A/N: I'm on a roll, folks! Just an updatin' fool! A big shout-out to all those people who have reviewed and commented! Y'all really make my day when you do that! Thanks again! Happy reading!
Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel and Scarlett.
Gabriel didn't wait for the host at Angelo's, he just flopped down at their usual table by the window. Irene laughed nervously and followed him. "Gabriel, it says to wait to be seated. What if someone's already sitting here?"
He snorted and pushed his curly hair out of his face. "Nobody ever sits here. It's Dad's table. We always sit here."
Before she could reply, a round, mafia type man with poor shaving habits and a sheen of glistening sweat on his forehead greeted them. "Gabriel! Did you run away from home?" the man asked in a husky, heavily accented tone.
"Not yet," he replied.
"But where is your father and mother? Your baby sister?"
"They're at home. I'm here with my…" Gabriel paused, gesturing toward Irene. "Friend?"
Irene smiled and took Angelo's hand, shaking it daintily. "I'm Gabriel's mother, Irene. If I could have a glass of whatever wine you have that's the best and he'll have—"
"He already knows what I like," Gabriel said, narrowing his eyes. His mother. Had she really introduced herself as his mother? He liked Irene and all, but she was not his mother. "We eat here all the time."
"Oh… well… then just bring him his usual." Irene smiled nervously and shifted in her chair. "This place is nice."
"We like it," Gabriel replied, drumming his fingers on the table. He was watching her carefully for the slightest nuance of reaction. His gaze was very much like his father's and rather unnerving, so Irene decided to fill up the silence with small talk.
"So, Gabriel… how is school?"
"Fine."
"And your grades?"
Gabriel raised an eyebrow, confused by this question. "Why do you ask?"
"Isn't that what mothers do? Ask about grades and school?"
"You aren't my mother," he said, taking a sip of the drink the waitress sat in front of him. "But they're fine, since you're asking."
Irene nodded, her smile disintegrating. "Look, Gabriel… I know I haven't been here much."
"You're never here," he shrugged. One look at her face told him that she was upset by what he'd said about her not being his mother. "I'm sorry if I made you sad when I said you weren't my mother. But you aren't. Molly is my mum. And you can't have two."
"Sure you can," she countered, her fingertips playing over the rim of her glass. Suddenly Gabriel came to the realization that Irene was just as nervous around him as he was around her. Just as he didn't understand how to be her son, Irene had no idea how to be his mother. She had no idea how to fit into his life at all, though it was obvious that she desperately wanted to. He leaned back in his chair and pushed his hair away from his face again. "Gabriel, your hair is inexplicable. It's much too long. Your father needs to have it cut."
"I like it like this," Gabriel mumbled.
Irene laughed. "No you don't. It's all in your eyes and wild."
"Yes I do," he said through clenched teeth. "It's like my dad's hair."
Irene sighed and decided to change the subject. She wasn't up to engaging the child in an argument. It was obvious that he was already agitated. "Look, Gabriel… I know that you don't know me at all. And I was thinking that… I'd like to change that."
"What do you mean?"
"Well… I've decided that I'm going to take a flat here in London. I think it's pretty safe to come back now."
Gabriel shifted in his seat, a wave of terror gripping him tightly. This was what he'd been afraid of all along. She was going to make him come live with her. "Why?"
"Why is it safe?"
He shook his head. "No, why are you moving back here?"
"Well… I thought it might be nice to be closer."
"How much closer?"
She hesitated, suddenly interested in the cars going by on the street outside. "Well… I don't know just yet. I've only just started looking. I thought maybe you'd like to help me look."
"Why?"
"Well, because Precious, I thought you might want to pick out someplace that you'd like too."
"I live at Baker Street."
"Well, of course you do, love. But if I lived closer, you could come visit. Perhaps sleep over. And you could have your own room and everything!"
"I don't want to live with you."
"Well you wouldn't be living with me, Gabriel, per se. You'd just come for a visit a couple of times a month. Maybe on weekends or maybe a night during the week. We could even look for a place close to your school. And there would be room for Katie to come and play and you could bring Cat with you, as well. Or even get your own pet for my house."
Just then, Angelo appeared, as if by some Divine Intervention, and brought a basket full of garlic toast with cheese. "Just out of the oven for you, Gabriel. Assuming you're being a good boy for your mother."
"She's not my mother!" Gabriel snapped.
"Gabriel!" Irene scolded. "That was very rude. You apologize to him this instant!"
"No!" Gabriel shouted, drawing the attention of the other patrons. "You're not my mother!" He could feel the tears collecting in his eyes and hear them in his voice. It only served to make him absolutely furious as he stood up, knocking his chair over. "Molly is my mum, not you! And I'm never living with you! Ever!" She reached out to touch his arm and he jerked away, storming through the door and running off down the street.
Irene rushed to her feet and ran after him. "Gabriel!" she shouted as she pushed past other patrons and sprinted out onto the sidewalk. But he was already gone.
OoOoOo
Scarlett was weepy and unhappy from the moment Gabriel left. She tried not to cry, as her father had told her that crying over Gabriel going to dinner for a couple of hours was silly and that she needed to dry up. But it didn't stop her from sitting in his lap sniffling while he tried desperately to work. It was very hard to analyze samples with a three year old grabbing at the slides, wanting to see inside the eyepiece of your microscope and using your pencils to enact terribly elaborate dramas in the lives of Mr. and Mrs. Number Two.
"Scarlett, don't you want to watch telly until Mum comes to put you in the bath?"
"No, thank you Daddy," she replied, holding his pencil up to his face for an extreme close-up. "Draw face."
He sighed, once more examining what his life had become. "Scarlett, you draw the face. Daddy is busy."
"Pease pay wiv me, Daddy," she said, shoving the pencil into his hand. "You be Mr. Numbo Two. Pease, Daddy?"
She looked up at him with such a sad face, that he couldn't help but be moved by it, his annoyance crumbling under the hazel eyed stare of his daughter. He picked up the pencil that Scarlett had very carefully drawn the face on the side of. "Hello, Lady Crayon," he said in an exaggerated French accent that made Scarlett giggle. "Would you like to go to the royal ball with me?"
"But Mista Numbo Two, you not dance! You not got no feets."
"Ah, but Mademoiselle! I do the most stunning pirouettes for you!" With a trick of his nimble fingers, he made the pencil spin on its point. Scarlett laughed as her father began babbling in French. The pencil spun and fell off of the desk. "Sacre Bleu!"
He was having so much fun playing with Scarlett that he didn't notice Molly standing in the hall, watching them with both hands over her mouth to keep the giggles silent. "Ahem…"
"Mummy!" Scarlett sang, sliding down from her father's lap and running to Molly. "Daddy play!"
"I can see that." She picked the toddler up and kissed her cheeks and ears. "Let's go take a bath quickly. Maybe once you're in bed, Daddy can play with Mummy," Molly said, throwing a flirtatious wink toward her husband.
"He a good Mista Numbo Two, Mummy."
"I'm sure he is, sugarfoot."
Sherlock smirked as their voices faded down the hallway, but before he could go back to his work, there was a terrible clatter at the door downstairs. It was so loud that as he reached the bottom, Mrs. Hudson had even rushed to the foyer, clutching her dressing gown around herself. "Who in the world could that be? It's nearly nine! You haven't had a client this late since Scarlett was born."
Sherlock shrugged, subconsciously pushing Mrs. Hudson behind him as he unlocked the door. He barely unclasped the chain when Irene rushed through in a panic. "Oh… Sherlock…" she panted, obviously out of breath. Sherlock peered around the door, looking for Gabriel. "You have to come quick. I've lost him…"
"What?"
"Gabriel! He's run off!"
