Archive of Our Own

You've never been inside of a prison before. And the thing is, any of the kids at school would think you were full of shit if you were to tell them that. Everybody knows how your brothers and cousins and everybody around you rolled. Prison time is practically a rite of passage to the Fitzpatrick family. You think you should feel some sense of shame over that, but you're tired, it's old hat, and it doesn't mean anything to you.

So you've never been inside a prison but you're still always, always nervous around cops, jails, whatever, because even if you've never done anything bad enough to get arrested, fear and hatred of the pigs is a family value that's been pressed into your head since you could ask about that kind of thing. Maybe just being a Fitzpatrick makes you look suspicious to Neptune cops, for all you know. It's not like they have a history of catching the right people, anyway. Innocence doesn't protect anyone in Neptune.

So, yeah, most of your brothers have done time inside these very walls you're walking past. You're sure as hell not the first woman in your bloodline to visit a man here. You used to wonder, when Felix would come see you in the middle of the night, on an adrenaline high, skin glistening with the sheen of efforts you knew better than to ask about, if you'd have to come see him in here one day. You'd thought, if you could just make it to graduation, you could have focused all your attention on keeping him safe.

You'd been stupid, because everyone knows how that story ends. They may not know the right players, but they all know the basic details. And no one's ever allowed you to visit anyone in the prison before. There were things in there that you shouldn't see, you'd been told. You used to think it was for your own protection, that even if Liam and the rest of your brothers could be absolute monsters to everyone else, they still looked out for their little sister. You used to think that, at least, was sacred to them. You used to think so, but now you think it's more like you don't matter to any of them, you don't exist, you barely register, so why bother letting you visit?

Your reasons for finally crossing that line are crazy and you know it and you don't care. You don't have a reason for being here today that would make sense to anyone else. All you know is, something inside you has been broken and fragile ever since the only person who'd ever really loved you was left to bleed to death alone on the bridge like it didn't matter to anybody. Like he hadn't mattered; like you didn't either.

The fierce injustice of it all, of the brutal loss and the pain that hadn't gotten all that much more dull in the last year, it all fills you with a sickly fury when you think about it. You think you could have learned to wrangle with that, but not with the way that everyone expects you to play along like nothing's happened. Not ever. You've tried, sort of, mostly out of fear, which has grown by leaps and bounds now that you know that you enjoy no special privilege with the monsters in your family. Something happened and you know you need to see the only other person who will tell you that you're not crazy, you're remembering right, you have a right to want to puke at what your family did to Felix. You think that just thinking his name is still like a knifetwist to the gut should be proof enough that you've got the story right. But it's not.

You're only human, no matter how much everyone you know is in the dark about that fact.

You know you're the last person he's expecting to see in that booth, but by the time he's lowered himself into his seat, his surprised expression has shifted back into its usual nonchalant boredom. You don't care. You know better. You're maybe the only one that does.

The little metal truck in your purse feels bulky and cool against your palm. You place it gingerly on the counter in front of you, the strangest peace offering the world ever saw; you watch something break through the cynicism on his face, and you reach for the phone slowly, keeping your eyes on him, like an invitation. After a moment, he picks up his phone, too.

"Hey, baby. Come here often?" he said dryly.

"Hey, Eli." You don't expect your voice to be that hoarse when it comes out. "How are you?"

"I'm late for a pedicure," he snaps, like it's the fucking stupidest question he's ever heard. It probably is. "What the hell are you doing here? What's this about?" He gestures with his chin the direction of the truck.

You aren't here for stating the obvious. You ignore his questions. "I know what you did." You lock eyes with him; you let him study your face as long as he needs to.

"Everybody thinks they know what I did," he begins. "Everybody's got a theory. But you'd be surprised how rarely they turn out to be –"

"I know what happened to Felix," you clarify, as fast as you can get the words out. "And... I know what happened to Thumper." Another long pause. It's as close to a thank-you as you're going to be able to get today. After what seems like an eternity, he acknowledges your words with a subtle nod.

"He used to talk about you all the time, you know?" Your voice shakes and you're sure you sound ridiculous, but the gutting relief you feel at talking to someone who won't pretend they have no idea what you're talking about is just too overwhelming to stop. Like a dam bursting open. "You were like. Like his idol. And I never got it. I never got why. I'd see you around school and... I don't know. He said he thought you were like his brother. And I guess I used to wonder... if you were worthy."

He opens his mouth at that, like he's gonna say something. But he just lets out a slow, low exhale, his grip on the phone faltering imperceptibly.

"I used to wonder if you deserved that," you say, steadier with every word that passes. The pressure pushes from behind your eyelids and you blink away images of the boy that'd taught you what hope looked like. That's all gone, but Eli Navarro's still here, and he needs to hear some things from you, whether he wants to or not. "Because Felix was special. He was really amazing. I know nobody saw that. I don't even think you did. But I did. He was... he was." The verb tense is what gets you; you drop your gaze and fall into silence.

"Maybe you're the one who didn't deserve him," he says back, but you can hear his heart's not in it, and you're grateful for that, too. "He never mentioned you to me. He'd talk about the plans he wanted to make with somebody, like it was about some dream girl he'd made up." He pauses, smiles a satisfied smile that doesn't touch his eyes. "It's almost like you weren't a real person." That, you know, was meant to hurt, but you shrug it off. You know what real cruelty looks like.

"I think maybe he was afraid of looking weak to you," you tell him, and you almost make it to gentle. "I think he didn't think you'd understand about us. I think... he wasn't wrong about that."

He accepts that with another small, labored shrug. Like he wants you to think he doesn't care, but you see how he's waiting for you to say more in the outline of his posture.

"It's because of me that they did it, y'know," you tell him, voice dropping to a whisper, even though you know no one can hear you and suddenly you remember the stale smell of your only decent brother's confessional. This is like that, in a way.

"It wasn't your fault," he tells you, his voice low and defeated. "For serious, it's not."

"It doesn't feel that way," you admit. "I knew what would happen. If they found out. I was - I was selfish." You can feel your cheeks burn hot at the admission, all the shame and guilt bubbling up hotly in your throat, and you swallow furiously. Because there's still more you want to say, and you're going to make it to that.

"Listen," he tells you animatedly, "That's messed up. Only person whose fault it really is? Is pushin' up daisies. You read?"

You nod, sure that one day, in the distant future, his words are going to ring true for you. Today is not that day, but his words are a kindness you're not sure you even deserve. "Look, I'm not gonna take up any more of your time."

"Yeah, I got a busy schedule in here, you know. They TiVo Desperate Housewives."

You feel your lips twist into a cracked smile at that. You have a flash of Felix laughing, high-pitched and too loud like he always did and with a smile that always came broad and easy even at all your dumb, lame jokes, and you wonder if that's what had sealed his bond with this boy. You wonder how much he'd made Felix laugh, too, and that. That's something. And you know. This is it. This is what you came here for, to see this, to know for sure that it had all meant something to somebody else besides you.

"I just. I wanted to tell you that you were wrong."

He waits, cradles the phone between his ear and his shoulder, shows you his palms, making the universal signal of I got nothin'.

So you add, your voice steady and strong for the first time in a long time: "Before. I did love him," you rush on, even quieter than before. "More than anything. I still do. So... you were wrong about that."

He lets that sink in, expression inscrutable, before saying, "Yeah, it's all good."

You let out a shaky breath and let your eyes dart around his plain, stark surroundings, taking in the details for the first time since you'd gotten here.

"How you holding up?" you ask, more curious than worried. Nobody you know ever talks about life in here. It's a don't-go-there subject; a taboo unspoken and universally understood. You've always wondered. You once told that to Felix and he laughed and said you were morbid and had mussed up your hair affectionately.

"It's a goddamn paradise," he snaps, a pained expression flashing across his eyes for the briefest instant. "Five solid months of paradise. I dunno why I didn't go to jail earlier."

Felix would've laughed at that, too. "You taking care of yourself?"

He cocks his head, his eyes glittering. "Lady, you need to ask me that, you really don't know me very well."

"No, I don't." You say it like you're throwing it back at him. He doesn't know you, either, after all. Your fingers curl around the little toy truck again, like it's a touchstone, a talisman, and you watch him pretend not to notice. "I don't know if I'll come back."

"Really? Cause, you know, that'd be really fucking tragic."

You're both lying and you both know it.

You hang up, you leave, you go back to a home where you haven't belonged in ages and ages and now you feel more out of place than ever. It's not okay and you know you're on borrowed time there one way or another. You are already looking for a time to get away again. You think you'd like to let him do more of the talking next time. Maybe he can fill in the blanks you have about Felix. Maybe you can see yourself through his eyes again, just by hearing what Eli has to say. He says Felix never mentioned you, but you would like to show him how you're sure it's just that he just hadn't been listening. You would like that so much that you can't breathe for thinking about it.

It's not okay, still, but at least it's real.