Fanfic time: Misfits part 32

Continued from yesterday:

  “Huh,” said Logan as the machine rose perfectly and with more than a hint of grace. “How ‘bout that…" 

  Todd grinned like a bastard. He could *do* something. He was *worth* something. 

  Wow. 

  He shouldn’t have said it, but he was feeling cocky. "Y'got anythin’ else, yo?" 

  "Garage,” said Logan, leading the way. 

  It was a long walk without many hints of daylight. “Hey, yo… I do get time with my girl, right?" 

  "Soon enough,” said Logan. “We’ll only do a few preliminaries on this job. Don’t have all the parts, yet." 

  Cool. Ongoing project. Todd was liking the idea of a hobby that didn’t involve making the boiler work. 

  They entered the garage and there, besides the work bench, was Sara’s scooter, huddling under a finger-crochetted rag rug, away from the gleaming, well-kept machines of the Institute. 

  "We’re fixin’ Sara’s bike?" 

  "We’re fixin’ an L-579,” said Logan. “Fifties classic, made before scooters became a girlie bike. We’re gonna turn this…” he hefted the rug off Sara’s much-battered heap, “into somethin’ like *this*.” Logan gave Todd a calendar, picture side up. 

  You could tell it was a calendar for people who loved machines, for a start, there were no busty bimbos in the way of the actual bike. Secondly, there were reams of technical data and windowed close-ups of features of interest. 

  The L-579 in the calendar shot glistened like it knew it didn’t need a star filter to look good. 

  “Whoah…” he whispered. Just like Sara, her bike needed a little care and attention to look absolutely gorgeous. 

  “Yeah. Ya can see why collectors go nuts for one.” Logan pulled a tool chest nearby and parked himself on the floor. “C'mon, Treefrog. Let’s see what needs fixin’." 

+

  "Um…” said Jean. 

  Sara sort-of leaned against the bookshelf-door she’d formed around her personal space, folded her arms, and raised an eyebrow. 

  “Okay. I admit it. I’m a nosy little bitch,” Jean cracked under the pressure of that patient gaze. “I’ve always *been* a nosy little bitch… and the Professor practically handed me a certificate to be nosy to my heart’s content… and… damnit. I *know* the things people hide tell a lot more than the things they display. So I picked the lock and I looked, okay? I wasn’t going to steal anything, I was just– I was trying to see who you are." 

  Sara knelt and began filing things back into the chest. "Most of the things in there, I put there to keep them safe from Mother,” she said. “She’d throw a lot of this out if she knew it was there. This–” she caressed the red fabric of the dress, “–is waiting a second chance at a first date." 

  Second chances… "I could wrangle something?” said Jean. “Get Todd some time off and -Idunno- arrange an audience-free zone? Hell, I could *guarantee* you won’t get… stuff… thrown at you." 

  "It was dog feces,” said Sara. “Do you recall - a Mr James Camron Stiye?" 

  How could she forget the man who taught Duncan everything he knew? "Yes,” Jean growled. “I remember *him*. He got half the cheerleading squad pregnant." 

  "He pretended to like me. Ingratiated himself. Invited me to the Prom…" 

  Oh *God*, no. "You were last years’ Froshti?" 

  "If that’s what they call it, yes.” Sara re-folded the tissue and replaced the love-letters. “I was luckier than some. They gang-rape the pretty ones, so I’ve heard.” She sealed the box again. “Mother warned me about him. Repeatedly. Therefore I can’t sue. It’s not worth it." 

  Jean watched her place the box in the chest like someone laying their dreams in a grave. "That,” she announced, “is not going to *do*." 

  "Pardon?" 

  "You deserve a better first date,” she said. “I’m going to see to it that you *get* one.” Jean Grey, at Freshman year, had been wise enough not to fall for the Froshtie tradition. Besides, she could pick up a liar at fifty feet. She’d warned as many other girls as she could reach, but Tiffany refused to believe that Gordon was anything but sincere. 

  She’d vanished off the map after that year. Moved away. Whispers in the girls’ locker room said she was gang-raped and in such a fragile condition that they couldn’t give her an abortion. 

  The truth about what happened to Tiffany Marde was never known to Bayville. 

  Jean saw to it that Duncan and his cronies never even *thought* of culling a Froshtie… and that awareness leaflets were left in Freshman haunts. It was the most she could do. 

  But now, tonight, she could do something more. 

  She knocked on Xavier’s study door. 

  _Do come in, Jean. I believe we have a lot more to discuss, now._ 

+

  “Suspension’s shot,” said Todd. “The brakes don’t, half of the wiring’s misplaced… an’ don’t get me *started* on the motor. I love Sara dearly, but… she really oughta stop shoppin’ at shithole garages. Lookit this metal, wouldja? Pure *crap*!" 

  Logan chuckled as he continued disassembling the bike. The outer casing had been put carefully aside for some forensic investigation into its original colour. "Can’t get parts for an L-579 on the cheap. Guessin’ she did her best with whatever fit." 

  "Well, yeah, I can see *that*. I’m shocked Eileen got goin’ at *all*." 

  "Ahem,” said Ororo. “I need to -ah- borrow Todd for the rest of the evening." 

  "Huh?” said Todd. _Yo, that’s *so* not smooth._ “But I was almost down to the wheel assembly…" 

  "I’m sure you want to look nice for your date with Sara, this evening,” said Ororo. 

  With an almost audible 'twing’, Todd’s moral compas swung straight around to Romance. “…date?” he squeaked. “Sara din’t mention nuttin’ 'bout no date…" 

  "Oh, she didn’t know it was happening, then. She knows now. Come along, please. I have some clothes that might suit your colouring - once you’ve bathed…" 

  Todd didn’t stop grinning. He had some of Hank’s marvellous magical skin goo and it worked just fine as a soap substitute that did *not* make him yak. "Sure thing." 

  "Don’t go near second base,” advised Logan, with a meaningful exposure of an adamantium claw. “Not unless ya wanna get rid of some fingers." 

  ”…meep…“ said Todd.

~

  Sara took the weights off, placing them with care beside her bed. Logan would be expecting her to wear them all of tomorrow, no doubt. 

  Now that Jean was gone, she took out the dress again. Would it still fit? It had looked fantastic on her, last year… but last year, she’d been 5'9”. A couple of inches could make a hell of a lot of proportional difference. 

  Except for the bust. 

  She took it out. A-line skirts made *anybody* look good, and the judicious frill at the v-neck accentuated what little chest she had. The matching shoes, alas, were too small for her feet, now. She’d have to make do with the black pumps, and make them match with the cluster clip-ons that matched the dress. 

  At least she was more blue-ish than green-ish, so the dress didn’t exactly *clash* with her skin-tone, and the muted, mottled effect did more for her than she would have thought. 

  _Crunch time._ Sara skinned out of her comfortable gear and slid into the dress. The zipper was awkward, as always, but it did up without doing anything severe to her ribcage. And no seams threatened to pop. 

  The waistline had risen, of course, to something near an empire line, and the hemline encroached on revealing her hated knees, but that was easily fake-able. 

  At least she didn’t have to wear any kind of stockings. Her legs were already smooth. _I’ll never have to shave my legs. Huzzah. Score one for scales._ 

  Next, makeup and accessories. 

  Her former colours just would not *do* any more. Reds and pinks were not the best to accentuate a blue-ish face. Therefore, Sara went straight for her con-box, a toolkit that had been adapted to serve a more feminine purpose. 

  Royal blue didn’t work. It was disturbing. A more subtle purple-ish tone of blue, on the other hand, seemed to do the magic. Just eyeliner on the eyes, and her mascara had to be renewed. She threw the ancient mascara out. 

  _Hmp. Why did I retain eyelashes and eyebrows when all my other body hair vanished? Why ask why?_ She was halfway into extending her eyes just a tweak when the wave of anxiety hit. 

  Dare she trust a Senior? One who had every reason to see Sara stumble, mind. Was she reading Jean right? Or was she a fabulous actress? 

  Was Todd even going to know that she was waiting? 

  Would she be stood up? 

  Hell, what was she going to do for the actual *date*? 

  Well, technically speaking, it was their third outing together, so… 

  Sara’s eyes found the book of Omar Kyam’s quatrains. Yes. That would be perfect. 

  _Professor… may I borrow a few things?_ 

  _Help yourself, and be sure to return as much as you can._ 

+

  Black helped Todd a lot. What didn’t help was the fact that he was a bundle of nervous energy. 

  “Should I wear a tie? Naw, we can’t go anywhere -y'know- *out*. Is it formal? Informal? D'you know? Ah, fuck. My hair’s gone all shit. I knew I shoulda just let it air-dry. D'you got shoes that’d fit? 'Cause these sneakers ain’t exactly sparklin’, y'awmsayin’? Is she gonna be there? Is it a set-up? What if I freak out? What if I *pass* out? What if–" 

  ”*Todd*,“ Ororo sighed. 

  "Yo?" 

  "Relax. Everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see.” She straightened his garb and nodded. “Yes. Very fine." 

  Todd regarded his reflection dubiously. Black actually made him look like he had a skin tone. And surprisingly, so did grey. He’d have never chosen to wear black cargos, a grey shirt, and a black jacket, but they - worked. 

  Ororo had refused to touch the bracers… and they worked, too. 

  She was brushing his hair. Styling it a little so that it didn’t look that much like shit. And then it started to look *better*. 

  _Dayumn, yo. I never knew I could be - *handsome*._ 

  Hank knocked on the doorway. "The lady is waiting,” he announced. 

  Todd almost wet his shorts. 

+

  Sara spread the blanket underneath a spreading chestnut tree, and arranged herself and her props for maximum viewer impact. Skirt covering the knees, leaning back just a little to emphasise her laughable female attributes… make a hip to imply a waist. Warm, sociable smile. Book propped open in her upper hand. 

  _Sparkle, sparkle…_ 

  “I’m ready for my close-up…” she whispered. 

+

  Todd opened the door and forgot how to breathe. 

  _Whoah._ 

  She’d framed herself perfectly. There were even fireflies sparkling in the background to make it a perfect moment. 

  He only remembered to breathe in when he got a bit of tunnel-vision, and someone charitably poked him in the back. 

+

  Sara ignored the very quick helping hand that sort-of poked Todd towards her. Nothing went absolutely perfect. There had to be a flaw. 

  She cleared her throat. “A book of verse underneath the bough,” she recited. “A loaf of bread,” she indicated the box of Sugar Toastees™, “A jug of…” she checked the bottle in the basket, purely for amusement purposes, “…carbonated apple beverage… And thou beside me, singing in the wilderness. Ah, wilderness is paradise, enow." 

  Todd dropped to his knees on the edge of the blanket. "Yo, if I start singin’, I be scarin’ *bats* outta the trees, babe." 

  They both cracked up. 

  "That distant rumbling sound is Omar Kyam turning over in his grave,” Sara informed. “I couldn’t very well have wine. We’re both under-age and I’m allergic to the stuff.” She tossed the book into the basket and relaxed into a more comfortable posture. “But a picnic *is* rather appropriate, is it not?" 

  "Yo, it’s *perfect*,” he sighed, scootching closer. “Yo’ perfect. Dayumn. What I do to get you?" 

  "You cared, Sir Leapsalot,” Sara kissed him, lightly and briefly. “Something for which I’m eternally grateful.”

~

  “So what are they doing?” said Kurt, who’d arrived at the window late. 

  “Psh. They’re holdin’ hands an’ talkin’,” said Rogue. “Don’ waste time… *kiss* 'er!" 

  "Aw *geez*,” moaned Bobby. “Now he’s lookin’ in the *basket*…" 

  There was a small chorus of disapointed moans. 

  "If you all don’t *mind*,” sniped Ororo. “I’d *like* to make a start on dinner and *you* are all blocking my way. That is, of course, unless you’re all volunteering to do the dishes?" 

  The kitchen cleared like magic, leaving only three members of the senior staff. Hank, Ororo and Logan. 

  "Clever,” said Logan. 

Hank immediately knuckled over to the window. “What *are* they doing, then?” he craned his neck to peek. 

  “Henry McCoy, *really*,” scolded Ororo. “Let them have a *little* time to themselves, at least." 

  Abashed, the big blue mutant forced himself away from the window. "I predict that my espionage has cost me the chore of peeling your vegetables." 

  "You’d better believe it,” said Ororo. She pointed an authorative finger at the pantry. “Move." 

+

  They were looking up at the stars. Sara was pointing out constellations and telling legends. 

  ”…and when Pan leaped into the stars, he turned into the goat-fish thing that we know from our horoscopes. The Gods applauded his enginuity, and let him stay among the stars.“ 

  "Whoah,” said Todd. He munched on a Sugar Toastee™ and stared at the bright lights that had never seemed that important before. “It’s beautiful… Never saw th’ stars much when I was a kid. City lights, yo." 

  "You haven’t missed much. They take thousands of years to move, even the slightest fraction to our eye. Of course, what we see is a lie." 

  "What? But they’re right there." 

  "What we see is the light sent out by them some hundreds of thousands of years ago. By the time a star’s light reaches us, the star’s moved or died." 

  Todd picked a light at random. "So… that one’s dead or gone?" 

  "No dear, that’s Jupiter." 

  "Oooh, look,” Todd pointed at a cloud. “I used ta love watchin’ th’ clouds cross the moon an’ the stars. It was like magic. Even in winter." 

  "Dear, what were you doing out after dark during winter?" 

  Todd blushed. "Um. Y'know. Stuff." 

  Sara had gone all serious. "Sweetheart… you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but - please don’t lie?" 

  "Used t’ hide in th’ dark 'til Pops fell asleep,” he muttered, head down. 

  “Ah,” Sara leaned against him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “You’ll never be cold again, love. I’ll see to it personally, if I have to." 

  He huffed a laugh. "Nobody’s gonna rag on ya on *my* watch,” he vowed. “I’m'a fuck 'em up if they try." 

  They kissed. 

+

  Ororo, who was "co-incidentally” doing the dishes at the time, smiled. “Aaaaaawwww…" 

  "Cheater,” said Hank. 

  “Your fault for not pickin’ a good post,” said Logan, looking out the little window on the kitchen door. “Thaaaat’s right, Froggy. Keep yer hands to yerself…" 

~