Chapter Text
His lunchbox has superheroes all over it. Some of them have been there since its manufacturing; where the paint has been scratched off the plastic, Jack has filled in the gaps with painstaking accuracy. Other drawings he’s designed himself, begging his Mom or even Violet to draw them on in permanent marker. On the rare days when they’re not around, Dad steps in. He’s not an artist – FBI agents are rarely Michaelangelo’s, he likes to remind Jack – but he does his best.
Jack doesn’t have a clue who Michaelangelo is, but his dad is good at fixing things. Crude as they are, the made-up heroes with their made-up names are his favorites.
Now, he sneaks the lunchbox into the darkened kitchen, cradling it in his arms like it’s a treasure from another galaxy. Hunting for his tools of choice proves difficult when the countertops are such a mess, but he scrounges together some sellotape and a pair of scissors, then sets about his work.
It would be easier to fix a shield, or a cape, Jack decides. In the movies, there’s always a genius to help. He does know one of those, but he’s on the other side of the country, and he needs this done now.
In the movies, there’s at least a manual to follow. But it’s the lid that’s been wrenched off, and no matter what he tries, sellotape won’t make it open and close like it used to. Dad would know what to do. He can fix anything: his toys, his bike. He puts the bad guy away.
Dad would know what to do, but it’s Violet that hears his frustrated sigh and pops her head around the door.
“What are you doing up, honey? You’re supposed to be in bed,” she says, her voice soft as she switches on the light. They both wince at the sudden brightness.
Jack sighs again, but in relief. He doesn’t think Violet’s angry with him. Violet isn’t very good at being angry, anyway. She says it isn’t her job.
He glances down at the broken lunchbox and frowns, his brows drawing together in an expression that makes the corners of Violet’s lips twitch. He shouldn’t talk about superheroes again; it’s what makes the kids in his class run away from him at break-time. But Violet is safe. His Dad loves her, and that’s enough for him.
He waves his hand towards the countertop. “It got broken.”
Stepping closer to peer at the lunchbox, Violet raises an eyebrow. Her eyes flit between Jack and the counter. “Oh,” she says, after a momentary examination. Jack winces as she goes to pick it up, but she’s careful with it. “How’d that happen?”
She tilts her head at him. The gesture is familiar by now, and while Jack’s no profiler, his Dad has taught him some things. He won’t get away with this one easily.
He tries anyway, shrugging. “I dropped it.”
“Must’ve been some fall.”.
“It was getting old,” Jack says, trying to sound as grown-up as a nine-year-old can. Then he grabs the lunchbox and turns to leave the kitchen. “Night, Violet.”
He trudges halfway up down the hallway, and then Violet’s calling him back.
“I was gonna watch a movie. Do you want to join?”
This makes Jack turn around, albeit slowly. There are few things that can tempt him into changing his mind, but a movie – the right movie – is one of them. It’s not long before he’s back in the kitchen.
“What kind of movie?”
Violet grins.
“Close your eyes,” she says, and he does. He hears her feet padding down the hall, the creaking of a door. It can’t be more than two minutes before she’s pressing something into his hands.
He can’t wait any longer, so he opens his eyes again. They light up within seconds.
“The Amazing Spiderman?” he says, meeting Violet’s smile with one of his own. “Dad said I wasn’t allowed to watch it!”
A PG-13 sticker shines up at him from the DVD case, but it doesn’t drown out the hope rising in his chest.
Violet hums, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Well, I spoke to your Dad. And your Dad spoke to your Mom. They checked it out and said it’s okay.”
Jack runs for the blankets, and Violet to make the popcorn. As their tradition demands, the two of them race for the couch. It’s rare that he wins – Violet’s so much taller than him, and she doesn’t like to lose – but she stumbles at the last moment. Jack gives a triumphant cry as he collapses onto the cushions, his broken lunchbox pushed to the back of his mind.
They make it a little way into the movie when Violet brings it up again. The opening credits are done, and Peter Parker’s just been bitten by a radioactive spider. Reaching for the popcorn in the bowl between them, he is content.
When she does speak, Violet’s voice is soft and tentative. “How did your lunchbox really get broken, Jack?”
Jack doesn’t answer, just burrows his head into her shoulder and keeps his eyes on the TV.
But Violet persists. “I’ve learned a thing or two from your Dad, honey,” she says. “I don’t think you did drop it, did you?”
A while passes before her coaxing pays off. Jack shakes his head. “Oliver broke it. He probably didn’t mean to. He just grabbed it and it snapped,” he blurts out. Once he realizes what he’s said, he goes quiet. Then, as if nothing happened, “D’you think that would actually work? The webs, I mean.”
Violet glances between Jack and the screen, where Peter is making his web-shooter things. “Maybe, Jack. You’ll have to save that question for Spencer. I’m sure he’ll know.”
He blinks, the movie fading out of focus. Her arm falls around his shoulders, her hands carding through his hair. “Did Oliver say anything to you? Anything that upset you?”
It isn’t until Violet wipes away his tears that Jack realizes he’s crying. “He said I talk too much. And Dad isn’t coming back this time, because he doesn’t like me anymore,” he says, and it’s like the shield he’s been keeping up all evening falls away.
Dad does funny voices when he reads Jack stories and gets up early to help him get ready for school. He helps him practice soccer at the weekend, takes him out to the park and buys him ice cream when he does well on a test. Dad hugs him once every morning and once every night that he’s home, without fail.
It isn’t that he doesn’t love his Mom, or that they don’t do these things together, even if she and Dad aren’t married anymore. And Violet is just as special to him. He likes that he’s able to see her more now that she lives with Dad.
But none of it’s the same without him.
Violet holds him until the TV is back in focus, murmuring reassurances into his ear. Jack doesn’t reach for the popcorn again. Instead, he lets Violet move it onto the floor in front of him and settle his head into her lap.
“You know how good Aaron is at helping us when we have a problem, right?” she says, waiting for Jack to nod before she continues. “Well, there are other families out there who need his help for a little while. But it isn’t forever. It won’t be long before he’s home again.”
“It’s not fair,” Jack mumbles.
Violet turns the TV off. “I know, honey. Your Dad loves you so much, even if he isn’t always here. And he’s only a phone call away, alright? If he isn’t home tomorrow evening, I’ll make sure he’s around to tell you goodnight.”
Jack looks up at her, mulling this over. Maybe Dad will read him a story – the voices he does are really good, even over the phone.
“And, for the record,” Violet continues, “You don’t talk too much, Jack. You’re a smart kid. Oliver’s just jealous of you for having such a cool Dad.”
Jack sniffles, then turns the conversation to a smaller problem. “Do you think we can fix my lunchbox? Dad drew on the lid.”
Stifling a laugh, Violet nods, pushing her suspiciously misty glasses back onto the bridge of her nose.
She clears her throat. “I think we can manage it. But that’s tomorrow’s job. You should be getting to bed.”
They exchange the blanket fort they’ve forged for the haven of Jack’s room. He scrambles into bed. “Will you read me the story about the Martian?” he asks from under his Captain America duvet.
Violet tries to frown, but she still isn’t angry. “Don’t push your luck,” she says. Then she plucks it from the shelf and reads it to him anyway, just as Dad would do.
Just as he’ll do again, before long.