Who: Cory and Joseph What: Donuts. Coffee. Manly fuzz. Where: Joseph's Manly but really very sad Trailer When: Recently Warnings/Rating: Not a one.
Joseph didn't like holidays.
Holidays made Joseph think of lost things. Sailors knew all about things being lost. The sea took men and ships alike, and she didn't care if the things dragged into her blue depths were living or not. Joseph felt like he'd been pulled under. Like he'd lost his life beneath the waves, and like there was nothing left when he surfaced. His own fault, but it felt stronger in the Fall. Back home, the water would be so cold now that it could kill a man in minutes, but none of that stretched out here. Even still, it felt cold. He felt cold. Maybe he'd been alone too long, and all this new confusion about who he was didn't help.
It was cold. Late at night, but Joseph wasn't on duty. He had his hand wound around Salt's leash, and the dog was doing most of the work, with Joseph just following behind in his work blues and a cable-knit sweater that hearkened back to his days on the water. There were holes at the elbows, worn thin, and it somehow retained the scent of the sea, even after so many washes that the cream wool had turned a sooty grey. He only wore it in November and December, the sweater. Seamen were a suspicious lot.
Joseph approached the Circus Circus RV lot without looking. His life was one of habit, of rote, of days that didn't really stand apart from one another. The dog's leash pulled tight, as if he sensed a stranger, and his chain-collar rattled.
“Nice dog.” Animals were the only people that Cory could speak to with any authority, and so he did. He didn’t have any experience with them, didn’t know to be afraid, and he looked straight into the dog’s eyes from his seat on the makeshift doorstep, a metal frame that probably only saw a boot from one entry to the next exit. Cory looked even younger and quieter than usual, a windbreaker that hailed from the nineties and a pair of jeans that were a size too big for him. He had a bottle of soda in one hand and he swung it from side to side as he watched Joseph approach. He was nervous about this meeting, because he didn’t want Sullivan to get that look on his face that Cory’s dad got all the time.
“Hi,” Cory said, relaxing a lot just because Joseph wasn’t in his uniform and there wasn’t anything remotely intimidating about that sweater. “I brought you some coffee but it got cold.” He stood up, pocketing the soda and bringing aforementioned cold coffee up in that hand. A brown paper bag swung from his other, obviously bribery or peace offering. He hadn’t thought to bring anything for the dog, and gave it an apologetic look.
Joseph closed the rest of the distance, and he took the cold cup from the man on the stairs. He didn't know anything about Cory's conversation with Eames. He had no idea why the boy was there. But Joseph wasn't the type to turn people away, and he wasn't even the type to mind people coming. He could ignore a dozen people in the tiny RV when it came down to it, a thing learned on small boats with other seamen.
Joseph edged around Cory, unlocking the RV door and letting Salt greet Cory with paws on his stomach and desperate attempts to lick Cory's face. Joseph clicked a few times, tongue against his teeth, and the dog stopped for a second, only to start back up a moment later, tail wagging all over. Joseph wasn't a dog trainer, that was for sure.
"Just came by to bring coffee?" he asked, pushing into the small space and pulling on the dog's leash. Inside, it was simple, clean, a no-frills life, and Joseph popped the coffee into the microwave to nuke. "Sit wherever." Not that there were many options. The benches at the table made the most sense, and Salt had only claimed one of them for his own.
Cory greeted the dog with a smile all surprise. Nobody on this planet greeted Cory with that kind of pleasure. He was so bowled over by this simplistic non-stop affection that he actually laughed when he got a tongue in his face, and he gave the dog the kind of hug that small children bestow on Santa Claus. It was probably fortunate that Joseph had saved the coffee.
Cory let the dog go in first and then climbed into Joseph’s domain. It looked fine to him, comfortable and super commanding, the kind of place you expected action heroes in gritty movies to live in. Cory sat across from Salt and put the bag on the table--only far enough away that the pastries within wouldn’t get devoured. “I was going to bring donuts but then I didn’t want you to think that I thought you only ate donuts so I got croissants too.”
Cory was used to Arthur. He was used to having every detail, indeed, every thought, at full availability for his alter, and he had forgotten that Joseph had never displayed that kind of closeness in the coffee shop or on the journals. Cory couldn’t remember ever seeing Joseph on the journals at all, come to think of it. “And the video too,” he said, nervously drumming his fingers on the table.
Joseph didn't need Cory to point out that there was food in the bag, because Salt immediate put his snout on the table, big blue eyes focused on Cory, as if staring would net him whatever was inside. "Beggar," Joseph said fondly. He pulled his coffee from the microwave, and he leaned back against the counter. The RV shifted with his weight, but Joseph liked that about it. Was like a boat, like the water.
"Don't mind the cop stereotype," Joseph added a second later. "Not a croissant man." He grinned. Cory was too young for his age, in a worrisome way, but Joseph liked him. Might've had something to do with pulling Cory out of a car and thinking him dead all those years ago. He reached out a hand for a donut, and he looked down at the bag. "What video?" He looked confused, and he obviously had no idea what it was about.
Cory looked up at him with eyes that could rival Salt’s. He’d pulled the coke bottle out of his jacket and he was spinning it in his hands on the table top, watching the bubbles rise up and foam inside it while Salt snuffled at the bag. Cory didn’t reach in to take anything himself, too nervous, really. “The one with Becky on it,” Cory said, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. He took his hand off the table and reached into his jacket. He pulled out a black VHS tape that had been much battered, clearly a home video project, with no label and a paper case. Its little plastic tape spools rattled.
Joseph reached for his own donut, while Cory was making the soda want to explode. He stopped at the explanation of what the videotapes were. He set his coffee aside, the donut perched atop it, and he reached for the tape with both hands. "Becky?" he asked. He knew who Becky was. Had tried to revive her after dragging her out. Of course he knew who she was. But he had no idea why there was a tape of her in his hands. "What's it for?" he asked, confusion evident. Salt barked at the soda bubbles, and Joseph shushed him. "Cory?" he encouraged. Names were good. Cops knew that. People were more likely to talk if you were personal with them.
Cory was reluctant to let go of the tape, looking down at it as if it was the last piece of his soul. His knuckles flexed briefly white, and then he let the tape go into Joseph’s hands. Again the puppy eyes slid upward. His name worked like a key. Cory was always ready to pour his heart out to whoever gave him a kind word, as long as it wasn’t about drugs or sex. He’d lied to that girl on the journals because he didn’t want to confess about losing Becky to somebody that was obviously hitting on him and therefore only in for disappointment. Cory felt like Joseph might kind of know Becky; he was the only person with a continuing connection to her, even if it was just one bloody night. “It’s for Eames. He said he would... well, he said he might help me see her in a dream. Because in mine she’s... she’s... you know.” Cory swallowed. “Like you saw her.” His voice strengthened and he made a skittish motion at the videotape. “But not on there.”
Joseph still hadn't seen Eames' movie, but he knew the basics of the dream thing now. He frowned, lines marring his forehead. He wasn't any doctor. Hadn't even gone to a doctor in years. But he knew this wasn't a good idea. "Isn't enough to see her on there?" he asked of the tape, pointing to it after taking a look and setting it back down on the table. But he knew the answer would be no. He didn't have a tape of his wife. He didn't have a tape of his son. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad. If he'd just want them more if he did. But Cory looked so young, and Joseph could be a pushover. He was like that with streetkids sometimes, with the quieter ones. "Won't bring her back," he added unnecessarily, because he'd seen the girl dead. He didn't ask if Cory wanted to watch the tape. He just leaned behind the dog and slid tape in the old, VHS/DVD player there.
Cory made a small sound as if to protest, but in the end he gave in and slid all the way to the edge of the bench to drop his head back on his spinal column with a gesture of resignation. “It might just for a little while. I just want to see her.” When he said it out loud it wasn’t plaintive, it was soft and intent. His eyes were already on the tape, which was only showing static at the moment. “This is really shitty quality. And we were underage so you’re not allowed to arrest anybody because of it,” he added, hurriedly, before the tape came on.
It was an obvious early recording, home video, recorded on a small tape in a camcorder and then recorded again onto the VHS. The sound had been compromised, and the only thing that remained of Becky’s voice was a bit of laughter, the part of her Cory had liked best. His expression flexed visibly inward, but held. The recording showed several teenagers in what looked like your typical illicit gathering: cigarettes, booze, a fire in a can. There were other things being passed around but the camera conveniently missed those. Becky was a very pretty girl with multicolored hair and oversize combat boots. She looked at the world through raccoon-like rings of dark eyeliner. She had her head in Cory’s lap, a much younger Cory that visibly worshipped the ground she walked on even when they weren’t moving. He brightened up whenever she looked at him or laughed silently at the bobbing camera. The recording was only about three minutes long, and ended in static.
Joseph didn't say anything at first. Not about whether or not it would bring Becky back, even for a little while. Not about arresting anyone, because the statute of limitation was long gone on whatever the tape would show him, unless it was a murder. He watched in silence, thinking the scene a typical one for young people. He looked at Cory after, and he was silent then too, at least for as long as it took him to reclaim his warmed coffee and scratch Salt's head between the ears. Joseph wasn't a therapist, and he wasn't good at talking about feelings, but the boy was here, and he didn't agree with Eames had planned, and he couldn't stay quiet. "Haven't lived a day since she died," he said, motioning to Cory, indicating that Cory was the subject of that sentence. "She have wanted that?"
Cory’s eyes flickered down to the motion of Joseph’s hand and then back up to his face. For a little while he didn’t move, obviously considering his response as he returned his eyes to the white snow that crossed Joseph’s screen as the player continued to depict recordings that were never made. There was static in Cory’s eyes too, in the lines there, in the frown that suited his soft features better than the Cory in the video. “I forgot she was that pretty,” he muttered to himself, tapping a single finger at the farthest edge of Joseph’s table. Then he said, “She always was good at having fun. People liked that. I was never fun on my own.” He turned his head slightly to encompass Joseph in the edge of his peripheral, wanting to know if the other man understood that. Some people were stars, and everybody orbited around them. Some people weren’t.
"Didn't answer," Joseph said. The thing was, he wasn't sure the girl on the tape wasn't the kind who wouldn't want Cory to stop living and just remember her. He didn't know her. Had no idea what kind of girl she'd been, and neither of them knew what kind of woman she would have grown up to be. Selfish little girl, she might have wanted Cory to fixate on her forever. Normal for a teenager. "Supposed to forget," he said of how pretty she'd been. He had no idea he was echoing Eames, because Eames hadn't warned him about this, which was just like the other man. "Don't remember what my wife looked like anymore. If I did, I wouldn't be living. Would just be remembering and wanting what I can't have back," he explained. She wasn't dead, his wife, but she might as well be, his family gone with her. "Forgetting is part of healing." He suspected Cory wouldn't want to hear that, not at all.
Cory didn’t like that at all. If he’d been a dog, he would have growled. He pulled his hand off Joseph’s table and sat back forcefully, as if emphasizing the new distance he wanted to put between himself and this concept. “Then I don’t want to heal. I don’t want to forget her. She loved me. It might not be a big deal to you, but it was to me. My family loves me because they have to, that’s how families go most of the time. Like psychology. She decided she would. Nobody like her would ever do that again,” he said forcefully, glaring at Joseph and daring him to refute it. He felt a little bit bad about Joseph’s wife, whom Cory of course assumed dead, so the glare didn’t last. “It’s not the same as with you.”
"Don't know that," Joseph said simply of the idea that no one would ever choose to love Cory again. "If you let it happen. Don't think you've been trying. I haven't been trying either, but am an old man. You're not," he said, not moving back or adding distance when Cory did. Joseph was hard to anger, hard to rile, especially when it was a kid that was trying. "Don't forget, not exactly. But live. Keep living. Move on. Meet someone. Have a family. Remember her. Remember the fact that you didn't die with her." He motioned to Cory then, big rough hand that didn't know much softness these days. "Might as well be dead now." It was hard truth, straight and without pulling punches, but he didn't think this kid was stupid. Thought Cory knew exactly what he was doing. Thought Cory was depressed. But this wasn't going to make it better. "Waking up is going to be just like losing her again." Plain and simple.
Again Cory’s eyes flickered to watch Joseph’s hand move, some indication that however much he didn’t like it, he couldn’t completely ignore the man. Cory’s parents weren’t any more stupid than he was, and they had sent him to several shrinks before he threatened far worse if they kept forcing him to go. They’d done a lot of this same stuff, and they all wanted to tell him why he was feeling the things he was feeling. It got really annoying, because they weren’t feeling the same thing. Sitting in the trailer, Cory couldn’t say that wasn’t the case here. “I don’t want to lose any more of her. She loved me. She made me... me.” Joseph received another glare, since Cory hadn’t figured out they weren’t effective yet. “You’re not that old. You walk the talk first.” He stuck out his chin and tried to inch out of the seat so he could retrieve his tape, not quite trusting that he’d get it back.
Joseph didn't mind the glaring. He didn't mind the anger either. Couldn't be a cop and have a thin skin, and couldn't be a cop and get hurt easy. Cory's anger wasn't for him anyway, even if he was the one sitting across from him. He shook his head, without thinking about walking on eggshells. He didn't consider whether it was the right thing; he just did it. "No. She loved you because you were you. Didn't make you. Women don't love men they make," he said. He wasn't lying. Whatever Becky had seen in Cory, it had been there before, and it would be there after. "Didn't know you then, but know a little about you now. Guess she liked how you treated her. Maybe you saw her in a way other people didn't. Maybe she liked that you thought she was the world. You're a good kid. Guessing that's what she saw, and that's still there." As for walking the walking, he shook his head. "Ran out on someone twice last week. Not doing very good at putting my money where my mouth is." The dog barked, as if in agreement.
The bulky black plastic rectangle retrieved, Cory returned to his seat, but was unable to get comfortable on it. All the glaring and the anger disappeared, worked out in nervous finger-tapping and the quiet shuffle of timeworn sneaker soles. Eventually leaving it there on the edge of the table, Cory stood up in the aisle and moved a couple steps one way and then down the other, seeing what there was to see as he spoke. “So there’s someone to run out on,” Cory said, approvingly, obviously ten times more happy to be talking about someone else’s problems. He faced the counter with the sink and looked for something to occupy his hands, maybe dirty dishes or something. What kind of cop lived out in a trailer? Besides the ones that are ready to go off the rails and get shit done, like Dirty Harry. Cory approved. He checked some of the cupboards above the sink, opening them cautiously just in case there were things that dropped on his head. “What’s she like?”
Joseph glanced at the tape, but he didn't say anything right away. He watched Cory open cupboards that housed only a few mugs and plates. He didn't entertain. "Not like that. He was in love with Evan," he said of Louis. "Thinks I'm a replacement. Am not." It was plainly said, and it didn't really address anything close to homosexuality. He would never classify himself as gay, even if he did step out of the closet. He'd loved his wife. He'd loved sex with his wife. Not gay. "Think Eames put him up to it," he added. He reached out and picked up the tape and turned it between his blunt fingertips. "Can wait on this," he said. The offering meant he wasn't going to stop Eames. He wasn't going to refuse to give the tape over. He'd said what he had to say. Cory was a grown man - didn't act like it, but he was. Joseph respected that. Didn't mean he liked the possibility Cory would go through with it. "Should come help out at the station," he suggested, off topic and rather unexpectedly.
“Louis?” Cory said, betraying surprise and solid hints of dislike at the shard-edge of both eyes. Cory’s dislike was easy to earn and just as easy to shift off, however, because a moment later he was considering the idea of Louis trying to fit in this trailer like some kind of assault on a medieval castle and it made him smile. “Well, no, I guess you’re not. But running off isn’t that bad if you’re not interested. Did you just tell him you’re not gay?” he asked obviously, closing the cupboards. Cory turned and quirked a brow very intentionally. He saw someone do it in a movie once and it looked cool. “Eames didn’t like Louis. What makes you think he put him up to it? Like a prank?” He turned around and sat his weight on the edge of the counter. Joseph’s suggestion of helping at the station got a blank stare. “...With cops? Help with what?”
"Had sex with him at that party thing. Eames and Louis," Joseph explained. That was as close as he could come to explaining why Eames had set Louis up. "Told him I'm not gay." He grinned, and it was almost fond. "Doesn't give up, though," he added begrudgingly, a little impressed. "Don't like him?" he asked, though that dislike on Cory's face was like a beacon. Couldn't miss it. Now that brow quirk, though, that almost made him laugh. The stifled sound made Salt bark again, and Joseph did chuckle as he reached down and rubbed one of the dog's ears between his fingers. "Get a lot of kids that come in. Scared. Always use volunteers to talk to them before we can get to them. Calm them down." It was a nothing job, one that old ladies and old retired cops did, but Cory would be good at it. It was like with Trystan, who Joseph tried to help at every turn.
Cory blinked. Hard. “You had sex with Louis at the party?”
"No. Eames did," Joseph clarified with a shake of his head. "Didn't have sex with anyone."
Cory blinked twice more. That was almost worse. Of all people, it had to be Louis. Cory tried to think of someone who would be worse, but nothing came immediately to mind. He rubbed his face. Arthur was going to get even more twisted up about that. He could be such a fucking moron sometimes. “Oh. Shit. ….Still doesn’t really explain why he’d send him to you, if he knows nothing is going to happen.” Cory looked flummoxed. He figured Eames always had a better idea about people in general than Arthur did, like he could measure them up and understand them on the inside instinctively. “That seems kind of mean to Louis, too,” Cory added, showing obvious concern for someone he supposedly disliked two minutes before. He tapped several times on his knuckles after Joseph elaborated on the cop job, but he didn’t say anything about it, just thought.
"Didn't explain to me," Joseph said of why Eames had sent Louis his way. It wasn't a lie. Eames hadn't even admitted to it. It was a hunch, one Louis hadn't disagreed with. There were things he was leaving out, but mistakes when he was young didn't mean anything. Still, he felt guilty about it, and he stretched his legs out and rubbed at the lines between his eyes. "Dated someone once, back when I was younger. A guy. Eames might have been trying to help," he admitted. He didn't like the words. He didn't like how the words sounded aloud. Would have rather kept all of that locked away in the past, but that wasn't as easy now as it had been.
Cory’s expression turned unabashedly curious. He got that look when he was about to nose in someone else’s life--with the full intent of assisting, of course--and it was enthusiastic and transparent. “Oh, because he think you might like Louis,” Cory said, brightly, pleased to absolve Eames from this temporary blight on his nonexistent reputation. “Do you?” He fixed Joseph with an expectant stare.
Joseph had no idea how the conversation had ended up here. He didn't he like it. His expression was open. He wasn't trying to hide what he was thinking, because he hadn't been expecting to think it. "The person I dated turns out to be his brother. In town now. Makes this a mess," he said, reluctantly. It was almost like the words were being forcibly yanked out of his mouth, syllable by syllable.
“Dude, that’s so Young & the Restless.” Cory grinned, delighted to have something else to think about and thrilled to discuss it into the ground, all the more so because Joseph wasn’t good at discussing anything. “So do you like Louis, or not? And/or,” (here he actually said and and or) “do you like his brother?” He was interested in the fact that Joseph hadn’t seemed uncomfortable with the idea of dating another man some undefined time in the past. Most of the tough guys Cory knew would be vehement about disliking things they perceived as being feminine.
Joseph had no idea what Young & the Restless was, but it sounded like a soap opera to him, and he frowned. "Stupid name," he said of the thing, if it was a soap opera. "Not gay," he reminded Cory, though it sounded less sure than his previous claim. He held up the tape in his hand, desperate to change the subject. How'd he end up in this conversation? "Were talking about this," he reminded Cory sternly, except Joseph couldn't do stern casually. Criminals, sure. But this kid - not a chance. He sighed, and he put the tape down again. "Casey was a long time ago. Bad situation. Louis needs an Evan replacement." There, that explained it.
Cory didn’t like hearing about Evan. His expression came over with cold and frost, hurt and guilt. It was like watching hot water freeze and melt over and over. He said, “Louis doesn’t deserve an Evan replacement. He couldn’t take care of the first one.” To Cory, it didn’t sound cruel. He crossed his arms over his birdcage chest and hugged it through his jacket. “So you’re not gay,” he said, lightening perceptibly. “But do you like him? You’re kind of caught up on the label.” Cory sounded like Eames, and he realized it. He winced.
Joseph didn't like the way Cory's expression froze. He probably would have agreed to anything then to change it. "Evan was a piece of work when I met him the first time," he said truthfully, still remembering the drunk bastard laughing, not even realizing he'd killed a girl. "Louis is sad. No self-esteem. Loved Evan. Evan never loved him back. Tried to move in and fix him. Didn't work." He shrugged. He was of the opinion that Evan made his own bed. But he understood Cory was a fixer. Couldn't change that about the kid. Wouldn't want to. He quirked a brow at the comment about labels. because it seemed strangely out of place coming from Cory.
The winter cleared from Cory’s expression. He looked sad, sympathetic, uncomfortable. There was anger there he didn’t know what to do with, cold, wet anger that sat in his stomach. “I know what Evan was.” He knew who Evan was and what he had done, though perhaps not why. He said, “He was sad and sorry too. Louis didn’t try hard enough because he was too focused on wanting to be loved himself. He’s that kind of guy.” Cory released one arm so his hand could rub at his hair, a childish movement for a childish man, and when he dropped it he seemed tired and guilty, as if all this failure was his. “But that’s okay, if you like him. You never said. Try yes or no. Do you like him, yes or no?”
"Not Louis' job to fix Evan. Not sure anyone could. Even Evan couldn't fix Evan," Joseph reasoned. He'd made too many mistakes in his own life to think people could fix things for other people. "Can't fix Louis either. Needs someone to fix him, but has to be himself. Not sure he can do it." Honesty, which might have been better kept to himself. But he'd taken the conversation this far, might as well see it through. And Cory wasn't wrong about Louis wanting to be loved. Couldn't argue with that. "Even if I did, not the kind of man who can love anyone that way. Not anymore. Wife and kid still take up some of that space. Maybe Casey too." And there. He'd said it. It was old, and it still hurt like a bitch, but he'd said it.
Cory didn’t like hearing that Evan couldn’t be fixed. He remained convinced it could have happened if people had just let it, if Arthur would have kept helping even if Eames was gone, if he hadn’t trusted Louis and his useless misguided crying, if, if, if... But he wouldn’t argue it, and he didn’t want to hear about Louis needing help. Cory focused on what he did want to hear. “We weren’t talking about love, we were just talking about like. Love is nice, but it’s also okay to like somebody. You don’t have to run them off just because you might like them.” Cory smiled brightly, and he was about to mention something else about labels, but he felt a stirring of observation that was probably Arthur waking up from wherever he went, and so he decided against it.
"Nice guy. Doesn't know me. Not even sure he likes me. Hard to get close to someone who's talking to you because someone else told them to," Joseph replied after a moment, and his fingers strayed to the VHS again. "Have said a lot. Can we talk about this again?" he asked, fingers tapping on the VHS. He sounded a little pathetic, like he would love to talk about Cory's problems again. Greying hair, years on the force, fearless on a beat - this conversation scared the crap out of him.
“I just don’t think you can be sure why someone is talking to you. You’re painting ulterior motives on people, and I thought cops weren’t supposed to do that.” Cory let the smile linger for a little while, because he knew that cops were people and they could be judgey people just like almost everyone else he knew. He dropped his eyes to the VHS and he lost the smile and gained somewhat of an edge. Cory was good with people and knew he’d taken Joseph’s loquacity to the limit on the subject of Louis and Casey, but he knew Joseph was going to talk him out of wanting to see Becky again and it was the first thing he’d actually looked forward to in ages. “What about it?” he hedged.
"Use it to say goodbye," Joseph said. It was how he talked to street kids, ones he was trying to get through to. Hardly ever worked. Looked at Trystan. He'd been trying to get him clean, fed and off the streets for months. Hadn't worked. Had gotten him to eat applesauce once, but that was all. "Come to the station after. Won't stop Eames." Maybe it was an ultimatum, but it was issued with the best of intentions. See Becky. Come care about other things after. Give some to get some. He didn't mention Louis again, or Casey. But he was thinking about it. Joseph didn't like thinking, but he was thinking.
The resentful glare returned. It seemed to be Cory’s default, something he used on everyone he perceived to be stronger than he was, especially when they were asking him to be strong, too. As if he could ever be as strong as his dad, or his last boss, or the guy sitting in his trailer with his dumb dog. “I don’t want to--I mean. It’s not going to be her. I know that. It’s going to be Eames, and it’s just going to look like her. That’s it.” Cory looked off to one side just so he wasn’t looking right at Joseph. “I want some memories of her that aren’t that night. I was kind of out of it but I remember. And what I don’t remember, you know. My mind just dreams up. I hope it dreams them up.” Cory swallowed. One person should not have that much blood.
Joseph made a sound that was agreement, a low rumbled thing in his chest. He tapped on the VHS again. "Memories," he said. Whatever Eames came up with wouldn't be a memory. It would be a dream, but Joseph had beat that horse dead. He'd decided not to stop it. He just wanted Cory's agreement to change things after. "But won't get in the way. Agree to come help. Christmas is hard for kids." He could introduce the kid to Winnie, to that new recruit. Would be good for Cory, he decided. Even Trystan. Cory liked helping. Joseph would have no trouble finding people for him to help. He realized that it meant Cory could meddle in his life, but he'd take that inconvenience if the kid wasn't asking for this same thing next Christmas.
Cory scowled. “I’m not a kid.” He pushed off the counter and then raked his hair down over his forehead, creating an effect that took off at least a decade and made him look even more college kid than a moment ago. “You don’t have to be there,” he added, hurriedly. “Just Ea--” he stopped short. Arthur was paying attention for the first time, and he really didn’t like whatever it is that Cory was talking about. Cory scowled again, but it was darker, and shorter. The anger was more real and not the one that he directed at Joseph a moment ago. “No. It’s not any of your business,” he said at nothing at all.
Ah, Arthur. Joseph didn't interrupt. Didn't intervene. He ignored the outburst and cut-off sentence at first. "Remind me of what my boy might be like grown up. Humor me," he said of whether or not Cory was a kid or not. Truth was, he saw Cory as a kid, and scowling couldn't change that. Numbers didn't back up the feeling. Numbers didn't need to. "Didn't know about it, huh?" he finally asked of Arthur. The question was unnecessary, but it might get Cory out of his head again. Joseph didn't like any of the door people controlling things. Didn't like Eames even offering to do this. But not liking something didn't make it go away.
Joseph was beginning to understand Cory quite well. Cory would let Joseph call him “kid” from here until doomsday if it made him happy about being a father. Implying that Cory’s actions (or things he allowed to happen) fixed a problem meant that Cory would continue whatever it was, regardless of how he felt about it. His eyes flicked up to Joseph and then moved away, but somehow reluctantly moved back. Arthur was more collected than Cory was, but he’d been losing a lot of fights lately, because Cory was always more emotional. “He’s mad,” Cory said, shortly. He started twisting his fingers together, making cold knuckles pop. Angry arguing continued just out of hearing.
"He and Eames split," Joseph explained, in case Cory didn't know. "Probably making it worse." Eames had been quiet. Dead quiet. His way of coping, Joseph guessed. Maybe Arthur was the opposite. Maybe he got angry over things. Joseph did sometimes. Or, he had. Before he'd gone dead and numb. He thought about that party, about how much he longed for the sea. He wondered how far California's coast was. Wondered how much a boat would be for the weekend. Might put things in perspective. Better if there was someone with him. He didn't think of Louis or Trystan. Didn't think either of them would enjoy the nothing quiet of the sea. Didn't understand men that went out on yachts that acted like they were landlocked, electronics everywhere and not even the scent of salt and water on anything.
Cory gave Joseph an angry nod and then shoved off the counter and stood straight upright in the middle of the trailer. He jabbed a finger at the ground and shouted loud enough to shatter poor Joseph’s marine dream. “I am not taking advantage of him! You people steal people’s head stuff all the time! This is bullshit.” His eyes darted again at Joseph, got wide, and then narrowed in anger. “AND STOP LOOKING AT HIM. WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT. Don’t get pissed at me--! I’m going, Joe. Bye. I’ll see you later.” Cory stomped toward the door.
Joseph didn't try to stop him. He'd leave a note for Eames when he crossed with the VHS. He'd give his opinion. He'd get Eames to make Cory agree to coming to the station after. Might contact Arthur too. Wasn't a meddler, but might be able to stretch himself this time. "See you after," he told the angry, retreating kid. He glanced down at Salt, who was wuffing and wagging his tail at all the excitement, and he made soothing sounds and rubbed a furry ear between his big, blunt fingers. Complicated. Life had gotten complicated. He liked it some.