The Parent Revolution (A Hamilton AU)

14. Retreat and Regroup

"I'm taking Angelica out for lunch today," Alexander had told a seemingly indifferent Laf, who had perfected the art of lounging on the couch whilst scrolling through tumblr. "Thomas?" Alex had asked, confused that his son hadn't responded. Maybe he just hadn't heard. Louder, he said, "I'm taking Angelica out for lunch today. I won't be home then. Hello? THOMAS ARE YOU HEARING WHAT I'M SAYING?"

Then Alexander had left, giving up on his moody teenager.

But was he moody, or was he genius?

Well, both. The minute his father was out the door, Laf hurled himself out from under his cocoon of blankets towards his bedroom. The door slammed shut behind him, shuddered under the impact for a few milliseconds, and then was thrown open. Laf emerged from that room like a butterfly from a cocoon, if a butterfly was dressed like a poorly disguised computer hacker. Uttering a cry unrecognizable to either species, man or butterfly, he dashed out to greet the day. The weather forecast was partly cloudy-- a perfect day to ruin relationships.

--

McDonald's
13:07

"You know," Angelica remarked, her voice dry, "when you said, baby, I wanna treat you right, this isn't exactly what I pictured."

Sitting across from her in the booth, Alexander couldn't help but laugh. "I never said it quite like that," he couldn't help but point out, prompting her poker face to crumble. As she smiled and shook her head, he added, "Although I am flattered you thought I had class."

Angelica sighed. "I did think that. And now I know it." Raising her McCafe dark roast coffee high into the air, she said, "Luckily I have class, too."

From behind a newspaper, disparaging eyes watched as they clinked their completely un-clink-able coffee cups. The situation was worse than headquarters had anticipated. The plan needed to re-vamp. Alexander needed to make some drastic course-corrections, and he would never make them himself.  It was time to go international.

--

Wawa, Virginia
14:41

"Shut your whore mouth, Thomas. I don't have time to listen to you bitch. There's a real situation down here, man, and we need to bring in the big guns."

The voice on the other line cursed and whisper-yelled at Laf, who was casually walking up and down the aisles of the convenience store. His fingers roamed slowly over the shelves as if looking for something, but they never stopped. 

Suddenly Laf tensed up, and his hand froze, hovering over a can of spam. "Oh, honey, that's just too fucking bad! Sorry you have to cut your little party short for an actual legit problem!" There was a pause, then he continued, "You're a pretentious bastard, you know that?" Another long pause while he got a response. "Well, you can take that attitude, roll it up tight, and shove it up your ass!" Laf shouted, finally taking a few steps forward to continue down the aisle. 

Horrified, the old lady behind him grabbed what she was looking for and scurried away. Everyone was so vulgar these days, she thought, even the nice-looking ones. 

But back to Laf. He had managed to get somewhere in the conversation and was now discussing very real issues. "I think the main problem here," he said, eyes landing on a fly swatter, "is that a spider who has already caught a meal is a lot less interested in any other bugs that buzz around the web."

--

Paris, France
20:52

"Damn, man, did you just call our mom a fly?" Thomas asked, incredulous. Ever since his brother learned the intricacies of the English language, the man loved metaphors. And idioms. And weird, cheesy phrases. Thomas was pretty sure his twin had a better grasp of the language than any native speaker. 

Laf replied, and Thomas facepalmed. Sinking lower into the bathtub and lowering his voice further, he said, "Dude, you can't rub poison ivy all over her car. That is not a grown-up solution, that is a felony."

(Sidebar: the reason Thomas was in the bathtub with the lights off and talking really quietly was because he told Eliza he was going out to visit friends. It was totally a lie.)

"Well, I don't know what else to do. I've got a lot of really sweet pranks I could play on her, but that won't tear them apart. If we could just get Mum and Dad back together, we could--"

Pinching his nose, the American shifted, starting to find his position uncomfortable. "Yeah, in a perfect world, but how? We just buy Dad a nine-hundred dollar ticket and say, I can't tell you, it's a surprise!?"

A sigh was heard, then: "Well, I've made Dad smell like a dead homeless guy, and she's still here. I tried a million things to split them apart, but that lady's made of fucking kevlar, okay? And I'm trying really hard to hate her, because if I didn't, well then, I'd respect her. Goddamn it, I'd respect the hell out of her. So promise me you'll do something, Thomas? Please? Because I can't. I tried."

Thomas rubbed his eyes. He had no fucking clue what to do, but his brother asked him for help, and, by God, he was going to get it. Thomas Hamilton would make it right. 

"Yeah, I'll take care of it, bro. Don't worry."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Retreat and regroup. Don't make a move unless it's desperate. Oh, and do some recon for me."

"Roger. Love you, bro."

There was a pause. And then, while lying in the tub, making his lower back go numb, Thomas smiled. "Love you too, bro."

"Give 'em hell."

--

Wawa, Virginia
15:29

Call ended.