DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SALLY FACE OR ANY OF IT'S CHARACTERS, JUST THE PLOT TO THIS FIC!

Ah, so, this was really just born from the fact that I really want to see Sal wear a dress in more than just pictures ^^;;;

Throw Me A Bow Nnn

Henry groaned internally for the millionth time that day as he adjusted his tie. He really didn't want to do this, and that was before his boss informed him that he was to bring Sal, the man's impatience hidden behind a kind yet clipped smile.

"You've been here for going on two years and I've never even met this son of yours," Wright had told him, blocking Henry's only means of physical escape as he talked tense laughter rumbling from his chest. "Is he horribly disfigured or something?"

Henry had stiffened at that. He'd mentioned that Sal had to wear a prosthetic mask due to an accident when he was younger on several occasions, but the fact had clearly slipped his employer's mind. Again. He was tired. He didn't feel like explaining this… n. That Sal didn't particularly enjoy going to or doing things that put him in any sort of spot light, or that making Sal do such things made him feel like a bad father. He did the only thing he could think of. He told him that he'd ask Sal, who he was sure would refuse on the spot.

In case you haven't caught on yet, Henry was seriously mistaken over how Sal would react. The boy- young man, Henry kept having to tell himself. Sal was eighteen now and would be graduating high school this year- had promptly accepted, claiming that doing so would get his boss off of his back about the whole thing and make everyone happier in the long run.

This also lead to problem number two for Henry. Sal typically preferred to wear more feminine clothing to social gatherings/formal events, claiming that they were often more comfortable and that he preferred how he looked in a dress opposed to a tie and suit, a fact that Henry didn't mind. His logic about his son's often questionable to others behavior was, "As long as it makes him happy," but the looks his son sometime received for expressing himself made his blood boil. He was worried tonight might turn into one of those instances and he couldn't guarantee he wouldn't say something resulting in instant termination of his much needed job if anyone said anything snarky aimed towards Sal and his choice if dress.

Speaking of Sal…

"Son, are you ready yet? We need to be out the door in the next ten minutes!" Henry called as he reluctantly dragged himself into the living room.

'Yeah, I'm just looking for a jacket," came Sal's reply, his normally muffled voice echoing clear as day from his open bedroom door, meaning he had yet to don his prosthetic mask. Several minutes later her emerged in said mask, a thin strapped black dress, matching ripped tights, and a pair of boots that Henry was sure belonged to Ash at some point, but had somehow ended up in his son's possession sometime within the past few months.

"Your mother used to wear her hair like that at parties," Henry commented without entirely meaning to, motioning to the simple yet pretty bun Sal had pulled his hair into, catching them both off guard. Henry never talked about his late wife/Sal's mother.

"D-did she really?"

Henry nodded as he retrieved his keys from the coffee table from where Gizmo had been amusedly pawing at them, his eyes dilated as he watched his master's father pocket his lost plaything.

"You find a jacket?"

Sal held up an oversized and slightly ragged out black and navy coat that practically engulfed him when he slipped it on, the thing smelling like Larry's room on a Saturday night, which was only fitting seeing as that's where it had originally come from, his friend simply having accidentally abandoned it at Sal's place at some point, resulting in the latter claiming it as his own at some point, much like Ash's boots.

Sal chuckled at his dad's reaction to the dirty old thing as he headed towards the door to leave. "I won't wear it in. Just to the car. I swear."

…

The ride to the party had been uneventful, consisting of Sal Playing with the radio nonstop for forty five minute straight, unable to find a single station that didn't irritate one of them in one way or another while Henry tried to keep himself from having an anticipation induced anxiety attack. He even briefly considered taking one of Sal's pills to relieve his stress, but quickly decided that popping his kid's medication wasn't a road he wanted to head down. He was already trying to stop drinking himself stupid every chance he got. He didn't want to add to the list of shame.

Henry parked the car, his fingers gripping the steering wheel uncomfortably tight as he took a deep breath before turning towards Sal, who was waiting on him to give the go ahead to get out. "If you get uncomfortable or anything just...just tell me and we'll leave, no questions asked."

"Same applies to you, Dad." He wasn't stupid, he'd seen how stressed his dad had been since he'd informed him of the party a week prior, he knew why. His dad worried about him, a lot more than any parent should have to worry about their kid.

"OK, then. Let's get this shit storm over with," Henry muttered as he led Sal inside the building and into an elevator leading to the main floor the party was being held on. They were immediately greeted by Wright upon entry and Sal suddenly became very much aware that he forgot to leave Larry's jacket in the car. Oops.

"This must be Sal?" Wright half asked, half stated as he stared at previously mentioned male in confusion. The man briefly wondered if he'd heard Henry wrong when he'd said he'd had a son, or perhaps had forgotten to mention that he had a daughter.

Henry fidgeted, trying to think of a reasonable explanation to pacify his boss without simultaneously offending his son when said son suddenly came to his rescue, putting the charisma skills he'd inherited from his mother to good use. "I usually go by Sally, Mr. Wright. It's a pleasure to finally meet you.I'd also like to comment on how nice you look this evening, good sir."

Ah. Flattery. Every man like Samuel Wright's weakness and Sal's go to way of distracting said kinds of people away from more pressing matters. One would be surprised how far a well placed compliment could take them.

"Ahem. Yes. This suit is rather fetching on me, isn't it? My daughter picked it out," Wright informed them as he glanced around the room in search of someone, waving over a girl around Sal's age with bouncy blond hair and a dress pink enough to make any pig jealous. "Pat, come here."

Pat smiled politely at Sally as she waltzed over, her dress swaying with each coordinated step. "My name's Patricia, actually, but I won't mind if you call me Pat." She then blinked as she remembered something. "Wait a minute. Father, you told me Mr. Fisher had a son. Look at you messing something so simple up. This is why mother fusses at you," she scolded. "I suppose you probably got her name wrong as well."

"Well, actually," Henry started, only to be saved by Sal once again. He'd have to think him for handling all this later, even if it did mean he'd have to either suffer his co workers misgendering his son for the rest if eternity or opening up a big can of worms that always appeared to be nothing more than a can of spaghetti to him until someone started freaking out about it.

"My dad actually does call me Sal a lot. He probably just misunderstood. It happens all the time," Sal told them, smiling politely behind his prosthetic so that the tone would reach his voice. It technically wasn't a lie. The amount of people who misgendered him was a steady growing mountain that Sal simply choose to overlook at this point in his life.

"Oh?" Pat singsonged, her irritation towards her father quickly dissapaiting in favor of conversing with Sal. "What's it short for? Sally, perhaps?" He nodded and she clasped her hands over her chest happily. "Oh, I knew it!"

It was then that she grabbed Sal by the wrist and lead him away from their fathers, deciding that Sal was her new friend and that she wanted to learn more about her, but with less adults loudly chatting around them and listening in, which led her to pull him into a room devoid of anything but a fax machine and a run down looking computer being stored in the corner.

"OK, sooooooo," She chimed, releasing Sal's hand and staring at him expectantly.

"Sooooo?" he mimicked in confusion, standing awkwardly.

"What's with the mask, if you don't mind me asking. It's pretty cool looking, but not what one would consider to be proper party wear outside of the month of October," Pat explained as she sat against the wall, smoothing her dress out underneath her before motioning for Sal to follow suite.

Sal instantly found his train of thought drifting towards the day he'd met Larry, who'd had a similar reaction. "It's a prosthetic, actually. I had a bit of an… accident when I was a kid and trust me when I say that I look better with it than without it."

Pat nodded thoughtfully as she processed this new information, a knot forming between her brows. "OK. Next question. Are you one of those rocker girls who listen to loud music and whip their hair around, because you sure do look that part," she said before catching herself nervously. "Not that I have anything against that kind of thing! I'm just curious, is all."

A genuine laugh escaped Sal then, his eyes closing in bliss as he nodded in affirmation. "Yeah, I headbang while listening to loud music with my friends. It really fun, actually. You should give it try sometime. It's a great stress reliever."

"My mother would probably ground me if she caught me listening to such a thing. She believes rock is the devil's music, though I've listened to Lynyrd Skynyrd at a friend's house on more than one occasion, but that'll be our little secret, OK?"

"Fine by me."

The two fell into a comfortable silence, Sal playing with a loose string on the hem of his jacket while Pat hummed a song he didn't know, her fingers tapping against her other hand to the beat of it. The two jumped as the door shot open, Sal's dad poking his head in.

"You two should get back to the party. Patricia's mother is looking for her," he informed them despite his attention being focused solely on Sal, likely examining his body language for anything that would give him a reason to make an excuse for them to bail. "Oh, and Sal, they have a snack table and those grape sodas you like so much."

"Cool."

"We'll be out in a minute, Mr. Fisher."

Henry nodded at them before retreating from within the room, closing the door behind them.

As they stood to leave Pat caught his wrist, causing him to freeze. Her mouth twitched awkwardly as she silently tested out a few words before reluctantly shaking her head. "N-nevermind. It's stupid. Let get out of here so that I can see what my mother wants and raid the snack table."

Typically Pat wouldn't do such things as she did tonight, like hide in a back room with a practical stranger or stuff herself at the snack table while laughing a bit too loud despite her mom shooting her disappointed looks from across the room every few minutes after telling her that disappearing her father's party was rude and clearly not enjoying the fact that her daughter was hanging out with someone who smelled like one of those concerts she had reluctantly attended with her friends in her youth, but Sal had a weird effect on her. She felt like she could open up and be more like herself around him. She felt… Free.

"That girl is a stoner," Pat's mother whispered agitatedly to her husband at one point, causing him to roll his eyes at her. The conversation was, thankfully, short lived, but that didn't stop Henry from unintentionally eavesdropping as he passed them to retrieve another plate of finger foods. His jaw tightened involuntarily as he resisted the urge to inform her that Sal was a good kid -he's not a kid anymore, Henry- and that she should get off of her damn high horse.

Henry's building tension relieved a bit as he spotted Sal and Pat chatting in the corner, a straw shoved under his son's mask as he sipped at his beloved grape soda. Sal looked content, which made Henry feel bad about informing him that it was getting late and that they would be heading home in, give or take, about ten minutes. The two teenagers cut up with each other for a few minutes more before reluctantly saying their goodbyes and exchanging phone numbers so that they could call each other and hang out later, something Sal really only did to humor her. He felt like her mother would try her damndest to keep them as far away from each other as possible, but that's a story for another time.

When they got back to the apartments Larry was dicking around out front, prompting Sal to skip, yes, skip, over and pose dramatically before asking him what he thought about his fancy party duds, to which they both fell into laughter over before retreating into the basement, Sal explaining to Larry that Ash had gifted him the boots after her grandmother had gifted her an identical pair for her birthday when he asked just before the elevator closed, leaving Henry to sift through the mail he forgot to check earlier that day in silence.

He smiled lightly as he shook his head, thinking over the night's events, not remembering why he'd been so stressed about it. He should've know Sal would handle things on his own, no intervention on Henry's part required. Yes. Sal really wasn't a child anymore. He was an adult. A fine adult that Henry was proud to call his son, something he'd have to straighten the office out on come Monday, but, once again, that's a completely different story.