(no subject)
There it was, shoved between the pages of yet another copy of Persuasion like something that didn't even matter. Sprawled on one of the sofas in the rec room, Adam was so used to scraps of paper left discarded in books that he almost balled it up and threw it away without looking at it. Something caught his eye, though. There it was, written in spidery black ink on a dotted line. Wesley Carter.
Persuasion forgotten, Adam stared at the folded paper in his hand. Wesley Carter. Academic Report. Year Eight.
Yeah. Okay. He'd be in year eight now, wouldn't he. Twelve years old. His son was twelve years old.
Adam opened the report and scanned it over without really understanding any of it. It was one of the short ones; lists of marks, grades and effort scores. Wes was trying harder in P.E and Science, and his exam result in maths was about as crap as Adam's would have been at his age. Adam turned over and there was more of the spidery black handwriting; the Head of Year's comment. Adam wondered how long it had been since he read anything written in biro.
Not the best report but, in the light of recent events, solid. Wesley has done well, given the recent death of his father...
He'd told Remy that he wasn't afraid of dying; that he'd always expected it. And there it was, in black and white. His son was twelve and, somewhere, Adam Carter had finally died in the line of duty.
Even if it did mention something about a car-crash.
"Yeah fucking right," he murmured, fighting against the breathlessness, the thump of his heart. He could feel sweat breaking out on his forehead and, suddenly, the rec-room felt very small. His son was twelve and he didn't have anyone. They'd both left him alone. Adam hauled himself up off the sofa, blind, with Wes' report balled in his fist.
He had to get out of there. He had to get out, and, half blind, vision narrow, he started towards the door. His shoulder glanced off someone else's and he wasn't so far gone that he couldn't apologise.
"Sorry," he mumbled, eyes still fixed on the door.
He just had to get outside and then he'd be able to breathe.
ooc: Adam's just recieved his second item: his son's school report, containing a mention of his own death. He's starting into a panic attack, bought on by his PTSD. He can canonically be talked ot of them but there's no guarentee.
Persuasion forgotten, Adam stared at the folded paper in his hand. Wesley Carter. Academic Report. Year Eight.
Yeah. Okay. He'd be in year eight now, wouldn't he. Twelve years old. His son was twelve years old.
Adam opened the report and scanned it over without really understanding any of it. It was one of the short ones; lists of marks, grades and effort scores. Wes was trying harder in P.E and Science, and his exam result in maths was about as crap as Adam's would have been at his age. Adam turned over and there was more of the spidery black handwriting; the Head of Year's comment. Adam wondered how long it had been since he read anything written in biro.
Not the best report but, in the light of recent events, solid. Wesley has done well, given the recent death of his father...
He'd told Remy that he wasn't afraid of dying; that he'd always expected it. And there it was, in black and white. His son was twelve and, somewhere, Adam Carter had finally died in the line of duty.
Even if it did mention something about a car-crash.
"Yeah fucking right," he murmured, fighting against the breathlessness, the thump of his heart. He could feel sweat breaking out on his forehead and, suddenly, the rec-room felt very small. His son was twelve and he didn't have anyone. They'd both left him alone. Adam hauled himself up off the sofa, blind, with Wes' report balled in his fist.
He had to get out of there. He had to get out, and, half blind, vision narrow, he started towards the door. His shoulder glanced off someone else's and he wasn't so far gone that he couldn't apologise.
"Sorry," he mumbled, eyes still fixed on the door.
He just had to get outside and then he'd be able to breathe.
ooc: Adam's just recieved his second item: his son's school report, containing a mention of his own death. He's starting into a panic attack, bought on by his PTSD. He can canonically be talked ot of them but there's no guarentee.