His dreams are troublesome that night. Everything is dark grey or black, shadows swirl around him, some whispering, some just projecting images or emotions towards him. He wanders the endless expanse, lost in a dark forest of memories kept locked away during his waking hours. He hears laughter, young and carefree, echoing from nearby and getting closer by the second.

A light bulb switches on above him, and he looks up to examine it. It is familiar but he can't quite say how. When he looks back down however, his memory is jogged. He is in his mom's old study, the small room in the attic which looked out over the street below. The dark greys and blacks have been replaced with the white's of the walls, an easel sits by the window, a painting half completed etched onto the canvas. And there, sitting in front of it, the sunlight basking onto her figure, was his mom.

She's not facing him, instead focusing carefully on the stroke of her paintbrush, and he finds himself enraptured with the graceful way her arm lilts up and down, working magic out of thin air.

There is the same childish laughter again and a small boy with dark brown hair and eyes runs in. He watches with mild curiosity and sadness as this nearly five year old version of himself bounds over to his mother, fringe flopping backwards as he gazes up at her, face also glowing in the warm sunlight.

His mother smiles down at him, eyes like his crinkled in the corners, saying not a word as she picks him up, all the love shining out of those eyes and through her beaming smile.

He remembers. He knows what is going to happen next and sure enough the dream stays true to the memory. In his excitement, the little boy throws an arm out in excitement, knocking over the pallet and sending an assortment of colors spilling over both him and his mom. Reds, greens, yellows, blues seeping into clothing and staining skin. There is a moment where his young face is frozen, looking up to the woman with big eyes, worried he is going to be told off for his mistake.

But there is no anger in his mom's face, there never was. Instead her cheeks turn bright pink, tears forming in the corner of her eyes, body convulsing as she broke down in joyous laughter. The little boy joins in, perhaps even more elated due to his previous fear; squeals of childlike bliss as his mom wipes her hands on her clothes where the paint has spilled before smearing them on his face. Not one to back down from a challenge, even back then, the youngster instantly retaliates and before either of them know it, a full on paint war is initiated.

The young man watches this scene, an uncontrollable smile gracing his lips. The memory is so clear to him, it may as well have occurred the other week. How he loved those days when he simply talked, laughed and made silly jokes. Those were the days he longed for, ones where he enjoyed every single minute.

The memory is fading away, the dream shifting and evolving, his surroundings darkening again. He tries to reach out to his mother, tries to stop her from disappearing, but true to life there is nothing he can do, and she is gone along with his laughter.

The next scene that materialises before him is one he would rather not revisit again. He tries to turn away but wherever he looks it is there again. An image of that same tiny boy sat on a too large chair, his feet dangling off the edge, head down to his lap where he plays with a small stuffed cat. Footsteps thud down the hallway, his father's own, and the boy raises his head to the stooped figure walking towards him.

The young man is too far away to hear what is being said in this memory, maybe because his mind itself is too fuzzy and blurred to know exactly how the conversation went. He hears the scream though. The scream of pure agony as the young boy puts up a fight and tries to push past the man's attempting arms of comfort. He escapes and charges down the hallway, heading right for his older counterpart, who doesn't have time to move as the child breezes by - or through - him.

It hurts somehow. A pain in his chest like all those emotions that boy was feeling are passed onto him and he spins, half out of shock from the sudden injection of utter agony and loss and half from wanting to follow the boy, to go after and comfort him, even though he knows that boy is him and no one ever did.

The scene has moved on again however and he finds himself facing a thick wooden door, this time standing side by side with his young version. He remembers this door very well and waits, knowing what is going to come next.

Young him knocks on the door, quietly tapping to start with. "Daddy?"

There is no answer.

The boy tries again, knocking a bit louder this time. "Daddy?"

It has only been a matter of weeks since his mother was cruelly taken from him and both child and husband are grieving. He's most likely just had a nightmare and wants comforting. His father was most likely awake but was too upset himself, locking himself up in his room for weeks until he finally emerged, skin toughened, tongue sharpened and eyes hardened, and the child would learn the man was not someone you went to for comfort any more.

At the moment though, the boy doesn't realize that, he just wants a hug.

"Daddy!" His cries are more urgent now.

The young man shuts his eyes, wishing he could burst through the door and shake the man from his self-pity and push him towards his son.

"Daddy!"

He attempts to slam his own fist against the door but nothing happens and his arm just falls through thin air.

"Daddy!"

"Daddy!"

"Daddy! Stop!"

Daddy stop?

Mitch opened his eyes so quickly that he was periodically blinded by the bright sunlight streaming through the window pane. It took him a few seconds to recall where he was. His mouth was dry, a bad taste coating the inside a reminder of the night before. Aside from his own noisy breath there was nothing to be heard except the odd car driving past, the occasional dog bark and the raucous coming from downstairs.

Screams of laughter, both child and adult, were bouncing up the walls to where Mitch had been sleeping. Fox's bed looked a lot smaller than it had last night and he worried if he had rolled over and squashed the child during his slumber.

Swinging his legs out from under the covers, he wrinkled his nose at the creased state of his clothing and the way his skin felt when it was due a good shower. He risked a glance at the clock and groaned as the time of twenty past six ticked away in front of him.

That was not enough sleep.

He should not have been up for at least another hour if he wanted to remain sane that day. More laughter rang up from below, increasing Mitch's heart rate as he recalled what had brought him here in the first place.

He really didn't want to head downstairs.

You have to, he told himself. You have to confront him.

Building up his courage, he staggered up and towards the door, envisioning in his mind how this dreaded conversation was going to play out.

"I'm the syrup monster! Raaa!"

"Stop!" Fox's contagious giggles was music to his ears and he stepped down the last few stairs to where the two occupants of the house were stood in the middle of the kitchen "Daddy stop!"

Scott met his cool gaze with a big smile, one good enough to convince most people he was as chirpy as ever, but Mitch could see straight through it.

It doesn't meet his eyes...he almost looks...scared?

"Ah, sleeping beauty is finally awake I see," he commented, turning swiftly away from Mitch's hard stare to the waffles grilling on the pan, whistling a little tune that aggravated the younger man more than anything.

Don't you dare ignore what happened last night. Don't you dare act like nothing happened.

"Mitchy!" Fox bounded towards him the moment he spotted his new friend, prosthetic limb tapping extra loudly on the wooden floor. "We made breakfast for you!" he exclaimed happily. He for one looked like he was not at all affected by last night but Mitch couldn't get the image of the scared little boy afraid of shadows out of his mind. Maybe now wasn't the best time to confront Scott on the topic though, he realised, not with Fox standing by.

He crouched down and gave the boy a big grin. "I can see." He glanced back up to Scott who was still focused on the food and lowered his voice to a whisper. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yep," the boy smiled brightly, jumping up and down as he watched his father placing the food onto the three plates. "Waffles are the best!"

Scott smirked. "You want bananas or strawberries or both Foxy boy?"

"Uh..." the four year old contemplated his choices seriously before sticking one finger in the air like he'd just discovered the meaning of life. "Just 'nanas please," he responded.

The blond nodded. "Your wish is my command young prince," he gushed, slicing up a banana before coating it in syrup, performing a juggling act with the bottle as he went.

The boy grinned wildly as his plate was handed to him, screeching incomprehensibly and doing a weird little dance only very young children know. Looking back up he laughed, pointing up at Scott's face. "You've got syrup in your hair!"

The man's mouth formed an 'o' shape as he brought his hand up to his head, feeling around until he felt the sticky patch just above his left ear. "Yeah? Hadn't you heard?" He queried nonchalantly with a shrug of his shoulders. "Scientists are saying it's ten times better than conditioner."

Fox narrowed his eyes at this statement, cautiously studying his father's face as he tried to work out if he was being had for a fool. "No they're not," he finally decided, sticking out his chin in defiance.

Scott mirrored his pose, folding his arms for extra effect. "Are too," he shot back.

"Are not."

"Are too."

"Are not!"

"Are too!"

"Can I eat on the couch?" Fox suddenly flipped his words about just as Mitch was going to scream at them both to shut up. The boy gave his father a wry smirk as he slowly backed away into the other room, obviously not normally allowed to eat his breakfast there.

Scott paused and gave Mitch a glance, his blue eyes suddenly filled with apprehension again, before giving his son the go ahead. "Go on then, you can take it in the living room. Just try not to make too much mess."

The boy abruptly turned and scampered away. "'Kay," he called out. Mitch wondered if the boy had a feeling things were about to turn slightly sour between the two adults.

They stood in awkward silence, Scott waiting until he heard the TV being switched on before he slowly sat down, anxiously sliding Mitch's plate towards him. "I hope that's okay for you," he said, gesturing down at the waffles.

Honestly it wasn't Mitch's first choice of breakfast but he perched on the stool and picked up a fork all the same, beginning to pick at it, his own eyes now firmly averted from the other man's.

More silence followed as Mitch forced his mouth to chew and swallow as angrily as he could, if that were even possible. He wanted to make sure Scott was left squirming before he dealt with him. "Don't suppose you know where this came from?" the man tried to initiate a conversation, and Mitch briefly glanced up to see him holding up the hand he had grazed the previous night, the skin now fully healed over but still fresh enough to look painful.

He looked back down and shook his head, rolling his eyes and not caring whether Scott saw it or not.

If he doesn't remember getting that I doubt he's gonna remember anything else. For some reason that hurt Mitch more than it should have. It meant nothing. It was never going to mean anything anyway.

They continued to sit knee deep in silence, the faucet dripping into the sink, each droplet reverberating around the room like a cymbal, yet neither looked or made any move to stop it.

Mitch was used to long periods of silence, having grown used to many of them during dinner's with his father or tense client meetings, but Scott was not as well trained, and he could only hold off for so long.

"Okay this is really awkward so I'll just come out and say it..." he blurted out quickly, biting nervously at his lower lip. He waited until Mitch raised cold eyes to meet his, leaning forward on the counter. "I'm so fucking sorry Mitchy," he apologised right off the bat, face one of such absolute devastation that it caught the younger man off guard for a moment. He hadn't been expecting this. What he had been expecting were more excuses or possibly even anger that Mitch had slept in his own son's fucking bed, but no, he had not been ready for a Scott who looked like he was about to break down in tears at any second.

No, don't focus on him now. Think about last night, think about the man he was last night.

"Look," the blond continued, leaning even further forward so his head was for once at a lower height than Mitch's. "You have every right to shout at me and hate me and never want to see me again," he fretted, entwining his fingers together. "But you see..." he stopped and tore his gaze away, muttering lowly to himself. "Ahh stop making excuses Scott, you fucking idiot."

Mitch had no time for this and decided he could break his silence now.

"Why did you lie?" he demanded to know. "Why have you been lying to everyone?"

"I dunno," Scott said defeatedly, giving Mitch an aggravating half smile. "It's in my nature?"

The younger man raised his eyebrows, pushing his half empty plate away. "That's the answer you're giving me?"

"I..." Scott glanced up at the ceiling, looking like he was hoping for inspiration. "You see..." He faced the other direction and hit is palm against the counter top a few times, psyching himself up, before whispering: "There's a lot of stuff going on in my life, stuff that makes me..." he shuddered faintly despite it not being at all cold. "Someone who I don't like very much," he finished.

Mitch felt his anger go down slightly, only by a minute fraction though. He could understand a thing or two about becoming somebody you were disappointed in.

I have my demons. What are yours? Or are you just an asshole?

"What? So you go out and get hammered just because of "stuff"?" He questioned angrily, although he kept his voice down in order to not disturb a certain somebody. "You wouldn't have noticed because you were too busy being passed out on the couch, but he was so upset last night, the way you spoke to him was disgusting."

"Mhmm." Scott nodded and placed his head in his hands. "Thank you," he murmured. "For staying with him last night. You didn't have to."

"Yeah, I did actually," Mitch countered in disbelief. "I'm not good with kids, but even I know the difference between right and wrong."

Scott was silent as he took in what Mitch was saying, nodding again seriously after the younger man had said his peace. "Between a good and a bad parent," he clarified, to himself more than anyone.

Mitch tilted his head. "I didn't say that," he pointed out.

"But you were thinking it."

"Don't turn this around onto me," Mitch warned.

The blond lifted his head from his hands, blinking rapidly as he took in the smaller man's authoritative posture.

"You're right," he admitted. "Sorry."

Mitch almost felt like a school principal berating his unruly student, sighing as he explained: "I don't know what to do here Scott."

The other man was immediately on guard, defensives rising like a call to battle.

"Do? Y-you don't have to do anything!" His eyes were wild with worry, fingers gripping tightly round the edge of the counter. Mitch instinctively shifted back in his seat. He'd seen what the guy could get like when things weren't going his way and wasn't going to take any chances. "I-It was a one off, it won't happen again," Scott stuttered, almost left out of breath after two sentences.

"I heard from Fox's own mouth last night," Mitch hissed. ""He always drinks too much". Quit with your lying."

"But I don't mean to, really," Scott insisted, tone barely stronger than a whimper. "I never mean to leave him again it's just...the opportunity to forget about everything once in a while, it's so hard to resist."

"You can't forget about your son, just erase him whenever you feel like it. Trust me, the kid's not going to grow up right, you don't know what sort of stuff you're passing onto him that will be reflected in adulthood." He was speaking from the heart here, he knew exactly from first hand experience who ignored kids could grow up into.

The blond chuckled softly. "You sound like Kirstie."

Well I like her then. Maybe we should hang out.

Talking of Kirstie, it was high time he got answers on that too. No more cautious side stepping around the subject. "Oh yeah," he began. "That's another mystery...who is she? Don't lie," he said quickly before Scott could open his mouth. "Either tell me the truth or nothing at all. I'm serious."

"No of course, you uh...you have a right to know Mitchy."

It's Mitch.

...

"Scott?" It seemed he was going to have to drag the answer out of the man as he played around with his left over food.

The man inhaled deeply, eventually spitting out the truth. "She's...a social worker...kinda, she's technically still a trainee but we go back a way so she visits a lot on her own." He raised his head and frowned. "I think they're hoping she's gonna persuade me to give it up, they just want to take him away from me."

Mitch found himself being able to relax ever so slightly now. At least there were other's who knew Scott wasn't as perfect as he made out. Hopefully they would make sure this was sorted out. Kirstie seemed like she had a good head on her shoulders, the brief time he'd met her, maybe she could make Scott see sense, see that he wasn't the right person to be raising Fox, at least not on his own.

"That's not what they're meant for," he disagreed, referring to Scott's adamance that they were just there to steal his son from him.

"Yeah, well it sure feels like it sometimes," the blond moaned, reminding Mitch once more of the "sulky teenager" act he had performed when Kirstie had come round to speak to him.

"I'm sure they want what's best for Fox." He resisted the urge to stick an "unlike you" afterwards.

"With me," Scott replied stubbornly. "That talk we had when you first met her, she was trying to get me to agree for respite, when you have a stranger look after them for short periods of time."

The older man looked horrified just by the very thought of that and Mitch was really struggling to rack his brains as to why he was so against the idea. Sure, it couldn't be a pleasant feeling to admit you couldn't take care of your own child but if Scott loved Fox as much as he claimed, why was he not prepared to accept help?

He put the question to the man. "What's so wrong with that? If he was with someone else, you get to party the night away to your heart's content."

"You don't get it," Scott muttered. "It would start off as that and then when it goes to court and the judge'll say that I obviously don't care enough and then he'll be taken away for good. I can't lose him too." The man started up with his murmurings again, almost too quiet for Mitch to hear this time. "Too much, too much is already gone."

This conversation was starting to stress Mitch out. He'd been ready and somewhat prepared to face a man who wanted to listen to nothing he had to say and while that was kind of happening, he could also sense that Scott was asking for help, that he wanted Mitch to somehow make everything better, like he could just stick a band-aid over the whole situation.

Mitch almost pitied him for a second but then Fox's laughter from the other room brought him back to reality. This wasn't the person who needed his sympathy.

"What about family?" he carried on trying to fish for others who could take better care of the four year old. "You said they don't live too far away, and you've got sisters right? Ask them for a little help. There's no shame in it if that's what you're thinking."

He stopped and for the first time gave Scott a concerned look. As he had been speaking he had noticed a faraway expression in the blond's blue eyes, and it had shocked him. It was another type of pain, a type of emotional pain that only left invisible scars and it had shone brightest in Scott while Mitch spoke of his family. Usually it was the type of pain that only the person feeling it can tell is there, at the back of their mind like a pulse or other times pushing itself forward demanding attention. But Mitch had recognised it, recognised a pain not too unlike his own, and all of a sudden he found he could no longer despise the other quite as much.

Scott himself stared at him, breathing shallow, looking like he had so much to let out but trying desperately to conceal it at the same time. When he did speak, it was possibly the most emotionless voice a person was capable of conjuring up. "That is not a viable course of action."

There he goes again, and I'm supposed to be the ex-business guy here. They perhaps also sounded like the truest words Scott had ever spoken to him.

"Well...someone. Anyone." Mitch felt like he was on the losing side of the argument now, his demands sounding more like pleas. "What about that lady who was supposedly here last night?"

"We didn't quite see eye to eye on certain things." 'Things'. So much meaning behind such a general and bland word.

"Well you clearly can't do it on your own!" he exclaimed, frustration over-flowing.

"Look, I promise I'm telling you the truth when I say this, me leaving him by himself, has only happened once...er twice before." Scott was fully on the defensive now, engaging every bit of charm he possessed to dissuade the younger man from taking any serious action. "I mean yeah, I've stayed out late loads of times and had Sarah stay round to keep an eye on him, but we recently had a major falling out, like major, major and I'm looking for someone else." He placed his hands together, in a praying-like gesture. "I know I should never have even considered going out last night but...I promise I'm not going to do it again." And then he was back to murmuring quietly to himself: "I'm gonna be a good dad, I gotta be good."

Mitch rubbed at his temple. "I don't know how comfortable I feel about this Scott." It wasn't like he was agreeing to cover for some chickens running loose in a kitchen this time, he was being asked to put aside his better judgement for the sake of a man who didn't really deserve any of his trust or forgiveness.

"Please, I–please, just give me a chance." The blond was on the verge of tears now, blue eyes extra bright due to the thin layer of liquid coating them and Mitch found that, in the moment at least, he couldn't say no to him. It appeared that the power of disarming others with just one particular look was present in both father and son.

He shook his head. "This isn't a game Scott."

"I know but...please?" Mitch could see he wasn't going to be able to leave until he'd given a proper answer and suddenly he was rather uncertain of himself and what actually was the right thing to do, so he did something very stupid and quickly came up with an answer to momentarily take the pressure off him.

"Okay. But you have to find someone to babysit him," he insisted. "Or better still stay at home like a good parent would."

Scott was over the moon despite the snide comment. "Oh my God thank you Mitchy, thanks so much I won't let you down, I–"

Mitch held up a hand. "Save it. I'll believe it when I see it."

"Yessir."

There was more silence as the two sat just listening to whatever cartoon Fox was engrossed in, something about a Jamaican mouse, until Mitch brought up a subject he'd been pondering over ever since he'd first been introduced to the little boy.

"His mom died didn't she. That's why you were so interested in how much I remembered about my own."

Scott's body flinched by the sudden question but he nodded solemnly all the same. "Yeah."

"How long ago?" Mitch figured it was a fair question seeing as Scott hadn't exactly been subtle when asking Mitch about his own mom and the blond didn't seem bothered, maybe he would have always been willing to answer if Mitch hadn't been too nervous to bring it up before.

"About three and a half years, same amount of time he's been living with me."

"I doubt he's gonna remember anything," Mitch admitted. "I don't remember anything from that age."

"Well, maybe that's a good thing." Scott smiled sadly. "We were just kids, me and his mom. Two kids against the world."

Allowing himself to finally relax slightly now that the most tense part of the conversation was over, Mitch gave his curious nature free reign. "What was her name?" was his first question.

"Isabella." Scott spoke the name like it was some sacred spell, pronouncing each letter slowly and with meaning. He sent Mitch a small smirk. "Issy to me."

"Pretty name."

"It means devoted to God," the blond informed him. "We met when we were just sixteen through...well um, we just met one day, a bit of a chance meeting. She became a very good friend, y'know, the kind that get you even when no one else does."

Nope, Mitch thought as he watched the older man reminisce fondly on those times.

"We could understand one another, there was this connection, everyone said it was special."

"And so you thought: I like you, now I'll have sex with you?"

"No, we weren't that animalistic," Scott laughed. "It was a guy Avi knew who was throwing this huge party, and cause me and Avi were tight we were able to go. That was the first night I got properly shit-faced, me and Issy both, like you think I was bad last night, it was nothing compared to then. Neither of us could remember a second of that night but the next thing we do know is that she's pregnant and I was probably the father; later confirmed with a good ol' DNA test."

And I guess if Isabella was as devoted to God as her name was, an abortion wouldn't have been on the list. It always was such a tricky one, when kids started having kids before they'd finished fully growing up themselves. Mitch had never really had a strong opinion on the issue before and now he still wasn't quite sure where he stood.

"You remained in contact then?" he asked.

"Yeah absolutely, we were good friends like I said, having Fox didn't change that," Scott told him. "But we both had to grow up and she was a hell of a lot better at it than me. It was almost like she had two kids to raise. I was an idiot."

"Nothing much has changed on that front either."

The muscles in the taller man's jaw clenched, the obvious criticism harsh to his ears, but then he sighed. "I deserved that," he conceded. "She was the star. Issy was an amazing mom. She was only eighteen when she had Fox but age or experience meant nothing. Basically raised him single handedly for the first fourteen months of his life. Took him to all the doctor's appointments and mom and baby classes and this little duckling thing where they get babies swimming laps before they can crawl."

A dark look came across his face, clear blue skies clouding over until Scott's eyes were practically stormy. "And I wasn't there for any of it. Or hardly any of it," he bleakly recalled. "I was no help at all, too busy pretending I still had no real responsibility." He paused and looked up to Mitch with a wistful expression. "I've tried my hardest to raise him to be honest, responsible, open minded..." Another pause and a shadow of the wry smile Mitch had grown used to, as the blond added, "Humorous," to the list.

"I can never do as good a job as she would have though," he admitted. "If I could go back in time and I dunno...just have been there more, who knows how things would've turned out?" He scratched a hand across the back of his head, hair falling in front of his eyes as he tilted his head down. "But we live with the choices we make," he stated.

"How did it happen?" Scott was in the talking mood and Mitch knew he might not get another chance for a while if he didn't ask the question now.

"She'd taken him away for a few days, to a friend's house in Nevada; looking back she probably went for a break to get some help with metal man. At the time I had the audacity to say something like: "oh I wish I could go on vacation once in a while"– I know, I know, I hate me too," Scott quickly announced when he saw Mitch glaring at him. "So she was driving back in the evening on the interstate when all of a sudden," he smashed his hands together, making Mitch flinch slightly. "Car's rolled over into a ditch, you should have seen it, how anyone could have survived..." he squeezed his eyes tight shut at the memory. "Issy was pronounced dead at the scene and metal man was airlifted to the nearest hospital."

"And his leg..." Mitch mused, everything finally slotting into place.

"He was so tiny," Scott whispered, blinking away tears. "The doctors did everything they could for him and I'm forever grateful they saved his life, who cares if he's one limb short, y'know?"

"It's expensive though."

"Yeah. No shit," Scott deadpanned, causing the younger man to lower his gaze in embarrassment, like he was the new guy at work again. "He was in there for nearly two months, fourteen months when he went in and sixteen months when he came out. Spoke his first proper words in a hospital ward and then had to re-learn to walk again when he'd barely started in the first place."

"Things were meant to get better after that, right?" Mitch murmured, predicting what the blond's thoughts would have been at the time. "You weren't going to let anything bad to him."

Scott collapsed onto the counter, burying his head in his arms. "I know I'm a failure," he mumbled. "I know I'm not very good at being a dad, most might say awful. But what can I say? I do honestly try. I've tried so fucking hard."

Not hard enough. He certainly hadn't been trying hard last night, just like his own dad hadn't tried very hard, all those nights a crying little boy had gone knocking on his door...

Scott raised his head, having secretly wiped away any tears for now, his hair even more dishevelled than before. "I want what's best for him y'know? And maybe that means giving him up but... I'm all he's got. And he's all I got. Without him life would just be...meh," he decided.

"It appears you're walking a thin line with that one, you realize?"

"I do," he answered sincerely, picking up a spoon and swirling around his remaining amount of coffee, bubbling up frothy images that only he could decipher and interpret. "I dunno, sometimes it feels like I'm stuck in a never ending cycle Mitchy. Kids cost money and he costs more than most, although I'd never blame him. Never," he said firmly. "Money means long hours and long hours means stress and stress means...well, you've seen where that takes me."

I've probably seen more than you, seeing as you don't remember much of it yourself.

"I would give him the world if I could. And the whole plan I told you about, with Mestizo's, y'know the one that's probably extremely stupid. Y'know what the driving force behind that is? The real driving force?"

"Money?"

"No, well, yeah I guess, but money for a future for Fox." The smile was back on Scott's face but Mitch could see the quiver behind it. "He wants to be a soccer player, he loves it so much, and I am damn well going to make sure his dream can come true," the blond vowed. "I'd love to take him to Tokyo in 2020 for the Paralympics, it would be such an inspiration for him." His smile dropped a little as he met Mitch's gaze, able to hold it for longer once more, no more quite as skittish. "Kid's need that don't they? People they can idolize, and I know I'm certainly not up for that role."

And then the quiet muttering started up again, although this time Mitch had to strain to hear what was being said and even then he wasn't quite sure. "I gotta thing...summin' not quite right...they all saw it."

He frowned. The more he learned about Scott, the less he felt he knew him, but if there was one thing he could be sure of, it was that he wasn't just a typical layabout dad who's biggest care in the world was his football team's success. No, there was so much more to him than that, Mitch just hand't figured out yet if what was lying under the surface was good or bad.

"I think you can do it," he told him honestly.

"Huh?" Scott looked at him with confusion, the tiny beads having eventually made themselves visible in the corners of his eyes. A man at the end of his rope.

Mitch didn't mention or refer to them, no matter what anger he still felt towards the man, it wouldn't justify belittling him for crying at this moment. "The restaurant. I think you can do it," he clarified instead. "You're clearly determined and smart when you want to be. Plus the others seem to look up to you for some reason." He took a deep breath as Scott listened to his every word with an awed expression. "It's doable. It might even be great, you never know."

"You mean that?" The blond swallowed hard as Mitch nodded. "You," he waved a long finger at the younger man, shaking his head in astonishment. "You're a great man Mitchy, you know that." He let out a breathy laugh. "I can see in your eyes that you don't believe me when I say it but that is not a lie. I'm all lied out." His smile grew until it almost reached his eyes. "I've never met anyone quite like you. So caring and honest and willing to listen...maybe you should be my idol," he finished cheekily.

"Yeah whatever," Mitch stood up. He didn't like the feeling that the conversation was being switched back to focus onto him and besides, they had to both be at work soon. "Can I take a quick shower?" he asked, already heading upstairs, not really going to take no for an answer.

"Be my guest." Scott's gaze wondered up and down what must have been a pretty shabby appearance. "I would offer you some clothes but..."

Mitch simply flipped him the middle finger. He really wasn't in the mood to hear any height jokes. He got enough of those from Avi who was barely any taller than him anyway! It was the hat, Mitch decided, he gets to wear a taller hat than me.

Having possibly taken the quickest shower he'd ever had in his lifetime, Mitch regrettably hurried back downstairs in the same old clothes and hair that was going to be disastrous after a few hours of sweltering kitchen heat. Entering the kitchen again he was just in time to catch Fox walk back in casually and hand his dirty plate to his father, who poked his tongue out at him.

"Oh so I'm the dishwasher now I see."

The four year old shrugged. "Yep," he retorted, turning around and beginning to sidle off.

"Hey, come back here sticky fingers!" Scott ordered, lunging forward and picking the boy up. "Mm, they're tasty," he said, smelling the boy's hands. "Maybe I should bite them off!"

The boy shrieked and desperately tried to wriggle away. "I'll wash them, I'll wash them!" he declared in plea, laughing as Scott mimed snapping at his tiny hands before sitting him on the counter by the sink.

Turning to him now his son was occupied, Scott informed, "We'll get the bus at the same time as Foxy...that is if you want to go in with me."

Mitch rolled his eyes. "Well I'm hardly going to wait another twenty minutes for the next one, am I?"

The taller man seemed a bit taken aback by the sarcasm but nodded his head once in confirmation. "Right, yeah...cool." He turned and clicked his back, making Mitch grimace.

I hate it when people do that. He was pretty sure if he attempted that he would just snap in half.

Scott gave his son's arm a gentle tap. "C'mon metal man, show me how awesome you are at tying up your laces."

Mitch stood back as father and son charged past him, casting his gaze in the direction of the stool Scott had sat on that morning, spilling his life story to him, or at least the part he was willing to give away. Those moments of mumbling to himself, Mitch had experienced a few of those himself, usually in front of a mirror though, and the words used were a lot bluer.

He really didn't know what to do. He'd said to Scott he'd let this one incident slide but even the man had admitted himself that this was at least the third time he'd left Fox on his own. True, the boy was remarkably mature, just like Mitch had been at a similar age, but that was no excuse. Could he really trust Scott to miraculously become perfect all of a sudden? No. Really, the question was: How long was he willing to wait?

His brown eyes wandered from the stool to the fridge a few feet behind, one covered in paintings, take away flyers and numbers for various people Mitch didn't know...all except one.

"You ready Mitchy?" Scott called to him from the hallway but Mitch was deaf to him as he walked over and stared at the small slip of paper partially hidden by a drawing of a half lion half dragon creature.

This was his chance, his chance to make sure that another young boy didn't grow up to be...someone like him. Reflexes doing the work for him, he reached out and tore the note from the fridge door, holding it in the palm of his hand, pausing as he fretted if this was really the right thing to do.

Memories of last night came back to haunt him, that voice...Daddy? Daddy? Or perhaps it was a voice from many years past. Daddy!

"Mitch?" Scott calling out to him again jolted him back to the present and the young man spent one last lingering look at the slip of paper before closing his fist tightly around it.

"Coming," he responded, walking swiftly out of the kitchen and through the house into the welcoming sunlight.

He placed a hand on the little shoulder next to him. "Bye Fox."

"Bye Mitchy!" The boy surprised the man by wrapping his arms tightly around his legs and giving him a tight hug. "Thank you for staying last night, you're the best. Those shadows were real scared of you." Fox's sentence disintegrated into a scream as Scott, who'd been locking up, came up behind him and swung him over his shoulder. "Daddy put me down!"

"Put what down?"

"Me!"

Scott spun around, fake confusion plastered over his face. "Where are you?"

"Behind you!" Fox laughed, slapping his hand on the man's back.

"I dunno, I can't see you," he assured, dropping the boy down so his head was peaking out between his legs, little face red from the blood rush. "Oh there you are! What on earth were you doing there?" Scott exclaimed, lowering the giggling boy carefully onto the grass. "Put it there metal man," he said, holding his fist out.

Fox gave him a huge gap-toothed grin and met his father's fist with his much smaller one. "Squeezy kiss Daddy!" he then demanded, leaning forward so he could give him a sweet kiss on the lips, the man making a big "mwah" noise as they did so, causing the boy to start laughing again.

"Bye buddy," Scott said afterwards, standing up as the pre-k bus pulled up just down the road and raising his hand to the vendor in acknowledgement. "Remember: be good, be kind, be mischievous."

The little boy gave him two thumbs up. "Always!" he promised, starting to slowly walk away.

"Love ya this much," Scott told him, holding his palms up about a foot apart from each other.

"Love ya this much," Fox countered, stretching his arms as wide as they could possibly go. It wasn't very far.

His father grinned. "Well I love you this much," he shot back, copying the action. "My arms are longer so I win."

Not one to be outdone, Fox picked up his pace, running to the waiting bus, shouting: "But I love you thiiiis muuuuch!" all the way there.

Scott laughed and shook his head in fondness as he turned to face Mitch who had been silently observing the whole interaction with interest. "Okay?" he asked.

Mitch nodded and Scott shrugged off his silence. "Alright, let's be off then," he huffed, pulling his bag higher up his shoulder and starting off down the sidewalk to where their bus would soon be pulling up to.

The younger man followed slightly behind and Scott made no attempt to get them to walk together. From where he was, Mitch noticed that the blond still in fact had syrup in his hair, the golden liquid dried solid so the locks were left matted together.

Making sure Scott was still intent on facing forwards, he cautiously moved his hand to his pocket in order to check that piece of paper was still there, safely secure. He better not lose it, he was going to need it for later.

Thank you everybody for all the support on this story!