Work Text:
The sun was starting to get low in the sky when Cid emerged from beneath the truck he was tinkering with. A sweltering day, he had brought his project out to the parkway instead of boiling inside the garage while tinkering with the suspension. He walks over to throw his tools into the box he had packed with the tools he needed most for the job, not wanting to walk back and forth to the large case on the wall inside. Turning to let the car down from the jack gently, he catches a glimpse of movement by the mouth of the garage and accidentally jerks the release too quickly and the truck drops heavy and loud onto the concrete.
“Shit!” he curses. Well, at least he was already working on the suspension on the damn thing. He whips his hat off and walks toward the garage to try and find whatever the hell was in there. Probably just another stray cat he’s going to have to chase out, he thinks grumbling to himself.
Stepping through the open oversized door, he doesn't immediately spot anything out of place. All the cars in their spots, pile of tires in the far corner all accounted for, and his workbench is as messy as before. Cid shakes his head and goes back to packing up and pulling the truck in.
It’s not until he’s grabbing a drink from the small corner fridge for his drive home that he finds one of his lemon sodas unaccounted for. He frowns and shuts the door. Some fucking cat, he thinks.
***
It’s been a few weeks since the missing soda incident, and Cid has nearly forgotten about it when it happens again. No moving shadow to warn him this time, just a missing can. He might have missed it if he wasn’t looking for his last lemon soda for himself for today. He scowls and grabs a grape instead.
***
Third time is, in fact, the charm, it seems. A few days after the last lemon had gone missing, Cid installed a little bell atop the fridge door. It had been a week since then and he was reconsidering his decision because it was starting to get annoying to his own ears every time he opened the door.
He was kneeling on the ground working on some rewiring under the steering wheel of one of the Prince’s new toys when he heard it. Dropping the wire cutter and smacking his head as he jerked up, he managed to turn back in time to finally get a look at his thief.
“You!”
Caught with his hand in the cookie jar, or fridge really, was just some mousy skinny kid who doesn’t look the least bit sorry. Mouth pulled back in a sneer, the thief just looks annoyed. But Cid crosses over the garage to slam the door out of the kid’s hand.
“Who in the hell are you, you rotten thief?” The older man leans down, getting in his face. Cid noticed it from across the garage but up close he could really see just how damn blue the thief’s eyes were. Not that blue eyes were much to note about somebody but looking into these felt like looking into a running stream. Clear and bright and wild.
The kid barely blinks at the yelling thrown in his face. He lets his hand fall down to his side from where it hovered after the door was closed. After a moment he still doesn’t say anything, just averts his eyes.
As much as Cid would love to out stubborn the kid and wait right here until he talks, he knows a tough nut when he sees one and he has shit to get done today. Standing up straight, he sighs loudly, “You at least got a name, brat?”
The kid just looks back at him but doesn’t say anything, scowl still firmly sitting on his face. Cid shakes his head and starts to turn to walk back to where he was working. Kid hasn’t run yet, and Cid don’t mean to kick him out. He knows a lost alleycat when he sees one. “Well, fine, keep it to yourself. But you owe me for those drinks, punk, so hop to it and hand me that electrical tape off the bench, would you?”
Getting back down on the ground half buried under the dash of a red convertible, he sees a set of ratty tennis shoes and threadbare socks pop up next to him. Sticking out his hand, he feels the smooth roll of tape placed gently into his grip. The shoes don’t seem to move away after handing him the tape or after a minute when Cid finishes up and starts to get up to turn the car on seeing if the job holds.
Now that he’s looking at the kid and not his 'mysterious thief', Cid sees the puffy red of his cheek, the bandaids on his hands, and the hole in his sleeve.
Cid hands him the keys to the car and tells him to turn it on so he can keep an eye on the wires below.
***
Cid would call it a routine if the kid showed up in any sort of discernable pattern but, like a true stray, the kid just came and went as he pleased. But when he showed up, he wasn’t slinking around like before. He let Cid spot him in the garage and put him to work. Handing wrenches, holding lights, using his smaller hands to reach into tight spots Cid would have to dismantle further to get his own hand in.
The mechanic had to admit it was kind of nice when he showed up. He found himself talking out loud to him, telling him what he was doing and why. The kid never said much but he didn’t complain and looked like he was listening to Cid at least 20 percent of the time, which Cid thought counted for something at least.
Counted most when Cid could see fresh bruises every time he wandered in, if it meant he wasn’t wherever he was getting those damn things.
It’s a rare quiet afternoon, the Prince hadn’t crashed anything recently by some miracle and all of the rest of the vehicles were up to date on their maintenance. The rain coming down hard outside kept him in the garage, but that was fine by Cid, tinkering away at a piece he’d been working on. Something that he could put in the boot of the car to sense when large objects got a little too close. Even if he enjoys his job security due to the Prince’s recklessness, he thinks some of these beauties deserve to not end up smacked into various signs and trees around the city.
His radio is crooning softly on the table beside him and he is absorbed in the device halfway assembled in his hands. He doesn’t hear the kid approach but he sees a shadow fall on the table to his right. Without looking up, “Ain’t got much for working you today, mouser. Pull up a seat.”
The shadow moves and after a moment the soft clink of a folding chair popping open. He finishes fiddling with the wire he was screwing in place then starts turning to the kid, “See here, what I’m doing is setting this wire to-” he makes the mistake of checking to see the kid is looking where he’s pointing.
“Fucking hell! Now just what in the hell happened to you?” Cid drops the screwdriver on the ground and grabs the boy’s chin to get a look at the red mess on the left side of his face. He’s got stitches in a cut in his hairline and another few in his eyebrow. His whole cheekbone is well on its way to turning purple and a split lip to boot.
Cid throws his project on the table and gets up to walk to the fridge. Angrily grabbing an ice pack he keeps in the small freezer shelf for smashed thumbs and slamming the door closed, he doesn’t miss the way the boy avoids looking at him.
“Alright, boy, most days I let your business be yours, I don’t pry, but don’t you take me for stupid,” He grabs a paper towel off the roller above the bench to wrap around the pack and then gently presses it to the kid’s face. Grabbing the kid’s hand he guides it to hold the ice pack for himself and then takes a sharp breath. He counts to ten instead of breaking something.
A handprint shaped bruise wrapped around the boy’s wrist.
He makes sure to move right in front of those water blue eyes and he knows his gaze is burning. This time his voice is low and steady, “Who put their hands on you?”
It's only at Cid’s question- not the slamming, not the loud and heavy steps, not the thrown project- that the kid flinches.
And if that didn’t just break a man’s heart.
The boy just shakes his head slightly, eyes kept low. His voice is high and rough, “It was just an accident at training.”
“Bullshit!” he wants to call but Cid bites his tongue. His wife was always better at this part but he’s got two decades practice of her teachings now with his own boy. “Build up, don’t cut him down," she would say. So he takes another breath and tries building.
“Ok, looks like a bad accident though, kid. He at least say sorry?”
“No, but he’s the fucking moron stuck in med wing,” kid sneers.
And the absolute disgust that coats the kid’s words is so resolute it startles a laugh out of Cid. Who knew the stray had a mouth on him? “Should get some soap for that language, boy.”
“You can try,” is the deadpan reply. Cid just laughs harder. The kid nearly cracks a smile himself after a moment, lips twitching.
A moment passes and the mechanic gets the feeling that he's gotten all he's going to out of the kid. The long game it is then. Well, no matter how long the game, he still has a few tricks up his sleeve, so Cid pats the kid's head and steps over to the cabinet next to the toolbox. Taking out a key for the latch he pops it open and pulls out a few things and placing them on top. After a minute of arranging them, he locks the cabinet back up and turns back to the kid with two plates in hand. He sets one next to the kid on the workbench, who looks back between the mechanic and the half strawberry tart. Cid nods at him and shoves his half in his mouth. The kid picks it up hesitantly and takes a small bite. He chews thoughtfully before Cid watches his eyes grow huge and he devours the rest in a blink.
Setting his own plate down, Cid takes the ice pack from the boy. Going to replace the paper towel that was 2 seconds from dripping the water it soaked up from condensation. He hands the fresh toweled pack back, “You can bring that back tomorrow, kid.”
“Cor,” is the quiet response. Cid raises his brows.
“You can bring that back tomorrow, Cor,” he teases. Then he sighs, seeing the clock on the wall. “But you outta get going here, the Prince is coming by-” Cor makes a rather spectacular face at the mention of the Prince and stands abruptly and starts walking fast out of the garage. Leaving Cid to just stand like a fool in his own damn garage.
After a moment standing there wondering just what the hell happened he hears the young Shield and Prince throw the inner door open and nearly shouting at each other.
“Reggie, I swear you gotta let this go-”
“Let this go! Let this go? Clarus he insulted me! Who does this stupid, dirty-”
“Woah! Okay-”
A whistle cuts through the air sharp and loud.
“Quit your yammering! Ain’t anybody at the ends of damn Galahd that needs to hear you boys, and I ain’t deaf,” the mechanic scolds. “Now get your sorry butt over here Regis Lucis Caelum.”
The Prince rolls his eyes and grumbles but does cease his screeching. Clarus looks relieved at the change in topic. Cid does not envy the poor kid. Being attached to the Royal Pain in the Ass as he is, the young man has tried valiantly along with that Weskham boy to keep Regis in line but an ‘uphill battle’ is the most polite way Cid could think to describe that endeavor.
Sighing, Cid goes to grab the keys to the blue cruiser the Prince requested to take out today.
“Oh, I didn’t know you entertained company out here, Cid. You always say this is your ‘solitary sanctum’,” Cid doesn’t have to look to see the sarcastic finger quotes the Prince is making.
Keys in hand, he just hums noncommittally, “Just some alleycat came ‘round.”
The Shield raises a brow and the Prince makes a face of disgust that looks rather similar to one Cid saw just moments ago. His lips twitch at the thought.
“Well, don’t feed it! It’ll just keep coming back, you know.”
Yea. Cid knows.