Some child abusers do care for their children. It is out of an obsessive, blinding aspect of that love that they drive their children – driven people make driven parents. It's just more sensational to focus on the malicious ones – they draw more attention.
The ladle made slow circles in the broth, spreading the heat out uniformly as Dr. Oliver stirred absently, vaguely going through the list and timing of medications – antibiotics and supplements, mostly – in his mind. His thoughts turned to the past few days, a murky haze of events that seemed more surreal than a dream, yet more terrible and terrifying than a nightmare for being so unmistakably real.
He'd followed through with his threat, filing the paperwork the day after Conner's hospitalization, all the while questioning himself as to why he didn't – couldn't – feel better about what he was doing. It wasn't simply that it was long overdue, wasn't the inevitable charges he'd face for his belated report, or even his guilt over the role he didn't play in preventing such grievous harm against one of his students, and one so close to him, no less. No, what disturbed him was the expression of sorrowful regret upon Mr. McKnight's visage, the tears and sobs of a man who seemed the type to put on strong fronts regardless of situation, broken back down into the parent he should always have been. Only with the repeated reassurance that it was too little, too late did Tommy manage to complete the forms, and even then with no small apprehension – it would break up a family, something not done lightly, or easily.
Conner's gratefulness at his actions absolved his doubts, but as those subsided, the full extent of the personal ramifications reared themselves in his mind, along with a two-ton weight of guilt upon his chest. The shame at his own cowardice and what it wrought was a familiar burden, and as callous as it may be, Tommy had gotten habituated to carrying it around. It was no less heavy, but as any person, he'd learned to cope in the months he'd stayed silent. Now, for the first time, he confronted another beast – how the whole affair would impact him.
Dr. Oliver the moralistic mentor would never admit it, but Tommy the person could – part of the guilt he felt was over his selfish wish that he'd never gotten entangled in all of it. Remnants of that desire flickered in his mind as he turned the knob, lowering the temperature of the stove; the desire had flared intensely only twice, one of them in the opening seconds of his consultation with his lawyer about his part in the case.
He'd been relieved – guiltily – that he would not face the full implications of the charge against him, a misdemeanor with up to six months in jail and a one thousand-dollar fine in Californian courts, what with the odd circumstances in which there was little evidence he'd had foreknowledge. Indeed, it felt too good in spite of the ignominy that should have accompanied it all when he learned that even that charge was under negotiation – that he may not even have his license to teach revoked, in exchange for his testimony against Mr. McKnight.
The broth simmered slightly, tiny bubbles forming and popping along the side of the pot. Tommy's eyes wandered until they came to rest on the phone hanging to the side of the refrigerator, a little flashing red light indicating that its built-in answering machine had recorded a message. He sighed; though Elsa's concern was appreciated, the frequent calls were too much.
Three days prior, they'd had a confrontation in the hallway, one that was mutually intended. After a stiff exchange of hellos, meaningless filler conversation, and a choked silence, Elsa relayed her bad news.
"Tommy, I'm sorry. I...You must have some idea of what's coming. The school board is already facing harsh scrutiny over the matter – you'll be allowed to finish the year – but there's no way they will let you continue teaching," she babbled, voice showing the guilt she felt at her involvement in the affair as one of the enemies that Conner had used for leverage.
"I know, I know." He handed her an envelope, and with a crooked shadow of a smile, said, "Here – my letter of resignation. I figured I could at least save them some paperwork."
"Tommy..."
"It's fine, Elsa. I couldn't keep teaching, anyway, not after that. Not when every kid's face reminds me of what I did wrong," he murmured, eyes downcast.
"What will you do now?"
"Anton's offered me a position in the company." Unspoken was the explanation – Anton Mercer felt blameworthy much in the same way Elsa did, so there was no need to elaborate.
"I-I see. God, I hope everything turns out better."
"...Me too."
His job with Mercer's company involved very little to date – really, it was more or less an excuse for Anton to give him money to live by – but for that he was thankful; he had much too much to deal with without the stresses of work. After all, he had a person to care for.
Had it not been for Conner's age – eighteen, an adult – the young man might have been handed off to some temporary foster home or made to stay at his own home by Child Services until a proper investigation was conducted. As it was, he was legally liberated and entitled to the difficulties of finding a place to stay for himself; this was the topic of conversation the second time Tommy visited the former Red Dino Ranger laid up in the hospital bed.
"I can't go back there." The dejected admittance, said with a defeated tone and weary half-lidded eyes focused on the peripheral intravenous line stabbed in his arm, marked the first time Conner acknowledged the truth of the transgressions against him. "I can't."
An all too familiar stillness followed where one didn't have anything more to say, and the other didn't know what to say. Finally, Conner spoke up again.
"It isn't fair. I was supposed to go on to college. Pass by the skin of my teeth. Hopefully play ball a few years, then get a steady job," he intoned monotonously, hollowly.
"You can still do that, Conner. This isn't the end of everything. It's–"
"A beginning, yeah, yeah," the young man interjected, a weak, wry smile on his face, "But as far as beginnings go, this is more of an ill omen. I mean, sucky health and no place to go, you know?" He gestured tiredly, erratically with his free hand.
"You don't have living arrangements lined up?"
"No – Mom's finances are strained enough with Eric going to college and stuff, and I don't want his plans put on hold for me. Dunno where I'm going after this."
He didn't want to do it, didn't want to bring more upon himself, didn't want that there should even be the chance that he'd be reminded of his failure every day, but Tommy felt obligated – it was a little in the way of paying the debt of ethics he owed – and he wasn't about to shy away from moral obligation again, especially not to the one who'd suffered because of it.
"I could take you in." Even as the words passed his lips, he felt the stirrings of that same self-absorbed urge to detach himself intensify for the second time as part of him wished desperately that he could take them back.
For the first time in that meeting, Conner met Dr. Oliver's eyes with his own, wide and stunned. He considered it; he didn't want to go, didn't want to live with that unease, didn't want the strongest reminder of the years of abuse he'd been subjected to aside from his father, but at the same time, it was all he could think of and all he could hope for. Even so, he almost declined – Tommy could see the uncertainty in the young man's face, partly wishing Conner would refuse.
Then, wordlessly, Conner had nodded his head. Both felt resignation sink into their hearts.
Steam rose like a specter from the pot, jouncing Tommy into the present; lost in his thoughts, he had neglected the broth, now bubbling furiously. He scooped some into a bowl, which he set on a tray where he'd prepared a sandwich and the proper medication to be taken with lunch. Carrying it, he made his way to the guest bedroom in which his student lay, still largely bedridden. Conner was staring blankly at the television that had been moved into the room, seemingly unaware of the entrant, face sallow from the damage to his liver and made even more so by the wan light emanating from the thin curtains. Neither said anything as Tommy set down the tray and sat upon the bed.
"Conner, it's time for lunch. You have to eat something," Tommy finally said.
"...Yeah," came the distant reply.
"What's on your mind?" Conner turned to face Dr. Oliver and was silent for a moment longer before answering.
"It'll be graduation soon."
"Yes." Laconic answer - but he could find nothing more to say.
"I'll still graduate, since I've done the work."
"Yes."
"I'll still be going to college next year. They didn't rescind me."
"Yes." Tommy wondered what the young man was getting at so somberly – that bit of news had been one of the few positives dotting last week.
"It's just that now... Now, I won't have a home to return to."
And Tommy wanted fervently to tell him contrary, but couldn't, because although Conner lived in his house, it wasn't his home, the place of family and the heart's memories. A home, or the façade of one, had fallen apart right before his eyes.
A/N: Finally, the conclusion. So hard to write that I put it off for quite a time.
I don't do happy endings for this kind of story – to me, it's simply too trite to write all the problems away. Went less technical and more emotional than I meant to, though yes, those are the charges for a "mandated reporter" that neglects to report child abuse. I really struggled with this chapter – didn't want to dilute the impact by splitting it up, but found it really hard to pull all the different scenes together. I hope it's a good resolution, if not a happy one. I hope you caught the full meaning of the last sentence. This was difficult to write, to try and capture the enormity and weight of child abuse instead of just storytelling; I hope I did it some semblance of justice.