Summary: An AU piece set in SR2, playing with a potentially cliché or trite idea. At one point a question flashed into my brain: what would happen if Furia had been pregnant at the time of the explosion? Well, this is one take along that line of inquiry.

a/n: Written to fill a prompt-Wanweird: An unhappy fate. (Troy and Furia)

Wanweird

Furia couldn't say she was surprised to find the black Bootlegger parked in her usual spot. Though she did not realize he still had the damn thing. He did not acknowledge her arrival at all, not even a turn of the head, and there was no way he could miss the big engine of her Hammerhead. The two of them did not pull punches. Of course this was one of a handful of neutral territories were they said they would not try to kill one another, even so, she took her gun out of the holster and flipped the safety off.

"Didn't expect to see you here," she said, rounding the car as he pulled his own side arm from beneath the bomber jacket he was wearing.

When he lifted his hand to take a drag off his cigarette the ugly looking scar on the back of his left hand caught her eye like it usually did when they happened upon one another. Every time she saw it, it made her feel like an idiot. It was the oldest tip in the book: Do not tattoo a woman or a man's name on your person. It did not matter that it was just a letter, one letter, she still felt like the biggest dupe in the world. She flexed her hand, trying not to think about it.

"I had time, and like you," he said, turning his attention to her for a moment. The way he looked at her was so counter to the times that still seemed so fresh in her memory. It made her feel lower than a piece of gum stuck to his shoe. Some annoying thing that he had not quite figured out how to get rid of. "When I have time, I swing by to check up."

"I thought you were quitting?" Furia took the cigarette out of his hands and stole the last drag before dropping it and stubbing it out with the toe of her boot.

"Thought you didn't smoke?"

"What's it matter to you what the fuck I do?" Her tone dulled; the sting of the end of their relationship much fresher for her than for him.

He straightened a little. Furia didn't know or care if it was her tone or what she said that irked him.

"It doesn't," he said just as coldly.

Her hand tightened on the grip of her pistol as she directed her attention across the street. The bright giggle carried across the quiet street as her brother Memo lifted a toddler with a round face and a mop of wavy black hair into the air. The happy little shrieks made her jaw clench and her heartache.

"Why did he even tell me?" she muttered, staring transfixed. "I never would have even thought about it."

The hand on her shoulder felt like it weighed a ton, just one more reminder of all the things she had lost or broken. "Memo thought I would tell you."

"Would you have?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him.

He stared at her a long time, longer than she could remember him looking at her since she woke up in the hospital. "I honestly don't know."

His hand turned and she couldn't help the softness in her gaze when the backs of his fingers skated along her cheek. When she felt the tear blink free, they both pulled away.

"Has Memo let you see him?" Troy asked, the jostling of his keys told him he was digging for his cigarettes.

Her tongue ran along her back teeth for a moment as she willed her voice not to quiver. "No."

He tapped her shoulder, handing her a lit cigarette. "Makes two of us," he said around his own. "They've got him in some kind of advanced preschool. Apparently he's a finger painting savant." There was a trace of pride in his voice, though it was darkened by regret, or at least that was how Furia wanted to hear it.

She laughed lightly and leaned against the car next to him, taking a long drag. "He must get that from you. I can't even draw stick figures."

"Yeah, well. I never did anything with it. Maybe Alejandro will."

When she shivered against the biting breeze she regretted running out here without having stopped by her apartment first.

"Here," Troy offered, pulling his coat the rest of the way off and holding it out to her.

"I'm fine," Furia refused, lying through her teeth.

He laid the jacket over her shoulders, gun slipped in his waistband and cigarette hanging precariously from his lip as he pulled the jacket around her tightly. "And you're still as fucking stubborn as ever."

"Says the man who just foisted his jacket on me."

"Well, just don't steal my wallet."

Furia rolled her eyes.

"He drives like you."

"Fuck you," she said lightly.

Troy laughed. "I'm serious. He's got one of those electric cars. Just tears up the backyard."

Stealing a glance she saw his smile, but only until he realized she was looking. Then the harshness returned.

Furia turned away, back to her son, their son. "I miss you," she said quietly. The shiver in her voice extended throughout her whole body. The footsteps were the only indication that Troy had walked away, again. At least it left her alone with her pain, she thought.

Memo took Alejandro back inside. The little boy's smile was so big, so bright. And for a second she thought he looked at her. Raising her hand for a moment, she whispered, "I love you," with quivering lips. Once he was in the house, she stripped off Troy's coat and threw it on the hood of his car in her rush to get to her own vehicle.

Her hands didn't work. The key wouldn't fit. And that damn handle would not respond. His hands were as warm as she remembered. When he touched her neck, it all broke. Troy turned her toward him and pulled her head against him as his arms steadied her.

"I know," he said. It was all he said, over and over, until she finally calmed. Then he took her keys and put her in her car. Troy closed the car door for her without a word.