In the middle of a crisis, there are shadows... Who: Winston(narrative) Where: Frost Enterprises What: Winston thinks, and fumes, and deals with life When: Today (06/08), after his net post Warnings/Rating: PG-13 for swearing and mentions of violence Status complete
Winston was angry. That young ass dared to make a mockery of his attempt to offer a safe harbor to the Summers family? And to do so on his own post, unshielded, obviously showing his lack of respect for Winston? That was intolerable. That little boy! Winston had enjoyed a certain amount of respect for the other man, for the strength, honesty, and calmness the man had shown at the Frost home and in all things he had learned about in the OC. But this, this was not the action of a man. These were the words of a hurtful boy. And Winston was, surprising himself, hurt.
He had been in his estimation, nothing but respectful of boundaries, respectful of the other man in actions and words. He loved his daughter, and had made sure that she could have whatever she wanted as far as time or freedom went, to be with her new family. He had no desire to lose her again. He had even dreamed of being able to visit, some long day in the future, when Emma or her child ran Frost Enterprises and be a doting grandfather.
And then that ass had just… grah! Winston slammed his fists down on his desk, then moved away from it, pacing. Anger flew through him, and hurt, and he hated both. Scott was a lot like him, he knew, but he prayed to God he had not been nearly so blind as that man when he was young. He probably had been, damn it all. What was that phrase from long ago? Oh yes. The boy who marries your daughter will be the revenge of your wife’s father on you. Or in other words, just like you were, back then.
Winston sighed, rubbing his face. Damn it. He had lost his temper, once he had stopped talking to Emma, and he felt like he needed to not do that. It was silly and childish and he wasn’t going to fall that far, damn it, old man or not. No second childhood for him... He would rather die.
Too bad those damn things were so very unformiddable. He would go out with his old guns and teach these people a thing or two about killing bad guys. Once, when he was so much younger, Winston had been very good at it.
Once.
Now he just felt old. Old and tired. Damn it.
He straightened then, and moved toward the office door to go to the gym. A few hours of punching a few bags would help get his mind and heart back under control. Maybe by the time he was done he would be thinking of older enemies to punch, rather than newer ones. He nodded as he went. That just might work.
And hours later, he was back in his office as reports started coming in of the strange alien things moving away, East. Toward his daughter. He reached for a phone and even as he did, his line lit up and he nodded.