Work Text:
“Now, look at that, Keith. I told you the day would go by fast.”
The words breezed over Keith’s head, drawing no more notice from him than the touch of a butterfly’s wings. Stretched full-out on the floor, one arm holding down his paper, the boy was coloring a hazy background to show off the brightly-colored fire truck he had drawn for his dad.
Wilma couldn’t help but shake her head; he was like a cat the way he could curl up and stretch out and at times, seem to be completely boneless. “Oh, to be young again,” she muttered, turning her focus back to her knitting.
Keith was laser-focused, the tip of his tongue peeking out on one side of his mouth. If he wasn’t careful, he knew he might get crayon on the floor, which was a bad thing. He paused, pulling back to look at his picture, face relaxing into a smile. It was nearly perfect: the lines of the truck practically vibrated as it screeched around a corner on its mission to deliver firemen to the next fire.
But the firemen…Keith frowned at the stick figures wearing long yellow coats with big red hats. He wasn’t so great at drawing firemen. They always came out looking silly, which was nothing like what they were in real life. Firemen were so cool and—
“Hey buddy!” Keith froze. Pop was here already? In seconds he was on his feet, zooming across the room and launching himself into his pop’s arms.
“Whoa, short stuff. Take it easy on your old man.” Keith grinned. His father’s arms felt strong and sturdy around him even though Keith had jumped at him as hard as he could. It was a kind of game with them. Sometimes it seemed like his pop was about to lose his balance, like maybe Keith was getting so big and strong that he nearly knocked him over. But nah, his Pop was built like a mountain—tall, strong and unyielding.
“Pop,” Keith said in a low tone, wanting to bury himself in that smell of smoke and sweat that was his father. “I was coloring your truck.”
Tex smiled. The letter “r” still gave Keith a little trouble sometimes, so “coloring your truck” sounded closer to “colowing your twuck.” Tex was supposed to always correct Keith when he said things like that but…it was just so darn cute.
The man pulled back to look in his eyes. “You were coloring so hard you didn’t even hear me come in. Were you having that much fun?”
Keith pursed his lips and slid a glance back to Aunt Wilma. She was looking at him encouragingly, waiting for his answer. “Wanna go home,” he said quietly.
“Is something wrong, buddy?”
“I thought we had a good day today, Keith,” said Aunt Wilma, drawing closer to put a hand on his back. “Are you upset at me over the brownies?”
Keith squirmed at the touch and shook his head. It wasn’t the fact that she was out of brownies. And it wasn’t Aunt Wilma—she was nice. It was her house that bothered Keith. It was dark and too shady and it smelled like…weird stuff. Not like home, where there was lots of bright sunshine and tall ceilings and red dust creeping in the corners and stuff that smelled like home and maybe a bit like smoke.
“He’s all right. Just a little shy, that’s all. He’ll be ready to come back next week. Right, Little Tex?” Keith nodded. Little Tex was his name because people called his pop Big Tex. No one was bigger or stronger than his pop. Wait, did he say...
“What day is tomowow?” Keith asked.
“It’s Saturday, of course, the best dadgum day of the week,” Big Tex said.
Keith felt such a surge of joy that he was fairly choked by it. He had tried so hard to be good today, and imagined that if he was super good then tomorrow might be Saturday, because he never could seem to know what all adults knew—what came next. And he’d been right!
Tomorrow was Saturday and they could stay home together and Pop might make pancakes if he felt like it and take him hiking or camping or swimming in the creek if there was water. Or out to the highest plateau in the desert, where you could see for miles and feel so safe because you could see if anyone was coming or if a storm was threatening. It was so cool being out there with his pop, just the two of them.
He couldn’t put all of that into words. Instead, Keith hiked both of his legs up, put his feet against his pop’s belt and flipped out of his arms. "Whoo-hooo!”
“Oh my, someone’s excited,” he heard Aunt Wilma say as he stretched out in midair, but she didn’t try to stop him. Neither did his pop because he knew better. Keith landed lightly and easily on his feet, then zoomed back over to grab his picture.
“Next time, a little warning would be nice before you go all ninja on me,” Big Tex said with a grin.
“I’m just glad he knows better than to try that when it’s just us here. I think I’d have a heart attack,” Aunt Wilma said, hand over her heart.
“Look,” Keith said, thrusting his picture at his pop, then zipping back over to clean up his crayons. In his head, he was thinking about hiking and making cactus canteens and roasting meat from any critters they caught. They might camp! It would just be him and his pop all night long!
Aunt Wilma helped him close his box of crayons the right way, and then stowed them along with the rest of Keith’s things in his red canvas backpack. That meant it was really time to go.
The first time Keith had seen the backpack, he had been excited about what it might have in it, but now he knew it only had a change of clothes and a water bottle and his sleeping blanket, which he’d had since he was a baby. It was a soft brown color and he used it to make him calm and to feel safe. Sometimes he could leave it at home, but usually, it came with him, just in case he missed his pop too much.
“Thanks, again, Wilma. Here’s part of what I owe. You’ll get the rest next week—oof!” he said as Keith jumped up in his arms again.
“Ya’ll have a good night and a good weekend, ya’ hear?”
“Best weekend ever, right, buddy?” his pop asked as he strode on his long legs toward his silver Chevy.
Keith raised himself as high as he could and hollered.
Later that night...
Tex paused in his reading. “Hey buddy? You need some help?” he called out toward the corner bedroom.
The soft sounds paused and a minute later, Keith wandered out of his room, holding a purple car in one hand and wiping tears away with his other. Tiny, hiccupping sobs shook his frame as he trudged over and leaned against his pop.
Stricken by the boy’s demeanor, Tex picked him up and deposited him in his lap. “I’m sorry I can’t play cars with you right now. I have to finish going over these safety guidelines before I do anything else. Won’t take much longer, I promise. And then we’ll play cars as long as you want. And after that—pancakes for dinner!”
“O-okay, it’s…just…”
As Keith trailed off, his pop frowned. “Last I saw of you, all your cars and trucks were in the straightest line I’ve ever seen and you were perfectly happy.”
“I was, but then…”
“Then what?” Keith leaned sideways against his pop’s chest. Tex sighed. “Take your time, buddy; no rush. Really, I’d rather sit like this for an hour than read this horseshit…sorry, horse manure.”
At any other time, Keith would have been delighted with Pop letting a bad word slip, but now he had other things on his mind—important things. Keith chewed on his bottom lip and finally grew brave enough to try and say it. “I wanted the cars and twucks all in gwoups. So I put all the wed ones together and counted six. And I put all four of the blue ones together and then all the…all the owange ones together…and the thwee gween ones…and then the thwee black ones. But the purple…”
“Is that one of them in your hand?” Keith nodded and held up the lurid purple hot rod, questionably decorated with bright pink flames down each side. “Isn’t that one of your favorites?”
“Yes, but it’s…it’s the only one,” he said, chin quivering. “There are no other…purple cars. It’s all alone.” Manfully, he tried to meet Pop’s eyes, but broke and began sobbing, falling forward to clutch at his pop’s shirt.
Tex scoured his mind to make sense of that as his arms automatically encircled the boy. “You only have one purple car? Really?” Purple was one of Keith’s favorite colors and one of Tex’s favorites, too, with good reason.
“Yes,” Keith said in a muffled voice, “and it’s sad. Poor…little car.”
Tex leaned his head back against the recliner, forced to once again face up to the fact that his son was a bit of a mystery to him. So much emotion and caring for a toy, even if it was a purple one. He was almost afraid to ask the question: how much of this was just normal kid stuff and how much of it was half-alien biology exercising itself out in a five-year-old body?
There was no way of knowing. Keith was unique, the only one of his kind as far as Tex knew. Was that why Keith had turned his entire life on its axis, in the same way that meeting Krolia had done, or was it that way for all first-time fathers?
One day, he would tell Keith all about his mother, how strong she was, how beautiful and noble and how her mission was the only thing that could have pried her from his side. She loved her son so much and Keith was missing her all the time, he just didn't know it.
Aw hell, Tex thought, getting teary-eyed himself. He pulled his small son closer and the boy curled up in his arms like he was made to fit there. “Son, I have no idea how that happened, but I’m pretty sure we can go into town tomorrow and find another purple car. Would that help?”
Keith nodded but didn’t move away from his pop. He seemed to derive as much reassurance from the cuddling as the promise.
“Your heart is loud,” Keith murmured eventually. The car was clutched in his fist and Tex had a feeling it was going to stay there the rest of the night. Keith, like his mom, was one of the most loyal people Tex had ever known.
He hoped like hell that she made it back one day to see her boy. She would be so proud.