Greg Universe, post-Bluebird. Who is he now? Angst, Greg/Rose, and a little father-son bonding. 1568 words.
***
He’d been fifteen years old when he’d last gotten a haircut. Younger than Steven was now. The thought struck him as almost funny as he stood in Steven’s bathroom, his scalp aching, his eyes puffy, his head feeling strangely light. Greg ran a hand through his shorn hair and winced, long strands coming away between his fingertips.
The van revved, a harsh sound all the louder for coming from inside the living room. He’d have to thank the Gems once they managed to get it back outside the house, but for now he grimaced, shoulders jerking. He tried not to think about Bluebird dangling him twenty feet above the ground, but it was hard not to when his scalp still throbbed.
And when he looked in the mirror.
“You can do this, Universe,” he muttered. He’d barely been able to look at himself after Steven had told him to go inside -- he’d called him Father, what the hell was up with that? Still, Steven had had a point. All Greg had been able to do was listen to his kid and hide in the bathroom, crying from the unexpected shock of the fight and the horrible sight of his long hair held in his arms.
But the adrenaline was over now. He’d seen Bluebird fly off into the distance, and he’d let his hair go into the sea, and he’d leaned on his son in a way he never had before. Now all that was left was the clean-up.
“Come on guys, help me get this up onto the warp --” Greg heard Steven through the bathroom door.
“I’m trying,” Amethyst grumbled. There was a horrible skurr noise. He hoped the van would survive their attempts to move it.
Greg thought briefly of going out to see what they were doing, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to help. Sometimes he felt so human around them.
He still wasn’t sure how Bluebird had gotten the van inside in the first place, anyway. All he remembered were the van doors flying open and a nasty little hand grabbing his leg. He bent down stiffly and lifted up his pants leg, unsurprised to see a ring of bruise marks around his ankle. He straightened back up, resolving not to tell Steven about it.
Greg shook his head. Don’t think about it. It’s over now. They weren’t here for you anyway. A flash of anger flared and faded, thinking of how they’d tried to use him to get to Steven. Yet he was the one with his hair poofing around his ears, long ragged strands wisping out at random places, the unevenness almost as painful as the loss itself.
“What a mess,” he murmured. He let out a long, shaky breath, then suddenly remembered. Hadn’t he gotten Steven one of those beard grooming kits for his birthday? Just in case? He rummaged in the cabinet drawer, coming away successful with a sleek wooden kit. He opened it and removed the scissors, which were comically small for trimming a head partially full of hair, but they would do. At least he didn’t have to go around looking like he’d chopped his hair off with a knife, even if it was the truth.
He flinched with each snick of the scissor, but it got a little easier as he went. Hair littered the sink, brown with streaks of gray. He tried not to wonder if it could grow back. He already knew the answer. There was a reason rockers in their fifties started cutting their hair.
He tried to smile. It hurt his face.
“If you could only see me now, Rose,” he muttered. He ran his fingers through his somewhat salvaged hair, his hands unused to how the strands ended so abruptly. His fingers twitched as he slowly lowered his hands to his sides.
Rose would have laughed, if she’d seen him looking this ridiculous. Oh Greg, what happened to your hair? You reformed! I love it! And somehow he’d wind up laughing too, the pain in his scalp fading, the fear and anger receding into the background, because how could he think about that when Rose was laughing so brightly --
She would laugh, wouldn’t she?
Greg went still. He thought she would. She’d laughed at so many things, those dark eyes warm and delighted, her beautiful laugh ringing around him like home, like family. But now, he wasn’t so sure.
What if he had it wrong?
What if she didn’t laugh at all? What if she cried, knowing he’d been in danger? What if she’d been angry, furious like her Diamond sisters? What if he didn’t know her well enough now to even guess? He didn’t know, and he fought back a sudden rising panic, ragged in his chest.
He’d become a different man these past seventeen years, fatherhood and grief and a comet fading all bearing down on him. Would she even recognize him? Mr. Universe was a ghost, his rocker hair floating in the ocean, and Greg was a paunchy middle-aged man who let his son fight his battles for him. Rose had loved the idea of change. But he’d changed now into someone she didn’t know, down to the terrible short hair, and he wondered if he had finally forgotten who she was -- if he’d lost this, too --
For the second time that day, Greg slid to the floor, buried his face in his hands and cried.
***
There was a knock at the door some time later, a neat little pattern. Steven, Greg thought blearily. He always used to amuse himself by coming up with clever rhythms when he knocked on the van, and Greg used to do the same on the screen door. He hadn’t heard one of those knocks in a long time, though. Something else he’d almost forgotten.
“Dad?” His voice was hesitant, low through the door. “Are you okay? Should I come in?”
“You can come in, Schtu-ball,” said Greg thickly, scrubbing at his face with one hand, trying to dry his cheeks.
Steven opened the bathroom door, still in his jacket and pajamas, now stained with grease from the van. He closed the door carefully behind him. Greg saw the way he looked at the sink, still full of hair, and the scissors, sitting forgotten on the basin’s edge. Steven swallowed and sat down beside him.
“How are you doing, Dad?” Steven asked quietly.
Greg straightened up, leaning against the wall. His shoulder brushed against Steven’s. “I’ve had better days. Worse ones, too. I’ll be all right.”
“Are you sure? I heard you, through the door -- Were you hurt?” Greg studied his son’s face, concerned. When had Steven started getting shadows under his eyes like that? Maybe it was just that he’d been woken up so early with all the commotion.
Greg stifled a rueful chuckle. “Nothing that needs healing powers,” he assured Steven. He’d be fine in a few days. “Just… just old stuff.” He almost said thinking about your mom but stopped himself, remembering the way Steven had stared down Eyeball and Aquamarine, the anger in the set of his jaw.
He settled on a different truth, an easier one. “I guess you hold onto something for long enough, it starts meaning an awful lot. That’s all.”
Steven was silent for a moment. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I think I know what you mean.” He rested his head on Greg’s shoulder, and Greg tilted his head until he felt Steven’s hair, thick and soft against his cheek. They sat there like that for several minutes, staring at nothing in particular. It was strange to not feel the weight of Steven’s head gently tugging his hair; strange, but still good.
Steven sighed, shifting. “You hungry?”
“Sure. Got something in mind?”
He lifted his head from Greg’s shoulder. “Let’s get some breakfast. Maybe that brunch place over by the U-Stor? We haven’t been there in years. Come on, I’ll drive.”
“Van still out of commission, huh?” Greg asked.
“They managed to warp it over to Little Homeschool, but it’s, uh… wounded,” said Steven, cracking a small smile. “Pearl says she and Peridot can have it up and running later today. Maybe by the time we’re done with breakfast.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Greg. “Help your old man up, would you?”
Steven scrambled to his feet quickly, then pulled Greg up as if he weighed nothing at all. Maybe to Steven he didn’t, he realized, remembering how easily Steven had caught him.
“Let me just get changed,” said Steven, opening the door. He glanced back at Greg, his expression somewhere between a smile and sadness. “Hey, Dad?”
“Yeah, Steven?”
“You know, I think you can pull off the new look,” he said. This time, the smile nearly reached his eyes.
Greg chuckled. “Thanks, kiddo.”
Steven nodded. “Back in a minute.”
Greg watched him go. He turned to leave the bathroom, but remembered the sink. As he brushed the hair into the wastebasket and blew a few loose strands from the scissors, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He tilted his head back and forth at a few angles. It wasn’t so bad, he supposed.
He wasn’t sure what Rose would make of it. He still wasn’t sure what he thought about it.
But Steven didn’t mind being seen in public with him like this, and that, that he could live with.
Last night I had a dream about Steven Universe, and in it the Diamonds punished gems who behaved badly (like Bluebird in the newest episode) by forcing them to watch footage of Steven saying he was disappointed in them.
