Kent glares at his son. “I said I don’t need it.”
“Your sample showed evidence of viable sperm,” Daniel snaps, grabbing the envelope off the table and shoving it back into his pocket. “Another reason to fire that doctor. So, unless you have other concerns about Fay, you should stop treating her like shit and believe her when she says she’s only sleeping with you.”
“I said,” Kent growls again, “I didn’t need it.”
“Well, you’ve got it now. So would you fucking call her?”
Kent clenches his jaw and turns his face away. “I don’t have phone privileges,” he sighs.
“Oh,” Daniel says, a little awkward now. He had assumed…
They’re quiet for a long moment, but Kent glances at the clock and realizes that time is running short. “What’s that,” he asks, nodding towards the other envelope.
“Draft of a plea deal,” Daniel says, looking up again and burping a little, turning a bit green as he does.
“Jesus,” Kent mutters under his breath, glaring both at the envelope and at his hungover son. Then he pushes the document away from him. “I don’t want this either.”
“All of your lawyers agree, dad,” Daniel says, leaning forward to glare at him. “You’re going away for life – you could even get the death penalty if you don’t agree to what they’re offering –“
“I didn’t do half these crimes, Daniel,” Kent growls, meeting his son’s eyes. “The only way I have a chance of getting out of this is if I can convince a jury to listen –“
“This isn’t Twelve Angry Men, dad!” Daniel snaps, banging a hand on the table. “You are not getting out of this on reasonable doubt! Even if you didn’t commit half those crimes, you still did the other half! What the fuck do you think half of a life sentence is, forty years? Is that seriously what you want, to get out of here when you’re eighty, to meet your fucking kid when they’re middle aged?”
Shocked, Kent sits back in his seat, staring at his son.
“Just…” Daniel sighs, frustrated as hell and feeling like he might barf at any second. “Would you please just take the deal, dad?”
“Is it any better?” Kent snaps, glaring at his kid and then looking down at the envelope. “Are they seriously offering less than forty years?”
“If you’re willing to…talk,” Daniel says, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his fingers, “about the Russians. They’re willing to give you twenty.”
Kent blanches at the number, but then he shakes his head.
“It’s still too much. I need to walk.”
“You are not listening –“
“YOU,” Kent snaps, pounding his hand flat on the table. “Are not listening!”
Daniel, to Kent’s surprise, just groans and covers his face with his hands, leaning so far back in his chair that it tilts onto its two back legs.
“God, dad, why are you so stubborn? Would you…would you please just at least open the envelope? Consider it?”
“Dad…” Daniel says, spreading his hands wide, pleading.
“Fine,” Kent snaps. “I’ll do it.”
And then, on some impulse that neither of them could describe – because they’ve never done it before in their lives – father and son suddenly stand and throw their arms around each other, hard.
“I love you, dad,” Daniel murmurs into Kent’s shoulder.
“Hands off!” the loudspeaker blares. “No touching!”
“I love you too, kid,” Kent whispers back. “Tell her, too.”
“We said hands OFF!”
“Nah,” Daniel says, pulling back a little now to smile at his dad. “I’ll leave that to you.”
Then, as the guards burst through the door to separate them physically, Kent feels a sharp pain at the back of his head and gasps, pulling away from Daniel and staring at him in shock.
As the guards grab him by the arms and pull him forcibly away from his son, Kent watches in confusion as Daniel takes the tuft of hair held between his fingers – pulled out from the roots – and tucks it into the pocket of his pants.
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