Chapter Text
5:34 PM
Laf: i low-key don’t fuck with that alex kid
laurensussy: weren’t you SOOO excited like literally five minutes ago?
He was excited. Gilbert really was happy when George and Martha told him they took another foster kid. Alexander was a two years younger than Gilbert and his friends, but since he skipped seventh grade and was like super smart he was supposed to take some classes with them, which sounded promising. Gilbert liked smart people and since this Alexander kid was smart and went to private school before, he couldn’t have that bad background, right? It seemed like a reasonable assumption to make before Alexander actually placed a foot in their house, an image of the most stereotypical problem child, with a trash bag instead of suitcase, black eye and and expression that could scare away an angry mob from miles away (weird metaphor, probably, but Laf wasn’t an expert in English idioms yet).
Martha and George had gone out of their way to make Alexander feel safe and welcome, from decorating his room to dimming the lamps. They even got rid of Martha's beloved lavender-scented oils, as the social worker had informed them that Alex was sensitive to sensory overload and prone to migraines (though Gilbert hadn't seen much of that sensitivity when he slammed the door in Martha's face, but whatever).
5:46 PM
Heracles: Maybe he just needs some time to adjust.
Heracles: Be patient, those kids have usually been through a lot.
The unspoken thought hung in the air above the message: "Not like you know anything about it." And Gilbert really didn't. When his parents died, he lived with his extremely rich and extremely kind aunt for a while. But since she was too old to take care of him, he was moved to the Washingtons, his godparents. It wasn't a very traumatic experience, except for dead parents maybe, but Gilbert was way to young when that happen to claim any trauma.
An all of that seemed rather tame compared to Alexander's history. His father had left and was probably abusive and drunk before he did. Then his mother had died from some exotic disease that Alexander had also suffered from but had miraculously recovered. After that, his cousin killed himself, and after that Alexander had bounced around foster homes, spending no more than two weeks in each, for reasons that George refused to share with Gilbert.
“Let’s call him for a dinner, shall we?” Martha asked, leaning out from the dining room where she and George had just finished setting the table.
"I'll go get him," Gilbert offered, seizing the opportunity to show Alexander that beneath all his rebellious and "I-hate-everything" act, he wasn't like the rest of the world that the younger boy seemed to be at war with. Gilbert was cool, a rebel with his own past. Once Alexander discovered that, they would get along just fine.
Before Martha or George could reply, he was already running up the stairs to stand in front of door to room that now belonged to Alexander. He stopped for a moment to compose himself, leaned in what seemed like nonchalant way in the frame and knocked.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
After a minute with no answer, he opened the door.
Alexander was sitting on the bed, the bag with his thing carelessly thrown in the corner of large room, the curtains closed, making the room sink in almost complete darkness.
Lafayette though that maybe the kid was vampire. He certainly was a type. And they did invite him to step over the threshold.
“I didn’t say you could come in,” Alexander said bluntly. Gilbert stared into darkness for a moment.
“Sorry, I- I figured you didn’t hear-“
“What’s the point of knocking if you don’t wait for an answer?” Alexander interrupted, cold, quick, witty like the anti-hero in books or movies. Those types seemed always the more prone to being hated and yet, in the end, those who matters, always end up finding something admirable about them. Gilbert wanted to be one of those who mattered. The person that will find their soft spot in Alexander and that will become some sort of safe space for him. And that needed time, patience and a method. Gilbert had time and could force himself to patience. All he needed was a method.
“Sorry,” he repeated, trying to sound strong and steady, similarly like George would while talking to his business partners. “I just wanted to tell you, the dinner is ready.”
Alexander hasn’t answered. He could’ve nodded his head, but in the darkness Gilbert wasn’t sure about that.
“Are you coming?” he asked, fidgeting nervously. “Martha made pasta with pesto. It’s great, really. Home-made and stuff.”
“Not hungry,” Alexander said plainly.
Alright. Time and patience. He will figure out the method in the process.
“Come one. Car ride from New York to Virginia is like seven hours, you must be starving.”
Alexander let out annoyed sight and finally looked at Lafayette with cold gaze.
“Thanks, I really appreciate you telling me whether I’m hungry or not. Do you also happen to know if I need to take a piss, maybe? My bladder is really struggling with communication lately.”
Gilbert felt a pang of frustration, but he held his ground, reminding himself of his commitment to patience.
"I'm sorry if I overstepped. I didn't mean to be intrusive," he replied, trying to keep his tone conciliatory. "I just thought you might want to join us for dinner and get to know everyone a little better."
Alexander's expression remained defiant, and he scoffed. “Yeah, sure, listen, I know the drill. You guys are doing great, really, ten out of ten experience, will recommend a friend. But I’m not really in the mood for a family dinner, so I would really appreciate if you fucked off, thanks.”
Gilbert bit his lip, trying to keep his cool while trying to figure out a response. He wanted to get Alexander to eat with them, he had this feeling as if taking care of Alexander was his self appointed mission. And he was already very thin, his cheeks were hollow, jaw sharp, wrists, the only part of his body not sinking in oversized hoodie, small as if only thin layer of skin was covering the bones. He obviously had to eat, George and Martha would probably insist and would want Gilbert to insist as well. It was one thing to respect privacy and autonomy, but other allowing kid to starve himself.
"I get it,” he mumbled finally, no sight of confidence left in his voice. “You're not in the mood, but, uh... you know, you really should… I mean, Martha and George really think you should join us so… but, you know, no pressure, I’m cool with that, either way."
Alexander didn't respond to Gilbert's words, his gaze still locked in defiance, not not just cold, but also extremely judgmental.
Just as Gilbert was about to step out, George's voice came from the hallway. "Gilbert, is everything alright?"
Gilbert looked towards George, with immediate sense of guilt as if he were a soldier reporting to his superior officer about failed mission. "I'm just trying to get Alex to come to dinner, but he's not interested," he explained, facing George. Alexander staring at them from a dark room slipped away from his mind.
George only rose his eyebrows and stepped closer to door to look at Alexander, his calm and gentle demeanor contrasting with Alexander's icy and Gilbert anxious ones.
“If you don’t feel like sitting down with us, that’s alright, but I think you should eat something. Mrs. Livingston said you haven’t stop to eat on the way here. You can take your plate and eat here, but will insist on you eating dinner.”
Alexander hasn’t answered for a moment and even in the surrounding darkness, Lafayette could see intense thought process behind his bright blue eyes; deep analysis of his options, possible responses and alternatives before finally responding with a nod.
Walking downstairs with George and Alexander few steps behind, Gilbert thought he should be happy with an outcome. Even if it was George handling situation in the end, he should be happy that it was handled.
Instead, as Alexander was putting pasta in his plate, Laf grabbed his phone and opened group-chat with John and Hercules.
6:24 PM
laf: im REALLY not fucking with that Alex