CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
THE TRUCE

Pleakley hated crying, even when he was alone and no one could see his tears. It just wasn't the manly thing to do. But then, what was so wrong with letting it all out once in a while? It couldn't be good for one's health to keep it all bottled up inside. And sometimes he didn't want to be alone. Things had been so much simpler when he was a child, and all he had to do was crawl into his mother's lap and she would wrap her arms around him and make the big mean universe go away. That option no longer existed. Not because he was an adult now and was expected to act like one. No. Under any other circumstances he knew she would have readily been there for him, an ever-soothing godlike presence who still had the power to make all the evils in the universe disappear while he was safe in her arms.

He knew it was all his fault. He had destroyed one of his last sanctuaries when he'd crossed the line and cut her with those words. Words sharpened to a dangerous point and tipped with poison. So he was that good last night. Treating his own mother as though she were some cheap whore, used to that abuse and well paid for it, too. God, why? His mother, the saint, the goddess, the woman he idolized… with a dark side he hadn't wanted to believe existed. Who was he to punish her for it? There were dark regions she never would have set foot in if it hadn't been for him. Because she loved him that much. He owed her everything, and she owed him nothing, and this was how he had repaid her?

So he was that good last night. The echo of those words were still ringing in his head, and no matter how loudly he cried he could still hear them. For the second time that day he felt sick to his stomach, disgusted with himself. Lord, could he ever look his mother in the eye again?

He heard the knob turn and the door to the bedroom open slowly. Luckily he was already facing the wall as he lay on the bed with his pillow over his head. He had no idea who had come in, but he lay still waiting for the other person to make the first move. The mattress behind him dipped slightly, and the soft breath he felt on the back of his neck was unmistakably Leera's. She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Wendy?"

Her voice was too soft, too tender. He was unworthy of her tenderness. He rolled over to face her and saw his mother's face in the doorway. He dropped his eye to the bedspread, fighting back the threat of more tears. Damnit, don't cry! Not now! Not in front of them! But it was too late. A large tear slid down his face, dampening the pillow. He couldn't hide it in time. Leera saw it and he was sure his mother saw it too. He sensed her stepping further into the room. Before he knew it she was sitting down on the bed next to him. Leera moved aside a little to make room for her. When he forced himself to make eye-contact with her, more tears streamed down his face.

"Oh, Mom, I'm so sorry," he sobbed, sitting up and reaching an arm out to embrace her. To his huge relief, she accepted him, returning his hug tenfold.

"It's okay, baby," she whispered against his cheek as she pressed a kiss to it. She began massaging his back with one hand while the other cupped the back of his head. These loving gestures were almost too much for Pleakley. He still felt he didn't deserve them, but it felt good beyond all reason to be accepting them at that moment.

"I love you, Wendy." Those four simple words pushed him over the edge, and he broke down completely in his mother's arms.

"I love you too, Momma. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never meant to — "

"Sssshhh. It's okay. I know you didn't mean it. You were just upset. I understand that, and I love you too much to care about something so petty. It just isn't worth it." Vay pulled back from the embrace to look her son in the eye. Pleakley was surprised to see that she had been crying too. She lifted a hand up to brush a tear from his face before leaning in to kiss him lovingly on the lips. Pleakley kissed her back, and it was the most beautiful thing he'd felt in a long time.

When the reconciliation was over, Pleakley noticed that Uncle Gidgel had entered the room and was now standing a few feet from the bed watching him. Pleakley's hearts skipped a beat or two at the sight of his uncle, a jolly, laidback man he had never before imagined could be so fierce. Gidgel's face tightened with pain and guilt, and he took a very cautious step toward his nephew.

"Wendy, I - I'm sorry I treated you like that. I guess I kind of lost it for a moment there. But that's still no excuse for what I did."

Pleakley shook his head. "No. I deserved it. You sure scared the gazooklups outta me, though." He gave a weak chuckle to show there were no hard feelings.

This time Gidgel shook his head. "No. I might have hurt you. That's something that shouldn't easily be forgiven, if at all. I just get the chills now when I realize that I could have seriously hurt you."

Pleakley got up from the bed and stood in front of his uncle. "Forget about it," he said firmly. "I deserved it, and besides, I could never stay mad at you either. You're like a father to me, and I… I…" he trailed off, blushing a little. Gidgel grinned and pulled him in for a hug.

"I love you too, bud," he chuckled, patting his nephew rather roughly on the back the way men do to other men. Over his uncle's shoulder, Pleakley saw Kirk standing at the threshold, just outside the room. The instant they made eye-contact Kirk broke off and dropped his gaze to the floor, looking ashamed. Pleakley wasn't sure, but he'd thought he'd seen a slight smile on his face.

He sighed deeply, letting go of his uncle and forcing his feet to walk him in the direction of the doorway. Kirk didn't look up until Pleakley was right in front of him. He had no idea what to expect from the boy, so he remained silent, biting his lip nervously. A rather awkward silence followed before Pleakley managed to muster up his courage and speak to him.

"I still don't know what to think about you," he said flatly, "but after the way I acted earlier, what you've done seems to pale in comparison. I've been given a second chance, so I guess you deserve one, too." He held out his hand. "Truce?"

Kirk could not help the huge smile that split his face just then. He took Pleakley's hand and shook it. "Truce."

"I'm still not calling you Dad," Pleakley told him, but in a tone light enough to let him know that that was not necessarily his final word on the matter.

"No problem," Kirk said, still just relieved to have been accepted thus far. "But you can call me Kirk if you want. I don't mind."

Pleakley appeared to be considering this. "How 'bout I just call you Mr. Skirmish instead of Mr. Scumbag?"

"Wendy!" Vay scolded.

Kirk laughed. "Hey, that's a major improvement!" he said. "I take it as a compliment!"