"We should have done this years ago."
He knew he was mumbling; his dad looked up from pouring them another couple drinks with an unsteady hand. "Hm?"
He gestured aimlessly in the air. "New Year's. Drinking. Talking. Should have done it a long time ago."
"Mm-hmm." Lawrence set the bottle down and picked up his glass. "To second chances."
"Second chances," Leonard echoed, and took a drink.
They hadn't planned this evening in. Leonard had gone out and bought one of his customary bottles of bourbon, planning to escape up the stairs with them and drink alone, like he always did. But things hadn't been as contentious between him and his father lately, and he didn't try to evade when his father started a conversation. They'd started out talking about Jackie, of course. It was still kind of shocking, and he regretted the fact that he wouldn't be near as his father's relationship with her bloomed. That was the bad side to this timing; well, that and the fact that he was losing out on his very competent and reliable office administrator. That was a low blow, he'd told Lawrence, deadpan, but with a teasing quirk at the corner of his mouth.
From there he was pretty sure he was the one who had made the offer, though his dad had been the one who retrieved the drink tumblers. They sat at the table, across from one another. The conversation itself hadn't been that in-depth, no; not at first. They mostly stayed in familiar and safe territory—small talk, almost. They talked about their new lives; they talked about the holidays, and their previous visits with Valerie; they talked about funny stories from their pasts. After their toast, they went silent for a bit, reminiscing.
He wasn't entirely sure what had prompted him to ask, in the end. It was at least partly the situation; comfortably buzzed, feeling no pressure in the conversation, and willing to reminisce. And of course, he'd simply been wondering. For a long, long time.
Lawrence looked at him over his glass. "Why did I let you what?"
The question had come out of the middle of his train of thought and he hadn't meant to leave out the context. He looked down at his own glass, fingering the rim. "Letting me talk to Allison about her living here. I was only eighteen." He frowned. He didn't mean to make it sound like his father had made a mistake in that. "I mean, I'm not complaining about it. Not at all. Obviously it could have worked out better, but it could have been worse."
Lawrence sighed resignedly. "I know you think we're very different, me and you, Leonard."
Leonard did not respond. He took a drink of his bourbon.
Lawrence did the same before continuing. "I let you do it because I recognized where you were, what you were doing in your mind. You wanted to save her. You'd wanted to save her since you were fourteen years old. I wasn't going to be able to talk you out of it. That's what my parents tried to do, and all it did was make me more determined."
Leonard groaned lightly. "You're going to sit here and tell me everything about what happened with you and Mom, aren't you?"
Lawrence shook his head. "No. You know the story."
"I do know the story." Leonard frowned into his glass. "I wanted to save her," he muttered. "I didn't do it."
"Of course you did it," Lawrence said. "Don't you remember where she came from? Homeless, and in emotional disarray? You saved her from so many things."
"She wouldn't have left me for the military if I hadn't fucked it all up," Leonard grumbled. "That's my fault."
"Leonard," Lawrence said with some surprise. "Why, do you really think her joining the military had something to do with leaving you?"
"Of course it did," Leonard said. "Something went wrong between us, and we were broken up for a while, and that's when she enlisted."
"Leonard, didn't she ever tell you?" Lawrence said. "She'd been planning to enlist since she was ten years old. That had nothing to do with you."
Leonard frowned deeply. "I'm not really very sure about that," he said.
"I am," Lawrence said. "She told me that when she stayed the night one of those times in the old house—she'd have been fourteen then."
Leonard looked at his father. "I don't believe you."
"You don't?" Lawrence said. "Why wouldn't you believe me?"
"Because you're just trying to make me feel better," Leonard said. "It hasn't worked."
"Leonard," Lawrence protested, then sighed. "All right. Believe what you want."
"I will," he grumbled.
They spent several minutes in silence then, each nursing their drink.
"I'm planning to sell the house, you know," Lawrence said eventually.
"I—" Leonard frowned. "I had sort of figured."
"Leonard, it's just a house. All the good memories you had here will be there with you—forever."
Leonard continued to frown. "I don't care. Why do you think I care?"
Lawrence eyed him. "Then what's your problem?"
He scoffed. "I just don't want to have to deal with brokers and real estate agents while I'm packing to leave the planet, that's all."
"I'll handle that, then," Lawrence said. "That's perfectly fine."
"Well, fine then."
There was more silence for another while. Leonard finished off his glass of bourbon and sighed, reaching for the bottle.
"I'm probably going to go to bed," Lawrence said.
"You should go ahead then," Leonard replied, pouring himself some more.
"I just wanted to let you know," Lawrence said.
"You did," Leonard replied.
Lawrence sighed, arose, and rinsed his glass out in the sink. When he walked back past the table, he gave Leonard a squeeze on his shoulder. "Good night, son."
"Good night," Leonard mumbled. After his dad had gone into the bedroom and closed the door, he slowly arose, capped the bottle, and put it away. He then took the glass of alcohol and brought it up the stairs with him. Dressing for bed, he laid down, then took another sip.
"Allison," he muttered. It was probably the first time he'd actually said her name out loud in a good long time. "I'm not saying goodbye to you. I know you'd hate it if I said goodbye to you."
There was a long pause while he thought of what else to say. He had never really believed in praying much. If the divine wanted his attention, it would have to do more for him than what it had done so far—the creation of a flawed AI that had hardly reminded him of Allison at all. But if Allison was still there, somewhere, watching him, listening to him, he needed her to know all this. Especially if she needed to know to abandon the house to follow him where he was going.
"I haven't given up on you. On us. I haven't and I never will."
He sighed, took another drink and then snuggled down into the pillows, laying down even more flat.
"I miss you. So much. Every day." He paused. "Sometimes leaving this place feels like I'm betraying you. But this is my next best chance to do things right. So you need to know. I'm going to Reach soon. And when I'm there, I'm going to finish what I started."