[Fic-Preview] Pomegranate
“You can if you want.” But the boy wasn’t looking at him.
“Or would you like to go somewhere else?”
At that the lone green eye looked up at him, hopeful, “Really?” But just as quickly as that question sunk in, his eye dulled again, “Nah, I-not really.”
That wasn’t good, “Why are you in here then?” Except he knew that sounded a bit harsh.
The boy didn’t take it that way though, running a hand lightly along the keys again, “Waiting for Grandpa.”
Grandpa?
“You’re being adopted?”
The boy let out a laugh, then, and it was more than a little disheartening, “No. I’m being used.”
…And something hit, then, in the pit of his stomach, when he heard soft footsteps out in the hall. He barely had time to look up before the boy was dashing around the piano, and the figure of an old man-with thick kohl surrounding his eyes-and the boy looked much too happy, but much too stiff too-
“Grandfather.” The heightened respect, but with the uptilt of false kindness. The old man snorted, and cast him a glance before turning quickly away.
“Come along now.”
“Yes sir.”
And all he could do was watch, as the small redheaded boy disappeared from view, down the hall, following after the older man like he was all there was.
Subsequently, and oddly, he found himself wondering if he would ever see the boy again. Because if he did, he knew the first thing he’d do. Play the boy a song. After all, who didn’t love a song?
******************************************************
Which was maybe why the fact startled him so much when he practically ran into the boy. The boy with the bright red shock of redhair against the snow, one cold evening in late December after visiting his dear brother (who just wouldn’t take care of himself. Allen was near in constant tears over the man’s health, always at his bedside. It was a godsend the man wasn’t contagious).
He also hated the fact that the shock of redhair wasn’t the only stark contrast. Oh no-because there had been blood, soaking through the boy’s shirt, and pants…and he was limping too, or had been, before he collapsed.
Face bruised, eye shut and swollen, and eye patch oddly missing.
It had been nearly 3 years since he saw the boy.
Three years, and he wasn’t as easy to carry (not that he had carried the boy before, but he had certainly been much smaller) as he hefted the boy into his arms and turned heel to go back into the warmth that was the local hospital. Surely they would find a bed and some treatment for the boy, even if he had to do it himself.
He would ask questions later, he told himself, as one of the many nurses gasped-and ran towards them, eyes wide at the boy’s condition.
Maybe he was glad they knew his face. Maybe he was glad that this city wasn’t as big as it seemed to be. But then-then-he didn’t think he would be glad either, as he carried the boy to one of the many backrooms and set him down on the bed. Because of this boy. And his condition.
This city might not seem as big as it was, but it was still a city. And like any city things happened, in the darkest corners of the alleyway that he wouldn’t dare walk in on any given day.
But they still happened, and there were still victims.
This boy was proof enough.
Proof to want to know why.
***
It was when the boy woke up and nearly got sick that he knew it was more than just a few scrapes and bruises. By the time he called the nurse, the boy was throwing up for the third time, and this time it was only water (but mostly dry heaving). By the time the doctor arrived, he was in the adjoining bathroom, stroking the boy’s back, and keeping his hair-which had apparently not been cut in a while-away from his face.
It nearly hurt to see when they dragged the boy away from the toilet and forced him back in the bed, with an IV, and-he cringed-an oxygen mask. Except it wasn’t filled with oxygen. Though he was glad to see the boy relax, what had caused it, well, he had always had misgivings about anesthesia, it brought back horrible memories of-
Of-
He shuddered and shook the thoughts away, instead opening his mouth to ask, “Is the boy-”
“We don’t know.” With no pretense to kindness in his voice, the Doctor leaned farther over the boy, and he realized with horror that he had unwrapped one of the fresher wounds, and was now prodding at it with a long metal surgical tool.
“What are you-”
They hushed him again, “If you can’t stand to see us work then leave.” He cringed at the coldness, but knew they were right. They were right and all he could do was sit and wait and-
So he sat in his chair again, farther away, by the wall, and watched as they took a blood sample, tissue sample, and then the small tubes were carted away for testing.
That wasn’t good.
…
And he wasn’t quite sure when he had fallen asleep, either, at least, he wasn’t but he knew quite well that he definitely had-or else he wouldn’t have been woken up by that atrocious screaming.
Coming from the redhead.
Who was currently curled up in fetal position, screams muffled by the pillow-but still unimaginably loud.
Before he could stop his own body, he was up and stumbling towards the bed, gripping the boy’s shoulders and trying to straighten him. The IV had already been tugged out, and to make it worse, the boy was bleeding, his wounds probably had been irritated by the sudden movement.
It didn’t matter though, because the screaming just got louder-as if the boy didn’t recognize him-not that he expected him to, after all it had been 3 years, and even then the boy hadn’t been conscious the entire time. It was no wonder he wasn’t doing any good.
He was very thankful for the sheer amount of nurses here, when one banged the door open and rushed in. She didn’t say a word when she saw him attempting to soothe the boy, just simply turned and rushed back out again-he assumed, to get the doctor.
Still didn’t stop the boy from screaming
Still didn’t stop him from trying to abate said screaming
In fact, it didn’t do much good at all.
At all, at all, and soon he felt tears leaking out of the boy’s lone eye-no, both eyes…but the shouts were still as wordless as they had been, had been, had been-he swallowed and tugged the boy closer.
Tugged him closer, until the doctor burst in, and he could see the tiny form of Allen behind him.
Ah, yes
Why did this boy remind him so much of Allen?
He didn’t know, and decided, when they forced him off the bed and stuck more needles into the hapless redhead, it didn’t quite matter. He simply pulled the brunette boy close to him this time, and sat on the chair again. Waiting, watching-as the nurses scribbled and the doctor examined.
But he couldn’t fight this foreign feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, being able to do nothing.
*************************************************************
“Are we going to visit Lavi again?” He jolted a bit in surprise, when Allen popped his head in the doorway for the third time that evening, even though he knew he really should have expected it.
“And would you start knocking before you do that?” He wondered, humorously of course (always in good humor), setting the pen down on the desk, and swiveling his chair around to face the brunette ten year old who stood pensively in the doorway. He could guess at the apology that was going to fall from the boy’s lips so he stopped it before it was spoken, “Yes, we are. Bringing him dinner, actually. I’m sure they’ll let us.”
The boy’s eyes widened ever so slightly at that, and he smiled, “You really think he’ll like my cooking?”
“As well as Mana and I.”
“But Uncle,” and it was endearing to see how flustered the normally brash boy could be, “You and Mana are just being nice.”
He raised an eyebrow at that, “Oh? Well then you assume he’ll think it sucks?”
“I hope not!” Allen paused, contemplating, “But, um…I mean-the stew is good and all, but he needs fruit too. They yelled at us last time about that.”
He let out a chuckle, “True.”
“And he hates bananas.” He nodded his head again, “So what fruit should we bring?”
“We’re passing the market place on the way here, they usually have exotic fruits that no other place has-we can look there for anything good.”
Allen’s face brightened at that, “Okay~ I hope he likes it!”
(X-hours Later)
“It’s…a pomegranate?” Lavi stared down at the round fruit, watching as it was cut open-just like the man at the market had showed them-before wrinkling his nose, “What’s it taste like?”
“It’s good!” Allen said from next to him, too chipper, to happy, too-something. It made Lavi grimace, and he sighed.
“Allen, don’t be so loud.”
The boy pouted, “But it is…you have to, um, eat the seeds though. That’s the-er fruit. They might be kinda difficult to eat but still…”
Lavi mutely nodded his head, and took one of the pieces he had cut, before popping it into his mouth, “It’s crunchy.” He mumbled with his mouth still full, and Allen laughed.
“Yeah, it’s supposed to be.” Lavi gave him a look, but Allen didn’t seem to notice, instead asking, “Can I give a piece to Mana?”
“I don’t see why not.” It would at least get the boy out of the room because, well-it didn’t seem Lavi liked him very much. Or was that just him? He couldn’t be sure, as he watched Allen’s silent cheer, as he rushed from the room.
As soon as the door closed, the question slipped out of his mouth, “You don’t like him.”
“Not that.” The answer was almost immediate as the redhead picked at the fruit, “he’s a kid.”
“You are to.”
“He’s even more of a kid.”
“He’s only three years younger than you.”
“An’ that’s enough.” Lavi resolutely placed another piece of pomegranate in his mouth, sucking on it and spitting out the hard seeds.
And they ate the rest in silence.
***************************************************
It had been a full week before the lyrics came.