Chapter Text
It was seven thirteen in the morning when Mrs. Barbour went to see about the commotion at the door.
Theoretically, it would have been one of the kids to open it. All of them were up at this hour and ready to go to school, but Kitsey was still at the breakfast table having woken up behind the others, and Chance was helping Andy carry a rather large robotics project to the door. Platt was gone, and Toddy was in the bathroom. To this day, Mrs. Barbour thanks God himself for the arrangement of people that day when she opened the door because that was the moment when she saw a small, bruised, disheveled child at her door.
That’s how she remembers it now, at least. Then, however, she saw a ratty child who stank like chlorine and B.O carrying a large duffle bag, and she had no idea who would let that boy into a pool let alone how he got up past the doormen outside of sheer luck. Even less appealing was when he opened his mouth to talk to her, teeth obviously having been unbrushed for days. It took him three tries before he talked.
“Theo is here, yes?”
That was a shock to the system. Mrs. Barbour simply hadn’t heard from him since last Thanksgiving when Kitsey passed off the message that he wished them a happy one. Always so lovely, she regretted not having his number to call back. And with that, she genuinely wanted for him to be here. Shoot. He was… she came out of her reverie.
“What do you mean? Were you one of his classmates?”
“What? No. I mean yes, I mean-” His tone was rushed, urgent.
She looked at him, still cool. “You know, sweetie, I think my husband may know a bit more.” She looked over her shoulder before raising her voice, “Chance, would you come here a minute?”
That rattled the kid.
“Listen,” he said, as if she wasn’t already listening. The child pulled out a letter from his pocket. “This is your address, yes?” he asked before reading it aloud.
Mrs. Barbour could, in fact, confirm that that was her address, the one he was standing at, but he had to know that already. There was no use in confirming that for him. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t know what this is about.”
“Let me start again,” he said, far more calm this time. “My name is Boris, and I am a friend of Theo Decker. We know each other very well—” When she looked, he was wearing a shirt far too small and with at least three layers of stains that she had bought Theo a full two years earlier. “And I am looking for him.”
Either he stole the shirt off Theo’s back, likely given the look of him, or Theo gave this boy the shirt.
“Well, sweetie,” Mrs. Barbour wanted to break it to him gently but resolutely, “Theo is in Las Vegas with his father.”
“Mrs. Bahor—”
“Barbour.”
“Yes, Bahbor.”
“That’s not. Nevermind, go on sweetie.”
“Mrs. Bahbor, you do not need to lie to me. If you just go tell Theo I am here, am sure he would want to say hello. I just brought him some more items,” he said, lifting the duffle bag slightly. “Tell him Boris is here.”
Mrs. Barbour stared at him again in bewilderment. “What was your name again?”
“Boris Pavlikovsky. Am Theo’s friend.”
“Chance, Darling?” She called out loudly, “Just a second Boris, I think my husband may have some idea of what you are talking about.”
A voice came from across the apartment, “One minute, love, just helping Andy.”
And now they were stuck, just looking at each other from awkward angles, him up at her while standing so small. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen.” A year older than Andy. He didn’t look it, but then again, Andy didn’t look fifteen either. “Don’t worry about your husband. I can wait. I really wish you would just tell Theo I’m here though.”
The kid was stubborn or stupid, or maybe he was something else entirely, but Mrs. Barbour had been looking at him for at least a minute and a half before he had spoken, a near perfect ninety seconds and they were long. There was literal dirt on his face and, standing near his stench long enough to forget about it, she could see that in front of her was a child who hadn’t seen running water in days.
“Why do you think he is here?” she asked him more gently.
“Theo told me he would run away to Barbour When shit hit the fan. This is letter he wrote year ago, never sent to Barbours. It has your home address. ” He still pronounced it Barhors. For a moment they shared eye contact, him impatient yet unready to move and her slowly catching on.
“What do you mean shit hit the fan?”
“Father died. Is he here?”
There was nothing she could do but tell him the truth, investigate when he left because. “No, he’s not here.”
Boris sucked his lips between his teeth and looked at the ground. Quietly, he said, “You mean he did not make it?”
“Did not make it? What do you mean did not make it?” She asked, looking more frazzled than she meant to lead on.
“Has been gone two weeks. Stupid Potter got kicked off bus or forgot to get on, is lost in middle of America now. Last time I borrowed a phone, he said nothing, but it is Potter. Can’t tell the truth when something is wrong.”
“Potter?”
“Theo. Stupid boy got lost in Ohio.”
Mrs. Barbour was far past frazzled now. “You said you borrowed a phone to call him?”
“Yes.”
The kid looked at her like he was pleading. He also looked like the type to steal a wallet, but he looked like a kid even more. “Come in, and we’ll call him. Irenka, can you come get this boy a glass of water,” she called out to the maid if only so that he would know someone else was watching him. “Follow me.”
It was just that moment when something she hadn’t imagined happened, so caught up in the world of Theo that she forgot about anything else but finding him and… “Who are you?” Toddy asked.
Then, Kitsey walked in, wrinkling her nose at the smell, then came Chance at the commotion and then Andy behind him. The boy just stood there, unable to know what to do as all the eyes in the house looked at him, Irenka now included. She was about to speak for him when he fixed his posture to something mildly threatening then said, “Am Theo’s friend.”
Theo. That name sat in the house like an immovable object most days, immovable from where she was in fact, her more than anyone else. That’s why she did not even have to give the kids a look, all of them now knowing better than to speak out.
“So,” Andy started, sounding tired as ever, “Where is Theo?”
“Don’t know.” The boy stated just as Mrs. Barbour quickly said, “We’re finding him.”
“Hmm…” Andy said, “And just for the record, What is your name. Ah, wait. Full name.”
“Is Borys Volodymyrovych Pavlikovshi”
“Yes,” Andy turned to all of them to answer what Mrs. Barbour had been desperate not to think about. “He is Theo’s friend. The one from his emails, who calls him ‘Potter’. He did call him ‘Potter,’ right, Mommy?”
“Yes, he did. But it's time for everyone to go to school now. Chance, can you take them out to the bus stop?”
So, after quite some struggle, they were left alone there; just the two of them, the maids, and a door man who Chance had subtly sent up to the apartment before he could get back himself.
“Well,” the boy, Boris, started, “Are we going to call him. I have the number.”
___
Andy got off the bus on the first stop he had access to, no longer being watched by his father. Daddy had watched them all the way onto the bus, and Toddy was still young enough to be a snitch before he got on the second bus that led to the junior high, which followed behind his until 2nd Avenue.
Kitsey—two years younger and still on the same bus until Toddy walked her to school—had been given a phone, younger than all of them. Naturally it was Daddy’s doing. Just in case something happens, sweetums. It is New York after all. However, it came in handy.
FND OUT WHR DADDY IS 4 ME he texted her. DNT SNITCH IM FNDING THEO.
KK was all she sent back.
There wasn’t much sibling loyalty in the house, especially not between him and a little sister who found him so uncool, but she loved a good secret. Especially, she loved to be a part of one. Andy was half way home when he got her text back.
OUR BUS IS L8. WILL B HERE 15 MIN.
Fuck. Okay then. KEEP THEM OCCUPIED. It was bad enough that he had to find a way past them. Worse, Andy could have gotten off two stops earlier and saved himself the walk if he knew their bus wasn’t behind his. Still, all the walking in the world would be worth it if he could find Theo. It would be hard to sneak past them while they were standing there bored. Andy pulled up his hood, stuffed his school blazer into his backpack, and waited until a crowd was arriving to sneak past Daddy and Toddy, not even looking to make sure Kitsey was doing her job for fear of being recognized. But he got back to the building and up to the doormen and into the apartment.
Halfway up he realized he forgot his robotics project, but who cares because when he got up there, Mommy and the boy, Boris, were both Pacing.
“How do you not know your own phone number?” Mrs. Barbour asked, madder than he had heard her in a while, probably since Platt had blamed Theo for something years ago.
“I know it. Is 477-2321.”
“Yes, Boris, but what is the area code?”
“Oh. Hmm… Las Vegas area code? Don’t you know it?” Boris asked, turning the question on her.
“No? Why would I know it?”
“You are the adult in situation,” he said, as if that meant anything.
Mommy was about to respond, something bound to be bad, when Andy cleared his throat.
“Uh, I want to find Theo.”
That was a shock to the system. Even Boris was backing down from the fight, a rarity if Theo’s emails were anything to go by.
“What? I deserve to help find him. You said he was stupid and stuck in Ohio.”
“No. I mean yes, but Potter, Theo is not so stupid. Would have got to New York another way.”
“I agree. He would’ve been able to catch a ride back. He could have called for a plane ticket if necessary.”
“Okay,” Mrs. Barbour started, having forgotten about Andy needing to go to school entirely. “We are assuming he is in the city.”
“Yes,” both boys said at the same time. They looked at each other and Boris shrugged. He smelled even worse up close. That, Andy supposed, was probably what Theo smelled like around now.
Andy took it upon himself to get his laptop from his room while his mother and Boris stood awkwardly around the living room, still next to the phone as if it would ring at any moment, as if Theo may actually be stuck in some Midwestern state waiting to call for someone to hand him a plane ticket.
“702-477-2321”
___
It has been three weeks since Theo came to stay with Hobie. Every morning, he wakes up before Hobie has the chance to wake him, not that Hobie ever would. The man considers Theo’s room to be Theo’s in a way that shocks him to his core, as if it was not still Welty’s room, as if Theo does not still consider the empty apartment to be theirs, regardless of its current position. Still anxious at the idea of Hobie coming in and seeing any form of the painting, or even the mess of clothes that he’s made, Theo is up at 8:30 every morning and making tea for himself or reading a book in the kitchen often early enough for Hobie to see him.
All of this results in him being tired enough to sleep early at night. Or, in theory it would. It results in him getting in bed tired and staying up all night long. Each night he lays awake dreading nightmares that will come to him, reminded of the nights that he did not sleep until two or three in the morning anyway, drunk off his ass or high from huffing glue. Those nights, he could sleep anywhere. As could Boris, evidently, more than once he had seen him halfway up the stairs, unable to make it any further.
Instead, he looked at the text Boris had sent, long and through drowsy eyes watery with sleep. “U LEFT AT A BAD TIME!!! :-D” He didn’t, if he had left any later, he would have been taken from Boris all the same, just this time it wouldn’t have been his choice and this time without Hobie’s care. Then, of course there was the “G2GO, AMBR NEEDS HER PHONE”. That was it.
Of course Boris hadn’t followed up with a “CALL ME L8R,” and so Theo didn’t even think about that. Did not let it cross his mind when he stared at what Boris had told him, that he was having the time of his life, that he wanted Theo there. Well, that is what Theo desperately wanted to believe he was saying. The truth of the matter was that Boris was just proving his no, the one Theo heard when he asked him to follow.
The phone died again exactly two weeks and six days after he arrived in New York, and this time he didn’t bother to charge it.
___
It was only after the phone went to voicemail three times that his mother turned to him.
“Andy,” Mrs. Barbour said, “I know you miss Theo too, but you really should be going to school today. The match is tomorrow, and your team is counting on you.”
There were many times when Mrs. Barbour chose responsibility over emotion, rational over all else, but going to school was nothing to finding Theo.
“Mommy, we shared a room for five months. We’re like brothers. I deserve to help find him.”
Boris laughed before turning it into a cough. It was a mean sort of laugh, one Andy could identify faster than most else in his family, a far different sort than Kitsey’s popular girl laugh.
Unaffected, Andy went on. “You can tell the school it's a family emergency,” he said with a heavy tone.
“Fine. Fine, I’ll go ask your father. I’ll be back in a moment, when we see what he has to say about this.”
Boris turned to him quickly, no longer as passive as he seemed before. “Oh, you slept in same room? You must really miss him, huh?” he said, mocking.
“Yes,” Andy replied, “I do.”
“You are nothing, we shared a bed.” Boris hissed before looking him up and down. “Not like that, pervert. I have a girlfriend.”
“And yet you shared a bed.”
“Little rich boy, you must have it so hard after two full years of a room to yourself.”
Andy pushed up his glasses. “A year and a half, actually.”
“Hmm..” Boris started, “Theo was right. He always said you had an annoying voice.”
“I get it,” Andy said, sounding drowsy without any backup emotion. “Now you’re just trying to be mean.”
“And why shouldn’t I?” he asked, still with his mocking sneer.
“I never said you shouldn’t. If anything, you should have clung to the part where I said I get it.”
Boris turned to him fully. “You get bullied.” It wasn’t a question. “Called poofter?” He knew the answer.
“I don’t know what that means,” Andy responded.
“Yes you do,” spit out Boris. “Don’t worry. Theo knew you weren’t. Said you were a Japanese pervert instead.”
“It’s okay. I told you, I get it.”
“You don’t even miss Theo, do you?” Boris was near hissing at this point, low and dark and angry as hell. It’s a wonder how Mrs. Barbour heard him when she came in.
“We do miss him.” It was a firm, cold tone that left no room for argument. Except, authority meant nothing to Boris.
“Then why did you let him leave?”
That was when Andy chimed in, “We had to. His father came to get him.”
“His father got him drunk! Call the government at that point. Do you not see? That was what Larry did when people were looking.” It was an overstatement, Boris knew that. In fact that’s why he said it, to make the situation as big as possible. That was the first and only time that Larry had gotten him drunk, and it was Xandra who did it anyway. There was the time on the plane where they both chipped in to get him high, but that was high, so it didn’t count.
“Is that why he didn’t come?” Mrs. Barbour asked.
“Do not know why he didn’t come. We pooled all the money we had just for one bus ticket for him to get here. We had to ask Xandra for help, and luckily she was drunk enough to give it.” That got a look from her, the fool. Adults always think other adults are the villains if you mention alcohol. “We could have both gone at the same time if we went to California, cost half as much, and we wouldn’t even have needed a hotel. Could just sleep on the beach there.” Maybe he gave away too much there, came far too close to the truth of it, because she looked somehow less worried about Theo.
“Was that your plan?” Mrs. Barbour was so gentle as she said it, like she was talking to some kid. Fuck her.
“Yes. And it was good plan.”
“Well,” Andy said, calmest of the three, “We can go look on the beach. He liked the one south of 42nd.”
There was a stunned silence in the room. Mrs. Barbour, someone who never would have thought to sleep on a beach in her life looked horrified, Andy had a purposeful calm to him, and Boris was ecstatic. Of course Theo would find somewhere to crash other than a beach in November, but Mrs. Barbour didn’t know that.
“Yes! Yes! He said he would take us to Brighton Beach! The one with all the Russians!”