Chapter Text
All your senses could process was the putrid smell of cigarette smoke that seemed to soak into the air. Even though the stench was surely coming from the social services lady across the room, you swore it came from the dogwood coffins watching the pews.
The pastor's eulogy and prayers of comfort only drilled into the skull below your ears, rendering your hearing to muted sounds that only agitated your headache. Anytime you cried the past few days, you were transported to a time when your hands were much smaller and bigger, alive hands held yours through grieving that only made sense for children.
Nowadays, instead of being soothed you had the painful reminder that crying your head off in fact leads to headaches. Whether it was from dehydration or your facial muscles being clenched or both you weren't sure.
You tried to show appreciation for the funeral as the sole attendee, despite the fact that you weren't particularly religious and that neither of your parents were either towards the end. It was nice of the pastor and funeral services to even offer this, with just one person here. Two, if you counted the social services lady. Margaret, you think her name was.
After the pastor finished, he came up to you and squeezed your shoulder. It took a moment to process he was speaking through the brain fog, but you managed to catch the jist of it. "— —— —- going — bury them —-. You want — be there — —? Either ——— is ok."
For a brief second, a bout of nausea came up and you gagged through a sob. You didn't really process sight through the tears, but you felt the pastor hugging you and Margaret rubbing your back.
…
You didn't end up watching them be lowered to the ground. The adults said it was ok, but you could see Margaret had a look in her eye older people got that saw a choice and knew you'd regret it.
It wasn't their grave soil, but you dug a handful of dirt and handed it to the pastor before the hearses were sent off.
Vaguely, you remembered stopping to eat before being dropped off at the group home. Even though you weren't on death row, it felt like a last meal. Fries dipped in a chocolate frosty was a solid choice, you thought.
Caretakers at the group home were talking about sending you back to school. Margaret pushed back as much as she could. There were two months left of school. You'd already accepted that you'd be pretty much failing. You were confident your grades in most classes would keep you afloat, but it would be a fine line.
You wished the caretakers would just accept you not going back to school this year. In fact, maybe just go ahead and give you your diploma. It was impossible to imagine returning when your mom snoring on the couch wouldn't accompany homework or your dad screaming for you at whatever sporting event you decided on that year.
…
On Monday, you went back in your pajamas with a large iced chai after much negotiation. Thankfully, the classmates that bothered to talk to you were quiet and polite while teachers gave what was essentially just crafts as work. One particularly kind teacher even gave out word searches.
You'd been at the group home for over a month when arguments discussions about your placement began. Your parents had only each other on their wills to be your guardian in case anything happened. Never did they think they'd go at the same time.
Technically, you had a handful a relatives who you'd never spoken to. Most could not pass a background check. Margaret had managed to get in contact with one of the few who did, but they immediately said no to being your guardian with 'innapropriate words for young ears' according to Maraget when you'd asked about them.
That left you stuck as a ward of the state in an already overflowing system.
Everytime you saw Margaret, she ended up in one of the group home's offices, making calls. Once, you sat outside and learned they were calls to find a family willing to foster a thirteen year old. When you asked an older teen what foster families were usually like, they laughed, saying, "Wow, immediately skipping to foster, no adoption inquiries?"
Unexplainable bitterness began creeping when you noticed the younger kids being visited by potential adoptees after that, quickly followed by guilt.
When the last two weeks of school arrived, it became increasingly clear that there were no foster families available in at least a five state radius.
Group homes, you'd noticed, were clearly not designed to house kids long term. Your back was sore from the terrible mattress and the blank walls and constantly rotating kids were getting to you. Margaret was kind enough to take you out every now and again on her own dime, even with her gruff attitude.
This particular weekend she'd taken you out for lunch, she looked especially gruff.
After watching her sigh and groan repeatedly across your tray, you finally sat back to meet her gaze. "What? It's not me, right? I'm definitely passing now, you don't need to get on me about that anymore, " you huffed, crossing your arms, "Is it Makenzie? Did you actually have to have a meeting at school cause of that one thing she definitely didn't do?"
Margaret looked at you entirely unimpressed, used to your random word dump. She shook her head, swirling her sweet tea and taking a sip like she wished it was something stronger before pausing.
"What do ya mean that one thing, brat?" she narrowed her eyes at you accusingly.
Realizing your mistake, you immediately tried backtracking. "That she didn't do!" you said cheerfully.
Understanding by now she wouldn't get anything more out of you, she grumbled and rolled her eyes. Maraget sighed, getting a more serious posture and expression you'd come to dread.
Swallowing, you looked at her nervously. Most stressors in this region of foster care had come from you and a handful of other teenagers recently. Of course it was you and not the annoying and surprisingly enterprising nine year old's bracelet store that wasn't supposed to exist.
"We need to have a conversation," Marget started.
Oh no.
"To be blunt, no one is willing to foster you and you haven't had any adoption prospects,"
Awesome, thanks.
"However, there is a distant relative of yours I've been speaking with. We found him in the initial searches and reached out, but we agreed he wouldn't be a good fit considering the distance and his career. Now that there is a guarentee of no options unless we move you across the country, we decided to talk more to him about a temporary guardianship. He was uncertain at first, so I waited to speak with you about it. He let me know he agreed to it just this morning."
"Oh," you said dumbly. Your head felt like an old static-y TV, in complete disbelief that Margaret actually managed to find someone. Even though it'd only been a few months, it felt like you were going to spend the rest of your life at that group home.
"Because either way you'll have to move a long distance, I wanted you to at least have some semblance of a choice. I can't tell you much about him unless you agree to be fostered by him because of his career, but I can tell you he's based out of the U.K. and is usually traveling internationally for work."
Was the room getting smaller? Hotter? It felt like it was. Maybe also spinning now. You thought you'd be excited to get out of the group home, but now that the plans are in place you felt dizzy at the idea of leaving the only place you'd stayed since your parents died.
Sensing your panic, Margaret pushed aside the trays and rubbed circles with her bony fingers into your wrist.
"He seemed like a nice man, he was very worried on whether you'd be happy staying with him or not because his life is so unpredictable. He doesn't know any of the family your parents weren't in contact with. The family he had over there are gone too, so he'll understand. It's completely your choice, but honestly? I think it'd do you some good. You can always try, and if you don't like staying with him, it'll at least be an exciting summer venture and you can come back to the states."
"You don't need to decide right now, but if you get me an answer before the last day of school I can probably get you a call with him. It might be nice to see if there's still family out there worth talking to," she hummed.
When Margaret dropped you back off at the group home, she gave you an extra tight hug and a reminder of the good news that school excused your finals.
You can safely say you've never felt this spectactularly overwhelmed by a decision. But in the back of your mind, you know you're intensely desparate to meet family whose just as alone as you are now.
You sent a not-quite fully thought out text to Margaret at 2am answering the question two days before the last day of school. The next morning, she scolded you for staying up so late and let you know she'd see if you could call your new (temporary) guardian.
…
School dragged on, all you could think about was how rushed of a decision you made. Really, it was probably a dumb one, you thought. Traveling internationally with a strange man you weren't even allowed to know the details of until meeting? Come on now.
But the allure of having some semblance of stability drew you in.
If you were moved across the country, your case would be shifted to another social worker who wasn't there for your parents funeral nor bonded with you over Saturday brunches. An international social worker would be assigned to you, but at least you'd get to keep Margaret as well since it was only a temporary guardianship.
That was the sole aspect keeping you from absolutely shitting your pants.
Even though Margaret had a good feeling about your nth cousin removed, that said nothing on how he'd actually be. You hoped he was kind and not secretly some horrible person. Hopefully the traveling and secrecy didn't mean he was a politician that bombed people or something.
…Maybe he was just some rich dude. Which didn't necessarily equate to a good person, but hey, money could get you some nice things.
…
Between the boredom and the dread, you managed to get through your finals without much fanfare, zoning out through most of it. As per usual, you blocked that bullshit out.
You were more concerned with packing your bags, which you were severely out of practice with. Since your parents died, you'd been lucky enough to stay at the same group home close to your school, and you'd never been to camps or many sleepovers. Safe to say your experience was lacking.
A kid a little younger than you was kind enough to help when she passed your room and saw the chaos.
…
Margaret wasn't able to get a call with your mystery guardian. Apparently, something came up at work that he had to take care of before picking you up.
…At least you could assume you wouldn't be hounded about your habits by him, on account of his lack of prescence. Margaret reminded you that he and her initially agreed he'd be a bad option due to this, and that you could call her if you ever felt neglected. Considering there'd be a time difference, you apologized for her likely receiving more 2am texts.
You were honestly relieved you wouldn't be surrounded by people for once. When you'd originally been broken the news and at the funeral was the most you'd been able to cry. Constantly having to share a room with other kids meant you were always holding in tears, your face being left sore from hours of clenching your jaw.
Back to the matter at hand.
No call before being sent across the ocean to an unknown location with the international social worker you'd never met before to meet a man you'd never met. Awesome.
Dead parents? Check. A very preciously safe situation where very few people can help? Check. Ginger ale for the plane ride? Work in progress.
On the drive to the airport, Margaret had to pull over so you could throw up.
"Y'know, most folk who don't do well on planes wait till the airport or the actual plane, we may need to get you a sedative," Margaret joked while rubbing your back.
You managed a garbled choke of a laugh. When you both inevitably got back in the car, the intense layer of dread settled back. Hopefully, Margaret wouldn't need to pull over this time.
Hugging her 'goodbye' before you got to TSA made you wish you never stopped making her have to pull over. Meeting the your new co-social worker made the reality kick in more. Saoirse seemed nice, but it was too much effort to comprehend her past introductions through your brain fog.
It felt a lot like the funeral, which only made you feel worse.
Saoirse kindly guided you through the airport, which was thankfully not all that busy today. You think a migraine would develop if it wasn't. She bought you and her ginger ale, a snack, and one of those neck pillows. Your pillow was supposed to be a dog, but you thought it looked more like a coyote.
You made a mental note to yourself to get fabric markers and color it to look even more like a coyote.
Getting on the plane lacked fanfare, and you ended up passing out most of the fourteen hour flight. You blearily woke up to Saoirse nudging your shoulder and the crackle of the intercom.
Despite sleeping a majority of the flight, you felt jetlag creeping into your everything. You were impressed by Saoirse looking incredibly put together and energized as you both went to get your luggage. Genuinely how.
At least you had jetlag to hide behind while meeting your new guardian. The panic was more of a buzz in the back of your head now. You honestly couldn't remember if he was meant to meet you here, or if you were going to him. For most of that conversation you were just disassociated.
"Ok, your new guardian and his co-workers are meeting us here. They're military, so they'll be hopping off a plane, too. Don't mind if he's quiet or something, he's having to come from a mission."
Thank you, perfect timing Saoirse.
"His name's Simon Riley, he's in special forces which it why we're having to handle this so delicately."
Oh damn, ok then.
"Language," Saoirse chided.
"Oh," you said intelligently, "Sorry." That was not meant to be said aloud.
She shook her head with an amused smile, waving you off. "Unless you're uncomfortable with it, I'll be leaving you with him for tonight and meeting you both tomorrow for breakfast. You'll be in family housing on the island's military base," she explained.
You nodded slowly, shoving down the panic from resurfacing. "This entire experience has been uncomfortable, so it's whatever," you laughed, faltering when the joke clearly didn't land. Saoirse had a pinched, concerned look on her face.
"I'm uh, all good. No worries. Maybe could- er, finally speak with him I guess. Or really I'd be doing that anyways, but yeah…" you trailed off, cringing and giving up on the failed interaction.
Christ, that entire conversation was terrible, but at least it was so bad it nullified the layer of grimy dread settled on you.
…
An air of antsy, awkward silence settled as you both waited for the plane carrying 'Simon' to land. Dang, you'd barely even processed that finally got to learn his name. Despite the many several lines of separation, you both managed to keep the same last name. Probably one of the only reasons the court was able to find him.
Being military made sense, you thought. You honestly didn't know much about military aside from its branches, camo, and those letters you sent to soldiers in elementary school; nonetheless British military.
You still wanted to apologize to whatever poor soldier that had got your letter. There was absolutely no recollection of its contents, but you knew it was bad deep in your soul.
Learning he was not only military, but also special forces, was vaguely putting you off. You weren't quite sure the difference between them and regular military, but whenever you stumbled upon your dad watching one of those army documentaries SAS tended to be the ones on those high stakes missions.
The thought that the only real chance you had left at family's job involved constant danger made you nervous for reasons you couldn't articulate aside from the obvious.
Well, at least if he dies and you get bit by a radioactive spider you can change your last name to Parker or Morales and become Spiderman.
Damn.
Okay, roll that one back. Enough on the intrusive, dark thoughts from simultaneously too much and too little sleep.
"——-," Saoirse said suddenly, tapping your arm and poiniting at something you couldn't quite make out.
"What?" you mumbled, trying to catch up with reality after you'd been lost in your thoughts.
"There, he's over there," Saoirse smiled hopefully at you.
Whipping your head around, you squinted to where she pointed. Luggage claim was shockingly more busy than the rest of an airport, or at least this particular one. It made it quite difficult to see anyone for more than a moment. You were expecting camoflauge until you realized Britain may have different uniforms. Wait, that wouldn't make sense would it? You really weren't sure.
Saoirse, sensing your confused panic, started describing him and the group he was traveling with more. It really didn't help until she mentioned the mask.
You barely managed to spot him, but when you did it was impossible to ignore the looming figure in one of those robber masks of all things. As if he felt eyes on him, he turned to your general direction and was far quicker to spot you.
He hesitated for a moment, but he raised his free hand to give you a small wave.
You waved back with the same hesitation.