How Green Becomes Wood

Dark looked at him for a moment, his expression blank, "I do not know what I have done to offend you, but I would be glad to ring up those flowers for you and let you be on your way."
 
Mr. Walsh snorted and started to turn to leave. He waved the flowers at Tristan. "That boy's my son and the owner. He wouldn't ask his old man to pay, would you, boy?"

Tristan's lips thinned, and he could not form an answer. He wanted to, but he couldn't. He placed his hands on his knees, trying to quell the visible shaking.

"Thought as much," he said, taking the silence as an answer.
 
Dark nodded, never taking his eyes off of Mr. Walsh, "I see. I generally believe when one walks into a shop, one does not wait to be asked to pay, but not everybody practices buisness as I do. Shall I walk you out?"
 
"Sure, whatever," Mr. Walsh said. He walked out, flowers in hand, not paying attention to the door as it swung shut.

Tristan took a few shaky breaths, but he still didn't feel like he could breathe. His chest constricted. He wanted to hide. Wanted to flee. He couldn't. There was nowhere to go, and he was trapped! Trapped in this stupid chair! His hands fisted as he crossed his arms over his chest and tried to force his whirling brain into some sense of cohesion.

Focus. He had to focus. He needed to make certain Alec was safe. He needed to be sure the teen was nowhere near the old man. He forced his hands down to his wheels and wheeled into the back. Alec was nowhere in sight. Was that a good thing? He hoped it was a good thing. He backed into a corner and stayed there, trying to breathe as pain and fear spiked through his body.
 
"Right," he snorted. "Like anyone's going to care about a crippled florist." He glared at Dark. "You stay out of my business. You got less right to be in my business than you do to be in this country. You try and threaten me again, and I'll show you a misdemeanor, hear me?" He raised a fist to make his point and turned to walk away toward the old truck parked the wrong way on the curb.
 
"It is not a threat," Dark replied, not flinching at Mr. Walsh's threat or his insult about where he belonged, "but we do have security cameras, you understand, and we are allowed to refuse anyone service for any time. I am alerting you, as a representative of this buisness, you are not allowed back, and if you do not return the flowers, I will alert the authorities."
 
Mr. Walsh glared at Dark. He threw the flowers at Dark's feet and told him where to go and what to do in an incredibly crude, colorful, and inventive way that was probably impossible all the way around. He then stalked off to his truck and climbed in. A moment later, it roared to life, and he peeled out, leaving Dark on the sidewalk in a cloud of exhaust.
 
As he was cussed out, Dark stood silently, and then said, "Have a nice day, Sir. Lovely ovation." He waited until the man drove away before picking up the bouquets. They weren't too badly crushed, all things considered, and he brought them back inside, flipping the sign to closed. With a sigh, he set the bouquet back onto the counter and then, not seeing Tristan in the front of the store, poked his head into the back.
 
Tristan sat in the corner, eyes closed, head bowed, shivering visibly. He wasn't aware of Dark walking into the room or anything around him. He was fighting to focus on his breathing and calm down before he passed out.
 
Taking out his phone, Dark texted Alec the man in the shop was gone, and he would be out to take him home in a few moments. Then he leaned on the table across from Tristan, and like he so often did with Alec, asked, "What are three things you can see?"
 
Tristan jumped and glanced at Dark before looking down again. "Didn't know... you were here," he whispered. "You should go." He swallowed hard. "Is Alec safe? You should keep him safe."
 
"He is in the car, there is no concern there." Dark said calmly, trying to make himself physically small, so he would be less intimidating, "Thank you for having him call me so I could keep him safe."
 
Tristan sniffed and ran a hand over his face. "I'm sorry. That wasn't supposed to... I'm sorry I couldn't protect him." He wasn't quite crying, but it was close. He wanted to be alone. He most definitely didn't want to be alone.
 
"You got him out of the way, you made sure he was able to contact me covertly... I believe you did plenty. He will be okay." Dark assured him, then after a moment asked, "Are you okay?"
 
A wheezing choke of a laugh escaped Tristan, and a weak smile flitted across his face. "I am about as far from alright as someone can be." He hugged himself and took a deep breath. "But I am alive. I am alive, I can breathe, and I am not..." His face crumpled. "I am not... I am not controlled. I am not controlled by him." It didn't sound like he quite believed the words, but he was trying to.
 
"Very small. So small before him," Tristan murmured. He rubbed his arms. "I never thought he'd come here. Not in a million years. But he came, and I..." His voice caught as he started to slip back into his panic. He came once. What was to stop him from coming again? And again? What would he do in this flower shop he so disproved of? And the others... would they be coming, too? Especially now that Tristan knew some of the clan had agreed to meet him "covertly" just to bring him back. His father saw no need for a cripple son, saw him only as a troublesome burden, but Tristan had left of his own accord. It hadn't been his father's choice, and he hated losing ownership of what was "his," useless or not. How long would he continue to come back to get what was his?
 
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