thoma /d2 wip

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Fingers laced across the back of his neck, knees pulled in tight to his chest and his weight pressed against the back of the cupboard.

"There are rules for a reason, Thomas," the stranger rasps, voice heavy with smoke.

Body warped around a bag of flour, specks of white powdered across the legs of his pants, jar of jam pushing awkwardly into his left shoulder.

His father doesn't respond at first, instead silence just hangs there between the two men.

Waxy scent of burnt candle wick, nose still hazy with it but he doesn't dare even breathe.

"You'd surely know by now if I had a child, Ben."

Creaking wood, the whole house shifts as the stranger moves slowly through the kitchen.

"People have seen it," Ben says soft, dangerous, "When you fucked that woman, you swore nothing would come of it."

The sound of footsteps grows closer and the child wiggles himself back further against the wall, trying to become less visible behind the canning from summer, tomatoes from the back garden that his father had grown himself.

A cupboard door is pulled open, then slammed shut.

"And it didn't," his father insists, "I promised my life to the cause, why would I-"

There's a sudden bang, a fist against the table top.

"ENOUGH, Thomas," the stranger says, "You're being transferred. You're expected to be at the station in an hour. Don't be late."

The door opens.

Closes.

A thud, someone's sat down at the table, heavy.

Then silence.

"Dad?" the child whispers. He starts to shift, a jar of beans falls, clatters against the cupboard floor.

"Stay there," his father says quickly, "Don't come out until I leave. Then go to Nessa's house, she'll take care of you."

"Dad did I do something wrong?" the child asks, "I'm sorry."

Silence again for a moment, then the sound of a chair scraping back.

The cupboard door opens and the child squints at the sudden light.

"No, son, never," his father says, "But I have and I must pay for it."

The child gazes at his father, "If you say you're sorry and you won't do it again, it'll be okay right?" But he's afraid, it doesn't seem like it will be, "You can stay here with me?"

His father kneels there, this soft, sad look in his eyes that he's never seen before.

"We'll meet again Thoma, I promise."

The cupboard door closes.

"Dad?"

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