Chapter Text
[Leo]
It’s summer and no clouds are hindering the sunbeams falling through the windows of the classroom and creating a stuffy air that makes it hard to stay awake. The room is filled with hearty yawns and occasional desperate sighs.
Leo glances at the clock on the wall and sighs in disappointment. Still more than half an hour to go. Time merely creeps forward today. The hands seem like two snails, running a race which neither of them is winning.
Leo looks at the paper in front of him and chews on the end of his pencil, frowning.
He has already solved all the math exercises. Even the additional task. As usual, he’s been the quickest. As usual, he’s bored. As usual, he’s disappointed. Leo thought, school would be exciting. His mother always told him he would love it. Would learn something new every day. But she didn’t tell him, he would have to wait so long to learn new things. It’s always the same.
Tiny steps. Everyone around him is taking tiny slow steps, like turtles. Unhurried. As if it doesn’t matter to them, that there are so many things to explore, to discover. How can they be satisfied with this?
They are slow. And Leo has to adjust. Which seems unfair, honestly.
All the time, he knows the answer immediately after the question is asked, but he isn’t allowed to say it, because everyone else around him is supposed to think.
It’s always like that, not only in maths. When his classmates read a text, as slow as snails, Leo reads the text four or five times in the exact same amount of time.
But sports is the worst, without a doubt. He’s not good in anything when it comes to sports. Neither at soccer – which is one of the many things his father is complaining about – nor at anything else involving a ball. When they form teams, he’s always chosen as the last one. And the team that gets him always groans. Fortunately, the teacher sometimes seems to forget he’s even there. Once, he was able to spend the whole lesson on the toilet. Another time, he could sneak into the library.
The little library actually is his favourite place at school. In the breaks, he always goes there. The librarian, Mrs. Reid is nice. At least she doesn’t tell him he’s too young for some of the books, like other teachers do. He sits down in a corner, leaning against a big fluffy stuffed teddy bear, and starts to read. He forgets the world for a few wonderful minutes, until the bell rings and he has to go back to the classroom. It seems like the walk gets more difficult each day.
His classmates doesn’t make it easier. They always seem to find something they can mock him for. One day, it’s his clothes. They are all old and worn out. Right now, he can put his toe through a hole in his sock. His sweater has holes too. On other days, they just tell him he’s a smartass and thinks he’s better than them. Sometimes, they call him a freak and a weirdo, because he isn’t interested in anything else than monkeys and could talk about them for hours once started. What’s wrong with monkeys? He once asked. They just laughed. Which confused Leo to no end, because you’re supposed to give an answer to a question, right? The worst moments are those, in which they mock him for his difficulties, to deal with changes or certain sensations. He has to gag when he smells fish, for example. They seem to find that incredibly funny. Leo’s aware he’s being bullied. But he never goes to teachers to snitch.
It’s easier to stay quiet and be unobtrusive. Eventually, you are overseen and maybe even forgotten. He knows that from experience. Also, his mother told him to stay kind and be the better one. He’s really trying.
Leo throws another glance at the clock. There’s still so much time left … He feels the overwhelming urge to jump up and move. But you can’t do that in school. So, he’s swinging his legs instead. Forward, backward.
Once, he swings his legs too hard and they bump against the chair of the boy in front of him, who glares at him and says, “Hey!”
“Leo, stop that,” the teacher, Mrs. McKinney tells him and gives him a stern look, from where she’s sitting at her table.
Leo freezes. He forces his legs to stop moving and crosses his ankles. If he doesn’t behave, they maybe they would phone his father again. Ask him to come to school, to talk to the headmaster. That would make him angry. Alistair Fitz is angry every day now. But there are different stages of angry. Some lead to a few words that cut deep but aren’t leaving marks, others lead to no food or worse: Cellar. He shivers at the thought alone, even in the warm air, forcing himself to sit as still as possible.
Someone from behind is chuckling and he hears whispering. Leo ignores it.
He got used to his classmates being bewildered.
Even the teachers look at him strangely, like there is something about him that worries but at the same time annoys them. Sometimes, it’s pity he reads in their eyes.
Once, Mr. Fisher asked him, if he wanted to talk about his mother. Leo asked why, in confusion. Why should he talk about his mother with the teacher? What should he want to hear about her? He didn’t know her. The teacher smiled and said, maybe it would help. To process. Leo still didn’t understand. But he tried anyway. Because he learned it was easier to do what makes grown ups happy, instead of confusing or annoying them with too many questions.
He told Mr. Fisher he really missed his mother. Which was and is the truth.
He misses her so much, it hurts.
Sometimes, he can’t help but feeling angry. Betrayed. And hurt.
When they were at the zoo once, she promised him they would go visit the free monkeys in the jungle one day.
She promised. And promises you have to keep. Right?
But now she is gone and she will never come back. He has seen the coffin. Black and smooth. A bouquet of white roses on it. He had to wear a suit. It was uncomfortable. Scratchy. His father had looked at him, with a combination of anger and resignation. “Now I’m left alone with you. Great.”
Leo knew he was being ironic. He just didn’t really understand why.
“Maybe you’re not even mine. Who knows,” his father added.
Leo didn’t understand what that meant. But he sensed his father wasn’t happy. No matter what he did, he never managed to make his father happy. He still tried. Most of the times.
He goes home and tells him about another test, where he got a straight A. Or he crafts something in art classes, gifting it to his father. But he never got more than an annoyed humming.
It was pretty difficult to be a good son, Leo figured.
Finally, after what might have been an eternity, the bell rings, and they are free to go.
When Leo comes home, his father is snoring on the couch. He’s still holding an empty bottle pressed against his stomach.
It isn’t an uncommon sight.
After he put his bag to his room, Leo taps to the fridge on bare feet, as quietly as he can, to steal some food. His father wouldn’t notice. At least most of the times.
Once, his father woke up while he was taking something out of the fridge and he got so angry, it was actually scary. He yelled incoherently and dragged Leo down into the cellar, leaving him there until it was almost night.
It was cold. Leo shivered and curled in on himself, feeling sad that he still was not good. He wants to be. But somehow he doesn’t manage. He never manages. And so he deserves the punishment. He wouldn’t be punished if he didn’t deserve it.
This time, his father doesn’t wake up and Leo eats in his room, before he sits down to do the – boring … - homework. He’s done in a few minutes and lays on his bed to read. Unfortunately, he had read all his books four or five times now already and he’s too scared to ask for new ones.
When it gets evening, his father wakes up and Leo hears him rummaging around in the kitchen, speaking to himself loudly.
Leo wonders if his father feels lonely. Leo does. Often. He doesn’t have friends. Maybe it would have been nice to have a brother or sister, like so many children in his class do. Or a pet. A dog. A cat. A … monkey. His face lits up at the thought. He could teach the monkey to get him food …
Leo dives deep into his daydreams, letting them drag him away …
Until the door is ripped open and everything begins to be scary and painful.
He doesn’t even get why his father is angry. He doesn’t understand the slurred insults screamed at him. He’s grabbed by the collar of his shirt and gasps for breath desperately, his stomach clenching at the thought of being dragged into the cellar again. This time, he’s actually sure he didn’t do anything bad – or is it because of the food? He tries to speak, but he can’t. There’s not enough breath.
When his father’s grip loosens a tiny bit, he finally manages to croak, “I’m sorry, I …” But his father doesn’t let him finish. He yells again and throws Leo back on the bed violently, starting to unbuckle his belt. A wave of fear rushes through Leo. Oh no. Not this. He would rather choose the cellar. Although he knows exactly, it only makes things worse, he tries to scramble away. His father grabs his arm and pulls back and twists and – Suddenly there’s a strange cracking noise. One moment, he feels almost nothing, then, his body is on fire. He screams.
His father lets go of him, breathing heavily. There’s a moment of silence, only interrupted by Leo’s whimpers. His arm is stretched out in a strange angle and he can’t move it. It feels like it’s being ripped off.
“Crap,” his father says almost matter of factly. “We’re going to the doctor,” he adds after a long moment. “Come on …”
Leo is pulled up again, and screams again. “And stop screaming,” his father growls. “Take it like a man for once.”
“You’re going to tell them you tripped on the stairs,” he says when they were driving to the hospital by bus, because he’s too drunk to drive. There is a hint of panic in his voice. “Do you hear me? Don’t you dare tell them what happened.”
“Alright, Dad,” Leo whispers, trying to suppress the tears, by biting his lip so hard, he tastes copper.
Proper men don’t cry.
When Leo comes into the classroom the next day, his arm is in a cast. Everyone stares and whispers. But this time, they are not laughing.
Why not, Leo thinks dully. What’s not funny about this?
“Leo. What happened?” Mr. Fisher asks, frowning.
“I tripped on the stairs,” Leo mumbles and hurries to his place.
The teacher is staring after him. He’s still staring, when Leo sits down. He avoids the gaze and stares at the cast instead. His skin is itching under it. But he can’t scratch. He hates the feeling.
It takes forever until the bell rings. Everyone jumps up and yells, running outside as quickly as possible. But when Leo tries to exit the room, Mr. Fisher calls, “Leo. Please wait.”
Leo frowns. But he stays, waiting until every other child left the classroom. Before he can get out too, Mr. Fisher closes the door and tells him softly, to sit down. Irritated and confused, Leo obeys. Mr. Fisher sits on the edge of his table and looks at him for a moment, so intense, it gets uncomfortable. Finally, he asks, “Leo. What happened to your arm?”
“I told you. I tripped on the stairs,” Leo says, hoping that will be enough.
Mr. Fisher looks at him for a long silent moment. Then he says, “I don’t believe you.”
Leo blinks. He feels incredibly confused. This has never happened before.
Mr. Fisher folds his hands in his lap and asks again. “What happened? You can tell me, Leo. I won’t tell anyone else.”
“I tripped on the stairs,” Leo repeats firmly. He gets nervous. His stomach feels strange.
“Well. I want to talk to your father about it,” Mr. Fisher says firmly.
Leo’s eyes widen. The line I’ll talk to your father is connected to the memories of a lot of bad days. “Please don’t,” he says and curses himself for it just a second after.
Mr. Fisher frowns. “Why not, Leo?”
“I … Uh … He gets angry. And I don’t like that.”
“Does your father often get angry?” Mr. Fisher asks, suddenly looking sad and knowing at the same time.
Fitz swallows. He lowers his head and stares at a crack in the wood of the table. He doesn’t say anything. He feels strange. He doesn’t like this talk. There’s a ringing noise in his ears. It’s annoying.
“Leo. Did your father hurt you?” Mr. Fisher asks, sounding like his voice is coming from a far distance.
The ringing gets louder. Leo bites his lip so hard he tastes copper. Time passes. The ticking clock is the only noise in the room now, while Mr. Fisher waits, with this same serious, sad, knowing expression on his face. “Leo?” He presses. “You can tell me. Nothing is going to happen to you.”
Nothing? If only Mr. Fisher knew … There are a lot of things that could happen. Like being dragged down into the cellar and left there until it’s dark outside. Or the belt. Or … the thing his father did to his arm.
He can’t tell him. Doesn’t want to. He was told what he’s supposed to say. He’s going to be good.
He decides he’s not going to talk. Maybe never again. It’s no use.
Mr. Fisher talks a lot. But his voice is so blurry now …
Leo doesn’t listen. He stares at the crack in the table and shuts the world out.
Eventually, Mr. Fisher phones someone.
Suddenly, strange people surround him.
They ask him a lot of questions. Poke him. When they touch his ribs, he flinches violently and whimpers. Apparently, they got hurt yesterday too. They speak in a worried soothing voice, but Leo just wants to vanish.
He wants his mother. Why did she have to go? Why did she have to leave him here alone?
A woman tells him he’s going to be safe. They’re going to help, they’re going to …
Leo stops listening. He curls in on himself and puts his hands on his ears. He doesn’t notice that he started rocking back and forth, or that he began to cry silent tears. It takes a while until the same woman orders everyone else out. She touches his unhurt arm gently, but when he flinches back violently, she seems to understand he doesn’t want to be touched and just sits on the floor beside him, talking softly.
[Maria]
Maria Hill takes a pull on her cigarette and exhales the smoke into the sharp morning air. She is standing in front of a white house with dirty-yellow stains, bracing herself for another undoubtedly unpleasant confrontation with a guy. She has had three this week so far. She has a feeling that this might become the worst one.
After years in this job, she has developed a certain radar. She has taken one look at the boy – Leo Fitz – and could already craft out a mental list of the things he had to endure for who knows how long, although, unfortunately, he isn’t talking to anyone at the centre.
Way too thin for his age, ducking whenever someone approaches him too quick or speaks too loud, his eyes haunted and almost always filled with fear …
She shakes her head. There are days on which she asks herself why she’s doing this job. Of course, she knows why. She wants to help those, who can’t help themselves. No one told this kid that he had rights, that what his father was doing to him was cruel and he had to get out of there. So now she’s there, to take care this is not going to continue.
A police car slowly drives around the corner and Maria smiles. There is her backup. Not that she necessarily needs it. She mastered Kung Fu, as well as Judo and Karate. But still … things have proven to go smoother, when there’s someone in police uniform and with a weapon is involved.
The car stops in front of the house and an officer she knows steps out, waving at her.
“Hello Tom,” she says and smiles.
He smiles back. “Maria. You’re alright?”
She sighs and puts her cigarette out. “Well. As alright as you can be in these situations.”
He grimaces in sympathy. “Bad?”
“Most likely. The boy hasn’t been talking to anyone yet. But the teacher’s information makes me think this is a case of extraordinary cruelty.”
He touches her shoulder lightly. “We’re going to get him out of there, if that’s the case. Ready?”
Maria just nods and Tom knocks at the door.
They wait a moment.
When the door finally opens, Maria breathes in a wave of alcohol. A sickening combination of booze and beer.
The man looking out has piercing pale-blue eyes, that remind her of ice. They are hazy but wild at the same time. His hair looks dishevelled. He’s wearing his underwear. The fact, that he opens the door like this makes her tick another box on her mental list. Yes. He looks like the classic alcoholic. And she immediately feels repulsion.
“Alistair Fitz?” Maria asks, while the man is looking from her to Tom and back, frowning.
“Yeah. That’s me. And you are …?” He asks, his voice heavy, accent pronounced.
She shows him her badge. “My name is Maria Hill. I’m a child’s social worker. We’re here to talk to you about your son. Leo.”
“Huh.” Nothing more. The man just scratches his head and stares at them.
Maria clears her throat. “Can we come inside?”
“If you have to …” He makes a vague gesture and taps inside. They follow him. Inside, it reeks even more of alcohol. The house is untidy and the kitchen dirty, the plates piling up. Maria ticks another box on her mental list. They sit down in the living room, at a table covered in empty bottles. “Aren’t you worrying about your son? He didn’t come home from school yesterday.” Maria says.
Alistair Fitz drops on a chair heavily and shrugs. “What do I know where the kid is prowling around? Leopold’s old enough to look after himself.”
Maria feels a hint of disbelief. “He’s ten, Mr. Fitz.”
“Yeah. He is.”
Maria watches as the man shakes one of the bottles and clears her throat. “Well. Leo is currently at our child protection centre. There was an incident at school. A teacher was worried about Leo’s arm. He asked him how he hurt it. And he said he tripped on the stairs. The teacher wasn’t convinced. When he asked further, Leo showed he’s scared of you. But he still said he tripped on the stairs.”
Alistair watches her over his bottle, his eyes getting even colder. “And that’s true,” he snarls. But Maria sees his pupils flicking to the left side and sees his hand tightening around his knee. A lie, she thinks and isn’t surprised. Sadly. “There are no stairs in your house where this could have happened, Mr. Fitz,” she says softly. “The teacher and we think, that you hurt Leo. Like you hurt him before. He came to school with bruises before. Couldn’t attend the gym class, because his ribs hurt. And he didn’t want to take his shirt off, when the kids went to the swimming pool. Now we know why. He has scars on his back. They look like something hard and metal hit him there. Do you want to say anything to this?”
The man’s eyes have widened while she was talking, but now, unexpectedly, he barks out a husky laugh. He gets serious again pretty quickly, glaring at them and raising a finger. “Listen. Closely. You have no right to tell me how I handle my child. Y’all are way too soft. So what if my son gets the belt from time to time? Teaches respect. It taught me respect of my father as well.”
“So you admit you’re beating him?” Maria asks, surprised and sad. That man isn’t even trying to deny it. Apparently, he doesn’t think of it as cruel. Tom beside her, looks just as put off as she feels.
Alistair Fitz raises his chin. “Well, Madam. I’m a free man. I decide how I punish my offspring when he’s misbehaving.”
“What you’re doing is child abuse, Mr. Fitz. Furthermore, your son is malnourished and obviously didn’t receive proper doctor’s care. His clothes are unwashed and worn out. They are not adequate for the weather. His teacher told me he has never any food at school with him. The physical abuse and the neglect are obvious. Of course, we will give Leo a chance to give his views as well. When he starts talking again … For the time being, we’re going to remove him from your household and …”
For the first time, Alistair Fitz perks up and looks at them with full attention. “Wait. What are you … He’s my son. You can’t just take him away from me,” he says, his voice getting louder, words slightly slurring.
Maria notices how Tom shifts on his seat beside her. “Yes, we can, Mr. Fitz. Through a child protection order. You can’t do to him what you want. He has rights. Child cruelty is a serious felony. You’re causing him physical and emotional pain. He’s not safe with you.”
Now, Alistair gets up and supports himself on the chair, swaying slightly. “What are you expecting? I lost my job! I! They … The system did this to me, right? I delivered them so much and they just told me to piss off, because Mister Smartass who just finished university could do it better! Then my wife died. Left me alone with this little brat. She didn’t teach him any respect. Didn’t teach him how to be a man. I have to do everything alone, so what, it can happen I forgot the food, eh? It can happen I forget to buy some bloody shoes or whatever. I have a lot to think about! And like I said, teaching respect has to be permitted in this bloody country! That thing with his arm was an accident. It happens. A man can bear it …”
Maria gets up as well. Time to end this. She has enough. “Like I said. This is a case of child cruelty. We will start a child protection case conference, where we will decide how to protect Leo from further harm.”
Alistair raises his eyebrows. “What exactly does that mean?”
“We will make sure Leo is taken care for. Properly. He might be placed in a foster home. Somewhere he can grow up safe and healthy. To make sure he’ll be able to live the life he deserves.”
“You really think you can just take my kid away from me?!” Alistair growls and takes a few steps towards her. Maria prepares herself mentally.
Tom steps beside her and puts his hand on his gun. “Please remain some distance, Mr. Fitz. You will want to do this quiet and peaceful. You’re already facing a sentence because of child cruelty. I don’t think you’ll want to add an attack on officials to the list.”
“I think you still don’t understand the severity of your situation, Mr. Fitz. We’re not only here to inform you we’re taking your son away from you. We’re also going to arrest you for child cruelty.”
“You can’t be serious!” Alistair yells.
“There are prison sentences for cruelty to a child. We have witnesses and will ask Leo to testify against you,” Maria says coldly. “You’re not going to get another chance to hurt him.”
“You … you bitch!” Alistair spits.
“Insults are only adding to the list of your offences, Sir,” Tom says calmly and steps forward, grabbing his handcuffs.
It doesn’t take long, until Alistair Fitz is shoved into the police car, still cursing.
Maria watches and sighs, feeling nauseous.
The job never gets easier.
Now she has a boy who won’t talk to anyone and he will have to testify against his father. She knows someone who could help, but she isn’t sure, if he wants to …
[Phil]
When he gets the call, Phil Coulson is trying to figure out, where one of his side characters is. Somehow, he lost him. He’s at chapter sixteen of his newest book and things got complicated. He taps the end of a pencil against his chin – a habit he has already developed in his early teens, when everything in school beside history classes was way too boring – and sighs, scrolling up to chapter number fourteen.
Suddenly, the melody of “Country Road” starts playing loudly and Phil flinches. He drops the pencil. Frowning, he reaches for his mobile. There are few people who would call him on a Sunday morning.
“Morning, Phil,” says a familiar voice.
“Maria,” Phil says matter of factly. He’s not really surprised. “Everything’s alright at the frontlines?”
Maria sighs heavily. „Not really. Look, Phil. There’s a boy. Ten years old. We took him away from his father two days ago. Child cruelty, the father doesn’t even really deny it. Thing is, the boy isn’t talking to anyone here. Not to me, not to Nick, not to our psychiatrist. But we need a statement. And I need a foster home.”
Phil gets up from his chair with a groan – his knees have seen better days for sure - and starts to pace the room. “I told you I’m taking a break, Maria. To finish my novel. You’ll have to contact someone else. Sam maybe, or …”
„No. I think he needs someone like you. He needs a calm peaceful place and someone who has a lot of experience. Phil. Come on. Don’t tell me you don’t miss to have a kid in your house.”
Phil sighs and rubs the back of his head. His lips twitch. “Now you’re being unfair. You know me too well. What more is there you know?”
He mentally braces himself. Maria’s kids always have a back backstory. Sometimes, both parents died in a car accident and there’s no other relative able or willing to take care of the child. Or parents have too many problems, drug use, alcohol abuse. It’s never pretty and always heartbreaking.
Leo Fitz’s story is gruesome. Painful. And it’s almost looking scripted. Like a horrible movie ...
It starts with the mother’s death. She died of cancer not that long ago. Since then, his behaviour changed. He appeared at school quiet and often too late, his marks declining even though his teacher is sure he’s too smart and should skip classes. His appearance also started to change. He got thinner, looked ungroomed and his clothes were old, full of holes or dirty. The teacher says, he got a bad feeling first, when he noticed the clothes always had long sleeves, even when it was very warm.
Phil’s stomach clenches. Yes. The first tale telling signs of something being wrong …
Apparently, the boy’s father showed up at school once or twice. Angry and intimidating. The teacher said, he had the impression that Leo was scared of him, but tried to not show it. Eventually, the boy showed up with a broken arm. He said, he tripped on the stairs. For the teacher, it sounded like a memorized line – Good, Phil thinks. People don’t always decide to actively do something. That teacher could have said something sooner, but they need to be glad he said anything at all. – and decided to let Leo stay after school, asking him questions. Again, he had the impression the boy was scared of his father, he repeated the stair-excuse again and again, until he finally stopped talking at all. The teacher called Maria.
The father called beating the boy “teaching him respect”. Phil feels a sudden rush of hot white anger and disgust. The man was arrested and could face a long prison sentence – if there was enough evidence.
But they don’t have a lot. The teacher’s statement, the impressions of a neighbour and the most obvious prove like malnourishment, bad teeth care and such things.
“You want the boy to testify against his father?” Phil asks, wiping his forehead and closing his eyes for a moment. That’s never easy. Neither for the child nor for anyone involved. He has seen scenes of children sitting in a court, while their parents yelled at them. Such things could get very, very ugly.
“Yes,” Maria says quietly. “It’s our only chance to get that man into prison and away from him.”
“What’s with the relatives?”
“Hmm. Grandparents died already apparently; we couldn’t find someone else. Alistair Fitz said he’d had a brother but doesn’t know – I quote – where the bastard and shame of a man is straying. I don’t think there’s someone in their family who could take care of him properly.”
“I see.”
Phil glances towards his laptop. He worries his lip with his teeth, already feeling quite stressed. His stomach still hurts from what he heard.
“Phil? What’s your decision?”
He sighs. “This is a lot, Maria.”
“I know. But … I also know no one who would be more qualified for this than you.”
“Alright … Give me a day to prepare.”
“I will. The drive is long anyway. Why did you move again?”
“The weather, Maria … You know how my back reacted to hit.”
“Is it really better where you are now?”
“Most of the times, yes. Are there any things he likes?”
“well, his teacher said he was always drawing monkeys. He seems to enjoy learning new things, he’s always been quicker than the other kids. He doesn’t like sports. But he reads a lot.”
“Alright. Thank you. Goodbye Maria. See you tomorrow.”
“Goodbye. And … Thanks, Phil.”
Phil lays his mobile aside and closes the document.
His novel will have to wait. There are a lot of things to do now. First, he has to prepare the room. After Daisy left to study – Oh. He still misses her. At least she calls every three days. It’s always hard to say goodbye to a foster kid. But it makes him very happy when they are able to live their own life, when they are getting the future they deserve … – the room hasn’t been used for a while and it got quite dusty.
Phil sits down and writes a list of things he’s going to need.
He will also have to go to a lot of doctors. Thankfully, he already has contacts. Doctors, who know how to deal with terrified, traumatized kids.
There are going to be nightmares. Flashbacks. He might need a therapist. But well. That comes later. If there is a later. It depends on what they decide 21 days later, at the child protection conference.
When he’s finished with the list, he decides to do some grocery shopping first.
Outside, it’s raining, but fortunately, it’s just a drizzle. It’s bearable. And it certainly fits his current mood. He has never been able to distance himself from all the horrible things happening to the kids fully. Nick always says that makes him special and he shouldn’t fight it. But sometimes, Phil wishes he could shield himself from it better. Because it hurts. A lot.
At the shop, he buys everything he knows kids like. Cereals in different flavours – he even finds a package with monkeys on it – orange and apple juice, everything he needs to make some of his chocolate chip pancakes – which Daisy once declared world’s best pancakes – a lot of fresh fruits, yoghurt and so on. He also grabs a stuffed monkey, a few crayons and a new drawing pad.
Once he’s home, he’s cleaning the children’s room and changes the bedclothes.
After that, he sits down at the table in the living room, taking a few breaths.
I’m as ready as I can be, he thinks and grabs a newspaper.
He is wrong.
“Phil!” Maria calls, when she exits the car, looking a bit tired. “It’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you too,” he says, his eyes settling on the boy she’s gently unbuckling and telling to get out. He moves somehow mechanically. When he stands on the street, he looks incredibly small. The first thing that comes to Phil’s mind is: God he’s so thin.
One arm is still in a cast and the boy holds it to his chest awkwardly. He looks up at Phil, but his eyes are hazy and it’s almost like he’s looking through him.
Maria lays a hand on his shoulder gently, but Phil still sees how the boy winces. They walk to him, and Phil tries his best to smile without showing the sadness rushing through him. His heart aches.
He crouches down, to not look so intimidating, and reaches his hand out slowly. “Hey buddy, I’m Phil Coulson. Want to tell me your name?”
The boy just stares at him. Maria smiles and says, “That’s Leo. Leo Fitz.”
“Hi, Leo,” Phil tries again, his hand still reached out. When he realizes, Leo won’t shake it, he pulls it back slowly, noticing how the boy follows it with his eyes. “You’re staying with me for a while.” He gets up and opens the door for them.
Leo takes a few stumbling steps into the living room and Maria takes her hand off his shoulder.
Phil closes the door. Almost immediately, the boy winces and runs away. Phil follows him with his eyes, while Maria exhales a sigh. Leo disappears up the stairs.
Maria turns around to face him and smiles weakly. “Well. That’s Leo.”
“That’s Leo,” Phil repeats. “Still not talking?”
“No. I tried a few things while we were driving. Got not a single word from him.”
“Yeah. Well. Remember he’s confused and scared and doesn’t know what’s going on right now. We’ll be alright.” Hopefully, he adds in his mind.
Maria’s smile widens. “I’m sure you got this, Phil. Please look after him. God knows that kid deserves some comfort.” She sighs heavily and leaves.
Phil decides to give the boy some time to calm down, and goes to the kitchen to make pancakes. He thinks they are always a great icebreaker.
When he’s finished, he goes looking for Leo.
It takes a while. But eventually, when he comes into his sleeping room, he hears soft breaths coming from the wardrobe. They get heavier, when he enters the room. Phil feels his heart starting to ache again.
He crouches in front of the wardrobe, putting the plates with the pancakes on the floor beside him. “Hey, Leo. I figured you might be hungry. I made pancakes. You like pancakes?”
No reaction.
“Guess we’ll have to eat breakfast here then,” Phil says lightly. “Alright.” He sits down properly and grabs his plate, starting to eat a pancake with his fingers. His knees are aching a little. But it’s bearable.
After a long while, the door of the wardrobe opens a tiny bit. It creaks softly. Phil sees some curls, and then an eye, wide open and stunningly blue.
Phil smiles at him. “There you are. Do you like pancakes with chocolate chips? I hope so. I ate the ones with blueberries.”
Leo's eyes flick to the pancakes and back to Coulson's face. He swallows. And after a moment, Phil finally hears his voice. Small and not more than a whisper. But it's there.
“I like both,” He says, adding a quick “Sir.”
Phil feels a rush of relief. “Alright buddy. You don’t need to call me Sir. Just Phil is perfect.”
He watches as Leo takes the plate, looking at the pancakes. His stomach growls and Phil chuckles. Leo looks at him surprised. But then, he takes a pancake and starts to eat with obvious delight. Phil watches him smiling, while he’s eating his own. This might be the strangest snack he has ever had, but he starts to think, they’ll get along.