Chapter Text
Pop-tarts, rice, pasta: they each make a beep as Jake scans them. One more customer and then it’s time for his break, praise the heavens.
Something catches his eye: movement, resolving into a tall guy hunched into his hoodie. The guy moves, and Jake catches his face, mostly hidden behind sunglasses: he looks fairly young, around Jake’s age.
The guy moves with studied casualty. Almost too nonchalant.
Jake has his eye on him.
Beep. The scanning is finished. Jake pastes on a smile and looks slightly to the left of the customer. “Will that be cash or credit?”
He processes the payment, tracking the guy out of the corner of his eye. There will be no shoplifting on Jake English’s watch!
By the time Jake makes it away from the cash register, the guy is almost outside the door. Jake hurries after him. He follows him outside, into the alley between the supermarket and the dollar store next door.
“Hey! You there!” Jake calls out.
The guy keeps walking, like Jake said nothing. Doesn’t even break into a run.
Fury simmers in Jake. How dare this rake steal and then act so casual! Jake speeds up. “I said, you there! Stop!”
No response whatsoever, but Jake is gaining up on him now.
The guy pauses to look behind him. Jake sees his opportunity. He leaps, and tackles the thief to the ground.
The guy falls with an oof. Boxes drop from his hoodie. Triumph swells in Jake. He can practically hear the soundtrack. A true act of heroism: nothing to Jake English, only another day on the job.
“Thought you’d get away, didn’t you?” Jake crows. He picks up the box. “You and your…”
It’s baby formula.
The triumph in Jake stutters. The soundtrack flops into a minor key. Baby formula. But this person can scarcely be any older than Jake. Nevertheless, apparently he has a baby to feed. A younger sibling, perhaps?
Did Jake just tackle a tragic orphan to the ground?
Jake springs to his feet. He reaches out his hand.
The guy gets up without taking it, dusting off his coat. He does snatch the box of formula from Jake’s other hand, when he weakly proffers it.
“So sorry for the mistake,” Jake says, words rushing out. “I thought – well, it doesn’t matter, clearly this is yours!” He’s speaking a little louder than he ought to, like he’s explaining himself to an audience of busted streetlights. “Supermarkets are so shoddily run, it’s an easy mistake to make. Do you know, we can never keep track of how much inventory we have properly? Ha!”
“Ha,” the guy says, dubiously.
“Really! We’ll order more stock than we need, and half of it gets thrown out, can you imagine that?” The random words streaming out of Jake seem to have a direction, but damned if he knows what that is.
The guy crosses his arms and taps his foot. “It boggles the mind.”
“I mean, if someone were to come here at Monday at 5PM, they would find all sorts of things just lying around!” Jake can’t stop babbling. “I mean, I’m supposed to put them in the trash, but my memory is just awful, I keep forgetting and leaving them out instead until someone scolds me for it.”
The guy’s head tilts a fraction. He nods, very slightly.
Then he disappears. He moves so fast that Jake’s eyes don’t register it, melting into the shadows.
Heart hammering, Jake runs back to the store. He hopes he’s not late from his break. He has a feeling he’s going to need his supervisor’s good graces very soon.
On days like this, Dirk is pathetically glad that Roxy’s building has an elevator.
She waits for him with the door open. The coast is clear, she’d texted him earlier that her mom is gone for the night.
As far as the elder Ms. Lalonde is concerned, Dave is Dirk’s little brother, whom Roxy babysits on occasion for pocket money. Any discrepancies about this story have been overlooked by Ms. Lalonde on the account of being a fucking drunk.
“Did you get everything you needed done?” Roxy asks.
She doesn’t know exactly what Dirk has done with his evening, but she’s far from stupid. If she’s granting Dirk some kind of plausible deniability, it’s only because Dirk’s friend is kinder than he deserves.
“I’m good,” Dirk says.
She narrows her eyes at him. “You’re limping.”
“Skinned my knee.” It was that kid from the store: he’d looked so young and harmless that Dirk didn’t even think to dodge. Rookie mistake, and one that almost cost him Dave’s next meal.
Speaking of. “How’s the kid?”
Roxy smiles. “Sleeping like an angel.”
Dirk kisses her on the cheek. “Seriously, Roxy, you’re the best.”
She blows a raspberry at him. “Yeah, sure, look at me. I’m such a martyr, I fed a baby and let him sleep in my room. I might even have to change a diaper next time.”
Fuck, Dirk should have gotten more diapers, but they’re bulky and there’s only so much room under his hoody. He has to tear the packet and sneak out individual ones, and then it’s much likelier he’ll get caught.
He tries not to shoplift when he can avoid it, but there haven’t been as many deliveries this week as he usually gets. Needs must. At least he has Roxy to babysit sometimes.
Roxy, Dirk would swear, has some kind of internal sonar that she uses to detect Dirk’s moments of weakness. “You should both stay here tonight.” She keeps talking rapidly before Dirk can object. “Mom won’t come back until tomorrow noon at the earliest. It’s cold tonight. Sleep in a bed for once, Strider, I’m not going to tell anyone and ruin your tough guy reputation.”
Dirk hesitates.
Sensing weakness, Roxy keeps going. “Dave is already asleep, you want to get him into his coat and out to your car? After all my hard work rocking him and singing lullabies?”
Dirk hunches. “I’m sorry if he’s been a bother.”
“Oh, honey.” Roxy pulls him inside. “You know he went right back to sleep. Barely cried at all, just made a little fuss until I gave him his bottle.”
That sounds like Dave. Kid hardly cries. In Dirk’s more paranoid moments, he wonders how bad a sign it is. Is Dave too weak to cry, conserving his strength? Did Dirk somehow teach him that it’s dangerous to make a noise?
“You’re getting that look.” Roxy leads him to the couch – she’s stopped trying to get him to take the bed long ago. She pushes him, and his knees fold. He sinks into the cushions. “Sleep. Just tonight.”
It’s never just one night, and both of them know it. They also know he can’t stay: Ms. Lalonde will report Dirk’s teen dad ass to CPS if she has any clue about what’s going on.
But Dirk is so, so tired. And the blanket Roxy drapes over him is soft and smells like laundry detergent. Dave is in the other room, sleeping. Maybe it’s okay for Dirk to close his eyes as well.