Archive of Our Own ^beta

SQ had known, in theory, that his father had sheltered him from a great deal of the world’s ugliness. The tumult of the climb to the top rather than the cool, serene, all-encompassing control his father had maintained; the people that would offer you a warm smile and then stab you in the back without a second thought; the barbaric conquests for honor, for pride, for glory—SQ was out in the big bad world now, and he found himself quite smack dab in the center of it all.

“Uno,” said Constance Contraire.

The sitting room once again exploded in a cacophony of sound. 

“She’s cheating!” Kate shrieked, flinging her cards down and leaping to her feet on top of the chair. “She’s a dirty little—she’s using her mind powers to look at everyone’s cards—”

“I find that an insensitive accusation, Kate, given that you’ve been peeking at Rhonda’s cards in the window reflection for the past half hour,” Constance sniffed.

SQ’s father had attempted to teach him some other, more sophisticated card games (after he’d finished delivering a gently critical lecture with card tricks for emphasis, of course). Their games were an exercise in thinking two steps ahead, in always remaining in control of the room, in maintaining an impassive front until you’d laid down the winning hand.

There was nothing particularly impassive in Number Two’s expression as she leapt over the back of the couch and began to beat Rhonda about the ears with a pillow.

After a most impressive duel, after Mr. Benedict was roused from his mirth-induced nap, and after Reynie had bleated his final “Guys—you guys, can we get back to the game now—,” the fast group of misfit friends—whom SQ had privately begun to think of as his group of misfit friends—resettled themselves on various couches, chairs, and floor pillows scattered about the sitting room. Mr. Benedict tugged the curtains closed and raised an eyebrow at Constance, mouth twitching (she smiled sweetly up at him).

Then the game resumed.

The trick to Uno, SQ soon learned, was that there was no trick. You were dealt the cards you were dealt, and sometimes you were dealt all greens, which resulted in you drawing card after card from the deck hoping for blue while your onlooking friends cackled and murmured sympathetically. But you’d reshuffle, and admire your neat hand of cards arranged by color and number, and just when you’d think you were winning the tiny girl next to you would grin a shark’s grin and slam down a draw four wild card.

The competition was fierce. And yet SQ’s shoulders had never felt quite so loose. 

The deck ran out, was reshuffled, then shuffled yet again. At some point Ms. Perumal had lit a cedar candle—the smell made SQ homesick, but in a way that didn’t ache quite as much as he’d expected. Now the flame was flickering, wax pooling in the basin of the glass.

His uncle sent him an indulgent smile when he saw that SQ’s blinks had grown rather lethargic. “Would you like to rest your eyes for a few rounds, dear boy?”

The candle was nearly gone, and now it was easy for SQ to say, “Y’know, I think I might, actually.”

“I’ll watch your cards, SQ,” Reynie chirped. “Sticky and I can play your turn for you while you rest for a bit.”

Sticky nodded along. “While it’s not strictly allowed under the rules of Uno, the practice can be traced back to several martial exploits where compulsory service could be avoided by hiring someone else to serve in your stead—”

“—I’m changing the color to yellow,” said Number Two.

“Do you even have any yellow cards?” Rhonda asked.

“The color,” hissed Number Two, “is yellow.” She whipped out a banana and took a bite without bothering to remove the peel.

SQ’s socks were warm. They were knitted of the softest yarn—Rhonda had made one, and Mr. Benedict the other. So in the end the sock on his left foot was a bit lumpier than the right one, but that was alright. It helped SQ keep track of which sock went on which foot.

He curled his feet up now, tucked them under himself and snuggled into the arm of the chair like a dozing cat. The exclamations of the others did not quiet, exactly, but they smoothed into dull murmur laid over SQ like a cozy blanket. See, you’re here with us now, it seemed to say. See, you’re safe. You’re home.

SQ didn’t mean to fall asleep. Truly, he hadn’t even realized he had until his eyes fluttered open, revealing Ms. Perumal darting around collecting empty dishes and plates, revealing Rhonda herding a yawning Constance up to bed. 

“He missed the pie,” Number Two muttered, sounding deeply distressed.

“It will keep,” Mr. Benedict sighed. “Cut him a slice of the pumpkin and set it aside in the fridge. And he’ll want to try the pecan too—I saw him eyeing it curiously earlier.”

“The crust won’t retain the optimal flaky texture,” Number Two retorted. There came the unmistakable sound of someone unsheathing a saw from the kitchen.

“He looks so peaceful.” A cool hand smoothed his bangs from his forehead. “I know my Reynie was chattering on about having a sleepover in his room, but I’d hate to disturb him … do you think we should let him be?”

All of SQ’s muscles protested at the mere thought of movement. But he’d been just as excited by the prospect of a sleepover as Reynie had been. He attempted to bully his eyelids into sliding open—

“Leave it to me,” intoned another voice.

Strong hands curled around his legs, supported the back of his neck, and lifted him effortlessly off the couch. A blanket he hadn’t realized he’d been wearing trailed off his torso onto the ground below. Milligan’s warm pine scent enveloped him as he tucked SQ’s head against his shoulder and set off for the stairs in smooth, sure strides.

SQ let his eyelids relax once more. He could keep up the pretense of sleep a little longer.