Epilogue: Mistakes were made

[moonshadows]

 

"Argh! Why does your military not have your DNA on file?" I ask Reaper accusingly.

He looks up from the beef femur he's gnawing on. "Is there a reason they should?"

"Yeah. So I can find yours and use it to program your swarm right."

Jack looks up from the pad he's working on. "Too specific a reason. Figure out what they would use it for, and you should be able to figure out who has it."

I give him a skeptical look. "Your government only keeps DNA records for specific purposes?"

His eyebrows draw together as he frowns. "Your government keeps DNA records without specific purposes?"

"Well...yes, every legal citizen's DNA is on file. Your government with all its bullshit redundant bureaucracy and absurd privacy rules doesn't do that?"

"That's a little extreme," Jack says warily. "Even for us. Gabriel, didn't they turn you back at the Mexican border that one time? Something about your fingerprints?"

Papi just growls and attacks his bone as if it personally denied him entry.

"I thought so," Jack says calmly, like that's a completely normal reaction. Which, for Reaper, it kind of is. "I thought it was just fingerprints, but if your government keeps DNA on file, maybe they have his."

I roll my eyes. "Please, you think I never looked for Papi Gabriel's DNA to see if it matched mine? If the Mexican government had it, so would I." It takes two beats before I realize- "Wait. They had Papi's fingerprints on file? Turned him back at the border?"

When Jack nods, I open a few screens and close others. Fingerprints mean a hash value for his DNA, and that can't be determined without having a DNA record to hash, and if the US government doesn't just do that, then that means...

There, the Los Angeles hospital system. I've been here before, but the DNA records are kept separate in Mexico's systems. I assumed they were just kept off-site, but if they're not actually there...there was a smaller directory...YES!

I flop back in relief and satisfaction as the file opens, displaying the DNA sequence for Gabriel Reyes in full, glorious detail, strand by strand.

"Got it," I breathe.

Jack frowns. "Gabe, why is your DNA on file?"

Papi just growls, gnawing furiously on the beef bone.

"Undocumented mother," I explain to Uncle Jack. "Mexican government plays hardball with people it considers traitors. A woman leaves, she choses the USA for her baby, fine, they chose their country, they not welcome anymore. And to make sure of that..."

"Fingerprints and DNA," Jack says slowly. "That explains a lot. But now that you have it..."

"If Papi ever decides to become Gabriel Reyes again," I say, tucking the precious information away, "I can make that happen."

===

"Cold breakfast this morning, Papi," I tell Reaper as he wanders into the kitchen in his normal configuration. "Quiet-sis and I are commandeering the kitchen to make lunch for Angela, who will be stopping by around lunchtime to check on her former patient."

Reaper starts wisping from the upper back.

"I know, you don't want to see her. You still angry about what happened. You can't just avoid her forever, Papi." I gesture sternly at him with a wooden spoon. "She didn't do it to you on purpose. And she helped me a lot, taught me what I needed to help straighten your swarm out after you made it worse."

The wisps turn guilty. "I'm not thanking her," he growls.

"You don't have to," I reassure him. "She not even coming over to poke at you. You just gotta tolerate her while she pokes at Widow, and you get grilled lamb and potatoes out of it."

"Fine," he says sullenly.

He stalks out of the kitchen, and I can hear him banging on Uncle Jack’s door until the occupant shouts, “What?”

“Get out of bed, old man. Sombra and Widow are cooking so we’re on our own for breakfast and you’re taking me into town to get it.”

A minute later, Jack peers into the kitchen. “Hey, Sombra, I’m taking Reaper out for breakfast. I know you probably heard, but…”

Widow and I both grin at him. “Go for it, Uncle Jack. He has a tab at that café we took Jesse to, remember.”

“Trust me,” Jack says dryly, “he remembers.”

=

Everyone's loitering in the living room as lunchtime approaches, and my announcement that the gate has admitted Angela makes everyone loiter alertly because the lamb and potatoes are smelling amazing. The instant Angela steps into the living room, she stops and raises her head, sniffing.

"Ana! What smells so good?"

Tia Ana smiles. "You would have to ask Sombra and Widow; I have had no part in this."

Widow leaves the kitchen with a serving dish in her hands. "Lunch is ready," she announces in her soft voice before taking the dish into the dining room.

I hug Angela. "Widow and I have been working all day, preparing this meal for you. She has been looking forward to serving it."

"Then I look forward to tasting it," Angela says warmly. "It smells delicious. Can I help in any way?"

Widow emerges from the dining room and pauses on her way back into the kitchen. "You are a guest," she says quietly but firmly, with a hint of disapproval.

Angela laughs. "I will take that as a no, then, and bow to the will of the hostesses."

I follow Widow into the kitchen and grab the last serving dish, then follow her back out and gesture for everyone to join us in the dining room. "Table's already set anyway, nothing left to do. Just pick a seat. We need to get together this week," I say as I set the serving dish on the table. "Got a project for you."

Angela pauses midway around the table and looks at me. "What kind of project?"

"I found Papi's DNA," I tell her with a little too much smug pride to be truly nonchalant.

She beams at me. "That is wonderful! I look forward to working with you on that, Schattenkind! Are you excited, Gabriel? Finally, I will be able to correct the issues that have plagued you since the explosion, and restore you to your true body!"

"And give you the chance to fuck me up a second time?" Reaper spits derisively from my side of the table. "That'll be a cold day in hell."

In the beat following those words, I can see Ana's expression start to shift to being pissed while Angela looks like she's going to cry in the next few seconds. Considering how much she agonized over not being able to help past helping me, I don't blame either one of them, but this could get messy in a very bad way if either of them say anything. Omnic processing speed means I'm the first to act.

"Gabriel-"

I say it slowly, ominously, each syllable enunciated, the first beats in a rhythm he probably hasn't heard in over 30 years, but he remembers it none the less and he knows he is in Deep Shit because he's already dissolving into smoke.

"-Jose-"

The river of black smoke flows out of the dining room. I turn to follow.

"-Hernando-"

He's heading down the hall, past my bedroom door.

"-Reyes!"

I take a deep breath and follow him.

"DON'T YOU RUN AWAY FROM ME! THAT'S RIGHT,"  I yell as the tail end of his smoke slips into the living room can, "YOU BETTER HIDE! THAT WAS UNACCEPTABLE! YOU GET OUT HERE AND APOLOGIZE TO ANGELA!"

He does not. He is a black curdle in the bottom of the can. I pick it up and take it to the middle of the room before flipping it upside-down. By now we have an audience, everyone clustered on the kitchen side of the room. Angela looks like the only reason she's not crying is that she's too surprised, Jesse looks like he's torn between being pissed and laughing. Ana and Jack are sternly disapproving, and even Widow is frowning. The black smoke pours sluggishly from the can, boiling and trying its hardest to flow back up into the can. I shake harder; Reaper tries harder to not get poured out. Jesse's smiling openly, and Jack's starting to look amused.

"Get out here! Don't make me get a vacuum! You know I'll do it!"

He doesn't get out.

/Solen, where is the nearest vacuum?/

/I keep one in each of the broom closets just outside each wing,/ the housekeeper replies.

"Last chance," I warn Reaper. He stubbornly tries to cling to the can. "Uncle Jack," I say in a voice that's hard and heavy and sharp like a meat cleaver, "get the vacuum."

"Uh, where..."

"Broom closet in the hall."

Jack edges past me still trying to convince a cloud of smoke to exit his canister and leaves the living room briefly before coming back with a sturdy vacuum cleaner.

"Hold this," I tell him, handing him the can.

He looks distinctly startled and moderately uncomfortable as I start the vacuum and Reaper redoubles his efforts to get into the upside-down container. It's all in vain as I methodically suck him into the containment bag...which, when I open the case of the vacuum, is writhing in an alarming manner.

"You break this vacuum," I warn Reaper, "I will make you go to the store as yourself and buy a new one!"

The bag goes quiet. Ana looks grimly pleased, Jack still looks uncomfortable, Jesse's still a smug little fuck, Widow isn't sure what the hell is going on, and Angela looks torn between wanting to rescue Reaper from me, and being grateful that I'm taking her side against him. I push the vacuum cleaner under the coffee table and open the containment bag, turning it completely inside-out. A pile of dust and black smoke curdles on the floor.

"Stand up," I snap. The smoke curdles tighter. "If I gotta do it for you," I warn him, "it will hurt."

Reluctantly, wisping heavily from the back of his head and legs, Reaper stands up into his usual configuration.

"Now apologize to Angela."

"Sorry," he mutters, giving it two beats before adding a resentful, "I guess."

"Not good enough," I snap, hands on my hips. The wisping gets worse. "Repeat after me: Angela, I'm sorry."

Reaper hesitates, wisping like crazy from the shoulders, before a handful starts bleeding from his chest. "Angela, I'm sorry," he says. It's a bit wooden, but if he were in the dog shape he'd be whining with his tail between his legs, licking my hand in apology.

A handful of words at a time, I lead him through a full apology: Angela, I'm sorry. I know you want to help and what I said was inexcusably rude and hurtful. This apology is sincere, even though I'm only saying it because Sombra is making me.

Angela is visibly touched by the display, although whether it's because I've made Reaper apologize or because I've made Reaper apologize, I couldn't say. She takes a few hesitant steps forward before hugging her extremely unhappy old friend. "I forgive you, Gabriel," she says quietly before letting him go and retreating to Ana's side.

"Good, Papi. Now go back in the can."

Jack hastily sets the can on the floor as Reaper dissolves and dives into it. I close the lid and give him a hit of endorphins before picking it up.

"Save Papi some lunch," I tell Widow. "Angela, sorry we can't stay. I'm gonna go turn Reaper into a dog and cuddle him for a few hours. I'll be in touch. No one come look for us, okay?"

Angela shakes her head. "Schattenkind, I do not understand. You force him out of the can and then order him back in, yell at him and then offer him comfort?"

"Right now," I say dryly, "he busy convincing himself that he fucked up so badly that everyone gonna hate him forever, including me. Gonna take me a while to convince him that is not the case. He heard for years that everyone hated him, and he still un-learning that lie and re-learning that he can make a mistake without it being the end of the world."

Jack hugs me. "When he's ready to talk," he says quietly, "I'll be there for him. Wake me if you have to."

"You got it, Uncle Jack."

Ana and Jesse take turns hugging me, and then I leave for the furthest corner of the third-floor west wing suite.

=

In the darkened bedroom physically furthest from anyone else in the safehouse, I open the can and dump Papi onto the bed. He solidifies into a dog immediately, already curled into a tight ball and trembling. I sit by the bed and hug as much of him as I can get my arms around.

"It's okay, Papi, no one hates you. You did a bad thing but you apologized. I still love you. I'm not angry."

It takes several minutes of reassurance before Reaper uncurls enough to bury his nose in my hair and whimper.

"No one hates you, Papi. You did a bad thing and made them angry, you hurt Angela when she only wanted to help you, but you apologized and she forgave you. I still love you. I'm not angry. No one hates you. You know I don't bullshit you."

It's another few minutes before he sighs, "I fucked up."

"You did, but you apologized and Angela forgave you."

Reaper whines and pulls his head back to give me a sad, pleading look. He wants me to join him on the bed, he wants to be hugged, but he doesn't think he deserves it so he can't bring himself to ask for it. I climb up on the bed and lay down next to him, hugging as best I can by curling around his body.

"You're sure they don't hate me," he asks skeptically after the better part of an hour.

"I promise, Papi." I hug his neck as he tries to hide his head between my head and my shoulder.

Another half an hour and he says quietly, "I know you don't hate me. Even though I deserve it. And you were angry."

"I was. But you apologized-"

"Because you made me," he interrupts.

Quietly, I say, "My mom made me get down, for my own good. Threw me to the floor. It hurt. I was scared."

"Alé..." Reaper whines and noses at me. "I'm sorry. Thank you."

For a while, we just hug in silence.

When he seems more relaxed, I murmur, "I don't know if you were listening, but Jack said when you're ready to talk, he'll be there for you even if I have to wake him."

"I don't deserve him, either," Reaper growls.

"Too bad, Papi. You stuck with me, and you stuck with him."

That makes him laugh softly. "You mean you're stuck with me."

"Nope. I kidnapped you fair and square."

"You bribed me."

"So did Uncle Jack. Face it, Papi: we gonna be here for you, no matter how much you think we shouldn't."

He's silent for a long minute while I scratch behind his ears.

"I am twice your age," he declares suddenly in mock-outrage, "how are you the adult here?"

"You raised me right?"

Reaper snorts. "Please, hija, you didn't learn that from me."

"I learned it from Ana?"

He thinks about it for a moment. "Sounds legit. I'm hungry. Didn't I hear you tell your sister to save me some lunch?"

"You up for dealing with people already?" I ask cautiously.

"Whether I am or not," he growls, "I'm hungry. Let's go."

"Good, Papi," I murmur into his fur, hugging him tightly. "I'm proud of you."

He doesn't say anything to that, but his tail wags.