All Apologies [Redención House]

[Madeleine Flores]

The day was a scorcher, though to Madeleine, most days in Los Angeles were scorchers, compared to the usually breezy days (save for perhaps a month or so in the high summer) she'd grown up with in the United Kingdom.

That night had been warm too, but there'd been chills running down her spine when she'd gotten a call from the police regarding her son. She turned and gave him a hard look out of the corner of her eye.

José was sitting forlornly in the passenger seat, looking out the window at nothing in particular.

She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it and focussed on driving, easing forward to meet the speed limit. It was easier; what else could she say? She'd said it all before, picking him and dressing him down with a vehemence that had frankly surprised them both.

She'd been proud to say her son had never been involved with gangs before that, but he'd been shot at and was in the middle of firefight between the police and the Three Elevens. She gripped the wheel tightly, and bit her lip.

"We're almost there," José said needlessly. She'd been there before, to Redención House, to pick him up after everything had happened. She didn't say anything, once more aware that there wasn't anything to say.

She turned again, and saw the House, sitting more like a compound, coming up on their left. They parked a short distance away, unable to find a closer spot, and made the rest of trip on foot.

"Now, remember," she said lowly, fixing his shirt, a nice dark polo with no extraneous designs or wording on it. She despised that clothing. Thankfully José preferred solid colors himself, and rarely bought or asked for designer wear. "Be polite. She's entitled to be angry."

"She's gonna beat the crap outta me, mom," José muttered. "He might not, but..."

"And you'd deserve it," she shot back quickly. "Honestly, stealing in the first place, never mind stealing from a store in the middle of gang territory."

José wisely stayed quiet and knocked on the door to Redención House, steeling himself for his task.

Apologizing.

[Polly Smithson]

The fuckin' tragic thing about the Fernandez charity shack, the really tragic thing and not just one of the myriad of small cockups that daily reaffirmed Polly Smithson's belief that all that Golden Rule talk was a bunch of horseshit designed to wrench people toward a life of self-inflicted misery, was that nobody had a goddamn clue how breakfast was supposed to go down. A body went six, seven hours without food, all it wanted was to eat. There was nothing hard to understand about that.

So it consistently baffled the woman that no one else in the house, not even the adults, seemed capable of consuming food without a background of chatter loud enough to make you want to blow your head off just to find a moment's reprieve.

Maybe it was too much to expect, considering that this wasn't her territory, but to that end, it wasn't exactly a tall order, either. A bowl of cornflakes, a glass of orange juice. That was all Polly wanted to get through. What was that, five minutes of quiet? Ten? Taking a dump took longer than that.

"Oh for Chrissake, are you kidding me now?" Polly growled and threw her spoon down onto the scarred tabletop where it landed with a clatter, splattering thin blue droplets of milk over the grain. She sent a narrow glower across to the bickering knuckleheads on the other end - the anarchist (surprise, surprise) and the midget van Gogh - and stabbed an accusing finger in their direction.

"You wanna know who would win in a faceoff between zombies and unicorns?" Polly's eyebrows lifted as she leaned forward, an air of menace clinging to her slim shoulders. "The goddamn Batman, that's who. Because even though he's just as fuckin' made up as the rest of them, he can still kick more theoretical ass than a bunch of slobbering retahds and rainbow-fahting horses combined - uh-uh!"

Before the anarchist could issue a remark, Polly snapped her fingers and shook her head. There would be no agreement. There would be no argument. There would be no talking. The terms of this newly devised arrangement were clearly visible in the harsh gleam of her brown eyes, the glint of a sort that one normally caught off the edge of a freshly-sharpened knife.

For all of five seconds it appeared to work. And then:

"Do you really - "

Polly stood so swiftly that her chair fell over backwards. "No, I don't give two craps about Batman. Or comic books, or cartoons, or whatever else it is that's gonna start rattlin' around in your brain and spill outta your mouth. What I care about is - "


A noise drew her gaze to the right for a moment and the woman smiled. It was a rather terrifying display, all teeth and threat, but Polly was genuinely thrilled for the legitimate excuse to storm off. Jimmy had accused her of being antisocial, an observation that surprised the Boston native. She wasn't anti-anything. Well... maybe anti-moron, but who wasn't?


"What I care about is showin' a little hospitality," she continued, stalking away from the tiresome pair toward the front door. Abandoning her cereal was another blow to bear but it had been creeping towards getting soggy anyway, so maybe she could tally a mark underneath her mental 'pros' column and even things out a little. God knew the scales needed balancing.

Which was why, when she opened the door and found herself staring smackdab into the face of the galloping klepto, Polly didn't go with her first instinct and slam it shut again. Instead, she stared intently for a moment, her expression flat and still as pond water, then crossed her arms over her chest and arranged herself in the doorway. One shoulder braced against the frame, Polly popped out a hip and neatly crossed one ankle over the other before offering an unimpressed, "Mmm-hm."

[José Luis Flores]

José threw a quick look at his mother, but seeing that her look was eerily similar to the black chick's, he looked back.

"Listen, ah, I wanted to apologize about the other day," he started lamely. "A whole lot of shit went wrong, and it's mostly my fault."

He stopped, wanting to say more, but not actually knowing what to say. He couldn't defend himself; as much as he wanted to, he did know defending himself defeated the purpose of apologizing in the first place.

[Polly Smithson]

Polly's expression didn't shift for even the spare thought of a second, the flat stare pinned upon her unforgiving features with an obscenely possessive determination. She weathered the entirety of Speedy Gonzales'... speech in silence. It seemed like the safest way to handle the situation, seeing as how the woman had no idea what the fuck the kid thought he was doing. It took more than balls to show his face again, it took brass-headed stupidity.


And he had a broad in mom jeans with him, too. What was this? The O-fucking-C?


To be fair, it wasn't entirely pretty boy's fault; most apologies that had fallen on her ears tended to err on the side of oh-god-oh-god-I'm-sorry-please-don't-hurt-me, simply by virtue of being born in a neighborhood where conversations were best voiced with knuckles and knives. In Dorchester, it was better just to swallow that shit back and leave a six pack on the porch steps, hope for the best. Anything else left Polly suspicious and itching to let her right hook fly.

"Lemme get this straight," Polly rolled the words around her mouth slowly, one eyebrow cocked. "You're owning to the fact that your being a complete tool nearly got me and Bunny shot, gangbanged - which, for the record, would have been a really fuckin' tragic way for his cherry to pop - and arrested, not to mention scuffing my new goddamn shoes?"

[José Luis Flores]

José shifted, visibly uncomfortable with the situation.

"Uh, yeah, that's about it." He said. She looked like she was getting ready to punch him. Or kick him in the balls. "Listen, it's not just you I've gotta apologize to. I need to apologize to, uh, Bunny, too. And his... uh, mom, I guess?"

He paused, more than aware of his mother to his left and Polly in front of him. Voices echoed from behind her, and José swore internally. He'd have to apologize in front of everyone, wouldn't he?

Hell.

[Polly Smithson]

Alright, so they were on a level playing field now. The details had been laid out and agreed upon, Abercrombie & Fitch knew that he'd been way too shortstacked to whip it out with the big boys, and now he was trying to lay the tracks straight. That was gravy. It was still sort of sketchy that he'd brought the homemaker's version of an entourage with him but hey, everyone had a type and Polly wasn't about to begrudge the kid his kinks. Maybe humiliation really did it for him.

The warped tension in the invisibility-wielding mutant's shoulders uncoiled like a spool of thread cast out. Polly pushed upright from the door and nodded. She rolled her head from left to right, gently cracking her neck at each pause.

"It makes me happy that you recognize what an asshole you were," Polly grinned encouragingly, something almost like respect blooming in her brown eyes. Took guts to stand up and claim your lumps. "And I gotta apologize, too..."

She turned to his dark-haired chaperone and sighed. "Lady, I am real sorry you're gettin' dragged into this. Don't be scared if he pisses a little blood later, that's just his body coming to terms with judiciary recompense. Little bit of lemon water, he'll be fine."

And then the girl twisted seamlessly on her heel and shifted her weight forward, driving her fist up into the kid's kidney with an obligatory air. The impact was solid, like steel hitting a sandbag, and sent a muffled thump into the summer afternoon. There was always satisfaction in such a hit. The brutal efficiency of it was just so staggeringly beautiful. It never failed to send a little hum of accomplishment through Polly's veins.

Without waiting to see whether or not José managed to keep his feet, she walked back into the house, screen door clattering behind her.

"Jimmy!" Polly bellowed, shaking out her fist. "Someone at the door for you!"

[Madeleine Flores]

Madeleine jumped slightly as she watched her son crumple with the hit and fall on the floor. She wanted to be a good mother, and kneel down next to him, make him better.

But he needed to know that his actions entailed consequences. So instead, she just stood there and watched as José swore loudly.

"Fuckin' A!" he gasped, one hand at his side. He didn't say anything else though. He knew what this black chick was about. He gave himself a moment to think through the haze of being hit, and stood.

He looked at the door sullenly, debating whether he should enter himself, but he decided after a moment that he shouldn't. It wasn't his house; these weren't his friends. He was just some idiot who'd come to say sorry for nearly getting a couple of them killed.

He was also glad his mother wasn't saying anything, and he refused to look at her. This was his mess, and he needed to clean it up.

[Jim Lewinski]

"Jimmy! Someone at the door for you!"

"For me!? Sweet!" came the chirpy voice from the kitchen, a heartbeat later that chirpiness manifested itself on the other side of the rattling door, scrutinising the visitors with shameless dismay, "Hey, what's this!? You ain't the PowerSpin FX centrifuge I ordered- supposed to be today- brought a goddam pen- 3,400 RP-freakin'-M- A-yo, wouldja get inside already!?"

A sudden zip of air, and Jim was behind the odd couple, unceremoniously shoving them both through the front door with an unholy clatter. He wasn't a violent man, or an aggressive man, or even particularly imposing man, or, strictly speaking, a man, but when he sensed mortal danger, Jim could be quite hands on for a scrawny science nerd. As he finished pushing them over the threshold, he explained:

"No offense, man, but I ain't too keen to be seen in public witcha- kinda negatively impacts my life expectancy, y'know- so-so-so wassadeal?"

[José Luis Flores]

"Hey!" José barked, glaring at the white kid. "That hurts."

His mother, seemed to be amused, and then fixed José with a loaded stare. He grunted.

"Yeah, about that," he began, feeling the ache in his side blossom further. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry about all that mess I gotcha into. A whole buncha shit went wrong that wasn't my fault, but it was my fault you got rolled into it."

He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair, looking around the entrance way of the House before turning back to Jim.

"I also need to say sorry to... uh, is she your mom?" he asked. 'Cause she certainly doesn't look it.

[Jim Lewinski]

"Good luck with that!" Jim crowed, brightly, and took a glance at his watch, "By now she'll be t-t-tossin' back her third G-and-T at the bingo- if you ain't wet with a percentage you won' even get nnn-lip service- oh, you mean Anna? Ha! Yeah, follow me, both of..."

Once. Twice. Thrice. Jim's gaze bounced between José and his female companion, head bobbing so fast his neck may well have been made out of rubber, until at last his eyes settled on the woman. And exploded like supernovas behind those flimsy glasses. She... was... beautiful. Like a rose. A rose with beautiful hair that probably smelled like walks in the park on a summer afternoon and sexier curves than spacetime. He beamed.

"Hi! Name's Jim Lewinski- mutant- genius- bullet-dodger- p-pleasure to meetcha!" his hand sprung out like an over-excited piston and took her dainty dainty ladypaw, giving it a vigorous shaking, then hands still locked, he closed the gap between them in a single stride, "Tell me, ma'am, are you familiar with Newton's Law of Universal Gravitation?"

[Madeleine Flores]

"I do seem to remember Universal Gravitation to be the attraction of everything to everything else," Madeleine said with a smile, and a slight step backwards. She did remember that was the subject she'd been studying with Francis before seeing the most built academic she thought had ever existed. "But maths and physics were never my best subjects."

She glanced down at where he held her hand, and back up at him, and then glanced over at her son, whose expression was a mixture of horrified and incredulous.

"I'm sorry, but your name is?" she asked finally.

[Jim Lewinski]

"Sorry, I'm a fast talker- like I have a fully-automatic tongue. Was-that-creepy-or-creative? Anyway, I'm Jim," then for emphasis, repeated, "Jiiiim."

She probably wanted her hand back, her soft silken hand, so Jim obliged. He noted the renewed distance between them and considered for a microsecond that perhaps he was moving to fast, the irony of which prompted an amused tick in the corner of his mouth which blended seamlessly amongst his repertoir of facial eccentricities. His eyes darted between them with expectation, nothing was said, and as usual it was up to him to fill the gaping conversational chasm. This was just as well because if the mystery woman had said another word about the laws of attraction, he would've required a seat.

"And who might you be?" he asked of her, glancing curiously at José, "Friend? Sister? I re-reckon there's a resemblance there- we didn' get to talk much about family the other day- hard to hear over the Los Santos shock and awe."

[Madeleine Flores]

"Sorry, I'm a fast talker- like I have a fully-automatic tongue. Was-that-creepy-or-creative? Anyway, I'm Jim. Jiiiim."

"Creepy, dude. Creepy," José said. Both he and Madeleine were looking at the young man with looks of subdued awe. Madeleine shot her son a quick look of warning; even if Jim was coming on a bit strong, there was no need to be rude. He quieted.

"You're very sweet," Madeleine said, smiling at his boisterousness. "I'm José's mother, though. Madeleine Flores. It's very nice to meet you, Jim."

José shifted on his feet, wanting to finish off this round of apologies and get out of here. He had almost gotten Jim and Polly killed, and didn't want to stick around because of a mix of guilt and awkwardness. 'Yeah, I know I almost gotcha killed, but d'you mind if I hang around a bit?'

Awkward.

[Jim Lewinski]

"Mo- Mother!?" Jim blurted, and instantly the look of surprise melted into one of sagely comprehension, "That makes sense, you bein' here and all- now personally, I'd opt for a public floggin' over bein' on the recievin' end of a kidney shot from the Dark Destroyer herself- woman is seriously violent!"

It all made sense now; Jose's unexpected visit, the silent weathering glances from mother to son, and the hand clamped protectively around the damaged mid-section. The intrigue was gone. And like the cat that had unravelled its ball of string, Jim had nothing left with which to play. His fickle attention span waned, but he considered for a moment skaterboy's words. He smiled broadly.

"You know, I've had a lot of time to think about what happened- far as I'm concerned the only thing you did wrong was bumpin' into us when you were on the run- well-that-and-the-whole-thievery-thing- point is... it coulda happened to anyone. Now, I mightn't wanna be seen hangin' round the barrio witchoo anytime in the near future, but I sure as hell don't blame you. It's ancient history, man. But-we're-not-gonna-hug!"

[José Luis Flores]

Well, damn, if an accepted apology and forgiveness didn't feel good.

Now that Jim's interest seemed to wane, he calmed down, though he still had that manic energy that José was beginning to think defined him. His risked a small glance at his mother, who was smiling. He grinned, enjoying the lessening of the tension in the entrance way.

"Hell yeah," José said. "She hits like she's holding a brick in her hand. I think we're square now, but damn."

He huffed a laugh, and winced at the pain in his lower side.

"I still got to apologize to, uh, Anna, right?" Jim nodded. "Yeah. Unless she's busy or somethin', ya know. I don't wanna bother her or nothin'."

[Anna Fernandez]

"I'll go get her!" Jim disappeared and then showed back up in the doorway. "Come in come-in-come-in!" He left again, the door hanging open and the visitors bemused on the porch.

Anna shooed away Jim as he followed her down the hall, but he seemed determined to follow and take in whatever spectacle was happening in the living room. Or, the front door. The two people on the front steps were awkwardly looking in, and Anna wiped her hands on the dishtowel she realized she was still carrying, handing it off to Jim. "Please, come in, Jose, is it?" She beckoned in the teen and who must have been his mother or aunt. "Jim said you had something to tell me?"

[José Luis Flores]

"Uhh... yeah," José responded, looking at the woman awkwardly. She was pretty enough, he decided, but her being pregnant shut down anything.

"Listen, I'm sorry about the other day and gettin' what's-her-name and Jim tangled up in some shoot out with the police. It's not completely my fault, but I did get them involved, so I thought I should apologize, y'know, and hopefully clear the air some."

José gained confidence and steam as he went on, and finished the apology not looking at the floor, which was a major achievement. He wasn't a shy boy by any means, but he did contribute to a major shitstorm not half a week ago.

Madeleine grinned, sure that José wasn't looking (Lord knew she didn't want to harm his fragile male ego with approval, after all).

'They do grow up so fast,' she thought wistfully as she watched.

[Anna Fernandez]

Anna looked at José seriously through his little speech, but didn't miss the small smile on the face of the older woman who'd come along with him. "I appreciate that it took some courage to come and apologize. You did not make the best first impression last week when you came in with Jim and Polly, si usted sabe lo que quiero decir."

She raised an eyebrow, but then relented. "Apology accepted." She looked at the woman and added, "My name is Anna Fernandez...?" She held her hand out toward her.

[Madeleine Flores]

Madeleine gasped and shook Anna's hand.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I'm Madeleine, José's mother. It's nice to meet you under much less strained circumstances."

They had met before, but there were police, and statements and much too much for one and the other to do. Neither had any time for a real introduction. This time, however, she shared a mischievous smile with Anna and continued:

"I was thinking that perhaps an apology might not be enough. I see you have plenty of people to help you, but one more set of hands couldn't hurt, could it? He's very good at yardwork, among other things."

José gaped, but stayed silent. There'd be a reckoning for it later, she was sure, but she'd survived worse before.

'If only there were some girls here,' she thought, for once cursing the lack of a girl to catch José's eye.

[Anna Fernandez]

"Oh, yes," Anna flushed slightly. She had what her mother described as placenta brain, where sometimes it was like slowly going crazy because of the huge amount of things she would forget. "Ah, there are always weeds that need pulling in the garden." Jim made a noise behind her, and she added, "Jim could stand to do some too."

She skewered both boys with a look that brooked no nonsense. "Would you like some iced tea, Madeleine?"