Who: Killian and Bo What: Killian's giving Bo the final report about the search for her biological mother. When: A week ago Where: A gay bar because alcohol is definitely needed for this conversation Warnings: Mentions of mental illness, implied rape, brief mention of abortion, and that Bo's biological father is not an upstanding citizen
These days, Killian could go to a bar without feeling tempted to get so drunk he didn’t remember what even happened the night before. He had some interesting news for Bo, and with him he brought all the paperwork with him in a sealed manila envelope which was tucked inside his black leather jacket - and what better place to reveal more of the story of her origins than a fabulous gay bar? LGBT-friendly, really, and it was quite a place. Everyone mingled, having fun, the Jello shots and go-go dancers had even come out in full force tonight - but while Killian waited for Bo, he was chatting up the bear-like bartender who happened to be dressed in a tight shirt and a pair of leather short-shorts.
He didn’t necessarily have the legs to pull those off, but he worked them so well you could almost not even notice.
“I do like a man with chest hair as impressive as mine,” he winked at good ol’ Rusty, who mixed great drinks, Killian had to admit.
“Hot Irish coffee,” Rusty replied, winking right back, and sliding a prepared beverage toward Killian.
He admired the glass, with the thick cream frothing there on top (no comments from the peanut gallery). “Now, did you mean me or my drink?” Ha, wasn’t he hysterical? Alright, time to get moving now, however. After leaving Rusty and his shorts a generous tip (maybe now he could afford a pair of trousers), Killian grabbed his drink and went out onto the patio where it was a little quieter, to find a table and snag Bo when he saw her.
This was it, Bo was going to get answers to questions that had been haunting her for the past twelve years since her adoptive parents had dropped the ‘you’re adopted’ bombshell on her. To say she was anxious was a vast understatement. Which was why she wanted to meet at a bar, some place with alcohol available. She was relatively certain she’d need it to help cope with whatever Killian had to tell her. She had a good idea that not all of it was good. In fact, she’d go so far as to say that most of it wasn’t good.
She took a taxi to the bar, knowing she probably wouldn’t be in a state to drive after this in some way, shape or form. Getting out, she drew in a deep breath, and almost instantly heard someone whistle at her. She was showing cleavage, but it was difficult not to when she had quite a bit of it. Glancing at them, she lifted her left hand, waggling the engagement ring on it, which promptly put that to an end.
Okay, it was now or never, and she started looking around for Killian as she headed towards the door. She didn’t need to be inside the club to sense the energy of the place. The people coming out of it were enough to tell her some of them were getting worked up in the sexual department. But for once, she was focused on what she was there for that any sexual energy in the air wasn’t really registering with her.
Aha, there she was. Killian was peering into the inner workings of the bar occasionally from his vantage point on the patio - and rather than leave his drink at the table to get her (you never knew who would roofie who these days), he took it with him and caught her eye, motioning her over.
Luckily, no one took it upon themselves to steal his table either which was good - he didn’t feel like punching anyone’s lights out this evening. But now, settled back in his seat, he took a generous sip of Irish coffee and let the warmth slide down his throat. Utterly perfect for an autumn night in California, that didn’t actually feel like autumn because it was about one-thousand degrees, rivaling the flames of Hell itself.
“Figured it’d be decently cool out here, love, and we won’t be pressed up against sweaty bodies,” Killian greeted Miss Beth - or Bo, rather. She still didn’t look like a demure Beth, not even one little bit. Especially in that top she was wearing. “How are things?”
When she caught his eye, Bo maneuvered through the crowd. It was definitely a hot night, and it was hotter inside the bar, but being out on the patio was definitely a good choice. She also definitely didn’t feel like a Beth anymore. When she was younger she looked more like one. Wearing brighter colors and even dresses more often. She definitely had never grown out of the clothing of her teenage rebellion stage. She’d possibly lost wearing some of the spikes, but the black and the leather had stayed.
“Definitely a good idea. Best not to tempt my succubus instincts as well.” Because there was definitely some sexual energy happening inside, and she didn’t need to be in the middle of it. “Things are good, can’t really complain. Started doing some things for the wedding, such as shopping for a dress.” Chances were he’d heard about it from Kenzi. But at any rate, things were moving forward, and things between her and Lara were back on track after the Inari bullshit that had nearly pulled them apart, and could have killed Bo if it had gone on much longer.
“How about yourself?”
“Fairly well, love. Lots happening but that’s life around here, no?” Killian chuckled, turning the wattage of his smile and charm onto a passing waiter on the patio - this way, Bo could order herself a drink because she would likely need one.
He set down his own glass for a moment, to reach into his jacket pocket and pull out the manila envelope. Inside were pictures - of both Bo’s grandfather (this hadn’t exactly been a selfie opportunity, but he’d managed to snap a few so she could see if it was the same Trick from her dreams) and copies of records pertaining to her mum, but he’d get to that story in a moment. The envelope was presented to Bo, slid across the table.
“I tracked your grandfather down. Turns out we ran in similar circles? Though didn’t actually meet until now. But he’s got, ah, an interesting look about him.” Meaning midget? Perhaps that wasn’t the PC term though. “Anyway, I didn’t really pry much about your father but the impression I got was that he was bad news. Your mum’s name is Aife, and the pregnancy was difficult for her. The reason you’ve never met her is because your grandfather committed her to an asylum. The records are all in there,” he nodded toward the envelope. “He was the one who gave you up after you were born so that you’d...have your best chance?”
A somewhat terrible and cheesy line, repeated countless times in his own dreams. But fitting in this instance.
When the waiter came over, Bo ordered two drinks. First up was a shot of the strongest liquor they had on hand. The second was a glass of whiskey. She had a feeling she’d need the liquid courage to handle the initial blow of what Killian had to tell her. Clearly she was Irish without a doubt at the rate she turned to alcohol in these situations.
When he slid the envelope across the table, she stared at it, her heart suddenly beating a lot heavier. She took it in hand, but didn’t open it just yet. She listened to what Killian had to say, looking up at him. The bit about her father wasn’t unexpected, she’d started thinking that could be the case after hearing her grandfather had been the one to give her up. And Aife being in an asylum wasn’t unexpected either. Her mother was crazy in her dreams, so it had only stood to reason she was crazy here, too. It definitely was heavy, and when her drinks came, she downed the shot so fast it wasn’t even funny.
“Okay,” she said after her throat stopped the initial burning sensation as the alcohol went down. “I had kind of expected that. About my mother. She’s kind of twenty thousand shades of crazy in them, though she also had a lot of terrible things happen to her to help make her that way.” It was still difficult to take, especially when knowing some mental disorders seemed to be genetic and Bo didn’t want to end up crazy herself. No more than she already was.
She then turned to opening the envelope, a little afraid of what she’d find in the records, but knowing she needed to know and understand. She pulled out the records, then she pulled out the pictures. Seeing the man in the photographs, she instantly recognized him. It was Trick, and it did make her smile. “Well I can say he looks the same as Trick in my dreams.”
“Does he?” Killian had to smile a little too - it was a lot to take, all of this, but he didn’t think Bo was any sort of shade of crazy. She would carve out her own way, her own path - and honestly, she was going to be just fine. “He’s an interesting bloke. I made sure to put his contact info in there as well,” the Captain added. “Once everything settles a little, with you personally, I’m sure he’d want to talk to you and vice versa.”
Now he picked up the drink - and do note, he was impressed by Bo’s choices of adult beverage, lifting an eyebrow as he sipped on his coffee. “He gave me a picture of your mum too, which is also in there. I’d say you resemble her, Ysabeau McCorrigan - Irish lass to the very core.”
He hadn’t seen Bo’s father, nor did Killian know who he was, but Bo did seem to favour her mum. That was a good thing.
“Yeah. He has the same kind eyes.” They were brown, darker than Bo’s were. But clearly brown eyes ran in the family. “Seriously? Thank you, I definitely want to talk to him.” That was for when she felt she could handle a conversation without getting overly emotional about it. And for when she could actually keep references to her dreams out of it. This man didn’t dream like she did, and even if it was like looking at a picture of a dear friend, they were strangers to each other.
Then at hearing there was a picture of her mother, she pulled it out, and a fresh wave of mixed emotions hit her. She also looked exactly the same as she did in the dreams. And Killian was not wrong, Bo definitely resembled her mother. Aife’s hair was almost black, but her eyes were close to the same color as Bo’s. They had similar bone structure as well. Bo pressed her lips together tightly, trying to keep herself from becoming an emotional wreck in public. It took her a minute to compose herself, along with a drink of the whiskey. She had a wide taste when it came to alcohol, but she had specifics for her moods. And for a serious talk like this she wasn’t going to be doing shots or having mixed drinks.
“Thank you, Killian. I hadn’t expected pictures, but I’m definitely glad to have them.” It was something more than she’d had before. She’d wanted to know where she came from, and here was part of the answer. Her father was still an unknown, but she had no desire to find him. Which on that note, she set the pictures aside and turned to the records. “Are these documents of what happened to her, or what she’s diagnosed with?”
“You’re welcome, love.” Killian did enjoy his job, and helping people find closure - he found that it was becoming less and less about going through the motions, about money, and more about finding answers to questions that plagued his clients. As promised, he wouldn’t charge Bo anything either - it was a favour, for someone who was like a sister to his own sister. That sort of made her family anyway, no?
Seascape eyes flickered toward the documents as she reached for them, going through them, and he nodded. “Aye, should be all of the above - her patient information and background, physical condition, diagnosis, date of exams, things like that.” Of course, they weren’t really called asylums anymore, but that was the general idea - what was it? Mental health treatment centres? Something like that. He’d filched the records once he found out where Aife was at, either way.
Bo understood that aspect of being a private investigator from her dreams. She liked being able to help people, to give them a sense of closure. Of course, her natural empathy for people also led to her being easily manipulated by them if they played on her emotions. She’d been duped by more than one person in some of her dreams. But even so, she still found the job very satisfying. So now that she was on the receiving end of getting answers, she now knew how it felt to her clients when she’d been able to help them in this way. It wasn’t always good news, but it was always more than they’d had to begin with.
She began skimming through the documents. Knowing that they’d make her emotional, she didn’t want to read them in-depth while in public. But she did want to get a better understanding of the picture. Post-traumatic stress disorder was the prominent diagnosis, which only furthered the case of whatever her mother had been through had been bad. Again, she pressed her lips together tightly and drew in a slow, deep breath. The pieces were falling into place.
“When you talked to my grandfather, was he happy to hear about me and that I was looking for my family?” Whatever her father had done to her mother would obviously drag up bad memories, especially if she was a product of rape, which it really sounded like she was. So she well knew not everyone would be very open or warm towards anything related to such a thing.
It had to be difficult, knowing that all you had of your mother - the person who gave birth to you, mind you - was a photo and her insane asylum records. Then again, it was more than Killian had. He’d only managed to steal a picture or two when he was a boy, the lone few his father had lying around. Never had he even gotten a chance to properly meet his own mother before she’d passed away, so he understood the onslaught of very confusing emotions as well.
“Your grandfather did seem happy to hear of you, that you were doing well,” Killian responded, his good hand wrapped around the chic glass with half his coffee still remaining. “I didn’t give him the specifics, but in the brief time we chatted I could tell he truly cares for you. He wanted you to grow up with a family who loved you and could dote on you properly.”
There had been a falling out with the Dennis family, obviously, but perhaps Bo could forgive them one day. His hope for her was that she’d have all her family in her life, blood or otherwise.
It was difficult, but it was also better than how finding her mother had gone in her dreams. Aife in her dreams had gone the terrorist route, trying to re-ignite the war between the Light and Dark Fae and she’d wanted Bo on her side. When that hadn’t worked, Bo had fought her own mother. Bo definitely didn’t want to fight Aife here, so she really hoped she never started dreaming. Looking over the records, it was clear the dreams would only make her mother worse. Which was why she’d contact her grandfather instead. As much as she may want to contact her mother eventually, she would only do so if it wouldn’t set her off. There was record of Aife being violent at times, also not unexpected.
“Oh, good. At least there’s that.” Someone in her family was happy to hear of her, at least. Alright, that was unfair, her adoptive parents had been happy to learn she was alive, but Bo was still very angry and hurt where they were concerned. Lara had pressed her to talk to them, to at least tell them how what they had done had hurt her, but Bo wasn’t going to give them that. Not at this point in time. “Was he still short?” That was the best way to put it. Trick’s stature had never come up in conversation. He was who he was, it didn’t change anything.
Except the very real possibility he was a living leprechaun and no one knew about it. That was about the only thing that would make Bo more Irish than she already was.
The question made Killian laugh. “That he was - short, but with a presence about him?” Actually, he’d been wondering if the fellow was really a leprechaun too - with a name like Fitzpatrick McCorrigan, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Especially here.
What a fucking weird world they lived in. Just when he thought he couldn’t be more surprised, something else bizarre happened. Or he dreamed of something just as bizarre. And then prayed to whatever God was around that it didn’t cross over.
“I also hope you know that what happened to your mum wasn’t your fault or anything?” he made sure to note. “Or that you’re doomed to fall down the same rabbit hole she did, because you’re not.”
“That’s definitely Trick. In my dreams, he’s got quite the presence. He’s very kind, but extremely mysterious and secretive about his past. But someone like him in the dreams, he needs to be secretive. He’s the Blood King, as they call him. He’s the one who ended the war between the Light and Dark Fae.” And that hadn’t turned out nearly as well as the end of a war should.
Suddenly a million questions flooded her mind about her grandfather. Did he own a bar like the Trick in her dreams? Or did he do something else? But those she would actually ask her grandfather himself when she contacted him. There was one question, however, that she wanted to ask Killian.
“Yeah, I know it’s not my fault. I mean, I couldn’t really control my being born. And it does say something that my mother did have me and didn’t terminate the pregnancy.” Which would have been the most likely outcome, but clearly someone in her family had wanted her to be born, otherwise she wouldn’t be here now. “Though I will try not to follow the same route she did. So long as her problems aren’t genetic, I think I can avoid that fate.” She gave him a little smile, slipping the papers and photos back into the envelope. She’d read the records closer later.
“Though I’m curious, did you see my grandmother at all? Or hear about her?” There was only a slight measure of hope, but Bo doubted it. Her maternal grandmother had died some time before Bo had been born in her dreams, so she was expecting the same here. And considering Trick didn’t talk about his wife much in the dreams, unless it was relevant to something else happening, she didn’t think Killian had heard about her.
He didn’t exactly want to be the bearer of bad news, but Killian suspected that Bo had somewhat of an inkling anyway. Her dreams seemed to parallel her life here very well, especially when it came to the concept of family. “She passed away a bit ago, darling,” he said, reaching across the table to pat her hand (and not cut himself on the gigantic gemstone). “But you’ve got your grandfather, and he’ll be quite happy to see you.”
Bo had her adoptive parents too, but that was a whole other story - Killian hoped they would work things out, at least to the point where they wished their daughter the best on her wedding day. She deserved that much, at the very least.
“Shall I get you another drink, then?” The pirate eyed her whiskey glass. “I’ll get one for myself too. We’ll toast to finding answers, on the way to closure.”
Bo gave him a little sad smile and nodded. “I kind of thought so. In my dreams, she died long before I was even born, so that does not surprise me.” She would’ve liked to have known her, her namesake, but perhaps her grandfather would tell her stories. If he was anything like the Trick in her dreams, he told great stories. “I do, and it is definitely something to be happy about.”
And she was happy that her grandfather hadn’t shunned Killian upon learning he was there on Bo’s behalf. It was more than she’d had before. She wondered how he would take news of her engagement, but also decided he would be okay with it. Which was more than she could say for her adoptive parents. They had never accepted that she was bisexual, and she knew they would never accept her marrying a woman. That was a can of worms that was very much going to stay closed if she had anything to say about it despite knowing that they missed her.
“I think that would be a great idea.” Bo said, grabbing her drink and finishing it off. She definitely had Irish blood, and she could hold her liquor. Unless she drank to excess, then she tended to get out of control. But she’d save any excess drinking for later when she was home and the only people that would bear witness to her making a fool of herself would be Lara, the cats and possibly Alistair if he was home.
Another drink it was! Killian certainly wouldn’t dispute that, and he could go for another creamy spiked coffee himself (and another chat with Rusty in the shorts). Then he’d have to think of something fun to toast to as well, out of all the traditional Irish-themed options, but it would probably be something like May you live to be a hundred years, with one extra year to repent.
Well, personally he’d need that extra year. He’d teach Bo all of the important toasts and the rest of the curses though - if she was truly an Irish lass, she’d have to get in touch with her culture.