┌───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────┐
EIGHT
sun and ice
└───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────┘

☆.｡.:*　　.｡.:*☆

DESPITE her call-sign, Luisa Romero has learned that even goddesses need a break after a long day of flying. Not that she feels like the goddess Athena she flies under the name of — has she ever felt that powerful? Perhaps there have been only two occasions. When she first got up in the air, and when she held her daughter for the first time...

     And yet, both of those passions have been confusing her recently.

     The Hard Deck buzzes with an early bustle as Luisa walks in, sunset glowing around the windowpane edges. Her hands slither into the pockets of her battered bomber jacket in search of change. Making a bee-line for the counter, she barely gets to glance at Penny Benjamin before sliding some money across for a drink — when the woman notices her, she flashes the same friendly smile as usual.

"Luisa," she says, "same as usual?"

"I'm gonna need something a little stronger today," Luisa replies hoarsely.

When she finally glances up at Penny, the concerned blue eyes take her aback — damn it, is she really that easy to read? Maybe it's the weariness in the pilot's voice, or her usual glow of optimism dimmed to a mere flicker. Luisa had hoped she wasn't making it obvious. She hates being a bother to anyone, and being the recipient of pity just makes her feel... well, wrong.

     She's usually the one reading other people when they're down — it is her special talent. In fact, her mother always used to say she only needed ten seconds to get a good read on someone. Luisa did it with Hangman when he first started chatting her up at the bar years ago, seeing right through his facade. And of course she can do it with all her childhood friends, knowing them like the back of her hand.

Only one person muted her instincts... but that is one man she would rather not think about.

"How strong are we thinking, then?" Penny asks.

"Strong enough to make me relax, but I still wanna walk home in a straight-ish line."

"Hm... would you say you're a wine spritzer kind of girl?"

"Sounds good to me," Luisa sighs. She can't remember the last time she sat at a bar and had a drink like this — it must have been before motherhood. Everything feels like a Before and After, in both the best ways and the more conflicting ones too. No matter how many people warned her of it, she was still blindsided by that fact some days.

     Penny hands her the spritzer and watches her sympathetically. "So, rough day today?"

     "You have no idea..."

     "Wanna share? I'm a bartender, I'm allowed to ask these kinds of questions."

     Luisa chuckles, fiddling with the lime in the glass. The smile soon fades and she chews on her bottom lip. "You know..." she murmurs, only barely audible above the chatter in the bar, "I just found out yesterday that my daughter knows the alphabet, nearly off by heart. And she's learning to write her own name."

     "Really? That's fantastic!" Penny grins. "Treasure those moments, I'm telling you. It all goes by so fast."

     I know. That's the problem, Luisa thinks.

Gabriela had been on her mind all day. She kept thinking over her daughter's excitement, innocently oblivious to how it weighed on her mother. Luisa had watched the growing girl in front of her, and could only think one thing: I missed something else, yet again. It hit her harder than ever in that moment. People keep telling her Gabriela won't be this age forever, and they're right... it was the same when she took her first steps, instead reported to her in a video via text message from her mother — Luisa had watched it on her phone, while on an aircraft carrier somewhere she couldn't tell her family.

Luisa knew better than to let all that personal worry seep into her work — but aren't those things inextricably linked these days? Up in the air today, she'd been practicing navigating the canyon with Lynx as her wingman. On one of the sharper turns, her jet had wobbled a little, and thanks to her quick recovery it was nothing to worry about. Except that it did worry her — her chest grew tight, and suddenly she found herself struggling to breathe. She saw flashes of a worst-case scenario, where she was killed or MIA and left Gabriela behind parentless. It made her blood run cold and freeze her up on the spot, no matter how much Tintin or Lynx tried snapping her out of it...

It was safe to say they failed that task, utterly and completely.

The minute she could get out of her uniform, Luisa found her way to the Hard Deck, and now here she is.

     ... But instead of getting all of this off her chest, she strains to return a smile to the Penny, before gulping down her drink. The crisp, sweet tanginess prickles her tastebuds, and she shudders at the forgotten sensation. Luisa's eyes begin to roam the room, hungrily searching for a distraction. Anything. Something to put her at ease. There's a cluster of aviators guffawing over by the pool table, or some guy playing the same Jimi Hendrix song back-to-back on the jukebox.

Then she spots him — Bob Floyd in the booth right behind her. He's sat alone, eyes poring over some reading material with a cup of black coffee going cold. It is only the second time she has seen him out of uniform too, having swapped his for a pair of dark jeans and a rusted brown t-shirt. Even with his brows pinched together in concentration, he seems so... warm. That's the first thing Luisa noticed about him when he was sat quietly on that barstool a couple weeks ago. When it came to her instincts, he didn't even have to say a word for her to know he was something special. While many of the other pilots boasted or jibed together, Bob quietly kept his head down and did his job... and it intrigued her. It has ever since.

With his cup raised to his lips, Bob glances up and notices Luisa staring at him. Almost instantly he gives a jolt, brows shooting up and almost spilling coffee over the side — not so much out of fear, rather alarm that he's the object of her attention right now, or that it took him so long to notice her sat at the bar. She mouths a small "Hi" to him and waves, which Bob returns with a curt nod and a deep-dimpled smile.

Luisa swivels back to face Penny again, who is now busy getting the bill for one of the pilots. She doesn't say a word as she takes her drink and slowly leaves the bar stool, instead going to approach Bob.

"Hey, uh, is this seat free?" she asks him.

Bob's eyes dart from the empty seat opposite, then back up to her, as if he can't believe his luck. "Oh, yeah, I– I mean, sure... please, have a seat."

"Thanks," Luisa chuckles. She slides into the seat opposite him, the booth offering their own little bubble of privacy. "So, what brings you to the Hard Deck tonight?"

"Oh, nothing really," Bob quickly slams the manual shut, suddenly finding it insignificant. "Just some of the manuals. I know Maverick said we weren't going by the book, but I was wondering if maybe... there was something that could help wrap my head around this mission. What about you?"

"I was trying to forget about work, as you can probably tell..." She rattles the ice in her glass indicatively.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to bring it up—"

"No, no, it's fine! Really, you carry on..." Luisa takes a tentative sip of her spritzer, wrapping her head around the taste again. "I haven't actually had a drink like this in a while. Not since I had my daughter." At this, Bob nods fondly, and a few beats of silence pass between them. Her glance shifts curiously to the coffee in front of him, surely going cold since he neglected it for reading the manual for so long. "I've noticed you don't drink a whole lot."

"I don't know, I guess I've just never been big on it. In college I didn't do the whole wild partying thing. I was more like the, uh..."

"Designated driver?"

"Something like that, yeah," Bob straightens his glasses on his nose. Luisa smiles in understanding and nods.

"I'm not big on it myself, honestly," she admits. "It's usually more of a social thing for me. But I don't know, after today I just needed something a little... stronger."

     Luisa sips her spritzer quietly, feeling Bob's eyes on her the whole time. In her periphery she watches him open and close his mouth a couple of times, like a goldfish gaping for air, before he finally decides to actually commit to speaking. "Hey, are you... are you okay?" he asks. The question takes her by surprise — she's being obvious again. Noticing her alarm, he quickly begins elaborating: "Well, I– I just wondered, because you seem a little... I don't know... weary?"

"That's a good word for it," she scoffs softly, swirling her glass around. "I just had a rough day. I mean, I guess you overheard me crashing and burning in the rec room."

"What, you mean in training? I didn't hear crashing and burning, but I did hear you. You were great up there."

     "Well, thanks," Luisa feels herself blush for a moment, "but it's not so much that, it's... there's more to it."

     Bob shifts in his seat, the leather squeaking slightly beneath him. His gaze is gentle and kind, shimmering beneath his glasses as he looks at her expectantly. The effect it has on her is instantaneous — she finds herself relaxing, her frustrations brimming to the surface in an overdue catharsis. She sets down her drink on the table with a loud sigh.

     "I wasn't planning on having a child when I did. I mean, sure, I loved the idea of having kids, but not then," Luisa reflects. "I was happy in my squadron doing my part. And then... I met this guy. We fell in love. Seven months down the line, I got pregnant, and when I told him... let's just say he didn't hang around for very long." At this, Bob sighs sympathetically for her, jaw clenched with distaste for this mystery man. "So suddenly, I didn't have my job, I moved back in with my parents just before Gabriela was born... and there are a whole list of reasons why that wasn't, and still isn't fun. I mean, I did get my job back after taking a Sabbatical — I'm on the reserves so I can see Gabriela more often. But..." she pauses, staring off to the side contemplatively. Then her stare snaps suddenly back to him. "Look Bob, when I say this, you've got to know that I love my daughter more than anything in the world. You know that, right?"

     "I know you do," Bob replies earnestly.

     "It's just that sometimes I miss... me. Like, who I was before I was a mom. I wish I could say people didn't treat me differently because of that, but they do. Don't get me wrong, I love this job. I really, really love it... but this morning when I had that slip-up, I just kept thinking about if something happened to me, and Gabriela got left behind." Luisa swallows thickly, formulating her words again. "I just feel like more and more lately, I'm scared that I'm missing everything about her life, and... I don't know. I'm not sure these two lives mix anymore — and I know which one I'm never giving up."

     A silence bloats between them. Oh God, you've gone and done it now, Luisa thinks. Info-dumping on poor Bob like that. But to her relief, he doesn't seem put-off — more quietly considering his answer to everything she just said. Sitting forward in the booth seat, Bob finally blurts out, "Well, first of all, you're amazing."

     "W– what?"

     Bob's eyes widen a little, his embarrassment magnified in his spectacles. "I– I just mean, doing what you're doing, raising your daughter while doing this job... I think if anyone could do that, it's you. I'm not gonna tell you what you should or shouldn't do — and I'm sure that's not what you wanna hear anyway — but... I guess just do what makes you happy. Whether that's doing what you are right now, or giving in your wings, whatever it is. You don't have anything to prove to anyone."

     Luisa laughs then, massaging her temples; but her eyes glow with gratitude. "Thank you. That's... really sweet of you to say. And hey, sorry for offloading all of that onto you. You're just a really good listener, it all came pouring out. A lot of guys, not naming names, could learn a thing or two about that."

     "Oh, I don't know—"

     "Don't change. It's a good way to be."

     He shrugs sheepishly, like a tortoise retreating back into its shell again.

     "You know," says Luisa, propping her chin on her elbow, "I wish I'd bumped into you on more missions. If I'd met you before this one, maybe I could catch a break from guys more like Hangman..."

     The way that Bob squirms against that comment puzzles her. His Adam's apple bobs nervously in his throat, an air of awkwardness radiating from him. "This, uh... this isn't actually the first time we've met," he informs her in a low voice.

     She blinks at him cluelessly.

     "Uh," he clears his throat, "I'd just been stationed at Lemoore for the first time. The squadron was training for some surface-attack mission, must've been around 2015. They wanted to try different WSOs, and—"

     "— and you were with my wingman, holy crap!" Luisa exclaims, like a lightning bolt just struck her. Now he mentions it, she has the vaguest recollection of him, his face younger and fuzzier in her memory. Unfortunately that is all her mind gifts to her. "Bob, I am so sorry... you must think I have the worst memory. Okay, I guess that means I do, but– but I think it was just that weird time... you know, everything with my ex and having Gabriela soon afterwards, and—"

     "It's no big deal."

     "No big deal? Bob, I literally flew with you and it slipped my mind!"

     "Hey, it's fine, don't worry," Bob is laughing, luckily, and dismisses it with a wave of his hand. The guilt that she forgot about flying with him horrifies her to the core — Luisa knew he felt familiar somehow, but now it all makes sense. Unfortunately, when she returned from her Sabbatical on the reserves, it was to a different squadron, their paths not crossing again until now.

     Luisa narrows her eyes at him, pushing her wine spritzer to the side. She leans forward a little in her seat. "I think I've talked enough about myself for one evening," she declares confidently. "What about you?"

     "What about me?"

     "I don't know, what's your story?"

     In truth, Luisa has been trying to figure out how to ask him for the past week and a bit. A lot of details about the other pilots stand in plain sight — they like to be vocal about themselves. But Bob, in all his endearing modesty, keeps his life under wraps... and all it does is make her even more curious. She just can't seem to crack him yet.

     "Oh, there's not much to tell," says Bob.

     "I don't believe that for a second," Luisa smiles warmly. "Let's start with... where did you grow up?"

     Realising he's not backing out of this, Bob gets comfortable in his seat and places his hands on his lap. "Well, um... I was born in Idaho, in this really small town. It's really beautiful there. Lots of nature, lots of mountains. I had no siblings either, it was just my parents and I. But we moved around quite a bit to begin with, 'cause my dad was a pilot in the navy."

     Luisa exhales softly, knowing that feeling herself. Any kid with a parent in the navy has known that — and now she's in the same situation again, just on the opposite end.

     "Then, uh, we moved back to our hometown after he died."

     She snaps up all of a sudden, her gaze heavy with empathy for him. Suddenly she feels guilty for ever asking about it. "Oh, God — Bob, I'm so sorry, I had no idea," Luisa apologises, all of the cheerfulness wrung out of her for the moment.

     "That's alright. I was really young when he had the heart attack, so I don't really remember him... but legend has it I'm the spitting image of him." At this, he gives her a small smile, Luisa easing up and returning it. Her attention is fully-focused on him as he continues with his story. "So after that, it was just my mom and I, really. Although my grandparents lived right around the corner, so often while she was working at the local school, they would babysit me. That's —" Bob pauses, growing a little shyer for a moment, "— that's why you kind of remind me of them. You know, what you said about working while raising Gabriela, and your parents helping you out. What you're doing is... really great in that way. Just speaking from experience."

     A lump suddenly rises in Luisa's throat, along with goosebumps that surface on her skin at his words. Hardly anyone has given her that pat on the back for juggling these two lives. She finds herself speechless for any sort of appreciation, so instead she just nods gracefully and quickly takes a sip of her spritzer.

     "So," Luisa clears her throat and smiles at him again, "do you think you always wanted to join the navy?"

     "Uh, not necessarily. I admired what my dad did and everything, but I certainly never thought I'd go up in a plane. My stomach is famously pretty bad at keeping things down on rollercoasters, let alone a jet."

     "Really?"

     "Oh yeah, awful," Bob says, making her laugh. "So it was pretty rough at first, but then this pilot gave me a tip about eating a bowl of rice and fresh ginger in preflight. And also bananas, weirdly enough, because—"

"— Because they taste the same coming back up, yeah," Luisa grins, wrinkling her nose.

"Did you have the same problem?"

"No, my stomach was fine. It was the crippling fear of heights I had to get over... surprised?" She regards the way his brows shot up; she is certainly amazed at how far she has come herself. "In fact, I didn't even wanna be a pilot in the first place. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a philosopher."

"A philosopher?" Bob echoes, with incredulous fascination.

"Yeah! I mean, when my family first moved to California from Puerto Rico, I didn't really have any friends. But our next-door neighbour was a professor of philosophy at Stanford — retired at the time — and he and his wife let my sister and I read their books sometimes... I think they meant the lighter reading, not the heavy philosophy books," Luisa giggles. "But I saw how his eyes lit up when he talked about his job, and I thought it sounded legit. At the time... then I got older, did some research, and realised that was not for me, nor was it a career you just do. But what stayed with me was all the Greek myths I soaked in from his books. He let me keep those, actually."

"Wait a minute, is that why your call-sign's...?" Bob trails off, but she nods knowingly.

"Athena. Mhmm." Luisa drums the table's surface proudly. "And by the way, what's the deal with your call-sign?"

"There's not really much to tell. My full name's Robert Floyd, but Bob's just better for me — Robert was my dad. And I mean..." he gestures to himself gauchely, "what you see is what you get, I guess. Yours is way cooler."

"Hey, I like yours. It gets to the point."

Before Luisa and Bob know it, time slips away from them like sand through their fingers. Getting more comfortable with each other, they both open more to chat and laugh until their cheeks hurt. She discovers that the quiet WSO is actually more of a personality than she expected — Bob opens up about more of his life, but implores much more about Luisa's and hangs onto every word. He listens to her stories about visiting her father when he was doing air traffic control, amused by the times she's witnessed Maverick doing a flyby and knocking over Mr. Romero's beverage again. The most giggles ensue when they both order fresh cups of coffee, and Bob's glasses start steaming up uncontrollably from his.

When they finally check the time, dusk has long been upon them. Luisa feels her phone buzz in her pocket to see a message from her mother. But that's not the first thing she notices. "Oh shit, we've been here for hours!" she exclaims, but in a sing-song tone that is laced with laughter.

     "I should probably be getting back," Bob says, reaching for his wallet. "I'm planning on an early night before tomorrow."

     Noticing his wallet, Luisa shakes her head. "Hey, no, you don't have to pay."

     "Really, don't worry about it. A few cups of coffee isn't much."

     "But you shouldn't have to pay for my spritzer. C'mon Floyd, let's just split it, I'm not broke..."

     As she says it, Luisa chuckles and reaches across the table for his hand. She places it on top of his and gives it a playful squeeze — then time slows down for a moment. Bob glances down at their hands together, then up at her in bewilderment. Luisa doesn't see anything wrong with it to begin with, since she is often rather affectionate with close friends. But this warmth is something she hasn't felt in a long time... or has she ever felt it? She knows her hand lingers for a beat too long, her eyes searching his as she memorises the feeling of his slender hand beneath hers. Then she retracts it with an averted gaze, both of them splitting the bill with a flustered chuckle.

     "Thanks for this, Bob," Luisa tells him, her cheeks throbbing from smiling so much. "I... really needed this."

     "I had a good time too," he smiles sweetly. "I'll, uh– see you in preflight tomorrow?"

     "Yeah... see you."

     On her way out of the Hard Deck, Luisa has an extra bounce in her step, and a faint smile that doesn't have any plans on leaving. Meanwhile a knowing Penny Benjamin watches her from behind the bar, polishing a glass as she chuckles to herself. She knows a thing or two about that look — the one after you connect with someone so effortlessly that it almost feels unreal.

If Penny hadn't known better, she would have thought it was their first date.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Ryan has been staring at Emily's name for the last seven minutes.

She has been sitting there, five simple letters in his phone's contact list, collecting dust for the past year and a half. No surname, nothing else. Just Emily. He hadn't intended to start digging this up now, of all times. Quincy had started it the other day — he spilled out the story for everyone to hear. Ryan had filed that memory away and made peace with it. But now he had to admit... he did wonder about her. Just sometimes. On sleepless nights, when the silence in his flat felt hollower than usual...

Ryan remembers seeing her stood there for the first time. A head of smooth, shiny black hair down to her shoulder blades, and piercing dark eyes that turned his head in the crowd. He never usually made a move like this. And that night, he didn't, for it was her that approached him. She was sharp of mind and wit, keeping him on his toes for every minute that passed. The words flew between them like sparks, growing warmer from the initial word-jousting that introduced them. By the time he'd forgotten what he came here to do in the first place, Emily was tattooed on Ryan's mind, and their numbers were etched into each other's phones. He watched her walk away with a smile like he'd never worn before...

     And that was it.

The page which should be filled with back-and-forth text messages is blank, the empty white screen blinding him with all the opportunities missed. But not now... maybe. When it comes to his love life, Ryan has never been the best at following up — those priorities always lie a little lower than his work. Emily is the only girl he's kicked himself for not writing to.

     With a sigh, his thumbs now hover over the touchscreen keyboard, calculating his response to her.

Ryan: Hi Emily. This is Ryan Kazansky.

     Backspace. This is not a letter to a colleague.

     Ryan: Hey, Emily! It's me!

     Backspace. In what world has he ever used exclamation marks, let alone un-ironically?

     Ryan: Hi, Emily. Remember me? I wouldn't remember me either.

     Backspace, backspace, backspace. He saves himself before any emojis come spilling out. Ryan pinches the bridge of his nose and tosses his phone to the side. Why is this so damn difficult? No wonder he doesn't waste his time on dates and relationships. Besides, what is he even trying to get out of this? Emily No-Surname would probably have a drink with him as the last thing on her mind... but perhaps it's worth a try anyway. If Ryan sees himself as anything, it's not a quitter. He attempts a message one more time:

     Ryan: Hi there, it's Ryan. If you remember, we met a couple years ago when I was deployed in the navy, and we exchanged numbers. I know it's been a while but would you like to grab a drink some time? I would love to catch up with you. Hope you're well.

He analyses the message for a couple of minutes, before he presses Send with sweaty palms. The message becomes incapsulated in a blue bubble and Ryan swallows thickly. Just as he's processing that whole spectacle, a notification buzzes through his phone from his father. He switches the conversation to a more recent streak of short, stilted texts. His dad is named 'Ice', cool and detached from the warmth of a fatherly name, as his new message reads:

     Ice: Come over this evening. I need to see you.

     Ryan: I'm kind of busy right now. Sorry. Maybe I come tomorrow?

     The thought bubble only dances for a split second before Iceman's reply arrives.

     Ice: No. I need to see you ASAP. It's urgent.

Urgent? Ryan leans forward, concern sobering him. He remembers how his father had looked worse for wear on his last visit — had he taken a fall, or needed some kind of help? Perhaps he'd been left alone in the house. In his fragile condition, that was not a good sign at all. With a potential emergency on his hands, he replies with a simple:

     Ryan: I'm on my way.

Within twenty minutes, Ryan's car is pulling up outside of the Kazanskys' driveway, muscles hardened like lead that leave him rigid. To his surprise, a warm glow is visible from multiple windows inside; he can even see the silhouette of his sister at the kitchen sink. What's going on? He thought the family were unable to help, with whatever this 'urgent' matter was. His heart drums steadily as he makes for the front door briskly.

It is Sabrina who answers the door, in black leggings and a baggy t-shirt. She seems a little on-edge, her smile drawn tight as she wordlessly pulls her brother into the usual embrace. "It's good to see you," Sabrina tells him in a half-whisper. "Sorry I'm such a mess, we've just been bumming around the house all day..."

     "Where's Dad? Is he okay?" Ryan jumps straight to the point. "I got a text from him, saying it was urgent."

     A beat passes. She chews the inside of her cheek. "He's very tired, Ry. You have to know that. He's... he's not..." Sabrina eyes seem pained beyond what her brother can understand. Drawing out a defeated sigh, she shuts them. "He's upstairs," she says.

     Ryan doesn't waste a moment. He skips a couple of steps on his way up, almost tripping, but that's not even the fifth thing on his mind. This time, he hears his father before he sees him — a series of lung-rattling coughs that are laboured and exhausted. Just the sound makes his hairs stand on end. It doesn't sound good. He waits a moment, hearing his father catch his breath before he knocks.

"Dad? I'm coming in..."

The door slowly creaks open, revealing Iceman sat uncomfortably in his desk chair. He looks considerably worse than the last time Ryan saw him. He's wrapped up in extra layers to keep him warm, but even that can't hide his frailty and paleness. Nevertheless, the moment he sees his son, his tired eyes light up. He gestures to the seat opposite him wordlessly, the computer screen blinking and ready to speak his words for him.

"You wanted to see me?" Ryan asks, once he's sat down.

For a moment, Iceman gazes at him, a heaviness in the look. Then he gets typing:

I wanted to have a chat with you.

"About what? Is something wrong?"

He types...

I have a few things I just wanted to clear up. Some things I wanted to ask you.

     Ryan wrings his hands together, pragmatically minded as he replies, "Alright. Shoot."

     Iceman sighs, as though he isn't getting where he wanted with this. Nevertheless, he swivels back around to the keyboard, his fingers hovering thoughtfully above the keyboard before he starts typing again. Each word feels weighted with intention, like he is thinking delicately about how he phrases everything.

Are you happy with where you are right now? he asks.

"Geez, Dad, getting a little sentimental here, aren't we?"

But Iceman shakes his head curtly, not wanting to hear any jokes this time. He points rigidly at the screen to emphasise the question — Ryan is thrown by the sincerity of it. Scratching behind his ear, the ticking of the clock in Iceman's office and their breathing fills the bloated silence.

"Yes," is Ryan's final answer. "I guess so. I'm working my way up in my squadron, and the training for this mission's starting to look up. The jury's still out on Maverick though, I think."

Iceman gets typing again. But what about YOU? he asks. Outside of work, how do you feel?

"I don't know. I mean, how am I supposed to answer these questions?"

With honesty, he types back.

"Why am I even here, Dad? I thought you said this was urgent, not some father and son Q&A."

This IS urgent. I wanted to sit down and spend time with you.

A couple of hurried backspaces. And then:

Am I not allowed to finally have time with my son?

"I don't know," Ryan blurts out, "because historically, you haven't been all that great at that, have you?"

The words hang in the air between them. Iceman sits frozen, while Ryan sinks back into his chair, stunned at himself — he hadn't meant to say that. Or had he? The words were true. They both knew it deep down. Ryan's childhood had been permeated with the image of his father at an arm's reach. Even though there were plenty of genuinely happy memories, he was almost always away with the navy, or he would have work on his mind when he got back. But neither of them were brave enough to say it for all these years.

Iceman takes a deep breath, whistling as he does. He slowly turns back to his computer and types. When he finishes the message, he turns back with his heart faced towards his son:

I know. I'm sorry. Forgive me.

Ryan shrugs and replies, "What is there to forgive?"

More adamantly this time, Iceman points to those last words again. Forgive me. There is such intensity in the way he wordlessly pleads with him, that Ryan can't help but give in — even if it is an empty promise.

"I forgive you," he says slowly.

Iceman shuts his eyes, a small smile spreading across his lips as he leans back in his chair. Suddenly a horrible, gut-wrenching feeling twists in Ryan's gut. He cannot place exactly what it is — or perhaps he can, and he just chooses to ignore it. But it is the terrifying feeling that his father is slipping through his fingers. Although he knows his illness is back, he thought maybe he would be on the mend. At no point did Ryan let himself think about the... alternative. Something about this meeting feels too unusual to be a casual greeting.

Iceman turns to his computer again, with one more request:

Walk me to my room.

"... Okay," Ryan murmurs. He stands up slowly in front of his father, drowning him in his shadow — Iceman looks so remarkably small from up here. Not like the tall, strong man whose shoulders he used to sit on. He offers him a hand to get him up onto his feet, noting how cold and weak they feel in his. Very slowly, they shuffle along the landing together, Iceman leaning his weight onto the arm linked with his son's. Ryan feels it too, the heaviness of his father bleeding into him. His bedroom is only across the hall, but it feels miles away. Every step of the journey feels like a momentous one.

     When they finally get there, he peers in to the different set of photographs in his father's room — not ones in uniform or standing outside F-14s, like in his office, but of family vacations and weddings with smiling faces...

     Ryan can't do this anymore.

     "I... I think I have to go home," he says, so quiet neither of them can hear it. Then he wants to scream at himself for saying it; what is he doing?

     But his father just smiles a little and half-shrugs, as if he understands. Then, very slowly, like a butterfly opening its wings for the first time, Iceman offers himself up for an embrace. Ryan stares at blankly it for a moment — like it is a wild animal he doesn't know how to approach — before he walks into his chest, peeking just above the man's height as they hold each other tightly. There is a numbness in Ryan as he hugs his father, so he tries to shake awake that boy inside himself who can't just live in this moment. Why can't he do it? Even when he reminds himself of things, like how Iceman smells like sea spray from the beach down the road, it doesn't quite compute that this is happening.

     Not until his father pulls away, his hands still resting on Ryan's ribs, as he looks into his eyes.

     "I love you, Ryan," Iceman speaks hoarsely.

     His voice, as worn and weak as it is. His words.

     It finally pushes Ryan dangerously close to the edge — all of a sudden he's lightheaded, not sure whether the lump in his throat will make him howl or throw up. And yet his brain hasn't quite connected the dots, not yet realised what this meeting seems to be. Everything is spinning around, until all he can manage is merely, "Yeah, uh... you too, Dad."

     They let go.

     Ryan almost tumbles down the flight of stairs, causing an awful racket to the others down there. His father's bedroom door has shut in his periphery, and with it, he tries to shut off the overwhelmed aftermath of the moment. Sarah is just walking in as her son grabs his jacket off the banister. "Is everything okay, sweetie?" she asks.

     "I have to leave," he says in monotone.

     "Already? You just got here," Sabrina sighs.

     Logan emerges behind her, his expression darkened with distaste. "She's right. You just got here..."

     "Look, I'm sorry, I just– I can't stay, alright?" Ryan says, trying to jam his left arm through the right sleeve. He continues doing it in frustration, until Sarah gently switches them around for him.

     One person, however, is not letting him go so easily. "You always do this," Logan hisses, following his brother as he paces about getting ready to go. "You– you can't just come and go whenever it suits you best, when we're here every day with Dad while he's going through this... you have no idea what's really going on, do you?"

     "Logan, that's enough—"

     "No, Mom, I'm serious! It's always like this with him. Always running away from—"

     The door is already slammed behind Ryan before he can hear more. His pulse roars in his ears as he briskly walks down the driveway, shutting himself into the car. He pulls out and drives just around the corner, just so he doesn't have to look at that house anymore, before he stops and takes a moment for himself.

     Ryan finds himself wishing he'd been too busy to visit, after all.

☆.｡.:*　　.｡.:*☆

AUTHOR'S NOTE

oh lordy lord, the duality of this chapter. one half was "tooth-rotting fluff with luisa & bob" and the other half was "angsty father and son repressing feelings again" — how i just love to keep you guys on your toes! i know there was a lack of bradleste and quincy in this chapter, but don't worry, they'll be back in the next one. i just wanted to make sure i dedicated some time to luisa and ryan.

let's talk about the first half, which is luisa and bob! this was the first luisa POV, and i'm not actually sure if there will be any more in this book, but i really wanted to use it as an opportunity to explore her backstory and feelings a little bit. and, of course, flomero were being the cutest 🥰 luisa just feels calmer and like she relax with him, while bob is sort of brought out of his shell by her welcoming personality. basically it was two sunshine personalities chatting away, while penny watches them like "hmmmm..." (also the bob backstory was entirely made up by me! kind of felt like making his dad a pilot, because of bill pullman in independence day, hehe)

as for that meeting between ryan and iceman, that was obviously a rather meaningful scene for their dynamic, and i hope that came across. it certainly felt like a big responsibility to write, and i hope it came across well. a lot was left unsaid, which sadly may have its repercussions... also logan having a go at ryan towards the end, the kazanskys clearly need to figure out their issues, bless them.

all i'm going to say about the next chapter is, uh... well... buckle in 👀

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published: april 30th, 2023