Disclaimer: I don't own it, nope. No siree bob.
Thanks to the wonderful and endlessly talented ThousandSunnyLyon for her beta work – she is a classy writer and person, so check her out. If you like Knox, make sure and scope out (and review! :p) a smashing story by Disastergirl called The Pleas of the Crown. Braw.
Also, cheers to megami ze for the lovely gift fic – Snowfall. Sterling, magical stuff.
Thoughts, as always, are appreciated chaps x
Chris' bar was positively teaming with patrons. Candelabras swayed and jingled, struck by up-flung arms – friends beckoning each other from across the room or calls for more beer. Smoke ghosted across the crowd like a blue shroud, swirling up and out through the whirring vents. The girls were singing There is a Tavern in the Town, and the band were already drenched with sweat, fingers slipping from brass trumpet keys and lending more chaos to an already frantic score. The bar itself was lined with men too regular to bother with the entertainment but hungry for the exported liquor from every corner of the known world. Her bartenders, suited in crisp white shirts and bolo ties weren't much for flare and show, but – my god – they could serve. Taking six or seven orders at once, they would rush out rounds faster than any bar in town, and Chris loved to hear that merry ting! of the till being constantly slung open and slammed shut again. Money, bliss.
Effortlessly, Emilia slipped through the thronging, pulsing mass, lifting a glass here and slapping a backside there. She really was a top find for Chris: competent, strong and business minded. She was honest enough without being gullible and hard enough without being ruthless. But more than that – most gloriously than anything, for the first time in nearly three weeks, she managed to get Roy to bed – and asleep – at a perfectly sensible time for a four-year-old. Well... before midnight at least. The girl had kept him awake for thirty-six hours, so that when it came to nine o'clock that night, the mite couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. And now three hours later, he was still in bed – out of trouble and out of her hair.
Chris sighed happily to herself, letting her eyes run over the vibrant scene of her creation before they snagged on a figure at the bar – Charlie Knox. Hunched forward, his head could barely be seen past his broad shoulders, but she would recognise those drab clothes and cheap shoes anywhere. Here she thought that doctors would have cash to spare for decent garb.
"There's a hang-dog expression if ever I saw one," she said, placing herself on the high seat beside him. She nodded to Peggy who promptly poured a healthy glass of port for her mistress.
Knox, embarrassed slightly, smiled and leant back in his seat. His gaze slid sideways to greet Chris before he glanced forward again. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose and chuckled shyly, like he'd been rumbled.
"Ah-" he moaned, "long day."
Chris lit up a cigarette and slid the case across to him. "Shouldn't you be in bed then? Boy like you's got to get his beauty sleep – you don't want to mess up in surgery. Somebody could lose a leg."
He grinned ruefully and nodded, slipping a thin smoke from the packet and fingering it thoughtfully before lighting up. Chris knew he wasn't really a smoker – but hell – there were times when everyone needed a drag.
"Well, I'll just sit here quietly," Chris shrugged. "Don't mind me."
Knox groaned, a smirk shaping the lines of his mouth – too sour for his young age. He adjusted his glasses. "Just," he coughed, "trouble in paradise, you might say."
Chris couldn't lie, she was shocked when she first met the young doctor and learned that he was married. She always thought doctor-types were supposed to live free and easy in their twenties, pretend to calm enough to get married in their thirties and keep up their more than avant-garde habits until their dying day, safe behind the cover of their respectable profession. She knew that's what she would do.
She'd met the girl once – Knox's wife – and she was nice, if a little plain. Though, had the surgeon waited until he was a little older, Chris was sure he would have settled with someone altogether more interesting. Shame.
"Oh?" was all Chris said, taking an overly innocent sip of her drink.
Nothing got past Knox, and he lent her a considerably disparaging look. He took a long drag on his cigarette and spoke though the exhale. "Sarah is pregnant." He shook his head. "We didn't mean to – we were sure... Well, you know how it goes..."
Chris barked out a laugh. "Do I? What's happening to the world? All these kids dropping from the sky. Between dead brothers and... rolls in the hay, we'll be like the last train to Xing soon – no room to breathe for screaming children."
She wished she hadn't said it, she really did – because almost like some mythological prayer, her words seemed to beckon her own infantile god of trouble. A new energy filled the space around her; patrons glancing down and customers awkwardly steering themselves round the small presence currently marching towards her.
Roy's hair was tousled wildly and his crumpled pyjamas were much too long for him, but to his credit, he only stumbled once in his angry approach. His pale face was flushed with just-waking or anger, or both, and his furrowed brow gave him a humorously adult look – an old man who's just found out the bookmakers has been closed down.
Seeing that it was just that Oscar Mustang boy, the majority of the patrons turned back to their own entertainment, but a few curious eyes watched on. The band quieted and the chatter became suddenly obvious and excited. Then with an explosion of cheers, the musicians broke into the frantic chirping of Three Little Maids From School. The girls hooted, hitched up their skirts and eyed up the audience like a pack of lionesses faced with an abattoir.
Chris and Knox both turned in their seats and looked down at Roy. The boy's eyes darted to Knox for a moment, perhaps concerned about his unexpected audience. Any worry left him the next moment though as he grunted and swiftly thumped Chris on the leg. Both she and Knox jumped at the attack, Knox almost choking on his last mouthful of booze. The boy changed tack and pushed her thigh, hard. His two small hands were buried into the folds of her skirt, then his left fist came back and thumped her again.
"Hey!" Knox warned, setting his drink down.
Roy spun to him. And thumped him too.
"Roy!" Chris exclaimed, and tried to catch his wrist but his right hand came up and caught her with a nasty scrab. "You little-"
The boy's black eyes were ferocious and it was only when she met them fully, and really looked, that Chris realised he seemed, not bratty, but genuinely furious with her. He sniffled and swiped his arm across his nose.
"You're not supposed to," he reprimanded, his voice low and nearly entirely lost in the hum of the bar.
"Not supposed to what, child?" Chris asked, exasperated already. She was definitely growing less able to cope with this kind of behaviour. Besides, if the law showed up now, they would be rather dismayed to see a four-year-old trotting around in a temper.
Roy's frown deepened even further, hurt clearly, by her having misunderstood. It seemed his best answer was a reiteration of his earlier punishment. He stamped on her toe viciously.
"You're not supposed to!" he screamed hoarsely. A few drinkers looked around, then down, at the minuscule terror. They smirked and rolled their eyes, turning back to their conversation again.
Before Chris even had a chance to react, Knox had slipped off his stool and pounced forward. He swept the boy up in his strong arms and held him aloft, eliciting a sort of 'meep!' sound from the child.
"You stop that this instant, you hear?" he whispered harshly.
Too busy struggling to listen, Roy kicked his legs in a savage effort to strike at the doctor's chest and face. Knox continued to chastise him, wrestling all the while, but in the next beat, Roy – slippery and sly as he was (didn't Chris know it!) - held his arms straight up and slid out of his pyjama shirt. He hit his feet hard then plopped onto his backside and stared up at the two adults, panting.
"Come here you!" Emilia shouted, coming up behind him. "You little shit," she hissed.
Roy gasped, spinning to see her racing for him and in an instant he was on his bare feat, waiting for her approach like a goalkeeper. She lunged for him but he was already tottering off, ducking and swerving through swarming legs – bare-chested and unbelievably excited.
Chris and Emilia shared a moment of tired resignation, then began the hunt anew, Knox hot on their heels. They forced smiles at the patrons as they passed in a gratuitous 'everything is perfectly normal' manner. Nearing the front of the crowd, half deafened by the band and cheering customers, Emilia thrust her finger forward, singling out their quarry.
Roy's shock of black hair disappeared underneath one of the girl's skirts.
"Get 'im!" Chris shouted, her excitement surprising even herself, as she made her exit through a door marked 'private'.
The hunting party lurched forward, Knox aiming to intercept Roy as he crawled towards the other end of the stage. In the flurry of kicking legs, chopsticks and snapped fans, the child vanished off into the wings.
Where Chris was waiting...
Roy skidded, lost his balance and hit the wooden floor body-length with a hard slap that did absolutely nothing to deter him. He sprang up and darted round Chris, but seeing Emilia waiting, smug and victorious, at the only other entrance to the stage, he soon lost his verve.
Chris felt like she was about to collapse. She abhorred physical exercise. She made a wet sounds and smacked her lips. "Roy...," she wheezed, as dangerously as she possibly could while working on one lung.
Knox came in through the door behind Emilia and flanked her, further blocking any escape routes.
Roy turned this way and that, his boney chest working hard from the chase – out, in, out, in – as quickly as a trapped bird. He shrank back from Emilia's glare, rubbing one foot across the top of the other.
Knox chanced a step forward, holding Emilia back with an outstretched arm.
"Okay kid, you've had your fun," he said, prodding his finger at Roy. There was absolutely no illusion here – this father-to-be really needed that drink.
Roy huffed his hair from his face and eyed Knox with puffed, flushed cheeks. If Chris didn't know any better, she would have said the child had a few drinks himself. What other four-year-old could fashion a demeanour that surly?
"Roy-boy please," Chris cut in, "I'm tired. It's a Friday night and I just want to entertain my guests. Charlie there -" she pointed at Knox who cocked his head, curious and a little nervous about what the frank woman would come out with. "Is trying to forget he's got a little hallion like you on the way, and Emilia..."
Emilia ran her finger along her throat in a slitting gesture.
"Emilia loves you very much," Chris finished weakly.
The band wound down their number and struck up a slow air.
Caught in their weird stand-off, the music was quite fitting. The lamps in the back-of-house lounge lent the whole affair a sort of vaudeville interlude of calm. Roy, Chris realised with an unprecedented maternal ache, was positively trembling.
"Roy baby -" she began, but was stopped short as Emilia – finally at the end of her tether – sprung forward like a panther.
Roy squeaked and dived off. Emilia was already falling on him though and in a last ditch attempt to save himself, he made for an old davenport resting against the wall. For a boy so small and quick, there wasn't much squirming required but when he was only halfway under, Emilia managed to catch him by the seat of his pyjamas.
Little Roy though, curious and cute as a fox, had watched enough salamanders escape the clutches of cats to conceive his next move. Bucking just slightly, the trousers easily slipped past his hips and so Emilia, thinking she had him, had really only succeeded in acquiring a pair of cotton maroon pyjama bottoms. Roy, for his part, pressed himself against the wall, far under the huge desk.
Emilia swiped her arm under the desk, clutching for even the smallest part of Roy to grab hold of.
"Ow!" she yelped and withdrew her hand, holding it to her breast. Four thin scratches marked her skin. "Little bastard..." she bit out.
Chris and Knox knelt either side of her and the three of them squinted to see under the desk. Two points of light stared back at them.
Chris sighed and stood. The other two adults followed suit. She rubbed her forehead and looked back towards the stage entrance.
"Knox," she said with eyes closed, "forgive me for saying so, but I highly recommend you and Sarah find a good psychiatrist. You should have about, what, seven months or so."
Knox removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his brow. "I was just thinking the same thing."
Emilia held her hand up by way of demonstration. "That -" she pointed her finger to the davenport, "is not normal. Let's hope the damn thing has woodworm and collapses on him."
She stormed off, barely managing to resist slamming the door behind her.
Knox and Chris fell into a thoughtful silence during which Roy, thinking everyone departed, chanced a look of reconnaissance. Chris glanced down just in time to see him bump his head as he retracted it swiftly, issuing another husky squeak.
"I can't do this," Chris said, sounding oddly light. She looked at Knox who returned her gaze with sympathy. "I can't. Charlie, what am I going to do?"
Knox sighed sharply and checked his watch. "Look Chris, you've had a long couple of weeks. Why don't you go out front and try to enjoy yourself and I'll stay here with... him – make sure he doesn't make a pyre out of all your furniture and throw Emilia on the top." He smiled wryly at her. "Besides, I suppose I best get some practice in now. Not to mention the fact that Sarah told me not to come home tonight."
Chris stared at him for a few hard seconds, then her shoulders slumped and she nodded – smirking. "Kids, huh?"
"Kids..."
"Okay, Charlie. Yeah, okay." She squeezed his arm and moved to a cabinet, picking out her finest whiskey in the house. "This," she held it aloft, "is yours. Knock yourself out." She threw her thumb to the davenport. "Knock him out too if you can."
"Thanks Chris," Knox said, taking the bottle and a tumbler from her. He poured himself a generous glass and moved to sit down tiredly to the right of the mahogany desk.
From the door, Chris called back to him. "There'll be a room upstairs for you when you're done. Just speak to Emilia."
He was a good guy, Knox, and he deserved a break. Chris was quite happy to give it to him. She waved once and left him alone (but not quite) in the plush lounge.
Knox took a sip of his whiskey and rested his head back against the wall, savouring the aged amber liquid - glorious. He cast his eyes downward at the lip of the davenport, but there was no sign that anyone was under there at all.
"So kid," he said, and knew he was heard for there was a light bump from where Roy – with interest piqued – must have raised his head. "Eh – what's going on?"
From the front of the house, the sweet sounds of Oh! My Darling Clementine coloured the room.
Knox supposed back here it wasn't actually so bad. He would prefer to be somewhere a little quieter anyway. It would give him time to think about poor Sarah. He had been so mad, not at her, but at their circumstances. He wasn't ready to be a father, he wasn't even sure if he was ready to be a husband. Why were all these things foisted on him – first the common, implied rule to find a wife, and now this. But he knew he was being selfish – childish even. He put himself in these circumstances, no one else. And now his wife was at home; confused and upset because of his big mouth. He really wasn't mad at her...
Knox swore and finished his drink in one go. He fetched himself the bottle of whiskey and poured another glass, lulled into the same dark thoughts. The band played on, song after cheery song, and hungry hoots from the thronging audience signalled particularly suggestive manoeuvres by the girls. Yeap, he was definitely better off away from the pandemonium.
"Mr. Charlie?" a husky whisper drifted from under the desk.
Knox almost forgot that he wasn't alone. "Just call me Charlie, Roy."
There was a thoughtful quiet, then - "Charlie?"
Knox smiled and took another sip. "Yeap?"
"Sorry."
A pale hand emerged from under the davenport.
And unexpectedly, Knox felt his eyes sting. He reached down and took the hand – so tiny in his own – and shook it once.
"Don't worry about it, kid."
There was a scritching sound as Roy pulled his hand back across the carpet. A moment later, he wriggled out from under the davenport and stood coyly in front of Knox, wearing nothing but a pair of briefs. He was shaking, and Knox could see clearly, the muscles in his jaw working.
"Hey – fetch me that blanket over there, will you?" the man asked.
Roy looked over his shoulder and spotting the thick brown throw, obliged. He dragged it across the floor and considered dropping it onto Knox's knees before he thought better of it. He inched forward and offered it, a slight smile turning his lips – pleased as he was to be helping Knox out.
Knox returned the smile and threw the blanket about Roy's thin shoulders – too slight really for a boy his age – then slapped his knee, inviting the child to sit.
Roy grinned and shuffled over awkwardly with arms restrained by the blanket. He fell back onto Knox's lap and spotting the whiskey, turned his nose up at it. Knox threw back his head and laughed, hearty and genuine, at the boy's characteristic look of chagrin.
"You don't like it so much, huh?" he asked and laughed again when Roy shook his head vigourously. "Okay." He set the glass aside and wrapped his arms around the frail shoulders. Roy smiled up at him, then with a little gasp, cocked his head – clearly caught in some flare of epiphany. How frightfully dark and assessing the child's eyes were.
Roy wiggled an arm free and very gingerly, nervously, reached a hand up. He plucked off Knox's glasses and held them gently out of the way. Knox watched on as the boy tilted his head the other way, squinting his eyes, searching his face for something. Then it occurred to him with a quiet kind of horror what was happening – didn't Oscar Mustang, dark haired and tall, bear a passing resemblance to Knox? His stomach plummeted as Roy's eyes dulled with the knowledge that no matter which way he looked at it – Knox was no Oscar Mustang. His dad was well and truly gone. The child sat back and sighed, his eyes drifting downward to look languidly into the middle distance. The glasses were dropped forgotten from loose fingers.
Knox swallowed, all of sudden feeling the true weight of the boy encased in his arms. Fatherhood offered a new kind of terror now, he realised: the terror of not having the chance to be a father at all.
"Hey Roy," Knox said quietly, resting his chin on the top of the child's head. "Why'd you get so sore with your auntie Chris just now?"
Roy pulled in a breath, his head raising Knox's chin up, and pushed it out again. "When I sleep... she wasn't supposed to go away, when I sleep."
His voice was scarcely more than a whisper and impossibly dark for a child his age.
"There was a bang..."
That made sense, Knox supposed. At the beginning of the band's second act they'd done that Western number with a starting pistol -
"Oh my -" Knox whispered, realisation blossoming in his gut.
He dipped his head to look at Roy who continued to stare off, his eyes heavily lidded – some ambiguous emotion filling them.
"Roy," Knox coaxed. He tilted the boy's head towards him with a finger to his chin. "Hey Roy, look at me..."
Black eyes crept up to meet his. Knox breathed deeply, trying and failing to keep his throat from constricting.
The police had assumed that Roy had been with his parents when they were shot. That he'd been standing between them and remained there after they were killed. Afterall, when they entered the house, the boy was sandwiched between the pair, his head resting on his mother's chest. The scarlet smear of blood from the door back to where they found Jun Xia's body was accepted as being caused by the murderers dragging her further into the house. Surely a boy of four couldn't have managed that...
"Roy...," Knox began, strong hands holding the child's shoulders as firmly, and lovingly as they could. "Were you asleep when your mummy and daddy were hurt?"
To his horror, the child nodded.
"You pulled mummy back from the door, so she could be with daddy?" His voice was shaking now. Roy nodded again, then turned and lay his head against Knox's breast. He took his tiny fist and beat twice in quick succession on the man's chest.
"It was like this..." he whispered, his breath washing across the fabric of Knox's shirt.
Thump-thump, thump-thump, his fist beat out that carnal rhythm on Knox's front: a heartbeat.
"I heard it go..."
Thump-thump, a little slower now. Thump-thump, winding down. Thump-thump, almost at a stop.
Thump-thump. Roy's fist ceased its movements and rested on the space just over Knox's own heart. He was shivering.
Knox hadn't realised he was crying until a fat tear splashed on the ridge of Roy's ear. The child rubbed the wetness there and slowly, drew his eyes up to Knox's. He saw the red eyes, just as Chris' must have been at the funeral, and biting his lip, he reached up to wipe a tear away.
"Sorry," he said, and rested his head against Knox's neck.
Knox patted the back of Roy's head, letting his fingers remain threaded through his thick black hair. So that's why he hated sleeping so much. And why he was so furious to have been tricked and left alone. The last time he'd settled down for a proper night's sleep, well, he'd woken up an orphan. Had listened - in fact - as the life flowed out of his mother. A diabolical twist to a terrible, unendurable thing.
The door burst open. "Well!" Chris boomed, looking energised and renewed. "You'll never guess who's just arrived from back out East." She rushed into the room and checked the lodger book to see which rooms were free. "How are you getting on? Oh! You got him out – that's good."
"Chris," said Knox. Roy was trembling in his arms, but still no tears.
With her back turned, Chris continued unabashed as she leafed through the lodge book. "Albert Grumman from East City. - he's going to be in town for a few days. He's a Lieutenant Colonel now, the swine. Got his kid, Ellie and her man with him too – sour chap. Terrible hair. Hawkeye's his name. You know any Hawkeyes from out East, Charlie?" She moved off and excitedly gathered up an armful of linen from a hamper. "But they have their little girl with them and she's enough to change your opinion about kids, I'm telling you." She threw her head back and barked out a laugh. "She is just a bean! I could eat her. I could!"
"Chris -" Knox repeated.
"Huh?" Chris turned, and for the first time saw Knox sitting against the wall, eyes damp and arms full of four-year-old.
Knox raised his eyebrows at her and held his arms wide in a 'what do you make of this then?' gesture.
Chris held the linen to her side and leant on one leg. "What's wrong with you two?"
Roy finally turned in his arms, pushing himself back against his chest. His tiny fingers fidgeted with Knox's wedding ring.
"I honestly don't know where to begin..."
Thanks chums x