Ramon Salazar

Mary Anne accepts the bottle, putting this one down on the coffee table with an almost exaggerated level of care. Wouldn't do to have this one smash as well.

Tequila secured, she makes a dismissive noise. "Martin wouldn't lose it, would you, kiddo?"

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Martin's life involves lots of "not talking back". It also involves lots of agreeing with people.

The appropriate response here, it seems, is to bury his face in the Kitty's side and not say anything.

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Ramon sees it as he starts sweeping up glass (totally neglecting to wipe up the puddle of tequila first, naturally) and it makes him stop what he's doing.

Shit.

It's important right now, in his head, to not let Martin be sad. Random wouldn't like it. So the brush is dropped and Ramon reaches down to him, picking him up and trying to move the cat away from his face with a gentle push.

'Whass' matter, filho?'

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"Won't talk back."

He informs Ramon, seriously,

"Won't lose kitty, either."

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'I didn't say you were talking back, Martin.'

He doesn't get why the boy would be so defensive about it, not recognising really that it's his behaviour towards him that's made him so.

'And you've been very good about not losing the toy.'

A half-smile, and he sets the boy back down next to Mary Anne. He glances to her, and shrugs a little.

'He's a pretty quiet kid.'

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"So was I. Maybe it's an only child thing."

She looks back down at Martin, smiling faintly. "He's a good kid, though."

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Ramon nods, looking at the child.

'Yeah, he is.'

He's not mine though. Never that.

He picks up the brush again and takes a stab at sweeping again, somewhat subdued.

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He smiles a little at both adults, and then watches the clean-up.

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Ramon does his best - which means that shoes will have to be worn in the house for at least another week - and stows the broom away, then heads to the kitchen and fetches Martin a drink and a few bags of chips, for Mary Anne and the kid to eat. He's not sending him back to bed yet.

'Here.' He tosses a bag to her. 'And go ahead and open that bottle if you like, I'm still thirsty.'

Martin is picked up and Ramon sits down with him on his knee. Making an effort is easier when drunk and chilled.

'You been back to Vietnam recently?'

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She cracks the bottle open and refills both their glasses.

She shakes her head. "God, I haven't been back in...two months. I snuck home for a little while with Gorlim about two months ago."

The realization is a little stunning; she soothes the shock with a little more tequila.

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'Gorlim went to Vietnam? Huh.'

He picks up his drink, takes a sip, and eyes the child he's holding.

'Want to try a bit, Martin? It'll put you off for life.'

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"'s for daddies."

He informs Ramon, with a yawn,

"Not for Bugs."

And then, in the way of kids,

"Is she a daddy?"

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There is a strangle sort of noise as when tequila goes down the wrong pipe, followed by a small coughing fit.

"Erm...not so much, sunshine. I'm...What the hell am I, người yêu?"

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Ramon fixes her with a look that clearly says, thanks a bunch and turns to the boy.

'No. Women aren't fathers. They're...mothers.'

...ow.

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"Oh."

He considers that for a while.

"For mothers and daddies."

Martin has had books read to him. He knows what mothers are for.

They're for falling asleep in the lap of. Its a tiiiiiiired Bug. So he crawls into her lap and passes out.

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Ramon watches him, a little bemused, a little subdued. He'd been worried for a moment there, that awkward questions were about to be asked. It's fine though, and he just stares at the face so like Random's for a moment, before sighing and lighting another cigarette.

'If you don't want him there, I'll put him back to bed.'

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She stares at the kid for a moment, almost as if she's afraid he'll break, before answering Ramon.

"No, no...he's fine. When my legs start falling asleep, then we'll worry about it."

She brushes one hand very lightly across his hair before reclaiming her glass and taking a sip.

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'He likes people.'

Ramon carries on watching him, not looking at her at all, drinking steadily. He's not planning on stopping tonight.

'It's better for him here than on Haven. More things to do.'

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"Mhm."

She makes a soft noise of agreement.

He watches the kid. She watches him. Another sip of tequila.

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It's warm here. Portugal is, in the summer, though there's a nice breeze off the ocean. And his head's heavy from the liquor, the room's calm. If he looks at the boy long enough, it's almost like seeing Random there,

(head in a woman's lap, sleeping peacefully)

and Mary Anne's presence fades away a little.

He runs his hand over his face. Drink, smoke, smoke, drink. Life goes on, even if it sucks.

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She leans her head back against the couch cushions and God if this isn't weird, sitting next to him and drunker than hell with Random's son sleeping on her lap, but weird is good, weird is just fine.

"Missed you", she sighs, even if it's a stupid thing to say. She rinses the taste of the words from her mouth with another, longer drink.

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He blinks and glances up at her, swimming back to focus.

'I didn't go anywhere.'

No rancour in his tone. He just sounds a bit out of it.

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"I know you didn't. Well, you did, but that was a long time ago. Still, wasn't the same."

She shakes her head. "Doesn' matter. S'alright."

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