#for those who don't have dates memorized: this is meant to be just before aai kicks off

[aquilamage]

If you’d asked Detective Badd a week ago how much there was to know about nineteenth-century classical composition, he would’ve said no damn clue, and even less interest.

Apparently, there was a lot.

The kid had come in about a quarter to, the same boundless comfort and lack of awareness to the looks the other detectives gave him as always, and plopped himself down. Now, even the stragglers for the next shift are settling in, and he shows no signs of stopping any time soon.

So, having learned from Kay, he jumps in the moment the kid pauses for breath. “That’s nice” (from what he could tell, which is at least more than the times Faraday had gone off on some mechanical explanation rant (when all he’d asked was why he’d taken apart his old tv in the middle of the living room at 7am).) “But shouldn’t you...be getting home? Your father has to be expecting you for dinner.” He’s assuming a lot of things, but Debeste had never been one for patience.

For a second, there’s that confused little wrinkle of his nose. “Oh! No, Pops is really busy, so it’s just me!” A pause as he looks down, talking more to himself. “Well, since for lunch I….oh.” The frown disappears almost immediately as he crosses his arms, looking up. “I think it would be best for me to get going now.”

Alright then. Well, then he wouldn’t keep him, so he could go and do that at a reasonable hour. Nice...seeing you. At least that’s what he thinks. What Badd actually says is, “That’s...no good. How do you feel about noodles?”

He blinks. “What?” His free hand had been playing with the rounded edge of his baton, now bending it ever so slightly.

“There’s a stand...right around the block.” He gets up, collecting his things. “Let’s get you something to eat...now.”

The baton springs back to its normal shape. Otherwise, the kid stays frozen until Badd is practically out the door. “Okay!” he calls, and scampers after him.

It’s a clear night, a few stars visible through the light pollution. The temperature has dropped more than seasonable for March, but it’s still tolerable for a short walk. Especially since the kid can keep up with his natural stride – tagging about three-quarters behind him, but matching in pace. Badd always manages to forget that he’s so tall, might still be growing (and certainly hasn’t filled into his height yet).

He wonders how tall Kay is now. It’s been a few years since the last time Byrne’s sister brought her back for a visit, and even if she does send him pictures with heavy regularity, it’s not the same as measuring where she comes up against him.

(For example, the kid comes up past his shoulder, probably chin height when he stands up proper. It’s hard to tell exactly without measuring.)

Just as the stand comes into view, he checks over his shoulder. The kid is still there, watching him closely now. Everything else seems perfectly normal, but there’s a slight nagging feeling that something’s off. Without anything to go on for now, though, he shrugs it off. “Pick something out.” He gestures at the menu board.

The guy at the counter gives the kid a bit of a look as he continues staring down the options, mouthing out a few, and Badd shoots him a half glare that gets him to back off until they’re ready to order. He gets a basic vegetable ramen, and the kid orders something that Badd doesn’t know enough Japanese to recognize if it’s pronounced right (although he doesn’t falter saying it and the worker doesn’t correct him or react, so probably. Interesting).

As they’re standing there waiting, that creeping feeling that something is Off comes back, but looking around, everything appears perfectly normal. The shuffling bustle of the kitchen comes just above the buzz of the floodlight on top of the stand, which illuminates a circle of the little park around them, and the occasional car passing by.

The kid’s order comes up, and he cradles it in his hands all the way to the nearest bench. It’s strangely endearing.

A minute later his food is ready too. He sits down across from the kid, who’s staring down at his bowl in silence, and then it hits him that apart from getting his food, he hasn’t said a word since they left. This kid doesn’t do anything quiet.

“Something the matter?”

He immediately jumps, splashing broth on the table. “No! It’s fine! It’s really good.” Halfway through the last sentence, his voice gets soft. “Uh,” he’s put his baton down, but now he’s holding both chopsticks in both hands, and they’re not quite so bendy. “what did I do wrong?”

“...what?”

“I thought- You’re not upset?”

And here he thought he’d already witnessed the kid’s weirdest leap in logic. “No? What would I be upset about?”

He shrugs as though it was obvious. “Talking to someone alone means you need to yell at them, most of the time. Sometimes you yell at them in front of people. Why else would you invite me out here?”

There’s so many concerning parts to that that the number itself is concerning. Right now, though, there’s the fact that the kid doesn’t need splinters on top of everything else. “You haven’t eaten in a long time, so it’s not safe to be driving.” When the kid’s eyes continue to gather water, he sighs. “I’m not upset. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Oh.” A few tears fall, but he relaxes his grip to something normal.

They start eating in quiet, the kid thinking he’s sneaking glances. Soon enough, though, he pipes up with a continuation of what he’d been on about at the office (at least, Badd’s reasonably confident it is).

He swirls his noodles around the bowl. The kid’s last question echoes in his mind: why was he doing this? Not that he’d been lying, but what was his motivation for that reasoning? It wasn’t as if the kid was out of it or that much of a danger to himself; why spend more time with Debeste’s kid than he had to?

(Now, that wasn’t exactly fair. Despite his clear admiration for his father, the kid was more than that. He deserved better.)

…And maybe that’s it. Badd knows it’s not his place to comment – there’d been a number of nights where Byrne’s work kept him from dinner with Kay (mostly near the end, with a babysitter since the both of them were occupied), and seventeen was plenty old enough for a kid to be home by himself for an evening. Still, there’s something about it.

As the kid talks, he waves his chopsticks around. It adds an interesting layer of suspense, given that about one of every three times he gets distracted midway through bringing food up to his mouth.

“..Hey.”

He freezes up, prompting Badd to immediately follow up with his “I don’t mind the talking, but you should finish your food before it gets cold.”

“Okay.”

---

As they finish eating, it’s fully dark out. Even that doesn’t put any damper on the kid’s mood, though, practically a spring in his step. “Thanks for the food. It was tasteful.”

“Taste...ful?”

He spins around on the pathway. “Yeah, it was really good!”

Ah. His sigh comes out as a steady cloud of breath. “You’re welcome.”

Instead of moving again, he waves his hand. “I’ll see you later. Not tomorrow or the next couple, but...what’s the day after that?”

Badd tries to do the math with what day he thinks the kid means. “The fifteenth?”

A frown as he stares upward. “What day?”

“Friday.” It would be nice if they could have this conversation while they were walking. The residual warmth from the food is mostly faded, and they’re not even standing by the kitchen. Bringing it up now might throw the kid off-track, though. At least it seems like he’s got enough layers on.

“Then maybe on Friday.” With a smile, the hand with the baton goes to his shoulder, and he bows his head. “See you!”

Badd shakes his head. “That’s nice, but unless you...parked somewhere else, we’re still going the same direction.”

The kid’s baton smacks him int the face, and it’s all he can do not to reach out and- ...well, he doesn’t know what, exactly. “O-Of course!” And with a sharp turn, he starts back on the path.

--

By the time Badd gets in his car, his face and arms are numb from waiting and watching until the kid’s car pulled out of sight. Why he bothered, he doesn’t know – the precinct lot is reasonably safe (there’s more people loyal to his father than aren’t, or at least in some way held by his influence, and someone who wasn’t would plan something better than that) – but it feels right to do. If it was Kay...

He shakes his head. Kay’s a hundred miles away and not going to be around for ages, if ever. This kid is not the same, and he needs to get that through his head before it gets him in trouble.