BtVS/Tru Calling: Drown Out the Clamor of Silence (Harrison/Faith) R
This weekend was very busy and crazy and fun, and I got sick. 'nough said. :) Hope you all had a good one!
Title: Drown Out the Clamor of Silence
Author: Shealynn88
Characters: Faith/Harrison
Fandom: BtVS/Tru Calling
Rating: R (sexual content, incest references, language)
Word Count: ~2500 words
Summary: Harrison is drinking to forget. Faith is drinking to have a good time.
A/N: Inspired by the challenges over at doppelgang_land
References to incest.
Title taken from this quote: "Man goes into the noisy crowd to drown his own clamor of silence.” by Rabindranath Tagore
Harrison hates these anniversaries. Hates them.
Mary's expecting him. She's probably waiting at a table at Pascarinni's, drinking too much wine-he should be with her, but he can't do it. He can't pretend that they're fine, and he can't talk about the people they've lost like he's over it. His life has gone to hell since Tru died, and he can't just smile and make small talk. Not today.
Today he drinks alone.
"Hey, Jeff," he says, sliding his glass across the bar. "Fill 'er up."
The bartender turns to get him a refill of SoCo as a girl walks up beside him and sets her elbows on the bar. "Gimme a Sam when you get a sec, huh?"
Harrison looks over slowly. Her voice is husky and familiar, and he can barely process what he sees when he catches her profile. Dark curly hair, full lips, big brown eyes-it's Tru. It's really her.
Jeff slides his refill back to him, but Harrison ignores it in favor of a heart-pounding rush of hope-that this is his turn to save her. That, somehow, they're both getting a second chance.
Tru looks over and raises an eyebrow at him. "Hey there…" She looks him up and down slowly, "Short, pale and kinda cute. You gonna stare at me all night, or ya gonna buy me a drink?"
Her tone is all suggestion, her half-smile is pure sex, and he's not sure if it's that or the SoCo that makes him feel suddenly sick.
It's not Tru. Looks like her. Sounds like her. Not her.
He drains the new glass and sets it down with sharp finality. "Two more," he says, and Jeff hesitates.
"You heard the man, get us some drinks." The girl perches on the barstool next to him and swings around until her leg's not quite touching his. She holds her beer casually with three fingers on the bottleneck. "You're kinda cute. You know, in a creepy, emo way. What's your name?"
"Harrison."
She tips her head in calculation and takes a sip of her beer. She seems to be waiting for something more, but he has nothing else to say. "Not a big talker, are you Harry?"
He shakes his head. Her voice and everything he sees tell him it's her, but he knows it isn't. He knows it, he's just not quite ready to give up on the illusion.
"Not today," he says quietly.
She shrugs. "That's okay. I can appreciate a man who keeps things close to the vest. Honestly, can't say I'm a big one for pointless conversation, either." She takes another drink, but he can still feel her eyes on him.
Jeff finally slides their drinks toward them, and Harrison picks his up just for something to do.
"Tell you what," the girl says, leaning forward a little. Enough that he can hear every undertone, every catch of her distinctive voice. "I got some time to kill in this town. What do you say you take me home and let me crash on your couch?" She leans closer until he can feel her breath on his cheek. "I'll make it worth your while."
He can't miss the suggestion in her tone, but it also sounds like she needs a place to stay. Like she needs help.
It seems like the right thing to do. "I'll just finish this," he says, barely slurring as he lifts his glass in her direction. He has a feeling he's going to need it.
"Good call." She sets her beer down in favor of the SoCo that's going on his ever-increasing tab, and drains the glass.
He's nearly done with his when she slides off her stool and grabs his arm. "Come on, Harry. Time to blow this popsicle stand."
He takes one last sip and lets her drag him out the door. He's supposed to help people, right? That's what Tru would want. But when he looks at the girl who's hailing a cab for the two of them, he knows that's not the only reason.
***
They get back to the apartment and his head is swimming with too much alcohol and the walking paradox who's striding up ahead of him like she knows where she's going.
"What number?" she calls back.
"Fourteen," he manages. Damn, he really drank too much.
She's waiting in front of the door. "Key?"
He looks at her blearily. Key. To the door. "Oh, yeah." He fumbles in his pocket but it's not there. Or in his jacket. Or his wallet.
He slumps against the wall. "This day could not get any better."
She's still standing at the door. "Careful, Harry. Keep saying stuff like that, I might think you lumped me in with that bad day of yours." He glances over as she twists the door handle and gives a quick push. "C'mon, Har. I'm the best thing that could've happened to you today."
Huh. He'd really thought he'd locked it. He shrugs and follows her inside, noticing vaguely that the door doesn't close as well as it did this morning and there are splinters of his doorjamb just inside. He has to set the deadbolt just to keep the door from inching open again.
When he turns back, the girl is holding one of the pictures from his mantel. The one that Lindsey had taken of him and Tru one day when they were all getting along. God, he misses his sister.
"Harry..." She looks up and gives him a wide, knowing smile. "Well, I guess I know why you were staring, huh? Wasn't just my world-class bod." She saunters toward him, picture still in hand. "So, who is this gorgeous girl? Did you have some sweet summer lovin' and then it all went bad? Are you trying to recapture the glory days?"
His tongue is thick with alcohol and grief. "Her name was Tru."
The girl laughs suddenly and then covers her mouth with one hand. "Oh, I'm sorry. That wasn't supposed to be funny, was it? But, seriously, who names their kid 'Tru'? Or 'Faith' for that matter? I mean, this face obviously brings out the worst in our parents, am I right?"
"Faith."
"That's my name, Harry." She steps forward to run her fingers along his collar and he closes his eyes. "Don't wear it out."
"She was my sister."
Faith laughs again. "Oh, my god, you're kidding me!" She's apparently put the picture down, because now both hands are on the collar of his jacket, and he can feel her mouth hovering over his ear. "So this must really be messing you up, huh? Don't know whether to fuck me or pick a fight." She tugs at his earlobe with her teeth and he curls his hands into fists. "I'll give you a hint, Harry," she murmurs. "Either way, I win. But one of those options is gonna to be way more fun for you."
She pushes his jacket off his shoulders and he opens his eyes once as she's sliding her hands under his shirt. In the shadows all he can see is her cocky smile; it reassures him again that she's not his sister.
The photo is lying on the side table next to them. Tru, with her head on his shoulder and her hand behind him, giving him bunny ears.
He flips it over before closing his eyes again, and Faith chuckles against his neck. "Whatever helps you sleep at night," she whispers, and then she's unbuttoning his jeans and sliding the zipper down.
Her voice is still hauntingly familiar, but he can't stop her. Won't. She's too much and not enough like Tru for that.
He forces his hands to unclench and sets them on her hips as she pushes his jeans down until they pool around his ankles. He hasn't done laundry in a week, so he's not wearing anything under them.
"There you go," she whispers. One of her hands closes over his and guides him to her zipper. He slides it down, her fingers on his, and there's no going back.
He kicks off his sneakers and jeans and she pushes her pants over her hips and steps out of them.
He nips at her neck uncertainly, burying his hands in familiar hair and breathing in the dark, foreign scent of cigarettes and liquor and spice. He bites down and she groans, her hips pressing forward as she laughs.
She has no right to be here. No right to fuck up his head like this and make him want…
It's all wrong, that she's laughing and Tru's dead and he's more fucked than he's ever been, and now that's never going to change.
His hands tighten in her hair until he's forced her head back, and he's unbuttoning her shirt with one hand as he bites her ear, her throat.
She's not wearing a bra and he slips his hand over smooth skin, cupping her breast and then pinching her nipple viciously.
"Fuck," she yelps as her hips buck against him again. She pulls her head down to look at him, despite the way he's still clutching her hair. "You mad at me, Harry?" she purrs, looking incredibly pleased with herself. It infuriates him, but not enough to stop wanting her.
"Is it because she's dead and I'm not?" She slides a hand between them and curls her fingers around his cock, making him gasp. Then she leans forward. "Or is it because you want it to be her, fucking you til you scream?"
He tries to push her away but she won't let go, just moves forward until he starts backing away, and they're through the doorway of his room and the bed is at his back. She takes her hands off him and pushes him onto the mattress.
She's on him before he can sit up or make a move or tell her, 'No.' He swears he was just about to say it.
But then she's poised over him and sliding down, slick and tight and he can't think or protest, or do anything but move with her. Instinct. That's all it is.
She leans forward and her hair slides against his neck, his cheek, and she's still grinding over him and Christ, it feels amazing. "Told you I'd make it worth your while." Her voice gets low and teasing. "Open your eyes, Harry. Don't you want the full effect?"
He does open his eyes, and the full effect is disturbing as hell. She's still wearing his sister's face, and though he knows without a doubt that Tru is dead and never coming back, this is still a betrayal. It's still wrong.
Faith laughs. Loud and clear, like his pain is the funniest thing in the goddamn world, and he snaps, grabbing fistfuls of her hair and rolling them until he's on top, and damn, but she feels good.
"You're not my sister," he tells her, and he does the only thing he can to prove it to them both-he closes his eyes and fucks her like she's any girl he met at a bar. No one special. And if he's a little rougher than usual, no one can really blame him, right?
Today is not a good day.
When he comes he doesn't bother to note if she does, too, and when he's done he rolls off and goes to sleep. He doesn't care what she does, if she stays or goes. She's not important.
She's not Tru.
***
Harrison wakes in the morning with a headache that pounds against his temples like a jackhammer. The night comes back to him in pieces, and he rolls over and vomits into the garbage pail he keeps next to the bed.
"Can't say I didn't see that coming," Faith says from the doorway.
He looks up and it surprises him all over again, how much she looks like his sister. Surprises and sickens him. God, what did he do?
She's eating a bagel one-handed and the smell just about makes him puke again. "Jesus," he mutters.
"Hey. You should drink this," she says, striding forward and setting a glass of something on the bedside table.
"Vodka?"
"Water. I set some aspirin out, too." She pats her jacket pocket and he hears the rattle of pills. "Don't leave home without it."
He ignores the water and opens the bottom drawer of the table. Ah, yes. Jack Daniels.
"Oh-ho! Hair of the dog, huh? You're a trooper, Harry."
"Get out," he growls, taking a long pull from the bottle. It burns on the way down and sits in his stomach like it's not planning on staying there.
Faith, on the other hand, leans against the doorframe like she's thinking of staying all day. If he could get up without puking, he's throw her out. "Look. Harry. That stuff I said last night? You gotta take it with a grain of salt. I just didn't want you getting all weepy on me. I mean, you can understand that, right? And, hey, we both got our kicks, so…win, win."
"I said, get out," he repeats slowly. He contemplates another drink but decides to wait for the first one to settle. He concentrates on ignoring Faith.
"Yeah. Well, I gotta head out, anyway. Thanks for letting me shack up here. Real nice of you." She walks away and Harry breathes a sigh of relief as he hears the snick of the deadbolt as she leaves.
He collapses back against the pillows and sets the bottle of Jack down. This is it. This is rock bottom. Fucking a girl who looked like his sister, just to keep her from leaving? Yeah, that's about as low as it gets.
If Tru were here, she'd try to help him. She'd tell him to stop drinking so much, to stop feeling sorry for himself and be smart for once.
She'd lie, cheat and steal if she had to, just to keep him safe. She'd done it before.
But Tru isn't here anymore, and it's up to him.
He reaches out blindly and finds his cell, hitting speed-dial.
It rings twelve times before someone answers, and she sounds just as hungover as he feels. "Hello?"
"Mary, hey. It's…ah…it's Harrison."
"Harry, I can't talk right now," she says, and she doesn't sound angry, she sounds drained. Disappointed.
"Mary, I'm really sorry about last night. I meant to be there."
"You always mean to be, Harry."
She should be shouting. She should be insulting him and threatening to hang up. Instead, she just sounds like she's given up on him.
As a rule, he avoids telling the truth. Especially to Mary. But she's all he's got left, and maybe it's time to come clean. "I miss her, Mar. I couldn't sit there and tell you I'm fine. I just couldn't."
She laughs with an edge of hysteria. "And you think that's what I want? To hear how great you are when I just lost my job and I don't know what the hell is happening to me? Jesus, Harrison! I just wanted someone I could count on, that's all! But that's too much to ask of you. It always has been. Goodbye, Harry. Don't call again."
"Wait! Mary, Mary, don't hang up! Please. We could have dinner tonight. Just the two of us. We need to try to fix this, Mar. For Tru. You know she'd want us to."
There's a long silence on the other end and then a sigh. "Yeah, she would." Another sigh, almost a sob, and then, "All right, then, tonight. But that's it. I can't keep waiting for you to grow up."
"I'll be there," he promises. She hangs up before he can say 'Thanks.'
He's got one more chance, and he's not going to screw it up.
He owes it to Tru.
He owes it to Mary.
He owes it to himself.
Title: Drown Out the Clamor of Silence
Author: Shealynn88
Characters: Faith/Harrison
Fandom: BtVS/Tru Calling
Rating: R (sexual content, incest references, language)
Word Count: ~2500 words
Summary: Harrison is drinking to forget. Faith is drinking to have a good time.
A/N: Inspired by the challenges over at doppelgang_land
References to incest.
Title taken from this quote: "Man goes into the noisy crowd to drown his own clamor of silence.” by Rabindranath Tagore
Harrison hates these anniversaries. Hates them.
Mary's expecting him. She's probably waiting at a table at Pascarinni's, drinking too much wine-he should be with her, but he can't do it. He can't pretend that they're fine, and he can't talk about the people they've lost like he's over it. His life has gone to hell since Tru died, and he can't just smile and make small talk. Not today.
Today he drinks alone.
"Hey, Jeff," he says, sliding his glass across the bar. "Fill 'er up."
The bartender turns to get him a refill of SoCo as a girl walks up beside him and sets her elbows on the bar. "Gimme a Sam when you get a sec, huh?"
Harrison looks over slowly. Her voice is husky and familiar, and he can barely process what he sees when he catches her profile. Dark curly hair, full lips, big brown eyes-it's Tru. It's really her.
Jeff slides his refill back to him, but Harrison ignores it in favor of a heart-pounding rush of hope-that this is his turn to save her. That, somehow, they're both getting a second chance.
Tru looks over and raises an eyebrow at him. "Hey there…" She looks him up and down slowly, "Short, pale and kinda cute. You gonna stare at me all night, or ya gonna buy me a drink?"
Her tone is all suggestion, her half-smile is pure sex, and he's not sure if it's that or the SoCo that makes him feel suddenly sick.
It's not Tru. Looks like her. Sounds like her. Not her.
He drains the new glass and sets it down with sharp finality. "Two more," he says, and Jeff hesitates.
"You heard the man, get us some drinks." The girl perches on the barstool next to him and swings around until her leg's not quite touching his. She holds her beer casually with three fingers on the bottleneck. "You're kinda cute. You know, in a creepy, emo way. What's your name?"
"Harrison."
She tips her head in calculation and takes a sip of her beer. She seems to be waiting for something more, but he has nothing else to say. "Not a big talker, are you Harry?"
He shakes his head. Her voice and everything he sees tell him it's her, but he knows it isn't. He knows it, he's just not quite ready to give up on the illusion.
"Not today," he says quietly.
She shrugs. "That's okay. I can appreciate a man who keeps things close to the vest. Honestly, can't say I'm a big one for pointless conversation, either." She takes another drink, but he can still feel her eyes on him.
Jeff finally slides their drinks toward them, and Harrison picks his up just for something to do.
"Tell you what," the girl says, leaning forward a little. Enough that he can hear every undertone, every catch of her distinctive voice. "I got some time to kill in this town. What do you say you take me home and let me crash on your couch?" She leans closer until he can feel her breath on his cheek. "I'll make it worth your while."
He can't miss the suggestion in her tone, but it also sounds like she needs a place to stay. Like she needs help.
It seems like the right thing to do. "I'll just finish this," he says, barely slurring as he lifts his glass in her direction. He has a feeling he's going to need it.
"Good call." She sets her beer down in favor of the SoCo that's going on his ever-increasing tab, and drains the glass.
He's nearly done with his when she slides off her stool and grabs his arm. "Come on, Harry. Time to blow this popsicle stand."
He takes one last sip and lets her drag him out the door. He's supposed to help people, right? That's what Tru would want. But when he looks at the girl who's hailing a cab for the two of them, he knows that's not the only reason.
***
They get back to the apartment and his head is swimming with too much alcohol and the walking paradox who's striding up ahead of him like she knows where she's going.
"What number?" she calls back.
"Fourteen," he manages. Damn, he really drank too much.
She's waiting in front of the door. "Key?"
He looks at her blearily. Key. To the door. "Oh, yeah." He fumbles in his pocket but it's not there. Or in his jacket. Or his wallet.
He slumps against the wall. "This day could not get any better."
She's still standing at the door. "Careful, Harry. Keep saying stuff like that, I might think you lumped me in with that bad day of yours." He glances over as she twists the door handle and gives a quick push. "C'mon, Har. I'm the best thing that could've happened to you today."
Huh. He'd really thought he'd locked it. He shrugs and follows her inside, noticing vaguely that the door doesn't close as well as it did this morning and there are splinters of his doorjamb just inside. He has to set the deadbolt just to keep the door from inching open again.
When he turns back, the girl is holding one of the pictures from his mantel. The one that Lindsey had taken of him and Tru one day when they were all getting along. God, he misses his sister.
"Harry..." She looks up and gives him a wide, knowing smile. "Well, I guess I know why you were staring, huh? Wasn't just my world-class bod." She saunters toward him, picture still in hand. "So, who is this gorgeous girl? Did you have some sweet summer lovin' and then it all went bad? Are you trying to recapture the glory days?"
His tongue is thick with alcohol and grief. "Her name was Tru."
The girl laughs suddenly and then covers her mouth with one hand. "Oh, I'm sorry. That wasn't supposed to be funny, was it? But, seriously, who names their kid 'Tru'? Or 'Faith' for that matter? I mean, this face obviously brings out the worst in our parents, am I right?"
"Faith."
"That's my name, Harry." She steps forward to run her fingers along his collar and he closes his eyes. "Don't wear it out."
"She was my sister."
Faith laughs again. "Oh, my god, you're kidding me!" She's apparently put the picture down, because now both hands are on the collar of his jacket, and he can feel her mouth hovering over his ear. "So this must really be messing you up, huh? Don't know whether to fuck me or pick a fight." She tugs at his earlobe with her teeth and he curls his hands into fists. "I'll give you a hint, Harry," she murmurs. "Either way, I win. But one of those options is gonna to be way more fun for you."
She pushes his jacket off his shoulders and he opens his eyes once as she's sliding her hands under his shirt. In the shadows all he can see is her cocky smile; it reassures him again that she's not his sister.
The photo is lying on the side table next to them. Tru, with her head on his shoulder and her hand behind him, giving him bunny ears.
He flips it over before closing his eyes again, and Faith chuckles against his neck. "Whatever helps you sleep at night," she whispers, and then she's unbuttoning his jeans and sliding the zipper down.
Her voice is still hauntingly familiar, but he can't stop her. Won't. She's too much and not enough like Tru for that.
He forces his hands to unclench and sets them on her hips as she pushes his jeans down until they pool around his ankles. He hasn't done laundry in a week, so he's not wearing anything under them.
"There you go," she whispers. One of her hands closes over his and guides him to her zipper. He slides it down, her fingers on his, and there's no going back.
He kicks off his sneakers and jeans and she pushes her pants over her hips and steps out of them.
He nips at her neck uncertainly, burying his hands in familiar hair and breathing in the dark, foreign scent of cigarettes and liquor and spice. He bites down and she groans, her hips pressing forward as she laughs.
She has no right to be here. No right to fuck up his head like this and make him want…
It's all wrong, that she's laughing and Tru's dead and he's more fucked than he's ever been, and now that's never going to change.
His hands tighten in her hair until he's forced her head back, and he's unbuttoning her shirt with one hand as he bites her ear, her throat.
She's not wearing a bra and he slips his hand over smooth skin, cupping her breast and then pinching her nipple viciously.
"Fuck," she yelps as her hips buck against him again. She pulls her head down to look at him, despite the way he's still clutching her hair. "You mad at me, Harry?" she purrs, looking incredibly pleased with herself. It infuriates him, but not enough to stop wanting her.
"Is it because she's dead and I'm not?" She slides a hand between them and curls her fingers around his cock, making him gasp. Then she leans forward. "Or is it because you want it to be her, fucking you til you scream?"
He tries to push her away but she won't let go, just moves forward until he starts backing away, and they're through the doorway of his room and the bed is at his back. She takes her hands off him and pushes him onto the mattress.
She's on him before he can sit up or make a move or tell her, 'No.' He swears he was just about to say it.
But then she's poised over him and sliding down, slick and tight and he can't think or protest, or do anything but move with her. Instinct. That's all it is.
She leans forward and her hair slides against his neck, his cheek, and she's still grinding over him and Christ, it feels amazing. "Told you I'd make it worth your while." Her voice gets low and teasing. "Open your eyes, Harry. Don't you want the full effect?"
He does open his eyes, and the full effect is disturbing as hell. She's still wearing his sister's face, and though he knows without a doubt that Tru is dead and never coming back, this is still a betrayal. It's still wrong.
Faith laughs. Loud and clear, like his pain is the funniest thing in the goddamn world, and he snaps, grabbing fistfuls of her hair and rolling them until he's on top, and damn, but she feels good.
"You're not my sister," he tells her, and he does the only thing he can to prove it to them both-he closes his eyes and fucks her like she's any girl he met at a bar. No one special. And if he's a little rougher than usual, no one can really blame him, right?
Today is not a good day.
When he comes he doesn't bother to note if she does, too, and when he's done he rolls off and goes to sleep. He doesn't care what she does, if she stays or goes. She's not important.
She's not Tru.
***
Harrison wakes in the morning with a headache that pounds against his temples like a jackhammer. The night comes back to him in pieces, and he rolls over and vomits into the garbage pail he keeps next to the bed.
"Can't say I didn't see that coming," Faith says from the doorway.
He looks up and it surprises him all over again, how much she looks like his sister. Surprises and sickens him. God, what did he do?
She's eating a bagel one-handed and the smell just about makes him puke again. "Jesus," he mutters.
"Hey. You should drink this," she says, striding forward and setting a glass of something on the bedside table.
"Vodka?"
"Water. I set some aspirin out, too." She pats her jacket pocket and he hears the rattle of pills. "Don't leave home without it."
He ignores the water and opens the bottom drawer of the table. Ah, yes. Jack Daniels.
"Oh-ho! Hair of the dog, huh? You're a trooper, Harry."
"Get out," he growls, taking a long pull from the bottle. It burns on the way down and sits in his stomach like it's not planning on staying there.
Faith, on the other hand, leans against the doorframe like she's thinking of staying all day. If he could get up without puking, he's throw her out. "Look. Harry. That stuff I said last night? You gotta take it with a grain of salt. I just didn't want you getting all weepy on me. I mean, you can understand that, right? And, hey, we both got our kicks, so…win, win."
"I said, get out," he repeats slowly. He contemplates another drink but decides to wait for the first one to settle. He concentrates on ignoring Faith.
"Yeah. Well, I gotta head out, anyway. Thanks for letting me shack up here. Real nice of you." She walks away and Harry breathes a sigh of relief as he hears the snick of the deadbolt as she leaves.
He collapses back against the pillows and sets the bottle of Jack down. This is it. This is rock bottom. Fucking a girl who looked like his sister, just to keep her from leaving? Yeah, that's about as low as it gets.
If Tru were here, she'd try to help him. She'd tell him to stop drinking so much, to stop feeling sorry for himself and be smart for once.
She'd lie, cheat and steal if she had to, just to keep him safe. She'd done it before.
But Tru isn't here anymore, and it's up to him.
He reaches out blindly and finds his cell, hitting speed-dial.
It rings twelve times before someone answers, and she sounds just as hungover as he feels. "Hello?"
"Mary, hey. It's…ah…it's Harrison."
"Harry, I can't talk right now," she says, and she doesn't sound angry, she sounds drained. Disappointed.
"Mary, I'm really sorry about last night. I meant to be there."
"You always mean to be, Harry."
She should be shouting. She should be insulting him and threatening to hang up. Instead, she just sounds like she's given up on him.
As a rule, he avoids telling the truth. Especially to Mary. But she's all he's got left, and maybe it's time to come clean. "I miss her, Mar. I couldn't sit there and tell you I'm fine. I just couldn't."
She laughs with an edge of hysteria. "And you think that's what I want? To hear how great you are when I just lost my job and I don't know what the hell is happening to me? Jesus, Harrison! I just wanted someone I could count on, that's all! But that's too much to ask of you. It always has been. Goodbye, Harry. Don't call again."
"Wait! Mary, Mary, don't hang up! Please. We could have dinner tonight. Just the two of us. We need to try to fix this, Mar. For Tru. You know she'd want us to."
There's a long silence on the other end and then a sigh. "Yeah, she would." Another sigh, almost a sob, and then, "All right, then, tonight. But that's it. I can't keep waiting for you to grow up."
"I'll be there," he promises. She hangs up before he can say 'Thanks.'
He's got one more chance, and he's not going to screw it up.
He owes it to Tru.
He owes it to Mary.
He owes it to himself.