Continued from yesterday:
He couldn’t help but sing, although mindful to do so under his breath while passing anyone who might pay the wrong kind of attention. She hadn’t pulled away. Hell, she kissed him back. Todd was so happy he passed his classroom, swore cheerfullly when he realized the mistake, and circled back.
“Well, *you’re* on time for once.” Ms. Jones said by way of greeting.
“Fine, how are you?” Todd distractedly answered the wrong question as he found his seat.
The teacher launched straight into modern history and the standardized account of what happened during Eisenhower’s reign as president. Eisenhower the hero. No mention was made in relation to the Congo or diamonds, or Patrice Lumbaba.(1) But Todd didn’t feel up to writing side notes. For once he was content to dishonor the truth and be a sheep if it meant he could escape into his little dream world.
Sara was going to stay with him tomorrow. All day perhaps while she waited out her changes… maybe more than one day - who knew? Todd knew he was going to have to make preparations. He could trust Fred or Lance to bring homework and make excuses for him if it extended past the weekend. Thursday he had to be present for a stupid group presentation in order to get credit. The rest of the days he could skip easy. Maybe Fred could stay with her on Thursday and have the day off for himself.
Todd wasn’t going to think of enlisting Pietro’s help with any of this, not unless the speedster showed remorse. _Shyeah, like that’s gonna happen. Ass._ He was going to have to see to him. Sara’d gotten him pretty good, but Todd would personally make sure the message had been delivered. He didn’t want her to be bothered by anything - poor kid had enough goin’ in with her new scales. He wondered what else was going to happen. Maybe her *eyes* were gonna change too. Pupils elongated and turned to slits in daylight. No matter what, she was beatiful to him. He was going to make sure she knew that.
She wasn’t going to ever feel ugly. Or unwanted. Not like his pop had made him feel. She was going to be *happy* with who she was. Todd would do his best to make it so.
Someone tapped his shoulder. Todd then became aware of murmuring voices. The teacher was calmly up front reading from her grade book and everyone had their books open to the same page. Except him. Todd peeked at his neighbor’s book and calmly turned to the correct page. The tapping started again, more insistent.
“Yo?” he asked, turning around. He came face to braces with Janine. “You aren’t in this class."
"Thaking nothes for a friend.(2) Did you really kith Thara? Trish thays thee thaw you."
Todd turned his back on her and looked back at his history book. They were supposed to be doing Assignment 3A review questions. Todd figured there was nothing else to do.
_Poke*poke*poke_ went the sharpened pencil into his shoulder.
"What was the slogan Eisenhower used in his campaign?” Todd asked.
“We like Ike or something. Dith you or dith you not?"
"I did."
"Even though you thought the was a *boy*?"
"You’re a sick sad little person you know that, Mouthy? She don’t ever gossip ‘bout you. Why you give her grief? Make you feel better bout yoself knowin’ yo higher up on the food chain, don’t it?"
"I’m thure I don’t know what you mean by that,” Janine stated, eyebrows raised coolly.
“You just wait til yo all alone one step up and ain’t nobody got yo back. It’s lonely up there with the other predators. Sooner or later they’ll knock you down and ain’t nobody goin’ to help you up. Not even Sara. You’ll be there one day. Count on it."
Janine glared. "I don’t think I’m thalking tho you anymore. Goodbye.” She slammed her book shut just as the teacher announced they could leave before the bell.
+
Art was a pleasant distraction from mulling over the unpleasant consequences that might come from pissing off Janine. Even though Todd hated cubism and hated newsprint collages even more. Somehow Mrs. Spindel had been forced into using less paint and more recyclable mediums. She’d combined cubism with newsprint this assignment. Todd was giving killer death glares to his tube of Elmer’s which liked to give large overdoses to tiny shapes of paper no matter how gently he squeezed.
He wanted the day to be over; even in art, the clock was moving unnaturally slow. Todd pulled out the piece of black paper he’d managed to glue into his hair and stuck it to the canvas.
Kurt kept glancing at him, trying not to look threatening or curious, and failing at the latter. There were some times blissful moments when Todd forgot he shared a class or two with the elf. When he could pretend the X-men were just a bad comic idea.
“Problem?” he drawled.
“Not unless you wish it,” Kurt replied evenly. “Just looking at your art, if you don’t mind.” He’d been looking straight at _Todd_ and both of them knew he’d been caught.
“Rumors flying around already?” Todd whispered. He knew what kind of rumors. “Tryin’ to see if my skin’ll turn rainbow?"
Kurt snorted despite himself. "Nein. Just trying to find a way to wish you good luck without getting my head bitten off."
"Luck?” Todd was dumbfounded.
“With all the pressure. Essel’s a lady by name of Sara. I know that. Wouldn’t care if I didn’t. You love her, that’s what’s important right? I hope it doesn’t make you doubt yourself or each other."
Todd felt a small something twinge in his stomach. "I wouldn’t. Er. I get defensive sometimes, you know? It’s cause I want people to just stop… to just accept us and get over themselves."
Kurt chuckled. "Don’t we all?"
"Yeah, we all do. I know your story, boy, but how bad do you got to deal with shit like this? You can hide from the worst of it behind that watch and behind your friends."
"Not from all of it,” Kurt murmured, rubbing a bruise. “Not from *everything*. Maybe not as bad as you, but I still struggle. Doesn’t that count enough?"
Todd wanted to say something sarcastic and cutting to show Kurt that nothing had changed. "Maybe,” he retorted uncertainly. _Yea, fuckin’ brilliant._ Feeling flustered, he turned back to the collage and Kurt seemed content to keep his furry yap shut until the last bell.
1) Read Barbara Kingsolver’s 'Poisonwood Bible’ for class, and Eisenhower reportedly ordered the assassination of Patrice Lumbaba (shoot me if I spelled it wrong) the elected president of the newly independent Congo. The Belgians and Americans still wanted the diamonds and independent Congo was going to make it very difficult to capitalize on that. A very powerful book.
2) My high school actually let people do this. If the person had study hall and a friend who was absent, she (it was an all girl school I attended) could go to that friend’s class and take notes and collect reading material. I don’t know about Bayville high, but let’s pretend they’re liberal.
~
Her eyes may have been better, but they still ran copiously and puffed up to the point where, if she had had bruising, she would have been called in for being in a fight.
As it was, Mr Kian called her away from music class to talk about the dangers of sexual relationships and some practices that could lead to nasty diseases in very strange places indeed[1].
Sara held tight to her personal honour and let people think what they’d think anyway. She couldn’t really handle this. She couldn’t fight it. Fighting only confirmed people’s suspicions. Denial made them talk louder. Muteness… didn’t really work.
And Sara refused to be worse than the rumours.
Let them talk their idle heads off. They had no idea what she’d been through or what she was actually going through. And better that they didn’t know.
The prickling, itchy, irritating sensation under her skin was sharpening into near-agony.
She’d have to take an antihistamine just so she could sleep tonight.
Sara wiped her eyes and found a place to stand very still in near the gates. If anyone actually bothered to look at her, she’d have appeared very upset with the world indeed.
Not that many people bothered to look.
Just the ones that counted.
+
Aw geez, she was crying. “You okay, sugarcakes?"
"Believe it or not, I’m actually fine. My eyes just happen to leak a lot."
"Yo, you an’ me, we goin’ chat with the doc.” Todd decided. “This eye thing is just too fucked up, yo."
Sara blushed.
"Oops,” Todd managed a sick grin. As far as he remembered, Sara hadn’t actually sworn about anything. “Sorry 'bout th’ french."
"I should be used to it,” she wiped her eyes again. “But I never am. I always blush. Silly girl."
"Naw yo’ ain’t,” said Todd. “it’s just a thang, y'know? People got thangs."
"So where is this infamous physician?"
"Online,” Todd found Eileen and made himself comfortable on the seat. “C'mon. I show you my setup."
Sara went beet red, but she unlocked the chain and started on their way, regardless.
"Sure yo’ okay to drive?"
"Yeah. Tears only blur vision temporarily. I’ve driven and cried before."
_Ow._
+
Pietro came to a screeching halt when he heard someone unfamilliar in Todd’s room.
Todd never had any visitors. Ever.
"No offense, dear, but I’m going to have to call in a hazmat team on your lounge,” said the stranger. “And possibly hire a skip per room."
"Yeah, we kinda let things slide fo’ a while. It’s cool, yo. The room we’re lendin’ yo’ is empty. Swear."
"Darling, I couldn’t let this slide if I was comatose."
_Darling?_ Pietro boggled and peeked in. There, sharing PC-junkpile space with Toad, was Adrian Essel.
"There. See? I run several small enterprises, some toons, and a rather small film company."
"Rather? Yo, I seen more crew on PBS.” Some strange sounds played. “Funny as shit, though."
Essel grinned. "You know… there’s no-one about and your doctor friend is offline…"
"Yeah?"
"Maybe we could continue our -er- lunchtime discussion?"
"You serious?"
"Are you… Yes. I must confess I rather quite liked it."
They kissed.
_FUCK!_
Pietro had to look five times. Toad "straighter than an arrow” Tolenski and Adrian “fucked in the head” Essel. The Toad and the guy with the silicone breasties[2] under his shirt.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee*EEEEEEEEE*eeeeeeeeuuuuuuuuuwwww…
[1] I have seen photos of genital herpes gone rife on some poor sod’s face. Icko.
[2] You know, those “enhance your bust” bra-stuffers.
~
Todd couldn’t breathe and he didn’t care. _So this is what they mean when they say drown in a kiss. Mmmm._
His hands reached around to hold her, slowly and tense - ready to pull away if she protested. There didn’t seem to be any of *that* going on, so by the time both surfaced for air, Todd’s arms were wrapped around her and he was looking up at her through half-lidded amber eyes. They only ever turned this golden when he was truly happy.
A frightened squeak from the doorway alerted him that they had an audience. Todd looked over his shoulder.
“Oh, hey, 'Tro.” There was a second squeak, a blur and the slamming of a door down the hall. Sara raised an eyebrow.
“Ignore it. He’ll either come around or avoid us. Honestly, yo, I’d rather he avoid us."
"So long as he leaves us alone, I’m happy."
"Yeah… so, uh,” Todd said shyly. “Now that we seemed to have caught our breaths…"
Sara blushed, and leaned down again.
~
Sara was quite sure something had gone to her head. She felt dizzy and elated and almost as if she could fly. Her skin, now that she wasn’t focussing on staying pink, took on Todd’s pallor, but not its texture. The underlying roughness of her new-growing scales interrupted that particular function for the meantime. Her hair, past due for a cut and starting to fall into her eyes, also changed to match Todd’s.
"Oh *my*,” she said. She pulled a strand so she could stare myopically at it.
“Coo’, yo,” Todd smirked. “Instant makeover."
"I wonder…” Sara found a reflective surface and - *focussed*… Tan skin, red-red hair. Just like Jean Grey. If Jean Grey was almost six feet tall and freakishly thin with a bad case of the hives. She sighed and let herself relax. “I *still* couldn’t make Mother happy…"
"You were tryin’ to be someone?"
"I had to hope it was possible,” she confessed. “Mother always wanted me to be like Jean Grey.” She touched the mirror, and the reflective silver spread all over her. “I’m a pale, sad mimic, dear. A thin imitation of what others want."
"Hey… yo… Don’ think like that, sugarlips,” Todd was over beside her and holding her hand. “You don’t gotta be like nobody else but yo'self, sweetie. I seen who you are, okay? An’ I like that you. You don’t gotta be nobody else wit’ me."
Half of her was a mirror. Half of her was Todd’s colouration. All of her was irritable and her eyes were leaking again.
"What a strange, twisted lady, you’ve won a favour from[1]…” she whispered.
Todd snuggled up beside her. “Yo’ perfect just the way you are, doll. Don’t let nobody say nuthin’ different."
Now she was crying. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I dunno what’s happening… I’m not normally this - this - uncompanionable."
"Yo’ changin’, sug’,” he soothed. “That’s gotta do sumpin’ to ya.” He guided her to the chair least likely to collapse, and gave her some more water. “Just ride it out, it’s coo’. You gonna be fine."
"I don’t *feel* very fine… I’m sure - I’m *sure* part of me wants to hurt things… And I’m not like that."
"So ignore it. *You* know who you are… just stay that way."
The next thing she knew, she had him in a death grip and was babbling about not wanting to eat the innocent little birds. Todd had one hand free and was trying to send an IM.
FrogPrince: Yo! Doc! SOS!
[1] Paraphrased and turned around from _The Mountains of Mourning_ by Lois McMasters Bujold.
~