A/N: Do you ever have that feeling where you have no ideas one minute, then the next, something comes to you? That's what happened to me. These'll be oneshots, not chapters. Some of them will relate to my other stories, some completely separate.

I hope everyone enjoys this fanfic. Reviews appreciated!


"What do you think?" Ceci asks Héctor as she watches him look at the mariachi suit that was made for him.

Héctor laughs. "I love it!"

Ceci shakes her head, happy that he likes her work. She points to one of the dressing rooms. "Go get ready," she tells him. "The concert starts in half an hour."

Héctor laughs again, obeying her orders. Ceci smiles at him.

It'd been a year since Ernesto's crimes were exposed and Héctor was given the attention he deserved. This was going to be another one of his shows, and Ceci had promised to make a suit for him. She liked that he was doing this again. She missed watching him perform for others.

Ceci keeps her eyes on the dressing room door, hearing Héctor's excited giggles.

Suddenly she hears Frida's voice: "Bad idea, Ceci."

Ceci whips around. "Don't do that!" she yells. "You scared me!"

Frida shakes her head and points to the closed door. "You are going to get him pulverized," she says, crossing her arms.

"He wanted it," Ceci argues, staring at her, "and it's his decision, not yours."

Frida sighs. "The last time he wore something like that, Ernesto's amigos went phsyco on him."

"Why are you making a big deal out of it?" Ceci asks, trying to shove the memory of Héctor's terrified face out her head.

"Because I don't want to see them doing it again," Frida answers.

Ceci smiles. "It won't," she says reassuringly, "I know it won't. And also, he's worn suits like before."

Frida smiles as well. "I guess. I trust the two of you."

Ceci thanks her just as Héctor steps out.

"What do you think?" he asks.

Ceci nods in approval. "Looks amazing," she forces out, giving Frida a look.

Héctor grins. "You coming? You said you wanted to watch."

"I do," Ceci replies. "Give me a moment."

Héctor shrugs and turns to leave.

Frida clicks her nonexsistant tounge. "If we weren't already dead, they'd kill him."

Ceci glares at her, trying to mask her growing worry.

She remembers Héctor's words: How can they not love mariachi suits like this?

"Because they're not like you," Ceci mutters under her breath as she walks toward the stage.