A/N: My answer to the question: What if Sawyer had to be Clementine's primary care giver? With a little Juliet on the side.

Clem didn't like this one bit. Their house together was theirs. This big, stupid man shouldn't be allowed in the house that her mommy would never get to go in again.

"I thought you'd like to get some of your stuff."

"What for?"

He shut off the car and turned in his seat so that he faced her. "You need some clean clothes, right? A hairbrush?" Her curly hair was definitely a mess but that was none of his business. She stared back at him for a beat, though, knowing that in the world of kids and grown-ups, grown-ups always won. "Fine."

Clem unbuckled her seat belt and opened the car door. She stomped up the front walk and waited for him to join her at the front stoop, all but tapping her toe at him. Who did he think he was anyway?

She watched as he used her mother's keys to unlock and open the door. The house was light and airy, the open blinds letting in the lemony sunshine. Clementine took it all in and felt her chin wobble slightly. She could smell her mother in the air. She didn't know if it was perfume or shampoo but it was her. She stood there, waiting for her mom to come out of the kitchen and smile at them. She knew, she just knew that if she waited long enough her mom would appear.

"You okay?" said her father, the stranger. He was crouching down to her level again, looking at her with some curiosity mixed with concern.

She could feel her mouth twist at her efforts not to cry. He had ruined it. By asking if she was okay he'd broken the spell, the big, stupid stranger. Her mom wouldn't be coming out of the kitchen or her bedroom or the bathroom. Her mom was dead. "My mom is dead!" she yelled, bursting into tears and stalking to her bedroom where she slammed the door.

xoxox

Shit, thought Sawyer. This is just perfect. The irony was that he knew exactly how she felt. He'd been not that much older than she was now when his father had murdered his mother before committing suicide. He could hear her crying on the other side of her door, so he thought he'd give her a minute. Sawyer prowled through the little one-level house, trying to decide what to do with it. It would be too weird to live here, and probably too traumatic, too. No, a clean break was what the kid needed.

He'd hire someone to come in and go through it all, get rid of everything except Clem's stuff. They could send it to his place...which, come to think of it, needed an upgrade. Clementine needed a better place than his one bedroom apartment by the beach. Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow he'd find something in a nice neighborhood with a backyard.

Sawyer heard her door open and he turned toward her from where he sat on the couch. Her bedroom was off a little hallway that led from the living room. They stared at each other. Finally she broke the silence.

"What's your name?"

"James." He knew that the doctors or somebody had told her this at the hospital but after everything he didn't blame her for forgetting.

"I don't believe you."

He stared at her. "Why not?"

"Because mommy said my daddy's name was Sawyer."

"Well, that's just a nickname," he said patiently. "My name is James Ford, but my nickname is Sawyer."

"My middle name is Ford."

"Well, that'd be your mama's doing."

"What do I call you?"

"Whatever you want."

"I have a nickname, too."

"Do ya?"

Clem nodded solemnly. He could see that her cheeks were still wet from crying, but she was trying to pull it together. "Mommy used to call me 'Tiney'."

"As in Clemen-tine?" Sawyer chuckled and nodded. "That sounds like her."

"What do we do now?"

"I dunno. Have ya had lunch?"

"Yeah. At the hospital."

"Okay, good." Sawyer was now stumped and he began to rethink the whole idea of not getting a job and staying home with her.

She joined him on the couch and they stared at the empty TV for a while.

Sawyer let the silence stretch, thinking that she might appreciate the quiet. Eventually, he said, "You wanna watch some TV?"

"I'm not allowed to watch TV during the day," was her prompt reply, delivered in a monotone voice.

"Why not?"

Clem paused here, not really knowing the answer herself. "It's a rule," she finally told him, in a voice one reserved for the harmless but very stupid.

"Rules are made to be broken," he said, reaching for the remote.

"No! Mommy said no!" she shrieked. He looked at her and put the remote back down on the end table. "Okay, then." She was breathing hard and he thought she might cry again. Shit. This was just fucking awesome. God, he wished Juliet were here. She'd know what to do. Hell, even Kate would be better at this than he was.

"Do you wanna pack a bag or two with your stuff and get outta here?"

"Okay," she said, sounding utterly defeated and got up. "The suitcases are in mommy's closet." She led the way into Cassidy's bedroom where they found the bed unmade and the dresser a mess of jewelry, hair stuff, a curling iron and even a bra or two. The floor was littered with the detritus of a busy life and a too-full closet. Clem waded through all this and opened the sliding closet door and pointed to the shelf at the top. "Suitcase," she said.

Sawyer reached up and brought it into Clem's room so that she could pack. Clem's bedroom, in stark contrast with her mother's was neat as a pin. Every toy was in its place, every game arranged on a shelf, corners all at right angles. Even the bed was made.

Sawyer waited in the living room, but noticed that she went back into her mother's room several times before dragging the case out with her to where he sat on the couch.

"Ready," she said, completely blank and looking a little pale. He noticed that she wouldn't look at him.