Fingerprints

Thirty-eight

Thomas felt sick to the stomach as the sickly sweet man smirked at him. He wore a clean black suit, a horrible reminder that this man didn't do any of the real dirty work, oh no, he was just the brains behind the operation. He had deep hazel eyes and slicked back hair. He had tight skin, like it was constantly forcing a smile, and large hands, that were currently gripping Newt's hair.

"I've waited so long for this day. You've grown, a lot, from the last time I saw you. Well, you were only young, and Chuckie! God, he'll be what? Fourteen now? How time files." He chuckled to him.

"Who are you?" The brunette glared at him, confused and scared. The man seemed taken aback, blinking at him for a moment, and straightening his suit out with his spare hand.

"Oh come on T, I would have thought you would remember your old man."

The world stopped. That wasn't possible. His father has died when he was nine. He remembered the funeral. He remembered the coffin. The closed coffin.

"T..thats not..you..my father is dead." He spluttered.

"Ya know, I was really upset when you didn't cry at my funeral." Roger frowned, watching in delight as Thomas's expression turned from confusion to horror.

"You..you were there?" He whispered, heart pounding and mind swirling. Thomas felt weak at the knees, and the entire world was swimming.

"Of course I was! You don't think I'd miss my own fake funeral, do you?" He chuckled. The american shook his head in bewilderment.

"But..but why?! Why would you do that?" Shock was slowly turning to anger.

"Well," Roger sighed, bored, "I wanted a divorce. But your bitch" he tugged sharply on Newt's hair in anger, "of a mother refused to sign it. She said she didn't have the money to split with me. So, I had no choice but leave. I decided I didn't want her to try and find me, so, I faked my death." He shrugged nonchalantly. "But, I saw you, on TV. A few years ago, getting a medal. And I was just, so proud! I knew I could use someone like you in my company, I needed you. But I didn't know how to contact you without getting in contact with your mother. So, I thought, what better way than through your job." He explained, watching Thomas's face twist through different emotions.

'I'm a scientist T. And sometimes I need people to experiment on. So, I kidnapped people. That way, I further my research, and I leave breadcrumbs for you to find me. It may have taken years, but eventually you got here. Only problem was, when you did get here, that idiot Janson" He practically spat out the mans name as he tugged sharply again, apparently using Newt as a stress ball, "didn't get the memo and sent a team out to kill you. The shootings, the poison, that was all his doing. But," he relaxed his hair pulling hand slightly, "no matter. I had him disposed of anyway."

"You..you did all of this, just to get me to fucking work for you?" Thomas spat.

"Am I not allowed to want to find my son?" Roger asked, face morphing into offence.

"You fucking bastard! Do you realise how many people you've hurt?! And just because you're a coward and don't want to face my mom. Because you know that she's a better person than you could ever be! And what, you're just experimenting on innocent people, like fucking lab rats?! What kind of a monster are you?!" Thomas yelled, fury bearing into his fathers eyes. He felt the soft shudders of Teresa's cries against his side. Brenda and Minho were practically blowing steam from their ears, and Newt, Newt made Thomas shudder.

There was something there, something cold. And Thomas couldn't read it, and it scared him. He'd always been able to read Newt, but now, he couldn't tell what the blond was thinking, and it worried him.