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“It’s not thebesttime, J.T.,” his best friend grumbles.

“ForWes,” I sardonically state. “The only person who matters on theUSS Wilcox.”

“This seems like a bad time,” he cringes prior to lifting the small bag in his hand. “I was just looking for Fins to drop this off. I figured he’d be in here doing the family thing because it’s family thing time, but…” Puppet Boy’s eyes swiftly sweep the scene. “Seems like…everyone abandoned ship but the main cast.”

“What’s in the bag?” Wes instantly asks.

“None of your business,” pops out of me, leaving no room for our best friend to speak.

“He’s my son.” Our eyes lock in a hostile nature once more. “It most certainly is my business.”

“He’sourson, Weston!” A crude gesture to my crotch is made. “He came out ofhere.” The hand motion is repeated near my tits. “He fed fromhere.” It moves to my facial area next. “He spends too much timehere.” Resuming my folded arm stance is attached to a deeper glare. “He is just as muchmineas he isyours,andI sayit’s none of your business what he had hisunclegrab him because if he wantedyouto fucking know he would’ve askedyouto get it.”

“How do we know it’s not drugs? Pocket glow?”

“Snow.” There’s no stopping the eye roll that occurs. “And what part of Puppet Boy evensuggestshe would give our son drugs?”

“Ouch,” J.T. mirthfully mutters upon entering the room. “From both sides of the ship here.” He firmly points at Wes first. “One, it hurts you think I’d everknowinglygive my nephew something that could harm him or keep that kinda shit from you.” The digit is flung my way next. “Andtwo,Iamthe cool uncle!”

My head tilts sarcastically to one side.

“I am! I’m the one who showed him how to properly clear his browser historyandsearch the web in incognito mode!”

“Wesooooohave different definitions of cool.”

“Until you both have the verysameone such as attending a yearly Trekkie convention,” Wes slyly points out.

Clark helplessly chortles in agreement. “That is true.”

Having the room momentarily filled with chuckles successfully dissipates some of the lingering irateness that still needs to be addressed.

Even after all these years, both Clark and Puppet Boy have a good habit of defusing what appears to be an otherwise non-diffusible situation.

“What’s in the bag?” Wes investigates a second time yet again, adding fuel to the dying fire.

“Something from the brand for his giftbox to Kendall,” Puppet Boy informs while still maintaining a bit of secrecy.

Hereis what makes him a cool uncle.

One that Wy trusts.

And talks to.

Not just about nerd shit but dude shit.

J.T. was who the poor kid went to when he got his first ingrown hair on his junk area.

Apparently talking to me would’ve been “too awkward”.

And talking to Wes about stuff is just…not something he’s ever really done.

Is that what’s bugging him?

That our son doesn’t have a relationship with him the way he had one with his father?

“What…” fighting his own sadness over the cluelessness of the object is noticeably difficult, “giftbox?”

“You know him and Kendall typically only see each other twice a year,” Puppet Boy innocently begins, tossing me a cautious look, wordlessly inquiring if he can continue. After receiving a small nod of approval, he does, “Well,because of that, in between those times, he makes her a box. He collects things he likes and souvenirs from places he’s been or things he’s done and then puts it all together and ships it to her, so that she has ‘a piece of him’ to last until the next time they see each other in person.”

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