Fly got to see his parents and aunt later that day. As one could imagine, there were many smiles, tears, laughter, and hugs (although Fly himself didn't receive any physically, he knew the intentions were there). It was also during this time that Fly and Stella recounted to the adults everything that had happened while they were in the ocean. Chuck remained oddly silent, except for moments when Fly asked him to clarify certain details. Of course, there was one part of the story Fly deliberately omitted. The less he thought about it, the better. No one had to know what happened to Joe.
That said, being around his family for several hours made him forget he was a fish. They chattered, told jokes, reminisced past experiences, laughed–all as though everything was normal. It didn't matter that Fly was in a fish tank. The family had arranged chairs surrounding the tank so Fly could participate in the gathering.
But it wasn't until Aunt Anna took Chuck and Stella home that evening, leaving Mom and Dad at the lab, that the facade of everything being fine took a tumble.
"So," Bill began with trepidation. "I'm assuming you're the expert in this…situation we have here."
"You are correct," MacKrill said. His affirmation lacked the joyful enthusiasm it usually had.
"So then tell me…" Bill took a deep breath, his eyes closed. "What are the chances of our son…returning to normal again?"
MacKrill wore a solemn expression. He kept opening and closing his mouth like he was going to say something, but held it back.
"Please, just tell us the truth. Whatever it is," Lisa said. She sounded on the verge of tears.
The professor stared at the ground to his right, pressing the tips of his fingers together. "Unfortunately…the experiments I have done with that particular potion…the one your son consumed…the mice I used as test subjects…even when given the antidote…unfortunately, after a forty-eight hour period, they…never returned to their original states…"
The concern on Bill's face escalated into horrified realization. "You mean, then it's–?"
"I'm afraid the effects are permanent," MacKrill said in a very remorseful tone.
The tears Lisa had been fighting to keep at bay didn't hold any longer. It pained Fly to hear his mother's sobs echoing across the lab.
"I am so sorry," the professor said. "I did warn him of what would happen. I told him…"
Bill had his wife huddled in his arms as she cried into his shirt. The man shot a hardened look at MacKrill.
"And you didn't try to stop him?" His voice rose a little. "You let both of our kids near a potion that could permanently turn them into fish, and you didn't think to stop them?"
MacKrill recoiled, his entire countenance shrinking. "I…I…"
"Bill," Lisa said looking up at her husband. "This isn't going to help. Yelling at the professor will not get us anywhere."
Bill's expression softened, his shoulders slumping back down. "You're right. I'm sorry." He looked regretfully at MacKrill. "Look, is there anything we can do?"
It took a second for MacKrill to regain his composure. "W-well, right now, all we can focus on is Fly's recovery. He's making excellent progress. Soon in a few days, he will be well again, ready to go home."
"That's just the thing," said Bill. "How? What will we have to do to accomodate Fly's new…condition?"
"That is a matter of discussion within the next couple of days," MacKrill said. "I have some suggestions if you are willing to take them into consideration."
Bill hesitated, but Lisa spoke in his place. "Of course! Whatever will help our son. We'll do anything."
Her husband nodded in agreement.
"I know this is very difficult for you," the professor said. "I, myself, am willing to do anything to make up for my mistake. To help you, to help your children. I will dedicate all of my time to this."
The parents looked at one another, then back at MacKrill. "Well, we appreciate it," said Bill.
The discussion was wrapping up. Bill, Lisa, and MacKrill all emerged from their room and headed toward Fly's tank. Lisa crouched down to be at eye level with her son.
"Your dad and I are heading home for the night," she said. She was wearing a smile, but her eyes were still wet. "We'll see you bright and early tomorrow."
"Okay, Mom," said Fly. He, too, masked himself with a smile.
"We love you, Fly," said Bill. "We're always proud of you, no matter what."
The smile Fly returned was more sincere this time. "Thanks. I love you guys, too."
Lisa waved as the couple headed out the door. "See you tomorrow, Professor MacKrill."
"Good night," MacKrill said. As the door closed, MacKrill turned to the fish. "I'm ready to call it a night myself. Do get some rest, Fly. We'll do much more in the morning."
"No problem, Professor." Fly yawned. Despite never having left the tank, it had been a crazy, energetic day.
After bidding each other good night, the professor retired to his sleeping quarters, turning off all the lights in the lab. Fly closed his eyes, ready to put today's troubles behind him and start fresh with a new day.
However, his drowsiness disappeared the instant he closed his eyes. The thoughts in his mind were now screaming out loud. The conversation he overheard between his parents and MacKrill replayed in fragments repeatedly.
"...the effects are permanent."
"What will we have to do to accommodate Fly's new…condition?"
"I, myself, am willing to do anything to make up for my mistake."
"...We're always proud of you, no matter what."
And Fly wondered, what would tomorrow even bring? What did he have to look forward to? How would his life be different? How much would he have to give up?
Fly always considered himself a glass-half-full kind of guy. No matter what life dished at him, he always knew from the bottom of his heart that it would be okay in the end. Life had a way of taking bad situations and making them good.
But he wasn't so sure this time. His mother's heartfelt cries echoed in his memory. His father raising his voice at MacKrill. Stella asking him when he would come home, and Chuck's melancholy silence throughout their meeting. MacKrill putting his life on hold just to help him.
The amount of pain this was causing everyone. The hurt that his own choices led to.
Fly acknowledged that this whole thing was his fault, and he was willing to pay the price for it himself.
But his family? They didn't deserve it. Not one moment of this did they need nor ask for.
If only Fly had stayed home that day, instead of sneaking out. If he'd listened to his parents. And to Chuck.
And all for what, just to go fishing? Something so minute, so inconsequential that Fly had to laugh bitterly.
It wasn't fair. It's just not fair!
He didn't know how long before his consciousness slipped into sleep. It might have been hours. But the last thing Fly remembered before waking up that morning was the humanoid fish creature that invaded his nightmares.