Work Text:
"Knock Knock?" Elijah gently leans into the bedroom Adam shares with his cousin. It's hot in Ohio but the room has an AC so Adam is cocooned in his blankets on the guest bed. "Are you still asleep?"
"Not really."
"It's pretty late," his dad tries again, his voice soft. "Is everything okay?"
"I'm fine," Adam lies. "Tired."
"Would it be horrible if I said I don't believe you?"
"I had my first breakup— break? Thing. I think I'm allowed to mope."
"Do you want to talk about it?" Elijah sits at the edge of his bed.
Adam peaks from under the covers. "No."
"Well, I brought you chocolate milk. Since you missed breakfast. So. You should still sit up."
Adam glares at him for a moment before sitting up in his bed. "Thanks."
"Sure thing." Elijah makes no move towards the door.
Adam makes no move towards talking.
They sit in awkward, heavy silence for a long moment.
"So am I making everyone worried?"
"No, they know you had your break up, they don't fault you for it."
"Am I making you worried?"
"I'm always worried about everything, so yes but no." His dad presses his lips in what should be a smile, probably.
"Doesn't sound healthy," Adam points out.
"Neither is sitting in bed until noon with the AC turned as low as it will go, but here we are."
Adam sips his chocolate milk. "It's just a breakup… break? Thing. It'll pass."
"Will it?"
"They do with time, right?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"You've had partners before mom."
"I have."
"You got over them."
"It's a bit more complicated than time. There's also finding new things to do with one's life, rebuilding who you are on your own outside of the relationship, it's honestly lots of work."
"There's mourning for it, though. Just… feeling bad about it. Right?"
"Sure. But if I were you, I'd take advantage of being around so many people who love you and do some other things."
"Well, you're not me, clearly."
Adam has no intention of sounding mean. He regrets the venom coating his words. He regrets the rage that's holding his chest with all its might, threatening to pop him like a balloon. He's just not entirely sure how to stop it from oozing out of every pore in his body.
"No, we're pretty different people," Elijah sighs, and Adam, with his blood already boiling, snaps.
"Yeah, sorry about that," he mutters, putting his mug down.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why would you apologize for not being different from me?" Elijah looks at him with big eyes, his brows raised above his glasses. He doesn't sound upset. Not in the right way. Adam is not the type to search for a fight, especially not with his parents, but his entire being bubbles under his skin and he's too full of energy, too upset with everything and everyone, and he just wants to hurt… someone. Himself, ideally, but he can't do that here. He can't do it at all. They won't let him, so it can be their problem.
But he's not… angry. There's some hurt on his face, but Adam doesn't want him to hurt. He wants him to raise his voice, use the scary tone he rarely touches, like a big friendly dog barking once and making the entire neighborhood freeze. "Because I failed, dad. Okay? I failed."
"Failed what?" He asks calmly, and Adam wants to scream.
"Everything! I failed at being normal, I failed at being a boyfriend, I failed at being whatever you want me to be, I failed! I'm stupid and depressed and my brain is all wrong and I'm never going to be enough for anyone and I failed, okay? I failed and I can't fucking—" he sobs, his face already wet with tears and burning hot. No, no— why is he crying?
Elijah moves closer and offers an open arm for Adam to latch onto. Adam doesn't want it. He doesn't want a hug or comfort, he wants his dad to yell and agree with him and just— anything, he wants anything. Instead he takes the comfort his dad is offering, burying his face in his shoulder. Elijah strokes his hair softly, silently, rocking back and forth.
When Adam calms down a bit, he sighs. "You know none of that was true, right? You didn't fail anything. Romance ends sometimes, it's not a failure, it's part of it. And you can't fail at being a person or at being you. People are just… they are who they are."
"But I need to be different," Adam breathes between sobs.
"No you don't. You're exactly who you're supposed to be, you're you. I wouldn't have you any other way."
"You'd have me a future scientist," Adam mutters bitterly before he can think about it.
"Boychik, breathe in. I'll have you any way shape and form you take. You want to work at McDonald's for the rest of your life? I'll take it. You want to publish novels? Good. You want to be the first man on Mars? That's great. I will love you no matter what you do with your brilliant brain and your beautiful soul, do you understand that?" His voice is still soft, but it takes an edge now. Clear. No nonsense. No room for error. I said what I said voice.
"You say that," Adam says, and his lungs betray him and get rid of his ability to push air out at all. There's a pain in his dad's voice that hurts in a way no scary bark could. It doesn't cut, it seeps and poisons his every part, but he can't stop fighting no matter what kind of unconventional weapon his dad pulls. He forces air to go back to its place in his chest. "But you won't— I'm not going to be a scientist."
"Okay. Don't be."
"But you want me to be a scientist."
"If you wanted that, I'd be glad. But you don't, so I don't want that for you."
"But you do!" Adam struggles out of his embrace. "You always say how much it's a shame I don't want to do science, you always push— you push me into it and you just won't— stop! You can sit here and pretend that you don't— that you don't care what I do! You clearly have a preference!"
"I do want you to share my passion for science. But you don't, and I can't change that. So that's it."
"So why?" His voice breaks again and he feels like he's losing his mind.
"Why do I push you into science?"
"Yes!"
"STEM is safe," he says simply.
Adam pauses. "What?"
"STEM. It's safe. There's always work in it. Always people willing to pay for it. STEM is safe. English… I don't know. It's not as safe. There's a lot of important things to do with English, it's beautiful, fascinating and rich, but people with money think if they can speak it, they don't need more than that. Just hire a monkey with a typewriter. I'm… scared."
"Dad, grandpa was a concerto pianist. Clearly there's work outside of STEM."
"If you're lucky. You can work as hard as you want, be talented beyond belief— you know my sister, right? Vera. She's a great musician. She's traditionally trained in opera. She's even got a famous musician dad. She's one of the best I've met. She's also an accountant who needs my help to close the month sometimes. In science… there's always work. Even if you won't be great, you'll still have something. Michael is an engineer, he's doing well. Not life changing, but he's comfortable. Your uncle Julian loves English, he teaches it in highschool. He's working a lot harder, and for a lot less. It's just a gamble, and I don't want you gambling without a safety net. I just want you safe."
Adam notices now a single tear escaping his wet eyes. His dad won't look exactly at him, and he's fidgeting with his red string bracelet.
"You still push me in everything else," Adam insists. "In— in English. In latin. In music! If it's about luck, why push me so hard?"
"Because…" Elijah looks up, like he's consulting the God he stopped believing in years before Adam was ever born. "Because… where do I even start? Because you can be great, so I want to get you there. Because if you're great, it can't be taken away." He seems like he's pleading.
"Taken away by who?"
"People. Stupid people. People who don't… bad people. Who see a Jewish or black or gay person succeed and think it's undeserved because only white straight people can be great."
"I'm… not following."
"The other day, when my car was in the garage, I had to take the bus. Someone called me a kike."
"Oh… I'm sorry dad."
"Don't be. What did they get? Sure, I am Jewish. I also have multiple PhDs. I have a great salary. I know seven languages. I play multiple instruments. What can they say about me? What is there that I can't do? If you're good, if you're great, who can take it away? They can't call me stupid or uneducated or uncultured or anything of substance. They can point out my ethnicity, and literally nothing else. They can't take it away from me. I'm… safe." Adam isn't sure if his dad attempted to smile and failed, or if his sad pressed lip was entirely natural when he shrugged. Either way, it makes Adam frown.
"That's… that sounds off."
"Why?"
"Because…" It takes Adam a minute to untangle the mess his boiling fury made of his brain, but he reaches for a thought and hopes to get through it as he goes. "If you didn't have those things, you'd still be a good person. You'd still have a family, and friends. You'd still… Aunt Vera isn't doing great. When someone calls her something like that, she's still… good. She still has her son. She still has you. Do you think less of her because she doesn't also have a great salary?"
Elijah blinks, then frowns. "It's not like that," he says. "She doesn't have the defense that comes with it. I want you to have that."
"Does it help? You still got called a kike for just existing in public. Did your PhD save you?"
Elijah is quiet for a long moment.
"Did it hurt less because you have money?" Adam presses gently. Now he has no intention of raising anger in his dad, instead he wants to make sense of it all.
"I can't change their views, boychik. I can only change myself."
"But does it help? Does it make people hate us less?"
Elijah goes quiet, fiddling with his red string bracelet again. "I just want you to be in a place where no one can say you didn't earn what you have. I want you to have it and know it's yours."
"Your family had what they earned stolen by people just because of their blood, didn't they?"
"But it can't— it can't happen to us. Not to me. Not to you."
"Why not?"
"Because— it's… because… I don't…" Elijah goes quiet. "Because it… can't."
"Dad?" Adam moves closer. "I don't think success is the shield you made it out to be."
"But if it isn't, then what…"
"Nothing is, I guess. Direct action maybe. Community. I don't know."
Elijah doesn't move, and Adam puts his head against his shoulder.
"But this… false shield. It's heavy. I can't be perfect because I'm scared of bigots. Would you expect a white goy guy to be constantly perfect or else he's a free for all for whatever idiot decided he hates him?"
Elijah breathes deep before answering, and it sounds like it pains him to say "no."
"Why are you expecting it from me?"
He stays quiet.
"Why do you expect it from you?"
"It made sense," he says quietly. "I… guess. Maybe it…"
"It's logical reasoning. If I'm perfect they can't logically hate me. But bigotry isn't logical, dad. You know that. You know that."
"I do. I… huh."
"I can't live like that, dad. I can't… be scared all the time. That it's my fault if I'm not perfect. Because I'm not, I'm a person."
"But you're…" Elijah seems like he's about to beg, and Adam has no idea how to react to it. "You're so… smart. And kind, and… and good. I just want… I just want you to be safe. You don't deserve…" a couple more tears roll down his face. "You're so great, and I can't… the thought of someone hating you for… for no reason… or harming you—" he chokes. "I… boychik, you…" he blinks, then his eyes widen. "I never, never pushed you because you were bad or… or anything like that. I… I just want you to be safe, that's all I ever want for you, ever. To be happy and comfortable and safe."
"I think pushing me isn't the way to go about it."
"So what is?" He pleads, a hopelessness Adam has never seen anywhere near his dad is plastered on his face.
"Just… letting me be, I think. Helping me… I guess. Being there?"
Elijah nods a bit. He looks away and nods some more, then again. "I'm… I'm sorry, boychik. I really, really am. You are more than enough and you were more than enough since before your first breath. I'm sorry I ever made you think anything other than that."
"It's… fine. I think I get it."
Elijah takes a deep breath before putting himself somewhat back together. He straightens his back and fixes his hair before speaking again. "Do you want to make a deal?"
"Um… what's the deal?"
"You go to therapy. I had good intentions and it led us to hell and I can't— I can't pull you out. And I made you think that you are not enough, and I can not fix that. And you need to see someone who can, because you can't pull yourself out of hell. It's not how this works."
"And in return?..."
"I'll go to therapy too. More than my psychiatrist. Actual therapy. I'll… fix myself. I'll fix whatever made me think this… this. And I'll do better, too. And we'll… figure it out."
"You'll… go to therapy?"
"Yes. What's the point of you going to therapy if you'll come home and I'll ruin your progress? And this way, we'll have our deal. We both… fix it. All of it. The entire… everything." Elijah offers his hand out. "Deal?"
"I don't know, dad."
"Boychik. You are enough. Do you believe me?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you? Really?"
Adam hesitates. "No? I don't know."
"And if I just keep saying that until I'm blue in the face, will you believe it?"
"It… doesn't sound like that's how that works, no."
"So you need someone who can actually get you to believe me. And I need to unpack… whatever we just started to unpack. Because. That's probably not great. To think."
"You think?" Adam deadpans, trying to take advantage of the positive upturn to get the room out of the pit it sank into.
"I don't know, I'll go to therapy and find out. If you do."
Adam hesitates for a moment longer. He had no idea just how personal the motivation would be. Just how much it had nothing to do with him. He thinks his dad needs therapy. He thinks he needs help. But if Dr Elijah Hayes, one of the most brilliant minds in the world, needs help, maybe… maybe Adam Hayes could use help too.
Adam shakes Elijah's hand.