Part 763 – I, Antioch

As they walked down the sidewalk, Antioch glanced at Robin.

He should be my son. He was Peter Hastings’ son.

He isn’t mine. Yet, I feel the pull of Peter’s love for him.

But that isn’t mine either.

Can I, Antioch, love this abrasive, obnoxious, violently inclined loudmouth of a punk? Does he have any qualities that I, Antioch, can find redeemable?

I honestly can’t think of any. Yet, how well do I actually know him? I know him through Peter Hastings’ thoughts and memories.

Yet, that isn’t enough.

I, Antioch, don’t know him. I have no shared happy memories with him that belong exclusively to me and me alone.

And it’s my fault.

I turned my back on them.

I left them in my dust.

I abandoned them.

I abandoned him.

Robin.

Robin Hastings.

Antioch looked straight ahead. “If I had stayed, would you have accepted me?”

“And here it is: The Rye Is Dry, But The Ale Is Hot pub.”

“Boy. Would you have accepted me as your father?”

“I don’t know. You ain’t never gave me that chance, did you?”

“Is it too late?”

“Prob’ly. I don’t know. Don’t want to talk about it. Don’t want to think about all of the maybes and could bes that just ain’t ’cause you didn’t want us.”

Antioch turned away from Robin and entered the bar.

And it was like dropping Augustus Gloop into a candy store and telling him to have at it.

The air was rich and thick with scents. Scents compressed and entangled in between the building’s walls. Beer and wine, salt and earth, chocolate and mimosa, potatoes and mint, meat and caviar, and so much more. Some scents he couldn’t even name.

Robin came in and fist bumped Antioch’s shoulder blade. “Amazin’, ain’t it?”

“So many scents. Such a variety. How do I know which one to chase? Which one to even want?”

“It ain’t somethin’ you know. It’s somethin’ you just jump out and do. Go for the one that makes you drool the most. That’s how I go about it. And, if you’re lucky enough, that scent will save you the trouble and come marchin’ on over to you.” He gave the older man a disparaging look over. “Don’t get your hopes up that high.”

A middle-aged woman in a faded kimono approached Antioch. She smelled of grape jelly. Really powerful grape jelly. “Hello, handsome.” She grabbed Antioch’s arm. “Come and join my party.”

Before he could make any sort of response beyond “uhhh”, she dragged him off to the other side of the room.

***

Robin shook his head. “Some guys get all the breaks.” He walked over to his usual spot and sat down.

The chatter and clatter of the bar ebbed and flowed around him, clearing all thoughts of Antioch out of his head.

Leaving him to thoughts of only Isellta.

I need to see him again.

I need to make sure that he’s alive.

That he’s okay.

That—

“Can I help you?”

The waitress was somewhere between cute and pretty, but she smelled like dish soap.

Robin imagined drinking blood that tasted like dish soap and it made him want to gag. “No. But you can get me somethin’ to drink.”

“Very well, sir! What would you like?”

“Surprise me.”

She winked at him. “Gotcha.”

Robin watched her sashay over to the bar and smiled.

But his thoughts returned to Isellta.

I need to know if what I saw on that monitor was real. Does he love me? Does he really love me?

Can he love me?

I need to see him again.

He closed his eyes and fantasized about the fey’s slender hand coming to rest on his arm. His long, graceful fingers fanned out to touch as much as he could.

He opened his eyes.

Isellta was not there.

It’s my fault.

I hit him.

I scared him off.

I chased him away.

I need to see him again.

He sat up straighter as he realized what that meant.

I need to go back to The Institute.