He came to with the help of a hand to his shoulder. It shook him and rattled his head and when he woke, he felt the sharp, biting pain in the depths of his joint. His head cracked as he rolled it from side to side and his face twisted in pain as he looked over to his partner, who was laughing at his fellow officer's misfortune. "It's not fucking funny, man, I think I pulled something."
"Acey," he said, his strength mustered to the fullest as he tried to face the little boy in front of him with some semblance of certain discipline. "I think Santa would be seriously impressed if you brushed your teeth. I know daddy would." The boy screeched the negative and threw his toothbrush in the sink with as much force as an almost-two year old could muster. And so the meltdown began.
“What? It’s too early.” Theo was far from mentally prepared for the arrival of his son, let alone six months into a pregnancy that the mother of his unborn child never wanted to begin with. He was rushed through swinging doors and brought to her bedside and the rush that the doctors brought upon them was enough to make his head go and spin right off of his head. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to remain calm, for the sake of her, or maybe for himself. But steadying his breathing didn’t do shit and when she clamped down on his hand and professed her fear and desires to run away, he nodded his head and pretended to understand. He didn’t understand. Ace came into the world with a slim chance and a hand so small it barely covered his father’s thumb. He was battered and tired and no certainties were given, but there was never a question of whether or not Theo would run. Medical bills abound and days spent watching over this tiny body whose mother didn’t want him, and Theo would never run. He’d nurture and care for the little dude hooked up to wires and machine that, in time, came to be the little man with tiny glasses and a Thomas the Tank Engine obsession.