Father Figure (2/?)
Title: Father Figure
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: John Paul/Craig
Notes: Thank you so much for the kind words on the first chapter. It was a nice surprise! This story has ended up being a bit longer than I initially expected, so that's why this won't end at two chapters, as I first anticipated.
--
John Paul often tried to believe that his last meeting with his father hadn't hurt him. John Paul had been about thirteen, desperate to get away from his home and his school and everything else that no longer seemed to fit him as he'd started to transition from boy to man. He'd gone to the big city for the day, just that one day of skipping school, telling himself it was worth the punishment in order to save his sanity. He'd been walking around the streets, breathing in everything, when he saw his dad. Looked like his dad, talked like his dad, had the same desperate air about him as his dad always did. John Paul knew better, but something inside him made him try. Like one of those old movies, where by chance the parent and child are tearfully reunited by chance and swear nothing will ever break them apart. He tried. He went up to his dad. So polite and so sincere and so tentative.
"I don't know who you are."
That's what he had said to John Paul. John Paul never had told anyone about that day. That was the day, once and for all, Dad became Ricky.
"Son, you're looking well."
John Paul was jolted back into the present. Here was this man who had become such a figment of his pains and his past, standing right here, flesh and blood.
"Ricky."
John Paul had called him "Dad" a few moments earlier. A reflex. A weakness. John Paul couldn't afford to have weaknesses. He much preferred "Ricky". He liked the way it made the stranger in front of him flinch.
"I guess I should introduce you to Craig Dean. My boyfriend. That means we have sex."
John Paul sensed Craig turning about five different shades of red. Everything in him screamed at him to take Craig's hand, to not be entirely alone in the world, but he didn't want a crutch. He wanted to feel this pain, to exorcise it. He'd had enough of making everything about Craig. Craig often seemed to read him like a book, and was keeping a safe distance away while John Paul had this heart-to-heart with his dear dad.
"Son..."
"Why do you keep calling me that? Since when am I a son to you? Or do you just not remember my name?"
The insult was spat out of his throat with a bitter melodic tone, punctuated with a chuckle which sounded much older than his years.
"I remember you, John Paul. How could I forget my only son?"
John Paul felt a wave of pain and longing wash over him.
"Don't sell yourself short, Ricky. There must be countless other families you've abandoned."
Somewhere in his head, John Paul knew he might be making a mistake, but every time he looked at his father's beady eyes, he remembered this was what he had come from. This was the man he had had to pattern so much of his life around. He'd never really been able to have a childhood. No, Ricky was the one who'd had a childhood...over forty years of childhood. He'd always be incomplete, a statistic, a cliche of a broken home. John Paul knew he'd had a good life, he knew he had a mother and sisters who loved him. He knew there were countless homes with a full time mum and dad which ended in disaster. He could accept that. What he couldn't let himself accept was giving Ricky another chance, letting himself hope.
"How does it make you feel, Ricky, to know your son is gay?"
Ricky flinched again as John Paul gave sure proof that he was gay. He'd spent so much of this past year outing himself, to his mother, his sisters, Craig, his school, his mates, outing his affair to the whole town...now the man who was his father. He had always been defined by his dysfunctional family, and now by his sexuality. He wondered if he'd ever be his own man.
Ricky was so good at getting to people. Mum, Michaela...when he looked at John Paul this way, with those sad eyes pleading for forgiveness, with his body so small and so vulnerable, John Paul almost felt guilty. He almost wanted to take a chance.
"Son, I love you no matter what you choose."
From a real father, those words might have been exactly what John Paul wanted, needed to hear. From Ricky Bowen, the comments were like a knife to the gut. He could take his father throwing homophobic bile, telling him what a sick abomination he was. He couldn't take this. He couldn't sit and wonder whether his father actually supported him or just pretended to do so while his real support was for the inside of John Paul's wallet.
"I didn't choose to be gay. Just like I didn't choose to have a crap dad."
Just like that, the shutter slammed shut on any window of opportunity for father and son. John Paul continued his speech in a very deliberate monotone, afraid if he stopped for even a second, he would cry. He would not let Ricky Bowen see him cry.
"Michaela's so much like you, sometimes it hurts to be with her. She loved you so much, maybe cause you weren't around enough to show what a loser you were. Took care of that right quick though, I give you credit. What you did to her last Christmas...you broke her. She's never been the same. Carmel's so beautiful, yet she can't even look at herself in the mirror sometimes. She doesn't think any man will ever love her. Wonder why that is?"
John Paul couldn't talk about his own pain. He just couldn't. He was close to shaking. He felt Craig's arms around him, but he pushed them away. He couldn't let himself be comforted. He'd fall apart.
"That's why I came here. To make things right. I've learned this time. I swear. Son, if you just trust me, I swear."
John Paul knew he had to leave, as fast as his feet could take him. He only had one more comment to make to his father.
"I don't know who you are."
--
Craig wanted to run after John Paul, but knew his boyfriend well enough to give him some time to himself. John Paul had never had any time to himself in his whole life.
Impassively staring straight ahead, Craig turned his attention to the man standing in front of him. He wanted to ask Ricky Bowen so many questions, like, "Do you know how much you've hurt your son?" or "Your son is so wonderful and kind, why do you want to torment him?" He hesitated, because he knew the only answer he'd get would be silvery-tongued revisionist history, skillfully wrapped packages from a child who had spent nearly half a century trying not to grow up.
Finally, he settled on something more direct.
"I won't let you hurt John-Paul."
Craig Dean was only nineteen years old, a confused youth in the presence of a man over twice his age who had seen and done who knows what. Yet, his voice carried authority and force.
"I can tell you love him, Greg."
"It's Craig."
"Yeah, sorry, my memory ain't my best feature these days. Don't have a lot of good features to begin with."
The older man gave Craig the hint of a self-conscious smile, just enough to let Craig lower his guard. Craig rolled his eyes, but he knew Ricky was good at what he was doing.
"Don't try that on me, softening me up with your old man bit. I know a con when I see one...used to be one myself."
When Ricky laughed, his very tired eyes briefly sparkled with flashes of good times past.
"Can't fool you, eh? Fair enough. If you don't mind me asking, how did you meet my son?"
Craig didn't owe Ricky Bowen any explanations, but he was proud of John Paul. On some level, he hoped he could make Ricky feel the same way. Even as painful as the memories were, Craig was proud.
"Last year, I was getting bullied all the time at school. It was getting pretty bad until John Paul stepped in. Even set off the fire alarm. And this was when we'd first met, when I'd treated him like he was from outer space. He did that just for me."
Ricky smiled, wistfully. Craig could see John Paul's smile hidden in that weathered face.
"Sounds like John Paul alright. McQueen through and through. He may hate ya sometimes, but God help anybody who tries to mess with ya. He's your best mate and your worst enemy, all at once. He gets that from his mum."
Some days, Craig looked at his beautiful, normal, calm boyfriend and wondered how he could be related to any McQueen (except maybe Tina, she was normal enough). Then other days, like today, Craig had seen so much bitterness and hurt in John Paul, almost like he was standing next to Mercedes or Jacqui. He had leaned so much on John Paul, used him, expected him to always understand. Craig had taken for granted just how easy it might be to shatter John Paul into pieces, like when he'd accidentally broke his gran's teacup and tried to glue it back together before she'd notice. He'd convinced himself just because he thought the teacup was perfect, no one else would ever notice.
As he was lost in thought, he sat down on the edge of the bridge. Ricky stood over him. For a moment Craig thought it would be like a horror movie where the crazy in-law would push him to his drowning death, but then Ricky sat beside him, picking at the ratty imitation leather coat he'd obviously worn to pieces.
"Y'see, Craig, my boy's one of a kind. Special, ya might say."
"There's no might about it."
"Exactly. That's what I'm saying. That's why I left. Yeah, I'm a crap dad and all that. I shoulda been there for my kids. But I also know what I am. I just couldn't be a full time father and husband. I never had that in me. I had to make a choice. Was I gonna stay around in some lousy job, a slave, hating Myra and my kids more and more every day? Knowing Jacqui and Mercedes would never see me as anything more than an intruder? Taking my comforts in a bottle, or drugs, or the horses? Taking my pain out on my family with my fists or my belt?"
As the soft-spoken words sank in, Craig wanted to believe him. Then he thought about his own father and how easily he'd dumped Craig, Jake, and Steph, then the baby he'd had with the woman he'd abandoned the Deans for in the first place. Craig stood up, turning on the older man who had been sitting next to him.
"EXCUSE ME, are you trying to make me feel like you're a hero for abandoning your kids!? They didn't have you when they needed you and they felt like it was their fault and they wonder why you hated them and it never goes away, it never goes away. That's absolute shit, what you just said, and you make me sick. I. HATE. YOU. I am so fucking sick of you lousy, worthless dads who make your kids pay the price! You can fuck right off, Johnno Dean, you don't even deserve to breathe the same air as your son, much less..."
"My name's Ricky Bowen."
The venom Craig continuously spat at the older man dried as his mouth hung open.
"Oh God..."
He thought he'd gotten over what Johnno had done, he thought he was a man now, he thought...
"Now I see another reason you're so protective of John Paul."
Craig felt humiliated, and most of all, angry. Angry at the father who would never be around to answer his questions about why he had so easily flushed years and years of love and family down the toilet. Angry at Ricky for leaving John Paul. Most of all, angry at himself because he thought he'd gotten over his past. How could he ever be strong for John Paul if he was so weak himself?
Not really thinking of what he was doing, Craig closed his eyes and screamed. He screamed for what he would never have, what he would never be, what had been denied him. He screamed at the tears forming in his eyes and how they made him feel like less of a man. He screamed at the fact that the man he loved so dearly feeling the same pain he felt, pain no child should have to feel. Finally, a lump of tears formed in his ragged throat and his cry turned to a choked sob.
He had almost forgotten Ricky was still there, but he was.
"This is why I want to talk to my son. I want him to know he did nothing wrong, that I love him, and care about him."
Craig found his voice again in time to snappishly respond, the words short and to the point.
"And what do you get out of it? Money, more stuff to nick in time for Christmas, what?"
Ricky looked at him, straight on.
"I get to know my son doesn't feel like a failure."
He was either sincere or a very good liar. Or both.
"Even if I believe you, what does it have to do with me?"
"Craig, I've burned all my bridges with my son. He won't want to hear what I say. Look how he reacted to me today. He loves you. He knows you want what's best for him. If you..."
Craig realized just what this whole conversation had been about. He felt like such a fool. He gritted his teeth, so much so that Ricky took a step back.
"That's why you wanted to talk to me. Bring me in, make me feel good. You're gonna use me to do your dirty work."
"I'm not using you for anything. Nobody can control you, I can tell that. My son's not gonna love a doormat, is he? I'll just say this and then I'll be on my way. I'll be here tomorrow, around this same time. I want to talk to John Paul. Really talk. I want you to tell him, and since you care about him, I think you will. If he doesn't show up then I'll know he made his choice and I tried and I can leave."
"And what if I keep quiet?"
"Then you'll be denying the man you love the opportunity that your own father never gave you."
Ricky walked away. Craig put his hands to his forehead, feeling an awful pain in his stomach. Craig had not loathed anyone in his life the way he loathed Ricky Bowen at that moment. What he wanted Craig to do. What he made Craig feel. What he was going to put John Paul through once again. And worst of all, that Craig sensed deep down somewhere, for all his disgust at the other man's tactics and fake concern, that Ricky was right. That in the end John Paul would have far more regret if he stayed away, and Craig even moreso if he didn't tell John Paul his father wanted to talk to him one last time.
"Oh God, what do I do? What do I do?" he whispered to himself.
--
John Paul had wandered around the streets for a few hours, not really knowing or caring where he was headed. All he could think of was his father's eyes, and the man he might become someday. If he'd been straight, would Hannah have been sitting at home taking care of kids John Paul only bothered to acknowledge every time he needed to borrow some money? Even now, even with what he was, he'd slept with Hannah when he didn't really love her or want her, knowing how much she'd loved him. He'd used Spike to get over Craig, cheated on him, lied to him. Yeah he'd soon broken up with Spike, but he'd still hurt Spike, all to make himself feel better. What made his relationship with Craig so different? What would make him any more able to stay loyal to Craig? What would stop him from being just like his dad?
Finally John Paul made his way back home, his head pounding, his eyes red from all his crying. He just wanted to take a shower and get some sleep. At least now with Tina and Dom gone he had less brawls over the bathroom.
"Hello luv, I was getting worried. Have a good day?"
Myra's tone implied she already knew the answer to that question. He didn't want to face her. He didn't want to have a heart-to-heart or say how he was feeling or let her know just how much his father still had an impact on his life.
Myra put down the washing and gently took her son by the shoulders.
"What's happened?"
John Paul used every last ounce of strength he had to plaster a smile onto his haggard face.
"I'm alright, really. Just a long day with classes and everything."
He wanted to settle for a hug and some time by himself, some time away from his mother's knowing yet inquisitive stare that he knew too well. He thought she was going to let him have that moment to himself.
"As long as you told Craig what's bothering you, don't mind me, luv."
A few words, but enough to twist a small dagger into John Paul's heart. His mother had been the center of his universe all his life until he'd met Craig, and yet even while living under her own roof, mother and son had grown further and further apart. He knew he could and eventually would work out how to balance his mother with the man he loved, but it wasn't easy.
"Mum, I'm so tired now. I'm not trying to keep anything from you."
"Oh, I know you're not. It's only natural for a young man to want to confide in his sweetheart. Mum just isn't as important anymore."
John Paul began to sense he would say something he'd regret if he didn't hurry this along.
"Ricky came up to me today when I was with Craig."
Myra looked concerned, but underneath the concern there was a hint of pain at the mention of his father's name.
"Well what did he do, luv? What did he say to make you cry all those tears? Does he know about you and..."
John Paul smiled to himself as he remembered the look on his father's face.
"He caught us kissing, so he has a pretty good idea. He just gave me his old line 'bout how he wants things to be different this time and he'll be father of the year and this time he really means it."
Myra nodded, but didn't seem entirely convinced at her son's attempt to show his lack of hurt at the situation. She took him into her arms, and as much as John Paul had proven himself to be a man, he allowed himself to find comfort in those arms, to briefly retreat to a world where a warm hug and a gentle backrub could make everything better.
The maternal contact seemed to do good for both of them. He wanted to believe he could ask his mother anything, tell his mother anything, even if he had so often not been able to do so.
"Mum..." he whispered as he listened to her heartbeat.
"Yes luv?"
"Do you think he loves me?"
The room was silent for a few seconds, seconds that seemed to stretch into hours. Finally, John Paul received a halting, melancholy response from his mother.
"As much as your dad is capable of loving anyone."
What she hadn't said made more of an impact than what she'd actually said. He wanted to ask her so many questions about his father, but he knew how much hurt he would pass on to her, pass on to a woman who had already seen so much pain in her life.
"Thanks. I already ate, so I'm just gonna go on to bed after I take a shower. Craig said he could just eat something outta the fridge if you don't feel like making a meal."
Myra reluctantly let her son out of her grasp.
"I'm gonna be fixing something for Michaela, might as well make enough for Craig too. And you, when you come down to the kitchen in the middle of the night cause you don't eat meals at the proper time."
John Paul shrugged, guilty as charged. He wouldn't say he felt any better, but he felt more secure.
"Thanks Mum."
He rushed through his shower and then slid into bed wearing his T-shirt and boxers. His bed had always seemed small, but now felt much too large without Craig in it. He closed his eyes, not really sleeping, more like studying the back of his eyelids. A dreamless, exhausted sleep.
After what seemed like an eternity alone in his bed, he felt a pair of strong arms around his waist. John Paul practically melted into them, so surprised at his own neediness and vulnerability that he tried to mask them with a weak joke.
"I've been waiting for you, Darren. I've missed you."
Those soft lips he knew so well gently landed on his forehead, then his mouth.
"You're gonna have to do a lot better than that to wind me up, mate."
John Paul managed to open his eyes and turn his head long enough to see Craig. So handsome and solid and all his. Craig's face was scrubbed red, like he'd washed it thoroughly right before coming to bed. John Paul wondered if he'd been crying too. He looked like he wanted to tell John Paul something.
John Paul was still frightened sometimes by how much he needed Craig. How much hurt he and Craig had caused each other, and how he knew that the hurt was worth it. He'd always read about grand passion, and heard about it, but never came close to imagining what love was like until Craig. Sometimes he wondered if it was better to live half a life than live all or nothing with the tempestuous man beside him. Then he remembered just what a gift he had been given, and how nothing and no one in the world would ever take that away from him.
"Craig, please don't laugh at me, or tell me I sound like I'm up myself."
Craig looked over at him, blinking through his fatigue caused by the stressful, exhausting day.
"I just want you to know how much you mean to me. Before I met you, I was a...facade. What I thought the perfect son and athlete and brother was supposed to be. I had all the smart lines and never let my pain show. I was never really myself. I was scared of myself. With you, I'm me, no matter how much it hurts. Thank you for letting me..."
Craig interrupted him with a kiss, his long fingers curled in the back of John Paul's hair. A tender exchange which told John Paul more about Craig's feelings than Craig ever could with words. On many nights, the kiss would have led to much more, but they were both so tired. Both young men suspected the next day would bring them even more heartache and upheaval.
Until then, John Paul fell asleep in his lover's arms. And in those arms, he was at peace.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: John Paul/Craig
Notes: Thank you so much for the kind words on the first chapter. It was a nice surprise! This story has ended up being a bit longer than I initially expected, so that's why this won't end at two chapters, as I first anticipated.
--
John Paul often tried to believe that his last meeting with his father hadn't hurt him. John Paul had been about thirteen, desperate to get away from his home and his school and everything else that no longer seemed to fit him as he'd started to transition from boy to man. He'd gone to the big city for the day, just that one day of skipping school, telling himself it was worth the punishment in order to save his sanity. He'd been walking around the streets, breathing in everything, when he saw his dad. Looked like his dad, talked like his dad, had the same desperate air about him as his dad always did. John Paul knew better, but something inside him made him try. Like one of those old movies, where by chance the parent and child are tearfully reunited by chance and swear nothing will ever break them apart. He tried. He went up to his dad. So polite and so sincere and so tentative.
"I don't know who you are."
That's what he had said to John Paul. John Paul never had told anyone about that day. That was the day, once and for all, Dad became Ricky.
"Son, you're looking well."
John Paul was jolted back into the present. Here was this man who had become such a figment of his pains and his past, standing right here, flesh and blood.
"Ricky."
John Paul had called him "Dad" a few moments earlier. A reflex. A weakness. John Paul couldn't afford to have weaknesses. He much preferred "Ricky". He liked the way it made the stranger in front of him flinch.
"I guess I should introduce you to Craig Dean. My boyfriend. That means we have sex."
John Paul sensed Craig turning about five different shades of red. Everything in him screamed at him to take Craig's hand, to not be entirely alone in the world, but he didn't want a crutch. He wanted to feel this pain, to exorcise it. He'd had enough of making everything about Craig. Craig often seemed to read him like a book, and was keeping a safe distance away while John Paul had this heart-to-heart with his dear dad.
"Son..."
"Why do you keep calling me that? Since when am I a son to you? Or do you just not remember my name?"
The insult was spat out of his throat with a bitter melodic tone, punctuated with a chuckle which sounded much older than his years.
"I remember you, John Paul. How could I forget my only son?"
John Paul felt a wave of pain and longing wash over him.
"Don't sell yourself short, Ricky. There must be countless other families you've abandoned."
Somewhere in his head, John Paul knew he might be making a mistake, but every time he looked at his father's beady eyes, he remembered this was what he had come from. This was the man he had had to pattern so much of his life around. He'd never really been able to have a childhood. No, Ricky was the one who'd had a childhood...over forty years of childhood. He'd always be incomplete, a statistic, a cliche of a broken home. John Paul knew he'd had a good life, he knew he had a mother and sisters who loved him. He knew there were countless homes with a full time mum and dad which ended in disaster. He could accept that. What he couldn't let himself accept was giving Ricky another chance, letting himself hope.
"How does it make you feel, Ricky, to know your son is gay?"
Ricky flinched again as John Paul gave sure proof that he was gay. He'd spent so much of this past year outing himself, to his mother, his sisters, Craig, his school, his mates, outing his affair to the whole town...now the man who was his father. He had always been defined by his dysfunctional family, and now by his sexuality. He wondered if he'd ever be his own man.
Ricky was so good at getting to people. Mum, Michaela...when he looked at John Paul this way, with those sad eyes pleading for forgiveness, with his body so small and so vulnerable, John Paul almost felt guilty. He almost wanted to take a chance.
"Son, I love you no matter what you choose."
From a real father, those words might have been exactly what John Paul wanted, needed to hear. From Ricky Bowen, the comments were like a knife to the gut. He could take his father throwing homophobic bile, telling him what a sick abomination he was. He couldn't take this. He couldn't sit and wonder whether his father actually supported him or just pretended to do so while his real support was for the inside of John Paul's wallet.
"I didn't choose to be gay. Just like I didn't choose to have a crap dad."
Just like that, the shutter slammed shut on any window of opportunity for father and son. John Paul continued his speech in a very deliberate monotone, afraid if he stopped for even a second, he would cry. He would not let Ricky Bowen see him cry.
"Michaela's so much like you, sometimes it hurts to be with her. She loved you so much, maybe cause you weren't around enough to show what a loser you were. Took care of that right quick though, I give you credit. What you did to her last Christmas...you broke her. She's never been the same. Carmel's so beautiful, yet she can't even look at herself in the mirror sometimes. She doesn't think any man will ever love her. Wonder why that is?"
John Paul couldn't talk about his own pain. He just couldn't. He was close to shaking. He felt Craig's arms around him, but he pushed them away. He couldn't let himself be comforted. He'd fall apart.
"That's why I came here. To make things right. I've learned this time. I swear. Son, if you just trust me, I swear."
John Paul knew he had to leave, as fast as his feet could take him. He only had one more comment to make to his father.
"I don't know who you are."
--
Craig wanted to run after John Paul, but knew his boyfriend well enough to give him some time to himself. John Paul had never had any time to himself in his whole life.
Impassively staring straight ahead, Craig turned his attention to the man standing in front of him. He wanted to ask Ricky Bowen so many questions, like, "Do you know how much you've hurt your son?" or "Your son is so wonderful and kind, why do you want to torment him?" He hesitated, because he knew the only answer he'd get would be silvery-tongued revisionist history, skillfully wrapped packages from a child who had spent nearly half a century trying not to grow up.
Finally, he settled on something more direct.
"I won't let you hurt John-Paul."
Craig Dean was only nineteen years old, a confused youth in the presence of a man over twice his age who had seen and done who knows what. Yet, his voice carried authority and force.
"I can tell you love him, Greg."
"It's Craig."
"Yeah, sorry, my memory ain't my best feature these days. Don't have a lot of good features to begin with."
The older man gave Craig the hint of a self-conscious smile, just enough to let Craig lower his guard. Craig rolled his eyes, but he knew Ricky was good at what he was doing.
"Don't try that on me, softening me up with your old man bit. I know a con when I see one...used to be one myself."
When Ricky laughed, his very tired eyes briefly sparkled with flashes of good times past.
"Can't fool you, eh? Fair enough. If you don't mind me asking, how did you meet my son?"
Craig didn't owe Ricky Bowen any explanations, but he was proud of John Paul. On some level, he hoped he could make Ricky feel the same way. Even as painful as the memories were, Craig was proud.
"Last year, I was getting bullied all the time at school. It was getting pretty bad until John Paul stepped in. Even set off the fire alarm. And this was when we'd first met, when I'd treated him like he was from outer space. He did that just for me."
Ricky smiled, wistfully. Craig could see John Paul's smile hidden in that weathered face.
"Sounds like John Paul alright. McQueen through and through. He may hate ya sometimes, but God help anybody who tries to mess with ya. He's your best mate and your worst enemy, all at once. He gets that from his mum."
Some days, Craig looked at his beautiful, normal, calm boyfriend and wondered how he could be related to any McQueen (except maybe Tina, she was normal enough). Then other days, like today, Craig had seen so much bitterness and hurt in John Paul, almost like he was standing next to Mercedes or Jacqui. He had leaned so much on John Paul, used him, expected him to always understand. Craig had taken for granted just how easy it might be to shatter John Paul into pieces, like when he'd accidentally broke his gran's teacup and tried to glue it back together before she'd notice. He'd convinced himself just because he thought the teacup was perfect, no one else would ever notice.
As he was lost in thought, he sat down on the edge of the bridge. Ricky stood over him. For a moment Craig thought it would be like a horror movie where the crazy in-law would push him to his drowning death, but then Ricky sat beside him, picking at the ratty imitation leather coat he'd obviously worn to pieces.
"Y'see, Craig, my boy's one of a kind. Special, ya might say."
"There's no might about it."
"Exactly. That's what I'm saying. That's why I left. Yeah, I'm a crap dad and all that. I shoulda been there for my kids. But I also know what I am. I just couldn't be a full time father and husband. I never had that in me. I had to make a choice. Was I gonna stay around in some lousy job, a slave, hating Myra and my kids more and more every day? Knowing Jacqui and Mercedes would never see me as anything more than an intruder? Taking my comforts in a bottle, or drugs, or the horses? Taking my pain out on my family with my fists or my belt?"
As the soft-spoken words sank in, Craig wanted to believe him. Then he thought about his own father and how easily he'd dumped Craig, Jake, and Steph, then the baby he'd had with the woman he'd abandoned the Deans for in the first place. Craig stood up, turning on the older man who had been sitting next to him.
"EXCUSE ME, are you trying to make me feel like you're a hero for abandoning your kids!? They didn't have you when they needed you and they felt like it was their fault and they wonder why you hated them and it never goes away, it never goes away. That's absolute shit, what you just said, and you make me sick. I. HATE. YOU. I am so fucking sick of you lousy, worthless dads who make your kids pay the price! You can fuck right off, Johnno Dean, you don't even deserve to breathe the same air as your son, much less..."
"My name's Ricky Bowen."
The venom Craig continuously spat at the older man dried as his mouth hung open.
"Oh God..."
He thought he'd gotten over what Johnno had done, he thought he was a man now, he thought...
"Now I see another reason you're so protective of John Paul."
Craig felt humiliated, and most of all, angry. Angry at the father who would never be around to answer his questions about why he had so easily flushed years and years of love and family down the toilet. Angry at Ricky for leaving John Paul. Most of all, angry at himself because he thought he'd gotten over his past. How could he ever be strong for John Paul if he was so weak himself?
Not really thinking of what he was doing, Craig closed his eyes and screamed. He screamed for what he would never have, what he would never be, what had been denied him. He screamed at the tears forming in his eyes and how they made him feel like less of a man. He screamed at the fact that the man he loved so dearly feeling the same pain he felt, pain no child should have to feel. Finally, a lump of tears formed in his ragged throat and his cry turned to a choked sob.
He had almost forgotten Ricky was still there, but he was.
"This is why I want to talk to my son. I want him to know he did nothing wrong, that I love him, and care about him."
Craig found his voice again in time to snappishly respond, the words short and to the point.
"And what do you get out of it? Money, more stuff to nick in time for Christmas, what?"
Ricky looked at him, straight on.
"I get to know my son doesn't feel like a failure."
He was either sincere or a very good liar. Or both.
"Even if I believe you, what does it have to do with me?"
"Craig, I've burned all my bridges with my son. He won't want to hear what I say. Look how he reacted to me today. He loves you. He knows you want what's best for him. If you..."
Craig realized just what this whole conversation had been about. He felt like such a fool. He gritted his teeth, so much so that Ricky took a step back.
"That's why you wanted to talk to me. Bring me in, make me feel good. You're gonna use me to do your dirty work."
"I'm not using you for anything. Nobody can control you, I can tell that. My son's not gonna love a doormat, is he? I'll just say this and then I'll be on my way. I'll be here tomorrow, around this same time. I want to talk to John Paul. Really talk. I want you to tell him, and since you care about him, I think you will. If he doesn't show up then I'll know he made his choice and I tried and I can leave."
"And what if I keep quiet?"
"Then you'll be denying the man you love the opportunity that your own father never gave you."
Ricky walked away. Craig put his hands to his forehead, feeling an awful pain in his stomach. Craig had not loathed anyone in his life the way he loathed Ricky Bowen at that moment. What he wanted Craig to do. What he made Craig feel. What he was going to put John Paul through once again. And worst of all, that Craig sensed deep down somewhere, for all his disgust at the other man's tactics and fake concern, that Ricky was right. That in the end John Paul would have far more regret if he stayed away, and Craig even moreso if he didn't tell John Paul his father wanted to talk to him one last time.
"Oh God, what do I do? What do I do?" he whispered to himself.
--
John Paul had wandered around the streets for a few hours, not really knowing or caring where he was headed. All he could think of was his father's eyes, and the man he might become someday. If he'd been straight, would Hannah have been sitting at home taking care of kids John Paul only bothered to acknowledge every time he needed to borrow some money? Even now, even with what he was, he'd slept with Hannah when he didn't really love her or want her, knowing how much she'd loved him. He'd used Spike to get over Craig, cheated on him, lied to him. Yeah he'd soon broken up with Spike, but he'd still hurt Spike, all to make himself feel better. What made his relationship with Craig so different? What would make him any more able to stay loyal to Craig? What would stop him from being just like his dad?
Finally John Paul made his way back home, his head pounding, his eyes red from all his crying. He just wanted to take a shower and get some sleep. At least now with Tina and Dom gone he had less brawls over the bathroom.
"Hello luv, I was getting worried. Have a good day?"
Myra's tone implied she already knew the answer to that question. He didn't want to face her. He didn't want to have a heart-to-heart or say how he was feeling or let her know just how much his father still had an impact on his life.
Myra put down the washing and gently took her son by the shoulders.
"What's happened?"
John Paul used every last ounce of strength he had to plaster a smile onto his haggard face.
"I'm alright, really. Just a long day with classes and everything."
He wanted to settle for a hug and some time by himself, some time away from his mother's knowing yet inquisitive stare that he knew too well. He thought she was going to let him have that moment to himself.
"As long as you told Craig what's bothering you, don't mind me, luv."
A few words, but enough to twist a small dagger into John Paul's heart. His mother had been the center of his universe all his life until he'd met Craig, and yet even while living under her own roof, mother and son had grown further and further apart. He knew he could and eventually would work out how to balance his mother with the man he loved, but it wasn't easy.
"Mum, I'm so tired now. I'm not trying to keep anything from you."
"Oh, I know you're not. It's only natural for a young man to want to confide in his sweetheart. Mum just isn't as important anymore."
John Paul began to sense he would say something he'd regret if he didn't hurry this along.
"Ricky came up to me today when I was with Craig."
Myra looked concerned, but underneath the concern there was a hint of pain at the mention of his father's name.
"Well what did he do, luv? What did he say to make you cry all those tears? Does he know about you and..."
John Paul smiled to himself as he remembered the look on his father's face.
"He caught us kissing, so he has a pretty good idea. He just gave me his old line 'bout how he wants things to be different this time and he'll be father of the year and this time he really means it."
Myra nodded, but didn't seem entirely convinced at her son's attempt to show his lack of hurt at the situation. She took him into her arms, and as much as John Paul had proven himself to be a man, he allowed himself to find comfort in those arms, to briefly retreat to a world where a warm hug and a gentle backrub could make everything better.
The maternal contact seemed to do good for both of them. He wanted to believe he could ask his mother anything, tell his mother anything, even if he had so often not been able to do so.
"Mum..." he whispered as he listened to her heartbeat.
"Yes luv?"
"Do you think he loves me?"
The room was silent for a few seconds, seconds that seemed to stretch into hours. Finally, John Paul received a halting, melancholy response from his mother.
"As much as your dad is capable of loving anyone."
What she hadn't said made more of an impact than what she'd actually said. He wanted to ask her so many questions about his father, but he knew how much hurt he would pass on to her, pass on to a woman who had already seen so much pain in her life.
"Thanks. I already ate, so I'm just gonna go on to bed after I take a shower. Craig said he could just eat something outta the fridge if you don't feel like making a meal."
Myra reluctantly let her son out of her grasp.
"I'm gonna be fixing something for Michaela, might as well make enough for Craig too. And you, when you come down to the kitchen in the middle of the night cause you don't eat meals at the proper time."
John Paul shrugged, guilty as charged. He wouldn't say he felt any better, but he felt more secure.
"Thanks Mum."
He rushed through his shower and then slid into bed wearing his T-shirt and boxers. His bed had always seemed small, but now felt much too large without Craig in it. He closed his eyes, not really sleeping, more like studying the back of his eyelids. A dreamless, exhausted sleep.
After what seemed like an eternity alone in his bed, he felt a pair of strong arms around his waist. John Paul practically melted into them, so surprised at his own neediness and vulnerability that he tried to mask them with a weak joke.
"I've been waiting for you, Darren. I've missed you."
Those soft lips he knew so well gently landed on his forehead, then his mouth.
"You're gonna have to do a lot better than that to wind me up, mate."
John Paul managed to open his eyes and turn his head long enough to see Craig. So handsome and solid and all his. Craig's face was scrubbed red, like he'd washed it thoroughly right before coming to bed. John Paul wondered if he'd been crying too. He looked like he wanted to tell John Paul something.
John Paul was still frightened sometimes by how much he needed Craig. How much hurt he and Craig had caused each other, and how he knew that the hurt was worth it. He'd always read about grand passion, and heard about it, but never came close to imagining what love was like until Craig. Sometimes he wondered if it was better to live half a life than live all or nothing with the tempestuous man beside him. Then he remembered just what a gift he had been given, and how nothing and no one in the world would ever take that away from him.
"Craig, please don't laugh at me, or tell me I sound like I'm up myself."
Craig looked over at him, blinking through his fatigue caused by the stressful, exhausting day.
"I just want you to know how much you mean to me. Before I met you, I was a...facade. What I thought the perfect son and athlete and brother was supposed to be. I had all the smart lines and never let my pain show. I was never really myself. I was scared of myself. With you, I'm me, no matter how much it hurts. Thank you for letting me..."
Craig interrupted him with a kiss, his long fingers curled in the back of John Paul's hair. A tender exchange which told John Paul more about Craig's feelings than Craig ever could with words. On many nights, the kiss would have led to much more, but they were both so tired. Both young men suspected the next day would bring them even more heartache and upheaval.
Until then, John Paul fell asleep in his lover's arms. And in those arms, he was at peace.