[This turned out fluffy too, and I swear on my /life/ it wasnt meant to! It was meant to be funny and awkward WHERE DID I GO WRONG? Whatever, it was fun to write~]
Ahh, Venice. When was the last time he'd been here? A few years ago, it must have been. Maybe... 5 years? Yeah, that sounded about right. Bourbon couldn't actually remember much of his last visit to the bandit-ridden station. He'd spent most of his time either shitfaced drunk, higher than a kite, or loitering in the brothel. Sometimes all at the same time! Good times indeed, until he went a little too far with one of the whores. She hadn't complained, (shit, she even told him to "come back soon"), but the guy who ran the place... Well, he'd been less pleased. Hopefully, Bourbon thought, that guy's gone now. Dead, kicked out, whatever. As long as he wasn't around. He wasn't in the mood for a fight today.
Strolling along the walkways, Bourbon paused to buy a rat skewer from a stall. He chomped down on it with a contented hum; one of the best things about Venice was definitely the barbequed rats! He continued wandering until he found a quiet spot behind a shack, then settled down to enjoy his meal. Hmm... what to do next... He could go to the shooting range and try and win back some of the bullets he'd lost at the last station. Or maybe the brothel... Or he could stay here and take a nap. He'd just lost himself in his thoughts when a shrill shout of "YOU!" snapped him back to reality.
Scrambling to his feet and dropping the food in his panic (damn it all, what a waste, he thought), Bourbon found himself face to face with an angry looking woman. A scarily familiar angry looking woman. "Wha-... Z-Zoya..? Is that you?" He stammered.
"Yes, it's me!" Zoya snapped back, shooting Bourbon a glare that honestly made him fear for his life. "Where have you BEEN for the past five years? Do you have ANY IDEA how HARD it's been to do this on my own? Do you even care? Did you EVER care?!"
"Zoyushka-"
"Don't call me that!"
"Okay, okay!" Bourbon raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and gulped. "Sorry, Zoyush- uh, Zoya. I... I didn't think it would be safe to come back, what with how mad your boss was after we... you know... Wait, do /what/ on your own?" Zoya sighed heavily, rolling her eyes and sweeping her light hair away from her face with one hand.
"Bring up Mikhail, of course." She turned slightly and called over her shoulder, "Mishka, baby, come here for second!"
The appearance of the young child that came around the corner froze Bourbon to his core. Blue eyes identical to his stared curiously up at him, set in a pale face fringed by soft, dark brown hair. Oh no. No, this was all some weird dream. Maybe that rat skewer wasn't as fresh as he'd thought. But no matter how much he willed it, this was no dream. The child stopped beside Zoya, still staring, and said "Yes, mama?". Zoya knelt down beside her son and pointed at Bourbon. "Mishka, do you know who this is? This man is your papa."
Bourbon's heart sank further and further as the kid toddled up to him and whispered "Papa?" with an innocent kind of hopefullness. Stunned into silence, all he could do was open and close his mouth silently, flicking his gaze to Zoya with a mildly panicked expression. Zoya glared back, brows furrowed, a look that clearly said 'don't you /dare/ screw this up'.
With an mental plea to a god he didn't even believe in, Bourbon crouched down to the child's level and replied "... Yeah. Yeah, I am." The effect was instant; Mikhail's face lit up and he threw his little arms around Bourbon's neck, clinging on and chanting happily "Papa, Papa!". Zoya breathed a sigh of relief, shaking her head as Bourbon cautiously hugged the kid. His /son/. Shit, that was a scary thought. He hadn't been responsible for someone in a long time, not since... well... ever, really. The people he tended to hang around with could all look after themselves, but this... Crap, he wasn't father material! How was he supposed to know what to do? There was no way in hell he'd be any good at... this...
Bourbon emerged from his internal debate to discover that Mikhail had fallen asleep leaning on him. Looking up to where Zoya was standing, he whispered "What do I do?"
"Pick him up." She replied quietly. "And follow me." He did as he was told, scooping Mikhail up as carefully as possible and following Zoya out of the alley. The station had, thankfully, quietened down somewhat, only a few people wandering here and there. Neither of them spoke as they crossed a bridge and headed down a side-street, Mikhail still sleeping with face pressed to Bourbon's jacket. They stayed silent until he was safely in bed, and the two of them were stood by the edge of the canal. "So..." Zoya began. "I guess you'll be leaving now, like you always do."
"I have to."
"Do you? Do you really? You could stay. Here. With Mishka and I."
Bourbon turned to her with a small, sad smile. "No, I couldn't. I don't know what to do, Zoya, I'm... I'm not ready to stop yet." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a handful of Military-Grade clips, holding them out. "Take these. I'm not trying to pay you off!" He added before Zoya could complain. "I guess this is... an apology. For not coming back until now." She took the bullets, putting them into her own pocket and looking back to Bourbon.
"This doesn't let you off the hook, you know."
"I know, I know. Take care of Mikhail, okay?"
"I will. Well... goodbye, then."
"Goodbye..." Bourbon turned away from her, intent on not dragging this moment out, but unable to resist grinning over his shoulder and adding "Zoyushka." He ducked around the corner, a final snapped insult ringing in his ears.
He left Venice through the warehouse, putting on his gasmask at the bottom of the ladder before climbing up to the surface. As he picked his way warily across the swamp, Bourbon couldn't help thinking about Zoya and Mikhail, and wondering what might have happened if he'd stayed with them.
[Alternate Ending]:
"So..." Zoya began. "I guess you'll be leaving now, like you always do."
"I have to."
"Do you? Do you really? You could stay. Here. With Mishka and I."
Bourbon paused. Could he really just... stay? True, he'd been thinking about his own mortality more often than usual lately; almost dying can do that to you. It had become clear, that day in Dry Station, that his seemingly infinite luck was running out. How many more times could he escape death like that? How long would it be before the people he owed money to finally had enough of his bargaining and simply shot him? And what would he leave behind? A bunch of angry people, and a kid without a father. "Bourbon...?" Blinking, he realised he'd been staring into space, Zoya watching him, waiting for an answer. He nodded. "Okay."
"Okay? Okay what? Okay, you're leaving now?"
"No. Okay, I'll stay here." He turned to her, grinning. "I'll stay here with you and Mikhail. If you'll have me, I mean." Now it was Zoya's turn to nod, a disbelieving smile spreading across her face. "You mean it?" She asked.
"I mean it, Zoyushka." Bourbon replied, reaching out slowly and taking her hand. "It was time for me to stop anyway."
[Goodbye friends, I am gone. Papa-Bourbon is what I live for (or, as Mikhail calls him for years, Papa-Bonbon). There may be more of this - it's too cute to leave alone.]