Sitting in the court house, Donovan leaned forward on his arms and lifted his eyes to Maggie where she was leaning against the wall and waiting for him to put himself together. There had been a number of hearings, and a whole ton of deliberation over the last month, and they'd finally come to a verdict after he'd testified this morning. The summons for his presence had given them little notice, and since Maggie had been insistent on taking him, as opposed to them suiting him up and cuffing him. Allen had agreed on paper to watch the house in her absence, but to Allen, that was literally doing nothing and hoping no one at the pen killed anyone.

Tanner and Ian weren't dumb enough to get into any trouble, and if Rick even tried anything, the Moceris would plant him in the ground. Literally though. They would snap his knees, did a hole, and stick him there until Maggie got back. If they killed Rick, they killed Tanner, and their creepy leader Oliver was sweet on him.

Maggie was waiting for him to say something, anything, but Donovan had no idea what to do with himself. Drink maybe, but he had no one to drink with.

His son had recanted his statement after the years of guilt had eaten at him, and they'd heard him out and reopened his case. Donovan hadn't been required to be there for testimony until the end, but damn how his lawyer had fought for him. That man was some sort of saint to see his case opened again and pick it back up pro bono as if he'd never left his side. Maggie had paid him for his time anyway, and Dean–his lawyer–took the money because he had his second kid on the way. Dean had always been too good to his family as their financial firm's lawyer back when he'd been employed.

This sort of law wasn't his forte, but he'd outsourced and worked with a few other, insisting he was the only one committed enough to represent him. Donovan had barely wanted representation at the time, but Dean had ignored all his dead eyes and outbursts and did all he could to help him.

This whole thing was under a heavy veil of secrecy because the press would be enormous if they caught wind of what was going on. That was why his presence had been unnecessary until the very end, when they had already come to their conclusion but wanted him to solidify their conviction in the verdict. It had come down to a few things. Lack of sufficient evidence, motive, and too much reasonable doubt. Over the last few years his lawyer had dug up a lot about his wife, old debts, payouts that Donovan had never known about from their corporate accounts. His wife had been in some shady financial things for years, which was likely what had sparked her outbursts at their son.

Donovan had never pled guilty nor left any evidence for them to nail him with. That was the beauty of premeditated murder when you had money. It had been his son's testimony and mostly circumstantial evidence that had convicted him. That, and his inability to look like he even cared about her loss. The judge had considered the lack of other options and his son's tear filled testimony enough when Donovan had looked up to him with his empty eyes, ready for the end after it all. The murder itself might have gotten him life, but compiled with severe abuse of a minor had been enough to push him that extra mile to death row.

So, with too much piled up in his favor, evidence and legally, and no one looking to push this case back into the light for more scrutiny, the judge had changed his sentence to time served and tossed the rest of it. Dean had said that they didn't want to waste the time and resources without the evidence, against a reputable business and family man, and with his son's recounting what had really happened now that he was of "sound mind".

That left him here, on a bench, trying to figure out what he was going to do with his life. His company had awarded him a nice severance before all this, and it was owned by someone else now. Donovan had no interest in reclaiming it with the attention it would get with his face. The hush order on the proceedings would wear off eventually, and he'd have to be somewhere quiet by then.

So he was free.

But he didn't feel all that free.

While he was mulling over what to do with himself, he saw his son out of the corner of his eye as he departed a separate court room with his own lawyers. They'd been kept in separate areas from Micah's lawyer's request, but his son had also testified in the final hearing. It had been in front of a few judges, and not a jury, so Donovan imagined that had been easier for his skittish son. As far as he'd heard from Dean, there would be no serious consequences Micah considering what he'd suffered.

It was impossible for Donovan to tear his eyes away from the side of Micah's face, his mouth moving and his face crinkling in frustration as he spoke to his lawyer. His hair had gotten longer since he'd last seen him, and it was almost like his own–just long enough to tie back, but not so long as to tickle his shoulders. The look in his son's eyes over the years hadn't changed, still soft, open, and reaching for attention, even if it was just from his legal counsel.

Compulsion overtook his better judgment, and Donovan stood and walked toward him.

"Donovan, don't do this now." Maggie tried to stop him, and her voice drew Micah's attention as they were just a few yards away.

Micah froze as he approached, and his lawyers backed away. That really got to Donovan, how they abandoned him for their own safety, but he supposed they weren't paid enough to be body guards. Donovan reached out his hand to his son for the first time in years, but before he could touch his cheek, Micah flinched back. That was all it took to stop him, and tears fell from Donovan's eyes, heavy in despair as his son struggled just to face him. All he'd ever wanted was for him to feel safe, protected, and in killing his mother he'd left nothing but fear in his son.

The penitentiary was where he belonged. No matter how much he loathed the men he lived with, he was no better. If they managed to keep news of his release under the tight lid of secrecy, he could return there. Nathan needed someone there who wasn't volatile and insane, and Donovan had grown quite fond of him already.

A strange noise drew him out of his despair, and he realized that his son had made it. There was no denying the fear in his son's eyes as he met them again, but there was a desperation about Micah. His son wanted something from him.

Since Micah had been a toddler, he'd communicated more with gesture than words, and Donovan easily recognized this expression, the same as when Micah had crawled up to him hungry, lonely, or afraid. At some point in his son's life, Donovan's arms had been comfort to him, but now he was a murderer. What comfort did he have to give to his only son? Micah was still so young, sixteen by his count this year.

Donovan dropped to his knees on the floor in a poor attempt to look less imposing, tears still dripping to his chin as he tried to do anything to ease his son's pain. If Micah wanted something from him, he could never refuse, even if he just wanted to sputter more words of hatred at him. Donovan would listen to his son, always.

"What can I do for you?" Donovan asked, carefully outstretching his hand as harmlessly as he could muster. The other was curled into a tight fist against his chest in apprehension. It fell shaking to his side when tears poured from his son's eyes. A heart-stopping, gut-wrenching, tremor took him over as he saw his son in despair. How had he fallen so low as to cause this? Where had he gone wrong in not noticing the abuse sooner, and how had killing his mother been the only way to solve it?

Losing himself to grief, Donovan was startled stiff when Micah closed the small gap between them. Unable to move, he didn't know what Micah wanted from him that close. How could his son bear to be close to him after all he'd done? So stunned by his son's proximity, Donovan was almost knocked over when Micah fell on him. Losing his knees, his son descended into his lap with one quick motion and gripped Donovan's sides so hard that Donovan could feel his son shake against his chest.

"I'm so sorry, Dad." Micah clutched him, sobbing into his chest, and Donovan was at a loss for words.

What did his son have to apologize for?

Both of his parents were monsters.

"Please don't hate me!" There was the desperation he'd seen in his son's eyes, what his son wanted from him.

At least that much he could still give. Donovan slid his arms around his son, and Micah made a small noise of confusion and fear that caused bile to rise in the back of Donovan's throat. His son didn't know if he was going to hurt him or not. This was what he'd left in his wake. Touching his son's hair softly with one hand, he pressed him heavily to his chest, shaking just about as hard as his despairing son was.

"I will never hate you, Micah." The words were choked off by a sob as more tears flowed from his chin and onto his son's soft hair. "You have nothing to apologize for. Your mother and I, we both let you down, did things that no parents ever should. Even if you curse me to the end of your days, I will never hurt you, Micah. You are my son, the most precious thing in the world to me. I'm the one who should be on the ground begging for your forgiveness."

"I don't hate you either." Micah's words were too kind for Donovan to accept right now. There had always been a softness in his son, a kindness that most boys his age didn't have. "I miss you." Those words were like a knife wrenched into his heart.

How could Micah miss him? With his own hands he'd killed his mother. What was there about him to miss?

"Donovan, I have to go. I can't be out for long, you know that." Maggie's voice behind him, pried his eyes away from his son's to look at her. It was easier to meet her concerned gaze than it was to recognize the look of longing in eyes that were just like his own, pools of black kindness. "Are you coming or staying?"

With his son clutching him, and Donovan barely keeping his body stable from his grief, Donovan already knew the answer. There was no way he was going home with Micah, regardless of his decision. There would be a lot of paperwork and evaluation before he could get his son back, and there was someone else who needed him right now.

"I have to go, Micah." Donovan touched his son's face softly, and this time Micah didn't flinch in response. Had all his son feared from him been that his own father hated him? Surely, he was also terrified knowing what his father's hands could do to another living person.

"Where are you going?" An innocent question from a child who loved his father too much.

"I have to go home now, Micah." Patting his son's hair gently, he smiled at him, the tears still ceaselessly dripping onto his own shirt. This was all he had ever wanted, to see his son safe, to hold him again, even if he hated him. If his son didn't hate him as he claimed, he sure as hell didn't deserve it.

"But I–" A finger to his son's lips closed them, and Micah's eyes fell from his, saddened.

"Here." Pulling out the small notebook in his pocket, he scrawled numbers on it as Micah watched, entranced by the movement of his hands. "This is my number, if you ever need for anything. We have a lot to talk about, if you want to talk at all, and some of it will easier at a distance." Placing the paper in his son's hand, he had to go. Lingering would only make leaving harder.

Yes, he wanted to be with Micah, but he didn't know if that was what his son wanted. They could figure it out over the phone, and if it really came down to it, Donovan would drop everything when the time came. It would be a while though, mountains of legal work, and money to relocate and Right now, while Donovan struggled with what his freedom and his son's love for him might mean, he someone else to worry about.

There would be hell if he left Nathan at Ian's mercy.

Donovan helped his son to his feet and gave him one last hug, pressing his head to his chest and running his hand over his hair before he returned to Maggie's side. From there, Donovan smiled genuinely at Micah, and his son blushed, in that way a child does when they are praised by their parents. There was no expression he loved more on his son's face, than this embarrassed, yet simple happiness.

Word count: 2328 -- Edited July 12th, 2020