Post by The Mad Hatter on Apr 4, 2014 13:30:23 GMT -5
He knew it wasn't the best idea to be hanging around the school necessarily. By now, at least one staff member likely had realized that he never picked up a child if he lingered when the bell rang. Once or twice he had attended a Back to School Night, just to be able to walk through the classrooms and look at Grace's artwork and the journal prompts she wrote. So bright, he often thought as he peered down at her efforts. Like her mother. He wondered how he had helped to produce something so absolutely radiant against the backdrop of an otherwise dismal world. (He used to see in vivid color--not so frequently anymore.)
And still, even despite knowing that Graham Humbert might roll up in the sheriff's car at any minute to ask him what he was doing loitering on or near private property, Jefferson could not keep away. He would have sat for hours...he had sat for hours, and just to catch a second's glimpse of her little face in the window. She sat beside one that stared out over the street during her History period. Sometimes he thought he saw her daydreaming. It reminded him again of the other half that had made this smaller whole. She'd loved the fantastic slivers of life, the ones too grandiose and rich to live in for longer than a few moments. (Like eating too much chocolate, he once explained to Gracie, warning her against trying to crawl away from reality too often. One gets a stomach ache.) This was Jefferson's little sliver of chocolate each afternoon, emphasis on the little. Moderation. Portion control. Just forty five minutes pretending to read the newspaper on a nearby bench, then the bell would ring inside and she would rise and the students would file out to change classes.
The time came, as it always did, to put away the dream and he folded his paper up, tucking it under his arm as he straightened out his coat and looked one last time at the school-building, thinking maybe she'd pass by the window again. When she didn't, and he saw only emptiness inside, he turned and started back towards the outskirts of town, where he could crawl away into his lavishly-decorated cave once again to wait irritably until her next History lesson. He was stopped before he got two blocks, however, by the sight of a bobbing brown head, backpack still hitched over his shoulders, walking a bit like he didn't want to be seen. Jefferson raised a solitary eyebrow, half-amused and maybe a little concerned to see Henry Mills playing hooky on the streets of Storybrooke when he knew for a fact that he should have been inside with his classmates.
He jogged a few steps, smoothly turning on his heels and cutting the boy's path off abruptly, arching a solitary eyebrow at him. "Sick day?" he questioned, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was difficult to read if it was malicious or well-meaning; Jefferson always had multiple motives coasting along beneath the surface. He might have just been a merciful man who would hope that another stranger should show kindness and guidance to his own child in this situation. Or he might have been a mad-man that saw not a person, but a pawn--a child of a Queen. A Queen he should like to knock off the board.
Henry Mills
And still, even despite knowing that Graham Humbert might roll up in the sheriff's car at any minute to ask him what he was doing loitering on or near private property, Jefferson could not keep away. He would have sat for hours...he had sat for hours, and just to catch a second's glimpse of her little face in the window. She sat beside one that stared out over the street during her History period. Sometimes he thought he saw her daydreaming. It reminded him again of the other half that had made this smaller whole. She'd loved the fantastic slivers of life, the ones too grandiose and rich to live in for longer than a few moments. (Like eating too much chocolate, he once explained to Gracie, warning her against trying to crawl away from reality too often. One gets a stomach ache.) This was Jefferson's little sliver of chocolate each afternoon, emphasis on the little. Moderation. Portion control. Just forty five minutes pretending to read the newspaper on a nearby bench, then the bell would ring inside and she would rise and the students would file out to change classes.
The time came, as it always did, to put away the dream and he folded his paper up, tucking it under his arm as he straightened out his coat and looked one last time at the school-building, thinking maybe she'd pass by the window again. When she didn't, and he saw only emptiness inside, he turned and started back towards the outskirts of town, where he could crawl away into his lavishly-decorated cave once again to wait irritably until her next History lesson. He was stopped before he got two blocks, however, by the sight of a bobbing brown head, backpack still hitched over his shoulders, walking a bit like he didn't want to be seen. Jefferson raised a solitary eyebrow, half-amused and maybe a little concerned to see Henry Mills playing hooky on the streets of Storybrooke when he knew for a fact that he should have been inside with his classmates.
He jogged a few steps, smoothly turning on his heels and cutting the boy's path off abruptly, arching a solitary eyebrow at him. "Sick day?" he questioned, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was difficult to read if it was malicious or well-meaning; Jefferson always had multiple motives coasting along beneath the surface. He might have just been a merciful man who would hope that another stranger should show kindness and guidance to his own child in this situation. Or he might have been a mad-man that saw not a person, but a pawn--a child of a Queen. A Queen he should like to knock off the board.
Henry Mills