Timeline: The day after the events of 'Stranded' by W.M. Scott and 'Welcome Home, Son' by Sensue. Before the initial juvenile trial on November 4, 1983, Dr. Ames received approval to take Caleb in as an emergency placement. Caleb is twelve years old.
(See the end of the work for more notes.)
Work Text:
November 3, 1983
Caleb Reaves
Comfortable. It was the first thought he had before he pried open his eyes to look around at the guest room that he'd been escorted to. It was a large room with expensive furnishings the like he'd never seen. The wood was quality – he could smell it faintly, the richness. It was the same scent that seemed piped into the luxury department stores that his grandmother visited to purchase fancy vases as wedding gifts. She always got the same style vase for each couple but in the color choice of the season. Those stores always made him feel lowly – the attendants glaring at him whenever he touched anything as if he were dirty. It angered him, wanting to smash the glass and ceramic to spite those who looked down on him; but for his grandmother's sake, he held it in.
After her death, he had no reason to go to a place like that – and without a parent, he imagined the clerks would stare him down as if he were a rat. A distasteful pest that needed to be chased away as if he was diseased. But in Dr. Ames's Park Avenue apartment, it wasn't like that. He and Pastor Jim welcomed him.
'They are nice.' What an utterly dangerous thought for him to have. The two men were strangers. Ones that knew exactly what he was – including the powers he hid so tightly. Caleb rubbed his forehead and ran his hands through his hair to lightly pull on the dark stands. 'Fuck', he swore silently. Last night, he begged – BEGGED – to be taken in by the doctor because he felt safe around him. He wondered if he was still dreaming. Abe, his caseworker, had come to talk to them and convinced the man to take him in permanently.
The reality of that word was suddenly causing him to feel hot, flushed, and panicky. Permanent – it meant forever, but Caleb was experienced enough to know there was no such thing. Everyone around him died. He was cursed, yet at the moment, he was comfortable.
The bed he still lay on was soft, yet supportive. The pillows were like clouds and the covers were smooth as butter –a million-thread cotton count, Caleb figured. Sitting up, he hugged his bare legs – the borrowed shorts were oversized but weren't long enough to consider them pants. He observed his surroundings in the light - finally seeing the guest room for what it was: his new room for however long Mac kept him.
It was – huge, but plain. It had simple, yet functional pieces of furniture. An end table with a lamp, a dresser, a desk, and a closet. The color scheme was – beige and brown. Manly. Caleb was happy that the room wasn't covered in floral wallpaper or pink or some shit like that. His backpack was hanging on a clothes rack mounted on the back of the door, his only possessions tucked into a sack. The other kids he'd met at DSS had their possessions stored in trash bags. Bird was the one who bought him the backpack. His grandmother's best friend awkwardly tried to make things less sterile. She told him that he wasn't trash and didn't deserve to have his things treated as such. If he weren't so bitter, he would have thanked her for the small kindness. Instead, he ran away from her and continued to run each time Abe brought him back. She wasn't home to him, as good as she was. He left everything but the absolute essentials in the room she'd created for him, uncaring about the material items she'd worked long extra shifts to get him. Guilt ate at him, but he knew leaving her was for the best. She'd only die like everyone else if he stayed.
There was a clock next to the lamp. It was only 6:00 am. Too early for anyone to get out of bed, but he climbed out anyway. His bare feet touched hardwood. He'd snoop around… make sure he got the lay of the land. But first, he might go to the bathroom. It sucked to run with a full bladder; not that he was planning to – but just in case he needed to.
His attempts at being sneaky failed upon opening the guest room door. The lights in the living room and kitchen were on; as he walked towards the bathroom, he caught both Mac and Jim in the kitchen drinking coffee. There was a duffle bag packed by the front door, older style – military if Caleb could guess. They were speaking softly, not realizing that he was awake. He went to the bathroom, trying to shut the door without making a sound – turning the knob to latch the door manually to keep from needing to slam it shut. He did his business, then washed his hands. Even the towels were nice, Caleb considered. Fluffy white ones – not the scratchy and stained ones he'd been provided by the Bresson's when he'd been fostered by them.
Anxiety filled him. He thought he'd have more time: time for himself as well as with the three of them together. Abe left last night, leaving him in Mac's care, and it looked like Jim was leaving too. Soon, he'd be alone in Mac's apartment and he had no clue what was expected of him.
Every home he'd been placed in was out of his control. Each new family came with a series of new house rules and limits on what he was allowed to do; everything from getting his haircut to if he could take a Tylenol when he had one of his brain-melting headaches was regulated by DSS – Abe giving permission to the fosters. They were pretty much like glorified babysitters without any real power. Most of the time, Caleb knew how to play them. While he theoretically hated the idea, the practicality of being around a rich foster sparked a bit of temptation. 'Let's see what I can get away with,' he thought slyly.
Gaining a bit of confidence in his ability to con the Doctor, Caleb dried his face and hands then put on a fake smile to meet the older men in the kitchen.
"Good morning, Mac. Good morning, Pastor Jim."
Dr. Mackland Ames
Mac sipped at his lukewarm cup of coffee giving his friend a warm smile and a fond eye-roll at being teased about his current circumstances. Jim hadn't really unpacked, so it was easy for him to get up early for a sunrise flight back to the farm. Part of him wanted to beg the man to stay with them – feeling unready for this abrupt change without the Pastor's friendly advice. Logically, he knew that no matter how long Jim stayed, he'd need to get used to being a single father. Perhaps it was best – as Jim joked, to simply rip off the Band-Aid and dive right into the ice-cold river, to mix metaphors.
Jim's 7:00 am flight required them to get up so early that they simply took naps versus sleeping a full eight hours. The lack of sleep reminded the doctor of his resident years; unfortunately, he wasn't as young as he used to be back then. The lost sleep should have made him feel groggy, if not for the twelve-year-old currently sleeping in his guest room fueling a jittery kind of anxiety.
For all intents and purposes, Caleb Reaves was a stranger who was now living with him. He was a troubled child who had an incredible, yet uncontrolled, power. The rumors, while exaggerated, stressed how dangerous and violent the child was. Police reports – which he'd accessed with his FBI consultant's authorization – indicated that Caleb had attacked an officer and had taken his weapon. The child put the gun to his head and the only thing that prevented tragedy was his caseworker, Abe. Never mind their meeting place was Brooklyn's Children Psychiatric Hospital, where Caleb had been drugged into a stupor. If he was reading the reports and hadn't known the context was about Caleb, he would assume the child in question to be a budding serial killer. While knew without a doubt that the boy had nothing to do with any murders that he'd been accused of, there were plenty of gray areas.
Abe had warned him of Caleb's propensity to run away, which was a concern. Mac had no interest in using his gifts to hunt down a wayward youth. Caleb had an attitude problem along with the ability to bewilder him the way Cullen Ames, his father did. He wasn't likely to listen to him – except for the fact that they had bonded. Their connection was so very strong that Mac hadn't hesitated to bring him home with him and start an emergency agreement to foster-to-adopt with a token protest. The judge would give her approval the next afternoon, with Abe Sullivan's blessing. Once the papers were signed, it would be his job to keep Caleb from getting on DSS or the court's radar. To maintain a healthy, safe environment. His home would be opened up to scrutiny: surprise home visits, background checks, and appointments galore. His new foster son would most likely be required to attend therapy, get physicals, and catch up on any missed immunizations. Mac needed to find a team of reputable pediatricians and psychologists. Never mind the schooling. Education was one of the most important values that he held. Mac would need to find an academy willing to accept a new student nearly three months into the school year and make sure the surly twelve-year-old didn't skip out.
What he'd signed up for was not a simple set of tasks; the practicalities warred with emotion. There was a force that wanted to protect the child with everything in him. Another wished for Caleb's happiness and stability. Mac supposed the anxiety he was experiencing was common to any parent, but unlike the others, he didn't have nine months to get accustomed. He had no preparation, no training, nor anyone to consult. He was on his own and if he failed, a child would be sentenced to a juvenile prison or worse.
It was daunting.
Jim had woken up and dragged him away from his musings, amused as if the Pastor could read his mind. The older man teased him and gently encouraged him while he silently panicked at the volume of 'to dos' his mind listed. Jim made him a cup of coffee while Mac called a driver to arrange transportation to the airport.
That was another thing that had suddenly changed with the presence of a child in his home. Typically, he'd accompany his friends to the airport without a second thought. But he couldn't leave the kid alone in a new place without supervision while he did that, and he didn't want to wake Caleb only to travel the twenty minutes it would take to arrive (traffic non-withstanding). It would be cruel after the trauma Caleb had endured the last few days. It was a blessing, using one of Jim's terms, that the child was able to sleep soundly afterward. Even Abe was astonished.
Instead, he made plans for his friend to get home safely while he continued his mental formulations.
"You should probably discuss your scheming with Caleb before you give yourself a heart attack," Jim kidded, smirking over his mug. "One of the best things about taking in a twelve-year-old is their ability to speak and plot their own futures without your feedback – from what I know of children, they tend to ruin all of your carefully laid out plans. He isn't a baby, Mackland, but a young man who simply needs your support and your love."
"Love?" Mac blinked at the comment. "It's a bit early for that, isn't it?"
"Oh," Jim drawled, "I think it'll hit the both of you before you know it."
"I'm simply applying to become his legal guardian until he turns eighteen. Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Mac shook his head at the sentimental old man. He'd become Caleb's mentor, a safe harbor, but love? He wasn't the type to give his love to strays; carefully guarding his heart after it was ripped out by his ex-fiancé. The woman used him – for his prestige, his money, and his good name but to leave him the second that he needed her.
Pastor Jim laughed lightly, shaking his head and finishing up his coffee, "I'll remind you of this conversation next year and tell you 'I told you so' after Caleb talks you into doing something that you absolutely detest – all because you love him and would do anything to see him smile."
The faint sound of a toilet flush from the guest bathroom stopped Mac from arguing, realizing that the young man in question was awake. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, suddenly nervous in a way that he had never felt before. He did surgery on a United States Senator once without breaking a single dot of sweat but being alone with the kid without backup made his knees shake. "Are you quite sure that I can't convince you to stay the week?" Mac nearly pleaded with his friend.
He was patted on the hand, "You'll do just fine, Mackland. You both will."
"I don't know what I'm doing, Jim." Mac softly confessed, rubbing at his mustache when he heard the bathroom door creak open.
"Yes, you do. Trust your heart, Mackland." Jim comforted him before turning to greet his new ward.
Caleb padded into the kitchen barefoot, smiling at them. "Good morning, Mac. Good morning, Pastor Jim."
"Good morning, Caleb." Both men chimed, and Mac pulled back slightly to allow Jim to say his goodbyes.
"I'm very glad that I got a chance to see you before I left for home, my boy." Jim went over to give Caleb a warm half-hug, just an arm around his shoulders.
"When are you leaving?" Caleb asked, tiredly rubbing his eyes. He dropped into one of the kitchen chairs across from Mac. His body was stiff; shoulders tight around his shoulders as if fearful or pained – unlike the confident young man who'd fought for his life at the hands of the Knight of the Brotherhood. It sparked a worry in the doctor that he wasn't quite used to feeling about anyone outside of his family and a small group of friends: the need to make sure the child was well in both body and spirit.
"As soon as the car arrives, unfortunately. But not to worry, you can reach me anytime if you need anything, young man." Jim took out a card from his wallet and handed it to the boy. "That's my number."
"Travel safe and all that," Caleb grumbled, looking down at his feet. The twelve-year-old fidgeted, wringing his hands as if he weren't quite sure where to put them. The room fell into stillness, soon filled with an awkward silence.
Mac took the opportunity to break the lull when it seemed that Jim was planning to leave him high and dry, "Would you like some orange juice, Caleb?" It was a tiny ice-breaker; one that could barely be considered as such, but it brought an amused smile to Jim's lips. If Mac weren't trying to portray maturity to his new charge, he'd kick his friend for finding his circumstances entertaining.
When he got a small nod, Mac jumped at the opportunity to leave the slightly uncomfortable table to regain his positivity. He'd expected that the connection that they'd forged would ease the uncertainty, but it was clear that he needed a reset. It was natural to need time to establish a new relationship. Unlike a one-night-stand however, there wouldn't be a fumbling goodbye and false offer to call soon. The decision that he made last night was a lifelong one. There would be no reprieve; he was now a father.
The realization of that truth suddenly hit him with a stomach-turning lurch. Swallowing, he fought to keep from throwing up the coffee that he'd been drinking. He listened to the soft conversation between Jim and his – son. The boy was hesitant but starting to perk up as the pastor brought up his favorite hobby. The pastor explained his love of knitting while Caleb giggled at the picture the man described. Hearing Caleb laugh lightened the stifling atmosphere. Taking a deep breath, Mac drank a sip of water and then filled a glass of orange juice for Caleb.
He brought over the cup, placing it in front of Caleb's place setting. "Here you go, son." The word was entirely unfamiliar to him in that context, causing him to stumble slightly. He's used it before, but it hadn't had the weight that it did now.
Caleb's eyes shot up to meet his – shock evident; he looked as if a deer frozen in the headlights. The sharp inhale caught Mac's immediate attention, worry that he'd overstepped at such a critical time period. The boy paled slightly, covering his mouth as if he'd also just realized what his decision to stay with the doctor really meant. Caleb was nearly in tears last night at the thought that no one would want him in their lives, as cursed as he felt like he was after the deaths that followed him. Their discussion with Abe was one of both necessity and safety. The two men knew the power the twelve-year-old possessed and weren't afraid of him. Quite literally, he had nowhere else to go and Caleb's reputation in the community fueled existing foster families with fear. The fact that Mac was willing to take him on seemed to be an opportunity for the boy to escape from the shackles of his circumstances.
It was a regular fairytale, Annie, if Mac remembered the movie. Over the last year, advertisements were hung on every surface marketing the musical. An orphan was taken in by Daddy Warbucks, a rich eccentric. What foster child didn't dream of that? Mac's heart sank when the shock lasted several minutes, pushing them all into a pregnant pause. Perhaps Caleb didn't want to stay…
Mac shot a panicked glance at Jim, subtly gesturing for his help. Jim ignored him, finishing up his cup of coffee pointedly.
The intercom system squawked loudly, interrupting the silence inconveniently. Jim jumped up out of his chair, waving Mac away when the doctor tried to assist. The pastor pressed the button and responded politely to the doorman who'd announced that his car had arrived. Jim declined the bellhop service, explaining that he only had a duffle bag and would carry it out himself.
Once the line was shut, Jim gave both of them a fond smile. "I'm going to miss you both." He went over to give Caleb a warm hug goodbye, whispering something in his ear that Mac didn't hear before clasping Mac's hand.
"You'll both do fine," he remarked, waving them both away. Jim placed his coffee cup in the sink, washed his hands, then went to pick up his pack which lay by the front door. "No need to walk me out, Mackland. You have more important things to do than play the host. There's no need to stand on occasion." Jim opened the door, then stopped before he exited, turning to them one last time. "Remember, you are family now…"
With that, the man left them both gaping and then shut the door behind him. Mac practically collapsed in the chair across from his son, his weight causing a thud when the wood met forcefully.
Caleb looked everywhere but at him. The jerkiness Mac had seen earlier became a tremble as the boy spoke rapidly. "It's okay if you change your mind. You can call Abe and he can come to get me. I mean, you'd be crazy to foster me. My parents died. My grandmother died. Hell, the Johnsons' died… just 'cause I asked for help doesn't mean anything. I stole things. I hurt people. I'm not a good person, Mac." He was becoming choppy, breaths coming out in gasps as he confessed his sins. "I'll just end up running away from you. I'm messed up… I messed up. I pulled a gun on a police officer, you know. I shouldn't be here. I should be dead…"
Mac got out of his chair and lowered himself to meet Caleb's eyes. When the boy refused to look at him, gently, he turned Caleb's chin with his finger and thumb. "You most certainly shouldn't be dead, and I will do everything in my power to prevent that outcome. I want you to be safe, secure, successful, and happy. That's my wish for your future. What happened in the past can serve as a guide, but ultimately, it's a new day and today marks a fresh start for both of us." Mac waited until the twelve-year-old calmed before continuing, "for the record, I haven't changed my mind. Have you?"
Shaking his head 'no', the words out of his mouth were in direct conflict. "I'm scared, Mac. Just 'cause you're good to me – it'll put a bullseye on your back."
Taking hold of one of Caleb's shaking hands, Mac rubbed the delicate bones softly trying to infuse comfort. "I'm not afraid of the dangers of the supernatural, Caleb. I'm protected." He lifted his right hand to show him the silver band glinting in the morning light. "I'll protect you and keep you safe. I promise. I'll teach you… As Jim said, we'll do just fine."
The look of fear was unmistakable; his words did little to alleviate the anxiety Caleb must be feeling. "Son, if you'd prefer to keep our relationship – professional – all you have to do is tell me or the judge tomorrow. I can help you even if you choose not to live with me. If you don't feel comfortable with me, we can find another foster for you. I believe Birdell would be willing to take you back."
The boy looked so unsure that Mac gave his wrist a small squeeze and then pulled away to provide him with a bit of space. "It's your decision."
Mac went into the bathroom after silently excusing himself, leaving Caleb to his thoughts in the kitchen. Once he was in there, he sat on the commode and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure which way to go – his thoughts spiraling in many different directions. It was unusual for him. As a doctor and a man, he detested people who viewed themselves as victims; the ideology of 'I don't know what to do' quite literally made him feel sick when he heard the words uttered. He was a decisive man who didn't second guess himself. Most of the time, especially in his profession, his decisions were a matter of life or death; hesitations cost seconds – seconds that could impact his patients' lives. Even now, the life of a twelve-year-old child rested in his hands, and he'd be damned if he regretted the choices that he made last night.
Since the moment he'd been overcome by Caleb's psychic cry for help, Mac had felt the overwhelming need to protect him – from Elkins, from the supernatural, even from his suicidal tendencies… it gave him a new purpose. Mac laughed at himself. He was a busy man; he helped the FBI, was part of the Brotherhood, researched psychic phenomena to help others with similar abilities, and if that wasn't enough, had a medical practice to manage. He didn't need another purpose – but, perhaps, the universe thought that he did.
If Caleb died, it wouldn't be under his watch. Even if he had to sacrifice everything he had, Caleb would be safe.
As it was, knocking out the Knight may have eliminated one of his current responsibilities. While he might have gotten his ring with high praise from both Daniel Elkins and Victor Stephens, the men might take offense to his violent disagreement as it pertained to the young man sitting in his kitchen. The doctor didn't quite know the line that would cost him his membership but was willing to give it up if it meant the boy was safe. There was a sense of foreboding, but Mac put the concern aside for another day. If the Brotherhood cut ties with him, he'd handle it then.
Mac could have sat in the small bathroom all day, thinking – but the practicalities of having another human being live with him became the immediate concern to solve.
The twelve-year-old came to him with a backpack. Looking around the bathroom, he didn't see a toothbrush or a hairbrush that would indicate he had any hygiene products. Caleb was wearing the black boxers and Star Wars t-shirt that he'd lent him last night. It was quite possible that the only clothing he had was the outfit that he had arrived in.
Getting up, Mac felt better to have come up with a game plan. No matter if Caleb decided to decline his offer to stay, he could provide for his necessities.
They'd go shopping – and hopefully, he could convince the boy that he belonged.
Caleb Reaves
Dr. Mackland Ames was odd – to say the least. Caleb had never met an adult that he could stand for more than a few minutes. Even Bird, who was the only person from his childhood willing to take him in. Mac – he was different in a way that he couldn't put his finger on. Perhaps it was the doctor's confidence – the way it bordered on arrogance. Usually, it was a trait that Caleb loathed. Yet, it was a strange ying to his yang, the way they got along. He was snarky, in a fun way – teasing him to make him feel better. He even read to him. The last person who did that was his mother. The older man held his own with him; not backing down or pulling away when Caleb purposefully pushed buttons.
Most people got angry when he pressed. Some people became violent, moving to strike him. Others just left. The ones he opened up to – well, they died. It left him terrified – a cycle of death and pain that he believed wouldn't end until he did.
When Mac retreated to the bathroom, Caleb thought for sure the man would come back and break the news that he had indeed changed his mind about becoming his guardian. After all, it was all he knew.
Instead, the man came back seemingly determined to make sure Caleb was 'comfortable'. Caleb was dizzy by the time Mac finished asking him questions. The questions that he asked were wide and varied. From if he had any food allergies, if he was taking any medications, the contents of his backpack, the last time he'd eaten a full meal, if he'd slept okay. They spoke of house rules: set boundaries they both could live with. He was even directly asked if he was currently having suicidal thoughts. Caleb was being interrogated – but it was done so gently and carefully that he didn't feel defensive.
It was like they were on the same team and Mac was his coach – wanting to make sure he had all of the equipment and resources he needed to win the game. Except the game was his life.
Once his needs were communicated, the doctor quickly formed a plan. "Why don't you go get dressed and we can go out for some breakfast? Then, we'll go shopping."
He was in shock when Mac asked him where he wanted to go to eat, thinking he'd be dragged to an upscale bistro or something that served bites of food with snails on it. Instead, he got to go to McDonald's for an Egg McMuffin. Caleb laughed when Mac got the wrapped English muffin. The doctor stared at it for a while, then asked for the nutritional content. The teenager at the counter rolled his eyes at them, saying he didn't know.
Much to Caleb's delight, he convinced the food-snobby doctor to grudgingly try the sandwich and they settled into a quiet camaraderie. The conversation was less awkward, flowing smoothly as if they'd known each other for years.
After breakfast, Caleb felt a bit more optimistic.
That was – until Mac started picking out the most uncool outfits known to men for him to try on. The second they walked into the filigree gold accented department store with a freaking crystal chandelier in the lobby, Caleb knew that one piece of clothing cost more money than he'd had at any one time in his life. The clerks probably smelled the money on Mac, descending on him and rapidly asking him if they could help them shop. Caleb's mouth dropped open when Mac agreed. Soon, they were assigned a 'personal shopper' who settled them both on expensive-looking couches and brought them not only fancy water with cucumber floating in it, but piles of clothing to look at without needing to move. Soon, the room was filled with beige corduroy slacks, oversized sweater vests, velour tops, and Western denim-styled jeans. The only thing that caught his eye was a black leather jacket that probably cost more than his life was worth. It shamed him to have even tried on the clothes… doing it only because Mac was softly urging him to.
Once he caught sight of the price tag, he ripped off the jacket and tossed it on the couch. He bent over, hands wrapped around his stomach – unable to keep fully upright in his distress. "Mac, please. Can we just go to Hills or Walmart?" He whispered it urgently in Mac's ear to keep the personal shopper from overhearing.
The doctor seemed to realize that the expense of the clothing was an anxiety trigger for him and quickly agreed to his request. "Why don't you change back, and we can go?" Caleb practically ran into the changing room, seeing Mac apologize to the personal shopper for needing to leave without buying the pile she'd presented them with. He thought he saw the man reach for his wallet before closing the curtain, but figured it was some rich-person tipping rule he didn't understand.
Once he got out, Caleb tucked his hands into his jeans pocket and pulled up his hood to hide. He didn't feel well anymore and wanted to go back to the apartment, but the hopeful way that Mac was looking at him stopped him from saying anything. Mac walked him out of the fancy store, a hand against his back to keep them together when a crowd bustled past them. Before they got too far, the doctor pulled him to a stop away from the masses.
"Caleb, I wanted to apologize. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. It was only my intention to make sure you had more than one outfit." Mac shuffled on his feet, regret coloring not only his tone but body language.
Caleb didn't know what to make of it as Mac always seemed sure of himself, thus far. "What if Judge Baker says 'no'? I don't want you to waste your money on me. Especially if my staying with you isn't a sure thing."
Mac covered his mouth, as if he wanted to stay something but stopped himself. When he did finally reply, it was thoughtful. "Son, even if the judge denies the application tomorrow – it would be my honor to provide a few pieces of clothing and the essentials. If things don't go our way, you'd be welcome to take them to your new foster home…" For a few seconds, Mac just looked around – the City traffic noisily bustling past them. "Quite frankly, I think the way that Social Services treated you is inhumane. They allowed me to take you home and then provided you with nothing outside of the bag you had on your back. It's wrong."
Shrugging, Caleb didn't know why that upset the doctor. "At least I had a backpack this time. Usually, I'd get a garbage bag. I don't got much stuff, Mac. I don't need it and most fosters wouldn't bother to spend their money on a kid that isn't really theirs. Hell – when Bird dropped off my stuff at the Bressons' they just sold all of it to go on vacation." He was still furious about it – the fuckers even sold his mother's paintings. It was the only thing outside of the Deuce of Spades playing card that he had of his parents.
A stricken expression appeared on Mac's face as if he had never considered such a thing to exist: Adults that steal priceless personal effects from their foster children. Caleb would have rolled his eyes at the naivety but didn't. For once, the man didn't look at him with pity; but with the same anger that he felt. "I'm so sorry, Caleb. What did they take?" There was steel in the question; sharp and demanding beckoning him to answer.
It wasn't like him to share his heartaches, but he told Mac succinctly. "They stole my mother's paintings – Amelia Reaves." Just saying her name brought back memories of the last time he saw her – bloodied and afraid.
He must have looked sad or something because Mac gave him a hug – right there a few feet away from the overpriced children's boutique. He leaned into the touch, giving into the comfort offered. Mac pulled away, gently patting his cheek before whispering a prayer-like promise. "I'll make it right, Caleb. One day."
His head began to pound from the rollercoaster of emotions he'd been through the last couple of days. Sucking it in, he walked beside the doctor and back to the car that had been waiting for them near the valet parking lot. The driver's name was Edward and he worked for Mac as a personal assistant or something like that. He was as shocked as the rest of them about the turn of events and the fact that the doctor had taken in a wayward youth.
When they'd been introduced, Edward mentioned that he'd worked for Mac for a long time and that he was happy that the doctor met his match. It was a weird phrase, but Caleb didn't take it as something creepy. If Mac was a pedo or something, he'd know! It was easy to find them in NYC, they had a hungry look in their eyes as if they wanted to eat him alive. Whenever he ran away, there would be those men who offered to take him somewhere warm – a euphemism for a hotel or even an alleyway. He'd fought, bit, and punched 'em in the balls if they ever even thought to lay a hand on him. Once, he even used his powers in a rage. Caleb Reaves knew how to take care of himself.
He assumed that Edward had meant it as a positive thing; that there weren't many people who had the patience to keep up with the doctor. Whatever the intention, the fact that Mac even had a man like Edward in his employ was life-altering, as if Mac were like Bruce Wayne and needed an Alfred. The guy drove them around all morning: taking them to McDonald's, then the shops as if he had nothing else to do.
"Why don't you just drive yourself?" Caleb asked. He would have thought that he'd have his driver's license at his age. He could barely wait until he was old enough to get his license. He'd be out of there so fast, heads would spin.
"That, I believe is a story for another day, my boy." Mac avoided answering the question by asking his own. "What do you like to do for fun? Do you have any hobbies?"
"I dunno… sometimes I paint." He said it uncertainly, unsure if the answer would appease the rich man. He wasn't sure why Mac asked… no one had ever asked before. He wasn't sure if Mac had been expecting something like 'I play water polo' or some shit like that. It wasn't like he'd get the opportunity to sit around long enough to relax.
Edward smiled, "You're in luck. There's an art store right across the street." He pointed to a brightly lit storefront; the window was inviting and filled with crafting materials. Tensing, he agreed to go in but worried that he'd be disappointed. He was all for window shopping, but to tease him with his favorite activity, which he couldn't afford, was cruel.
His eyes were firmly planted on the ground in front of him; if he didn't see the stuff, he wouldn't be tempted. The plan was firmly squashed as Mac led them to the paint area. The smell reminded him of his mom. She would often be covered in the small speckles of paint; it would be in her hair, on her hands, and sometimes dripped on her shoes. Caleb remembered running around the house squealing to avoid her wet painted hands; she used to chase him and paint on his forehead. She used to call it warpaint when she started their game of Cowboys and Indians.
Mac stepped in front of him and waited until their eyes met. "Go ahead and pick a paint kit for yourself." When Caleb opened his mouth to argue, Mac put up his hand in the universal stop sign before he could get a word out. "One of my house rules is that we only watch television one hour a day. Studies have proven that it's not conducive to a healthy mind. So, unless you're okay with being bored senseless reading medical journals, I would suggest selecting a few items to occupy your evening."
Nodding, he silently thanked the man for the warning. He couldn't imagine how awkward it would be to stare at each other – doing nothing. Looking around at the wide variety, Caleb found an all-in-one paint kit on the bottom shelf. It was on sale and contained everything he'd need to complete a painting: blank canvas, primary color acrylic paint, and a small paintbrush. While it wasn't anything like his mother's collection, it was a basic starter kit that would allow him to unleash his creativity.
Once Mac paid the bill, he handed the bag to him to carry. It gave him a sense of ownership: a small paint set gifted to him. He placed it gently on the seat beside him when they got back to the car, itching to open the kit right then and there. Caleb resisted the urge and told himself that he'd be more agreeable… within reason, of course.
They got to Walmart after a twenty-minute drive because the department store was located on the 'poor' side of town. The Park Avenue folks certainly didn't need a discount market near them to decrease property value. Once they were there, the rest of the shopping was fast.
Caleb familiarized himself with the layout after studying the signs overhead. Then strategically, he went into the aisles where he needed to get only the essentials. They started in personal care; Caleb picked out the cheapest supplies, only to scoff when the doctor put them back on the shelf to put the brand-name options in the shopping cart. "Mac, it's the same stuff! Just in a nicer container!"
Mac gave him a smile and a short lecture. "If you spend a few cents more, you'll get better quality that lasts longer. The store brand needs to be replaced quicker, which ends up costing you long-term. These types of discount stores design their products to be reordered at a higher than usual frequency."
He gave him a look of disbelief, which launched the doctor into explaining with an example. "Let's pretend that two people are purchasing a pair of boots. One purchases a pair of boots that cost $500 and another person purchases a $100 pair of boots at a discount location. Now, you're thinking the person who only spent $100 got a deal – but the quality is low. Those boots will only last six months to a year and will need to be replaced. The person who spent $500 on the other hand bought something that is high-end, quality leather, expert craftsmanship with a warranty of fifteen years. In fifteen years, the person who purchased the 'cheap' ones will have spent over $1,500 on the low end. It's simple economics… short-term savings vs. long-term gains."
Caleb looked at the items in the cart; the explanation made sense except it was a concept he'd not heard of before. "We never learned about that in school…"
"My dad taught me. I suppose it's not something commonly taught in public schools…" Mac trailed off, not wanting to insult the public education system that fueled maintaining a status quo of consumption.
They spent the next few hours buying more stuff than Caleb could comprehend. The toothbrush, toothpaste, and shampoo – he understood those were necessities. But he didn't need posters, a tape player, stacks of books, and piles of clothing. It wasn't for just one night: he'd purchased seven styles of nightwear, underwear, gym clothes, play clothes, jeans, t-shirts, sweaters, and a light jacket. An entire wardrobe… The doctor even dragged him into the travel area and made him pick out his favorite color in a three-piece luggage set muttering under his breath that he'd be damned if Caleb would ever need to put his things in garbage bags ever again.
He bit his lip to keep from crying when the man simply filled up another cart for him. It was overwhelming.
Mac seemed to realize it and cut the trip short; telling him that they could come back another day for more. The comment made Caleb worry that he wasn't as stoic around the man as he should be or else their psychic connection was leaking out emotions, he'd prefer to keep to himself. The jolt of alarm when the total was given nearly made him puke.
Caleb watched in horror as the doctor pulled out his wallet and handed the woman a couple of hundred-dollar bills. Mac was just carrying hundreds around in his pocket as if he had no care in the world! He was liable to get robbed in this part of town.
He knew Mac was rich, but he didn't think he was THAT well off. The guy could freaking adopt anyone in the world… he didn't deserve a fucked-up kid. Mac told the young lady at the register to keep the change, smiling when she gasped at the large amount: more than she made in a day. She thanked him profusely, explaining that she was a single mother, and the tip would serve to treat her children. Mac was kind to her; asking her children's ages and names – caring for and treating her like she was a human being who was important to him.
When Mac politely asked her for help in carrying their large order to the car, the woman jumped at the chance to repay his kindness. She temporarily closed the register, then called in a couple of other employees to deliver and pack the items in their luxury car's trunk. Edward helped the small group stack the packages, while Mac took his time with Caleb.
There was a strong hand pressed against his back, guiding him from Walmart's checkout area through the parking lot and into the car. His legs felt like noodles and his head was swimming. Once they were sitting against the bucket seats, Mac took his wrist. When he spoke, it was soft yet commanding. "Caleb, we're going to breathe like we did last night. Do you remember?"
Nodding, Caleb relaxed against the seats and breathed in the tempo directed by the doctor until the spinning sensation went away.
"What are you thinking about?" Mac asked him, reaching across his lap to buckle his seatbelt. Safety first and all that.
"I don't know how I'm going to pay you back…" Caleb whispered.
Mac brushed his cheek with his thumb, "you don't ever have to pay me back, Caleb. You're my son as long as you'll agree to the guardianship."
Shaking his head in exasperation, Caleb snapped, "It's not that easy, Mac! Judge Baker will probably say 'no' to spite me; she hates me. She thinks I'm nothing but trouble. They all think I'm crazy!"
"None of what happened is your fault, son. You are not crazy, and you have such incredible potential that if Judge Baker cannot see that, I'll refer her to an optician." Mac was trying to lighten the mood, but Caleb wasn't going to let it go.
"You're single, a doctor, and a freaking zillionaire! Why would you even want to deal with me?" Caleb yelled, pulling away from the gentling touches trying to calm him.
"You're not at fault, Caleb. I want you as my son… no matter what, I promise I'll be there for you. Trust me, please."
Caleb felt tears springing from his clenched eyelids. He pressed his palms into his eye sockets.
"Please, trust me, son." Mac pleaded softly. Caleb could feel the weight of his hopes through their bond. Mac was telling the truth. He did want him as family; if Caleb was brave enough to consent in front of the judge. It was a leap of faith; one that he'd not given outside of his grandmother. He didn't trust easily and what Mac was asking seemed impossible…
"It's a new start, Caleb. Please remember that. Give me a chance."
The ride home was quiet; both were lost in thought. Once they were back in the apartment, Mac asked the bellhop to bring in their bags and then escorted him inside.
They ate a simple lunch; Caleb begged for Mac & Cheese – he couldn't bear eating a fancy meal at the moment. Mac conceded to a carbohydrate-rich fatty meal for the second time that day, but added a side of broccoli as a vegetable and prodded Caleb to eat some of it.
Nerves ate away at him, especially when he went into his room after lunch to see the bags of things ready for him to put away. There was a surprise hidden within the pile – one that stood out like a sore thumb when surrounded by the Walmart plastic bags stamped in the blue logo. It was a garment bag, embroidered with the fancy store's name. It contained the coveted black leather jacket he'd loved when he saw it. Mac must have noticed his desire for the item. He stared at the bags for a long while, imagining where he'd arrange things around the blank canvas of a bedroom. The wall he'd put up the posters on and the shelf where he'd stack his books. He'd tuck most of his clothing away in the dresser, he'd hang up key pieces like the jacket in the closet. He could collapse the luggage set so that they fit within each other, then tuck them away for when he needed them on the top shelf in the closet.
He imagined forging the entire room as his own but couldn't make it a reality.
Mac knocked softly at his door, even though it was open. "Can I come in?"
"It's your place…" Caleb retorted, still feeling raw from the shopping trip.
"While you're here, this is your room and I'll respect you by asking permission to enter – just as I hope you'll do for me." Mac softly explained. "Do you need help putting things away?"
He shook his head, "no, thanks. I'll take care of it myself."
Mac acquiesced to his wishes, remarking that he was going to make a few calls to the local schools to learn about the registration process so he could enroll him in classes next week. Caleb blinked at him, spinning to shout at his retreating back. "You're the most stubborn person I've ever met!"
He could hear the smirk when Mac volleyed back, "I call it hopeful perseverance."
With that, Caleb decided to simply keep everything in its original packaging with the tags on and stuff all in the closet so Mac couldn't easily spot the bags. 'That way, if Judge Baker denies Mac guardianship and he was shipped off to God knows where – Mac could just return it all.' He thought practically.
However, the notion that it might be their last night together made him feel gloomy. He kicked off his shoes and lay on the bed staring at the walls for a good long time.
It was probably a couple of hours later when he heard the knock at his door with the now-familiar request to come in. "Sure," he said softly turning to his side to watch the doctor approach the bed.
Mac sat on the edge of the bedside, then gently cupped his forehead. Mac's fingers ran through his hair softly for a few seconds then pulled away. "Are you alright?"
He didn't answer verbally, but he supposed throwing himself into Mac's arms was a response to his question. Caleb never permitted himself to get attached – ever.
"I want to stay… I want to stay here with you." Caleb begged, "Please. I want to stay."
Mac gave him a kiss on his head, "I'll do everything in my power to make that happen. Okay? Just be strong until tomorrow."
Time faded and Caleb wasn't quite sure how long he stayed tucked away in the doctor's arms. Perhaps he almost dozed off, jerking when Mac shifted him away so that he could stand. "We have a bit of time before dinner, so if you'd like to read or paint, you'll have time for that. I'm going to be in the kitchen if you need anything." Caleb tiredly stretched while Mac padded into the pantry.
While it would have been easier to return one of the books, Caleb risked opening the paint kit. He settled into the desk area, setting up his palette while he decided what to depict. He wanted to paint something for Mac as both a thank you and a way to remember him if the ruling didn't end in their favor.
The scene came naturally to him – as if a muscle memory from long ago. The strokes of his brush relaxed him – something that the doctor must have planned for when he suggested spending money on a hobby he enjoyed. He was precise, using shading, undertones, perspective, and motion blur to paint the water flow under the silver metallic bridge tucked between a forest of Evergreen trees. It wasn't perfect; it was far from it. Some of the strokes were shaky. The water and sky turned out too dark as if it were storming; his own emotions laid out for all to see. He initialed the corner marking it as his own before setting it aside to dry.
His hands were covered in paint, just like his mom's used to be and he swallowed to keep the cry from erupting. Sniffing, he ground his teeth and shook it off. He was tougher than this and he swore he wouldn't let the judge's decision affect him.
He went into the bathroom to scrub at his skin, the water turning a teal blue as it mixed with the other colors splattered on his hands. Using a towel, he dried off and then headed into the kitchen to see what Mac was making. The smell was good, making him feel hungry.
"Hello, Caleb. Did you have fun painting?" Mac teased him, reaching out to bat at his hair. Caleb stepped back in shock when Mac's fingertips came away white – the paint must have splattered on his dark hair without his noticing. "If you'd like, you can take a quick shower while I set the table to clean up."
"Oh," Caleb gasped, "I didn't realize… yeah, I'll wash up. It sucks to get paint out of your hair when it dries. What's for dinner anyway?"
"Well, I thought we'd had enough meat and carbohydrates for one day – so I made a hearty vegetable soup and salad." Mac lifted the pot cover and allowed the scent to permeate the room.
Caleb sniffed appreciatively, "That smells so good, Mac." He practically fled to the bathroom to give his hair a five-minute wash. Based on the colors in the water, he must have accidentally touched the paint, then his hair. The shower felt amazing, the water pressure perfect and the temperature just hot enough to make his skin pink.
He didn't linger under the water as much as he wanted to. He jumped out, dried off, and put on his old clothes.
Caleb went into his room and checked the paint on the corner of the canvas to see if it was still wet. Acrylics dried fast – most of the time in under five minutes so he was happy to see that it was ready to be gifted. He went into the dining room where Mac had set the dinner table nervously holding the painting.
He put it down by the head of the table where he assumed Mac would be sitting. The man in question brought in a salad bowl and put it in the center of the table. It didn't take him long to notice the painting. "Did you paint this, Caleb?" Mac gingerly picked up the canvas by the corners, careful not to touch the design. "It's gorgeous. You're incredibly talented."
Mac's tone was awed; it wasn't the fake approval that teachers perfected, as if he needed a pat on the head like a two-year-old. He was genuine in his appreciation of the art, Caleb could tell. "I made it for you."
Mac's eyes flew to meet his; his expression flickering from surprise to joy. "Thank you, Caleb. It's beautiful. I'll treasure it always." The man put the painting down reverently on the other side of the table - not wanting to risk a food stain. "May I ask, why a bridge?" He gestured for Caleb to take the chair at the head of the table, a place of honor from Caleb's recollection.
Sitting, Caleb gave a one-shoulder shrug, "I dunno. Bridges represent new beginnings, connections, and all that, right?"
The doctor practically turned into a glittering plush Tenderheart Care Bear with the way his eyes sparkled. Caleb had to fight to keep from mirroring the older man. He wasn't going to get sappy – no way! Heck, he'd been more emotional the last couple of days than he'd been in his entire young life. It was a fluke that he was determined not to allow to become a habit. After all, he had a rep to maintain. He wasn't going to let Dr. Mackland Ames chip away at his wall. It was up for a very good – very important reason.
Except he broke his own rule when the doctor raised his glass to toast him. "To new beginnings, a fresh start, and a leap of faith." The man clinked his cup of juice before gesturing for him to taste the soup. "Tomorrow, we'll drop by the record store, and you can introduce me to your favorite artists. I'll be honest, I'm getting tired of the elevator music they pipe into the hospital lobby – I'm ready to be hip to what you youngins are listening to nowadays." Mac teased, his voice taking on a hillbilly type of accent in jest.
One of the cement blocks guarding his heart slipped loose and in that very moment, Caleb had hope that things would be as they both hoped. "Hip? You? No way, old man. Your idea of hip is probably Beethoven or something."
Smirking Mac shot back, "I prefer Chopin."
"You would! Ever heard of Michael Jackson? Or Duran Duran?" Caleb slurped his soup as he spoke, earning a small glare from the proper gentleman.
"I don't live under a rock, Caleb. Of course, I've heard of them." Mac explained, "I just don't have time to listen to the radio on a regular basis."
The playful argument continued throughout dinner, the two of them finding comfort in planning a playlist of albums to preview at the record store after they left court. Mac wouldn't let him think negatively about it and Caleb was inclined to listen to him.
He wouldn't be able to face it if he was torn away from the doctor. He knew it was his last chance…
Thoughts of dying if Judge Baker denied them kept him from getting sleepy; nerves sparking a restless night for them both. Mac simply told him to put on a pair of comfortable pajamas and join him on the couch if he desired. Caleb opened the closet and pulled out one of the new sets they bought and put them on. He padded barefoot into the living room, accepting the soft blanket that he'd been handed by the equally cozy-looking doctor.
Mac wore a pair of glasses and held up the book they'd been reading together at the hospital. The fireplace crackled and the book lamp created an atmosphere of warmth. "I thought you might want to continue the thrilling tale of D'artagnan."
Settling back into the cushions, Caleb nodded. "Yes, please."
With that, Mac stayed up all night reading aloud to him; his voice was calming allowing Caleb to drift off into a light doze.
When the morning came, hope tagged along. After all, it was a brand-new day, and they were but a 'yes' away from starting a new family.
Perhaps he'd one day bring himself to see the caring man as his father… only time would be able to tell.
Notes:
In Stranded, Bird gave her approval and told Caleb that he could go… but in my stories, she doesn't let her best friend's grandson go that easily – so that is a bit of a divergence along with the fact that I send Jim home before the trial. If you're interested in that story, check out this series's "Contested Promises" chapter. *Fun fact, Hills department stores were purchased by Ames in 1998. Thought that was a remarkable coincidence. Who's to say our favorite Grandpa didn't buy the place where his grandson loved to shop? (Sadly it did go out of business… but it was a cool place while it lasted).