Chapter Text
Kleptomania: an irresistible, irrational urge to steal in the absence of any economic motive.
Jeremiah ran his hand over the usual shelf blindly. His fingers came back empty, outside a grey coating of dust. He settled for the next most likely location of what he was searching for, patting his pockets. Nope, not there. As a final thought, he checked the key bowl on the chest, but once again came up with nothing.
“Keith!” he called to the ceiling, no louder than his normal speaking voice, knowing how easily the boy was spooked.
“Uh-huh?” The five-year-old appeared at the top of the stars, one hand clutching the railing, the other fiddling around in his pocket. He didn’t meet his father’s eye, but Jeremiah knew that wasn’t necessarily a guilt thing- just another Keith thing.
“Have you seen my pocket knife?” Jeremiah asked. “The one with lots of little tools that flick open?”
Keith’s gaze met his for a moment, his eyes a fraction wider than normal, before he turned his head away again. Now that was a sign of guilt. The boy puffed his cheeks, shaking his head firmly.
“No?” Jeremiah asked, raising a brow in question- only to be met with another fervent shake of the head. He tutted. “That’s a shame, because I really badly need it for work, and I’m leaving in a few minutes. Can you maybe come over here and help me look for it?”
“…Yeah, Pop. I’ll help.” Keith awkwardly hobbled down the stairs, legs still a little too short to put each foot on a new step, resulting in an uncomfortable fumbling and switching to give each leg equal work. He jumped the final two, landing in a thud that shook the whole structure enough to make the chime hanging in front of the window jingle. He then stood at the ready in front of Jeremiah, a little too close, his head tipped back so far it had to be uncomfortable in order to make eye contact with his father.
The boy gave the gap-toothed smile he’d had since he nabbed a skateboard from some older children and managed a ten-yard getaway before going over a bump and crashing on the concrete. He still had the band-aid over his chin- the wound ought to have closed by now, but Keith wouldn’t let him take it off, even though it was greying a bit from dust and grime and was curling around the edges.
“I’ll check around the couches. You do the rest. Okay?” Jeremiah instructed.
Again came the chicken nod, before Keith toddled off, hesitantly heading in the direction of the TV. Jeremiah only halfheartedly dug his hand between the pillows of the couch, keeping an eye on Keith, who was putting a bit more effort than him into pretending to be searching for the tool.
He feigned looking under the couch to spy on Keith, who was inching towards his burrow under the TV counter. Quick as a woodpecker, he shot his hand out to the bundle of blankets and assorted collectibles of all natures, before bursting off to the bookcase and, in what he probably thought was a really subtle move, planted the multi-tool before snatching it up again. “Found it!” he announced, holding it as high as he could to show it off, even going so far as to stand on the worn, tearing toes of his muddy boots. His head tipped to the side as he smiled wide.
Jeremiah straightened up slowly, back clicking as he did, then motioned for the boy to bring it over. “Good job, Keith,” he praised, rewarding him with a grin.
Keith slapped it into his palm like he was giving a high-five.
Jeremiah closed his fingers around the tool. “You know, I’m really glad you found it. It was careless of me to lose it- someone could accidentally sit on it and get hurt, or worse.” He looked into his son’s innocent, dark blue eyes. “I don’t want you ever playing with it, okay? If a tool snaps back suddenly it could take your fingers right off. I know it looks cool and it’s got lots of parts to figure out, but it’s dangerous for a kid your age to have. So I want you to promise me that you’ll never, ever play with it. Can you promise that to me?”
“Yeah, Pop. I promise.”
Jeremiah grinned in relief, giving his son a light noogie. “Atta boy. I’ll get you something just as good, but safer to play with, ‘kay?”
Keith began to fiddle with his hands, staring at them intensely. “…I like that it’s cold. I like how it won’t move, then moves on its own. And the click when the tools fit back in.”
“I’ll figure something out,” Jeremiah promised as he pocketed the tool, before kissing Keith on the forehead goodbye. “Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.”
That evening, he brought home a large nail clipper, with a little rubber putty forced into the sharp part so the lever still had full mobility without risking Keith getting pinched by it. Keith loved it the way only he could love random everyday things. He’d never been interested in anything originally designed to be a toy, leaving Jeremiah to figure something out based on what Keith found interesting lately. Keith never got rid of anything, and steadily his collection of oddities had grown.
Concealed in the burrow, Jeremiah knew there was a plastic Easter egg that popped into two halves when it was squashed; an assortment of polished, smooth and rough rocks, including a bit of space rock with tiny craters; a string of white fairy lights on a bare copper wire; a slinky that had fallen out of McGill’s tractor somewhere (it still worked without it so Jeremiah assumed it wasn’t that important); a makeup brush; a silicone spatula that Keith liked to chew on; and Keith’s dried leaf collection in a wooden bowl. What else was in there was a mystery, and he knew that both he and the neighbours would be missing those mystery things soon.
It was a bad habit of Keith’s that he couldn’t quite break- if the boy’s curiosity was piqued by something, he took it home, regardless of whether he was allowed to or if it had an owner or not, and the only way Jeremiah could return it without being faced with a lot of tears and screaming, was to replace it with something similar. Keith's trust in him had only recently grown to the point where a promise was enough to satisfy him tor the time being.
He managed to happen upon Lilo and Stitch while surfing channels, and left it on softly, with subtitles to back up his hearing, so Keith could be lulled by the soft sound coming from above him rather than disturbed. Keith was bundled up cosily in the blankets, wrapped in the heaviest one like he was a burrito, while playing with a string of beads that Jeremiah would probably have to return to a disgruntled neighbour soon, since he didn’t recognize it at all. Keith pushed the beads along the rope like he was counting on a one-stringed abacus, fully occupied in whatever version of the world his young mind saw.
Most nights went like this, although sometimes Keith would invite him into the burrow (he didn’t fit but he still stuck his head and arms inside to play with the ‘toys,’ too), or Keith would bring a blanket out with him and worm his way into Jeremiah’s lap so they could watch a movie cuddled up together.
It wasn’t how most families did things, but it was how their family did things. To be perfectly honest, Keith turned out fairly normal and easy to look after, in consideration of his mother’s background.
He knew that by the time Keith started going to school, the snatching would have to be put to a halt, as would the obsession with his collectables- if only to save the boy from being bullied. Keith had been pretty sheltered so far, and there was a lot he had to learn about how to avoid the cruelty that went on outside.
But hey- they had time.