Follow The Rules

I love you

Oliver watched his shaking hand, holding the shiny, silver gun. He was surprised at how smooth it was to hold, but more so at how heavy it was, holding it out at arms length, directed straight at his friends head. He had really hoped he would calm down with the action, but when he looked up and saw Johns face, shocked, terrified, Oliver couldn't help but sob uselessly from behind the gun. He distantly heard Daisy and her mother gasp, but couldn't focus on that right now. All he could focus on was the sound of his heart pounding in his head.

"Ollie-," John started shakily but he didn't get the chance to finish because suddenly, he was pulled backwards roughly and when Oliver looked out from behind the gun, he noticed now that it wasn't John he was aiming a gun at, it was his father.

"Oliver, give me the gun." His father said quickly, holding out a hand for the gun, but Oliver didn't register it. Instead he paid attention to how uneasy his father looked. He had never seen him like this. He looked nervous, scared. His father was never scared. His father was strong and mean and took no bullshit from anyone. Why was he now scared? Probably because he had a gun aimed at his chest.

"You're going to speak to me now?" Oliver asked softly. Tears still flowed down his cheeks and his whole body was shaking. His father didn't say anything. He simply looked into his sons eyes, not even acknowledging the gun pointed at him. In that moment, it was like the two of them were the only two people left on the planet. Everything else disappeared.

"At least now I know how to get your attention." Oliver said caustically. "It's not with grades, or awards. Just pull out a gun."

"You're right." His father nodded, speaking softly and calmly, like talking any louder would set him off again. "I haven't been there for you, and I'm sorry-,"

"You're sorry?" Oliver yelled, cutting off his father and making him flinch somewhat, his eyes momentarily glancing at the gun before he met his son's crying eyes again. "Bull s**t, you're sorry."

"I am, Oliver." His father took a step towards him, and if he really wanted to he could have grabbed hold of the gun, but he made no move to do so. Oliver wanted to take a step away from him, feeling uncomfortable at the fact that his father hadn't been this close to him years, but decided not to for some unknown reason. Instead, he listened as his father spoke to him. "I'm sorry for more than you know. I'm sorry that in the past I haven't been the most caring parent. I thought I was caring for you in my way. Setting you up for a successful future, but recent events have opened my eyes to the fact that that's not what matters." Oliver scoffed and opened his mouth to make a retort to his use of the phrase 'recent events' but his father continued, not giving him the chance to speak.

"What happened to you. Your-," His father paused to take a shaky breath, and Oliver tensed at the thought of what his father was preparing to say. "Your k********g. That was my fault." He finished and Oliver couldn't believe that of all people to acknowledge what had happened, it had been his father. He chanced a look at the people around him, and while he saw Daisy –who was now standing wrapped in her mother's arms – and her mother's looks of horror, he noticed John looked unfazed. Did he already know?

"No." Oliver sobbed, returning his gaze to his father. "No it was my fault. I should've-, I should've fought harder. I should've-,"

"Oliver, listen to me." His father interrupted, still with his tone of calmness, however his body showed otherwise. "That was all my fault. My fault and the men that took you. You did nothing to deserve that. Nothing, do you hear me?"

Oliver didn't respond. He had heard B mention that he was innocent in it all once before, but hearing it from his father, made it sound different. Was he really innocent?

"When I first got the call to say that they had you, I broke down." His father confessed, and Oliver couldn't comprehend how open his father was being with him. His father ran a hand through his hair shakily before continuing. "I couldn't handle the thought of loosing you, that your Mum had to do most of the work. I heard you when they called us. I heard them-, I heard them hit you. I heard them hurting you." His father paused and looked down to the ground as he took a shaky breath and when he looked up again to meet Oliver's eyes, he saw tears threatening to break the damn and run free. What was happening? His father never cried.

"I knew what they did to you. I heard it, and when we got you home, I didn't know how to cope." His father dejectedly, shrugging and shaking his head sadly. "I'm an i***t, okay? When they had you I was devastated. I regretted all the chances where I could have spent time with you that I gave up for work. I made a vow to be a better father. I promised myself that when I got you home, I would make a better effort, because if I had lost you that weekend, my life would have been over and I would have wasted the sixteen years I could have had with you. But then when I got you back..."

"You ignored me." Oliver said quietly, finishing his sentence for him. He knew what his father did. He was there. He wasn't an i***t.

"No, Oliver. I... When I saw you, you looked so broken. You weren't yourself. Still aren't. And because I knew what had happened. I knew they hit you. I knew it wasn't an easy weekend for you and I knew you were struggling. But I didn't know how to help you." His father admitted and finally, a tear broke through and ran down his cheek, causing Oliver to shift on his feet and adjust his grip on the gun awkwardly, just reminding himself that it was there, pointed at his father.

"At first you looked so distant, and you looked like you wanted to be left alone, and in effort to be there for you, I thought I'd oblige to that request. But you didn't get any better. You didn't get over it and I could see that, but I didn't know how to help you. I signed up to chat rooms for parents of abused and kidn*pped children, asking for their advice. I researched, but most sights presumed that the police had been involved."

"Why weren't they?" Oliver asked quietly, and at first he thought his father didn't hear what he had said because his father didn't say anything for a while.

"Because they told us not to." He said simply. "They said that if we called them they would kill you. They said it during that call when you weren't... when they fired the gun, and I was so scared, I thought that if we just did what they said, that you would be alright. We'd get you back and go on living."

"But I'm not alright." Oliver said hatefully. "I can't go on pretending like it never happened."

"Neither can I." His father replied. "Every time I look at you Ollie I can see how much it's affected you and you would not believe the guilt I feel. Guilt for not calling the police. Guilt for caring more about making money than for the safety of my own family. Guilt for letting you get kidn*pped. In the end it was easier for me to not look at you."

"Easier for you." Oliver spat, tightening his grip on the gun that didn't go unnoticed by his father. "It wasn't easier for me."

"I know." His father nodded understandingly. "I know, and I'm so sorry."

"No, you don't know." Oliver yelled. Why did people keep saying that? No one understood. No one knew. Why couldn't they understand that? "You don't know. You have no clue."

"Then please explain it to me, Kiddo." His father pleaded and Oliver stilled at the use of the name his father used to call him when he was a child. When he used to be more paternal. "Please tell me what they did to you that you can't get past and I will be there for you, okay? I will help you."

"You can't help me." Oliver sobbed, shaking his head. "And I can't tell you."

"Why not?" His father asked. "They're gone, Ollie, they can't touch you. I won't let them get anywhere near you."

"No," Oliver was crying uncontrollably now, his grip on the gun loosening as his body shook with the sobs he was emitting. "I can't. I can't tell you."

"Ollie." His father took a step closer, the gun practically touching his chest now. "I won't let them hurt you. I promise. Just tell me what they did to you." His father reached out a hand, ignoring the gun and trying to reach out to touch his sons arm, but Oliver jumped back when he felt fingers graze his bicep.

"Don't touch me." He yelled in between a few sobs and his sudden movement along with the alcohol made him struggle to keep his balance on the grass eventually he collapsed, and sat crying where he fell. "Please don't touch me."

"Oh my god." He heard Brenda exclaim and looked over to see crying almost as hard as he was, a hand covering her mouth, trying to mask her horrified expression. While Daisy and John didn't seem to understand, his father's expression mirrored Brenda's as he began to put the pieces together.

"Jesus Christ." His father muttered to himself as he stared down at his sobbing, shaking son, still clutching onto the gun.

It was then that Oliver registered the sounds of sirens in the distance, and not too long later, did a police car, lights flashing and siren wailing, park on the other side of the street. Fear gripped his heart and he could have sworn his heart stopped beating for a few moments. What were they doing here? None of them had called the police. Who called them? John rushed over to meet the two cops who had crossed the road, watching the scene suspiciously, and stopped them before they could reach the footpath. He watched as John began explaining the situation and not long after, Brenda joined him, pointing over to Oliver every now and then. What were they telling them? They couldn't know. They couldn't. George will think he told them. He'll think he told their secret. He'll come back. Panic overwhelmed him and he scrambled to grab hold of the gun again. He couldn't do this. He couldn't.

"Oliver." His father sounded angry, but when he looked up to meet his father, who had crouched down next to him and put a hand on the gun, that Oliver had unknowingly placed at his temple, his father was angry, he was scared, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. Why was he scared? The gun wasn't aimed at him anymore. "Oliver what are you doing?"

"Let go." Oliver ordered, although through the tears, he didn't sound very domineering. "Please."

"No, Oliver I'm not going to let you do this." His father said sternly.

"I can't do this." Oliver sobbed, his hand and body shaking so violently that he could barely keep hold of the gun. "Please, Dad. Let go. You want to help me? Then please let me do this."

"No." It was a simple answer, but apparently that's all his father believed he needed to hear.

"Why not?" He yelled. "You hate me don't you? I'm disgusting. I'm done. Ruined. Broken way beyond anything you could do to help me." But his father didn't let go. "Please Dad, he'll think I told you. Please." Oliver begged, fear overloading anything and everything else. "He'll think I told our secret. He'll come back and I can't do it again. Not again. Please Dad, don't make me do it again. I can't. I can't." He was shaking and crying so much that he barely registered his father pulling the gun out of his grip until his arm slumped down beside him.

"Please Dad. I can't do this." He sobbed uncontrollably, words simply falling from his mouth without control. He collapsed forward, unable to stay upright any longer and his head fell into his father's chest. Arms wrapped around his back, pulling him tight into the warm body in front of him. He was too weak to resist and instead relaxed into the warmth, crying uncontrollably. It was strange. He expected himself to freak out at the contact, but there was no mistaking that the arms were safe, secure. They would protect him.

"I'm so sorry, Oliver." He could feel more than hear that his father was crying just as hard as he was. "I'm here." He repeated the two phrases over and over again, rocking him back and forth, and Oliver knew it was not only an attempt to calm him down, but to calm his father down as well. He didn't fight it though.

He didn't fight it when his father had calmed himself down enough to pick him up and carry him to an ambulance he hadn't noticed arrive. He didn't fight when a woman pushed him down onto a bed and he didn't fight when he saw the same woman with a syringe in her hand. He thought it might have been because he was exhausted or that he was so emotionally drained. But he knew it was because even when his father placed him on the gurney, he never let him go, holding onto his hand the entire time.

He was only vaguely aware of the pin prick in his arm and barely noticed the ambulance rumble to life underneath him as he felt himself begin to relax and eventually, he felt sleep tugging at him, and he let himself drift off into sleep, knowing that he'd be safe.

Knowing that his father was there to protect him.

Later, at the hospital, he numbly went through the motions. He had a bit of a head ache, but they hooked him up to an IV, saying that they needed to flush the alcohol out of his system before they could give him anything serious. Apparently they hadn't actually sedated him in the ambulance, but the stuff they gave him to calm him down worked in tandem with his own exhaustion that he had just carked it. They forced him to eat food which he tried to fight, but they insisted, and his father, who hadn't left his side as far as he was aware, gave him the look that made him obey. Police had come and asked him questions. At first he refused, remembering that B's parting words to him.

Just because the deal's done, doesn't mean the rules don't still stand. The police stay out of this. Just go back to your lives and hopefully we won't have to get involved in each other's lives again.

But his father insisted that it was alright, and he gave him permission to speak with them. Oliver wasn't much help though. He told them George and B's name to which one of the officers replied with"

"They're probably not ever their real names. B's probably just an initial for Brian or Bruce or Bradley or something." Which made Oliver feel really great, but his father squeezed his hand reassuringly, so he continued.

He told them how he was tied up in a house somewhere that was several hours away from where the exchange occurred, which he knew was again, very little help.

Apparently they had already spoken to John and Daisy because they knew about the fight and the way he had reacted when Daisy kissed him. He also presumed that Matt had told John about his little episode in psychology because they knew about that too. They brought it up when he apologised for not being very helpful due to the fact that he had been blindfolded the entire time. They said losing a sense such as sight for forty eight hours in such a stressful situation was going to have its effects on everyday life.

"More than that's having an effect on my everyday life." Oliver replied tiredly, to which, they had no response.

The hardest part, was when they asked about the r**e. He looked at his father, who wasn't much help because he looked just as nervous as he felt. It wasn't like he couldn't remember what happened. He wished he could. Instead, he remembered every sick thing the man said and did to him. It took several hours before he finally managed to open up. He tried several times before hand, but it would often lead to him bursting out into uncontrollable fits of tears or he'd simply throw up over the side of the bed he was sitting on. It was the first part that was the hardest. Openly telling two random police officers and his father that the man had sucked him off and that he'd actually kind of enjoyed it. They replied, telling him that it was a natural bodily response. That it didn't mean that he had wanted it or asked for it. That it was nothing to feel ashamed of and was completely out of his control. It didn't make him feel any better though.

The officers asked to speak with his father privately about his side of it all, but his father had refused, stating that he wasn't going anywhere. They had begrudgingly accepted his defiance and asked if they could question him in the room. Oliver simply curled up into a ball, staring at the opposite wall as his father answered questions while absently stroking his back comfortingly. He didn't pay any attention to what they were asking or what his father was saying. He merely let the minutes drift past numbly, letting his mind go blank until they left.

After that, a nurse came in, and said that she needed to collect evidence. What evidence she thought she could find, baffled Oliver, considering he'd pretty much had an hour long shower a day where he scrubbed himself raw, but she had insisted that it was necessary. Oliver didn't refuse, but he didn't help her either. He lay there, letting her remove his shirt and take photos of the healing wounds on his wrist and the bite mark that he heard had elicited a sharp intake of breath from his father. After that, they suggested to his father that even though he wasn't resisting, it would be best if they sedated him for the rest of the exam. Oliver heard the words 'invasive' and 'uncomfortable' and that was enough to sway him. His father didn't protest either. It didn't take long before he was engulfed by darkness once again.

Oliver woke up hours later and gathered it must've been the next morning, because the sun was shining through his window brightly, bathing the white room in a soft yellow colour. His mother was asleep in the armchair in the far corner and his father was sitting next to his bed reading a magazine that sat on his lap, flipping the pages with one hand while the other held onto Oliver's hand gently. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept all night, and Oliver guessed that he hadn't. He wouldn't. He was going to keep his promise. He would protect him.

His father looked up from his magazine momentarily to glance at his son, and when he noticed that Oliver was awake, he smiled broadly, flipping the magazine closed and turned to face him.

"Hey kiddo. How you feeling?" He whispered, but his voice sounded happy, loving, protective.

"Okay." Oliver croaked, his voice raw from a combination of the amount of crying he had done and the amount of times he had thrown up last night.

"Good." His father nodded while absently stroking his hand. "The doctors said we can take you home whenever you feel like it."

"Okay." Oliver was surprised that for the first time in a while, he was actually looking forward to going home, because for the first time in a while, he knew it would actually feel like a home.

"I love you, kiddo, you know that right?"

"Yeah." And he did know it. He really did. "I love you too."

They sat in silence for a while, just appreciating each other's company. Because nothing else had to be said.