The Closer (18+) ✓

| 12.2 | power play

The corners of my lips lifted. "Maybe."

Father hummed, a smile making its way onto his face as well. "She's changed you."

"I know she has."

I leaned forward on the couch and faced my father who sat across me on the other side. I didn't want to shy away from him when I said what I was about to say. This was a conversation I'd spent most my life avoiding, but one eye-opening truth from Tris had taught me that honesty could do wonders. Honesty is what I needed more of in my life.

"I love her, dad. Tris is the reason that all this is happening. She's the reason I'm trying."

"Is she also the reason you take so long to pick up my calls in the morning?"

I fought a smile. "Yes."

Dad chuckled and clasped his hands together. "I'm glad you've found someone you can trust, Hans." He licked his lips, and spoke in a lower, hurried tone. "I know I haven't been the best father to you. I've spent all these years regretting how much pain I've put you through because of my actions but-"

"It's not your fault." I stared at him, unable to ignore the visible shock that slapped his face at my words. Despite that, I gave him a meaningful smile and repeated, "It was never your fault. I grew up hating you. Believing you were the reason for everything was easier than acknowledging the truth that all this was just...unfortunate."

"But-"

"My mother loved you."

He softened at the mention of her – a flurry of emotions passing through his eyes.

"And I know you loved her too. I know it. I just didn't want to think that mom died for nothing, you know? Blaming it on you was easier."

He was visibly choking up in front of me and as touchy-feely as this entire conversation was, I couldn't handle a grown man crying in front of me especially when it was my father. Hell, I could barely make it through Tris' tears. What made me think I could handle this?

"Here," I said in a monotone manner, tossing him the box of tissues next to me. He took out a couple and dabbed at his eyes, grunting in that low fashion of his as if to try and gear himself up to be a man again. I watched as my father failed horribly and burst into open sobs in front of me.

Oh God, spare me.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, awfully nasal. Shuffling to my feet, I walked over and sat on the armrest of his couch, patting his back and trying not to make it obvious just how awkward I felt doing it.

"You've never seen your old man cry before, have you?"

"I've never seen a man cry before," I stated, my patting turning into thumping. Well, that wasn't entirely true. I've cried. A lot. But I wasn't going to tell anyone that.

"I know you're shocked by all this but could you try not to bawl like a baby when I tell you what I'm about to?"

He sniffed and peered up at me with puffy red eyes. That didn't make it easier but I said it anyway, unloading the final words of mushy truth off my chest.

"I'm done running, dad. I know what I'm going to do and I need your help. I need you on my side because you're the only family I've got left."

"Family," he repeated the word, smiling. It's the first time I'd ever called him that.

"Yes, family. I want to work on us. I know I'm years late and that time lost can't be gained but you're still my dad and...I want you in my life now."

By the time I finished, the man-child on the couch was positively beaming. He was like a kid given Christmas, only worse. The sight was a little unsettling, considering my father had never once grinned at me in such a manner but on the other hand...I could see now that he was happy. I wanted him to be happy.

"That Tris Henderson really is a miracle worker," dad chuckled and patted my leg before standing up and making his way over to the mini-bar. "I would love to meet her, Hans."

I could feel the slight bobs of the boat floating on the river grow steadier, almost like nature itself had been anticipating our resolution. My breath seeped out my mouth as I let out the tension that had built in my chest, smiling at my father's words.

"I think she would love that." Speaking of which...

My eyes flew to the clock on the right. It was nearing half past five. I had promised to buy dinner for us on the way home. Tris would kill me for being late. She needed food with two requirements; lots of it, and on time.

"I think I should get going now. Can't keep a lady waiting," I said, hinting at a joke which my dad chuckled at from the bar-stool in the corner where he was fixing himself another drink. "Don't overdo it with the drinks. Old men don't have good tolerance, last I checked."

"I'm not old," he countered, snipping me off with a frown. "I'm antique."

"Right."

I shrugged my coat on and turned to look at him, smiling. It was all a little weird. The smiling, the laughter, the tears. Weird, but good weird. The kind of weird that promised progression into something greater. I found myself enjoying the warmth spreading in my chest as my old man smiled back at me, and for the first time in years, I saw the smile reach his coal-brown eyes, lighting them up into a tender flame. With a final nod in his direction, I started to head toward the short spiral staircase that led up to the deck. I was midway up my ascent when I heard him call out to me.

"Hans?"

Pausing, I looked down at him, noticing that he was still smiling but there was something more to it now.

"What you said before about Anya," he paused, noticing how I visibly stiffened at the mention of my mother, "she didn't die for nothing, Hans."

My father's eyes were piercing into mine as he smiled at me, warmth lacing his words.

"Love doesn't count for nothing." 

_____

Song: Feeling Good - Nina Simone

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