Chapter Text
Leon was sitting halfway up the stairs, with an arm wrapped around a wooden spindle, and the other waving his Luke Skywalker action figure in an imaginary battle against an invisible Darth Vader. Imagination alone had to do, for now, as he had left his Darth Vader at his friend Joey’s house and still had to get it back. The situation, however, was way too dire to wait for his friend to return his toy: Luke Skywalker had rushed to save Princess Leia and Han Solo from the evil Empire, but his greatest foe had been waiting for him, ready to thwart his mission.
As a background noise to the pivotal battle taking place on the steps, wall, and handrail of a made-up Cloud City, along with his whispered “ksssh” and “swoosh” of the lightsabers, there was also his parents’ shouting, barely muffled by the kitchen door.
Leon, with practiced ease, did his best to ignore it.
It wasn’t like his parents fought all the time. There were, however, certain matters that would be like sparks on gasoline between them, quickly turning into a raging fire. Then accusations would be screamed, things would be thrown, doors would be slammed. And the two of them would spend the next few days in stubborn, oppressive silence, punctuated by glares and curt gestures, with Leon and Vanessa walking on eggshells between them so as not to aggravate the tension. Usually things would smooth themselves out on their own, and mom and dad would go back to acting normally, almost pretending that nothing had happened.
Those fights, however, had been steadily getting more frequent, and the following coldness longer. Something had happened, something that had rattled both mom and dad, and even Vanessa, but Leon didn’t know what it was. And nobody would tell him anything, because Leon was a kid, and apparently kids were too stupid to be told grown-up stuff. But Leon was six, not five, and soon to be a big brother, and he could not understand why, as old and responsible as he was now, everyone kept thinking that he still couldn’t handle this kind of things. Leon frowned, and slashed the lightsaber at the imaginary Darth Vader. He missed.
As Luke Skywalker did a somersault on the handrail, Leon heard his parents mention uncle Lucio’s name.
Luke Skywalker halted in mid-air, and Leon slowly put him down, turning towards the closed door. This was important. Darth Vader could wait.
His uncle and cousin hadn’t visited in a strangely long while. The last time he had seen them had been at nana Greta’s funeral, over a year ago.
Leon knew that there was often tension between his father and his mama’s family. It wouldn’t be the first time his dad and uncle Lucio had a disagreement, but they always tried their best to mend things, if not for mama’s sake, then so that he, Vanessa, and their cousin Nico could enjoy some carefree time together. Perhaps this time things had been more serious than usual, and that was why they weren’t seeing them as often anymore. It was a shame, he thought. He loved spending time with his older cousin, and always wished they would see him and uncle Lucio more often than just on Christmas day and the occasional visit. With the weariest sigh that he could muster, that conveyed all the burdens of his six years of life, he wondered what argument could be so serious that mom and dad refused to even speak about it.
But those were probably grown-up matters, grown-up quarrels, and the general grown-up nonsense that Leon, for the life of him, could not wrap his head around. However, if that same nonsense had created such a rift between his father and his uncle, apparently the fight with the grandpa he did not remember – his mama’s father, whose name always made her misty-eyed and dad prickly – had been even worse. So bad that they had not even been able to reconcile before he died, shortly after Leon had turned one.
They only had the one photo of him, sitting in a pew, wearing his nicest suit and holding a baby Leon on the day of his christening. It was one single photo, lost in a crowd on top of the mantel, half-hidden behind a photo of a younger Vanessa dressed in white, smiling cheekily at the camera on her First Communion, and one of Vanessa and Nico – at twelve and ten respectively – dipping their toes in the Batsto River, with nana Greta holding a three-year-old Leon’s hand behind them. There were countless other photos – Christmases, birthdays, their parents’ wedding, family outings, tidy family photos, and gap-toothed smiles – and grandpa Leonardo was in none of them.
Was the same thing going to happen to Nico and uncle Lucio? Were they going to just disappear from their life, with some lifeless photos on the mantel as their only trace left? He had even tried asking Vanessa once, but she had gotten furious, called him ‘stupid’, and shut herself into her room for the rest of the day. Leon swore he had heard her crying.
His mom’s voice, desperate and angry in equal measure, drew his attention back to the door.
“You don’t get to take this kind of risks, not after Lucio. And you saw what happened with Nico. What do you think these people would do to…”
The rest of what his mom was going to say got lost in a series of labored pants.
He heard some worried mutters from his father, and the sound of a chair being moved.
Mom got tired often and easily, as of late. It was just because of the baby, she would reassure him, whenever she got too winded to run after him.
It used to be fun, the wait for their new baby sibling. The setting up of the room, imagining all the things they would do together, hearing all the way he could help out as a big brother. He used to love sticking his ear to his mom’s belly, and wait with bated breath to hear the baby speak, no matter how everyone insisted that babies could not talk. It wasn’t like adults knew everything, after all. He had stopped after that one time he had seen the imprint of a tiny foot pushing out from under his mom’s skin. That had been gross, and it hadn’t been nice of mom and Vanessa to tease him about his entirely justified reaction.
Now he just wanted his mom to be back to her usual, lively self. If his sibling would just do them the courtesy of coming out already, but mom had said that they were going to be a Christmas baby, so there was still about a month to go. Maybe, if not just for them, Nico and uncle Lucio would come to meet his new brother or sister.
On the one hand, he would love a baby brother to play with the same way he played with his friends at school, or maybe so that he could be the cool older brother the same way cousin Nico was to him. On the other, though, he was supposed to be the man of the house whenever dad wasn’t home, and he really didn’t want to contend with a baby for the role, so he guessed a baby sister would be okay too, as long as she wasn’t mean like Vanessa. Mom and dad however wanted it to be a surprise, so Leon, as his responsible big brother job required, had to come up with both boy and girl names to put forward, much to their amusement.
“Sofia…” his father managed to sound both concerned and hassled.
“I don’t want to hear it,” his mother cut off with a hiss. “I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me how, after everything that happened, you are convinced that this is going to end well.”
A few seconds ticked by, and his dad didn’t answer.
Silence.
Then a crash.
The kitchen door flung open, banging against the wall in the way Leon knew his mom hated, and his dad stormed out.
His face was scary, like that time he had caught Leon and Nico playing cops and robbers with his gun. Needless to say, they had never done that again.
Leon, who had crept down to the bottom of the stairs, scrambled back up to get out of the way as his father stalked past, not even sparing him a glance, tore his coat off the rack, and went out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
Leon stared after him for a while, frozen, his heart hammering in his chest, waiting to see if he would come back. Then, slowly, he tiptoed his way to the kitchen.
His mom was hunched over the table, her face in her hands, and her whole body was shaking with sobs. The sight of his mother crying left Leon, as always, wavering and at a loss. He knew it was the kind of tears that hugs, kisses, and a lullaby could not dry. He hovered on the doorway, glancing around the kitchen. The ceramic centerpiece, the pretty one with the lemons that Leon had remembered being on their table for as long as he could recall, lay scattered in pieces on the floor.
There was a glass on the table next to her, and Leon remembered how their father had told them that there were certain things that mom could not eat or drink while she was expecting the baby, and that they all had to make an effort to remind her in case she ever forgot.
If he couldn’t console his mom, at least he had to do his big brother job. He took a hesitant step forward.
“Ma’?”
She stifled a sob, dragged a hand from her eyes to her mouth, and looked at him with wet, red eyes. For a moment it looked like she wanted to say something. Then she just shook her head and turned away.
“Please Leon, not now.”
Her voice was tattered, weary. Leon didn’t want to make her scream.
He closed the door quietly, so that it wouldn’t slam.
Mission failed, he picked up Luke Skywalker from the floor, and with his arm hanging limp as if that small figurine weighted a ton, he dragged his feet up the stairs.
Leon’s bedroom was at the end of the upstairs corridor. Frowning stubbornly at the carpet, he passed his parents’ bedroom and the bathroom, then he slowed down. He hesitated in front of his sister’s room. He debated asking her if she knew what was wrong with everybody. Vanessa often prided herself in knowing everything, or at least she pretended she did, but now she was probably doing her homework, and she hated being interrupted. Also, Leon still remembered her reaction when he had asked about their uncle and cousin.
He almost gave up, almost turned around. But he was old, now, and had to be responsible, so he steeled himself.
Their uncle and cousin had disappeared. Dad had left. Mom was crying.
Maybe, if he didn’t actually get into her room, she wouldn’t be mad.
So he carefully pushed the door open, minding not to cross the threshold.
Vanessa was sitting at her desk, scribbling on her notebook and glancing at her textbook from time to time, while listening to music on her Walkman, the one she was adamant he should never even brush with a finger. She glanced at him, and with a huff, she pulled down her headphones.
“What?” she snapped.
Leon hesitated, shifted from one foot to the other, holding his action figure in both hands like a lifeline. His answer was a miserable mumble.
“Ma’ and dad fought.”
“Did they?” she asked, but Leon could tell that her surprise was fake. “Shocker.”
A breath. He elaborated.
“Ma’ is crying. Dad left.”
A grimace flickered on his sister’s face, as quick as the shutter of a camera. Then her expression smoothed out with affected casualness.
“He will be back. If not by dinner, then just after. He always does, you know that.”
And with the best reassurance she could muster at the moment, she went back to her homework. Leon, however, didn’t move, and before she could deafen herself again with her headphones, he braced himself and blurted out: “Vanessa, what happened with dad and uncle Lucio?”
Her hands stilled. Her expression curdled. Her answer was an icy hiss.
“What happened is that we’re never seeing uncle or Nico again. Now go away.”
That would not be enough.
“But why? What did they even fight about this…” the rest of his sentence was swallowed by a gasp, as his sister knocked over her chair, stormed at him, and, with a wordless yell that might have been a “Shut up!”, slammed the door in his face.
He held his breath. Through the door he heard Vanessa unplug her headphones, and the song she liked so much, the one about the hungry wolf, blasted full-volume from inside the room. Over the music, he could not hear if she was crying.
Leon clenched his fists, as he felt the hot, burning tears of a baby sting his eyes.
Why was everyone mad at him just because he wanted to know what was wrong with his family? What was so bad about wanting to help?
With an angry, strangled whine, he kicked his sister’s door, then scrubbed away his child tears before they could wet his cheeks.
Whatever.
Leon was tired of everyone being sad, angry, and moody.
He placed his Luke Skywalker figurine with its feet against the wall, and made it run towards his room as he stomped along. He didn’t feel like fighting Darth Vader anymore, but Han Solo still needed to be rescued, and Boba Fett was getting away.