latino_menace | OOM: Talk

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OOM: Talk

It's felt awkward, to him. And he's kept his distance seeing as she was obviously upset and didn't want to talk about it anymore. He's confused, because he thought he was offering her what she wanted, and a bit put out that she dismissed the idea out of hand. Or so it seemed to him.

So he'd gone for a swim and read a book and almost took the boat out but, in the end, didn't. And now it's evening and he has another book, which he's skimming through on the sofa in the lounge. Another warm evening, no sound out there but the waves and breeze. This place is getting too quiet for him.

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She just nods.

You had to know this could happen, Fiona. The devices you build, they're blood thirsty little bastards, and they don't know the difference between an armoured car and a school bus. And they don't care. So why should you?"

She stands abruptly, collecting his dish and hers and heading back into the kitchen.

He picks his book up again, thinking they're done with talking about it for now. And quite relieved about it really, even though he's not going to be happy until he gets the answer he wants.

And he's not sure why he wants it so badly. A mark of ownership, perhaps. He had meant it in the hot tub last night, when he'd told her she'd never take another man as long as she lived. Giving her his children would ensure that.

But it's more than that. He doesn't want to see her go and if she's going to stay, he wants her to be happy. She wants kids and he wants another son. He has a new life, thanks to Milliways, and there will be a new empire to build once he sorts out the mess back home. He's long since given up on his current children being any use.

It's maybe ten minutes before he notices that she hasn't come back. And that's unusual for her so he gets up and wanders into the kitchen, stopping to refill his glass along the way. He leans on the doorframe and watches her a moment, seeing that something's up in the way she's holding herself and trying to think what it could be now.

'What's wrong, Fiona?'

She turns, a little too quickly, and there's a hunted look on her face. She gives him a brittle smile and goes back to drying the dishes, one shoulder rising and falling in a little shrug.

"You just -- shook my whole world up. That's all."

'Thought I did that all the time.'

He smirks but he had noticed the too-quick movement. And by now, he knows her body language anyway.

'There's something you're not telling me.'

She laughs a little, clearly struggling to keep it light.

"Tragedy struck this afternoon in the West Farrington Road. An explosion from an IRA bomb struck a school bus and killed five children, wounding twelve others."

"It's --"

"Sources tell us that the target was an armoured car delivering five million pounds to the Allied Bank, and that the school children were not the intended targets."

She sets the dishes very carefully in the drainer and tucks the towel over the rail to dry.

"The police are looking for anyone with information connected to the bombing or to the terrorist organisation responsible."

"I'm not supposed to have kids. I gave up that right a life time ago."

'Why?'

He doesn't move closer on purpose. He needs her to stand there and talk to him, not hold on to him and cry. At least not until he finds out what the real problem is here.

She swallows and her gaze focuses on something in the middle distance.

"There was a bank job. Armoured car on a schedule, hadn't varied their route in weeks. Device was on a long timer, five to fifteen minutes. And they'd spotted the car, turning into the main road. They armed it, placed it in the street like we'd talked about a thousand times. Only..."

She takes a breath, closes her eyes and she's there.

"The bus driver had emerged from a side alley. Clever bastard thought he had a short cut. Only he cut off our target. And the bomb went off too early."

'So you blew up a bus instead.'

Connections click together.

'And there were kids in it?'

She nods, eyes still closed, the fine lines of her face showing her age under the harsh lights in the kitchen.

"It was a school bus. Five killed, twelve injured."

He's silent a long moment, just drinking his tequila and watching her. There are many things he could say but, as he usually does, in the end he just goes for the truth.

'I don't understand why that takes away your right to have children.'

He doesn't say it casually, as such. More curious than anything. But it should be clear that he's not, in any way, disgusted or appalled by this news. He knows that might disgust and appal her but at this stage in their relationship, he's not going to pretend to be anything other than what he is.

'By that rationale, I should never have had any. By that rationale, my oldest deserved what he got.'

At the mention of Emanuel, she winces, a line of tension contracting in her body. She turns her head away so he can't see her face.

"The children shouldn't have to pay for our crimes. We're the ones who chose this life. We're the ones who should pay. Not them."

It's not a rationale, maybe he can tell. It's something more than that. A self-imposed exile. A hair shirt she thought she'd laid down many years ago, only to discover the wounds are just as fresh as if they'd been opened yesterday.

"Emanuel..." Her voice breaks.

He blinks and looks away.

'What about him?'

No, they shouldn't have to pay for their crimes. But he only feels that in relation to his son. Other random children - they're just collateral, like anyone else. He's reminded of what he did to the daughter of the man who tortured his boy to death, and feels no remorse.

"I wish..." She pauses for a long moment, want the words to be clear, and not distorted with emotion (rage, determination, helplessness).

"Ramon, I wish he was the child I could give you. Even if he isn't my child. I feel like, if I could save him, I could save all of them."

I could save us.

He blinks. That wasn't anything like he thought she was going to say.

'What are you talking about?'

She turns and looks at him.

"It's stupid, I know. It's impossible. But I can't stop thinking about him."

He looks back at her evenly, keeping any hint of emotion off his face.

'Emanuel's dead. He's not coming back.'

She looks at him and perhaps it's her imagination, but she sees.

"Ramon, I'm sorry. I just know there's a reason I got to meet -- him. And I can't help but think -- maybe if you talked to him. Told him what was coming."

'And what? Lose everything I have now?'

He puts his glass down, a decisive - but quiet - thunk on the counter top by the door.

'This isn't about him. This is about our child.'

"Why would you have to lose everything? See, that's the part I don't understand. Maybe you don't even have to tell you. Maybe you just have to tell Rico, and he can protect Emanuel."

She can't enunciate exactly why she can't let this go, why she thinks this is so important, not just to him, but to them and ultimately, to their child.

"Maybe he doesn't have to die, Ramon."

Rico. There's a blast from the past.

'Rico dies long before the boy. He caught one when I was twenty two.'

He can't enunciate exactly why he doesn't want to talk about this, but he doesn't. It's wrong. Emanuel's dead.

'Why is it easier for you to talk about this than about having your own kid?'

She crosses the room, wanting to be close to him, hating this distance between them.

"Someone else then. Hector. Tell Hector."

She feels like she's begging not just for his life, but for her own.

"I don't know why, it just is."

'Hector was useless.'

He crosses his arms and looks at her with every impression of being calm.

'Of course it's easier. It's not your son whose name you're tossing about, talking about rescuing from death. You don't stand to lose anything if he lives, or if he dies again.'

It took him years, literally years, to become anything approaching normal again after Emanuel died. He can't even contemplate trying to save the boy and having it fail.

"No, it's your son, Ramon. Your flesh and blood." Your heart.

"I haven't even met him and I would lay down my life to save him."

"And you think I have nothing to lose if your timeline changes? Really? What if we never meet, caro? What if you aren't in the bar on the day I take that happy hour shift?"

'I lost three others too, you don't seem worried about saving them.'

He shoves his hands in his pockets now and looks away.

'I could lose you. And Random. And Arithon. My extended life. My business, my reputation, my home. My life. Saving him might mean I get killed along the way, without my base and security to keep things calm. I might be nothing.'

He can't let himself think about risking it. He knows the pain of what happened to his son, he's lived with it for twenty five years. But he doesn't know what would happen if he changed it, and doesn't even know if he can.

"But what if you don't?"

She doesn't know who Arithon is. She doesn't want to know.

"I'm sorry, I just think you've been offered a chance. Just like you're offering me a chance. And I'm scared, Ramon. I'm scared that I can't protect our child anymore than I could protect those kids on that bus. Or your son."

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