[[CW: Mean, quasi-sexual imagery.]]

Zechariah dug with the knife. He dug and dug and dug and ugh this flavorless wine was going to be full of cork, too-… only to find Uriel, what? Did not drink any more?

Perhaps it was the shock. For once, Zechariah did as Uriel beckoned. He set the knife, and then the bottle down, clasping his hands on the table with a frown. A drinking problem? But Uriel had always seemed so cheery. So good-spirited.

Spirited … hm.

“I … see,” Zechariah said, though he did not actually see it. “My apologies.”

He prayed this was not some sort of Methodist phase next.

“I am glad you are finding light,” he said after a moment. “And … gratitude.”

He still hoped his new wife would shoot herself fellating her damned rifle, but that was an inside thought.

“Does … Kitty, drink?” he ventured, cautiously.

Oh, he hoped she did!

"Kitty does things in my best interest. If she does drink, it isn't ever in front of me, nor is it ever in this house." He watched his brother quietly for a moment, then murmured, "I am sorry I didn't tell you, but I didn't think you would try to open the bottle with a knife."

He felt his irritation flare at Uriel’s admission that he was essentially sorry he got caught, and there was a flicker of that annoyance in these private quarters. But, it was ultimately reigned in by his own guilt.

“Uriel, there are things I am ashamed of, too.”

Much as he had rehearsed this part, it was infinitely more difficult in front of his little brother than the mirror.

“I am knee-deep in a scandal of my own creation, and it may come to haunt you, too.”

"Oh?" He got his attention. "What's happened, brother?"

Uriel cast a worried look to Zech, his eyes softened with concern.

He had had it planned out. Swallowed his pride over that one time Uriel had called him a sodomite. Then his dear, gentle brother cast that piteous look over him.

Funny. Was that his pride he tasted wrenching itself back up his throat?

Zechariah ran fingers through his hair, looking mournfully to that bottle before meeting his gaze again with renewed vigor.

“You have a new niece or nephew on the way.”

"From you? Really?" He pushed his food away. Zech might be surprised to see it was not even half eaten. "Alright, come on. Surely you jest with me." He was genuinely surprised but there was no judgment. "Who is the mother?"

It was not an outright lie … but it was deceptive. Intentionally deceptive. It crawled under his skin through a twitch in his knuckles, like the same muscles he used his tongue to twist evil with were attached, too, directly to his hands.

If he disowned the child, and it was with him it saw its future, then was it not lashon hara to declare them not his? Even their childhood rabbi had frowned upon labeling a child a mamzer.

But if he pursued his truth, his sodomy might (no, would) come to light. The Hebrew of Sodom had long been debated, but even the most gaping-headed rabbi would think twice before coming to the defense of someone who had gotten himself into such a public debacle.

Fortunately for Uriel, Zechariah was too busy having a midlife crisis in his twenties to notice his plate.

“Her name is Sonia,” he said, slowly, picking each and every word with Talmudic attention. “I met her once before I learned.”

And maybe morbidly poetic attention.

Hebrew:

Lashon Hara = evils of gossip, compared to murder
Mamzer = specific bastard status that in stricter traditions restricts their kosher marriage options to other mamzers or converts

Uriel was shocked to know his brother would be a father, for he had a suspicion he'd even voiced aloud to his brother in the past, something that Zech had not liked one bit. He wanted to scoff and ask if he was sure it was his. Really? Really really? But instead, he was left to wonder if he had been wrong this whole time...

Sonia... it sounded exotic. Zech would pick an exotic type of girl, he supposed, with a vivacious look and personality, perhaps. "Is she a beauty?"

That was the only positive thing Zechariah could say about her, but oh, did the acknowledgment have to fight to force its way out his mouth. She would look good on his arm, and less people would fret about his victimless crimes for it.

“The most beautiful woman I know,” he gritted out.

His hand brushed the neck of the wine before he grimaced and clutched his hands under the table.

“The scandal part,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “is why this is a conversation.”

This part he had thought out, and well, but he fidgeted with his cuff link still.

“She – Ms. Carrington, that is – was married. I had not been aware of that.”

Something he would not have as quickly 'admitted' had he realized just how hard Uriel was struggling to believe it his.

He had been peacefully, near-completely oblivious to her existence before said blackmail, and he would have fancied staying that way. If he could weave that into a tale that echoed real betrayals, well, all the better. The line between a lie and a misleading truth was a fine one, and Zechariah fancied himself a fine man.

"Carrington? You're marrying a Carrington?" he blurted out. "She wouldn't happen to be the wife of the owner of The Diamond Pony, would she? I've seen her." Indeed, she was arm candy for Zech. "But what are you doing with a gal like her? Mother isn't going to like this, not that I am judging you at all. I think you should do what makes you happy, but I can tell you that family, most of it anyway, is trouble."