as he struggled to wash the blood from his face and gum at the arepa he was holding, looking at Rafael and answering his questions a little simply, his eyes facing slightly different directions.

“Manuel said he’d get us out of here, said he knew a way.  I helped him, but Garza didn’t listen and Rico is un cobarde.”

“Why not just open the gate?  Marquez was clocked and Garza was stabbed, they were out of commission.”

“Be easy to…to find us.  Manuel said we’d be okay.  Said we had the food, so we’d be fine.  Fue al techo.”

Raf was patient.  He let Joaquin finish the food Julieta had given him, even offered him a drink from his flask, which Joaquin accepted with a blank expression, his voice muddy.

“What happened then, Joaquin?”

“He…He shoved me!  Off the roof!  Broke my legs.  I wanted some of the food, but…then he jumped.  Landed on me.  I…I think I passed out.  After.”

Rafael patted the man on the shoulder and stood, looking to his men.

“Take him back to town for the doctors to sort out.  Something in the fall rattled his brain, but his memory seems good enough.  Julieta, is there anything more you can do for the fall damage to his head?”

She shook her head.  “I can heal the outward damage of a concussion, but not the internal symptoms if they've sat this long Raf, you know that.  His brain will have to go down on it’s own, and he may never be one hundred percent.  He’s lucky your men found him when they did, or we’d be having a very different conversation.”

Rafael nodded, grim-faced and his mouth disappearing in distaste.  He turned to Bruno and Elena, his arms crossed.

“Bardales is out, and there’s no bag around, so he’s healed himself. Senóra, I know you have a trip planned.  Are you taking anyone with you?”

Elena nodded with a sigh.  “The Perezes are coming with me.  I’m taking my pistol and Gustavo has his rifle.  He might get a better gun for Beto on the way back.”

“That’s a start, I suppose.  And the class we’ve spoken about?”

“The twenty-fourth, Raf.  Like I told you last time.  Do you really think this is that big a risk?  If all he’s got is a knife and a bag of food, how far can he go?  Wouldn’t the jaguars or Mamá Oso get him?  The caimans?”

Rafael did not miss the desperation in her voice, or the whiting of her knuckles in Bruno Madrigal’s hands.  Bruno himself looked one bad smell away from throwing up his toes, sandals and all.  He was honestly surprised the little man hadn’t passed out at the sight of Joaquin entirely, but from what he’d heard, perhaps he’d seen worse in his visions.  And he had managed to do a decent number on the other Bardales man at that hoguera.  The closer he looked the more he realized the unease was not for the man himself, but Senóra Pascual, his eyes flitting to her constantly as she spoke.

He shook his head, and patted Senóra Pascual awkwardly on the shoulder.

“Senóra, we can’t be sure of that.  If they are, we’d never find the bodies.  If they aren’t, they could hide and rob for years if they’re clever enough.  We have to know for sure.  It isn’t worth the risk.  Not to the Encanto, not to our traders.  Not to you.  You’ve seen first hand what they’re capable of.”

“Rafael, don’t say such things!” Julieta gasped, shocked that he’d bring it up even now.  She could still see the night of the hoguera in her minds eye, and while she was impressed with how quickly her brother and Elena had healed from it, she didn’t miss the tension perching on their shoulders, a flock of vultures bowing their backs.

Rafael and Julieta both went to speak, but Elena held up a hand.

“He’s right.  I’m doing that damned class because I know he’s right and I’ve known it for months.  Years.  It’s…not safe, out here.  And I’ve always known it.  And I’m not getting younger.”  Rafael gave her a dubious eye, turning to Bruno, the unasked question thick as the mud on his boots.

“Maldito seas, Rafael.  I’ll do the vision.  Stop looking at me like I’ve got two heads.”  Bruno sighed, groaning as he stood, hands on his knees. “Meet us at Casita after comida.”  He looked over at Elena, weary and drooping despite the early hour.

“I’m fine, tonto.  Or I will be.  And I’ll be there for the vision. Just…drop me off at home for a bit, please?”

He let her use him to pull herself up and tucked her hair behind her ear.  “Nap, mi amada.  Your eyes are dark as mine.  Don’t worry about the rest besides feeding Cheech, okay?  Te amo.  Today has been…a day.”

He saw her off home, walking her to her door in silence, each of their minds spinning off in different directions.

    Bruno gulped as he prepared.  His vision with the Parks had been good but ended in disaster, and he didn't want a repeat performance, especially now that Elena had finally stopped fretting over every cough and twitch.  He no longer had the ghost of a seizure haunting at the corners of his brain this time, but he was still recovering from the fear of it happening again.  His few visions in between had been different.  Pampered almost, he thought.  Somehow, Elena had integrated herself into the thread of even this, and dragged his cuñados around for the ride.  They made sure he was always with someone, given plenty of time to rest and eat and prepare, even escorting people to and from the vision cave so that he wasn't in danger.  It was a far cry from the last time he'd given out visions, folks irritated and sweaty from climbing the ever extending stairs and often leaving him abused in one form or another.  

    He knew this vision would not be like that.  Rafael Aguilar was many things, but unreasonable was not one of them.  He had been one of the few people to seriously consider leaving the Encanto permanently, if only to join the military and keep the mountain valley safe by keeping an ear out.  His father had come to Bruno in that time, asking if he would lose his son.  He had left with a plate showing Raf as he was now and happy enough with the result.  Raf had come two days later, and asked for one of the strangest visions Bruno had ever given.  He had asked not what was in his future, but what could be.  The vision had been difficult, and Bruno had still been young, little more than ten.  It was that vision that solidified the impression of time being like water and light and sand, flowing easiest around the fewest obstacles.  He had been forced to chase the question of if through multiple streams of time.  He remembered fainting, waking up in his mother's room with a bloody nose, and Rafael Aguilar staying in the Encanto.  He couldn't remember the specifics, but the memory of the impression alone was enough to make him shiver.

    He had laughed when the man himself appeared at his door, Elena following behind with a covered basket heavy with sweet avenas from Julieta and a selection of bread and fruit, food for after the ordeal to keep him from getting sick.  She took Loco and Mozzarella from him, untangling their little hands from the embroidery on his shirt and setting them loose into the sands of the oasis to join the rest of the mischief in their play area.  Rafael pulled a flask from his hip pocket as she got settled back and he looked around the Moroccan sanctuary, whistling through his teeth.

    "No wonder we see less of you in town these days, Senóra.  Your novio's rooms are a little resort."

    "Raf, don't tease us when we do you a favor."

    "Ay, Lenita, just an observation.  Anyway, Salud."  He tipped the flask back for a swill and handed it to Bruno, who shrugged and accepted.  The aguardiente burned, but was just enough to settle the bite of nerves at the back of his head.  He passed to Elena as she sat behind him, but she shook her head at the smell, always more in favor of tequila.

There was a solemnity heavy in the air as Bruno shook out his hands and cracked his knuckles.  It continued as Elena rested her hands gently on his shoulders.  His fingers shook as he rifled out his gilded matchbox and lit his fires, center first then clockwise.  The sharp smell of copal and benzoin resin, of sage and coca leaves burning sliced through the weighted air and cleared his senses as a familiar pull began at the back of his eyes.

“What, exactly, is your question Rafael?”  He asked as he held out his hands.  The older man hesitated as most men in town did before taking them, squaring his jaw.

“Are the Bardales men a danger to the Encanto?  Will we need to defend against them or watch for them?”

Bruno nodded and closed his eyes, taking a breath as the future pulled and dragged his brain forward.  Rafael flinched at the green, but held on, watching as images began to spark in the fierce sands kicking up around them.  

Elena’s nails pricked his shoulders at the first flash of Carlos’ face.  Something was wrong with it, angry and dark on one side, the side Bruno realized he’d knocked the tooth from and broken the cheek.  It had healed badly.  He found himself wondering if Julieta’s gift worked past the Encanto at all, or if the food had to be freely given.  He didn’t know.  He didn’t have time to wonder.  The vision shifted to clearer images and he worked his jaw, trying to hold his shoulders straight as Elena’s grip tightened.  He could do this, for her if nothing else.

The Bardales men facing each other, looking lost as they cut a path in the foliage.  Manuel and Carlos eating a snake over a weak fire.  The two men on the ground, trading blows, bloodied and thinner. Both of them miserable in the rain, standing near the Encanto’s palisade, but gazing blindly before huddling away.  Carlos robbing a wagon, the driver no one he recognized, and taking a machete in the side for it.  Manuel curled in a ball, filthy and sick at the river.  Both of the men with torches, fending off a spectacled bear, a dead ringer for Mamá Oso.  Tramping through the jungle, hacking at a caiman, Manuel with his hand bleeding.

The vision changed.  Another robbery, violent, but the wagoneer unseen and his companion bolting, the load invisible.

A muzzleflash, and Manuel laying dead, eyes staring blank up at the empty sky, blood in the vision near black in the sands.  A glint of steel.  Carlos in a cave, clutching his throat, front of his shirt bloody and torn. Flailing.  Falling.  Dead.  

They had not aged or weakened noticeably.  In running, they had sealed their fate.  The plate was grisly, and Bruno handed it off without a word to Rafael before lurching to the side.  Elena helped him stand and stagger away.  He heaved into the sands, the acid remains of his breakfast splattering loudly at their feet.  

“Are you alright?” She asked as he spat, trying to rid his mouth of the taste of bile.  He nodded, out of breath before standing.  

“The bloody ones are…they’re rough.  Like the…like the involuntaries.  I’ll be okay, ninfa.  Did you…did you see anything I missed?”

Elena shook her head.  She had kept her eyes closed the whole time, unable to bear seeing Carlos’ face again after the first flash.  She felt the omission slosh in her stomach, but Rafael hadn’t seen anything either, and the older man was well known for being observant.  She let the feeling slip away as she rubbed Bruno’s back.  Rafael waited respectfully, the blank stance of parade rest keeping his eyes in the middle distance.  

Bruno straightened and shook out his limbs, still green around the gills but steady.  Rafael tucked the vision under one elbow and thrust out a hand, waiting for Bruno to take it.  Bruno did hesitantly, but tried to keep his own grip strong.

"Gracias, Senór Madrigal.  This is good news, in a way.  I will let the Suarez family know, should they want to tell Paola when she's older.  And...Senóra Rosario, so she can tell her son.  They have the right to know."  Bruno and Elena tensed at the mention of Manuel's ex-wife, but Rafael continued.  "The rumor mill will probably kick up again, there's nothing I can do about that.  But I'll keep an ear out for trouble.  And you keep those two banned from your shops, Senóra.  The Rosario's have always been more trouble than a sack of snakes."

 He turned to leave, but paused at the door, looking back at them, focusing on Elena.  "Be sure to take your pistola when you go out Senóra.  We may have an idea, but there is no date on this vision."

She looked to Bruno, who was sinking into the cushions and still green, and waved him off.  "I never leave without it, Raf.  Go on back to work, don't let us keep you."

Soundly dismissed, they ignored him as he thanked them again and left, and settled into the cushions of the vision cave's platform, picking at the food Julieta gave them, trying not to let their hopes get too far ahead of them.

    Elena slumped onto the bench outside the café and covered her face.  The specter of the hoguera was gone, and with it a weight had lifted from her shoulders.  The vision had been hard on Bruno, but as he flopped down beside her, splayed out on the bench and wiping his brow, relief rolled off him in waves.  He gazed over at her, worn and affectionate, and brushed her hair from her face, flyaways whipped by the winds.  His smile was tired, but his eyes were bright as his thumb stroked her cheek.  

    "I'm still going to worry.  There's still banditos and jaguars and storms.  But...it--it's good to know you'll be safe from...them."

    She leaned into him, hand in his curls as they sat and tried to get their bearings, thrown from the day already.  She sighed and shifted, shuffling the basket at her side and handing him her keys.

    "I'll be right back, I need to get these to Carlita and check on Nina.  Let yourself in if you need anything, tonto."  She let him pull her into a weary kiss before heading to the bakery, waving to Julio and Rodrigo as they made their way to the café as well.  If they weren't family she'd have chased them off, but Bruno might actually appreciate the company.

    Valencia was manning the counter, ready to sell the day-olds with her little notebook to keep track of the math.  She could see Nina in the back with Maria and Eva, taste-testing batter Maria was working on between each stage as Eva read to her.  She perked up at the bells, her milky eyes swiveling towards the door.  Elena suppressed a shudder guiltily.  Nina was a friend, but her cataract eyes always caught her off guard.  She shook it off.

    "Hola Nina!  I brought the bunuelos finally!  There was an..."

    "Incident at the palisade?  Valencita told me.  How are you doing, carina?"

    "I'm doing alright, Nina.  I'm more worried about you.  Julieta says you've been getting more food than usual?"  Elena said, coming around the counter and grabbing a stool.  Valencia handed her a roll from the case and she nibbled it absently.  Nina looked well enough.  A bruise bloomed on her elbow, probably knocked on the doorposts, but nothing so serious to need a dozen bunuelos.  Nina smiled.  "Oh, I'm blind and clumsy as ever, but some of those have been for the family.  Valencia has been so helpful lately, but she's just like me.  Carlita's got a bug again, I think."

    "Where is Carlita?  I just saw Julio across the street, so..."

    Nina chewed her lip before turning her face to the ceiling, up to the living quarters above the shop.

    "She isn't feeling well today.  I think she's still in the bano."  Elena stood to leave, thinking nothing of it.  Carlita's culinary experiments occasionally flared up some stomach issue she had, and would need treatment over several days.  Nina took her arm, hand finding her swift and sure.

    "Talk to her, Lenita?  She's been...distant lately.  She thinks I don't like your primo.  Julio is a fine young man, I just wanted to give them some privacy."

     Elena patted the knobby hand and assured Nina she'd check, ruffling Maria's hair as she went.  "When you get done, patita, Bruno is next door.  He has Palmero today."  She grabbed a couple of the bunuelos and stood.

    She made her way to the upstairs, ignoring the Ernesto de la Cruz record playing too loudly, and found the little bano.  the door was unlocked, and the smell of bile was sharp in the air.

    "Car?  Estas bien?"

    There was a hiccup and a sob, and an almighty retch, and Elena didn't leave it to chance.  

    Carlita sat on the floor, knock-kneed and pale, her black hair dull and frizzy and her face red with effort and sick.  Her eyes, instead of the stomach bug haziness, were red, sharp with fear as tears tracked down her face.  She looked up at Elena, utterly pitiful, and Elena knew without having to be told, having seen Miranda and Beatriz wear the same face themselves.  She was at Carlita's side in a flash, bustling to wet a rag in the sink before rubbing her back, cleaning her face and mopping her brow.

    "Oh, Carlita.  Julio?"

    "Who else?"

    "No one.  Habit, ignore me.  Are you ok?"

    Carlita groaned and heaved into the toilet again, nothing but bile and misery.  "No.  This is a disaster!"

    "Why?"

    "We aren't married.  Mamá will kill me!  Then him!  Then me again!"

    Elena laughed, remembering Nina's words downstairs.  "I don't think so.  Let's get you cleaned up.  Nina knows you're grown and run this place, she's not killing anyone.  And she actually likes that idiot."

    Carlita gave her a wan smile and retched again, sniffling and laughing as Elena rubbed her back.  They sat against the cool tile of the little tub as Elena handed her Julieta's food.

    "You worried her, you know.  She thought your mother was getting worse or something."

    Carlita wiped her eyes as she took tiny bites of the treat, swallowing thickly and cooling her neck with the wet rag.  She stared blankly at the wall, mesmerized it seemed by the floral patterns swirling there.  Elena nudged her shoulder.

    "Hey.  It's not the worst.  Julio loves you, you know.  He's a tonto, but he loves you."

    "I know.  I just...I didn't think it would happen at all, my age.  Now...Elena what am I going to do?  I've got the bakery and Mamá and mi primitas and...."

    "Car, none of that is going to go away.  And yeah it'll be hard at first, but it's not like Julio won't be there to help you.  He'll be thrilled, and he's good with kids.  But...if it isn't what you want, I'll go with you to Julieta and we'll get this sorted out.  It's up to you."

    Carlita grasped at her hand and yanked Elena forward, squashing her face to her chest and bawling.  Elena froze before smoothing down Carlita's hair, humming Sana Sana and rubbing her back.  They sat like that for long enough for Elena's limbs to go numb and Valencia to sneak upstairs to see if everything was ok.

    "Could you peek across the seat and see if Julio is still at my storefront, carina?"  Elena said as she nudged Carlita to sit, reaching for the brush.  Valencia came back halfway through the braid, confirming her suspicions 

    "You aren't going to do anything crazy are you?" Carlita said.  Elena laughed and waved her off.

    "That depends on you.  Es un bastardo o no?"

    Carlita gave a watery smile and brushed away the last of her tears before resting her hand on her plump stomach, a fond sound resonating in her chest as she huffed, raising and dusting herself off.

    "He's not.  Un idiota, maybe, but..."

    "But you love him?"

    "Yes.  That's enough, right?  It won't matter that...well."

    "It won't matter to the people important to you.  And that includes me.  Let someone say something, I'll lose a shoe and Doctor O'Conor will have to remove it!  And that's before Julio hears about it.  No one bad mouths mi sobrinos.  Not even Tia Pilar."

     Carlita walked Elena out, doing her best to ignore Julio, laughing with Bruno and Rodrigo across the street.  She pitied him, just a little.

    "JULIO BERNARDO SAN FERNANDO GUZMAN!!!"

    Three men flinched in tandem, laughter cut off as Elena came storming down the street.  Bruno saw past the anger in her face, the barely contained laughter, but the other two didn't.

    "A mierda!" Julio gulped, trying to bolt.  He'd been on the receiving end of his prima's anger enough times to know his full Christian name meant he'd better be praying.  Rodrigo held him down long enough for Elena to snatch his ear and drag him off yelping.

“Ehhh…Should I be worried?”  Rodrigo mumbled.  Bruno shrugged and stood, pulling the key she'd lent him and unlocking the café door.

"Not a clue.  May as well come in.  I think we'll be here a while." 

"Ow ow OW, Leni what the hell?"  Julio winced as he tripped down the street, trying to free his ear without hurting his prima's hands.  She stopped and let him loose, foot tapping on the cobblestones and hands on hips as he rubbed his ear ruefully.  "I'll tell you when we get to Gustavo's and not before you gran bulto!"

Julio yelped as she grabbed him by the shirt and yanked, and he followed as seams cut into his shoulders. 

Gustavo gave a sleepy wave to them as they bustled in the door, left unlocked as he always left it on Domingo in case someone wanted to visit, and Elena had no time or need to be underhanded as she shoved her cousin towards the counter.

"You," she hissed, poking him in the chest sharply, "Are proposing to Carlita.  Now."

"What?  Why?  I mean, not that I'd mind but it's only been a couple of months and she's always so busy and...and..."

"And I found her throwing up every meal she's ever eaten today, and she's been at it for weeks and hiding it and worrying herself even sicker.  Ring.  Now, Julio.  You're going to pick something and set this right."

"Now that's not fair, the way you and Bruno carry on!"

Elena flinched, and sat him down.  Gustavo laughed, mumbling something about getting coffee started and made himself scarce.

"Julio, don't.  Please don't.  I've already dealt with Tia Pilar.  And I'll deal with her on your behalf too, but please don't ask about that."  Julio peered at her curiously, confused, before his mouth turned down and he placed a big hand on her shoulder, understanding clicking into place.

"It's...It's like Tia Sofia, isn't it?  With you?"

"There's...there's a vision.  Later.  It...it's a long while off yet, I think.  That I'll...That I'll have to worry."

Julio pulled her to him, smothering her in a hug.  There had been a time when they'd told each other everything, but years and lives had gotten in the way, and they had drifted enough for this to be a surprise.  

"Leni, why didn't you tell me?  I've teased you so much.  If I'd known..."

"If you'd known, then everyone would have known.  I know you can't help it.  I just...it hurt, you know?"

"And now I've gone and got the last of your friends embarazada..."

Elena laughed and punched him in the arm.  "Don't you make this about me.  Carlita loves you, idiota.  She's happy, but she's scared.  You know how people here can get sometimes.  The Rosario twins thrive on that sort of attention, but Car's a sweetheart and was terrified her mother was going to kill her."

The weight of what she was saying was beginning to settle, blanketing the panic with a hint of wonder, and he smiled.

"She's amazing, you know.  Don't know why she puts up with me.  I didn't even...I didn't even think, not really, our age and everything."

"Lio, you know there's a lot of older mothers in town."

"I know.  I'm...cristo I'm an idiot."  He laughed at himself and ran a hand through his hair.  "Ok.  Ok.  So.  Help me er...Help me with a ring, then.  I...I want to do this right.  Carlita deserves that.  She…She deserves better than me."

“Carlita picked you, cabrón.  She’s getting just what she wants.”

Gustavo lumbered out of his back room then with a carafe of coffee thick enough to chew and a wide gap-toothed grin, belly shaking with laughter.

"Senóra, will I be seeing you next month with Emilio?  At this rate you'll have all the Guzman boys paired off before Senór Madrigal even comes sniffing in here for a gift for Navidad."

"If you see me dragging Em in here he'll have his hide tanned first."  Elena snarked, rolling her eyes.  Julio didn’t ask, but followed her to the counter again.

They spent an hour looking at rings, using Elena’s hands as a size guide.  Carlita was born in September, the youngest of their group, and loved her birthstone. A deep, ocean blue sapphire in a square cut caught Julio’s eye almost immediately, but the band was too plain.  He fumbled what he was thinking, but over several cups of coffee and finally breaking and trying to draw it.  A braided band, thicker at the middle like a pan trenza.

“I have just the thing,  Give me twenty minutes.  We’ll discuss price when I’m done.”

“I don’t care what it costs, Gus.  Carlita deserves this and more for putting up with me.  Just send me the bill.”

“I’ll remind you you said that in a week when you get it.” Elena said, squeezing him as Gustavo went to his back room, hollering for Alberto to get downstairs and help him.  “You’re sorted, and I’m only charging you why Nahno is scared of Gustavo as my finders fee.”

“You…you aren’t staying?”  Julio looked a little lost, searching her eyes, crinkled in a smile.

“Mariano can do the showy proposals.  You and Carlita?  This is private, and just for you.  Don’t screw up too bad.  And buy some flowers for Nina and the girls before you go over there.”

 Julio tried to protest, but was disarmed as Elena pulled him down to her height, resting her forehead on his for a second before kissing his brow.

“I am so, so happy for you, mi gemelo mayor.  Let me know how it all goes tomorrow, and let me know if either of you need anything, oye? Anything at all.”

“Elena, you don’t have to…”

“I want to.  I can’t do much, but I can help mi familia.”  She kissed one cheek and patted the other, and turned to go.  Julio howled a second later as sharp little fingers found his kidneys.

“Leni!”

“That’s for knocking up my friend.  She’ll crack me with a spoon once you marry her, so I have to get my jabs in now!”

Julio grabbed her and smothered her in another hug, resting his chin on her head.  Elena tried to wrestle free, but stopped when a tear trickled into her hair and a rumbling sniffle sounded.

“I’m going to have a wife.  Voy a ser papá.”

Elena just held him for a minute, shoring him up and bolstering him as the realization of his life changing frosted across him like the skin of ice on a lake.  His heart was thudding in her ear, and his breath was harsh, trying to fend off tears.

Finally, he broke away with a huge intake of breath, shaking his head.  “Padre would have kicked my ass, wouldn’t he?”

“I think…I think Tio Seb would just be happy you were happy, Lio.  He didn’t hate you.  He was just…Bad at showing he loved you.  You…You’ll be so much better than what he could be.  Yo quiero, bobo.”

“Yo tambien te quiero, mocoso.”

    Julio wasn't a man who worried about things.  His father had worried about things, and it had thrown him into a heart attack before his time.  So Julio did his best to not worry.  He let the old Vazquez brothers run his ranch and breed his cattle as they saw fit, as long as he still got sway over breeding the horses.  They did a better job than he ever would, and the milk cows they'd bred were turning both their farms a good profit.  It worked well for them all, and if he got his tequila and spices at a lower price thanks to their sister and her "good friend," all the better for him.

    He worked his easy job at the dancehall more for the fun than the need and as a favor to the De Leons, and it was enough for him.  His rotation at the palisade was a duty, but he understood the need.  He watched his prima and the class of men Rafael had brought to her and the herrero Gabriel Sandoval, and wondered idly if maybe he should start worrying about things.  For less than a week a sapphire ring had sat on the hand of the town baker, his baby in her belly, and a date set at the church, and suddenly the reality of his home being vulnerable meant more than just a danger to himself.  His head again filled with the ever expanding possibilities of just what Carlita's news meant for them both.

    They were stationed about a mile into the jungle for the sake of Dolores Madrigal's hearing, none of them exactly sure just how sensitive it was, but following the estimate she'd given them.  They had begun at sun-up.  Luisa and Antonio had come along with their tio to keep any animals away and safe, and as a line of defense in case the Bardales men hadn't met their predicted ends yet.  Elena had slipped into the role of instructor with surprising ease, looking over each rifle and revolver, spending time learning their slight model differences, referring back to the antique gun manual she had brought with her pages yellowed but sturdy from their protective drawer in the bibliotheca.  She made the men take apart, clean, oil and reassemble the weapons until they could do it without getting fouled up.  She had Gabriel show them how to cast and pack their own bullets and casings and the correct mix for powder and made them write it down and recite it until she was satisfied, not wanting any of them to blow off a finger.  Julio picked at his nails, well aware of what his cousin was doing. 

    His tio Hebér had done the same thing to her, fifteen years before when she'd started accompanying him on trips out to Bogota.  She'd been excited to shoot, the thrill of holding a weapon new and fascinating.  Hebér had beaten that out of her head with sheer dogged repetition until she'd understood the inherent danger of the old rifle he'd carried and just what it meant if she had to use it.  He sat with Bruno and watched on the side lines as she pounded any enthusiasm out of the group, relentless and determined.  One by one their eyes went out as they realized the grim reality.  They weren't learning for fun target practice, but to defend the town.

    By the time they were ready to actually shoot, the sun was starting to set.  Luisa had settled in with a lantern and a book after setting up a collection of Gabriel's bright burning phosphorous lanterns in the trees, Antonio was napping contently on Bruno's lap, and all three of them had taken the precaution of stuffing their ears with waxed cotton.  Bruno's jaw was tight as he watched Elena line up the men and help them aim at the improvised targets, hay bales with tacked on painted sheets.  

    Julio squinted at the older man, curious at the fist gripped in the faded green ruana.  He had seen the lovebites on his prima's fair skin, and the hands often at her back and shoulder.  He'd heard the nonsense the town and his tia said about both of them, but he didn't know Senór Madrigal well.  Bruno didn't strike him as a jealous man, but Julio couldn't say he wouldn't have been grinding his teeth if he'd seen his Carlita teaching a bunch of men how to bake and adjusting their arms and stances, like Elena did.  She was not gentle about it, jabbing and tucking and kicking at heels until the men all had the same supported stance, canted to the side and hunched for those with rifles, or sturdy and half crouched and facing forward, hands clasped on pistol grips. 

    Rafael followed behind her, swooping like a condor and cracking forearms with a whippy tree branch whenever the men got careless and muzzles started to stray any direction but straight ahead. 

    When the first shots rang out, jolting all of those watching even with their ears protected, Bruno flinched but his gaze intensified, his mouth a thin line as his fist shook.  He wasn't looking at Elena, but past her out into the jungle, scanning the trees with keen, needling eyes.  Not jealousy then, but thorny disquiet. 

    Elena took the first shots with her pistola, demonstrating what she was showing the men soundly before and after as Rafael gave orders for ear protection.  Half the line flinched at the first crack, still horribly loud past the waxed cotton earplugs, but Elena emptied the revolver quickly.  She was not the best shot, but six little holes showed in the target on the straw, not one outside of the red farmost ring.  She put her gun aside to cool and took the rifle Rafael handed her and did the same.  It was Abuelita Ximena's old Winchester, weathered with age.  Fourteen shots rang out in rapid succession, seven from the shoulder and seven from the hip, the target full of larger holes and the center vomiting straw.  

    Julio gave a low whistle.  It had been some time since he'd seen his cousin shoot and the quick, easy way she handled the guns belied the truth he knew, that she hated it.  He glanced at Bruno, who's face was an odd mix of uneasy, enraptured, and impressed.  His sobrinos looked equally surprised, and Antonio had begun to clap.  Elena went down the line behind the men, patting each on the back to indicate they should try.

    There was a shuffle, and struggling, and an uncoordinated cacophony of shots.  Galo Ortiz got whacked on the wrist for cheering at his bullseye.  One of the Sanchez men had his rifle taken away for fumbling it, and was replaced by someone else.  There came a lull between shots, as men were shuffled and re-familiarized themselves with the guns they were assigned, and Elena slumped off to the side to rest and rub her shoulder, hunting for a patacone from Julieta in the basket provided for the day.

    "She's very good, isn't she?" Bruno asked him, his gaze trained on Elena, brow knit together and troubled.  Julio nodded slowly.  

    "Tio Hebér made sure she knew what she was doing.  He tried with me, but my eyes are funny.  Always wind up shooting to the left no matter what I do."  Julio sat back, scratching his neck.  "I'm glad you talked her into going with the Perezes, by the way.  I've been trying for years, but she wouldn't take us or anyone else."

    Bruno snorted.  "If getting kicked out of the shops was talking her into something."

    "She forgave you quick enough."

    Bruno made a discontented sound as Antonio wiggled in his lap and he patted his sobrino's head.  "I'm...still worried for her."

    Another round of shots rang out, and Bruno flinched in surprise, caught unaware.  Antonio shifted up, rubbing his eyes sleepily as the last of the men finished firing.  Julio watched as Bruno reassured his muzzy sobrino and let him rest his head on his shoulder, rubbing his shoulders until the little boy drifted back to sleep.  Julio watched Bruno closely for the next half hour, until the sun had set entirely and the area was set in the pale white glow of the phosphorus lanterns, foggy and acrid with gunpowder on the wind.  He watched as Bruno's eyes followed Elena back and forth, taking in every movement and action, grinning and furrowing his brow in turn.  Bruno never stopped patting his sobrino's back, keeping the little boy settled and asleep through the muffled noises.

    What Elena saw in him Julio had never understood, but here, he could see part of it.  The careful hand he placed on Luisa's arm when she flinched at a target crumbling, the gentle rocking that kept little Antonio asleep.  The quiet way he'd hung on Elena's every word throughout the day, though he'd shown no interest in picking up a firearm himself.  Knowing the man's nervous nature, it made sense he'd leave the sharpshooting to the woman who knew how to do it well enough to earn even Rafael Aguilar's persnickety respect.  There was more than attention in Bruno's gaze, but admiration and respect.  He looked for surprise, but found none, only the mooning look of a man utterly lost to the tides.  Julio finally answered the hanging question of Bruno's worry as Rafael and Gabriel began to clean up, and arranged another class with Elena.

    "You're worried.  Why don't you go out with her?"

    Bruno looked away, handing Antonio off to Luisa to take home.  He wiped his hands on the legs of his pants and looked off into the dark of the trees, the shadows under his eyes darkening as he avoided turning his head.

    "I can't.  I can't.  This is as far as I can go.  I just..." his knuckles cracked as he gripped his legs, hands shaking.  "I...I am not a strong man.  I'd just be in her way if....if anything went wrong.  I know it, and...and Elena knows it.  It...Out here...Even this close is....this close is hard.  I promised her I wouldn't fail her, and if I went with her, I would."  He turned his face away, muscle in his jaw working in the lamp shadows., his throat bobbing.  Julio studied him again.  His back was straight despite his words, and his feet were planted firmly on the dirt.  It had not been an easy admission.  It would never be, for a man to admit that he was weak, that he knew for certain he couldn't support the woman he cared for in all ways, and had to rely on others to fill in the gaps of his failure.  But Bruno had made it with little effort and less guile, honest and humble.

    The man beside him truly loved Elena, to lay his weakness and pride bare with little thought of himself, Julio realized, and he nodded.  He had not missed the renewed joy in his primita.  She laughed more, and louder now.  Perhaps people less close to her hadn't noticed, but she and Julio hadn't been called los casi gamelos as children for nothing, and he could see that some of her mask had slipped and she'd allowed someone in.  It was good to see her genuinely cheerful again, and not the part that she had been playing for years since her parents died, lost and floundering in the boisterous solitude she'd begun to build around herself upon Memo's death and had only strengthened as time passed, a cocoon so strong she'd lost her room to grow.  A cocoon that somehow Bruno Madrigal had worn away enough steely layers with affection and persistence to allow her some sort of freedom

"You make her happy, and you've kept her safe in the Encanto.  Keep doing that, and I'll be happy."

Bruno had no time to respond as Elena came up and promptly flopped across his and Julio’s laps dramatically.  

“Primo mayor!  Amante más querido!  Drag me away before the ants take me!  I smell like a foundry, throw me in the fountain first.”

“I’m not throwing you in the fountain again, ninfa.” Bruno huffed, brushing a smudge of black powder off her shoulder.  “But…There’s a tub big enough to soak the day away at Casita, hm?”

She hummed before Julio stood, rolling her to the ground with a yelp.  She kicked at his ankles as Bruno waved a waiting Luisa off home with Antonio again and stood, helping her to her feet and dusting her back.  Elena took his arm and dragged him away, her head resting on his shoulder.  Julio watched as they left him behind, perfectly mismatched bookends swaying together across the forest path as Elena laughed, not realizing quite what she’d said as Bruno’s shoulders stiffened and relaxed.

“Lead the way home, Bruno.”

Chapter Text

          Two weeks passed before either Bruno or Elena realized it.  Bruno looked around the cafe as he sipped his espresso at the counter, suddenly aware of the changes to the shops and bibliotheca that had taken place over the last few days.  He had seen it incrementally over the last few days, but it came together all at once.  Elena had hung a sign on Martes stating all library loans were extended by two weeks, and all checkouts were suspended until the Twenty-First of Deciembre. 

          The cafe hours had been reduced to noon to four to give her time to organize her shops and sort out her orders, which she had stopped Jueves after laughing herself stupid the day before, having learned far too much about Bruno's supposedly staid oldest sister, her husband and their...reading preferences.  Dinner at Casita had been awkward the next day, but not nearly as bad as she'd been afraid of.  Two weeks away would give enough separation to get over it, they hoped.  Or at least keep Agustín from knocking over glasses in embarrassment.

          The bookshop had sheets tacked over the seating to prevent dust buildup, and the blinds were down on the window on that side, a Cerrado sign propped up in a picture frame for passers-by to see.  He had helped her stack the cafe tables on top of each other and turn up the chairs, and had watched her clean in between customers all day.  He had tried to hide away in his chair and stay out of her way, but the continual current of action had made his skin itch, and he'd swallowed his disquiet to take a seat at the counter and help where he could.  There wasn't much he was able to do outside of keep her company as she sealed things up for the last day of business, but that alone seemed to keep her from running out of steam.

          If he sat back, he could take in the changes that had happened in so short a time.  It still surprised him, as he watched Elena busy herself with cleaning the machines.  She had dismantled them as much as she could, the small parts tossed into cheesecloth bags and set to soak in oil in her basin sink to loosen the worst grime and keep from moldering while she was away.  She had worked her way through them all since morning, reassembling each machine as it was completed and draping them in oiled sheets as she went, leaving only one percolator and the french press for last.  His current espresso was the final drink of the day.  She would leave in the morning.  Even now, he couldn't quite believe that he was where he was, his leg bouncing nervously at the prospect of going without her for two weeks, of not waking up tangled in her limbs and hair and fending off that ridiculous parrot.

          He'd known she would go out, of course he had.  They had spoken about it from the first week, and he had never let it drift from his mind that her trips out were a perennial constant.  And yet his heart sank at the realization of just how little time they had been together, and how large of a percentage of time these two weeks would be in comparison. Changes had happened so quickly between them that it already felt like they'd been together for years.  He couldn't know if it was simple as the two of them just being suited to one another, or if the convergence of their futures was somehow silently forcing their hands and hearts, but the rapidity still came from behind to surprise him.  He watched as Elena slowly put the newly repaired grinder back together, screwdriver between her teeth with little thought to what the wooden handle looked like as she steadied the cast iron over its usual spot.  

          He had to consciously stop himself from gnawing on his lip.  Something had kept her interest in him burning for sixteen years, ten of which he’d been as good as dead to the community.  Logically he knew a couple of weeks in the city shouldn’t change that.  Shouldn’t.  That was the word that itched and made his ears buzz.  He watched her quietly, the play of muscles under skin and strands of hair over freckles, and wondered.  Just because something shouldn’t happen didn’t mean it wouldn’t.  His visions didn’t show everything, and he was painfully aware of that fact.  Now that he’d remembered everything that lead up to the final product, he had to wonder.  Was the little boy in the missing piece truly theirs, or was life destined to turn out as unexpectedly as his last vision?  Nowhere in the sands had he seen Elena pregnant or in labor.  A little voice in the back of his mind whispered to him that there was a chance he’d interpreted everything wrong, because Hebér had and it had solidified in his panic.  Of all the times he’d hoped he was wrong; this was the one he hoped proved him a blind prophet the hardest.

          Elena sighed as she finished, snapping him from his fog as she gave one last sweep of the counter, tossing away a small pile of Chacha's latest molt.  The bird herself was gone, seen off on Lunes after the last reading hour with a small roll of paper tied to a special harness on her back and an Andean condor as an escort to the city courtesy of Antonio.

          The giant bird of prey went by Hechicera, and was almost as old as Chacha, her wattled neck scarred from a fight with a golden eagle.  She was, as far as Bruno and Elena could tell from Antonio’s fawning, something of a legend among the local birds, and a peaceful sort.  Antonio had been worried about Chacha making her delivery trip to Bogotá without protection since the falcon attack in Septiembre, and had insisted.

          Elena had fretted for a full day before going to Pepa and asking her if it was alright.  That had earned some odd looks at Casita.  Elena had brought the glass book guard as a peace offering and apologized before she’d even asked, and Pepa had been flummoxed.

          “Elena, if he wants to use his gift to help you, let him.  It’s not like you’ve made some crazy demand like that idiota Senor Rendon.  You’re practically family.”

          She’d flinched at that, and Bruno and Pepa had both caught it, but said nothing.  “Still,” Elena muttered, “He’s your son, and I don’t want to overstep like I did with Camilo.  It’s not necessary, Chacha’s made that trip for a decade.”

          “And the old bird is older now.  Elena, let his little friends help you, Tonito is worried about that old green chicken.  And you did not overstep just asking Camilo to help you with measurements for that lovely dress, stop that!” Pepa waved the small cloud of agitation away as she’d quirked her head, studying Elena.

          He had seen this, more and more as they grew closer, the near refusal to use their gifts.  Once his sister had assured her that Antonio’s help was not just alright but encouraged, he pulled her aside.

          “Ninfa, you know we don’t mind using our gifts, sí?  Mine is…a hassle…but even then if you asked me, I wouldn’t mind doing a vision for you.  Why are you so hesitant?”

          She looked away at the stroke of his thumb across her collarbone and shook her head.

          “It’s…oh it’s stupid.  Don’t worry about it.”

          “It isn’t stupid.  Is…is it just…I just want to understand.  Is it…Is this a fear thing?  It’s okay if it is!” He found himself backpedaling at her whimper, but she shook her head, snapping.

          “I’m not afraid of your family Bruno!  Dios how could you think that?”

          “I just…”

          Elena sighed and leaned against the wall, dragging a hand through her hair.  Bruno purposely ignored she was leaning against the repainted family tree.

          “I asked Dolores not to tell you because I knew you’d get upset.  And no one was going to say it to your face, okay?”

          “You asked Dolores not to tell me…what?”

          She turned her eyes to the ceiling, looking for all the world like the only thing she wanted was a cigarette and a stiff drink.  “The latest rumor about us.  Ha, about me, anyway.”

          “Please tell me.  It’s worrying you.  Please?”

          “It wouldn’t hurt so much if it wasn’t the same damn thing your mother accused me of.”

          He didn’t know what to say.  Not because he’d ever agreed with his mother about Elena, but because his mother had had so many things to throw at her before she'd come more around after Dolores' engagement.

          “They think I’m using you.  Everyone…People know I’m not well off, Bruno.  It’s no secret I’ve been close to closing the shops and just…going off the bibliotheca pension like Senor Geraldo did more than once.”

          “Oh.”

          Elbows rested on knees as she hung her head.  Bruno roughly knew the bibliotheca pension from days when his mother had dragged him to council meetings.  It was livable, but it would have hobbled the way Elena did things, and the cafe and book shop would have crumbled away.  He knew Elena would have crumbled as well.  He'd long since realized she needed the trips out into the city, the excitement of going out and the risk just as much as he needed the quiet and seclusion of the Encanto.   Much as he knew Elena loved her life here, it was easy for anyone to see she would have floundered if she hadn't been allowed to get out and experience part of the wider world. He took her hand and leaned against her, trying to tell her what she needed to hear without words.  She sounded so tired when she continued.

          “I’ve heard it a dozen different ways at the market, and from Miranda because she’s trying to keep me up on things…I want the money, the security, the…I don’t know…prestige?  I guess.  Gifted…gifted kids.”  Her hands shook at that before she fisted them on her trouser legs.  “I…I can’t just love you, dammit.  I have to be some…chudora looking to be a pampered princesa!  I've known these people my whole life, and it's like they've never met me!  Why is it so...so damn hard to believe I love someone?  That it's you?  Am I that cold?” 

          He rubbed her back in silence, knowing she wasn't done, and leaned into her side harder, his chin resting atop her shoulder.  He could feel her swallowing, rage or tears he couldn't tell.

          "I don't want to know what they say about my trips out, when I know damn well what my own family says.  I just...Bruno I'm not...I'm not like that.  I don't want your family to ever think that's what I'm with you for.  I just...I don't know what to do to prove I don't care one way or the other about any of that besides avoid it all like I always have."

          She was panting as he twined their fingers together, rubbing her back still.  Her heart was clattering around under his palm and her breathing was just short of hyperventilating.  He pulled her hair loose of its chignon and let it cascade slow down, releasing the smell of her cinnamon shampoo.  He thought for a moment, knowing he needed to carefully weigh his words.  The tongues of the town had never stopped wagging, and to an extent he knew that.  He had dealt with it for longer than her.  He'd never perfected ignoring it himself, but he could still be there for her.

          "The town is bored.  I'm an old scandal and we're a new one.  Let them have their fun.  They're going to say whatever they want to anyway.  I don't believe half of what they say anymore.  Unless..." He waited for her head to quirk up at his pause.  "Unless you have something to tell me about the nights I left Casita's walls to walk that I don't remember and there really is a gaggle of hill children I don't know about?"  He refrained from saying if he had his way she'd be part of the family soon anyway, and damn the town.

          She cracked a laugh in disbelief before shoving him with her shoulder. "Juancho looks like you, maybe you should tell me something?"

          She laughed harder at the disgusted look he threw her for even daring to put the idea of him and Beatriz Cortez in his head before they had devolved into teasing.  When Pepa had walked back through to check on them, drizzling enough to distract them, Elena had apologized, and told her she'd be happy to accept Antonio's help, before going to find him herself and talk to him.  Bruno lost her for a good three hours, a danger any time anyone went into his sobrinito's room and went in search once the sun began to set after getting pulled into helping make dinner by Julieta and Félix.

          He'd found her in one of the many hammocks in Antonio's room.  A bright children's book was perched on her face blocking the natural light, and there was a hummingbird curled in her loose hair.  Three of his rats were huddled on her stomach and the ever-present coatis were sprawled up and down her legs, her shoes lost to the room.  Antonio had climbed up into the hammock with her and was sleeping with his cheek pressed against her heart, hands tangled in her hair as her arm held him in place.   The familiar pain twined through his chest again, but this time he was able to brush it off with a smile.  He slunk out of the room on silent feet.  When asked where Elena was he played dumb and smiled to himself as the other adults went in search of Antonio.  While he got teased for being oblivious the rest of the night, the table was warmer, and the little smiles shared across the board unabashed.

          A wet finger swiped across his nose pulled him out of his wool gathering, and he opened his eyes to see Elena smirking at him.  He felt his face heat, caught out daydreaming and shrugged, jerking his head to the side.  Elena obliged and came around the counter, deftly snagging his mug as she sat on his lap, content to snuggle up with him in the fading light of the day.

          “You’re a little mechanic on top of everything else,” he grinned, wiping a smear of gear grease from her cheek she’d missed.  “What do you see in a boring old man that fiddles with woodwork and novela dramas?”  Elena huffed and took his cheeks in her hands, pulling his face to hers and staining his cheeks and nose redder with her lipstick.  “I see plenty, tonto.  Don’t you get all mopey just because I’ll be gone for a while.  I’m coming back.  Besides, your woodwork is beautiful and your novelas are fantastic.  Stop being mean to mi pareja.  Now, why is Silvia trying to get your attention through the door?”

          Bruno blanched and spun on the stool, tipping Elena out of his lap in a panic to see Silvia’s iron gray curls bouncing as she waved through the window.  

          Fuck.

          He felt sweat bead down his back, sure he’d been found out, but Elena just rolled her eyes and stood.

          Before he could think up an explanation, Elena shrugged and went to her door.  “I have to finish packing anyway.  There’s half a carafe behind the counter, amado.”

          He watched her slip up the pocket door as he sliced his hand across his neck at Silvia, trying to get her to stop cackling as she made her way inside, a large box balanced on her hip.  Silvia stared him down with the look reminiscent of Hechichera and had him sighing and heading behind the counter in resignation, pouring them both the last of the coffee as the slightly gritty sound of Elena’s radio sparked up.  She was dancing as she packed. 

          A slim packet rested on top of the crate that he snatched immediately, blush blazing down to the roil in his gut, knowing what was inside and facing the mortification of it all at once.

          “Good to see you too, Bruno,” Silvia laughed, taking the packet back and tucking it in her cleavage before settling the box on the counter with a clink.  

          Silvia accepted the mug of coffee handed to her and sat, untying the binding on the box and peeling back the paper.  Two dozen stoneware mugs in bright sienna, green and burgundy flecks peppered throughout sat wrapped in tissue paper, stacked three high.

          "I still can't believe you came through me to order these.  Ligia thought I'd lost my mind."

          "Ligia Carmen can't keep her mouth shut.  She'd...she'd never be quiet if I came replacing mugs and I wanted it to be a surprise.  She'll figure it out soon enough, if Elena ever lets her back in here."

          "I don't think she'll show her face around anyone near you two anytime soon.  You're right though, who knows what she'd say about just how you two broke them all..."  Bruno groaned and began rinsing out mugs in the side of the sink not soaking machine parts.  Silvia snorted and continued.  "Ligia has no imagination, so it would be more of the same.  She's too busy though, lucky for you.  She's still making up all the stock Ramón fell into when your mother lit into her."

          Bruno's grin was hard.  "Good, serves her right for all the mierda she spread."

          “She had no business starting those ridiculous rumors up again, especially with what it caused.  I’m just sorry she had to drag your sobrinas into it.  They liked helping her out.”

          “Her loss.  She can struggle or train an apprentice.  Dolores nearly cried and Isabela destroyed a chair sprouting cacti.”

          “I liked the spiral cacti by the way.  Very suggestive.”  Silvia grinned, watching as he stacked mugs and tried to cover his snort.  There was an ease about him, the muscles of his back loose beneath his ruana, the blush she'd driven him to fading quickly as he shuffled and moved, finding spaces in the scant cabinetry and hooks above the coffee machines for the new mugs.  He didn't look at home behind the counter.  That would always be Hebér and Elena's place, as far as Silvia was concerned, but he looked mostly unbothered to be so familiar with someone else's place of business.  

          He had set the paper aside to fold for later use, no doubt for the growing collection of pets he and Elena were amassing.  He folded it once the mugs were hung, all in neat booklets that fit nicely in a little wooden box he retrieved from under the counter.  He was careful, his hands still slender and graceful as she remembered them, if the lines a little deeper.

          He had come to her a week before, covered in sawdust from his woodworking, and looking like he’d swallowed a pigeon.  It was a look she’d seen on the face of more men in town than would ever admit to coming to her door.  She’d ushered him in as she’d shooed Roberto out the back before he could see who had come to consult Encanto’s Bruja de Amor.   Ostensibly he had an order for the mugs, which he had sketched roughly and described in detail, but she had known him long enough and well enough to see through him.  Finally he'd dropped the pretense and admitted what he had really come calling for, his flaming ears the only thing showing as he bored holes into her flooring.

          He was not the first man to request one of her pociones, but he had gone down as the most specific in recent memory.    Something to increase frequency and reduce rebound times, and if it made him a little bolder than usual it wouldn’t hurt.  Borojo and maca powder would be a good start, but she would have to get creative.

          "It's not...n-necessary.  I just...I want to say that.  I don't...need it but..."    

          "But Elena's going to be gone for two weeks, right around the holidays, and you're worried she'll come to her senses in Bogotá."

          He had flinched at her tone and sank into her couch as Silvia hooted until she was wiping her eyes.

          "Keep it up and it might become a necessity.  It's not funny, Silvia!"

          She’d leveled a look at him, that bratty tone bringing back memories she could turn him scarlet with, but she held back.  "Bruno, you can see the future.  Don't think for a second I don't know you know something.  You haven't acted like you do with her with anyone else you've been with.  Not even with Consuela, and you thought you'd marry her!"

          Bruno had managed to meet her eyes at that, his own a mix of aggravation and worry.  "I know a part of it.   I don't know it all.  I just don’t…I just don't know if I could take the heartbreak if she left, even if it would just be temporary.  Or if I...If I saw things wrong..."

          "Lenita seems happy.  What on earth makes you think you need to seduce her just to keep her?"

          "Silv, I'm not an idiot.  Look at me.  I'm an old man in a small town with little for her.  Elena...she chomps at the bit just to get outside the Encanto.  I can't keep up with that.  With her."

          She had shaken her head and pulled him into a rough hug, chuckling when he’d seized up.  She patted his back and released him.

          “I’ll get this taken care of Ramita, but you need to get the fluff out of your head, it’s making you stupid.  No te ahogues en un vaso de agua.”

          Bruno rubbed his neck awkwardly.  “I know it’s…I know it’s a stupid fear.  I know.  Y’know.  Objectively.  I just…I can’t convince myself of it.  It just sits in my head.”

          “Well,” she said, nodding sagely as she tucked his request in her blouse, “Hopefully this will help convince you.”

          Silvia sipped her coffee slowly, rocking softly to the slow samba playing upstairs.  She let herself drift back into memories over a decade gone of Elena and her son together.  Her girls had known Elena from school and set them up after she'd begun working full time at the shops and stopped racing and competing with that horse of hers.  Silvia had known her, of course, but only enough to exchange pleasantries in the afternoons when she'd come to relax after working her farm and read, occasionally catching up with Bruno when they ran into each other.  

          It had been objectively painful to watch her then, flitting around him like an over-bold moth, the shy, obvious flirting of infatuation changing slowly to the more subtle interest towards a friend.  Bruno had been completely oblivious, and had gone merrily on chatting with her about books and the goings on of the town as she brought him espressos with exactly zero impression she was anything more than the cheerful young woman that ran the shops, kind and all business.  It had gone on for almost six months when her daughters and Elena's friends had finally convinced her to go out.  Guillermo had been several years older, and pining after another Madrigal sibling, but something about Elena had captivated him, though she was so different from Pepa that it would take Silvia years after his death to realize why.

          Their romance had been quick as well, but they were young, and fewer people questioned it than they did currently with Bruno.  Both were boisterous and loud, prone to wild dancing and tearing up at festivals, and to most people it made sense.  Silvia had looked forward to welcoming Elena into the family, even if she could see that the match wouldn't be one for love, but friendship.  It had made her wary for both of them, knowing that those sorts of unions could turn from lovely to forlorn in an instant.

          Still, they had been happy for nearly a year, outside of Sofia's horrid outburst and Elena's tearful confession to Silvia in private that any grandchildren for her would be from her own daughters.  Then Bruno had come panting to her door late one night looking more haunted than she'd seen him in a decade and handed her a vision of her son crushed beneath a pile of rubble from the quarry, only recognizable by the large birthmark that took over half his hand.

          Guillermo had accepted it with grace, all things considered, and put his affairs in order.  There had still been time, but when he had returned his grandmother’s ring to her, she had known he was sparing Elena the pain she’d gone through when her Sergio had died.

          Through it all, she had watched, and waited.  Elena had been beside herself when she’d found out, but she had never blamed Bruno, had actively turned people out once things had come to pass.  She hadn’t gone and begged for some other future, because Guillermo had not.  She made peace with it and mourned, and never accepted the town’s back biting that Bruno had caused it, just like all the other deaths and accidents in town that had come to pass over the years.  Time and fate were unavoidable, but preparation and warning were not meant to doom the messenger.

          Guillermo and Elena had spent the days after the vision thick as thieves, never letting on that they knew.  Guillermo had worked at the quarry every day, trying as best he could to shore things up with the rest of the workers and prevent the inevitable, still convinced somehow he could change the course of fate even as he’d accepted it.  He’d failed, but saved the lives of six men that would otherwise not be alive today, and there was a blank space in Silvia’s memory.

          She had mourned long enough that she had lost track of the days.  It had taken Hebér making a trip out to her farm to come back into town.  She’d cried when she’d seen Elena, and pulled her to El Loro Azul before she could protest.  Elena had held together up until the first glass of lulada arrived.  The first swallow had been thick, and the dam had broken on her tears.  They spent the hours until the Castillo women kicked them out sharing stories about Memo, laughing and crying in turn.  Long stretches of silence met them in between, the bruises in their hearts slowly fading and the breaks knitting back together with memories.  

          Fifteen years gone and she had long since stopped seeing Guillermo at Elena’s side.  Her daughters had married and she’d gained two lovely nietas.  She wanted nothing more for the woman who might once have been her nuera to find happiness.  Of it soon being with her old friend, alone so long himself, she was sure.

          She’d taken Bruno’s request just as seriously as she did the rest.  While her reputation might have scandalized some of the town, it didn’t stop them from coming to her when something in their relationships needed help.  She couldn’t pinpoint the exact time people beyond just her friends had began coming to her, but she blamed Meme Rivera.  The doctor’s wife, a midwife in her own right and a social butterfly of voracious proportions, always seemed to know who was having what issue and when.

          At first, pociones had been little more than Mamá Juana with a twist here and there.  Rum and wine, cinnamon and fruit, and the blend of herbs and barks she’d learned from Sister Santiaga when Sergio had had his own troubles after being attacked past the mountains.  It had worked for years, until Julieta Madrigal had come to her a year after her first daughter had been born.

          Silvia had remembered the meltdown in the town square, and had worried, asking Bruno for updates.  Everyone loved Julieta of course, but Silvia understood the near psychosis that could take over a mother after childbirth, having fought through it with each of her own children.  On top of thinking Julieta deserved the chance to snap at the town that ran to her for every stuffy nose and sore throat, she understood the need to simply be allowed to break, to grow back stronger.

          Julieta had come for herself, rather than Agustín.  A year past Isabela’s birth and she had healed, but intimacy had been slow to return, and desire even more so.  Julieta, unsurprising since she’d been seeing the old nun for half a year at that point, had already exhausted a bottle of old Mama Juana from Sister Santiaga and was desperate for something else.  Everyone swore by Silvia, so Silvia it was.  

          Using Julieta’s knowledge of herbs on top of the tricks Silvia herself had learned, they were able to come up with something that was, according to Julieta, a rousing success.  That Luisa had been conceived shortly afterwards was testament to its potency.  Julieta revealed that she had herbs in her room not native to the Encanto, not even native to South America.  They were in limited supply, but she grew more when she had the time in a tiny garden her room provided.  Plants Silvia had never heard of.  The addition of those, as well as Julieta being the one to muddle them into the rum and wine mix, had proven to be bottled lightning.

          Of course, Julieta would never offer those sorts of things at her stall.  At the time she was still making up for her outburst at the town, though that didn’t take as long when people were privately worried she wouldn’t heal them if they didn’t accept her apology.  The simple truth of it from Julieta had infuriated both Silvia and her siblings, but there was nothing to be done.  Alma's influence over her daughter was strong at the time, and Julieta wasn't in a place to rattle against it.

          So Silvia had developed a surprisingly early onset lumbago and saw Julieta once a week in private for it.  She would always bring a basket of some goody or other, leaving with several bottles of honey syrup and wine to treat it through the day, a flask always at her hip to complete the illusion and Julieta always surprisingly aware of the sexual health of the town.  People said it was her gift growing in strength once she’d had children, but Silvia knew the truth, and both women appreciated the silent partnership and the little side business they grew from kindness.  She’d even expanded recently.  

          The Parks, lovely people that they were, had fumbled with requests for Binnah’s healing, and wound up having a long, mistranslated conversation that had Julieta learning about a plant they had brought seeds for with them from Korea.  While Isabela’s plants weren’t always as potent, the ginseng was a welcome addition to the roster until the Park’s plants could succeed.  The ginseng's almost six-year maturation cycle was a bit more than Julieta had been willing to wait, but she’d explained as soon as the plants took off she’d be using their own crops.

          She truly wanted to be there the day Bruno finally found out how his sister was almost as psychic as him when it came to certain things.  It would take him seconds to realize that Julieta had seen the note he’d written with just what he’d requested.

          She had copied down Julieta's own neat handwriting in her own scrawl like she always did.  Palo indio and palo de Bracil.  Cat's claw, borojo, maca and ginger.  Anis estrellado, anamú, timacle, canelila, canela, clavo, tres costilla and triple gensing.  Cinnamon and bohuco pega palo and the ground stings of honeybees.  All of it ground to a fine powder and blended in a honey thick wine and rum mixture.  Sweet and fiery enough to spin the heads of even the wettest of blankets, and responsible for more than a handful of the younger generation if the frequency of similar requests from the village women specifically were to be believed.

          She finished her coffee as she watched Bruno’s eyes flick across the text before sniffing experimentally at the package.  He considered the smell for a minute before shrugging and moving to stuff it in the messenger bag he had at his feet, a royal blue book poking out the top.  He stopped midway and ran his fingers back down the side, feeling a ridge.  He nicked the paper with a nail and pulled out a slim slip of leather.  It was nearly the color of his skin, a little darker, and three silver snaps adorned either end.  He looked at it in confusion for half a second before he choked on air, his eyes huge as his face burned.

          “Silvia are you loca?  I’m trying to…I’m not trying to chase her off!”

          “Oh, give Elena some credit, Bruno, it’s an anillo de polla, not a bullwhip.  She’s read every book in that back section.  That little trick isn’t going to scare her off.  Consider it an early Navidad gift to the both of you.”

          “She’s going to think I’m a deviant!”

          “If she doesn’t after that ‘coffee tamper’ you had Pamela repair, I doubt a scrap of leather is going to change her mind.  She could surprise you.”  Bruno’s jaw clamped shut with an audible clack of his teeth, and he went red from the roots of his hair down to his chest, the blush disappearing past his collar.  “Maldita sea Pamela.  Chismosa mayor.”

          Silvia could only bark a laugh.  She didn’t know what he expected given who her other partner was when it came to her side business.

          He glared at her for a minute, almost forgetting he was holding the thing still, when he heard the clatter and swear of Elena coming down the stairs dragging her canvas travel bag.  Silvia could see him warring with himself before stuffing it in his pants and going to the pocket door to help.  She smiled to herself and left a couple of pesos on the counter, turning to leave.

          “Oh Silv, you don’t have to leave!  I was just getting everything ready for tomorrow.”

          “De nada, de nada.  I just had to drop something off and got caught up.  I’ll see you when you get back, oye?”

          Silvia walked with her to the door and patted her shoulder before brushing a kiss to either cheek.  “You have a good trip, eh?  Give those ‘primos’ of yours a hard time, hm?”

          “Yes, Mamá,” Elena laughed with a roll of her eyes as she dropped her bag, not seeing the tears choke up into Silvia’s eyes.  “And I’ll make sure I get that order for you as well.”

          “Gracias, Lenita.  I’ll see you when you get back, oye?”  She turned out the door, leaving the bells jingling and a ringing silence in the shops.  Elena dusted her hands before sitting down beside Bruno, who had not moved.  

          There was a liminal tang in the air, blue-green and musty, and both could feel it.  Even though Elena wasn’t set to leave until the morning, Bruno sat struggling with the prospect of it.  He had everything he needed for what he had planned, except the courage.  He went to take her hand, wiping sweat onto his pantleg and missing, clacking his knuckles on the counter.  The quiet echoed as she smiled and twined their fingers.  They fumbled in unison, blushing,

          “I’ll come back ton--”

          “Please stay--”

          Bruno bit his tongue, Elena’s mouth falling into an O.  “I--I didn’t mean…Ay, dammit.”  He swore, kissing her knuckles.  He clenched his jaw and took a breath.

          “I didn’t mean…stay…like that.  Just.”  His free hand gestured blindly off to the side as he grasped at desperate straws.  “It’s just…Tomorrow is Dia de las Velitas.  It’s…It’s important to mi familia.  And I…I want you to be there.  Beside me.  Can…Can you postpone, just for a day?”

          “Bruno…”

          “If not, I understand I just…”

          “I wasn’t saying no, cariño.  It’s just that it’ll take up so much time and I’d have to talk to Gus and Beto, and it depends on them too.  I’ll be back before Navidad, lo prometo.  Is it really...”

          “Please, Elena?  It…my parents met that night.  I just thought…”  He shook his head, looking away.  Of course she wouldn’t want to postpone a trip for that.  What had he been thinking?  His hand shook in hers before she stroked his cheek.  Her smile watery as she tilted his head up, thumbing at his stubble.  

          “How could I say no to that?”  She kissed him then, slow and sweet, and he let himself melt into it as his apprehension slipped away.  The hoatzin in his chest came flapping to life in elation and spreading warmth from scalp to toes.

          When they broke apart some minutes later, considerably more rumpled than they’d begun, Elena stood.  “I should probably go and talk to Gustavo.  I don’t think he’ll mind waiting another day and I---” She trailed off and drifted behind the counter.  She took one of the sienna mugs from its hook and stared at it, an alien solid ceramic in a field of floral mismatches.

          “Tonto?  What’s this?”

          Bruno ran his hand through his hair and grinned.  “A very late regalo de cumpleaños.  I--heh--I’ve broken enough of them.”  Elena weighed the mug in her hands for a moment, tracing over the green and red speckling it.   “You didn’t have to…”

          “If I’d had the damn huevos we’d have been talking by then at least, ninfa.  I wanted to do this.  And I really have broken way too many.”

          She smiled and hung the mug, thoughtful.

          “It was Junio when you bumped into me, wasn’t it?  Your huevos just took a while to catch up with your brain.”

          He snorted, the tension breaking, snatching her hand in a vibrant fit and waltzing her around the counter, dragging a giggle from her as she spun into his arms.  He stood on the footrest of the stool and took advantage of the height, kissing her fiercely before hopping down.  He paused to grab his shoulder bag and pulled her with him to the door.  

          “Let’s talk to Gustavo.  I have to drop off a few sketches anyway.  And behave yourself about my huevos, woman!”

          Elena shivered viscerally at the phrase and followed him, her mind spinning.  It had been weeks since he’d told her to behave herself last, but the memories still burned just as bright as the vision he’d seen her in.

          Alberto Perez met them at the joyeria counter, bored and sleepy eyed at his post.  

          “Finally dragging him in for a ring, Senòra Pascual?” he drawled.  There was a slight sneer in his voice as he gave Bruno a bored once-over.  Elena rolled her eyes as she leaned on the counter.

          “Beto, get your abuelo, please?  Don’t be a snot.”

          “I’m just saying, he’s designed enough of them, should have made you honest by now.”

          “BOY!  Saca tus pies de tu boca!” rumbled Gustavo as he emerged from the back, his face blotchy.  Bruno had bitten back his own comment about being right there when the big man stepped out.  He was moving around better, Julieta having worked out a new treatment for his gouty legs.  

          “Lo siento, abuelo…”

          “Ay, apologize to Senòr Madrigal and Senòra Pascual for that mouth.  That woman changed your diapers.  Vete ve!”

          Alberto flinched and apologized, making himself scarce.  Gustavo got settled behind the counter and pulled out a thick package wrapped in butcher paper, handing it to Bruno.

          "The pieces for Navidad.  Should make up for a few of the years, anyway, eh?"  Bruno nodded and stuffed the package in his bag, the tips of his ears red as he pulled out the journal.  Elena watched in interest off to the side as he and Gustavo went over the final details of a pair of teardrop earrings, bickering and correcting a line or two on the final draft design with careful sweeps of an eraser.  It didn't take long, and Bruno handed over the thin tracing paper with a confident nod.  He shuffled his journal back in his bag.

          "Gustavo," Elena said, "Bruno has asked me to stay for Dia de las Velitas.  I would like to, but--"

          "Of course!"  The big man laughed, surprising the two of them.  He sighed and took Elena's hand in his, knotted knuckles dry and warm.  "I knew Pedro, forever ago.  He never stopped talking about the little candles lighting his way to his Almalita.  We can wait a day longer.  The trail will be easier anyway, now that we've had more in and out than you did in Agosto.  We'll make up the time."

          "You don't mind?"  Elena blinked.  She really did need to find out what scared her primo so much about the big man.  He was an absolute sweetheart.   Gustavo patted her hand.  

          "Lenita, spend the time with him.  You both deserve it.  See each other in the candlelight and dance while you can.  My Ursula only got to see a few here, and never in their full glory."  He let her go and flexed his hands before taking a sip from a small flask, sighing in relief as he cracked his knuckles, his arthritis temporarily relieved.  

          "Go on, you two don't need to waste the daylight on an actual old man.  And tell Julieta thank you for the syrup.  It really helps the old bones."

          "Thank you, Gustavo.  It...I...Thank you."  Bruno stumbled, turning to Elena, who smiled.  

          "I'll meet you at Casita like we planned, hm?  I need to talk to Osvaldo and let him know I won’t need the team for another day.  And thank you, Gustavo."  

          She left with a wave and a fleeting scratch to Bruno's stubble, leaving him mooning after her before Gustavo laughed.

          "Ay, tímido, it's not in the packaging.  That's just for your sobrinas and hermanas."  Gustavo pulled him over the counter and dropped two small boxes in his outstretched hand, one slightly larger than the other. "Here.  And you wait until we get back, or she won't be herself the whole trip!"

          Bruno opened the smaller box just long enough to see its contents and snapped it back closed, his eyes huge and his mouth going dry as he nodded.  The jeweler chuckled and observed as he stuffed it into the very bottom of his shoulder bag.  He peaked curiously into the larger box.  Gustavo snorted as Bruno's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline and shrugged.

          "Consider it part of your cut por las esmeraldas."

          "You haven't even taken them out yet...and you already paid me?"

          "An advance.  Prices have gone up, stones are getting harder to come by because of all the fighting."

          "Is that why you're finally taking Alberto out?"  Bruno wondered as he looked back to the box.  Nested in gray velvet sat a sturdy looking emerald and gold bracelet, small diamonds between the larger green stones.  In the center of it sat a pair of gold and emerald long stud earrings.  They could be either hourglasses or tall mortars in shape, and were bright and rich in the light.  He recognized the deep color.  Rafael must have recycled or broken the vision after informing the family.  It wasn't ideal, jewels made from such a violent vision, and he spotted an inclusion or two.  On the other hand, the vision was almost a totem of Elena's trip ending safely.  He could accept that, though he was already itching for his salt, the little bag in his pocket unreachable with full hands.  Gustavo rapped the counter to get his attention.

          "Beto needs to learn the route and the parts of the trade I can't teach him anymore.  It's more about finding him a finishing apprenticeship, but I won't lie.  I'm getting old, Bruno.  I'll be eighty in a couple of years and my grandson isn't ready to take over yet.  I know he will be, I remember that vision from forever ago, but I have to get him trained."

          "He'd do better if he'd stop chasing after girls and falling on his ass."

          "He would, but we were all young once.  Don’t know what he’s thinking, sniffing after the Chavez girls.  Give those to Leni tomorrow, eh?"

          Bruno chuckled.  "Didn't you just say not to?"

          "You know which I meant, mocoso," Gustavo snarked.  Bruno clasped the box closed and slipped it into his pocket, his smile softening.  "I do.  Thank you for this, Gustavo.  For…for everything.  Truly.  I...I'll do my best to repay you."

          "Ah, just keep coming by to talk to an old man when Beto takes over. Bring Elena sometime.  She's funnier than Alberto thinks he is.  Now get home, rude to leave your Senóra waiting."

          Bruno wasn't sure how a box could burn a hole in a pocket it wasn't even in, but the one in the bottom of his bag did so the whole way home until he locked it safely in his desk.  Even there, he would feel it pulling at his pounding heart for a long time still.

          Félix sat out in the courtyard, sipping Old Parr and slowly puffing away at a fresh cigar, watching the blue smoke spiral up to the waxing moon, the occasional night bird passing through his line of sight.  Pepa was fast asleep, Dolores was out late with Mariano, or at least that was what she’d said.  He recognized the sounds of Casita up to it’s matchmaking mischief more than he let on, but his pequeña was happy, so he couldn’t begrudge her the little white lie.  He knew it was more to appease Abuela than anything.  Camilo would need another talking to in the morning, sneaking out again with Manny Chavez.  Felix had seen the plate of arepas at his door, courtesy Mirabel, and had snatched them again.  His son could pay for the night with the hangover.  And the grounding. Or maybe he could let it go.  Camilo was starting to drift from that particular friend, especially since his older brother Chepe had started making fun of Mirabel for her grades in science.  Like it was his sobrina’s fault the boy had failed several grades and was drastically behind.  He snorted at that, shaking his head at the whole Chavez clan.

          He could hear Julieta in the cocina, setting up for the inevitable burns of the next day and wishing his cuñada would take a page from her daughter’s book and take a break.

          He took another puff of the cigar and let the smoke swirl in his mouth a moment before letting it out into the night air.  He knew the sounds of the house, but a new sound joined the chorus.  The creak of a door, a gentle snore drifting out for a moment, and the quiet pad of bare feet on the tiles.  A shape drifted down the stairs.  Bruno, still a sight he was getting used to after the years away, chewing at his thumbnail and absorbed with something in his open hand, the oldest of his rats perched on his shoulder.   The exhalation caught Bruno’s attention and he floundered for a second before recovering.  He gave a crooked grin and half a wave, closing his hand and shoving it in the pocket of his linen pajamas.  He sat beside Félix, a little away to avoid the smoke, and rested his hands on his knees.  Still awkward, but more at ease than he’d been when he’d first returned.  Félix didn’t miss the darkening of his cheeks either.  

          “Elena spending the night, then?”

          “It’s eleven at night.”  Bruno shrugged as if that explained everything, leaning back and accepting the glass of Old Parr, coughing slightly at the burn.  Félix shook his head.  “You know what I mean.  I know she’s staying for tomorrow, but still.  Are you doing ok?”

          Bruno closed his eyes and settled against the seat, humming.  His jaw was ticking, and he was tapping his pattern of sevens on his thigh so fast Felix couldn’t keep up with them, but nodded.

          “I’m…not.  I can’t help thinking she’s going to come to her senses and just…stay in the city.”

          “Bruno, you know she wouldn’t do that.”

          “I know,” he sighed, the sevens increasing as he patted at his breast pocket, looking for salt.  “I know.  She’s still got family here and now with her primos both getting married…I know she’s got more than me that ties her here.  It's just…”

          “Jitters getting under your skin?”

          Bruno shivered and took a long sip of the whiskey.  "Ah...si.  I--I think, anyway.  I don't know.  Ay, why am I so bad at this?"

          Félix didn't say anything.  There was nothing he could say to the rhetorical question so loaded that any answer could have led to a spiral.  He wanted to tell his cuñado that he was no worse at it than anyone else.  It was true, but Bruno would never believe him.  He remembered when he thought there would be a three-way race to the altar between him, Agustín, and Consuela, before it all crumbled and Consuela ended up minus an eye and married to Enrique De Léon.  He remembered the affair with Silvia before the tumbledown spiral into despair.  He knew part of the doubt was just how new everything still was, on top of Bruno's natural tendency to doubt.  But he'd watched them enough to know Bruno's fear was unfounded.  He had watched as the image of Bruno on the front door had changed, from eyes closed and at peace, to eyes open and a hand over its heart.  It had resolved finally, shifting a third time to hand over its heart with eyes closed.  

          A jetty had been shored up, the worn pillars and creaking planks repaired with care and the rough edges slowly being sanded smooth by patient, tenacious hands.  Ther structure was still the same, and it would never be the sturdiest construction, but the repairs were well made and welcome.

          So Félix said nothing, and let Bruno come to his own conclusion.  The hand that had been taptaptapping sevens across his thigh stopped, and gripped at whatever was hidden in his pocket, and he took a long swallow of his drink.  He paused and looked at the amber in the glass before knocking back the rest.

          "Ay, maybe I don't need to understand it all.  Just be...be grateful for what I have, y'know?  Just...be."

          "You know, " Félix said as he let out a stream of smoke twining up into the night air, "I don't think you give yourself enough credit."

          "Hm?  Why not?"

          "Well," he paused, choosing his words carefully, "I don't know what the vision was, that you dragged here that one day."  At this, Bruno went pale and then red in turn, before settling on a carefully neutral face, giving away more of his secrets.  "I don't know, but you do.  And you can't tell me that it wasn't a good vision, somehow.  Now I'm not going to pry."  He put his cigar aside and clapped a hand around slim shoulders, yanking Bruno close.

          "I'm not going to pry, but there's nothing wrong with having a little faith in yourself."

          "It's...hard to, Félix."  Bruno sighed, fidgeting with his hands.

          "I know, hermano.  But you have to try."

          "It...It was a good vision."  Bruno said after a moment, counting his sevens again.  "It was...I know things will be alright.  More than alright.  I just...getting there is...is what scares me."

          Félix laughed, startling Bruno and the old macaw nesting on the roof, who squawked at him and settled back in.  

          "Ay Bruno, if that's what's got you worried, don't.  You're in the same boat as the rest of us!"

          "What do you mean?"

          "I knew things would work out with Pepi.  It was just a feeling for me, but I knew.  Same for Gus and Juli.  Sometimes, Gift or no Gift, you just know, you know?  It's all the in between to that picture in your head that you have to face down.  Best you can do that is just take it one day at a time."

          Bruno hummed and sang his fingertip across his glass.  "Take this away from me before I ask for more.  That stuff is dangerous.  Good, but dangerous."

          "Your pareja gives a good birthday gift, I'll give her that."  He took the glass and let Bruno go.  Bruno leaned forward, elbows on knees and staring out into the night, dodging the smoke from the cigar once more.

          "One day at a time.  Is it really just that?  That easy?"

          "It's never easy.  Where you're going, though?  And how you get there?  That's worth it.  And she's worth it, Bruno.  You know she is."

          Bruno nodded and went to stand, but Félix caught his arm, pretending at hefting himself up, though he had easily a hundred pounds on Bruno.  "And you're worth it to her too, cabròn.  Remember that."

          Bruno's eyes crinkled at the edges as he swallowed.  Félix watched him go, catching the faintest outline of just what he'd hidden in his pocket as he made his way up the stairs.  

          Félix made his way back to the cocina to rinse the glasses and shoo Julieta away for the night, and grinned.  Fifty pesos would be burning a hole in his pocket before he knew it.

Chapter Text

She-Who-Stalks made her way out over the mountains of the valley the humans called the Encanto for her regular hunt.  She respected her human friend He-Who-Speaks enough to follow his wishes, that she not eat any of the other animals that lived in the magical human-cave he lived in.  

She didn't understand the humans.  In her seven wet seasons she never had.  Her mother had taught all her litter they were to be avoided, had lost an eye to them.  Their thunder sticks had given her a limp, and she'd lost a tooth attacking an old one, who even then had gotten away.  She-Who-Stalks didn't begrudge the humans defending themselves.   Knowing He-Who-Speaks had made her realize they were no different than any other fellow predator, to an extent.  They didn't speak like she and the other creatures in the forest could, their noises varied and rapid and half of them meaningless.  They were like birds, and deer, always on alert.  And they were like peccaries, stubborn.  And like the white-eyed bears, wise but slow, and ponderous.  They picked everything apart like coatis and fought with words instead of claw and tooth.  

In short, they made little sense, but could be understood with time.  All had their quirks.

He-Who-Speaks, who called himself Antonio, was kind.  He would have been a runt, as a cub, but might have survived through being agreeable. She-Who-Stalks herself had survived this way, when her mother had been too soft in her old age to snuff out a seemingly weak cub after the rest of the litter had passed from illness.

She hadn't learned the other human's names, barely remembered the name Antonio had granted her, when She-Who-Stalks was hard for him to imitate.  Parce was as good as any other sound.  She recognized them all.  His mother Sky-Woman.  His sister She-Who-Hears.  The brother Never-the-Same, the father Tooth-Shower.  There were other family. Old-One had had a human litter, and the daughters had each had their own family, but Parce paid less attention to them.  Smells-of-Flowers and Quiet-as-Loris visited the small jungle less often.  Wears-Butterflies visited the most often, with the puzzling older male the second most common.

The last of Old-One's litter was an odd creature.  The animals had all taken time to name him, since he made little sense to any of them. Cave-Hider, Rat-Keeper, and Sand-and-Wind were all used at some point, but they had settled finally on Sees-Ahead.  Antonio had explained his mother-brother to them as best he could, and the magic.  "The Future" was a word they didn't understand well, but things-to-happen explained it.  Any animal could look at a rotten tree and know it would fall.  Sees-Ahead could warn of when, before it was obvious.  A useful ability.

Parce was happy to be leaving the valley today.  The humans all had small fires going.  Not the meat-burner sort that made food softer and less bloody, the kind that Always-Feeds used, but the smells-of-honey fires that stood up.  The fires made her nervous.  Fire was a danger, one of the few even she couldn't fight and it was easier to be away.

She had surprised Falls-to-Bees as he split wood, but beyond that, had stayed away from humans as she made her way out.  She knew the men that guarded the human-stone boundary at the split in the mountain would stay away from her on her trails, but she wanted to roam further.  A male was edging into her territory and she needed to renew the boundaries.

She had hunted successfully, enjoying her meal and the sharp taste of the anteater she'd caught, lounging as she ate.  She was comfortable and well hidden in the branches of the old ceiba tree.  The edges of her territory had been renewed, and she was comfortable in the easy heat of the midday sun.  There were no human groups nearby.  The male she had scented was young, younger than her, and could be fended off, if she chose.  She would wash off her food markings in the river before returning to the valley the next day.  Antonio had told her the candles would be less by then.  The fur along her neck rose as a familiar scent drifted through the air that should not have been this deep into her territory. 

Man-scent. 

*****

Copper, gold, brass and bronze greeted Bruno as he drifted awake.  The sun filtered through bright strands of hair and over soft skin, highlighting everything before him in a rosy haze.  A bare rose gold expanse spangled with tawny stars filled his vision, rising and falling, the light from the window casting everything in a gentle pink haze as he blinked sleep from his eyes.  He was careful as he trailed his fingers up her shoulder, across the curve of her neck, moving her hair away to trace the subtle rise of her spine.  He twitched away as she shifted, turning towards him and scooting closer, still asleep.  He watched her lashes flicker as she dreamed, serene.

She'd told him once he looked younger in sleep, but she did as well. Painfully young, her brow unknit by worry and her mouth slack and restful.  He could see her as if he hadn't spent the last ten years hiding away.  Maybe further, if he tried, fifteen years past before the day to day worry and bustle of life had weathered the copper of her into the patina she wore now.  The first glint of silver shown, a hidden scattering of strands at the crown of her scalp, and he smiled, remembering the lighter streak that showed in the vision plate, their future slowly shifting into place before his eyes.  He tucked the few away.  Let her find them on her own, and come to him when she realized te implication.  More than once he had caught her studying her appearance on the vision plate, finger tracing the light streak.

He wondered again as he idly connected freckles into patterns with his fingertips where they would be if he had just had the presence of mind to have seen her back then.  The weight of lost years washed over him, and he tried to shake it away, moving from her shoulder to the line of her lips.  They pursed as he traced them, mesmerized again by her softness.  She was un cáncer, una cangrejita.  She could bristle and burn bright on the outside, but he'd learned to see past the tough shell to the tender heart it protected.  

No one would ever call her a weak woman.  She'd spent more than half her life perfecting the protections she'd built for herself from bravada and determination.  He would never be known as a strong man, and he had long since accepted there was more than physical strength in the world. Staring down what felt like an ending, no matter how much he knew it wasn't the truth, had him scrutinizing and in fractals again.  He hoped that for her, he could pull some of the strength she saw in him out of whatever depths they hid inside, to support that internal vulnerability she kept hidden, to reinforce the twin cathedrals of her heart and his own mind while they were separated.

He didn’t know how long he waited for her to wake.  It didn’t matter, but the sun was definitely higher in the sky when her eyes finally drifted open, squinting and lanced golden in the light.  She sleepily carded a hand through his hair and pulled him to her.  She missed his lips and wound up kissing his jaw.  

“Te amo, amado,” she murmured as he rolled on top of her, mouth trailing open-mouthed kisses down the line of her neck.  She wrapped around him, a slumbering python, and they melded together into wakefulness in the warmth of the dappling sun.

He clung to her, his mind spinning away at the thought of an empty bed, trying to memorize the feel of her in his arms.  The full weight of her pressing him half into his too-small mattress, one strong thigh slung over his, pinning him with her ink-jeweled hip in full view.  He traced the lines of her colibrí slowly as one clock on his wall began to sound.  

“Even Casita is telling us to get up, tonto.  We should probably listen.”

He tossed a small pillow at the offending thing and groused, flopping on his back, dragging his hands down his face.

“The house can mind her business.  It’s only ten!”

Elena laughed as she lay back, taking an arm and snuggling it to her chest.  “I don’t want to get rolled out and blind your mother with my pale ass.  We don’t have to stay in all day.  Let’s…I don’t know, go walking, or something.”

“Mi cuñados telling you stories again?” he chuckled.  Getting out and enjoying the sun while he could sounded better than it had business too.  He paused, and turned to her, stroking her cheek slowly before brushing his lips to hers.   He held her there after, foreheads together and breathing in sync before sitting up.  “If anything…If anything is--too much today, you’ll tell me, won’t you?”

Elena giggled.  “Bruno, it’s just Dia de las Velitas.  It’s candles and river lanterns.  What could be too much?”    

He shuffled awkwardly and blushed, not wanting to admit the plans he had for the night.  The glint of her unloaded pistol caught his attention, and he scratched at his neck, not wanting to give too much away and thankful she was not the type of woman to snoop.  Gustavo had been right to tell him to wait, but it gnawed at him.  The packet from Silvia might as well have been screaming from the cabinet.  He wished he had some control of time beyond just seeing it, so he could skip the waiting and have her back safely in the Encanto before she'd even left.  He knew it was futile, and groaned as he rolled out of bed, more of the clocks chiming in a discordant rhythm.  He didn't have enough pillows to shut them all up.  He went about his morning routine as Elena got ready around him, combing out her hair as he fed the rats, bending to lift old Palmero from the floor.  He was getting too old to climb.  Bruno hoped he had enough pep left to make it to the new year, but it didn't seem likely at the rate he was slowing down.  Most days anymore he could be found sleeping in his ruana hood or Elena's apron pockets with Coco, coaxed out only for food or the cozy heat of the oasis sands.

Again he was struck by the domesticity of it all, of how easily she seemed to slot into his life.  The few clothes she left took up little space in his dresser, but she'd cluttered his bathroom sink with a handful of makeup things.  He knew he had a tendency to sprawl, but was surprised she kept herself so regimented even when she knew she was welcome.  He wondered how things would change when...if...she accepted him completely.  He remembered when Félix and Agustín had joined the family.  His sister's rooms had expanded, but hadn't really changed.  Félix had had to build a new terrarium for his iguana Ignacio, and Agustín's piano had become a fixture of the living area. 

He knew their rooms had changed, the doors now the French style that showed the couple together, places for each of them to relax and have time to themselves, areas that reflected both of them.  But Félix and Agustín had been part of the family for nearly thirty years, and the magic of the house was different.  He couldn't explain it, but he could feel it sometimes, like an itch in the back of his consciousness.  Would it adapt if Elena joined the family?  Or when her primo did once he and Dolores finally set a date?  He didn't know.  It scared him, to an extent, worried the house would be just as unaccommodating to new comers as it had inadvertently been before.

If he tried to picture it, he came up mostly blank.  He knew it was in part a symptom of how briefly they'd been together.  But another part of him just couldn't picture her outside her loft, or her shops, as much a part of who she was as she was part of them, brick and mortar family that couldn't be discarded.  He had recognized touches of her parents steeped deep in the woodgrain.  The beaten countertop made of old furniture from the coffee orchard home and recrafted, gaps filled with the wood from a fallen tree on the property that Hebér had crafted.  Sofia's many embroidery projects, cushions and pillows hung and strewn about the place, making it a merry mausoleum to her parents.  Hebér's crafted aisle signs, that she'd allowed him to finally repaint and refinish, sealing in her father's carvings and his brushstrokes.

A gentle brush against his arm pulled him out of his head.

"Bruno, were you listening?"

"Uh...n-no.  Sorry.  Got--ah---got distracted."

She shook her head and laughed.  "I'll miss you at comida, tonto.  I know you wanted to spend the whole day together...but Beatriz begged me to meet her today."

"Is that why you were so quiet last night?"

"Some of it," she said ruefully.  "She could have spoken to me anytime but waits 'til the last minute."

"Sounds like Señora Cortez."  It came out more bitter than he'd meant, but Beatriz was a fishbone in his craw.  Elena took his hands.  "Don't be a grouch.  Bea...Bea is an idiot.  But she's also been my friend for thirty years.  Her kids call me Tía.  I...I don't want to throw that away."

He traced the freckles on the back of her hands, knowing he was partially to blame for the rift.  He would have done nothing differently, but had never wanted her to lose a friend for him, knowing they were few and far between even to someone gregarious as her.  He took a breath.

"Go talk to your friend.  This is the day for it if anything.  I'm not going anywhere."

She squeezed him tight enough to lift him from the floor, teary-eyed.  "I know you don't care for her, but...she means a lot to me.  Thank you."

He watched her walk down the path and away from him, chewing at his lip.  There was nothing for it, and he gathered himself before getting pulled into further decorating the house.  It was something he had looked forward to doing with Elena, but he knew there would be other times, and maybe it was better to take today a little slower, spend the time with his hermanas and his mother.

While they'd bought the base wax from Señor Gutierrez, his mother wanted something a little different.  How he'd wound up bundled in bee-keeper's get-ups with Isabela and Dolores he wasn't quite sure, but everyone had agreed that it couldn't be Agustín going to gather the honeycomb he'd fallen into the week before.  Ignacio's wax was well processed and the smell of honey burned away.  He knew his mamá was particularly fond of it, so he soldiered on.

The hive was huge, hidden in the bole of a big fallen ceiba deep into the treeline behind the house.  He and Dolores were carrying buckets, and Isabela had begun seeding the ground behind them with hyacinths and lupines and zinnias.  Dolores placed and lit several strong citronella oil candles with nests of fresh herbs wrapped around the wicks, and the three of them began to fan the smoke towards the bole, watching as the bees rose groggily at first, trickling out slowly at first, before the sharp smell of the candles sent them out in droves.  It took at least half an hour until the last bee straggled out, the larger queen long since flown, all of them flooding the flowers Isabela had grown.  He watched as a thick bower of leaves rose around them, to be transferred later to the apicultor, who would move them to his boxes.  

Bruno slipped out of the thick gloves and rolled his sleeves, not willing to be stuck washing them as he stuck his arm into the bole, feeling carefully for the honeycomb.  He began carving the slabs of sweet and wax off the heart of the tree with a small hooked knife.  He popped the first little piece in his mouth, and had to close his eyes at the flood of pure sweetness.  Sunwarm and light, the tang of fermentation and gentle crunch of the wax.  The fatty, rich flavor of a couple of missed larvae surprised him, but he savored it.  

Behind him, his sobrinas had taken off their bee protection and were settled into the flowers.  He twitched at the realization that they were leaving him to it, rather than hovering over him as they had the last…since he’d come back, if he were honest with himself.   He grinned, and continued his work, placing slabs in the buckets they’d brought.  He remembered his character from the walls, from before, Jorge, and snickered.  He’d have to bring him back into rotation one day, if only for the comedic effect.  There might be a place for him during Lunes de Lectura when Elena got back.  The younger kids would love him, and it would take Martín Rosario’s mind off of all the chaos his vision to Rafael had caused the poor boy.  He did his best not to listen in on his nieces, distracted by his own plans for later in the day, but he couldn’t help but hear a little of the conversation.

“...going to tell them?” Dolores asked.  Isabela made a noncommittal noise.

“I don’t think so.  It’s not really serious, you know?”

“You’ve been…for weeks!”

He heard Isa snort and was sure she tossed her hair.  Swiftly, another slab of honeycomb landed in the bucket, trying to drown the sound.

“Miguel’s a nice man, but neither of us want to settle down.  Abuela has left me alone since Mamá blew up at her.”

“Still though.  Doesn’t Tía wonder about her tea?”

“I can grow sylphium in my room if I want.  I’m not worried.  Lola, it’s fine.”

Bruno’s ears perked up at that, but he chose to ignore it.  It wasn’t like he hadn’t caught the young doctor red handed.  He shifted the first couple of buckets and moved on, pausing to lick the honey from his fingers to cover his distaste at the conversation.  The girls turned to whispers and he lost the thread of it, falling inward to his own thoughts as he continued his task.  It didn't distract him for long, and he ground his teeth as he overheard the goings on at La Casa Guzman after Isabela explained what sylphium was.

"Don't let Mariano's abuela hear about that.  Dios sabe what she'd say about it."

"Something snotty, like usual.  How do you stand her?"

"Being able to sneak off with Mariano helps now," Dolores snickered.  "And Olivia does her best to keep her off of me.  Always asking for gossip if she doesn't."

"I don't miss that.  With me, it was always her trying to get dirt on Abuela, and the other council folks, like Abuela ever took me to those.  I don't know how her sobrinos haven't hauled her off to the jungle yet."

"They're too nice--don't laugh, you know I'm right.  Besides, she's the only one that really remembers their parents from before.  Not that it's worth much now, since she's not even talking to Julio."  Dolores, usually sweet to the point of saccharinity, sounded like she'd sucked on an unripe lemon.

"Because of the baker?  That's so stupid.  Want me to make actually snapping snapdragons in her flowers?"

"I'm tempted.  But it would scare her perritos, and they're sweet things.  I don't know why she doesn't just relax.  It's bad enough I hear everything half the time, but trying to know it on purpose is just a hassle."

"Pilar Guzman has always been a hassle." Bruno said as he stretched, startling them.  "She's been desperate to pair of someone in her family with us for thirty years."

"Well now she gets two!  Three if Emilio winds up ever talking to Mirabel!" Dolores sniffed, standing and digging a wet rag from a basket to help him wash the sticky mess off his hands.  He shook his head and snorted.  

"He'd better not.  He's already got Constanza Torrez and Yolanda Chavez after his head."  Both girls groaned, knowing the youngest Chavez girl from their school days.

"After his...What'd he do?"

Bruno shrugged and chuckled, gossiping with his nieces feeling just like gossiping with his sisters had at the same age.

"Don't know about Constanza.  But if she catches him in Julio's barn like Elena and I did, well..."  He gestured broadly as Dolores' eyes went wide.

"You didn't!"

"Ehh, close enough.  Don't think Emilio's ears have healed yet."

Isabela wrinkled her nose.  "I'm not even surprised.  She used to chase Emilio all through school."

"I think he's doing the chasing now."

"Ay, Por favor no ella como mi cuñada," Dolores moaned, smacking her forehead as she ranted, swearing inventively and sending Isabela cracking up at her despair, hooking several full buckets in her strangling vines.   Bruno wondered idly about what they'd name the children, and at each successively more ridiculous name Dolores shook her head, hiding her face and groaning like a wounded acordeón 

"Gertrudis is good.  I had a rat named that once, when you were little.  Liked to eat ear wax."

"No!  Eww!"

"Carriona?  Parce would like that."  Dolores snorted and the idea, imagining Yolonda's blonde head scrambling away from the jaguar.

"Blandina?  Frumencio for a boy?"

"Those ar--are awful!" Dolores huffed, her face red as she fanned it.

"Concepción!  Nah, too on the nose."

"Tío noooo, the images!"

"Perculo?"

"Tío Bruno stop, I'm dying!"  Isabela squealed, 

"Should I call the young Docto-ahhk!"  Bruno hacked, spitting out the mouthful of flowers he'd earned teasing, and held up his hands.  "Truce, truce!"  He pulled a couple of stamens from the gap in his teeth and took up two buckets of his own, Dolores following behind him, still giggling.

"You're banned from picking names.  Those were terrible."

"That was the point, Lolo."  He grinned, trying to shrug under the weight of the buckets as they approached Casita.  She stuck her tongue out at him and swiped another bite of honeycomb, grinning the same bright grin she had in years past.

Félix, Luisa, and Antonio with an army of sapsuckers were waiting with the honey separating equipment they'd borrowed from Señor Cespedes.  Bruno helped his nieces load the hopper-looking thing, saving a break of honeycomb for the six of them gathered to split as bees started to appear, other hives alerted to the scent of an easy meal.  Antonio shoved the slice in his mouth all at once.

"Gracias Tío Bruno!" he called before zooming away, his sapsucker friends following and sniping bees as they went.  Hands were washed in a basin nearby and they sat below, gathering honey to use later in each of the pails.  Isabela, Luisa and Félix had begun singing a cumbia as they worked while he and Dolores shifted buckets back and forth.  Dolores squinted at him a moment before leaning against his shoulder, startling him.

She hadn't done that since before he'd left.  She hummed quietly and sandwiched his hand in hers.  "I missed this, tío.  Just...you being around every day."

"I know I've been...busy...a lot lately.  I'm trying to...I'm trying to--to balance things better."

"I didn't mean that.  I’m happy you’re happy!" she said with a squeeze. "It's so close to how things were before it got bad, in town.  We don't have to talk you into things as much, like before you left.  And when you...got back."

"Your papá told me what you did, with the picture.  I'm so, so sorry, Dolores.  If I..."

"Tío, please don't apologize.  You did it for a good reason, and I think Casita let me know sometimes, that you were ok, once I realized you weren’t….you know.  I only heard you now and then.  When I worried."

He squeezed her hand in his, nothing to say.  What could be said to that?  He would take what had happened across the mountains to his grave if he could, but his time in the walls still haunted him.  So much had gone wrong, and there was still an uneasiness with the rest of the family.  It sat at the edges of everyone’s consciousness.  How much had he seen?  How much had he heard?  While he’d assured them the answers were very little and not as much as they feared, he knew it would take more than a few months to make up for ten years of half-absence.  He hadn’t realized quite how much he would be missed, had misjudged because of his own self-loathing.  He was determined to spend as long as he had making up for the pain he’d caused them all.

His mother's words, about who he could have been flitted through his head.  If he could get back to who he had been when he was younger, who the girls remembered, he'd be content.  He flinched at the thought of achieving that goal, hoping he hadn't jinxed himself, and fumbled for his salt in his shirt pocket.  That wasn't likely to change, any more than the rapping of his knuckles on the wooden extractor would.  Some things were so richly dyed into who he was that to remove them would change him into someone he didn't know.  Much as he wanted to improve, the thought of being a stranger in his own skin set him on edge.  

The superstitions were a comfort now, now that he knew his father had held them too, or similar enough.  A connection across time to a man he'd never known.  Or had known so briefly it didn't matter.  A comfort to know he was more like him than he'd ever thought.  That he should have guessed from years of second glances and stilled sentences.  Dolores patted his knee and let him stand.  He took a moment to ask a favor from Isabela before heading inside. 

The candle-making went smoothly.  With Antonio, Mirabel, and Camilo in school they had less to worry about with the youngest not underfoot.  The strained wax was melted down over the stove, Ignacio’s candles dipped and cooled and dipped again.  Pepa had started a small flurry reading one of Julieta’s murder mysteries, and they took advantage of the cold.  It was easy work, and while Julieta packed the gathering snow into trays to be used for the icebox, Bruno sat with his mother and helped her carve patterns into the tapers and pillars with his sculpting tools.

He watched her hands, widened and spotted with age, and smiled.  They had weathered, but were still strong.  His mother was so stubborn, she might outlive them all.  He hoped she was content.  He knew she would never stop mourning his father, but part of him wished for her to have some sort of happiness, especially today.  He grinned at the mad thought of her finding love again so late in life, and failed to shake it away before she noticed it.

“You’re snickering at me, mijo.”  She said, wagging the loop tool at him.  He shook his head as a curl of wax formed, spiraling around the candle he was holding.

“No, Mamá.  Just…it’s good to be home.”

Elena sat across from Beatriz in stony silence.  Rodrigo had let her in, shooing Lucia and Juancho out the door after they’d nearly knocked her over.  She’d had to promise both of them fancy candy from the city to make up for missing them for so long.  Beatriz fiddled with her mug and looked away from the scrutiny.

The silence stretched between them, the clock in the hall ticking loudly, calling out each second like an accusation.  It chimed the half hour, and then the hour, nothing said but half starts that turned the air astringent.  There was a sinking in her chest, and Elena sighed, her tea finished and her patience gone.

“I’ll be back by the twentieth.  If you’ve thought of something to say by then, find me before Navidad.”

Beatriz snatched at her arm as she stood to go.

“Elena, please.  I just…I don’t know what to say.”

She yanked her arm away and looked at Beatriz.  For a moment she was the weepy-eyed girl with the heavy brows that Elena had met in school, a permanent catarrh on her lip that hadn't resolved until her teens and her cheeks soaked from crying.  Miranda had befriended her first, offering her a buñuelo and letting her cry about the boy who had pushed her before bringing her into their circle.

Little flashes pranced across her vision, snippets of a friendship three decades long.  Her and the girls gathered around in Miranda's cocina, giggling over her mistake with Rodrigo as she doled out the secrets of life as she knew them at fourteen.  Beatriz' wedding with all of them standing as either godparents or bridesmaids, Beatriz looking like a cake as she walked down the aisle.   Crying with her over supposed infertility, though the details would remain vague.  Supporting Beatriz as she redoubled her faith in hopes of an answer.  Beatriz being heartbroken and fuming at Miranda for the twins being a happy accident.  Crying over another regla come and gone with no hint of pregnancy, and crying again years later at the confirmation that Beatriz was expecting Juancho, then again with Lucia.   Dancing and nights of drinking at the dancehall.  Laughing at a nervous baptism where the priest fumbled his nephew rear-first into the holy water.  Birthdays and holidays spent under each other's roofs with all the children underfoot.   Image after image boiled to the surface, popping and dragging rage up with it.

Her shout burst from her before she could stop it.

"Por dios, Beatriz, at least say something!  Thirty years!  Thirty damned years we've been friends, and you..." She deflated and sank back into the chair, Beatriz hand pulling away like she burned.  "You said what you did.  About Bruno.  About Car--about Carlos.  And what happened at the hoguera.  Why?  Bea...I just don't understand.  How can you hate Bruno so much that that bastardo Bardales is a better option when you know what I've almost had happen past the mountains?  Por el amor de Cristo I'm your kids' godmother!  Do I mean that little to you for you to say all that?"

"It has nothing to do with you." Beatriz whispered, looking away.  Elena snorted.

"Sure as fuck felt like it did!"

Beatriz flinched.  She took a shaky breath, tears falling into her lap.  The silence stretched between them again as she fiddled with her wedding band, working her jaw.

"I...it's not...it's him, Elena.  He could ruin my life if he wanted to.  Not just yours, but mine too!  I can't...I can't have that happen with my kids.  With Rigo.  Please try to understand, Elena!"  

"Understand what!?  What is there to understand?  He's treated me better than anyone else in my life, including Memo!  How on earth is me being happy for once going to ruin my life?  How is it going to ruin yours, Beatriz?  You're acting like a lunatic!"

Beatriz shuddered and looked away, fortifying herself with the last swill of her tea.

"One vision...one...one little secret gets out and it's over.  I know he can't always control them.  The visions.  Rigo would never forgive me if it's....if I'm wrong about...if he's not..."

There was a solid thunk as Elena's hand fell to the table, unable to catch her jaw as all the pieces clicked into place.  Beatriz' intense show of faith up until her pregnancy with Juancho was confirmed, going back to normal once he was born.  Padre Conseco's continual anxiety around his half-brother and nephew.  She'd known for years, though Beatriz didn't know she knew, had kept it so hard to parse it would sound like nonsense to someone who didn't know.  She saw red.  For herself or Bruno or the man she'd claimed as a brother for as long as she'd known him, she wasn't sure, but her vision blurred as the reality of it all slammed into her.   Not concern for her.  Not fear of him for all the stupid rumors.  Fear of her own dishonesty.

Elena had known.  She'd known for years, Beatriz' first year of motherhood had been hard on her.  Drunken confessions never remembered, kept silent to stop it from hurting anyone else.  The fear of the uncertainty poisoning things further afield than Beatriz had ever intended.

"You perra egoísta.  You absoluta cobarde!  You spit all of that at me and him because you're afraid of your own stupid mistakes!?"

"He's so bitter, Elena!  That failed dinner...what if he...he has to know you can't have kids by now.  What if he..."

"Don't you dare, Beatriz!" Elena cut her off.  "Bruno doesn't give a splattered shit about you,"  It was spat, yellow as bile in the air.  "The only reason you or anyone else Alma tried to set him up with even cross his mind is to have a laugh at how bad his mother is at match-making!"  She leaned forward, the line of her jaw rigid.  "Do you really think he'd go out of his way to have a vision about you?  Colombia is going to the dogs again outside and all the things he's forced to see, your bullshit is even going to register with him?!"

Beatriz goggled, her heart in her throat as she tried to speak.  Nothing sounded but the mewl of a new kitten.  Elena was pale and shaking, her jaw and fists clenching in time as she waited for an answer.  Her thumb was bare of her father's ring, and Beatriz wondered when that had been lost.  Elena had clung to that ring and her mother's necklace, lifelines after they'd passed.  The necklace glinted green from her blouse, new stones a burning testimony of things come to pass.  

Beatriz stood and grabbed the cups from the tables, brushing past and washing them in the sink.  The lukewarm water lulled away the ache as she cleaned.  The yellow and blue faces of her backsplash laughed at her, the same as it had when Elena had surprised her with it after Lucia's birth.  

That damn handpainted City Scenic tile with the she'd hounded her parents for once she'd seen it in a catalog.  Begged Rodrigo for.  One tile alone cost as much as a new paperback, and her wall a floor to ceiling bookshelf.  A mug slipped from her hand and shattered on the counter, and she sank right along with it, holding onto the counter to break her fall.  She saw Elena's beaten alpargatas as she turned, the canvas darned and re-darned and expertly hidden under clever embroidery over the years.  Little encenillo leaves picked out carefully and now hidden with broad green monsteras.  How much had those tiles set Elena back, then?   How much further would Beatriz have slipped into the shadows after her daughter was born without that entangled gesture?  Even with her failures, where would she have been without Rodrigo, saved all those years ago by the calm acceptance of a vision that doomed another good man to death and her friend to years of loneliness?  Sweet, gentle Rodrigo that took such good care of her, who she'd still betrayed for fear of losing him.  

Her face was tight, and her eyes burned.  Water stained her skirt, and she blinked, checking for a leak until her damp cheeks told her to stop.

"Elena....Leni...lo siento.  Soy tan, tan lamento.  I've been..." a keen cut through as she crumpled under the weight of all she'd sad, and done.  She'd tried to wrap her friend in a protective shawl and never even noticed she'd spun it from poison thread, tried to make her just as bitter as she was with her own failings.  Her stomach wrenched against her back and she heaved as she cried, fingers tugging at her hair.  Soft arms wrapped around her, but she fought against them.

"Don't!  Don't forgive me after all I did!"

"Bea..."

"You should hate me!  You should hit me!  It's less than I deserve!   Look what I've said to you!   Done!  How...you shouldn't....no nononono!  This is all wrong.  I've ruined it all and blamed everyone and I can't.  There's no....I can't Ican'tIcan'tIcan't.  Lo siento, lo siento Leni por favor!!"

She fell apart in Elena's arms, strong and silent against the storm in her head.  She hiccoughed, her knees smarting.   Her ears rang with her own sobs and words unspoken, but Elena's warm hands just sat solidly on her back.  Her stomach sloshed again, grief and disgust warring vinegar and oil inside her, coating her spirit in an acidic oil of regret.  A warm track trailed down her ear, and she realized Elena was crying as well.  She pulled away.

Elena's face was mournful.  In her hand sat the open locket that must have fallen from Beatriz' neck as she cried, the clasp always weak.  The pictures inside, the tiny eyes of Rodrigo and Juancho and Lucia staring up and smiling.  Elena's family in all but blood, the same as Beatriz and Miranda and Carlita had always been.  

"I know the why...with things, Beatriz.  I...I can't even blame you for it, not entirely.  I…you know what the doctor told me.  I know it’s hard…thinking you’ll never…  I hate myself for this, but I would never tell Rigo on my own.  Neither would Bruno.  We both...we both know what it's like to lose people we love, in different ways."

"Elena...I just...I just wanted to make him happy.  I thought I’d lose him if we couldn’t…  There's still no telling if...Please..."

A sharp breath and the tightening of Elena's grip on her made her flinch.  "If he ever asks me directly...I will not lie to him.  I can’t.  He’s my brother, blood or not."  Elena's eyes and jaw had hardened, and left Beatriz with no doubt of her conviction on the matter.

Beatriz looked away, but couldn't find it in herself to fight, the bottom dropping out and all of her mettle falling away like chaff in the wind.  She had no right to fight.  Rodrigo had been Elena's casi-hermano for as long as they'd all known each other, and she was godmother to both the children.  Honesty was her right.  A sliver of hope remained, though.

"I...I wouldn't....I wouldn't ask you to," Beatriz shuddered, barely able to get the sound out.  "I...this is my fault.  So much...all this...all this mess.  Because I'm stupid.  I'm so stupid.  I'm so damned stupid and I'm sorry.  For all of it.  For everything."

"You are stupid," Beatriz flinched, but nodded, before Elena settled against the counter and sighed, staring at the ceiling.  "You're the biggest idiot I've ever met, Beatriz Cortez.  But...you're my friend, and I love you.  You forgive me for all la mierda I've said about your cousins.  And for sleeping with Rigo first, mistake that that was."

"You shouldn't forgive me.  Not...not after.  Dios the rumors I helped spread..."

"Bruno will survive.  So will I.  I love him, Bea.  You don't have to like it, but that's how it is.  I hope that's how it stays.  Who knows, maybe he'll see sense someday."

"He won't.  I mean.  There's...nothing to see sense about."  Beatriz fumbled, swallowing down her distaste at the man she was discussing.   "Everyone in town knows he's loco about you.  People...People keep seeing him go to the joyeria!"

Elena snorted and rolled her eyes.  "Well, yeah.  He works with Gus.   He designs jewelry, Bea.  He's not buying me a ring anytime soon if he has any sense.  I...I know we're close, but it's only been a few months."

Beatriz rested her head on Elena's shoulder and took her hand.  "Maybe.  But none of the rest of us had drawn out engagements.  Not even Carlita is, thanks to your primo.  Are...Elena, are we ok?"

"No." Elena said.  "Not yet.  But...but we will be.  Eventually."

"What...what do I have to do?  Elena please.  It's been hell without seeing you.  I know it's all my fault.  I miss you.  My kids miss you!"

"Time's the only thing I need, Bea.  Just time.  It might never get back to where it was.  But I need you to at least try to get to know Bruno while I'm gone.  If we ever...make it permanent...I want you there, and I don't want you afraid of him.  He's really not scary.  At all."

"Those eyes though.  That's...not natural."  Beatriz shuddered, but Elena just rolled her eyes.

"Natural or not, I like them.  Now stop, and help my fat ass off the floor.  Talk to me.  Other than listening to Ligia Carmen's brains fall out her ass what have you been up to?"

They spent the next hour catching up in stops and starts and nervous laughter.  The wound had been stitched and bandaged, but rested beneath the plasters of apology to heal slowly, safe now from the sharp air of the feud to sew itself back into a new seam, stronger now for surviving the severing, but also ugly like only scars can be.  The lunch Rodrigo brought back to the house along with the children was eaten in a silence flavored with more tension than tarragon, but the warmth of Juancho and Lucia on either side of her, the little girl's curly head nodding off in her lap from excitement soothed the ache enough that Elena could swallow down the remains of her anger.  It would take time to heal, but time was something they had plenty of.

Bruno was doing his best to keep glue out of his and Antonio's hair as they built their lanterns for the night, paper and scissors and blunt crayons littering the whole kitchen table.  The candles were dried and set to the side, the other crafts for the day taking precedence now that the main chore was done.  Antonio had scribbled his paper with clumsy animal friends and his name. wax strokes so thick the glue almost didn't hold.   Some clever folding from his favorite tío had the colorful thing set to rights, and now Antonio sat perched on Bruno's knees, playing idly with some animal cut outs made for him to keep little fingers away from the sharper scissors.  Bruno had gotten some knowing looks for the lanterns he'd made.  He had tried at abstract cut patterns, but when they'd somehow turned into colibrís he gave up and leaned into it.  His other was very plain, the only pattern the familiar closed butterfly from the front door, and the smallest of hourglasses in each corner.

He was knocked forward as the smell of coffee and cinnamon drifted in from the open doors, and his hands came up to grip Elena's arms as she kissed his cheek.  Casita rattled a chair besides him, and Elena sat, digging in her purse as he grabbed the colibri lantern.  She popped up just as he turned.

"I got you--"

"I made you--"

They froze in tandem and laughed, blushing and trading.  Elena traced the delicate cut hummingbirds gently as he admired the royal blue paper of the one she'd brought him.  It was thick cardstock, punched with the delicate patterns of a Moroccan lantern.  One of Osvaldo's, and expensive to boot.  More than the man should charge for paper that was going to either burn or swamp, but still beautiful.  He knew she hadn't had time to make one, but the fact that she remembered his favorite color and insisted on honoring it in little ways warmed him against the chill of his persistent doubts.

Elena's eyes went soft as she leaned into him, taking his hand and tracing the patterns on her lantern idly, content to sit with him as Antonio eagerly showed her his own lantern.

"I put Chispi and Latón and Parce on first, because they're so big!" He explained, pointing out each animal.

"What are all these little lines under Latón?"  She asked, pointing to them.  Antonio gave her a huge grin.  "They're her babies!  They hatched last night and they're all so pretty."

"You'll have to let me see them when I get back, Tonito.  Latón might be a little less protective then.  Will they stay in your room?"

Antonio's curls flipped as he shook his head.  "I can't really talk to them yet, they're so little.  Latón wants to take them out to live in the jungle when they're a little bigger.  She..."  He paused and gave Bruno a worried eye before pulling her in to whisper.  "The snakes don't know why I keep Tío Bruno's rats safe.  I don't wanna make him sad."

She smiled and squeezed his little hand.  "You let your Tío worry about his pets, ok?  You can't change how animals are at the heart of themselves, you know.  Now, who else is on this masterpiece?"

Bruno kept an eye on them as Antonio showed her the rest and then went on a long, meandering telling of the day so far.  It was good to see him opening up.  Bruno didn't have as many memories as he could have hoped of his youngest sobrino, watching from the shadows, but he did remember a painfully shy little boy that had worried both of his parents and his abuela.  His name had been muttered alongside Antonio's enough to know why they worried, but his gift had pulled him from his shell.  He still stuck to the kids he knew the best during Lunes de Lectura and now at school, but was no longer afraid of raising his hand or volunteering to read.  

He stuck close to Elena as the family moved about the house, placing candles along the walk and in patterns in their sconces while there was daylight left.  There hadn't been enough fuse left over from Dolores' engagement to try and light them all at once, and that particular trick had taken a good week of planning.  Bruno carried a load of taper candles, using his ruana as a basket.  Elena followed him, placing candles in holders and sconces and ledges Casita made with tiles and stones, lighting them as she went.  She smiled as the house teased her, zipping her around on tiles and moving things as she went to light them, capricious as always but lively.

She didn't go into detail about meeting Beatriz, the long and short of it the simple fact of patching a friendship taking time.  They fell into discussing La Familia de Pascual Duarte, a newer, short novel Bruno had found and devoured the week before.  It had been an assault on his senses, most of the characters distasteful and many leaving a strangely familiar bad taste in his mouth.  Elena admitted to having read it when she'd first bought the copy five years before, curiosity from the name if nothing else, and it had had a similar effect on her.  Not a single member of La familia Duarte endeared themselves to being likeable, and the only decent people were the clergy and the town bruja.  

"I hated the story but couldn't put it down.  It was like watching a house fire."

"Couldn't look away.  I almost took it back the next trip out." Elena admitted.

"What changed your mind?"

She looked up, popping her back and pointing at his sobrinos.  "Can't protect them from everything.  It happening in España is separation enough to not scare them too bad.  But the world outside can be ugly.  Any of...any more Andreas in town, anyone that wants to go out there?  They need some idea of what it's like outside."

Bruno didn't know what to say to that, but nodded solemnly.  He knew well enough there was plenty of grumbling in the town of the younger generation wanting to move on, at least for a while.  It was the way of things.  Safe was boring, and doubly so when there were few consequences for being stupid--or stupidly brave, depending.  They would have to wait and see how the shifting of the mountains had shifted the town. 

Mirabel had made some lovely waxed paper candle holders to set safely on the floor in a chromatic swarm of colors, one for each of the family, and had begun passing them out.  She swept by so suddenly neither of them had much time to react.  He swallowed thickly as he accepted his, the grass green rich and his name written carefully in her looping hand.  She beamed at him, and handed Elena one in the seafoam green of her favorite blouse, leaving her blinking like an owl.  All he could offer was a lopsided grin as she traced her own name.  They moved as one to set them down at his door, and he noticed the shake in her hands as she placed the candle, her fingers shifting to reveal 'Tía' before her name.  He took her hand.

"Are you ok?"

"The candles smell amazing, by the way," she said, straightening.  He squeezed her hand, his thumb tapping sevens, and nodded.  "They do.  Let's...Let's get out of here for now, huh?"

They made their way out through the tree line behind Casita, careful along the footpaths.  Bruno led them on a meandering path around the edges of town through the trees, red tile roofs the only hint of a location.  He was mercifully, worryingly silent, but content to walk hand in hand as the sun sank lower, casting them in umber and shadow.  His hand was easy in hers, their pace measured.  Elena was left to tangle through her thoughts.  She chewed the inside of her cheek, still trying to process all the feelings one tiny word had sparked in her.  

Tía.  Mirabel had called her Tía Elena.  Three little letters had sent her head swirling and she wasn’t sure where to sort the information.  It pulled at a different heartstring than hearing it from Lucia and Juancho, Alvaro and Alonzo, even from Antonio.  She had known those babies their whole lives, had held most of them as newborns, had fed and changed most of them more times than she could count.  Antonio less than the rest, but once or twice, down the line, who in town hadn’t found themselves with their arms full as Félix, Pepa, and his older siblings had shown him off and taken him to get acquainted with the town?

She wasn’t sure why it made her stomach sink for one of the older kids to call her what, realistically, she knew she’d eventually be if Bruno had his way.  Which he would.  She wasn’t opposed to the thought.  Quite the opposite.  But like she had told him in Noviembre she needed time.  Her life had been her own for over a decade, more if she counted the time when she cared for her ailing parents and they had left the running of the shops to her alone.  Changing all of who she was to fit not just him but eleven other people into her life, changing every relationship she had, would take time.  Months at least to get used to the idea alone, if not years to settle in.  She didn’t want to wait that long, vision aside, but part of her held back, wary that she wouldn’t be able to change her ways enough to fit into the tightknit familia Madrigal when she was finally asked to.

The girls and Camilo were all either adults already or so close it didn’t matter.  Mariano would be different, marrying into their generation and closer to their ages, accepted as family.  She knew she was different.  Dropped at Bruno’s side, an uncle who himself had been missing for a decade and was still himself rebuilding the relationships he’d lost with all of them.  She was fringe to the family quilt, not wholly necessary and on the edges, and easily removed.  The ‘tía’ had been meant in all sincerity, but felt hollow.  Tía was a name for someone you’d known your whole life, not someone who’d just joined the family.  Maybe she’d feel different once it was a reality, but the possibility of standing out alone set her on edge.

“You know,” Bruno said, pulling her hand away from her mouth, where she hadn’t even noticed she’d been biting at her thumb, “Mirabel is…a very enthusiastic kid.  She…gets ahead of herself sometimes.  She wasn’t teasing you.”

“I know,” she deflated, looking away.  “I know.  It’s…I’ve been so wrapped up in this and you and the shops I…I forget sometimes there’s other people we effect.  It’s…it’s different seeing it outside of just you and me.”

He took her chin gently and turned her towards him.  “Hey, I get it, ok?  It’s a lot to change and get used to all at once.”

“It shouldn’t bother me this much.  Mimi and Bea’s kids call me Tía.  Why shouldn’t Mirabel and the rest when you…when we’re…I mean…”

“We aren’t yet.  Kids all need to tranquilo.  It…it takes time.  I know it does, ninfa.”

“I just…I hope I didn’t hurt her feelings.”

“She’s a tough kid.  She can really steamroll you if you aren’t prepared for it though and she’s got to learn to tone that down.  She got better during the rebuilding but it’s…a learning process.”

Elena nodded and squeezed his hand.  “You know, I don’t…” she sighed and leaned into him, stopping him before the circled fully back onto the main path.  “I’m so lucky they like me.  I shouldn’t be all bent out of shape but…”

He took her bag and the lanterns, gingerly keeping it off the ground before taking her hands in his, holding them up to his chest.  She felt the lumps in his pockets, holding what she wasn’t sure, but one felt suspiciously box-like and did nothing to ease her fluttering heart.  

“Elena there’s…there’s no right way to feel about things.  You just…feel how you feel.  I’m not gonna throw a fit because you need time.   Solo... siente como te sientes, amor.”

She whimpered and rested her head on his chest, leaning her weight on him and letting him bolster her.  A few simple words were enough to undo her, tugging at the strangling vines and seeping mold of years of forced decorum and expectations.  She stilled against him for a moment, let his whiskers pull at her hair as he rested his cheek there, before pulling away and beaming.  She gathered her things and flattened him with a vicious embrace before breaking through the trees, ready to face the rest of the evening.

The alleys and streets sparkled with lights of every color.  Señor Gutierrez liked to experiment, and had been adding chemicals to his wicks to dye the flames for decades now.  It was a favorite among the children, who would take bets on the colors they'd get.  Some of the candles would even shift colors throughout the night, going from red to lavender to blue, or passing through the entire rainbow for longer tapers.  Some homes had placed candles like flowers, blooming among herb gardens in windowboxes and on hanging pots, well away from the eaves.  Others, like Abuelita Ximena, had lined their walks with pattern-carved pillars.  Abuelita sat on her cracked porch, puffing her evening cigar and sipping her nightly tequila, watching the sun set as her grown children made their way in, laden down with food.  There was an aggressive arrow pointing to the large crack that separated her stairs from her home, visible from the street and made of tea candles.  Bruno couldn't help the barking laugh, and Ximena tipped her glass to them as they made their way through the town, admiring the displays and staying close, his ruana and her shawl gathered up to avoid catching light in the breeze. 

Señor Gutierrez and Franco were handing out guarded chime candles and small votives for lanterns, and gave one to each of them.  Bruno patted his breast pocket awkwardly to refuse the matches, not noticing the indulgent way Ignacio shook his head as he shooed them on.  They were pulled and drifted this way and that as children ran around and through them.  Cosmo Ortiz tripped on his sandals chasing Juancho and Alejandra.   His eyes lit up when he realized it was Bruno that helped him up.

"Thanks señor!" he shouted as he darted off, waving behind him.  

"He's convinced himself you're a héroe cómico, you know.  Stays behind to ask me questions when you aren't at the shops.  Something about controlling stone?"

Bruno snickered and looked away.  "Ha!  I wish I could do that.  It's just a…a little thing with my gift.  Mostly just makes cleaning my room easier."

"I'd still like to see it, one day."  She paused, rearranging the candles and lanterns and taking his hand.  Bruno gave a noncommittal hum and followed behind.  

They drifted among the town, part of the crowd but never really straying from their own personal halo of solitude as they made their way through the houses, the candle flames flickering and flaring around them, a thousand earthbound stars lighting their way in the dying evening.  

People bustled and laughed and jostled around them, snippets of life flitting in and out of their consciousness.  Beatriz and Rodrigo walking with their children, Beatriz in a purple mantilla with her eyes on her shoes.  The Panaderos and Julio seated at a bench, Nina laughing and swatting at her soon-to-be yerno’s arm as the girls braided each others’ hair.  Carlita looked decidedly green, but was so comfortable tucked under Julio’s arm it didn’t matter.  Medallin Garza glared at them from her window before slamming it shut, the sound of shouting between Ciro and Campeón muffled in the night.  Elena giggled as Bruno made a rude gesture at the house before moving on, brushing a peck to her cheek.

His family was out, drifting amid friends as they made their separate ways to the river.  Dolores and Mariano had been waylaid by a group of her friends, and she sat perched on his lap as she played the tiple.  Alberto Perez and Constanza Torrez played along beside her on guitars, the newer, slow tune of Quizas, Quizas, Quizas.  Mariano hummed along, bouncing his legs and Dolores with them.  Dolores had her eyes closed but her ears and cheeks were beginning to pink.  Bruno smiled and pulled Elena into an impromptu slow dance as they passed, turning red at Mariano’s cheer of “Wepa!”  He tried to duck into his hood, but Elena didn’t give him the chance, drawing him close for a kiss before continuing on, sticking her tongue out petulantly at her primo as they parted.

Isabela was causing a ruckus further away as a group of younger children crowded around her, small candles lifted up as she laughed and spun in the center, dropping balls of colored pollen into the candle flames to watch them spark and flare in gold and blue and red.  Julieta and Agustín sat off to the side watching proudly, clapping when she finally wrangled the children together long enough to create a flare bright enough to light the little courtyard she stood in, the colors of the Colombian flag bold in the evening twilight.

They saw Antonio pulling his parents away toward the river, loosing sight of them all as they passed under an awning.  Pepa and Félix’s laughter carried after before being lost in the clamor of the crowd.  Luisa and Mirabel were chatting with Meme Rivera as Luisa helped the doctor along the path, his false leg troubling him again.  

“I wonder if Mirabel’s asking after training again.”  Elena wondered idly as they stopped.  Lili Medina was running her stall for the occasion, and refajo and obleas made the perfect snack.  Bruno insisted on paying as he pondered, balancing full beeswax paper cups and the little bag of wafers and sauces to a bench.  He took a surreptitious swill of the flask in his shirt pocket as he got settled, Silvia’s concoction burning down his throat like hot glass.

“Training?  For what?”

Elena pointed at Meme as she got settled, shifting her own parcel of lanterns and candles to the side.  “She checked out a lot of books about tailory and weaving, before…everything happened.  I found a few notes left in there once or twice, about apprenticing.”

Bruno chewed on that thought and the oblea she handed him before grinning, licking away guava jam.  “It’s a good fit for her,” he said “She’s got more talent in her left hand than half the town combined.  And it’d be nice for someone in the family to be using Abuela Fuega’s looms again.”

“Abuela…Fuega?”

“Mi abuela.  On, uh…On Mama’s side.  I think she’s where Pepa got la pelirroja from.  Left her looms to Meme when she died, I guess.   Mama…doesn’t talk about it much.”

Elena nodded, tucking the information away for later.  Little snippets and snatches of broken family histories came and went with Bruno, and she tried to treasure them when he was able to share.  She knew that ache, missing relatives she knew only through stories, the hiraethean longing for her abuelo Saúl, her abuela Maria, her Tío Horado.  Knowing the only thing left of any of them were her tattered photos and the ancient domino set in her loft.  Bruno thumbed at the corner of her lips, playing at wiping away oblea crumbs, but the sevens he tapped into her thigh told her better.  

“Tonight’s supposed to be happy.  Don’t let a mopey old man ruin it for you.”

“You are not old,” she huffed.

“Ancient,” he teased.  “Positively decrepit.  Long in the tooth.”  He pruned his face together and held his hand over his heart until she started laughing.

“You’re not old, tonto, quit!”

“Withered on the vine!  Ser más viejo que Matusalén!”

“Bruno!”

”One foot in the grave and the leg along with it!”

”Oh would you hush!”  She pulled him into a kiss by his cheeks as he smirked, pulling her close, hand possessive at her waist.  There was a bite to his kiss, a half-familiar sharpness left by whatever was in that flask she couldn’t quite place.  Not Julieta’s solution to help his migraines, but something sweeter, herb dark and salacious even past the sweetness of their little snack.  She had little time to ponder it before someone wolf whistled at them from the crowd.  She grinned and broke away, tucking the always-errant curl behind her ear as she patted his thigh.

“See.  Not old.  Viejos don’t get whistled down by--woo!”  He pulled her closer and nipped at her ear, his cheeks flushed.

“Hm.  We’ll find out later tonight how old I really am, querida.”  An eyebrow climbed as he paused, very pointedly taking her wrist and stilling her hand, thumb at her pulse.  “Until then…behave, ninfa.”

She was half ashamed of the shiver that two simple words sent down her spine.  She could almost think he hadn’t done it on purpose, but she knew better.  He smirk fell to that lopsided grin, and she felt herself beaming at him.  There was a pull in her chest, the want to stay almost too strong to deny.  She would deny it this time, but she knew that any successive trips would be that much harder to go through with.

She let him pull her away as a group of teens passed.  Manny Chavez trailed behind looking like a kicked dog.  Camilo’s hair caught bright in the candlelight, bashful as he mumbled to Martína Castillo.  Martína gave off the air of someone grateful to be out of the house, and didn’t seem to mind the company.  They spied Silvia and Roberto Hernandez canoodling in an alcove, and Bruno could only laugh.  Even Rafael Aquilar was off from the palisade, an ungainly heron in a flock of geese, especially beside his jovial father, stumping along on tired legs and trying to charm Guadalupe Marquez.

“It’s been a long time since I was here for one of these.” Elena said.  “I’d forgotten how…intimate it all feels.  The whole town is out but…”

“But it’s not like the other festivals?” Bruno supplied, pulling her close.  “It’s the time of year.  Something…it makes people think.  They’re quieter.  Closer.  It's like..."

“Home.  When it’s good...when it’s good it feels like home.” 

Bruno nodded, not knowing what to say.  He tightened his grip on her hand and let her lead him around.  He patted nervously at the pockets where he'd stored his flask and the little velvet box.  Still there.  They passed a group of young women whispering over a rain bucket.  Each held a candle wrapped in ribbon and were dripping hot wax into the water.   He grinned at the sly divination, old practices as clear as mud.  He knew some of the tradition was older, but seeing it done today and in the open tickled him.  All these superstitions because of a single candle.  They'd be divining with the powder of butterfly wings before long.  Elena leaned into him as the girls noticed them and all gave him a speculative look that made him jump.

"Don't do too many visions while I'm gone, tonto.  I don't want to miss all the drama."

"And what makes you think there'll be drama?"

"There's always drama around Navidad.  I know half those girls are going to be showing up at Casita asking if what the candle wax said was true."

"Haven't gotten any of those requests yet," he said.  Elena hummed and pulled him along, nodding at Miranda and Arturo as they crossed paths before stopping again to listen to another group of young musicians, swaying together to the slow vallenato.  He stood behind and rested his head on her shoulder, holding her hips and letting her lead him through the easy motions, enjoying the heat of her seeping through his ruana.  She held both his hands in her free one as the lanterns swung by her side, smiling.

"They've been giggling in the shops for days, but they don't want to ask while I'm around.  I think they're a little shy."

"What on earth do they have to be shy about?"

"No one wants to ask a handsome man something when his novia is right there next to him, especially not 'Will Paulo finally propose?'"

Bruno gave an exaggerated look around, his hand to his chest as he tried to find the handsome man she meant, yelping when she pinched his side.

"You, tonto!"  She snickered as they continued.  They were passed by a gamboling pack of older children singing, accompanied by Carlota and Leonel on a steel drum and buleador, the children shaking maracas and raking guiros, a rousing percussion line travelling up and down the street.  Bruno snorted and shook his head, pulling her into an alleyway and out of the main path.

"You," he said, trailing a finger down the bridge of her nose, "have very questionable tastes, señora.  But I'm not going to question it."

"Good.  You do too much of that."  

He smirked and pressed her against the wall, one leg insinuating between hers as they disappeared into the shadows.  “I’m still learning.   Better than the last time I had you against this wall, ninfa?”  He’d brought her hands up over her head, and the pricking of the bricks against her back had the last memory of the Ceramica in her mind.  Her grin matched his as she squirmed.  “Much.”

His weight was on her before his lips, trailing up her neck slowly as he held her in place.  There was a flutter in her belly as he traced her pulse from one side of her jaw to the other, leaving little matching lovebites just under her ears.  One hand clutched at her wrists while the other trailed downward, snaking under her blouse to tease at her skin, barely touching, raising goosebumps and leaving them to shiver.  He pulled away with a final slow kiss, the same vague flavor teasing across her tongue.  She leaned in to follow, and was greeted by a dozen teasing pecks to her lips and cheeks, taunting her into giggles.

He brushed her curls behind her ears and grinned, the rakish look replaced with that almost boyish giddiness as he took her hand and pulled her away, nodding towards the river, his hair bouncing eagerly.

They made their way to the big river in a rose colored haze, hand in hand and eyes ahead, the lights of thousands of candles flickering in the night to glimmer in their vision and blot out the stars.  Murmurs sparked up all around them, the nervous titters of the older folks, the stage whispered excitement of the children.  Couples giggling and sniping at each other to find a good spot, the anxiety of unfamiliar surroundings underpinning everything with an effervescent thrill.  Most of the village hadn’t made it past the palisade, and the added experience of it all was making the crowd livelier than either of them had seen it in a long time.  They could see the palisade itself if they turned, shrouded through the trees and hazy in the upper layers of the persistent fog, the lights soft misty rings in the darkness.

The grass was damp with a low evening fog, and Bruno hastily shuffled out of his ruana to spread it like a blanket on the ground.  He helped Elena get settled and pulled her close to him as the first lanterns of the night were lit, the small ones in the trees to light the way.  White and gold and amber halos appeared all around them as the lamplighters went about their business, and Elena looked away as Bruno finished the flask he'd been secreting at all night.  She hoped whatever it held was helping what excitement and nerves he was fighting.

Nerves.

He was nervous.

He was nervous, and excited, on the anniversary of the night his parents first met, right before she was leaving.  And had been hinting at something and tamping down his nerves all night.

Icy trepidation pricked down her spine and raised gooseflesh all down her arms.  She loved him.  She loved him and feared this and it was too soon.  They had just spoken about it and it was too soon.  A voice scoured her skull.  ‘Now he’ll never ask, now he knows you can’t commit, he knows he knows HE KNOWS.  Now he knows and you’ve chased him away.  He’s given you every chance and you throw them all in his face and now he knows!’  She swallowed thickly, her skin chilling down to her toes.

Bruno, oblivious to her panic beside her, pulled her closer and rubbed his hands briskly under her shawl.  He squeezed her closer as she leaned against him, stiff without him noticing.  She took a breath, trying to stuff her panic down back where it belonged, trying to silence that damned voice running tracks through her skull.  She ran the fringe of his ruana through her fingers, a poor replacement for Chacha's feathers or the soft fur of one of his rats, but it would have to do to calm her tenterhook nerves, tight-wound over half a hundred things.  She snuggled in closer, feigning colder than she was, letting the astringent clove bite of his cologne ease her nerves further.  If he did ask her, nothing said the engagement couldn't be a long one.  That final leap, even knowing the future together, was too much to take all at once without help.

She watched as the bank of the river began to fill.  The Constantinos took up a large patch all on their own, multiple generations climbing over each other placing blankets, tuning instruments, every one of them with impeccable shoes.  The Chavez children were bickering further down, Manny and Chepe wrestling on the ground as Yolanda and her sisters tried to break them up, sandals flying.  Julio saw the mess coming up and dodged around it, leading Carlita and her mother to a protected spot, so gentle with Carlita she wound up tweaking his stomach in aggravation as the girls all teased her.

Félix, Pepa, and Antonio wound up settling off to the side, listening intently as Antonio told them about a small mud-turtle he'd found, who seemed thrilled to have someone to talk to.  Félix paused to give her a conspiratorial grin that did nothing to ease her nerves.  

"You," Bruno said slowly, as he pulled the pins from her hair, the gesture always so quick to soothe, "are jumpy.  I don't bite.  Much.  Is everything ok?  Is it…earlier?"  She sighed and draped herself across his lap as he massaged her scalp, purposely ignoring the rapidly growing tent in his pants.  And the tingling of her skin it sparked.  He shifted and adjusted himself, bashful and caught out.

"I'm alright.  Just...the air is strange, you know?  It...It feels like things are changing and I don't know why.  I don't know if I like it or not."

He nodded into her hair, pensive.  “It does feel different.  But that’s probably because Pepa’s fixing to lose a bet.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“I know.”  His hand froze in it’s path before digging in his pocket for his gilded matchbox, pausing to lean to the side and light their candles as several dozen lights flared to life around them.  He held her close as the blue and gold of their paper lanterns came to life.  “I know, ninfa.   Don’t…don’t question it for now.  Let’s…just be.”

Her misgivings slipped away with that simple phrase, the golden hummingbird in her chest rising and flitting in a warm, lazy circle before going back to nest, comforted by the added protection of his arms.  There were worse things than a long engagement, she supposed.  And the fear of them falling apart at the seams slipped further away.  If he was willing, wanting to do this now, after so much had happened in so short a time, the issue was hers alone.  She marveled at how much an earnest assurance could shore her up, how strong she could be when he had faith in her strength.  She turned the idea over in her mind, unsure quite where the dread and insistence on a lengthy courtship was coming from.  She heard her mother somewhere, lamenting about Guillermo.  And Tía Pilar, one of her perennial arguments with Teodore airing old grievances. Her own voice filtering through, 'he'll get bored, he'll see sense, he'll regret it.' 

She shook the thoughts away as she studied his hands, clasped quietly over her arms and warming her.  Dry and well kept as always, slim fingered and somehow protective without being possessive as he held her.  He was quiet, the illusory solitude of the low light calming him, darkness pressing in like a blanket.  She followed the silhouette of his face in the candlelight.  The permanent bags under his eyes were cast in shadow, the line of his nose longer than usual and his skin still peaked and wan, his natural dusky undertone washed out by the dark.  To anyone else it might have drawn an unattractive picture, but his smile was open and the lines it carved into his cheeks love-deep and affectionate.  They deepened as he glanced down at her, squeezing her tightly.  A wave of contentment washed over her then, and she sent the last of her fears back to their corner.  Let them just be, indeed.

She was able to settle against his chest as people rose and fell across the bank, setting lanterns into the river in ones and twos.  The water was a lazy curl cut through the rocks, slow and dauntless as it took the lanterns away.  They swirled in little patterns, coming together and falling apart in the current in an unknowable pattern that mesmerized them both.

They watched as lantern after lantern drifted past them, most the simple gold of the waxed paper, some like Bruno’s, jewel-toned and flickering.  Here a ruby, there an emerald, an eddy of topaz swirling past sapphires.  Antonio’s colorful animals floated past, followed by the floral pattern Pepa had made and Félix’s simple polka dots.  A lantern in four colors swirled past and tipped over, and they heard Isabela giggling.   Lanterns covered in hearts, in flowers, in geometric designs and animals and the faces of loved ones drawn with varying skill floated past, some going out to float dark in the waters, some tipping over and smoldering slowly before sinking below the surface.  Some weren’t the paper and balsa wood that they had, but carved gourds, filled with flower petals.  Patterns carved into the side of these lit the water, their candles standing tall and bright as they bobbed along, lights licking across the surface of the water like stars.

They watched as his mother carefully toed off her boots on the bank next to Mirabel, the two deep in conversation and in a world of their own.   Mirabel took off her own shoes, grinning and wincing at the chill of the water before helping her abuela in.  Each had a gourd lantern carved with mariposas, lit carefully.  Elena smiled as Bruno gripped her hand.  His mother and sobrina stood with their heads together in a brief prayer before releasing their lanterns into the river.  He watched as Mirabel popped open a stool she’d had hooked to her waistband, and stood while Alma sat, watching their candles float away, twirling her wedding ring as her chin wobbled.  

“She’s changed a lot,” Elena whispered, squeezing his hand back as he watched, nodding in agreement.

“This…this is what I hoped for.  When I left I…I just… they were so close, when Mira was little.  I just…I just wanted to look out for her.”

“You did what you thought was best, for everyone but yourself.   Mirabel’s still young, and she’s got such a big heart.  They’ll be alright, Bruno.  Not even a year, and look how close they are.”

He swallowed, his jaw working.  “Still I--I wasn’t there.  I could have been.  Should have.  I…don’t want to go back to that.  To leaving.  I lost so much time...not ever again.”

She sat up and pulled him close, not knowing where the sudden melancholy sprang from.  She’d felt it enough herself tonight to let him fall to it as well  “I don’t think you will.  You’ve changed too.  It’s not night and day but…” a lump in her throat blocked the rest, uncertain, but he smiled just the same before fumbling in his pockets.  She did her best to ignore the hammering of her heart, the shapes of Julieta and Félix in the background jostling for a better look, Bruno's flush creeping down to his chest.  But he simply patted his breast pocket and buttoned it as he stood, toeing off his sandals and helping her to the river, guiding her steps as they each balanced a lantern.  She didn't pray often, more at ease letting life go as it would, but she bowed her head along with him, their foreheads together over the candles, honey fragrant and warming their faces as the river chilled their bare feet.  

She couldn't hear what he asked, his prayer silent, but found herself reaching out over the years to find tethers in her heart loosening.  Some she let slip away.  Lasting grief for Memo, more of her anger at Beatriz, the pain of years of supposed infertility.  The old pain of mourning for her parents, the fear of Chacha aging and passing, the fear for herself doing the same alone.  All still present, but the load they made her bear lightened as she stood, sharing the air and the heat and the chill in silent reflection with Bruno.  They crept from her heart to slink down her spine, filtering out into the water and washed away in the gentle lapping of the river current at her ankles.  She felt lighter when they broke apart, floating and wistful as they placed their lanterns, taking one last look at them, gold and blue twining down the river together.

He pulled her back onto the ruana and let her warm her feet under his legs, laughing as she shivered and holding her close.  There was a jostle and a velvet box appeared, Julieta and Félix almost falling over each other behind, failing spectacularly at stealth.  Her heart jumped before finding it's place back in her chest.  The box was too large and too flat for a ring.  Elation and disappointment swirled in equal measure in her gut, butterflies chasing hummingbird in a dizzying dance as he grinned like a fool and opened it.

Elena felt her mouth open but couldn't bring herself to snap it closed.  In the soft velvet lay a sturdy gold bracelet with alternating emeralds and diamonds, the emeralds the deep green of a monstera leaf and lustrous in the candlelight.  In the circle of the bracelet were a set of stud earrings, stylized hourglasses in gold with brighter green stones like fresh, dew strewn grass.  Bruno huffed with a grin.

"I--heh--I know you probably can't wear them out to the city, but I...I wanted to make sure you had these.  Before...Before Navidad, in case you ah...get held back, y'know?"

"...Bruno I...these are...dios the cost..."

"Don't worry about that.  Favor from--heh--favor from Gustavo."

"This is..." Elena swallowed for a moment.  The fleeting relief of it not being a proposal was overwhelmed by a sense of undeserving.  Bruno must have seen it.  He sat the box down and took he hand, warming her wrist with careful strokes, looking away.

"They're beautiful.  Tonto this is too much."

"Not for you.  Please?"  He gestured vaguely and she nodded, numb, eyes following as he placed the bracelet around her left wrist, purposeful with the clasp as he locked it in place.  He was gentle with her earrings, removing the back deftly and placing them both in the box before delicately threading the new ones through her piercings.  They weren't as heavy as she feared, and the weight of them and the bracelet kept her rooted to the spot, the new sensations infiltrating through her skin to swirl white and gold and red in her stomach.  A promise as good as any in all but name, and even Bruno couldn't deny it when he caught her eye, though he tried.

"I know it's a lot.  But...but to me you...you deserve it.  And more, Elena.  I just...I wanted to make sure..." he scratched at his neck awkwardly.   "I don't want you to think that I...that I don't appreciate everything you are to me"  He kissed her hands, eyes huge in the candlelight.  He gave a crooked grin and chuffed. 

"...And if you get in any trouble, they're good for a bribe, right?"

"I’m not getting arrested in Bogotá again and losing these!" she laughed.

"I was joki---wait, again?!"

She snorted, mortified at her slip but giddy from his attention and fell back into him, giggling with her arm in the air to study the bracelet, ignoring the groans of his sister and cuñado as he poked at her sides, trying to get a word out of her, all romance fled in the face of glee.

"Again?  What do you mean again?  Eres una felona?  Loca, respondeme!"

She squealed as fingers dug into her sides, knowing they were making a scene and not caring.  She blew a raspberry into his neck and sat, swiping her hair out of her face and snickering.

"It's not that big of a deal, tonto!  Just a night in the clink for wine running.   It was over ten years ago."

"You're serious."  He stopped, holding her face like he wanted to peer into her soul.  His eyes flickered to where his mother was sitting, his brow knit as he absorbed this new information.  His lip quirked.  He huffed, and it quirked again, before he broke into laughter and pulled her back, flopping back into the grass to a chorus of groans and hoots from around them.  

"...not paying..."

"...still time when she gets back..."

They ignored the grousing of his relatives and snuggled in, watching lanterns drift at a comfortable incline.  She thumbed at the new strangeness of the bracelet as it warmed to her skin, and he carded lazily through her hair.  

"Mi bandidita.  Me dirías, por favor?"  It was low and affectionate, though she could feel his heart thumping in his chest.

"Misadventures of youth?" she tried, hiding her face.  He tugged a strand of hair.

"I need more than that."

She sighed and snuggled closer, lowering her voice.  She was sure Dolores was listening, but didn't want the rest of the family to hear.

"I'd done it a couple times before, for Señor De Léon.  Not a lot, just a case hidden in the false bottom of the wagon."

"The wagons have fake bottoms?"

"They do.  Focus, tonto.  It was a way to make ends meet.  Papá knew but kept it quiet.  Andrés would find buyers and we'd smuggle it as cousins.   Then he forgot to vet someone and the pendejo snitched."  She traced the lines of his palms as she continued.  "Andrés' papa found us and mine got us out, used some of Gustavo's emergency fund for it.  Mamá gave me the whipping of my life for it too.  It was just one night and Andrés kept me safe in there."

"Ayyi, still though!  It's like you're a little gangster.  Rap sheet, tattoos, pistola en tu sostén."

"Shut up!" she giggled as he shoved at him.  He snickered in her ear, "Are you going to rob me, señora?  I can only offer so much."

”Mm, and what are you offering?”

”Search my pockets and find out.”

She sputtered as she heard Dolores’ disgruntled squeak down the way, and swatted at his chest.

“Behave yourself, tonto.  You’re scarring your sobrina.  I’ll frisk you later.”

He pillowed his head in his arm and sighed, put upon.  “You promise?”  She didn’t miss the leg he propped up or the discomfited wiggling to hide the burgeoning arousal his ruana couldn’t, trapped under them as it was. She slipped her fingers in the front of his shirt and stroked his chest lazily, smirking at the sliver of green in his eye, no reflection from the candles.  “Mmm, viejo sucio…It’s a deal.”

She snuggled down into his side, resting her head on his chest and listening to the steady thump of his heart, enjoying the heat of his palm at the back of her head, fingers gently spiraling in her curls massaging her scalp.  There was a settling, silt drifting to the bottom and finding it’s place as they watched the lanterns twist and flutter, points of light golden in the evening.  The luciérnagas rose up, the faint green of their bodies a counterpoint to the lanterns.  For a moment, Elena saw herself as the lanterns, drifting away to Bruno’s firefly rising higher and higher, and her heart flipped, sick at the jolt of fear, the realization that they would be separated.  She must have made some sound because he held her tighter, brushing the crown of her head with his lips, humming.  And she set the fear aside, watching a luciérnaga flutter down just past his shoulder to the ground, to a small branch where a glow worm sat, her own abdomen glowing, bright and chartreuse, signaling to the flying insect that would be her partner.  As they met and skittered around each other, the silt settled again, resting in the undisturbed bank of her chest, and she sank down once more into the ebb and lull of the evening, content.

“Elena, por favor, dame un momento,” Bruno whispered against her ear as he fumbled for the doorknob.  They had slunk back to Casita before the rest of his family and pilfered a bottle of rosé from the cellar, drinking and dancing across the courtyard, hands trailing and lips wine-sweet and never parted for long.  His eyes were bright in the shadows, the shine filtering in and sending a thrill up her spine as he slipped into his rooms.  She gave a silent nod and let him go, wondering just what he was up to.  She fidgeted with the bracelet at her wrist still, the glow of the emeralds long since faded and cooled to normal stone, the intricacies of the inclusions drawing her eye.

Her heart was still pounding from the anxiety of a proposal ungiven, left hanging with the heat and honey scent of candles by the river.  It gnawed at her mind; she had felt relief at seeing the bracelet and earrings.  The jolt of panic had flashed across her face before she could stop it.  The golden hummingbird was banging angrily against her ribs, fighting to make it to her head and knock some sense into her, but she pressed it down.  Let her make it out and back before she changed her life forever.  He’d assured her time and again, and she trusted him, just let her brain catch up, and the trip was the perfect time to do so.   The separation would do them both good, give them time away to work this new part of themselves into the fabric of their lives and get used to the new needlework linking them together in copper and green and gold.  

She crossed the hall, not wanting to look like Bruno had locked her out if someone made it back.  She had paused at the portrait on the landing, giving herself a second to breathe.  The novena candle that burned there was low.

She found another under the little table, passing the flame of the old candle on with a taper, swearing silently as a cracked edge nicked her thumb, a drop of blood landing bright and red on the wax.  She left it as she sucked the cut, not wanting to bother with the rigmarole again.  A trick of the light had her looking at Pedro Madrigal’s portrait, studying it.  She felt her mouth quirk up in answer to the gentle, lopsided grin, strange and familiar at once.  The butterflies in the background, little messengers that had never left the Encanto, the gold and orange dust of their wings still scattered across her skin.  The soft brown eyes, tired even at forever twenty-six, the same eyes he’d given his son no matter how that son tried to deny it.

“Don’t let him forget I’ll be back, Señor.  If he’s like you at all…please keep him from worrying.”  She wasn’t sure what made her say it, but the gentle rustle of the tiles around her made her smile.  Then yelp as they sent her careening back up the stairs and to Bruno’s door, which opened on its own, the light within green and inviting.

She took a moment to hang her bag as the air wrapped around her, warm and inviting, the scent of beach poppies and wisteria lilting.  The oasis was warmer than usual.  Not humid, but the pinpricks of cool didn’t form on her skin, and the slight enchanted breeze was even more still.  The light was low, but the inexplicable lights that lived in the magic dazzled and winked from gaps in the plants and stones, artificial and enticing twilight.

“Bruno?”

No answer came, and she kicked off her shoes to avoid the sand before stepping in, looking around for him.

“Bruno?  What are you up to, tonto-OHmmf!”

A hand covered face from behind as his lips brushed against her neck.  He was almost burning behind her, pressing against her back and already half-aroused.  He nipped at her shoulder and pulled her closer, grinding his hips to hers as his voice rattled into her chest, coarse and rough.

“Do you trust me?”

“Mmph--what?” she huffed, muffled in his palm.  His hand slid to the side, one long finger trailing delicately at her lips

“Do you trust me, mi ninfa?”

A chill rolled down her spine so strong she shook, ice and heat chasing each other down to her toes.  He’d been hinting at something all day, and she’d sworn she’d caught the taste of what she finally realized was Mamá Juana on his lips more than once.

“Of course I trust you, Bruno.”

He chuckled, the sound low in his throat and vibrating through her, the shiver leaving her slick and wanting.  “A pity.  I…am not Bruno.”

“Hernando?” she asked, intrigued.  His personas hadn’t wandered into their intimate games before.  Images were blazing through her mind at the possibilities as his other hand slunk up her side, trapping her arm as he stroked her, teasing over her clothes.  He nipped her ear, his tongue playing with the back of her earring before hissing in her ear.

“Not Hernando.  Only Orestes, el sátiro solitario.  Should I give mi oréade a head start, or take her right here?”

The wanton sound she made as his roaming hand slipped past her skirt and silk underwear echoed across the sands.  She sank into him, but his teeth were sharp at her shoulder, and something rough caught in her hair.  His grip tightened on her harshly as two fingers began a taunting dance at her sex, and she struggled in his grip, her heart hammering as her throat constricted, exhilaration burrowing under her skin.

“It’s no fun without the chase, querida.  If you escape me, I’m yours to do with as you please.”  He paused, the fingers at her sex withdrawn and slipped past her lips as he bit the other shoulder, his grip frightfully tight.  “But if I catch you, you are mine.”

She broke free with an elated squeal, not looking behind her and darting into the treeline of the oasis, wilder than she’d ever seen it, her breath racing as she swished between the trees laughing.

Footsteps pounded behind her, light and missing the slapping of his sandals.  His arms had been bare as well.  ’How naked is he?’ she wondered as she tried to hide in the bowl of a tree.  A brown and black shape passed her, and she caught the briefest glimpse of his bare legs, the scar shining in the twilight as something dark passed over them.

She slipped away, only for a hand to snatch her blouse, pulling it from her skirt and yanking her backwards.  She spun and twisted until it was whisked over her head, a hand grasping at her waist.  She saw a flash of bare chest and bolted back the way she’d come, dodging around a palma de cera and the potted bromeliads as she squealed.  There was a blind tunnel of uchuva bushes, and she dove into it, crawling and trying to stifle her laughter, breathless.  She’d made it about halfway through when her ankle was snagged and she was pulled back.

A fleeting charge ran up her spine to run for real, but the gentle hands at her tattoos stilled her and she fell back into the game.  She could only see his chest, his face obscured by the leaves, as he deftly popped the buttons on her skirt, mock rutting against her as she wriggled free, hands and fingers fire tracing the curve of her spine.  

She made it halfway to the waterfall before a hand flicked out and unlatched her bra with a practiced ease.  She tossed it to the side and held her breast as she zigged to the left, towards the little back door so well hidden, when arms came around her middle and pulled her backwards, shrieking as she landed on soft pink sand.

Bruno--Orestes-- rolled her to her back and had her knees trapped in the silk tangle of her panties, her legs over one shoulder.  She finally got a solid look at him.  He grinned--no, leered down at her, his eyes hungry and blazing.  He’d secured the silver horns of a goat into his hair with rough braids, half tied back with a strip of leather, and trimmed his beard just enough to highlight his chin.  Shirtless, panting, wearing nothing but black wool chaps and brown boxers barely containing him, the same getup used for Puck in Midsummer Nights Dream, he’d have looked ridiculous if he weren’t a second away from ruining her.

She struggled trying to get away, still playing the game. He tossed her underwear aside carelessly and used her movements to his advantage, gripping her ankles up and away, her legs bent over her and her sex exposed to the open air.

His chest rumbled as he slunk down and lapped at her, tongue hot and exploring in her folds, slick as he worried at her clit, holding her still to writhe and scramble and burn. He was relentless, driving her to panting in moments before he started fucking into her with jabbing thrusts of his tongue, grip on her legs tighter at every panting cry.  

She was on fire, stoked to a white blaze so quickly her head spun, her pulse beating at her ears as he worked, humming and grinding his face against her, pulling back and teasing with kitten-licks when her legs quaked and tried to close around him, the hold on her ankles immovable in his determination.

She shook the sunspots from her eyes and gazed down at him, curly hair and tensed shoulders between her legs, the blush of arousal darkening his skin all down his back, the sight of him hypnotizing her. He paused as she quieted, and looked up.

She was locked in his harsh, glowing stare as he slowly, deliberately, forcefully lowered his head, dragging his stubble down her dripping center to sear at her tender skin before soothing the scratch with a wide sweep of his tongue, a kiss pressed into her clit before he began again. At the first pass she whimpered, vulnerable. The second, and third, left her gasping. The fourth had her grinding against his face. At the fifth he suckled down on her clit, force of the sensation and worry of teeth scattering stars in her eyes. She screamed, the pulse of her orgasm flooding his tongue and bringing him to a frenzy, his lips and tongue and teeth laving and lapping and drawing the clenching cry out before leaving her to quiver at the chill of the oasis.

Her muscles gripped at nothing and ached as she came, still twisting in his hands. The sudden, fierce intrusion of his cock threw her fading orgasm back into the fire, and she arched around him as he rutted into her in earnest, fully seated all in one slick thrust and sucking lovebites across any surface his mouth found as she lay spread beneath him.

Her breasts, her belly, her splayed legs were decorated vibrant with livid purple marks as he groaned, grabbing her hips and grinding into her. His fingers pressed divots into her thighs, each smack of his pelvis against hers sharp and fast, grasping desperation traveling from his body to hers in each slick motion, adding fuel to a fire that had never died down. She was burning, burning, burning away beneath him, gripping at him, lungs squeezed tight as the tendons in her thighs pulled and seared and shook.

He was everywhere, taking up her vision and hearing and sense of smell, lanolin and sage and the sharp earthy tang of masculinity that found her digging her nails into his shoulders. He rocked into her, tilting her hips up over his, the angle canting him deeper, striking that spot that turned her insides to foam, his pace harsh. Her breasts swayed with each press, his searching, searing mouth following them, leaving nips and lovebites as his stubble scoured her skin pink.

He pulled close to her ear and whispered to her, breath heavy and hot.  

"It seems you've... lost the game...mi oréade." Each pause met a sharp thrust, lightning blooming and spiraling up her spine as he panted, and she bore down on him, biting at his earlobe, caught in their game. "Only...this round...sátiro mia."

He chuckled and growled, nipping at her jaw as she locked her hands behind his neck and jerked him into a kiss, tongues and breath and rocking hips joining in rhythm until the pressure at the base of their spines broke and they crashed in unison, shouts echoing over the sands.  

He rolled to the side, keeping her legs around him and staying inside of her as the last spasms of his release pulsed. His mind was split as he kissed her, keeping track of his own heart as he slipped from her, still half hard. Whatever Silvia had created for him was working.

He gave her a quick pinch as she tried to snuggle in, the sands sticking to her skin. He slipped back into the roll he'd made, the confident, lusty satyr.

"You should run while you have the chance, ninfa. I will not be sated long."

A shiver ran down Elena's spine at the look he leveled on her, hungry eyes and crooked grin shifting into something deliciously darker. The faint glow flared to life and she bolted, the sound of his laughter chasing her.  

She held her breasts as she tiptoe sprinted away. His room at the very back was a dead end. She squealed and dodged from grasping hands, grabbing her blouse from the ground and tossing it in his face before darting into the vision cave.

Elena nearly bit her lip bloody laughing as she buried herself in cushions, listening for him. Her heart raced as she tried to quiet her breathing. What had gotten into him, she wondered. What on earth had been in that flask he'd been touting all night? The thrill of seeing him like this, silly, uninhibited, fully in character and savage sent a thrill down her back. She squeezed her legs together, enjoying the steady throb he'd left as she waited, not daring to breathe for fear of giving away the game too soon. The seconds stretched out before her in the liminal dark, the smell of salt and sunbaked sand easing her into a dreamy haze. What would he do next, she wondered as her hand drifted idly to her sex, pent up tension egging her on to gently roll her clit under her fingers, slick and wanting.   She savored the ache he’d left her with, and suspected it would bloom from a quiet pulse to a roaring drum beat by the end of the night.

The cushions were swept away in a rush as long fingers wrapped around her ankle. She squealed as she was dragged backwards, Bruno--Orestes' tongue running a hot stripe up her leg as he grabbed her other knee and rolled her onto her shoulders, ass up to the ceiling and knees by her ears.

He gripped her hips and scrubbed his chin down the tender underside of her thighs, smile sharp as he bathed her in green, Neruda on his lips as they brushed against her, leaving little fires in their wake.

“’Cuerpo de mujer, blancas colinas, muslos blancos, te pareces al mundo en tu actitud de entrega.’”  Slowly, he slipped two fingers inside her, crooking forward and teasing languidly, his head resting against her thigh as he spoke.  “Mi montaña, mi oréade, let a poor satyr get lost in your valleys and stay forever.” 

She giggled at the prose before he drew a gasp from her, fingers fluttering against her front wall and throwing stars behind her eyes.  He shifted and leaned over her, trailing slick-damp fingers across her nipples before burying his hands in her hair.  Her feet sat resting on his shoulders as he slid home, angle churning at her insides and pinching white lights at the corner of her vision.  He was slow, plumbing her depths in long, measured strokes, the wool chaps he still wore scratching at her back.  Her head spun from spiraling sensation and lack of air from the position, and she tugged at his hair, edging him away from her neck and wrestling with him, desperate to breathe and wrap around him properly.  He chuckled as she tried, nipping at her neck and holding her still at the waist.

“I have you where I want you, ninfa.  Why do you fight me?”

She groaned at a sharp thrust and hooked her feet behind his neck, rolling them both to the side with a grunt, winding him.  “Even oréades need to breathe, mi sátiro.”

His eyes half guttered as he untangled them, wrapping her leg around his waist, thumbing her tattoo.  “Lo siento, Elena.  I got carried away.”  She breathed deeply and smiled at him, pulling him closer and grinding on his cock boldly, ignoring her blush as she watched his eyes flare and then cross.  

“Carry me away with you, then,” she panted.  He surged forward and kissed her hard, his hips pumping as he crushed her body to his.  His hand groped blindly over her ass, around her hip, finally at her sex, rough strokes at her clit sending her crashing down as he slowed, stoking fire from between her legs to every point of her body, burning pins and needles burrowing and twisting under her skin to claw at him and numb her tongue.   He slipped from her with a groan, spilling across her thighs and replacing his cock with his fingers, dragging her down with him into delirium as he worried a nipple hungrily, switching breasts and biting the soft expanse of flesh between as she cried and shuddered against him.

Elena lay back and lavished in his attention, mellow in the afterglow as he massaged her thighs, rubbing slickness into her skin.  The heat and tenderness of his hands kept her in place as he nuzzled at her chest, up her neck, finally at her ear as he cooled down, cocooned together in the cushions.  

“You’ve lost your mind,” she teased, carding his hair as he traced her earlobe with his tongue, fiddling with the back of her new earrings.  His hands were soft against her, kneading at her side and trailing up, thumbing lazily at her nipple.

“...implies I had one.”  She could feel him grinning and shook her head.

“You can’t fuck me into staying, you know.  I still have to go.”

He snorted and nipped at her ear.  “Aah, I know that.  Not trying to.”

“That’s twice already.  Anymore you’ll have a heart attack and I’ll walk funny.”

“Maybe I want to see you walking funny when you head out?”  He kept his face serious for all of a second before snickering, pulling her closer. “Orestes fully plans on ravishing you stupid.  Just…just so you know.  But…no, I’m not trying to keep you here.  Just wanted to give mi amada a good send off.”

“You are ridiculous, you know that?”

“You like it.”

“I love it, tonto.  Though I do worry about your sanity.”

She snuggled closer to him, trailing a finger along the scar on his chest.  The air was cool around them, and she shivered from more than than liminal chill.  

He rolled away and stood, stretching to the ceiling. She laughed when he produced a bottle of tequila and a wax paper of cocadas from thin air.  He tossed one back swiftly, the buckle of his chaps jingling as he discarded them, his nose wrinkling at the sweat and stains the black wool had acquired.  Even after the last escapade, he stood at half mast, dusky and twitching rhythmically.  The muscles in his leg jumped as she traced a finger down the mangled jaguar scars there, and he sank to his knees, hissing as she cupped his balls, running her thumb slowly down the seam, heavy still with pent up desire.

“Félix’ idea of pick-me-up after a vision,” he explained as he held the liquor and treat out to her, scooting away from her grip, red faced.  She swallowed the sweet without tasting and pitched the tequila back, taking a long swallow, letting it burn down her throat and slam into her bloodstream.  It mixed with healing magic and simmering desire, her head spinning.  She lay back as he took the bottle for a swig, enjoying the view of him bare in the hazy light.  The few oil lamps that were always lit cast deep shadows across the Moroccan screens, and picked out the silvers scattered in his hair, highlighting around his lips and the center of his chest.  Elena felt her stomach flop as she remembered the discovery she had made just that morning, but stuffed it down as he wiped his mouth.  

“You’re different,” she said slowly, reaching out to stroke his chest.   She was floating, her head awhirl with the attention and her blood singing.  He chuckled, caught out, and kissed her hand.  

“I know it’s a little…unusual.  I…the confidence to do this…”

“You did tell me your real gift was acting once.”

“I did, didn’t I?” He grinned, and leaned in to kiss her, aiming for her mouth and missing as she turned, hitting her cheek.  Elena wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him to her.  She took a final pull of the tequila and set it aside, letting him wrap around her like an eel, grinding into her hip for the briefest moment before she bunched her legs and rolled on top of him.

She had his wrists in her grip and beside his head as she teased him, cock curving up nestled in the cleft of her ass as she grinned down.  His eyes were open and bright, rimmed with light as he pulsed slowly against her, the lazy grind of his hips distracting her as she struggled to remember what she wanted to say.  A quote from a poem she’d recently read latched onto her tongue, and she smirked, reaching back to trail a finger slowly down his length, leaning back to tease him more as he whined.

“It seems I’ve got you, mi sátiro salvaje.  What shall I do with you?”

His throat bobbed as she taunted him, pad of her finger swirling at the head of his cock, and she bit her lip before leaning into him, whispering in his ear as she rocked back and forth, dampening his shaft as she slipped over him, never quite there, never fully connecting.  She wanted to torment him, determined to give back as good as she got.

“Y nuestra sangre, calentada por la que calienta, corre por todo el eterno enjambre del deseo.”  Here she paused, trailing her tongue down and they up his neck, running her teeth over his adams apple.  He bucked against her, and she sat up, still straddling him, reaching behind to take him in hand and stroke him slowly.  He was fully hard now, the tip slick and leaking, and she smiled as she placed the droplet of pearly fluid on his tongue, watching his pupils blow and his blush take over.

“Etna!  Oye, es tu Venus se pone, sobre piel de lava, sus pasos rápidos e ingenuos.”

He reached up, cupping her breasts and stroking her nipples to peaks, lost again in the role as his face shifted slightly, doubt falling away to a ravenous grin.

“What would you do with me, mi montaña?” It was a growl, rumbling down to her core from where she sat on his torso, and she flung her leg away, scrambling, knowing from his groan she’d given him a full view of her swollen, drenched cunt.  “Find me where náyades play, mi listo Orestes.”

She bolted, sprinting the distance to the waterfall and diving into the deep part, the blue black where it disappeared into the floor to supply the oasis.  The water was sensuously warm.  Water lilies grew across the surface, and she floated on her back, gathering them and placing them strategically.  White flowers quickly trapped in her hair, two lilypads with pink flowers over her breasts, and one giant red centered over her pelvis. She didn’t have to wait more than a minute before she heard a gently whispered ‘follame’ followed by frantic splashing.

She closed her eyes and flicked a foot lazily as he drew closer, and was rewarded with an iron grip on her ankles.

He pulled her legs apart with a groan and swatted the flowers away, leaving only those in her hair as he put her where he wanted her.  They were more than half submerged, and with the water taking her weight he could lift her.  He gripped her ass and positioned her over his cock, straining and brushing against her as she scrambled for purchase at his shoulders, heart pounding.  She could feel her slick washing away in the water’s gentle flow, and held him tighter as he whispered in her ear.

“Is this what you wanted, mi diosa?  To ride me standing like un salvaje?”

“Eso es lo que hacen los sátiros y las ninfas, no?”

He fumbled for a moment before pressing her down onto him, stretching flesh tight and used as he pushed into her, nipping at her neck.  His hands shifted to her thighs and guided her as she raised up and sank back down, unsteady and shaking, her legs weaker than she thought as the exposing thrill ran up her spine.

He was rough, and loud, gripping at her and letting her slap down on him, water splashing up around them as his eyes lit iridescence waves on the water, the lights even in his oasis dying down to a faint hidden glow that cast them in blue and silver.  Her insides churned, pitched by the motion and spun by a week long worry and heated by every solid, jolting thrust.  He’d stopped making sense almost immediately, honey dripping from his tongue in trips and starts.  They lay sticky on her skin in nips and sucks and the careful gritting of his stubble, molten copper slices in her skin sending their own red tongues of fire through her body to swirl and pool in her belly.

She felt weightless in the water, little waves splashing against her back and over her legs as they twisted and rocked together.  His grip on her thighs was iron, the bite of his fingers in her flesh steel points, digging hot points of pain.  They raced in scarlet up her legs to coalesce and melt into ruddy lust between.  She panted at each press of him, copper bright and melded to her.  Indigo patterns pulsed at the edges of her vision as she floundered in the sway of their own personal tide, illuminated green, green scented, the blue sounds of water splashing and crashing all around her until she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.

She was lost, the pinch of arousal gathering behind her eyes.  For one bright blue moment there was nothing but her and Bruno and the whirlpool around them, cooling the burn of his hands and his body and his ardor enough to temper her into spring tight steel, coiling, coiling, coiling tenser and tenser until the weakest part of her snapped.  She cracked in lightning patterns and spider cracks, cries bouncing off the waterfall to echo and gambol like cackling swans across the oasis.

Bruno lost his footing as she dragged him down into the depths, stumbling as he pulsed, falling backwards as the last spurt stole his strength and sputtering as he hit the water.  Elena splashed away and came up with her hair streaming.  She was treated to a lovely view of Bruno’s ass as he clambered over the rocky ledge, careful where he put his feet, clearly in no mood to go running to his sister in his current state.  

She took the hand he held out to her, careful herself on wobbly knees, giddy and giggling and blushing like the virgin she most certainly was not.

They sat for a moment, the frenzy gone for a moment as they stared up at the distant, starry ceiling.  Water dripped from hair and skin, sluicing worries from their skin and cooling them swiftly, rising gooseflesh and shivers.  Bruno hid away as he caught his breath, face tucked against her neck, chest to back and holding her close, letting their hearts slow and synchronize.

They traipsed across the sands lightheaded and unsteady, kissing and touching, hands never still across skin and tangled in sodden hair.  She ran a finger teasingly down the dripping trail on his chest, taunting and slow.  Her hand jerked away at the strangeness of leather and studs.  She studied his face.  Brief panic, nerves, curiosity chasing them both away.  He grinned playfully as his cock twitched back to life under her palm.

“Soy una cabrío viejo.  A new trick to please mi oréade.”  He seized her by the waist and scrubbed at her cheek with his stubble, mouth at her ear.  “If sweet Sinoe approves.  If not…ah, Orestes shall retire, and leave her to her own devices.”

A jolt ran through her, not sure if he meant to tumble away into sleep or if he’d hide in the shadows to watch as she touched herself, sore and throbbing but so intrigued she couldn’t help but leap at the chance he’d given.  Whatever he’d done to rile himself up to this state, whatever had been in that flask, she was buying stock in it.

She yanked him into a kiss and pumped at his cock, running her thumb across the three metal snaps holding the leather ring in place.  She played with the border between skin and leather, touch soft as she traced the vein underneath, drawing a hiss.  He groaned as she stroked him to full attention again before pulling away, giving him a hearty slap on the ass before darting off, flitting across the sands on still damp feet to his bed.

His feet beat against the sand as he gave chase, breath bellowing as she slowed enough to taunt before skidding through the door and hooking to the left as his hand grasped at her side.  She squealed and dodged, placing his desk chair between them.  He shoved it aside, not caring when it fell, snatching at her as she jumped over it and missing.  She turned and flung herself on the bed, unable to hold back her laughter as he did the same, flopping down winded and breathing hard.

“Not--not the best place to run, ninfa.”  He grinned, stroking down her side.  She smirked and tugged him towards her.  

“Maybe I’ve tired of running, sátiro.”  He quirked an eyebrow at her, thumb tracing her lip and pulling it down.

“Then Orestes shall have his way with you,” he murmured biting her lip gently before sucking it, deepening the kiss until she squirmed against him.  He whined high in his throat as she stroked him again, wetting the head of his cock with the precum she’d gathered and sucking on his tongue, sending his head spinning.  He broke away, hand running down her hip.  

“Get up on the bed.”  It was low and gravelly, sending a shiver from the roots of her hair to the pit of her stomach, and she rushed to do as he asked.  He slipped away and stood at the side, hands burning at her thighs.  His fingers wheedled up the soft inner skin, teasing her open as he spread her, luminous eyes boring into her, raking over her as he exposed her sex.  Cold air hit her soaked skin, throbbing at the sensation.  She squirmed under his scrutiny, her skin pulling taut, swollen from the last however long and aching deliciously.  He skimmed her lower lips with his hand carefully, barely there gathering moisture and she hitched against him, humming and biting her lip.  His eyes never left hers as he licked his fingers clean and took hold of the swell of her hipbone.

“Roll, ninfa.”

She wasn’t sure what made her refuse, what mad impulse made her shake her head and trap his hands with her legs, but she did, and he chuckled.  It was a dark sound, and it made her shake with want.

He spread her legs back open roughly, fingers digging into her thighs.

“Roll.”

“I will not!” She would, but she was so determined to tease him, rubbing carefully at his cock with her foot, that she missed the mad glint in his eye.  He stilled and lifted his hand over her sex again.  She readied herself for his gentle touch.  The wet, sharp slap he landed directly on her clit made her see stars, keening.

“Roll!” he growled again, rubbing her to soothe the sting.

“Nooo!”  She shook her head and feigned at closing her legs, only to cry out again at the second sharp smack to her clit, her hips lifting off the bed.  He took advantage and hauled her over onto all fours, folded like a frog, face against his mattress and cunt presented to him like a split peach.  He held her in place, thumbs stroking the little indents above her ass for a moment before a third smack sent lights spiraling behind her eyes, cry lost in the bedding.

“Orestes has you in his bed, mi ninfa, and you will obey him,” he rumbled as he leaned against her, soothing the stinging ache of the slap with a gentle hand.  She could feel his cock hard and hot against the back of her leg, pulsing against her as he spoke.  “Will you…behave yourself for me?"

She bit her lip and nodded to hide the quiver those two words could illicit, a weak, watery sound she didn’t recognize coming from her as he lined himself up.  She wiggled, trying to scoot back, to catch him, but he backed away and landed another wet smack against her whole cunt.  She screamed in shock, every nerve firing in a heady mix of pain and pleasure.  She could feel her whole core convulsing, and panted, quivering as he massaged the globes of her ass.  She clenched, expecting another strike, only to moan.  He breathed cool air across tender skin before soothing it with his tongue.  Long, flat passes across her folds dissolving the tingling pain.

Elena tried to rise up on her elbows, wriggling to ride his face, but a solid hand between her shoulders held her down just as he left her cold.  He stood straight, his cock replacing his tongue a split second later, sliding in with sinful slowness as his fingers dug into the crease at her hip, locking her in place.

He groaned when he was fully seated, grinding into her before drawing out slowly, leaning over her and nipping at the alert skin of her back, pace slow and measured as he swayed, tormenting her, stoking fires just enough to keep them burning.

“You don’t know how…I’ll miss you, ninfa,” he whispered against her, chills cutting through the heat.