First story and I still don't have a beta. I tried really hard not to make mistakes and I used the spellcheck, but I'm not an English speaker so if you find any (awkward sentences that sound off included) please let me know (or even better: if you want to be my beta, I'll love you forever (: ).

[Yeah, OC story. I know, "Mary Sue alert" but please, try and read half the first chapter before you hate her; if after that you still hate her... let me know. I'm here to learn to get rid of the Mary-Sueness too]

oooooooooooo

Sometimes Giulia really hated having hands that small.

Like when she had to shuffle the cards at a poker game and she couldn't mange to hold the whole deck to save her life. Like when opening jars, a task that was already demanding per se, became an agonizing struggle because they systematically did not fit in her palms. Or in days like today when she had to work on trucks, which had every single part double sized and just releasing the bolts made her fingers hurt.

She had been working her way into the mechanical entrails of that enormous engine for over an hour and as a result her fingertips where getting a painful red-hot hue under the thick gloves (which were too big, by the way; because apparently, gloves belonged to the surprisingly large family of "things that don't exist in Lilliputian size"), but that aside she was having a nice time: it was a late evening, which meant she could hum Call Me Maybe without having Geoff and Stuart trying to shoot her down or making throwing up sounds since they were long gone home.

But other than having the freedom to sing awful songs in the empty workshop, there was nothing to mark that day as somehow different from any other. Had there been some kind of cosmic sign that her life was going to change simply because she used the front entrance instead of the back door as she usually did, she probably wouldn't have done it. In fact, she wouldn't have come to work at all: curled under her comforter with a mountain of Smarties and watching Robin Hood for the hundredth time, that's where she would have been. But the universe doesn't send cosmic signs, not even in Haven (unless you currently call yourself Audrey Parker. In that case, please sit back and wait for your Meteor Shower of Doom), so she did as fate had arranged: at 10 pm, she walked out from the front entrance.

Which wasn't actually the direct cause of said life-changing turn, rather than the fact that her boss saw her and waved at her with a wide smile that stood out on his silvery beard like a white beacon.

Giulia froze.

Hadn't she known Carrol for the best part of her life, she wouldn't have felt that chill down her spine, but she was all too familiar with that smile: the one that had "I'm going to make you do something against all your soundest instincts and I'm doing it for your own good" engraved in every single teeth. And yeah, you might say that that was the universe's way of telling her "run for your life", but how could she know? So she approached her boss with the wary step of a wild hare as he ended his phone call (‹‹Yeah. No, don't worry. Simple job, right? Not a problem. Yes, I got some wire. Ok. Ok. See you here) and beamed at her.

‹‹Hey kid. You're going home, right?››

Innocent question. It always started with an innocent question.
The chills down her neck became a tad colder.

‹‹Yeah, why?››

If Carrol had picked up on the suspicion that oozed from her voice, he did a good job ignoring it.

‹‹Give Dwight a lift then, will you? He's got something to take care of on route 15 but his van is still down››

There it was, the bomb. She should have so listened to the cosmic sign of warning.

And apparently what she was thinking was written all over her face because Carrol glued her to the ground with one of his stern glares.

‹‹Now, little lady. Don't even think of getting away from this. You asked me for help, did you not?››

‹‹...I did.››

‹‹And that's exactly what I'm doing. If you'd like to be more friendly...››

‹‹Not friendly. Just... not socially awkward››

‹‹Then the first lesson is "learning to chat with strangers". Like Dwight. And God help me if I know how you managed not to exchange a single word with him in all the years you've worked for me. He didn't even know I had a third assistant.››

Her shoulders slumped a bit under the weight of guilt, but she still tried to voice a weak protest.

‹‹I know I asked you to make me talk to people but... Dwight? He's one of the few people who are into this Trouble thing up to their neck, it's not... shouldn't I start talking to the normal ones first? Besides, who knows what he's going to "clean" today. What if he's going there to dump dead bodies in the woods?››

Ok, maybe that sounded more like a vaguely hysteric plea, but Carrol just brushed it away with a wave of his big hands.

‹‹Hey I'm not sending you to hunt down a griffin you know, he just gotta fix a couple of light poles. You only have to drive and, if you feel up to it, try and make some small talk. If you don't, Dwight won't mind. He's not exactly chatty either. That ok with you?››

At the sight of his smile, all good intentions and loving support, Giulia felt more than a twinge of remorse. So she nodded with more conviction than she actually had, because her being a spineless pussy incapable of even accepting a helping hand... well, that wasn't something she wanted Carrol to see.
What she did not see though was how it was all too clear to him. He knew her well and didn't need her eyes to get all big and liquid to understand how hard it was for her. To him, she looked like a scared sparrow, trying her best not to flap away.

‹‹Hey kid. Look at me›› he said, softening up ‹‹I'm doing this for you. Because I want to see you surrounded by people who love and care about you. But first we've gotta get you out of that shell of yours, all right? You'll see. Hendrickson's a good guy››

As I said, he knew her well. That's why he could push her buttons as he just did: Giulia wanted to "get out of the shell" more than anything and in a sudden burst of self-imposed bravery she nodded with a hard smile.
In that moment, as if conjured by that silent approval, Dwight the Cleaner appeared in the entrance with the squeaking of gravel pressed by his boots.

The first thing Giulia thought seeing him up-close had been "huge". And it had been the only thing she could think for a good while because it was as if his presence was so massive that it demanded a considerable mental space as well as physical. He wasn't simply tall or big; it wasn't just elongated limbs or bulging muscles (he didn't lack either, by the way), it was like someone had pushed the re-size button in Photoshop: all the right proportions, just more.
It would be a lie to say she wasn't at least a tiny bit envious of all that mass, as she was the exact opposite: all the right proportions, just less. She didn't have short legs or a bony body, she looked rather like a smaller version of a standard person. It's pointless to say that all her self-imposed bravery vanished when, to look him in the eyes, she practically had to break her neck.

oooooooooooooooo

"So, you're the Cleaner, uh?"

Right, because starting a conversation about the unspeakable secrets of Haven is a brilliant idea.

"Your name is Dwight, right?"

Of course his name is Dwight, what kind of question is that?

"You like wrestling?"

And that sounds a lot like "you kinda look like a caveman, so you probably like that kind of violent macho sports"

"What's your favorite book?"

Oh God, what if he doesn't read?

In her head, Giulia groaned in defeat.
It was hard to say what was more ridiculous: the unlikely conversation starters that she was producing or the paranoid accuracy her brain was shooting them down with before she could actually voice them.

"I'm really, really out of practice"

And that she surely was, but at least Carrol had been right: Dwight seemed perfectly at ease without speaking, so that the resulting silence wasn't awkward or off-putting. Maybe it was because, as proclaimed the deep bags under his eyes, he was beat; or maybe it had something to do with the self-confidence vibe he gave off (self-confidence that Giulia suspected came natural with the "I look like I can bend iron bars wriggling my toes" pack). Whatever the reason, it was comfortable enough for her to relax; in fact, she relaxed so much that when the man himself asked her a question she had to have him repeat it.

‹‹I said you're good at driving. You've been practicing a lot?››

Giulia blinked, unsure of what he meant, bu hey! It was finally small-talk time, so she hopped right in.

‹‹Was that a wisecrack on women at the wheel?››

‹‹What? No. No, I mean you're what, sixteen? But you are doing very good. Especially without automatic drive.››

Oh, so that's what he meant.
Dear Lord, not again.

Giulia always blamed her unlucky genetic mix for the fact that more often than not, people took her for a teenager: being of mostly Indian ancestry translated on her face in big eyes, small mouth (and her Mom could go on all she wanted and say how her mouth was like a rosebud; it was still frigging small ) and a general childish softness of the lines that never went quite away. Add her (short) height and the result was that, though almost thirty, she was still asked to show an ID every time she tried to buy alcohol.
But today it wasn't a good day; she was tired, it was late, and she wasn't in the mood for widening eyes, having to show her license as proof and not really knowing how to act after that so she just... didn't bother to correct his assumptions.

‹‹I'm good with cars she said with a shrug.››

‹‹Family thing?››

‹‹You could say so››

‹‹Your dad?››

A smile tugged slightly the corners of her lips.

‹‹No, my baby brother actually. He was really into those transformers toys and used to ask me all kind of questions about how cars and tellies and mobiles work, so I started reading around to answer him. Then I found out I liked that kind of stuff too so I just, you know, kept on doing it until somehow it became my job››

It wasn't a lie, but still every time she said it out loud sounded kind of funny.
But Dwight didn't have any comment, amused or not, to offer because he simply nodded and kept on staring at the road that was flowing black under the wheels. The silence came back, as calm and comfortable as it had been before, but this time it remained unbroken until they reached route 15.

ooooooooooooooooo

She didn't know exactly what made her offer to help him with his "cleaning job" just a second before Dwight could get off her car, go home and finally put an end to that strange evening.
She was thinking really hard about a reasonable explanation as she stood under his mildly surprised gaze, but nothing was coming to her. Those words just escaped her lips under the same impulse that, while back on route 15 he was busy with the head, compelled her to fix the the light pole's connections on the ground even if he didn't ask her to: again, something she couldn't explain. There was something in the methodical silence she saw him work in, in the obvious weariness that run deeper than the energy his hands showed, that whispered of a nameless loneliness and before she knew it she found herself eying how much insulated wire she would need. If Dwight had any objection he didn't let her know and in less than twenty minutes of silent collaboration the light pole was as good as new; Giulia knew better than ask what in the world could have brutally torn its head off - nineteen feet from the ground.

And now this. She felt incredibly silly the very moment her voice made that offer without her brain's consent and him taking forever to reply wasn't helping. So, instead of keeping quiet, she dug her grave even deeper.

‹‹I mean, not with the... uhm...›› she didn't want to say "gory business" but judging from the faint grin that appeared on his face, Dwight deduced it anyway from her eyes that darted to the crossbow resting ominously on his back.

‹‹... yeah, that; but if it's about fixing things I could lend a hand, if you don't mind, that is, I... It wouldn't be a problem›› she blurted.

And the little smile was still there. She couldn't understand if it was sardonic, honestly amused or patronizing, but she didn't have much time to study it because without any real warning Dwight was gone: and just like that, with a ‹‹I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for the ride›› and a couple of strides of those long legs, she was left to stare in the blackness where he stood moments ago.

Giulia blinked a couple of times, trying to wrap her mind around that suddenly started and even more suddenly concluded parenthesis of her evening. And while she drove back home the conscious part of her head was thinking of what she was going to say if he ever actually called asking for help; but a teeny tiny unconscious part was probably wondering why the vehicle, now that there wasn't that blond colossus in it, felt strangely wide and empty.