Chapter Text
Mirabel likes to wander Casita at night. Mainly the rooftop.
Especially the rooftop, which she’s sure is going to be the cause of why Dolores will eventually have a stroke before she can even reach her twenty-second birthday.
(“Can’t you just…stay on the ground?” Dolores had asked one day, hands wringing anxiously in front of her, wide eyes locked onto Mirabel. “Like a normal person?”
“A normal person?” Mirabel had repeated.
Dolores nodded sagely. “…Yes, a normal person. Normal people really like the ground.”)
Safe to say that Mirabel has never been normal and ended up on the rooftop again that very night, head tilted back to count the stars, legs dangling dangerously over the ledge. And almost every night after that, too.
The point is, Mirabel likes to wander. It calms her, lets the stress fall away from her shoulders. It helps her pretend the way the world around her isn’t the way it is; that she’s not the only one different in her familia. On the rooftop, she doesn’t have to be Mirabel Madrigal, The Only One Without A Gift. She’s just a girl looking up at the stars, none of her problems able to reach her from up there.
…Which probably isn’t very healthy. But, whatever.
Probably better than Isabela’s apparent coping mechanism which was holing herself up in the kitchen and stress eating peanut butter out of the jar as silent tears run down her face in the middle of the night. Mirabel pauses, having followed the soft cries that she had heard from the rooftop, hovering in the doorway.
Why are you crying? Mirabel considers asking. Are you okay? Do you need me to get mamà? Are you hurt? Are you dying?
Then, Isabela happens to look up and she freezes when they both make eye contact.
“Dandy morning we’re having, huh?” Mirabel ends up blurting out.
Isabela blinks at her, eyes still wet. She slowly lowers the spoon with the glob of peanut butter on it, clearly stunned.
“The sun is beautiful today,” Mirabel continues, because she always rambles when she’s nervous. She studiously does not acknowledge that the sun is, in fact, not out yet. “Very clear weather.”
Outside, thunder rumbles suddenly. Tía Pepa must be having a nightmare.
Mirabel winces.
Isabela’s face twists. “What are you doing up?”
“I’m always up,” Mirabel answers. “I like the rooftop.”
Isabela’s eyes widen, momentarily losing the rising anger in them. “The rooftop?”
“Sí, it’s very nice up there,” Mirabel brushes off, then steps forward cautiously like one would approach a wild animal’s enclosure. “But…why are you all?” She gestures to everything going on with Isabela because she’s not too sure what to call it.
Isabela stiffens. The spoon of peanut butter is now set completely on the table as she pushes away the jar as if trying to act like she hadn’t just been inhaling it while sobbing like a maniac. “Nothing,” she says.
Mirabel raises her eyebrows slowly in a dramatic fashion she’s seen Abuela do hundreds of times at her. She evidently gets the look down because Isabela wavers slightly, a small crack in her armor before she sneers at her again, lips pulling into a snarl. “What?” Isabela spits out, narrow-eyed and angry. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I don’t know, why are you stress eating peanut butter in the middle of the night, Señorita Perfecta?” Mirabel asks sarcastically.
Isabela scowls. “Don’t call me that.”
“Oh?” Mirabel asks, a hint of delight in her voice at having found a way to get under her prickly eldest hermana’s skin. “Call you what?” She smiles sweetly, “Señorita Perfecta?”
“I’m warning you, Mirabel—”
“Warning me about what?” Mirabel’s sweet little grin turns shark-like, “Señorita Perfecta?”
Isabela slams her hands down and gets up from her seat, pink roses and bluebells sprouting along the table under her hands. “Mirabel!” she snaps. “You don’t want to start that shit with me right now.”
“Oooo, Señorita Perfecta is cussing now, huh? Haven’t heard that in years ever since Abuela said—”
She should’ve expected it, but she still coughs and sputters as a mouthful of flowers slap her in the face. Mirabel reels back, waving her hands before she brushes them off, turning her glare towards a suddenly smug Isabela. Mirabel huffs but slinks over, tossing herself into the chair beside Isabela’s, leaning forward.
Isabela’s face sours and she presses a hand to Mirabel’s forehead, shoving her back, “Ew, why are you so close to me?”
Mirabel smacks her hand away and leans in closer anyways. “Come onnnn, Isa,” she whines, pouting. “Tell me what ails you, oh so perfect child of our abuela’s eyes.”
Isabela scoffs and rolls her eyes.
“The morning glory of Abuela’s affection,” Mirabel continues on dramatically. “What does dow be the cause of your withering petals?”
Isabela narrows her eyes at her. “Did you take something?” She observes Mirabel closer. “Did Ricardo show you his back building filled with his assortment of…special plants?”
“No, the only thing I’m on is two hours of sleep and my crippling anxiety,” Mirabel quips before pausing, side eyeing Isabela. “Though, I do want to know how you know about Ricardo’s side hustle.”
“Well, how do you know, Mirabelita?”
“…Touché.” Mirabel brushes off that knowledge — she had been certain only she knew about Ricardo’s fun little plants towards the outer edge of the Encanto; well, besides the people he sold to discreetly. “Come on, Isa, you might as well tell me. I’ll just keep bothering you until you do, and neither of us want that, do we?”
“You can be annoying,” Isabela notes, which, rude, but true. Mirabel’s aware of this fact because she does it on purpose if she thinks she can use that to get what she wants. And it usually works. Dolores had mumbled something about ‘youngest privileges’ or something like that.
“Yes, I am soooo annoying,” Mirabel agrees because she knows she’ll get her way if she does. “So, if you don’t want me to annoy you then you should tell me. Because I will do it. I’ll annoy you alllll day tomorrow, and then the next day and the next day after that and then the next one after that one, too, and the one after all of those nexts and—”
“Oh-kay!” Isabela interrupts, rubbing at her temples like she’s already getting a headache. “I get it. You can shut up now.” Mirabel quiets down and stares at her, waiting. Isabela looks at her, then lets out a low sigh, glancing away again. “I…it’s Mariano.”
Mirabel blinks, surprised. A thousand different scenarios rush through her mind and there’s a part of her that’s worried she’s going to have to go steal Camilo’s baseball bat and go knocking on Mariano’s door in the middle of the night for a talk. Which would be really unfortunate because she actually likes Mariano.
Isabela mumbles something and Mirabel frowns, leaning in closer. “What’d you say?”
“I said I don’t want marry him!” Isabela snaps suddenly, causing Mirabel to jump as Isabela leans away and crosses her arms defensively.
Mirabel gawks at her, baffled. “…Then why are you?”
Isabela shrugs and picks imaginary lint off her silk pajamas. “Because Abuela wants me to.”
“So?”
Isabela looks back at her, confused. “…What do you mean so?”
Mirabel shrugs this time. “I mean,” she stresses, also leaning back in her chair casually, “that it’s your life so if you don’t want to marry him, then you don’t have to.”
Isabela stares at her like the concept is entirely foreign. “You want me to go against Abuela’s wishes?” A deep breath suddenly. “Are you fucking insane?!”
“I’ve been told that,” Mirabel notes, which is entirely true. Once, the owner of the town’s fabric shop, Valeria, had found Mirabel parkouring around on the top of the building’s rooftops. She had yelled the exact same thing Isabela had. “Besides, do you really want to force yourself to marry Mariano if you don’t want to? You’d have to be with him, like, all the time. Every day.”
Isabela’s face sours which shows that she does not, in fact, want to be with him every second of every day. Which also proves Mirabel’s point.
“I can’t just tell Abuela that I don’t want to marry him,” Isabela mutters.
Mirabel closes her eyes in a frustrated way. She lets out a slow sigh. “Fine, I’ll figure something out.”
Isabela squints at her. “You’re going to help me?”
Mirabel opens her eyes and grins. “That’s what hermanas are for.” Isabela blinks, considering this — Mirabel can’t tell what she’s thinking, which is really and typically annoying.
“…How are you doing to help me?”
Mirabel’s grin widens and, oh, yeah Isabela is doing that I-regret-all-of-my-life-choices look.
“Oh, I’ll think of something,” Mirabel waves off and smirks. “I’m a great detective.” She stands up from her chair and reaches out, patronizingly patting Isabela’s head, who levels her a venomous glare like she’s imagining the different ways she would like to kill her. “Don’t you worry, Isa, your situation is in the hands of a professional.”
Mirabel turns on her heels and walks off towards the staircase to go back to her room. She has investigating to do and she needs more sleep to function properly.
Isabela, watching Mirabel go, sighs heavily and smacks her forehead against the table.
“…What have I done?” she whispers in regret.
__
The next morning, Mirabel chugs three cups of coffee consecutively and manages to get at least two concerned, blanching looks from every single member of her family. Including her abuela.
A world record. She is clearly on a roll today already.
She barely manages to spit out, “La Familia Madrigal!” with the rest of them before she sprints away, chair almost clattering to the floor with the abrupt way she literally shot out of it, leaving everyone in the dust.
(“Juli, what did you put in her food?” Pepa mutters in unadulterated shock.
“Just…cheese. And sugar,” Julieta answers, wide eyed. Isabela lets her face fall into her hands, regretting every life decision she’s made to get to this point.
Camilo reaches for the coffee on the table like he also wants speed superpowers before Dolores slaps his hand away. “If you act like that, Antonio and I will be down a sibling,” she threatens.
Camilo pouts.)
Mirabel spends the day observing (read: being stalkerish) and watching Mariano go about his day. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to do…anything exciting. He just lingers around the markets, helps his abuelos, helps someone carry their groceries, helps someone fix their fence, helps the cat stuck in one of the trees. He just…helps everyone. And, when he’s not doing that, he’s scribbling in his notebook and she hears him muttering Shakespeare under his breath.
There’s one point when Isabela finally meets up with him and Mirabel pays extra attention. And wow, how has nobody seen how bored Isabela looks when Mariano is spouting poetry at her? The only time that glazed look in her eyes leave is when she spots Mirabel over Mariano’s shoulder watching them and then Isabela’s face contorts into a subtle glare.
The sun begins to lower slowly in the sky as evening drones forward and Mirabel hasn’t found anything that could help them. “Ugh, this is pointless!” she mutters to herself, slumping against the wall where she’s totally not being creepy and watching her sister and the boyfriend she doesn’t even want converse with each other (read: Mariano talking at Isabela while Isabela nods and hums when she needs to, clearly daydreaming).
It’s been like this all day long, she’s not sure how much more she could take of this.
“If I hear one more poetry line about Señorita Perfecta’s ‘glossy, luxurious hair’, I’m going to lose it,” Mirabel seethes to herself.
“What about Isa’s hair?”
“Gah!” Mirabel yelps, jumping in place and whirling around to find Luisa behind her, staring at her in curiosity. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
Luisa raises an eyebrow. “I called your name, sis.”
“Oh,” Mirabel mumbles and then tries to save herself, “Are you sure you did?”
Luisa snorts, a slow amused smile creeping on her face. “Pretty sure.” She peeks over Mirabel and towards the market. “What are you looking at?”
“What?” Mirabel blurts out. “What makes you think I was looking at anything?” She turns and searches for Isabela and Mariano, but they’re gone. “Shit, where’d they go?”
“Not looking at anything, huh?” Luisa prompts teasingly. “But, seriously, what are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Mirabel deflects and walks out from her hiding spot, trotting through the market in search of Isabela and Mariano.
“Doesn’t look like nothing.” Luisa is very clearly following her, much to her quiet frustration — usually, Mirabel would love to spend time with her hermana, but she’s busy right now. She’s got a marriage to stop and a relationship to break up.
“Fine, I’m on a mission,” Mirabel answers distractedly. “A very, very important mission— shit, get down!” she hisses, grabbing Luisa and yanking them both behind a carriage when she finds Isabela and Mariano, both having glanced over in their direction. “Did they see us?”
Luisa peeks over the carriage. “Who? Mariano and Isa?”
“Yeah, did they see us?”
“I don’t think Mariano did, but Isa’s glaring at us right now,” Luisa answers.
“Crap,” Mirabel mutters. “How pissed is she?” She glances up with Luisa and, yeah, Isabela is dragging a subtle finger across her throat. “Oh, that’s a death threat.”
“Can I ask why you’re spying on our hermana and her novio?” Luisa says.
Mirabel huffs and slides down back out of view, sitting on the ground. “I’m on a mission,” she repeats before she pauses, finally taking in the state Luisa is in. “Um. Are you okay?”
Luisa reels back. “What? Obviously. Why? Do I not look okay?” she stammers suspiciously.
Mirabel narrows her eyes. “You look like you’ve been hit by a train, punted into the sky, smacked into a flock of birds, pancaked back to earth, and then rained on with acid.”
“I’ve been busy,” Luisa defends.
“Okayyy,” Mirabel drawls out. “Have you taken a break?”
“Wha—pffttt, of course I have,” Luisa says.
“Lu?”
“Yeah?”
“Your eye’s twitching,” Mirabel deadpans.
“No it’s not,” Luisa says, eye twitching more sporadically. She stands up swiftly. “I think someone called my name.”
“I didn’t hear—”
“Bye, Mira. Have fun with your stalking,” Luisa says before quite literally running off.
Mirabel stares at her retreating figure in disbelief before shaking her head. She’s not sure what exactly is going on with Luisa. Honestly, do both of her sisters have problems she needs to solve? Seriously?
She turns back to where Mariano and Isabela are standing, only to find it empty again. Mirabel sighs and thunks her head against the carriage.
“Shit.”
__
A hand grabs Mirabel by the collar of her shirt and yanks her away before she could enter the dining room for la cena later. She squawks before instantly swinging on the aggressor, landing a hit on the solar plexus, making them immediately let go with a choking wheeze. She whirls around and finds Isabela doubled over, hands clutching her abdomen.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Mirabel blurts out hurriedly, grabbing Isabela by the shoulders to keep her from keeling over onto the floor.
“Are you kidding me,” Isabela manages to get out. “Why was your instinct to hit me?”
“Too many people try to grab me from behind,” Mirabel defends automatically.
Isabela’s pained face contorts into something resembling concern. “What? Who is—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Mirabel interrupts. She is not talking about the bullies running rampant in the Encanto. Especially not with Isabela of all people. “Why did you drag me here anyways?”
“Did you think of anything to help with…you know,” Isabela says vaguely. She manages to straighten up, though she grimaces every now and then from being punched. “Considering you spent the day stalking me.”
“I wasn’t stalking anyone,” Mirabel sputters. “I was…observing.”
Isabela rolls her eyes. “Okay, then did you think of anything while you were ‘observing’ all day?”
“…Well, no.”
Isabela tossed her hands in the air. “Why did I even ask you?”
The words, though not sharp and barbed, still cut even if Isabela doesn’t seem to realize it. Mirabel presses her lips together, shoulders tensing. “It’s only been a day,” she says, scowling and hiding the hurt behind frustration. “Just give me some time. I’ll think of something.”
“Sure.” The dismissiveness stings, but it’s worse as Isabela’s face crumbles into something like despair. Like she’s accepted that she’s going to dive head first into marriage with someone she doesn’t even love because she’s too scared of their abuela’s opinion than stand up for herself.
“Isa,” Mirabel begins, not sure what she’s going to say, how she can fix anything, but she hates that look on her hermana’s face, “I—”
“La cena is ready!” their mamá’s voice calls out loudly.
And then, like a switch, Isabela contorts her face into something resembling aired control — lips curling into a perfect smile as she fixes her hair so not a strand is out of place. Mirabel watches her wordlessly as Isabela turns on her heels and strides out towards the dining room. Mirabel follows after her after a small moment and slides into her chair, their family already there.
Mirabel glances over all of them. How many were wearing masks to hide behind? Was everyone at the table cowering behind perfect smiles, perfect lines to say to appease their abuela? Her eyes slide towards the head of the table. What about their abuela? Was Alma also hiding behind a mask?
She remembers her own bright smiles to hide the sadness lingering inside her — a hollowness that has followed her since her fifth birthday. She remembers how she adds a prep she doesn’t feel to her voice to mask the never ending grief.
Maybe everyone in Familia Madrigal really was wearing masks to hide behind.
Mirabel guesses and, even without having a Gift, they all really are the same deep down, huh?
__
Mirabel trudges towards her room after the day is over, mind whirling with a thousand thoughts. Thoughts of herself, of her family, of Isabela and the upcoming proposal they all know is going to happen sooner rather than later, of Luisa and how work trodden she was when Mirabel saw her earlier in the day.
Of how Mirabel can’t seem to be able to help them.
She’s interrupted by a voice murmuring softly. Mirabel pauses and glances over to find the window open, Dolores leaning against it gently, eyes casted somewhere that Mirabel can’t see.
“—my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have,” Dolores quotes, “for both are infinite.”
Mirabel comes to a halt. Is that…Shakespeare? Mirabel looks more closely at her prima and Dolores’ eyes aren’t glazed, they look lovesick.
Oh my god, Mirabel realizes. Shakespeare? Lovesick?
She only knows one person who she could be quoting with.
__
Mirabel barges into Isabela’s room, throwing the door open.
“Mirabel!” Isabela shouts in shocked outrage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing—”
“I’ve found the solution to your problem,” Mirabel blurts out.