Work Text:
“Waiting for someone?”
Matilda starts as she finds the space beside her occupied by a tall, broad-shouldered man with blond hair. As if to dispel the impression his shadow casts, he smiles with surprising gentleness and holds up his hand to reveal a wedding ring. “Not making a pass, promise. But the way you were watching the door, figured you could maybe use an extra set of eyes.”
“I'm fine, thank you,” she demurs. And here she had thought meeting in public would be less awkward.
“You sure?” His eyes flick to her water glass, its surface still rippling from a few seconds ago when she set it down after her trembling hands threatened to spill it all over her good skirt. “Not trying to pry, but if this person you're waiting for isn't exactly welcome...”
“He's my brother.”
“Ah.” The stranger doesn't look away from the water glass, but he does edge away from the bar stool. “I'll leave you to it, then.”
But Matilda's surface calm can no longer hold her roiling emotions, and the whole thing goes tilting over the edge. “No, I'm sorry. It's just that we haven't seen each other in years. We were...split up when we were young, and didn't really keep in touch.” Of course, she hadn't known where to direct any letters, and Michael's occasional postcards mostly began with “Mum and Dad would kill me if they knew I were doing this...” “I still haven't figured out what I'm going to say to him.”
“Yeah?” Her sounding board seems unfazed by this confession. Perhaps he finds himself on the receiving end of them quite a bit, if he goes about offering his help to nervous-looking bar patrons on a regular basis. “Well, I imagine the first question with anyone you haven't seen in ages will always be, 'So, what you been up to, then?'”
“Good point.” She manages a smile. “Only I'm afraid it'll make things more awkward.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? What have you been up to, then?”
“I'm a social worker,” Matilda explains. Or at least, covers as much as she feels the need to share with this man, surprisingly good listener though he has proven to be. No point raising additional questions by discussing the extra degrees and research and consulting projects while she waited for the world to take her seriously at first sight, and then for the alarming instability of puberty to pass (which, unlike her powers, only seemed less controllable the more she studied it). No point raising the memories of her advisors' disbelief and criticism for herself, either.
Then again, perhaps the additional detail would have kept him from zeroing in on the main point so accurately. “Because of what split you up.”
“Yes,” she admits. “Our parents were...” She doesn't want to say crooks, because she doesn't want to have that conversation either, and she doesn't want to say anti-learning, because she isn't sure this man will understand the true depth of that crime. “They didn't know how to be parents. Not to me, anyway. And they decided they would rather not. I was lucky; I found someone else.” This elaboration, she skips over because she has never found the right words for what Miss Honey has meant to her. “Not every child does.”
“No.” The stranger's expression goes very far away, and she wonders what he's not sharing. “Including your brother.”
Once again, he has managed to cut to the core of her fear. “He was a good kid.”
“But maybe not such a good adult, with them for role models and all?” She can see the effort as he wrenches himself away from his thoughts and returns his focus to her. “I wouldn't worry. When your mum and dad aren't...fair parents, or particularly good even if they think they're being good to you, eventually you figure it out. You still love them anyway, but in spite of all that. And you learn from it, and you try to do better. You know?”
She smiles. “I think I do.”
“Big D!”
A skinny man with glasses and untidy black hair stands in the doorway, waving. Her companion straightens up. “That'd be my lunch appointment, then.” He holds out his hand. “Best of luck.”
She shakes it firmly. “Thank you. For everything.”
He gives her a salute as he walks away and claps the man she feels almost certain is more than just an acquaintance to him on the shoulder, before the two vanish into a booth. Matilda settles back in to wait.