There wasn't closure. Not yet.

There wasn't anything, really, and Cookie figured she could at least be happy about that.

Finally, he'd let her off the hook. It wasn't that simple, she knew—he wouldn't just give up like that—but, soon enough, he'd realize that she was serious about moving on. Alone.

This was what she should've done from the very beginning. She should've taken what he'd given her and left him alone. Because nothing good could come from him—she remembered that vividly now. All those years, sitting in a prison cell for him, and he still couldn't get it together. She wouldn't admit it to anyone, but Tariq was right. She'd been blindly loyal to someone who refused to return the favor. And it was her fault that she was unhappy, that she'd let him ruin her.

But she would fix all of that. It'd take some time, but she'd get there. And she'd make sure that she was always happy and smiling.

For now, however, it was best that she let herself come to terms with what had just happened. That meant curling up on her couch with a glass of red wine in her bathrobe and watching Diary of a Mad Black Woman.

She was distracted the entire time, switching her focus from her cell phone to the front door. She hated that part of her that just knew he had to show up again tonight, one way or another. The bigger part of her hoped that he wouldn't.

The minutes wore on, and Cookie found herself growing exhausted. She wished he'd hurry up, if he was going to do something. She'd nearly given up on it by the time she started dozing off on the sofa and a knock on the door startled her into a sitting position.

She frowned. And then, when she realized what had happened, and who was behind the door, she grimaced.

Rip off the bandaid.

Cookie untangled her legs and got up to answer the door. She paused, her hand on the knob, before she took a deep breath and yanked it open, agitated.

"What is it, Lucio—." And then her breath caught in her throat. She would've stumbled back, too, had she had the capacity to think clearly right then. But she didn't.

Because it wasn't Lucious standing outside of her door in the pouring rain—when had it started raining again? No; this was a man she hadn't seen in years.

He still looked good. His pale skin was healthy, as far as she could tell. He had a better sense of style, not that it was anything to marvel at—a long-sleeve shirt and a pair of khaki shorts wasn't exactly Fashion Week worthy. The easy air that everyone loved about him was still there, so evident that she saw it even past the forced smile. His long blonde hair had been cut much shorter, into something more presentable and mature.

For the most part, he was the same. Or at least it looked that way.

Cookie let her gaze travel from his tense expression to the uneasy look on the face of the adolescent boy he had in his grip. Her heart dropped. Every inch of her wanted to reach out and touch his face, which she could've sworn lit up the moment he saw her, to make sure that he was really there. But that desire was tapered by the realization of the situation at hand: she hadn't been in either of their lives in years, and, naturally, she felt that she didn't have a right to do as much. (If she had to knock him upside the head with a broom, however, that was something that she knew she'd always be able to do.)

"If you were expecting someone else, we could leave."

Cookie quickly looked back to the man, her expression one of pure bemusement. And then she remembered what she'd just said to him. That, and the fact that she'd been standing there, staring at them, for what definitely felt like a lifetime.

She shut her eyes, somewhat amusedly, and shook her head. "No, no. I was just—. It doesn't matter." It didn't. Not anymore. She stepped aside to let the man and his son in.

They both had airs of hesitation about them, perhaps for different reasons, but that didn't stop their curious feet from venturing into the entrance hall and into the living room. Cookie followed after them, her own air of uncertainty the primary cause behind her slow steps. She didn't like surprises, especially the potentially confrontational ones. The man hadn't even given her time to prepare, but that was typical of him: springing things on her under circumstances where he knew she couldn't avoid them or give them one-word solutions. She used to admire that about him—still did.

He always had a plan. He never failed to draw mental maps of what he wanted to happen and when. But—as Cookie watched him hover over the couch, the boy still in his grasp, as if he was unsure of whether or not he should sit, or if he didn't know what was supposed to happen next—she wondered if he'd planned ahead this time. It wasn't like him, to do major things on a whim. He said what he needed to say; he steered things along; and she filled in the blanks. It hadn't ever been the other way around.

There was a first time for everything.

Cookie halted her movements a few feet away from where they stood. She crossed her arms over her chest and regarded the man with a renewed sense of interest. She hadn't even spared him a thought since what had happened between them ten years ago (at least, that's what she bothered to remember.). To see him again, in the flesh, with no ill feelings toward her was…different from what she was used to, to say the least.

She cleared her throat. "Steven," she said, and there was no emotion behind her words, as usual. "What are you doing here? How'd you find me?"

"Well, considering that I never lost you, contrary to what you apparently believe, I'll ignore that second part." Steven squeezed the boy's shoulder. "And our son wanted to see you. Asked for this to be his birthday present."

Cookie couldn't help the ghost of a smile that crossed her face then. She met the boy's eyes, and where there was a hint of mystery in his, there was a hint of sadness in hers. He would be fifteen next week. She hadn't ever forgotten his birthday—not after she'd given birth to him in jail, not after she'd broken things off with Steven. She couldn't if she'd tried.

"His birthday. Isn't that next week?" The question wasn't directed at Steven, but at the timid boy beside him, who was anxiously shifting from side-to-side. Every now and then, his fingers would find themselves entangled in the messy black curls on top of his head. He looked tired.

"Yeah. Tuesday." His voice was a bit gravelly. "Dad wants to take me to Florida next week, to see his family."

Cookie arched her brows warily. "Don't you go to school?"

"Not for another three weeks, I don't. I got suspended."

That was all it took for Cookie's natural demeanor to return. "You got what, boy?"

"I said I got suspended."

"For what?"

"Fighting."

It was a good thing that Steven had the sense to inch his way between them because, otherwise, his son would have found himself getting launched on by a very irate Cookie Lyon and her balled up fists. Instead, she wound up caught awkwardly in Steven's arms, her legs kicking in a futile attempt to get out of his grip.

"You want to fight somebody? You come here and fight me," she grit out. The shocked and frightened look on the boy's face was a little bit pleasing, she had to admit; she'd missed so much of his life so far, and she felt that it was her personal responsibility to scare some sense into him.

Always the mediator, Steven never let his hold on her grow lax. "Nobody's fighting anybody, Cookie." He glanced over his shoulder. "Leo, go in the kitchen."

For his part, Leo couldn't keep the baffled expression off of his face. He looked around and raised his shoulders. "Where's that?"

Steven shrugged; he was clearly growing agitated. The string of threats Cookie was murmuring under her breath while she thrashed against him didn't exactly help, either. "I don't know. Go somewhere."

Leo gulped and nodded before he turned around on his heel and ran into some corner of the house or another.

Steven didn't let go of Cookie until he heard a door shut from overhead.

"Are you serious, Cookie? We're here for the boy's birthday." Steven had this uncanny ability to sound more disappointed than he actually was.

"And I got birthday presents for his ass. Their names are Righty and Lefty." As she said all this, she took a seat on the couch, clearly having given up on disciplining Leo for now.

Steven rested his hands on his hips. "Is this really the example you want to set for our son?"

"Hold on, hold on. Let me get this straight." She held up her finger to his face. He didn't so much as flinch. "You're taking that boy on a vacation even though he got kicked out of school? I always knew you were soft, compared to what I'm used to, but this is a whole new level."

"Well, what do you want me to do? Call him a babysitter? He knows all of their cliques, all of their links. And I'm not leaving him alone because then he'll definitely get into something. I don't have a choice. But it's not like we're going to Miami. He's going to be surrounded by beaches and old people, I promise."

"That's not enough, Steven. My son was kicked out of school."

"You don't have to say it like that. He's going back, you know. Look, lecturing him, beating him, it doesn't work. You'd know that if you'd been there to help me out with him for the past ten years."

Cookie recoiled like she'd been slapped in the face.

Steven noticed. Of course he did. He sighed and took a seat beside her. She was staring off at some fixed point on the wall or another, probably trying to keep herself from hitting him now. It wasn't like Steven, to try to fault her like that. Not even if she did deserve it. But she'd caught him at the wrong time.

He sighed and stared ahead, too, his lips pursed. "I'm sorry." He wasn't going to say it wasn't her fault; they both knew that wasn't true.

But he wasn't going to try to make her feel bad about it, either.

He didn't need to.

"No." Cookie closed her eyes and sighed. "No, Steven: I'm sorry. I've been out for almost two years. And I haven't tried to find you or Leo. I was too focused on Empire. That's no excuse. I was wrong—dead wrong. Because Leo deserves to have his mother in his life, and you shouldn't have to raise him alone."

"That's all behind us now," Steven said, gently. He brought himself to look at her, even though she couldn't do the same for him. "We can't dwell on the past. What matters is that you're here. And he's here. If you want him here." After a moment's hesitation, he placed his hand on her knee. It was an awkward show of solidarity, at best, but she got the message.

"Of course I want him here." A sad smile came to her lips. "I'm glad you brought him here—I'm glad he asked for me."

"He's still not getting out of that beating, though, is he?"

Cookie finally met his eyes, and she laughed a gleeful laugh that reached her eyes. "You know he ain't."

"You know, I sort of feel like this is my fault. He didn't get fair warning from me."

"He'll learn the hard way. Whenever he comes to visit me." She hesitated. "When can he come and visit me?"

"Oh." Steven raised his shoulders and puffed air out of his mouth. "I hadn't really thought about that before we came over here. I didn't plan this far, but, uh, for now, we'll just say whenever you want him to, within reason, of course."

It was obvious that Cookie had something on her mind; she'd been mulling over it for a while now, so Steven figured he might as well let her get a word in edgewise, smoothly. "Why don't I take him off of your hands next week? For your vacation. He doesn't deserve a vacation."

Steven's expression was unreadable, for a moment or so. But then he smiled at her. "I wouldn't be opposed to that. Are you sure you'll be able to handle him for an entire week, though?"

"Don't worry about me, Steven. My whoopings work."

"For his sake, I hope you're right."

Steven rose from his spot on the couch, then. They had more to talk about—mountains of things, really—but he had other things to deal with before he left on his trip, and he figured this had been as good a start as any. Cookie stood, too, visibly satisfied. She had every reason to be. She was getting her son back.

"Leo!" Steven shouted. A beat. Then, footsteps started coming toward them from one direction or another. He sounded like he was running. "I've gotta get home. I didn't expect for us to stay this long."

"Right."

Within moments, Leo was running up behind them, having lost his breath on the way there.

Cookie didn't remember to be angry at first, so she stared at him, stared at him like she'd never see him again because that was what she should've done ten years ago. And Leo couldn't know that, he couldn't remember it the way she did, and he just stood there, swallowing nervously and looking between the two of them.

She could tell he wasn't always like that, all shy and reserved. Call it a mother's intuition. The reality of his situation was, he'd grown up much differently than her sons with Lucious. The streets had had as much a hand in raising him as his father had, and he was probably worse off for it. On a normal day, he'd probably be hanging on the corner, up to no good. But today wasn't a normal day for him.

Steven spoke up. "Tell your mother goodbye, Leo."

Leo's face frowned up a little—maybe he didn't think it was safe, or maybe he wasn't ready to go (Steven's educated guess would be the latter)—but he did as he was told. He moved closer to her, like he was going to hug her, yet he did no such thing. Instead, Leo stood there, awkwardly. "Bye, Mama?"

It sounded like a question to Cookie, at least, and that's what reminded her that he was in trouble. She moved forward and grabbed his face between her thumb and forefinger.

Steven didn't move. He trusted her.

"Get your shit together, Leo." And then, in true Cookie fashion, she kissed him on the cheek. "Bye, baby."

When she let him go, Leo stumbled back, toward the door, and he didn't stop moving.

"I think you've managed to scare the shit out of him."

"Good."

They shared another warm moment, and then he was out of the door, shouting after Leo. Cookie rolled her eyes and shut the door behind her.

She felt contented. It was only in one part of her life, but still, she felt it, and it was the most satisfying feeling in the world.

She went back into the living room and turned off the television. And then she went upstairs and had the best night's rest she'd gotten in some time.

Leo had practically ripped off his flannel shirt by the time his father made it back to the car. He'd only put it on over his signature white t-shirt because he'd been trying to be his own personal version of "presentable" for his mother. But, now that that was over, he was ready to erase all memory of it ever happening.

Steven took in his son's disheveled appearance and laughed. He unlocked the car's doors. "Why'd you run off so quick? Your Mama scare you?"

Leo only rolled his eyes. He hopped into the car and threw his shirt onto the floor. Running his fingers through his curly hair, Leo murmured, "I'm glad that's over." Steven told him to put his seatbelt on, but Leo couldn't hear him over his erratically beating heart. "Why'd you let me ask for that?"

"I didn't let you do anything. Besides, you've been wanting to see her for ten years, haven't you? That's what you told me yesterday, in that heartfelt speech." He was teasing him.

"Yeah, well, that's over. I can tell 5-year old me to get over it and I don't ever have to do that again."

"I don't know about that, Leo."

Leo shot up in his seat and whipped his head around to look at Steven. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, remember how I didn't want you to go and see her?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Turns out, I'm happy you did. Your mother's going to be back in your life."

Leo's groan was so guttural that Steven had to glance over to make sure that he wasn't actually hurt.

"Yeah, that's right. Starting next week."

Leo quirked a brow. "She's coming to Florida with us?"

"No. More like you're staying here with her instead of going to Florida with me."

Leo sucked his teeth and leaned against the window. He was starting to feel like he'd opened a can of worms he'd never close. "What about my birthday, Pop?" His tone was quieter now, more dejected. Almost like he'd been tamed.

But Steven knew his son better than that. Leo, like his mother, was a master manipulator when he wanted to be. Truly, it was going to be an adjustment for the both of them—spending Leo's birthday apart. It'd just been them, for ten long, hard years. And now there was someone else, someone who'd been there before. So, as saddened as Steven was, he was grateful for the help.

If he trusted Cookie with anything, it was with her own child. She wouldn't let anything happen to Leo—and she wouldn't let him get into anything while Steven was away.

"You'll still have your birthday. We'll call."

"You're serious?"

Steven nodded.

"They really didn't plan me a birthday party? I didn't get any presents?"

"When I said no the first three thousand times, that's exactly what I meant, Leo. It's not like you spend your birthday there every year."

"Which is even more of a reason why I should be going this time. Who knows how badly Aunt Janie is gonna piss you off next year?"

"You should've thought about all of that before you got involved with Antonio and Deon and them."

"Yeah? Well, they'll take me to Florida." The last bit was said under his breath.

With no warning, Steven twisted around in his seat and punched him square in the jaw.

Leo should've seen it coming, really.

"Damn it, man!"

"What did I tell you?"

Leo scrunched up his nose and scowled, holding onto his face, where a purple bruise was forming. It was a wonder he wasn't bleeding. "You've got something to say to another man, you say it to his face."

"That's right. And, just a heads up, if you've got something to say to your Momma, don't say it at all." Steven gave his son a once-over and a noise of disapproval before he turned his attention back to the road. "You're staying here next week. That's final. Now, put your seatbelt on like I told you."