"Hello."
"Hello." Blake replied offering the rather grim looking landlord a small smile, "I'd like to inquire about one of your tenants." The man narrows his eyes.
"Why?"
"I'm...I'm a friend of the family, I just want to make sure their doing okay." He keeps his eyes narrowed. Blake figures he's probably lived his whole life on this side of Bendigo, knows all the tricks of the trade and probably rents his flats out to the occasional criminal. Still. As far as he knew, Charlie was no criminal.
"Who are you asking over?"
"Kaleb Davids."
"What's he done?" The man asked, looking probably as surprised as Blake found out when he found out where Charlie had been living for the last three years.
"I told you. I just want to make sure he's alright."
"He seems fine." The man replied, "He's not very friendly, always pays the rent a couple of days early, been here for about a year. Works at a hardware store I think, he's raising his kid by himself. Don't see her much but she looks happy."
"Yeah that sounds like him." Blake said, with a slightly relieved smile.
"He's an odd ball. But he pays the rent on time and doesn't complain."
"That's him all over." Blake agrees.
There's nothing more to be gained from this conversation so he leaves it.
…
The flat is certainly more run down then he expected. But then again, raising a child on a hardware store clerk salary probably isn't easy, he thinks, as he knocks four times on the door. He takes a moment to examine the run down walls and building. He's about to knock again when he hears
"Coming!" From the hallways behind the door. He strains his ears and he can hear Charlie fussing behind the door, before he opens it.
He looks different. His hair had obviously been redyed since he left the Blake house three years ago, but it was very much grown out, giving his hair a funny ombre sort of look. He had creases by his eyes and looked tired. He stared at Blake for a moment, before closing the door in his face. Blake put his hands on the handle and tried it a couple of times. Charlie was obviously putting his weight on the door from the other side, preventing him from opening it.
"Go away, Doc."
"Charlie, please just talk to me."
"No."
"I'm not here to convince you to come back. No one even knows I'm here. I just want to see how you're doing." There's a scilence from inside the flat, which is followed by footsteps fading. He sighs, and considers knocking on the door again. He'd really thought Charlie would want to speak with him, but looking back thinking it through, Charlie left them, not the other way around.
Then, to his great shock, the door opens, and Charlie is standing there again, in the shirt and pants he'd been wearing when he left (Although they were significantly more worn now then they had been)
"I put the kettle on." He said, after a moment. "We don't have any sugar but if you still take it with milk…." Blake looks at him for a moment, but Charlie moves to the side, allowing him access to the house.
After he stepped inside, Blake was slightly taken aback. The place was clean, but it was as run down as the front. The wallpaper was feeling, the rug in the livingroom was peeling up at the corners, the counters were chipped and Charlie's bed appeared to be in his living room. The whole place just seemed...Small. "Thank you." He said, taking the chipped tea cup from Charlie's hands. "I'm glad you found somewhere to live."
"Me too." He replied, shortly.
"What have you been up too?"
"Not much. I work in a hardware store. I rent this tiny little flat, I try and be a good dad."
"You have a kid?"
"I saw you, the other day, talking to my landlord."
"I don't want you to think that I'm spying.."
"It's fine. I should have known you could never let me be." He sighed, and took a sip from his own cup.
"We're worried, that's all. It's not everyday when your friend just up and leaves."
"Yeah well, first time for everything, Doc."
"How are you, really? You look tired."
"I am tired." he replied, softly. "But I'm doing okay."
"And the little one?"
"Her name is Pontaine. After her mother's mother."
"Ah."
"She's a baby. All babies are sort of the same. She's learning to walk, learning to talk. She likes to tell me 'Up, up.'"
"That's sweet."
"I suppose." He replied diplomatically.
"And her mother?"
"She...She's not really involved."
"Meaning?"
"She left me."
"Oh." Charlie nods, and takes a sip of tea.
"It was just one night." He said, softly. "She didn't love me, I didn't love her. But we got married because we both loved the baby." He pauses, again, and takes a gulp of tea. "She just didn't love her enough to stick around."
"I take it you did."
"I don't know what you think of me now, but I love my daughter. I might have left you but I'd never leave her." Blake put his hands up in a surrender position.
"Nothing has changed in my opinions of you." Blake promised. "I just wish you'd talked to me."
"I tried." Charlie bit back, like something of a wounded cat. "But you didn't listen. You punched me in the face and I tried to talk to you, but it was like talking to a brick wall."
"So you ran away."
"It's genetic." He replied, "Running away."
"No, it's not. You made a choice to be like him. No one forced you to." Blake said, trying to keep his voice under control as Charlie pulled his lips together in a tight line. He'd spend the last three years running from the unavoidable truth. And now he couldn't run any more.
"Maybe." He replied, "Do you think sons are destined to be like their fathers?" Blake took a long sip of tea and sat back in his seat.
"I don't believe in destiny, Charlie. " He replied, after a moment . "I believe in choice."
"I made my choice." He replied, bitterly. "And my choice was to leave." he said, after several long moments of consideration.
"I know you did." Blake said, after a moment. "I just wish I could convince you to come home."
"You said you wouldn't try."
"Would it work?" Blake asked, after a moment, before shaking his head. "Do I get to meet Pontaine?" Charlie bit his lip thoughtfully, before nodding, and standing. Blake hadn't expected that, but was excited, none the less.
Charlie emerged from what was the presumable bedroom three minutes later holding a child close to his chest. Appearing to be about one year old, Pontaine Davis (Or Davids) was small and pale, with dark red hair carefully pinned back from her face with a pink bow shaped headband. He sat across from Blake, keeping her close to his chest before sitting her in his lap and allowing her to grab onto his fingers.
"She looks like you." He said, after a moment. Charlie looked down at her and offered him a tiny smile.
"She has her mother's hair." He replied.
"You like red heads." Blake laughed. Charlie nodded.
"You could say that." He replied, allowing the child to play with his fingers happily. "You wouldn't believe she was asleep a few minutes ago." He murmured. Blake nodded quietly, and spent a moment watching Charlie look down at his child with warm eyes.
"No, you wouldn't." He said, after a moment. "She's beautiful."
"Yeah." He replied, bending over to kiss her hair gently. "Would you...Like to hold her?" Blake feels his face light up, and he knows Charlie can probably see it.
"I'd love too." He smiled. Charlie carefully stood and moved Pontaine into his lap. Blake, following Charlie's example, allowed her to play with his fingers.
"She likes meeting new people." He said, after a moment. "Shame she ended up with such a recluse for a father."
"It looks to me like you're doing the best you can." He said, smiling as Pointaine decided to wave his hands around as furiously as a one year old is able.
"I guess." He replied, after a moment. "I like being a dad. Makes me wonder why mine chose not too."
"I like being a father as well." Blake assured him. "Most fathers like being fathers." Charlie nodded, and took a sip of his tea.
"I wasn't sure what I was going to do, when Jane left." He admitted. "I wrote you a letter, asking what to do, but I never posted it. I wrote you a letter when we got married as well, asking the same question, but then I wondered….How could you possibly know what to do?" He murmured.
"Well I know what I would like you too do."
"What's that?" He asked, softly, even though he also probably knows what's coming.
"I want you to come home." He said, softly. "I know you're doing the best you can but I think it would be better for both of you if you came back to Ballarat." He scoffs softly.
"I can't go back there." He murmured. "I can't face explaining myself to all those people. Not to mention it's going to look like I'm sponging off of you." He mumbled. "People will talk."
"People always talk. I've never known you too care before."
"I don't care what they have to say about me." He replied, "You know that." he grumbled, in what was probably the most Charlie Davis thing he'd done since Blake had first set foot in the building. "I care about what people are going to say in regards to my daughter." He whispered. "Doc, you have to understand, she's everything I have."
"I do understand." Blake promised. "And I want whats best for you. Both of you. Look around, Charlie. Do you really think this is the best place for a little one to be living?" He asked, kindly. "You said she was learning to walk. Do you think this place will be safe when she is?" Charlie looked down at his worn down shoes with a look that Blake thinks is too awfully like shame. He watches Charlie's hand raise to his lips and wipe at them in a largely self comforting way.
"You're right." He admits. "You're always right." he murmurs, before sniffing though his nose. "I do want what's best for her." He said, softly. "That's all I want." He said, quietly. "What's best for her." He admits. Blake stands, and presses the happily oblivious Pontaine back into his arms. He looks down at her, as she seems to pick up on his sadness, and put one tiny hand on his face. He tried to smile but it just came out looking sad.
"If I leave, I won't have a job, I hardly have any money now." He said, softly.
"You know me, Charlie." Blake replied.
"Yeah...I do." He said, after a moment. "I can't go back." He said, suddenly rather short and grim. He stood, and walked into the bedroom, taking Pontaine with him. "I'd like you to leave now." He said, when he came back out.
"What?" He asked, suddenly, "Have I said something wrong?"
"I do know you, Lucien Blake. You punched me in the face." He said. "You play this white knight role and then you snap and she's not going to be around for that."
"Charlie that was a one time." Blake said, "And I thought my daughter was in danger, tell me , wouldn't you do the same?"
"No. I can safely assure that I would not punch someone who had his hands tied in the situation!" He said, "Go now. Go home, accept that I don't want, or need, to be saved."
"Is that what this is all about?" Blake asked, "I said I was sorry." He told Charlie, giving him a serious expression.
"I know, and I believe you." He said, after a moment. "But I keep thinking, about how things were. I can't live like that."
"How things were?"
"Oh come on." Charlie exclaimed, "You must have felt it, that...That shadow of politeness over us."
"I know." Blake said, after a moment. "But I...I want to fix it."
"Fix it?"
"Between us. I want to be your friend." Charlie starred at him for several moments, before lowering himself back into his chair and pressing his face into his hands. "Charlie?"
"I always thought if you came, then I'd be able to just...Tell you to leave." He whispered. "I thought I could hate you." He said, softly. "But then you came, and all I can think now, is how much I miss living in Ballarat, how much I hate Bendigo, hate this apartment, my job, my wife...I hate pretty much everything except Pontaine." He murmured, "Including myself." He said, softly. After a moment, Blake wrapped him into a hug, holding him close. A tiny sob escapes, but that's all he lets out.
Charlie let Blake hold him tightly for a minute, before a sudden crying forces him into action. He hurries past Blake into the bedroom, and comes out holding Pontaine to his chest, trying to stop her crying gently. She stops crying when Charlie sits down again and starts to calm down himself.
"Charlie." Blake said, gently. "I know that you like to be independent, I know you love your daughter. But don't you think it would be better if you came home?" Charlie buried his face in the top of Pontaine's head, and Blake, for the first time, notices how new and clean her clothes are compared to Charlie, who hadn't even bothered dying his hair.
"I wouldn't even know where to start."
"Start by agreeing to let me help you, and we can work everything else out later." On his chest, Pointaine made funny little noise and Charlie looked down to her and then looked back to Blake.
"Alright, yeah, we'll go with you."
"Thanks you." Blake said, after a moment.
"Why are you thanking me?"
"For giving me another go."
"Yeah well you came all the way out here to find me." He said, softly. "You deserve that much." Blake's not sure he does but he's glad Charlie thinks so.
"How about you give Pontaine to me, and go pack a bag. We can leave tonight, and come back for your things later."
"Why now?"
"Well I'd like to be home in time for tea, speaking of which I should let Jean know we're setting extra places."
"After a moment, Charlie shifts Pontaine into his arms. She seemed reluctant at first, but much like her father, was quickly drawn in by Blake's soothing nature, and unlike her father, became fascinated by his waistcoat buttons. He watches Charlie bustle around and pack two bags. A smaller one for himself, and a larger one for Pontaine.
"Are you ready?" Blake asked, as he passed Pontaine back to Charlie to have a coat put around her tiny shoulders.
"Not really." He said, after a minute, but he puts that aside, and they leave anyway.
"I forgot to tell you." Charlie said, as he carefully strapped the baby capsule into the car.
"Tell me what?"
"Her middle name is Lucien." Blake claps him on the back when he climbs around into the front seat, and he comes to the conclusion that his bloodline might have messed up his life, but he'll make sure it doesn't ruin Pontaine's.
And if that means accepting Blake's help, then so be it.