The Meaning of Grace [Gabriel Knight/Metanoia] Title:The Meaning of Grace Author: myeerah Rating: worksafe Prompt: Grace rescues Zander from some kind of trouble Word Count: ~1,000 Characters: Grace (Gabriel Knight) and Zander (Metanoia, by Jesse Hajicek) Notes: My first take on this prompt was Jossed by the addition of the latest chapter of Metanoia, so I hope that the revisions still hold true. Canon knowledge of both sources is helpful, but I don't think it's necessary for either. Summary: In which the lost are given direction.
About two hundred miles from anywhere in particular, Grace saw him walking alongside the highway. She’d taken a break from her graduate studies to drive across the country and see what existed outside of New York, and this was hardly the first hitchhiker she’d seen. It was just the youngest and most pathetic looking one. She wasn’t quite sure what made her stop, except maybe the glimpse of hopelessness she caught in the rearview mirror as she sped past, but stop she did, and even back up so he wouldn’t have so far to walk to catch up.
As he neared, she could see him in a little more detail. There was a cut on one cheekbone, and one heck of a shiner around the matching eye. His clothes were torn and dirty, but looked fairly new. Dog tags dangled from his throat, marking him a military brat of some stripe. He was a handsome boy, bronze skinned and strong featured, somewhere in his mid-teens.
“Thank you, miss,” he said, timidly, as she leaned across and opened the passenger door for him.
“Are you lost?” she asked.
“Not…exactly, no.” He froze in the act of fastening his seatbelt. She could see his throat work as he swallowed nervously. After a couple of false starts, he gathered his courage enough to say, “M-my father, he kicked me out. He said…” Another swallow. “He said that he wouldn’t have a faggot in his family, and I wasn’t his son.”
The poor boy nerved himself up again and added, “I can get out, miss. Thank you anyway for stopping.”
“Don’t be an idiot!” Grace managed around the lump in her throat. “Do you have anywhere to go? Is there somewhere I can take you?”
He looked up at her suddenly, a tremulous smile making him glow like an abused angel. “Thank you, miss. God bless you.” From his mouth the benediction sounded so much more than the usual trite phrase, but he went on before she could process exactly why. “If you’re heading east, I have…friends, in Minneapolis.”
“You’re in luck, young man—what’s your name, by the way?”
“Alexander Skerry, miss. My friends call me Zander.”
“Well, Zander,” she said, smiling, “you’re in luck. I just happen to be headed to Minneapolis, so I’d appreciate some company on the way. My name is Grace Nakimura. Call me Grace.” She held out her hand, and he took it with a touch of awe. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
“And I, you, Grace. Your name is entirely appropriate.” If she had thought his earlier smile made him look angelic, there were no words for the beauty of this one.
It was a long drive, made longer when she stopped at the first opportunity to let Zander clean up and to buy him some new clothes. He blushed and sputtered at her generosity, but allowed her to press gifts on him only after she said she’d just bought from the Salvation Army and hadn’t spent too much. He ate lightly on her ticket, so she made a point of ordering more than she could eat and asking him to finish it for her. They spent the night at a roadside motel and ignored the sly, sideways looks of the check-in clerk with a filthy mind. They chatted in the car about art and philosophy, Zander being unusually intelligent and knowledgeable for a teen boy, and he ooohed and aahed quite flatteringly over the sketches that she showed him. If she occasionally caught him mumbling to himself, she couldn’t blame him for it, under the circumstances.
About half an hour south of the Twin Cities, Zander rolled his head to one side and regarded her thoughtfully. “You weren’t really heading here, were you, Grace?”
“I— Well, no. But,” she said, “I wasn’t exactly headed anywhere else, either.” She glanced at him, smiling a little guiltily, before returning her gaze to the road. “It wasn’t really a lie.”
“You are a kind woman, Grace.” His voice resonated oddly in her head at those words. “You may find what you seek in New Orleans, and you will assuredly be needed there.”
She glanced over at him again, wondering what had brought that on, but he must have been looking the other way because all she could see in his eyes was white. Still, whatever reason he had for suggesting it, New Orleans did sound like a good idea. “Thanks,” she said, “I may just do that.”
They shared a comfortable silence until they reached the city limits. “Do you know where we’re going, or should I stop somewhere so you can call?”
“I know where to go,” he said, and directed her through the streets to a large, imposing building.
She parked and made to get out of the car.
“That’s not necessary. Thank you so much for bringing me this far.”
“It is necessary, though. After all, I brought you this far, I’m not going to leave until I know you’re in safe hands.”
The logic was impeccable. Zander acceded to her demand, and together they went to the door of the building. Grace lifted her hand to knock, but the door swung open, first. A bouncy young woman, scarcely younger than Grace, darted out and caught Zander in an exuberant hug.
“Z!” she cried, “It’s so good to see you!”
Grace had to admit, that looked like a fairly safe handoff. She started to back away from the reunion when Zander extricated himself from the embrace and turned to her. “Thank you,” he said again, reaching for her hand.
She let him take it, then surrendered to impulse and pulled him into a hug. She planted a sisterly kiss on his forehead, looked him in the eye, and said, “You’re a good kid, Zander. Don’t believe anyone who tells you otherwise. Take care of yourself.” Releasing him, she teasingly added, “Maybe we can keep in touch—not everyone appreciates Miro like you do.”
He laughed, a bright, clear sound, and the first untroubled laugh she’d heard from him. “Of course. I’d like that very much.”
Grace walked back to her car, leaving Zander in good hands, and thought that Mardi Gras in New Orleans sounded nicer all the time. She still had over a week to get there, too.
She waved a final goodbye, noticing as she did the odd way the light reflected in the windows, making it look as if Zander had wings. It just seemed right.