darker_london | Then and Now (Flynn, Quinn, Eamon)

Quinn had decided to wait until she had some more energy before speaking to his parents. Unfortunately by Monday afternoon, he had run out of excuses. His aunt and uncle had returned home, but Eamon had stayed behind and both he and Flynn had escorted Quinn to Uni and back to Flynn's house. They'd all had lunch together. And now there was nothing left to do, but call.

"Someone tell me I don't have to do it!" Quinn said, staring down the phone like it was some sort of while creature set to pounce.

"I would, but Eamon's giving me the 'don't talk, Flynn' look." Flynn said with a shrug and Eamon nodded.

"He's astute, your boy." Eamon informed Quinn. "The sooner you do it, the sooner you'll stop annoying us with your whining." Eamon winked. "Seriously, Quinn. It'll be okay. They'll be glad you called. Aunt Susanna always asks about you when she rings for Christmas. And by that, I mean when she rings and Mum and Dad pretend to be out and let the machine get it. But you're always asked about on there...

"Yeah." Quinn nodded, because he knew. And Flynn was here. Things were always okay when Flynn was here. "Okay." He picked up the phone. "Mal, hold my damn hand!" Quinn insisted, flailing it at him, which made it rather hard for Flynn to catch said hand, but he did eventually anyway, as Quinn concentrated on dialling. And then the ringing. Quinn's hand tightened around Flynn's, almost painfully, though stoic Flynn never showed it.

"Hello?" A sing-song voice answered, and Quinn when promptly pale. And he said nothing. Flynn and Eamon stared at him expectantly, and Quinn just sat there, wide-eyed and completely frozen. It was his mother's voice. It was his mother. His birth mother. Talking to him. Not that she knew that. "Hello? Is anyone there? Dermot, is that you?"

"What?" Quinn asked to that, and then he turned red. Dermot was his father. And Quinn certainly wasn't his father... "It's...Qu...uhm..Ardal." Calling himself 'Quinn' to her wouldn't mean a thing. It was her surname, just as it had once been his.

"Ardal?" Susanna was so shocked, she needed to take a seat then. "Ardal, is everything okay, so? Angus and Pauline rang us up and they said you were hangin' with their boy again." She said, sounding terrified.

"If you mean Malachy, I'm with him right now." Quinn said, sounding incredibly annoyed. "Mum, that's not why I'm-"

"Oh, Ardal. Honestly. Couldn't you find better company?!"

"To be honest, Mum, no!" Quinn yelled, more firmly than he meant to. He squeezed Flynn's hand again, but Flynn was looking away now. He had an inkling about what the conversation had turned to already. It was a record. "I don't want to talk about Mal, okay? Not with you anyway. He takes care of me. That's all you need to know."

"He has a record." Susanna said, with distaste.

"So do most of the young people in Whitehead, Ma." Quinn shook his head. "And you're wrong anyway. Mal's clean. He was just questioned in...goddammit, I don't want to do this!"

"We're just worried about you, Ardal!" Susanna insisted, frowning into the phone. In her eyes, Malachy Flynn...who had once been Malachy O'Reilly, had taken her son away from her. She'd never approved of Malachy in the first place because he was involved with the IRA. Even when he uninvolved himself, Susanna knew you were never free of them. She didn't want her son wrapped up in that. And then he'd been hurt, and he'd run away and there had been threats against his life when he'd returned...and now he never spoke to his birth parents, opting to call his aunt and uncle 'mum and dad' The only common denominator Susanna could see, was Malachy. "We don't want you to be hurt again, and last time you-"

"Mum, I'm sick, okay?" Quinn finally blurted because it sounded like it wasn't going to get said otherwise. "That's why I'm calling. Because of that."

Susanna had gone white. "Si...sick?"

"Yes. It's manageable, but not very nice. It's called Haemochromatosis. And you might want to write that one down, because it's genetic so you might have it too."

Susanna was speechless for a moment and then she sniffed. "Are you going to die?"

"No." Quinn answered, loosening his grip on Flynn's hand. "Mum...I'm going to be fine. And you and dad will be too if you go get screened okay? Please? That's why I rang. Because you need to go do that."

"You rang to take care of us. Not...not because you need us to take care of you?"

Quinn blinked, completely taken aback by the question. "What? No. I mean...no I don't need you to take care of me. I told you. Mal does that. And Aunt Maree and Uncle Bob and Eamon and my friends."

"Hi, Aunt Susanna!" Eamon called, just to be an arse. Quinn bit his lip so as not to react. Susanna ignored it.

"Did you...think I was ringing for help?" Why on Earth would they think he'd turn to them?

"You can, you know." Susanna informed him, finding a piece of paper to write down the condition on so she could Google it later. "If...you wanted."

Quinn considered that, but he wasn't mean-spirited enough to say what he was thinking. Instead he cracked his neck before saying, "I'll keep it in mind. I'm gonna go. Did you write it down? Haemochromatosis. No excuses. I'll...see you. Sometime."

"Ardal, you could-"

"Goodbye, Mum." Ardal hung up the phone and he let out a long breath. "I did it. I think I hung up on her. Oh, I'm an arse."

"An arse who's finished, so let's have ice cream!" Eamon stood, offering Quinn a hand up.

"You do have a tantilising suggestion." Quinn said with an appreciative smile.

Flynn helped Quinn stand as well, and then he kissed Quinn's cheek. "Hey. Thank you. For defending me."

Quinn grinned. "If anyone deserves to be defended, it's you. Ice cream?"

"Always."