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iamwritingsanders · 16 days

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Inherited Mess Pt. 10

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Carry Me

Logan made sure the hallway was clear before slipping into Remus’ bedroom, locking the door behind him, and watching Remus pacing the room. He’s learned most of Remus’ anxious habits by this point. Chewing on his fingers was common, but he also fidgeted a lot with random items whenever there was too much going on in his head. Right now he was rearranging the collection of figurines on top of his dresser. There was never a method to how they were displayed, just whatever felt right in that moment so the way he kept going showed that a right feeling just wasn’t happening.

“Remus?” Logan spoke softly, not wanting to accidentally spook him in case he hadn’t registered his presence yet. His point was proven when Remus continued his arranging and talking to himself under his breath. “Remus?” Logan tried again, placing a hand on Remus’ wrist. Remus tensed up, looked at the hand, and relaxed the second he recognized who was with him.

“Hey, LoLo. Did you finish eating?” Remus seemed to be trying to shove down whatever emotions he was feeling before. Logan hated when he did that, it never ended well and he knew it hurt Remus more than it did any good.

“What did Adrien talk to you about?” Logan ignored Remus’ question and asked his own instead, still remembering the earlier anger toward the older man. He saw the remnant of that anger flash in Remus’ eyes before he shook his head in an attempt to make himself forget it.

“It’s nothing.” Remus tried to slip away but Logan caught his hand.

“Remus. What did he talk to you about? It must have been something very upsetting for you to be like this. Let me help.” Logan waited as Remus paused and had that previous conversation replay in his mind, jaw clenching and he deeply inhaled through his nose.

“Adrien…” Remus blew a raspberry as he tried to find the words. “Adrien basically suggested having you and Patton leave.” Saying that out loud brought all of that rage back. “He blamed me for Remy getting shot and said that I lack focus and having you two around is what’s causing that problem. Fucking prick wouldn’t know friendship or love if it bit him in the ass.” Remus spat the last part. “I know I shouldn’t get so worked up over this, it’s stupid but I just…” He ran his hands through his hair. “God, I want to just break something every time I think of his stupid face saying his stupid words. Just the idea of losing you has me wanting to set the world on fire.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Logan adored Remus’ passion and he knew he meant it when he said he’d set things aflame for him. He placed his hands on Remus’ shoulders, pulling him close. “You’re never going to lose me, you know that. It would be illogical for me to leave.” Logan chuckled when his comment got Remus to smile.

“That’s a fair point.” Remus sighed. “I might go to the gym real quick and get this stuff out of me.”

“I have another idea.” Logan took Remus’ hands and guided him to hold his waist. He then wrapped one of his own arms across Remus’ shoulders and placed a hand on his chest, leaning in close. “Use me.”

“Use you?” Remus echoed. “You mean-hold on, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t or at least you won’t in a way I don’t want.” Logan was feeling confident and Remus felt his heart flutter.

“I love you,” Remus said before catching Logan in a kiss.

x~x~x The next morning for Patton and Janus was disrupted by heavy knocks on the door, the knocking insisting until Janus finally reached it, hair a mess, shirt missing, and looking pissed at being woken up. It was a rarity for him to sleep in but whenever he did everyone knew to leave him alone.

“What?” Janus practically hissed.

“If you are all insisting on having Patton be in the kitchen, the least he can do is keep it clean,” Adrien stated, unaffected by Janus’ annoyance.

“Is everything okay?” Patton came to the door, wearing Janus’ missing shirt.

“Glad to see where your priorities are, Janus.” Adrien huffed while Patton shrunk away to hide most of himself behind Janus. “The kitchen is a mess.” He stated to Patton.

“I’m sorry. I’ll get right on it.” Patton looked down at the ground as he spoke.

“Feel good about yourself? We’ll take care of it, you can go.” Janus wanted to slap Adrien for upsetting Patton but neither of them had been awake long enough for that much drama.

“If there is a job, it is to be done properly.” Were Adrien’s parting words as he went away.

“‘It is to be done properly’,” Remy repeated in a mocking tone, taking Adrien’s place in the next few seconds, uncaring if he could be heard or not.

“Remy?” Patton perked back up. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“Doc told me to walk about to get the blood flowing,” Remy answered with a grin and apart from his arm being in a sling, he looked like his usual self.

“Remington Bomen, what do you think you’re doing?” A stern voice soon followed.

“You told me to walk around, Ems,” Remy said with a laugh as Dr. Emile Picani, a man with endless nicknames but mostly known as Picani, stormed over to him.

“Don’t you ‘Ems’ me, you know I was talking about walking around the room. I am still examining you.” Picani took hold of Remy’s uninjured arm. “Good morning, Janus. Good morning, Patton.” He greeted the other two men with a cheery smile before tugging Remy away. “I still need to make sure you’re fine to go off on your own.” Picani scolded Remy as they went away.

“Have you noticed that Picani is only ever stern with Remy?” Janus commented.

“I think it’s cute.” Patton giggled.

“You think everything is cute.” Janus teased.

“Including you~” Patton sang as Janus chuckled and closed the door.

Several minutes passed before the door to Remus’ bedroom opened and Remus peeked his head into the hall, checking it was clear before slipping back in, Logan’s voice coming out from behind it.

“I don’t need to be carried.”

“You said you were sore.” Remus’s voice was followed by the shuffling of feet.

“I am, but I’ll just take some medicine when I get to my office. You already wouldn’t let me get dressed on my own, I can walk down the-” The last part of Logan’s comment became a light yelp of shock and when the door opened, Logan was up in Remus’ arms. “This is ridiculous.” Logan huffed.

“It’s called being a caring boyfriend.” Remus chuckled, patting Logan’s rear as he walked.

“It’s called being overprotective.” Logan had a grin with his comment.

“Are you complaining?” Remus winked and Logan smiled as he rolled his eyes.

“I’ll give you twenty dollars and a back rub if they end up-” Janus stopped what he was saying as he and Patton left his room and ran into Remus and Logan. There was a long pause as the four of them looked at each other.

“I can ex-"

“You two are terrible at hiding your relationship.” Janus cut Remus off.

“Our what? No-we’re not-I don’t know-what?” Remus sputtered out while Logan just turned his head away.

“Oh, please. I’ve known for a long time about this.” Janus vaguely gestured at them with a finger.

“How long?”

“When did you tell Patton?”

“Pat!” Remus turned to Patton.

“How could I not tell Jan?” Patton protested. “But I swear I only told him and no one else knows. He promised not to tell and you know he never breaks a promise to me.”

“Have you told him everything I’ve talked to you about?” Remus asked.

“Yes,” Janus answered for Patton with a smirk.

“I do not want to know what that all implies.” Logan sighed. “Now can we-” He stopped at the sound of music coming down the hall, a genre of music they recognized as Virgil’s. It told all of them that he was coming and that he was alone.

“Ah, shit.” Remus cursed and before he could have his next thought, Janus threw Patton over his shoulder right as Virgil came into view.

“Um…do I want to know?” Virgil turned his music off and raised a brow.

“Remus is trying to prove he’s faster than me.” Janus’ lie came out easily and he shrugged.

“You could go get Roman and join the race.” Remus quickly caught on.

“I’m good. Although, if he doesn’t get out of bed, I might be doing it regardless.” Virgil softly chuckled. “Any word on Remy?”

“He’s doing really well!” Patton pushed himself up a bit as he spoke.

“He was walking around a bit ago, Picani dragged him back to the infirmary,” Janus added.

“That’s a good sign.” Remus laughed.

“You guys enjoy your race, I have a Princey to bother.” Virgil gestured with his thumb. “Coffee’s made up and Adrien is in a mood.” He added the first part to Janus and said the second half with a roll of his eyes as he turned and walked away.

“You owe me,” Janus said as soon as Virgil was gone, putting Patton back down.

“Wait.” Patton wrapped his arms around Janus’ neck and jumped, making him catch him. “You started this and I want you to finish it.” He said with a giggle.

“I can do that.” Janus smiled as Patton rested his head on his chest. “I’ll give you more hell later.” He winked at Remus and Logan and walked away as well.

“Now, can you put me down?” Logan asked.

“I’ll put you in your seat in your office.” Remus continued his own walking.

“I have no choice, do I?”

“Nope~”

“Fine.” Logan played up his tone and kissed Remus’ temple. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“The luckiest man in the world.”

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@bookwormscififan

#sanders sides #assassin!au #intrulogical #moceit #prinxiety #sandy writes

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ro-presents-under-the-nola-stars · 6 months

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𝐏𝐆

𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐜/𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐜 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐝*𝐤𝐞, 𝐝*𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐫. 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐲. 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐦. 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭 (𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥) 𝐛𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝/𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐨��𝐭-𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐉𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞. 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐮 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.

Roslyn Jareau was a mother's greatest dream.

As an infant, she didn't cry much; she almost never got sick. She didn't spit up too badly on her outfits. She didn't pull off and tear at her clothes or toss off her shoes. She didn't snatch the bows from her hair. When she got old enough to walk, to talk, to make a few choices, Roslyn still liked shiny earring and bracelets. She loved bows and necklaces. She liked pink. She liked playing in her mother's closet and wearing her high heels. Or, trying to, rather. She liked to play with dolls and take care of them like they were her own children.

She liked to dance; she liked to bask in the sunlight, but she didn't like getting dirty. She didn't like to skin her knees and ruin the smoothness of her skin. Roslyn hated manual labor; she didn't help her dad's parents with the crops or animals on their farm, and she always complained about how smelly the laundry was from a hard days work. But, she did do the laundry, and she only complained a quarter as much. She helped her mom and her grandmothers with the cooking, and she didn't complain about that. No more than the average woman, and she was a damn fine cook. Even as a child.

And, even as a child, Roslyn was gracious with little boys. She stood up for herself within reason when some little boy pulled her hair and called her names, but she didn't get nasty. She didn't hurt them. She smiled at other little boys, batted her lashes and shared her snacks. She didn't mind the sweat in their palms when she walked around holding their hands, and she -- much to her father's chargrin, but to her mother's delight -- always came home from school gushing about her new "boyfriends".

Jennifer Jareau, on the other hand, was a far different story.

Even before she was in the womb, Jennifer had given Sandy Jareau problems. She'd had to go on bedrest when she was only six months, and she stayed that way for the rest of her pregnancy. And, even despite that, she had to be induced. A full week after her originally suspected birth date. Sandy Jareau had always been faith driven, and she had always told anyone who would give an ear that Roslyn was proof of God's kindness and love.

While pregnant with Jennifer, she had started to shift in her opinions about the kindness of God, but after she was born, Sandy just knew that she'd been forsaken. Jennifer was difficult; from the moment she was born, she just hated Sandy. Or, at least, that's how Sandy felt.

Jennifer wailed at all hours of the day and night, she wouldn't latch onto her mother's breasts; she was near impossible to feed. Sandy Jareau had to pump; she never had to pump with Roslyn. Her husband would tell her often that maybe she would have an easier time if she didn't constantly compare the two experiences. Of course, other than that, he was no help. Not that he could have helped much anyway. Jennifer cried and screamed for him as much as she did for Sandy.

The only bit of quiet in the house she recieved when little Ros would tend to her. Sandy would monitor her, of course, as doting as she was on her baby sister, Roslyn was only six. Anything could happen, but more often that not, Sandy was doing more of that than anything, monitoring. She wouldn't admit that a six year old was practically taking care of an infant on her own to anyone, but that's exactly what was happening. She'd felt horrible about it, but she simply could not connect with her second child, and she tried for months.

Not only did she have trouble connecting, but Jennifer was impossible to dress. From the moment she could really grip things, she was ripping her accessories away. Bows, little bracelets, her little clip on earrings. When she was about seven months, it wasn't just taking things off that Sandy had to worry about. She'd developed a habit of throwing things, but only the pretty things, it seemed, every which way. Sandy couldn't even begin to tell you how many cute pairs of baby shoes and bows and headbands she had lost on the high way. A month's worth, at least, because by eight, nine months maybe, Sandy didn't even feel comfortable riding with the back windows down in her care because of her.

Sandy prayed every day that this difficulty was something she'd grow out of and not into, and her baby girl did have promise. Sure, she was difficult to care for, but she was exceptionally smart. Developmentally, she was ahead of all the other babies in Sandy's Stay-At-Home Mom's Group; she was the first to start crawling, walking and talking. Of course, this was all because of Roslyn. The two spent so much time together that baby Jennifer was eager to be able to keep up with her sister, and Roslyn was just as eager to be able to really play with her. Jennifer's first steps were holding her big sister's hands rather than with a baby walker; Roslyn guided her around the living room until she was confident that Jennifer could do it on her own. And, it was only when she was confident that she had called her mother to look over, and when she let go, Jennifer walked all the way to the coffee table by herself, a whole eight steps. Sandy bragged and bragged, of course, but it was only the start of chaos.

From the moment Jennifer could walk, she was hell on two feet. She was always getting into things she shouldn't, whatever she could reach, whatever she could knock down.

That was one thing; Sandy could handle that. She'd moved everything out of reach, and she put all of her table cloths in storage, and that was an easy fix to that problem.

When Jennifer turned one, she started showing the first signs of caring about her clothes. Same as Ros. When Sandy would take the girls shopping, she'd let Jennifer walk on her own, with the stroller being back up in the event that she got too rowdy. Roslyn was the same. She gravitated in the prettiest of things. When shopping for Ros, Sandy would lose sight of Jennifer, often. Only to look around and find she'd wandered to the little boy section. The first two, three times, Sandy thought it was just mere toddler wandering. The fourth time, when she found Jennifer and scooped her up in her arms, Jennifer reached incessantly for the same pair of jeans. It'd made Sandy's lip twitch as she snatched her young daughter away from those jeans.

It was the first sign real sign that Jennifer wasn't just difficult, but odd.

She bought Jennifer seven pretty dresses and more accessories than she could count. She ignored the sick feeling in her stomach that was born from that incident because the fix was easy. She wouldn't taken Jennifer clothes shopping anymore. Of course, with picking out Jennifer clothes for her, getting her dressed took three times as long, and she would make such a mess of her dresses. Sandy could handle that, though. Her husband made good money, and after he paid the bills, he didn't give her much of a limit on her spending; she just replaced what couldn't be salavged in the laundry.

Jennifer was...different. Strange, to Sandy, but she could handle it. She would get on her knees every night and pray that her youngest daughter would grow up normal.

One day, when Jennifer was two, she'd wander into her parents' closet. Just like Roslyn used to do, only she stepped into her father's steel toe work boots. Tripping all over herself, by the time she had managed to waddle out of the closet, her father had awaken. Her father wasn't like Sandy. He didn't really care too much about how different she was. Jennifer wasn't Roslyn, and he didn't expect her to be. Plus, he wasn't that involved enough to really care. If he wasn't working, he was asleep; if he wasn't asleep, he was fishing; if he wasn't fishing, he was drinking beer and watching one of his games. He always wished he had sons, if he were being honest; he would never say so out loud because he does love his girls, despite his wishes.

That to say, seeing Jennifer waddle around in his boots made him small harder than he had ever smiled as a father, outside of the delivery room. He scrambled out of bed and over to the drawers she held onto for support and dug out one his Redskins tee shirts and put it over her head, grabbing his matching trucker hat in one hand and his camera in one hand. Maybe having not having a son wouldn't be so bad. Sandy had Roslyn, maybe he could bond with Jennifer. Maybe he could watch his football games and play catch with her instead. He tried to pull the trucker hat back a bit so he could see her face better, but it was too big and kept falling off so he turned it backward instead, and that worked out just fine.

"Look at you, Little Jen, you look just like me," he said, having crouched down in front of her. She laughed and he felt the warmth of her smile spread to her chest. He doesn't know if he had ever heard her laugh before this moment. He held his camera up to his eye, making sure he caught just the right angle, "Alrighty, show Daddy your tough face," he instructed before giving her a playful growl, flexing his muscles before bring the camera back up to his face. Jennifer did exactly what her father before her had done, her laugh growing that much louder. His laughter increased right along with hers as the two of them descended into a fullblown photoshoot and fit of giggles.

"Richard Jareau!" Sandy exclaimed, having just entered the room after becoming curious about the commotion she was hearing from downstairs. "What in God's name are you doing?"

He huffed, buried his face in his hands before he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger, gripping the bridge of his nose before he turned to look over his shoulder. He'd been hearing his wife complain about Jennifer since before she was even born. It was annoying.

"What? You're the one always complaining about me not spending time or bonding with them," He looked back forward at Jennifer, who's eyes were fixated on his wife and had completely shrunken into herself as a result, "I'm just having a photoshoot with my little junior," he smiled, booping her nose to catch her attention again. Jennifer refocused her gaze back onto her father and mirrored his smile.

And, this. Sandy Jareau could not handle this. It was one thing for her daughter to be obviously confused about what she was supposed to like, but it was another thing for her father to encourage the behavior by allowing her play dress up in Men's clothes. If this is what Richard bonding with his girls looked like, she was content with doing everything alone. She marched right into the room, yanked the hat off of her head and tossed in one direction before taking his shirt off and tossing it in his face. She picked Jennifer up in a haste, snatching her out of his boots.

"Sandy," he called out after her as she stormed past him, but made no effort to stop her. Not even after Jennifer begin wailing and thrashing about in her arms.

Sandy turned to face him, "Richard, you do not have any sons, and you never will. Accept it or cry every day about it, I don't care. You will not try to turn my daughter into your unrealized dreams. You're not going to bring her up to be some," she lowered her voice, "depraved bulldyke so you can delude yourself. I will not have it." She turned to walk away.

He stood, then, actually followed behind her, "Jesus Christ, Sandy, they're just clothes. I'm not trying to turn her into anything. She got into my boots on her own; I didn't force her. We were just having fun. She was happy."

"She's two, Dick," Sandy dismissed, "She'd be happy eating candy for every meal and rotting out all her teeth. You going to let her do that, too? My daughters -- both of them -- are goint to be proper ladies, and I won't have you corrupting them."

Richard completely backed off then. Leave it to Sandy to whine and bitch about him not connecting with his children only to turn around and police the terms of which they bond. As far as Richard was concerned, a man's role was to provide and protect. His family lived in a nice neighborhood, never had to worry about money or food, always had enough for whatever toys or make up or fresh new outfit that they wanted, and everyone in their neighborhood knew better than to mess with anyone under his roof. His job was handled, as far as he was concerned. Anything beyond that was extra, and if Sandy was going to make the extra feel like both Hell and untrenchable high water, it wasn't worth the stress. That was how he operated over the years going forward, but if Jennifer wandered into the living room at night and crawled into his lap while he was watching ESPN or something, then who was he to turn her away?

When Jennifer was four, Sandy and Richard thought it'd be a good idea to start leaving her in Alabama with Ros, when they dropped her off in the summer time to spend time with Sandy's family. Like Ros, Alabama quickly became her favorite place to be. She immediately got on with her cousin, Charlie, who was about three years older and wore overalls and tennis shoes instead of dresses and shiny one inch heels with bows on them. Much to her mother's dismay; she'd hoped that Jennifer would bond with her sister in law the way Roslyn had, but Richard reminded her that her daughters were different, and just because Jennifer was a tomboy now didn't mean she would always be one. It was a phase that a lot of little girls went through but eventually grew out and that she should at least get to explore her phase in the summer, away from the judgmental eyes of East Allegheny. So, Sandy let her stay, despite her worries that spending a summer with her brother and his family was encouraging her... weirdness a bit too much.

Even before Jennifer understood it, she liked Big Daddy, her mama's brother, because didn't care to force his own daughter to be the traditional girl. Charlie showed no interest in staying in a "woman's place", and Big Daddy liked that for her. He thought it would make her life easier.

The first summer Jennifer stayed and he noticed, she was kind of like Charlie -- except a little rougher, he responded with the same kind of not just freedom, but pride. He noticed she was fussy about wearing dresses so he took her shopping to find her stuff she would be comfortable in, and when she wandered into the boys section, he didn't flinch. He bought her whatever she put her hands on; he even bought her some dress clothes for church from there.

He didn't fuss at her when she fought little boys, like her Mama. He didn't give her any of that "they like you so they're assholes" shit, and he didn't force her to be nice in return; he bought her ice cream when she made their noses bleed instead because little boys shouldn't be little shits if they didn't want to get hit; that was how he raised his boys, and that's how he thought boys should be raised, in relation to girls. He didn't make a fuss when she and Charlie scratched and cut up their legs climbing trees and such. He didn't complain when they came inside from playing all day smelling as strongly as the horses, just made sure they showered before dinner.

She got to make friends, and Big Daddy didn't give her grief for holding her friends' hands too much or hugging them too long. She didn't have to kneel on rice if she kissed her friends on the cheek or if he caught them playing house (in which, Jennifer always insisted on being the dad) or if he caught them playing the wedding game (in which Jennifer always insisted on being the groom). He didn't really think two ways about it. He, unlike Sandy, didn't think of it as the signs of something nefarious. It was the South, people were affectionate all the time, and though a tomboy, Jennifer was still a girl. Most little girls dreamed about marriage and families in some fashion; her being the dad and groom didn't have to mean anything.

At the end of every summer, she'd come home with twice as many clothes as she'd left with, and her mother would be so angry that they were all boys clothes. She'd give Richard the tasks of sending it all to the Salvation Army, but he'd just drive it to his parents' farm so she could at least be comfortable when they sent the girls there on weekends. He'd convince Sandy to let her keep a few overalls to play in because "You always bitch when she messes up her dress but that's all you buy; what else is she gonna be a kid in?"

The summer of '86 was no different than the the summers before. The Jareaus had just arrived to the King's farmhouse to spend a week but leave their girls. Only this time, they weren't the only visitors. Charlie's best friend, Lashay and her little sister, Lashonda -- who was exactly Jennifer's age -- were staying with them for a few weeks. It was odd because Big Daddy wasn't really friendly enough to let nonrelatives stay in his home for extended period's of time, and they weren't... their usual crowd of company.

"Are you on some save the children crusade now?" Sandy asked her brother, snidely, as they sat in the kitchen while the children played outside.

Big Daddy snorted, "Hell no, but Charlie's been making her case to have them over for too long for me to not give in."

"She begged, you mean," Sandy corrected.

"Nawl," he shook his head, sipping his cold sweat tea and wiping the sweat from his brow, "Charlie's too smart and thinks too much of herself to ever beg; she convinced me." He looked out of the window, caught Jennifer as she watched the younger girl (whose name he never memorized) as she played with the other kids. Her eyes were glued to the little girls like flies to honey as she stood still, completely tranced with an almost dazed smile on her face. He chuckled. "Looks like Jenny's found herself a new best friend for the summer," he noted, taking another sip from his drink.

The quickness to which Sandy scrambled to her feet and over to the window to see what her brother had saw made Richard sigh and roll his eyes. He didn't stop her, though, just asked his sister in law for a beer as he prepared to for his wife to get on his nerves.

She grimaced when she saw what her brother did. Her worry, her disgust was palpable. She had just cleansed her home of all the Lola Falana paraphenelia. All of Ros' posters and video tape recordings had had to go. Roslyn whined and kicked her feet about it, but Jennifer was inconsolable because of the purge. Her inconsoladation was proof to Sandy that she was doing to the right thing. It just wasn't natural for a little girl to be so entranced by the sight of another woman how her youngest daughter was. In Sandy's eyes, there was admiration and then, there was what Jennifer was doing.

The way Sandy, at any given time of the day, would find Jennifer in Roslyn's bedroom, in something of a paralyzed dreamstate just staring at her concerned her. The way Richard and Ros often used her I Am Love VHS that Ros had gotten from a friend to calm her down when she was being rowdy, the way it always worked because the moment Jennifer heard her voice she would stop whatever she was doing and sit so closely in front of the television that she was sure to need glasses in the next few years was worrisome.

She didn't dress up like Lola, the way Ros did; she just couldn't tear her eyes away. It was too nauseating to witness to let it continue. Like everything else Jennifer did that made her a little ill, Sandy could handle it so she did. She got rid of everything. But here she was, only a few weeks after her purge, watching the very same thing happen again, but she couldn't throw this little girl away the way she did those posters.

"Maybe we should take her back with us." She pondered.

"Jesus Christ," Richard huffed as his eyes rolled and he took a long chug from this beer bottle, downing over half of it.

Big Daddy rolled his own eyes, "Damnit, Sandy, let the girl have friends."

"I let her have friends!" Sandy defended herself. Because she did. Back home, Jennifer had a lot of friends, and Sandy didn't typically intervene. Until Jennifer started behaving like this. Until she started getting starry-eyed. Until she caught her hugging them too long and too often. Until she caught Jennifer getting upset that they had other friends. Until she caught Jennifer kissing their cheeks when they played house or the wedding game. Jennifer wasn't always this way with her friends, but some. "Jennifer doesn't always know how to keep her friends, friends."

"Here she goes, again."

"What does he mean?" Big Daddy asked, eyes shifting from his brother in law to his sister, "You implyin' what it sound like you implyin'?"

Sandy gritted her teeth. She'd never voiced it to anyone else, her suspicions. And, Richard always made her feel crazy about it whenever she shared her fears. Maybe her brother would understand it better. He understands the Bible better; he's got similar morals and ethics. Sure, he's a little more lenient in his beliefs, some of them. But, surely, he would understand her fears. Still, her husband's prying eyes make her squirm. Just like week, he chided her because he was so damned tired of hearing the word "queer".

"Do you look at your friends like that?" She asks, smacking him in the face with her implication, "Does Ros? Does Charlotte? Any of your boys? Jennifer is..."

"Damnit, Sandy, don't you start up this shit again." Richard finally spoke.

"What?" Sandy asked, defensively, "Jennifer is not wired right. Are we supposed to just ignore that?"

"You saying my niece is a queer?" Her brother asked, the disgust at the suggestion not even hidden, "My niece ain't a damned queer," he defended, looking at the window at her again. This time, giving the little girl a piggy back ride. He snorted, shaking his head, "She ain't a queer. She's just affectionate is all."

Richard nodded, "That's what I say all the time. She's just soft hearted and sweet. That doesn't make her funny."

"She's too little to make that kind of choice anyway," her brother says and Richard nods in agreeance. Her brother continues, "You keep her in church, bring her up like we were, she'll grow up the way she's supposed to."

Sandy chewed her lip. "She's already," she pauses, thinking about how Jennifer consistently disproves everything she was taught about those people, about the choice they made to be sinful. About how they were influenced to make that choice. It wasn't that she didn't believe that, still, for the most part, but her daughter made her question if that was true all the time. "What if it's not always a choice. She's just already," she looks at her husband, "She's always been like this. I'm not even sure she realizes she's a little girl most of the time. "

Big Daddy looked out the window, the past summers and Jennifer's appointed best friend from each summers flashing through his head. Hindsight being twenty-twenty, maybe Sandy wasn't being so irrational. Charlie was close to her friends, too, but Jennifer did have a tendency to take it too far. She was maybe a bit too clingy, too affectionate. Maybe it wasn't the best thing that he let her shop in the boys section. Charlie was a tomboy herself, but even she didn't have a desire to shop in the boys section; she just shopped practical. Maybe she got too angry when little boys touched her or was too disinterested when boys talked to her. Maybe it was weird that she would always want to sleep with her new best friend's on the rare occasion he permitted sleepovers.

"Alright," he shrugged as the dots connected, "Maybe she is queer as a four dollar bill," he said, ignoring his sister's glowering at him, "So what?"

"So what? I just told you my daughter has perverse tendencies, and you say, so what?"

He nods, "Yeah, so what. I mean, Sandy, she's seven. They're still," he pauses, trying to think up the word, "moldable. It's fixable."

"And what do you suggest? Because I have tried everything."

He shrugs, "Send her to a Homo camp. Friend of mine sent his boy when he was eleven; boy's sixteen now, and he's a stone cold ladies' man. Fixed him right up."

Sandy stares at the two little girls, both too focused on each other to not make her queasy. She toys with her necklace as she considers because she's heard of those, "There is a church the town over from ours that offers services like that."

"She's too young for something like that, Sandy," Richard argued, "At least wait until you know for sure."

Over the next few days, Sandy kept a watchful eye on Jennifer and her new little friend. Her brother was right; if Jennifer was queer, she didn't have to stay that way. It could be handled; the same way she handled everything else. But, her husband was right, too: the least she could do was be sure and wait until Jennifer got to be a little older. Besides, as bothersome as things were, she's not done anything particularly different with this little girl than the other ones, and for once, Richard stops her from snatching Jennifer up every time she does something she sees as lewd or strange.

For the next few days, Sandy feels like she's swallowing shit as she acknowledges but is forced to stand back as Jennifer treats this little girl like Roslyn's "boyfriends" treat her. She pulled the chairs out for her at breakfast, at dinner. If Lashonda wanted a juice, Jennifer would never trip over her own feet to get it before she got too thirsty. One of her cousins stole Lashonda's cookie, and Jennifer gave her own cookie to her; she didn't even break it in half, she just immediately gave her the whole thing. She would run down the stairs of the home and wait at the bottom; she would hold her hand out to help her walk the rest of the way down. If Sandy had a son, if Jennifer were that son, she would be a mother's dream. But, from little girl to little girl, Sandy found the behavior troubling. Jennifer even tucked the little girl in at night.

The week was almost up, but she and Richard still had about three more days from their normal lives before they went back and enjoyed a few months childfree. It had been dinner time, and Sandy had been tasked with rounding up the kids. Jennifer and Lashonda were impossible to find, but when she did find them, they were down by the lake.

The two girls in a tight embrace. Jennifer's little arms locked around her new best friend's little waist with her new best friend's little arms locked around her shoulders. As if that didn't set her nerve endings on fire. What Jennifer would fix her lips to say next sent Sandy into a blind fury.

"Mommies and Daddies are supposed to kiss. So, do this." She said, puckering up her lips. Lashonda followed her lead, and Jennifer leaned right in. Connecting their lips, and as her shock and fury battled, Sandy stood paralyzed, staring. She doesn't know how much time passed before she could move her feet again, but their lips stayed connected and unmoving the entire time. Sandy had to reach into the playhouse and snatch Jennifer out of the little girl's arms.

This was it. Enough was enough.

Richard had told her to wait until she was sure, but she had never been more certain than she was right now, and Sandy refused to let this depravity continue. She and Richard's week trip was over. Jennifer's summer vacation was over. Sandy's brother was right. This was a problem and you could fix problems. She was young, bendable. Moldable. If Sandy didn't fix this now, she worried by the time Jennifer was "old enough" to meet the camp's age minimum that there would be no hope. That she would be the neighborhood dyke by then. That no other kids would play with her. That she would get bullied at school, and worse: that they would be ousted from their church, from their community.

Sandy could not and would not let her youngest daughter grow up and put a stain on their family. While she made her husband pack their bags, she called that church that had plagued her mind for days from her brother's kitchen and begged and pleaded that they make an exception to their age mininum. She explained Jennifer was a special case. And, after thirty minutes on the phone, she got her point across. The camp, aimed from twelve to sixteen year olds, would admit their first (and hopefully only) seven year old.

When they got back to home, Sandy put her daughter on the church bus kicking and screaming. It wasn't an easy choice, but Jennifer's nature was a problem, and Sandy Jareau fixed problems.

She hugged the little girl tight, pressed her lips to her temple before whispering, "Mama's sorry, but this is for your own good. "

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