Archive of Our Own ^beta

He struggled with words.

SQ knew that it hadn't always been this way. Or, at least, he felt like he knew that. In actuality, he suspected he had always had this level of expertise in language, and when it came time to grow his vocabulary or figure out the meanings to new words, he simply...couldn't.

He was sitting across from Constance one day, in Mr. Benedict's study. He had been talking to officials after officials, and Mr. Benedict had taken them out of the room. He could hear the heated discussion about how SQ was just a child, only seventeen, how he didn't deserve to be locked up for the rest of his life. And Constance had come into the room, sat down silently next to SQ, and started to read. He stared at her hair. It was a neon, fluorescent green. She peered up at him with an irritated glare.

"Your hair," he said by way of explanation. "It's very...uh...exhibit? No, um...reframed? No..."

Constance stared at him a moment. Blinked. "Do you mean exquisite? Refined?"

SQ blinked in kind. "I believe I do," he said. "It's pretty."

"You don't need to find fancy words, then," Constance said, returning to her book. "Just say it's pretty."

SQ felt discontent stir in his chest at that. "But that's not what I want," he said.

"No?"

"No," SQ agreed. His voice was trembling, but he continued, "I want to be good with words. I want to say what I mean the first time."

Constance stared at him again, and then recited, "There are times, in my sleep / I look inside myself, in the deep / And in those moments, I have found / The fear that no one wants me 'round."

"Very pretty," SQ said, politely. He related a bit too much to that short poem, and didn't entirely know what to say to it, besides.

"I came up with it off the cuff just now," Constance brushed off. "I could do better with thought and time but I had you and your insecurities on my brain. Not the point, though. What's the hardest word in that poem?"

SQ blinked. "The...?"

"The hardest word," Constance said.

"I...don't know," SQ said, scratching his chin. "They all seem rather easy."

Constance tapped her nose and pointed at SQ. "You understand my point, then?" she asked.

"No," SQ admitted. "I'm terribly lost. Nothing new, but...I don't follow."

"You don't need fancy words to be good with words," Constance sighed. "You can come up with poems without being good with words. You can create the perfect sentence someone needs to hear without using more than two syllables. You can be good with words without knowing lots of words."

"Do you think you could fill in the blanks in my words, for me?" SQ asked. "It's like...like blackout poetry, in reverse."

As soon as he suggested it, Constance wrinkled her nose. "I'm not following you around just to fill in what you can't say, SQ."

"I'm just asking if you're in the same room as me," SQ cajoled. "Please?"

Constance leaned back. "I'll consider it," she allowed. "But you need to get used to using smaller words to get your meaning across. No one here is going to say your words are too simple."

SQ looked at her doubtfully.

"No one," Constance insisted. "Not even Dad."

"You all are so...so intelligent. So good with words." SQ shook his head. "I find that hard to believe."

Constance tilted her chin up in challenge. "Make a poem," she instructed.

"What?"

"Make a poem. Now."

"I don't..."

"You can," Constance insisted. "Just do it."

"I..." SQ took a shaky breath and steeled his nerves. "I don't know when / my heart went black. / But now I fear / I can't go back. / And even if / the people say / I know it's not / And never 'okay.'"

Constance blinked at him, face expressionless. SQ shifted uncomfortably. "Constance?" he asked.

"You regret what you did," Cosntance said. "And you're right. What you did wasn't okay. But that doesn't mean you can't be forgiven."

SQ turned bright red. "That obvious that the poem was autobiography?" he asked.

"Probably moreso," Constance said candidly. "But it was also a good poem. Really good, for off the cuff."

"You...think so?" SQ asked hopefully.

"I do. And you didn't even have to use any fancy words," Constance said with a smirk. "You were wrong."

SQ blinked in disbelief, before he started to laugh. The laughing turned to hysterics, and his face was bright red and his cheeks hurt by the time his laughter died down, while everyone in the house had entered the room or observed him like he was a time bomb about to explode. "That sounds like you," he said with a massive grin. "Thanks for the laugh."

Constance got up from her seat and waved him off with her book. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said loftily. "Just don't try to impress anyone. That's pathetic."

SQ laughed again, harder, as Mr. Benedict escorted Constance out of the room. And when SQ was finally able to speak again, he was grinning as he said, "She's really good at reading people."

"Yes, she's a rather insightful child," Mr. Benedict agreed. "As for what we're doing about you, and your actions, SQ..."

SQ braced himself.

"We've decided some community service is in order. Fixing up things that you and your mentor, my brother, had messed up at times. Helping work through infrastructure damage by clearing up some of the remains, that sort of thing. But other than that, and the occasional check-in, nothing too harsh will be enforced."

SQ blinked. "That was...not what I expected," he said slowly.

"You're still learning, SQ. As are we all, but you had an unfair starting point. It's only right that we allow you the space to discover what the right choices are."

SQ smiled. "Thank you," he breathed. "I'm internally...no, uh...expoundingly..." he could imagine Constance's scowl in his head and he sighed. "I'm just...super grateful."

Mr. Benedict smiled. "Take heart, SQ," he said. "If you spend enough time around us, we'll be able to fill in the gaps. Although you may find, with time...that's not even necessary."

How SQ hoped he was right.