Disclaimer: These are not my characters. This is for entertainment only.
Author's note: Sorry, so long, but I work 40 hour weeks, I've got a beta reader who currently has only intermittent connections to the internet, am working on several other stories, FF.net was down… there's a lot of reasons.
Thank you so much to my beta readers, gaianarchy and silvershadowfire, without whom this would be a lot more confusing.
Chapter 9: Bonding
Trip woke to a sticky mouth and felt his face burning with the salt of dried tears. He clenched his fists to stretch…
Holy shit. He bolted upright and stared down at his hand, then turned to look at Jonathan's door. No way. But there they were, nestled in his palm. My shims. Son of a bitch. He gave me back my shims. Another thought occurred to him. Why? Grown-ups – and Jonathan was supposed to be a grown-up – didn't give you back things like this after they took them away. Even if they felt sorry for you… and that was a big 'if'. Most people would be glad if I took myself out of their hair.
"Are you okay, Trip?" Malcolm's quiet voice drifted up out of the darkness.
He rolled over and hung his head over the side, barely able to see the younger boy. "Yeah. I'm okay. You okay?"
"I thought you might be mad at me. For telling Jonathan." Malcolm sounded so tentative that he seemed like his old bad self.
"Naw. I mean, what were you supposed to do? It must have been pretty scary for you." How could he get mad at someone for being scared? Like Jonathan had pointed out, Malcolm was only ten. "I was feeling pretty intense." He felt like he should explain it. "I get cranky and out of sorts when I don't sleep. And I do a lot of stupid things." Okay, so he'd been well past what most people thought of as stupid. But how can I tell a ten-year-old the truth? Even one as smart as Malcolm? That sometimes it was just too hard to keep fighting… and that fighting was his whole life. I'm a fighter. And when a fighter couldn't fight any more… what's the point? What had that Chandler guy called it… that movie? The Big Sleep. Warner Brothers, 1946, starring Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. Yeah, that Marlowe guy was pretty cool… and the movie was one of the 'film-noir' classics, which meant he'd had to wait until his parents were in bed before he watched it. Just sometimes a big sleep became so tempting… "But I'm okay, now. Sorry if I freaked you out."
"It's okay. You don't have to apologise. I was just very worried about you, that's all."
"Yeah, well… most people don't. I mean… if I'dve said anything back home… people would've probably just laughed at me. Or said I was being stupid. So… thanks. I don't think I've meant enough to anyone for them to worry before." Cut that out. You'll scare him again. And the last thing he wanted was for Jonathan to come in here and give him another hug. Marlowe wouldn't have stood for anything like that. "I just really needed some sleep, that's all."
And a good cry, he reminded himself, treacherously. But that was okay, because Jonathan had been crying too. And he's supposed to be a grown-up.
"All right. As long as you're okay."
Yeah, kid. He lay back on his bunk, enjoying the cold smooth feel of the picks in his fingers. I'm okay. He rolled over and held them tight in his fist, letting their comforting presence lull him back into sleep. Normal, regular sleep – miles away from the Big one.
He woke again to the rhythm of a finger tapping on his forehead. "Breakfast time, hotshot. Let's go." He opened his eyes to see Jonathan smiling down at him. "I let you sleep in past the shower – though God knows you need one – but you need to get something to eat."
"Bring it here." He smirked. "I want to sleep in, today."
"Yesterday was pretty rough, wasn't it? Okay… I bring you breakfast in bed and you get up in time for practice. We've got our first game this evening."
Trip narrowed his eyes. It always comes down to that damned game.
"And it's not about the game. At least not baseball… 'You do the crime, you do the time.'" Jonathan's face grew more serious, then lightened again.
"Asshole." Trip gave the word no real heat and began to climb out of bed. He jumped down the last two rungs, aiming for Jonathan's foot. Missing, he stumbled and almost fell.
"Careful." Jonathan caught and steadied him. "Last thing I need is you cracking your skull… even if it is harder than a rock."
Trip said nothing, just rubbed his eyes. God, I feel like shit. Now he'd had too much sleep, and it left him groggy. "Where is everybody?"
"Showers. They should be back in a couple. Most of them were disappointed that they weren't going to get their daily dose of entertainment… but I thought you could use the sleep."
"Uhhh." He realised he was still holding his picks and shoved them into his pocket. No sense in reminding Jonathan about them… he'd probably just take them away again. I don't even know if it was you who gave them back to me. It could have been Malcolm, after all.
"How are you feeling, today?" Jonathan's voice dropped as he returned to serious.
"Fine. Tired." He knew Jonathan wanted reassuring, but couldn't do it. What else can I say? Actually, it felt kind of like the morning after he'd drunk the cough syrup: his parents should've known better than to keep it under lock and key and out of his reach. Hell, he'd only been eight. He'd had a cough, and it was supposed to make you feel better, right? It wasn't his fault that the dosing instructions had syrup all over them and couldn't be read properly. He'd slept well then, too.
Gotta love them hangovers. If stuff like this wasn't reason to never start drinking… then nothing's gonna stop me. Instead, he headed for the door. Nothing about the idea of breakfast sounded appetizing … though he hadn't eaten since yesterday's lunch.
He ignored the stares of the others as he headed past them. Like I need you morons to tell me I look like hell. If he looked half as good as he felt… I could body-double for a corpse.
He felt Jonathan watching him all through breakfast and forced down a couple of swallows of cereal to keep the guy happy. It was the least he could do, and he knew it. Maybe later he'd be able to eat more… once his body got used to the idea of food again. At least Malcolm didn't look so worried… he seemed to think that Trip was back to his normal self.
Good. Because I don't want to have to worry about you. Malcolm was one of the quiet ones – the ones that you never saw it coming with. At least people expect trouble when they see me… they don't even see you.
After breakfast came practice – just like Jonathan had promised. He still felt shaky, but managed to keep most of his pitches on target. He kept it as light as he could in an effort to protect Malcolm's hand, and Jonathan noticed.
"What happened to the fastball, hotshot? You getting soft on us?"
Trip gave him the finger and shook his head. I don't want to hurt the kid, moron. For one thing… they needed a catcher if they were going to play tonight -- there was no sense in taking Malcolm out too early. No way he was going to yell that out though… the others would just laugh at Malcolm for being too weak. Kinda forgot that Dickhead couldn't handle it either, hey, guys. This was stupid, having a game after only two practices. No way these guys were ready for actual play. With any luck, the other guys are going to be in just as bad of shape. Otherwise… we're fucked. The sun helped though, warming his muscles and pulling him into the moment. He closed his eyes, savouring it…
"Hey, hotshot." Trust Jonathan to spoil things. "C'mere."
Trip sighed and opened his eyes in time to see another counsellor walking over to the sidelines, then stopping to watch. What now? I haven't had time to do anything. He trotted over to Jonathan.
"Emergency phone call for you. It's your parents."
Trip forced himself to keep a blank face. Had Jonathan called them? Did he tell them about yesterday? I'll deny everything. They'd never believe it… and I can't worry them like that… they'd never trust me again. Then again… it could be anything.
# # # #
I didn't call them, kid. It's got to be something else. What else, Jonathan couldn't be sure… most kids didn't get emergency calls unless it was bad news. Which was why Jonathan decided to accompany Trip up to the main cabin – just in case the kid needed a shoulder to cry on again.
He leaned against the doorframe of the office while Trip went inside and sat down at the desk. "Hello?"
"Trip." The woman's voice – Trip's mother, Jonathan supposed – sounded relieved. "You have to talk to Elizabeth."
Trip blinked. "Sure, Mom. Put her on."
"Hold on, she's up a tree."
Jonathan had to stifle a giggle. So you're not the only one. Then again, with Trip as an example, was it any wonder that his younger siblings had a wild streak?
"Trip." This time the voice was much younger and with just the slightest trace of a lisp. "Hello."
"Hello, sweetie." Trip sounded so earnest that Jonathan nearly did a double take. Who are you, and what have you done with the hotshot?
"What are you doing in the tree?"
Jonathan couldn't help but smile at the answer.
"You can't be a squirrel, sweetie."
"Why?" Typical child's response to anything negative.
"Because it's silly, honey. You don't even like nuts."
"Mrs. Salazar told me not to be so squirrley. She said if I was going to act like that, I should be in a tree." Yeah, that sounded like Tucker logic, all right.
"Is Mrs. Salazar your new babysitter?"
There was no response from the other end.
"Was that a nod or a shake, sweetie? I can't see you here."
"Yes. All she makes is yucky food." Jonathan could almost picture a child's face twisting into a pout. "an' she doesn't read me good stories… an' she put Mr. Boos in the machine…an' she spanked James."
Darkness flickered over Trip's features, then disappeared. "Well, I'll talk to Mommy about that, okay? But you've got to come down from the tree. How long have you been up there?"
"Yesterday. She said if I didn't settle down an' eat my yucky sandwich I couldn't go play. So I decided to be a squirrel. Squirrels don't eat bologna."
Well, you make sense there, kid. If Jonathan had a choice between climbing a tree or eating bologna… make room on that branch.
"Well, it's Mommy and Daddy home now, right? So if Mrs. Salazar's not there… it's not safe for you to sleep in a tree, sweetie. So will you come down?"
"I don't wanna. I wanna be a squirrel."
"Please, sweetie? For me?" Trip's voice took on a new note of pleading, and Jonathan couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Okay." There was a sound of rustling then a thump. Jonathan hoped it was the receiver hitting the ground, and not a little girl.
"Trip?" Trip's mother's voice again. "Thank you. She wouldn't budge, and she hasn't eaten since yesterday…"
"Macaroni with parmesan." Trip sounded distracted. "And I'd like Mrs. Salazar's number, please."
"Trip… It's been hard enough to find a babysitter… I don't need…"
"Mom, I'll get the number one way or another. I just want to talk to her about Elizabeth. That's all." The change in Trip's tone when he dealt with his parents and when he dealt with his sister was remarkable. Now he sounded almost like a cop saying he'd come back with a warrant. Definitely no 'sweeties' here.
There was a sigh from the other end, then Trip's mother recited a number.
"Thank you. Is Elizabeth down, now?"
"Yes. Would you like to speak to her again?"
"Yes." There was a pause again then Elizabeth came back on.
"Hi, Trip! Are you coming home soon?"
"As soon as I can, sweetie. Can you be good until I get there?"
"Really, really good?" Elizabeth sounded worried at the prospect.
"Just good." Jonathan could see Trip fighting down a smile. "No more squirrels, okay? And tell James I love him, and to be good too. And don't go to sleep with gum in your mouth either. Okay?"
"Okay, Trip. I love you!" There was a click and the line went dead. If Trip's mother had anything more to say to him, she'd been effectively cut off. Jonathan saw the smile emerge on Trip's lips again, then disappear as he began to punch in the number his mother had given him.
"Hey, hotshot, no outgoing…" The look Trip shot him shut him up. I would not want to be Mrs. Salazar.
"Hello?" This time the voice spoke heavily accented English.
"Senora Salazar?"
"Sí."
Trip let loose with a torrent of Spanish, his tone anything but polite. Mrs. Salazar tried to interrupt once or twice in protest, but Trip cut her off each time. This was followed by a brief argument that ended with Mrs. Salazar cutting off the communication.
"Bitch." Trip fell back in the chair, glaring at the communications console. At least this looked like the kid Jonathan was used to. "Who the fuck does she think she is, smacking kids around like that? James doesn't eat peanut butter, end of story. And I don't think telling her so qualifies as mouthing off. I could show her what mouthing off is if she wants…"
You mean you didn't? Somehow, Jonathan didn't think that the Tuckers had a babysitter any more. And the relief is sitting here in this office. Dad had been right: Trip was the protective type. And, from the sound of things, a full-fledged caretaker while he was at it. He knows his brother and sister better than their parents do. No wonder he had a tendency to act like an adult half the time and a little kid the other half. You don't know the in betweens at all, do you? You're one or the other. That helped explain why he was so good at work detail too: if Trip spent much of his time at home playing parent… he'd have a lot of experience in organizing and cleaning. Once again Jonathan felt a rush of sympathy for the boy. So much responsibility on those small shoulders. No wonder he had so many adult issues.
Yet the look on Trip's face when he talked to his sister had been unmistakable. He'd seen the same look on his dad's face when Henry Archer recounted one of Jonathan's escapades: a look of pride and love. I bet it must kill you to be separated from her.
"Everything all right now, hotshot?" He didn't want to cut Trip off in the middle of his rant, but at the same time, they had to get back to the practice. At least Kendricks didn't get a good look at my ringer. He wouldn't put it past the other counsellor to have volunteered to take the message down just to be able to do a little scouting. They were playing Cabin Six tonight… suddenly Jonathan realised a major problem. When that Jones kid hits, Malcolm will be right behind him. He also realised that physical damage to Malcolm wasn't the major issue. "I don't want you pulling anything tonight, hotshot. Whatever anybody says: leave it alone, okay?"
Trip looked up at him with a complete air of innocence. Jonathan tried not to panic.
# # # #
Dicks. He heard the laughter from the Cabin Six players – especially ol'Jonesy – as he swung wildly and missed three straight pitches. As he handed the bat off to Kiprusoff, he looked over at Jonathan and shrugged. Told ya I couldn't hit. They'd been lucky and pulled batting duties first… after a performance like that, they wouldn't be expecting much when it was their turn up. So sad. He knew why they laughed – how could you not laugh when the guy with the big reputation turns out to be a whiffer – but he also knew how to shut them up.
Kip nailed one to the outfield… not bad, but he'd seen better. The truly humiliating thing was that Jonsey up there on the mound couldn't pitch, and Trip still couldn't hit a damn thing.
Still, they managed to get one run in for the inning, if only due to Kip's speed as a baserunner and the catcher's inability to catch. And now the fun begins.
He whiled away the first couple of innings getting a grip on each batter's style. I wouldn't have to be doing this if you'd let me scout in the first place. It meant that Six got in a few runs of their own… but Three was managing to hold their ground. Jonathan shot him a few quizzical looks, but probably assumed that his lecture had taken. Leave it alone, huh? Like he'd do that any time soon.
By the fifth inning, he felt ready to go. Prepare to die, suckers. Even better, Jonathan's buddy – good ol' counsellor Kendricks – stepped up to bat, a confident look on his face. Like Jonathan, the guy was semi-competent, and getting a hit off of each at bat only increased his cockiness. Trip had seen him make a comment to Jonathan between innings, and the glance his way told him who it was about. Jonathan had merely shaken his head… but to Trip, the smart-remark was a gift. You're not expecting anything.
Malcolm sent him a couple of signals, and he shook his head to each one. This was the system they'd worked out… Trip would figure out the best way to handle each batter, and Malcolm would make it look real. In truth… the signals meant nothing, but served to drive the other guy nuts as they tried to figure them out.
He scuffed his feet in the dust, staring down at his shoes. Settling into position, he started a wind-up, and stopped. He adjusted his footing again, and tugged down the brim of his hat. Glancing down at Malcolm, he held the ball behind his back, turning it around in his fingers. He started a wind-up again, and then stopped again. This time it was his shoelaces he adjusted, then spent some more time brushing the dust off the knees of his pants. He glanced up at the sun, paused as though thinking…
"Just throw the ball, damnit!" The frustration in Kendricks' voice was unmistakable. He'd heard it many times over the years… from coaches, from teachers, and on rare occasion, from his parents. The anger made Kendricks straighten and pull a bit away from the plate, but not enough to count as being out of the box. Sucker.
Trip went into the wind-up and released the ball before Kendricks could recover. The counsellor tried to swing – it was a solid strike either way, so he might as well swing at it – but didn't stand a chance.
"Strike one!" The umpire -- Mr. Neutral Ultra-wimp, Artsy-Crafty Jay -- bawled it out with a hint of surprise.
You'd think he'd know better. Haven't we dealt, already? Trip neatly snagged the ball out of the air as Malcolm tossed it back – the kid's arm was getting stronger with the extra practice Trip had recommended. And it's only been two days. Way to work on technique, Mal. And here Malcolm thought he had no talents.
Trip settled into position and began his wind-up again. He watched Kendricks flinch – obviously remembering the performance before the last pitch – and took advantage of it. This time he burned it in immediately, before Kendricks even realised it was coming.
"Strike two."
Now the look in Kendricks eyes borderlined on pure murder. What? I thought you were supposed to be a big boy? Can't handle a little head game? At least Jonathan had taken his humiliation with better humour. And that was before the breakdown. Then again, Kendricks probably belonged to the 'play nice, it's just a game' camp. The same camp that went absolutely nuts when you managed to win the championship for them. And made you feel like shit, when you lost, even as they mouthed the platitudes. Welcome to 'sport' folks.
Determination gave Kendricks just enough to catch the third pitch… a change-up that should've taken him off stride, nailing a line drive straight over the mound. Stupid.
Trip leapt, feeling the ball burying itself in his glove. He heard Kip skidding to a stop behind him… like a good shortstop he'd been ready in case the pitcher failed. When he landed, he turned and nodded. "Good hustle." Kip looked like he'd been shocked, but nodded back.
Hey. It was good hustle. I'm not gonna praise you for something you didn't do, but I'm not gonna deny you doin' what you're supposed to, either. Out of them, Kip was the least offensive. He hadn't been laughing when Dutretre and Hong went after Malcolm, even if he hadn't had the guts to stand up and say something. And he'd been willing to take instruction… even if that instruction had to be filtered through Jonathan. On the other hand… left field was definitely going to be a problem. Just have to keep it away from him, I guess.
He turned back towards the plate to see Kendricks throwing down his bat and stalking off in disgust. Excellent. With their fearless leader out of sorts… what was likely to happen to the rest of the team? He also caught the words Kendricks mouthed at Jonathan. Talk to him.
Jonathan looked over at Trip and nodded, his face impassive.
Well, shit. Might as well get this over with. Lecture was coming, whether he liked it or not. No sense trying to avoid it. He put the next two batters out of their misery quickly, then strolled off towards first base to meet Jonathan halfway.
Jonathan leaned in close, and kept his voice low so no one else could hear. "Nice use of strategy, kid."
Trip blinked, feeling as shocked as Kip had looked. He pulled back a little to look at Jonathan, but could read nothing from his face. "What?" he shot back, as sarcastically as he could manage. "Aren't we all supposed to be having fun?"
Jonathan gave him an odd look. "Not you, hotshot."
He couldn't help it. His lips twitched and he snorted with laughter. It was the perfect comeback, something he always tried for. Not only that, but it seemed that Jonathan's 'lecture' was over. He actually doesn't mind me pulling this shit. Back home, coach would've told him to stop playing games, all the while wanting him to win. But if somebody wins, somebody else loses. And if there was one thing Trip Tucker would never be, that thing was loser.
A huddled discussion took place in the Cabin Six dugout before Kendricks and Jonesy switched places. Interesting. So, obviously, Kendricks wanted a little shot of revenge.
Your loss, pal. Trip stood dispassionately at the plate and let three strikes burn past him without even trying. The only reason he'd swung before was to build these jokers up before tearing them down. He knew Jonathan had thought of him as a ringer, and knew he wouldn't be one by this games end. Everyone would know about him now… but that would only serve to psyche them out before they started. Why do you think I planned this?
He sat down on the bench beside Jonathan – Jonathan had insisted on this seating arrangement to 'keep an eye on you, hotshot' – and watched as Kip knocked a two base hit out of Kendricks.
"Good eye," he muttered, watching as Kip slid into second. He too, was learning fast, almost as fast as Malcolm.
"Was that a compliment I just heard, hotshot?" Jonathan kept his eyes fixed on the action, and Trip could tell he was speaking out of the corner of his mouth.
"Fuck you." Okay, so maybe it wasn't the nicest thing to say… but I'm not nice.
"I think that would be illegal, hotshot." Jonathan still didn't look at him, but out of the corner of his eye he could see the smile beginning to form on the counsellor's face.
Another good one. Adults never came out with stuff like that – not to kids. They don't think we're smart enough to figure them out. Okay, so there were other reasons too… but sometimes people could be paranoid.
"I prefer girls." Okay, so he hadn't actually had any experience in the area… but Jonathan didn't know that. "And you'd be damned ugly as one of those."
This time it was Jonathan's turn to laugh, making the others look at them and wonder what the joke was. They'd never get it anyway… or they'd tell somebody who wouldn't see it as a joke, which would lead to a huge set of problems. A familiar litany came into his head. I hate stupid people. People like Dutretre and Mr. Calvin: as far as Trip was concerned, prejudice was the only true stupidity in existence. Sure, not everybody was as intelligent as everybody else…but that didn't make them truly stupid. And Mr. Calvin is definitely prejudiced. Not in any way that people could latch onto… even if he had remarked to Trip – in front of the whole class – that Trip was 'too stupid' for the honours program. But Mr. Calvin had proven that day that he was the stupid one… unable to figure out why his car wouldn't start when he tried to leave, or how his wife found out about his boyfriend. Don't fuck with a hacker, pal. It hadn't taken much… just a few broken connections for the car and a slight invasion of the communications system for the numbers.
You were the one stupid enough to use the school system to make the calls. And how could he not have known that Trip was at the school after hours? Everybody knew he had a standing appointment in the detention hall for something. He'd overheard a mushy conversation while idling in the hallway outside the office… but had never thought to use it until Mr. Calvin humiliated him publicly. Turnabout is fair play, pal. He'd never before been that vicious, but some people just shouldn't be let loose around kids. Anyone who thought that insulting a kid like that in front of his peers was okay, definitely didn't belong in the teaching profession. After all, how long before someone really got hurt? And James gets you next year… and I'm not letting you pull anything on him. If Mr. Calvin did… it would be more than a tampered with car and a messy divorce – son-of-a-bitch wouldn't be able to walk by the time Trip finished with him.
"Something wrong, hotshot?" Trip's new line of thought must have shown on his face, because Jonathan suddenly turned to look at him, all concerned.
"Nothin'." He stood up and began hurrying towards the mound… Dutretre had just struck out to start the bottom of the inning. He settled into position and looked up.
Jonesy stood in the batter's box, making some sort of remark to Malcolm who shrunk in on himself while Jonesy laughed. Anger boiled up past Trip's control, and he stared at the big kid more intently than Kendricks had at him.
Jonesy said something again, and then turned to look at Trip. He swung the bat a couple of times, barely missing Malcolm's head.
Going down, asshole. The fastball burned in hard and to the right, burrowing itself into Jonesy's ribs. Jonesy screamed in pain and dropped, nearly landing on Malcolm. Oops. "Sorry."
"Jon!" Kendricks came off the bench with a scream of his own. "Do something about that kid. He did this on purpose." He rushed over to Jonesy and began checking the boy for injuries.
"You don't know that." Jonathan headed to Jonesy too, taking off his glove as he trotted in from first base. "He's a kid. This is probably an accident."
Jonesy sat up, and from his movements Trip could tell that the ribs were probably bruised, but not broken. Got enough experience there, myself. Guy had enough bulk to protect him – he looked like a linebacker for God's sake. The two counsellors asked him some questions, and he nodded before being helped to his feet and walked off the field.
Jonathan came out to the mound, his jaw set tight. "I don't want to hear that you did that on purpose, hotshot."
Trip said nothing, but nodded. It could just be taken as agreement with Jonathan's statement, and that seemed to be the way Jonathan was inclined to interpret it.
"Watch it. One more of those, and it's an automatic forfeit. If you did do it on purpose…"
"Ask my coach about control. He rags on me about it all the time." That was the absolute truth. His coach didn't know how much control he had either.
Jonathan's eyes bored into his, as though trying to divine lie in the truth. Trip didn't flinch, just stared back until Jonathan looked away. "Okay. But be careful, all right? I know Malcolm's your friend… but I think I also said something about leaving it alone. I can't prove that was on purpose…"
Damn right you can't.
"…which is a good thing for you. On purpose would make it assault… and even if they can't prosecute on account of your age… it's a one way ticket home. Now, he needs to see the nurse… but it looks like a couple of bruised ribs. And with this… Kendricks is going to have his eye on you from now on. Understand?"
"Jonesy's the one who needs to be sent home." The outburst startled Trip; he hadn't meant to say it. "He tortures Malcolm on a regular basis… but I guess that's okay because Malcolm's shy and little and it's the natural order of things. But it's all 'poor baby' if he has to take a little of his own back. You know, people like you make me so sick." He turned to leave, just needing to get the hell out of there.
"Hey." Jonathan grabbed his arm. "I'm not saying he's the good guy here. I don't like what he does to Malcolm any more than you do. But you can't solve that by drilling him."
Angrily, Trip shook him off. "Then why don't you do something? Isn't that your job? You're supposed to be responsible for us… why don't you try taking a little responsibility?"
# # # #
The words stung, just like they were meant to. Jonathan stepped back, feeling like he'd been slapped again. So this is how you play big brother. He thought he had been doing something… but clearly it hadn't been enough. Because Jonesy had still thought it okay to threaten Malcolm, right out there in front of everybody, including both counsellors. I pity anyone who messes with your brother or sister. Trip took the eldest role seriously, and now Jonathan understood what that truly meant. Take on them, and you take on me. Jonathan remembered the way Trip had ripped into Mrs. Salazar earlier… all over a minor incident thousands of miles away.
Give me a break, kid, I'm still learning. He'd felt a spark of anger himself at the way Jonesy had waved the bat casually around Malcolm's head, but had tried to tell himself that it wasn't intentional. Another spark had flared up when Kendricks blamed Trip… less than a week ago he'd have been handing out more work detail for something like this. Now…
"If Kendricks can't prove that you threw that pitch on purpose," Jonathan still avoided asking if Trip had, half afraid of the answer, "then we can't prove Jonesy was physically threatening Malcolm either. And if I'm going to let you get away with your delays and psych-outs… then we can't get on his case for a little trash talk either. Now I'll have another word with Kendricks… I know it probably won't do any good, but it establishes a pattern. In the meantime, both you and Malcolm stay away from both of them. Walk away, if you have to. I know that's hard for you to do… but do it anyway. Okay?"
Trip didn't say anything, and Jonathan wondered what more he was supposed to do. He grabbed Trip's arm again and gave the boy a shake. "Okay?"
"Okay." Trip muttered. Jonathan couldn't quite read the look in Trip's eyes, but it looked as though he had capitulated.
As the game wore on, Jonathan wondered if it was a good thing. There was no passion to Trip now, nothing driving him to win. Too much, too soon. He should have known better, known that healing couldn't take place literally overnight. He'd tried for big brother and wound up all the way over in parent. Trip didn't say another word to anyone – not even Malcolm – for the rest of the game or at any point afterwards. Jonathan was afraid to approach him in front of the others in case he set off a chain reaction of events that ended up in Trip being hurt worse. Yeah, I punished you all right.
# # # #
I can't sleep… not if he's like that. Malcolm lay in the darkness, staring at the near invisible bunk above him. He doubted Trip was sleeping either… but the older boy's unwillingness to talk had been disturbing. You said you were okay. He wasn't sure why he'd chosen to believe that lie… except that it hurt less than thinking that he couldn't help.
Silently he slipped out of his bed and climbed up the short ladder beside Trip's head. "Trip?" He whispered, knowing that if he was awake, Trip would hear him. And if he's asleep, I'll let him sleep.
"Yeah?" A whisper came back, but there was little interest in the tone.
"Do you want to go for a walk?"
Trip rolled over to face Malcolm. "You're asking me if I want to go out after lights out? Are you okay?"
"I just wanted to talk about some things, that's all." It wasn't a lie, he told himself – even if the things he wanted to talk about were basically Trip.
"Yeah, sure." Trip sat up and Malcolm scrambled down the ladder to let Trip descend. They crept out the door and down the stairs, heading without discussion down to the log that was to be their meeting place.
"So, what do you want to talk about?" Trip pulled himself up in that way he had, with one arm around the front of his legs and one woven under his knees and an elbow in each hand. It looked uncomfortable, but Malcolm supposed it couldn't be, if Trip did it so much.
"What happened? You didn't want to talk to anybody, and I thought you were maybe mad at me again… what did Jonathan say to you that got you so upset?"
"He tried to claim that he'd been doing things to help you with Jonesy. Well, if his methods are so effective, how come Jonesy tried to take your head off?"
"You mean you did hit him on purpose?" The idea of someone resorting to violence – in defence of Malcolm Reed – was inconceivable. "Why?"
Trip's face, barely visible in the moonlight, registered pure confusion. "To send him a message. He's not just messing with you… he's messing with both of us. And to let him know he's just as vulnerable. I told you, he picks on you only because he's bigger and stronger and has back-up. You saw how everybody jumped on his case because he nearly brained you. As long as everybody pretends it doesn't happen… he'll keep doing it. But if he knows he has to take on both of us…"
"You mean, you." Malcolm clarified. He caught the sarcasm when Trip talked about everybody getting on Jonesy's case, and had to agree.
"No, both of us. Me and you. I'm nowhere near his size… but I am smarter than he is… which is one of the things that scares him. And he doesn't know me, so he can't guess how I'll react. He's going to come after me sooner or later… and I mean with more than he had at breakfast that time… and I'll need you to back me when he does."
Malcolm paled. "I can't fight Jonesy. I don't know how to fight… and I'm too little."
Trip shook his head. "I'm not asking you to. But like Jonathan said…" Trip paused and swallowed, like what he was saying hurt. "They're going to be watching me from now on. Anything between us… and they'll blame me, not him – no matter who starts it. I'm going to need you stand up for me, because you're the only one who can – the only one who will."
"Jonathan will." Malcolm didn't want to tell Trip how he knew that… didn't want to tell him about how many rules Jonathan had broken just to let Trip stay.
"Jonathan won't." Trip countered, firmly. "Jonathan still thinks I'm an out-of-control son-of-a-bitch. Push comes to shove… and he's covered his ass by telling me to stay away from the guy." Trip's voice dropped, and disappointment crept in. "Just when I was thinking he might be okay…"
Malcolm chewed on his lip to keep from crying. What am I supposed to say? Jonathan had asked him to keep things a secret… and he wouldn't be a good person if he didn't. But he could see how Trip could interpret Jonathan's statements that way; if he'd been hurt by such things enough before, he'd have reason to be wary.
They sat in silence for a while, just listening to the forest around them. Malcolm knew he'd have to tell Jonathan about this conversation – for Trip's sake if nothing else – but it made him feel ashamed, like he was being a spy.
"If you need me to, I'll tell them," he said finally. Anything that happened would be Jonesy's fault, anyway.
"Promise?"
Malcolm nodded.
"Thanks." Trip sat silently for another moment, then shifted to reach into his pocket and pull out a small knife. "Give me your hand."
Curiously, Malcolm did so. What is he planning? Curiosity turned to shock as Trip turned Malcolm's palm face up, then brought the knife down, making a small cut. "What did…"
Trip let go and made a similar cut in his own palm, then grabbed Malcolm's hand again, pressing the cuts against each other. "Now we're blood brothers. That means we're always going to look after each other, no matter what. 'Cause we're family, now."
"Oh." Malcolm stared down at the blood that now smeared his palm, unable to tell his from Trip's. And wasn't that the point? He smiled, a little weakly, but meaning it. "I think I'd like your family better than mine."
Trip snorted. "Probably. But that doesn't mean they're perfect. But that's not the point. We're brothers, and we're brothers by choice. That means the bond is even stronger than with the ones back home."
"Right." Malcolm didn't recall being given a choice in the matter, but he didn't want to argue, either. Nobody'd ever pledged loyalty to him over anything. And now Trip had made what Malcolm assumed was a sacred vow.
Brothers. It was a stronger word than friends, and it was one he knew Trip took seriously. 'Alloys are stronger.' A phrase from his History teacher came back to him. The teacher was talking about why countries formed alliances back when they fought against each other… information Malcolm already knew. He'd never understood it more than academically, before now. He looked at Trip, and remembered how scared he'd been of him when they'd first met. I didn't even want you in my cabin. Now… even though they were so opposite… he couldn't imagine life without Trip. Light and dark. Alloyed together; stronger. Brothers.