Warning: This episode contains depictions of a mental/emotional meltdown.
Continued from yesterday:
Sara didn’t know why she continued to argue her case, but she did. “Adrian Essel doesn’t *exist*,” she protested. “Do I have to provide documentation? DNA? A *physical*?"
"Paying attention in class is more than sufficient, Mr Essel. You are on my rolls as Adrian Essel, and Adrian Essel you shall remain."
_Joy. A freaking beaurocrat._
They entered the classroom and Jean was already wincing.
"This Adrian Essel, he is new to the class. Do not let that divert you from your studies."
"Cool monster, Essel."
"Were you on crack when you made that thing?"
"Can you score some for me?"
"Hey Essel! Did you *fuck* rat-girl?"
For some reason, she heard one of those old stovetop kettles starting to boil.
"Oi! Essel, I heard you wanted to be a chick with a dick! Fag!"
She threw her bag down on the empty desk. It shattered on impact. "THAT’S E-GOD-DAMNED-FUCKING-NOUGH!” Sara screamed.
“Mister *Essel*!"
"YOU WANT PROOF? I’LL *GIVE* YOU FUCKING PROOF!” Her hand dived into her bag and bought out her card collection. “Student ID,” she flung it at Mr Phelps. The rest, she tossed at the class. “Bike licence! Library card! Business Association Membership! Makeup Effects Guild! Filmmakers’ Guild! Girl Scouts of America! Ballet Club! Hacking Association! Animators’ Guild! Anachronists’ Anonymous! All these fucking cards required fucking proof of my fucking identity to obtain them!” She threw the wallet at Duncan Matthews, nailing him in the middle of the forehead. She whirled around and pointed an angry finger at Phelps. “What’s the name on that fucking card?"
"Sara. Louise. Adrien,” he intoned.
“And what does it say under ‘gender’?” Sara shouted.
“F-f-female?” Phelps squeaked.
“THAT’S GODDAMN RIGHT AND DON’T YOU *DARE* FORGET IT! I! AM! A! GIRL!” Now she had chalk in her hands and it screeched agonisingly across the board as she etched each letter as large as she could across the greenish-black expanse. “G! I! R! L! GIRL!” She underlined it with an ear-splitting squeal. “CAN YOU ALL REMEMBER THAT OR DO I HAVE TO GET IT TATTOOED ON MY FUCKING FOREHEAD?"
”…shit,“ muttered one of Duncan’s offsiders. "Essel’s gone *totally* postal…"
Sara’s scream drowned out all sound for that room, and the surrounding six classrooms. She had her shirt in her hands. The test-print of her 'matrix’ style binary shirt that read, "If you can read this, you have no life.” She was trying to take it off, but it was refusing to co-operate. The cheap fabric tore, revealing her laughable bosom. “THESE AREN’T FUCKING IMPLANTS, YOU FUCKING MORON!” Now she was fumbling with her belt, trying to get it undone. “I HAVE A FUCKING *CUNT* FOR GOD’S SAKE!"
Someone had her hands. Fighting her. Phelps. Man. Unwelcome man. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he was *touching* her.
So she slapped him, like any good Favisham girl would.
_SARA!_ Jean’s voice battered through the maelstrom in her head. _What’s happening to you?_
Sara froze, regarding the tableau before her.
_Omigod. I just tore my shirt to shit…_
There were no alternatives. She turned and bolted from the classroom.
Only later, when she woke up, would she find out that she knocked the classroom door right off its hinges and across the hallway.
But right now, she was running. She had wings on her feet like Mercury and the ground was just vanishing under them. She was flying.
Running like *this*… she could get to Daddy in no time.
He would fix it.
He could fix *anything*.
He’d make it all better and make it go away and all she had to do was keep running and running and running until she found him and she was almost outside and–
SLAM!
Sara was barely winded, but the shock of running into another person had floored her. Dazed, she stared up at Principal Kelly.
Who said exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time.
"What, exactly, are you doing out of class,” he demanded, “Mister Essel?"
This time, Sara’s anguished scream could be heard around the block. It was a scream born of eleven years of bitterness, betrayal, disapointment, despondancy, anger, frustration, fury, and a lot of pure, unadulterated, boiling hot *hate*.
+
Todd knew it instantly. "Shit! *Sara*!” He bolted from the room before anybody could even think of calling out to halt him.
The hall was filling with bodies, with babble, with people recording the event with their pxt phones. Todd got a glimpse of Kelly prone on the ground and tried to guess what he could from what he heard, filtered through the crowd.
“Sara!” bop “Louise!” bop “*Adrien*!” bop. “WHAT’S MY NAME?"
Kelly’s voice. "Th’s assault is uncall’d for, Ess'l…"
"Sara!” bop “Louise!” bop “*Adrien*!” bop. “WHAT’S MY NAME?"
Todd began squirming through people to get to her. _Ohshit, ohshit, ohshit, ohshit, ohshit, ohshit…_
Kelly mumbled something that sounded Essel-ish.
"Sara!” bop “Louise!” bop “*Adrien*!” bop. “WHAT’S MY NAME?"
”…wzt? Izzit Sara?“ said Kelly.
There was blood on the floor under Kelly’s head. Not enough for a skull fracture, but a sign of a very broken scalp. If Sara continued, she could very well break his head by sheer persistance.
Todd began squirming through people’s legs. _Don’t do it. Please don’t do it. Take a breath. Take a break. Run over their sheepish heads. *Anything*… just don’t kill the guy for bein’ a fuckin’ moron._
Sara threw him down with a final bop. "Damn. Fucking. *Straight*,” she said. She had foam on her lips, in the corners of her mouth. Her face… reminded him too damn much of her Mom in the middle of her rant-mode.
The only difference was the tears streaking her face.
“Unlike Essel,” someone said. Some people laughed.
Sara got up in a fraction of a second and laid the heckler out cold. “Sara Louise Adrien!” Sara shouted. “WEREN’T YOU FUCKING *LISTENING*?"
He almost made it to the clear area around her when some fuckwad stood on his hand. It was agony, but he managed to stifle the noise of pain. He’d endured broken bones in silence. He could endure this on Sara’s behalf.
She was panting, frothing, practically *steaming* with fury. Fists bunched. Coiled stance. Blood in her eye - though not literally, yet - and a constant snarl in her voice.
"Is there anybody *ELSE* who thinks I’m Adrian fucking Essel?"
"Are you fucking Essel?” said one who was not exactly observant.
Sara laid her out, too. “You want rumours, you little mindless babbling *SHEEP*? Let’s get ON with the rumours!” She wheeled on a cheerleader. “Trisha Evans, who’s had fifteen 'dates’ in fourteen days! If 'date’ means 'fucking some guy she just met *blind*’… But don’t blame her. Blame her divorced mom who’s trying to find love by tricking herself out to half the neighbourhood. That’s how her Mom got the Clap - and how Mom’s last boyfriend gave it to Trisha."
Trisha 'eep'ed and began weeping into a true friend’s shoulder. Several guys started subtly edging away from the pair of them.
Not one of them, alas, was the idiot standing on Todd’s hand.
"And how about Graydon 'Gaybasher’ Trent?” Sara demanded, singling him out. “Did anyone know he purchases frilly underwear? That he regularly browses gay and coloured porn? Frankly, I’m shocked that he has enough intelligence to know how to get online, but that’s hardly my point…"
"Fucking *faggot*.” Graydon lurched forwards, seizing her bra strap and snapping it in two.
Sara’s left breast popped out into the open, much to the shock of the crowd and the elation of the male pxt'ers.
_Oh *God*, no,_ thought Todd. _Red! Do something!_
_I’ve been trying for the past ten minutes. It’s like a cyclone in there!_
Sara, oddly enough, didn’t react with the crack-of-doom slap. “You’ve seen mine,” she said. “Let’s see yours.” Quicker than a viper, she tore his shirt to shreds, revealing lavender lingerie that was stretched to its snapping-point.
Hoots, cheers and whistles erupted from the crowd.
“JUDGE NOT!” Sara warned. “YOU’RE ALL SO DEEP IN YOUR OWN FILTH YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW YOU’RE DROWNING! Take little miss 'everyone’s business’ here,” she singled out a luckless Patricia. “She always knows who’s doing whom and why before the condom’s dry! Know why? She likes to *watch*! And that’s not all! SHE LIKES TO *FUCK* THE GUY *AFTERWARDS* AND THEN STICK HER TONGUE UP HIS *ANUS*!
Several men seized their own mouths or spat with retroactive disgust.
Their respective *girlfriends* began to look queasy.
+
It was true that Sara didn’t often swear. That did not mean that she didn’t know all the words. The following tirade has been bowdlerised according to Jerry Springer standards of decency. We apologise for the inconvenience and leave your imaginations to fill in the expansive gaps.
"YOU’RE ALL GUILTY! You’re *ALL* sick {beeep}s! The lot of you! You’re into {beeep} and {beeeeeeeeeep} and {beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep} or {beeeeeeeeep} with {beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep} in {beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep}… no matter *HOW* physically impossible it is! You all think that you can {beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep} and {beeeeep} with {beeeeeeeeeeeep} and {beeeep}, {beeeeeep}, {beeeeep} and {beeeeeeeeep} with a {beeeeeep} *donkey*! Well you can all {beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep}! The whole *lot* of you!"
It only took her a few seconds to catch her breath, but that lapse was enough. She lost the rythm and the tic’s got loose. All of them. At once.
+
Todd was the only one who moved forward when her legs went out from under her. He caught her head before it reached the cheap linoleum and cushioned it on his lap, trying to hold it steady. "HELP ME!” Todd screamed at the retreating sheep. “Someone *HELP* her!"
The X-geeks answered the call. Kurt landed on her flailing left arm, careful of her holowatch. Jean managed to snag her right arm. Scott got her right leg and, amazingly, Rogue got the left.
Evan jammed a wallet between her teeth. "I’ll call the mansion…” he felt his pockets. Swore. “Anyone got a nickel?"
"Of all the fucking fucktards…” Todd moaned.
“Here,” said Fred. “Hurry.” He was the one who knelt, reached over her flailing body, and covered her up as best he could. The torn cloth of her shirt refused to meet and slid open again and again.
Lance was frozen in the position he’d had in the crowd. It looked a lot like he was having some kind of nasty flashback. Tabby was nowhere to be seen. Pietro was standing there in shock.
At least he was in the 'now’, so Todd yelled at him, “Get the fucking nurse! See if she got a spare shirt!"
"Oh. Yeah. Right.” He staggered away, down the hall.
Fred had found a safety pin in his pockets and was pinning together some modesty-preserving shreds with shocking delicacy. He pricked himself quite a few times, but didn’t seem to care. At last, he snapped the pin shut and sighed with relief.
Now the idea came to him “Can’t the Prof do something?” Todd begged Jean. “He did it befo’, yo."
"That was a minor disruption,” Jean grunted. “This is a full-out cascade. She won’t stop until it’s released."
Behind the wallet, Sara was trying to curse. Or part of her was trying to curse. The part that had been repressed, boxed in, and otherwise restrained from doing anything was free, and it wasn’t letting go.
"C'mon, Sara. Come back to me… please?"
It took a subjective eternity, but she wound down. Her eyes rolled back to where they belonged and she moaned weakly.
"Yo’ goin’ be okay,” he promised. “’S gonna be awright."
Sara spat out the wallet. She’d bitten through the leather and some of the cards. ”…todd?“ her voice was small and raspy. ”…’d I really try t’ take m’ pants off?“
"Uh…"
"Yes,” said Jean. “You did. For what it’s worth, I managed to stop you."
Sara moaned into a set of pathetic, tired sobs.
Someone - Mrs Ogg, the school nurse - draped a shirt over Sara’s front. It was pink. The sort of thing abandoned in the Lost Property box because nobody wanted to admit to owning it. It had glittery writing on it that read, "100% Grrrrrrl!"
Sara, who could read upside-down, broke into gibbering tears. ”…'at’s th’ nic'st thing anyb'dy’s ev'r done f'r meeeeee…“
Mrs Ogg helped her put it on over the ruined matrix shirt, then turned to Todd. "I need to have a look at that hand."
He looked. It was swollen to hell and throbbing with his pulse because the bracer was now way too tight. "Aw shee-it…” he moaned. “Musta busted somepin’ again."
"We’ll take it from here,” said a newcomer. Logan.
God, he never thought he’d be glad to see *Logan*!
All the same… he latched firmly onto Sara. “Ain’t lettin’ her go. I’m goin’ wit’ her."
"Damn straight you are. Poindexter needs t’ fix that hand."
"It’s just broken again,” he dismissed. “Look after *Sara*, damn it!"
She’d curled up around his arm and was whimper-crying. Shaking.
Logan refused to untangle them and sort-of juggled them onto the gurney and wheeled them both out to the X-van.
That was the last thing Todd remembered for quite a while.
~
Mr Kian may have seemed wishy-washy, but that was only because he took pains to be non-threatening. He paid attention like a hawk and, unlike most teachers, knew Sara from several forced visits.
He’d also seen this girl, but only on the video that was doing the rounds at warp nine.
Oh, he knew *about* Janine. Half of Sara’s counselling sessions had involved psychologically picking the girl apart to try and work out how she ticked. This was just the first time he was actually *counselling* her.
”…an’ they’re thaying all these mean thingth about me an’ laughing at me an’ taking pictureth an’ tharing them around an’ it'th tho not *faaaaiiiirrr*…“
"So,” said Mr Kian. “Your version of 'fair’ allows *you* to repeatedly place a deceased *rat* in your friend’s locker… endangering her health and mental wellbeing, m'kay? But it doesn’t let your *friend* take far less harmful steps to prevent it?"
"Your twithting my wordth,” bawled Janine. “What I wath doing wath jutht a *joke*… people are thuppothed to *laugh*."
"At *Sara*, right?"
"Yeah?” she looked at him as if he were stupid.
“And you tell stories about Sara. Are they jokes, too?"
"Of *courthe* they are. They’re *funny*."
"Like, for example… the one about eating raw rats."
Janine froze.
"Or the one about her having *sex* with them? Or maybe the one about how she collects them… and enjoys they’re company?"
"You’re not being *FAIR*!"
"I’m being completely fair, Janine. At which point, m'kay… is it *funny* when it happens to -say- Sara… but *not* funny when it happens to you?"
"When *anything* happens to me!” Janine shrieked. “I already have enough thhit in my life, I don’t *need* any more!"
"Has it ever occurred to you that Sara might have problems, too?"
"Thith ithn’t *about* her! It'th about *ME*! *I* came into your offithe, you should be talking about *ME*!"
Mr Kian steepled his hands. "So tell me about you, Janine… What makes you feel *okay* about the things you do?"
"People *like* me when I have thomething on thomebody,” she sniffed. “They *lithen*. They pathth it on. *My* wordth… not anybody eltheth…. *mine*.” She wiped her face again. “They all wanna hear about the motht dithguthting thingth, and I gotta keep making it up an’ making it better or they’ll never lithen ever again an’ I’ll dithappear…"
"If these people are so disgusting,” said Kian. “Why is their opinion *worth* anything? Why do you *need* them?"
"Because they’re *popular*?” said Janine. “They’re all tho perfect an’ they have everythin’ goin’ for them… an’ if they like me enough… they might kinda pathth it on… to me."
"It sounds to *me* as if these people aren’t perfect at all, m'kay?” Kian steepled his fingers. “It sounds to *me* as if they’re using you. Making you ugly so they can be prettier by comparison. Turning you into the very worst person you can be in return for -what- three minute’s worth of attention? Two?"
"One an’ a half…"
"One and a half minutes’ of attention. Ninety seconds. You’d humilliate the *only* person who stands by you, who helps you, who spends more time with you than any of these people combined… for ninety *seconds*?"
"It'th more than I get at home,” snapped Janine.
_Aha._ “Middle child?"
"Of theven,” she sniffed. “If I wath the only girl, it wouldn’t be tho bad… Mom’d defend me… but I got an older thithter who'th thmarter an’ prettier… an’ a younger one who'th cuter… An’ four fucking brotherth who make my life hell. It'th not *fair*! Thara hath parentth all to herself."
"Janine… I’m going to play you something, and I’m trusting you to keep it within these four walls. You *can* keep a secret, can’t you?"
Janine thought about it. ”…'kay.“
He bought out his spare tape player and selected a casette, spinning forward until he found the right place.
”…about your Mother? You rarely talk about her,“ said Kian’s voice.
"Mom?” said Sara’s voice. She snorted. “I don’t need to talk about Mom, she talks for herself. All the darn time. In my *head*."
"What’s she saying now?"
And now, it was Mrs Adrien, but not the desperately-trying-to-be-polite Mrs Adrien… this was - frightening. "Now you’ve done it. Useless girl! He’ll put you in an *assylum*! They’ll drug you so much you won’t know whether it’s day or night, and you’d better believe that any *man* in there would rape you for the fun of it. Certainly not your *looks*… You haven’t won me anything *decent* since you were *five*! Why can’t you be like Jean *Grey*? Jean *Grey* wins some form of trophy every other *week*! Jean *Grey*–"
Kian stopped the tape. "Are you so jealous of her mother’s attention, now?"
Janine’s bottom lip was trembling. ”…no?“
"So tell me again,” Kian rewound the tape. “Is what you’ve done to Sara over the past two years *fair*?"
"But she–"
Kian interrupted her. "This isn’t about her, Janine. It’s about *you*. Are the things *you* have done *fair*?"
Janine broke down. "No it isn’t,” she bawled. “It was never fair but I just wanted people to like me an’ it was her or me an’ I didn’ want it t’ be me any mo-or-or-ore…."
Life was tough on the bottom rung of the social ladder. Kian let her have the box of tissues. "I think,” he said, “We had better have an afternoon session with your parents."
"Can’t tonight,” sniffled Janine. “Mom’s going to th’ gynocologist an’ Dad’s working late an’ I have to look after th’ little ones. M’ older brothers have *stuff*."
Kian settled for the next best thing for her. The attention she was surely missing. "Then we’ll have another session this afternoon. After school. We can discuss - more creative ways of getting yourself noticed."
"Okay,” Janine murmured.
+
It was warm. Something heavy and slightly damp was on his left hand. He couldn’t move all his fingers. He felt all floaty…
But something was missing.
Something he’d been holding… in his right hand?
It clenched into a fist. “Sara?"
"Shhh…” Ororo drifted into view. “She’s sleeping, now. Drifted off on the way here, remember?"
He was in a bed. In a tiny, tiny hospital. He could vaguely recall holding her and rubbing her back with his good hand. His right hand. He’d held on to her as she relaxed in his arms…
"She goin'a be okay?"
"The Professor says she needs a little rest before he can go in and help her sort herself out,” she said, voice pitched low and soothing. “*You*, however, are suffering from shock and a broken hand. You need to rest and keep warm and, when the painkillers wear off a little, we’ll take a walk to help you out of it, okay?"
Todd looked at his left hand. It was swathed in plaster and his middle two fingers were banded together with a metal splint. He had also been wrapped in some kind of knitted jacket made with ease of access in mind. It had daisies on it. Daisies like Sara’s helmet. "Someone stood on it,” he mumbled. “I’m thirsty."
"I thought you’d be,” she handed him a hot chocolate. With a marshmallow melting in the middle of it. “Do you want me to help you sit up?"
Felt too floaty to really move. "Sure thing, yo. Hey. Lance know where I’m at?"
"We’ll let him visit a little later."
The bed whirred and propped him up. The hot chocolate was sweet and almost scalding. Mmmm… nice… "What happen'a my bracers?"
"We had to take them off,” said Ororo. “Don’t worry. You’ll get them back."
Todd laughed. "Used t’ think they were good luck, yo. Never broke a bone when they was on. Silly."
"We’re all allowed to be silly,” she said.
~
Scott stared. He could guess why Lance was standing on the doorstep, but Fred? The behemoth mutant looked surprisingly timid and Lance… looked shocky. There was no sign of Maximoff or Tabby.
“Um,” said Fred. “Are they okay? Can we visit?"
"Todd got some mail,” said Lance, waving an envelope as proof. “He’s… gonna be okay, right?"
"He broke his hand,” Scott informed them. “Sara’s still out of it, and I’ll have to check if it’s okay for visitors."
Lance nodded, looking towards the ground by degrees.
"Okay,” said Fred. “Is there somewhere we can wait?"
Scott slumped. They just looked so… *pathetic*. "In the foyer."
+
Todd had walked off most of his shock in the sterile corridors surrounding the infirmary. Some of it had come back when he caught sight of Sara.
She was in a hospital gown, free of her holowatch, and mostly concealed under crisp linens. She looked paler than normal. Almost as if she were fading away.
Sara looked wrong, asleep. Or at least, asleep here. Lying straight on a bed, arms beside her and straight out… that wasn’t a natural sleeping position.
But her eyes were moving under her eyelids, and her fingers twitched, ever-so-slightly. She was dreaming.
Todd hoped it was the sleep that knits the ravell’d sleeve of care… not the sort that tore one up from the inside.
"Todd?” said Ororo. “You have some visitors."
He looked from her to Sara, torn.
"We’ll let you know when the Professor’s going to help her."
"I wanna be there,” said Todd. “I dunno much help I can be, but… I wanna be there.” He shed the daisy-pattern coat-thingy and managed a slow walk away from her.
Every step was like a wound. He shouldn’t be leaving her behind… but what else could he *do*? What choice did he have?
Lance was on another planet when Todd got there. White as a sheet and startled to see him up and around. “Is Sara…?"
"She’s asleep,” said Todd. “Everyone says it’s what she needs, yo."
Lance took several sighs of relief, as if he was learning to breathe again. "There was only one foster home that was good. Mama Liebowitz… She - fell. Like Sara did. The ambulance took her away and we never saw her again and–” Lance shook his head. “They always take people away."
"I came back,” offered Todd. “See? Just a broken hand."
"Does it hurt?” said Fred.
“Like fuckin’ hell, yo."
That broke the mood. Laughter was a balm against the funerial mood Lance had dragged in with him.
"Like we could get rid of you,” he snorted, punching him lightly in the arm. “Baldy sent you some mail,” he handed over the letter. “Beats me why he bothered, you’re always over here, anyway."
Todd held it in his right hand, and found that it hurt like fury to try and tear it with his left. And, conversely, he couldn’t quite hold it right in his left hand, either. ”…fuckit… Could you - ah…“
Lance took it back and levered it open, unfolding the pages.
He went stone white again. ”…holyfuckingshit…“
Todd took it gently from his hands.
It was his first paycheque, a cover letter, and an invoice for tax purposes.
Part of the invoice read, "Heavy machinery repairs - $20 000”. And Xavier had already removed the taxes he’d have to pay on such a large sum.
The letter explained that, although the repairs he performed were worth six *hundred* thousand, Todd was underage and hadn’t earned the professional qualifications in order to be fully paid for the work he did. Xavier regretted that this was the most he could legally pay him for his exemplary work.
There were other credits, like his cleaning chores, 'rigging’ - initialled by Sara - and a nebulous 'services rendered’ that was also initialled by Sara.
There’d obviously been some debate behind the scenes about how much his work was worth, since Sara’s initials had the sharp angles of someone who was slightly seething with anger at the time.
The obverse of the Professor’s letter had a note from Sara. “Remind me to help you join some unions.” She’d drawn a heart and the letter S.
Todd couldn’t help smiling at that.
The final figure was more money than he’d ever known. “Holy fuck on a stick,” he muttered.
Fred was next to inspect the paperwork. “Wow. That’s enough to fix the boarding house. Reenforce it, even."
And the Prof had handed it to them free and clear. He’d helped them out, but helped them *earn* it.
”…tricksy little x-geekses…“ he muttered. Todd felt ironically proud of himself for doing it, for being the guy on the spot at the right time. For being *able* to earn it. He’d done something right, and it felt great.
Jean tapped him on the shoulder.
"Anh?"
"The Professor says he’s ready to begin."
Todd forgot the cheque and bolted for the infirmary. Sara needed him.
~