Chapter Text
The hospital chair wasn’t really big enough for Mitch. But there was no were else to sit, and hovering would do him no good now.
Cindy and Hanan were going to be fine. Especially since Mitch had altered their records to give them better insurance. And the little girl, Ella Armenteros, was in the ICU, bleeding heavily but still alive.
George was here too—in the morgue. Chad had waited to shoot him until Sydney had taken Ella out of the house, but once he started, he was thorough. Eight shots in the chest, three in the back. Mitch could still here the sound ringing in his ears.
The important part was that everything had been taken care off.
“We have to get out of here,” Sydney muttered from beside him. Mitch muttered in agreement, trying not to shift and warp the chair. The only problem with leaving now, was that it would cause suspicion. They were, after all, vital witnesses in a kidnapping and shooting.
Even now, as Sydney and Mitch pretended to look distraught, Helen and Bryan were giving their statements and Victor kept telling the cops he wanted a lawyer.
But there shouldn’t be a problem really. The police already had statements from some of them, did they need Mitch’s statement? Their fake identities were solid too, no one needed to pry into them, and as long as no one took down their names, there was no real reason to stick around. No reason except—
“We have to wait for Ella.”
Sydney paused, she pulled her sleeves over her hands and tucked her hands into her armpits. “Ella’s parents abandoned her.”
“I know.”
“They were—”
“I know.” Ella’s parents were the basement. Not only that, but they were, less than all there. Something not even Sydney had attempted to revive. Not that, apparently, Syd should have tried at all. The Armenteros, according to Mitch’s eavesdropping on the police’s recounting of events to Helen, were not good people. The number and variety of crimes committed in that house made Victor look like an innocent, and Victor had murdered at least one man in cold blood.
“If Chad’s right…” Mitch trailed off. “We need to talk to Ella, to see if she’s like Cindy and Terrence. Then we can leave”
But the thought of leaving, of somehow returning to their fake life in the suburbs felt odd now. Especially given Victor’s entrance, and the kiss—but now wasn’t the time to think about that. Mitch should have been worried about calling someone to come get them. Victor had apparently texted Dominic, Dominic who was supposed to have his own fake identity outside of them.
Mitch ran a hand through his hair.
“Are we going to take Ella with us?” Sydney asked.
“I don’t know.”
Sydney wrapped her arms around herself. “Do we have to move again? Are we—is one of us going to stay with Dominic?”
“We’re not going to leave you Syd,” Mitch said. He smiled, putting an arm around her and pulling her close. “Let’s just take this one step at a time.” Sydney muttered in agreement, and they both turned to watch Victor talking to the hospital staff. “You know,” Mitch said, “I know we’ve only been all together for a year, but we’re not going to abandon you. We’re family now.”
Sydney sniffed. “Well, hopefully we can abandon Helen.”
“We can only hope.”
#
Victor threw his bag on the couch. Sydney pushed a jumping Dol off her, with promises to eventually take him for a walk. Dominic, who had driven for hours to research them and then driven them back in the middle of the night, walked directly upstairs to pass out on the guest bedroom.
Mitch watched it all happen from, the sidelines. They were back. But the illusion of normalcy that had hung over their lives like a pane of glass had been shattered
“We should stop by Susan’s, and eventually give our condolences,” Victor sighed.
“Are we going to say we were there, or did we hear this all from Helen?” Mitch asked, yawning. Sydney went to get Dol’s collar. Victor paused, rubbing a hand over his face, solemn and slow, discordant with the hustle of Dol and Sydney behind him. Sweat had wrinkled Victor’s shirt near the creases in his elbows and shirt collar, and sly away strands of hair were plastered to his forehead. In his moment he didn’t look like a man who could have gone to jail for a Ponzee scheme or drug use. He looked clean and tired and soft, his edges dulled down for once in his life.
Sydney was out the door in an instant, despite the late hour, and Victor flopped onto the couch, his neck propped onto the back of the sofa.
Mitch sat down beside him.
He wasn’t exactly sure how to ask about the kiss. This was not a romantic comedy where they each knew the right thing to say, where they were thinking the same thing and would just arrive at the right conclusion effortlessly. Nor was this an awkward teen movie were stumbling and fumbling would be endearing.
Carefully, Mitch picked up Victor’s left hand, where the wedding ring gleamed in the light. Slowly, he brought the ring to his lips, watching as Victor turned to look at him through half-lidded eyes.
“That was certainly something for a fake kiss,” Mitch said. Victor hummed, low and unbothered, and something in that ease unbuckled Mitch’s chest.
“I may have gotten carried away.” Victor paused, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and Mitch rested his head beside Victor’s on the couch. “It was supposed to be stalling,” Victor said, “while I catalogued who was in the house and where they were. It was supposed to be so George would realize why I was here and wouldn’t immediately shoot me after he got over the shock of Helen.” Victor’s hand closed around Mitch’s, his skin warm to the touch. “I may have, taken it too far.”
“I didn’t mind.” Mitch leaned over, his lips brushing Victor’s. They were doing this in the wrong order. Adopt a kid, get married, start dating. If that was the direction this was going after all. “But you could have been clearer.”
“I’ll be clear now,” Victor said, smiling, and Mitch wanted to laugh. “Mitch Turner, I may be in love with you.”
And then Victor kissed him again.
#
Eight Months Later
Victor sat on the bed beside Mitch, showing him a clipping of a row house on the edge of a city in New York.
“It’s close enough we might be able to escape to Canada, if we really wanted to.” Victor was joking. “It’ll be easier to stay anonymous and now that we have two kids, I think our cover will be okay.”
“There are a lot of police in New York.”
“Well my back up was New Jersey.”
Mitch laughed.
“Besides, looking at the cops’ databases. I don’t think anyone is looking for us.”
“Your parents saw you.”
“Susan claimed they said they thought I looked like their son.”
Mitch hummed. Victor settled on the back board. A strand of blond hair was dangling in front of Victor’s face, but all Victor did was close his eyes and lean back.
“We can move from New York, but not to a suburb, not again. For once, even if we have to lie, it would be nice to be real.”
Mitch wanted to ask, a real what? A real family?
“We could get married,” Victor said, cracking one eye open. And then very carefully, Mitch leaned over and kissed the corner of Victor’s mouth. “Only if you want to,” Victor clarified. “For realism’s sake.”
“I do.”