Reconnection

Ignacio tossed and turned alone on a single bed in the Tavern. Gushing Stream had barricaded the door against him, and he was concerned about her. She hadn't spoken to him all day, and she hadn't even come out of the room when she had heard Armand's deep voice. Maybe she was ill. He sat upright, and stared at the wall. Maybe she was ill. He swung himself off the bed, and got his shirt on. Sleeping shirtless for her comfort had become a habit, and he was doing it without thinking about it now.

Grabbing his jacket and struggling into his boots, he skipped quickly downstairs, and almost bumped into the silent dark form of Zorro. He stood in his way, and was absolutely silent for a moment.

"Get out of my way, Zorro," Ignacio said with a shove for emphasis. "If you want to be a big brother, get ready to fight. That's how it works."

Zorro shrugged, and put a boot on the stool to Ignacio's left.

Ignacio barged past him, and then turned. "As an only child, you really don't know it works, do you?"

"I've an idea," Zorro said softly.

"You are not half as frightening as you were. I know who you are now, and really Diego you're a joke," he responded. Those perfect white teeth appeared as the masked man grinned at him.

"Are you going to stand there shouting insults, or were you planning on going somewhere?" Zorro said softly. "I mean, I could challenge you but you seemed to be in a hurry a moment ago."

Ignacio felt like drawing his sword and lashing out at him, but then they would be there all night, and they both knew who the victor would be. It would be a complete waste of time, Ignacio realised with a surge of rage.

He kicked over a set of benches, and stormed out of the Tavern.

"You will need to sort that out, Ignacio," Zorro said after him, making his growl to himself with suppressed rage.

Zzzz

He paused at his office, and listened hard. He could hear the sound of a woman sobbing, and he moved slowly to his private room. He raised a hand, and knocked gently. He didn't want to try the door and find it locked, and he didn't want to try the door and just barge in on his wife.

"Gushing Stream," he said softly.

She was afraid, he realised. Don't make me afraid, she had said. Was she afraid of him? He had never raised his voice to her, not ever. He had never raised a hand to her, and he never would. She was afraid of him, because of the way he had treated Don Raphael. She was afraid because his anger would not cool enough to back down. She was afraid because she had not been able to reason with him. She was afraid because he had coolly calculated how to injure his opponent without hurting him too much – he had deliberately punished him callously and without mercy – he had wanted him to suffer and he had.

"Gushing Stream," he said again. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. I love you. Please forgive me," he murmured through the door. He leant his forehead on the door. "Please try to believe me."

There was a soft sound, and the door opened. Her arms reached up to him, and he embraced his beloved gently. His mouth was on hers and they kissed each other desperately, even as he lifted her into his arms, and carried her to the bed.

Lying her down on the bed, he felt a surge of passion run through him. He glanced down at his perfect wife, dressed in her nightgown. The bulge where his child rested inside her was more prominent than he had remembered, and he sighed. There were so many things he wanted to do, but he would have to wait. He could control himself. He restricted his kisses to her face, her neck and her ear lobes. His hands wandered a little over her clothed body, and she moved under his touch.

She shivered in his arms, and he wrapped blankets over them both. He gave her a chance to take a breath from the kissing, and she smiled at him. His lips had tasted the bitterness of tears damp on her cheeks, and her eyes were red from weeping. His finger traced down her face, and he knew that this was everything he ever wanted, all he needed in life. If she needed him to stop reacting with so much anger, he would have to control himself. He could control his passion for his wife, for the baby's sake. Surely he could do likewise with his anger, for his wife's sake. She was a treasure worth protecting. Now he just needed to learn how to protect her from himself.

"I love you, Ignacio. I am so sorry," she murmured, as she snuggled her head close to his chest. "This is a hard world we live in, and hard things happen. I know that better than anyone," she whispered. "I just want it to stop."

"I know, my princess, I know," he murmured, and kissed her again until she was breathless next to him.

Zzzz

Ignacio woke, thinking it had all been a dream, but as he rolled over and opened his eyes, he found himself gazing at his wife. He smiled, she was still asleep, her arm only just now dislodged from his bare chest as he had rolled. She was beautiful.

He rolled to his back, and stared at the ceiling. Armand's warning was serious, he realised. The dinner hadn't gone so well, not without his wife accompanying him to the Tavern. Their conversation had been forced and stilted. It wasn't an ultimatum. Not yet anyway. It was a friendly suggestion made by a brother. It was a wise move, Ignacio thought to himself. He would have to discuss it with Gushing Stream, and he had told the Colonel that over their dinner.

"You still have a job, Alcalde. Just move carefully. I came more as a brother than a superior officer," Armand had said as he left the pueblo the previous afternoon.

He sighed. It would be a completely different life with completely different priorities and goals. A life of peace and tranquillity, he reasoned, and glanced at his wife. She had seen far too much heartache and pain, known too much violence in her life. She deserved peace and tranquillity. His children deserved that as well.

His hand reached out to touch her bulging abdomen, cautiously. His son or daughter lay under the skin, so close. A tiny movement pushed at his hand, and he felt a connection with his child. Was that a little hand? A foot? Did his child know that he was there? He was trying his best, he was. He feared it wasn't good enough. Deep down, he knew he wasn't good enough. He didn't deserve a peaceful life. He had earned himself so much guilt and deserved a lot of pain. He lived expecting it sometimes.

He will spoil it all within a few hours, if not days. There were so many racist people out in the pueblo. He had been one of them, and he knew the words that would be used. He needed to get away from the pueblo, and he needed to shelter his wife.

Sighing, he wondered what would happen. Would they be happy? Would he spoil it all? She hated violence so much, that she hated him when he sunk to that level. How could he keep her love?