The Long Road, Part 2/?
Title: The Long Road
Author: scowilily
Rating: PG
Pairing: Alan/Kevin
Summary: The love story of Alan Bradley. AU
Sam tries to run away. He’s staying with Jordan’s parents, and they’re doing their best to deal with a boy who’s lost his father after losing his mother, but it’s not enough. They can’t replace the gaping hole in Sam’s life.
As it turns out, neither can Alan. Alan’s not Sam’s dad. He might have been in an alternate universe, but in this one parenthood is still an encrypted message Alan hasn’t managed to decode-not even with Jethro, the child of his own flesh. So Sam’s stuck without a parent, just like Alan’s stuck with being himself. Alan visits Sam anyway because they keep each other company in the twilight hours of hope.
No ransom demands are made. No bodies are found. The police say they’ll continue to keep the investigation open, but in truth Kevin’s file is being passed on to a large pile of cold cases. The media’s worse than useless; they report an endless string of false sightings and leads, all of which wind down to disappointing dead ends.
Sam and Alan hold vigil in defiance of it all. Neither one of them will accept that Kevin’s gone. How can they accept his absence when they’re both stuck without him?
“Alan?”
“Yeah?” Alan calls out. He’s trying to zone out in front of the muted TV. “Something wrong?”
Sam’s in front of the couch, fussing with a few action figure toys; they’re custom made for him, ordered by Kevin. To this day Alan still has no idea as to who or what inspired those plastic figurines. Sam said they might be Tron or Clu. But Tron is just a program, and who the hell is Clu? Little mysteries like that make Alan wish he could peek into Kevin’s mind just one more time.
“Do you think Dad left because of me?” the boy asks hesitantly, like he’s afraid of the answer.
Alan’s so shocked he hardly knows how to form words. “What on earth put that utterly absurd notion in your head?”
“It’s what some people were saying, at the end of the coverage.” Sam shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “That being the head of a big company and a single-parent was too much for him. I don’t care if it’s true. I just want to know.”
That’s about the biggest lie Alan’s ever heard, and he’s heard told some pretty unbelievable yarns. So he squats down next to Sam and looks him dead in the eye. “Your Dad loved you more than anything.” Alan says it as convincingly as he can because Kevin would never want his son to doubt it; and since Kevin's not here, Alan has to be the one to tell Sam. “He wouldn’t have left you behind-not if he could help it.”
Sam is quiet. He doesn’t appear to be at all reassured. When Alan reflects on his words while driving home, he realizes his mistake. Kevin has already left Sam behind. So, with all other possibilities eliminated, there’s only one other relevant question: what could prevent Kevin Flynn from reaching his son? It couldn’t be Alan. Even if Kevin hated Alan for the awful, cruel words of that last encounter, Kevin wouldn't let hatred or even the misery of that hate bar him from Sam. Sam was the one person Kevin loved most. Alan’s sure of it. He believes it just as much as he wants Sam to believe it. But if that’s true, the question persists: what, short of death or some fate worse than death, could chain Kevin Flynn from what he most cherished?
Alan’s put Sam in the position of asking that question. Kevin had better get back soon because Alan doesn’t know what he’s doing, and Sam's the one being punished for what Alan isn't.
*
Weeks become months. Before Alan can blink, a whole new decade is already starting and seven months have passed without Kevin Flynn. ENCOM prospers, but not thanks to Alan’s leadership. Alan accepts a position as a consultant. He still earns an unbelievable amount of money; without Kevin, though, he’s just a ghost of his former potential-half the talent, half the energy, half the imagination-and no other collaboration lives up to that kind of success. He tries to be graceful about the fall, but it almost breaks him. Those memories of Kevin leaning over Alan late at night, his face lit up by the glow of the monitor, still haunt Alan in his dreams as much as the possibilities, the fantasies, the what-might-have-beens. He cries. He drinks. He tries to forget. But Kevin is always waiting for him around some corner, and Alan both wishes for and dreads the day when he’ll be really alone.
*
Time incrementally slows to a crawl for Alan. He doesn’t cease to function; he doesn’t scuttle away and become a hermit, though he’d like to on occasion. He mourns for a long while until Lora finally does get angry with him. She shouts at him over the phone, shoots her mouth off about how Kevin wouldn’t want Alan to turn into a delinquent. Alan can’t respond verbally, but he tries after that. He reaches out to his friends again (the ones who are still around). He has dinner with his wife and kid when he visits D.C. He tries to be there for Sam, who’s older and just as much of a wise-ass as his father. Alan even dates after about ten years. There’s Jillian, a doctor with her own private practice. There’s Mark, a quiet, teasing academic snob. There’s even a David who drinks with him and plays billiards or nine-ball. But no one lasts. Alan rides that train for as long as he can, and then one morning decides he’s done dating. He’s always scoffed at the romantic ideal of “the one”; there’s several billion people out there, and odds are there’s at least a few likely to induce a chemical cocktail of lust and domicile trust. But Alan thinks now that maybe he missed his chance. Maybe Kevin was “the one”-not because Alan’s biologically incapable of connecting with someone else, but because Kevin was in the right place at the right time. Or maybe the wrong place and the wrong time, since Alan both was and wasn’t ready.
He learns to live with his guilt and regret by being busy. He makes an effort to always be occupied with something because being active helps keep his mind in the present. He edges out of programming and into full time entrepreneurship. He practices trick shots with his cue stick. He goes out to the movies. He attends the recitals of children whose parents are his friends and colleagues. He argues with Lora about politics (and boy that’s asking for trouble). He even cuts back on the drinks and starts watching out for his health. He runs, though it’s more like a slow jog. Occasionally, he thinks of what Kevin might say about what Alan’s doing or what the world’s up to, but the lines make Alan laugh rather than wallow in the mire.
What eventually does make him depressed is Sam. Sam’s caught up in some kind of labyrinth nightmare of trying to be his father’s son, but not really knowing how to go about it. Alan wants to help but he can only be as much a part of Sam’s life as Sam lets him. Sam doesn’t let him. He pushes everyone away, drops out Cal Tech, and lives in a dump. To Alan, it’s like failing Kevin all over gain.
Alan wonders if he’ll ever make peace with this ghost from his past. Kevin would be older than Alan, if he were still alive. It’s strange because he and Kevin only knew each other for such a short time, and they’ve been apart now longer than they were friends. Yet here Alan is, his hair turned silver with age, remembering the man that was and carrying around his memory like that pager Kevin gave Alan; it’s dinged up now and very much out of date, but still in his pocket. Life is like that, Alan thinks. People enter and exit your stage, but they leave little bits of themselves behind, and the people you love never really go away completely.
*
He’s at the arcade because Sam needs him. The kid is barely coherent over the phone, and Alan wonders if maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut about the page from a disconnected line. He thought maybe he could shock Sam out of his suicidal stunts. Or at least give the boy something to do. Lord only knows what kind of morose visions Sam crawls into when he spends so much time alone with that dog.
“Sam?” he yells into the arcade. The lights are on, and the machines are still beeping and blinking like the old days. Alan’s surprised they’re working at all.
“Down here!” It’s coming from the back of the arcade. Alan saunters across the main floor, weaving his way towards the source-only to stop. A machine’s been pushed to the side, and there’s a gaping hole in the wall with stairs leading down. Alan gets that funny feeling in his stomach; it’s like an ache, a twitch of nerves, that he gets whenever he’s about to stumble across another unsolved Kevin Flynn mystery. He cautiously descends into the mouth of that hidden alcove.
There’s three people in the room. One of them is Sam, and another is a young woman with short cropped black hair; they’re both wearing strange synthetic suits. The third is an older gentleman with a full, scruffy beard, thick eyebrows, and sharp, clear eyes. He’s wearing a flowing, tailored black robe, but Alan still can’t get past those eyes-they’re blue-and that face, which has a few extra wrinkles and isn’t quite as lean as it used to be, but which Alan knows. Alan recognizes this person.
“Kevin?”
The gentleman stands-practically flowers up from his chair like nature’s own Green Man, ancient, but strong and graceful. His lips quirk up incongruously, ruining the effect just like that West Coast hippie speech. “Long time no see, man.”
*
They don’t hug. They don’t even shake hands. Alan’s heart beats like he’s just run a marathon even though he’s barely moved. Sam introduces him to Quorra, and that’s sort of a relief because Alan has to turn away long enough to interface with her exuberant fountain of energy. She’s in complete awe of him; he apparently looks like Tron, which requires explanation. Sam herds them all upstairs, and Alan hands him the keys to his sedan. Quorra takes the backseat with Kevin before Alan realizes that they’re out on the sidewalk, right where he parked before he came inside.
Sam does most of the talking as he drives. He tells Alan about the Grid, about the laser (and holy crap, Lora is going to blow her stack when she finds out), about Clu, about the ISOs, of which Quorra is apparently the last. Alan feels like he’s on an acid trip; he’s only smoked a cigarette once in his life, and he’s never done pot, nevermind LSD, but if he were to imagine what an acid trip might be like, this is it. And, of course, “it” involves Kevin. The same Kevin who’s been dead for twenty one years. The same Kevin who’s now sitting in the back seat of Alan’s car, trussed up like a Jedi master straight out of Star Wars. The same Kevin who’s pointedly ignoring the occupants of the car and gazing out the window like he’s found the keys to the universe.
They don’t take a direct route to anywhere. They shoot over the bay bridge as the morning dawns over fog-blanketed mountains.
“The sun,” Quorra whispers.
Kevin smiles as she leans over him to take in the sunrise. He even wraps an arm around her shoulder before turning to soak up the warmth and the landscape with a slight glint of moisture in his eyes. It’s more than Alan can bear to see through the cold, distant rear view mirror. He lifts his titanium-thin glasses off his nose and rubs his face. The he focuses on the dashboard.
*
He begs off on Sam’s offer of breakfast. The truth is, he’s exhausted and dazed, and life’s not as easy as it was just a scant few hours ago. Sam gives him an odd glance but drops Alan off at the door of his condo complex. Kevin doesn’t even say anything to him. They acknowledge each other politely with a wave-and since when was Kevin ever polite?-and the car pulls away from the curb. Alan plunks his hands into his coat pockets.
He needs to sleep and clear his head, but he can’t sleep. For the first time in a while, he gets rip roaring drunk. And then he does what he’s always done when he’s falling apart: he calls Lora.
*
When Alan won’t visit Kevin, Lora sits in his living room and berates him with lengthy sermons on what an idiot he’s being. He’s in his early sixties; he’s not the same uptight, clueless geek he was in his thirties, and it’s not the hyper-conservative 80s anymore. Kevin’s not going to be around forever because he’s getting old. They’re all getting old. So what the hell is Alan doing here in his living room? He should be over at Kevin’s talking to the man he’s been in love with for nearly half his life.
Alan agrees with her. He knows he’s acting like a much younger, much more foolish man. But he never thought anything could hurt worse than thinking Kevin was dead. He was wrong. Knowing that Kevin is alive, that they’re strangers to each other, that Kevin won’t even call him now that he can-it kills Alan. Lora visits Kevin. She and Kevin have had it out, Alan bets. Lora hasn’t put up with anyone’s bullshit since she hit menopause-not his, and certainly not a more geriatric Kevin Flynn’s. That’s just who she is, and she makes it look so easy. Alan’s never been good at cutting the crap; it’s what allows him to make small talk at business meetings and exchange pleasantries when all he wants to do is hammer out the legalities and sign the fucking deal. He’s not good with words. He’s become adequate at social interaction because you don’t get to where he is without learning a thing or two about entertaining people. But he’s really, really not good at expressing what he’s feeling. His Dad was a hard, working man with callouses on more than just his hands, and his Mom was a quiet secretary turned-operator of punch-card machines. He grew up a nerd. He went to a university and found more nerds. Then he became a business schmuck. When the hell would he have figured out how to talk about his feelings? The people he dated were too experienced and too wise to wax poetic about love; those relationships were about companionship, and sex, and not being alone in this crazy, capricious world.
It all boils down to more excuses, Alan knows. He’s wasting time.
Author: scowilily
Rating: PG
Pairing: Alan/Kevin
Summary: The love story of Alan Bradley. AU
Sam tries to run away. He’s staying with Jordan’s parents, and they’re doing their best to deal with a boy who’s lost his father after losing his mother, but it’s not enough. They can’t replace the gaping hole in Sam’s life.
As it turns out, neither can Alan. Alan’s not Sam’s dad. He might have been in an alternate universe, but in this one parenthood is still an encrypted message Alan hasn’t managed to decode-not even with Jethro, the child of his own flesh. So Sam’s stuck without a parent, just like Alan’s stuck with being himself. Alan visits Sam anyway because they keep each other company in the twilight hours of hope.
No ransom demands are made. No bodies are found. The police say they’ll continue to keep the investigation open, but in truth Kevin’s file is being passed on to a large pile of cold cases. The media’s worse than useless; they report an endless string of false sightings and leads, all of which wind down to disappointing dead ends.
Sam and Alan hold vigil in defiance of it all. Neither one of them will accept that Kevin’s gone. How can they accept his absence when they’re both stuck without him?
“Alan?”
“Yeah?” Alan calls out. He’s trying to zone out in front of the muted TV. “Something wrong?”
Sam’s in front of the couch, fussing with a few action figure toys; they’re custom made for him, ordered by Kevin. To this day Alan still has no idea as to who or what inspired those plastic figurines. Sam said they might be Tron or Clu. But Tron is just a program, and who the hell is Clu? Little mysteries like that make Alan wish he could peek into Kevin’s mind just one more time.
“Do you think Dad left because of me?” the boy asks hesitantly, like he’s afraid of the answer.
Alan’s so shocked he hardly knows how to form words. “What on earth put that utterly absurd notion in your head?”
“It’s what some people were saying, at the end of the coverage.” Sam shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “That being the head of a big company and a single-parent was too much for him. I don’t care if it’s true. I just want to know.”
That’s about the biggest lie Alan’s ever heard, and he’s heard told some pretty unbelievable yarns. So he squats down next to Sam and looks him dead in the eye. “Your Dad loved you more than anything.” Alan says it as convincingly as he can because Kevin would never want his son to doubt it; and since Kevin's not here, Alan has to be the one to tell Sam. “He wouldn’t have left you behind-not if he could help it.”
Sam is quiet. He doesn’t appear to be at all reassured. When Alan reflects on his words while driving home, he realizes his mistake. Kevin has already left Sam behind. So, with all other possibilities eliminated, there’s only one other relevant question: what could prevent Kevin Flynn from reaching his son? It couldn’t be Alan. Even if Kevin hated Alan for the awful, cruel words of that last encounter, Kevin wouldn't let hatred or even the misery of that hate bar him from Sam. Sam was the one person Kevin loved most. Alan’s sure of it. He believes it just as much as he wants Sam to believe it. But if that’s true, the question persists: what, short of death or some fate worse than death, could chain Kevin Flynn from what he most cherished?
Alan’s put Sam in the position of asking that question. Kevin had better get back soon because Alan doesn’t know what he’s doing, and Sam's the one being punished for what Alan isn't.
*
Weeks become months. Before Alan can blink, a whole new decade is already starting and seven months have passed without Kevin Flynn. ENCOM prospers, but not thanks to Alan’s leadership. Alan accepts a position as a consultant. He still earns an unbelievable amount of money; without Kevin, though, he’s just a ghost of his former potential-half the talent, half the energy, half the imagination-and no other collaboration lives up to that kind of success. He tries to be graceful about the fall, but it almost breaks him. Those memories of Kevin leaning over Alan late at night, his face lit up by the glow of the monitor, still haunt Alan in his dreams as much as the possibilities, the fantasies, the what-might-have-beens. He cries. He drinks. He tries to forget. But Kevin is always waiting for him around some corner, and Alan both wishes for and dreads the day when he’ll be really alone.
*
Time incrementally slows to a crawl for Alan. He doesn’t cease to function; he doesn’t scuttle away and become a hermit, though he’d like to on occasion. He mourns for a long while until Lora finally does get angry with him. She shouts at him over the phone, shoots her mouth off about how Kevin wouldn’t want Alan to turn into a delinquent. Alan can’t respond verbally, but he tries after that. He reaches out to his friends again (the ones who are still around). He has dinner with his wife and kid when he visits D.C. He tries to be there for Sam, who’s older and just as much of a wise-ass as his father. Alan even dates after about ten years. There’s Jillian, a doctor with her own private practice. There’s Mark, a quiet, teasing academic snob. There’s even a David who drinks with him and plays billiards or nine-ball. But no one lasts. Alan rides that train for as long as he can, and then one morning decides he’s done dating. He’s always scoffed at the romantic ideal of “the one”; there’s several billion people out there, and odds are there’s at least a few likely to induce a chemical cocktail of lust and domicile trust. But Alan thinks now that maybe he missed his chance. Maybe Kevin was “the one”-not because Alan’s biologically incapable of connecting with someone else, but because Kevin was in the right place at the right time. Or maybe the wrong place and the wrong time, since Alan both was and wasn’t ready.
He learns to live with his guilt and regret by being busy. He makes an effort to always be occupied with something because being active helps keep his mind in the present. He edges out of programming and into full time entrepreneurship. He practices trick shots with his cue stick. He goes out to the movies. He attends the recitals of children whose parents are his friends and colleagues. He argues with Lora about politics (and boy that’s asking for trouble). He even cuts back on the drinks and starts watching out for his health. He runs, though it’s more like a slow jog. Occasionally, he thinks of what Kevin might say about what Alan’s doing or what the world’s up to, but the lines make Alan laugh rather than wallow in the mire.
What eventually does make him depressed is Sam. Sam’s caught up in some kind of labyrinth nightmare of trying to be his father’s son, but not really knowing how to go about it. Alan wants to help but he can only be as much a part of Sam’s life as Sam lets him. Sam doesn’t let him. He pushes everyone away, drops out Cal Tech, and lives in a dump. To Alan, it’s like failing Kevin all over gain.
Alan wonders if he’ll ever make peace with this ghost from his past. Kevin would be older than Alan, if he were still alive. It’s strange because he and Kevin only knew each other for such a short time, and they’ve been apart now longer than they were friends. Yet here Alan is, his hair turned silver with age, remembering the man that was and carrying around his memory like that pager Kevin gave Alan; it’s dinged up now and very much out of date, but still in his pocket. Life is like that, Alan thinks. People enter and exit your stage, but they leave little bits of themselves behind, and the people you love never really go away completely.
*
He’s at the arcade because Sam needs him. The kid is barely coherent over the phone, and Alan wonders if maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut about the page from a disconnected line. He thought maybe he could shock Sam out of his suicidal stunts. Or at least give the boy something to do. Lord only knows what kind of morose visions Sam crawls into when he spends so much time alone with that dog.
“Sam?” he yells into the arcade. The lights are on, and the machines are still beeping and blinking like the old days. Alan’s surprised they’re working at all.
“Down here!” It’s coming from the back of the arcade. Alan saunters across the main floor, weaving his way towards the source-only to stop. A machine’s been pushed to the side, and there’s a gaping hole in the wall with stairs leading down. Alan gets that funny feeling in his stomach; it’s like an ache, a twitch of nerves, that he gets whenever he’s about to stumble across another unsolved Kevin Flynn mystery. He cautiously descends into the mouth of that hidden alcove.
There’s three people in the room. One of them is Sam, and another is a young woman with short cropped black hair; they’re both wearing strange synthetic suits. The third is an older gentleman with a full, scruffy beard, thick eyebrows, and sharp, clear eyes. He’s wearing a flowing, tailored black robe, but Alan still can’t get past those eyes-they’re blue-and that face, which has a few extra wrinkles and isn’t quite as lean as it used to be, but which Alan knows. Alan recognizes this person.
“Kevin?”
The gentleman stands-practically flowers up from his chair like nature’s own Green Man, ancient, but strong and graceful. His lips quirk up incongruously, ruining the effect just like that West Coast hippie speech. “Long time no see, man.”
*
They don’t hug. They don’t even shake hands. Alan’s heart beats like he’s just run a marathon even though he’s barely moved. Sam introduces him to Quorra, and that’s sort of a relief because Alan has to turn away long enough to interface with her exuberant fountain of energy. She’s in complete awe of him; he apparently looks like Tron, which requires explanation. Sam herds them all upstairs, and Alan hands him the keys to his sedan. Quorra takes the backseat with Kevin before Alan realizes that they’re out on the sidewalk, right where he parked before he came inside.
Sam does most of the talking as he drives. He tells Alan about the Grid, about the laser (and holy crap, Lora is going to blow her stack when she finds out), about Clu, about the ISOs, of which Quorra is apparently the last. Alan feels like he’s on an acid trip; he’s only smoked a cigarette once in his life, and he’s never done pot, nevermind LSD, but if he were to imagine what an acid trip might be like, this is it. And, of course, “it” involves Kevin. The same Kevin who’s been dead for twenty one years. The same Kevin who’s now sitting in the back seat of Alan’s car, trussed up like a Jedi master straight out of Star Wars. The same Kevin who’s pointedly ignoring the occupants of the car and gazing out the window like he’s found the keys to the universe.
They don’t take a direct route to anywhere. They shoot over the bay bridge as the morning dawns over fog-blanketed mountains.
“The sun,” Quorra whispers.
Kevin smiles as she leans over him to take in the sunrise. He even wraps an arm around her shoulder before turning to soak up the warmth and the landscape with a slight glint of moisture in his eyes. It’s more than Alan can bear to see through the cold, distant rear view mirror. He lifts his titanium-thin glasses off his nose and rubs his face. The he focuses on the dashboard.
*
He begs off on Sam’s offer of breakfast. The truth is, he’s exhausted and dazed, and life’s not as easy as it was just a scant few hours ago. Sam gives him an odd glance but drops Alan off at the door of his condo complex. Kevin doesn’t even say anything to him. They acknowledge each other politely with a wave-and since when was Kevin ever polite?-and the car pulls away from the curb. Alan plunks his hands into his coat pockets.
He needs to sleep and clear his head, but he can’t sleep. For the first time in a while, he gets rip roaring drunk. And then he does what he’s always done when he’s falling apart: he calls Lora.
*
When Alan won’t visit Kevin, Lora sits in his living room and berates him with lengthy sermons on what an idiot he’s being. He’s in his early sixties; he’s not the same uptight, clueless geek he was in his thirties, and it’s not the hyper-conservative 80s anymore. Kevin’s not going to be around forever because he’s getting old. They’re all getting old. So what the hell is Alan doing here in his living room? He should be over at Kevin’s talking to the man he’s been in love with for nearly half his life.
Alan agrees with her. He knows he’s acting like a much younger, much more foolish man. But he never thought anything could hurt worse than thinking Kevin was dead. He was wrong. Knowing that Kevin is alive, that they’re strangers to each other, that Kevin won’t even call him now that he can-it kills Alan. Lora visits Kevin. She and Kevin have had it out, Alan bets. Lora hasn’t put up with anyone’s bullshit since she hit menopause-not his, and certainly not a more geriatric Kevin Flynn’s. That’s just who she is, and she makes it look so easy. Alan’s never been good at cutting the crap; it’s what allows him to make small talk at business meetings and exchange pleasantries when all he wants to do is hammer out the legalities and sign the fucking deal. He’s not good with words. He’s become adequate at social interaction because you don’t get to where he is without learning a thing or two about entertaining people. But he’s really, really not good at expressing what he’s feeling. His Dad was a hard, working man with callouses on more than just his hands, and his Mom was a quiet secretary turned-operator of punch-card machines. He grew up a nerd. He went to a university and found more nerds. Then he became a business schmuck. When the hell would he have figured out how to talk about his feelings? The people he dated were too experienced and too wise to wax poetic about love; those relationships were about companionship, and sex, and not being alone in this crazy, capricious world.
It all boils down to more excuses, Alan knows. He’s wasting time.