Portrait

_{"So what time is your flight?"}

_{Even though he heard Adam Strange, Eduardo Sr. couldn't find his voice as he stared at the photograph he kept on his desk. By the third day, he felt like his mind had wholly shut down. Finally shaking free of his reverie, he replied, "Six in the morning from Albuquerque."}

<sub>"Down to Córdoba?" He nodded. "That's a long flight. Are you sure you don't want to leave early, get some rest?"

"Over twenty hours, I can sleep on the plane."

"But you probably won't."

Eduardo nodded again; they'd been working together for more years than he cared to remember, and he realized Dr. Strange knew him well. Probably better than his own family. In truth, sleep eluded him ever since the initial call, and when no news came by the end of that first night, he pretty much lived at S.T.A.R.. Without work, he found himself glued to the phone in a desperate attempt for updates. But trying to force them made no difference; Eduardo Jr. was still missing.

"It does not matter," he said restlessly. "I will stay to finish out my shift at least. I cannot..." He spread his hands helplessly, lost for a clearer explanation.

Adam Strange offered a sympathetic smile. "I understand. I imagine I'd be the same way. Waiting is the worst, and with your son—well, I suppose that I can't imagine."

Leaning back in his chair, Eduardo's eyes fixed on the framed photo, an image of himself with his infant son. He never noticed it before, how few photographs he actually had of them together. There were school portraits in his apartment, a testimonial of his junior growing up, but otherwise... Perhaps this one he chose to publicly commemorate a happier time? Even that he suddenly found tragic. Did they really have so few joyful moments together?

For the first time, Eduardo Sr. wondered if even he could imagine what it was like to have a son... (from Bring Him Home)</sub>