Big Bad

Family Values

Elijah's face turned back to a bitter frown. How much could he say? Could he really say anything at all? Could he nudge the boy onto the right path with a couple of well placed hints.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," Kit looked down at his tea sheepishly. "I say things I shouldn't sometimes... my mind can't filter them out in time."

"It's alright," Elijah said in as soft of a voice as he could muster. "I was just thinking about what I ought to say."

"Are you not meant to tell me?"

"I'm not," Elijah sat back in his chair with a sigh. He was enveloped in Kit's baby blue eyes and longed to spill his heart to him like a good mate, only he didn't want to scare him off. "My family is a bit wild."

"Are you in the mafia or something?"

"Not exactly, but..." Elijah paused, furrowing his brows, "There's lots of interpack drama."

The truth felt good on his pink lips, though Kit didn't seem to catch the reference.

"Ah... Since it's just me and Fr. Charles, we don't have very many interpersonal conflicts— though I do wish he'd give me a bit more freedom," Kit cleared his throat, seemingly shaking himself from his thoughts. "Any brothers or sisters?"

"Just one brother."

"Are you close?"

"No."

"That's too bad," Kit offered wistfully. "I always wanted a brother. Tell me about growing up."

It wasn't a question, it was a command, and Elijah was obliged to obey.

"I grew up in a distillery not far from Buffalo. My parents make whiskey... one day I will too."

"I thought you said you were from Newbury," Kit frowned, catching Elijah in his lie.

"Uh..." Elijah faltered. "I moved a few years back... my parents transferred distilleries."

"I didn't know there was a whiskey distillery in Newbury."

"It's new."

Kit stared at Elijah with a raised eyebrow of suspicion that said that he didn't believe him. There was always a sense of uncertainty with the things Elijah told him, as if he could only ever be bothered to share half truths. 

"Are you close with your parents?" Kit asked.

"Not with my mother... but I was with my father... until he passed."

"Oh..." Kit reached across the table and took Elijah's hand in his own. It was a simple gesture of comfort, but it sent waves of pleasure and relaxation throughout Elijah's body. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"I... uh.. um." Just the touch of a mate was enough comfort to make him forget his own name and stumble over his words. "What about you? You seem close to your father."

Kit let go of Elijah's hand, but the electric feeling of the touch lingered.

"Fr. Charles?" Kit asked with a playful smile. "He isn't my father, he's a priest."

"So?"

"So, he's cellibate. Catholic priests can't have children, wives either."

"What about husbands?" Elijah asked with a glint in his eye.

"Definitely not," Kit chuckled. "Sr. Matilda is actually my aunt. That's how I ended up at the rectory after my mother died."

"And your father?"

Kit averted his eyes again, looking demurely down at his lap as his cheeks colored red, "I don't actually know anything about him."

"I'm sorry too."