Who: Jack and Silas Benjamin What: A confrontation When: Evening of June 2nd Where: Jack's apartment Rating: PG Status: Complete!
Jack left the studio for the day with a smile on his face. Zelda was ridiculous, as were the people she worked with, but he liked that. He’d been altogether too dower, lately, and he could use a good dose of fun. As he drove back to Newport, he deliberately did not think about why he’s so dower, and why he’s, if he’s completely honest, scared to go home at the end of the day now. Thinking about that was counter-productive -- he was determined to have fun, and to let himself have a few days to be happy. Thinking about his father would ruin that, so he didn’t.
Instead he thought of the Zelda, and what a good friend she was becoming, smiling to himself as he opened the door of his apartment.
Silas Benjamin had quit smoking when his wife first became pregnant. He was still nostalgic for the taste of nicotine, and in preparation for his meeting had decided to have a moment of weakness. It was fine, after all, to give into weakness from time to time..so long as it was perfectly planned.
Jack wouldn’t meet with him. Like everything with Jack, you had to be forceful. You had to be in charge. You had to let him know exactly how things would progress. It was, in the end, for his own good.
Hell was real. It was more than fire and torture; it was terror that crept into your heart forever. It was humiliation and helplessness for all of eternity, never truly ending no matter how many times you were tricked into thinking so. Hell was a sucking darkness that couldn’t even be imagined, and only barely conceived of. Silas would not let his son go there.
That was why he’d broken into Jack’s home, and why he was sitting in an armchair surrounded by mess. He’d searched everywhere, never being quite sure what he was after, but searching all the same. Silas took the cigarette from his mouth with a savoury exhale of smoke that lifted into the light spilling through the window. “Hello, Jack,” he said. “How’ve you been?”
In hindsight, Jack should have seen this coming. He should have noticed the signs of a break-in before he even opened his door, shouldn’t have let his guard down just because he’d had a good day at the studio. He shouldn’t have even come home.
But he did, and there he was, standing frozen in the doorway, staring at his father. He’d known Silas would come to his house at some point, the old man had all but promised that in their last conversation on the net, but Jack hadn’t expected him to break in. Wait outside to ambush him, sure -- possibly even literally ambush, Jack wouldn’t put it past his father -- but to break in?
He was silent for a few seconds, staring at his father. Silas looked much the same as he did in Jack’s memories; more wrinkles, maybe, but otherwise just the same -- same dark hair, same intimidating stature (even sitting down, how did he even do that?), same disappointed eyes. The cigarette was the only thing even a little bit new.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” he says eventually, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.
Silas looked at the cigarette. “An old vice I’m revisiting,” he admitted, and looked back at his son. Jack didn’t look much different; a little calmer, maybe, more stoic. But he knew what Jack was. “You weren’t home. I would’ve called ahead, but then you might’ve moved entirely.”
Silas took another drag on the cigarette. “I didn’t want to go to these lengths, Jack, but you forced my hand.” He gestured to the couch. “Sit down.”
Two instincts warred in Jack at that -- the instinct to follow an order, and the instinct to tell his father to go fuck himself. To cover his indecision, Jack raised an eyebrow at Silas.”That’s my couch. This is my apartment. You can’t just show up and take it over.” The way you’re trying to take over my life, he didn’t say, because that would be melodramatic, and Jack has no love for melodrama.
After a beat, he shook his head. “I’ll stand.” He crossed to the wall directly across from the chair Silas had chosen and leaned against it, body language as casual as he could make it when he was so tense. He was determined not to look as defensive and desperate to leave as he really was, to not give his father the satisfaction of seeing Jack so afraid of him.
“I could have you arrested for breaking and entering, you know. Just because you’re my father doesn’t mean I won’t press charges.”
“Of course it means you won’t press charges,” said Silas casually. “Of course you won’t. And even in you did, you couldn’t hope to win.” With a slight heave, the older man lifted himself from the chair. Everything had been getting slower these days.
“I’m not here to threaten you, Jack. I know you might find this hard to believe, but all I’ve ever wanted was to help you,” said Silas. “And I failed in that. I reacted...poorly.”
“Why couldn’t I win? You broke into my house. Last I checked, that’s illegal.” Jack’s arms twitched at his sides, his impulse to cross them warring with his determination not to appear defensive. He would not appear weak in front of his father.
“Poorly? You had me kidnapped!” Jack exclaimed, his voice rising, and then he took a deep breath and composed himself, making his face go blank and expressionless. “If you really want to help me, then get out of my house and don’t contact me again.”
Silas shrugged. “So you don’t want to see them again, then? Your mother, your sister?” he asked. “Your own personal gratification, your own fetishes, mean more to you than them?” Silas rounded on Jack, his expression solid and intense.
Pressing a hand to his face, Jack counted to five inside his head and took a deep breath. When he felt he could look at his father without wanting to scream, he dropped his hand and met his father’s gaze, his own expression just as intense as Silas’. “Being gay isn’t a fetish, it’s who I am. I can’t change, or choose not to be what I am. I miss Michelle, but if seeing her means going back to a camp, or denying who I am, I won’t do it. And to be perfectly honest, no, I don’t want to see mom. Not if she’s going to try fix me.”
Silas didn’t blink. He finished his cigarette and stubbed it out on the windowsill before taking out another one. “She won’t be happy to hear that. She misses you,” he said, striking a wooden match to light the cigarette that was now held between his lips. “And Michelle does too.” Silas dabbed two fingers in his mouth and snuffed the match between them.
He exhaled great lifts of smoke, and his expression softened a little. “We all do. We all want you to come home.”
He wouldn’t feel guilty. Jack refused to feel guilty for prioritizing himself and his own sanity over the bigotry and insanity of his parents. Whether or not they had missed him -- which Jack wasn’t sure his father really did -- they were not good for him, and Jack wasn’t going back down that self-loathing, self-denying road. He would rather never see them again than feel that way ever again. Maybe Michelle was different than their parents -- they had always been close growing up, and if there was anyone who could see beyond the dogma of their parents and realize that Jack wasn’t broken, it would be her -- but Jack wouldn’t risk going back home just for her.
“California is my home,” he said firmly, his intense gaze never wavering from his father’s. “I’m not going back, so if that’s what you came here for, then just leave. If Michelle wants to see me, tell her she’s welcome to stop by herself. She can even stay with me. But I want you and mom to stay out of my life.”
Silas turned again, and then turned back to face Jack. His face had lost some of it’s edge: it was darker and at the same time, sadder. He gave a resigned sigh. “Jack, what would it take?” he asked cautiously.
The question threw Jack, and he blinked at his father in confusion for a second. Silas sounded almost... sincere. It would be so easy to believe him -- and wouldn’t his life be easier if he did? Not to mention happier. It was so tempting.
But the memory of the camp wouldn’t let Jack trust Silas. No matter how sincere he sounded, that was all he could see when he looked at his father -- all those months of degradation and humiliation, forced self-loathing and unending attempts to get him to be something he just couldn’t. They wouldn’t go away. Jack would never forget it, and he would never allow himself to forget that his parents put him there.
His expression stony, Jack shook his head. “There’s nothing you can do. I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to talk to you. I just want you to leave me alone.”
Silas felt himself deflate a little. He stubbed out his second cigarette, and reached into his jacket pocket. He produced a small Bible, and looked down on it. “...the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control,” he uttered before looking up at Jack. He extended the book to his son. “Against such things there is no law.”
It was probably wrong of Jack to feel happy, seeing his father lose some of his intimidating stature. He didn’t really care. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and Jack almost gave into it. The smile dropped when Silas began his quote, and fell completely when he offered the book to Jack.
For a long time, Jack wasn’t sure how he felt about God. He wanted to believe in Him, to trust in Him and His goodness, but it was hard to believe in something you’d heard hated you your whole life. He’d been to more progressive churches since he’d been discharged, trying to find a way to believe, but the certainty he’d felt as a child eluded him. No matter how eloquently any of the pastors or priests spoke about how God loved every one of His children, Jack couldn’t shake the feeling that if there were a God, He would hate him for who he was, for what He had made him. If the choice was between believing in someone who hated him and not believing at all, Jack knew where he stood.
“How dare you,” he growled through gritted teeth. “How dare you talk about love, and kindness, and goodness, when you sent your only son to be tortured into denying who he is? Where was the kindness in that? Where was the love in that?” He’d started out with his voice low, but by the last sentence Jack was all but screaming. He would not cry. He refused to cry in front of his father, even though there were tears threatening in the corners of his eyes. He would. Not. Cry. “Do you know what they do to people in those camps? What they did to me?”
As Jack spoke, Silas felt the rage build within him. It was calmly mounting, heading straight for the surface. There was another feeling there, too, something vague and tightly wrapped around his anger. His fists clenched, and when he spoke, it wasn’t out of control. It was still and perfectly controlled with only a hint of what lay beneath. “You stupid, selfish boy,” he said, his eyes boring into Jack’s. “You don’t know what torture is. You don’t know what pain is. Torture and pain is watching your only male heir work tirelessly to destroy your own family.”
He slapped the Bible against Jack’s chest, refusing to let go until his son took it. “You think you’ve seen the ugly side of life because I stuffed you into a camp to make you normal. You’ve been pampered too long, babied and coddled. But you’re a Benjamin. I will not let you remain a weak link. You will be saved, Jack. Whether you want to or not.” Silas took a powerful step forward, leaning close and keeping his voice down to a cruel whisper. “You will never be rid of me.”
Jack's features twisted into a grim smile even as he flinched away from his father. These were Silas' true colors -- the cruel and terrifying true colors he'd been trying to hide behind his benevolent, remorseful façade. He’d almost been taken in, he had to give his father that -- he was a fine actor when he wanted to be -- but he’d known it was all an act. Silas wasn’t capable of remorse.
“You’re delusional,” he growled, pushing the book away from him. “I won’t even waste my breath telling you I don’t need to be saved, you’re clearly not going to listen.” He took his phone from his pocket and held it up so it was in Silas’ line of sight. “If you don’t get out of my house in the next thirty seconds I am going to call the police. I wonder what the punishment for breaking and entering is?”
Silas didn’t flinch at Jack’s threat. He wanted to strike his son, but didn’t. “We’re not finished here, Jack. Besides, what good is your love for sin...against the might of my God?” He turned and moved toward the door, shutting it tightly behind him.