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Doc wondered how long it would take them to notice that he was leaving stuff out on purpose. Maybe it made up for the fact that, for who knew how long, someone had been digging around in his garbage.
The gym wasn’t in the Bronx’s worst neighborhood- he got along well enough with the local punks that they’d finally stopped tagging the signs- but it was still New York City, obviously there were gonna be drifters, skells, or just people looking to start something for the sake of it. Dumpster-divers weren’t too strange a sight. Usually, it was people looking for cans that they could take to the redemption center for cash. As long as they didn’t leave a massive mess to be cleaned up, Doc Lewis left it be.
The thing was, though, that this wasn’t something so simple. He’d first picked up on it a couple of months ago. A series of puzzle pieces to be found one at a time. A week had passed until he’d figured out it wasn’t just a raccoon rooting for dinner, there weren’t any animal bites, and plenty of less edible-looking food mixed in with the trash. It had to be careful selection. He kept a close eye on what was taken out. Nothing but food. They only ever wanted food. Ever since then, he’d taken a bit of extra time whenever he had to take out the trash. Nothing too obvious, but a good-quality bit of leftovers would be placed on top, neatly separated from the stuff that would be dangerous to eat or handle. Just enough to be obvious to whoever opened the bin. Doc would check every morning afterward, and it was always gone.
Was the whole thing kinda dumb? Yeah, probably. But if anything, it gave him something to do. There was always the gym to run, but things had hit a bit of a slump. Not so much in crowds, but in passion. Many aspiring boxers came by solely because they knew who owned the place. They assumed that the former heavyweight champ would be able to train them to be famous, too. Each and every one of them had been impatient and short-tempered. Whether they pushed him into training or managed to endear him to their sense of spirit, it wasn’t long before they dropped out, unsatisfied with the lack of instant success.
Doc tried not to mull over it too much. No point in spoiling dinner. He flicked the stove off to let the pot settle down. While he had a minute to spare, he unlatched the kitchen garbage's top and hauled the bag out. Doing a quick bit of housekeeping was a good way of killing two birds with one stone. Keep the place clean, and once it was done, he could take a fork and go to town.
Before he did, though, he grabbed the meal he’d prepared from the fridge. Not a second helping for himself, mind, but dinner for his resident dumpster-diver. A paper plate of leftover quiche and hash browns from brunch. It tasted better when warm, but he passed right by the microwave. If he served it hot, it would be obvious that putting it in there had been intentional, and the last thing he wanted was to spook them off. Who was to say they’d even be around before it re-cooled if he did, anyway…
Both hands busy meant he had to open the door out of his apartment and flick on the lightswitch with his elbows. He’d gotten good at it with enough practice. Both sounds echoed through the empty gym. Though obviously, he expected nobody to be in the facility past closing hours, sometimes it still felt so jarring to see the place empty. Doc didn’t mind living alone. But it was a lot of space.
He noticed one of the gym’s trash cans starting to overfill. “Jeez, kids leave a lotta junk…”
The dumpster was on the far side of the building, so he might as well drag as much as he could out at once. Ugh, he didn’t realize just how many trash cans the place had until he was trying to deal with them all. It took some prodding to remind himself not to forget the plate of leftovers. It ended up teetering atop several bags in an awkward balancing act, one that would hopefully last until he made it out.
“C’mon, old man, these arms ’ve still got some power in ‘em,” he grumbled under his breath, hiking up one of the slipping bags. “No different from dumbbells.”
Shoving open the exit was even more frustrating than the door to his apartment. Much longer, too. Without any hands left, his best bet was an awkward mix of jamming one hip against the handle and kicking the door itself with a foot. When the thing finally gave, it took Doc so off-guard that he almost tripped over himself and dropped everything. Probably good nobody else was around. The expletives that escaped him in that moment of panic were something nobody would have wanted to hear.
At least it meant the last of the barriers were behind him. He dropped a hand’s worth of trash bags to prop open the bin’s lid, and finally, finally he could get everything out of the way for the night.
“Aaaand that’s it for that. Good riddance.” He dusted his hands off. And no better timing, his arms were already aching. Definitely earned dinner after this.
The thought had him staring at the still-open bin, and it took him a moment to realize why.
“...You already forgot.”
Plenty of junk, but not the food he’d specifically meant to take. Where had he put it down? Had he dropped it? Now he had to go back and retrace his steps.
Could this wait until after dinner…?
The man shook his head. Doc knew himself well enough, once he sat down, he wasn’t gonna want to get up again. Deal with it now, not later.
He let himself back into the building. After enough zigzags across the walkways, he found his missing food, left behind on a bench. A little warmer than he’d left it, but at least not facedown on the floor.
After taking a moment to nudge everything back into a slightly more appealing layout, back out he went. Even without kicking to open it, the door hinge was a little on the looser side, making it swing out and slam into the far wall.
“Gotta fix that someday.” Just his luck, it’d dent something. He swore it had just scratched the brick.
Or…no, the little scraping noise was still there, even when it swung back. If not coming from that, then where-
Doc froze as he rounded the outside wall. The dumpster was propped open again.
“Huh?”
As soon as he made a noise, a shadow started to move. He hadn’t even noticed it was there. It peeled away from the metal bin and took off.
“Hey- hold up a sec!” Doc started running after it, dropping the food on the bin lid as he passed. Though the stranger had already rounded the corner, he heard the familiar sound of shoes scrabbling against the concrete. The other end of the alleyway led out to the street. If they managed to make it out there, then there was very little chance he’d be able to keep tailing them.
“Hold it, man! I just wanna- !”
A hard thud and a yelp nearly made the man trip over his own feet. The sound of footsteps had cut off. Doc went back to running. Even if he wasn’t in his prime anymore, he wasn’t slow.
When he made it, he didn’t have to look hard for his guest. A body lay splayed across the sidewalk, head and one arm dangling onto the asphalt. They must have tripped over the curbside and fallen.
Though limp against the ground as he arrived, as soon as Doc was within close range, they shuddered back to life.
“Easy, easy there,” the man extended a hand “ain’t looking for trouble-”
They jerked back as he approached. Not unexpected, but Doc had to calm them down before they did something reckless. “Relax, man. No trouble, I just wanna talk.”
It didn’t do a very good job of persuading. They continued to inch back, almost scooting right off the curb and into the street. “Nhh-”
“C’mon, just relax. Relax. Okay?”
They jerked again, but forward this time. Doc reeled back, anticipating some sort of attack. One that didn’t come. Instead, they seemed to wrap around themself in defense.
“Huh? Did’ja hurt yourself?”
The streetlamp belatedly fizzled to life, casting faint light across the sidewalk. Where Doc had been staring into shadows now stared back into him with wide, frightened eyes.
…oh. Oh, this was bad. No wonder he’d been so hard to see. Hardly anything to see. Between the small frame and skinny limbs, the only thing that offered a sense of bulk was the ratty pink hoodie pulled up over his ears. Shit- this wasn’t a man at all, this was a child. If he’d known that from the start, he would’ve directly intervened as soon as he’d noticed him rooting through the bins.
Aw, hell. What had the two of them gotten themselves into?
Once the initial shock started to wear off, his eyes drifted downward. Just as expected. The would-be escape attempt had left a nasty, weeping scrape down the kid’s shin. Hard to run with something like that.
His hands left their place guarding the injury to start waving about in the air. No, wait…was that sign language? Now that opened up another problem. Doc couldn’t understand a darn thing he was trying to say. Was the kid deaf? No, couldn’t be. He ran off as soon as he heard Doc coming. Had to be something else.
“What’s your name, kid?”
Okay, so he could hear. Or at least read his lips. He started gesturing again, and this felt a little more familiar. A full alphabet was beyond him, but Doc was pretty sure he knew a couple, at least.
A- C- was that a ‘k?’- okay, the ‘z’ was obvious…maybe an ‘I?’
Letters arranged themselves in his mind. “‘Mackenzie?’ That right?”
The boy nodded. Doc copied the motion. “Alright, Mac-” he tried the nickname, and, seeing no adverse reaction to it, continued on- “You got a roof to sleep under?”
“Hhh.” A grunt left his mouth. Was that a yes? It didn’t clarify much. ‘Roof’ could mean anything from deadbeat parents to a bed in the homeless shelter to a caved-in building he was squatting in. Heck, looked young enough, might’ve still had a spot in the city orphanage. In any case, the fact that he found rooting through trash as something preferable to being at home told Doc enough.
“Don’t go running off, son, not with a scrape like that.” He gestured to the wound. “Let’s get that knee cleaned. Don’t wanna get an infection.”
Though their methods of communication differed, the other’s look of incredulity translated perfectly fine. “Look. If I wanted you out that bad, I’d’ve just gone back inside. Had a lot more stamina back in my prime. Ain’t no slouch, but not exactly something I do for fun.”
That finally seemed convincing enough. The kid nodded, moving to try and get back on his feet. Doc offered a hand when he saw how much his limbs trembled. “Can you get up? Need a hand?”
After a second of reluctance, Mac accepted it. He let himself be pulled up, teetering on his uninjured leg. An attempt was made to put the other on the ground, but Doc could see the moment he put any weight on it, immediately wincing back and screwing up his face.
“Careful, kid, careful. I gotcha. Little bit at a time.”
As they finally came to an awkward three-legged stand, an arm was thrown over the man’s shoulder. For a second, Doc wondered if he’d use the opportunity to swipe his wallet and scurry off after all. It passed. The hand found purchase in the material of his sweater, offering a bit more stability to limp against.
Doc led him past the dumpster and all the way around to the concrete stoop. He only let the boy back down when he was sure it would be onto something solid. When his arms were free, he folded them along his chest.
“So you’re the one that’s been diggin’ out of my bins?”
Mac shied back as soon as the question was asked, tugging the collar of his sweatshirt closer to his neck.
Doc immediately unfolded, raising a hand. “Hey, it’s okay. A guy’s gotta eat. Just didn’t know if you had a buddy that needed a hand, too. I got enough leftovers.”
Dumpster diving as a one-man crew. Somehow, that was worse. Who the hell was keeping an eye on this kid? Did anyone know where he was?
“Sit tight, I’ll be right back. Just gonna get the first-aid kit.”
To be quite honest, he was surprised to come back to someone still sitting there. It wasn’t a long trip to the storage closet, but it was long enough to limp off into the night, never to be found again. Hard not to question what exactly was going on with this kid. While Doc had gotten his original questions answered, now he was left with a whole slew of new ones.
Well, no point standing around and staring. He found a spot of his own on the concrete and got to unpacking. “Doing okay, kid?”
“Mmhm.” Whether out of fear or as a method of self-protection, his face had gone stony and unreadable. Doc just kept wetting a tissue with antibiotics.
“Just keep still, might itch a little.” He circled the wound first, to clear up any blood that had already escaped. Mac hissed as it pressed over the scrape itself. He bit his lip in an attempt to keep his expressionless look, futile as it was.
“Almost done. Just lemme get the last of this.” Doc didn’t realize he was rushing until his fingers fumbled. He’d patched up plenty of gym trainees, it seemed strange he would be anything different with this. He tried not to think about it. Put that focus into covering the grated skin with a nice layer of plain, clean bandages.
“There. That should do you alright until it scabs up.”
Mac made a jaw-tapping gesture that, he could only assume, was some sort of thank-you. The pain in his expression had vanished under that stoic mask again. But even if his face didn’t give it away, Mac wasn’t unreadable. He could hear the boy’s stomach growl, even at a distance.
“Yeesh, sounds like you’re ready for dinner.” Doc pushed off from the stoop, cracking the stiffness out of his back. “I was gonna put out this morning’s food for ya, so it’s fresh. Uh…fresh-er, I guess. But I guess if you’re already here, might as well get you something better.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Dinner’s pot roast ‘n potatoes. Tastes better when it’s hot. By the time it gets to the bins, the grease’s already hard ‘n just feels like a mouthful of butter. Wanna try? I’ll getcha a plate.”
“Hnh…” The boy tilted his head back and forth. He nodded. His injured leg folded across the concrete in what appeared to be an attempt at politeness. But he made no motion to get up.
“Hey, hey, hold on. No point sitting on the stoop. Why dontcha come inside and make yourself comfy?”
Mac looked away. In spite of the kid’s reticence, Doc could see the hesitation plain as day. He was raggedy and filthy, and for as hungry as he was, tracking that filth into someone’s house wasn’t something he was thrilled about.
A sigh left him, despite smiling. “Aww, c’mon. If you’re really worried about the mess that bad, you can always use my shower.”
He looked up at the man in shock, hands moving in another gesture that he couldn’t translate. It didn’t matter. “Ain’t exactly a small place.” Doc rapped the back of his knuckles against the brick. “Plenty of space for you, if you’re interested. If you end up too tired after dinner, I got a fold-out couch you can get comfy on.”
Mac’s eyes went even wider. He shuffled to his feet, swaying slightly off-balance. With his head low and sheepish, the boy reluctantly followed Doc into the building.