It's Understandable: A Tronnor AU

21. The Disaster Theory

*updated version*

Troye and his mother didn't see each other much during a normal day. She had things to do, he had things to do, neither seemed to notice. They gave each other space, but it wasn't like it was with Troye and his dad; they spent enough time together that resentment didn't occur in their relationship.

They ate dinners together with Sage and Tyde nearly every night. They sat at the table, not in front of the TV. Sometimes they had family movie night, and even ran errands as a pair when the time permitted. Troye knew his mom cared about him, and he cared about her too, but they were independant from each other enough that he thought skipping some of those traditions would be overlooked.

It'd been a couple days since the dance, and Troye hadn't left Connor's side more than a night at a time. He got up, went to school, went to the hospital, came back home at eleven, slept, then did it all over again. That kind of routine didn't really involve family, and he thought that wouldn't be a problem.

But what he didn't realize was that Laurelle constantly, silently worried if she was a bad mom. She worried that Troye needed her when she wasn't there, that he was avoiding his family because of her. She worried about him so, when he popped home to grab a couple things after school, she found herself following Troye around, trying to pinpoint exactly how he was feeling. He'd been through a scary situation, a gun pulled feet from him, a woman shot down in his midst. Knowing that he'd witnessed that would scare any mother, but the fact that he had barely come home since made Laurelle desperate to squeeze some kind of reaction from him.

She asked if he was okay.

"I'm fine, Mom."

She asked if he'd slept.

"I slept fine, Mom."

She asked if he took his anti-depressants.

"I feel fine, Mom."

Fine, Mom. Fine, Mom. Fine, Mom.

And Troye was fine. His mom thought his indisposition to chat was because of trauma or depression or something gone wrong, but it wasn't that at all. Standing at the door and shoving his phone charger in his pocket, he gave her a small smile. "I'm okay, Mom. Really. I'm just preoccupied, that's all."

Then Troye turned to leave, but Laurelle caught his arm as he turned to leave. She felt the walls of her throat bend towards each other, like her son's confused eyebrows; she tried to tell herself he was just a teenager. He was just untalkative and, as he said, preoccupied. But her motherly instincts kept saying this was different.

"You're going back to the hospital? Again?" She asked, her eyebrows heightened in incredulous, concerned questioning.

Troye squinted, not getting what the problem was. "Yeah, of course." He said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Clearly it wasn't, because Laurelle's face was taught.

"Troye." She sighed, brushing his curls from his eyes. "You basically live there! You come home and sleep, that's all. I know the house is empty a lot during the day but that's why the four of us always each dinner as a family!" She rubbed her eyes, kind of laughing through her irritation. "I swear, you're worse than your father."

She said it completely as a joke, to paint a dramatized picture of his absence, but it wasn't perceived that way. She didn't get the amused reaction she was expecting, Troye instead frowned deeply at the comparison. "I'll see you later." He deadpanned clearly, standoffishly, grabbing the doorknob and muttering under his breath. "I'm nothing like Dad."

Laurelle didn't hear him say the last part, but he looked so offended all of a sudden. She didn't know why, so she just ignored it, as she had learned was best with her enigmatic teen. "I just wish you wouldn't spend so much time there." She diverted the conversation.