Rush: Visiting Hours

[x-ricochet.livejournal.com]

When Johnny and Victor visit Darren in the hospital, he explains what happened with Ritchie and has a long overdue conversation with his son.


The hospital still made Johnny anxious and on more levels than usual with this particular visit. The past and all its associations aside, the teenager hadn't seen his father awake since the attack and there was a fear knotting up his stomach that, regardless of the doctor's reassurances the night before, he still wouldn't. The fact that Ritchie was still in the building, though likely bedridden, wasn't overly assuring either. He pulled in a breath and exchanged a glance with Victor as they stepped out of the stark white elevator and onto the third floor, in search of room three-ten. He scanned the doors while they walked until the appropriate number fell into his sights and he paced slowly to it. He started to knock, hesitated, and pushed the door in instead. "...Dad?"

"Hey." Darren's bed was elevated enough that he didn't have to sit up to get a good look at Johnny. The sight of his son's scrapes and bruises left the man feeling sad and angry all at once...not that he looked better, with his half-shaved head and his arm in a sling. "You look like I feel, Johnny." The pain medication left him a little out of it, but not much. Just enough that he had to really think before he spoke.

Johnny forced a smile, the expression brittle and uncertain, as he stepped inside with Victor in tow. He could only manage it because he was relieved to see the man awake at all...even if he did look like hell. Worse than he did with those bandages around his head and the still-pale shade of his skin. The young man shook his head and insisted with an uneven quality in his tone, "...It's not so bad." He moved to stand near Darren's bed, hiding his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and lingering there and leaving the nearby chair open for his roommate if he wanted it. He was too anxious to give up his mobility entirely, even if his body ached. "...Where's Aubrey?"

Victor lingered in the doorway, not sure if he should stay in the hallway or be in the room in case things went badly. At Johnny's question, he glanced out the door hopefully; he'd forgotten that Aubrey was supposed to be here. Unfortunately, she was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he leaned against the doorjamb, waiting.

"She's sitting with Ritchie. This place is really ahead of the curve...they've got a specialty wing for mutant cases. They said he was a latent." Darren's brow knit as he tried to reconcile Ritchie's fury with his own, quiet boy, for a moment puzzled at how they both fell under the same label, then let it go. "They said he might not have ever manifested, but he was taking some kind of new drug to build muscle mass. Don't remember what they called it...essentially steroids plus. They mix it with this drug that's supposed to kick up mutant powers. Something like that..." Darren trailed off. "Victor, can we have a few minutes, please?"

Vic nodded, glancing at Johnny--whether to give or to seek reassurance, he wasn't quite sure--before stepping out into the hallway in search of a vending machine or a waiting room.

The white-haired teen listened quietly to his father's explanation, thin brows knitting inward. It seemed almost too simple an explanation for the violent bedlam that had bee born from it and he found himself contemplating the same notion his father was. But then, he should have known by now that not all mutants were like Victor or Mr. Beaubier. He nodded numbly, but wasn't even nearing a verbal response by the time Darren made his request. Johnny turned to meet his companion's eyes, smiling weakly, "...I'll come get you in a little bit, okay?" Then his roommate was gone and he felt suddenly uncertain. He looked at Darren slowly.

"That's...kind of crazy, huh?" he managed at last, hanging his head so that his unkempt hair slide down into his face. He looked lost and tired, all too much like the little boy Darren had picked up from this very hospital eight years before.

"Yeah, a little." Darren forced himself to keep his gaze on his son as he spoke next. "Johnny, I...for everything I've done..." His expression faltered. "For everything I haven't done, I am so sorry."

Johnny. The white-haired teen raised his light eyes slowly. Something in Darren's tone and in his words made it difficult to look away, though he wanted to. It didn't feel right seeing the man like this. He shook his head, "It's..." Okay? It wasn't okay.

"...Why are you doing this now?" he asked at last, tone thin and small. The question had been on the edge of his tongue ever since their arrival, ever since the night his father had called and invited him home, and though now was perhaps the worst possible time, he couldn't help but ask. "Why all the sudden...do you give a damn about me?" His voice wavered, venturing all too close to a crack and he finally dropped his eyes. His breathing was growing shallow and uneven and it made his ribs throb. "Is it just because of Aubrey?"

Darren felt a sudden, shamed heat rush to his face for putting his own son in a position where those were questions that needed to be answered and not teenage overreaction.

"It...was partly seeing Aubrey and Ritchie together, back when we first started dating. He's not that much older than you are, and he's...he was going to be leaving home soon. I just...got a reminder that it wasn't too late for us to be a family. It took me a while to get up the courage to say anything. I was afraid you hated me already." Darren finally dropped his gaze. "I know I shut you out after your mother died. I can't excuse it, it just seemed so much safer."

Johnny listened in silence, features growing more weighted word by word. He wasn't sure if he'd ever hated Darren, really hated him, and though he seemed suddenly able to remember each hurt feeling and disregarded need with painful acuteness, at least he knew he didn't now. "I thought you hated me," he said at last, voice just above a whisper, "You acted like it was my fault and you got so angry when people would call her..." He swallowed tightly. The word 'mutant' hadn't actually been used often. People either had the condescending civility to sidestep it entirely or the boldfaced disgust to use a different sort of vocabulary. But they had still talked. And about him too. He shook his head. "And after I went missing and you sent everything to school and I just...I thought we were done. For good, you know?"

"So did I. After you went missing...I thought you had run off. I figured that was...just the end of it. I thought I'd lost you too. When the police called and let me know that you'd been found it..." Darren took a deep, steadying breath that actually helped very little. "It wouldn't sink in somehow. And then the school called and they were willing to offer you a place because of...of your gifts..." He shook his head. "It was too much to deal with at once, so I didn't. None of that..." He swallowed hard. "God, I am so sorry."

Slowly and carefully, the teenager moved to seat himself upon the edge of his father's bed. He pressed his palms down against the mattress' edge and allowed his pale eyes to linger on the floor. God, I am so sorry. The man was genuine and he knew what he was supposed to say and what part of him wanted to say, but it was difficult. Even if the words were honest, it didn't make them any easier to relate to or to understand and it didn't make the reality of past actions sting any less. At last, he choked quietly, "...you didn't hate me?"

No. He'd never hated him. He'd been frightened for his son, completely clueless on how to raise a child on his own, and terrified of the label "mutant" being applied to Johnny and of the possible reality -- the very word had conjured images of rampaging violence, so like what they'd just been through. Even now, though, he couldn't tell Johnny that. Not in those exact words.

"No, I never hated you." Darren's voice had dropped to a shamed whisper. "I didn't know what to do after your mother died, so I didn't do anything. I put everything I couldn't figure out at arm's length. None of that was your fault."

Johnny bobbed his head in a small, constricted nod. It should have been a more comforting revelation than it was, but all it left him capable of thinking about was Allison and he struggled to remember her as she had been through all of his childhood, rather than how she had looked in that last moment, bloodied and pale and pinned between metal and brick. "...I miss her too. A lot," he offered at length. His tone trembled and his shoulders sunk as he wiped vainly at tearing eyes. "If it could've been me instead of her, I..."

"No, Johnny. Don't..." Darren started to reach for him, hung back for a moment, then put an arm around Johnny's shoulders in a hesitant hug. "Don't. She wouldn't have wanted that, not ever." Even now, he knew that wasn't all that Johnny needed to hear. "Neither did I." Even if there had been times, so many times, when he'd known that Johnny would have been better off if he'd been left with only a mother instead of a father.

For a moment, those wilting shoulders tensed under Darren's touch, but they gradually loosened again and Johnny's slim frame angled in just a little. "...don't think she would've wanted us to end up like this either."

"No. I think she'd have a lot of good words to say to me if she was here right now." He tried not to think of that. It was bad enough dwelling on how he'd let down his living family, let alone Allison.

"I didn't mean..." Johnny's frail protest trailed off. His father knew what he'd meant...hadn't he? He sniffled softly and forced his expression to the most collected position he could manage before raising his head and looking at the man. "I want to fix it," he clarified, resolve trying to force its way into his small, unsteady voice, "I want us to be okay."

"So do I," but the silence that followed the declaration betrayed just how little idea the man had about how to close the rift he'd created. Finally, "I don't want you to think of this as a part-time thing, Johnny. You're not...not just a project I want to fit in when I've got a free weekend or a couple of days out of the office. If you'd like to come home and go back to your old school with Eddie and your friends..." Johnny'd had other friends, hadn't he? "...then you can."

Johnny knew the honest answer immediately, but telling his father that he didn't want to come back to the city and that Xavier's still felt more like 'home' than their house had in years and that he just wasn't ready seemed too cruel to say. Especially when the man was trying so hard. Especially when he was sitting there with a bandaged head and skin almost as pale as his hospital gown. And he was worried. He pursed his lips briefly to keep his frown from deepening. "I...if you want me to stay for a while, at least until you get back on your feet, I can. And...we can figure out where to go from there?"

Darren's first instinct was to say yes, to prove his sincerity by taking whatever time he could get with Johnny. But...

Reluctantly, "Don't you have classes going right now?"

"...Yeah," his son acknowledged quietly. Class had been the last thing on his mind. "But I could make it up."

His father was already shaking his head in reply (albeit very carefully). "School's important. I've got a concussion, a couple of stitches, and a busted arm, but I'll be all right by myself once they let me out of here. But it's not like we're that far apart, right? I can drive up to see you."

Johnny was obviously uncertain and Darren's listing of his injuries didn't seem to help matters, even if they were followed by an almost nonchalant reassurance. "Right," he managed finally, then forced a tired, uneven smile, "...And I'm sixteen now. With any luck, I'll be able to drive down here soon too."

Darren's return smile was weak. Already, that was one thing Johnny wouldn't need him for. "That'd be great. And...we'll figure this thing out."

"Yeah," the young mutant agreed quietly, "I know." Their lingering hesitation remained unvoiced between them through a mutual desire to keep it that way. Things were hard enough without doling out more reasons for second guesses and they had opened enough old wounds for one day. Johnny tucked himself just a little bit more into the hook of his father's arm. "...I'm glad you called."