Seasons out of Time (excerpt)
Seasons out of Time (excerpt)
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CONTENT:
Rating: Teen
Flavor: Humor/Drama
Language: some
Violence: no
Nudity: mentioned
Sex: no
Other: none
Author's Note:
This is an excerpt from a chapter of "Shattered Stones," which is a story of Malcolm and Tommy, and what a disaster their relationship is after they lose Rebecca. It's kinda depressing.... And I've been trying to think up scenes that aren't so depressing and disasterous.
My Brain came up with a nice fluffy one, but we didn't have anywhere to put it in "Shattered Stones." And this isn't it, either...! But that scene will eventually be worked into the end of this chapter. If someone (Brain, I'm looking at you) ever finishes writing it. :X
A note about the timeline: in my canon, Rebecca is killed when Tommy is 7 1/2. Malcolm doesn't leave on his 2-year sojourn until several months later, after police have exhausted their resources trying to find the murderer.
Seasons out of Time
Tommy is 14. Rebecca has been dead 7 years.
Malcolm heard Tommy breeze in the door and pound up the stairs. He got up and went after him, but didn't catch up until they were outside the door to Tommy's room.
"Tommy!" Malcolm called.
The boy turned. "Oh, hey Dad."
"Where've you been?"
"Hangin' at Oliver's place." Tommy didn't look at him, but just slouched there, his head down, his overly-long hair curtaining his face.
"And you didn't call?"
"I didn't know you were home."
Malcolm sensed the slight shift in his son's posture, a tightening. If Tommy were a fighter, he'd be going into a defensive stance. Malcolm took a breath and eased back, stifling his first instinct to reprimand his son and try to instill some discipline in him. "Well, it doesn't matter now," he managed casually. "Did you have a good time?"
Again a subtle shift as Tommy tried to regain his balance. "Oh, yeah." He looked up now, a grin spreading over his face. "We went to a concert. It was awesome!"
Malcolm smiled at his enthusiasm. "Good. I'm glad." He had to relax and stop worrying so much. Tommy was entering his rebellious teen years -- not that he hadn't been rebellious for most of his life, but the more Malcolm tried to influence him, the worse he would get.
"Hey, how was Greece?"
It was Malcolm's turn to be caught off balance. Could they have a conversation that didn't turn into an argument? "It was nice. Very sunny this time of year. Maybe we can think about going there this summer."
"To Greece?"
"Sure. Or anywhere in Europe, if you like." Malcolm started flipping through his mental calendar, trying to figure out when he could spare some time away from his other obligations. He would make sure this vacation happened. It was important for their relationship.
Tommy, however, seemed hesitant. Malcolm said, "Well, that's still a few months off. Give it some thought. What I wanted to ask you today was, is there anything special you wanted for your birthday?"
Tommy's brows went up with interest. "Besides cash?"
"Yes. I thought since you're doing so well in school this year, you deserve something more substantial."
Tommy grinned. "A car?"
"A car? I think that's still a year shy of being legal."
"Well, I can tool around in the driveway, and be ahead of the Driver's Ed class."
"Yeah... maybe not."
"Oh, how about an ATV? That's totally legal."
Malcolm tried to banish visions of the mansion's lawn torn up by the tracks.
"Maybe a dirt bike," Tommy was going on.
"Why not a helicopter?" Malcolm said. "And piloting lessons?"
"That'd be cool, too." Tommy started laughing when Malcolm couldn't keep his expression neutral. He sobered after a moment. "Okay, I know! My own credit card."
Now Malcolm's brows went up. "I think the car idea was less scary."
"Hey, it's the gift that keeps on giving," Tommy said with a persuasive smile.
"I'll take all your suggestions under consideration," Malcolm said. "If you think of anything else you want to add to the list, let me know."
"Sure."
"Happy birthday, Tommy." Malcolm gave him the card with a smile.
"Thanks, Dad." He worked the envelope open. "You know, I didn't notice any giant, vehicular-shaped boxes out in the driveway...."
"Well, that wouldn't be much of a surprise," Malcolm teased him. "Maybe I'll fly your present in on a helicopter."
"Or it will be the helicopter, right." Tommy rolled his eyes, which caused him to nearly drop the slim item that fell out of his birthday card. He juggled it for a moment. "Oh, no way!" He turned it over and his face lit up. "'Thomas Merlyn' -- my name, embossed in plastic!"
"Don't get too excited," Malcolm admonished him. "It does have a credit limit on it."
"It's still too cool! Thanks, Dad! Oliver is gonna sh-- uh -- really freak out when he sees this!"
"I'm sure he will." Malcolm was also sure he was going to hear about it from Robert when Oliver started pestering him for his own card. As he watched Tommy put the card in his wallet, he started to remind him to use it responsibly.... But he refrained. It was difficult letting go, but Tommy seemed to be doing so much better under a loose rein.
"Can we go to Oliver's now?"
"Don't you need a jacket?"
"Naah."
"Well, give me a minute, because I need one."
He found Tommy waiting out in the driveway. "Where's the car?"
Malcolm thumbed a button on his cell phone. "Bring the car around, please."
"I thought we were taking the Porsche."
"And I thought for your birthday, you'd like to be chauffeured. By a professional chauffeur, I mean."
Tommy rolled his eyes again. "Limos are boring. Sports cars rock."
Malcolm shook his head. He gently took hold of Tommy's elbow as the car pulled around.
Tommy shot a look at him, but was distracted by the trailer the limousine towed, which bore a large, distinctively vehicular-shaped box. "No way!" He started towards it, but Malcolm restrained him.
"Why don't you wait to open it until we get to the Queens' house?"
"Because I will die wondering what it is!"
"It's only 20 minutes away," Malcolm said.
"In a limo? Towing a trailer? It'll take half an hour!"
This time, Malcolm rolled his eyes. He signaled to the driver to stay in the car. He got the door open and practically stuffed the teenager inside.
"No fair, Dad! This is torture!"
"It builds character."
The boys must have spent the better part of an hour drooling over the jet-ski. Tommy insisted Oliver take his picture while he sat on it and struck different poses. Malcolm knew he was somewhat disappointed that he couldn't ride it right away (the idea of putting it in the pool was quickly vetoed by the heads of both Merlyn and Queen families), but he also knew how much Tommy had enjoyed renting a jet-ski last year at Ocean Grove. Besides, it wouldn't tear up the lawn, and if Tommy fell off, it would at least be softer hitting the water than the ground.
Robert joined Malcolm at the window. "He's turning into a fine young man."
"You only say that because you don't have to live with him."
"You only say that because you've never tried living with Oliver."
The boys stampeded in the door and through the foyer, laughing. The voice of Oliver's little sister, Thea, cut through the din. "Mom!" she yelled. "Ollie's being mean again!"
"Oliver, be nice to your sister," Moira's voice returned from the hall.
"It's not my fault she's too short to do anything!"
"I am not!"
Oliver stopped and faced Thea, his hands clasped. "Sure, you can play Need for Speed with us," he simpered, flicking a look at his cohort Tommy, who frowned. "You can even go first -- if you get there before we lock the door, slowpoke!" He bolted for the stairs, Tommy half a beat behind him.
Thea stomped her foot. "Ollie! Mom said!"
"Thee-yah," Tommy called back, elongating her name in a mocking sing-song. "Wouldn't wanna be ya!"
"Tommy, you are such a dork!"
"Thea!" Moira yelled. "Language!"
"But Mom!"
"But nothing! If you're going to be picking up that sort of language, then maybe you shouldn't be hanging around with those two. Go play in your own room."
"But Mom!"
"No 'buts.' I'm raising you to be a young lady, not a heavy metal gun moll!"
"Urgh!" Thea turned and stomped up the stairs.
Malcolm glanced at Robert, who had the knuckles of one hand pressed to his lips. His eyes glinted with mirth as his chest shook in silent laughter. Malcolm felt his own mouth twisting into a reluctant grin at the sibling dramatics, despite his son's role in the teasing of young Thea.
Moira bustled into the room, carrying a tray of tall glasses. She set that on the sideboard and rounded on the two men. "You're not laughing, are you?"
They could have bluffed their way through, but they made the mistake of catching each other's eye at the same moment. Malcolm managed to bite off his chuckle while Robert turned his into a cough. "Of course not, dear," he told his wife with a grin.
Moira gave him a scathing look, though the effect was blunted by her own tight-lipped smile. "Urgh," she said, though in a much more demure tone than her daughter. "They may look cute when they're young, but then they turn into teenagers." She handed Malcolm a glass of iced tea.
He chuckled lightly at her joke, then felt the inevitable pang. How long had it been? How many years since Tommy was a boy? Since Rebecca had been alive?
Moira turned back from giving Robert his drink, and caught Malcolm's expression. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." He swallowed and concentrated a moment on mastering his emotions. "It's just, every year on Tommy's birthday, I wish Rebecca could be here, to see how he's grown."
He shouldn't have said anything. He could see the empathy in Moira's face; and Robert, his expression was closed. "Malcolm," he said quietly, "you should let it go. It's been nearly ten years."
"Seven and a half," Malcolm corrected without thinking. Robert quirked a brow, emphasizing his point. Malcolm looked away, out the window, because the prickling in his eyes was really bothering him. Was there a time limit on mourning? Was it all supposed to go away one day? And how could he let go, now? His soul was still weighed down with guilt.
He felt a warm hand close over his fingers. He looked up and met the placid lake of Moira's eyes. "She'd be happy to be here. Don't spoil it for her."
A wave of calm swept over him, and he managed a small smile. "You're right." He brushed the remnants of his loneliness aside and regained his equilibrium. Moira always knew the right thing to say.
He turned his hand in her grasp to squeeze her fingers in gratitude. She smiled and responded in kind, lending him silent strength and support.
After a moment, they loosened their grip, just enough so their fingers could slide apart.
"Are you gonna watch me smoke your score on this or not?" Tommy griped, eyes glued to the screen as he worked the controller.
The boys sat on Oliver's bed. Well, Tommy sat. Oliver lay on his back, tossing a baseball up in the air and catching it. "If I watch, you'll totally choke up and not smoke my score."
"Shut up."
"Same thing happens if you try to talk and play at the same time."
"Shut up!"
Tommy could almost see out of the corner of his eye that his friend was smirking. He hoped Oliver would drop the ball and get his nose smashed in.
A moment later, there was a meaty thwack as the ball landed hard in Oliver's palm. Tommy winced and was momentarily distracted by his imaginings of bloody noses. He looked over in concern, which of course caused him to lose his rhythm in the game, and then wipe out as he overcompensated. "Dammit!"
"I told you." Oliver smirked as he sat up. "Hah! I am still the champion," he said, noting Tommy's final score. He breath-roared to imitate the cheering of a crowd. "Oliver Queen takes the gold! And the crowd goes wild!"
"You're such a dweeb," Tommy griped.
"I believe the word you're searching for is 'winner.' But you wouldn't know that, being as how you are the loo-oo-zer!"
Tommy shoved Oliver out of his face. The other teen rolled around on the bed until he came upright, seated next to Tommy. He reached for the controller.
"Hey, check this out, first." Tommy pulled out his wallet.
"What, did you score more than 500 bucks this year?" Oliver reined back on his avid look a moment later. "I have seen more than 500 dollars at once, you know."
"No, better than that. I scored this." He pulled out the credit card.
"No way!" Oliver's affectation of cool was totally blown away. He snatched the card. "Oh, man! Do you know what we can do with this?" He rolled back on the bed and nearly kicked Tommy as he swung himself to the other side. He bounced up and went to the desk, to his computer. "We can get pictures of real naked chicks!"
"What?" Tommy followed more slowly.
"Yeah, I know this site -- but you need a valid credit card to get in...." Oliver started clicking madly on his web browser.
"Are you nuts? Gimme that!" Tommy whipped the card out of Oliver's fingers, then thwacked it against the boy's forehead, eliciting a startled 'ow!' "Don't you watch TV? These things leave a paper trail. My dad will be checking the bill for this thing every month!"
"Well then what the hell good is it?"
Tommy waggled the card loosely in his hand. "Cash advances," he said smugly.
Oliver grinned. "Cool! Then you can use the card for stuff like buying flowers for your dad or something."
It was a lame attempt at humor, but the odd juxtaposition of his father with a bundle of flowers triggered memories of him at the cemetery. "I can buy flowers for my mom," Tommy blurted without thinking. "To put them on her grave." And that thought took a sudden left turn that brought him face to face with the yawning chasm inside himself. Where all the other kids at school had a mom -- whether they were caring and fun or nagging and annoying -- Tommy had only... nothing.
Oliver noticed the change in his demeanor right away. "Hey, man," he said, looking worried. "I was just joking. I didn't mean.... Tommy, I'm sorry. Hey, don't--"
Tommy clenched his jaw. His face and neck burned with the effort of keeping sudden tears inside, where they belonged. Not spilling. No. Even if it was only Oliver who saw. Tommy struggled to force the muscles in his throat to stop strangling him so he could swallow.
Oliver looked away, embarrassed for him. Tommy went back to his seat on the bed, using the brief respite to swipe at his eyes. "You're such a dweeb," he managed to grate out.
"Man, I'm sorry."
Oliver must have mistaken the roughness in his voice for anger. Tommy gained a bit more control and tried to sound disaffected. "Worse than a dweeb. You're a dork."
The other teen frowned as he slouched in his chair. Then he said, "Actually, I have it on good authority that you're the dork, Merlyn."
"'Good authority'?" Tommy twisted around. "Thea? You're seriously going by what your little sister says?" His eyebrows winched themselves higher with each word.
"Who else would be an expert on dorkiness?" Oliver snapped back defensively. "She's like Captain Dork of Dorkville."
"Leader of the Dorkville Dorks cheerleader squad?"
"Ruler of all Dorkdom!"
"Actually, I think that's you," Tommy said. "You should get one of your sister's princess dresses tailored so you can wear it when they crown you Queen of all Dorkdatron."
"I am not a queen!"
"Oh, I have it on 'good authority' that you are, Queenie-boy!"
"Shut up, 'Whizzer'!"
Tommy jumped up and plopped belly-down on the bed, so his head and arms hung down. He tugged at the box of video games that was under the bed. "Let's see if you have any Princess Pink Pony Dress-up games in here."
"No!" To Tommy's surprise, Oliver launched himself out of the chair and into a superman fly over the bed to bounce down and grab Tommy's arm.
"What? Like you really have Pretty Princess Pony in here?" Tommy grinned.
"No!" Oliver shouted.
Tommy started laughing. "Because you sure act like you do. Let's see...." He started fending off Oliver with one arm while trying to rummage around in the box with his other hand. He flung all kinds of fighting and racing games aside until he managed to espy a flash of pink. He shoved Oliver off and grabbed it. "Oh my God! You seriously have 'Barbie Super Model' in here!"
"That is not mine!" Oliver screeched, alternately punching Tommy in the ribs and trying to make a grab for the case the other boy was waving out of reach.
"Queenie Queen, Ruler of the Pink Princesses!" Tommy crowed, laughing so hard, he couldn't defend himself.
"It's Thea's! She sneaks in here to play her games because my TV is bigger!"
"And you just had to keep it!"
"I was hiding it, so she couldn't play it any more and would stop annoying me!" Red-faced, Oliver lunged once again to grab the game. Both boys tumbled off the bed, laughing, yelling, and wrestling.
A few moments later, there came a rapping at the door. "Ollie, are you guys fighting?" Thea's voice penetrated the wood. "I'm telling Mom! -- Mom!" She'd barely taken a breath between the threat and the deed.
Tommy and Oliver froze at once. "No!" they both denied in chorus. With one last parting glare, they scrambled to their feet and quickly brushed down their hair and clothing. Tommy thrust the incriminating game at Oliver who, perhaps imprudently, stuffed it in his shirt to hide it.
"Thea!" Oliver went over and yanked the door open. "We're not fighting; stop being such a tattletale!"
"Then what are you doing?"
"Playing!" Oliver insisted, echoed by Tommy.
"Then I can play, too." She ducked past Oliver, through the open door.
"Argh, Thea! You weren't invited!"
"Mom said!"
"She said I had to be nice to you." Oliver glowered down at his sister. "So I'm nicely asking you to get lost."
"You're gonna get in trouble!" Ignoring her brother's unsubtle hint, she plopped herself down on the side of the bed. There was no way, short of bodily picking her up, that they were going to get her out of the room, now.
Tommy palmed his face. "Outsmarted by a kindergartner."
Thea turned her fury on him. "I'm in first grade!"
"Oh, that's so much better!" He ignored Oliver's glare over Thea's head. "Okay, fine. You can play one race. Then the two people with the highest scores get to play the next game, and the loser has to be quiet. You got that?"
"Fine."
Tommy handed over the controller.
Oliver shook his head. "You're so doomed."
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CONTENT:
Rating: Teen
Flavor: Humor/Drama
Language: some
Violence: no
Nudity: mentioned
Sex: no
Other: none
Author's Note:
This is an excerpt from a chapter of "Shattered Stones," which is a story of Malcolm and Tommy, and what a disaster their relationship is after they lose Rebecca. It's kinda depressing.... And I've been trying to think up scenes that aren't so depressing and disasterous.
My Brain came up with a nice fluffy one, but we didn't have anywhere to put it in "Shattered Stones." And this isn't it, either...! But that scene will eventually be worked into the end of this chapter. If someone (Brain, I'm looking at you) ever finishes writing it. :X
A note about the timeline: in my canon, Rebecca is killed when Tommy is 7 1/2. Malcolm doesn't leave on his 2-year sojourn until several months later, after police have exhausted their resources trying to find the murderer.
Seasons out of Time
Tommy is 14. Rebecca has been dead 7 years.
Malcolm heard Tommy breeze in the door and pound up the stairs. He got up and went after him, but didn't catch up until they were outside the door to Tommy's room.
"Tommy!" Malcolm called.
The boy turned. "Oh, hey Dad."
"Where've you been?"
"Hangin' at Oliver's place." Tommy didn't look at him, but just slouched there, his head down, his overly-long hair curtaining his face.
"And you didn't call?"
"I didn't know you were home."
Malcolm sensed the slight shift in his son's posture, a tightening. If Tommy were a fighter, he'd be going into a defensive stance. Malcolm took a breath and eased back, stifling his first instinct to reprimand his son and try to instill some discipline in him. "Well, it doesn't matter now," he managed casually. "Did you have a good time?"
Again a subtle shift as Tommy tried to regain his balance. "Oh, yeah." He looked up now, a grin spreading over his face. "We went to a concert. It was awesome!"
Malcolm smiled at his enthusiasm. "Good. I'm glad." He had to relax and stop worrying so much. Tommy was entering his rebellious teen years -- not that he hadn't been rebellious for most of his life, but the more Malcolm tried to influence him, the worse he would get.
"Hey, how was Greece?"
It was Malcolm's turn to be caught off balance. Could they have a conversation that didn't turn into an argument? "It was nice. Very sunny this time of year. Maybe we can think about going there this summer."
"To Greece?"
"Sure. Or anywhere in Europe, if you like." Malcolm started flipping through his mental calendar, trying to figure out when he could spare some time away from his other obligations. He would make sure this vacation happened. It was important for their relationship.
Tommy, however, seemed hesitant. Malcolm said, "Well, that's still a few months off. Give it some thought. What I wanted to ask you today was, is there anything special you wanted for your birthday?"
Tommy's brows went up with interest. "Besides cash?"
"Yes. I thought since you're doing so well in school this year, you deserve something more substantial."
Tommy grinned. "A car?"
"A car? I think that's still a year shy of being legal."
"Well, I can tool around in the driveway, and be ahead of the Driver's Ed class."
"Yeah... maybe not."
"Oh, how about an ATV? That's totally legal."
Malcolm tried to banish visions of the mansion's lawn torn up by the tracks.
"Maybe a dirt bike," Tommy was going on.
"Why not a helicopter?" Malcolm said. "And piloting lessons?"
"That'd be cool, too." Tommy started laughing when Malcolm couldn't keep his expression neutral. He sobered after a moment. "Okay, I know! My own credit card."
Now Malcolm's brows went up. "I think the car idea was less scary."
"Hey, it's the gift that keeps on giving," Tommy said with a persuasive smile.
"I'll take all your suggestions under consideration," Malcolm said. "If you think of anything else you want to add to the list, let me know."
"Sure."
"Happy birthday, Tommy." Malcolm gave him the card with a smile.
"Thanks, Dad." He worked the envelope open. "You know, I didn't notice any giant, vehicular-shaped boxes out in the driveway...."
"Well, that wouldn't be much of a surprise," Malcolm teased him. "Maybe I'll fly your present in on a helicopter."
"Or it will be the helicopter, right." Tommy rolled his eyes, which caused him to nearly drop the slim item that fell out of his birthday card. He juggled it for a moment. "Oh, no way!" He turned it over and his face lit up. "'Thomas Merlyn' -- my name, embossed in plastic!"
"Don't get too excited," Malcolm admonished him. "It does have a credit limit on it."
"It's still too cool! Thanks, Dad! Oliver is gonna sh-- uh -- really freak out when he sees this!"
"I'm sure he will." Malcolm was also sure he was going to hear about it from Robert when Oliver started pestering him for his own card. As he watched Tommy put the card in his wallet, he started to remind him to use it responsibly.... But he refrained. It was difficult letting go, but Tommy seemed to be doing so much better under a loose rein.
"Can we go to Oliver's now?"
"Don't you need a jacket?"
"Naah."
"Well, give me a minute, because I need one."
He found Tommy waiting out in the driveway. "Where's the car?"
Malcolm thumbed a button on his cell phone. "Bring the car around, please."
"I thought we were taking the Porsche."
"And I thought for your birthday, you'd like to be chauffeured. By a professional chauffeur, I mean."
Tommy rolled his eyes again. "Limos are boring. Sports cars rock."
Malcolm shook his head. He gently took hold of Tommy's elbow as the car pulled around.
Tommy shot a look at him, but was distracted by the trailer the limousine towed, which bore a large, distinctively vehicular-shaped box. "No way!" He started towards it, but Malcolm restrained him.
"Why don't you wait to open it until we get to the Queens' house?"
"Because I will die wondering what it is!"
"It's only 20 minutes away," Malcolm said.
"In a limo? Towing a trailer? It'll take half an hour!"
This time, Malcolm rolled his eyes. He signaled to the driver to stay in the car. He got the door open and practically stuffed the teenager inside.
"No fair, Dad! This is torture!"
"It builds character."
The boys must have spent the better part of an hour drooling over the jet-ski. Tommy insisted Oliver take his picture while he sat on it and struck different poses. Malcolm knew he was somewhat disappointed that he couldn't ride it right away (the idea of putting it in the pool was quickly vetoed by the heads of both Merlyn and Queen families), but he also knew how much Tommy had enjoyed renting a jet-ski last year at Ocean Grove. Besides, it wouldn't tear up the lawn, and if Tommy fell off, it would at least be softer hitting the water than the ground.
Robert joined Malcolm at the window. "He's turning into a fine young man."
"You only say that because you don't have to live with him."
"You only say that because you've never tried living with Oliver."
The boys stampeded in the door and through the foyer, laughing. The voice of Oliver's little sister, Thea, cut through the din. "Mom!" she yelled. "Ollie's being mean again!"
"Oliver, be nice to your sister," Moira's voice returned from the hall.
"It's not my fault she's too short to do anything!"
"I am not!"
Oliver stopped and faced Thea, his hands clasped. "Sure, you can play Need for Speed with us," he simpered, flicking a look at his cohort Tommy, who frowned. "You can even go first -- if you get there before we lock the door, slowpoke!" He bolted for the stairs, Tommy half a beat behind him.
Thea stomped her foot. "Ollie! Mom said!"
"Thee-yah," Tommy called back, elongating her name in a mocking sing-song. "Wouldn't wanna be ya!"
"Tommy, you are such a dork!"
"Thea!" Moira yelled. "Language!"
"But Mom!"
"But nothing! If you're going to be picking up that sort of language, then maybe you shouldn't be hanging around with those two. Go play in your own room."
"But Mom!"
"No 'buts.' I'm raising you to be a young lady, not a heavy metal gun moll!"
"Urgh!" Thea turned and stomped up the stairs.
Malcolm glanced at Robert, who had the knuckles of one hand pressed to his lips. His eyes glinted with mirth as his chest shook in silent laughter. Malcolm felt his own mouth twisting into a reluctant grin at the sibling dramatics, despite his son's role in the teasing of young Thea.
Moira bustled into the room, carrying a tray of tall glasses. She set that on the sideboard and rounded on the two men. "You're not laughing, are you?"
They could have bluffed their way through, but they made the mistake of catching each other's eye at the same moment. Malcolm managed to bite off his chuckle while Robert turned his into a cough. "Of course not, dear," he told his wife with a grin.
Moira gave him a scathing look, though the effect was blunted by her own tight-lipped smile. "Urgh," she said, though in a much more demure tone than her daughter. "They may look cute when they're young, but then they turn into teenagers." She handed Malcolm a glass of iced tea.
He chuckled lightly at her joke, then felt the inevitable pang. How long had it been? How many years since Tommy was a boy? Since Rebecca had been alive?
Moira turned back from giving Robert his drink, and caught Malcolm's expression. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." He swallowed and concentrated a moment on mastering his emotions. "It's just, every year on Tommy's birthday, I wish Rebecca could be here, to see how he's grown."
He shouldn't have said anything. He could see the empathy in Moira's face; and Robert, his expression was closed. "Malcolm," he said quietly, "you should let it go. It's been nearly ten years."
"Seven and a half," Malcolm corrected without thinking. Robert quirked a brow, emphasizing his point. Malcolm looked away, out the window, because the prickling in his eyes was really bothering him. Was there a time limit on mourning? Was it all supposed to go away one day? And how could he let go, now? His soul was still weighed down with guilt.
He felt a warm hand close over his fingers. He looked up and met the placid lake of Moira's eyes. "She'd be happy to be here. Don't spoil it for her."
A wave of calm swept over him, and he managed a small smile. "You're right." He brushed the remnants of his loneliness aside and regained his equilibrium. Moira always knew the right thing to say.
He turned his hand in her grasp to squeeze her fingers in gratitude. She smiled and responded in kind, lending him silent strength and support.
After a moment, they loosened their grip, just enough so their fingers could slide apart.
"Are you gonna watch me smoke your score on this or not?" Tommy griped, eyes glued to the screen as he worked the controller.
The boys sat on Oliver's bed. Well, Tommy sat. Oliver lay on his back, tossing a baseball up in the air and catching it. "If I watch, you'll totally choke up and not smoke my score."
"Shut up."
"Same thing happens if you try to talk and play at the same time."
"Shut up!"
Tommy could almost see out of the corner of his eye that his friend was smirking. He hoped Oliver would drop the ball and get his nose smashed in.
A moment later, there was a meaty thwack as the ball landed hard in Oliver's palm. Tommy winced and was momentarily distracted by his imaginings of bloody noses. He looked over in concern, which of course caused him to lose his rhythm in the game, and then wipe out as he overcompensated. "Dammit!"
"I told you." Oliver smirked as he sat up. "Hah! I am still the champion," he said, noting Tommy's final score. He breath-roared to imitate the cheering of a crowd. "Oliver Queen takes the gold! And the crowd goes wild!"
"You're such a dweeb," Tommy griped.
"I believe the word you're searching for is 'winner.' But you wouldn't know that, being as how you are the loo-oo-zer!"
Tommy shoved Oliver out of his face. The other teen rolled around on the bed until he came upright, seated next to Tommy. He reached for the controller.
"Hey, check this out, first." Tommy pulled out his wallet.
"What, did you score more than 500 bucks this year?" Oliver reined back on his avid look a moment later. "I have seen more than 500 dollars at once, you know."
"No, better than that. I scored this." He pulled out the credit card.
"No way!" Oliver's affectation of cool was totally blown away. He snatched the card. "Oh, man! Do you know what we can do with this?" He rolled back on the bed and nearly kicked Tommy as he swung himself to the other side. He bounced up and went to the desk, to his computer. "We can get pictures of real naked chicks!"
"What?" Tommy followed more slowly.
"Yeah, I know this site -- but you need a valid credit card to get in...." Oliver started clicking madly on his web browser.
"Are you nuts? Gimme that!" Tommy whipped the card out of Oliver's fingers, then thwacked it against the boy's forehead, eliciting a startled 'ow!' "Don't you watch TV? These things leave a paper trail. My dad will be checking the bill for this thing every month!"
"Well then what the hell good is it?"
Tommy waggled the card loosely in his hand. "Cash advances," he said smugly.
Oliver grinned. "Cool! Then you can use the card for stuff like buying flowers for your dad or something."
It was a lame attempt at humor, but the odd juxtaposition of his father with a bundle of flowers triggered memories of him at the cemetery. "I can buy flowers for my mom," Tommy blurted without thinking. "To put them on her grave." And that thought took a sudden left turn that brought him face to face with the yawning chasm inside himself. Where all the other kids at school had a mom -- whether they were caring and fun or nagging and annoying -- Tommy had only... nothing.
Oliver noticed the change in his demeanor right away. "Hey, man," he said, looking worried. "I was just joking. I didn't mean.... Tommy, I'm sorry. Hey, don't--"
Tommy clenched his jaw. His face and neck burned with the effort of keeping sudden tears inside, where they belonged. Not spilling. No. Even if it was only Oliver who saw. Tommy struggled to force the muscles in his throat to stop strangling him so he could swallow.
Oliver looked away, embarrassed for him. Tommy went back to his seat on the bed, using the brief respite to swipe at his eyes. "You're such a dweeb," he managed to grate out.
"Man, I'm sorry."
Oliver must have mistaken the roughness in his voice for anger. Tommy gained a bit more control and tried to sound disaffected. "Worse than a dweeb. You're a dork."
The other teen frowned as he slouched in his chair. Then he said, "Actually, I have it on good authority that you're the dork, Merlyn."
"'Good authority'?" Tommy twisted around. "Thea? You're seriously going by what your little sister says?" His eyebrows winched themselves higher with each word.
"Who else would be an expert on dorkiness?" Oliver snapped back defensively. "She's like Captain Dork of Dorkville."
"Leader of the Dorkville Dorks cheerleader squad?"
"Ruler of all Dorkdom!"
"Actually, I think that's you," Tommy said. "You should get one of your sister's princess dresses tailored so you can wear it when they crown you Queen of all Dorkdatron."
"I am not a queen!"
"Oh, I have it on 'good authority' that you are, Queenie-boy!"
"Shut up, 'Whizzer'!"
Tommy jumped up and plopped belly-down on the bed, so his head and arms hung down. He tugged at the box of video games that was under the bed. "Let's see if you have any Princess Pink Pony Dress-up games in here."
"No!" To Tommy's surprise, Oliver launched himself out of the chair and into a superman fly over the bed to bounce down and grab Tommy's arm.
"What? Like you really have Pretty Princess Pony in here?" Tommy grinned.
"No!" Oliver shouted.
Tommy started laughing. "Because you sure act like you do. Let's see...." He started fending off Oliver with one arm while trying to rummage around in the box with his other hand. He flung all kinds of fighting and racing games aside until he managed to espy a flash of pink. He shoved Oliver off and grabbed it. "Oh my God! You seriously have 'Barbie Super Model' in here!"
"That is not mine!" Oliver screeched, alternately punching Tommy in the ribs and trying to make a grab for the case the other boy was waving out of reach.
"Queenie Queen, Ruler of the Pink Princesses!" Tommy crowed, laughing so hard, he couldn't defend himself.
"It's Thea's! She sneaks in here to play her games because my TV is bigger!"
"And you just had to keep it!"
"I was hiding it, so she couldn't play it any more and would stop annoying me!" Red-faced, Oliver lunged once again to grab the game. Both boys tumbled off the bed, laughing, yelling, and wrestling.
A few moments later, there came a rapping at the door. "Ollie, are you guys fighting?" Thea's voice penetrated the wood. "I'm telling Mom! -- Mom!" She'd barely taken a breath between the threat and the deed.
Tommy and Oliver froze at once. "No!" they both denied in chorus. With one last parting glare, they scrambled to their feet and quickly brushed down their hair and clothing. Tommy thrust the incriminating game at Oliver who, perhaps imprudently, stuffed it in his shirt to hide it.
"Thea!" Oliver went over and yanked the door open. "We're not fighting; stop being such a tattletale!"
"Then what are you doing?"
"Playing!" Oliver insisted, echoed by Tommy.
"Then I can play, too." She ducked past Oliver, through the open door.
"Argh, Thea! You weren't invited!"
"Mom said!"
"She said I had to be nice to you." Oliver glowered down at his sister. "So I'm nicely asking you to get lost."
"You're gonna get in trouble!" Ignoring her brother's unsubtle hint, she plopped herself down on the side of the bed. There was no way, short of bodily picking her up, that they were going to get her out of the room, now.
Tommy palmed his face. "Outsmarted by a kindergartner."
Thea turned her fury on him. "I'm in first grade!"
"Oh, that's so much better!" He ignored Oliver's glare over Thea's head. "Okay, fine. You can play one race. Then the two people with the highest scores get to play the next game, and the loser has to be quiet. You got that?"
"Fine."
Tommy handed over the controller.
Oliver shook his head. "You're so doomed."