THIRTY

The tears were overflowing by the time he was halfway through his sandwich; they streamed down his cheeks in waves. Zach didn't look up; his shoulders shuddered. Embarrassment burned in his chest, but he couldn't stop. Every last thing that had burdened his heart poured out through those tears.

He was weak.

He was hungry.

He was exhausted.

He was the son of a criminal.

He could do nothing but swallow the sandwich that was laced with his tears. He couldn't take everything any more. It was too much, too crushing on his heart, mind, and soul. But did his breakdown have to be here? Now? And in front of him?

Zach finished his sandwich. Hot tears streamed endlessly. His head remained ducked; his clenched hands rested on the countertop. His shoulders shook; the sobs increased; shame intensified.

Something slid into his sight: a box of tissues. Zach jerked his chin to the side, shaking his head. He didn't trust his voice. The box entered his line of sight again. He shook his head more violently, his shoulders shuddering with each movement.

"Come on, kid, they're just tissues. You're a wreck. I haven't laced them with arsenic, if that's your worry."

Zach let out a sobbing half laugh. No. That was the last of his concerns right now. He pulled out a tissue, then another. And another. He went through more than he could count. The tears didn't end. Nothing stopped. It wouldn't stop. When was it going to stop?!

Zach sucked in his breath, tensing, as hands clasped his shoulders. With light, yet indomitable force, Hawke maneuvered him to the living room. Zach let him. Those hands gently pushed him down to sit on the sofa. A moment later, the box of tissues were placed in Zach's limp hands.

If he looked up, what expression would be on the man's face? Would it be a sneer? A look of pity? Perhaps one of confusion? Each one meant something different and Zach didn't have the energy nor the courage to decipher them.

Tick. Tick. The clock created a rhythm in his mind. Zach sat there on the sofa, creating a new pile of used tissues at his side. The fridge door opened. It closed. A cabinet snapped open; something rustled inside; it snapped shut.

Only the sound of the clock remained.

Something cool lightly tapped Zach on the cheek. He sucked in his breath, flinching. He glanced up. Hawke held out a glass of lemonade.

Zach accepted it.

It was cool and refreshing, easing the heat in his face. Zach breathed in deeply, closing his eyes and trying to calm down. Something touched his face again, but this time it was freezing. He let out a tiny yelp of shock, jerking his head back and looking up.

The man handed him an ice cream bar. Zach took it, surprised. Hawke's expression was impassive, not even a glimpse of amusement. The man was neither sneering, nor pitying, nor confused – but an expression of understanding and knowledge lighted his eyes, as if he'd known Zach for years and had seen such episodes before.

"Eat these, too," said Hawke, dropping two packets of fruit snacks onto Zach's lap.

Lemonade, ice cream, and fruit snacks?

"What's this for—"

"Just eat everything," said Hawke, his mouth lifting upward. "Then we'll talk."

He didn't argue. Hawke sat down in the arm chair with an ice cream bar of his own. Zach hadn't finished the lemonade, so he downed it quickly and set it onto the coffee table. He set to work on the ice cream bar, quite enjoying the man's choice of a vanilla chocolate bar with almonds.

Why?

The question burned inside his mind as he ate under the pleasant silence. With each passing moment, the torrent of his emotions began to calm further, until they settled altogether.

He didn't understand this – this kindness. It was foreign to him. Yet, he knew people usually were pretty decent when a distraught teenager had an emotional breakdown in their living rooms.

Everything Falcon did and everything Hawke did were in a constant dichotomy. It was downright confusing. Zach didn't understand this man. Humans were complex, yes. Humans did terrible things in the name of something they believed in. People rarely imagined themselves to be the villains in the stories of others. In their own eyes, they were always the heroes.

Who do I trust?

What can I trust?

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Zach polished off the ice cream bar, sticking the trash back into its packaging. He wiped his face, blew his nose, and shoved the used tissues inside the packaging. He started on the fruit snacks, noticing a change in his control. His emotions had simmered down. Zach let out a deep, cleansing breath.

The tears were gone now.

In their place was now pure mortification.

I lost it! I actually lost it inside Falcon's frickin' kitchen!

Zach internally screamed.

Hawke put his ice cream stick inside the packaging and tossed it onto the coffee table. Zach blinked. Hawke leaned back in his arm chair, crossing his legs.

"Are you on any medication?" asked Hawke.

I'm sorry, what?

Zach shook his head, unsettled by the question.

"So, you're not diabetic?"

"No," said Zach with a frown. "Why?"

Hawke sighed. His eyes glanced to the side slightly, a faraway light entering there. For a moment, the man didn't answer. Zach didn't push him. He watched, observing the subtle movement in the man's jaw, the bob of his Adam's apple, the slow heavy blink of his eyes.

"Abby would be disappointed," whispered Hawke.

Zach stiffened, his eyes growing wide. A wave of horror flooded through his chest and into his throat, cutting off his air. Before he could retort, before he could say a word, Hawke let out another sigh. There was a light smile on his face.

"She never wanted to pass on something like blood sugar problems onto her kid," said Hawke, looking back at him. His voice was smooth with reverence. "It always messed with her daily life. She didn't learn quite how to control it until a bit later, but…"

Zach deflated.

"At first," whispered Hawke. "She had a few breakdowns that came out of nowhere. Scared the hell outta me, first time I witnessed one."

Zach let out a breathy laugh.

"After the third one, I figured out the pattern," said Hawke with a grin. "I started keeping all sorts of candy and fruits snacks on me. If I even saw a hint of a sign she was losing it, I'd force sweets on her. She swore I was trying to make her fat."

The next soft laugh tasted bittersweet on Zach's tongue.

"Things got better as she learned how to deal with it," said Hawke; the light in his eyes faded. "She always disliked the lack of control."

"What helped?" whispered Zach.

"Well, she liked to overwork herself a lot," said Hawke, giving him a look. "I suspect that's where you got it. She'd forget to take care of herself. A hearty meal and a good night's sleep would always do wonders for her."

Mom would overwork herself?

"I suppose the real question is: are you doing the same thing?"

Zach swallowed, averting his eyes.

"Have you been getting enough sleep at night? Not staying up late playing video games or watching TV?"

Something twisted inside Zach's chest. His hands clenched in his lap. He wasn't a normal teenager. Zach would've loved if that was his problem. It was an easy fix.

"All right, what about your eating habits?" asked Hawke. "You kids don't just eat junk food, do you?"

Was this man purposely being obtuse? If Falcon knew the names of those killed in the hospitals he blew up, then he had to know Units weren't paid very well.

Junk food?

That was a laugh.

Cheap food made out of terrible ingredients? Yes, absolutely. They were lucky to have Hikaru, though. She always cooked good meals for them, no matter how little they had. Together, they did their best to buy food that was good for them, but they couldn't always afford everything they needed.

"Look, Zach," said Hawke, leaning forward in his armchair. He rested his elbows onto his knees. "Your lack of sleep and poor eating habits are going to affect you. It looks like you've inherited Abby's low blood sugar issues, so you're going to have to take better care of yourself."

His voice grated the nerves. Every word he said felt like pins pricking his flesh.

"You think it's that easy, do you?" whispered Zach, fury boiling beneath the surface of his tone. "So simple. Get enough sleep. Eat the right food."

"Well… it is," said Hawke, sounding confused.

"It's not."

"I don't—"

"Did you even think for a second," snarled Zach, "about why maybe I can't sleep at night? Did you think about it for more than a second? If you're supposed to know everything, then why don't you know the reason why I haven't been eating?"

Hawke's eyes widened. "Zach," he murmured, his brows furrowing. "I—"

"It's you," hissed Zach. "You're the reason why I can't sleep at night. I keep thinking about what you're going to do next to my city. So, I stop eating. It gets worse. I can't sleep even more. When I finally do sleep, you're in my nightmares."

There was a sharp intake of breath.

"And just so you're aware, we can't afford junk food," snapped Zach. "We can't afford healthy food either. We do our best with what the government gives us. There's nothing more we can do."

He stood up, his clenched fists trembling at his sides.

"Thanks for the sandwich," said Zach shortly. "I gotta go."

"Wait," said Hawke, putting up his hands and standing as well. "You just got here."

Zach shook his head. "I need to go home," he said, his voice wavering. "It's a school night. I… I—"

"Please, just a little longer," said Hawke softly.

He looked away; Zach closed his eyes, drawing a hand to his face and dragging it down.

"Why am I even here?" whispered Zach. "Why is this so important to you? Why do you care?"

He looked into the man's face. Those crystal blue eyes flared with light and power, piercing Zach's soul.

"You're our son," whispered Hawke. "You're Abby's son. You are… my son." There was a long pause. The man's chest heaved once. "If I'd known… things would've been different for you."

"How?" breathed Zach.

"I would've raised you."

Mixed feelings whirled inside his heart. Life would've been very different if that had been the case. For a moment, he couldn't stop himself from imagining such a possibility, such a path his life could've traveled along.

A rock settled into his stomach. If he had lived with this man – perhaps from the age of six – he would've been part of the Falcon issue. What would his path have been like? Would he be like this man, stand at his side, and watch hundreds of people die before his very eyes?

"Raised me?" said Zach softly, glancing up at the man. A firm light filled his eyes. "Raised me into what?"

A criminal?

A terrorist?

A murderer?

"Into a man," whispered Hawke, his words gentle. "One with a constant father in his life."

Those words echoed in his head.

"You would not have lived the life of an orphan."

Gilded words.

Yet covered in thorns.

That path had the song of a siren. It sounded nice. It sounded lovely. But the grass on the other side was always greener. That life might've been easier, but would Zach have the same morals in his heart? That life might've been safer, but he wouldn't have been the leader of Unit Twelve. That meant he would've never met Hikaru.

Or Drake.

Or Sevati.

Or Brielle.

Or Jacob.

An easier, safer life was not worth giving them up.