by Jack Parker
"After seven years, I don't think I am."
"Never assume that just because you know someone it means they can't still surprise you," Emery said, shifting a little closer. "One of the last things he said to me was that he knew you better than you knew yourself."
Georgie looked over at him skeptically.
"I don't know if that's true or not. But I do know that he wasn't the oblivious victim you seem to regard him as. You think that when you left his employment he lost track of you, but you're wrong. He knew where you went, and he knew what you did. He knew everything. And it didn't change how he felt about you."
She stared at him blankly. Then her eyes narrowed. "He couldn't have."
"He did. He told me as much," Emery maintained.
"No. He wouldn't have allowed me to live if he'd known I was a traitor."
"I'm telling you, he knew."
"Then you're lying."
"Georgie," Emery fixed her with a look, straightening up slightly. "Look me in the eye and tell me you think I'm really the sort of man who would lie about a person's last words."
For a moment she seemed angry, as if she would argue. Then she quickly turned away, but not before he caught the glimmer of tears.
Emery looked down. "I'm sorry."
She said nothing for a long while, tossing her cigarette over the balcony and leaning forward to gently grip the iron bars before her. Then she shook her head. "…Were those really his last words?"
"Well," Emery relented. "Not his last words. I couldn't understand those…they weren't in English."
Georgie nodded.
Emery crushed his cigarette against the cement and dropped his hands into his lap. "My point is that he forgave you. Because he knew who you really were. Even if you didn't."
Georgie gazed out at the street before slowly pulling up her legs. Then she turned around and leaned her back against the bars so that she was seated beside him.
Emery looked up at the cloudy sky. "Do you remember what you said to me about Aleksei two nights ago?"
"Not really."
"You told me that you supposed he was the closest thing to a family member that you had anymore," Emery reminded. "But you're wrong there, too. ...I told you there was plenty of room for Victor in my family. That doesn't mean he'd take up all the space there is."
Georgie's expression softened as she looked to him.
"Besides. Fidget's probably getting tired of being the only girl around, don't you think?"
She smiled, leaning towards him slightly. He leaned in as well until their shoulders were pressed against each other.
"It's like you said. Family is who you choose."
Georgie hummed. "The family you choose often does better by you than the family you don't. …Perhaps not in your case, but believe me when I say I'd take a tarantula over my sister any day."
Emery laughed. "Well I wouldn't know about that. I'm an only child."
"Lucky twat," Georgie sighed. "Do you ever wish you weren't?"
Emery thought for a moment. "Sometimes, certainly. I do get a tad jealous of that bond when I see it. But…everything considered, I'm rather glad I didn't have any siblings. There were too many bits of my childhood that I wouldn't want anyone to have to share."
Georgie nodded in understanding. "You're right. Sometimes the only thing harder than going through something alone is not being allowed the privilege."
"Well even alone, I had it better than a lot of folks. I mean at least I had loving parents to raise me for the most part, and they certainly didn't abandon me by choice, unlike…" Emery stopped, an important memory suddenly shoving its way to the forefront. Kurt's childhood. His father. The letter. "…some."
He'd yet to give the letter to Kurt. Or tell him anything about how it was acquired, naturally. How could he have forgotten this yet again? Suddenly he felt uneasy. Before he'd had the convenient excuse of present danger as to why he hadn't handed it over, but now there was nothing holding him back and he had no right to keep it from its intended recipient. He didn't want to make Kurt angry with him. Less so did he want to give him something that he knew may hurt him. But deep down Emery knew that it was not his choice to make. For better or worse, Kurt needed to know. He sagged slightly, rubbing his arms in the cold.
Georgie noted his shiver and wrapped her arms around herself as well. "I hope they're bringing back something hot."
Emery agreed.
* * *
"Why do people like crepes, anyway?" Victor asked, circling the block for the second time to try and locate a parking space. "I mean it's just a really pretentious breakfast burrito if you think about it. And I don't like anything that doubles as both a breakfast and a dessert—pick one, fat-ass."
Kurt was not typically engaged by Victor's conversational ramblings, but he took it upon himself to make an earnest effort. "I'm not partial to French cuisine myself."
"Says the Canuck," Victor replied.
"Quebec has quite a range of food to choose from."
"So does America, but at the end of the day you always end up with a burger and fries. Fuck, that sounds good. Maybe we should skip breakfast and get lunch."
"I think our first choice should suffice."
"If I can ever find a spot…"
Kurt looked out the window distractedly as Victor went off about some slow driver in front of them and rubbed his hands together in his lap. The streets were very familiar, he allowed himself to notice for the first time since returning to London. For two years he'd been making a home in another country, but nothing seemed to have changed here. It was as if he never left. He supposed that should be a harrowing thought, but it wasn't, strangely. For as long as he could remember, Kurt had hated England. It was the place in which he was trapped, somewhere he did not belong, was not welcomed, and while it felt like a nationality he owned, it was an identity he'd been forced to steal as opposed to one given by birthright. He hadn't missed it when he'd left. Canada didn't welcome him with open arms either, but nor did it shun him. He'd been entirely content to live out the rest of his days there never having set eyes on so much as a Union Jack ever again.
But it was different now. He couldn't precisely explain why. Perhaps it was that in some sense, his territory had been reclaimed. He'd returned to face his challengers and had bested them. It had suggested to him that perhaps one's home was not what was given to him, but what he took it upon himself to seize. It's your world too, a voice echoed within in his head from some unplaceable memory. But the more likely explanation for this feeling, and one that Kurt had difficulty processing, was that perhaps it was never actually England he hated. Perhaps instead it was the part of himself that England represented. The part of him that insisted he didn't belong to this world and that it would never accept him no matter what he did. But England was also where Emery had found him. And with him, location simply didn't seem to matter. With Emery, he felt a very keen sense of belonging. With Emery, that feeling of being denied acceptance could not reach him. It rather made England feel a bit like a snake den cleared of snakes.
"Hallelujah, thank fuck," Victor uttered in exasperation, finally parking the car in a parallel space and leaning back in his seat as he shut off the engine. He thumped the steering wheel and looked to Kurt. "Let's load up and get back before they send out a rescue party."
Kurt got out of the vehicle as Victor did, looking around the city before them and closing up the car door. He turned to his companion as he was approached on his side of the car. "Go on ahead. I'll meet you."
Victor looked to him curiously. "What? Why, where are you going?"
Kurt reached into his jacket and pushed Victor a bundle of notes. "I have an errand to run."
Victor took the money uncertainly. "Anything serious?"
"Terribly," Kurt replied. "I'll catch up shortly."
"Okay," Victor allowed.
Kurt briefly gripped Victor's elbow before heading off.
It was about twenty minutes later by the time h
e and Victor made it back to the flat. They entered to see Georgie seated at the table, who instantly perked up at the sight of food. "Am I glad to see you," she said.
"Damn right you are," Victor agreed, setting a stack of cartons down onto the table and dealing one to her. "Here. You strike me as an omelette sort of gal."
Georgie looked up at him reverently. "Mr. Scott, you're a perfect hero."
Victor swiped a hand at her modestly. "Yeah, well." He watched with interest as she began to inhale her food. "Where's Em?"
"Right here," Emery answered, exiting the hallway that led to the bedrooms and observing the table.
Victor held out a carton. "Here. You've gotta be jonesing for some greasy shit right about now."
Emery held up a hand politely. "Thanks. In a bit, perhaps." His eyes turned to Kurt, oddly serious. "Can I speak to you for a moment?"
Kurt looked to the others before nodding and quickly making his way over.
"Make it fast," Victor recommended. "Food's getting cold."
Kurt followed Emery towards their designated bedroom, slipping out of his jacket and laying it over a chair as he watched him. Emery stooped over his own jacket and seemed to pull something away, then turned, looking rather nervous. "Kurt," he began.
Kurt looked him up and down. "Emery, while we've got a moment alone, there's something I've been meaning to discuss."
"Can it wait?" Emery asked, approaching him. "This is important."
Kurt didn't like the thought of waiting even a second longer when he already regretted not doing this sooner, but he obeyed. "Is something wrong?"
"No. Not exactly. At least…I don't think so, it's just…" Emery cleared his throat, letting out a breath. "There's something that I haven't told you. Something happened that I…well I don't rightly know where to begin."
Somewhat alarmed, Kurt was silent.
"See, before I knew where you were, I was running jobs for Ludkov. That much you know. What you don't know is what those jobs entailed. I suppose it's mostly irrelevant, but there's one you ought to know about. I want you to know that I had no idea what I was getting into here. It all happened by coincidence—by mistake."
"Well what on earth are you telling me?"
Emery nodded and continued on. "One of the things Ludkov asked me to do was to steal the financial records of Geoffrey Garner. He wanted to frame Hennessey's boys for the act, I think. So Victor and I went to shake down Garner's oblivious accountant for the information, and that's what we did. A man by the name of Christian Isaacs."
Kurt's lips parted, and his mind went blank.
Emery was looking at him, gauging his reaction, his face tense. "I didn't know who he was. You never told me his name. Please believe me; I wouldn't have met with him if I'd known."
Kurt said nothing.
Emery swallowed and looked down. "He…wasn't cooperative, so I had to search through his files by force. But before I found Garner's, I found…yours. A file with your name, and I…well that's when I realized who he was."
Kurt's brain absorbed this scenario numbly.
"There were small bits of your life in that file. Just paperwork and such. Some photographs," Emery continued. "But I also found this."
Kurt looked down as an envelope was pushed into his hands. He stared down at the name and address.
Emery was rubbing his own arm nervously before him. "I think it's from your family. I don't know when it was sent, but being that it's still sealed I presume you never received it."
Kurt couldn't stop staring at his grandmother's name. "…What does it say?"
Emery shook his head. "I didn't read it. It's not addressed to me."
Everything in Kurt's head seemed to shut down, leaving him standing their holding the envelope with the inability to react. He looked back to Emery when he felt a hand on his arm.
"I didn't mean to go through your past like that. I just didn't know where you were, I-I was looking for any lead, anything, I was so…" He stopped anxiously for a moment. "Well…I'll leave you be. Take all the time you need."
Kurt was at a loss for words and Emery was already leaving the room. He looked back down at the letter and lowered it. He wasn't even certain he desired to read it… For a moment he debated simply tossing it away, but decided that Emery must have gone through some trouble to acquire it, and used that as his excuse. He slowly sat down on the bed with the envelope in his lap.
It was quite a lot to take in. The idea that Emery had encountered his father was staggering. Kurt didn't even know the man was still alive, much less still working, and the thought of him getting the chance to harangue his lover was not a happy one. He had purposefully forgotten Christian Isaacs in his youth and never expected to hear of him again. His eyes fell back down to the letter lying heavy on his thigh. Why this? His grandmother had not attempted to contact him since he was six years old. She had died shortly before he was eighteen and to the best of his knowledge left nothing to him. He had stopped wishing for an explanation long ago. The idea that there should be one now was by this point almost unwelcome. He didn't think he really wanted to know why he'd been sent away, or to hear anything from those that had done the sending. Not after it was nearly twenty-nine years too late. Nevertheless his fingers were sliding under the envelope's flap, breaking the adhesive, and he was pulling out a many-paged, deeply creased letter.
It was in German, naturally. His grandmother's handwriting was flowing and intricate, and as he unfolded it there was a trapped scent of sage within the pages that pulled previously sleeping memories to the surface of his mind.
Dearest Kurt, it began…
I think by now I'm nothing but a hopeful old fool. I write you this letter suspecting, with good cause, that you will never lay eyes on it. I can only hope that it will be because you do not wish to, and not because it will have been discarded before you have the chance.
I hope that you have not forgotten your German. You were such a clever child. So clever that I had you reading and writing at just five years old, and then you were learning to write your English, too. Your grandfather used to insist that you would be a teacher one day because of how easily you learned. He always did want someone to follow in his footsteps. It is my greatest regret that I will never know if you did.
Forgive me if I ramble, my darling. There is so much I have wanted to say to you for so long. The last time I saw you, you were just a little boy. Now you are seventeen and nearly a man. I would give anything on this earth to see you now. I am sure you grew up quite handsome. You had such good bone structure, and you were the most beautiful baby I had ever seen. Your mother even had to ask for you repeatedly because the nurses all refused to put you down. I wonder if you have the girls fawning over you still. I wonder if your smile still stops hearts. I wonder if you still have that serious resting face of yours that made a six year old boy look like a soldier marching off to war.
I will drive myself mad with the wondering. Perhaps that is what I deserve. Perhaps that is my punishment for allowing this all to happen the way that it did. I do not know what your father has told you, and I do not seek to undermine him. But because all attempts to tell you myself have failed, I feel I must assure you that we never stopped loving you, or thinking of you, and we have missed you every day since your departure. I hope that you understand: we did not want to see you go. Not a one of us.
I sometimes fear what you must think of your poor mother. Your memories of her must be sparse, but please know that it was not her fault. She was very ill. She could not care for you. We noticed that Anna was not well by the time she was a young adult, but episodes seemed to come and go. Most days she was the sweet daughter that I raised, but then she started to forget. She would lose track. She would coddle her precious baby like he was life itself, and in the next moment not know who he was, or why he was there. At times she thought she was a child herself. On occasion she would wake screaming in the night, terrified to find that she was no longer pregnant because she had forgotte
n that her son had already been born. I had to keep you separated from her for both your sakes. She had no say in the matter of your custody. And, most painfully, in her moments of lucidity she despised me for taking you from her. In the days before our beloved Anna passed, she cried and cried, and could say only your name.
I do not tell you this to hurt you. I only want you to know that she loved you, and that I am the one you must blame, not her. I was the one who made the decision to let you go. And I have regretted it ever since.
Your mother's condition worsened with each passing year. Then, when you were just five, your grandfather became very ill as well. He was such a proud man that he did not show it, but his health would decline rapidly after his diagnosis. Soon it would be left to me to care for him along with my daughter and grandson. We had little money. I could seem to find help nowhere. Then one day your father came to say that his business in Germany was finished and that he would be returning to England within the month.
I thought of you, my dear. Only of you. I thought of you being forced to grow up faster than you should have. I thought of you helplessly watching your grandfather and your mother die. I thought of you unfairly neglected while your grandmother spent all of her time caring for two invalids, dwindling with us in poverty as the medical bills stacked and stacked, and I could not bear it. I begged your father to take you with him.
I know that he is not an easy man. He is very self-important and cold, but he is your father. He has wealth and stability and that is what I wanted for you. I knew that you would be clothed and fed. At the moment, nothing seemed more important. He agreed to assume full custody of you, but told me that he would not be returning to Germany, as he was a very busy man. Stupidly, I assured him that I would take it upon myself to visit.
I do not know if you remember the day you left. I will never forget it. It is a memory that has haunted me for eleven long years, and will remain my cross to bear until I am at last relieved of this aging body. I packed your things for you and told you that England was an exciting place, full of castles and queens, but you were too clever to fool. You knew that something was changing irrevocably. But you did not cry. I asked you to be brave, and you were. So very brave. My little soldier, marching off to war. I told you that I would see you again. I am so very sorry to have lied. I did not mean to lie. Your grandfather and mother could not care for themselves without me. There was no one else to watch over them. I supposed that I would do my best to explain this to you when next we spoke, but this would never come to pass.