children, your time is done; if you say it's done together

[confidenceman]

When James Ford woke up that morning in an unfamiliar building, in a bed larger than the one in his house and a room so bare that it almost reminded him of the hospital, he didn't panic. Most things seemed unfamiliar to him, those days. Places that had once been familiar, like his grandparents' house, like the classrooms in his school, or even the pews of his church, never seemed the same anymore. The world had wrapped itself in velvet, almost, something dark, heavy, and against which James couldn't push very far, keeping him from feeling much of anything of the outside word. Keeping him trapped in his own thoughts. Wherever he was, it didn't matter— he was sure that someone had put him there for a reason, and that someone would find and whisk him away again before long— and so James simply slid his legs off the side of the bed and dropped to the floor.

Whoever had dressed him for bed hadn't done a very good job. The t-shirt that he wore was several sizes too large, and his underpants were just about falling off. Tugging them up as well as he could, James quickly stumbled over to the large dresser in the room, pulling every drawer open until he spotted a few plain t-shirts that looked like they'd only be slightly too big, and a pair of jeans that could be held up well enough with the aid of a belt. Wordlessly dressing himself, James peeked around the rest of the room, a faint voice in the back of his mind reminding him that today was the funeral date.

(And the thought alone brought tears to his eyes, but he shook his head vigorously; mama wouldn't have wanted him to cry.)

He pushed past the curtains of the room, unseeing. Pushed into another room, where a projector was playing cartoons in the background, where a bookshelf was piled high with books. Spotting a pen and pad on a nearby table, James looked carefully around before sliding them off with quiet hands and tucking the pad under his arm. He passed through a kitchen filled with sights, sounds, smells, but it didn't matter— he wasn't hungry. Standing in an empty hall, James looked down both ends, before turning left, to the doors marked as an exit, quietly pushing one just a fraction before he stood under the brilliance of the sun, a porch and steps in front of him.

Peeking around again, James pressed his lips together, walked forward to sit himself on the top step, and laid the pad across his knees. Now that he was alone, he could do this.

Dear Mr. Sawyer, his pen scrawled in uneven writing.


[ Eight-year-old Sawyer, after a night spent in the dorms for easier access to the showers, is now sitting on the front steps of the Compound and writing his famous letter. ST/LT more than welcome, no limit on threads. Replies will come from giveyouthis. ]

Comments

[giveyouthis]

Hearing a voice that was probably calling out to him— because most people seemed keen on making sure that he was okay, or at least asking to check if he was, even if they should have known that he would never really be okay now— James turned to look briefly over his shoulder, expression even as he looked the woman from head to toe. She wasn't anyone he could remember seeing before, and she didn't use his name. Maybe she was someone new.

Just a few weeks ago, he would've greeted her with a smile, let her know his name. Those days, it felt like too much to even speak up, most of the time. So James turned back to his letter again, staring down at the lines there.

He nodded, belatedly, in response to the question.

[tricksthetreat.livejournal.com]

This was a serious one, alright. Moving closer, she sat down on the step next to him, still leaving some room so he didn't feel like was crowding him too badly. Stretching her legs out she leaned back looking at the sky. Some kids didn't like to be bothered, to be crowded and sometimes it was just enough to be there.

But Trixa wasn't convinced he was that kind yet.

"Anyone looking out for you, or are you just hanging out today?"

[giveyouthis]

Whether or not the woman sitting by his side was a comfort, James couldn't decide. There were times when he wanted nothing more than to be in his own room, to shut the door and lock it tight, making sure that no one else came inside. But every single time that he'd tried, he just ended up crying, he just ended up feeling lost, the reminder of just how alone he was too much for him to bear. With a slow inhale, James continued to kick at the step, his hand gripping the pen so tightly that his fingers trembled from the effort.

"Just... writin' a letter," he mumbles quietly, a crease forming between his brows.

[tricksthetreat.livejournal.com]

"Anything I can do to help while you're writing? Bring you some fruit juice or something to eat?"

She knew better than to pry, the way the kid was holding that pen she was worried it would break and that told her he was stressed, worried, maybe angry. Those weren't emotions she wanted to make worse, or call attention to. Food, comfort, the kid looked like he could use both.

She could relate.

[giveyouthis]

It was impossible to keep on writing, impossible when this lady wasn't even telling him to stop, just wanted to know if he needed anything to eat. Or if he was thirsty. There had been so many adults lately who had tried their best to tell James what to do, what to feel, reminding him of how there was still so much more to fight for, but it wasn't like James didn't already know all of that. It wasn't like he didn't know that people would miss his parents. Finding someone who just wanted to take care of him for him, it was new, it was strange, and James set down his pen, feeling his thoughts fade into a faint buzz in the distance.

"I ain't got no money," he said, twining his fingers together, a thumb pressing strongly enough into his palm that the surrounding skin turned white with the pressure. "And I'm not supposed to let other people pay."

[tricksthetreat.livejournal.com]

"Then you, kid, are in the right place."

Trixa stood, offering the kid her hand, smile still on her face. Nice, friendly, safe, that was what kids a long that age needed. And no bullshit. Trixa had pretty good track records in all four areas when she tried, and she really was a sucker for strays. Especially little boys that seemed to be alone, or even sullen runaway teens and for a moment Trixa had to fight the pang of homesickness she felt at the memory of finding Zeke and Griffin, hungry an on the run, hiding in her back room.

Shaking it off she jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "I happen to know that the owner of this building keeps a very well-stocked kitchen and lets kids eat free all the time. As much as you want."

[giveyouthis]

It wasn't easy work for James to suppress the tears that seemed to well every single time someone showed him a kindness that went beyond his age, that wanted to look after the person inside, that reminded him of the smiles that his mama used to give him every morning. The hand that the lady offered was just that, and James managed an ugly cough before he quickly rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, not wanting to show weakness, but guessing that she'd see it anyone. The smart adults always did. Biting down on his lip, he pushed away his reservations, and reached out a careful hand to wrap around hers.

"Like... like the buffet?" he asks, hating the quaver in his voice and resolving to speak as little as he had to. "I— I used to go to the buffet. They made the adults pay, so they told me to eat everything I could, kinda make up for the money."

[tricksthetreat.livejournal.com]

Jesus, how long had this kid been on his own that a simple offer of food was enough to make him cry? It took a ton of self-control not to just pick him up and give him a hug, but based on the way he was trying to hid things, trying to be a man, she figured he wouldn't appreciate it. Always with the stiff upper lip, and she wondered who had decided that little kids always had to fake being so tough.

"Sort of, but it's just a big kitchen. There's always enough for sandwiches and things in the fridge and people make fresh juices from the things that grow around here."

She motioned to the forest beyond before leading him inside, giving his hand a little squeeze in lieu of the hug she thought he really needed. "Some of them are really, really good."

[giveyouthis]

Still sniffling, James' hand closed tight around the lady's before he could stop himself. There was something so comforting about it, being led around by someone who knew better, by someone who didn't try to strip his feelings down to the core or tell him what he was supposed to do. Not long after, he felt the rest of his emotions strike, guilt that held his steps heavy, that pushed the toe of his shoe forward to kick away a stray pebble on the porch, that clung tightly with his free hand to the pad that he still needed later to finish the letter. It was just wrong, James thought to himself, not to tell her that she needed to be careful. As he continued to scuff his shoes against the floor of the porch, James spoke up at last.

"Okay. I like juice. But..." Hesitantly, he stared up at her, eyes briefly following her dark curls of hair, quite unlike anyone he'd ever seen before. "Do you know a Mr. Sawyer around here? Have you heard of him?"

[tricksthetreat.livejournal.com]

Trixa moved at the speed she thought the kid could handle. His concentration was impressive in the face of free food, but then the tears he seemed to be fighting meant he was definitely focused on something else. But she wasn't the type to pry, simply returning each squeeze with a smile and an unspoken promise that she wasn't going to leave him alone. Her Mama would eat her alive if she abandoned an innocent little kid, hell, Trixa'd volunteer.

But the name the kid gave made her pause, 'cause sure, she knew Sawyer. The man who'd thought she was someone else, the one she suspected of having a past. And here was this kid, looking terrified and sad and a hundred emotions she'd love to make go away, asking her if she knew him.

"Like Tom Sawyer? I've heard the name around." She paused, kneeling so she could look at the kid eye-to-eye. "Do you know a Mr. Sawyer? Did he hurt you?"

She would kill him.

[giveyouthis]

James very nearly recoiled when the lady crouched down to look him straight in the eye. It was unlike the treatment that he'd gotten from most people lately. Most people averted their gazes, like he'd break if they looked too close, or like they didn't want to get anywhere near the sadness or grief. He couldn't blame them. Maybe they were just afraid too, like if they looked death too much in the eye, that it'd come chasing.

(And while James knew that it wasn't true, there were times when he felt like death might as well take him then, because he didn't have very much to keep on living for.)

But eventually, he met her eyes, and it was with an edge and wear in his eyes that most didn't see in full-grown adults, let alone children of his age.

"He took money from my mama," he said quietly. "When pa found out, he shot my mama. Then he shot myself. So Mr. Sawyer killed my parents. And I need to tell him what he done."

[tricksthetreat.livejournal.com]

She had to take a deep breath. Two, in fact, before she was able to speak again. Because all she saw was red. The red of blood, the red of fire, the red of destruction. Con if you would, the stupid deserved it, but little kids were OFF LIMITS. And while she didn't know who the kid was... she knew Sawyer.

That southern-fried-asshole.

Still, Trixa managed to keep her temper under check, for the kid, and now despite her earlier misgivings, she pulled the little boy into a hug. How could she not?

"If you can't find him, kiddo, I will. And I'll tell him myself if I have to." While holding his feet to a fire, if she had her way.

[giveyouthis]

James immediately froze up when she hugged him, not expecting the contact, not knowing what to do with it. Had it been his mother, he'd know. He'd know to hug back so tight and all strong, because nothing broke his mama, and she always told him that James never could. (Nothing broke her until pa came in the door, anyway, looking mad as can be and broken himself.) Gradually, he raised his arms and tried to hug back, but it wasn't easy.

"Don't tell him," he begged. "Don't tell 'im. It's gotta be me, okay? 'Cause he's real good with women and I... I wanna tell him myself. For my mama and my pa. You can—" He paused, trying not to tear up, but it was a bit late for it then as a couple started sliding down his cheeks.

"You can tell him that James Ford's got somethin' to say."

[tricksthetreat.livejournal.com]

Feeling that the hug might have crossed a line, Trixa pulled back a little, keeping a hand on his shoulder and using the other to wipe away some of the tears. Sawyer was good with women, hmm? Well she was equally good with men, they'd see who had the last laugh.

"You got my promise, kid, I'll tell him. Now, why don't we get some food?"

She gave him a reassuring smile, the hard part was over, the rest could take care of itself now. Food, maybe a game, maybe some rest. God knew, the kid looked like he could use it.

[giveyouthis]

His eyes squeezed shut as soon as her thumb passed over his cheek, brushing the tears away. Maybe there was a part of him that was tempted to just cry even more, have her smooth the tears away every time, but instead James swallowed down his tears, his emotions, convinced that this was the last of it he'd show. Nothing would get done if he was just crying all the time. Nothing. He wouldn't find Mr. Sawyer, he wouldn't make his parents proud, if they were really watching down from heaven. (Sometimes, he didn't know if he believed that they were, didn't know if heaven was real, didn't know how God could take his parents away like that. But others said things happened for a reason, didn't they?)

"'kay," James quietly replied, trying his best to act like everything was normal.

[tricksthetreat.livejournal.com]

Trixa took his hand, leading him back inside, towards the kitchen. Soup and a sandwich, some kind of comfort food, nothing too heavy, but something that might take a little while to eat so he could get his composure back. If acting strong, holding on was that important to him, she'd make sure he had the time he needed to shore up his defenses.

"You have somewhere to stay, is there someone looking out for you?" He hadn't mentioned anyone earlier and that worried her. He really shouldn't be alone, not in his current state.

[giveyouthis]

There wasn't a point in lying, James thought to himself. With a woman as gently persistent as the one holding his hand, no doubt she'd wait with him, wait until someone came along to keep him safe. There was no one like that. James didn't even think that he wanted someone to try, anymore. Losing them was too hard. Sometime ago, he'd heard someone say that it was better to have loved, but James... he wasn't so sure.

He didn't think it was possible to know now.

"No, but I just need a bed," he mumbled, shuffling his feet. "Just somewhere I can sleep, and I promise I can do work and earn my keep. I just don't wanna go back to my uncle. He's not really family."

[tricksthetreat.livejournal.com]

"I don't think you need to worry about your uncle, at least not for a little while."

She led him into the kitchen, hoping he'd take some reassurance from the familiarity of it. Kitchens were... normal places, especially for kids. Kitchens meant food, comfort, safety, places they spent time with their parents in... in better times at any rate.

"But as for the bed, there's a place for the kids here somewhere, or you could come home with me. Either way, we're not going to make you work. You might get some chores here and there, but not like, march you to the mines."

[giveyouthis]

It was a real big kitchen, all things considered, and James' eyes were open wide as he went about exploring it all. He didn't dare touch the cupboards, but he did peek inside the pantry, at the shelves upon shelves of food, more than he'd ever seen in one place, except for maybe the supermarket. Whatever this place was, James could tell that it was meant for a lot of people all at once, and he wondered briefly, thinking about the room that he'd seen, if it was a place for kids without families. Kids without parents.

An orphanage. That'd make sense.

Somehow, the thought was calming. Other kids without parents wouldn't ask him where his were. So he nodded, looking up at the woman. "Maybe I'll just stay with the other kids. But I'll do chores, swear I'll help out. Ain't no reason not to."

[tricksthetreat.livejournal.com]

"No reason not to."

Trixa echoed his statement with a smile, resisting the urge to muss his hair a little before heading towards the fridge. There had to be some soup makings, or at the very least sandwich makings. It wasn't like there was a deep-fryer around so she could whip up some cheesesticks or chicken wings like she used to for Griffin and Zeke. Or, rather, Leo would. But there had to be something around she could pull together and she started pulling things out and setting them on the counter.

[giveyouthis]

He watched her as she wandered around the kitchen, pulling together food to eat, so easy that she might've been, he thought, a mama too. Usually there were two kinds of adults, the sort that got along with kids, or people who didn't know where to begin. It was clear that she wasn't the second, and as James waited, he found himself eventually too impatient to keep quiet for long, nerves on edge and no single place in the kitchen allowing him the space or quiet that he'd need to finish his letter.

"Are you a mom?" he asked quietly, tilting his head and following her around, as though maybe he'd find an opportunity to help soon enough, if only he stayed close.

[tricksthetreat.livejournal.com]

Trixa's hand hovered above a loaf of bread at the question, steady, not shaking, but still... it paused. Pulling the loaf close, she grabbed a knife and sliced a few pieces off, setting them on a plate and bringing it and the assortment of cold meat with fruit and veggies to the table. Sitting next to him, she started assembling the lot into a sandwich her voice a little soft with memories as she spoke.

"I'm not a mom, never had kids of my own, not really likely to. But what I do is take in strays. Sometimes a kid or two'll get lost here and there, find their way to me. I'll give 'em some food, maybe let 'em stay over a few nights until they can find a better place. I never turn away a kid in need, it's my soft spot." Probably the only one she had, come to think of it. Innocents. Which made her hate whoever hurt him even more.

[giveyouthis]

He remembered that phrase. Soft spot. So many of his family had used it when it came to James, whenever he visited their homes, whenever his family gathered for reunions. He'd never understood what it meant at first, taking the phrase too literally, but after some time, they'd explained it to him in a way that he could understand. Having a soft spot meant that they wanted to help, and that taking care of him... felt good. James' fingers twined as he thought about it briefly, his shoes brushing against the floor.

"I think if you've got a soft spot for kids," he suggested softly, still not quite sure if it was his place, but feeling more and more like he had to say something to thank her that wasn't a simple two words. "You'd be a good mom. The sandwich looks mighty good." He looked up hopefully, unsure if he'd said he right thing at all.

[tricksthetreat.livejournal.com]

"Thanks, kid. That's very sweet to say." She ruffled his hair again, going back into the fridge to gather her own snacks, figuring she might as well as get something to eat, not really knowing how much time she'd end up spending with this kid, making sure he stayed out of trouble and away from the island's less reputable denizens. Not that anyone here was truly... that bad, at least not that she'd uncovered. Still, day like this, no sense taking chances, right?

"But I like borrowing kids, not really sure what I'd do with one of my own. Except make my Mama laugh while she watched me try and figure it out."