Cain and Terry: Laundry Room

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Early Thursday morning, Cain runs into Terry doing laundry before anyone else is up, and talks about fathers are had.



Five in the morning. Cain walked across the back lawn, knowing that
most of the mansion would be still in the grasp of sleep, or just
rousing themselves for coffee. Doctors would be switching shifts,
adjusting for Hank's new fatherhood, and Alison was likely out on her
run already. That creepy Forge kid apparently never slept, and Summers
was probably in the Danger Room hip deep in planning and plots.

That meant no one would be in the laundry room to interfere with the
week's worth of washing Cain had stuffed into the green duffle bag on
his shoulder. Whistling tunelessly as he slid the patio door open, he
made his way past the kitchen and the dining room down towards the
boiler, where the older washing machines were. While the mansion had
an entire bank of washers and dryers (with students expected to do
their own laundry, it was a necessity), the old one seemed to suit
Cain just fine, and he never had to fight anyone for it.

Which was why the shock of red hair sitting atop the dryer threw his
world view asunder for a moment.

The acoustics in the old laundry room were better than the ones in the
new and since the machines worked just as well both places, Terry had
taken herself down to the laundry when she'd woken up and been unable
to go back to sleep. The hum of the dryer complemented her cheerful
singing, just loud enough to drown it out as well. She wasn't singing
anymore having been just as startled by the sight of Cain as he'd been
at her. "Mr. Marko!" She scrambled down off the dryer and tried not
to look guilty though she'd done nothing wrong. "Um. Morning?"

"Yeah," Cain answered, trying to wipe the incredulous look off his
face. "Ain't figured you for one of the early risers or one to cart
all your stuff down here," he looked at the empty laundry basket by
Terry's feet, and thankfully the empty washer in front of it.
"Something wrong with the big bank of expensive modern appliances the
Professor had installed?"

Terry blushed, "I couldn't sleep. And the um, acoustics here are
better." She was recovering from her surprise quickly and her sense
of humor returned. "I didn't think I'd run into anyone here either."

"Acoustics?" Cain glanced around for an instrument before remembering
what Alison had said about Terry's voice lessons. "Oh, singer. Right."
Immediately, his mind went back to the father/daughter shouting match
the Cassidys had put on outside and he checked the walls for crumbling
plaster. "You sure you ain't going to blow a hole in the wall or
nothing? Hate to have to spackle this place again."

Oh that rankled, more because it had the sting of truth. "I have much
better control now," Terry informed him, crossing her arms petulantly.
"I'm not going to tear the house down around us."

"Good to know," Cain remarked, beginning to dump his clothes into the
washer. "And from the lack of splintered trees and shattered windows,
I'm assuming you and your dad reached some kinda understanding?"

Terry made a face. "If by understanding you mean we haven't spoken
since the fight. It's pretty much the same understanding we've had
since I was ten." She watched him throwing clothes in
indiscriminately, "Aren't you going to separate those?"

"Nope," Cain grumbled. "Ain't like I go walking around in my drawers
anyway, don't really care if they turn funny colors." He dumped in a
cupful of detergent and shut the lid. "In case y'ain't paid attention,
I'm not exactly one of your fancy pants dry-clean-only types. So
what's your problem with your dad?" he asked offhandedly. "Seems like
an okay fellow, for a cop."

Terry shook her head, "Sean didn't know I was alive until I was 10.
And he didn't much like the way I was raised or the man who raised
me." Terry managed to keep most of the whine out of her voice. "But
when he showed up, I was supposed to welcome him with open arms like
the long lost father he was. Not that he cared about me more than his
bloody job."

That particular accusation hit home, and Cain winced visibly. "You
weren't exactly the ideal family he expected, huh? I... ain't a
stranger to that." He paused a moment, then folded his arms across his
chest, looking down at Terry. "You ever tried to get to know him
without the family crap in the way? Look at him as Sean, and not as
some father that wasn't there?"

"Never been around him long enough to do it." Terry sighed and leaned
against the wall, feeling tiny by comparison. "Last time we lived
together… It only lasted a year and I was…mad. The whole time. I'd
lost Uncle Tom, Sean hated him and I didn't want to give him a chance.
He finally washed his hands of me and sent me here. All I got was
letters and a gift on my birthday for years. The few times we saw
each other, we just fought." She was surprised by how much it hurt.
She hadn't known it would.

"You think he's disappointed in you?" Cain asked quietly, "I mean,
your dad and I ain't drinking buddies or anything, but he seems like a
straight shooter, and he's never bitched about you where I can hear.
My old man, he..." Cain trailed off, trying to recall a fond memory of
Kurt Marko to relate. To his chagrin but not surprise, he couldn't
think of a single one. "Yeah, I know where you're coming from." he
finished.

Terry shrugged, "He doesn't know me. At first I wouldn't let him try
and he gave up after a while. He…" she smiled slightly, "he said he
was proud of me. After the mall fight when Alison got hurt." She
shrugged again, uncomfortably like she didn't like the memory. "Not
that I care. I didn't do it to make Sean Cassidy happy."

The small smile didn't go unnoticed by Cain. "All that aside," he said
flatly, "y'got a chance to mend fences. If you want. Not everyone gets
that." He sat for a moment, feeling the thumping bass of the dryer
fade to silence. "Clothes're done," he announced quietly.

"So they are." Terry shook off her gloom and smiled up at him, a cheerful
grin totally reversed from a moment before. She pulled her clothes
from the dryer, enjoying the warmth. She folded as she went. "I'll be
out of your way soon enough."

"Take your time," Cain replied, drumming his fingers in time with the
beating of the washing machine. "After all, the acoustics ain't going
anywhere."

She gave him a sidelong glance, "Aye, I suppose they aren't. Well, if
it won't bother you." With a little shrug, she began to sing again,
the lilting Irish words coming easily.

Not understanding a word of the language, Cain just sat and listened.
Girl had a hell of a set of pipes, even when she wasn't blowing apart
trees with them. Would definitely give Alison a run for her money with
a few more years of practice.

Somehow, early morning laundry runs didn't seem so dreary after all.