Replies to Reviews of "As the Dust Settles" chapter 19:

To Lyger 0: Androids don't flirt! Unless they do…

Francisco sighed heavily as he laced up his work boots. Yet another day of work at the hardware store – the exact place he had been trying to avoid for most of his life. He had left on his pilgrimage back in February in part to get away from this; he had spent months traveling around Spain and France, putting off the moment he would have to come back. Literally any job would have been preferable to this one! And yet…

It was precisely thanks to that pilgrimage that he was now here, and in more ways than one. He had left school before taking the Selectividad, and his pilgrimage had kept him away until almost the day of the test. As soon as he had returned, he had applied for an extension to take it later in the summer, but he still hadn't found out yet whether it would be approved. So the only job he could actually get for now was to work at his father's hardware store – nowhere else would hire him, not after he had essentially dropped out of his last year of school. Of course, he could have just stayed at home and played video games all day; half his friends were doing that until university started in the fall. But there was no way he could stomach that – not now.

Thanks to his "pilgrimage" and all that had happened as a consequence, he had realized he needed to take responsibility. When he left, he had told himself that he was trying to find a purpose, and he had discovered responsibility. He had taken responsibility by accepting the miraculous hanging around his neck beneath his shirt. He had taken responsibility for the Atlantean artifacts scattered across Spain and Portugal, some of which he had hidden in his room, and others of which he had delivered to Olivet for safekeeping. But in the end, he had finally realized how badly he was deluding himself: the real responsibility was back home. He couldn't run away from his problems and flee the consequences of his actions.

So thanks to that "pilgrimage," he had asked his father for a job so he could support his pregnant… what even was Marina now? Ex-girlfriend? Girlfriend? He had left her when she told him she was pregnant – he was still ashamed of himself for that. But when he had returned two weeks ago, she had agreed to give him another chance. His stomach churned. He had put her through so much lately – she didn't deserve any of it. But now maybe he could make it right.

But in a sense, the pilgrimage had been a success: he had left to find a purpose, and in the end, he had found it – exactly where he had left.

As he stood up, Perry flitted out of his dresser and flew over to take his place in the wide-brimmed hat that Francisco had bought on his way home. Satisfied for now, Francisco made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen, following the sound of the radio. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he sat down at the table opposite his father, staring into the mug.

"Tensions continue to rise between the Spanish government and the Basque separatists of Pamplona," the radio reporter intoned. "While government spokespeople maintain that a peaceful resolution is still possible, our sources on the scene suggest that these Basques will not accept anything less than complete independence, a call starting to be echoed across the border…"

Francisco started to reach for the newspaper sitting on the kitchen table. "Any big plans for the store today?" he asked his father, shuffling through the paper to find the comics.

His father shrugged. "Nothing much," he answered, shaking his head. "As long as you can get the inventory stocked by ten, there's no reason you can't go with Marina this afternoon."

Francisco winced. "About Marina…"

His father frowned. "Son," he interrupted him, "I'm not angry at you. I'm disappointed. I thought I raised you better than that. To get your girlfriend pregnant is bad enough, but to then vanish without a trace, leaving her alone to deal with the consequences of your actions?" His mouth set in a thin line. "Frankly, you deserve far worse than you have gotten – from her and from her family."

Francisco nodded heavily. "Yes, sir," he agreed. "I–I know." He let out a breath. "I realize that now – but I am trying to make up for it."

His father examined him closely for another moment. "Very well. Your mother and I support you fully in that. We will do whatever we can to help the two of you in this. But," he added sharply, "if you step another toe out of line, we will not be so accommodating."

"As the army prepares to mobilize," the reporter continued in the background, "a source close to the Prime Minister's office has hinted that these reports of a rebel with… enhanced… abilities may necessitate the deployment of top-secret weaponry in order to pacify the separatists…"

Francisco turned back to the comics, only to find two enormous eyes looking up at him. Perry raised an eyebrow, jerking his head toward the radio, and pointed one wing at Francisco meaningfully. Francisco frowned. "What do you want me to do?" he mouthed, furrowing his brows. Perry moved both wings like walking legs and nodded firmly at him. Francisco shook his head. Perry nodded, more insistently this time. Francisco groaned.

"What is it?" his father asked sharply.

Francisco jumped. "Oh, uh… if I can get the inventory sorted this morning, could I have the weekend – maybe through Monday – off?"

His father frowned. "What's this about? This about the appointment?"

Francisco glanced back down at the paper. "Um… yes?" he tried, hating the uncertainty in his voice. "I just – I realized since my, um… pilgrimage… that I need to take more responsibility, right? And that means thinking about others instead of just myself."

His father examined him carefully. "Considering that you've only been working for me for two weeks, if you were any other employee the answer would be a firm 'no'," he began.

Francisco nodded. "I understand. But I promise, I'm not planning to disappear again."

His father sighed. "Make sure you treat Marina well over the weekend," he told Francisco. "I do not want to hear any more stories about you hurting or mistreating the mother of my first grandchild."

Francisco's stomach clenched uncomfortably. "Yes, sir," he promised. But as he started to get up from the table, he froze.

He needed to tell Marina about this, too.

"As you can see from the sonogram, your son is developing nicely. Everything is on track; I'll see you again in another month!"

"Thank you, Doctora Lopez," Marina answered, smiling in relief.

"Yes; thank you," agreed Francisco, nodding, staring at the monitor that only a few minutes before had shown the image of the baby growing inside of Marina – the baby he had helped to create.

"You are very welcome," the doctor, an older woman with greying hair, answered. She furrowed her eyebrows, staring at Francisco for a brief moment. "I'm sorry, but I have to make sure. You are…?"

Francisco swallowed nervously, looking away from the monitor and meeting the doctor's intense gaze. "I, um, I am Marina's…"

"He is the baby's father, Doctora," Marina interjected, a sour expression around her mouth. "It's okay – really, it is."

"Well, okay…" Doctora Lopez pursed her lips. "I am glad to see that he is in the picture – or back in the picture, as the case may be."

Marina nodded slowly. "I… think I am, too," she admitted, looking up at Francisco with an indecipherable expression, a slight curve to her lip.

Francisco let out a relieved breath before collecting Marina's bag, along with the sonogram printouts, and following her out of the examination room. As they left the clinic, Francisco looked up and down the street nervously. Marina quickly started walking north, toward the bus. Hurrying to catch up, Francisco started to place a hand on her arm, only to freeze when she jumped.

"Sorry," he apologized, his hand falling down to his side.

She sighed heavily and shook her head. "No; you're okay. I'm just…" She chuckled humorlessly. "Maybe I still don't 100% believe that you're really back, that you really want to be here for me and the baby."

Francisco swallowed. "I do – I promise you I do," he assured her earnestly. "I know this is my responsibility – it's not something you should have to deal with alone. I realize now how wrong it was of me to leave you the way I did. And I promise I will not just abandon you again…" He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. "Which is why I really wish I didn't have to leave for a couple of days."

Marina was silent for a long moment. Nervously, Francisco opened his eyes again to find her staring at him, the corners of her mouth turning down and her eyes a mix of hurt and anger. His shoulders slumped, and he looked down at the ground.

She scoffed. "And just when I was starting to hope…"

"Marina," he began, but she put her hand up to stop him.

"No, don't you 'Marina' me," she interrupted heatedly. "Not after last time. The last time you left, you were gone for three months, Francisco! But at least that time I had the certainty of knowing that you were gone, that you really were leaving me on my own. I could move on that time – or at least I could try to! But then you have the gall to come back and say that 'oh, things are different now', and you get my hopes up that you're actually going to do the right thing – for me and for our baby. And now you're going to leave again, so soon after letting me have some hope?" She turned her back on him and let out a heavy sigh. "Fine. Go. Do whatever. I don't care."

"No!" he retorted. "That's not what I'm doing! I don't want to leave angry again."

"I'm not angry," she told him, not looking. "I'm done."

Francisco's stomach clenched. "Please understand, Marina," he begged.

"I understand." She raised an eyebrow at him over her shoulder. "I understand that you came back, gave this a try, and just can't take it. I should have known you weren't actually serious about taking on this responsibility."

His eyes widened, and he put his hands up in protest. "I am serious!" he insisted. "I've meant every word I've said to you since I got back! I am taking this very seriously! I am here!"

"If you're just going to run away again, then I'm not going to believe you," she informed him steadily, turning back to face him and placing her hands on her hips. "You have to make up your mind, Francisco!"

"I have!" he assured her, starting to put his hands on her shoulders but stopping himself at the last moment as her eyes flashed with anger. "I have made my decision! You are my decision! This baby is my decision! I am not going to disappear on you again! That's why I knew when this happened that I would have to tell you! Because I didn't want you worrying, or thinking that I was ditching out on you again! This is not the same as last time! I'm not leaving you alone; I'm going away for a couple days. But I promise you, I will be back! I will not leave you to raise this child on your own!"

"Why?" she demanded, glaring at him with her eyes narrowed. "What's so important that you have to leave, only two weeks after you got back?"

His shoulders slumped. "It's – it's about my pilgrimage," he explained. She scoffed dismissively. "I'm serious! Something happened – something huge! I took on a completely new responsibility. But that forced me to reevaluate my priorities, to reevaluate my purpose in life, in light of this new responsibility. And that is what led me back here – what led me back to you. I realized that I couldn't just run after all these other purposes or destinies or missions; doing that, I was only running away from the most important responsibility. I realized I needed to accept the responsibility I had left back home. I needed to be here for you – for you and for the baby."

"You're telling me all of this, and in the same breath you're saying that you're leaving. Why should I believe anything you say?"

"I–" Francisco hesitated, and his voice faltered. He looked down at the sidewalk between them. Why should she believe him, after all the trouble he had put her through? Why should she accept him back into her life? Why shouldn't she just leave him behind and move on? For that matter, would it be better for her and the baby if he was gone – at least after how he had behaved?

If only she knew why he had to leave.

Finally, he made his decision.

Carefully, his stomach roiling with anxiety, Francisco glanced up and down the sidewalk, checking to make sure no one was paying them any attention. Although other pedestrians were out walking, none were close. He slid the scallop shell necklace out from beneath his shirt. "You see this? I found this on my pilgrimage," he explained.

She looked at it for a moment, shrugged, and looked back up at him dubiously. "So what? Tons of pilgrims come back from Compostela with a necklace like that."

He shook his head. "Not like this. This one is special." He took a deep breath. "This one is a miraculous."

"A… a what?"

"A miraculous," he explained, reaching into his pocket and pulling out Perry. The Kwami blinked, looking around nervously, as Francisco held him out toward Marina. Marina blinked in turn, staring at the Kwami nonplussed. "This is my Kwami – he is the being which powers the miraculous." Francisco sighed. "While I was on my pilgrimage, I became el Peregrino."

"As in the hero who's shown up around the city a couple of times over the last week or two?"

He nodded. "That's me. Before returning home, I was in Tarascon – I fought against that Tarasque-monster. But when it was all over, I knew I needed to come home. I thought I could just… stay here, go to work, study for the Selectividad, and do what I could for you and the baby – if you would let me back into your life. But I was listening to the news today, and they were talking about something… I don't know what it is, but it sounds like it could be big. And it's happening in Spain – not too far from us, even. I don't want to leave – really, I don't. But I can't just ignore it. I have to believe that I found this miraculous for a reason. So I need to go to Pamplona and see what I can do – maybe I can help. Maybe I can't, but I have to try. If there are people with superpowers involved, I have to stop this thing from getting out of control."

Marina stared at him for a long minute and blinked several times. "You're–you're being serious."

"Dead serious."

Her breathing hitched. "Don't say that."

He cocked his head. "What's wrong?"

She let out a breath and shook her head. Finally she laughed, almost deliriously. "You run away to get away from responsibility, and you come back with this…" She pursed her lips. "Fine. Sure. You're a superhero, and you're going off to save the world."

He grimaced. "Like I said, I will be back; I'm not making you go through this alone, not anymore."

She frowned. "I'm going to hold you to that," she told him. "You have to come back."

He nodded firmly. "Absolutely," he promised. "I'll call and let you know how I'm doing – I don't want to worry you again. I'm not going to lie to you or keep secrets, not anymore. That's why I knew I needed to tell you."

She sighed heavily, examined him for a long moment, and finally wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Francisco swallowed back his anxiety and allowed himself to relax, cautiously placing his hands on her back. She squeezed him back gently in response. "I'm not exactly happy that the father of my child is going off like this," she whispered. "But I'm glad to know that you are taking your responsibilities seriously. So… be safe. Come back to me. And to our child."

He swallowed and nodded, closing his eyes. "Our child."