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"I’m with you, you know that.”
“Do I /really/ know that?”
Spy prays to half a dozen gods that Scout doesn’t start this argument again. The kitchen is far from a private space, and Spy is still in his robe, meaning he cannot simply stab Scout to forcibly postpone the unfortunate discussion.
“After all, you went behind my back, behind my damn /ma’s/ back, and-”
The gods delight in Spy’s suffering, as they have for the past 40-something years of his existence. Spy should’ve known better than to expect anything but the worst.
“Are you listening? You- you ruin my life and you’re not even /listening/ to me!”
“I am listening. I am, however, ignoring you.” Spy sighs, already nursing a headache. “It is too early for this, mon fils. I have already apologized.. how many times?”
“Twenty seven.”
“I have apologized twenty seven times in the past two weeks. Is that not enough for you?”
“How many apologies do you think would make up for 24 years of being a deadbeat dad?”
Spy groans, pouring his cup of coffee. He loves Scout, he really does, but why did he have to inherit his mother’s temperament? This would be so much easier if he didn’t raise hell the same way she does. He even has that same fire in his eyes…
“What can I do to make it up to you?”
“There’s nothing /you/ can do to fix this. Not ever.”
“Okay.” Spy mutters, slipping a hand beneath his mask to tug at his hair. “Okay, I have a better question. What do you want me to do in order to make this up to your mother?”
Scout freezes, his eyes widening comically. He opens his mouth to speak, before hesitating and closing it again. After a long stretch of silence, he finally works up the courage to state,
“I want you to /never/ hurt her again.”
“I-” Spy starts, looking indignant at the accusation. Scout interrupts him immediately.
“No. I’m talking right now, alright?”
Spy pauses before nodding, though he doesn’t seem to enjoy it. Good. It’s what the bastard deserves. Nobody gets to play with his ma’s heart and get away with it. Much less right in front of her youngest son’s face.
“You might not realize this, asshole, but she had kids to raise. Hungry mouths to feed. She might not show it but having nobody to pitch in really freaking hurt.”
Spy’s stomach drops, guilt and dread killing his previous frustration. His fingers clench around his cup, nearly scalding them. He doesn’t notice.
“Especially ‘cause you left because you were too pussy to accept being a father. You left us out in the cold to go drink wine in France or some shit, and I never- and I mean /never-/ want you to hurt her like that again.”
Spy stares blankly, his forced neutral expression slowly falling into one of abject horror.
“Do you really think I just vanished on her? For no reason? Leaving her without /any support/ to raise 8 children?”
“Obviously.” Scout huffs dismissively.
Spy recoils, before shaking his head, visibly distraught. He knew Scout was upset with him, but the complete lack of trust still stung.
“I did not.” Spy murmurs, setting his cup on the counter and quickly forgetting it. “Scout, surely you understand-”
“Bullshit!”
“Just because I wasn’t /there/ doesn’t mean I didn’t support her.”
“Of course it means you didn’t support her!” Scout seethes, “She had /nobody/ to wipe her tears, or tell her it would be okay! She worked /three freaking jobs/ to keep up with your shitshow.”
“Yes, how I wish she hadn’t.” Spy sighs, “I worked as hard as I did /specifically/ so she didn't have to. But your mother is a stubborn woman.”
“Don’t you dare say /anything/ about my ma-”
“It is a compliment.” Spy amends, “She is a strong woman. Perhaps too strong for her own good.”
“Yeah?” Scout stews on that for a long moment, before huffing. “Yeah, whatever man. You never deserved her.”
Spy winces, the bitter words cutting deeper than the sharpest knife ever could.
“You’re right.”
“What?”
“You’re right. I did not deserve her.” Spy murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I tried my best to do right by her.”
Spy turns away, setting his jaw against the stinging tears threatening to form.
“I have not done as much as I possibly could have. I can acknowledge that. But every last thing I’ve done since that night have been for her. And, by extension, for you.”
He shudders, a traitorous sob dying in his throat.
“You do not have to forgive me.” Spy chuckles, but it sounds hollow, even to him. “Sometimes even /I/ don’t forgive me. But rest assured I am exactly as invested in her happiness as you are.”
“That’s..” Scout hesitates, sympathy lacing his features. “That’s all I can ask for.”
“That is what I will continue to do.”
Scout nods, before taking a step back, staring intently at the wall.
“You’re still not forgiven, you know that, right?”
“I can live with that.” Spy murmurs, before picking up his lukewarm cup of coffee. “Thank you, Jeremy.”
“For what?”
“For caring for your mother as much as you do.” Spy’s voice breaks, though he forces himself to continue, “I don’t think she /truly/ had nobody to soothe her. Not with you around.”
And with that, Spy turns and leaves before Scout can see him cry, nursing the cracked remnants of his stoic façade.