Chapter Text
Mr. Bubbles was a patient man. He had learned how to be, after years in the field. He didn’t run, and he rarely raised his voice. He knew how people perceived him, and let his size and demeanor do most of the talking. Intimidation was one of the many tools at his disposal, but he used it judiciously, as the situation warranted. This situation definitely warranted.
The young lady before him had not learned the art of patience. She ranted. She darted into traffic. She lashed out when startled, but hid her temper behind a mask of smiles when faced with an authority figure. She lied often, and poorly.
She also, apparently, left the stove on while she was out.
“Just to simmer!”
Nearly half of all house fires in the US were caused by cooking. Over 500 people die from it every year, and thousands more are injured. Lilo could have been among them, if she had seen fit to investigate the pot on the stove. Or eat what was inside of it, if Nani’s horrified shriek was anything to go by.
“Found that this morning.” Lilo’s blunt honesty raised more questions than it answered. Found the stove on this morning? Found whatever was in the pot this morning and decided to cook it? Both equally alarming. Mr. Bubbles kept the alarm off his face when introduced to his newest case.
“Your knuckles say Cobra.” Observant, and able to read. Not intimidated by a large man reaching towards her. Also not following the social cue of a handshake introduction. An alternate approach was required. Mr. Bubbles knelt.
“You don’t look like a social worker.” Testing him.
“I’m a special classification.” He was a retired CIA agent trying to ease into normal life via one of the worst channels available, because he didn’t know how to handle situations that were too peaceful and normal.
“Did you ever kill anyone?” Yes. The fact that a small child could intuit that from a brief interaction was a blow to his ego. His displeasure showed minutely on his face, another failing. Time to change the subject.
“We’re getting off the subject.” Nailed it. “Let’s talk about you. Are you…happy?”
Children rarely answered this question appropriately. A teenage girl living in a beach mansion shrieked that both her phones were almost a year old and she couldn’t function with this level of neglect. A pair of boys had been all smiles because Mommy remembered to pick them up from school today and told them they could get a McDonald’s after this if they didn’t f*** it all up. A set of five siblings had all separately answered “Only if the Broncos win.”
Lilo…smiled. Then returned to neutral. Stared over his shoulder. Then drooped in resignation as she rattled off a clearly rehearsed speech. Likely being coached by her sister, whom Mr. Bubbles could hear moving behind him. He did not turn around. Knowing what lie someone wanted to tell you could help you see the shape of the truth more clearly.
“…and get disciplined?”
“Disciplined?” It was not a word most guardians used, despite discipline being a vital skill for school-aged and above. Everything had to be softened for the government representative assessing their qualifications. Discipline was a soft way to say hitting.
“Yeah, she disciplines me real good.” The rehearsal was over. Lilo was improvising, and she grew animated in the spotlight. “Sometimes five times a day! With bricks!”
“Bricks?” Mr. Bubbles could hear Nani having a conniption behind him. He ignored her, focusing on the data.
“Uh-huh. And a pillowcase.”
“Okay, that’s enough sugar for you! Why don’t you run along? You little cutie.” Nani intervened physically. A hand over Lilo’s mouth. Pats on the head. Pushes towards the other room. Upset. Over abuse being revealed, or the child making up damaging lies? Gritted teeth, cheerful voice. An edge of threat in the endearment. Big smile, turned his way. Nervous laugh. Explanation forthcoming? “The other social workers just thought she was a scream!”
A scream. Slang for funny. Indicating that previous social workers were amused by child abuse. Unlikely. Indicating that Lilo’s words had been a joke? More likely. A child joking about being disciplined with bricks and a pillowcase. Mr. Bubbles was annoyed by the obfuscation and attempt to redirect his attention from the child he had come here to see. Especially since it redirected towards the still-bubbling stove. It was time to clarify things for Nani, since she apparently had a difficult time understanding how poorly the visit was going.
He took physical control of the situation, moving into Nani’s space, closing the refrigerator door. His words were carefully chosen, but followed the pattern he gave many guardians in Nani’s situation. He took off his sunglasses to emphasize his seriousness and up the intimidation factor. He pointedly drew attention to the disastrous kitchen, to give her something immediate to improve on. Many people responded well to having direction, without being told what to do.
Returning to Lilo, he observed her engaging in what a nearby book indicated was voodoo. An interesting religious choice, considering Hawaii was over five thousand miles from Haiti, where most vodou was practiced.
“My friends need to be punished,” Lilo explained in her monotone voice. Mr. Bubbles wanted to ask if being waterboarded in a pickle jar was a normal punishment. He looked to Nani. A scowl and a groan was his answer. She had clearly given up on smiling and trying to gloss things over. Good. She was learning.
Sensing a good place to end the visit, Mr. Bubbles presented Lilo with his card. “Call me next time you’re left here alone.”
“Yep.” She didn’t even glance away from her pickle jar full of plastic spoons, serious expression giving gravity to what was otherwise a ridiculous-looking situation. At least their little spoon heads were above the waterline.
Nani accompanied him to the door. It was nailed shut. That explained the hammer she had been wielding when he arrived. He decided to drive the point home further with a small flex.
“In case you’re wondering, this did not go well.” Flex. “You have three days to change my mind.”
Clear feedback. Short but manageable timeframe. Child armed with contact information and instructions on when to use it. If Nani was truly a competent guardian having a bad day, she could clean up her act—and the house—in three days. If not, it wasn’t long enough for the situation to deteriorate much further.
Closing the door behind him, Mr. Bubbles walked towards the steps. He made it two steps before the screaming started.