Fanfic time: Misfits part 45

Continued from yesterday:

  When Ororo returned to the kitchen, there was not a lot to do. Sara the habitual tidier and apparent housework ninja had struck again. Logan was pacing the kitchen on the phone and there was no sign of Todd. 

  The benches were clean. The washing up had been washed, dried, and placed back where the various items had come from. There was even a helpful list of things they’d run out of on the fridge. 

  Damnit. She needed to *do* something or she’d strangle someone. 

  Logan snarled. “Four minutes on hold… I’m gonna wreck ‘em…" 

  "Where’s Todd?" 

  "Hiding in th’ garage. *You* try an’ sort 'im out. I give up." 

  Having another talk with a teenager who may or may not actually listen? Why not? It wasn’t as if her day could get any worse. 

  After all, she’d heard Sara praising the autumn season because it allowed her to conceal all her 'figure flaws’ under warm clothing. It had compelled Ororo to take the girls aside for yet *another* talk about body image versus self-confidence and how being ashamed of your body was *wrong*. 

  And, yet again, the talk had fallen on completely deaf ears. 

  "It’s all right for her, she’s *perfect*." 

  "She never had knees and elbows like zepplins, I’m sure." 

  "Or like, a butt the size of utah…" 

  And failing to find a nice patch of wall to hit her head on until it felt good to stop, Ororo had turned to her kitchen for some good, old-fashioned displacement activity. 

  And now there was someone else in need. 

  She found Todd under a table in a duck-and-cover position that bespoke of years in an abusive situation. He’d even shielded his head with his cast first, for the extra protection. 

  Her gentle touch made him yip and flinch. "Oh. Hey. Is he still mad?" 

  Ororo summoned serenity from the depths of her spirit. "It’s all right,” she soothed, “he’s not mad at you, dear." 

  "Don’t matter,” he said. “Mad is mad." 

  _Come on, Ororo. We’ve dealt with broken people before. Just because it was a long time ago doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten how to do this…_ "How about you and I sneak out to my gardens,” she whispered like a conspiritor. “That way, if he comes looking for you, I can say I borrowed you for a while." 

  Todd bit his lip, eyes drifting in the rough direction Logan had gone. 

  Ororo added the metaphorical cookie. "Sara might be there." 

  That winkled him out of his hidey-hole. He was still nervous and twitchy until they’d reached a garden on the other side of the mansion. And, as an added bonus, Sara was apparently enjoying the breeze on a nearby rise. 

  Todd’s smile was worth a million dollars. 

  Then he remembered something. "Oh. I got you yer foil blankie here…” he dug it out of a pocket. “I tried to fold it up, but… uh… It’s kinda like a road map, y'know?" 

  "Thank you,” Ororo took it, shook it out, and re-folded it with professional ease. “It takes practice to fold a space blanket." 

  "Yo, I was wonderin’ where you got that much foil,” he said. “It’d make a killer roast, yo." 

  She laughed, even though she knew his wise-cracks were a defense mechanism. There were worse ones, she knew, like concealing non-perishable food supplies in one’s room. It had taken patient years to break Scott of the habit, and he still insisted on a can of Spam and three packets of tic-tacs in the back of a drawer. 

  Everyone had a mechanism. The Professor was the most in control of his - tapping his fingers - by developing another habit of tenting them. Jean’s was being likeable. Kurt’s was clowning. Kitty’s was valley-talk. Ororo’s was cleaning or gardening. 

  "You can go over and say 'hello’,” Ororo prompted. “I won’t mind.” She was mildly surprised that he spent a whole minute dithering… and then he shot towards his girlfriend like a helpless comet heading straight for the sun.

~~

  Before he’d even taken a breath to say 'hi’, Sara said, “Hello, dear. Pull up a tuffet.” Her eyes were still shut. 

  Todd swore he hadn’t made a noise. “How’d you do that?" 

  Sara, eyes still closed, grinned. "I have a sixth sense,” she said. “My new epidermis has some interesting nerve linkages… I discovered the whole sixth sense thing when trying out Logan’s meditation regime." 

  "So… you saw me coming?" 

  She chuckled. "Not… precisely. It’s hard to explain. It’s not like sight-sight… I can 'see’ colours and shapes, but it’s all out of focus and warped. You, dear, happened to be a blur of the right colour scheme, and… you were moving happily.” She opened her eyes. Did they have a twinkle just for him? “I don’t even know how I interpreted that, but I did. Somehow.” She leaned towards him, her hand slipping onto the grass… and growing lawn up to her elbow. 

  Todd didn’t care. Those lips of hers had missed out on their allotted kisses for quite a long time. He had to help her catch up. 

+

  Ororo was aerating the soil and turning in mulch when Logan arrived, took in the couple on the rise and sighed. 

  “Do they ever quit?” he wondered. 

  “They’re new to love, Logan. Don’t you remember what that was like?" 

  "Painful,” he summarised. “They been doin’ anythin’… risky?" 

  Ororo looked up to glare at him. "They’ve agreed to have a PG realationship. That means nothing more than kisses and cuddles. Unlikely as it may sound, Todd’s reluctant to take advantage of her." 

  "Don’t sound like most boys his age,” Logan growled. 

  “Most boys his age have better luck on the dating scene,” said Ororo, returning her attention to her garden beds. “They get complacent and begin expecting too much… or their contemporaries pressure them into doing the same with outlandish stories.” She found a weed she’d missed earlier and removed it. “I don’t believe either Sara or Todd hold many of the values that their peers do." 

  Logan’s reply was a low growl. 

  "You sound like Marge Simpson when you do that." 

  "I had it copyrighted first." 

  Ororo kept her reaction down to a mirthful shaking, even as Logan stalked over to the new couple. 

+

  Sara looked up and smiled fit to split her face. Her heart was flying. "Look,” she whispered, pointing. “The first autumn leaf.” Anticipation of joy made her laugh. “The leaves are turning… isn’t that wonderful?" 

  "Um…” Todd sounded doubtful. “If you say so… I mean. Uh. I don’t much like bein’ cold, yo. Autumn an’ winter just means more layers." 

  That broke her mood in an instant. "Oh. I’m sorry. It’s just… I–” she sighed. “Ever since the Wooden Spoon Debacle, I… sort of anticipate winter. Dad comes *home* in November. November the eleventh, no matter what. And Daddy-Daughter Day’s November twelfth. Time apart so each lady of the house can relax a little. It always takes a month to defuse mother… just in time for my birthday." 

  "Your birthday’s December the eleventh?" 

  "The twelfth,” she corrected. “Dad always makes a special effort to remember. Mother… has to plan for the big Christmas bash. It’s easy for her to forget. Or economise by combining my birthday and Christmas. They’re really too close together, you know." 

  "No they ain’t,” said Todd. “It’s plenty of time to do both. I mean, yo'r Dad’s in *Russia*, an’ he’s still gonna come all the way home, shut yo'r Mom up fo’ a change, *AND* make yo'r birthday sompin’ special. Your Mom’s right *there*… she used to be in the same damn house, pard'n th’ French. She don’t have *no* good reason fo’ skippin’ out on yo’." 

  Sara lurched over to hug him, accidentally bearing him down to the ground. "Thank you,” she murmured. “I’ve ever been an apologist for my mother. I need someone to open my eyes." 

  "Yo… breathing would be nice…" 

  She let go. ”…oops. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I’m so sorry…“ Rising panic. Was she another on the long list of people who hurt him for no good reason? Was she going to add to the numerous bone-scars inflicted on his poor body? 

  "I know. I know,” he sat up, guiding her hands away from her mouth and gently brushing proto-tears from her face. “You don’t know your own strength." 

  "Don’t– don’t start apologising for me. I hurt you. I should never hurt you." 

  "I *know* you didn’t do it on purpose,” he said. “Luggin’ aroun’ that bag o’ yours all week, every week? It’s gotta do somethin’. You’re stronger than you think you are, yo. In more ways than one." 

  "Everybody keeps telling me that,” she said. “It’s just… it’s very hard for me to believe." 

  "So sneak up on it,” he suggested. “Lift some barbels or somethin’. Ones wit’ the numbers on. See how strong you are." 

  "I still don’t want to hurt you,” she said. 

  “That’s good enough fo’ me,” he said. “I never wanna hurt you, neither." 

  Someone cleared their throat. Logan. 

  Todd froze in her arms and got a sort of hunted look. "Yo?" 

  "Company’s sendin’ over th’ parts we *shoulda* got in the first place,” he said. “Their expense. You can do what you like with your little art project. Ain’t about to destroy in on ya." 

  "But I didn’t know what else to do an– huh?" 

  In spite of herself, she giggled behind a hand. "Why, Mr Logan, I never took you to be an aesthete[1]." 

  "Whut?” said Todd. “Yo, I thought–" 

  "I don’t take out my anger on people who don’t deserve it,” said Logan. “It’s called 'ethics’." 

  "There the hell you are,” said Scott as he marched right up to them. “Turn out your pockets, *Toad*." 

  Seething anger at Seniors in general fueled her simmering fury of Scott Summers. "Is there a particular *reason* for this illegal search?” said Sara. 

  “Frog-boy helped himself to one of my packets of tic-tacs. I mean to get it back." 

  ”…geez…“ Todd stood and turned his pockets inside out, revealing a dearth of miniature breath mints. He took off his vest, and then the underlying shirt. "Enough for ya? Or d'you wanna do a complete strip an’ cavity search?" 

  A pause. "Um… no." 

  He dressed himself again. "Fine." 

  Sara had stood with him, folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. "The last time I checked, Mr Summers, tic-tacs were cheap and readily availlable. Is there anything particularly *special* about yours?" 

  A longer pause. "Um… no." 

  "You ask anyone else first?” demanded Todd. 

  An even longer pause, during which Scott Summers looked down and scratched his head. “Um… no." 

  "So much for innocence before proof of guilt,” muttered Sara. “Let’s wait around the front for the Fed-Ex van, dear. It’s suddenly become too *stuffy* here.” She cut Scott dead and marched away. 

  Todd trotted by her side. “Yo, it’s cool." 

  "No. It is *not*. You’re here for a legitimate purpose. By invitation. And you’re my *friend*. Don’t these count for anything?" 

  "I’m part of the *'hood*, yo. I used t’ pickpocket. Somethin’ goes missin’ and if I was there - it looks bad fo’ me. It happens." 

  "It has been 'happening’ more than usual,” grumbled Sara, slowing her pace to match his. “Every time some little thing gets misplaced, I’m asked if 'my boyfriend would know anything about it’… And it’s so *accusatory*. As if I’m to blame for not having you on a shorter leash or something.” She sighed. “Human nature has a lot to answer for." 

  "And a *half*, yo." 

 [1] One who appreciates beauty, mostly in art and nature.

~

  Sara dandled her fingers in the water, marvelling at how her skin perceived it one way, and her eyes another. The fountain itself was a study in chaos theory… but Todd’s gloom worried her more than math. 

  "So far, the list of suspicious SOB’s include practically all of the new recruits, Kitty, Evan, and you know about Scott." 

  "Mmh,” said Todd. He found a leaf and tucked the stem into its body, making a little boat out of it… which promptly sank the minute it encountered a spout of water. He stared gloomily at the sunken vegetation. 

  “Jamie misplaces things all the time,” she offered. “He actually got me to try and help him find things." 

  "Rmph…" 

  Now her fingers were fiddling with each other. Picking at her nails and making patterns on their own. "At least the adults know better,” she said. 

  “Don’t hear none of 'em comin’ to my aid." 

  "I’m sure the Professor might have some harsh– oh no…” There, approaching from the mansion, was Kurt. The one person who’d never said a word against Todd. Her heart not only fell, but crashed and burned when it landed. 

  Todd followed her gaze and moved smoothly into a defensive posture. “Yo?” he said, spinning it into a half-threat. 

  Kurt soldiered on under their burning gaze. “I don’t suppose either of you have seen a comb? Little black plastic thing about yae long,” he gestured. “Only I swear it isn’t in my room and I’ve asked *everybody* and I know it’s only a thirty-cent comb, but it’s verdammt *annoying*, ja?" 

  Sara felt her life return. "You say you’ve asked *everyone*?" 

  Kurt smacked his forehead. "Ach. Dumkopf. I forgot Hank.” {Bamf!} 

  Sara was grinning. “Odd that he would redeem my faith in the human race, isn’t it, darling?" 

  "Hanh? I dunno what chanel you were listenin’ to…" 

  "He said he asked *everyone*,” said Sara. “We’re the last people he thought of… admittedly before I reminded him that he forgot someone, but still… we’re at the bottom of the list.” One huff of a laugh. “I never thought I’d be glad of being there." 

  Todd reached over and snapped a rubber band on her wrist. "You ain’t there no more. Remember that, anh?" 

  "Trying,” she said. “Although it’s a little difficult since I tripped over one of those old psyche texts in the Professor’s study… It’s amazing how many ways I could be psychologically dangerous.” She ticked off the list on her fingers. “Repressed anger, mother issues, completely disturbed body-image… amongst many, many others." 

  "You’ll heal,” he said. “I know you will." 

  "And then there’s you." 

  "What about me?” Now he was guarded again. 

  “From what I’ve been able to determine, I believe you have some father issues, abandonment issues, not to mention the fact that you’re recovering from several abusive situations… possibly consecutive… You’re in danger of exploding, too." 

  He fidgetted, looking for the Fed-Ex van, at his feet, at his cast. "You don’t need to hear it,” he said. “It’s all… been and gone. It’s over. I don’t need livin’ through it again. You don’t need knowin’ about it." 

  "Dear,” she covered his hand with hers. “We’re a couple. A good couple should be able to poison *and* cure each other. You’ve helped me… and you’ve heard and seen - ugly things. It hasn’t changed how your eyes see me…” the thought occurred to her. “Or… don’t I have that level of trust, yet?" 

  Now he looked like he was battling with several ulcers. "You don’t need to hear it,” he said, his voice edged with tears. “Please. You don’t need to hear it." 

  Sara remembered Cordelia’s advice[1], _You can say a lot, if you stick to words of one syllable._ She put her arm around him, comforting him. "I want to help,” she said. “I can’t leave you wounded." 

  "Not yet,” he said. “Please… not yet. I just– I need you to heal first." 

  "Your sense of triage is rather skewed, I think." 

  He shook in her arms, and blurted a laugh. "Yo, pro'lly…" 

  {Beep!} 

  They both jumped. How did the Fed-Ex van appear there? Sara shook the bad thoughts and cobwebs from her brain and escorted Todd to the van. She signed, he helped her schlep all the stuff to the garage, where Logan inspected it all. 

  "These look very different from the old motor,” she observed. But then, her old motor had been something of a kudge. 

  “As you kids say,” said Logan, “no duh." 

 [1] From _Barrayar_ by Lois McMaster Bujold.

~

  Sara loved unwrapping things. It was sort of like Christmases or birthdays in that the joy was in the discovery. She tried to allow Todd to get some of the parcels and Logan, somehow, automatically picked out the ones that would need a knife to open them. 

  It was kind of like the scrum at the mystery toy barrel. Someone always got more than they should, somehow. Sara did her personal best to make sure that someone wasn’t her. 

  Logan, despite his incredible reputation, faded into her background as she stole little glances of Todd as they worked. There was a kind of posessive joy in knowing that there was someone nearby who stuck around either despite or *because* of all the bad things. 

  Sara stopped herself to snap a wrist. It wasn’t all badness, now. She was getting better. Logan’s near-constant exercise and meditation regime was giving her a lot more confidence than she used to have. Hank’s skin potion and occasional insights made her life a little easier to live. Ororo was fast turning into a close friend and almost hazardously close to a substitute mother… the one Sara had always wanted *her* mother to be. 

  That left the quasi-enigmatic professor. 

  She knew he was trying to help her, epecially after Friday’s meltdown; but there remained the impulse to fight the power, as it were. Sara had never much liked psychologists, people who took one’s words as they came out and attempted to infer what was going on inside the head from them. 

  Most had never listened to her. Not really *listened*. They heard what she said, but had no clue of the meaning behind it[1]. 

  And when she got annoyed with the profession in general, that tended to come out at the closest therapist availlable. Usually in the form of head-games. 

  Sara had recently found some old psychology texts… and was rather annoyed with the profession again. She sincerely hoped the Professor would catch her before she happened to him. She liked the man, she did. And she owed him quite a bit… but seeing him with his psychiatrist’s hat on… It just might get ugly. 

  "Bad thoughts?” said Todd. 

  “I have a psyche session with the Professor tonight,” Sara absently fit two parts together and worked them. “After reading about how psychologists are taught to think… I’m worried I might try something." 

  "Don’t worry,” Logan took her assembly, seperated them, and fit them into other parts that were seemingly unrelated. “Chuck’s three steps ahead of everyone. ’S almost impossible to ambush a telepath." 

  "Not ambush, sabotage.” Some obsessive part of her lined up the screws, nuts and bolts according to size, species, and washer availlability. “I’ve wrecked psychiatrists before." 

  Todd was instantly fascinated. "How’d you do *that*?" 

  "Well, since he wasn’t listening to the truth, I made up a story that seemed to fascinate him. We were 'making progress’ for months on end before I announced I was bored with it all and enquired as to whether he’d like a different story or if he wanted to hear the truth, now.” She bit her lip and blushed. “I think I gave the poor man a bleeding ulcer." 

  Todd laughed. "I’m sorry… I shouldn’t laugh, but… *dayumn*, yo." 

  "It never helped that he gave me books to read about the whole phenomenon, either. And the historical library was vastly educational…” Now she was stacking similarly-shaped parts. “I’m sure he had his own book in the works when I made my little announcement. Chapters and chapters of it. I ruined his opus." 

  "You gave a jerk his come-uppance,” said Logan. 

  “Yo, it was his job t’ listen,” said Todd. “So he shoulda. You shouldn'a have to have *made* him do it, anyway. Just relax about it, 'kay? You need anyone to listen, I’m it." 

  Now her world turned warm again. "The same offer is open to you, too, you know." 

  Todd went bright pink and gave a goofy laugh. "Yeah. I know." 

  Logan cleared his throat. "We buildin’ this thing or what?" 

  "Can I stay?” said Sara. “I’m fairly good at passing tools." 

  Todd winced. "Oooh. Faint praise. Wounded to th’ quick, yo." 

  "But it *was* a positive statement,” she argued. 

  “*Technically*,” Todd mock-glared at her. “You can learn this. Yo’ learned just 'bout everythin’ else." 

  "I know. That’s why I want to pass tools." 

 [1] Side-fling to a Benny Hill song, I believe it was called _We Knew What She Meant_… The chorus went a little like, "We knew what she meant, We knew what she meant, We heard what she said but we knew what she meant.” Lots of innuendo-esque fun.

~