a house, a home
title: a house, a home
fandom: trese
rating: g
author's notes: family goop. belated birthday present for meicdon13. happy birthday, dear~ congratulations on being old like us fufufu. thanks to crossesandguns for being my beta and partner-in-crime!
Closing time at the Diabolical was always a quiet affair.
The throngs of couples and families that flocked the restaurant around dinner time had cleared out by 9 in the evening, and the stragglers that stuck around for the barako were mostly gone by 10. Of course, there were occasions where certain special guests ended up causing some sort of ruckus, but those were more of exceptions rather than the rule.
The last customer for the night left at 10 on the dot, and Hank turned over the sign at the front door to "Closed". What was a bustling place of activity only a few hours ago was now filled with only the sounds of chairs being stacked away and the radio crackling out an old mellow song fit for the cool evening.
"Alexandra."
She looked up from where she had been wiping down a table, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn water ring. "Yes, Lolo?"
Alexander Trese smiled fondly at his granddaughter. "Head on to bed. We can take care of things from here."
"Are you sure? I can finish off the tables, at least," Alexandra suggested.
"You'll probably wear that mark right off the table if you keep at it," Alexander said, not unkindly. "Go on. You still have school tomorrow."
She left the cloth on the table, wiping her hands on the apron before moving over to the table where her grandfather sat.
"Good night, Lolo," she pressed the back of her grandfather's hand to her forehead, receiving a murmured blessing in return. "Good night, Hank."
"Don’t let the aswang bite," Hank saluted from where he was putting away the dishes for the next day.
With her good nights bid, Alexandra pulled off the apron and hung it on the provided hook at the back of the room. She headed into the adjoining hallway, her feet finding the familiar flight of stairs that lead to the second floor of the building.
When she was younger, the place had been noisy even after hours. Carlito would drop by between missions, always with stories of the different enemies he had faced. Rick would occasionally pop his head out of his room, pleading for peace and quiet as he pored over his thesis. Matthias would urge his younger siblings to comply, but would eventually turn a blind eye when they started up again unless they disturbed his meditation. Jimmy would always rope her into his schemes until she either started crying or they both got into trouble. Anton would then chide whoever was being particularly unruly, but all would be forgiven when Miranda scooped them up in a hug and convinced Hank to make them all cups of hot tsokolate.
Now her brothers have all moved out, and her mother long gone.
The silence had been oppressive at first, but she had gotten used to it over time. They all had, really, for there hadn't been any reason to make much noise after her mother's passing. The empty rooms and quiet hallways became a norm, as much of a part of the house as her grandfather's restaurant and that one creaky stair.
Of course, that wasn't the case anymore. Not since they had brought back the twins with them.
Alexandra was never really one for change. Change was confusing, irritating, unfamiliar. Change was her brothers leaving one by one, her father sitting alone at the booth made for two, her bedtime stories told by her grandfather instead of...
But they had no choice. These were not ordinary children that one could leave at the nearest orphanage. These were the sons of Talagbusao, murderous children that bore his blood and his thirst for spilling that of others. These were creatures capable of tearing out hearts while they still beat, of wiping out entire families for the sake of vengeance.
The masks were an improvement. Crispin and Basilio no longer felt the constant need to tear into others' throats, although Hank was disgruntled that their appetites were still the same. Save for their superhuman strength and ability to fly, they were typical young boys.
The once spotless hallways were now strewn with discarded crayon drawings and plastic figurines. Quiet evenings were punctuated with angry shouts or raucous laughter. Doors were found flung open as the two played their super powered version of hide-and-go-seek, zooming in and out of empty rooms and rolling around on dusty floors.
Being the youngest of her brood, suddenly having to take care of two energetic young boys had come as a shock to Alexandra. Although she no longer considered asking Hank to follow through on his original plan of dousing their food with rat poison (she had a feeling they would only vomit it up, anyway), there were times when she felt like ripping all her hair from her head and throwing the two out on the streets. "Enthusiastic", as their elementary school teacher had falteringly described them, was far too weak of a description - "demonic" would be much more accurate, both literally and figuratively.
However, it wasn't until she had nearly tripped over a haphazardly abandoned set of jackstones that she realized it was far too quiet. Usually, the noises from the twins' shared room would have her looking in on them, only to find Basilio bouncing around on his bed while Crispin worked on his latest Lego monstrosity.
There was a line of light visible at the bottom of their door, indicating that they were still up, but the silence remained disconcerting. On one hand, she supposed she could simply accept the miracle for what it was and leave the two alone, but on the other hand, there could be something wrong.
Ah, well. If they were asleep, she would need to turn the light off, anyway.
Alexandra pushed the door open slowly, poking her head through the gap.
To her surprise, Basilio was not making a mess out of his side of the room, and Crispin's Lego set was pushed to a pile at the bottom of his bed. Instead of the chaos she had expected, her eyes met the sight of the two curled up together on Crispin's bed, Basilio's face buried against his brother's shoulder.
"Boys?" she asked tentatively.
Crispin looked over immediately at the sound of her voice, but Basilio only curled himself in tighter.
She felt like a stranger in her own house as she slipped inside the room, closing the door with a soft click behind her. "Is everything alright?"
Crispin's gaze dropped from hers, returning to Basilio. "Yeah, everything's fine."
Alexandra struggled to keep the disbelieving tone out of her voice. "Well, it's getting late. You need to get to sleep now. There's the parent-teacher conference tomorrow, remember?"
Basilio made a faintly keening noise.
Crispin's brow furrowed, hands tightening on his brother's shoulders.
It was clear that neither of them would be complying. Alexandra frowned. She would not be held responsible if the two didn't wake up on time tomorrow. Heaven knew how much trouble the conference was already shaping up to be, and she wasn't even going to be the one attending.
She strode over purposefully to the bed, reaching out to pull Basilio away from Crispin. "Come on, you have to sleep early for the-"
"I don't wanna go!"
Her hands froze inches away from Basilio's shoulders, stopping at his yell. "What? You can't not go. Papa's cleared his schedule just for this!"
Basilio shook his head, fists curled into the fabric of Crispin's nightshirt. "I don't care! I don't want to go!"
Alexandra's lips thinned into a straight line, breathing deeply as she tried to tamp down her temper. She looked over at Crispin questioningly; if anyone could provide an explanation of Basilio's odd behavior, it would be him.
Crispin's face was strained, and he was unable to meet Alexandra's gaze directly. "Last conference, the other kids asked us why our own parents didn't go..."
The rest of the unspoken words hung heavily in the air, and Alexandra found herself at a loss for words.
Basilio's shoulders began shaking slightly. A shift in his movement revealed the wet smear on Crispin's shirt, its source unmistakable.
Alexandra sank to the floor. The hand that meant to tug Basilio away now stroked across his back, feeling the little tremors that wracked his body underneath her palm. Crispin's hands eventually relaxed from their white-knuckled grip, rubbing gently over Basilio's shoulders.
Eventually, Basilio stopped trembling, his silent crying reduced to the occasional hiccup. Alexandra's hand pulled away from his back but did not stray far, coming to a rest just a breath away from their entwined bodies.
"My classmates asked me things like that, too," she said in a hushed tone, "when my mother died."
Crispin's eyes slowly shifted to her. Although she couldn't see his face, she knew Basilio was listening in, too.
"Things like why I was bringing Hank’s lunches all of a sudden, or why Papa and Lolo were the ones to pick me up. Some of them asked what it was like to have your mother die.
I tried to explain to them that it wasn't exactly like having someone move away, or even your pet dying, but they couldn't understand. Maybe it was because they were too young, but I think it's something you don't really get unless it happens to you."
"If they didn't understand," Crispin breathed, "how did you get by every day?"
"I stopped trying to explain." A humorless smile pulled at her lips. "I even stopped talking to some of them, the ones that kept asking. The teacher always scolded them for it, too, and they might have grown resentful of that. I didn’t keep many friends from then."
"Weren't you lonely?" Basilio rasped, pulling his face away from Crispin's shoulder to stare at her with swollen eyes.
"A bit," she answered. A lot, she might have said, if she were more honest. "But I got used to it."
The twins kept staring at her, and she shook her head. "Look, you don't have to do the same thing I did. It was my choice, and it was what helped me back then, but it shouldn't be the same case for you. Just know that it's alright to let yourself feel sad about it sometimes. I..."
She swallowed through the sudden tightening of her throat. "I'm still sad about it, too."
The admission was unexpected, and the vulnerability she felt was almost too painful to bear. Somewhere in the fabric of her memories, there was a quiet child waiting for her father to arrive, watching the other children drag their parents-both of their parents-around the room to show off their recent accomplishments. The same child that arrived to an empty house, ran her hand through a closet of clothes unworn for months, tried to catch the lingering scent of a person who was no longer there.
"I miss Mama," Crispin muttered, eyes suspiciously glossy.
"Me too," Basilio whimpered, tucking his head back against the crook of his brother's neck.
"Me too," Alexandra whispered when the light had been switched off and the two had finally stilled.
---
"So, how were the little rascals?" Hank greeted Anton as he slipped into his usual seat.
"Crispin's doing well with his subjects. Basilio's surprisingly not that far behind," Anton reported, gratefully accepting the barako that was placed in front of him. "They're performing fantastically in physical education, but that's not a surprise."
"No screaming children? No complaints about masked hellions opening gates to the underworld?" Hank joked.
"Actually, the biggest issue that their teacher raised was about Basilio's hair," Anton's tone was clearly disapproving. "I told her that if that was the biggest issue she was concerned about, then the boys must be perfect angels."
The quip prompted a burst of laughter from Hank.
Anton smiled, pulling out a carefully folded piece of paper from his pants pocket. "Oh, and she gave this. Apparently, they were asked to give a presentation on their family. All the parents were allowed to take the art pieces home."
If anything, Hank's smile grew even wider at the sight of the drawing. "Hey, they got my moustache down pretty good here!"
"I especially love Alexandra's big smile," Anton grinned into his coffee.
"Yep, this is definitely one for the refrigerator."
fandom: trese
rating: g
author's notes: family goop. belated birthday present for meicdon13. happy birthday, dear~ congratulations on being old like us fufufu. thanks to crossesandguns for being my beta and partner-in-crime!
Closing time at the Diabolical was always a quiet affair.
The throngs of couples and families that flocked the restaurant around dinner time had cleared out by 9 in the evening, and the stragglers that stuck around for the barako were mostly gone by 10. Of course, there were occasions where certain special guests ended up causing some sort of ruckus, but those were more of exceptions rather than the rule.
The last customer for the night left at 10 on the dot, and Hank turned over the sign at the front door to "Closed". What was a bustling place of activity only a few hours ago was now filled with only the sounds of chairs being stacked away and the radio crackling out an old mellow song fit for the cool evening.
"Alexandra."
She looked up from where she had been wiping down a table, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn water ring. "Yes, Lolo?"
Alexander Trese smiled fondly at his granddaughter. "Head on to bed. We can take care of things from here."
"Are you sure? I can finish off the tables, at least," Alexandra suggested.
"You'll probably wear that mark right off the table if you keep at it," Alexander said, not unkindly. "Go on. You still have school tomorrow."
She left the cloth on the table, wiping her hands on the apron before moving over to the table where her grandfather sat.
"Good night, Lolo," she pressed the back of her grandfather's hand to her forehead, receiving a murmured blessing in return. "Good night, Hank."
"Don’t let the aswang bite," Hank saluted from where he was putting away the dishes for the next day.
With her good nights bid, Alexandra pulled off the apron and hung it on the provided hook at the back of the room. She headed into the adjoining hallway, her feet finding the familiar flight of stairs that lead to the second floor of the building.
When she was younger, the place had been noisy even after hours. Carlito would drop by between missions, always with stories of the different enemies he had faced. Rick would occasionally pop his head out of his room, pleading for peace and quiet as he pored over his thesis. Matthias would urge his younger siblings to comply, but would eventually turn a blind eye when they started up again unless they disturbed his meditation. Jimmy would always rope her into his schemes until she either started crying or they both got into trouble. Anton would then chide whoever was being particularly unruly, but all would be forgiven when Miranda scooped them up in a hug and convinced Hank to make them all cups of hot tsokolate.
Now her brothers have all moved out, and her mother long gone.
The silence had been oppressive at first, but she had gotten used to it over time. They all had, really, for there hadn't been any reason to make much noise after her mother's passing. The empty rooms and quiet hallways became a norm, as much of a part of the house as her grandfather's restaurant and that one creaky stair.
Of course, that wasn't the case anymore. Not since they had brought back the twins with them.
Alexandra was never really one for change. Change was confusing, irritating, unfamiliar. Change was her brothers leaving one by one, her father sitting alone at the booth made for two, her bedtime stories told by her grandfather instead of...
But they had no choice. These were not ordinary children that one could leave at the nearest orphanage. These were the sons of Talagbusao, murderous children that bore his blood and his thirst for spilling that of others. These were creatures capable of tearing out hearts while they still beat, of wiping out entire families for the sake of vengeance.
The masks were an improvement. Crispin and Basilio no longer felt the constant need to tear into others' throats, although Hank was disgruntled that their appetites were still the same. Save for their superhuman strength and ability to fly, they were typical young boys.
The once spotless hallways were now strewn with discarded crayon drawings and plastic figurines. Quiet evenings were punctuated with angry shouts or raucous laughter. Doors were found flung open as the two played their super powered version of hide-and-go-seek, zooming in and out of empty rooms and rolling around on dusty floors.
Being the youngest of her brood, suddenly having to take care of two energetic young boys had come as a shock to Alexandra. Although she no longer considered asking Hank to follow through on his original plan of dousing their food with rat poison (she had a feeling they would only vomit it up, anyway), there were times when she felt like ripping all her hair from her head and throwing the two out on the streets. "Enthusiastic", as their elementary school teacher had falteringly described them, was far too weak of a description - "demonic" would be much more accurate, both literally and figuratively.
However, it wasn't until she had nearly tripped over a haphazardly abandoned set of jackstones that she realized it was far too quiet. Usually, the noises from the twins' shared room would have her looking in on them, only to find Basilio bouncing around on his bed while Crispin worked on his latest Lego monstrosity.
There was a line of light visible at the bottom of their door, indicating that they were still up, but the silence remained disconcerting. On one hand, she supposed she could simply accept the miracle for what it was and leave the two alone, but on the other hand, there could be something wrong.
Ah, well. If they were asleep, she would need to turn the light off, anyway.
Alexandra pushed the door open slowly, poking her head through the gap.
To her surprise, Basilio was not making a mess out of his side of the room, and Crispin's Lego set was pushed to a pile at the bottom of his bed. Instead of the chaos she had expected, her eyes met the sight of the two curled up together on Crispin's bed, Basilio's face buried against his brother's shoulder.
"Boys?" she asked tentatively.
Crispin looked over immediately at the sound of her voice, but Basilio only curled himself in tighter.
She felt like a stranger in her own house as she slipped inside the room, closing the door with a soft click behind her. "Is everything alright?"
Crispin's gaze dropped from hers, returning to Basilio. "Yeah, everything's fine."
Alexandra struggled to keep the disbelieving tone out of her voice. "Well, it's getting late. You need to get to sleep now. There's the parent-teacher conference tomorrow, remember?"
Basilio made a faintly keening noise.
Crispin's brow furrowed, hands tightening on his brother's shoulders.
It was clear that neither of them would be complying. Alexandra frowned. She would not be held responsible if the two didn't wake up on time tomorrow. Heaven knew how much trouble the conference was already shaping up to be, and she wasn't even going to be the one attending.
She strode over purposefully to the bed, reaching out to pull Basilio away from Crispin. "Come on, you have to sleep early for the-"
"I don't wanna go!"
Her hands froze inches away from Basilio's shoulders, stopping at his yell. "What? You can't not go. Papa's cleared his schedule just for this!"
Basilio shook his head, fists curled into the fabric of Crispin's nightshirt. "I don't care! I don't want to go!"
Alexandra's lips thinned into a straight line, breathing deeply as she tried to tamp down her temper. She looked over at Crispin questioningly; if anyone could provide an explanation of Basilio's odd behavior, it would be him.
Crispin's face was strained, and he was unable to meet Alexandra's gaze directly. "Last conference, the other kids asked us why our own parents didn't go..."
The rest of the unspoken words hung heavily in the air, and Alexandra found herself at a loss for words.
Basilio's shoulders began shaking slightly. A shift in his movement revealed the wet smear on Crispin's shirt, its source unmistakable.
Alexandra sank to the floor. The hand that meant to tug Basilio away now stroked across his back, feeling the little tremors that wracked his body underneath her palm. Crispin's hands eventually relaxed from their white-knuckled grip, rubbing gently over Basilio's shoulders.
Eventually, Basilio stopped trembling, his silent crying reduced to the occasional hiccup. Alexandra's hand pulled away from his back but did not stray far, coming to a rest just a breath away from their entwined bodies.
"My classmates asked me things like that, too," she said in a hushed tone, "when my mother died."
Crispin's eyes slowly shifted to her. Although she couldn't see his face, she knew Basilio was listening in, too.
"Things like why I was bringing Hank’s lunches all of a sudden, or why Papa and Lolo were the ones to pick me up. Some of them asked what it was like to have your mother die.
I tried to explain to them that it wasn't exactly like having someone move away, or even your pet dying, but they couldn't understand. Maybe it was because they were too young, but I think it's something you don't really get unless it happens to you."
"If they didn't understand," Crispin breathed, "how did you get by every day?"
"I stopped trying to explain." A humorless smile pulled at her lips. "I even stopped talking to some of them, the ones that kept asking. The teacher always scolded them for it, too, and they might have grown resentful of that. I didn’t keep many friends from then."
"Weren't you lonely?" Basilio rasped, pulling his face away from Crispin's shoulder to stare at her with swollen eyes.
"A bit," she answered. A lot, she might have said, if she were more honest. "But I got used to it."
The twins kept staring at her, and she shook her head. "Look, you don't have to do the same thing I did. It was my choice, and it was what helped me back then, but it shouldn't be the same case for you. Just know that it's alright to let yourself feel sad about it sometimes. I..."
She swallowed through the sudden tightening of her throat. "I'm still sad about it, too."
The admission was unexpected, and the vulnerability she felt was almost too painful to bear. Somewhere in the fabric of her memories, there was a quiet child waiting for her father to arrive, watching the other children drag their parents-both of their parents-around the room to show off their recent accomplishments. The same child that arrived to an empty house, ran her hand through a closet of clothes unworn for months, tried to catch the lingering scent of a person who was no longer there.
"I miss Mama," Crispin muttered, eyes suspiciously glossy.
"Me too," Basilio whimpered, tucking his head back against the crook of his brother's neck.
"Me too," Alexandra whispered when the light had been switched off and the two had finally stilled.
---
"So, how were the little rascals?" Hank greeted Anton as he slipped into his usual seat.
"Crispin's doing well with his subjects. Basilio's surprisingly not that far behind," Anton reported, gratefully accepting the barako that was placed in front of him. "They're performing fantastically in physical education, but that's not a surprise."
"No screaming children? No complaints about masked hellions opening gates to the underworld?" Hank joked.
"Actually, the biggest issue that their teacher raised was about Basilio's hair," Anton's tone was clearly disapproving. "I told her that if that was the biggest issue she was concerned about, then the boys must be perfect angels."
The quip prompted a burst of laughter from Hank.
Anton smiled, pulling out a carefully folded piece of paper from his pants pocket. "Oh, and she gave this. Apparently, they were asked to give a presentation on their family. All the parents were allowed to take the art pieces home."
If anything, Hank's smile grew even wider at the sight of the drawing. "Hey, they got my moustache down pretty good here!"
"I especially love Alexandra's big smile," Anton grinned into his coffee.
"Yep, this is definitely one for the refrigerator."