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]

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."