For thirty days and thirty nights, Salvador's life had been utter turmoil. For months before that he had tried to live his life as something he was not. He had pretended to be more fully fae and far less human than he was. He had avoided the other side of the coin, the other half of his genetic code, as passionately as one would avoid an incurable disease. He remembered loathing his human aspect. He loathed the man whose genes made up half of his own. He had avoided his father for far too long.

Winter was approaching. Biting cold winds whipped through the city streets and clawed at the flesh of his cheeks. Salvador Delahada had just left school. School itself was nothing more than a joke, but it had its perks. Earlier that day he had skipped out on lunch in the mess hall and partaken of a better meal entirely. He grinned wickedly at the memory of the day. He had even had the joy of locking one of the well known bullies in the boiler room, after tying him to a chair, gagging him, and propping him up directly next to the boiler vent. The idiot had passed out from heat exhaustion, and might have died. Salvador wouldn't have cared, but thankfully the janitor found him and toted him off to the infirmary before death had been an option. Sal knew it would have turned out like that. In fact, he had counted on it. It saved him on too much explanation and having to deal with any more drastic ramifications.

He stalked the streets reflecting on his day. A pleased but wicked smile was etched near permanently upon his lips. Though it was cold, though he absolutely detested the cold, he was completely oblivious to the feel of it for once. Later he might have thought on how odd that was. Chances were he wouldn't have felt the cold at all, but then he realized he had walked past a building he had not ventured near in quite some time. He had been wandering aimlessly, as he was wont to do, and he found himself slightly startled to have stumbled upon the house, his father's house.

In truth, it was Dan's house. Sheridan Driscol. Not many people knew the man by that name. Salvador knew his name. He knew it because his father knew it, because he had heard his father whisper it to the man affectionately. He had, at one point, been sickened by the sight of them together. But over the course of time he had become numb to the truth of their relationship. He had become apathetic, overall. Though he had also spent less and less time in his father's house. He spent more time in churches, at Sin's house, at the house Sin had given him, the secret house. Many months had passed, he realized, since he had last seen or spoken to his father. And there was the house now. Maybe fate had seen fit to bring him here. Maybe his subconscious mind had decided to remind him that this was part of him, this would always be part of him.

Driscol Manor, as Dan affectionately called it, was not much to look at from the outside. It was two, maybe three stories high, if one included the attic. On the outside it looked small, tall and shaped like a cartoon drawing of a house, with its pointed roof and large windows that eerily resembled eyes. The house seemed alive from the outside, and inside was no different. The exterior walls were gray, painted wood siding and darker gray shutters on the windows. The shingles on the roof were black. Even in the early afternoon the house looked dark and dreary. But inside it was different. Much different.

Salvador approached the short iron gate and reached through the bars to unlatch it with the ease of memory not forgotten. It was, as they say, like riding a bicycle. That easy. The front yard was small, encased in iron fencing. The gate itself needed its hinges oiled. It squealed in protest as he pushed it open and stepped onto the stone walk leading up to the front stoop. The grass and shrubbery was covered in frost. Snow had fallen earlier than it should have. Winter wasn't even here yet, but it would be. Soon. Too soon, but not soon enough.

He still had a key to the house, but his parents, as they were, only locked the door when they weren't home. Dris was almost always home. He worked from home. His father was a different matter entirely. Salvador didn't expect him to be home when he pushed open the door and stepped into the foyer. He was actually amazed to hear voices in the first front room to the right. They were familiar voices. One of them was his father. The other was Arienh, who could have been considered his stepsister if Carmine and Dris ever got married. Some people called Dris his stepfather. He hated that.

The voices stopped talking the moment the door clicked closed. They must have heard the door open and close. He heard them whispering, but he didn't try to hear what they were saying clearly. He could have done that. He could have easily listened in, through the walls as if they weren't there. But as soon as he knew that they knew someone else was in the house, he felt a sense of trepidation wash over him. He felt out of place. He didn't feel as if he belonged here. The house felt so foreign all of a sudden. Even the ticking of the grandfather clock to his lift was wrong. It was an oppressing and mocking sound.

Arienh's head popped around the door frame of the room she had been in. She blinked at him, and then her eyes widened in surprise. "Gods above an' below," she breathed. The girl wasn't much shorter than himself. They were fairly evenly matched in height, almost eye to eye. What surprised him the most was the fact that she hurried out of the lounge (that's what Dris called the room on the right), and threw her arms around him. Her hug was restricting to the point of smothering. He never knew Arienh was that strong! He almost lost his breath, choked on it, shocked that she of all people had deigned to hug him. Though it was a short-lived thing.

She instantly let go of him and her expression morphed from pleased to pissed off in all of three seconds. She slapped him across the face, hard. His head recoiled to the side. He certainly hadn't been expecting that! "An' jus' where the 'ell've ye been, ey? Do ye know 'ow worried yer papa's been?" Having met Dan's family, once upon a time, he should have been expecting that. All the women, he remembered, had tremendously mercurial moods. It was probably the Irish blood.

"Arienh?" That was a voice he could not forget, no matter how long it had been since last he'd heard it. Even a name as smooth and lyrical as that sounded like a rumbling purr coming from the man whose boots thumped heavily on the hardwood floor. "Who is it?" Carmine's voice was rich and deep. Some people had a habit of calling him a big old bear, and his voice certainly reflected the grumbling tone of an ursine waking from a long winter slumber. It was a voice anybody could fall in love with. Salvador hated it, but that was probably because it belonged to his father.

Carmine Enrique Molinero-Gonzalez was a bear of a man for certain. He was six feet and five inches tall. He weighed well over two hundred pounds, and all of that was pure muscle. He had piercing green eyes, the color of which his son could not see. But Salvador didn't need to see the color to know just how intense they were. He turned his head back just in time to see that steely gaze narrow and watch those formidably muscular arms fold tightly over a broad chest. The boy inclined his chin, and though he was much shorter than his father, stood himself tall and proud. "Padre," he said. That, in itself, could have been counted as a greeting. Their relationship, as far as they were both concerned, was a bit on the rocky side.

"Well?" Arienh was still waiting for an answer. She stood with her hands fisted on her hips and glared at her little brother. As far as she was concerned, despite how much they didn't see one another, Salvador was her little brother.

"Arienh," Carmine said. His tone was calm yet grumbling. It was stern yet kind. "Leave us." He did not need to say much at all. That was the maddening thing about Sal's genetics. Both of his parents were calm and stoic to a fault. They hardly spoke much at all, never spoke more than they needed to. Salvador had adopted both of their traits and combined them. Some might say he was more taciturn than either of them. Others would say he was less so. It depended on who one asked.

The girl gasped, affronted by the notion of being sent away. She obviously wanted an answer from the boy, and he had no intention of giving her one. Carmine looked at her, only looked at her. It was all he needed to do. She glowered at the bear of a man, her stepfather, for all of six seconds before she turned sharply on her heel and stomped up the stairs to her room. Clearly her Irish temper had taken hold of her senses. They both heard a squawk from the raven she called her familiar, and then a slamming door.

Father and son only stared at one another in silence for what seemed like hours. The grandfather clocked chimed the hour. It was five o'clock. The bell chimed five times before either of them spoke. The first to speak was Carmine. His expression softened, amazingly enough, and he stepped back from the door. He gestured into the room. "Come and sit," he said.

At first, Salvador considered defying that request. There was still a part deep inside of him that detested the man. But recently he discovered a part of him that realized quite the opposite. He couldn't hate his father. Just as he couldn't hate his mother. Despite how often he told himself he did, it just wasn't true. His shoulders sagged and he let out a breath that turned into a defeated sigh. He turned his eyes down to the floor and nodded before uprooting himself from the floor and stepping over the threshold into the lounge.

This room was decorated lavishly, as were all the rooms in Driscol Manor. There were plush sofas and chairs. There were bookshelves lining the walls, paintings, and decorative pieces of art. There was a rug centered under the furniture. There were mahogany end tables and a wooden chess board on a stand with marble pieces placed strategically. They must have been playing a game before he arrived, Arienh and his father. He had never played chess with his father, but he knew the man adored the game. Salvador stepped over to one of the chairs against the opposite wall, in front of that standing chess board, and settled into it slowly.

Carmine watched his son walk across the room. Bright green eyes had filled with moisture, not quite tears completely, but definitely a saddened expression. Something so very different than he had ever been known to display. The man reached to slide the door closed and set the latch. One thing was for certain. They weren't to be disturbed. Not even by his lover, Dris, the one person he loved more than life itself. The mercenary stepped across the room silently and settled onto the chair he had previously been occupying. Had his son known where to sit? Or had it merely been a random choice at the chess table?

Salvador was possessed of a keen intuition. He hadn't been fully aware of who should be sitting where, but the seat he had chosen seemed to be the best choice. He slouched in the chair and watched his father settle in the one across from him. He looked and felt dejected, depressed perhaps. He stretched out one leg away from the wall and tilted against the armrest, against the wall. Silence lingered between them. He wasn't sure precisely where to begin, but talking to his father was definitely on the agenda. Though he certainly hadn't planned on it today. Not at all. In fact, he hadn't ever planned on it. There never seemed to be a chance, never an opportunity. But here fate had lead him home, and the opportunity was present. Now that he had it, he didn't know what to do with it. Here he was again. A lost and frightened child looking for comfort where he didn't expect to find any at all. Just like his mother. He didn't think his father was any different.

"How are you?" Carmine broke the silence. It was such a simple question, but it was so full of meaning. The boy turned up his eyes and narrowed them, peered at his father suspiciously. The difference between his father and his mother was that the man's words didn't carry any audibly hidden meaning behind them, but it was there. Salvador could practically hear them, feel them. His father knew what had happened.

"I'm fine," he said, at first. He turned his eyes down to examine the chess board. It wasn't a game he was accustomed to, but somehow it was familiar. He simply knew the game, as if it too had been imprinted into his genetic code, from his father to him. Maybe that wasn't too far-fetched, considering...

"Bueno," his father said. "Tu madre nos dijo qué sucedió." Spanish. In some ways it was comforting to hear that language, and in other ways it wasn't.

Salvador's lips twisted into something of an indecisive scowl. He reached out and plucked up a pawn from the chess board, turned it absently between his fingers. "I'm fine with English," he said. "In fact, I'd prefer it." He didn't specify as to why.

His father only nodded. Carmine likely suspected that his son preferred English over Spanish to help enhance his study of it in school. "Very well," he said. So succinct. He didn't ask why, either. He only made his assumptions, and they were both comfortable with that. Conversation between them wasn't easy. They were two men determined not to talk much at all, but they both knew that talking was necessary. There was so much lost time between them that needed made up. "It is good to see you."

It amazed him how much easier it was for him to speak English than his father. The language was more fluid from himself, but from his father it was choppy. Carmine had never completely adjusted to the language. His accent was thicker and more pronounced than Sal's. The boy smiled. He felt the expression creep upon the corner of his lips and stalled it before it could form too fully. "It's good to be seen," he said.

You are a frightened child looking for comfort where you will find none. His mother's words echoed as a memory. In this case, he knew they were not true, but those few words mocked him. Here he was a frightened child. Was he? Whether he was or not, he had a sense that here he would find comfort, where he wouldn't find it with her. "We were worried," his father said. That, in itself, was soothing to hear. He had imagined that nobody had worried about him at all, but he had been wrong about that. Over the past few days he was learning just how much people had worried about him. With everyone else, it annoyed him. Hearing it from his father was a relief.

"I didn't think you even knew," Salvador said. He set the pawn back down on the chess board, back on the square he had removed it from. He wasn't often a fidgety sort, but he was still a little uncomfortable being in his father's presence. There was just something about the man that made him uneasy. Perhaps it had been the start of their relationship. In the beginning, they had always been at odds, a mental war against one another. But that had been before Carmine had been given his memories back, before either of them had been aware of the truth.

"I had a dream." That caught his attention. Hearing his father say something like that was a little stunning. He turned his eyes up sharply to look at the man. Carmine had leaned his elbows onto the edge of the chess table and laced his fingers together. He rested his chin on the backs of his twined fingers and looked at his son intently. "In my dream, you came to kill me. You had the look of an animal, and you killed me."

Salvador's eyes widened slightly. That was even more startling than hearing his father mention a dream to begin with. He felt his brows knit. His father had explained that in as few words possible, and his tone had been so empty. He was at a loss for words himself, which was odd. Normally something like that would excite him and press his curiosity into asking more. Instead he remained silent, his eyes turned to look away, to the side, at anything at all other than his father.

"This is the first dream I had like that, Salvador," his father continued. "I knew when I woke up that it was not a normal dream. I heard chimes."

His attention cut back to look at his father again, and he blinked. A scowl settled on his lips. "What did they sound like?" He had his suspicions, but he wanted to make sure. He didn't think a dream like that had come from any of the decent spirits.

"Wooden chimes."

A muscle in his jaw ticked. He knew precisely which spirit was responsible in that instant, but all he could think to do was continue to scowl. How much did his father know about the fae? He suspected it wouldn't do any good to rant about it to him, of all people. Carmine probably didn't know about Kymeera. Oh, God. He hoped his father didn't know anything about Kymeera.

"I knew then that it was not a normal dream. One of them sent me the dream. You would not kill me." Though green eyes were filled with a sense of doubt when he said that. He watched a saddened expression cross over his son's face. Salvador tugged a rook off the chess board and rolled it around in his palm, out of sight, his hand rested on his leg. He didn't look at his father then. "I knew something was wrong then, so I called for your mother."

"And she told you," he said. Would he kill his father? No. He couldn't see himself doing so. There was no reason to kill his father. The man was innocent, good. He didn't deserve the violent justice his stained hands delivered. But then, only a few short days ago, only a week, he would have. He knew he would have killed his father. Simply if the man had been in his way. Simply if he had seen the man. He would have killed him, for the sheer pleasure of doing so.

Carmine nodded solemnly. "She told us ... everything that happened. Dani told me that you had asked him not to tell me where you had gone. I was ... angry. Hurt."

"Lo siento, papá." Salvador interrupted him. He only had those few words to say. He closed his eyes and sighed. Inside he still felt so terribly guilty. He shouldn't have asked Dan to keep it a secret. He should have told his father where he was going. There was so much he should have done. There was so much lost time between them. How had their relationship become so distant, so nearly nonexistent?

Those few words stunned the mercenary. He had never heard his son sound so ... emotional. He was certain there was a sadness in the boy's voice. He was compelled then to reach across the chess table and settle a hand on the boy's shoulder. "No hay nada ser apesadumbrado alrededor, hijo."

The rook slipped out of his fingers and tumbled to the floor. He fought to keep emotion bottled up. It had been so easy, once upon a time, to keep his emotions in check. Those barriers had broken, crumbled away, since waking from his madness. With some people he was still capable of keeping those walls strong, but around others... You feel ashamed of yourself. She was not there. His mother was not there. But he could still hear her words, words from months ago. When had they last spoken? Aside from when he asked her to gather his brother and sister, before they left for the hunt, they had not spoken in quite some time.

He struggled to keep everything contained. His face showed the effort. He held his breath for quite some time and finally gasped for air, choked on it. Carmine was not empathic, not like his lover, but he was aware. The man pulled back his hand and stood from his chair. He stepped around to kneel beside his son and reached with hesitation to place his hand on the boy's shoulder again. He wanted only to hold his son, but would that be appropriate? Did Salvador even want to be held?

Salvador even questioned himself on the entire matter. So many people had said to him how he looked like he needed hugged. He didn't like to think of himself as weak enough to need a hug to make everything feel better. Could something so simple and ridiculous make all the pain go away? Emotional pain. He hated it. He'd never felt it before. He'd never felt so broken inside. And there was no resisting the desire to just tip aside and into his father's arms.

Carmine was a little surprised, and it was evident in the tensing of muscles when his son pressed his side against his chest. Hesitantly, as a delayed reaction perhaps, he wrapped his arms around the boy loosely and just held him. What was more surprising than this extremely rare occurrence of physical between them was the feel of tears landing against shoulder, through shirt fabric.

The tears spilled freely, silently. He shook in his father's hold, but the only sound he made was the staggered breathing of near silent sobbing. Carmine smoothed his palm against the back of the boy's head, smoothed his hair and gathered him more tightly into his arms. "Please forgive me, papá. I never should've hated you."

"Hated me?" Carmine was stunned to hear those words. He hadn't known his son had hated him. Or perhaps he did. There had always been that agonizing suspicion that the boy had despised him. "No, hijo. I should be the one asking for forgiveness. I have not been here for you."

They shared a mutual guilt. A guilt that had Carmine holding his son even tighter in his arms, gathering him off the chair and letting the boy practically sit on him instead. Salvador did slide off the chair. He pressed his knees to the floor and pressed his face against his father's shoulder. He could have suffocated, considering the man held his head against him like that. He could have suffocated, and he would have died without an ounce of remorse then. Not entirely happy, no, but subdued. He hated himself for letting their relationship become what it had been. If only he hadn't been so defiant. "I hate myself," he whispered.

Carmine was startled to hear those words as well. It was evident in the twitch of the man's muscular frame, the body that the boy leaned against so desperately. Never had they shared a moment like this. Never had his son been like this in his presence. And though he had raised an emotional child before, helped Dani raise his daughter Arienh, he found himself entirely at a loss of what to do and what to say. Salvador was too proud and too defiant to behave this way. What had happened? Had his madness changed the boy so drastically? "There now," he said, soothingly, massaging the nape of the boy's neck absently, an attempt to comfort him. "How can you hate yourself? You are my son, a proud young man. Strong and handsome and..." What else could he say?

"That's just it," Salvador admitted. "That's why I hate myself. All of it." He pushed away from his father, pushed out of the bigger man's hold, and slid back onto the chair. He had been so weak just then, weak and foolish. But most of that was true. Those were some of the reasons why he hated himself, why he had convinced himself that he did indeed hate himself. And there were the tears, staining his cheeks. He wiped them away hastily, angrily. How could he have cried?

His father remained kneeling for a few minutes longer. Finally, he pushed up from the floor and slipped back onto his own chair across from the boy. Their moment of affection between each other had ended as abruptly as it had happened. He started resetting the pieces on the chess board to their starting positions. "Would you like to talk about it?" He sounded uncertain. After all, when had Salvador and his father ever simply talked with one another about anything important?

Salvador sighed. He found the rook he had dropped with the toe of his boot and rolled it back to the side of the chair so he could lean to pick it up. He set it on the starting square to the right side of the board. His mind churned with hundreds of questions, just as it had when he had met his mother for the first time. Where to start? There is no beginning but the beginning. He had written those words himself. "Papá," he began. It was odd enough that he called his father that instead of the more formal term. It was enough to capture Carmine's attention immediately. Yellow-green eyes looked into green eyes, the color of which Salvador was incapable of seeing. "Am I a disappointment?"

The mercenary's face softened. Shock and sorrow blended into his expression. It was strange enough that Carmine even displayed an expression. The man was always so taciturn, so stoic, so stern. But here he was, revealing emotion on his face and wearing it openly. "No, hijo. Why would you be?"

"Madre told me you wanted a baby."

All the pieces were set into place. Carmine had placed the white on his son's side of the board, giving him the liberty to begin the game should he choose to indulge. He sat back on his chair and rubbed at his chin. "I did," he confessed. "But that does not make you a disappointment."

Salvador did decide to play a game. Why not? It would keep his hands occupied. He moved the king's pawn up just one square. "She said she thought I would be, because I wasn't a baby."

His father was very good at chess. He mirrored his son's move on his own side of the board. "Even the fae do not know everything," he said.

Carmine was more practiced at the game than his son was. Salvador had never played the game at all. Though it was amazing how some things passed on from parent to child. The boy smiled. He actually smiled. He moved his queen's knight to the queen's rook square three. "Verdad," he said. It was good to hear those words from his father.

His father took the knight with his king's bishop. "One thing I know about life, Salvador. We do not always get what we want."

The boy hadn't expected that bold move from his father. But then, he hadn't expected to even be playing the game. His lips twisted into a partial scowl, and he took the bishop with his knight's pawn. "No," he said. "I guess not." Carmine moved his queen's pawn up a square. Bold for bold, Salvador considered. He moved his king's bishop up to the queen's bishop five square. "Check."

Carmine only smiled a knowing sort of smile and moved his queen's bishop's pawn up just one square. "Is that why you have been so distant from me?" Salvador played defensive and moved his bishop back to the king's rook's four square. Carmine moved his king's knight directly in front of the king.

"Maybe," the boy said. "I don't know." He moved his queen out to the king's bishop's third square, and his father castled his king. Then the boy moved the king's knight in front of his own king to mirror his father's previous move.

The mercenary moved his queen's knight out in front of the queen. "I know I have not been around often enough for you, hijo. I have been very busy." Salvador castled his king then, and his father moved his king over to the king's rook square.

Did that bother him? Did the fact that his father hadn't been around often enough actually bother him? Was that what had made them distant? Salvador was uncertain, but some small part of him was ready to accept that as part of the blame. But there was another part that denied it. "No," he said. Bishop to queen's knight two. Knight to king's knight square six. "It's nothing. You've been busy. I understand."

"Do you?" Carmine asked. Queen's bishop's pawn up two squares. Queen's knight to king's square five. "People have to work, Salvador. To make money. Unlike your mother, we need money to survive."

"I understand that." Queen to king's square four. Carmine took the pawn by moving his queen's knight to the queen's bishop's square four. Salvador took the knight with his queen. "I need to eat too, you know."

Carmine moved his queen's bishop up to the square in front of the queen. The man smirked, amused by his son's statement. He must have gotten his cold sense of humor from him. That was a relief, at least. "What else is bothering you?"

"So much," he confessed, moving his king's bishop to the square above the queen's bishop. His father moved his king's bishop's pawn up a square, and Salvador moved his king's pawn up to angle it. Carmine took the pawn with his own. "You haven't been around. I haven't been around. I'm surprised to find you home."

Salvador took the pawn with his queen, and Carmine moved his queen's rook to the queen's bishop's starting square. "I took a vacation," he said. The boy moved his king's bishop's pawn up a square, and his father moved his queen out to the queen's knight's square six. "Check."

Shit. Inwardly, he cursed himself. That had been a stupid move. Now how to get out of it? "A vacation? Why?" He pondered on his next move for a while. There had to be a good way to get out of the check without putting any of his other pieces in danger. But danger was a factor of life. Why not take a risk? He always takes risks. He moved his queen down to the king's third square to see if his father would take the bait, and Carmine did take the queen with his own.

"Check," he said again. "And I took a vacation because I knew you were not feeling well. I had hoped to see you."

Salvador frowned and took the queen with his queen's pawn. "I'm glad you didn't." Carmine moved his knight to the king's rook's fourth square. What was the point of that? Uncertain, curious, he decided to move his queen's bishop out to the queen's knight's second square and see what happened next.

Carmine moved his queen's rook to the king's staring square. "Why is that?"

His father was setting up for something, but Salvador couldn't see that far ahead in the game. All he knew is the king was in the uppermost right-hand corner, and he needed to get his pieces there to put him in a checkmate. His brows furrowed in concentration, but he was perfectly capable of multitasking conversation and the game. "I'm glad you didn't have to see me like that," he said, lying. What he couldn't tell his father is how he likely would have tried killing him if he had come to visit. Maybe worse. He moved his knight to the king's knight's third square.

"I see," Carmine said. He moved his rook closer to the king, placing it on the king's knight's square. Salvador moved his pawn up to the king's bishop's fifth square, and Carmine took it with his king's pawn. "I do not expect you to tell me about it, hijo. I do not think I can even imagine what it was like for you, but I do know I wanted to be here for you when you were well again. Even if I could not see you."

The boy lifted his eyes away from watching the board for only a moment. He looked at his father with an expression he wasn't aware he had formed. There was a sadness in his eyes. How could he ever have hated this man? "Did you even try?"

"No," the mercenary said. For a moment, since Salvador had paused, he looked up as well. "Your mother told us both it would be dangerous. There were days I thought about coming to see you. Dani kept me from thinking about it." There Carmine went silent cut himself off.

Of course, Salvador thought. Not a subject either of them were entirely comfortable discussing between each other. He turned his eyes back down to look at the chess board again. Instead of taking the pawn, he moved the rook up to the king's bishop's fourth square. Carmine moved his knight back to the king's knight's sixth square. "It was dangerous," he confessed. "I think I would have killed you." No. He more than thought he would. He was certain of it. He moved his rook over to the queen's rook's fourth square.

Carmine took the open pawn on the king's third square with his rook. "I do not doubt it," he said.

Salvador inwardly cursed. Why was he playing so damned defensively? He moved his king out to the king's bishop's second square. Carmine moved his king's rook out to the king's starting square on his side of the board. What now? Fuck it. He took the queen's rook's pawn with his rook. His father moved his knight to the king's bishop's fourth square. The boy took the next pawn to the right with his rook. Carmine moved his bishop back to it's starting square as a threat.

Hah! I've got you now, old man, Salvador thought. He moved his rook to take the king's knight's pawn. "What else is bothering you?" Carmine asked, right as he moved his bishop out to the queen's rook's sixth square. Salvador took the pawn with his bishop on the king's bishop's fifth square. Carmine moved his king's rook's pawn up to the sixth square.

"Is it that obvious? Check," he said while placing his rook on the king's rook's seventh square. As expected, the only move available, Carmine moved his king over to the king's knight's eight square. Now he had to be crafty. He had to think.

"There must be something bothering you," his father said. "Why else would you be here?" Salvador moved his knight down to the king's bishop's first square. Carmine moved his rook down to the king's second square. "Check."

He couldn't just take the rook. Damnit. There was that damned bishop up there preventing him from doing so. "I don't know why I'm here," he said. "Maybe I just missed you?" That sounded so stupid, so childish. He decided to move his king up to the king's bishop's third square to threaten the knight. Of course, Carmine took the king's knight's pawn with his own knight. Now what? He moved his queen's rook over to queen's starting square.

Carmine took the bishop on the queen's knight's second square with his rook, and the boy hissed. Why hadn't he seen that threat? "When have you ever missed me, Salvador?" His father was so calm about asking that, though there was the barest curve of a smirk on the mercenary's lips.

Fine. Salvador took the queen's pawn on the sixth square with his rook. Carmine took his knight with the bishop on the king's bishop's first square. He took the pawn on the queen's bishop's sixth square then, and his father took the pawn on the queen's rook's second square. "Good point," he said, frowning. He moved his rook, foolishly, to the queen's rook's sixth square. Naturally, Carmine took the rook with his bishop. The boy hissed more audibly in irritation. He took the king's rook's pawn with his rook on the sixth square.

With a quiet ease, Carmine moved his knight to the king's first square. "Check." Salvador moved his king over to king's knight's third square. There was only silence while Carmine moved the rook up to take the pawn on the queen's rook's third square, then, "Check." Again.

I've lost this one, the boy thought. He scratched behind his left ear and sighed. There weren't very many options open to him here. He moved the king down to the king's bishop's second square in hopes of getting the knight, but again he didn't see the other rook. Risk. This game was full of risks. Carmine moved that rook down from the top of the board to the king's second square. "Check," the mercenary said, again. Three times in a row now. There was no way out. The bishop was protecting the rook. He couldn't just take it. The only option left to him was to move the king down into the king's bishop's first square. Then Carmine moved the other rook over to the king's bishop's third square. "Check."

"I'm getting really sick of hearing you say that," Salvador grumbled, trying to make a joke of it. He sighed again and moved the king over to the king's knight's first square.

Carmine chuckled and moved his rook over to the king's knight's second square. "I won't say it this time then." But obviously he had put the boy in check. Salvador shook his head and nudged his king over to the only space left available. All it took was for Carmine to move that last rook down into the king's bishop's first square, which he did. "Check mate," he said.

Again the boy sighed. He tipped back on his chair and slouched in defeat. "I've never been good at this game." Though there had been something therapeutic about doing so. It was a calming distraction from the world at large. Despite the fact that he'd never admit it, he did enjoy playing chess with his father.

The mercenary chuckled again. "Don't be foolish." Amazing to hear the man use a contraction, but he was adjusting again to the overabundance of English speakers in Rhy'din. "You are better than you give yourself credit for. I beat Dani in four moves every single time."

"Four moves?" Salvador arched a brow when he looked at his father. Then he looked down at the mostly barren chess board and tried to imagine winning a game in four moves.

"It is easy," Carmine said. "Shall I show you?"

Salvador considered the offer with furrowed brows, then he shook his head. "Some other time." That statement left the door always open. It meant he intended on coming back to visit again. Truth be told, he intended on visiting as often as possible. He had spent too much time avoiding his father, this family, this part of himself.

His father only nodded. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"I'd like that," the boy replied. A soft and actually genuine smile settled on his lips. Yes, indeed. He would like to stay for dinner. It had been too long.

"Bueno," Carmine replied. He too was pleased. They sat in silence for the count of an entire minute, both looking at the chess board. Then the mercenary looked at his son directly and returned to a more solemn demeanor. "I do not expect you to stay the night, hijo. You are a grown boy, a man even. It is not easy for me to accept that, but you are old enough now to be on your own."

"You wish I was still a boy." Salvador suspected that, even though previously his father had denied it. "I wish I was still a boy. Things would be easier if I was."

Carmine nodded in agreement. It was all he could do, agree. "Life is never easy, Salvador. I am sorry you had to learn that as quickly as you have."

"There's nothing you could have done about it, papá." It was easier to say that now. It was easier to call him that instead of the more formal term. Salvador was learning that after saying a thing he kept himself from saying, it was always easier to continue saying it. Then again, he was learning so much, perhaps too much, in so short a span of time.

"I know," Carmine said. "It is not easy for me to accept that either."

Salvador chuckled and relaxed more in the chair. He sat slouching, almost to the point of melting out of the seat and onto the floor. He tipped back his head and propped it against the back of the chair with an amused grin. "I did get my wish, though," he said.

"What wish is that?" Carmine's brows knitted. He was puzzled.

"I'm getting to know my father."

They both smiled, and they both chuckled.