But*ter*fly

Hey Dad, just hold on a sec," I whispered as I slipped out of bed as silently as possible. I cringed when Jason stirred slightly as I tiptoed to the door, quickly closing it behind me. "Okay, what's up?"

"Why are you whispering?" Dad asked, the frown ringing clear in his voice.

"Jason's still sleeping," I said, padding to the kitchen. "He had a rough night after winning the semi-finals."

"Oh, I can imagine," the man chuckled. "So you're taking good care of him like a good little housewife?"

"Well, I can't get pregnant, so how else am I gonna trap him?" I deadpanned, and Dad roared in laughter.

"True. Pitty though, those would have been adorable babies." I smirked at the thought. "Could you maybe drop by Atlantis today, though?"

"Why?" I asked cautiously.

"Oh, I got you a present," he said breezily.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with Michael Kahale's broken collarbone, would it?" There was silence on the other end for a full minute.

"How'd you know?" he asked cautiously.

"Well, the girls at last nights party were distraught that they wouldn't see him in a speedo for a while." I pulled out a bottle of water as well as a club soda from the fridge.

"Fine, you caught me," my father groaned. "The idiot went skiing over Christmas break and fell down the slope. Now I'm down a fly swimmer, and the other swimmers aren't anywhere near Mike's times. Not to mention, none of them has the stamina for multiple fly races."

"I've only been back in the water for three months, and only for rehabilitation." I sighed as I dug out some crackers. "I haven't trained to compete since middle school."

"Yes, you've only been in the pool for rehabilitation, but you've been focussing on butterfly because it was the fastest way to get your back muscles stronger to support your spine. And all the work you've been putting in at the gym also focussed on your back. Not to mention, you specialised in butterfly back in middle school, so you're comfortable with the rhythm."

"Dad, I'm not ready to compete." Frank walked in, nodding in acknowledgement before he grabbed a bowl and box of cereal out the cupboard.

"Percy, I timed your laps before the break." I hesitated before I let out a heavy sigh. Had he seriously timed me without me knowing? We had agreed that we wouldn't time my laps until a month before the summer season. That's when I would focus on getting my times up to scratch. Until then, I would focus on my technique, my strokes, on building up my core and the latissimus dorsi muscles desperately needed to stabilise the movements. There's a reason the butterfly stroke has a reputation for being the hardest swimming stroke. It's a fucking bitch.

"Dad..."

"You were born with a talent for butterfly, Percy," my father cut me off. "Its both a blessing and a curse, I know that. But you were born with the smoothest rhythm I've ever seen."

"What was my time?" I relented with a heavy sigh.

"You weren't even really trying," my father lit up. "But you matched Mike's times on two hundred meters."

"Yeah, but as you said, I wasn't trying." I rolled my eyes as Frank sat down with his bowl of cereal. "Throw me into a meet where I go all out, I'm gonna die in the last fifty meters, and you know if a swimmer dies in butterfly, they fucking die. It's brutal and disgusting to watch."

"Percy, you know as well as I do, there are only two different settings for butterfly. Fast or agony. I've watched you repeatedly swim two hundred and fifty-meter butterfly sets for the last month without seizing or dying out once. You were damn lucky that the years of football kept your muscle toned up so you'd have the strength and stamina to jump back into fly the way you did."

"So, four events?" I groaned out. "The fifty-meter, hundred meters, two hundred meters and the third leg of the medley relay?"

"Yep," my dad said, popping the 'p'.

"I'm not making any promises, but we can have a look at my times on Monday."

"You are the best son a father could ask for." I could clearly hear the smile in my father's voice.

"Hold on, the final answer depends on what you're bribing me with, old man." Frank chuckled. "The gift you mentioned I had to come to fetch today, remember that?"

"Oh, I think you'll like my payment," my father chuckled.

"Okay, let me just set Jason up with some food and everything and I'll come right over. I have to grab a few things from my room, anyway."

"Sure, I'll have a hangover care package ready for you take back for Jason, too." I laughed before saying goodbye and hanging up.

"Morning," Frank said through a mouth full of food, resembling the cutest chipmunk ever.

"Morning," I turned to put on the kettle and grab a tray. "Is Hazel still asleep?"

"No, she went to get breakfast with Nico. Thanks for giving her your bed last night." I smiled at him over my shoulder, pulling out Jason's tea collection to make him ginger tea. I had looked up which drinks were best for hangovers yesterday, fully anticipating Jason's undead state today.

"No sweat, dude. Do you guys have anything planned for today?"

"Nah, just hanging out until she drives back this afternoon." I set the water, club soda, crackers and tea on the tray.

"Can I ask you a big favour?" I asked sheepishly.

"Sure," Frank shrugged.

"I have to go pick something up from my dad. I'm gonna set him up now, and I'm only gonna be out for an hour or two, but could you watch Jason for me? He shouldn't need anything, but just in case?"

"Yeah, I'll watch him," Frank nodded. "Poor guy probably feels like he was hit by a freight train."

"Thanks." I grabbed the tray and made my way back to Jason's room. He groggily glanced up at the door as I walked in, setting the tray on his bedside table. I ducked into the bathroom to grab him some aspirin before slowly sitting on the edge of the bed next to him.

"I made you some tea," I said softly, not wanting to jar his senses this early in the morning. "It should help. Take the aspirin and small sips and bites. If you drink too much or overeat now, it's not gonna stay down."

"I don't deserve you," Jason smiled up at me weakly.

"I'm gonna have to duck out for a bit, though. Frank said he'll help you out, so if you need anything, just yell." He gave me a limp thumbs up. "Love you." I pecked him on the cheek before I got up.

"Love you too," he mumbled as I left.

The trip down to Atlantis was quiet. I played soft music, the drone of the engine calming me down enough to think. Was I ready to compete again? Or was the unsettling feeling in my chest just the usual nerves every swimmer get when told they have to swim the two hundred meters butterfly?

In truth, I had missed it. The satisfying burn in my muscles. The way each and every muscle fibre contracted and expanded in a graceful, rhythmic movement that flowed like the water surrounding me. The blissful moment of silent weightlessness after your final touch to the wall in a race, before everything comes crashing back and you can feel the water around you warm up with the heat radiating off you.

But I had to take into account the bad too. The amount of sheer power you needed to drive into each and every stroke leaves your body completely numb. The unavoidable spasms in your neck and shoulders after that leaves your arms seizing up and you start T-rexing. It's even worse when these spasms hit during a race and kill your rhythm. Your left barely being able to lift your arm, literally battling to keep your head above water. Was I ready for that? Some part of me knew I didn't have much of a choice. I have come to grudgingly accept that I am a butterflier years ago, just like so many swimmers before me. You carry the weight of the title because you know so few ever get the chance.

I pulled up into a parking space, making the trek down the pier to Atlantis. I stepped through the doors to find the dwindling stream of the breakfast rush. I took a seat at the counter as I watched my father bark orders at the kitchen staff, not yet noticing me. When he turned, and our eyes met, he smiled easily, his shoulders slumping into a slightly more relaxed position as he strode over.

"Get my son some breakfast, Ben. Thanks." He poured me a cup of coffee before handing it and a little gift bag he pulled out from under the counter, over to me.

"Let's see if your offering suffices." I pulled the giftbag closer. What I found inside left me thrilled.

"You got me a skin?" I asked grinning, taking out the royal blue material. The jammers had white stitching with dark grey accents. "Oh my gods, I love it."

"Does that mean you'll compete?" Dad raised an eyebrow at me.

"If you get me one more, yeah," I shrugged, and my father rolled his eyes. He pulled another bag out from under the counter with a smirk.

"I know my son," he said plainly. The second pair was black, with neon graffiti design accents starting on the inner thighs, wrapping up over the hips and framing the ass. They were gorgeous.

"Okay, when's the meet?" I asked, eyes still glued to the tiny jammers.

"Next weekend."

"You really think I'm ready?" I asked tentatively, my leg bouncing. "I mean, you've been my coach my whole life. I don't want to embarrass you by bombing."

"You'll be fine. We'll run you through a couple of sprints against Mitchell on Monday and see how you react to racing again. And work on your pacing throughout the week, so you don't die out in the meet," Dad said soothingly.

"And the team's not gonna be pissed that I got pulled in like this?" I bit my lip. "They've worked hard to get a spot on the team. I've barely started up again, and I'm getting a full four events."

"You think any of them actually want to swim the butterfly events?" Dad asked amusedly, and I laughed.

"Definitely not the two hundred meters." Ben placed a plate filled with pancakes and bacon in front of me, before tending to the other patrons at the counter.

"I gotta get back to the customers," Dad said as he left me to my food. I ate in silence before I dashed up the stairs to grab a few things, including a couple of books and pamphlets Jason should read. Stuffing them and my two new skins into a backpack, I bounded down the stairs again, where my father was waiting for me.

"See you Monday," he said, handing me a hefty takeaway bag. "Give my best to Jason."

"I will," I said, giving the man a hug. "See you."