A/N Hello, all! Just so you know, despite Michael's feelings on Napoleon Dynamite, I personally think it's the bees' knees. You know what I mean.
October Sky – Yaaaaaay. Next time I'll let you know. lol.
DOMLUVR4EVER – Huh? Sorry, I don't know what you mean.
Shanters2005 – Thanks so much! Glad you like it.
Siri's girl – Oh good! I am out of the box! I appreciate it!
Chapter 3 – MichaelMichael finally relented and allowed Walt to persuade him to watch Napoleon Dynamite. After about three minutes, he knew he had made a mistake. He sat down on the couch next to his son and wondered if idiocy was contagious. Yet, he was glad that Walt had wanted him to watch it. It had been, what, four months since they'd been back, and Walt sometimes seemed so unhappy. There were times when he would sit in front of his Xbox for hours, not stopping until Michael intervened.
The typical weekday was busy and difficult. Michael would wake up around six to prepare for work, and Walt soon after. They would have a hurried breakfast, pack whatever they needed for the day, and would drive to Walt's school. He would be dropped off, usually still sleepy and not prone to much conversation. After a long day, Michael would come home. Walt would have been home for a couple of hours already, doing his homework. (Michael was proud to see that Walt was quite a good student.) They would have a not-so-elaborate dinner – maybe frozen dinners or pizza, and if they were lucky, some sort of pasta. Then would come the inevitable parent question:
"How was school?"
Sometimes, Walt would sound bored and uninterested. Other times, he would talk about something that had happened at lunch, something he did with his new friends… and Michael would doubt himself for thinking something was wrong. The kid was fine. Mood swings were normal.
Michael looked back at the TV set.
"What are you going to do today, Napoleon?"
"Whatever I feel like doing, Gosh."
Who names their child Napoleon? Michael wondered. That's just cruel. He mused at his thoughts; he was becoming more and more like a parent every day. He wondered absently what would have happened if the plane never crashed, if they'd landed safely and gone to their new lives straightaway. It would have been rough. They may never have gotten close because they would never have had to rely on each other. Now – it wasn't like they were the model father and son, there was still so much to learn and so much that needed to improve – but Michael was sure that things would improve. The time on the island had helped them. He still didn't fully understand… he never would, but he did know that it would have been a much harder time if not for the crash.
He looked over at Walt, who was laughing. Here was something he didn't understand. He smiled a little. What was funny about this stupid movie?
The phone rang, and he jumped, startled.
"Four months home, and I'm still not used to the sound of a phone again." He complained to Walt, reaching over for the portable phone on the coffee table.
"Hello?"
"It's Brian."
It took a moment for Michael to remember who Brian was. Perplexed, he wracked his brain. "Br- …oh." He suddenly felt as if there was a weight on his stomach.
Walt turned. "Who is it, Dad?" he asked loudly.
Michael didn't know what to do. "Uh… hold on a minute, Walt. No, don't pause the movie, keep going."
Still holding the phone in his hand, he fled into the kitchen and closed the door tightly.
He rubbed his forehead tiredly, then lifted the phone to his ear again, afraid of whatever Walt's step-dad' had to say. He didn't want to hear it, regardless of what it was. He didn't want to open up any old wounds.
"Why are you calling?" he asked, an edge of anger in his voice.
At first, there was a silence. Then he heard a long sigh. "Listen. It took me a lot of courage to call. I'm embarrassed, and guilty for dumping Walt on you. And it was rotten luck with the whole plane thing, obviously."
"Obviously." Michael repeated. "What are you getting at?"
"I think… I think I should be able to talk to Walt." Brian's voice sounded a little timid.
Michael sat down at the kitchen table. He clenched his fist.
"Well, the law doesn't.' He said, his throat constricted.
"I know that." Brian replied. "But I think he might want to. He might miss me after all this time."
"No, I actually don't recall him ever saying he did." Fury was rising, and he tried hard not to raise his voice as well."
Brian's voice continued to become stronger and more confident. "Just because he doesn't say it doesn't mean he doesn't think it. Michael, I know him better than you do, and –"
"Not anymore." Michael yelled into the receiver, then, with much force, pressed the off button. He slammed the phone onto the table. With much effort, and after a few short and angry breaths, he calmly reentered the living room.
Again, Walt turned to face him, looking at him expectantly.
"It was… it was grandma." He told Walt exhaustedly.
"Oh." Was all Walt said, and he turned back to the television.
As Michael slumped down on the couch again, he was amazed at the effortless lie he just told his son. He knew that he was wrong to do so, and that he should tell Walt that it was his choice if he wanted to speak to Brian again, but he couldn't do so now. Not now. Maybe tomorrow.
Brian called the next day.
And the next. And the next. Each time, he sounded furious that Walt hadn't answered the phone and angrily expressed his desire to talk to him.
Michael dreaded the phone calls. Every day, he was furious with himself for not telling Walt, and fearful that he will have come home and answered Brian's phone calls. Every night, Brian called.
"I'm not trying to take the kid away from you, I just want to talk with him. It'll do him some good!"
"How is talking to a guy who claimed to love his child, then copping out when he needs him most some good?"
"Listen, you jackass, -"
"I'm not listening to this bullshit anymore." Michael burst out, and hung up.
He leaned against the countertop, his face in his hands. Was he afraid that Walt would want to go and live with Brian? Was it that he was insecure about Walt? Maybe a little. He knew Walt was still adjusting, and wasn't completely thrilled with his lifestyle, but he also knew that Walt would not want to leave Michael, or for that matter, want to be uprooted once again. So if that wasn't the reason Michael didn't want Walt to talk to Brian, what was? It suddenly dawned on him. He didn't want the man who had caused him so much pain to have any pleasure. Brian had taken Walt away from him, and had given up the right to ever speak with him again. Ever? The question echoed in his mind. If he didn't let Walt talk to Brian, he would be doing the same thing that Brian had done to him. He realized this painfully, knowing what he would have to do.
He knocked on Walt's bedroom door.
"Come in." he heard, and he slowly entered. Walt was sitting on his bed, reading a comic book. Vincent was asleep on his doggy bed.
Michael sat down next to him.
"Walt?"
Walt put the book down, resting it on his lap.
"In the past couple of days…" he stopped. He inhaled deeply. "In the past couple of days, I've talked to your step-dad on the phone." He looked carefully at Walt's expression. It was surprised, nothing more. Not excited, or spiteful… just surprised.
"He wants to find out how you're doing."
"So tell him." Walt said promptly.
"He wants you to tell him."
Walt sat staring at him for a moment. After a minute of silence, he shrugged. "Okay."
Michael felt that familiar dread. He dialed the number he had written down on a pad of paper, and Walt took the phone.
Michael didn't offer to give him privacy and leave, and Walt didn't ask for it. He looked briefly at Michael before he spoke. His face was blank, emotionless.
"Hi, Brian. It's Walt…good…good…yeah…Yeah, I still got Vincent." His eyes traveled to the sleeping dog. "Good." He said again. He looked almost bored. "It wasn't so bad…yeah, I guess the island was scary…no, I was the only kid…I mostly stayed with Dad…of course he's nice to me." He frowned slightly, as if Brian had said something to displease him.
Michael smiled despite himself, but quickly covered it.
Walt listened for a long time without saying anything. Michael strained to hear what Brian was saying, but to no avail.
Finally, Walt said, "No. I don't want to visit Australia…no, I don't want to take a boat, I'm not afraid of planes. I just don't want to go…yeah, I'm sure…Okay. Hey, I gotta go. Me and my Dad are going to the movie theater soon… okay… yeah… bye." And he hung up.
Michael stared at him. "We're going to the movie theater?" he finally said, relief washing over him.
Walt grinned. "Nah. I had to say something to get off the phone, didn't I?"
Michael grinned back. "So, that's it?"
"Yeah, I guess." Walt said. "I'm still kinda mad at Brian." He admitted.
"That's okay." Michael said. "But you can call him when you feel like it." He stood up, feeling rejuvenated, not because Brian didn't get what he wanted, but because he suddenly felt so in sync with Walt, so connected.
"Do you want to go to the movie theater?"