Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jay braces herself and pushes open the door to her childhood home. It’s always been bittersweet coming back here. There’s too many memories of Ava haunting the place.

She can hear the sounds of chatter from the dining room as she takes her shoes off at the door. “Mom, Dad, I’m here!” she calls, not surprised when she doesn’t get an answer.

Making her way past the stairs and down the corridor, she resists the urge to go take a peek in Ava’s room just to remember what it’s like. She pokes her head in the dining room and greets the ten or so family members sat at the large dining table before making her way to the kitchen, where she finds her mom preparing dinner by herself, frantically trying to dish up too many plates that won’t even fit on the counter.

“Oh hi, honey,” she greets with a stressed smile, arms shaking as she tries to work out where to put down a large dish of lasagna. She’s more frail now— something that Jay thought she would never see on her mom.

Jay swoops in and takes it off her hands, gesturing to the few plates that had already been dished up. “You take those to the table so we have more space and I’ll do the rest of these,” she directs.

Her mom nods gratefully, “Thanks, Jay. You’re a star.”

Her mom re-enters the kitchen and leans against the wall with a sigh, a tea towel slung over her shoulder. “How have you been, Jayjay? Still enjoying All-Port?” she enquires.

“Yeah it’s been good, Mom. I’m still saving up to buy a proper house, but the place I’m at isn’t all bad. I’ve got some good roommates. Had a new one move in about two months ago actually,” Jay chats away as she dishes up dinner, purposefully going a little slower than necessary so she could spend more time with just her mom.

This is as close as she’ll get to normal family time now. With Ava gone and the tension that’s always hung about the family ever present, this is a breath of fresh air and a welcome one at that. 

There’s a pause in the conversation and Jay pays close attention to the sensations around her: the smell of food; the sound of conversation from the dining room; the colours of the vibrant flowers in the vase in front of her. If she were to shut her eyes, she could almost pretend she was in her own house, preparing dinner for a family that didn’t make her want to tear her hair out.

She thinks about it often. How would she decorate the house? What colour would the walls be? Would Chip and Gillion be there? Would she have a partner? Would she have children? She’d like a big kitchen— one with lots of counter space to cook whatever she wants and enough space on the walls to hang pictures of whatever she wants.

She’d like family. A real one.

Tears prick her eyes and she blinks quickly, snapping herself out of her thoughts. “Where’s Dad?” she asks, suddenly aware she hasn’t seen him yet.

Something darkens in her mom’s face. “He’s in the backyard,” she explains, “talking to Drey.” 

Well that was never a good thing. Her dad and her uncle never got along well. Jay and her mom share a look, both knowing this will definitely cast a shadow over the dinner. 

Jay sighs, before forcing a smile. “Right. Dinner time?” she asks, picking up two of the plates.

“Let’s go,” her mom answers, taking the other plates and entering the dining room.

Jay sets down the plates at the table and takes a seat in her usual spot, gritting her teeth when she sees one of her cousins sitting next to her in Ava’s old seat. Her mom and dad sit opposite her, and at the head of the table sits her grandma, scowl ever present on her face. She was never the same ‘Miss F’ at home. 

Jay stays quiet through most of the dinner, resisting the urge to scoff at some of the comments made by her family members.

 After about forty minutes, Jay’s name is called by her dad and she looks up at him across the table. “Yeah?” she asks, steeling herself for whatever comes next.

“How’s life been off in that big, fancy city?” he enquires, and Jay can tell from the tone of his voice that he’s trying to start something. She doesn’t get why he has to bring this up every time she comes over.

“It’s been alright,” she answers simply, prodding at her food.

“Really?” her dad makes a show of sounding surprised, “What have you even got to do over there? I thought you only moved there because of her.”

Jay’s eyes snap up, catching her Dad’s own, amber and almost glowing, like a fire she doesn’t miss living with. He raises an eyebrow in challenge and Jay’s nostrils flare. She can’t believe he’s bringing Ava into this. 

She puts down her knife and fork, sitting up to look at her dad properly. The whole table is silent, listening to the conversation. “We’re really still tiptoeing around this after four years? Ava’s dead. You’re allowed to say it.”

Her dads expression changes immediately, a stern look replacing the stupidly smug one that was there before. “If you had any kind of respect for your sister, you would understand,” he declares, brows furrowed. 

“I don’t think respect is refusing to even say her fucking name!” Jay retorts.

“You don’t swear at my table,” her dad scolds, raising his voice.

“I don’t give a shit!” she says, mostly just to piss him off more.

He slams his hands down on the table. “That’s it,” he snaps, “Go to your room.” Jay can’t help the laugh of disbelief that bubbles up out of her.

“I am 24 years old. You can’t send me to my room,” she says incredulously.

“I just did. Get out,” he insists. 

Jay’s eyes flick over to her mom to find her staring down at her plate, seemingly trying to ignore the scene in front of her. She has to focus on the anger so she doesn’t start crying in front of everybody. Why couldn’t she just stand up for her one time?

“No!” Jay explodes, “You don’t get to do that anymore! And do you know what? I’ve had enough!” Her dad tries to yell over her but she persists, raising her volume higher, "Ava was my family too and I mourned her too, and do you remember? When she died and mom was away in All-Port sorting out her burial and we were at home and I needed you—”

“What are you on about?” her dad cuts in, and Jay has never been more frustrated. All eyes are on her and she’s desperate for just someone to understand her point.

“Stop!” she pleads, “Stop and just listen to me for once in your fucking life, please .” She tries speaking at normal volume again, staring straight into his stern eyes, braving the flames.

“Dad, I needed you,” she hates the way her voice breaks, “And you weren’t there. I know it was hard for you to lose her too, but you threw yourself into your work and hardly acknowledged me. You were never at home. I had to do everything for myself.”

“What, did you think I was going to baby you forever?” her dad asks patronisingly.

“I was young!”

“You were 20. That’s old enough.”

“My sister died !”

“My daughter died!”

“See? You never fucking listen to me!”

“Because you’re not saying anything worth listening to!” he barks.

There’s a tense moment of silence, neither of them daring to break eye contact and lose the stare down. Jay’s breathing is heavy, and she wills herself not to cry. Nothing could be worse right now than crying in front of her dad.

He looks down at his plate.

“Why couldn’t you have just stayed here in the academy?” he asks quietly, rubbing at his temples, and Jay wonders if they’re about to have a breakthrough.

“Because it’s not what I wanted, Dad. It never was,” she explains. He looks back up, a look of confusion and annoyance on his face.

“Yes it was?” he says, irritation already creeping back into his voice, “You always wanted to be in the police force, just like all of us.”

Jay shakes her head, “That was what you wanted.”

Her dad scowls and it seems he’s run out of arguments because all he can say is, “No. You always wanted that!”

Jay wants to tear her hair out in frustration. This is pathetic.

“Don’t tell me what I want!” she snaps. He opens his mouth to speak but she cuts him off, continuing.

“You wanna know what I’ve been doing in All-Port all this time? Putting myself back together! This family is fucked up! And I’m done with this conversation,” she pushes her chair out from the table, standing up heading for the door.

She can’t list every reason that drives her to walk out: every time she was ignored; every time she was left at home to fend for herself; every time she was made to feel like shit for talking about the things she liked and the things that she wanted. 

She can’t think too much about the month after Ava died, when her mom was away and her dad was working and she was left all alone in a house that was too quiet.

“Jay Ferin, if you walk out that door, you no longer have a place at this table,” he bellows.

Jay scowls. “Good. I don’t want it. You can just replace me like you did with Ava,” she spits. Before she leaves, she turns back one last time, looking over her shoulder at her dad and hissing, “Congratulations, Jayson. You just lost both your daughters.” And she slams the door before she can see his reaction. She knows that was cruel and possibly unneeded, but she can’t find it in herself to care. Her and her father do not make each other good people. 

She laces up her shoes, rubbing the tears out of her eyes, and scowls when she hears the muttering through the door. “ She’s crazy ,” someone states. “ Way to overreact ,” another person comments. Fine. So what if she’s crazy?

She casts one last look at the house, down the corridor and to the small fraction of the kitchen that she can see at this angle, committing the coloured tiles to memory. The makeshift sign above the doorway reads ‘May’s Kitchen’. Jay and Ava made it when they were younger, with a scrap piece of paper and some coloured felt tips. She thinks about taking it with her, scribbling out the M and replacing it with a J, and sticking it above the door of the kitchen when she buys her own house.

She can’t take that away from her mom though, so she tears her eyes away from the sign, stepping out the front door and closing it behind her. The cool air of the outside world washes over her and she pauses for a moment on the bottom step, shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath.

The door opens behind her and she grimaces. She’s had enough of screaming matches for one day. 

However, she’s surprised to hear her mom’s voice instead. “Jay, wait.”

“Mom, I can’t stay,” she tells her, preparing to be bargained with. But when she turns around to face her, she sees her holding out a Tupperware container.

“I know. I have leftovers,” her mom says gently. 

And Jay breaks down, finally allowing herself to cry, finally allowing herself to be a daughter. She sniffs, taking the container from her mom’s hands and nodding, “Thanks.”

She hesitates for a moment before closing the gap between them, pulling her mom in close and hugging her tightly. She rests her head on top of wispy grey hair, strands of white threaded through it and— god, when had she gotten tall enough to do that? She still feels like a little girl, trembling and sobbing in her moms arms, but she doesn’t quite fit the way she used to.

Taller than her mom and older than Ava. Time moves too quickly.

Her mom pulls back, placing her hands on Jay’s shoulders. “Is this goodbye?” she asks softly and she looks so ready to accept that and Jay understands what it is to be a mother: acceptance. Pure, unconditional love.

Jay shakes her head, her cheeks wet with tears. “No, no. Not for you. You can visit,” she leans back into the embrace, burying her face in her mom’s shoulder, “Please visit.”

Her mom kisses her cheek. “Of course I will,” she promises, and Jay’s never been more relieved.

Jay steps back out of the hug, attempting to calm herself but her efforts were futile. Through her sobs, she tucks the container under her arm and fumbles with the clasp of her necklace for a second before taking it off, pressing it into her mom’s hand.

“Take it. I only wore it for family dinners anyway,” she confesses.

Her mom tucks it into her pocket, giving Jay an almost cheeky smile, “I suspected that.”

“Tell Drey he can visit too?” Jay asks hesitantly.

Her mom nods, “I will.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two of them and Jay realises that she has to walk away now. She goes in for one more hug, squeezing her tightly before she turns around. 

“You were brave today,” her mom reassures, “I’m proud.”

Jay nods, her back to her mom as more tears slip down her cheek.

There’s another few seconds of quiet and Jay wishes she could stay in this moment forever: stood on the steps of her childhood home with her mother by her side and the knowledge that she had made her proud. It doesn’t matter what her family thinks of her, her mom was proud and that’s all that matters.

“I’m sorry,” her mom says suddenly, right as Jay was about to walk away. She freezes. Her mom continues. “I’m sorry it’s like this. It’s not fair. I should’ve—” she chokes up as she speaks, her voice thick with tears, “I should’ve been a better mother.”

And Jay has to bring a hand up to her mouth to stop the sound of her heart breaking spilling from her lips. What an awful sentence. She just shakes her head, still looking out at the street in front of her.

“It’s impossible to choose between my daughter and the man I love. I wish I could have you both together. But I know that’s not fair on you.”

Jay’s never heard her mom cry like this before. She doesn’t get how anyone could love a man like her father but she nods anyway, “I understand. It’s not your fault.”

Jay finally steps down onto the pavement, wrenching her feet from where they felt cemented to the ground. “Bye, Mom,” she says, hating how final it sounds.

“Be safe, Jayjay,” her mom replies, with so much care in her voice that she could never find a way to convince herself she stayed out of hate for Jay. She just loved her family, as did Jay. It was a shame they were different families.

As she walks away, she looks back too many times for her liking, but she doesn’t try to stop it. She allows herself to grieve.

She’s grown accustomed to grief, acceptance is the last stage.

===

Chip has had quite an uneventful day. He woke up quite late to find Gillion had left for work, but not without leaving a note on the kitchen counter for him reading ‘ leftover pancake mix in fridge’ along with a smiley face and a little doodle of a fish. 

He made the pancakes, and spent the rest of the day sitting around and staring at the piece of paper Caspian had given him the night before. Surely Lizzie wouldn’t want to speak to him. Not after the last time he saw her. Maybe she had never even wanted anything to do with him in the first place. Once she was adopted, she never visited like she said she would.

He’s still thinking about this when he hears the front door slam and then, shortly after, the violent rattling of the chain the punching bag in the living room hangs on and the frustrated grunts of Jay down the hall. She’s not meant to be back tonight. He takes it the family dinner didn’t go well then. 

He cracks open his door and listens again for a moment, the noise of the chain having stopped after a minute or so. And then he hears sobbing, something he’s never heard from Jay before, and he hurries down the hall.

He finds her, puffy-eyed and red-faced, with her back to the wall and she looks so devastated to have been found like this. She only glances up at him for a moment before she hugs her knees tightly and presses her head between them.

Jay cries much like himself, teeth bared to the world, as if the act of being vulnerable is something that requires conflict. She cries like there is so much more fueling her than just sorrow.

Jay is angry . Almost as angry as him. It’s something they are forced to carry with them—a smouldering coal in the place of their hearts, waiting for a spark to ignite it into an inferno at any moment. It loves with warmth and rages with scorching fire.

Chip’s comes in the form of smaller outbursts, frustration at stupid things that shouldn’t piss him off as much as they do, but it’s better than keeping it inside and losing his shit at Gillion or Jay. He’d never tried to hide it, so his roommates knew what they were getting themselves into before they got too close to him. He is a walking fire hazard and he’s used to that by now.

Jay’s seems to be hidden, tucked away, a glittery gel pen drawn heart on a sheet of paper stapled over the cavity in her chest. Her rage is demonstrated in quiet, behind closed doors. Maybe she’s scared of burning people too. But today, the fire has caught, and the paper has been burnt away. And Chip isn’t afraid of fire anymore. Not after carrying it all this time.

He sinks to his knees in front of her, not even hesitating before pulling her into a tight hug. Three months ago they would never have done this, but the bridge has been crossed now, and Jay is almost as much of a sister to him as Lizzie was. He rocks the two of them back and forth and rubs her back, letting her know that he’s here and he’s not going anywhere.

They sit like that for a while, in the dark on the floor of the living room, not a single word spoken between them. Jay’s whole body trembles and Chip thinks nothing is worse than seeing her like this. Their position is awkward and clumsy, but neither of them care to readjust. They stay there like two pieces of a puzzle that don’t quite fit together, but chose to anyway.

Despite their differences, despite their bickering, despite all they hide, they chose each other. Chip thinks this is as close to family that he will ever get. Maybe this is family.

Once Jay’s sobs have calmed down into slightly better exhales and sniffles, Chip pulls back a bit, suddenly aware of whatever it is that’s jammed awkwardly between them. He raises an eyebrow in confusion when he realises that it’s a clear tupperware container holding a slab of lasagna. It has a sticky note with a simple heart drawn on it stuck on top.

“The lasagna was that good huh?” he jokes, finally breaking the silence. Jay laughs wetly. “Ok but seriously, do you wanna tell me why you’re sobbing with a tub of lasagna in your lap?” he tries to take on more of a serious tone this time.

“Mom gave me leftovers,” she explains, voice shaking.

“Did the dinner not go well?” he enquires. He doesn’t know much about Jay’s family, but he’s pieced together that they haven’t always gotten along that well.

Jay wordlessly shakes her head.

He gives her a squeeze, leaving time for her to say more if she wants to.

“I walked out,” she confesses with a sniff, “for good.”

“Is that good or bad?” Chip asks, unsure of how to react.

“Good,” Jay responds, “I think. It’s just— God, it hurts, you know?”

Chip nods. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“My dad— he’s a great cop but he’s an awful father now. He just doesn’t care . And I want him to so badly. I want to be able to tell him about my day again. I want him to be happy for me, that I’m doing what I want for once. But he just doesn’t give a shit anymore,” Jay explains, looking at her lap. “And when Ava died, I think he forgot that I was grieving too. It was like I didn’t even exist to him.”

Ava . That name sounds so familiar to Chip, but he can’t put his finger on why. He doesn’t think this is something Jay has mentioned before. So why was the name ringing a bell?

“Who’s Ava?” he asks tentatively, hoping it’s not too much of a sensitive subject.

“She was my sister,” Jay swallows, her lip wobbling before she says the next part. “She was shot. Four years ago. It’s why I moved here. Because she always wanted to.”

And just like that, the tender moment between them is shattered, and everything makes sense. He understands now, why on bad days he can’t stop thinking about how alike they look. He understands the inexplicable unease he felt as seeing Jay again when he first moved in. 

Because Chip killed Ava.

And Ava was Jay’s sister.

Years of learning that it wasn’t his fault come undone in seconds and all he can do is pull Jay in for another hug and try to slow his breathing, muttering a “I’m sorry,” and waiting for her to pull away again.

What does he do? What the fuck does he do? He can’t tell her, can he? It would mess everything up. All the months of rebuilding trust and friendships, just gone like that. He cannot tell her. For everyone’s sake.

When Jay finally pulls back, stumbling to her feet and announcing that she’s retiring to her room for the night, Chip follows, exchanging goodnights before quickly shutting his bedroom door. His body feels numb as he calmly sits cross-legged on his bed. And then he starts to cry, and he can’t compose himself anymore.

His breaths come quick and ragged, like they’re forcing their way out of his mouth, like he doesn’t deserve the air in his lungs, and his face is wet and hot with tears. He presses a hand tightly over his mouth to try and quieten his sobs through the thin walls. Just through the wall, inches away, lies the woman who he took everything from.

He thought this was behind him. All he can think is why. Why me? Why her? Why now? Why? Why? Why? 

Maybe all that stuff he was told in church as a child was true. Maybe he has committed the greatest sin of all and taken a life. And this is his punishment. Maybe it will always follow him.

He can remember Ava now. He can remember her before the alleyway, when the world was still painted in the rosy shades of childhood. He only ever saw her on Sundays, across the room from them with the rest of the Ferin family. Her face was angelic in the prismatic light from the stained glass window. He wishes that was the last time he saw her.

He wishes he didn’t see the same face bloodied and lifeless.