**Rolland's Birthday Special**

30 4 11
                                    

A/N: April 14th is Rolland Mathis's birthday, the brother of our sweet main character Soarin. Here is his birthday special.
   
Rolland held the book a few feet out in front of him, carefully avoiding the sleeping form resting in his arms. The tiny chest rose and fell at a matched pace to his own inhales and exhales. Rolland was not really paying attention to the book, which was just a required reading for school that he would honestly have rather avoided. Instead he smiled as his chin rested on the soft blond head of his brother.
   
Soarin tended to be too nervous or upset to go to sleep with no one there, so Rolland had let him crawl onto his lap like a cat and rest his head against his chest. Rolland's eyes were tired but he dared not fall asleep until he knew Mother and Father had come home. If either one walked in on the two boys sleeping on the floor there would be hell to pay.
   
Rolland glanced at the clock and then back at the book, awkwardly using his pinky to turn a page with the book in such a strange position. He read the first three words on the page and then looked back at the clock. He turned back to the book again and read the same three words over, sighing. He felt antsy and despite the pillows underneath him he was beginning to get sore from staying in the same place so long. He itched to go outside and train, his gun just a few feet away from him in the desk drawer. There was no way he could reach for it with Soarin on his lap. He sighed again and shifted slightly without disturbing his brother. He looked up at the clock just in time for it to shift from 11:59 to 12:00.
   
The digital clock gave four short, high-pitched beeps and went silent. When Rolland looked back down at his brother, two large green orbs stared him directly in the face.
  
Rolland gasped and dropped his book. Soarin giggled then opened his eyes wide with excitement.

"It's your birthday..." Soarin whispered in a voice so quiet it seemed as if just saying the words would make them become untrue.

"Yes it is." Rolland pat Soarin on the head. "Go back to sleep."

"On your birthday??" Soarin looked appalled at the mear suggestion.

"Yes, it's midnight."

"On your bir—"

"Okay it's my birthday you goof!"

Rolland lifted Soarin a few centimeters, hiking him into a straight position on his lap. "Is that all you woke up for?"

"It was worth it to see Ro as a thirteen-year-old." Soarin pulled his serious face, scrunching his eyes closed and clasping a fist in front of him. "I have no regrets. 'Sides, I always wake up at midnight cuz of that stupid clock."

Rolland ruffled the small boy's hair.

"Thanks, Rin."

"Anytime, Ro." Soarin smiled. "I got you."

"That's my little fighter."

A sudden loud noise startled Rolland. He realized instantly hadn't been looking out for their parents and they must have come home. He stood up in one fluid motion and lifted Soarin in both arms. He practically threw the child into bed. Soarin jumped with the force and skittered under the covers with practiced precision, immediately feigning a perfect sleeping form.

Rolland shot him a nod and hasty thumbs-up of approval before Soarin's eyes closed and Rolland ducked outside the bedroom. He closed the door behind him just before his mother's form rose above the top step.

Golden curls fell down her bare shoulders, straps of her dress hanging on both sides. Her lipstick was worn off and her eyeshadow was smudged. She carried a plastic bag in one hand and a decorative parasol in the other.

"Rolland." She garbled. "Com'ere."

Rolland stumbled to her side and took the bag as she indicated. She used the parasol to balance herself and wobbled to her bedroom. Rolland followed her slowly. She leaned against the door until it opened and tripped into the room. She gathered herself before collapsing into the bed.

"What should I do with this Mother?" Rolland indicated the bag.

"Birthday present." She grumbled. "Open."

Rolland was surprised. A birthday present already? Without even one word of criticism or distrust? He opened the bag.

Inside there was a pair of running shoes. Not top-of-the-line but not poor quality either. They included a piece of paper that Rolland pulled out and read. It was a grocery list. Rolland grew suspicious.

"What're these for?" He asked, trying not to be loud and make her close herself off but still needing to be heard.

"You. Birthday." She could hardly get the words out.

Rolland didn't know if it was alcohol, drugs, or just plain exhaustion. Mother was exhausted more often than not, about 93% of the time. She worked long days and then immediately went out and only came home to sleep. Father was away on a weekend business trip, but would be home the next day. She'd only be more exhausted around him.

"Why shoes?" He pushed.

"Old ones broke." She reminded him, which they had, several months ago. It caused him to have to go straight home after school as he could not walk home in his slippers after dark.

But why did she care?

"And?" Rolland asked the smallest possible word for the least amount of irritation.

"Groceries."

Oh. So that was it.

He should have pieces them together sooner.

Without his shoes Rolland was unable to walk to the grocery store whenever they ran out of food, which was often. The fridge was only half-stocked at any point in time. Shopping was done by Rolland every Saturday but only so much could be bought at once.

Rolland backed away from the darkly lit room, leaving his mother to toss around on her deep red bedspread until she fell asleep. He clicked the door shut and released a sigh. He quickly glanced around before going back into Soarin's room. He found him seemingly asleep but not.

"Time to sleep, Rin."

"I'll try," Soarin whispered, not facing Rolland or even moving.

"That's my little fighter. See you tomorrow." Rolland moved to close the door but was stopped by Soarin's small voice.

"Wait." He still faced away. "Happy birthday."

Soarin's tone gave away nothing, and his practiced form didn't convey a smidge of movement or consciousness. If not for the words he could have been asleep.

"Thank you." Rolland stepped out. "Goodnight."

As Rolland moved down the hallway to his own bedroom, he heard the faintest humming of a tune behind him. Rolland set down his shoes on his nightstand next to a book on New Pangea's Law and Facility Enforcement. Before he closed the door to his room he sang the last line of the song along with Soarin's humming.

"Happy birthday to you..."

A/N: as pleased with this as I could be. It's a decent thing. The purpose is to convey character, setting or backstory through these to give everyone an extra view into the world of whoever I focus on. I think I did that. Soarin is 7 years old in this. I'll be publishing a normal chapter tomorrow, this delayed me a bit, despite not being much. Sorry.

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