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"Hey Uncle Fagin?" Dodger asks quietly, as though he's afraid of disrupting the calm- or as calm as it could be in London- silence of the night.
I smile down at the boy I call mine, he's currently leaning into my side, his thin- too thin way too thin- frame swallowed by my old jacket, and I think- not for the first time- how lucky I was to find him outside the pub that day.
"What is it, my boy?" I ask him, gently combing my rough, calloused hands through his long, messy blond hair with such care and devotion it almost shocks me.
Jack doesn't even attempt to push me away, showing just how deep in thought he is.
"Why..." the kid's voice cracks as he fidgets with the sleeve of my jacket. "Why did my folks leave me outside that pub? Did... Did they not love me? Did I- did I do something wrong?" Jack finally gets out, his voice shakes to match the tears welling up in his eyes.
Damn, everything going on. And damn myself for thinking that my heart can't get broken. Because the sight of a too small, malnourished kid who's too smart and too good for this life asking you if he did something wrong and that was the reason he got abandoned will break even the coldest of criminals hearts.
"No, no kid it wasn't your fault, alright? You did nuthin' wrong. Ya hear?" I ask pulling the kid closer. He nods and doesn't answer. "Sides whatcha need 'em for. Ya got me!" I say trying to joke, the kid smiles slightly I'll take it.
"Thank you for taking me in, Uncle Fagin..." he mutters, and there goes my heart breaking again.
"Ya don't gotta thank me for that kid," I say I'm debating continuing when I feel the kid doze off on my shoulder. I smile to myself as I carry him inside, laying him on my bed instead of the one he's supposed to use. I don't got many kids right now, and I know they anit gonna say anything about this. I about to walk away when he sleepily grabs my wrist, trying to get me to stay. And well, who am I to refuse?