Work Text:
Papi is still gone when Louis wakes up properly, an emergency at the restaurant having happened in the middle of the night. He had awoken Louis with a kiss and told him earlier, already dressed to leave. Louis wonders what actually happened; instead of paying attention he'd rolled into the warm spot Papi’s body left, Papi’s hand ghosting over the bump of his stomach the only thing he remembers before falling back asleep. He lies there, in Papi's side of the bed, before groaning and hauling himself up.
Louis’ morning goes quickly, methodically, the only deviation of their routine being that Papi is not here like normal Wednesdays. He gets his sons ready, Hugo helping him with Gaspard since their Papa is gone, the six year old underfoot but mindful of his Pére’s bad leg. He feeds Gaspard as Hugo eats his eggs and toast, cleaning his place while Louis cleans up the baby.
They move to do their lessons to the sitting room, Gaspard in his playpen. They practice their numbers, then French, pausing only to retrieve the toys Gaspard tosses out of his little prison and then whines for after. Hugo plays with his toys while Louis brings Gaspard out to play on the floor. He goes for a nap and Hugo goes upstairs to paint in his room while Louis lies down on the sofa with the radio on and his glasses off. Usually he’d be looking through the restaurant's books now, but Papi has forbid him with the baby so close, not wanting to add stress. Louis finds the whole thing annoying; they do alright even with only one income, so it doesn't stress him, but Papi won't hear it. The methodical process of doing the numbers for their family’s business calms him, the same way painting does.
A sharp cry from upstairs at 11:15 on the dot gets him up, hand on his belly. He retrieves Gaspard from upstairs, kissing his cheeks and nose to calm him as the eleven month old fusses. Soon enough Hugo will want lunch, and he should really get on it with Papi gone for the day.
The doorbell rings as he’s limping down the stairs with his son on his hip and he huffs, that routine apparently going to hell.
A woman is at the door and he frowns at her when he opens it, confused. He has no idea who she is, and the way she’s staring at his stomach and Gaspard on his hip is starting to make him uncomfortable.
“This… Henri Charrière lives here, non?” She asks, “The hotel confirmed this was the right street but was unsure of the house number…”
He blinks at her, a little shocked and self conscious at her wanting Papi. She looks like she walked out of a fashion magazine, while he’s dressed down in whatever trousers can accommodate his belly and one of Papi’s shirts untucked from his belt.
“My husband is gone to work, unfortunately, though if you’d like to leave a message for him, I can manage to deliver that.”
“I-” She shakes her head, “Sorry, he looks…”
She’s staring at Gaspard in Louis’ arms, her eyes wide. It’s not a rare thing; while he’s inherited the dark tone of Louis’ skin, he’s somehow managed to get everything else from Henri, blond hair included. He’s a beautiful baby, but even Louis acknowledges being so dark and so fair at the same time is unique look.
Gaspard whimpers, hiding his face in his father’s neck, shy as ever. Hugo comes bounding down the stairs then, yelling about eating lunch outside in the backyard on his way to the kitchen.
“I should really-“
“Yes of course,” she smiles, “If he is at work I’ll try there. I know walked by it before when I was in the center. Thank you monsieur.”
She dips her head at him and then is off the front porch, Louis barefoot on the top step, watching her go.
Papi is at the bar, drinking and smoking a cigarette with Sergio and discussing what a mess the morning had been when she enters from the street, the door closing loudly behind her in the empty restaurant. She just stares at him, Her eyes wide and her hands trembling where they’re clasped around her handbag.
“Nenette.”
“Henri.”
Sergio looked in between the two of them, his eyes narrowed.
“I went by the house. He said you would be here.”
He blinks at her, feeling uneasy. “You’ve met Louis.”
Her face goes tight.
“Yes. and your two children. Or, well… three, I guess?”
“I’m going to check on the guys,” Sergio says in spanish to Papi, “make sure they’re putting all the shit they hauled back in the right spots.”
She gives Papi a quizzical look as Sergio rounds the bar and enters the kitchen. She easily slides onto the stool he was occupying, daintily crossing her legs and lifting his unfinished glass of whiskey to take a sip.
“What’s that about?”
“The power died in the night,” he explains, “Most of the food in the refrigerator was able to go to the bar down the street before it went bad. They’re just moving it back now. I should be home today, actually, but… you know, owner’s work is never done.”
“I meant the cold shoulder routine, but…”
Papi grimaces, “He always had been protective of Louis. He might be my husband, but Sergio’s the big brother Louis deserves.”
Her lips purse at that.
“I never would’ve suspected prison would make an honest family man out of you.”
He shrugs, “prison changed everything,” he says, “We’re allowed to be happy, here. Live normally. Much like I’m sure you are in France.”
“Argentina,” She corrects, looking at her commandeered glass, “I-- it is safer, there. Especially now.”
Papi hums. “And you came all the way here to check on me?”
“I had heard from friends you were in Caracas, and just wanted to know. Especially since I didn’t hear it from you.”
“It had been years, what do you expect?”
“Come on, Henri,” She scoffs, “you could have at least told me you had escaped, even if you weren’t interested anymore.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that. Especially with Louis.”
“Try me.”
He snuffs out his cigarette to light another one, trying to figure out how to explain he simply didn't think of her. In the days after they had found themselves safe, his only concern was his pregnant Louis, and then after he was born, their sickly infant, so weak he could barely suck to take in food.
“Louis was eight months along when we managed to get anywhere that could be considered civilization,” He explains, quietly, “We were arrested again, but Venuzela has no extradition process with France, so we were just put in a Venezuelan prison. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than that shithole island, and they tried their best with us. He was so sick he lost one of the babes. Hugo survived but the little girl…” He trails off, shaking his head, “the whole thing nearly killed him, and not just the birth being so rough because of his body being in the state it was. He was devastated. He thought he had done wrong by me, because of it.
“It wasn’t-- he wasn’t just a prison bitch, or anything like that. I didn’t just get him pregnant and stick with him because of duty. Honestly, it would've been a kindness to leave him if that was the case-- the few other men in the colony that fell pregnant were sent back to France or shipped to the nuns. But I loved him. He’s the love of my life. I spent a few years in solitary figuring that one out.”
“So you had more important things on your plate than me.”
He winces, but nods. “First it was Hugo and Louis being safe and looked after, then it was having to adapt to Venezuela and being free, then the restaurant, then the house, and then Gaspard. Now Cosette.”
She raises her eyebrows at the name.
“Louis thinks it's a girl,” He explains, and he can feel the hope and happiness bubble up in his chest in equal measure, “He thinks the name is fitting, if she is.”
To Henri's shock, she smiles.
“He’s not wrong.”
“Louis Charrière isn’t wrong about a whole lot of things.”
She doesn’t ask about Louis, after that. She does ask after the children - how old they are, what they’re like, when the baby is due - and he finds himself gushing over his family, their business, his life, unable to help himself.
He’s shocked when he realizes he feels nothing for her. She’s beautiful, and if he had seen her like this fifteen years ago he’d be doing everything in his power to get her out of her dress and into his bed, but all he wants is to go home and rub his poor husband’s aching feet and ankles on the sofa while his sons play on the floor in front of them.
As she’s talking about how she gets on working and living in Buenos Aires, He wonders where he would be if they never arrested him. Would he and Nenette have this life? Or would he be still be tumbling from bed to bed, stealing and fucking his way through Paris? Where would Louis--?
He doesn’t have to finish the thought. If he never went to prison, he knows his husband would be dead. The thought makes his chest constrict painfully.
He jumps a little when a warm hand slides to cover his on the bartop, giving him a squeeze and shaking him from his dark thoughts.
“It’s good to see you so at peace.”
He doesn’t know how to respond, so he just squeezes back.
He lets himself into the house around six, immediately met with the yells of his youngest.
“Papapapapa!” Gaspard screeches, smacking his little fist against his playpen's wooden bars until he’s picked up, making Papi smile. He takes his son's sloppy, open mouth kiss on his cheek with ease, kissing the baby’s head. Hugo drops his drawing pencils on the coffee table to hug him around the middle and Papi bends and kisses his dark curls, asking after his day. He tells Papi about the plants and the garden, that Pére is making sauce from their tomatoes for dinner, the same way Sergio does.
Louis comes in from the kitchen and Papi catches him around the middle, pulling him in close to his chest with his spare arm. Hugo wiggles out from between the two of them, back to his coloring book, as Louis wraps his arms around both him and Gaspard.
“How are you, sweetheart?”
“Tired, but what else is new?” Louis smiles, pressing a kiss to Papi’s mouth, “I’ve been exhausted since these two were brought into our world," he presses a loud kiss to Gaspard's cheeks, making him smile and show off all of his four teeth, "Come on; dinner is almost done.”
Later, when they’re in bed, Papi’s hand tracing up and down Louis’ bare side, he tilts his head up and squints, trying to make out Papi’s face in the dark without his glasses.
“Who was she?”
Papi shakes his head, kissing Louis forehead.
“No one important, mon petit."
"Papi..."
"Dega," Henri mimics, making Louis roll his eyes and stare at him expectantly.
"She's someone I knew a long time ago,” he admits, his hands in his husband’s hair, “She heard I was here and decided to check into it for her own piece of mind.”
Louis chews his lip, thinking it over, before he beds his head down on Papi’s chest, seemingly content with his answer.
Just like that, it's done. Another ghost left in the past.