change \ ˈchānj
intransitive verb
: to undergo transformation, transition, or substitution
.
xxii
winter
age twenty-four
.
It's a cold, snowy day just before Christmas when Sting wears his badge for the last time.
"You're home early," Rogue says as Sting pushes the front door open and shrugs off his jacket. He nods, kicking off his shoes and heading into the kitchen. Rogue steps back from the sink and tucks the dish towel into the handle of the stove, then holds out his hands. Sting leans in for a hug, feeling a flood of relief when Rogue's arms wrap around him. "What's wrong?"
Sting sighs, then mumbles, "I quit," into Rogue's shirt. Rogue's arms tense around him, and he pulls back to study Sting's face.
"You quit?"
Sting nods, rubbing his face. "I—yeah, I'm sorry, I know we didn't talk about it or anything, I just…" The headache that's been building since he left the precinct pushes forward to his temples and he squeezes his eyes shut.
"What happened?" Rogue's voice is soft and gentle, and Sting loves him so much.
"I'm just done." Sting stares down at Rogue's hands. "I became a cop to help people, but… I'm not."
"You helped Gray."
"That's different."
It's only been a month since that night of tears and terror, and the fingerprint bruises around Gray's throat that made Sting want to scream. Seeing Gray in that hospital room had cut him so deeply, and when the dust had finally settled, Sting had cried harder than he had in a long, long time.
"That's why," he says.
Rogue frowns, then gestures for them to both sit down at the kitchen table. He holds Sting's hand, thumb rubbing across his knuckles comfortingly.
"What do you mean?"
Sting looks up at Rogue and finds nothing but love and gentle curiosity in his gaze.
"Janson started saying shit," Sting says, voice rough. "'cause Joel only got two years, which is bullshit, just like my dad. He – they both hurt us so badly, and it's just this stupid fucking system. Two years because it's a first offense, and he's white, and he's got money and a good lawyer." The anger from earlier starts to burn in his stomach again. "So Janson started talking about—" He pauses, looking around to make sure Gray isn't nearby.
"They took Bella out for a walk," Rogue reassures him.
Sting nods. "He was just such an asshole, saying things like how Gray should have fought back, how it was probably his fault. And then someone else said it was 'cause he was trans so he was a—a girl, so I asked if he thought I was a girl, and then it just… I dunno, Janson made some other stupid comment and I was so angry at everything, especially him, he's such an asshole, so I…"
"You…" Rogue prompts.
Sting sighs. "I called him a fascist and some, uh... other not very nice things. And told him to go fuck himself. In front of the whole precinct." Rogue raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything. "I know, it was stupid, I'm sorry, I just…"
"He deserved it," Rogue says, shaking his head. "So then you—"
"We both got called up by the captain, and he told me that my behavior was unacceptable, and I was being suspended, even though I've tried to report Janson so many times for all the shit he says and does. I couldn't take it anymore. So I quit."
The tension spreads from his temples to his neck, but when Rogue reaches out and touches his cheek, it recedes a little.
"I'm proud of you," Rogue says gently. "I know it's been hard lately."
Sting nods. "It wasn't just today," he says, leaning into Rogue's gentle touch. "It's… just all this shit, all these little things. And I don't want to be like them – any of them, it's not just Janson. And I thought I had to do what my dad did to prove that I could do it better, but… I think there's a better way."
Rogue nods, brushing some of Sting's wayward curls out of his face. He doesn't say anything, and his patience makes Sting want to cry.
"I wanna go to college," he says. "They have a community service worker program, at U of C, and I can do the healthcare diploma, and go into addictions counselling. I think—I can do it, and I can help people without hurting other people." He looks up at Rogue. "I know it's expensive, and we just bought the house, and there's the wedding. But I can get scholarships, and work part-time, or—"
"Sting." Rogue's soft voice interrupts Sting's rush of words. "We can figure it out. I'm so proud of you." He leans across the table and kisses Sting's cheek, then presses their foreheads together. "You're such a good person, love. Your heart is so big, and I love you so, so much."
"I love you too," Sting whispers, exhaling shakily as all the fear and tension bleed out of him and he's left with nothing but a warm sense of hope.
Christmas is different this year, with Gray and Natsu staying. Gray's mood fluctuates between anger and tentative hope, and Sting does what he can to help. On good days, Gray helps him around the house, hanging Christmas lights and shoveling snow, and it calms something in Sting's chest when they talk and work together. Holidays are hard, no matter how much time passes, and having the distraction of helping someone else's grief makes it a little easier.
Uncle Wes visit on Christmas morning, and when he appears in the doorway to the living room, Sting watches Gray's eyes widen. He's about to reassure Gray when he realizes the expression is surprise, not fear.
"Wesley?" Gray asks, pushing himself up from where he'd been sitting on the floor with Bella. "What are you doing here?"
"Gray!" Wes exclaims, reaching out and pulling him into a hug. "It's so good to see you."
Sting watches the interaction, puzzled. "You two know each other?"
"Um. Sort of." Gray pulls back from the embrace and looks between Wes and Sting. "You—he came to the restaurant. We talked. Sometimes. I didn't know you were…"
"He's my uncle," Sting says, eyes widening when he realizes what happened. "You went instead of me," he says to Wes – more of a statement than a question.
Wes' expression turns vaguely guilty. "I went for the pie," he insists.
"It's an hour and a half from your house," Sting says, crossing his arms over his chest.
"It's very good pie." Wes looks at Gray and smiles. "And good company. Gray is a lovely young man."
"You were… you knew?" Gray asks quietly. Sting watches several different expressions flit across his face – shame, frustration, a flash of mild anger. Eventually he settles on relief. "I didn't…"
"Sting told me he couldn't visit anymore," Wes says gently, holding out his arm and smiling when Gray steps closer to him and lets Wes pull him into another hug. "He was worried. I was too. I'm very happy to see that you're all right."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Sting asks.
"What an old man does with his spare time is his own business," Wes says, giving Sting a mischievous grin. The expression softens when he looks back at Gray. "And I didn't want any trouble."
"Thank you," Gray says quietly.
Wes pulls Sting into the hug as well, kissing the top of his head and holding them both tight. His solid, familiar warmth fills Sting with a rush of affection and he has to swallow the lump in his throat.
"Now," Uncle Wes says, leaning back and giving both of them a wide smile. "It's time for Christmas gifts." He crouches down and reaches into the bag he's set on the floor, pulling out a small sheaf of paperwork. "Sting, I…"
His voice wavers and Sting frowns, looking down at the papers. He can't read it upside down, but it looks like some sort of legal document.
"What's that?"
"Why don't you come sit on the couch with me?" Uncle Wes says, gesturing to the sofa. Sting follows curiously, settling down beside Uncle Wes, who has turned the papers face-down. It takes a second for Sting to realize that Uncle Wes' hands are trembling.
"What's going on?" he asks, looking up at Rogue, who seems just as confused. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Uncle Wes reassures him, reaching out and taking Sting's hand. "This is… I've been thinking about this for a long time. And you don't have to accept if you don't want to, I know it's complicated, and there are a lot of feelings behind it, and if you don't want to do it, I won't be hurt at all."
The confusion intensifies. "Don't want to do what?"
Uncle Wes takes a deep breath, then turns the papers over and hands them to Sting.
The words take a second to register in Sting's mind and then it's like he's falling – that tug in his stomach when the adrenaline hits and he can't quite catch his breath. Everything blurs around him, sound going muffled, and all he can see is the paper in front of him.
I, Wesley Terrance Eucliffe, do hereby petition the court for leave to adopt Sting Alexander Eucliffe.
"I understand it's a lot to process." Uncle Wes' voice breaks through the fog around Sting. "I've been thinking about it since you got home, I've just—you've always been—"
"Yes."
It comes out as more of a sob than a word and Sting clutches the paper tightly, unable to focus on anything but the word 'adoption.' A vague picture of his dad surfaces in his mind for a moment, but it's nothing but a blurry outline of a man that doesn't matter, and it's quickly replaced by a million memories of Uncle Wes' warm smiles and gentle words.
"Muhammad and I didn't have the chance to have children," Uncle Wes says softly, fiddling with the wedding band he still wears. "And when you ended up with me, I didn't really know how to be a parent. So this might be a decade too late, but—"
"It's not." Sting reaches out and grabs Uncle Wes' hand, squeezing tightly. He can't stop the tears that spill down his cheeks – happy ones, accompanied by a brilliant warmth in his chest. "You... you really want..."
"I love you," Uncle Wes says, shifting so they're facing each other. His eyes are bright with barely held in tears, but his smile is brighter. "I know you have a family, with Rogue, I just thought..."
Sting looks up, but Rogue, Natsu and Gray are gone into the kitchen, leaving Sting and Uncle Wes alone. Bella is still there, settled next to the coffee table, tail thumping happily on the floor, with Frosche curled up next to her. The crackling fire and the soft lights of the Christmas tree makes it feel so much like home that it hurts.
"You've always..." Sting tries, but the words catch in his throat and he has to swallow hard before he can get them out. "You've always been more than just my uncle." He wipes at his face with the sleeve of his sweater, then lets out a wet laugh when Uncle Wes does the same. "Thank you."
Uncle Wes shakes his head. "Thank you," he says pulling Sting into a hug. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," Sting whispers. He presses his face into Wes' shirt, hugging him tightly, then quietly adds, "Dad."
The rest of Christmas day passes in a blur. They open gifts and eat and laugh together, and it fills Sting with a sense of joy that's almost overwhelming. The paperwork from Uncle Wes gets tucked back into his bag near the door, to be signed and notarized later, but for Sting it feels official already. He's wanted and loved, and this is his family. The family he's always needed. The family he deserves. The family he loves with everything he has.
The family he wants to pass on.
That night, when he and Rogue are making love, he whispers, "I want to have a kids with you one day." The words aren't as scary as he thought they'd be. The idea is terrifying and healing at the same time because he was afraid to be his father, but he knows he won't be. He'll be a good parent – like Uncle Wes. His dad.
Rogue's face lights up at the words and he kisses Sting harder, holding him close and whispering, yes.
Rogue and Sting's wedding is small and simple, in their back yard on a warm July afternoon, surrounded by patches of clover and dandelions and all the people they love. They say their vows as the sun is setting, and Sting cries because it's everything he's always wanted.
They all dance together afterward – Sting laughs as Uncle Wes tries to spin Natsu's mom and ends up nearly knocking over the punch table. Gajeel is in the corner with Erik, one of his friends from AA, while Rogue's parents talk with Rufus about his architecture degree.
"Hey, husband," Rogue says, appearing behind Sting and kissing his cheek. "Come dance with me."
Sting grins, turning to take Rogue's hands and pulling him close. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Natsu taking Gray's arm and gently coaxing him to dance. Gray laughs and a warmth spreads through Sting's chest.
"He's okay," Rogue says, holding Sting close and kissing the scar on his forehead. "And you are, too."
Gray catches Sting's eye over Natsu's shoulder and gives him a shy smile. Sting returns it with all the warmth he has.
"Guess what?" Rogue says, pulling Sting's attention back to their dance. "You did it."
"Did what?" Sting asks, sliding his hand down to the small of Rogue's back and pulling him close. The fairy lights strung around the yard glint off Sting's wedding band and a flood of happiness hits him so hard that for a second, it's hard to breathe.
"Survived," Rogue replies, kissing Sting's cheek. "I promised, remember? A house of our own, all the Pokémon games, ice cream for dinner."
Sting hums in agreement, breathing through the bittersweet thoughts of being little and cuddling with Rogue under the stars. Those memories are tinged with fear – a deep hurt, a terror that Sting should never have had to feel. But he lets that go and remembers the way they held hands instead, and the soft ways that Rogue has always shown Sting that he loves him.
"I love all those things," Sting whispers, squeezing Rogue's hand. "But I love you most."