[WM] 59.6 - Waffle
Nov. 18th, 2008 03:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
changehistory[AN: Not exactly how this scene went in RP, but mostly an artistic interpretation of a moment of how it was going in Adam's head. Nathan is ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
notacargojet and Angela is mapetrelli.]
They sit there untouched, two waffles among four. There should be five, but Nathan refused. The boys devoured theirs before running out to play in the snow, and though she asked for one, Angela hasn't touched hers. Nor has he. Now there they are on china someone cherished, possibly handed down from generation to generation. It looks old enough to span at least the three that were gathered at the table just moments before, before they excused the youngest, before the secrets spilled out in confessions that couldn't be denied, before the anger erupted, before silence descended and the three of them were reduced to staring at separate points on the kitchen walls and floor and table, but never meeting each others' eyes to see what other secrets they might reveal.
He has no idea where they go from here.
It's a strangely disconcerting realization and one he's been forced to far too often lately. Things were going so smoothly up until...up until he decided to bring Suresh to Eden. That was the turning point, wasn't it? Elle's pregnancy was a dream come to fruition. Eden was flourishing and coming along well. Bennet had come to town, and semi-promised to keep him informed should he find his errant grandchild. Hiro running back and forth to Japan was a nuisance, yes, but he was loyal, at least, for once. And he had Peter by his side.
Now Peter is gone, and Hiro is acting oddly, and Angela is here in his life and home after apparently telling his son to kill him, and Elle is terrified by the apparent threat of her presence, and he had a few brief moments with his grandsons, but Nathan is here to take them away, and Nathan knows the truth, but doesn't really believe it, and nothing is being said because they are all staring at the walls, and the waffles just sit on some other family's china who thought to pass it on to grandchildren who will never run and play in the snow the way he can hear his doing through the glass of the windowpanes.
His gaze drops back to his waffle. Breakfast had seemed like a good idea, but like so many others it falters in cold retrospect. No infusion of normalcy can make this situation approach anything resembling familial. The man across the table may be his blood, but the likelihood of him ever calling him father is so remote as to be ludicrous, and the chance of this ever being his family, of ever finding place among them...he can't even decide which place he wants, can he, as fucked up as that is. Father, brother, son, lover. It's twisted up in his head too far, the bonds that run back and forth in blood and love and thirty years and a promise and a lie.
He takes a breath, tries to form words, tries to find a coherent thought.
Nothing comes.
The waffles grow cold.
notacargojet and Angela is mapetrelli.]They sit there untouched, two waffles among four. There should be five, but Nathan refused. The boys devoured theirs before running out to play in the snow, and though she asked for one, Angela hasn't touched hers. Nor has he. Now there they are on china someone cherished, possibly handed down from generation to generation. It looks old enough to span at least the three that were gathered at the table just moments before, before they excused the youngest, before the secrets spilled out in confessions that couldn't be denied, before the anger erupted, before silence descended and the three of them were reduced to staring at separate points on the kitchen walls and floor and table, but never meeting each others' eyes to see what other secrets they might reveal.
He has no idea where they go from here.
It's a strangely disconcerting realization and one he's been forced to far too often lately. Things were going so smoothly up until...up until he decided to bring Suresh to Eden. That was the turning point, wasn't it? Elle's pregnancy was a dream come to fruition. Eden was flourishing and coming along well. Bennet had come to town, and semi-promised to keep him informed should he find his errant grandchild. Hiro running back and forth to Japan was a nuisance, yes, but he was loyal, at least, for once. And he had Peter by his side.
Now Peter is gone, and Hiro is acting oddly, and Angela is here in his life and home after apparently telling his son to kill him, and Elle is terrified by the apparent threat of her presence, and he had a few brief moments with his grandsons, but Nathan is here to take them away, and Nathan knows the truth, but doesn't really believe it, and nothing is being said because they are all staring at the walls, and the waffles just sit on some other family's china who thought to pass it on to grandchildren who will never run and play in the snow the way he can hear his doing through the glass of the windowpanes.
His gaze drops back to his waffle. Breakfast had seemed like a good idea, but like so many others it falters in cold retrospect. No infusion of normalcy can make this situation approach anything resembling familial. The man across the table may be his blood, but the likelihood of him ever calling him father is so remote as to be ludicrous, and the chance of this ever being his family, of ever finding place among them...he can't even decide which place he wants, can he, as fucked up as that is. Father, brother, son, lover. It's twisted up in his head too far, the bonds that run back and forth in blood and love and thirty years and a promise and a lie.
He takes a breath, tries to form words, tries to find a coherent thought.
Nothing comes.
The waffles grow cold.
