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ax_mainTerry finally meets her father face to face.
The coffee shop across the street looked like every other coffee shop Terry had ever been to in the States, and yet it felt like a very significant kind of place. Was she really about to meet her father? Tessa thought so, and Terry trusted her, but... maybe he wouldn't be there after all. He hadn't been there for the first 17 years of her life, why would it change now? Maybe he'd have realised he didn't want a teenage daughter in the end. They were more trouble than they were worth, weren't they?
And her letter to her uncle had gone unanswered, so far. Maybe it had got lost in the mail?
"Thank you for being here," Terry told her friends, standing beside her on the pavement. Clarice looked so odd with the image inducer on, but it was still her, and Tessa looked as inscrutable as always. She wasn't sure how she would have done this alone. "I suppose I ought to go in, now."
"Yes," Tessa agreed, inclining her head toward the establishment across the road. "We will follow after a brief delay. But I will be monitoring your surface thoughts the entire time; if I detect anything untoward, Clarice and I will extract you immediately." The cyberpath was dressed ... extremely casually, by her usual standards. A pearl-gray cable knit turtleneck sweater rose from beneath the collar of her otherwise nondescript gray coat, and her jeans were on the middling end of fashionable. Clearly, she'd chosen attire which would disappear most easily into the background of affluent middle-class atmosphere.
Clarice nodded reassuringly. She wore a green hoodie, beneath the fashionable overcoat Yuri had picked out for her in Moscow, and the contrast was sufficiently odd not to be too deserving of note. "You got this, girl. And hey, family is family, ay'? Good luck." She shifted slightly, then added, "We got your back, if you need us for anythin'."
Terry gave them both a grateful glance, then took a deep breath as she faced the coffee shop again. She could do this. Like Clarice said, family was family. She tugged on the green fake leather jacket she wore with a simple black v-neck sweater, a pair of jeans, and her black ankle boots, hoped that her outfit screamed 'perfectly normal Irish teenager living in the States', then crossed the street to walk into the café, looking around nervously and trying to ignore how hard her heart thudded in her chest.
There was nothing especially notable about Sean Cassidy, and that was by design. He wore plain but moderately stylish clothes, had red but only moderately so hair, and kept his beard at a healthy three-day fuzz. He fit in with the older hipsters but in an unassuming way.
Theresa, on the other hand, was magnificent. He'd seen pictures, but when he spotted her as she came through the door, his heart stopped as if he'd seen Maeve risen from the grave. She was a feckin' angel, this girl. Betrayal welled in his heart again--the desire to grind Tom's face under his boot, too. Next time he saw that rotten bastard, he was getting a curb stomp, and that was all.
But now, Theresa--Terry had come to meet him. That was all that mattered. Sean stood and raised a hand in greeting to draw attention to himself.
Of course Tessa had shown her pictures, but nothing had prepared Terry for the reality of him standing there. Did she look at all like him? Her hair colour was brighter, but was there something in the features, the eyes? She realised she was staring and gulped, then walked over to him. She'd imagined this moment so many times, and now her throat was dry and she felt like a fool. He was here. Her father was here, and she stopped by the table he'd claimed. "Hi." She glanced down at his drink and asked, "Have I kept you waiting?"
"Came early," Sean said with a smile that crinkled his eyes. Seeing as a hug was out of the question, no matter how he wanted to ask for one, he held out his hand for a shake. "I couldn't wait. Not since I knew you existed."
Would shaking his hand make him even more real? Terry stopped biting her lip as soon as she realised she was doing it - almost immediately - and shook his hand with what she hoped was a not too firm, not too soft grip. A handshake had never felt as important, and his hand was warm. And here he was, looking so nice and friendly and nothing at all like she fancied a spook looked - but every bit like she'd always imagined her father might. "I... I'm not sure what to say," she admitted as she pulled her hand back.
"No, me neither," Sean admitted, still smiling. She was just so beautiful, so much her mother--and so much his own family at the same time. He wondered if he'd seen her on the street, if he'd have felt this strange recognition. It suited the romantic in him to think so.
The sensible spy in him knew it was a pile of shit.
"We could start with your order? What can I get for you?"
"I..." Terry glanced towards the counter, even as she decided not to turn down his offer. "A -" an Irish coffee would have felt about right, "mocha?"
"What's your poison, as milk goes?"
"Nonfat?" Terry offered, not sure why saying so made her feel so very vulnerable.
Sean winked and headed for the counter, tossing a, "Make yourself comfortable, darling," over his shoulder.
That was a tall order if she'd ever heard one, but Terry unzipped her jacket and draped it on the back of a chair, then took a seat, pressing her hands together between her thighs. And going back to chewing on her bottom lip, regularly glancing back to check on the progress of the order.
"Right, so now I know you're a mocha girl--nonfat milk," Sean said when he finally returned and placed her cup before her. Then he sank into his chair and leaned both forearms against the table. "I'm black coffee, myself. Coffee flavored coffee. Though I like a cup of tea better, I never order that outside of my own country. Americans can't make a cup of tea to save their lives."
"They can't really make coffee either," Terry pointed out with a small smile, trying to go with the flow, no matter how awkward she felt. "So, mocha." The milk and cocoa helped hide that fact.
"I don't mind," Sean admitted. "You just have to imagine it's not the same coffee from home--totally different animal.
"So, ah." He cleared his throat, some of his internal awkwardness with the scenario finally showing through. "Ye must have questions. Feel free to ask them." God knew he had a fair few, himself.
The same coffee from home. It was so odd, hearing those words from him, as if they had ever shared anything like home. She supposed he meant Ireland as a whole, but Terry couldn't help but feel that it sounded off. She picked up her spoon to take a little whipped cream on it, then ate it, buying a little time as she considered her options. She couldn't let on that she knew anything about him, so she went for the obvious question, raising her eyes to meet his. "Where have you been all this time?"
"In the field," he replied with no hesitation over the rim of his coffee cup. "After your ma's funeral, I thought I had nothing but work, so I threw meself into it without looking back. The more dangerous the op, the better. I didn't know I had something to live for left." And Black Tom had known it very well, the fucker.
Terry frowned, trying to process what he was telling her. "You were there - for the funeral?"
Sean nodded. "Course I was. Didn't say a word, but... thought quite a few of them."
"But Tom said..." Terry paused nervously; this was the other thing she'd been afraid of. "He said you'd never been back."
"Oh, he knows I was there. I saw him just after, and we had a right punch up." Sean grimaced. "If I'd known what he was hiding--well. Would've gone even worse for him than it did."
Terry's eyes filled with tears before she could help it, and she looked away, blinking rapidly to try and get them under control. Could this be true? It felt a lot like having to choose between the father she'd always longed for and the uncle who'd raised her. If she believed her father, then her uncle was a rotten bastard. How could she make that kind of decision?
Not by crying in front of Sean Cassidy, that was for certain. She took a deep breath and looked back at him, ignoring how tight her throat felt. "He raised me. You weren't here, and he raised me."
How could part of her want to believe him? That was such a betrayal of Tom, Tom who'd gone to prison and never named his accomplice. But this was her father, and she wanted to believe that he cared. Fiercely, with all of her being.
"I know it, darlin," He said, true regret in his eyes and voice. "I know, and I'm sorry. He's done me a lot of wrong, but if he raised you happy, then that makes up for--a lot. A whole feckin lot."
And here he kept saying all the perfect things, but it wasn't fair, and suddenly, even as she wondered how happy she'd been, Terry's sorrow turned to anger. Her green eyes flashed and her brow set into a frown. "I grew up without my parents. How happy do you think that's made me?"
"It's a double edged sword for me," Sean admitted, holding out his hand, palm up on the table. It was there if she could take it. "I'd rather ye'd have been happy with Tom, that he'd been enough. But I admit, the cheated father in me is glad to know I could still be of some use."
Terry stubbornly, pointedly wrapped her hands around her mug, ignoring how much she wanted to take his hand - how much she wanted him to hold her and tell her he'd never leave her, now. Tell her he was sorry, and everything would be all right.
Empty words. Empty dreams.
She hardened her heart against them, swallowing against the lump in her throat. "I haven't seen you in seventeen years, and now I'm meant to trust you when you say Tom's enough of a bastard to have hidden me from you?"
"I'd cite my own witnesses if I could, but what would be the point? Draggin you around Ireland just to prove yer da's not a liar. That's a dickhead stunt." Sean sighed and sat back in his chair, turning his hand over but keeping it on the table. "Anyone who's worked with me could at least tell ye that I cried about your ma more than once when there's a sad song down the pub. If I knew I had you, had something of her left and something new and precious to go on for, why'd I leave you be?"
That was a fair question, and one Terry had asked herself many times, ever since she'd understood that her dad would never be there. She looked down at the mocha in her hands, the mocha she'd barely touched. "I thought you were dead," she said, quietly, tears welling up in her eyes again. "Just like Ma."
"I'm right here," Sean said quietly, looking a little misty himself. "If you've got room for me."
Terry nodded, almost despite herself. "Maybe," she said in a small voice, never mind that her heart was saying yes on an increasingly louder loop.
Sean nodded, pretending not to sniffle, and poorly. "Well. It's not a decision anyone could make in a day, all the same. Have ye got anything else to ask me? Something less taxing? Maybe ye'd like to know my favorite band. I'd like to know yours."
Terry looked away as she composed herself, then nodded at him - more firmly, this time. Talking about music, that was something she could always do. "Well, not a band, but - right now I'm on a big Sheryl Crow kick." She could do this, despite her voice still being a little tight. She modulated the sound just slightly, so it wouldn't be as obvious as she kept talking. "Ask me next week and it'll be Sia again. Or Joan Jett. I'm terrible at picking favourite music." She sniffled. "What about you?"
"Ah, love me some Joan Jett. Slightly before my time, but me auntie introduced me to the Runaways. Always been a little retro. Like some punk rock, some mod stuff. You know the Jam? Very English, but killer."
"I - don't think so," Terry answered with a shake of her head. "Are they an old band?" There were still punk bands now, but they just weren't the same.
"Ah, yeah." Sean snorted and sat back in his chair, holding his coffee close. "I mean, Weller still tours--look, I'll make you up a flash drive with some stuff on it. You do the same if you've got time, yeah? You can teach me all about this Sia character. Is it a character? or a band?"
"You don't know Sia?" Terry blurted out in surprise before she could pause to think how rude it was. "She's amazing. Her vocal skills..." She made singing interesting, which meant a lot to Terry.
"Should've known ye'd be a singer. So was yer ma. So am I, if I'm telling the truth, but..." Sean wondered for a moment as he trailed off. But no. Too soon. And yet, a confession like that, that put him in a vulnerable position... it could be what she needed. "Bet you sound just like her."
"Tom always said so," Terry admitted after a beat. "He said she had the voice of an angel." Except her ma hadn't owed hers to a mutation.
A muscle in Sean's jaw twitched. I'll just bet he feckin' did.... But he swallowed it and took a drink of his coffee to mask as much as he could of his expression. "Have to hear you sometime. Take you out for karaoke."
"He's in prison now," Terry said, feeling the urge to defend her uncle. "For longer than he could've been, because he wouldn't give me up." What if Tessa was monitoring her surface thoughts? Terry was certain her roommate knew already, but had respected her privacy. And what if her father knew now? That she was a criminal. Part of her wanted to shock him, to make him turn his back on her, before she could grow too attached, because he would leave her eventually.
Sean's gaze softened into concern. He wanted to murder his brother, but his worry over her was immediate. "What happened, darlin?"
Terry had wanted him to get angry, or disgusted, or something that wasn't this warm concern. She looked down at her mug, teeth cutting into her bottom lip for a brief moment. "We were running out of money. He'd stopped... everything. Everything illegal. To raise me. We were going to lose the Keep."
She should've thought this through. How was she supposed to explain it without showing her uncle in an even worse light, if she didn't admit to being a mutant? Who asked their teenage niece to help with that kind of job? So she lied, brazenly.
"I'd got kicked out of boarding school, so I came here with him. I said I'd help. Just one job," as he'd told her, "but big enough to get us back on the right path. So we wouldn't lose the Keep." Her voice sounded so frail again as she finished that last sentence, and she hadn't expected it, leaving her no time to modulate the sound. "But the police came. He made sure I got away, and he never gave me up."
"He better the feck not have," Sean said immediately, flushed but keeping his voice down. "He got ye into the mess, the least he could do was not take ye down with him.
"Ye shouldn't have been in that position. Not ever. If I'd had any idea, I swear it, There--Terry. I swear I would've come for ye. I won't forgive myself easy for this."
"You shouldn't," she confirmed shortly, eyes flashing with anger, and a whole lot of other, very messy emotions. Right on the tail of that flash came tears again, and she focused back on her mocha, taking a drink to try and smooth down the lump in her throat.
"No worries there," Sean confirmed. He deserved worse, and he'd taken it for far less reason from far meaner people. "None of what happened with Tom was yer fault. Ye know that, right?"
"I don't know that," she replied, with another flash of anger. "I left him there." Worse than that, she'd hurt him to get away. Scream, Terry, he'd told her, and she'd done it. She'd hurt him and those guards.
"Ye shouldn't have been dragged there in the first place. And I know, I know," Sean held up both hands, "Ye were trying to help. But he stole ye from me so he could be your parent, and this is how it ends up? That's no fault of your own."
"He didn't steal me, you were gone!" Terry cried out, tears still brimming in her eyes.
Sean kept his voiced low, but it cracked as he said, "From the castle, yes. From Ireland? From this world? No. And he feckin' knew it."
She wanted to scream from how unfair this all was, from how torn she felt. She could feel it building up in her throat, and she forced herself to take a couple of deep, calming breaths, eyes closed. She couldn't do that, not again. She thought of Tessa and Clarice nearby, and she thought of Remy, to help her calm down - nothing much, just his eyes, his wicked smile, the way he looked at her, the sound of his laugh.
When she opened her eyes and talked, her voice was carefully controlled, all too tight. "Can we talk about something else?"
Sean took a deep breath, but nodded. "Let's go back to Sia. Cheryl Crow, I know, that's back in my day. Who else am I missing out on?" His voice was still rough with emotion, but he was trying. Hell, he'd talk about anything she wanted, if she'd stay a little longer.
Terry sniffled, then took a sip of mocha to help with the lump in her throat. When she spoke, she was modulating her voice again, so it didn't sound as tight as it otherwise would have. "You know Adele, right?"
"Yeah, of course," Sean said, trying to feign insult but still too rough to make it good. "Brilliant--and what a set of lungs on her. Soul too--especially for a white girl. Who'd have thought."
Now he sounded like Shen or Tamara, and Terry couldn't help but look mildly amused. "Have you got something against white girls? Beth Ditto's white, too."
"Nothing against them, obviously." Sean laughed a little, eyes crinkling. "Who's she?"
"Only one of the best singers and showwomen alive," Terry told him with a small smile. "Do you know Gossip?"
"I reckon you mean a band and not just gossip like the old ladies have at tea, so I'll say no."
"She's their singer. I'll send you a link, if you'd like," she offered. It felt like offering a lot more, which explained why she almost sounded hesitant.
"Yeah." Sean was glad for the offer, and the relief showed in his shoulders as they relaxed. "And I'll get together some mod stuff for you. You have to know the Jam."
"Okay." Terry nodded a bit, and then took another sip of coffee. "Would you... It doesn't have to be now, but would you tell me about my mom?"
"Yeah." Sean nodded. "Of course I would. I'd love to, in fact. Show you pictures and everything.
"Maybe... we could do dinner sometime? Tomorrow? Or later in the week?"
"Friday?" she offered with raised eyebrows, after the shortest pause. She wouldn't have school the next day. Was this right? Should she have turned him down? They still didn't know for sure that all he wanted was to be her father.
"Friday. Where'd you like to go? My treat."
"I don't know," Terry answered with a shake of her head. "Anywhere? Maybe... sushi? Or a pub, honestly."
Sean looked a little surprised, but said, "I'll always choose the pub, if it's an option. There's some good ones around, too. Not as good as at home, but good enough. Can I text an address? You can make it back here from--wherever?"
Terry nodded. "Yes, no problem. Just tell me what time, and where." Absolutely ignoring the question he hadn't quite asked, yes.
Sean smiled, proud of her for being smart like that. At least Tom's gobshite existence had given her useful lessons, for all it sounded like it'd ruined her childhood. "You're on. And I won't forget the music, either."
Terry smiled back at him, still feeling all sorts of awkward but resolved to give this a chance. He was too much everything she had always dreamed of. "I'll text you some links."
"Great. I'm going over to that used book shop, if ye'd care to join me. Otherwise, I understand I'm interrupting life, here."
Terry hesitated, but she was sure Tessa was monitoring the situation. So she nodded, because she didn't quite want it to end just yet. "I could spare a few minutes."
Sean took the last drink of his coffee, well pleased. "Fantastic. Let's see how yer literary taste stands up, eh? And mine."
The coffee shop across the street looked like every other coffee shop Terry had ever been to in the States, and yet it felt like a very significant kind of place. Was she really about to meet her father? Tessa thought so, and Terry trusted her, but... maybe he wouldn't be there after all. He hadn't been there for the first 17 years of her life, why would it change now? Maybe he'd have realised he didn't want a teenage daughter in the end. They were more trouble than they were worth, weren't they?
And her letter to her uncle had gone unanswered, so far. Maybe it had got lost in the mail?
"Thank you for being here," Terry told her friends, standing beside her on the pavement. Clarice looked so odd with the image inducer on, but it was still her, and Tessa looked as inscrutable as always. She wasn't sure how she would have done this alone. "I suppose I ought to go in, now."
"Yes," Tessa agreed, inclining her head toward the establishment across the road. "We will follow after a brief delay. But I will be monitoring your surface thoughts the entire time; if I detect anything untoward, Clarice and I will extract you immediately." The cyberpath was dressed ... extremely casually, by her usual standards. A pearl-gray cable knit turtleneck sweater rose from beneath the collar of her otherwise nondescript gray coat, and her jeans were on the middling end of fashionable. Clearly, she'd chosen attire which would disappear most easily into the background of affluent middle-class atmosphere.
Clarice nodded reassuringly. She wore a green hoodie, beneath the fashionable overcoat Yuri had picked out for her in Moscow, and the contrast was sufficiently odd not to be too deserving of note. "You got this, girl. And hey, family is family, ay'? Good luck." She shifted slightly, then added, "We got your back, if you need us for anythin'."
Terry gave them both a grateful glance, then took a deep breath as she faced the coffee shop again. She could do this. Like Clarice said, family was family. She tugged on the green fake leather jacket she wore with a simple black v-neck sweater, a pair of jeans, and her black ankle boots, hoped that her outfit screamed 'perfectly normal Irish teenager living in the States', then crossed the street to walk into the café, looking around nervously and trying to ignore how hard her heart thudded in her chest.
There was nothing especially notable about Sean Cassidy, and that was by design. He wore plain but moderately stylish clothes, had red but only moderately so hair, and kept his beard at a healthy three-day fuzz. He fit in with the older hipsters but in an unassuming way.
Theresa, on the other hand, was magnificent. He'd seen pictures, but when he spotted her as she came through the door, his heart stopped as if he'd seen Maeve risen from the grave. She was a feckin' angel, this girl. Betrayal welled in his heart again--the desire to grind Tom's face under his boot, too. Next time he saw that rotten bastard, he was getting a curb stomp, and that was all.
But now, Theresa--Terry had come to meet him. That was all that mattered. Sean stood and raised a hand in greeting to draw attention to himself.
Of course Tessa had shown her pictures, but nothing had prepared Terry for the reality of him standing there. Did she look at all like him? Her hair colour was brighter, but was there something in the features, the eyes? She realised she was staring and gulped, then walked over to him. She'd imagined this moment so many times, and now her throat was dry and she felt like a fool. He was here. Her father was here, and she stopped by the table he'd claimed. "Hi." She glanced down at his drink and asked, "Have I kept you waiting?"
"Came early," Sean said with a smile that crinkled his eyes. Seeing as a hug was out of the question, no matter how he wanted to ask for one, he held out his hand for a shake. "I couldn't wait. Not since I knew you existed."
Would shaking his hand make him even more real? Terry stopped biting her lip as soon as she realised she was doing it - almost immediately - and shook his hand with what she hoped was a not too firm, not too soft grip. A handshake had never felt as important, and his hand was warm. And here he was, looking so nice and friendly and nothing at all like she fancied a spook looked - but every bit like she'd always imagined her father might. "I... I'm not sure what to say," she admitted as she pulled her hand back.
"No, me neither," Sean admitted, still smiling. She was just so beautiful, so much her mother--and so much his own family at the same time. He wondered if he'd seen her on the street, if he'd have felt this strange recognition. It suited the romantic in him to think so.
The sensible spy in him knew it was a pile of shit.
"We could start with your order? What can I get for you?"
"I..." Terry glanced towards the counter, even as she decided not to turn down his offer. "A -" an Irish coffee would have felt about right, "mocha?"
"What's your poison, as milk goes?"
"Nonfat?" Terry offered, not sure why saying so made her feel so very vulnerable.
Sean winked and headed for the counter, tossing a, "Make yourself comfortable, darling," over his shoulder.
That was a tall order if she'd ever heard one, but Terry unzipped her jacket and draped it on the back of a chair, then took a seat, pressing her hands together between her thighs. And going back to chewing on her bottom lip, regularly glancing back to check on the progress of the order.
"Right, so now I know you're a mocha girl--nonfat milk," Sean said when he finally returned and placed her cup before her. Then he sank into his chair and leaned both forearms against the table. "I'm black coffee, myself. Coffee flavored coffee. Though I like a cup of tea better, I never order that outside of my own country. Americans can't make a cup of tea to save their lives."
"They can't really make coffee either," Terry pointed out with a small smile, trying to go with the flow, no matter how awkward she felt. "So, mocha." The milk and cocoa helped hide that fact.
"I don't mind," Sean admitted. "You just have to imagine it's not the same coffee from home--totally different animal.
"So, ah." He cleared his throat, some of his internal awkwardness with the scenario finally showing through. "Ye must have questions. Feel free to ask them." God knew he had a fair few, himself.
The same coffee from home. It was so odd, hearing those words from him, as if they had ever shared anything like home. She supposed he meant Ireland as a whole, but Terry couldn't help but feel that it sounded off. She picked up her spoon to take a little whipped cream on it, then ate it, buying a little time as she considered her options. She couldn't let on that she knew anything about him, so she went for the obvious question, raising her eyes to meet his. "Where have you been all this time?"
"In the field," he replied with no hesitation over the rim of his coffee cup. "After your ma's funeral, I thought I had nothing but work, so I threw meself into it without looking back. The more dangerous the op, the better. I didn't know I had something to live for left." And Black Tom had known it very well, the fucker.
Terry frowned, trying to process what he was telling her. "You were there - for the funeral?"
Sean nodded. "Course I was. Didn't say a word, but... thought quite a few of them."
"But Tom said..." Terry paused nervously; this was the other thing she'd been afraid of. "He said you'd never been back."
"Oh, he knows I was there. I saw him just after, and we had a right punch up." Sean grimaced. "If I'd known what he was hiding--well. Would've gone even worse for him than it did."
Terry's eyes filled with tears before she could help it, and she looked away, blinking rapidly to try and get them under control. Could this be true? It felt a lot like having to choose between the father she'd always longed for and the uncle who'd raised her. If she believed her father, then her uncle was a rotten bastard. How could she make that kind of decision?
Not by crying in front of Sean Cassidy, that was for certain. She took a deep breath and looked back at him, ignoring how tight her throat felt. "He raised me. You weren't here, and he raised me."
How could part of her want to believe him? That was such a betrayal of Tom, Tom who'd gone to prison and never named his accomplice. But this was her father, and she wanted to believe that he cared. Fiercely, with all of her being.
"I know it, darlin," He said, true regret in his eyes and voice. "I know, and I'm sorry. He's done me a lot of wrong, but if he raised you happy, then that makes up for--a lot. A whole feckin lot."
And here he kept saying all the perfect things, but it wasn't fair, and suddenly, even as she wondered how happy she'd been, Terry's sorrow turned to anger. Her green eyes flashed and her brow set into a frown. "I grew up without my parents. How happy do you think that's made me?"
"It's a double edged sword for me," Sean admitted, holding out his hand, palm up on the table. It was there if she could take it. "I'd rather ye'd have been happy with Tom, that he'd been enough. But I admit, the cheated father in me is glad to know I could still be of some use."
Terry stubbornly, pointedly wrapped her hands around her mug, ignoring how much she wanted to take his hand - how much she wanted him to hold her and tell her he'd never leave her, now. Tell her he was sorry, and everything would be all right.
Empty words. Empty dreams.
She hardened her heart against them, swallowing against the lump in her throat. "I haven't seen you in seventeen years, and now I'm meant to trust you when you say Tom's enough of a bastard to have hidden me from you?"
"I'd cite my own witnesses if I could, but what would be the point? Draggin you around Ireland just to prove yer da's not a liar. That's a dickhead stunt." Sean sighed and sat back in his chair, turning his hand over but keeping it on the table. "Anyone who's worked with me could at least tell ye that I cried about your ma more than once when there's a sad song down the pub. If I knew I had you, had something of her left and something new and precious to go on for, why'd I leave you be?"
That was a fair question, and one Terry had asked herself many times, ever since she'd understood that her dad would never be there. She looked down at the mocha in her hands, the mocha she'd barely touched. "I thought you were dead," she said, quietly, tears welling up in her eyes again. "Just like Ma."
"I'm right here," Sean said quietly, looking a little misty himself. "If you've got room for me."
Terry nodded, almost despite herself. "Maybe," she said in a small voice, never mind that her heart was saying yes on an increasingly louder loop.
Sean nodded, pretending not to sniffle, and poorly. "Well. It's not a decision anyone could make in a day, all the same. Have ye got anything else to ask me? Something less taxing? Maybe ye'd like to know my favorite band. I'd like to know yours."
Terry looked away as she composed herself, then nodded at him - more firmly, this time. Talking about music, that was something she could always do. "Well, not a band, but - right now I'm on a big Sheryl Crow kick." She could do this, despite her voice still being a little tight. She modulated the sound just slightly, so it wouldn't be as obvious as she kept talking. "Ask me next week and it'll be Sia again. Or Joan Jett. I'm terrible at picking favourite music." She sniffled. "What about you?"
"Ah, love me some Joan Jett. Slightly before my time, but me auntie introduced me to the Runaways. Always been a little retro. Like some punk rock, some mod stuff. You know the Jam? Very English, but killer."
"I - don't think so," Terry answered with a shake of her head. "Are they an old band?" There were still punk bands now, but they just weren't the same.
"Ah, yeah." Sean snorted and sat back in his chair, holding his coffee close. "I mean, Weller still tours--look, I'll make you up a flash drive with some stuff on it. You do the same if you've got time, yeah? You can teach me all about this Sia character. Is it a character? or a band?"
"You don't know Sia?" Terry blurted out in surprise before she could pause to think how rude it was. "She's amazing. Her vocal skills..." She made singing interesting, which meant a lot to Terry.
"Should've known ye'd be a singer. So was yer ma. So am I, if I'm telling the truth, but..." Sean wondered for a moment as he trailed off. But no. Too soon. And yet, a confession like that, that put him in a vulnerable position... it could be what she needed. "Bet you sound just like her."
"Tom always said so," Terry admitted after a beat. "He said she had the voice of an angel." Except her ma hadn't owed hers to a mutation.
A muscle in Sean's jaw twitched. I'll just bet he feckin' did.... But he swallowed it and took a drink of his coffee to mask as much as he could of his expression. "Have to hear you sometime. Take you out for karaoke."
"He's in prison now," Terry said, feeling the urge to defend her uncle. "For longer than he could've been, because he wouldn't give me up." What if Tessa was monitoring her surface thoughts? Terry was certain her roommate knew already, but had respected her privacy. And what if her father knew now? That she was a criminal. Part of her wanted to shock him, to make him turn his back on her, before she could grow too attached, because he would leave her eventually.
Sean's gaze softened into concern. He wanted to murder his brother, but his worry over her was immediate. "What happened, darlin?"
Terry had wanted him to get angry, or disgusted, or something that wasn't this warm concern. She looked down at her mug, teeth cutting into her bottom lip for a brief moment. "We were running out of money. He'd stopped... everything. Everything illegal. To raise me. We were going to lose the Keep."
She should've thought this through. How was she supposed to explain it without showing her uncle in an even worse light, if she didn't admit to being a mutant? Who asked their teenage niece to help with that kind of job? So she lied, brazenly.
"I'd got kicked out of boarding school, so I came here with him. I said I'd help. Just one job," as he'd told her, "but big enough to get us back on the right path. So we wouldn't lose the Keep." Her voice sounded so frail again as she finished that last sentence, and she hadn't expected it, leaving her no time to modulate the sound. "But the police came. He made sure I got away, and he never gave me up."
"He better the feck not have," Sean said immediately, flushed but keeping his voice down. "He got ye into the mess, the least he could do was not take ye down with him.
"Ye shouldn't have been in that position. Not ever. If I'd had any idea, I swear it, There--Terry. I swear I would've come for ye. I won't forgive myself easy for this."
"You shouldn't," she confirmed shortly, eyes flashing with anger, and a whole lot of other, very messy emotions. Right on the tail of that flash came tears again, and she focused back on her mocha, taking a drink to try and smooth down the lump in her throat.
"No worries there," Sean confirmed. He deserved worse, and he'd taken it for far less reason from far meaner people. "None of what happened with Tom was yer fault. Ye know that, right?"
"I don't know that," she replied, with another flash of anger. "I left him there." Worse than that, she'd hurt him to get away. Scream, Terry, he'd told her, and she'd done it. She'd hurt him and those guards.
"Ye shouldn't have been dragged there in the first place. And I know, I know," Sean held up both hands, "Ye were trying to help. But he stole ye from me so he could be your parent, and this is how it ends up? That's no fault of your own."
"He didn't steal me, you were gone!" Terry cried out, tears still brimming in her eyes.
Sean kept his voiced low, but it cracked as he said, "From the castle, yes. From Ireland? From this world? No. And he feckin' knew it."
She wanted to scream from how unfair this all was, from how torn she felt. She could feel it building up in her throat, and she forced herself to take a couple of deep, calming breaths, eyes closed. She couldn't do that, not again. She thought of Tessa and Clarice nearby, and she thought of Remy, to help her calm down - nothing much, just his eyes, his wicked smile, the way he looked at her, the sound of his laugh.
When she opened her eyes and talked, her voice was carefully controlled, all too tight. "Can we talk about something else?"
Sean took a deep breath, but nodded. "Let's go back to Sia. Cheryl Crow, I know, that's back in my day. Who else am I missing out on?" His voice was still rough with emotion, but he was trying. Hell, he'd talk about anything she wanted, if she'd stay a little longer.
Terry sniffled, then took a sip of mocha to help with the lump in her throat. When she spoke, she was modulating her voice again, so it didn't sound as tight as it otherwise would have. "You know Adele, right?"
"Yeah, of course," Sean said, trying to feign insult but still too rough to make it good. "Brilliant--and what a set of lungs on her. Soul too--especially for a white girl. Who'd have thought."
Now he sounded like Shen or Tamara, and Terry couldn't help but look mildly amused. "Have you got something against white girls? Beth Ditto's white, too."
"Nothing against them, obviously." Sean laughed a little, eyes crinkling. "Who's she?"
"Only one of the best singers and showwomen alive," Terry told him with a small smile. "Do you know Gossip?"
"I reckon you mean a band and not just gossip like the old ladies have at tea, so I'll say no."
"She's their singer. I'll send you a link, if you'd like," she offered. It felt like offering a lot more, which explained why she almost sounded hesitant.
"Yeah." Sean was glad for the offer, and the relief showed in his shoulders as they relaxed. "And I'll get together some mod stuff for you. You have to know the Jam."
"Okay." Terry nodded a bit, and then took another sip of coffee. "Would you... It doesn't have to be now, but would you tell me about my mom?"
"Yeah." Sean nodded. "Of course I would. I'd love to, in fact. Show you pictures and everything.
"Maybe... we could do dinner sometime? Tomorrow? Or later in the week?"
"Friday?" she offered with raised eyebrows, after the shortest pause. She wouldn't have school the next day. Was this right? Should she have turned him down? They still didn't know for sure that all he wanted was to be her father.
"Friday. Where'd you like to go? My treat."
"I don't know," Terry answered with a shake of her head. "Anywhere? Maybe... sushi? Or a pub, honestly."
Sean looked a little surprised, but said, "I'll always choose the pub, if it's an option. There's some good ones around, too. Not as good as at home, but good enough. Can I text an address? You can make it back here from--wherever?"
Terry nodded. "Yes, no problem. Just tell me what time, and where." Absolutely ignoring the question he hadn't quite asked, yes.
Sean smiled, proud of her for being smart like that. At least Tom's gobshite existence had given her useful lessons, for all it sounded like it'd ruined her childhood. "You're on. And I won't forget the music, either."
Terry smiled back at him, still feeling all sorts of awkward but resolved to give this a chance. He was too much everything she had always dreamed of. "I'll text you some links."
"Great. I'm going over to that used book shop, if ye'd care to join me. Otherwise, I understand I'm interrupting life, here."
Terry hesitated, but she was sure Tessa was monitoring the situation. So she nodded, because she didn't quite want it to end just yet. "I could spare a few minutes."
Sean took the last drink of his coffee, well pleased. "Fantastic. Let's see how yer literary taste stands up, eh? And mine."
