Chapter Text
It started, he thinks, with the antique store.
It was one he frequented. Dusty, bright, always playing music from an era he could never place. And, most importantly, packed to the brim with all sorts of goodies and trinkets.
Most of it was just junk. Old looking, well put-together, but worth a couple bucks at most. Eddie never had to haggle. Charlene adored him and seemed to be glad to be rid of the stuff. He could spend hours in the shop, judging what he could take and fix up. It was during one of these outings that he saw her.
She was just sitting there on a table, amongst the other boxes. She wasn't the largest by far, but she wasn't the smallest either. She was perfectly normal. Perfectly mundane. A perfectly posed ballerina in a jewelry box. She blended in in every way possible. Except for one thing.
For an antique jewelry box, she was in fantastic condition.
Sure, one of the panels needed to be replaced. The box had the clear marks of crayon and color pencil. The frills of her tutu were moth-eaten, and when Eddie wound the key she spun slowly and off center to a stuttering song.
But the doll itself? Amazing. In need of a paint job, a bit faded, but barely any chips or scratches. Eddie had held her with careful fingers, already assessing some of the work that would need to be done. Some of the screws were rusted. The latch caught more than he'd like it to. The lid would need cleaning from where someone - maybe the child who'd owned it - had tried to color in the flowers and the name. 'Christina' ... Eddie had worried his lip between his teeth, had ran a thumb over the carved lid. It was doable. It'd be a passion project - probably wouldn't sell for much.
He was never more happy to be wrong.
"She's a Carver," Charlene had told him at the register. "Never seen this model. Must've been one of his personal stash."
Eddie, though blown out of his mind, was inclined to believe her. Charlene might have been old, but she wasn't senile. If she said this was a Carver, then it was legit. Even so he was quick to flip the box over.
"Well I'll be damned…" Because if the intricate details on the box itself and the painting on the figure inside it wasn't enough to convince him, the tiniest letters carved into the bottom of the box surrounded by equally miniscule flowers were.
"Charlene, babe, how the hell did a one-of-a-kind Carver end up here?"
Charlene, for her part, wasn't at all put off by the question. In fact, she'd looked kind of endeared if the sparkle in her eyes was anything to go by. She probably found Eddie's hushed tone to be hilarious, but she mimicked it all the same. Only her voice was even as she reached over to ring the item out. "A woman came by and dropped it off. Now don't ask me for details. You know I don't like to pry."
Ever unimpressed, Eddie had reached out to stop her. "Uh-huh. And why are you selling it to me?"
"She needs a good home, darlin'. You'll find her one either way."
"I can't take this for only 40 dollars!" He could feel her tugging at the box, but had kept his hand over hers. Gently. He didn’t want to hurt the old woman.
Charlene had had no such qualms. She'd smacked his hand away with such force Eddie could swear he still felt the sting. Jerking back, cradling his poor hand and bruised ego, the man went to protest again, only to fall short at the look he got. "Are we gonna have a problem?"
Eddie had barely suppressed a shudder at the flat tone. He felt small. Meek. He sounded it. "No ma'am."
And just like that, the old bat was all smiles again. Eddie had left the store feeling more confused yet grateful than he ever had in his life.
A week later he'd finally been able to sit down and take a look at the box. Not that he hadn’t spent every waking minute thinking about it. But, y’know, real work had to come first. Between his job at the tattoo parlor and his commissions, he just hadn’t had the time.
The wood was a nice weight in his hands; sturdy, strong, protecting the little figurine inside. Eddie was careful in opening the lid; didn’t bother suppressing his wince. The spring was bent, a harsh lean making the figure's graceful pose look even more forlorn. He had to bite back the urge to apologize.
It was astonishing, the details on her. This wasn’t the clunky, waxy look of plastic, where limbs melded together. She was smoothe - so smoothe Eddie couldn’t tell if she was wood or porcelain until he did some research (the answer was neither). It wasn’t surprising to find her so delicate and frilly. Jason Carver had had more…. ‘traditional’ views of what the world should be. The man was the best wood carver of his time, but he was as rigid as his creations - hard on his sons, sweet on his daughters when they obeyed. He drew boxes and shunned whoever didn’t fit in them, and he looked down his nose at anything darker than the color beige. If he knew an agnostic, tattooed, metal loving D&D player like Eddie had his hands on one of his creations he’d probably be rolling over in his grave.
Something Eddie relished a good amount. A healthy amount, thank you very much.
Still, Eddie questioned why exactly he had made the doll look so sad. It wasn't just the way her head was tilted. When Eddie was able to pull her from her stand, he could see that her faded lips were turned downwards. They were probably pink once. All of her was pink. Pink dress, pink frills, pink shoes. Even her hair was- okay, it was strawberry blonde. But that was still pink!
"Maybe we should make you blue." But, as he set the two (maybe two and a half) inch figure against a cushion, he had to admit that the pink suited her.
For a while he just sat there, music in the background, taking the box apart as gently as he could. He was in the zone. He had a habit of going quiet, only breaking his silence when he found something particularly interesting, but that was okay. It's not like he had to entertain anyone. No one else was here.
"There we go…" Because there it is. The center. Eddie couldn't help but grin. The small mechanism - about two inches in length on either side - was in relatively good condition. Needed a hell of a cleaning, sure, but nothing a little love couldn't fix.
He'd spent the next few days doing just that. Meticulously cleaning every part. The color pencil was a bitch to get out, but it was worth it to see the white oak shine the way it was supposed to. Each day he'd make comments out loud, often directing them to the figurine on her cushion as if she could respond; little narrations of what he was doing. This increased when he'd found the comb in need of replacing and had to wait for it to ship. Gently, he had grabbed the little figure - Chrissy, he'd taken to calling her - and turned her over between his fingers.
"What am I gonna do with you…" He had muttered, tracing her delicate raised arm under his thumb. Was he keeping the pink?... yeah, maybe he should. The frills needed to be replaced, though. And, of course, they were glued on. Where did he put the-
Ah. The vinegar was still across the room. In a cabinet. Where it was supposed to be. He hadn't grabbed it. It was only when he got up to go do that that he noticed the time. Damn. He should really head to bed. He had a consultation the next day and hadn't felt like yawning all throughout it. With a reluctant sigh he'd set the doll back on the cushion.
"Well, Chrissy, looks like we're gonna have to hold off on the makeover for now." This was said with an easy grimace - a sort of half grin. He'd reached out as if to stroke her cheek, had stopped himself at the last second and settled for tapping her head gently. "See you tomorrow."
It would be a simple task to fix her to a clamp and get started. He hadn't painted a miniature in a long time - he'd need to find his tiny paint brushes.
It would be a simple task, if it wasn't gone the next day.