Rehoming

## Meta

**Timing:** 8 April 2016, Derek's last day in Port Macquarie

**Setting:** Westport High School parking lot, Jones residence, Grainger residence

## Text

Jackson, arms crossed, leans on the driver's door of his rental car.

Derek, hunched under his backpack, eyes shifting nervously, slinks out the school doors and down the stairs. He spots Jackson, relaxes a fraction, and smiles weakly.

Jackson raises an eyebrow as he shuffles up. "Someone after you again?"

"Was afraid Mum or Dad would show up 'stead of you."

Jackson grins mischievously. "Nanny made sure that couldn't happen."

Derek's turn to quirk a brow.

"Called in a favour from Uncle Joey." Fishes out the keys.

"But—"

"He promised to fix them tonight. Hop in." Jackson slides behind the wheel.

Derek folds into the passenger seat.

"Dad's first?"

Minuscule nod.

"Let's see if I still remember how to get there." He turns the key in the ignition and the engine purrs to life.

Three turns later, Jackson flicks his eyes over—

Derek perches on the seat, chewing his thumbnail.

—says quietly, "Derek."

He jumps, tucks his hands under his thighs.

"It'll be fine." Jackson squeezes his shoulder.

Derek offers a dubious look.

"Okay. It'll be as fine as anything involving our parents can be."

Whines.

"How could it /**possibly** be worse than the show they put on for the judge?"

"The Christmas the police brought L-Logan home from Newcastle," whispers Derek. [1]

Jackson cringes. "Yeeeeea ... that was bad." Brightens. "We'll only have to deal with them one at a time today. It's hard to argue when you're on different sides of town."

Derek whimpers, starts chewing his thumbnail again.

"Derek—"

Jumps, tucks his hands under his thighs.

"—it'll be /**fine**." Grins over. "In fact, I'll bet you a weeks' dishes they /**completely** ignore you and harass me the entire time.

"Wha?"

Jackson rolls his eyes, adopts his blustery impression of their father's voice. "'You're still just a /**technician**? You'll never make a decent living with that job. Why don't you go back to school? You could be a lawyer or a doctor or an architect, a /**real** profession, yea?'"

Derek snorts.

"So, are you gonna take the bet?"

"S-sure."

"Awe/**some**." Jackson offers a hand.

Derek shakes.

Two more turns and Jackson pulls into the driveway of his childhood home with a sigh.

They haul themselves out of the car and to the front door.

"Ready?" says Jackson.

Derek wobbles a smile.

Jackson grins, squares his shoulders, rings the bell.

Derek hides in his shadow.

After a longish beat, the door swings open.

"Jackson."

"Hey, Dad."

"Come in." Gestures Jackson inside. "It's been a while since I've seen you."

"Been busy with work and the move." Jackson strolls to the family room.

Derek presses himself to the wall and slides past.

"Still have the same job?"

"Yea." Puffs up a bit. "They're giving me more design work these days."

Dad hums approval, maneuvers himself between Jackson and the exit.

Jackson checks an eye roll.

Derek shuffles out the door with a stack of boxes and a duffel.

"Work's been steady, then?"

Jackson nods. "We've been busy. All sorts of weird machinery for that new Jaeger base." Rubs his neck. "Had to work like mad the last couple of days so I could take a few days off to help Derek get settled."

"You're never going to get ahead if you don't put in the hours," intones Dad.

Jackson does. not. sigh. "I've decided family is more important than my career."

Dad does sigh. "Jackson ... you'll never be able to /**afford** a family on a technician's salary. Not in this economy."

Jackson bristles a tiny bit. "I do well enough and I'm happy."

Derek tiptoes past with a couple of boxes.

A frown as Dad says, "I hear you're dating a new girl."

Jackson slips into his dopiest smile. "Charlie. She's moving in with Derek and I."

Dad raises an eyebrow. "What does Charlie do?"

Derek slinks by with a suitcase and a lamp.

"She's a university student doing the biogeochemistry programme."

"An engineer, then?" A flicker of approval—maybe hope.

Jackson shrugs. "She's still deciding what she'll do after graduation."

Back to frowning. "I always liked Lily. There was a girl with ambition.

"Dad, we broke up almost four years ago. We're not getting back together."

Derek pokes his head through the doorway, flashes thumbs up.

Jackson checks his watch. "Aw, crap. We've gotta go. Mum's expecting us. You know how she is." Shrugs helplessly.

Dad snorts and rolls his eyes. "Of course. Best of luck with that harpy."

"Thanks. Seeya later." Jackson saunters to the door, lets himself out, quicksteps to the car. He /**probably** backs out faster than's safe.

Jackson stops at the first intersection, bonks his head against the steering wheel a few times.

"Jack?"

"Expecting assholery and not punching the asshole in the neck are two very different things," mumbles Jackson. "I'm so sorry you had to live alone with that."

"'s'okay. He mostly ignored me." Swallows. "Mum, too."

Jackson starts the car forward again. "We should've done this /**years** ago."

Derek says nothing, chews his thumb—

"Derek?"

He jumps, tucks his hands under his thighs.

"What's my next turn?" Jackson rubs his neck. "I think I'm lost."

Derek studies the scenery, instructs, "Left at the next corner."

"Heh. Thanks." Smiles sheepishly. "Probably should've let Charlie do this. I don't think she /**ever** gets lost."

Derek swallows. "She drives a little f-fast, though."

Jackson blinks. "Yea, good point. That ride to Blue Mountains? Hair raising." Shudders.

Derek greys at the memory. "Y-yea. Thought we were gonna die."

"Made record time, though."

Frowns.

"Don't worry, I'll never let her do that again."

Snorts.

"Hey! She listens to me!"

Quirks an eyebrow.

Jackson's shoulders sag. "Sometimes."

"Turn here. It's third on the right."

"Cool. Thanks." Jackson pulls to the curb. "Same plan?"

Derek nods.

Mum's nipping leaves from an immaculate rose bush in the center of her photospread-perfect front garden as they pile out of the car.

"Hey, Mum!" Jackson calls as he opens the gate.

"Jack! So good to see you!" she coos, glancing over her shoulder. "Just let me finish with this /**stu**pid scraggly thing and I'll show you my latest prize."

Derek darts behind Jackson and through the front door.

"No problem," replies Jackson casually, stepping—

"Stay on the path, please, dear," she chides, turning with a handful of trimmed leaves. "I /**finally** have the lawn in decent shape and don't want it getting squished."

"Of course." Jackson coughs to cover a sigh.

Leaves into a composter cleaner than Jackson's kitchen.

"Why is there a patch on your elbow, dear?"

Jackson jumps, ducks his head. "It's a, uh, nerd thing."

Mum sighs. "You really should start dressing like the handsome young professional you are, Jack. You don't want clients forming wrong first impressions of you and your skills." Steps out of her shoes and into slippers.

Derek eeps, ducks back around a corner.

Jackson sheds his footwear, puts some pride in his voice. "Clients expect a certain degree of nerdiness from CAD people."

Mum huffs a dubious breath, brightens as she leads him into the dining room. "Ah! There's my newest pride and joy!" Flourishes to one of a pair of framed etchings on the wall.

Jackson tilts his head in an appreciative fashion. "You found a matching one."

Derek creeps past with a duffel and a suitcase.

"Yes!" She beams. "It's the most /**amazing** story."

Jackson hums.

"To properly redecorate in here, I needed a sibling for /*Le* /*Mets* /*Brule*—" Brushes an invisible mote of dust from rightmost frame. "—and I thought a /*Les* /*Eplucheurs* would be /**ideal**." Frowns. "My usual agent couldn't locate one, but I remembered and contacted another gallery I worked with /**ages** ago. Wouldn't you know it, they were closing out the sale of a private collection of etchings and little /*La* /*Carte* here—" Strokes the frame. "—was the only one left. Another buyer had backed out and they practically /**begged** me to take it home. I couldn't refuse."

"Huh. Pretty lucky."

Derek sneaks out the door with a laptop balanced atop two boxes.

"It was meant to be," Mum purrs. "Ribot is /**so** underappreciated it's nearly /**criminal**."

Jackson shrugs. "He's not really my type. Too—" Vague gesture toward the etchings. "—static."

Mum rolls her eyes. "All those video games have ruined your appreciation for quiet subjects."

Derek, wrapped in a quilt and with an armload of bedding, shuffles by.

Jackson gazes heavenward. "Mum, I paint portraits and /**landscapes** for fun. I'm fine with 'quiet subjects'."

"You digitally paint, dear. It's not the same." She shifts a vase of flowers a quarter-centimeter closer to the center of the dining room table. "You have the talent for a gallery showing if you switched media and applied yourself properly."

"I don't want to make painting a chore; it's what I do to relax. Besides, I've already got work in a museum."

Mum lights up like fireworks. "Oh?"

Jackson preens a little. "I helped design the models for the /*Leaellynasaura* exhibit they put up last year in Melbourne."

"Jack ... you know that's not what I mean." Hands on hips.

Derek waves from the open doorway.

"More people are going to see those models than would /ever come to a showing." Jackson glances at his watch. "Aw, crap. We've gotta go. Dad's expecting us. You know how he gets when you're late." Shrugs helplessly.

Mum huffs. "That man probably already has his own /**funeral** scheduled down to the /**second**."

"Yea, I don't think he deals well with spontaneity." Jackson sidles to the foyer, reclaims his shoes, opens the door.

"It's been lovely seeing you, Jack. Next time you simply /**must** stay longer." Smiles warmly. "You should bring this Charlie of yours next time. I'd /**love** to meet her."

Jackson pauses on the stoop. "She's awfully busy, Mum, but I'll see what we can work out."

"Of course, dear, but you have to make time for family, you know."

Jackson does. not. sigh. "I know. I'll let you know when we can make it up here next." He waves, backs toward the curb.

"Stay on the path!"

Jackson turns around, rolling his eyes, minds his steps to the car.

Derek's already belted into the passenger seat.

Jackson all but jumps inside, starts the engine, rolls to the end of the block.

At the intersection, Jackson scrubs his face with both hands. "Christ, they're /**awful**," he whines. "How did we /**not** all grow up to be Logan?"

"Nanny," whispers Derek, "and luck."

"Yea, thank god for Nanny and lucky genes." Jackson sighs, points the car south toward Sydney.

.

[1] The infamous "Great Christmas Scene of 2008" as described on Logan (meta).