Son
by Tessaray
Scotty knew it had to be big — Franco and this whole Jim Harvey business. The way the kid had been acting from the minute he found that photo of himself and Jason, how he wouldn't let it go, how it seemed to eat at him like acid. And then how quiet everybody got after Harvey's death, the pained way Elizabeth's eyes would follow Franco…
He's never really accepted Franco. Sure, there's the grudging sense of obligation that makes him show up when he's needed, and he does call him son… but in an exaggerated, almost ironic way. Maybe because here's yet another in a line of long-lost offspring to invest in and lose. Maybe because they're too much alike and he sees shades of his own unsavory self in Franco… and though everybody blamed his crimes on that tumor or his whack-job mother… his DNA, his traits and flaws are in the kid, too, and he can see it — the nervous energy, the irreverence, the cockeyed view of the world, the tendency to feel way too much and act out…
Or maybe it's that he's just too damn old and jaded for this shit and has absolutely nothing left to give…
And now it's out, like a confession — what Harvey did. Franco's few, quiet, obviously-rehearsed sentences hang in Elizabeth's living room like a stench. Scott's a lawyer, words are his trade, so he replays them, weighs them… especially the word molested. He's always found it to be a perversely soft and pretty sound, like a woman's name. But yeah, shit, of course that's what happened. It fits the facts.
Franco is standing there, fists jammed in the pockets of his jeans, eyes on the floor… but Scott can feel his laser focus, and the shame, tension and hope rising from him like heat from sun-baked asphalt…
Scott runs a hand over his spiky hair, platitudes and deflections streaming through his mind:
Tough break kid… what's past is past… bastard got what he deserved…
And then from somewhere else, a deep, unsettled rage:
Why'd you have to go and dig this shit up, anyway? Get what you wanted, Knucklehead? Feel better now?
Elizabeth has been away in the kitchen, busying herself with dishes, but clearly hovering. Scott glances at her, sees her eyes narrow and harden, commanding him to come through. He feels a pang of envy that Franco has the family he himself never had — a love so fierce and supportive and committed, and three boys… three sons…
It all connects then, explodes his detached, rational mind…
And he sees the boy so long ago… alone and terrified in the dark as unspeakable shit is done that will warp him forever. Little Bobby. His boy. His son. And for the first time, he feels intensely the truth of the word, the profound connection with this person opposite him — and a blinding, overwhelming pain makes him stagger as the world shifts beneath him…
I should have been there… I should have protected you… I'd have put a bullet in the motherfucker myself if I'd known…
A need strikes him, and a recent memory — Franco hugging him after Lee died... a spontaneous, genuine reaching out to console. But Scott hadn't been ready then… to embrace or be embraced by this man.
And Franco stiffens now, tries to withdraw as Scott steps close and gathers him in his arms... but Scott ignores the resistance and his own natural awkwardness and hangs on to his son. And when he feels Franco gradually begin to slacken, to shatter, he sinks to the couch with him and holds him tight while he cries… offering his little boy everything he couldn't all those years ago.
And he has no intention of letting go.
-end-