The Gift

Episode 11: Paranoid Android

By Sulia Serafine

This is an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE fic. This is the sequel series to It Could Be Worse, which will end with season 4. NOTE: You can read it if you have not read ICBW. It's possible. You won't get the foreshadowing and the cameos, but you will, eventually. I'd explain them. Credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke.

Warning: This episode is rated PG-13, just for a few curse words. This is Vinny, guys. Come on.

Author's note: Holy shiz-nitz, I haven't updated in a long time. School, rowing, and college scholarship applications have thoroughly beat me up, thrown me out the side of a speeding car, stopped, and backed up over my already maimed self. As is evident from my lack of grammatical parallelism in the previous sentence. I am currently supposed to be studying for quarter exams and the SAT II's for next Saturday, but I felt inspired (and a little ashamed of myself) when I read a review pleading for an update.

And here it is. So! May I continue onward in my crusade, getting four hours of sleep per night, twelve hours of AP and IB classes, four hours a day of intense physical training (led by a coach who misses his Green Beret days), and enough scholarship deadlines to make me want to cry!

Enjoy the show, folks. Ha-cha-cha.

~~

It's strange how people can convince themselves that they're in control when they're anything but. They repeat the mantra in their heads until nothing else exists but the belief that everything is going to be okay. There's always that feeling that a million more complications will show up at the back door, but that's fine with them. They're in control. They've got their problems on a leash.

Mine just happens to have some damn sharp teeth.

Bit through the leash, chomped down onto my pants leg, and dragged me to the door—that fateful and hateful door. Some in-control guy I turned out to be, huh?

"Hello?" a feminine voice answered. The door opened the slightest bit, but I could not see the woman behind it. The deadlock's chain rattled tremulously.

"Are you Julia Litcott?" I asked in a raspy voice.

There was a hesitation. Then, a blessed response. "Who wants to know?"

Somewhere between the 'hello' and the reply, my heart had dropped straight to my feet. I took a deep breath and clenched my fists at my side. Now or never.

"Vinny. Vinny Winston."

The reaction took me by surprise. The door slammed shut. I blinked, eyes wide with disbelief. I involuntarily stepped back and wondered if I had just blown the only lead I had left. My brazenness overcame my shock and I knocked again, more loudly than before.

The door opened as far as the chain would let it. Now angry green-blue eyes glared at me from the shadow beyond. "Get out of here. I'm not falling for any of your pranks, you punk."

She moved to slam the door, but I stuck my hand in and forced it to stay open.

"Lady, look at me," I pleaded, trying to sound sincere. Sincerity was still somewhat an alien concept to me; I was so accustomed to faking it. Now when I wanted it to be real, all I could do was supply a second rate actor's performance. What luck, huh? "I don't want to play any tricks on you. My name really is Vinny Winston."

There was defeat in her eyes. A heavy sigh. She chuckled mildly as she played with the deadlock chain.

"At least you're blond this time. The last one didn't look a thing like him."

"Like who?" I pressed. I stifled my anticipation as she closed the door a bit to undo the deadlock and allow me in. I was vaguely aware of what I was supposed to feel. Years of searching finally led to this. Shouldn't I have been elated? I was going to get some answers! My mother was standing just a couple of feet away. Yet, I felt very little joy. I was almost… furious at the anti-climatic sensation of it all. When she finally swung the door open, my eyes looked up at someone I had never truly expected to meet.

Here was the sun, hiding behind a rain cloud.

Julia Litcott folded her arms across her chest. Her strawberry blonde hair was tied back messily in a bun and a few curly wisps of gold framed her face. She nodded her head to indicate that I was to go in. I couldn't help but count the lines at the corner of her eyes as I passed her. The disillusioned expression on her face didn't belong there.

So, she was a little moodier than I expected her to be. She probably had good reason. I waited as she closed the door and locked it, wary to go any further into the apartment. I felt like an intruder. I was an intruder. How insensitive could I have been to come here and disrupt the fragile balance she had so carefully crafted? I always knew I was a selfish, disrespectful jerk.

Frowning slightly, I shoved my hands into my pockets and rocked back on my heels. Julia turned to me, her gaze sweeping up and down my form to take in all the details. She was wondering whether or not I was armed. That had to be it. I knew that look. I had been given that look ever since I was old enough to pass for fifteen. Teenagers these days! Hoodlums, all of them!

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked, leading the way to the couch. She gestured for me to sit down on the dilapidated cushions while she went to the kitchen.

"No… thanks," I added after a moment's hesitation. As it wasn't in my nature to give 'thanks,' I still felt as fake as an actor. Funny. Less than an hour ago, I had been basking in my skills as a liar and a con artist at the hospital. But I couldn't pretend with this one, could I? It wouldn't be right.

She came back with a glass of water for herself. The brightness of her eyes dimmed as she settled into the worn armchair across from me.  "Listen. I have to go take my shift at the diner soon. Whatever this is about, say your piece and make it quick."

I shifted uneasily. Discomfort and I are mortal enemies. Grr. "I, uh, met Coram."

A brief spark of recognition?

"Did you?" she murmured as she sipped delicately from her glass.

"And Kimmy," I nodded. "I'm not sure if you remember them—"

"I do."

How cold. The doubtful frown translated into deeper suspicion.

"If you don't believe me, you can talk to them."

A scowl cut across her features. "Then two more people can join in on the ruse. They wouldn't be the first."

I leaned forward, brow creased in concentration. I knew it. Because I couldn't show the emotion that she deserved, I was going to pay dearly for it. Disbelief is a crappy consolation prize. How could I make her believe? I've truly been arrogant to imagine all these years that she would greet me with open arms. "I meant it. I haven't come here to play tricks on you. My name is Vinny Winston. And I think you're my mother."

Julia squeezed her eyes shut and put down her glass on the coffee table. "I'm tired of hearing this. Young thugs without a dime claim to be related to him or friends with him, asking for money and a place to stay… A handful even claiming to be my son." She glared fiercely at me. "Do yourself a favor and just give up. I'm not giving you anything!"

The heart can only take so much.

"I don't want anything from you. Not like that," I protested quietly, feeling as if I didn't have a right to speak. There was no way I could… simply convince her I was her son, then take off again looking for Jack Winston. That would be cruel. And I was cruel enough as I was without that added notch to the stick.

She seemed so much older than I had first felt her to be, back in the hospital when I had finally learned her name. And it made sense that she was. Whatever kind spirit had once dwelled here had been hardened by lonely years, moving from place to place and job to job. Had she clung to the hope that she would see my father again? Did she know where he was? Was he even alive?

I hated him. I cared naught for my parents and any parental love that I had been deprived of. But for human decency… For being able to reduce someone else as free and giving as the sun to a cold desolate moon… I hated him. Even more than I hated myself.

"You look too much like him. It would be easier if you didn't," she whispered, gazing at me through half-lidded eyes.

"I'd always wondered. When I finally knew who you were, everyone always mentioned Jack, not you. And I wondered why."

She touched her cheek with her fingertips. Perhaps she was searching for her own face in mine. I knew she wouldn't find it. I knew because I was lost looking for myself in her. There was so much else, we both knew. Our common bond was not one of mother and child.

I was his son. She had been his lover. This, I knew without mental superpowers or prying questions. We were not connected the way we should have been. The chasm widened between us.

"What do you see when you look at me?" I asked.

Julia's eyelids fluttered, as if her breath had been stolen away. She lowered her hand to her chest and sighed. "I see him." She paused. "None of the others resembled him. But the way… that your eyes—it's him. All him."

I leaned back on the couch, rubbing my chin lacking the knowledge to do little else. I averted by eyes. I didn't want to resemble him. Not at all. Like him, I would have to leave her. Just like him. And that made it all the worse.

"The phone is going to ring," I muttered absently.

She narrowed her eyes at me, no doubt wondering what I was going on about. Before she could inquire, the phone began ringing from within the kitchen. She frowned and got up to answer it. Plucking the phone off its hook on the wall, she wrapped the long cord around her hand and stretched it as far as it would go to keep me in sight.

"Hello? …Oh, hi. It's good to hear from you—" she bit her lip. "I'm fine. I promise… yes, I have everything under control. No troubles."

I stood up, suddenly drawn to the collection of pictures on the wall. A dozen framed photographs were mounted to the wall in a less than orderly arrangement. Some, I assumed, were of her sister or a similar relation. Another of her as a child. We looked more alike as infants than we did as adults.

My body froze, however, in front of a small picture on the far right. I lifted it from the nail on the wall and peered at the image. The white haired man stared back at me. He looked slightly annoyed, as if standing still for the picture had been against his better judgment. The familiar aquamarine eyes threw me off guard. I breathed in sharply and turned to see my mother, still on the telephone.

I approached her, trying my best not to look angry. How could this be? How could that man be apart of my mother's life? Yes, I was as possessive as an immature toddler who did not like to share his toys. So what? This was my mother! I just found her! How could she have been connected to this man already? I felt violated somehow, as if my trust had been betrayed. I held up the picture for her to see.

"You're talking to him, aren't you? That's him on the phone," I accused in a low voice.

She covered the mouthpiece and glared at me. "Do you mind?"

I stifled a shout as I grabbed the phone from her and pressed it to my ear. Julia yelped in surprise, pressing herself against the opposite wall from me. I ignored her and concentrated my fury into the mouthpiece. "Who is this?"

A man sighed in annoyance from the other end. "Why do you ask when you know the answer?"

"Because I don't want you to be true." My voice came out in a hoarse whisper. I was almost whining to him, silently begging him to never have existed. That, of course, being a wish that could never be granted. Those eyes in the photograph laughed at me now. They called me 'child' over and over again in taunting tones. I nearly became inaudible when I spoke next. "Why here? Why her?"

I could imagine him brushing the lint off his shoulder. Typical. His cool attitude offended me, more or less because I was not that calm. If only he'd get angry or yell back! It would have allowed me to feel normal again, or at least balanced between my good and evil tendencies. He beat me in that department, too. A demon with a halo.

"Vincent, let me speak to your mother."

"How do you know my name?! I can't stand these questions anymore!"

Another sigh. I wanted to rip his throat out like a rabid dog and tear him to pieces. I glanced at my mother again, once more about to speak. And a split second later, my head felt like it was about to explode.

I leaned heavily against the wall. My hand was shaking. I knew. I knew everything I should never have known. Of all the things to foresee! Of all the cursed, damned revelations that I never wanted to have! A deep blue wave was crashing between my ears, the roar of imaginary surf that dissipated as I reconnected with the real world. I listened numbly as Julia began saying what I had envisioned split seconds before. What a stab in the back.

"Let me speak to Mr. Yukishiro."

"Let me speak to your mother, Vincent."

Have you ever wished you were blissfully ignorant?

I handed my mother the phone, dropped the photograph on the floor, and went to couch to collapse. Nothing mattered anymore. There was too much to ever make sense. That man. The very person who had offered me sanctuary in this hellish nightmare called reality. I wondered about those rumors. From Bailey, from Coram… what did they know anyway?

"After a while, you stop wondering whether talk is true."

My head dropped into my hands and I put all my effort into staying conscious. My head throbbed. My chest ached, as if a metallic claw had shot into my chest and ripped my heart out. I suppose there are worse things than death. In the background, Julia calmly hung up the phone and came back from the kitchen. She knelt to pick up the photograph. When she looked up, her eyes glistened with tears.

She knew.

I wasn't as pleased as I thought I'd be.

"I trust him, you know," she said, as if I had voiced my doubt. "He's taken care of me as if I was his own daughter. Maybe because he missed Jack, too." She choked back a sob. "I haven't spoken to Mr. Yukishiro in years, but I always get letters. For him to call now, as if he knew who was coming…"

"Mom?" I squeaked, testing the word out nervously.

She hugged the photograph to her body tightly. "He wouldn't lie to me. How can he tell by just hearing a voice? I don't know. There's a lot about him that never made any sense. But I believe him when… when he says…"

I should have gotten off the couch to comfort her. Should have. I felt as if I touched her, she would die. The most unholy plague flowed through my veins. To infect her would kill the last bit of humanity in me.

"Mom," I repeated again, more confident in my voice.

She wiped the moist trail of tears from her cheeks and got up from the floor. On unsteady legs, almost like a newborn faun, she stumbled to my side and slowly put her arms about me.

I would be the death of her. And that wasn't an exaggeration. Hugging. Personal contact. I did not like it at all, but what else could I do? This was my sobbing mother. I'm a bastard for wanting to flinch away.

And now that I think about it, I'm a bastard in both senses of the word.

"I have so many questions," she murmured.

"So do I," I replied.

She smoothed down the shoulder of my shirt where her tears had soaked in. A smile, for my sake, I suppose. I forced myself to put an arm around her as well. She smelled like snow and apples, if that was possible. I could not recall ever noticing a female's scent before. How like the offspring to seek out a way to identify its mother.

I felt like such a fake.

"You've been well? Where have you been all this time?" She reached for my face and cupped my cheek with a soft hand. "You're so handsome. I bet you have a girlfriend, right?"

I blushed. Normally, I would have made an arrogant remark about my roguishly debonair self, but it wasn't necessary here. She would not react differently either way. She was my mother. And she was proud of me.

"I was in… a children's hospital," I told her gently. It technically wasn't a lie. I wouldn't dream of hurting her by describing Styx. That would be crueler than simply pretending to be her son.

"They helped you? When you were a baby, something went wrong. It was all so strange and—and they took you away!" The last part came out rushed, and I winced upon hearing it.

Again, with the technically-not-lying method. "I ran away from the hospital. They helped me, but they wouldn't answer my questions."

The corner of her mouth twitched. She was trying not to frown—again for my sake? "About me? Did they tell you who I was?"

"No. I ran away to find out who you and Dad were. But also…"

"Yes?"

Oh boy. This was going to be hard to explain. Better start off simple and hope you she gets the implications later. I gestured in the direction of the phone. "Do you remember how I predicted the phone call?"

She nodded.

"That's part of it. I also…" I wasn't sure how to tell her about my hyperactive resilience. What would I do? Cut my hand with a knife and let her stare at it for two hours? "Do you know why I was 'sick' as a baby? What caused it?"

Julia frowned. "No. I even researched my family's medical history. There was nothing. What does that have to do with the phone?"

I loosened my embrace. Here goes… "I can predict things sometimes. Like, a fortuneteller or whatever you want to call it. A clairvoyant. And… I can heal very fast." I stopped. "Is this too much? I can understand if you don't believe me."

She shook her head. Perhaps it was in a mother's capacity to believe that which no one else will. Strange and comforting, that thought. "And you think that your father would have the answers?"

"Would you know if he would?"

Her silence discouraged me from continuing. So, I was at another dead end. She patted the back of my hand. Her attempts to reassure me were useless. I could not feel anything. I felt ashamed of that. And at least I had shame, if not any other emotion. If I could feel shame, that meant some part of me was halfway decent.

"I haven't seen him in a long time. I honestly wouldn't know if he was alive or living nearby. We didn't stay together and by the time I knew I was pregnant, I couldn't find him."

"But you still love him?"

What in the name of all that's holy possessed me to ask that?

She smiled ruefully. "Not the way you would hope."

"I don't hope for anything," I told her, being perfectly honest.

She squeezed my hand. I had a feeling it was more for her benefit than for my own. My arm was starting to cramp around her, so I gently withdrew and cleared my throat. My mother also dropped her arms.

"It's okay. We can take our time."

I bit the inside of my cheek. Time! The one thing we didn't have. The door was calling to me. It warned me that if I stayed any longer, I would lose that edge about me that warded away normalcy and niceness. I need to get out of here. Quick. Now. Before the bomb detonates. "What about Yukishiro? Would he know where Dad is?"

"I don't know. Is it that important for you to find him?"

"I think he can answer my questions. And I need those answers." I stood up. "Where can I find him?"

She shrugged helplessly. Even if she had known, perhaps she would have withheld the information just to prevent me from leaving. Some mothers would do that. Baby birds leaving the nest, of course. But it had been far too long a time since I had been a baby bird.

The phone rang again. The back of my head began to itch. Not a good sign. I walked to the phone and answered it irritably. It was exactly who I expected it to be. No one else would have such creepy timing.

"What?" I scowled into the mouthpiece.

"I'll meet you at the front of the Kingdom Hospital."

I frowned. "Have you been following me? From city to city?"

He laughed. I gripped the phone tightly out of anger. Eventually, he ceased and resumed his calm and soothing tone. "Just meet me there."

The dial tone was loud in my ear. I slammed the phone down on the hook, startling my mother. Her hand flew to her chest, right over her heart. Amazing, how I haven't given the poor woman a heart attack yet. I might have, though, given another hour or two.

"Is everything okay?"

"Peachy," I mumbled. I remembered whom I was talking to and thought to offer an apology. It never happened. I swallowed up the words and impatiently made gestures toward the outside of the window. "I need to go the hospital to meet him. He's going to meet me there."

Her face crumpled. "You're leaving?"

Only women can make you feel that bad about going anywhere, I decided. My hand nervously rubbed the back of my neck. There was the issue again. I was leaving. Just like him. Like father, like son they say. I bet she hated that phrase right then. She couldn't handle it anymore. Having found me again after so many years, and then…

"I'll come back," I told her. "I'll visit, I promise."

The sad part was that I didn't know whether I was lying or not. No bright flash of inspiration to tell me the future of this particular detail. I headed toward the door, trying not to make eye contact. Guilt! The dirtiest of human emotions, the bane of my existence. It had changed somewhere along the way. I had convinced myself that I wouldn't feel anything for my parents, but here it was.

But I felt shame for thinking that. Once more, not the right emotion. Not happiness or elation. I felt hers, though. She was overjoyed to have found me, but despairing that I had to set out once more. It made me a little sick inside, just the way I had been when I met Cleon. Except, I couldn't be as sad as her. There was some barrier between us that was stronger than I could have imagined. It was that common bond again. Through him, my father, not each other.

"No man is an island," the quote goes. Screw whoever said that.

She got up from the couch and went to the door to let me out. My mother was trying her best to maintain her composure. Alas, it was too difficult. I spied a tear or two hanging from the tips of her eyelashes.

I am a horrible son. Should have died in the womb.

"Take care," she said gently, resting a hand on my shoulder. I was too tall for her, so she had to go up on her tiptoes to kiss me on the cheek. The warmth of her lips lingered on my face. Being unaccustomed to signs of affection, I had to force myself from wiping it away.

Definitely shouldn't have been born.

"I'll be back," I reassured her.

She nodded. "I know."

I left my mother with emptiness quite similar to that of a robot or an android. Why hadn't I connected to her like I had with Cleon? Wasn't it one of my new developing powers to have empathy wired into my brain and nervous system?

Maybe it was just me. My fault. Me, the freak.

The walk back to the hospital was not long enough. I had hoped to calm down and completely steel myself before I reached the hospital. That despicable man would be there, that intruder. I was tired of his mystery. The answers were hidden up his sleeve, just the way crafty cheats do it in poker. The hands are quicker than the eye, apparently.

A few questions answered: I am the son of Julia Litcott and Jack Winston.  My mother is not the cause for my abnormal traits. So it all lies on the head of my father, gone MIA. Don't mind me. I was thinking of going MIA, myself. Must be really something. Yeah. I bet.

The hospital never looked so oppressive. The sky had darkened since I had entered my mother's apartment building. Almost like it was going to rain and wash away all the guilt I felt. A wind blew across my skin, causing the tiny hairs on my arms to rise. Regrettably, my sweatshirt was in the car.

Maybe I wouldn't see that car again. What an unexpected thought.

I sat down on a bench just outside the automatic sliding doors of the main entrance. It would be bad to be seen without scrubs on by the intern again. I wasn't willing to do an encore performance. That guy had annoyed the hell out of me.

I leaned back and closed my eyes. Only a minute until he arrived. I could sense it, without pain this time. What a way to live, eh? Knowing, waiting, and unwilling to change the future. I glanced at the clock on my pager. Any second. Tick freaking tock.

"Hungry?" he asked as he sat down a moment later. I opened my eyes, pretending not to have been taken by surprise. I had expected him, yet his mere entrance had sent that same old jolt, despite my body's familiarity with repressing jerky movements like that. I took a deep breath to calm myself. He held a brown paper bag in his hand. A peace offering? Or an arsenic ever-after?

My stomach defeated my paranoia and I took the bag form him. There was a fresh turkey sandwich wrapped in plastic. I bit into it, chewing slowly so I would have time to observe my guest. He seemed more human now. Less like the ethereal ghost that had met me outside Ansil's house, more tangible than that. Learning his name had weakened the spell.

But mind you, I was still mesmerized.

Shaded spectacles perched on his straight, aristocratic nose. His aquamarine eyes were almond shaped, an indication of Eastern blood.  His pale skin almost glowed. It didn't make any sense. According to the stories I'd heard, he should have looked far older. Besides the white hair, he looked quite young. A yuppie preparing for a hard day at the office.

"Enjoying?"

I nodded. Speak with my mouth full? I have more class than that. After I finished, I balled up the brown bag and threw it into the nearest trashcan.

"Nice throw."

"Thanks," I replied. Thanks. I had said thanks to someone. I mentally scolded myself. Of all the people to show any sort of smugness to, he was not one I preferred. I rubbed my hands together. "Do you have any information for me?"

Yukishiro pretended to inspect his cufflinks. "It depends. Do you still want it? My offer from the train still stands."

Leaving with him. Sanctuary. I glared at him. "I believe you told me I wasn't ready."

He shrugged. "You are now."

There was nothing I could say after that. Nothing that would smooth over the complications in this decision. I turned away and coughed gently into my fist.

"You might think about heading toward Irontown. I heard it's beautiful this time of year," he suggested airily.

"Really?" I replied sarcastically.

Yukishiro nodded. "I'd prefer you go with me, instead, but I know you have a will of your own." He paused. "Your safety is at risk in this place. There are certain boundaries I have sworn never to cross. If something happens, I can't rescue you. I want you to remember that."

Did I look like a damsel in distress?

The white haired man smiled at me. At first, I felt belittled. Then, I recognized the genuine sympathy he wished to show me. The hardness of his gaze had disappeared. More tangible, indeed. He was trying. And I felt it. I smiled as well, new warmth flowing through me despite the chilling breeze. I had not felt it with my mother, and not quite so much with Cleon, but here was real warmth.

"If you've known all this time," I began, more amiably than before. "Why haven't you told her?"

"She wasn't the one, Vincent."

"Don't call me that," I whispered.

"As you wish."

I took a deep shuddering breath and drew my arms around me. It was somewhat obvious now. This man beside me. I shook my head regretfully. How ironic.

"You have my answers." A fact.

"Yes," he admitted. "But you don't want to hear it from me, do you?"

"No. Not from you." Never, ever, you destroyer of dreams.

He stood up and bowed his head. "Tell him I send my greetings."

I nodded, wordlessly bidding my farewell. My gaze was down turned as he departed, just in case I was tempted to follow him. There went my salvation. What an odd manifestation of a guardian angel. Halo and horns make a strange combination.

It wasn't too long before Yvenne and Faleron arrived to pick me up. They were in good spirits. Obviously, the house servants had greeted them with food and laundry services. I peered down at myself. I needed a good shower after even touching the stool in Bailey's Pub.

They went on for a few minutes about how nice Faleron's parents' home was and how better they felt. The car even looked as if someone had attended to it. Washed windows and everything. Eventually, they quieted down so as to finally observe how I was doing. They'd been too distracted beforehand to notice my solemnity.

"Is something wrong?" Yvenne asked.

I shook my head. "No. I'm fine."

"How was your friend? The one you came to visit?" Faleron asked.

The lie was waiting on my tongue. But for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to spit it out. I spread my arms across the back of the bench and lazily smirked at both of them. The defense mechanism of kings.

"What?" she predictably asked, glancing about her to see what I was so amused about. At least I could still get a rise out of her.

My amusement faded. A flash in my mind showed me that I was yet to have one more visitor at this bench. I hastily stood up and moved past my companions. My eyes scanned the crowds walking the sidewalks and street walk crosses.

"Coram!" my mother called. She elbowed past a couple of female shoppers toting numerous bags and jogged up to me in what must have been her waitress uniform. The starched pink cotton stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Vinny, Mom," I reminded her absently. I blushed furiously and hastened my pace to meet her. I angled my body to block her from view of the people behind me. Was this what it felt like to be embarrassed of your parent? This was the sort of thing pre-teens felt when a mother in a minivan dropped them off at school. How could I have been thrown that far back into time?

"I'm on break at the diner. I was hoping you would still be here."

I sighed. "Mom—"

She lifted her hand to stop me. "I just wanted you to have something. I thought I had lost it, but I searched my drawers again and here it is." She reached into her apron pocket. "I saw him again a few years after he first disappeared. We kept in touch on and off again for a couple of years. After I begged him enough times, he sent me this, and we haven't been in touch since."

I looked down at her closed fist. She held a folded photograph that I had no desire to see. This is a low, I thought. I can never go back to thinking anything good at all about this man. My nostrils flared. "He was ashamed of you, then?"

Her expression fell. "No. No, not that, Vinny. I told him about you. He felt guilty about never… knowing about you. And that… you were taken away before he could ever see you—I suppose he was always reminded of that loss every time he saw me. It hurt him to see me and to be reminded of you. It has nothing to do with shame."

"Vince?" Yvenne called.

"Hi!" Faleron chirped, peering from behind my leg. He clutched my pants so as to ensure my function as a body shield. Kids.

Julia beamed down at him. "Hi. What's your name?"

"I'm Faleron. This is Yvenne. Are you friends with Vinny?"

"I'm his mother," she replied. How casually she does it! Just as if she were asking for a book of stamps at the grocery counter! She reached out and ruffled his hair. Perhaps she had always yearned to play with a child's hair like that, having missed her opportunity with me.

Yvenne gaped at her, then at me. The leading sign of my future verbal torture.  She gritted her teeth in a forced smile while she spoke. "Oh really? Vinny, you didn't tell us that your mother lived here!"

My mother chuckled. "To tell the truth, we just met for the first time today."

Both my companions were shocked into silence. I sheepishly stuck my hands in my pockets and exhaled deeply. The situation was too personal. I was too used to seeming like a complete loner—a hustler, a cheat… I could live with being that. But this? Yes, I was embarrassed.

My mother hugged me again (affection in front of my friends! Mortifying!) and placed the folded photograph in my hand. She leaned close and whispered, "Be safe."

"Mom, I—"

"You don't have to look at it now. See you soon."

She kissed me on the cheek, turned heel, and walked away. I watched her again with the same emptiness as before. I put the picture in my pocket and whirled around to face my companions. Time to face the music.

Momma's Boys of the World, unite!

~~

Author's notes: Hope you enjoyed that episode! I had a lot of difficulty writing it. I'm so out of tune with writing anything but really boring essays. *sigh* TWO months. Well, more than two months. Eep. That's a long time to go on vacation. Except… it wasn't really a vacation…

Anyway, the first 45 days of school are over. I'm headed into the second quarter with a switch in teachers and a new torture device. I'm also headed straight into racing season. My next four weekends each find me in a different city/state/time zone so I'll have a hard enough time trying to make-up school work let alone work on fanfiction. I'll really try, though! I miss you guys!

Thanks to the loyal reviewers and fans who get on my back about updating! Without you, my butt would still be glued to calculus.

And thanks to any future emails or reviews! Your opinion means the world!

-Sulia Serafine