Ramon Salazar

Ramon would never admit this to anyone but Random - not even himself, really - but this has been the longest week of his life, bar none. It's bad enough when Random's away but when he's gone away to Amber...well, that's a whole different level of worry to deal with.

So, he's dealing with it the way he usually deals with anything difficult - he works. It's early evening now and he's gone to Haven to get some peace and quiet, but he's still tapping away at his laptop at the kitchen table. Martin's in the living room, playing silently with some things he'd brought in from the garden earlier. Another thing Ramon would probably never admit, to anyone, is that having the boy around for the last week has actually been a comfort. Because Random will fight tooth and nail to come back to that little boy, no matter what, and it helps to keep that in mind. He has to believe that Random will keep himself safe while he's away, if only for his son. And for him too, he hopes.

He has no idea where his lover is, what he's doing, what he's going through, when he'll be back. Ramon hates the lack of control so he's trying not to think about it. And, above all, he wont let himself entertain the possibility that Random might not make it back at all.

It starts with the sound of a bell. A child's bicycle bell, to be exact, chiming tinnily from a distance away, distorted by echoes in long hallways and stone-tiled floors. That's all there is, in the start.

But then he's at his desk with some papers in his hand, feeling the heat of the sun that's falling through the large window to the right of him, covering him in humid warmth that the silent ceiling fan is doing little to dissapate. It's comfortable and the house is quiet apart from that ringing bell. He knows its not going to stay that way because this has happened before and there's only ever one outcome. Without even knowing it, he's counting under his breath and doesn't make it to ten before the peace is broken.

'What have I told you about riding your bicycle in the house?!'

The only reply is childish laughter and then a whoop of abandon as the vehicle in question skids round a corner at the top of the nearest hallway. He doesn't look up from his papers but does smile, behind the crooked finger that's covering his mouth in quiet contemplation as he reads. Pretends to read. He's listening for the bell one more time...yes, there it is, and that'll be the last one. Now there's nothing but the distant cursing in Spanish and the whir of slow tyres on stone as they approach.

He waits until they stop and doesn't look up for another ten seconds or so. And then, without moving, he addresses the boy he knows is peering around the doorframe to see if he's busy.

'Your mama will be shouting at me later for that, I hope you realise.'

Another childish laugh and he still doesn't move from his show of working, even though light footsteps are running towards him. This is an old game and he knows just when to drop the documents and reach out to haul the six-year-old Emanuel onto his lap.

'You never care when she shouts at you, papa.'

'I know. I don't mind if you ride your bike in the house as long as you don't break anything, so you go right ahead.'

Emanuel is thin and tan, scruffy-kneed and with a smear of dirt on his shorts. Dark brown hair is tousled and his Brazil football shirt has a hole in it from where he caught it on the hedge that he likes to burrow through, because the gate takes ages to climb when you're little and trying to get back home to raid the kitchen. His eyes - not quite as dark as his fathers' - are wide and laughing. Kind, even. He got them from his mother.

'She won't say anything to you.'

'You don't think so? She usually has plenty to say.'

Which is true, because it's been six years and she still hasn't learnt when to shut up no matter how many times he beats it into her. She'll get it, eventually.

'Not this time!'

'You sound pretty sure of yourself, kid. Want to bet on it?'

'Wouldn't like to take your money, papa.'

He raises an eyebrow at his son, a look of disbelief on his face that covers his pride that his son is six, and already saying things like that.

'I bet you would really. You know something I don't? She going shopping later? That usually puts her in a good mood.'

Emanuel laughs, showing off perfect white teeth, and shakes his head vigourously.

'Not shopping.' And, in a sing-song voice, he follows up with, 'I know something you don't know...' which he probably got from watching brain-melting American cartoons. Ramon pokes him in the side.

'Oh yeah? Come on then, spill it.'

There's silence for a moment. Dead silence, and he looks up at the room, wondering where the buzz of ambient noise went. And then, from nowhere, the room is filled with the deafening peal of a thousand bicycle bells, screaming through the stillness. He jerks in surprise and there's a crack, audible above the din and something moves under his hands...in slow motion, his head turns and Emanuel is still laughing only there's blood pouring from his mouth between the cracked and broken teeth, his mangled left arm lies at the wrong angle from his body and the flesh that Ramon can feel under the shirt is pulpy and moist.

'She won't say anything...'

And he's lost his sneakers somewhere but that's alright because those bloated, rotten, balloons of feet wouldn't fit in them anyway...

'...because she's dead, papa. And so am I.'

He looks at his son (with only one eye not punctured and leaking) and opens his mouth to speak (but half that ear is gone) and no sound comes out at all. Emanuel looks back and then he reaches up with that awful left arm and Ramon is leaning away, not wanting it to touch his face but there's nowhere he can go. Even as his back presses to the chair and tries to go through it, the broken hand closes in and his little boy's voice is in his ear, laughing and whispering as though it's living inside his head (because it is),

'We're all dead.'

Fingers are pressing into his eyes and he can't get away.

'Apart from you.'

And they don't stop pressing and now he can't see anything but white and all sound stops, apart from the chuckling of his son, which somehow seems to hurt more than bone in black eyes that never show pain.

* * * * *

He jerks awake with his heart hammering in his ears; for a moment it sounds like (bells) a drum and he's disorientated in the dark. It comes as a relief when he sits up and the air is cold on his clammy skin because this isn't Columbia and he isn't twenty-five anymore. The hands reaching for him remind of that and he shuts his eyes (no pain) so he can tell himself it was just a dream and there's no need to worry.

'y'OK, sweetheart?'

'...yeah.'

Random's warm and in no danger and anyway, after they've lain back down and murmured a few sleepy words, it's not so hard to forget and go back to sleep. There may be a few moments where he tries to remember anything (but laughter) that shocked him but when it comes down to it, Ramon's never been one to remember his nightmares. When he sleeps this time, there's nothing but darkness.

Ramon has had an interesting evening, to say the least. Women everywhere! And grass and drink and chocolate...that stuff really is great. He's eating another bar now, as he slips through the door with his head full of plans to jump in his car and cruise around town for a while, looking for something interesting to fight.

But he's in a house instead, and its quiet and something tells him his BMW isn't here. Hmmm. What to do? He'll decide once he's finished his candy.

Millitimed to after the conversation with future!Mary Anne...

Ramon swings open the door to Haven and if he were the type to bound in then...he would. But he isn't, so he just closes it quietly after him and calls out,

'Random?'

with a huge grin on his face. He's hoping he hasn't disappeared off to work or out with Martin or something. He has to talk to him and the sooner the better.

It's been hours since Random's quiet message. Hours. And he'd said nothing more than he was going to the studio for a while and not to wait up. That was almost a full day ago and there's been nothing since. Ramon's regretting the promise he made to stay away from there. Just a little, but still. He knows he got that place for Random alone but that's not the point. He's worried.

There's nothing he can do but wait. So now he's sitting on the sofa in near-darkness, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other. Random has to come home sometime.

The studio had been nice and it's easy to sleep anywhere when you're with someone you care about. Still, it's nice to be home and be able to clean up properly. Ramon's heading to the bathroom to shower and shave, his thoughts turning towards coffee and lazing about - maybe doing a bit of paperwork later, maybe not. He's tired, but happily so. He wouldn't have thought it possible, so soon after their seperation, for he and Random to settle back into such a rhythm. He's not complaining, obviously. It's nice to be able to believe that the time spent apart hasn't damaged them as badly as he feared it might.

Which isn't to say things are perfect. For example, while it's nice to spend all their time in bed (if exhausting), Ramon can't pretend to himself that it's simply a matter of lust. But it doesn't matter. They're not going to be apart again. He knows it, and that's good enough for him.

Something feels a little off today though, but he can't put his finger on what. Maybe it's just that the hot weather on Haven has broken a little and the green sky outside is a touch overcast. Still, it niggles at him and continues to do so as he takes a hot shower, then a cold one to wake himself up. Ten minutes later, he's wearing only jeans and standing in front of the bathroom mirror, shaving carefully. And that's when he notices what's different.

It's a ring.

He's wearing a ring.

He'd always worn one, actually, until he was put in prison. But this is not a gold one with a black stone, worn on the little finger of his right hand. No, this is quite different.

This is a

(wedding ring)

thin gold band, and it's on the fourth finger of his left hand.

He's frozen in place for minutes. Literally minutes. And then he...well, he swallows, and notices that even under the shaving foam and his tan, his face is a little white. But he finishes what he's doing because he can't cope with this situation with half a stubbly face. He needs time to think.

I'm wearing a wedding ring.

...why the hell didn't he tell me?

Because there's only one person it could have come from, of course. This is not the same ring he wore briefly when he was officially married. That had been large, thick. Practically a signet ring. But this one is thin, gold, understated.

He finishes what he's doing, managing to cut himself rather spectacularly in the process because he can't take his eyes off the thing.

'Fuck!'

But it's OK, really. Because, for whatever reason, Random's given him a ring that'll tell the world he's off the market. And he doesn't mind at all.

He's smiling as he leaves the bathroom, holding a wad of tissue to his chin. With his right hand, because he's still looking at his left. It almost feels heavier, now he's noticed it - but a good way. He toys at it with his thumb, twisting it, getting used to it. Because he's not taking it off.

Not ever.

The rest of Random's first day home had been spent with Martin, for the most part. Ramon had avoided any more talking about their time apart as much as he could, because he didn't think Random wanted to talk about it and couldn't think of anything to ask him that wasn't a question. So he'd kept things easy, insisted that Random sleep again last night, because he needs it.

And now, another morning has gone. Ramon's making sandwiches for lunch, because it's about the only thing he can make. And wondering how long it's going to be before they get back to somewhere approaching normal.

( Desription of Haven )

In the kitchen, there’s a note for Arithon and Bianca.

Make yourselves at home, treat it as if it’s yours. We won’t disturb you – if we need anything we’ve forgotten, we’ll Trump you first before coming back. Help yourselves to any drink you want – there’s probably not much food in but only because we don’t cook. The door to the bar is usually the front door, it hasn’t let us down yet. Bar’s good at providing groceries but if there’s anything particular you want, Trump us in Portugal and we’ll bring it through from Earth.

Have a good time and make the most of the solitude!

R&R

Ramon's got something on his mind. It's been on his mind for a while, if he's honest, but the events of the day have pushed it to the front of his mind somewhat and now he really wants to talk to Random about it.

But first - showering and changing after his impromptu dunking in the ocean. And Random's busy with Martin for a while so he just goes to lounge on the sofa, fiddling with his lighter and staring at nothing while his mind turns things over.