Hector Ghosh
Long before the sun's rising on the 20th Hector dragged himself out of bed and shoved a few articles of clothing and his journal and a battered atlas into his knapsack. Cell phone went into the outside pocket. He left his army jacket and his sweatshirt with Lola that they might sit on the passenger seat of the Subaru while he made his rounds through the southern United States and kissed her hard before he slung the pack over his shoulders and took off walking towards the Sept of Forgotten Questions.
Friday turned into Saturday. Saturday bled into Sunday. She drove her distance and he ran his.
On Sunday morning bright as anything he texted her to say
Im at 7 Clans in Big Cove Hollow. Meet me here?
If she answered him he did not answer back. He was meeting with the spirit-talkers and the moondancers of the Sept. Their tribe. The first of their tribe he's met since he left Forgotten Questions. Hector did not bid her come to the Caern and he did not wait for her there. He found her at the Bawn. Asked the right questions and came out of the misty rain like a whittled reminder of what he was when he stepped off the train six months ago.
His scruff has become a nascent beard. His hair is greasy and he smells of hard-wrung sweat and smoke. Tobacco and cannabis and wood. Eyes wild from the dissipation of a peyote haze. Like he was seeing the world twice over half of his body on each side.
He waited until she was out of the car to embrace her. Nothing terrible had happened and he bore no new scars. But Hector embraced her as if more than two days had passed and he buried his face in the hollow of her neck and he breathed her in hard. She could feel the water weight lost and the fat burned to keep him moving for two days.
By the time their planning turned to the way ahead the windows in the Subaru wept with the steam blanketing the insides and Hector lay in Lola's arms exhausted and anxious. Not uncertain. He knew what he had to do. But her hands on him kept him from dissolving.
That night he called the only number he has for Helen Ghosh of Durham, North Carolina. He made the call in the passenger's seat of the vehicle and Lola could hear that his voice shook and he could not convince Helen that she was talking to her brother. When the call ended he slumped down in the seat and covered his eyes with his hand and punched the passenger door to burn off his anxiety.
"We gotta go find her," he said when he found his voice again. "She said I'm dead and hung up on me."
---
Durham is not a huge city but the university hospital where Helen Ghosh is a first-year pediatric resident is huge and Hector went inside by himself. He did not want to go inside by himself but this was his challenge to pass. He looked small getting out of the car and letting the front doors yawn and then swallow him.
An hour passed before he found his way out again. Hard to glean his temperament by the sapped expression on his face but when he got back into the car he let go his terror in a breath and turned to her and said, "I got her address. She gets off eight. She said she'd talk to me then."
He didn't throw up but he looked like he wanted to. His hands were shaking. Hector's hands never shake.
---
Helen Ghosh lives in a townhouse in a complex not far from the Duke University campus. The majority of the residents are medical students and residents and from the looks of it she is not the only Indian living there. As they drive through the rainy night towards her address they see a cluster of women in saris with gold nose rings and bindi dots walking along the sidewalk. Wives of the residents.
They had to bathe in a gas station restroom before they came over here. Hector doesn't want to spring for a hotel room until they're in Manhattan. He is not looking forward to going to Manhattan but he misses Tamsin and he thinks being in New York during Christmas will mean a lot to Tamsin. She's an only child and her parents doted on her. Her parents don't think she's dead. Her parents think she's run off to find herself and they want her to stop wasting her life and come back and go to law school.
"I don't know how she got so Lost," he said at some point. "You can tell she's Fianna."
They're not here about Tamsin. They're here about him.
The townhouse has its own driveway and the porch light is on. A white Honda Civic with North Carolina plates sits in the driveway already. They cannot see movement behind the curtains. Hector can't decide if he should wear his hair up or down so he oscillates between the two for several seconds before growling and tying it back.
He's stalling for time they don't have.
Lola Hawkes
When Lola met Hector up at the Sept of Seven Clans, he'd come to her where she sat in the Bawn. She was sitting on a log with another woman of similar heritage (Native American, but that was where it ended-- Lola's heritage came from the Ute tribe, and has for a very long time). The other woman was holding a large plate with some strips of cooked meat or another. Lola was eating with a fork she'd been offered, the woman doing the same with her own fork. There was one other Kinfolk there keeping her company. She'd settled in with them reasonably well-- she didn't look uncomfortable when Hector appeared, at least.
He looked wild and she looked tired. Her hair was similarly unwashed, wrapped up in a strict bun at the top of her head so it wouldn't touch her anymore. She was in clothes she'd been wearing for two days straight. He was greasy and sweaty and smelled of all kinds of smokes, but they still held each other tight when reunited. Hector's face buried into her neck, and Lola set her hands on his head and held him for ten seconds before she realized the women behind her were chattering and making fawning sounds.
That night was warmer than any she'd had since leaving the house. They slept in the steamy car under a multitude of blankets, and Lola held herself near to Hector's back with one arm over his side and chest, the other hooked up and under her head so her fingertips could touch and rub at his scalp.
------
The phone call that ended poorly was met with a bracing hand on his leg, and an agreement that they should press on.
She'd waited patiently out in the car while Hector was in the university hospital. She was growing more accustomed to the interior of the vehicle, and had her legs up on the dashboard and her arms behind her head when the passenger door opened and Hector let himself back in. He had spoken with her, and his face was drawn, voice tight, hands shaking in the aftermath. She brought her feet back down and frowned, empathetic for him. She leaned across the center space between their seats and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, the other around his head.
"Let's go find a shower. We smell like shit."
-------
Lola had insisted that they stop at a truck stop rather than a standard gas station. She refused to birdbath in a sink, and was unworried about the public shower stalls in terms of sanitation or potential for harassment. When they'd pulled into the driveway, Lola parked the car and killed the engine, then looked over to Hector.
Lola never wore make up, but since she'd gotten to wash her hair she was at least able to wear it down once again. She was wearing one of a trio of dresses that she'd packed into a dufflebag to bring along-- this one the three-quarter sleeved black one with the long skirt and the low, swooping neck. The fabric was just clingy enough that her pregnancy showed. She watched him fuss with his hair before making an impatient sound and shaking her head. She reached out and plucked the hairband from his fingers, then encouraged him with a hand on his shoulder to turn enough for her to access the back of his head.
Her fingers combed his hair back and ensured it was smooth, and worked the thick black mane back into a knot, which she then secured in place for him. As she did this, she coached him.
"The worst part's already past. You already had that call, and you already saw her in at the hospital. That was the dive into the cold water. This is gonna be rough, too-- it's staying in and getting past the seizing and the numb. Then we'll go to New York and that's gonna be catching your breath and feeling the needles that come in your arms and legs next. By the time we're out in California, you'll be used to it and the water won't be so cold anymore."
She turned his head to check how the topknot looked from the front, then made a gesture for him to smooth his mustache before smiling, wryly, just a little.
"That analogy was dumb. But you get what I mean."
Hector Ghosh
Maybe this is why he's convinced their firstborn is going to be a girl. It takes no coaxing to convince Hector to turn in his seat and let Lola scrape back his hair with her nails and tie it out of his face for him. She can see the tension melting out of his neck and shoulders as she rakes his hair and works her way through an analogy she ultimately deems dumb.
By the time they're out in California the water won't be so cold anymore.
Hector would have nodded his head were she not manhandling it.
She indicates the smooth skin around her face and Hector glances down like he can see his own before reaching up to run his hand down the growth on his jaws. It's sparser on his mandible but in a matter of weeks it will be soft as fur.
"I do," he says. Some of the numb flint goes out of his gaze and he reaches for the back of her back. "I do get what you mean." He leans forward and braces his right hand on the steering wheel so he can kiss her.
It isn't a fiery kiss. It's warm but it doesn't aim to stoke anything inside of them and when it's passed he rests his brow against her forehead. Takes his hand off the steering wheel and puts it on her knee.
"Alright."
He's wearing what passes for his best outfit: ocher jeans and a button-down shirt he found in her dad's things. It's thrown overtop one of his black t-shirts. He doesn't own any plain shirts. Maybe the yellow Batman symbol will help Helen recognize him. He washed his boots at the truck stop and put on one of his sandalwood mala bracelets. It goes well with the Batman t-shirt. At some point he'd stopped and bought a bottle of wine. The perks of being 21. He ducks down to grab it from where it lies on the floor between their seats.
A flare of breath and a forced smile and Hector is out of the car.
He waits for her on the driver's side of the car and then he takes her hand to lead her up the driveway. The flowerbeds are stubborn but not flourishing and nothing litters the front lawn. Up the steps his boots make plenty of noise to warn Helen they're there.
Before he knocks or rings the bell the locks on the front door disengage and it opens. A storm door stands between them.
Hector's middle sister is 25 years old and looks more like their mother than Hector does. Her skin is lighter than her brother's for spending less time outdoors but they are both of average height and have long black hair and dark brown eyes.
She stares through the glass door at him for several seconds and swallows whatever the sight of him is doing to her.
"Hi," Hector says. He holds up the bottle of wine. "I thought this would help."
"Oh my god," Helen says and pushes open the door.
Before he knows what's going on she is on the porch with them and has both of her arms around him and is crying against his shirt. He shoots a wide-eyed look over at Lola before taking a deep breath and returning the hug. She cries for over thirty seconds before pulling herself together.
"We thought you were dead," she says and wipes her eyes on the back of her hand. "I'm sorry. I don't know how I'm supposed to be acting right now. Come inside." She realizes Lola is there for the first time and tries to smile but her eyes are still shedding tears and her smile brings with it pained laughter. She holds out her hand. "Hi. I don't know who you are."
Lola Hawkes
Nobody was going to believe this back home, but Lola was being calm and patient and supportive. She kissed him back, warm and bracing, and touched his cheek and ear briefly as he pulled back.
Lola stepped outside the car. She had a pair of flat sandals that she'd packed for the warm weather, because they were small and didn't take up much space. She didn't realize it would actually be so hot as the mid-seventies, even if the weather report told her it would be ahead of time. She was beginning to wonder if the black dress was a poor choice, but said nothing of the matter. She simply pushed the sleeves up above her elbows, took Hector's hand, and accompanied him to the door.
She didn't stand on the front step before the door, but instead stopped a couple feet back, on the first step up from the bottom. She'd heard the locks unlatching and had a feeling that she should hang back for a minute. When the woman whose face Lola still hasn't gotten a good look at threw her arms around Hector and burst into tears, Lola met his eyes when he looked back briefly. She raised her eyebrows at him, but did nothing more. He figured it out himself, after all.
So, she stood patiently with her hands together behind her, one hand holding the thumb of the other, tucked near the small of her back. Her eyes had cast away, about the neighborhood, while she was waiting. It was raw and personal, what she was witnessing, and a part of her said that it wasn't for her eyes. Therefore, she averted them. The woman's voice brought Lola's attention back, though, and she was openly staring at Helen's face, drawing similarities and comparisons in her mind. Even though she was watching, she seemed a little caught off-guard when spoken to directly.
"Ah." This is all that Helen gets at first, before Lola's Big Bad Bravado kicked into gear and took over, for the soft supportive behavior she showed for Hector didn't yet know how to translate to others. She climbed up the rest of the stairs to meet Helen at the top one, and reached out to accept the offered hand. Lola's hands were not soft, but were rough with all of the work she did. Her skin was dark from much sun, and her face was strong at the cheekbones while rounded elsewhere. It was curious when you met women for the first time and they weren't wearing make-up in this day and age, no doubt.
She gripped Helen's hand firmly and gave it two solid pumps for a shake before letting to and concluding.
"Lola. I'm Hector's--..." She'd almost said either 'mate' or 'woman', Hector could tell, but she stopped herself, glanced briefly to Hector like he could plug the word in her mind for her, but continued on her own anyways. "Girlfriend."
Hector Ghosh
The look that comes across Hector's face when the word 'girlfriend' hits his ears would be comical were not for the situation in which they find themselves. They're still at the edge of the lake where the ice is thick and can support their weight. Hector hasn't put his weight down on a crack and sent them falling through the surface yet.
If we're going to stick with the cold water analogy.
But he hears it and he pulls a face that all but squawks GIRLfriend? and no one is paying attention to him because Helen is gamely shaking Lola's hand and trying to keep her eyes off of the other woman's midsection. Though it's obvious she's pregnant for all she knows it could be a tumor. Helen works with infants and children. She has developed something resembling tact even if she seems to share Hector's inability to lie or handle extremes of emotions.
For her part Helen's hair is pulled back and she wears a knee-length denim skirt and two layers of camisoles. No jewelry but for a pair of small gold hoops in her ears. She wears no makeup either. What little she had applied this morning washed away during the course of the 36 hours she's already spent at the hospital and she just smeared the remnants of it on the back of her hand. All of Narendra and Rina Ghosh's children survived puberty to become good-looking adults.
"Lola," she repeats in a voice gone thick with emotion. She grips her hand and smiles a warmer more genuine smile than she one she'd given before and nods her head. "I'm so sorry, what a terrible first impression. Come in, please."
Before the neighbors start asking questions.
Helen opens the screen door and waits for Hector and Lola to go inside before she steps in after them. Though she does not prompt him to Hector stops at the threshold to untie his boots and passes off the wine bottle as he does so.
"You're twenty-one," she says.
"Yeah," he says.
"God..."
Stooped down as he is to undo his laces Hector has to look up at the two women. His eyes move between them with no small degree of uncertainty and then he steps out of his boots. Once he's on his feet again Helen stands staring at him.
"I can't believe you're here."
"We won't stay long," he says. "We're not in trouble or anything, I just--"
"Oh! Oh, Hector, no, you should stay the night if you want. You don't... where... I have so many questions. Oh my gosh. I'm going to open this."
This, the wine. She looks to Lola and lets her eyes tick down to her belly like this is the litmus for whether she's pregnant or dying or neither.
"Can I pour you a glass?" she asks. "Not a big one. I'm just gonna stick a straw in it if you don't want any."
Hector laughs.
Lola Hawkes
When you're acutely aware of something about yourself, you're particularly sensitive to whether other people are noticing it or not. Like when you get a cold sore and you're painfully aware every time someone makes eye contact with the thing. For this, Lola is able immediately to see how intently Helen is looking at her face-- not for the sake of studying what her face looked like, but instead to keep her eyes off the small but apparent swell to her stomach. Lola felt uncomfortable, but instead of covering up or curling in on herself like many people would she just stood with her back straighter and her chin a little higher.
Hector had made a face at her for using the word 'girlfriend', and Lola looked equal parts embarrassed and ready to challenge him about it. It wouldn't come to that, though, because Helen was squeezing her hand and genuinely, warmly, apologizing and asking her to come in. "Don't be sorry...," Lola'd said mildly, like it was very obvious that she shouldn't be apologizing at all-- like when you plow someone over and knock them down and they apologize to you for getting in your way.
The storm door was opened, and Lola stepped inside, immediately looking about the interior, hunting for a back door so she could know where it was just in case, taking general account of doors and hallways as she often did when entering a new residence. She was about to pass in further, but caught that Hector was unlacing his boots so she braced one hand on the wall and leaned down some so she could unstrap her sandals one at a time.
There's some banter between Helen and Hector, and Lola served as a silent participant until she was addressed directly. Helen was glancing again, briefly, downward, and offering her a glass of wine. Lola looked back at her in mild surprise, but then set her jaw with molars tight together and shook her head. "Straw away," was her answer. She was standing barefoot on the floor now, with her hands idle at her sides and her demeanor prickly and uncomfortable and nervous.
She knew she was supposed to be the one who was supportive and even, but she still couldn't shake the odd anxiety the situation was causing her. This would be easier if the woman was a Kinfolk in the know. So much easier.
Hector Ghosh
That answer doesn't confirm anything. Lola's discomfort doesn't confirm anything. Helen's face doesn't betray confirmation or disavowal of any suspicions she may or may not have had. It's entirely possible she just doesn't drink. That's not even what any of them are worried about right now anyway.
"Hector?" she asks.
"Uh... sure. Put two straws in it."
That gets Helen to laugh at least. It isn't a loose laugh. The last time she saw Hector he was sixteen years old and pissed off that she had to go back to school before his winter break was over. He'd gotten into a fight with their father because he wanted to go hang out with his friends. He was a junior in high school who didn't volunteer or have a job because none of the jobs Hector applied for were good enough for future medical school students. It was a huge fight.
Most of Helen's memories of him draw out of an older well. When he was still young and hyperactive and good-humored despite the hard time their father gave him. But he feels even angrier and darker than he did when she last remembers seeing him and his girlfriend looks as if she is waiting for something to break.
Not scared and cowering the way battered women do. Helen is used to seeing the faces of abuse. Still: she picks up on the bow-taut anxiety in the room and her laughter sticks in her throat.
"Alright," she says and indicates the couches with her free hand. "Make yourselves comfortable. Please."
The townhouse has an open layout. The foyer gives way to the living room and the living room leads into the kitchen and the threshold to the dining room shares space with the stairwell up to the first floor. Pictures and portraits hang on the wall in both spaces. Helen goes into the kitchen and busies herself with finding glasses and a corkscrew.
Hector's eyes travel upward. His brows furrow and his lips move like he's trying to compute a conversion in his head. Before Lola can ask him what he thinks he's doing he bolts out of the foyer and follows his sister into the kitchen.
"How're Mom and Dad?" he asks.
"Uh," she says. "Wow. They're... I don't know how to answer that." Helen leaves two stemmed glasses sitting next to the wine key and the untouched bottle. Turns towards him and crosses her arms over her chest. "Hector, where have you been?"
It's still a waning gibbous moon outside. That means nothing to Helen.
"What happened after I disappeared?" he asks.
"Did you run away, or did something happen?"
"I asked you first."
"No, I asked you first."
"I've been all over the place."
"Well why did you leave?"
"I didn't leave."
"Well you didn't just vanish, Hector, you had to have gone somewhere."
"I was somewhere, but it's not like I just packed up my shit and left, was it?"
"Was it?"
"No!"
"Did somebody abduct you?"
It's his turn to cross his arms over his chest but he doesn't answer. So she drops hers.
"I don't understand," she says. "Do you have any idea how long you've been gone?"
"Yeah. I do."
"So why are you coming to me first instead of Mom and Dad?"
"Because I don't know how to explain where I've been. Alright? I thought you could help me."
"Hector, how can I help you if I don't know where you've been!"
"I'm trying to tell you!"
"I'm listening. Hector. I am."
Lola can tell he's butting up against a wall. Once before in their history has she witnessed him lashing out and evading confession before coughing up the truth behind an incident that he'd never told anyone about. If he would just blurt it out this would make the entire encounter go much more smoothly.
He's a fucking Galliard.
"I'm gonna show you something," he says. "And. You know. If you freak out, that's okay. But I can't explain it unless... you just have to see it. Okay?"
His sister lets her mouth hang open for a few seconds before she answers.
"I... yeah. Okay. Show me."
Lola Hawkes
While Helen was making her way into the kitchen, Lola and Hector were left out in the entryway. The Kinswoman was looking across the way at the Galliard. He was looking up at the ceiling, mouthing out a silent conversation with himself. Lola frowned sympathetically, that crease between her brows showing more than a little worry, and reached out toward him. Her hand only moved two inches before he turned abruptly and ran thump-thump-thump through the open floorplan to join his sister in the kitchen.
Lola didn't hurry after him, but walked slow and cautious to bring herself to the kitchen as well. Her skirt hovered and flowed over the floor in that inch-or-so space between its hem and the floor, and she reached a point where she could lean against an entryway or counter space when Hector was explaining that he thought Helen could help him.
She knew the Moon, and she knew the tension that rode over her man's shoulders and off his back was fueled by more than what Helen would understand just yet. This is why, if Helen glanced back to the woman acting as a sentry (maybe the very woman who abducted him, if we're trying to piece puzzles together?), Lola is watching Hector more than she's watching Helen, stern and observant and still clearly concerned.
I'm gonna show you something...
Lola glanced wildly, nervously, anxiously at Helen, then stood up straight and walked to meet Hector where he stood. She touched her hand to his upper arm and looked him firmly in the face. "You're sure? Without preface or anything?" Whatever he says to Lola to let her know that this was what he'd planned, just let him do this, she frowns hesitantly but moves over to stand near Helen all the same. Not directly beside her or in front of her, but in decent proximity. She's facing a direction that allows her to have her back to no one entirely. When her eyes met Helen's, briefly, Lola pressed her lips together and rolled one shoulder.
Don't scream too loud, she almost warned sardonically, but she caught herself and instead said:
"Don't worry so much."
And shifted her eyes to Hector to watch and wait.
Hector Ghosh
Humans learned to fear creatures like Hector after the Impergium. It's not a conscious reaction anymore. It's beyond consciousness. If Helen were not Kinfolk she would not be able to stand next to Hector without flinching from him. She would not have thrown herself at him to hug him. Her fear of him and the monster that he is would have kept her back. She would have been more hostile. She would not be trying to welcome him back into her life even though he makes her insides turn to ice. She's sweating through the deodorant she reapplied tonight.
This is all the warning Lola gets that Hector intends to just tear off the bandage to show Helen what he is. If she can't tolerate him or if she forgets what she saw then they'll know.
Later he will tell her that he couldn't tell from looking at her if she was or was not Kin. That her blood told nothing and unless a predator was actively looking for her neither could he tell. But Lola still doesn't know what Hector is planning to do because they didn't discuss it.
So much else occupied their minds that they didn't think to stop and ask how this conversation was going to go. They're flying blind and everyone in the room is anxious. All they can do is trust each other at this point. If she isn't Kinfolk that will make things easier. She won't remember any of this.
But when Lola puts her hand on Hector's arm and he looks down into her face she sees determination in his eyes. That determination is what has the Garou back in Colorado convinced of his bravery and his worthiness as a leader. Once he makes a decision he doesn't back down from it.
He may want to piss fear out of every orifice in his body but he doesn't back down.
"I don't know how else to preface this," he says. "But I'm gonna need my bag out of the car."
Helen frowns when Lola says not to worry so much. She doesn't know what's going on or what's going to happen. Hector takes a few steps back to find the living room with its higher ceilings and then draws a breath.
One moment he stands five-eleven in his stockinged feet and looks like a young man in his early twenties. Something dangerous about him that's tough to put a finger on. Maybe something in his eyes. His eyes are brown and warm. The same as Helen's eyes.
The next moment the sound of breaking bones and popping tendons fills the room. His clothes shred because he grows to nearly twice his previous height and nearly three times his previous weight. Goes from having smooth dark skin to a mammal's pink skin beneath thick black fur. Scars on his right side and left shoulder. Yellow eyes. Thick hot breath snarling out through a wolf's nostrils. He'd stand up straight on two legs if the space would allow him to.
Helen stares mute at him for several seconds. Her mind grapples with the impossibility she just witnessed and she lets go a series of panicked gasps before she starts to shake.
"Oh my god," she says in a strained voice, "oh my god oh my god oh my god..."
She's not screaming or throwing anything at him or trying to run away. That was her brother just a few seconds ago. Now she's not sure if he's going to attack her or tear up her furniture or--
The thing melts. Joints crack and the beast growls as he turns back into her brother. Just before he realizes he didn't dedicate any of the clothing he wore tonight onto his form and ducks behind a couch to conceal his lower half Helen lets out a horrified scream and presses herself into the corner where the cabinets meet.
"What the FUCK?"
Lola Hawkes
Nothing telling on her face, Lola's eyes followed after Hector as he left the room. Her mouth was set, eyes hard, posture stern with arms folded just below her chest and her weight square on her bare feet, not leaned up against anything. Her eyes didn't widen when Hector's bones started snapping and cracking, but she did flex a momentary scowl at the sound of ripping clothes. She had no inventory on which of his clothes were or were not dedicated. She just kind of hoped that he would instead.
Then the ohmygod ohmygods started up, and Lola's attention moved away from Hector back to Helen instead. She was shaking, gasping, and struggling to process and accept as reality what she'd just seen. But her eyes weren't the wide, blind terror that she'd seen in humans before. They weren't the withdrawn, glazed denial that sometimes happened either.
That was promising, at least.
But then Helen wedged herself into the corner of the kitchen and screamed loudly. Lola flinched. She was very aware of their surroundings outside of these walls just as well as she was of what was going on in them. This was a townhouse-- a community of buildings pressed side-by-side to one another. This big room shared walls with other residencies, and she didn't want anyone calling the cops. So Helen screamed, and Lola swooped in.
It looked at first like she was going to cover her mouth and force silence upon her. Hector could see this intent and Helen probably could as well, in the first few steps that she took. It melted when she remembered how very unhelpful that would be to the overall situation, and instead she held her hands out in front of her, palms up instead of forward. Her steps slowed, but she was still clearly boxing Helen in. Preventing her from running anywhere.
At least her voice was some approximation of calming when she spoke.
"Makes sense why he's been away, huh? You gotta be quiet, though, it's fine-- it's normal, really. But please, shhh."
Hector Ghosh
"That is not NORMAL!"
Helen isn't wearing any jewelry she can clutch. Doesn't have anything on her she can grab to knead in a self-soothing mechanism. Her brother's jeans and the shirts he wore lie in tatters on the carpet in the living room and when she looks past the girl who introduced herself as Lola she can see no sign of him.
That's because he's trying to find something to cover himself up with that won't make him look like a frat boy improvising a toga out of a goddamn afghan blanket. That's the least of their problems right now.
"I graduated summa cum laude from UCLA! I have a medical degree from Duke! I'm a DOCTOR! Alright! I know what NORMAL IS. THAT--"
Now she's crying again. Trying to put pieces together.
"What did you do to him?"
Lola Hawkes
"A better question for that is 'What did my mom do to him?'"
Helen was dissolving into tears and semi-hysterics, shouting her qualifications at Lola who, in the world that Helen existed in, was some hard faced mountain person who barely graduated high school. She couldn't know half of what Helen did in that world. All the same, Lola kept her cool and folded her arms over her chest once more. She stopped approaching, but didn't back up any either. She stood with her weight relaxed more heavily onto one leg than the other, which caused a hip to cock out and add some attitude to the way she stood.
"I didn't do shit. Your mom carried the gene that makes that--," and she punctuated here by rolling her head back to the couch she'd seen Hector duck behind. She wasn't sure where he was now, though, but she was more preoccupied with stepping up to the plate to try and run damage control in the meanwhile.
"He's a genetic fuckin' anomaly, don't get me wrong on that, but it's how it works. Now, he's still Hector-- his brain and person didn't change any. But he's this too now, and has been since he's been gone."
Hector Ghosh
Hector's sister is not a stone-faced woman. She's even less so when she's been up since yesterday morning and has tears streaming down her cheeks because her little brother is back from the dead and turning into a nine-foot-tall monster in her living room.
While Lola talks to Helen her brother goes running by in the background with a throw pillow held up over his hips so she doesn't get an eyeful as hurries to the stairwell. Both women can hear him take the stairs two at a time but they have no notion of where he's going or what he thinks he's going to accomplish up there.
But Lola didn't do shit. Their mom passed this onto him. He's been like this since he's been gone.
"I don't understand," she says. The terrified hollering has gone out of her though. She runs a hand over her face to pull herself together. "I don't understand what just happened. What gene? My mother isn't a..."
That's not how genes work. She knows that's not how genes work. Just because their mother never turned into anything like that doesn't mean she wasn't a carrier. Or that it wasn't recessive. Helen blows out a breath and laughs a sardonic laugh as she replays what Lola said to her just now.
"So, what. That's why he went missing? Did he kill somebody?"
Lola Hawkes
When Helen spoke again she was quieter, and that reflected immediately back to her with reward, for Lola's posture shifted to something less enforcing and a bit more relaxed. More open. She straightened up and gestured with her whole arm for Helen to come along with. Lola herself had angled her body toward what she figured would constitute the living room-- she saw a couch there, at least.
"Nah. That's not the way I heard it, at least." Again, the gesture with the arm. "Come on, sit down. Hector's gonna be all stressed out all day long anyways, so don't feel like it's because he's just a dick now. Let's us relax a bit at least."
Somehow, Lola convinced the woman to comply. More likely than that, Helen felt shaky enough to want to sit down, and she was more gracious a person than Lola in the first place. So, when Hector would come back down the stairs, Lola and Helen could both be sitting, giving a calmer and more contained atmosphere. That would help him, she hoped, and that in turn would put everyone more at ease. For now, Lola remembered Helen's glass of wine for her, and passed it over to her once they were both seated on the couch. Lola would be up against one arm. She'd give Helen the space she chose from there.
"I think some other Wolves came and found him before he had the chance to Change and get so far as to killing anyone. Fortunate for you all that they did, too. It'd be a hell of a lot worse to try and explain to you guys that he isn't actually a murderer if there were bodies left in his wake." Lola was frowning when she finished, because she knew the next logical place to go in the conversation from here. However, she wasn't sure how to get into it without dragging spirits and spirituality into it. She was unwilling to try and explain a new science and a new religion simultaneously, even if that would be the most honest path to take.
"Your great-grandpa through your mom's side was Wolf. It passed to his son, which passed to your mom, which passed to you, your sister, and Hector. I think it's only dominant in Hector, though. Pretty sure it's recessive in you and your sister, otherwise you two would've Changed by now too. Same for your mom."
Hector Ghosh
Helen never made it so far as opening the bottle Hector brought. The wine key and the glass and the unopened bottle all have to make the journey if they're going to sit down and Helen at least recognizes that she needs something to calm her nerves if they're going to continue this conversation.
So she fumbles the foil off the bottle's neck but her hands shake too badly to negotiate the corkscrew or the pouring. Lola will have to do it for her if the glass is going to make the journey to the couch.
Once they're settled they can hear Hector's weight on the floorboards overhead. If the cops were going to show up they would have done so by now. If one of the neighbors was thinking about coming over to ask what in the hell was going on enough silence has passed that they've let go of that thought.
As Lola explains what she thinks happened Hector creeps back down the stairs. He moves slow when he hears calm talk and waits halfway down the staircase while Lola finishes her explanation. When Helen looks back over the sight of him makes her cough out a laugh.
"Oh my god," she says.
"Yeah, it's kind of short."
He found a white terrycloth bathrobe in the bedroom but it would only come down to the knees of a woman Helen or Lola's size. It's halfway up Hector's thighs. He's still holding the throw pillow over the junction of his legs so he doesn't flash them on the way down.
But he does come down. He looks between the seating arrangements and then drops himself into a recliner. Briefly loses track of coordinating the pillow and the hem of the bathrobe. It isn't anything Lola hasn't seen before. He stuffs the pillow back between his thighs as he settles and Helen shakes her head.
"None of this makes any sense."
"I'm sorry," Hector says.
"I..." She sighs and takes a big swallow of her wine. "God. Why did you wait so long to tell someone?"
And Hector rubs at the back of his neck like he can wring the answer out of his own mouth. Like it's trapped inside his skull. He rests easier now that he's dinged his Rage to show his sister what he is but the moon still burns fat outside. The only thing keeping any of them calm now is him.
"I tried to come back home," he says. "These two women... they were like you, not born with the gene, only they grew up knowing about Wolves. And they were really good at going out and bringing back Lost Cubs. That's what it's called when someone has the gene but their family doesn't know and isn't ready. So they came and got me and brought me out to Arizona. That's where Mom's grandfather was from. It's hard to explain. Somebody had a vision and told them they needed to head to the coast and look for me. So they did. And then when they got me to Arizona I had to learn what I was and how the whole thing works. The guy who was responsible for all that was really high up in the hierarchy. It's kind of like the military, you know how they have ranks? This guy was like... a colonel or something. And he wouldn't let me leave. Kept dragging me off on these trips to places that weren't easy to get back from. I lost track of time. Every time we got back to Arizona I tried to run away and he'd beat the crap out of me."
This in one sitting is more than he's said about his fostering in the entire time Lola has known him.
"You have to go through an initiation, sort of. A rite of passage. So the rest of the Wolves will recognize you as one of them. Just being able to do what I did isn't enough. I failed my initiation the first time. Then the guy who was training me, my mentor, he died and I tried it again and I passed. That was almost a year after I disappeared. I was eighteen. And I tried to come home, sis. I did. But I got lost out in the desert and was seeing things and going around in circles. Lola's sister and a couple other people who were in a pack, like a wolf pack, they found me and took me back to Colorado. That's where Lola's from, I live out there now. Time just..."
Helen sighs again and takes a swallow of wine.
"If I'd written or called or anything the cops would've come out and there would've been a huge mess. Maybe I should've anyway. It just never seemed like a good idea."
"And now it seemed like a good idea?"
"We're gonna have a baby, Ellie. Lola's parents are both dead. So's her sister."
Helen looks over at Lola with empathy in her eyes. She can't truly sympathize. Both of her parents are still alive. So are all of her grandparents. Loss isn't something she knew anything about until Hector went away.
"I'm so sorry," she says.
And back to the current dilemma:
"How are you going to explain this to Mom and Dad?"
"I..."
"You are gonna go see Mom and Dad, right?"
"Yeah. I don't know what I'm going to say, though. I didn't think this through very well."
"Gee," she says with a snort. "I couldn't tell."
"Shut up."
She kills her glass and looks over at Lola.
"Do you mind if we talk about this more in the morning?" she asks. "I've had a long day and this is just... and I don't have to work tomorrow. There's a spare bedroom upstairs."
Lola Hawkes
The pitiful effort Helen made to open the wine bottle and pour a glass had Lola stepping in and taking over for her. It was easy for Helen to pick up from this strange young woman who spoke with the authority of someone used to giving orders that she was precisely that-- accustomed to being complied with or getting the way she thinks is best in the end. She was firm and moved like she expected that it be accepted, but she wasn't forceful and didn't yank the bottle out of Helen's hands or shoulder out of the way. Rather, she persuaded the bottle free and slid the two glasses closer toward herself., poured them both, and carried one in. The other was left in the kitchen for Hector to pick up for himself should he choose.
A glance was cut back to Lola, and a small hint of a smirk pulled her mouth at the sight of him awkwardly wrapped up in a woman's bathrobe that went far too high up on his thighs. Her expression smoothed out quickly enough when the conversation picked back up, and Lola settled into the back and arm of the couch. Hector had taken over talking and explaining, and she was more than happy to allow it. After all, he was the Galliard here.
And so, Lola is quiet while the conversation continues, up until the point that Hector states flatly that he and Lola are going to have a child, and that her family was all dead. The way that Helen looked at her with that new information had Lola frowning and shifting a little uncomfortably. Subconsciously shifting her position so that her hip was turned away from the other end of the couch and the Lost Kin that it housed, angling herself so that her stomach was less exposed, a little more covered by the curve of her body.
"Eh, that's life," Lola commented, which probably did nothing but make the way Helen was looking at her even more bracing before she swung her focus back to Hector. Lola was relieved when that time came.
Finally, Helen killed her glass of wine and professed that she wanted to rest and continue this in the morning. The question, the request that this be paused, was directed to Lola, and she looked a little surprised by this but found her tongue a moment later. "Yeah, I get that. It's been a hell of a long journey for us too, and a bed would be nice." Helen could only ponder what they were sleeping on instead, and probably felt another twinge when she realized they were probably sleeping in that car they drove up in
(Jesus Christ are they homeless to boot? How do you live when you've fallen off the map? And they're going to have a baby too? No wonder he's reaching out now.)
but Lola didn't wait to read anything else off the woman's face. "I-- we appreciate that. And we can see you in the morning."
Hector Ghosh
Helen nodded and pushed herself up from the couch. She picked up the glass with the tips of her fingers and looked between the two of them like she wanted to say something else. Like she didn't quite trust they were still going to be here in the morning.
Like now that she knew what her brother was she didn't know how to talk to him or what to say. At least Lola was like her. It wasn't a conscious choice she was making. Wasn't a choice at all. It was self-preservation. She had seen what Hector was underneath his skin. Didn't have a clue that he could lose his control and turn those claws she'd seen on the both of them. She didn't need to have a clue. In her mind deep down where she couldn't dig it up yet Helen knew she would never have a normal relationship with her brother again.
Her brother, who was wearing her bathrobe and chewing on his thumbnail and looking up at her like a chagrinned puppy.
"Help yourselves to whatever," she says. "There's food in the fridge and if you need towels or toothbrushes or anything, they're in the closet in the bathroom upstairs."
She can't think of anything else to say and she doesn't reach for Hector again. He keeps chewing his thumb as she moves into the kitchen to rinse out her glass and cork the wine bottle. That silence persists until she reaches the steps and it isn't the Galliard who breaks it.
"I'm so glad you're okay."
Not until her footsteps reach the landing does Hector let go the breath he didn't know he was holding and take his nail out from between his teeth. He uses the joint of his thumb to rub his brow and sighs a sigh heavy as those his sister loosed earlier.
"Wow," Hector says. "And I thought I handled your cousin like an asshole."
Lola Hawkes
Lola didn't rise when Helen did or anything so protective of herself or Hector as that. She watched the Ghosh son more than she did the middle child, with the faintest crease of a disapproving frown on her face-- probably in response to the thumb-chewing. She'd glanced distractedly back to Helen when she offered them run of the kitchen and bathroom as well before retreating upstairs. No verbal confirmation or thanks was offered, for the silence was too palpable for her to feel okay breaking into herself.
It was only once Helen had found her way upstairs and Hector had sighed and spoken again that Lola stood and went over to him. She rubbed her hand from his brow along the side of his head and stood even with his knees, frowning down at him sympathetically.
"My cousin already knew. He'd seen Maria."
She realized she was frowning and made an effort to smooth it out and look some approximation of calm and even.
"We're tired, and she probably needs time to lay awake and stare at her ceiling and then sleep on it. In a bed. And then wake up and sit someplace besides the car and drink a cup of coffee and just... fuckin' talk for a little bit." She had switched partway through from talking about Helen's needs and wants to talking about her own. She didn't care to correct it, and rolled with for that matter. She moved from holding his head to bracing his shoulder and neck instead, and looked down at him with a tired effort of a smile.
"Let's go lay down, huh?"
Hector Ghosh
Now he casts his eyes up at her though the chagrin is slow to fade. It's better than pain or fear or anger. Milder somehow. He's used to blurting out the first thing that comes into his head and acting on impulse instead of stopping to consider whether he ought to act at all. This feeling of having fucked up isn't a new one for him.
Her hand finds his brow. His drops down to the throw pillow that he might twirl it around. A vent for nervous energy. His eyes close with the passage of her hand across his head and his knees splay further to give her room to stand. They won't be down here long. Helen moves around upstairs and they can hear her brushing her teeth in the bathroom.
By the time Lola's hand finds his shoulder Hector looks as if he's lost the last of the tailwind that had carried him this far. His eyes trail down her body and up again. Not in hunger but in appraisal. She has spent as much time on the road as he has running in his wolf skin and she's carrying their child besides.
So he draws a breath and tries to forgive himself. Reaches out his right hand to rest it on her left hip and rub like to banish an ache. His jaw moves beneath her hand and Hector turns his head towards her palm that he might plant a kiss onto it.
When he rises he does not take the same pains to maintain modesty as he did when his sister was present. The throw pillow stays behind on the couch and he kisses her forehead.
"Okay."
---
The light stayed on beneath Helen's door well into the night and Hector laid awake staring at the wall for nearly an hour before he dropped off.
Helen's cell phone vibrated on her bedside table around midnight and the light came back on a few seconds later. Though her door was closed and the hour was late the walls in the house were thin. If Lola awakened she could hear the pitch and cadence of her voice but none of the words.
None but:
"No... Mom, calm down. It's okay. He's..."
And later the whining of the bedsprings as Helen rolled over to go back to sleep.
---
By dawn Hector had not yet stirred though his sister rose at half past six to go downstairs. She started coffee and cooked breakfast and cleaned up the mess from the night before. Irreparable clothing scraps strewn on the carpet and leftover wine drawing fruit flies.
Whenever Lola comes downstairs to join her the lost kinswoman is sat at the table in the kitchen. She wears eyeglasses with black metal frames and scrolls through an article she's reading on her iPad without seeming to retain any of it. She hasn't changed out of the pajama bottoms or t-shirt she wore to bed last night and her coffee hasn't finished steaming. A skillet full of scrambled eggs and various vegetables sits on the stove's back burner.
Outside the Monday morning is a gray threatening to turn black and the rain hasn't let up. It isn't as cold as it's been back in Colorado but the dampness being what it is Hector could sleep the rest of the morning if they let him.
Manhattan is an eight-hour drive from Durham. They're meant to meet Tamsin there tomorrow and Hector wants to stop off in D.C. on the way north again.
"Morning," Helen says when Lola comes into view. Her greeting comes with a sororal smile even if both her words and the smile are tired. "Help yourself, I made plenty of food and there's milk in the fridge."
Lola Hawkes
That night, Lola accompanied Hector up to the guest bedroom at first, then changed her mind and went back downstairs. Helen, no doubt awake and alert in her room, would hear Lola's firm steps carry her up and down the staircase a couple of times. She'd gone back out to the car to seize a duffle bag in which she'd stuffed extra changes of clothes for Hector as well as herself. Then she felt a strong need to bust into the fridge and procure herself something to put her stomach to rest until the morning would come. She slept tucked into Hector's side, an arm over his chest and head tucked to his shoulder.
Lola didn't sleep well outside of her home, she was just too accustomed to having the same place to rest her head every night. For this, she was awake at every sound or shift or creak. When Hector tossed and scowled in his sleep Lola was awake for ten minutes afterwards. When Helen's voice started a phone conversation Lola was awake to try and make out the entirety of it, and then for a subsequent thirty minutes afterwards just laying awake and thinking. She'd drift off eventually, though-- she was tired, and though the bed was unfamiliar it was nice to be able to stretch her toes and sleep on something soft again.
------------
It was just before seven thirty when Lola disengaged herself from Hector's arm and leg and slid out of bed. Helen would hear her up and stirring in the quiet of the house-- going into the bathroom to use the toilet and brush her teeth and wash her face. She came downstairs without Hector, letting him stay in the bed for as long as they could afford to allow it. She knew he needed to spend time regaining his sister's trust and explaining things to her, but he'd run across the country on the feet of wolves, partied with Bone Gnawers and sweated and Saw with their own tribe as well. Somewhere in the mix he'd confronted Corey for the first time since their split as well.
When Lola entered the kitchen, she moved like an animal uncertain of the new area it was stepping into-- she stalked and prowled and moved with strength and wariness alike. Helen was spied where she sat at the kitchen table, dressed in pajamas and reading glasses with a cup of coffee in front of her. The friendly, close smile that was offered continued to catch Lola just a little off-guard. She knew this was Hector's sister so she was probably just as socially easy as the Galliard was, but it was still an unfamiliar thing for Lola to be treated with and accept such warmth straight away. Even if this woman would be an aunt to her child. This surprise only ever lasts visibly for a second or less, and as was the case last night Lola cleared it from her face with a nod and a returned greeting:
"Mornin'." She, too, was dressed in what she'd slept in for the night-- well, she hadn't slept in pants, but she pulled on her traveling sweatpants to go with the large T-shirt she was wearing as well. Her hair was twisted back into a knot at the nape of her neck, and her eyes were still bleary from a night of short, ill rest. She entered the kitchen and breathed in the smell of the scramble on the stove top, then paused decided to go with a beverage instead of food first. Not one to pass up an opportunity to drink milk, though, she checked the fridge. If it was animal milk she'd pour herself a small glass, if it was soy or some other replacement she'd leave it alone and settle for a cup of black coffee instead.
Either way, Lola would end up at a window where she could look out at the sky, and evaluated the weather while warming her hands on a hot mug of coffee. She knew that there were supposed to be heavy thunderstorms all along the coast. They'd picked the worst time to travel, but they would brave it anyways.
"I heard your mom on the phone last night." Lola was curt, and something about how she cut immediately to what was on her mind made it feel almost like she was scolding Helen for a second, like she was caught in the act. But then Lola followed it up by glancing back to Helen and raising her eyebrows. "How much did you tell her?"
While waiting for the answer, she sipped her coffee.
Hector Ghosh
Unlike her brother Helen remained in the household long enough to live not only in the shadow of a man who expected impossible things out of his children but in the shadow of her older sister. By the time she was 23 Cassandra was not only a resident at one of the most prestigious cancer centers in the world but she had given their parents a grandson. She was a devout Hindu who married a devout Hindu. An immigrant’s son. Vijay was a polite young man who loved his wife and his son and was gracious and subservient to his in-laws.
When Helen was 23 she took a year off of school to volunteer at an orphanage in the Dominican Republic. She gave no indication of even considering marriage and the few men she had brought home for holidays to meet her parents had broken up with her after one meal with her father. She had tattoos and pictures on her Facebook page taken at nightclubs and outdoor musical festivals. She used birth control and smoked pot on occasion.
Helen kept cow’s milk in her refrigerator. Whole fat. Fuck it. That’s why lactase pills existed.
Though Lola is curt Helen does not seem to mind. She looks up from her iPad and lifts her eyebrows but not in surprise. She’s just listening. Though part of her can understand the need to reach out to family upon receipt of knowledge of a pregnancy the majority of her still doesn’t quite grasp what happened last night.
Upstairs the springs in the guest room mattress squeak. Hector is awake.
How much did she tell her mom.
"Only what I could without sounding like I'd lost my mind," she says. "I called our older sister last night after he showed up at the hospital because I didn't know what to do."
She doesn't have her brother's need to tell stories proper but something tells her Lola doesn't understand the dynamics of their family or the full extent of the impact his disappearance had on them. So she takes a swallow of her coffee and closes the cover on the iPad.
"When he first went missing, the FBI came and talked to all of us about what we should do if he did turn back up. They wanted to talk to him even if he just run away."
170 pounds of half-conscious male yawns and stumbles its way down the hallway upstairs and a moment later the bathroom door whines shut.
"I figured it's not really my call. Mom's the one who should decide what to do. Cassandra called her because I had to get back home to meet you guys but I guess it took her a while to get the voicemail. She's..."
Hector is running water upstairs to brush his teeth and bathe himself at the sink but his sister still keeps her voice down. No point trying to describe her mother's reaction. Lola doesn't strike her as being a font of sympathy.
"I talked her out of calling the agent who's got Hector's case until she sees him. I told her it sounds like he's heading out to San Jose." She flinches. "I didn't tell her about the baby. I just told Mom he was traveling with his girlfriend. She was going to get on a plane last night and come out here, I was like, 'No don't do that I'll tell him to call you in the morning.'"
Lola Hawkes
Helen had done a pretty good job of reading Lola when she figured the woman wouldn't be the best place to find sympathy for herself or her mother's plight. After all, to someone on the outside Lola was a difficult person to read. There was an energy about her that hummed in her bones, something that seemed on edge and violent and hungry all of the time. It was like an echo of the Rage that cloaked her mate, Helen's brother. She carried herself proudly, standing ever straight and never cringing. This was probably a part of what had Helen immediately dismissing the idea that Hector might beat her, and that's why she was anxious around him.
Even in a T-shirt and sweat pants, even with pregnancy starting to make its announcement across her midsection, it was easy to believe that if anyone were to come through the door demanding all the money and jewelry in the house, that Lola would bash the coffee mug in her hand into his face and then introduce him quickly to the floor. Just as easy as it was to feel off-put by Lola, it was easy to feel a little bit safer. If someone came to call, Lola would meet the challenge face first, and she seemed like a difficult barrier to get around.
While there wasn't any sympathy written on the Kinswoman, Lola still nodded and sipped her coffee. She listened even though her eyes had gone back out the window to watch the sky, to gauge the wind in the leaves and grass where it was visible. The sounds of Hector moving about upstairs were taken note of, and Lola's eyes hopped to the clock on the stove to do some quick calculating before she finally turned to put her back to the window and faced Helen again.
"It's good you asked her not to call the agent. We wouldn't have been able to see your mom and dad if the FBI was there at the house. Too many questions that he and I can't answer." She shook her head and crossed the kitchen to join Helen at the table now. The coffee cup was set down before Lola lowered herself into the chair across from Helen. Her gaze was steady when it landed on the tired looking doctor-in-training.
"I figure news about the baby comes second to what Hector actually is. They'll figure that out, and we'll talk about it when we get there. It's not the important information that we're sharing, not so much as the fact that Hector isn't dead."
She paused and frowned and pressed her lips together, then closed her hands around the coffee mug that she was holding. Her gaze seemed heavier when she continued-- this was a serious topic she was getting into.
"Your father can't know. He's just a regular human man. Such knowledge would break his mind and drive him to god-knows-what. At best? He'd divorce your mom and blame her for what his son is. At worst? He'd try to kill Hector, and that would end well for no one." She paused for a moment, perhaps for emphasis, before continuing: "I'm not positive he plans to tell your mom that truth yet either. I feel like he should, but it's his call. It'll be her burden to help cover him up and keep that secret from your dad and the world, then."
She then seemed to remember something that Helen had said, and added with a note of finality:
"Yeah, I was gonna encourage him to make that call this morning before we leave, too. It's not right to let her stew, and she could make a poor decision between then and now."
Her words were then silenced by the coffee mug at her lips.
Hector Ghosh
Halfway through Lola's exploration of what could happen if their father finds out the squawking of the pipes ceases and Hector stays still a moment. Easy enough to imagine him consulting his reflection or his packmates for guidance on what he ought to do next but Hector doesn't spend much time in the mirror and to hear Tamsin talk he doesn't ask for help if he can avoid it. He sure as shit wouldn't ask for it over the totemphone.
For her part Helen sits silent and listens to Lola. It's coming up on five o'clock in the morning back in California but that isn't too early to call their parents.
Hearing that they can't tell their father has a look of uncomprehending fear come across Helen's face. Her eyes widen and her jaw sets. Last night she had thought herself as a regular human woman. It will take her some time for this status as the sister of a werewolf to sink in if it ever sinks in at all.
Overhead Hector walks back into the bedroom. Helen sighs and reaches up under her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose.
"God," she says. Like anyone out there is going to help them with this but each other. She laughs away the blasphemy and looks up as Hector comes trotting down the stairs. She's still looking up when he appears in the kitchen. Barefoot and shirtless with his hair down. Her eyes find the scars on his torso and she looks away like this is an even more indecent sight than that of him in her bathrobe.
"What a beautiful day, huh?" he asks. He practically floats over to the coffeemaker but then he gets distracted by the food laid out on the stove. He shovels several ladlefuls of eggs into a bowl Helen had laid out by the burner and starts eating like he doesn't know when he's going to see food again.
Helen lets him eat for several seconds before she takes a breath.
"Mom called last night," she says.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, at like, midnight."
"Midnight here, or midnight there?"
"Midnight here. You need to call her."
"What, now?"
"Hector, she's freaking out."
"Okay."
"Like, really freaking out."
"Okay. Shit."
"You can use my phone if you need to."
He vacuums the last of his meal into his stomach and puts the bowl and fork into the sink.
"Thanks," he says and snatches the handset off the wall base.
"Do you remember the number?"
"'Do I remember the number...'"
He punches in the long-distance number and waits as it rings. Helen cuts Lola an apologetic look and turns her eyes to the mug in her hands.
Lola Hawkes
The expression of fear may have been misinterpreted by Lola, because she followed up hastily by adding: "It's nothing anyone can help-- it's just nature, the way he is and the way Hector is. His brain's programmed to reject what Hector is as a means to keep him safe. It's just..." She scowled, not sure where to go from there. She didn't have humans in her life, so she didn't ever need to worry about maintaining the Veil within any relationships-- especially not familial ones. Where she failed for words, Helen resigned with a God..., and Hector broke the quiet by thumping down the stairs and appearing in the kitchen with a bright and sunny good morning greeting.
Lola glanced over to survey the Galliard in the kitchen entrance, then back to Helen to see how she averted her eyes from the wicked lash of bright scar tissue on Hector's flank. Lola pressed her lips into an expression that was almost sympathetic, but didn't follow it up by saying anything. She just stayed where she was, sipping her coffee, and watching and listening to what transpired between siblings.
Call mom. She's freaking out.
Now? Okay, shit.
By this point the Uktena Kinfolk was watching the pair like a tennis match, but dark eyes settled on and followed after Hector as he deposited dishes in the sink and went to the phone on the wall. Lola was tense, but not because of the emotion in the room alone or because it made her uncomfortable. She was like a spring all coiled up and ready to push, like she expected sudden physical action to be a necessity at the drop of a hat. Helen would pick up on this when she glanced over to look at Lola apologetically. The women met eyes for that moment, Lola's unchanging even up to the point that Helen cast her gaze down into her coffee mug.
Lola's expression didn't change much, but that was some kind of a trigger because it prompted her to rise to her feet and bring her coffee mug along with her. She circled around the table so she would pass behind Helen, and as she did she paused long enough to clap a hand on the older woman's shoulder and hold it there for a tick of the second hand on the clock. It was a stiff, heavy, but solid show of comfort and reassurance, more suited to men on a football field or warriors on the battlefront, but the meaning translated usually.
The moment passed, and Lola moved the rest of the way into the kitchen. Her coffee mug was abandoned in lieu of the milk she'd left behind before, and though she didn't touch Hector in front of his sister she still cut him a meaningful You Got This sort of look while he stood with the phone to his ear. Then she averted her eyes from both so that she could focus on piling a few scoops of that scramble into the bowl Hector had been using, saved from the sink for the sake of saving dishes. She didn't feel hunger through the coffee and anxiousness the past day had brought, but she knew she needed to make herself eat anyways. They'd have to be on the road within the next few hours after all.
Hector Ghosh
For her efforts at comforting the older woman Lola receives a terse yet not testy smile. She doesn't reach up to touch Lola's hand in return but Helen accepts what passes as comfort from the woman she just met last night and she sits and watches Hector as he takes the cordless handset into the living room. They can see him from the table but it's clear he is trying to spare them from having this conversation right in their face when they have no control over it.
She gives Hector a look meant to encourage him. He gives Lola a look that projects playful nonchalance he doesn't feel. She can all but feel the anxiety in his eyes.
Then they hear:
"... Dad."
Like the floor has just dropped out from under him. Vertigo in his voice. Hector plants his free hand on his hip and stops pacing and stares towards the front door.
"No, Helen--I know. I know, I'm... No, she told me. ... I am. I am! I'm at Helen's. Do you want to talk t--well stop talking for five seconds so I can tell you!"
Now: Hector is not fluent in Bengali. He does not know the grammar rules and if the same sentences were written in Bengali and Hindi and Sanskrit he could not tell the difference between them. The only Bengali he knows he picked up from his father. Enough to order food in a restaurant and ask about family members and deflect blows as an argument brews.
He stops speaking English and starts walking towards the front door as the conversation takes a heated turn. Helen draws a deep breath and glances over at Lola.
"Dad wasn't home last night," she says like the burden of guilt has settled itself across her shoulders now. "When Mom called. This is such a mess. I'm so sorry."
She pushes back from the table before Lola has a chance to give her back more than a few words and trails Hector into the foyer. Lola can hear the siblings squabble briefly - Helen wants the phone and Hector doesn't want to give it to her - but Helen and reason win out in the end and the older of them, her voice calm and even, takes over the conversation. It does not return to English right away.
While Helen negotiates the conversation Hector sinks onto one of the steps on the stairwell and buries his head in his hands. Helen backs away from him without knowing why. From where she stands Lola can read no sign of impending frenzy but he is upset and that stokes the embers that never die out in him.
"Yeah, Dad," Helen says, "this isn't helping. Yelling isn't helping. Please put Mom on the phone. Just let her talk to Hector." Sigh. "Thank you. I love you, okay, just put Mom on."
He doesn't mean to but he snatches the phone out of Helen's hand when she holds it up in front of him and the snatching and the live-wire frisson in the air has her holding her hand up to her mouth and tilting her eyes up to the ceiling to stop herself from showing any more emotion in front of Lola than she already has this morning.
Instead of coffee Helen chooses to fill a small juice tumbler with water from the tap and drink that. When she's sure she can speak without her voice shaking she says, "I don't mean to rush you guys out of here but I really think the sooner he can go talk to Mom in person the better."
On the stairwell Hector's conversation with his mother is quieter but no less wracked. He does not switch to Bengali with her because his mother was born in Nevada. She knows about as much Bengali as he does.
"No, Mom, don't cry, it's okay. Yeah. Yeah, it's me. I know." A long pause. "I'm so sorry." Another long pause. "No no no no, Mom, stop, I'm gonna come see you. I'm gonna come home. You don't have to call anyone, I'm gonna come home. I know. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry--" His voice cracks. "--I didn't mean for any of this to happen."
Helen swallows another glassful of water like it was made of something stronger.
"No, I will. I promise. I'll be there in a few days, Mom, okay? No, Dad sucks on the phone, don't put him back on. Okay, I'm gonna hang up now. I'll see you soon. Mom... I will. Bye."
It isn't his handset so he doesn't throw it. But Hector wants very badly to break something or throw something or to just scream and he can't do anything of those things. He puts the handset down hard on the stair next to him and bursts to his feet and throws open the front door. Bats the storm door out of the way and goes to stand outside in the rain and the wet until he pulls himself together.
Lola Hawkes
She didn't believe the look that he gave her, and she was right to doubt as it turned out. When Hector answered the phone with his voice bottomed out and dizzy like that, Lola paused with fork in bowl, still and waiting to hear what would follow. A glance was stolen in Helen's direction, the expression on her face registered, but her eyes were back to Hector soon enough. She watched him like a guard watches an inmate, or how an animal handler watches the jungle cat on a movie set. It's not that she thought something bad would happen, but she knew how heavy the chances were that it could. The moon, the stress, and the exhaustion were weighing on him all together, and this would become abundantly more clear as the conversation went on.
His voice snapping with stress, Hector flipped over into a language that Lola hadn't heard him speak and was a little taken aback, but not shocked. She spoke her mother and her father's language both, it shouldn't surprise her that the same applied to Hector. Whatever trail that thought process might have taken her down, since she couldn't follow the phone conversation anymore, was halted when Helen spoke up to explain and apologize both.
"Why does that--," but Lola's voice quieted and trailed off before she could finish asking her question, for Cassandra was standing and sweeping her way out into the entryway of her townhouse to coax the phone away from Hector and run some damage control. Lola frowned down at her vegetable scramble, contemplating whether she should just accept that her stomach was too much like lead from the anxiety in the room to continue, or whether she should push through and risk making herself sick.
You need the calories, she explained to herself, and wolfed down the last of the food in her bowl in three big, quick bites before it was returned to the sink once more and Lola walked out to join the two in the entryway.
She hung back in the hall, several feet away from the door and the stairs upstairs both. Her arms folded loosely over her ribs, and she watched Hector where he sat on the stairs, head in his hands and fire burning the air around him. When the phone was passed back down to him that fire crackled in the air with how quick and sharp he seized the device back, and Lola cast hard-to-read eyes back to Helen. When the Ghosh sister passed back into the kitchen, Lola frowned almost apologetically at her, but didn't speak.
Lola stood like a sentry over the morning, ever watching, ever waiting, and bracing when she felt she had to. She had been some tone of stoic since they arrived, but to listen to Hector on the phone with his mother, trying to soothe and apologize to her while barely able to keep calm himself dashed that away. She couldn't stop the pained expression from traveling across and then settling on her face.
Her heart ached for him, and this wasn't something she was accustomed to feeling at all. So she moved a hand to her chest and scrubbed roughly at her breastplate with the heel of her hand, then looked back over her shoulder to Helen when she spoke again. They should go soon, she said. Sooner than later. Getting to California was important, is seemed.
Then the conversation ended, the phone was slammed onto the step, and Hector burst from the house like a tiger from its cage. Lola shifted her weight on her feet for a second, then excused herself. "I'll go to him." She paused, looked back to Helen, and did her best to force some approximation of an encouraging smile. It probably came across as more of a grimace, but she tried. "He doesn't mean anyone harm, though I know it doesn't seem that way. It's just the Wolf in him, that's all."
Hoping that helped in some way, though it probably just left more questions unanswered, Lola followed Hector out into the rain.
There in the driveway amid cars, or in the lawn on damp grass, she would come to join him. She didn't seize him or crowd him immediately, but she didn't hold her distance either. By now she had a decent feel for what it was Hector sought and needed in moods like this, and to be alone was seldom the answer. But she didn't want to jar or push him in any way. So, she reached out and would let him close distance from there. Standing behind him, she touched the fingers of her right hand to the outside of his elbow, then trailed her hand down to meet his.
"Hector," she told him gently, "we ought to say goodbye."
Hector Ghosh
Helen is staring out the back window at the rain and the fence and the tranquility she finds in the green of the yard when Lola says she'll go to him. She blinks as if roused from a daydream. A waking nightmare. Pain floods her features when she hears Hector doesn't mean anyone harm. Memories coming back to her.
She can't this second reconcile the monster stood in her living room last night or the snarling scarred young man who just stormed out of her house with the skinny snaggle-toothed preteen who used to drive their father nuts with how enthusiastic he was about everything except the schoolwork his teachers sent home. All she has to do to bridge the gap is remember how dark Hector's moods turned as he veered towards puberty. How her mother would sigh on the phone when she'd call home from college and ask how he was doing and then laugh it off like he was just going through a phase.
The last time she saw Hector he fit inside her arms when she hugged him and he wrinkled his nose when she ruffled his hair. No bowstring tension in his body. He was just a kid. Now Helen isn't convinced her little brother couldn't snap her neck with his bare hands if he got it into his mind to do so. Four years they'd all thought he was dead and now he's back and he's changed. If she really stops to look she can make out the ghost of him underneath the monster and it hurts her to think like that. To be afraid of him and to admit to herself that she is afraid of him.
It's just the Wolf in him, that's all.
Helen laughs a short sharp hysterical laugh but lets her go to him.
By the time Lola gets outside Hector has made it all the way down the front lawn to the street where he decided not to haul off and punch the mailbox and is pacing a pointless distance back and forth. He's wearing nothing but a pair of black jeans and his hair is starting to grow sodden with the rain falling down. It isn't cold enough to steam his breath. He's panting in agitation. A sane person would not approach him right now.
Nobody has ever accused Lola of being sane.
Hector rubs his left arm with his right hand like the tingling in the once-dead appendage is a portent of something he can't see clearly and then Lola's hand is on his elbow. A tremble of unspent Rage courses through him and he makes a choked-back noise and lets go his own arm to let her take his hand.
And he tries to answer her but can't manage more than a distressed burst of air out of his throat and a frantic nodding of his head. He's aiming his eyes down the street and not looking at her.
Lola Hawkes
Sometime after they've hit the road and had been driving comfortably for a while, Lola would think back to Helen while all this was unfurling and feel bad for the woman. Lola herself would never know the trauma of being introduced to a world of things that she firmly, devoutly believed was not real. Lola may have mistaken herself for a True Born for her formative years, but at least finding out she was a Kinfolk didn't change the world around her-- just her place within it.
She would replay the scene from a few angles in her mind and realize the sad, sad horror that she was going to sink into for the next few days, perhaps weeks or even longer while coming to cope with the Truth. A few days from now, no doubt on a stretch of road between New York City and San Jose, Lola would turn to Hector and suggest in all seriousness that they put Helen in contact with the Sept of Seven Clans. It would be good for her, it would keep her safe, it would help her understand and adjust.
That was all figuratively and literally up the road. Here and now, though, Lola held onto Hector's hand, standing facing him while he showed her his flank and stared up the road. He was intently not looking back at her or the townhouse behind her or the woman whose life he just knocked into a spin inside. The strangled noise that he made in place of a coherent answer had Lola squeezing his fingers and stepping nearer. She wouldn't put her fingers in the mouth of a wolf, but she did reach up with her other hand and press her fingers to his cheek and jaw. This wasn't to force him to look at her necessarily, but to soothe. It was a passing touch that turned soon to motion.
Her hand brushed past his face until it was at the back of his neck and base of his skull, and she turned herself to stand in front of him and guide his head down and closer. Her other arm wrapped about his middle and across his back and pulled him closer. She kissed his jaw and neck on her way into the hug.
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