[Drabble]
Joey isn't certain the first time he sees him. Mostly because it never would have occured to him to expect to see him again. He's been dead for sixteen years now. True, the body was never found, but Brienne and Casey never would have lied to him about that. Dad died sixteen years ago, trying to save the only woman he ever truly loved. It was romantic and noble. His father was a would-be hero, if only he hadn't been trying to single-handedly defeat forces stronger than he would ever be.
But there's something in the way the weathered, middle-aged man exits the hospital. The way their eyes flicker to meet for a second, and Joey catches a glimpse of something there. Recognition. But Joey doesn't know what the man is recognizing, and before he can ask, the man's gaze hase dropped and he's moving away again, and Joey is back to worrying about Aunt Leyna. She's such a rare type, and no matching donors have been found yet. If she doesn't get a marrow transplant soon, Joey will lose one more piece of what little biological family he has. He continues down the hall, forgetting all about the vaguely familiar man that passed.
He reaches the room just in time to hear the good news announced. A match has been found. The doctor won't disclose the donor's name, though. Joey wishes desperately that he would, because he's never wanted to hug anyone more in his life. He almost misses the funny smile that Aunt Leyna gets, and the despairing way she shakes her head ever so slightly. Almost misses, but not quite. And he can't quite place the twisting feeling in his gut, but it's there, and it lingers long after he's kissed her forehead and left her to rest for the night.
~.~.~
He's throwing fast and wild in his next game. He doesn't know how to explain it, but his focus is shot. Something isn't adding up, and it ends with him thrown out of the game after nailing the other team's batter in the head. They accuse him of headhunting, citing the way he stared down the batter, and the intensity with which he threw the ball. Joey doesn't remember any of it. He can't explain any of it. And he doesn't recall yelling at the blue either, but the wary looks Bo and Finn and Reese give him when they get back to the locker room tell him the whole thing wasn't just a really lame joke.
He was fine, really. He was having the best game of his life. Right up until some idiot in the crowd with a brown leather cowboy hat and matching jacket stood up and left the game. It's not the first time a fan has left a game, but it's the first time it's caught Joey's attention. And that twisting feeling from the hospital, that unplaceable anger, it surges back, and he remembers nothing else from the game.
Casey and Brienne would not have lied to him like that.
He packs up his gear and leaves, driving on autopilot for home, rather than the house he's only recently begun to share with a few of his friends. When he gets there, he finds Val lounging on the couch in her underwear and that hat. That stupid fucking hat. Some part of him has the irrational urge to scream at her and tantrum, like he did when Brienne first told him, back when they were kids and Val would sometimes take the hat because she didn't know better and didn't understand why it upset him so much. But they're older now, and he's more mature than that. Mostly.
The doorframe cracks with the force he uses to slam the door behind him. He leaves, probably before Val even noticed he was there. He wishes like hell that he had ever been able to see the body, but more than that, he wishes like hell he wasn't so damn certain, and felt even the tiniest bit like he was going crazy.
~.~.~
Rachel comes to visit him a few days later. She never does bother to knock before walking in. Neither she or Val developed that particular manner. Or most manners, really. They both claim it's part of their charm, and besides, Joey's not a real person anyways. He's family, and manners are reserved for strangers who might have candy.
She climbs into his bed and curls up against his side, watching him with a curious look, while he studiously avoids her probing eyes. As she realizes she won't wins this battle of wills, she sits up to look down at him, dark curls framing a worried face.
"Joey."
Her voice is firm, but not unkind. Still, he feels no particular compulsion to respond, and she sighs at his stubborn silence.
"Joseph James. You don't have to look at me. That's fine. Your mug's pretty ugly right now anyways, what with the way you seem to be trying to rival Brian Wilson in the facial hair department. But Val said you broke the door, and Bo said he hasn't seen you in days, and you totally flaked on that dinner you were supposed to cook me yesterday, so I'm gonna need an explanation of some kind."
His stubborn silence continues. He isn't ready to say it outloud yet, even though he's pretty sure it isn't crazy. Of course, this leaves Rachel to her own methods of getting the information she wants. When she grows tired of not getting a verbal answer, she gets up and starts examining his room. For his part, he continues to ignore her, rolling over onto his side so he doesn't have to see her. He knows it's too late to get up and hide anything now, and it's only a matter of time before she finds the box. She goes quiet and still when she finally does spot it under the bed. She pulls it out and sits down on the ground, sifting through the few pictures and mementos, before reading the letter. He knows the letter by heart, word for lying word.
When she finishes reading it, she folds it up carefully and tucks everything back in the box, then slides it back into place under the bed. She climbs back into his bed and wraps her arms around him, murmuring an apology.
"I know it never stops hurting," she says. her voice is soft, woven carefully with empathy. After all, Joey isn't the only one who ever lost a parent. "But you can't let a ghost keep destroying your life, baby."
Her fingers play through his hair, loosely tangling and combing it, her touch calm and soothing. For a brief second, he wants to tell her. He wants to ask her if maybe he is going crazy. He wants to take her back in time to those two moments, and ask her if she sees what he sees, or if he's just completely snapped. Instead, he just closes his eyes, and when he finally speaks, his voice is lower and angrier than he ever intended it to be.
"Tell Val to give me back my hat. I don't want her wearing it anymore."
He feels Rachel tense, and knows that she's going to ask why.
So when the pressure in the bed shifts, and she instead walks towards the door, he's surprised. She doesn't say a word until she reaches the door, and her voice is nothing short of concerned. Maybe even scared.
"Joe... I don't know what's going on. I'll get your hat back, but I think maybe it's time you let go. He's gone, and that box of possessions isn't going to bring him back. Neither is some dumb hat. People die. That's part of life, and I thought you were someone who understood that. I don't know why you're letting this ghost haunt you now."
"Maybe because he's not a fucking ghost!"
He knows somewhere he's yelling, yelling at Rachel even, despite that it's not her he's angry with.
"He's as real as you or me or Val or any other living human being on this fucking planet, and he's still out there somewhere. He's not a fucking ghost. He's just some goddamn deadbeat. You know what? You're right."
His body gets up, but he feels like he's not attached to it. He watches himself yank the box out of from under the bed, and shove it into Rachel's arms with enough force to make her stumble. He watches himself continue to yell, which is so weird, because he never yells. Especially not at Rachel.
"Take the box, take the hat, and fucking burn both of them."
He also keeps saying fuck. It's kind of funny, actually. The word doesn't even sound right coming out of him. And normally Rachel would be laughing hysterically. Instead, she's shaking, and stepping backwards away from him.
"Just get them out of my sight. I don't want to even remember he ever existed."
Rachel nods slightly, and is gone. He slams the bedroom door behind her, and sinks back into his bed. Against his wishes and control, the tears come, and they don't stop until he falls asleep.
Maybe Casey and Brienne wouldn't lie to him, but who was to say that his father would have never lied to them?
But there's something in the way the weathered, middle-aged man exits the hospital. The way their eyes flicker to meet for a second, and Joey catches a glimpse of something there. Recognition. But Joey doesn't know what the man is recognizing, and before he can ask, the man's gaze hase dropped and he's moving away again, and Joey is back to worrying about Aunt Leyna. She's such a rare type, and no matching donors have been found yet. If she doesn't get a marrow transplant soon, Joey will lose one more piece of what little biological family he has. He continues down the hall, forgetting all about the vaguely familiar man that passed.
He reaches the room just in time to hear the good news announced. A match has been found. The doctor won't disclose the donor's name, though. Joey wishes desperately that he would, because he's never wanted to hug anyone more in his life. He almost misses the funny smile that Aunt Leyna gets, and the despairing way she shakes her head ever so slightly. Almost misses, but not quite. And he can't quite place the twisting feeling in his gut, but it's there, and it lingers long after he's kissed her forehead and left her to rest for the night.
~.~.~
He's throwing fast and wild in his next game. He doesn't know how to explain it, but his focus is shot. Something isn't adding up, and it ends with him thrown out of the game after nailing the other team's batter in the head. They accuse him of headhunting, citing the way he stared down the batter, and the intensity with which he threw the ball. Joey doesn't remember any of it. He can't explain any of it. And he doesn't recall yelling at the blue either, but the wary looks Bo and Finn and Reese give him when they get back to the locker room tell him the whole thing wasn't just a really lame joke.
He was fine, really. He was having the best game of his life. Right up until some idiot in the crowd with a brown leather cowboy hat and matching jacket stood up and left the game. It's not the first time a fan has left a game, but it's the first time it's caught Joey's attention. And that twisting feeling from the hospital, that unplaceable anger, it surges back, and he remembers nothing else from the game.
Casey and Brienne would not have lied to him like that.
He packs up his gear and leaves, driving on autopilot for home, rather than the house he's only recently begun to share with a few of his friends. When he gets there, he finds Val lounging on the couch in her underwear and that hat. That stupid fucking hat. Some part of him has the irrational urge to scream at her and tantrum, like he did when Brienne first told him, back when they were kids and Val would sometimes take the hat because she didn't know better and didn't understand why it upset him so much. But they're older now, and he's more mature than that. Mostly.
The doorframe cracks with the force he uses to slam the door behind him. He leaves, probably before Val even noticed he was there. He wishes like hell that he had ever been able to see the body, but more than that, he wishes like hell he wasn't so damn certain, and felt even the tiniest bit like he was going crazy.
~.~.~
Rachel comes to visit him a few days later. She never does bother to knock before walking in. Neither she or Val developed that particular manner. Or most manners, really. They both claim it's part of their charm, and besides, Joey's not a real person anyways. He's family, and manners are reserved for strangers who might have candy.
She climbs into his bed and curls up against his side, watching him with a curious look, while he studiously avoids her probing eyes. As she realizes she won't wins this battle of wills, she sits up to look down at him, dark curls framing a worried face.
"Joey."
Her voice is firm, but not unkind. Still, he feels no particular compulsion to respond, and she sighs at his stubborn silence.
"Joseph James. You don't have to look at me. That's fine. Your mug's pretty ugly right now anyways, what with the way you seem to be trying to rival Brian Wilson in the facial hair department. But Val said you broke the door, and Bo said he hasn't seen you in days, and you totally flaked on that dinner you were supposed to cook me yesterday, so I'm gonna need an explanation of some kind."
His stubborn silence continues. He isn't ready to say it outloud yet, even though he's pretty sure it isn't crazy. Of course, this leaves Rachel to her own methods of getting the information she wants. When she grows tired of not getting a verbal answer, she gets up and starts examining his room. For his part, he continues to ignore her, rolling over onto his side so he doesn't have to see her. He knows it's too late to get up and hide anything now, and it's only a matter of time before she finds the box. She goes quiet and still when she finally does spot it under the bed. She pulls it out and sits down on the ground, sifting through the few pictures and mementos, before reading the letter. He knows the letter by heart, word for lying word.
When she finishes reading it, she folds it up carefully and tucks everything back in the box, then slides it back into place under the bed. She climbs back into his bed and wraps her arms around him, murmuring an apology.
"I know it never stops hurting," she says. her voice is soft, woven carefully with empathy. After all, Joey isn't the only one who ever lost a parent. "But you can't let a ghost keep destroying your life, baby."
Her fingers play through his hair, loosely tangling and combing it, her touch calm and soothing. For a brief second, he wants to tell her. He wants to ask her if maybe he is going crazy. He wants to take her back in time to those two moments, and ask her if she sees what he sees, or if he's just completely snapped. Instead, he just closes his eyes, and when he finally speaks, his voice is lower and angrier than he ever intended it to be.
"Tell Val to give me back my hat. I don't want her wearing it anymore."
He feels Rachel tense, and knows that she's going to ask why.
So when the pressure in the bed shifts, and she instead walks towards the door, he's surprised. She doesn't say a word until she reaches the door, and her voice is nothing short of concerned. Maybe even scared.
"Joe... I don't know what's going on. I'll get your hat back, but I think maybe it's time you let go. He's gone, and that box of possessions isn't going to bring him back. Neither is some dumb hat. People die. That's part of life, and I thought you were someone who understood that. I don't know why you're letting this ghost haunt you now."
"Maybe because he's not a fucking ghost!"
He knows somewhere he's yelling, yelling at Rachel even, despite that it's not her he's angry with.
"He's as real as you or me or Val or any other living human being on this fucking planet, and he's still out there somewhere. He's not a fucking ghost. He's just some goddamn deadbeat. You know what? You're right."
His body gets up, but he feels like he's not attached to it. He watches himself yank the box out of from under the bed, and shove it into Rachel's arms with enough force to make her stumble. He watches himself continue to yell, which is so weird, because he never yells. Especially not at Rachel.
"Take the box, take the hat, and fucking burn both of them."
He also keeps saying fuck. It's kind of funny, actually. The word doesn't even sound right coming out of him. And normally Rachel would be laughing hysterically. Instead, she's shaking, and stepping backwards away from him.
"Just get them out of my sight. I don't want to even remember he ever existed."
Rachel nods slightly, and is gone. He slams the bedroom door behind her, and sinks back into his bed. Against his wishes and control, the tears come, and they don't stop until he falls asleep.
Maybe Casey and Brienne wouldn't lie to him, but who was to say that his father would have never lied to them?