Chapter Text
Late, late, late. Fuck. He’d lay on the gas if he could, but he’s still stuck in city traffic and that’d get him absolutely nowhere. Don’t want to cause an accident. Have to play by the rules.
He still kind of resents that, if he’s being honest. Having to play by all the rules. You’re brought up to believe the normal ones don’t apply to you—just don’t get caught, that was the important thing. But money smoothed over a lot of stuff even when you did get caught. That time when he was twelve and punched that kid for talking about his mom. Like he knew anything about it. Or going twenty over on the freeway. That had been bullshit anyway, no one followed the speed limit in that zone. Money and dropping Dad’s name made it all go away.
Not now, though. Now if there was any kind of trouble, his name was going to make it a hundred times worse. Terms of probation. Get so much as a parking violation, and he could still wind up sharing a cell with Dad.
Thinking about that is enough to make his hands tighten angrily on the steering wheel. Like hell he will. It isn’t just about prison anymore. It’s about what he just left, back at his apartment. It’s about Jenna.
If it means he gets to keep coming home to her, he’ll obey every stupid rule in the fucking book. For as long as necessary. For forever, if that’s what it takes.
He thinks back to how she looked, just before he left. Naked and unbelievably gorgeous, looking up at him like he’d just done something good. Perfectly rounded shiny nails on her delicate hands, telling him his fly was still undone. And asking if she should make dinner. No pause between those two things. As if that was totally normal. He was leaving her naked on the floor—shit, still leaking what he’d just shot into her—to go see his dad, in prison, and she was smiling and offering to make him dinner.
Thinking about it is almost enough to make him cry. He’s spent his life wanting someone to understand him and accept him, but he never thought he’d actually get it. Especially not after Zoe. Years trying to convince himself that one mistake when he was eighteen didn’t define him, but he never thought there’d be someone out there who believed it.
And then he’d opened the door to the stairs last week, seen her step back and fall over, and his life hasn’t been the same since. It never will be again, either, he’s sure of that. Even if he were to lose her now—but he’s not going to let that happen. Absolutely not. Nothing’s allowed to hurt her, nothing’s allowed to fuck this up.
Not even himself. Especially himself.
He thinks about the way the sunshine looks on her skin when she’s lying in his bed, her disheveled hair fanned out behind her on the pillow, her eyes shining as she smiles up at him. She looks golden. Angelic. And she’s his. She’s told him that over and over again. It makes him happy, too happy, the kind of happy that hurts.
He will not fuck this up. He will not fuck this up. He will not fuck this up.
They know him at the prison by now. He’s always taken care to be nothing but polite with all the personnel. None of them speak ASL, but they’re polite enough in return. Always make sure to greet him and speak slowly and clearly, doing their best to make the lip-reading easier. The guy who leads him to the visitation room today feels a little too friendly, like he’s forcing it, and Theo wishes he wouldn’t. It’s a fucking prison, not a day care. No expects you to be full of joy, asshole. But who knows, maybe he really is that happy. Maybe his shift’s almost over, and he’s about to go home to someone like Jenna.
Not that there’s anyone like Jenna.
He’s actually smiling a little bit himself when he walks into the room full of tables. Dad’s already there, jumping up excitedly from his seat when he spots him, face breaking into a smile as Theo walks over. Some days it’s a relief that Dad’s not allowed to touch him, because he doesn’t want a fucking hug. Some days he doesn’t even know why he’s there. Some days he wishes they could touch, because it’s so weird sitting there with the table between them, one more thing reminding them both that everything’s changed, everything’s different.
Today…he’s not sure what he feels today. Nervous, he realizes as he greets his father and settles into one of the hard plastic chairs. He’s going to tell Dad about Jenna, and he has no idea how he’ll react to the news. Not that it matters how he reacts, Dad doesn’t control his life. Nothing Dad does can change the way he feels about Jenna. If Dad can’t be happy for him, he can just fucking deal with it.
But it’d be nice if Dad was happy for him.
Theo! My boy! Dad beams. Why does he always have to do that? He’s almost thirty, he’s not a boy. Dad always looks so affectionate when he says it, but Theo can’t help thinking it’s a power move. Maybe an unconscious one, but it’s still a power move.
And complaining about it won’t do a bit of good. Just move on. How are you?
Typical, Dad doesn’t even answer the question. You’re late today! What happened?
Obviously, he can’t answer that with the truth. No, he could, it might even be funny, but he doesn’t want to let Dad that far into his life. I don’t know where to start, he signs instead. It’s been a crazy week.
Really? Dad seems genuinely interested. That’s a good start. Tell me about it, then! Must be nice. Nothing ever happens in here. Sometimes I’m not even sure the days are passing. I might be trapped in time for all I know, like Groundhogs Day. You remember that movie? Same day just keeps repeating over and over and over.
Oh, the guilt tripping. How could he forget about that? Dad always had to start by inflicting a little bit of guilt. As if he hadn’t done anything to get locked up. As if this prison wasn’t full of white-collar criminals and friendly staff. As if he hadn’t chosen to pull strings and keep Theo on the outside instead. He’d still waste no opportunity to remind his son that one of them was in prison and the other wasn’t.
It had worked, the first few times he’d visited. But every time he pulled that crap, it became more obvious to Theo just how petty it was. Now he has to fight the urge to roll his eyes or scowl. Yeah, I remember. Do you want me to tell you about my week, or not?
Dad’s eyes narrow. Okay, what’s up? You’re late and you’re rude. I know you. Something’s going on.
No. He’s not going to introduce Jenna as the reason he’s ‘being rude.’ He drops his gaze, staring down at his own hands for a few seconds while forcing down his urge to lash out. I wasn’t being rude. I hate how you do that.
Do what? Dad turns on the concern, like it’s some kind of switch he just hit. He could never say this, but there are times Theo really hates the theater. It makes people fake, somehow. Even when they’re real they’re not quite real. And yes, he knows how to fake emotions as well, he wouldn’t have survived if he didn’t. But that’s out of necessity. People like his dad and Oliver, they do it for fun.
Treating me like a kid, he responds, not making any attempt to hide his scowl now. I’m paying the bills and running the business. You can’t tell me to shut up and let you take care of everything anymore.
Calm down! Theo! Dad starts to stand up, lean across the table, then remembers the rules and backs off. What’s wrong?
I just told you what’s wrong! You never pay attention!
Theo, Theo! He’s genuinely upset now. Good. Seems like that’s the only time he ever really sees Theo at all, when he gets upset. Theo crosses his arms and scowls, and Dad sits back in the chair, holding his hands up in surrender. Fine, I’m paying attention. Talk to me.
He keeps sitting with his arms crossed, even though he knows arriving late has already cut into the time they have together. He’s thinking. He’s not going to be rushed on this. Eventually he nods and takes his hands back out of his armpits. Okay. Do you want to hear about the business? Or the building? Or you really want to talk about the movie with the time loop?
What about you? Dad asks, still shaken by the reminder that his son can walk out of here and never come back, if he feels like it. He knows he’s stubborn enough to do it. I want to hear how you’re doing.
Theo’s not sure that’s the truth, but he’ll indulge him on it. I’m doing okay. No—good. I’m good.
Dad starts to relax. That’s great! What have you been up to?
Don’t lead with the big one, he has to remind himself. Don’t give him anything to hold over you or twist around somehow. The weather’s still nice. I’ve gone for some long walks outside. And I spent some time at your apartment. It still feels lived-in. Keeping up with work…is this all you ever did? Fill out paperwork and approve things for the managers?
Business is still good? He nods, and Dad grins. The business runs itself. Find a product people want, market it right, and you can just sit back and invest the money as it comes in. And then he hesitates, glancing over his shoulder at the nearest guard, keeping his lips shut tight as he signs, What are you investing the money in now?
Was he fucking joking? None of the same things you did, he answers, keeping his face expressionless. Boring, safe, legal stocks. They’re doing fine.
Dad masks his reaction well—it’s hard to say if he’s relieved or disappointed. Both, maybe. Smart boy. Keep that up.
I was planning on it. They look at each other for a minute, across the table, and he can sense the tension filling the space between. He’s not backing down, but he’s not trying to piss Dad off, either. How are you? he asks again, since Dad didn’t answer the question the first time.
It gets a better reaction this time. I hate being out of the loop, he admits, the annoyance clear on his face. The rest of it’s not really so bad. I still miss my own place, but the food’s okay and there’s enough to keep me occupied. I’m healthy, I guess. I’m not even that angry anymore. But I really hate not knowing what’s going on out there.
You get the news, he feels obligated to point out. It’s been three months. The world hasn’t moved on without you. It’s the same as always.
Four months, Dad corrects him, slumping back in his seat and looking martyred. I really miss it.
He does feel a stirring of sympathy at that point. It makes sense that it’s frustrating. Dad’s used to having his fingers in everything, and here he’s totally restricted.
That thought leads to the memory of how Jenna looked bound to the kitchen chair, which is absolutely not what he should be thinking about right now. He tries to focus on his dad instead, but now that the image is in his head it’s hard to block it back out. She was into it. Gave him that kind of power over her like it was nothing. It had practically been her idea. He could have done absolutely anything. The only thing he wanted to do was make her feel amazing—as amazing as she was, as she deserved. But he could have done anything, and that level of trust was more of a turn-on than she could possibly understand. The way her muscles tensed when he’d touched her, the way she’d blindly sucked on his fingers, and
No, no, no. He was not getting hard while visiting his dad in prison. That was more levels of fucked up than even he knew how to deal with. And Dad was staring at him now, his brow pulled down in curiosity as he tried to figure out what Theo was thinking. He blinked, forcibly dragging his mind fully back into the present moment. What had they been talking about? Dad felt helpless and isolated. He hated not having power over anything or anyone in here, that’s what it really amounted to.
It was hard to feel too bad about that. He didn’t want Dad to suffer…except maybe sometimes. Just a little. He was still his dad, he still loved him…but he hated him, too. Like a set of scales, tipping back and forth, and sometimes the love was heavier and sometimes it wasn’t, but they were always both there. Funny how he’d always thought loving and hating someone at the same time was normal.
I’m seeing someone, he announced abruptly, unwilling and unable to keep it back anymore.
Dad’s eyebrows nearly jumped off his face. You mean a girl? Or a therapist?
A woman, Dad, he signed emphatically, already exasperated. I have a girlfriend, okay?
Girlfriend? Dad narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. That’s not just seeing someone. How serious is it? You didn’t mention her last week.
Theo had been hoping he wouldn’t notice that last part, but it had clearly been wishful thinking. He’d just avoid answering it. It’s getting serious. She… He swallowed hard, debating, but then went for it. She told me she loves me.
There’s a pause, where he thinks Dad’s going to say something awful. Like asking how well she really knows him, or suggesting she’s interested in the money. Probably he was about to and thought better of it. But at least he stopped himself. She’s got good taste, he says instead, beaming. Who is she?
He smiles as relief floods through him. Her name’s Jenna. She just moved to the city. That’s close enough to the truth. She’s not Deaf, but she’s mute, so she gets it. Her ASL is perfect. She’s smart. Beautiful. What else can he safely say without betraying any of Jenna’s secrets, bringing up Oliver, or letting Dad know she’s already living with him? Our first date was to the Met. The next time we just walked around Central Park. Since then we’ve mostly been watching movies.
Going to the movies? Dad asks, even though from the expression on his face he already knows that’s not what Theo meant.
Fuck it. No, he admits, trying to keep his sudden smirk to a minimum. Watching them at home. Dad raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t take the bait, even if the smirk doesn’t totally vanish. He really doesn’t want to hear Dad’s commentary on sex. The lecture when he was ten is still seared unpleasantly into his brain. I’m telling you because it’s getting serious, he reiterates instead. She’s the reason I’m doing well. I trust her. I’m happy.
You trust her? Why does he always have to hone in on the worst part of everything? He can’t focus on the I’m happy, no it has to be a doubtful you trust her?
Yes, he tells his dad, looking right in his eyes. I do.
Dad looks at him for a minute, nods slowly. Good, he gets it. Some things don’t need to be spoken or signed. I hope I get to meet her someday.
You will, he assures him, privately wondering how it’ll go when that day comes. Jenna’s made it clear she doesn’t think much of Dad. But they’ll deal with that when it becomes necessary. Which won’t be for quite a while.
He pushes the chair back and gets to his feet. Actually, I should get going. She’s cooking dinner tonight.
You’re leaving already? Again, Dad starts to say something they’ll both regret, but thinks better of it at the last minute. It’s nice, seeing him do that. It suggests he has at least a little bit of respect for him after all. Is she a good cook? he asks instead.
It doesn’t matter. She could be a terrible cook, and he’d still be hopelessly in love with her. I’m about to find out, he signs with a grin. Have a good week, Dad. I’ll see you Sunday.
He looks over his shoulder to wave on his way out, but it’s not because he feels like he has to. It’s because at the moment, he has enough happiness to spare some. Dad has to go back to a boring cell—but he gets to go home to Jenna. He gets to touch her, smell her, see her smile and watch as she tells him what she’s been doing while he was gone. He gets to kiss her and make plans for tomorrow with her. He gets to fall asleep with her nestled against him.
He’s driven back to his apartment from here over a dozen times now. But this time, he really feels like he’s driving home.