Season six didn't have a lot of closure. I do not own Ninjago.
Jay asks a lot of questions. It's in his nature, being the unfortunate combination of inquisitive and talkative. He usually asks his questions to Cole, because Cole is the only one with the patience to answer every time.
They're not always correct answers, but they're answers nonetheless, and that seems to satisfy Jay.
"Why are plants green?" he asks one day, when they're picnicking in a backwoods grove of a neighboring farm.
"Something to do with cells," says Cole, eyeing the walnut trees and taking a bite of his sandwich. That's the extent he knows about it, so he says nothing more.
"But plants are supposed to absorb light," says Jay, staring at the clover and crabgrass like every blade is full of secrets, "Why reflect green light? Why not absorb all the colors?"
Cole tries to wrap his head around it, chewing slowly before saying, "Well, everyone has a color they don't like."
Jay laughs as he leans backwards, staring up at the canopy. "If I were a plant," he says, "I'd be black. Then I can absorb all the light."
"If you say so, bluebell."
Jay thinks of things most people wouldn't think about, and while some might find such a trait annoying, it's one of the things Cole likes most about his friend. That's not to say these interactions always make for pleasant experiences. Now and again, Jay asks a question Cole isn't comfortable answering, or Cole gives an answer that leaves Jay hurt or wondering.
Those interactions are the sorts Cole strives to avoid, for he hates the idea of failing his friend, however minor the mishap is.
The autumn winds blow chilly and cold on a sunny afternoon in Ninjago City, and Cole and Jay walk the streets home after a day out on the town. Their conversation is hardly more than their company, since Jay hasn't been asking many questions lately. Instead, he keeps his head down and his hands tucked away in his pockets, thinking.
He has a look on his face like he's about to ask a question, but for whatever reason, he doesn't voice it. It's a concerning but not unusual look that Cole has grown accustomed to, for Jay has looked like this for several months now. Quiet and distant, something occupies his thoughts, dampening an otherwise bright personality to the point where Jay is almost a shadow of his former self. Cole doesn't know what to do about it other than be a willing ear to listen to his troubles.
It's an odd and sudden change in Jay's behavior, seemingly an overnight event. One morning Jay was well, and the next, something changed. He jumps when someone lays a hand on his shoulder, jerking like he's always caught in the middle of a thought; he spends long nights speaking to Nya with quiet words. Cole observes all these things, for he's the somewhat unfortunate privilege of knowing Jay as well as himself, and there seems something about Jay that he doesn't feel like sharing. All Cole can do is wait until Jay is ready to talk to him, for Jay always talks to him eventually.
When that occurs is up to Jay. Cole doesn't knock on doors people aren't ready to open.
But Jay surprises him one day, and it doesn't go well.
When they reach the park, Jay stops under the low hanging branches of a blue oak curling over the fence. Cole does, too, eyebrows up as he looks to his friend in question.
Jay eyes the cracks of the sidewalk, staring a long time before finally meeting his gaze. He asks, "What's your dad like?"
All Cole's thoughts halt in surprise, and Jay already looks like he regrets the question. He drops his gaze to his shoes, curls swinging forward to hide his face.
But Cole answers, because he's that kind of friend. It's not the correct one. "You've met him."
"I know," says Jay, hands fiddling even in his pockets, "but…what—what was he like as a dad?"
Cole is as confused as he is uncomfortable where this conversation is going. His and Lou's relationship is a complicated one that he doesn't like getting into, even with himself.
"Well…" he says, trying to find a place to start. He can't come up with anything, which is worrying itself. Cole prides himself in his ability to answer Jay's questions, but he wonders where such a question is coming from, why Jay would pick a scab like this.
But Jay seems to be picking a scab of his own, for he's looking at Cole with eyes desperate for an answer.
Cole has none, so he asks, "Why do you want to know?"
Jay frowns. Shrugs. "I don't know," he says, "I'm curious. He's a star, right?"
Cole nods. Lou is a gifted songwriter and a talented musician; he's charmed an entire generation of listeners (mostly middle-aged, now) with his catchy tunes and quaint love songs. As a father, though…
"He does about as well as he can," mutters Cole, toeing a path on the sidewalk, "He's…he—" it's hard to talk. Odd. He's having trouble finding his words.
Jay is still looking at him, like whatever Cole is about to say will change his world. Cole doesn't know what his friend is expecting.
"Where's this coming from?" he eventually asks, for lack of anything else to say.
Jay glances away, lips pursed and nervous like he is when he's hiding something. "Like I said, just curious. My parents…they're so different. It must be something to have a famous dad."
That pricks something under Cole's skin, like pencil or thumbtack digging into his skin. He's sure it's not supposed to, but it does, and it hurts.
"It's not that great."
"Really?" Jay says.
"Lou wasn't—" Cole pauses, breathing slow to keep himself calm. He is and has been aware that he is lucky in a lot of ways. He's not Lloyd; he's not Kai, but, "He took care of me. But it seemed like he didn't care about me all the time."
Jay steps back in shock. "He's your father!"
"Jay," Cole sighs, staring up at the sky. Pigeons pass between grey buildings, glowing orange under the sun. "My dad isn't like your parents."
At this, Jay's jaw gets tight. It ruffles his face into a pout before it relaxes again, gone before Cole has time to think about it.
"Your parents are…there for you," Cole talks, though it's hard to explain something like this, especially to Jay, who's always had parents in his life. He wonders why Jay even wants to know.
"My dad had another life outside of being a parent," continues Cole, blabbering on even as Jay looks away, "He had—has a public to please. That got in the way of our life."
A lot, towards the end.
Lou used to write love songs in his day. Pretty tunes that captured the happiness he felt in his heart. After she died, he stopped, and that was when Cole lost his father. Their relationship, Cole thinks and thought, was something that could've healed itself, but neither father nor son had the knowledge to try.
"I figured it'd be nice to have someone famous as a parent," Jay's loud voice interrupts his thoughts. His gaze is stretched far past the horizon as he starts walking again, talking like he hasn't heard a thing Cole just said. "Maybe a movie star."
The last sentence is quiet, and Jay's eyes are sad.
Cole doesn't notice. "Oh really?" he says, irritated without meaning to be, "What's wrong with your own parents?"
"Nothing," says Jay, offended Cole would ask such a thing, "I'm just thinking. What kind of life would I have led if—"
He cuts himself off, which is a good thing, since Cole is getting angrier the longer Jay talks.
"Don't think being a famous person's kid is all grandeur," Cole says, walking faster to match Jay's pace. Though he's picking at a wound that's never quite healed, he must get Jay to understand, "There's a lot more to it than what is presented to the public eye."
There are long fights that he can't win, waking up in the morning to an empty house, his father already out with no word on when he'll return. There are lonely nights cooking dinner alone, climbing mountains for a sense of purpose long since lost, crying quietly at night because a love he needs just isn't there.
These are the reasons Cole doesn't talk about this. It's a mess that makes him angry just thinking about it. He huffs in disdain and reminds himself he's lucky to have a parent at all, painful as it may be.
He's better not thinking about this.
Jay's mouth has turned down sadly; Cole doesn't know why. He's looked that way for the past few months, and Cole has given him the wrong answers.
The otherwise decent afternoon has soured, and Cole wants out of it, if just to start again tomorrow. Then he can satisfy Jay's questions.
"Hey," Cole says, "Last one to the Bounty cleans the bunks for a week."
He races from the spot before Jay can answer, desperate to leave the nasty conversation where it stands. If he runs fast enough, he can leave the bad feelings behind, and he hopes Jay will do the same.
Jay has been strange in the passing months, and the autumn winds blow cold.