Taylor: Part I

"Why do you have to act like a child every time you're in the medical wing?"

Taylor hadn't been discharged for two seconds before Dad whirled on him in their suite. Not that he didn't see it coming, but had no energy for this.

He shrugged, attempting to sequester himself away in his room, but Dad barred his path, crossing his hands over his chest and glaring down at him. Taylor knew that mood; he recalled a few times as a teenager when he'd done something worth a scolding from his parents, and Dad would give him that look. His lips would become a straight, invisible line like right now, and electric energy would crackle inside his deep blue eyes. It was also an expression that preceded a grounding.

Could Dad ground him now, even though Taylor was thirty-one?

By the rage steaming from his ears and the fact he was head of the council, Taylor's guess was yes, he could and he would.

"Don't walk away from me," he growled.

And this was another, more rare tone Taylor knew. It was the same one Dad used the night he kicked Taylor out for being in a relationship with another man.

Taking a step back and casting his eyes to the floor, Taylor nodded. "Yes, sir."

Provoking Dad wouldn't lead to anything good, and as much as Taylor didn't want to be near him, he didn't exactly have anywhere to go this time. They were stuck together here, and there was no option but to obey.

"Dining room, now."

Taylor trudged to the table and sat, keeping his gaze on his lap. He picked at his cast as he waited for Dad to do the same, scraping at the plaster with his fingernail. Diego's name in wobbly print looked back at him, next to a stuck figure of a lion. Monica's elegant script was placed nearby, decorated with a heart. The only names missing were Jayson's, Eric's, and Jeannie's. And one of those people was dead while the others were now separated.

Their tight friendship was broken, shattered and scattered to places Taylor couldn't follow. It carved a hole in his heart, taunting him with the knowledge that the one thing he wanted to hold on to, he'd lost faster than water slipping through his fingers.

Dad's chair scraped the floor as he claimed a seat across from Taylor, and the table thumped when he dropped his hands. "Taylor, look at me."

His tone still carried an edge, but the sigh attached to the end of the sentence indicated he was tired.

Taylor brought his eyes up enough to acknowledge him before dropping them down again. Dad's features had softened somewhat, though not enough to hide the open disappointment.

After a decade of telling himself it didn't hurt, Taylor's chest ached. Even if he wasn't angry with the world or if he didn't hate his dad, this would hurt. Taylor spent his entire young adult life on the receiving end of his parents' disappointment, despite them never directly saying anything. It was there in their frowns, lowered gaze, and the tone that wished Taylor had been better.

Releasing a sharp breath, Dad asked, "What am I doing wrong, son? All I want is to keep you safe."

Was Dad seriously asking him this? And why did he get to sound remorseful and make Taylor feel guilty for his anger?

Glancing up, he met Dad's shining gaze. This was the look Taylor remembered as both loving and sad, but of the parent Taylor idolized as a child because his father would always understand and have his back. Once, a long time ago, there was nothing this man could do to hurt his son.

His throat constricted, making it difficult to swallow, much less make his voice work. His jaw throbbed a little now that the pain meds were wearing off, and his nose itched with the need to sniffle. Why was he such a crybaby?

He coughed into his elbow and stared at his lap. He didn't want to have this conversation.

"Taylor."

No, no, no, he couldn't talk right now. He needed to be alone in his room, processing everything on his own. He was safer there, away from anyone who would judge him for defending Jayson or ask uncomfortable questions.

"I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled.

"We need to," he countered mildly. "I made a horrible mistake all those years ago, and it's still affecting you."

No shit. Anyone would be traumatized if their parents threw them out. Especially if the family was previously close.

"What do you want me to say?" Taylor asked in a tight voice. "I can't change who I am, and my friends are the only people I can trust. They don't always understand me or my methods, but they'd never..." abandon me.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, the thing he needed to say but couldn't. Dad had done more than hurt him -- he'd crushed Taylor down to the last fiber of his being.

"I can't ever take back what I've done," Dad sighed, "but I want to do better. I want to keep you close because you're my son. We're all each other has left. Is it worth holding a grudge when there's a chance to reconcile?"

"Can we?" Taylor asked, looking up again and raising a skeptical brow. "If I don't agree with you, that's it. If I embarrass you, and I know I did, you get angry. I'm not you. I'm not..." smart.

No, that wasn't the right word. He was different, oblivious to social cues and hopeless at filtering his thoughts. The words he was looking for were good enough. He'd never be the person his dad and society wanted him to be.

With Jayson, Monica, Jeannie, and surprisingly Diego, Taylor was free to be himself. They'd accepted him with no questions asked, and despite the occasional squabble, they were all close. Taylor felt safe with them.

"Son, you're perfect the way you are."

A tear rolled down Taylor's cheek at the conviction in those words. He quickly swiped his burning cheeks as he bounced his foot beneath the table.

He wasn't perfect, or Dad never would have rejected him. Jayson wouldn't have hit him or called him useless. Ashley wouldn't have told Mom to consider an ASD test.

Taylor clenched his fist before jumping to his feet and running to the door. It slid open with a hiss, and he set a foot inside the threshold before turning to Dad.

"I'm not ready to hear this," he choked, fighting back a sob. "I was on my own for four years before I met Jayson. You made me feel wrong and disgusting about myself over something I couldn't control. Now you're saying I'm perfect, and I just can't."

Moisture covered his cheeks, rolling into his beard. Legs trembling, he ran into the corridor before Dad could follow.

Taylor wandered the busy promenade. High ranking officials, soldiers, and civilians alike stopped to chat or visited the vendors on the main floor.

It was difficult to call them shops since money didn't really exist, but Taylor wasn't sure how else to describe these places. Thanks to the foragers and the greenhouse, these establishments had most of the essentials. Herbal teas, plant-based healing, and even hemp and cotton clothing; if someone specialized in a trade, they came here to practice it. And without a barter system, everything was rationed as needed, benefiting everyone.

A gym claimed a large space between a drink stall and the supply designation. Thick, glass windows from floor to ceiling separated the public from those exercising, and Taylor stepped in front of the glass to take in the facility. Weights took up an entire section while doors on the far wall led to other rooms. And in the area opposite of the wrights was a small yoga class, with Ashley leading the group in a series of poses.

She looked good -- as graceful as he remembered in college. She'd always been a health nut, only eating and drinking organic food while running every single day. For a moment, Taylor felt like they were in college again as he took in the normalcy of her appearance; toned body with rippling muscles beneath a sports bra and round breasts covered in a light sheen of sweat. Her dark hair was swept into a messy ponytail, and tendrils of damp locks clung to her neck. And when she moved into the next pose, his eyes traveled straight to her ass. In those leggings and bra, she left very little to the imagination.

As if sensing someone watching her, her head turned in his direction. When recognition flashed through her eyes, she smiled.

Caught, Taylor quickly turned away before she could get the idea to seek him out. He took one step before bumping into someone with an oof, knocking him back a step.

"Sorry," he mumbled, keeping his head down as he tried to move around whomever he ran into.

"Mr Whittaker, I didn't expect to see you here."

Taylor's head snapped up at the unfamiliar voice. A man in slacks and a plain black shirt stared back at him. Silver streaked his hair and his eyes crinkled at the corner as he offered a polite smile. His name badge read Sheldon Benson.

"Oh, hullo," Taylor muttered, darting around him. Monica had warned him about Benson, and until now, he'd managed to avoid contact with the man.

"Where are you going?" Benson asked with a chuckle as he fell into step beside Taylor. "I don't bite."

Debatable.

Even if Benson didn't spit poison, there was the simple fact he'd sent Jayson away. Taylor couldn't forgive that, no matter what the justifications were. This man failed him instead of helping.

"I don't want to speak to you." Taylor weaved through the crowd, increasing his gait, as he searched for the nearest exit.

Benson easily kept pace, seemingly determined to cling to him like a bloodthirsty tick. Maybe he was a parasite, or even a vampire. Taylor wouldn't be surprised if Benson kept a freezer of blood, sorted by blood type and date. If zombies were real, vampires could be too. The man was certainly pale enough, as if he'd never seen a day of sunlight in his life.

"Don't you think it's rude to judge someone before you know them?"

Taylor halted, stumbling and pitching forward. Benson grabbed his arm and broke his fall before releasing him. Straightening himself and stepping backward, Taylor asked, "What makes you think that? Maybe I'm just an antisocial prick."

"It's all in your body language and face," Benson replied in a mild tone, flicking his fingers in Taylor's direction. "Your shoulders immediately hunched as you scowled at me. Then you turned your back on me and took off. Is that how you treat any stranger, or is it just me?"

Well, it was more than Benson, but that list was growing longer the more Taylor remained in this creepy facility. These people reminded him of the Stepford Wives.

He cleared his throat and dipped his chin, refusing to make eye contact. "You exiled Jayson."

"He attacked you."

It was not as simple as Benson's tone suggested. Taylor raised his head and glared. "You could have helped him. You're a damn psych. He was off his meds and not himself."

With a sigh, Benson shook his head. "Medication doesn't grow on trees, Mr Whittaker. I told him we couldn't keep him on it because we can't sustain pharmaceutical production beyond what we grow in the greenhouses."

"But—"

Taylor stopped. The man had a point, but he still should have tried to help. If Jayson wasn't in his right mind, he shouldn't have been punished.

Without responding, he spun on his heel and made his way to the habitation wing. He'd take his chances with Dad and risk misery if it meant not conversing with Benson.

Releasing a groan, Benson ran in front of him, grabbing Taylor's shoulders. He released him when Taylor jumped. "Listen, I didn't make that decision lightly. Jayson was becoming increasingly dangerous to everyone around him, and I had to make a decision for everyone, not just him."

Taylor deflated, shrinking beneath the crushing mountain of logic and reality. He knew what Jayson was like, but these people didn't. And at the end of the world, everyone had to be especially careful. In a way, it made sense, even if it sucked.

"Do you understand my point?" Benson asked when Taylor remained silent. When Taylor nodded, the other man continued. "Your friends have been resistant to adjusting here, but I do want to help. Jayson refused to attend his sessions or follow his schedule, despite warnings to comply. He never wanted to be here."

Taylor glanced upward, taking in the worry creasing Benson's forehead and projecting from his gray gaze. Was he a good actor, or did his friends misjudge him because of what they'd been through?

He didn't know what to believe.

"Tell you what," Benson said, clapping Taylor's good shoulder and leading them forward again. "Come see me in my office. We can talk about whatever you want, even see about getting you on one of the duty rosters. You haven't had much structure since your arrival, and I feel like you've fallen through the cracks."

That was an understatement. Dad kept him under lock and key as much as possible. In his desire to protect his son, he was worse than a prison warden.

Wrapping his finger in the hem of his shirt, he whispered, "Do I have to do something specific, or could I request a job?"

"What kind of job?" Benson asked, tilting his head to the side.

Taylor blushed, staring at the string that popped off his shirt as he pulled too hard. "Um, I guess something like monitoring communications. It's quiet, and I don't like being around large groups of people."

Not to mention, he wanted nothing to do with Dad, who wanted Taylor to help with software engineering around the facility or be their tech whiz kid.

"Oh, that's simple enough," Benson replied with a wide smile. "Are you sure you don't want to consider something else?"

Taylor shook his head. "No. There could be other survivors. If there's someone to answer or provide hope of survival, then I want to help."

"I think we can do that. Come with me. We'll get lunch, and then I'll show you the comms room."

Taylor considered this. His stomach rumbled, encouraging him to at least get food. And he was intrigued at the possibility of doing what he wanted instead of what Dad preferred. After a moment, he asked, "Do we have to talk about other stuff? I'd rather not share my personal life."

"Not if you don't want to. So, are you coming?"

Monica would kill him for this, but he needed a purpose. Besides, what if she was wrong? The man had been right about their resistance, and the idea wasn't completely far-fetched. Besides, if Taylor was lucky, he might be able to reach Jayson if he got to a radio too. Then Monica would have to forgive him for consorting with the enemy.

With a shrug, he nodded. "Sure."

On the outside Benson didn't seem so bad. That didn't mean he wasn't, but Taylor could observe quietly for any red flags. And wouldn't any smart person keep their enemies close?

It was worth a shot, and already, weight rolled off Taylor's shoulders as he took the first step into reclaiming his independence. He could be useful. Most of all, he could find Jayson.