Disclaimer: The usual. Not my characters… not making any money off of this… just for entertainment.
A/N: Thanks to my beta readers as usual. I couldn't pull this off without you guys. And thank you again to my regular readers – you are a large portion of what keeps me so excited about this. (I mean… it's a story I'm interested in… but it's nice to see that other people are interested too).
Chapter 8 The Dark Side:
"I'm sorry it didn't work." Malcolm sat down beside Trip, eyeing Jay who now watched them diligently.
"You did fine." Trip was inconsolable. "It's not your fault."
I don't hear that often. Malcolm wondered what could have happened to send Trip into such a black mood. Surely not the simple instance of being caught by Jonathan. Something else must have happened out in back of the Arts and Crafts cabin -- something very bad.
"Asshole took my shims. I spent forever making those, and he grabbed them away like they were garbage. Probably threw them in the garbage. I am so out of this place now." Trip shook, and tears shone in his eyes, but wouldn't fall.
"You made those?" Malcolm was impressed. What he'd seen of them had been good workmanship, and they certainly got the job done.
"Took forever," Trip repeated. "I had to experiment with a ton of different designs, and had to get them just perfect. And you've got to use the right metals, too: if they're too soft they'll just bend, and if they're too stiff, you can't work them in the lock, and you might end up damaging the mechanism. They were mine and he took them away like they were nothing."
Malcolm said nothing. He knew why Jonathan took the lock picks away: not only were they letting Trip do whatever he wanted -- they were also illegal. At the same time he could understand why Trip was so upset. It was like when Jonesy had taken Malcolm's favourite book and thrown it in the toilet. It wasn't the things themselves; it was what they represented… and the memories they held. Now those memories would be tainted. He sighed. He wanted to help his friend, but had no idea how to go about it. But I don't want you to leave. Camp without Trip would not only be boring, it would be – at this point – downright dangerous.
But if I tell Jonathan, I'll be betraying Trip. And I don't want him hating me, because he's the first real friend I've ever had. But if I don't tell Jonathan and Trip runs away… even if he makes it home okay, he'll probably still be in serious trouble, and so will I. Having friends certainly made life a lot more complicated than he'd thought it would. Then again, he'd never imagined having a friend like Trip. Until this summer he'd classified people who behaved like Trip as 'undesirable'. He remembered his first impression… and how wrong it had been. Sure, Trip didn't follow a lot of the rules, and he could definitely be rude… but he followed the important rules, the unwritten ones that everyone else forgot about: like standing up for what was right, even if it wasn't popular; like defending the defenceless and like accepting the consequences of your actions. This was the first time he'd seen Trip truly upset over something that happened to him; the first time Trip had seemed indignant about a punishment. And, even now, he doesn't deny that he deserves it; he's just mad that it happened. Anyone else would be saying it wasn't 'fair'.
He remembered what Trip had said to him on that first night, 'Fair is a sunny day.' Trip didn't believe in 'fair' because he had too much evidence to the contrary. Like me. Malcolm realised that despite all appearances, Trip was quite used to being on the losing side of things. And even when he won… he knows it's because he had a natural advantage, like being smarter or being a better athlete. So even then he knows it wasn't 'fair'.
"I don't want you to leave." Malcolm didn't realise he'd spoken at first.
Trip's smile failed. "I know. And it sucks leaving you here, but what am I staying for? I could've told them before I showed up that I didn't get along with people, and I've got no interest in trying. Most people are just hypocrites anyway, and that is not how I intend to live my life. And there's only so much of this bullshit I can take before… I'm not going to make it. Either I leave now or…" He didn't finish the sentence.
Malcolm stared at his friend, more afraid than he'd ever been in his life. Trip was serious about this. I never realised it was so bad. He'd never seen so much pain in one person in his entire life. I've got to do something, fast.
# # # #
"Come in." Jonathan looked up in surprise at the identity of his caller. "Malcolm."
"It's… it's Trip, sir. I'm worried about him."
Jonathan sat up and patted a space on the bed beside him. "Sit down, Malcolm." The look on Malcolm's face proved the reality of his words. So you've finally realised he's not the hero you took him for. "Now what's the problem?"
"I think… I think he was talking about killing himself."
"What?!" That was not the answer Jonathan had expected. He jumped up and turned around to face Malcolm. "What makes you think that?" He tried to sound calm, but cold terror raced through him. A suicidal kid was no joke and he didn't think Malcolm would be here if the boy didn't seriously believe that Tucker meant it. "Did he say…"
"Not exactly, sir." Malcolm hung his head and tears streaked down his cheeks. "But he said some things… like he wasn't going to make it… like he had to leave now, or…" He looked up, suddenly. "You've got to do something, sir. You can't let him do this."
Oh, hell. Yeah, coming from Tucker words like that could definitely be taken as intent to die… Tucker didn't do anything by half-measures. "I have to call his parents…" He spoke more to himself than Malcolm, trying desperately to figure out what to do.
"No, sir. You can't do that, it won't fix anything. He needs help now. Right now, while he's still thinking about it." Malcolm interrupted him, a rare thing from this ultra-polite child. What was worse was that the kid made sense.
How did you get so wise on the subject? Jonathan nodded, unable to think of anything else to do. "What makes you think he'll listen to me?"
Malcolm shook his head. "I don't know. But I think he will… I think he cares what you think of him. He was so mad that you took his lock-picks… they were important to him. He made them himself…"
Jonathan glanced over at his dresser at the confiscated picks. No wonder he freaked out. If he put that much effort into something…
"…and I think he thinks you don't like him. I think he thinks you lied to him about something."
'Why do you care about me?' You really aren't used people doing that, are you? And by stopping the game… he realised now that Tucker did conceive of their sparring as a challenge… you think it means I'm not interested in you anymore. Jonathan's stomach twisted as he realised the implications of that. "Where is he now?" The others were on free-time, but he'd insisted that Malcolm and Tucker stay in the Arts and Crafts cottage under supervision. However, if Malcolm was here…
"I snuck out. The counsellor was paying so close attention to Trip that he never saw me. You've got to do something, sir. You can't…"
"Okay, okay. I'm going to go talk to him. I should call his parents though… something like this is very serious. People don't go making threats like this if there's not something deeply wrong with them. A simple talking to from me isn't…"
"It might help for now, sir. And if his parents take him away… how is he ever going to know if you're one of the hypocrites or not?"
"Hypocrites?" An interesting comment coming from Tucker… but then again, maybe not.
"He said that most people were hypocrites, and I think I know what he means. I think he means that most people only care what you can do for them… and he's not like that. If he were like that… he wouldn't be my friend. I can't do anything that people are interested in… but he's my friend anyway. But if you send him away…" Malcolm dropped his gaze again and began crying harder.
Damnit. How many rules was he going to bend for this kid? As many as I need to. He couldn't help it… Tucker had too tight a grip on his heartstrings. You had me at word one. All that pent-up rage and obvious intelligence… Tucker was a special kid, all right. "Okay, let me talk to him first. Then I'll decide."
Malcolm nodded. "I hope he doesn't hate me for talking to you, but I had to do something."
Great. Two of them. "You did the right thing, Malcolm. You can't be expected to handle something like this. This is something most grown-ups have trouble with… you managed to see things here we've all missed. He's lucky to have a friend like you. Most people wouldn't have bothered." He crouched down and took Malcolm by the shoulders. "You did the right thing… and even if he's mad at you, I think he'll understand that. I'll make sure he understands that."
Malcolm nodded, looking relieved. "That's important to him. I know you don't think so… but it is."
Jonathan remembered how Tucker had been willing to tear into Dutretre over comments the boy had made. How he'd protected Malcolm from having to go swimming. I guess you just have a different version of what's right.
"Okay. I'll keep that in mind. Do you want to come with me, or do you want to stay here? I want to talk with him alone in any case…"
"I'll stay here. You do believe me, don't you? He really is…"
"I believe you, Malcolm. Which is why I'm going to do everything I can." He gave Malcolm a quick hug and stood up. "I'm… I'm going to do everything I can." He'd been about to say he'd take care of it -- that it would be okay, but he knew Malcolm was too smart to believe that. This is not something that becomes okay. "Just… can you do me a favour?"
Malcolm nodded.
"If the others show up before I'm back… tell them free time has been extended. Don't worry about telling them why… they probably won't argue anyway." He hoped they wouldn't argue… even if they did think Malcolm wasn't worth listening to. I just don't think we'll need an audience when we come back.
He forced himself not to run up to the Arts and Crafts cabin. It wouldn't do him any good to show up panicky and out of breath. I need to be as calm as possible if I'm going to have any hope of handling this. He hoped Malcolm was overreacting, but didn't think it too likely. If Tucker had come to him instead… but that's not too likely either, is it, hotshot? He paused at the door and took a deep breath before entering.
"Oh, Jon, thank God. I don't know where the other one is, but you told me this was the trouble kid…" Jay came running up like a man who'd just spotted a lifeline. "…so I didn't want to leave him…"
"It's okay, Jay. Just give us a couple of minutes, okay?" Jonathan looked past Jay and over at Tucker. The boy sat on the bench, all huddled up like he had out in the woods. Not good. He wouldn't make eye contact either, just stared down at the table. Really not good.
He waited until Jay gratefully escaped, then closed the door and went to sit beside Tucker. "Hey. What's up?"
Tucker didn't speak to him -- didn't even move.
"You mad at me?" He leaned in to put himself in Tucker's line of sight and Tucker turned his head away.
"I know you're not happy, kiddo. I just want to know how bad it is." He leaned behind Tucker this time, to make himself visible again. Tucker buried his face on his knees.
"Because if it's as bad as it looks… nothing's worth that, kiddo." He saw a shudder run through Tucker's body, as though the kid was fighting with himself over something. You want to say something, don't you? You want to say something, but you won't because it'll mean you have to break. "Malcolm said that you were pretty upset. He thinks…" He took another deep breath. The only way to attack this was head on. "Trip… were you… are you thinking about killing yourself?"
Tucker's only response was to pull tighter into himself.
I'll take that as a 'yes'. No wonder people always said they never saw it coming. How many people would pick a bright, active kid like Tucker to be the depressive type? Yet… what had Dad said about twelve? 'Everything changes.' If Tucker was going through that on top of everything else… I can see how that can screw you up. Just another area of life where he was ahead of his peers. Poor kid.
"Look, I don't care what else in your life is wrong…it's not worth that. There is nothing that is worth that. I am certainly not worth that. No way in hell."
Tucker muttered something, but it was lost in his knees.
"Believe me kiddo…"
"Why the fuck do you care?" This time Tucker screamed it -- pain and rage reverberating in every word. "Why the fuck do you care one way or another? It's not like I really matter…"
Jonathan swept him into a tight hug and didn't even try to stop his own tears. "Yes, you do, kiddo. I know you don't want to believe that…" He buried his own face in Tucker's hair and began rocking him back and forth. "…but you do matter. You matter. Not your pitching… not your strategy…you, okay? And not just to me, but Malcolm is worried about you too. As for me… I've never spent this much time on one kid before. And it's not just because you've caused me so much trouble… if that was it I would've sent you home a long time ago. Believe it or not, this has been the most interesting year I've ever had. You are – by far – one of the most interesting people I've ever had a chance to meet. And I've met a few."
Tucker didn't answer, but Jonathan felt some of the tension in the boy's body draining away as he surrendered to his sobs. Then – miracle of miracles – Tucker's arms crept around Jonathan's torso. He turned his face to Jonathan's chest and cried harder… all his pent-up pain and anger seeming to unleash itself at once.
Aw, kid. Jonathan held him until the sobs slowed, then stopped completely. Only when Tucker's breathing finally levelled out did he relax his grip and look at the kid's face. His cheeks shone red and raw, and his closed eyes were swollen. Exhaustion had finally caught up, for he'd fallen asleep.
Carefully Jonathan shifted around until he could get up without letting go. He lifted Tucker from the bench and let the boy's head fall to his shoulder. Don't wake up. You need your sleep. He carried him down to the cabin, marvelling again at how heavy Tucker was. So much packed into one little kid. He'd seen Escher drawings with less angles than Tucker.
Fortunately the cabin was empty when they got back, except for Malcolm who watched anxiously as Jonathan put Tucker in his bunk. Jonathan held a finger to his lips and Malcolm nodded. They moved quietly to the back room and Jonathan closed the door.
"I'll see how he is in the morning, and I'll decide then whether or not to call his parents, okay?" He spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb Tucker in any way.
Malcolm nodded. "Okay. Is he mad at me?"
"I don't think so, but we'll see how he feels when he wakes up." Jonathan sighed. "I forgot how tired he looked this morning… and with everything that went on today he was probably pretty worn out even before we started talking. He definitely needs to get some sleep." He sighed again. "I just hope I'm doing the right thing."
"If you sent him home, they'd send him to a doctor, right?"
Jonathan nodded. "Which might be the best thing."
"Except a doctor wouldn't know him, and Trip would probably just lie. And then the doctor wouldn't be able to help…" Once again Malcolm proved he was more perceptive than a ten year old should be.
"Are you sure you're only ten? Maybe you should be the one with the medical degree."
Malcolm stared down at his shoes. Why? "It's not that hard to figure out. All you have to do is listen when he talks to you."
Jonathan was about to say that he did, but stopped himself just in time. No, you hear, but you don't always listen. Half of what Tucker communicates is in what's not said. Coming from a kid who didn't have anything nice to say about anybody… 'semi-competent' could be seen as high praise. Even outside the Arts and Crafts cabin, everything was going fine until he confiscated the picks. Well, fine according to the rules of Tucker. It was only after he teased Tucker with the picks that the trouble started. Something else Malcolm said came back. He cares what you think about him.
"Why do you care?" Jonathan murmured. If Tucker could ask the question, then why couldn't he?
"Pardon?" Malcolm looked at Jonathan quizzically.
"Sorry. Just something he asked me." That was something he might want to figure out in a hurry though. If Tucker didn't give a damn what other people thought, then why did he care what Jonathan thought about him? What's so special about me? Dad said Trip had picked him out to be his big brother… But I don't have any experience at that. I'm an only child. As near as he could tell, there was nothing big-brotherish about him. He supposed he could ask Tucker how to do it… but somehow he didn't think that was going to work. "Are you okay?"
Malcolm nodded. "I was just really worried about him, that's all. I don't think he'd joke about something like that. Other people would… but I don't think he would."
"I don't think so either. Which is why I'm really glad you said something." Jonathan felt his gaze being drawn back to the lock-picks. Who would've thought that something so small could be so important? He picked them up and examined them more closely. They really were well made, with no evidence of tool marks or weakness. And he did them himself? The kid probably would make a good engineer. If he can get his math grades up. He weighed them in his hand and reached a decision. Crossing the room, he opened the door and looked outside. The cabin was still deserted and Tucker was still asleep. Quietly he moved over to Tucker's bunk and tucked the picks into the boy's hand then folded his fingers around them.
"Nice and safe," he whispered. He didn't care about the illegality of it anymore… what was more important: the rules, or a kid's life? "Sleep tight, kiddo." He turned around to see Malcolm's smile and shrugged. "Don't tell on me, I'd just get fired."
Malcolm nodded and Jonathan realised that the sides had just changed again. Now it's you and me against him. Just so long as he never figures it out.