Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction. No profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing of this.
A/N: AU, and after the show.
Warning: Mentions of child abuse.
The kid's a lot smaller than Michael remembers Kyle being at that age. Short, skin and bones, and freckled. Not that Michael really remembers Valenti, as a kid. They'd grown up in the same town, went to the same schools and all of that shit, but Michael can't remember what Kyle looked like when he was six years old.
Not that any of that matters, not now, not when Kyle, shrunken in body and age, is standing in front of him with arms outstretched in what Michael assumes must be one of those universal, unspoken gestures which means, 'pick me up'.
Something about the way Kyle looks up at him, hazel eyes wide and filled with trust, melts his heart and he smiles at the kid. He searches those over big eyes for a semblance of the teenager he'd become close friends with over the course of the half year they've been on the road, running from the FBI and other agencies who'd like nothing more than to get their hands on them and dissect them.
There's nothing of his friend in the kid, though, and Michael swallows the sudden lump that forms in his throat. He refuses to cry. Crying's for the girls, that and fussing over the pint-sized six-year-old that Kyle's become.
Kyle sighs and drops his arms to his side when Michael doesn't pick him up. He looks at the floor and then flops down, sitting with an almost imperceptible wince. If Michael hadn't seen the bruises that were now covered up by the thin tee-shirt and jeans that Kyle wore – hand shaped, in various stages of discoloration – he'd never have believed that the younger teen, now a child, had been abused by Sheriff Valenti.
When Max and Liz had combined their powers to heal Kyle, after he'd been shot in a recent robbery gone wrong, they hadn't anticipated what the end result would be. They'd poured themselves into the healing of their friend, unable to bear the thought of losing him. What had happened had left them all dumbfounded and feeling a little like the world had suddenly shifted on its axis, again.
They'd managed to heal Kyle's bullet-riddled body just fine, but their friend was altered in a way that no one had anticipated. He'd been de-aged, and though Liz was looking into it to see if there was a way to reverse the effects of their combined efforts at healing their friend, it looked like he was going to be remaining his six-year-old self. That Kyle would have to age all over again.
"He must've been completely reverted," Liz had said when they'd gotten him away from the convenience store and into the van that was their home.
"Do you think he remembers who we are?" Isabel had wondered aloud, looking at the boy who slept.
"It depends," Liz had said quietly, "if he was returned to his six-year-old self, then no, he won't remember us."
"I'm sorry," Max had said, his eyes closed in exhaustion.
"Not your fault," Michael had said, casting a look at his friends in the rearview mirror as he peeled out of the parking lot and headed toward their new destination in who-the-hell-knows where California.
Though the convenience store robbery had happened just a week ago, it felt like a lifetime to Michael who sighed and smiled at the kid as he sat down across from him. Their knees touched and Michael waited until the boy raised his eyes so that he could make sure that he had his attention.
"You okay?" he asked the kid.
Kyle bit his bottom lip and nodded. He fiddled with the edge of his tee-shirt and lowered his gaze to the floor.
"What's the matter?" Michael asked, raising the child's chin with a finger.
Kyle shrugged and sighed.
"You hungry?" Michael asked, his patience wearing thin.
He wished, not for the first time since early that morning that one of the others had been relegated to stay behind and watch after the six-year-old. But, Liz, Maria, Max and Isabel had all secured part-time day jobs; his didn't start until the evening, putting him on Kyle detail during the day.
Kyle shrugged again and began picking at the hem of his Incredible Hulk tee-shirt. Something that the girls had bought for their age-altered friend, thinking it was cute. Michael agreed that it did look cute on the kid.
"Well," Michael felt the edge of his patience snap, "are you hungry or not?"
He was tired, not having gotten much sleep the night before, and more than a little cranky. Kyle's lack of communication about whatever it was that he needed was not helping matters at all.
"Look, kid," Michael said, "I can't read your mind; you gotta tell me what you want." He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up.
Kyle scrambled to his feet, and looked at the floor, shoulders tense, eyes shut tight. "Sorry, don't hit me," he whispered, almost too quietly for Michael to hear. "Please."
Michael felt his blood run cold. He remembered uttering those same types of pleas to foster parent after foster parent. Every time, they'd fallen on deaf ears, and he'd gone from one hell hole to another, before finally settling with Hank, who mostly kept to himself unless money was short, or he hadn't had enough to drink, or he'd had too much to drink, or Michael did something freaky.
"Shit, kid...Kyle," Michael kept his voice low, imagining what he'd have liked to have heard when he was little and begging for mercy from his abusers.
"Kyle, look at me."
Michael waited for what felt like an eternity for Kyle to do as he'd said. There was a part of him that was terrified he'd screw this up, and a voice at the back of his mind which was accusing him of being like his abusers.
Michael hated them. He hated every adult in his life, even those who'd been kind to him, like Max and Izzy's parents, and Sheriff Valenti.
The only adult he hadn't hated, and who'd gained his trust was Liz's father, Mr. Parker. Mr. Parker had never treated him like a kid, or a fucked up teenage punk. He'd always treated Michael with respect, and like an adult. He'd never pitied him, or given him charity. He'd always been up front and fair with Michael, and had no hidden agenda.
Kyle raised his eyes to Michael's. The teen saw raw fear reflected in Kyle's eyes, yet the boy didn't flinch. Michael knew what Kyle was doing, because he'd done it countless times himself - preparing for the first punch, or slap, or kick.
Even though Kyle was trembling slightly from head to toe, steeling himself for pain, he held himself tall, and Michael was proud of the little boy, even though it stirred up painful memories for him. Kyle was willing to face whatever came next, even if it brought him pain.
Kyle took a shuddering breath as he waited for Michael to strike him. Michael could see the confusion in Kyle's eyes when he patted the floor, indicating that Kyle should sit.
Kyle danced from foot to foot, and Michael knew that the little boy was weighing his options, trying to decide which was more dangerous - obedience, or defiance. In the end, obedience, and Michael's patience won out, and Kyle plopped down on the floor.
"Kyle, I'm sorry that I yelled. I'm tired, and Maria would say that I'm cranky," Michael's confession drew a hesitant smile from Kyle, even as the little boy tensed.
Michael knew, firsthand, that apologies, and confessions, often led to painful beatings that were soon followed by more meaningless apologies, and, worse, promises.
"It's not your fault," Michael said next, hoping that he was using the right words, and that his voice didn't sound insincere, and that Kyle would believe him.
"I'm sorry that I scared you. I didn't mean to. I'm just...frustrated...and tired, but," Michael wasn't sure how to put the next part, because words, to kids like him and Kyle, they don't mean squat, unless they're backed up with action. "Kyle, I wasn't...I'm not...Kyle, I won't ever hit you."
Kyle looked at Michael's hands, which he'd kept upturned on his knees - a pose that the teenage Kyle had taught him not too long ago, it was supposed to help him relax, and communicate peace. Michael hoped that the smaller version of Kyle would understand that.
Kyle raised his eyes to Michael's, and tilted his head to the side. "Promise?"
Kyle watched Michael carefully, and Michael knew that it was a moment of truth. That, what he did, and said, next, would be examined, and tested, and weighed by the little boy. Michael would either be deemed worthy of Kyle's trust, or he'd be relegated to the same category that Kyle had placed his own abuser in. That of monsters and bad guys.
Michael took a deep breath, and leaned forward. He deliberately placed himself in Kyle's space, crowding the little boy, and slowly raised his hands. Kyle swallowed, and he watched Michael's hands out of the corner of his eyes.
Michael placed his hands on Kyle's shoulders, wishing that it was Liz, or Maria, or Izzy who had to deal with this trembling, terrified version of mini-Kyle, rather than him. He wasn't good at this kind of thing. Unlike Max, Michael had no grand illusions of being a father. He knew that his past was too checkered, and his future too unstable.
Michael held his breath, and he pulled Kyle into a hug. The little boy stiffened in his arms, and Michael hoped that he hadn't made a horrible mistake.
"I promise," Michael spoke the words into Kyle's ear, and was surprised when the little boy's arms wrapped around him, and Kyle melted into the embrace.
"You won't ever hit me, or, or kick me, or, or use a belt, or a hanger?" Kyle's question came out in one long string of words, and Michael wasn't certain he'd heard everything correctly, but he nodded. The little boy's heart was beating a mile a minute, and he was taking in gulping breaths that had Michael worried that the little boy was crying.
"I won't," he promised. It was an easy promise to make.
After a little while, Kyle's breathing, and the frenetic beating of his heart, slowed, and he pulled away from Michael with a tiny, "Thanks."
Kyle stared at Michael when they parted. After taking a deep breath, he confessed, in a shame-filled whisper, "My dad said it was my fault that mommy left, that, he had to, had to make me a good boy, so maybe she'd come back. Do you think she'll come back? Am I good enough now?"
Kyle's eyes were filled with so much hope, and trust that Michael's stomach clenched. He didn't know how to answer questions like this. This was something right up Liz' alley, not his.
Michael cleared his throat and forced himself to look at Kyle, though he wanted to turn away from that soul-piercing gaze that Kyle was pinning him with.
"Kyle," Michael had no idea what had happened to cause Mrs. Valenti to leave her husband, and son.
He feared the it might have had something to do with him, and Tess, Max, and Iz breaking free from their pods. Looking at Kyle, pitched forward to hear the truth, Michael knew, with absolute certainty, that Kyle's mother had not left the little boy because of anything he'd done or said.
"Kyle, you didn't make your Mom leave. Your dad was wrong. She didn't leave because you were bad, and she's not..." Michael watched Kyle's face carefully as he spoke. The little boy seemed relieved at his words, taking them at face value.
"Kyle, I'm sorry, but, your Mom, she's not coming back. It has nothing to do with how good, or bad you are," Michael assured the little boy, patting him on the knee and ignoring the sharp, nearly imperceptible intake of breath that the unanticipated touch elicited from Kyle.
"And," Michael wasn't sure if he should say anything without talking about it with the others first, but, he threw caution to the wind, and planned to fight the others about it if it came to that, "and you're not going back to your dad."
Kyle seemed to ponder Michael's words. After several tense seconds of silence, with Michael watching a myriad of emotions cross Kyle's face, the little boy suddenly smiled, and threw his arms around Michael, kissing him on the cheek.
"Promise?" Kyle asked, after releasing his hold on Michael.
"Promise," Michael affirmed with a nod. He crossed his heart with an index finger, and returned the great, big grin that Kyle gave him with one of his own.
Though there was still a lot that Michael didn't understand with Kyle's accidental de-aging, and the awful revelation that he'd been abused by a man that Michael had just started to trust, he knew that there'd been a major breakthrough for both him and little Kyle.
He pulled the little boy onto his lap, and tickled him. They spent the rest of the day playing, eating, and napping. When the others returned from their work, tired and sore, Michael wasn't so keen to leave. The day had come full circle, and Michael realized that spending the day with the six year old hadn't been half as bad as he'd thought it would. He'd even enjoyed it, and was looking forward to spending time with Kyle the next day.
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