#She was not a small woman and laughed when we called her Abuelita cause she was six foot one

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Field of Marigolds

Summary: Marc has been having bad dreams and Jake has been depressed. Can Steven find out why? Can he find a solution that won’t leave them all in deeper trouble? Steven asks questions about a culture that they all lost. 

Warnings: Some depictions of child abuse/violence and panic attacks. 

Word Count:  4714

Word Prompt:   Reeds

-------

Golden. Quiet. Alone. 

Marc had many dreams about the field of reeds since returning from Cairo. None of them good. A nightmare of being left alone for all eternity. 

He would wake feeling despair as he crawled from the darkness, gasping out Steven’s name. There was always that moment of silence when he waited for Steven to wake up and respond. That moment of pure fear that perhaps this time he would be alone. 

Then he would get the tired sounds of Steven mumbling his hello. The relief would wash over him and he would sink back into the bed with a heavy sigh. 

When Jake made himself known and started to communicate with them, Marc had started to look back on his life and pick out the times when his memory gaps were most likely occupied by the quiet and over protective alter. Their memories were all still a mess, but some pieces were starting to at least make sense. 

On mornings when he woke up in a panic, he would always still reach for Steven. The one that had always been there when he needed comfort, but sometimes he would wait to see if Jake might reach back too. 

Fall had settled in and items of warmth and comfort were starting to make themselves more prominent in their flat. Steven insisted on filling his closet with oversized sweaters covered in patterns and colors that made Marc gag. Jake had switched out his lighter coat and gloves for something more solid and sustaining while Marc kept his usual attire, choosing to brave the cold and rain as he did everything else: Ignore it. 

They were getting used to one another. Arguments about what to wear or how to style their hair cropped up but usually were quickly settled. Sometimes they argued over food or what to drink. In the span of a few months they had only had a couple of full melt downs where Layla had been forced to step in and break things up before someone did something stupid. 

As fall carried on, Marc had noticed Jake becoming more agitated. He was quiet and clipped when spoken to. He shut them off when he fronted and sometimes Marc or Steven would front to find themselves in the middle of a park or somewhere random in the rain when Jake had decided he was done. 

“What the hell is seasonal affective disorder?” Marc huffed as he pulled off the gloves and shoved them into his pockets. It was the second time in so many days where he had come to the front in the city. He had found himself staring in at a bakery window with brightly colored rolls with swirls and lines on the top. 

“It’s exactly what it sounds like.” Steven chimed in from the window reflection. “The sun starts to go away and you get depressed. Maybe he needs more vitamins or one of those special sun lights?” 

“I doubt very much that Jake is affected by the lack of sun. The man works the nightshift for crying out loud.” Marc adjusted the cap and wished he were wearing his cubs hat. It had a better brim for keeping the rain out of his face. 

Steven shrugged and glanced inside the bakery, trying to figure out what had made Jake decide to run. “Wouldn’t mind a sweet myself, since we’re here.” 

“Not sure it’s vegan, buddy.” Marc checked his pockets for his wallet and keys. It was always so jarring to be left out in the cold by Jake. He never knew what he had on him or if he was supposed to go find the car or not. 

“Maybe Layla would like a sweet.” Steven smiled. “Those look real good. And colorful!” 

Marc sighed and went inside. Steven knew how to get Marc to do things he would normally scoff at. Steven loved grand gestures and buying Layla silly things that made her smile. 

Marc paused in the doorway and looked around. It was a foreign shop, which wasn’t odd to see in London. Marc shrugged, though he suddenly felt himself on guard. There was something about the place that twinged at the back of his mind. Some memory that felt fuzzy and not quite his own floated just out of reach. 

“Hola, Señor.” The shopkeep smiled brightly. A pot of bright orange flowers sat next to the register. 

Suddenly Marc was swimming as he felt himself become untethered. Steven blinked hard as he was slammed into the driver’s seat. A sensation he had not felt in a long time as he waited for the world to stop spinning. 

“M’alight.” Steven mumbled as he struggled to figure out what had happened. “Right. Uh… Hi. Sorry. Off day.” He nodded hello to the shop keep and smiled uncertainly. “I was hoping to get a few of those.” He pointed to the colorful rolls. “They are so pretty.” 

“Pan dulce.” The man smiled. “Sweet bread. Those ones are called conchas in some places because they look like seashells. Very popular for children and pretty ladies.” He winked. 

Steven nodded and picked out a couple in different colors. He hesitated as he saw an oddly shaped bread in the next display over. “What are those? They smell so nice! Zesty like oranges.” 

“Ah, pan de muertos. A seasonal bread for this time of year.” The man nodded. 

Steven looked up in surprise. “Muertos?” 

“Yes.” The man smiled. “For day of the dead. A little something to honor our loved ones who are gone.” 

“Oh…” Steven stared at the bread for a moment then shook his head. “Just the sweet breads, please.” 

He checked out, looking down at the pretty orange flowers curiously as he handed over the cash. “Marigolds? Right? The flowers I mean. Those are marigolds? They don’t grow so well over here. They do best in the sun.” 

It was difficult for Steven not to immediately info dump. He wanted to start up on Indian culture that used marigolds as a way to celebrate and worship. They were a symbol of brightness and the sun, placed around gods and goddesses and laid out in weddings and festive occasions. He was not as versed in this culture or mythology as he was Egyptology, so he made a mental note to freshen up a bit on it. 

“Yes. From Mexico actually.” The shopkeeper looked sad. “I do miss them. My mother had a talent for growing them. She sold them to families this time of year. Gave them for free if they were mourning a child.” 

“Oh…” Steven flushed. “That’s very kind of her…” He had gone for the happy use and completely overlooked the Latin American use. Strange how it had not come to his mind at all. Even stranger, how he had never thought to look any of that culture up. 

Steven nodded and collected his bread. “Thank you.” 

Leaving the shop he started the walk home. It took him a moment to gather what street he was on. Jake tended to wander into strange areas when out, while Steven liked to stay on the beaten path. 

“Marc?” Steven quietly poked around. “You alright? We’re out of the shop now. Did you need a minute?” 

He felt a rustle at the back of his mind and knew Marc was close enough to hear him but still unwilling to come out. 

“Marc, are we Latin American?” Steven flushed at how odd the question sounded. “I mean, I’m English. But I suppose that’s all in my head, innit? I wasn’t born over here. My parents weren’t English. I’m Jewish. I know that. I remember school and prayer and temple and Dad a bit. Those memories are mine. I’ve at least managed to sort those out. But…” 

Steven paused as he waited at a crosswalk with some other people. He liked to speak out loud. He loved the feel of using his own mouth and voice when speaking to Marc. It felt real if he spoke. It felt like he was a real person and not some voice floating in the void. He also understood what speaking out loud looked like to other people and often embarrassed himself. He was trying to get better at this part. 

He thought about his question again as he crossed the street. How else was he to put it? “The body is Latin American.” 

There was silence for a moment then Marc sighed and gave the smallest of shrugs. “Yeah. Really we’re from Chicago. You know that. The body is Chicago-ian.” 

Steven frowned and felt a memory stirr. From the fuzzy detail, he knew it wasn’t his. As soon as it started it stopped, pushed back and shut off as Marc fell silent again. 

Steven sensed Marc wanted him to drop it but a new curiosity had awakened inside him. This was something he didn’t yet know or understand. “Marigolds…” Steven looked up at the cross street names and took a hard turn as he made way for his favorite bookstore. 

–

Golden. 

So golden it warmed the very air. This time, it did not grow up around him, but spread out at his feet as if guiding him. Petals rolling gently past him and spreading out as if inviting him down a path. 

He was not alone this time. Jake stood before him. He spoke softly, his voice carrying on a breeze that Marc could not feel. 

“What?” Marc frowned as he only heard a garble of sounds he didn’t recognize. “I don’t understand.” 

Jake spoke louder, faster. The sounds moved past him, unobtainable no matter how he reached for them.” 

The wind picked up and a language he had long forgotten slammed into him. “I don’t understand.” 

Jake held out a hand, pleading at first then growing angry as the Spanish turned accusatory. 

“I don’t understand!” Marc yelled. He covered his ears. It was too golden here. Too warm. The flowers were glowing and blinding him. 

Something moved in the flowers behind him. Turning, he found a familiar boy. The boy smiled. “Hermano.” It started to rain. “Te recuerdo.” 

Marc jolted awake so hard that he shoved Layla and fell off the bed. 

He lay on the floor, staring up at the window across the room, watching the London rain pitter patter down the glass. 

“Marc? What the hell?” Layla mumbled sleepily. “Are you okay?” 

Was he okay? He couldn’t remember the last time he had been terrified of the rain. 

Something inside him clenched down in fear and he covered his ears to block out the sound. 

He heard Layla shift on the bed and felt her presence as she leaned over the edge of the bed to look down at him. “Hey? You alright?” 

His mouth moved on its own. “Perdí a alguien.”

Layla blinked. “What? I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” 

Marc shook his head and closed his eyes. “Stop it. Stop. I don’t want to hear it! I don’t speak fucking Spanish!” 

Marc could hear the sound of the rain flowing down the gutter and into the street. Washing everything away. Flooding the field of flowers. 

His eyes rolled back as he was overwhelmed. A groggy Steven blinked awake and stared up at Layla. “Hmnh? What are you doing up there? Wait… What am I doing down here? What’s going on?” 

Layla sighed and reached out to help pull him back up into the bed. “I have no idea. I think someone had a bad dream? I’m not sure who. There was Spanish and then Marc had a panic attack for about a second before you got here.” She gave an apologetic smile. “It happened really fast.” 

“Spanish?” Steven snuggled into her and buried his face in his pillow. “What Spanish?” 

“Pretty Alyen?” 

Steven turned his head in his pillow just enough to look at her with one eye. 

She flushed and looked away. “English is not my first language! I speak three other languages and Spanish is not one of them!” 

Steven groaned and buried his face back into the pillow. “I think Jake is upset about something. It’s upsetting Marc too, but I don’t think Marc understands why or what it is.” 

“And you don’t know what any of it could be?” She moved to gently stroke his back. 

Steven shook his head into the pillow. “Wish I did. Whatever it is, it’s between them. I have no memory of any of that. Being English and all…”  

He could hear her chewing her lower lip. It was something she did when unsure about something or thinking about something she wasn’t sure she wanted to bring up. 

He had to hand it to her, since coming back to London and staying with them, she had asked very few questions. Maybe she was worried she would ask the wrong ones. She had certainly learned a lot and taken in a lot in the span of a very short time. Especially with Jake entering the picture. 

Steven looked back at her and moved to take a hand, holding it gently to his chest. “Love, just ask. It’s okay to ask. I promise I won’t be mad. None of us will be mad if you ask.” 

“Why does Jake speak spanish?” She looked at him curiously. “I’ve never heard Marc speak Spanish. You certainly don’t. You know more French than Spanish from what I can gather. He must have picked it up from somewhere. You can’t just form as a person knowing a language. You have to be around it.” 

Steven lay there for a moment thinking about the question. He reached out, trying to see if Marc or Jake were near the surface. When he found both buried deep inside, he sighed. 

“Mom was Latin American. I don’t know from where or how many generations back. She spoke Spanish sometimes. Mostly on the phone to relatives. I think we must have met them at some point. I have no memories of this. I didn’t know I was… The body was… Hispanic, too.” He had gone through a complicated day of emotions when he had learned all this. Marc had refused to talk about any of it so he had been forced to coerce it out of Jake, which had taken him hours to get just this much. Jake had finally shared the memory of listening to her talk on the phone in rapid fire Spanish. 

Between the three of them, Steven still didn’t fully understand. He would have to do more research into it later. The hard part was that he wasn’t sure he wanted to do the research. It had been kept from him for a reason. It wasn’t part of his own backstory or memories. 

“I’m a fictive.” Steven didn’t like thinking about it. “My memories are… If it doesn’t fit my story to make me then I don’t have them.” He pulled the pillow down and hugged it for a moment, finding comfort in the weight and feel of it. 

“Hey.” Layla moved closer and hugged him. “We don’t have to talk about it.” 

“But I want to know.” Steven frowned. “I want to know why they are so upset. I want to help them.” 

Layla was quiet a moment. “Sometimes I worry I will forget my own language.” 

Steven looked at her in surprise. 

“When I left Egypt I didn’t speak Arabic for over a  year. Not even once. Not even when I was alone with myself.” She gently stroked his arm, tracing the familiar muscles and lines she found there. “When we went back I stumbled on my words. I spoke slower. It took me almost an hour before I got back into my normal rhythm. It was scary. I felt like I was losing a part of myself. Like I had let my heritage down. Like I was letting my father down. Like I was forgetting him.” 

Steven fidgeted with the pillow, trying to hide his distress. “You should never feel that way. He was so proud of you!” 

“I know.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “It came back to me. It just… For that hour I looked at myself and didn’t know who I was.” 

“Do you think Marc forgot? Do you think he used to know Spanish?” Steven blinked. “Is that where Jake comes from? But why? Why would he take it all? Why does he hold onto it so hard when it comes from such a place of hurt?” 

Layla shrugged. “Jake is complicated. So is Marc. I don’t understand what goes on between them. Something is upsetting one of them and the other isn’t exactly helping.” 

Steven nodded then remembered the flowers. “What’s today?” 

Layla reached across him to grab her phone from the side table. “October 31st. Happy Halloween I suppose.” 

Steven made a face. “I hate scary things. I’m the worst fictive ever.” 

Layla laughed and kissed him on the forehead. “You are fearless where it matters.” 

He smiled a little. “Thank you, love.” 

He squeezed the pillow then moved to nestle into her side. “I have an idea. I don’t think they’re going to like it. It might be a terrible idea, honestly. There’s a good chance it could backfire and well… If you thought Chernobyl was a meltdown disaster…” 

“You’re saying you want me as support just in case I need to intervene?” She looked at him curiously. 

Steven nodded. “If I upset Marc that much and then I also upset Jake, I might be flying solo for a day or two. They might never speak to me again!” He suddenly looked scared. “Maybe I shouldn’t. I don’t think I can handle that. I hate when they cut me out.” 

“Steven, do what you think is best to help them, but don’t worry so much. They love you and would never shut you out forever. I trust you to take care of them.” She smiled and wrapped her arms around him. 

He nodded and yawned. “What time is it?” 

“Three.” Layla sighed. “Marc always has his nightmares at this hour. It’s like he knows that this is the perfect hour to ruin a perfectly good sleep schedule.” 

“In the morning, I need to run to the store and pick up a few items. Then I need to do some more research.” This was going to take him all day, but he hoped it was worth it. 

–

The house smelled like warm bread and oranges. Steven had returned to the bakery and purchased some pan de muerto. He had also found a small toy in a shop that he couldn’t pass up. 

Sliding out a table, he placed a newly purchased children’s blanket over it then set out a plate of the bread. A cup of orange juice was set next to it. Something he thought might compliment the orange zest of the bread nicely. 

A small tea candle was lit and he placed the toy to the side, a little astronaut waving nicely. 

He had printed out a baseball pennant for the Chicago Cubs and carefully cut it out, taping it to the wall above the table. 

Lastly, he set a couple of marigold flowers on the table. He had explained the situation to the man at the bread shop and he had practically thrust the whole pot of flowers at Steven. Steven had politely declined but had asked for just a couple of clippings. 

Stepping back, he sighed. “It looks pitiful.” 

Layla shook her head. “I think it looks lovely, Steven. Go ahead. See if they are ready.” 

Steven nudged around. Of course he found Marc first, easily pulling him out of his deep sleep.

“What’s going on? What time is it?” Marc looked from Layla to the table. “What is this?” 

“It’s midnight. Steven wanted to try something. Don’t be mad at him.” She gave him a stern look. “He worked hard at this. 

Marc frowned and moved closer. A memory tugged, but it wasn’t his. Refused to be his. He pushed back from it and crossed his arms. “Why would he bother? Waste of time.” He moved as if to blow out the candle then stopped when he saw the little waving astronaut. 

His hand lifted in a returned wave. 

“Abuelita had one of these.” He gestured at the table dismissively. “Bigger. Better looking too. More flowers.” Marc crossed his arms and looked away. “We had to pay respects every year. It was Importante. Mom wouldn’t put one up.” He struggled to get the words out, fighting against the desire to shut down. “I asked dad… If I could. I wanted to… She threw the flowers…” His breathing started to grow erratic. 

His breathing stilled in an instant as Jake blinked in, looking around for a moment to take in the table. 

He picked up a flower and slowly spun it between his fingers, watching the petals rotate. He mumbled something in Spanish then set the flower back down gingerly. 

“Are you okay?” Layla asked softly. 

Jake inhaled deeply then slowly exhaled. “Yes. I think so.” 

“Is Marc okay?” She was always hesitant to ask. 

Jake took a moment. “Yeah. We always wanted an Ofrenda. Abuelita’s was so beautiful. The candles and the flowers… We loved the stories she told as she lit each candle for each person. When Randall died, we tried to set up our own. We thought he deserved to be with all the pretty lights and flowers.” 

Layla was quiet as Jake shifted on his feet slightly. He had a way of speaking of their bad memories like a casual observer. She knew he was far from partial to it all. There was always barely simmering rage just under the surface of them, waiting to smother out the pain that threatened to rise up. 

He put his hands in his pockets for a moment, remembering what Marc could not. The screams. The rage. The overturned table. The flower pot crashing into his head as it flew across the room. The bloody gash that needed stitches. The lies at the doctors office that he had told. It was not the first time Jake had taken over to protect them, but it was the first memory that he had closed off as his own. 

“We never had one again. Marc stopped speaking Spanish after that. Refused to do anything from her side of the family. I don’t blame him.” Jake shrugged and picked up the small astronaut, looking it over. He then looked up at the baseball banner and single candle. 

Realization hit him and he dropped the toy. “It’s not for him…” Jake breathed out. “It’s for us.” 

Steven slowly surfaced. “We died, didn’t we? We lost everything when we were so young. Don’t you think that we deserve to be remembered too? When we were one? One heart struggling to survive?” 

“Yeah… We did die.” Marc bent and picked up the toy, holding it tightly. 

“I read that an important part of today is to not just have pictures, but to tell stories. To talk about your memories and be happy for them.” Steven gave a small smile. “I don’t think I remember anything real. I just remember our room. Kinda like this.” He set the spaceman back down and lightly traced a finger on the Cubs banner. “I liked the colors. I don’t think I knew what they were for, but I liked the triangular shape and colors.” 

Jake smiled and realized the blanket on the ofrenda was a kid’s race car blanket. “We had a race car bed. We used to roll over and kick the side every night, but we refused to admit we needed a bigger bed. We colored a paper plate like a steering wheel and kept it under the pillow.” 

Marc nodded. “Yeah. There was a telescope. Thought we could be an explorer out there or something. Weren’t any good at remembering the names of the constellations, but we could find them.” 

“I remember that.” Steven smiled. “We found the Little Dipper every night.” 

“You know, we used to hate milk.” Marc made a face. “Or was that just me?” 

“Milk is right disgusting.” Steven made the same face. 

“You two are idiotas. Milk is wonderful! Prefer it in my coffee to creamer.” Jake huffed. “Do you remember the little candies Abuelita used to give us?” 

“Red hots.” Marc groaned. “Basically candy coated cinnamon pain.” 

“I keep a pack of them in my car.” Jake grinned. 

“I have a memory of getting into a jar of jalapenos once.” Steven shuddered. “Was that real?” 

“Oh god.” Marc chuckled. “Her homemade pickled Jalapenos. She hid them up on the top of the cabinet. DId we really eat half the jar?” 

“We ate the whole jar. We puked.” Jake nodded.

Steven cringed. “Is that why I can’t look at a pickled jalapeno without gagging?” 

“I’d do it again.” Jake smiled smugly. “Those were the best damn jalapenos I ever had.” 

They laughed softly and watched the candle flicker for a moment, remembering hazy moments that weren’t quite clear to them. Piecing together moments that some only had bits to and correcting memories that were almost forgotten. 

Marc turned to Layla after a moment. “Would you mind… Find us another candle?” 

She blinked in surprise and moved to get one from the kitchen. “Who is this one for?” 

“Randall.” Marc set it down next to the first one and carefully lit it. “I don’t have any pictures, but I think it’s time he was properly honored.” 

“We never got to attend his funeral or Shiva.” Jake whispered. “She made sure of that.” 

“Yeah.” Marc sighed. “I don’t know how much of him you remember… But I’d like to share…” 

“I didn’t even know I had one.” Steven looked down sadly. 

“I have some images…” Jake shook his head. “Not really connected with good things.” Memories that were locked away so completely that he made sure none of them had access to them. 

“Let’s fix that.” Marc moved to sit down and beckoned Layla over. Once they were all settled, Marc took a slow breath. 

“I had a younger brother named Randall. He was a pain. Always taking my toys and wanting to color. But any time I wanted to play pretend, he was right there with me.” Marc took Layla’s hand and held it tightly. 

They talked for hours and ate the bread together, telling stories of what he could remember of his younger brother and growing up with him. It was the most Marc had ever let himself remember before. There were a surprising number of good memories. 

Now and then, Jake would add in a detail Marc had missed. Something small that made the memory more real. Steven had even added in a detail he was surprised to remember, though he lacked the context. 

By the end, they were exhausted, curling up on the couch with Layla and fading in and out of sleep. 

“Thank you for sharing.” She whispered and kissed his forehead. “You should get some rest.” 

“I know it isn’t really your culture or anything…” Steven nervously looked up at her. “The holiday does last all day and ends on the second… If you wanted to… You could tell us about your father. Marc says it’s okay if you share. Jake says it’s okay to put his photo up if you like.” 

Layla thought about it for a moment then nodded. “It’s about honoring family, isn’t it? I think I would like that… Adding my memories to yours…” 

Steven smiled and closed his eyes. “A path of Marigolds to lead us to the field of reeds. I think it would be lovely if we could all be there together next time…” 

Marc dreamed. Gold and orange mixing in the silence. He wasn’t alone this time. The silence was broken by the sound of Jake humming softly, playing a guitar somewhere in the reeds. Next to him Steven looked around with wide eyes as he took in the colorful sky. He was buzzing and babbling about the history of the reeds. 

Marc breathed a sigh of relief. He hated the silence. Smiling, he sat back and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of family. 

[plaidbooks]

Hello!☺️ I love your writing so much !! Can I request something cute and fluffy for Barba x reader? Raf being a single dad, please? I can't stop thinking about it, the idea popped into my head and it doesn't go away 😂

Fatherhood

A/N: Heya Anon! Trying to come up with a way that Rafi is a father with no one knowing was fun haha! This is fluff with the slightest bit of angst. Hope you enjoy!

Tags: child abduction

Words: 1638

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @infiniteoddball @ben-c-group-therapy @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @dianilaws

It was a Saturday morning, and Rafael had the day off. Everyone made their jokes about what Rafael Barba even did on a day off—catch up on paperwork, get in a fight on Twitter with a defense attorney or idiot politician, or read up on some obscure law so he could use it in a trial to sound smarter than everyone else—but no one came close to what he actually did when not at work. Dressed in a loose polo shirt and jeans, he made the trip to his sister’s house. Not even Olivia knew his sister existed, let alone anyone else he worked with. Rafael had always been a private man, but he made sure to bury this side of his life so deep down, no one could use it against him…especially after the debacle with Willard digging into his personal bank account. Rafael was smarter, though; he wasn’t stupid enough to have this tied to his public life, his main bank account, his personal cell phone.

He knocked on the door, a wide smile on his face as a little girl with long, black hair and his green eyes answered. “Daddy!” she yelled, throwing the door open and launching herself into his torso.

“Alma, mi vida!” Rafael laughed, picking her up and kissing her cheek. When Rafael’s girlfriend slammed the door in his face 5 years ago, leaving a swaddled baby in his arms, he had no idea what to do. He waffled on the idea of putting her up for adoption, but his Mamí would have disowned him. It’s not that he didn’t instantly love Alma. But with his hectic schedule, and with his student loans and other bills, he had no idea how to care for a child. Thankfully, his Mamí, Abuelita, and sister had stepped up to help as much as they could. And so, he was there for his little Alma as much as he could be, and his sister watched her when he was stuck at work, or when Alma wasn’t in school. He paid for everything—with a private, separate bank account—and he never talked about her…to protect her. He saw how Olivia had to deal with threats, whether against her or Noah, and he didn’t think he could handle it. Even though he was a lawyer, not an NYPD officer, he still got threats on the reg, and he slept better knowing his daughter was safe…even if that meant not seeing her as often.

“Ready to go to the park?” Rafael asked, putting her on the ground. “Go grab your jacket; the wind is chilly.”

 ***************

On the walk to the park, Alma filled in Rafael on everything she had done at school this week. It was her first year in school, kindergarten, and she was excited to fill him in, even though they talked every evening on the phone.

“And then I got a gold star cause I knew the wholeeeee alphabet!” Alma said happily.

Rafael smiled down at her. “That’s because you’re the smartest girl in class!”

They walked by a small ice cream stand, and Alma screamed, “daddy, daddy! Ice cream!” And how could he ever say no to her? So, taking her hand in his, he walked up to the stand, getting Alma and himself an ice cream cone—chocolate swirl for her, vanilla for him. She absolutely covered hers in sprinkles, then giggled as she licked it, covering her face in rainbow chocolate. Rafael grinned, snapping a picture on his backup cell, and pulling out his emergency wet wipes.

 ***************

Days like today made Rafael the happiest man in the world. He laughed as Alma yelled, “daddy, look at me!” while she was on the play structure. He never took his eyes off her, making sure she was safe…well, as safe as a five-year-old could be on a playground with a bunch of other kids. Every time she tripped and fell, he had a mini heart attack, and he forced himself to not rush over to her. But then she’d get back up, laughing, and bounding around the playground once more.

“Is that one yours?” a woman asked, pointing at Alma.

Rafael turned to her, smiling proudly. “My one and only,” he replied.

“Aww, we should schedule a playdate with my little Chelsea! Look at them; they’re already becoming quick friends!” the woman said. Rafael looked back to where Alma was playing but frowned as he didn’t see her. Panic started to blossom in his chest as his eyes scanned the playground, searching for her pink jacket.

“Alma?” he called, his voice raised almost hysterically. He started rushing around the playground, looking everywhere. He only looked away for a second; where could she have gone? “Alma?!”

 *****************

You were jogging down a familiar path in the park, your music low in your ears, breathing measured. Stopping for a moment to wipe the sweat from your brow, you glanced around, taking in the sights; there weren’t many people in this part of the park, mostly just other joggers. But one thing did catch your eye; a man leading a young girl across the grass at a brisk pace. Something seemed…wrong, off. The girl was…struggling? It could just be an unruly child, but…. Following your instinct, you jogged over.

“Excuse me, your daughter is adorable,” you said cautiously, unsure how else to stop him.

“Thanks,” he replied, barely glancing at you as he tried to move passed you.

You kept in front of him. “What’s her name?”

Before he could even answer, the girl whined, “I don’t know this man!”

Heart in your throat, you made eye contact with the man for a split second before instincts took over once again, your fist connecting with his jaw. He dropped to the grass, out cold, and you reached your hand out for the little girl to grab.

“What happened, honey? What’s your name?” you asked.

She looked at you with wide eyes, but she didn’t cry; she just looked shocked. “Alma…he grabbed my arm while I was on the slide,” she explained.

Just then, the man started to stir. You glanced around at the people jogging by, and you waved your free hand. “Hey, I need someone to call the police,” you called, moving to stand on the man’s back.

A woman with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail noticed you and came jogging over. “I’m NYPD; what’s going on here?”

You explained the situation, and she called for backup. “I’m going to take this little girl back to the playground—find her parents,” you said.

“I, uh, I know you’re trying to help. But I can’t let you leave with that child,” the woman—Detective Rollins, she had said—replied.

“Look, I’m not in the market for becoming a mother. But I’m positive Alma’s is freaking out right now, and she deserves to know her daughter is safe,” you reasoned.

Rollins weighed her options—who knew how long it would take until backup came? And what if Alma’s parents didn’t come this direction? It was a big park; it was entirely possible that they wouldn’t.

“Yeah, okay, fine. But if I see this little girl on a missing person’s report, I will personally track you down,” she promised. You nodded, taking Alma’s hand in yours and heading towards the playground.

“Who are you here with?” you asked. This poor girl; she couldn’t have been more than five…. You were going to rip apart her parents.

“My daddy! I haven’t seen him all week, so he took me to the park to play,” Alma said, giggling. Yep, you were going to kill this man. First, he doesn’t spend enough time with his daughter, and then he lets her get abducted?

You and Alma had made it halfway to the playground before she pulled from your grasp with a scream of “daddy!” and rushed to a man, who in turn yelled her name. He ran to her, scooping her into his arms and hugging her tightly, kissing her forehead. It was an endearing sight, and you felt some of your anger ebb away at the action. His eyes locked to yours, and he made his way to you. The remaining anger left when you realized how attractive he was, his bright green eyes drawing you in.

“Are you the one that found Alma?” he asked, still clutching the girl to him as if he’d lose her again.

“I am, yeah. Some guy was trying to take her; I think a Detective Rollins is still waiting for officers to arrest the guy. It’d be nice if you went and talked to her, showed her that I did return your daughter to you—”

“No, I’m taking Alma home, where it’s safe,” he cut you off. You gave him a questioning look, and he quickly changed subjects. “Thank you so much, for saving my little girl. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

“Besides talking to that detective for me?” you smirked. He opened his mouth to reply, before he was cut off.

“Daddy, can she come over for dinner?” Alma asked, giving you the biggest grin. You felt your cheeks warm and the man’s ears turned pink.

“Ah, only if it’s okay with her,” he replied, looking at you with an eyebrow raised.

You glanced at the hand wrapped around his daughter’s back; no wedding ring, no wife to make jealous. “Y-yeah, sure. I’d love to.” How could you say no to this little girl? She was just too damn cute.

“Yay!” she cheered, almost falling from her father’s grasp before he caught her.

He turned to walk back towards the playground, and you fell into step beside him. “My name is Rafael, by the way,” he said, holding out a hand for you to shake.

[marvelous-imagines-for-all]

“Sunflower.” Ruby x Reader OnMyBlock

Based on: “Hello, I would like to a request a Ruby x Reader fanfic where y/n just moved to Freeridge and is feeling homesick.”

Author: Alana

You woke up not feeling the best. Your mind replaying memories of your friends back home.

Your mother kept telling you that with time, you would feel better about living in Freeridge. Yet, you’ve been feeling worst the longer you’ve been there.

You have to get over it, (y/n). You reminded yourself, sliding out of bed to get your day started.

You were hoping you would feel better as the day went on, but that didn’t happen. You tried distracting yourself in different ways, but found yourself getting more upset.

There was only one person you wanted to talk to about what you were feeling. Ruby. Throughout the past few weeks, he had done his best to invite you to hang out with his friends, even when you repeatedly declined.

He would even stop by your house to check on you, often bringing you food. That led to you bonding with him, more than you realized. Because you would then invite him in to share with you.

This time together allowed you both to get to know each other better. Though you didn’t realize it, Ruby was becoming your first friend in Freeridge.

You anxiously walked down to his house. Gingerly knocking on the front door quickly. Please be here, Ruby.

The second Ruby opened the door, you pushed past him and made your way to his couch. You sat down, fidgeting with your hands.

Ruby closed the front door, watching you worried. “(y/n), what’s wrong?” He asked, sitting next to you on the couch.

You sat there trying to get your thoughts together. The more you tried to find the right words, the more tears welled up in your eyes.

You looked down at your hands, letting the tears stream down your face. “I just miss home. I miss my friends. I miss everything that was familiar to me, but now that’s all gone.” You let out a quiet sob, placing your hands over your eyes and wresting your elbows on your knees.

Ruby watched you helplessly and placed his hand on your lower back.

“I just feel alone now..” You whispered out, dropping your hands and looking over at Ruby, who was now rubbing your back.

He let out a quiet sigh and turned his body towards you on the couch. “But you’re not alone, (y/n). You have so many people here who want to be your friend. You just have to let them in..” he smiled softly at you.

You looked back down at your hands, taking in Ruby’s words. He was right, you have to let others in. That was your worst habit, you were never one to open up a lot. You only trusted very few people.

Ruby gently pulled you into his arms and looked down at you, your head now laying on his chest, “Okay, how about this, tell me some things that you miss about home?” He encouraged, laying his head on yours.

You wiped your face and took in a deep breath. You noticed the cologne Ruby was wearing and it had a soothing affect on you.

“Um..” You started, clearing your throat, “I miss the large open fields we had back home. Everything here is so cramped and bustling constantly.” You looked up at Ruby and smiled softly, “My friends and I use to visit this sunflower field all the time. It always reminded us to stay together because Sunflowers represent loyalty..” you found yourself smiling more at remembering all the time you spent at those fields. “We would spend all day making food so that we could go have a picnic under the stars.. it was so beautiful..” you whispered the last part, mostly to yourself.

Ruby watched you amazed, not used to you talking this much about anything, especially at once. It was really nice seeing you smile like this. He suddenly got an idea.

“Hey, (y/n), how about we meet tonight for dinner? I know it’s last minute, but I promise you that you’ll have fun. I just want to help distract you; show you that you aren’t alone here.” He smiled huge, his brown doe eyes sparkling with excitement.

You blushed a little and nodded, “Okay, why not, Ruby.. and thank you for being here..” you spoke softly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and hugging him.

Ruby hugged back, smiling to himself, “You’re welcome, (y/n). Now go home and relax until I come get you for dinner.” He ordered jokingly, pulling away from the hug.

You let a soft giggle escape your lips, “I didn’t realize you were this bossy, Ruby Martinez.” You playfully rolled your eyes, heading towards the door. “I’ll see you tonight.” You gave a small wave, exiting the house.

-

As soon as you left the house, Ruby ran to the garage, in search of his abuela.

“Abuelita, I really need your help right now.” He began coughing and swatting away the smoke that was filling the garage.

Abuelita’s eye widened and she quickly put down her bong. “Aye, qué pasa? What do you want? I’m busy.”

Ruby ignored the fact that she was smoking her bong in the garage again, “I need your help. I want to do something nice for (y/n), but I need you to drive me around to some flower shops.” He pleaded, biting his lip nervously.

Abuelita groaned softly, “I don’t know, Ruby-“

“I won’t tell mom and dad that you never threw out your bong.” He bargained, narrowing his eyes at her a bit.

Abuelita glared at Ruby a bit, “Fine. Go get my keys, estúpido.” She said, tucking her bong back into her hiding spot.

-

“By the way, I also need some money...” Ruby added on once they pulled up to a floral shop.

Abuelita let out a loud sigh and grabbed her purse, “Why can’t you be more like Jamal?” She grumbled, handing Ruby cash.

Ruby let out a soft laugh and got out of the car eagerly. He walked into the floral shop and straight to the florist behind the cash register, “Do you have any sunflowers? Like a lot of sunflowers?”

The older woman gave Ruby a sweet smile, “Of course I do, sugar. But sunflowers are not cheap.. they’re about $2.40 per flower.”

Looking down at the money he had in his hands, he thought for a moment. Yeah, this was about to be crazy expensive, but if it made you feel less home sick then he would do whatever it took.

“I’m doing this for a friend who’s missing her home. She’s worth the cost.” He smiled at the florist.

The florist smirked a little and walked around the counter, “Follow me.” She ordered, walking towards the back of the shop. “So do you like this friend more than a friend?” She questioned, picking out Sunflower bouquets.

The question caught Ruby off guard, causing him to blush and to stutter through his response. “W-why would you ask that? What makes you think I l-like her?” He asked back, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Well for starters, not a lot of young men come in here to buy flowers. Especially not to help a girl feel better who is homesick.” She reasoned, walking back to the counter to place the flowers at the register.

Ruby grabbed a few more bouquets and followed the florist back to the cash register, “Well that doesn’t mean that I like her.” He scoffed quietly, the blush still evident on his tan cheeks. “I mean, sure she’s beautiful, and so funny when you can get her to talk to you. And she does this little lip bite thing when she thinks of a funny joke. You can always tell when she’s about to tell you a joke.” Ruby chuckled softly to himself, thinking about you.

The florist watched Ruby with adoration, “You’ve got it bad, sweet pea..” She paused for a moment, watching Ruby. “Listen, since you clearly have a thing for this girl and you’re a sweet kid, I’ll give you half off on all the flowers. I hope you can make this girl’s year.” She smiled more at Ruby, beginning to ring up his flowers.

“I’ll help you take these out to the car.” She offered, taking the cash Ruby held out to her.

“I really appreciate all of your help, ma’am.” He said, giving her his charming smile and gathering as many bouquets as his arms could hold.

The florist gathered the rest of the flowers and followed Ruby out to the car, “It’s no problem, sugar, really. And a bit of advice,” she started, setting the bouquets in the back seat, “once you get the girl, never stop trying to make her feel at home here.” She said, closing the back door as Ruby got into the front seat, holding the bouquets in his lap.

“Good luck, kid.” She winked, closing the passenger door for him.

Ruby pondered over what she had just said as Abuelita pulled out of the parking spot, “Are we done? Can we go home now? I’m missing my show, Ruby.” Abuelita huffed out.

“Yes, Abuelita. We can go home now, but I need one more favor.” He looked over at his grandmother.

Abuelita groaned softly, “I’m beginning to like Jamal more and more.” she raised an eyebrow over at Ruby, “What do you need?”

“I need you to help me make some food.. you’re the best cook I know, Abuelita.” Ruby flattered her, batting his eyelashes.

-

You opened the front door and watched Ruby confused, “Do you have to pee or something..? Why are you bouncing like that?” You questioned.

“It’s called excitement, (y/n). Now come on!” He grabbed your hand, pulling you outside of the house.

You quickly pulled your front door closed and walked along Ruby’s side. “I’ve never seen you this excited before? It’s only dinner, Ruby.” You reminded him, not realizing that you both were now holding hands.

Ruby smiled more to himself. He knew that this was going to be more than dinner. He knew that this could possibly change the way that you view Freeridge and even making new friends.

All he had to do was not ruin the surprise as you both walked to the football field.

“I know, but I’m starving. So I’m excited to eat.” He smiled over at you, barely swinging your hands back and forth.

You looked around at your surroundings, confused as to where you guys were going to eat.

“Speaking of eating... where are we eating?” You questioned as you both approached the football field.

“Here.” Ruby said, dropping your hand and motioning to the scene in front of you.

Your jaw dropped at the sight in front of you.

There, in the middle of the field, a large picnic blanket laid, sunflowers placed strategically over it. On top of the blanket was a picnic basket that had sunflowers woven into it. And as you looked across the field, even more sunflowers could be seen spread amongst the horizon.

You stared at the sight in front of you in awe. Your eyes instantly being drawn to the beautiful yellow flowers. “Sunflowers..” you breathed out, a huge smile making its way to your lips. You looked over at Ruby, “What is this..?” You asked, making your way over the picnic blanket.

Ruby reached into the basket and pulled out a bouquet of sunflowers. “My failed replication of your sunflower field back home.” He chuckled softly, placing the flowers into your arms.

“I wanted to do something to show you that you aren’t alone here, (y/n).” He smiled nervously at you, “So I checked the weather to make sure the sky won’t be cloudy tonight, so we can see the stars. I found an open place where it’s not busy and bustling, as you said. And I helped my Abuelita cook..” he finished, a hint of pride in his voice.

You were still taking in everything around you, not yet saying a word.

This caused Ruby to frown and he looked at you nervously, “Did I overstep..? I swear I wasn’t trying to overstep, (y/n). I was just trying-“

“I love it.” You finally looked over at Ruby, “I love it so much, Ruby.” you hugged him tightly, angling your body so you wouldn’t squish the flowers in your arms.

You could feel Ruby relax as he hugged you back.

You spoke softly, not pulling away from the hug, “No one has ever done anything like this for me.. not that I was expecting it, but this really means so much to me.” You expressed, slowly pulling away from the hug.

That proud smile returned to Ruby’s face. He grabbed your hand again and sat down on the blanket. “I’m really glad you like it.. you know what else you’ll like?” He asked, reaching into the basket and pulling out food.

“Hm??” You watched what he was pulling out of the basket.

“My Abuelita’s empanadas. They’re to die for.” Ruby praised, handing you a plate and opening the container that contained the empanadas.

You both sat there eating and enjoying each other’s company. Watching the sun set, you both laid back on the blanket and looked up to the sky.

Ruby wrapped an arm around your shoulder. He watched as the sky darkened gradually, allowing the twinkling stars to be able to show.

You leaned into Ruby’s side and kept staring up at the stars, “You were wrong.” You told him, not breaking your stare.

Ruby turned his head in your direction. He knitted his eyes in confusion, “About what?” His voice laced with curiosity.

You turned your head towards him, “This wasn’t a failed attempt. This was perfect, Ruby.” You smiled over at him, now seeing him in a new light. Maybe he wouldn’t always be just a friend. Maybe one day it could be more than that.

Turning over to grab a sunflower from the grass, Ruby turned back towards you and tucked the flower behind your ear. “Good, because you deserve nothing less than perfection, (y/n).”

[dreamlover31]

Wicked Games

Hello my fellow Tumblr fans, I’m sorry this took a while for me to post but I hope you enjoy the second of my story

Tagging: @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @dreila03 @glimmerglittergirl @southern-magnolia @melsquared79 @xemopeachx @sass-and-suspenders @laceybellerain

The sun rose across the concrete metropolis that is New York City, the beginnings of a new day which means a fresh start for those seeking it. At an apartment on the upper west side of  Manhattan; the morning light peers through the sheer white curtains cascading an almost heavenly glow upon the slender body of a young woman. Her honey colored locks fan out along the pillow whilst her mouth was opened slightly ajar, however, the young woman’s brows furrowed and eyelids fluttered as the feeling of being watched consumed her. With a small groan, she opened her eyes and smiled at the sight before her; an older gentleman propped up on one elbow gazed his emerald orbs upon the awakening beauty, with an arm stretched out, she cupped his face at the same time her thumb stroked the scruff on his cheek. m soo

Little by little, she pulled him closer until their lips met, their kiss filled with sweet tenderness and love; after a moment, they reluctantly separated and laid their bodies back on to the bed. For a while, the woman ran her fingers through her paramour’s salt and pepper hair as he continued to stare upon her angelic face which was enhanced by the morning light coming through the window. In a sense, it was like looking at an angel. Their moment of bliss was soon interrupted by the buzzing sound of the alarm coming from the phone sitting on the nearby bedside table, the man grunted as he reached for it and silenced the offending sound; his hand swiped over his face to shake off the shackles of sleep but just as he was about to slip out from under the covers; he felt an arm wrapped around his waistline and a head upon his shoulder.

She hummed and sleepily said, “5 more minutes”

The older man smirked as his hand landed upon hers; his thumb caressing the smooth skin of her knuckles whilst his cheek rested beside her head. In a soft, gentle voice, he replied:

“I have to get ready for court mi amor”

With a huff, she eased her arm away to give him room to retreat from her embrace, quickly she slipped out of bed and ran up to her companion as he was about to enter the bathroom; essentially blocking his way and whenever he tried to move past her, she mimicked his movements to the point where they both grinned cheekily and started laughing.

“Charlotte I’m serious…I have to be in court in like 45 minutes”

“Come on Rafa…the world is not going to end if you don’t show up today”

He sighed, to everyone he knew, Rafael Barba worked himself to the bone to get justice for victims; it was an endearing quality to a point, however, there were those who like to throw out the old adage ‘all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’ or in this case Rafael. His mother Lucia often spoke about how the chance of her becoming an abuelita was dwindling as time went on, although, even he had to admit that both hers and Charlotte’s claims were not without merit and yet he would not relinquish his control to anyone; in his mind,he had devoted all his time into prepping witnesses, studying any potential case laws that the defense could possibly throw at him and overall strategically planning his cross examinations that to give it to a substitute would be a disservice to everyone involved. Ultimately, he cupped Charlotte’s face and planted a small kiss on her lips, his forehead rested upon hers and regretfully spoke:

“I’m sorry mi amor…but I just don’t trust anyone else to cover for me”

Charlotte nodded and she placed a chaste kiss on Rafael’s cheek, her hand gestured towards the opened bathroom door signaling to him to continue on with his daily routine, Rafael shed his clothes and hopped into the shower. Meanwhile, Charlotte padded into the kitchen where she grabbed the essential needs for the meal that she was about to prepare for Rafael; a man of his stature will need all his strength if he was going to dish out justice for the people of New York.

The smell of coffee and cinnamon filled Rafael’s nostrils upon entering the kitchen, after he showered, he trekked into the walk in closet and retrieved his charcoal grey suit, paired with matching vest and blue suspenders along with his paisley tie and pocket square. Once he was dressed, the prosecutor made his way into the kitchen where he found his beloved making breakfast; with his briefcase in hand, he pulled up a chair at the kitchen island and folded his hands on top while he observed Charlotte hard at work. Unbeknownst to her, she flipped the last stack of pancake on a plate and as she turned around to place it on the table, she jumped at the sight of Rafael sitting in front of her.

“Jesus Rafael…you scared me”

He chuckled, “Sorry…it’s just such a joy to watch you…you look so domesticated”

Her cheeks tinted by shade of crimson pink and a small giggle escaped her lips as she proceeded to lay out the plate of pancakes in front of him, and then she grabbed a mug from the cupboard and headed towards the adjoining coffee maker, after the hot liquid was poured into the mug, Charlotte set it next to Rafael just as he was cutting into his syrup covered stack of fried dough. In quick succession, she whipped up another batch for herself and joined him at the table. The couple sat in a comfortable silence while dining on their meal until Rafael checked the time on his phone and frowned; he slid it back into his breast pocket and got up from the table.

“I’ve got to get going or else the judge will have my head for being late”

Charlotte rose from her chair and leaned forward to kiss him goodbye.

“Don’t work too hard…I love you”

“I love you too”

Rafael picked up his briefcase and headed out the front door. As soon as she heard the door close, Charlotte began picking up the dishes from the table and put them in the dishwasher. Suddenly, she heard the front door open again, her face twisted into an expression of puzzlement but she smiled a little as she turned around.

“Did you forget something”

Her eyes widened, for the figure that stood in front of her was not her dear Rafael, but a petite raven haired woman who smirked mischievously as her hand rose towards Charlotte, her breath hitched when she saw a small caliber gun wrapped around her fingers; in a cold monotone voice, the young woman spoke:

“Hello Charlotte…we need to talk”

Rafael sat in his office typing away on his laptop, Liv and the squad caught a rape/homicide case in Midtown; they had a strong suspect but the evidence was only circumstantial at best so Liv texted him to see if he could get a friendly judge to grant them a search warrant for the perp’s home. He was finishing up the last sentence of his proposal when his phone pinged, thinking it was Liv checking on the status of the warrant, he grabbed the phone but furrowed his brows when he saw that it was from Charlotte.

I am going out of my mind…I miss you….is there anyway I can convince you to come home a little early?

A smirk crept onto his face as he typed up his response

I have to get Liv a search warrant…but after that I hope to be done soon

After the message was sent, he emailed his application for the search warrant to the judge and began to clean up the mess of paperwork on top of his desk; another ping drew his attention back to his phone. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw a picture of what appeared to be Charlotte from the neck down dressed in a red and black laced corset with matching panties and black thigh high stockings posing seductively with a caption below:

Don’t keep me waiting…or I’ll start without you

Rafael lowly growled as he quickly typed:

You are not playing fair carino

Before she could get a chance to respond, he slipped on his jacket that had been draped over the back of his chair and then closed his laptop; with his phone in his pocket and briefcase in hand, he headed out. Carmen, his assistant, was made aware of his departure and was told to forward his calls to his cell phone to which she nodded in agreement; upon exiting One Hogan Place, Rafael hailed a cab, during the drive back to his apartment, he checked his phone again to see if Charlotte had responded to his previous message only to find that she didn’t. 

When the cabbie pulled up to the building, he paid the fare with the tip included and stepped outside the cab; with a quick wave to the doorman, he crossed over into the lobby and went towards the elevators, at that moment, one of the doors opened and he quickly entered the cart. He pushed the button for his floor and the cart ascended, the doors opened again once he made it to his floor; as he was walking towards the front door, he fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door.

In the atrium, he placed his briefcase beside the foyer table and the keys inside the dish on top. It was then that Rafael noticed that the apartment was eerily quiet, his eyes scanned the room and stopped short when he saw one of the pillows from the living room couch on the floor, slowly, he walked towards it and picked it up; upon examination, he saw a hole in the middle causing his expression to change into one of confusement. 

At the same time, he caught sight of something else, on the hardwood floor adjoining the living room and kitchen, a small pool of red liquid had covered most of the area, Rafael tossed the pillow on the couch and made his way over; he sat on his haunches and dipped his finger into the puddle. With his thumb and index finger, he rubbed the content of the puddle and sniffed it and then suddenly it was like a lightbulb went off in his head as he had come to the realization that what this was in actuality blood. Rafael’s heart sank and with quick reflexes, reached into his pocket and dialed Liv’s number.

“Benson”

In a hushed tone, Rafael replied, “Liv…I need help”

“Barba…what’s going on?”

“I don’t know…Charlotte texted me while I was work and when I came home…the apartment was deafly quiet and there’s blood all over the floor”

“Alright…where is she?”

“I don’t know”

“Ok…get out of the building…I’m sending Rollins and Carisi over…

Just as he was about to respond, Rafael felt something pressed against the back of his head, he froze as he felt a pair of fingers encircle his phone and snatched it from his hand; he could hear the call ending and what followed was the crunching sound of his phone being smashed onto the floor. With his arms held up, he felt a hand on his shoulder guiding him upwards slowly then upon standing he heard a voice:

“Turn around slowly…any false move and I will blow your brains out”

Rafael felt his blood run cold at the recognition of the threatening tone of voice…please god no…he complied with the intruder’s command and as soon as they were face to face, his gaze contorted into one of shock with an underside of fear. The person that stood before him was none other than his former lover Sophie, in her hands, she held a small 357 Magnum which was pointed directly at him; he swallowed hard with his hands still in the air. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he calmly replied:

“Where is Charlotte…what have you done with her”

Sophie smirked, “She’s fine…all things considered”

Rafael glared at Sophie, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Sophie disappeared into the next room, all the while, Rafael was praying to God that Charlotte was unharmed and that Rollins and Carisi would be here soon, but as he was trying to get his wits about him, he saw Sophie reappearing with a disheveled looking Charlotte with the gun pressed firmly on her head. Rafael gasped in horror, Charlotte had looked as if she had been in a losing battle with Manny Pachiao, her face was covered in bruises and she was sporting a split upper lip but was even more devastating to see was her eyes, they were bloodshot and watery; almost as if she had been crying. Finally, what was the final nail in the coffin for him was the makings of a tourniquet wrapped around her knee; blood seeping out of it, Rafael bit his lip and clenched his fists in an effort to refrain himself from approaching Sophie and wringing her scrawny little neck but inside, his blood was boiling…this woman had the audacity to break into their home and assault the woman he loves, at that moment, he snapped out of his reverie when Sophie spoke:

“I have to admit Rafael…your girl is quite a scrapper but as you can see I can handle myself”

“Please Sophie…let her go…this is between you and me”

“I beg to differ Rafael…after all this is supposedly the woman that you want to share your life with”

She brought Charlotte to the couch with the gun still pointed at her head, Charlotte glanced at Rafael and her eyes spoke volumes; tears started springing and a look of hurt mixed with fear essentially crushed his soul. As much as he wanted to hold Charlotte and rescue her from the clutches of this mad woman, Rafael could only stand there helplessly.

“Listen…the police are on their way right now…if you give yourself up then maybe we could work out some sort of deal”

It was then that Sophie broke out into a smile and began maliciously cackling

“Sorry Rafael…but that silver tongue of yours won’t save you this time…you need to realize that they are consequences of the promises that you made…when you sleep with someone…your body makes a promise whether you mean to or not”

Sophie paused and looked at Charlotte, her lips coiled into an evil smirk as she continued: “Tell me something Rafael…do you believe in God? Because if you do…I am not as merciful as he is!”

She took the gun and dug it into the tourniquet causing Charlotte to scream in agony, Rafael’s expression was of pain and anguish over his loved one…he couldn’t help but blame himself for all of this…if only he had just went straight home after court instead of heading to Forlini’s then Charlotte wouldn’t be at the mercy of someone hell bent on destroying them.

“Beg me to let her live!”

“Please stop…I’ll do anything you want just let her go”

Then there was a pounding on the door

“NYPD…counselor are you in there?”

“Anybody comes through that door and they’re both dead”

“Carisi…I’m alright but Charlotte has been shot”

“Ok…listen whoever’s in there…we have the building surrounded…the only way out of this is to give yourself up”

“Over Charlotte’s dead body”

Rafael pleaded, “Sophie listen…I am so sorry about everything…I took advantage of you and treated you like a discarded washcloth but we can fix this”

Sophie arched a brow, “Oh really…well sorry sweetheart but I’m afraid it’s too late for that”

Charlotte could feel tears running down her cheeks as she took deep breaths to ease the pain radiating from her knee, then she looked up just in time to see Sophie press the barrel of the gun to her forehead, her heart was beating out of her chest as she heard the gun cock. She stared the woman down, it became apparent that there would be no reasoning with the likes of her but she decided to try something in an attempt to appease to her humanity.

“Sophie…I know that you have been wronged but when you think about it…so have I…I have been told the same lies as you…”

Sophie looked less than sympathetic…so Charlotte tried again

“Women like you and me, should be working together to punish those who royally screwed us over not against each other…and not just me but my unborn child”

It was like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room, Sophie blinked at Charlotte’s admission, granting Rafael the opportunity to lunge at her and knock her down to the ground, Charlotte called out to Carisi for them to breach the apartment. Upon entry, both Rollins and Carisi had their guns drawn while Rafael continued to struggle with Sophie; he grabbed her wrist and banged it against the hardwood floor in an attempt to wrangle it from her grasp but at that moment she kneed him in the groin to which he howled in pain. Sophie regained her footing and aimed the gun at Rafael but before she could get a shot off, Carisi fired his gun and the bullet hit her in the head and then landed on the floor.

Rollins helped Charlotte to her feet as she got on her radio to call an ambulance and the CSU team, Carisi did the same for Rafael. For the next few hours, CSU processed their apartment since it was considered a crime scene, meanwhile, Rafael and Charlotte were taken to the hospital where she was getting patched up from the bullet injury to her knee, from there, they were brought to station. In separate interrogation rooms, they gave their statements to Rollins and Carisi; afterwards, they drove them back to their apartment to gather a few things. Charlotte barely said a word to Rafael the entire ride to and from the station, mind still reeling from the day’s events; as soon as they entered the apartment, she used the crutches given to her at the hospital and made her way into the bedroom where she grabbed her overnight bag and began stuffing clothes and toiletries inside, at one point, she had dropped a blouse and attempted to bend down to pick it up, as she struggles to pick up the flimsy piece of fabric, Rafael came into the bedroom and steadfastly went towards her and tried to help until she snapped:

“Don’t…I can do this myself”

He held up his hands in defeat and repeated her actions by packing up the necessities into an overnight bag for himself, when all was said and done, they joined Rollins and Carisi in the living room.

“Alright…so we can put you guys up in a hotel until CSU releases the scene”

“Actually…Amanda I won’t be joining you”

Everyone looked at Charlotte in puzzlement

“You can take Mr. Barba here wherever you like…but as for me…I will be staying with my sister over in Soho”

Rafael opened and closed his mouth a few times but no words came out, finally he said,

“Carino…what are you saying”

She looked at him with cold eyes and responded, “I am saying that you and I are done…I don’t ever want to see or hear from you ever again”

He reached for her, but she recoiled as if he was the most repulsive thing she had ever laid eyes on, and for all intents and purposes to her, he was.

“Don’t touch me…Amanda will you please get me out of here”

She frowned and placed her hand on the small of Charlotte’s back and escorted her downstairs, after both women left, Carisi looked at Rafael with such sadness and sympathy; his hand rested upon his shoulder as Rafael’s eyes became coated in unshed tears.

“I’ve lost her forever, Carisi…I have doomed myself into a lifetime of regret and loneliness”

“She just needs time counselor…

However, as much as he wanted to believe the young detective, Rafael knew that the damage was done and that there was no going back for them.

[gloriousstudentfury-love]

The Death of Mrs. Resnick ✰

y/n’s POV

I sat squished between Alex and his baseball gear, on the way to one of his games. I wasn't my plan to go, but Penelope and Alex didn't really give me much of a choice.

"Mom, I'm gonna miss the first pitch. Go faster!" Alex groaned

"Alex, you know Mrs. Resnick doesn't go faster. Unless we're going downhill, then she might not stop." Penelope sighed, grilling tighter on the steering wheel

"We are so late. Just try." He complained, slouching further down into his seat

She slammed the petal to go faster and the car started rattling. I held on to my seat with slight fear of stopping in the middle of LA traffic.

"Mom, I smell gas." Elena said

"All right." Penelope nodded, whipping out a bottle of air freshener to get rid of the smell

"Wow, That smells nice. What is that?" I asked, slightly sniffing the air

"It's Hawaii." She smiled

"Maybe the car's mad because papi stuck it with a name like Mrs. Resnick." Elena joked

"You know your papi named her after a hot teacher he had a crush on." Penelope informed her kids

"Our math teacher is pretty hot." I said16

Alex flicked me and I flicked him back. We got into a flicking war until he decided to speak up about the car, again.

"Yeah, but by now I bet Mr. Resnick's traded her in for a younger model." Alex said, making me smack off his hat

"That's not funny papito." Penelope snapped

"It's not funny. Society treats middle aged women shamefully. I read a study online-" Elena started, prepared to go on a full on rant

"Okay, who wants to hear some tunes?" Penelope interrupted

We all groaned, as she began to play a sappy live song. Penelope smiled at the song choice and began to sing along. Elena grew annoyed with the obnoxious music and paused it.

"Aw, right before the good part." Penelope complained

"There is no good part." I commented

"That CD has been stuck in this car my whole life." Elena said

"Uh, excuse me? It's a cassingle." Penelope said, offended by Elena's words

All of a sudden the car began to make sounds started slowing down. I looked out the window to notice the other cars attempting to pass the one we were in.

"Why are we slowing down? Who turned on the AC? You know Mrs. Resnick can't handle that!" Penelope freaked

"I'm sorry, but it's 90 degrees and you won't let us roll the windows down." Elena apologized with a small sigh

"Because then they don't go back up. And it's only a crime to leave children in a hot car if it's parked. I looked it up!" Penelope continued to rant

The car stopped and we all sighed as we sat in the middle of the street.

"Great. Okay, guys. You know the drill." Penelope spoke

We all held hands in prayer, while Penelope tried to fix the car the broken down car. She turned the key in the ignition and the engine started. We all cheered in happiness as the car began to more forward again.

"See? Mrs. Resnick's still got it." Penelope said

The engine sputtered one last time before it finally died out, with no chance of starting it up again.

"It's probably 20 minutes until the tow truck gets here. So, what should we do to pass them time?" Penelope asked after she'd called a company and let them know about where we were

She smirked before she started to play her music again. I sighed but ultimately let a smile take over my face when I realized that me and Alex were still holding hands from our prayer.. Maybe I do like my best friend, as much as I'd rather not admit.

____________

Later, we walked into the Alvarez apartment to find Lydia on the couch with a face mask on. I've used plenty of face masks before, so I wasn't to bothered to find the woman's face covered.

"Oh, hello." Lydia greeted

"What are you doing, Mami?" Penelope asked with a small laugh

"This is supposed to make your skin glow. It's called a shit mask." Lydia said

We all laughed at the way she pronounced it, while I took a seat in the arm chair besides the couch.

"Mami, 'sheet'. It's called a sheet mask." Penelope said, putting emphasis on the proper way to pronounce it

"That's what I said, shit." She repeated, finding no difference in the way we pronounced it vs the way she did

"So, would you say you are sheet-faced right now?" Elena joked

"Stop! Or the sheet will hit the fan." Penelope joined in

"You are back so late, I decided to have a little me time." Lydia commented

"Can you feel it working? Hey, guys." Schneider greeted, coming out from the kitchen wearing a similar mask.

His phone alarm went off, making me jump a bit. He took it out of his pocket, and smiled at the older woman on the couch.

"And we are 29 again." Schneider smiled as they took off their masks, "Where you guys been? And why didn't you text me?"

I knew his last question was pointed at me, so I gave him a small smile, "My phone died."

"Mrs. Resnick broke down again and had to be towed to the mechanic." Elena said, referring to the first question he had asked

"Hector's lookin at it now." Penelope said

"Oh, how is Hector? I feel like I haven't seen him in days." Lydia said

"Oh, papito. What happened to your pants?" Elena asked, smirking at the tear in Alex's pants

"I ripped them getting out of the trunk." Alex said, glaring at me as I laughed

"You keep him in the trunk now?" Lydia asked

"No, the doors got stuck again so we all had to climb out through the back." Penelope said

"It's terrible. Now the whole team calls me "Butt-Trunk Boy." Alex groaned

"They could've call you 'junk in the trunk.' It was right there." I added, still laughing at his accident

The cell phone rang and Penelope picked it up, letting us know it was Hector. Not wanting to bother myself with information about the car, I made my to the kitchen to get some food.

When I came back in, Penelope was in the middle of telling the story of her first date with their father.

"He even wrote our initials in a little heart in the bill. I still have it somewhere." She said, making me smile even though I hadn't heard the rest of the story

"Aw, you never take us to Malibu." Alex said

"That's what you got from that story?" I asked, popping some of the grapes I stole into my mouth

"Yeah, but the good news is you're getting a new car." Schneider said

"Oh, sure, I'll just have the butler pick it up." She sarcastically replied

"Oh, butlers work at the estate." Schneider said laughing, "Chauffeurs pick up the car."

"Lupe, if you need money for a car, I am here to help. I will teach dance again! It is a gift that I have withheld from the world far too long." Lydia declared with a large smile

"She taught me how to salsa. She was amazing." Schneider agreed

"I do it for the joy. You owe me $30." Lydia said, pointing at the tall man

"Okay, well, why don't we take public transportation and reduce our carbon footprint? It's the best way to save money, and besides, I don't want you to have to go into my college fund." Elena said

"College fund? You see that dish of change by the door? That's your college fund. Well, not the quarters, cause I need that for laundry." Penelope laughed

"Elena, mi niña, a family needs a car. In Cuba, my best memories are the long rides with my papi in a Chevy the size of this apartment. It was glorious. His beloved daughter on one side and on the other, his beloved bottle of rum." Lydia said

"That sounds dangerous." Alex commented

"No, no, no, no, we didn't have seatbelts back then. We would just roll out quick." Lydia insisted

"Well, I'm going to start taking public transportation, you know, to help atone for the environmental devastation that my ancestors and their gas guzzlers so cruelly left to this earth." Elena said

"Why does everything have to be a crusade that is also annoying?" Lydia asked

"Abuelita is right. We need a car, but we can't afford a car. Unless we get a crazy good deal, which means we're screwed, because... car salesman are scary." Penelope said

"But not to you. You were in the Army!" Alex said

"Yeah, you're always saying you're a badass." Elena agreed

"I am a badass! But I'm also kind of a scaredy cat, you know, because .... I never bought a car before, you know? That salesman is gonna see me coming a mile away. Then he's gonna do that thing where he talks to the guy. And then they're gonna day something about floor mats, and then blah blah blah, I wake up in an ice tub, because someone took my kidneys." Penelope said

I shut my eyes and zoned out the rest of their conversation.

____________

The next day, Schneider, Alex, and I all came back from Alex's baseball game. Again, I was dragged from ballet practice to the game, because Schneider insisted he needed moral support. Not for Alex, but himself.

"Mom, today was the best!" Alex grinned, slamming open the door

"Ooh!" Penelope cheered, noticing all of our happy expressions

"Everyone saw me in Schneider's Range Rover and thought I was a total pimp!" Alex laughed

I rolled my eyes at the boy's excitement. You'd think he'd be happy that they won the game, but he cared more for his bragging rights.

"Don't say pimp or you'll get grounded!" Penelope snapped

"Seriously, Mom. His car is amazing. The seats warm up. You wouldn't think you'd want a warm butt... but you totally do." Alex said

"It's all the best parts of peeing your pants without any wetness." Schneider said

"You should've seen Schneider. The other parents were obsessed." I said, finally joining in on their conversation

"Connie Merkelson told me she's never seen someone slice apples with such grace." Schneider said as me and Alex headed to his room.

______________

Schneider has fallen asleep after we finished watching a bunch of romantic comedies, so I decided to go see my friend. Knowing everyone else was probably asleep, I took Schneider's main key and quietly opened the door

"Alex!!" I whispered knocking on his door

"What?" He asked gently opening it, so I could come in

"Schneider fell asleep and.. I don't think that needs a further explanation." I said, taking a spot on the end of his bed

"That's not as bad as the signs that my Abuelita put around town." He said, shuddering at the memory

"Also, here's your sweatshirt back. I borrowed it that day you spilt food all over me, so here." I said handing him the grey hoodie

"Nah. Keep it. Looks better on you anyway." He smiled going back to the homework that sat on his desk

I blushed lightly at his comment, but brushed it off before composing myself once again

"Did your mom get a new car?" I asked, changing the subject

"Uh huh, it's no Range Rover but it's nice." He smiled

"Mhm." I said, flopping onto his bed, "Wake me up if I fall asleep."

______________

Yeet! Update! Also, what are some other shows you guys would like to see? I need ideas. 

[pengychan]

[Coco] The Bedside Ghost, Ch. 12

Title: The Bedside Ghost Summary: The bell falls but, instead of waking up in the Land of the Dead, Ernesto de la Cruz finds himself with a broken spine - and an unwanted guest at his bedside who claims he can let him have the sweet release of death, if he gives back what he took from him… Characters: Ernesto de la Cruz, Coco Rivera, Héctor Rivera, Julio Rivera, Imelda Rivera. Rating: T Status: Complete [This is the fic’s tag for all chapters up.]

[Also on Ao3]

A/N: here's the epilogue. Hope you guys enjoy it because a) it would suck if you'd read this far only to be let down and b) I think I gave myself a cavity writing it.

***

Día de los Muertos, 1947

“Ow!”

“Hey!”

“What’s the rush, idiota?”

“Watch where you’re going!”

There are yells and protests, and Héctor hears precisely none of them. He’s been running since the instant he made it through the checks, across the entire bridge, through the small cemetery of Santa Cecilia and now through its streets.

His hometown has changed in the twenty-six years he’s been dead, but not enough not to be recognizable, or so it looks like to him at a glance; it will have to do, because a glace is precisely all the spares to his surroundings. The streets are still familiar, but even if they were not it wouldn’t matter: there is a path of shimmering marigold petals to lead him home and he follows it – faster, faster, he can’t waste one minute, he needs to be with them every second he can, he needs to see them and hear their voices.

And then, suddenly, he’s home.

It’s bigger than he remembered; Imelda must have expanded it to accommodate the business, and the growing family. There is music and light and laughter coming from the yard, and the gate is just ajar. From up the wall, a gray cat is staring intently down at him. An alebrije, maybe? Just a random cat being both perceptive and creepy as cats can be?

Héctor wonders about it briefly, but he finds he doesn’t really care. He hasn’t come this far to watch a cat, after all: he’s here to see his family. So he draws in a deep breath, and steps in.

The first person he sees is a man he doesn’t recognize, meticulously arranging the food on the table. He’s tall and lanky, with a mustache and glasses; Héctor has just enough time to wonder if this is Coco’s husband when another man steps out of a door into the yard – an identical man, and Héctor suddenly knows who he’s looking at.

“Óscar! Felipe! Should have known from the glasses,” he exclaims, laughing. Last he saw them they were only boys, just turned sixteen, and now he’s looking at grown men… and with thinning hair to boot. Héctor wonders if they still like to mess with people by pretending to be each other – they used to confuse the crap out of him, too, and they did the same with little Coco. He wonders how many times she fell for it.

“Red sauce!” Óscar - or is it Felipe? - announces, passing right through him. It feels uncomfortably like stepping through a very cold shower, but Héctor is too elated to be there to care. “Your favorite!”

That causes his twin to roll his eyes. “You know my favorite is the black one,” he protests.

“Nu-uh, definitely the red one. Everyone says so.”

“Because you keep pretending to be me and tell them that. I swear that if someday I die--”

“ If.”

“Oh, right. Well, when I die, if I get red sauce on the ofrenda I will blame it on you personally and haunt you from beyond the grave!”

“Assuming you’re going to die first.”

“Of course. I was born first, after all.”

“By ten minutes.”

“Then by all accounts I should die ten minutes earlier.”

“That’s not a lot of haunting from beyond the grave...”

“Now, now, stop arguing!” Someone chides them, and Héctor turns to see a woman walking up to them, a tray with yet more food in her hand.

Must be Coco’s sister-in-law, the one Ernesto – the mere thought of him leaves a bitter taste in his mouth – has mentioned. There is a man as well, in his thirties, with a thick mustache and a meek smile… and, at his arm, there’s Coco.

Héctor’s jaw drops, and he needs to catch it in mid-air before it hits the ground, fumbling so much that it almost flies out of his hands. He reattaches it, and it stays hanging open for several moments. He left behind a beautiful little girl; he’s not looking at a grown woman with his same smile, the same cheekbones, the same tilt of the head as she laughs.

If it’s a girl, I hope she takes after her mother, Ernesto had taunted him with a laugh so many years ago, when he’d quite literally tackled him on the ground in the plaza to give him the news he was going to be a father. And there is something of Imelda, yes; to Héctor, she seems just as stunning… but she looks like him. How could his features be arranged to make something so beautiful, he’ll never know. Héctor reaches to bring a hand to her cheek and there it is, that sensation that is almost like touch. It will have to do, until her time comes.

Until you’re in my arms again.

“Hello, pequeñita,” he manages, his voice shaking. “Papá is home.”

Coco pauses mid-sentence and turns; for one long, heart-stopping moment, Héctor can almost believe she’s looking straight at him… but of course she isn’t. She’s looking through him, towards--

“I’ll see if mamá needs help with the ofrenda,” she says, and lets go of her husband’s arm – not without giving him a kiss on the cheek, something Héctor wishes more than anything he could steal right now – to walk past him, towards the ofrenda room. He follows her slowly, follows the path of marigold petals that shine at his passage, guiding him to his picture.

Guiding him to Imelda.

She’s as beautiful as the day he left her, that accursed day he would take back a million times over. The passage of time has marked her, but taken nothing away from the woman who could make his heart leap in his throat and his legs weak as jelly. She’s placing an envelope among the flowers and offerings in front of a picture on the ofrenda, Héctor’s own, the one he had on when he-- was murdered -- died. It is not the only one, either: he sees another envelope there.

“Did you write to him, too?” Coco asks, quietly, and Imelda nods. It is a small, dignified, almost regal movement; Héctor remembers it so well. He aches to take those letters and read them, and he will, but not right now. He has time to do so when it’s time to leave; he can read those letters in the Land of the Dead. For as long as he can be here, he will not lose sight of them for a moment.

Coco reaches to put a hand around Imelda’s shoulders, and they lean on each other. “I miss him,” Coco murmurs, and Imelda sighs.

“Me too.”

Something in Héctor’s chest cavity aches terribly, and he almost steps forward to hold them both, but he has no time to: suddenly something – someone – barrels into the room and through him, her voice shrill.  “Mamá! Mamá! Come dance with me and papá!”

Victoria, his granddaughter. The notion that he knew of her existence from Ernesto of all people – he should have been there when her existence was first announced, when Coco needed as much support as she could get as a new mother – leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but that his quickly forgotten when he looks at the little girl pulling at her mother’s dress. He can see both himself and Imelda in her, and his face splits in a grin.

“Please? We can dance now, right, abuelita?”

Imelda gives a faint smile. “Yes,” she says. “You can dance.”

With a cry of triumph, Victoria drags a laughing Coco out of the ofrenda room, leaving it empty save from Imelda, and himself. Imelda’s smile fades the same moment Héctor’s does, and she turns back to the photo on the ofrenda, wrapping her arms around herself as though cold. Héctor catches sight of the wedding ring at her finger; it causes something between his ribs to hurt, and he reaches to wrap his arms around her the best way he can, leaning his chin over her head as he used to do when they were alive.

I love you, I thinks, hoping more than anything that she can somehow feel his touch, the unspoken words hanging between them, all of the love he’s capable of feeling. I’m so sorry, I should have never left. Te amo, te amo, te amo.

Her frame seems to relax, and she lets out a long breath – as well as a murmur that would make Héctor’s heart skip a beat, if he still had one.

“… I love you too, idiota.”

The night is over soon, too soon. When dawn approaches, he has to do the one thing he would never wish to do again: he leaves, with the letters they left for him on the ofrenda tight against his ribcage, to cross back to the Land of the Dead. But every moment of that night is seared into his mind, to be treasured and dreamed about for months to come, when he’ll read the letters over and over and think of home.

Until next year.

***

Día de los Muertos, 1948

Coco is holding a baby girl.

The sight alone is enough for Héctor’s face to split in a huge grin. He knew, from the letters, that Coco was expecting a baby, but seeing her is another matter entirely. Elena, they called her, and she’s by far the most perfect baby he’s seen since Coco. It stings a bit to think that he never got to see Victoria that age – Victoria, who’s serious and solemn-eyed, now wearing comically tiny round glasses, holding onto her mother’s dress, pointing at the picture on the ofrenda.

“And that is Abuelito Héctor. He died far away but mamá found him and brought him back, and he can visit us every year,” she’s saying. Elena follows her gaze to the picture, gargles at it, and then turns to look over Coco’s shoulder – right at him.

And she giggles.

Héctor has heard tales that little babies can see the visiting dead, and lose that ability as they grow into toddlers, but he’s never been sure whether there is any truth to it. Now, as he makes a face and watches Elena burst in another fit of giggles, a tiny pink hand reaching out for him, he is. He’s absolutely sure.

“Hola, nenita,” he says, reaching back for that hand. It passes through his fingers, of course, but there is a lingering sensation that is almost like touch. “Welcome to the family. Be good for your mamá and abuelita, sí?” he adds, and grins back at her toothless smile.

Next year she won’t see him, but he’ll make that smile be enough until her time comes to cross the bridge.

On his way back – leaving is just as painful as it was last year, but those who are caught at the wrong end of the bridge when the sun rises are destined to fade away, and Héctor has no intention to risk it; he’ll never get to be with his family again if he lets himself disappear – he pauses at the cemetery.

He didn’t stop to look for his grave the first year he visited, but he does now. It’s hard to find at first: there are so many flowers and tokens on it the tombstone is almost entirely covered. It feels odd, looking at it. Since getting credit for his songs, his standing in the Land of the Dead has definitely improved; he’s even gotten a few apologies for people who mocked him when he insisted he used to play with Ernesto de la Cruz.

He also began feeling more alive, so to speak, than he had in years – something he could put down to millions of people knowing about him; his bones have never been whiter.

Still, this is the first time he sees how much respect he’s getting from the living outside his own family, and it is staggering. There is something bitter about it – he’d give it all away in a heartbeat just to have his life back – but he has seen the fate of those forgotten, and he’s only recently realized how very close he was to end up down the same path.

He never wished for fame, but at least it means he’ll be remembered, and will get to be with his family for a long time once they die as well; there is so much they’ll need to catch up with. That, at least, is something Ernesto wasn’t able to take from him. In an ironic twist of fate, his last act as a living man was granting him as much.

The thought feels like a stab in his non-existent gut. Héctor finds himself turning without thinking, gaze scanning the small cemetery. And, not too far away, he finds Ernesto’s grave.

It is not the grandiose thing he may have gotten if truth hadn’t come out - if he hadn’t made the truth known - but it’s still a nice one. There are marigold flowers on it, too, tokens and offerings; not as many as on Héctor’s, but still a pretty good amount.

His reputation took a hit when the truth about the songs was made public, of course: that much had quickly filtered in the Land of the Dead, too. In other circumstances, or had the entire truth become known, it would have meant a truly disastrous fall from grace; but the awful circumstances of his last few years, along with the fact he’d told the truth from his deathbed, had gotten him plenty of sympathy and softened the blow.

It is more than he deserves, but Héctor finds he can’t bring himself to care; he can’t bring himself to waste a single minute thinking about him, let alone being mad about it. He doesn’t understand how could he come to do a such thing to him, and doesn’t want to understand.

It didn’t take too long for folks in the Land of the Dead to understand that he doesn’t want to talk about Ernesto de la Cruz - and oh, isn’t everyone curious to find out where he’s gone. As more and more nearly deceased arrived, confirming that he was dead, the question of why had he never showed up was soon on everybody’s mouth.

There are conspiracy theories that he actually faked his death; others have guessed he might be hiding away and there have been a few sightings, but each time a brief description was enough to tell Héctor none of them was Ernesto. He is the only one, as far as he can tell, his old friend has shown himself to - the only one who knows what he looks like now.

Héctor could expose him, of course. He could say they have met, give a full description of what his facial markings look like, what kind of alebrijes follow him around. Revealing him to be a murderer would get authorities looking for him and he would be caught quickly, he's sure of it.

But he never does. He doesn’t care to see what he did exposed; he doesn’t want to deal with the subsequent mess. He just wants to forget all about him, so that maybe one day his betrayal will stop hurting.

Héctor turns away from the grave stiffly and, avoiding to look around - that cemetery had been their playground as kids; all of Santa Cecilia had been, and every corner of it except for his home feels tainted by those happy memories - he marches back towards the bridge.

***

Día de los Muertos, 1955

“Look, I’m not saying that I was right all along. But the fact stays, I was right all along.”

“Cut it out, Jorge.”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of me being on the right side of the revolution.”

“That has nothing to do with getting to the wrong cemetery, and it was over forty years--”

“Right. Wrong. Right. Wrong. Repeat with me, hermanito. Right, wro--”

“Griselda, say something!”

“Cut it out. Both of you,” Griselda says, trying with all her might to sound annoyed, and she must sound convincing enough, for they both fall silent with  slight pout. Truth be told, she’s mostly amused; even though she did end up getting to grow older than either of them, she was their younger sister - and yet, much like in life, she has to be the one to show maturity.

Not that she minds: being with them again feels like a blessing, minor annoyances aside. This may not be the afterlife she had been expecting - there better be pearly gates beyond this mysterious final death, or else she may put in a claim to have back every single Sunday morning of her life - but as long as Jorge and Matías are there, she finds it’s good enough.

“What’s-- oh, there’s that basket by the door. Again.”

Griselda knows what Jorge is referring to before she even sees it; a basket full of tangerines, one of several they keep receiving from time to time. One of several she keeps receiving.

“There’s a note in here - your name, again.”

“No sender?” Griselda asks, but of course she already knows the answer. He hands it to her.

“No sender, as usual. Are you sure you don’t have  secret admirer, hermana?”

The mere notion makes Griselda laugh as she picks up a tangerine and brings it closer to her face to breathe in its scent - something they can somehow still do, even or without nose.

“Oh, no. It’s no admirer. Just an old friend, I suppose,” she says, and picks up the basket. She doesn’t glance around: she knows that he must have left quickly, after leaving that gift at her door. She can’t imagine him lingering for long. “Letting me know he’s around.”

Her brothers will prod some more, but to no avail: she won’t tell them anything more. If he wants to keep anonymity, it is not her place to take it away. Should he ever decide to make himself seen she won’t hesitate to welcome him, share those tangerines with him, and listen.

But until then she just accepts his gift, and hopes he found the peace he was looking for.

***

Día de los Muertos, 1965

Every year when he crosses the bridge, Héctor is prepared to find out Imelda has married again. She is, after all, now officially a widow, and he can’t imagine any man in his right mind who wouldn’t want to be with her. He wouldn’t blame her at all if she found herself someone else – and yet she never does.

She grows older, the passage of time marking her face; at each visit, Héctor finds her more beautiful. Every year, she sees her wearing the wedding ring he put to her finger so many years ago and no other. She stays unmarried. Or, rather, married to him; her business is growing, the house is full of family, but the spot beside her in the bed remains empty.

It makes Héctor feel absurdly happy, and humbled and grateful because a tiny voice in his head keeps telling him she deserves better. When he returns to the Land of the Dead that year, he swears to himself he’ll learn how to make shoes, and make her a pair with his own hands to give her for when she passes on, to ask her if she wants to renew their vows.

He proposed with a ring once already, anyway. Time to up his game and propose with a pair of good shoes.

***

May 1971

That day so far had been nothing but a string of absurdities.

Waking up in some kind of bare room with a skeleton looking down at her, while she remembered very well falling asleep in her bed, had been absurd. Being restrained and reprimanded by more skeletons for hitting their ‘colleague’ had been absurd. Being told that she was dead, and asked for her name, had also been absurd; looking down at her hands to see bone had been even more absurd. Staring into a mirror to see that her face - her skull - looked like a child had scribbled on it with a crayon had been the peak of all absurdity… at least until she’s made to sit in a waiting room, and a woman calls out her name.

“Imelda Rivera? Your husband will be here in a few minutes.”

“... Qué?”

It takes a moment for Imelda to realize that confused croak has come from her own mouth, which is somehow capable of articulating words despite the complete lack of a tongue, or vocal chords, or anything that would normally be necessary to speak. Somehow, that notion - Héctor is coming for her - is what finally, truly drives the point home: she’s dead.

The realization is staggering, and something sinks in the emptiness of her chest cavity. Has her family already awakened for the working day? She’s usually the first one up, they will notice her absence right away. Who will go to knock at her door? Who’s going to find her lifeless in her bed? Coco, Victoria or Elena, most likely. The mere thought makes her shudder. This isn’t right, it can’t be right, she has to go back to her family somehow.

But Héctor. Héctor is here. Fifty years dead, and he’s here.

There is something gripping her where her throat should be, and it’s hope and dread at the same time. So many years have passed, he was barely a man when he left; she’s had a full life and he has not. What will he say? Has he visited them on Día de los Muertos? Has he read their letters, watched their family grow? Or had he given up long before then, after years without an ofrenda? What if--

“Sorry, sorry-- I’m in a rush, lo siento-- let me through, come on, move it!”

Imelda looks up just as the door is thrown open and a skeleton burst in, so fast that he skids across the floor. He tries to stop, but the momentum is working against him and, under her stunned gaze, he flies right past her and crashes against the opposite wall.

All right, so it is Héctor for sure. He always knew how to make an entrance.

She stands as the skeleton turns, rubbing his head; their gazes meet, and they both still.

God, even like this he looks so young - there’s no gray in his hair. The wide-eyed look he’s giving her makes him seem almost a boy… and so does his grin, the one she recalls so well.

“Imelda! Ay, mi amor!” he calls out, and next thing she knows she’d holding her in a tight embrace, causing her to stiffen. That is not how she remembered it; there is no flesh, no skin. There is warmth, but it is a different kind from anything she has experienced before.

“I’m so happy to see you! I mean, I’m so sorry you died! But I’m so happy to see you! I missed you so much! Coco, how is she?” Héctor pulls back, hands on both of her shoulders, that smile impossibly wide. “And Victoria, and… oh, and Elena! Has Franco proposed yet? I mean, he’s there all the time, he should just go for it - I’ve seen how he looks at her! I kept your letters, all of them! And I’ve been learning to make shoes, I’m not so good yet but I’m getting there! Oh, and I wrote so many songs for you! I’m so, so sorry I never made it ba--”

Imelda pulls back suddenly, a hand already reaching for her boot, and Héctor lets out a yelp when it cracks against his face, causing his skull to spin in place briefly before he grabs it.

“This,” Imelda hears herself saying, voice shaking already, “is for leaving in the first place.”

Héctor immediately nods, rubbing his head. “Sí, sí, you’re right. So right. I missed you so--”

Somehow, the plain adoration on his face cuts deeper than a scowl would have. There is something boyish about it, a reminder than he never grew any older than twenty-one. “Idiota,” she cuts him off. “I thought you’d-- we thought you’d--” she chokes out, and her voice breaks, and she hates how weak it makes her sound.

Héctor returns her gaze, and that is when she sees it - the sorrow etched in his features, the pain, the regret. She sees that no, she is not looking at the young man who left her with the promise of being back soon. Time has stopped for him in the Land of the Living, and the Land of the Living only. Here, on this side, he’s endured more loneliness than she has; she can see now that it aged him, too, well beyond his mortal years.

He sighs, and looks down, shoulders hunching. “I’m sorry, Imelda. I should have never left.” Imelda shakes her head, suddenly sorry for her outburst. “It wasn’t you. Ernesto, he--”

“I know what he did,” Héctor says, his voice beyond bitter. “He told me to my face.”

Anger rears up its head, boiling and bitter, and Imelda clings to it. It is comfortingly familiar. “Him! He’s here? Where? Once I get my hands on him, he--”

Héctor shakes his head. “No one knows where he went. I don’t care to know, either. I’m just happy you’re here. You’re right, I should have never left in the first place.”

Imelda sighs, her anger already sputtering out. There she is, looking at her husband for the first time in half a century, and what is she doing? Wasting time thinking about de la Cruz of all people, someone she’d be better off forgetting all about. “No. You shouldn’t have,” she agrees, and throws her arms around his neck. “You should have stayed.”

She feels him stiffening for a moment, then his arms are around her and his cheek is leaning on top of her head. “Lo siento. I am here now.”

“There was so much we should have done.”

“We can still do it,” Héctor says, and suddenly he pulls back, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree. “Oh! Right! I meant to ask - will you marry me?”

Imelda blinks. “We’re. Already married,” she mutters. She’s not too sure, though - are they still married? How literal is that ‘till death do us part bit of the wedding vows?

“Yes, but I mean - again? We can renew our vows! A lot of people do when they reunite on this side,” he adds, and before Imelda can say anything he kneels, pulling something from under his jacket - a pair of shoes. Or rather, the saddest excuse of shoes she’s ever seen.

“As I said, I’ve been learning to make shoes! These need, huh. Some work? But you can teach me to do better,” he adds, and holds them up towards her like, a long time ago, he held up a ring. “Will you marry me? Again?”

“No,” Imelda says, and immediately corrects herself when he recoils. “I mean… not yet. It’s. It’s been a long time, Héctor,” she adds. They spent so much time apart, after being married only four years a lifetime ago. She cannot give him the answer he hopes for, not just yet. And he knows it: she can see his hurt expression melting away into comprehension.

“Right. It has been a while,” he says, and clears his throat. “So, uh… will you teach me how to make shoes, ‘till I can make a pair you’ll be happy to walk in for the rest of our non-lives?”

There is something aching in her chest cavity again, but it is a sweet ache. “Are you asking for permission to court me?”

Héctor grins up at her. She’ll have to ask about that golden tooth, later. “Yes!”

Imelda’s mouth curls in a smile. “Permission granted,” she says, and takes the shoes from his hands. She wears them as they walk to the home he's been preparing for them, limping all the way and categorically denying she’s uncomfortable in the slightest.

***

September 2018

Coco can’t breathe.

Not that she thinks she needs to breathe, with the complete lack of lungs and whatnot. But if she did try to draw in breath, she’s rather sure she wouldn’t be able to: her papá’s arms around her are too tight to let her ribcage expand even a fraction.

And she’s very much all right with that.

“Coco,” her papá is choking out, and his grip tightens. Something there is definitely creaking and, again, she doesn’t mind at all. “Oh Coco, Coco, Coco, I missed you! Your papá loves you so much, I’m so sorry. I tried to come home. I kept trying. I was there every year after you put my photo up, every year, always!”

Coco laughs, and reaches to hug him back, just as tight. She’s aware that the rest of her family is there, too - her mother and her uncles, Julio and Victoria and Rosita - and she hears more than a couple of sniffles, too. She will hold each of them just as tight as soon as she can, but this one hug has been ninety-six years coming, and she means to enjoy it.

“I know, papá,” she replies, her own voice tight. “I always knew.”

“I just wish I could have always been there for you. I really do.”

“But you were,” Coco says, and smiles. “Each time I heard a sad guitar.”

***

Día de los Muertos, 2018

“Rrrr! Ruff!”

“Wha-- oh, come on. Oye, Estéban! One of your dogs stole my taco. Again!”

There is some laughter from patrons as a tiny chihuahua alebrije trots across the cantina, back to the table his owner is sitting at, staggering a bit under the weight of its prize… which is, really, almost as big as the dog. As three other chihuahuas begin a scuffle to get a bite out of it – another familiar sight for patrons – there is a chuckle.

“My apologies,” Estéban says, shuffling a deck of cards. There is a still untouched glass of mezcal on the table in front of him, and he doesn’t even look up. “Alfonso, can you make him another and put it on my tab?”

“Sure, sure. Your mutts are always such a nuisance.”

Estéban shrugs, dealing the cards to the man sitting across him. “They’re purebred and you know it.”

“Purebred thieves, is what they are. I should kick you out of here, you know?” Alfonso adds.

“Ay, and deny yourself and your patrons the pleasure of my company?”

“Pah! Keep that up and I will kick you out,” he mutters, but of course it’s an empty threat. It’s no mystery that he likes the guy; all of the patrons do, too. He’s been a regular for a long time, and he’s good company, always up for a card game, a chat or a laugh over a drink. If he was like this in life, too, it’s not hard to see why plenty of people remember him well, making his bones whiter than almost any other skeleton Alfonso has ever seen.

He’s got his quirks, sure, but they’re the fun kind. Sometimes he has very long conversations with his dogs, and will come up with different tales on how he died, each more outlandish than the next; the first time Alfonso asked, he’d looked at him dead in the eye before quietly saying ‘pirañas’. There had been a brief horrified silence before he’d laughed uproariously at his own joke and said that no, actually he was hit in the head by a shoe.

Hardly a week goes by without someone asking him how he died, or what he did in life, and each time there is a new one. He was eaten alive by the same chihuahuas now napping at his feet, hit by a plane, fell off a pyramid, stabbed by a nun, fell off a window to escape a lover’s husband, stepped on a high-voltage cable, got into a drunken argument with a donkey and lost, got into a drunken argument with a train and lost really badly.

He was a postman, a carpenter, a farmer, a priest, a forger, a miner, a smuggler, a magician, a bartender, a bandit. One time, when a laughing man had told him he made up very convincing stories for such a chronic liar, Estéban had grinned.

“Oh,” he’d said, “maybe I was an actor.”

Alfonso doesn’t know if there is any truth to any of those claims, but if not an actor he certainly is a good entertainer; he’s fairly certain that a chat with Estéban is what keeps several people coming. A chat, and getting a shot at playing cards. So far no one has beaten him, and Alfonso hears variations of the same conversation on a weekly basis.

“You’re cheating.”

“Am not.”

“You’ve got to be cheating!”

“I’m just that good. Don’t be a sore loser.”

There’s some grumbling, but he’s too well-liked for it to turn into an argument. He’s good fun and always ready to lend a hand if needed, and offer a drink. Just not tequila, never that.

Estéban really hates tequila.

***

“Your photo is up! Enjoy your visit home!”

Coco lets out a small sigh of relief - of course she knew her family would never forget to put up her picture, but she was unable to ignore a stab of nervousness either way - and walks past the checks, into the busy departure station.

“Coco!”

“Over here, mamá!”

Julio and Victoria are only a short distance away, and Coco walks up to them quickly. She’s been dead a couple of months now, and she has gotten used to many things, but sometimes she still finds herself staring in wonder at her husband and daughter, lost to her years ago.

Losing Julio had been a terrible blow; Victoria’s own death only a few years later had almost torn her heart in two and if not for Elena, Franco and their children, she may have not survived her grief. She could bury her father, and her mother, and her uncles and sister-in-law and husband, but it isn’t right for a mother to bury her child. It isn’t fair.

But now she has everyone back.

“Where are the other… oh, there!”

Only a short distance away, her mamá and her papá are talking; or rather he’s doing the talking, probably describing how the two of them escaped a crowd begging for his autograph earlier that day, while her mother laughs. Coco saw her laughing like that only on special occasions in life. It is a common occurence, now.

“Ah, Coco!”

Her papá turns to hold her, and lifts her up in a clumsy twirl that almost sends them both tumbling. It makes her laugh.

“One of these days you’ll both fall down in pieces,” her mamá mutters, but she’s smiling. She turns to wave for Tío Óscar and Tío Felipe, who are just past the checks, to join them.

Rosita gives that giddy smile of hers Coco remembered so well. “Your first crossing! Ready?”

Coco smiles, a hand grasping her papá’s own. She left her living family behind only a short while ago and she already misses them all so, so much. She’s filled in the rest of her family on what happened since the previous Día de los Muertos - how Luisa gave birth to a beautiful baby girl they named Socorro after her, what a good big brother Miguel is, how he and Rosa and Abel make everyone so proud with their skills as shoemakers and musicians, and how Benny and Manny seem inclined to pick up trumpets and complete their little band.

It was amusing, seeing the reactions: her papá is partial to Miguel - “Just like me when I was his age!” - while Rosita has a soft spot for Rosa. Julio sees a lot of himself in Abel and her uncles are all over the twins. Her mamá claims to be neutral, but she did mostly ask after Miguel. Coco can’t wait for them all to meet little Coquito, too. He’s sure they’ll love her.

“Ready to go,” she says, and they step all together on the bridge towards home.

***

Halfway through the night, most patrons are drunk and singing.

Hardly a surprise, especially on Día de los Muertos, with most of them coming over after a visit to their ofrendas, bringing their offerings with them to eat and drink and trade. Alfonso usually has a very strict policy about bringing in one’s own food and drinks, but well, tonight is an exception. It always was, always will be.

And, speaking of exceptions, Estéban is not joining in. He never sings, even when everyone else is and someone yells for him to sing with them. He just holds up his hands, shrugs and says something on how he’s not so cruel he’d subject them to his singing.

“You don’t want to hear it. Trust me. It’s not an experience you would forget,” he says with a laugh, and that is it. When voices rise singing, Esteban’s never joins them - although, sometimes, Alfonso has heard him humming to himself. Now he’s putting his deck of cards away before stretching briefly in the chair. He gulps down the last of his mezcal, pushes the chair back, and stands. He walks up to Alfonso and puts down money to cover his tab - plus a generous tip.

“See you next week, Alfonso.”

“Sure, next week. You’ll be back by Friday. Like my company that much?”

“You’re almost my type, but no. I like your mezcal. And your patrons are terrible at cards.”

Alfonso snorts out a laugh. “Hah! Hope someone beats you sooner or later, I really do,” he mutters, taking the money. “Plans for the rest of the night?”

“I’ll be watching the firework display.”

“As every year. Have a good night, you cheat.”

That gets him a bright smile. “Every night is a good night,” Estéban says, and turns to leave, the usual spring in his step, calling his alebrijes to him with a brief whistle. They follow him like little soldiers, through the cantina and to the door.

“Hey, do I know you?”

A patron - someone fairly new to the place, Alfonso only saw her once or twice before - calls out suddenly, just as Estéban pushes the door open. It causes him to pause in the doorway and look back over his shoulder. He tilts his head as though considering the question.

“No, I don’t think so,” he finally says.

“You look kind of familiar. Are you… uuuuh… Nando’s brother, maybe?”

A shrug. “I’m afraid not. I had a brother, once, but that wasn’t his name.”

“Ah, sorry. Maybe...” the woman mutters, still frowning in thought, then she shrugs as well. “No, I got nothing. Sorry, amigo – I just thought I had seen you before.”

Estéban gives the good-natured laugh Alfonso knows well, and shakes his head. “No need to apologize,” he says, and walks out of the door, his alebrijes at his heels. His last words drift in just as the door closes behind him.

“I get that a lot.”

***

"A brief epilogue", I whisper as I get to 6,500 words. But at least it didn't get dramatically long and I'll count that as a win. Thanks a lot to everyone who read/liked/reblogged/commented this, I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did!

(All right, I'm going back to this thing now. For real, this time.)

***

[Back to Chapter 1]

[prairiesongserial]

5.8

John watched Cody through the window until the dust kicked up under the truck’s tires became too thick to see through.

“Your boy’ll be alright,” Nash said easily. “It’s only a hundred muties, right?” He spared John a look in the rearview mirror. “I’m just joking!” He laughed. “Change into this before we reach town.”

“He’s not my boy,” John muttered. A duffel bag hit him square in the chest, tossed back from the front seat.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nash said. “Sure he ain’t.”

John decided not to talk to Nash anymore. He opened the duffel bag and pulled out the clothing inside - fairly nondescript, not showy like Marc’s white suits. John undressed and quickly donned the dark-dyed linen. Just a plain shirt and pants, and the most comfortable thing John had ever worn. Someone had hand-stitched a little gold crown in the right cuff, a little unevenly.

The truck was quickly approaching Retazo, the mid-size agricultural town that bore host to the gang Marc was meeting with today. Marc had called them Las Realezas.

“Realezas...royalty?” John said questioningly. He twisted at the sleeve, trying to get a better look at the little embroidered crown.

“That’s the one!” Nash said cheerily. “Get the, uh, the bandana - yeah, you got it. You need to hide your face, maybe tie up your hair.”

John gave him a doubtful look. He didn’t want to walk into town looking like he was about to stick the place up. He tied his hair back under the black bandana, then set his own straw hat on top.

“You look like a real campesino,” Nash said bitingly. “You’re trying to fit in with the gang, not the town.”

“I like my hat,” said John.

“Jesus Christ. Alright, I’m gonna let you out a mile from town. Don’t want anyone clocking the car. You know the rendezvous point.”

John nodded. He buckled his holster back around his waist.

“See you on the other side, cowboy,” Nash said, winkingly.

John climbed out of the truck and stood in the road while Nash turned around. This was the easy part, he reminded himself, as the truck disappeared in a cloud of dirt. Cody had it much worse. John started walking for Retazo.

Retazo was thriving, and surprisingly, the residents seemed to like Las Realezas. As John neared the town, he started passing ordinary people going about their business, hauling water by the bucket, pulling carts, or heading to market. Whenever one of them passed John in his Realezas uniform, he was met with smiles and warm greetings - though he didn’t understand them. One young woman even flirtatiously flicked the brim of his hat up. John gave her an uneasy smile and put his hat back the right way.

Retazo wasn’t much different from Pith, except it was bigger, and happier. The dirt road was flanked on either side by fields, and John was sorely tempted to abandon the road and investigate their irrigation channels. The surrounding country may have been bone dry, but the crops were lush and full. No wonder the town liked Las Realezas, if the gang had had any hand in their yield.

John found himself slowing down, trying to identify all the different crops they grew here. He saw tomatoes, set back from the road to deter thieves from plucking one on their way by. And of course there were beans, corn, wheat… John’s heart skipped when he saw a small cattle pasture.

He wondered if Thunder and Lightning had assimilated well into Jess Lye’s operation. Lye wasn’t set up for cattle, really, and had never had much luck with livestock… Hopefully Lana would check on them. She knew how dearly John had taken to those calves.

Before he knew it, John was passing houses, then businesses. The buildings were all composed in squares, lovely and simple. Most of them were white, with wrought iron in the windows, but every few houses there would be a red or orange or bright blue one. John stopped in his tracks as a goatherd led his herd across the road. It was a good opportunity to pause and get his bearings.

He was near the city center, if the throng of people with baskets and carts jammed one against the other meant anything. John’s mood soured. There was nothing in this world he disliked more than a market day.

The goatherd greeted John cheerfully in Spanish, and John nodded to him.

“Rafi! Doña Tosia busca a tí,” the man called. “Necesita ayuda con una cosa u otra.”

John nodded again, and very much hoped he would get away with it. The man shrugged and carried on his way.

John stayed where he was for a minute longer, considering Retazo. He did not want to enter the city center. It was horrible, and risky. People kept stopping to talk to him, and sooner or later they were going to get suspicious. But on the other hand, John didn’t appear to have much of a choice. Nash had told him to follow the main road straight through town, and it wasn’t as if John had a map. Getting lost and asking directions really wasn’t an option.

The water compound lay less than a mile outside of town, if John could just cross the plaza. John shifted his weight from foot to foot, staring lividly at a woman hawking oranges. Really he was annoyed with Nash, although he knew he shouldn’t be. Presumably Nash would have dropped him nearer to the compound if the truck wouldn’t have been so visibly out of place on the east side of town. It might have gotten back to Las Realezas that one of Marc’s agents wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

John steeled his nerve. He would have to brave market day.

John entered the throng. Between the shouts of the vendors and the excited chatter of the crowd, every gap and cranny of John’s skull was packed tight with noise. He wasn’t sure if he was going to make it.

One sound cut through the din, pounding in his head like repeating gunfire.

“Rafi! Rafi, Rafi, espérame,” the voice called.

John tried to push in between two matronly women who were shouting over each other about the price of dried lentils, but the sound was getting closer, and louder, almost like it had targeted him specifically, a vindictive swarm of words stinging and stinging at him.

“Rafi, finalmente te encontre!” said the voice. Someone grabbed John by the arm and he turned, alarmed, to find a short old woman clutching him in a vice. He tried to pull his arm back, but stopped halfway through the motion. If he caused a scene, he risked never being able to leave this place.

John stared down at the old woman and gave her an inquisitive smile. She was strange looking - she stood out from everyone else in town. Her skin was a warm brown color, but her hair was dyed bright red, redder than sunset - as red as a freshly painted barn, and curled in a little nest on top of her head, in which sat a pair of sunglasses. She dressed oddly, too - most people in town dressed conservatively in linen shirt and pants, the most decorated among them wearing a sun hat or freshly shined shoes. Not this woman. She wore bangles all the way up her arms, and the cane she used to walk was bright pink. As was the rest of her.

The others in the market gave her a wide berth, and John realized right away that if he stuck with her, whoever she may be, no one would bump into him.

At once, the woman handed him a heavy bag of shopping, which he shouldered without thinking.

“Rafi, te extrañé. Eres tan útil cuando voy de compras,” she said. And she began to make her way through the market, now with John on her arm. She stopped at every stall and talked to every person she met, and soon John had a decent idea of who she was.

Everyone called her Doña Tosia, and she seemed to be friends with everybody. Every conversation she had ended in laughter. She might yell at a man across the market, only for him to yell back some witty joke and make her laugh. Or she might lean in conspiratorially over a heaping basket of strawberries and share some gossip with a vendor, earning herself a gasp and a giggle.

By the time they reached the other side of the market, they had criss-crossed it several times, and both John’s hands were numb from carrying her shopping. Doña Tosia had slowed down as well, favoring her cane more heavily. She now talked only to John, calling him Rafael, Rafi, Rafa, Rafeta, Rafito, Rafucho, and Rafaelito indiscriminately.

Soon John found himself more or less on the east side of town, waiting on the front stoop of a little house with a poorly kept garden, watching Doña Tosia struggle with her keys.

“Rafi!” someone on the street called.

John, who felt he was getting the hang of this, turned and waved at them. There were two men dressed in the same dark linen as himself - their uniforms closer to navy blue from repeated washing. One, tall and slim, had long shaggy brown hair with an askew newsboy cap perched on top. This man propped his elbow on the shoulder of his compatriot, a slightly shorter figure carefully cupping a fried meat pastry in his hands.

“Mira, Antonio,” Doña Tosia snipped. “Mira como Rafi me ayuda con las compras, hm? No deja sola a su abuela.”

Antonio, the man with the pastry, groaned. “Rafi no es su nieto, abuelita.”

The two of them continued to bicker, and the shaggy man winked at John and stole a large bite of the pastry while Antonio wasn’t paying attention.

“Oye, eso es mio,” Antonio said, snatching it back.

“Es demasiado picante,” the shaggy man said, pulling a face.

“...Gilipollas,” Antonio said under his breath. Doña Tosia smacked his arm, which made John think that Gilipollas may not be the shaggy man’s Christian name.

Suddenly, the shaggy man elbowed Antonio hard in the arm.

“Tenemos que irnos - Rafi, vamanos, llegaremos tarde.”

Suddenly, John was being dragged away by the arm, Doña Tosia’s groceries forgotten on her front stoop. At first he was afraid he had been found out - he hadn’t understood much of what the two men had been saying, although most of it seemed to be about grandmothers and Antonio’s sandwich. Sweat rolled down John’s back. The two men were very casual, even pausing to kick a rock down the road, but they were leading John outside of town, out toward the water compound. Why would they do that? Why not reveal him here, and get it over with? Unless they wanted to avoid a scene… maybe Las Realezas were so popular in town because they kept the violent business out of the public eye.

Antonio finished his pastry and wiped his hands on his pants as they walked. He and the shaggy man talked a little - about girls, if John had to guess. Rosa María, whoever she was, came up a few times. He learned the shaggy man was named Santi.

John tried not to look nervous. Maybe he could take them. Two to one, it wasn’t great odds, but…

A hand clapped John’s shoulder, and Santi laughed, ending some far away sentence with, “No te parece, Rafi?”

Rafi, they were still calling him Rafi. They didn’t know.

John thanked God for his bland features, apparently identical to some poor Rafael who he may have to shoot later.

In no time, they had left the town behind, ambling down a familiar dirt road toward the mesa. The ground began to slope upwards, but not too steeply - in fact, the land soon took a sharp cut down, and the three of them carefully picked their way into a manmade valley cut into the earth.  Antonio and Santi led the way through the sparse underbrush, although John couldn’t pick out any sort of path.

Within a few minutes, they came to a door - metal, but not mechanic, if John had to guess. Guarding it were three Realezas. John fought the urge to freeze. He had to act natural. He was here to guard the compound too, apparently. He waved to them. One of them waved back, but the other two seemed to be taking their job too seriously for that. Or maybe they just didn’t like Rafi.

“Llegan tarde,” one of them complained.

“Tuve hambre!” Antonio said defensively. “Es culpa de Rafi.”

“Es culpa de su abuela loca.”

“Qué dijiste de mi abuela?” Antonio said, rolling up his sleeves. Santi caught him by the arm and started speaking very quickly.

John stood by and watched. He wanted to wait until the original guards were well out of earshot before he disabled Antonio and Santi, which could be a while. Sound travelled pretty far out here, with hardly any cars on the road. If he wanted to play it safe, he would have to wait at least twenty minutes.

John had lost track of time in the city center, and was suddenly very worried that he was already too late. What if Cody and Sailor had made it past the muties only to be trapped inside with dozens of armed Realezas? What if they were dead?

No, no, that wasn’t likely. The guards coming off duty would have said something about it - had they? Had John missed it? Everything they had said seemed like ordinary ribbing.

The guards had all but disappeared as they picked their way through the brush. They had left the big guns leaning against the side of the door. Antonio and Santi shouldered theirs, sighing. A moment of silence passed.

“Has pensado en lo que pasaría si los mutados bajaran la mesa?” asked Antonio, thoughtfully.

Santi shuddered. “No empieces de nuevo, Antonio. Haces esto cada vez.”

“Pero - ”

The sound of gunfire from behind the door cut Antonio off. He and Santi were fumbling with their guns, strapped uselessly to their backs. John went for his own gun, but before his hand so much as brushed the snap on his holster, Antonio and Santi were lying on the ground. The door had been shot open.

Sailor, covered head to toe in blood, stood before John, a stolen rifle trained on his chest.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, lowering the gun. “Where the hell were you?”

Behind her, Cody appeared, struggling to push a cart loaded with at least a dozen barrels of water. He was drenched in sweat. John untied the bandana from his own head and handed it to Cody, who took it, looking frazzled.

“Come on, we gotta rendezvous,” Sailor snapped. “John, the least you could do is take over the water. Let’s go.”

They were off. John let the moment take him away, the pushcart jolting through the brush, propelled farther by every labored breath out of John’s mouth. Cody ran at his heels, gun trained behind them, in case any Realezas were in pursuit.

“Are you okay?” John asked Cody.

“I could… Are you okay? When you didn’t show - ”

“Doña Tosia had groceries,” John panted.

“Okay - what - ”

Marc’s truck skidded to a halt in front of them, apparently out of nowhere, and suddenly Nash was opening up the flatbed, helping them heave the gigantic barrels aboard.

“You’re late,” he said as he hastily tied tarp down over the barrels. “Marc’s meeting is almost over. We’re gonna have to gun it.”

John hardly heard a word out of his mouth. As the truck tore through the underbrush, all he could think about was how glad he was the real Rafael would still be around to carry Doña Tosia’s groceries tomorrow.

5.7 || 5.9

[breathing-gay-blog]

Suckers & Smokes - (Young!Carol/You) S1 E6: Grease, Not Tucker

-----

Another day in this hellhole called school. I tried to play sick, but Abuelita put Vicks under my nose and on my chest and sung "Sana, Sana Colita De Rana" and told me that I'd feel better. It's hard trying to convince her.

I was in a sour mood that I was also grounded. And with Afro-Hispanic families, there ain't no telling when you'd be free again. I'm not kidding.

I sit down in homeroom and got out my sketchbook to finish my Michael drawing while we waited for the morning announcements. The vice principal talked of the Valentines day dance being tomorrow night and the lunch menu.

I block out the rest as I shaded around the eyes and lips of my drawing. Just then, I hear the familiarly annoying voice that is Marlon Thomas. "Hey, Y/N." I sigh heavily, before dropping my pen on the desk and turning towards him.

"What do you- what the hell?" He had his usual small afro in wet curls. Some tickling his forehead, making his skin glisten. He sported a small bruise on his jaw from where I punched him. He also had on a tight, black jacket and a sequined white shirt with tight black pants.

He shifts nervously, "What?" I chuckle, "Compa, you look like Beat It gon' dark." His shoulders slump a bit and he stares down at his shoes. I close my book and tug down on his jacket, making him sit down.

"Ain't you worried your friends gonna look at you weird for talking to the girl that practically whooped your ass?" He chuckles lightly, "I'm not on that manly pride shit. I insulted what you liked and you got angry. I know if someone talked smack about Billy Ocean or Houdini, I'd be pissed."

"But why dress like that?" He pauses before scratching his greasy forehead. "I admit, his style is pretty righteous," I scoff. "It is righteous. Hell, its almost godly." He nods in agreement, "Figured if I wear something like this to the dance, girls will be flocking over me."

He popped his collar up while licking his lips and I roll my eyes. "You ain't even cute, Papá. So humble ya'self." He sucks his teeth. "Why you gotta do me like that?" I lean back in my seat, rolling the sleeves of my flannel up to my elbows, "Eh."

Suddenly, I look behind him and see a sketchy looking white guy. He had hair, gelled hair, dark eyes and thick eyebrows. He was dressed like a damn 50s greaser with a toothpick in his mouth. He squints his eyes at me with a small smirk.

I furrow my eyebrows at him. This causes Marlon to turn around then back at me with wide, hazel eyes. "Oh, shit," he whispers. I look at him in confusion, "Qué onda?" He looks at me weird then shakes his head slightly.

"I dunno what you said, but whatever. Anyway, that's Deuce Machio. He's Tucker's registered badass. Apparently been in and out of juvie and rumored to be selling."

"Selling what, exactly?"

"Dunno. Smack, rock, weed, pills. Maybe all of the above?" I hum thoughtfully, looking pass the boy to look at Deuce. He nods up at me and I raise an eyebrow. "He belongs in Grease, not Tucker," I joke lightly. Marlon agrees with a laugh.

-----

"Papi?" I look up from my book, taking my sucker from my mouth. Another one of my lackeys and personal bodyguard, Hansen, stood in my doorway. She's pretty tall, like three to five inched taller than me.

"I got Hernandez here. Needs to talk to you," she states. I nod, and she brings the short woman in roughly. "Damn! You don't have to grab me like that!" Hansen let's her go and leaves my room.

"Unless it's about you fixing the order, leave now," I say, going back to my book. "A-Actually, it's in the, um, process," she stammers a bit. I look up and glare at her. "Speak clearly, Hernandez." She takes a deep breath and stuffs her hands in her pockets.

"I was able to get a hold of the distributors and the guy said-,"

"What guy?" I interrupted her. I can tell she was getting more nervous at the moment. "Uh...some guy with a deep accented voice. Can't tell what kind, though." I ponder for a bit before nodding for her to continue.

"He said he'd cut back, no problem."

I squint at her, sitting up straight and swinging my legs over the edge of my bed. "No, there has to be a catch. I know Ace and Machio. They ain't the type to let something go that easy." She stands there, dumbfounded. I slowly stand up and she backs up a bit.

"Find out who you were talking to, because it surely wasn't Ace or Machio. You bought more from them and told them to cut back. They see that as swindlin'," her eyes widen and I nod.

"Yeah...so I gotta give them more money than I have, you get that?" I grit, getting closer to her as I feel my blood boil hot. I then grab the from of her jumper, gripping tight, making my knuckles white.

"So, you better start fuckin' sellin' like a kid at a lemonade stand on a hot summer day for the next coupla months, or I'm droppin' you like a hot comb...do I make myself clear?" She swallows and nods timidly.

I push her away, "Get the fuck outta my sight, Hernandez." She leaves out, obviously shaken. I groan and flop on my bed, draping my arm over my face. Shortly after, I hear soft pattering enter my cell, but I don't move, already knowing who it is by the smell of cigarette smoke.

"Rec is about to start. You comin'?" I peek up at the girl, fag lit between her lips. "You smoke like a chimney. What's that, your third one today? It's barely 2:00," I comment dryly. She doesn't respond, just leans up against the wall.

There was a brief silence before she speaks again, "Saw Hernandez. Looked scared." Her tone was bland as she puffs on the white and orange stick. "Yeah. I owe Machio and Ace since she got reckless," I sigh.

"Do you know why she did it?"

"No, but right now, that ain't important. I gotta figure out how much I owe so I can be good for it. Knowing them, it wouldn't exceed $200...I told her she better sell quick or I'm dropping her. Which I'm already gonna do anyway."

She then turns her head at me as I continue, "You only fuck up once with us...and this is one helluva fuck up." She nods in agreement, though silent. I sit up, "Sweets, you alright?" She puts the finished butt in the toilet and flushes it.

"Parents came for Barbie again. Didn't even think about me," her voice was indifferent, but I can tell this was eating her up inside. I mean, my grandma refuses to see me while my dad only comes on holidays, but he doesn't seem too happy to see me.

It fucking hurts.

"She was the one that took Debbie out to the lake and took the buttons out the doors! I just drove her down there! It was her idea for me to scare her into the car and drown her!" Her rage quickly ignites and I shoot up, instantly going to calm her down.

"Easy your damage," I say softly over her ragged breathing while placing a hand on her shoulder. "No! She always gets all of the attention! Always in the fucking spotlight! I could fucking kill her with my bare hands!"

I grip her a little harder, "Carol, calm down," I say sternly. She snatches from me and hits the wall. The sound of her raging causes a CO to come in, "Denning! You better cool it or I'll lock you in Ad Seg!" He threatens.

She glares at him, panting like a feral animal. I rub her back, nodding towards the guard, "I got her." He gives her one last warning look before leaving.

I look at her, she looks at me, anger hot in her eyes. "Sit down," I say to her in neutral tone. She huffs out and sits on the bed, running a hand through her messy hair. I take a seat beside her, watching as she removes her glasses and covers her face.

"Care," I say softly. She looks up, features looking drained. I lean in without thinking and place a kiss on her grape flavored, chapped lips. It was quick and sweet. "How about I turn on some music and play in that nest of a head?" I joke with a smile.

She smiles a bit, putting her glasses back on, "Yeah, I need it." I nod, laying back and moving until I was on my pillow. She gets comfortable beside me and I start playing in her hair, causing her to sigh contently.

"Still wanna go to rec?" I ask half-heartedly. She shakes her head, "There's always next week."

-----

Trash chapter

[dynowrites]

What exactly happens to Catalina in the Android!au that causes sonny to break the code?

Anonymous said: So what happened to Catalina? I hope nothing too bad

“Catalina, please let me call us a cab.” Sonny pleaded for the fourth time. The woman just rolled her eyes.

“You know I prefer walking home, Sonny. I don’t trust no cabby drivers. You’ve seen those shows! Where the girl gets attacked in her home by one.” Catalina said. Sonny chuckled softly.

“She didn’t have someone that was with her almost 24/7. You know we’re about to walk through a bad area of he city…” Sonny was worried about her, especially when they wouldn’t leave Rafael’s apartment until late at night. Catalina looked at Sonny and smiled.

“You worry about me, which is nice. I know Rafael does and so does Lucia. But I have you with me.” Catalina grabbed Sonny’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before his head snapped up to three men walking towards him and Catalina.

“Look at his. He’s walking with his grandma. How cute.” The one guy said as he stood in front of Sonny. Another one chuckled.

“He ain’t no human. He’s one of those bots. Don’t you see the thing on his head?” The second guy said. The LED on Sonny’s right temple began to flicker yellow.

“Sonny, don’t you fight back. You hear me?” Catalina told him. He needed to obey his owner.

“Ooh, look, grandma is trying to protect her precious machine. Like he’s her own kid!” The second guy said with a laugh as he pushed her. She stumbled back and lost her balance as she fell to the ground.

“Catalina!” Sonny went to take a step towards her but he was pushed back by the one guy.

“Ooh, look at the obedient machine won’t fight back! Because his peer said so!” Sonny kept being pushed and he felt conflicted. He wanted to push the guy back, punch him even and get Catalina out of this situation. He couldn’t. He had to listen. When he heard a scream and his head jerked to the side, he watched as the younger guy was trying to assault Catalina. Something in his snapped.

He went to push the guy but his programming stopped him. He was faced with this red wall, a programming that kept flashing ‘Don’t fight’, but he needed to protect Catalina. Rafael would have hm shut down if he didn’t. He kicked and punched at the red wall until it began to fall apart. He kept pulling at it as it crumbled until there was nothing left. Once he stepped past it, Sonny blinked his eyes a few times before he was pushed again.

“This is so fun. Him not being able to do anything!” The guy said as he pushed Sonny again. This time, he stopped him. He pushed him, punching him in the face before rushing to Catalina. Sonny ripped the guy off her and threw him towards his friend before helping her up.

“I know a shortcut, alright? Come on.” Sonny helped Catalina stand before they began to ran down the alley.

“Get back here!” They heard shouting behind them. Sonny made a quick turn and he could see their apartment building coming up. Once he was in distant, Sonny had send their keycard number into the pin pad and the door was opened. He pushed Catalina up the stairs before he managed to get the door shut. The two climbed up the few sets of stairs until the got to their apartment and Catalina opened the door.

“What the hell was that, Dominick?! I told you to not fight back!” Hearing the name Rafael had given him so long ago made Sonny feel conflicted. Catalina never called him that unless it was to gain his attention.

“I know you did… but he was trying to assault you. I-I couldn’t let that happen…” Sonny said. Catalina sighed before she placed her hand on her side. When she pulled it away, she noticed blood.

“He must have cut me somehow…” Catalina said. Sonny watched before rushing to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit.

“I’m going to call Rafael. Tell him what happened.” Before she could protest, Sonny had already called Rafael.

“What is it, Dominick?” Rafael’s tone was pretty sour despite him being pretty cheerful when they were at his place.

“Can you come down? Catalina and I were walking home and got attacked.”

“Is she alright? Please tell me she-“

“She’s fine, just a small cut on her side I’m cleaning up now. I need you to come down so we can report the assault.” Sonny said as he fixed up Catalina’s cut. Thankfully it wasn’t too deep and he could patch her up easily.

“Knowing my abuelita, she told you not to fight back… how did you get out of there?” Rafael asked. Sonny watched the woman in front of him before standing.

“I’ll tell you when you get here, alright?”

[labgrownsteaks]

Chapter 11

The sun shone onto Erin's eyes. It was beaming through the corner of a green tapestry which was crudely nailed above the window. She had an old beat up table from the local thrift store next to her bed, and behind her was a kitchenette. It was a ridiculously small apartment but it did the job. Atop the table were some printed out sheets, detailing the process of rebuilding a carburetor that had been covered with grime and dirt. Next to the sheets, the table was covered in various carburetor parts. Rings, springs, and tiny little screws. Erin had always been good at taking apart stuff and putting it back together. In the 5th grade she made a robot out of a remote controlled car, a vacuum cleaner, and some kitchen knives she called "Sucky". She entered it in the local robot war competition, and the upperclass suburban kids destroyed her, but the crowd loved the charm of her goofy robot. Everybody was laughing at it, and when the shiny metallic spikes from some rich kid and his "tutor's" robot finally impaled Sucky the crowd actually booed. One little girl even cried upon seeing Sucky all mangled and lying upside down like a dead beetle.

She had entered the competition just for fun, but among the attendants there was a man from Chisuwick Prep School, which encouraged her to apply for a scholarship, which she got. Her father was killed during a training mission, and shortly after her uncle Aaron moved to town to look after her. Her mother died in a car accident before she was even two. Erin had had a really tough life, but somehow, she didn't slip through the cracks, and the community actually propped her up. Upon graduating from Chisuwick Prep with distinction she was pushed to enroll in college. But she simply never did. She found out about this 1 bedroom apartment located in the middle of an alleyway for 200 bucks a month, and just took it. She had a considerable inheritance from her life insurance payouts, but still hadn't really touched it. Instead she worked a couple days a week at a Car Wash to make ends meet.

She had only kissed one person, Alli, when she was 16 and at a party of this rich kid whose dad owned a Cadillac dealership. The party was terrible, a bunch of bros smashing card tables, and yelling at one another. Her and Alli had been best friends for years. They snuck away from the giant Fuck Off house located right on the banks of the river and found a fallen tree in a cattail patch. It was unbelievably muddy but they giggled and finally sat down on the branch and listened to the party from afar. They hugged, and took comfort in one another's arms, and to be away from the chaos. Alli definitely knew that she liked girls, she wasn't sure if Alli felt the same. They dated for a few years, all on the sly of course, as Chisuwick wasn't the most welcoming atmosphere. Then when graduation came Alli ended up being swayed by some cult leader who was trolling for new adherents down at a local strip mall. That was Alli's ticket out, and she took it. Everyone thought Erin was stuck, but she wasn't. She just needed some time to breathe, and relax, and look at the river flow through her dumb little town.

She didn't have a food printer, or most modern modern day appliances. She preferred buttons, and gears, and things that moved. Every day she wore her father's watch, an old Timex that she had to wind every day. She didn't mind. Winding it was a way of thinking of her parents every day for a moment before she took on the day.

She threw on her hoodie and blue jeans and slapped her watch onto her wrist. Taking a second to move the tapestry to the side of the window to let the sun in. She gazed out onto the street, and looked at the 711 and crappy hotel down the way. It was sizing up to be a really beautiful day. Bright blue sky on a crispy fall day. Her phone buzzed, and it was Vitaman writing her. The message simply said "TODAY!" and she responded "YES!". Today was the day they were all going down by the river to trip. She put her water bottle and some packets of EmergenCee powder packets into her backpack. As well as her sketchbook, some markers, and a copy of "The Psychedelic Experience: A Manual Based on the Tibetan Book of the Dead" by Timothy Leary. It was written as a guide navigating the process of death and rebirth into another form. The text is a metaphor for the experience of ego death common to psychedelic journeys. She saw psychedelics as a therapeutic, and fun thing to do. It wasn't like she had to take psychedelics because she had a specific ailment necessarily. She just enjoyed them, and saw them as a recreational outlet that had also resulted in helping her get through a lot of difficult shit relating to the death of both her parents at a young age.

She kicked over her motorcycle, an 80 something Yamaha Enduro and made her way into the blazing sun. On the way to my place she stopped in the crappy hotel parking lot and got a breakfast buritto from "The Lady" . She didn't speak much English and Erin mistakenly thought her name was Abuelita since that's what all the other Spanish speakers called her. She later learned that simply meant Grandma. "Gracias!" she yelled over the sound of her motorcycle.

I had been up for a few hours already. I was meticulous with my planning for days like these. I wanted everything to be as good as it could be. I had my own backpack of delights, complete with glowsticks, a compass, my sketchbook, and a pair of walky talkies that also had built in radios. I was going to just bring one, for some tunes if we wanted, but decided why not bring both. I could hear the tell tale sound of Erin's machine a block away, and looked out the window waiting for her to pull up. The crow was on the branch opposite my front door. Just sitting there, looking. "Wassup buddy" I said, and the crow kind of looked back at me for a second before Erin came up the driveway and scared it off. I was wearing a black button up shirt, and black jeans, with black converse. I hadn't been aware of this when I was putting my clothes on, but she immediately noticed. "You doing to a funeral?" she said as she jumped off her bike. "Yep, David Hasselhoff died." I said sarcastically. "What! Who will hold everyone together without Mitch Buchannon around!" She walked straight in and immediately made herself at home at the table. "Anything else from Siri?" she asked as she unwrapped her breakfast burrito. "Nope, she's actually been pretty quiet lately" I said then continued "Siri, any tips for the day?" The little blue lights on the egg chased each other and then Siri simply responded "Stay hydrated, and don't venture too far out into the open water" Erin piped up "Siri we don't have a boat! We're hanging out on the banks today. Don't worry!" There was a bit of comfort and annoyance in Siri giving advice, as she never had a mother to tell her not to do stuff, the sound of an older woman seemingly "worried" about them caused her a bit of pain.

Guy came bounding in with a long walking stick. "What's up goobers" he said as he walked straight up to my food printer. "Hey Siri, can you print me some fries?" and the food printer sprung into action.

"So, y'all ready to go beaver hunting?" he stated as plopped down on the couch.

"Sure, you bring your bow and arrow along with your walking stick?" I said.

Guy made a motion like he was shooting an arrow from his stick and then grabbed his fries out of the printer. We all told each other the contents of our bags, and what we had planned, but we all knew that once we took that hit on our tongues, we'd be in for a trip no matter how much we planned. We decided it would be a good idea to have a lot of fruit on hand for some reason, and there was talk about a rope swing, but the water was far too cold to go into. I got some aluminum foil out of the cabinet and broke off three little tabs and placed one hit in each. Guy looked at me dubiously.

"Why are you putting them in aluminum foil? Lets eat them here. The river is just a 15 minute drive. I was a bit anxious, no matter how many times I had tripped before I still got a bit anxious each time. Acid had this strange way of actually relaxing me as soon as the actually auditory and visual hallucinations began I could go with it more. But beforehand I was always just excited, and anxious. Which are actually pretty much the same feeling.

Erin then stated "Ya, lets eat em here. I don't want to be driving around with a hit of acid in my pocket. Lets eat em go. It was 9:45, and we agreed to all take them at 10. we all wet our fingers and touched it to the little piece of paper before placing it on our tongues. At the moment we did this, there was this deep bubble sound which came through my speakers. Like a giant whale fart or something. Blooop. It said. And we all laughed about it, as we walked into the sun, and got into Guy's Chevette.

[rauliskafan]

As Long as I Live

Rafael and the Caterer bring their new son home!!! For @svu-stories!!! Enjoy!!!

Once the paperwork was signed, every I dotted and T crossed, Zachary sat between you and Rafael in the taxi cab. He kept turning his head from left to right and back again. Was he sizing the pair of you up? Wondering if you would make him happy as you glanced at Rafael’s eyes, wanting this to work but suddenly, slightly, nervous? Your husband reached around the boy to rub your back and told Zachary that you would manage double chocolate chip cookies with the hot dogs and the popcorn almost as soon as you burst through the door. You waved a hand in Rafael’s face, and he lowered his eyes but kept smiling as he leaned nearer, his whisper flowing though your hair.

“I know you can do anything. Zachary’s going to figure that out in no time at all.”

You felt your cheeks flush in the wake of his warm words, and your smile grew when Zachary snuggled closer, his gaze on yours. Running your fingers through his orange locks, you waited and watched until he spoke.

“I like peanut butter cookies best,” he said. “I know what to do with the fork and the sprinkles. Is it okay if we have those?”

“I don’t see why not,” you said as a few tears formed in your eyes. How could one little boy be so precious? How could you love him this much in just a few hours?

“And is there really a kitty cat?” he asked.

“Just you wait, little man,” Rafael said.

Which Zachary did, very patiently, when Rafael had to coax Jingles out from under your bed, scooping her in his arms to seal the deal. Her fur coated his tie, but he nuzzled the kitty cat’s ears, and you held Zachary’s hand as your husband presented the feline.

“This is Jingles.”

He let the cat fall to all four feet, and Zachary reached out a single, small hand to pat her head. She tensed for a few seconds, and the little boy nearly recoiled. But just as fast, Jingles stretched to sniff his arm, and she balanced her body on her hind legs to search his freckled face.

She even unfurled her sandpaper tongue to lick his chin.

“See that, Zachary,” Rafael said as he crouched lower and took the boy under one arm and said kitty cat under the other. “She already likes you.”

“I like her,” Zachary said. Hoping that Jingles would keep playing nice, your worst fears were almost confirmed when the feline stepped away with an arched back, and you were ready for the sound of her hiss, wondering how would you would stop a little boy… your little boy’s tears when Jingles returned to Zachary’s spot on the floor. Like two Eskimos meeting yet still smiling despite the bitter cold, they pressed their noses together. Such a sensation of relief, and your smile was back as Zachary wrapped a pair of plump arms around Jingles’ neck, the tone of his voice mirroring the cat’s purr.

“Fast friends,” Rafael said, kissing your cheek. For a second, you were lost in his green eyes, but you left his stare to watch Zachary’s same emerald gaze glowing brighter, and he almost lifted Jingles off the ground before falling smack on his bottom.

“Zachary!”

Calling his name, you rushed forward and started to pull the little boy to your lap when you heard his giggle and felt Jingles’ nose on your neck.

“She like you, too!” Zachary exclaimed. “Cause you’re so nice!”

Your lip began to tremble, and you felt Rafael’s embrace surround you and the kitty cat and your… your son. Even in your mind, the word still too some getting used to, but Zachary stood atop Rafael’s bent leg and patted your husband’s head.

“I think she like me because of you,” he said.

“Nah,” Rafael shot back. “It’s all you. Jingles does what she wants when she wants.”

“And now she want to be my friend!”

He said as much with such determination, and Jingles seemed on the same wavelength as they walked towards the table.

“Here!” you cried out. “Let me…”

He was too big for a highchair, and you hadn’t figured on a boy big enough for a booster seat. Dashing to the closet, you returned with two phone books, obsolete until this moment, and you used them so Zachary could assume his proper place at the table…

…offering no argument when Jingles jumped to the seat beside him.

“So… hot dogs?” you asked.

“Yes, please!” he said. “I like ketchup on mine.”

“Ketchup?” Rafael asked as he pulled up a chair beside the boy. “Mustard’s the thing. Want to give it a try?”

Jingles stayed close as the little boy’s small mouth dropped open, studying his sudden father. The silence stretched in every direction for what felt like forever until the corners of Zachary burst into laughter.

“Don’t be silly!” he said. “Ketchup much better.”

“I agree,” you offered as you started grilling the frankfurters and just glanced over your shoulder to see Rafael trying to look serious and folding his arms across his chest.

“Is that a fact?” he teasingly challenged. “What if I told you I put mustard on everything? Oatmeal included.”

Now you made a face that Zachary aped, and with a roll of his eyes he looked to your place by the counter.

“Good thing he not the cook,” Zachary finally said. “We’ll leave that to you… Mama.”

Your heart melted at that word. Dropping to your knees, you pulled him close to kiss the top of his auburn head, only pulling back when Zachary guided you away from his hold.

“Don’t be sad,” he said. “Isn’t this the happy day?”

“Yes, sweet boy,” you quickly reassured him. “Right, Rafael?”

He blinked away a tear and swallowed as he made a show of rearranging his silverware while nodding his head.

“A very happy day,” he finally echoed. “Could be made better with mustard on that popcorn. And the peanut butter cookies.”

Now Zachary pretended he was on the verge of getting sick, causing Jingles to appear worried. Cooking, you reveled in the scene, a picture of mirthful family breakfasts, lunches, and dinners that you never enjoyed… of course Rafael’s story was far sadder, one of the many things that made you hold him closer in the shadows…

…and suddenly there was a knock at the door.

“I think I know who that is,” Rafael remarked, standing slowly to reveal Lucia carrying a huge paper bag and wearing an elated expression that threatened to shift into tears at any second.

You most definitely could relate.

“Hola, Mami,” Rafael said as he kissed her cheek. For the first time in as long as you had known the woman, Lucia was quick to step past her boy without a million questions…

…and she trained her gaze on the little boy swallowing the last of his hot dog.

“Oh my God,” Lucia muttered under her breath, dropping the bag and taking a few tentative steps towards the table. Zachary showed no fear, but he still turned his head to you with a question in his eyes.

“Zachary, this… this is your grand… your abuelita,” you said.

“What’s that?” the little boy asked.

“Just another way of saying grandma,” Lucia assured him, shooting you a wink. She had never looked at you that way before, like the two of you shared a secret older than time, and you sat up straighter in your chair. How had that happened? How were you and Lucia the members of a secret club because of a few drops of ink and a little boy with ketchup smeared across his lips?

“Grandma?” Zachary parroted. “You my Grandma?”

“I… yes…”

Lucia Barba tongue-tied was one more reason to mark this day on the calendar. But before you worked fast to assure Zachary that all was well in his little world, you wondered if he had asked the question before only to be met by a sad story from both sides of his biological family. Wanting to be sensitive to any chance of his sadness, you nearly wrapped an arm around his shoulders when he stood up on his seat and studied Lucia’s face.

“I never had one,” he finally said.

“I… oh?” Lucia stuttered. “Well we… I mean you don’t have to—”

“Mami,” Rafael gently chided. “It’s alright. Don’t look so scared.”

“I am not scared, Rafi,” she said, some of her fighting spirit coming back as she snapped her fingers for the bag, and Rafael morphed into her obedient son. Once the parcel was in her lap, Lucia reached inside and pulled out a huge stuffed penguin in top hat and tails, the sight making Zachary cry out and clap his hands.

“Yay!” he squealed. “A abuelita is so nice to have.”

“You like the penguin?” Lucia asked with a laugh.

“I… yes,” Zachary started. “And I really like his coat! And hat! I gonna get all nice clothes like Rafael!”

Maybe he wasn’t called Papi yet, but the shared sense of style coupled with the matching green eyes kept working in tandem to make your family a thing that you just hadn’t been able to see when racing from banquet to banquet while Rafael searched for time in between trials. Now the reality was undeniable, and you took Lucia’s hand as your husband picked up the little boy and held him close.

“I’ll be happy to show you the way… son,” he said, the last word of the sentence sticking in his throat as Zachary’s eyes drifted towards the ceiling, his expression making you believe that the apartment was a palace fit for the finest kings.

“He’s happy,” Lucia whispered. “And I’m so happy for the both of—”

“Did your Daddy take you for clothes?” Zachary asked.

Just like that the symphony that had been in full swing, straining towards the allegro, came to a crashing halt in the world that was Rafael’s eyes. The poker face he had perfected in court cracked the lips parting without sound, his eyes glazed but somehow too frozen to give a tear a second thought. He placed Zachary on the couch and tousled his red hair.

“So many questions,” he managed. “How about that popcorn?”

And it was enough of a distraction. Lucia peppered Zachary with tender inquiries as to his likes and dislikes, her smile writ large when Jingles and the popcorn trumped everything and anything else. You nearly relaxed when you couldn’t help but focus on Rafael. He hardly touched his popcorn, and his face looked gray despite the sunlight pouring through the window. This wasn’t right. He had been the one so sure that you were on the road to joy with no more stops, no more gridlock or detours holding you back. This was the moment of crossing the finish line, and he belonged beside you and your boy when breaking the ribbon.

But he was mostly silent until it came time for Lucia to take her leave, and you made a place for Zachary in your bed while they said their goodnights.

“Is Rafael okay, Mama?” Zachary asked.

“I… yes,” you promised. “Your Papi just has to say goodnight to abuelita.”

Pursing his lips, Zachary sat up against the pillows, and you saw the history of two lifetimes or more lost, and his world as it once was flowed from his eyes as he touched your arm.

“I don’t want him to be sad,” Zachary said.

“He’ll be—”

“Did his Daddy not take him for clothes?” Zachary asked. The answer was hidden in your soul, not your story to tell. Would Rafael’s silver tongue rise to meet the music needing a final note before your family could find sleep? You licked your lips and searched for something to say when the door to the bedroom creaked open.

“Sleepover tonight,” Rafael said as he ducked into the bathroom and swiftly returned in his pajamas before slipping under the sheets. Your fingers just brushed against his when Zachary sat up on his knees and folded his arms over his chest.

Just as your husband had.

“Abuelita go home?” he asked.

“Yes,” Rafael answered. “Long day. Maybe we should go to—”

“Not yet.”

His small voice sounded so sure, and Rafael looked nothing like the litigator who took no prisoners, wilting as Zachary focused on his face.

“Did your Daddy not take you for clothes?” he asked again. You saw years of anguish wash over Rafael yet stopped yourself from silencing your son. Maybe it was sooner than you had ever imagined, but this was a question that would require an answer.

“I… he….”

Seeing him struggle tore at your soul, and you dared to slip to his side. His warmth when falling into you caused your heart to beat faster, and you combed one set of fingers through his hair as Rafael cleared his throat and looked to the little boy.

“He wasn’t a nice man,” Rafael finally said.

“Did he make you sad?” Zachary asked.

“Yes.”

Was it just the fatigue or the feel of being on the other end of a set of questions? You rubbed Rafael’s back and tentatively pecked his cheek when Zachary bounced on the mattress and took your husband’s face in his tiny hands.

“I don’t like that,” Zachary declared.

“Me neither,” Rafael concurred. “But I don’t want to waste any time thinking about it.”

But you knew that he did. That Zachary’s presence and his questions brought the darkness into focus. To see blackness so close was a poison.

“Okay,” Zachary said. “I get sad, too. But no more. Let’s just be happy here.”

Jingles jumped to the bed and sat at the space that was your three pairs of feet tangled as one, and Zachary cuddled into Rafael’s chest.

“And maybe tomorrow I even try some mustard.”

It was the antidote in spades. You said nothing, just sat with Rafael and watched Zachary drift off to sleep. Once he seemed safely ensconced in dreams, you slipped to the pillow and stroked your husband’s face.

“Are you alright?” you whispered.

“I… I guess I didn’t figure on that,” he said.

“Really, counselor?” you said, trying to tease. “And here I thought I was the one needing all of your reassurance.”

“He already loves you,” Rafael murmured. “You can do anything.”

“And he loves…”

“But your father didn’t slam you into sidewalks and laugh,” Rafael said, his lip quivering. “What if… what if I’m doomed to repeat his mistakes?”

“No,” you said, your palm soft on his face. “You are so much more than your past.”

“But, mi amor… it’s always there. What if one day I can’t outrun it?”

And for a split second you allowed yourself the waking nightmare where Zachary stepped out of line and Rafael changed into a raging madman without pity? That was his childhood when a glass broke or the wrong question hit the air.

“Rafael, that’s not going to—”

Zachary sighed and stretched his arms, his hug finding its way around Rafael’s neck as he opened his eyes, his green gaze wide and his mouth a smile.

“Good night, Pop,” he said. “Thank you for finding me.”

He coasted off again to better dreams, and you tried to keep from crying as Rafael looked down at the little boy.

“Hey?” you asked after several long moments. “Okay?”

“Perfect,” he pronounced. “Nothing will ever harm either one of you for as long as I live.”

It was better than your marriage vows, and you snuggled into your husband and your son, imagining only the brightest future.

[vintagemichelle91]

A Hard Lesson in History: Chapter 5

Authors’ Note: Will Rafael reveal the truth to Natalia? Let’s find out shall we dear readers. Once again, @rauliskafan and I want to thank you so much for your support and feedback! It is great hearing your thoughts! Please continue and we so look forward to it! Enjoy!!

           By the time Rafael arrived at the townhouse that evening, he remained uneasy, the feeling manifesting itself as a throbbing migraine that had only grown worse as the day dragged on.

           “Papi!”

           However, Violetta’s joy at seeing his return made him smile, and he tightly folded her into his arms. Still the idea of her, of Natalia and the babies being caught in a crossfire horrified him and stayed at the forefront of his mind. Somehow, he had to find a way to get out ahead of this.

And he had already taken the first step.

           “Papi, I helped Abuelita Lucia feed the twins! But Holly threw up all on my dress,” Violetta said scrunching up her little nose.

           “No wonder I caught a funny smell,” he quipped.

           Violetta gasped in horror. “Papi! I changed! And Mami let me spray some of her perfume!”

           Rafael laughed as his pain kept subsiding. “Then it must be coming from Holly.”

           “Hazel threw up too,” Violetta said as a matter of fact.

           “Tubby time for the twins tonight,” Natalia said, emerging from the kitchen to place dinner on the table. She chastely kissed her husband, and Rafael held her a little longer than usual. Her eyes were pooling with questions when he pulled away.

           “I’ll be happy to help,” he said. “After Violetta’s bath.” Rafael turned to face his daughter who huffed.

           “I guess I could use one,” she said. “Very busy afternoon with Hazel and Holly.” Rafael loosened his tie, and Violetta tapped her toes against the tiled floor.

           “What?” he asked.

           “You forget the flowers and the chocolate milk?” the little girl asked in disbelief. Damn. He had been so distracted by the mysterious phone call that the promised gifts were the furthest thing from his mind.

           “I’m sorry,” he muttered. Natalia rubbed his back, and Violetta rolled her eyes.

           “Guess I let you off this once cause I know from tough times,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “But let’s not make it a regular currence.” With that, Violetta made her way to the dining room.

           “Rough day?” Natalia asked, remaining at Rafael’s side while he looked in on the twins. The babies snuggled deeper into their fluffy blankets with the sun just beginning to set over their bassinets. He smiled at how peaceful they looked and wanted them to stay that way forever.

           “That’s one way of putting it,” Rafael started, “But nothing that can’t be handled. In fact, I did just that before coming home.” Kissing the back of Natalia’s hand, knowing that his wife’s plate was full, Rafael now regretted going back to work in more ways than one.

           “Something tells me you aren’t satisfied with the result, Atticus,” Natalia said as she narrowed her eyes.

           How did she do that? There was no hiding his moods from her. Should he tell her now? No, not just yet. Not when his heart was heavy and he just wanted to rest… to forget…

           “Used a slightly different tactic, but it should bring about the result I want,” Rafael answered vaguely. Looking away from her, he bent over to kiss the babies.

           “Are you sure?” Natalia pressed

           “Very. And I’m just exhausted… but probably no more than you, hermosa.” Rafael eased her towards the dining room with a quick kiss and a small smirk of reassurance.

           “You’re allowed to be tired, too,” Natalia said gently. She gave his hand a slight squeeze, and he rested his head on her shoulder.

           “Thank you for that, hermosa,” Rafael stated. Yes, he would have to reveal the truth at some point; she had every right to know. But he wasn’t sure how she would take it, and the thought that it would put distance between them was all too terrifying.

           “Of course, Atticus” Natalia said, nuzzling his cheek.

           “You two gonna eat or what?” Violetta shouted from the dining room. “I’m famished!”

           They both laughed, and Natalia grabbed the baby monitor from the coffee table so they could hear the twins if they roused from their sleep.

           “That’s Trevor’s lingo,” Rafael remarked, slightly amused.

           “Our sweet pea has an extensive vocabulary,” Natalia joked. “It’ll make her a top candidate for the best preschools in the city.”      

“I guess we should start looking into that,” he remarked. Violetta was more than ready to venture out into the world and make many friends besides Harold. Yet he was nervous to send her away from the ivory tower.

“Atticus?”

           “I… I don’t think I’m ready for that conversation just yet,” Rafael admitted.

           “Plenty of time, Atticus,” Natalia said. “We don’t have to discuss anything important tonight.”

           That was the best news he had heard all day.

           He remained pensive during dinner as Violetta told him all about her day with Lucia. At least it was a distraction. The last thing he wanted was to dwell on the Knowles case and the repercussions of his actions…

…the threats from the stranger on the phone.

           “Think someone is changing their mind about babies,” Natalia said as she heaped another serving of vegetables onto Violetta’s plate.

           “What you mean, Mami?”

           “That maybe you are finding out that babies are indeed fun!” Natalia replied cheerfully, her contentment causing her husband to sigh in relief before he smiled.

           “I guess. Only… I not like them so much when they throwing up on me,” Violetta replied with a roll of her eyes.

           “They won’t do that always,” Rafael reassured her, pinching her pink cheeks. “Now, what else did you do with abuelita?”

           Violetta relayed every single detail of her day, and all the while Rafael felt Natalia’s stare on him. She would ask him what was going on again.

Because he was doing a rotten job hiding his reservations.  

           “Atticus?” she asked once Violetta finished her food and went to watch her program with Harold. “I said that we didn’t… but I think there’s something you want to tell me.”

           “I… it’s really nothing.”

           Standing back, Natalia shook her head. “No; lying doesn’t become you.”

           What happened to the poker face that he was so proud of in the confines of the courtroom?

           “Hermosa… I…”

           “You what?” she asked, sitting beside him and taking his hand in hers. “Whatever it is you can say it.”

           “I… I need to…”

Before he could summon the courage to speak, the doorbell rang.

           “Saved by the bell,” Natalia teased, hurrying to answer the ding before Rafael had a chance to hold her back. He had an instinct as to who it might…

           …and his heart sank further when he saw Liv walk through the doorway with a frustrated expression coloring her face, alerting him as to what he was in for.

           “Liv! It’s so good to see you!” Natalia said, and she gave her a quick hug.

           Maybe she was a woman on a mission at the moment, but the lieutenant still offered his wife a small smile. “I’m sorry for the sudden intrusion. But I really need to speak to Rafael.”

           Nodding, Natalia turned to her husband who remained stagnant. Liv matched his stance, the tension swirling around and between them.

            “I think that maybe I should give you two a moment,” Natalia said.

           “No, it’s fine; this will be quick,” Rafael said determinedly.

           “Will it?” Liv asked. Her disappointment cut him to the core, and he said nothing as she took a step closer.

           “Why are you recusing yourself from the case?” she asked.

           “Recusing?” Natalia echoed. “Why would you do that, Rafael?”

           Still he stayed silent.

“I needed those warrants,” Liv continued. “I get nothing but a paltry excuse. And then you dodge my calls for the rest of the day. You want to tell me why?”

He did not. Not when his head was pounding again and Natalia was right here. A thin line formed across his lips.

            “This isn’t a good time, Liv.”

           “Then when?” she asked, raising her voice slightly. “When we find another dead girl?”

           “Lower your voice,” he hissed. “My daughters are in the next room.”

           Caught off guard, Liv did a doubletake, and Natalia inched away as the lieutenant reached for his arm.

           “I didn’t come here to upset your family,” she said.

           “Good to know,” he shot back.

           “But what you did today…  I thought we were on the same team.”

           “We are,” Rafael replied coldly. “But I don’t have to run every move I make by you.” The tension seemed to reach its apex before scattering into space on the back of Liv’s sad sigh.

           “So that’s how it is,” she said. “Sorry. Here I thought we were friends.”

           Of course, they were. After all they had seen and done together…

           “Could you please go now, Olivia,” he asked. “I’m off the clock, and there’s no time for this.”

Bidding Natalia goodbye, Liv turned on her heel and left without giving Rafael another glance. As soon as the door shut, Natalia faced her husband.

“Go on,” he said. “Tell me that I behaved atrociously and that I should be ashamed of myself.”

Her sweet brown eyes hardened, and it seemed as if she stared at him for decades, searching for something...

           “What?” Rafael asked. He held his breath as she stepped closer, and her gaze softened as she cupped his face in her hands.

           “You are my husband… my Atticus,” she finally declared. “For a second, I… I feared that Nevada was back.” A cold shiver ran up his spine when she mentioned that man’s name. Immediately, Rafael gathered Natalia in his arms and held onto her, his lips dotting the top of her head.

“I will never let that man near our family again, hermosa. And there is absolutely nothing you have to worry about.”

           “You promise?” Natalia asked, abandoning his embrace to look into his eyes once more.

           “I’m handling things.  Just trust me on this… okay?” Rafael pressed his forehead to hers, hoping that his words would be enough.

           “Always, always,” Natalia whispered.

           He couldn’t tell her now. Maybe he never would. The consequences of one action had already altered something with Liv.

           He could not take the chance with his wife. That night, once his girls were bathed and put to bed, Rafael sought the sanctuary of Natalia’s arms and vowed to stay in that safest, sweetest spot at any cost.