c'est la vie

They wandered Neverland for a little while, Silver letting the conversation lapse for a little while. That was the thing, she felt comfortable enough with Slightly for that to happen. It wasn’t uncomfortable, it was a sign just how comfortable she was with the collector. 

"Chocolate donut, right?"

"With the icing filling. Boston creme? Yeah, yeah, Boston creme doughnut. With chocolate icing." He could feel the drool gathering in his mouth, and he rubbed a hand at his mouth to ensure nothing was dribbling out. "Yeah, that would work."

She watched him doodle about the water and she couldn’t help but smile. What was he even doing? “You trying to set the pirate ship afloat?”

Part of her wished that there was a ship. It would sail them all out somewhere else, and none of this would’ve happened. Chuck would be alive. The other Sinclair wouldn’t be ridiculous and punching her in the mouth. Ridiculously stupid. There’d be no sides. Just the ocean. Just the wind. Salt in the hair. Sweat on the brow. Contentment. She didn’t like being wistful, because it made her emotional. But she could blame any crack in her voice on the pain or something. She’d chance looking weak in that regard. It was more understandable.

"And you spent all that time getting smart. Nice job. Sounds like you also got eyes in the back of your head now, since you’re gonna be making sure I eat this fucking pineapple."

Scoffing, she nudged him back. “Don’t make me get violent. I’m a real puncher, and I go for the mouth. You’ve never had some inhibition to step into the spotlight or something?”

There was already something to be jealous of--she pulled herself from the depths of herself and survived. He couldn't say that of himself. Though no one should ever struggle and suffer like she did, though no one should ever experience such pain, she now had a strength none of them had. She had respect because of that; at least, respect from him.

Or maybe this was his happiness speaking: happiness that she was back home.

"Uh, of course I got eyes on the back of my head. How do you think I catch all you doing whatever shite you feel like you need--or don't need--to do? That's how I'm all powerful around here."

Holding up his hand as if surrender, though, he added, "No need for punching. But no--ish. When I was younger, it was more--expected. And when you're a kid, you always want to be in the spotlight. But I grew out of that phase while my parents didn't. I don't know, being here, I'm content in what I do and how it's done. I'm good with not having the spotlight one me. Have it always shine on Peter, actually, he needs it more than I do."

Then chuckled at the miss. "You can get one slice, sure." He slid the pizza box toward the Lost Boy. "Gonna try for it again?"

Perhaps there was a little bit of guilt about that incident but, well, she never said she made a great first impression. It was all water under the bridge now.

"Yeah, yeah, my shout. I would like a shrine in my honor as well."

"Would a lit candle work for you?"

The last thing she wanted to do was frequent the doctor’s office, sit in a chair, swing her legs like an overgrown toddler, wait, wait, wait. When he brushed the tear away, she clenched her jaw harder, as though that would prevent more from falling. It more so succeeded in making the corner of her neck ache and the bone feel like it was being ground against asphalt. “You sound so medical, Slight. If you hadn’t mentioned your lack of degree, I might’ve believed you were secretly some sort of doctor.”

But she nodded along with his little prescription because she could think of nothing better. “Fine, I’ll try and nurse myself back to health. With - fucking pineapple juice.”

The concept made her laugh again.

"You can’t. But don’t worry. I’ll keep it a secret. You and I both know I’m pretty good at keeping secrets, yeah?" Looking down at the counter, she picked at the edge, still gritting her teeth against the remnants of throbbing overtaking her entire face. "Just worry about yourself once or twice. Or hell, let someone worry about you for you.”

It was a light topic in midst of the dark looming. But as he felt her jaw clench under his fingers, he removed his hand from her face. Dipping the rag back in the bowl, he settled his hand in the lukewarm water. Wiggled his fingers a bit, just to experience the feeling of it. Reminded himself that being like water, moving around adversity and eroding it, was the best option in life. 

He couldn't be like the rest of his family, of this family, in how they handled problems. It was one of the few differences he had compared with them.

But at the sound of her laughter, he smiled again. "I can pull it off because I had a lot of time on my hands during secondary school. Way too much." All in studying, studying, studying. "But, I swear, I'll be checking up on you to see that you're eating the fucking pineapple."

His grin lessened, but he nudged her arm anyway. "Yeah, yeah, we're both too bloody good at keeping secrets. But the thing is, my life isn't too worrisome. I'm the one who blends into the background like a chameleon. Which is fine; I prefer that. Helps in keeping secrets and whatnot. Also means that I don't have to worry about myself too much, or ask that anyone else does so for me."

             He was part of a f a m i l y when he wasn't before.

"I've been craving for a doughnut for days, so you'll be my savior."

"It’s all a war. Ourselves. The others. New people. Old. Doesn’t matter. We’re all together in this. It’s just - a mess." 

She didn’t like this depressing talk, but that was the way of this place. There was nothing content to remain around for long. She bit down on her lip and glanced back up at him when he pressed his fingers against the bruise. She clenched her teeth together and she blinked a couple of times, not wishing to cry, though tears pricked at the edge of her eyes. 

"… Um." ( That was enough of an answer. ) No, she had to be strong. She couldn’t demonstrate a fucking sign of weakness. She had to remain —

One tear fell. “Um - blood family is tough… tough.” She did her best to keep her voice from shaking, but she failed. It was all she could do to not cling to his hand and ask for the pain to stop. It brought back too many memories. It brought back thoughts of the punch on her skin. The thought of the needles in her arm. The tests. The papers. Just pain. “We’re a bunch of fucks sometimes, that’s for sure. Don’t worry too hard, Slight. It’s not good for you.”

A small smile appeared. It was the sad truth; pain was a factor that untied even the strongest of enemies. It was the connection that would never truly be severed. "Yo-ho, yo-ho to being on the same messy boat."

He grunted as he saw the tears well, but not fall. "I don't think anything is fractured, but I'm only a kid with a secondary school degree; I'm not qualified to clear you like a doctor would."

Bu then he saw the tear. And he sighed. His thumb lightly brushed it away before he murmured, "I would advise to get a check-up after a few days if the swelling doesn't alleviate after you continue the warm compressing, which needs to be done a couple times every day. I'll add pineapple to the grocery list so it's available to eat. Okay?"

She wouldn't be okay for a while. But nobody was really okay in the loft anyways.

"Don't I know it." A mother that was soft in her commands, a father with too high expectations. He gave up everything for them; but now, he was free. Even with the pain he felt and witnessed in Neverland, he felt so alive. "Nah. How else do you think I can keep my 'sage' reputation?"

Take the repercussions with a grain of salt. She had, after all, obtained them in battle. Battle with the last living Sinclair, or so it seemed.

"Could you imagine. God, that’s terrifying. I almost feel bad for Maggie. But if it’s as bad as it was looking, then she needed intervention. She wasn’t about to stop on her own." She sniffed and glanced down. "Found Nibs drinking his eyes out the other night. I figured it had something to do with that, but I didn’t ask." Wasn’t any of her concern. Because she seemed like the outsider sometimes. So she didn’t bother to ask.

She could almost feel the cosmetics melting underneath the pineapple juice. She wished for it again. Wanting it to cover her. Protect her. But it was too late. It was going to be there. Black and disgusting and ugly. As if she needed something to uglify her more. “Well. I don’t know about personal feelings either but, that’s more than I fucking knew five minutes ago.” Tortured. Shifting. Cash. This. That. “Will it ever just stop?”

She hadn’t meant to vocalise that. Her cheeks stained red and she continued looking down. Not wanting to meet his eyes. 

"I’m getting used to that, Slight. New way of life for me. But don’t hold out on what’s been going on with you, yeah?"

But he didn't do anything except watch. Observation was his strongest and weakest point. 

Plopping the rag back in the bowl to clean the makeup off it, he hummed and moved back to the sink. He dumped the juice and refilled the bowl with warm water. "It's won't stop anytime soon," he murmured with his back to her. "Everyone keeps saying this isn't a war, but--you know, revenge is a war itself. And with Wendy and Peter's kid living here now--" Stopping, he rubbed the back of his neck. He was worrying too much about too many possibilities that would, most likely, not happen. He had to calm down.

"It'll stop one day."

When he turned back to her, it was with a small smile. He returned to her side and lightly pressed a few fingers against her bruise. "How bad does it feel on a scale from one to ten?"

Then he registered her question and pursed his lips in response. "Me? Nothing's really been going on. The most trouble I've ever had was with the family--by blood, not this one--but that chapter of my life is closed. Anything that has been recent--is worrying over you lot."

And the dust would help with that. But Sinclair had almost promised she’d fall addicted to it. She wasn’t about to do what he wanted for her.

Stubborn residing queen. 

She picked up a slice of pineapple and popped it in her mouth. “Yo-ho-ho and a can of fucking pineapples. God save the queen. All right, then, nurse, let it rip on me. I’m ready for these - juices to save my life.”

Though he applied with little pressure, it still hurt. And she knew that the foundation would wear off with this; it was cheap. Great. He was going to see it in all of its blackened, glorious state. He was also going to see how it curved around her cheekbone and shadowed up into her eyebrow. It wasn’t as bad as when it had first happened. But when she thought about it, still her ear rang from where it collided with the asphalt.

"The — what? How the fuck could that happen?” Torture. She figured. But she hadn’t been sure. She was never sure. “Maggie went to rehab. Wow. She’s in the same position I was in. Mrs. Darling probably had something to do with that. Peter’s the one who turned me in, damn his ass sometimes.” She said that half-joking, because she would ever be grateful to him for doing it. “Was this - torturing just for fucks and giggles, like — god, what the hell is happening?”

He didn't know how to tell what Casey would do when she was by herself. 

Carefully, he patted around her eye, a frown slowly appearing as the bruising turned larger as he wiped. Dipping the rag back into the bowl, he slowly began to rub, massaging the area as if it would restrain him from walking out the door and making some calls to George Darling. Or certain clients.

"I have no doubt it was Mrs. Darling. I bet you she smiled all pretty-like, then chomped her pretty chops on an unsuspecting Maggie. Can you imagine? Mary Darling, the black widow. Next thing you know, she'll be chomping on us." He tried for humor, but it was lost. It never suited him, anyways; his younger sister would gladly support that.

"I think it was half that, half--wanting something more. Our territory has shifted, and around that time, I know there was a change in our income. The money--shifted too. But honestly, I don't know too much. Just the basics. Anything else--any personal feelings, turmoil, all those lovely details--I don't know." His voice softened throughout his explanation, and he finally stopped wiping at her face; more so because he was caught up in what he said than because he was done. 

"Wish I could tell you more. Wouldn't want you walking around without knowing the full story, but seems like that's going to happen."