Author's Note: with thanks for the reviews and apologies for the relative tardiness of this chapter. It underwent a last minute rewrite as I wasn't happy with it.
"How do you know he was scared?" the vehemence of Jake's reaction surprised him. "He didn't want anyone to know!"
"He told you he was scared?" Neil ignored the question. Jake returned to picking at the grass. "Is that what's been bothering you?"
Jake hesitated. Timmy had asked him...but on the other hand, Dad already knew. Plus, Timmy had always been in awe of Dad, always saying how cool policemen were. "He told me, when we saw him for the last time," his voice cracked a little, and he wiped his nose with his sleeve. "Timmy said he was scared, that he didn't want to die but that he didn't want anyone to know he was a coward."
"Being scared does not equal being a coward, Jake," Neil said gently. "Has this been what's been upsetting you so much? Keeping this secret?"
Jake nodded.
"We're all scared of something, Jake," Neil said quietly. How pathetic a dad was he, that this sorry little secret had hurt his son so much? How had he not explained more about the nature of fear and courage, that it was what one did with one's fear that made someone a coward? "It's the great leveller. That doesn't make Tim a coward. It's what you do with the fear that counts. I think he was very brave and mature in the way he faced his illness. Not many grown men would be so determined in the face of their own death."
"What are you scared of, Dad?" Jake asked after he absorbed his dad's statement, looking up.
"Losing you," Neil replied honestly. "Or Grace."
"You mean me dying, you can say that," Jake looked back down.
"Not just that," Neil didn't share Jake's willingness to say the word. "I'm also scared that I'll lose you in the sense that you won't want to talk to me."
"Like you don't really talk with your dad?" Neil nodded in response to the hesitantly put question, and idly wondered whether his father had found out about the leukaemia from someone else.
Jake appeared to give this some thought. "That won't happen, ever, Dad," he promised impulsively. "I love you. I'm never going to stop talking to you."
Neil opened his mouth, but closed it with a snap, unable to find words to articulate how grateful he was that Jake was willing to make that promise. Not that he could ever hold the boy to it though: were Jake to ever find out the real story behind his parents' divorce, Neil suspected he would be deprived even the Christmas and birthday telephone calls he exchanged with his own father.
"I don't want to die, Dad," Jake admitted quietly, returning to staring at the grass. "Not like that. Not of cancer. Not now." Neil's heart broke.
"And I don't want you to die either," Neil sighed. "Oh, Jake, if I could do anything I wish I could promise you that it won't happen."
"But you can't," Jake sighed, tears welling up in his eyes. "It's not fair, why did Tim have to die? Why did we have to get cancer?"
"Some people, like Annie's parents or Grandma, will say it's God's will," Neil began carefully, referencing one of Jake's other hospital friends and Philippa's mother.
"If that's true, God's just mean," Jake spat. "Besides, you don't believe in God. So why?"
Neil sighed. "Religious people are able to attribute bad events to some greater plan that will eventually have a happy ending," he said. "Unfortunately, we atheists have nothing so comforting. I think...it boils down to horrible things happen, Jake, because sometimes life and the universe sucks. Big time."
"You're right, that's not very helpful," Jake wrinkled his nose.
"I can't promise you life won't continue to suck, or that it won't get worse," Neil said pragmatically, hating this conversation. "All I can promise you is that I'll always be there for you, and I'll do whatever I can to make things better. But for me to do that, I need to know what's wrong, okay bud?"
Jake stayed silent for a long moment, considering Dad's words. He couldn't deny the huge relief that came from having Tim's secret shared, and having Dad assure him that he didn't think Tim was a coward. Dad had even admitted he was scared.
"Thanks, Dad," he said finally, leaning into Dad's shoulder. The pair of them sat there for some time on the grass in contemplative silence. The silence was broken by a coughing fit from Jake.
"That's a bad cough," Neil couldn't disguise the worry in his voice. "It's gotten way worse, hasn't it?"
"Last couple of days," Jake nodded reluctantly. "I'm sure it's fine, just a cold or something."
"You were out of breath just then," Neil frowned. "Have you been feeling unwell?"
"Bit more tired than normal, but I haven't been sleeping too good," Jake admitted. "And before you ask, no, Dad, I've not been coughing anything up."
"Too well," Neil corrected absently, automatically feeling Jake's forehead.
"You're a little warm," he said dubiously.
"We are sitting in the sun in jackets," Jake argued.
Neil looked at him skeptically, but in the interests of the newly forged peace [and the absence of any major symptoms] decided to let it go.
Grace smiled broadly as she spied them on the couch. Jake was fast asleep, drooling onto a pillow, with his feet resting in his dad's lap. Casper was flopped under Neil's legs, which were propped up on the coffee table.
Neil glanced up at Casper's lazy whine of greeting. He beamed at her and paused the movie, leaving Darth Vader frozen mid-duel. It was quite a process for him to leave his spot, requiring him to gingerly lift Jake's legs and avoid tripping over Casper.
"Heey," he drawled, looking far more relaxed and happy than since before Tim's death. Before Grace had had an opportunity to return his greeting – and question his change in mood – his lips had descended on hers in a passionately loving kiss.
"Well, hello to you too," she greeted breathlessly as he pulled back, keeping his hands firmly on her hips. "What happened? All I heard was you had to run off to the school...but I'm guessing you and Jake have worked through your differences then?"
"You should be a detective with deduction skills like that," when Neil began making jokes, it only meant one of three things: he was drunk, exhausted, or giddily happy. She hoped it was the latter. "They called me because Jake had gotten into a fight –"
"What?" Grace exclaimed, forgetting the sleeping child. She hastily lowered her voice. "Oh my god, how badly is he hurt?"
"The main injury is a set of grazed knuckles on his right hand," Neil replied dryly. "They had to sing O Danny Boy in music, Jake needed to ... uh... excuse himself. One of the other boys saw him coming out of the rest-room, made a comment about Tim being a coward, so Jake punched him."
"Punched him?" Grace repeated dumbly.
"Broke his nose," Neil said proudly.
"Is he in much trouble?" she demanded in concern.
"Not under the circumstances," Neil shook his head, before continuing. "I, uh, thought it might help if we visited Tim's, uh, grave. So we sat there, and talked for a while. Pretty sure we've sorted a lot of stuff out between us." He was reluctant to say anything more: Jake did seem to be asleep, but he felt it would not be right to talk about it then.
Fortunately for him, Grace seemed to understand, nodding.
"Good," she said, with no small measure of relief, leaning up to kiss him again. Neil responded eagerly, trying to make up a little for the last few weeks.
"Ewwww, Casper, they're snogging," a groggy voice complained half-heartedly. The couple broke off the kiss, turning in tandem to see Jake's face peeking over the couch arm at them. His eyes were groggy with sleep, and his short hair tousled. "Hey, Grace."
"Hey, Jake," Grace smiled at him. "Hear you and dad patched things up?"
He nodded, before reaching his arms out for a hug.
"Sorry I've been a bit mean to you," he mumbled as Grace gladly gave him the hug.
"I understand it's been a rough time," Grace accepted the apology easily, thinking to herself that Neil would not be getting off that lightly. She figured she was at least owed two weeks off cooking duty.
The peaceful atmosphere splintered as Jake let out a few hacking coughs. Immediately, Grace had released him and was kneeling down to feel his forehead. Neil returned within seconds with a thermometer, which he shoved into a mostly-unwilling Jake's mouth.
"Don't talk son, just let us take your temperature," he ordered as Jake made to protest. With a roll of his eyes, Jake did as he was told, waiting for the beep.
"Normal," Neil reported with some relief.
"It's just a bit of a cold, Dad," Jake protested. "What's for dinner?"