The bottle of Grey Goose was already ice cold as the florist took it from the bag. If he was going to drink to the point of being drunk, then he was going to make sure that the alcohol was of higher quality than what he normally consumed. Vodka had little taste to his tongue, but Grey Goose offered at least a crisp, clean burn. It was better than the other bottles he could have chosen from the limited selection at the corner liquor store, anyway, and would offer some experience to remember. Not that he particularly wanted to remember, but there was no forgetting some memories. He took a long swig from the neck of the bottle and leaned back against the desk in his office. It had all begun here, hadn’t it? Whenever his cellphone had rang with a very particular tune…

Krishna dashed across the flower shop and picked up his cell phone. He had reserved a special ring tone for his brother, the Imperial March from Star Wars. It was a throw back to their childhood, when Brahma had discovered that he had asthma at the age of six. An additional burden on top of the death of their mother, of the impending trip to India. Just in time for the pastel-haired boy to go to school and have tiny peers get scared of him and for him whenever he so much as coughed. True asthma attacks sent the classroom into panic that the teacher could not quite control when she was administering Brahma’s inhaler. In an effort to make his brother feel better, his older brother had told him that to draw strength from it would ultimately make him powerful, that overcoming his own weakness would help him to tackle future problems. When that had not done much to soothe him, Krishna had scrambled to find something that might and settled for telling him that he had sounded like Darth Vadar. It was a story that the younger of the two Dhawans had repeated numerous times, even writing an essay in school about it. What other ring tone, then, would be more appropriate to give his brother, even all these years later?

The Indian man pulled the cell phone free of its charger and immediately answered. It was hard to keep the bite out of his voice, particularly since he had feared the worst as he shot into the phone, Whatever the reason for his brother’s absence… it had better be good. He had wasted an entire evening that could have been better spent prowling around the area for Senshi or finishing off his inventorying. “Brahma… where were you?”

Krishna swallowed back another swig of the vodka and shook his head. Such a foolish question to start their conversation with, in retrospect. He had known that the only reason Brahma would not show up was because of an emergency. He did not often regret his words; he chose them purposefully for greatest impact and truest content. Yet, he had immediately regretted the way he had started this particular conversation the moment he heard his brother speak. He had been so accusatory… he had started the conversation as though he blamed Brahma. He had known it was not his fault, but he had been so put out that he lashed out immediately. It was not fair… to either of them.

”I’m sorry I missed our Skyping session but… something--“ His little brother coughed, his voice raspy. Krishna strained his ears to try and hear the cause. He immediately knew something was wrong. Was he sick? Was he having an asthma attack? Had he been crying? It was impossible to determine at this distance, with nothing but a cell phone to aid him. If Krishna had had the power, if he had been certain that he could make the trip without passing out comatose in the middle of a street, he would have transformed into Captain Serpentine and teleported himself to Pondicherry that instant.

As it was, all he could do was speak into the phone once again, while he waited for his brother to recovery from his coughing, “What is it, Brahma? What has happened?’

A few moments of silence hung over the line. At first, Krishna was afraid that the connection with his brother had been lost. Then, slowly, he heard his brother take a shuddering breath and release it before giving him the news, the reason that he had missed their meeting.

“He’s dead, Krishna. Father’s dead.”

The florist paused his drinking to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. It hurt to be reminded that he was technically an orphan now, but it was… a dull hurt. It was like having a tooth pulled and running his tongue over the blank, bleeding gum. Some ache was involved at the roots, and the more pressure the tongue put, the more one was reminded of the absence. Something that had always been in that space was suddenly missing, and that was by far the more disturbing aspect. It didn’t matter if Krishna wanted his father to exist or not. Vineet Dhawan had simply always been and without his looming figure… a part of his son was now missing.

”Dead?” Krishna could never have anticipated that one word could be as devastating as the one his brother spoke. Their father, Vineet Dhawan, the man who ran marathons and carefully watched what he ate… who had outlived their dear mother, was dead? The florist was uncharacteristically flabbergasted, and it showed as he struggled to make sense of the situation, “How… when?”

“Today. That’s why… that’s why I couldn’t… until just now, get to you. I don’t even know what time it is for you there, so if you need to go, I’ll understand.” The teenager sniffled over the phone, but he did not break down into tears. If Krishna had to make a guess, it would be because he had already cried all the ones he could. A shuddering breath later, Brahma continued, “He had a heart attack. Apparently there was some kind of blockage in his heart that the doctors didn’t catch. I don’t know how they didn’t catch it because it seems to me like he had just been to the cardiologist but… but I’m told it was quick and painless. He just went to lie down to take a nap and then never woke up.”

The stunned florist sank into his desk chair and leaned back. One hand tangled through his rainbow hair as he held the phone a bit tighter with the other. He did not know what to say or do and heard himself asking stupidly, “Are you okay, Brahma?”

Brahma’s laugh was a sad, unpleasant sound, “Am I okay? How do you think… can you even imagine how I feel? Our father’s dead, Krishna! HOW COULD I BE OKAY?”

How indeed. It had been a stupid question. Another burning gulp of vodka had Krishna nodding in agreement with himself. Stupid, but what else was he supposed to say? He could not have remained silent and left his brother to think that he did not care for his feelings at all. He could not burst into tears and offer emotional pleas and screams. Such histrionics were not in his nature. Krishna was a low key personality, demanding and proud, but silent and self-reliant. Perhaps he spoke so little because even when expected to speak… he did not know what to say. He could not offer false promises or coddling reassurances. He could not repeat the obvious or ask questions as directly as he might like - at least not if he actually cared about the other person to whom he was speaking. It was too hard. Dealing with human beings and all their complex, implied needs. Few were worth the effort… but for Brahma, the florist would do anything.

After his bitter laughter, the only sound that both brothers heard over the cell phone was a bit of static. Krishna was content to let Brahma take all the time he needed to sort through his grief, but he would not hang up. He could not physically comfort his younger sibling, but he could not leave him alone. Even if his only presence was as a disembodied voice over a cell phone, it had to be better than being alone. Eventually, Brahma began speaking again, if more quietly and with a rougher undercurrent to his voice as he struggled to continue, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout or to seem like I’m blaming you. It’s just…”

“There is nothing for which you should apologize. I know how difficult this must be for you.”

“Yeah. I don’t… I barely remember Mama’s death and her funeral, you know? But now I know how you must’ve felt. I mostly remember you and Father yelling at each other… and you coming to sing me to sleep because Mama couldn’t do it anymore. It’s weird how… that’s what I remember, isn’t it?”

The florist said nothing, but the silence did not last long. Brahma continued, taking a deep, shaky breath, ”Look, I know you and Father didn’t get along, Krishna. I remember that the two of you seemed to be always fighting, for as long as I can remember, even before Mama died. So it might not be a surprise, because I’m sure he threatened you with it but… he disinherited you.” His younger brother sounded weary, but that was no surprise. He was having to arrange everything. The funeral, the burial, the family affairs… and now, apparently, to tell his older brother that his father had taken their grudge seriously to the point of legal ramification.

The florist tried to make it easier on his brother by speaking the truth. “I am not surprised. Don’t worry, Brahma. I didn’t need Father’s help in starting or maintaining the flower shop. I expect nothing. I will take care of myself, as I have done since he took you back to India.”

“No. I’m working it out with the lawyers now. I don’t fully understand everything, naturally, but they assure me that all of Father’s property, his assets, are mine now. He may have disinherited you, but he didn’t leave any specifications that said I couldn’t give you anything he left me. So, I’m going to give you back your share.”

It was such a mature understanding and acceptance of their situation that it made the florist’s heart ache. He was taciturn by nature, but now he could not speak even if he wanted to do so. What could he say, in the face of his brother’s words? What could anyone say in his situation? After a few moments of struggling for some sort of enlightened speech, he finally managed to get out, “Brahma, you don’t--“

The teenager interrupted him and sighed in exasperation. “I know I don’t have to give you anything, but I want to. You’re my big brother… and you always stood up for me. I always admired the way you endured Father’s treatment of you and followed your dream. You’ve accomplished what you set out to do and I… all I’ve ever done is do what Father expected of me. I hate computer engineering, even though that’s what he wanted me to prepare myself to study in college. I want to do architecture and focus on energy efficient buildings. I didn’t think I’d get the chance because I couldn’t ever tell him…I was afraid he’d turn his back on me, like he did you. Then he would’ve been all alone, Krishna. I couldn’t… I’m sorry, I couldn’t leave him. He missed Mama so much… and he missed you, even if he would never admit to it because he had about twice the amount of pride you do.”

Then, after a moment more, he added, “I’m not taking no for an answer, so you’d better just get ready to receive and fill out all of the paper work I send to you.”

The vodka was cold and burned his tongue and throat as he practically absorbed the last of the vodka that he would drink. Three-fourth gone… yes, definitely about a quarter of a bottle remaining, but he did not care about waste. He moved his arm, and he let the remaining vodka and glass bottle fall into the garbage can beside him with a clink. Krishna rose slowly, combating the vertigo that threatened his balance by taking hold of his business desk. He gripped the edge of the wood and used it to guide himself towards the futon he crudely constructed every night out of pillows and blankets. He was tired, tired down to the very marrow of his bones. He had not had a real, decent night’s sleep since he and Richard had had their talk about Bischofite. The floor was not the most comfortable place in the world, but he had become somewhat used to it. He worked hard, and he would often just pass out from sheer exhaustion after a particularly busy day. Now, the only thing keeping him awake was his mind.

His eyelids were heavy now, but they would not close. Unbidden and unwanted, the memories of the last exchanges he had had with his father, almost a decade previous, came flooding back to him. They were not the word-for-word dialogues that he had to relive whenever he thought of Brahma. No, thankfully time had cushioned some of the blow of these memories. All the same, he could not stop them from coming. The very last time he had spoken to his father, it had been over an intercepted letter between Krishna and Brahma in which the florist had asked if his younger sibling could come to visit anytime soon over one of his long school breaks. His father had asked--which meant he had demanded--that Krishna not send anymore messages to his brother. Vineet Dhawan was convinced that continued contact would distract Brahma from school, turn him into a minimum wage deadbeat the same as Krishna had become. It had been no use to remind his father that he did not, in fact, make minimum wage and instead ran a successful small business. His father had never understood his passion, the artistry that horticulture and particularly flower arranging offered. He looked at figures and facts, and the pride that had once been Krishna’s true inheritance as first born son had long ago transferred solely to Brahma.

Tears squeezed through the corners of Krishna’s eyes and ran down his face, slow, blazing, shimmering leaving a trail that caught the light and looked to be made of molten gold. The vodka burning in his belly offered him no comfort now as he curled into himself and buried his face into one of his blankets. The proud florist began to openly sob, a broken sound that twisted out of his throat and soon filled the small room no matter how he tried to muffle it. He had not cried with this much power since he had been a child. Even then, he had never cried often. Brahma, so much younger than him, had been more inclined to tears. When he did, he could count on his mother to comfort him, or his father to ask what was wrong. But it was Krishna that Brahma wanted to come and sit beside him and hold him close, to listen to whatever ailed him. Sometimes the causes could be fixed, other times they could not, but regardless of the circumstance… Krishna had been there to stroke his brother’s pastel, rainbow hair and reassure him that the pain would pass.

Until the move to India. Until the floral shop meant that Krishna would have to stay behind. Until six year old Brahma was pulled into the airport, tears streaming down his face and screaming for his big brother to come with him. The image had haunted the rainbow-haired florist for a decade, perhaps more so because he had not allowed himself to cry then. He had not wanted to show weakness in front of his father, to try and make the transition easier on his brother. Instead… he had stood, stoic and alone, until both disappeared from sight. Now all that remained… were the conversations that replayed in his mind like a movie stuck on repeat. The only way to escape was to play the end of it, the only safe haven in a sea of pain.

”I’ll talk to you later. I love you, Krishna.”

It was the standard ending to any of their conversations, whether over Skype or on the cell phone. For some reason, at this moment, it felt suddenly like the only normal aspect to Krishna’s life, a solid anchor that he had missed as he floated adrift. He did not even consider telling his younger sibling everything. He could not tell his brother of the Negaverse, of his duties as Captain Serpentine, his relationship with Richard, or the dangers to which he was exposed both from within and from without the organization he had joined. He could not tell his brother that he had been living these past months in the flower shop, that he lived in fear of discovery and could no longer spend the time pursuing the artistic competitions on which he thrived due to the need to push money makers. He could not tell his brother that all he wanted right now was to hop on the first plane to Pondicherry and take over the role of older sibling and handle all of the affairs so that his baby brother could get some rest and concentrate on his own studies. He could not tell his brother that he could not come because of funds, but that his self-less decision had saved his older brother from continuing to live in quasi-poverty.

He could not tell his brother any of those things, so he merely told him the same simple words he always told him anytime they spoke, and hoped that those words would be enough, “I love you too, Brahma. Please, call again soon.”

[3030 words]