Ramon Salazar

'Ramon? Baby? It's been a month for me.'

'Excellent.'

A hand extends from the card and Ramon grasps it gladly, laughs when he finds his arms suddenly full of blonde.

'Missed you.'

'You too.'

+ + +

A couple of hours later, Random is sitting up in bed and tutting. Ramon thinks it's very unfair that he should be doing this so pointedly, especially as he was just dozing off nicely there.

'What have you been doing with the place? It's a mess.'

'The cleaning company'll take care of it. I still have them come once a week.'

'You didn't answer my question.'

It's been a long time since he's been able to get anything past Random.

'Just came to blow off some steam.'

'...why? Are you about to do something...you?'

'I could take offence at that, you know.'

'You could. But you won't. I didn't say I minded.'

Ramon thinks that of course Random doesn't mind anymore because he's not around to deal with the consequences.

'Someone pissed me off.'

'Everyone pisses you off, baby.'

'More than usual.' He sighs and lights a cigarette...then another one, five seconds later. Random will never not be a thief. 'She knew about me and you and she threw it in my face.'

'Oh.'

Random knows very well how that sort of thing usually goes down. He's never been able to get it through Ramon's head that just laughing about it or throwing innuendo right back usually works a lot better. He's a lot better at games than Ramon'll ever be. Patience born of being an immortal prince with a psychotic father.

'She must be stupid.'

'No. Arrogant. Likes to play games.'

'Sounds like the type you normally fight with. Are you going to kill her?'

'...no.'

Probably.

'...ah.' Random knows what that means. If he doesn't want to kill people who piss him off, he's fucking them. 'Promise me you'll...you know.'

His eyes are green and worried and Ramon immediately throws his cigarette away and kisses him.

'No need to worry. You know I have no patience. She'll either learn or she won't.'

And that's what it comes down to. He puts it out of his head and focuses on what he's doing, which is reassure the only really important person in his life, the best way he knows how.

He wakes to the sound of screaming. For a hazy moment, he wonders if he's still in that room and the woman has found her voice at last, whether his hand has slipped and she's found the air to make herself be known one time in her life, before it ends.

No. There's sun on his face and the woman is as invisible as she ever was. The noise is Martin, and he sighs as he crawls to a sitting position on the couch. It takes a moment before he can stand, the world lurching and swaying under his feet as he heads to the nursery.

The little boy is hungry. And distressed, if the fist in his mouth is anything to go by. He needs out and Ramon grimaces at the noise, trying not to throw up at the wafting smell off his jacket, (crack on his clothes, smoke in his hair, sex on his skin), trying to shush him because the racket is hurting his head. Martin calms a little when he sees him and gets picked up, and Ramon doesn't object when the child wraps arms round his neck to be taken to the kitchen, even though he's contaminating him with the blood on his hands.

It would be strange to an onlooker, he thinks. A toddler in a high chair, making a mess of porridge and banana, while a man smokes and waits for coffee to finish going through the machine. Maybe there'd be nothing odd about it normally. But today, he feels his shirt sticking to him and he knows why. Knows he's decorated with something that incriminates him in every way its possible to be accused. Betrayal, drugs, murder. Sin. That's what blood means. Blood and sex.

...empty, uncaring, unremorseful. Hurt. Alone. That's what anger means.

Martin is carried to the bedroom and given a toy to play with on the floor while he goes to shower. The boy's alright now. Smiling at his stuffed cat and talking to it in some incomprehensible childish language that no one ever remembers. Pai is paying him some attention. He likes that. And he's fed and has a toy. If daddy were here, life would be perfect.

Pai is standing in the shower, washing away pink water and the memories of last night. The ones that are willing to leave, anyway. The ones that involved the laughing sculpture, the imaginings of Random and his woman and what they're doing, whether it's nearly over yet. They can go, he's done with them. Because he'd believed Random when he'd said he'd come back. He will. But neither of them knew when that would be and it's not safe here now. He's fallen, here. It's time to move on in case it happens again.

The stained suit is burnt and with it, all evidence. Martin's clothes too, and the boy is bathed. A few things are packed up because some things have to travel everywhere with them. He looks around the house meticulously, to check that he's left nothing behind, left no trail. Automatic pilot, unthinking.

The last thing his eyes fall on, as he opens the door to the bar with a bag on his back and a kid in his arms, is the box containing the woman. He can't see the front, where it's open. But he knows anyway, that she's still laughing. Still protected in (his arms) her wrappings, still happy and reaching for her lover.

("She's beautiful")

He smiles without humour and Ramon leaves the house, headed for Haven where they'll be alone and he can't fall again. Where he'll wait until Random finds him - and the woman won't be smiling then. He'll come back here, break that box open and sledgehammer that grin right off her face.

Being close to death has an advantage or two, which a lot of people don't realise. But it's an undeniable fact that the day after the experience, everything's amazing. You look around and really feel the sun on your face, you notice the blue of the sea and the tang of ocean salt in your nose. Food tastes great when you almost never got to eat it again and every drink slides down with a proper appreciation of the time it took to make, the years it spent fermenting in barrels or bottles. Ramon drinks champagne for three days because if you want to live life well, you may as well have the best.

He spends the day after with Martin, looking after him properly for perhaps the first time, really engaging with him instead of treating him as some sort of vague annoyance to be barely tolerated. And the difference is obvious to him in this relieved state; he can see the boy respond, becoming more confident, smiling easier and relaxing a little more in his presence. Ramon takes every opportunity to look at the green eyes and silently tell Random that it's going to be OK, he's still here, he'll be around when he gets back. For three days, life is good again.

And then...well, he's been here before. Eventually life inflicts itself again, the bright new edge dims, things start to recede back to the familiar and mundane. He swaps champagne for liquor and it tastes the same as it ever did, he finds food and fresh air as boring as it usually is. Such is life.

With it, of course, returns the now-familiar ache of missing Random. No matter how good life was for a few days there, he's still got no one here to share it with. The other side of the bed is just as empty and Random's still out there somewhere, spending nights in a woman's bed, smiling at her (calling her 'lover'? Holding her just because he wants to be close? Pulling her upstairs with that devilish grin?) and trying to make a baby with her. Nothing has changed, really.

The collapse, when it comes, is bad. Martin's too young to know that this recent upturn of events is a house of cards built on quicksand, so he's unprepared for the moment when he runs in from the garden on his sturdy little legs, laughing and happy, trailing dirt across the kitchen. Ramon took one look at it and snapped, yelling at him to 'shut up and get out!', making the boy whimper in shock and fear and run right back out again, trying not to cry.

He doesn't feel guilty about things, it's not in his nature. He's unremorseful and cold again, because it's suddenly never been more clear that there can be all the good food and wine in the world, but they don't make life interesting. Never have. His idea of a good time is being successful and Random being here to share it with him - not his son, who's a poor substitute. Not the growing business in Texorami, still in its early stages, because it can never compare to his original empire in South America. He's forced to look in the mirror and ask, What have I got? I'm alive, but so what? What's so great about appreciating the fucking sun when I'm just another guy at the moment, living in a house with a kid on his own. What happened to what I was? I had control, power, respect, fear. Hundreds of people that did what I said, scared of the consequences if they didn't. I made more money in a day than some people make in a year - what the hell am I doing here?

He's doing this because it's what Random wants. And he'll keep doing it, because it's what Random wants. Except...Random isn't here.

Martin had come back in when he'd been told to, subdued once more. Fed, bathed and put to bed in silence. And then Ramon goes back to staring out of the window at the trees bending in the garden, bent by a wind coming in off the Atlantic. Is this how's he's supposed to spent this new chance of life he's been given? Stand around like a fucking housewife, waiting for someone to come home. He can't do that.

No, not can't. Won't.

The bottle is hit hard that night, making up for the last three days of sobriety. But it's still not enough because he gets drunk when Random's here all the time, that's allowed. So fuck that.

He sways a little as he walks down to the basement, pulling keys from his pocket. The shit is locked up for the benefit of the health of the Amberites, who can't touch it - which is why he doesn't, when Random's home. Well, he's not restricted by that now. So he feels no guilt when he walks back upstairs with a well wrapped package, cutting into it easily and letting a mound of small white crystals pour out onto the coffee table. Like ice chips, only not. And he's smiling as he starts crushing them with a credit card, then chopping them with a razor; practiced hands working without direction,

(clink clink clink)

cutting the stuff fine and rolling a hundred Euro note because it makes the best straw. No guilt at all. It's not like there's anyone here to stop him.

Try and be a parent, Random had said. It's another thing that makes Ramon want to hit something, because Random knew very well that he wasn't going to refuse him anything just before he walked out of the door.

So he's taken him down to the beach. It's morning and warm and the kid always seems to like it when it's like this. So, that's what they're doing.

He'd spent a good hour just holding Random and watching him sleep, silently worrying that knowing about Gorlim was going to make him do something mad, like attack Ruin. Or Mary Anne, or both. He also knows that he's not really in any position to ask him not to, given his own recent - and past - activities.

Thoughts had been interrupted by Martin crying, so he'd disentangled himself gently to go and change him and give him some food. And now he's back, bringing water and fresh fruit so that it'll be there when Random wakes up. While he's waiting for that, he just crawls back into bed with him and pulls him carefully back into his arms. Because there's almost nothing he likes better than simply watching his lover while he rests.

It's one of what my people refer to as the Unforgiveable Curses. The Cruciatus. No injuries, no wounds, just pain.

She was right. That's all it gave him, just pain. And for that, he's grateful. Pain can be dealt with, and forgotten - especially by someone like him. Someone who doesn't dwell on things like that because they'll never be afraid of physical abuse. He's taken a lot of hits in his life but as long as he gives more in return, he's OK with it. It's part of who he is. And he likes who he is. The Cruciatus curse isn't why he's awake right now.

Imperio! Now, just tell me who Random is and tell Mr. Bauer what you did to his granddaughter, and it will be over.

He doesn't know what the hell Imperio means, she hadn't explained it. He's going to find out, but that's not the point. He'd resisted most of it. Said enough, but not everything. So Bauer knew he'd taken Angela - big deal. He'd known that when it had happened, pretty much. And Ramon will take a beating over cell time any day of the week.

How long do you think you could last against that compulsion if I put it on you again and left it?

He'd resisted as much as he could. Told her Random's name, though she could have found that out from anyone. That's not the point. Sort of confessed to what he'd done to Angela - said enough anyway. But he hadn't talked about Random; and in the end, it didn't matter. Because she knew about him and

Even kill people they love...

she'd threatened him and this is the first time that anything he's done could actually lose him his lover. Even after the thing with Arithon, no one had had anything against Random apart from questioning his choice in partners. But this

If you ever even look at my family again in a manner that displeases me, your Random won't know what hit him. And it might not even be you. After all, I have a whole bar full of people to choose from.

is something else, and he can't bear the thought that Random might no longer be safe. Because how can either of them look out for any random stranger in a bar that might want to kill him? It's impossible.

And this is why Ramon is downstairs tonight, lying on the sofa in darkness and not wanting to go to bed. Because he hasn't told Random yet and doesn't even know where to begin.

He has no idea how long he slept for. or what time it is. He just knows that it's hot, he immediately wants a shower and there's a considerable amount of pain if he so much as breathes, let alone moves.

That's OK though, he can handle that. There are ways of coping with that. But the conversation with Random last night comes flooding back and that's a whole other story. He has no idea what caused that reaction, or how to make it better but knows that he can only do it by talking to him.

He doesn't appear to be in the bed though, and that's not a good sign.

Ramon had written the note before he'd headed to the club for the day. Now he's back and is rather surprised to not see Random on the beach or in the garden, because that's where he usually tends to be.

'Random?'

Ramon opens the door quietly, not wanting to draw attention, and it's closed quickly behind him so that the noise of he bar doesn't filter through. He takes a moment to just lean against the wall, rubbing over his face with a bruised and bloodied hand, trying to calm down before seeing Random again. A cigarette is lit and after a few minutes, he walks quietly towards the dark kitchen to find a bottle of something strongly alcoholic. This evening is one he'd like to forget in a hurry.