Chapter 2 : Ghosts

Cara had won in the end – although admittedly, he'd mostly been pretending like he was still debating whether he'd stop by Omera's place on the way back to Seattle. The Christmas break had made him realize it was actually quite nice to see people. He'd been so focused on spending as much time as possible with Santi, given the puny amount of days the DHS still allowed them, that he'd forgotten that sharing the experience with others was somehow half the fun. He'd be nowhere today if it wasn't for Kuiil, I.G., Cara, Paz, but also Omera. Din dreaded to think what would have happened if he had parked somewhere else, that day. If she hadn't found him and helped him after he'd been stabbed. So paying a visit to her was nothing compared to what he actually owed her.

Still, he decided it was safer to park at the start of the track leading to her home. No point bothering her if she wasn't there, or busy, or with family. It would have been a good idea to call ahead for sure, but then he'd have been deeply committed to coming. And he'd been sorely tempted not to make the turn on the Interstate and continue on to Seattle…

Din felt bad for not having reached out sooner – just to say thanks, at least. Or to tell her that the boy and him were fine. He'd relied on Cara for that, so he couldn't actually blame her for pestering him to fix his mistake. Omera and her daughter had deserved betterfrom him. And now it was almost six months later and he felt a bit silly.

"¡Hombros!" Santi said as soon as he'd released him from his seat and put on his coat. That had quickly become his preferred mode of transportation, and Din didn't mind much, raising him up quickly over his head so that he could sit comfortably on his shoulders. It also meant he hadn't felt the need to buy a stroller yet, and given how well the boy walked now – when he didn't feel tired, lazy or simply in need of some physical closeness, like now – he'd probably never have to. That was fine with him, as both his hands could still be free if he needed to carry things, as long as the kid held on tight, which he did, and it meant not having to worry that he could lose the boy in a crowd. Also, he thought the way some parents pushed those monstrously big things around in the streets was simply scary.

The only thing he had to be careful with were doorways and low hanging signs or branches, as was the case now. He held onto Santi's small ankles as they made their way up the track, mindful of the fir trees. The boy was babbling happily, pointing at things and getting the word right – most of the times – but Din's mind had started to wander. The last time they'd been there, the little one had been snatched away by Gideon and his goon. He swallowed hard, and kept expecting that the child would somehow remember the traumatic event and start crying. But it seemed to be all in his head – the disturbing memory was for Din only, which was for the best.

They hadn't even reached the porch when the front door burst open, an over-excited Winta coming out, her mother following more demurely behind. Din hadn't had the time to formulate the right opening, but that was okay – as always, the young girl was miles ahead of him already.

"Hi! You're here! Like you said you would! Can I see him? How is he?" she asked, eyeing the toddler on his shoulders. Said toddler certainly felt he was missing out on the action, and had started gesticulating wildly.

"Hi," he said to Omera, who was still standing on the porch. "Is it okay? We're not bothering you?" he queried, his hands rising up to stop Santi from pulling his hair every which way – something he tended to do when he wanted to be put down.

"Of course not," she replied, smiling at his grimace, "you're always welcome here, come in from the cold."

Din nodded in thanks, and finally granted the boy's wish. Once down though, he didn't run towards Winta, as he'd almost expected him to. There was some recollection there he thought, but the little one was still being cautious, standing against his legs.

The young girl could tell she needed to be calmer now, and approached them slowly, her smile still firmly in place – she didn't seem to mind that the child didn't immediately recognize her.

"So I guess I can properly introduce him to you, now. Winta, meet Santiago. Santi, do you remember Winta? She showed you how to draw elephants and read you Stuart Little from start to finish."

"Hi Santi," she said quietly, kneeling in front of the boy. "Do you want some cookies? We just baked some."

Santi being who he was, a stomach on two legs, nodded enthusiastically, his round eyes getting even rounder. Winta copied his gesture with a giggle and took his small hands in hers.

"You're coming with me?"

Another nod, although he did raise his curly mop towards him, his little eyebrows clearly communicating that he expected him to follow, too.

They all made their way to the kitchen, Din glad to be inside where it was warmer – he'd gotten used to the Californian temperatures of Bolinas for the last week. Over cookies and hot chocolate, Din was struck at how easy and seamless this all felt – sitting with Santi making crumbs on his lap, Winta talking a mile a minute about anything and everything, never waiting for one reply before she asked another question, and Omera looking at him almost in apology, but not really. As if part of her thought he'd kind of deserved this – his payment for not giving news for 6 months. Fair enough, Din acknowledged silently. Fair enough.

Now that she had plied him with food, Santi was a lot more malleable to follow Winta around, and they both ran along to the living room, the girl intending to find out if he'd made progress in his drawing.

"Thanks for coming over, it means a lot to Winta. And it's nice to see you both looking so well," said Omera once they were alone.

Din nodded bashfully, still not quite ready to tell her it was nice to see her looking so well, too. Because she really did.

"It's almost funny how much he looks like you," she marveled.

"What do you mean?" he asked, puzzled.

"No one told you? Maybe it's just me, then. Maybe it's seeing the two of you together that makes me think that."

"I…never really noticed it," Din admitted.

"The little dimples in his cheeks when he smiles, now. Trust me, it's there," Omera said.

"I guess we haven't been around that many people. Just Paz and Cara this last week. I'm more worried about his vocabulary than anything, really."

"They're a bad influence?" she chuckled.

"Well…his brain is like a sponge, lately. It's crazy."

Omera nodded, well aware of this.

"And they don't change the way they speak when he's around. Which is okay, I guess. I mean, I don't do the baby talk thing and I often mess up myself. But some words I don't really want him to repeat. Especially at the home. Although he probably learns some bad words over there as well..."

"You still have to share him with social services?" Omera queried.

Share him. That was an interesting way to put it, Din thought. To him, it mostly felt like they were stealing him. It was pretty selfish, he knew, as if the DHS couldn't give the boy anything valuable. Still, he hoped Santi wouldn't be repeating everythinghe had learned to the workers over there. That'd probably make him look bad.

"It's the first time I've had him for so long," Din explained. "We only had a few weekends here and there in the last three months. But it was worse at the beginning when I couldn't see him at all. So there's progress, I guess," he shrugged.

Omera remained silent. Din wondered how much of it was her imagining being separated from her own daughter, and how much was simply not knowing what to say. He wished he was better at conversation and could talk about more pleasant subjects.

"How have you been? Cara said you're texting?" he tried.

"Yeah, we are," she confirmed. "It took me by surprise too, at first. But it's been nice communicating with her. We've become quite close, actually."

"She seems fond of you too," Din confirmed. And fond of making my life miserable because of it, he wanted to add, but didn't.

"It's funny how these things play out, sometimes. You meet people under strange circumstances and you just…click."

"Right," he nodded again automatically, then paused, wondering what she had meant exactly.

"Let's go check on the kids," Omera said, standing up and hiding her grin.

Winta was drawing more animals for Santi, who preferred coloring them than copying them. He would then hand him the result proudly, and Din would wonder if there were any free spots left on the fridge at home to put them on. Maybe he'd convince the boy to gift a few as well. Omera's daughter kept oohing and aahing each time he uttered a new word correctly, and would ask him to repeat when he said it in Spanish so that she could learn it too.

"He does that sometimes, sorry. Mixing the two up. I always try to give him both versions when he asks, but some words are just easier for him in Spanish, I think."

"It's amazing that he knows both… And he talks so much now!" she marveled, utterly taken once again with his little boy, which warmed him over more than the hot chocolate they had just finished drinking, the pure adoration on her face so visible.

"I'm probably messing up. I read on the Internet that it could be too confusing when it's the same parent talking both languages, especially when they are so young. But they'd stopped speaking Spanish to him at the home, so I just thought I'd better carry on."

"You're not messing up," replied Winta with conviction. "He's gonna speak two languages, that's just great."

Din smiled, somehow pleased by the ten-year-old's simple logic. You couldn't beat that, after all.

"You're staying for a few days, right?" the girl asked a little while later, probably noticing him fidgeting on the couch and looking outside. The low winter sun had already set, and home was still a two-hour drive away.

"I, uh…" he started, turning towards Omera for help, but she just raised her eyebrows in question, expecting him to voice his preference. "Don't you have family visiting or something? A few days might be a bit much, but…"

"No, we had but they left already. It's just me and mom. And school doesn't start for another week. Do you have to go back to work already? Mom still has a few days off, too."

"I still have a week off for Santi, so I guess we could at least stay tonight if you're really sure it's no trouble…"

"Stay more!"

"Winta, it's his decision," chastised Omera in a quiet but firm voice, then turned to him "and of course it's no trouble, stay tonight and decide tomorrow if you want to stay longer."

Din was strangely reminded of the last time he'd been here – under vastly different circumstances, to be sure, but even then Omera had been both practical and agreeable: stay, and take things one day at a time. Something he could definitely appreciate.

"Thank you," he told her, trying not to imagine Cara's victory dance once she learned about it.

Dinner was a laid back affair, as they had all already enjoyed a lot of food in the last few days, and Din parked the car closer afterwards and brought back his and the kid's stuff. The cot was already waiting for Santi in the guest room upstairs – how long it had been there, he wasn't sure and didn't ask – and Winta helped him give the boy a bath and read him stories afterwards. She stayed in the room for the last one as well, in Spanish, when Santi's eyes were barely managing to stay open and his warm head would drop heavily against his chest.

"It's Spanish his name? Santi?" she asked him downstairs once the boy was well and truly asleep, her mother telling her she was also due to go to bed soon.

"Yes, Santiago, it's the capital of Chile where my parents came from. It means Saint-James: Santo Iago. It's a popular name in South America and Spain," he explained, used to her ways by now – she'd have fewer questions later if he answered her thoroughly. And he didn't really mind.

"And that's why you chose it? For your parents?"

"I did, I never managed to find the name his parents gave him, so I thought it was the next best thing I could do."

"Are your parents dead, too?"

"Yes, they died when I was a bit younger than you."

"Oh, I'm sorry…" A very short-lived pause. "Is that why you joined the army, then? To have a new family?"

Din started – the girl was pushing against the sofa, sliding on her socked feet playfully. Completely at ease, yet completely serious.

"Partly, I think," he answered after a while. "And I met my best friend there, Paz. You saw him during our video call the other day."

"The very big guy?"

"Yes, the very big guy," Din smiled, making himself more comfortable on the couch – at the rate this was going, he'd be answering Winta's questions for a while. "But he's actually very nice. And Santi's second name, Dawid, is to honor his own little brother, who died when he was young, too."

She seemed to think about everything he'd just told her for a few seconds. Din wondered if he was being a bit too frank with her – he wasn't sugar coating anything and she was just a kid.

"It's good that Santi is so happy all the time. He doesn't mind that his names are sad."

"You think his names are sad?"

"Well, no… I just mean, they come from something sad, but he makes it alright."

That had also been part of his reasoning, and he nodded, glad that Winta saw it that way as well – he hoped he wasn't burdening the kid with such a depressing history.

"It's like your name, too," she added, leaning on the sofa now, but still standing up – aware that her mother was in the background and wanting to show her she wasn't getting comfortable, she knew she was supposed to go to bed soon.

"My name?" Din repeated, confused.

"Mando was a weird name, but it wasn't your name, right?"

"No, not really," he confirmed, although it was strange saying it out loud – he'd been 'Mando' longer than he'd been 'Din', after all.

"So it makes sense that your real name fits."

"Din? You think it fits?"

"Mom said Cara told her it meant 'belief', right? In Arabic?"

"Yeah, 'faith', or 'religion'," he replied, surprised that Cara had shared that information. And even more surprised that not only had Omera shared it with her daughter, Winta had remembered it.

"It's a bit like 'trust'. Or 'hope'," she continued, somehow fascinated with the subject, her chin resting on her hands.

"I guess..."

"Well, that's a lot like you. With Santi. You two, together. Mom says names always have meanings, even when they are very simple or you don't really notice it…" She pushed against the back of the couch again, her arms rising above her head. "Like me, Winta. It means 'aspiration' or 'ambition'. It's a bit like 'hope', too. It comes from Ethiopia in Africa. Everybody thinks it means 'winter' like the season, but they're wrong. Did you know that?"

"I didn't."

"Don't you think it suits me?" she asked, twirling on the spot.

"Yeah, it really does," he agreed with a smile, seeing how pleased his answer made her feel.

"Winta, I told you to go brush your teeth ten minutes ago already," Omera interrupted them from the doorway, her warm eyes offsetting her words.

"But mom, we're having a really important conversation, me and Din," Winta complained, her tone still absolutely serious.

"I'm sure you can continue that conversation tomorrow, darling," her mother hedged.

"You'll still be there tomorrow morning? You're not leaving before breakfast, right? Mom might make French toasts, she said."

"I'll be there, Santi and I wouldn't miss that," Din told her, only half-surprised at how easily the words had come out.

He stayed on the sofa while Omera slowly managed to get Winta to go to bed – it was a tough negotiation, and he tried to take down mental notes. He could tell Santi would also be stubborn and hard to convince in a few years – he already was. That gave him pause, as he didn't often let himself imagine how things would be so far in the future. He never had, and for good reasons, his life being so unpredictable and unsafe most of the time. But now, with a child, it was impossible not to. Even if the boy wasn't even legally his yet, and it could all still go to hell. He didn't know what he'd do though, if something happened. If, for some reason, his petition to adopt the boy wasn't granted. He was too invested now – they both were. It didn't take him long to realize that if legal ways wouldn't work in his favor, he'd probably find others, and the thought didn't scare him as much as it should.

"You're very pensive," said Omera, sitting down next to him. Not too close, he noted – she always did that, and he wondered what that said about him.

"Just looking at you and Winta and wondering what Santi's gonna be like at that age," he admitted freely. Omera was the only other parenthe knew. And that was bad – he needed to make more efforts, meet more people, as he'd frankly need all the help he could get. Google would only get him so far.

"Your son is better behaved than Winta was when she was two, trust me. If this is any indication, and it usually is, you're going to be fine."

"Really? She seems pretty easy-going to me. I mean, she does ask a lot of questions, but that's okay…"

"Not that many people think like you. You're very patient with her," Omera replied, appreciative.

"She's a great kid. I don't know if I'm supposed to say that, as I'm truly not an authority on the matter, but I think you're doing really well with her. I mean, if that's something that worries you. It shouldn't, is what I'm saying," he spoke haltingly, the words no longer coming so easily.

Her warm brown eyes settled in a peaceful expression, and he assumed he'd said something right, at least. They didn't speak for a while, but for once it wasn't awkward. Din admired the light festive touches that decorated the room and hadn't been there back in July – nothing garish or overly Christmassy, but it made her house feel even more welcoming. A place you wanted to spend time in. A place where you felt safe. But contrary to the arguments she had used to get her daughter to go to bed earlier, this wasn't something he could easily take notes on, in the hope to recreate it. Some of it was just intrinsically her and the way she made him feel.

"Can you tell me what happened on that day?" she eventually asked. Din had never seen her look so unsure – the words had cost her, and she'd debated them at length. "I know so much has happened since then, and the fact that you are here with your son should tell me all I need to know, really. But… part of me is still stuck. Part of me is still watching you storm out of here after your boy was snatched away."

"It was a very bad day. The worst, really…"

"I know, and I'm sorry for making you relive it…" she acknowledged, grimacing.

"…until it wasn't," he interrupted her, not wanting her to feel guilty for asking about it. She deserved to know – she'd lived through it too, after all. "Because you're right – everything changed."

"How so?" she pressed.

Din shrugged, wondering how he could phrase it in a way that would make sense to her. "I changed. I thought I knew who I was, and what I was worth. But I had it wrong…" her frown told him he'd lost her. He had to keep things simpler. "Cara and I caught up with the two men you saw, on some beach north of here. Moff Gideon, the gang boss who was after Santi for very selfish reasons, and one of his stooges, who shot Cara, but that was my fault, I was distracted. I shot him, and then I ran after Gideon…"

"Where was your boy?" she chimed in – he was going too fast.

"Safe, Cara had him. She wasn't hurt badly."

"So why did you run after him?" Omera queried, trying to make sense of the amount of information he was sharing for once.

"Because…" Din had to think carefully – but it was actually worryingly easy to find himself back in that frame of mind and remember what he had felt then. "Because I wanted to end things. I wanted it to be over, and for the kid to be safe again."

"So you shot that man Gideon, too?"

"I…" Try as he might, there wasn't any nice way to put it. If he could be honest with her daughter, he had to find a way to be honest with her as well. "No, in the end, I drowned him. It took a while, we… We fought. At one point he really had the upper hand and I thought I was done for."

"The pulmonary edema Cara mentioned," Omera remembered. "That's how it happened, I always wondered." She sighed deeply. "You almost drowned too, then."

He nodded, sparing her the rest of the story – she didn't need to know about their escape in the helicopter and his subsequent blackout. He'd admitted a fair share already and she had enough arguments to think him foolish as it was.

"And your concussion?"

Din tried not to roll his eyes – Cara had given her more details than he had hoped.

"He came at me with a rock during the clash," he answered, miming the movement towards the left side of his head.

Omera sat back down and looked into the distance, silent. He could no longer see her face, but it was easy to guess she wasn't very impressed.

"Sorry, I never seem to start the right kind of conversations. It's always a bit grim…" Din blurted out, finding the silence too oppressive after a while.

Her shoulders started shaking and for one horrible moment, Din thought she was crying – but no, she was laughing. A nervous laugh that ended quickly and proved impossible to decipher.

"Thanks for being truthful with me," she eventually said, turning towards him again. Her expression was similarly one he wasn't familiar with. A mix of wonder and sadness. And something else. Before he could put his finger on it, she stood up.

"It's not very late, but I'm feeling a bit tired, so I'll retire. Do you have everything you need in the guest room?"

"Huh, yes, thank you," he replied and she nodded.

"Feel free to stay in the living room and watch some TV," she added from the bottom of the stairs.

"It's fine, I have stuff to read for work, but thanks."

"Good night, then."

"Good night," he answered, wondering if there was anything he could have said to make her stay a bit longer. But there probably wasn't. Or at least, not something that would have come easily.

He didn't feel like staying in the room now that she was gone, and he went up shortly after. There was no light showing from Winta's room, but he could tell that a lamp was still on in Omera's. Din sighed quietly, closed his door, and sat next to the boy's cot for long minutes, watching him sleep peacefully. He eventually found the courage to read a bit in bed – security protocols he had to remember by heart. It was mostly a refresher, as even in the military he'd had trainings for situations involving civilians, but he still needed to focus. Something that wasn't coming easily at all, tonight. He felt his eyes starting to glaze over after an hour of almost mindless jargon, and gave up. He vowed to pay more attention the next day – on his readings, and on other stuff, too.

Din didn't sleep very well, but still woke up early, before dawn. Santi was fussing quietly in his cot, and he debated whether he should pick him up or let him try to fall back to sleep. But hunger seemed to prevail in the little one, as it usually did, and he slowly got up from the bed.

"Did you sleep okay, tesoro?" He asked as he was changing and dressing him, the repetitive movements soothing and welcomed despite his grogginess.

The boy nodded but rubbed his eyes, yawning. Maybe he'd manage to put him back to bed after a bottle – he could usually sleep a couple more hours in the morning. If Omera was up by then, he'd ask her if she'd keep an eye on him while he went for a run. He needed to think and wake up properly, and that was as good a method as any. Din tried brushing the toddler's messy hair but soon gave up when he started grumbling a bit too loudly.

"I know, you just want food, I'm being cruel," he acknowledged, picking him up again and grabbing the stuff he needed for his breakfast.

Din quietly walked downstairs, dawn light just making itself know to the east, but was surprised to see Omera in the kitchen already, drinking coffee and looking outside, her long dark hair smooth and untied.

"Morning," he said, his voice still gravely.

"Morning," she replied with an easy smile.

"We didn't wake you, right?" he made sure, plugging in the bottle warmer one-handed.

"No, I usually wake up with the sun. But Winta will be a few more hours, so you'll be safe from her questions for a little longer."

He nodded, and went back to his preparations, dropping measured scoops of formula in the bottled water he had added. Santi was getting impatient in his arms, but he knew from experience he wouldn't like to be put down, even if that meant he could get his bottle ready quicker – he'd tried having this conversation with him already, and it hadn't worked.

"Give him to me," Omera said, putting her coffee cup on the table. "You've been hogging him with Winta yesterday and I didn't even get a hug," she complained.

Din easily complied, her words stirring something indescribable in his chest.

"Hello Santi," she said, swaying slightly as the boy stared at her intently, cataloguing the features of this somewhat new person he'd been handed to.

Din left them to their staring contest and quiet words, and put the bottle in the warmer. That was one more item to add to the list of things he needed to think about – it was going to be a long run.

The two seemed well acquainted by the time the formula was ready, and he almost felt like an intruder observing them.

"Do you want to feed him?" he asked Omera and for once, he could tell that was exactly the right thing to say.

She sat down with Santi, who by this age didn't need any help drinking his bottle, but still relished the quiet moment and physical contact.

"Go for a run if you want, I'll look after him."

His astonishment at her prescience must have shown, because she quickly grinned and explained that Cara had informed her he'd been enjoying morning jogs in Bolinas when they were together. He was very much tempted to ask her what else Cara had felt the need to share, but instead accepted her offer.

"You might be able to put him back to bed afterwards," he told her, his eyes lingering on their slow movements, the strange feeling in his chest intensifying.

"Are you sure you'll be okay if Winta wakes up and I'm still away?" he checked.

"Din, I can take care of two kids at the same time," she replied, mock frowning, and he felt a bit silly.

He rushed upstairs to change before he could say any other stupid thing, and by the time he came down again, the boy was almost done with his bottle.

"You think you'll be warm enough?" asked Omera, eyeing his sweatpants and hoodie. "It's not California."

Din nodded – he'd been running in Seattle too lately, and he knew he'd warm up quickly.

"I shouldn't be too long," he offered.

"We'll be fine," she told him again. "Run straight ahead through the woods and you'll reach the beach," she pointed. "Our neighbor moved out recently and the place is empty, so no one will mind."

Din tried not to startle – that was probably Pershing, the loan shark Omera had unfortunately been acquainted with, but he wasn't supposed to know his name. He'd have to ask Winta about it: this was good news, in any case – one less thing he had to worry about.

Once outside, he realized that maybe he should have listened to Omera and layered up – it was colder than Seattle by several degrees. Wanting to avoid her deserved 'I told you so', he pulled up his hood and clapped his gloved hands together to warm himself up, then made his way to the beach in the direction she had pointed at a brisk pace.

His doctor had warned him to take things slow with his lungs, and he'd tried to follow his advice. But since the start of winter, he could tell something was still healing inside him. When cold air came in too quickly, he felt a strong push against his chest and had to slow down, his lungs somehow refusing to expand to their fullest. He hadn't been bothered in Bolinas, but the morning air was just below freezing today and he tried pacing himself once he'd reached the sand.

That gave him the opportunity to reflect more, but once he started running back facing north, there was only one thing on his mind – if he squeezed his eyes just right, he could see the jetty where Cara and him had docked on that fateful day. And behind it, the beach where Moff had met his end, taking part of him with him in the process with his revelations. Something else he hadn't mentioned to Omera the previous day – Santi's safety hadn't been the only thing on his mind when he'd run after Gideon.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he wouldn't be at peace until he saw the place up close again. Part of him needed to know all was still well over there. Stupid and pointless, he could admit to himself, but he'd made up his mind when he reached the house again an hour later, his painful lungs and the cold air both forgotten.

And yet, when he saw his boy still in Omera's arms when he came back, looking warm, safe and contended, he wondered why he was doing this to himself. Why he felt the need to stir the past and revisit painful memories. But it was the only way he knew how to move on. It was that or trying to express the sudden onset of jealousy at seeing his son play with Omera's lush hair – he didn't have the words and wouldn't ridicule himself trying to find them, so he'd settle for the easier choice.

She had looked at him a bit strangely when he asked right after lunch if she wouldn't mind looking after Santi for a couple more hours, but she didn't inquire where he was going. Winta seemed puzzled too and he was almost convinced once more to forego his stupid plan, but when the boy had been put down for his nap, he knew there was no turning back.

Din drove slowly, not wanting to miss the place – he had to go around the bay this time, and it took longer than expected to reach the parking lot where Moff's backup had arrived from, minutes away in the end from probably killing all three of them.

Fittingly, there was no one but him on the beach.

The air was colder, but the absence of strong wind threw him at first. His senses had been overwhelmed by it on that day: the sound it made drowning all others, its harshness against his wet face and clothes unforgiving. Din sat down on what he thought was the right spot and closed his eyes. He remembered thinking how simple it would have been to let go – first when he'd been underwater, and then when he'd finally come up for air and lied down on the sand, Gideon's motionless body a few feet from his own. It was an addictive feeling – nothing could hurt again once you accepted death as the answer. He opened his eyes and breathed in deeply, fighting the memory. Breathed in until it hurt, his lungs the physical testament of that day. Din ran his hands through his hair, trying to feel for the place where the rock had cracked his skull – but there was nothing there anymore.

It was funny in a way, he thought – every painful event in his life had left a physical scar, except two: the death of his parents, and this. His body was riddled with reminders of bad outcomes and close calls. And yet, the worst two days of his life had left no trace. There was no actual wound to take care of. No simple way to prevent it from festering. Nothing to dress or close up with stitches or staples. Nothing to treat with pills and rest. The healing process went beyond the physical, and he didn't need a goddamned psychiatrist to tell him the scars were in his mind, and needed a different kind of care. One that could easily take years.

Din breathed in again, more slowly, and lay his hands against the cold sand, feeling the texture of each grain against his fingers. He looked towards the horizon. The sun would be setting soon, but it had disappeared behind grey clouds long ago. Still, there was one more thing he could be sure of – the ghosts were also only in his head. The beach was quiet and peaceful. There was no evil spirit lingering or whatever else his fucked-up mind had come up with that morning.

He rubbed his hands against his jeans and took out his phone to take a picture. Something to look at any time his mind wanted to play more tricks on him. On a whim, he sent it to Cara, thinking she'd appreciate knowing all was well with the world here. Before he had time to put his phone back in his pocket though, it rang, displaying Paz's number.

"Paz?"

"It's me," Cara replied. "I know you always pick up when Paz calls."

"I pick up when you call," he argued.

"You let it go to voicemail," she countered.

"But then I call back."

"That's not the same as picking up," she informed him.

"Sorry," he said, wondering where she was going with this and thinking apologizing would work in his favor.

"I received your picture," Cara told him.

"Oh, good."

"It's… Din, it's a bit fucking grim."

"What do you mean?" he asked, clearly not seeing it that way.

"You drove there especially? Are you with the kid?"

"No, he's still with Omera and Winta."

"So you drove here especially, you weren't on your way back to Seattle," she pressed.

"No," he admitted.

"And you can't see how fucked-up that is?"

Okay, that he had kind of worked out on his own.

"Maybe a little," he acknowledged, "but I felt like I needed to come, you know?"

"No, Din, I don't know. It's… Mate, I don't even know where to start. It's fucking wrong. You revisiting old crime scenes, that's…"

"I've only been here a few minutes, I just needed to think for a bit," he defended himself. "I'll be leaving soon. But I shouldn't have sent that picture, you're right, I'm sorry, it was stupid."

He heard Cara sigh, probably thinking over her words.

"I get that it's still bothering you, how could it not? You almost died, and you killed the man responsible for everything that went wrong in your life. But don't you see how good you have it now? How lucky you were in the end? Everything is going right for you at the moment, and I know it's not a magic trick. I know it's not something you can automatically accept but…"

"I know, Cara. I'm just… I'm trying. And you're right, I am lucky and everything is finally falling into place, but it's just so…"

Fucked-up. Undeserved. Weird. Painful. Scary.

"…so fragile," he ended up saying. "And I don't want to mess it up."

"You're not messing it up, you're trying, as you said, and that's really good, Din. But you also have to give yourself a break. You've earned this. You worked for it. So hard."

Din hugged his legs to his chest – he was getting cold, sitting there, and he felt foolish for having put Cara in this position. Foolish for having come here in the first place. What had he been thinking?

"You have to look to the future, now. You have to let all that shit go."

"I know," he repeated. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Din. You have nothing to be sorry for. You saved me too on that day, remember?"

He smiled and didn't point out that she had been the one saving him in the first place – and getting shot in the process. Because she already knew.

"But listen to me now… Are you listening?"

"Yeah," he confirmed, his grin still in place – he knew he was going to be told off now, and he welcomed it.

"Get your ass off this depressing beach, drive back to Omera's place, and hug your kid. That kid is everything now, and you know it. And when you're done, hug that beautiful woman who for the life of me, seems to think you're worth it. Don't make me regret sending you here. Because you are both driving me fucking nuts, and you deserve each other. Did you get all that?"

"Loud and clear," he confirmed, already standing up.

"Good, then go."

"Hey, Cara?" he said before she hung up. "Thanks."

"For what? Pushing you in the right direction?"

"For having my back," he spelled out.

"Anytime."

The journey back seemed to take a lot less time, thankfully. He'd taken Cara's orders to heart – she was right, he needed to look forwards, not backwards, and he'd known this before driving to that stupid beach. He hoped it was just him feeling melancholy because he'd revisited places he had tried to forget. He wanted to disassociate whatever had happened on the beach to everything that had happened before – he'd found shelter at Omera's, and he'd felt safe, there. He wanted to recapture that.

He'd been gone less than two hours, but when he rejoined them in the living room, he felt like it had been days instead. They all had smiles for him, and he tried to convince himself that he deserved them. When his little boy ambled along towards him, he didn't hesitate for a second though, grabbed him under his shoulders, and thrust him a couple of feet in the air above his head, to happy squeals of delight.

"I missed you, cariño," he told him, not minding for once if he was heard. "And I feel like I haven't hugged you all day," he lamented, and proceeded to crush him against his chest, the child giggling at his silly antics.

"Was everything okay?" he asked Omera and her daughter who – bless them – didn't look at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"We've been drawing and I read him some stories and mom gave him two cookies," announced Winta.

He still hadn't relinquished Santi and was now carrying him over his shoulder and holding him by his feet, something else that always generated loud roars of laughter, as it did now.

"He's gonna explode!" Winta uttered with a chuckle.

"Nonsense," he proclaimed, rising him over his head again to make sure he was indeed still breathing and merry – he was – and lifted him as high as his arms would go, something that he usually only let Paz do, and under strict surveillance.

"Higher, higher, dada!" he shouted, and Din stood on his tiptoes to grant him his wish, and after one last shriek of joy, pulled him back in his arms and kissed his forehead.

He hugged him gently, Din aware that he'd pay the price for so much excitement later when he'd have to calm him down before bed. But it had been worth it – the sound of his son's laughter erasing any remaining misgivings he might have had. This was him focusing on the now, and he hadn't missed Omera's look and the feeling it had generated in his chest – he'd finally found the right word for it. It was longing. And maybe sometime soon he'd be able to follow Cara's second piece of advice.