Eric, Wes, Jen, Mr. Collins, Miller, and Dr. Zaskin belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, but I am not and do not expect to make money from this.
Gaby, Jimmy Duran, Frank Kelly, Gunn, Kane, Quinn, Pamela, and Dennis Myers are mine.

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; strong sexuality; violence; mature themes including child abuse and prostitution.

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Sins of the Fathers


Sympathy

The afternoon had been almost surreal, one person after another 'just dropping by' at his office, all of them giving him that look, the one he hated, the one that said they pitied him, because his life was such complete and utter crap, because the people who were supposed to care about him didn't give a shit… he did his best to keep it all from coming back, to remember who and where he was now, but it became harder with each one.

First it was Miller. He was the best of the bunch, stepping in only for a minute to ask if anything was new, then hesitating…

"Anything else come up?"

"No. Wes and I will let you know if anything happens. Just like we always do."

"Yeah. Eric…" He paused uncomfortably. "If you don't want to get involved with this… if I can help…"

"Thanks. But I'm okay."

Then Gunn, acting as brisk and impersonal as he usually did, but his glance lingering on Eric's face.

"Eric, Wes told me what happened. If you need any time off, anything at all…"

"No. Thanks. I'm fine."

"Well, keep it in mind."

"Right."

Gunn paused before leaving to look back again, sympathy under the impassivity on his dark face. "Maybe you don't think this is affecting you now, but it will. Don't be afraid to ask for help."

Eric returned his gaze, slightly startled, stifling his annoyance, clamping down the deeper emotion that threatened. Gunn was the last person he would have suspected of sensitivity. "Thanks, Daryl. But I'm fine. Really."

After him, William Kane, the new director of Administration and Support, who had surprised him over the last months by turning out to be a nice guy.

"I heard about… you know. If there's anything I can do…"

"Thanks, Mr. Kane. But there's really no problem."

"No problem? But this whole situation -- you must feel terrible."

"I haven't seen my mother for twenty years. I really don't feel anything."

Kane gave him a skeptical look. "Well, the offer stands. Anything I can do, just ask. And -- please call me William."

Eric was startled again. "Thanks. William."

Dr. Michael Zaskin was right after him, smiling nervously, but his eyes seeming to pierce right through the shell Eric had put around himself. Eric smiled this time; Zaskin had been his friend for over two years, since he had first become commander of the Silver Guardians, first become the Quantum Ranger.

"Eric, I'm sorry about your mother. What a shock. Can I do anything to help?"

"No, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

A pause, while that mild but penetrating gaze stayed on his face, kindness practically radiating from it. "Why don't you come by the house for dinner? I'm sure my daughter would love to meet the Quantum Ranger."

To his astonishment and alarm, Eric felt his throat constrict, and fought to keep his voice steady. What the hell is the matter with me? he wondered savagely. "No, thanks. Maybe some other time. I have a date."

"Gaby? Good." Another silent pause, while Eric wondered how to get rid of him without hurting his feelings. "Well, I'll leave you alone. Just let me know if there's anything I can do."

The most difficult was Alan Collins, the hardest because somewhere in the recesses of his heart Eric knew he felt Collins was everything his own father had not been. He felt a moment of the old envy and resentment of Wes, for having a father like this, for having had a real childhood.

"Eric… I'm sorry. About your mother, about your father, this whole situation…"

"I'm sorry, too. This must be hard on you."

"Yes." His sharp blue gaze was on Eric's face. "I hope you believe I had nothing to do with this."

He was surprised. "Of course. You'd never get mixed up with people like them."

"Good." Collins hesitated. "If you want to take time off, or cut back on your duties…"

"No. I'm fine. Wes is the one who may need time off, not me."

"You want to come over for dinner tonight?"

"Thanks, but I'm seeing Gaby."

"Bring her along."

"I'm just not in the mood for…"

"For a group of people. I understand. Maybe in a few days." Collins stood up.

"Alan, I'm really sorry about this." Eric stared at his desk, unable to meet the other man's eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sorry my parents did this to you."

"It's not your fault. They're not your responsibility. No one blames you in any way. Certainly not me." Collins' voice held a depth of compassion that almost overcame his tight but fragile control.

"Thanks," Eric mumbled, swallowing. Fortunately Collins said no more and simply left.

Then came Wes, staring for a few moments too long, his face so damn understanding that Eric had to look away, again wrestling his own face into a lack of expression. At least he came to talk business.

"They found two blood types under your mother's nails. Two people must have been involved."

"Unless she got in a fight with someone else, not connected with the murder."

"I guess that's possible… but she would have washed her hands, wouldn't she?"

"Maybe. I don't know what she'd do."

"Eric… I hate to ask, but do you know anything about your father that might help? Anything about what he might have been after?"

Eric felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. "No. He was a bastard. Mean, and violent. I guess he's capable of doing just about anything, for money. It was twenty years ago -- I don't even remember what he did for a living. Maybe it's in that report on me."

There was a pause before Wes answered. "He worked as a bartender, off and on. That's how he met your mother."

"Great. You know more about them than I do."

"Eric, I'm sorry…"

"God damn it! I wish everyone would stop saying that!" Eric jumped to his feet, glared at Wes for an instant, then turned his back, looking blindly out the window, taking deep breaths, trying to unravel the knot inside him. Anger was the only way he knew to hold it back, but if he let the anger out…

"Sorry," he said after a minute. "Not your fault. I should be trying to help, not taking it out on you."

"It's okay. I understand."

Eric laughed without humor, his voice catching a little. "Yeah, you understand. Maybe you can explain it to me." He sighed as the silence stretched between them. "Your father is the one with the real problem here. Let's just… get this case solved."

"Sounds good to me. Let me know if…"

"If you can help. Been hearing a lot of that today, too." Eric turned to face him.

Wes smiled. "So have I. Everyone's been great."

"Yeah, I guess. I could live without all the sympathy." He stepped back to his desk. "Look, I have to go. Having dinner with Gaby."

"Okay. See you tomorrow."

"See ya." Eric watched him leave, a sudden feeling of defeat settling over him, although he wasn't sure why. It turned into dread of the night to come, more pitying looks, maybe more questions. He briefly considered canceling, but the prospect of another night alone chilled him. He wouldn't have to talk. Gaby would understand.


"Pass the pepper."

"Sure." Wes handed it to Jen. The three of them were having dinner in the small dining room, the one they used when it was just family and perhaps a couple of close friends. These meals were usually pleasant, a time for all of them to catch up on their own personal events of the day. This one was almost silent. Wes's nerves, already strained, felt close to snapping. He saw no way out except to bring up the topic they had all been so studiously avoiding.

"Jen, anything new in the investigation?"

She looked up at him, her eyes crinkling into a smile. "Since this morning? Yes. We got Dennis Myers' blood type. He could have been the other person Pamela scratched."

"So -- now he's a suspect."

"Yes. But it's a common blood type. We'll need DNA to know for sure. And we have to find him first. That's it, at least there's nothing else Jimmy and Frank have seen fit to tell me."

"Don't you think they'd tell you everything?"

"I don't know. I think Jimmy would, but I can tell Frank doesn't really want me around." Her eyes dropped. "There's some question of whether they'll let me continue on the case."

"Because you're close to us, I guess."

"That's right. I'm trying to work it out." She stared at her plate, biting her lip in a gesture that told Wes she was upset and worried.

"Why would Frank not want you around? You've worked with him before."

She shrugged. "Not on anything like this. Maybe he doesn't trust me to be objective. Maybe he thinks I'll get in the way." She smiled grimly. "Maybe because I'm a woman. I don't know."

"The PD is still a boy's club. I guess in Time Force there's no discrimination at all."

"Not against women, anyway. There were people who didn't trust mutants."

"Do you still feel homesick?" Collins asked.

"Sometimes." Her eyes softened. "There's things -- and people -- I miss. I guess the hardest part is having to start all over again, in my career."

"The police shouldn't be too different from Time Force."

"It's similar. We had a lot of methods you don't have yet. If this was 2202, we'd already have DNA analysis of the blood from under Pamela's nails, instead of having to wait for weeks. We'd already know exactly who made that call to 911."

"Too bad it isn't 2202. Maybe this would all be over."

"Dad," Wes said, "Don't worry. We'll find whoever did this."

"I know. I know I'm innocent. I just hope my name will be cleared, sooner or later." Collins sighed. "I'm not worried about going to jail, not really. But it's already caused other problems. I got a call from Atkinson. They want to hold off on negotiations for the acquisition. Not sure anymore if they want to be associated with us."

Wes looked at him, seeing his disappointment and worry, and feeling his own. The family that owned Atkinson was notorious for their strong moral beliefs. They wouldn't want to do business with anyone they thought wasn't up to their standards.

Collins smiled unexpectedly, but not a happy smile. "You know what they say. Never get caught with a dead girl or a live boy." He became serious again. "No matter what happens, people will always remember I was found drunk in a hotel room with a dead prostitute. My reputation will never be the same."

Wes clenched his fists, unable to disagree. "Damn. I have the feeling that's exactly what they want. Whoever did this wants to hurt Bio-Lab."

"Or maybe me personally. I've made my share of enemies over the years."

"Dad -- do you have any suspicions? Anything at all?"

"If I did, believe me, I'd tell you."

Wes met his eyes, wondering. He and his father had had several disagreements about the running of Bio-Lab in the past, mostly when their opinions of what was ethical differed. If his father had done something he knew Wes would disapprove of, would he be honest about it? "A woman has died here. If you can think of anything..."

"I know how important this is. You don't really think I'd hide something that could help, do you?"

"I hope not." Wes saw a flicker of hurt cross his father's face. They returned to their meal in silence.


They made small talk for most of the evening. Some instinct told Gaby he didn't want to talk about anything substantial, so they discussed current events, the latest gossip at Bio-Lab, the last couple of movies they had both seen, and even that old standby, the weather. Eric had been more subdued than usual, smiling at her attempts to joke but not laughing, staring blankly when they hit lulls in the conversation.

Now they sat on her small sofa, watching the news on television, she with her legs curled under her, he with his arm around her, just as they did at the end of most evenings together. They were in her apartment, as they usually were. He seemed almost more at home there than in his own house. The only difference was the way his fingers tightened on her shoulder when the latest story about the Alan Collins murder investigation came on.

"Channel Five has learned that the murder victim, Pamela Myers, is the mother of Eric Myers, a Bio-Lab employee and, as most of you know, the Quantum Ranger."

"Damn," Eric muttered softly. He lifted his arm from around Gaby and leaned forward, bowing his head.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine."

"I guess it was inevitable that it would come out."

"Yeah. I was hoping it would be after we closed the case. Now it's going to be all over the goddamn news every day."

"At least they don't know about your father yet."

"Not yet. But they will soon."

"This will all blow over. As soon as the next big story comes up, everyone will forget all about it."

"I'll remember." His voice was distant, as if he was talking to himself.

She wrapped an arm around him, rubbing his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles. "Any progress yet? Anything that would clear Mr. Collins?"

"Not yet."

"Anything I can do? Do you want to talk about it?"

He straightened and leaned back into the couch, visibly trying to relax, turning to look at her. "What are your parents like?" he asked.

She blinked at the unexpected question. "Well -- they're okay. Just regular parents, I guess."

The ghost of a smile lifted his lips. "You can do better than that."

"Okay." She thought about it for a moment. "They're both very intellectual. Very cultured. I think I became a slob to rebel against them. They're both completely computer incompetent, so God knows where I got my computer skills. They're both nice…" She shrugged. "They're very successful professionally, and want me to be too; they were kind of demanding while I was growing up. It was a lot to try to live up to. Still is."

"You've done okay."

"Yeah," she answered with a slight smile. "Okay. But not as well as they have."

"Does it bother you?"

"Used to. But I'm pretty comfortable with the way things are now."

"Good." He slid his arm around her again. "I used to wonder what it would have been like to have a normal family." His voice was quiet, and the hint of sadness in it touched her.

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I can't imagine what it must have been like for you."

"That was a long time ago. It's over now."

She raised her face to him, wanting to say that it wasn't over as long as that abused, abandoned little boy still lived in his head. But she knew it wasn't something he was ready to hear. Instead she kissed the side of his jaw, and smiled as he turned his head to her. He kissed her, reaching to pull her closer, then starting to unbutton her shirt.

"Come on, let's go to bed," he said after a few moments.

Later, she lay beside him, waiting for sleep. He had been different somehow, when they had made love. Eric usually approached sex the same way he approached everything in life, with intensity, concentration, and a single-minded determination to be the best. Tonight he had been distant, even perfunctory, as if his mind was on something else, as if she was providing an unsuccessful distraction. For a moment she felt hurt, even angry. But then the desire to help him returned, and with it the knowledge that understanding and patience were all she could offer.


He watched her sleep, seeing her face soften and her breathing slow and deepen. She had been unusually affectionate tonight, in and out of bed. He knew she pitied him, and tried to feel his usual irritation at other people's sympathy. Instead, all he felt was an ache, and the stirring of a long ignored memory. In the bleakness of his childhood, there had been one person who cared, someone who looked at him with that same compassion. Her eyes had been a warm brown, like Gaby's, her face older, wavy brown hair starting to be flecked with gray. He hadn't thought about her in so long -- but he could almost see her again, almost hear her voice...

"Grandma!" He ran to her, holding her tightly around the waist. She laughed and knelt to hug him. "Eric! How's my sweetheart?"

"Fine, Grandma. Are we going to get ice cream?"

"Yes, we are. As soon as I talk to your mother."

His mother was sitting on the couch, watching them with a look of faint disgust, the usual glass in her hand. "What do we have to talk about?" she asked.

"I have a few things to say. In the kitchen."

With a sigh, his mother got up. His grandmother turned back to Eric. "Just play out here for a few minutes, okay?"

"Okay."

The kitchen door never quite closed all the way. He could hear them talking, but it wasn't bad like when his mother and father talked, even though they didn't sound very friendly.

"Pamela. How are you doing?"

"Just fine, Ma. How are you?" Just a hint of hostility in her voice.

"Pam, it's not even noon. How many drinks have you had?"

"None of your business."

"You're my daughter. And that's my grandson out there you're neglecting."

"That kid?" A laugh. "He can take care of himself."

"He's a child." There was a short silence. "I saw bruises on his arms. Did Dennis hit him again?"

"You know how kids are. He's always hurting himself."

"Not like that."

"Why don't you ask the kid, then?"

A sigh. "I have. He denies it."

"Well. There you are."

Eric looked up at the door. He remembered Grandma asking him about Dad. He didn't like to lie, but Mommy and Daddy had both told him not to say anything, that then he would have to go to an orphanage and the people there would hit him much worse than Dad ever did...

"That man's no good, Pam. I don't understand why you stay with him."

"I don't know, Ma. Maybe I love him."

"With the way he treats you? You'd have to be crazy to love him."

"I guess I'm crazy, then. Besides, what's your excuse for staying with Pop all those years?"

"He wasn't that bad."

An unladylike snort. "Right. You're not the one he liked to smack around."

There was another pause, broken by the sound of restless footsteps. "There doesn't seem to be any point in talking to you. I'm taking Eric out for ice cream. We might as well have lunch, too."

"Fine. Gets him out of my hair for a while."

"And I'm taking him shopping. When was the last time you bought him clothes?"

"Beats me." Her voice was resentful.

"It's a disgrace the way you have him dressed. Everything he has is old, and doesn't fit. He told me the kids in school make fun of him."

"We don't have the money to spend on him."

"But you have money for booze. Never mind. I'll bring him back around four or five." In another moment she was in the living room with him, smiling, telling him to get his jacket.

He could still remember that day, the ice cream -- vanilla chocolate chip -- the shopping, the talking and laughing. Just the feeling of being with someone who liked him, and paid attention to him. He could remember so many of the days he had spent with his grandmother. And he remembered, each time, asking if he could go home with her, and stay.