Notes: The title is a chess term, or so my dictionary tells me, that refers to the action of touching a chess piece without intending to move it. It means "I adjust." I saw the movie for the first time earlier this week and enjoyed it quite a bit more than I suspected that I would; I found the Preston kids to be particularly interesting.
This fic (ficlet?) owes thanks to Alhazred, who knows why. :)
And yeah, I have a 1984 ref in here. Why not?
Two weeks after the revolution, after the worst of the chaos has begun to recede, they put the dog on a leash and go for a walk.
They take their walk in the heart of the revolution's city, the most secure place to be found. It's still dangerous, really - too dangerous for children to be out on the sidewalks and streets, even in the presence of their parents. But John Preston is a Cleric, the Cleric, death's cold blade and the hero of the revolution. He lives now in an aura of invincibility given to him by the awed awakened citizens of the new Libria, and no one will dare to harass him or his children. That and he is armed: two guns beneath the sleeves of his black Cleric's greatcoat and two more besides, hidden elsewhere on his person.
So they walk down the changing streets together, the three of them and the dog, which hasn't been named yet and probably never will be because Robbie and Lisa can't agree on a name, and John doesn't dare attempt to choose one. They're walking for no other reason than the late afternoon day is fine and they feel like it; John has been sequestered since daybreak in meetings with the old heads of the resistance - the new city leaders - and the children have been trapped inside as well. Now they want to get out and walk, and with no more than a brief, "We're going outside," as explanation, they left.
It's a bit thrilling all by itself, the knowledge of such freedom.
Lisa is holding her father's hand, or he is holding hers, or maybe both. In her other hand she swings a cloth doll that Jurgen gave her. She named it Viviana and it breaks John's heart all over again every time she plays with it, even though he never actually loved his wife. The memory of an absence of feeling is what hurts him now.
Robbie has the dog's leash in one hand, but the other is empty. He prefers to have one hand free at all times, and since John does too, that's not a problem. Good students of the Monastery both, they have found that certain old habits are worth keeping.
Still, a part of John would like to hold his son's hand too. There is something magical, he's discovered, something infinitely astonishing and humbling about holding his children. They're so small and yet it fills up the gaping hole inside his chest, heals him, makes the entire world look brighter. Five minutes in their presence sets right a great many inner wrongs.
A hum both tuneless and cheerful comes from Lisa. She has a beautiful smile and she uses it all the time now.
"What's that?" John asks her.
"A song," she says, skipping, and sings more of it, loud enough for John to make out words. It's a nonsense song, a nursery rhyme that he recognizes vaguely as having heard spill from a sense offender's lips once, years ago, shortly before he executed the man.
Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clement's
You owe me three farthings, say the bells of St. Martin's...
"She learned it from one of Jurgen's aides," Robbie says before John can ask. He rarely smiles but he can still, apparently, read his father's mind with ease. "While you were meeting with him."
John nods, reaches out with a sudden impulse to ruffle Robbie's hair, and receives one of those rare sunshine smiles in return. At moments like these it is hard to remember that less than three weeks ago he considered his children to be little more than strangers - undersized people he just happened to be responsible for, who happened to live in the same space, who happened to share approximately fifty percent of his genes.
Lisa finishes her song with an off-key warble and squeezes John's hand more tightly. "I like singing. I like Jurgen, too."
Under Jurgen's leadership Libria is slowly regaining itself. John agrees with her and says, "He's a good man."
The dog moves erratically at the end of its leash, now trotting, now swerving, now stopping cold to sniff intently at some invisible feature of the sidewalk. It's more funny than frustrating and the children laugh - a delighted giggle from Lisa, a more restrained chuckle from Robbie.
John only smiles. He's not yet to a place where he can laugh. In a few months, maybe, when everything, good and bad, is not so raw. In a few months maybe Robbie will laugh freely too, now that he doesn't have to hide, doesn't have to maintain a rigidly perfect deception twenty-four hours a day for both himself and his sister. John has an idea of what happiness means and he wants it for his children.
"Are you going to run the Monastery?" Robbie asks, and doesn't hide the curiosity in his voice. Robbie was slated to become a Cleric before the Tetragrammaton fell and he is still interested in doing so, sea-change in government besides.
"We're talking about it," is all John will commit to.
The conversation stops then, because on the steps of the tall government building that they are passing is a group of resistance fighters (marked by the lines on their faces and the guns easily to hand) and new-awake citizens (marked by their wide-eyed, slightly bewildered looks) gathered around a portable radio. The device is not blaring Father's dry propaganda and information but real music. A real song by a real singer.
John stops walking and his family does the same, momentarily arrested by the unaccustomed sound; the airwaves of the city have come alive again only recently. The people on the steps dart wary glances at John, seeing a Cleric and not a father, but he gives them a nod of acknowledgment, of comradeship, and they relax.
Lisa's small warm fingers slip free of his and she skips ahead of them. She stretches her arms out and twirls, twirls, hair flying out, doll whipping around. The dog whines and yelps, leaping for her with tail wagging fiercely. "Look, John!" she cries out. He does look and catches glimpses of her face as she spins - a dazzling smile lights her face, making her look like her mother. Like Mary. "I'm dancing!"
"That's great, Lisa," John tells his daughter, smiling back. He lets his bare hands hang for a moment, feeling the ghost-warmth of Lisa's touch fade in the assault of the city's breeze, then tucks them into the outer pockets of his coat. His left hand seeks out the bit of Mary's red ribbon automatically, and fingers it while he watches Lisa dance and Robbie struggle to keep the dog - powerful for its size - from jumping on her or tearing off to join the group on the steps.
The ribbon and its memories are sadness, but his family is happiness, and both vie for his attention. Up, down, up, down. Emotions swing again and again, from dark to light and back, with little direction from the mind and body housing them. Confusing after a lifetime dwelling in flat gray stillness.
While John has been thinking, Lisa's impromptu twirling has turned into an elaborate game of chase between herself, the dog, and Robbie. She's laughing, the dog is barking like mad, and Robbie is grinning hugely as he tries to prevent dog and leash and sister from becoming entangled. The group on the steps is laughing too, and clapping, radio music forgotten in the joy of the moment.
Late afternoon sunlight slants down on Robbie and Lisa in thick golden lines. John watches them with a smile.
By the time his children's children's children play on these streets, he will have passed into the realm of legend: the greatest of the Grammaton Clerics, the hand of God, of Death, an unbeatable figure in black who buried his emotions beneath the statistics of the gun kata and saved all of Libria in one glorious hour. And he is indeed that legend but he is also more - he is a years-ago widower newly grieving for another woman he consigned to the flames; he is an agent of destruction, remorseful for the first time; he is a father keeping watch over his children's dreams; he is a man casting about blindly, trying to find his way in a strange world with no one to help him.
Lisa lets the dog catch her and sits down hard on the steps, squealing as their pet slops eager kisses all over her face. Robbie goes to pull it away and gets a kiss too; surprised, he starts to laugh.
And John Preston takes his hands out of his pockets and reaches down to help his children up.
-end-