Chapter Text
Robert, sitting in a cell wearing what was supposed to be a felicitatory outfit, which is now heavy with dampness, thinks of how much of this could have been avoided if he had just kept his head down and done what was expected of him.
“Mrozowski,” comes a loud voice, booming like Wojtek’s did whenever his chance at police brutality was taken away by goddamn red tape, and Robert’s ears, unlike every other time his name was called, do not prick up.
“Mrozowski!” the voice is cut with irritation and impatience this time, “You made bail.”
Robert glances around the cell, discreetly taking a swig from the drunk who somehow snuck his flask into police custody, and gets up, weighed down by his wet clothes. He doesn’t know who he expects, but his surprise is evident when the person who shows up is Halinka.
He comes out, his preoccupation preventing him from fully processing or revealing his shock at his fiancee’s unexpected appearance. Halinka, seemingly, does the same. It shouldn't irk him. It does.
“Tata sent me,” she says, her voice hollow as it tries to maintain stability, a sense of control in their current sea of uncertainty.
“Still calling him ‘Tata’, I see.”
“Robert, don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“I know, I - I’m sorry,” he manages to get out, intentionally looking away from her eyes, which, he knows, will be surprised at his apology. Was he that closed off that a simple apology has shocked his (ex, at least that’s what he thinks) fiancee?
Halinka extends her hand, and he, in his half - dazed state, takes it. She leads him to the car (his dad’s, since Wojtek’s has been unceremoniously dumped on the side of some road) and as they sit in, he notices the rose he’d given her half - heartedly, and thinks - shit.
The drive is long and silent, with Polskie Radio’s constant hum providing some white noise to their enforced monotony. “Hali, you,” he starts, with her keeping her eyes on the empty road, “You deserve someone better, someone honest, someone-” less fucked up, and as his throat closes up with emotion, he looks at her, tears flowing down her face, ruining the ‘only for special occasions’ rouge and foundation she had artfully dabbed on her cheeks that morning.
“Robert, I - I don’t want someone else,” her voice is so fragile, so unlike her usual clear and fearless tone, that he starts to tear up as well.
The car stops, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, and Robert, confused, looks to Halinka, who simply keeps staring ahead. A tap on his window causes him to almost jump out of his seat, before he collects himself and peeks out, only to see Tata standing there.
He gets out of the car, his whole body feeling so heavy that he is afraid of falling down and crumbling into himself.
“Robert.”
“Tata.”
He knows it will be easier for him to apologise, to soften his tone, to do anything but be so obtuse and obstinate with his father, but between them lies a history of betrayal - the son by his lover, the father by his responsibilities. Tata keeps staring at the ground, maybe too disappointed in him to make eye contact, but as he inches closer, his tired eyes find a way to reach him.
“Here,” he hands him a hefty brown package, Tata’s hands shaking as he makes the transfer. In the adrenaline that comes as an aftermath of killing a man, he forgets fear and rips the parcel open, studying its contents.
“It’s - it’s some cash,” Tata adds unhelpfully as he surveys the Deutsche Marks stuffed carelessly into an envelope, “And a passport.”
“Tata, I - You-”
“The Commander gave me these. He assured you’d be safe if- if-” and here, his voice cracks. Robert looks at him with clear, unbridled shock - this is the first time he's seen his father cry. Not when his grandmother passed, not during or after the surgery he underwent for appendicitis, never. He should be pleased, flattered that Tata’s unprecedented display of emotion is for him. He is too exhausted to care.
Robert Laska, the passport reads. Maybe it's so that the call - and - response with his name is more natural, he thinks. Cologne is the destination on the ticket (well, it takes him to Dresden first - despite the falling of the wall, there are no direct trains from Warsaw, or really, anywhere in Poland, to what was previously West Germany), and he, after the shock of being exiled wears off, spots a suitcase at Tata’s feet.
“Is that for me too?”
“Yes,” he finally looks up, and with extremely out - of - character gentleness, presses his palm to Robert’s cheek. He turns to beckon Halinka over, and joins both their hands together. “I’m sorry I am doing this to you, Halinka.”
She shakes her head to protest, her eyes overflowing with tears as Tata presses her hand to Robert’s in a final show of commiseration.
“I think I can speak for all of us when I say,” his voice cracks once more, “We love you. Don’t come back.”