A Promise
by itsayamsham
Cautiously, she glanced into the peephole, her right hand relaxing its grip on her gun as her senses registered the man outside: brown, short hair, about six feet or so. She opened the door, and, tentatively, the man walked in.
Taking a quick glance around the apartment, he cleared his throat," How is he?"
Softly shutting the door, she padded over to the couch and sat, motioning for him to sit. Hesitating for a beat, he sat on the other end, awaiting an answer. Sighing, she tucked a shiny auburn lock of hair behind an ear.
"He's sleeping now. I've been explaining to him..." she paused, locking her gaze to her fidgeting hands, "that there are good people and there are bad people." His eyes narrowed, unsure what she was trying to say.
She continued,"...and although the bad people try to hurt us," another pause, while she swallowed the lump building in her throat," the good ones always come through." At this she lifted her eyes from her hands and bore her steely blue eyes into his, "I know what you've done in the past," she began again, resolve etched into her voice," the choices you've made...haven't always been honorable. I've never expected anything from you, but what you did..." Her voice cracking, she still continued at a steady pace," for him...If you never do anything for him again, at least I know, and he knows, that you came through when it mattered most. And that you will come through when it matters most," at this her eyes searched his, uncertain.
Wordlessly, and without missing a beat, he nodded, his olive-skinned face set on hers, alabaster and tear-streaked. Solemnly, he reached for a tissue from the coffee table and handed to her. Wordlessly, she reached out her hand to accept his offering. As she dabbed at her cheeks, he rose, slowly, heading down the hall. His eyes sought hers out for approval. She nodded, and he softly padded down the hallway, careful not to wake the sleeping young boy in the next room over.
He rested his good arm against the doorframe to the boy's room, letting the other lie limply by his side. His green eyes skidded across the dark room, scattered with toy cars, stuffed animals and tiny shoes, until they fell on the boy resting peacefully in his bed. Small freckles dusted his pale face and a lock of unruly brown hair covered his shut eyes. He slept on, oblivious of the presence in the room.
Tentatively, the man walked in, and swept the lock of hair from the boy's face into its rightful place, his steely green eyes locked onto his innocent, youthful face. "No," he promised his son, his voice rough as gravel, "no one will ever lay a hand on you again."