Chapter 2: Harsh Realities

As Jamie reached for a cereal bowl, it occurred to him that while he was thrilled that his parents were home, they might not be as pleased to discover that he'd returned as well. They all enjoyed spending time as a family, but they were after all, still relative newlyweds. Maybe, he should go to his friend's house as he told his father he was planning to do. Was Rick even home? He didn't know and he didn't really want to find out, but he couldn't go anywhere else. He wasn't allowed to go out without letting one of the parental figures in his life know where he was going.

While he was pouring cereal into the bowl, he was surprised to hear the backdoor open behind him. Quickly turning around, he saw Lee entering the room, his clothing soaked in dried blood.

"Leeee," he squeaked, as his face became ashen.

"Jamie, what are you doing home? Are you okay?"

The exhausted agent roughly raked a hand through his already disheveled hair.

"Am I okay? You're the one that's covered in blood," he exclaimed as he quickly closed the distance between them.

"It isn't mine. It's not your mom's either, she's-"

"Upstairs, I thought that you were too," the still shaken boy volunteered.

"She was able to leave the Agency before I was. I'm sorry you saw this," he said gesturing towards his gore covered attire. "If I'd known that you'd be here, I would have changed my clothes before I came home, you shouldn't have seen this."

"Why? I'm not a little kid anymore…I know that what you and Mom do is dangerous, and I worry about it. You could have been killed last night," he said, challenging him to deny it.

"But we weren't, we're fine," he countered with Scarecrow-like bravado.

"You don't look fine, you look like shit," he ventured as he fully appraised his step-father's appearance.

"Jamie, that language is-"

"No worse than the language I'm sure you use in the field."

"That may be, but you're-"

"Thirteen years old, and I hear much worse language in school."

Lee didn't like hearing that, but he didn't doubt that it was true, so he chose to remain silent.

"I understand that the details about what you and Mom do are classified, but please don't insult my intelligence by telling me that nothing went wrong last night."

"What do you want me to say? The whole operation went to hell around us," the overwrought adult exclaimed, further stunning the teen. "But we're trained professionals and we're provided with various means for dealing with the stresses that we face."

Jamie pushed his glasses higher up his nose, and looked at Lee with an unconvinced expression on his face. Uncomfortable with the teen's unwelcome scrutiny, he walked past him and headed towards the idle coffeemaker.

"We have access to shrinks," he continued, determined to reassure the teen whose only response was a raised eyebrow. Undeterred, he went on, "We help each other also, and your mom knows that she can always turn to me for support."

"Who do you lean on," Jamie challenged as he came to stand next to him.

"I ask for help if I need it, but I don't, I'm just fine," he asserted a little bit too stridently.

"No, you aren't," Jamie countered, reaching out and taking the coffee scoop from Lee's shaking hand. "Please let me help you."

"I'm just exhausted, that's all, but if it'll make you feel better, I'll go sit down and you can make the coffee."

"That isn't what I meant and you know it. When you moved in here, you told us how much it meant to you to finally be part of a family again…well, families help each other through difficult situations. If you expect us to lean on you, than you need to be willing to reach out to us for help sometimes. I'm a good listener."

"I don't doubt it," he replied, scrubbing his fist across his blood-shot eyes, "it must be in the genes."

Could the loner who rarely leaned on anyone accept help from a teen? And if he didn't, would it dramatically weaken the strong bond that had slowly developed between them?