#ham shack

[kf4rws-actual]

I was about to order a shelf so I could upgrade my station but remembered I had a kitchen rack I wasn't using. It'll do for now. The station is a work in progress.

[chris-in-eugene]

TRS-80 Model III

[ttlurking]

More on the Cipher twins, this time with some angst 👍🏻

Stan knows Dipper and Mabel's parents dumped them on him for an indefinite time with the possibility of not taking them back, he hasn't told the twins yet.

Ford spent those years in the portal thinking of what may have happened to his children. From Stan giving them up to him missing out on so much of their life.

Ford does not immediately clock that Dipper and Mabel are his kids, mostly because he expects them to be in their thirties. When Stan tells him his side of the story he realises that they're his. Cue in a bit of a crisis. He's happy to see them and that he gets to still be part of their childhood, but on the other side he realises he's a 60 year old father with 12 y/o kids and they won't get much time with him. He also doesn't really know how to be a father. It ends up with him and Stan co-parenting the twins as best they can.

The twins can't really bring themselves to call Ford "dad" so they stick with Uncle Ford, while Stan stays Grunkle Stan since they've gotten used to it.

Dipper writes his own journal, inspired by journal number 3. His journal has a small 6 fingered handprint with a pine tree on it. He documents all he finds + updates knowledge from journal 3, referencing it as if he was citing a source for a thesis. He's very dedicated to writing a thorough guide. (Tho it's also his own personal diary.) Mabel also writes in it occasionally. Her entries are usually less serious unless it comes to machinery, which is when she goes absolutely ham. They're a great scientific team, kind of like Ford and Fiddleford. They also have taken to write in code on certain pages, which is what they rather keep private between eachother, like little encrypted messages between eachother. They share this diary often and dipper is much less possessive of it compared to journal number 3. He considers it a joint project with Mabel and trusts her insight on things which he's not as much of an expert on. They leave messages to eachother in the diary.

Gideon ended up accidentally getting his hands on Dipper's Journal instead of Journal number 3, leading him to think he got played though he ends up realising (finally) that Dipper and Mabel have the same 6 fingered hans as the author, leading him to deduce they're related to the Author and therefore believing that they must have the other Journal, which is why he goes after the shack, even more pissed at the twins.

The crush thing with Mabel ends much quicker the moment Mabel expresses to Dipper how uncomfortable she is. Dipper is not messing around when it comes to his sister and he's the one who decides to go speak with Gideon. He still ends up getting saved by Mabel. They end up keeping the amulet as means of defence and also to study it further. Mabel made a sort of watch for Dipper for him to store it in. (She's more than capable of defending herself with her often dangerous inventions.)

Speaking of Mabel's inventions, after the encounter with the gnomes she made weapons to defend herself. She has a glitter gun to blind her enemies, which can also turn into a powerful leaf blower once she's out of ammo. She also has her grappling gun, which she uses also as a stunning weapon. She's also made cat claws gloves for herself to scratch her enemies.

Stan has taught both kids how to defend themselves. Mabel seemed to be the one who's taken more after his teachings, and she uses these skills to protect Dipper, who's much less physically active.

Dipper and Mabel are much closer in this au. They find comfort with eachother's company, knowing that there's at least one other person in this world who understands them. Stan and Ford's relationship fills them with dread, as they do not want to end up like that. The older twins' example does nothing but strengthen their relationship.

Dipper favours Stan's cunning and propensity to lie, respects it even. While Mabel prefers Ford's brutal honesty. Though Dipper has an unhealthy amount of paranoia, which he takes after both of the older twins. This makes Mabel more protective of her brother.

Stan gifted Mabel a tool belt, which she bedazzled and personalised immediately. She takes it everywhere she goes.

Mabel often helps Soos with handyman duties while Dipper stays at the registry with Wendy, he's very meticulous with money. (Stan is very proud of them but won't admit it.)

Dipper has an "adventure backpack." It holds Journal 3 and his own Journal as well as all of Mabel's weapons. He made it after becoming Bipper and unlocking part of Bill's powers, the backpack is a pocket into their dreamscape, from which they can pull out what they want.

Speaking of Bipper, it was hard to separate Bill and Dipper, as the twins were originally meant to be a vessel for Bill.

Bipper had to be rendered unconscious, and Mabel had to go into their shared dreamscape to wrench them apart from the inside, risking of also getting "infected" with Bill in the process. It was their closest call yet.

After this episode their dreamscape has changed, incorporating elements belonging to Bill from his stay there. To cheer Dipper up from the quite traumatic event, Mabel suggested studying these part of their dreamscape to possibly discover a new weakness of Bill's

In this AU Dipper is much more involved with Grenda and Candy, as he's also part of their "freaks club". They teach him how to do makeup to cover his birthmark. But it ends up going the opposite way, with the girls drawing their favourite constellations on themselves to match Dipper.

Dipper is super protective of them, he's the one that hates Pacifica the most, despite the girls being her victims most of the time. He agrees to help her only for the girls. Boy can he hold a grudge.

I personally like Dipcifica so I'm considering of adding development to their relationship. Kinda like in the show.

Bill: "Oh you're doing enemies to lovers? Your father and I did lovers to enemies."

Dipper: "what?"

Bill: "what."

-----

Sorry I write a lot 😅

[nephalem-da]

Unlikely Partnership

(Bill Cipher x OC)

Synopsis: When Bill Cipher's wife, Maeloraelis, makes a surprise entrance at the Mystery Shack, the Pines family is shocked that someone as chaotic as Bill could have a partner.

The sun dipped low over Gravity Falls, casting long shadows across the Mystery Shack. Inside, the Pines family was enjoying a rare moment of peace. Stan was busy counting money at the register, Dipper and Mabel were huddled over an old journal, and Ford was quietly reading in the corner.

Suddenly, the room darkened as a portal opened in the middle of the shack. Out stepped Bill Cipher, his entrance as grand and flamboyant as ever. But this time, he wasn’t alone. Beside him floated Maeloraelis, a soft pink triangle with a glowing eye and an air of elegance that contrasted Bill’s chaotic energy.

“Well, well, well! Greetings, meat-sacks!” Bill’s voice boomed through the shack, his tone dripping with amusement. “I’ve got a little surprise for you today!” With a grand gesture, he introduced Maeloraelis. “Meet my darling wife, Maeloraelis! She’s the one who’s been helping out with those little mishaps around town. Kind of like the vice president of chaos when I’m busy!”

The Pines family froze, eyes wide with shock. Mabel’s jaw dropped, Dipper blinked in disbelief, and Stan’s usual gruff demeanor faltered for a moment. The idea that Bill Cipher, of all beings, could have a wife was unfathomable.

Ford, however, remained calm. He slowly put down his book and stood up, nodding to Maeloraelis. “So, we finally meet again, Mae. Bill’s told me about you, though I didn’t expect you’d be making an appearance here.” His tone was respectful, and there was even a hint of a smile on his lips.

Mae returned the nod, her eye softening slightly. “It’s been a while, Ford. I see you’ve been keeping busy.” There was an air of mutual respect between them, something that only deepened Bill’s jealousy. Without warning, he floated closer to Mae, tugging her playfully towards him.

“Hey, hey, don’t get too cozy, Fordsy! Mae’s all mine, got it?” Bill’s voice took on a possessive edge, but it quickly melted into a pout when Mae gently pushed him away.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Bill. Ford’s been a good friend.” Mae’s voice was gentle but firm. She turned to the rest of the Pines family, who were still trying to process what was happening. “I understand this might be a bit overwhelming. Bill and I…well, we’re not exactly what you’d call normal.”

Stan finally found his voice. “You don’t say,” he muttered, still eyeing the two triangles warily. “So, what brings you here? Just a social call?”

Bill snickered, clearly enjoying the reaction. “Pretty much! Thought it was about time you all met the other half of the best power couple in the multiverse!” He winked at Mabel, who giggled, finding the whole situation strangely adorable.

Dipper, ever the skeptic, crossed his arms. “So, you’re the one responsible for all those strange occurrences lately? The ones we couldn’t trace back to Bill?”

Mae nodded, unbothered by his suspicious tone. “Guilty as charged. I do like to have a bit of fun when Bill’s away. But don’t worry, I always make sure nothing gets too out of hand.” Her voice was calm, reassuring even, which only added to the Pines’ confusion.

Mabel, who had been quiet until now, suddenly burst out, “You two are so cute together! I mean, I never thought Bill could be all…romantic!” She giggled again, and Bill couldn’t help but smirk at her reaction.

“Romantic, eh?” Bill glanced at Mae with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Well, what can I say? When you’ve got a wife as amazing as Mae, you gotta step up your game!” He fluttered his eyelashes dramatically, clearly hamming it up for the audience.

Mae rolled her eye but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Honestly, Bill. Must you always be so theatrical?” Her voice was affectionate despite the scolding, and Bill immediately leaned into her, fluttering his eyelids even more.

“Aw, c’mon, Mae! You love it when I’m theatrical!” Bill teased, his voice taking on a playful whine.

The Pines family watched in stunned silence as Bill, the chaotic dream demon who had terrorized their town, pouted and practically begged for his wife’s forgiveness. Mae sighed, her eye narrowing slightly as she floated closer to Bill.

“Fine, fine,” she relented, lightly tapping his bow tie, causing his eye to glint with smug satisfaction. “But only because I don’t have the heart to stay mad at you for long.”

The Pines couldn’t believe their eyes. Mabel was giggling uncontrollably, Stan was rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off a headache, and Dipper was just plain confused. Ford, however, watched the exchange with a bemused smile, clearly entertained by the dynamic between the two beings.

Finally, as the chaos of the meeting began to settle, Mae turned to Mabel, who had been the most receptive to her presence. “You know, Mabel, I like your spirit. You’re not afraid of the unknown, and that’s something to be admired.” Mae’s eye glowed softly as she produced a small, glowing charm from thin air.

Mabel’s eyes widened in delight as Mae handed her the charm. “Wow, this is so cool! What does it do?”

“It’s a protection charm,” Mae explained. “It won’t do anything drastic, but it’ll keep you safe from minor mishaps. Consider it a thank you for not being afraid of me.”

Mabel beamed, clutching the charm to her chest. “Thank you so much, Mae! This is the best!”

Bill huffed, crossing his arms. “I see how it is. You’re giving out gifts now? What do I get?”

Mae chuckled, floating over to him. “You get to keep being your chaotic self, dear.” She leaned in, touching her side to his. “And maybe, if you behave, I’ll give you something special later.”

Bill’s eye sparkled with excitement. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

With their visit coming to an end, Mae and Bill bid the Pines family farewell. Before they left, Bill turned to them with a mischievous grin. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back soon enough! Can’t let you all get too comfortable!”

With a final wave, Bill and Mae disappeared through the portal, leaving the Pines family standing in stunned silence once more. Mabel, still clutching her new charm, was the first to speak.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I think they’re kinda cute together!”

Stan groaned, rubbing his face. “Kid, we’ve got different definitions of cute.”

Ford, however, simply smiled. “I have to admit, they do make an interesting pair. It’s not every day you meet beings like them, let alone ones with such…unique dynamics.”

Dipper sighed, finally relaxing. “Well, at least this time, they didn’t leave anything too crazy behind. Let’s just hope it stays that way.”

As the Pines family slowly returned to their daily routine, the shack was filled with the echoes of their unexpected visitors, leaving them with one more memory of the strange, wonderful, and chaotic life in Gravity Falls.

And somewhere, in another dimension, Bill Cipher was already planning his next chaotic visit.

[bigasswritingmagnet]

The Jagerfrät, Part 2: Lunch and Learn

Modern day AU Agatha goes to Mechanicsburg University and discovers another part of her family legacy: The Jägerfrat. After rescuing/being discovered by three of the fraternity members, they buy her lunch, and Dimo gives her an impromptu history lesson.

Chapter 1 | AO3 Link

It was technically Theta Phi Theta Fraternity, but they were known to one and all as the Jägerfrat. It was the oldest fraternity in the country, and probably the most notorious. They were popular on Mechanicsburg University grounds, and absolutely nowhere else. On their own, they were a troublemaking rabble, known for drinking bars dry, picking fights, and tipping poorly.

But when a Heterodyne arrived…

Agatha had heard the stories. They’d burned a bar down. They’d terrorized every university within driving distance with “pranks�� that usually resulted in real bodily harm and property damage in the thousands - minimum. They were the reason the Galați Goats no longer had a live animal mascot.

Every Heterodyne who had ever gone to Mechanicsburg University (which was all of them) had been a member.

Except for the last two.

“I mean, I wasn’t there, but we’re big on like, oral history and shit, y’know, so I know how it went down. It was like...everybody can’t like everybody, but the dudes didn’t even want to know us, y’know? We were embarrassing to them.”

Dimo had won the most emotionally charged game of rock-paper scissors Agatha had ever seen, and therefore was the one who got to ride with Agatha and give directions to a place that served ‘the most dope-ass sandwiches you ever ate in your life, no joke’. He sat slouched in the seat with his knees pressed against the dashboard, twirling his baseball cap on his finger. With each revolution, the enamel snarling demon face pinned to the brim caught the sunlight in a brief flash of gold.

“They made everybody tone it way, wayyy down. No more ragers, no more raids, no more anything . And the frat was not happy about it—I heard one guy straight up tried to knife them.”

“ What?”

“Yeah! Got expelled and everything, it was wild. The house heads burned his name off the wall with a fuckin’ blowtorch.”

Agatha knew why Uncle Barry had never told her stories about things he and his brother had done, but...maybe he could have squeezed in a few? Dropped casual hints? Something to prepare her for the inevitable reveal, the day she would have to face her legacy.

“If everyone was so unhappy about it, why did they do it?”

Dimo looked blank.

“Do what?”

“My father and Uncle Barry didn’t even join the fraternity; what authority did they have to tell the Jägers how to run it?”

“They were the Heterodynes,” Dimo said.

“But they weren’t in the fraternity.”

“But they were the Heterodynes,” Dimo said again. Suddenly he grinned and sat up, jamming his hat back on his head. “Turn here! This is it!”

“ This is the place?” Agatha exclaimed. Despite her trepidation, she obeyed the instruction and pulled into the parking lot of what she had assumed was an abandoned shack left over from a horror movie set.

Twenty minutes later, she was sitting on a half-rotten picnic table and staring down, wide eyed, at the perfectly pressed ham and cheese panini she had just tentatively bitten into.

“This is...the best thing I have ever tasted in my life,” she marveled.

“Told you, bro!” Maxim said. Beside him, Oggie managed to shove half a triple-decker club sandwich into his mouth in one bite.

“The guy who runs it used to be in the frat, sorta, so we get free sodas,” Dimo said.

“Also his granddaughter is smokin’ hot and totally into me,” Maxim said, preening.

“She is so not,” Oggie said.

“How the fuck would you know?” Maxim demanded.

“Cause you flirted with her and she hit you with a side of meat.”

“That was an accident, and she gave me her number after,” Maxim said, glaring.

“How can you sorta be in a fraternity?” Agatha asked, taking another bite of her sandwich.

“You hang around the house and help out with the parties, but you don’t do any of the pledging or drink the Jägerdraught.”

Agatha’s brow furrowed.

“Drink the what?”

The three boys glanced at each other, and Agatha sighed.

“I know very little about what my family used to do,” she said. “Outside of rumor and what I got off of the internet, I know almost nothing. Uncle Barry never liked to talk about it. He and my father worked hard to distance themselves from all of it, and he tried to do the same for--to me. You said they were embarrassed about it, I'm starting to think they were ashamed of it."

“Are you?” Dimo asked.

The table went quiet. The three Jägers were staring at her with startlingly solemn expressions. They didn’t know it, but it was a question that Agatha had been considering for a while now. Even not counting the college shenanigans, her family had been responsible for shady business deals, violent corporate take overs, and more tax fraud than you could shake a stick at.

But when she’d visited Mechanicsburg University last spring, she’d found herself drawn to it in a way she couldn’t quite name.

“I still have to go sign in and get my dorm keys,” she said, “but I’d like to see the fraternity house when I’m done.”

Their eyes lit up, and there was as much relief as excitement, but before a word could be said, a shadow fell over the table.

“ Where the hell have you idiots been?”

The girl standing over them was a few years older than Agatha. She had flaxen-blonde hair that was almost white, and furious brown eyes that bored into each young man in turn. Agatha could see the sunburn on her cheeks, despite the large sunhat on her head. Which—Agatha almost couldn’t believe her eyes—had a Jäger symbol pinned to the purple ribbon on the top.

“Jenka!” Maxim cried, winningly. Oggie let out an oof as a shaggy brown head the size of a toddler shoved itself over his shoulder, black eyes fixed on Oggie’s sandwich.

“Ayy, Füst, my man!” Oggie said with delight, and pulled out a slice of chicken for the dog.

“Why are none of you assholes answering your phones, where the fuck is my car, and who the hell is this?”

The three boys grinned broadly.

“This,” Dimo said, and Oggie and Maxim drummed their hands on the table in a drum roll. “Is Agatha. Heterodyne.”

“Tadaaaa!”

[gumballavocadoharry]

I won't cry for yesterday (part 1); Jack Chambers:

*Mentions of death, grief, troubled relationships, dysfunctional family units, mental, emotional, physical abuse, PTSD, violence, abusive relationships, overprotective parenting, deep angst,  poor self image, attachment issues, marriage problems....etc..*

Jack would always remember that one winter in December. In fact, he knew he'd never forget it that one winter's day, when San Deigo weather held this polite chill in the air, but nothing more than just a thin jacket and maybe more bulky jeans than the summer and spring ones that were stored in the closet somewhere. A quiet early evening that smelled of a husky cigar smoke- not from Jack, but from when Dean was there only a few hours earlier, sitting on the couch, legs crossed talking about what their winter break plans where for the upcoming Christmas and the looming New Year's.

Jack could almost taste how that ham tasted that day. Rich, ripe and pure; fresh from the market, Alice took excellent pride in how she cooked it- simmering it just right for it to be tender- fall off the bone type like ribs, but stern enough for a squishy clean chew.

A letter had arrived around four that day. Jack only getting to it around six, once he returned home from the store. Alice placed it neatly on the table for when Jack would arrive and see that it still neat- unopened and crisp, like how a letter should be.

But something about this letter was different. It held a more mysterious linger than a bill or a empty advertisement for nothing. Opening it with shaky hands, Jack grasped the letter and read carefully through each line.

Dear Jack,

This is your mother, Lucy. I have to inform you that your father is very sick. He's been dignoised with stage four colon cancer and he doesn't have much time. Please come visit to say goodbye if you can. David really wants to see you one last time. 

Sincerely, 

Lucy.

Jack held the letter, carefully re-reading it, over and over, until he finally made contact with the address. The same New York hell shack he was forced to call home until age twenty. Licking his lips, Jack set the letter aside and thought for a moment. Should I? Rang through his mind like church bells. Sitting on the surface of his brain before mellowing into the depths of it, Jack felt lost. David, his father; father and son had a complicated history with each other and to pretend as if it still didn't exist or that the pain didn't live on inside of Jack- nesting its own little home inside of the corners of his mind- something he hated the most about his brain.

Jack swallowed hard, like he was forced to ingest a nasty liquid splashing over the back of his throat. Getting up, he met with the little liqour cabinet, pouring himself a scotch before taking it upstairs with him. Giving one last look to the card, Jack shook his head slightly before going upstairs. Somehow, he already made his decision. Besides....David was miles away in New York city and Jack was settled here in California. He would never make it in time....and he never thought to try.

*********************************************

"Alice," she stood at the stove flipping eggs and sasuages in the pan. "Yes?"

"The letter that came in the mail for me the other day.... it was... it was from my mother." Alice turned around. Dead in her tracks, spatula frozen mid air in her hand. "Lucy?"

"Yeah...."

"How did she find...... why did she send that letter?" Jack raised his brows a bit. "My father.... he's dying. He had colon cancer- last stages.... she wanted me to come to New York to say goodbye to him." Alice stared at Jack before he looked up at her, meeting her concerned eyes.

"I don't know if I can..." Alice swallowed. "I know.. it's.... well.... not something that was expected. At all." She set the spatula down, turned the knob of the stove- simmering down the flames- and sat across from Jack at the table. Placing a hand over his, she looked at him with her sweet cat eyes. "I know David was never the best father... at all. But... whatever you decide... I'll support you." Kissing his thumb, Alice turned and went back to the stove, finishing up breakfast. Jack stayed at the table, eyes locked on the placemat in front of him. Biting his lip, Jack finally let his mind wander in the direction he wouldn't let it go in last night.

He didn't want to say goodbye to David. He could never make up for everything he's done to Jack. Maybe he even deserved to die in the first place. Shallow. Jack felt shallow for thinking up such a thing. But nothing else could be truer than how he felt about that. Taking a sip of his freshly poured coffee, Jack let himself settle into contentment.

Until later the next morning. The newspaper was thrown on their front steps. Jack held it- like every morning- scanning for the latest news when he saw the obituary of David Chambers in the left corner. His stomach knotted. His palms begin to sweat and his breath sped up before laboring down into small shaky gasps. Jack expected this. He knew David was going to die. A jubilant feeling warmed around him, like a knot in a rope that's been pulled to the breaking point, had finally ripped and come undone all on its own. A weight slowly fell from Jack's shoulders and a small smile crept over his face. Jack kicked himself- he should've felt sad and angry. Sad because he lost his father, angry because he didn't say goodbye. But he didn't. Not in that moment, like how it's usually planned.

In fact, Jack felt anything but love for David- even in the ounces. The chickering echo: "He deserved to die," rang through his head like bullets. Jack couldn't muster up the words to speak them out loud to anyone or even himself; only inside his head where they were safe to say. They would be stapled with memories of David's angry words, his hard slaps and his riveting stares that steamed hatred -at least to Jack- from his eyes. Sitting back in his chair, Jack tossed the newspaper to Alice's side of the table. Coming to her chair with a coffee in her hand, she stopped, read what Jack had wanted her to read and she looked up at him with sorrowful eyes. "I'm so sorry, Jack." She pressed a kiss to his temple, rubbing her cheek against his head, before sitting back to the table. 

He took a deep breath in. "Knowing my parents, the funeral's going to be held in New York...." Alice looked into Jack's eyes. "I think we should go." Alice sucked in her bottom lip. "Are you sure.... I mean... can you... handle that?" Her voice lighter on the last words. Jack cleared his throat. "Yes... He was my father... and I should at least pay my respects to him and then go."

Alice soothed over Jack's hand with hers. "Susan and Roger...." Jack stiffened. "We have to tell them." Jack nodded. Alice looked at Jack- ushering Jack towards the phone. "Why don't you call Ro-"

"Susan will pick up.... she'll tell Roger." Alice sat back in her chair, watching Jack take rigid steps towards the phone. Dialing each number of Susan's San Francisco number, hoping she'll pick up. He didn't dread for Sean to pick up... only he needed Susan, his baby girl to wave her voice into him for comfort. "Hello?" Susan's voice. A sigh of relief fell over Jack for a quick moment. "Hello, Susan? It's Dad..."

"Dad? Hi. What's going on?"

"Well..... your grandfather, David... he passed away and... I needed to tell you in case you wanted to come to the funeral. It'll be in New York."

"Sure. Thanks for telling me... what about Roger does he know?"

Jack swallowed harshly. A piercing snap ran through his chest like a dagger. "No... I was wondering if you could call him- Seattle numbers are hard to reach sometimes...."

"Sure... of course. I'll tell him right now." 

"Thank you." It came out more broken than how Jack thought it would sound. A splash of shame soured his cheeks.

Hanging up, Jack hoped Roger would come. He might. He might not. Biting his tounge, Jack's breath became hollow and heavy like he was inhailing sand and water. Susan was his good girl though. After living in Pasadena for all of her twenties, she and Sean moved up to San Francisco. Jack knew it to be a cozy, yet entergetic place to nest a nurturing home for a family. The bright city scene with a mellowing linger of suburbia, all bottled into Susan and Sean's new townhome. Jack and Alice had visited the place- big spacy living room, four bedrooms, finished attic, big fluttery kitchen, finished basement and then another basement underneath that looked like any other basement, big backyard, back porch, garage... everything Susan and Sean wanted. "Perfect for a family!" Susan cheered, sharing a cup of tea in the kitchen with Alice. Jack and Sean sat in the couple's bedroom, talking about how he was going to fix up the finished basement. Jack listened. Letting the words enter into his mind, a sudden flash of their family hit him. He thought of himself, Alice, Susan and Roger, when they were younger. All together, living under the same roof. Jack missed those family game nights, the funny dinner chatters where all they talked about sometimes was how wacky their day could get. The bedtime stories he used to read to the children before their bedtimes.... all of it.

And Jack wanted that back again in someway.

At thirty two, Jack wondered when Susan and Sean would make that annoucement. A grandchild would enter the Chambers family- swooning Jack off the distraction of losing one child and gaining another in some way. But... he could never replace Roger. He didn't want to. He loved him- always has. It was just that things didn't turn out the way he'd hoped for the two of them. Although, prideful- holding himself unaccountable for the everything that happened, deep down... he knew it was a lie. A lie he told to himself.

Going back to the table, Jack poured himself a cup of coffee with a hint of vodka in it and then went upstairs to the bedroom for some alone time. Alice only watched as the last of her husband's foot disappeared up the staircase.

*********************************************

The plane ride seemed dreary. All Jack could think about was the last glance he gave to the house; dark and shabby like it drenched. Everything Jack seemed to see held this drab gloomyness to it. He looked over to Alice who sat next to him, head leaning against his arm as she slept peacefully. Jack found it reassuring in some way. Like Alice wasn't facing the same internal demons he was, and she was peaceful and worry free from the simmering piteous mind boggle he was swirling inside of. Jack looked outside the window, watching the sunny skies of home turn to drab gray tints with skyscrapers poking into them like needles.

Memories flooded his brain- some good, some bad, some really bad. Jack could remember the fuggy smell of the city. The alleys that were dark- dangerous. One thing Jack could appreciate was his father- Brooklyn's best detective- warning him to never travel down an alley way. "This ain't London, Jack. Don't you go walking down no alley way- they'll shank you, boy." He said, one evening during dinner. Jack recalled how his friend, Thomas, was explaining the different shortcuts in the city and how they weren't marked because then they wouldn't be secrets anymore. "Ya know how many bodies I would find in an alley, boy? I catch you down there, I'll lick ya!" Tough to swallow, but resonable as Jack knew how risky alleys were. 

The plane landed, jolting Alice awake and burning a fear ridden feeling through Jack's gut. He thought of the funeral and everyone that would be there. He thought of Susan, clinging her arm into Sean's, looking at the open casket of David. Then Roger, staring through the walls, only glancing at the casket while Jack would be glancing between him and his dead father. Alice would be silent, Lucy would crying and the whole place would stiff and chafed. Not that funerals were supposed to be joyfull. But then tension that sizzled through David's lifeline would no doubt mark his return to grave, one way or another.

Grabbing their suitcases, Jack and Alice made it out of the airport and to their cab. Their hotel was comfortable. Big cozy warm bed, nice heating- sheltering them from the icy Brooklyn rain and the picture window that stared out to the big wide city that surrounded them. Jack still loved the city. He still remembered the way his first Brooklyn apartment still lived in him somehow. The Caldar townhouses- cozy living room, little bedroom, the kitchen and nook that hung over to the side from the living room, tucked away in a small corner where it carried a small awning over the nook. His first apartment; the brick building still stood tall- updated and painted a white replacing the cream and yellow tinted walls.

Alice took in a deep breath. "I could stay here for the rest of the trip." She plopped on the bed, kicking her flats off. Alice sighed, staring up at the celling, counting the little spot decor overhead. She didn't want to, but she knew she had to say something to Jack. "Honey.... what about Lucy?"

"What about her?"

"We have to go see how she's doing and if she needs help with the funeral." Jack pursed his lips. "Yeah... yeah, you're right...." Alice sat up and rubbed Jack's back. "I'll be right there with you." Leaning her head against his back, a wave of comfort came over him. Jack always held in this pent up tight knitted feeling of guarding; needing to handle everything himself, while still keeping a tight grip over himself to not fall into the traps of his mother's woes, and his father's wrath. A young Jack could remember the biggest annoucment he made: moving out from his parents home, as his friends pulled his furniture from his room. Jack could remember the scowl across David's face- chanting how 'ungrateful' he was, while listening to his mother's sobs. Jack didn't feel too bad though. Still wheeling the relief he needed to feel from escaping the walls of his gray home. Jack could especially remember David and his yelling. The anger he felt from Jack finally breaking free from his uncontrolled circumstances- the deep hatred that festered inside of him from Jack standing up to him, like he did all his life even as a small child. The last to final time Jack would look David in the eyes and reject him from every part of himself and his life.

Jack ignored David's fury. He would glance at him, while David would stare angrily into his eyes. Jack focused himself on the movers and the new apartment he was aching to move into; how crisp the smell of a new home would smell, how safe the corners of his bedroom would feel, the closet would store clothes. Only clothes and no corners for teddy bears or brand new records that needed to be salvaged. Leaving the home, as he stepped off the front porch and walked through the little pathway from the porch to the driveway, Jack had felt like he set fire to the house. Striking a match, pouring gasoline over everything, and then throwing the lit match and watching the spark burn into blazing flames. 

Around the corner, the porcelain home of the Jenn's- corner neighbors of the Chambers- was set fire to. Jack knew the middle child of the Jenn's. Grover Jenn- the forgotten, yet tortured child of the family. He was always quiet and reserved, but Jack didn't expect the lad to be as hawkish as he was that one summer. Complaining over never having a say in his life- his siblings were always given le-way, where he was always condemed as a 'troublemaker' despite never having any known acts of being a nusiance. Rumors spread that the last straw was when Mr. Jenn, was going to boot Grover down to military school. Grover argued it was because he wasn't wanted, but it was quickly dismissed. Something snapped- Grover knew how much his father loved the home he payed for with his bare hands of hard work and patience. Counting down the days to when he was to ship off the school, around the same time, Mr. Jenn was finishing up the last check that he would send into the bank.

From all the pent up years of anger and desperation for a better chance; Mr. Jenn had sold Grover's toys and teddy bears after age twelve, because ' a boy shouldn't have baby toys if he was to become a man.' Grover knew it was just his father's personal preference, but was still forced to stifle down the pain he felt from his favorite childhood bunny being compacted or creamated somewhere in a trash yard. Then when Grover rebelled over the typical slicked back haircuts the boys were supposed to wear all the time. Growing his hair out down to his shoulder, Mr. Jenn shaved it into a buzzcut to teach him a lesson of 'obedience.' 

But it was that same year, when Grover had been secretly planning on moving down to Nebraska for factory job that would earn him twice the salary than a factory that Brooklyn could ever supply. Mr. Jenn was bothered from this- worried that Grover would never be able to handle himself alone without supervision from his 'superiors.' Moreso... his parents.... his father. Jack never understood why Mr. Jenn thought military school would help Grover, until he realized that it was only a city away and the parents could check up on Grover until he was officially eighteen, something Mr. Jenn dreaded. Everytime Grover mentioned his eighteenth coming up, Mr. Jenn would just brush it off and change the subject.

So, Grover finally did it. Grabbing a jug of gasoline, and dousing the family home- inside and out- before lighting a match and setting the whole house ablaze. The family escaped with first degree burns- as Grover hoped. But their home was gone. Everything that Mr. Jenn had worked so hard for, had burned down into a little ashes. Everyone expected Mr. Jenn to be furious and hellbent on finding Grover to lock him up and throw away the key. But he wasn't. Instead he just sobbed into his hands, confused to where Grover was, but understood why his home had bee burned down. Jack understood- he understood the flame that was slowly ticking and burning inside of Grover- like himself- had finally exploded. Jack set fire to his home, the day he left. Grover actually set fire to his home, and ran away- changing his name and everything about what his past was.

"I always hated my name anyway." He said to Jack one day in the school corridors. Jack felt this shiver up his spine. A sugary type spike of excitement- admiring Grover to some extent that he had the guts to do what his bagged up anger had made him do.

And despite the smoke filled air that morning, Jack would always think of it like a breath of fresh air. That him and Grover were finally free and their lives would be forever changed by their own liberation of igniting the flames and burning it down to the ashes of their pain.

*************************************************

"Jack!" Lucy greeted, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. Jack felt uncomfortable, eyes glancing towards Alice, who stood awkwardly trying to make sense of exactly what Lucy's game was. Jack pressed a tight and stern smile together, before gently pulling out of his mother's arms. "Jack...." Lucy looked into his eyes. She stiffened herself- seeing everything she saw in them, the day he left. Jack's eyes were still bold; green and sharp like they were even as a young man. The strenth never left them.... and Lucy couldn't ignore it.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there when.... you know.... Dad died." Jack bit his lip a bit, not knowing if he said the right thing. "It's okay, baby... he was in bad shape anyway." Lucy turned to Alice and pursed her lips before smiling tightly. "Would you like some tea, dear?" Alice smiled, glancing towards Jack, who gave a slight nod. "That would be nice, thank you." Lucy excused herself to the kitchen, waiting for Jack to follow her. Alice made herself comfy on the couch, fiddling with the edges of her blouse.

"David.... he really wanted you to be there." Lucy poured the water into the tea pot, placing a tea bag inside. Jack swallowed. "I know..... he probably did... maybe."

Lucy turned to Jack. "Of course he did.... you're his only son... he needed you, Jack. Oh... he was heartbroken while we waited and waited, hoping for at least a phone call to tell us that maybe you were-"

"It was so sudden," Jack interrupted. "Two days ago, I recieved your letter about Dad... and I was still taking time to reel from that too."

"I know Jack, but...." Lucy sighed, setting the spoon down and turning to him. "He was holding out for you, until... he just couldn't anymore."

"What do you mean?" 

"Well.... David... wanted to stay alive to see you.... but you didn't come.... and I guess he just died from that."

"Died from that? Me not being there? What about his cancer- the actutal reason he died?"

"Oh, Jack don't start." Jack sighed. "Fine. I won't." Going back into the living room, Jack sat next to Alice and squeezed her knee. Alice knew. He didn't need to say a word.... she knew.

"Tea's here!" Lucy set the tray down on the mantel. "So," sitting back on the couch, "what are the next steps?"

Jack cleared his throat. "Well.... we were going to help with the funeral.... in fact... I called the children and told them about what happened, and they're coming down later for the funeral."

"Oh, how nice of you to do that, Jack. It's nice to be around family, especially during times like these." Jack raised an eyebrow, flattening his smile. Lucy scanned Alice up and down, trying not to make eye contact with her. But she couldn't ignore how navy blue blouse hugged her curves or how her eyes held this ginger in them. It was always this way from the moment she met Alice.

Beyond the traces of her seemingly perfect body, there was her smile, her laugh, they sweet way Jack looked at her; admiring her with everything she did. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, while they stood together and Jack was explaining how much he loved this woman. Or like Jack's hand was still over Alice's knee as a this gentle reminder of how much he needed her and vise versa. Put together without all the fluff of fantasy, Alice held this light everywhere she went. And Lucy wanted it to be hers.

****************************************************

It was in the spring, shortly after Jack's engagement to Alice when Lucy and David had first met her. David gawked at her- like he did with every other woman- but neverminded her. Lucy just stared- not too noticeable- she couldn't stop herself from looking at the bombshell blonde. Full of life and lust- zest for the invitation of marriage towards her so, that truly loved from the start. Alice was valiant; grabbing Lucy's hand and shaking it while wearing this big smile underlined by her cherry red lips. That's when Lucy noticed her eyes. Rich and colorful- life lived through them- inside of them, holding this light inside of herself like she was something more than what Lucy had envisioned her to be.

A hard smack of reality spat back at Lucy a second time once she realized that Jack didn't fufill the unknown understanding that his mother wanted him to. A dainty woman with a shy, but humble etiquette about her. Lucy would have no hassle showing her the ropes of what being a wife- a woman would be about. She would be able to take the ropes and tug on them without a fight, and the woman would be grateful. She would let Lucy steer her into whichever corner she would need to be in, to be set and ready made for Jack.... for his family- all of the Chambers.

Lucy wanted her to be like a daughter to her. She wanted her love her like a mother and be a willing participant Lucy being exactly that, only she would still be different. Lucy was Jack's mother and the woman would be his wife. Lucy, her long complex history with her child would leave no doubts or competition for which role would be the best for Jack. And the wife would understand.... she was the second woman in his life. But strictly because he found her secondly.

Alice, was Jack's world. Fearless, polite, yet solid in her stances and dense in her womanhood. She needed no leader, she was her own guide. She was perfect for Jack. Lucy's history with Jack was already complicated- enough to where he didn't choose for Alice to meet his parents; showing them off like they were to be these trophies. Just by chance, they at the same department store and Alice stood by Jack like Barbie next a to a Ken. "Dear, try not to cross your ankles- it's highly inappropriate." Lucy commented during a lunch date. Staring at Alice with a sly exspression, Alice stared back, politely nodded, before crossing her leg over the other under the table. Lucy didn't notice until Jack had etched out from the table and the small gap in between revealed Alice's position.

Lucy looked at Alice's legs. Then to Alice, who returned the same sly smirk, only with more politeness- the same dainty manner that she became accustomed to.

It would go on like that with the rare occassions they would meet. Lucy would tell Alice something, and Alice- not following outdated customs- would politely ignore it or do something against it. But it was one particular Sunday. Easter had come and Passover had ended. A picnic was held in Palm Springs and Jack- hesitently- agreed to bring himself and a pregnant Alice there.

The buffet was crowded with tons of people, but Alice didn't let it bother her until Lucy rang up next to her, telling her what foods she should intake with a pregnant belly. "Healthy foods, serve for a healthy baby- but don't eat too much, or else it'll be harder to lose the baby fat. And besides, there's a baby bump, and then there's just excess fat."

Alice chalked the comment up to one in her own head over the reason of Jack being a premature baby. Spotting a delicious chocolate cake, Alice grabbed a slice and plopped it on her plate. "Oh no, dear," Lucy snatched the cake from off her plate and set it back down. "Your already too big for that."

"Excuse me?"

Lucy smiled, rather the same sly one she had at the lunch. "I'm only looking out for you." 

Alice smiled tensely. The times she used that smile was usually when Jack overreacted or Roger accidentally embarrassed the family in public with his own shenaigans and Alice had to save face. She stared right into Lucy's eyes- glossing past the innocent motherly act, as if she wasn't out for something else. Tilting her head up, she said: "Mind your own business, and you will be, okay?" Then she grabbed another slice of cake, shot Lucy one last look, before trolling over to Jack and explaining what happened at the counter.

Jack looked back to a red faced Lucy, who was storming over to the table. "Jack! Are you going to let your her talk to me like that? You really should get her home and let her have it!"

Jack squinted his eyes at Lucy. Standing up from the table and walking over to her. "Don't you ever call my wife 'a her' again. Her name is Alice. And further more, if you even think that I would 'let her have it', then maybe Dad 'let you have it' too many times to your head if you believe that's what a real man does." Grabbing Alice's hand, Jack stormed out of the picnic with Alice. 

They went back to their hotel where room service served them limitless food- including a deluxe chocolate cake. "Would you some ice cream to go with that, honey?" 

"Sure.... thanks Jack." Jack kissed Alice's forehead before scooping two scoops of vanilla ice cream into the bowl.

But Lucy would never forget those encounters and how Alice was so much different that what she expected her to be. The same boldness that Jack held in his eyes, was in Alice's. Jack was with his own type- quick to defend his wife from anyone, it became clear that she was his woman... no one else. Lucy sometimes resented that Alice held the family name in presence now. The hopeful glee of Lucy's type of woman, had wittled away like a steam in the tension of cold water. Now replaced with jaded memories of Alice, only signaled to Lucy once again, who Jack was. A strong man.... who wanted a strong woman. And Alice was nothing short of that.

Lucy would cringe at how Alice would stride causally in heels in a hip hugging pencil dress while holding her bags of groceries because she could. And she did. If the rules weren't candid, then she didn't follow them. Lucy would watch Alice get into her own car and drive off. She would watch Lucy wait until she was ready to marry- early thirties when she decided that she wanted to settle down with someone of her liking. She would see how Alice didn't need to be perfect- she just wanted to be happy. Jack was happy, her grandchildren were happy and their family worked. Lucy wasn't apart of it and neither was David.

 And it unsettled her. And it would always haunt her in someway, that she only she knew why.

***********************************************

"Jack...." Lucy asked quietly, careful not to shift Alice's ear from the upstairs bathroom. "Did she stop you from going?"

"What?" Lucy cleared her throat. "I know you have responsibilities, but... Alice can't take up all your time, can she?" 

Jack raised an eyebrow and let it turn into a furrow. "I didn't come, because I didn't want to see Dad. And you know why. I came to help you with the funeral because I know Dad would want to be buried here with all his police buddies and detective pals seeing him one last time- he was honored as a hero here, so... I know that's what he would want."

Lucy stayed quiet for a moment. "Why didn't you visit sooner- even if it was just me?" Jack took a deep breath. "Because I needed to take care of myself and do what was best for me. I just.... didn't want to come back. I left once.... and I'm happy."

The subject was dropped. Lucy continued cleaning the dishes, and Jack continued keeping his mother at arm's length. 

*************************************************

Three days in New York and by day number four, the funeral had arrived. Lucy wanted a fast and quick one; choices about the house, David's stuff and other decisions needed to made at the proper time as well. Not to mention visits with the laywer about David's pension also fell over Lucy's mind. 

Jack and Alice entered the funeral home- black dress, black suit and tie- as they made their way around the crowds of family, friends, and co-workers of David who respected him. 

"Dad!" Jack turned and found Susan walking towards him with her arms stretched out. Wrapping her in a hug, Jack held her like he hadn't in a long time. "Baby...." he whispered. Pulling back to see her face, Jack felt tears looming. "It's so good to see you. Where's Sean?"

"Parking the car. It's crazy how we even made it down here." Susan chuckled a bit to lighten the mood. Then she became more serious. "Have you seen Roger? I told him about Grandpa-"

"No.. no. I don't think he's here yet." Jack took a step back to examine Susan: Knee length black dress, sheer black pantyhose, black heels and a gray trench coat. Silver jewlery- earrings, a watch and brotch, styling her outfit in just the way Jack would think of what Susan would wear.

Then he saw Roger. Taken aback by how sharply, yet tastefully dressed he was: black trench coat opened to reveal his black suit and tie, black loafers and right when he went to scratch the back of his head, it revealed the shiny new watch- thick black belt with a huge clock in the center of it. Jack stiffened and suddenly his gut dropped. As Roger was making his way over, a buzz sounded. His pager buzzing in his pocket. Excusing himself, he stood aside. He walked toward the phone booth, desperate with whatever he received on his pager. Too busy to notice his father trailing him.

Roger dialed each button carefully. "Hey Paul. Yeah, it's Roger. Listen- I can't make the meeting Monday.... yeah I know it's inconvient, but my Grandfather died and I have to stay for a few days in New York..... no I'm not going to use this as a way to advertise my book- let it sell out in Seattle first.....okay... okay, thanks for understanding....alright, bye."

Jack met face to face with Roger, jolting him a bit in surprise. "You scared me," he smiled. "Nice to see you though, Dad." Jack felt frozen; kicking himself awake to respond. "Nice to see you too, Roger." He smiled. Bringing Roger into a hug, it didn't vapor the distance inside of it. Like a stranger's arms were wrapped around Roger. But Jack still felt the same familiar air of love he felt when he always hugged a child Roger.

"What was that phone call about?"

"Oh, it's nothing.... my publicist wants to.... you know... do business at inapproprate times, that's all." 

He had a publicist, Jack thought. Roger was famous, Jack thought. The realization soured him- sending this wobbly feeling over his body. Jack felt like he had been in a coma for years; Roger changed so much since the last he ever saw in person. Mature, hair styled differently- a short shaggy cut with a bang above his eyebrows and a bit of his forehead, swept the side- exspensive looking clothes.... a proper self made life he built for himself, that Jack was shunned out of. His little boy had grown several years in front of him and he was too stupid to even see it. He could see how handsome he was. How much greener his eyes became and how he stood a two feet taller than his father. Like a punch in the stomach- Jack couldn't allow the bellowing pride he had for his son, to glitter brighter than the clanking angst he felt inside. 

A feeling that could bring Jack to his knees begging for redemption. But instead standing as tall as he could in his own misery of what he didn't have.

Before Jack could speak, the sound of heels approached. "Roger!" Alice ran to him and hugged him so hard, he nearly fell back. Smothering his face in kisses, she kept her arms wrapped around his neck as she looked into his eyes. "Where have you been?" She whispered audiablly.

"Seattle. I write books now." He smiled. "Oh," Alice pressed her head more into him. 

"I miss you so much.... why can't you come home, sweetie?" 

"Seattle's been so good to me- all the wonderful city people have just been so kind... plus.... the city sells books faster." He chuckled. 

"I know... it's just...." Alice turned to Jack before pulling away and looking down. 

"It's just what?" Alice shook her head. "Well..... the Chambers belong in California... and the long distance sometimes gets the best of us, right Jack?"

Jack nodded, standing aside watching mother and son reunite.

"Ladies and gentlemen, can we all take our seats? The service will now begin."

****************************************************

Jack felt hollow. His father- asleep in the cold murky mahoghany casket, seemed to just bleed him dry of any outstanding emotion. He was supposed to feel sad, but he wasn't. Lucy seemed to be only one shedding tears- pressing tissues up to her eyes consistantly during the ceremony. Susan was watching David's coffin- stiff and still in her seat, sitting in between her husband and brother. She caught Jack's eye- gave a slight smile, before joining her focus back to the priest. Roger sometimes shuffled around his seat, trying hard not to make eye contact with anyone- especially Jack- whose eyes seemed to bore into him. Jack felt more snags tugging at him for Roger, than he did for David.

The service- tense and prolonged more than it needed to be it seemed for Jack. Listening to the eulogy filled with lies and tales about the man David was, cut through Jack- a spike of slight anger banging through him. So, he let his mind drift. And it thought about all the fear and pain he suffered from David- justifying the obvious, even though David wasn't here anymore- the memories would still and always live inside of Jack. He knew he didn't have to go down the usual path of self pity and fury- David was who he was, and his death would never change that. But Jack needed to feel obliged; reasons for making him turn out the way he did today. And it was the same bottled down itchy gnawling feeling that led him to where he was with his family- with Roger. Not fitting into any part of his own son's life, and being made to see how much clearer Roger looked- how bright his eyes were. The tension he felt when speaking with his father was no longer there and this rested confidence sank into him more than it did for Jack when he was that age.

Jack wanted to chalk it up to just plain luck- not having to fight the way he did. But he knew Roger. Roger went his own way and did his own things in life. He forged his own path, making a career of something he didn't even realized he loved so much. Jack would never tell him that he bought one of Roger's first novels. He would never let him see it across his face of how much he wanted for Roger to achieve and how proud he was of him to have gotten where he was today. Jack just missed him. He missed his son.... he missed who he used to be and would never know the person he became. His hair was styled so differently and it was symbolic in some way to Jack. How much he distanced himself from being his father's son, to just Roger. And that's what people knew him as. That's what he wanted to be known as.

Glancing back to Roger again, the young man peered once to Jack before quickly looking back to the front. Jack turned around and kept his head straight, but his eyes dazed with his full mind for the rest of the service.

*******************************************************

Everyone cleared the home, brisking past David's black and white picture. A younger version of himself that favored Jack in some way from the right angles. Same eyes, same smile, same dimples. Jack took a longer look at it, before moving along with the crowd out to their cars and down the community center for the wake.

"That was a tasteful service," Alice said, walking to her side of the car. Jack hummed a response. Before getting into the car, he noticed from the small gaps in between the crowd of Susan and Roger talking. Barely able to make out what they were saying, he went to the trunk- closer enough to hear what they were saying, but appearences would look like he was getting something.

"I am coming to the wake- but I said that I was also saving my energy for dinner tonight."

"I know, Roger..... look- I know you and Dad had.... whatever differences you had, but at least show up a little."

"Of course! Susan... I do appericate you letting me know... and I am going to be there... I just have to make an important phone call and then I'll come join the family, okay?"

Susan smiled a little. "Alright. I love you, Roger.... I always have."

"I love you more." He smiled the same cheeky one he did as a child. Susan giggled before pecking his cheek and getting into the car with Sean. Roger walked to his, making eye contact with Jack. He gave a polite smile before getting into his car and driving off.

**************************************************

The wake ended at around five that evening. The snow was twinkling a bit and cars were being piled into and driven away. Lucy asked Jack and Alice to help clean. Jack carefully accepted and stationed himself with helping his mother with the sweeping while Alice cleared away the tables. 

"I really am thankful for this, honey. Thanks for sticking around." Jack smiled. "No problem."

The room was quiet for a moment. Sounds of the broom sweeping up the dirt and crusty snow from shoes were all to be heard, along with some clattering dishes from the kitchen that Alice was tending to.

Lucy looked at Jack- studying him for a moment. "How are you and the kids?" Jack had raised his eyebrows for a moment before answering. "We're fine. Me and Alice are just enjoying retirement."

"I know how lonley it can get without the children around. I still think about when you were little and you would always want one more story, or one more cookie. It just made me so happy to see you be happy...."

Jack kept quiet. Lucy cleared her throat. "I'm gonna miss your father.... he was such good company...." Jack geared himself up for what else was about to be said. "You're good company, sweetie..... it would be nice to be able to have room to be with you.... and Alice." 

Jack looked to the side for a moment and then back to Lucy. "It wouldn't be much of an invitation if it was made up from persuasion rather than a gesture.... I don't think so." Lucy sighed. "Jack, it would be nice to spend time with you.... I want to be your mom again-"

"Mom... me and Alice came here to help you with Dad's funeral. Now, with all that said and done, you can't possibly pretend that those years didn't happen, that Dad wasn't abusive to me or to you, or that everything suddenly went away like magic because he's not here. Me and my family are going home the day after tomorrow- we won't even be here. I would have did what my son obligations were and then.... I would have the peace of knowing that I did help, and that I was..... that I was a good son- even if Dad didn't realize it."

Lucy dropped the broom. Tears flooded her face as she stared into Jack's eyes sobbing. "Oh, Jack.... I know I haven't been what you wanted me to be, but I can still make it up to you with the years I have left..... please don't leave me."

"What about how you left me? Abandoning me when I needed you to defend me from Dad? Those cookies and bedtime stories and hugs or whatever didn't protect me. They didn't help me.... you sat back and let him touch me the way he did- slap me, beat me, punch me.... I look at my children and I could never do that to them- no one would ever do that to them, even now as adults."

"But you still can't leave me here to wallow- you did it the first time. When I was struggling and you just wanted to move out of the house because you couldn't let go of the little snags you ran into with David!"

"Those weren't little snags- they were serious problems!"

"I needed you!"

"I had to leave!"

"I'M YOUR MOTHER!"

"YOU'RE A GROWN WOMAN! ACT LIKE IT!"

Lucy stared back in stunned silence like she had just been slapped hard in the face. Jack simmered down enough to bore back into his mother's eyes, anger still bubbling inside of them.

"I was a child. A little boy. You were still a grown woman. If you didn't want Dad, then you should've picked up your things and left- and took me with you. I left because that's what I wanted to do. I made the choice to carry myself the way no one else would do it for me.... I took responsiblity for my life. I didn't abandon you..... I just moved on. And if you even half the guts you think you do.... you would've done the same."

Dropping the broom, Jack grabbed Alice and walked out of the building, leaving Lucy behind in the dim lights from the night snow.

*************************************************

"Jack... what happened? What did your mother say to you?" The car ride to the resturant was silent. The sound windshield wipers waving against the window-wiping away the twinkling snow that pecked at the windows like rain- were the only sounds to be heard.

"She said that 'she loved me'...... I said 'it wasn't enough'." Alice kept quiet and just stared out the window. Shortcutting down the country side of the city, they made it to the resturant. Jack's headlights spotlighted Roger's car that was parked neatly towards the back of the place. Jack parked a few spaces over. Maybe for small talk or for just the feeling of needing to feel close to his presence in some way. Alice noticed his car. Stroking the back of her hand and biting the side of her lip, she stopped herself before she nearly wiped off his lipstick. Narrowing her eyes at Jack a little, she stepped out of the car and waited for Jack's door to close before she started walking towards the front door.

Susan, Roger and Sean were sat at the table- a big round one towards the right of the resturant, sat in the back. Susan waved her hand to usher her parents towards the table. 

"Roger you didn't tell me you were in New York before." Sean said. Roger chuckled. "Yeah, it was when my first novel came out and I had to do a press tour to promote it," Roger scooted his chair over to make room for his parents, "my publicist, Paul, thought it would be a good idea because a lot of young fiction writers were up and coming around the same time. He wanted me to stand out."

Roger took a sip of his ruma cola. Jack eyed it. "Roger, careful with the drinks," 

Sean chuckled. "Well, Roger's a big boy- I'm sure he can keep count." The two laughed. Jack sat back in his chair, cheeks becoming slightly red. The table ordered their food and chatted while they waited. Jack could only listen to some of the single man adventures Roger had back in Seattle; how shunned he felt from even knowing half of what went on with his son. From the conversation, Jack knew that Roger had the hots for a woman named, Kelly, he had written a book in a little cabin somewhere in Iceland, he had went skydiving, explored one of New York's lavish dance clubs, and had moved into a bigger apartment after he graduated university, upon getting a pet iguana named, Stone.

Jack smiled rigidly. A festering whirlwind of bitterness swirled inside of Jack. Omitted from his Roger's life, gave him this sick feeling of how much he wanted to- he should've been there, maybe to talk him out of some of those bad choices. But they weren't bad choices... they were just Roger's choices and Jack just didn't feel comfortable with them. Glancing between Susan and Sean, he hoped they show him some pity. And Susan did a bit. Nudging Roger towards inviting Jack into the conversation- he would and then make a way for Sean to need to interfere because of his amazement with something else Roger did, shutting Jack out again. And it was comfirmed- how much Jack didn't fit in.

Alice couldn't keep the smile off her face. Proud, amazed, joyful, like every mother would be to see her child do so well. Like she was meeting a superstar, Alice was comepletly absored in everything Roger had done. It was: "Roger, when did you do this?" or "I never knew that!" A smile was all that was plastered over her face the entire dinner. Roger could see Alice's motherly smile to Jack's pitited broken smile.

Even after dinner, the parents smiles never faltered. Sean scanned everyone and turned to Susan. "I'm going to go get the car." A subtle wink to his wife and she understood. Once Sean was out of sight, all eyes seemed to turn to Roger. "You're doing really good, Dad.... I know this is not easy at all with Grandpa David and... the issues surrounding it all... but you're doing so good and that's very commendable."

"Thank you, Roger.... I really appreciate that." Jack leaned in for a hug, taking Roger aback, but wrapped his arms around him anyway. Jack kissed his cheek, leaving Roger to feel somewhat uneasy. Old habits never change, he thought. Stepping back, Roger ushered Susan to hug Jack. As Jack was in a hug from Susan, he stared out at Roger, who's eyes were focused on the floor. Pursing his lips, he pulled away and gave Susan a sweet look before joining Alice like he need to cling to her for energy. And he did.

The four departed to their cars. Roger glanced over to Jack's car- parked a few spaces from his. Looking down and unlocking his car door, Roger shuffled into his car and waited until Jack and Alice left the parking lot before he did.

*******************************************************

In their hotel, Alice had already gotten ready for bed. Hair tied up in rollers and makeup wiped off her face, Alice was in bed snoozing away the day she had- David's funeral sparked several emotions in Jack that she could see, even if he bottled them up. But what she noticed the most was his responses to Roger and how much they've grown apart. It saddened her, but satisfied her to some extenet. She adored the relationship they used to have from when Roger was a child. But Alice couldn't forget everything that caused the drift in the first place- Jack being responsible for nearly everything of the reasons.

The lights were off and only the lamp of Jack's bedside was glowing. Sipping the last drops of gin from his glass, Jack's mind wandered over to Roger. 

Jack was particularly agitated by the thought of Roger. Sure, he was at the funeral and even the pity dinner thrown for Jack in his honor, but it still wasn’t enough to shake what had been lingering outside and inside for so long. Jack knew the reasons behind his calculated approach, but to Roger- it was a nuisance. It stood in the way of every goal and mountain he chose to climb. Roger- much like the rest of the family- assumed it was because of Jack’s deep rooted addiction to seeing him as this helpless little infant, but it only appeared that way. Jack was very much well aware of Roger’s adult status. He was aware of all of Roger’s milestones. The first car, the first date, the first apartment.... Jack remembered them all too well. Like mementos or framed polaroids, they lived in the depths of Jack's brain like trees deeply rooted to the ground. And sometimes... it hurt to think of them.

But the intentions and the comprehension behind them, were entangled like mangled hair or branches upon bark and leaves. Carefully constructed, yet sloppily thrown in this basket of mushy emotions- it all lived in Jack. And only he would know why.

************************************************

It had happened one particular winter; November when the California air had mellowed from the steaming mist of summer. Alice- suspecting from her experience of  her first pregnancy- knew she was pregnant with another. Jack burst in excitement upon hearing this news. Surprising as it would be, Jack seemingly was prepared. He always wanted another child. The couple had planned on it, but the exciting static shock of Alice's pregnancy still sparked through Jack. 

Having already rejoiced in his firstborn, Jack grew anxious to be a father again. Jack had secretly hoped for a son- someone to relate to on a gender level. A round head little boy, sweet little eyes, deep dimples, a stubborn ambition, and a gentle sensitivity. Jack would love this little boy- nurture his every little daydream or wish.

He would dream of this child the more Alice’s belly grew more and more. He would think about a little boy this time; brown hair and darker green eyes than the ones his wife and daughter possessed. A playful laughter, and a smile full of innocent childlike wonder, while he ran through the backyard in the field of dandelions and grass blades.

It was in a movie that Jack was watching. A young boy- sweet dimples, a chunky mop of red hair and freckles scattered all over his cheeks with a peachy blush to them. Roger was the boy’s name. And it soon became one Jack’s favorites. Raymond. Richard. All overdone and used way too much. But Roger just glided off the tongue like butter. Like a child begging for a toy, Jack eagerly persuaded Alice to like the name. Not much effort needed as Alice saw this name as the perfect catch for a golden little boy.

“Maybe he’ll have red hair...” Alice said one night. Jack smiled wide.

“Who knows... black hair, red hair... golden blonde? It all runs on my end too,” Jack looked up again. “I always envisioned the baby with brown hair and green eyes; Susan favors you so much... I just hope this baby favors me.”

Alice kissed the temple of Jack’s head. “I think so. They’ll be perfect.” And he would be. Jack held onto the thought.

Even when he gritted his fingers into his palms from Alice’s morning sickness or when he held his breaths from Alice’s sharp labor pains that rang in that evening and lasted until early in the morning- 2:28 A.M. A soft fuss croaked out, and then a pink flesh colored baby appeared from the white sheets over Alice's legs.

And it was that summer- July- where Roger had come into the world, donning the same dark chocolate hair, emerald green eyes and the dark cherry pink heart shaped lips, like his father. Just like Jack. Even as a baby, Roger held that same fiery flame of passion inside him. Hollering loudly for something, or cooing softly for another thing. Even though Roger couldn’t speak, Jack understood him. He could sense when Roger was upset. Those scary rainy nights when thunder would boom through the house, Jack was already up from the bed before a wail could be heard from his baby son.

When Jack would try his hardest to put a diaper over Roger’s squirming legs, he would giggle and stare into his father’s eyes with a deep twinkle in them, pestering one in Jack’s.

Roger could sense his father’s emotions. His anger, his sadness... his fear. To Jack, whenever a bad night would appear; nightmares or night sweats from bad dreams of David, Roger was right there with a cry to wake Jack up from those thoughts and rush into his bedroom. And when Jack would carry Roger in his arms, he felt this warm fuzzy feeling like a warm blanket was being wrapped around him. A light in the dark or a hole at the end of the tunnel. Jack found a kindred spirit in Roger. He was more than just a baby to Jack, he was a friend. A little version of himself that he could hug and sing to on dreary nights. Roger clung to Jack- his protector from everything scary in the world.

Jack tickled Roger's belly to see him gurgle and smile. He gave rasberries to his neck to hear his giggles. Jack let every soothing touch gently swish on Roger's skin- wanting him to savor the soft warm gentle touches of his father. 

Looking into Roger’s soft little eyes, he could see himself. Scared, alone, fragile, yet put up this tough strut and held a passion of ambition. Independence was something that Roger grew into even as a six month year old. He learned to to crawl, then walk, then run. All on his own, he would hold himself up and take himself where he wanted to go. Roger learned to babble, and then to speak. He spoke from his heart and conversed whatever was on his mind. Dominance in such a tiny package Jack thought. Jack couldn’t help but notice how Roger's furrowed eyebrows favored his own or how his puppy dog pout was practically a ‘copy and ‘paste’ from Jack as well. And Jack nurtured it. He held this dome over Roger- letting him be himself, never having to fight to defend himself from broken pain.

Jack decided he would give Roger everything that was never given to him. Teddy bears, kisses, hugs, bedtime stories, lullabies. It was how they bonded from the first touch to the first words Jack spoke to Roger. Linked together like chains, Jack promised he would never let go.

But Roger wanted to. And he did.

Roger loved Jack’s homemade cookies, his piggy back rides, his bedtime stories and warm hugs. His and Jack's one on one time- true and father and son bonding. Even the scent of him made Roger feel safe. It still did. Roger always knew he was loved. He never questioned it. It was the price he realized he had to pay for such affection that grabbed him in a chokehold.

The more Roger grew, the more expensive the cost became. So Roger would refuse to pay. When Jack dove for his nine year old son’s hand, Roger would tug it away. Jack would grab it back with a firmer grasp. Roger would snatch it away- quickly before darting off into the school, leaving Jack behind in the distance.

Eleven year old Roger, refused his scarf and hat for shallow fall weather. It wasn't cold enough to need it. Even more so, teddy bear prints and patterns were stiched all over them- Jack knitted them himself. Roger sliently balked at them; babyish and unappealing to him, Roger shoved them under his bed, and peddled his bike to school. Jack had found them later that evening. Picking them up and keeping them with him, it was when Roger was in the middle of English when he stormed into the classroom and gently donned Roger in the garments. "You'll get sick, baby- I can't let you freeze." Pressing a kiss to his cheek, Roger felt his face blush and warm. Roger blamed Jack for not being able to keep his head up through the whole in school. He shoved the hat and scarf into the depths of his closet- told his parents they must've gotten lost in the wash.

It went on like this for a while. Roger's teenage years were sometimes filled with Jack's constant smothering of affection. Always needing to hold Roger's hand, give him that extra push on the swing set or cut up his steak for him. Jack always had to be there, somewhere along the lines, it had to start with Jack. And Roger felt like he was drowing. Gasping for air- choking on his own resentment. And the more he drowned, the more the resentment grew. It liked to swallow him up like a wave. So, Roger would try to come up for air. 

Sometimes he lied and snuck out. He learned to drive earlier than his parents had known; Susan would sometimes take rides from a fifthteen year old Roger, without Jack and Alice even suspecting that Roger knew how. Jack held Roger back from letting Roger have his license until he was eighteen. Susan was treated the same, but she had an easier time to obtain this privilage. Jack, didn't even bother to teach Roger. "I wanna make sure he's ready." 

But he was never ready. At least not to Jack. So, Roger asked a favor from one of Dean and Bunny's boys; took him down to an empty parking lot, where Roger practiced his driving. He would watch Jack, Alice and Susan, along with anyone else he took a ride with, carefully scanning how they followed the rules of the road. Roger- saved some of summer job money for driving classes and then took the test. It was on a special anniversary dinner, when Roger annouced to his new driver's license. A month later, Roger got his first car. Jack stood by watching all of this, with an empty smile. 

The same smile he wore with gritted teeth on the inside. A pique biting inside him, through his gut and core. Angry at Roger- angry at his intentions. Why was he pushing this so hard? Why was he trying so hard to pull away from him? A part of him was proud of Roger, the other held this fear- the same fear he had seeing his infant Susan lay in the hospital with meningitis. He pleaded with God, not to lose her. And somehow, that same fear manifested itself into one of Roger. Not for death, but from the loss. He couldn't lose Roger.

Jack began to ride along with Roger when he took his car out. He had to sit in the passenger seat and direct Roger where to turn, when to put your blinker on, when to use a turn signal... Roger began to just leave notes on the fridge and leave for errands early in the morning or when Jack wasn't home. Jack didn't give up- he made Roger hang his car and house keys towards the door like everyone else. But they would never be there- as Roger suspected. "Sometimes, I take them in my room because it's late sometimes when I get home, and I'm so tired.... I don't even realize I did it." Roger ignored Jack's rule after that, and would stash his keys on the inside of his closet. "Roger... we hang the keys up here." Jack pointed to the key rack.

"I like to keep my keys with me at all times. So they don't get taken.... I figured since, I would be responsible if anything happened to them, so I keep them with me." Roger swung his keys around his finger and brushed past Jack a bit, on his way out the door. Roger never mentioned to anyone how one day he took his car to a locksmith and had an extra set of car keys made just in case.

The pique bit into Jack harder, biting off the flesh and then becoming source of itself on its own. Roger's gasps for air became an oxygen tank, Jack's bites became infected with a rabid dieasese. It made him mad, it made Roger add on more tanks. If Roger went out, Jack wanted to go too. If Roger went on a date, Jack would go too. If Roger got a job, Jack would scruntinze what type of job it was, and if it should suit Roger- despite Roger having the skills.

And to Roger, Jack would posess the same babyish position. Always 'helping' him out. Giving gentle nudges to his 'baby.' Until, Roger moved out. Then the waves calmed a bit, and he could swim along to its sweet breeze rhythm. But the pique- still alive- clung to Jack, not wanting to let go. And it followed Jack everywhere taunting him in his sleep. Flooding him with those sweet memories of Roger clinging to him, like a baby koala to its mother. They soon became his nightmares. Fear mixed inside the pique began to haunt those memories. Why couldn't he be there with Roger? Why didn't Roger want him around? It was an obssesion. Jack couldn't think of anything else, but Roger's leave to Seattle. A personal slap in the face- a deep rejection of his love. The love he never had as a child, but gracefully gave to Roger, only for it to be rubbed in his face.

But, it was just college? Then Roger would be home because of how much he missed his family. Him and Jack together. He cooled off by then. Then they could have milk and cookies while Roger told him all about his times at college. The innocent times... Jack would like to think of those times in the same way Roger's school days were back then. Just teacher troubles or a playground bully.

It was him who suggested that he and Alice visit Roger. Hoping for some sense of regret in Roger. He would wrap him into his arms and Roger would feel the fresh scent of his familiar hug. And then he would finish his semester, go home and they could be a family again. No more plane rides back and fourth, just one bedroom knock away and Jack would have Roger back. But semester was over. The fall had sprung in, and three years after Roger even entered the college, Jack and Alice were on the next plane down to Seattle.

But it was something about that visit. The way Jack babied Roger- embarrassing him in front of his friends, shunning him back down to little third grader he once was having to face his schoolmates after being kissed in front of them by Jack, tickled under his chin like a baby, cooed to a lulling whisper. It made Roger understand. It made him look at Jack- the fluffy feeling of love from his father's affection disappearing- and now the same pique had now bit into Roger's tanks. It became a life of its own from the oxygen. Swirling into a hole inside of Roger, he met Jack's eyes- forging the same empty smile Jack wore when Roger had climbed those mountains of independence. As his parents left his apartment, Roger felt confident this time. No more resentment, no more struggling to breathe. It was clear how much he understood.... Jack would never see him as the man he was now. He would never let go.

Staring at a family picture, Roger met Jack's eyes again. An irk pecked into his gut, before he took the picture off the shelf and stored it away behind the other pictures in his apartment. Seattle was always meant to be his home. Roger never thought about returning to California to live there, until today. But, he liked the feeling of December cold on his skin anyway. Roger took one last look at Jack's face through the picture, before walking away. But it was later that night, he saw 'The courtship of Eddie's father.' 

Something stuck in Roger, that maybe second chances could exist again. Roger finished his latest piece with his company, then his first draft for his first novel. A year had gone by, and hinging on twenty six and half, Roger worked his nerve to give his father the phone call that he hoped would change everything.

A phone call later that month, exspressing how Roger felt to Jack ended with yelling and angst.

"Dad..... I'm not a little boy anymore!"

"Roger, all I wanna do is protect you! I'm still going to do that no matter what, because I'm still your father! College doesn't change that!" Roger breathed heavily. "Dad... you can't do those things anymore- you know what I mean."

"Roger... is something going on up there? I need to know! What is it even about Seattle that amazes you? It's not all that to me... you shouldn't have moved away from your family.... you need me, Roger. You always will, why are you denying that?"

"Dad-"

"Roger.... you're my son- my little boy. You can't make it on your own- now just be a good boy and come home!" Roger blinked. "A good boy?"

"Yeah... you are a boy."  

"Dad- I'm a grown man-"

"You're in your early twenties, you're not that old, Roger."

"So, even when I'm in my thirties- you'll still see me as just 'a boy?'"

"Roger....come on. We both know that this move was just a spur of the moment thing-"

"You can believe that for whatever reason you need to- I'm not coming home. I am not a little boy, I'm not a baby, or a some stupid kid that can't take control of his own life..... maybe you'll never understand that, Dad, but it's not going to change."

"Roger- watch your tone! No, you are not fully capable of making mature choices because you don't know much yet. You'll always need someone to be there! You'll always need someone to help you! You can't do this on your own. Maybe you want to try, but, Roger..... you are still just a kid. You know you are... you know you need me."

The other line sat quiet for a while. "Roger?"

"You need me.... more than I could ever need you!"

Click!

The line went dead. All that was left was the buzzing of the line. The last conversation, unknown to Jack- Roger would change his number and never call the Chamber's residence again. 

It was past Roger's thirtieth birthday. That last phone call was when Roger was twenty seven.

Since then, Roger had never moved the family picture to full view again. Between the bookshelf of where his own books lived, instead, it sat in the back of one of Roger's desk drawers- folded and tucked away, neatly and safely, but forgotten. Or, that's how Roger wanted to see it at least. Roger had spent those years, traveling, dating, going to therapy and releasing his first novel- a drama fiction that involves a tangled romance and a broken dream of family life. Jack's heard of Roger's novel. He had read a few chapters, trying hard not to think of Roger. He couldn't finish it. He stored it away safely in his closet, and tried not to let the thought of the book, bustle him. Jack imagined it with eyes, watching his every move in the bedroom. But he just ignored it.

It broke Jack's heart more than he wanted. The pique that had been laboring in Jack for all those years- like the tank in Roger's body- had finally exploded. And the pieces fell over him. Scattered over the ground like broken potato chips, Jack couldn't let it sink in just how.... how Roger had let go of him. Those last words, rang through his mind everyday like church bells. It hit his heart and would it sting like an open wound with drips of lemon juice. Jack had to shove it into the back of his brain- those last words of his son, would never be held against him, but would try not to be remembered on any occassion.

And that's where it would stay. Locked up in Jack's brain, and etched out of his heart. Fanned down with water poured around it, but still hidden little flames brimming inside the wood, ready to ignite once again.

*********************************************

The day after tomorrow was here, and so was Jack and Alice's plane. As the family was packing up to return home, Jack ran into another snag. Lucy found their hotel. She took her time marching to the elevators, down the hall and right to the door of the couple's room. A gentle knock sounded at the door- breaking Jack's concentration with pack his bags. Like he already knew who was at the door, an irritation spiked him. He yanked the door open and was met with Lucy.

"Hi Jack..." He didn't respond. "Can I come in?" 

"We'll talk somewhere else." Grabbing his jacket and room key, Jack escorted Lucy down the hall.

Finally making their way into one of the hotel's resturants, Jack and Lucy took a table in the middle. Before Jack could speak, the waiter came.

"Hello, my name's, Steve, can I get you guys anything to get started with?"

"I'll just have a coffee." Jack said. "A tea with lemom would be nice." 

Lucy stared back to Jack as the waiter walked away. "Jack.... I know this is hard for you."

Jack looked up at Lucy. "Mmm,"

Lucy licked her lips. "I... know that growing up in the house wasn't easy and... I can understand that." She looked down, afraid to make eye contact all of a sudden. "When I was younger, David was different. I don't know what changed him, but when we were first dating, he was kind and gentle. Playful actually, like you. And then, when we had you- I guess..... some parents see themselves in their children- I'm sure you do in your own son, right?"

Jack tensed up. Taking a deep breath in and rubbing his fingers together, he looked around the resturant, hoping for his coffee to come soon.

"Well... David.... your personalities were very similar and sometimes when that happens, parents tend to be harder on that child because they see their own mistakes in them; wanting them to be a better person then they are. But David loved you very much-"

"Seems like a blurred line." Jack tightened his lips. "You know.... Roger is like me in some ways. And yes, sometimes I do see myself in him-"

"You see, Jack-"

"Hold on, I'm not finished. While me and Roger are alike, I still have a choice. I treat Roger they way he deserves to be treated and there is no personality that will or should move the way I feel about him, or interfere in how I treat him with that love. No disrespect Mom, but you can make those excuses for Dad, but it'll never make him into a good person or a good father. He had a choice and my personality is nothing like his- I don't get violent or petty, I don't hurt my wife and I certainly don't lay a finger to my children. Whatever fantasy about Dad and who he was before or who he became after doesn't change anything. He was violent, he attacked and abused me, he was abusive to you and there is nothing on this planet that will ever be a good enough excuse for a parent to be a failure to their children. If you can't see that- even after all these years....... even with Dad being dead and you being free from that marrige.... if you can't understand that everything that's happened, then there's no reason for me to be in New York for any longer than I have been."

"Jack... I worked hard to make our family unit work. No, it wasn't perfect the way it was supposed to be- but I just wanted you to have a father and I needed a husband. I'm so sorry you feel this way and if I could change that, I would. Being a mother is hard, being a wife is hard, being a woman is hard, Jack. You don't understand because you're still a child in some way. All we ever wanted was to have your best interests at heart and.... so we went on with life, continuing doing what we had to do to be a family. So... maybe David did lose control sometimes and maybe you did get hurt in the mist of it... but can you not think about how much we sacrificed to give you this life because we love you? The past is the past Jack, and.... the only thing we can do now is cherish and honor your father's life. So, forget about that nonsense of David doing this or David doing that- independence isn't what it's all cracked up to be. Don't fan the flames, Jack.... follow the rules... and you'll be safe. 

A silence fell over the table. Jack stared hard into his mother's eyes. Anger didn't even fuel him at this point- utter complete disgust had taken over, forcing Jack to see the other ugly side of the wicked table he was forced to sit at.

"Mom.... you settled for nothing because 'as a woman' that's what you believed yourself to be. That's why Alice intimidates you, that's why you're okay with being mistreated, and that's why even after all these years, you defend your abuser. You don't take me seriously because you play into this social code of being so satuated in 'a woman's place' that earth has spun a million times around you and you still can't move. Instead of working hard and forging a path of life in the way you wanted to live it... you just... beat yourself down until anyone could come and court you and you would still take it because that's all your good for- just a housewife. Tell me, what is it that you gave up? A man? A career? A goal? What is it about you that you can't let go of and instead needs to dangle onto the pieces of my self made future, and be a passive aggressive crone to the very woman who embodies everything you could never be, because you never tried to be her. You never tried for yourself and you expect me to hold your hand as you fall down into your own hole of worthless satisfaction because of a lie you choose to live because it's easier than a being a real woman. You don't have the guts to pick yourself back up and take a good, hard, stern look in the mirror and ask yourself: 'What am I going to do about it?' What I'm going to do, is grab my wife, my kids, and my bags and get the hell out of this city before I lose my mind too."

Sitting up from the table, Jack took one last hard look at Lucy. "Enjoy your tea." And with that, he left. Lucy sat at the table, still in this thick trance of mortification. Every word whizzed around her head like flies over a corpse. Even after the tea arrived, Lucy couldn't make herself drink it. Sitting there feeling smaller than a grain of rice, she didn't even try to fight it. She understood. Lucy was back in Jack's old bedroom, hugging the cold floor, after he had moved out from the home- not looking back for a second to what he left behind. And she was one of those things. David was gone, Jack was gone.... and now Lucy would have to live in the shattered shadow of herself- dying a slow bitter death from her own hands. 

There was nothing else that could be said. Lucy had written her life exactly how she imagined it. Trapped and bubbled in this promise of what would make her happy, brought nothing but misery for everyone invovled. But even through the thick wall of the unknown, Lucy still had dreams. And her dreams would live unfinished in the deepest depths of her brain where she had kept them from the first time they even appeared.

************************************************************

Lucy couldn't shake the idea of a family. Mothers strolling down the aisles of the market with one child holding her hand, the other close to her chest in a sling. Then there were the three or four kids packed into the backseat of the family volkswagon for a family day trip. Families were everywhere to Lucy. Her friend, Diane and her husband, Ethan, had welcomed boy and girl twins that spring. 

"They're beautiful! Irene looks just like you!" Lucy looked over to Diane's son. "Denver's Ethan's twin!" Lucy found herself lost in the cherubical cooing eyes of the new infants. Their gentle little yawns, their chubby little legs and baby doll faces felt perfect to Lucy. She observed the way Diane and Ethan interacted with their new children. How gentle Ethan was towards his children- especially Denver. Unafraid to lift him in his arms and smooch his little chubby cheek. Or seeing how Diane dressed Irene up in little dresses like a doll and how she would sing her in a gentle song like voice to sleep while holding her protectively in her arms- swaying back and forth like a delicate wind in the middle of a calm April.

Lucy could only observe the couple enjoying their new additions. Complete with their family- complete with their lives. Lucy had always felt Diane to be one step below what she should've been. But it was now Lucy who felt like she was three steps behind. Diane had did it all- courted, married, became pregnant and now was a mother. Diane was a wife and a mother- everything she should've been. She had done it all. Her home had improved- rich and lush backyard, wide living room with velvet pillows on the matching couch. Wall lights on every side of each door in the hallway, kitchen with big ovens, bright lights over the stove and a little crystal chandelier hanging over the sink.

Different from the simple little home they lived in for the first few months of their marriage- Ethan gaining up his own business, decided his family needed to begin on a different side of the city. Big white home, balcony overhead of the front door, picture windows on each side- big house sitting on a lush thick hill of grass with roses planted towards the front door.

Diane had everything. Everything that Lucy was sure she was destined to have. Groups of families were everywhere Lucy turned. Little boys and girls, babies, teenagers, preteens- all skating along with their parents down the road of family life. Something Lucy needed. It was planned; a promise that was decided for her once she entered into the pubescent callow ambition of preparing for future purpose. Lucy began to wonder when it would happen. When her belly grow with a child, when would she be able to nurture a child. Lucy had it all set. Her and David would go for a nice dinner by the lake. Then... they would continue their night in a whirlwind of lust all the way into the bedroom. Then a few weeks later, Lucy would be pregnant- expecting her first child, like she always wanted.... like she needed. Diane had a husband, she had riches... and now she had children. Lucy couldn't think about her friend's perfect little home on her serene little hill with her wealthy husband, her perfect set of twins- of each gender.

It was all Lucy could think about some days- despite her intentions to not to. Babies, Diane, her twins, her home- they all circled Lucy's mind like a spinner. And the more it spinned, the more her desires grew... and so did her fears. Lucy needed a baby- being the housewife she was expected to be- the woman she should be- she needed a baby.... she had to be a mother.

*******************************************************

It was late winter- Febuary, Valentine's day, when Lucy realized she was pregnant. She knew she was. She was never full anymore, her periods had gone and every morning, a pounding sickness would befall her. Sometimes she would just feel nauseated and tired, other times she would being rushing towards the bathroom with lightning speed before any vile could come up.

The first few months, Lucy assumed it was just a stomach bug. "You'll be fine," David would say, "what's for dinner?"

Some nights, Lucy was humped over the toilet, gagging and throwing up into the toilet. David would turn the radio up or leave to walk down to the local bar. Then her stomach started to grow. Caught between excitment over the little fetus growing; expanding her belly large- belly button poking out a bit of her maternity dress. "Cover it! You don't want people thinking you're a whale!" David sneered. Lucy could see the looks on David's face whenever they went out in public together. Lucy felt proud to show off her little bump; a medal, she felt like. An award for how fertile her body was. How easy it was to carry a baby. No one seemed to stare, as far as Lucy could see. Men opening doors and grabbing the items on the highest shelfs for Lucy- David standing behind, chatting with the slender checkout girl who was several years younger than him.

Woman smiling and congratulating Lucy on her pending new bundle of joy. It was also around the time Lucy would find pin-up girls; bare woman pictures stashed by David's desk. Lucy just stared at the pictures- the woman- slender, nude, with bright smiles or seductive smirks. Something broke in Lucy. But she obediently placed the pictures back into David's hiding spot, rarely going by the desk ever again.

Days and nights went by. Lucy felt the sting of feeling bloated; a fat unattractive whale, like David would point out at every turn. Lucy- broken hearted and empty- reassured herself of it all being worth it. The baby would be here and their family would be complete. David would scoop their child in his arms and kiss their little face all over- proud of them for being his little baby. "They're alright," David said of children, while smoking a cigarette one evening. "Their likes cars: people have them to show em off, then stuff them in the back when they don't wanna be bothered." Lucy sighed. David... did make a point. Most parents did love their children- Diane and Ethan being head over heels with theirs. But the style of society was children were to be 'seen and not heard.' David didn't exactly dislike children himself- he felt nothing for them. No hate, no love. "Better not be no little shit or something.... I'll kick its ass if they screw with me... fucking up my time or something...."

"Oh, David, they'll be perfect-"

"It needs to be a boy. A son is a good value to pass down the Chamber name."

It made something else snap inside Lucy. As the months passed, her stress grew. Lucy pared her eating habits- slim with a slight belly was good enough. At least, to David it was. "You're too big for sex now, Lucy. I don't need you crushing me in my sleep or something."

Tiredness became faintness. Lucy would fall over on the bed, or nearly slip in the kitchen. Sudden panic attacks would plauge whenever the thought of David with another woman would enter into her brain. Never proved, Lucy suspected it. It swallowed her focus over the last trimester- so much so, that the braxton hicks simply slipped past her. And it was that October when Jack was born. Sudden contractions hit her one evening, rushing David out of the bed and to the hospital. "It wasn't supposed to be like this!" She said, aloud. "It's too early!"

"Just calm down, Lucy... it's just a month, it ain't like the baby's coming six months early- then you would've failed." David laughed. 

A few screams and pushes later, Jack's cries could be heard from all the way down the hall. Rushed to the incubator, Jack lived in there for the next month. As Lucy would pace the halls and look into the little glass box that held her baby, fear overtook her. "He was supposed to be healthy," She said to herself. "He was supposed to come in November."

David never visited the hospital even once. At home, drinking down a usual six pack, Lucy would take the car to the hospital up until Jack came home on his planned due date. But Lucy would remember that month Jack spent in the hospital. A fierce passion for power. Kicking and screaming whenever the nurse would come to change his diapers. Grabbing at his feeding tube, moving his arms and legs in every direction. Eyes opened, scanning around the room for what he could see. Lucy wouls swaddle his little hand in her fingers. Eyes staring so deeply into him- seeing how green his eyes were, how deep his dimples were. Taking him home one night, Lucy let this deep sigh of relief out inside her. Healthy and free, Jack had made it out to the other side. 

But the fight was far from over.

***********************************************

Jack, only a few months old, could sense something about his surroundings. Quiet most days, but usettling- a heavy mog of precarious lingered through every door, around every corner and inside every wall. Even through the bars of his crib, Jack felt cold. Unprotected- even in the arms of Lucy, Jack carried this sense of helpless exposure. Looking into Lucy's eyes, Jack saw through them. The smile she wanted so badly to carry through every inch of her. Jack could only stare at Lucy. Look into her eyes- the way she wanted- but saw nothing. A hollow facade sat still in her eyes, her smile, her laugh, the way she catered to David... the way she loved Jack. And in some way, he knew that. A deep lie sat in back of the catalog magazine picture face, she held. Bright smile, fresh skin, perfect body- everything carefully caculated down to the last detail. But Jack was a baby- a small helpless little one who needed a fresh love from their caregiver. Lucy's body carried the weight of her desires- it was the effort behind the little word she created that carried nothing. To Jack, her perfect skin was cold. Her milk was sour. Her arms were wobbly and frail. Jack couldn't depend on anything Lucy could offer- even from her own body. 

It took almost a month for Jack to latch to his mother's nipples. Lucy pulled him close, only for Jack to pull away. Then when Jack was four months, Lucy tried to hold him in a baby sling while going for a stroll in the park. Jack cried the whole time- using his little arms to pull himself away from Lucy's chest. A red faced Lucy took Jack home and set him down for a nap for the rest of the afternoon. After several attempts of this, Lucy eventually gave up until Jack was nearly a year old and they would go to the park- a playdate with Diane's twins- while Jack was preoccupied with a toy.

This frustrated Lucy. Jack wouldn't want his mother's touches- her hugs or kisses she tried to pepper onto his cheeks. Not cooing the way baby Denver did when his Dad would make funny faces, or how Irene would giggle over her Mommy tickling and kissing her little feet. Jack wouldn't smile, even when Lucy would smile at him. When Jack began to crawl, he would crawl over towards his stuffed bear- scooting around his parents to reach the stuffie. Jack took his bottle- holding it in his hands himself once he learned what a grip was. Jack learned to stand on his own and took his time walking into the kitchen to reach the little block that was under the table. Jack learned to do what most babies did on his own. Lucy was there. She would wait for Jack to crawl to her; beg for her warm soothing gestures of love or fed off her motherly tenderness. But she was just forced to watch. Looking at Jack grow up for himself- all on his own.

He rejected her hand in anything- wanting to do it himself. And that's what Jack did- everything he wanted to do.... he did. All by himself.

Lucy would watch from the couch- staring at Jack, waiting for him to mess up, so she could come in and mother him. Take control of her destiny. What kind of mother, doesn't teach their baby? She thought. What baby.... doesn't want their own mother? This would sit Lucy until Jack was a year and a half. And then again when the day came for Jack to leave the family home.

The more Jack grew, the more he learned to do. And while Lucy could celebrate these things... resentment start to set in as well.

************************************************************

Lucy thought she couldn't put her finger on it; reasons piled to why Jack wouldn't want to latch close to his mother- the woman who gave him life. Nursing him inside of her body for all those months, only to be rejected- it spat back in her face. Lucy would look at Diane and Ethan and how their family was so different. Love was flooded in every corner of their home. They had the family fun daytime trips, the beach days on hot summer days, the big vans that shuttled the family of four around, wherever they wanted to go. Whenever it suited them.

Maybe Jack was just different. Maybe something was wrong with him, Lucy thought. After all, she did everything right. She let David have what he wanted; sizing herself down during her pregnancy days for his idea of what her body should look like, powdering the little stretch marks she had that looked like cracks on the edges of where her belly grew, being very strict with her calories and how much milk she pumped into Jack's bottles-David liked bigger breats and Lucy needed to please him- but it still wasn't enough. Lucy held Jack close to her and he would push her away... she'd push him harder towards her and he would cry.

It was always liked that when Lucy would steer him harder towards her. And Jack would cry. He would crawl away, walk away, run away. And Lucy would have to watch him from behind as he sheltered himself from her.

Those days, Lucy questioned why she even had Jack in the first place. But... she knew why. Lucy needed a perfect family. Jack completed that family. Except.... he didn't want to be a part of it. Desperation kicked in. The harder Lucy tried to bond with him, the more Jack wouldn't want her around. So then resentment settled in. Money- all of hers would be spent on baby clothes that Jack would either throw up on or soil. Then her time would be spent, making bottles and filling them faster than her body could handle. It exhausted her, leaving her with barely any energy to care for a baby. Lucy had comepletly forgotten about what signs of developmental issues the doctor advised her to look for. She was too tried- to angry to care. David got to sit back and jug down his usual beers and smoke his musky cigars, while Lucy- barely hanging on, had to tend to a baby that she couldn't seem to get to love her, no matter what she did.

Lucy begin to understand the deep meaning of bitter disappointment. "I tried." She would always say to herself some days, when Jack was extra fussy. Slamming bottles into the sink, practically yanking at the snips of Jack's diaper when he needed changing, Lucy felt beyond angry. She felt cheated. Like life cheated her- fooled her into the believing how perfect life would be if she just simply did as she was expected to. Jack would cry- scream through the night sometimes. Lucy would lie awake, eyes wide open from her own bitter thoughts- not the boring cries from Jack's bedroom. "Shut that damn kid up!" David rolled over and glared at Lucy. Lucy glanced over. "Dave, I'm tired, can't you do it?"

"You wanted him, right?"

"Yea-"

"Then you go change his diaper or whatever the hell he's crying over!"

Lucy huffed and stormed into Jack's room. She just looked down in his crib; didn't touch him, didn't say a word to him.... just stared. A glare forming over her face. Jack's cries made her think of when he was born....too early. He could've died. Then what would a dead baby be good for? He couldn't come home on time, ruining her chance to show him off to Diane and Ethan- rubbing it in their face of the detectives new son. But instead, she was left the pace the hospital floors, worrying the hair out of her head, whether or not Jack would even survive the night. 

Her body was gone. The one David loved so much. Now was replaced with a nudie magizine and for Lucy- a slouchy stomach and stretch marks that looked like webbed little cracks. The lotion softened them and underestimated their apperance, but no matter how good they looked, David would know they were there and so would Lucy. But then Lucy started to notice the twins. They're hair had grown in- Denver's dark brown and Irene's blonde. She noticed how when Diane would walk through the front door, the children would run into her arms, each one clawing for her attention. The resentment grew from there- Lucy thinking Diane was undeserving of such a bond. She didn't marry well- Ethan barely making ends meet when they first met. Diane wasn't a typical housewife- working for the news station at the public radio center downtown. "How can she even make time for her family? For her children?"

"Mhmm," David responded. "I mean- she should be home catering to house. That's what a wife does.... and to be a mother and run around like that.... that's not what women were created for."

"Damn right." David puffed in another puff from his cigar. "Probably hoe hopping or some shit, knowing her..." And Lucy wanted to believe that. But she knew Diane: crisp, clean, sturdy in her ambitions and devoted to the only man she ever layed eyes on in such a tender way all through her life.

One night, Jack was crying for something- Lucy didn't even care what it was for. But his wailing seemed to grind inside her ears. "Oh I can't stand to hear the children cry, especially when they're in pain," Diane took a sip of her tea, "I just feel so helpless in those situations. Last week, Denver needed a small booster and when he wailed I just couldn't take it. I wanted to just step out for a minute, but Ethan left before me. He can't bare to hear the children cry either."

Lucy could relate half heartdly to Diane's woes. She hated hearing Jack cry, but more for the annoying blares of it, rather than the anxious worry of might be happening. She tried rocking him in her arms- he still cried. She tried singing to him, but he still cried. Lucy paced the living room floor with Jack tucked into her arms, but he still cried. And nothing was about to make it stop. "God dammit! Stop crying!" She snapped. Her hands clutching him a bit harder than she should, her grip tightning with every second she held him. So, she set hims down on the couch and walked into the kitchen. Whatever happens, happens she thought. But the crying echoed even into the kitchen. Scrambling to every corner of the house, she just couldn't escape Jack... haunted by her mistake. Lucy didn't want Jack... she never did. But... she wanted the perfection. So, Jack had to be born if she was to complete it.

But it still didn't eschew the crying. Lucy thought for barely a second. Her nerves and anger reaching its limit. Storming back into the living room, she grabs Jack into her arms and swaddles him into one of his warm fuzzy blankets. She grabbed the old box from where Jack's crib had been delivered in and cut it into a smaller one with the boxcutter. David was at work, the house was empty and only the glow of the streetlamps could be seen. Stepping out of the house carefully, Lucy walked down a few blocks, turned a corner here, another one there, until she hit the fire department. She carefully placed Jack into the box and slid him towards the front door of the station. His crying had stopped and Lucy turned around to walk away. But something stopped her. It made her spin around and yank Jack back up into her arms and rushed back home.

Lucy never mentioned a word of what happened that night- to David, nor to Jack. 

Lucy knew the reasons why she took Jack back into her arms that night. It was because she saw a glimmer of hope in her future. She held hope that she did the right thing- she followed the rules and someday she would be rewarded. Lucy was a woman, who became a housewife and then a mother. She married well, she stayed at home and cared for the house, she tended to every need and want of her husband and made sure she obeyed and respected David when it was necessary. Everything she was supposed to be. A smile came over Lucy's face. She did do right. She may have had to sacrifice her desires, but it was worth it. The perfect family was the perfect goal in every woman's life and she slowly begin to accept that again. It was her duty to be this way and it would never change. 

And as Jack grew, the more she steeped into that role. Submissive when David 'punished' Jack, or understanding when a bruise or two fell over face or her son's because of a bad work day. "He's just a little upset, sweetie." She would tell a five year old Jack. Heels neatly side by side as she stood over the sink, scrubbing out the pots and pans from dinner last night, Lucy wore this cheesy smile over her face that couldn't be broken, no matter you told her otherwise.

Jack remembered looking her up and down. A sick feeling eroded itself over him like vile in the stomach wanting to be expelled. But it was just his mother. Her obsessive dedication to the man who would continue to haunt Jack- even into his adulthood- and stand by like nothing was happening. Jack hated the grin his mother would give him after every 'fall' or 'clumsy move' and she was bandaging him up in the bathroom. Her eyes held the most intense and unsteady cynicism that he would ever see in a person. And he would see those eyes looking down into his crib, or while he would be nursing from his bottle and she would just stare at him. The same woman that he felt such a irk from the moment he met her, wouldn't even come to his defense, but asked the nerve to join her in her dizzy little daydream of what the Chambers household really was. Squinting his eyes at her, he hopped off the stool and went into his bedroom. Lucy heard the door slam; a flinch sprung through her before she took a deep breath, remembered the reward and continued scrubbing those dishes.

Jack would sit in his room and think about Lucy. He would think about how her smile, her little laugh and her jolly good nature was all crafted to fit what she need it to be. He felt it. He knew it. Jack knew the way she looked at him wasn't a motherly smile or even just naive positivity. All of it- masked into this little dance of what she wanted to be so badly, that she could even kill for it.

And for that Jack was alone. Comepletly alone. And years later... Lucy would begin to understand just how much it costs to be perfect.

*************************************************

Alice was packing her things into her suitcase carefully. Placing each item very carefully- taking her time almost stalling to leave New York. And in some way, she was. Alice wanted to be with her children. She wanted Roger and Jack to talk. She wanted Susan and Jack to talk about Roger and David.....maybe. Alice just wanted to be a whole family again. 

Knock!

Alice shot up, walking towards the door and looking through the peep hole, she was met with Roger's hourglass presence. She opened the door instantly- her face lighting up at seeing her tall lanky son. His broad shoulder's seemed more dense in the lighting, his hair more browner and eyes more grassy colored. "Hi," he said. Short with words, Alice didn't even reply- only invited him in without a moment's thought.

"Where's Dad?"

"Downstairs in the lobby I think with your Grandmother, Lucy." Roger took a deep breath. "Good." Alice looked up. "Good?"

Roger shrugged. "I wanted to talk to you...... I just wanted to give a proper goodbye- we didn't have much time to chat at the funeral."

Alice looked down. "I know..." she came closer. "I'm going to miss you.... so much..." her voice cracked. Roger pulled Alice in for a hug.

She cried softly into his body, letting out the shattered pieces of their tense filled reunion. "Oh, Roger.... please just come home...." she sobbed. Pulling away and looking into his eyes, Alice faced her son and studied his more mature features than when she last saw him a person in the same lighting only a few years back. So young and ambitious with pride and such good faith. A thirty year old now stood in front of her- a chiseled jawline, piercing yet steady and gentle eyes, a few more forehead creases and a subtle little lines hidden around the corners of his mouth when he smiled and the corners of his eyes when they squinted from a deep smile.

A shockwave of pride and ire shot through her like a vodka shot. Angry that Jack made her miss out on those few years in between where she could slowly see how his face- his body... himself and how much he was shaping into through them. But they were stolen from her the minute Roger cut the off from Jack, leaving her to suffer in the middle of the downfall of it all.

"We missed your thirtieth..." she started. Roger looked down. "Yeah.... I celebrated myself with a few drinks and a fancy dinner.... I had a book release a week before and I celebrated that much harder-"

"It would've been a nice party.... you're always releasing books, honey. But what about.... making time for the other things... yourself and.... the people around you...."

"You mean like Dad?" Alice gave him a look. "Well... I mean.... you know..." Suddenly Roger's confident little smirk simmered down into a frown.

"You don't have to be coy.... I did what I wanted to do with him, and.... that's all there is..."

"He's heartbroken! I understand you want some independence, but- he's your father.... all he wanted was the best for you, Roger...."

"So... you're defending him?"

"Roger.... I'm not justifying your father's way of handling it, but you have to understand... people aren't perfect."

Roger was quiet for a moment. Alice continued to stare into him, hoping to break his concentration from whatever was forming in his mind. "What are you expecting me to do?"

Alice raised her hands before slapping them against her thighs. "Maybe... make amends?" 

"No. Not this time."

"Why not?"

"Mom.... Dad.... he has problems.... for whatever they are, whatever it will be, they're there... and they're very real. I made a choice to not make those my problems... and unfortunatly, if I carried on with brushing it off like -at least how people expect me to- then Dad would've became one those problems for me too.... So.... I let it go. And in the process.... I've had to let him go too."

Alice stared for a second.

"Amends is not something that just comes out of thin air because of interchangeable expectations... or maybe.. just disappointments. Frankly, I'm just not ready to have that type of conversation with someone who I feel hasn't changed. And then that would just leave us with all those years of the same thing. I guess.... it's just inappropriate at this time for me to fully commit myself to something that.... just doesn't exist for me right now."

Alice blinked. "Roger.... how could you say something like that about your father?"

"Because you were decent." Alice's eyes grew wide with a glossy shine over them. Roger came closer to his mother, meeting her face. Pressing a kiss to her cheek, Roger stared back, as Alice had trouble rejoining her attention to her son's face.

"And I thank you for that..." Roger gave Alice one last look, before opening the door and walking out of the room.

************************************************

Everything felt hazy for Jack that evening. Jack and Alice said their goodbyes to everyone: Susan, Sean and Roger. They watched their daughter get onto her plane with Sean closely behind her, they watched Roger settle into his flight, looking down at his pager for something important, and then their plane arrived and took them back to their warm weathered cozy home in San Deigo.

As the world shifted into the next year, Jack still was somehow stuck back in that hotel room- the funeral reliving every moment of that hurt. Pain from everything around him: his mother, his son, his wife.... not able to focus his mind on his dead father buried in that casket. Jack took another swig from his Jack Daniels. No glass with him, just straight from the bottle. He wondered if Alice would know that he was gone by now- the bed empty and cold on his side and Alice would feel this light air pressing against her back.

Jack sipped down the last drop of his liquor, but still unnumbed. Wide open- his mind racing in a thousand different places, and they all led to David. His screams, his insults and belittling, his punches, his kicks, his slaps... all haunted Jack like this mirror on the wall, reflecting ghosts behind him to shatter him comepletly pale and striken with hoplessness. Then Jack thought about the casket. How it was probably heading back down to Virginia right now, where David originated from. As the circles around his eyes sunk in deeper, Jack- in a faint but grounded sense- decided he would finally end this.

His son hated him, his wife was beginning to hate him and his daughter was forced to look at the once perfect family turn broken into a million different pieces scattered all over the floor. And Jack had enough. He would find a way to fix this- to make his family whole again.

And he would begin with his own roots. Jack would finally set himself free. 

And somehow... set everyone free as well.

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter Fourteen: We're Running Out Of Time

Gates Of Hell [Masterlist]

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, horror, blood, this is not proof read and that's probably the biggest warning

[A/N: I rushed through this entire chapter so I'm so sorry if it is terrible but I just wanted to write one specific scene and- I'll shut up now. Enjoy :)]

We're Running Out Of Time

“... what?”

Everything was frozen in a compressed motion, only the erratic beat of your heart ensuring you were still living, breathing, in the moment.

Three weeks ago, you had followed El through the mothergate, a silent promise to find your sister when she was nowhere to be found. You had fought your way through the Upside Down, slaying monsters, collecting scars and bruises.

And three weeks later, you find out it was all for nothing. El didn’t need to be found.

She was never missing.

A voice that undoubtedly belonged to her was telling you all of this through the radio gripped tightly in your hand, feeling like your mind was drifting in and out of consciousness. You had been tricked so easily. A shapeshifter- a mirage. It knew exactly what buttons it needed to push, the nuclear code that led to your heart, your guilt. And now, three weeks later, you were sat on the floor of the Radio Shack in the darker version of your home, beside a boy that didn’t deserve this. Steve didn’t deserve your foolishness.

Maybe he was right, back in that arcade mere days before freshman year. You could only ever ruin people.

“Y/n.” Steve reaches out to take your hand, gently rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. You look up at him, frowning.

Rather than speak, you silently hand him the radio and slip away, resting your back against the very wall he had broken down on earlier.

“Hello? Anyone there? Over.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re-” Steve pauses, eyes widening. “Henderson?”

“Son of a bitch!” Dustin responds in a gleeful tone, striking a smile on his face. “I knew you weren’t dead! Over.”

“Yeah, man, all safe and sound down here.” Steve risks a glance over to you, but your eyes are focused somewhere else, glazed. “Wait, how the hell is this possible right now?”

There’s a long pause and he thinks the radio must have lost contact until Dustin’s disapproving tone drops in.

“You didn’t say over. Over.”

If Steve wasn’t so happy right now, he’d find a way to reach through that phone and tackle him. “Whatever. Over.”

“Okay so basically I have been playing around with the idea of creating my own ham radio. That’s a big radio for longer distances by the way. Over.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, get to the point. Over.”

“Well, we weren’t sure if it was gonna reach down to you. Cerebro, that is. Like in X-Men? When Professor X needs to locate other mutants- Ow! What the hell Mike?- Oh, right, yeah. Anyway, I recorded a message on this thing maybe two weeks ago and we’ve been broadcasting it ever since. Pretty sweet, right? Over.”

“Pretty, uh, pretty sweet, man.” Steve praises, running a hand through his hair as his concern centres on you. “Any chance you’ve built a portal back to the real Hawkins?… Over.”

The static blares into the silence again and Steve tightens his lips. You finally meet his eyes, offering a small smile with all the willpower you could muster. He really can’t imagine how you out of everyone must be feeling right now. He understands it, at least. Being strong enough to sacrifice and protect, but too unprepared to deal with the consequences.

“Hey, Mike here.” Mike speaks and Steve returns his attention, taking a deep breath to recentre. “So, it’s a long shot, but… we might have a way to get you both out of there.”

You’re beside him in a flash, gently taking the radio into your own hands with determination. “Seriously.”

“The gates haven’t completely disappeared.” Mike explains, a faint sound of rustling in the background. “They’ve just been opening and closing one at a time. Hopper has been trying to track them down but they haven’t stayed open long enough to catch ‘em.”

“There’s no pattern?” You ask, scrunching your face. The last thing you want to do is run around Hawkins hoping a gate would appear, especially not with the demons lurking down here.

“Actually, yeah. They’ve opened at Lake Jordan, Lover’s Lake, even the community pool.”

“So it’s water-based?”

“Exactly. Except the thing is, we’ve ran out of water-based gates- what? - I’m not saying that, it’s stupid- No- I… ugh, fine. - The watergates hit every lake and pond. We’ve pretty much ran out of water so, we have no idea where it’s gonna hit next. - What now? - No, go away, I already said your stupid name. - Beca-”

You assume the boys are continuing their fight as you let out a breath, brows scrunched together.

“Great.” Steve mutters, shaking his head. “Now we have to figure out where the next gate is gonna be and, I’ll be honest, I’m not great at hide and seek. Not the hide, and especially not the seek.”

Something clatters in the distance and you both turn, on high alert.

“Sorry, Mike again. Dustin was… Dustin.” He returns, panting slightly. “We’re gonna keep working on it but at least we found you now. Hopper should be back soon and I know you’ll probably have a lot to talk about.”

The static blares out, feeling heavy in your hand as Steve slowly stretches from his crouch to peer over the top of the shelves. Nothing was in here with you, thankfully. But he can just make out a shadow outside, growing bigger and bigger…

“Hello? Guys?”

Steve’s head whips to the radio, stomach plummeting. “Shit, turn it-”

The shrill sound of glass shattering makes him duck down in an instant, something breathing in heavy and uneven intervals, crashing between the shelves and hurtling towards you.

You scramble to shut off the radio, cutting off the cries from the kids and shoving it into Steve’s bag. You could deal with it later when you weren’t dead.

Steve swoops up the backpack and holds a finger to his lips, the other hand pointing down the aisle furthest to your left. You both keep low, eyes on the ground to avoid stepping on anything that could announce your location to whatever was hunting you. And, just as you follow Steve around the corner, you both hear it searching the aisle beside you, grateful to have made the right decision.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t as slow as the other things you’ve battled and, much like everything else, you figured it depended on hearing. You and Steve weren’t amateurs in this game of prey and predator, especially since finding literally everything down here wanted to eat you. Escaping was your speciality, and right now you feared it was the only option.

As you take slow and silent steps, crouched on the opposite aisle, you can just make out its dark black shape stalking between the shelves.

You don’t feel like you can breathe, hands balled into fists as you use your peripheral vision to guide you towards Steve, eyes never leaving the shadowed figure. You’re scared that if you look away, it would immediately find you when you were distracted.

That was a crucial mistake.

Your next footstep landed directly on a musty wrapper, a sharp sound of a crinkle echoing out when you accidentally crush it with your boot.

Steve’s eyes go wide, head snapping back to you as your blood ran cold, a fearful gaze meeting his. Fuck.

You anxiously look back between the shelves.

Pale white eyes are staring directly at you, unwavering as terror slices through your spine.

And then it screams.

Its wail is ear-piercing, inflicting pain on you both as you tumble over, trying to cover your ears to muffle out its sound. You couldn’t run if you wanted, feeling completely paralysed by the high-pitched drone of this creature’s cry.

Steve feels something damp against his palms as he groans against the relentless stabbing against every nerve in his brain. Whatever this thing was, its screech was damaging you both beyond repair. He needed to get you both out. He needed to stop it before there was no coming back.

In a split second decision, Steve bears the pain long enough to prop himself up on one knee and use his free leg to kick as hard as he can against the shelves, boot shaking the frame. The display topples over, landing with a heavy thump against the creature and cutting off its cry.

Steve sighs in relief, blinking back into the blissful silence. His headache was booming as he clicks his jaw, desperate to relieve the stress on his eardrums. He turns back to you, noticing how you’ve brought both hands in front of you, staring down at the red dye with a tired concentration.

There were trickles of blood coming from your ears and down your nose, the aftermath of the screech. And, judging by how wet his upper lip felt, he knew his own face matched.

He sees the body beneath the shelves start to twitch, trying to regain consciousness below the rubble of trinkets.

“We have to go.” He tries saying, his own voice muffled by his ears.

You don’t hear him and he groans, steadying himself by gripping onto the fallen wooden frame and pushing himself to his feet. The world span as he wrapped an arm around you, pointing to the exit.

Steve wasn’t sure if you would both make it to safety stumbling away from the crime scene, and that thought stayed with him even when you were both out of view of the Radio Shack. It lingered, like the thought always did whenever you both set out for your search.

Mostly, he was just afraid he was going to lose you at any second.

Never before was Steve so relieved to be stood in the murky Motel 6 bathroom, staring at his worn expression. Every time you both make it back here, he can’t believe he’s still alive.

He had torn up an old t-shirt you had found rummaging through what would have been the Byers house, the fabric easily wiping away the larger chunks of dried blood on his face. How many new creatures did that make now? 10? 11? He lost track too many fights ago.

Feeling much better, he takes the moments to simply breathe, flexing his fingers against the ceramic sink. This was a lot harder than he thought. Mentally. Physically. He couldn’t be more grateful he wasn’t doing this alone.

His head snaps up, suddenly aware of the ghost of your presence.

“Hey,” He peers around the door, walking out. “Bathroom’s free if you…”

Steve stops. You never even made it to the bed, back against the front door, eyes drooping.

“Shit. Hold on.” He rushes over to you, grabbing your face in his hands. He knows you were slightly closer to the blasted scream, but not far enough to be affected any worse than he was. But you looked physically weak, your attempted speech slurring as you have to blink yourself back into consciousness.

Steve helps you to your feet, guiding you towards the bathroom to sit you at the toilet so he can tear another rag from the tee, constant glances of worry being sent your way.

By the time his hands found your face again, you were wide awake, frowning around you. You didn’t even recollect making it to the motel.

One hand cups your chin as the other gently wipes away the blood from your upper lip. You try to protest, claim you could do this yourself, but Steve wasn’t taking objections. He tilts your head to the side, swiping away the trickle of blood from your ear down to your neck…

He pauses, breath hitching. Your eyes squeeze shut.

Black veins were creeping up out of your collar, slithering along your throat and stopping just below your chin, marking you cursed. Steve should have known your ail wasn’t from the monster you just encountered.

“It’s okay.” You say, trying to meet his eyes.

“None of this is fucking okay.” He says, but it comes out as a whisper despite the endless echo of screams raging through his mind. He tries to go back to finishing up on your nose when you gently lower his hand, holding it between both of yours.

“Steve.”

“I thought we had more time.” He admits, a sad laugh falling in a broken sob, trying to hold it together.

“Maybe we do.” You try, smiling up at him. But your eyes were telling a different story.

Steve had been noticing it but never acknowledging it for as long as you’ve been trying to hide it. The breathless exhale of excursion any time you had to face a beast. The way you’ve only been able to hit two locations before your body screams for rest, muttering excuses to get back to the motel. And that smile you always gave him, slowly losing its shine like a lost star plummeting from the sky. He ignored it all because some part of him was stupid enough to think it wasn’t going to end like this.

“This isn’t fair.” A single tear rolls down his cheek and your breath hitches. “You don’t… you don’t deserve this.”

For a moment, you don’t speak, mouth opening and closing with words scratched away before they could hit the air.

“Do you remember the day this all started?” You suddenly ask, looking up at him. His brows are furrowed, nodding his head. “I remember… I remember being sat in that chair dreading ever leaving it. I, uh, I thought detention was going to save me from facing my problems. That’s why I was in there in the first place. I found an opportunity and I exploited it enough to bide myself some more time before I had to realise what a shitty human being I was.”

“You’re not a shitty human-”

“But I was.” You shrug, pushing the hair away from your face. “I was so selfish. And arrogant. And before those screams echoed out, before Holloway disappeared, before you even walked into the room, I was realising that I had ruined myself. I was so adamant on proving I didn’t need anybody that I was completely and utterly alone.”

“And then,” You look up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “And then the freaking apocalypse started and as awful and wrong as it sounds… it’s starting to feel like it was the best thing that ever happened to me. Because I found reasons not to be selfish anymore, and- and to realise I didn’t have to alienate people just because I was afraid they were going to leave.”

Your hands start to intertwine themselves with Steve’s.

“Even though that thing bit me… I’m perfectly happy knowing that I was becoming the person I always should have been. You made me not want to be a shitty person anymore.”

His hands squeeze yours, his body leaning forward to rest your foreheads against eachother. Tears start to escape your eyes in silent paths, feeling completely and utterly comforted by the boy you once called an enemy.

“I was starting to wonder when you’d say something nice about me.” Steve eventually quips and you laugh, pulling away from him.

“Don’t get used to it, Harrington.” You chuckle, your hand involuntarily reaching up and brushing away the hairs that fell in the path of his eyes. You notice a look in his eye you had never caught before, smiling. “What’s that look for?”

He flickers between your eyes, softened and sad, his thumb reaching up to brush against your cheek. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but your heart starts to race. You’ve grown used to a pit in your stomach since being down here, a dread. But this was different. Butterflies. And the way Steve was looking at you sent them soaring.

Steve leans in closer, glancing down at your lips. Every nerve in your body was alight, the incomprehensible tension building when you don’t pull away to the moment he finally speaks, words feather-light like you were the only one who deserved to hear them.

“I��m not ready for you to leave me.”

The first touch of his lips against yours was tentative, a feather-light connection that sent shivers down both your spines. It was a sweet and slow, the world around you fading away as if you and he were the only two souls in existence.

The kiss deepened once Steve realised this wasn’t a dream, pulling you impossibly closer with his hands cupping your cheeks, a mixture of passion and vulnerability woven into the embrace. Only the sound of your heartbeats could remind you time wasn’t truly standing still.

When you finally pulled away, both of your eyes still remained closed, trying to live in the moment as long as you could before reality could pull you back into its cold embrace. Steve wanted to stay here for as long as it could, holding you. He would willingly bend time to relive this moment over and over until it was the sweetest broken record.

“We, uh…” You start in a whisper, chest rising and falling in desperation for his lips to fall against yours once again. But you couldn’t fall back into it from fear of never leaving it again. “We should probably get some rest.”

“Yeah.” He whispers back, barely a breath away from you with a hand resting on your cheek. “I, uh… I’ll take first watch.”

It took his manual control of every muscle in his body to step away from you and not pull you back into him once more, choosing to leave the room before he imploded. He exhaled a long breath, a hand running through his hair as he smiled against the warmth of his flushed face. Part of him still couldn’t believe this was reality. Perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps it truly was in his greatest dreams.

You leave the bathroom a few seconds later, hiding a smile behind your hair as you lay on the bed. You watch as he settles himself on the ground, back against the bed frame and preparing for a long night of staring at the door.

You felt light-headed in the most wonderful way, giddy. It was almost impossible to have a rush of these emotions fluttering in your chest, but it was there, acting as a safety blanket around your heart. But once you close your eyes, its like they’re being snatched away from you as the fear comes rolling in.

The virus was almost at your brain and soon, you would be nothing but a mindless monster hell-bent for the thirst of blood. And no matter how many times you convinced Steve you were okay with it, never once had you managed to convince yourself.

“Steve?”

Your small voice was a surprise, calling out to him in the darkness. He twists himself to find your form, resting his arm on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah?”

“Can you…” You pause, striking his curiosity with your hesitancy. “Nevermind.”

“Tell me.” He says softly, propping one of his legs up as he shifted on the floor.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

It took all of five seconds for Steve to abandon his post and walk around the bed, propping his bat against it as he lowered himself next to you. He felt nervous, unsure of what you truly meant by your request.

And then you roll over, slotting into him perfectly as he automatically wraps his arms around you, holding you.

Steve was the first to wake up, blinking up at the ceiling before mentally punishing himself for falling asleep in the first place. He was meant to take the shift tonight.

Gently shifting out of your embrace, he moves to the small mirror in the bathroom and pushes his hair back, taking a deep breath. And then he remembers, a smile spreading across his face with a small yet noticeable dimple denting his right cheek.

And then the reality hits, blinking him out of his own happiness. He promised himself he would get you out of here, back home.

He grabs the forgotten radio after rooting through his backpack, switching it back on and spewing out tiny curses under his breath. Shit, would this even reach them anymore? How would he even contact them? What if that was your only chance to-

“This is Echo Base, come in Falcon. Over.”

The familiar recorded message almost brought a tear to his eye as he brings it to his lips.

“Hey, it’s Steve. Anyone there?”

Static blares through and then the message starts again. Another muttered curse.

“It’s Steve. We’re here. Over?”

He waits all of five seconds before the static cuts out again, this time answering his call with a voice he never wanted to hear ever again.

“Well if it isn’t Harrington. We all thought you were roadkill.”

A shot of anger festers in his chest. Billy.

“Where the hell are the others?” Steve asks through gritted teeth, not in the mood for Billy’s antics.

“Busy.”

“Great.” Steve mutters to himself, taking a deep breath and reminding himself he only needed to get through this one conversation. “We, uh, we got cut off last time. We were trying to find out how to get the hell out of here.”

“Yeah, I can probably help you with that.”

“So?”

“So, I’ll give some instructions.” A pause. “Only gonna tell ‘em to Y/n, though.”

Steve’s blood boiled.

“Tell me what?” You showed up, looking sleepy but mostly confused.

You were using your fingers to brush through your hair, a hazy smile on your face as you met Steve’s eyes. His shoulders relaxed, admiring how he could feel this deeply about you even barely 3 minutes out of consciousness.

“Uh,” Steve clears his throat, holding out the radio. “Billy wants to speak to you.”

You roll your eyes, taking it from him and making him chuckle at how uninterested you seemed.

“I’m here.” You say, waiting for the response.

“Hey, princess.”

Steve wrinkles his nose in disgust and you pinch the bridge of yours, shaking your head.

“I told you not to call me that.” You sigh, leaning against the door frame. “What have you got for me?”

“Damn, I don’t think I can say when there’s kids around- ugh, fucking hell, fine. Take it.” He scoffs. “Later, princess.”

“Later, princess.” Steve mocks under his breath, looking back in the mirror. He catches your smirk in the reflection.

“Hi, it’s Max. Sorry about that.” Max cuts in and you find yourself smiling. “We’re currently on shifts so the boys aren’t here but Dustin did leave a message. He wanted us to tell you that they’ve been tracking some kind of signature using… shit, I don’t know, fancy technology or whatever. It can detect when another is gonna appear except it uses some kind of tracking in the water? Does that make sense to you? They know the gates appear at the heart of the bodies of water… okay, this makes literally no sense, I’m gonna kill him.”

Steve frowns. Heart of the bodies of water? They had already ran out of lakes in Hawkins, ponds were few and far between, there was no other possible options-

You gasp and he looks at you inquisitively while you bring the radio closer.

“I know where the next gate will be.”

Chapter Fifteen: Sattler's Quarry ->

taglist: @toomanyfandomsimfanvergent . @sheisjoeschateau . @kthomps914 . @curled-hair-red-lips . @nix-rose . @palmtreesx3 . @kryztalglear . @sattlersquarry . @hey-barnes-stole-a-jeep . @sadslasher13 . @iliveonteaandbooks . @innercreationflower . @newyorkangelbaby

[hellsquills]

Storytelling Night

Don't ask me how this came to be, I have no idea. I just saw a scene from the Lost Legends comic and two hours of dissociation later, this happened. Enjoy a little Stan & Soos bonding <3

***

Whatever you do, don't think about little Soos hearing Stan cry when he thought the kid had gone home already.

A kid with no real father figure, who looks up to stan like one, hearing him sob.

Stan, who thinks he's finally managed to turn the portal on, watching the light fade again after a long day of work.

He goes back up to the Shack to get some sleep and stops by the kitchen on his way. He's exhausted from a long day of touring idiots and working on that stupid piece of metal that took his brother two decades ago now.

Where did I put the bread?

Two decades ago.

There it is. Now where is the ham?

Two decades ago.

Got it. Now some cheese...

Two decades ago.

I should put somethin' else on it.

Two decades.

Like... some mayo or somethin'.

Two.

Where the hell is it?

Decades.

SHUT UP!

A loud glass noise surprises him. He looks to his right, and there in the floor lays a broken glass. He didn't even notice it on the counter next to him, an extension of all the silverware that was piled up, unwashed, in the sink. He looks back at it, as well as all the water and soap it had inside now spread on the floor.

Two decades.

The thought sits on his mind like an anvil.

Twenty years.

He's now spent more time working on that portal than he did living in the streets.

Twenty years.

He's now spent more time working on this portal than he did living in his own house back in New Jersey.

Twenty years.

He's now spent more time trying to get his brother back than having his brother by his side. Almost double the time, in fact.

Twenty. Fucking. Years.

He needs to sit down, now. He's gonna fall if he doesn't, and the floor right now is a safety hazard. He finds the nearest chair and pretty much collapses on it, making a sound that almost makes him think he broke it.

Everything is spinning. His vision is not focused, and he cannot for his life stand up. He's stuck sitting on that chair until the world stops the centrifuge cycle.

Stuck.

It shouldn't be a surprise to him that he's now spent that much time in Gravity Falls, and yet... It hits him so much harder that he would've expected. Usually, he'd try to push any such thought away; he learned very early on (back in his homeless days) that ruminating on how long he'd been on his own was never a good thing. It only brought him pain and many, many sleepless nights. Instead, he'd just tell himself that he was just getting closer to his goal. His big break. The moment he'd win enough money to prove to his dad that he was wrong. That his stupid son, the extra Stan, was actually worth something. That he was worth coming back home.

But now all of that was out the window. Well, not now, but twenty years ago. When he made a stupid fucking mistake again and sent his brother to wherever the fuck he was. When he sentenced his brother to be in his shoes: alone, scared, away from home. Presumed dead-

The sob hardly catches him off-guard. It's all too much: too much time, too unfocused, too hopeless, too alone. It doesn't take long (or any time at all really) for many other sobs and whimpers to echo around the empty kitchen, filling the ever-familiar silence that permeates every single room of that house. Too much silence, for too long. How much more is he going to endure? How long until he completely gives up? Or rather, his body does? If twenty years had already passed by, what was keeping another twenty to do the same? God that was-

"Mr. Pines?"

The voice feels like a slap in the face. It isn't enough to focus his vision or make the weight on his chest disappear, but it definitely succeeds in waking him up. Instinctively, he grabs the knife he was going to use to cut the bread and looks around. Now that he thinks about it, the voice sounded high-pitched, almost like a child. Was he having some sort of flashback, or a hallucination? It wouldn't be the first time, but he isn't drunk or sleep-deprived enough for that. That he knows.

"Mr. Pines!" The voice sounded clearer this time, and louder too. It came from outside the kitchen window, that's for sure.

He doesn't move yet. He knows he heard it, but knowing what lurks in this town, and considering his head is still spinning from the breakdown and the sudden adrenaline, standing up seems like a mildly bad idea.

He hears some commotion outside, like some furniture being moved around or something. But that's impossible, it came from outside. Also, now that he thinks about it, that voice sounded a lot like-

"Knock-knock", the voice says out loud, while actually knocking on the glass window.

Now he's sure.

Wait, what the hell is he doing here?!

Stan stands up a little faster than he should have, but it's alright: still dizzy, but manageable. He goes up to the window and opens the lock. A pair of shiny eyes and a tooth-gaped smile greet him.

"Good evening, Mr. Pines!"

Stan stares dumbfounded at the child in front of him.

"That's good night to you, kid, it's..." he looks at the watch on his wrist. "Almost 11 p.m." He opens his eyes when the realization hits him. "Wait, what the f...udge are you doing here? Why aren't you at home?"

"Abuelita is with some friends tonight."

"And? You still have to be home, ya know?"

"I wanted to stay more. In the last tour of the day you always tell funny horror stories and I wanted to listen to it."

"Yes, I do that because children are supposed to be home by that time. Why aren't ya?"

"There's no bus this late on Saturdays. I forgot."

Stan tilts his head. This kid is as nonchalant as he's dense. Are all kids like this?

"Are you okay, Mr. Pines?"

The question takes him by surprise.

"Yeah, why?"

"You're all red and puffy. And you're still crying."

"I'm not crying."

"I heard you. That's why I climbed the wall."

Maybe the kid isn't as dense as he thinks.

"I'm just sweating."

"Through your eyes?"

"You'll understand when you grow up."

"Old people don't cry?"

"I'm not old, and I'm not crying."

"You look like me when I cry."

Stan opens his mouth to answer, but closes it. For how little he knows about this kid, he definitely knows he shouldn't go there. That damn Abuelita would probably kill him.

"Can I come in? I'm cold."

Stan takes a moment to evaluate the situation: he's basically on a staring context with a ten?-year-old, except that child is just a floating head through a window. Also, the kid's outside of his house, and it's nighttime. It isn't even cold out, but what does he know about that?

"Yeah, sure. Just... go to the front door, I'll open it."

"Okay!"

Stan hears a couple of metallic steps before a jump, and he realizes that the kid was standing on the trash container that is usually a couple of feet away from the window. Was that the "moving furniture around" noise that he heard? That little bastard is for sure resourceful.

Also, did he do that just because he heard him cry? God, that's embarrassing.

A knock on the door. He's fast, too.

Stan leaves the knife on the counter drawer and puts on his robe. He's still in a dirty white tank top and some underpants, and he'd open the door like that if it were for him, but it still feels weird. Let's at least pretend he still gives a shit.

He goes to the door and opens it. Even though he sees him every other day, it still surprises him how short this kid is for being 10. Was he that short at his age? He doesn't think so. That boy will probably grow up to be like 5'6", no more.

"Don't take off your shoes, it's fine", he quickly says as he watches the kid reach for his feet. "How long have you been outside? Since the last tour?"

The boy nods.

"So like two hours. Alrigh'" Stan pinches his nose. Was this kid here the whole time he was working on the portal downstairs? God he was an idiot for not noticing. "Have you had dinner?"

The boy shakes his head.

"Okay. You like ham and cheese sandwiches?" Another nod, this one way more enthusiastic. "Alright, come in. Don't run though, there's some broken glass on the kitchen I have to clean up."

"I can clean it up if you want. I'm very good with the broom. I broom my house. Abuelita says I'm very good at it."

"Nah, don't worry. Just follow me so you don't step on the glass."

"Okay."

They both make their way into the kitchen. Stan makes a sign to the kid to sit on the table, which is thankfully opposite to the mess he made a few minutes ago. While the kid does as told, he goes into the broom closet. When he comes back, broom in hand, he looks at the kid's dangling feet on the air. They're nowhere near the floor. 5'5", tops.

"So, your Abuelita isn't home?"

"No, she's helping out some friends. I don't know where she is."

"And she didn't tell you to be home by dinner?"

"She did. She left me some food, but I know she's not going to be home. Also I wanted to listen to the last tour."

Stan scoffs as he takes the knife out of the drawer again. "You really like the tours, huh?"

"Yes! They're so fun!" The kid's voice sounds even higher. "And sometimes you invent new ones, and I love them. Where do you get the ideas?"

"I don't know, they just pop up, really. I'm good at improvising, I guess."

"You should totally come to Storytelling Day at my school! And tell us some scary stories."

A soft chuckle escapes Stan's mouth. "Yeah, I'm not sure about that. I don't think your teachers would like the stories very much."

"I'd like it. Also, I could finally choose the story. I never can." He says in a sad voice.

"Why not?" Stan's mind immediately goes to his own school days. Is this kid being bullied?

"I'm not good at reading. And usually the storytellers are parents, and Abuelita is very busy. So I can't choose the story."

Stan stays silent. He knows just enough about this kid to put two and two together, and he doesn't like the result. If he lives with his grandma and his parents don't even live in the town, they're either trying hard to make some money, cowards, or dead.

"Don't sweat it, kid. Reading stories out loud is overrated. You think I wanna hear Patrick from accounting read a book he hasn't opened in 40 years? Nah. Boring." He places the sandwich, not finished, on a frying pan. Slightly toasted buns will do wonders for the flavor. "Trust me, if you want some good stories, just make them up yourself. That's how you get the story that you want."

"But I'm not good at talking to people. When they're all looking at me, it's scary. I don't want to look dumb."

Stan sighs to himself. He's had this conversation before. Nope, don't think about that.

"Look, kid. Sometimes you're scared. It's normal. Everyone is."

"Are you scared, Mr. Pines?"

Stan flips the sandwich carefully. This kid asks too much. That's what kids do, after all.

"Yeah, sometimes. Not of talking to others, but yeah. I'm scared sometimes."

What if he doesn't fix... what if the police... what if Ford...?

"But fear is what makes us move forward. If you're always scared, then you won't do anything ever. And sometimes fear is a good thing, it protects us. But sometimes it's just a liability."

"What's that?"

"A liability? Something that... stops you from doing things."

"Like a red light?"

"Sure, like a red light."

"The red lights are scary."

"Sometimes. But traffic lights aren't always red. They can be yellow, or green. Do you know how traffic lights work?"

"They change colors, and they make the cars go and stop."

"Yeah, kind of." Stan turns off the stove. He takes the sandwich from the pan and puts it on a plate. He turns around and walks to the table, placing the dish in front of the boy.

"It looks so good! Thanks!" he says before grabbing the sandwich and biting into it. He was definitely hungry.

"No worries", Stan says. He sits down and looks at the kid for a couple of seconds before he speaks again. "The thing about traffic lights is, they don't make the cars move or stop. They are just a sign, the cars move on their own. You understand that?"

The kid swallows a big bite of the sandwich before answering politely: "Yes."

"Fear is just that. A sign. If you see a red light, you're scared of it, so you stop. And that's good, because then the other cars can move without problems. See?" Stan is using his hands to try and gesture a crossing. To his luck, he kids nods. "The problem is when the light is yellow. Do you know what the yellow light is?"

"No."

"It means you have to be careful, but you can move. So when the light is yellow, you can be a little scared, but you have to keep moving. You understand?" Another nod, this one a little more hesitant. "When you're scared, you need to figure out if the light is red or yellow. For example, if you're in a very high place and you look down, it's scary, right?"

"Yes."

"That's good fear. You're scared to fall, and that's good, because if you fall you can get hurt. So, because of the fear, you move away from the high place."

"Like when I was in the falls. It was very high and I was scared I could fall into the water."

"Exactly, that's good fear. Fear that makes you safe." Stan makes a mental note not to judge this child again. He's not dense at all. "The other fear, the yellow light, is different. It's when you're scared of doing things because of the "what ifs"."

"What's that?"

"Imagine you're doing some math problems in front of the whole class, and you think "what if I make this problem wrong?" What's the worst that could happen?"

"They... laugh at me."

"Eeeehh, error. The worst thing that could happen is that a meteor crashes and destroys the school. See? That's the worst thing that could happen."

"I... I guess?"

"What I mean is, you can think "what if...?" all you want, but the reality is, you won't know unless ya try. Maybe you'll do a great job and you didn't even expect it! Or maybe you'll do the math problem wrong! Who cares? The important thing is that you saw the yellow light, stopped for a second and then decided to carry on. That's what you have to do. Always carry on."

The last part comes out quieter than the rest, and Stan knows. The kid probably noticed too.

"You understand that?"

"Yes, I think so." The kid finishes his sandwich, thinking for a moment. "So, do you think I should try reading on Storytelling Day?"

"Yeah, of course! You can practice reading in your house if you want too. So you're more comfortable or something when you do the real thing."

"...okay."

A few seconds pass, in which Stan reflects on what he just told the kid. He didn't think much about it, he acted on instinct. It's been a while since he had to give a pep talk to anyone. He just hopes he was better at explaining himself this time around.

The kid rises his head to meet Stan's eyes. Immediately, he shoots him a flashing smile. Even his eyes seem to glow a little.

"Okay, I'll do it!"

Stan rises his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yeah! But I need to ask Abuelita to help me with the reading, I need practice."

"Can't you make some story up? Instead of reading a book. Ya know, write something and invent the rest as you go. That's how I do it."

The kid scratches his chin like he's thinking. Stan thinks it's kinda cute; he probably picked that up from some cartoon.

"I can do that, yeah. If I have it in my head, I don't need to read it. I can do it like theater, like you do!"

Stan smiles. "Yeah, you can do that. Just don't use any of my stories, ya might steal some clients from me."

"Okay! I'll make something up then. Maybe a monster in the falls! That lives behind the water, in a cave! And you can only go if you follow me, because I'm the guide! I know where the monster is!" The kid is now standing on the floor, flailing his arms, trying to explain his story. "And the monster is good, but he's shy! But he can take photos with the people, because he's a cool guy. Cool monster!"

"Okay, okay, I think you have your idea. And see? It took you no time to come up with one. I think you'll do just fine", Stan says, putting his hand on the kid's shoulder.

The kid's smile grows impossibly bigger. Without notice, he lauches himself into Stan's arms, hugging him tight while he's still sat down. Stan instinctively puts an arm around him, hugging him back. God he's tiny. 5'4", no more.

"Thank you, Mr. Pines."

"No worries, kid." Stan could cry —or rather, sweat through his eyes— again. He doesn't want to think about it much, but he knows deep down he needed that hug. Probably just as much as the boy himself.

He stays like that, sidehugging the kid, until the little man decides to let go. Stan won't admit it to his own shadow, but the emptiness that follows that move is overwhelming.

"Okay, no more talking, I need to take ya home. I don't want to suffer the wrath of your Abuelita."

The kid chuckles: "She's nice, she's not scary. Except when she takes the chancla."

"Yeah, I've had a couple of chanclazos in the past. Not looking forward to it. Go to the door and wait for me at the register. I'm gonna put on some clothes."

"Okay."

***

The drive to Abuelita's house is short and peaceful. It's summer, so the night isn't as dark as it could be, and there's still a couple of cars and people out. It is, by all means, a nice summer night.

Stan parks the car right in front of the door. The house is dark, and the blinds are open; Abuelita is probably not home yet. He turns to the kid on his right.

"Alright you rascal, time to go home. Next time, make sure to remember the last bus. I don't want your grandma to have a heart attack."

"Okay." The kid says, without a care in the world. Then, suddenly: "Are you feeling better, Mr. Pines?"

"What?"

"From the crying before. Or, the sweating through the eyes. Are you okay?"

Shouldn't ten-year-olds be a little stupid? Maybe this child won't be tall, but he's too goddamn smart.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just- the glass I broke, it was my favorite", he blurts out.

"Aww, I'm sorry, Mr. Pines. You can have one of mine if you want."

"Nah, don't worry, kid. I'll buy another one. But, ehm, thank you. For the offer."

"Of course!"

"Okay, go home now. You have the key, right?"

The kid slips his hand in the collar of his shirt and pulls out a little key he has on a piece of string around his neck. He nods.

"Great, then come on. Go in and tell your Abuelita you're sorry you didn't eat her food, but you had dinner. Do not lie to her, huh?"

"Never!"

"Good kid. Up top." He puts his hand up. The kid enthusiastically high-fives him. "Nice strength. Now go home, come on."

"Thank you, Mr. Pines."

"You're welcome, kid."

The little man opens the door and steps out of the car. Stan watches as he walks away towards the house. It looks pretty, with some flowers on the windowsills, but very dark. It seems clear to him that the house is very empty.

God, don't think about it. Don't. Do not-

"Hey, Soos!"

Idiot.

"Yes?"

"If you write your story and read it on Storytelling Day, I'll go with you to the next one."

"REALLY!?"

"Shhh, quiet down, you're gonna wake up the whole town. Yes, I will, BUT don't start writing now. Now ya get some sleep. Tomorrow you can start it."

"Okay! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"Okay, okay, settle down. I'll see you at the Shack, okay? Good luck with the story."

"Okay! Goodnight, Mr. Pines."

"'Night, kid."

Great job, you knucklehead. Now you have to do some theater at a school for free.

It should bother him more that it currently does, to be completely honest. But the smile on the kid's face was... He doesn't know how to explain it, but it was something. Something big, and good. It was nice to see, and much nicer to be the cause.

On the drive home, Stan stops as a crossroad. He looks up, absentmindedly, and chuckles to himself.

Yellow light. Carry on.

[ckret2]

silly question incoming: what do the inhabitants of the mystery shack think of “a. ham: an american musical”? setting aside, of course, that it won’t come out for another two years.

Listen. Mabel canonically had a crush on the historical Hamilton. I think we all know exactly how this goes.

She loves the musical; and everyone living in the same residence as her slowly learns to hate it.

Except Soos. I think Soos would be chuffed that it's Making Learning History Fun through the Power Of Hip Hop. That's the kind of thing he'd respect.

[faith-nerd]

OKAY LET'S DO THIS!

So, yesterday, I put out the idea of doing a VeggieTales Villain Song Tournament inspired by @its-to-the-death doing an every other Villain Song tournament. I've gotten enough interest to be hyped about it, so I'm going to give it a go!

I'm not doing a submission period because there are about 17 total anyway, so we're just doing them all ... I think (sorry if I missed a favorite of yours; give propaganda in the replies and I may revamp the bracket)

There is one Round 1 Competition of 3 since there's not an even bracket. The Bracket was made based on release order and the 3-Way Matchup was randomly selected.

Barring any Changes that may be made, Round 1 will be as follows:

On the Left Side:

Oh no, what're we gonna do? (Where's God when I'm Scared: Daniel in the Lion's Den) vs Busy, Busy (Are You My Neighbor: Tale of Flibber-o-loo)

The Bunny Song (Rack Shack and Benny) vs Keep Walking (Josh and the Big Wall)

The Rumor Weed Song (Larry-Boy and the Rumor Weed) vs Salesmanz Rap (Madame Blueberry)

I Love My Duck/I Must Have It (King George and the Ducky) vs Haman's Song (Esther, the Girl Who Became Queen)

Right Side:

What is up with Lyle? (Lyle the Kindly Viking) vs 113 Years Ago (An Easter Carol)

Temptation (Larry-Boy and the Bad Apple) vs You Know Enough (Pistachio: The Little Boy that Woodn't) vs A Treasure to Behold (The Little Drummer Boy)

The Prince of Ham I Am (Robin Good and His Not-So-Merry Men) vs Freeze, Freeze, Freeze (League of Incredible Vegetables)

I'm Gonna Tear it Down (Celery Night Fever) vs Good for the Grabbing (Veggies in Space: The Fennel Frontier)

Official Round 1 Will be Up on Sunday and each round will be a week voting period. Later today I'll post a poll with my honorable mentions that didn't quite make the tournament to give me some practice making polls. EDIT: IT'S UP!

Feel free to submit propaganda for your favorite songs!

EDIT: If anyone wants to listen to all songs competing, plus alternate versions, plus honorable mentions, here's a YouTube playlist of all of them.

[soup-mother]

posting on amateur radio reddit like "the ham shack" and it's just a picture of me fucking with a cops radio from the back of a patrol car

[incorrect-tmnt2012-quotes]

Raph: Leo! Pizza! Delivery, NOT DiGiorno!

Mikey: Ooh, I want one with pepperoni! And one with sausage! And one with ham!

Donnie: Meat lover's. You want a meat lover's pizza.

Mikey: Nah, I actually like to keep the meats separate. I wanna savor each animal.

Donnie: Wait, but they're all pig-

Mikey: Ooh, but for the one with ham, make it Hawaiian!

Raph: Hawaiian? I never heard of that kind of pizza.

Mikey: Oh, it's super good! It's ham and pineapple!

Raph: That's disgusting! Why would you ruin perfectly good pizza with PINEAPPLE?!

Mikey: What? No, it's the best! It plays so well with the ham and the tomatoes-

Raph: It's an abomination and I now believe the Kraang did nothing wrong! Why would you put sweet and juicy fruit on top of a salty delicious pizza?!

Donnie: To be fair, Raph, tomato is a fruit.

Raph: Don't you play Kavaxas' advocate here, Donnie! Unless you suggest we start filling calzones with raspberry jam!

Mikey: That sounds delicious!

Raph: OF COURSE YOU'D SAY THAT! I am an epicurean! You wolf down Big Macs like Tic Tacs!

Mikey: Ooh! I want a burger now! Can we just do burgers instead?

Raph: Now that you mention it, I could go for some Whataburger. Wait no, In-N-Out! NO, Shake Shack!

Leo: I have a preference for Hopdoddy's, personally.

Raph: I'll take a double bacon cheeseburger, caramelized onions, lettuce, chipotle mayo, and ketchup. No pickles.

Mikey: And I'll take the same thing, but with grilled pineapple.

Raph: AHHHHHH!!!

[mintyisms]

Movie Misquote Starters

based on the american film institute's "100 years...100 movie quotes" list

"Frankly, my dear, I don't have any ham."

"I'm gonna make him an offer he might refuse"

"I could've been somebody, instead of a beach bum, which is what I am."

"I've a feeling we're not going to see Kansas anymore."

"The GOAT's looking at you, kid."

"Go ahead, make my souffle."

"All right, I'm ready for my downfall."

"May the Norse be with you."

"Fasten your seatbelts. This roller coaster is not up to code."

"You singing to me?"

"What we've got here is an unsafe amount of potassium nitrate."

"I love the smell of barbeque in the morning."

"Love means always having to say you're sorry."

"I have AT&T. Can't phone home."

"Made it, [name]! Top of the wall!"

"I'm as horny as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!"

"I think this is the end of a beautiful situationship."

"I ate his shorts with some cheese and a nice box wine."

"Bond. Savings bond."

"There are a lot of places like Rome."

"Show me the honey!"

"You can't handle the vermouth!"

"I'll shave what she's shaving."

"You're gonna need a bigger moat."

"I might be back."

"Today, I consider myself the luckiest man in this bed."

"We rob dispensaries."

"We'll always have that old shack in the woods."

"I see brain-dead people."

"Loser! Hey, Loser!"

"Houston, we have 99 problems."

"You had me at 'Jello.'"

"There's no dancing in baseball!"

"Da-ba-dee, da-ba-di."

"A boy's best friend is his PS5."

"Tea, for lack of a better word, is mid."

"As God is my witness, I'll never be ugly again."

"Say 'goodbye' to my little friend!"

"What a rump."

"Hasta mañana, baby."

"Manwich is people!"

"Conga! Conga!"

"Listen to them. Children with recorders. What music they make."

"Basement! Basement!"

"A martini. Shaken, then stirred."

"Who's on the roof?"

"Life is a bubbler, and most poor suckers are dehydrated as hell!"

"I feel the need - the need to drink mead!"

"Carpe dime. Seize the money, boys. Make your bank accounts extraordinary."

"Bust out of it."

"My mother hates you. My father hates you. My sister hates you. And I hates you."

"Nobody puts [name] in a suit of armor."

"I'll get you, my pretty, and your little hamster, too!"

"I'm the king of this dumpster!"

[kushielsmercy]

Happy Thursday folks, we've almost made it. Have a small stand-alone snippit from a fic I started this summer and finally admitted I'm never coming back to. Sorry Joe, you're staying kidnapped.

***

“Enough, enough!” Nile laughingly pounds on Nicky’s back, dizzy. “Put me down!” 

Nicky tightens his grip and spins them around twice more, faster, before giving in to her pleas and depositing her back onto the ground. Nile groans and falls onto her back, the Oregon sky spinning above her. 

“Gotta work on your sea legs, kid,” Andy calls from across the fire, cackling. 

Nicky turns on her, eyes twinkling. “Bella.’ 

“Don’t you dare,” Andy warns, holding her bottle of whiskey up in defense. She’s too late. Nicky swoops in, stooping to grab her thighs and lift her straight up, twirling in a circle. Andy does her best to look dignified, resting the whiskey on top of Nicky's head, waiting him out. He tilts his head back and she breaks, laughing as she pours liquor into his open mouth. 

Joe appears above Nile, blocking out the night’s sky. He grins down at her, glitter raining down from his hair. “You can’t be done already, this is your holiday.” She refuses to sit up just yet, but makes a grabby motion upwards to appease him. He obligingly passes a half-burnt sparkler over and then taps his against hers in a mock toast. 

“I still feel kind of weird celebrating,” she admits as Joe sits down beside her, watching Andy try to kick Nicky’s feet out from under him to steal back her cigarette. 

He hums, tilting his head in acknowledgement. “You’ll have many years to contemplate. But who knows when you’ll see that again,” he nods to where Nicky and Andy have come to a compromise, Andy riding piggyback while she holds the cigarette to his lips.

Nile snorts, sitting up and motioning for the last sparkler. Nicky had shot off the last real firework hours earlier with childlike glee.

“I guess it is July 16th anyway,” she says, “we could be celebrating anything. Fuck it. I’m celebrating electricity.” 

They’ve spent the last three months infiltrating a cult with known ties to a particularly nasty trafficking ring. Nicky and Andy were on the inside, trying to figure out where the money was coming from, while Joe and Nile had camped out in a shack a few miles away, listening to the others spit some particularly inventive slurs over the comms while they worked out the supply lines. 

Point being, Nile’s not feeling real patriotic. But they passed a run-down stand a few miles back advertising 75% O f all Fire orks!, the f and w lost to time, and Nicky had insisted they stop - the man’s never met an explosive he didn’t like. It’s close enough to the solstice that Andy had her annual itch to get blacked out next to a dangerously high fire, so, here they are. Celebrating something that isn’t quite the Fourth of July, but isn’t exactly not the Fourth of July either, existing in a liminal space between Nile’s waning national allegiances and a desperate homesickness ten years hasn’t been enough to shake. 

Joe, ever good at reading a room, lets the moment pass unremarked. He’s the best at that. Nicky gets caught off-guard by his own introspection, going suddenly quiet for days at a time. Andy doesn’t have much patience for the whole thing, she figures if she doesn’t know herself at this point then it’s all a lost cause anyway. Joe, on the other hand, thinks clearly, deeply, and at his own pace. Meaning he’ll probably have a lot to say on the complexities of celebrating problematic holidays a month from now, but that’s not going to stop him from making heart eyes at Nicky tonight. 

Nicky makes a grab for the last of the whiskey and Andy dodges, yanking all of her weight to the left so that they collapse to the ground together, rolling out of the fall. She springs up and gets a foot on Nicky’s chest, hamming it up as she downs the last of the bottle in victory. 

“My love, avenge me!” Nicky mimes dying, doing an appallingly poor job despite all his experience.

“Ah, but then who would carry on your memory?” Joe laments. 

Nile knocks her shoulder against his. “Looks like we’ve found the limits of your love at last,” she tells Nicky. “It was that gas station coffee.” 

Joe nods solemnly. “I can still feel its poison in my veins.” He lifts a hand shakily. “Even now, I’m too frail to walk.” 

Nicky bats Andy’s leg away, moving to stand up with the single-minded focus of the very drunk. “Good. Then it will be less work for me to get you on your back.” He struggles to get himself upright, which doesn’t bode well for his luck standing up anything else. 

Nile gags out of principle. By this point she’s all but immune to finding the two of them on any surface, at any time of the day, but she tries to remember she’s supposed to be offended at least once a week. 

Nicky collapses onto the ground beside them, rolling over to put his head on Joe’s lap. “I’ve missed you,” he says. 

Joe runs his fingers through Nicky’s hair. “And I, you.” 

These days, Nile knows that if she wakes first up and tastes rain, she should make sure Nicky has lemongrass tea. She knows Joe has never kept a pair of matching socks for more than a week but hates when one gets a hole in its heel, and that Andy loves cosmopolitans more than she will ever admit. She knows these people inside and out, but then occasionally they’ll do the most mundane shit and it’ll sneak up and hit her all again how long nine-hundred years really is. 

“Don’t you ever worry you’ll get tired of each other?” Nile asks absently, mostly joking. 

Nicky squints up at her, blinking through the alcohol. He pokes Joe in the chest. “She’s not making any sense.” 

Joe flicks his ear in admonishment. “Stop teasing her.” 

“No no, I’m serious,” Nile says, realizing as she says it that she is. Also possibly more drunk than she thought. “Like, what happens if you break up one day. How would that even work? I know you guys have the most epic romance in all of history, or whatever, but what happens if that ends? Am I going to have to swap weekends?”

“What’s romance have to do with it?” Nicky asks, propping himself up onto one elbow. 

Joe groans. “See what you’ve done?” 

Nicky hushes him. “I do not - choose - Joe. Choice is irrelevant.” 

Nile looks to Joe, who shrugs. “The last time I tried to remember my wife, some years ago, she ended up having Nicky eyes, his face,” he reaches down playfully, “his cock.” 

Nicky grinds up into his touch, relaxed and unashamed. 

“I am right here.” Nile pretends to shield her eyes.

Nicky makes a dismissive noise. “I would burn the world to the ground for Joe, and it would be an act of self-defense.” 

Joe makes a wounded noise then ducks down, pulling Nicky’s up to meet him halfway. Nile’s seen this show before, too much of this show before, and knows that’s her cue to leave. Or, in this case, wander the twenty feet away to where Andy’s set herself up with ‘smores. 

“They’ll fall asleep soon.” Andy passes her a sharpened stick with a marshmallow already speared. 

Nile shrugs. “It’s sweet, in a very X-rated kind of way.” She watches the marshmallow slowly brown, keeping her eyes carefully on the fire. “I just, I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever get something like that, you know?” 

“I don’t have a damn clue,” Andy says, reassuring as always. “But the world’s probably safer if you don’t.” 

[usafphantom2]

SAC Crew Dog Alert Stories: An Introduction - Part 1

In 1989, I spent a lot of time trying to explain to my family what being on Alert was. The fire house analogy was the only one I could come up with. For seven days straights, a couple of times a month, we would move into the Alert Facility also known as the Shack and for the most part, sit around and do nothing. This story is how I remember it now, 30 years later.

The Shack was a building, in the fenced area at the end of the runway. It was built right next to the “Tree”, a aircraft parking location designed to make it very easy to takeoff in just a few minutes and from the air, it looks like a simple drawing of a tree.

We started our Alert tour on Wednesdays. So, we’d show up on Wednesday morning around Zero Seven Hundred (7:00 am for you civies) and park in the lot outside the fence and drag all the sh*t we would need for the week, clothes, books, razor, soap, shampoo, etc, plus all our professional gear, helmet bag, publications (a big heavy briefcase.)

At Loring Air Force Base (AFB) in Maine (ME), we had seven tankers on Alert. There are four crew positions, Aircraft Command, Copilot, Navigator and the Boom Operator, and this meant there were 26 other crew dogs doing the same thing as you. Some were married or had girlfriends who would drop them off and say goodbye, others were single, like me and we’d drive our cars there. One guy used to show up on his snow mobile occasionally, and another guy, who was a HAM Radio guy used to arrive in his RV with radio antennae’s sticking out of it all over the place (another funny story.)

The Shack was build was built partially underground. The bottom floor was where all the quarters were. There were three main hallways, with a couple of crossing hallways to connect them, and probably about 80 single rooms. Originally, the B-52s had also pulled Alert, they had six crew member per crew and maybe six or eight aircraft on Alert, but Loring had become a Conventional Bomber base during to one of the Start treaties, so the bombers were no longer there, thank the Lord.

The second floor in the Shack was above ground, and it was the main area. It had windows. The main entry door was at one end of the building, all other external doors were Exit only. There was a briefing room, a chow hall, various recreation rooms with TV’s and couches, and then an area for doing classified stuff that I could tell you about, but then I’d have to kill you. Classified briefing could be given in the main briefing room as well.

So, after you dragged all your sh*t, up the hill, showed your badge to get in the gate, then continue dragging your sh*t the rest of the way up the hill and into the main entry, show your badge again, get your room assignment, and drag your sh*t down to your room (seeing a theme here?) and sort it out, then it was time to get to work.

Time to find your crew and get to the briefing held at Zero Eight Hundred (8:00 am) sharp. And I do mean sharp. Time hacks, the process of synchronizing your watch with the master timekeeper (usually a Navigator) was a big thing, was a very important thing and seconds mattered.

The presenter of the briefing would brief us. Thinking about it, I can’t really remember what they talked about. Most of the time I was half asleep, I do remember that, but not on change over day. They’d discuss the weather, what crazy Ivan was doing, status of the airplanes, stuff like that and when they finished, it was time to head off to the aircraft.

The airplanes were kept at the Cage. Tankers weren’t allowed to use the Tree (even though it was empty), because… well… because we were tanker Toads. We didn’t drop bombs, so we weren’t really all that important (until they needed gas that is.) Our parking location was across the runway in the other fenced off parking area. In order to get in, you had to be Pre-Announced (another funny story) and the AC or Copilot would usually call over and let them know we were coming.

While someone was calling over, the Boom would get the keys to our Alert Truck. Each crew had their own truck, a Ford or Chevy Crew Cab 4 door pickup. There were also a few extras that could be borrowed if you were important enough, but mostly each crew had to share amongst themselves.

The Boom always drove the truck when the crew was together. It was tradition, and God help the Aircraft Commander who tried to buck it. Next stop, the Cage to preflight the aircraft.

(I missed a part here… so I’m adding it now) When going to airplane to pre-flight it, you also needed to bring all your professional sh*t, oh, I mean gear. It was a big bag, filled with cold weather gear and other stuff. Bigger than a duffle bag, and heavier too. It had to have all the correct stuff in it, or else. And from time to time, they would actually check it, so you couldn’t skimp. It had to be dragged out of the truck, up the crew entry chute (a ladder to get you to the flight deck) and then secured (tied down) to the floor in the back of the aircraft. Four bag, one for each crew member, and one more for the flying crew chief. Getting one of the themes here? We were always dragging our sh*t around all over the place.

The aircraft was always, and I mean ALWAYS, ready to takeoff. The entire pre-flight right up the step where they Start Engines was already accomplished, but there were a couple of exceptions. For instance, you could not leave the battery switch on because that would kill the batteries. Each and every morning, you had to go to the aircraft and make sure that everything was up to snuff. With Loring having a cold climate with lots of snow and very low temperatures, we had a few extra things that needed to be done. The engines had to be covered to keep snow and ice out of them, and the wings had to be kept clear too.

Although we had crew chiefs to take care of the airplane, the decent thing to do was to give them a hand if it was needed, operationally, the brass wanted everything ready and they didn’t care who, or how and why, just get it done. Being the only enlisted member on the crew, it was often the Boom who was elected (or just plain old ordered) to help them out, but only after we’d finished our part of the pre-flight.

In my early days, we were still flying on the KC-135 A model which did not have a usable Auxiliary Power Unit (APU) and used Injected Water to provide additional thrust for takeoff. Water freezes – and Loring is cold, so the water needs to be heated. That was my job, and the crew chiefs and, you guessed it, it sucked. An external power cart, known as a Hobart, needed to be plugged into the aircraft. The electrical power it provided enabled the use of the water heaters, which probably used enough energy to light up the entire base. There was a warning in the Dash One (the Bible that told us all about the KC-135) that said, “Do NOT turn on all the water heater switch at the same time.” There were five heaters and a switch for each one.

Rumors had it that once upon a time, a boom did exactly this, and the load caused the Hobart to flip over and die. (Hobarts are big, probably weighing 5,000 lbs) Not good, especially on Alert, where THE AIRPLANE MUST ALWAYS BE READY TO TAKEOFF!

Fortunately, water was not always needed. If the temperature got very low, the engines didn’t need it. But, unfortunately, the only way to get rid of the water was to dump it out of the bottom of the airplane and onto the ramp where it promptly froze into the shape of a very nice skating rink. Lovely.

The airplanes were fueled up to the maximum Emergency War Order (EWO) takeoff weight, which was right around 290,000 lbs. A bit more was added, allowing for the fuel burned off while taxi’ing. They were very heavy, and it was hard on the airplanes having them sit on the ramp with all this weight.

So, moving on, we’d get the preflight complete and head back to the Alert facility. There was ground training to be done and briefings to attend. First, studying your mission. You need to know where you were going, who you were refueling, and where you were landing (or bailing out as the case might be.) They weren’t kidding, you really needed to know. There was a test! And if you failed it, it was a disaster, I mean, they’d run you out town on the rails! You’d be the laughingstock of all your peers. (I really want to use the term “No Joke” but somebody has ruined that statement.)

So, you did your studying and after that it was usually lunchtime. Hmm, personally, I always thought the chow hall food was good. But then again, I think any food prepared by some else is good. I can’t stand cooking, and this worked out well when I was in the Air Force because someone else always did the cooking.

Lunch was also always a very social event. Long tables with crews sitting together inevitably lead to storytelling, and let me tell you, some of the guys were superb. They would have us in stitches for hours. Sometime the stories were sad, sometimes funny, but they were always entertaining, and they became the lore over time, being repeated and discussed over the years.

Somebody actually created a book, handwritten, with text and drawings, which included many of those stories that was kept down in the crew quarters. I wish to the Lord above; I had that book. It was gold. It was passed around, amongst the crew members to read during the huge amount of time they had when they were just doing nothing.

And I think at this point, lunch time, I’ll end Part 1. Stay tuned for Part 2 which will start with:

A Nap

Photos:

KC-135 62-3580 – The Moose Is Loose (not sure it was an A or an R as this point)

View of the flight line in the summertime, around 1992-4

@tcamp202 via X

[hollowtones]

hey i sent you an ask about breakfast sandwiches like a month ago and id just like to let you know i just made a breakfast sandwich but with maple bacon instead of regular bacon. i am on cloud 9 right now i need everyone to know how delicious this breakfast sandwich was. thank you for your time

Yeah, maple goes real good with salty & savoury. Maple with a bit of ham or sausage or bacon & some eggs is classics of sugar shack breakfast meal. If I'm not feeling a spicy sauce on a breakfast sandwich sometimes I'll add a little something sweet.

You ever try something like salmon with a maple glaze on it? Not necessarily the same as what you're talking about, but it IS good.