Sorting shit out.

[Morgan LaLuna]

He scoffed when the old man passed him, and looked up to the sky, dropping his arms. Standing like that a moment, he sighed. Slowly, he reached up, and peeled that yellow cropped sweater from his body, dropping it to the ground next to him, without turning. Upon his upper back, like wings, lay a lattice of scars, most spiderwebbing over his shoulder blades, and some that seemed to have been cut deep into his skin, even across the feathered ones that seemed to originate from just below his shoulders, fanning out over the blades. He swayed in place, closing his eyes, and gave a soft breath, before turning to join the old man, leaning in close on that rock.

"What the fuck do you know about me?" He hissed, thin bare chest nearly pressing against the Russian's arm as he held himself up on stone, gritting his teeth in the man's ear.

[Sam A. Federov]

He looked at him, tears once again brimming in his eyes as he looked away. He spoke quietly, closing his eyes and resting his elbows on his knees. "What exactly are you tryna accomplish, kid? I mean, what... point are you making?" A pause. "Cause... I..." He sighed, feeling like he was repeating himself. "We're runnin' around in fuckin' circles here, Morgan. This, this shit, the... the things what happened to you in yer past, all o' that... it don't matter. I mean, it does, but... it don't mean you can't be happy." The hypocrisy in that sentence wasn't lost on him. It took him a second to speak again after that. "... What have I done wrong, to you? I don't... I just don't understand what I have to do, to..."

[Morgan LaLuna]

When Federov trailed off, he sighed. Quite suddenly, he was climbing onto that rock, and damn near onto the man. "How would I know? I'm just a drunk, stupid kid, right? That's how you see me. That's how everyone sees me. Just some dumb kid." There was a moment, then, of hesitation, before arms reached across, pushing him back from his lean, and he slid one leg over the man's lap, and settled there, straddled. He reached up to grasp gently at the lapels of that long black jacket, and tilted his head, before reaching forward to wipe at a tear that rolled down his cheek.

"Don't cry, Sam... you ain't did shit. I'm just a problem. But you ain't gonna solve me."

[Sam A. Federov]

He sat there for a moment, his brow furrowing as he leaned back a little more. Gently, his hand came up to take Morgan's off of his jacket. Well then. Better treat this with some caution. He shuffled backwards, trying to just... get the kid off of him without being obvious about it. "I don't see you as a stupid kid. Or a problem, for that matter. You're smart when you gotta be, you're just... a little immature sometimes." Like now, for instance. "You're a good person. An' anyone what thinks different of ye is just a damn fool." Though he tried to stay serious as he said this, his eyes betrayed a slight hint of panic.

[Morgan LaLuna]

Rejection wasn't exactly new to Morgan, and he paused when he was gently pried from his grasp. He couldn't help but think the words Federov spoke didn't exactly ring true. He did not remove himself, but rather moved with the man, leaning forward to narrow his eyes, and tilt his head. "Now you don't want to touch me? You can do anything you want... I'm right here, and now you're backing up. Why?" His eyes half-lidded, and his bottom lip trembled, slightly.

"I didn't mean to do what I did... I was scared, and... and I..." apparently, it was a day for tears, for moisture was gathering in his own eyes.

[Sam A. Federov]

He looked at the boy incredulously, shaking his head. If anything, he just looked... disappointed. But he understood. He really did. But still, this came as a shock. He tried to stammer out an explanation. "I... No, kid, just... No. I don't want that from you. Really." When he saw the kid start to cry, that was all just too much for him. Slowly, he leaned forward... and pulled him into a hug. Let it out, kid. There's probably a whole lot of it in there. As he did, he spoke softly, into his ear. "I don't want nothin' from you, son. Just for you to be safe. An' happy. That's it."

[Morgan LaLuna]

The moment he was pulled in, he stiffened, and arms went up in reflex... but there was no thunderous noise. No push of energy... as soon as he was wrapped into that embrace, he melted, and started to sob, burrowing into the man's chest and curling in on himself and Federov alike. No intelligible words came from him, and he did not cry quietly... the sounds that came from him were of heartbreak, and devastation. Deep, wracking sobs shook his body, and he clutched at the material of the Russian's shirt. What was he doing? Why had he even done such a stupid fucking thing?

Son.

It hurt more than anything he could have said. It made his back sting, and his heart break. Never had he heard the word spoken like that. Never with a warm embrace. And his shoulder blades burned.

[Sam A. Federov]

There it was. He had said it. He knew Morgan was about to cry before it happened. He held him in close, a hand coming up to gently stroke his hair. He closed his eyes, as though trying to force tears back in. He didn't want to let the boy see him cry. Not properly, at least. Voice shaking a little, he spoke softly and quietly, barely above a whisper. "You're alright... It's ok... You're ok..." His chance to be good in this life might have passed, or at least he thought it had. But here, here was a chance to do better. To be kind. To give love to a poor, lonely boy who hadn't felt it in too long. Say it. Say it, Sam, you damn fool. While you have the chance. Say it. Say it.

"... I love you, son. I always have. And I always will."

[Morgan LaLuna]

No longer was Morgan, in this moment, the lively and bombastic redhead he made himself, but here, in this moment... rather he was a little boy, desperate to cling to the three words that came from the man's mouth as if his own father had spoken them. Gasping sobs shook him, and he tried, so hard, to speak. Whether Federov walk actually talking to him, or the idea of the child he was, defenseless in his lap, was irrelevant to the child that screamed for love inside him. The one that had taken over in this moment.

"I don't... I can't... I..." he couldn't even make a coherent sentence. He wanted to shrivel up. He wanted to stay here. He wanted to go home. He wanted to cry. He was crying. He wanted to throw up.

After a few moments, his sobs died down, until it was a quiet shudder in his shoulders, peppered by sniffles and hiccups. And he still couldn't find words in his brain.

[Sam A. Federov]

The old man was battling with himself to keep his composure. "Come on now. Keep it together. Seeing you cry won't do the boy any good." He let the kid cry into his shoulder, thankful he couldn't see his face. A few deep, shuddering breaths escaped him. He held him close, just letting that moment happen. Letting him cry. Letting him get it all out of his system. God, what was he doing? Giving him hope? Hope for something he knew the kid had never had before. Hope for something he knew full well couldn't last. He knew he didn't have long left, and what would happen when he was gone? Giving the boy what he had needed all his life just for it to be ripped away.

No, that wasn't the point. That's never the point. It didn't matter what would happen in future. None of it did. What mattered was the time he had left. The time they had left. Making something good out of it as best he could, so at the very least, when he was gone... maybe he could leave the world better than he found it. If only this small, little corner of it.

Once he stopped crying, he sat there with him for another while, before gently bringing the kid's face up, a hand on his cheek. With his thumb, he wiped away some of the tears flowing down his face, and looked down at him with a soft, sad little smile.

"I think it's time we got you home."