Disclaimer: Rated T for some swearing and sexual references. If this doesn't bother you, enjoy! - Saoirse
The year was 1985.
When Arabella found out she was pregnant at age sixteen after a drunken one-night-stand with a man she would never see again, she knew she didn't want the father involved whatsoever. Technically it had been statutory rape, because he was eighteen and she only sixteen. But everything between them had been consensual. To her, it had been love. Real love, like the kind they write fairytale stories about.
But still, the best thing for her to do was to go quietly get an abortion in Glasgow, Scotland, she decided.
The only thing was, when she got to Glasgow, somehow she had instead wound up at some pro-life Catholic women's center where the nuns brow-beat her with the Bible into believing she would be committing murder. So they showed her an ultrasound of her baby, and seeing that little heartbeat on a sonogram convinced her to have her baby anyway and give it up in a closed adoption, to someone who was in need for a child. Someone who couldn't be blessed with such a miracle, but would welcome such a miracle with loving arms, is what they told her. Arabella was young and stupid enough to believe all of these fantasies and images of the perfect, loving parents that she never had.
To say the labour was difficult was putting it lightly. It was traumatic. She was only sixteen after all.
She wanted all of the drugs, but the nuns didn't believe in medical intervention and told her it was God's will to trust in him and have a pure, natural birth the way it was "intended". If something horrible went wrong, well then that must be God's will too and His divine judgement upon her for spreading her legs like a whore and begetting a bastard child.
Arabella felt like her body was being ripped in two. But after the final, biggest push she heard screaming and it was all over.
"Boy or girl?" Did she want to know? Did she want to know anything of this child she would never see again?
"He's a strapping young boy, Miss, and perfectly healthy." Cheerfully announced the young Scottish Novice who had helped deliver her baby, who then began walking away with the screaming infant to clean him up.
Something about the incessant screaming coming from the infant did something to Arabella, and she instantly had the maternal instinct to soothe him.
"Let me hold him."
The Novice frowned, "You'll only get attached, Miss."
"If only for just a moment, please," Arabella begged. "I'm his mother."
But the young Scottish Novice, who was about the same age as Arabella herself, felt a pang of pity for the young mother. She should have thought, This is a sinful woman who made the bed she laid in and does not deserve to be rewarded. But then she remembered that even the Virgin Mary was a teenage mother herself once, so against all better judgment she acquiesced to Arabella's request.
Then, as if the infant innately knew he was safe in the familiarity of his mother's arms, he ceased his screaming.
Arabella looked at him, really looked at her son for the first time.
She had been expecting him to look just like his father, but he really didn't. He looked more like her than anything else, taking after her darker breeding.
But when he opened his eyes for the first time, those twinkling deep browns just like hers, and looked at her. She knew she was done for after that.
An ancient, primitive maternal instinct recognized this as her offspring and she must protect it.
He had come into the world with balled-up little fists, like he was ready for a fight. So headstrong like his father, like a true Turner. So strongwilled.
"Will." She suddenly whispered involuntarily.
Yes, of course he was a Will. Suddenly she recognized him as if he had been some long awaited missing limb, that she had been waiting all her life to make her complete.
So that became his name, if only between her and him before she would give him up and he would get some new name by strangers.
Except that she couldn't give him up, not anymore.
"I changed my mind."
"What's that, Love?" The Scottish Novice queried.
"I said I changed my mind," Arabella said firmly, not tearing her gaze away from the little baby in her arms. "I can't do it. I can't give him up. Not when I'm all he has."
But the Mother Superior who had supervised the birth, had other ideas.
"Ha, and what makes you think you can support yourself and raise a bastard on your own, out of wedlock? Do you really want him to be labeled as a bastard his whole life? You'll only ostracize yourself from your community, child. Then no one will want anything to do with you and you'll end up begging on the streets. What do you suppose will happen to your bastard then? Stop being selfish and think of what's best for the child."
The Mother Superior reached for the bundle in her arms but Arabella held him closer in an attempt to protect him from this evil woman that would rip him away from her.
"I'm what's best for him!" Arabella snapped fiercely, "I'm his mother! It's not fair that we should be separated—!"
"You should've thought about that before you spread your legs, Whore."
With that, the Mother Superior snatched baby Will out of her arms and Arabella was too weak and helpless to do anything about it.
The hormones overtook her and she started sobbing hysterically.
"Wait!" Arabella ripped a gold chain off of her neck and stretched it forward, "Give him this so he always has something of his true heritage! And at least promise me he'll be named for his father, William! At least let me give him that, his own name, please! Promise me!"
"Very well." Was the Mother Superior's curt reply before she snatched the gold chain and left the room with the screaming infant.
"I love you, Will!" The young mother reached out to her infant son as he was ripped away from her forever. She sobbed, "Know that I'll always love you! So much!"
xXx
2003.
Will was adopted by British expats who later moved to Port Royal, Jamaica, where he grew up and spent his life. He lived alone now with his Mum, Patricia, who was a "massage therapist" and ran her "practice" from home. Also code for covert prostitute.
But Will never found that out until his Dad, Clyde Smith, went to prison when Will was twelve years old. Murder. Smashed one of her "client's" head in with a cast-iron skillet.
After that, word got out in their community what Patricia Smith really did for work with her hands when the blinds closed shut.
And with his Dad a felon to top it off, the family was a laughing stock.
Will never lived down the humiliation at his school. That's why he dropped out at sixteen because his best mate Jack convinced him to, and he went to work doing welding for his shop class teacher Mr. Brown, to pull his weight so his Mum wouldn't have to pick up as many "clients", and spare the family further embarrassment. Like it could be salvaged anymore at this point.
But if there was one thing Will was good at, it was coding and hacking. He was something of a savant at it. Being poor taught you that. Want a new cell phone like everyone else in school has? Can't afford that. Build it, hardwire it yourself. Want a new laptop? Go dumpster-dive or trade for this wirebit or that nanopart or bid on eBay for it from some shady seller that ships from Saudi Arabia.
Soon his classmates or this neighbour or that was coming to him, Will I've just crashed me iPod with 5G of songs on it (that was all the storage they had back then when they were brand new, if you were rich enough to splurge on one) could you just bust her hardware open and see what's the problem? Will, me laptop's been short-circuiting and it's got our kids' baby pictures and our last scuba vacation to Mexico on em, the wife'll kill me unless you could recover it. You can? Thanks a million Mate, you're a doll.
So that was how Will made his extra cash on the side for a while, when he wasn't welding for Brown.
Then things took a turn, and Will was introdued into a life of crime just like his family.
Piracy.
Okay, well, not the kind of piracy like Captain Hook with the big ship and the feather hat and the whole nine yards.
The unauthorized use, reproduction, or distribution of copyrighted or patented work — according to Merriam-Webster's dictionary.
His bestmate Jack had taught him, of course. Because Jack practically was a pirate. He lived like a pirate—on a beaten up sailboat called the Troubadour down at the harbour with his washed-up rockstar father Edward Teague—he talked like a pirate, and he even dressed like a pirate… or a rockstar, I guess?
But Jack was so cool. He had always been the coolest friend Will had ever known when they were teenagers, which was why Will stupidly took his advice and dropped out of secondary school like Jack did.
Anything Jack wanted to do, or be like, Will also wanted to do and be like. For lack of a better manly figure to look up to, as having the only one you've ever known ripped away and imprisoned when you're only twelve years old will have that effect.
They pirated everything, because they were both too poor to rent movies or buy music or video games, so they downloaded it all, whatever they wanted, illegally. Jack knew all the best ways to not get caught, so they got away with it. For that time.
So Will lived like that. Building phones and computers out of his garage, coding and hacking on the side when he wasn't welding full-time for his abusive boss John Brown, which was the only thing he ever thought he'd be good enough to do for the rest of his life.
Until everything changed on Will's eighteenth birthday.
xXx
Jack's deadbeat rockstar father Teague had just left on the road again to reunite with some ancient geezers he used to jam with back when they were still young and could chase girls, not like the old dinosaurs they were now. All he left behind was some tv-dinners and a note on the fridge for Jack saying he would be back… well, he didn't know when he'd be back. Whenever, I guess. Maybe he'd bother to find a payphone sometime and let Jack know later. Or not.
Jack had been used to this since he learned how to walk so he really didn't take it to heart that much. Jack and Teague didn't have a typical father-son relationship. It was more of a Kid-You're-Responsible-For-From-Knocking-Up-WhatsHerName and Old-Guy-Who's-Boat-You-Happen-To-Live-On kind of relationship.
Will could relate because he never knew his own father, Clyde, who again, went to prison for murder when Will was only twelve.
So Jack usually said, "Mind if I couch-surf with you for a bit, Mate?" because Will's Mum didn't care enough to turn him into CPS, and Will usually said yes.
So even though today was Will's eighteenth birthday, it was really just another ordinary day of Jack and Will playing truant, scoping out at the local strip mall's video store which new music and video games they were going to pirate later, and going to Will's house to see if there was any beer left in the fridge.
"Didn't I tell you to leave that worthless piece of junk behind, Mate?" Jack was perturbed with Will for hauling a giant computer unit made in the late 90s into his pickup truck he had bartered for with the video store clerk, which he was presently helping Will now haul into his house.
"It's not worthless! They don't even make em like these anymore. Assuming I can hack her into working again, I could sell her like new to some rich asshole wot won't even know the difference and make a killing. If not, I can still sell or trade the parts off eBay and make back ten times what I bought it for."
"You got ripped off, Mate."
"Are you joking? Twenty quid is a steal for one of these babies, it'd be somethin' worth ten times that now! That old geezer at the video shop didn't know what he had!"
"Alright I've got to stop," Jack's arms had begun to give way, "Me back is killin' me."
"Jack wait, don't put it down yet—"
"Sorry, Mate." Jack threw his hands up in the air.
"JACK!"
Will was unwilling to risk damage to the treasure he had just conquered so, as the ship was going down anyway, he allowed his weight to take him backwards so that the giant computer unit fell on top of him and crushed him with an unpleasant crash.
Will lay on his living room floor groaning in pain while Jack raided the fridge.
"Oy Mate shouldn't there be cake in here?" Perturbed, Jack knit his brows and instead settled for a half-eaten box of pizza and a beer which he busted open. "Thought it's s'pposed to be your birthday, wot?"
Great. So Will was in agonizing misery on his birthday and his Mum hadn't even bothered to get him a cake.
"Wot was that, Mate? Can't understand you with all that moaning, you sound like a hungover Nun that's just—" Jack was particularly fond of making sexual allegories but Will was not in the mood.
"I said, help me up!"
"No need to get all touchy, Mate." Jack yanked his friend unceremoniously upright, sending the computer crashing on it's side and instantly falling apart into nothing but leftover circuits and wires.
Both of them only stared dumbfounded at their project they had just laboured to haul into the house, which only a few seconds ago was once salvageable but was now a glorious mess on the floor.
"It's irreparable. Twenty quid gone." Was all Will could say in shock. To a poor like him, twenty quid was three months' savings.
"Piece of shite anyway, Mate. You could breathe wrong on that thing and it would've done just the same."
"It was my birthday present. To myself."
Jack only put a second beer in Will's hand and clinked it with his own. "Cheer up, Mate. Happy eighteenth birthday!"
Will gave up and decided to clink his friend back anyway. At least he could get drunk on his birthday.
"Happy birthday to me."
"Oy, what's all that noise!?" A third, strange voice boomed into the room, sending Jack and Will's necks turning.
Will had never seen this stranger in his home before but as the man was buckling his belt and leaving his mother's bedroom, he could only guess.
"I'm paying for the full hour and it's only been forty-five minutes when I hear wot sounds like a bloody bomb going off in here! What is this teenage-fest, some sort of party goin' on I don't know about!?"
This made Will want to evict his friend from his home as fast as possible. The only reason Will had allowed Jack to come back to his house was because his Mum usually didn't work on weekends, but so far Will had done a good job of keeping his one cool friend from finding out what Mrs. Smith really did for a living, and he couldn't spare the embarrassment if Jack found out.
"Uhm, Jack, on second thought I think you should go—"
"As a matter of fact it is a party, Mate. A big fancy'n'high to do." Jack grinned and elbowed his best friend. "It's William here's big eighteenth. Care to celebrate with us, Mate?" Jack shoved a third beer he had pulled from the fridge into the stranger's hand.
It took the client a second to remember Patricia had a kid.
"Oy, you're Pat's dibbun, ain'tya? Haha, used to be just a wee one when I first started comin' round. Big eighteen, eh? Willem was it?"
"It's Will." Will growled darkly in response. He hated being around his Mum's "clients". That's why he always tried to be gone whenever they came round.
"No need to get all touchy, Mate." That was the second time someone said that to Will today, and he was getting fed up with it. The patron began raiding their fridge as if he owned the damn place, which only infuriated Will more. To add to injury, he bellowed from the kitchen like it was some madhouse,
"OY, PAT. WHY DONCHA EVER KEEP THE GOOD STUFF ROUND. ALL YOU EVER GOT IS PALE ALE AND YOU KNOW I HATE PALE ALE."
Will could murder this stranger in his home. Don't do that, Dear Old Dad already did that and bought himself twenty for it.
"Jack, this really isn't a good time." Will tried to push his friend towards the door.
"What's the rush, Mate?" Jack complained though only half-heartedly as he was getting happy-drunk now. "Ye haven't even let me get good'n'proper drunk yet! Now wot sort of manners are them to yer house-guest?"
Will didn't have time to put up with Jack's nonsense. His mother could come out of her bedroom any second now and blow the whole cover.
"I mean it, Jack. Get lost—"
"Wot's all this noise then!?"
Patricia's shrill voice burst out of her bedroom like a vengeful banshee.
"How is a woman supposed to work and make a good honest living with all this crashin'n'hollerin' going on like some house party— Oh, didn't realize Will had his little friend over. Hello Jack." Patricia purred, her tone completely changed now.
Patricia always liked seeing Will's friend, Jack. She had liked him ever since her mutt of a son started bringing him round since secondary school.
"Mrs. Smith." Was Jack's only half-listening response before he commenced upon chugging his beer again. Will's Mum was a comely woman to be sure and still had a voluptuous bod and could easily seduce with it, there was no denying that. But still too old for the likes of Jack and not his type.
Suddenly the beer was grabbed out of Jack's hand.
"You gonna be a gentleman and share?" Patricia purred again, this time her long acrylic nails played downward along Jack's chest, towards… "Always liked you, Jack. Being William's... special little friend'n'all. Me next hour's free, wot say you to a little ma-ssage?"
"Jack and I were just leaving." Will said firmly and tried again to push his friend towards the door again. "C'mon Jack—"
"Oy Pat, I still got fifteen minutes left!" Her most recent client complained.
"Make that ten, since all the time you've been standing here yakking." Patricia only snapped in reply, having much preferred Will's young friend to this overweight louse she had just had to service.
"If you're going to short me like this then I'm only payin' for thirty!" Presently the begrumbled client dug through his wallet and threw some quid down on the kitchen counter.
Patricia gasped at the affront. She threw the quid back in his face and probed a long acrylic nail at him.
"We agreed you were paying for the full hour and so you will, you louse! Now go sit your arse down in front of the telly for a bit and I'll give you your damned ten minutes when I'm good and ready!"
Both Jack and Will's jaws dropped.
There was no denying it now, after that. The cover was blown. It was painfully obvious to Jack that his friend had been hiding from him that his Mum was a prostitute and not a ma-ssage therapist. Will couldn't even bring himself to look at his friend's face or gauge his reaction. It was always the same anyway. Every friend he ever had, once they learned his Mum was a hooker, bolted. Well, they laughed and made fun of Will first and then bolted, and then went telling the whole school.
"Now look wot you've done, you rat," Patricia then turned her fury to her son, who's face she threw her long acrylic nail pointer at and hissed, "You're always costing me business, you good—! For—! Nothing—!" She clobbered Will repeatedly on each syllable, "—Brat! Out of my way, I need a beer."
Will felt hurt when his Mum shoved him away from the fridge so forcefully he almost fell. Weren't mothers supposed to protect and love you? Not hurt you?
"Thanks for the cake, Mum." Will grumbled sarcastically while Patricia fumbled through the fridge.
"Wot cake?"
"Exactly." He snapped.
"Wot you raving on bout now? You know I hate riddles, William."
Will only stood dumbfounded.
"Mum. Do you even know what day it is?"
"Wot?"
"The day!" He pleaded.
Patricia thought for a moment.
"Can't be the day the milkman comes, that was Thursday. 'N the trash was already put on the street. Some national holiday, then?"
"No." Will felt his fists balling at his sides. This woman didn't even remember the day she gave birth to him?
"Has someone in the Royal Family died?"
"It's my bloody birthday today, Mum!" Will cried out in anger and hurt.
"Don't you raise your voice at me, you mutt!" Patricia fumed. "I haven't done no crime, it's only a day."
"Only a day?" Will echoed.
"Well we all forget a little now and then, can't blame me for being human!"
"Human?" Will could explode. No, human was leaving the stove on, or forgetting to check the mail. Not forgetting your only son's birthday. "You never seem to forget to be on time with your clients!"
Patricia slapped Will.
This shocked and hurt him, but really did more hurt to his pride. His Mum had started slapping him around after his dad went to prison, but thus far she had only done it a few times when grew impatient with him.
"Don't you judge me, you Whelp."
She also loved to stick her long acrylic pointer nail in his face, like it was a flintlock pistol, and he was in her firing range.
"I put food on our table and a roof over our heads, and I don't need to endure any sermons from you on your high horse. And don't try'n'pretend you're sooo much more perfect than me, how many times have you forgot your bloody school alarm? Or every bloody market list I give you!"
"Do you even remember how old I am today?" Was all Will muttered.
"Wot do you mean? 'Course I do. I'm your Mum, ain't I?" Patricia punched Will's shoulder in what she thought was an endearing gesture, but he always hated it. "Happy seventeen, son—"
"Eighteen. But you said sixteen last year, so guess I should be used to it by now."
"Oh, don't take on so." Patricia complained and dug through a kitchen drawer for where she kept a pack of fags. "God, Will! You're always givin' me a bleedin' headache."
She had just lit one and Will began to cough. He hated when his Mum smoked, especially in their own home. But she had always done it, even when he was a young boy and he used to warn her that secondhand smoking was even worse for children. She would just call it some Big Pharma conspiracy he had heard from BBC and would say instead while lighting up anyway, "Never in all me life have I heard of an Englishperson wot doesn't smoke in their own home! It's the way of life! Am I to be ordered around about that too now?"
"Oy, Pat!" The stranger he hated was shouting across from his living room where he had the telly blasting. Sitting in his Dad's armchair, reclined back with a beer in hand. "Look, it's the World Cup! They're replaying the rugby tournament, we're up against Australia! Hurry up Pat, before you miss it!"
"The Cup, ha!" Patricia went to join her client. "We'll show them Aussies wot for!"
Will presently put himself between their view and the telly.
"Are you telling me the World Cup matters more to you right now than your own son's birthday?"
He suddenly ducked when he was pelted at with a beercan, which flew at the telly instead.
"Out of the way, you mongrel!" Patricia hissed, "Can't you be good for anything other than making me life miserable?"
Dejected, Will sulked out of the living room and back to the kitchen. Jack had been watching the whole ordeal with pity for his friend. Sure, his own dad was a deadbeat too, but at least he wasn't pelted with beercans and slapped around like his friend.
"Take it easy on the lad now, Pat," Will heard her client—his mother's fucking client—have more sympathy for him than the woman who supposedly birthed him. "Wot with it being the dibbun's birthday'n'all?"
"Oh, don't take on so," Pat perched herself on her client's lap and took another long drag from her fag, "He's always moaning on like he's on the bloody rag. But still, s'ppose he earns his keep enough, havin' to make up as the man of the house, since Clyde went to the slammer. Even if he is adopted, least he earns his keep." She began to giggle as the high from her fag took effect.
"What?" Will was sure he had imagined what he thought he just heard.
But his Mum didn't even seem to care or think there was anything out of the ordinary about anything she had just said, she was full-on distracted making eskimo-kisses with the man currently reclining in her husband's armchair and giving her attention.
"Oh, I get it." Will forced out a half-laugh to go along with the joke, even though he found his mother's humour hurtful. "That's funny, Mum. Good one."
Suddenly Patricia stopped giggling privately to her client and remembered Will had been standing there the whole time, though it had taken her little effort not to notice him before. She had that look on her face like when you're high and suddenly blurt something stupid without thinking before you say it, and now you can't take it back so the damage has to be unpacked now.
Will was concerned by this expression on her face.
"You… were only joking. Right Mum?"
When she didn't answer, anxiety flooded his body. No, it couldn't possibly be true. It was just a joke! A bad, careless joke!
"Mum!?"
Patricia only answered with an irritable sigh and leaned forward to extinguish her fag on the ashtray on the side-table, with all the gusto as if she now had to execute an annoying chore like mowing the lawn or vacuuming the house. This was not a good sign at all for William.
"Mum, am I adopted?" He asked bluntly. Half of him still wanted to believe it was all just some cruel joke being played on him, and his Mum would say, Yes Will I just blurted something careless without thinking first just to hurt you. But she didn't.
When she failed to answer again, Will cried out, "Answer me—!"
"Will you stop your howling? God, I hate the sound of your girly whining, all you ever do is make me head feel it's going to split," Patricia muttered and grabbed the advil off the table and popped one. The next words she spoke were carelessly hurried and thrown together, "AlrightfineYES, you'readopted, HAPPY NOW? Who cares." She rolled her eyes and shoved past Will to go do something in the kitchen.
Will only stood winded in place and let the news hit him like a freight train.
Even now, after she admitted it, he was still in denial. His whole life couldn't just be a lie, couldn't just be suddenly turned upside down like that.
"N-No, that can't be true. Dad always said you had me out of university back when you were sweethearts, when you—"
"Wrongo." Patricia sneered like he had just guessed the wrong punchline to a knock-knock joke. She pulled a second beer from the fridge and opened it. "Clyde had a low sperm count, but for some wild reason he still wanted kids, even though I didn't. But you were the only mutt at the orphanage that didn't look inbred or intellectually stupid from some druggy pregnancy, so you were all we had to we settle for."
They settled for him. Like going to the market and saying, Well alright, what I really wanted was whole milk but they only have semi-skimmed so I think I'll settle for that. He was never truly wanted. He could have just as easily been looked over and the baby next to him could have been adopted into this horrible family instead. Maybe that would have been better for him. Maybe he would have instead been chosen by a family that loved him, by a Mum that made a real cake for him on his eighteenth birthday and didn't nonchalantly throw in his face a big surprise like "You're adopted" as if it were as casual as discussing the weather.
But life was cruel.
"It's not true," Tears welled in Will's eyes. "Please tell me it's not true and this is just one of your sick jokes."
"Oh for God's sake, get over it, Will. Move on. And let me watch the Cup." She shoved past him again and planted herself back on her client's lap.
So many questions flew through Will's mind, but there was only one he cared about knowing. He barred their view in front of the telly again, despite the risk of being pelted by beercans again. But Patricia felt she owed the whelp an ounce of pity in this situation so she spared him.
"Do you know anything about my parents? My real parents. My birth parents. Anything at all. What were they like!?"
"Your Mum was some whore that spread her legs and got knocked up. Your Dad was the deadbeat sperm donor. It was a closed adoption anyway because they wanted to make sure you'd never come looking for them, so lots of luck trying to track them down 'cause even bloody Scotland Yard couldn't find them. That's how much they wanted nothing to do with you, 'cause you were the mistake they couldn't abort."
Despite each demeaning insult being hurled at him, none failed to stick to their target except for one on Will's mind: His own mother and father hated him so much they wanted nothing to do with him?
"What was my given name? On my birth records," He was grasping for straws. Anything. "I know now that my real name isn't William Smith, so tell me! What is it?"
Patricia flailed her hand lazily. "I don't remember any of that, Will. It was eighteen long years ago."
"Try to remember!" He pleaded.
"Tucker." She just made something up to get him to shut his trap. "Or Tanner? Something like that, how should I know?" She shrugged and began to light another fag.
"Because you adopted me!" He could practically tear his hair out dealing with this maddening woman who the cosmos had unfortunately seen fit to raise him.
"Will you shut it and let me watch the Cup?" She snapped. "Don't make me ask again, William, or I'll forget to be nice!"
"Did you ever want me?"
"What do you think." Her half-distracted answer followed by another long draw of her second fag while she strained to look past the figure blocking her view of the telly told him all he needed to know.
Will turned and saw his best mate Jack—he had completely forgotten about Jack!—had been standing there the whole time watching the shitshow unravel, no doubt the best entertainment he was having all weekend. With all of the strength he could manage, Will forced himself to look at his friend. But you had to give Jack credit, he was a friend first and foremost to his mate Will and only gave a lighthearted like he hadn't heard a thing.
"Some eventful birthday it's been for you, aye Mate?" Jack simply slapped a hand against his friend's back in an attempt to lift his spirits. "Listen Mate, eighteen ain't all it's cracked up to be anyway. Take it from me, didn't even get a call from me own Mum on my eighteenth 'cause she hates me Dad that much." He laughed.
Will hated his life. He wished he had more. He longed for more. Something better than just being a welder his whole life for an old teacher he hated.
Having two loving parents…
That was what he wished for the most, since he was a young boy. He asked for it before he went to bed every night in his prayers. Until eventually he realized God didn't listen to him, that he still woke up every day to the same family and the same hellish life and would still wake up to the same family and the same hellish life. No, that wasn't family. Not really. Jack and Teague were family.
"Jack. I need to ask you something."
"Wotever you want, Matey. It's your birthday after all. Wotever you need is my gift to you."
"It's asking for a lot, Jack. You should think about it before saying yes."
"Try me, Mate."
"Can I move in with you? On yours and Teague's sailboat, the Troubadour. It wouldn't be for long, I'd just be filling Teague's bunk until he comes back, then I'll find my own place. But I certainly don't intend to stay here any longer, so if you say no, I'll be sleeping on the streets tonight."
"If it's just 'till me Dear Old Dad comes back, then I'm afraid you'll be stuck with me for a while, Willy-boy." Jack elbowed his friend with his usual smirk. "But I s'ppose it wouldn't be too terrible an inconvenience, and it gets lonely from time to time being in the harbour all by me lonesome, so at least I'd have some company. Very well then, William. I shall act as your knight-in-shining-armour this once and rescue you from your tower and the fiery dragon that surrounds it, Fair Maiden."
Will rolled his eyes.
"I owe you one, Jack." He hated saying those words because it usually meant his friend would no doubt come up with something later to press-gang him into one of his side-quests, but Will presently didn't care at the moment. Just needed to get the hell out of here. Out of this house.
Out of this lie.
xXx
Will didn't want to spend any more time in that house than was necessary, so he figured ten minutes would be good enough to pack what little of his stuff he wanted to take with him and leave. Because he had grown up poor, he didn't have very many belongings in his bedroom. So he stuffed some clothes, his personal laptop used for hacking, a few usb cords and jigs into his old school backpack... And one more thing. Something important to him that had belonged to him his entire life. An ancient-looking gold coin with a skull on it, on a chain. His "parents" had said they had given it to him at birth but now he wondered if that too was a lie. But he packed it anyway.
Everything else he could part with.
Hopefully he hadn't taken too long and Jack hadn't decided to leave from impatiently waiting.
Will returned to the kitchen and Jack hadn't.
For as much pain and suffering the woman who raised him had inflicted on him, his sense of honour felt that he still owed at least some formal parting words, seeing as at the very least she had raised him. Or, deigned to keep him barely fed and clothed short of CPS getting involved.
"I'm leaving." Will stood in front of the telly for the last time.
"Get you gone then, why do I care?" Was all Patricia's half-distracted reply was, still trying to catch a view of the Cup behind Will's intrusive figure. "You know the rules. Just make sure you don't wake me whenever you're back, I've got to work early in the morning—"
"You're not listening. I'm not coming back, Mu— Patricia." He spat out her given name, which he had never used before because he thought she had been his mother up to that point. "I'm going to live with Jack. Don't come after me, don't call trying to get me to come back. In fact, don't contact me at all."
"Like Hell you are. I'd like to see you try." Patricia only snorted, still more interested in the Cup than with the boy she had raised for eighteen years.
"Don't think you can stop me. It won't work," Will stood the tallest he ever had in his life, fists at his sides. "I turn eighteen today. I'm my own man now and I can do what I please with my life."
It was at this point that Patricia realized he was serious and was finally starting to take a little more of her attention away from the telly and to him instead.
"Why, you little…" Pat was more offended and shocked that he dared to stand up to her, in her own house. That she would no longer yield the control over her indentured servant that she once had. "You just try to make it on your lonesome, go see how it's really like trying to make it in the world! It'll chew you up and spit you out and you'll be running back here crying in less than a week! But will I be welcoming you back with open arms? Nooooooo. You just sealed your deal, Mister. So you can forget ever coming back— Don't you walk away when I'm speaking you Whelp! You LISTEN TO ME—"
But Will had already left with Jack and the backpack of his things and slammed the front door behind him, just timely avoiding the beercan that was pelted after him.
xXx
Midnight.
"Ah fuck! Who tripped the bloody alarm!?"
"It wasn't me, it was Will!"
"No it wasn't, it was Jack!"
"Well whoever it was it doesn't matter now! Let's get the hell out of here before the coppers come!"
Gibbs shoved the large computer unit in his arms to Jack, who hastily stuffed it in his black duffel back.
"It's too heavy, leave it!" Will warned.
"You kidding Mate? I didn't risk me neck breakin' into this joint just to leave empty-handed."
"Will's right, Jack. Just grab the small stuff—keyboards, laptops, anything we can sell."
"I'm loaded." Jack announced once his duffel bag was filled. "Let's bounce."
"Shite! I see flashing lights!" Will said from the tall window he was standing beside. "We better make ourselves disappear fast or we'll be sleeping in jail cells tonight Lads."
"Fuck— I can't see shite!" Jack moaned as he stubbed his toe into some cubicle in the dark. "Where the bloody hell did I put me flashlight?"
"Forget it! Teague's waiting with the van, let's hurry up now before he decides to ditch us!" Gibbs yanked Jack by the back of his collar and Will followed.
They made it outside the office building.
All that was between them and their ticket to freedom now was a tall wire fence.
German shepherds barked in the distance.
"They know we're here," Will said with anxiety racking his body and making his heart pound a thousand beats a minute.
"Don't worry 'bout them coppers, Mateys. Once we're past this fence we're golden. Give me a lift, Laddos."
Gibbs was a heavier man, so requiring both Will and Jack's help to hoist him over, he went first.
"Alright Jack, my turn. Give me a lift—"
"Who says you get to go first!?"
"Jack, they're going to catch us!" Will pleaded.
"This whole operation was my idea, so naturally I should go before you."
The barking was coming closer and there was no time to spare.
"Fine," Will conceded if only so they wouldn't both get caught the longer they stood there. "Step in my hands, quickly now before they catch us both!"
Jack stepped into Will's grip and Will hoisted him over. Jack was about the same weight and as tall as Wil, so it took some effort and Jack had to strain to pull himself completely over before landing with a hard thud on the other side.
"Alright now me! Come on, Jack hurry!"
Will climbed halfway up the fence and Jack met him halfway from the other side, with arms outstretched to assist pulling him through.
The barking was coming closer and Jack began to hesitate. He did love his friend, but he also didn't want to be sleeping in the slammer tonight. It was either his life, or Will's. He chose his own.
"It's too late, Mate. If I don't save me own skin they'll throw us both in the slammer."
"What? No, Jack, don't leave me—"
"Sorry Mate."
It pained Jack to abandon his hold on his friend but he had to, and began running to the van with Gibbs and Teague.
"JACK!" Will was struggling to hold onto the wire fence by himself without assistance.
"Damn you, Jack. Damn you." He muttered under his breath.
"Where's Will?" Gibbs asked when Jack caught up with him at the van. "You left him behind!? C'mon, William! You can do it!"
The van was running, Gibbs had already joined Teague in the front seat, with Jack half-hanging out of the back. They all collectively tried to encourage him, if not so they wouldn't all get caught.
"Hop to it, Will! Hurry up! You can do it, Mate!"
He was almost over the top of the gate. He was going to make his escape now, he knew it. Just one swing of the legs and he'd be over…
Suddenly he lost his footing.
And the last thing he remembered was pain coursing through his whole body when his back fell backwards and landed forcefully against the hard ground, and the screech of the van's tires speeding away.
Will then found himself being lunged at by violent barking German shepherd dogs that were only inches away from mauling his face had they not been restrained by leashes. His ski mask was ripped off of his face and he yelped in further pain when his whole body was suddenly yanked up and thrown against the wire fence, and his arms cranked painfully behind his back while he was then cuffed.
"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in court. You have the right to speak with an attorney…"
Will didn't hear any of it, his body was vibrating with too much pain. From falling backwards. To being thrown around by pig coppers like he was a ragdoll.
He had never been caught before. Jack had always taught him to be so careful. Where did he screw up?
He had only been eighteen for two months and was already being arrested. His criminal record would follow him for life after this.
Not that his life was going anywhere, anyway.
He hadn't gone to university, he didn't have a degree in anything, no promising career. He was just a welder for Brown and did some coding and hacking on the side. And now Jack had got him roped into this. Remember that time you said, "I owe you one, Jack?" Will knew it would only be sooner or later until Jack cashed in the favour. There was always something with him. Looking out for his own bloody interests.
He supposed it didn't really matter that his life ended up this way.
He was just an orphan.
Even his own birth parents hadn't wanted him, and never would. They didn't even want him to come looking for him, and never would for him. Not that he would bring much pride anyway, a son with a criminal record by eighteen years of age.
He would spend some time in jail and no one would care enough to bail him out. Jack certainly wouldn't, he cared too much for his own interests. Gibbs might, but he was almost as poor as Will was which was why he had resorted to this life of crime for side hustle.
Maybe in another life he would have had a rich dad that would have loved him enough to bail him out.
But the cold reality was, he had no clue who his father, his real father, even was.
And he never would.
xXx
Then, while Will was sitting cuffed in the back of a police car and just about to be taken to the station, a black SUV rolled up. And out of it came a sharply-dressed blonde-haired, blue-eyed man. The whole nine yards, blazer, white shirt and tie, khakis. Maybe late thirties, at the latest. Handsome in that way blonde men were. He had a Scottish look to him.
Great. So the owner of the building, or the manager, or whoever this important man was—because he obviously looked important—was going to enjoy eviscerating Will for sport and making sure to press every charge imaginable against him.
Will listened in on the conversation, only because his window happened to be halfway down.
"Evening, Mr. Turner."
"Someone told me the alarm went off. What's all this then?" Will was right about him being Scottish, the man had just barely the hint of a Glasgow accent.
"Robbery. We got one of 'em in the car, but the others bounced before we had the chance. Young punks and the like, this one doesn't look more than just a teenager."
"Shame," The sharply-dressed man tutted, the one referred to as Mr. Turner. "Poor lad probably just got mixed up with the wrong crowd. To throw one's life away so young…"
"He had these with him," Will winced as a copper threw his duffel bag on the ground, which contained much of his fragile coding software and hacking kits which he kept on hand for such operations. "We're keeping it an evidence, but you're free to take a looksie and claim back any stolen property of yours."
"Much obliged to you, Officer."
If it hadn't been bad enough that Will was being arrested for robbery, now he was going to prison for piracy and illegal hacking, once they found his software, the kits, all his jigs and cables.
The copper had walked away for a moment and left the tall man in the suit behind to privately rummage through the duffel bag. Will waited any minute for the man to show evidence of his piracy to the police.
Instead, he zipped the duffel bag close and said,
"Crimey, the blighter found my whole stash!" The man chuckled, "You needn't worry about taking this to the station, boyos. It all belongs to me."
"All of it?"
"Oh, yes. All of it."
Will sat there completely puzzled.
"Well… We should still take it to the station anyway as evidence, just to take fingerprints—"
"Are you questioning my honour and my word?"
The man had a stance about him, the way he carried himself and his tone of voice that made him seem important. He was the very epitome of privilege, just the kind of insufferable Suit that Will hated.
"Not at all, Mr. Turner. Forgive me. I know you're a very important man and your honour is unimpeachable. But we'll still be needing that evidence. Maybe if the charges were dropped we wouldn't need it anymore. But surely you want to make an example out of this young whelp?"
Suddenly the man stopped looking at the officer and made eye-contact directly with Will, who immediately looked away. Why did he look at him like that?
"Oh yes, yes of course. By all means take the Whelp away. But I would like to have a word with him first."
"Er, wot for if I may ask Guvna?"
"Oh, just give him a stern talking to. How he's ruined his life, hope he thinks long and hard while he's in the slammer, you know what for with these rascals?"
"Haha. Certainly, Mr. Turner. Give a right proper boxing to him 'till his ears are bleedin'."
Will really didn't think he could tolerate a lecture from a privileged Suit that he didn't respect.
The Suit walked up to the cop car and bent his head low to speak to the young arrestee through the half-closed window.
Will didn't understand when he began talking in a very low tone, as if he didn't want their conversation picked up at all by the officers around them.
"Where did you learn to do that?"
"What? Robbery?"
"Don't toy with me, boy. I can decide whether you spend the night in a cell or, I may just be in a pleasant enough mood to drop the charges unless you change my mind. The coding, man, the coding. Where did you learn to do it?"
"I…" Will was at a loss for words.
"I studied a little of it myself at Oxford so I happen to know a thing or two about coding. Some of my school chums went on to be astrophysicists and work for NASA, and even the best of them couldn't compete with the fire you're playing with, son. I know that stuff in your duffel bag is the real shit."
Will wouldn't expect some high-up from Oxford to say "shit".
"Yes, it's the real shit. I'm the real shit." Will couldn't help but brag.
"Try a dose of humility. It may just be your friend in this situation."
Will assesed the circumstances and realized hubris wasn't going to help him, so he nodded.
"I'd wager you know what you're doing better than even my astrophysicists chums from Oxford. Tell me truly—no nonsense—are you good at what you do?"
"The best." Will answered honestly and without hesitation.
The older man silently regarded the younger, to feel him out for sincerity. He decided he was content with what he got.
"What's your name?"
"Will. Will Smith."
"Well Will Smith, as it happens we share the same name, William. Except that I'm a Bill, not a Will." The older man smirked. "Bill Turner. And your new best friend."
"Why is that?"
"Because that copper is going to come back in a few seconds, and the outcome of your life depends entirely on whatever I decide to tell him. You can either earn piracy on your permanent record at the ripe old age of—how old are you? Twenty?"
"Eighteen."
"Hm. You look smarter than you are—Or, I can make them drop all charges. Every one."
This man had to be joking. Surely he was playing with Will and this was some psychological game of torture. He had known nothing but cruel jokes all his life. Why should this instance be any different?
"On one condition. You come work for me."
"What do you mean? Work for you?"
"Well, technically work for my boss's firm, Flying Dutchman Enterprises. But you'll be working under me. An internship. You can stop playing around downloading porn in your parents' basement, and actually do some real work with the big boys."
"I don't understa—"
"I'm talking about ethical hacking. Legally. And you'll do it for me." Bill Turner said shortly. "I need someone like you."
Will had never been told he was needed by somebody in all of his life.
Will considered his options. One look at this man and Will knew exactly what he was, and what he himself would become if he agreed to this man's request. A Suit. The very thing he hated.
"Never."
"Very well. See if I care." Without hesitation, Bill turned to the officers who were away some feet and talking, "Officer, I just realized there's something in this duffel bag you might like to see—"
"Wait!" Will said hurriedly.
"You better make your decision, and make your decision fast boy because my grace is wavering and you are running out of chances."
"I'll do it." Will finally said begrudgingly.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Smith. I look forward to our partnership." Having got the investment he wanted, Bill Turner was happy. "Now let's get you out of this car."
Will had been wrong before. He had no idea what kind of man this Bill Turner was. But for some reason he had decided to save his life that night, and for that, no matter his indifference to the strange man, Will owed a debt to him.
But he had a feeling this Bill Turner was about to give him a run for his money.
And in case you didn't catch that Calcium Kid reference, I named Will's fake parents Clyde and Patricia after Orlando's character's parents from the Calcium Kid. "It's NOT the milkman!"