trigger_man

Jack poured himself another cup of coffee from the urn, then took his seat again.  Around the waiting room, feet shuffled, chairs creaked. Most of the chairs were filled; today was a slow day for day labor jobs, and as the door opened and a man walked in Jack caught the glance of disappointment on the man's face.

He'd arrived in Lexington a few days earlier, found the day laborers' center and a local Wal-Mart where he could park his truck overnight.  He'd turned up at the center every morning at five, had a shower in the facilities provided, then watched the noticeboard for work.  The other days, he'd found jobs fairly quickly.  Today, not so much.

Heads snapped up as one of the volunteers working the phone stood and headed for the noticeboard, then dropped again as they saw her pin the index card under the "volunteer" category.  While the center was mostly for those who needed the pay, they still posted volunteer positions, when they were from a registered charity and when a meal was provided.  Sometimes volunteer opportunities allowed the workers to make contacts with businesses, find paying work.  But most of the time the charities wanted someone with a clean police record, and that wasn't always an option, especially for those that weren't in the country legally.

Jack sighed, looking at his watch.  It was eight a.m., and considering the number of people in the room, he was pretty sure his chances of getting work that day were pretty low, especially when he had got more of a cash safety net than most others in there probably did.

Getting up from his seat, he walked over to the noticeboard, looking at the card the volunteer put up.  

Charity: Coming Home

Trades Needed: Any & all related to housebuilding, esp. roofers, bricklayers.  Minimal skill required.

Jack pulled the note off the board, and walked over to the reception desk.  "Could I get a map to this address?"

~~~~~~~~~~

The sun beat down on the roof, heat radiating off the tar paper as Jack knelt to place another shingle and hammer it in.

"You're getting fast at this," Don, the roofing supervisor said with a slight twang that Jack was getting used to.  "You done this before?" 

"A couple times.  Here and there," Jack said, once he'd pulled the last roofing nail from his mouth.  

Don gave him a grin.  "You want to keep doing it after this job, you let me know."

Jack gave him a slight nod and smile, and Don went back to his work.  Over the last couple days he'd gotten used to Don and the others on the building crew; mostly Don's employees, volunteering their time to built a house for a family that might not otherwise be able to afford one. Across the street, more volunteers were nailing together the frame of another house, along with a couple families that had already received their houses and were paying back in hours what their small mortgage didn't cover.

Jack looked next door where the concrete foundations of the next house's basement were being poured, then down the street at the house that had been finished a couple weeks earlier.  There was something amazing in the sight, seeing this little neighborhood cropping up among the gently rolling landscape, at all the people helping.

That first day he'd come out to the site, he hadn't been sure what to expect, what he'd do when the day was over.  The next morning, he'd only stopped at the day labor center for a shower, then come straight here without looking at the noticeboard.

There was something in him that said he needed to be here, whether it was to build something himself, or to see that others were building things too, for someone they didn't even know.  That other people were building things up, instead of tearing them down.

Don called for a water break, and Jack joined the stream of guys climbing down off the roof and grabbing a water bottle.  Finding a tree, he took a seat beneath its shade and gulped the water.

Out on the street, he saw a woman approaching the site with two children in tow, each wearing a hard hat.  Both the kids looked excited, grinning from ear to ear, while Jack could see the mother's chin quiver as she looked at the house with a tight smile.  Not tight because she was forcing it, but because she was obviously trying not to cry with happiness.  It looked like she was losing the battle as she turned to talk to the site supervisor, and Jack looked away, feeling his throat tighten as he stood and disposed of his empty water bottle.

Maybe the reason he felt he needed to be here, was because he was building something up, instead of tearing it down.  Helping someone's life get a little bit better, instead of making it worse.

Maybe it was time to do a little of what he'd talked to Carl about in the bar months ago, and start doing good, to try and make up for all the pain he'd caused over the years, even if it was just a little at a time.

 [After this.]

Jack makes a quick pit stop in his room to change into dry clothes, already feeling the burn on his skin as it warms up again.

Heading back out into the hall, he hesitates for a second outside Beckett's door.  After the awkwardness of him falling on top of her--and neither of them moving for a moment--this might not be the best idea.  But then he'd told her he'd be there in a moment, as as much as part of him has misgivings about it, there's part of him that wants to show that whatever that moment outside had been, it was just an aberration; nothing to see here, move along.

Taking a breath, he raps decisively on her door.