Chapter Text
“Crisostomo?”
Ibarra startles out of his trance when he hears his lover’s voice. A sweet, calm voice he has longed for when he was away, yet now he is strangely longing for something else, and he doesn’t know what it is.
He doesn’t speak until he feels her pat his arm and call him again. She sits next to him and looks out the window as he was.
“Oh?” Ibarra says, “Is there something wrong?”
“Are you feeling fine? You’re looking rather preoccupied with those thoughts of yours,” Maria Clara says and points at his forehead then chuckles.
Ibarra merely smiles as he looks at her face. They look at each other’s eyes for a moment before Ibarra breaks the contact and looks down.
“Are you not going home yet? It’s getting late, dear. Won’t Tiya Isabel be looking for you by now?” Ibarra asks, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Yes, she is.” She pauses, frowns, looks down then back up into Ibarra’s eyes. “Do you not want me here?”
Ibarra looks at her with surprise. “No! It’s not that at all. It’s just that, it is getting late, Maria. If you stay here any longer, Tiya will think something is up and accuse us of inappropriate behavior.”
He looks at her with worried eyes as if apologizing if he has said something wrong while convincing her of his reason.
Maria continues frowning for a moment before smiling at Ibarra and giggling. “I’m just kidding! You looked so worried! I’ll go. Tiya will get very upset if I don’t any sooner.”
Ibarra lets out a sigh of relief. He gets up and prompts her to do so as well. They walk to the door of Ibarra’s house and bid farewell.
“Good bye, Crisostomo. I’ll see you soon, my love,” Maria says sweetly as she walks out the door towards her carriage.
“Good bye, my darling,” Ibarra says as he waves at her.
He looks on as the carriage fades out of his view. He goes back in. He looks out the window for a second before closing it and flopping onto his bed. His legs are dangling over the edge of the bed and both his arms are spread so it reaches the edges as well. He stares at the canopy.
“What is this?” He asks himself.
He doesn’t understand a thing. Two days before, they were set to go to the forest in the middle of San Diego that his family owned. They were to have a casual lunch with their friends and others. It should’ve made him feel better about coming back to this town. But then, in the stream, there came a crocodile which the so-called Pilot and him killed. The Pilot who said that he saved his life.
He doesn’t know what is truly bothering him—the fact that he almost got killed by a crocodile or that Pilot. He doesn’t know why the Pilot would even bother him.
“What is this feeling?” He asked once again, frustrated and confused.
He replays the events that happened two days ago. Boating, crocodile, eating, games—The Pilot being summoned by the guardia civil and him disappearing before they could arrive.
Right. Why was he getting arrested? Ibarra thinks to himself.
He stayed like that, alone in his thoughts, thinking about a certain rugged young man who disappeared before he even knew his name.
There was a knock on the door—the back door. He startles and sits up suddenly, almost getting whiplash from the speed.
Who could be knocking at his door this late at night?
He walks towards the back door which leads to a clearing, a few miles away from the forest in the middle of town. He pauses when he reaches it, taking caution if ever it’s one of his father’s enemies. He looks to his back where he finds a metal rod he could use as a weapon if need be. He readies himself, exhales, and opens the door.
And of course, as if Ibarra summoned him with his thoughts alone, the Pilot stands before him. He relaxes yet he remains confused.
“Señor Ibarra?” The man before him says.
“Yes?” He says a few moments later after he realized he was staring.
“I’m sorry to barge in like this so late at night, but I have to talk to you.”
At any other situation, Ibarra would have been suspicious and would rather they talk outside. But now, before he could register what he was saying, he let the Pilot in.
“Thank you, Señor,” the Pilot says politely when he steps in.
“You don’t have to call me that,” Ibarra says kindly and leads them both to the dining table where they sit. “What is it you wanted to talk about?”
“Señor Ibarra, my name is Elias.” Ibarra was going to say something about the title but opted to just let the man continue. “I was the boatman at your small gathering in the forest. You saved my life and it is not the first time an Ibarra had done so.”
Ibarra's curiosity is piqued. “You mean, my father?”
“Yes, Don Rafael helped me get away from my family’s chain of misfortunes.”
Ibarra smiles to himself, that sounds like something his father would do.
“I was very young, and I think you were already in Europe when this happened. He let me stay with him for a while until the issue subsides. And I was fine, even after he let me go. But now, years later, everything is coming back. They’re tracking me again, as you may know,” Ibarra nods. “But I can only run so far, there will come a time when they’ll finally get me and arrest me for something my family has passed onto me.” Elias pauses and finally looks at Ibarra. “I feel as if I have not thanked your father enough for what he has done for me. So, just before I go, I’m here to say thanks to you, his son. I am forever grateful for what you have both done for me and I am forever in your debt. Yet, I have nothing else to offer you other than my sincere thanks. Thank you, Señor Ibarra, and I bid you farewell,” Elias starts to stand up but Ibarra stops him.
“Wait. Where will you go?” Ibarra asks, curiously with a touch of worry that came out of nowhere.
“I will go as far away as I can get. I’ll wander around the country. I know they’ll soon find me anyway.”
“No,” Ibarra says sternly and stands up to face him. He feels as if he is not in control of his body anymore. “My father has protected you before. Let me do that as well.”
“What?” Elias turns to him with wide eyes, full of shock. “How will you do that? If you associate yourself to me, you will undoubtedly get in danger as well. You will be arrested for hiding a criminal.”
Ibarra stands up straight, more relaxed than before, like he has already formed a plan in his head. “As you’ve said, you are not a criminal. If they accuse me of anything, it will be false. But to keep you and I safe for longer, you will pose as my servant,” Ibarra smiles, rather cheekily and proud.
“What?” is the only thing Elias could utter.
“Yes! I will disguise you as my servant! Then, you will be safe for a while.” Elias looks at him with hesitance then looks down. “Please let me help you.”
Elias looks up at him with less hesitation but with curiosity, “Why are you doing this? You know you will be in danger.”
Ibarra pauses, thinks of an answer, and finds himself devoid of one, “I don’t know. It’s as if my father is telling me to do so.” He’s not actually sure if that is the case.
Elias turns to him fully. He is still quite confused at the turn of events but he guesses, it’s not that bad.
“Alright,” Elias finally says.
Ibarra beams, “Really? Do we have a deal?”
“Yes, but may we talk about the details of this deal?” Elias asks since he really doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. They both don’t, actually.
“We may,” Ibarra says and sits down, Elias following suit.
They talk about this sudden deal of theirs. They have decided a few things: Elias is to be called Pico for disguise, he shall dress differently courtesy of Ibarra, he shall stay with Ibarra in his house, and they are to spend every day together for as long as it is needed. They both know that the other is capable of fighting for themselves but they also know they’ll be stronger if they are together and there will be less damage—except maybe for the fact that they have the high chance of getting arrested or worse, killed. They shake on it after and call it a night.
Ibarra shows Elias his room and stumbles into his room as well. As he is about to fall asleep, he thinks to himself, What have I gotten myself into?
Wherever Don Rafael may be, he’s either rolling in his grave or looking down at his son with one raised eyebrow.