Title: Broken Souls and Second Chances

Summary: Raising a baby causes Miles to examine his life in a way he never knew he needed. His siblings and he had always been broken, and he intends to see to it that they use their second chances well. Soft rewrite of episode 2x03. Miles Hollingsworth character analysis. One-shot. Complete.

Characters: Miles, Tristan, Frankie, Hunter

Notes: Written as of episode 2x05. Considers all facts up until that point. Will deal with the Hollingsworths talking about their view of race. They are a rich white family, so you may cringe or get second hand embarrassment at their thoughts and words. That is intended, but they learn just a little bit to make them better people in the long run. Oh, and Mr. H is there, and you didn't expect him to be nice, did you?

Broken Souls and Second Chances

I.

It was the day everyone dreaded, and for once Miles Hollingsworth III considered himself one of the many. Today was the day for which more than one teenager had nightmares. That day was when a baby would be thrust into their arms to cry without cease.

Or, at least, that's how this approximation felt. A mechanical baby traded the warmth, softness, and a variety of smells for hard plastics and cold metal. It traded the risks and stakes for a lack of reward beyond a grade which one wouldn't remember in 10 years, but to Miles that was a godsend. The average student might view the absence of purpose in taking care of a fake baby as disheartening, but that very thing was what made Miles not hate the idea. He had been dreading this day since he heard about Degrassi's new mandatory Family Studies unit, but he didn't fear this assignment as much as he expected – it wasn't a real person, so he couldn't screw it up completely.

Tristan, on the other hand, was not one of the many. He was ecstatic at the opportunity to raise a child of his own. Miles smiled at that. Tristan's enthusiasm for life always made him happy, and for once, Miles was not jealous of someone having something that he wanted. People called that growing up, and he supposed it was true, but Miles knew he was not prepared to raise this baby. He supposed he was lucky to be working with Tristan for more reasons than one. The smiles on his quasi-boyfriend's lips were more than enough to keep him going; Tristan being eager to take the bulk of the responsibility was just a bonus.

A shiver of something that was almost anticipation but wasn't shivered through his body as Tristan brushed the top of his hand with his fingers and something approaching a smirk on his lips. Miles grinned in return, and his heart spun with a desire he could barely understand as he turned his palm up and open for Tristan's fingers to intertwine with his. Tristan's warmth slipped over the groves in his hands and warmed Miles' heart, and suddenly the baby didn't scare him so much.

II.

Maybe a baby wasn't the worst thing in the world, Miles thought as he stroked his hand over the blanket that covered his baby's head. He was petting it like he would a dog or cat, and his stomach did a minor lurch as he realized he had no idea how to touch much less hold or cater to a baby. But he saw how Tristan held her so comfortably in his arms like he was a natural – head tucked into elbow, body resting along forearm, and the other hand cradling the baby in like it was his own - and Miles wondered if his best friend had nieces or nephew or if he was just the type of guy to love kids. Miles grimaced at the thought, and shook his head. He really should know all of that already.

He saw Zoë take a picture out of the corner of his eye, and he knew he stuck out like a sore thumb. Zoë found it funny, even if she thought they looked cute together. He knew Zoë didn't trust him yet after how he treated Tristan last time – he knew Zoë trusted no one with Tristan's love anyway – and that made him feel a way his therapist told him not put into words outside their meetings.

Miles shook himself to awareness as Zoë spoke, and took that as his cue to take a moment to breath. "I'm… going to go get the diaper bag," he said, keeping his face stoic despite his suffering. It was a face well-practiced at home, held solid at every family dinner his dad was present for in person or in spirit via his mother's words. He could fool the person whose body he came out of, and it saddened him that his two closes exes couldn't see through the visage. It was his fault though. Most things were. Words from another ex came to his mind: "When you don't tell people what's going on inside your head, it only gets worse."

Maybe he could learn to follow that lesson one day. Maybe Tristan could teach him of its value.

III.

The rest of the school day hadn't been the worst. Tristan was nearly as smitten with the baby as he was with him, and Miles may have been jealous if he weren't so relieved that he would likely not get baby responsibility anytime soon. His mind was reeling with trying to keep all the details of a biology exam fresh in his mind. He was fiddling with the lock to his locker when he heard the most pleasant voice in the world.

"Hey daddy," Tristan's voice cheered, wiggling their child's arms in greeting.

It was a shame the voice spoke the most vile words imaginable, and it took all of his energy not to fall against his locker and meld into it like the blues, whites, and blacks of the paint so he could disappear from the world. But he couldn't resist the allure of Tristan's voice and he mentally pried himself from that paint – he still felt dirty as if he had just surfaced from a swamp.

Miles wanted to throw up, to bathe the ilk off of him, and to scream the pain that lay like stones in his lungs, but he didn't. He had to be strong for Tristan this time. He wouldn't fail him again.

Miles turned his head up slowly and blinked, forcing a smile on his face as he saw his heart approaching him. He wanted so badly for the smile to be real, for him to run up to Tristan like lovers in a pasture and plant sweet kisses on his lips as they and their child went running off into the sunset. It would be nice, but he felt a snake sliding up his leg and into his ear which spoke its thoughts as his own.

"Daddy. Daddy. Daddy," the feminine voice whispered one at a time, and suddenly he wanted to puke the pills that he hadn't taken in months as Esme's lips were at his ears. He fought the urge to flinch away from nothingness, if only for Tristan's sake.

He didn't let his grin falter as he spoke. "Yeah, I'm going to go ahead and shut that down, right now." He kept the malice he felt at the thoughts of his father down; Tristan was too good to deserve his misplaced anger again. No one deserved his anger but his father.

Tristan smiled through a chuckle as his body curved towards him. "Oh, come on. I love me a hot dad." Miles knew he was joking, because he would have been sure to lambaste Tristan should he have a daddy-kink. Miles frowned at the memory of telling Tristan a good deal too harshly that if he ever called him daddy, they were through. That rule no longer applied, but Miles yearned to go back and save them both all the heartache of the last year by telling Tristan everything then.

But Miles was going to keep all of that inside. He always did. He couldn't bear to break the smile on Tristan's doubly-smitten face.

"You and MJ are going to look so cute together," Tristan gushed.

Miles felt his eyes widened. He knew it was coming, but now that it was here he was too… too everything but prepared to be the father that his baby needed. His face scrunched with confusion. He knew he shouldn't be this bothered by the baby, but the baby shook him to his very core.

Tristan tilted his head, and Miles knew that he was attempting to look into his soul – but that was no place for someone he loved. Tristan spoke after a moment. "Miles Jr., duh?" he asked, hoping for a response. "Father like son? We have ourselves a little fourth."

Miles felt his eyes go wide, and his eyeballs sunk back into his skull. He saw the words forming on Tristan's lips as they did so often when he did this, but Miles cut them off.

"Really?" Miles said trying to pull of a smile. "With the attention he's going to need, I'd say he's a Tristan Jr." Fuck, he's going to take that as an insult.

But he didn't. God bless Tristan and his faith in him.

Tristan laughed at his joke, and then started to hand over the baby. "If you think he is going to be too much trouble, I can come over after school tonight and help."

"Yeah, yeah," Miles muttered as he struggled to hold the baby. In his mind's eye, Tristan made it seem so easy, but he could barely find a way to get her head in the crook of his arm, much less use his forearm for support. He continued speaking to distract Tristan from his trouble. "If you don't mind watching me study for a biology exam."

"Well, MJ and I can test you. Our little prodigy is going to need the practice if he is going to get into Harvard on a full scholarship," Tristan cheered.

Miles couldn't nod. The movement might cause him to drop their baby, and Tristan would never forgive him for that. He was moving his arms at an odd angle – hell, he didn't know how his elbow even got over there – when Tristan spoke again.

"Hey…" Tristan spoke softly. "I can take him for tonight."

Miles felt the air leave his lungs and his face settled into something similar to the face Frankie made when he told her about Hunter. He couldn't breathe, and he was trying to get small breaths into his lungs invisible to Tristan's eyes. "You sure?" he kind of breathed out, but he wasn't sure the words were audible.

"Sure, totally," Tristan said uncertainly. "That way you can just focus on your biology exam without any pressure."

"Okay, thanks," Miles quickly muttered and walked away, giving Tristan a pat on the shoulder to show that he cared – he just couldn't do this right now. And now that their backs were to one another, Miles could gulp deep breathes into his starved lungs to distract himself from figuring out why he was so upset.

IV.

Staying at school after the last bell tolled was rarely the best idea, but Miles needed to burn off some steam and basketball was his method of choice. It was odd, his joy of basketball. Normally anything tainted by his father's desire's disgusted him to no end, but basketball was therapeutic in a way. Maybe he just liked it, but a large part of him knew that it was due to the fact that basketball was how he became close to Tristan.

Plus, playing with other shirtless guys was hardly the worst fate, though today he just wasn't feeling it. They were just blobs of whites, blacks, and browns around him as he danced between them with the ball. He was focused on the game to block out the thoughts he didn't want to think. But there was one blob he couldn't ignore as it walked toward him as the voice was one that always got him to stand at attention in more ways than one. But he couldn't do this now.

Fitting considering Tristan's next words. "I can't do this by myself," he cried. "Sorry if it's too much pressure or whatever, but I'm not asking you to marry me. I'm asking for a little help with this stupid project."

Miles groaned as he pulled away from the game. "Okay, I'm going to need you to unpack some of that," he attempted to placate, but even he couldn't pretend that he wasn't being an ass as he went back to the game.

"You're so skittish," Tristan accused in a tone so harsh that he almost didn't realize it was Tristan. "Is this just you gearing up to screw me over again because if so…"

Miles winced as the ball hit his hands and he faced Tristan. Fuck it, they needed to talk about this now. He pulled Tristan to the side to save his basketball pals from their drama as Tristan finished. "… maybe we should just call it off now?"

"What are you talking about?" Miles hissed. "It's just a dumb toy." Just a toy. Just a dumb toy.

Tristan's eyes hardened into rocks. "This is not just a dumb toy," he stated holding it up in Miles' face. "It is a symbol of our relationship." The words were barely out of his mouth before the baby tumbled to the ground, crying in ways that pierced Miles' ears and heart. Even ignoring it hadn't protected his baby. Ignoring his problems never seemed to protect Tristan either.

Miles began to lean down to pick their child up, but Tristan beat him too it, glaring all the way down.

He saw Tristan take a deep breath. "Look, I just wanted to prove that you aren't going to do that thing that you always do, but maybe that was stupid because maybe that's just the way you are."

No. No no no no no. fuck no. not again.

"Okay," Miles said without thinking. He didn't need to. Keeping things okay with Tristan was most important. "Okay, I'll take the baby."

Tristan looked shocked, and it hurt Miles to know that Tristan thought he was ready to drop him all over again; but Miles knew he had no one to blame but himself.

"Okay, but," Tristan sputtered, before his voice found strength. "You can't just throw it away when you get bored. This is worth like 20% of our grade."

"Yeah," Miles nodded dismissively. He knew Tristan didn't think it was just a grade at this point any more than he did. He pat Tristan on the shoulder, and wanted to kiss him goodbye, but felt like it wasn't the right course of action. He needed to prove something to Tristan, and he nodded as he slipped the diaper bag over his shoulder.

"Wait, Tris," he said as he turned away. "I'm trying."

Tristan nodded slowly. "I know."

V.

Miles rushed to his car ignoring the playful if annoying jeers of his basketball buddies. He knew they didn't mean the worst by it, but he wasn't in the mood to hear anyone joke about "wifely duties."

He opened the car door and jumped in so fast that he felt as though he were on the run from the living dead in some bad zombie movie – he didn't even want to think about what crazy plot device had him shirtless and carrying a baby, a mechanical one no less.

He tossed the baby into the passenger seat, and instantly regretted it as he reached over to sit it up. What was Mr. Mitchell thinking with this awful project? If he was going to make them take care of a stupid baby, he could have at least given him a car seat… not that he would know how to use one. Mr. M really should have stuck to English. Exploring his inner turmoil was more fun with words.

Miles sighed, slumping his shoulders with lack of energy for a split second, before realizing he had things to do. He was already late to visit Hunter, and had only stayed to play basketball to stave off the feelings that were eating him up inside. He slung the diaper bag into the back seat and put his key into ignition.

He drove off in a huff, but made sure to check behind him to make sure not to hit a stray-Maya yet again. He groaned to himself as he pulled out of the school parking lot, and again he racked his brain for why he felt so… whatever the hell this was.

He was halfway to Hunter's facility when a chill overtook him, and only now did he realize that he was still shirtless. And, now that he realized that, he was overcome with how incredibly cold his nipples were. He groaned at the thought. It was always such a Chewy thing to get cold nipples; hell, they even made a joke about it when they were kids to replace the expression of cold feet.

He started to think about why he and Winston didn't really talk as much as they used to, but he didn't really care as he removed his right arm from the steering wheel to cover his chest for warmth, doing his best to steer with one hand. He looked over to see the baby – his baby, his son daughter, his MJ – lying haphazardly in the seat, and he couldn't stop a self-depreciating laugh from leaving his lips. How was he supposed to be a father to anyone when he couldn't even take care of himself?

At least he kept a spare shirt in the trunk.

VI.

Checking into the psych ward was rarely the most pleasant process, and Miles was already pretty annoyed before entering due to his near-frozen nipples and having to dig through his truck for a shirt; he'd have to organize it one day if he ever had one where he wasn't worried about losing everything he loved.

It was procedure to check and double check to make sure he had permission to enter and see his little brother, and being searched was hardly pleasant if understandable with Hunter's record of violence and having tried to escape once. The look the receptionist gave him and his baby was anything but pleasant, but she didn't say much. Who was she to think it was weird to bring a mechanical baby to meet her uncle?

"Brother!" Miles greeted as he walked into the psych ward's common room and saw Hunter sitting at a round table, coloring in a drawing he had been in the process of sketching when he visited yesterday. It made Miles happy to see his little brother drawing rather than gaming. Miles was no fool, and he hardly believed gaming was a waste of time nor some great sin; however, it was nice to see his brother doing something other than gaming. Drawing was a good source for Hunter to channel his feelings anyway, and his therapist had been quite happy to see him take to it so well. Hunter had always had skill in art, and often spent time between classes doodling, but this was something special.

Hunter ignored him for a moment as he continued coloring in a particular spot on his drawing. That didn't surprise Miles. Hunter was always focused on one task at a time at his choosing, and it was a harmless if peculiar aspect of his little brother he wouldn't change for the world. He saw Hunter give his paper a final stroke before dropping his marker, giving the picture a once over, and giving it a mock air-kiss before turning up to look at him with a grin. Whether Hunter was truly invested in that picture, or if he put on such a show to arouse the slightest of annoyance in him he would never know.

"You're late," Hunter said plainly. "Or would you prefer I greet with a, "Brother!" of my own," he said as he spread his arms wide. Miles saw Hunter side-eyeing the baby he awkwardly cradled in his arm - he sort of had the hang of it now, though now he wondered if it was his way of holding it had caught the receptionist eyes. He embraced Hunter in a one-armed hug as he prayed he didn't drop the baby with the other, then took a seat after Hunter pulled out a chair for him.

"Who did you knock up?" Hunter quipped. "Last I checked, you didn't like black girls. And that you were dating a guy. Better not let Frankie see him."

"Her," Miles corrected. "And I don't not like black girls."

"Your degrassinudes collection says otherwise."

Miles opened and closed his mouth as he struggled to form words.

"Don't worry about it," Hunter stated dismissively. "After the things I said to that Goldi girl last semester, and what Frankie is going through at school, I asked them to move my sensitivity training up some. Figured I'd learn how not to be racist while it's useful. I can even help Frankie out."

"I hardly think you're racist, Hunter. You just made fun of some girl's clothes."

"I implied she was a terrorist because of her clothes," Hunter deadpanned. "No point in denying racism there. Even I knew it was wrong before I said it, and I said it to hurt her, which was not okay."

Miles nodded, a smile spreading on his lips. Whatever mumbo-jumbo the shrinks had been telling him seemed to be helping. Miles wasn't sure that he thought Hunter's acts were racist, but if it got him to admit he had made some mistakes he needed to never make again, it was well worth it.

"I started learning about these microaggression things today," Hunter said. "It was a little complicated, but not too bad. Like, thinking or saying or even allowing minor things about race to occur is racist in a way. I don't have to say I hate black people, or want them not to get jobs to be racist. Making fun of Goldi's hijab, or making her feel uncomfortable because of her culture is a microaggression. Frankie painting a team of black girls as a bunch of animals is racist, even if she doesn't know it, or not wanting to see black women naked."

Miles snorted. "It's not that I don't want to see them naked. It's that I wasn't going to pay for it."

"Why were we paying for boobs shots back then anyway? We have the internet," Hunter sighed as he shook his head. "Regardless, your bias is a microaggression."

"Whatever," Miles dismissed. "I don't really care. It doesn't affect me. Plus, I have Tristan now."

Hunter nodded. "I expected you to say as much. If I weren't such a jerk last semester, I probably wouldn't have cared to learn either. But, I have to find every way I can to make up for what I did."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You didn't know what you were doing. It's not your fault they got hurt."

"Maybe yes, maybe no," Hunter replied. "Doesn't mean I don't feel bad, or don't want to make things better. Even if I can't do things alone, I have to try. They still got hurt," he intoned.

"You shouldn't take that all on yourself, Hunter," Miles said as he placed his free hand on Hunter's shoulder. "You didn't know. It's not as if you really hurt them."

Hunter frowned and turned away, and when he turned back to Miles, his eyes were shaking with unshed tears. "I... I... I know I did," Hunter croaked through a cracking voice. "I told Goldi to go blow up the school like a good Muslim. I told Maya to go die, and that she deserved to be raped... that I was going to rape her." He paused to take a breath, and Miles saw him roll his lips in a way that looked like he was trying not to retch. "I did bad things. I knew they were wrong, and I did them. Blame it on my illness if you want - I won't. Even if I didn't know it was wrong, it hurt them and that matters."

His eyes closed for a moment, and when he opened them Miles saw more tears from his brother's face than he ever had before, including that awful night of the lock down. "I dream, you know. Well, of course you do," he giggled in a way that was just off enough to unsettle Miles' stomach. "I dream bad dreams, like the ones I had when I was little and was afraid I'd die in my sleep and never wake up. Like, I can't breathe and don't even want to. And my chest hurts. But now I know why. I dream of going back to Degrassi, and do you know what I hear? The only thing anyone says to me is, "Why are you alive? I thought you killed yourself. Go ahead. We don't want you here. You're not welcome."

Miles felt sick hearing his brother say those things, and wanted more than anything to give him a hug. But Hunter held his shoulders high throughout, and he let his tears fall proudly. The only thing Hunter couldn't control was the pain in his voice. Hunter was being strong through this, and Miles couldn't be happier.

"I made them feel that way, Miles. I made Maya and Goldi and anyone else that had anything in common with them feel unsafe. How could I say those things about Maya when my best friend is Yael? How did she go along with it? Am I that... powerful too hurt so many and convince Yael to join right in? I don't want to hurt anyone, Miles. I don't want to make anyone feel like I feel every night in bed..."

Miles nodded slowly, and fought every instinct to hug his brother. Hunter was strong. Hunter was strong. His little brother was so much stronger than he ever was, and he couldn't be prouder. "We'll get you home soon," Miles promised. "You'll never have to feel alone again."

"It's not about me though. I want to make a world in which they can't feel like this. I want..." his brother trailed off as he cleared off his tears. "Sorry, I don't even know how to express it yet. They say it's common when you want to learn how to help to just jump into it whilly nilly."

Miles snickered despite himself. What his brother was saying was really important to him, and he couldn't be prouder that his brother was turning his hatred into goodwill for all or some other poetic shit. But he couldn't let it pass. "Did you just say whilly nilly? Like in a serious conversation?"

"Haha, very funny," Hunter retorted with a roll of his eyes as sadness rescinded behind mirth.

Miles grinned in return. "Well, I am glad you're doing better. I'm so happy my little bro is on a better path."

Hunter nodded. "And you... I'm glad you're not doing drugs anymore. I didn't say anything, but I was really upset. But I just wrote you off as the screw up that Dad always wanted us to see you as. I'm sorry. I like... love you or something," he said through a blush. "You're a better like-father than he ever was."

"Aww you," Miles gushed as he went in for a hug. "I'm so happy we have this now. I'm sorry for being an awful big brother."

"And I'm sorry for ruining your Christmas break... and dance... and this semester so far."

"These have been some of the best times of my life," Miles promised as he went in for another hug. There was a thud on the table, and now Miles realized he hadn't been as careful with his daughter as he should have. "Shi-" he trailed off as he made eye contact with his brother who was shaking his head while chuckling into his hand.

"The good thing about a machine is that they never really break. You can always fix them."

VII.

Miles stayed with Hunter for a little while longer after his younger brother helped him fix his daughter. As Hunter said, you can always fix a machine. They both got a good laugh as old-Hunter popped in to say 'hi' with a quip about machines being better than people. Turns out, reset buttons were a thing of miracles, and the drop of the baby was no longer a hindrance to his grade. Tristan would be quite surprised tomorrow when they magically got an A. Miles grinned at the thought that despite his brother's new found "political correctness" that he wasn't one to shy away from a little mischief - as Hunter said, "You're not really cheating. If you learn your lessons, you deserve an A. But do learn from it - I won't reset my niece again. Call it a second chance. Those are important after all."

And they were, Miles knew. He was a walking second chance when he wasn't a whirlwind of disaster. His brother was living a second chance of his own, and Miles' heart still stuttered to a painful stop when he thought of his younger brother doing the unrecoverable with that gun - either to a classmate or his own head. Miles shook off the shiver that accompanied that though, and filled his thoughts with memories of warmth that were just two minutes passed.

As Miles stood up to leave Hunter, sadness filling both of them as visitor hours ended, his brother had stopped him with a hand on his wrist. "Tell Frankie what we talked about. Of microagressions and second chances. Of how to turn her anger and pain into good for the world. I... don't let her feel what I've felt. What I feel. I don't want to be apart from her ever again, and anger and hate can only divide."

Miles could only nod. His brother has come so far, and Miles knew that he would tell Frankie all about this, even if he didn't buy all that "PC" crap.

He was passing the receptionist when his baby started to cry, and for once Miles grinned. His baby was alive! These were the first whimperings since Hunter reset her, and that made him ecstatic. He had a second chance for this grade and for Tristan's approval. The baby was his cute little second chance and he couldn't be happier. He was grinning as the woman at the desk looked up to him with a frown.

"Sorry," Miles said. "I'm on my way out. I'm just so happy she's crying. It's been a while."

The woman scoffed. "Sure," she dismissed. "Just count yourself lucky she is fake. Black babies never stop crying."

Miles froze except for his jaw that hit the floor, and he was never more confronted with having to manually move a body part until he had to tell his brain to close his mouth. He clutched MJ closer to him to protect her from whatever this woman was, but cunt ass bitch was the only thing that passed through his mind as he looked at her. He wanted to scream that no one insults his and Tristan's baby, but he felt defeated at the very thought. He wanted to run to Hunter and beg him to yell at the lady for him, or to give him the words he needed to know why he was mad. But he couldn't do that. He couldn't expose Hunter to his unfocused anger. His little brother had just learned how to turn his to good, and Miles wasn't about to corrupt that.

Miles shook his head and felt it move ever so slightly back and forth as if he were a face emerging from ice. He threw a look of disgust at the receptionist as he turned, and didn't recall if he threw an insult to accompany it. He didn't care as he marched out of the hospital in a huff.

He sighed as he reached the car, anger not subsided in the least and he couldn't place why. A thought occurred for him that when the opportunity arose to defend his child, he hadn't met the challenge. He was just like his father in that way... but he had oh-so wanted to. He shoved away the thought as he placed MJ on top of his car. He had been avoiding those thoughts all day, and he was not going to think about his father now. His only solace was that when he failed his child, he didn't try to manipulate the situation for his own good. He loved his child, plastic, metals and all.

His body ached with defeat as he changed the diaper on top of the car - simpler than a real baby as it meant swapping color coded fabric rather than wiping up any poop and hating every moment of your life afterward. His heart still throbbed as he settled into the car with his baby tucked neatly into the passenger seat. Maybe Hunter had a point. That woman's words angered him to his very core. No one insulted his baby. Maybe Hunter did have a point. Maybe microagressions or whatever were a thing. The thought occurred to him that people actually encountered this every day, and he understood more than ever Hunter's desire to create good in the world.

It was astounding, really. All these feelings for a baby that wasn't even real.

VIII.

The ride home was a good time to think. What the receptionist had said to him was not okay. He snickered despite himself at the thought as Maya's song rushed over him. He sighed, and gave into the music and let the beats roll through his head as he loaded the song up on his iPhone. He really should give Maya a call one of these days.

Hey, it is not okay. Hey, hey, I said no way, he sang in his head as he let his muscles relax.

It really was not okay.

IX.

Today just had to be the day that his mother showed how selfish she was. Miles had been feeling shitty on-and-off since the baby got in his arms, and being around his father was the least of ways to make him feel better. But his mother had always been a bit selfish if not negligent, and to her, inviting his father over for dinner was the best solution. "We should come together in a time of crisis – imagine how much Hunter would love to have his dad at home when he is released."

Little did his mother know that even his brother had lost interest in his father. Miles felt something tug at his heart as he realized that his father hadn't been to the psych ward once to see him. Some father he was. Hunter didn't seem to care though, as long as his siblings came to see him every day.

Miles placed MJ into Hunter's chair, and took Frankie's regular seat beside his daughter causing Frankie to huff at the minor inconvenience. Miles took a deep breath to enjoy the scent of the food, and was never quite accustomed to the fact that his mother could cook so well. She never did in his childhood, but now that his father was gone she made sure to make a nice meal every night so that their family could bond, made difficult by Hunter's absence.

Pot roast was one of his favorite meals, and he hated himself for it because it was his father's as well. His mother made it for him every time she convinced him to visit. He knew his father always feigned reluctance as he wanted to appear to give him time to "get over it," but it was all an act. He couldn't wait to be at home with his wife and domain. His father had always been the "manly man" type, and this was the reason his father had taken anything feminine away from him when he was a child – Miles groaned knowing his dance skills were still shit if better than Winston's – and was no small part in his dislike for Tristan.

His father's voice broke his thoughts. "How about we say grace?"

Miles' tongue itched to say something, but he resisted it. It was never worth it when his father used that oily voice of his and… Miles clinched his fist at the thought, and fought with every ounce of his will power not to slam it on the table and shatter the silence with the clatter of glass on metal.

Instead, he sighed and rolled his eyes while making eye contact with Frankie. She managed a smile at their shared disinterest in their father's prayer, and it made Miles happy that she could still smile through her struggles. He could rarely crack one himself when he was at his worst, and much like with Hunter, he knew she was stronger than he ever was.

He saw his mother sigh at the silence, and the she took it upon herself to break the ice. "Let's eat," she said as she stood and began to cut the roast.

Miles' stomach growled at the fresh scent that traveled from the carved meat, and he fought off any other thoughts than wondering how long it would take for his mother to flop some onto his plate. He gave into his urge and covertly grabbed a pinch of rice from his plate and tossed it into his mouth while he mother was turned towards Frankie.

"It's so nice to have us all here," his father stated.

Miles sighed. His father always had to keep things centered on him. Miles was thankful that Frankie spoke his thoughts for him.

"We're not," she said meekly. She turned towards her father with a glare and spoke more confidently. "Hunter's not here. Hunter's not here, and you haven't even gone to see him."

Miles smirked at the words he had thought earlier, but hadn't thought them worth speaking. Coming from Frankie they meant so much more. Plus, his mouth was busy chewing the roast beef that his mother just put on his plate.

"I've been busy," his father stated, reaching a hand over to Frankie to placate her. "I'll see him as soon as I can. I am mayor you know?"

"Exactly," Frankie hissed. "You don't want to be seen going to visit your own son. You don't even want anyone to know he's in there. You're ashamed of him."

"That's ridiculous!" their father exclaimed.

"Just like Miles liking boys is ridiculous? You're ashamed of us all," Frankie moaned dejectedly. "Do you think we don't know that you paid the media off to keep the fact that Hunter is getting help a secret? Are you so ashamed of us that you'd rather pay off reporters than to donate your wealth to help people in need?"

Three cheers for Frankie, Miles thought as he chewed.

"Enough, Frankie," his father hissed. "Just count yourself lucky I paid off the school for your little mishap."

Frankie's eyes fell at the implication, before he spoke again.

"I thought I taught you better anyway. You have to be careful how you deal with those people. They're always so uppity. You just need to know how to play their games. It's like those people who wanted that Family Studies Unit that I presume that baby is from," he said indicating the baby that sat still in Hunter's seat. "I never wanted some pathetic Family Studies program, but the populace thought it would be a good idea, so I funded it. Sometimes you have to learn how to keep people happy to prosper. You should really thank me, Frankie. Your mix up won't be on your record at all."

"I don't care about that. I don't want people to think I'm a racist when I'm not," Frankie retorted.

"You're not a racist, Frankie. They're just mad at you for speaking the truth. What they think doesn't matter beyond their vote."

Miles couldn't hold it in any longer, and he finally spoke. "Leave Frankie alone, Dad," he muttered. "She doesn't need you filling her head with any more garbage."

"Miles…" his mother said, but his father waved her off.

"I will not have my son to speak to me that way. I've about had enough of this, Miles. When are you going to stop being a baby about this? I left my home for you to get over this, and you're still whining. How did I raise such a…" his father stopped himself from finishing, but Miles heard a hard 'F' sound die on his lips.

Miles sighed. He hadn't wanted to speak at all, but his father always managed to drag thoughts out of him that were never worth expressing to such an ass. His father would never change. For the first time, he just shook his head and ignored his father, electing to shove another bite of roast in his mouth.

He heard his father sigh, and saw his parents share a shake of their head. Frankie was stabbing her fork into her scattered rice, but never showed much interest in actually putting anything into her mouth.

The silence was broken as MJ started to cry, and Miles was thankful that he had an excuse to leave the table. His hunger had been sated for the moment, and now he just wanted to be away from his father. His mother spoke as he stood.

"You aren't really going to leave for some school project, are you Miles?" she asked.

"Excuse me for caring about mine and Tristan's baby," Miles huffed.

"Let him go, Diane. He's just being responsible. I'm proud of him – it's not as if we'll be getting kids out of him, so let him play dad while he can," his father dismissed.

"Ha, very funny. Gay joke, I'm shocked," Miles retorted, as he adjusted his baby into a now well-practice cradle. "You could at least acknowledge that I'm bi."

"Don't get me wrong, Miles," his father said sincerely. "I'm happy you're being responsible. Though, they could have given you a better baby. I have to say, back when you were sleeping around your entire boarding school class I was afraid you'd drag a negro into the family. At least being into men won't allow them to lock you down."

Miles felt his jaw drop open yet again and he couldn't tell if today was just a weird day, or if his baby dragged out all of these racist remarks. Or maybe they had always been there, and he had just never noticed them. He closed his mouth slowly, and looked at Frankie. Even she was surprised by their father's words.

"M-Miles," he heard his mother stutter towards her husband, then she looked at him. "Miles, please, please don't make a scene. We don't need this with Hunter gone… we need to stick together."

Miles just shook his head. "Just… fuck you Dad. You're awful. Here Frankie is getting harassed at school, and you're just reinforcing her racism. Good fucking job."

With that Miles walked inside and placed his baby on the couch. He followed the procedure he had learned in class – snap the diaper off, throw the diaper of the opposite color on. He saw Frankie run into the house in a huff and head up the stairs to her room, and he made a note to talk to her soon.

He couldn't even think about his father right now. The only thing he could do was to be the better man.

X.

After the baby quieted down from her potty time, Miles took the baby to his room and made a bed for her on his desk chair. He placed half of a blanket on the chair, then placed the baby on it before tucking the other half over her. He snorted to himself at the absurdity of tucking in a mechanical baby, but he did it anyway. Anything to prove that he wasn't a half-assed father like his own.

He sighed as he finished, knowing he had nothing to do for the rest of the night, but also too much. He couldn't go down stairs and play video games for fear of running into his parents who may still want a chit-chat, and he couldn't call up Tristan to talk or hang out – it was time to show Tristan he was perfectly capable of holding up his end of the project. And talking to Frankie was a bit daunting… but he had to do it. He had to be the older brother that he wanted to be.

Her door was open as he approached, and he knocked on the wooden frame as he walked on in. Frankie was lying face down on her bed, face buried into the mattress. He heard something approaching a mumble come from her, so he decided to take it as permission to enter; he was going to either way due to big brother privilege after all.

He took a seat on her bed, and her body rolled slightly toward him at the change of pressure. "Hey Franks," Miles said as he placed a hand on her back. "Care to talk?"

Frankie mumbled something that he couldn't make out.

"I'm just going to talk then… I'm just not sure what to say." He paused, and Frankie turned her head toward him. She wasn't crying, but her face was not one of happiness. "So… ummm…. I saw Hunter today. He's doing well. He asked his therapist to teach him about racism and stuff to help you out."

"I'm not racist," Frankie huffed.

"Maybe you're not," Miles agreed. "But maybe you are. Is it really your place to determine if you're racist?"

"Who else?" Frankie retorted. "I know I didn't make that poster with the intent to be racist. It's not my fault if they got their feelings hurt."

"Maybe, but they still got hurt."

"Ugh, you sound just like Kara."

"Who?"

"The bitch who's targeting me. This is like reverse racism," Frankie cried.

Miles almost laughed and it got caught in his nose leading to an ugly snort. "Look, Frankie, I'm not a pro at this, but I'm pretty sure reverse racism is not a thing. Look, Hunter wanted me to explain some stuff to you since you're avoiding him. He told me to tell you about microagressions – they're ways that you're racist without it being obvious. So your drawing of these black girls as animals is racist, but it's not like you called them… well you know the word or said they can't play volley ball because they're black."

"I would never do that," Frankie stated with horror. "I'm not racist."

"Maybe not like that, but the fact that you're refusing to admit what you did hurt people, and that you don't think you need to apologize might mean that you are. Honestly, the worst part is that you don't understand why what you did hurt," Miles said. He paused for a moment as a thought crossed his mind. He wasn't sure he wanted to speak it, but for Frankie's sake, he would.

"Do you ever think about why it hurts when he makes fun of me for liking guys?"

Frankie blinked. "I guess. You don't want people to think less of you because you're gay."

"Yes, but also no," Miles stated. "It's just… is it too much to ask that he love me just because?"

Frankie face twisted with guilt.

"Why did it make you so mad when he wanted to throw you under the bus with the nude scandal?" Miles asked.

"I… just wanted him to be on my side. I wanted him to love me, I guess."

"Exactly. Though people at school liked to say you were just a spoiled brat. That's the thing. You can't know how someone feels until you ask them. You have to listen, Franks."

"Maybe…" she muttered.

Miles threw himself on the bed beside Frankie, and remained quiet for a moment.

"Do you ever wonder," he said after a moment's pause, "if we're broken?"

"Broken?" Frankie questioned.

"Like messed up. I mean, look at all of us. Hunter's in a psych ward, and we're all sad all the time. I almost killed myself last semester through overdosing. The only time I ever feel happy is when I'm with Tristan."

"I… maybe we are. How are we all so messed up?" Frankie wondered.

"Would you hate me if I said Dad?"

"No…" Frankie said. "But can't you give him a second chance? I mean… it's hard, I know, but he's all the dad we have."

"I… he hit me Frankie. More than once. He made me feel like shit my whole life. I'm not… you know how you don't feel safe at school ever since this whole race thing started. How do you think it feels to feel like that at home? To want to stay out as long as possible, or to shake every step of the way into the house. We gave him a second chance every time and he betrayed it. You saw him tonight?"

Frankie nodded as she reached a hand towards his face, and only now did he realize he was crying. It made sense, truly, as his throat felt like it was on fire.

"He's always going to be like that. He's going to disregard us as people – he just wants control. He'll never respect me for who I am, and he'll teach us how to be awful people just like him. He said people only matter for their votes… and he is the mayor of fucking Toronto. Maybe it's just because I have a black baby at the moment, but… I'm just so mad at him for being racist. What if we are racist? What if we are because of how he raised us? Look at you. You have two entire schools telling you that you are racist, but you don't see it. Before today, I wouldn't have thought twice about some racist remarks I've heard… what if he broke us, Franks? What if he destroyed us in ways we can never fix? I'm sad, you're sad, Hunter's in a psych ward. Maybe we all should go – we know dad'll never visit us there."

His rambling was interrupted as Frankie pulled him into a hug. "We're not broken, Miles," she said. "We're not broken because we have each other.

XI.

He stayed with Frankie for a while before they separated. Frankie told him he should probably turn in a bit early as the baby would undoubtedly wake him up in the middle of the night. Every moment of sleep he could steal would be amazing once the morning rolled around.

Frankie turned out to be quite correct as the baby woke him up with her cries. He wasn't sure what time it was, and he didn't really care. The only thing he noted was that the sun was complete gone, and the cries had awoken him at the worst point possible in his sleep cycle as his head was splitting with a pain he could scarcely describe with words if he tired. The only way he could was one of those headaches that made him want to curl up in bed and cry.

He stumbled over to the baby and changed its diaper, but to no avail. He swapped the opposite color cloths back and forth, hoping that one would just click and the baby would give him peace. After what felt like forever, he couldn't get the baby to stop crying. Miles was starting to cry himself and threw himself on the floor in defeat.

Why wouldn't the baby stop crying? Was the baby as broken as he and his siblings were? He hadn't even had the baby a full 12 hours and it was already a tortured soul.

Miles laid on the floor as he tried to ignore the crying, and occasionally thumped his head to jog his brain and distract his ears from the baby. As much as he wanted to crawl into his bed and cry himself to sleep, he wouldn't let himself. He had to find a way to make his baby stop crying. He had to at least try. He had to try not to be like his father.

What did babies need to be happy? Sleep, a clean diaper and food? Miles groaned and thumped his head on the floor. How could he be so stupid? Of course the baby was hungry, and only his sleep-disturbed brain had stopped him from figuring it out. MJ hadn't been fed since Hunter fed her back at the hospital – Miles smiled at the memory of Hunter excitedly feeding his niece as he dug through the diaper bag for the bottle.

He grabbed MJ and took her with him to bed, placing the fake-bottle to her lip sensors as he did.

He fell asleep with her content in his arms.

XII.

Miles was surprised when they got an 'A' on the project despite his screw up last night. Though, in hindsight, a little bit of crying was a good thing in a baby – or so he wanted to say from some random fact he heard at some point.

Tristan had been impressed by the 'A' as well. Reset buttons and all, they had worked together to get do a great job. Now, they were back together and Miles knew that neither of them could be happier. They were official now – more so than whatever the fiasco they had been in last year. They were finally talking, and Miles knew he would do everything in his power to never let Tristan down again.

They had a free period now, and were sitting in the mostly empty Family Studies lab. Tristan had his head on his shoulder, and Miles pulled him closer with a hand around his waist.

"So, tell me," Tristan said. "What was your favorite memory with him? Mine was on the basketball court when you took him. You were so nervous, but you loved us enough to do it."

Miles smiled as he slid his lips down to Tristan's ear. "She," he corrected softly. "And my favorite memory would have to be Hunter feeding her. Who would have thought my angry little brother would like kids?"

Tristan chuckled at that. "Who indeed," he murmured. "So what makes you think he is a she?"

"Just a feeling," Miles said with an absent shake of his head.

"And why is that?"

"I just figure if I ever have a child, I'd want her to be a daughter," Miles said through a sniffle.

"Do you know why?" Tristan asked, a touch of concern haunting his voice.

"I don't think I do."

Tristan reached over to wipe a tear from his eye, and only then did he notice that he had been crying. Miles was reminded of his conversation with Frankie last night, and he was happy that he had Tristan to support him through this like he and Frankie supported each other last night. He was reminded of how broken he was and how he and his siblings were all walking second chances.

"I… thanks, Tris. For giving me a second chance. I don't deserve it," Miles whispered.

"Of course you do, Miles. Everyone deserves a second chance. And I… care about you deeply. I just want you to be happy."

"And I just want to be happy," Miles said. "But I feel so broken and…" he stopped at a loss for words.

"I'm happy that you feel like you can talk to me now."

Miles smiled at Tristan's sincere tone. "You mean everything to me, Tris. There is no one else that I would rather talk to. I lov… need you. I need you in my life. You make me a better me."

"No," Tristan said with a shake of his head. "You do that on your own. You're a good person, Miles. I know you are. You did a great job with our daughter after all."

"I did it for you, Tris."

"You did it because you were strong enough to. I promise you, Miles."

"But… I still feel so broken," Miles whispered. "How do I fix myself?"

"You just have to admit to what makes you feel so broken?"

"Everything does, Tristan. My dad is awful, my mother is useless. My siblings are as messed up as I am, and we're never happy."

"But you're happy with me…?" Tristan asked.

"I'm happy with you," Miles affirmed. "And when I am with my siblings. And when they succeed. And when they're happy and wanting to make the world a better place. I just want us all to be happy, but we're so broken and lost and living on a second chances we'll likely waste just like our father. We'll never be okay Tris, never okay." Miles' chest hurt with the weight of his emotions, and his eyes felt heavy as if weighed down by an ocean. He wiped the top of his hand against his nose and came away with enough snot to explain why he felt like he couldn't breathe.

"Look, Miles," Tristan said as he rubbed a hand down his back. "We'll make you better. I think you're perfect, but you just need to realize that."

"How?" Miles cried.

"I think I know. Miles, tell me why you wanted MJ to be a girl so badly?"

Miles closed his eyes and tears poured forth at the pressure and turned to ice on his cheeks – were they cold compared to the shame on his cheeks, or the chill of his soul? He felt like his heart was trying to crawl out his throat like a confused and angry frog, and every beat of it was like the frog jumping for release. It was in no small part the awful taste in his mouth.

"Miles?" Tristan asked. "I know you can do it. Put your thoughts in to words. 'When you don't tell people what's going on inside your head, it only gets worse.' Maya once spoke those words to you - I would hate for the meaning of those words to truly hit you. Do you really want to repeat what happened last year? You were miserable. You can talk to me. You can tell me. I'm here for you, and I'm not going anywhere."

Miles let himself fall against Tristan's chest, and he heard Tristan's heartbeat. It was warm, and calm, and it made him feel safe in a way he couldn't explain.

"I… wanted her to be a girl… because she had to be everything that I wasn't. If she wasn't me, she wouldn't be the screw up son. If she wasn't me, I could never hurt her the way my father hurt me."

He wasn't sure if he got the words out, but felt Tristan tighten his arms around him as his shirt became wet against Miles' face.

"I can promise you one thing, Miles," Tristan whispered into his ear. "You're nothing like your father. You care. You try. You fail, but keep on trying to be a better person. Your father would never do that. He still thinks he right, but you're always trying to do better."

Miles only nodded slowly. He felt his heart lower into his chest, and his body stopped heaving with sobs. He enjoyed the warmth in Tristan's arms as he messaged the ice out of his soul

Tristan had been the one to give him a second chance. He should have known Tristan would be the one to help fix him.

THE END

A/N: I would HIGHLY suggest reading these to understand my views on Triles, and what went into this fic.

Well, I hope you all enjoyed! This story originally started off after the baby picture before season 2 was released. I called it Strive By Strive, referencing the difference between Miles and his father was that he tried and tried to do better. But things changed with the racism plot, and how well developed it was on the show. I considered having Miles talk to Frankie about racism as a father role, to show that he is a better father than his ever was.

But then came 2x05, when Miles said that Tiny's "big fight" was worse than what Frankie did. This is racist in two ways:

1) assuming that Tiny's fight was big. It was a small scruffle, but as Tiny is a black man, Miles interpreted it as big and bad. This is the logic police officers use whenever you hear about black death in the news... so yeah, racist of Miles.

2) He reduced Frankie's drawing to nothing. Calling it less than the fight implies that he doesn't think its racist.

Because of that, I decided to address racism. And how, exactly, would they get the language to talk about it? They're a bunch of white high school students, and people don't begin to learn about microaggressions and privilege until college.

That's where Hunter came in. He was so shaken by the person he had become, that he wanted to do everything to make the world a better place. Best place to start would to be to learn more about racism with bonus points for being able to help his sister through her troubles. Hunter is really into it, because if I learned anything from college, once people get their privilege/microaggresion epiphany, they don't stop talking about it. He found a way to be a better person, and he wants to share it with the world.

Now that Miles has some language to talk about this stuff and process it, we go to his home life. Races/Culture tend to keep it quiet, but home life is different for all of us. We never really know what another person's home it like, and imagining across cultural and racial lines is further. As may be obvious, most racism is going to come from your parents. Parents like Mr. Hollingsworth are hardly rare, and is no small part in all of his children's racist behavior. They aren't awful about it because they're good people, but they all hold tons of microaggressions and don't mind expressing them. Hunter was the worst off (with the Goldi lines in 1x06) and consequently felt really bad about it.

When writing the scene where Mr. H saying he worried about bringing a "negro" into the family, I tapped into an experience with my mom. She said, "I'm not happy that you're gay, but at least I know you'll never date black guys." Yeah, that feeling of shock as you read that was what I felt. You're like, "WHOA, what. You did not just say that?" Anyway... I tried to tap into that as Miles began to worry more that he had bad beliefs because of his father.

This led to him thinking he and his siblings are broken all because of their father, and that they are all on their second chances. But what makes them different is that unlike their father, they might can use their second chances for good. Hunter is, and Miles is trying as well. Now he just needs to help Frankie - but I'll let canon handle that :)

So, yeah. I hope you like how this fic explored how the baby drug up memories and thoughts for Miles, his view of his broken soul, and his fear of being a father that treats his children the way his father treated him. As we learned in 2x01, Tristan is the person who stands the best chance of helping Miles, and now they have finally opened up to each other. Now we just need Miles to approach Tristan about his light-biphobia so we can learn about Tristan's insecurities, and what he needs from Miles for love to truly bloom. *cough future fic *cough*

I would have preferred to have this beta-ed a little more, however, I wanted to post it before too many more new episodes come out! I'll edit later if needed, but it should be at 98% perfection!