Work Text:
“Jay,” Evie says, and Jay’s heart drops before he’s even turned around. “What’s this?”
It’s no coincidence that Carlos has edged towards the door or that, when Jay does turn around, Evie has planted herself firmly by the window. She cocks her head to the side, motioning towards the open draw in the wardrobe. Jay briefly considers pushing past her and leaping out the window, but then he remembers that Evie always carries a knife.
“Uh,” he stalls, trying to think of an excuse his gang would believe. When nothing comes, he just states the obvious. “Jewellery.”
Evie scoffs. Jay begins to itch: heat prickling his face and his fingers becoming restless.
“So you bought it, did you?” She raises an eyebrow.
There is something in his stomach: something with claws and thrashing teeth and a moon-drunk howl and jay knows that when it rips out of him there will be no blood to soak the carpet and stain his gangs’ fingers. Boys like him don’t have that sort of humanity: they have swinging fists and crow-black eyes. Jay trembles when he hears the thrum of the heart he thought he outgrew in his head.
Evie is watching him, and so is Carlos, and Mal, and Jay never meant to be this vulnerable. That isn’t his job. He protects and he intimidates. That’s what he’s kept around for; what makes him useful. There is no time for weakness on the isle. Jay prides himself on being steady-footed and unflinching. Yet Evie’s question has him cowering like some pathetic child.
“No.” The word tumbles out, a mess of thorns and daggers and perhaps a few flower seeds. And he doesn’t say I’m sorry because Isle kids don’t say I’m sorry, but he says “I know I let you guys down,” and that’s nearly the same thing.
There’s a look on Evie’s face that has his toes clenching in his shoes and an aching sort of heat crawling across his eyes. He’s not a liability. He’s not soft. Look, he wants to shout, I can feel my heart beating for the first time in years. He wants to scream, I was raised on broken glass and a raw throat. There is nothing to me but the bones under my skin.
“Hey.” It’s Mal that speaks, in that rough way she does, from where she’s sitting on the bed. She shrugs. “The Isle properly fucked us up.” And she looks at him, and it's not a smile, but it nearly is. An understanding, a reassurance, in that fraught way Mal does.
Jay studies his captain, but her face is as unreadable as ever. Good. Evie’s closed the draw.
“Why did you do it?” She asks. Her eyes meet his. She’s challenging him.
There are snakes that lurk in every corner of his memory, fangs bared and dripping venom like tears down a little boy’s face. There’s a hunger that isn’t quite hunger but still leaves him hollow; a ravenous longing for something that can’t be slipped between nimble fingers or forced from knuckles against skin or be begged for from a father. But it blossoms timidly, dangerously, when mal rests her head on his shoulder or when one of the other two hold his hand.
“In case we’re sent back,” Jay says, forcing himself to hold Evie’s gaze. “So I have something to show for it.”
It’s silent for a moment, and then: “so that’s why you’ve been eating,” at Carlos’ dejected voice, Jay clenches his jaw.
Jay only takes what he’s earned. If he can steal your necklace, he’s earned it. If he sleeps on the rug instead of in the damp streets, it’s because he’s earned it. If he can grab the bread from under your nose, he’s earned it. If he can eat that bread, it’s because he’s earned it. It felt wrong to eat for no reason. You aren’t just given something without a price. There is always something to lose.
And he’s ashamed of it but sometimes he lies awake at night, staring at the dark expanse of the ceiling, and imagines his father’s face when he returns to the Isle with rings and brooches and shit he’s never seen before. Look, ab, he’d say, are you proud of me? And his ab would grin and let him sleep inside for a week and wouldn’t raise his fist once. And Jay would sleep knowing that he earned it all. That he was rewarded for being better than he was.
Evie walks towards him, takes his hands. Hers are cold. “We get it,” she says. “It’s really hard. We did what we did to survive. But it’s okay now. We’re not going back.” Her jaw is set.
And Jay lets himself believe her. Even for a moment. He lets his shoulders drop. When they’re all together like this, he knows they’re safe.
Carlos is there to wrap an arm around his waist and Mal rests her head on his shoulder and he has to clench his lips to stop a breathless laugh from escaping.
Jay isn’t weak. He doesn’t cry. He finds joy in breaking someone else’s ribs. And he doesn’t say I love you because Isle kids don’t say I love you, but he draws the three closer to him and that’s nearly the same thing.