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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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.

"Didn't know you had a daughter," she says, taking another sip.

Then, with a bit of a smirk. "And I doubt you need me around to make you feel that way."

'Yeah, one.'

He has a drink and smirks back.

'Difference between me and other men is that I can still get the young girls.'

Its not like he's going to waste all that leching for nothing.

She laughs again.

"No doubt, người yêu. No doubt."

'Now you sound like you're humouring me.'

He feigns offense for about a second, then drops it.

'Are you going to stay a few days? Seems stupid to have spent all this time looking for me and just stay a few hours.'

"Humor you? Never."

She nods. "I'll stick around as long as I'm not bugging you."

Ramon gives her a strange look.

'Why would you be bugging me?'

She hasn't bugged him in a long time. Well, not in the way she means anyway. He laughs.

'Besides, you can cook. The boys are useless at it.'