Differing Tastes

Notes: Ibid.

.

.

The man is the large, well muscled type with an almost professionally blank expression on his face that makes him look like he'd rather be anywhere else but the inside of Ruben's apartment. The woman, by contrast, has large eyes that seem to bleed with a false sincerity that makes his teeth itch. He'd much rather deal with the man than her, but she's the one who breaks the silence first.

"I'm sorry, there's no real easy way to say this," her voice grates along Ruben's nerves too, and only the light touch of Laura's hand on his arm stops him from requesting she shut up. It's warning and reminder that these two are police officers. "There was a car accident the other night. Your parents were involved. They did not make it. I'm very sorry for your loss."

Dead. Ruben stares for a moment as he feels Laura go stiff next to him. It's surprise that takes them both, but that doesn't last long. It was only a matter of time before they were bound to get this visit after all and Ruben's rather surprised at the lack of pleasure he feels. Has it been so long since he's seen their parents that his hate has turned to apathy? After a thoughtful minute he realizes that it has. They were strangers long before he'd left their care, and the years of non contact have cemented that feeling.

He's rather pleased by that.

"Was it painful?" Ruben asks when the silence drags on expectantly.

"No," the woman smiles reassuringly, "it was quick and easy. They felt nothing at all."

Pity. Ruben keeps that thought to himself though as Laura's nails suddenly dig into his arm. All ten of them which must be painful considering her thumbs aren't as flexible as most people's.

"I'm," Laura stops and clears her throat, blinking rapidly as her face starts to turn blotchy. She sniffles a little and looks pathetic in the broadest sense of the word. "I'm sorry, but could you...?"

"Of course," the woman stands and the man follows suit. Both bowing their heads with professional regret. "We'll see ourselves out."

They're gone quickly. Job to notify finished and already onto better things as Laura buries her face against his shoulder, her own shoulders jerking convincingly for a few seconds until she hears the sound of the front door clicking shut behind them. She waits for another minute before pulling away and punching him solidly in the shoulder.

"Was it painful?!" She hisses out in a whispered scream. "You can't ask that kind of question, Ruben!"

"It's a perfectly reasonable question," he protests as he leans back as far as she'll let him get. "People asked it all the time when I worked at the coroners."

"They ask that when someone dies of a heart-attack or natural causes. Not a car wreck!" Laura wails lowly. A car crash seems pretty natural to Ruben considering how much their father liked to drink, but it's not the point she's trying to make. "You ask that and they'll start to think you had something to do with it, Ruben!"

Laura pauses and straightens up to her full height to stare him straight in the eyes. Suspicion thick on her face as she cautiously asks, "Ruben, where were you last night?"

"Underneath Sebastian," Ruben says before frowning at her. "Really, Laura, if I had anything to do with that I would have called you from the scene laughing about it and telling you to open up some champagne."

"Well, good. I don't have to make an alibi for you," Laura sighs and pulls away a bit more. Her hands immediately start to fuss with his hair and the wrinkles in his shirt she put there. "And it's nice to hear Sebastian's keeping you entertained. Honestly, I didn't think a man his age could be that active."

"We're the same age," Ruben huffs even though he knows that the stress of his job adds years to Sebastian's face. Enough that it'd fooled Ruben as well. "You're older than us."

"I know, and every man I take to bed is at least a decade or more younger than I am for a good reason," done fussing over him she pulls out her phone to use the camera and study her face critically. Wiping away any evidence of her fake tears at the 'terrible' news.

Ruben's own disdain for their parents is really only rivaled by Laura who had put up with them far longer than she had to out of sororal love. Sticking around to make things bearable until they could both get away and not be able to be dragged back to them by the law. Laura had tried that once and they'd learned from it. Eighteen was the magical number needed to escape.

"Why would they inform us of their death?" Ruben asks because they both were served with a rather thick packet of letters and legal papers shortly after Ruben became an adult that boiled down to them being disowned. "I doubt we're listed as next of kin any longer."

"Who knows? Maybe we are," Laura stretches her legs out a bit before rocking back and then up to standing. She wanders back into the kitchen where their interrupted dinner is. The sweats she'd borrowed without asking drag along the floor and she has to hitch them up once or twice before settling back down in front of her pad thai. "We won't get anything from them, but they had to tell someone. I doubt the church would want to know."

No, all their money will no doubt go to their precious church. Ruben wonders if the church will use any of that money to bury two of their most ardent supporters. He has no intention of arranging anything more than the cheapest cremation and a trip to the closest trash can if it's going to be left to him.

Laura picks at her food as Ruben sits back down. A frown marring her face and he waits patiently. "They might come back. The detectives, when they find out we were disowned."

"Let them," Ruben adds more to his own plate. Unconcerned with the possibility. "I'm sure they'll get a toxicology report back with Ernesto's blood alcohol content that will take all their attention off of us. It's not like either of us would have to work hard to pour a few bottles down his throat even if we were trying to set their deaths up."

"You don't worry enough," Laura says as she delicately picks up a noodle to throw at him. It lands half on his plate and half on his wrist. "I'll bet if I told Sebastian about this he'd have a cow. He's a cop, he knows how they think. Suspiciously."

"And how would you tell Sebastian?" Ruben asks suspicious himself now. Laura's sly smile doesn't help in the least. "Laura."

"If you're not going to put a lock on your phone, you can't blame me for snooping through it," she thrills with a grin that turns to a frown. "I usually don't though because you never have anything fun on it. You're so boring sometimes, Ruben."

"It's a phone, not a computer," far too easily cracked open and prone to being lost for Ruben's tastes. He's heard of students who had entire dissertation papers on them and then one careless night at a bar... Ruben really prefers other means of storage. "I use it to call people. I have a laptop for everything else."

"So boring!" Laura reiterates with a pout marred by a fond smile. "You know, I'll bet Sebastian has all kinds of interesting stuff on his phone."

Ruben snorts out a short laugh. "Hardly," Sebastian is rather technologically illiterate when it comes to phones. Almost endearingly so, and Ruben hates to admit he's handed his own phone over to the man with some inane request on more than a few occasions just to see him fumble. "He has a brick flip phone. I doubt he even knows there's a camera in it, let alone how to use it."

"You two deserve each other. You're both hopeless," Laura mourns before gathering her long hair, slipping over her shoulders, up in one hand and doing something to twist it up and away. She grips her fork in the slightly threatening way she does when she's forgotten to eat a few meals and stares intently at the noodles between them. "Alright, enough chitchat. This sucker's getting cold and I hate reheated pad thai. Let's finish it."

Ruben shakes his head and lets his sister have at the noodles. He's the one who'll end up with the left overs, but she'll want to try to finish more than her fair share anyway before heading back to her loft. Only to send Ruben a barrage of miserable texts asking him why he allowed her to overindulge so much. An average Friday night for them. One that had the long comfort of routine, a routine that's been established for many years now and will continue for many more regardless of the death of the people who had birthed them both.

.

.