song_tra_bong | (no subject)

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Mary Anne is pretty sure she's found the right world. That knowledge isn't as comforting as she'd thought it would be.

The trail leads her to a hotel, where she almost drops the ball. The description of the man sounds like Ramon, but the presence of two kids throw her. She almost lets it go.

Almost.

But then she figures the guy could be mistaken, or maybe it's part of Ramon's cover, or maybe...

She follows the lead.

Ramon (she's assuming it's Ramon) did a good job of covering his tracks. But there are still things to point the way: someone cleaned the cabin, stocked it with food. Even false names on rental paperwork are names, and they're names she's seen before.

(Spain, France, Switzerland)

She doesn't think she's assuming any more.

She rents a motorcycle, an offroad number with chunky tires and an engine that growls like a bear. She rides it most of the way up the mountain, before parking it and hiding it off the side of the road. She continues the rest of the distance on foot.

There's a gun in the small of her back, money and ammo in the bag at her hip; knives in all the usual places. She thinks she's right, but it's important to be prepared.

She steps up onto the porch, careful not to let the boards creak, then knocks on the door.

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The thing about being in the middle of nowhere and up a mountain is that sound carries. But the trees deaden noise too so he wasn't quite sure...and is even more surprised when there's a knock at the door. Cops wouldn't knock on the door for him.

'Rafael, go answer it.'

He'll stay back here in the kitchen, pointing his gun at the doorway from the vantage point he worked out within the first ten minutes of being here.

She rocks back and forth for a moment, but any nervousness she might be feeling vanishes when the door opens.

She smiles, and takes a stab in the dark.

"Hi there. Is your dad home?"

Rafael hesitates as if he doesn't know what to say, but he's saved from having to come up with anything by a hand pulling the door all the way open. Ramon looks at her with an expression half-angry, half-amused, then leans against the edge of the door.

'Get lost,' he says, shortly, to Rafael. 'And take Raul with you.'

He's thinner than when she last saw him. It's quite obvious on his face especially around the cheeks and eyes. This has nothing to do with normal weight loss and everything to do with far too many drugs and bottles of tequila. He hasn't shaved for a week or so and is wearing jeans with holes in, boots and a white T-shirt that is, thankfully, clean.

'Well then.' He doesn't sound displeased to see her. Not overjoyed either. 'What are you doing here?'

"You told me 'two weeks.' That was seven months ago."

She shrugs.

"I missed you. I was bored. What do you want to hear?"

'Seven months?'

He looks surprised but keeps quiet for a moment as the boys are on their way out. He says nothing to them, nor they to him. When they're safely headed towards the forest he pushes off the door with his shoulder and holds it open for her.

'You'd better come in. It's only been about a month for me.'

"Thanks."

She steps inside, glancing around the place. She's not mentioning the boys just yet.

He won't until she does, mainly because it just doesn't occur to him to do so.

The place is pretty basic - some fairly comfortable furniture in front of a large open fire, a wooden table in a farmhouse-style kitchen. A few plates and a saucepan are drying by the sink and on the sideboard next to the stairs up to the first floor enough alcohol is stacked to drown a shipful of sailors. There are draws in that sideboard with large padlocks on. No prizes for guessing whats in there, or how he's spending his evenings of solitude.

'Coffee? And then you'd better tell me how you found me. Nearly shot you, thought you were the cops.'

"Coffee sounds good."

She laughs softly. "It wouldn't be the first time I got shot looking for you; now I just take it in stride."

He's alking over to the small kettle on the worktop but shoots her a frown as she says that.

'When have you ever got shot looking for me?'

She leans against the counter.

"Let's just say I didn't start looking on the right world at first. Some people don't like it when you get nosy."

'How long have you been on my trail?'

He doesn't like to think that she got shot for him. He certainly hadn't expected her to come looking.

She's just chock full of surprises.

"About five months."

He doesn't say anything, just makes the coffee. When its done he wanders over to the sofas, assuming she'll follow.

'Desperately in need of a vacation were you? Because you didn't need to come too see if I was alright. You know I'm always alright.'

She does, hands wrapped around her coffee mug.

"Of course you are," she says.

It even sounds like she believes it.

"But like I said, I was bored. Hadn't had a decent adventure in a while. Thought I'd look you up."

He nods, also looking like he believes her, and lets it be silent for a moment or two. Then he asks;

'Have you seen him?'

in a voice so casual that you'd think he really couldn't care less about the answer.

"Right around the time you left," she says, half into her coffee.

"Not since."

So its been seven months and he hasn't come to the bar once...

His guts twist but his expression doesn't change a single bit.

'Oh well.'

Anyone who didn't know him would think this news didn't matter to him at all. He thinks Mary Anne might even buy it.

'So, what have you been doing with yourself?' and the knuckles holding his coffee cup are white as they can be.

But deceit is a province of hers and she tries not to stare at his hands.

"Made friends with a communist, had a birthday, ran into a couple old friends."

Any 'running into' Julian she may have done doesn't bear mentioning.

'A communist?'

He tries to sound engaged in what she's saying but he's also trying not to fidget and hit the wall at the same time.

'I suppose I'm not supposed ot ask how old you are now.'

He gets up and retrieves a bottle of whiskey; his coffee made Irish, he offers it to her.

'Late birthday drink?'

She shrugs, smiling.

"If I'm vain about my age now, I'm never gonna make it. Thanks," she says, accepting the bottle.

She takes a swig straight from it before doctoring her coffee.

He paces around a bit, lights a cigarette. After a couple of deep breaths he thinks he's got a handle on himself, so sits downagain.

'Go on then, tell me.'

He realises then that he's never thought about her age before, even when she was only human.

She takes a sip of coffee, humming at the extra burn from the whiskey.

"Twenty four."

'Is that all?'

He's genuinely surprised.

'Not that you look old but you act it.'

Hang on, does that makes it worse?

'What I mean is, you fight and handle guns like someone much older.'

She laughs softly.

"I know what you mean. To be fair, the guys who taught me were older than me...and Vietnam has a way of aging you up."

'Yeah but still.'

Wow.

'I have a daughter about your age. You're making me feel like a dirty old man.'

Which is not true. Not that he isn't a dirty old man, just that she isn't really making him feel like one.