Chapter Text
And a home that you made where the grandkids could play / But it's never the same without you
- Sam Fender, "Remember My Name"
Thalassa Gramarye is endlessly thankful for the few scant Khura’inese phrases she can remember on the day she receives the call.
It’s a whirlwind after that, a dizzying cocktail of joy and relief and stress and uncertainty as Thalassa prepares to welcome into her home a nine-year-old boy she once thought dead and buried, only to find that he was alive, and his guardians spent years trying to find her. There’s much to do: birth certificates to unearth, paperwork to file, school registration forms to submit, furniture and clothes to buy, but it’s worth it, because Apollo Justice is very, very easy to love.
He is, of course, her baby, so maybe it’s just instinctual, but Thalassa loves him dearly from the moment they pick him up at the airport. Apollo is bright-eyed, curious, smart and a little sassy, just like Jove was. He seems pleased to learn that he has a little sister—almost smug about it, really, but that’s probably how most big brothers are. Overall, Apollo seems to take his new circumstances in stride, despite clearly being a little nervous and a little homesick being in a place where he doesn’t speak the language very well.
And then, on the third night he spends at home, when reality starts to sink in and it stops feeling like an exciting new vacation, Apollo tugs on her sleeve as she’s tucking him in and says to her, in Khura’inese, “I want Dhurke.”
Thalassa kneels at his bedside. “I’m sorry,” she says back to him in Khura’inese, and then, in English, “He can’t come see you. It’s not safe.”
Apollo seems to mostly grasp what she’s saying, because tears well up in his eyes. “When?”
“I don’t know,” Thalassa admits, even though she’s been led to believe the answer may be never. It’s not that she wants to keep Apollo from the people who raised him when she could not, but, well—there is a reason they sent him back to America, and that reason is what killed Jove Justice.
Apollo’s curious eyes flick up to hers, as if searching; he’s taken his bracelet off for bedtime, though, and she hasn’t really taught him how to use his sight yet, so it’s not clear how much he’s seeing. Thalassa reaches up to smooth out his hair, but he pushes her hand away.
“No,” he cries, “not my family, no, no, no,” followed by a string of words in Khura’inese that Thalassa doesn’t understand. She tries not to feel hurt; Apollo is her baby boy, but he’s only known her for a few days. He’s bound to be wary of her affection at first.
“Apollo,” she whispers gently. “It’s alright.”
“Scared,” Apollo admits in English, and promptly bursts into tears.
And Apollo is loud , Jove Justice belting-your-heart-out loud . Just another thing he gets from his dad, although his dad was a laugher and a singer more than he was ever a crier.
Tentatively, Thalassa places a hand on his back. When he doesn’t reject her touch, she begins gently running her palm between his shoulder blades in a soothing motion. As much as she wants nothing more than to wrap him in her arms and hold him forever, this is all he will allow her, and Thalassa is willing to be patient. She sits there with him while he cries, and stays there as his sobs turn to quiet hiccups and he slowly gets his breathing under control on his own.
When he’s finally stopped, Thalassa says, “It’s okay. I’m scared too.”
Apollo looks her in the eye and nods. She takes her hand off his back and gives his little hand a squeeze.
“Ready for sleep?” she asks.
Apollo nods again and finally settles down. Thalassa tucks the blankets around him and finally stands back up. She presses a kiss to two of her fingers, and then lightly taps those fingers on Apollo’s forehead. He watches the movement with wary, rapt attention, but doesn’t stop her.
“Goodnight, Apollo,” she says as she turns to leave the room, and then adds, in Khura’inese, “I love you. It will be okay.”
His big, round eyes follow her all the way through the door, until she pulls it shut behind her.
She finds Shadi in the living room, two-year-old Trucy asleep in his lap. It’s hard to get her to settle at night these days, which Thalassa imagines will only get harder with her brother in the house.
Her brother . It still feels surreal to even think about it—she’s always wondered what it would have been like to raise Apollo and Trucy together. She just never imagined it might happen like this.
“That boy has a set of pipes,” Shadi muses.
Thalassa sighs and sits down beside him. She strokes Trucy’s soft hair. “Did he wake her?”
“Somehow, no,” Shadi says. “Good thing your old man’s out of the house tonight, though, eh?”
Dread creeps into Thalassa’s veins. “Don’t remind me,” she mutters.
Shadi’s expression softens. “My love, I’m sure he’ll get over it,” he says, and Thalassa isn’t sure whether he’s talking about Apollo’s crying or her Papa’s bad attitude. She decides she doesn’t want to know.
“Are you certain you’re okay with this arrangement?” she asks instead. “You know, with Apollo being here.”
Shadi sighs. “He’s your boy, Thalassa. It doesn’t matter what I want.”
“Still,” Thalassa insists. “You’re his stepfather now. I’m counting on you, Shadi.”
“I’ll do my best, alright? We both will.” Shadi squeezes her hand. “Thalassa. We’re gonna get through this just fine, you hear?”
Relieved, Thalassa nods and squeezes back with a watery smile. Thalassa’s brief sojourn with Jove had been a sore spot in the Troupe for quite some time, but Shadi had waited for her. He’s an imperfect man, much like her father, but he’s trying, and for that, she’s always been grateful.
“I do hope you're right,” she says. “For his sake.”