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thejusticelounge2014-11-02 10:25 am
bossymarmalade) wrote in thejusticelounge2014-11-02 10:25 am
in between tonight and my tomorrows
Rosario has made herself quite at home in Kate’s own place. Nothing drastic, she hasn’t added or rearranged or really done anything to how Kate has been living her life. Instead, there were small additions: another pair of slippers, a towel hung next to Kate’s, two mugs at coffee. So, when Kate brings her to the Gotham apartment she owns, Rosario begins her mental mapping of where her husband may have been, her life here. She looks around the highrise, the incredible view, and her eyebrows shift up.
Kate was initially worried, having Rosario in Gotham, but it’s turned out all right—in fact, Kate’s thinking Walter likely doesn’t know that Rosario’s alive, that it wouldn’t even cross his deranged mind. Besides, it’s a good place to venture her next thoughts, make them clear. Here in the heart of things. “Everything okay, Mama?”
Rosario nods. “Si, mi amor,” she responds, automatically, and though her body language reads as timid or shy, there is excitement shining in her eyes as she glances around the kitchen, the same coffee machine that was in her apartment, and looks at her daughter. “This is yours..?”
Kate blinks a little, because it’s been a long time since the 70s, for her, and a long road onwards. Privilege, what she has of it, has been a gradual step change. “Si, mine and Ollie’s,” she says, almost distractedly, as if it’s a given. “We got this one last year.” Last year when they were trailing Bruce…time passes.
Rosario can’t help the little smile that passes over her face at the fact that this is another home for her, another place that is Kate’s, but it’s quickly diffused when she looks over at the balcony and realizes how high up they are. “..it’s very..” She laughs, quietly. “It’s very beautiful and very high up.” She walks over to her daughter and takes up her hand; there is no strangeness for her and in the time they have been together, she’s repeated the gesture a dozen times a day. She brings her hand up and kisses the top of her hand, squeezing once, before she releases it and continues to walk—her light jacket is folded over the top of her hands—glancing back and forth around, inspecting the place.
"You aren’t scared of heights, are you, Mama?" asks Kate, because she realizes she honestly doesn’t know—doesn’t know quite a bit about her mother as a person, rather than memories and a concept outlined in the back of her mind. Her phone buzzes, just then, though, and she looks at it, purses her lips (maybe this isn’t such a good idea, but she has to do it), and sends back a quick message. "Anyway. There’s someone I’d like you to meet."
Rosario smiles with the just the corners of her mouth in response to that question—she’s not telling her—and looks away when the device buzzes, before rounding her gaze back to her daughter. “Yes, mi niña.”
Ramsey is trying to stand up at all as possible without standing on his tiptoes as he and Bruce ride the elevator up to the Gotham apartment (or perhaps penthouse is more appropriate here, not that Ramsey would know). Mostly because Bruce is massive, but also because Ramsey is convinced he’s grown a half-inch overnight.
Kate purses her lips like she’s about to say something, inhales like she really is, then changes her mind and doesn’t. Instead, she hears the elevator reaching the top outside, and she bites her lip.
Bruce is tired, the way he’s been tired for weeks, almost months now, but watches Ramsey from under half-mast lids, his lips curling slightly. He doesn’t comment or speculate on what Ramsey is doing, and leans back slightly against the elevator wall, his hand moving into his pocket to curl around his phone. His nose is broken—a boxing mishap for the billionaire—but other than that he is presentable enough that Kate won’t ask questions.
Bruce clears his throat, voice rough but not harsh. “Go show her what you bought at the museum.”
Ramsey clutches his book tightly and nods his head when Bruce speaks, expression as serious as though he’d been given a mission from Batman himself. As soon as the doors open, he tears out, moving to hold the book over his head. “PHAROAHS!” he screeches to no one in particular as he barrels down the hallway. “MAMA, PHAROAHS!”
Rosario feels her spine straighten when she hears the little voice and looks over at her daughter quickly, her mouth pressing into a thin line as she smooths a hand over the back of her hair, before smoothing it over the front of her skirt.
Bruce follows after Ramsey, not right behind him, but close enough that he could grab the boy if need be. He stifles a yawn, and continues to walk, exhaling the remnants of it as he pulls out his phone and scrolls through the screen he had been on, the last messages he and Oliver had exchanged.
Kate blinks a few times, because she hadn’t been expecting Ramsey to run down the hall to greet her, and also because she’s not sure what the heck he means by ‘pharoahs’, but she laughs a little and hugs him as he reaches her. “I’m guessing you and Bruce had a good time at the museum, cariño?” she asks, but while her tone’s casual, she’s pressed her nose into Ramsey’s hair as she hugs him tightly. After a moment, she holds him back a little by the shoulders to get a look at him—definitely grown a bit—and meet his eyes, because she can sense Rosario there, uncertain, tense. “You can tell me about it in a minute, okay? There’s someone I’d like you to meet, first, is that all right?”
Bruce hears Kate’s voice when Ramsey half-runs into her, when her tone shifts, and he slows himself, lingering at the edge of the hallway, to observe the family from a non-instrusive distance.
Ramsey literally bites the top of his book in excitement, but nods anyway, brown hair long and floppy. “Okay, Mama.”
Rosario ‘s excitement is more than palpable, riding right along with her fear, and she exhales, slowly, teeth pressing into the edge of her lip, as she worries it.
Kate gently touches Ramsey’s jaw to subtly get him to not bite the book, and then turns a little to face Rosario. “This is Rosario, Ramsey. She…” The words are sort of escaping her, and so she finally just blurts, “Mama, este es mi hijo, Ramsey,” because she’s not sure how to put things. This is not the kind of family meeting that happens in books, or even advice blogs.
Rosario nods, and she swallows, Kate’s reminder to not bite the book reminding her not to bite her lip and she nods again, taking in a short, soft breath. She looks down at Ramsey and her voice wavers, dark brown eyes shining. “It’s very nice to meet you, Ramsey.” She speaks English well, she always has (her mother, Kate’s abuela, had made sure of it), but there is no getting away from the sound of her heritage in the cadence and rhythm of her words.
Ramsey blinks in what is clearly a childish lack of comprehension as he looks from his mother to…her mother? It takes a moment for what is happening to click, and while Ramsey doesn’t understand it at all, what he does understand writes itself clearly onto his face. He moves one hand with the book to hang by his side as he moves the now-free other hand to do one of his more enduring childhood tics: chewing on his pointer finger’s knuckle. Tucking closer to his mother’s legs, he murmurs. “Eres mi abuela?”
Kate nods a little. “Si, sweetie,” she says, and after a minute adds, softly, “It’s okay if you’re confused, Ram. This is pretty weird to us too. But I thought you should meet each other.”
Rosario can’t and doesn’t attempt to stop the tears that well up in her eyes, but she wipes them away, so it doesn’t alarm Ramsey. “Si, soy—” But she stops, because Kate, thankfully, takes over and she smiles at the little boy. “Mucho gusto en..” She can’t finish though, and laughs, as she looks at the book. “Pharaohs?” She repeats.
Rosario “Ah,” she states, and then adds in Spanish: “Faraones.”
Rosario smiles at Ramsey. “Can you read that all by yourself?”
Ramsey “Faraones,” Ramsey repeats dutifully, memorizing the word. Despite his mother’s influence, he’s nowhere near fully bilingual, and it’s something the boy is growing more conscious of as he ages. “I bought this book at the museum!” he cheers, presenting it to his grandmother. Scrunching up his nose, he laughs at her question, but not unkindly. “I’m nine! I can read a lot! I can read on a 7th grade level, but I’m only in 4th grade,” Ramsey boasts.
Rosario arches her eyebrows. “Just like your mama!” Her voice is impressed, and her pride is practically fanning behind her like a peacock’s fan, and she takes a step forward, leaning over a bit to look at Ramsey, memorize his face the way he had the word she had given him, and tells him. “The only thing the teacher ever wanted was for your mama to stop sneaking her reading books under the desk during lessons.”
Kate groans a little, feeling her face heat. “Ay, Mama, I couldn’t help it if they were more interesting…” she says. “Come on, let’s have something to drink and Ram, you can tell us about what you and Bruce saw at the museum. I bet Bruce knows a lot about faraones…”
Ramsey “Oh man!” Ramsey cheers, following his mother and grandmother towards the kitchen, grabbing a hold of the latter’s hand to maintain her attention. “There were shriveled people, like this—” Ramsey tucks his chin into his neck and rolls his eyes up in his head, tongue stuck out and arms crossed across his chest. “And then there were cats in jars and hey—” Ramsey looks up at his mother, then Bruce, not sure of who he wants to direct his question to. “Why do we have that stuff? We don’t live in Egypt!”
Bruce clears his throat. “I’ve have a meeting I need to get to,” he states, quietly, casting the beginnings of a famous Bruce Wayne smile at Rosario, before he looks to Ramsey. “I had a good day with you today,” he tells the boy, meaning every word of it, before he looks to Kate and Rosario. “And thank you, Kate, for letting me take him to the museum.”
Kate purses her lips a little at the question as she goes to get some coffee, and some (artisanal) soda for Ramsey. She looks up at Bruce, appraises his face for a moment, then nods just slightly. “I’m glad you had a good time there together,” she says, and this time she purses her lips to keep from smiling a little too much at him. “Be careful out there, Bruce.”
Bruce nods at Kate, before he looks back at Rosario. “Mucho gusto en conocer a usted, señora Vargas.”
Kate considers how best to answer Ramsey’s question, as she watches Bruce leave and finishes pouring the soda for her son, the coffee for her mother. “It’s a good question, sweetie,” she says. “Not all that long ago, when people—people from Europe, or America—went looking for ancient things, they didn’t usually ask the people whose land it was what they wanted done with what they found. They thought they were better at looking after things, but sometimes not even that, they just took things…”
"Bye, Mr. Bruce," Ramsey calls out, waving at Bruce as he accepts the soda from his mother. "Have a good day!" He turns his attention back to his mother’s explanation. "So they stole them," he says, nodding his head. Regarding his book critically, he looks over at his mother and grandmother. "Did I give money to thieves?" he asks, although Bruce totally bought that book.
"Not exactly, sweetie," says Kate. "The Gotham Museum are trying to repatriate—that is, give back their collection—to the museums in Egypt. It takes a long time, though." She hands him his soda, then guides him to his bedroom, trying to relax while he gets immersed in playing Lego Marvel Superheroes and planning how to tell Lian about Ancient Egypt (and cultural appropriation). She feels her face heat again as she settles in on the sofa. "He’s a good boy," she says, but there’s an etched worry to her brow still—she’s worried about Ramsey even being in Gotham.
Rosario takes a seat on the sofa when Kate moves to take Ramsey to his bedroom in the large (high up) condominium, looking around as she stirs her tea. She smiles at Kate when the woman enters and takes her own seat, next to her. “..he’s beautiful,” she says, immediately, meaning it down to the breath she uses to forge the word.
Rosario reaches out and takes Kate’s hand. She doesn’t thank her, doesn’t attempt to use words to convey what she’s feeling and instead watches the woman, her eyes bright with tears again. She makes a quiet noise, and then reaches for a tissue. “..crying! Again,” she says, berating herself as she dabs at the corners of her eyes.
"Si, sabes," Kate says, but it’s distracted, her tone, and she tensely sips her coffee, squeezes her mother’s hand a little too tightly. After a minute, she says gently, "Mama…you know…it’s not safe for him here. With me."
"He should be with his father," she adds, and there’s a tinge of self-berating attitude there. "Back in school."
Rosario doesn’t allow the fear to enter her eyes, she’s too schooled for that. She takes a sip of her tea, and sets it down, but doesn’t release Kate’s hand. “Por que, mi amor?” She rubs her thumb over the talk of Kate’s hand, down over her wrist, soothingly.
Kate can feel the fear instead, like it hovers over her like fog. Rosario’s touch only goes so far to comfort her. “Mama…you weren’t the only person who came back,” she says finally, not sure how else to put it, not sure she wants to see the woman’s face if she says the name ‘Walt’.
Rosario’s heart skips a beat, her breath slipping out of her lungs, when she realizes what her daughter is saying and she presses her lips together, the skin going pale. She doesn’t tighten her hand on Kate’s own, doesn’t let go of her, but she looks down at her tea and back up to Kate. She releases the breath she had lost. “..pues, mi cielo,” she half-whispers, and kisses the top of Kate’s hand, again. “Vamos a necesitar algo mas fuerte que un te.”
"He hurt Ramsey before," Kate says in Spanish, half dazed yet, only just processing her mother’s words. "And me. I won’t let him hurt Ram again, ever. But he’s coming for me now, has been for…" For a while, while she’d been frozen with indecision and guilt (good job, Katey). "For weeks. And I am going to go end it." Maybe that’s what this was, with Ramsey and Rosario—a chance to make things right enough, happy, before everything went to hell.
Kate squeezes her mother’s hand and gets up, goes for the tequila bottle up high on the bar, and two small glasses.
Rosario follows Kate, unable to stay seated, and her voice wavers. “How? How are you going to end it, Catalina?”
"He’s supposed to be dead, Mama. I saw him die the first time." Kate pours the drinks, not quite able to look at her mother, her hand trembling just a little on the glass, but that’s the answer to her mother’s question, the only one she can give. Instead, she carries on speaking by clarifying. "He’s been killing women like us for weeks on end. Single mothers, with young children. And I haven’t been able to do anything. I was too scared. I can’t be scared anymore."
Rosario doesn’t say anything, after Kate speaks. Her hand is curled around the glass, her gaze disappearing from the sight of her daughter’s face—her beautiful face—her breathing evening to an easy even pace. She exhales and picks up the glass, and does not toast to the event, to what they are discussing, but when the rim meets the edge of her lips, she downs the tequila in a single swallow. It goes down, with no grimace on her part, and when she does finally lift her eyes, the soft, damp brown that had been lovingly set upon Ramsey’s face is gone and in its place, like hardened obsidian, her eyes glitter. She nods, and sets the glass in front of Kate for another. “No,” she agrees, but does not sound disappointed that her daughter had not moved faster, sooner. She nods, again, and reaches out for her hand. “You are fearless, mi’ja..” A smile crackles at her lips. “You always have been.” She licks her lips and nods at the bottle. “Drink, and tell me everything, from the beginning.”
Kate was initially worried, having Rosario in Gotham, but it’s turned out all right—in fact, Kate’s thinking Walter likely doesn’t know that Rosario’s alive, that it wouldn’t even cross his deranged mind. Besides, it’s a good place to venture her next thoughts, make them clear. Here in the heart of things. “Everything okay, Mama?”
Rosario nods. “Si, mi amor,” she responds, automatically, and though her body language reads as timid or shy, there is excitement shining in her eyes as she glances around the kitchen, the same coffee machine that was in her apartment, and looks at her daughter. “This is yours..?”
Kate blinks a little, because it’s been a long time since the 70s, for her, and a long road onwards. Privilege, what she has of it, has been a gradual step change. “Si, mine and Ollie’s,” she says, almost distractedly, as if it’s a given. “We got this one last year.” Last year when they were trailing Bruce…time passes.
Rosario can’t help the little smile that passes over her face at the fact that this is another home for her, another place that is Kate’s, but it’s quickly diffused when she looks over at the balcony and realizes how high up they are. “..it’s very..” She laughs, quietly. “It’s very beautiful and very high up.” She walks over to her daughter and takes up her hand; there is no strangeness for her and in the time they have been together, she’s repeated the gesture a dozen times a day. She brings her hand up and kisses the top of her hand, squeezing once, before she releases it and continues to walk—her light jacket is folded over the top of her hands—glancing back and forth around, inspecting the place.
"You aren’t scared of heights, are you, Mama?" asks Kate, because she realizes she honestly doesn’t know—doesn’t know quite a bit about her mother as a person, rather than memories and a concept outlined in the back of her mind. Her phone buzzes, just then, though, and she looks at it, purses her lips (maybe this isn’t such a good idea, but she has to do it), and sends back a quick message. "Anyway. There’s someone I’d like you to meet."
Rosario smiles with the just the corners of her mouth in response to that question—she’s not telling her—and looks away when the device buzzes, before rounding her gaze back to her daughter. “Yes, mi niña.”
Ramsey is trying to stand up at all as possible without standing on his tiptoes as he and Bruce ride the elevator up to the Gotham apartment (or perhaps penthouse is more appropriate here, not that Ramsey would know). Mostly because Bruce is massive, but also because Ramsey is convinced he’s grown a half-inch overnight.
Kate purses her lips like she’s about to say something, inhales like she really is, then changes her mind and doesn’t. Instead, she hears the elevator reaching the top outside, and she bites her lip.
Bruce is tired, the way he’s been tired for weeks, almost months now, but watches Ramsey from under half-mast lids, his lips curling slightly. He doesn’t comment or speculate on what Ramsey is doing, and leans back slightly against the elevator wall, his hand moving into his pocket to curl around his phone. His nose is broken—a boxing mishap for the billionaire—but other than that he is presentable enough that Kate won’t ask questions.
Bruce clears his throat, voice rough but not harsh. “Go show her what you bought at the museum.”
Ramsey clutches his book tightly and nods his head when Bruce speaks, expression as serious as though he’d been given a mission from Batman himself. As soon as the doors open, he tears out, moving to hold the book over his head. “PHAROAHS!” he screeches to no one in particular as he barrels down the hallway. “MAMA, PHAROAHS!”
Rosario feels her spine straighten when she hears the little voice and looks over at her daughter quickly, her mouth pressing into a thin line as she smooths a hand over the back of her hair, before smoothing it over the front of her skirt.
Bruce follows after Ramsey, not right behind him, but close enough that he could grab the boy if need be. He stifles a yawn, and continues to walk, exhaling the remnants of it as he pulls out his phone and scrolls through the screen he had been on, the last messages he and Oliver had exchanged.
Kate blinks a few times, because she hadn’t been expecting Ramsey to run down the hall to greet her, and also because she’s not sure what the heck he means by ‘pharoahs’, but she laughs a little and hugs him as he reaches her. “I’m guessing you and Bruce had a good time at the museum, cariño?” she asks, but while her tone’s casual, she’s pressed her nose into Ramsey’s hair as she hugs him tightly. After a moment, she holds him back a little by the shoulders to get a look at him—definitely grown a bit—and meet his eyes, because she can sense Rosario there, uncertain, tense. “You can tell me about it in a minute, okay? There’s someone I’d like you to meet, first, is that all right?”
Bruce hears Kate’s voice when Ramsey half-runs into her, when her tone shifts, and he slows himself, lingering at the edge of the hallway, to observe the family from a non-instrusive distance.
Ramsey literally bites the top of his book in excitement, but nods anyway, brown hair long and floppy. “Okay, Mama.”
Rosario ‘s excitement is more than palpable, riding right along with her fear, and she exhales, slowly, teeth pressing into the edge of her lip, as she worries it.
Kate gently touches Ramsey’s jaw to subtly get him to not bite the book, and then turns a little to face Rosario. “This is Rosario, Ramsey. She…” The words are sort of escaping her, and so she finally just blurts, “Mama, este es mi hijo, Ramsey,” because she’s not sure how to put things. This is not the kind of family meeting that happens in books, or even advice blogs.
Rosario nods, and she swallows, Kate’s reminder to not bite the book reminding her not to bite her lip and she nods again, taking in a short, soft breath. She looks down at Ramsey and her voice wavers, dark brown eyes shining. “It’s very nice to meet you, Ramsey.” She speaks English well, she always has (her mother, Kate’s abuela, had made sure of it), but there is no getting away from the sound of her heritage in the cadence and rhythm of her words.
Ramsey blinks in what is clearly a childish lack of comprehension as he looks from his mother to…her mother? It takes a moment for what is happening to click, and while Ramsey doesn’t understand it at all, what he does understand writes itself clearly onto his face. He moves one hand with the book to hang by his side as he moves the now-free other hand to do one of his more enduring childhood tics: chewing on his pointer finger’s knuckle. Tucking closer to his mother’s legs, he murmurs. “Eres mi abuela?”
Kate nods a little. “Si, sweetie,” she says, and after a minute adds, softly, “It’s okay if you’re confused, Ram. This is pretty weird to us too. But I thought you should meet each other.”
Rosario can’t and doesn’t attempt to stop the tears that well up in her eyes, but she wipes them away, so it doesn’t alarm Ramsey. “Si, soy—” But she stops, because Kate, thankfully, takes over and she smiles at the little boy. “Mucho gusto en..” She can’t finish though, and laughs, as she looks at the book. “Pharaohs?” She repeats.
Rosario “Ah,” she states, and then adds in Spanish: “Faraones.”
Rosario smiles at Ramsey. “Can you read that all by yourself?”
Ramsey “Faraones,” Ramsey repeats dutifully, memorizing the word. Despite his mother’s influence, he’s nowhere near fully bilingual, and it’s something the boy is growing more conscious of as he ages. “I bought this book at the museum!” he cheers, presenting it to his grandmother. Scrunching up his nose, he laughs at her question, but not unkindly. “I’m nine! I can read a lot! I can read on a 7th grade level, but I’m only in 4th grade,” Ramsey boasts.
Rosario arches her eyebrows. “Just like your mama!” Her voice is impressed, and her pride is practically fanning behind her like a peacock’s fan, and she takes a step forward, leaning over a bit to look at Ramsey, memorize his face the way he had the word she had given him, and tells him. “The only thing the teacher ever wanted was for your mama to stop sneaking her reading books under the desk during lessons.”
Kate groans a little, feeling her face heat. “Ay, Mama, I couldn’t help it if they were more interesting…” she says. “Come on, let’s have something to drink and Ram, you can tell us about what you and Bruce saw at the museum. I bet Bruce knows a lot about faraones…”
Ramsey “Oh man!” Ramsey cheers, following his mother and grandmother towards the kitchen, grabbing a hold of the latter’s hand to maintain her attention. “There were shriveled people, like this—” Ramsey tucks his chin into his neck and rolls his eyes up in his head, tongue stuck out and arms crossed across his chest. “And then there were cats in jars and hey—” Ramsey looks up at his mother, then Bruce, not sure of who he wants to direct his question to. “Why do we have that stuff? We don’t live in Egypt!”
Bruce clears his throat. “I’ve have a meeting I need to get to,” he states, quietly, casting the beginnings of a famous Bruce Wayne smile at Rosario, before he looks to Ramsey. “I had a good day with you today,” he tells the boy, meaning every word of it, before he looks to Kate and Rosario. “And thank you, Kate, for letting me take him to the museum.”
Kate purses her lips a little at the question as she goes to get some coffee, and some (artisanal) soda for Ramsey. She looks up at Bruce, appraises his face for a moment, then nods just slightly. “I’m glad you had a good time there together,” she says, and this time she purses her lips to keep from smiling a little too much at him. “Be careful out there, Bruce.”
Bruce nods at Kate, before he looks back at Rosario. “Mucho gusto en conocer a usted, señora Vargas.”
Kate considers how best to answer Ramsey’s question, as she watches Bruce leave and finishes pouring the soda for her son, the coffee for her mother. “It’s a good question, sweetie,” she says. “Not all that long ago, when people—people from Europe, or America—went looking for ancient things, they didn’t usually ask the people whose land it was what they wanted done with what they found. They thought they were better at looking after things, but sometimes not even that, they just took things…”
"Bye, Mr. Bruce," Ramsey calls out, waving at Bruce as he accepts the soda from his mother. "Have a good day!" He turns his attention back to his mother’s explanation. "So they stole them," he says, nodding his head. Regarding his book critically, he looks over at his mother and grandmother. "Did I give money to thieves?" he asks, although Bruce totally bought that book.
"Not exactly, sweetie," says Kate. "The Gotham Museum are trying to repatriate—that is, give back their collection—to the museums in Egypt. It takes a long time, though." She hands him his soda, then guides him to his bedroom, trying to relax while he gets immersed in playing Lego Marvel Superheroes and planning how to tell Lian about Ancient Egypt (and cultural appropriation). She feels her face heat again as she settles in on the sofa. "He’s a good boy," she says, but there’s an etched worry to her brow still—she’s worried about Ramsey even being in Gotham.
Rosario takes a seat on the sofa when Kate moves to take Ramsey to his bedroom in the large (high up) condominium, looking around as she stirs her tea. She smiles at Kate when the woman enters and takes her own seat, next to her. “..he’s beautiful,” she says, immediately, meaning it down to the breath she uses to forge the word.
Rosario reaches out and takes Kate’s hand. She doesn’t thank her, doesn’t attempt to use words to convey what she’s feeling and instead watches the woman, her eyes bright with tears again. She makes a quiet noise, and then reaches for a tissue. “..crying! Again,” she says, berating herself as she dabs at the corners of her eyes.
"Si, sabes," Kate says, but it’s distracted, her tone, and she tensely sips her coffee, squeezes her mother’s hand a little too tightly. After a minute, she says gently, "Mama…you know…it’s not safe for him here. With me."
"He should be with his father," she adds, and there’s a tinge of self-berating attitude there. "Back in school."
Rosario doesn’t allow the fear to enter her eyes, she’s too schooled for that. She takes a sip of her tea, and sets it down, but doesn’t release Kate’s hand. “Por que, mi amor?” She rubs her thumb over the talk of Kate’s hand, down over her wrist, soothingly.
Kate can feel the fear instead, like it hovers over her like fog. Rosario’s touch only goes so far to comfort her. “Mama…you weren’t the only person who came back,” she says finally, not sure how else to put it, not sure she wants to see the woman’s face if she says the name ‘Walt’.
Rosario’s heart skips a beat, her breath slipping out of her lungs, when she realizes what her daughter is saying and she presses her lips together, the skin going pale. She doesn’t tighten her hand on Kate’s own, doesn’t let go of her, but she looks down at her tea and back up to Kate. She releases the breath she had lost. “..pues, mi cielo,” she half-whispers, and kisses the top of Kate’s hand, again. “Vamos a necesitar algo mas fuerte que un te.”
"He hurt Ramsey before," Kate says in Spanish, half dazed yet, only just processing her mother’s words. "And me. I won’t let him hurt Ram again, ever. But he’s coming for me now, has been for…" For a while, while she’d been frozen with indecision and guilt (good job, Katey). "For weeks. And I am going to go end it." Maybe that’s what this was, with Ramsey and Rosario—a chance to make things right enough, happy, before everything went to hell.
Kate squeezes her mother’s hand and gets up, goes for the tequila bottle up high on the bar, and two small glasses.
Rosario follows Kate, unable to stay seated, and her voice wavers. “How? How are you going to end it, Catalina?”
"He’s supposed to be dead, Mama. I saw him die the first time." Kate pours the drinks, not quite able to look at her mother, her hand trembling just a little on the glass, but that’s the answer to her mother’s question, the only one she can give. Instead, she carries on speaking by clarifying. "He’s been killing women like us for weeks on end. Single mothers, with young children. And I haven’t been able to do anything. I was too scared. I can’t be scared anymore."
Rosario doesn’t say anything, after Kate speaks. Her hand is curled around the glass, her gaze disappearing from the sight of her daughter’s face—her beautiful face—her breathing evening to an easy even pace. She exhales and picks up the glass, and does not toast to the event, to what they are discussing, but when the rim meets the edge of her lips, she downs the tequila in a single swallow. It goes down, with no grimace on her part, and when she does finally lift her eyes, the soft, damp brown that had been lovingly set upon Ramsey’s face is gone and in its place, like hardened obsidian, her eyes glitter. She nods, and sets the glass in front of Kate for another. “No,” she agrees, but does not sound disappointed that her daughter had not moved faster, sooner. She nods, again, and reaches out for her hand. “You are fearless, mi’ja..” A smile crackles at her lips. “You always have been.” She licks her lips and nods at the bottle. “Drink, and tell me everything, from the beginning.”