Disclaimer: For entertainment only and I don't own Monster's Ball or Sonny and the rest of its characters.

A/N: It's not like anyone has been on pins and needles waiting for this to update (sorry) but here it is. And as always, thanks to my beta, Carina, wherever you are.

Also, my little asterisks (*), or "=/=" i use to signify a POV or time jump got lost when i uploaded them here, i attempted to place them back but if it doesn't work it's not a big deal though.

WARNING: This fic has very strong language and offensive language, adult themes and content, please don't proceed if that's not your cup of tea.

Family Matters

"Daddy," Bonnie shuffles into the dark bedroom, pulling back the drapes of the picture window to let the brilliant morning light filter in. But the bed is vacant. Bonnie frowns at this, it was unlike her father to stay out all night, but he must have. Ever since her mother's death she woke him up every morning and made sure he took his vitamins and left for work on time. She gotten him back on track since he'd been lagging after her mother's death. Bonnie fought to keep down her temper, and reminded herself her father was a grown man and most assuredly could take care of himself.

Bonnie went about the rest of her morning routine, setting aside her father's disappearing act as a less pressing matter. She exited the room determined, going next door to Bernie's room. She knew he'd pressed the snooze on his alarm clock. More drastic measures were called for to wake her brother. She maliciously kicked his closed bedroom door five times, rattling the picture frames mounted on the wall. Then, without waiting for a response, she headed down stairs to cook breakfast.

An hour later, she had her brother fed and out the door.

=/=

Sonny gargles mouthwash until the minty burn dies down then spits into the washbowl and wipes his mouth with the corner of a towel hanging nearby. Checking himself out in the mirror, he turns his head side to side to get a look at the braids – sorry, cornrows – from different angles. He looked ridiculous – but not bad... Experimenting, he smoothes a hand over his woven hair to find they didn't hurt as much as they did yesterday.

He would have taken the braids down if he knew how, but he didn't rip them out because he surmised it was better to endure than be permanently bald.

Sonny enters the kitchen – barefoot with pajama pants and no shirt on –Hank sat at the table, dressed in his uniform and perpetual scowl, sipping black coffee. "'The Hell's that on your head?" Making a beeline for the fridge, Sonny fishes out the OJ and drinks it straight out of the carton. "Ya hear what I said, Boy?"

Sonny's free hand comes up, index finger pointed towards the ceiling, as if to say "Just a minute". Finishing his breakfast, he puts the carton back into the icebox half empty, or half full, depending on how you looked at it. "They're cornrows. You like 'em?" He belches, remembering his manners at the last minute and pardoning himself.

"Are you out of your mother-lovin' mind, Sonny?"

Sonny chose not to answer that question. Lately it seemed the only way he could get his father's attention was if he did something disreputable in his eyes.

Hank eyed his offspring contemptuously. "Take that mess down befo–"

"He's got a nigger 'do." Buck wheezes as he trails into the kitchen from the den – with the help of his walker, an oxygen tank attached to one of its legs, a thin, clear tube is hooked around his ears and forks into his hairy nostrils. His bushy eyebrows furrow and he cocks his balding head up, pure disgust written on his face.

"Mornin' to you too, Gramps." Sonny greets derisively.

"You're a goddamn disgrace, Son." Hank gets up and helps his crippled father take a seat at the table where a steaming mug of coffee is waiting for him. "...Just like your mother."

=/=

There's a tentative knock at the door. Bonnie places Sebastian Jr. in his bouncy chair, fastening him in, and goes to answer it. She opens the door without doing the sensible thing of checking the peephole first.

She practically slams the door in his face but thinks better of it at the last second.

"What are you doing here?" she said, trying not to sound apprehensive.

Sonny leaned on the banister of the porch; he cautiously takes off his baseball cap. "S'ry I dropped in on you like this…."

Bonnie peeks back into the house before stepping outside, leaving the door ajar. She wastes no time in grilling him. "How did you know I was here alone?"

"I didn't." Sonny replied, tucking the bill of his cap in his back pocket to spread his hands wide in ignorance.

Bonnie shook her head disapprovingly. "You got balls..." she did a doubletake – "Yo' hair!" Bonnie gave Sonny a one-over. He looked good – a little on the goofy side, though – but what'd you expect from a white person sporting an African hairdo?

"You like it?" Sonny asked, unsure.

Bonnie laughed. "Yeah..." she had a strange urge to touch them, so she ran her fingers feather-light along the braided rows, resting at nape of his neck – still damp from the shower he must've taken. Sonny closed his eyes and concentrated on her touch. Bonnie dropped her hand, and it occurred to Sonny that she had been unraveling a plait.

"You don't have to keep those in to impress me or somethin', ya know... You must have a migraine."

=/=

Thank God, Sonny rejoiced, having been granted relief of having to keep up the hairstyle. He follows Bonnie into the house and takes everything in. Pictures, of all sizes and shapes, perched on tabletops in the living room and filled the wall like a gallery. Some were in color, some not, some were photos of nature, and some candid pictures of people doing ordinary things and some appeared to be posed portraits. There seemed to be no certain pattern or method or theme to any of the pictures, the photographer took the pictures because he or she could.

The pitter-patter of feet coming gets Sonny to tear his eyes away from the photos. Looking down at the polished oak floor, and turning around towards the door he'd just come in, he saw nothing and no one. About-facing back into the foyer, he finds himself suddenly staring into beady, chocolate brown eyes surrounded by thick lashes... The kid appeared out of nowhere! Didn't Bonnie say she was here alone? This is how horror movies start...

The kid stands no more than five feet away, she had a button nose chubby cheeks, and a caramel complexion. Her brown hair was adorned with a dozen or so pink barrettes made to look like bowties. He reckoned when Bonnie was about two years old she looked a lot like this.

"Bad Man!" she says.

=/=

Bonnie thought Sonny was behind her. She reentered the living room and stopped dead in her tracks.

"Bad man! Bad man!"

"Nadia!" Two strides get Bonnie to her. She scoops Nadia up, bouncing the child on her hip. "No, he's not a bad man." She glances up at Sonny. I'll explain, her look says. Nadia still accuses Sonny of burglary, but Bonnie knew how to calm her down. "Nadia, this is Sonny Grotowski. Can you say 'Gro-tow-ski'?"

"...Grrrr..." she gurgles, trying so hard her brown eyes cross in determination. "...G-Grow-toadie!"

"That's right! Sonny Growtoadie is my friend, so we don't need to tell Grandpa 'bout this misunderstandin', okay?"

The two-year-old shook her head up and down as her pink barrettes clacked together gleefully.

"Good." Bonnie put her back down on the floor and swatted her padded bottom. "Now go eat yo' lunch." With that, Nadia waddled off.

Turning back to Sonny, she sighs. "Let's go in the play room."

=/=

The back, screened-in porch was converted into a "play room". The air conditioner blasted cool air throughout, giving respite from the sweltering heat outside. Toys and games scattered the floor, a medium size TV, set into the wall of the house, played a cartoon program. The room had been fortified against dangers wayward kids may come upon. The electric outlets that weren't being used were covered, and Sonny had to step over a safety gate to enter. No glass or sharp objects were in sight, everything that was higher than three feet and could move was fixed to the floor or wall somehow, and soft stuffed animals piled in abundance in a toy chest off to one side.

Bonnie walked in first and bent down to pick something up off the floor. When she straightened and faced him again she didn't have a something, but a someone – a baby!

Bonnie came forward, adjusting the doll-esque body to cradle in her arms.

"And who's this?" He inquires, unconsciously bringing a hand up the tickle the baby's double chin.

"This is Bam."

"Bam?" He snorts skeptically. What kind of a name is Bam for a girl?

Bonnie's eyebrow raised challengingly. "Wanna hold him?"

Him? Sonny took a closer look at the baby, because he looked like a girl. He couldn't ruminate more on the baby's androgynous features, for Bonnie handed the baby to him without permission.

"Relax." Bonnie coos calmly, and Sonny didn't know if she was referring to the baby or him. Sonny couldn't help but to be uptight, he'd never held a baby before. And it showed by the way he held Bam: under the baby's armpits at arm's length as if he stunk of a dirty diaper. "Hold him like this –" she put Bam's downy head in the crook of Sonny's elbow, his hand facing upright so that he was cupping the baby's bottom. "- See? - like a football..."

Now that he was holding Bam properly, Sonny was able to rock him, he had the urge to make "goo goo" sounds, but resisted because it would be too wussy. He made to hand the baby back to Bonnie when the little boy clamored in his arms in protest, thrashing about, then – smack! – Sonny's thwacked in the face by an errant, chubby hand.

"BAM!" Bonnie took the future star pitcher from him thankfully, putting him in a play-pin pushed up against a corner of the room. Sonny missed the slick, conspiratorial smirk she had as she faced away.

"I take it that's a nickname... he's got helluva'n arm." He muttered, delicately prodding the bridge of his nose. "I think I'm bleeding." Bonnie comes back and assesses the damage by cruelly pinching his bulbous nose. "Ow!"

She laughs and taunts - "You're not bleeding from a baby, ya big baby."

That gave Sonny pause, and he peered at her disbelievingly "Your baby?"

Bonnie's brows dip in resentment as if she wanted to strike him for having the audacity to ask such a question. She looks away, and then as if someone flicked a switch, she softens a split second later. "...No."

=/=

Just then, Dewie runs in, skidding to a stop between Bonnie and Sonny. He's a five-year-old with big curious eyes that widen in horror at the sight of the stranger.

Sonny's expression echoes the boy's amazement. How many more kids will come out the woodwork? Bonnie really wasn't helping her case with all these surprise witnesses. Overwhelmed, he bemoans, "You got another one."

Bonnie ignores Sonny, and bends down with her hands on her knees to look into Dewie's watering eyes. "Dewie, what is it?"

Sonny took an unconscious step forward making the boy shrink in upon himself. At seeing Dewie's reaction to his presence, Sonny turns away swiftly, willing himself to be invisible.

"Don't look at him." Bonnie grabbed to boy's frail arms and jerked him alert. "Look at me when I'm talking to you."

"But..."

"But, what?"

"Why is a Milkman here?"

Bonnie gasped, mouth agape.

Sonny raised an eyebrow in puzzlement. Milkman?

Bonnie made a mental note to talk to Angel about the choice words she used around her children and what was and wasn't appropriate, however futile that would be. This was one of those inappropriate words. Dewie didn't mean Sonny delivered milk, no, he was indicating the color of his skin – white like milk.

Bonnie straightened her legs to tower over Dewie. "I don't wanna hear you say that again. His name is Sonny."

Dewie nodded his head, lips pressed tight. A tear broke loose and rolled down his cheek, and he wiped it away before it could dry. Sonny listened to all this in silence, but the pessimistic bone in him felt Bonnie said what she said not to educate Dewie, but because she didn't want any bad blood between them.

Bonnie sighed, her voice back to an even tone. "Did you eat lunch?"

Dewie was staring down at his untied sneakers. "Yes, but..." he was mumbling into his shirt.

"What?" Bonnie said with irritation.

"I'm still hungry."

Sonny half laughed and half snorted. He bet he was. The boy looked damn near emaciated. He cleared his throat, two pairs of brown eyes looked at him; he had their undivided attention.

"Dessert? My treat."

=/=

"They're not mine." is what Bonnie said of Dewie, Nadia, and Sebastian Jr. or "Bam." They were Angel's, Bonnie's older sister, but she disappeared so much they might as well have been Bonnie's kids. Sonny saw the way she talked to them, reprimanded them about not touching anything in the truck, scolded them for not looking out the car before they jumped to the ground, chastised them for being too loud while waiting in the restaurant's lobby to be seated. She tucked napkins under their neck and told them to eat neatly, for what good it'll do, and Sonny thought, How could they not be hers?

Sonny discovered he was eating less and smoking more. He had just returned to their booth at Bud's Broiler from having a smoke outside, his half-eaten French fries were getting cold. He'd only received a few odd looks at his hair, but no one said anything, so neither did he. Bonnie had Bam in a high chair at the end of the table and was trying to feed him a bowl of chocolate pudding. Whenever the spoon got towards his face he'd turn away, feeding the pudding to his fat cheeks instead. Bonnie gave up and went back to her waffle à la mode. Dewie and Nadia sat in the booth next to him and Bonnie, devouring a slice of chocolate cake between them. Bonnie looked up as he slid back into the booth across from her.

"Someone has a staring problem."

"Who?" he whips around to look at the other diners scattered around the restaurant, only to have Bonnie reach over and grab his chin, turning him back around in the booth.

"Don't look!"

Sonny regards her as she hands Bam a piece of her waffle, he takes it and eagerly gnaws on it with his four teeth, mashing it in his little stubby fist.

"Are you going to tell me why you've got an attitude?"

"That lady..." Bonnie's eyes float to her right clandestinely, he follows her discretion and only moves his eyes to see the gray-haired woman sitting alone in a booth on the far wall. The woman chances a glance over at their booth, realizes they're on to her, and quickly faces the window. "...has been staring at us since we've been here."

"And?"

Bonnie sighs, "And - that could only mean one thing." She looks at Nadia and Dewie to make sure they were eating and not listening to her conversation. "It's obvious."

"What is?" He prods her, wishing she'd stop beating 'round the bush... An explanation isn't necessary, albeit slow on the uptake he connects the dots,. "You can't be serious, you think that lady's looking at us 'cause -"

"...I'm black. You're white. And I just so happen to have three small kids. What could she possibly perceive this," she fans her hand back and forth between him and herself, "- to be, huh?"

"Who cares what anyone else thinks? I didn't know this was the '50s."

"Might as well be, babe. We're still second-class citizens in some respects - I bet that old hag wishes 'Jim Crow' still applied."

"C'mon, Bonnie. You're overreactin'." Sonny reached out to grab her hand and she pulled it away.

"No. Don't talk to me like I'm a fuckin' child. I hate that." Bonnie seethed, punctuating her words by slamming her palm on the table. Sonny had no idea why she'd struck up this argument with him. He'd done nothing wrong, 'least not intentionally.

"Well, what do you want me to do? Apologize for slavery?"

"That'd be nice."

Sonny sits back in his side of the booth, glaring at her incredulously. "Fuck you."

Bonnie laughed a mocking laugh, her breasts jiggling in her t-shirt as she threw her head back. Just as quickly as she started laughing she ceased to be. She leered at him, sober, as if she held a great secret over his head.

"You. Wish."

Damn her. Damn her! She was incorrigible. Sonny had to ball his fists up at his sides as if to hold on to his sanity, and he shook his head. He didn't want to admit that, in the back of his mind, he knew she was right.

The waitress came up and offered them a wry smile, flashing white teeth, crows feet were beginning to crease the corners of her tawny eyes, but not from old age. She worked hard at putting on a debonair mask, but not hard enough. She looked worn out -working back-to-back shifts would do that to you - yet seemed determined to not let that deter her. Oblivious or just duly ignoring the tension that had been boiling up until her entrance, the waitress smiled down at a drooling Bam and patted his frizzy hair adoringly.

"Will that be all?"

Bonnie looked indifferent to Sonny's pissed mien. She smiled at him cheekily before looking to the older woman. "Yeah, Leticia, that's all."

"I'll get you the check," she said, scribbling something on her notepad. The waitress then placed the notepad back in her apron and inspected the kids, tacking on, "...and some wet naps."

I haven't revisited the fic in literally months, a year or more maybe. So any inconsistency is my fault, even though I've read through the chapters again, the story is quite large and i can't catch EVERYTHING.