Chapter Text
Fuck.
Daniel knew he was dying. The Parkinson’s was killing him, and he knew it. But he was only sixty-seven, too young to be dying of old age. Too young to be dying.
What a crock of shit that was, he knew it, to be nearly fucking seven decades old and saying he was too young to die. He knew he was one lucky sonofabitch, to have acted the way that he had in the seventies and lived to tell the tale. But fuck. He was
dying
and it sucked just as much as he thought it would’ve.
It all started with a fall. Because of course it fucking did.
He hadn’t been doing anything outrageous; he wasn’t that kind of guy. But the result had still been the same. He’d been in the supermarket, of all places, and he was just shopping. He’d known better than to be doing all of that, in hindsight, he should have known better than to go out so late at night. It was around 9 PM. His tremors were always worse at night. He’d only taken his cane, too, instead of the rollator, rookie fuckin’ mistake. But he hated to rollator. It made him feel old.
Long story short, he fell of course(since that much had already been spoiled), and after he fell he felt so bad for the little teenaged girl who was manning the shop for the night. No matter how much he tried to reassure her that he was fine and that he falls all the time—which again, in hindsight, he realized made his case even worse—she called the ambulance anyway, and he found himself escorted to the nearest emergency room. When a doctor finally came and tried to see him, he basically pleaded for her not to call his family. He was fine, he said.
“But Parkinson’s often clouds our better judgement, Mr. Molloy,” was her response, and a few hours later, Katherine had driven down from New Hampshire.
She tapped her foot in brown kitten-heels. She didn’t dare look at him directly, but she glared at him every once in a while, and she looked just like her mother did. Though, she did have Daniel’s own blue eyes. On her hip was her own little bugger, Mannie, who was probably named after Alice’s father, but he’d long forgotten.
What was funny was that Katherine had never met her grandfathers on either side, but anything was better than naming her kid Daniel.
“Listen, Katie…” Daniel sighed, “It was an honest mistake. I didn’t need you to come down here, honest. This ER doc, you know how they are.”
Katherine huffed, “I know you don’t need me to be here, Daniel. You’re lucky that the doctor said you couldn’t be discharged by yourself. I wouldn’t have come otherwise.”
“How does that make me lucky?” Daniel rubbed his forehead.
The two of them sat in silence for a while, though Mannie babbled and played on his iPad. The kid had light hair and dark eyes, blond. He figured that Katie had been so miffed about him and Alice being her parents that she wanted to spare her IVF baby the heartache.
Ouch.
After a while, the doctor returned. Doctor Banuelos. She carried a clipboard and had a somber look on her face.
“Mr. Molloy? Ms. Molloy?”
Katherine cringed so hard that her neck retracted back and she looked like she had a double chin. She didn’t, though. She was skinnier than Alice was back when they were in their coke faze.
“Ms. Copenhagen is fine, thank you,” she tried to smile.
Dr. Banuelos tried to smile back, but it was stilted as all hell. “And the little one?”
“Mannie Copenhagen, my son. So, the clipboard?”
The doctor’s smile fell slightly. “Yes. Well, Mr. Molloy, do you remember how many years it’s been since your diagnosis?”
“Been about six years, doc. I think. Give or take.”
She looked momentarily puzzled but nodded. “Your regular clinic is private, and since it’s so early, I haven’t been able to get them to send it over yet. Unfortunately, you seem to be progressing slightly quicker than I would have liked to see, but given your age and lifestyle, I can’t say I’m entirely surprised. At least based on what you told my nurse.”
That pulled a laugh out of Katherine. That then drew a sidelong glance from the doctor, but she was too professional to comment on it.
“So, unfortunately, it’s looking like we’re making our way over into Stage Four Parkinson’s disease. This means that this is Advanced Stage Parkinson’s. Now, I’d recommend that you check in with your PCF as soon as you can, just so that you can get a more precise idea of what’s going on with your condition from someone who knows you well. But what we’re going to start seeing is a lot more challenges, physically and cognitively. More assistance with your motor skills—fine and gross—is probably going to be necessary. Communication difficulties are common. And I’d recommend a more… Reliable mobility aid? A cane might not cut it anymore.”
Katherine scoffed. “I thought you said you had your rollator with you.”
Daniel just chuckled. As Dr. Banuelos rambled on and on about how much more terrible his Parkinson’s was going to get, and how important it was to have support, and all the resources he could give, his head was in the clouds.
A part of him had never expected it to get this bad. He knew that it would get bad, sure, but he’d survived a lot worse. And Parkinson’s wouldn’t kill him, sure, but his life as he knew it was definitely ending. He could already see himself, sitting limp in a wheelchair with a quilt on his lap, drooling like a kid all over his laptop. Decrepit and old and useless.
He’d never actually imaginined that as his future until that moment.
Katherine nodded along with the doctor and rocked Mannie on her knee. Mannie. What the hell kinda name was that for a boy? What ever happened to Manny?
And then Dr. Banuelos made her exit, said she’d give them the room. And Katherine turned to him and sighed, and Mannie had suddenly fallen asleep. Or Daniel was missing time. Either way.
“So, Daniel, what’ll it be?”
Daniel blinked. “Huh?”
Katherine sighed and rolled her eyes. She handed him a handful of pamphlets and then readjusted her heels onto her feet before she stood, all without jostling the kid. “Your doctor said it might be time to look into Assisted Living.”
“Assisted Living?” Daniel guffawed, “Come on now, Katie…”
But Katherine simply turned her nose up. “What, did you think you were going to be staying with me? Oh, don’t look at me like that. This is on you. You’ve had plenty of time to come up with something, the Parkinson’s didn’t just sneak up on you, Daniel.”
There was an inclining of Daniel’s being that wanted to snap at her, to say he’s her dad, surely, he could get a little leeway here! But he knew damn well that he didn’t deserve that. Not at all.
“C’mon, Katie—”
“Katherine.”
Daniel sighed, “Katherine, right. Copenhagen?”
“I changed it for Mannie.”
“Right. Look, I get it. You hate my guts. But you’ve got a big house, Katie. I wouldn’t be a bother, they just think I’m a fall risk! I know I’m getting’ older, I just…”
He wasn’t lying about the space part. Up in New Hampshire, she had a quaint little one-story brickhouse out in the boonies. But for what it didn’t have in height, it had footage, it was damn near the longest house internally that Daniel had ever seen. Three bedrooms, four bathrooms, a woodburning fireplace, and a two-car garage. Basement too.
Katherine shook her head, “It would be a bother, though. I don’t want to be taking care of you and Mannie and myself. Plus, there really isn’t room.”
“Oh, Bull-fucking-shit, Katie. You’ve got a three-bedroom. I’m not saying long term, maybe just a couple months for me to get back on my feet. Find something… besides these… Care homes. I mean, what happened to the guest room? I distinctly remember you having three bedrooms. And a couch!”
“You’re not taking the couch,” Katherine rolled her eyes. “And the third bedroom isn’t a guest room anymore.”
“What?”
With her free hand, Katherine gently rubbed her stomach. “Baby Maeve needs her own room.”
“Holy shit,” Daniel was taken aback, “You’re pregnant? Again? Since when?”
“Since a couple months ago, eleven weeks, actually. Which you would’ve known if you came to the baby shower I invited you to. Let me guess, didn’t get the mail?”
“Shit kid… I… When do I get to meet her?”
“It’s fine. I don’t know if you get to meet her, honestly, Daniel. I gave you a chance with Mannie and I just… I don’t know if I even want my daughter knowing you, at this point. Look, maybe Marci can help you out, but I can’t. Now, you can call me if you really need something, but honestly? I’d rather you not. Now, my kid has school in the morning, and I have work, so I need to get back to New Hampshire.”
Katherine left. Daniel didn’t have anything else to say.
---
After a bit of pleading with the discharge nurse, Daniel was able to go home all by himself. It left a bit of a sour taste in his mouth, being treated like some kind of child. He taxied back to his apartment, and then he got on Reddit.
He hated to admit it, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to use. His tremors were horrible, even with his meds, and his eyes were going. He couldn’t type more than twenty words a minute, and out of those twenty words, only about half were legible. Recently, text to speech had become his best friend.
r/Parkinsons was a shitshow. Most of the people who posted there were the adult children of people with it, which was awesome, but that meant there was hardly anyone with Parkinson’s posting on the sub. And if they did have it, they were freshly diagnosed and panicking. Not his crowd.
So, he decided to change that.
r/Parkinsons
u/PrudentsScore554
Care Options outside of a Home
Keeping it short. Got Parkinson’s. Text to speech is a bitch to use. IPD if that matters. Doctor says it’s stage 4. Daughter doesn’t give a fuck about me. Well, my daughter is actually pregnant. Single mom. Looking for options outside of going to a home. Not happening. Any advice?
Daniel had always been told that his writing was more elegant than his speaking, but it was always a huge blow to his ego. He knew that he could always say exactly what he wanted to write, but it had always felt like two different skills. But hey, at least none of his fans would be able to recognize his style!
The responses he got mostly pissed him off. All of them were worried about Katherine, her kids, how they’d survive without their grandfather, how sorry they felt for her. Great advice from everyone, kudos!
In the end, he only got about five comments, a handful of upvotes, nothing helpful.
And then it came through.
Sweet-Cherub-Love invited you to chat
Daniel clicked the notification right as soon as he saw the little notification on his phone, even though he’d been using Reddit on the computer prior to.
Sweet-Cherub-Love: Hello
I checked your page.
You’re from New York.
I can take care of you.
I have experience with Parkinson’s.
I know how this sounds.
Would you like to discuss over drinks
Daniel couldn’t help but scoff. At first he thought it had to be a troll. But that was low, even for most Reddit scumbags. Trolling the Parkinson’s sub? Really? He also felt ever so slightly unnerved, but he didn’t think about that part too much. Had he posted that he lived in New York? He felt like he hadn’t. But that was fine.
He felt strangely pulled to reply to the message, even though it was weird. It had to be some sort of scam. Though, if Daniel had been running it, he’d try it in the dementia sub instead. Still, he replied.
PrudentsScore554: This would be a really scummy scam.
The person on the other end of the screen replied almost immediately.
Sweet-Cherub-Love: It is not a scam.
I do not want to scam you.
Will you meet me?
What I say is true. You are desperate for this.
Ok. Woah. Daniel wasn’t sure how he felt about the way that this total stranger was texting him. Like he knew what Daniel was thinking. Like he knew Daniel. It was creepy… So then why did Daniel…
PrudentsScore554: It’s not so easy to meet up for coffee in New York when you have Parkinson’s.
Sweet-Cherub-Love: I can come to you.
Daniel’s head felt a little bit fuzzy. Wasn’t that what the doctor said? Maybe his disease was progressing quicker than he thought… Because he knew it was a terrible idea, but…
PrudentsScore554: I’ll come meet with you.
They planned to meet the next morning, which was absurd and Daniel knew it. He figured it had to be some kind of fetish, right? That was the only possible explanation that he could think of. And what kind of guy did that make him, then, humoring something like that?
A guy who hadn’t gotten fucked in a long time, mostly.
But the next morning, at ten, per Daniel’s request. It was a fancy little bougie café down by Canal Street called Suited. When Daniel said he wanted to go somewhere closer, Cherub (who’s name he had not yet learned) insisted on Suited. When Daniel tried to pushback further, saying it would take him an eternity to get there, Cherub shot it down once more. He ordered Daniel an UberX.
Daniel didn’t think about how this person had his address.
The café was a thirty-minute ride. During that time, he did his best to try and reason with himself. He knew how fucking crazy he must have looked, and he felt fucking crazy too.
But he was dying. He was fucking dying. Even if the Parkinson’s didn’t directly kill him—which it probably wouldn’t—his life as Daniel Molloy, the spunky journalist who was actually really active for his age, was coming to an end. So, maybe meeting up with strange people from Reddit who somehow seemed to entrance him and happened to know just a little bit too much about him wasn’t the wisest thing ever, but fuck it. He only got to live once.
He’d perused the person’s page before meeting up with them. He wasn’t that crazy. r/ArtifactPorn, r/RevertHelp, r/FountainPens. It was all remarkably… Boring. But they did seem to post at least somewhat regularly, and mostly about things so mundane that Daniel was finding it harder and harder to believe this was some kind of scam or insane grift. It was just… Odd.
In some of the pics from the fountain pen sub, their hands were in it. Thin, long, dark, hairless, and manicured. Something sexual stirred in Daniel, but he Their handwriting was very good, but he was struggling to get any kind of read on this person, not even their sex. Hell, not even their name. He knew they were artsy, maybe Muslim, and brown.
It was risky business, and Daniel knew it. But he just felt so inclined to go, even though he didn’t exactly know why.
The café was just as swanky as it seemed on Google Maps. It was a hipster’s wet dream; the beams of the ceiling were exposed, the place was all industrial greys and pipes with the slightest indigo accent, filled slightly with a crowd far too young to be anything but Daniel’s grandchildren and the scent of Columbian coffee.
He looked around the room for the person he was supposed to meet. Sometimes, and Daniel knew he shouldn’t think it, but it felt like everyone in New York was some kind of brown. That, or Italian. Point was, he couldn’t tell who was who, and he realized that Mx. Mystery probably didn’t know who they were looking for either. He figured his age might give him away, though.
He pulled out his phone, and with his best grip he started to go on the Reddit app. His computer typing was treacherous, but texting on his phone was nearly impossible. Before he got a chance, though—
“Daniel Molloy.”
Tall, dark, handsome, familiar. But Daniel didn’t know him. Strong bones, big doe eyes, perfect curls that framed his face. As he looked down at Daniel, he smiled slightly through short lips. He was… Not at all white, but there was something so… Greek about his face. Not in the literally sense though, no, he didn’t look Greek. There was something ancient and deliberate about him. He seemed like he was carved, crafted, molded. All of his features fit his face like they chiseled there intentionally. He was beautiful. In the ethereal way.
Daniel felt more out of place than before. “Former student or former fan?” he tried to joke.
“Your sweet cherub,” the man smiled slightly wider. If Daniel could’ve still gotten hard, he would’ve. “We can order on the kiosk. What do you desire?”
Playing it cool, Daniel shrugged. “Flat white?”
“And to eat?”
“Not too hungry. What’re you getting?”
The man tilted his head. “There is nothing.” He quickly ordered on the kiosk and then led Daniel to a seat. A booth. Daniel sighed out in relief, glad he wouldn’t have to sit on the fucking metal stools.
There was silence for a moment as they sat. It was almost deafening silence, even though Daniel could hear the sporadic chatter, the frothing of milk. The man smiled. Daniel shifted uncomfortably. The man watched him, stared him down through dark eyes. His gaze was slightly off-center—not quite enough to be wall-eyed, but definitely unfocused. It was like he could see right through and past Daniel. Like he was seeing a part of Daniel that was deep inside of him. A part of him that wasn’t there. There was something sad about them, the eyes, they were wet and endless. A boat before it drifted into a storm it’d never return from.
The man’s mouth gaped slightly with Daniel’s thoughts.
Then Daniel blinked, and he was no longer entranced by the eyes. And he blinked again. He didn’t know why he was thinking the way he was.
“They’ll bring our food to us soon, I’m sure,” the man nodded, dragging his slender index finger against the table. “in the meantime, I am sure you’re to discuss.”
Daniel sucked in a breath. Right. “Right. So, let me get this straight. You, what are you, can’t be more than twenty-two, saw a random post on the Parkinson’s reddit, read through my entire page, learned my name, and you’ve decided out of the goodness of your heart that you want to help me?”
The man bared his teeth as he smiled, his eyes widening ever so slightly. “Well, I never said it was just pure goodness.”
Daniel knew he ought to be unnerved. Maybe even disturbed. But he found it harder and harder to feel so. He wondered if everyone became so blasé at the end of their lives.
Daniel’s coffee arrived. The boy seemingly didn’t order anything.
“There are many things I can do for you. You say your disease has advanced to Stage Four, yes? I’ll say, you’re remarkably dependent for someone who’s condition is so advanced.”
“I’m barely in Stage Four.”
“Still. But how long will this last, Mr. Molloy?” He traced circles on the tabletop.
Definitely an old student, then.
He continued, “your eldest daughter is with child and already has one, and your other daughter you haven’t bothered to reach out to because you know she won’t respond. Writing, your only source of income, has become almost impossible. Even if it weren’t a hit to your pride, you can’t afford to go to a care home with your insurance. The insurance you’re worried you won’t be able to afford, but you need it for your Levodopa injections. And…”
The man lifted Daniel’s flat white with the delicacy of a marble sculptor.
“You haven’t even touched your drink. You keep your hands under the table to hide the tremors, but you’re self-conscious about the way your head shakes. You need assistance, and I am willing to serve. Anything you’d need. Anything you’d like. Anything. Let me.”
As he lifted the mug to Daniel’s mouth, careful not to spill any of the coffee, he tilted his head forward and down—submissive and docile—and through his thick lashes, he started at Daniel like a puppy.
“Drink from me. Take from me. Use me.”
Daniel took a sip of the flat white. It tasted far too expensive for his taste, so he was glad that he wasn’t paying. He kept his face decidedly neutral. So, the kid had some kind of fetish, and maybe he was a stalker, and definitely Daniel had been his professor before (even though he hadn’t taught in about fifteen years, too long ago to have been teaching a kid this young), but none of that really mattered. It was fucked up, it was weird, but Daniel was so into the guy it was out of this world. He knew that was fucked up too.
He'd never heard of a Parkinson’s-oldman-submission fetish, but there was a first for everything. And Daniel realized he was just as dirty as the boy for wanting this.
Fuck, he was so wrong. He was so fucked up. This kid had to be at least a decade younger than his daughters.
Though Daniel already knew he was going to hell. And he was sure his life among the living was going to go to shit sooner than later.
So, as he pulled his head back away from the cup that the man had placed up to his lips, he smirked.
“Sure, yeah. Let’s do it.” He paused, “wait, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Oh,” the man smiled, slightly darker now. “You can call me… Rashid.”