Coffee, Grit, and my Dad's Best Shoes 1.3

This is officially the last part of chapter one. Kablam. It's... longer. I'm so sorry. I couldn't find a place where it could be conveniently split up. I kind of feel like it's a bit rushed, but. I dunno.

I was back again the next day, a coffee for myself in my left hand, and a get well soon card from my brother in the right. I nudged my way through the door when my knock was answered, automatically smiling when Braz's face lit up. I'd been trying to convince myself that he hadn't meant it when he said he wanted me to come visit him again, but this was- it was reassurance enough that he had. I reminded myself to attribute at least half of it to pain medication; people didn't just forgive that easily. Not even the forgiveness masters.

"Hey." The word was out before the door swung closed behind me.

Mai was sitting on a chair next to the bed, Francis perched on the edge of the bed itself. A game of Uno was spread out on a tray over Braz's lap, but the entire thing was abandoned as soon as I'd spoken up. Braz waved a half a wave- just stuck his hand up and let it drop again.

"Hi, Parker," his mother said, feigning a warmness that I could see through with ease. Her smile was tight, and her voice wasn't much better for the wear. Which was... fine, I suppose. A good thing, maybe. I'd hurt her son once- a little hostility was warranted.

I smiled at her anyway, dipping my head in Francis's direction when she offered a wave of her own. "I'll stay quiet until you're finished the game," I offered, setting the coffee down on the nightstand before retrieving a chair from the far wall.

Francis shrugged. "I just won. Again."

I lifted a brow. "Again?"

"Third time in a row," Braz answered for her, muttering under his breath. "She's a master of the craft."

I snorted, holding the card out when Braz slumped back with a quiet, "It's from Koby." The boy didn't even know Brazil. He'd still been a baby when we stopped talking. I'd stopped talking. Whatever. "He says you're the dragon. The city you're burning is apparently 'all the stupid people', to quote him."

Mai looked up, eyebrows pinched in concern, the corners of her mouth twisted up in amusement. "Can I see it?" She held out a hand, and once Braz was done smiling and shaking his head at it, he handed it off. Francis was already up and standing behind Mai's chair. I left them to be entertained.

"Oh. He wanted to throw in a disclaimer about who wrote the 'get well soon'. Which was me." I pulled my legs onto the chair and crossed them, one elbow per knee, left hand to my jaw, right hand to my coffee cup.

Braz laughed under his breath and seemed to zone out for a second, blinking himself back to the present to look at his sister. "Can you put it on my nightstand when you're done with it, France?" He settled back. "I think I wanna keep it there."

She gave him an off-hand nod and put it down, the fold holding it up. He smiled at it with glassy eyes before they started to droop. Mai reached over and took the tray off of the bed, setting it on a counter behind her, under a window with ugly, purple curtains blocking a view of, I assumed, the parking lot. "Braz?" she whispered.

Braz's eyes fluttered back open, eyebrows crinkling under the weight of drowsiness. "Yeah?"

"Will you be alright here for the night? I need to feed your sister."

The girl in question looked up, expression screaming protest. Her mouth closed as soon as it opened, and her shoulders fell. I caught the glance she shot at Braz. Whatever lightheartedness I'd been feeling before vanished, replaced with the same heaviness as yesterday.

Braz nodded weakly, rolling his face into his pillow. "Yeah. Nicky and Michael will be here soon, anyway." He opened his one still-visible eye to smile at me. It was a scared smile, though. One that was digging for affirmation. "And Parker's here."

I managed to smile back at him. "Yup. Till they kick me out."

Mai paused for a second, and I couldn't even make myself look at her. I'd never seen a woman look that distraught before. That tired. And his sister- catching her eye was even worse. Eventually, though, Mai leaned over, brushing her knuckles against his cheek, and kissed his temple. "Alright. I'll stop by before work tomorrow for as long as I can."

She didn't leave until he gave his belated nod. The click of the door sounded ominous, and I couldn't miss how drastically Brazil deflated when it happened. I'd drained half of my coffee already, and I'd meant to save it, but I couldn't make myself lower it. I hadn't eaten as much as I should've that day, and it was acting as much a comfort as it was fuel. Plus, as long as there was some in my mouth, it kept me from being obligated to say anything. Bonuses all around, really.

Braz's legs curled up under the sheets, and I was more than aware of how deep his grimace was. The hand that wasn't IV-laden poked out from under his pillow, fingers curled over the edge of the bed, thumb rolling over his knuckles. I barely caught it, but I swear, he looked at me, and then at his hand, and that little thing- a hallucination for all I knew- was enough for me to at least cover his hand with mine.

I gave him a questioning look that he met with a half-smile. I wrapped my fingers when he wrapped his, eyes misting over when his closed, throat constricting when his body relaxed. I'd been here before. Under different circumstances, but I'd been here before, and it wasn't a place that I liked going back to.

"Nicky and Michael will be here soon," he said, voice more a mumble than anything else.

I whispered an, "Okay," but I think he was asleep before he had a chance to hear it. I rubbed my thumb over his knuckles and swallowed hard, blinking back a secondary wall of tears. I'd be there when he was discharged. Two days in, a breath of forgiveness later, and I'd made up my mind. This wasn't going to be the call-apologize-visit-part ways scenario that I'd had in my head. This was going to be the call-apologize-visit-stay scenario that I'd been dreading.

I sniffed, eyes wandering around the room, landing on different get well soon cards. A stuffed llama on the dresser in the corner, a bouquet of flowers that were just giving up next to it. Little things. Evidence that he'd been cared for in my absence, at least. He had support. Which was good- it was really, really good- but... he didn't need me. I was here, belatedly and out of place and, supposedly, welcome. But I'd be damned if my presence was on his list of "Ones Required."

And then there was his hand. The one that I hoped he'd asked me to hold. I focused on that instead, because it meant that I was, at the very least, wanted. It was warm, too. I couldn't remember Brazil ever having warm skin- he could have pried his fingers from the sides of a mug of boiling water, and his fingers would have been icy to the touch. This was new. I liked it.

Somewhere along the lines, I realized that I could hear him breathing, and that it sounded more relaxed than pained, and that it was soothing. And, somewhere along the same lines, my entire body drooped- not all at once, but all the way, eventually- head lolling over the back of the chair, and my eyes closed. I could feel his pulse in his fingers, and God alone knew that had always soothed me. I'd only been seven when I found that out. We were at a park, and I'd been lugging around a robin's egg that I was convinced I'd doomed to abandonment by touching it, and it didn't matter how many times I was told that it was already dead, I wouldn't believe it. I was going to hatch that baby bird. But I'd met him, and he'd looked at the ice cream pale I was keeping it in with all of the old doll blankets and the grass, and, somehow, he'd convinced me that it was gone. It wasn't my fault at all, but it was gone, and we needed to have a funeral for it.

I think I'd cried my little, seven-year-old heart into pieces by the time he actually took my hand, but he had, and that's when I remembered calming down. And, more distinctly than that, I remembered giggling after because I could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips, and something about that had apparently been amusing.

I was still back there when the door opened, barely lucid and far too entertained by the names I was throwing at us. Parker, Murderer of Baby Birds, and Brazil, the five year old with too much knowledge of mortality and that-

"I thought you were joking."

dumbass grin.

"Yeah, because it's so humorous." The door closed, and a hand patted my cheek. Repeatedly. I was almost scared to open my eyes. "I'd let you sleep, but I'm pretty sure Nicky'd shred you if she catches you with your eyes closed."

There was a snort- a terrifying snort- and my eyes actually did, after putting up a fight, flutter open to the white ceiling and the white walls and the white floor. And the body that broke it up, with a brown bob and brown eyes that flashed rage and destruction. Even the purple hoodie felt threatening. "I might shred him, anyway."

"Please don't," I squeaked, and his hand was still in my hand, and Nicky was staring right at it, arms crossed, lips cinched. I didn't let go, though- I didn't want to wake him up, and honestly, if I didn't have something to hold onto, I probably would've crapped myself. I swallowed, eyes darting to Michael, instead. He just grinned at me. A little unnerving, but far better than my alternative.

"I won't let her," he said, stepping over to pat my shoulder. He looked at Braz, and his face fell a little. "How long's he been out like that?"

I shrugged one shoulder. "Dunno. Dunno how long I was out, so." I rubbed my forehead with my free hand and sighed. "He passed out pretty quick after his mom left, though. If that helps."

"It-"

"Was France here?" Nicky cut him off. "How was she?" Technically speaking, I knew that the girl was fully capable of love and genuine concern, but hearing her voice go that soft over someone that wasn't Brazil was... odd. Surprising, almost.

I licked my lips and braved looking at her again. It didn't last long- my eyes hit the floor so fast. Something about the way hers were misting over, I guess. "She was... alright, I think. Didn't look like she wanted to leave, if that says anything." Michael had said that it was hard for her to be here. Wanting to stay was improvement, then, wasn't it?

"Yeah. It says something." Nicky sighed, making her way over to the other side of the bed to occupy one of the chairs. Michael followed suite, his hand landing on her shoulder. She didn't even shrug it off- just framed her face with her hands and propped her elbows on her knees. I swear, the wall of mist in her eyes just kept getting thicker.

Michael caught my gaze, offered a small, apologetic smile, and looked down again. More silence. Just like yesterday. It didn't stop until Braz stirred, at which point the sheets rustled around a little bit, but he stilled again, and I leaned forward so that he could keep his grip on my hand. A few more seconds, and Nicky sniffed, and I watched Michael's hand squeeze her shoulder, and it shook. I blinked, and they were up and hugging each other; Michael still had a leg on his chair, and Nicky's face was buried into his far shoulder.

I didn't look down until she started crying. Audibly. And something told me that this wasn't what she did every time she popped by. Not after a month of visits. Not after years of not knowing when he'd land himself in bleach-and-Popsicle-sticks land next. She hissed something that I didn't catch into Michael's shoulder, and he squeezed a little tighter. "It's fine, okay?" He was murmuring, and something about it just felt wrong. "He's fine. Braz was fine."

I was ninety-five percent sure that they were talking about me, and if they didn't stop immediately, I'd start crying, too. Nothing about this even seemed real, anymore. Surreality was setting in, and I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried, make myself believe that I was here. That this was happening. Had happened. I was exhausted- totally, completely done. Brazil was in the hospital. I'd officially given up all hope of accumulating Nicky's forgiveness. My eating plan was screwed. Brazil was in the hospital. So I blocked out the whispering as best I could, scrubbed at my forehead again, scooted my chair closer to the bed, and buried my face in the sheet near Braz's side. If I focused hard enough, it was just him breathing. Just the pulse in his fingers. Just the knowledge that he, at least, had forgiven me. No Nicky, no Michael. No hospital.

Nicky eventually calmed down, and I don't remember why or when, but she wound up having to leave the room for a few minutes. All I heard was the, "Yeah, I'll be back in a second," and then the footsteps and the door clicking. Michael brought his chair around next to mine, but I didn't really notice until he started rubbing my back.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm not still that pissed at you." He chuckled. "I mean, I'm little bit pissed at you, but you're almost at an eighty percent forgiveness level."

I sniffed, but I didn't lift my face up. Didn't have the energy. "Eighty percent's not bad, I guess." Better than Nicky, from the looks of things.

"Nope. It's really not. Plus, his mom told me that she was really glad you showed up yesterday." I felt my eyebrows furrow. "Said that when she got back last night, Braz was, like, ninety percent happier."

"Percents are kind of your thing, huh?" My voice was crackling- a total betrayal of how much that actually meant to me. I'd made him happy. Showing up, in all of my guilty, cowardly glory, had made him happy.

Michael snorted, patted my back between my shoulder blades, and lifted his hand away. "Ever since I was fourteen, to be exact." He paused. "Seriously though, Parker. Everyone's really, really freakin' glad you showed up yesterday. Nicky included."

I actually lifted my face, not realizing that that little patch of sheet was soaked until the air hit the moisture on my cheeks. "She obviously doesn't know that, yet."

"She's Nicky. Give her five years. She'll get over it." He reached over me, standing a little as he did so, and when he sat back down, he had a tissue in his hands. I took it with gratitude and dabbed at my eyes.

"You're not just pulling my leg, right?" I blew my nose, just for good measure. "He was- happy, right? Like, I didn't- I didn't upset him?" I was already fairly certain that I'd never forgive myself, but I was completely certain that I'd never forgive myself if I'd swung by and dragged him back to some dark, shadowy place in the back of his mind. God knew he had plenty of those.

"Swear it." He leaned back. "I mean, granted, I wasn't actually there. This is just what his mom told me."

"You didn't upset me." The voice was slurred, weighed down by drugs and sleep, but it was there, and it had both Michael and I pausing.

Michael laughed under his breath and combed a hand over his hair. "How long've you been awake, dummy?"

It took a while for him to answer- too busy blinking off the grogginess, I guess, but he smiled when he did. "Probably only thirty seconds or so. Where's Nicky?"

Michael's gaze flickered to me, and mine flickered to the wall. "Had to step out for a second," I mumbled.

There was a breath of a pause, and then an, "Oh," and he had let go of my hand. I recoiled, a little, heart falling. He started shifting around, said shifts accompanied by winces. I think that both Michael and myself rose at the same time, but I was closer to his head, and he sat back down when he saw that I had it. Which was... nice. I was positive that Nicky would've shoved me out of the way. I shifted the pillows until he relaxed again, digging around the sheets for the little bed adjuster button thing, and handed it to him.

I sat back down, checking my watch. "Kind of forgot to mention this, but I've gotta head out early." I scratched the back of my neck with that hand, offering Braz a weak apologetic smile. "The aunt's dug herself up a new boyfriend, so. Promised I'd watch Koby so they could have a date night. He's picking her up at six." Hadn't I just told him that I'd be here until they kicked me out? God, I was a dumbass.

Braz nodded to the best of his abilities, opening his mouth to speak. He was cut off by the door opening and swinging back shut- I'm pretty sure we all watched his face light up. "Hey, sugarplum." The beast was back, and I only felt a little guilty for thinking it. "How're you feeling?"

"Crappy." He settled back again while Nicky breezed over, worked her way to the other side of the bed, and bent over to plant a kiss on his forehead. They'd always been affectionate with each other. I'd never really questioned it. They branched off into a conversation that I didn't understand, and Michael did, and he took part, and I... watched. I didn't mind, but it wreaked of all the things I'd missed, and I couldn't convince myself that I wasn't out of place. That I was supposed to be there.

They talked about that stupid thing Michael'd done over Skype video chat, and Nicky and Braz told him about a trip to an ice cream shop, and the little girl who'd just walked over and plopped herself down on Braz's lap. Michael told track stories. More Skype stories. Conference calls, because apparently, telephones hadn't died out in the nineties. Things that I'd had no part in. That I couldn't add to.

I excused myself at five thirty, accepted a hand-squeeze from Brazil, and drifted out. Surreal. It was still all surreal.