Warning: I'm gonna hug you?

Nate
The state of Colorado defines third-degree assault as "knowingly or recklessly causing bodily injury to another person."

When Nathan Marszalek called his father at eight o'clock a.m. on Friday the 25th of April he had not yet been charged with third-degree assault but he did punch another person in the face while a patron at a bar in downtown Denver so it was only a matter of time before the prosecutor decided to go ahead and slap him with it. The only good thing about Nate's decision to punch another person in the face while he was a patron at a bar in downtown Denver was that he did it on a Thursday night instead of a Friday night because if he had done it on a Friday night he would have spent the weekend in jail.

Shannon Everett was declared dead on arrival at 1:54 a.m. on Friday the 25th of October but 'dead on arrival' is just a technicality. She was dead when the ambulance arrived to collect her passenger and she was brought in that way.

The fact that it's been six months since Shannon died isn't an excuse for Nathan to have punched another person in the face but he blew a 0.05 BAC when the police booked him. Alcohol isn't an excuse either but it's worth mentioning that he was drunk.

They didn't read him his Miranda rights. That's what happens when you punch another person in the face on a sidewalk in front of a bunch of witnesses as a patrol car happens to be cruising by. They didn't intend to interrogate him because they didn't have to.

At some point Theodore came to collect his kid. Marszalek was released on his own recognizance which meant he needed to come back when his arraignment was scheduled. The fact that the judge knows his father had nothing to do with this but it's worth mentioning that the judge knows his father. He was still in the holding cell when Theodore came to get him and he wasn't sleeping because by the time he got around to getting him he'd sobered up and the other people in the drunk tank hadn't. Suffice to say it was noisy when the officer escorted Theodore to the cell and unlocked the door and told Marszalek he was free to collect his things and leave.

He didn't bother apologizing. Theodore could tell he wasn't proud of getting fucking arrested. He was 27 years old and had never even so much as gotten pulled over for speeding. Even when he was in high school and doing everything he wasn't supposed to be doing he never had any trouble with the police.

The trouble isn't with the police so much as it is with the fact that the young man would be hurting if he weren't numb. It isn't even alcohol that's got him numb because he started out numb when he decided to start abusing alcohol after a certain incident involving a warehouse and an intrusive voice last summer. Alcohol lets him feel something even if that something is just anger or lust. Lets him raise his voice or throw a fist or sit in a car without his brain doing things to him that he doesn't tolerate particularly well.

He didn't have any alcohol in his system when he got into the passenger seat of his father's car this morning.

---

So Nathan had a panic attack. It was the first proper panic attack he'd ever had in his life and it wasn't pleasant for either him or his father but the only thing anyone can really do for a panic attack in the absence of benzodiazepines is to wait the fucker out especially when the person not having the panic attack is trying to negotiate crosstown metropolitan traffic. Nathan was drenched in sweat and unsteady on his feet when they got back to the townhouse but at least he didn't vomit.

---

He took a shower after that and fell asleep on the guest bed wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Didn't bother actually getting into the bed. Just landed on it and called it a day. He's been asleep since then but that's just because Theodore has done nothing to wake him up yet.

The scene starts whenever Theodore does something to wake him up.

Theodore
Nathan is asleep. Whatever goes on in the rest of the townhouse doesn't prey on his consciousness or try to prick him toward wakefulness. Nathan is asleep. Whatever Theodore is doing doesn't concern him. The reporter is never going to know and why should he. The judge knows Theodore but Marszalek isn't Theodore's last name.

Nathan is asleep. He sleeps and sleeps and sleeps.

At some point, Theodore takes a seat in one of the chairs in the guest room and reads Newsweek. At some point, the maid comes in, because did you think Theodore cleaned this place with his own two hands?, opens the door to the guestroom with the vacuum cleaner and then, after a moment's startlement, starts to back out.

Theodore waves her in. Unspoken are you sure yes I'm sure but it's loud that's fine communications, all in a glance.

Then she starts vacuuming.

Nate
He deserved that.

When Nate jerks awake it isn't with the exaggerated startle reflex that has dragged him out of sleep before. Someone isn't touching him. It's just a loud noise. He jerks and he takes a deep sharp breath and turns his head towards the noise and then it's like Oh. Right. He's still at his dad's house.

He lets the breath go again and rolls onto his back. His hair dried in a cowlick on the side of his head that engaged in congress with the pillow but at least it's shorter than it was. He scrubs his face with his hand and blinks the rheum out of his eyes and if the maid looks over at him he waves at her. Contrition in his waving. Like somehow she was inconvenienced by him punching someone in the face last night too.

If she takes longer than 30 seconds to vacuum the room Nathan makes a valiant effort at swinging his legs off the bed and gathering up his overnight bag and grabbing his wallet and keys and cellphone off the nightstand without getting in her way. The notification light on his phone is strobing slow and steady at him but he ignores it.

Theodore
Of course she takes longer than thirty seconds to vacuum the room. She vacuums the room properly, although she doesn't give Nathan much in way of a reaction when he waves and only looked over at him because he moved and she keeps her head down in the manner of somebody who just wants this part of the job done and is probably thinking about something other than her employer's weird house guests.

Nathan makes a valiant effort. Theodore says, over the sound of the vacuum, "Good morning! How's your head?"

He puts his copy of Newsweek down and stands by the door. Outside the door. He looks neat and affluent today (tonight?), polo shirt tucked into his slacks, a general air of respectability.

Nate
How's his head.
That's a loaded question.

His son doesn't look as if he has a headache. He hadn't even had the decency to be hungover when Theodore picked him up. He wasn't that drunk although when you tell the arresting officer you'd had three beers and a shot of whiskey before you clocked someone that doesn't tend to impress anyone in the room.

As he overcomes the doorway he stuffs his wallet and keys into his pocket and assesses his keyring to make sure they're all there. His motorcycle is in the parking garage where it's supposed to be. The office is closer than his apartment. Maybe he'll stop in there and do some work.

The sun doesn't set until later these days. Maybe it's still lingering. Depends on how early Teddy decided to go get his fucking kid.

"It's fine," he says of his head. His voice sounds craggy and talking provokes him to cough a junky smoker's good-morning cough into his elbow. When that's over he pauses at the staircase and manages to look his father in the face even if his eyes keep darting away from his. "I'm... really sorry. About all this. It won't happen again."

Theodore
"Why not?" Theodore says, patiently. He doesn't accept or acknowledge the apology otherwise. His father told him never to apologize unless you had something to be sorry about or you wounded someone else; there was an 'or' there. His father told him never to apologize or to make promises you don't mean in spirit as well as technically, unless, of course, you're talking to the fuzz or you're dealing with innocents or you're standing in front of a jury, and even then.

Nate
Theodore managed to teach Nathan a few things before Shira took them away. Not apologizing is one of them. How to lie without getting caught was another one. If it weren't for Theodore he never would have learned how to ride a bike. Nathan had to teach Hannah how to ride a fucking bike. You want to talk about a good time.

It has to be somewhat rough looking at Nathan because of how much like his ex-wife he looks. He got her dark eyes and her nose and her pale skin. Her height. Hannah at least looks like Teddy in the pictures Nate has of her. Nate is clearly Shira's kid. You really have to look at his bone structure and his hair to find any hint of his father in him. Have to take a decent look at his personality.

That may have something to do with Shira's unwillingness to talk to him. He reminds her of Teddy when Teddy was younger.

Anyway:

"'Why not' what?"

Theodore
"Why will it not happen again?"

He doesn't sound like a hardass. He doesn't sound tired either, though he looks tired, under that general air of put-togetherness, of self-possession - no. Self-possession isn't quite right. He's not belligerently himself but he could be if he were to lose control the way Nate did.

"Something happen while you were sleeping?"

Nate
Nate snorts. Jesus Christ, he doesn't say. He doesn't say anything else for a moment either. Just holds onto the banister and looks at the old man and realizes there isn't anything he can say that won't provoke more questions. Could be he's hoping if he just gives him the silent treatment he'll drop it but Nate's not that stupid.

Part of him wants to give him an honest response because this is his house and he respects him even after everything but the chief complaint all of Nathan's lady friends share is that he's an emotionally unavailable asshole.

"No," he says.

This is going to be like pulling teeth.
You wanted to be a father, Teddy.

Theodore
"So why will it not happen again?"

Theodore glances at the maid, who is vacuuming in a corner now, and he doesn't shut the door but he doesn't stay by the door either. He isn't pacing Nathan but he wants to put some space between them and the maid. He also doesn't want to hang out in doorways.

He still doesn't sound like a hardass and there's no irritation creeping into his voice, if he even feels any. He doesn't look like he feels any.

Nate
Whether he is or is not irritated Nathan is just going to operate under the assumption that he's super fucking pissed until he has evidence to support the hypothesis that he is not super fucking pissed. Both his parents were lawyers. Very successful lawyers. Very successful prosecutors. Lawyers are human and they have a tendency to let their emotions get to them when they've been working 90 hours a week and losing sleep at night and sometimes they lose their shit in the middle of a trial. This isn't a trial though.

Nathan isn't going to trial. His arraignment is going to take about five minutes. He intends to plead no contest and pay whatever fine he's given and not punch anyone in the face ever again.

So why will it not happen again.

They might as well go someplace mildly private. Nate sighs and mirrors the glance towards the maid before he trundles down the stairs. His boots are there anyway.

"Because I'm not going to punch anyone in the face ever again," he says. Duh.

Theodore
"I see. So you are certain that the factors which induced you to punch somebody in the face, not just think about punching somebody in the face, are no longer present in your environment and won't be present in your environment in the foreseeable future, when you're out drinking again."

Nate
Both feet are in his boots. His keys jingle in his pocket. Did they give him back his cigarettes? They did. They were in his pants when he fell asleep. Excellent.

"Compound question," he says. "Refusing to answer it."

Nate
"Also: leading."

Theodore
He smiles, faintly. It's not a particularly pleased smile. "You aren't on trial and this isn't a court of law. I'm just trying to find some clarity. People say 'it won't happen again' the way they say 'fine' if you ask them how they are. It doesn't mean a thing, but I like to think you're different."

Nate
That looks like it struck a low blow. Nate doesn't flinch really but he looks considerably more uncomfortable than he did a moment ago. Both his boots are on and he isn't reaching for the doorknob yet.

When he was having his panic attack earlier he had the presence of mind to realize that if he opened the door to try and get out he was going to hit asphalt at a high rate of speed and though he tried to claw off his seatbelt he stopped when Theodore reached over to take his hands off the latch. This escape impulse of his is a higher-order brain function. In a crisis situation Nathan stays where the fuck he is and fights it.

He isn't panicking right now but he doesn't like where this is going either.

"I should have walked away," he says. "I didn't. The environment didn't have anything to do with it, I just... fucked up."

Theodore
"People don't just fuck up. There's always a reason for why people do what they do," Theodore says, mildly. "And 'environment' isn't just a locale and atmosphere. You had quite a reaction in the car."

Pause. "I'm not trying to make you feel guilty, kid, but I want to know why you think what happened happened and help you through it."

He could start telling Nate what he thinks but that's now Theodore's style.

Nate
"Uh."

He laughs a nervous laugh and glances back over his father's shoulder like to make sure they're still actually alone. Are his palms sweating? He rubs his fingers against them. They're not sweating yet. He crosses his arms over his chest.

Whoops. Body language fail. Now his dad knows he's feeling defensive.

He clears his throat.

"I went outside to smoke because..."

It's a minute pause but a lot happens in that pause that Teddy can't see. His son doesn't leave his body or the room or this point in time but he knows damned well why he went outside to smoke. He looks back at his father.

"No, you know what, I don't feel guilty. You don't have to help me through anything."

Theodore
Theodore doesn't interrupt, although a statement like you don't have to help me through anything is less a remark made in the middle of a speech and more an end note. Sufficient in and of itself. He doesn't fold his arms or sigh or anything like that but he does reach up to rub the place between his eyebrows with the side of his index finger, eyebrows up while he does it, and it would be an inaccurate observer who claimed that Theodore wasn't frowning, because he is. Somebody somewhere likes to make a point about how it takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile, but it's still easier to frown sometimes, for your mouth to be a neutral line shadowed by passive sorrow. Passive because it's not active and he doesn't feel sorry for himself or for, really, anybody. People don't just fuck up.

Nate
Nathan doesn't know if that's a sign he ought to try his answer again or if he ought to leave. He opens his mouth and an answer gets caught in his throat. They can both hear it creaking like a door that doesn't want to give.

This would probably be a conversation better had via email. Nathan's emails were always well-written and entertaining. It had to have been a bit of a jar to see him in person after so much time and realize that writing is where he has a voice. In person he's flattened and tired and there's no point saying he's not miserable. Anyone can see he's miserable. He just also happens to like being alive despite everything.

This isn't a trial. This is his father he's talking to, not a judge.

"Shannon used to put on the worst music when we'd go out," he says. "Like... when I'm out somewhere, I want to be able to ignore the music. Like, it can be a good song and I'll stop and think, 'Oh hey that's... Zeppelin, right on,' but I don't want to be in the middle of a conversation and hear 'Sweet Caroline' fucking blaring out of the speakers, you know? And Shannon would put on stuff frat boys listen to, I never understood it."

Sigh.

"The night before we went to go talk to Rodriguez's sister, she wanted to go out. Okay, fine. We went out. And she put like ten dollars worth of stuff into the jukebox because someone else in there kept putting on like... Radiohead and all this other shit no one in the world wants to listen to when they're out at a bar and she was like 'No, fuck this, I'm just gonna hijack it.'"

This is the first time he's really talked about Shannon to anyone who didn't know her. Everyone else in his circle of friends has been shell-shocked too. After this it will be a lot of Remember The Time Shannon. It'll get easier. Six months is hard. A year is hard. After that it gets easier. He knows this. Shannon isn't the first person who's died on him.

He laughs at the memory but it's a bitter laugh.

"This fucking Prince song comes on, and she gets all excited and wants to dance, and I'm like, 'No, I don't dance.' So she went off and danced by herself because, you know. She wanted to dance, screw you, Nate.

"I went outside to smoke because that fucking song was on, and I didn't want to listen to it, and I was actually thinking about leaving and going home when some guys came down the sidewalk to go in, and one of them said something stupid about the Ukraine and 'eugh we shouldn't be sending troops places they don't belong the government is so stupid eugh' and I laughed and he didn't like that. We started arguing. So I shoved him and when he shoved me back I punched him in the face."

Theodore
"Ah."

Theodore doesn't often rake his fingers through his hair, but he does now. Shadow on the silvered mass of it, and at least Nate knows that his hair isn't going to thin hardcore - or probably not.

He shifts his weight too. Ah, there's a whole world in 'ah.' Theodore's no stranger to grief or the dances one goes through afterward. But Nate -

"Seems rather tame for the boys in blue to dirty their hands with. He must have been a prick."

Nate
"I punched him pretty hard." Beat. "And DPD might have happened to have a patrol car cruising by at that moment." Beat. "Also, I think I might have maybe kicked him. Or he fell. He was kind of on the ground when they got out. It didn't look good."

Stop talking, Nate.

Theodore
"Looking to fill their quotas, I'm sure," Theodore says, wryly. "God forbid they deal with directed violence and prolonged disturbances of the peace."

Another beat. "So you think you're not going to do it again? What if you're drunk and some other guy comes by with a smart mouth. Eileen says you went for the beer pretty quickly."

Nate
Ugh.

"Eileen was standing in the kitchen wearing my t-shirt and thought I was here for a gang bang or something, no shit I went for the beer pretty quickly."

Theodore
"Be that as it may," Theodore says. He clearly thought about addressing the 'gang bang or something' remark, but decided discretion is the better part of valor. Wait, no he didn't.

"And she didn't think you were here for a 'gang bang or something,' Nathan. A woman wearing your t-shirt by mistake isn't the kind of thing you need to drink to ... well."

"Be that as it may," again. "If you want to keep control of yourself, maybe you should drink less. I once bit off a man's finger." He says it like it's true, but is it?

Nate
[perc + subt ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )

Nate
He has heard worse confessions come out of people's mouths before but Nathan still has to stand still and absorb what he just heard and decide whether he's going to react and how he's going to react and he's silent and puzzled for several seconds before slowly flicking his eyebrows and mentally walking it off.

Alright. Dad bit a dude's finger off one time. He was kind of a wild man.

"Are you really gonna stand there and tell me I need to drink less because I punched someone in the face one time?" he asks. "That hardly even affected you. You banging girls half your age broke up a fuckin' marriage and you don't hear me telling you you need to do anything different."

Theodore
[Hmm.]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (8, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )

Theodore
Theodore's jaw tightens; it's a subtle tell, the way his throat works and a certain glacial hardness to the eyes. Nathan didn't slap him; he's already raising his eyebrows slowly, deliberately, perhaps because a reaction needs go somewhere.

"My affairs had very little to do with what happened between your mother and I and, yes, I am going to stand here and tell you that you need to drink less, albeit not because you 'punched someone in the face one time,' but because it will get you in more trouble you seem to be indulging unhealthily."

Nate
The kid looses a derisive huff at his father's assertion that his affairs had little to do with it. It's none of his business why they got divorced. That's not the point.

"Alright," he says as he grabs up the overnight bag he'd dropped by the door earlier, "good... good talk. Later."

Theodore
Theodore slides his hands into his khakis. He looks trim and fit; the definition of silver fox, in the colloquial. Trouble on his brow, troubled weariness around his mouth, but he's not a warden and he still doesn't know how to talk to Nathan. "Right." The cynic. "Be careful." The idealist.

Once Nate's hand is on the door or he's opened it. Steady, tired admission and farewell. "I love you. I know you didn't hear that a lot." Not that it means anything; he's never said the words to somebody it didn't turn to ashes.

Nate
It's been a long time since he's heard those words come from somebody who wasn't Hannah. And Hannah only ever says it when she's trying to make him understand why she's so scared for him. She was nine years old when he went off to Iraq and she was fifteen when he came back to the states and went not to Ron and Shira's where he should have gone but to fucking Janine's apartment. Janine used to say it to him but it was a hollow thing coming from her.

If his mother ever said it to him it's been so long that he can't remember. She had to have said it to him. She's his mother.

Theodore says it to his back as he's negotiating the locks to let himself outside and it stops him. He can see the kid's pale vein-blue hand tighten on the doorknob. He knows he didn't hear that a lot.

The breath Nate takes in through his nose is sharp and premonitory. He shakes his head just as sharp. No. No as a matter of fact he did not hear that a lot. How is he supposed to walk through the fucking door right now.

Theodore
Nathan doesn't turn around so whatever Theodore is doing, whatever his expression, Nathan doesn't know it.

Nate breathes in sharp, pauses at the door, hand tight on the doorknob and he doesn't seem to know how to walk through the door now.

Whatever Theodore thinks about is not witnessed by anybody, because Nate's back is still to Theodore. Even if it weren't; Theodore. He doesn't reveal easily.

He's gracious enough that though there's a spell of silence from Theodore after Nate pauses once it spins out just a little too long, the next remark from him feels like it was always going to be connected to what he's already said. "I regret that."

Nate
If he turns around right now his father's going to see how much pain he's in and he doesn't want that so he doesn't turn around.

Nathan takes his hand off the doorknob and he's not breathing dyspneic like he was in the car earlier gasping and choking on tears that were going down his throat instead of coming out his eyes but he's breathing deeper. That hand goes up to his brow and he lets go a breath.

When he speaks again it's a gravelly sound but it isn't a plea. It's just a response and Nathan doesn't believe in regret any more than he believes in closure.

"Don't."

Theodore
"That's not how it works," after a tiny sliver of a pause. There isn't laughter. There isn't humour. There is a steady leavening, briefly, of whatever pressure is there in Theodore's voice. It's very different from a lightening. He doesn't sound any sadder than he usually sounds and he doesn't sound like he's wallowing. "Just..."

Nate
Whatever storm front threatened to take him over just now has eased off. Nathan can breathe without feeling like he's pulling in air through a sponge but he can't bring himself to turn around yet.

He sets down the overnight bag as gentle as he can. He's listening.

Theodore
Behind Nathan, Theodore -

Doesn't matter. Nathan isn't looking. The door to Theodore's townhouse is very clean. There's a lemon pine smell to it, something fresh and acidic. Theodore's maid is still vacuuming upstairs; does Nathan even know what time it is?

He's listening to quiet and the whirr of the vacuum cleaner. Then, "I do. And I do." And I do love you. "Just ..." Same trap. "Don't feel unloved or unwanted. You're both."

Exhale: "Christ."

Nate
Well so much for that. When he speaks again his voice is strained. He has to jam his thumb and middle finger into the corners of his eyes to keep the water inside them and it ends up going down his throat but what're you gonna do.

Christ.

Huge sniff to clear his sinuses and Nathan lets out another hard breath. Turns more towards his father so they don't have to compete as much with the vacuum cleaner. He has no idea what time it is.

"I wouldn't've moved out here," he says, "if I thought you didn't want me around. Denver sucks."

Theodore
Theodore's not looking at Nathan; Nathan can see that in his peripheral when he turns a little away from the white white white door. Theodore's looking into the living room; looking at a patch of gloomy sunlight like a gloomy sunday billie holliday cocktail thoughtfully.

"It's not so bad," Theodore says. "Ascendant, but rough. It wants to be a different sort of town."

Nate
The assertion that it isn't so bad makes Nate huff out another laugh but it's not derisive. It wants to be a different sort of town.

And when Nate turns away from the door to maybe try this leaving thing again properly he sees his father gazing off at nothing and since his father isn't looking at him anymore it doesn't really matter what he's doing.

"Dad?" he says.

Theodore
"Yeah?"

He doesn't stare fixedly at nothing; he follows the sound of his own voice, glancing back at the kid.

Nate
"Um..."

Nate looks uncomfortable. He's looked uncomfortable all day. That's par for the course. He doesn't know how to rely on or just be around his father any more than his father knows how to talk to him.

"I'm gonna hug you? Because I hear that's what people do, sometimes? I just figured I'd warn you. Before."

Theodore
Ah, a Hallmark moment. Nathan looking uncomfortable, Theodore looking surprised, a moment's worth of - no, it's just surprise, quiet surprise but surprise nonetheless. Theodore takes his hands out of his pockets and holds one arm out, like, c'mere kid, for-to curl around and wrap him in.

Nate
Yeah that's not how this hug is going to happen. He didn't say he wanted a hug. He said he was going to hug him. This isn't Hallmark and Nathan doesn't know how to let people hug him.

Besides he's like four inches taller than the old man and as out of shape and banged up as he is he's stronger than him anyway. He crosses the room with a glance towards the staircase like wouldn't the maid get a real bang out of trying to make her way around downstairs with this shit going on right in her way.

When he hugs him both of Nathan's arms go around Theodore's shoulders.

Theodore
The kid's using his height advantage, which is just no godamned fair. Theodore frowns; he doesn't expect fairness from one of Shira's kids. Theodore frowns because it's automatic. Easy to frown; to be drained of vitality. He doesn't feel frail when Nate bypasses his arm and squeezes Theodore's shoulders. Theodore cough-laughs and he still sounds surprised; he doesn't smoke so that's not why he coughs. There's nothing wrong with his lungs (probably [one never knows, does one?]). He's not going to stand there awkwardly and be hugged, but after the cough-laugh there's a silent moment and then - apologies, Nathan - he hugs Nathan back, even if his arms have to go around Nate's ribs.

He doesn't give an awkward 'all right' to end it. Theodore's comfortable with physicality, of all sorts. He says 'all right' to ask a question.

"All right?"

Nate
One day Nathan is going to start to earnestly worry about his father's health. Maybe he already does worry a bit in the back of his mind but as long as his father is going to work and effortlessly finding bottle openers and car keys and fornicating with women half his age there's only so worried Nathan can be.

When Nathan was a kid he thought his dad was a badass. Maybe it was the suits he wore to work or the fact that he had all this energy on the weekends and was interested in all sorts of shit his mom wasn't interested in and they were always off doing something when they had the spare time. Shira wanted to be left alone when she wasn't at work. She spent most of her time reading or talking on the phone with one of her sisters. There was a time when Nathan loved his mother without reservation and he still does love her but Shira is a difficult woman to love.

The last time Nathan tried to put his hand on his mother's shoulder she swatted it away. So he isn't quite sure what to do when his father puts his arms around his ribs. 'Badass' isn't in his vocabulary anymore. His father seems a lot smaller now that Nathan doesn't have to look up to see him.

All right?

Nathan tightens his grip.

Theodore
If Theodore isn't sure what to do, Nathan doesn't know it. Theodore doesn't seem unsure, per se. Careful might be a better word. Careful, after the surprise has diminished. Careful of his son. He rubs his back. There, there.

His eyes are open and he's watching the door.

They weren't going to have a private moment forever. The maid does come downstairs; Nathan can see, probably, hear the clatter of vacuum cleaner followed by the rattle-slither of the cord.

Nate
Oh thank Christ.

When he hears the maid and the vacuum cleaner Nathan lets his father go and steps back. Nothing to see here don't anybody be alarmed. Doesn't even look over at her when she appears this time. Poor woman has to just want to get the hell out of here and go home.

"Alright," Nate says as he starts walking backwards towards the door, "I'll, uh..." He clears his throat. "I'll call you next week. Maybe we can go to dinner or something."

Theodore
Theodore doesn't try to restrain Nathan either. His grip dissolves. There's a certain cloud over his eyes; a shadow, or something, as he watches Nate back away.

"All right," Theodore says. His hands find his pockets again. "Try to lay off the sauce."

Nate
Nod nod nod. Alright Dad. Lay off the sauce. Whatever you say.

He stoops to pick up his overnight bag and makes it through unlocking the door this time before he looks back. Something's niggling at him. Nobody likes to see their parents bothered even if their parent is pretty good at keeping whatever is bothering him to himself.

"I love you too, you know," he says. Lets that sit there for a moment before the distance he has to walk to get home reasserts itself. It's getting dark. He hates being out after dark these days. "Okay bye."

And out he goes.