Standard Disclaimer

A/N: This is what is known as a filler chapter, when you have to move your characters along a timeline, but nothing incredibly important happens. Well, something does happen, and it's important...okay, I'm not giving anything away. Read on, and don't forget to REVIEW!!!!!

Resolutions

When she awoke, the motorhome was stopped, and she was alone. It was sunset - she could tell by the soft gold light that made its way through the filmy curtains. She sat up, remembering she was sleeping in Mom and Pop's bed, and that she wasn't wearing anything other than her bra and panties. She pulled herself to the foot of the bed and looked down to retrieve her clothes, only to find they had been replaced by new ones. Very new ones.

She picked them up. There was a skort made of white cotton, soft to the touch, with a flouncy sort of look to it, almost like a cheerleader's skirt, only divided. And a shirt, bright orange, button down, with a tropical pattern across it.

There was a murmuring sound coming from the front of the motorhome, and then clearer voices as people entered. She heard Vincent laughing, heard him chatting with Mom, couldn't make out any details but it was friendly. Very friendly.

Then, he pushed open the folded divider. He looked very different - black shorts, and a blue and white shirt that was more subtle than her orange one, but in the same idea.

"Good, you're up," he said, his smile still lingering. "Hungry?"

"I could eat," she said.

He nodded. "Then get dressed. We're treating Emily and Steve, to thank them for all their help."

She held up the clothes. "Where did you get these?"

"This afternoon, at lunch. You've been out for a while. Shortly after you fell asleep we stopped for breakfast and they brought you back a blueberry muffin but it was going stale so I ate it." He pulled the door shut behind him, made an almost anxious gesture toward her. "Come on, you can listen and dress at the same time."

He went on to tell her about lunch, he had been up by then, and the place they'd stopped at had been next to a tourist trap that happened to have a clothing section in the back. It was all very hokey stuff - he'd done his best to pick out things with taste. She was a little amazed that he would pick orange for her, but when she put it on, she realized he'd been right. The color complemented her skin tone. And the short...wow, they were short. Apparently Vincent wanted her to show off her legs more, even if she didn't think much of them.

"Here, grabbed you some hemp sandals, too," he said as she brushed her hair in with the brush from her bag. "Thought they might be more comfortable than those walking shoes I made you wear before."

She nodded, slipping them on. Hemp wasn't the softest material in the world, but it kept her feet cool. Vincent took her hand and pulled her with him through the length of the motorhome, out the front door, where Mom and Pop were waiting.

"Ah, there's the girl!" Pop said, his face smiling. He reminded Victoria just a bit of her own father. She couldn't help but smile back, in spite of her initial crankiness that always happened after waking up. "You sleep up an appetite?"

"Yeah," she replied, and included Mom in her smile. "You've been so nice, I really, really appreciate you letting me use your bed."

"No problem honey." She winked at her. "Girl in your condition needs at the rest she can get."

Victoria's smile faltered for just a second, and then brightened. "Does it show?" she whispered.

"Only to someone who knows what it looks like," Emily replied, putting a matronly arm around her back. The old woman smiled up at Vincent. "Congratulations to you both!"

Vincent, who had been smiling pleasantly all the while, maintained his smile, but it left his eyes. "Well, look, come on, Steve needs to take his medicine and I know Victoria hasn't eaten all day. Let's go inside."

Everyone always said in Mexico to never drink the water. That ruled out iced tea, lemonade, and even coffee. So that meant Victoria was stuck drinking soda, and all they had was Coke and Sprite. She was so thirsty she downed at least three glasses of the sugary lemon-lime drink before their food showed up.

She had a craving for steak, and man, was the steak good. She finished it, the salad, even ate the skin from the baked potato. Emily offered her a piece of her fried chicken, which she found herself taking gladly, and she was munching Vincent's French fries afterward, as he rarely ate them, referring to them as only garnish for the sandwich. The best part, though, was the vegetables that came on the side. Steamed and flavored with a variety of spices, they were sweet and spicy and salty all at once, and she could have ordered a heaping plate of just them for desert and not blinked. However, Steve had a sweet tooth, and he wanted apple pie alamode, which put the vision of a big chocolate brownie with ice cream on top into Victoria's head.

"You're going to get fat," Vincent teased as she scooped up the last of the ice cream and finished the rest of her Sprite.

"Oh, you better believe it!" Emily said cheerfully, eyes glowing as she looked at the young couple across the table. "Big and round in forty weeks. How far along are you, dear?"

"I think eight," she replied, noting Vincent's distinct mood change again.

"Well, eat whenever you want, whatever you want. That's the key. And see a doctor. Have you seen a doctor yet, dear?"

"She is a doctor," Vincent said in a low voice.

"Yes, but a physician can't heal thyself," Steve put in. "You need a good obstetrician. Here in Mexico isn't any kind of place for that, you need to go back to the States. Vincent, didn't you say you were heading back their soon?"

"Yeah, I did mention that," Vincent said, giving Victoria a sideways glance.

"Well, sooner rather than later," Steve said. "If you're eight weeks along and you don't have a doctor yet, then you can't have been getting the right vitamins. The right pre-natal care makes all the difference."

"Well, where they're headed, dear," Emily put in, "I think Vicki here could find someone who could take a quick look at her, make sure everything is going okay, get her started until she can get someone permanent. They aren't all butchers down here, you know."

"Yeah, true enough. That guy in Mexico City fixed you right up good, didn't he?" Steve reminisced.

Victoria was tempted to say something then and there, ask Vincent where they were going, but knew that was a bad idea. To show any lack of harmony between them while they were in the middle of an act would have only served to make Vincent more tense than he already was. Not that he had seemed tense before they'd started talking about her pregnancy.

The thought soured her stomach. Suddenly all the food felt like a big lump of rock in her gut.

More light conversation, and then a final ride in the motorhome, where Emily finally dug out her son's CD and played it for Vincent, who said that her son was terrific on the sax. An hour later, they were driving through fancier streets, and catching the sight of the ocean between the tall, white buildings.

"Well, there's your hotel," Steve said, pointing as they pulled into a parking lot. "Sorry we can't get you closer, but they don't let motorhomes into those big round driveways.

Victoria looked out the window. It was a very grand place, one of those resorts she saw only in movies and on postcards that beckoned the tourist industry to visit exotic Mexico. Vincent offered to pay Mom and Pop for gas, was refused, instead he got their address for when they returned to the States, and a friendly invitation to never hesitate to drop by and say hello. And then Victoria and Vincent were alone with their bags slung over their shoulders. He offered her his arm, which she took, and they went into the hotel.

Vincent was on a roll that day. He'd gotten them the bridal suite, claiming he and his wife were on a second honeymoon. He gave them his credit card name (Albert Ricardo) and away they had gone into the most beautiful hotel room Victoria had ever seen.

It was three rooms - a sitting room, a dining room/kitchen, and a bedroom with a larger bed in it than she could imagine sleeping in. The bathroom could have made four, with the gigantic round tub deep enough for the both of them to sit in. There were complimentary items everywhere, snacks in the fridge, flowers in the bedroom, thick white robes embossed with gold emblems, even some...personal items in the drawer beside the bed. And the best part was that it looked right out onto the resort's private beach, which was dark now, but faced east, where the sun would be rising in the morning.

Victoria didn't know what to do. She just stood there, looking around, open-mouthed. If she'd been with anyone else, she would have thought it was a ploy to get her to stay with him. However, it was Vincent, and Vincent didn't resort to cheap ploys like that.

Did he?

"Want a bath?" he said, coming out of the room in question. "I started running some hot water for you, and there's bubbles."

"Bubbles?" she echoed. "You hate bubbles."

"Yeah, but you don't." He gave her a distinct come-hither look. In his brightly colored clothes, and in the faint lights from outside, he looked much younger - the lines on his face softened. He reached out a hand to her. "Come on...you're tense, you need to relax."

"I'm tense," she said, but took his hand. "Hello, pot, I'm kettle."

He chuckled. "Come on...let's finish what we started before."

It wasn't part of their natural routine to do things like that together. There had been a few times in the shower, but that had been in the beginning, when she could sense Vincent's amazement at having a woman so close at hand, someone he cared about and who cared about him. Their honeymoon - although it really should have lasted longer. Two months was the limit of their relationship, maybe two and a half. They didn't celebrate anniversaries, although Victoria was aware of them. They would never get a chance to ignore their three-month one.

Although Vincent seemed hell-bent on making the best of what time he had left.

She didn't think she'd be tired after sleeping all day, but she learned there was a delicious difference between being tired and being relaxed. Vincent was playful in the bathtub, tolerating the bubbles, even permitting her to put a heap of them on her head. After a short time, Victoria found herself getting lost in the romance of the moment, thinking briefly she was with a normal man, that they were celebrating their honeymoon, that they were new lovers, still friends, just getting to know each other and reveling in what they already did know.

Vincent had to have been a masseuse in a previous life. She'd always known his hands were strong, and that he was gentle, but it was a different experience. He never touched her anywhere intimate - his fingers simply worked at all the muscles in her back, in her arms, her legs. He washed her hair, twisting the soapy locks up and looping them onto her head like a little boy playing with clay. When he was done, he let her reciprocate, which she did, trying to imitate what he'd done and finding that even if it wasn't a perfect replication, Vincent enjoyed it. When they were done, he was leaning against her, his back pressing against her breasts, his head resting on her shoulder, her chin against his temple. The smell of the shampoo was expensive - salty-sweet, like the ocean. It lingered about them, relaxing. She understood a few of the benefits of aromatherapy, but doubted it could be as satisfying as this.

He was playing with a wet lock of her hair that had fallen forward and rested across his chest. "Victoria," he whispered.

"Hmmm?" It was a vibration through her chest into his back.

"I'm sorry I didn't let you touch me sooner."

She had half-closed her eyes. They opened only a little. "I never knew you were doing that."

"Not...not like that," he said, and she felt him shift his shoulders, attempting not to let himself get tense. She hadn't realized before then how relaxed he was, just in her arms, abandoning himself to her. "Just...no one has ever touched me before."

"No one?" she whispered.

"Not like you. Not...the way you do." He raised his eyes, looking at her. "No one ever wanted to."

"I wouldn't be so sure," she said, smoothing the hair away from his face. It seemed much darker in its wet state, increasing the youth of his face.

He chuckled. It rippled against her chest. "Well...I do have a tendency to be modest."

"No," she teased. "You don't. You just don't know." She ran her fingers through his hair, through the top, tips against his scalp, feeling the thickness of it. He was lucky - so many men had to worry about hair loss.

"What don't I know?"

She tightened her arms around him, and he settled further into her grasp. The warm water was still about them, rippling only with their movement. "What it might have been like for you."

She didn't need to say the rest. He'd thought about it before, on one of those rare nights when he wanted to talk, when he wanted her to know more about him than just facts and dates and favorite things. He thought about it, what his life would have been like if his mother hadn't died, if his father hadn't beat him up, if he'd been raised like a normal kid. He usually didn't get far, as his tendency was not to dwell on what-ifs and might-have-beens. Darwin, E-Ching, roll with it baby, it's life, it happens.

"I see...you would have been an actor," she whispered.

He chuckled. "An actor? Why?"

"Because you're very good at pretending," she said in a light voice. "And you would have made...."

"T.V. shows? Like the Sopranos?"

"No, movies. Big ones, lots of action, because you like being active. And you would have been famous, and girls would have been throwing themselves at you, and for a long time, maybe you'd let them."

"Sounds like a lot of emptiness to me," he murmured.

"Well, eventually, you would have met a woman," Victoria went on, as if seeing it in front of her, a movie behind her eyes. "She would have been...a red-head."

He smiled.

"And you would get married and have babies and be a father to them."

"Doesn't sound like me."

"No, you wouldn't be afraid of being a father because you would know what one is supposed to be like," she said, her tone still gentle, and secretly amazed that he was listening, that he wasn't getting upset, and that she actually had the guts to say what she was saying.

"What about you?" he asked. "Would I know you?"

"Oh, I would definitely be a fan," she said, smiling down at him. "I'd be one in a crowd of a thousand other girls wanting to shake your hand. You would be walking down a red carpet with your pretty red-head wife on your arm, looking gorgeous in a green silk dress that brought out her eyes, and you in a sleek tuxedo. Or maybe just a very expensive black silk Armani suit."

"I do like Armani."

"And maybe you'd see me, and I'd be lucky enough to get to shake your hand."

He frowned. "If I saw you...that's all I'd do? I'd shake your hand?"

She nodded. "You'd be married, with the babies, you'd be happy with your life."

His frown softened, but he still looked sad. "I don't know. If I saw you, maybe I'd realize it was all a mistake."

She shook her head. "No, you wouldn't."

"Maybe I'd leave my wife to be with you."

She laughed a bit loudly. "No, you definitely wouldn't. Not for me, anyway. Maybe some hot Spanish babe with Audrey Hepburn hair and big soft red lips. But not me."

"Why not you?"

"Because you're way out of my league," she sighed, resting her head back against the porcelain rim of the tub.

He was quiet for a long moment. "I think I like it better the way it is now."

"The only way I could see that is if the whole world suddenly hated you for leaving your gorgeous wife for a gorgeous girlfriend, and everybody took her side and the poor babies you left behind."

He lifted up his head. "The water is getting cold," he said. "Come on...let's dry off."

She watched him get up, enjoying the peep show while it lasted. When he was dry, he pulled her out of the tub and did the same for her, then wrapped her up in the big towel and carried her to the bed.

"What are you doing?" she giggled when he set her down and straddled her, pinning her in the towel underneath him.

He looked down into her face, smiling. "I'm pretending you're that gorgeous red-headed wife you said I'd have. And maybe later on, you'll be that gorgeous Spanish girlfriend who looks like Audrey Hepburn."

She giggled as his mouth descended onto her, stifling her.

"Ah," she said as she caught her breath. "So there was something appealing about that little story I told."

"Only the part where you said I'd get to meet you," he said, pulling away the towel. He sighed, running his fingers through her wet hair. "No one has ever let me touch them," he whispered, his voice returning to that deep, wistful melancholy from before, "like you let me touch you. I don't know if anyone's ever wanted me to."

"Maybe you just never gave them a chance to find out," she replied.

"Hm." He threw the towel behind them onto the floor. "Well...I guess I'm glad it worked out this way, then."

Vincent slept that night. It was a rare thing, and usually done while she was asleep herself, so she rarely got to witness it. It was a light sleep, so she didn't move much. Just watched him, his chest rising and falling, the lines on his face melting. She imagined what he looked like when he was young. She imagined what he'd look like with dark hair, wondered if maybe he'd tried it himself once upon a time. The image was pleasing, but it wasn't her Vincent. It was the Vincent from the fantasy life she'd made up, where he was someone else.

Someone who wasn't hers.

She sighed, resting on her side, arms wrapped around her midsection, knees bent. Vincent was on his side, too, but he was straight, one arm jammed under his pillow, the other stretched out toward her, his knuckles just brushing her forearm. She didn't want to move. She knew the slightest movement would wake him. She couldn't imagine never being able to really sleep. Perhaps she liked her sleep too much. Vincent had once told her that the higher the life from, the less sleep was necessary.

It was insane. She shouldn't love him this much. She shouldn't. It was wrong. He was a killer. He took money and he took lives. Cold blooded, calculating...

She pressed her face down into her pillow. What if their baby was the same way? What if it was genetic? What if she was gestating a monster?

She closed her eyes, tightly, pushing away the images. No. It wasn't true, she couldn't believe it. The argument of nature verses nurture had always come up even. Her baby would have the best life she could give him...or her. He would not grow up to be like that.

She opened her eyes. Vincent was right. He wasn't father material. He didn't know how to be a dad - she'd said it herself. Her earlier thoughts returned, about how she was able to consciously walk around his eccentricities and adjust herself to his habits was possible only because she chose those things. A baby wouldn't be able to choose. It would be the center of its own universe, its own nature. And it would become a product of its environment. Especially if that environment contained a murderer.

She was crazy to think that she could stay with him and have his child. She had to choose.

Victoria drew a shuddering breath. It had really only been a matter of time.

Gently, she pushed herself upright, making as little vibrations into the mattress as possible. She slipped off the bed and went to the closet, found herself a robe, and wrapped herself up in it. She was amazed that Vincent didn't wake up, especially with the low hum of the sliding door. She had to grin - apparently she'd worn him out, finally. It was about time.

In the main room, there was a huge wall made of windows with a door in the middle. It let out to a private patio. She propped the door open, letting in the crisp morning breezes, and went to sit in a chair to watch the sun come up.

It was a shame, how the peaceful moments made her so aware of how little peace her life really had. Yet, when Vincent had rejected the pretty picture she'd made for him, she had understood. In her heart of hearts, she couldn't help but feel that being with him, even for the short time, had been worth it.

"Wow, I really slept," Vincent said when he emerged from the opened door at about seven o'clock. The sun was already above the horizon line and starting its climb. He sat down in a chair beside hers, propped up his feet and slid on his sunglasses. "How about you?"

"A little...since I slept so much yesterday," she admitted.

"Yeah, yesterday was a trip." He looked around, found an old newspaper sitting on the small plastic table in front of them, pulled it toward him and browsed the main headlines. It was an American paper, even older than she'd thought at first, and slightly yellow around the edges. It had obviously been sitting there for a while.

"You ever do that before?" she asked. "Hitchhike with strangers?"

"Never, actually." He tossed her a little smile. "It was a stroke of brilliance, really. Claudia would never suspect it."

"I don't know," Victoria said slowly, shifting a little in her chair.

"Listen to the optimist," he quipped. "I'm supposed to be the paranoid one, Victoria."

She chuckled. "Yes, but I'm the woman. It's my nature."

"Thank God," he murmured, then threw the paper down. "This is shit. I'm going to go downstairs, see if I can't dig up something more recent." He stood up, bent down, kissed her lightly on the lips and went into the suite. "I'll be back as soon as I can. You want anything?"

"I'm going to order some coffee from room service," she said, raising her voice to call after him inside, "if you think the water is safe enough."

"In a place like this, I'm sure it is," he answered from the bedroom as he dressed. "Yeah, coffee sounds good, get some Danish, too. Something light. That supper yesterday is still sticking to my ribs."

He picked up the hotel room key-card and left. It took him a little longer than he expected, as when he went downstairs, he found himself bombarded with more choices than he'd imagined. He wound up picking up about three more magazines than he'd intended, as well as a few bottles of water, before charging it all to the room and heading back upstairs.

When he got there, Victoria was not on the patio. He walked into the bedroom, expecting to find her getting dressed. What he saw was Victoria, curled in a fetal position, her robe pulled up around her hips. Her lower legs and feet had been cut to bloody ribbons, and her hands were tied from wrist to elbow by the cord from the telephone. She was sobbing in a way that clearly showed she was desperately trying to stop.

Vincent looked up. Immediately behind her, holding a very expensive looking handgun to Victoria's temple, was Claudia.

"Good morning, Vincent," she said.

A/N: Well, this is what is known as a filler chapter with a good cliffhanger end. I had to use the last two chapters to get the characters from point A to point B and I confess I did go the long way, but it was fun anyway. It'll be a few days before another chapter is ready. I've started on the big showndown, but I don't know where it's going to go yet. And as you can tell, by the conversation Victoria and Vincent were having, I had watched WAAAAAAAY too many Tom Cruise movies this week. In the meantime...

Par: Yeah, it was pretty stressy and angsty. Although this chapter started out very sappy and romantic, it went into stress really quick. Funny you should mention Fight Club, I read that last summer, and I really understood the movie much better, even though I loved the movie, period. I probably would have been a little disappointed with the movie if I'd read the book first. I've always said that any movie made based on a book is just a big advertisement for the book itself -- like the movie, love the book. I never got to read too many Latino writers in college, I did major world authors, major American authors, major British authors (and I really liked the professor for that class, I quote some of the things he said to this day) and Women in Literature, Science FIction, and my favorite, Pop CUlture, where we had to read the original book for "Who Framed Roger Rabbit," in which the rabbit actually DID kill the guy! And we read MAUS, the graphic novel about the holocaust, and let's see...it was just a great, interesting class. We learned what the word "Haver" means from the song "500 Miles" by the Proclaimers. Anyway, I am soooo rambling. You and I need to keep in touch after this fanfic is over, I have a feeling we have a lot more in common. Especially the bit about the screenplays. :)

LunaGrrBack023: I am totally a music person. In fact, I'm putting together a mixed CD for the story, and I already have the Collateral soundtrack, plus some other songs that really hit home with that story. My favorite two tracks on the Collateral soundtrack are "Destino de Abril" by the Green Car Motel, and Antoni Pinto's "Requiem." I wouldn't be able to write at all without the music! LOL. Anyway, let me know what you think of the Radio Free Roscoe story...I get the reviews via email so even reviews from old stories get bounced to me.

Marie: Welcome to the club! Yes, Victoria is rather patient, isn't she? I don't think so much of her as patient, as a person who has an incredible ability to adapt to her circumstances, considering what she's been through. She's been through such hell, losing her license to practice, and her life was in such a dark place, that being with Vincent is the only light she feels she has. But that's just my impression of her...everyone else is entitled to their own. :)

Byrony Cel: It doesn't seem like something Vincent would do, huh? I can see that point. At the same time, I have to say that Vincent is a wizz at improvising. I love his little speech in the jazz club about how people go through the same routine every day, playing it safe. Where will you be ten years from now? You don't know where you'll be ten minutes from now. So I would never put anything past him. :)

All right, see you guys again in a few days. REVIEW!