"Would you some tea, Mamá?" Coco asked as she held a small plastic teapot.

"Why, yes," Imelda replied, playing along as she held her own teacup.

Coco tilted the teapot, making it look as if she were pouring tea into her mother's cup. She then put the teapot down and clapped her hands, grabbing another small teacup and clanking it against her mother's.

Imelda smiled at her daughter. No matter how each day started out, one thing was certain – if anyone could make it better, it was little Coco.

"Mamá…" Coco started, putting her teacup down. "…have you noticed something strange?"

Imelda stared at Coco, a little surprised at the girl's question. "…yes, I have."

"Oh, okay." Coco picked up her teacup once more. "Because Tío's been acting weird…" She paused. "…and Papá doesn't usually let work get in the way of family – at least, that's what he told me before; he wouldn't put work before his familia, but…" Coco stopped once more. "I don't know… it's all strange…"

Imelda continued to stare at her daughter, soaking in every word the child had said. She didn't expect such a mature tone from the child. Eventually, she replied with, "Yes, it is strange."

"…I'm sorry," Coco apologized, beginning to fiddle with her thumbs. "I didn't mean to ruin the tea party."

"Oh, no – no, no, no." Imelda shook her head quickly. "It's fine, mi hija. You are allowed to say whatever is on your mind."

"Okay," Coco mumbled quietly.

It didn't take too long for Héctor to regret agreeing to the deal – or blackmail, whatever fit the situation best. Either way, Héctor kept looking back on the days when he actually had freedom – when he was able to object to anything wrong, when he was allowed to go home; all of the times he'd be able to do anything on a free will. And now, he was stuck with a fraud who he had once thought of as a friend.

Héctor merely watched as Ernesto went through his papers – papers containing lyrics for the songs he wrote; lyrics that were now being stolen.

"Ah, perfecto," Ernesto whispered, turning to the other man. "After our next performance, my legacy will begin. And, in a way, it'll all be because of you."

"But you're not even going to give me decent credit, are you?" Héctor asked quietly. "All I'll ever be known as is your guitarist, in the public's eye."

"Well, yes – but it's not like you were really that charming to begin with," Ernesto said bluntly. "A face like yours, on a poster? With a hooked nose like that? You're better off being in the background."

"I may not be the most handsome man in Mexico, but at least I don't play music just to gain fame," Héctor retorted. "And, I don't resort to plagiarism for the sake of attracting a crowd."

"It's not plagiarism," Ernesto argued. "I'm just…borrowing the songs, and the credit."

"I thought borrowing things didn't involve nearly fracturing one's ribcage," Héctor scoffed.

"Oh, quit your whining." Ernesto glared at Héctor. "Your bones are in place, and you're still alive – and no harm has come to your family. So if I were you, I'd get rid of this attitude of yours."

Héctor gritted his teeth as his eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't have this attitude in the first place if you weren't blackmailing me right now."

Having enough of the man's attitude, Ernesto backhanded his 'friend' across the face. "He tenido suficiente de tu actitud, Héctor!" he hissed. "Si quieres que tu preciosa niña y tu dama permanezcan ilesas, entonces deja de actuar como una perra."

Héctor rubbed the sore parts of his face for a moment, before he glared at Ernesto. "Fine," he muttered. "Pero no creas que voy a ser una presa fácil, mientras cantas una versión bastarda de 'Un Poco Loco' durante la próxima actuación."

"Mi amigo, ya eres la presa," Ernesto said, laughing a little. "Una vez más, he demostrado que soy más dominante que tú."

'That's where you're wrong,' Héctor thought to himself as he watched Ernesto continue to laugh. 'The one with true dominance is the one who doesn't back down easily. So, laugh while you can, because one day, you'll get what you really deserve.'