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I skipped practice after school that day. Once I recovered from my shock, I walked home so that I wouldn't have to talk to Catherine in the car. I was still stunned, and it took me over two hours to get back to my house. I didn't talk much that night; I just ate, then went to bed.

I didn't sleep most of the night. When the time came for me to wake up and get ready for school, I had already been awake for an hour, staring up at the ceiling and listening to my sister and brother breathe. I went about all the normal motions of getting ready for school, and then headed downstairs. Instead of waiting out front for Catherine and Laurence, though, I just started walking. I don't remember where I went that day. I just wandered from place to place, not really paying attention. I was going over everything in my head, trying to figure out what had just happened and what my next move was.

After school got out, I wandered over to the court where I used to play. I stood just down the street from it, where I could watch without anybody noticing me. I couldn't make out much about most of the players from that distance, so I just stared on. There were a few that seemed kind of familiar, but also quite a few shapes that I knew for a fact didn't belong to any of the old crew.

It was the place that I'd met both Garet and Catherine. I'd heard about Garet before I joined the group; even though he was only a year older than me, he'd had a reputation in my part of town. He was the slightly shifty guy that nobody trusted, but everybody knew. When I'd first met him, he'd lived up to his reputation. He was bigger than anybody else, he was smarter than he seemed, and he had that intimidating air about him. He'd brushed me off at first, but he'd still let me step in, join his group, and play. After I'd shown off how good I was, his demeanour had changed; at first I assumed it was him trying to intimidate me, but on reflection now I knew it was his way of showing his respect for my skill. There were always the rumours about some of the people he knew and things he did. In the time that I'd known him, the only rumour I'd learned to be true was the selling of weed. He'd threatened to hurt me a few times, but on reflection I don't think I'd ever seen him seriously hurt anybody. The most violent I'd ever seen him was the time he'd hit Catherine.

I stood there, watching the players on the court for a little while. Eventually I turned away without joining in, then headed home.

When I walked in the door to our apartment, it was early enough that practice at school wouldn't have even been half done yet. I was still in a haze, and so when my mom called my name from the kitchen, it took me a few moments to reply.

"What is it?"

"In here. Now."

I let out a long breath at the sound of her voice. I knew that my school called home whenever a student was absent without an excuse. I kicked off my shoes, set myself, and then walked in to the kitchen.

It was the first time I'd ever skipped school. I didn't really plan on repeating the experience, but if I had, the dressing-down my mom gave me would have convinced me otherwise. I stood there quietly and didn't say much as she yelled. I really tried to listen, but I was so wrapped up in other things that I didn't have much to say. When she finally finished, there was a long, awful few seconds of silence while she just stared at me. At length, she sighed, then sat down at the kitchen table.

"So what's going on?"

I blinked. "What?"

"What's going on, Hiro? You've never skipped class before, and I know how focused you are on getting into one of those universities. So why did you skip?"

I considered that for a long few moments. When I spoke, my voice was perfectly level. "No reason. I just needed to clear my head after all the excitement this weekend."

Her eyes hardened as she watched me. Her voice, though, was soft when she spoke. "Don't shut us out again, Hiro. Please just tell me."

I opened my mouth to repeat my lie. My voice caught in my throat halfway through the first word, though. I cleared my throat, and when I finally managed to speak, the words came out without any thought. "They searched lockers at school. Garet got arrested."

My mom didn't react at first. She just looked up at me, her face betraying nothing. After a few seconds of silence, she stood up, then stepped over to me. Without a word, she put her arms around me and pulled me close. I had almost a full foot on her at this point, and far more muscle. I felt pathetic and weak, though; I couldn't have resisted if I wanted to. I didn't cry, and I didn't hug her back. I just stood there with her hugging me, one of her hands rubbing up and down my back. I stared forward, unable to think, or speak, or move, or do anything. I was just so tired, and I didn't know what to do, so I let her hold me.

---

I didn't sleep much again that night, but this time when I went outside onto the sidewalk, I didn't leave. I wanted to. I wanted nothing more than to just walk away and keep walking, and to completely forget about everything that had happened. I couldn't, though. I had to at least go to school, and unless I felt like spending a few hours of that day walking to and back from school, I would have to get the ride.

Besides, I had to talk to Catherine.

The nervous dread in my gut had compressed down into a solid rock of nerves by the time the car pulled up. Laurence had long since learned to not get out to open the door for me, so I opened the door. Catherine was sitting in the back, lounging against the far door as though everything was normal. I stepped in and sat down stiffly, keeping my back straight. I shut the door, and Laurence started driving.

The two of us sat in silence in the back for a few moments while I searched for something to say. I didn't really have much experience in this particular area, though, so I just sat there awkwardly. It was Catherine that broke the silence.

"If you didn't want a ride yesterday, a call would've been nice."

I don't know if it was the words themselves, or the cool, offended tone that really snapped me from my paralysis. I looked over at her, my eyes wide. She was still reclining, and looking over at me with a cool, reproachful look on her face.

"What?" I finally demanded.

"It was rude. We could've left almost half an hour later than normal, and saved the gas money. You ought to let us know when--"

I guess that's when I finally snapped.

"Garet never sold cocaine."

She stopped, surprised by both the interruption and the heat in my voice. "Excuse me?"

"Garet never sold cocaine. I've known him for four years, and he has never sold cocaine. He sells weed."

Catherine was quiet again for a few seconds. When she replied, she was trying to keep her voice cool and dismissive, but I could hear the tremor in her words. "So you knew about his habit? I'm all the more shocked that you invited him onto our team. What were you--"

"Why the fuck was there a fucking brick of fucking cocaine in his locker on the same god-damned day that they were doing randomized locker searches?"

It was only in the silence after I finished speaking that I realized I had been yelling, and leaning forward against my seatbelt. Catherine was leaning back, the cool look on her face replaced by shock, and a small flicker of fear. Out of the corner of my vision, I could see Laurence's eyes in the rearview mirror, sharp and watching just in case.

I didn't back down, though. My eyes were narrowed on Catherine, and I was still leaning forward, waiting for her to reply. She wasn't going to weasel her way out of this one. I was done with listening to her bullshit. I was going to get a straight answer out of her.

After a few moments, the fear and surprise left her face. Her crest went from flat back against her head to raised, and she met my gaze. Her voice was level. "You really think I could somehow smuggle drugs into a drug dealer's locker, then organize for a randomized locker search?"

"Your dad managed to access private medical files about my dad. I doubt that buying and hiding some drugs would be too difficult for him."

"So you trust Garet's word enough that you would immediately suspect me? You trust a drug dealer more than you trust me? You think I would do that?" She didn't sound offended when she said it. It sounded more like cool, genuine curiosity.

"You tell me."

Her gaze remained trained on me, her face returning to a neutral, considering expression. I could almost see her weighing her options, considering what would benefit her the most. At last, she shrugged.

"Alright, fine. I got my dad's help, and I set Garet up."

I kept staring at her. I'd known that she'd done it. There really was no other explanation. If Garet was lying, then he had just so happened to decide to start selling cocaine the day of a random drug search, and he'd decided to bring an entire brick of cocaine instead of a few organized bags. Garet was smarter than that, and nobody was that unlucky.

Still, having her admit it so openly was jarring. There was no guilt on her face. She was cool and calm, and she looked ready to just dismiss the entire issue.

I guess that's what brought on my next comment. "What the fuck?"

"I think I've heard you swear more in the past two minutes than I've heard you swear in the past three years."

"No, shut up. Don't try to act like this is normal. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Yes, I know exactly what I've done. He was caught with a criminal amount of cocaine, clearly with the intention of selling it to minors on school grounds."

"That's..." I searched for words. How could she be so casual about this? "Catherine, that isn't, like, a small thing. That isn't a, 'two months plus community service,' type of crime!"

"No. It's an indictable offence under the criminal code." She yawned. She actually yawned, and glanced out the window. "I looked it up."

I kept staring at her, disbelieving all of it. When I finally managed to speak, my voice sounded weak in my own ears. "I... but he was so close. We were so close."

"You're acting like it's the end of the world. With the two of us on the team, I'd say we've still got a good shot at nationals."

I sputtered, and her eyes flicked over to me again. "I wasn't talking about nationals! This was our... this was his_chance to do something! Do you think _any school is going to accept him now?"

"Hiro, he was a drug dealer. He was selling drugs at a school. Do you actually think he deserved a chance? Do you think he would've just stopped selling like magic as soon as he got into university?"

I opened my beak to snap at her, but hesitated. Would Garet have stopped? I honestly didn't know. I'd originally assumed that he would stop selling once he got his deal with Mr DeMille settled, whatever it was. He'd continued then, though. How was I to know whether the chance of going to university would be enough to reform him?

I stared at Catherine, still searching for words, and I could see the look in her eyes changing. It was going from reproach to smug, confident victory. As I stared at her, I remembered who I was talking to, and I clenched my beak. Catherine DeMille. Right.

"Don't pretend this is about him selling weed. You don't care. He could be selling meth to toddlers and you wouldn't care." She actually did look offended by that one, and she probably would have protested if I hadn't continued. "You only did this to get back at him for confronting you last year and hitting you that one time."

"He attacked me, Hiro!" Catherine's voice jumped, and the coolness left her face. Her red cheeks had a dark flush to them. "He attacked me and you didn't do a fucking thing to stop it!"

"Well maybe if you'd just listened to me, or something other than your ego for once--"

"I'm better than him! I'm better than you, too! Why the hell should I have to listen to either of you!?"

"Because you don't always get to be in control! Look, I'm sorry that your parents are never around, but--"

My voice caught in my throat as Catherine shot me the coldest, angriest look I've ever seen. She didn't speak; she didn't need to. Her eyes fixed onto mine, and I knew I'd gone too far. I was frozen, my beak hanging open and caught in mid-yell. The car felt very, very quiet.

"I think that's enough about Garet." Her voice was very quiet, and too level and calm. "Let's talk about you for a bit."

A shiver went up my spine as she said that, and I felt the feathers around my neck puffing up. I didn't move to push them down. I swallowed, and then forced myself to speak. "There's nothing much to say, is there?"

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. She was speaking too softly, too evenly. "How do you figure?"

"It doesn't matter how we do at nationals. I've got enough scholarship offers coming in from provincials to cover my tuition." I paused, waiting for her to speak. She just kept looking at me with that unnaturally calm expression, waiting for more. I cleared my throat. "Once this season is over, I'm going away to school, and then we're never seeing each other again. You managed to drag Garet down, but not me. I'm getting out. That's all there is to it."

Catherine nodded very, very slowly. "Right. Well, you must be lucky. I assume all of those schools you're considering are also offering to cover expensive personalized cancer treatment?"

I think my mind just blanked for a few moments after that. I was still staring at her, but my eyes had gone unfocused, staring straight through her. Her words kept repeating in my head, and as I listened to them, a yawning pit was opening up in my stomach.

My dad. Somehow, over the past weeks, while I'd been so wrapped up in the preparation for the tournament and thinking about scouts, I'd completely forgotten about my dad, and the fact that the DeMilles were paying for his treatment. My mind moved slowly, following the logical path. The DeMilles were paying for my dad's treatment in exchange for me playing with and training Catherine. If I went away for university, I wasn't going to be playing with her or training her. That meant they wouldn't pay for the treatment anymore.

Catherine gave me a few more moments before she spoke. "I know the past year's been rough for you on that front. I'm not helping you for reasons of charity, though. You know what the deal was."

My eyes refocused again, and I looked at her. She met my gaze, and the two of us just glared at each other. I took a few deep breaths, and then spoke. My voice was so soft that I could barely hear it.

"Please don't do this, Catherine."

I wasn't begging, I wasn't demanding. If I had been, Catherine probably would've had an easier time of it. As it was, though, with me just saying it as a soft request, I saw her eyes flicker for just a moment. That cool, dismissive look faltered, and I could see that she wanted to help me. She knew exactly what she was doing to me, and she felt badly about it. For that instant, I thought that she might just drop the aggressive act she always kept up.

It only lasted a second. Her eyes hardened again. When she spoke, I thought I heard a soft tremble in her voice. I might have been imagining it, though. "Write back to all those universities. Tell them you want to delay your acceptance for a year. Sign up to do an extra year of high school, and play on the team next year. Do all that, and I'll keep covering your dad's medical expenses."

My voice was still just as soft and even when I replied. "Do you have any idea how few schools will let me delay on a sports scholarship for a year?"

I actually heard her swallow. "Not my problem. I know it's a big decision, though, so take your time to decide. I won't rush--"

"Shut up." There wasn't any heat in my voice. I saw the shocked look on her face for a moment, but then I turned away and looked out the window. She didn't reply, and I didn't try to start any conversation for the rest of the drive. When we pulled up to the school, I got out of the car without a word and slammed the door behind me. I ignored Catherine as I walked away.

I went to all of my classes that day, but I wasn't really there. I don't think I wrote down a single thing. I just stared straight ahead, not listening to a word my teachers said. I was going over the conversation with Catherine from that morning, replaying her words over and over again in my head. Even in that dazed state, I was painfully aware of the empty seat in both of my afternoon classes. I couldn't help glancing over at it, or noticing that I was suddenly the tallest student in those classes.

When the final bell rang, I just sat in my seat while the rest of the students and the teacher left the class. I considered not going to practice, but that would mean just sitting around doing nothing until Laurence got there and I could get a ride home. Eventually, I went and grabbed my athletic gear.

I could feel everybody's eyes on me during the entire practice. Everybody knew that Garet and I were close. I ignored them, and went through all of the motions of practice. I barely spoke, and I avoided Catherine like the plague. I noticed Kimmitt eying me for most of the practice, but I ignored him, too.

When practice wrapped up, Kimmitt asked that I stay behind to talk to him. I headed to the locker room with the others, but once I was changed, I just left and headed for the car. I got there before Catherine, and just sat looking out the window. I heard her pause when she opened the door and saw me sitting there, but she didn't comment.

Neither of us said a word the entire ride to my building.

---

I spent the next few days in a haze. I think my mom assumed that it was just about Garet. Every now and again, I would catch her shooting glances my way. She always seemed concerned, but I couldn't explain it to her. My mom and dad couldn't know about this. It would kill my dad to know what the DeMilles were demanding of me.

I kept going to school, catching my rides with Catherine there and back. We didn't say a word during those long drives. There was nothing to say anymore. The only time I exchanged words with her was during practices, when necessity forced it.

When I got home from school on Friday, there was a stack of envelopes waiting for me. I forced a smile onto my face for my mother's sake as I thumbed through the pile, looking at seals from various universities. I didn't open them until later, after dinner. Ken and Mai were in the kitchen doing homework, so I had our room to myself. I scanned through the first acceptance package, and let my eyes fall on the page with the scholarship and financial assistance offers. I stared at the numbers, doing mental math. At last, I turned away, and pulled out the return envelope and acceptance form. I carefully checked in the box asking to delay for a year, then sealed it in the envelope with trembling fingers.

I ignored the scholarship pages for the rest of the acceptance packages. I just picked out the envelopes, marked down the request to delay, and sealed. The motions were precise. Mechanical. I'd turned off.

I met Laurence outside my building on Saturday morning. The ride felt quieter than normal; oppressively so. I had my day long practice with Catherine, and the two of us probably didn't exchange more than a dozen words.

To my surprise, it was Mr DeMille who came to tell us dinner was ready, instead of one of the maids. The big cockatoo rapped twice on the door to the court, then walked in with a big grin.

"Dinner's ready for our two future national champs!" He clapped his hands together, and looked back and forth between Catherine and me. "How does steak sound, Hiro?"

"No thank you, Mr DeMille." His face faltered, and Catherine shot me a look. I'd eaten dinner with them almost every Saturday and Sunday for two years.

After a moment, Mr DeMille forced a rueful laugh. "Please, Hiro, for the hundredth time; it's James. And are you sure? We have extra."

"No, Mr DeMille. I'd rather just head to my workout, if it's alright with you sir."

My voice was monotone. I didn't see the point in acting like a happy, willing part of this anymore. At length, Mr DeMille shrugged. "Well, suit yourself! I'll have Laurence bring the car around."

When I arrived at the YMCA, it was a surprise to not have Garet leaning against the wall, waiting for me. I went in and started my workout. Every small sound was magnified: the clinking of weights, the grunting of the other people working out, my own heavy breaths. I kept trying to work up the adrenaline and fire that normally drove me to push myself. I couldn't do it, though. Normally my casual teasing and joking with Garet would keep me going. Without him around, it was just work. It was just aches and pains and constant reminders of how tired I was.

After half an hour, I stopped. I went into the locker room and just sat on the bench, staring at the lockers.

Catherine had won. I'd lost. For at least one more year, this was going to be my life. I kept staring at those lockers as I let the realization sink in. I'd lost.

---

The last few weeks of school crawled by. More acceptance letters came in, and I kept returning them with requests to delay for a year. Between the extra practices that Kimmitt had us doing for nationals and the studying I was doing for finals, I should have been stressed out of my mind. On top of everything else, Kimmitt had bumped me up to play as our starting centre, so I was having to learn a completely new set of plays and roles. The national tournament was in the first week of July, and that didn't leave much time for me to learn my new position.

The tension and stress never quite made its way through to my head, though. I spent most of my time in a mechanical, bleak haze. I was going through the motions of my life, but not putting any effort into them.

After some research, I learned that only family members and legal council could visit inmates. I was at a loss at first, until I learned I could send Garet mail. The two of us started mailing back and forth, and Garet told me about everything that was happening. He tried to act like it was all normal and that it wasn't a big deal. I knew he was putting up a front, though.

I had to think about it for a long while, but eventually I decided against telling him everything that was happening with me. He had his own problems to deal with, and I didn't want to complicate his life further. Instead of telling him about my confrontation with Catherine or the situation with my dad, I just told him about preparing for nationals. I read over my letters before I sent them to him, and they sounded hollow and canned. I felt guilty for not telling him what was really happening. He was the one person over the past few years that I'd been most open with. I couldn't do it, though, no matter how much it would help me. He had his problems, and those had to be the focus.

It was through those letters that I learned what was happening with his case. It wasn't exactly a major case, so there was no coverage of it in the news. After a talk with his legal representation, Garet took a plea deal. As he said in his letters, the evidence was stacked against him. He'd been caught red-handed in possession of weed, intending to sell it on school property. On top of that, he was 18, and they would have tried him as an adult. He'd even confessed to owning the cocaine; his lawyer had told him that trying to fight that one would just make things worse for him.

The deal wasn't generous, but it certainly could have been worse. Ten years in a minimum security facility. The facility they sent him to was just on the outskirts of Vancouver, and the entire process only took a few weeks. I got his first letter from the facility during the week of exams.

I think what hit me hardest was how compliant Garet was about the whole thing. In my mind, Garet was still this fiery, dominating presence. He didn't let people push him around. To read about him essentially giving up and taking what was given to him left a heavy feeling in my guts.

Exams came and went, and it wasn't until they were done that I told my mom that I was planning to take an extra year of high school and go to university next year. She was surprised, and I couldn't blame her. I'd been entirely focused on the chance to go to university for months now, and I'd given no indication that I was thinking like this. She asked me all sorts of concerned questions, but I just brushed them off by saying I wanted to improve my grades. She protested at first, but after a while she fell silent. She kept shooting looks at me for the next few days, but I guess she eventually gave up on it.

As soon as school was out, Kimmitt started scheduling all-day practices for the entire team. Catherine and I decided to cancel our weekend practices so that we wouldn't be too burnt out by the time we reached the tournament. I could feel the rest of the team growing excited to go to the tournament; it was being held in Winnipeg that year, and there were rumours that the finals would be played in the Voyageurs' stadium.

I didn't get excited about the tournament until about two weeks beforehand. I came home from practice one night, and my mom announced that my dad would be coming to the tournament. I was stunned; the last I'd heard, he still wasn't in great health. I'd assumed that he was just going to skip this tournament, like he had with the city and provincial ones. When I asked my mom about it, she just shrugged and told me that he must be feeling better.

I didn't really believe her; it was all just too sudden. After a day or two, though, my skepticism gave way to excitement. It had been a long time since I'd last seen my dad. Hell, I'd hardly even spoken with him since he'd left to go back to the clinic. Between school and practice, I was rarely at home, so I often missed his phone calls.

He was scheduled to get home on a Friday, just under a week before the tournament was set to take place. He would fly to Winnipeg with us. Mr DeMille had generously offered to cover the costs, and I'd accepted. It would probably be the first 'family vacation' we'd ever gone on, and I found myself oddly excited for it.

When I got home from school on that Friday, I stood outside the door for a few moments, just staring ahead and thinking. I was nervous to see him, but it was that usual excited nervousness that I sometimes got before games. I took a few deep breaths, and then opened the door.

When I stepped in, I noticed how quiet it was. A glance at the shoes at the door told me that Ken, Mai, and my mom were all out. I looked at the one pair of shoes by the door; enormous like mine. My mouth felt dry, but I managed to call out, "Dad?"

"Hiro?" His voice came thin but steady from his and mom's room. "Come in here. Turn on the light so I can see you."

I left my backpack by the door, then headed in to see him. He was lying on their bed with the lights off. I hesitated in the doorway for a bit, just looking into the dim space. I could see the rise and fall of his breath through the blankets, but otherwise he wasn't moving much.

He must've heard me, because he turned to face me. His voice was still thin, but it had an edge to it as he said, "Well? Turn the light on and come in!"

I did as he said. He blinked a bit as the light came on, his eyes probably stinging at first. He was already moving himself to sit up on the edge of the bed. I took the one chair in the room, my eyes never leaving him. He wasn't looking good. When I'd heard that he was coming to the tournament, I'd hoped that it was because he was going through a good patch, or he was starting to improve. If anything, he looked worse than I'd ever seen him. His feathers were moulting, and he shook with the effort of even sitting up. His eyes were bloodshot, and I felt guilty for turning the lights on. I tried to tell myself that it was just because the last time I'd seen him he'd been in such good health, and the contrast was making it seem worse than it was. In the back of my head, though, I couldn't shake the feeling that he'd never looked weaker.

As I sat down, he looked me up and down, those bloodshot eyes still sharp and critical. After a few moments of silence, his beak spread in a small grin. "Well. How bad have your cramps been?"

I blinked. "What?"

"You must've grown at least a few inches just since November. How bad are the cramps?"

I just stared at him. "Uh... well, not that bad. I'm used to them by now."

He nodded. "I see. I'm sure your coach is happy with the growth spirt, at least."

"Yeah, Kimmitt's pretty pleased."

Silence fell between the two of us. He was still eying me, measuring me up. I tried to hold in the feelings going through me as I did the same to him, but they must have shown, because he sighed. His voice sounded tired when he spoke. "Well, out with it. What are you trying not to say right now?"

I considered denying that I was thinking anything. Maybe if I'd been in a better frame of mind, I would have. As it was, though, I just shook my head helplessly, then demanded, "Dad, what are you doing home right now?"

"I'm here to spend some time with my family and go watch your performance in nationals."

"No, dad, you know what I mean." I lifted a hand, and gestured helplessly at him. "I mean, look at yourself. Why aren't you at the clinic?"

"I just told you. I'm at home to spend time with my family."

"Stop it. You know what I'm asking."

"Yes, I do, and I'm answering you." His voice had grown cool, his eyes hard. "I'm here because I want to be with my family. Now, my turn for a question. Your mother told me you plan on spending an extra year in high school. Why?"

I was off-balance from seeing him like this, and his suddenly confrontational attitude wasn't helping matters. I stammered my response. "I... well, I mean, my marks aren't great, and I wanted to make sure I was ready for, uh..."

He snorted. I fell silent, and he raised an eyebrow at me. "Hiro. Much to both mine and your mother's frustration, you have _never_had more than a passing interest in your grades. Why on earth would you suddenly start caring now?"

"Well maybe because up until now I never thought I would get the chance to do anything past high school!" That came out sharper than I intended, but I couldn't help myself. I was starting to get angry, and I couldn't bottle it up.

"Indeed! Which leads us around in a circle back to my original question: why would you put off university for a year, and jeopardize all of those sports scholarships?"

"Because..." I searched for another excuse, frustration making my mind sluggish. At length, I just let out an exasperated sigh and snapped, "I just wanted to, alright?"

"That's it?"

"Yes."

He nodded, not replying at first. Despite how aggressive he was being, he seemed quite calm. I, on the other hand, was breathing heavily, and was having to consciously keep the glare off of my face. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. "I see. I have something that I need to tell you, Hiro."

I reached up to rub at my forehead. I'd been expecting a happier reunion. The situation wasn't helping my mood. "What is it, dad?"

"I won't be returning to the clinic after the national tournament." I froze. My blood ran cold, and all my muscles tensed. He went on, apparently not noticing my shock. "I've decided to spend my remaining time with my family, so I'll be staying here."

"What?"

"My doctors at the clinic discouraged it; they seem to think that they could still extend the time I have left. I told them that--"

"No, what!?" I saw him tense at being interrupted, but I didn't care. I was glaring at him openly, my beak hanging open as I stammered. "What are you talking about?"

"This is my decision, Hiro." He met my glare, his gaze even. "I'm not going back to the clinic."

"But dad, I..." I was at a loss. I couldn't decide whether I was terrified, furious, or just confused. My breathing was getting shallower as I stared at him. "You don't get it, I mean... I've... I'm..."

"I understand, Hiro." He leaned towards me, his eyes still sharp, but less critical than before. "You've done so much for me over the past few years. I can't let you keep doing this to yourself, though, and I'm done. I know I'm not getting better this time. I can stay there and fight for a few extra miserable months, or I can come home and be with all of you. You don't have to do this anymore. I understand."

"No, you don't get it!" I was standing now. I didn't remember standing up. I kept trying to gesture with my hands, but just wound up jerking my clenched fists. I wanted to find the right thing to say, but it wouldn't come. More and more words kept building up in my chest, and I couldn't hold them in. At last, I opened my beak, and they started tumbling out. "Don't you get it!? I'm not just doing this for you! This is for all of us! I'm doing this because we need you. I need you!"

"Hiro--"

"No. I can help you. I can make this better. Please just _let_me help you!"

"Hiroyuki Matsuura." His voice was hard and firm, and it finally drew me up short. His eyes were narrowed, looking up at me. I felt like he'd pinned me to the wall with just that look. He waited for a very long moment, and then he kept speaking. "I am not getting better."

"Don't say that."

"It's the truth. Hiro, I understand why you've been doing this for the past two years. I understand that you feel helpless, and that this gives you some sort of control. I'm done fighting. I'm tired, and I'm not getting better." He fell quiet, and I just stood there, staring down at him. I wasn't as tall as him yet, but with him sitting down, I towered over him. I still felt dwarfed and small. Weak. I realized that my beak was hanging open, but I couldn't force it shut. His voice was softer when he spoke again. "Do you understand?"

I was speaking before he even finished, my voice trembling in my ears. "You can't mean that."

There was a pause. Then, "You can't save me, Hiro."

"Yes I can," I snapped. I realized I was shaking.

"You can't save me."

"I can!" I was yelling, but backing away from him. My back pressed against the wall, and I kept yelling. "You just have to let me! I can make all of this right!"

My dad didn't answer this time. He just slowly, slowly rose to his feet. He started walking towards me, and I pressed back harder against the wall, wanting to move further from him. He was so frail. He was so fucking frail.

I was shaking like a leaf by the time he reached me. He put his arms around me. I still remembered watching the powerful muscles in those arms flexing when I was a kid. I remembered how strong he'd seemed whenever he would lift me up. His arms were skinny now, almost just bone and skin. Despite his weakness, he had no trouble pulling me in, holding me. My shaking grew stronger, but he kept holding me.

His voice was firm when he spoke into my ear. "It's alright, Hiro."

"I can help you."

"You can help me. You can stop making yourself miserable. You can't save me, though."

"I can."

"You don't have to. That isn't your job. I can't keep fighting this, and you can't keep trying to fight it for me."

I don't know how long the two of us stood there. My entire body felt weak, and I probably would have fallen over if I wasn't afraid of crushing him under my weight. My breathing was shaky, and I wanted to keep protesting. I couldn't get the words out, though. I think that somewhere deep in my head, I'd finally come to understand. I just couldn't say it.

I didn't speak much that night. When the rest of my family got home, my dad didn't say a thing about our talk, and they didn't ask. Ken and Mai shot me a few looks that made me think that they knew something had happened, but that was about it. We ate dinner as a full family, and I excused myself to go to bed right after.

It took me a long time to get to sleep that night. I was mentally and emotionally exhausted, but I couldn't stop thinking about what was ahead of me. I couldn't force my dad to accept the medical care if he didn't want it. I still refused to believe that he was giving up, though. It didn't make sense in my head. How could he give up if there was even the slightest, barest chance that he would recover? How could he give up on that, no matter the cost?

I kept going around in circles with that logic, and eventually my thoughts derailed as I thought back over the past few years. I thought about all the things I had done and given up so that he could have that extra chance. I'll admit it: I felt a bit betrayed by him. My mind kept focusing on the feeling on those few occasions he'd watched me play, or the swelling of pride after I'd introduced him to the flapping group. How the hell could he just give up things like that, those moments when we'd actually been happy?

That was the line of thought that eventually dragged me to my final, awful conclusion. Yeah, those were the times I'd been happy. Those had been some of the very rare moments that I had actually felt happy over the past two years. I could pick out the specific moments in my head. All of the rest of that time? It was a monotone mess of me training, being angry, feeling used. I imagined what my dad had experienced in those two years, too. What was it like, lying alone in that clinic, with nothing but more tests and treatments to look forward to?

How much better would those two years have been for both of us if he'd just been here?

I got stuck on that thought for a while. It was still dancing around in my head when I finally fell asleep.

The next morning, after I'd had breakfast and a shower, I went over to our phone and put my hand on it. I had to take a few breaths before I could lift the receiver, and my hands were shaking so much that I was afraid I would dial the number wrong. I waited for an answer on the other end, each dial tone seeming to last forever.

"You've reached the DeMille residence. May I help you?"

"Hey, it's Hiro. Can I speak with Mr DeMille?"

"Of course, just a moment."

My heart thumped in my chest, and my breathing came light. At last I heard the receiver being lifted on the other end.

"Ah, Hiro, this is a surprise! What can I do for you?"

One deep breath in. One deep breath out. No turning back.

"I'm just calling to let you know that our business arrangement is finished."

There was a long moment of silence on the other end. Mr DeMille's voice showed his shock when he at last replied. "I beg your pardon?"

"My family no longer requires your services, and so our arrangement is at an end." It was taking all of my focus not to stutter. "I'll leave informing Mr Kimmitt to you. He'll need to find a new centre for the team for nationals."

I intended to hang up then. I was afraid I was going to drop the phone if I had to stay on the line any longer. Before I could, though, Mr DeMille's voice drew me up short.

"Hiro, you must reconsider. I'm not sure what happened, but we can work it out. What would I tell Catherine?"

I took another deep breath. What did I want him to tell Catherine? That, at least, was one thing I knew the answer to. "Frankly, you can tell Catherine whatever you'd like. I don't care. Goodbye, James."

I hung up. I kept my hand on the receiver, leaning on the phone for support. My body was still shaking. Between the shock of the day before, the long night, and the conversation I'd just had, I was drained. I didn't have anything else to give.

But that was it. I was done. I was free from the DeMilles' influence. I stumbled over to the kitchen table, and sat down heavily. The rest of my family was either out or in bed, so I was alone there. I stared at the wall for a long time, trying to process everything that had happened over the past two days.

Along with giving up my chance to go to nationals, I'd just killed my source of employment. I would need to find a job, a real job, to help support my family now. I'd already turned down all of the schools that I'd applied to; I would have to wait until at least the next year before I could even think of going to university. The odds were good that a lot of the schools would refuse my request to delay for a year, especially now that I wasn't going back to high school. Those that still accepted me would probably want to reduce the scholarship amounts.

I could deal with that when I got to it, though. I had a bit of money set aside, and I might be able to save some from wherever I wound up working that year. That, combined with whatever scholarships I could scrape together, might just be enough.

I finally looked down from the wall, and my eyes settled on a small envelope that was sitting on the kitchen table. I picked it up and turned it face up, reading the address. It was from Garet. I drummed my finger along the envelope, considering. At length, I ripped open the envelope, and pulled out the letter. I had to get started. Once I was done reading it, I had a very, very long letter to write.

The End