A/N: I'm already thoroughly taken with the character of Hal, so this is my first attempt at writing him. Sadly, though, he is not mine; he and his friends belong to the good folks at the BBC.
House Rules
The flat above the barbershop had once belonged to a family. Beneath the kitchen's first layer of wallpaper were neat pencil-marks, aligned in one corner, denoting each year by the height of a growing child. Leo sanded the room down and recoated it in maize-yellow; Pearl sewed window-blinds from a kit she'd seen advertised in Homes and Gardens.
Hal changed the locks, and mapped the distances from one door to another; the confines of this strange, unproven life.
Little by little, order prevailed. Ease came painfully, haltingly, as if by the working of atrophied muscles. On the bad days- the days when his universe rested within four corners, and his fingers shook too acutely to hold the dominoes- Pearl would bring the space beyond to him.
Small treasures would appear from the folds of her skirt like a magic trick; stones that he could organise according to colour, a leaf from every tree along their street.
"I've darned all your socks, plain black wool. Should really be getting you new ones, only Leo's been saving for that dryer chair, and he won't let me just swaddle 'em. Still. Make do."
"...and mend." He finished for her, inching the last of her gifts into place. The screaming across his nerves was beginning to quieten; he no longer had to clench one hand to keep the other steady.
Once the arrangement was complete, Pearl edged the wooden box in his direction, sliding its lid back as she did so.
"Well, go on then. You know what he'll be like if you don't."
You mean what I'll be like, he thought but didn't say. He traced the indentation of each pip in the first domino; double-six, a good start.
"Are you staying to watch?"
Pearl snorted. "Must be joking. Some of us have chores, you know."
"Just what do you think"- his third tile began the curve away, along the spiral's inmost arm- "...this is?"
"That?" She had her back to him now, but he could hear the smile in her voice. "Daft as a brush."
"And the same to you, I'm sure." He called, as the door closed her out.
Seven down, forty-eight to go. Leo had promised him a double-twelve set, once the dryer chair was bought. One thousand and ninety-two pips, total; Hal lined the number up inside his head, trying to imagine its constituent parts.
Lately, even so many seconds seemed impassable. He spread both palms flat, and counted down, ten, nine, eight, seven...
Zero, and the world was still beating; the line held firm; the shop bell clattered down below.
Hal took up the next piece, wound back to ten, and carried on.