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Francis Monogram isn’t sure when things got back to normal between him and Monty; he only notices that his son is suddenly back to spending all his spare time at the agency again after having spent practically the entire year avoiding him. Things have been awkward between them since the divorce proceedings began. Monty had chosen his mother’s side (not that Francis could entirely blame him), and it had stung. Since his son was an adult, there wasn’t any kind of custody option. It was all up to Monty’s own choice. And his son had chosen to avoid him.
But he’s back now, as if nothing had happened. Here he is, perched at Carl’s computer station, leaning against the monitor and laughing at something the intern had said a moment ago. A flash of irritation courses through Francis. His intern is not that funny. And his son is distracting him from his duties. He’s at half a mind to march up to them and pull Monty away, to demand he spend time with him, to ask what he’s doing here, to ask how he’s doing. To find out literally anything about his only child’s life.
But something holds him back. Guilt, he supposes. So he sits there, stewing in his self-pity and waiting for his agent briefings to begin. Carl interrupts his brooding with a nasally, shrieking laugh and Monogram raises his unibrow. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t heard him laugh that hard… ever. And he’s heard Carl laugh fairly often. He takes a good look at his son and his intern, realizing that he has no idea when they became such good friends. He can’t remember them being that close in high school. Or even last year. And yet here they are, acting thick as thieves.
The monitor beeps, and he looks up to see that Agent A has arrived. Carl sits up quickly, eyes trained to the screen and pulling up the inserts, completely focused on his work. Satisfied by this return to normal behavior, Francis turns to his agents.
Between briefings, Monty and Carl go back to their conversation. There’s a smile perpetually tugging at Monty’s lips that Monogram hasn’t seen in a long time and that makes his heart ache with longing for a closeness with his son that if he’s being honest, he’s never really had.
From briefings A-Z, his son’s eyes never leave his intern. Even when Carl dutifully turns to his work, Monty is still watching him with that same smile on his face.
Francis Monogram begins to feel the stirrings of discomfort in his soul. Surely… Surely not.
Of course not. Monty’s with Vanessa still, isn’t he? And he’s straight. Monogram knows his son. And he, of all people, would know if Monty was… if he was.
He won’t allow himself to finish that thought as painful memories surge through him. A lifetime of denial and repression. He steals another glance at the two boys. If he’s being honest, he’s had his suspicions about Carl for a long time. The kid hasn’t said anything to him, and he hasn’t said anything to him in turn. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to handle it if he did.
No. Monty is straight. Carl is… well, even if Carl isn’t, there’s no way his feelings would be reciprocated. And this thought brings to surface a whole new wave of familiar pain. He’s always seen a bit too much of himself in the intern. Or, rather, the person he wishes he’d been able to be. If Carl is… and if he does have feelings for Monty…
He can’t think about this. He can’t.
He throws himself back into his work, and pointedly ignores the twin goofy grins sported by his son and his intern. He doesn’t have the emotional capacity to process this.
So he won’t.
Unfortunately, they prove difficult to ignore as the days pass by.
Monty sits with Carl at lunch, and the intern leans his head forward into the palm of his hand with a discomfortingly soft, familiar expression as he listens intently to everything he says. Francis walks out halfway through, unable to stomach it.
And the next day, Monty is back at the agency making that same expression the intern had sported while he watches Carl work.
After the third day, when the central heating system breaks down and Monty bequeaths a shivering Carl his hoodie, Major Monogram has had about enough of this. He pulls Carl aside into his office after briefings are done and whips around to yell at him. He knows the intern is the weakest link, that at the end of the day he’ll do whatever his superior tells him.
He lies. Tells Carl that he’s been sloppy and distracted these past few days, that he needs to focus his energy on his work. Rants and raves about nothing in particular, watches the blood drain from the intern’s face as his eyes grow wide behind his glasses. He stumbles over muttered apologies at the end of it all, to the point Monogram actually feels kind of bad for the kid and wonders if he’s doing the right thing here. He sends him off with a few lame words of platitudes, clapping him lightly on the back and telling him he knows he can trust him to get his work back to its usual standards. Carl nods, exiting the room while refusing to meet his eyes, shrugging the hoodie off miserably, and Francis sits down at his desk to bury his head in his hands, conflicted.
He’s not surprised when Monty barges into his office later (once again wearing his hoodie), although he is a bit surprised by the degree of fury in his normally laid-back son, who glowers at him with hands on hips and eyes blazing.
“Cut the crap, Dad,” he snaps at him when Major Monogram’s mouth opens. “Carl hasn’t been behind on his work. You just don’t like that I’m giving him attention instead of you.”
”He told you that, did he?”
Monty scoffs. “Of course he did. I’m his—“ he hesitates here, and Francis freezes, heart thundering in his chest, but then his son seems to catch himself (is that a hint of fear in his eyes?), “—his friend. We tell each other everything.”
“And since when are you two so chummy?” Monogram blurts, unable to stop himself. “You avoid me all year and suddenly you’re back, chatting it up with my intern, with whom I can scarcely remember you conversing with before.”
“We started talking a lot more after last summer, when we were in school together.” Monty folds his arms across his chest. “Turns out we have a lot in common when you’re not pitting us against each other.”
”I beg your pardon?”
”Don’t think I didn’t miss all the times you bragged about me by belittling him.”
”It never seemed to bother you before!”
”Did you know the reason that my calls to you from home never went through were because he purposely cut them off?” Monty interjects, glowering at his father. Francis’s eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Monty waves him off. “Don’t punish him for it now; he doesn’t do it anymore. But his dislike for me was the result of your comparisons and the way you mistreat him.”
”He’s not my son,” Monogram mutters, and Monty scoffs, bitterness creeping into his tone.
”With as much time as you spend here with him, he might as well be.”
Monogram freezes, panic stirring inside of him. He doesn’t want to think about this. He doesn’t want to think about Carl. Not like this.
“I came to terms with the fact that you’re not some stellar father years ago, but the least you can do is not try to sabotage my relationship with Carl. I really like him, Dad. He’s a good friend. And you could stand to be a little kinder to him, too, with all the work that he does for you for free.” Francis’s blood boils a bit at this, and he jerks his head up sharply to try to lecture Monty, but the glare on his son’s face is enough to shut him up yet again. “He only puts up with it because he views you as a father.”
”He has his own father, doesn’t he? I’ve seen his files!” Monogram tosses his hands in the air, exasperated. “He’s got a father and a sister, so I don’t know why he needs another one along with a brother to boot.” Monty chokes a bit at this, and Major Monogram doesn’t want to think about this reaction. Monty’s straight, he’s straight, and Carl is—well. That one’s a little harder to deny. But he’s not dating his son, that’s for certain. He’s not.
Thankfully, Monty doesn’t correct him on it, only watches with a clenched jaw and nostrils flaring slightly as Francis continues, “His sister works at OWCA too; he could easily go on over to Wanda’s division during his lunch break to see her.” It was why he’d made the recommendation to hire her in the first place. For the kid to have some kind of support system in place. After the whole incident with the Ultimate Evilinator, he’d realized Carl needed someone should something like that ever happen again. He clearly hadn’t had the fortitude to overcome its influence on his own and, no matter what Monty said, he wasn’t Carl’s father, and the boy clearly didn’t consider him as such. Otherwise, the strength of their relationship would have snapped him out of it. But Evil Carl had only been cruel and dismissive towards his superior. Whatever affection he held for Major Monogram wasn’t enough.
Monty sighs, rubbing at his temples. “It’s not my place to speak on Carl’s relationship with his family.”
Major Monogram freezes in his tracks. “What does that mean?” He demands. He’d never actually considered…
”It means that if Carl wants to tell you about it, he will. It’s not my place.” Monty sighs. “Yes, he spends some time with Carla. But our relationship is different. He’s allowed to have more than one human friend that isn’t his sister or you.” Major Monogram opens his mouth, and Monty points at him. “And don’t pretend that this isn’t partly caused by some weird possessiveness over him as much as it is about me. I know you.” He inhales, fury once again creeping into his eyes along with a disgust that makes Francis curl inward a bit in shame. “Leave Carl alone. If you want to repair your relationship with me, make an effort, Dad. Don’t try to come for my relationships with other people. It’s not fair to me, and it’s not fair to Carl, and it’s not fair to Mom, either.” He tosses another glare at his father at this point as Monogram pales. “There’s a reason I took her side in this and you know it. There’s a reason I’ve been avoiding you. I love you, Dad, but I won’t let you control me. I’m not your intern, and my daddy issues aren’t bad enough for me to debase myself for you.”
There’s a sharp inhale at the door, and Francis raises his eyes as Monty whips around to see Carl standing there with his cart of mail deliveries, hurt in his gaze.
Monty’s face falls in instant regret. “Carl, I didn’t mean—“ But the intern has already turned and rushed down the hall, leaving the mail cart outside the door. Monty buries his face in his hands and moans. All Major Monogram can do is sit there as everything his son said washes over him. Is Monty right about him? Is this what he’s been doing? He heaves a heavy sigh. He doesn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with this.
He’s distracted from his thoughts when Monty lifts his head, gazing helplessly in the direction that Carl disappeared to as though he wants to go after him but isn’t quite sure how to make his legs move. He looks so forlorn that Francis desperately wants to offer some sense of help. It’s just that he has no idea what to say. He never has, not even during the few rare emotional outbursts that Monty had growing up. Still. He hates to see him like this.
So he offers, lamely, “He’ll forgive you.”
Monty just looks at him with disgust, shaking his head, and miserably, Francis wonders what he could have possibly said wrong this time.
“That’s the problem with you, Dad,” Monty says quietly. “You always center yourself. You never think about anyone else. I hurt him. That’s more important than my guilt.”
Francis is at a loss for words. Monty glances down at his feet, for the first time unable to even look his father in the eyes. Whatever problems he’s ever had with him, he’s always addressed them head-on, looking him in the eyes, head held high like a man. Like Francis always taught him. But there’s a strange degree of vulnerability about him that reminds Major Monogram of the child he once was, and his heart threatens to break in two when his son’s voice actually breaks on the next words, “I just wish you cared about anyone other than yourself.”
Francis’s eyes grow uncomfortably moist as Monty turns and leaves the room, head still hung and making odd, foreign sniffling sounds.
”Monty,” he calls after him stiffly, desperately attempting to keep his own voice steady. His son halts where he stands, placing a hand on the doorway, but doesn’t turn around.
“Is… Is everything okay between you and Vanessa?” Monty’s entire body freezes, hand gripping the panel of the door with such pressure that it reddens slightly.
Nervously, Monogram continues, “You haven’t mentioned her in a while, and I’m just… I want to know how you are, son. About your life. I—I’ve missed you.”
Monty doesn’t turn, only relaxes a fraction of an inch. “We broke up,” he says stiffly, before finally exiting the office and retreating down the hallway, leaving Francis’s world to continue its slow collapse all around him.
He spends the next hour or so in that same state of crisis, mind flickering frantically between one world-altering paradigm to the next. Several times, he attempts to get up, but finds that his legs aren’t working properly, so he remains seated, head still swirling.
When he finally manages to remain on his feet, having taken enough deep breaths to calm his mind and checking the mirror to see if any tear tracks remain (they don’t), he resolves himself to go make things right with Monty. His son is right; it’s time he be less selfish. He’s going to go to him and he’s going to apologize, and then he’s going to take him out to dinner tonight and just talk about whatever he needs, catch up, address the problems over the years, comfort him about Vanessa, maybe even breach the topic of… He falters a bit here. No. Monty’s straight. Carl is his friend that he’s latched onto in light of the breakup. He knows how his son cared for his girlfriend, in spite of his disapproval. Maybe that was an issue, too. He’ll support Monty’s friendship with Carl in a way that he didn’t support his relationship with Vanessa. He’ll be better. He surges forward, a newfound determination in him as he moves to search the halls of OWCA, checking all possible locations for him.
He’s just about exhausted all options when he stops to rest and scratch his head when he hears low, murmured voices coming from a nearby closet, of all things. Frowning, he presses his ear to the door. He hasn’t the faintest idea why his son would be in a closet, but he’s searched almost everywhere else that he can think of.
Surprisingly, the first voice that he hears belongs unquestionably to Carl. The intern’s voice is laced with anxiety and he sounds slightly stuffy, as though he’s been crying. “And you really don’t think less of me because of it?”
“No, Carl, of course not.” And yes indeed, that’s Monty’s gentle timbre reassuring him, a light stuffiness to his voice as well. “I’m so, so sorry that I ever implied that. It’s not you I think less of.”
They go quiet after this, and Francis decides now’s as good a time as any to open the door, which of course is the biggest possible mistake that he could have made.
The two boys are locked in what Francis can only describe as the most intimate embrace he’s ever seen. Lips pressed together, Carl’s arms looped around Monty’s neck as Monty cups Carl’s cheeks in his hands. They’re so entwined that he doesn’t know where Carl begins and Monty ends. That is, until they notice him.
Carl pulls apart with a horrified gasp with such force that he falls backwards, letting out a slightly pained squeak as, wrapped around each other as they are, he accidentally pulls Monty down with him and the larger boy lands rather forcefully on top of him.
Monty recovers quickly, pushing himself up off of Carl to hover over him and stare at him with confusion, monobrow quirked. The intern, eyes still fixated on his superior officer, shakily lifts a hand to point at Major Monogram, who stands there, dumbstruck as he watches them.
Immediately, Monty’s eyes widen in pure fear. He scrambles off of Carl and backs as far away into the corner of the closet as he can, actually trembling. This reaction somewhat snaps Monogram out of his stupor, his heart breaking in two at his son’s reaction. It reminds him uncomfortably of a younger version of himself. But surely… Surely he hasn’t given Monty this impression? He would never. He surges forward, intent on offering some semblance of reassurance to his hyperventilating son, but in an even more surprising turn of events, Carl flings himself in front of Monty, scrawny arms stretched out in a clear gesture of protection, even as he trembles as much as Monty does.
Too stunned to speak, Francis takes a step back, pained, and both of the teens flinch at this sudden movement. He stares at his boys, at his son and his intern. They’re clearly nothing short of terrified. Terrified of him. Of his reaction. Is this really the type of man they think he is? …Is this the type of man he has become? The type of man that his younger self would tremble in front of?
And then memories of Carl and Monty a moment before flood him, in pure adoration and affection as they kiss. He remembers Carl draped in Monty’s hoodie, remembers the happiness in his son’s eyes as he laughed too hard at the intern’s jokes, and as Carl laughed too hard at his.
If he isn’t that man, does this mean that they can have this? That they can have what he was never allowed? Of course he’d never… He’d never. Not to either of them.
But if they’re able to be so happy. So in love. If it’s not… Did he waste his entire life? Did he go through a loveless marriage, did he repress every emotion that he could, did he deny himself every opportunity for joy all for nothing?
He can’t handle this. It’s too much. The fear in their eyes, the way Carl hovers protectively in front of Monty, the affection with which they looked at each other, the kiss, and the agony of a life wasted in misery have Francis stumbling backwards and fleeing from the closet down the hall to his office, where he slams the door behind him, locking it and sinking to the floor. Memories flit through his mind, and he closes his eyes in a desperate effort to repress them. He doesn’t want to think about anything now.
He hates who he has become.
He hides out in his office for the rest of the day, scarcely getting any work done as he broods. Thankfully, no one stops by to bother him. Not even a knock at the door to disturb him or interrupt his thoughts.
He heads out about half an hour after the workday ends, knowing that Carl will be off to his part-time jobs. He doesn’t see Monty sticking around, either. Not when he considers the expression on his face… Francis shudders, trying to push it out of his mind.
The drive home is a miserable one spent in silence. He can’t find the heart in him to sing along to the radio like he usually does. When he finally gets to his apartment, he throws himself on the couch with a groan, closing his eyes in exhaustion.
He’s disturbed from his brief rest by the vibrating of his phone in his pocket. Frowning, he takes it out, heart sinking when he sees who it is.
But he answers anyway, knowing there’ll be more trouble if he doesn’t.
“Would you care to explain to me why my son came home from your agency in tears?” Margaret Monogram’s voice sounds through the speaker. Francis says nothing, at a loss for words as he buries his head in his hands and groans.
“What did you do?” She demands, fury in her tone. “He won’t tell me anything. He just went up to bed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so upset in my life.” Monty almost never cries, so they both know the gravity of this statement.
When he says nothing, she presses. “…Does this have something to do with Carl? I saw he dropped him off…”
Francis’s blood turns to ice. “You knew.” It’s not a question. It’s a cold, simmering accusation.
There’s silence on Margaret’s end, which is all the confirmation he needs. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
”Francis,” she snaps at him, scolding. “It wouldn’t have been fair for me to tell you. It’s his secret to share.”
”Well, pardon me if I would have liked some warning before I walked in on him locking lips with my intern!” Margaret inhales sharply at this. “How long has that been going on?” He questions, and she hesitates before answering.
”About a month now,” she answers finally, a quietness to her tone. “But that’s all I’ll say on the matter, Francis, not until you make it right with him yourself. You can ask him these questions on your own time.”
“But how long have you known?” Monogram presses desperately. Again, there’s a few moments of silence as she weighs her options.
And then, “About him or about you?”
Francis freezes. There’s a twin silence on each end of the line. For the first time in over twenty years, Margaret and Francis are in sync. The thought would make him want to laugh hysterically if it weren’t for the severity of the moment.
“What do you mean?” He rasps hoarsely when he can finally gain the strength to speak.
”I know you, Francis,” she says softly. “I’ve known for a long time, and it didn’t make me think any less of you. Please don’t let it affect the way you treat Monty.” She pauses, then remembers, with a touch of fondness to her voice, “Or Carl.”
“Does Monty—Does he—?”
”He doesn’t know,” she says. “Oh, don’t you see, Francis? That’s why he was so terrified. The only other queer boy he’s been talking to is Carl.”
”I’ve never—I had my suspicions about Carl, but I have never treated him poorly because of—“
”No, Francis, of course not,” Margaret says soothingly. “Of course I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about his father.”
“Monty mentioned him earlier,” Francis says slowly, a dull kind of horror blossoming in the pit of his stomach. He thinks back to the fear in Carl’s eyes, the way he’d instinctively gone to protect Monty. “Is he—Is Carl—?”
”That’s not my secret to share either.” She sighs. “Francis, please. Talk to them. Talk to them both. You don’t have to come out to them, but you do have to let them know they’re accepted, that they have nothing to fear from you.”
”How long have you known?” He questions her, desperation making his voice falter. “About me? God, why didn’t you leave me sooner? Why did you…?”
“I’ve known for about fifteen years,” she says softly. “And I suspected for some time before that. But for a while I tried to tell myself that the problem was me. That I just wasn’t good enough.”
Francis’s heart breaks. “Oh, Margaret—“
She continues as if she hadn’t spoken, a slight tremor to her voice. “But then I saw, of all things, the way that you looked at Monty’s acrobatics coach.”
”I never—“
”I know you didn’t cheat, Francis. I know you would have never dared to flirt with a man.” He can feel the way she glowers through the phone at him. “I have heard some whispers in the wind that you have flirted with other women, probably as a way to overcompensate. But I know that you never tried anything. How could I ever be anything more than annoyed when I knew?” She sighs. “I stayed because I didn’t want to hurt you. Because you were my best friend in spite of everything. Because we share a child together, and I didn’t want him to grow up in a broken home. Because it was easier until it wasn’t.” She pauses. “In hindsight, I think me staying was part of the problem in the first place. It didn’t fix anything. It just let you live in denial for longer. I just hoped...” She falters. “I hoped you’d at least be able to be a present father. I understand the agency takes all your time, I do. But you were barely here half the time, and when you were…”
She doesn’t need to say anything more. He can hear her sniffling on the other line, the way her voice has choked up. He’s sniffling, too. “I’m sorry,” he whispers finally. “I’m so sorry for everything.”
”Don’t be sorry,” she says. “It’s too late for us, Francis. It’s been too late for too long. I made my peace with this when I finally filed for divorce after Christmas. But don’t let it be too late with Monty. Please. Be the father he needs right now. I’m begging you. I don’t care what you have to do, what you have to say. But support him.”
Francis swallows his tears with a sniff, but he nods. “I will, Margaret. I will.”
He sleeps fitfully that night, tossing and turning, Monty’s expression haunting him interspersed with flashes of Carl throwing himself in front of him. His own father yelling at him, trying his best to please Margaret and all the other women he’s tried to date over the years… And it was never enough, was it? He’s made everyone in his life miserable, including himself.
This thought pierces through the thin veil of sleep and causes him to jolt up in bed. He sighs, glancing at the clock. He has about half an hour before he has to be up for the day and he feels as though he’s scarcely slept. He tries to close his eyes in an effort to get at least another ten minutes, but to no avail, so he hoists himself out of bed with a slight groan and moves to get ready for the day.
As he drives, he wonders if Carl will show up today, if his fear will win out over his professionalism. A part of him hopes that it does. And he does still have days off left for this summer, so he could use them without penalty.
He pulls into OWCA’s parking lot, scanning for Carl’s car before he realizes that he doesn’t know what it looks like or where he usually parks. Frustrated at himself for his lack of attentiveness, he parks in his spot and slams the door with a huff before he walks into the office. He notices most of the animal agents giving him a wide berth and avoiding his gaze as he enters. Surely they couldn’t have… Right. Animal hearing, coupled with them being the horrendous gossips that they are. He sighs, resolving to spend the time until briefings holed up in his office. Which, granted, won’t be long. But it gives him a bit longer to avoid Carl, too, who would almost certainly have called out by now if he was going to.
When the clock ticks 9:00 and he can avoid the call of the briefing room no longer, he grabs his mug and slinks off, the agents that are milling about the halls looking up and scampering off when they hear his footsteps.
Sure enough, Carl is there when he enters the room, stationed at his typical spot behind the camera, if completely subdued. He flinches when Major Monogram enters, and keeps his attention pointedly focused away from him.
As soon as Monogram’s in position, Carl starts the briefings. They go down the line with scarcely a break in between, and when they do have a break, the intern turns to sit at the computer and do work rather than banter with him as he usually does. When they finally finish about an hour later, Carl stands up quickly, moving to bustle out of the room, and Francis hurries to make him remain, pushing to his feet and calling out, “Carl.”
His intern’s flinch is so violent that he actually trips over his own feet, and something inside of Monogram breaks as Carl stiffens and stands up straight, an automatic, “Yes, sir?” ready at his lips.
”Do I really frighten you so much,” Francis asks quietly, desperately attempting to swallow the sob threatening to engulf his vocal cords. Stunned, Carl whips around immediately, and for the first time that morning he takes a good look at his superior officer.
“Sir,” he gasps, surging forward before stepping back hesitantly as he gets too close. “You… You look awful. Are you alright?”
“Do you really think that I would hurt you?” Monogram whispers. “Hurt Monty?”
”I—“ Carl sighs, taking off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes. Francis notes that he doesn’t look like he’s slept much better than him, judging by the bags there.
“I reacted on instinct, sir,” he says finally. “It’s not—It’s not really anything to do with you.”
Francis’s insides clench, and for the first time in a long time, he looks at Carl. Really looks at him. Sees the tension in his jaw, the exhaustion in his body. A lot of this is surely down to the responsibilities that he, himself, has heaped onto the intern’s shoulders on top of all the part-time jobs he’s had to take. But there’s a weariness to him that runs bone-deep, that feels like more. Why hasn’t he ever noticed this? Why hasn’t he ever looked?
“Carl,” Major Monogram says softly, forcing his tone to be as gentle as he can possibly make it. “What happened?”
For a moment, his intern hesitates, biting at his lip and twiddling his thumbs. Finally, whatever internal war waging in him is won, and with a sigh, he pulls out a nearby stool and plops down on it.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Francis reassures him. “I just…”
But Carl holds up a hand to stop him. “No, no,” he says. “It’s alright. You should… You should have some context. Especially now that I’m… That Monty and I…” He trails off, blushing briefly.
”Anyways.” He inhales, steadying himself before looking Monogram in the eye. “My father has never been…” he trails off with a shake of his head. He refocuses his gaze and continues, “He didn’t react well when I came out to him…when was it? Gosh, over a year ago now. And by ‘not well’, I mean, after a rant filled with homophobic slurs and a couple of punches… he threw me out of the house.”
Francis’s eyes widen in horror. “Oh, Carl, I’m so sorry.”
“To be honest, it was stupid to come out to him in the first place. I knew he wouldn’t take it well. He’s always been…” He shakes his head. “I was just… I was tired of hiding. Maybe I wanted to hurt him. Maybe it wasn’t even about him at all. Maybe I was hoping…”
The intern shrugs miserably. “So yeah, I’ve been pretty adamant about hiding my identity since then. I mean, if it weren’t for Monty…” He smiles fondly before he remembers himself, clearing his throat and looking back at Monogram. “The whole thing yesterday just brought back those memories. I don’t…” he hesitates. “Intellectually, no, I don’t think you would hurt us. But you standing there… and Monty’s reaction… It just. It brought me back to that night.” He huffs, shaking his head again. “It brought me back to my entire childhood, if I’m being honest.”
His eyes widen as he seems to realize what he’s said. “Not that I think that you would ever—Sir, I know you’re not—“
Monogram raises a hand reassuringly. “I know what you meant, Carl.” He thinks back to the various injuries the intern had accrued over his five years of knowing him and he wants to slap himself for being so stupid. He’d thought he was clumsy. He’d never looked up enough to notice… And they’d seemed to stop during the last two years of the internship—save for his return over Christmas break last year, when he’d entered the office with a black eye and a subdued manner he’d almost inquired about but decided against.
Francis curses himself for his selfishness, thinking back to what he could have done and freezes as he remembers the one time he did do something for Carl, along with Monty’s earlier comment…
”Carl,” he says slowly.
The intern tilts his head. “Yes, Major?”
”What about your sister?”
”Oh.” The exclamation comes out in a half-laugh, half-huff. “Yes. It was… a point of contention between us that she stayed with him.” He shakes his head, a mix of fondness, sadness, and bitterness flooding his tone all at once. “I really wanted her to go with me. But she goes to school out of state, and it’s easier for her to not have to bother with housing during the summer and winter holidays. He’s always been a bit softer on her than me. She’s better at keeping quiet. But…” He inhales, then his gaze sharpens as he looks back at Monogram. “Don’t think I don’t know what you were doing by having Admiral Acronym hire her.”
“I didn’t—“
“Oh, please,” Carl scoffs. “I go evil and scarcely two weeks later my twin sister has joined OWCA? You couldn’t have made it more obvious that you thought I needed a babysitter if you tried.” He’s broken the unspoken (and officially sealed) agreement that they’ve had, where they don’t talk about that incident, where they try to bury it and pretend it and all the problems it dredged up never existed.
But Monogram supposes that all cards are off the table now after yesterday, aren’t they?
“Carl, that’s not true.” For the first time since the conversation started, Major Monogram allows some of his usual sternness and authority to creep back into his voice. The intern rolls his eyes. “It’s not,” he insists, but Carl just folds his arms across his chest and shakes his head.
He forces his tone to soften again. “Carl, the reason I recommended Wanda hire Carla is because I was worried about you—not that you couldn’t do your job right, or even that you’d actually go evil. But that you didn’t have a support system in place. The way you acted under the -inator’s influence… I wasn’t able to get through to you. I wasn’t enough.” Carl flinches slightly at this, opening his mouth as if to protest before thinking better and simply nodding slightly, waiting for Monogram to continue.
“I thought…” Francis hesitates. “Or rather, I assumed, that having your twin here would be helpful to your overall… er, mental health. I know… I know it can be lonely here. The only non-animal humans here are at least twice your age. Well, and Monty sometimes. But you didn’t really speak to him as much back then.”
He sighs. “I shouldn’t have assumed the state of your relationship with her. And perhaps I should have mentioned my reasons. Perhaps there’s a lot of things I should’ve done. For both you and Monty.”
For a long moment, they sit there in silence, not meeting each other’s eyes. Finally, Carl’s lips twitch slightly, pulling into a smile in spite of himself.
“You know, my relationship with her has actually gotten a lot better since she started working here,” he confesses. “We still have our differences. But we’ve reached a kind of peace. It’s been nice being able to see her. To know that she’s okay.” He looks up. “So thank you for that, sir.”
Francis can’t help the fond smile that tugs at his mouth beneath his mustache, matching Carl’s own expression. For a moment, everything feels like things normally are, except… better. More open. And then he remembers and his expression sobers.
“Carl, there are some things that I need to speak to Monty about first before I disclose anything to you. But I want you to know that I… Well. Not that you need it, but you and Monty… You have my stamp of approval, at any rate. Heh.” He chuckles awkwardly as he glances at the intern. “If anything, you’ve gained some respect in my book, the way you threw yourself in front of him… To be honest, I didn’t know you had that in you. So I don’t have any doubts that you’ll at least try to protect him.” Carl flushes a deep crimson, averting his gaze.
“But let me tell you, if you hurt him…” He lets the threat linger, and Carl gulps.
“Sir, yes, sir,” the intern salutes tremulously.
Satisfied that he’s gotten the message, Monogram steps back and smiles subtly behind his mustache. “Good. Now, I believe there’s some slides that need repair…”
Carl grins warmly and salutes again before hoisting himself up off the stool and moving it to its corner. Francis frowns, not feeling completely satisfied with the resolution of the conversation. If he leaves it like this, things are pretty much back to normal. But normal was a big part of the problem, wasn’t it? There’s so many things to tell him, but so many things he can’t bring himself to say yet. And some things he needs to speak with Monty about first. If only there was a way to let Carl know. The empathy he feels for him, that he appreciates him, that he understands his situation better than he thinks… Well. There is one way.
And so, as Carl walks by him, Francis Monogram decides to screw it and throws caution to the wind. He reaches out and draws the intern into his chest, wrapping him in a fierce hug. Winded for a moment, Carl gasps. But then he seems to register what is happening, and when Francis doesn’t let go, he melts into the embrace, wrapping his arms around his superior officer with open affection.
It’s when he feels the first drip of Carl’s hot tears on his Nehru jacket that he decides it’s time to finally let go. And it’s definitely not because of the wetness forming in his own eyes either. Or maybe it is. To hell with it. Regardless, he withdraws gently from the hug with a sniff, reaching out a hand to ruffle Carl’s curls affectionately. The intern grins at him sheepishly.
Just as he turns to leave again, Francis calls out to him, “Wait, Carl…”
”Hm?”
“When you see Monty… Tell him that as soon as he’s ready to see me, I’m here. And that… that I’ll always love him. No matter what.”
Carl gives him one last smile, lingering briefly in the doorway. “Sir, I think that’s something that you should tell him yourself.”
He carries Carl’s and Margaret’s words with him for the rest of the day. Try as he might, he doesn’t get very much work done, and so, for the first time in his entire career, he calls out sick for the rest of the day. Carl gives him a knowing smile as he passes him in the hall, although he wisely says nothing. Francis doesn’t trust himself not to turn around and head back if anyone acknowledges his absence. But thankfully, no one else seems to notice, absorbed in their work as they are. Or perhaps they’re merely pretending, as the gossip seems to pick up a bit as he walks by.
But still, no one acknowledges him, so he’s safe to head to his car and begin the short drive to his old house. He takes a good look at it when he pulls up, unsurprised to find it mostly the same. He hasn’t been back here since the separation, but the house was always Margaret’s passion project, not his. Not that he’d ever had much interest in design, but it had never quite felt like home. Then again, his apartment doesn’t either, so what does he know?
He feels strange parking on the street instead of the driveway, but brushes past the feelings of discomfort as he clambers out of the car and rings the doorbell, eyes shifting from side to side as he forces himself not to fidget like a child.
Margaret answers it, and though her eyes initially widen, she holds the door open and ushers him inside without a word. He clambers behind her up the stairs, down the familiar path to Monty’s room, silent all the while. When they reach the door finally, she raps her knuckles gently and calls their son’s name as Francis’s heart thuds in his chest and his palms gradually grow sweatier.
“Yeah?” His son’s voice choruses, and Monogram’s insides freeze for sheer panic as it all suddenly becomes real.
“Your father would like to speak with you.” She swings open the door and beckons him in to see Monty’s stunned face.
His son’s eyes are wide, mouth slightly agape. He sits on his bed, covers pulled up, knees to his chest as he leans against the wall. His eyes are red-rimmed, and he’s paler than usual. Monogram’s heart breaks at the clear amount of pain he’s inadvertently put him through. There’s an air of supreme awkwardness between them before Monty glances up at his mother, and then back down at his bed. “Um…” he says hesitantly, before finally meeting his father’s gaze.
“Uh. What are you doing here, Dad? Don’t you have work?”
”Some things are more important than work,” Monogram says softly, and his son’s jaw drops even more in stunned surprise. He looks back up at his mother for a moment, exchanging what must be a long, stunned look.
“I’ll go make some sandwiches,” she offers finally, but there’s a flustered smile in her tone that Francis recognizes. She’s proud of him. He only hopes he can live up to her expectations. He daren’t look at her now or he just knows he’s going to cry, and that’s of no help to anyone. He hears the sound of the door shutting and her quiet footsteps retreating down the stairs. And then it’s just him and Monty.
”May I sit?” Francis gestures at the foot of Monty’s bed. Wordlessly, his son gestures his affirmation, and gingerly, Francis takes his place, glancing awkwardly around the room for a few moments before focusing on his lap, tightening his fists as he gathers his words, words formed from years of pain and secrecy kept close to his chest. Well, it’s finally time to set them free.
…God, why is this so hard? To fill the silence, just to ease off some of the pressure at his chest, he turns to Monty.
“How are you doing?”
”Um. Not great, Dad.” Monty’s unibrow is quirked, and there’s the beginnings of that familiar storm of disappointment brewing in his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
Francis sighs. He’s going to need to say something. “I wanted to apologize… for my reaction. I shouldn’t have…” He inhales. “You were in distress. And I… I left instead of reassuring you. Er. Affirming you, in your identity. I don’t. I don’t have any problem with it, Monty. Any problem with you. I love you.” Monty is silent, gazing down at his lap.
Francis balls his fists, frustrated as he finds himself at an utter loss for words.
Finally, Monty’s voice pierces through the quiet. It’s low, tremulous. A timbre Monogram has scarcely heard in his son’s gentle tenor. “Then why did you run away?” Francis swallows. “Why did you look at us like that?” His voice rises slightly in both volume and pitch until it mimics that of the child he once was, the child that he will always be in his father’s eyes. “I’ve never seen you look so horrified, Dad! And then so… so… so angry? I don’t know! I couldn’t—I couldn’t—“ He turns to look his father in the eyes. “You got that look in your eyes, and then…” he quiets to barely a whisper. “Am I really so disgusting to you?”
“Oh, Monty, no,” Francis whispers in horror, shifting his position on the bed to seize his trembling son in his arms just as tears begin to make their appearance. “Monty, that’s the furthest thing from it. I swear to you.” He lets him go, briefly running a hand through his son’s hair before addressing him directly, staring into his eyes so that he can see.
He can’t remember the last time he felt so vulnerable. Even earlier, with Carl, or yesterday, seeing them… even on the phone with Margaret. No, staring into Monty’s eyes, eyes that look so like his own, he’s reminded of his younger self in Monty’s shoes.
But he won’t be his father. He’s spent his entire life doing what he wanted, and he’ll be damned if he forces his son into the same closet that he’s been shoved in for his entire life.
“Monty, the reason I ran away from you is because I was afraid. But not of you. Never of you, son.” Monty looks up, open curiosity on his face now. Francis inhales, steadying. “Monty, I was afraid because I saw myself in you.” There’s a sharp gasp from his son, but he doesn’t say anything, and Francis can’t bring himself to look. “I ran because I saw a frightened young man afraid of his father seeing him. And I hated that your expression matched mine.” He forces his tone to remain steady. “The last thing I ever wanted was to somehow make you feel like my father made me feel. About your sexuality, about anything.”
He finally looks his son in the eyes, even though he’s terrified of what he’ll see there. “I’m gay, Monty.”
There’s only the briefest of pauses before Francis grunts at the sudden impact as Monty flings himself forward into his father’s arms. He doesn’t say anything. Just holds him. And slowly, Francis Monogram melts. Collapses under the weight of so many years, so much pressure, so much self-hatred. Collapses under the love of his son. For the first time in years, he allows himself to well and truly sob, clinging to him for dear life. Monty starts crying too, at some point.
He doesn’t know how long they sit there for, embracing one another. But it’s nice. It makes him regret not doing this more often when Monty was growing up. And all for what? The non-existent approval of a man long-dead, a man who’d never even truly acknowledged him as his son.
When they both seem to have run out of tears to cry, he releases him finally, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his son’s head. Monty gives him a watery smile, then bursts out into choked laughter. “Gotta say, I didn’t see that coming.”
Francis chuckles in turn. “Imagine my surprise yesterday… I mean, come on. Carl? Of all people?”
Monty’s watery smile turns instantly into a scowl. “Come on, Dad.”
Monogram holds out a hand. “Sorry, sorry.” He sighs. “Can’t resist an old ‘Carl’ joke. I suppose I’m going to have to be nicer to him now that he’s my son’s boyfriend.” His lip curls slightly at this, still dumbfounded. Now that the sexuality of it all is addressed, the Carl of it all is going to take some getting used to. Oh god. He hopes this doesn’t mean he’s going to be expected to pay him…
Unbidden, a memory of the miserable, frightened Carl from earlier today intersects with the memory of him, broken, sobbing into his lap after the Ultimate Evilinator incident. Softly, almost unconscious of his own free will, he says to Monty, “Be good to him.”
Monty raises his brow. “Of course.” He’s unable to keep the grin from stretching across his face. “And don’t worry—I won’t tell him how much you secretly care about him, either.”
Monogram’s face flushes as he flashes back to the hug. “After our conversation earlier today, he may already have an inkling…”
Monty’s grin turns into a ridiculously giddy smile. “You mean you actually talked to him?”
Francis quirks his own unibrow. “You mean he didn’t tell you?”
And now the giddy smile transforms into something a bit more sheepish. “I, er. Might have been avoiding my messages.…Plus, I only got up a couple of hours ago. I was pretty exhausted from yesterday.”
Major Monogram glances away guiltily. In the silence that follows, Monty takes his phone from his bedside table and checks it, a fond smile flickering to his lips the moment he opens it. His thumbs fly across the screen, presumably texting Carl back.
Francis watches with amusement at his typically mellow son’s unbridled joy at the merest message from his intern. He shakes his head in wonder. “How did that happen, anyways?”
”Hm?” Monty asks absentmindedly, not looking up from his typing.
”You and Carl. How did you two get together?”
”Oh, gosh,” Monty groans, finally putting the phone down. “It’s a funny story, actually…”
And for the first time in a long time, father and son spend the evening having a normal, relaxed conversation. Monty will tell his father about his relationship, about his bisexuality and how he realized it, what ended up happening with Vanessa, and how he’s been longing to return to the agency as a cadet. Major Monogram will tell just a piece of the story of his own journey to the discovery of his sexuality, affirm his son, and offer up more overdue apologies. The conversation will last hours into the night, until it’s time to head to bed. Francis will offer his son the chance to come by his apartment to set up a potential bedroom, and Monty will agree. They’ll each grab a cold, slightly stale (but still delicious) sandwich and give each other a hug goodbye while Margaret beams and exchanges a meaningful glance with her ex-husband.
No, things aren’t perfect, and they never will be. The foundation is broken. But together, they will build something new. They won’t always succeed, but they will try. Francis will try.
Perhaps, just perhaps, a better future is on the horizon.