Author´s Note: I bet you didn´t think I was going to update this. If you did, I am amazed at your faith in me that undoubtedly exceeds the faith I have in myself.
I´ll be honest, guys, I don´t know if I´ll ever finish this. I´d like to, but I´ve been swamped with Uni and work for quite some time now and I don´t know when that´ll change.
But I´ve received some lovely reviews over the time, in particular by icearrows1200 and now by Mmma, and I didn´t want to leave you completely in the dark about the future of this story.
So have this little chapter as a consolation. This has been lying in storage for some time, and it´s all I´ve written so far, but who knows, I might be able to pick this up again! I know how I want this to end, I just haven´t had the time to write all the twists and turns yet.

In other words, thank you so much for reading this story, especially if you are taking the time to leave a few words! Your favourable feedback makes my full days a lot brighter.

Fun Fact: There is no fun fact, but I would like to share a limerick with you instead. You may have noticed that I like to start off on a high note.

In Scotland it´s often good fun
To indulge in a strange kind of bun.
Possessed of rare beauty,
It´s round, flat and fruity,
And called sometimes scone, sometimes scone, sometimes scunn.

Ah, the beauty of language.

They were reasonably confident that their home would be left alone now that Kivali had made his point, and so they drove back to where they had left Max and Simba to their own devices. The police had not been of much help. After they had all three given their statements and Neema had taken her stuttering leave, they had left fairly quickly, shortly after declaring that they would be doing their best, but it was probably for the best not to expect too much. The clearance rate for robberies on private grounds was abysmal, and since technically nothing had been stolen, they did not see the need to put great efforts into finding the culprit. The latter train of thought remained unspoken, but the point had come across. Still, Timon thought, although it galled him to admit as much, they were probably making more progress than Pumbaa and him.

Simba greeted them as they stepped out of the car, having overheard the rumbling throttle of their engine. But there was no joy in the way he stood, keeping his distance in the pale sunlight.

"Hey, buddy", Timon greeted him with a sideways hug, hoisting the bag in his other hand higher.

"Hey", Simba mumbled back, and Timon would have figured he was simply tired, but it was well past noon and there was a weird inflection in the boy´s reply.

"Come on, let´s get inside."

They made tea, because Max did not own a coffee maker and Pumbaa insisted that sitting down with family and enjoying a cup of hot liquid was guaranteed to improve every situation. Simba did not complain, which further raised Timon´s suspicions. Most days, the kid preferred his drink loaded with sugar and cocoa. He always went for the sweetest option, no matter how they warned him about the health hazard of his consumption habits.

"So when did ya get up today?", Timon asked once they had settled down. "I hope Uncle Max didn´t work ya too hard."

Max started to grumble about the shameful decline of younger generations. He was ignored.

Simba took his time answering, sending the steam rising from his cup into small puffs of white air with a half-hearted blow.

"It was alright", he volunteered after a few seconds. Timon nodded slowly, and the expression on his face must have been doubtful, because Simba felt the need to add: "No, really. Uncle Max showed me how to get rid of garden slugs." At this, Max stiffened uncomfortably, but whatever comment he would have chosen to disclose was cut off when Simba continued, undeterred.

"He slices them in half with his garden clippers so they won´t return when he drops them off somewhere else."

"Max!"

Timon whipped his head around in response to the gruesome report, scandalized.

"Damn it, boy, I told you not to mention that."

"Oh." Simba ducked his head. "I forgot."

"So much for your vow of silence." Max rolled his eyes (and seriously, who actually rolled their eyes?) and leaned back spitefully.

"Hang- hang on. You let our kid cut up slugs?" If Timon had been alarmed, Pumbaa´s white-faced terror trumped him by a mile.

"What", said Max with no small amount of righteous indignation. "Of course not, who do you take me for, some sort of psycho?" He paused for a moment. "No, I just showed him what I do with the slimy pests that eat away at my salads. He didn´t even touch my clippers."

That did not come as a comfort to the stricken parent, and Timon laid a comforting hand on Pumbaa´s shoulder without taking his reproachful glare off his uncle.

"... Anyway. Was there anything else ya might have done- you aren´t off the hook, Max! Anything other than that?"

The child shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed somewhere between table and scratchy carpet. He very deliberately did not look at them as he asked a question in return.

"I didn´t do anything. What about you?"

"Ya know, we..." Timon trailed off. They had spoken to Simba before their trip home, right? No. They had decided against waking him. How would they have explained leaving the kid anyway? He was better off not knowing about the things that had transpired, they had concluded.

"I know you like keeping secrets from me", Simba continued in that horribly quiet voice that ate away at Timon´s resolve to remain silent about the current situation. "And that´s okay."

"Kid", Timon hated how his voice sounded strange to his own ears, "I don´t think-..."

"Huh." Now Simba looked up, and his expression fell at the shocked faces of his parental figures. "N-not that I´m complaining! Or, yeah, I kinda am. Don´t you get it? You´re always like", his voice cracked when he tried to adapt to the deeper vocal range of an adult, "Simba. Do your homework, but show it to us after you´re done. Like, you gotta tell us when there´s something on your mind." He looked up, still imitating his stricken audience. "Kid. We´re here for you, but if you want help, you have to talk to us." When Pumbaa let out an audible moan, he stopped.

"Way to stick to those blockheads, kiddo." Max was impressed.

"Get out." Pumbaa had frozen, overwhelmed with the situation and the furthest from grace under pressure one could possibly imagine, but Timon had no qualms releasing some of his pent-up frustration.

"This is still my house", said Max in a challenging tone, and his nephew took a deep breath before he ended up shouting in front of the boy.

"Would ya just-... give us a minute?"

The old man took his time draining the last of his tea and getting out of his chair, stretching his limbs with deliberate satisfaction that had Timon seething with impatience. When he had left, the redhead reached out for Simba, offering the hand that was not yet occupied with comforting his partner. The boy grasped it with the tiniest hint of reluctance, or perhaps the awkwardness of youth on the verge of autonomy.

"Ya made a good point", Timon conceded and squeezed the gangly fingers in his own, smiling weakly as the pressure was returned. "Why didn´t ya speak up before?"

"It didn´t bother me until recently." Timon would have been willing to bet good money on ´recently´ referring to their unfortunate involvement with Kivali; not that Simba knew the details.

"Ya gotta understand, kid. There´s-... We are in a bit of a tight situation here, I´ll admit. But it´s nothing ya should be concerned about. We´ll handle it." He meant it as a comfort, but Simba´s frown intensified with every word. Still, he kept a firm grip on the man´s hand.

"But what if I wanna handle it, too?"

Although Timon had anticipated the notion, it had not become any more palatable. "Ya shouldn´t have to. That stuff is supposed to be our problem."

"Yeah?" Strangely enough, Simba perked up at his words. "And at what point is it my problem, huh? When you start arguing all the time? When you disappear for hours without telling me where you went?" He gestured towards Pumbaa. "When you are so upset about something that you can´t even talk about it when I´m in the room?"

Only force of habit and a grasp on the fundamentals of communication made Timon believe his own ears. Hearing those accusations from the child hurt. (Was he even a child anymore?)

Apparently Pumbaa had chosen that instance to thaw. "Oh, Simba." Since the boy had not witnessed his father figure´s near-breakdown that morning, Timon felt justified in returning his attention towards his partner for the moment.

"Should we put this off for later?" He had spoken in a low voice to prevent Simba from influencing his Papa´s, but Pumbaa fervidly shook his head.

"We´d be making everything worse." It made sense not to alienate the boy further; he seemed disturbed enough by their sketchy behavior already. Common sense notwithstanding, Timon´s insides tightened at the thought of involving Simba in any of this twisted situation.

"Alright", he whispered, pained. "But, ya know? Let´s keep it to a minimum."

…

There was no dramatic breakdown, no shouting and not a single tear; Simba took the news with remarkable composure. He had draped himself next to Pumbaa as the tale unfolded, and afterwards they sat in silence. Eventually, Pumbaa cleared his throat.

"You don´t remember much from before, do you?"

"You mean, like, before you adopted me?"

"Mhm."

"... Not really, no."

"Nothing at all?"

"Some stuff. Eating Spaghetti. Sleeping outside... Painting Daddy´s face with watercolors."

At the mention of Simba´s biological parent, Pumbaa risked a glance sideways, but when his partner remained stoically silent and their kid had recalled his deceased father without visible discomfort, he decided to fish for further information.

"Your daddy, huh? What about other family members?"

Simba narrowed his eyes in thought. "Daddy´s face is pretty much the only one I remember. There´s-... something about my Mom, but I don´t think-... it´s not like I would recognize her on the street or anything." Shaking his head, the boy effectively ended any hope Pumbaa might have had about learning more about his family background. Then again, that chance had always been slim. Simba had simply been too young when they had taken him in.

"Do ya miss them?" The question came quietly, as if Timon did not particularly want to hear the answer. Belatedly, Pumbaa thought that he was anxious to hear the boy´s reply as well.

"I... don´t know." So far, Simba had spoken of his blood relatives with detached care which made Pumbaa realize that they had not really talked about them with the boy aside from the occasional reference towards them. Neither of the three knew much of the life Simba had led prior to the accident that had taken his parents and, subsequently, his home until a new one had been found, save for the barest necessities that naturally came with the registration of any member of society within their legal system. "I guess I don´t think much about them."

The statement seemed innocuous enough, except Pumbaa was forcibly reminded of their first weeks as a proper family. The boy had only begun to understand that he would stay with them indefinitely as opposed to being herded from orphanage to children´s home. He had been distanced, acting more closed off than during the time he had spent at Pumbaa´s workplace, the youth shelter that had housed him after the accident. Only after he had moved in did they begin to understand the mess that the traumatic incident had made of the young child.

Suddenly confronted with the same insecurities that had plagued them all these years ago, Pumbaa let the subject drop, knowing all the same that they would have to confront the matter at some point. But not now, Pumbaa thought. Not now.

"Now that we got that out of the way", Timon said brightly, with the kind of cheer that was usually produced by the trickiest of situations, like being forced to accept an utterly unwelcome gift even though you knew it would catch dust bunnies in a corner of your attic or, depending on the edible qualities of the actual item, be served to the next irritating guest, "why don´t we call it a night? Well, technically it´s still afternoon, but ya know what I mean. Right? We don´t need to lay it all out there right now, right?"

Giving in to his partner´s nervous laughter, Pumbaa nodded decisively. "Sure, I guess we can do that. Or do you have any more questions for us, Simba?" As the boy shook his head, sending his bright hair flying, Max scuffled into the room.

"You all done with your family therapy, yes? Can I have my house back?"

"Actually, I think you can", his nephew conjectured, to which Pumbaa felt his face scrunch up in confusion. "There´s really no reason for us to stay any longer, now that Simba knows the whole story. Besides, he´s missed enough school days, and we´ll have to get back as well."

Pumbaa honestly could not say whether the look that crept onto Max´s face was one of relief or malcontent. The smart money was on the former, but Pumbaa liked to think that they had bonded with the man, or at least, Simba had. On his part, the boy did not seem to be especially upset about the prospect of seeing his friends again after their family retreat. Still, his frown indicated that he had something to say. When Pumbaa prompted him to do so, Simba shrugged.

"It´s just... What are we going to do?"

"We are not gonna do anything", Timon stopped short, and then remedied, "well, technically we are. Me and Pumbaa. You won´t be caught up in this mess if I can help it." As much as Pumbaa agreed with the sentiment, he doubted that it would be easy to keep the kid from the situation, not after Kivali had proclaimed his interests so explicitly.

Simba looked like he wanted to protest, but instead slumped down in sullen defeat. Unable to bear the continued distance to the child, Pumbaa gathered him in a firm hug. Over the boy´s tousled head he watched Max leave the room with a last poignant glare at his nephew. But Timon was distracted by his ringing cell phone.

"I´ll take that. Be right back." He went right after his uncle, and then Pumbaa was alone with their kid.

"It´ll probably over in a flash", Pumbaa tried to console Simba, but he stiffened under the enduring embrace.

"How? You don´t even know what to do!"

"That´s not-... true, we thought of some things, your Dad and I."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

When Pumbaa failed to produce an answer, Simba shook his head. "You don´t know."

"Look, Simba-…"

"And that´s okay."

Pumbaa closed his mouth, stunned into silence.

"You´ll figure it out" Simba went on, faith in his parental figures ringing in every syllable. "And I´ll help, too! Just you wait."

"Oh, Simba" Pumbaa said gently, "you already are."