Viki was just skipping out onto Water Row in the wintry dusk, when a hand fell heavily on her shoulder. She yelped, writhing away. "Gitcher 'ands off me--"
"Hey. Hey, it's just me, take it easy."
She spun on her heel, glaring at Kerrigan. "Crikey, sneakin' up on me like 'at!"
"I want a word with you." His tone was devoid of its usual mockery. Viki eyed him. He stood quietly watching her, his insouciant stance at odds with the gravity of his expression.
Wunner wot 'e's arter.
"Ain't got all night," she said gruffly, as he was silent. It did not do to be polite to Kerrigan; he got cocky.
"Serious talk, brat. You want everyone in the Port to listen in? --C'mon." And he set off toward the park. Viki made a face, considered a moment, then jogged after him.
By unspoken agreement they picked out a bench in a sheltered spot under the trees. Kerrigan brushed the snow from the seat and sat down. Viki came and settled beside him, tucking her hands between her knees to keep them warm.
"Brat," began Kerrigan after a pause, and stopped.
"Aye?"
"I want you to promise me you'll hear me out."
She eyed him again.
"It won't kill you to hear me out."
"Fi-i-i-ine," she groaned.
"Promise me," insisted Kerrigan.
"A'right, I promise."
"Swear on your granddaddy's bones."
"I ain't gotter granddaddy. I done promised a'ready."
Kerrigan sighed, and raked a hand through his hair. He gazed up at the blackening sky for a minute, before turning to her.
"You been giving your mother trouble?"
It was not a conversational gambit; it was an accusation. Viki jumped up, infuriated. She'd put him up to this, Leila had; most likely Garrick too. It was a conspiracy, that was what, and she would have fled; but Kerrigan caught her by the belt.
"Hey," he said quite mildly. "Where d'you think you're going?"
"I'se goin' 'ome." She tried to wrench away; he held her fast.
"You just said you'd hear me out."
Viki glared. "Y'done tricked me, y'bastard."
"Mind your manners. I'm your elder even if I'm not your better. And you promised."
"'ow's I sposeter know you'se on about 'is agin?"
"Teach you to make rash promises."
"Y'lousy rotten --"
"Sit down."
Viki scowled and sat. Tears stung her eyes; she blinked them back savagely.
"Now then," said Kerrigan pleasantly. "Where were we?"
"Go to 'ell."
"Language, brat. Shall I tell you what I heard?"
Viki shrugged. Her throat was tight with betrayal; she did not trust herself to speak.
"I heard," Kerrigan resumed, "that you wanted to fight in the revolt, and Leila told you no. That right?"
She nodded.
"I heard you were rude to her in public and you ran out of the Fish on her."
She nodded again, reluctantly.
"And I heard that afterward you'd let Garrick talk to you, but not Leila."
"Garrick were nice 'bout it..."
"True?"
Nod.
"I also heard," and Kerrigan's voice had a smile in it now, "you're a damn good shot with a rock."
She would not smile. No. Not if he paid her a million compliments would she crack a smile for the tricky bastard. Never. ...She felt her mouth twitch at the corners.
Kerrigan grinned at her.
"Now you tell me what I left out."
"I'se jes' tryin' to 'elp..." and it all spilled out. How Leila was never pleased with her. How Leila forbade anything Viki asked to do, and was horrified by things she did without permission. How she was brushed off and told she could get hurt -- she who had survived a bloody uprising before she was ten, and not by hiding in her room! -- while Leila and Garrick risked themselves.
How she was told to be nice to Finn, when she was as nice as she knew how, though he took up all Leila's time. How she had no one to play with, no one even to talk to except smarmy Gwen Blythe. How Gwen mocked her for a tomboy and a spitfire and a heathen guttersnipe, and she could never, never tell Leila or Garrick because there was nothing they could do.
Kerrigan listened without saying a word. When at last she finished, trailing off into choked silence, he was quiet for a moment, motionless. Then, with an awkward air, he reached over and tousled her hair consolingly.
"You know," he said, "I was a brat too, once."
She peered at him dubiously.
"What, you think I was always this refined and accomplished?"
Viki snorted loudly. He chuckled. "Well, I wasn't. I was scruffy and cocky and had an accent you could cut with a knife, just like you."
She wrinkled her nose at him.
"And I was horrible to my mother," he went on matter-of-factly. "Now granted she wasn't much of a mother -- she wasn't more than half there at the best of times -- but she was my mother and she loved me after her fashion."
Viki listened, astonished. To get Leila to talk about herself was like pulling teeth with one's bare hands; and Leila was her mother. From Kerrigan such revelations were nothing short of astounding.
He continued, still in that studied conversational tone, "Kids gave me a hell of a time about her. --But that was no reason to give her a hard time, and I wish now I hadn't."
She knew what he was getting at. "I doesn't aim t'be nasty! She jes' go on 'n' on an' I can't never please 'er."
"Brat, your mother dotes on you. She yells at you, maybe. But she yells at everybody."
That was true. Viki pondered awhile.
"You love your mother, don't you?" he asked.
"O' course I does!"
"You ever tell her so?"
Viki blinked. "She know 'at."
"No, she doesn't." And, as she gaped: "Look, brat, Leila's a fine woman, but she's damn stupid one particular way. She won't believe anyone loves her unless they shout it in her ear a few dozen times, you know? She's so used to people hating her guts that she takes a lot of convincing otherwise."
"Well o' course I does!" cried Viki in dismay. "I'se 'er darter, ain't I?" And then blushed, having never called herself Leila's daughter so plainly. But Kerrigan seemed not to notice.
"'Course. But that doesn't mean she takes it for granted. You've got to tell her you love her, brat. Firmly."
She nodded.
"And show her you do."
"Like 'ow, bring 'er flowers?"
"No. By minding her."
Viki threw up her hands. "An' miss ever'fin, I spose!"
"Brat." He was grave again, suddenly. "This isn't the midsummer fair, all right? It's not fun, it's not exciting. It's ugly and there are no rules and no playing fair, and it's not for small girls, however plucky."* There was no teasing in his tone at all now, and when she looked at him his face was tight and grim. A chill went through Viki.
He regarded her somberly, intent. For a moment she rebelled. If he was scared of the sight of blood, she wasn't. Why should she listen to this, this...
Yet it was not the familiar, smart-mouthed, companionable but despicable Kerrigan who sat there quietly waiting for her to speak. It was someone else, a grownup who knew what he was talking about; someone, oddly enough, whom she did not want to think her a fool.
She rubbed her nose, and gave a sigh. "A'right."
"No more talk of heaving rocks at northerners?"
"Naw." She made a face, thinking of her hours of practice. "Thass a flamin' waste, but a'right."
"Attagirl." Kerrigan stood up with a tiny sigh. It was quite dark now, the starlight gleaming faintly on the fallen snow. "And now," he added briskly, "we best both get home, before Leila and Stormy and Garrick come out looking for us."
"Aye." Viki got to her feet, peering up at him through the gloom. "--Kerrigan?"
"Yeah?"
She grinned. "Y'ain't sech a bastard."
Kerrigan laughed outright. "Well, thank you. That's good to hear." And then, more seriously, "You're a good kid, brat. I hope you know that."
Viki ducked her head, touched. He cuffed her lightly on the shoulder, grinning; she slapped at his hand, and they set off, following the distant gleam of torchlight toward the gate.