Work Text:
A letter is lying on a desk in a deceivingly shabby-looking hotel in Tijuana, Mexico. It’s written in the scrawl that Colonel Graham Eames will recognise as his son’s, on United Kingdom Special Forces official stationary from 2006. It reads as follows:
“Father,
I know the only reconsiliation between us that you could dream about is with me repenntant behind bars and you visiting, but I saw another father and son reconsile a couple of days ago and it was damn beautifull. It made me think. Made me want to at least explein myself a bit to you.
You probably think the son you know was all a lie, and it’s true that I’ve allways kept things from you. You and Ma were so diffrent that I created two diffrent personas; one for you, one for ma. Ma noticed. I’m long past faulting you for not noticing too. It was Ma who made me realise I had to pick and chose what I liked from the diffrent parts me so I wouldn’t splitt in two for real.
I’m sure that you know about my “previus criminal activities” by now, that I didn’t just up and run with the PASIV out of nowhere. But I didn’t think you’d ever find out (unless I got busted, but I’ve allways had to much imagination to be able to imagine that happening), and I honest to God never wanted to hurt you. But then you presented me with something out of my wildest dreams, if you pardon the excpression.
Dream-sharing is way too amazing for the banale things the military is doing with it. (I wish I could tell you what I’m doing with it.) It was probably the only thing that could make me completelly leave behind the me I was with you. It’s just the irony of fate that it came from you.
I want you to know it wasnt easy. There were parts of me that rebelled at the very thought of it. But having learned early to let parts of myself go made me as well prepeared as one could ever be to cut away those parts and re-invent myself completelly. But if think it was worth it now its only beacuse I can’t let myself think otherwise.
The son you loved was real. You must know that. He was as real as the me writing this to you now, and I could even bring him back this very moment. But no one would like him in the life I live now (and have no wish to be repentent behind bars), so I wont. But he asks me to tell you he misses you terribly and wishes things where otherwise.
I cannot let this weight me down. I’ll keep cutting away the parts of me that gets in the way of what I want to do because I love this life. I have no regrets other than that it had to give you sorrow.
I got my confidence from you.
I love you, dad
Gary
PS As I have even less wish to be UN-repentant behind bars, I obviously cant give you a reply-to adress. Maybe that’s for the best. I have done everything in my power to make this letter untracable. I’d advise you to not even try. (I know you’ll try.)”
Beside the letter there’s a postcard, picturing the entrance into an underwater cave. Its recipient will understand it’s from her son even though it’s written in a slanting hand that might bring to mind words like “feminine” and “affected”. It reads:
“Darling Jeanette!
Rhodes is wonderful. I just had the most amazing excursion into a cave like the one on the card. I would not have thought a place like that like that possible; I’ll have to tell you all about it when I come home.
There’s a charming young American named Alexander staying at my hotel. He makes this old theatre hag wish for another shot at romance before she dies. I hope he’ll agree to be my kept lover.
Say hi to the girls from me.
All my love,
Camilla”