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haveanotherfandomblog · 3 years

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Fiery Passions

Part 1: Argentina

Pairing: Benny Weir x POC!OC, Rodrick Heffley x POC!OC

Genre: Angst, Non-Supernatural!AU, Fluff

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: Mild Language, Minor Character Death

Masterlist || Next>>

August 19, 2018

Today was a beautiful day for a funeral. For such a miserable day, everything seemed brighter--happier. The grass was more verdant than it had been yesterday, the birds chirped a cheery tune as the casket was lowered into the grave. The yellow and white roses seemed to have captured the sunlight perfectly as they rested on the closed casket. The world was often described as being duller with the loss of a loved one, but this was far from the truth. While we wallowed in self-pity and grief, the world around us does not seem to share our loss. It glows as if nothing happened, mocking our sorrow with its bright and joyous life.

Our young protagonist, Argentina Castillo, had seen death only once before. She was nine years old when she lost her mother. After battling cancer, and the physical strain of giving birth to her youngest brother, it was only a couple months before death took her mother. Her little brother had never really known his mother, and her younger sister barely remembered her. They did, however, remember their grandfather. After the passing of their mother, their grandfather had taken in his five grandchildren. Argentina, her two older siblings, and her two younger siblings. He had helped them with her passing, even though his own heart broke having to bury his child.

For eight years, they were their own happy, little family. Eight years, which had seemed like such a long time, had been turned into a fleeting moment. Argentina watched as they lowered her grandfather into the grave, right next to her mother’s, remembering times of laughter and unbridled joy. As she watched the casket disappear from view, it felt like those memories would be buried with him.

“The Castillo children?” a man asked. Argentina’s older brother, Joaquin, turned to the stranger who stood awkwardly near the children. The stranger was short and skinny. His eyes seemed to pop out of his oddly shaped head. He wore a long, grey coat that seemed too heavy for his scrawny body. His hand was wrapped tightly around the handle of a black, leather suitcase.

“Who’s asking?” Joaquin inquired. He moved to stand in front of his two youngest siblings. Joaquin easily towered over the stranger, his arms crossed over his chest. He had giant muscles that strained against the restraining fabric of his black dress shirt. His narrowed gaze seemed to see straight through the short man. Even though he hadn’t shed a single tear during the entire ceremony, his eyes were bloodshot and tired. This whole situation had aged him well past twenty-three.

“My name is Carnie Wilson,” the man said, shifting from foot to foot as he nervously glanced up at the giant Joaquin. “I’m from New York, in America. Let me first offer my condolences for your loss.” His other hand fidgeted at his side, shaking slightly. “I have come on behalf of your last living relative.”

“We just buried our last living relative.” Argentina’s older sister, Xiomara, had stepped beside Joaquin, her hands wrapped around herself. She was wearing one of their mother’s old dresses. Her hair was lazily pulled away from her face, tears staining her cheeks. “Besides, we don’t have any American relatives.”

“I’m sorry ma’am, but that isn’t true. You are, in fact, related to one Mr. Beckett. He’s your--uncle,” Mr. Wilson told them. The Castillo children looked at each other confused.

“Our mother doesn’t have a brother. She was an only child,” Xiomara said.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Mr. Wilson said. His eyes darted between Joaquin and Xiomara, briefly falling onto the other three Castillo children. “However, your father had a brother.” There was a moment of shocked silence as Mr. Wilson’s words sunk in. He offered them a tight-lipped smile. “I know this is a lot to take in. Perhaps there’s some place where we can talk privately?” Joaquin nodded.

It was some time before the Castillo children and Mr. Wilson were able to return to the Castillo residence. Their entire small town in Guatemala had come to the funeral. Their grandfather had been loved by so many others. Each person told a different story about how helpful and thoughtful their grandfather had been. Each story pulled at Argentina’s heart, filling her with sorrow and visibly upsetting her sensitive, little sister, Esmeralda.

“Now that we’re somewhere private, do you have any questions?” Mr. Wilson asked, sipping the tea Xiomara had served him.

“I have a few. First off, how did you find us?” Joaquin asked, his arms folded over his chest as he sat back in his chair. “As far as we know, our father died shortly after our mother returned from America. He didn’t know we existed, so how did you know where to find us?”

“Why don’t you two go play,” Xiomara suggested to Esmeralda and their youngest sibling, Rafael. While Argentina knew that Esmeralda no longer “played”, Esmeralda understood the true intentions behind her oldest sister’s words. She grabbed onto Rafael’s hand and led him into the living room. Joaquin didn’t take his eyes away from Mr. Wilson, watching as he took another nervous sip of the tea, his eyes wandering around the tiny kitchen.

“Yes, it’s a rather unique set of circumstances,” Mr. Wilson began. “Your--uncle received a letter upon the request of Mr. Mateo Castillo’s will. It gave a detailed account on who you were and that you’d need a guardian to look after you. We simply followed the sender’s address to find you.”

“I can look after my own family,” Joaquin said, an edge to his voice. Xiomara put a hand on his shoulder. “Besides, our grandfather would have told us if he knew our uncle. The Castillo’s don’t keep secrets.” Mr. Wilson watched Joaquin carefully, a glint in those nervous eyes that didn’t quite sit right with Argentina.

“I’m sure your grandfather had his reasons for not saying anything. Unfortunately, I don’t know, for sure, those reasons, but if I were to guess, I would assume it was the same reason your mother didn’t tell your father about you,” Mr. Wilson said. He glanced down at the cup, his spine straightening, though it didn’t make him any more imposing than a blade of grass. “While you and Ms. Xiomara Castillo are both of legal age to take care of yourselves, Ms. Argentina Castillo, Ms. Esmeralda Castillo, and Mr. Rafael Castillo are still minors and henceforth will be transferred to the custody of their uncle. You could sue for custody, but as Mr. Beckett’s attorney, I would advise against it. He has quite a sum of money.”

Joaquin clenched his jaw, his gaze narrowing on the small, fragile frame of Mr. Wilson. Argentina was perfectly okay with watching her brother tear him into pieces. It certainly wouldn’t take him long to do so. Xiomara squeezed his shoulder, her eyes on Mr. Wilson.

“Are Joaquin and I allowed to join our siblings in America?” she inquired. Mr. Wilson straightened his spine, sparing a fleeting glance towards Joaquin and Argentina.

“As per the request of the late Mr. Mateo Castillo, Mr. Beckett has extended an invitation to you both,” Mr. Wilson said. He set his briefcase, which had been sitting in his lap, onto the table. He opened it up and produced five tickets. “You are scheduled to leave at the end of the week. Pack as much as you can, and Mr. Beckett will send someone for the rest of your things.” He set the tickets on the table before snapping his briefcase shut. He pulled at his coat, standing up from the table. He nodded his head once before leaving the house.

Xiomara wrapped her arms around herself, leaning against the kitchen counter. Joaquin let himself relax as well, leaning forward to run a tired hand through his dark locks. Xiomara took a seat between him and Argentina. Argentina was staring at the plane tickets on the table, rage filling her heart the longer she stared.

“Think of it this way,” Xiomara said. “At least we’ll be together. That’s what’s most important. The Castillo’s stick together, no matter what.” She had a tendency to look at the bright side of things. Argentina knew that no matter what darkness was thrown their way, she could trust Xiomara to be there as a beacon of light. She pulled Joaquin and Argentina into a little group hug. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”

August 24, 2018

The end of the week came sooner than Argentina had been hoping. Their week had been filled with goodbyes and packing. Xiomara had made sure to pack enough clothes for everyone and some precious family mementos that she wanted to make sure made it to America. They didn’t own a lot of stuff to begin with, but leaving the house behind with some of their possessions still in there felt wrong, but there was nothing that could be done. They couldn’t exactly pack the house onto the plane, or the cab.

None of them had ever been on a plane before. Argentina sat next to Esmeralda in the middle row of the plane. Across the aisle was Xiomara, Rafel, and Joaquin. Rafael bounced excitedly in his seat, peeking around Joaquin’s large frame to stare out the window as they waited for the plane to depart. Joaquin was staring out the window. While she couldn’t directly see his face, Argentina could see the melancholy, slightly glazed expression on his face through his reflection in the glass.

Xiomara was doing her best to keep Rafael as calm as possible, reminding him to mind his manners and be respectful while she shot nervous glances at Joaquin. Esmeralda had her nose buried in a book, her knuckle white from her grip as she ignored everyone and everything around her. Argentina let out a silent sigh, simply putting in her earbuds. She let Black Sabbath and Metallica take her to her own happy place where she was still in Guatemala with her siblings and grandfather.

It was mid-afternoon by the time they arrived in New York. Unlike their small town, New York was filled to the brim with people. Joaquin immediately grabbed onto Esmeralda and Rafael, keeping them close as people bustled around them. Xiomara and Argentina went to look for their bags, receiving odd and curious looks as they did so. They huddled together awkwardly, wondering what was supposed to happen now.

“Look over there,” Esmeralda said, pointing towards a man with thin-rimmed glasses and a funny hat. He stood at a semi-empty space, holding a sign that simply read, “Castillo”. The Castillo children awkwardly made their way to the funny-dressed man. Argentina felt uncomfortable in the terminal. Unlike most people who were tall, pale, and spoke with the stereotypical New York accent she’d heard on tv, the Castillo were a dark shade of brown from spending time out in the sun and from their Mayan heritage. Their hair was as black as ebony and their eyes were the same dark brown color as the earth.

“Welcome,” the man said. He didn’t have the accent other people in the terminal had. His voice was deeper than Joaquin’s and up close, Argentina could see the grey eyes that seemed to peer through to her very soul. His piercing gaze reminded her of her grandfather’s: sharp and knowing. Under his gaze, she felt like all her secrets and private thoughts were out on display. “I have been sent to retrieve you for Mr. Beckett. I am the caretaker of his estate and the butler, Mr. Winsby.”

“Why didn’t our uncle come and ‘retrieve’ us?” Joaquin asked, sizing Mr. Winsby up. Joaquin’s English was the best out of the Castillo children. Xiomara and Argentina could speak it well, but they had incredibly thick accents. Esmeralda was better at understanding, and Rafael had only just begun to learn. Mr. Winsby didn’t flinch under Joaquin’s gaze. His face remained completely neutral, but there was a knowing twinkle in his eye.

“Mr. Beckett is in an important business meeting. While he wishes he could be here, business is business. He will be back at five-fifty for dinner which will be served at six p.m. sharp,” Mr. Winsby said. The Castillo children exchanged glances with each other before looking back at Mr. Winsby. “Now come along. I’m sure you’d like some food and some rest before dinner.”

With that, Mr. Winsby turned on his heel and began to walk away, the Castillo sign tucked under his arm. The Castillo children chased after him, for an old man, he was rather fast. Mr. Winsby led them to a big, black, SUV. The Castillo's paused their movements, staring at the car. Because their town was so small, and their grandfather believed that walking was good for your heart, the Castillo children had never been in a big car. Most people in their town didn’t have cars.

Mr. Winsby came to them and took their bags, loading them into the back of the car. He ushered the children into the vehicle and took off away from the terminal. The leather seat was unusually cold against Argentina’s skin. She focused her gaze out the window, watching as New York City disappeared and made way for the smaller towns upstate. Argentina was happy they weren’t living in the city, and that little bit of familiarity she felt brought her some comfort.

It wasn’t long before the Castillo children and Mr. Winsby arrived at their new home. A small town named Whitechapel. Driving down the roads, Argentina was able to glimpse into life in the small town. Children played out in their yards, adults talked and laughed with one another, older kids walked down the streets. Whitechapel reminded her of her home in Guatemala, and a brief hope of a similar life passed through her.

Her hope was immediately crushed when Mr. Winsby pulled into the driveway of their uncle’s house. It was more of a manor than a house, and Mr. Winsby was right to refer to it as an estate. This was definitely the richer part of the small town. Argentina stared at the house in disgust. Why would someone who supposedly lived alone need such an obnoxiously large house.

“Come on guys, let’s get our stuff moved--” Xiomara trailed off as three women came towards the car. They grabbed the Castillo children’s bags without a single word and began taking it into the house. They watched as the women disappeared into the house. “Oh. Okay then. Um, how about we go see the house,” she suggested. Argentina rolled her eyes before climbing out of the car.

“Do you think the house has secret tunnels?” Rafael asked. Argentina cracked a smile, turning to look at her little brother.

“Probably. I bet it’s full of skeletons and creepy, giant bugs,” she said, moving to tickle him. He let out a loud squeal, squirming away from her ticklish touch.

“Children! This way please,” Mr. Winsby called, peering over his glasses. His gaze was focused on Argentina, but she could see the hint of amusement in his eyes. She turned around so Rafael could hop on her back. Once he was situated, they followed their other siblings into the house.

The inside of the house was, in short, grand. There was a large entryway that led straight to a grand staircase. The floor and staircase was a white marble that had a black carpet as a walking path. A fancy chandelier hung from the giant ceiling. Mr. Winsby stood at attention in front of a long line of people, his hands clasped behind his back. The Castillo children hung back at the door patiently, watching Mr. Winsby carefully.

“Children, allow me to introduce you to the household staff. As you know, I am Mr. Winsby. This is Mrs. Lockley, she is the head of the staff and will be one of your caretakers. This is Ms. Jiang, she is the head chef. The three women you’ll recognize from grabbing your bags are Ms. Clark, Ms. Taylor, and Ms. Addams. They are also your caretakers as well as maids. Should you need something, you are to ask one of them, Mrs. Lockley, or me for it. Are we understanding?” The children nodded. He went on to introduce the other cooks and maids and gardeners and other weird job holders that Argentina had no interest in memorizing. “Now that introductions are done, Mrs. Lockley will take over. I have business to attend to.” Mr. Winsby offered a curt nod to Mrs. Lockley before exiting through a side door.

Mrs. Lockley was an old lady. She had fair skin with lots of wrinkles. She had grey hair and light blue eyes. She stared at the kids, an all-knowing glint in her eye. Argentina wondered briefly if this was what her grandmother had been like.

Rafael began giggling uncontrollably, catching her off-guard. Xiomara lightly tapped his shoulder, shaking her head. He covered his mouth with his hands, but his giggles still escaped him. Mrs. Lockley arched one of her thin brows, her head tilting down to stare at Rafael.

“Do you find something funny?” Mrs. Lockley inquired. Her voice was soft but sharp. It reminded Argentina of when their grandfather would scold them in public. He never raised his voice, least of all in public.

“Her hair looks like cotton candy!” Rafael giggled in Spanish. Esmeralda and Argentina snickered under their breath, looking at poor Mrs. Lockley who didn’t seem to understand Spanish in the least bit. Joaquin shot the girls a pointed look, subtly shaking his head as a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Rafael! Don’t be rude!” Xiomara scolded in Spanish. She gave Mrs. Lockley a small smile. “Excuse him, Senora Lockley. He is still just a baby.” Mrs. Lockley nodded at Xiomara, sparing Rafael a pointed look. He had stopped giggling, biting his lips together. He offered her an innocent smile, his dark curls hanging loosely across his forehead.

“Follow me, children. I will show you to your rooms. I’m sure you’d like to freshen up before dinner. Ms. Jiang has also been kind enough to leave something for you to snack on,” Mrs. Lockley said. She led the children up the grand staircase and to the right. She kept her hands clasped behind her back as she turned to face the children briefly. “Directly across from us is the West Wing. You are to never, under any circumstances, enter the West Wing. Everything you need is in the East Wing or on the first floor.”

“What’s in the West Wing?” Argentina inquired. Mrs. Lockley pursed her lips.

“That would be where Mr. Beckett’s room and study are. You are not to go to the West Wing. Ever.” She gave each child a pointed look. She turned on her heel and continued up the right side stairs, her steps muffled by the carpet. The children looked at each other before continuing to follow her up the stairs.

The top of the stairs led to a dead end and a hallway that stretched far on either side. She turned right and kept walking. The children followed her until she stopped at a door on the left of the hallway, identical to the other doors in the hallway.

“This will be your room, Mr. Castillo,” Mrs. Lockley said. She opened the door, pushing it inside to reveal a very plain looking room. The walls were a light grey with nothing on them. A bed, bigger than any the children had ever seen, was pushed against one side of the room. The bed sheets were dark blue and looked rather expensive. Across from the bed was a desk with a chair and a lamp. On one wall, next to the window, was a bookshelf full of old books.

“I get--all of this--to myself?” Joaquin said, taking a step inside the room. Mrs. Lockley looked at him with a scrunched up face.

“Of course. You’re a grown man who needs his own space,” she replied. Joaquin nodded, letting out a low whistle. “The young Mr. Castillo’s room is right next door.” She opened the next door, revealing a room like Joaquin’s, only it was bare of the desk and bookshelf. On the bed sat a brown teddy bear. Rafael ran past everyone, jumping on the bed. Mrs. Lockley said nothing as she went to the door across from theirs. “This is the bathroom for you both.” She turned to the Castillo girls. “Follow me.”

She led the girls back down the hallway, past the stairs, and down the opposite hallway. The girls struggled to keep up with her fast pace. For an old lady, she was a fast walker. She stopped abruptly, gesturing to a door on the right side of the hallway. She looked directly at Xiomara.

“Ms. Castillo, this will be your room.” Xiomara opened the door slowly, letting the door swing softly into the room. The room was almost identical to Joaquin’s. However, unlike his, her room didn’t have a bookcase, and instead of the desk being across from her bed, it was along the same wall, leaving a wide, empty space for her.

“Wow. This is amazing,” Xiomara said, stepping inside to fully appreciate her room. Mrs. Lockley smiled softly, nodding her head thoughtfully. She moved to the next door.

“This room is for the youngest Ms. Castillo.” Esmeralda looked at Argentina before entering the room to take a look. It resembled Joaquin’s room the most, only it had more bookshelves than his. She looked back to Mrs. Lockley before stepping into the room.

“Why do we have to have separate rooms? And why are we so far away from the boys? I don’t like it here. I want to go back home,” Esmeralda said, her Spanish coming out in one long breath. Xiomara emerged from her room, leaning against the door frame.

“I know it’s a big adjustment, but you’ll get used to it. I’m right next door,” Xiomara assured her. Esmeralda stuck out her bottom lip, moving to Xiomara’s comforting embrace. Mrs. Lockley watched, confused at the scene unfolding before her. “It’s nothing to worry about. Just homesickness,” she said to Mrs. Lockley.

“Which one is my room?” Argentina inquired. Mrs. Lockley straightened her spine and beckoned for Argentina to follow. She continued down the hallway, taking a sharp left into a hallway identical to the one they’d just been in. At the end of the hallway was a door that was different from her siblings’ doors. Argentina’s steps slowed as she approached the door. Mrs. Lockley opened it to reveal a set of stairs that spiraled up.

“A--special--request was put in on your behalf,” Mrs. Lockley said. Argentina quirked a brow before slowly ascending the stairs.

The stairs led to another door. She opened the door to reveal a room just like her siblings, only, it wasn’t exactly like theirs. There was a bed on a wire frame pushed against the side of the room with a giant vanity across from it. On one side of the bed was a small desk, the other side was a night stand. Across from the door was a giant window with curtains. Walking across the bedroom, she threw open the curtains.

Outside the window she could see the house next door. Peering out the window, she saw a bunch of vines snaking up the side of both houses. She looked down and saw a big lawn with hedges. She figured she was in the back of the house. She glanced back up at the house and noticed a window directly across from hers. Inside, a little off to the side, she could make out two boys around her age sitting on a bed. They had game controllers in their hands and headphones on their heads.

One of the boys happened to look over and spot Argentina through the window. His eyes went wide as he frantically tapped the other boy, eyes locked onto hers. The second boy rolled his eyes, looking at his friend annoyed. The first boy pointed towards Argentina. The second boy followed his friend’s gaze until his eyes too landed on Argentina. Once their eyes connected, his jaw unhinged completely. Both boys freaked out before dropping out of view. Furrowing her brows, Argentina shut her curtains. She definitely wouldn’t be opening them again.

Turning around, she was greeted with the sight of one of the maids bringing up her bag and a plate of fruit. The maid set the plate on the nightstand and the bag at the end of the bed. She certainly didn’t look like a maid. She actually looked like she was Xiomara’s age, making her around eighteen or nineteen.

“Thank you, for bringing me my bag, I wasn’t sure where it had been taken,” Argentina said, her Guatemalan accent thick. The maid gave her a crooked grin, patting the bag.

“It was no trouble, really. Compared to your little sister’s bag, yours was nuttin’.” The maid’s accent was like the ones she heard on tv, but not as aggressive. She had a slight tan and long, dark brown hair. It was pulled away from her face and rested in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She had light brown eyes that glowed in the light. “Did you need anything else Ms. Castillo?”

“Uh, no, but you don’t have to address me like that,” Argentina said. “I don’t think anyone’s ever referred to me with such… formality. Argentina is fine.” The maid nodded, giving her another smile.

“Then feel free to just call me Clara.” She stuck out her hand for Argentina. They shook, sharing a smile. “So um, how are you? I was told your grandfather passed away,” Clara said. Argentina nodded, moving to sit on her bed.

“Uh, yeah. He passed away a couple weeks ago, a bad heart,” Argentina said. She paused briefly, looking over to the vanity. “I didn’t know I had an uncle. What’s he like? Sr. Beckett?” Clara blinked, caught off guard by her question.

“Oh! Um, Mr. Beckett is--nice. I don’t really know him too well. I’ve seen him around though. He doesn’t seem too bad,” Clara said, twiddling with her thumbs. Argentina stared at Clara, tilting her head to the side. Clara avoided eye contact, her eyes shifting around the room.

Outside her door, Argentina could hear a commotion coming up the stairs. The rest of her siblings came barreling in. Clara jumped slightly at their intrusion. Rafael ran to Argentina, scrambling up her bed to sit on her lap. Two more women, the other two from grabbing their bags, followed shortly after the children. They hunched over, breathing heavily.

“Let me introduce Ms. Clark and Ms. Taylor,” Clara said, pointing to each woman. Ms. Clark was a young, pretty woman with light brown hair that was pulled away from her face. A few loose whisps escaped her bun, framing her face naturally. She had light brown eyes that had wrinkles around the creases, aging her more than she likely was.

Ms. Taylor was another young woman, close to Joaquin’s age. She had long blonde hair that she had pulled back into a braid. She had pale blue eyes and a long, wide nose. Her skin was pale and covered in tiny freckles.

“You… all… run… surprisingly fast,” Ms. Clark panted. She stood up straight, letting out a loud breath. Xiomara chuckled, shaking her head.

“We have to keep you, what’s the phrase, on your toes?” she said, shooting Ms. Clark a wink. Ms. Clark tilted her head, blowing out a big puff of air. Xiomara smirked.

“Who are the weirdos next door?” Esmeralda stood in front of the window, the curtains thrown open. The two boys from across the yard stood in the window, flexing as hard as they could--their sleeves rolled up as far as possible. Xiomara and Joaquin rushed to the window to see what Esmeralda was looking at. Xiomara raised both her brows, her mouth falling open slightly. Joaquin began laughing so hard he clung to his sides, doubling over.

When they saw Xiomara, they stopped moving. Their jaws dropped all the way to the floor as they drank in the sight of her. Argentina rolled her eyes, stepping over a still laughing Joaquin and pushing past Xiomara and Esmeralda. She gave the boys a sharp glare before closing the curtains again.

“Who lives over there?” Xiomara inquired, picking Rafael up and setting him on her hip. He hugged her excitedly, burying his head in the crook of her neck. She rubbed his back, moving to sit on Argentina’s bed.

“Evelyn Weir,” Ms. Taylor said. The Castillo children looked at her expectantly. “Mrs. Weir is one of the oldest residences of Whitechapel. She’s lived in that house her whole life. She lives with her son and grandson. She’s really nice. Everyone just calls her Grandma Weir.”

“But there were two boys in the window,” Esmeralda said.

“Probably just one of his friends.”

“You have such a nice room,” Joaquin commented, changing the topic. “Sr. Beckett has very nice taste.” He looked around the room, nodding his head. “Although your room is a bit far from everyone else’s.”

“Sorry, that’s my fault actually,” Clara said. Argentina cocked an eyebrow, waiting for her to explain. “Well, Mr. Beckett hired me after hearing about you. I was s’posed to take care of Argentina. I was explorin’ the house when I found this room. Took a quick peek and thought you’d like it. Course, I didn’t know about the neighbor boys.”

Argentina didn’t have anything to say. She rarely spoke nowadays. Ever since the funeral, she’s done her best to keep quiet, listening to everyone else fill the silence. Xiomara would occasionally try to coax her into conversations, but one pointed look from Argentina stopped her.

“Well, I think that’s enough of that,” Ms. Clark said. “We still need to get everyone prepped for dinner.” She ushered everyone out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. Clara glanced at Argentina before clapping her hands together.

“Welp, now that that’s been taken care of, let’s get you ready for dinner,” she said, jumping from the bed.

“Why? I’m already dressed.” Clara offered her a bashful smile, rubbing the back of her neck. She looked around, as if checking to see if there was anyone secretly listening.

“Let me tell you, while I think you look perfectly fine as you are, Mr. Beckett is, well, he’s kind of a socialite. He dines with senators and CEO’s and other big, important people. He expects a level of--fanciness--with his meals. Mrs. Lockley, while understanding not everyone dresses like Mr. Beckett, has asked me to make sure you look your absolute best.”

Argentina crossed her arms, jutting her hip out.

“And what’s wrong with the way I dress? I’ll have you know that all my clothes look exactly like this. Sorry I don’t conform to your American style, but I am not American. I am Guatemalan and I refuse to have my culture stripped from me in favor of some--some--pendejo.” Clara blinked, quite a few times. She took a deep breath before rejoining Argentina on the bed.

“I have no idea what a ‘pendejo’ is, but I do know one thing, you’re probably right.” Argentina couldn’t help herself. She burst out laughing, leaning forward as she clutched her sides. Was that how she sounded speaking English? How did everyone not laugh at her? Clara smiled, rubbing Argentina’s back. “There we go. Now I know it’s not desirable, but can I help get you ready for dinner?”

She wanted to say no. She wanted to tell Clara she wouldn’t be joining them for dinner. She wanted to go back to Guatemala and pretend she never met anyone or saw anything. She couldn’t. Her siblings needed her, what’s more, this was the only connection she had left of her father. She’d always been curious about him, what he was like, what kind of man he was.

It was these thoughts that allowed Argentina to silently concede to Clara’s request. And while Clara obviously knew very little about the styles of Guatemala, she certainly didn’t do half bad. She pulled Argentina’s hair back into a single braid, letting it fall over her shoulder. She hadn’t bothered with makeup, only dabbing something on her face to hide the bags under her eyes.

“This is beautiful.” Argentina watched Clara through the mirror as she pulled one of her Sunday dresses out of her suitcase. It was beautiful, a white top with a magenta skirt that had vertical stripes going down the length of the skirt.

“Thank you. It was my mother’s. My abuelo told me she--she used to wear it almost every Sunday. I usually wear it for special services,” Argentina said, tearing her eyes away from the dress. There was shuffling behind her. She glanced up and saw Clara had pulled out a different dress.

“I’ll be back in a couple minutes.” Clara slipped out of the room, leaving Argentina alone once again. She sat on her bed, staring blankly at the wall. A loud noise drew her attention back once again to the window. Standing up, she slightly moved the curtain to peek into the house next door. The boys were back at their videogame, yelling at the tv and smashing their fingers against the controllers. She let the curtain fall shut, moving to put the dress on.

Staring at herself in the vanity mirror, this was the first time any effort had been put into her appearance since her grandfather’s death. She could barely bring herself to smile anymore, and if she did, it didn’t reach her eyes. Xiomara assured her she did the exact same thing when their mother died, but she eventually grew out of it. However, back then she had her grandfather to help her.

There was a quick knock at her door before Clara poked her head in, offering a small smile before pushing the door opened farther. She too had changed her clothes. She was now in black pants and a white button down shirt. She had minimal makeup on and wore almost no jewelry.

Argentina followed Clara down the stairs, through the hallways of the East Wing, and back to the main entrance. They took a right which led them to a giant dining room. A large table with more chairs than people sat in the middle. All around the room were old, antique paintings. Two chandeliers hung from the ceiling. They were tinier than the one in the main entrance and had a more rustic look to them.

Clara sat her near the middle of the table before stepping off into a different door. A few moments later, she was joined by Xiomara, Rafael, and Ms. Clark. Ms. Clark was dressed identical to Clara. The tiny wisps that had surrounded her face had been pulled neatly back. Even her makeup matched Clara’s.

Xiomara and Rafael were also dressed in their Sunday outfits. Xiomara had her hair pulled into a low bun, her makeup subtle. She fixed the sleeves of her shirt, sitting a few seats down to the right of Argentina. Rafael sat across from Argentina, fiddling with the strings of his colorful shirt. A giant, ugly, center-piece sat between Argentina and Rafael. He reached to touch it, but Xiomara stopped him, giving him a pointed look. She turned to Argentina, her brows furrowed. Argentina shrugged, waiting for the rest of their siblings.

It was another few moments before Ms. Taylor appeared with Esmeralda and Joaquin in tow, dressed in their best Sunday apparel. Ms. Taylor sat Joaquin across from Xiomara, next to Rafael. Esmeralda was seated on the other side of Argentina, multiple chairs between them. Joaquin gave Xiomara a questioning look, but she just shrugged in response.

Ms. Taylor smoothed out her outfit, which was identical to Clara’s and Ms. Clark’s, before disappearing into the door the aforementioned had exited through. Argentina slumped against her seat, staring around the dining room. This felt more like a fancy, formal, dining event than a supposed family dinner.

Mr. Winsby and Mrs. Lockley entered the dining room shortly after Ms. Taylor’s departure. Unlike the other three, their outfits were considerably more classic. Mr. Winsby wore a black suit with a white shirt, a colorful waistcoat, and a black bow tie. Mrs. Lockley also wore a suit. Hers was a light bluish-grey and more flowy than Mr. Winsby’s stiff suit.

“Now children, we’re going to go over some rules before Mr. Beckett arrives,” Mrs. Lockley began. Joaquin turned to Rafael, murmuring the translations. “Yes, good thinking Mr. Castillo. Thank you. Now, firstly, when Mr. Beckett arrives, you are to stand and stay standing until he has taken his seat. You are to thank him for his hospitality, you are guests after all. After that, you are not to speak unless spoken to. Should Mr. Beckett speak to you, you are to address him as Mr. Beckett.”

The front door opened and was followed by a loud slam. Mrs. Lockley straightened herself out and moved so she was pressed against the wall, quiet as a mouse. Mr. Winsby exited the dining room towards the main entrance. Argentina looked to Xiomara as muffled voices traveled through to the dining room. Xiomara shrugged, glancing over to Joaquin. They quickly stood as footsteps approached the doors. Mr. Winsby opened the door, folding his arms behind his back.

“Mr. Beckett, the Castillo children.” Mr. Winsby stepped aside to allow Mr. Beckett through the door. He looked rather young for a middle-aged man. He had thick, black hair and piercing blue eyes. On his face was a beard that reminded Argentina of Obi Wan Kenobi from the Star Wars movies. He wore a business suit that was dark blue.

He paused when his eyes fell onto the children, almost as if he was frozen in time. His eyes swept over each child. He glanced over to Mrs. Lockley and quickly cleared his throat. He didn’t say a word as he made his way to the head of the table. He took long strides and sat closest to Xiomara and Joaquin. Once he was seated, the Castillo children sat.

“It was kind of you to take us in, Sr. Beckett, including me and Joaquin,” Xiomara said, a soft smile on her lips. Mr. Beckett nodded, his movements stiff. He tilted his head slightly as he stared at her.

“We’re family. It’s what I’m supposed to do,” he said. Argentina bit her tongue, keeping her gaze down. His statement rubbed her wrong, but she didn’t want to be rude. He cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “I hope you traveled well.” Xiomara glanced up to Joaquin, jerking her head slightly.

“Um, yes. The plane ride was very nice. As was the car ride here. This is a beautiful town, Senor Beckett,” he said, looking to Xiomara for support. Mr. Beckett nodded again. Behind him, a clock struck six o’clock and without missing a beat, Ms. Clark, Ms. Taylor, and Clara entered, carrying two silver dinner dishes each.

Ms. Clark set her dishes in front of Rafael and Joaquin, Ms. Taylor set hers in front of Mr. Beckett and Xiomara, and Clara set hers in front of Argentina and Esmeralda. Then the three girls disappeared as quietly as they came back into the door. Mr. Beckett wasted no time beginning to cut into his meal. Rafael grabbed onto Joaquin’s hand expectantly, closing his eyes and bowing his head. Mr. Beckett paused, glancing at the youngest Castillo before looking around at the other children.

“What’s he doing?” he asked.

“Nothing, Senor Beckett. It’s just… we usually pray before we eat,” Xiomara said. Mr. Beckett nodded thoughtfully before setting down his silverware.

“Of course. How rude of me not to ask about that. Please, don’t let me stop you,” he said. Esmeralda grabbed onto Argentina’s left hand and bent her head. Xiomara grabbed onto her other hand before holding a hand out for Mr. Beckett’s. He blinked multiple times, staring down at her hand. She didn’t move until he eventually grabbed her hand. Joaquin reached for his other one and bent his head and began the prayer.

“Bendícenos, oh Señor, y estos, Tus dones, que estamos a punto de recibir de Tu generosidad. Por Cristo, nuestro Señor. Amén.”

“Amén.” The Castillo children lifted their heads and began to enjoy the meal Mr. Beckett had offered them. Every once in a while Mrs. Lockley would step forward to help Rafael with his food. While the kids ate, Argentina noticed Mr. Beckett studying each child. From the corner of her eye, she watched him observe her siblings then herself.

She wondered if it was weird for him, to see kids that looked like his dead brother. She noticed subtle similarities between him and her siblings. She could finally see where they got their thick, black hair and sharp noses. Were there other similarities he could see that she couldn’t? Did he see their mother in them? Had he even met their mother?

These questions circled around her head, but she didn’t dare to ask them. Instead, dinner was quiet, as he didn’t ask any questions, the children weren’t permitted to talk. Eventually their plates were clear and the girls reappeared. Rafael turned to look Mr. Beckett right square in the eye.

“What’s for dessert?” Rafael asked in Spanish. Xiomara quietly scolded him for his bold request. Mr. Beckett stared at Rafael for some time in quiet contemplation. Rafael stared back with an innocent gaze, occasionally sparing glances to Joaquin.

“Whatever the young man desires,” Mr. Beckett responded in perfect Spanish. Rafael clapped excitedly, turning to tug on Joaquin’s sleeve as the other children stared at Mr. Beckett with wide eyes.

“I wasn’t aware you spoke Spanish,” Xiomara commented. “You speak it very well.”

“Thank you. I have found that being bilingual in my position comes quite in handy,” Mr. Beckett said. He glanced down at his watch, frowning slightly. It was made of gold and looked like it could pay for two months worth of meals in Guatemala. “If you’ll excuse me, I have important phone calls I need to make. Mrs. Lockley, see that the young man receives his dessert. Buenas noches, Castillo children.” Mr. Beckett didn’t wait for a response before he disappeared out the door, Mr. Winsby hot on his tail

“Is he always so… detached?” Xiomara inquired, trying her best not to offend him in case he could still hear. Mrs. Lockley pursed her lips but didn’t respond. “I will take that as a yes.” The children joined hands once more for their after meal prayer.

“Te damos gracias por todos tus beneficios, oh Dios Todopoderoso, que vives y reinas en el mundo sin fin. Amén. Que las almas de los fieles difuntos, por la misericordia de Dios, descansen en paz. Amén.”

“Amén.” The children stood from the table and looked around awkwardly. They didn’t have dishes to clear away and nothing to wipe the table with. They turned to Mrs. Lockley, unsure of what to do. She pointed to the door that Ms. Clark, Ms. Taylor, and Clara had disappeared into.

They went through the door and found themselves in a giant kitchen where the aforementioned sat around an island with the head chef whose name Argentina couldn’t recall. The girls beckoned them in, patting the seats around them.

“How was dinner?” Ms. Clark asked. The Castillo children looked at each other apprehensively before back at the girls. “That bad, huh?”

“We weren’t really sure what to expect, but I don’t think we were expecting… that,” Joaquin said. The chef let out a snort, moving to open the refrigerator doors.

The chef was really pretty, just like Xiomara. She had long, dark hair and slightly tanned skin. Her soulfully deep, almond-shaped eyes reminded Argentina of two black stones peeking out from a white lake. She quickly searched the fridge before producing a carton of ice cream. Rafael clapped his hands together, bouncing in his seat with a squeal.

Ms. Taylor reached up to grab a bunch of bowls from the cupboards. She placed them in front of the chef as she began scooping out the chocolate ice cream. Ms. Clark placed spoons in the bowls and passed them around until everyone had a bowl.

The older Castillo children chatted idly with the women, asking questions about the town and what they should expect. Argentina and Esmeralda ate in silence, focusing on their ice cream instead of the conversation. Rafael was perfectly happy with half of his ice cream ending up on his face.

Once everyone, except Rafael, was finished, the Castillo children collected the bowls and began doing dishes.

“What are you guys doing?” Ms. Clark asked. The Castillo children looked at each other before Xiomara gave a little chuckle.

“Helping clean up, of course,” she said with a smile. Ms. Clark shook her head vigorously, moving to stand up.

“No. You don’t have to worry about that. That’s our job.” Ms. Clark went to grab the plates but Xiomara swiftly dodged her hands.

“It’s not your job to clean up after us--”

“No, really, it is.”

“No. While Mr. Beckett might not mind leaving a mess behind, our madre and abuelo taught us better than that. Especially when you’re company.” Xiomara moved past Ms. Clark, carefully setting the dishes in the sink.

“But you aren’t company. You’re family now,” Ms. Taylor said. Argentina roughly set the bowls in the sink before she began washing them. Joaquin nudged her softly, shaking his head. She rolled her eyes but didn’t do anything else. The Castillo children continued to wash the dishes and put them away. “I don’t know what to do. I wasn’t trained for this.”

Joaquin glanced over his shoulder, shooting Ms. Taylor a wink. She blushed slightly, turning her head away. Argentina nudged Joaquin in return, a hint of a smile crossing her face. Even in a weird and confusing time, her brother could manage to find time to flirt with a pretty girl.

“I’m sorry, your name seems to have escaped me,” Xiomara said once the dishes were put away. The chef smiled.

“I’m the head chef, Yingyue Jiang, but everyone calls me Meimei,” she said.

“Why?” Esmeralda asked.

“It’s a nickname. It’s Chinese for ‘sister’. It’s also easier for people to pronounce,” she explained. “What about you guys? If you want us to refer to you by Mr. and Ms. Castillo, we will, but since there’s five of you, a first name or nickname will be easier to remember and know who we’re talking to.” She tilted her head slightly, giving Esmeralda a kind smile.

“I’m Esmeralda.”

“That’s a beautiful name,” Meimei said. Esmeralda gave her a small smile, bowing her head.

“I’m Xiomara and this little man is Rafael.” Rafael lifted his head at the mention of his name. He seemed to have more ice cream on face than he’d actually eaten. Xiomara shook her head and accepted the rag to wipe his face. He sat perfectly still as she did so before diving right back into his ice cream and successfully dirtying his face again.

“You all seem close.”

“We are. Family is everything. After our mother passed away, it was just us and our abuelo. He taught us that we worked better together than apart,” Joaquin said.

“He sounded like a smart man.”

“The smartest.” They sat there in silence for a brief moment. “I’m Joaquin, by the way.”

“Wakin?”

“Heh, not quite. Joaquin. Wa-keen.” Meimei practiced it a couple times before she got it. “Very good! Not my easiest name.”

“‘Names’?” Clara asked.

“Yes. I thought Americans had middle names,” Xiomara said.

“Oh, yeah. What is your middle name?”

“Mine? They’re Elena, Sofia, and Itzel.”

“Whoa, that’s a lot of names. Why do you have so many?” Ms. Clark asked.

“Because we have no father,” Argentina said. Xiomara gave her a pointed look as Joaquin sighed. The other women shifted uncomfortably, glancing at each other. “I only mean we grew up without a father. Most families in Guatemala have two last names, our mother did as did our abuelo. Since we didn’t know our father’s last name, our mother gave us an extra middle name to fill the gap.”

“Well that’s not so bad,” Meimei said. “So all of your names are that long?” The Castillo children nodded. “Well, let’s hear them. Because if I have to scold any of you, I will use your full name, no matter how long.” She gave them a pointed look, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Well, mine is Xiomara Elena Sofia Itzel Castillo. Then there’s Joaquin Mateo Primo Benito Castillo, Argentina Carmen Luciana Perla Castillo, Esmeralda Marisol Viviana Lillianna Castillo, and then there's Rafael Manolo Sebastian Jorge Castillo,” Xiomara said, pointing to each Castillo child.

“Well those are certainly mouth fulls,” Ms. Clark said. Xiomara shrugged, smoothing her brother’s curls. Not up for conversation, Argentina excused herself, stating she was tired from the journey.

She left the kitchen, went through the dining room, and ended up back in the main foyer. Mr. Winsby and Mrs. Lockley were nowhere to be seen. She continued up the stairs before pausing to look over to the West Wing. Something deep down told her to go and demand answers from Mr. Beckett--demand he send her and her siblings back to Guatemala. Instead she turned and went towards the East Wing, down the hallways until she was climbing the stairs to her room.

Once she was safely in her room, she collapsed onto the bed. She finally took the time to notice just how soft her bed actually was, much more than her one in Guatemala. It was like laying on a cloud. She lifted her head up to look at herself in the vanity mirror. She looked so tired. More than she usually did.

She laid back down, thinking about her life and everything that had brought her to this point. She hadn’t really thought about who her father could be. After her grandfather told her and her siblings he was dead, she didn’t feel the need to ask about anything else. Maybe she should have. Maybe then she could have known what to expect when she met Mr. Beckett.

She wondered if her father was like Mr. Beckett, cold and distant, awkward around children. Was he fun like her mother? Spontaneous and hard-working? Maybe he had been more like her grandfather, kind, wise and compassionate.

She pushed her thoughts away as she readied herself for bed. There was no use in those types of thoughts. Both her parents were dead, her grandfather was dead, and her uncle--her last living relative--didn’t seem to have any interest in getting to know his family, but she couldn’t bring herself to be angry with him. After all, Joaquin and Xiomara were both adults. He had no part in their lives and his presence was too little too late.

Letting out another sigh, she buried herself in her covers. Maybe once she woke up, she’d still be in Guatemala and this would have been a weirdly long dream. One could hope.

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cieloxcnco · 5 years

Text

yo te haré mía (cnco) - ch13

Chapter 13

Words: 4,100+

Warnings: language and angst, no smut this time.

A/N: i work a full time job and have been dealing with too much to really write, but COVID-19 quarantine is a gift in some ways.

chapter 12 is here if you need to catch up.

Richard craned his neck from side to side, willing the bones in his stiff and stressed spine to crack, rolling his shoulders forward and back when nothing else seemed to work. “I’m not sure what time we’ll be done but I’ll text you and let you know what’s going on, okay?” Jasmyn bounced Miguel on her hip, dipping his bottle in the warming water on the stovetop to heat it. “Amor, this doesn’t really have to deal with you. If you don’t want to deal with the stress, don’t go.” His straight spine slid back into his typical swagged slouch. “Baby, how would it not deal with me? This is about the band, and the band is my life. I have to go.” She nodded resignedly. “I get it. I just hate that you had nothing to do with all the downfall and now you’re suffering.” He shrugged. “I gotta go deal with this. They’re my brothers.” She shrugged back. “And they’ve got to figure their own shit out. You’re all in contracts you’re all fucked if you break, so they’ve just got to man up, have one good fight, and get the fuck on with it. At the end of the day it’s a job with coworkers you either like or you don’t but you still make it work. You don’t have to fucking mediate.” Richard grit his teeth. “It ain’t like that at all, Jas,” “Then how is it, Rich? Chris did Zabdiel dirty and now everybody has to deal with the consequences of them fucking around? It’s not just the band that has to face the consequences of it, but you guys are taking the brunt of it. It’s fucked up,” she hissed, trying to control her infuriated force as she gingerly strapped Miguel into his high chair. Aaliyah and Joaquin tried to stay quiet as they peered from the playroom into the kitchen, trying to translate the heated and tense words into small terms they could comprehend. “Why is everyone going to see Tio Chris y Papi?” Joaquin whimpered softly. Aaliyah pulled his arm back to bring him out of earshot of the adults still bickering. “They all got mad when Tio Chris got hurt before they went to see your baby sister.” “Is that why they’re mad?” Joaquin asked quietly. “He’s feeling better and they all got to see mi hermanita en el hospital. There’s no reason to be angry then.” Aaliyah took out the plastic plates and cutlery from her kitchen set and began to set her playskool table for a meal. “Daddy said Tia Isa had the baby but didn’t tell me- what’s her name?” Joaquin pulled one of the seats at the table back a little too far and just leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his chin resting in his palms. The memory of his new little sister was already bitter, her arrival just triggering a series of events that now seemed to have everyone tense and angry. And with that sort of welcoming introduction, he didn’t exactly smile at the mention of her. “Xiomara.” Aaliyah’s head cocked to one side. “See-oh-what?” Joaquin counted the syllables on his fingers for emphasis. “See-oh-mah-ra. Abuela showed me it starts with X, but that sounds like X-ray so I don’t get it,” Aaliyah shook her head adamantly. “But X makes the Z like xy-lo-phone sound, so it’s just weird. Must do the ‘see’ sound too. Or they got it wrong and just don’t spell right.” Joaquin hardly took the effort to shrug his shoulders. Aaliyah started stirring the imaginary ingredients in her stovetop pot. “But everybody came home sad from seeing her, and Tio Zab was really really angry. What happened?” Joaquin’s face went white and his hands trembled around the play fork he’d been toying with, letting it clatter to the floor. The last thing he knew that had happened before Zabdiel had frustratedly screamed at everyone in his path was he’d hugged his father’s legs and asked him for help. He’d been too needy, he hadn’t asked nice enough, he’d been too annoying. Zabdiel being upset was his fault. Joaquin knew he was the reason his papa was angry and that had set this all in motion. The light in his eyes faded and he stared straight ahead. Aaliyah, not having turned to see the expression on her cousin’s face, waddled back to the doorframe to eavesdrop. “Maybe Daddy and Jazzy are talking about it still and we can find out. Shush.” Jasmyn smiled softly at Richard as she walked to where he stood, kissing his furrowed brow. “I know, baby. Just don’t take their problems onto you. This is tearing everyone else up - don’t allow it to bring you down, papi. Te amo.” “Yo también te amo,” he whispered as he kissed her cheek in return. “You gonna be good with the kids by yourself?” “You know they’re never a problem, amor. We’ll be fine. You want to help them sort this, go do it, and I’ll see you later.” She silenced them both with a chaste kiss on the lips while Miguel impatiently hit his palms against the tray table of his high chair. “Missed it,” Aaliyah groaned as she stomped back over to her toy refrigerator, pouring herself a pretend glass of juice to sip while her pot simmered on the stove. “Missed what, traviesa?” Richard asked with a wink as he turned the corner into the playroom. Aaliyah giggled and ran into his waiting arms to be scooped up in a hug and have her cheeks peppered with kisses. “What are you doing? You making lunch?” “Yuh-huh,” she squealed, half laughing from the tickle of his hand on the side of her hip. “Arroz con habichuelas in the pot. Tienes hambre, papi?” Richard looked down and saw Joaquin staring at his own feet at the play table, speaking to his daughter but keeping his eyes on his distressed nephew. “Not now, princesa - I have to go to a meeting with your tios but when I get back I’d love some.” He set her down on the ground to tend to her simmering pretend meal and turned to Joaquin who immediately stiffened in his seat, turning his eyes lowly to his tio. “Tu ta bien, Quin?” He barely nodded. “Si.” He instinctively held a hand against his back and Joaquin’s eyes went wide. “You gonna have fun with Aaliyah today while I’m at Clara’s office with tu Papi?” The nod was more sharp this time. “Si.” Aaliyah turned away from the play stove and looked to her father. “When you talk to the tios, is it going to make them all stop being mad at each other, Papi?” Richard sighed heavily, not able to find any words appropriate to explain the damage to a child so young. “We’re gonna try, amor, pero sometimes making it better doesn’t make it back to the way it was.” Joaquin tilted his head down further towards the floor to hide the tears that were welling in his eyes. “You guys be good for Jas today, okay? Que disfruten,” Richard said with another press of his lips to the crown of his daughter’s head. “Si,” Joaquin whimpered, but so lowly that Richard left the room without hearing. “Bye, Papi!” Aaliyah waved as he went out the front door, but her attention was immediately back on Joaquin. “Hey, you okay?” Joaquin didn't react, afraid that the slightest movement in either response would have him let the tears flow. Aaliyah put her oversized plastic cooking utensils down and kneeled in front of his chair in an effort to force eye contact. “Quin?” “La culpa es mia,” he murmured beneath his breath, so lowly that she hadn’t distinguished the words. “Que?” She tried to clarify but now he shut his eyes tight and his shoulders began to shake. It was all too much. Tio Richard had seemed calm, but he’d heard the discussion with Jasmyn- he was angry. They all were angry. And he didn’t know what he'd done, but this was his fault. Whatever he had done to make his father upset had now spiraled into everyone being frustrated and acting differently. His parents went sour at the mere mention of each other, abuela had been acting distant and different, and, on top of dealing with the idea of his new sister, he was simply overwhelmed. The tears finally poured out, cascading down his cheeks one after the other, more frightening for Aaliyah to watch because they were so completely silent. Did Quin get hurt? What happened? How did he break? “Quin, que paso?” Aaliyah stepped to him, reaching to touch his shoulder. Joaquin immediately recoiled at the contact, placing his palms on her chest and knocking her backwards to the ground. Tipping backward, she hit the back of her head against the kitchen playset cabinet and immediately yelped, bursting into tears. Jasmyn ran into the room, reaching for Aaliyah to lift her up. “Aaliyah, amor, que paso?” “Quin pushed me down!” she screamed, still nursing the back of her head with her hand. Checking first there was no real visible injury, she soothed Aaliyah with a hand down her back and immediately looked at Quin, noting that he was crying too but visibly trembling. “Joaquin, that’s not nice at all! Why would you push your cousin?” Joaquin fell off the chair and down onto his knees, gripping tightly onto the hem of his tia’s shirtsleeve and burying his face against her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Tia. Please don’t tell Papi. He hates me, I don’t want him more mad. I’m sorry.” Jasmyn’s head was spinning between soothing her stepdaughter’s sobs and trying to bounce from how her nephew had gone from saying goodbye to Richard to being so hysterical over his father’s nonexistent reaction. As the pieces began to fit, she struggled in her thought process of how best to explain the present situation to the mindset of a child. All she could do was hold them both close against her chest as the crying slowed to a stop and pull out her phone to text Richard. ‘I told you it was more than just the band. Call me when you can.’ - Clara and Ali, for the first time that anyone present could ever recall, were sitting at the conference table, completely silent. The blonde scrolled idly through her phone, fighting the urge to again anxiously bite off the end off her nail. Clara fidgeted with her insulated coffee mug as her eyes darted between her apple watch and her nails clicking against the cup. She began tracing her fingertip along the cursive glitter design of Boss Lady written across the stainless steel, and the irony was not lost on her that for all her usual prowess, she had absolutely no control. These pollitos were under her care, her charges, and she had no say in what happened next. She could try to set up the surroundings to arrange the least explosive impact, but that couldn’t change what resulted. She just knew if something wasn’t organized to move this to the next stage, there would be either nothing but silence or another trip to the hospital. Erick was quietly sipping from a paper coffee cup, his eyes focused on the liquid swirling around when he set it down but his mind off in the distance. This band was his entire world and it was going to be made or broken by the moves of two men he deemed brothers that now wanted each other dead. Joel was equally quiet, drumming his fingers across the tabletop in nonsensical patterns. He had reverted to a place in his mind where his emotional valves had been completely shut off. His face was expressionless, his breathing almost inhumanly slow. His mind should have been on how he had returned to his home the night before with Kaja and a lot of her things gone, and he hadn’t even felt any sort of reaction. He had shut the lights off and drifted into a dreamless sleep. Clara squinted her eyes and slammed a heavy palm against the table, drawing all eyes to her. “How the fuck did none of you know? This makes no fucking sense.” “You didn’t know either,” Ali, usually Clara’s sidekick and support, shot back. Clara glared in her direction but couldn’t negate it. Joel shrugged, his voice monotonous. “They hid it from Zabdiel for this long, what makes you think they weren’t just as good at hiding it from us?” “There had to be a slip up,” she seethed. “This all didn’t just unfold at once.” Erick nibbled at his lower lip, the confession ready to burst free, but the chills from the daggers in her eyes kept him silent. But she knew him too well for that. “You fucking knew?” She nearly screeched, her glare venomous. And with that, the dam broke. “I saw them that night at their party at Zabdi’s house… We talk and he say please have respect, that he talk to Zabdiel first, for me not to say. And that was same night that we go to the club. I did not know before.” Clara scoffed and rolled your eyes. “After all this, and then he’s the one that asks for respect. Unreal.” “But I didn’t know hardly before you guys. No looking at me like I kept a secret,” Erick defended, crossing his arms over his chest. Joel grumbled beneath his breath, “Can we stop fucking bickering? There’s no fucking point.” Clara tilted her head, shocked at the usually mild-mannered Mexicano was using such a biting tone. “Joel, de que hablas?” He shrugged and pulled on his hoodie strings. “We can’t do anything about this until they get their shit together. What’s the point of us even being here?” Clara shot daggers at him, but all eyes were drawn as the conference room door opened and Zabdiel entered, Richard behind him with his eyes darting as if ensuring Zabdiel wouldn’t make an off move on his way in. “Everything okay, Richuki?” Clara questioned in attempts to ease his tensions. “Yeah, no, we’re fine,” he reassured. “Zab was just having some coffee in the parking lot and needed a little persuasion to come upstairs.” “Zab,” Clara began slowly, “You alri-“ “Don’t even ask me,” he snapped, sitting down at the chair furthest away that was still facing the door. “You know I’m not alright.” Everyone was silent and stone-faced, anticipating his next move. “What do you expect me to do?” he growled, leering up at Clara. She sighed, looking down at her clutched hands. “Pollito,” she attempted to calm him, but it had no effect on his rage, “you know that to continue with the group the way we need to, this has to be discussed.” He crossed his arms over his chest, huffing out an angry breath. “Right now, I’m trying to deal with being in the same room as that hijueputa. I can’t imagine sharing the stage with him.” Clara clicked her acrylic nail tips against the tabletop again. “Zab, this impacts more than just you. This impacts your record deal, your management, your fans, your networking, your-” “Oh, I’m sorry,” he scoffed, “I forgot that I’m the one who was fucked over and now I have to forgive him to keep everyone in the world happy but myself.” “Zabdiel-” Ali began, possibly intending to soothe him but sounding gruff and exasperated. He roared out his interruption. “So now I have to not only make decisions about my family and my life, but my reaction about him has the band hanging in the balance? Sounds fair to me.” “You’re right, pollito, that’s not fair,” Clara murmured apologetically. “Todavia tenemos que hablar, todos nosotros juntos,” Richard said beneath his breath, but loud enough in the silence. Erick’s eyes were darting back and forth, watching the tense tennis match of banter across the table. Joel hadn’t even looked up. Zabdiel was frighteningly quiet when he finally spoke. “My career, what I’ve worked my life for, now is at risk because my best friend and wife betrayed me. My life is not my own. My family is not my own. Everything is out of my hands while you’re saying everything is my decision to make.” Ali opened her mouth, abnormally ginger, but snapped it shut when the doorknob slowly turned and the man in question carefully slipped through the small gap between. He hesitated in shutting the door behind him, contemplating if he needed it slightly open as an easier escape route. Richard straightened his shoulders, stiffening and preparing to jump between the two. Clara stood, her arms up as if to hold the two apart, although still distanced. “Chris, entra. Sientate.” His eyes focused on Zabdiel’s white-knuckled fists as if ready to jump back out, but clicked the latch of the door shut behind him and sat directly across the table from his raging friend. Clara clicked the lid of her travel mug shut. “Okay, we all understand that massive things have happened that impacts not only you two and your relationship with each other, but how the band is supposed to continue on from here. Now I know that you two haven’t discussed any of this, and there’s obviously things that need to be addressed. But I know that you both are mature enough to understand this and-” “Ese puto? Obviamente no,” Zabdiel snarled. “Silencio,” Clara hissed in his direction. Zabdiel’s teeth visibly began grinding together but he allowed Clara to continue. “And,” she went on, “You both need to set the ground rules before we know how any of us can proceed.” “Pendejo, hijo de fucking puta,” Zabdiel grumbled. “Oye!” Clara exclaimed. “Bastante! You can be pissed, but stop being so aggressive! It won’t get us anywhere!” Zabdiel shot up, his knuckles still white with his palms flat on the table. “How am I the aggressor when this animal is the one at fault? You treat him like he’s fragile when none of this would be happening if he hadn’t taken advantage of all of us.” Clara’s eyes were understanding, but still attempting to be firm. “Zab, ya lo sabemos, pero te tienes que callar.” He slowly started to sink back down into the chair behind him. Chris stammered, “E-en realidad, yo-” Zabdiel shot immediately back up. “Que fucking mentiroso!” Clara finally screamed. “Enough!” All eyes widened and turned intently towards her. Only Joel remained transfixed on his hands. “Do you care at all about the band?” she questioned, her voice audibly cracking. “Do you want your career as CNCO to continue?” The fire in Zabdiel’s eyes calmed and the tremors of Chris’ shoulders slowed. “You two have to decide if you can agree on where we all go from here. This is all up to you. We can’t be involved. And it’s easier if we’re not. Come on, guys, everyone except them.” Everyone rose out of their seats and went to follow her, but she stared Zabdiel down one more time. “You already beat him up once. When we’re gone, don’t try it again.” Zabdiel’s eyes shifted to his enemy across the table. “He’s not worth the time it would take to wash the blood off of my hands.” “Zab,” Ali barked, “seriously.” His fingers still shook with rage but he obeyed and sat back down. Chris hesitantly pulled the chair before him out and sat across from Zabdiel, still eyeing the exit. Ali sighed. “You both have to solve this together. We’re here to support you, but you both have to talk.” Clara held the door for everyone to exit, watching the two of them intently. “We love you. Text me when you’re done discussing.” Quietly shutting the door, she turned to Ali. “Sit right here and listen in. Use your judgment- if there’s only arguing, let them talk, but if it sounds like it’s getting too intense, you call Jose to get in there to break them up and call me to come back.” Her attention turned to the Dominican and Cuban in front of her. “You guys, go grab a coffee downstairs and hang in the interview space to just clear your heads.” The last of the group seemed to have already made it halfway to the elevators when Clara shouted his name. “Joel!” His attention turned to her and she pointed to the empty conference room across the hall. “In here. Now.” Joel shut the door behind him and didn’t even look Clara in the eyes before he sunk down into the first available chair. Infuriated more by his lack of focus, her attitude leapt to its heights. “What the hell is the matter with you?” He clicked the fingertips of his right hand against the tabletop while his left hand cupped his cheek and elbow supported the weight of his head. He almost looked bored and unaffected by the surrounding conflict, but Clara knew him too well to believe that facade. “What the hell is the matter with you?” He shifted and finally met her eyes before rolling his own to interject, but her voice sounded over his scoffing. “You’re all my boys, but don’t think I don’t have a code with your mujeres and know what happened with Kaja. And don’t think for a fucking minute that I don’t see through you acting like you don’t give a fuck because this is breaking you and you’re trying to be alone so you can implode in peace.” His stoic expression flickered to shock and back to guarded, transparent to only the woman who stood before him. “Clara, I’ve got my own shit to handle rather than be here for shit that doesn’t affect me.” She laughed and slammed her mug down. “You think that this doesn’t affect you? This is the band that you all fought for, and that band became a family. Now that two of them have had a falling out, that affects the rest of you. This affects your future, your career. How do you think that doesn’t affect you?” He almost snarled like an animal at the blunt attack. “So why don’t you focus on them and how to keep the group together rather than worrying about me and my personal life?” Her eyes went alight at his ferocity, but the lioness that she was wouldn’t allow her to back down. “Why are you telling off the only people who want to help you through this?” He kicked his feet up on the chair beside him and crossed his arms across his chest. “I don’t need help. I can fall back on my own. All this happened without me being a part of it, they don’t need my help, so I don’t need anyone else’s.” She nearly growled. “And then you have a woman who not only loves you but is,” she stopped to emphasize her words by slamming the back of her hand against her other palm with each syllable, “preg. nant. by. you, you want to suffer alone and make her feel worse? When you need support you push her away?” She kicked the chair beneath his feet backwards to force him to sit straight and she leaned over the table to have them eye to eye. “Look, you can be unnerved by this, you can be hurt and confused, but she doesn’t deserve to deal with you having a tantrum. You gave her a ring promising her your life together. You made the choice to create a family with her, intentional or not.” He pulled uncomfortably on the sleeves of his hoodie sleeves, his arms still protectively across his chest. “I’m not a toddler. I’m not having a tantrum. I didn’t see us working so I ended it. It wasn’t meant to work. None of this seems to. As far as the rest of it, I’m not stressed. They need to do what they need to do. I’m not bothered.” Clara pushed herself up off her place leaning over the table and scoffed. “Really? Because you don’t seem to even realize - you not trying to feel anything is because you’re too hurt to function. If you want to live in your little isolated bubble to try and get through this, that’s your choice, but I’m telling you that if you don’t rectify this now, you are going to be the one that destroys your chance at having love in your life when she could be the one to prove your theory wrong.” Not having a retort for her point, he sat unmoving, staring absently at the window on the opposite wall. She picked up her mug and began to storm out of the room, muttering almost more to herself than him. “I just hope you haven’t hurt her enough to already have lost her. And haven’t pushed us all away enough in the meantime for us all to be done with your shit.”

feedback is always appreciated. chapter 14 already in progress because quarantine has me held up.

stay safe and healthy, guys.

#cnco fanfiction #cnco fanfic #cnco fanfics #cnco fic #cnco imagine #cnco

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