Day 027: Grey Fathers Day
Summary: Grey reflects on the influence he supposes his father had on him.
Date: 27 June 2016
Related: Father's Day Memoirs, particularly Grey Past Fathers Day

27 Days After Landing — Delinquent Camp

Lucian Grey sprawls in a tiny tent that suddenly feels enormous, the neatly-folded New Jersey Devils jersey seeming to burn into a corner of his brain, announcing the reason that the one-person tent, his second on the Ground, now feels so large. I wonder if this is how it started with you and her, Dad. I mean, not the threat of blood and violence any day now, not the whole 'from two different people' thing. But the way my heart speeds up whenever I think about her. Could this feeling turn into the shit you had with her? I can't imagine it. Maybe the threat of blood and violence any day makes a difference.

One of Grey's hands comes up to his mouth, the ex-C idly chewing on a fingernail as he thinks. You'd know what to do down here. You'd know how to get them ready to fight, how to get them workin' together. Probably have some great line from like, Lombardi or Landry or Carroll or the Gipper, somethin' that'd rally 'em all together, fourth and twenty from your own forty, seven seconds left in the Super Bowl… that thing that gives everyone chills and gets 'em amped up for what they gotta do. That's what I need right now.

Failure… man, failure ain't even in the cards. It can't be. I wish you were here, Dad. You'd know what to do. I know it's supposed to go the other way 'round, but if I could have a Fathers Day gift, it'd be havin' you here. I know Fathers Day's right around here, one of these days. Never could remember exactly, even if I keep thinkin' about you this time every year. You gotta remember the good things in life, right? And those Sunday afternoons watchin' games, those were some of the best I had on the Ark. Hope I get a chance to make a few more good memories. Miss you, Dad.

Slowly sitting up with a wince and one hand pressed to the cauterized wounds at his side, Grey laboriously pulls on first his olive drab t-shirt, then his Grounder-made armored jacket. The laces of his boots are tightened fast, and then he slips his homemade knife into the back of his belt, slings his seat-cover messenger bag over one shoulder, and grabs his bandoleer and faux baton. The tent's flap is pulled back, and Grey steps out into camp. Time to get his game-face on if he wants to see another Fathers Day.

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