The Heirloom of the Heaviness You've Known

Ryan isn’t at Philosotea; they thought about it for a moment, but that was almost...too close to home, for them. Some part of them still doesn’t want Bill seeing much about them, seeing the places they go with their friends, seeing anything about the life that Ryan has in Halcyon. They know it doesn’t make sense, but also--this conversation is going to be awkward enough without someone from the team barging in accidentally, and that’s always a concern at Philosotea. So they had picked a thoroughly generic Star🅱️ucks, arrived early to get themself a drink, and picked a table far enough away from the other tables that they won’t feel like they’re being overheard. Unless they start yelling, which they haven’t counted out, but hope won’t happen.
Now, though, they’re regretting arriving early, because with every passing second they get more anxious. They sip at the hot chocolate they ordered, check their phone--no new messages--and wait. After a moment, the door opens, and they look up--and after all that anxiety, you’d think that seeing Bill would make them less anxious, but that’s not the case at all. He looks like he did eight months ago, the last time they saw each other; greyer than Ryan usually thinks of him, dressed business casual for even the most casual occasions.
They raise a hand to get his attention, and remind themself for the hundredth time that they have this situation under control. They have options; there are people who have their back. They’ve got this.
Bill sees Ryan and nods curtly at them, walking deliberately to their table and taking a seat. As he walks over, there is a concerted and entirely un-subtle effort not to look at Ryan’s hand. He visibly relaxes once he’s sat down and he can’t see it beneath the table.
“Ryan. It’s uh… it’s good of you to finally reach out,” he says, clearing his throat. “It’s been a while. I trust that you’re--” there’s a pause, “handling yourself okay?”
Despite themselves, there’s still a part of Ryan that sinks in disappointment when Bill so clearly avoids looking at their hand. They knew it was coming, expected it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, a little.
“I’m doing fine,” they confirm. Now that they’re in front of him, they don’t know where to begin, and decide to bite the bullet, sucking in a breath of air. One of the pair of them has to start this conversation. “I’m sorry for avoiding you for so long. Emmy said that you were worried, and--” I didn’t think you would be isn’t a very diplomatic thing to say. Neither is that’s more than you were when she disappeared. Ryan bites the inside of their lip and considers their words. “--and I wanted to let you know that I’m doing fine. And also to talk about what’s happened.” There’s a lot they want explanations for, after all.
Bill fiddles awkwardly with his watch.
“Well, I knew you would talk to me eventually; I am your father, after all. Emmy is right, I have a lot of--” he pauses, “concerns, about you and what you’ve been up to, that I want to talk about, Ryan. You may think that you’re fine, but you’ve been putting yourself under a lot of pressure lately, and I can’t help but wonder if having a parental figure in your life would help with that.”
If Ryan hadn’t promised Emmy they’d actually try to have this conversation, they would just get up and leave. They still consider it, for a minute. He came to Halcyon to take care of you, they remind themself. That was worth something, probably.
“I’m going to get mom back soon,” they say, rather than address Bill’s last point directly. “And I...appreciate your concern. But there are a lot of people in my life who are helping me out. People I can rely on. So if you’re worried about me being alone or having to deal with stuff on my own, you don’t have to be. I’ve got support.”
Bill sighs.
“Look, Ryan. I want to see your mother safe and sound just as much as you do, but she’s been missing for months. And if this ‘support’ is coming from the same friends that are more concerned about--how did Emmy put it? A robot-dinosaur-dog-- than your mother, I don’t think I trust them to take care of my child, and I think we’re going to have to accept the fact that Violet is going to be gone for a while.”
Ryan stares at Bill for a moment, unsure of where to even begin.
“Okay,” they say, voice astonishingly level given how angry they feel. “No. That’s not what’s happening, at all. That’s not even close to what’s happening, and Emmy knows that. First of all, you don’t. You don’t want to see her safe and sound as much as I do. You don’t know what losing her was like for me, so don’t pretend you do. When--” their voice breaks, which they’re angry at themself for. “When Emmy disappeared, it was just us. Summer and Jake came to try to help, but when we couldn’t find anything, they had to go, and it was just the two of us. You don’t know what that was like. You weren’t there for that. Don’t pretend you want her back as badly as I do, because that’s not true.”
They suck in a deep breath. “And don’t talk about my friends like you know them, either. I told Emmy about Lugnut because Lugnut was who I knew how to find. I was the one who decided to prioritize finding something we could save, and everyone knows that the other point of that plan was to find mom, I just didn’t want to get my hopes up when I wasn’t sure she was there. But now I know where she is--when she is--and I can go find her, and when I first found that? My friends, who you don’t trust to take care of me, were willing to walk into an unknown time rift with me just because I wanted to find mom, and they wouldn’t let me go alone. Given a choice between people who are there for me when I need them and you, I think I know who I trust.”
“I am here for you. I am here for you right now, that’s exactly what I’m doing. And you have no right to complain about me not being here when you’ve deliberately avoided me since your mother disappeared.” Bill pinches the bridge of his nose.“You know that it’s difficult for me, being here. This city. All I ever wanted was to live a quiet life with my family, but this city does nothing but take. It took my marriage, it took my daughter, it took Violet, and now I’m afraid it’s taking my youngest child too. So excuse me for being wary about returning to the worst city in the world.” Bill notices he’s raising his voice and attempts to calm himself down.
“Ryan, I want to ask you something and I want you to answer it honestly. Have you gone a single month without something terrible happening to you or one of your friends here?”
“Yes,” Ryan says, without hesitating. “I don’t even have to go back particularly far. July was a pretty unremarkable month for me and the people I know. Most of the things that happen in Halcyon aren’t terrible, they’re just strange.” Like me, they think, although they don’t say that. Their glasses are heavy on the bridge of their nose. They suck in a deep breath, fingers rubbing at the strap of the gauntlet’s watch-form to help ground themselves.
“I’m sure it is difficult for you to come back here,” they grant, although the words fall from their mouth reluctantly. It’s true--they are sure that it’s hard for Bill to be here--but they’re pretty sure the problem is with Bill, and not with Halcyon. “But the divorce took your marriage from you, not Halcyon City. Emmy is back, and talking to you, and I honestly don’t know how she has the patience but more power to her, I guess. One person, in particular, took mom--from everyone--and Halcyon City isn’t the reason that I’ve been staying away from you.” They look up, meeting Bill’s eyes through their glasses; they don’t need retrocognition, though, to remember the days after T-day, to see the events playing out behind their eyes.
“You say you’re here for me, now--well, you’re two years too late. Summer and Jake moved away, too, they aren’t the biggest fans of Halcyon, but they came back. Jake was training in the Arctic and came back. We weren’t asking for you to live here. But Emmy--your daughter--was missing. And we got a “thoughts and prayers” message. You can’t just...pave over that by showing up later and saying 'well, I’m here now, so you have no right to be angry about it.'” 
Their hot chocolate cools on the table between them, untouched since Bill sat down. Ryan makes what they personally consider to be a Herculean effort to calm themself down again.
“I know avoiding you was childish, and wasn’t a good response. I apologized for that and I’ll do it again, but I won’t apologize for being angry about what you did, or for bringing it up.” They pull themself back to the original things they wanted to talk about, before...this. “Part of the reason I wanted to talk to you was to let you know that I found a way to bring Mom back, and I know how to do it. So that’s going to happen, soon, and you don’t have to stick around in a city you hate for your least-favorite child.” They say it like it’s an objective fact--both parts of it. “But I also wanted an answer, from you. Why did you come back for me, but not for Emmy?”
That’s it--that’s what they can’t understand most, about Bill. Why come back for the child who he’d fought with Violet about, but not the daughter who he’d actually helped raise, who still remembered him kindly? Who had memories of him that were good, at all? Why come back for Ryan?
Bill's temper visibly increases throughout this; however, at the mention of getting Violet back and the subsequent question about Emmy, his expression softens.
"Emmy was gone." He's silent for a moment. "She was gone, and there was nothing I could do about it. I'm not a search and rescue party--me being here wouldn't have helped. She… Violet wouldn't have wanted me here anyway." He sighs. "You aren't missing, Ryan. You're right here. And I can still help you." He tries and fails not to glance at Ryan's wrist, but doesn't qualify his statement. "I'm happy to hear you have a way to get your Mom back, and I'll be thrilled to see her safe if it works. But if it doesn't, and it may not, I want you to stay with me."
Ryan can’t help but let out a breath when Bill’s expression softens. It’s not what they wanted--an apology would be nice--but it’s an answer. It makes sense in a cold-blooded, pragmatic way that Ryan understands even if they don’t like. Why come back to a city you hate for a child who was gone? Why offer help when you weren’t sure it would be accepted, and you weren’t sure what help you could give?
It makes sense, but Ryan can’t empathize with it. You come back and you offer help because it’s your child, your family. You offer even if it might be turned down, even if you don’t know how you could help, because it’s important. Because it was someone who trusted you who is in trouble. Because, if you don’t, how do you live with yourself? Ryan isn’t a stranger to losing people, to not being sure what they can do to help. It’s been their life for eight months. The idea of just not trying to find their mother is so alien it’s absurd.
Bill’s request, at the end, is almost not even worth addressing. But, well, Ryan did promise Emmy they would try to get along with him, so they decide to give him another chance. Carefully, they pull their glasses off, folding them and tucking them into a pocket of their hoodie. The world around them blurs and then sharpens; Ryan can see the echoes of previous days in this building, the few moments of excitement that have happened--one time Challenge came in and gave autographs, which makes them smile. They look away from the sight of her grandstanding from atop the counter before it’s too obvious they’re staring into empty space.
“Before we even talk about that,” they say, “I want you to look at me. In the eyes,” they clarify, closing the loophole before Bill can use it. They know he knows what the glasses do--what they are. They’ve always worn them when they visited him, before.
Bill blinks and begins to open his mouth to protest but promptly decides against it. He sighs. “Fine.”
He looks Ryan in the eyes. In the reflection, he sees the cafe behind him, the shifting echoes of the past, and a reminder of his child’s gift. He stares for a moment before wincing and attempting it again, holding his gaze much longer this time. “Ryan, I want you to know that I don’t- I don’t resent you for your… uniqueness…”
“Really,” Ryan says drily. They’re tempted to give Bill some credit for meeting their eyes, but…if that is the standard for good behavior, Ryan’s standards are far too low. If their choice is between a man who can’t look at them, can’t even say the name of their retrocognition, and living at Big Base...well, is it even a choice?
Just because Emmy reconciled with him doesn’t mean I have to, they think, echoing Ernest’s words from their talk. I didn’t commit to anything other than a conversation.
“Alright, next question,” they say, drumming the fingers of the hand with the gauntlet on it on the table. “What help are you offering?” They’ve seen the way he keeps glancing toward the gauntlet; they can’t imagine this help will be anything good.
"I want to help you deal with all of this," He says, gesturing around. "Look, I know that I've never been the most comfortable about your abilities, but if you'll allow me, I want to help you manage them. I think you'll find that it would be a lot easier to deal with your mother's disappearance if you didn't also have to deal with the...visions.”
“Emmy has found a way to ease the discomfort of her condition, and I'm sure we can find a way to do the same with your… I never get the name right." He looks sternly at Ryan "And I think you'll find that with a little parental guidance in your life you won't need to rely on…" he eyes the gauntlet, "extra help so much."
He can’t even be bothered to remember the name, Ryan thinks, distantly. And then, closer: what the hell am I even doing here?
They’d come because they were willing to compromise, to meet Bill in the middle and try to mend bridges. But with every exchange, every time they try to calm their temper and reach an understanding, it feels like they’re losing ground. They opened with an apology; Bill opened by assuming they didn’t know what was best for themself.
“A little parental guidance in my life?” Ryan echoes. They think of Hisham taking them to museum events and asking how they’re doing in school, of Tay offering to make them lunch and doing it, every morning; even of Maggie Ostenburg offering to kick Merlin’s ass if Ryan needed it. “Bill, do you know why I wasn’t comfortable with my abilities? Because I thought they were why you and mom split up. I thought that because I was--because there was something wrong with me,” they spit back his words, the ones that have been lurking in the back of their mind for twelve years, “something that you wanted to fix, that you left. And I’m still not entirely sure that’s wrong.”
They push themself up from the table, bracing their hands against it as they stand. “I know you’re trying. But if this is trying, it’s not good enough. You come in here and you assume you know how I’m doing better than I do, you assume you know my friends’ priorities better than I do, and you assume you know what I want. You assume an awful lot for someone who hasn’t lived with me since I was five. You don’t know me. Not really. You can’t even remember the name of my powers and you think you can help me with them? How conceited are you?”
They step back, pushing in their chair, and let out a long, angry breath. “I don’t want your help, and I don’t want your guidance. I certainly don’t need either of them.”
Bill remains seated in stunned silence. His mouth hangs open for a few moments.
"I- I'm genuinely stunned. I don't know what to say. I come here trying to be a father to you, trying to make up for my mistakes, and you throw back words I said twelve years ago, after I just said I don't resent you for your powers. You may not think you need me to be your parent, Ryan, but you do. And when your rescue mission is fruitless, I'll still be here waiting for you--and when that happens you better have learned how to treat your elders with some respect." His expression betrays very little anger, giving his speech an air of cold pragmatism.
Ryan manages to keep a composed facial expression for most of what Bill’s saying, but when he says that Ryan’s rescue mission will fail, Ryan levels a glare at the man, visions of the past rippling out of focus at the edges of their vision.
“I prefer to give respect to people who’ve earned it,” they fire back, tone icy. “And if this is  what being a father to me looks like, I have to say I prefer not having one. I’m leaving--I have better things to do than listen to you condescend to me and make assumptions about my life without bothering to listen to a single thing I say.”
They push in their chair and tuck their hands into their pockets, not breaking eye contact with Bill. “If my rescue mission doesn’t work, I’ll try again. And if that one doesn’t work, I’ll try another time. So sure--when I give up on getting Mom back, I’ll come to you and apologize for how I’ve behaved. But I really hope you have something to keep you busy while you wait.”
They turn to leave, but can’t resist offering one last lifeline to the man over their shoulder.
“If you think better of anything you’ve said or done here, ask around at the Museum and you might be able to find me. I’d say to ask around at the Big Team Base, but…” They smile. It’s not a particularly friendly expression. “I really don’t think that would be a smart idea for you.”
"Wait, Ryan, I--" he lifts a hand towards Ryan but then pauses, an apology caught in his throat. The door closes before he can even get over his inability to utter it. He drops his hand and turns back to the table, staring down at it.
Ryan’s patience is well and truly gone; they hear Bill ask them to wait, but don’t turn around, and don’t look at him as they leave the shop; if he really has something else to say, he can figure out how to find Ryan sometime later. But if they’re in a room with him for one more moment, they’re going to burn down any chance of a reconciliation and aren’t even going to regret it.
(directly followed by For Once, I Have Nothing Up My Sleeve)
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