Javi wakes and his only thought is that one day it'll feel familiar waking up with the sense of not knowing anything. That he won't expect to have his bearings first thing in the morning. That knowing where he is, what day it is, how he got there are now luxuries.

     His eyes are open and he can't make sense of the beamed ceiling. It's not the shiplap ceiling of his childhood home, it's not the popcorn ceiling of the asylum he was in, it's not even the crown-molded ceiling of his apartment. He has no idea where he is but wherever it is, it smells of sandalwood and something analgesic.

     Someone touches him and he jolts out of reach, surprised. When he turns his head to look, he's even more surprised to see that it's Margie, Tate's mother, and she's sitting beside him in a wheelchair.

     He fights back a groan at the onslaught of pain thrumming through his head. He tries to sit up but his stomach is too sore. Margie watches him closely, her expression changing but in a way that Javi can't understand.

     He finally really looks at her and is saddened to see the effects of time on her, too. He's even more sad that he had no idea this was going on, isn't even sure about what it could be. Did she break her back? Suffer a stroke? He doesn't know, but he wants to and he isn't sure how much he's allowed to know.

     He wants her to break the silence but when she doesn't he clears his throat and says, "I'm sorry."

     She raises an eyebrow questioningly.

     "For leaving," he clarifies quietly. "For not keeping in touch. For just showing up at your house."

     She shakes her head at that last part. He looks at her confused and then asks, "Not your house?"

     She nods to that. So then Tate's house. Tate has a house?

     That spurs the thought, how did he get here? What is he even doing here? The details of last night are fuzzy. He remembers feeling bad, really bad, definitely more down than the last few weeks. He'd taken his meds like he was supposed to but they weren't helping. He'd gone to the bar, hoping a couple drinks would quiet his thoughts and tire him enough to sleep.

     He didn't remember drinking that much but he did remember wanting to feel something other than sadness. Remembered walking up to some guys and asking them, so which one of you bottoms?

     He thought that would do the trick but they waited to get violent. They were obviously offended but willing to give him the benefit of doubt. So he repeated his question. Its just that you both look like bottoms so I'm curious the dynamic here.

     The guy put all of his weight in the punch, hitting him between his cheek and jaw. It was good, the instant gratuitous pain. Javi wanted more. So he kept talking and he kept hitting him, hitting him hard, until Tate got between them.

     Javi had to really think to remember the details then. Tate catching the guys fist like it was a fly ball, holding onto it and pushing the guy back.

     "That's Oscar's son!" Tate had snapped like that meant anything at all.

     Javi was his son by blood, and nothing else. Javi was an embarrassment to Oscar.

❂

     "Can we just leave him here?" Sylvia asks looking down at Javi, who's crumpled on the couch like a rag doll. Emery's kneeling beside the couch wiping the blood on his bottom lip.

     "Well we can't bring him home like this," Em responds.

     "What if he has a concussion?" Syl asks. "What if he doesn't wake up? Then we're accomplices to murder."

      "He's fine," Tate says his tone thin. "I'll watch him."

      "You will?" Emery and Sylvia say in almost near-synchronicity.

     He nods, assures them he will, and then sends Sylvia up to his room. It's too late for her to walk home and none of them are in a state to drive.

     He goes and gets two glasses of water, bringing them back with him to the living room. He sets one down near Javi on the coffee table and then takes a seat in the recliner near the window. He looks at Javi, busted lip, face bruised and swelling, and tries to make sense of what happened tonight.

     He'd provoked them, that much Tate knows, but why?

     He falls asleep thinking about it and stirs awake some time in the morning. He's an early riser but this is even a little early for him. The recliner is not comfortable and its strange to be sleeping an arm's length away from Javi.

     In the morning light, his face looks worse. He has a bump in his bottom lip where it split and a cut on his cheek bone that's swollen and dark blue.

     Tate spends too long watching Javi sleep, is only pressed to stop looking when he hears Pepper's car outside. She has a key and normally lets herself in but he meets her at the door, pressing a finger to his lips to motion her to stay quiet as she walks in.

     She looks at him confused and then notices Javi on the couch. One thing about Pepper is she's going to maintain boundaries. She asks no questions, doesn't even look curious, making her way to the kitchen like she always does.

     Tate follows her and puts the kettle on so he can make himself some tea. They move around the kitchen in silence. Pepper prepares his mom's breakfast and gets her pills together. She leaves it waiting on the table in front of her place setting, a section of the table where her wheelchair slots perfectly.

     Tate finishes his tea and then goes upstairs to shower. When he passes through the living room, he looks and Javi's still asleep. He hasn't decided what he's going ton say when he wakes because he's supposed to hate him, not want anything to do with him, but he'd taken him here last night and cleaned his wounds. It was a strange arc in his villain origin story.

     When he comes back downstairs, freshly showered and dressed, wet hair dripping into the neckline of his shirt, he's not expecting to find his mother sitting beside the couch and he's even more shocked when she says, "What happened Javi?"

❂

     Javi swallows and then says blithely, "I got into a little fight last night. It was a misunderstanding."

      "If the misunderstanding is that you actually started a fight, then yes," Tate says from the stairwell and Javi startles, looking over at him. His stomach clenches under Tate's watchful gaze.

      "I didn't start it," he says to Tate and then looks back at Margie, repeating, "I didn't start it."

     And he believes that. It's not like he threw the first punch, or any punch for that matter. It was apparently as good a time as ever to remember that Tate had stepped between them, had actually caught the guys fist like he was Thor.

     The Tate he knew would've never thought to step into the middle of a fight. But that's the point right there, isn't it? Knew. He doesn't know Tate anymore.

     "No, sorry, you just provoked it," Tate says, annoyed.

     Margie looks at Javi and her expression is again very discerning. He waits for her to say something but she doesn't. He notices her hands are shaking. She notices too and quickly clasps them together in her lap.

      Tate rounds the couch and drops Javi's sneaker by his feet as he says curtly, "I'll take you home."

     Javi shifts uncomfortably. He can't think of anything worse than being in an enclosed space with Tate, even if it is just five minutes of driving. "That's okay, I'll walk."

     Margie shoots Javi a stern look. It conveys a shocking amount, like that's a trick she's been practicing, speaking with her eyes. Javi blinks and goes, "Or I'll take that ride, I guess."

     Javi is confused as he gets into Tate's truck. Confused because he never saw Tate as someone with a pick-up. But then he'd never saw Tate as someone who got in the middle of fights or had visible muscles in his arms.

     Javi did not know this man. He was the definitely not the boy he'd once loved.

     "Seatbelt," Tate says as he peels out of his driveway. Javi has no fight in him, not this early in the morning with his face throbbing in pain and a hangover looming. He just puts his seatbelt on and tries to make himself as small as possible.

     Tate apparently has no fight, either. He's silent, gripping the wheel tight as he drives. Javi doesn't have any fight in him, but he does have questions. Namely, what's going on with his mom and how long's it been going on? But also what does Tate do now and how has he been?

     He can't ask any of these questions. He's not deserving of the answers. So he sits in silence, thinking them over and over, fixating on them, wondering if he thinks it loud enough Tate might hear it and answer.

      Tate drives up the road towards his house, slowing down. It's a rocky path, so maybe that's it, or maybe he's just trying to draw this out. When he parks, he turns to Javi and says, "What are you doing back here? Other than picking fights, that is."

     Javi takes a shaky breath and then answers, "I needed to see my dad."

     "You didn't even make your mother's funeral but now you suddenly need to see your dad?"

     The comment burns and Javi has to ignore it, pretend he didn't even hear it, to keep himself from crying.

     He opens his mouth to respond and then closes it. He doesn't know what to say because he can't tell the truth. Tate makes this sound and Javi looks up in time to catch his eye roll. "No? Nothing else you want to say?" Tate asks, his tone biting.

     "You think there's anything I can say that's going to make a difference now?"

     Tate laughs and that sounds even worse, sharp, all corners. "No. No, I really fucking don't."

     "I'm not going to be here long," Javi says even though he hasn't given his timeline much thought. "I'll make sure to stay out of your way."

     "Yeah, you do that."

     Javi swallows, not knowing what else is left in this interaction. Apparently nothing because Tate says, "You can get out now."

❂

     Tate is fuming. And he's speeding up the freeway, with no direction in mind just knowing he needs to not be here. He doesn't understand how Javi can just come back, seemingly out of the blue, with no explanation for any of it.

     If he'd shown up at his mother's funeral, it would have made some sense to Tate. Like yeah it's still super shitty that you left and iced everyone who's only ever loved you out, but at least you had the decency to pay your respects to Lena.

     Showing up a week later was a joke, was actually so pathetically cruel and—Javi's an asshole. Tate decides Javi is the biggest asshole ever and so undeserving of his time and thoughts. That's it. He's done thinking about him.

     Tate is still flying up the road, feeling strangely at peace going at a speed he knows would decimate him in a car accident. He doesn't think anything of it until he whips past a trooper parked in the median and even as he slams the brakes to slow down he knows its too late.

     The trooper flies out, flipping their lights and siren on. Tate peels off to a safe spot on the side of the road and starts pulling his information out. He looks in his side mirror at the officer as he gets out. Its a young guy, tall and broad. He'll make a lesson out of him. He can only imagine what his insurance is going to jump to now.

     "You know why I pulled you over?" the officer asks when he's come up to his open window.

     Something about cops makes Tate naturally sweat. He can feel the dampness under his arms and his voice trembles a little when he says, "I was speeding, I'm sorry."

     "You were doing 94 in a 65," the officer says, matter of fact. "Where are you heading speeding like that?

     "Honestly nowhere," Tate says weakly. "I was just—having a bad morning and I was upset. I don't know why I was speeding like that."

      "You can get yourself killed or kill someone else at those speeds," he says. "Can I see your license and registration."

     Tate hands it over compliantly. It was dumb, speeding. Reckless and dumb. The officer takes his information and walks away. Tate stays, reeling. His hands tremble. He waits, waits, keeps waiting.

     The officer returns with Tate's paperwork. He holds it out to him but when Tate goes to take it, he doesn't let go. "Listen, I don't know what you're going through but I do know speeding down a highway isn't going to solve it, okay? I'm not going to give you a ticket this time and make your morning worse. But slow down."

     "Wow," Tate says. "Thank you, Officer."

     "Matt," he says and tips his head to Tate before he walks away.

     Tate is nervous when he peels back onto the road, overly conscious of his speed. He takes the first exit and makes a U-turn back towards town. He finds himself at the Maple diner and isn't opposed to getting breakfast.

     It's Saturday and the place is bustling, but he manages to snag a spot at the counter. Sherry spots him and holds up both her hands, clamping at the air, her infamous wave. Sherry's been there since Tate was a kid. She was young then, he supposes, though she always felt old to him in a sense.

     She finishes with a customer and walks up behind the counter, picking up a menu and waving it at him. He shakes his head. It's perfunctory at this point. He knows he'll get eggs sunny side up, a side of Virginia ham, and stone-ground grits with a coffee and an orange juice. She knows it, too.

     "Morning sweets," she says when she gets up to him. "Usual?"

     He nods and says, "Please, thank you."

     She nods, looking him up and down and then she goes quite bluntly, "So how long till you tell me Javi's back?"

     Tate isn't even surprised. With Javi's little stunt in the bar last night, he suspects everyone knows he's back. He's annoyed that just by the nature of their past everyone will be asking him about it.

     "Not long at all. Javi's back."

     Sherry waves at the air, looking at him expectantly.

     "There's nothing else to it. He's back. He'll be gone soon, I'm sure."

     "Have you talked to him? Do you know where he was? Was he a war prisoner?"

     "I haven't talked to him," Tate admits, which is mostly true. For the intents of this conversation it is.

     "Oh, you're still mad."

     "I'm not mad," Tate insists.

     "No, no, you're mad. I get it."

     "I'm not mad Sherry."

     "You sound very much like you're mad."

     "Well I'm tired of everyone constantly asking me about Javi. I'm not his keeper."

     Clearly, he thinks, the thought sickening. No matter what he said, how hard he tried to hold on, Javi slipped right through his grip and out of his life. He's not mad but he's also not soon to forget it.

❂

     Javi stands outside for too long. Too long because he doesn't want to go inside and face his father with battle wounds but also too long because his father, with something like sonar for Javi, comes out.

     "Aye, Javi, what did you get into?" he screams when he sees him and rushes down the steps.

     He takes Javi's chin and turns his face up. "You picking fights now, too? What's going on with you?"

     "It was an accident," Javi says unconvincingly.

     "Accident my ass. Maybe I do need to ground your ass."

     Javi is tired, his legs are weak and he's really not surprised when they just buckle. His father throws an arm out and holds onto him, pulling him in. "Whoa," he says.

     Javi heaves a breath and moans, "I can't do this."

     "Can't do what, Javi? Can't do what?"

     "Be here."

     Oscar pulls Javi into him and takes him back up the steps into the house, walks with him into the kitchen and sets him down at the table. Javi watches him move about the kitchen, vision blurred by his tears. Oscar grabs a bottle from the top of the fridge. It's a jug full of brown liquid. Javi knows it to be his special liquor. He only brings it down for occasion. He takes two short glasses out and places one in front of Javi.

     Then he takes a seat across from him and says, "I googled those pills you're taking. They're not just for anxiety."

     "No," Javi agreed. "No, they're not."

     "Tell me what's really going on, Javi," he says next. "Tell the truth and shame the devil."

     Javi breaks like a dam, opening up for his father in a way he hasn't in seven years. He tells him about Montgomery, first, because it's where it all starts. How seventeen year old Javier met him online and was promised success, despite not going to college.

     He doesn't go into detail. Not because he can't but because his father would probably try to kill Montgomery. It wouldn't work, Montgomery's entirely too protected, but his father would end up behind bars for the rest of his life. Montgomery would make sure of that.

     He fast forwards through the grunt work, the long hours, the pressure of his role, climbing the ladder from staff assistant to staff member to legislative policy analyst. (He slept his way up but he won't tell his father that, either.)

     He chokes up, can't get the rest of it out. Shame, he realizes, has pinned him down and immobilized him. "So that's it?" Oscar asks after the silence. "Your doctor prescribed these because of work?"

     Javi shakes his head as he swallows, reaching up to wipe the tears from his eyes. "Then what is it, Javi? What happened?" His father takes both his hands, squeezing them tightly. "I love you no matter what it is. If there's body, I'll help you bury it. But you gotta tell me where it is Javi."

     "It's me, dad. I'm the body. I'm what you need to bury." His father looks confused when he meets his gaze. "I wanted to die so I tried. I tried to."

     When his father starts crying, Javi feels like he'd like to die again.

     "You should've called me," Oscar says finally, clearing his throat. "You could've called me."

     "I'm so ashamed," Javi says. "I don't like who I am. I hate it."

     I hate me.

     "You listen to me, Javier. You are my son. You are of me as I am of you. And if you can't like you right now, then you let me do the liking. You put that on me. We'll get through this together."

     Javi is nodding, wanting so badly for his father to win this one for him. Because he's not sure what happens if he can't.

❂

     Em's sitting with his mom on the porch when Tate gets back. Her bags packed and on the floor beside her. He frowns as he walks up. "You're leaving already?"

     "Girls gotta go," she says. "I'll be back in a few weeks though."

     "Yeah?"

     Emery stands, leaning over his mom to hug her. "Bye Marg," she says kissing her on the cheek. She bounds over to Tate and he embraces her. "Bye Tatey."

     "Drive safe," he says. "Text me when you get home."

     "I'm actually making a pit stop for the night in Charleston. Feels like the vibe."

     "Charleston?" he asks confused.

     She shrugs. "Why not. Life's short, close your eyes and pick a spot on the map."

     Tate simply can't relate. He's never been spontaneous like that and with his mom being sick, he certainly doesn't have the opportunity to be now. He watches Emery leave sadly. People leaving always hurts him, even if he knows they'll be back.

     He takes a seat next to his mom on the porch and reaches for her hand, giving it a squeeze. He's surprised when she squeezes back. He feels her looking at him but he's afraid to meet his gaze.

     "Should I play for you?" he asks instead.

     She makes an affirmative sound, so he stands, wheeling her back into the house. He parks her wheelchair beside her piano. He pulls a booklet from inside the bench compartment and sits down, placing the sheet music and turning to a piece she enjoys.

     Consolations. Liszt. He's played this particular one so many times now he actually doesn't need the sheet music at all. He glances over at his mom and she's closed her eyes, her head tilting from side to side.

     When he finishes, he can hear her humming to the song still. He wrings his hands, staring at her. He's looked at her many times now and he still can't comprehend how she became so frail, so sickly, so fast.

     She opens her eyes, her gaze piercing his. He's surprised when she smiles gently and says, "Javi's back."

❂

     Javi's father makes him breakfast, a big plate of huevos rancheros. They're in a comfortable silence as they eat. When he's finished, Oscar says, "Now you take your meds." Javi's not sure if it's a question or command, but yes, now is when he should take them so he does.

     Oscar watches him, his gaze incredibly attentive. Javi doesn't know if he wants to shrink under it or bask in it. It's been so long since anyone's cared for his wellbeing. "Go ahead and get dressed and then meet me outside. You've got packages in your room."

     Javi stands abruptly. Being ordered around makes him feel surprisingly good, surprisingly stable. That his father refers to it as his room still hurts him deeply. He slinks down the narrow hallway to his old bedroom. There's three large boxes and two smaller ones in front of his bed. He's not at all surprised by Colleen's efficiency.

     He opens one of the large ones. A couple pairs of sneakers, and a pair of boots, each in it's own plastic bag are situated on top of folded clothes. He takes the jeans closest to the top and a plain shirt and then opens the other boxes in search for underwear and socks.

     He finds that, and his hygiene products. He takes them into the bathroom, showering, cleaning himself up and then getting dressed so he can meet his father outside. Oscar has pulled out the John Deere, along with all his gardening tools.

     When Javi surfaces, he stands from where he was sitting on the back porch and walks over, taking the hat off his head. He slaps it down on Javi and goes, "The lawn is due for a mow."

     Javi nods, taking the task in stride. He is a task-oriented person so this is actually perfect for him. He welcomes monotony. It's warm outside and it's already pushing midday. Colleen had packed his electronics in a small box and he has his AirPods in his pocket. He puts them in and then sinks onto the mower seat.

     As a kid all he wanted was to drive this thing. His father emphasized that it's not a toy, and there's responsibility in using it. Now he feels less excited to be driving the mower. They have a few acres of land. He plows back and forth, making clean rows as he mows the grass.

     His father remains outside, sitting on the porch watching him. He does nothing else but watch him, like Javi may disappear right before his eyes.

     When Javi finishes, his shirt is drenched in sweat and he has a tan line from his apple watch. His father doesn't get up, just gestures with his chin at the garden and goes, "It needs tending."

     This moves slower than the mowing. The garden was his mothers but he can tell it hasn't been maintained for a few weeks now, maybe even a month or so. He starts by weeding, pulling out everything that's died. His mother taught him to garden but he has an affinity for it, too.

     She used to say something about idle hands. He couldn't remember it now but it kept popping into his head.

     Eventually his father does go inside but he doesn't pay it any mind. This is therapeutic in a way nothing has been in a long time. He turns over the soil and then looks at all the bare spots. He needs to go get seeds. His mom liked to plant the basics. She said it was things she knew she'd always use. Garlic, lettuce, green beans, bell peppers, cucumbers.

     "Javi," his father calls from the doorway, shaking him from his thoughts. "Come eat lunch."

     Javi goes inside, washes up in the bathroom, and then joins his father at the kitchen table. His mom was always the cook. His dad knew how to, but was just generally bad at it. He's made rice and refried beans, but the beans are overcooked and the rice is sticky and clumped together.

     Javi finds himself starving though, and clears his plate. Oscar points with his fork. "Get a second helping," he says so Javi does.

     This is what Oscar meant by grounding, by having structure, by returning to his roots and Javi thinks for a hopeful moment that it's actually going to work.