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The pattering across creaky floorboards could be heard a mile away, and John prayed to every god in the universe that the racket wouldn't come any closer. Just in case a wayward rascal decided to enter the bedroom not yet visited by morning sunlight, he took the precaution of covering his head with a pillow. Hopefully, that could be interpreted as 'don't bother me'. Sarah shifted next to him, not that she seemed to hear the staccato steps until they were right behind their door.
"Psst. Pa."
"Jimbo, yer bedroom best be on fire," the cyborg grumbled groggily from beneath the not-so soundproof cushion.
The scampering footfalls came up to the bedside. There was a hard prod on John's shoulder. "You promised..."
"Not at th' arse-crack o' dawn. Later boy, later."
Jim huffed, and concluded the only way to get the Ursid off his feet was by continuously poking him- and by doing so he was literally poking the bear who'd much rather snooze until midday.
At the hundredth annoying poke, John yanked off the pillow but otherwise stayed down, letting his robotic eye turn red in warning. "James, go back ta bed or so help me..."
Ever rebellious, the eleven-year-old gave one, deliberate prod, whispering, "I'll tell Ma you lied to me."
His father rose a brow; it'd take a little more than that to intimidate him.
"... and I'll tell her you broke her best pitcher doing that magic trick."
At that threat, John perked his pointed ear and rose his head a little. The boy couldn't be serious.
Jim crossed his arms, smug as a thieving felid. Seemed pretty serious.
The cyborg worriedly glanced behind him, then hissed at his son, "I thought we agreed that lil' incident would be swept under th' rug!"
"I'm gonna tell her," Jim taunted, relishing his new power with a superior lolling of his tongue and cross of his arms.
Badly enough, Sarah got up on an elbow, blearily rubbing her crazy bedhead (Jim knew better than to think that was from a regular night; he counted eight empty wine bottles in the disposer). "Mm, what's going on, you two?" she murmured.
"Pa wanted to tell you something," Jim chirped innocently, while his father mouthed darkly, "I'm gonna kill you."
Sarah raised a brow, blissfully aware of the usurpation of hierarchy as she nuzzled into her husband's nape. "What'd you want to say to me, honey?"
With a harrumph, John rose up on his organic elbow. "Nothin' y'won't hear tonight, love. Me 'n Jimbo 're gonna 'ave a lil' mornin' escapade in Calypso Canyon, that's all."
"Yes!" The boy rapid-fire fist-pumped the air, each punch tagged with an excited, "Yes, yes, yesss!"
Sarah didn't need to be given the details as her son practically bounced off the walls of the room. She settled back down in the sheets, arm over her eyes. With her other, she patted the Ursid's tattooed back, mentioning, "Hey, don't kill our son, okay?"
John almost twisted his mechanical arm harder than he needed into the socket. "Aheh, love, why I'd never," he chuckled, the corner of his mouth slipping down when Jim stopped his celebrating to smirk. What a little squit.
Well, he was his little squit.
Restless, Jim tugged and zoomed around his father, who was purposefully taking his sweet time to get ready. "Come on, come on! Time's wasting!"
"Only thin' wastin's me patience, pup." It was a bite with no bark since the missus was present and John wouldn't dare strike a hair on his child's head (as much as the imp prompted him to at times. He'd wait until Jim's thick skull developed fully).
The cyborg pressed a button on his peg. Mechanisms clicked and hydraulics pumped, extending the prosthetic. Once his father was decently awake and shrugged on his long coat, Jim dashed out into the hall, shouting with supersonic speed, "ByMomloveyou!"
"James Pleiades Silver, I do believe yer mum deserves a better farewell!" John yelled after him.
Shoulders hunched, Jim did an about-turn on his heel and trudged back into the bedroom.
Sarah held out her arms, smiling and kissing her son's head. Her reminder of the day was: "Be safe, don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"Mom, that's like, everything," Jim muttered.
"Hey, that's not true. I can do loads of cool things."
"What, like washing dishes?"
"She does make a mean starfruit pie," John imparted with a playful grin.
It was Sarah's turn to use the pillow to emphasize her dwindling energy. "Mmhm, have fun you two." Her husband attempted to give her a goodbye kiss but instead received a palm to the lips.
"Alrighty, Jimbo, off we go." John ushered him out, shutting the door behind him. There was a comfortable dimness in the hallway, but he scanned the area as if looking for something. "Ey, where be Morphy?"
"Right here." Jim pointed to his sling bag. A pair of droopy eyes blinked out of a leather pouch, followed by a sleepy chitter.
John rubbed the shapeshifter's blobby head. "Looks like th' poor fella woke up on the wrong side'a the bed." His look to Jim was meant to be scolding, but a smirk curled instead. "Or maybe some lil' urchin woke 'im up b'fore he was due."
Jim snickered, taking the staircase down to the dining room and conjoined kitchen two steps at a time. "I'm sorry, Pa, I just couldn't help it. You said I'm old enough now for Solar Surfing and you'd teach me whenever I'd like. Now is when I want to learn."
His father stifled a yawn, donning his black tricorn hat as they stepped out into a new day being born. "And ya wanna learn while the whole world's sleepin'?"
"Yep." Jim held his father's paw of a hand, blinking up at him with big blue eyes. "So it's just me and you."
By the stars, when he wasn't outsmarting him for a giggle, the boy played his cards right in making John feel like he'd do anything, even kill for him. He tried not to smile again, but dammit, there was no way to plug up his overflowing love for Jim. "Yer quite a sappy piece'a sentiment for a preteen," he said, nudging him with an arm.
Jim nudged him back. "And you're bad at being tough."
"I know, lad, soft as a ripe purp I am."
"What y'wanna do is lean. Leanin' will get ya to pick up speed, catching the rays when they reflect offa the sail. Got that, Jimbo?"
Jim was tense as a tiger ready to pounce as he clutched the circular boom. Though the Surfer they'd built together wasn't powered on and the sun was taking about as much time to rise as his father had done, the boy stared down the craggy canyon landscape as if in a contest of bravery. "I'm ready," he said.
John expressed irritation, rolling his eyes. "Ya ain't gon' sail yet."
"What?" Jim cried indignantly, whipping around. "Why not?"
"Bein' impatient ain't gonna get ya anywhere. Plus, ya don't have what every good surfer has."
To demonstrate, he took hold of the boom and gave the contraption one hard shake. Jim would have winded up face-planted on the ground if his father hadn't caught him by his jacket collar. "See now? Ya ain't ready, ya gotta build yer sailin' legs."
"What's that?" Jim said, already bored. He had the potential of being a great learner, John knew it. His ambition was just blinded by constant carelessness. Stars help him to teach the young fool, because he didn't want to have him end up behind bars or worse, in a hospital with missing limbs.
John hardened his expression. "Up in space there ain't no sorta gravity, and it can seem that way when yer clockin' velocities faster 'n light. But there be plenty gravity 'ere and on a ship with th' artificial type, and ya need ta master balance or you'll crack yer egg open." He scratched his cheek, a habit he did when he had to tell the boy something he wouldn't like. "It's lookin' ta me like you need to learn that before y'start flyin'."
Jim sagged but didn't argue. He got back on the board, holding onto the rail like he was saying goodbye. After a quiet, solemn moment that nearly broke his father's heart in two, Jim asked, "When did you learn to Solar Surf?"
John had been expecting that question. Why'd he not know what to say? Clearing his throat, he inspected the handiwork of the craft, trudging around it. "Eh, I used to Surf with a couple'a mates. We ah- we did it fer money."
"Really?" Jim craned his neck around the sail to see him better. "Like in competitions?"
"Sure." As if betting in black-market grounds could be called a friendly sport.
"Who taught you? Did your poppa teach you?"
"Nah. M'brother did."
Jim became intensely curious. "Pa, you have a brother? I didn't know that."
"Mm, nearly forgot that m'self." The cyborg switched his mechanical digits into a screwdriver, though nothing on the Solar Surfer needed screwing. Pretending to be busy just made Jim even more adamant about knowing.
"Did you guys Surf together? Was it fun?"
"Sometimes. As I said, we did it fer money, but that shouldn't ever be a reason ta do anythin', y'hear me James?"
When John flickered his eyes up to the boy's, he noticed he'd grown quiet. He understood. Good.
"Did anyone ever get hurt?" Jim whispered.
"Best not trouble yourself over it lad," John dismissed, getting up and ruffling his son's short, shaven hair. "Now. Ya wanna get yer sailin' legs or not?"
Jim smiled, getting back into position. After improving his stance and reviewing important terms, John startled Jim by starting up the Surfer. The boy wobbled, clinging on as if it was a beast awoken from its slumber. "Whoa! Pa, I thought you said I couldn't surf!"
"Aye, I did." John stood in front of him and the hovering vehicle. "Let's just get ya used to yer pocket of antigravity. Focus on me, Jim. Lean, imagine where you wanna carve the air an' capture the sunlight."
"I-I.." Jim was gripping hard onto the boom, knuckles white and feet spread out, glued to the board. He tried looking at his father, but every twitch from his legs made the board sway unevenly, making it tricky.
"Relax yer body, breathe now. Yer Surfer is none too different than a ship. Ya steer her where ye want an' wherever she can reach. Y'merge with her, become one. She gives ya the wings o' freedom."
Freedom. That seized the boy's attention, and without knowing, he was standing straighter. Hearing the ringing freedom call, as John recalled it from so long ago.
"There ye are, Jimbo," John praised, fists on his hips. "A true Surfer. Y'got great promise."
His boy glowed, shining brighter than the sun's golden glory.