Tronnor One-Shots

Parenting

Troye had never really been to a police station before. Well, that's a lie; he'd gone on field trips and tours as a kid, but never had he needed to be there on personal business. Until now. Now he was there because he was beckoned. As soon as they got the call, he and Connor jumped in the car and got there as fast as they could, Troye feeling the rage radiating off his husband like heat. When they stepped up to the front desk, he subtly grabbed hold of Connor's fist and forced him to relax it into his hand. Connor took deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth, trying to rein in the anger.

Troye pursed his lips, embarrassed to be in his position. "We're here to pick up our daughter." He told the officer behind the desk. "Her name is Ramona Franta-Mellet." The officer nodded, took a second to gather some paperwork, and proceeded to escort Troye and Connor to the holding room. Neither father said a word to Ramona, except to tell her to wait in the car while they filled out the paperwork.

The drive home was excruciating: Ramona sat in the backseat, her curly veil of long, chocolate brown hair shielding her face from her fathers, Connor clutched the wheel like he was about to pull it off, and Troye kept wondering if he did something wrong. How did everything come to this? It was obvious that Connor's mind was on a similar topic because, as soon as they got home, he slammed his keys on the table in fury.

"Sit. Now." He spat, pointing sternly to the couch. Ramona stiffly obeyed, obviously frightened out of her mind. Troye sat next to Connor on the loveseat facing the couch, and he knew the look in his daughter's face: she knew she was in absolute shit, and she didn't know how to get out of it, but she was going to try nonetheless.

"I-I can explain." She stuttered, tears in her eyes, as if she could soften the hard look on Connor's face or diminish the disappointment in Troye's. "It's not as big a deal as you think."

"Stealing?" Connor growled sharply, "How could you think stealing isn't a big deal? I'm sure we taught you not to mess with the law, or is this family completely delusional?"

Ramona shrunk back against the couch as Connor's voice raised a decibel a word. Troye leaned against his husband, touching his thigh warningly. "Connor...calm down." He whispered, "Can we talk this through civilly and without anger, please?"

Connor sighed deeply, frustrated. "Okay, you're right." He moaned, "You talk, I'll calm down."

Troye cleared his throat and looked to his daughter, examining her. She was beautiful: coiled blackish-brown curls, flawless, milky skin with a sweet spray of freckles and passionate green eyes that were scarily alike to Connor's, even though they weren't biologically related. Not to mention the internal aspects: smart, witty, friendly, mature. She was a parent's dream, until this came into play. Troye shook his head. "I'm so disappointed, Ramona." He admitted, "So disappointed."

Ramona looked at her hands, taking deep breaths because everybody who has ever been a kid knows that 'disappointed' is even worse than 'mad.' "I know, Papa." She muttered.

"This is unacceptable." He continued, exasperated at the fact that their family even needed to discuss something like this. "You're almost sixteen years old. You should know the difference between simple rights and wrongs."

"I know, Papa."

"If you know, then why did you do it?"

Ramona licked her lips nervously. "I don't know."

Connor held his hands like he was praying, an authoritative habit. He looked at a very irritated, sad Troye, making sure he was done speaking when he leaned towards Ramona. "Is there something we're missing here? Do we not give you enough? Do you ever go without?"