I wrote this for my little cousin. She gave me a plot and I had to pick my favourite TV show to go along with it. She's doing the same for me, a Doctor Who fic with a plot I wanted, which I will post if I ever see her again.
So if this doesn't seem realistic or in character, that's probably because it is unrealistic and out of character. But I'm writing it for her, so here we go!
Also, this is my first step into the BE fandom. Be kind, which might be hard to do, because as mentioned, it's a little OOC.
From the very moment Charlie woke up that bright and sunny morning in June, he knew it was going to be a bad day. A very bad day indeed.
Now Charlie wasn't necessarily one for looking at the negative side of life. He wasn't exactly an optimist, either. An appropriate way to describe him would merely be a realist, more or less the type who took life as it came. It was vital he stayed calm in all situations to continue the work he was involved with. Stay level-headed, keep his mind clear.
Well, where to begin? His pyjamas were unusually itchy, his blankets he had kicked off in the night were on the floor and he was way too comfortable curled up like a bug in a rug to pick them up, and…Yes, of course. A bad hair day. A true, full-blooded Italian boy can sense this within seconds of starting their day and miles away from a mirror.
Since he had nothing important to do on this day until the evening, a meeting with AR, he decided to go outside and get some fresh air, take the advice that apparently cured everything. Although he tried to dismiss it, he couldn't get rid of that awful, sinking feeling in his stomach.
Charlie had known someone was following him. He'd like to say it had been for quite some time, from the moment this certain someone had begun the stalk, but oddly enough he only just noticed now.
He spun around quickly on his heel, but no one was there, just a young couple walking across the street holding hands, laughing together. For a moment it made Charlie wish he had a girl. Sure, he'd had plenty of girls in his life, but no one special, no one he had known well enough to laugh with.
Suddenly he was pulled out of his thoughts by the unmistakable sound of footsteps, rather frantic ones at that. Again, Charlie looked over his shoulder. Nothing. Then-yes, he saw it this time! He caught the glimpse just out of the corner of his eye. Absolutely someone was tailing him.
Calm down, he told himself. He had no idea who was there, but being himself and knowing the risks of his profession, obviously his first reaction would be to panic. But no. He couldn't let whoever this was know they were getting in his head.
It was silent as could be in Central Park as Charlie walked along, casual, enjoying the scenery. He was almost positive by now The Someone had gone away, and he felt his shoulders relax, letting out a breath of relief. When-there were the footsteps!
Charlie stopped walking and turned, absent-mindedly lighting himself a cigarette. Damn, still no one.
The Someone had stopped and hid behind a bush a few yards away when they had seen the man in the nice pinstripe suit turn around. They held back a laugh. He had no idea. They rubbed their hands together anxiously. He had a big wallet.
Charlie soon heard the footfalls again, but this time he ignored them and kept marching on. Soon they turned to a little shuffling sound, and immediately Charlie knew what was going on. He cracked a grin and shook his head in amusement.
The Someone glanced up at the man through the fall of their bangs, before slipping their hand delicately into the man's coat pocket.
Charlie made his move.
The Someone's eyes widened and they froze in mid-snatch. Charlie's hand cupped The Someone's jaw as he frowned heavily, glaring down at them. They carefully slid their hand out of the pocket, never taking their fearful green eyes away from Charlie.
The Someone was not a, 'The,' but a, 'She,' a small girl, with tangled, dirty light blonde hair, a dirty pink dress, and a dirty, frightened face. Instantly, Charlie let her go, with a nagging sense of guilt.
"What gave you the idea you'd get away with that?" he asked, tossing the cigarette to the ground and stomping it under his heel, keeping his gaze on the girl.
She stood shaking, her fingers laced together, kicking the ground with the toe of her boot. Charlie noticed her nose seemed a little crooked, which was strange for a child. It had definitely been broken sometime, at least once. "Um," she muttered in response, "I'm usually p-pretty good at this." She smiled sheepishly, revealing a gaping hole where her left right tooth should have been.
Charlie actually let out a laugh, a short, mean laugh, causing the girl to visibly flinch. "You're good at this, huh?" he sneered.
"Yes," the girl replied, seemingly unaware of the sarcastic undertones. She smiled once more, tilting her head sideways.
"Get outta here, go be good at somethin' in school."
When she simply continued to stare, Charlie sighed loudly and reached for his wallet. The girl watched with interest as he pulled out a green $20 bill. He waved it in front of her nose. She went cross-eyed and this time around Charlie laughed in actual amusement. "Here." He took her hand and opened her fingers up, placing the money in the girl's palm. She make a sound somewhere between a gasp and a snort. She had probably never seen so much money at one time in her life. "Go buy yourself somethin' nice, sweetheart."
The girl's jaw was hanging open in sheer amazement, at a total loss of words. Charlie gently cuffed her chin, and although she felt a little less afraid of him, the girl couldn't help but shrink away at the touch. Her mouth snapped shut. "You're catchin' flies," he said.
"Sorry," she mumbled. At last, the small girl folded the bill into a neat square and tucked it down the side of her blue, worn-out left boot. "Mister, thank you!" she exclaimed, grinning. There was that missing tooth again.
If only she was fifteen years older and had all her teeth, Charlie thought, with only a hint of seriousness. "Beat it," he said, and continued walking along. Dumb kid, he mused. What he would have given to have been one.
The girl began after him again, this time at a longer distance. He could hear her giggling, humming a song way out of tune. If Charlie glanced back, she would leap behind a tree, a bench or a trash can. This had to stop now before it got way out of hand.
"Kid," he called. She dashed behind a tree. "Kid, c'mere."
She slowly peeked from around the tree. She looked about the vicinity suspiciously, then skipped towards Charlie, her pink dress catching the sunlight.
When the girl came to a stop, Charlie pointed the way she had come from. "Go to school, go home, or go away, hmm?"
The girl's face fell, deflated like a sad little balloon. The immense feeling of guilt returned. Why was a little grease ball making him feel worse than he ever had? "You lost, kid?" he inquired.
Her chin was quivering, her eyes welling up to the rims. Briefly, Charlie wondered if anyone had ever done a kind deed for her, but that would be impossible. "Huh? Don't you know where you're goin'?"
"I don't know," she replied sadly, her brows forming a crease between her bright green eyes. "I ran away, and I'm lost now." She raised her hands and covered her eyes.
Charlie sighed, which he noted was not a good habit, and bent down in front of the girl and yanked her small hands away from her face. She whimpered and took a step back.
"Hey." Charlie grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard. "There, how are ya?" He smiled a little at her, and she smiled a little back, through her sadness. Then her gaze fell to her feet. Charlie watched as her eyelashes fluttered wildly against her pale, dirt-stained cheeks. She looked like she was about to cry, and that scared him.
Fearing that she would burst into tears like all little kids are supposed to do, he quickly shifted and leaned in closer, tipping her chin upwards gently. "Hey," he asked, "are ya feelin' hungry?"
The girl's eyes brightened. Vigorously, she nodded. "Uh-huh."
Charlie couldn't believe what he was saying. He ran his fingers through his hair as he rose to his feet. "C'mon."
He motioned for her follow him as he turned away from her and started the journey to a nice little Italian restaurant he used to visit in his younger days. The young girl ambled along after him, beginning to hum that ridiculous song once more. Before he knew it, she was right next to him, attempting to wriggle her little hand into his own. He shoved it away, saying, "Hands off, kid."
He looked down and the girl's bottom lip was sticking out. But she didn't try that again.
After a few moments of silence, in which Charlie felt like he was in a dream and he wasn't truly allowing an orphan kid to follow him around, he asked, "Got a name?"
"Yes, I do!" the child chirped happily.
When nothing else followed, Charlie, exasperated, said, "You wanna tell me what it is?"
"Okay." The girl tugged on Charlie's pants leg, and he bit his tongue. He was not one to repeat himself. But there's no way he would let his temper out on a little kid, particularly a lost waif. He stopped and turned around to look at her. The girl pointed to her chest with a thumb. "My name is Lacy Lawrence," she said, kind of quietly, almost as if no one else on Earth besides her and Charlie were to know this information.
"Yeah?" he said, equally as quiet. He took her by the elbow and pulled her onwards.
"Uh-huh," she replied, slightly out of breath. "What's yours, Mister? You must have a big, long, important-sounding name 'cause you must be rich. I could tell from way back there. You must be good at pick-pocketing. You must have gotten a million people-"
"I don't pick pockets and neither should you," Charlie said firmly, squeezing Lacy's arm. "And neither should anyone."
As expected, she yelped and pulled away. Charlie hoped perhaps this would cause her to scurry off, but as usual she skipped back, strolling along beside him like a cockroach, rubbing the bruised area with a wince. "Owie owie ow," she murmured. Then, "Why not?"
"It's a dirty business," Charlie said, shrugging his shoulders. "Dirty way to make a living."
"What's your name?" she repeated, gazing up at him with the curiosity only a child could possess. She thought if she could stare at him long enough perhaps his name would magically be written across his face.
"Charles Luciano, but you, you call me Mr. Luciano."
"That must be a fun name to say." Lacy nodded, agreeing with herself. "Luciano. Luciano. Luciano. Lu-"
"Alright, kid, I got it. Ya like my name."
"Do you like mine?" Her eyes went wide and she looked extremely hopeful, tilting her head sideways again, her blonde hair falling, covering her face.
"Sure I do." He almost said there was nothing special about Lacy Lawrence, unless you found alliteration or something something special. Charlie was getting rather annoyed by this pointless conversation. In fact, he would prefer she kept her mouth shut the entire time, but that wasn't going to happen any time soon.
"Oh, good!" Lacy rubbed the sore spot on her arm again, subtly, afraid her new-found friend would notice.
What had Charlie gone and gotten himself into this time?