Alternative Universe Fanfiction; saving doomed ships since the 1970s.

Suck Love

Chapter Three

"Daughter"

The first time he sees her in something other than a hat and a dress is on the playing field, although it takes him a few moments to recognize her. Without her armor, she's looks more displaced than usual against her surroundings. The white and navy of the school assigned PE uniform does nothing to suppress her spirit however, nor does it stop her from smoking despite Coach Adamski being only a few yards away.

Once he realizes that it is her, his legs break out into a quick run. By the time he reaches the cross wire fence, all thoughts of his Trigonometry class have been banished from his memory.

"First windows and now fences," she says as he drops down on the grass beside her. "You really are a spider monkey. Thanks for dropping in unannounced by the way."

He flops down on his back next to her, his satchel beneath his head. "Did I scare you?"

She rolls her eyes as she stabs out her cigarette. "You're about as terrifying as a team of blind nuns."

He grins, and gives her the once over. The shorts and t-shirt are not unattractive on her, but it's all wrong. The cut of the cloth is almost too confining, and the colors too tame to properly represent the full spectrum and texture of her personality. It makes her look like a zebra who's had its black stripes painted white just to hide amongst a wild of horses.

Misinterpreting the meaning behind his stare, she sneers her thanks and leans back against the fence, one arm clamped across her stomach.

"You don't look bad," He cocks back his head as he looks up at her. "But I prefer your real clothes."

Her irritation melts in an instant. "...Sorry." She breathes a heavy sigh and runs her hand through her hair. "I'm just in a pissy mood." Her eyes are blood shot, her movements, sluggish and heavy. He is willing to bet that she hasn't had a wink of sleep.

"Mom read Dad's phone bill last night," she says eventually. "I heard them arguing about it in the kitchen..." She pulls her knees up below her chin and rests her head on them so that her face is turned towards his. "He's been in contact with that girl again. I bet he went to see her while he was in Boston... I really hate him some times."

There's new cuts hidden underneath the bandana on her wrist, he doesn't even need to see them to know. Instinctively, he reaches up and carefully disengages her arm from around her stomach. He cradles her wrist between his hands, scars upright, her arm laid across his shoulder and down the length of his torso so that her hand rests on his abdomen. She doesn't fight, she doesn't look at him either, but she shifts a little closer towards him.

The more he gets to know her, the more it sickens him that she needs to do this to herself. It's not just because the scars are a constant reminder of how he betrayed her, he already feels the guilt of that enough every time he looks at her face. It is because scars are ugly things, they belong on ugly people, or those who are bent and twisted on the inside like him. She is none of these things, the war she wages is against outside forces beyond her control. The pain she feels is really the rightful property of those who surround her, but since they do not suffer, she has to do so for them.

"Just cause they're your parents doesn't mean you have to like them," he tells her. "It's okay to hate them, I hate mine."

The corners of her lips pull downwards in a frown and she stares out at the girls running relays. She's not looking at them though, not really. Her mind is caught up somewhere in the snow and the grey of her former Boston life. He sometimes wonders what she was like before, if she was in anyway different, or if she has remained much the same, only now she has been tainted by the bitterness of life's disappointments.

"I can't," she admits. "He's my Dad."

He stays silent as he processes this. He cannot deny that it is difficult for him to understand how she is still able to love her father after he betrayed her so badly, but then he has never held any tender feelings towards either one of his parents. The closest thing to it he can think of is his sister, the desires he has to kill her at times, and the guilt which stops him from doing it. In that, he gets the conflicting emotions she must experience when it comes to Doctor Harmon.

His fingers graze the nook of her elbow, run over the rough cotton of the bandana and down into the palm of her hand. Since the first time her took her wrists in his hands, he has continued to touch her whenever the opportunity presents itself. It's nothing vulgar, just an innocent and comforting caress of the hand or arm when she's in need of it, or whenever he feels compelled to do it, which is often. He wants to touch her too, the sensation of her skin beneath his finger tips always fills him with a pleasant tingling sensation.

She never reacts, never says anything, nor does she try to pull away. She likes it, he understands her disposition well enough by now to know that if she felt in anyway uncomfortable, she would tell him straight away. It's possible that she craves it just as much as he does.

Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to kiss her.

"So why are you sitting out?" He looks up. She seems more relaxed now, content even.

At his question, her expression slips back into its usual sardonic smirk. "You know that weird kid who no one talks to and always gets picked last? Well, that's me."

He frowns at this. His short but brilliant career in track insured that during his freshman year, he was never first or last but always seated comfortably in the middle. This may have changed however, self admittedly, he has not taken a single PE class since the start of term.

"Fuck them. You don't need them. I'm here now, aren't I?"

She casts him a soft smile. "The coach usually just throws me in somewhere at the end anyway so it's not like it actually matters. Today I fed him some bullshit about cramps so I'm excused... Where are you supposed to be?"

"Trig...If it counts for anything," he hears himself say, his eyes still locked on hers. "I'd pick you over anyone else in this shit hole any day."

"As if you've any real choice to pick from," comes her sassy reply, but she's flattered, her cheeks are flushed ever so slightly.

"C'mon," He tugs on her hand as he climbs to his feet.

She doesn't pull away but she remains seated on the ground. "Where?"

"Some place better; I promise."

He waits patiently outside the changing room while she dresses herself, and afterwards he takes her to the beach. They sit on the sand, talking about everything and anything, and when it turns dark, he lights a fire. At half ten, he walks her to her bus stop and waits with her until it comes.

He is in a euphoric mood as he makes his own way home, he even whistles cheerfully to himself.

The first time he sees Doctor Harmon after finding out that he is her father, he realizes that he will have to switch therapist. Never has he felt a more violent urge to kill an individual, not even with Larry.

He knew before he set foot in the building that it was a bad idea. He's known for days now, right from the very moment he saw the photograph, but he chose to go along because he wants to see what he can do. He wants to know if there is a way to punish the man for what he has done, hurt him in the same way that he has hurt her.

Killing the doctor is not an option however; it might make her sad.

But it's hard not to give into the urge, it's utter torture in fact. For once his mind and his demons are in perfect agreement, it is the thought of her that holds him back. He clings to it desperately, but regardless of how hard he tries to stay in control, he finds himself checking the office for potential murder weapons; a stainless steel lamp, a glass paperweight, or his own personal favorite, a small gold photo frame that's sitting on the desk. He likes it because the likely chances are that it contains a picture of her, that would be very fitting.

If he had a choice though, he would use a knife, preferably one with a short handle so that his fist would slam against Doctor Harmon's flesh as he drives the blade into him. He would slice the tendons in his ankles first, then his hands, and finally he would turn him over on his back and stab the blade into him one more time, right in the stomach to release the toxic, acidic juices stored there. It would be a slow and agonizing death by all means, one meant to inflict just the right amount of suffering on the man.

"Is there a reason why you are quiet today?" Doctor Harmon asks as the clock hits the ten to mark.

His jaw clenches as he continues to stare up at the ceiling, it's the man's fifteenth attempt to engage him in the past fifty minutes. So far he has said nothing, partially because he fears that he will snap if he does, partially because he keeps drawing blanks about what it is he can say that will really get under the doctor's skin. If the man knew about his friendship with his daughter, it would be so easy just taunt him with talk of screwing her six ways to Sunday. After all, no father wants to hear that his little girl has been soiled by another man, no matter how untrue it is.

"Maybe you feel that I have done something to offend or anger you in some way?" The doctor says, trying yet another exasperated line of approach.

Again no response.

"...Did something happen with that girl?"

He sits up to attention, his eyes narrowed. "I don't want to talk about her with you anymore." His tone is clipped, biting, with no room for left for further discussion.

Doctor Harmon stares back at him meaningfully with his blue eyes. "You know you are safe to talk about anything you want here. The conversations that go on here-" he brings his hands up to his chest. "-with me, will not leave this room. You have my word on that."

He thinks about this for a second, and suddenly he is struck with an idea. "...Anything at all?"

"Anything."

He settles back against the low, curving back of the day bed, his eyes locked firmly on the man's face. There's several days worth of growth on his chin, dark shadows beneath his eyes. He looks as though he has been suffering, but it's not enough. He has not suffered enough.

"Adultery then," he begins, crossing his legs. "I want to talk about adultery."

Doctor Harmon rubs his finger over his lips. "I remember that you mentioned before that your father-"

"It's a scummy thing to do to the people you love, isn't it, doc?" he cuts him off. "If you really care about someone, you would never do that to them. You should never hurt them like that, cause that's what loving someone is, right? Not hurting them..."

He watches carefully for the slightest change in the man's demeanor, but the doctor remains as stoic as ever.

Unsatisfied, he goes on. "And all this crap about trying to make it work and staying together for the kids? ...That's bullshit! It doesn't work; it never works. Kids don't forgive a thing like cheating, they can't. Take me for example! My Dad at least had the decency to leave, but I hate him, I really fucking hate him. I hate the fact that he's out there, right now, living his life as though nothing has happened. People who cheat don't deserve a second chance, they don't deserve to be happy. You know why they don't? Cause it's a sin. Adultery is a goddamn sin that even God can't forgive."

He lets the words sink in a little before he leans forward, his eyes still locked on Doctor Harmon. The man looks uncomfortable now, and rightfully so.

"...There is a way though," A cold smile rises slowly through his face. "A way of making it right, a way of redeeming yourself. Do you know what they do in parts of Asia when a person dishonors their family, hurts the people that they love?"

"You're referring to honor killings, I see."

He smirks to himself. Doctor Harmon is many things, though stupid is not one of them thankfully.

"Suicides actually," he corrects him. "Some people choose to end their lives willingly after they betray their family, because it's the only way to really prove to them that they still love them. It's nobel when you think about it, selfless even. Your family can move on and be happy, knowing that you were willing to pay the ultimate price for their forgiveness-" He drums his fingers off his knee. "-cause if you really care about them, you would go kill yourself."

There's a crack and the pen in Doctor Harmon's hand snaps in two, ink spills all over his notes. As the man curses and tries to salvage the pages, he does his best to appear completely oblivious to the exact cause of his violent reaction. Doctor Harmon doesn't seem to suspect a thing however, he is too wrapped up in his own guilty conscience to notice anything around him.

Eventually the man gives up, he throws down his pad and broken pen on the coffee table and bends over, his head cradled between his hands. After a few moments, he releases a muffled sob.

It's a funny thing to him, sitting there, watching a fully grown man unravel right before his eyes. It's a powerful one too, the knowledge that he is the cause of such a thing, and so very satisfactory. He did it, he knows the secret. His demons howl in victory within him; there is a way to punish Doctor Harmon after all.

Finally, the doctor gets a grip of himself. He wipes his face and with a deep inhale, apologizes profusely for his behavior. He looks frightened more than anything else, terrified that the very world as he knows it is about to crumble to dust around him.

No more than five minutes later, as he walks out the door at the end of the session, he prays that the doctor will do the right thing and kill himself, otherwise he will have to do it for him.

The first time he sees her speaking to someone other than himself, is in the corridor between classes. It's another girl, a goth with blonde hair and fetish for spiky jewelry. She seems relaxed in the conversation, but he is quick to reach her side just in case, and he makes sure to wear his most intimidating glare.

"Stephanie, this is Tate," she introduces him as he steps up beside her. She takes one look at his face before adding. "...Is something up?" Her brow knits in confusion.

"I've got Chem next," he lies.

Her eyes widen in realization, she turns back to Stephanie and gives her an excuse about needing to get something for him from her locker.

"Is she bothering you?" He asks as soon as the other girl is gone.

He doesn't mean for it to sound forceful, but it does. It's only because he's worried about her. Her previous treatment at the hands of a certain group of girls at Westfield High has been far from humane. That threat has long since been dealt with, but he is more than willing to step in and stop another one before it even becomes an issue; without her knowledge of course.

But she shakes her head. "Chill, Tate. She's nothing like those bitches. She just came over to talk about music and stuff. She asked if I wanted to hang out this Saturday. Apparently there's some band from San Fran playing. She says she knows someone who does fake IDs for twenty bucks."

Suddenly he is seized with a jealous rage, the monsters are angered at the idea of having to share her with someone else, especially after she promised, she swore that she would hang out with him that night. They begin to whisper to him, offering him suggestions about how he might deal with this new found threat.

But he pushes them down, ignores them. If she wants to go, so be it. If it will make her happy then he will not stand in her way. It is in that moment that he realizes he cares more about her feelings than his own. It is both an enlightening and terrifying discovery; he's never felt that way about anyone.

"Oh?" he says casually.

"Yeah, but I told her I was doing something with you that night." She looks up at him. "And there's no way I'd blow you off for some crappy nu metal concert. Lou Reed on the other hand? Maybe."

A smile cracks across the width of his face. It's new and it's very frightening, not to mention confusing as well, but when he looks at her, hears her speak, he forgets all about it and he just wants to kiss her.

To be continued...

A/N: Gotta love Tate logic; "Can't kill her father? Can't beat him up? Try to convince him to commit suicide instead!" He's a keeper alright.

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