His fist hung hesitantly in the air for a few moments as he contemplated the old doubts that still threatened his usually unshaken confidence. Certainly not the first time, but most assuredly the last, and it was for this very reason that he gradually lowered his hand and scowled.

How utterly unbelievable, he thought, that after years of remaining steadfast and aloof in the face of a looming and violent possibility of death, this unresolved personal matter had been what caught up to him first. Only his own conscience could be blamed for that. He simply could not sever himself completely from anything that involved her.

Maybe that was the odd thing about his loyalty to her. The effects—and the consequences—were so incredibly subtle. They governed him without the need for conscious and deliberate forethought. And here he was, such a very sharp and deadly man, utterly content with this truth.

Textbook insanity to some, perhaps, but to him it was simply the definition of love. His pride took a backseat to this.

Taking in a short breath through his nose, the Spy raised his fist again and hit in three abrupt knocks. Without a car parked near the apartment, he couldn't even be sure that the younger man was home at all. He didn't consider the fact that this might be wishful thinking as he waited for a reply.

And after a minute or so, the reply came. Door cracked slightly open, blue eyes and scrutinous face appearing.

The Spy nonchalantly brushed at his suit—for once not the characteristic RED uniform—in a concealed gesture of insecurity. His eyes fell back on the Scout, who had pulled the door more fully open.

"Wasn't really expectin' you'd be the one to show up here," he muttered softly, eyebrows raised a bit. "I mean—yesterday—"

"—was rather cowardly on my part." The Frenchman spoke it harshly. "It was unfair."

His son shrugged as he leaned on the door frame impatiently. "Kinda hard to think of fair when it comes t'you. But Ma—she wanted me to give you a chance. I'll do it for her—if I gotta." He folded his arms, more abrasive than before.

It struck the Spy as interesting, how the boy was remaining calmly detached from the implications of their situation. That was perhaps a similarity they shared, though not one he had expected. He had most likely mulled this over the night before and come to a place of apathy.

"You probably oughta come inside, I guess," the BLU added, gesturing inward. He didn't seem particularly thrilled at the idea. "I don't wanna lose my job over this."

The older man stepped inside as the Scout headed over to an adjacent room. He closed the door behind him quietly, out of habit, and followed after. It appeared to be a slightly shabby living area, only one chair and a TV arranged there. The Scout glanced over at him expectantly from the beat-up armchair that he had already flopped down upon.

"So, what're you doin' here then? Y'know, I ain't lookin' for any apologies. Heard enough of them from Ma already."

The Spy cast him an unamused frown. "An apology at this point would be grossly inappropriate. What was said and done—what you thought before. There was a reason for it, and it is not one that I regret."

"Yeah. I heard all about it." His shoulders lowered slightly as he leaned forward in the chair. "But you didn't answer my question. Why are y'here?"

"Would saying 'trying to make amends' sound too noble?" he smirked back, shrugging shortly.

To the Spy's surprise, the young man actually chuckled. "Depends. You start, and I'll see as we go."

"You have to answer one question for me first," the calm reply came. "Then, I'll tell you whatever you'd like to know."

"And that'd be?"

The RED mercenary kept his silence for a moment, eyes darting over to an unknown location. It was an abashed gesture he could only ever recall doing in the presence of his wife, extending back to before they had even married.

"Would you say..." he began, hands coming together. "That is, do you—"

The Scout inclined his head slightly, an expectant raising of an eyebrow. His father quickly finished.

"—hate me?"

His voice had dropped considerably, almost regretful despite claims to the contrary. "For lying to you, that is. And for whatever pain you saw your mother go through, because I wasn't around."

"Lyin' to me?" the boy quipped back, his accent turning it harsh. "I mean. Y'never said anything to me about it in the first place."

The Spy shook his head. "Not what I meant. Lying by omission is much the same thing."

"It's kinda funny that you'd ask that." He smiled again, some of the characteristic forgiveness in his expression that he recognized distinctly from a certain woman. "D'ya know how many years I spent wishin' I'd met my father just once? Be able to have at least one memory of him to tell people about?"

"I know—and I'm sure I denied you a lot more than that right."

This time the younger man shook his head. "Y'thinkin' about it wrong. I mean, I got that chance now. Even if y'walked out the door right now and we never spoke again. I got what I wished for, all that time ago."

Another silence lapsed. The Spy moved forward a bit from where he had been leaning against the wall, his expression softening ever so slightly.

"Ma—I know she must've missed you more than any of us could have, not knowin' about it. If she forgives you, I don't got a lot of right to say I don't." He rolled his shoulders once more, but his eyes quickly darted up to meet the other man's fearlessly. "But y'better not have hurt her. I mean, if you been screwin' around on my Ma—"

Indignation at last sprung to the Spy's masked countenance. "Absolutely not. I can't imagine that you really believe your mother would be with a man such as that."

"And y'wouldn't think the same thing, in my shoes?"

He rolled his eyes. "What do you think I was to say, after we were caught doing such a thing? The less significance placed on our relationship, the better."

A light tint of red had entered the young man's face, very much in contrast to his usual demeanor. "I—the less I know about all of that, the happier I'll be."

"Oh, please. Did you think you hatched from an egg?"

"Actually? Sometimes I did," the Scout snorted, leaning back. He put his arms behind his head casually. "But hey, at least your team ran off with the dirty pictures long before someone could scar me for life with 'em."

The Spy lowered an irritated eyebrow. "All right, I did not come here to waste my Saturday on this type of discussion."

"Eh, sorry." That certain forgiveness that his mother had mentioned seemed to have settled into him. He looked back across the room at the older man again before his expression finally became more serious. "I still didn't answer your question, huh?"

"No, I don't believe you did. Or perhaps so, in so many words."

Finally the Scout stood, closing the small distance between them. The Spy faltered a bit at his sudden closeness, a wary furrow in his brow. But the younger man merely smiled slyly, holding out his hand.

"I wondered about you too long to hate you now. And 'sides, y'aren't that bad yourself, Rey. That's what Ma always called you, ain't it?"

The harsh line his mouth had been set in softened, and hesitantly, the father accepted his son's hand in peace.

"So, do I at least get to seeya without the mask, after all this?" he smirked, shaking the older man's hand firmly.

A sigh came as the response, and he supposed the young man had not actually been expecting it when he reached to pull the fabric from his face.

As his face became exposed, he closed his eyes for a moment, picturing how pale and anxious he probably looked. Anonymity, the lack of visible emotion, the only things that had kept his humanity safely hidden from his enemies.

When his eyes finally made contact with the Scout's, he waited to see some sort of mockery in his expression, perhaps even disappointment, but the look of benevolence there instead struck him like a blow to the stomach.

That knot only intensified as he felt his son's lean arms around him in an awkward embrace. He stiffened, unaccustomed and unprepared for the gesture of affection, the quiet "y'stupid bastard" that issued from the young man threatening to brush away his careful composure.

Buried somewhere inside of him, he wished Kathryn could see them this way, the fleeting moment of acceptance that he had long considered himself unworthy of. Twenty years of absence was far from undone, no doubt, and his pragmatic half reminded him that they still had a long way to go with each other.

But as he stood there, a father to his son for the first time in his life, he couldn't help feeling as though the despair that had weighed on his shoulders was just a little bit lighter.