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Third floor common room [Sunday afternoon]

It had taken most of yesterday for it to sink in that Cade had no real supervision. He had spent most of the morning jumping on his bed until he'd catapaulted off if it and landed in his closet (...he'd pretend he meant to do that...), and was now looking for something to eat in the common room.

He levitated a box of cereal from the cabinet and sat down on the sofa, eating it by the handful.

Life was astral when you were three.

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At nine Emma had already gotten into the habit of stashing anything that would keep in her bag with her blanket, so she hadn't starved yesterday while waiting for some new caseworker to show to go with the new digs (which they hadn't), but now that was gone and she was hungry so she'd gone in search of something to eat.

She watched the tiny boy on the sofa with a far-too-jaded eye, this might have been the nicest group-home she'd been shipped to but it was also the least supervised.

Cade gave her a sticky smile. "Hi. Want some cereal?"

"Hey," Emma said, giving him a brief smile, because he was pretty cute. Enough that he'd probably get placed pretty quick.

"Sure, kid." You never turned down free food, unless you thought it'd make you sick.

Through some miraculous miracle, Flick hadn't been turned into a kid this weekend and he was really thankful for that. He didn't need the trauma of his childhood returning to beat him down.

Most everyone else seemed to be the size of garden gnomes though so he pushed any sadness that wanted to bubble up at none of these kids being Jude down and wandered into the first common room with a kid in it he saw.

Maybe he'd know the kid and could hold this over his head later.

"You sharing?" he asked, glancing at the cereal box and the the small child.

"It's over in that cabinet," he said, pointing.

Because even at three, Cade was big into what was his.

"No," Cade said, "but there's lots more over there!"

Emma...was not surprised. Not really.

She headed over to the cabinet to see what she could find.

Smart kid.

"What if I wanted yours?" Flick asked, just to see what the little guy would say. "Grass is always greener and all that."

Emma looked eyed the tall boy suspiciously. Older kids either ignored younger kids, or pushed them around, especially when adults weren't watching.

Looking out for them came a distant third.

Years spent with his kid brother look after him (and feeling guilty that the roles weren't reversed) meant Flick wasn't one to really push younger kids around.

"What's up?" he asked, giving the girl a two fingered salute. "You here looking for food too? That's the reason I'm awake and here."

Emma still didn't trust him, but he didn't look like he was lying.

"Yeah," she said. "Looks like there's more than enough here." Which was a change.

"Not something you're used to?" he guessed, keeping his distance from her. Didn't want to scare a kid. He wasn't a monster (or maybe he was but he was denying that). "When'd you last eat?"

"Yesterday." She'd made those granola bars last the entire day.

Her non-committal answer was belied by her stomach choosing that moment to growl. Loudly.

Yeah, the noise coming from her stomach made one corner of Flick's mouth turn up into something resembling a smile.

"Sounds like you're pretty hungry now" he asked, nodding at the kitchen. "Wanna help me find some decent food?"

Emma thought about it and nodded. "Okay."

She could always kick him in the shins if he tried anything.

"Cool." Flick headed into the kitchen, already pulling the refrigerator open to peer inside. "You hungry for anything in particular?"

Food was probably just food for her, though. It'd been that way for him when he was younger.

"Whatever's there," she said, following him. She wasn't picky.

Though she wasn't going to say no if there was sugar involved, the good stuff never lasted long enough in these places for everyone to get some.

"Not picky. Good trait to have," he said, glancing back and giving what he hoped was an easy looking smile. This had been Jude's thing, not his. He was just recalling what Jude had done for him when he was a kid.

"Okay, so there's pizza," he said, straightening up and pulling open the freezer before adding, "and ice cream. Tough choice, kid. Which one do you want?"

Neither of those were things she got often, but Emma was old enough to know ice cream on pizza would be a horrible waste of both.

"Pizza." It'd be more filling and there was at least a chance the ice cream would still be there later.

"Hot or cold?" he asked, pulling someone's leftover pizza (he really didn't care if it was stealing or not) out of the fridge. "I'm a cold guy myself but to each his own. I won't judge if you want it heated up."

If you didn't want to lose your food, you didn't leave it in a common area, everyone knew that.

"Cold." Otherwise she'd have to wait for it to warm up and cool down enough to eat, and she was hungry. Not to mention..."Reheated pizza's soggy."

Which she'd still eat, but it was nice to have the choice.

"It really is," Flick said, dropping two greasy pieces on a plate for her and holding it out. "Not as good as the first time it's been heated. Loses some flavor. Here you go."

He watched her idly while he held out the plate. Somewhere in the back of his head, he had a niggling sense of who this little girl might be but he wasn't sure.

"I'll get you more if you're hungry when you finish these."

Well, how many blonde, bottomless pits with trust issues did you know, Flick?

Emma took the plate with a "Thanks" then got stuck into the pizza with great gusto. The first slice all but vanished, but she slowed down with the second.

"Wow."

That was pretty impressive. Flick had barely taken a few bites of his stolen pizza before she was done with hers.

"Don't eat too fast or you'll get a stomachache." That was definitely Jude's influence. It was weird and he shook his head at himself. "What's your name, anyway?"

Just to see if his guess was right. He was pretty sure it was.

Emma paused in her chewing and swallowed before answering, since manners were a thing she was supposed to have, or something.

"Emma," she said, picking at a stray bit of cheese. "What's yours?"

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Third floor common room [Sunday afternoon]

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