Ramon Salazar

Ramon and Mary Anne have sorted out a cover story for why she's there and where she came from. Roxas...is harder, given that he's so obviously not...normal. For the moment, Ramon has decided to go with, once the inevitable questions come from his men, 'mind your own business.' It's always worked in the past and he can't imagine they'll suddenly have become less afraid of him. Esteban might be more of a problem but fuck it, he can't put this off any longer.

As soon as the trio exit Milliways, they're thrust right back into a hive of activity. Six men surround them, all heavily armed. He gave Roxas and Mary Anne a P90 each before they left the bar so at least they fit in in that regard. Everyone's running for the door of the run-down saloon, getting stared at by the few other patrons. Outside, there are shouts of 'vamonos, vamonos!' from the remaining two men in his guard - and clearly, in the sky, the sound of a whole bunch of choppers bearing down fast. On the single road into town, dozens of lights can be seen - military vechicles, all of them. Ramon swears under his breath and heads for the nearest Range Rover.

'Get in,' he says, shortly, to Mary Anne and Roxas. He completely ignores the bewildered looks from his cousin and the others until the two of them are in the car, then he turns to one of the men who is loading things frantically into the trunk.

'Give me that case you took from me.'

The man hesitates - it's already packed - but a look from his boss silences his objection and he digs it out again. Ramon takes it and gets into the vehicle, banging the back of the headrest in front of him.

'Lets get out of here then.'

The engine guns and they turn in the road, heading for the track that takes them into the wall of trees that loom ominously in front of them. It's pitch black in there and once more, he's reminded of how much he really doesn't want to be here.

Fi may have wanted him to wake up after a few hours for another round but if she tried to rouse him, she didn't get very far. He was exhausted and slept like the dead.

But it's morning now and while he's still a tad bleary, he's also blinking awake and thinking it's nice when the world swims into focus and you find yourself wrapped around a beautiful woman.

He is so fucking sick of taping this hand up. Some people would say that he should stop hitting things with it but that's just not his style. He lights a smoke when it's done and spends a while thinking of all the violent things he wants to do to Fiona right now.

After a while, that changes to all the other things he'd like to do to her. It's inevitable. And he'd like to get his mind back on business but she's an itch he just has to scratch.

He goes to bed with that in mind. And the events in her room, obviously. Can't forget about that.

* * *

The next day and he's almost ready to give her another chance. Or maybe it's himself he's giving allowance to - she's on the hook and he just has to reel her in. He can't give up now and the more she fights, the sweeter she'll taste at the end of it. He smirks at the analogy, finds his favourite suit and heads down to the bar. She's bound to be around somewhere and he has no doubt that she'll come to him, no matter how hard she tries not to. But he's not going looking for her. No way. He left the ball in her court and that's where it's staying.

 

Some people would think that getting to change bodies would be a good thing. You'd get to explore the differences, wear the clothes, try sex from a whole different perspective. You'd get to really see what it would be like to have your own tits and answer the age-old question; if a guy had breasts, would he ever actually get anything done?

Ramon can't even look at the things attached to his chest. Fuck, it's not even his chest. Not his anything. The idea of seeing this alien body in a full-length mirror makes him feel ill, let alone experimenting with it in other ways. He feels like his real self is pounding on the insides of the eyeballs, screaming to get out - which is ridiculous, as having this body doesn't stop him being himself. It just humiliates him to a degree he can't even articulate.

'Change me back change me back change me back you motherfucker, change me back...'

He's sure as fuck not going back down to the bar looking like this. The day in the cells was easy and, thankfully, solitary; getting drunk on Atlantean with Mary Anne was ultimately painful, but worth it at the time...it's enough, he thinks. Done his time.

'Change me back or I'll use it, I swear it God. You like having humans in your bar don't you? Change me back or I'll kill them all.'

He's just talking but that doesn't mean he doesn't mean it. Anything. He'll do anything to get his body back. He'll use the damn virus if he has to.

* * *

It's probably a good thing that when he wakes up in the morning, he's male again. He remembers the threat he made and, as he lights a celebratory cigar in bed, surprises himself by finding that he would have done it too. He really would.

Since his last conversation with Mary Anne, something has changed. It's like...admitting he wanted to go home made it impossible to think of anything else. He's been running over everything he knows in his head, planning strategies (not just for the deal but for after, when he's won), escape routes, ways to kill Jack, what to do with the virus, ways to kill Jack, what it'll be like being home, ways to kill Jack.

There comes a point though, when you can't look at maps any more, or argue with yourself about how things will go. Waiting sucks but he has no choice for the next few days; he can, however, finalise things with Mary Anne.

Which is why he left a note at the bar, asking her to come up, and why he's waiting for her now.

A birthday without him. Another birthday without him. Next year?

Christ.

He leans his back on the closed door and shuts his eyes. At least in here, there’s no need to worry about the front. No one is going to be coming in here. Never mind that they hadn’t really lived here for years - there’s still an orange shirt over the back of that chair in the corner, a dagger in the top drawer of the dresser. A wig from some show or another – hideous thing but it made him laugh – on top of the wardrobe. A toothbrush, a bottle of cologne. And pictures. All those pictures he took. They sit around, faced down, the people in them seeing nothing but the blank wood of shelves, the desk, the chest of drawers. He can’t stand to look at them anymore.

Maybe he’ll clean it up one day. Fuck, maybe he’ll hand the key back. Maybe.

Maybe.

But fuck it, today’s his birthday. He’s allowed to enjoy himself isn’t he? So he goes to the other dresser, the one that only he has the key to. It holds cash and guns and knives and drugs (and drugs, and drugs) and cocaine is what he wants tonight. No, needs. He can’t have what he wants but this’ll do. It’ll all do, for now.

It’ll have to.

It's mid-morning when they finally make it back. They're filthy and pissed off and obviously haven't enjoyed their 'orienteering exercise'. But more than that, they seem determined...well, Rafael does anyway. Raul just looks resigned. He still follows his older brother though, as they avoid the front door and instead head for the back, where the guns are kept.

* * *

Normally, he'd have been awake about four hours by mid-morning. This weekend though, lying in bed has become appealing. Not just for the obvious reasons but also because sleeping has turned out to be a really nice thing. Which is what he's doing, one arm casually hung over Mary Anne's waist, as the bedroom door edges open, pushed by the barrel of a shotgun.

One thing Rafael seems to be naturally good at is stealth. He makes virtually no noise as he crosses the room, holding the gun steady in two hands, just like he was shown.

Ramon sits alone in the living room on Haven. A clock ticks from the mantelpiece and the only light in the room comes from the kitchen, leaving the room only dimly illuminated. There’s half a glass of whiskey at his elbow and a dagger on the sofa cushion next to him. In his right hand, a card flips slowly through his fingers, over and over, seemingly without any conscious thought from him. He’s staring into the darkness, thinking.

Random is at Amber, where he often is these days. The reason this time is a Christmas Ball. Protocol dictates that he be there with his wife and so Ramon is alone, and waiting.

The dagger has a gold hilt. It shines dully as it catches the small amount of light in the room, leaving a red streak on the cushion and up onto Ramon’s jeans as the rubies set into the crosspiece glow quietly. The blade is razor sharp and beautiful, and the crest of Amber is embossed into the gold where the hilt is at its widest. Random’s Christmas present. It’s ceremonial more than functional although the balance is good and it would do its job should it ever need to. Ramon had thought it would look good when Random was dressed for state functions. A blade fit for a King.

But Random isn’t here. He’s at home. The house is silent now that Martin has left too and Ramon thinks of home as well. It was here, this house, for a long time – but Random lived here too, then. And now? No. He visits. And it’s not the same.

Columbia is warm this time of year, especially in Bogotá. It’s the dry season and there are cool breezes in the mountains above the city. He used to spend the afternoon on Christmas out on his huge veranda, surrounded by Hector and his children and hangers-on and employees and everyone made sure he had a good time because that was his kingdom. He ruled there and no one dared to dispute it. Here, he’s nothing. Haven is empty. When Random lived here, then it was everything because a world for just the two of them was all they needed. Things have changed and this world is nothing but silence. Ramon doesn’t like silence.

He thinks of the offer Mary Anne made. Should he go and start a drug war in Texorami? It would liven things up a bit. The card in his fingers continues its rotation, unknowingly turning in time with the beats from the clock. Two clicks to every turn. He’s lost count of how long he’s been sitting here.

The problem with starting a fight in Texorami is that there’s no competition. That city is a place of cardsharps and sneak-thieves, chancers out to make a quick buck and have a good time. Yes, there are drugs but the citizens are more interested in taking them than in profiting from them. It was good business, setting up there. Easy. Too easy. There was no challenge because the place simply hadn’t been ready for a man like him, someone who would kill as many people as he had to to get what he wanted. Technology is limited there and the opposition just didn’t have the experience to stand up to him when he had arrived. The police had tried and never stood a chance. So now he runs the city with his hand around the throat of the new police Commissioner because the man knows that if he doesn’t do as he’s told then he’ll go the way of his predecessor - a head left in the center of town where everyone could see it. No one had ever found the rest of him – Mary Anne was good at what she did.

Ramon is bored. And resentful and a little angry. Random is doing his best, he knows. But he’s not cut out for sitting on the sidelines and waiting. He’s not cut out for a life without challenge either. And this is why he’s sitting here thinking of home. The card in his hand is his card. The Devil. Random had made it for him right at the beginning back when he deserved it. Oh, he knows that in Tarot terms, the card of the Devil doesn’t mean evil and he doesn’t think of himself that way either. But there it is, in Spanish, underneath his picture – El Diablo. He’s been called it before, at home, where people feared him above just about anything else. He had their lives in his complete control – they worked for him, lived because he paid them, died when he wanted them to. That means more than what the Tarot says The Devil stands for.

He misses it more than he can say. That’s what home is, for him. Earth is a challenge and there are people there to fight and it's fun, when you might lose everything. Except for what he has in mind…he won’t lose. He knows what’s supposed to happen already and so, he knows how to avoid it. Jack Bauer wouldn’t have the chance to get him killed this time – and he could hold in his hands the key to whatever he wants.

He knows he can do it. He just needs one other person to help and he knows who’ll volunteer. He wants it so much he can taste it and there doesn’t seem to be anything to stop him anymore. And would he want to be stopped anymore, really?

And so Ramon sits alone at Christmas and thinks like so many others do at this time of year…of home, and what it means to him. And the card flips through his fingers and the dagger shines and he wonders when (if) Random will get back and whether his being here will be enough to make him think again.