#dad problems

"Didn't keep in contact?" Laswell presses, a hint of judgement in her tone. John glares at her again, shutting your file hard.

"Didn't know there was a reason, too. Besides, this kid shouldn't have to completely relocate to live with me. Don't they have family in the states or close by?" John asks as he stares at your closed file. Even with the manilla folder shut over the top of your photo, he could still feel your eyes bearing through to him.

"No, John. You're the only family she's got right now." Laswell clears her throat, leaning forward so she can give his shoulder a squeeze. "This is going to be hard. I'm one phone call away if you need help." She offers, and Price sighs heavily through his nose, leaning back into his office chair.

The man that picks you up at the airport isn't your father. You'd dug through the internet all the time as a kid, only a generic first name to go off of, and you hadn't found much then. Even with your father's full name, he clearly didn't have social media of any kind.

You had one picture from when your mom met him, a smudged Polaroid of them smiling at the camera, and one other photo you had found when he was promoted to Captain.

Seeing the broad, masked man, who held a sign with your name on it, your heart sank. You were stupid if you thought this man would be any better. He couldn't even be bothered to come pick you up himself.

"Y/N?" The masked man asks as you approach, giving you a nod when you confirm your name. "Which baggage claim is your stuff coming out of?" He asks, crumbling the paper and jamming it into his back pocket.

"Baggage claim four." You mumble, looking around for a moment until you spot the sign and start making your way over. A firm hand finds its way to your shoulder, and instinctively, you pull yourself away to glare at him.

"Don't wander off." He warns, narrowing his eyes at you as he spoke.

"I've been on my own long before my mom died. I'm sixteen, not six." You bite back, turning away from him and marching towards baggage claim. You couldn't help but be bitter, be angry. You'd had it all planned out. Keep working at the video store down the street, keep your money hidden from your mother, and when you turned eighteen, you would move in with your friends.

Maybe it was wrong to feel angry that your mom had died. You know you should feel sad, you kept expecting the feeling to come, but all you could feel was anger. Even in death, she couldn't give you the life you deserved. That you had worked so hard for. Even in death, she was taking just another thing away from you.

You grabbed your suit cases off the conveyor belt, following after the stranger until you reached his car. "What's your name anyway?" You prod, though this time, you try to keep the bite out of your voice.

"I'm Simon." He hums, but he doesn't take off the surgical mask. He opens up his trunk, putting your suitcases inside and slamming the trunk shut. "That everything? John said you have another delivery of stuff coming later." You wondered what this man called your father because it clearly wasn't John. He looked uncomfortable just saying it, probably because he called him Captain instead.

"That's all right now." You agree as you climb into the car, your backpack held in your lap. Simon is silent as he starts driving, navigating out of the airport parking lot and onto the road. You stare out of the window at the scenery passing by. Even with your simmering anger, you could at least appreciate how beautiful the area was. "Why couldn't John come get me himself?"

"He's busy. And you shouldn't call him John." Simon answers, though he cringes internally once he's said it. He knew it wasn't his place to tell you how to feel, but he couldn't help but defend Price.

"He never called at all, so I think I'll decide what to call him." You snip back, now staring him down. Simon stops at a stop light, looking back at you with a look that could make even Johnny a bit nervous. You held his gaze without even a flinch. "You don't scare me. Tell me, how was it having my dad as your dad? Hmm? Is that why you're defending him? Is he your father figure?"

Simon goes to respond, but someone blows their horn, and he realizes the light has turned green. He accelerates, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. Your words were quick and hurtful, and you hadn't even raised your voice at him.

Simon didn't have anything to say, mostly because he knew you wouldn't want to hear what he had to say. How could he tell you that in that moment, you sounded just like Price? He'd keep it to himself for now. When he glances at you again, your jaw is set firmly, arms crossed over your bag, as you stare straight ahead.