The Google Drive doc was waiting in Alfred's inbox when he woke up to the demands of his niece, her tiny hands banging on his door as she yelled at him in a mixture of English and Spanish to get up and play astronaut with her.
Laughing, Alfred called out to Rosa, who was scolding her daughter to let her uncle sleep, that he appreciated the wake-up service and that he'd be downstairs soon.
"I'll help you fly all the way to Mars after I have some coffee," Alfred promised, laughing again when his niece shouted that she wanted to go to Neptune. "Neptune it is! Coffee first, though, I need fuel to get us there."
Sated, the little girl ran off, sounding as though she were making a point by punctuating each of her steps as a hard stomp that had her mom scolding her all over again.
Matilda really was such a spitfire; it was hard to believe how shy she'd been when Alfred first got to meet her. As a baby, she'd whined when anyone other than Rosa held onto her, but after the first time Alfred picked her up over his head and flew her around the house, she was enamoured and wanted to do it every day.
"She's going to get heavy for you one of these days," Matthew had joked one day as he got ready for work.
Alfred had only shrugged. "I'll just get stronger."
He'd always wanted kids of his own, but with his job, kids being in the picture wasn't ideal. He'd have to settle for Matilda and little Gabriel (or Rafael, Bembe, or Dalien—Rosa and Matthew couldn't decide), who was still growing inside Rosa's belly. Alfred would have to settle for working to clean up this mess of a world left behind for them.
Downstairs, Rosa was already pouring coffee out of her aluminum carafe into Alfred's Libra Nutrition Facts mug. Her free hand rested on her distended belly, and her round face glistened even with the room near-freezing from all the ice fans going. She overheated easily now, summer absolute torture for her. Matthew and Alfred had adopted the policy of "Rosa is always right" to help relieve whatever stress they could.
"Uncle Alfie!" Matilda ran into the kitchen, feet slapping the tile. She ignored her mom's scolding and jumped into Alfred's arms, giving him barely enough time to catch her. "You're up! You're up!"
Her coily hair was like an ebony cloud surrounding her head, ticking Alfred's face.
She babbled, Alfred only knowing enough Spanish to know she was talking about learning how to play freeze tag yesterday and something about having a weird dream—Alfred thought he caught the words for library and ghost . He also knew just enough Spanish to hear that she was using English grammar again; this assumption was confirmed by Rosa's pained expression as she gathered her long dreads at the base of her neck, securing them with a sequin scrunchie she'd been wearing on her wrist.
Her sharp look cut off Alfred's chuckle, and his cheeks heated as he accepted his coffee and gave polite uh-huh s and wow s as he carried Matilda to the table in the small nook adjacent to the kitchen. A large archway nearby led to the den, where Alfred could see Cinnamon lounging on the couch, snoring at a volume that made the expression sawing logs seem very apt.
Rosa brought over two plates of fried eggs, rice, and skinless longganisa Ate Connie—she insisted they call her that—had made for them. She set one in front of Alfred and sat down opposite of him. It looked like she was on her second plate, since the portion was smaller than her usual.
Even though Alfred had noticed a Hello Kitty plate in the sink as he'd passed it, soon as he'd cut a piece off the longganisa, Matilda stopped talking and opened her mouth wide.
Giggling as Alfred made a motor-like sound as he waved the fork around Matilda's face, Rosa said, "You already ate!"
With the word ate , Alfred made a screeching noise as he finally let Matilda chomp down on the sausage piece. He fed himself a bite of egg and rice as she chewed, shimmying her shoulders as she did.
After her third bite of food, Matilda's eyes, dark brown like her mom's, focused on Alfred's mouth, and as he finished off the second longganisa, she leaned forward and poked the scab on his bottom lip, near the corner of his mouth.
"Did you eat your cupcake too fast?" she asked. "Because I ate mine too fast and bit my lip and there was a lot of blood and Daddy had to sit in a corner like this—"
She tried to curl up with her head between her legs, causing her to start to tip over. Alfred dropped his fork in the process of catching her, shaking his head when she started to giggle.
"Gordita," Rosa said, reaching over to pinch one of Matilda's chubby cheeks, "go change out of your pajamas. Nana and Papa will be here soon to pick you up to take you to the play."
Before Rosa finished her sentence, Matilda's feet hit the tile. "Yay! Nana and Papa! Nana and Papa! Nana and Papa" She sprinted out of the breakfast nook and through the den, the clamor causing Cinnamon to jolt awake and bark once in surprise. "C'mon Sin-sin! Fashion show!"
The dog needed no further prompting to jump down from the couch and canter after Matilda, her curled tail wagging. Alfred wasn't sure which of those two would end up more upset if Cinnamon ended up living with a different family.
Catching Rosa's look, Alfred took a sip of his coffee.
"I don't need a lecture," he said, making sure to keep his voice low. "And I thought there was no talking about work with Matilda home. Your rule."
He could hear the little girl bouncing on her bed; the springs of her bed squeaking loud enough for neighbors to hear. Still, he and Rosa needed to be careful. Neither could risk a slip-up around a little girl with a penchant for repeating everything she heard. She'd gotten two strikes at summer camp back in June for her potty mouth—gifted to her by Marine Mouth Rosa.
Glaring, Rosa watched as Alfred picked up his fork and took it to the sink. He dropped it into the plastic tub on the left side of the sink, filled with warm, soapy water. He fetched a new fork as well as a knife, pointedly not looking at Rosa as she continued to watch him while remaining silent.
Finally, she gave in as Alfred started cutting the egg whites away from the cooked-through yolk:
"I know you're careful." She eyed how closely he cut around the yolks, slowly and carefully turning the eggs as he cut. "Meticulous even. That makes it harder for you to deal with surprises, though, and no matter how tight your plans are, things slip through."
"I wore a bandana over my nose and mouth," Alfred replied after taking a bite of egg whites. Matilda always complained about his eating habits, but his stomach was already feeling upset at mixing the food as he had. "I burned it with the clothes I wore after."
Humming, Rosa cut into her longganisa, cutting the rest at once and mixing the pieces with the eggs, their broken yolks already leaving the rice with a sticky, yellow residue, as if to spite Alfred somehow with her food.
"Be careful with that" was all she said, sounding defeated. She'd argued with Alfred before—sometimes for hours until both were blue in the face—and pregnancy had robbed her of the extra energy needed to go toe-to-toe with him. She needed to trust she'd taught him well and that he wouldn't piss Avenger off.
Alfred had gone back upstairs when Matthew's mom and step-dad stopped by to pick up Matilda, using his need for a shower as his excuse. Matilda had been too excited to show her grandparents Cinnamon to notice anything remiss, but Rosa had frowned. Much as the two argued, and much as she called him names like hard-headed and idiot , she often worried about him and could be a mother hen.
When it came to the topic of his parents, though, she left it alone after the first time she'd tried to get him to open up.
Mr. and Mrs. Stuart had tried adopting Alfred after his mom's death, and despite avoiding them as much as he could, they kept trying to create a connection with him.
Rosa was obviously in agreement with Matthew that Alfred should give them a chance, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He was just glad they didn't bother pushing beyond carefully-crafted statements every so often, usually prompting Matilda to do what she did best and go on a long spiel about her beloved grandparents.
Alfred heard the front door close just before he turned on the water.
Shaving took the longest amount of time, Alfred taking time to feel along his legs, arms, and chest to be sure he wasn't missing lines of hair. He then used a coffee ground exfoliant over his skin until it was pink and shaved again.
After he was done showering, he shaved his face, and he smiled at the citrusy scent. He heard Rosa's relaxing playlist downstairs trying in vain to drown out Cinnamon's snoring, telling Alfred his sister-in-law was attempting to take a nap.
He didn't want to add to Cinnamon's symphony of one, so after toweling off and deciding he'd do without the blowdryer today, Alfred got dressed in his running shorts and his Middle Earth's Annual Mordor Fun Run T-shirt. His shoes were in a rack in the foyer closet, and as though sensing that the door was about to open, Cinnamon suddenly stopped snoring and rolled over onto her belly, wagging her tail as she stared at Alfred with big, dark eyes.
Shaking his head, Alfred said, "Fine," and grabbed the leash and his keys. "Let's go to Whatcom Falls." There were leash-free trails there, and Rosa kept saying she wanted Cinnamon to learn to be social with other dogs.
"It'll make her more adoptable," she kept insisting, and since Alfred was the one with free time and without a wiggling weight using his bladder as a bouncy castle, he might as well be the one to help Cinnamon get out of her shell.
From the master bedroom, Rosa let out a relieved, "Thank you" when jingling followed by Cinnamon's nails scratching the door alerted her to the coming departure.
"Rest up!" Alfred told her, checking his arm band, to make sure his cellphone was in place before opening the door and locking it behind him. Cinnamon was already in the driveway shared by the neighbors, pawing at the Sedan.
She kept pacing the backseat as Alfred drove, whining and occasionally pausing to nuzzle Alfred's hair and lick his ear or cheek.
"We'll be there soon," Alfred said, slowing down at a crosswalk as the lights flashed. He smiled at the kid pointing at Cinnamon, and she was positioned where Alfred could pick up her paw to make her wave back at the kid, making them grin ear to ear and pull on their parent's arm in excitement.
Thankfully, the parking lot at Whatcom Falls Park wasn't too full, but since it was Sunday, Alfred wouldn't be surprised if he found himself boxed in later.
"Hey," Alfred hissed, trying to attach the leash to Cinnamon's collar. "Stay—" he fell over when he missed again, the excited dog continuing to pace. "Goddammit." He turned back around in his seat and sat back, counting to ten.
As if sensing the shift in mood, Cinnamon poked her head between the front seats and licked Alfred's cheek. He sighed and attached the leash to the ring on the dog's pink collar, and he scratched between her ears, one always sticking up and one always flopped over, letting her know he wasn't angry.
"But this is why I'm not a dog person," he muttered as he opened the door, glad that Cinnamon waited for him to get out before following. "But you seem to have better self-preservation instincts than other dogs I've dealt with."
The main trail went straight to the stone bridge that gave a nice view of the waterfall, its roar still rather pitiful despite yesterday's rain. This summer had been rather dry, but if the meteorologists were right, the storms next week should make up for it. Some said there might even be lightning—a rarity in this region.
Alfred hoped the meteorologists were wrong.
As predicted, Alfred's Sedan had gotten boxed-in by the time he and an exhausted and soaking Cinnamon returned to the parking lot. Thankfully, it looked like one of those cars was leaving, but at least one more needed to leave if Alfred hoped to get around that CR-V without scratching or denting it—or hitting the tree.
There was an empty picnic table near the playground on the other side of the lot, so Alfred fetched a bowl and two water bottles from his car and claimed the table. Cinnamon started drinking soon as Alfred started pouring, despite the fact that she'd drunk from the swimming hole just as much as she'd played in it.
The people there had been more than happy to give her attention while Alfred lounged on a nearby flat rock, not wanting to risk getting his phone wet or leave it behind. It had taken Cinnamon a while to warm up to the other people, but when it had become obvious Alfred wasn't getting into the water, she'd jumped right in and had even played with the dog that looked like Shadow from Homeward Bound .
He'd also let the couple who'd seemed to get attached to Cinnamon that she was actually a foster and which shelter she was from, so maybe Cinnamon would find a forever-home soon. Matilda would be heartbroken if Cinnamon went to another family, but Rosa couldn't deal with a hyper five-year-old, a dog, and a baby barely a month away from popping out all at the same time. Alfred's schedule was too unpredictable to be a reliable helping hand, and Matthew practically lived at work, having to commute to Everett nearly every day—and be on-call during his days off when something inevitably went wrong.
The joys of retail, especially as a manager.
Though fast food was its own special hell; sometimes Alfred was surprised he didn't jump to a hitman job sooner. Rosa had been a God-send to both the Williams brothers, for sure.
Pulling his phone out of his armband, Alfred checked the battery, glad to see it was only just below fifty-percent. Google Docs tended to suck quite a bit of life from his phone, especially with long documents, and Ivan's book was over five-hundred pages. That phrase from Stephen King—"Kill your darlings"—popped into Alfred's head, but he was enjoying the book so far.
The introduction was slow; Ivan wrote exposition with a heavy hand. Still, it picked up quickly, and Alfred liked that the book was from the perspective of the killer's roommate, not the perspective of the killer himself. It was close enough to see the quirks while allowing imagination some breathing room.
The document's title—"And They were Roommates"—didn't fit the mood, but Ivan said in his email that it was just a working title while he tried to think of a good one. He was open to suggestions, and Alfred had a few ideas in mind but wanted to read more before offering them.
Cinnamon passed out under the table as Alfred read, getting frustrated whenever Google Docs shuttered, suddenly freezing before suddenly scrolling too far down too fast. It made reading slow; Alfred couldn't wait until he could continue on his laptop instead.
But when he reached the chapter when that first body was finally found, Alfred could only stare at the description.
That was his kill, the one in Everett.
Ivan had been inspired by him .
A/N: 1) The dog and kid will be not be killed. I feel like I should get that out of the way, and any mentions of Alfred having killed dogs and other animals will be subtly alluded to, like it was in this chapter, or simply mentioned so it doesn't go into explicit detail. 2) For human AUs, I like to make Alfred's birthday 17 October (day of the surrender of Yorktown) instead of 4 July, which is why he has a Libra cup instead of a Cancer one.