honey & GOLD

“I’ve left the army for less, now haven’t I?” Ibrahim who had always been one for running away, had remained in the armed forces longer than he did anywhere else. The rules, the obligations, the order of it all had been comforting to him, but the older he got, the more he felt like he was losing his sense of self staying there. His sense of self, that got him out of the army, and once again, it would get him out of the Syndicate, because he knew in his heart that what he had with her, this sense of belonging, was what he needed to make it through the rest of his days without running. But now, one last time, they’d have to get away from a place they called home.

“What I know for certain,” he reached, instinctively, but with a certain amount of apprehension, out to put one of his hands against her belly. Sure, there wasn’t much the jelly bean in here could do. It wouldn’t kick or move under his fingertips, but although paternity wasn’t something he was sure of, there wasn’t anyone else he’d pick to go through that stage with. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t confirm a thing. Maybe he’d find that this was not a good idea, not for them. Maybe he’d find that this was the only thing that made sense now. Retiring from all this. Getting a normal job. A house. A dog house for Beastie. Maybe a Belle for him, at long last. Maybe this would be alright, and they would be happy (and this was not a maybe, but a certainty).

“May I remind you of who bought that cabin in the first place?” Endearment clear in the wrinkle of his eyes, the dimples in his cheeks, he looked at her with sunshine warming up his whole being. “Maybe we can move somewhere warmer,” they could stay in the U.S. although he knew Nora was a traveler, maybe this was their chance to do that together. “We’re Americans, we could go anywhere.”

Only because it had been a sensitive subject for so long, something Nora always had to keep in the back of her mind-- her having to share him with an entire criminal organization, it would take her a while to fully accept this as his final decision-- no wonder she had so many doubts about it, all wary and suspicious. On the other hand, it felt natural to trust him because the felt the same kind of feeling, they shared this sense of belonging and mutual understanding.  

Her ears perked up, anticipating the end of his sentence, but words failed him (no surprise with Ibrahim Ziani here). Not to mention, the man had to process it all first. Used to focusing on other senses and forms of communication in those particular moments, Nora’s gaze lowered as she, almost studied, his hands on her stomach. His hands-- bruised, calloused-- had seen war, but as Nora noticed, they felt comforting, gentle, healing-- poetically put (if Ibrahim heard this, he’d be teasing her for days). His thoughts wandered, so did hers, reliving their moments, good and the bad and the glorious-- imagining moments yet to come, with their little family growing. Eventually, she covered his hands with hers, and the tiny bean as well, if only to remind him he would never be alone again. 

“Mm,” she hummed softly, biting back a laugh. “I bought this one, lo que significa que tienes que comprar el siguiente,” she told him in bold Spanish, nuzzling the scruffy cheek and couldn’t help leaving a butterfly kiss on it. Nora, however, was willing to compromise and help him figure out the where portion. “We can-- somewhere not too warm though, now that I’ve finally learned how to keep my plants alive,” ... mostly thanks to him and Catherine, but alright, her sense of pride brought a beaming smile to her lips anyway. “Promise we will never be obnoxious Americans?” Nora’s pleading eyes widened before an idea popped into her head. 

“South America, pick a place. I have friends all around the continent, I’m sure they would help us out.” A beat later, she spoke in a more decisive voice. “No way they’d be able to resist Beastie.” Only half-jesting, she entertained the idea for a while longer. We could go anywhere-- the idea gave her butterflies, she’d get whenever Ibrahim himself gave her one of those looks or placed a hand upon her. “I could go anywhere in the world with--” and she burst out laughing before uttering the clumsy nickname Ibrahim had coined for her in those earliest, purely physical stages of their relationship. Clumsy and ridiculous, yet fitting, as time had shown. “My fucking soulmate,”

“You had a husband?” That was the most surprising thing he had heard all day. Mathias found it strange that Ella would want to just continue after her husband passed. His parents clearly didn’t want to continue after he killed his twin, hence why he ended up ending their lives shortly after. “I can’t travel”, the admission came out easily. “The police will find me, and then I won’t be able to live here anymore. That’s why I don’t go to hospitals when I’m hurt either. They’ll call the cops and that’ll be the end”. He lived his life keeping himself secluded just so he could ensure his stay in New York. 

Jakob didn’t stray from Mathias’ thoughts too far. He knew he didn’t kill his friend, so there was a high chance of him being very much alive. That being said, Mathias hadn’t seen him since, so there was always a chance he was in fact dead. “I disagree, I think it would be very fun. I’d make sure he’d die how he’d want to, like how you want to die surrounded by flowers”. It was a twisted view on a kind gesture. Not a lot of Mathias’ victims got the opportunity to pick. 

“It is very simple, what do you mean? My whole family was unhappy living, I could tell…so I gave them what they want. Everyone is so unhappy all the time”. It was a thankless job that painted Mathias as a psychopath. All he ever wanted was for people to realize that living just wasn’t worth it. 

Mathias put his hand out towards the dog to let it sniff him. Animals were easier than people. They loved their life and loved unconditionally. He scratched the dog’s head then played with his ears, “Hello Beastie. He’s very cute, I think Frog would like you a lot”.

“I did,” and a tiny smile followed. “He was very handsome. Have you ever seen a Disney movie? All nice and proper, he resembled one of those princes.” And he calmed her-- his most attractive trait by far, despite the good looks-- Nora hadn’t imagined settling down (so soon) until she met him.  

Recalling how much Matty dreaded the police, it didn’t take long to figure out there was a record with his real name on it. There are ways for you to travel, Nora wished to say. You don’t have to travel under Mathias Cain. A changed appearance, forged documents-- and it wouldn’t be so difficult for him to get his hands on those, but should Nora be encouraging this behavior? Mathias, travelling and creating havoc around the planet. “I understand, Zeke.”

Mathias put a different spin on the situation, as he did every time they spoke, offering a new perspective; Nora did consider it. “You do, you make it sound so simple. I might just try it, keep your words in mind, and try to live a happier life.”

Penelope gave her a small smile, nodding her head while her eyes rolled back. Maybe, she did deserve someone like Manuel after everything she had been dealt with in life. As much as she convinced herself that she didn’t feel his departure the first time, that was a lie. “Yeah. I hope so,” she said, wondering the future they had forthcoming. 

She looked at her, nodding and taking into account what she was saying. She knew the dangers of mingling with her father, but, after all– she was his daughter. There was no one closer he could taunt, but luckily, he was preoccupied with other things now at his age. “I know, I know. It’s a lot but… so is this,” she said, lifting her arms to rattle her own cords. “I think.. I have a lot of things to think about,” she acknowledged. 

“I’m proud of you, too. You’re the best, coolest, most wonderful cousin– ever,” Penelope told her. “Te quiero, Nora.”

“Something, something,” Hans ironically quips, “horse joke.” Straightening up, he takes Nora alongside with him. “Hopefully that boyfriend doesn’t have an ego. When when I gonna meet him?”

Amidst all their playfulness, it would perhaps fall out of place this inkling that something else lingers beneath. Hans grips her thighs firm, as they head — still — nowhere. He senses tension beyond muscle and her sweet overflowing speech; whenever casualty had morphed into true connection, it’s still much hard to trace. 

“Alright, easy with the ‘have’ there,” he says. “You asked for it, you vixen.” A sigh, and several more steps into an unknown path. That tension never fades. In the middle of a mystery hallway, is where he halts them, looking back over a shoulder. “Hey — are you really okay?” Beat. “What’d he do?” 

“No lo se,” a genuine response followed by a light shrug and a brief remark. “I’m keeping him all to myself for now.” What other choice do I have. “What would you tell him, though? Would you give him the talk?” Nora propped her chin onto his shoulder, giving him a curious look, ignoring the slight blush coloring her cheeks. 

A chuckle. “Yes-- sorry, I know I asked for it, and I have zero regrets. You’ve been a perfect gentleman with a perfect hair-- ever since our first... Heart-shaped lollipop.”

Monroe wasn’t able to contain her snort of derision at the mention of the resident that made her dread any shift that she had to supervise him on. “No, the chatty one. Anderson” it was petty but she didn’t think she would let the other resident buy her coffee, she didn’t need any excuses for the student to have any non medical conversation with her.

She glanced over the other woman, trying to identify any lasting injuries. She hadn’t exactly gotten a good look at Dr Vidal in the moment, so she wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for but she spent enough time doing trauma intakes, and checking over Milo that it was second nature. Then she realized what she was doing and forced herself to look away. “I’m doing fine, I had friends-“ she winced, Nora was well aware of her friends. “Yes. I am recovered. And you?”

Nora couldn’t hold back a slight chuckle, the mention of the young resident caused the same kind of reaction within her. It was something else she and Lennox clearly had in common, apart from being tied to the underworld, each to a certain part of it. “He’s the worst, isn’t he,” she jested before giving Lennox an amused look. “Have we ever properly hazed him?” 

“You’re not supposed to call me out like that,” pressing the tip of his tongue against his front teeth, he shook his head at her. Merciful Nora could sometimes be absolutely ruthless. The duality of her, the complexity of that woman. How could he have not been drawn to her?

There was a shift in terms of energy in the room, silent laughter giving room to heavy silence as the man pictured a bean inside his head, index and thumb instinctively sizing it. Not quite big yet, not nothing either. It would be tempting to be endeared, and get lost into the possibility of creating something for once (or twice : they were doing great work with that cabin, and thrice, with their relationship). Come to think of it, he never thought he had it in him, and yet he enjoyed every one of these moments, every second spent by her side, every minute at the cabin. The were not quite at the dawn of their couple, and they certainly had reached an age when a family wasn’t out of the question.

Yet, she couldn’t say it better herself. He’d never thought about being a dad, because he didn’t think someone would want him wearing those shoes, or that the shoes would fit him at all. He was responsible enough, but he also had an habit of fleeing.

But he had stayed right by her side, now, and then. They’d been through with this, with his running, his fleeing. “Just a tiny bean,” he felt the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. There was no smile in sight, but hints of one in those wrinkles, in his tone. He nodded. They could still end this, but they could also leave together, and build somewhere else. Fleeing together sounded nice, comforting, inviting.

Reaching out, Ibrahim took her wrist in his hand, gently commanding her to leave the mess on the floor. “Mírame, Jamila.” Pressing his lips into a thin line, he took a breath. “Do you want to keep it?” He wondered if he would have been part of the conversation had she not wanted this herself. Perhaps not. Then, he didn’t precisely belong in that conversation. She valued his opinion. “How long do we have to…” decide. His arms wrapped themselves around her waist and he sighed. “We’d have to get a new cabin.” Details, truly, or hints as to where his heart was leaning.

In order to give Ibrahim a sincere answer, Nora combed her mind, she had to remove all obstacles complicating the matter, and focus solely on how the idea of them raising a child together sounded. And if she did so, and if all that remained was the image of some bright future they could have--her most heartfelt answer was pretty obvious-- at heart she’d known it all along. A tender smile climbed her face-- the tiny bean would become their child. The tiny bean would be a piece of Ibrahim she’d always have to cherish, no matter what the man himself decided to do. It would be a constant reminder of the purest form of love Nora had ever know. Not the first one, not the wildest one, but the most natural, the most persistent one. 

Nora brought her hands to his face, framing those handsome features, a thumb brushing along his cheekbone as her eyes softened. Do you want to keep it? “Not without you, Ibrahim. Not if the man I love isn’t in the picture.” And not in the city, but she had made that clear already. “We have a good couple of weeks...” she told him, a light sigh following, hands sliding along his shoulders. However, the decision shouldn’t be dragged on-- they’d have to figure it out soon, act fast and not to mention be smart about how they did it. “Do you? Would you be ready to leave them behind?” For the longest time, the idea of his priorities changing had been a forbidden territory, not to be considered, not to be planted in her fantasies, he belonged to them repeated in her mind like a mantra. However, in this very moment Nora couldn’t tear her gaze away from the sparks in his deep chocolate eyes, as vocal as ever. “And a bigger backyard. And a tree house...” she added as if the decision had been made, nibbling on the inside of her cheek. “Just as we’ve finished this one-- cabrón, just our luck.” A small chuckle, as she peeked up at him. 

Penelope had objections erupting within her, surely wanting to let Nora know she’d be okay, she didn’t have to worry and that she could go home. But, Penelope knew how her cousin was. Penelope was well aware that Nora wouldn’t budge and her protesting would be wasting her breath. A huff escaped her and she shook her head as she listened, “I’ll say it loud and proud for him to hear, maybe, I’ll even shout out it from a speaker phone for effect,” the younger Santana continued. “As long as he knows how to keep you happy…” a discerning Penelope added. Their family was one to especially judge those they chose to bring around, and Penelope couldn’t help her wavering judgments in the moment. 

As Nora mentioned Penelope’s own boyfriend, she couldn’t help but feel her heart swell. Mentions of Manuel were no longer cast by a dark cloud with the pair reuniting in the past year. Penelope’s expression was tainted by her own worry, nodding along as she heard of his strategic moves. “Good– because if you do anything stupid… I will haunt you, Nora Vidal, te le juro,” she swore on her cousin’s life. She pushed herself up to sit properly, pulling loose strands of hair behind her ear as she listened to Nora. This part was the hardest for Penelope. She chewed on her bottom lip, really letting herself immerse into the idea of what she wanted. Penelope had grown up without any sort of parental figure encouraging her along the way, only being pushed to simply survive amongst the streets of the Bronx. She let out a breath and shook her head, stumped at the million ideas she had already thought of. 

“I want to create, make and paint like I used to,” she admitted. “But… what I really want to do is highlight people like me– emerging, independent, self-made artists, those who need a chance. I want to showcase all of the art surrounding us in New York. I was thinking…” she stopped, bewildered at the idea even existing. “I was thinking an art gallery could embody this sort of mission. I know someone who could help… I just need to ask them,” she said. Penelope paused for a moment, swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth before she acknowledged who the help was. “Sebastían. He’d do anything to look kitchy en buena hora, right? If he helps me, I’ll technically be helping him,” Penelope now revealing her true intentions with her biological father. “He has the connections. He’s in the game. Most importantly, he has the money.” 

I’ll even shout it from the speakerphone! Nora had to release a light laugh at Penelope’s words. Her medical records were fine, but this, the grand return of Pen’s humor truly implied her cousin had been recovering nicely.

“You two deserve each other,” she heaved a sigh for a dramatic effect. As if she was listening to Manuel.

“Mhm,” she nodded in understanding, somewhat concerned. All Penelope told her was true-- he had the means, the connections. It was a slippery slope, still. Even if no one else knew Seb’s ways as well as Penelope, no other person had been hurt by him as much-- Nora feared Penelope’s lifelong wish to have a father (along with Sebastian’s smile-- as deceitful as it was charming) would make her forget all about his past behaviors. On the other hand, Nora rejoiced at the thought of Penelope pursuing her one true passion. “Just... Promise me you won’t forget who you’re dealing with. Or else I’ll be the one haunting you.” Nora hoped sincerely, from the bottom of the heart, her words would stick with Penelope, especially if the older cousin wasn’t around to remind the other. “I’m proud of you. You’ll always be my witchy cousin, but you’re an artist first and foremost.”

He’d  become numb to her more smart mouth comments. Nora was useful, more so when she was keeping her self-serving morality in her head .  Offering them a little reprive of her more judgmental thoughts. It still amazed him to that she was the daughter to someone that he had ( though he never admitted ) admired. She could be such a force and she wallowed in guilt and pity. Useless emotion if you asked her. 

Perhaps this is why she stopped asking .  And why he started to poke at her.  “And here i was thinking you hated my more violent and impulsive tendencies princesa.” eyes forward as he took another sip of his drink.

 “ But if you rather see blood spilt I supposed I can oblige. What a nice change for you, getting those pristine hands of yours, dirty.”  The impish grin that pulled at the corner of his lip, might as well be a sneer to anyone– but her. It was one of the benefits of knowing him for as long as she or most did. The ability to tell when the bloodlust was real and when it was just a thinly veiled threat. Upon her comment about his shirt he looked down. Spotting the bit of blood currently dotting along the front. Makes since, he did love to make a mess of things. “I won’t  read too much into you still having shirts for me to wear.” chuckling darkly as he down the last of his drink, before standing to his full height. Fernando came to her side, motioning for her to lead. 

“And here I was, thinking a grown man would be able to find himself a better, less barbaric entertainment.” Her personal feelings of bitterness aside, Nora had a hard time figuring out what kind of leader Fernando was. Whenever she asked her father about him, he’d remain as diplomatic as always. And no, Nora couldn’t read his stoic expression as well as her mamá could.

“Oh,” she allowed herself to release a humorless laugh, only because Fernando’s company did create a twisted illusion of familiarity. “It’s been a long time since my hands were clean, in what world do you think cleaning up after you would leave me unscathed?” What she’d heard, done, touched over the years-- took her down the path of no return. Nora’d often caught herself wondering if her life would be easier if she’d simply embraced her status as a Cartel princess-- a daughter to someone respected and powerful within the ranks, and perhaps used it to her advantage. Perhaps there’d been a time when their tricks could’ve lured her in, but Benjamin's death as a direct consequence of gang activity had been a game-changer, definitely.

With a final unamused look in response to his devilish smile, she led the way, swiftly meandering through a maze of tipsy, swaying bodies-- it was in her interest to get him out of there as soon as possible. “Mm, don’t flatter yourself. Otherwise, you might find out they’re not meant just for you.” A beat. “You have competition, they all want to be like you,”  all those young impressionable minds around them, sicarios found a role model in Fernando, mirroring all his behaviors, for better or for worse.

“Were you in the ‘wrong place, wrong time’ with Audra too?” Lee asks, a dark eyebrow raised. “How many other ‘wrong places, wrong times’ are there, love? I have got to write it down.” Palms over fabric, he mockingly pats around for pen and paper. Lee wonders if Andrea was the one to set her up for this; he’d have to ask later. “Audra was a warning. An awful kind warning.” All too likely, they know difference definitions of that word. “How does it feel like, darling, knowing you’re the reason she was begging to be put down?” He laughs, a true happy laugh, at the memory. “I punctured her full of needles. Lass could work as a bloody pasta strainer now.” 

The child in him misses Huckleberry Hound. The maniac, too.

The corners of Lee’s mouth twist in annoyance then, come Nora’s question. Whatever it is he and Mathias share, is unholily sacred between the two. But if there’s anything he knows of Nora for certain, is that she swims in audacity with the same carelessness as a hunk of bloody meat does around sharks. Both would end the same.

“We’ve both got a liking for slaughter,” Lee shares, and it’s all he will share. There are few people he identifies with, and fewer still that he’d claim as family. Mathias had found a father, in the same beat Lee had found a son. Two bodies, mirroring minds. He can only hope they’re also alike, in the fact that they’d never be traitors. “Is this your goal, love? To check every bloody Syndicate box until it’s your neck on the butcher’s table?” 

“It’s not my job to fight, I’m not trained for it-- so I suppose my answer is yes. And something tells me you’ve kept a better count of all those times I’ve lost my way,” since he always seemed to be around, lurking in the darkness. 

At the mention of her dearest friend, her body went numb. Or was it just her mind, blocking the physical pain? “It feels...” Now her mind went blank, failing to provide words, and Nora frowned. “For the longest time, I couldn’t even talk about it, to anyone.”

“--You’ve seen it, Lee. You’ve even taken pictures of it, my grief.” Either caused it, or came to reap what he’d sown. 

He went on, insinuating she had been using Zeke, and she flinched, feeling the need to protest. “No! A box? ---He’s not...” she sighed, her defenses failing her. “I like talking to him, that’s all.”

“We keep running in circles together, don’t we.” All of them. Always competing, but always side by side. “All our lives are intertwined,” always the same kind of people, the same kind of conversations, banter, fights, betrayals. Her hopeless gaze unwillingly returned to Lee. “And they always will be, won’t they?” Nora and... a Syndie or two. Mathias and Jakob. Tima and Ava. Andrea and her old Brotherhood ties. Lee and--

“Shake on it? I thought I was with an honest woman,” he retorted, a growing smile spreading slowly on his face. It was always harder to keep a straight face around someone he had grown so fond of over the course of the past year and a half. He shook his head, both dismissing her affirmation and letting his gaze wander toward Beast, who had picked the coldest spot in the room for his afternoon nap.

And yet, his attempts to ignore her charms could only last for so long, as it was better to give in while it could still be put on the account of humor rather than being stubborn. There was a floating moment, after she pulled back, during which Ibrahim was still left floating in their bubble. A fleeting smile stuck on his face, faltered with her words, her tone, that look on her face. “ Jamilata…” He trailed off. Ibrahim knew best than that. He didn’t cut her off, instead leaning back to look at her, listening.

He remembered, but it was another moment before he drew a connection between her illness and that night. The cabin was mostly empty then, and it hadn’t been the most comfortable, but they had too many overflowing emotions then to care about it. With the memory in mind, it wasn’t complicated for him to put one and one together now. The worried look on his face left briefly room to relief, until realization sent him down on another roller coaster. His stomach sank in his chest, and he looked at her. He should have been joyful. He wanted to be, but all he could think of (and he hated himself for it) were the complications that came with the news. “How many weeks?” Weeks? Months? How far was she? His voice muffled down by the emotion, he looked again, in Beast’s direction. His instincts called for him to flee, leave now, but Ibrahim didn’t consider them, for once. If someone was worth staying for, it was her. He didn’t say much more, and reached over to wrap his arms around her shoulders.

“You thought wrong,” she remarked, arching an amused brow, popping Rosalia’s version of pastellito cubano in her mouth. As smitten as Nora was, she’d never fail to point out how mistaken Ibrahim was about... anything, really. 

Beastie sensed the air had shifted, and he lifted from an afternoon nap with Nora giving him an apologetic look as if saying Sorry we have to put you through this, mi amorcito. 

Ibrahim connected the dots rather quickly-- as quickly as he would’ve solved any Sudoku puzzle, helping her out by finding the words for her for once, ironically. Nora tensed up in anticipation, preparing for any sort of reaction (her own had been borderline hysteric, mind you), even for an Ibrahim-shaped hole through the wall.

He stayed, however-- for now, and Nora let her shoulders relax, if only a little. “6 weeks, I haven’t seen a doctor yet, but it should be about the size of a kidney bean,” Nora pictured one, but refrained her mind from sinking deeper, reaching the dangerous terrain of imagining how the bean could one day have Ibrahim’s eyes, or his dimpled smile, or grow up to share his fascination with numbers-- or all of the above. Oh, how dangerous it would be to imagine a happy future-- that had been out of reach ever since they met. 

Nora leaned her forehead against his cheek, heaving a deep sigh and feeling the slight smile slipping from her lips. “I’m so confused, Ibra-- I don’t know what to do. You’ve never, even considered, becoming a parent, and,” neither have I. -- however, the blatant lie luckily died on her lips. “I-- I don’t want it to be born here, to grow up feeling trapped in the City, to lose a sense of self as we did.” And perhaps that couldn’t be argued. Not even some ancient desire to be a mother and raise a child with the person she loved could beat her argument. “6 weeks, just a tiny bean,” she stated the facts once more. “It’s not too late to end it, ¿sabes?”

Tima paused at Nora’s outburst, letting it linger. Her first, kneejerk instinct was to get defensive, but some well of self-restraint bubbled up within her, and instead, she just managed to shrug. “I’m not unhappy. I just..” Again, she paused. “Sounds like a copout, but I don’t think I could explain it.” She couldn’t get into the weeds of her membership in the Brotherhood, how complicated that made the rest of her life. 

Standing by the sink, she smiled to herself a little at Nora’s words. “No - I get it. And I appreciate it. I know you’re looking out for me. I didn’t mean to be…” She trailed off, not really having a word for it. At the suggestion of egging houses, she only laughed. “Nah. Waste of good eggs. I gotta pay my bills.”

Looking back when Nora entered the kitchen, she cracked a grin that seemed to say no harm done. “Don’t tell me you’re already turning into an old woman. Maybe that hospital just works you too hard.”

“Am I hearing this correctly, Tima el-Masri avoiding mischief?” Nora faked a gasp, an arm snaking around the other’s waist from behind. “Who are you and what have you done with my Tima-- scratch what I said before, now I’m actually worried,” she announced with a playful grin before pressing a sweet peck to her cheek.

“Mm, si, maybe. It’s been... Strange,” she scratched her cheek, in almost confusion. Now, Nora could approach the subject of most recent strange events from many angles, but she decided to go with the messiest, most straight-forward. “Tima, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” A beat. “Two things, actually! The first being... Wait, no, set down your glass first. Vale-- I’m pregnant!” Still unsure about whether she should let herself feel happy about it, she pressed her lips together to suppress an instinctive smile and spoke once more through the shock. 

“... Can you guess the second one?”

“I wasn’t looking,” deadpanning, Ibrahim licked at his fingertips, and reached over the coffee table to get to the box of tissues, “I’m pretty sure you cheated to get that score.” The accusation seemed serious, and although the man spoke with his mouth still half full, there didn’t seem to be an ounce of doubt to him as he claimed his beloved little ray of sun cheat her way through Yahtzee. “We agreed on this : you beat my ass at Scrabble, I beat your ass at Yahtzee.” The agreement was tragically proven true by reality. He must have had bested her once or twice at most with that board game, whereas his luck (which he preferred to call strategy) carried him easily through the game of dices.

Finally, hints of a smile made his mask crack, and he picked up the dices on the board. “You’re preaching to a man who already prays to the peach god-,” a pause, and then, “-ess.” And he really shouldn’t have been nearly as smug about his stupid joke. Leaning his back against the end of the couch, he tossed 1 of the dices again, hoping for a 1 or a 6. “Oh come on, that was one chance out of 3,” crossing out his ones, he picked up his cup of tea, looking over at Nora as she mentioned the rum treats. He’d been leaving her one, on purpose, knowing she would love them too, but she hadn’t touched it at all. “I liked it. You can tell they didn’t use that cheap awful stuff,” glancing at the plate, he added, “if you don’t eat the other one any time soon, I will,” he wouldn’t. She liked it way too much for him to take it away from her (which made him, really, quite a terribly unmotivated thief). “Mmmh, it’s probably just luck,” he teasingly agreed, although, his grin faltered with hers, brows furrowing as he reached out under the coffee table to put his hand over her ankle. “Are you alright?” He wasn’t precisely great with emotions, but reading people he could handle more easily.

“Mm, por supuesto. In our household, we basically had two rules growing up; one - fear and respect mamá’s chancla and two - never consume cheap rum,” she told him lightheartedly. However, the rum samples remained untouched-- and it would soon become clear why. Another roll of dice-- not as spectacular as the previous one, but not bad either. “As for our agreement-- I don’t recall us ever shaking on it,”

His peach goddess comment, though flattering, earned him a light sigh, but fine-- he could have his precious peach if he wanted it, thought Nora, as she straddled his lap. “Mm,” the woman hummed, face hovering above his. “I could end this game right now, beat you at it and win.” Chuckling softly, Nora went in for a kiss-- a lingering, loving one. This all could be a tactical move, a ploy to distract and gain victory. In reality, Nora acted on instinct, desperate to savor this moment-- their bubble, their banter, the adorable look in his eyes, the smug grin on his irresistible face-- before she delivered her news, before everything changed.

As her breathing steadied, she pulled back-- he’d need space. “Estoy bien-- just a bit... Confused, I suppose.” And hungry and tired. Vale, alright, no time like the present. 

“I-- finally realized what’s wrong with me,” she breathed out a humorless laugh, fear lacing in her voice. “You’re not going to like it,” she warned him, though her tone remained calm, implying nothing outright horrifying had been going on. Just life-changing and possibly dangerous. “Do you--” she began, biting the inside of her cheek as she brought her gaze to him, her expression going from sober, to endeared, back to serious again. “Remember our first night ever at the cabin, shortly after the tragedy?”