Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6876493.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Stargate_Atlantis, Traders_(TV_1995)
  Relationship:
      Rodney_McKay/John_Sheppard, Rodney_McKay/Other(s), Grant_Jansky/Rodney
      McKay, Carson_Beckett/Rodney_McKay/John_Sheppard, Carson_Beckett/Rodney
      McKay
  Character:
      Rodney_McKay, Grant_Jansky, John_Sheppard, Carson_Beckett
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Young
      atlanteans_without_Atlantis, Sibling_Incest, Parent/Child_Incest,
      Aftermath_of_Torture, Captivity
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-02-16 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 92164
****** Twice Over ******
by perryvic, Zaganthi_(Caffiends)
Summary
     A middle-aged detective entered the room with two cups of coffee in
     his hands. "Hey, I'm Detective Jerry Davies, sorry to keep you
     waiting. Coffee?"
     "Please." He was 16, so apparently they weren't going to treat him
     like a child, but the waiting, the being taken away from Grant...
     "Here we go." He pushed the mug over. "So. Meredith Rodney McKay. I
     see you didn't take the Williams surname. You've certainly thrown the
     department for a loop. Breaking and entering into your own home?"
     Rodney wrapped his fingers tightly around the mug, looking down at
     it. "I was just going in to get my brother out. I don't have a key to
     the house. They didn't expect me to come home for another two weeks."
Notes
     I have two co-authors who humor me when I want to write the same
     story twice; Another version of His_Brother's_Keeper.
***** Chapter 1 *****
He might as well have gotten out of the car and pushed the damn thing down the
road.
The Chevy Vega his stepfather had gotten him might as well have been a three-
wheeled tricycle, for all the speed he'd had on his too-long trip. It had a
rusty body, and the engine had overheated twice, but in a way that he could
pull off the road and pop the engine and pray that it didn't turn into a full-
on fire. It had put him behind his travel plan -- he'd hoped to be there at
midnight, but he'd coasted up the street at about 4 am, strung out and tired
and still full of go go go, because he was going to Bring Grant Home.
He was going to get home, get out, get safe, and that was the whole reason he
was out there with his fresh driver's license, and his classes just barely
finished and a whole summer to get Grant on track and well, and then they could
start together in the Fall, and everything would be all right.
Everything would be all right and he kept that in his head as a mantra while he
snuck around to the side of the house to pry up a window.
His mother couldn't know he was sneaking back, and it was going to be fine even
if she had changed the code on the secret room. He could crack that if he had
to, but he was betting on her being lazy and assuming that because he was meant
to be at least six hours away she wouldn't need to change it.
Nerves made him a bit clumsy, but he'd remembered a crowbar and he jimmied the
window open and slipped in.
It wasn't easy, but it was. With all of the frustrations and his nerves and his
fears and the warning jangle in the back of his head when he pulled himself
into the house, it was still... Okay. It was still all okay. Mother and his
stepfather and Jeannie were safe in their beds, unaware of him as he set his
feet down and carried the crow bar with him in case there were any other
unforeseen barriers. There was just the living room itself, the stairwell that
led upstairs, the front door, and off to the side, in the back of the room, the
narrow door that led downstairs.
He could've let himself in but he wanted it to be a break-in or breakout
because she'd assume that Grant got out alone and would waste time looking
here, while he was running back to college.
He padded downstairs with a silence that was innate. He knew every tell-tale in
the stairs, he knew how to creep down, had done for years.
Hah. Codes were the same.
That was lazy of her, that was all it was. Heinously lazy, but she thought he
was still down at Northwestern, still taking tests. Still sitting exams, when
he'd taken them all early as possible, ahead of schedule. She'd never guess.
Never.
He crept down the stairs slowly, hand on the banister as he invaded the too
familiar space. It was pitch black, but he knew where the lone light switch
was.
Door was shut behind him, light on and he was in his Mother's classified home
away from home and he made his way unerringly to the back corner, reaching for
the bolts, discretely hidden. It was really happening, he was really doing
this.
He was going to pull Grant out and they could get away from it all. They'd be
safe and Grant could have the opportunities that he'd had and it would all just
fit. The way it should have been from the start, all of it. He leaned into it
with his shoulders, the motion familiar before the 'door' gave under his touch,
quietly swinging out. It couldn't swing in, there just wasn't enough room for
that in the space where the two of them had lived.
Grant wasn't immediately visible, which meant he had curled into a fetal
position in one of his favored spots. Things must’ve been bad for him recently
because he was cocooning himself in every bit of blanket that he had.
He crept forwards, careful to not step on anything he could see in the faint
light that puddled into the room from the cellar's light itself. "Grant." There
was a curl of blankets in the corner, and that was Grant, had to be. "*Grant*."
He reached for it, ready to pull at blankets, shake Grant, and haul him up.
There was a twitch and then what could only be described as a flail, which was
actually a good sign. Grant sometimes went unresponsive. But the fact he was
whimpering a little, that meant he wasn't as bad as all that, if he stopped
panicking. So Rodney leaned in close, because he knew that closeness was key,
closeness could be comfort and weapon rolled into one. He pressed in, fingers
digging under the covers, looking for Grant's shoulders. "Grant. It's me. It's
me."
"R... Rodney?" There it was, the sudden clinging impact of his brother latching
on to him. "No, no… you're not here now. Meant to be out, away. "
"Shhh. We're leaving. I'm here for you." Just for Grant, because Grant was
worth travelling that far, Grant was worth driving that piece of shit car
*that* far, just to rescue him. "C'mon."
"Leaving? No, no...no Rodney," Grant mumbled. "Can't. Here. Meant to be here.
Have to be here. It's wrong."
He pulled Grant closer, fingers feeling at Grant's ribs, sliding over thin
fabric, pushing the blankets away. "No, no, this is wrong, this is all wrong,
you shouldn't be here, neither of us. We're leaving now."
He felt Grant flinch a little but he moved a little, getting up when he
prompted. "Where are we going? There's, there's... I'm hungry. Things are
hungry and dark here."
"We'll get you food. We're going to where I've been, we're going *out* of
here." He felt shaky, too-thin, and the smell down there was horrifying, but it
was like coming home, like what other people called nostalgia, and that made
Rodney's stomach twist in his body. "That's it, stand up with me, Grant, I
promise this is good."
"Milkshake? And chocolate. I like chocolate." Grant held on to him, looking
directly at him in one of the rare moments he made eye contact with anyone,
before looking away. He was getting up and moving and Rodney was pretty sure
the slowness was to do with weakness now, rather than reluctance.
Rodney reached his left hand out, stroking at Grant's hair. "I know. I know,
we'll get chocolate milkshakes, okay? I'll take you to get chocolate
milkshakes, I'm so sorry, I should've come for you sooner. We need to go now,
okay?" He could keep hands on Grant, keep him moving.
"Okay," and Grant was sidling along, blinking out into the light and he looked
worse than he'd seen him for a long time. He'd never realized how much the
extras he'd managed to sneak had been keeping his brother alive.
"Okay, good. We'll go get something to eat and everything's going to be better
now, I promise..." He held Grant close, a hand sliding along his side, and
there was some kind of cut there, it felt? A warp of skin beneath his t-shirt,
and Rodney didn't have the opportunity to see what his hand was touching when
he heard the whoop whoop of sirens outside.
Fuck.
"There's noise, loud and... and Rodney, this is not good. No, no, not good at
all. You should go. Mom will find you, and then I'll never see you again, and I
won't have anyone to bring milkshakes or, or... chocolate, or...light," Grant
said in his rapid fire way. "And I wanted to tell you about the new idea, and
hear about your new things, and there are sirens, yes."
"We're still leaving." Grant felt like he was stopping, but Rodney started
forwards, and he heard footsteps above them, on the first floor of the house,
and a door sound, something being hit, he wasn't sure, and the urge to cower
back himself was high. But he pulled at Grant instead.
They were moving but not fast enough; he didn't have time to let Grant clutch
at the one or two things that he could be said to actually own. His brother
wasn't walking right and stumbling, but he was moving with him. They wouldn't
be thinking someone breaking and entering would be going to the basement....
Unless his mother told them that was where her classified work was stored.
Shit!
He started up the stairs, trying to get to the window before they got any sense
out of her.
He'd gotten his feet on the second step when the door at the top of the steps
swung open, the new light source blinding him.
"Put your hands up in the air! Put your *hands* up in the air!"
"I didn't break in! We just want to get out of here!" He didn't move yet,
couldn't let go of Grant.
Grant looked panicked and one hand shot in the air even as he threw himself
across Rodney, either in a strange way of protecting him or seeking comfort.
"You were seen breaking in through a downstairs window, so hands in the air!"
"Wait..." A new unfamiliar man's voice spoke. "Look at him, Mark. What the
hell, there's blood all over that shirt. Old blood. That didn't happen in the
last ten minutes. What's going on here?"
It wasn't supposed to go that way. It wasn't supposed to *happen* that way, and
Rodney wrapped his right arm tight around Grant and put his left in the air,
even though he was behind Grant now. It was funny what made Grant move fast
sometimes. "I, I broke in. I pried up the side window, and I crawled through
it, because this is my brother, and she's kept him down here, and I just came
home from college to get him out. I go to Northwestern in the United States.
I'm a good student. I, I just came home to get my brother out."
"Mark, C'mon, something's not right here," the other man said to the cop with
the gun trained on them. "I think we've got more than breaking and entering
here."
"I'm not taking any chances. Get some cuffs on them, Jeff, then we'll take a
look around." He held the gun on them even as the other cop took his handcuffs
and approached them to put cuffs on them both. Grant panicked the moment that
"Jeff" touched him.
"Don't touch, no touching, Rodney, my, my space! In my space!"
And what was he supposed to do, do what the cops told him, or put his hands
behind his back like 'Jeff' was trying to do for Grant. "No, this is Veronica
and Jeff Williams' house, and their daughter Jeannie lives here, and I'm Rodney
McKay and this is Grant, Jeff is m-mom's second husband, she buried our father
in the corner there, in the cement, *please* don't cuff Grant."
As it turned out, Grant solved the problem by collapsing on the floor and
curling up, which Rodney knew meant he must have been feeling bad, because
normally he would've run to a corner before huddling. The cop was left standing
there, not sure what to do. "Okay, kid. You saying there's been a murder here?"
The other cop was on the radio calling for back up. They'd come out on a
straightforward breaking and entering and now it was escalating into homicide
and Rodney knew it had to be obvious that they'd been abusing Grant. "What's
your name, kid?"
"Rodney McKay. Meredith Rodney McKay." He stayed still, torn between trying to
kneel down and get Grant to uncurl, and standing very still because the police
were *looking* at him. And then he heard Jeff upstairs, and his mother's voice,
the what's going on questions, the...
"That's a classified area! I keep government materials down there, all of you
get out!" Except, there was nothing classified. Old boxes, a worktable, and his
and Grant's room. The pot in the corner that passed for a toilet, the pitcher
of drinking water Grant got.
"Ronnie? Veronica, what's... look, they've caught the burglars, I told you I
was right to call," Jeff said as he headed down the stairs and paused. "Rodney?
But, what are you doing here?"
His father looked like a deer in headlights. "Who the hell is that?"
"Grant. It's *Grant*, you stupid fucking bastard, either you're lying or you're
*that* stupid, you had to have known, we *lived* down here, you, you..." He
started up the stairs, and the policeman grabbed his arm, and slapped the cuffs
on him, and it was all wrong, all of it. It wasn't supposed to go like that, he
was supposed to have gotten Grant into his shitty car and they could’ve been on
the *road*.
It wasn't suppose to end up with him being hustled out of the house, bright
lights shining in his eyes and a cop pushing his head down to get in the car.
It wasn't supposed to end with Grant being carried out by paramedics, or busy
clusters of detectives descending on the house to the accompaniment of the
shrill rising tones of his mother's voice, audible even from where he was sat
waiting in the car.
They were meant to have a life, finally. A life away from the lie that was his
family where Grant would be fine because she wasn't doing things to him any
more because he was smart. Smarter in some ways than he was because otherwise
would he be here in the police car with his rights being read to him, but his
brother was damaged. It wasn't his fault, but that would fix itself. Grant
could be at college and they'd be all the family they needed.
 
The holding cell was clean and white and cement brick, painted over, bright and
bright and bright and his head hurt and he was tired and the handcuffs were off
but he was in a new cell all on his own, and that was why he'd come there, to
get Grant *out*, but they thought he, what, wanted to steal things? There
wasn't anything in that house that was worth shit, except Grant and Jeannie,
and the piano in the living room. And Jeannie was fine, safe, *safe*, and he
wasn't, Grant wasn't, and he'd gotten Grant out, except where was Grant now?
A middle-aged detective entered the room with two cups of coffee in his hands.
"Hey, I'm Detective Jerry Davies, sorry to keep you waiting. Coffee?"
"Please." He was 16, so apparently they weren't going to treat him like a
child, but the waiting, the being taken away from Grant...
"Here we go." He pushed the mug over. "So. Meredith Rodney McKay. I see you
didn't take the Williams surname. You've certainly thrown the department for a
loop. Breaking and entering into your own home?"
Rodney wrapped his fingers tightly around the mug, looking down at it. "I was
just going in to get my brother out. I don't have a key to the house. They
didn't expect me to come home for another two weeks."
"Perfect time for some breaking and entering," Jerry said pleasantly. "So, tell
me about your brother?"
"We're twins. Identical, but, I don't think she... she's been feeding him while
I was at college. Our mother keeps him in the basement. She kept me there with
him until I was seven or eight, I..." He wasn't going to look at the man,
wasn't going to give him that much. He was just going to keep his eyes on the
coffee, and then try taking a sip. "Got really sick, I have a food allergy to
citrus and some of the food she gave us had it, and Grant's not allergic, so
after she took me to the hospital, it, Jeff saw me, and suddenly I was allowed
to live upstairs and he still wasn't. There's a combination lock at the top of
the cellar door, and then a second room in the back, and that was our room."
"Mm, yes, we discovered that room." Detective Davies leaned back. "You're
telling me that the two of you lived in that room and no one knew?"
Rodney leaned back a little, and took another sip of the coffee. "Yeah. I...
that's what I'm telling you."
"So, any reason why, after you were 'let out' that you didn't say anything
before? To anyone?"
That question. He'd thought about it before, and rolled it around in his mind
for a moment before he shrugged tightly. "She buried our father in the cellar
with us. I, I played with blocks in the first room of the cellar while she
poured cement over him, and Grant still talks about the doll under the floor,
and I never told him, it..." He waved a hand, and then wrapped it around the
cup again because his fingers were shaking. "I'm sixteen and I'm going to
*university* in the states. Free ride, paid in full, and our birthday was last
month, and I'm still scared of her."
"Why did she keep you both in the room?" the detective asked."What happened all
that time?"
"We were bad. We were loud. We were just like our father." He rolled his
shoulders again, and twisted the mug between his hands. "A lot of the time, she
left us alone. Me and Grant. We had toys and books and she fed us roughly when
we needed it, and we had each other. Sometimes she hit us. A lot of... little
injuries. When we, after I went upstairs, she gave me the pass code downstairs
and taking care of Grant was my responsibility. And if I was bad, I couldn't,
he didn't get food or company or homework to work on with me, and then I had to
earn it, with her. I had to, sometimes we both had to." He could feel his face
turning red, his stomach twisting, and he was being vague because he didn't
want to dwell on it. "When can I see Grant? He's not used to other people. I
want to see Grant."
"Are you saying your mother abused you physically...and in other ways?" Jerry
asked leaning forward. "The both of you?"
What the hell. The *look* he was giving him was that he was lying, or
something, and Rodney didn't know why he'd lie about that, but he wasn't. "Yes.
And I wasn't breaking and entering -- I was trying to get my brother out, and I
was going to take him to school with me and everything would just... stop.
We'll be okay, I just want to get him away from her."
"Interesting. Your mother claims to not have a clue what you are talking about.
She claims that your father disappeared with you both when you were young and
dumped you on the doorstep when you were ill. She said she suspected you to be
delusional." The detective looked at him. "She believes it more likely that you
found your brother being abused by his father and brought him back here."
Rodney rubbed at his face. "He's never been to *school*. I only went once she
let me out. No, this is crazy, you can check the cellar, she buried our father
in the cement, he's been dead since we were two or three."
"Oh, believe me, we're checking all aspects of your story," Jerry said with a
smile. "How old are you, Rodney? Or is it Meredith? "
"I go by Rodney. I'm not a girl. And Grant's is Grant, except his first name is
Beverly. But, he's Grant." Rodney sat back in the chair again. "I turned 16 on
April 18th."
"So you're in college already? And you were going to look after your brother?
How were you going to do that?" Jerry asked.
"I have a scholarship." Rodney took another sip of coffee already. "He could
stay in the dorms with me, and we've split food before, and I have a car. It's
the Chevy Vega parked outside of the house."
"It's being looked at, at the moment." The detective exhaled. "Look, Rodney,
all of this is being checked out by forensics. A little bit longer and we'll
know who's telling the truth. Personally, I'm inclined to believe you, Rodney."
"I just want to get my brother away from her. He should have had the
opportunities I did. He's brilliant." He finally had to look at the detective,
because the tabletop was boring. "Is he okay? I felt something weird on his
side when we were walking."
"He’s at the hospital. He shows evidence of physical abuse Rodney. Not all
recent. I don't know all the details, but I believe he had an abscess on his
side." The detective finished his coffee. "He hasn't spoken to anyone or
answered any questions since he was admitted."
"Can I see him? He'll talk to me." Abscess. That, that was neglect, and why
should she take *him* to the hospital but not Grant?
"When I get the word from our CSI's," Jerry answered. "The doctors have
requested your presence as well."
Grant would be terrified. He was hurt, and alone and he wasn't used to people.
"So when they say, I can go see him?" He was most of the way through the cup of
coffee, but he needed more. "I drove here, straight from North Western, and my
car broke down a couple of times on the way up and I haven't slept since
yesterday."
"Okay, we'll get you sorted out. Tell you what, I'll spring for something to
eat for you. Burger?" Jerry offered magnanimously. "You might have to sleep in
a cell."
"The way things have been going for me, I'm not surprised. Yeah, I'd appreciate
something to eat. I was promising Grant chocolate milkshakes earlier, but they
probably don't allow that at the hospital."
"We'll see what we can do about that, as well."
The part of Rodney’s mind that constantly analyzed things was reporting in that
they had to be pretty sure he wasn't to blame, otherwise he wouldn't be getting
this sort of consideration.
Food, and okay, sleeping in a cell, sure, but it wasn't like they had roll out
beds for visitors there and they probably had rules about letting people sleep
in the waiting room. "Grant'd like that. He has a sweet tooth."
"You know... if your story bears out, you're going to have to be put into
care?"
"I'm going to college," Rodney pointed out. "Just finished my freshman year."
"But you're 16, the both of you," Jerry replied. "There's two years yet. You
would be placed with a family for that time, college or not."
He'd finished the coffee but he wasn't going to surrender the mug yet. "And we
won't have to see our mother anymore? Or Jeff? I just, he gave me my car, but
he never *noticed*, so, I... prefer to not see him."
"If your accusations prove to have a basis, then you will be required to not
see your mother," Jerry replied. "Look, there are people who know more about
this than I do, but I've gotta say, it's not easy to place two kids together."
It was slowly getting worse and worse, Rodney decided. "He's my *twin*. We
can't, I came *back* for him, I don't want to be separated again."
"Well, we'll work on that too," Davies said. "Okay, let's find you somewhere to
sleep tonight, and hopefully later we'll go see your brother okay?"
Rodney stood up slowly, steadying himself on the table. He had to, just had to
be with Grant again, or it was a waste for both of them because Grant *needed*
him and he needed Grant, and if they thought that he and Grant were going to go
to two separate homes, the police clearly hadn't heard of the term 'running
away'.
But maybe it wasn't going to come to that.
 
It was bright here and too many people with strange smells. People were
touching him and he didn't like that, no, it was wrong so he'd screamed and
refused to uncurl until there had been a small sharp pain.
Then he'd woken up and he smelled different and there were different clothes
that felt strange and sheets that weren't his blanket and strange monitors
beeping and he was sleepy still.
He felt drifty and sleepy and weird, it was all weird in there, weird enough to
make him stay quiet, except when people touched him and they weren't supposed
to. He'd never had other people in his *space*, and he didn't want them there,
and they kept trying and he figured that that was why he was sleepy now.
He knew he was sleepy because the numbers and patterns in his head were all
dancing slow and strange rather than the flickering speed he was used to. He
was focused on the weave of the thread in the pillowcase next to his eyes.
There was someone else in the room and they still weren't Rodney.
He knew Rodney, by smell, by sound. He knew how Rodney moved, what he sounded
like when he breathed, and that wasn't Rodney.
"How are you feeling, Grant?"
Oh, oh, it was the strange sounding man. Didn't sound like the others here, or
Rodney. The voice was soft and had no hard edges. He didn't like hard edges. He
risked a glance up at the man. Blue eyes. Darker than Rodney's. But blue was
nice. Something tugged at his side as he shifted and he whimpered a little.
"I know you have to be in pain, Grant." His voice went up and down up and down,
soft noises that he did like the sound of. "Do you want to tell me how you were
hurt?"
"No," he said because he didn't. He curled a little more, tucking the covers in
around him. He wanted Rodney. Rodney would hold him and make it better because
he hadn't forgotten him no matter what mom had said.
She'd said he hated Grant, and that he was never coming back, and that was a
lie, a horrible horrible lie, because Rodney always came back for him. And he
had, he'd come one more time and... he'd come again. The numbers said so.
"If you tell me how you were hurt, I think I can get the police to bring your
brother in."
"Rodney?" He hadn't wanted to react but he was promising to bring Rodney. He
looked at the new man. "I, I, not allowed to tell. She won't let him see me."
"She doesn't have any say in what happens to you anymore. If you can tell me
how it happened, I can tell the police, and the police will let your brother
see you." He shifted, just a little closer, smiling at Grant. "I'm Doctor
Beckett. Lachlan Beckett."
"Lachlan is, is a strange name," Grant said and it was something unusual enough
to stop his thoughts circling. "I want Rodney. You're close to me. Nearly too
close, but not quite... Mom did it. "
"Lachlan's Scottish. I'm from the other side of the ocean," the man said, and
he was smiling. "I'll be back in a few moments, Grant. All right?"
The other side of the ocean. That was a long way. No one had told him how far
because he would remember the numbers like he always did. Maybe he was gone now
and it would be quiet, but the machine was beeping.
He didn't like the machine at first, but it seemed to sound like him. When he'd
fought the people earlier, it had made wild noises, screamed and beep beep
beeped frantically and Grant liked the machine now. Just because it seemed to
know that he had a problem with things. With touching.
He heard the door, heard the chair again. "Grant, can you tell me what your
mother used on your side?"
Dark and something glowing. "Hot thing. My brother says burns are bad ." They
left behind crinkly skin and would go all oozy and horrible. "Hot and pointed.
Solder."
"Solder. Do your mother solder around you a lot?" There was something that he
could hear in the man's voice, but it didn't make sense. It sounded like when
Rodney was going to make promises. "Does she hurt you a lot? You have a lot of
scars."
"I don't like the question," Grant said backing away as far as he could in the
bed. "I don't like it. I, I... I'm bad a lot."
That would answer the question.
"You're not bad." He sounded very firm about that, but he still didn't touch
Grant, which was good. "I know you don't believe it now, but you're not bad.
Get a little rest, Grant. Your brother will be here soon."
He drew his knees up, and would've rocked a little if he'd been able to, but it
hurt and he was still sleepy and the man with the soft voice who was Scottish
had left him alone again with the beep, beep, beep of the monitor.
The beep beep beep went on until he was beeping along with it, trying to get it
to beep differently, holding his breath, anything to get it to beep
differently.
That was when the door opened again, and he heard Rodney trip into the room.
"Grant!"
He stuttered on his last beep and pushed himself up, trying to get out of the
bed to get to Rodney, but there were sheets and lines and needle things and he
tangled himself up because his brain wasn't working right. "R... Rodney! My, my
clothes went. You went."
"I went," Rodney agreed, and Rodney was right there, moving to hug him, and
he'd missed that, not weird people's hands on him. "The police took me, and now
they brought me back."
Hugging was good. Hugging made things better and Rodney smelled a little
different as well and he breathed in deeply. "I was scared you weren't coming.
She said you were never coming back."
"She lied." Rodney's fingers slid over his back, over and over, then up to his
hair. "I'm back. I'm back and I'm not going to let them keep me away, okay?"
"Okay." Okay, okay, okay. He smiled a little. "Are we leaving? Can I have a
milkshake?"
"We're not leaving yet. But up, the officer here wants to talk to you, and he
did bring a milkshake and some other stuff." Rodney was pulling away, looking
for a chair, and that was good.
"Don't like talking," Grant grumbled as he pulled his knees up. But a milkshake
was great. "Milkshake!"
"Milkshake!" the officer agreed, and Rodney was smiling as the other man
presented Grant a big paper cup with a straw sticking out of it. "I'm Detective
Davies. Your brother said you liked chocolate."
"I'm right, too," Rodney said from his chair, pulling it closer to the bed,
until plastic edge was right against Grant's bed and Rodney crouched there.
"Rodney is always right," Grant said. "Except about application of imaginary
numbers. More dimensions and they work." He took the milkshake warily and
sucked at it. The taste was maybe the third best thing he had tasted after the
chocolate Rodney had gotten him 157 days ago and the sweet he had had 4378 days
ago. That had been the best taste ever.
He wanted another of those, but Rodney wouldn't remember what it was, and that
had been 4282 after he'd had the sweet, and Grant wasn't going to hold out much
hope for it. But it was an exceedingly good milkshake. Rodney reached out, just
put a hand on his lower leg, and seemed to relax.
"Grant, your brother said you might answer a couple of questions for me."
He flicked a glance at the man and looked down though he could see everything
about him in his memory. The mole on his hairline, the thinness of his lips,
his eyes brown with a flick of black on the right iris. The number of his
badge, which was a nice prime number so that meant he was a good guy. "Oh. Okay
Mr. Prime."
Rodney looked at his badge too, and then seemed to relax, so he'd seen it too
and sometimes Grant really wondered about his brother's observational skills to
have not seen that already. "Okay, good. I need to know what happened tonight,
as you saw it."
He looked at Rodney and then picked at the sheet. "I...I was trying to sleep
but I hurt. So I was playing the seconds game to go to sleep. And… and it was
dark, then there was light and Rodney was there. Mom had told me Rodney was
never coming back for me but Rodney had promised. Rodney said we could leave
and I'd have a milkshake and chocolate and be together and I was sc... scared.
I'm not meant to come out."
Mr. Prime looked at him, nodding and frowning all at the same time. "Have you
been out before?"
"Sometime if I have been good, mom lets me play with equations for her in her
room," Grant rocked a little at that. "I… I like that. Numbers are...peaceful
and exciting and they make patterns on the paper."
"I meant out of the cellar," the man prompted.
He tilted his head at him. "No. Never been out. Too bad for that." He picked at
the sheet again, feeling the softness against his fingers.
"You're out now," the detective pointed out, rummaging into a paper bag. "I've
got this really huge burger here, you two want to split it while we talk? I ran
it past the doctor, and he said that in moderation, you should be okay."
Rodney sat up a little, and reached to take it from the detective. "It has
bacon."
"Bacon is good. I had bacon on, on July 15th, 1983. It was good." He looked at
Rodney. He had assumed it wasn't for him even though he had smelled it and was
hungry. Most things weren't for him. He waited for Rodney to give him his share
patiently and then ate it rapidly completely focused on the tastes and texture
of his part of the burger.
Rodney was slower eating, lingering, and then he fished out one of the bacon
pieces on the burger and held it out to Grant as an additional offering, and it
was so good. The burger had bacon and lettuce and mustard, no ketchup or mayo,
but something that tasted like onions in tiny crispy strings, and cheese,
cheddar, and the bun was softish.
"Grant, I want you to tell me just... a rough overview of how things happened,
from when you were little until now."
"That could take time. I remember everything, Mr. Prime," he said to the man
around a mouthful. "Rodney and I were alone for a long time together and, and
it was dark. There was a rat once. We thought it was a rat. I called it Rattie.
It might've been a mouse, but I called it Rattie. I liked him."
"It bit me," Rodney murmured against his burger bun.
"It's okay, kid. I have lots of time. This is going to be an official statement
to the police so we can pursue what to do next with a little more clarity."
"Rodney and I had a light and sometimes there were books and things. We taught
ourselves to read and, and... sometimes the light would go out and it would
take a long time for another bulb to work. Mom... put a, a big doll thing under
the floor but I don't think we were meant to play with it. Mom would come
sometimes and do things because we were wrong. She said it would put us right.
But later she said we were never right and it was because we should've been
like her."
Rodney was quiet, and it was funny that Rodney was letting Grant talk, but he
seemed to be enjoying his half of the burger and his own milkshake. It was all
very, very nice. "Go on. If you're comfortable doing so. What things did she
do?"
Not such nice questions. "Things." he said. "We didn't like them. Hurt things.
Rodney, don't like this." He looked pleadingly at his brother. He didn't like
the talking now.
"Just tell him what she did, Grant. Just once. Just once, and you won't ever
have to see her again and I promise she won't ever hurt you again," Rodney
promised, and he did, he kept his promises.
He had promised him a chocolate milkshake and he had a chocolate milkshake.
He'd promised to come back and he had. He'd brought him math so the darkness in
his room in the cellar became filled with the light of his own mind making
numbers dance. "She, she hit me for being bad and Rodney too. Sometimes I was
bad a lot. She says I am broken." His mind was his mind. He could see he wasn't
the same because people didn't see things that he saw, or know the same things
and that was broken. "She said I wasn't hers, if, if, I was broken and from
that man. She...would tell me to hold still and hold still while she..." His
hands flailed a little trying to make shapes of broken moments in his head and
he had a headache that was blinding. "Not always hurt but I didn’t like it. But
she did and if she was happy she would give us food."
The detective looked over at Rodney, and Rodney shook his head, and Grant knew
he was cutting the man off, telling him to stop, rewind, find a different
tactic or topic or anything, and that was good because Grant couldn't *say* any
more than that, didn't want to say what it was like, the view, the moment,
their mother that close, close enough to make him...
And he wasn't going to think about it. "Okay. I might have other questions
later, but right now, I'm going to see if I can find that social services
woman, see what we can do for the two of you."
He nodded and ducked his head waving good bye to Mr. Prime who had been as good
as his number and reaching out with his hand to just hold on to whatever bit of
Rodney was close to him. "Is she going to find us another cellar?" he asked
Rodney in a low whisper.
Rodney shook his head, and shifted closer, legs pulled up into the chair, and
if he wanted to sit on the bed, Grant didn't know why he wasn't up there
already. "Foster care, apparently. We're under-age. I'm not going to let them
place us separately."
"Okay." He hadn't liked being on his own in the cellar. With Rodney there was
always thinking about things, and the science journals mom threw in there to
think about. She didn't like it when they corrected them, but they did it
secretly and it was a tiny spark of rebellion. He curled there and Rodney
should've been curled with him and his eyes flicked around the room. He noticed
for the first time the box in the corner and pointed at it without looking at
it. "What's that?" he asked.
"TV." Rodney shifted, uncurling from the chair and then standing up. "Let's see
what's on." On? On, and Rodney was turning the box on, and it lit up to show
them people inside. It was a little fuzzy, but Rodney fussed with the wires at
the back, and stepped back and stepped in close again to fix it different until
the picture stayed when he stepped back, and the sound was up loud enough to
hear. "There. I think the police might make me stay in a cell again tonight, or
send me somewhere tonight, but I'll be back tomorrow."
Grant was mesmerized by the moving pictures. He'd read about TV but never seen
it. "I don't want you to go."
His eyes were focused on the screen though.
"I don't want to go, either." Rodney shifted, and then he was finally up
sitting beside Grant on the bed, and that was better. That was much better,
much easier to watch the screen because Rodney was right there beside him.
 
His mother was cleaning again.
It wasn't just cleaning, it was outright room rearrangement -- the last time
she'd done that, they'd had a seven year old boy whose mother had cut his hand
off living with them. He'd stayed for three years, and part of that last year
had been going back and forth with a couple who wanted to adopt him, and who
did adopt him. There were other children, ones who just stayed for a few weeks,
but Carson remembered William as sharp as day, and sometimes wondered what'd
happened to him. Last he'd known was that William's new family had moved out to
British Columbia. He hoped he was safe and well, and it was hard to be jealous
of the attention the foster children got, not when he was the youngest of seven
brothers and sisters to start with. Carson supposed he could consider himself
lucky he didn't have 6 more brothers and sisters who were younger than him.
But this was two rooms and she'd stripped them down -- which was a little
strange -- and he'd helped her re-build the stark spaces slowly into something
a little homier but not... still, not cluttered. He didn't get why. She'd put
books Collin had left at home in the one room, and now she was up in the attic,
scrounging for the toys Carson had had as a babe. Toy soldiers and the windup
steel-bodied horse his grandfather had given him, and blocks, which left Carson
stirring dinner on the stove while they waited for their father to come home.
With, Carson assumed, the newest fosters.
While she wasn't around he allowed himself a moment just to... well, not sulk,
but just be a little annoyed. He had exams to finish and he wanted to do well,
if he was going to college early and now he was going to be having to cope with
whatever attention these ones needed. His mum was used to dealing with the
difficult cases and often they came from the hospital or his dad heard about
them and suggested their family. On the other hand he wasn't competing with
Isobel and the twins anymore since they had left home and they didn't spend
their life trying to torment their baby brother.
He didn't even know how old these two were. They could be young. Maybe they
were young with the toys coming out. That wouldn't be too bad. He'd be the
older brother then, and he'd be an older brother like Allan, not Collin. Like
he'd been to William.
That had been just all right, all around. He could do that again, it was just
that the hard thing of it was wondering what had *happened* to them. Hospital
tended to mean injury, and for William it had been dealing with an injured
little boy from right at the start of the injury to the point where they gave
him a prosthetic, and Carson didn't suspect that there were many people in
their early teens that were competent and calm about things like that. His
father swore that he'd make a fantastic doctor one day.
As it was, he was doing a pretty decent job at stirring the soup.
Maybe they'd be girls. Maybe there would be someone as smart as he was because
he was finding it difficult finding close friends. Every year he seemed to have
less in common with his classmates, even skipping grades. He brothers and
sisters never let him get full of himself and he got on with a lot of people
but that wasn't the same as having a friend who understood more than football
and TV.
It was all about looking on the brighter side of things. If they were closer to
his own age, or even just smart younger kids, he could relate to them
differently. Not just differently, but *better*.
"Carson, have you seen the legos?"
"Jamie had them," Carson replied taking a spoon to taste the soup and see if it
needed seasoning. "He probably shoved it in the back room. I'm not sure what he
was doing with them."
Actually he did. It was something for his photography portfolio and he had
feeling that Jamie and Mairi probably weren't meant to be making soft porn
models with Lego. He just hoped they had broken it down before they put it
away.
Dinner was just potato soup and some bread, which Carson knew was his mother's
idea of food that couldn't possibly offend any newcomer. But it needed a little
more pepper, a little... something. Salt, maybe, just a bit. "Okay, I'll get it
out tomorrow, then." He heard his mother coming down the stairs, and she was
soon standing at the sink, washing her hands. "Your father'll be home any
minute now. He said the boys are identical twins, but the social worker had
placed the one at an overnight home and it was out at the other side of town."
"Twins? How old, mum?" Boys, that was good start, but twins? Dealing with twins
in his family was tough enough. They had each other, they didn't need anyone
else.
“Just a hair older than you. The detective says that they turned 16 back in
April." She dried her hands briskly, and started to cut the bread. "They're
those boys from the news the other night. That engineer they arrested."
"The kids in the basement thing?" Carson blinked a little. "Blo...wow, mum." He
had to remember not to swear in front of his mum. "But, if they are older than
me then why've you been getting out our old toys?"
He half-wanted her to give him the quick and easy explanation, but she was
checking the butter bell. "Because they've spent years in the basement, and I
need to gauge where they are developmentally. The one boy's just finished a
year of college, and we don't think the other's seen daylight."
"So, one of them's smart?" he asked, automatically getting out the soup bowls.
All members of the Beckett horde knew the drill. It was second nature now.
"I'm going to assume they're both smart. They've had deviant experiences, and
I'm sure with time, the other boy will excel." For all she knew the other boy
was a drooling mess, but she was always optimistic, and Carson wasn't going to
saw his mother's optimism off at the knees.
Not when he could hear the key in the front door.
"We're home!" his father called out and he straightened up a little to turn and
look at his new foster brothers.
"Just in time, Carson has nearly finished the soup," his mother said. "Come on
in."
They were bloody good looking -- blond hair, blue eyes, hair short at the sides
and thicker at the top, wide mouths, dimpled chins. The one who was standing up
straighter had a black eye, and the other one was holding tightly to the first
one's upper arm.
"Boys, this is my wife, Shona, and my youngest son, Carson. Carson and Shona, I
want you to meet Rodney and Grant."
"Hello Rodney, hello Grant," Carson said politely and smiling. "Good to have
you here." He was trying to work out which was which. "Um, which one of you is
Rodney and which is Grant?"
The boy with the black eye put his hand up. "I'm Rodney, this is my brother
Grant." Rodney seemed miserable, tense, and Grant seemed cowering and scared.
They were off to a good start, then.
"All right. Rodney, Grant, do you want to go upstairs and see your rooms first
or do you want dinner?"
"It doesn't matter."
"I can take them upstairs mum," Carson offered. Maybe the whole thing freaked
them out. "Show them the bathrooms and stuff?"
"Thank you, Carson." His mother looked genuinely grateful, and he guessed she
wanted to talk to his father. In private.
Rodney and Grant were moving closer together even while Rodney started walking
towards Carson. "Lead the way."
"Okay then, this way," Carson said. "It's a bit of an oddly shaped house, and a
wee bit twisty. Dad says it gives it character. Downstairs we've got the
kitchen, obviously as we've just walked through it, the living room, the dining
room. Dad's got a study now, though it used to be Allan's room, and we have a
spare room as well now. I've kinda taken that over a wee bit. Upstairs there,
mum and dad’s bedroom, the twin’s room, my room and what used to be Colin and
Isobel’s rooms. Those are going to be your rooms, next door to each other.
You'll like them hopefully. I'll show you the bathrooms." He led them up the
stairs. "What happened to your face Rodney?"
"One of the boys at the house I stayed at last night thought I was fair game."
He sounded not at all fair game to Carson, even though he was holding Grant's
hand now. "We get our own rooms?"
"Mum said so." He glanced at him. "You have anything put on that at the house?
Does it hurt?"
It looked like it did.
"Yeah. He got me right in the eye. Everything went blurry. About 6 am this
morning. Apparently that's what I get for kicking him." Rodney pulled Grant in
closer, while they started up the stairs.
"We've got some ointment and dad can take a look at it," he said and looked
over at the other boy. "How are you feeling, Grant?"
"It, it's been a busy day, a busy busy day, lots of people, too many people, I
just, I want to rest. Mr. Prime had more questions, I don't want, no more
questions."
Rodney squeezed Grant's hand, when they stopped in the hallway. "The doctor..
your dad, I guess, said the antibiotics he's on makes Grant feel sick. He's
never been on antibiotics before."
"Aye well, they can do that," Carson admitted. "But that goes away and so do
the infections. Don't worry Grant, I won't ask you questions if you don't want
me to. But you can ask me questions if you want and I'll do my best to answer."
He took a mental readjustment. Grant's mode of speaking reminded him a little
of Andrew who had stayed a couple of weeks, who had had autism. His mum had
taken pretty much everything out of the room then as well.
"Okay, the bathroom is here, with a shower and toilet and all. There another
downstairs, if this is full. Mum took a lot of things out of the rooms because
she didn't know what you liked so you know, you don't have to keep it like
that. You can add things too when you know what you want."
"Sure." There was distrust there, and Carson could almost understand that. He
still showed them the rooms, the one that was stripped down and the one that
was a little *less* stripped down. "We were told that sometime the police will
get Grant some of the things we had back in the house."
"Usually takes a little while," Carson replied with a nod. "I think mum was
probably working on Grant having this room, and you having the other. What do
you think?" Rodney was *really* good looking, and he wasn't exactly ready to
deal with possible realignments of his sexuality right now.
"Sure." Rodney didn't seem to have any interest in the room that was going to
be 'his' and instead he herded Grant into the room that was supposed to be
Grant's. His mother really had dug up a lot of things, but all he could readily
see in the room were crayons and paper and a pile of wooden blocks. "What do
you think, Grant?"
Grant let go of Rodney's hand briefly and immediately spotted the items.
"Paper! I can write my equations in different colors. I, I could do the non-
linear ones in...in green. Green is a growing color. And I could do primes in
blue. I like blue. I like primes. I have lots of different colors!"
He actually sounded animated and Carson began to revise the opinion of autism.
Not the same as Andrew but with something that made him reserved.
It finally made Rodney smile with one side of his mouth. "Just remember to stay
on the paper. Do you want to eat dinner downstairs with the, uh, Becketts?"
"There’s more food?" Grant looked up Rodney. "But I have had, half...half a
burger and a chocolate milkshake and it was yesterday."
Carson blinked a bit. It was obvious that Grant wasn't expecting anything else.
"We have mum's world famous potato soup and bread. It would be wonderful to
have you join us."
"You're supposed to have at least two a day," Rodney told him, and reached his
hand out for Grant. "C'mon, we can get more food and then come back here and
work on equations. We'll see what I can remember from my calc III exam."
"You both like math?" Carson asked. "I struggle a wee bit with that."
Well comparatively. He was ahead but he knew his strength was not so much in
pure math. His applied math where it related to chemistry and biology was
actually very good.
Grant took Rodney's hand again, giving a longing look to the paper as he did
so.
"I promise, we've got all the time in the world for that after food." Rodney
cut his eyes away from Grant and then back to Carson, finally, starting to lead
the other boy out of the room. "Well, we can help you with your homework.
When's your year end?"
"I have exams soon," Carson admitted. "I want to do well..." He shrugged a
little. Calc III. College, yeah, that made Rodney more than just smart. "You're
both geniuses aren't you?"
"Grant's just as smart as I am." Rodney lifted his chin, seemed to puff up with
pride, like he was daring Carson to say otherwise. "So, yes."
"Okay," Carson nodded. He managed not to sigh, but it was bloody well tempting.
Older *and* smarter. "That's cool. You'll have to talk to Dad about getting
books and things."
He wasn't even going to go there about himself. It would end up becoming a
pissing contest and he didn't need that right now. "Let's go get some soup."
"There isn't any citrus in it, is there?" Rodney was peering at him as they
started back down the stairs.
"In potato soup? No. You don't like citrus?" he asked as they headed back
downstairs.
"I'm deathly allergic. And no, it's not a fun joke -- I stop breathing, throat
swells up, everything." He waved his free hand in a flutter, still keeping
Grant close to his side.
"He ate a lemon biscuit we had as a treat and, and then that's when Mom took
him away from our room," Grant volunteered randomly.
"Well, there's none in the soup, I know that. I helped cook it, but you might
need to tell mum and Dad about that."
"Okay." But at least they seemed willing to talk to Carson, maybe more than
they were willing to talk to his parents, and that had happened before. His
parents weren't above using that to their advantage in taking care of a foster.
"Carson, boys, where you are. I was just about to go looking for you," his
mother declared when they entered the dining room.
"We got a little sidetracked when Grant found his room," Carson said.
"I like the crayons," Grant volunteered. "Rodney says I can use them after
dinner. Is it dinner now?"
"Yes, sweetheart, it's dinner time. Here, why don't you two sit here." Side by
side seats, across from where Carson sat, and his mother put big bowls of the
soup down in front of their chairs. "Help yourselves to the bread, there's
butter under the bell there."
Grant seemed fascinated by the bell and had great delight in exploring it,
smiling as he peeked inside. Carson watched as his mum patiently showed Grant
how to butter his bread, and Carson sneaked peeks at Rodney even as he waited
his turn.
Rodney seemed patient with Grant, watching him and Carson's mum, more than
anything else in the room, even as he fiddled with his spoon.
"How's your eye, Rodney?" His father pitched his voice gently when he asked
that.
"Good. Hurts, but. I defended myself." He finally took a sip of the soup.
"I said we had some ointment Dad," Carson said as he had his soup. "And Rodney
says he is allergic to citrus. Anaphylactic shock allergic. I didn't know if
you knew that."
His father grimaced a little. "We're still trying to get a hold of your medical
records, Rodney, so that's good to know. You might want to stay out of the
fridge until I've had a chance to go through and clean it out."
"I'm not, I won't..." Rodney slipped his spoon into the soup again. "Wouldn't
go into your fridge, but uh, thanks."
"Mom says we can go in the fridge whenever we want as long as we don't drink
from the milk carton," Carson said with a faint smile.
"It's more a case of fighting a losing battle against my family," his mum said
smiling. "I'd like to know what you like to eat as well at some point. Potato
soup is good for unsettled stomachs but not exactly something you would want to
live off of."
"Grant likes chocolate," Rodney offered. The butter bell was finally ceded, and
Rodney quickly buttered a little bread before passing it to Carson. "I'll eat
anything. We just... aren't picky."
"Well, we'll try a few Beckett family favorites out on you both and see what
you prefer," Carson's mother answered. "Are there any more allergies that we
should know about? Lachlan dear, we're going to need an epipen for Rodney, I
think I still have one in the medicine cabinet but it might not be in date."
"No, nothing else that I know about. Grant doesn't have any we've found yet."
Rodney ducked his head down, and seemed to be going to town on the soup, eating
a little too fast.
"Right, well, we'll get you an epipen just in case. Always good to have those
for emergencies," his father noted.
Carson guessed if he'd been locked in a cellar and abused and starved then he'd
be a bit weird about food as well.
"Well, tonight you can just get comfortable and settle in a bit," his mum said.
"I'm sure it's a bit overwhelming at the moment. If you want us for anything,
just call us at any time, we won't mind."
Carson just knew from the glance Rodney gave him that they wouldn’t go to his
parents first.
"You can take books from the study if you want," his dad said. "And Carson has
the second TV in the house in the room he's taken over. I'm designating that
the teenagers' den so we don't have to tear your mother away from her soaps."
"You have a TV?" Grant looked up from the piece of bread that he was clutching
up near his mouth like some ravenous squirrel.
"It was Collin's. It's pretty old, but." Carson shrugged. He liked to sit in
there and do his studying and watch TV and videos. "I've got some videos. We
have a VCR player too. "
"Oh, oh, I want to watch videos." Grant shifted in the seat, talking while he
stuffed the last of his piece of bread into his mouth. "I, I, Rodney, can we?"
Rodney gave Carson's parents a glance. "If they say we can."
"Sure you can," his mum said. "We only have a few basic rules here. Firstly,
bed by 11 at the outside unless there is a reason that you've discussed with
us. No one goes to bed on an argument here either, it gets talked out. If you
want something you ask first and if you need to do something or are feeling
upset, you talk to one of us first to see if we can help. The rest is all
negotiable. Your free time is yours to do what you want with."
Study, revise for exams. Carson chewed on his lip. He could study with the
noise in the background. "What sort've films do you like?"
"I, I don't know. We watched CBC, in the hospital, and there was an owl." Grant
slipped the spoon into the bowl, and awkwardly took a mouthful. "And a mouse,
and the, the owl was on a skateboard, and I liked it."
Rodney cleared his throat. "It's new to him," he said in that tone that implied
that test patterns would be fascinating for Grant.
"Well he'll probably like some of the films I've got then, and won't tell me
that I have rubbish taste," Carson said. "We'll pick something out after this.
Maybe make snacks to take with us?" He pitched that question at his mum
hopefully. He knew about the little and often eating routine for the
malnourished kids who came in.
His mother was nodding at him, smiling in a way that Carson was going to take
as praise.
"You said you, uh..." Rodney waved his spoon a little. "You're studying for
finals. I can help."
"I can do that and watch at the same time," Carson said. "Dad says being able
to tune out a distraction is a valuable skill."
"A wee bit of time out of the books won't harm, lovey," his mum said. "I told
you that."
Yes, she *said* that, but he also knew that he was expected to be just as much
of a success as the whole rest of his family, and there wasn't any room for him
to fail. Carson simply knew and understood that.
Rodney was quiet again, and Grant was humming into his soup.
"So, Rodney, Grant do you have much in the way of clothes or things you need?
We can go shopping tomorrow, or I can go shopping on your behalf if you don't
feel like it, to get some new things for you?" his mum asked.
They had some odd clothes around the place but Rodney was pretty tall. Tall
enough to maybe just about fit in his stuff, or even some of Jamie's things as
Jamie had been a bit of a beanpole. But then Jamie had paint and stuff over
most of the things he'd left behind so he could see an impromptu wardrobe raid
coming on so they would have something to be going on with.
"I..." Rodney shifted. "I have things in my dorm room. Back in the states. I
didn't think I was going to be staying in Canada."
"Well, we'll find something here. You look just a little taller than Carson
here so I'm sure we can find something good enough to get out and about in long
enough to buy you things for yourself," his dad put in and he finished off his
soup. "I know he's got a pair of jeans that are a little tall for him, haven't
you, Carson?"
He nodded. "They'd probably fit you like a glove," he said. "Or Grant."
"Grant needs them more." Rodney seemed finished with the soup with half a bowl
left. "Look, I have my passport and my papers and my car, still. Can I drive
back to Northwestern and get my stuff before the university does away with it,
or someone breaks in and steals my textbooks?"
"I'll go with you tomorrow," his dad said and Carson was a little disappointed.
His Dad had promised to go over a few things with him on his day off. The only
way he was going to get that was if he tagged along and he had a feeling Grant
wouldn't want to be left alone right now.
Rodney still looked reluctant. "It's only a couple of hours drive, and the Vega
can't have leaked that much oil since I drove up here."
"Rodney lad, you need one of us with you at the moment for your own safety
okay?" his dad replied. "Right now, until we have the all clear from the
police, we need to make sure that you're not in a position where you can be
found by your mother or stepfather or any other relatives."
"Right." There was a scheming look in his eyes, and god knew what the other boy
was thinking. Carson wasn't sure if he could even guess at it. "Okay."
He knew he was thinking something though so he'd try and talk to him when they
were watching the movie or something. Speaking of which, the bowls were empty
so he automatically got up and started clearing them away to the sink.
"Thank you, Carson," his father said over his shoulder to him. He could get
some snacks -- crackers, maybe some cheese and fruit -- and stuff it on a plate
to take upstairs with them.
He smiled a little and he'd let them choose the video while he sorted out the
snacks. "You want to go pick a movie now?" he asked Rodney and Grant.
"Sure. One of the rooms upstairs, right?" Rodney prompted, starting to stand
up.
"Yeah, next to the rooms I showed you. Do you wanna go on up? I'll grab a few
things," Carson promised,
"C'mon, Grant." Rodney was reaching for Grant's hand, and stopped briefly to
thank Carson's mother for the soup, and then the twins were gone.
 
It wasn't how he'd expected to do his Getting My Stuff Back routine, but making
night-time drives was getting to be a habit. Rodney was glad that he knew the
road, and that his car was actually complying with him.
"My parents are going to bloody kill me," Carson said from the passenger seat.
"Seriously Rodney, why couldn't you wait until morning?"
"Because I don't want to have to explain to anyone what's going on." Never mind
that some of them knew, or maybe knew. Rodney didn't know, wasn't sure, and he
didn't want to find out if they knew or didn't know what had happened to him.
His teachers supposedly had been told by the police.
"It wasn't your fault anything happened," Carson replied. "You did more than
most people would've done. Went back for your brother."
"He's my brother." Rodney shrugged his shoulders, eyes on the road, dropping
every once in a while to make sure the car was still keeping up to speed. "He
would have done the same for me."
"Yeah well," Carson yawned. "But Dad would've gone in for you if you didn't
want to see anyone. You sure this car is safe?"
"Safe enough. My step dad gave it to me for my 16th." And then he'd apparently
turned right around and driven back to Canada in it and set everything off.
"Well that was nice of him," the other teenager said. "I mean...a car. I don't
think I'll be getting a car for my 16th."
"It's a junker. And 14 years old." Rodney shifted his fingers on the steering
wheel. "I think he didn't want to be bothered with ever having to be involved
with getting me to and from school."
"You hate them don't you?" Carson asked after a pause. "The both of them?"
"Yes." There was no reason to lie, or try to soften it, because while his step-
father hadn't *done* anything to him, physically, his ignorance had been
unbelievable, and there'd been so many times where Rodney had done things in
the hope of being *noticed*, in the hope of having everything that was wrong
would just be noticed, acknowledged.
"Not going to try and kill them are you?" Carson asked. "We had one foster
who...tried that. Mum was really upset when they took him away."
"Death would be too easy. I want her to live in a small cement room for the
rest of her life." And prison was just like that, with the added effect of bars
on the door. "And Grant needs me. I wouldn't do that to him."
"You're very close," Carson said softly. "That's good. You think you're going
to stay with us?"
"I don't know. Do Grant and I get a choice in the matter, or...? It's not like
we're looking to be adopted. I want to get Grant up to speed. And then we can
go to university." And live their lives, and that was all Rodney really wanted
to do. He wanted to live his life. Their lives. Safe and together. "Do the kids
placed with your family move often?"
"Usually when they get adopted," Carson shrugged. "Otherwise most stay. Mum
gets the most amazing amount of cards and letters, even now, from kids who've
been with us. You get a say, I guess, though you'd be stupid to not stay. You
won't find a better parents than my mum and dad."
"Even if they aren't, I'll take the devil I know. I spent one night in that
other place, and I don't want to end up somewhere like that again." Sleeping on
the floor on a couple of blankets had been home-like in its familiarity, but
the boy who'd punched him in the face had tried pulling his boxers down, and
he'd kneed the bastard and then *he'd* had the nerve to act like Rodney had
attacked him and he'd punched Rodney in self defense. Carson didn't seem likely
to do that.
In fact he wasn't exactly sure what to make of the younger teenager. Grant was
wearing his clothes, they'd been given permission to use all of his things.
He'd studied and found time to answer Grant's questions about the movies and
he'd dragged himself out of bed to come with him even though he knew it would
get him in trouble because he was worried about him going alone.
"So, I uh. Think so. Grant's not used to change. One change is enough. And he
has his own room. And you're willing to cross the border with me in the middle
of the night, when you don't actually know me from a hole in the wall." He
gestured with his chin to the glove compartment. "Can you pull my passport out,
we're coming up to the crossing here."
Carson fished it out and handed it over even as they pulled to a halt. "Good,
I'm glad you're staying," he said, even as he had to show his passport.
Rodney passed through the routine questions with ease -- purpose, length of
stay, blah blah -- and the popping of his trunk, the man peeking around in his
'back seat' with a flashlight in hand. He wasn't going for nefarious purposes
and he wasn't nervous, so it went smoothly enough. "Do you parents have a lot
of fosters come through?"
"We've had a fair few," Carson replied. "My brothers and sisters are a fair bit
older than I am and once they started leaving home, well.." He shrugged a
little. "Some we've had for a few days, or a weeks before they are placed,
there's been a few who were around for years."
“Yeah, well. We're 16 and uh... Not exactly cuddly." And while Grant was wide-
eyed and hopeful, Rodney wasn't. Wide-eyed, at least. "What grade are you in
right now?"
"Grade 10, thereabouts," Carson said. "I'm a wee bit ahead." He shrugged. "Not
like you being at college already. "
"I'm a genius." Rodney glanced in his rearview, pleased that really, there was
hardly anything that could count as traffic. Best part about driving so early.
"Math, physics, any of the hard sciences. Grant is, too. What do you want to be
when you go to college?"
"I'm going to be a doctor, maybe do medical research," Carson said with
complete certainty. "Dad is one of the top specialists for trauma after care in
the country... but I think I'd like to try and find cures for things."
"Huh." It was more scientific than trauma after care, Rodney guessed. Sounded
like it was. Less 'try B if A fails to work' and more actually scientific
method. "You'll probably be good at it."
Carson snorted. "You don't even really know me Rodney. I might be crap. I
probably will be."
It got him to laugh. "Yeah, well. You're taking me at face value that I'm not
going to dump you in a ditch in the states, and I'll assume that you're smart."
"Oh I don't think you would do that," Carson said with apparent blind faith,
right up to the point where he smirked and said. "I've had six older brothers
and sister with a tendency to wrestle to decide arguments. I think I could take
you."
"Probably. Grant's just into hugging." Rodney checked his speed again, and
started to feel relaxed and calm about his driving. He knew the around-town of
school.
“Aye, well, I think mum is starting off a little as if he has autism or
aspergers," Carson said. "But I don't think he has. It's something else."
This from a fifteen year old, said with the authority of someone with
experience.
It got another snort out of Rodney, and he slowed down for the stoplight,
blinker the loudest sound in the car. The radio had died about an hour ago.
"He's not. He's just like me. Except I got out."
"Stuff still happened to you," Carson pointed out. "They'll want you to talk
about it. They always do."
Stuff happened. Rodney lifted his chin, and concentrated on the driving. "Good
for them. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it."
"Thought as much," Carson said and looked out of the window. He appeared to
make a decision. "Look, I'm not going to make you talk, not going to try. But
if you want to talk about stuff at some point, I'm pretty good at listening.
Call it an open offer. Otherwise you won't hear any more about it."
He drove for a while, just concentrating on where he was going, checking the
highway signs. "The police kept asking me to just give a quick summary of what
had happened. And it's just... not possible."
"Kinda difficult," Carson agreed. "I wouldn't know where to start. That's like
trying to ...explain what math is in a short summary."
"You can try, but you're going to miss a lot." Rodney wanted to miss all of it,
but he wasn't sure how he could convey to any of the 'adults' who were pursuing
him for answers what had been so wrong with his life until then.
"My advice? Pick a couple of examples of key points and stick to it. Earliest
memory. Something that gives an example of your's and Grant's relationship,
something about your mum, something about your dad," Carson said.
A, B, C, nice and cut and dry, Rodney supposed. "Grant’s my twin. I hated being
away from him. We... were we, us, for years. One entity, two bodies."
"Aye, Jamie and Mairi are like that. I guess it's more so with identical
twins," Carson commented. "Mum always said they cried, even as babies, if the
other was out of sight. They...don't need anyone else except each other." He
shrugged a little. "Although Isobel is closest to them."
"Close in age?" It left him wondering where Jeannie was, that she was hopefully
safe, too. She certainly wasn't driving to Northwest to pack up his dorm room.
"I, we have a half sister. Have you heard anything about how she is?"
"Age and ...everything," Carson glanced at him. "Rodney, I didn't even know
your names, ages, or even if you were male or female until you walked in the
door. Sorry, I don't know anything about your sister."
"Worth a shot. No-one seems interested in keeping us in the loop." Rodney
shrugged, making a lane change, slowing down a little.
"If I find out anything I'll tell you," Carson promised. "People tend not
notice when I'm hanging around."
"Thanks." Rodney let silence fall for a while, still concentrating on the road,
taking turns, guiding them towards the university now, coasting into the
parking lot for the dorm. "C'mon, I'll just throw everything I can into the
back."
Rodney could see how that happened, because Carson just followed his lead,
didn't talk back as they packed up. Mind you it was in the early hours of the
morning so maybe he wasn't talkative at night. It took a ridiculously short
period of time to pack up his belongings and they didn't even have to make more
than one trip to the car.
He'd stuffed his books into his book bag, his calculator, pens, notebooks, and
the seams were bulging, but the rest of his stuff had fit in the footlocker,
and a box he'd already had half-packed, and that was what. He didn't need to
take the bedding, or towels. They weren't important.
"I appreciate you doing this," Rodney murmured once they were back in the car.
He'd left a note on his door for the RA, just so they knew that he'd come back
for his own stuff. Not that they probably gave a fuck.
"It's okay," Carson said. "Dad's going to kill me though." He sounded a little
worried about that. "I probably should’ve told him.”
"Just blame me." It sounded logical enough to Rodney. "I mean it, just blame me
for it. I'm the one who wanted to sneak out to pick up my stuff. I appreciate
your father's offer to drive with me down here, but... I didn't want to leave
Grant alone."
"Believe me, you don't get to do that in our house," Carson said wryly. "You
have to take responsibility for your own actions."
"Then you followed me to make sure I was all right, and forgot to tell your
father. Look, I'm the master of badly thought out plans here. You keep poking
holes in them and I'll just keep coming up with new ones." Just as long as he
hadn't done anything that would get him and Grant moved to another house.
"Uh... I left a note?" Carson said sheepishly. "Just a brief one!"
"Where did you leave it?" There was on the kitchen table, or on someone's head,
and they were vastly different places to stick notes.
"In the kitchen. I didn't have time to scribble much," Carson said. "Otherwise
mum would kill me as well."
"So much for getting away with it and hoping that I could just explain that my
stuff magically appeared in the night," Rodney sighed. It wasn't that bad. Fear
of being caught out didn't rate very high for him, but maybe it did for Carson.
"Grant'll be happy. I took some of his things with me to college, and they're
in the footlocker. I didn't want mother destroying them while I was gone."
"Look, trust me, in terms of damage control, a note goes a long way," Carson
said. "I'm glad we got things for Grant."
"He'll be happy." There was Kitty, the stuffed toy that they'd had when they
were tiny, that Grant had given him as a good luck talisman when he'd gone to
school. And there were other things, bits of treasure that didn't seem like
much except... they were.
"Good." Carson nodded a little. "Doesn't feel right that you have nothing."
"There's stuff at the house, but..." There were bad memories associated with
it. Coming home over the Christmas holiday had been bad enough -- nothing said
fun holiday times like orange zest in the eggnog, or gifts that his mother made
him 'earn' whether he wanted to or not. "I don't want it."
Carson seemed to understand that. "You can get new things. Look, sometimes
people get a bit weird about foster carers. Mum and Dad are really trying to
help you guys. And they'll do everything they can. We've had some kids who
thought they were trying to trick them or something."
"I don't know what to think yet. Your father was nice to Grant in the hospital.
But Grant and I have fended for ourselves for a long time. Maybe we're doing it
wrong. I don't know." Grant was his responsibility, before everything else, and
he already had the beginnings of a new plan unfolding in his mind.
"No one is going to take Grant away from you," Carson said. "But, look the
point is, you've got us to go to bat for you now, okay?"
"Okay." He didn't really believe him, but Carson seemed so adamant. "Hey, if
you want to go to sleep for a while, I can wake you up when we get there."
"I might just do that," Carson said sounding grateful for that at least. "If
you don't mind."
"Don't mind it at all. I don't need that much sleep, and we'll be there in a
couple of hours." Plenty of time. Slip back into Carson's house, and unpack in
the morning. It was only a little after 2am, less time than he'd thought it
would take.
 
He had been tired because there were pills that tasted funny and made him tired
and feeling sick, but the new bed was soft and nice and there was something
fuzzy to wrap into and he was comfortable and warm like it was a special time.
Grant woke up and counted fifty breaths before he opened his eyes. Nothing
happened in fifty breaths so he opened his eyes knowing today would be a good
day.
And immediately it was. There was the tiny stuffed cat toy that was his most
precious thing in the world, and he had given to Rodney when he went away
because he couldn't give him himself.
"Kitty! Kittykittykitty!"
Kitty smelled like warm detergent, clean and body-heat smell, like Rodney
usually smelled, and Grant was out of bed, right foot first because Right was
good, and he had Kitty in his hands, and he was warm and the air was
comfortable and clean.
But the room was not what he was used to, and he needed to find Rodney, even if
he had Rodney-smell.
It was difficult because it was light, and he was used to knowing his space in
the dark and there were things as he looked around that caught at his
attention. He remembered where Rodney should be, Rodney should be three steps
to the right of this doorway and in another door.
He didn't knock, because this was Rodney and it would be like knocking to let
himself into a room which might be funny come to think of it and Rodney was
there.
He automatically squirmed into his brother’s bed, feeling happy as Kitty was
squished between them both and lying there beaming.
It had to be the best day ever. He had Kitty and Rodney and while it wasn't
dark, while that had changed, it was maybe a good change. They had beds, which
were funny and squeaked in weird places and times, giving under his knees in a
way that made Grant want to peel it open to see what was inside. It was maybe
little mice stretched up on tippy toes, pushing up where Grant pushed down, and
that would've explained the squeaks. Grant decided to try to be lighter for the
mice's sake.
Rodney shifted, twisted, squirmed and then hugged him.
"Mmph, hi."
"Kitty came home!" Grant hugged him back. "And, and...it was warm and sleepy."
"Mmmhmm, it still is." Rodney's arms were loose, and his fingers splayed out,
and he turned to press his face against Grant's shoulder. "So good to have you
back."
"Yes." Having Rodney there made everyday a good day. Before he'd thought there
could be bad days with him, but after he was taken away he realized Rodney as
an addition to a day was a simple If Then principle. If Rodney Then Good.
If not Rodney, then bad. He loved his brother, and Rodney loved him, and Grant
was happy. "Time 's it?"
"7.53 am," Grant said, not even having to look. There was an internal clock in
his head that ticked away.
It was always right, except when they shifted hours, and that wasn't his fault,
that was them playing with time, and it was wrong.
"We should get up," Rodney sighed. "Find food."
"More food? We had soup and chips yesterday. I like chips. They were crunchy.
There was bread." Grant felt he was making good points.
"Yeah, more food. We're supposed to eat more than we've had," Rodney squirmed,
sighing when he did that. "I missed you."
"Oh." Grant frowned a little. "I like food. Food is good. What food will there
be?" Rodney's hair was long at the back. He stroked at it thoughtfully.
"Don't know. We can go find out." Rodney shifted a little, sat up to peer at
grant. "I think we're safe here."
"Safe?" He wasn't sure what that was exactly. He knew the definition but that
wasn't the same as understanding it. "Why are we safe?"
"Mom can't get us here." Oh, that was a big revelation. If Rodney was right...
"Oh. Oh.." Grant sat up. "She can't find me? I'm, I'm hidden. Hidden numbers
and inverted equations all folded away?"
"Yeah," Rodney sat up, too, all big smiles just for Grant. "Naked to the
visible eye and the closed mind."
"Best day!" Grant announced. He didn't want to be found by mom. That was bad,
but it felt good, just like the things she said were good felt bad. Inverted
symmetry. Logic he could understand. He got up then because he could.
Rodney pressed his face into the pillow with a sigh, and stood up, too. "You
slept good last night, Grant?" He half-made the bed behind him, setting Kitty
on top of the pillow.
"Yes." Grant nodded. It felt good to sleep well. "You are tired."
"Yeah. Carson and I went out and got my stuff last night. Brought back some
books and clothes and Kitty here." Rodney was smiling when he stood in front of
Grant, and that was nice.
Grant processed this fact. Carson helped Rodney get Kitty. "Carson is nice," he
decided. "Isn't he?"
"Yeah. I think he's probably a good guy." Rodney rubbed at his own face and
then reached a hand out to rub a thumb over Grant's cheekbone. "Come on. I
think it's time for your antibiotics, too."
"Antibiotics are not so nice," Grant felt he should point out. "I... I don't
like them much." He liked Rodney touching him.
"They'll make your side not-hurt and not-red," Rodney retaliated, and it was
very logical if Rodney was working from some kind of empirical data. "And
hopefully you won't need it again for a while. So, breakfast?" Rodney slid his
hand down to Grant's wrist, then clasped his hand.
He nodded gripping his brother’s hand as a familiar lifeline as they headed
downstairs. There were voices downstairs and not all of them sounded happy. He
stopped, not wanting to go forward on a good day.
"Grant?" Rodney gave a small tug with his hand, waiting for him six steps down
from the bottom, which was two steps ahead of Grant's eight steps down, which
was more than a good number for turning back on.
"Not going there. They, they..." he gestured to his ear vaguely to tell Rodney
he didn't like the noise of discontent. "I'll stay here."
"Are you sure? Everything's okay," Rodney told him, but, well, maybe. Maybe it
was and maybe it wasn't and maybe he wanted to stay upstairs in his room for a
while and just enjoy things the way they were.
"Doesn't sound okay," he said and tried to sit on the step. "Is it okay?"
Rodney let go of his fingers, and took another step. "It's okay. I can go
check, if you want to stay here?"
"Y, Yes." He nodded vigorously. He didn't like people being upset or hurt. He
didn't like shouting.
"Okay. Stay here and I'll go check it out." That was what Rodney did, he went
ahead, he went upstairs, except upstairs was downstairs now, and negotiated and
came back with food and things and that was, that was normal. That was like
before Rodney had gone to college, and Grant had missed him so much.
Rodney turned and stepped off of the stairwell and then he was gone.
He tucked his feet up and tried to balance on the edge of the stair, but it was
a bit thin. He tucked his head in and listened for Rodney.
He could just hear the thread of his voice somewhere and he closed his eyes to
follow it further.
Other voices, not Rodney, not Rodney, that was Rodney. It was like sifting with
his ears.
"Don't be angry at him. I was going, one way or another. I didn't want to leave
Grant here alone today."
"Grant wouldn't've been alone, Rodney," the nice doctor voice said. "Shona
would've been with him. And regardless, Carson knows better."
"I didna want Rodney to go alone and if I'd gone to wake you, he would've left
without me," Carson's voice said. "I left a note! I thought you didn't want him
to be alone either."
"I've lived on my own for the last year, *in* another country. I don't know why
*now* I need to be not-alone so very very much. It's not like our lives
magically got more fucked up once the television got a hold of it, and *now* we
suddenly need protecting and supervision."
Grant shivered a bit. Rodney's loud voice.
"That's exactly why you need protecting now," Shona said.
"Look mum, I've got to go soon, anyway," Carson's voice said . "I've got
school. You can chew me out tonight."
"We *will* finish discussing this later," the nice doctor voice said, a little
more firmly, not as loud as Rodney's loud voice.
He could hear, quietly, Rodney muttering, "That makes no sense at all," and
then he was there, at the bottom of the stairs. "Grant? Come down, please. It's
okay."
"Is it okay really?" He asked peering up at him. "Safe?"
"Yeah. It's safe." Rodney held a hand up to him. "I promise."
Rodney didn't lie to him. He always told the truth. He got up and moved towards
him. "Breakfast."
Rodney exhaled, a quiet sigh, and then they were in the hallway, starting
towards the kitchen. And Carson was coming out.
"Carson, I'm sorry," Rodney said, and reached out with his other hand to
briefly touch Carson.
The other teenager smiled a little. "Don't worry about me Rodney, this is
nothing compared to the trouble Collin got into when he tried to drive dad's
car. I've got to go to school though. You and Grant have a good day. "
"You, too. Thanks." Rodney let his hand drop, and watched Carson let himself
out of the house, and out, Grant decided, wasn't somewhere that he wanted to go
again. Things were unpredictable out there and there was enough change just
them to deal with, when upstairs was downstairs and downstairs was upstairs.
He ducked his head as he went into the kitchen.
"Morning, Grant," Shona said. "I'm glad you're joining us."
"He said he slept well last night. What time should he be having his
antibiotics?" Rodney moved into the room, scanning the place for Grant, and
Grant liked that. They processed things differently, and if they both paid
attention, they saw things no one else would.
"He should eat something first," Lachlan said . "What would you like Grant?"
"What is there? What do people eat in the morning?" Grant asked.
"Cereal. Oatmeal. Fruit, uh, bacon, muffins, juice, pancakes..." Rodney rattled
that off for him, but Grant wasn't sure what was what, except he could *smell*
bacon, and that was nice. "Anything."
"Why don't you try a few things Grant?" Shona suggested. "A wee bit of cereal?
A pancake? Oatmeal? See what you like?"
Too many choices, and how did anyone ever decide? How was he supposed to know
if he liked one type better than the other?
"Is there anything I can do to help," Rodney offered hovering. "Have a seat,"
Shona gestured. She glanced at Grant. "Let's try one at a time. A spoonful of
cereal first, yes?" She put some in a bowl and pushed it over towards him and
Grant picked a piece out and studied it closely.
It was round, and slightly irregular with a hole in the middle. Like wheels,
only there was no way to secure a spoke in them. Rodney sat down beside him,
watching him intently, not saying anything. "Torus." He said. "Edible torus."
He hesitantly ate it, surprised when it crunched. It tasted nice and it made a
fun noise and he grinned at Rodney and ate another.
"You usually eat them with milk..." Shona prompted.
"They're still crunchy, in milk," Rodney told him quietly. "But they sog up
after a while, but even then they taste pretty good."
That sounded like fun. He liked milk and he liked the crunchy torus things so
therefore logic would dictate he would like the both together. He poured a
little and took a spoon from Rodney and tried it.
And beamed. "'s good."
Rodney sat back, smiling triumphantly. "Grant got a lot of toast, crackers,
bananas, whatever I could sneak down, so..."
"Well, we'll see if we can expand that a little," Shona said. "How about a
pancake?"
Pancakes, which were pleasingly disc-like, were even better especially with
syrup. In fact, he squirted a bit of the syrup on the remaining cereal, he
liked it so much.
Rodney didn't say anything, and took a pancake and a little bacon himself,
mostly watching Grant more than his own food, and Grant was used to that close
attention from Rodney.
He was also used to being alone for days on end, not seeing or speaking to
anyone. Oatmeal was again better with syrup, but not his favorite. He got to
have a little bacon and a nice crunchy piece of hot toast. His toast had always
been cold before.
Somewhere in there, the nice Doctor said he was ducking into the office for a
bit to help out, and that he'd be back before Carson was home, which meant it
was just going to be them and Shona in the house, and Grant didn't know what
they were going to do. But, having food was nice.
"So, Rodney, Grant what would you like to do today?" Shona asked. "We can do
anything you want?"
Anything at all was a pretty wide range. Rodney was toying with a slice of
pancake that looked like a rounded out isosceles triangle, which really made
him think of the Sierpinski triangle. "I, uh. Don't know. Grant?"
"I, I..." Grant was looking around. On good days Rodney showed him Math and
things. "Can we look at your college books? I...please?"
"Yeah. Hey, and we can help Carson with his homework later," Rodney added, and
then he was touching Grant's shoulder, but not his side because his side hurt.
"You can help me unpack, too. I brought home more for you than just Kitty."
"You can rearrange things in your rooms and pick out a few things," Shona said.
"If you want to take a look around the garden... the yard, go ahead."
"Okay." Grant wasn't sure if they would, but Rodney nudged his leg under the
table, and offered him the last of his own pancakes. "Today, Grant, is going to
be a good day."
As far as Grant as concerned as he ate the last bit of pancake, it already was.
 
By the time he trudged back up the drive and let himself in, Carson was
shattered. He also felt a little sorry for himself which he was ignoring
because he recognized it for what it was - mild jealousy.
He had a headache, he was stiff from sleeping in the car, and today had been
boring. He could've stayed working at home.
He could have stayed at home and just studied for himself, but soon he'd be
home all summer to relax, and take part in his mother's idea of therapy for
foster children. Play, and relax, and go out with his friends from school.
Summer was always so relaxing, and so close he could taste it from the stress.
He just needed to go home and work on problems and drill it into his head
before the test.
It'd be a blessing if his parents didn’t chew him out again, or if Rodney and
Grant didn't have some crisis to be handled instead of him being left to do
homework.
He grabbed a drink when he got in, and disappeared upstairs without stopping,
wanting to avoid the day of judgment as long as possible.
He'd been doing a relatively good thing, or so he thought, but he might as well
have told Rodney no and let Rodney and his father drive down to the states and
back instead of trying to be helpful. It'd gotten him just as far as if he'd
let things go according to his parents' plan.
It was nice, though. At least he had peace and quiet.
He reached his room and threw down his bag, and flopped on his bed. This was
it, the start of the familiar cycle. He didn't begrudge the fosters anything
except...just every now and then he'd like his parents to remember him a wee
bit more.
Just a little. Sure he was well and mature, and didn't need help, but he needed
attention just as much as they did. It had been different with his brothers and
sisters, less of an us versus them then. And he'd still been a bit of the baby.
Usually he had a clearer sort of relationship with the fosters, too -- they
were younger, so he could be guiding older brother. But these two were older.
And smarter, and...just everything. But that warred with the fact that he liked
Rodney and Grant and that made things more difficult.
He wanted to do well in his exams, but they just expected that as if it came
easily to him without work. He worked, he worked bloody hard and... it was the
norm. He was expected to do that kind of work, and Carson wasn’t sure what to
think of that kind of pressure. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not. He was
going to keep going, though, and maybe after the summer holiday he'd feel less
waffly.
And very faintly, he could hear voices through the wall that separated his room
from Rodney's.
He ignored it for a bit, then sighed and got up again, going next door to see
what Grant and Rodney were up to. Or had been up to.
He didn't really expect to find the strange Lego sculptures that the two of
them were building, and Grant's giggling.
"No, no, hold on -- I swear, this is *supposed* to be a Scotty," Rodney
insisted, back to the door.
"A Scottie dog, or a Beckett Scottie?" Carson asked pushing the door fully open
as it had been ajar. "Hey."
Rodney twisted, and good lord, the thing was blue with random red bricks stuck
in there as proof that they were low on colors, and it didn't look much like a
dog. A table with a tail and a head, maybe. "Hey. Was school good?"
"Pretty boring actually. Could've learned more here," Carson admitted. "You
found the Lego then huh?"
"Your mum did, and I uh, disassembled it." He lifted his eyebrows at Carson.
"And we took showers. It's been a laid back day. You said you had finals to
study for?"
"Aye, next week," Carson admitted smiling a little as Grant gave him a grin and
an abrupt wave before continuing with Lego building. "I could use a laid back
day."
"This is... laid back," Rodney agreed, scooting over a little, clearing space
for Carson while moving closer to Grant. "This looks nothing like a dog, does
it?"
"I wouldn't work on it as an anatomically correct model," Carson said sitting
down with them. " Are you working from a picture?"
"No, just..." Rodney gestured to his own temple. Memory, right, that could've
been part of the problem. "Grant's been having better luck."
"I could do a sketch of one...I mean, I'm not Mairi, she's a real artist, but I
can manage a likeness." He hadn't sketched much for some time.
"Could you? I might be able to get the legs more... leg-like." He gave Grant a
sideways smile.
"I just need to borrow a piece of paper and a crayon or pen," Carson said
taking one and starting a basic sketch. He had a messy sort of style, sketchy
rather than clean lines, but it came together in a way. The twins were the
creative ones of the Beckett clan really, able to draw, sculpt and play. Isobel
had gotten on with them better because she was a consummate singer and
performer, always center stage, always having a drama. All of his siblings had
a 'thing', a niche, a talent and though he was a fair artist, a talented
amateur, he knew there was better.
He wasn't really sure what his thing was.
It wasn't Rodney who was watching him half as intently as Grant was, and it
left Carson half aware that the 'odder' of the two of them was watching his
hand motions fiercely, eyes tracking every movement like he hoped to copy it.
"Huh. You're pretty good."
"Not really," Carson said. "Mairi and Jamie are really good. A lot of the
pictures in the house are theirs. Most of the family is really good at
something."
It was taking shape, a quick and dirty Scottie dog.
"When my professor wanted some graphs to go with a paper I submitted, I nearly
had a breakdown because I'm really not an artist. You want an engineering
drawing, I can -- it's straight lines. It's precise. Anything else is..."
"Sketchy?" Carson said displaying the picture. "Will that do as a model?"
Rodney made a vague gesture with one finger, drawing the lines Carson was
showing him in the air. "Oh, huh. Forgot their legs did that -- yes, that
should help. Thanks."
"Time to take the blocks apart," Grant told him, leaning into Rodney.
"Why are we building a dog?" Carson asked, noticing their closeness.
Understandable really. "Do you like dogs?"
"Dogs, cats, mice..." Rodney shrugged a little, and added, "Squirrels. Animals.
Soft fur, unconditional love in exchange for attention, food and care.
Sometime, we'll get pets. As a long-term goal sort of thing." Rodney carefully
split the Lego table that he'd meant to be a dog, and handed Grant half to
start disassembling.
Carson noted that. Depending on how long they were going to stay, his mum
didn't object to pets. "I like animals," he said. "Lots."
A cat might be good because they were less dependent.
Litter to clean, sure, but they didn't need to be walked. "I, I had mice,
sometimes," Grant volunteered. "Rodney didn't like them, but they were, they
were nice to me, with soft little ears. Soft." He sighed and added, "That's
what's wrong with the dog."
"Legos aren't particularly soft, no. Also, I forgot the *knees*. Your pyramid
looks good."
Cuddly toys. Soft cuddly toys, that was something else for Grant. "You have to
imagine softness," he said. "Mm."
He helped with the legos.
It was quiet work. Sometimes, on the drive, Rodney had talked and talked, and
sometimes he didn't, shuttered inward. They were both quiet while they
disassembled the dog, and Rodney started to build a more oval sort of body
shape that had 4 bits that stuck out low at the sides for building legs off of.
Much better.
Then he heard his mother call up the stairs for him.
"Carson! Can you come downstairs?" His mum had obviously noticed his stuff.
"Coming," he called. "I'll be back in a bit."
"Okay. We might have something more like a dog going by then." Rodney glanced
up at him and waved while he got to his feet.
Time for that chewing out, then.
He smiled and headed downstairs to the kitchen, looking for his mother. "I'm
here."
"Good. Were you upstairs with the boys?" Where he was expected to be, sure. His
father was in the living room, and that was a conversation he hoped to dodge,
too.
"I went up to see them yeah," he said. "They're playing with Lego."
"Still? Well, that's good." She was bustling about, and it looked like they
were having pasta. Simple foods, but simple was pretty good in Carson's
experience. "It's a little like having the twins back in the house again. How
do they seem?"
"They're doing okay," Carson said with a shrug. "Everything is new to Grant so
I guess they are working on that."
She was stirring up the sauce, glancing into the living room. "Your father and
I have decided that grounding you for what you did last night might be a bit
over the top. Still, I never thought you'd go and leave the country without
telling us."
"I did leave a note," Carson said a bit feebly. "Rodney... wasn't going to take
no for an answer and I knew you didn't want him going alone." He paused a
moment, remembering his father's number one rule. "Okay, *I* didn't want him
going alone."
"Was he all right? On the trip. I was worried about you just as much for your
own safety, Carson," she told him, adding a little pepper and a dash of salt to
the water that was trying to boil. "And you had to have been tired today at
school.
"He was fine. We talked some. Well, quite a bit actually," Carson said. "And
I'm a wee bit tired, yes."
"Do you have homework or studying to do?" His mother looked at him, and then
she *looked* at him, and leaned over to pull out one of the chairs at the small
kitchen table. "Go on, sit down and tell me how your day was, Carson."
"I always have studying," Carson said sitting down. This was another routine.
Mum making sure he wasn't feeling left out. " I'm pretty tired."
"You were up all of those hours, you should be tired." His mother sounded
tense, though. These first days with new fosters were always funny. They
felt... off. The house felt unsettled, until everyone got used to each other.
"What do you plan on studying tonight?"
"I think Rodney and Grant want to help me so either my math or physical
chemistry," Carson answered and exhaled. "Mum, Grant isn't autistic."
"I didn't think so. He's... verbal and affectionate." His mum was looking at
him now, a little more open and curious. "How'd you come to that conclusion,
though?"
"He's not like Andrew. He doesn't seem to have a problem recognizing emotions
around him. He knows Rodney's moods down to every little hint. He recognized us
arguing," Carson said. He tried to not to yawn.
"He's been deprived. Things we take for granted, he's not familiar with.
Cheerios. Pancakes. Legos. We need to be careful in introducing him to these
new stimulations. Now, today's Friday and tomorrow we have the weekend, so you
can sleep in. Is there anything you want to do this weekend?" Study. Study like
a mad fiend because Tuesday was his math final.
"Mum, I've got to revise. I'm not quite certain of a few things." As his dad
said, you had to be as certain as possible in medicine because mistakes meant
lives.
"You'll be fine staying home with the boys while your father and I go out to
buy a few things? And I'm sure you can take enough time off tomorrow to join us
for an ice-cream tasting?" His mother lifted her eyebrows at him.
"Oh, I could probably manage that. Grant likes chocolate, by the way. I think
Rodney does too." Carson looked at his mum. "If you can buy Grant a soft cuddly
toy from me, I'd appreciate it. He wants a pet and I think Rodney would too
eventually."
"Mmm, the social worker was by earlier ,and she seemed very afraid. About the
boys abusing each other or you or us or killing small animals. It's enough to
make me wonder if she ever went to school or nurtured a thing in her life.
We'll give it time for them to normalize a bit. Rodney's very mature, but..."
But, aye, his mother had a twinge about him as much as she did about Grant, a
sense that not all was right.
"They are... close, but..." Carson shrugged. "Mum, they're likely to be a wee
bit wary of you and dad. For obvious reasons. Rodney feels strongly about
that."
"I know, and I wish that they didn't, but we'll do what we can. Try to not
overwhelm them, get us to trust them. I think you're going to have to be our
aid in getting through to them, Carson. At least for a little while." His
mother leaned away, putting the spaghetti into the boiling pot. "Your father
had some good ideas while he was doing rounds in the hospitals, Carson, maybe
you could...?"
Could what? Help? He was already doing that. "I'll help with whatever," Carson
offered. "I'll have more time after my exams are done."
"I know. I was more thinking you could go talk to your father before the
spaghetti's done. He's still in shock that you ran away to the States for a few
hours."
Carson groaned a little. "Okay." he said getting up. "If I'm not out in half an
hour, send out search parties." He headed off into the living room trying not
to look as guilty as he felt.
"If you’re not out in half an hour, Grant and Rodney'll have eaten your food
and your father's." She was probably heading upstairs to collect them, and he
used that to keep him from looking *so* guilty.
His father *was* busy, sitting on the floor with files around him, his lockable
briefcase nearby. "Carson. I didn't hear you come in."
"I was talking to mum," he said truthfully. "She said you wanted to...uh..."
Chew him out might give him ideas.
"Talk to you about what you took part in last night. Go on, sit down." He
gestured for Carson to sit. "I really was going to go take Rodney on that drive
today, but the two of you, uh, rendered me useless."
"Not entirely my idea, Dad. I did try and persuade him to wait," Carson said
trying to pre-empt the scolding. "But I thought it was better than letting him
drive alone."
"No, no, it was. I just wish you had woke us up and told me. I do appreciate
the note." His father cleared his throat slightly. "What I want is that in the
future, you could tell me if Rodney gets another 'plan' in his head."
Carson couldn't seem to get them to understand that Rodney moved like lightning
the previous night. He'd been blurry around the edges, not sure if he'd heard
something downstairs and snuck down to find Rodney hunting for his keys on his
way out the door.
"If there is time, yes." he said. "This wasn't something he told me about dad.
I heard a noise and found him heading out."
"Mmm. We need to get him to understand that he can't just run off." But on the
other hand, Rodney gallivanted around like he was all grown up, and that was
hard to put a stop to. It had been with Collin.
"Dad, Rodney... Rodney's had to be the one in charge, responsible all the way
through. He doesn't understand that," Carson answered, feeling he was pointing
out the obvious.
"I know. It's going to take time." His father seemed very insistent that it
would eventually get through for Rodney, but by the time it did, he was likely
to be out on his own again.
"So... mum said I wasn't grounded?" Carson half asked, half stated hopefully.
"Grounding you wouldn't be much different than your normal lifestyle," his
father demurred. "So there's just no point. I want you to say 'Yes, I'll go' if
any of your friends ask you to go to dinner or a movie or something, all right?
There's a balance in studying."
"Sure." Carson agreed pretty damn sure that wasn't going to happen. "But... I
don't want to screw up this exam. I need to get a good grade."
Or face humiliation from all his brothers and sisters for eternity.
"I know. But you're smart, Carson. There is a point where you can over-study
for anything." His father glanced towards the kitchen, as if checking
something, and then glanced back towards Carson. "Or you can help me look over
these case files."
"Are those… are those Rodney and Grant's?" Carson asked sitting down next to
his father.
"Yes. They, understandably, don't want to talk about their lives up until now.
I'm just trying to get a feel for things we need to avoid exposing them to."
His father handed him part of a folder and it made Carson straighten up. He was
being trusted with a great responsibility and it was a special bond between
himself and his father that he would do anything to not screw up . "It bothers
me the things doctors notice and never report."
Carson could read fast, faster than people even realized. He glanced over the
writing frowning deeply as the impact of the words sank in.
"Wait, they noticed marks and malnourishment during anaphylactic shock and they
didn't report it?"
"There's a note that he's a picky eater," his father said, gesturing to the
folder. "Two years later, he was in for a broken leg, and the doctor noted
bruising, marks, and chafed genitalia. It was Flandrey, and I had a few words
with him. The first one, fine, but if he'd bothered to read the last admission,
he would've realized that it was possibly a pattern."
Carson thought about Rodney and tried to imagine that sort've abuse. "You only
need to look at Grant to know he's been hurt."
"He'd never been to a doctor before he was admitted to the hospital for what I
can only guess was a curling iron burn and malnutrition." His father gestured
with a thinner folder. "This is my write-up, and the admitting physician's
notes. When he was unconscious, we put him under x-rays. He's covered in
hairline fractures, some healed, some new."
Carson looked at those as well, able to see where the fractures were from his
dad encouraging him to be expert even from a very early age. He was, after all,
the only one of the family to show an interest in following in his fathers’
footsteps. His dad didn't like to rely on anyone except his own eyes for
diagnoses and had patiently shown him the minute differences that they looked
for. He frowned a little. He did have an ability to visualize things which
apparently was unusual. "Curled up," he said. "Where he curled up, the
fractures are on forearms and ribs where you would kick from the back, and the
lower legs if his knees were pulled up."
It seemed obvious in his head.
"Exactly. None of these injuries were from defending himself in an active
manner. And they were exacerbated by malnutrition." His father's face was
tense, and he went back to glancing at Rodney's file. "They're not violent
boys, and I wish I could convince the social worker to stop asking about that."
"Tell them to ask me sometime," Carson said. "So they've got it in their heads
that they might be dangerous?" He was willing to bet that was their mother’s
fault.
"Yes. Three guesses where that concept came from. Why they give her any credit
when in the same sentence she's... explaining how nine year olds seduced her,
and chose to live in the cellar, I have no idea."
"Rodney told me about her killing his natural father. Did he tell them that?"
Carson asked. Surely they had proof of that.
"Yes. That's why they didn't release her on bail, but if they hadn't -- they're
still extracting the skeleton from the floor. If they hadn't come across it, I
think she might actually have gotten bail. But this is abuse *and* murder now."
There was a frowning, scoffing tone to his father's voice when he said that.
"If--"
"Lachlan, Carson, dinner! Grant, Rodney, it's dinner time!"
"Coming mum!" he called back hastily handing the files back. He felt oddly
pleased that his dad had shared that with him, had a warm burst of pride in the
treating him as a mature adult. That his father trusted that he'd look at an x-
ray and be able to identify it. "I'll be up once I've got those locked away."
"Okay, I'll go check on Rodney and Grant," he said heading towards the stairs
to see if the brothers were coming.
He was halfway up the stairs when he could hear Rodney wheedling with Grant
again. "It's dinner. Three meals a day, Grant. That's what's normal."
"What...what happens when the food runs out?" Grant asked. "Long time, no food.
Finite food, Rodney. You'll be hungry and not well."
"Not-finite food," Rodney countered. "Infinite food, Grant. It doesn't run out.
You eat when you're hungry."
"Hey, you guys coming?" Carson peered in at them. "Something up?"
"Three meals a day is novel. Grant's afraid the food is going to run out."
Rodney was holding Grant's hand again, tugging at it gently.
"Do I look like the food is danger of running out, Grant?" Carson smiled a
little. He was stocky in build, always had been. "If we get low, mum goes and
buys more. Sometimes I go and help. She's going tomorrow actually, but right
now there's food waiting for you on the table downstairs."
"And it's, it's not going anywhere?"
"No, it's not going anywhere," Rodney wheedled, taking another step down the
stairs. "After dinner, Grant, we can draw or build more or whatever you want.
Watch TV?"
"I would like that. I, I watched TV and there was a story about cat-people who
had special swords and... one could run really fast, and one was very strong
and there was another like a tiger...and and they saved other creatures!" Grant
sounded excited by the whole deal and it made Carson grin. He never knew
Thundercats was that interesting.
Maybe with new eyes watching the show, it might be.
"Okay, TV it'll be." Rodney glanced at Carson, "If that's all right?"
With any luck, he could get some help with his exams and get to know his new
foster brothers a little better in the process.
 
Grant was making cookies.
Cookies were just step 1 of many, and he was being heavily supervised through
it by Carson's mother. It was Friday, the last day of school for the year, and
the day that Carson would get his grades back on his final exams. Hopefully,
they'd be edible, but Rodney had a lot of hope for that since it involved
measuring and measurements. Grant sort-of enjoyed brushing his teeth and
bathing, now that they were a daily event for him, but not quite yet a habit.
Still, his brother smelled clean and smiled brighter now, had clothes of
Rodney's that hung off of him and a few things the Becketts had bought them.
The shirt was probably covered in flour by now, and Rodney wished he were in
the kitchen with them. Instead he was trapped in living room with a stupid
social worker who seemed convinced that Grant was some sort of psycho waiting
to happen and he was one step short of building an atomic bomb in the basement.
He wished he *could* build a bomb in the basement. As it was, Rodney rubbed at
his face and *looked* at her hard. "Look, I... don't know what to say. Or what
you want answers for."
"Rodney, all I want to know is how you are adapting?" she said. "And whether
there have been any incidents that have infuriated you or upset you."
Like they all expected him to be a ball of rage. Maybe he was, but it wasn't
the Becketts fault. They'd been.... lenient with him, even though things
weren't going the way he'd wanted it to go. His plan had perhaps been... a
little over-reaching. He'd under-estimated how not-normal he and his brother
was, and how deficit they were in things that seemed startlingly simple. "I
think we're adapting well. There haven't been any incidents. Everything's
been... very nice here."
"I was a little concerned to hear about your excursion in the middle of the
night, Rodney." Miss Keyes leaned forward. "Tell me truthfully, were you
considering running away?"
"No. I wanted to get my things back. My books, my clothes, things that Grant
should have back. And I didn't want to leave Grant alone through the day." He
shrugged his shoulders, trying to not let her get under his skin.
"You took the Becketts youngest son with you?" she asked in that patronizing
tone. "Why did you do that?"
"He volunteered to come. I tried to leave on my own, but he said that his
parents would ground him if I left on my own." He wasn't even sure what the
point of the question *was*.
"Do you like him?" the social worker asked.
"Carson? He seems nice, and he treats Grant well." That was a good ruling on
whether he liked someone or not.
"Do you like him... a lot?" Her tone seemed to be insinuating something.
"I don't know what you mean. I helped him study math for his finals, while we
watched TV with Grant." What did they think he was going to do, kill Carson in
his sleep?
She smiled a little. "Okay. Lets discuss plans for the future. You're 16,
Rodney. You've indicated that you want to be responsible for your brother,
rather than have him placed."
Placed, he didn't even know what they meant by that. "I don't want to be
separated from him again, no."
"Your brother needs a lot of assistance," the social worker said. "He's not
likely to be able to function in society on his own, Rodney."
"So? He's my brother. I want to take care of him. I want him to have the kind
of life he deserves." It didn't seem hard to understand for Rodney.
"Rodney, how is that going to work at college?" The social worker pointed out.
"He can go to college with me," Rodney countered. "I can take time off, or pick
up some classes locally until he's gotten his GED."
"You would consider moving college to accommodate him?" He wasn't sure why she
sounded faintly surprised by this fact.
"Yes. If he can't get into Northwestern after he gets his GED, I, there's
plenty of good colleges up here. Close in this area, I mean, University of
Western Ontario's just here, and they have a decent engineering school to
finish undergrad in." He leaned forward a little, leaning his elbows on his
knees. "I'm brilliant. I'll do fine wherever I go, and it's just *undergrad*."
"We can help find you a college here, so you can have a base here," Miss Keyes
said. "And Grant can have a stable base as well. The Becketts are more than
happy to have you stay here."
"Okay. I want to be able to help Grant study towards his GED, so I plan to take
at least the summer off. He's fine on math and sciences, but history and
English..." Rodney shrugged. "I'd like that opportunity. To stay here."
"Well that's good. Why don't you look at what colleges are appropriate in the
vicinity and then I'll do some paperwork for you okay?"
"University of Western Ontario," Rodney reiterated. "I looked at it back when I
applied around the first time. It was my third choice, and they've already
accepted me once." And he figured that it was maybe, *maybe* a fifteen minute
drive to campus from where they were. Maybe 20. Not bad at all. "I preferred
Northwestern down in the states at the time because I wanted to get away."
"Okay, if you are sure," she said. "I should be going now, unless there is
anything else that you want to ask?"
"No, nothing I can think of." Just that he didn't like the general line of her
questioning, and he didn't know what she was trying to imply with half of the
questions. There was no reason for her to be surprised that he'd uproot his
life for Grant. Without Grant... There wasn't a life.
As they stood, the door burst open, and Carson almost literally burst in and
grabbed Rodney in a hug worthy of Grant. "Rodney, you bloody genius! 99%! 99%!
That's what I got -- A+!"
"Hah! I told you you were smart enough for it!" Carson was contagious in his
enthusiasm, and Rodney hugged him back, briefly, grinning. "You had those
equations *down*. I knew it!"
"We need to celebrate, all of us need to celebrate!" He hadn't really seen
Carson really smile since he had been there, and the effect was somehow
dazzling. He then seemed to notice the social worker.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize Rodney was with someone."
"Mrs. Keyes, this is Carson, you've probably met before." Rodney pulled back a
little. "She was just leaving, and Grant and your mother are baking *things* in
the kitchen."
Mrs. Keyes was looking between the two of them. "Yes, well I'll have a talk
with Mrs. Beckett another time. Congratulation on your grade."
"Thank you Mrs. Keyes," Carson said politely.
"Bye." Rodney was going to shadow her to the door, more than old enough to know
to see someone out of the house and lock the door behind him.
She left but she was suspiciously looking over her shoulder at him all the time
as she walked to her car.
"So..." Carson said. "Back to making plans."
"We were making plans? I really don't think the social worker likes me, and I'm
trying to be nice to her, but..." Rodney closed the door and turned towards
Carson.
"Ignore her. She thinks she knows more about you and it's all rubbish," Carson
said waving a hand to dismiss her suspicions. "Celebration plans. My exams are
over, school is over, and I can finally get some sleep and just relax."
"Sleep is for the weak," Rodney scoffed, half leading the way back through the
living room towards the kitchen. "What kind of celebration?"
"Something. Anything?" Carson was just beaming at anything and everything as
they entered the kitchen.
Rodney couldn't remember ever being that excited about his grades, even though
they were that good. He held the door open for Carson, and ducked in to see
Grant carefully stacking cookies on a cooling rack.
Grant glanced at them and smiled. He smiled a lot more now, that mirror of his
smile, quirked on the other side. "Carson is home. I've made cookies Carson!
Look. I mixed them myself and cut them and then we baked them for twenty
minutes and then a little more until they were just right. I put chocolate in
them! We are going to have them soon. "
"That we will, when they are a wee bit cooler." Carson's mum turned to her son
and asked. "Good day, lovey? How were the results?"
"Great!" Carson said practically bouncing. "A+ all the way mum!"
It felt normal. It felt like watching TV shows of normal people's lives felt
like, and Grant seemed to be settling in better than Rodney was. Rodney
wandered over to Grant's side of the table, eyeing the precise spacing between
each cookie, a buffer-space of what looked like 4mm. "So, what's so special
about 4mm?"
"It will let me fit them on the rack," Grant said. "And… and it is nearly Pi.
Pi for cookies."
Carson chuckled. "I like that. Pi for cookies - very appropriate, Grant."
If Grant could've gotten it to precise Pi, he would've. Rodney grinned, and
leaned in to hug him. "You've been more productive with your day than I have."
"E... Everyone likes cookies," Grant answered. "You like cookies don't you,
Rodney?"
"I definitely like cookies," Carson said. "Especially yours."
"I love cookies," Rodney affirmed, pulling away and rubbing at Grant's back a
little. "And they look great."
Carson's mum smiled. "Well, we ought to celebrate tonight somehow. Carson, do
you want to choose what we want for dinner?"
"Oh um.." He looked at Grant and Rodney. "What would you like?"
The shrug that Rodney gave was probably infuriating. "Anything. It's your
celebration, Carson. Exams are over now, you can finally relax, etc etc?"
"Yes but I want to do that with you guys," Carson said. "Okay, pizza or roast?
I can't decide on either?
"How about pizza?" Shona suggested, and Rodney nudged Grant a little.
"You remember pizza, right?"
"Pizza? I liked pizza!" Grant said. "You brought me pizza Rodney....and and it
was nice cold."
"Hot pizza is better." Carson added. "Let's do that. Pizza with everything."
"No pineapples. I'm never sure if they're citrus or not." It wasn't a risk he
was willing to take, because what if they flavored them with citric acid? He'd
had a run-in with too much of that, and it had put him off of anything like
that tang for life.
"We can have different types. " Carson promised. "We've got a takeout menu
here, we can look at it."
"There were vegetables on it." Grant announced.
"Green peppers and onions," Rodney agreed, eyeing a cookie before he reached
out to adjust it just perfectly.
"Vegetable pizza is good," Carson agreed going over to look at the corkboard
where the Beckett family pinned everything. "Here we go. I like their spicy
chicken."
"Your father's working overnight tonight, so we could get one of each and put
anything that's left in the fridge for tomorrow." Shona took the sheet, and
Rodney leaned into Grant, seeping into the feeling of closeness.
"Spicy chicken sounds good, too. So, how long until we can try a cookie?"
"At least another twenty minutes or so. " Shona said. "So shoo now the lot of
you." She flapped her apron at them. "Go do what teenage boys do, whatever that
is."
"If one of you two figure it out," Rodney declared lightly, "I'd appreciate it
if someone told me." Grant was already moving for the door, though, and Rodney
shadowed behind him gratefully.
They headed to what they regarded as their living room, which had a certain
lived in look. Carson collapsed on the old couch with an exaggerated sigh.
"Do you all usually have that woman for a social worker?" Rodney asked,
watching Grant sit down happily cross-legged on the floor.
"Mrs. Keyes?" Carson shrugged. "Not always. To be frank, I don't much like
her."
Which was amazing, as Carson seemed to not have a bad word about anyone.
"She kept asking if I *liked* you. And then we talked about me changing
universities, which won't be a problem because I've already been accepted into
Western Ontario once before and I'm not leaving Grant any time soon." He lifted
his eyebrows at his brother. "I feel like we should do something."
"What do you want to do?" Carson said. "I've got time now. I can do things, we
can go places, just us three."
Rodney didn't know. He was expected to know, and Rodney just... didn't know.
"What does... what do people usually do?"
"A good question," Carson said, "I am not exactly the most social person
myself. But they go to the moves. Go out ...to sports, hockey, bowling, things
like that. To plays, to places. Out for walks. Shopping... work on cool
things."
"Work on cool things I think we can do. Grant, what do you want to do this
summer?" He shifted, stretched out to flop on the floor. "Have you been in the
backyard yet?"
"I, I went in the backyard for a little while, yes," Grant nodded holding on to
the fluffy tiger toy Carson had given him. "It was bright and green and I saw a
squirrel. Shona said the bird feeder had fallen down. I like birds."
"Did you like it back there? Outside, I mean. There's a lot of stuff to do
outside, but only once it's comfortable for you." He remembered the look of
terror and mixed up wonder that had clung to Grant's face the entire car ride
to the house.
"There is a lot of blue. It was not too bad. Shona gave me an umbrella to start
with so there was something above me," Grant said. "And showed me that the sky
was full of things. I want to see the stars, Rodney, can we do that?"
"Yeah." At night it might be a little less wide and all enveloping, Rodney
decided, tucking his hands behind his head. "You mind a little stargazing,
Carson?"
"I think I'd enjoy that. We could start in the garden and then maybe take a
trip out of town away from the lights some time," Carson said. "You know about
stars?"
"Oh yeah. We know about stars," Rodney grinned, closing his eyes. "Grant hasn't
seen them, but we had books and I made a correction in a few."
"Maybe in August we can watch the Perseid shooting stars," Carson suggested.
"Mmm." Rodney shifted, wiggled just enough to get the vertebrae at the lower
half of his spine to crack. "Let's see, if we go out tonight... We'll at least
get the big dipper and associated stars.”
"We'll make hot chocolate," Carson said and grinned.
"Hear that, Grant..." He was half aware that someone was laying down beside
him, and that someone was Grant. "Hi."
"Why're we on the floor?"
"Because I've taken up the couch," Carson said ruffling at Grants hair.
Rodney watched that motion, and Grant's relative ease with Carson being in his
personal space. That was good, that Grant was getting okay with other people
other than Rodney. They needed wider experiences, and Grant needed all of the
attention and love in the world.
He laughed, and pulled Grant closer. "Oof, well, that's a good answer."
"Just be grateful my brother Collin isn't here, he'd have you in a headlock by
now," Carson said ruffling Rodney's hair,
"Why?" He liked the familiarity of Grant stretched out beside him, a mirror
image at his side. It was nice to just... relax there, wondering what they were
going to do with their time.
"Because that's what older brothers do. Well... Collin anyway. Allan didn't do
that so much, although Isobel would," Carson said. "It was quiet for a while
when they moved out."
"We don't... put each other in headlocks," Rodney shrugged. They touched, a
lot, and when they were alone they did things with each other, but hurting
Grant was just beyond the pale.
"Well, it's more rough and tumble," Carson answered. "At least they won't be
able to tease me about grades thanks to both of your help."
Grant leaned into him and yawned. "I like cooking,"
"Yeah? I'm pretty bad at it. I did work out how to use the coffee pot in my
dorm room to cook anything, but I wouldn't call it good. Your cookies looked
really good, Grant." Still smelled good. Rodney opened his eyes a little more,
looking at Carson upside down.
Carson grinned at him. "Gotta learn to cook in this house, even if we're
getting take-out tonight as a treat."
"I like you," Grant said randomly.
It was hard to not smile. "Wide praise," he decided, waving at Carson with his
free hand. "I remember, when we were little, our father had a telescope. I
can't remember anything we saw through it, but I remember *it*." White, and it
leaned in the corner, the front wrapped in cloth, and then it went away. Just
like their father, just like a lot of things.
"We, we saw the moon and mare imbrium which was the sea of rains, and then we
saw Venus and Jupiter," Grant said.
Carson paused a moment. "Rodney, how old were you then?"
"Three. Everything went to hell a couple of weeks later." He turned a little,
watching Grant's face. "Now do you see why I keep saying that Grant's going to
be amazing once he gets the chance? I'm right, you will, Grant."
"Yes... yes. " He smiled shyly and glanced at Rodney and then at Carson. "I
remember everything I've… I've ever seen. Ever."
That had Carson's attention. "You have an eidetic memory? Do you have perfect
pitch as well?"
"Perfect pitch?" Rodney moved, leaned up a little, careful to not unsettle
Grant's comfortable position when he did so. "Why would he?"
"I read one of dads medical journals that said there is a strong link between
the two... here, there's a piano in Isobel’s room, do you want to try?"
"You have a piano here? Just sitting here?" He hadn't been able to play the
piano in well over a year, because he hadn’t been 'able' to earn the privilege
over Christmas holiday. Jeannie had instead labored over it, and he'd had to
listen to her complain that she hated it.
The fact that he had Grant up and on his feet in *seconds* was, of course,
completely unrelated.
"Aye, I'm no good at it, but Mairi and Jamie were and Isobel. Collin went for
guitar, and Aileen can play violin brilliantly. Mum plays the piano sometimes.
Dad and I can just about sing, but not play an instrument," Carson explained.
"Rodney! Piano?" Grant picked up on his excitement.
"Yeah, a piano." He'd always promised that he'd teach Grant to play, with a
real piano instead of keys drawn on paper and no foot pedals and only a few
sheets of music to work from. "Can we?"
"You can play?" Carson asked, eyes wide. "C'mon, follow me."
It was hard to not drag Grant with him physically while they followed Carson
out of the room and down the hallway, and Jesus, these people just had a piano
lurking in someone's bedroom.
"Here we go. Not a grand or anything, but decent enough. At Christmas we take
it downstairs for singing and carols," Carson gestured. "Help yourself Rodney."
"Gladly." It was just a little thing, a home piano, and Rodney lifted the key
cover with reverence. "Oh, and I bet it needs tuning, but this is fantastic...
Grant, c'mere. This is a *real* piano."
"Not paper keys," Grant said, even as Carson dragged the piano stool over for
them.
"Go on, play me something," Carson said with a grin.
Rodney shoved the stool under Grant, and sat him down firmly. "Real piano, real
keys. Go on, give it a try," Rodney encouraged.
Grant sat and bent right over the keys, looking at them from about six inches
away from the key that he pressed and was intent on the sound. He pressed
another and giggled.
Then he looked at Rodney and placed his fingers on the keys and moved them as
he had on the paper keys they made.
He had a problem to start with, where he didn't depress the key, fingers
dragging against the side of keys, but soon he adjusted for that, and Rodney
only half-heard Mrs. Beckett come into the room. It didn't matter that it was
the same three pages of music that Grant was running over and over.
She gently tapped Grant on the shoulder to stop him after the tenth repetition,
but the look on Grant's face was like he'd discovered a new world. "Music!"
"I had no idea you could play, Grant... Rodney?" Shona asked.
"I showed him on paper, and I played for a while..." He glanced up at her. "I,
is this all right? Using the piano?"
"Of course sweetheart," Shona said, patting his shoulder, "Can I hear you
play?"
"I'd like that too," Carson said from where he had faded into the background
once again.
Carson was exceptionally good at it, blending away. "Oh, uh, Grant was..."
Except Grant moved over like lightning, and with room on the bench, there was
no reason to not sit down and play a little.
Even when his mother belittled his playing it was a means of escaping, of
getting lost in the music. He'd gone to every extra class he could after school
to stay away from home the longest he could.
He wanted to play, he didn't care if he wasn't anything but technical, and he
wanted it.
Fingers on the keys were familiar, and Grant at his side was new and amazing,
and he liked that, the familiarity that carried with him to an old hobby. He
knew Chopin well, though it started off unsteadily, and he stopped to restart,
and it was just Piano Concerto No. 1, but it was *playing*.
A little while longer and the notes began to flow, flow enough he could close
his eyes and feel the music like mathematics falling into water, liquid
perfection of sound.
He'd missed that, losing himself in it, whether he was really any good at it or
not. He wasn't a concert pianist, never would be -- too clumsy, too artless,
just one more thing for his mother to grind into him. But he enjoyed it, and he
had Grant by his side.
 
He'd been to the bathroom, unable to settle with the nights warmer than normal
and he'd been sure he'd heard noise from Rodney's room, as if he cried out.
Maybe he was having a nightmare or something. Carson wasn't going to walk past
if he had been crying out to him. Tentatively he pushed at the door about to
say "Rodney?" when he stopped.
Stopped, and suddenly wished that he'd just stayed in his room, that he wasn't
seeing a damn thing, that he'd ignored that noise, because he could see too
much by the light of the window into Rodney's room. Bare skin, two bodies worth
of it, and one of them on top of the other, and it was impossible to tell
without hearing words, seeing expressions which one was which.
There was sleeping with your brother and *sleeping* with them.
He didn't know what to do, he stood there rooted to the spot. Sure, he knew
they would be fucked up but this...this he wasn't ready to see and if Mrs.
Keyes found out...
They'd be separated, and Rodney would probably be pressed with charges or
something because she was that sort of woman, hard and no nonsense, except that
it would ruin both of their lives and Carson had no idea what to do.
He stood there just long enough to be sure one of them had seen him and then
disappeared to his room. What was he going to do? Jesus! He wasn't sure he
could talk to his mum or dad. They'd have to report it or something.
And then things would fall apart, and he *liked* Rodney and Grant. He liked
them, but he certainly wasn't qualified to help anyone get over an urge to fuck
their own brother, or whatever they'd been doing in there. There'd been an
awful lot of introducing them to the nicer things in life in the house since
they'd come, but not much in dealing with the wrongs that had been done against
them, and what the effects were.
And lord, he wasn't capable of handling it, at all. He was still months away
from 16.
This always happened. Somewhere along the line it screwed up big time, traumas,
nightmares, self harm, suicidal impulses, stealing, bullying, and acting out.
He sat on the edge of his bed thinking and thinking. The only way to do this
was to not let anyone know and try and fix things enough. Some problems
were...okay, others like this were not.
If he'd walked in there and caught Rodney trying to cut his wrists, all
would've been well. He knew what to do with self-harm or suicidal impulses. Or
stealing, or acting out, or... This was new in his field of experiences. Rodney
and Grant, having sex.
He was suddenly in a position to screw up their lives and, even more
disturbingly there was another emotion there he didn't recognize in himself.
Something hot and flickering and unknown.
Fuck. This was not okay, so very far from being okay.
He was thinking hard about going to wake his mother up despite his fears, when
there was a quiet tapping at his door.
"Come in," he murmured. "Come in..." It was barely a whisper but it was
audible.
The door pushed open slowly, and then closed slowly behind the other boy, and
Carson guessed it was Rodney because Grant hadn't learned how to sneak yet.
"I... hi."
"Rodney." Carson looked at him. "I guess…you saw me?" he asked.
"Yeah. I uh, over Grant's shoulder." He had pajama bottoms on, but no shirt,
and his cheeks looked red.
"We need to talk about this Rodney," Carson said, and he didn't want to be the
one talking. "What you were doing... you know? It's, it's wrong Rodney."
"We've, we've done that for years." It was all Rodney offered as he came closer
into the room. "I, Grant wasn't sleeping well and we kissed and it just led to
this. It's a comfort."
"I get that," and he really did. He could barely comprehend some of the things
he had found out about Rodney and Grant's life before, but he could see how
they only had each other and they'd been taught sex was the coinage of love as
part of their abuse. He patted the bed next to him. "But...it's, it's incest
Rodney and against the law, and..."
It could mean big, big trouble.
He probably needed to spell that out for Rodney, too. "Oh. It, we don't..."
Rodney sat down, and ran a hand through his hair. "It's not hurting anyone."
"Oh god, Rodney, don't make me be the responsible one here," Carson said in a
near groan. "Look, okay, I *know* you'd never hurt Grant, I know you love him,
but you've got to understand this. I'm talking about social services, the
police. They think Grant is... disabled, they’d think you were doing to him
what your mother was doing to you."
Rodney's expression, carefully controlled until then, crumpled, and he looked
sick. "I'm not, I *wouldn't*, it's not like that."
"I know that Rodney, but...to them we're still kids!" Carson replied. "Never
mind you been through more than most adults will ever see. I… I don't want them
to take either of you away, but if they find out they'll split you up."
"I... I can't talk about this. I have to get Grant out from under the bed. I,
it won't happen again. It never happened at all." And then Rodney was standing
up to leave.
"Rodney, please." Carson felt completely shitty about this. "Rodney...I need
you to tell me about stuff okay? I won't tell mum or dad."
"I don't know what to tell you!" He hissed it, still quiet. "I have a really
shitty basis for right and wrong, and something we've been doing for years is
apparently comparable to what mother did to us, so I don't know anymore. I have
to go calm down Grant."
"Go and calm him down," Carson said in a soft voice. "I'm... not doing this to
hurt you. I'm trying to help you both."
"I..." He rubbed a hand through his hair again, and he looked sick, distressed.
"No, it's, I have no idea what's right and what's wrong anymore."
"Then I'll help you, but.." Carson reached to touch him. "Look, mum and dad
don't have a choice, if they find out they have to tell the authorities by law.
I'm a kid, I don't have to say anything. We've gotta keep this quiet. Grant
needs to know as well without tipping anyone off."
"I'll talk to him." Rodney seemed to think he could get through to Grant, and
maybe he could. It was hard to imagine Grant being at all deceptive though.
"And it won't happen again."
There was something in his tone though. "Rodney, we're okay aren't we? I mean,
you're not going to start avoiding me or anything, are you?"
"I'm not thinking that far ahead. Look, I, I need to get Grant out from under
the bed. He likes small spaces." And with that, Rodney pulled the door open.
"You need help or would that make it worse?" Carson offered feeling sick to his
stomach as well.
Rodney hesitated, and then murmured, "Yeah, sure. C'mon." He supposed that if
they were loud enough for their parents to inspect, he'd just say that Grant
had had a nightmare. With Grant, he supposed he could get away with a naked
nightmare kind of excuse, because last week the hot water heater had glitched,
and spurted out cold water instead of warm, and Grant had raced naked around
the house like an injured cat until Rodney had corralled him with a towel and
escorted him back up to the bathroom.
He followed Rodney into the room and at first glance it seemed like there was
no one in there. He would've said it wasn't possible for Grant to get under the
bed but he seemed to have squeezed himself in there somewhere. But when they
bent down, there was the glimmer of dim light catching on the whites of eyes.
Rodney crouched down, eyeing Grant quietly for a moment before he simply said,
"Hi. You want to come out?"
"N-No," Grant replied shortly.
"We'd really like it if you did." Carson added.
Rodney held a hand out, moving slowly. "C'mon. It's more comfortable out here."
"No," Grant said again. "You, you ran away from me." The tone was accusing at
Rodney.
"That was my fault, Grant," Carson put in hastily. "My fault not Rodney's
okay?"
"I saw Carson in the doorway, and..." And Rodney didn't know what to say, just
stayed crouched there a hand held out. "We need to talk. I wasn't running from
you."
Grant seemed to think about this for a moment, then reached his hand out to
Rodney even as Carson exhaled with relief.
"Don't like talking . That means bad things," Grant said as he wriggled out.
“Yeah, but it's you and me," Rodney insisted, helping Grant get out, reaching
for Grant's pajama bottoms. "Carson, could you close the door?"
"Sure," Carson obeyed the suggestion, hoping that his mum hadn't picked up on
them all being up. When he turned back Rodney was helping Grant put on his
pajamas again.
"Why did you run away?" Grant asked. "Everything was, was fine. Did I do
something wrong?"
"No, no, it was, it was good, it's just. Carson says we shouldn't do that
anymore. That if the social worker or his parents knew, they'd split us up.
Because they'd think it's just like what mom did to us." Rodney looked queasy,
even as he handed Grant a t-shirt to wear.
Grant looked completely perplexed. "I… I don't understand." He said. "It feels
good?"
"It feels good," Rodney agreed. "Except it's bad. Because we're brothers. *I*
don't think it's bad, but if other people found out..."
"They wouldn't just split you up," Carson said quietly. "They would make sure
you never saw Rodney again."
Grant looked stricken. "Never? Mum said never. I don't want it to be
n...never."
"I don't know what they'd do with you, so we can't, we can't do that anymore.
We can't. I don't want to lose you." Rodney edged in closer, like he was drawn
by that stricken look, and hugged Grant.
"I can be good," Grant murmured , so softly and broken that Carson felt tears
sting in his eyes at sound of it.
"We won't let them split you up," Carson put in. "I promise Grant."
"We'll both be good. We just, we can't do that anymore. That's all." Rodney
hugged Grant closer, shifting towards the bed to sit down. "We'll just sleep.
Not... the other, not anymore."
"But... but you don't love me anymore?" Grant asked,
Carson groaned. That was exactly the sort've thing that would trigger a bad
reaction by adults.
"No, no, I do. I do love you. We just, we can't do *that* any more. If we do,
they'll put me somewhere bad, okay? I still love you. You're Grant."
"But..." Grant seemed confused.
"People don't have to have...sex to love other people, Grant," Carson said
aiming it at Rodney as well. "You do that outside of people in your family."
Rodney was just nodding, while he shifted and pulled Grant to sit down with him
on the bed. "Not me."
"That's one of the things they think was so bad with your mum," Carson tried to
explain. "For a parent to do that to their children, it's really bad."
It didn't seem to deter Rodney from rubbing fingers restlessly along Grant's
back. "So, we just can't do that anymore. Or talk about ever... ever having
done it. Okay?"
"Okay.” Grant acquiesced to that, soothed by the touch. "Not talk." He mimed
zipping his lips and throwing away a key.
"Okay." Rodney still looked miserable, but he nodded. "Okay. Think you can go
back to sleep now?"
"Yes. Yes, sleep now," Grant said after unzipping his lips again and Carson
exhaled with relief.
He hadn't thought it would work, and then everything would've gone to heck, and
he didn't want that. He'd just wanted to talk, no... but at least he'd been the
one to see it, not his mum or his dad. It was something to be grateful for.
Rodney looked at Carson and nodded.
"Night."
A dismissal then. He nodded a little and backed out of the room. He still felt
sick, disturbed but he'd have to live with that.
 
He and Carson were going out. His confiscated car keys were duly handed over,
and he and Carson were turned loose on the city, which left him hoping that
Carson had a plan, because he just had a vague, wild hopes and plans and a
little pocket money and no idea at all what to do with it.
"So, you have preferences?" Carson asked as they got in the car. "It's good to
get out of the house."
"It is." Rodney stretched once he was in the driver's seat, looking for the
brake with his foot. "No preferences. I was hoping you might have some."
"Well, I think we should do some things just for you," Carson replied smiling a
little. "You do all this stuff for Grant, you need to have your own life.
Believe me, with six brothers and sisters I know how that is."
"That still doesn't help me figure out what we should do," Rodney shrugged. "I,
I never really had a life before, so..."
"Well I have some things booked that I thought might give you tasters of things
to be interested in," Carson said. "First stop is only about fifteen minutes
away but we have to be there by ten. Take a left at the end of the road and
keep driving for a couple of miles."
"Okay. Tell me when to turn," Rodney prompted, starting his Vega up. It rumbled
to life, tried to stall, and then caught and kept going. "Do you do much car
repair?"
"Me? Not so much. We should take this one to the garage today as well, get it
looked at," Carson said.
"I can show you a little car repair," Rodney offered, grinning as he started to
drive it forward. "Maybe later we could try the library and see if we can find
a manual?"
"Definitely need to get you all set up with access to all the books that have
ever existed," Carson said as they took the route he'd indicated. "Right when
we reach the second set of lights."
Rodney leaned to make sure there wasn't anyone in the other lane, and then he
made that right. "Okay. So, library is definitely something for later. I really
want to start Grant studying for his GED. Your mother probably thinks I'm
insane."
"No, she knows Grant is smart, and he'll absorb information like a sponge.
She's trying to teach him social stuff. People things." Carson glanced at him.
"When Grant's explaining things he knows about he stops stuttering and… well he
sounds like you."
"People things are hard." He still felt shaken from that night when Carson had
caught he and Grant having sex, from being told that something he'd always
accepted as normal wasn't.
"Aye." Carson waited a moment. "Stop at the house there, the one with the roses
at the front, see it?"
They weren't red, but coral-ish, and Rodney carefully parked in front of the
house. "Okay. I'm assuming we're here for a reason...?" He turned the car off
warily once it was in park.
"Oh yes," Carson smiled. "You'll like it, I promise. We're here to see
Professor Verenzo. She's had the dubious honor of teaching the Beckett family
music, with varying degrees of success. I thought you might like to try a
lesson with someone who could actually teach you something."
"She -- piano?" Rodney asked hopefully as he popped his door open with care.
"Are we here for piano?"
"Proper piano," Carson said beaming. "She's very good and I think she will be
delighted to have a talented pupil."
"I'm not talented," Rodney dismissed, even as he watched Carson open the
woman's yard gate.
"You really are, Rodney," Carson answered. "I find it strange you know how good
you are mentally, but can't see that musically." He rang the bell when they
reached the door.
"Mom stopped paying for my lessons when I was 12. Jeannie was 4ish and wanted
to start taking ballet, or she wanted her to start taking ballet. My teacher
said I was mechanical anyway. That it was pointless to keep going."
Carson looked at him. "Rodney, has it ever occurred to you that she was lying?
I've heard you play. You are so much better than that."
"Yes it's occurred to me that she was lying, but... I haven't had good practice
in years, is all," Rodney shrugged, and then the door opened, and he was really
glad it wasn't his old teacher.
"Well, Carson, you are looking well," Professor Verenzo said smiling. "This is
Rodney, yes?"
"Yes, he's very good, Professor," he said.
"Come in, come in," she beckoned. "Welcome."
"Thank you. Carson, uh, said that you're going to, uh, that you taught his
family instruments?” It was hard to not feel eager while he looked at her and
around her living room.
"Indeed I have. I am afraid that Carson has not been one of my best pupils, as
he would say himself, but he has been very high in his praise for you. This
gives me hope. It is a teacher's most fulfilling dream to have a pupil that
challenges them. I will see if you are that pupil." She moved steadily forward
and gestured to the baby grand piano. "Come, sit. Sit. Let me hear your musical
voice."
"Do you want me to just... sit down and play something?" He started towards the
baby grand, and looked at it reverently.
"Yes. Play me something you like the most," she asked looking at him over the
rim of her glasses. "Play something that means something to you."
He had to think about it for a minute. There were a lot of songs he knew well
and enjoyed, but there were songs he knew well and didn't enjoy and then there
were songs he hadn't played in a while and loved and hadn't played in a while
because he loved them. "All right. I'll, uh..." He glanced at her, and then at
Carson, and sat down and tried to decide.
Carson smiled encouragingly and sat down on a couch at the back of the room
while the Professor took a seat near the piano and closed her eyes. "In your
own time Rodney."
"It's been a while," he warned, before he found the fingerings, tested the keys
for a moment before he started to warm up into the 1812 overture for piano.
She didn't interrupt him and, though he was self-conscious when he started, he
soon let go of that and just slipped into the piece. It was one he remembered
and enjoyed, and his fingers felt a little stiff but there it was, notes
resonating, as they should be played.
He enjoyed the music, and he knew the historical background and he could wallow
in something that rose up in his subconscious, just for a few minutes.
At the end of the piece, he left his fingers resting on the keys and exhaled
and looked up to see Professor Verenzo watching him.
"And when did you learn that piece, Rodney?"
"I was eleven." Rodney twisted a little, still looking at her.
She pursed her lips and then rather shockingly slapped her hand down on the arm
of her chair. "That such an ability should go unnutured... this is a travesty.
You will be my pupil Rodney. You play with a maturity beyond your years."
He relaxed a little, and couldn't help but grin. "Oh, god, I didn't think I was
any good, not after not having lessons for so long, thank you."
"You are good, Rodney, but there is a lot to learn before you are...superb,"
the musician replied. "And I doubt you will settle for less. Now, let us review
this piece in sections. You know the notes, but your expression needs work.
Your entrance needs to be bolder, decisive."
He'd forgotten a lot of it, but he wasn't going to argue with her. "All right.
I can probably do that..."
He started to try it again, knowing that she was listening, and she stopped
him, corrected, pointed out other choices, and they worked their way through
the song like that, start to finish.
At the end of it he was exhilarated by what he discovered he could do, and
Professor Verenzo was smiling. "Good. Good. You will practice, Rodney. We will
go through all those pieces you can remember and then we will start on
expanding your repertoire and skills."
"You might be surprised by how much I can remember." He had to be grinning ear
to ear when he offered his hand to her. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I'm
going to practice until the Becketts make me stop."
"Then practice what you know in light of what we have done here today, and I
will see you at this time next week." She stood as she shook his hand.
"Remember Rodney, living and experiencing is as important as practice to give
your music depth. That, as much as anything, can be counted as practice."
"Thank you. This time next week, I'll be here promptly." There wasn't anywhere
else for him to be, because he... he had a piano teacher. Again, and she
escorted them outside and he waited until they were almost to the car before he
mugged Carson into a brief hug. "You!"
"Was it a good idea?" Carson said, half laughing as he hugged back.
"This was a brilliant idea! I have a piano teacher again!" Even just for an
hour every week, it was miraculous. He had someone to ask questions of, someone
to ask for challenges.
"Well, I asked mum and I called the Professor a couple of nights ago and
arranged a time," Carson said looking almost shy. "She said she would see you
first. You really were amazing, Rodney."
"All right, maybe I was a little amazing, but I..." Had something to do in his
copious free time.
Carson laughed at him again. "Well, I should've saved that until last. Next,
we're going to go into town and see what you think of one of the arcades.
They've got some pretty cool games there now which you'll either like or decide
you could build a better one. What do you think?"
"Yeah. That sounds great. Just you and me and some video games." It felt
decadent, and Rodney was almost shivering with anticipation of just... doing
normal things. No consequences, no strings attached.
"Mum says it's good for me. She says it's not natural for someone to study as
much as I do," Carson smiled a little as they walked to the car. "So I guess
that goes for you as well. Plus I think she wants to gradually encourage Grant
to do his own things as well."
"I'm sure he'll find his own things in time." Rodney unlocked his car, and
settle back into the driver's seat. "So, when does she expect us back?"
"We have all day, Rodney. I thought we could eat out somewhere," Carson said.
"I haven't spent any money for ages."
He sort-of knew that feeling, and nodded once Carson was settled into the car.
"Okay -- you know any good places locally?"
"Well, a few. There’s some next to the arcade, so let's head there and see what
you make of those first," Carson said. "I haven't played one for ages and Jamie
said there were some good games out now. And you can get computers for the home
and play them there as well. I'm hoping we might get one for Christmas or
birthday."
"Really?" Right, but Carson's father was a doctor, so. So that was that, and
how that was a possibility. "Wow. Okay, uh, what way am I turning?"
Carson directed him patiently through the streets to a parking lot next to the
arcade. "You ever done this before?"
"Done what?" He parked, glanced around, then backed up and re-parked so he
wasn't crooked.
"Go and hang out at an arcade. Try an amusement park? That sorta thing?" Carson
asked.
He turned the car off, and shook his head. "No. I've had kind of a
restricted..." He unbuckled his seat belt. "Life."
Carson nodded slowly. "Guess the first step is trying out things to see if you
like them. We've got the summer."
"I want Grant to do these things, too, but..." He wasn't there yet. He could
hardly leave the house, let alone just drive in randomly guided circles.
"He will, but he needs to have a little more exposure to the world first,"
Carson said. "It might be overwhelming if he does it too soon. Mum knows what
she's doing. She'll get him used to doing things for himself at home. Then
she'll do things like get him to go out to the park with her, and then maybe
send him to post a letter at the mailbox on the corner for her. Then they'll go
shopping, that sort of thing."
"Slow, right." He got out of the car, waiting for Carson to join him. On the
one hand, he wished Grant were there. On the other hand, it was sort of nice to
be doing something just for himself. With no worries that something horrible
would happen to Grant if he did something for himself.
Carson at least knew enough to lead the way into the place, which was dark and
filled with flashing lights and noise, and kids of all ages. "We'll need to get
some change, then pick a game."
"Okay... Yeah." It was hard to not be overwhelmed for a moment, and Rodney
turned around, twisting, and stumbling a little because it was loud and
dazzling in there.
Carson was already up changing their dollars into handfuls of coins and he
grinned at Rodney. "Let's see what looks good."
He had a handful of coins, and too many games with flashing lights on the top,
neon and intriguing pictures on the sides. "Which ones are good?"
"I quite like Rampage," Carson gestured to one of the machines. "It's a wee bit
more challenging than space invaders."
There was a King Kong on the side, and Rodney edged in closer to that one.
"Okay, sure."
"Let's have a go. I'll show you my poor attempt at the game, then you have a
go, then we can both play at the same time," Carson said.
He watched Carson start it up, picking a generic King Kong character after he
slipped his coin in, and started to rampage his way up a small skyscraper while
a military sort started to take shots at him. It was funny in a strange sort've
way and Carson seemed to be focusing on it with great intent right up to the
point where he said. "My brother Collin says he’s going to fly helicopters and
planes like these."
"He's in the military?" There was a 'join now' option, and Rodney stepped up to
join in, and got a Godzilla character to start on the skyscraper next door.
"Yeah, Airforce. I don't know if mum and dad were appalled or proud," Carson
said. "Bugger!" His King Kong was in a bit of trouble.
"Here, I think you need to..." Rodney controlled his Godzilla over to stomp on
the little military guys, and grinned. "See?"
Carson grinned back. "I had a feeling you'd be good at this," he said and after
that it was easy to lose themselves in the games around them.
Before he knew it, most of the morning had gone one way or another, and by the
time Carson laughingly called a halt on a game where Rodney was kicking his
ass, he was astonished to find that he was hungry after all. Ravenous, in fact,
as they went in search of food.
Burgers seemed to be the nearest options, right next door with onion luring
them in.
Rodney did have food preferences -- in terms of choices, not pickiness.
Presented with *that* many options, he went for the onion rings, and the
burger, and the milkshake, and if they were going home right after he was going
to get Grant one 'To Go'.
"So what do you want to do next?" Carson said as he sat down with his burger,
picking at the fries.
"What, there's more?" He was taking his time with the food, dissecting an onion
ring.
"Up to you. Could be," Carson shrugged. "I didn't know how much would be
enough, you know? We could go look at the stuff in the computer shop, or music
or videos if you like. You can hire out recent movies, or see what’s on at the
movie theatre. Or… go to a bookshop, or we could just go home?"
He didn't want to go home yet. Rodney stretched a leg slightly, eyeing Carson
instead. "No, I kind of just like this. It's nice. Relaxing. We could go by a
bookstore?"
"Sure, I'd like to see if they got anything new in. Then, usually, because I'm
a cheapskate, I go and order it at the library," Carson said with a smile. He
took a big bite of his burger. "Mm. Did you have a cheeseburger in the end?"
"Yeah. They said they usually have bacon, but -- they listened when I said 'no
mayo' which is great, so..." He shrugged, and picked it up to take another
bite. "Mmhmp."
Carson snorted a little. "Don't choke, it's not running anywhere," he teased.
"I think this is the first time I've seen you eat something without offering
some to Grant."
"He's not here to offer it to." But he smiled when he said it because, hey, it
was true. Rodney swallowed, starting to concentrate a little. "We always shared
food. It's weird to not have to do that."
"Have to admit, we're not the best examples of that. Someone was always trying
to swap something off of their plates while mum's back was turned." Carson
smiled. "It became an art form at Sunday lunch."
"How?" He wasn't even sure how that would work, so he needed, wanted, Carson to
explain it to him. It was completely unrelated to the fact that he wanted the
meal to linger on.
"Well, Isobel hates cabbage, so she would swap it with Mairi for the carrots
she wasn't keen on. Collin would try and steal Jamie's roast parsnips and would
only get them in exchange for a roast potato. Allan and Aileen would have this
battle with peas. Neither of them like them so they would keep trying to put
them on each other's plates and they'd end up bouncing around the table,"
Carson said. "All this going on in the five seconds when mum turned her back to
get the next dish."
"Wow." He laughed, and picked up another onion ring. "The dining room at home
was... nothing like that. Quiet, except for Jeannie. My step-dad would wash the
dishes afterward, and I'd take a half plate down to Grant as soon as I could
get away with it."
"So, you weren't ever eating a full meal were you?" Carson asked. "And I've not
heard you talk about Jeannie much either."
"She's nine. She's my baby half sister, and she was the apple of our mother's
eye. Everything she'd ever wanted Grant and I to be." And he maybe resented her
for it. "I hope she's okay."
"If your step father wasn't involved then I guess she'll be with him," Carson
said. "I could ask Dad to find out for you if you want?"
"I'd appreciate that. He... As far as I *know*, he wasn't involved. He was
either actively ignoring it, or he was just that stupid." It was almost enough
to put a man off of his onion rings, but... fried breaded goodness was hard to
give up on.
"People sometimes are...that stupid," Carson said. "Seen that happen a few
times." In some ways, Carson had seen a lot of things, and in others he was
very naive.
It was kind of funny, but Rodney supposed he was the same way. Sure, he knew
about science and math and physics, but being *out* in the world was a hell of
a different thing. "Yeah. That was... stupid. Sometimes I wanted to just grab
him and shake him to get him to just... see. Except she didn't have qualms
about killing."
"You'd had proof of that," Carson agreed. "I'd be terrified myself. For myself
and the others."
"If what?" He took another sip of the milkshake, just letting it all filter
into his senses.
"In case she did that again. To them or to you," Carson said. "I do have an
over-active sense of empathy sometimes. Often leads one of my uncles to try
ridiculous things to 'toughen' me up. Unsurprisingly, Collin is Uncle Moran's
favorite."
Rodney grimaced around a mouthful of burger. "Because toughening people up is
such a great idea. I think it's over-rated."
"Yes, well, he doesn't visit that often," Carson answered slurping at his
milkshake. "Which is good. He is not one of my favorite relatives, but I have a
lot of random fears due to him, like of deep water and heights."
"Tried to teach you to swim by throwing you in, did he?" Rodney lifted his
eyebrows at Carson. "My step father thought that was a *fantastic* idea. And so
was dragging me up stairs that had open backs, you know the ones where you
think you're going to go all the way through it?"
"Oh bloody hell, yes," Carson shuddered. "But then on the other hand, Jamie and
Mairi, who are fearless about that, faint at the sight of blood, whereas I've
been watching dad's tapes on operations for a long time. I could do an
emergency tracheotomy now if I had to."
"Is that the tube through the neck thing?" Rodney asked with a gesture to his
neck.
"Yep." Carson beamed. "Dad showed me how to find the right spot. He used to do
a lot of surgery before he specialized."
"Huh." Rodney took another bite of his burger, and stopped the lick cheese goo
off of his fingers. "So, you're going to be a doctor some day."
"Yeah. Doctor and scientist. That's what I'd like to do, if I'm good enough. "
Carson had finished his burger. "It's weird, out of all of us, I'm the only one
following in Dad's footsteps. Allan works for some big bank and stock exchange.
Aileen is a lawyer, Collin's in the air force, Jamie is a professional
photographer and artist, but doing work for the big newspapers. Mairi works in
the film industry as an artist with props and design. Isobel is a professional
singer and actress, picking up small roles here and there, and I'm...well, they
cast pretty big shadows in our family." Carson admitted.
"I like you," Rodney declared, never mind that it didn't mean much. "Your
studying makes sense, though."
"I don't want to be the first Beckett failure," Carson said. "I'm not like you,
Rodney, it doesn't come as easily as it does to you and Grant, but I'm glad you
like me."
"I dream concepts, thoughts. And you keep saying that, Carson, but... I spent
so long hearing her say there was something wrong with us that it catches on
after a while. I wonder if maybe we'd both be young geniuses already on our way
to world conquest if she just had have ignored us in a more normal way. Or
potheads. With chaos theory, it's always so hard to guess like that."
Carson laughed at that. "Psychedelic fractals. Anyway, you finished? Let's go
find a decent bookshop."
"Mmm, I still have onion ring dust..." Rodney dabbed it up with his fingertip,
and stuck it into his mouth. "The milkshake comes with me, until we figure out
where we're going. You know any good local ones?"
"Oh, one or two," Carson said with a smile.
Probably five or six. "I want to see if I can find a manual on that beast I've
been driving, maybe work on making it better. You know, so we don't wonder if
it's going to stall out or just explode when we come to a stoplight."
"You fill me with confidence in your car. I think we'll walk through to the
book store," Carson commented. "It's close enough."
Rodney laughed a little as he stood up out of the chair. "Okay. Did I tell you
that it broke down twice in my drive up here?"
"It's a bloody miracle we made it to the college and back intact," Carson said,
stuffing his hands casually in his pockets. "If we find a book, can I help you
work on it? Might convince Dad I know what I'm doing around a car."
"Yeah. I think I'd probably need an extra pair of hands, anyway, and I need to
keep this car going for at least a few more years, so..." So, why not? And he
could show Grant, because it seemed like something Grant would like, too.
Mucking about with seals and hoses. He kept a good grip on the milkshake,
waiting for Carson to edge towards the door with him.
Carson led the way again, chilled and relaxed in his jeans and t-shirt as they
wandered down the street in search of the book shop. "You think Grant would
like comics?" he asked, glancing over at him.
"Does. He does like them," Rodney corrected. "When I could get them to him.
Superhero ones are the best."
"Place I'm thinking of has a section. We could go see what was new for him as
well," Carson answered. "Might as well blow our allowance. How much have you
got?"
"After dinner and the arcade, I've got five left." That was a couple of comics
and a couple of books.
"Mum will give us an allowance a week, and usually she and Dad set up a chore
list beyond our usual with price tags for each thing, like cleaning out the
garage and you know, that sort've stuff. We quite often do stuff around the
neighborhood as well, cut lawns and things to pay for extra. " Carson explained
as they wandered up the sidewalk. "Mum and Dad say any money we make ourselves
is ours to spend on whatever we want."
Rodney stuck his free hand into his pocket, and felt the couple of loose
dollars and the coins in there. "How bad's the garage look, again?"
"It's pretty bad," Carson grinned. "Couple of lost civilizations in there
somewhere. Mum will want to do a yard sale at some point as well. It's that
time of year."
"What, summer?" He was following Carson's lead down the sideway, still working
away on the last of his milkshake. "We can work on that."
"Yep, I intend to. " Carson binned his milkshake cup in the next bin.
Just one more thing to keep sort-of busy with, but Rodney was going to take it
for the opportunity it was. With more to fill in their days, relaxation time
started to feel like it was worth something.
The book store when they got there was massive, and everywhere he looked there
were hundreds, thousands of books bright and shiny new, their spines uncracked,
pages unthumbed apparently all competing for his interest. Carson was obviously
as much of a book fiend as he was because he could barely force himself to walk
past the shelves.
"Oh..."Carson paused by the new titles. "I've heard of this one. It's meant to
be good." He picked it up. "Speaker for the Dead. It's the sequel to Ender's
Game. You ever read that?"
"No. Mum called it trash." Rodney shrugged as he eyed some of the 'new' titles.
He wasn't sure what he was looking for.
"I've got it at home," Carson said looking mildly horrified at the thought of
one of his favorite books being described as trash. "I might have to get
this... I think you'd appreciate Ender's Game. Anyway, we were looking for a
book on your car?"
"Yes. And then we can get back to this," Rodney said, still staring at the
covers, as if that was going to tell him more.
The section to do with cars and manuals was difficult to find partly because
they were looking in a pokey corner and it was actually a prominent display,
which was probably logical considering they were the reading material of a lot
of men. "Here we go," Carson said. "Oh hey, science section. I'll just be
here."
Rodney caught himself in the middle of a laugh when he heard Carson say that.
"Okay, sure -- yeah. I'll be trying to find my car."
It was weird, browsing through all the things his mother had disdained. He kept
wondering if someone was going to start shouting about how useless it all was
and that he was an idiot for wanting it. Part of the problem was that his
mother was smart, intelligent and completely nuts. But she was clever enough to
talk convincingly around every opinion, so much so you had to have an ego of
pure titanium to even hold on to your own opinion. Most people ended up nodding
sagely and agreeing with her even if they had started off opposing her
viewpoint.
And mostly, it had crushed a lot of things he knew he was interested in. He
liked the piano, and he was going to practice as much as he could on that. He'd
always liked to take things apart, and he had a car that needed some serious
taking apart. He ended up selecting a semi-generic Chevy manual that had a
chapter on the Vega and the quirks that were specific to it.
Carson was deeply immersed in half reading a book on new advances in medicine
and barely noticed him up to the point where he right next to him, when he
almost comically startled.
"Hi. Found what I was looking for. Two bucks. I've got enough to find something
else." He waved it a little, pleased with the 1.99 on the back of it.
"Great, what else do you like? There are some good books around. Some we could
get at the library though," Carson suggested.
"No, we're still going to the library. But, don't you ever want to own books,
too?" He sort of had half a dream of someday having a whole room with nothing
but all the books he liked.
"Oh yes, I just pick and choose otherwise I would be broke in a week," Carson
replied with a shrug. "So I only buy the ones I definitely want. We should go
look at one of the places we can get them second hand. We can get loads for a
dollar at the right places. Or at yard sales."
Rodney looked down at the manual -- which he figured would be hard to come by -
- and nodded. "Okay, then. Let me get this and then we'll go look for a used
place."
The two of them ended up with one new book each and then as apparently used
book stores worked on the principle that book lovers didn't like to walk far,
it was only another couple of minutes walk to the next store. It was a small
store, easy to walk past, but going inside was a little like disappearing into
another dimension where walls were made of book, every surface was covered with
them, some newish, some old and mold spotted, some with strange titles and
esoteric interests.
"God I love this place. There's a little room upstairs too but you can hardly
get up the stairs for books," Carson said in the hushed tones that seemed right
to adopt in the presence of books.
"What's upstairs?" Whether it was interesting or not, Rodney was curious, and
he felt less bad about fingering the spines of books that he passed, pulling
one or two out to look at the covers.
"More books. I've got a feeling it's meant to be nonfiction upstairs," Carson
said. "But I think the books migrate. Hmm, let's see what is in the science
fiction and fantasy section."
He still had an eye for books with bright bindings, big or odd sizes, seeking
those out more than the dark paper with white lettering that ran up the sides.
He started to collect them at random from the shelves, things that caught his
eyes -- big tall books, two that had been side by side. One of them had simply
declared 'GNOMES' in black font on white binding, and another one beside it.
There was a book with binding like a painting, sunset colors, and another with
white and a skinny pale man holding a sword on the cover. There were more of
those, funny titles, and a spear, and he finally sat down with his 'loot' to
try to shuffle through what he could get and what was going to migrate back
onto the shelf.
Carson came up after a while with what seemed like an armful. "What've you
found? " he asked. "Is that a Michael Moorcock book?"
Rodney shuffled them into a stack. "Three of them, actually. This one looks
like it has three books in it. And these have a lot of pictures, and I thought
maybe I could read them to Grant. Are there prices for these books, or do you
just take them up to the counter and hope?"
"It's usually written in pencil inside the cover. They don't run to stickers.
I've got a whole series here for a dollar!" Carson was ecstatic about that.
"David Eddings books, not tried him before. And then I got a couple of medical
texts and a thriller."
"Oh..." Rodney flipped through the covers, and started to sort, organizing them
from most costly -- the two big books with the pictures were 60 cents each, but
he *wanted* them, and the rest of the pile came in cheap enough that he could
get them all, odds and ends for 10 cents instead of 20 because the book had had
coffee spilled on it and other problems. But it was the words that mattered
more than how it looked, and the one that smelled like coffee might be extra
appealing.
"Got enough?" Carson asked, grinning a little. "I've got a bit left if you need
it."
"No, I should be all right. Tax included," Rodney decided, gathering them up
into his arms again. "I like this place."
"One of my favorite places ever," Carson said. "Just don't tell Collin that, he
thinks I'm enough of a nerd as it is."
Rodney snorted, still hugging books to his chest. "You're talking to a fellow
book lover. Do your other siblings visit often? I'm almost scared to meet this
Collin."
"Mum will give us warning, but they will be dropping in every now and then. But
they usually give new arrivals time to settle some first. Whatever happens,
they will be here for Thanksgiving and Christmas. It's like one long eating
extravaganza."
"Huh. I'm, it'd be nice to have a normal sort of holiday." For years it had
been *nothing*, and then it was that half holiday that was for Jeannie and for
his stepfather, the moron, but not for him. "So you all eat from October right
on through the New Year?"
"Pretty much," Carson agreed as they went to pay for their finds. "Mm, mum will
cook a feast. I think she would've happy if I'd become a chef as well. We'll
make everything you can possibly think of and then eat it all. We'll be drafted
in. Then there will be decorating for Christmas and the lights saga. Always the
lights saga. Lots of snow and usually a big snowball fight on Christmas Eve."
"The lights saga?" Rodney asked as he piled his books onto the counter and
smiled at the woman at the till.
"Getting them to work properly and untangled," Carson answered. "Or a bulb will
blow just when we got them on the tree."
"Ah, yeah. We did that. I'm pretty good at fixing those -- it's that they make
them in a series." They'd always had a bizarrely pretty tree, from the times he
could remember.
"You'll be the first person who can," Carson packed up his books carefully. "We
better head back soon actually. Mum will want help with dinner."
"Library tomorrow, maybe?" The more books the better as far as Rodney was
concerned, and he handed the woman his money with a grin once she'd tallied
them up. Still not completely broke, either -- a whole five cents left. He
pocketed it with a grin, and gathered the books up.
"Library tomorrow," Carson agreed with a nod. "I think Grant will love his
stories."
"The pictures looked pretty interesting. There were mechanical bits I saw,
pulleys and things, so..." Rodney gestured with his elbow. "Can you grab my
keys out of my pocket?"
Carson reached over and fumbled on his pocket. "Here we go," he said as they
navigated their way out of the shop. "I've got 'em."
"Thanks. Pop the hatchback and we can head home. What else did you get?" he
asked and just for a moment it felt like a perfect moment on a perfect day. He
had experienced music, good food, fun that was interesting, the delight of new
books and old bargain books to read and most surprising of all, he realized, he
had a friend who smiled at him and who wanted to be with him. If that didn’t
make it a perfect day, he didn’t know what would.
 
It had taken a while to get used to outside because the sky went on forever and
that was new, but night times were easier because dark was familiar at least
and Grant liked familiar, but he was also getting a definite taste for new as
well. Tonight they were doing something new, and Rodney hadn't done this
either, though Carson had, and that was a nice balance of old and new right
there.
"We… we have to look towards the constellation of Perseus," Grant said as they
settled with their flask of hot chocolate and snacks that had been packed for
them. "Then there will be meteors. Many of them. Best night."
"Who's got my blanket and sleeping bag?" Carson asked. "It's warm now, but it
gets colder as the night goes on."
"Right here." Rodney was setting it down, and Grant knew that they were
supposed to treat it like the sofa, not the *bed*, which was different but made
sense, too. Sofas were different kinds of sleeping, and it meant clothes on,
which was good if it was getting colder because clothes kept toes and arms
warm. Even the short sleeved shirts.
"Best time will be in... 59 minutes," Grant offered. It was exciting. They were
out away from city lights and he could count a lot more stars than he had when
they had looked at the stars from the back yard. He looked, his memory
swallowing the sky whole, finding the patterns of constellations and drawing
pictures around them in his head. He had read all the astronomy books he could
find before they came out, because then it meant he was prepared.
Then he *knew*, and he was going to see bolts of light pass through so many
constellations, blowing mythology apart, and it was hard to not grin. Rodney
was pouring out cups of cocoa, quick to close the thermos to keep heat in.
"Here we go. This really is going to be beautiful."
"Yeah." Carson settled back. "You're not cold, Grant?"
"No, no. It's warm enough." Shona had been telling him to think more about
speaking and he tried to do it the best he could. He was learning a lot at the
moment which was good, but sometimes hard when it was a lot of things all at
once. "I am comfortable."
They'd been doing a lot of reading and writing, and it wasn't that he couldn't
read -- Rodney and him had worked on that years ago -- but that there were
things in words, meanings tucked into them, implications, and it left him
feeling a little out of his league, but interested. History was neat, too, and
Rodney still did math and science bits with him when he wanted to work through
things in his comfort zone. "Good." Rodney passed a cup over to him, then to
Carson, and settled in beside him on the sleeping bag, leaning back enough to
look up.
"I can see...Orion." Grant pointed up at the stars that were distinctive.
"There is Rigel and Betelgeuse which is spelt strangely, and Bellatrix, Alnilam
and Alniltak and they are all bits of Orion. There are others too."
“Okay, and what's beneath him?" Rodney pressed, and that was easy. That was
Lepus, which made for a really big rabbit if they were all supposed to be on
scale with each other.
"Oh, wait I know that one," Carson said. "Lepus, right?"
"Yes, Lepus. And there is Sirius,” Grant pointed out. "The Dog Star. I like
dogs."
"I think that's a hint," Rodney mused, leaning shoulder to shoulder with Grant.
It was nice. It wasn't close like they'd been before, but it was nice.
Rodney had explained quietly in the voice he used when he was very serious, in
the tone he used when he was going to college. He had listened. He never wanted
to lose Rodney. He knew what it felt like to be without him.
"Just a small one," Carson grinned. "Still haven't managed to tame a squirrel
though, Grant."
"Lassoing it wasn't the best idea I've ever had," Rodney agreed. That had been
fun, and Grant had gotten to learn all about rabies, and rabies shots, and safe
interaction with wildlife. Rodney was always the first one to see squirrels
now, and Grant could tell by the dirty look he gave them.
"It climbed on your head," he commented. It had made him laugh and then he had
been so surprised by that he had nearly choked.
"Aye, that it did.” Carson murmured.
At that point a meteor streaked across the sky.
It startled him, and then his eyes tracked it until it faded, and he was
careful to keep his eyes open now, looking for the next one. "Wow, that's
really clear."
There was a nice afterburn in the sky which took 9 seconds to fade. Grant was
impressed by that. It made him feel good to see it.
"When I was a lot younger, sometimes Allan would take me out to do this, or Dad
if he was around," Carson said. "We used to make up names for different types
of shooting stars. You get short fine ones, or short blazing ones, or ones that
cross across the whole sky..." He sounded like he was smiling. Grant liked
Carson, he smiled a lot and he hadn't been horrible to either of them.
"Are there 'official' names for the different types of shooting stars?" Rodney
asked, an open question for anyone who had an answer.
"I haven't read anything that has a classification," Grant said. Maybe he
should've done that. That was what was meant to happen. His hand crept out to
find Rodney's. That was okay. It was okay to hold hands where people couldn't
see, because brothers were close but just not close like that, Carson had said.
He was a little confused about Carson's brothers because Carson seemed to care
for them, but they seemed from a lot of the stories to not care so much for
Carson. He didn't want that to ever happen with Rodney.
"It's more fun to make up our own." A thin shooting star, brief and short-
lived, bisected a constellation.
"Huh, *that* one was like an arrow," Rodney decided, squeezing Grant's fingers
and taking a sip of his cocoa.
"Arrow types," Grant filed that away in his head. Making something up was
exciting in its own way.
"That one was like a tiny pip of a meteor," Carson said. Grant mentally
wondered if it had skimmed the surface of the atmosphere or was a speck of
dust. Figures and velocity calculations flowed through his head like a cooling
balm and he wondered if Rodney were doing the same or calculating the orbit of
stars and the distances between the suns that burned so far away.
Rodney was quiet about how his head worked, unless it was the two of them
alone. He was watching the stars, and Grant looked up at the sky instead of
watching Rodney more. "I wonder what else is out there. That we just don't have
the ability to see yet. I was going to be taking Intro to Astrophysics this
fall back at Northwestern."
"There could be people out there. Races like in the books we read. Or things we
couldn't imagine," Carson said as more of the meteors streaked across the sky,
bold and bright.
"The, the odds are that there are other people out there," Grant said. "But
there is so much space there... only way to find them would be to..." he
gestured with his hand in the air above him. "...short cut."
"We need the Enterprise. Only, with engine systems that aren't bullshit,"
Rodney decided, and Grant liked the sound of that. "Crystals. Seriously,
*crystals* as part of any system is just..."
"Lithium doesn't make crystals. Dilithium cannot form," Grant said knowing that
was true because lithium did not work that way. "Crystals are not too different
to silicon chips. Silicon is quartz which can be crystalline and oscillate
precisely which is how it works in computers and watches."
Carson chuckled. "I have no idea what you were saying there."
"That's okay, I look at x-rays and go cross-eyed," Rodney shrugged. "One day,
though. There's so much out there. If we can even ever know about a tiny
fraction..."
"What would you do? Would you travel to other worlds?" Carson asked, as more
meteors streaked across the sky.
Grant wondered about that. He was visiting another world. He was facing the
unknown every time he went outside. It made him feel sometimes like the people
in the books he was allowed to read now. He liked them, they were all bright
colors in his head.
"Once I get a feel for this one." Ah, that was good to hear. Not that he
thought Rodney was going anywhere without him, but.
"I like this world," Grant said and meant it. "There are a lot of interesting
things and nice things."
"Aye there is," Carson said softly and Grant thought he was looking at Rodney
then. He wasn't sure why, but he felt the same, so there wasn't any reason to
question it.
"Cocoa and evil squirrels and my car's oil change, and stars. Hey, look at that
-- three of them." Sliding over the atmosphere, skidding at just the right
angle.
"One for you, one for me and one for Carson." Grant liked that, liked the way
Carson chuckled a little and reached over to give him one of his bars of
chocolate. Right then, looking up at a limitless sky, chocolate in his hand,
and Rodney there and happy as well, Grant wasn't sure if life could get any
better than this.
He really didn't think that it could.
===============================================================================
He knew things had been going too well for too long. The fact that Shona hadn't
trusted him to get there and *stay* there, or to actually go to the therapist
on his own and had driven him there herself was... telling, Rodney supposed.
If he was honest, he wouldn't have gone there. The whole concept was ludicrous,
and he had homework he could be working on.
"So, Rodney, " his therapist who had introduced herself as 'Call me Diane'
which was better than Dr LaCroix only by a very fine margin. "I'm interested in
how you feel about the prospect of therapy."
"I have a pretty long list of things I'd rather be doing, starting with
homework and ending with replacing a tire in the middle of a busy highway." He
shifted, restless in the leather chair that squeaked every time it moved.
She smiled a little. "Why is that, Rodney?" she asked.
"Because you're going to either make me talk or talk to me about what happened.
Which is the whole reason why I'm here, and I'd just rather not."
"Maybe as a first step, you could tell me why you'd rather not?" the therapist
asked.
"Because I don't like talking about it." He shrugged his shoulders at her. "I
know it's fascinating for the social worker, and probably you, but not so much
for me."
"Then let me give you a good reason," Diane said, as she leaned back. "This
case will go to trial. You need to be in a position to express yours and
Grant's side of things in a clear fashion without being overwhelmed, or
becoming incoherent."
The implication was that Grant would most definitely do the latter.
"I'm not incoherent, and I'm not going to be overwhelmed," he countered simply.
He'd done a good job with the police, and talking with them.
"Because you only scratched the surface of your emotions. I sincerely doubt
that would be the end of it," she said. "However, let's take this one step at a
time. Why don't you tell me something that you are enjoying at the moment. Tell
me how something is different now?"
"That's not an easy area to whittle down," Rodney scoffed at her. "Where do I
start? We're fed regularly. Grant has a room of his own, and I'm helping him
prepare for his GED, which never seemed possible before. I've made friends with
the Beckett's son, Carson. I like the house and the... environment we're living
in. And I have weekly piano lessons again. I have a library card, and an
allowance. I'm going back to school, just up the road, half time until we get
the trial over with. Just two classes that run from 8-9."
"And you enjoy all of these activities?" she asked. "Or do you just find them
astonishing?"
Astonishing. "I enjoy them, and maybe I find some of them astonishing. The
Becketts have been... really good to us. And when I do things that aren't...
behaving, I don't have to worry that I'm going to be hurt. We have a talk.
About why I did it, why it shouldn't be done, and some better reactions I could
have, and it's very..." He looked down at his hands. "Logical. I'm trying to
not disappoint them, which I never cared about doing to my mother."
"Why didn't you care about that with your own mother, Rodney?" Diane asked and
it actually didn't sound accusing which it had, sometimes, from the social
worker.
"She didn't care about us. I never... okay, maybe I did. At one point. When I
was little. Except I can't empirically prove it, because I always remember not-
liking her. After our father 'disappeared' into the floor, I couldn't even talk
near her. Whispering to Grant got me smacked across the mouth and told I was
being bad. There was never any *real* pleasing her. Not in any long term way.
There were just ways to mitigate her temper."
"So effectively you recognized you were in a situation of always trying to
judge what the lesser of two evils could be?" Diane asked. "That must've been
difficult."
"It was." Calling it 'difficult’ was an understatement. But the lesser of two
evils was whatever would gain he and Grant the better treatment. More food,
blankets, books, anything at all.
"Did you ever stop trying Rodney?" she asked thoughtfully. "In that sort of
situation that is an option."
"I had to take care of Grant. You might think it's an option, but what kind of
option is it? I don't like having my head hit against the wall, and I don't
like going hungry. That's a really shitty non-option option."
Evidently she thought she knew otherwise. "Are you the oldest twin, Rodney?
It's usually the eldest who looks after the younger twin."
"I don't know. You'd have to check our birth certificates. Grant was always...
sweeter. He still is. I'm not. It seems natural that someone needs to take care
of him. And after she let me out, it was more necessary. But I know that if
he'd had the allergic reaction and not me, I'd, he would have done the same for
me."
"Circumstances have obviously made you close," Diane commented. "How about the
future for you both? Where do you see yourself going?
"College full time. Grant will, too. I think we'll stick around for undergrad,
but I want to get at least one Doctorate -- engineering or physics. Both if I
can find the funding."
"And then what is your ambition?" she asked. "Or have you considered that far
yet."
"I'd like to get a job," Rodney deadpanned. "I don't know. *Something*."
"With your level of intelligence, Rodney, people will offer you positions,"
Diane assured him. "You are far in advance of most in all, except some social,
conventions. Have you noticed any difficulties?"
Yes. Him and Grant and things he wanted to do with Carson, but wasn't going to
even hint. "I don't know... I sometimes wonder if I know what's right and
what's wrong. Given everything that happened. I've been using other people for
cues. A lot."
"It must be difficult when you don't have a frame of reference," she said.
"What would you say you had previously thought of as right and wrong?"
"I don't know." He rubbed at his face -- he'd tried to articulate it a couple
of times, and each time had been with less and less success. "I can't entirely
trust my past experiences as normal. I mean, they weren't. They. Weren't
normal. But how do you know what normal is?"
"Mm. A good question. There are some therapists who would say there is no such
thing, but the fact remains there are social conventions." Diane said again.
"Social expectations of morality, which is why your mother is being
prosecuted."
"Is that the only reason she's being prosecuted? Societal expectations?" It was
flimsy, and it made it sound like she was only being prosecuted because the
idea of what she'd done had offended someone. Never mind that it had derailed
whatever his and Grant's lives were supposed to be.
"No. Tell me why you think she is being prosecuted Rodney?" she asked.
"I don't know. She murdered our father. She tortured us. We've been... less
than animals to her for years. She hurt us, starved us, used us..."
"You recognize these acts as wrong, but do you feel them as wrong?" she asked.
"It felt wrong at the time and it still feels wrong." She was asking questions,
but... why? It was just like with the social worker, it was all blah blah blah,
with no connect.
He had more meaningful conversations with Carson.
"That is good, Rodney. I think you are more in tune than you would believe.
Have you made other friends?"
"Just Carson. There are people in my class, but they're also drunk morons and
most of them are failing. If I felt in a more giving mood, I'd tutor a few of
them, but I'm not. I like my professors, mostly. It's not Northwestern, but..."
"Do you find your classes interesting?" Diane queried. "Is it going to be
sufficiently challenging for you?"
"It's undergrad." He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the tension that
*everyone* seemed so concerned about his academics when he wasn't. "Look, I can
manage my own brain just fine on my own. I know to ask my professors for their
latest publications and any extra work they have and recommended readings. I
was already doing it at Northwestern. It's a... ticket that has to be punched."
"I'm asking more about what it feels like. I am sure you are more than capable,
but I am interested in your thoughts and feelings about it all," she said
patiently.
"No, you specifically asked if it's going to be challenging for me, which it
*isn't*, but I don't expect to be challenged by anything but English classes
until I get to higher levels, so, it's okay. It was the same at Northwestern.
I'm happier to be with my brother again than I am to be in America, though, of
course, the perfect combination would be American research funding *with*
Grant."
She seemed to absorb that fact. "It is important that your brother is close,
isn't it?"
"Yes. I drove all the way up here in a car I was holding together with spit and
duct tape to get him out, and I had this elaborate plan to get him over the
border. And yes, it was a bad idea, but I missed him. We've been together
forever. He finishes my thoughts."
"Does he start them as well?" she asked cryptically.
"That's an absolutely bizarre question," he scowled at her. "Of course he
starts ideas. He's brilliant. He just doesn't articulate them well yet."
"I mean, how much of your time do you spend considering your brother and his
needs?" Diane questioned.
"What, as a percentage?" Rodney shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. It sort
of revolves around him."
He had the impression that was going down as a note. "Interesting. Well, let's
have a few things you can work on yourself at home. I'd like you to find five
things this week you have done for your own enjoyment, and from your own
choice."
"Why?" He knew he sounded defensive, but it was a weird question, again.
"What's the point? A couple of times a week, Carson and I go out and do...
whatever. We hang out. Go to the arcade or the used book place, or the library,
or the movies, oh, and there's my piano lesson, which is all mine. There,
that's five."
"Because you need to establish your identity separate from Grant and his
needs." She answered. "Try five *new* things Rodney."
How was he supposed to do that? The thought of trying new things alone was
terrifying. "No, are you... I do a lot of things, and then I turn around and
share with him. You can't expect me to not do that."
"Try it first," she asked. "Just for a week."
"I don't *want* to," he snapped back. "That's like asking me to not do things
with Carson."
"I can't force you to do it, Rodney, but this resistance proves the point,"
Diane said gently.
"What point?" He definitely didn't like her, not now. "Look, you say 5 things
like... it's easy. I don't know what to *do* that would fall under you concept
of new, or even what there is to do. I got myself attacked by a squirrel
earlier this summer, all on my own -- that's pretty new. And also got me a
lecture."
"It doesn't have to be big things, Rodney," she said. "But a disproportionate
amount of your energy focuses on Grant. You need to break your thought patterns
so they are receptive to new things."
"Yes, but what do you mean by *new*? It's not like new things just fall out of
the sky on your head."
"Anything. A new food, new place to walk, a set of clothes and so on." Diane
sat back. "Rodney, I believe your progress has been truly impressive,
however... think back. Your new experiences were suggested by others, weren't
they? Think of this as the next step. Start small."
"Look, I come up with plenty of ideas on my own, and they're not always the
best. Socially, not academically. I planned to run away with Grant, but forgot
that he'd need medical care, and hadn't ever seen the sky. I thought lassoing a
squirrel was a good idea. I thought telling Carson's girl-buddy that he had a
crush on her was an obvious decision. If I find a new place to walk, I'm going
to get myself mugged somehow."
"Then come up with the idea, and ask someone, rather than them asking you if it
is something you want to do. It's a simple thing but powerful," his therapist
said firmly.
But it all went back to he didn't know what to try to come *up* with, and she
didn't seem to understand that. So, he gave up and finally just nodded. Waste
of time.
"All right then. Now is there anything you'd like to discuss or ask me,
Rodney?" she asked.
"No." If there had been, all of his thoughts were gone in the face of that kind
of obnoxious frustration.
"Then that's enough for our first session," Diane replied. "Well done. I know
you really don't embrace the idea of therapy."
"I wonder what gave you that idea." He stood up, still frowning at her.
“Believe me Rodney, I am just trying to help you help yourself,” Diane replied,
watching him as he stood.
"Yeah, well, I don't think you realize how much not-helping you're doing when I
don't even know how to think of 'new' things." He was moving towards the door,
though, and Mrs. Beckett would take him home and he could figure out what the
hell to do.
She just smiled as he let himself out, and he couldn't help but think that his
first instinct to ask Carson was probably missing the point entirely.
 
The problem was he'd had a great summer and Carson had allowed himself to
believe that maybe things really were going to be better at school when he went
back. All that had actually happened was that it felt worse.
He didn't moan or whine, no Beckett was allowed that luxury. Collin would be
furious with him for being a wuss, and even Allan would be disappointed because
they'd all toughed out the trials and tribulations of school without resorting
to moaning.
He trudged home, miserable, and needing the time to pull himself together so he
could present a happy face at home. He'd skipped grades, he was doing advanced
options that made him stick out like a sore thumb and really, the consequences
of that were obvious.
Even among the geeks and the brains of his school, he was a bloody target,
younger than the rest of them, likely to finish up school before them, moving
too fast for his own good. He was 15, after all, and in the 11th grade. Rodney
said that was phenomenal, but Rodney had been 15 and starting his first year of
college, while Carson was 15 and a half, and he shouldn't have been comparing
their situations, but it was hard to not measure himself against Rodney’s
capabilities and find himself wanting.
He swore they were getting rougher as well this year. He'd been made miserable
before, but they’d never quite crossed the line to anything that was really
physical. That was apparently changing, or he'd made the mistake to trying to
fight back a little.
And then there was a problem of Madelyn and another reason why he didn't want
to go home right now.
It wasn't that Madelyn was a problem in herself. It was just that she'd met
Rodney, when they'd all run into each other over the summer, and Rodney had
blurted out that Carson had told him all about her and that was sort of a hinky
thing. She'd talked to him in school, and he was hoping that if he walked fast
enough, he could catch up with her before she went home, except her walk home
went in the other direction from his walk home.
He liked being friends with Maddie, because he didn’t have that many that he
could afford to blow it, and he did like her but...it was complicated.
"Hey Maddie!" he called out spotting her slight frame among the crowds of other
students.
"Carson, hi." She had a wide, genuine sort of smile, and Carson liked her
smiles. "How was the rest of your day? I didn't see you after lunch."
He always felt himself grin back. "It was okay, how about you?"
"Decent. I think my history teacher's going to be boring this year, but we were
spoiled with Mrs. Morrison last year." Her fingers were hooked into the straps
of a book bag that seemed too big for her. "So, what're you doing heading this
way? "
He looked down a little, trying to will himself not to blush. He couldn't lie
very well, hide the truth, yes, like a champion, but lie, no. "I uh... well, I
wanted to talk to you about that thing my foster brother said."
"What, uhm... Rodney? Well, you had that foster brother when you came to
highschool who thought that you all secretly turned into mice at night, and
told me about that, too. So the only reason you're worried is because...?"
Shit, he'd miscalculated. He should've just pretended it was nothing instead of
worrying about it. "I thought it might make you uncomfortable," he said
generally.
"Oh." She cleared her throat slightly, and looked sideways at him. "I thought
you might say because it was true."
And now he was a crimson blushing mess of embarrassment and he was silent for a
moment, because his mouth had dried up. "Well um, maybe a wee bit true?" he
said looking at her hopefully.
She was smiling. "It's about time, Carson. So. Maybe we could do dinner and a
movie on Friday?"
He nearly tripped over his own feet in his surprise. "Really? Because...
because I don't want to mess things up. Do you want to go out somewhere in
particular?" Oh god, what was he meant to do? He was one step from literally
flailing.
"If it doesn't work out, Carson, it's *okay*. We'll just... see. We're friends
anyway, so it can't hurt. If it feels weird, we can't say we didn't try." She
reached out, and cuffed him lightly on the shoulder, and that was familiar.
"I'm uh... I don't really know what to do, just warning you," he said a bit
uselessly. "Any particular movie or shall we just see what's on?"
"I think we'll just go and see whatever’s playing?" She was all grins, and then
leaned over to kiss his cheek.
"O... okay," Carson stammered and then beamed. He didn't know why he was so
happy, but suddenly he was.
He was, because it was unexpected and he had *plans* for Friday all of a
sudden, and it meant that he wouldn't be able to go to the movies randomly with
Rodney, but Rodney would be all right with that. "Now, as much as I'd love to
take you home to meet mum, I think you should get home before it starts to rain
like it's been threatening. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yeah, yeah, sure. Thanks, Maddie," he said and smiled at her again, waving a
little foolishly as she headed off.
He almost tripped on a sidewalk crack, but it was hard to not *skip* home, so
he settled for jumping a bit and then running, because he had a DATE.
 
Carson wasn't sure if he walked home or floated. His brain didn't record much
of the journey at all because he had a date! A real date and all because Rodney
had opened his mouth and spilled the fact that he liked Maddie. He had to say
thank you for that at the very least.
It was the first time ever, and he knew that most boys had at *least* started
doing that, but that they were usually in classes with girls their age, not
older, and he *had* to tell Rodney.
It was nice to come home and see Rodney and Grant sitting in the living room,
with books spread out like they belonged there.
"Hey Rodney! Hey Grant," he grinned. "How has your day been?"
Rodney and Grant's answers overlapped. "Good" and "horrifying" sounded out at
once, and Rodney sighed, and stretched out on the floor. "You look like you're
in a good mood. What happened?"
"You are a genius!" Carson said unable to keep in the news for even a minute.
"Seriously, I'm sorry I freaked out about what you told Maddie because it
worked!"
"What worked?” Rodney looked lost for a minute, and then he startled a little.
"Wait, when I told her you liked her?"
"Yeah, that time," Carson bounced in and sat down. "I went up to her to do the
whole, 'hope this hasn't made things weird' speech and kinda ended up admitting
that yes, you had told the truth, and yeah, I liked her. End result, date on
Friday!"
"Oh, uh. Date on Friday. Congratulations?" Rodney dropped his eyes, and looked
over to where Grant was working through what seemed to be a long-answer
question.
"Friday has a date." Grant said as he wrote steadily. “It is the 21st."
"Not that sort of date, Grant," Carson said used to that sort’ve literal
comment by now.
"No, it's when two people go out to romantically spend time together," Rodney
explained briefly. "Like, to dinner and a movie."
"Yes, yes, that's what we are doing," Carson said. "Where should we go? And
what movie should we see? You've met Maddie..."
"I don't know." Rodney shrugged his shoulders. It felt a little frustrating,
because Rodney was usually better at coming up with ideas than that. "Take her
someplace she'll like."
That derailed Carson a little and he mentally replayed the last minute or so
and realized that Rodney had actually said his day had been horrifying and he'd
been going on about how great things were.
"I'm sorry, you've had a bad day?" he asked even though he really just wanted
to talk about his good fortune.
Rodney gave another shrug. "Therapist sessions are for putting a road bump in
my Tuesday," he muttered. "I don't know where you should take her. I'd say
dinner and a movie. It's what they do in movies, and you're pretty good at it."
"Therapy didn't go well?" Carson said.
"Rodney says therapy is impossible," Grant put in doing the impossible of his
own. He was staring at what he had written with a perplexed frown.
"Therapy is daft. I'm supposed to do five 'new' things on my own." He folded
his arms over his chest, despite that he was still leaning on his elbows. "So.
Have fun Friday."
Carson frowned a little, sensing some hostility. "Rodney... what's the deal?
Have I annoyed you or something?"
"*We* were going to go to the movies Friday," Rodney pointed out, while he
reached out to peer at Grant's piece of paper. "But hey, since I have to pull
new activities out of my ass, this works out fine."
"Shit." Carson swore, guilt rising up inexorably. "Shit, sorry Rodney I..uh..
crap."
Now he felt like a complete bastard.
"No, no, it's fine. I'll just find something to do. I'm supposed to be going
out and doing my own thing more than I do, anyway." Rodney sounded like he
didn't believe it, and he didn't sound much like he meant it when he said 'it's
fine'. "Go out, have fun."
"We'll do something at the weekend," he said promising that immediately. "I
just... or I can ask Maddie if we can move the day. "
But it was such a fragile thing he didn't really want to risk changing
something just in case.
"No, no, just forget it. It's fine. Whatever. You're supposed to want to date
girls." Rodney leaned in, shoulder to shoulder with Grant, still reading his
paragraph. "Huh."
"Doesn't make sense," Grant said looking worried. "It… it.. contradictions and
inaccuracies."
"What doesn't?" Rodney craned his head, not taking the paper away from Grant.
"We're working on history."
"This bit. They both say they are right, but they cannot both be right," Grant
said and Carson peered over at the information that seemed to be something
about the Second World War.
"Grant, it is an interpretation of evidence," he said, glad for the
distraction. "It is what one person believes is the truth against what another
person believes is the truth."
"The Chinese and the Japanese have different opinions of what happened, and
somewhere between the two are the facts." Rodney leaned in closer, and then
twisted the book towards Carson. "Though I suspect the Chinese interpretation
is closer to reality in this instance. Mostly, your essay's pretty...
coherent."
"I don't like it," Grant said pushing the piece of paper away. "And you're
annoyed with Carson and I don't like that either."
And that made Carson feel even worse than before. And what the hell did Rodney
mean, 'You're supposed to want to date girls?'
Rodney groaned, and covered his face with his hands. "It's okay, Grant. I'll
get over it. I'm mostly angry about therapy."
"Are you sure?" Carson asked. He shouldn't be this concerned over things but it
was giving him a huge headache. He didn’t like conflict that much.
"Therapy is stupid," Grant commented. "Like this is."
He liked, them, after all. He liked Grant and Rodney, together and separately,
which was like getting them with, or without, the hive-mind effect.
"I'm sure. She's a nice girl, and you, it's the normal thing to do. Dates."
Carson shrugged. "I've not really had one before," he admitted in a low voice.
He glanced at Rodney. "Have you?"
"No." It was a bewildered sort of 'no', and Rodney was already looking at
Grant's writing again.
"I was hoping to ask your advice," Carson said with a faint smile, trying to
cheer Rodney up a little.
Grant was visibly sulking a little because his History essay was not
cooperating the way he wanted.
"So tell me again what the therapist said you have to do?" Carson said.
"I'm supposed to go do five new things that I can't turn around and..." Rodney
waved one hand. "Relate it like I usually do. Which are both one, stupid and
two, frustrating."
"They usually have some sort've thing in mind. What's it meant to do?" Carson
asked glad they were away from the subject of his date. He'd have to do
something special for Rodney to make up for ditching him on Friday night.
"I don't know. She wants to make sure I'm making decisions for myself or
something." He finally pulled Grant's essay from him, and moved to pass it over
to Carson. "Here, you give it a read. The only part of history I really enjoy
is the weapons and other innovations that come out of it."
Carson picked it up, and began to read. The interesting thing was, Grant wrote
a lot more fluidly than he spoke, though he was getting better at that now.
There were a few quirks he recognized at Grants' 'tone' but it was just a
question of style, and Grant was devastatingly logical about things and
commented on patterns he was sure weren't mentioned in the texts. He had
stalled over the conflicting information because he liked to deal in facts
but...
"Grant, instead of concentrating on these accounts as 'facts' why don't you
look at them as part of a pattern and write from that perspective?"
"Oh. Uh, huh..." Grant leaned up to take his paper back. "But they say they're
facts."
"Each side does, yes," Rodney agreed. "Except, you said they're inconsistent.
So they're not *really* facts. They're the rough estimate from that point of
view." Rodney glanced up, like he was looking to Carson to back him up.
"History is a bit… woolly," Carson said remembering his own essays. "Eyewitness
accounts are notoriously biased and uh... okay, except yours Grant, not
everyone has a memory like yours."
"Oh." Grant frowned a little. "They can't remember everything?"
"No, not at all," Carson said. "I'm not as bad as most but I can't repeat what
has happened like you can."
"I'm worse," Rodney admitted with less of the general anger he'd had before. "I
just ask you, Grant."
"Oh." Grant frowned and picked up his pen again and started writing and Carson
smiled.
"So have you thought of these new things you have to do then?" Carson asked,
turning back to Rodney.
"Not really." Rodney shrugged, shifting his attention incrementally towards
Carson again, now that Grant was back to work. "She said I should do things I
want to do. That's all good and well, except I *like* including other people
that I get along with."
"Did she say that you couldn't have other people along?" Carson asked. That
seemed a bit harsh.
"Yeah. I pressed, and that was... basically what she said," Rodney said
miserably. "Which is stupid. I've done alone. It's miserable and it's boring."
"Maybe you can work up to it slowly? I'd think she'd be pleased you are
socializing," Carson said. "Besides there must be things you'd like to do?"
'Nothing that I can think of. I've pretty much been *doing* the things I like
to do. And once Grant wants to go out places..." Taking Grant to the movies
would be less 'trying to sneak into R rated movies', and more looking
specifically for the younger-rated things, but he'd still *like* it. Once he
got more used to the outside. The garden was pretty solidly now in Grant's list
of spaces he liked.
It was good to watch and see it happening. He really was making remarkable
progress, mainly due to his mum spending a lot of time with him.
"I think the idea is to make you think a little, and look for new things." He
had some experience with what the therapists said. "You know, like when we went
off to watch the stars, or the first time we tried going to the arcades. Or the
whole Squirrel incident."
"Which was a bad idea, but. Also, *we*. I don’t know what new things to look
for until I see them."
"Am I allowed to help at all?" Carson asked. Maybe he could discretely. Leave
magazines around with things open on articles or something.
"Probably not, but I'm really drawing a blank. I mean, I did fine at college
because everything was new. I did that. But I... mostly prefer mental
adventures."
"Maybe that could be something," Carson said. "You can do that you know. That
counts as something new. There are people who have a hobby of mental
adventures. It's called Dungeons and Dragons. Jamie used to like it. He'd rope
me in every now and then to play a game."
"Huh. Did he leave any of it here?" Rodney glanced at Grant, as if he was
checking his level of interest in either the conversation or his sheet of
paper.
"Somewhere in his room," Carson said. "We could look it out, and even if you
don't like it, you'll have tried right? She didn't say you had to like it."
"Ah, true." He nudged Grant's shoulder. "Does that sound more interesting than
history work?"
"Yes," Grant said decisively. He pushed the history essay to one side.
"You do realize I don't know much about it, but it can be fun,” Carson said.
"So if none of us know what it is, then no-one can tell us we're doing it
wrong," Rodney pointed out reasonably. "Your mum said dinner's going to be a
while. Do you have homework? Math? Science?"
"I did it earlier," Carson said. When he'd been hiding out from McGee who
seemed to think going by his Initials was the way to be cool this year. He
couldn't wait until that bugger got himself hit by a car or jailed for underage
drinking.
"Yeah? And you didn't have any problems with it, did you?"
"Not this time, but we're at the start of the year," Carson said. "I'm sure in
a few weeks I'll be struggling."
Rodney snorted, and reached over to take the book from Grant. "Here, we'll find
a way to make history more interesting after dinner."
Grant nodded and Carson decided that it had to be a good thing Grant learned to
use his imagination more. And he hadn't played with his Cleric character for
ages. Jamie had been a ranger, Collin, if they could get him to play had been
the warrior, and he wasn't sure what Isobel had been. A Bard or something , and
that left Mairi as mage. He wasn't sure what Rodney and Grant might go for, but
it would be fun finding out.
And it was better than Rodney sulking about Carson's date on Friday.
 
It was sort of, he supposed, a fuck you to his therapist. Rodney had *wanted*
to go to a movie with Carson, except Carson had a date, which would probably
mean burgers, and the same theater he would've gone to. That pretty much ruled
out that whole area for his entertainment, because the odds that he'd run into
them was too high, and then Carson would get all self conscious, and Rodney
wanted him to enjoy doing the 'normal' thing.
But it meant he needed to find a different part of town to hang out in.
Problem was, he didn't really know any parts of town except for the ones he had
seen with Carson. So his plan consisted of getting in his now not too bad
looking car and cruising the streets, and looking for places where he could go
hang out in without having to show an ID. Because knowing Carson, he'd probably
take his new girlfriend to the used bookstore, too, and Rodney wasn't going to
think about that. He was going to think about himself and what he wanted.
"And what I want, I usually can't have," he told himself, slowing down when he
came to a stoplight. Up ahead looked like a populated area, with people walking
on the street, outdoor eating, maybe cafe-type places like he'd run into in
Northwestern.
Maybe he should park up and take a look around. If nothing else it had to
satisfy that stupid five things challenge from the therapist. That bugged him.
He didn't like to think there were things he couldn't do. Choosing not to do
them, that was something else, but not being able to do them, no. He *liked*
sharing things, couldn't understand why you'd want to go and purposefully
exclude the people who mattered most to you. But then again, there were things
he couldn't do, period, full stop. He couldn't 'sleep' with Grant, or talk
about it, or anything else, but the idea of doing that with women was pretty
stomach churning. Maybe it was just him -- he and Grant didn't exactly talk
about *that*, because Grant hadn't gotten out in the world like Rodney had, he
reminded himself while he parked.
On the other hand, he was a teenager and he did get horny. Worst thing was, it
seemed like it wasn't women doing it for him at the moment. He wasn't exactly
sure what it was but he knew what it wasn't.
It wasn't boobs and, and if he thought too hard about the rest of it, he wasn't
going to enjoy himself for the rest of the evening. It was better to stand up,
straighten his jacket, and lock his car door. He was just going to see what he
could get into and, worst case scenario, he'd end up people-watching in a place
where he *wouldn't* find Carson.
He parked up and started wandering, hearing the thump of loud music from a
couple of places, bright lights and people dressed up in glitz and glamour,
tunic tops and big hair that looked tousled and backcombed.
The first couple of places wouldn't let him in and he was forced further away
from the mainstream.
He was underage, which was the real problem, and sneaking into a club wasn't
the same as sneaking into a barely matinee mid afternoon showing of Aliens,
where the girl at the ticket counter knew they were underage and just didn't
care. These were adults, and Rodney knew he looked young, but he'd washed and
combed his hair and tried to look at mature as he could, same as he did when he
went to college, but his ID... gave it all away. Even at Western Ontario, his
classmates thought he was 18.
He stuck his hands in his pockets, and moved along with the crowd, past a
couple of fancy restaurants.
There was a club off of the beaten track and the guy on the door looked like he
didn't give a shit about anything. It wasn't exactly as classy as the other
place, but he reckoned he stood a chance of getting in.
"Hey. What's your cover charge?" It seemed best to ask that, like he didn't
have a thought that there was anything funny about him getting in.
"Five bucks," the man replied in a supremely bored tone of voice. He put his
hand out for the money, obviously not caring about ID.
Fantastic. Rodney stuck the fiver in the man's hand, and moved to waltz right
into the place's thumping music and weird lights.
He wasn't exactly sure what the appeal was. It was dark with flashing disco
lights, crowded with the press of people and hazy with smoke. Alcohol in the
shape of cocktails and wine seemed to be the way things were going.
He could probably get a drink, look around for a minute, and then slip back
out. Kind of a waste of 5 bucks, but he wasn't really a dancer and it felt
claustrophobic in there, too closed in. He skirted the edges of the dancers,
edging up towards the bar.
When he got there, the woman leaning against the bar turned to him. "Hey
there... you want to buy me a drink?" she purred. She had bright red lipstick
and her hair was wild and quite possibly slicked with glitter - though that
could be spill over from her eye shadow.
How she got glitter up into her hair from her eyes, he didn't know. Maybe she
stood in front of the mirror and did an all over glittering of herself? Rodney
threw her a smile, trying to feel wound up and mature, and flirty, because no-
one dressed themselves up like that unless they were in theatre or looking for
attention. "Maybe. What're you drinking?"
"White wine spritzer," she said smiling with a curve of her mouth that seemed
predatory.
The predatory part of her smile made him cringe inside, but it seemed the
normal thing to do, and he knew how much money he had for his night on the
town. He caught the bartender's eyes, and nodded at the man. "And I'll take a
Labatt."
The bartender was giving a look just short of raising his eyebrows but he
didn't comment, just gave him the drinks.
"My name is Sindi," she supplied. "I haven't seen you here before."
"I'm new in town. I'm over at Western." He was still grinning, carefully,
contrived, when he took a swig off of the beer.
"College guy huh?" She sipped at the drink. "I like intelligent guys. What you
going to be? Lawyer? Doctor?"
"Scientist." Not as glamorous, but. Rodney took another swig off of his beer.
"What do you do?"
"I'm an actress," she said, as if that should be obvious. She was most likely
lying from the look of her. He didn’t like the way she was coming on to him,
but then, she *was* coming on to him.
That was disturbing all by itself. Rodney lifted his eyebrows at the woman. "An
actress, huh? What kind? TV, advertisements, or theatre?"
"This and that," she said evasively. "Auditioning for a movie this week. My
agent says I'm a sure thing."
"Yeah? I'm sure you'll do great," Rodney smiled. "Really. What's the part?"
"Some sci-fi thing. I think there is a lot of running in *very* tight cat
suits," she said, and stood up. "Do you think I would look good in one of
those?"
Yeah, she looked good. Too, too good, and it made him wonder why she was in
*that* dive, hitting on *him*. "Oh yeah. You definitely have the body for it."
She smiled at him as if he had just hit the jackpot. "I'm just going to...
freshen up some. Back in a moment," she said making the act of sauntering away
as provocative as possible.
That was... something else, and Rodney resituated himself into a more beer-
centric position, swigging it.
The bartender was looking at him for a long moment and leant forward. "Word of
advice, kid, save yourself a whole lot of grief and be out of here when Sindi
gets back," he offered.
"Why?" He was sort of ready to go with that vibe, though, because he was
already reaching into his pocket for his wallet to pay for the drinks.
"She's trouble, kid. You want to sleep with her, you could have it, but you'd
have everything else too. She ain't exactly discriminating if you get my
drift." The bartender said.
It took a minute, and Rodney stood up, offering his change. "Must be bad if
everyone around here knows. Thanks for the uh, heads up."
"You're just fresh meat to her kid. Choice is yours," the bartender said with a
shrug.
"Yeah, I've done the fresh meat thing. Not interested. Thanks." He just hated
that he was going to be leaving so soon, but he could at least write it off as
a new thing "Bought a lady a drink and got warned off from spending time with
her because she's a cesspool."
The bartender nodded and he had to move then, get out of there before Sindi
returned ready to infect him with god only knew what.
Shit. Well, he didn't *like* boobs, and it really wasn't his kind of place, but
he wanted to be the type of guy who *did* fit into places like that. Normal
types of things. Instead, he was beating a retreat to the door, walking as
quickly as he could without running.
The night air was cool after the closeness of the club, and he was relieved
more than anything. He wasn't that fond of beer and alcohol anyway, and he
didn't stick around in case 'Sindi' came looking.
But, it hadn't taken much time. It was only 8:30, and the Becketts weren't
expecting him home until 11. *Grant* wasn't expecting him home until 11. He'd
already parked, so he could at least keep walking, looking for something more
his speed. Less glittery.
He was trying to figure what his speed was though when he smelled the coffee.
Coffee, now that was his speed, so he followed his nose into a different area.
It was across the street, with yellow lights inside and paper-sort of curtains
over the tall glass windows. Coffee. He got closer, and he could see chairs and
tables, a couple of sofas and a pile of books on one table, and maybe it was
time to stop window-shopping. He could crash on a sofa, people watch, and call
it a night.
Coffee he understood, books he understood. Better than clubs and alcohol. He
made a decision and headed inside.
The air smelled like coffee, coffee and sweets, and he relaxed a little. He
could spend another 5, get a really awesome coffee and some dessert thing and
still not be broke, and maybe take one On the Road for Grant. But it was a nice
place, and he soaked up the atmosphere first, before he wandered closer to
squint at the menu on the wall.
There was an impressive amount of coffee types, and the food tended towards the
sweet. Baked goods, cookies and pie. There was a nice looking cherry pie, some
sort of Death by Chocolate dessert, and a fantastic array of muffins and
Danishes.
And god, there was even a Grand piano in the corner where people were trying to
persuade one of their group to play a song.
There was a girl, who was maybe his age, maybe a couple of years older, behind
the counter, smiling at him, but he ignored her for a moment to decide -- did
he want pie or a muffin? He wanted something sweet, but not too sweet, not that
sweet that made the back of his throat ache. Muffins were good for that, and
good coffee, oh god, there were so many coffee choices on the wall.
"First time?" the girl said. "How do you like your coffee? I could recommend a
type if you like. Or you could just start working your way through the list."
She was pleasant without being over the top and that was good.
"Huh. I almost want to ask you 'what's good' except you're probably obliged to
say that everything is good." Rodney lifted his eyebrows at her, already
rummaging to pull his wallet out. "Uhm, I want one of those muffins, with the,
is that cinnamon? Oh, do any of them have citrus in them? I'm deathly allergic
to citrus."
"Those don't, but steer clear of the lemon slices, and the chocolate cookie
cake has orange in it," she said gesturing to the offending plate as he served
up one of the muffins. "Do you like your coffee black or white?"
"Uhm, somewhere in between, but strong." He wanted to keep away from the
chocolate cookie cake, if that was the case.
"We have a new Kenyan roast in. Full flavor. I'll give you your own jug of
cream so you can pour to suit," she smiled brightly. "Then you can decide which
section of our intelligentsia you want to sit with."
"Intelligentsia?" He both asked it and absently corrected her. "Why, is this a
university hangout? Doesn't seem close enough for those slobs."
"Not so far if you know the shortcuts,” she said. "Hope you can hold your own.
Half the people that come in that door are driven off. Not so good for business
but ensures a solid group of elitist regulars."
"As long as they're paying, I suppose it's good." Rodney lifted his eyebrows at
her. "I'll have the Kenyan roast, and a good challenge that doesn't involve
English students."
She smiled at him. "They're in the far corner, bleeding over to arts there.
Musicians around the piano, sciences and math on this side. Management is
thinking about putting in blackboards. The boss reckons they'd stay all day if
they had that."
"And drink coffee the whole time," Rodney agreed while she poured him a cup,
and he awkwardly offered over his money. "Do any of the musicians *play* the
piano, or do they just decorate the area around it?"
"Sometimes," she smiled. "A few are actually good. Some are... . You a
musician? I had you pegged as one for this side of the room." She gestured to
the scientist’s side.
"A little of both. I think I'll just watch them tonight." He waited until she
produced the cream before deciding that he'd probably creep over to the
'scientists' side to see what they were about.
"Go ahead. I'll introduce myself the next time you make it here," she said,
leaning forward. "Watch out for Lewis, he thinks he's up for the next Nobel."
Then she turned to serve someone else.
The coffee smelled good, and the muffin had the promise of edibility, which he
needed after wracking his nerves and swigging half a beer. Rodney took coffee
mug and muffin over towards one of the sofas in the 'scientists' area.
"The fact is the Soviets are going to have the advantage now when it comes to
Space exploration," one guy was saying. "Challenger knocked back the space
program more than NASA are admitting, that's what I'm saying."
"Are you kidding me? They don't have the resources for a sustained program."
"Come on, look at the evidence," one of the girls pointed out. “What about
Mir?"
"What, floating out there as a semi-functional piece? Sure, look at Mir. But
then, look at the Soviet economy," Rodney commented as he settled into his
chosen seat.
"They spent months up there. That's not semi-functional." the girl replied in
response to his tossed in observations. "It performed its function; served as a
base. The Soviets prioritize their space development, knowing it is the key
area of exploration."
"Bullshit, the priorities should be on the atomic level, particle physics.
That's been broken wide open."
"Bullshit right back at you, because that worked so well for Chernobyl,
George," the girl said sarcastically.
"That's not the same as particle physics, not what I was talking about,
*Michelle*"
Rodney lifted his eyebrows at both of them and took a sip of his coffee.
"Technically, Rockall is a base, too. I just wouldn't call it a comfortable
one, or even a *functional* one." Then, nervily, he offered, "I'm Rodney, if
you'd like to insult me by name."
"New around here Rodney?" Michelle asked looking him over speculatively.
“That’s George, Lewis and Liz."
Lewis was ignoring him as if he was beneath him somehow. Liz was following his
lead, but George was smiling at him.
"Thank God, someone new . Tell me you're physics based, I can't seem to get
these guys to see sense."
"He looks a bit young to be anything much of anything," Michelle said, raising
an eyebrow.
"I'm brilliant," he told them, without any shame, "And I just transferred up to
Western Ontario from Northwestern. Majoring in Physics, and bored out of my
mind with it. I'm just biding my time until I get to the higher courses."
George sucked in a breath even as Lewis stirred, their Alpha geek responding to
a challenge.
"We're all brilliant here,” Lewis said with a confident drawl. “But we like a
bit of evidence. Anyone can say they are a genius."
"I turned sixteen back in April, and I've already finished 39 credit hours."
That, he supposed would either be sufficient for them or not. He had better
proof that he was a genius, but he also wasn't going to bring it up unless he
was asked.
"Right," Lewis said contriving to look superior. He reached out and Liz gave
him pad and pen. "Then this shouldn't give you a problem."
He scribbled an equation down and passed it over with a smirk. "Unless you are
one of those concept physicists who can't cope with math."
"Oh, please. This is a factor the effect of friction equation. I worked that
out in highschool." He snapped his fingers, and reached for the pen with his
right hand even while he broke off a part of the muffin with his left. Easy.
"Wow, Lewis, you might have a match," George commented sounding impressed and a
little gleeful as Rodney scribbled the solution to the equation.
"He's right, it is easy," Lewis said leaning forward. “You want something
tougher?"
"Sure. Hey, what do *you* do?" Rodney asked, passing the paper back to Lewis.
"Pure math," he replied in an arrogant tone. "The only real discipline."
"Physics, building blocks of the universe," George put in amiably.
"Theory schmeory," Michelle said, waving a diffident hand. "Engineering. I'm
the anomaly in my classes."
"Biochemistry, " Liz said quietly.
Yeah, this... this was nice, Rodney decided as he waited for Lewis to come up
with a real challenge. "Huh. You're all at Western Ontario?" That meant he'd
run into George eventually, and he didn't seem like he was A) Drunk or B)
Stupid.
"Yep," George said with that friendly grin. He was fairly nondescript in
appearance with slightly messy brown hair, but with a disarming smile. "Hey,
does that mean you're coming in full time?"
"In the spring, yeah. I'm just part time right now, because of some family
stuff." And maybe, god willing, Grant might be going there in the spring. Well,
that was probably too much to hope for. Maybe a quick summer class and then
really attending in the fall. Rodney couldn't push Grant to be ready when he
wasn't. He was picking things up amazingly fast
"Finally, I'll have some back up here," George said. "It's a tough life being a
lone physicist, especially when Lewis' math groupies are trailing behind him."
Lewis scribbled a longer equation, and this one was tougher. He actually had to
think a little. Not too *hard*, but he had to think, and look at the equation a
little longer before he smugly turned the sheet around and scribbled the
solution. "People have math groupies?"
"Some of us make math cool," Lewis said raising a dark eyebrow at him. He had a
very striking appearance. Black hair, fine eyebrows, piercing green eyes. "Not
bad, kid. I thought you were a physicist?"
"Hey, I think I'm being got at," George complained.
"There's no point in being *anything* if you can't back it up," Rodney snorted.
"Physics takes math to test. It's not all high theory."
"Gotta have a theory to explain the math," George answered by way defending his
ground. "Still, I could use a hand with the math side. I'm good at concepts."
"He's very good with concepts," Michelle pointed out. "Both of them are idiots
when it comes to a practical application though."
"I haven't yet had much opportunity by way of practical application yet, but
that's been a lack of *opportunity*, not a lack of willingness," Rodney
declared.
"You'd sully your mathematician's pure and holy fingers with actual building?"
Michelle asked, and then grabbed for him to plant a kiss on his cheek in a move
that startled him. "My god, I think I love you!"
He laughed, and sat back, taking another sip of coffee. "I'm double majoring in
engineering, and anyone who thinks you *should* get through that without
building a few things is daft."
"There might even be babies," Michelle declared, and then clarified.
"...robotic ones that look after themselves, though."
George laughed at that. "Gotta love that maternal streak."
"You don't want robotic babies that look after themselves. Then they start to
raid the fridge by themselves, and the next thing you know they're welding the
muffler shut by themselves, and suddenly you're in a twilight zone episode."
But this, this was... nice. "So you all... are you up in the dorms, or what?
Because the people in my classes right now are grade A idiots, and I didn't
know where the intelligent people were hiding."
"Yeah, we're in there. Hiding out from the crazies. That's why we come out
here,” George said. "That and the fact there's not enough room on campus for
Lewis' ego."
"I'm not ashamed of being more intelligent than everyone I met," Lewis said in
the unapologetic tone he recognized from himself. "You guys are tolerably
smart."
"I'm tearing up over here," Michelle confided in Rodney. "The emotion... it
gets me right here." She thumped herself on the chest.
"Touched. I can clearly see that you're touched," Rodney agreed. He could
definitely spend the rest of the evening there, and while it didn't take care
of the fact that he wanted to get *physical*, he could at least get *mental*
and relax. Maybe this would satisfy his therapist as well, and at the end of
the day that had been what this evening had been about.
 
Grant liked coffee, and Rodney had been talking about his new favorite place
for weeks now. He went there a lot which was good because it made him happy or
excitable when he came back with some idea that he had worked out or argued
about with Lewis.
And today, because Maddie was not going out with Carson -- because she was
doing something with her parents -- they were all going together for the first
time. He was excited to be going.
He *liked* going places with Rodney and Carson and the Becketts, but just
Rodney and Carson was better somehow. He liked the Becketts, liked them a lot.
But he couldn't ever like anyone better than his brother, and his brother had
wanted to share it. Had tried, bringing back muffins.
It was fun to be sitting in the back seat of the car too, wearing *two*
seatbelts so that in the event of a crash he wouldn't go anywhere.
"Are you sure that they'll want me there? I'm... younger than you guys," Carson
said as they pulled into park. "I mean, not even at college, Rodney."
"Neither am I," Grant said. He was doing better at speaking, Shona said so.
"You're smart," Rodney dismissed. "I mean it, you'll be fine. They're just...
sharp is all. It's not bad." Rodney seemed relaxed as he turned the car off.
"Just be yourselves."
Grant wasn't sure he knew how to be anything else. Except his Role Playing
character, who he had called Jansky because he liked the sound of the word. He
liked that as a name. Jansky was a lot more confident and decisive than he was,
so it was fun to pretend to be him when they tried their games.
"I'm not even sure that they'll be there. But! The coffee and the muffins will
be. And the nice atmosphere. It's just luck that I ended up here." He got out,
closed the door, waiting for Carson and Grant to get out too.
Carson got out, and then helped Grant out as well. It was a big place and the
building were larger than he expected but it was okay because Carson and Rodney
were staying close and he liked the openness of the sky now. It was full of
things and in the summer he had liked to lie on the grass and look at the sky
and see what shapes the clouds were and imagine them as fractals spinning
infinitely into themselves. It was very soothing. And they had names and
different types and he liked to see them and know what they meant and the
patterns they made.
Carson usually fell asleep if he came out and cloud watched with him. He seemed
to be tired a lot of the time, which was strange because he had often done his
homework before he came home. He wasn't sure what he was doing otherwise, but
he did go out with Maddie a fair amount, or she came over and watched movies
with them. She was nice, Grant thought. Carson smiled a lot when she was there,
but sometimes Rodney was grumpy. But then Rodney did have moods sometimes that
he didn't understand. They entered the coffee place and it smelled nice. He
wanted one of the sweet special frothy coffees that Rodney had told him about
and some of the cake. He wasn't going to be greedy, but he did like cake, so
maybe he could have two pieces of cake. He wasn't sure why Carson seemed so
nervous. There were people there of course, but Rodney was there, and Rodney
would make sure that nothing would happen. He looked around. Someone was
playing the piano and not very well. Maybe Rodney would play.
Rodney might play, if he encouraged it. And he might, because Rodney was
looking at the menu this time, and gesturing both of them towards it. "It's all
good. And when I say it's all good, I mean it."
"Can I have two cakes?" Grant asked trying not to be embarrassing. He didn't
want to be embarrassing to Rodney. Rodney never said that he was, but Shona had
very carefully explained it to him, and he knew it wasn't his fault but he
didn't want to embarrass himself.
"And..and a caramel Macchiato?"
"That sounds sweet," Carson commented. "I'll just have a normal cappuccino, I
think."
"I'll have the uh. That muffin there, and it hasn't been touched by citrus, has
it? And a mocha." Rodney was all grins for the girl behind the counter, but he
wasn't grinning like Carson did for Maddie. It was different, just happy.
"Here, you guys want to claim a seat? Over there is where the hard science
people are, and the musicians are around the piano."
"As if I would let any muffin you might eat get anywhere near it," she replied.
"Mocha for you, cappuccino and a caramel Macchiato for your twin here."
"Oh and if you have a wee bit of that flapjack with the chocolate on it, I'll
have that too," Carson put in.
"We're spending a bit today. Seeing as it's early. Hey, who's the loser on the
piano?" Rodney asked, rummaging for his wallet.
"That's Chris," she answered. "I thought he was okay."
"R..Rodney is much better," Grant volunteered, absently memorizing how she made
the drinks, with each move, each ingredient.
"Oh really? Kept that a bit quiet, Rodney," she said with a smile. "Although we
all know how good you are at everything else."
"Genius," Rodney smirked. "Even if Lewis is trying to fight me for it. Here, go
pick somewhere to sit and I'll carry everything over. This place is great."
Grant looked around, immediately noticing a good spot in a corner where he
could see everything in the room, and not too far from the piano. He didn't ask
because he knew Rodney would want to sit there, and Carson did what Rodney
wanted so there was no need to ask, so he just went and sat down.
"Hey, they do have blackboards up," Carson said looking around. "That's a
clever idea."
It was a nice place, Grant decided, looking around. The ceiling was low, and
the walls were dark, and Grant liked that. It felt more like home, the old
home, that way, and he kind of liked that. Just for the safety, not that he
ever wanted to go back. Not ever.
"Here we go," Rodney declared when he came back with a funny wooden tray laden
down with their order. "Grant, yours has a cookie sticking out of it."
He took it, grabbing at it, tasting the sweetness when he dipped a finger into
it.
"Thank you, Rodney," Carson said and he blinked. Oh yes, he was meant to say
thank you to Rodney. But that was weird because it felt a little like saying
thank you to himself somehow.
"Thank you, Rodney."
Rodney laughed as he sat down. "Here, eat some of my muffin. It's really good.
Carson, you want any?" Rodney broke off a piece that had icing on it, and Grant
had thought that icing on a muffin made it a cupcake.
"Mmm, I have my flapjack thing here," Carson said. "So, any of your friends
here?"
Grant was staring at the blackboards around them. There were some with chalk on
there and he squinted to make them out. One was a poem which he had done for
his English homework, and he saw complicated notes to the side of it like
chaotic pests, and he looked more towards the ones with numbers.
That was not the normal math or physics. But it was interesting.
It was nice to look at. "Mmmm... Rodney scanned the place and shook his head.
"That's all right. They can't live here. They might claim they do, but at some
point, they have to sleep."
"Well, we are a wee bit early," Carson said relaxing. He smiled." Maybe you
should play the piano. Awe another group of people. I know full well there's a
recital out there with your name on it."
There was a Rodney Recital? Grant frowned, distracted a minute, his mind
spinning possibility after possibility as he stared at the incomplete proof
half done on the chalkboard and sipped at the sweet drink. He liked sweet
things.
He liked sweet things, and he was thinking about standing up to finish the
proof when Rodney took another sip and finally headed for the piano. "I think I
will."
Carson grinned even as he turned to face Rodney and Grant watched him. He liked
it when Rodney played because he played the things that he couldn't reach
inside of himself.
"You want something?" the guy who the girl behind the counter had called Chris
challenged Rodney. He was scribbling notations on some music. Grant wanted to
tell him that it was the fifth beat that was wrong, but Shona and Lachlan told
him that not everyone wanted to have their mistakes pointed out. He was meant
to wait to see if it came up.
"To put the piano to better use than you are," Rodney said, pretty nicely for
Rodney
"You're a math nerd, science geek or whatever," Chris said. "I'm working
something out here."
Was that an opening? He was meant to use openings to helpfully tell people if
things were wrong. "It's...it's the fifth beat that is wrong," he said trying
to be helpful and smile at him. "You, you could drop it third and...and it will
balance. If you want it to balance."
Maybe he didn't. People were complicated like that.
He heard the other guy snort and stand up, and Rodney just grinned. "Okay, you
want to see if you can do better, *be* my guest."
"I think I will." And then Rodney was sitting down, and settling at the keys,
getting himself familiar with the tuning.
"He does requests," Carson said loudly and grinned at Rodney. "Hmm, what shall
we have first? What about that theme from Top Gun?"
Grant tilted his head a little. "That's a loud one." They'd liked the movie,
having gone to see it with practically the rest of the world, but this time on
the say so of a rare letter from Carson's brother, Collin.
"You and your hip popular music," Rodney smirked over his shoulder at Carson,
but he threw himself into it, and Grant liked the sound, the loud and the depth
of it.
It wasn't the same as the electric guitar version, less raw, but still with
that power in it that made him think of the speed and planes in the sky, fast
and slick and wonderful.
Went it was over, there was a spontaneous smattering of applause from the
people around him. "Hey, you know that latest Madonna one? Papa don't Preach?"
someone called out.
"Don't make him sing it," Carson called back.
Quality was ...was the cascades of notes he had heard Rodney practice the last
week. "Play Rachmaninoff, Rodney," he said and belatedly remembered his
redundant "please."
It was a hard piece, but it was like watching light on a waterfall, or the rush
of numbers towards a solution.
It fit, and Rodney loved the piece, and smiled at Grant. "See? He has taste."
And it was sort of funny that they were the same face and he'd say that. But
then Rodney bent into the keyboard, and slowly started the buildup.
It was stunning and he liked the way Rodney's expression relaxed as he swung
into the music and the way Carson leaned on his hand and just stared at his
brother with a transfixed expression. He had never seen him look at Maddie like
that, but then maybe it was a brother thing.
The music flowed in dramatic complicated patterns, and it stilled some of the
constant swirling in his mind as Rodney played.
He liked the feel of the patterns, the sound of them, as much as he liked the
feel of the chalk under his fingertips and the lines on the chalkboard that he
was writing, and the patterns kept on long after the music had stopped because
Rodney was pressing his coffee mug into Grant's hands.
"Hey."
"I liked your playing," he said taking the coffee. That was the fact of the
event, but Shona said that sometimes facts were not enough to express
everything. He'd never been sure about that, but right now, for the first time,
he noticed the gap between the fact of him 'liking' Rodney's music and what he
actually felt about it.
"It was wonderful, Rodney,” Carson said enthusiastically. "Everyone was blown
away."
Rodney laughed, lingering by Grant and the chalkboard. "Right, well. I'm *good*
at it. I don't just make these claims and then not back them up."
Part of his mind was still working on the problem on the chalkboard, turning it
into something so much more satisfying.
"Hey Rodney! Branching out are you?" a girl's voice called out, and a new
person came over and sat down without even asking.
That had to be Michelle, she was the one who made things. Rodney had told him
that.
"...wow, there are two of you. That's pretty cool," she said, looking at the
both of them together.
"Michelle, this is my brother, Grant." Rodney never said that they were twins,
because it was visually obvious that on some basic level they shared the same
genetic codes. "Grant, this is Michelle. I just crushed a few of their
pianists' hopes and dreams. Oh, and this is Carson, he's..." Rodney waved a
hand. "Our foster brother."
"Hey, nice to meet you even if you are all guys, and you managed to find
someone even younger than you are to bring with you, Rodney," Michelle said.
"I'm only a year or so younger," Carson said sounding a little embarrassed. He
had been doing that still thing Grant noticed him doing where he just faded out
of people's attention, though Grant always knew where he was because he
remembered.
"Just teasing," Michelle said with a sideways smirk. "George is getting our
coffee. You see what Lewis was working on last night?" She gestured to a
different chalkboard. "I think he was secretly hoping you would come in so he
could argue it with you."
"Grant could probably correct it," Rodney told them all, gently nudging Grant
towards the other chalkboard. "Also, I remembered that they turned the heat on
in the dorms today, so I guessed you might be coming out because, hello, it's
*warm* outside, what dumbass decided that it magically gets cold on a
particular day of the year?"
"You got it," George said as he approached the table with their coffees. "I'm
George, the slacker of this group, and generally uncool guy."
Grant tilted his head to look at him. He seemed nice looking, but then he
wasn't that good at judging. He had soft brown hair, and dark eyes, and a face
that filled with his smile. He was then distracted by the board, and it was
much more interesting than the other scribble. He hadn't seen it in any of the
books he had read, and it was interesting.
"So, you're inflicting a night with us on your brother and foster-brother,
huh?" Michelle asked.
"I thought I should share. I'm not sure they'll want to come back, but the
coffee's good," Rodney remarked, and Grant could hear quiet conversation, could
hear Carson talking, finally, not fading away, and Grant hummed a little while
he worked on the equation. It wasn't quite right. Well, it *was*, what was
there was very well formed, but it wasn't finished, it was like a half-spoken
sentence, and he was just guessing at the next half of it, but it was
beautiful.
"McKay. I know you're good at math, but this is ridiculous, you have no idea
what you're doing." And right there, in his *space*, behind him and in his
ear...
"Hey, hey, Lewis, that's my brother!"
It made him startle and nearly fall over, because he didn't like people just
being that close without warning, and he tried to turn and go back to Rodney at
the same time because this was someone new.
"There's *two* of you?" Lewis said, and he had piercing green eyes and dark
hair, and he was looking right at him in a way that felt like he was angry, and
Grant backed away clutching at his piece of chalk.
"There is one of us," Grant clarified, and only a twin would understand why
that distinction was important. Then he remembered his manners. "...Hello."
"Grant, this is Lewis, the math guy. Lewis, thanks for scaring the crap out of
my brother." Rodney shifted over, gesturing for Grant to sit on the sofa beside
him, and oh. *There* was where he'd left his cake. Both of them.
He decided to eat some cake so he could think, so he sat down and said. "hello,
Math Guy," as politely as possible, and was a little surprised at Lewis'
expression.
"Are you trying to be clever?” he asked, and Grant frowned.
"Not trying no,” he answered tilting his head a little. "I... I just thought it
was unfinished and it could carry on in a lot of directions if you postulated
math existing in more dimensions." He gestured a little hesitantly with his bit
of cake. "The math wants to go further before it solves."
Rodney was smiling his proud smile, and took a sip of his coffee before he
turned towards Lewis. "Grant knows his math. And *Carson* is going to be a
doctor, though I suspect he'll be looking for a more prestigious school than
where we are..." Though, that was funny because Grant knew that Charles Drake
was a famous neurosurgeon, who only recently left the university and had
founded an independent medical research center, but he only knew that because
he'd read some of Lachlan's papers and pamphlets.
Liz who had come in quietly behind Lewis actually spoke up. "Someone who is
interested in medicine?" she said. "Finally. I shall sit next to him and maybe
he won't look down on my science as something inferior." She shot a knowing
look at Lewis and sat next to Carson deliberately, and there was something
going on there, but Grant wasn't completely sure what it was saying
People were nowhere as easy to solve as equations.
People were hard to understand, hard to read, and Grant preferred the relative
quiet of his own mind and sitting with Rodney while he ate his cake. It was
nice, the rhythm of conversation, just being *out* in a nice, comfortable
space. With math.
He really wanted to get back to that.
He was aware of Rodney, Lewis and George talking and Michelle’s laughter. The
soft lilt of Carson's voice talking with an equally quiet Liz, and he was
listening but not really paying attention. He would do that later when he
recalled it.
He wanted to write more, but he was eating his cake, which was really nice, and
he didn't want to stop that either.
"Look, I get that it's new math and all fantastic," Michelle said. "But what
can you *do* with it. You want to convince me you've got something good here
then tell me how I can apply it."
"Right now, theoretical physics. When we can get engineering up to the same
speed and find materials with better tensile strengths, *real* physics. You
have to have the ideas before someone tries for following after it."
Possibly, he could eat cake *and* finish what he'd been doing.
Cakes made for the best thoughts. They were all sweet and rich like math, and
he liked the taste of it in his mouth, and the taste of the other in his head.
"But, theoretical is useless until it becomes practical," Michelle said. "I
mean look at us, we're students, in debt and geniuses... you see an imbalance
with that equation? I sure do."
It was a good point, they worked hard to get the loose change together to get
them movies and books and the fun things. Rodney always said that.
"We should... rob a bank?" Rodney suggested, and laughed when Michelle elbowed
him. "One day hopefully we won't be in debt. I don't know about you, but I've
got a scholarship. That's how I'm getting through. A lot of them."
"Not all of us have one of those," George said. "It's tight, man, I tell you.
By the time you get books and all that, I'm lucky if I can afford the coffee."
He grinned a little and Grant didn't like to think of him not having enough. Or
any of them, because they were Rodney's friends which made them his
automatically, and and...
"I, I, could get you some money?" he offered looking up at Rodney and his
friends.
And Rodney looked at him, and cocked an eyebrow. "Grant, we don't have..."
"Oh, that just figures. It's always the well off that get the scholarshi--"
"Oh, yeah, our lives are so great, which is why we're in foster care and I've
been making extra money by helping to clean the garage and mowing lawns, which
will become shoveling snow once we get it, and is currently transitioning into
Raking Leaves."
"I don't have the money yet, but... but I read the papers and I thought of a...
thing," he waved his hands a little. "Which predicts share prices and, and when
to sell. I used a hypothetical five dollars, and if I'd been able to use it I
would have... $3681 now."
"When did you start reading about shares, Grant?" Carson asked.
"You... you showed me Allan’s books, and there was math and patterns, and it
was interesting."
Rodney was all grins about it, though, and slurped off of the edge of his mug.
"Banking. My god, Grant. *Banking*. That's just. That's fantastic."
"Are you serious?" Michelle asked leaning forward.
He nodded and grinned. He liked the thought it made people happy. "Yes. I... I
wanted if we get a computer for Christmas like Carson hopes, to write a program
and, and it could help. It's patterns and inversions and there are derivatives
that are like clouds developing billowing up and evaporating quickly, and you
have to catch them fast, but they make their own shapes and you can tell what
weather is coming, and that works too for futures, and I can see patterns in
it. There... there will be a building storm in computers. It will grow and grow
and then it will break, but if you get out before that then, then there would
be lots of money."
"That makes *no* sense to me, Grant," Rodney grinned. "Which means it's quite
possibly dead on. Money's not my strong suit."
"You can say that again," Carson put in from the corner with a smile.
"Okay, is this a pipe dream, or is this something we can actually do?" George
asked sitting up. "Because if I could not be racking up the debt just by
eating, I'd be happy with that."
"I thought your parents had you set up?" Lewis asked, and George looked a
little uncomfortable.
"Yeah, well, the firm Dad worked for went bust." he said, and that was some
sort of answer.
Half an answer, but Grant wasn't sure what the next part of the sentence was,
and Rodney never offered anything about their family to anyone. "If Grant says
it would work, I believe him."
"How... I mean, can we even buy shares?" Carson asked. "How do we do that?"
"We’re not old enough," Rodney mused. "We could go through an intermediary. We
could test it through Carson's parents, maybe? After the holidays?" The two of
them could work on it together.
"My dad will make us risk our own capital," Carson said. "But he'll do it. He
always says it's our money to blow as we want."
"Okay, so if we scrap together some spare cash, assuming we have some, we could
get in on it?" George asked. "Because I might get given some for Christmas from
relatives. I could really do without my parents worrying themselves sick over
paying for me."
"We don't know if it will work," Lewis said. "I'd need to see the theory of
it."
Grant could do it, get the theory down, but not on those chalkboards. He needed
more space, a lot more space. "Right. But it's something to sort of shoot for
in the distant... next three months," Rodney suggested.
"Three months or a decade working off debt? I can live with that," George said
and smiled again. "You know Grant, you can come here any time with ideas like
that."
And that was enough to make Grant smile and duck his head a little shyly, even
as he beamed to himself. Rodney would be proud of him and that would be the
thing that was worth most of all.
That Rodney would be and *was* proud of him.
 
He'd gotten into the rhythm of it, sort of. Going to therapy, blowing a chunk
of time every Tuesday afternoon before he went home to talk with Grant and work
on homework, the real stuff, and just settle his mind again. But Rodney had
been feeling restless, because the social worker had told him that the trial
started in a week, and he'd known it was coming, but there was knowing and then
there was *knowing* the date and telling his professors that he had to go to
court proceedings, and could he schedule to get his homework mailed to him, and
here were the envelopes, and he'd drop them off, and oh god.
He was going to stand up and testify, and all Grant had had to do was sign his
deposition from when he'd been in the hospital back at the end of April.
"So, Rodney, how do you feel about what is coming up in the next week," Diane
asked as they settled in for their session.
"Nervous." He wasn't sure why he kept going, except that they were social
worker mandated and the Becketts made sure he went. He hadn't seemed to work
through... anything.
"Understandably so. What exactly are you feeling nervous about Rodney?" she
asked again.
"That it's going to be out there. That it's going to be something that people
are talking about. Carson said it was on the news, big, when everything...
happened. And it's going to be out there again." And he liked his privacy.
It will be. There will most likely be media coverage," Diane admitted. "You
don't like the thought of that?"
"No. Would you?" If she did, she was dafter than he'd ever given her credit
for.
"No, I admit I wouldn't, but there are some who crave the limelight," she
pointed out.
"Good for them. I don't want to get up there. I want to be left alone. I like
where I am right now, just how things are." He had Grant and the Becketts and
Carson and school and it was... nice. Stable.
"That's not going to happen, Rodney," Diane pointed out. "You will become a
point of interest for the media. You need to be prepared for questions and some
degree of invasion of your privacy. Do your friends know what happened to you?"
"No." He rolled his shoulders. "It's not something I really want to bring up.
Grant's just gotten kind of comfortable going there. It's a safe space." Shona
said that was important, that Grant slowly expand to other places.
"It is, however, you might want to consider the impact of your friends
discovering it through the papers and TV, or from you giving them your version
of events beforehand," she pointed out.
Maybe. Rodney rubbed at his forehead. "Okay. Uh, how do you even bring that up
in conversation? I don't, I mean. Math, and arguing about classes, and finding
out what teachers are morons, and who holds really good reviews, and who gives
extra work, and the news, that's what we talk about. Normal things."
"You control the conversation. You tell them there is something you wish to
talk about with them. You spoke to Carson about this, didn't you?" the
therapist asked.
"Sort of. We've kind of had to talk about some of it. But there's a lot we...
don't." Like Carson's little girlfriend, and her sweet, well meaning, stomach-
turning attempt to get him to go on a double date with them with some friend of
hers, and maybe that was *normal* but he'd lied about homework and begged off
under 'another time', when he'd really meant 'when hell freezes over, and not
even then. When Satan starts to sell shaved ices'.
"What do you feel that you can't discuss with Carson?" she asked and it was
predictable that she would pick up on that hesitation.
"Sex. Anything, that kind of interpersonal. I don't know what he knows, but we
don't talk about it. I don't... like talking about it."
"Why is that, Rodney?" she asked in a gentle voice.
"Because he's normal, and I'm not, and I like being his friend." He paused, and
then held up a hand, "Yes, and I know I'm implying that he wouldn't be my
friend if he knew, but it's really, how do you explain that you don't want to
date girls, but you've had sex with your mother?"
"I believe it would do you good to discuss things with him in more depth as he
has proven a trustworthy confidant for you," Diane said, and she had no idea
what secrets Carson was keeping for him. "Now, you mentioned you don't want to
date girls... why is that, Rodney?"
"I'm not... attracted to them. They're sort of stomach-turning." He waved one
hand a little. "I mean, not that you are, just, I've been hit on and it's, I
don't want to be there. I'd rather be somewhere else."
"I see," Diane looked at him. "Rodney, do you feel attraction to anyone?"
Carson. Grant. Answers he couldn't give because he knew enough to maintain
subterfuge about it because of the social worker. "Lewis," he answered, and it
was still true.
"You feel that you are attracted to other boys?" the therapist said, looking at
him. "What have you experienced with regard to this?"
Sex with Grant that he wasn't allowed to talk about. He was trying to weigh
what she'd say. "Some. Stuff. It's not like I really have opportunity."
"But you would like to?" she questioned closely, and he had the feeling he was
treading on some very thin ice there.
He'd kind of hoped that wasn't what therapy was supposed to be about, scaring
the hell out of him and making him tense. "Maybe. Why?"
"It is not unusual for people who have been sexually abused to either withdraw
from sex completely, or become promiscuous as they feel that they can only
connect to a conception of love through physical contact," Diane explained. "Do
you believe you have adopted either of those strategies?"
Oh, okay, that sounded more, Rodney didn't know, therapy-ish. "I wouldn't know
where to start if I wanted to be promiscuous. I tried sneaking into a bar, but
it wasn't my thing. I'm not that person."
She nodded. "How do you believe Lewis would react if you made your interest in
him known?" she asked.
"I don't know. I'm not going to, unless I knew he might…you know…" Rodney
shrugged his shoulders. "I don't want to... inflict myself on anyone. And he's
a decent friend, for a pure maths guy."
"Is this friendship more important to you than establishing a relationship with
him?" Diane queried.
If she was asking about Carson, definitely yes. He didn't want to mess that up.
"Yes. It is. I don't... need that. I need friends more. I never used to have
friends." And he'd had plenty of sex, strange, stomach turning sex, and comfort
with his brother.
He wasn't usually observant about body language but he was sure he saw her
relax just a little as if he had given a right answer. "You did well by meeting
new people," she said. "Back to the issue of letting them know, do you believe
they will discover your past if you do not tell them?"
"When the Becketts took us in, Carson said we'd been all over the news. So,
yeah. I mean, we just lived in Southwold, and we're in London now. That's
hardly any distance."
"Then why do you not want to tell the story on your terms?" she asked again.
"I don't know how to start," Rodney reiterated, and hadn’t he said that
already?
"And I am challenging you to try and find a hypothetical way of starting,” she
pressed. "Imagine that I am ... Carson for example. How did you start the
discussion with him?"
"I didn't. It was more 'Hi, oh, yeah, we're the kids from the cellar, mmhm,
hey, your mum makes soup, soup's pretty good, yes, Grant likes crayons' and
that was it."
"And he took that well?"
Another obvious question but Carson was a sort've special case. He knew that
much.
"Yeah. He did." Rodney shrugged his shoulders. "Carson's used to it. Lots of
foster kids in the house."
"So now imagine how you use or adopt that approach for someone like Lewis for
example," Diane suggested.
"I'd say..." He crossed his legs, trying to shake off the restless feeling.
"I'd say that since the trial's coming up, I thought I should mention it... and
then I'd explain a little, and I don't know what his reaction will be."
"I would imagine he might say, what trial?" Diane responded.
"And then I could maybe just reference the TV coverage it got when it all
happened." But long term, he had to wonder how it would go. "Do you really
think that bringing this *up* is better than... not?"
"It is my experience that more friendships and relationships have been lost
over a perceived lack of trust than the actual knowledge itself." She looked at
him seriously. "Rodney, if your friends are the type to judge you on things
that were out of your control, then are they genuinely your friends?"
".... Probably not, but it feels good right now." He supposed he *should* tell
them. Friday, because Carson, surprise surprise, was going out with Maddie
again.
"Your mother will most likely court the media to present herself in a favorable
light as she has little left to lose," Diane said. "I believe you need to
address this. It will help you immensely during the trial to know there are
people who know the truth and who support you, regardless of whatever your
mother might say.
"I'm not sure what favorable light she's got left. I mean, what, that she
didn't outright kill us? Whoop-dee-doo. It's a miracle we still have all of our
limbs." But, it would help, if they meant it.
"I want that to be your... homework for this week," Diane instructed as she
made a note. "Either to discuss it with your friends, or ensure that you have
one person who knows everything and accepts that before you have to face your
mother in the trial. I leave the choice of person to you. It could be the
Becketts, your friends, the social worker..."
"Can I just say right here that I really don't like her?" Rodney sat forwards a
little. "She's always looking at me like she's expecting me to lunge forwards
and beat her with a table leg, which is ridiculous because the Becketts have
nice furniture, firstly, secondly, it would take a lot of effort, and thirdly,
I'm much more likely to put salt in her tea and call it a day if I wanted to do
anything at all to her."
Diane smiled a bit. "Rodney, I suspect she has had experiences with children
from backgrounds less severe than your own who might well have lunged forward
and tried to beat her with a table leg. As far as effects, you and Grant are
remarkably well balanced considering the level of deprivation you have
experienced, which I attribute to your unique bond as brothers."
"He's my mirror image. Oh, and you'd be proud of this -- he's getting his own
interests. Not physics, but *banking* math. That kind of thing. I'd sort of
want him to go into physics, so we could work together, except, I'm sort of
perversely happy that he's got his... niche." Rodney spread his hands when he
said that.
"That's very positive Rodney," Diane agreed. "Why don't you tell me a little
more about that, hmm?"
And somehow talking about Grant was easy even when talking about his own fears
and problems seemed insurmountable. And maybe some of the advice for the mirror
image of himself would rub off indirectly, he wasn't sure, but either way he
relieved to not think about the trial just for a little while.
Focusing on Grant had always been easier.
 
He wasn't in his usual mood when he rolled into the coffee shop and ordered a
coffee crumb-covered muffin and a plain black coffee, cream yes, half the usual
sugar, thanks, and headed distractedly over to where George and Liz were
already sitting.
"Hey, no Grant and Carson tonight?" Liz asked. Rodney was pretty sure the most
she talked to anyone was to Carson. He guessed that was because they could get
a bit math and physics obsessed from time to time.
"Take a load off, Rodney," George said. "I hope Grant is working on the ‘Bail
the poor Student out of debt' Plan."
"Grant took his GED exam this morning, and is sleeping because he didn't sleep
last night. Nerves got to him," Rodney offered as he sat down in a chair that
he usually thought was actively trying to swallow him whole.
"He do okay?" George asked. "I mean, I know he should but he didn't freak out
with the nerves did he?"
Carson had given Grant his lucky socks for exams, explaining seriously that as
long as he had them on -- and really, who was going to lose socks in the middle
of an exam? -- he would not panic and the best answers would find their way
into his mind, and then down through his hand and onto the page.
Rather amazingly it seemed to work. Grant loved his lucky socks.
"No, he had Carson's lucky socks." Talisman-things seemed to work, and Grant
had still been wearing them when he'd crawled into bed with every stuffed toy
he could get his hands on, passing out on his stomach. Rodney had hung around a
little, made sure he was good and asleep, before he'd come out for the night.
"It's been pretty stressful, uh, with the trial coming up."
George frowned a bit. "Trial?” he asked glancing at Rodney looking for answers.
"What trial?"
"First I've heard of it,” Liz added waiting for him to go on.
"What trial? Program, drugs, what?" Oh, there was Lewis, sitting down on the
end of the sofa nearest Rodney, and Rodney reached for his coffee cup to cling
onto for support.
"Right, well. We're in foster care, with Carson and his parents. Our mother's
going on trial Tuesday. She wanted a quick trial, and her lawyer's pressed for
it, and I don't know why she didn't just plead guilty and get it done with,
but."
George looked at him. "Well, you introduced Carson as your foster-brother but I
didn't know it was happening now. Thought you'd been with him for some time."
"You're very close to him," Liz put in with a smile, but it was Lewis who was
fixing him with a focused gaze.
"You're bringing this up for a reason, aren't you?" he said.
"... Yeah." He took another swallow of his coffee. "It was all over the news
back in April and into May. It's going to be all over the news again, and I
thought you should maybe hear it from me instead of seeing it on TV." And if it
went to hell, he might beat his *therapist* with a table leg. Or at least
threaten it.
"April, May..." George frowned a little but strangely it was Liz who got there
first.
"Oh my God. ...oh my god Rodney, you're joking, aren't you? The Sons in the
Cellar? Boys in the Basement? That was *you*?"
"Oh, are you kidding? They called us Boys in the Basement and Sons in the
Cellar?" He choked on his coffee a little. "Who needs that much alliteration?"
"Well the newsies, obviously," George said looking stunned, and exhaled loudly.
"Wow. Okay, that's floored me."
Lewis was silent, watching him with that strange aloof aura he adopted.
Rodney took another sip of his coffee, trying to not think about Lewis's
silence. "Yeah, well. That's Grant and me. I was, I was the driver, you know,
crossed the border, broke into the house to get Grant out. I'm testifying
Wednesday and Thursday. Grant has a deposition they're submitting. We're
probably going to be scarce for a while. Grant will be, I'm not sure what I'll
do."
"That's why Grant is a bit, uh..." George shrugged a little. "You know...?"
"George!" Liz poked at him.
Lewis folded his arms. "So, why are you telling me this?" he said, in a cold
suspicious tone. "Am I meant to be impressed?"
The hell. "What? No, I just, I wanted it out because I'm going to be testifying
and I didn't want to have to explain *then*," Rodney snapped, clutching hard to
his mug.
"Lewis..." George said warningly. "Jesus, you can be such a prick."
"Rodney does good math. That's the only important thing," Lewis said folding
his arms. "He's not an idiot, but... displays of melodrama -- there's nothing
worse than attention seeking." He sounded insufferably smug, and George looked
horrified, but it was Liz who was furious.
Quiet, shy Liz, who barely said hello, turned on Lewis, and slapped him around
the face. "You don't have any idea what you are talking about!" she hissed.
"Shut the fuck up, Lewis."
And it was stupid, but he felt his throat tightening up, and he'd never thought
much past the opening line and what to say to start things out. "I only said
anything because my therapist suggested it. Just, just forget it, forget it."
He was a good three steps from abandoning his coffee, and running out with his
muffin, and just never coming back.
"Hey," George said, looking a little alarmed, as Lewis got up and went to stalk
off, and Liz said "excuse me a moment, " and followed him.
"Hey, Rodney... it's okay man, seriously. Lewis is a self-centered bastard
sometimes and he knows it. You just haven't had him blow up at you before,
because he respects you. He doesn’t deal well with the limelight shifting away
if you know what I mean."
Rodney shifted, sank deeper into the chair he'd claimed, and tried to just
focus. It was one of those odd things, where he was afraid if he opened his
mouth he wasn't sure what was going to come out. "The hell. I shouldn't have
said anything. I told her I shouldn't have."
"Look, not mine to tell, but you're not the only one here with... secrets,"
George said with a shrug, glancing after Liz. "Lewis has an ego like a
singularity. He sees someone else getting attention he's... well... He reacts
like that. Always has, it’s not about you."
Rodney rubbed at his face, and took another sip of coffee. "I don't want
attention. I just wanted to... pre-empt it."
"It'll be fine,” George promised. "I'm not going to freak out about it, if
that’s what you're worried about. C'mon, you’re our buddy."
"I'd rather just be left alone, that no-one knew." He shrugged his shoulders,
sneaking a look at George. Right, he didn't seem angry. Michelle wasn't there,
but he could see her reacting decently-ish.
"Look, here's the thing," George said a little awkwardly. "I don't know diddly
about this sort've stuff. I'm at home with the whole manly not talking about
feelings thing. Not to say that if you want to talk about it... shit, I don't
know Rodney. I won't mention it, if you don't, and I will if you do."
"I'd really prefer to not talk about it." He managed a sort of smile, and sat
up a little. "It's just that the social worker warned that there will be
photos. There's no gag order. So. It's going to be a circus, she said."
"Yeah, well, in a circus you can be one of the clowns or the ringmaster right?"
George said pragmatically.
It was a good point.
"Yeah, but this is all... sort of out of my hands. I say my piece, and then...
Whatever happens." He shrugged his shoulders, and reached forwards to grab his
muffin. And fuck, his hands were shaking.
"Hey." George patted his shoulder awkwardly. "Seriously. It's okay." He was
hesitant but genuine. "Shitty things happen to good people, you know? It's not
like the movies where the bad guys are the ones having nasty things happen."
"We'll be lucky if she gets 20 years. I know... it'll be mostly okay." He
leaned, looking towards the door. "I should probably go. Lewis left his
notebook here, so I'm guessing he'll be back."
"C'mon Rodney, don't let him run you off. I've seen this happen a few times.
Liz kicks his butt, he comes back and pretty much pretends nothing happened,"
George assured him. "And Liz...probably understands the most."
"Why?" He still wanted to leave, but he supposed that if Lewis started up
again, he could leave then. Just, more of a running away than a strategic
retreat if it came to that.
"Not really sure." George looked uncomfortable. "I think she might have some
firsthand experience. "
And that was such a broad swath of possibilities. But Rodney nodded. "Okay."
Because weirdly, whatever it was, would be easier to wrap his head around than
supposedly simple things like dating. "So. I think Grant passed his test and
he'll probably be starting classes in January. Just one or two until he gets
his bearings. He wants to take *accounting*."
"Accounting?" George stared a bit. "Seriously? With his math skills?"
"Just to start out, yeah. Just to see what it is, I think." Rodney shrugged,
and he was glad of the change of topics. "But yeah. Finances."
"Wow, from what I've seen he'll get that under wraps pretty quickly."
"Get what?" Michelle said flopping down rather dramatically next to Rodney.
"Coffee... thank god. This has been a stupid day. Where's Liz and Lewis, the
dynamic duo?"
"Out." Rodney waved his hand, and wondered where they'd gone if she didn't see
them coming in. On the other hand, he wasn't inclined to ask. "They'll be
back."
"Oh right," Michelle said. "There weren’t any almond cookies left. I like
almond cookies."
"You don't say," George replied and then added. "Liz is taking Lewis down a peg
or two."
"Really? And I missed it? Did she swear?" Michelle leaned forward. "What was it
about this time?"
"Yeah, this was something I never wanted to say once, never mind twice," Rodney
sighed at George, clutching more tightly to his mug. "Liz slapped Lewis after
he said I was attention seeking, after I decided to tell everyone that, *since*
the trial is starting on Tuesday, I'm going to be scarce, because Grant and I
were raised in a cellar."
He could see Michelle run it through her mind and assemble the pieces in the
right order. She glanced at George who nodded and then back to Rodney. "Fucking
hell, Rodney....You need help on payback? I aced out on high yield explosives."
It caught him off guard, made him laugh when he wasn't expecting it. "Uh, no,
Lewis doesn't need to be blown up, but uh, thanks. Thanks."
"That's a shame... I've been itching to build some sort of incendiary device.
Hey, maybe we should work on something for the next big fireworks display,"
Michelle said and gestured expansively. "It's an open offer. You want someone
booby trapped, I'll make it happen."
"Thanks. I'm pretty good for that, though." And he could move on. He could
shove the conversation forward and maybe it'd be okay.
It turned out to be better than he thought. George was oddly comforting,
Michelle inventively destructive, Lewis and Liz had come back and behaved
almost exactly how George had predicted.
Normal, and Rodney appreciated that, the normalness, and it felt like he'd only
distantly brought the subject up, maybe weeks before. It was funny, feeling
that, but by the time the shop had closed, Rodney had gotten another cup of
coffee and split a decadent sort of cake with Michelle and Liz. The rest of
them disappeared in their usual quick order, while Lewis and Rodney sort of
lingered.
"So."
Lewis looked at him as the place emptied out. "So," he countered and then
sipped his last coffee. "Liz says I'm meant to apologize. I don't apologize for
things. "
"Okay. Don't apologize," Rodney shrugged. "Just, I didn't bring it up because
of attention or whatever the hell you think."
Lewis put his mug down. "I'm used to people doing that. My brother has done
that all my life because I'm the smart one. So-called friends do it when they
think it's a way to steal back the limelight. I was so... pissed off when I
thought you were doing it, I might've over reacted. A bit. Experience and logic
told me I was right though."
"I spend a lot of time not listening to my experience. And we apparently have
different logic. I just did what my therapist suggested I should. I don't have
expectations one way or another. I just wanted it out there."
Lewis glanced at him. "Yeah well. I'm an arrogant bastard sometimes. You will
be as well. It comes with the territory of being a whole lot smarter than
99.99% of the population."
Rodney laughed a little, and finished off his cup, which was good because the
girl behind the counter was giving them seriously dirty looks. He started to
stand up. "I'm still finding my footing. I'll get there."
Lewis stood as well. "I'm serious, Rodney. You remember that one fact and the
rest of life is easy. You know you're smarter than everyone else...except maybe
me." He gave one of his smiles that made him breathtakingly attractive. Rock
star or movie star, instead of genius.
"I can tell you you’re wrong, but how about I weave it into my Nobel Prize
acceptance speech?" Rodney offered, moving to set his cup on the 'dirty' tray
near the kitchen area. "To my dear old friend Lewis Stark -- Hi, got here
first."
"You bastard," Lewis grinned slowly. “You gotta stick around, I've got no one
else here to challenge me."
"You're, what, Junior? Year and a half left to go? I'll still be here. We might
be at the same graduation ceremony." After that, neither of them knew. Lewis
was probably going to go off and do big Math things. "Don't let George get lazy
next week."
"He irritates the fuck out of me sometimes," Lewis said in a moment of
uncharacteristic openness. "He's better than he makes out. Brilliant in
flashes, but he never does anything with it.""
"Maybe he will one day. Maybe he won't. Maybe, maybe we'll hear from him in a
few years, and find out that he's up here, teaching. I want to get out of here
so badly. The funding's better in America, and the willingness to try something
just because it exists." Rodney waited for Lewis to catch up with him, while he
fished in his own pockets for his keys before he pushed the door open.
"Trust me, you'll get any place you want," Lewis replied. "I'm here now but I
expect to move on . Not sure where yet. Wherever my father decides, I suspect,
unless we really do make a fortune from Grant's project."
"Yeah, well. Cross your fingers, we can see what happens if the Becketts
actually get the computer. Mister Beckett's been talking about a Commodore.
Carson's pretty excited. Grant's beside himself." Grant also wanted to meet
Santa, and the Easter bunny, but he wasn't going to say that.
They stepped outside, walking towards their cars. "I bet." He was silent again.
"Liz tells me that you like me. I miss that sort of thing."
He startled a little, and pushed down the stomach knotted feeling that he might
very well have to explode Liz. "I, uh. I'm kind of a mess about things. Not
sure how to go, uh. About it."
"Can't say I really know what to do with that information either. " Lewis said.
"I'm pretty sure I like girls. On the other hand I have no empirical evidence
to work from."
"With girls?" Rodney was shocked, and jingled his keys a little. "Even
Carson's, well, I caught him with his hand down Maddie's pants, and believe me,
that was more than I wanted to see."
"No, you idiot, with *guys*," Lewis said as if he was explaining an equation.
"Oh. Wow, I was worried about you for a second, because if sweet smiling Carson
can, and you couldn't, then the world was a more screwed up place than I've
anticipated. No, the uh, guys thing. If you ever..." There had to be a right
way to phrase it without tripping up. "If you're ever interested, let me know.
No strings, no... None of that. If you're never interested, I'm completely
willing to uh, forget this conversation unless you bring it up."
"Rodney..." Lewis exhaled. "What do you think I’ve been doing?"
"Oh." Oh, that was a relief, and Rodney twisted, looking at Lewis a little
better. "I'm not good at the subtle thing. So, uh..." A kiss, just a kiss to
start.
Lewis tugged him into a shadowed area. "Experimental, Rodney. "
And he was there in his personal space.
Close, and in a dark area, and that was bizarrely comfortable for him, Rodney
noted when he leaned into Lewis, just an easy motion, reaching for his
shoulders, moving to kiss him. Lewis was hours after a shave, and there was a
little stubble.
It was definitely doing it for him, and he wouldn't have known this was Lewis
experimenting because he kissed in the same way that he did everything, full on
and intense.
No hesitation, just, boom, there and definitely concentrating, and Rodney
relaxed into it, letting himself relax into it when he opened his mouth and let
his tongue slide out to trace Lewis's lips.
The other student was nothing if not thorough as if he really was testing all
aspects of the situation. "Mmm," he said as he pulled back. "Not bad."
Knowing Lewis, he probably *was* testing it. Rodney felt himself grinning
despite himself. "'Not bad' -- what is that, on a scale of enjoyment?"
"Numerically, I'd say a seven out of ten," Lewis said with a half smile.
"Enough results to warrant further exploration."
"Can we schedule this for, say, tomorrow? I'm already breaking curfew, and I
don't want to worry the Becketts." But that, that sounded really good. That
sounded *promising*.
"Yeah, okay," Lewis said stepping away. "Gotta get back myself
"Cool. Great." It was hard to not smile and relocate his keys, while he let
Lewis step away. "I'll uh. See you around tomorrow."
Lewis nodded. "No strings right? Don't go and do anything like falling in love,
because I'll screw you over. I’m that sorta guy."
Brutally honest and upfront, that was Lewis. He'd never lie to make someone
feel better, and that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
"No strings," Rodney agreed solemnly. It was better than him looking for a
seedy bar, which he'd tried, better than him looking around in other, less-safe
places. "Have a good night!"
Lewis raised a hand and turned and walked up the street, leaving Rodney alone.
Rodney wasn't stupid. He knew Lewis was probably doing this out of some sort of
rebellion to his father, or to prove the point that society rules didn't apply
to him.
And... fine. He needed physical, not love. He had love at home, he had Grant,
and he couldn't be physical with Grant anymore. It seemed a good sort of
arrangement if Lewis didn't change his mind.
With that in mind, Rodney headed for his car, to get home and listen to Carson
chatter about his date.
 
Lunchtimes were like running a gauntlet now. Carson had to check every turn,
every corner. Half the time his dinner was stolen if he took his own, or he was
frisked for dinner money, or it would end up on the floor. He was beginning to
think it wasn't worth even trying to bring his own food. Sometimes if he saw
Maddie, she would get something for him, but that was humiliating, and he felt
worse if he lost it. The bullying had taken a rapid peak up because word was
out that his family was fostering the boys in the news, and for some reason
that was reason enough to make his life hell.
It seemed pretty damn stupid that that was happening. The prosecutors were
still presenting their case, and Rodney hadn't even testified, but he was in
court every day and there were pictures. The paper didn't say who they were
with, other than generic foster care, but the kids at school had seen them
together a couple of times when Rodney had been free to pick him up back at the
start.
So he was reduced to hiding in corners, which had the downside of being
dangerous if a gang found him, or being in full public, which had the downside
of public humiliation if a gang found him and a mess that might end with him
being sent to the Principal.
Unfortunately, today’s corner was not proving as secure as he had hoped, so not
eating hadn't done any good at all.
He needed to be moved to another school or something. Maybe he could talk to
his mother. Maybe...
"Hey, Beckett." Robert was the biggest of what Carson liked to think of as the
cro-magnum men who were lingering in grade 12 with limited success.
"Hey, Robert," he replied as calmly as possible. He might try and avoid
confrontation, but he wasn't going to piss himself with fear when a bully came
up. He had had six other siblings and a host of foster kids, and not all of
them were sweetness and light.
“So. How're the two mother fuckers that you've got living with you?" He was all
grins, like it was the funniest damn thing he'd ever heard said. Possibly,
someone needed to get him that Garfield joke book that Rodney had bought Grant.
Then there would have at least been a punch line, even if it was bad.
"That's not even remotely funny, Robert," he said, trying to estimate the best
way out. "You don't even have the faintest idea what you're talking about."
"Yeah, I do. Did you see their mom? She's hot, skinny, hell, I'd fuck her. They
loved it, and now one of them got a conscience and he's all boo hoo. They
fucking your mom, yet, Beckett?"
"Shut the fuck up!" Carson snapped back, and every time he was determined not
to rise to the bait, he somehow managed to lose his temper. "Maybe you'd love
living in a damn basement, because that's the sort of cockroach you are,
*Robert*."
There couldn't've been much for Robert to balance a rebuttal on, but he was
going to try, Carson was sure. It was time to think about making a run for it.
"Hey, free food, no school, do whatever all day, yeah, I could go for it. How
come neither of them are at school, huh?"
“Because unlike you they've got brains, and they're bloody smart," Carson
snarked back. "I guess you would like to live in your own shit and be beaten
regularly, wouldn't you? " He tried to get to push past the other student,
hopeful of making a fast exit before things went downhill.
It must have startled Robert, because he at least managed to rush himself away
from the corner, even if he ended up lingering by the lunchroom door. He just
had to hope that he didn't follow. He was so relieved at a successful escape
that he didn't realize when he practically ran straight into CJ and his group
of sycophants. Crap, people behind him now this group ahead and he tried to
mumble "Excuse me" and get through.
CJ was just a run of the mill sort of bastard, and he didn't want to run into
him and his hangers-on. Soon, he'd be free of them, and that was what Carson
was looking forward to most. Just... soon. June, if his petition to graduate
with sufficient credits went through.
"Hey, it's Carson -- Carson, hey, what do you think of the news?"
"What news?" he said, finding his way more than half blocked and difficult to
get around.
"That you look good with the wind knocked out of you." And it was as simple as
that that the other boy wound up to punch him low in the gut.
He tried pushing them away, but that didn't seem to be working. He wasn't meant
to hit, but there were hands clutching at him so even as he doubled over he
gave as good as he could get with his elbows, kicking out. He was smaller than
them, but stocky, he could get some weight behind it,
"Boys!" That was sharp, a male voice, a teacher-voice, and suddenly CJ was
being shoved away. "You three, principal's office, *now*. Beckett, are you all
right?"
He wanted to pull off an airy, "Fine" and nonchalantly head off to class but
he'd been winded, and he was mistakenly trying to whoop air down even as he
tried to speak. It hurt, he bloody well hurt and if he didn't tough this out
things were going to get worse. He thought he managed a ‘Fine’ in there
somewhere but he was gasping a little. Last time it had been Isobel who'd done
something like this and he'd ended up throwing up on her shoes in retaliation.
"Okay, c'mon, we'll get you to the nurses, son." The teacher -- and it wasn't
even one of his, it was one of the PE teachers that he recognized but hadn't
had -- took his arm and hauled him mostly upright.
"I'm okay," he managed. But rather weirdly he could taste blood at the back of
his throat. He must've had a crack across the face and... shit, that was bad.
If he bruised they'd all know what was happening. He tried to work out who was
pulling him along. Mr. Harrison he thought.
"No, you're not. Look, you can sit in the nurse’s office, get seen, you'll feel
better..." He was walking Carson down the hallway.
"It's nothing unusual," he mumbled, and then cursed himself. He meant to say
it's nothing and leave it at that. He wasn't going to whine about things.
"They've targeted you before, son?" That was a sad sort of question, and Carson
wanted to say 'no', but.
His silence was an answer in itself and he felt *embarrassed* by it for god's
sake. Like he shouldn't be saying this.
"Skipped grades," he said, which should deflect the real reason away from him.
"What grade are you in?" It was a gentle sort of question while they turned
down the administrator's hallway.
"E-Eleven," he said, trying not to limp. "I don't want to miss class."
He really didn't want to miss class, because it would make him stand out even
more.
“You're hurt," Mr. Harrison pointed out as he pushed open the door to the
nurse’s office and herded him in. "Which isn’t supposed to happen on school
grounds."
He looked at the teacher and shook his head. Did they really think that
happened? That school was some island of non-violence and learning? He shrugged
a little. "It's okay. I'll be okay Mr. Harrison."
“We don't allow fighting in the halls, or for students to hurt each other. This
is a rule that I can't bend for anyone," Mr. Harrison said a little sternly,
*looking* at Carson.
Shit, now he was in trouble. He wiped at his nose and it came away bloody and
he sat down disconsolately. He'd end up in trouble for fighting, and his mum
and dad would be really angry. "I don't want my parents to know," he said.
"They've...they've got enough to worry about."
"Linda!" Mr. Harrison leaned in, and startled a little when the nurse came out
of the storage closet. "Ah, this one was getting beat up in the lunch room. I
need you to take a look at him."
"Oh dear, you are in a bit of a mess, aren't you?" Linda said, and came over
with something to wipe his face to start with. "Where does it hurt?"
Everywhere was not really an answer, so he gestured to his ribs, and then his
left leg, and vaguely his head.
She nodded, while Mr. Harrison was reaching over to a phone to call someone.
Hell. He didn't want to make things worse, he just wanted to fly under the
radar.
He didn't realize it had been that rough. Just a few hits just like usual, and
yeah, things had been getting rougher but it hadn't been the end of the world.
He'd be leaving soon anyway. He didn't need to be here.
A pad of gauze was pressed to his still bleeding nose, and Linda was lifting
his top and he yelped as she pressed on tender spots. This was ridiculous.
"You took a hard hit or two," she murmured, while he tried to see what Mr.
Harrison was doing. "I seem to remember a few of your brothers and sisters
ending up here"
"Aye well," Carson shrugged a little. "Sometimes. Collin mainly."
"Ah, I remember Collin. He tended to end what he started," she mused, patting
his shoulder gently. "I'll get you two Tylenol."
"Thank you." He was missing class, he was missing class and it was ridiculous
how panicky he felt about not slotting into the daily routine. Jamie always had
a go at him for not being an individual, and trying to skulk along in the
shadows, but that was what being a seventh son was all about. Six older and
larger and inevitably louder siblings to compete with and either you tried to
be the loudest of all or you just accepted the fact that attention was hard to
come by.
She moved back into the storage closet, and Mr. Harrison took a sideways look
at the door before he came back to Carson. "Well, you can go back to class if
you want, or you can go home, Mister Beckett. CJ and his gang are being moved
to suspension. I've called your mother. In the future, I want you to *report*
when something like this happens. If you're being harassed and beaten up,
you're not the only one. You're a mature enough boy, Carson. You should keep
that in mind."
"Yes sir," he replied and he was totally doomed now. If they were fine in
school, getting home was going to be fraught instead. His mum was going to
pitch a fit. So was his dad, and the best he could hope for was to make sure no
one knew it had started off being about Rodney and Grant.
Mr. Harrison was looking at him, and then he just nodded. "All right. You can
go to class or home, and I hope your day gets better."
"Thank you," he mumbled at him and then tried to consider what would be the
best thing, going to class, or going home. He was fifteen years old for
Christ’s sake, he ought to be able to hold his own at school, even if it was
against people a lot bigger than he was. On the other hand, walking in late to
a class looking roughed up had its own terrors and getting home could be a
dangerous proposition if CJ and his gang had been suspended.
He would've tossed a coin if he could've. Of course, if CJ and his gang tried
to beat him up on the way home, he could always go the old-fashioned press
charges route. His parents would approve, at least.
He'd stay, because he didn't want to be a wuss and if they did try something it
would just get them in even more trouble so maybe they would have some sense
and steer clear.
Linda came back with the Tylenol and he downed it with a slurp of water. The
afternoon wasn't that long, just a couple of hours.
A couple of hours wouldn't kill him.
 
Grant didn't like the way Rodney looked and felt, or the way Carson looked and
felt because neither of them looked good. Carson had tried to disappear into
his room when he came home from school, but his mother had followed him and
there had been a long time of waiting for someone to come out, even as they
then had to leave Carson alone to go get Rodney. Then Rodney had come back,
looking pale and grim, and he didn't like that either so he was trying to be
comforting to them both, but nothing seemed to be helping. He wasn't sure what
he should be doing. He understood what was happening, but he didn't understand
what he was to do with it.
He was getting better but he didn't know any ways he was allowed to make things
better, not now.
He was *trying* Shona's ways, so he was studiously mixing cocoa in a saucepan
on the stove. He wasn't sure what to do after that, but they were both very
low-feeling and he wanted to try to fix that. There should have been a, a
calculation, a level of chocolate that made the world better.
The best he could manage was both Rodney and Carson plus chocolate equaled
happiness and that wasn't really good enough. All he wanted to do was to help
people be happy. It really shouldn't've been so difficult to do that.
He poured the hot chocolate out and even sprinkled the tops with more chocolate
and put in a little cream and sugar and found marshmallow things to make it
pretty and took it in.
"I have made... hot chocolate. It, it will help."
Rodney shifted, slouched up from the sofa, and tried to look interested, but
Grant could tell he wasn't, not really. Not deep in his heart, and Carson
looked surprised and worried. But he'd turned off the stove, so everything was
okay. Shona had been watching, letting him decide how to make it. "Oh, thanks.
Did you make any for yourself?"
"Yes," he said gesturing to his and picking it up. "Shona said you have had a
hard day."
Carson was picking up his mug at least. That was good.
"Yeah. The, the trial was..." Rodney waved a hand, and shifted on the sofa,
curling his fingers around the mug. "Thanks. And Carson's not talking about his
bruises."
"Nothing to talk about," Carson said. "Just, you know, bullies getting over-
enthusiastic. Nothing really surprising there."
Bullies weren't nice, Rodney had told him about them and he didn't like the
thought of something like that happening to Carson so he urgently pushed over
some of the cookies. Rodney had always brought him cookies to help him feel
better. Stolen them away from the upstairs and smuggled them to him.
To bring them cookies, he didn't even have to steal. Carson glanced at him, and
then reached for a cookie. "We're being bribed, aren't we?" Rodney guessed, but
he had fluff from the cocoa on his lips when he asked that.
"Chocolate is nice and it makes you feel better," Grant announced, as he
settled down next to Rodney. "Bullies aren't nice and trials aren't nice, I...
I know that much."
And he read the paper. He remembered every word of the articles in the paper.
"Mm." Rodney lowered his eyes, and sucked on the edge of his mug. "You at least
deserve a cookie, Carson."
"For what? Being stupid enough to let them catch me?" Carson said, but still
had the cookie.
Grant could tell when Rodney was really starting to relax. He could tell when
he didn't like what Carson had said too. "Given that logic, Grant and I are
stupid, too."
"Your situation was completely different," Carson said. "You had no choice."
Grant wasn't sure what he was talking about there. Until Rodney had gone
upstairs he hadn't known that people lived any differently. Being normal meant
small dark places. He liked his closet, sometimes, if he got lonely and upset.
Shona didn’t seem to understand that it could be comforting.
"Did you ask to be beaten up?" Rodney's voice was stiff, and he shifted, leaned
shoulder to shoulder with Grant.
Carson gave a wry smile. "Only if being a few grades ahead is asking for it,"
he replied.
"No, no it isn't, they shouldn't hurt you," Grant said frowning. "Or, or
Rodney. It's not fair."
"C'mere. Sit up here with us, and let's see if we can find something not-news
on TV," Rodney decided. "And it's not fair. Or right. You need to take the
advice you've been giving."
"What advice is that?" Carson said. "Look, it's not a big deal. You can't avoid
it. Things just got a bit out of hand recently and.."
Grant sat up. "Recently means more than once. How.. how many times? Rodney?
Recently means more than once?"
"Recently means more than once," Rodney agreed, leaning forward to set his mug
on the coffee table. "How can you help us, and tell us things, when you're just
making excuses for the people who're hurting *you*?"
"I'm not making excuses!" Carson said sounding frustrated. "I try to bloody
well deal with them on my own, because that's what I always do! There's no
brothers or sister or anyone else at the school to back me up. Everyone my own
age runs a mile from the people I come up against. I just...get on with it.
It's only going to bloody well get worse now."
Grant cowered back a bit. Carson sounded frustrated and angry and that really
wasn't like him.
He was never angry. "How? How can it get worse?"
Carson looked at them both. "Because they got suspended. Do I have to spell it
out? Today they crossed a line in front of a teacher, and got suspended which
means they're not going to just let that slide. "
Grant was frowning. "I... I don't understand why they did that now if this has
happened a lot?"
"So..." Rodney leaned again, snagging two cookies, and he passed one to Grant.
"What'll they do?"
"Try and catch me after school I guess," Carson said. He gave a wry sort of
smile. "If I'm not back when you get in, send out a search party, okay?"
Grant blinked a little, mentally vowing if Carson wasn't back when he should be
back he would go looking for him no matter how scary it was. It was always
better if someone else was there.
"Call the police? That's assault," Rodney shrugged. "You could be more trouble
than they'd want to bother with."
"Believe me, if it goes that far I will,” Carson promised. "Now we've dissected
my useless day, how were your days?" he asked.
Grant looked at Rodney. "I... I did some cooking, and then Shona and I went out
down the road, and I came back and worked on my equations again until lunch.
Then I helped do some cleaning. Shona says soon we need to think about
Halloween and things. It sounded fun. "
"Jeannie used to dress up every year," Rodney noted mildly. "She was a, uhm.
Character of something last year. Some cartoon."
"Can we dress up?" Grant asked as that sounded interesting. He liked a lot of
cartoon characters. "When do we dress up?"
"Well sometimes for parties, or to go out trick or treating," Carson said.
"People give you candy and sweets. And we give them out from here as well."
"We can if you want," Rodney offered, *looking* at Carson over Grant's head,
some eye-words that Grant didn't get being passed between them.
"I'd like to dress up for Halloween," Grant said. "I... I've never done
anything like that before." It sounded exciting and fun.
"We can make costumes. There's some good bits and pieces upstairs. I think we
got some costumes... Mairi and Jamie made costumes based on the movie Tron that
came out a couple of years ago. Did I show you that one?" Carson asked.
"No?" But Rodney sounded interested, and that was better than Rodney sounding
tense and unhappy, so Grant wanted to see it, too.
"I think we've got it here, it's about computers. Well sort've," Carson said.
Grant read and watched everything he could about computers, and so did Rodney,
so this was actually exciting. "Can we watch it now?" he asked hopefully. Maybe
Rodney would relax if they did.
"I think your mum wanted to eat dinner in here tonight. She mentioned it in the
car."
Casual sort of dinner, with Carson's father out on nightshift. Lachlan was
nice, and one nightshift meant he worked two, or three, and then had a day off,
and that was nice. Grant sort of liked him, liked his books a lot. He was nice.
"After dinner then. " Carson looked at Rodney. "So come on, how was it?"
Rodney liked to repeat questions back a lot, when Grant knew he already knew
what the question *really* was, but he didn't this time. "Miserable. She's
being smug."
"Smug? What the bloody hell has she got to be smug about?" Carson said. "That's
just... rubbish. Are they still doing opening statements or whatever?"
"Yeah. It's... bizarre. I think they're angling for a sympathy/insanity plea. I
don't know." Rodney stood up. "I'm uh. Going to see if your mom will let us
watch a movie and eat dinner, Carson."
"She probably will," Carson said and Grant nodded. Food was good, even after
the hot chocolate he had made.
"I will set the table," he announced. "Shona said she would make something nice
for you both."
Shona was almost always right when she said she was making something extra
special, but he hadn't yet found food that he didn't want to eat. Partly
because any food had been pretty fantastic, especially food Rodney brought him.
He would find something Rodney really liked and learn to make that so he could
take it to Rodney.
"That's nice," Carson said, yawning, even as he didn't get up. "I'll just stay
here a mo, I think I'm a bit tablet woozy."
"What else did you take?" Rodney asked, just before he stuck his head into the
kitchen, and ended up being backed out by Shona carrying a tray.
"No, no, none of this setting the table. Let's all eat in here and relax for
once. It's just the four of us. I made pizza bread."
"Stronger painkiller. My ribs were hurting some. Just bruises," Carson said.
"That smells fantastic. Mmm."
It did. Pizza was a very favorite thing for Grant. Pizza bread had to be
fantastic.
It *looked* like a huge loaf of bread, smooth and rounded towards the center,
and Shona set it down on the coffee table. "Now, does someone want to get
knives forks and plates?"
Grant immediately leapt into action. That he could do and he liked to be
helpful. He was there and back rapidly and put all the plates in the middle and
the knives and forks.
"You are probably exhausted. Carson, your father will want to talk to you when
you get home, but you should think about an early night. And you Rodney. Today
could not have been easy. Lachlan is going to try and take some time off so one
or other of us can come and be with you."
Rodney shrugged his shoulders a little. "It's okay. The social worker was
there." And she wasn't someone Rodney *liked*. "Thanks for the bread -- ooo."
Rodney sat back a little while Shona cut it, and revealed pepperoni and cheese
and meats that were tucked thickly into the inside.
"Wish I could be there," Carson said. "To...you know. Help out."
"I should start testifying tomorrow. Or not. Depending on how much foot
dragging there is." Shona was carefully cutting each of them huge chunks, and
it smelled wonderful. Grant tried to do his part by passing Grant and Carson
plates, and then one for Shona, and one for himself. There were leftovers, and
that meant *lunch*.
"I could go?" Grant suggested as he ate the hot cheese and pepperoni. "I could
go and help?"
"No, no, no..." Carson said immediately.
"They're going to read your deposition tomorrow. Because they don't... It's not
nice. Everyone's watching you, and it's a room full of people. You don't want
to be there." Rodney sat back. "Thank you, Mrs. Beckett."
"Shona, sweetheart," she replied. "And I'll be there, or Lachlan. We're not
letting the social worker be your only contact there, okay?"
That was good. If he couldn't be there then someone should be,
"Okay. It's just... It'll be over, and then it'll be *over*, so..." Rodney
hunched in around his plate and seemed to be enjoying it. Grant moved towards
him, eyeing Carson.
"Oh, movie!" He startled. "Can we put a movie in?"
"Do you mind if we do, mum?" Carson asked. "I wanted to show them Tron - I was
telling them about the Tron Halloween costumes."
"You go ahead, sweetheart, I might even watch a bit with you all," she said,
and smiled. "At least until the pizza bread is gone."
It made Rodney smile, and that was important, Grant knew. He shifted, sat on
the sofa with his feet tucked under him, and balanced his mug in one hand and
his plate in the other while Carson got the movie.
It would be okay, he could help now even if it was just making hot chocolate
and sitting next to his brother as they watched a movie. He was going to do
whatever he could to make sure no one got hurt, not anymore, even if he didn't
really know what to do.
 
After days and days, Rodney still hadn't testified. They were still bringing in
'experts' to discuss this and that, police to lay out the facts of the charges,
the evidence gathered and supportable conclusions. It was not very pleasant and
Grant thought it most unfair because it meant he was alone a lot of the time.
Things were just not as interesting when Lachlan was watching him, because he
did a lot of work on the phone, and in his study area.
So he would wait eagerly for Carson to get home and then they might go out for
a walk or play something or he could just tell him what he had been up to and
they would worry about Rodney together until he came home.
Only Carson was late.
Carson had been late by five minutes before, and he had been worried the one
time it had been ten minutes late, but it was much later than that, and he
wanted to tell Lachlan they needed to make a search party as Carson had said,
but you never interrupted an adult, never, never.
Never. He knew that from home, because interrupted adults were angry adults,
and he'd promised Carson that he'd look for him if he went missing, and twenty
minutes counted as *missing*. Twenty minutes was too long.
He liked outside, but it was a bit scary if he was on his own, but he liked
Carson, and Rodney liked Carson and if he got picked on again like he thought
than that was bad. After some half stepping out and then back in again, Grant
made up his mind and slipped out of the house and started down the route he
knew from the one time he had walked with Shona to half meet Carson on his way
home.
If he had to go *further* than that, he wasn't going to be sure where he was
going, but as long as he found Carson in that area, he wouldn't get lost. He
wanted to call for Carson, see if he was maybe hiding. Grant would've hidden.
He would've found a nice dark hidden spot and crept into it. First left, second
right, past the house with the nice dog, up around the junction, to the park
and there was a cut through the park which he headed to, and then he could see
a cluster of people up ahead.
He didn't want to head towards the people, but he could hear voices, yelling,
shouting, and those weren't good signs to hear. He started towards the noise.
"Think you could get away with getting us suspended, you fucking nerd?" a rough
voice said. "My Dad kicked my ass over that, so the least you can do is have
some of the same."
"Get the hell off of me!" That was Carson, that was Carson and he was in
trouble! Grant knew he would be in trouble.
“Knock it off!" He roared it, popping out of the underbrush around his
shortcut, and he was pretending he was Rodney because if *Rodney* were there
he'd do that.
It startled the group a little.
"Geez, it's one of the freaks," CJ said reorienting himself on Grant and
suddenly that wasn't so good. "Come to rescue your fuck buddy, huh? That's what
you do, isn't it, freak?"
He shifted, stood up tall, and focused hard, and it wasn't going to *last*, but
it, it was. It was. And he could *pretend*, like his characters in the game
they played! "No. Leave Carson alone. Carson, we're going home. Your father
called the, called the police."
Carson pushed himself up and over to him, straightening up even as CJ narrowed
his eyes.
"No, he hasn't. You're alone, you motherfucker. You're a pervert and he defends
perverts. Calls you foster brother, as if he can stand to even look at you."
"CJ, back off. I will report you," Carson said, pulling himself up a little
erratically, but his voice sounded no nonsense.
"He can't even look us in the eye!" A stone flew out of nowhere right at him,
and hit him with a sharp pain.
“Ow! What, what's wrong with you? You're not supposed to do that." He reached a
hand up to cover the spot that hurt, moving closer to Carson.
"Grant!" Carson pulled him behind him in a gesture that felt familiar at the
very least. He leaned in close. "Tell me dad knows where you are?"
"Phone. He was on the phone," Grant mumbled. "We're going *home*, Carson.
You're late."
"Oh, crap..."
The gang was sensing weakness, or perhaps with their new prey there, a new
focus for their aggression.
"You're going to pay," CJ said glaring at them both. "Get them!"
Grant would never forget what Carson did next because it was what Rodney would
do, and he didn't think anyone else would really care like Rodney did. But
Carson obviously did and that made him special. He glanced at Grant with a
worried terrified expression and then turned back to the bullies as he shouted
"Run Grant! Get Dad!" as he tried to deal with the hail of missiles and then
the punches thrown his way like some sort’ve human shield.
Grant ran, ran all the way back to the house, and the door had closed behind
him, so he had to pound on it, and he could still hear the friendly dog's
yapping in his ear.
Lachlan came to the door and looked worried and concerned. "Grant, I've been
looking for you everywhere... what's happened to you lad? You're bleeding."
"Carson's in trouble, they're beating him up! He was, he was late, late coming
home and you were on the phone and I shouldn’t interrupt you, so I went to get
him and they're hurting him!"
"What? Where?” To his credit Lachlan didn't hesitate, just headed out after
him, half breaking into a run.
Grant didn't want to think about what was happening, but Carson had told him to
go and get his dad, and he had. He hoped that was the right thing and he was
scared now because what if something happened to Carson?
What if it wasn't good enough? He ran, though, fast as he could, until his
chest hurt and his legs hurt and then they were *there* again.
The moment an adult came into sight, the gang dispersed, running hell for
leather away, and Carson was lying on the ground, and it was like when Rodney
had had the allergy and he had collapsed and was pale, but he could see blood
now, and Lachlan made a half cry of horror and anger and ran to Carson.
He didn't like the blood, blood was bad and he could smell it, and the memories
that bubbled up with the metallic tang and Carson was very pale and not moving,
not even a little bit and he was scared now that he'd done the wrong thing and
he wanted to hide but Carson needed him here. But he also thought longingly of
the space under the bed, which was a good place not to be found.
Maybe he could go back there later. Soon. He edged in closer to Carson. "Is, is
he, Carson? Hi, I got your, your dad, I'm sorry..."
"He's unconscious, lad," Lachlan said, examining him, and his voice was tight
and strange. "He can't hear you. How did it get to this? Just because he's
smart? It can't be just that."
"They said, said..." Oh. Oh. And words tumbled into his ear, into his mind
again, and he *remembered*, not that he didn’t always remember, he did, but
this was sharp and present. "It's our fault. Because of us."
"What is?" Lachlan asked glancing at him. "It's not your fault Grant, it's...
those boys! They did this." He had relaxed a little since he found a pulse, but
he still looked shocked. He was obviously deciding whether it was better to try
and move Carson rather than risk leaving him here to phone an ambulance.
"Where's the nearest phone?"
"On the other side of the park. I, I can go...?" He wasn't sure whom he was
supposed to call.
"Grant, do you know how to call an ambulance and what to say?" Lachlan asked
hopefully. "I don't want to leave Carson and I'm concerned about moving him."
"Yes, yes, I can, I'll." He turned, and ran back onto the park path that he
knew so well. He had change, in his pocket, and he knew how to use an outdoors
phone because it was on Shona's list of Things he Should Know.
He was doing something to help and he felt it was his fault that this had
happened. He hadn't known that was why Carson was having trouble but he didn't
like it and now something had happened.
He made it to the phone and said everything as Shona had told him, methodically
and clearly. An ambulance would come. He remembered those. They had taken him
in one of those when he had gone Outside for the first time. There had been a
bright light.
A bright light on top, and the woman wanted him to stay on the phone, but he
said he needed to get back to Mr. Beckett and Carson and he did. He did need to
get back to them and make sure that everything was still okay, that Carson was
okay. Even if he couldn't do anything.
Carson appeared to be stirring a little when he got back and Lachlan patted
Grant’s arm and said "Thank you lad," and he knew he had done things right.
"Oh bloody hell..." Carson mumbled. "Ow..ow...crap." He cracked open his eyes.
"Dad? Grant?"
"Ambulance will be here soon. And, and police," Grant offered, kneeling down.
"They, they were throwing rocks."
“Lie still, son, where does it hurt?" Lachlan asked.
"You're going to be angry if I say everywhere aren't you?" Carson said with a
cough that nearly folded him up with pain. "I… I might've done something to my
ribs."
"But you didn't do it. They..." Grant gestured, fist-motions, and glanced at
Lachlan.
"Grant's right. We've called an ambulance, Grant called an ambulance."
Carson's eyes went comically wide with horror. "I'm okay, I don't want a fuss.
I'll be fine when I'm at home."
"Carson, you were unconscious for at least ten minutes that *I* know about,"
Lachlan said. "If I ever hear that you've let someone skip a doctor's visit
after being out for that length of time, I won't be passing you my stethoscope
okay? You've most likely got broken ribs, and a concussion at the least."
He groaned and reached for Grant, patting him. "You did a great job, Grant. Did
exactly what I said."
But he had left Carson there alone facing them and that didn't seem right.
"I didn't want to leave you. I should've... Rodney would've done more." Rodney
was more confident, and Rodney would've gotten into the fight and then probably
gotten in trouble.
Here were sirens then and Carson groaned. "I'm really okay, dad," he tried
again but it wasn't that convincing.
"You wait until you try moving," Lachlan said. "I am the doctor around here,
you know. I'm fully expecting you to upchuck the moment we move you." He
glanced at Grant. "You're going to have to come with us in the ambulance, or
we'll have to go get the car and follow you in, Carson."
"I, I can go with you?" If he could, then he wanted to go, because that was
just easier. Rodney might show up for them, that way. Maybe they'd let him out
of the trial.
 
The really strange thing was how embarrassed he felt. And hurt, but in some
ways after the pills kicked it, it was the shame of letting a group of bullies
get one over on him that made him uncomfortable. That and the strapped ribs,
and the nausea from the concussion, and the small fracture in his arm.
His dad was furious, and although Carson knew it wasn't technically at him, it
was such an alarming sight he wanted to do a Grant and tuck himself away.
His father had talked to the police, there and then while they'd been at the
hospital, and now he was on the phone again, and they were putting the boys
down for assault, which was a bit worse than being suspended. For now he was in
bed, under an advisory to 'rest'.
And he was bored. Very bored. And a little worried about going back to school.
Not that he could right now anyway. He had dozed a little, and then woken up
even more bored and not quite able to focus well enough to read.
He wasn't surprised that Rodney was there, that Rodney had pulled a chair up
and was leaning with his elbows on his knees. "Well."
"Hi, Rodney," he said and he even felt embarrassed talking to Rodney now. His
life was going to be one big mass of crimson shame at this rate.
"I'll be going downstairs in a few to help minutes. Grant and I are going to
eat up here with you. If that's all right, I mean. I did only hear a second-
hand version of events."
"If it was from Grant it was most likely more precise than anything I can
remember," he said shifting slight. "It'd be good to have company. I'm bored
and mum won't let me get up. Or dad."
"You have a fractured rib, and the rest are bruised. You know, and the school
bullies apparently threw rocks at you because your parents are fostering Grant
and I. I'm pretty sure that now I know why mum just didn't plead guilty. This
way she still gets to ruin lives as much as possible." Rodney didn't move, but
he was looking at Carson, watching his face. Sometimes Carson felt like Rodney
could read his mind, but he was quite possibly wrong.
"Rodney..." He reached out with a rather sore arm. "Rodney, that was just their
latest excuse. It's not really to do with you guys."
They'd been picking on him for years and sometimes whomever they fostered came
up, but on the whole him being smart seemed to be reason enough.
"So they just... regularly beat the shit out of you?" Rodney pressed, still
watching him.
“Well.." Carson grimaced a little. "Things escalated a bit. You know the
sort've thing I mean, Rodney, you've been to school. People don't like it if
you're too good at stuff."
He watched Rodney shake his head. "No. No, they don't do that in college, and I
scared them in high school. I had other things on my mind, never paid them any
attention."
That was actually kind of depressing in a way. Maybe it was just him after all.
"Oh, well.." He cleared his throat. "I try not to pay any attention and avoid
them but that's easier said than done. I don't think I've managed to eat lunch
for some time now."
"And you didn't mention this to anyone? Did you tell your parents?" Rodney sat
up a little.
"...No?" Carson frowned. What was the big deal? "I've been dealing with it.
It's important to deal with things. My brothers and sisters all managed it, I
can't be the only Beckett not able to hold his own. I'll never live it down and
I'll be a disappointment to my dad."
"I know Grant and I are essentially guests in the house, but have you *met*
your parents, Carson? There's dealing with someone calling you a fag at school,
and then there's dealing with having them steal your food on a consistent
basis. One of these things is more serious than the other."
,"I'm not exactly starving to death. Rodney," he pointed out. "Look, compared
to... well everything the other fosters and what you and Grant have been
through, it's really very inconsequential."
Like he liked to be. It was a constant paradox, he wanted to be the best
because he had a lot to live up to, but he didn't want to have the profile that
came with it.
"You have a fractured rib," Rodney pointed out, gesturing with a hand towards
Carson's torso. "So. Not exactly inconsequential. Your father's pressing
charges.”
"God, I know..." he groaned. "What am I going to do? I really don't want to go
back there. They weren't the only ones there."
"I think it might work out better this way. I mean, they won't even acknowledge
you're alive if some of them have been reprimanded via the police." At least,
that was Rodney's logic.
"Yeah, well, I hoped that would be the case when they were suspended for it."
He shifted and swore, he would never underestimate how painful a broken rib
could be.
"Yeah, well. They're *crazy* is my best bet." Rodney shifted, stood up, and
moved finally. "I'm going to grab dinner. Do you want me to turn the TV on for
you? If you let Grant do it, I can't guarantee that you won't end up watching
Cartoons."
“Please," Carson said and exhaled. "And don't you go blaming yourself for any
of this, Rodney. I know who's to blame for it."
"Who?" It was a funny sort of question, while Rodney lingered at the TV,
turning it on, before he came back to Carson with the clunky remote. Grant had
already fixed it once.
"CJ and his gang," he said. "Not you. Go get dinner, I want to hear what
happened today."
"Okay. As long as you're not blaming yourself," Rodney advised gently, and then
moved to slip out. Maybe he *was* blaming himself, but he wasn't going to say
it.
He should've handled it better. He was going to be hauled over the coals by his
brothers and sisters, his mum had been bad enough before she realized he was
barely awake. It just wasn't fair, he hated this. He hated the fact everyone
seemed to find it easy and he didn't. He was friends or acquaintances with a
lot of people but he was trapped in that school limbo of not having any peers.
No friends. Rodney didn't *really* need friends, and now that he was at
college, he was mingling, making contacts, and Carson wanted so badly to go off
to college a year early. Maybe he could use all of this as leverage with his
parents and the school.
Maybe then he could dress older like Rodney did and just get on with it. Make
friends, as there were ages that mingled a little more. But then there was
Maddie and...
It gave him a headache.
It just left him tired and drained, and he was almost glad for the distraction
that was Grant walking into the room backwards with a dinner tray for him. "Hi
Carson. Dinner tonight is bowtie pasta, in alfredo sauce, and bread we made
yesterday."
"Thank you, Grant," he said although he wasn't sure how hungry he was. "I'll
see what I can manage. Have a seat."
"Mm-mmm. How're you feeling? S-Shona said you're not going to school tomorrow.
I can keep you company," he promised, seconds before Rodney came in.
“That'll be good," Carson replied, settling the tray down after Grant passed it
over. "I'm feeling a bit painful, but I'm okay, Grant," he said.
"But better?" Grant looked so hopeful, while Rodney waved at him with two
fingers, carrying another tray.
"And the rest of the food, and drinks."
"Some better, yes," Carson replied knowing full well he would feel worse the
following day. Injuries generally did one way or another. "I'm going to be
fine."
"Can you sit up, or should we prop you up with pillows?" Rodney asked blandly
while he set the tray carefully on the floor.
"I told you I wasn't that bad," Carson said confidently and tried sitting up.
He did manage it, but he was ridiculously tired in the process. "I want to hear
what happened to you today."
"Trial," Rodney shrugged. "I did some of the testimony the prosecution wanted.
I'm starting to miss the idiots in my classes."
"You haven't had the defense go at you yet?" Carson asked, concerned, trying to
eat a little awkwardly
"Not yet. Tomorrow, maybe." Rodney gestured vaguely with his fork. "We'll see.
They're moving slowly. And the whole time she sits there, smiling."
"Maybe if I don't go back early some day, I can come with you," he said. He
wanted to see this woman who pretended to be normal after what she had done to
Rodney and Grant.
"She... never smiles good smiles," Grant said.
"It should be over soon," Rodney shrugged. "Another few days. I hope."
"You reckon? Hopefully it should all be done and dusted before everyone comes
home for Thanksgiving," Carson said shifting slightly. "Maybe we should phone
Aileen and ask for tips, she knows this sort've thing."
The line between Rodney's thick eyebrows creased. "Why?"
"When they cross examine you, Rodney, it's not straightforward. " Carson didn't
want to say that Rodney's mother had obviously hired a high priced lawyer who
would drag him over the coals. "It helps to know how to present yourself."
Rodney groaned and set his fork down. "Not you, too. Do you know how much god-
damned advice I've gotten over this the last few weeks? And the best part is
that *no-one* really agrees, and yes, Grant, I'm swearing." He rounded on his
owl-eyed brother with a *look* in his eyes. "But I've had it up to way over my
head with the unsolicited, well-meaning advice. Presenting myself this way and
talking another way and blah blah blah doesn’t fucking *matter* because she's
sitting there and my step-father is out there in the audience acting like he's
shocked and personally affronted by every word. I'd like to lock *his* fucking
ass in a cellar for a few years and it might wipe the gall off of his face, but
no. No, that's wrong and I can't do that, even though I had years of him tsking
at me for being an *odd* boy. It apparently never crossed his mind that his
wife was a fucking *lunatic*."
Carson flinched just a little bit. "Sorry," he said ducking his head a little.
"I.. was just trying to help. Thought it might help you feel more in control of
things."
The shouting wasn't a good thing right now. It made him clench up, and feel
unsettled.
"I'm not in control. I'm on display to a whole room full of people who... I
don't know." Rodney's anger was usually like a back draft in a fire -- fast and
raging and extinguishing itself as it went. Rodney shifted, reached for his
chunk of bread, and looked sullen when he looked at Carson again. "I don't want
to talk about it anymore."
"I... I've never seen my step father," Grant said in the uncomfortable silence.
"He... doesn't know who I am."
Even now, knowing what it was like for them, revelations like that could shock
him. "I'm not sure that you want to see him, Grant," Carson said, feeling upset
but blanking it.
Rodney didn't try words, and maybe that was a better idea on the whole. Carson
was still sitting up in bed, but Rodney shifted, moved his chair over to his
side like a table for the pasta and milk and bread, and made a gesture to
Grant, and Grant moved, did the same, mirroring his brother, until he sat down
beside him and just leaned into him. "He sucked anyway. He missed out on *you*,
not the other way around. His loss."
Grant ate his pasta and shook his head. "I don't like losing things or people.
I thought I lost Rodney when he went upstairs, and then again when he went to
college, and then Carson today when you were so still and your dad was
crying.."
"Wait, ...wait, my Dad was crying?" Carson asked, a bit shocked.
"Yes," Grant said. "He was very worried. And he told me to phone an ambulance,
and I knew how to because Shona told me. She has told me more than our step
father ever will."
"Yeah." No arguing from Rodney, and he rubbed at Grant's shoulder with one
hand, quiet. "I... you should really be resting, Carson. I'm sorry. I didn't
mean to snap."
"It's okay," he said automatically. "I thought I was meant to be eating?"
"Bread?" Grant offered. "It's good. Can we watch something?"
"Whatever you want." Rodney glanced up to Carson, like he was checking that
statement. But generally, whatever Grant wanted to watch was 'cute', or light
and fun. It wasn't like some of the fosters who were drawn to darker, gloomier
things. Grant's preference for TV was a good seven years younger than his real
age.
Which he understood. Grant was discovering a world from scratch and working his
way up. "Aye, Grant, your choice," he agreed. He could always fall asleep if it
was too much.
Grant picked up the remote and started to flip through channels in quick
succession, settling on a re-run of star-trek. It was good background noise.
Rodney had returned to quiet, but at least he was eating again.
He ate a little bit himself but his heart - or his stomach - wasn't really in
it. He stopped fairly quickly and half watched Rodney eat.
He told himself it was the after effects of the concussion or painkillers but
he looked at Rodney and wanted desperately to make things okay. To touch him to
make things better, or just have the right word to say. But all he could manage
was watching and almost zoning out on him.
It wasn't so bad, but. Maybe in the morning, the next day or the day after
that, he could make himself useful again.
 
He shouldn't have snapped at Carson.
He shouldn't have snapped at anyone, but he had to keep talking and talking and
making statements and there was no break between the prosecution and the
defense. One minute he was standing there, trying to focus and make the room as
visually small for himself as possible, the next moment there was a completely
new lawyer standing in front of him.
The lawyer who approached him this time was as sleek and edgy as a shark and
eyeing him up like a morsel. "Meredith Rodney McKay..." he drawled. "That is
your full name, isn't it?"
"Yes, that's my full name," Rodney agreed, watching the man warily.
"But you go by the name of Rodney?" he asked and Rodney had to wonder what the
hell the point was of that. Something easy perhaps to get him into the habit of
saying yes.
"Yes. I prefer Rodney. It's a male name. Likewise, my brother's full name is
*Beverly Grant*, and he goes by Grant." That was what the man got for thinking
he could get Rodney to just say yes or no. They'd already had that discussion
with the judge, before the man had even started, that Rodney wasn't supposed to
be restricted to Yes and No answers, which was what the defense attorney had
wanted.
"We've heard the prosecution say that you were kept in the cellar, but what was
never discussed were the reasons why," the lawyer said. "Your mother maintains
that you were traumatized by your birth father while very young, and when in an
act of desperate self-defense she caused his death and panicked, you were so
mentally scarred that you displayed abnormal behavior and refused to leave the
cellar, or to let her remove you from the vicinity of his body."
Bullshit. "That's not a question, you're making a statement at me. I thought we
were leaving the quality of my mother's lies up to the jury to decide?"
"But you cannot deny that it is a possibility as it occurred before the point
either you or your brother were beyond the point known as childhood amnesia as
Dr Groscheyvnski has testified, along with his insights into the potential
psychological effects of such abuse," he said, pacing towards the jury. "It is
very unusual for there to be coherent memories prior to the age of 4 or more
usually five, particularly if the child in question has been abused."
"I remember, very clearly, sitting on a carpet in the basement, building blocks
with my brother while she mixed cement and covered the body. Grant, until very
recently, talked about the 'doll' that was in the floor where we were kept.
These are strong memories for us." Traumatic, even.
"But not reliable memories," the lawyer was quick to point out. "And your
brother is not stable mentally, as the psychiatrists reports have indicated.
His recollection is scarcely the sort of thing that can be taken at his word.
And your own... how old were you then...*Rodney*?"
"Two or three, and do you have a problem with my name, Counsel?" He shifted his
hands on the railing, focusing his eyes on just that man.
"You know your mother prefers your first given name, and yet you chose the
second," the lawyer said. "I believe that you show yourself capable of defiance
and independent thought through such actions, so the prosecution's assertion
you never had choices is plainly ridiculous. You've been exercising choices all
along. Your name, where you were...”
"I didn't *choose* to be raised in a cellar, Counsel," Rodney snapped. "I
picked my middle name because I identify as a boy. Male. It's not really a
choice. Likewise, I didn't *choose* to have the allergic reaction that made my
mother decide that, hey, maybe I could live upstairs under a *new* set of
restrictions."
"Exactly. You were given the option to be elsewhere and you chose to take it,"
the lawyer said. "Your mother *saved* your life, Rodney, yes or no?"
Yes. Yes, *but*. "Surprisingly, yes. And she never let me forget it, often
telling me that she should have just let me die. And later on, she delighted in
visibly adding orange zest to food, so I couldn't eat it."
"No doubt making it obvious to you so that you wouldn't inadvertently eat
something bad for you," the lawyer said smoothly. "So, why do you think that
your mother would save you if she didn't love you and have your best interests
at heart?"
"Curiosity, I'm assuming. She delighted in terrorizing me. No, she didn't make
it so I might inadvertently eat something that was bad for me. But when she
added a bit of it to every part of a meal, she'd make a huge fuss to her new
husband that I was a troublesome picky eater. It's not exactly like it was a
*kind* gesture. Meatloaf, from what I've learned, doesn't require lemon zest
and lemon juice." The lawyer was smooth, and Rodney felt so clumsy standing
there, trying to look as 'together' as he could manage.
"Home family recipes aside, Rodney, did you genuinely believe that your mother
really intentionally victimized you... or could it possibly be paranoia?" the
lawyer suggested artfully. "Perhaps, more than a hint of delusion which would
be completely fitting with your early childhood trauma."
"So are you trying to say that her forcing me to have sex with her, her control
of my food, her control of *me* through Grant's food, was all some delusion
stemming from abuse she'd *already* perpetuated on me? That's a really sad case
you're making there, sir. I genuinely believe that my mother, *Grant's* mother,
intentionally victimized both of us, from the day she killed our father to the
day that the police came upon Grant and I, with Grant half-starved in my
absence. Building a secret hide-away in the cellar isn't unintentional.
Changing the log-in code at the *very* expensive keypad is *not* unintentional.
My mother wasn't some happy la la la ditzy homemaker like you're trying to make
her out to be. She engineers weaponry for the government. She's *brilliant*."
The lawyer didn't look the least bit perturbed. In fact he smiled a little.
"Have you ever heard of a Jocasta complex, Rodney? I'm not sure if you were
present when Dr Groscheyvnski explained it to the court."
"I was in the bathroom throwing up," Rodney deadpanned, keeping his eyes on the
man. "I hung around for about five minutes of his explanation, and that was all
I could stomach."
"Then perhaps you might not be aware that the sort of behavior you are
describing and displaying is consistent with the effects of this syndrome," the
lawyer pointed out. "Ambivalent feelings towards one's mother, delusions,
paranoia, self-narcissistic tendencies. We've all heard you state earlier how
much of a genius you consider yourself to be."
"I'm 16 years old, and I'm in my second year of college. I'll have finished
undergrad in less than three years, and I'm pulling a double major in physics
and engineering. If I hadn't spent the formative years of my life in a cellar,
I'd probably have my first doctorate by now. Also, I thought that *Jocasta* was
the mother in Oedipus Rex, and that the Jocasta complex was a mother's
obsession with her son, not any of the problems coping with day to day life
that the social worker has me attending therapy for." He'd had so many people
tell him to be demure on the stand, be polite, but he was going to actually
follow his therapist's suggestion and just be *himself*.
"A well balanced individual would not be attending therapy, would they?" The
lawyer leaned closer. "You were lucky to have a placement at all, as your files
were marked high risk of violence. "
"You're making a case against my mother, right now, Counsel. She raised me. She
abused me, she made me have *sex* with her, and you can't separate that from
the rest of me. I don't know why my files are marked high risk of violence.
I've never hurt anyone in my life. I went away to college and never had an
incident. I might not be a nice person, but I don't hurt people. That's more
than I can say for my mother."
"So it is a coincidence that your foster families youngest son has just been
treated for broken ribs, a concussion and a fracture in his arm?" the lawyer
aimed the barb at him. "Tell me was that you or Grant?"
“That was the school bullies!" Rodney snapped. "And Lachlan's filed charges
against them. They threw a rock at Grant's head, and Grant ran and called 911.
Do you even *look* at the police reports before you jump to a conclusion? Three
of the boys don't have a bail hearing until Friday at the soonest. They picked
on Carson because he’s been a good friend to Grant and I, and this has been all
over the news. Don't you drag our foster family into this. They're good
people."
It hadn't been about that though, the question though easily refutable had been
calculated for effect, to give the impression of him as unstable.
"Yes, they are," the lawyer agreed. "But it's a statement consisting of your
brother's testimony isn't it and he is...more damaged, shall we say, than you
are. In fact Rodney, the interpretation of events so very often seems to come
down to the word of your mother against your word, doesn't it? You say that she
abused you sexually, she claims you made sexual advances on her, and then
blamed her in a fit of self loathing after the event."
"I was *nine*. And it occurred repeatedly, *downstairs*. She made Grant and I
*earn* things -- like time together, time with my school books, extra food -
- by performing sex acts on and for her. The sexual abuse is actually
substantiated in my medical records, as the prosecution showed yesterday.
Doctors documenting and then failing to report it. But, documented,
photographed -- it's not I said, she said."
"Actually, that documentation does not prove sexual abuse, they in reality
prove that sexual intercourse took place, but not that it was abuse." The
lawyer said. " Rodney, through your own words you have explained how clever you
are, how much smarter than us mere mortals..."
It sounded condescending and it was meant to alienate the jury, he knew that.
"With that incredible intelligence, do you expect us to believe that you could
not have reasoned a way to get out of the situation if you had really *wanted*
to, if you weren't a part of the problem?" he said. "After all, college student
at 15 ,was it? And unable to work out a means to tell the police? I don't think
so."
Rodney took a breath to steady himself, shaking his head. "I'm good at *math*.
I'm good at *science*. I'm not good at *people*. I'm emotionally immature,
according to every authority figure I've come across. Believe me, I had plans!
I had lots of plans from telling teachers, which I tried and got chewed out
for, to telling random strangers who looked at me like I was crazy, to my most
recent plan, which was to drive up from college, break Grant out, and then
drive back over the border and live happily ever after. Except that's not
actually a plan, it was a wishful daydream. I didn't think about things like
trials and therapy and rehabilitation for Grant because he'd never seen the
*sky*. I never thought to tell the police because my mother had a police
captain as a friend, and he came for dinner. She'd done custom work on his
personal handguns. What was I going to say to someone who trusted her far more
than me? I'm *young*, people don't listen to me."
"Yes, you are young, and as you quite rightly admit, emotionally immature. You
admit that you have taken action that was completely flawed and it is obvious
that your judgment is biased," the lawyer said sharply. "This is at the crux of
the matter. No doubt due to your abuse by your natural father, you and your
brother developed the pathology of mental illness, manifesting in a wide range
of bizarre mental behaviors such as not wanting to leave the basement, forcing
intimate contact on your mother, also emotionally scarred by the abuse your
father dealt out, and then rejecting your own actions in a mass of self-
delusions, self loathing and paranoia. You have been sick, Rodney, sick all
your life and the greatest tragedy of all is that you don't even realize it."
"Objection!" Oh *finally*, it was nice to know that the prosecutor had a pulse.
Rodney glanced up to the judge.
"Objection upheld. You can either ask Mister McKay a question, or you can leave
the court-room, Counsel."
Fantastic. Except that Rodney hadn't been allowed to rebut that last statement,
and he *wasn't* sick. He wasn't. "My father never abused us."
"That you recollect," the lawyer qualified. "Isn't it true, Rodney, that you
willingly participated in sexual acts with your mother to get what you wanted?"
"You're phrasing that question with a slant. I had sex with her to acquire
things for my brother like blankets and clothes and food. Sure, I could sneak
them down there, but she took them away again -- she made me have sex with her
before she'd *leave* Grant his blanket or his book or his favorite stuffed
toy." And he was getting tired of talking about it, getting tired of
*remembering*. Just... tired and queasy and he wanted to go home.
"But the fact of the matter was you offered sex and received what you wanted."
The lawyer summarized. "Isn't it also true that your mother saved your life?"
"And then *hung* it over my head for the rest of my life. Her not letting me
die doesn't absolve her of *everything* else she ever did to my brother and me.
That's like applauding a drunk driver for stopping at the scene of a hit and
run. Well, whoop-dee-doo. It's not like she was doing the right thing to
*start* with. And just let me clarify -- she told *me* that if I wanted Grant
to have any kind of comfort or company or education past general literacy that
I'd have to have sex with her. It was not *my* idea, and it was... Horrifying."
"That of course is your, opinion of things," the lawyer answered. "Isn't it
correct that you were also caught making an incendiary device at school?"
“For a science fair project," Rodney agreed. "When I was downstairs with Grant,
she often had us near her designs for work if she was with us. I rebuilt one of
them for a science fair, not knowing that I was breaching national security. It
didn't *work*, anyway."
"But it could've done given the correct materials." He was obviously trying to
make Rodney appear dangerous and unstable, and undermine his accusations that
way.
"Yes, if I'd actually been part of the military industrial complex, and had
full access to everything... Oh, wait, I didn't. What I built was as much a
working model as the architect's model for a house. I wasn't reading the scale
properly and there were a host of other issues with my *science fair* project.
Like, that I made it with spare parts from the car, and a radio."
The lawyer didn't seem interested in the explanation. Instead he shifted topic.
"Tell me, Rodney... You're close to your brother, aren't you?"
"He's my twin," Rodney agreed. "We finish each other’s sentences. Of course I'm
close to him."
"That's very close," the lawyer said blandly. "Tell me, Rodney, would you
regard your relationship with your brother as... normal?"
"My therapist says we're 'co-dependent'. That I need to think on my own without
considering Grant first. So, maybe not. Carson and his brothers argue and
things." He shifted, because the balls of his feet hurt.
"Hmm. Rodney, have you had sex with your brother?" the lawyer said slyly.
Yes, yes, but it was *bad*, but it was also part of their police statements, so
he could stop at that point. "In the past. At our mother's request. We don't...
do that anymore. It's not..." Rodney waved a hand. "Healthy or anything we're
interested in. We're doing the, you know. Crush on a girl you know... thing.
It's a nice opportunity."
"But you have had sex with your brother." The lawyer replied, evidently trying
to muddy the waters. "Incest. Is it possible that some of the evidence of
sexual intercourse with Grant might have nothing to do with your mother, but be
more to do with your attentions?"
"She *guided* us," Rodney pointed out, speaking deliberately. "She was there,
watching, saying things like 'turn your head' or 'Move this way, I want to see'
and 'That's all you're good for.' We hadn't even hit puberty yet. I wanted to
be playing with *toys*, or reading books."
"Hmm, I bet you never did anything without direction did you, a meek and mild
boy like you undoubtedly were," he said his voice dripping in sarcasm. "Come on
Rodney, you committed incest, and your brother is unbalanced enough for that to
be evidence of abuse."
"I had incest committed on *me*," Rodney snapped. "Earlier you were trying to
argue that my mother was meek and mild enough to be cowed by two *children*,
and she's got awards from the firing range that she's a member of. She designs
*weapons* for a living. So yes, I'm a smart ass -- it's a defense, and I can
use it freely, without fear, because hopefully she's going to go to prison and
I won't have to worry about her any longer!"
"You'd say anything to get her into prison, wouldn't you?" The lawyer tried to
provoke him further, but it was evident he was trying to weave an impression
out of ambiguity.
"I won't lie to get her into prison. The truth is strong enough to put her
there. I deserve to lead a normal life, my *brother* deserves to go to college
and do whatever he wants and experience new things, like walking down the
street and going into stores and being *outside*." He shifted his hands on the
railing, keeping his eyes focused on the counsel. He wouldn't look at his
mother. *Would* *not*.
That was dismissed as unimportant. "Rodney, any evidence that condemns your
mother condemns you also. You should be aware of that." He stepped away. "No
further questions, your honor,"
And there was no opportunity to respond to that. Rodney lifted his head, and
looked over to the jury for a moment, and hopefully there wouldn't be any more
questions.
His lawyer stood then, presumably to do a re-examination. "Rodney, I won't keep
you long. There are a few things my colleague here seems to want to cast into
confusion and emphasize certain points. Going back a bit; Your mother *saved*
your life once, but how many times do you think she endangered it, or Grant's
life?"
It was all part of the original presentation, but he was more than happy to
restate his point of, oh, *reality*. "I'd guess dozens of times between the two
of us. Between neglect and beating us around, dozens. When I was at college,
she starved Grant, burned him with, probably, her soldering gun. We never were
sure what she used, but it's still a mess of a scar and it was from back in
April. Both of us have had broken bones, compound fractures. Grant has a healed
skull fracture, and I can't even remember how old we were when that happened.
She liked to batter us up against the walls before she re-married."
"As the medical scans confirm,” his lawyer said. "Which is a *fact*, not a
supposition. Now, regarding the accusations leveled at your biological
father.... your brother has a phenomenal memory does he not?"
"Brilliant. He can recall activities on any given day over a decade back. *My*
memory when we were children, is good. Grant's is spectacular."
"Given that his frame of reference was probably not well developed, did he ever
indicate to you that there had been events in the past that led to him being
hurt or frightened of your father? Or can you yourself recall anything?" he
asked.
"No. My strongest memory of my father is actually my only memory of him. He had
Grant and I out at some store, and he bought us a stuffed cat. He didn't have
to buy two, because we've always shared. We named it Kitty. Still have it,
actually. It's on the windowsill in Grant's room right now." The prosecution
lawyer made him feel more relaxed. He had the *state's* best interest in mind,
but for the moment the two seemed to be the same.
"Scarcely the act of the monstrous figure the defense has been painting him to
be," the lawyer said. "Now then, the matter of mental instability of you and
your brother. Has your brother ever hurt anyone in his life, and what do you
think your reaction might be if either of you did?"
"Grant used to play with the rats we'd get in the cellar. I mean, named them,
and petted them on the head. He'd cried over them if they died in the cellar. I
can't imagine him hurting anyone. We're protective of each other, but that's
it. For example, we'd try to get in the way if mother was taking out her anger
on one of us or the other of us."
"So his instincts are protective. Isn't it true that Grant was the one who
managed to fetch help for your foster brother, and phone an ambulance?" It
seemed his lawyer could work on creating impressions as well.
"Yes. S-- Our foster mother taught him how, and when it's appropriate." Rodney
stayed still, didn't shuffle.
“Not the actions of a person with dangerous violent impulses," the lawyer said.
"Now, the business of you apparently manipulating your mother for what you
wanted, would you describe completely how it worked. Any incident that comes to
mind."
"Of the, the bartering?" He squinted at the lawyer.
"Yes. Particularly consequences of not behaving,” he replied.
It took him a minute, dredging up an old memory. "We were ten. I wanted to give
Grant a set of my clothes, and my mother wanted participation in, she..." He
had to concentrate, looking pointedly at the lawyer. "She wanted us to fuck,
after Grant, uh, performed what I later learned is called fellatio. On her. We,
he did that, and we started to try the other, but it hurt, so I stopped. And
she broke my arm. And Grant didn't get clothes. And after we came back from the
hospital, she smacked both of us around, for having weak bones that cost her
money."
"And did you tell her that it wasn't something you wanted in any way?" the
lawyer sad.
"Repeatedly. And when I went from telling her I didn't want to, to outright
refusing, she broke my arm. She used the doorjamb between her workroom and our
room as leverage and just..." Rodney waved his hand. "Snapped it like a
pencil."
The lawyer nodded. "And you were ten years old and not even into puberty. It
would be more than a stretch to say you "wanted" that. At that age sexual
desire on your part would not be a factor. Would it be fair to say that you
were forced to satiate her unnatural and unlawful desires to get the basic
staples of human existence?"
"Food, clothes, heat for Grant. We shouldn't have had to *do* that, but she
said it was all we were good for." And Jeannie had gotten everything she
wanted, no strings attached, but he wasn't bringing her into it.
"And the pair of you demonstrated multiple injuries and illnesses due to
this... treatment?" the lawyer asked what should've been a rhetorical question.
"Yes." Obviously. Who in their right mind would want to have to fight and *do*
that for every simple thing?
"And do you think the fact that you are intelligent enabled you to do anything
about this situation?" his lawyer asked
"Eventually, we got away. That was the best I ever managed. Because one of the
neighbors called 911. I couldn't out-think the threats." Rodney still berated
himself sometimes that he hadn't been able to get them out of there sooner.
"I think people sometimes forget that you are only just sixteen aren't you
Rodney? What were your children be doing at age 16? Not being at college, not
rescuing their abused twin, not dealing with any of this."
"I don't mind college," Rodney smiled. "But the rest of it. I, *we* are still
learning what normal is. I couldn't say what other children do at age 16. Go
out. Date. Go to movies. Hang out places. I'm just guessing."
And that he pretty much knew from Carson.
"And that is the point right there." His lawyer said. "You have not had a
normal upbringing and yet despite that you have become a young man who excels
academically, who is protective and self-sacrificing for his brother, who has
had the burden of a terrible responsibility at a young age, and who has been
betrayed fundamentally by your parents, family, and society in general. My
colleague makes a great deal of you getting what you want, and you manipulating
things to get that. Tell me, Rodney, what is it that *you* want? Not what the
counsel tells us you want."
Oh, hell, even his therapist knew he struggled with that. "I want... Grant to
go to college, I want us to stay with our current foster family. I, I want to
continue going to school. I'd, I want to be left alone to live my life, and try
to be normal."
"Good. They are not the ambitions of a narcissist, or a manipulative
individual," the lawyer pointed out to the jury. "I beg the indulgence of the
court to make one final observation in direct reaction to the counsel's cross-
examination of this witness. Contrary to what my esteemed colleague would have
you believe, Rodney here is not on trial. His parents are the ones on trial,
and he is a witness to the extent of their crimes against him. In fact, he is
more than a witness, he is the victim of some truly terrible crimes despite the
attempts being made to put *him* on trial for his own suffering." The tone of
his lawyers voice made that as ludicrous as it sounded. "No further questions,
your honor."
"Witness dismissed." It was a relief, and Rodney moved to exit the wooden box,
feeling tired and unsteady and, oh god, his testimony was over.
He almost didn't care right now what happened, because he felt ill and shaky
and he just wanted to go home and crawl into bed, and it wouldn't matter that
he was alone because he'd know Grant was safe. Shona was there waiting for him,
watching and giving support and, much to his amazement, so was Carson even
though he knew he shouldn't be out of bed.
He settled back into his chair, looking at Carson with a little amazement. At
least Grant wasn't there. He wouldn't have wanted Grant to be there. "Hi,"
Rodney whispered, down beside them.
"You did fantastically,” Carson whispered back. "I thought you could use the
moral support. That lawyer's a bastard."
"Her first lawyer asked to be dismissed," Rodney told him as quietly as
possible, and then there was noise in the place again, his stepfather being
called to the stand, and Rodney didn't feel like talking anymore.
He watched as the cross-examination began boiling down to the defense saying he
didn't know, he couldn't possibly know, he was horrified about the whole thing,
that he'd been told that Rodney had been dumped on their door step by a callous
evil man and had assumed that his strange behavior was to do with that, not
with abuse from his own wife.
The prosecution went in with all guns blazing about how could he miss a fake
room in his own house, the injuries to his step-son, the way he was treated,
all of that.
It made Rodney's head hurt, and he didn't, couldn't say anything to it. He
wished he could leave, but they closed off, and the Judge dismissed court for
the day, reminding the Jury to not discuss it with anyone.
He wasn't even sure what there was to talk about.
It seems so obvious, so spurious all the pathetic attempts to make it something
than it was.
"Time to go home Rodney," Shona murmured. "Carson, lovey, are you feeling all
right?"
"I could do with somewhere more comfortable," Carson replied. "I think I've
seized up."
"Sofa back at the house," Rodney declared, standing up, hoping to get lost in
the crowd. It was the walk from the courthouse to the *car* that was so damn
harrowing.
But they couldn't move fast because Carson really wasn't kidding about seizing
up and needed help, and that meant helping him down the steps with his arm over
his shoulder and the media descending on them en masse. Shona was clearing a
path for them, but they were still hurling ridiculous questions at him.
Had his brother really never seen the sky until a few months ago. Had he had
sex with his mother and brother. What did he think of his mother’s accusations,
did he believe his stepfather...
"Leave him alone," Carson tried shoo-ing them away flapping his arm in a sling
ineffectually at them. "He's had a hard day." He staggered at a surge from the
crowd and nearly collapsed into him and there was just a moment as his arm
curled around him protectively, instinctively, and he was checking to see if he
was okay when the photographers there went crazy. They knew a good picture when
they saw one and as Rodney wasn’t growing horns and a tail, these things
weren't going to demonize him anymore.
"Shoo, we're trying to get home. Leave us alone." He stayed close to Carson,
close to Shona, concentrating on getting home to Grant, and he wanted to go
home to Grant and just, oh, god, *people*. People who didn't want to hurt him
or make his life weird and fucked up.
They made it to the car, eventually although they practically fell in the back
seat together and it was going to be a long journey back because Shona never
took a direct route home from court, just in case.
"Aw bloody hell," Carson groaned as they started off. "They suck."
"Carson, watch your language."
"Suck's only a close cousin of a bad word," Rodney defended as he settled and
grabbed his seat belt. "That was bad."
"Aye, it was," Carson agreed slumping in the back seat. "I don't know how you
stood it.
"I want her to go to prison is how I stood it." Rodney closed his eyes, and let
his head lull back against the headrest.
"Well I wanted to thump her," Carson said with unusual vehemence.
"You weren't the only one," Shona said from the front. "She has a lot of gall.
They'll try an insanity plea now, I bet you."
"Probably." He didn't want to think about it, because hey, maybe she'd get out
and hunt him and Grant down? And he hoped they'd be bigger by then, but it'd
done their father a hell of a lot of good, being bigger and stronger.
"That won't work," Carson said suddenly. "That's not going to happen."
"You can't be sure of that, sweetheart," his mother said and Carson shook his
head.
"No, I'm pretty sure. She does top secret weapons research for the government.
Now, what's worse to them? Employing a completely insane psycho, or employing
someone who knew what they were doing and was clever enough to hide it. Which
person would you prefer to admit you had employed to do your high yield
weaponry?"
It was... rather amazingly, an astute observation.
Rodney snorted, though, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Government can't
change the Jury's mind, though."
"No, but they can get to a lawyer before their summing up," Carson said. "Bet
you."
He seemed very confident about the whole thing.
"... Maybe. We'll see. I just want it to be over, and soon." Rodney slouched,
letting his eyes drift out the window. "How bad are you feeling, Carson?"
"Truthfully?" Carson said. "Aches like buggery."
"Carson, you know that has a completely different meaning over here than when
your father uses it," his mother said.
It at least caught Rodney off guard, and he lifted a hand up to his mouth. "I'm
pretty sure there's just the one meaning."
"In Scotland and over there, it's a wee bit different. It's a mild curse word.
But if you say 'fanny' over there you are effectively referring to female
genitalia," Shona replied with a faint smile. "Carson sometimes forgets
himself. Now, I said we would get food on the way home. What would you like
Rodney?"
"I, uh. Burgers?" Rodney asked a little hopefully. Aches like buggery. Hah, not
that Carson would know. "We're getting for Grant and Lachlan, too, right?"
"Yes, lovey," she said. "We can get whatever you want because you've certainly
had a hard day."
Well, then. "Burgers. And the onion rings. And a milkshake?" He shifted,
pulling at his seat belt a little.
She nodded and immediately started on a route to get them there. Carson yawned
a little and leaned into him a little, seeming to have no problem making
himself comfortable on him. It was reassuring in a way; Carson evidently did
not believe the rubbish that the lawyer had been spouting, not if he wanted to
be this close.
That was good. He supposed it didn't matter if the jury thought that, as long
as Carson didn't. As long as Carson, and his parents and Grant didn't think it,
they were all all right.
 
His mother had been beside herself, not wanting Grant or Rodney to be alone on
verdict day, and despite the fact he had over done it on his first visit to the
court, Carson immediately volunteered to go with Rodney when his father had to
go in to do some emergency surgery that couldn't be postponed. There was no way
he was letting Rodney only have his social worker there as support. This time
he got to actually sit next to him and had been allowed the good painkillers.
They were right, it did hurt more days after the injury.
He was personally looking forward to a nice couple of days of not much at all.
The Jury had stated that they were going to give their verdict, and there was
nothing to do but sit and wait, because they were going to come out soon.
He kept looking over at Rodney's mother, his stepfather. She looked as cold as
ice and implacable. She gave him the shivers, knowing what she had done and she
still expected to get away with it. The defense counsel had pulled out every
stop to make it sound like it was all Rodney's instability or failing that she
was mentally disturbed as well, but he couldn't see that they would ignore the
evidence. It was overwhelming in a lot of respects.
They'd even dragged out the contractor who'd installed the door, who thought an
amateur had clearly done the flooring. Most importantly, when he'd offered to
jackhammer it up and repour her uneven floor, she'd snapped at him with what
he'd felt was unjustified anger. It just, there was too much and it all added
up. Or at least Carson hoped it added up. Rodney was sitting very stiffly
beside him, watching the judge.
All eyes turned when the door opened and the jury started to file out, and
Carson reached there to take hold of Rodney's hand so he could give some
measure of silent support. He found himself trying to read their answer in
their faces but finding nothing there. He guessed they just wanted to get it
over with now and go home to their own lives.
Their lives had been disrupted, Carson supposed, but not as much as their own,
as his, as Rodney and Grant's. It was a shame Grant wasn't there, but Rodney
had asked if he wanted to go, and he hadn't. Too many people, people in his
space.
He could understand that. It was overwhelming enough for him let alone grant
who had literally only seen two people in his life before he had come out of
that hellhole.
"Foreman of the jury, do you have a verdict?" he heard the Judge ask.
"The jury has reached a verdict. On the count of Murder in the first of her
husband, Simon Anthony McKay, the defendant was found guilty. On the charges of
grievous bodily harm to both of her sons, the defendant was found guilty. On
the charges of forced sexual activity with a minor under the age of 12, the
defendant was found guilty. On the charges of..." And Rodney was squeezing
Carson's hand hard enough to crush it, so he barely paid attention to the brief
'not-guilty' charge that the Jury foreman rattled off. It didn't matter -
- she'd been found guilty of enough that it might keep her away for forever.
There was muttering and murmuring from the court at the end of their litany and
Carson leaned over to Rodney and murmured. "It's over Rodney, you're safe now,
and it’s over."
Rodney waved him off, though, and leaned forwards in his seat, paying attention
to the Judge, because the defense was asking for her to be put out on bail
until she appealed, and she was denied. Sentencing would occur on a later date,
and Rodney just sagged back.
"You okay?" Carson asked even as the room around them erupted into people
shaking hands and talking about what had just happened. His hand felt a bit
crushed and he dreaded to think what Rodney might do to himself.
"Yeah." The rest of the courtroom was standing up, because the judge had
declared it dismissed. Rodney stood, unsteadily, and Carson could see that his
eyes were tracking his mother.
She was being taken away and Carson had no idea how that would feel, to watch
someone who had been so cruel but still at the end of the day was Rodney's
mother being led away to await sentencing to jail. "Do you want to..." Carson
hesitated. Maybe Rodney wanted to say something, or maybe he just wanted to
leave.
It didn't surprise him that Rodney turned, heading towards the main doors to
leave. "Let's go. I want to get some coffee to go, and tell Grant the good
news."
"Okay. You going to be okay to drive?" Not that he could do anything to help if
he wasn't but if necessary they would get a taxi home. His mum had told him
that much.
Rodney was stubborn, though. "Yeah, I'm okay." He sounded weird, shaky, but he
was pulling his car keys out, had them in hand when they started out of the
courtroom and down the hallway. "I don't know what my therapist is going to
have to talk about anymore."
Carson had to struggle to keep up, because it hurt like hell. "I'm sure you'll
find something. She'll probably ask you how you feel."
"Whatever happens in prison still won't be near to what happened to us. In
prison, she has a *right* to food and books and nothing cruel and unusual
punishment." Rodney slowed down, just a little, which was a small blessing.
"I know Rodney." He paused a little. "But child abusers don't do well in
prison." He shrugged a little. What else could he say?"
"She's a woman. She's smart. She'll have the place wrapped around her finger."
Rodney sounded miserable while he said it, still walking resolutely. "I, I'm
glad she's going away. We're safe."
"Aye, you are. And you're staying with us," Carson said. "And Grant will go to
college and I will be soon enough as well and it will be fine."
"Yeah." They stepped outside, into the light and the stupid, blasted stairs
that they had to get down, which was hard when there were people in their way.
"Not answering any questions, have a nice day."
Still, they babbled at them, pushed at them and Carson glared at the reporters.
The picture of him and Rodney close and clinging on the steps from their last
attempt to exit the place had been all over the papers, along with sympathetic
stories.
"Rodney...Rodney McKay, how does it feel that your mother is going to jail?"
"Rodney, how do you feel that your step-father is going free? Do you think that
was the correct verdict?"
That was a sore spot and Carson knew it. "He never did a thing, so yeah, sure."
Rodney tried to get down another step, moving with sheer force. "Hey, can you
get out of our way? I need to get home."
"Rodney are you and your brother relieved it is over?" he was asked and Carson
tried to help him push his way through as well, using his arm in a sling as a
means of getting them to back off.
"Please, he's tired and he wants to get home to tell his brother the news," he
said.
"Of course we're relieved!" Rodney snapped, ducking in close to Carson. Jesus,
they were following them off of the steps and down the street and they'd
probably get followed to the parking lot, where there was always a 75% chance
that Rodney's car might stall for the fun of it.
The jostling was getting very uncomfortable and Carson ended up with an arm
around Rodney half to protect him and half to keep himself upright even as they
effectively fled the area. He had no idea what he said, or did but he would've
done anything to away from that place.
"This is why we didn't bring Grant," Rodney muttered, opening his car door
hastily, and pushing back a newspaper journalist.
"I know," Carson said and then gasped a little clutching his side as he managed
to get in and shut the door. "Bloody hell..."
Rodney leaned over, and hastily buckled Carson's seatbelt. "Screw coffee, we're
going home." Carson could see Rodney twisting, moving to look back behind them,
and he started his car up. "I hope they move."
"If you hear a bump... you'll know otherwise," Carson managed. Bastard, bastard
people. As if things weren't hard enough. That last jostle made him feel quite
ill, but it was fading off.
Rodney stayed twisted around, and then honked his horn sharply before the last
person behind him moved. It was miserably cold in the car, which wasn't going
to help his muscles, and the heat would probably be working by the time they
got home.
Thank god the car started, and they were actually moving now although maybe
letting Rodney drive was a mistake from the way he was trying to get them out
of there. He let things pass in silence for a while if only to get his breath
back and to get some distance away before saying quietly. "You're not all right
are you?"
"No." Rodney shifted his fingers on the steering wheel while they came to a
light, and he reached over to turn on the heat. "Now what?"
"Right now?" Carson said, "or a general sort of what now?"
“Now, tomorrow, both. Everyone knows. I didn't tell anyone at college, I, I
don't *like* people knowing what happened."
"Well, I know that. You didn't want to tell me things and I'm pretty sure you
haven't told me all of it," Carson said. "You know you can if you want right?."
"I don't know what there is to tell you. It took most of my brainpower to just
order things into a timeline for the prosecution." Rodney was tense, but he
seemed to be paying attention.
"Well, stuff. Things," Carson gestured a little. "It'll come up. I've never
seen you or Grant cry."
Rodney would've crossed his arms if he hadn't been driving. "There isn't
anything to cry over."
Carson wanted to say there was plenty. Loss of his mother, loss of innocence,
loss of everything and being hurt. Instead he shrugged a little. "Maybe it's
just me. Guess I am as much of a wuss as Collin says."
"We weren't allowed to cry. And I couldn't, because it upset Grant. Still
would." Rodney stopped for another light, eyes focused on it. "So, it's over.
She's going away. I... We're free."
"It'll take a while to sink in I think," Carson said. "Do you want to celebrate
in some way? What would you most like to do?"
"I don't know." Rodney tilted his head up, looked at the light. "Sometimes I
think I'm just a reaction to Grant. That there's nothing else, that I'm hollow.
I like my research, my studies, but..."
"You're more than that Rodney," Carson said. "More than a reaction, you are
your own individual but you've sacrificed a lot of yourself to protect him. But
you're clever, and caring, you have music and friends and...and you're not
hollow. I can tell you that."
"I want things I shouldn't want. I still miss, I what I had with Grant. We
still sleep together, sometimes. But it's just sleeping. Just being close, so I
know he's safe, because sometimes, I'm not sure that he's okay. I don't think
he misses it. I think he's maybe..." Rodney shifted over a lane, still precise,
still a careful driver. "More normal than I am."
Carson laughed a little to himself at that. "No Rodney, he's not. I love him to
pieces but he has a very different outlook on things. I think that maybe he's
used to people telling him that he should behave this way or that way so he
just tries to do it automatically."
And Rodney was quiet for a minute, worrisomely so. "I don't know. He's more
independent than I am."
Carson opened his mouth and then shut it again. "How do you figure that Rodney?
seriously?"
"I'm just a construction that's developed out of being Grant's other half. I've
been thinking about it -- and you can blame my therapist, because my tolerance
for navel gazing is usually non-existent -- and if something happened to him,
if... She asked me what I'd do if I woke up and Grant was dead or gone
tomorrow. Or he suddenly didn't need me or want me around. And I know that the
answer she wants is 'Oh, I'd have some trouble adjusting, but I'd be all
right', and that's the sort of shit I say. But I don't have *anything* but
Grant. I'm just a shell. And he's, he has wants and interests that never
occurred to me, and it's shocking. I don't have that." Without much warning
except the sound of his turn blinker, Rodney pulled off the road, and parked
before resting his forehead on the steering wheel. "Fuck."
"Hey, hey... Rodney," Carson reached over to him awkwardly. "That's not a fair
question for you, but you do have wants and interests of your own, I'm sure you
do. How about your friends? Michelle, George, Lewis and Liz? Your music,
special relationships. You're saying you don't have them, and I don't think
that's true. I think that maybe ...they don't feel very important compared to
him.
He wasn't sure what to do, and Rodney didn't move from his position, and Carson
could feel his ribs arguing over the extra movement. "I can't, I can't separate
myself from him, but he's okay, he can. I don't know what to do."
"Look, Rodney...Maybe you've got the wrong end of the stick," Carson said. "You
don't have to be alone, or on your own or give Grant up. I think they
recognized how much self-sacrifice has been going on and they are trying to
encourage you to find your own way. Well, that's not going to happen overnight,
or even in a few months. No matter what, family is always a part of your life,
and twins... well, twins have an even more intense bond."
He still couldn't see Rodney's face, but he could feel him suck in an unsteady
breath. "I don't know what the next step is."
Instinctively he reached as his mother did to smooth at the hair on the nape of
Rodney’s neck. "Aye, well I can help you there," Carson said. "Tonight, we go
home, we tell Grant and everyone what happened, and tomorrow you wake up in the
morning and face your first day not having to protect anyone 24/7. And you
think, what would I like to do today and then do it."
"I think I have to finish a reading response for one of my teachers." He hadn't
been able to go to class, but the teachers were working with him, and he
doubted that Rodney *was* going to go back that semester. Too close to the end,
too much attention on the trial. "And a paper."
"If you want to do that, then do it," Carson said. "I could probably join you
with the stuff I'm missing if I don't sleep the whole day."
Rodney sat up, moving slowly, and wiped at his eyes with his fingers for a
minute. "Okay. Saturday, Grant wants to go to garage sales to look for more
Mechano bits. Just... keep it in mind." Rodney had probably promised.
"Is that what you want to do on Saturday?" Carson asked still stroking at the
back of Rodney's neck in mindless comforting motions while a part of him was
practically shouting at him about what the hell he thought he was doing.
"Plan time for a nervous breakdown." Rodney looked over at Carson out of the
corner of his eye. "No, it's actually not a bad plan. I just wouldn't mind
backup."
"If you don't mind slowing up for me," Carson said. "I'm a wee bit slow right
now. " Stiff, sore and his ribs made it difficult to breathe deeply.
"Yeah, no problem." Rodney's expression seemed to brighten up a little at
Carson's agreement and Saturday was still a couple of days away.
"Grant's part of the family now, like you. And that means he's not just your
responsibility anymore," Carson said. "You feeling a little more steady now?
Rodney wiped at his eyes again, one last time. "Yeah. Let's go home."
Carson nodded and settled back into his seat properly. It wasn't going to be
easy for Rodney or Grant, but one of the major obstacles was out of the way now
and maybe he could move on and start living his own life.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Halloween had been a week later, and while there'd been no dressing up Jeannie
for going out, Grant had dressed up as a cardboard box robot, complete with
blinking lights, and had handed out candy to all of the kids who came to the
door. They'd had Rocky Horror Picture Show on TV, and Rodney had sort of
delighted in that. Just watching it -- bad and campy and *weird*, and Grant had
liked the music. He wondered if it was some kind of subliminal message from
Lachlan to Rodney that he'd found that flier from the coffee shop.
The coffee shop was the best place in town to *find* things. Groups, people,
they put up fliers for things like tag sales and parties and book clubs. Liz
had found a knitting group that was people who were pretty young and knitted,
and George mostly perused them and scoffed, but Lewis had pointed the one out
to Rodney about the Halloween party, and he'd taken one of the fliers home.
Just a Halloween party at a gay bathhouse, when Rodney hadn't known that things
like that *existed*. He'd had to look bathhouse up in an encyclopedia at the
library while Grant collected Garfield books to check out. Going to the party
hadn't been an option, but...
Rodney still had the address to the place.
There had been a growing urge, a need to do something, try something because no
matter all the words that Carson said to him, he felt hollow inside and there
was an itch in him that needed to be scratched, if only to prove his sexuality
wasn't irrevocably wired to incest.
Because if he only got *really* turned on with his brother, he was in trouble
and needed more help than he'd thought. Lewis was... interesting. Rodney was
clearly an experiment for him, though, and they hadn't gotten very far. And
Rodney wasn't pushing because he liked Lewis' company too much to lose it.
He didn't have enough friends to ever risk them. Which was why he was never
going to make any sort of move on Carson.
So tonight, instead of heading to the Coffee Shop, he was heading to a gay
bathhouse with the less than stellar name 'Millennium'.
He'd traveled light -- car keys, ID, license, money. Nothing more, nothing too
important. He'd brought a towel, and flip-flops, and hoped that he was at least
trying to observe the rules. It seemed about right, bringing a towel and flip-
flops. The problem had been getting them out of the house and into his car
without anyone seeing. So, he'd done it two days ago and kept them in his
trunk.
He managed to gain entrance to the bathhouse by virtue of dressing older than
he was, and flashing a university ID . People assumed a certain age with those,
either that or they didn't really care too much.
It was a whole other world in there, a new and interesting one as he tried to
follow everyone’s lead about what to do.
He walked down the dingy hallway after he'd paid his fee, and it was kind of
surprising that the place got *less* dingy once he was inside, and standing in
the tile-floored locker-room. The walls were lined with coin-lockers, and from
the way other people were moving, he guessed that was where he was supposed to
strip off.
There were some guys in there eyeing him up already, some a lot older, some
young enough to be close to his age that they might be barely legal. Some
already in pairs.
He started to disrobe a little self-consciously.
The whole *point* was to be looked at and seen, and he hoped he was, but at the
same time, he didn't want to just be dismissed. So Rodney concentrated on
moving in as cool a fashion as he could muster. He pulled his shirt off, then
sat on a bench to take his shoes off, not particularly looking at anyone.
He listened to the locker room chatter, about the various rooms. Things
regulars knew like keeping a towel on while walking around between rooms, what
rooms were open, what doors meant when they were closed. He just hoped that
when he did go into the baths and sauna someone might be interested enough to
approach him.
Because his nerves were wound too tight to *do* any approaching, but he hoped
he could exude the come on hard air enough. Once he had his shoes off, he stood
up and started to shimmy out of his jeans.
"Hey," a guy who was in his mid twenties was getting undressed beside him. "New
here?" He was pretty obvious in his approach, but also not bad looking.
"Yeah. I've uh. Never been to a bath house before." Rodney threw in a smile
that he hoped was confident, and he slid his boxers down.
"You'll like it." the man said confidently. "Nice ass," he commented. "Name's
Al."
Possibly, Rodney decided as he wrapped a towel around himself, and tucked it in
at the edge, he might be better off going by a different name. "I'm Mer," he
said, stuffing everything except a coin into the locker.
"Well Mer, want me to show you the ropes?" Al said with a half smirk. "I won't
keep you if your attention wanders elsewhere. I like the meet and greet."
He half wanted to explore all by himself, but... "Sure." Rodney slipped the
coin in, and took the key for his locker.
They headed off towards the baths, and true to his word Al pointed out where
everything was before they entered one of the chambers and Al stripped off
completely. "Come and meet some of my friends Mer."
There was a low sort of pool, and the water was steamy. There were guys in the
water, other guys, and Rodney was slow to take his towel off. "Hi."
"Hey guys, this is Mer," Al said. "He's new here."
He slipped into the water, smiling a little.
"He looks new to pretty much everything," an older man said with a smirk. "Here
alone kid?"
"Yeah." Rodney moved to sit in the water, just so he was a little less on
display. "I thought I should give this place a try, once I heard about it."
Relax, he had to relax but there was a whole host of them just watching him,
aside from the two at the far end apparently making out a little. He wasn't
sure if that was allowed.
"It's good if you've got an itch you want to scratch, if you know what I mean,"
another man said and laughed a little. "Plenty of opportunities here if that's
what you're looking for."
He was looking to 'scratch' that itch, but the guys there seemed... he wasn't
sure. Not his type, not that Rodney knew if he had a type. They all looked a
little lecherous -- it had to be possible to be there for some casual sex
without looking like slavering dogs, wasn’t it? Rodney sank into the water a
little more, up to his chest, trying to relax. "I'm still thinking about what
exactly I want."
"Oh, a bit of experimentation huh?" Al asked pleasantly enough. "Well, there'll
be a queue in for that."
"You hear Jack's in tonight?" another man said, obviously not interested that
much in Rodney and more with local gossip.
"You're kidding? I wouldn't've thought he'd have the stamina," Al replied
distracted. "Maybe he's looking for someone new?"
"Hah, yeah in your dreams. The man's a sex-god or something."
The older man snorted. "I've heard he looks good but's a lousy lay."
Local gossip was the last thing Rodney was interested in, so he glanced over to
Al -- who was young, close enough to Rodney's own age. Do-able. Not as
compelling as Lewis, but not bad. Rodney wished he'd done a better job of
*looking*, and less time being embarrassed to be there, naked. "I'd sort of
like to experiment, yeah. I'd like to get overwhelmed."
"Really?" Al seemed a bit surprised at that. "Some sort've fantasy of yours?"
The others were carrying on their gossip about who was fucking who and what
they were doing.
Rodney knew what Grant looked like when he flushed red, so he was pretty sure
he looked the same. "Yeah, it's a fantasy of mine. You have to have a few
fantasies, huh?"
"Hell yeah," Al said. "Look, you want that, we can... arrange it, but why don't
we just hang out a bit. Evening's young, and that sorta thing should be a
climax right?"
It was hard for Rodney to not really grin when Al seemed to settle into the
idea. "Sure. It'd certainly make for a great night." He sank into the water,
and relaxed. The water was warm, almost hot, and he was sitting in a naked bath
with complete strangers and not freaking out. Naked strangers who may or may
not play with his ass.
He tried to not dwell too hard on that, and decided to make small talk with Al
and the others -- the usual thing, names that he'd never remember, vague
suggestions of jobs that he'd never remember. Al was a 'student', though Rodney
was willing to bet that he was a fine arts guy.
He seemed up front and nice enough and they even touched a little, deliberately
and as the night went on, he relaxed in his company, even went with him to peek
in on some of the rooms that welcomed voyeurs.
Watching other people have sex made his dick tent out the towel a little. There
was one guy who was sliding himself up and down on some other guy's dick like
it was a pogo stick. Rodney had to reach down and slip a hand between the flap
of his towel to sort of guide down his dick. There was another room where a
younger guy was getting flattened onto a bed, just battered, and Rodney
wondered what that *felt* like. And now that they were in the separate rooms
area of things, Rodney knew that they'd find an empty room, soon.
Sure enough, Al led him off somewhere away from the main area and told him to
hold on as he fetch some others. It wasn't anywhere fancy and it was a little
nerve wracking just waiting until people drifted in. More people than he had
considered, standing in the dim light.
He'd grabbed a bunch of condoms, and there were little packets of lube, and
he'd decided to just ... not let his nerves get to him. There were, at a quick
headcount, eight guys. Well, looking at it logically... "Who wants to start?"
One of the older guys from the back pushed forward and okay, he wasn't someone
Rodney might've selected but he was beyond that now. He wanted to do this, do
something.
He barely registered movement by the door as the older guy was gripping him and
then a voice saying, "What the hell do you think you're all doing?"
A man walked in naked, totally uninhibited as if he had every right to
interrupt.
"Fulfilling a fantasy, Jack " Al spoke up. "Mer's fantasy."
"Are you all blind?" 'Jack' replied. "Seriously, you're going to gangbang a
*virgin ass*?"
Okay, that was a little assuming. He wasn't a *virgin*. He'd, he and Grant had
done that. He knew enough to know that he choked back a laugh every time
Lachlan or Carson said 'hurts like buggery' because it didn't hurt and it did
and that was just too much information for either of them. "Hey, uh, do I get
to be involved in this conversation?"
Some of the men were looking a bit discomfited, others looked all the more
eager.
Al shifted. "Mer? Tell me you've done this sort of thing before right?"
"Just, uh. One guy. A few times." One guy that he really trusted, and maybe,
maybe it had been a bad idea, but still. He *wanted* to.
Al paled a little. "Shit... I..uh. I thought... you seemed to up for it..."
"He can still be up for it," one of the older men said getting closer. "Not all
of us back off just because Harkness says so. The boy wants it, the boy is
gonna get it."
"Yeah, I don't think so." The man called Jack walked over to put himself
between Rodney and the others. "Sorry fellas, no rape for you tonight. "
That was really un-called for -- after all, he was *there*, he was *asking*, he
was pretty damn sure that it wasn't rape. But the gang was starting to break
up, and Rodney's hopes for the night sort of sank. Shit, what was he supposed
to do? Say 'no, hey, I really *do* want it', except not so much. There were a
couple of those older guys who had that look in their eyes that bothered him,
where-as Al didn't. "I *was* up for it. Dammit."
The man who had effectively spoiled everything turned around and he really was
ridiculously good looking. "No, kid, you weren't. Sit down, I think we need a
bit of a talk, and god help me if anyone who knew me heard me talking about
responsible sex... The irony might kill them."
Older than Rodney, without a doubt, but his face seemed easy going, and his
hair was short, brown and a little wild. Rodney kept his eyes on the man, and
sort of subtly groped for his towel so he could cover himself again. "A
*talk*?"
The 'gang' was breaking up, heading out, and Al sort of lingered in the
doorway. It made Rodney almost want to apologize. Almost.
"A talk," the man repeated firmly and looked over to Al. "You can hook up with
him another time... and just check a bit more next time okay?" he said to Al
who nodded and disappeared.
Whoever this guy was he had enough of a reputation to see off a gang of eight
guys with just his say so. There was a bit of an edge to him. "Look...Mer,
right? Look, that whole thing could've gone really bad on you. You've got to be
more careful about hits sort've thing."
Rodney rubbed at his face, and decided to study the wall for at least a few
seconds. "I don't see how it could've gone badly."
"Oh, right... You wanted to end up in an emergency room with internal
bleeding?" Jack asked. "Believe me, that's what would've happened with that
group. I'm not exaggerating - I've done pretty much something of everything you
can imagine and yeah, that's happened to me. This guy you've been with? Your
sort've age and likes you? Well these guys are bigger, older and... well they
don't particularly need to like you."
He slouched a little, finally looking over to Jack. "I just told Al I wanted to
be overwhelmed. I was looking for something..." He waved one hand a little.
"Intense. Are you seriously lecturing me while wearing a towel?"
Jack arched an eyebrow at him. "I could take it off. And there are safer ways
to be overwhelmed Mer," he said and grinned at him, the smile dazzling. "You
don't need 8 guys for that... just one really, really good one." He spread his
hands as if to say ‘and here he is’ in a self mocking fashion.
If this 'Jack' guy was half as good at it as he *looked*, then it was little
wonder why the guys in the bath had talked about him so much. "Is... that an
offer?"
"Could be, because I'm pretty sure you're going to keep coming back until you
get something,” Jack said. "And you're young and trying to push something out
of your head. That sort've thing doesn't just vanish because someone says so."
For a moment his eyes looked a lot older than he had any right to be. "You want
experience, I've got more experience than all the brothels and bathhouses in
Canada."
"Somehow I don't think there's that many of them," Rodney snorted, but he sort
of awkwardly shuffled his towel off of his lap again. "You're really, really
good looking, so it's believable, though."
“Possibly the only believable thing about me," Jack answered smiling at him and
then he purposefully lay back and sprawled. "You wanna tell me what's got you
so hot for it?"
Not really, but he was a quick enough thinker to come up with a good half-
truth. "I've had a bad month, and the guy I used to, uh, be with" -- and if
possible, he wasn't sure that he could've used *more* immature and childish
comparisons -- "we're not allowed to be together anymore. It's been months, and
I miss being physical with another person."
"Mm, well that I can oblige with. Do you top or bottom?" he asked.
"I usually bottom." Just from Grant's preference, and somewhere it had become
his own. Grant didn't like anything near his ass, and Rodney understood why, so
it just hadn't ever been any other way.
Jack propped himself up on an elbow. "Ever tried topping? " he asked.
"Sometimes it's easier to start out with someone that way around if you know
your own tolerances."
Rodney shifted, trying to get himself to relax. "I'm not really sure I could.
I, uh, have some hang-ups."
"Mm." There was something about the tone of Jack's murmur that made it obvious
he had an idea of what he was talking about. "What do you know you like?” he
asked and reached out a hand to draw him closer.
Okay, the hand was nice. Rodney shifted, and reached a hand out to stroke
Jack's side, letting his fingers slide over muscle and skin. "I know I like...
touching, exploring. I like a lot of foreplay." Which, if he thought about it,
he wasn't sure he'd been going to get with the earlier idea. "I, uh. Like
giving blowjobs."
"Then you'll always be popular," Jack said with a smile. "Come and explore -
not going to stop you."
"Okay." Rodney closed his eyes for a minute, to psych himself up, and he
laughed when he opened his eyes, leaning to press a kiss to Jack's chest.
"Yeah, uh. I probably wasn't ready for what I got myself into. I'm nervous just
doing this."
"Glad to see I can reduce people to quivering nerves just by lying here," Jack
replied and his warm hands were ghosting over Rodney's skin. "Some guys...
don't have very wholesome tastes. Later you might figure you want to try things
like that but even I'd think twice about that. Do you want to give me a proper
kiss?"
He didn't answer with a 'yes', because it was easier to shift, leaning up a
little to kiss Jack's mouth. Just tentative, just exploring. At least, that was
his starting goal.
It soon progressed because Jack could sure as hell kiss back. It started slow
and built to a crescendo of contact in a way guaranteed to make his head spin
as he pressed against him and supported the back of his head and neck with one
hand while smoothing him with the other.
Tongue was the focal point of it -- the other guy, Jack, whoever, his *tongue*
in Rodney's mouth, sliding in and out in a mimicry of fucking that sent twinges
down to Rodney's balls.
"Not bad," Jack murmured breaking for air. "Not bad at all. You're a pretty
good kisser. Remember to... explore a little." He moved in and kissed him
again.
Give back, give as good as he took, kissing Jack again and remembering to move
his hands, tracing Jack's body, feeling the suggestion or ribs, the muscles
above and below, smooth skin, but still different. Age made a difference.
There was more bulk there, even lean and muscled and there was something
addictive about kissing like that, breaking enough to inhale air and then
diving back in. Jack was exploring his body at the same time as he was
experimenting with him.
"Gorgeous," Jack said and smiled. "Have you ever had a blowjob Rodney?"
"Yeah. I have. I wouldn't say no to one.” Rodney shifted a little, leaned back
far enough to look at Jack.
"How about we do that to loosen you up and save mine for the main event?" Jack
suggested even as he twisted to move position. "You know, you can't ever have
too much foreplay with these things."
Rodney shifted, stretched to lie on his back while Jack moved, a swapping of
position. "No, you really can't. I, I guess I thought since I offered I had
to... go through with it. Them, not you. You're no-pressure."
"Mer," Jack looked up at him. "You can always say no. To anything, and if
people don't respect that, it's rape. You have the right to change your mind.
If you get into the bondage stuff, you have the right to safeword at any
moment. That's what it's all about."
"What's a safeword?" Rodney kept touching Jack while he asked that, sliding his
thumb over to rub against a nipple.
"Mm, something you might need to know about," Jack said kissing up his thighs
and talking between kisses. "Some people like to have sex where they are tied
and unable to move, or even mixed with pain, or have a desire to submit or make
others submit. In a situation like that, the one who is helpless has a safeword
as opposed to just saying no or stop, because that might be part of the fun.
Sex is a pretty complicated with more variations than you'd believe."
"No, I'd believe it. I want to learn some of the better ones." The kisses to
his thighs made his dick hard, and he could feel it with every heartbeat,
echoing like a second beat. "Oh, god."
"Mmm," Jack nuzzled at his cock, and licked at it as if tasting it for flavor.
Then he settled in for the serious business of sucking him.
*That* was new. That, that feeling was determined and new, and Rodney wanted to
move, squirmed up into Jack's mouth, and then he leaned up, onto his elbows,
because just a quick sight of Jack's lips wrapped around his dick was
fantastic.
Half the time he was memorizing what he was doing, the rest of the time he was
awash with pleasure at the heat and the movement and oh god, he wanted it to
last forever.
It wasn't going to. Nothing lasted forever, but it could linger, and he wanted
*that*, he wanted to feel it linger. It was different when a guy knew what he
was doing, when he wanted to *be* there, when he wanted to thrust his hips
upwards and drive the moment himself.
Jack was doing things that felt fantastic, that he wanted to know how to do
even as he started moving despite his best efforts to not to. To his surprise
that just seemed to spur the other man onwards as if he was delighted by the
evidence of his need.
Huh. He was used to *not* reacting, to keeping it quiet, to keeping it hidden,
to *being* quiet, and Jack seemed to like the more motion side of things, and
the more Jack sucked and slurped and pressed his tongue against the head of
Rodney's dick. "Please, please..."
He was doing things, touching his balls at the same time and slipping fingers
back there in a teasing fashion and that was stirring a completely different
need in him.
He wanted Jack to push those fingers in, wanted Jack to do all of the lead up
to and then fuck him. "Yeah, that's that feels good."
Jack removed his mouth from his cock a moment and looked up at him with a
surprisingly boyish expression of mischief. "Some people don't like to be
fingered while they're having a blow job." He deliberately huffed over Rodney’s
wet cock and the drying moisture set all sorts of sensations to the pit of his
stomach as Jack reached for the lube to coat his fingers. His mouth felt even
hotter by the time he started again and this time there was slick fingers
teasing his ass, and working their way in.
"Oh, I think I like it. I think I like it a lot..." It startled him, when Jack
pushed one finger slowly in, because his dick twitched hard in Jack's mouth,
left him feeling a little frantic.
The 'hmm' noise that Jack made at that also sent unbearable vibration around
the sensitive skin of his cock and Jack eased the finger back and then forward
again, repeating the motion and stretching at him carefully.
Yes, yes. Fuck, yes. He wanted to keep moving, stretching for the little motion
of Jack's finger, because it hit that particular spot that made him want to
come every time, and then hit it again.
Two fingers then, and that was starting to feel stretched. Fuck, his climax
felt like it was twisting itself up and he wasn't going to be able to hold back
much longer.
"Close, I'm, I'm close, you're so damn good at this, you..." Amazing, and
Rodney didn't know how he did it. It was just mouth and hands.
"Come for me Mer," Jack murmured as he went for it with the very obvious
intention that he wasn't going to let up until he did come. Mouth, tongue,
fingers, heat and slickness never stopping, just increasing in pace and tempo
like one of his Rachmaninoff pieces, cascading and raw with passion all at the
same time.
Except there was no tidy-ending, and Rodney moved with it, followed it through
as far as he could until his fingers were tight on Jack's shoulders and then he
*was* coming.
It was a firework burst of a climax and it left him momentarily dazed enough
that he didn't notice Jack move up to wrap around him in a warm embrace, not
for a few moments at least. In that moment he had no doubts that this was his
preference, no doubts, no psychological traumas or anything.
He liked men. It wasn't something he was going to have to wonder about or bring
up with his therapist. Rodney shifted, moving his arms sluggishly to touch
Jack, hold him in turn. "Mmmh. That was amazing."
"My ego is duly flattered," Jack smiled. His own erection was hot and hard
against Rodney’s skin and there was a good feeling about that too. Evidence
someone wanted him, really wanted him and found him attractive. "It's all about
technique. Something tells me you'll be a quick study."
"Let me return the favor," Rodney half asked, mostly offered, kissing Jack
again.
"I'm saving myself for your ass," Jack said and his eyes were a clear blue when
Rodney looked at them. "Unless you don't want to do that... in which case I'll
gladly take you up on it."
"No, if you're going to save yourself for something, I think my ass would
appreciate the attention." If he was going to give his ass a personality, at
least.
Jack chuckled a little at that and stroked at his hair kissing him again. "If
I'm going to be the one giving advice here as well as imparting the wisdom of
my sexual experience, don't label yourself as gay Mer, because you don't want
to miss out on love because you've got yourself into a mind set. I've seen too
many people do that. Besides, being bi-sexual doubles your chances of getting
laid. Simple math."
"I've had some bad experiences with women." And just physically, he could
apparently meet a complete stranger and find himself ridiculously turned on
over the man.
Jack nodded a little as if he understood and maybe he had given away something
more than he was intending there. He was looking straight into his eyes as if
he peering into his head and said. "You are someone special Mer, never forget
that," and it should've, could've sounded trite but Jack seemed to mean it and
that really shook him.
Rodney stretched, shaking his head a little as he moved. "Weirdly, I hear that
a lot."
"Do you believe it?" Jack asked as he started stroking over skin again.
"Sometimes." When it had to do with his intellect, mostly. He savored his
intellect, but his body... He was still adjusting to.
"Mmm." Jack nuzzled at his neck. "Believe it. Say it to yourself if you have
to. At the end of the day, most people are not going to bother to look past
their own short-sighted preconceptions so you have to wave your assets around
some." He smiled again. "And particularly fine assets you have Mer."
"You're only saying that to get into my pants." Rodney laughed it, though, a
relaxed sort of scoff while he stretched his legs, spreading them a little.
"Should I turn over?"
"Well, that depends, " Jack said. "Ever done it face up?"
Yeah, he'd done that a lot. He'd done it a lot and Jack distracted Rodney with
a kiss against the muscle that headed towards his collarbone. It left Rodney
feeling like a dog with an involuntary itch to scratch. "All the time. My
brother and me used to--" Oh, shit.
Jack paused a moment, hand stilling. "Brother?" he murmured. "That explains
part of it." He exhaled a little. "Mer, don't ever say that in front of anyone
else okay? This is not a time and place who would be even remotely tolerant to
incest. You were abused right? By a female relation?"
He'd gone as still as Jack had. "Yeah, uh. Shit. Shit. This is what I get when
I relax, I just, forget I said anything."
"Look," Jack sighed. "Doesn't make any difference to me, seen a few cultures
where it is normal even. I'm pretty flexible with my thinking but right here,
right now? People aren't like that. People have secrets Mer... I have more than
a few. I've paid my way with my body more than once and there would be people
who'd call me a whore for that. Doesn't bother me, but it bothers them so I
don't talk about it. "
He was offering him a secret in kind as well as if that evened things out
somehow.
It sort of wasn't the same, but Jack seemed bright, *sharp*, and Rodney wanted
to ask why he'd done it. But it didn't seem right, so he didn't ask. "Okay. I
can understand that."
"Good. So...front or back? I'll go with your preference as you've done both,"
Jack said rubbing his cock against him just a little.
Back was good for slow, front was good for... overwhelmed, Rodney decided.
"Front. I like the way your expressions change."
"I'll make sure to pull some strange ones to keep you interested," Jack said
reaching for the lube and condoms. “Okay then, let's see if I can fuck you
until you come again."
"I don't think that's ever happened." But he was starting to feel a little less
than completely soft, and Jack was rock hard. Rodney shifted, moved to open a
condom. "Let me put it on."
"Knock yourself out," Jack said smiling a little as he watched him. "You've got
very deft fingers."
Rodney decided to just soak it in. He put a little of the lube at the tip, and
leaned up to roll it down the length of Jack's dick.
Jack seemed to appreciate it. "You want to slick me up too?" he suggested.
"My pleasure." He could idle a hand slowly over Jack's dick, feel him up and
down, and Rodney wanted to do that a lot. Jack was a good-looking man. He
poured some of the lube onto his palm, looking up at Jack's face while he
slowly wrapped his palm around it.
"Mmm, that'll wake me up a little," Jack murmured. "You've definitely done hand
jobs before."
"I like to think I'm good at it," Rodney smiled, leaning up onto his knees long
enough to kiss Jack.
"Mm, let's get you in a comfortable position," Jack said, gripping him to
manhandle him a little. "You might be there a while."
Back onto his back again, and Rodney shifted, lifting his hips up to Jack,
trying to -- ahah, pillows.
Jack seemed to get his drift and grinned as he tucked them under his back.
"Comfortable?" His fingers were finding his ass again, preparing him.
Slow motions of fingertip against his ass, and Rodney smiled up at Jack. "Yeah.
I'm very comfortable."
"Just say if I'm hurting at all, " he murmured and there it was, the push
against his ass and, crap, he was larger than Grant. Thicker and larger.
"Oh, man. Uhm, you're, uh." He tipped his hips, trying to make the alignment
the easiest possible. "Huge."
"Sizeable, but not enormous. There are bigger," Jack murmured taking it very
steadily. "But it's what you do, not the size that is most important. Though
size can help."
Rodney exhaled in an unsteady pant of breath. "I think size is helping here.
Jesus."
"You don't want to rush things here," Jack said, with some signs of strain
there in his voice.
"How're you, how... you're holding back." Moving slowly, and while Rodney could
feel the burn of stretching skin, his dick was pretty into the sensation.
"And it's not easy, I can tell you," Jack huffed a little easing in deeper and
deeper. He would move a little then pause, then push a bit more, and a little
more until he was right in. "There now. Just...catch our breath."
"Right." Rodney nodded, swallowing when he lifted his hips, pushing his ass
against Jack's hips, his legs still awkwardly akimbo around Jack. "Ohhh."
"Mm, you feel good. Very good. Tight and hot..." Jack leaned down to kiss him
and rocked just a little
It startled him, and Rodney sucked in a gasp against Jack's mouth. He wasn't
surprised when Jack swallowed that gasp.
"Mm," Jack murmured and moved again. He kept doing that until he could move
properly, slowly back and forth.
A slow fucking, and Rodney was half sure that his ass was trying to cling to
Jack on the out strokes. "Please, please..."
"Yeah... yeah, Mer," Jack murmured picking up his pace a little. "It's good...
god yeah..."
A nice, steady fucking, and Rodney could only wrap his legs desperately around
Jack's hips, trying to move with him, move into him. "That's good, that's
great."
"Good, because I'm going to work on that overwhelming for you in a while," Jack
promised. He was picking up speed and angling a little as if looking for
something.
It was hard to guess what it was, and then he hit him. Rodney *felt* the stroke
hit him, brush against that spot Grant sometimes hit.
Whatever it was Jack noted his reaction and then went for it with more force,
again and again. How he had the stamina and control, Rodney wasn't sure but he
had no doubt Jack was in control of how he was going to climax.
He was sure he was going to get to, and for the moment, all he wanted to focus
on was, oh. Everything. hands right on his hips, hipbones grinding against his
ass, the pillows moving under his body, slowly displaced.
"Do... you want more?" Jack asked in a near gasp. "Do you want...harder? "
Rodney exhaled unsteadily, nodding, head rubbing against the mattress beneath
him. "Yeah, harder, please, you're, this is amazing..."
Jack shifted, pulling his legs up so they were resting on his shoulders and the
next thrust practically bent him in half.
Cracked in half like that was novel, fantastic, and Rodney shifted, taking a
careful breath before he tried to relax against Jack. "Fuck, I didn't think you
could get any deeper in, you..."
"Right angle, I can fuck your brains out," Jack murmured in a low resonating
voice and slowed up is next thrust a little.
"Dare you." It was the best he could manage to say, because even slowing down,
Jack was moving fast, fast enough to make Rodney's dick jerk with every other
motion.
"You asked for it," and with that Jack seemed to go out of his way to give
Rodney that overwhelmed feeling. He even leaned forward and pinned Rodney's
hands .
And *that*, more than anything else, more than random men fucking his ass in a
line, was what he wanted. No control, but at the same time, he could stop it,
if he wanted to. He just didn't want to, because it felt amazing, made his
muscles ache, made him feel out of control.
Jack was heavy on him, deep in him and there was the fantasy there that he
didn't have to be the one worrying about anything, he just had to feel and
enjoy. There was the thrusting rhythm again and the slap of him against his
ass.
He didn't bother trying to stroke himself off. It was better to just lean up
against the hands pinning his wrists, trying to feel Jack, kiss him, anything,
concentrating on the strain of muscles and the pressure.
He'd lean and kiss him pausing at the top of a stroke. He'd deliberately press
himself against his cock. "You like that don't you Mer? Like not having
control. Imagine what it would be like to be tied and helpless... would that
scare you?"
"I want to try it to find out." He did, because hands, he had a feeling he
could throw Jack off of him, if he wanted to.
Maybe that was deliberate. "Next time," Jack murmured. "Next time, we'll do
that." But now he was pushing harder and talking became impossible.
Jack was pounding him, leaving Rodney to take it and take it and he squirmed,
trying to get more because he felt so close, so damn close.
"Yeah, yeah come on now Mer...come for me, come on now, come for me.." He was
hitting that spot every time now without mercy.
It felt different than jerking off, felt like a deeper orgasm rushing over him.
His balls went tight, and they still ached miserably right up until he felt the
first twitching jerk, and then another, and then another, like half-orgasms
that bundled up into more than one.
It was then Jack finally came from the guttural cry he made and the stuttered
finish. It took a long time and he eventually came to a halt, half pinning him
with his solid weight, and breathing heavily.
"Oh, god. Oh god. That was, you..." Amazing. No other words.
"Did you get what you want?" Jack said after he got his breath back. He smiled
at Rodney, his hair darkened with sweat and exertion. "Because, you were pretty
damn good for me Mer."
"Oh yeah. That was..." They were both panting a little, and it made Rodney
laugh in quiet huffs. "Amazing. I feel done in."
"Shagged out as they'd say back in England," Jack said and withdrew, before
returning to holding him. "Mmm. I'm over here for another two weeks. Think
that'll be long enough to complete your sexual education?"
"Huh. You'd do that?" His ass was still sore, but sort of delightfully sore,
stretched and empty.
"Yeah," Jack smiled. "I think you need to learn sex can be a good thing. I can
get fucked pretty much any time, but this is important and interesting.
Besides, the most important sexual organ is the brain. I get the impression I'd
be denying the world some phenomenal sex if I didn't help out." He grinned at
him to show him it was all tongue in cheek.
Rodney leaned up, just a little, and kissed Jack on the mouth again. "Thanks.
When do you want to meet again...?"
The older man smiled. "I'll be here tomorrow evening, same time."
He had no idea how he'd managed to get so lucky but suddenly the next two weeks
looked to be a high point of his life rather than a low and he was grateful for
the turnaround, no matter where it came from.
 
Talks were bad. This whole week had been bad from Grant's point of view because
Rodney had been out every night and getting in late and he'd been sitting
waiting for him to come back because there were lots of bad things that could
happen to people when they were out like what had happened to Carson and he was
only just starting to move around properly and stop sleeping all the time.
He'd been waiting this time with Shona and Carson in the living room, glancing
at the door over and over after Rodney's normal time to be in and then felt the
huge relief when he stepped into the house, so much so he nearly missed Shona
calling out. "Rodney? Can I have a wee chat here, lovey?"
Rodney looked *exhausted*, and he was pulling at the sleeves of his shirt, down
over his wrists. "Oh, uh. Why's everyone still up?"
"Grant was worried about you," Shona said which was the truth.
"I... I thought you might've had a car accident or broken down or someone
might've found you like they did Carson and I wouldn't've been there to call
911," Grant said.
Carson didn't say anything but Grant was watching him and it was like he knew
what was happening just by looking at Rodney.
"Oh, uh." Rodney looked nervous, edgy, and he wasn't sitting down. "I'm sorry,
Grant. I didn't mean to make you worry."
"That's... that's okay. I just don't know where you were," Grant said and
shrugged.
"Which is a point," Shona said. "You are old enough to be out late, but I would
feel more comfortable if I knew where you were?"
Rodney wasn't good at lying. Not really, not when Grant was watching. Rodney
tilted his head a certain way when he was thinking of made-up answers, and
Grant usually didn't say anything about it because most of the time they were
answers nicer than reality. "I, uh, was out." He glanced at Carson. "At a club-
place."
"What type of club place?" Shona asked leaning forward. "I'm concerned
Rodney... you're in a susceptible frame of mind right now. It would be easy for
someone to take advantage."
Rodney was looking at Grant instead of Shona. "Look, uh, can I just go to bed?
I'm sort of tired, and uh..."
"Rodney, I'm going to be blunt and I want you to be truthful," Shona said in a
firm voice. "You're tired all the time, you've lost weight and your mood is all
over the place. Have you been trying drugs?"
"What? Oh, god no." There was a real reaction, real Rodney-ness. It put Grant
at ease a little. "Are you kidding me? I need these brain cells."
Shona seemed to relax a little. "Good, because it wouldn't be the first time
we've had someone with drug or alcohol problems in the house and I'd rather
make sure things are okay than let it get to be a problem. If you are just
blowing off steam..." She spread her hands to indicate that was fine.
Grant couldn't think of anything worse than things being out of order in his
head. He couldn't imagine why people might think that was a good idea.
"I've just been out. Just, you all keep saying that I need to get out and do my
own thing and not immediately think about Grant, and then when I do..." Rodney
shifted, still a nervous sort of footing for Rodney.
"I'll take you at your word," Shona said. "Now, why don't you all head to bed
hmm? It's late and I don't want you all getting into bad habits."
Grant got up. It was a good idea and he could do that now Rodney was at home.
Carson got up slowly, still looking at Rodney before heading towards the
stairs.
"Thanks." Rodney said it to Shona, a quiet murmur that followed Grant around
the corner while he walked to the stairwell. "I didn't mean to worry anyone. I
promise that I'm not doing anything stupid."
Carson was already up the stairs ahead of him and Grant frowned because Carson
didn't go into his own room but headed straight into Rodney's. He frowned a
little because that was weird in one way so he went and grabbed the soft toy
that was in his room and then went to sit with Carson in Rodney's bedroom as
well, though he wasn't exactly sure why he was there and waiting. But he knew
Carson saw things that other people didn't and that he had kept secrets for
them even from his own parents and that he'd even been hurt over them and never
made that a big deal so if there was something wrong then it was something he
would talk to Rodney about and sort out because that was what he did.
They waited until Rodney had come in the room and closed the door and Carson
said. "Okay, what've you been doing really?"
And his voice sounded a bit trembly and he didn't like that.
"Why?" Rodney looked startled to see them there, and he set his book bag down
inside the door when he closed it.
"Because I know bloody well you've been doing something more than just going to
a club," Carson said. "Tell me."
Grant wasn't sure how he knew. He couldn't tell.
"I've been at a club." Rodney sounded defensive, folded his arms over his
chest, and still didn't sit down. "That's all."
Carson looked at him. "A club where you get tied up?" he said gesturing to some
marks barely visible on Rodney's wrists. "For fuck's sake Rodney, I'm not as
smart as you but I'm not stupid! I have eyes."
Grant had eyes too and he had seen the marks but he'd seen marks like that
before on Rodney or on himself and it was something like normal in his head.
Rodney clutched at one wrist. "Yes! Okay, yes, it *is* a club where I get tied
up. It's a bathhouse."
"A bath house? Where, where you have a bath? That sounds like fun," Grant said.
It didn't seem too disastrous to him.
Carson on the other hand was gaping like a fish out of water. "A... bathhouse?
You've *got* to be kidding me Rodney. You... I...”
"It's not like I can date around." Rodney crossed his arms over his chest.
"It's not like I have any sort of normal social structure, or that I've really
had a chance to fool around before now."
"But going to one of those places." Carson's eyes were wide. "Rodney, they'll
treat you like meat on a hook!"
Grant looked alarmed at that. "Who put you on a hook?" he asked all worried
now.
"No-one's put me on a hook. Look, I..." Rodney waved a hand slightly. "I had a
run-in with a few guys the first time there, but I've met a guy who's only in
town for a week or so and he's been... very helpful." It left Grant feeling
lost, because run-ins? Were not good.
Run-ins got people hurt, or made him want to curl up in the smallest, darkest,
best hidden place ever.
"Start at the beginning and tell me what you've been doing, because I swear to
god, Rodney, I'll tell mum and dad if I have to if you are in danger," Carson
said. "I don't want to, but I will if you are being hurt."
"I don't want you to be hurt," Grant added looking up at him. Rodney didn't
look hurt, just tired.
"I'm not being hurt." Rodney sat down, and Rodney smelled like soap and damp,
so he had to have been bathing. Grant liked baths, they were smooth and floaty
and sort of squeaky at the same time. "Okay. I grabbed a flier from the place
at the coffee shop, thought about it a couple of weeks, and decided to go."
"Why?" Grant asked. "Did you want a bath?"
"It's where, uh..." Rodney glanced at Grant, and Grant knew he was trying to
decide what to say and how to say it. "Men go to meet other men to have sex."
"Oh." He considered that. He had done that with Rodney and it was nice. Sex was
something he had to do, rather than that he particularly wanted to do, but if
Rodney wanted it then that was okay.
"So you wanted sex? Just sex, not the dating stuff that everyone else does?
You're too young, Rodney."
Rodney rubbed at his face, and he wasn't looking at either of them. "Who the
hell is going to date me, huh?"
"Well, anyone... loads of people," Carson said. "When you go back to college
they'll be queuing up. But okay, so you went there, and what happened this
first time?"
Grant still thought it sounded interesting. Baths were nice. Well, the baths
here. He was allowed one every day here, and allowed more than stinging harsh
soap.
Shona had nice soap, and she let him try *different* nice soaps, clean pine
smells and flowers and things that felt as good as they smelled. "I uh,
accidentally organized a gang bang." Rodney waved one hand. "Which didn't
happen, and they were disappointed, and I probably won't go back there after
Jack leaves town."
"Okay, Jack is this guy you met there?" Carson was saying in a low voice. "Who
is he? What's he like? What... I mean, why has he been tying you up?
"I asked him to." Rodney looked sideways at Carson. "He's military, sounds
American. He's nice enough. He, uh. Disrupted the accidental gang bang that was
going to happen, and ran them off. Then he lectured me about safety."
"Safety is important," Grant said nodding. "Why would you want to be tied up?
When mom did it, it always hurt." He looked up at Rodney quizzically, not
really paying attention to Carson's sharp inhalation.
"I don't know." It was funny, because Rodney's voice shook a little. "I think I
might be a little messed up."
"Hey..." Carson's tone softened. "Hey, Rodney, come on sit down here. I'm
sorry, I didn't mean to come on so strong. I was just... I don't like you being
hurt, Rodney. You or Grant, I... you're the best foster brothers I've had and I
worry about you."
That was nice, and Grant spontaneously hugged Carson, who only flinched a
little with pain.
He hung in there, and Rodney moved, sat down slowly. "I asked him to, and he
wanted to give me a safe... safe way to try it."
"And he hasn't done bad stuff to you? I mean, this was good stuff?” Carson was
trying to be really understanding, and Grant just accepted what his brother
said to him. If Rodney said it was okay, it was okay.
Rodney knew. Rodney knew, even when he looked unhappy, and his face was twisted
up with feelings. "Yeah. It's been good. I just..."
"You just what?" Carson asked, and he had his arm around Rodney then, and Grant
liked that. The both of them there with Carson. Comfortable and safe, because
Carson didn't like bad things happening to them, possibly even more than all
the people who told them that. Carson did things about it, and he made Rodney
happy and laugh, and Grant couldn't remember many times when Rodney laughed
before.
"Wanted contact." He sucked in an unsteady breath, and leaned into Carson,
while Grant shifted to hug Rodney too. He was tired and could sleep just like
that, just there.
"Oh, Rodney," Carson murmured, and stroked at his hair. "I'm sorry, I should've
just been spending more time with you, and I've been a bit rubbish recently."
Grant didn't think he had. He'd been there in the day time and doing his work,
and then sometimes Maddie came over. But then, he was at home more than Rodney
was, so maybe Rodney did miss him.
"Not your fault. I think I'm just... I should mention it to my therapist. I
haven't felt the same since the trial."
"Well, that's not surprising," Carson said gently. "And it's probably a good
idea to mention it. I just want you to be okay. If you're going back there then
I want to know where it is, and the phone number... how to get a hold of you if
you're not back by when you're meant to be."
Grant nodded to that suggestion. That was a good idea. Phones were good things,
and they could help find people and get help.
"You're going to tell your parents, aren't you?" Rodney glanced at him. "I'll
just, just until Jack leaves. Then I don't know if I'll go back."
Carson exhaled. "No. I should but... no... I won't tell. Give me the
information and let me know roughly what time you're expecting to be back, so I
can do something if it looks like you're in trouble. This Jack - he's good to
you?"
Grant looked at Rodney as well.
"Yeah. And I don't particularly trust the rest of them there. But I like Jack.
And he's leaving in not much longer."
"Okay," Carson hugged them both. "Just... please don't get hurt. " He went
silent for a long while, and Grant noticed he had flushed a bit. "What, what
was it like Rodney?"
"What was what like?"
"The different things you've been doing?" Carson was getting redder, and Grant
blinked a little.
"I think he wants to know what sex is like," Grant said.
"Bloody hell, Grant, keep it down," Carson said furtively.
Carson's embarrassment seemed like it startled Rodney back to himself a little,
and Grant wanted to smile at that. "Oh, it's. Been really really good. Of
course, if I'm too young, and you're a year younger than me, then you're
freakishly too young."
"Can't you give me details? I mean... I'm not at that sort've stage with Maddie
and... well, I'm interested."
"It's not hard," Grant chipped in. "Well it is. Your penis is hard, but having
sex isn't. I don't like it much."
Rodney sat up a little beside Grant, posture stiff. "The stuff I'm doing, you
won't really, uh. Do with Maddie, whenever you get there. Unless she really
wants to slide a dildo up your ass."
"Does that really feel good though?" Carson asked looking perplexed. "I mean
really?"
"I enjoy it." Rodney shrugged his shoulders at Carson, like it was a defense.
"Look, uh. I think we should go to bed. It's late and I didn't mean to keep you
guys up."
"Okay," Carson patted his arm and got up. "Sorry. I was just worried about
you."
Grant blinked a little but didn't move. He wanted to ask Rodney something
himself, but he was a little scared of it so he didn’t want to say it in front
of anything else.
"I'm sorry. I'll see you at breakfast, okay?" Rodney leaned over, started to
untie his shoes.
Carson nodded and took that as a dismissal, leaving as quietly as possible.
Grant hesitated. He had no problems with Rodney doing what he wanted,
everything he wanted and he was sure he knew what he was doing, but there was
this nagging suspicion in his head that wouldn't go away now he knew Rodney was
having sex with someone else. It had been okay when neither of them were, but,
but mom had taught him that she only cared about him when he was doing
something for her and, that, that was like love, and if Rodney wasn't doing
this with him and was doing it with someone else then maybe it meant he didn't
love him anymore because that was, was how mom had taught them love worked. It
could be taken away if they did something wrong, or sometimes for no reason at
all.
Love went away.
Rodney peered over at him. "Hi."
He gave a little wave to his brother and then peered down at his hands.
"I, I..." he stopped and he glanced up at Rodney. "You love Jack. You don't
love me anymore?" He meant the last to be a statement but it came out as a
faint question, all shaking and scared.
"What?" Rodney dropped his shoelaces, and leaned over to look at Grant. "No,
no, I don't love Jack. He's just a nice guy, and I can have sex with him. You,
you said you didn't like doing it. Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Mom said it was... the way she showed us she loved us," Grant said, confused.
"So, so when we did it I thought we were doing that? And now I'm not doing it
but you are with h... him and..." He was confused. "I don't like sex much, but
I liked loving you, and I don't want you to not love me even if it means..."
Rodney looked miserable, frowning, and he leaned in to hug Grant. "Sex isn't
love. And love isn't sex. A hug is a lot closer to love than sex."
"Oh!" Grant blinked a little, then hugged his brother back really hard. "It's
okay to hug people then? To show them I love them?"
"Yeah. I'm getting the feeling that that's the normal way." Rodney leaned into
Grant, and sighed. "I'm sorry I worried you. That's the last thing I want to
do."
"I, I know you know what you are doing," Grant said. He was trying to explain
it was him worrying himself, not Rodney at fault. "I think it's good if it
makes you feel good. And you still love me."
"I'm not ever going to *not* love you," Rodney said in his promising voice, a
hand rubbing at Grant's shoulder. "And maybe I shouldn't be going to clubs. I
don't know. I'll just make sure you know where I am if something happens, or I
don't come home."
"That's okay," Grant said. "If you like it. I want you to be happy." He hugged
him again. Hugging did feel good, and he could hug people without making them
be weird.
"I'm not sure I like it." Rodney's mouth quirked, and he stayed there, hugging
Grant back. "I do, but I don't."
"If you don't like it, then don't do it?" Grant suggested.
"But I want to do it. It's, yeah, it's stupid." Rodney smiled, and kissed
Grant's cheek.
"I, I'll try not to worry, and then everything will be fine?" Grant said,
beaming a little.
"Yeah. Everything is going to be fine. But you need to tell me if I'm worrying
you, or..." Rodney waved a hand. "Anything."
"Okay." He nodded and ducked his head in against Rodney a moment, in on last
hug. "I'm going to bed now."
"Okay. Have a good night's sleep, Grant. I'll see you in the morning." And then
Rodney went back to getting undressed.
He left then, feeling happier, and having learned something new. Hugs were
allowed and said he loved someone, and they wouldn't be upset about that.
Rodney was trying things which made him happy which was good. Carson wasn't
going to tell anyone, and he wanted to help.
Things were pretty good and he'd been worried for nothing. He hoped.
Grant was good at hope.
 
After Jack left -- and Rodney didn't press too hard on where Jack had gone,
didn't want to get too tangled up and end up hoping he'd see him again -- he
decided to not go to the bathhouse again. The chances that he'd do something
phenomenally stupid, and then end up in Lachlan's emergency ward was too high
for him to ignore, no matter how much he *wanted* to. So at his therapy session
after Jack left, Rodney guessed it was as good a time as any to bring it all
up.
"So Rodney, is there anything you'd like to discuss this week," Diane asked as
she did every week. "How are you feeling at the moment?"
"Okay. Holidays are coming up, and the social worker is talking about Grant and
I seeing Jeannie." Rodney cleared his throat a little. "But that's not what I
want help with."
"And what do you want help with Rodney?" Diane asked, obviously a little
surprised he was volunteering information.
"I, uh. Went to a gay bathhouse. I've been going for the last couple of weeks."
He shifted, nervous, watching her eyes to see what she thought of that.
"I see," she said patiently. "And why did you do that, Rodney?"
"I wanted to feel that closeness. And it's very... satisfying, physically. The
problem is that I want to go back, but I also don't want to go back."
"First of all, why did you go there in the first place?" Diane asked. "What was
it that motivated you to do that?
The first word that came to Rodney's mind wasn't right, wasn't the *true*
answer. He wasn't lonely. He had Grant and Carson and the Becketts. "I, uh.
Wanted to feel that connection with someone."
"A physical connection? Specifically with a male someone?" Diane asked.
"Yeah. I, uh." He waved a hand slightly. "I have friends who are male. And I'm
pretty sure they're one hundred percent straight, which also means one hundred
percent not interested in me."
"So, in effect you were wanting to explore your sexual identity," Diane
commented. "Okay, why did you feel the urge to do this now?
"You're the one who's always telling me I need to think and do things for
myself. Well, I did. Tried, at least. Everything's just going... great at home.
Grant's going to go to school part time in the spring, and Carson's applied to
graduate in May with the seniors -- it's with a less prestigious degree, but
let's be honest. High school. No-one's going to ask if he graduated special
umpteen extra stupid classes in another year. No-one's going to beat him up in
college either. So, they're both moving on and I feel static. There are things
I want to try and I have no, no, I can't say normal because nothing I do is
normal, but no usual sorts of opportunities to work out things like that."
She nodded slightly. "So, you went to the bath house and presumably you had an
experience? What did this experience tell you?"
"I really prefer men to women. Sexually. And sex it, it can be actually good.
But I don't want to go back, at the same time. And I don't know why."
"What sort of feelings do you have about going back. Describe them?" Diane
instructed.
"I want to, but I..." Rodney shrugged his shoulders. "Doesn't feel like it's
enough."
"I see." Diane leaned back a little. "Perhaps you are looking for more than
just casual sex, Rodney? Could that be the answer?"
He started to answer her, then just nodded. Yeah. He still missed what he'd had
with Grant, but. But, Grant didn’t *like* it, and he wished Grant had said so,
oh, years ago.
"Then you are most likely right in your decision. You are unlikely to find
someone interested in a relationship at a bath house, whereas they will be
specifically interested in sex," Diane said. "So, let's have a look at this.
What sort of things are you hoping to find in a relationship?"
"I don't know. I've never *had* a relationship before. I'd like, I suppose,
someone intelligent enough to keep up with me, and tolerance for my quirks."
“Okay. Do you have a physical type you are attracted to? What attracts you to
them?" his therapist encouraged.
"Uh, a decent sort of..." He waved one hand. "More facial expressiveness than
the body, uh, bright eyes, good smile, dark hair. Intelligent looking."
"You have an emphasis on intelligence, Rodney," she commented. "Is that more
important than anything else?"
"Well, not being an asshole is pretty important too," Rodney commented back,
lifting an eyebrow at her. "My friends aren't the *sweetest* people known to
man, but I can connect to them. I'll take an abrasive, intelligent person, who
I can talk to, over a sweet dumbass. How would I even connect to someone like
that?"
"A good question," Diane said smiling. "So, you would like someone who would
challenge you?"
"Of course. My friends do." And why would anyone want to be in a relationship
with someone they didn't also think of as a friend?
"Good. So given your main criteria, where do you think you are most likely to
find someone who fits what you most want?" Diane said.
He thought about that for a brief moment, and decided, "at the university."
"Good, good. Now, often at Universities there are groups that openly declare
their sexual leanings. Would you feel comfortable joining one of those?" his
therapist asked.
"I'm not sure. I haven't been impressed by the 'community' so far." Though he'd
met a couple of guys who weren't really even part of the 'community' as it
seemed to be.
"Up until this point you hadn't expressed an interest in any sort of
relationship. It might be that you weren't ready to participate in the
community as such," she said.
Ready or not, he was pretty sure he was going to stay unimpressed. "Right,
well. It's something I'll look into after the holidays, when the new semester
starts. Possibly. I bet it's going to be full of English majors."
"Well, you're not an English major," Diane said with a smile. "Plus, you might
find a different perspective is good for you. Now, how do you feel about the
holidays?"
"I'm sort of not sure. Most of the Becketts are coming down for Christmas, and
I don't know what to expect."
"How were your previous Christmases," she asked. "Were they marked in any way?"
"Miserably." Rodney shifted, leaned his elbows on his knees. "There was
generally more food around to sneak to Grant, but. It was Jeannie Day. It's
always been Jeannie Day. Last year I decided it was Jeanniemas, because Christ
clearly ranked lower for my mother, seeing as he had a penis."
"Do you resent your sister that attention?" Diane questioned.
"Some." He rubbed at is face. "Our social workers are trying to arrange some
complicated meeting with her, like I said. And I have this irrational thought
that she'll meet the Becketts and then she'll be living there too, and it'll be
Jeannie day every day again." Rodney laughed a little when he looked at her.
"Which is stupid, and selfish, because I do miss her, only I like things just
the way they are now. Carson and Grant and I, and Shona and Lachlan. I can make
sense of it."
"As I understand it, your step father has custody of Jeannie, and is unlikely
to give it up," she said. "That aside, you might have the experience of sharing
Shona and Lachlan's attention with their own children."
"Right. I'm not... bothered by that. I'm more worried about what their own
children are *like*, the rest of them, I mean, and how I'll get along with
them. Carson's great." He just hoped the rest of them were sort of like Carson.
"Have you considered gifts for anyone?" Diane said.
"Yes. I'm not sure what to get them. Grant loves books -- he's strangely easy.
Carson... I don't know. Shona, I have an idea for. Lachlan, I'm also not sure."
"I'm thinking anything you think of will be gratefully received. I often say
that even a letter telling them what a difference they've made in your life can
be the most treasured gift they will ever receive." Diane suggested.
"Huh." Well, there was that, and it would be *true* and not stupidly hokey.
"That's actually a really good idea."
"Thank you, Rodney. I do occasionally have them," Diane said with a smile.
"What else would you like to discuss?"
"How... how I can help Grant get used to college, without making his choices
for him." That was something that was more up her usual alley, and Rodney knew
he could kill the rest of the session with that one.
"Well," Diane said. "Let's take a look at that in detail shall we?" She smiled
at him, and all in all the discussion about his sexual activity could've gone a
lot worse. He'd been half waiting for censure and repulsion but in point of
fact she seemed relieved that he was doing something so comparatively normal.
It was strange that *that* was comparatively normal, though. Rodney just
nodded, and started to tell her about the classes Grant had signed up for.
 
Grant had never seen Jeannie before, or his stepfather but he had heard all
about them both. But today they were going to meet them both so they could
exchange presents for Christmas, and Shona had come with them rather than the
social worker.
He was glad of that, because the social worker didn't let him talk. She didn't
like him, Grant thought, but he wasn't sure. There was just... something.
Something, and he was already nervous about meeting Jeannie and his stepfather.
They wouldn't like him. If they didn't like Rodney, they wouldn't like him
because Rodney was wonderful and... and everything.
"Now," Shona said to them both. "I want you to both know if you feel
uncomfortable at any time, we will leave. All you have to do is tell me, or if
you want to not appear rude say you need the toilet or something, and I will
check if you are okay."
Rodney was mostly looking at Grant when Shona said that, and to Grant they were
strangers. He was possibly more nervous than the first time he'd met the coffee
people, but less nervous than he was about going to *school* in three point two
weeks. "Okay."
"Right then," Shona said and rang the doorbell.
Grant looked at the house. This was his house but it didn't feel like his
house. The Becketts' was home, because his place here had only been down in two
rooms. He could remember what he had glimpsed as he was carried out but, if not
for that, he would not have known this was anywhere special.
The door opened, and there was a man there that he had seen in pictures from
the trial. He was meant to be his stepfather, but he had never seen him in the
flesh. He wasn't sure what he should do so he sidled over towards Rodney,
because being closer reduced the magnitude of anxiety exponentially.
"Rodney and... Grant," the man was staring at him which made him nervous. "Mrs.
Beckett, please come in."
The man's name was Jeff, though Rodney had sort of uttered it rather than said
it, different intonation, unhappy intonation, and then Rodney had gone back to
talking normally. Jeff, like it was ominous.
"Thank you." Shona was gracious, and close behind them as she herded them into
the house. Rodney felt unsteady at Grant's side.
"Rodney?" There was a little girl peeking out at them from the other end of the
entryway hallway.
That had to be Jeannie. Grant looked at her a little suspiciously as Rodney had
told him all about her.
"Jeannie, honey, come in the living room," Jeff said beckoning to her.
"There's two Rodneys," Jeannie pointed out, coming down the hallway towards
them.
"Jeannie, this is Grant," Rodney explained, leaning forwards a little
nervously. "My twin."
"He looks like you," Jeannie said, and tilted her head so Grant waved at her
nervously. "Where did he come from?"
"He, uh..." Rodney cleared his throat, and *looked* at Jeff, gave him a hard
look, while Grant tried to stay focused on Jeannie. "Lived in the basement."
"Oh." Jeannie stared again. "The papers said that, but that's the sort of thing
you find in books. I didn't think it was real."
"I... I am real," Grant felt he needed to say as they headed to the living
room.
"Yeah, it's real. Mom lied a lot." Rodney sounded dismayed as they moved, and
Jeff was silent. Rodney had *said* the man was quiet, but it wasn't the same
quiet as Shona, where she was quiet so they could make a decision or talk for
themselves.
"Is he stupid?" Jeannie asked. "He's bound to be stupid if he's been in a
basement all the time."
Grant didn't know how to respond to that. Mom had told him he was worthless and
useless, but Carson and Shona and everyone told him he was smart. But she
hadn't been asking him, she'd asked Rodney.
Rodney shot Jeff a look that Grant wanted to call 'dirty'. "Seriously, you're
such a chicken-shit that you can't even explain this to her, Jeff? Jeannie,
Grant's just like *me*, and you can talk to him. He speaks and everything."
"Rodney, I've tried to explain," Jeff replied. "But the truth is, I don't know
much about... any of that. I'm... sorry, but I really didn't know any of it."
"Boys, settle down now," Shona said glancing at them both. "Rodney, I think you
might find that your step father is ignorant of a lot of things, if not
completely hood winked."
"He was at the same trial *I* was at. There's not a lot left to be ignorant
of," Rodney commented, in that voice that made Grant anxious.
And Jeannie was staring at him.
He didn't like that. Staring wasn't good. "I... should say hello. Shona says I
should be polite. Hello Jeannie, hello Jeff. I haven't met you before, but
Rodney has told me a lot about you both," Grant said, wanting things to be
calmer, and was rewarded with a pat from Shona.
Jeff smiled at him, and patted Jeannie on the back. "Hi, Grant. I'm uh. Glad to
finally meet you."
He nodded and ducked his head. "I wish you had stopped things so I could've met
you sooner," he said, and Jeff's face paled a little and he wasn't sure why. He
was just stating a fact.
"Grant, I had no idea you were down there." Jeff was very still when he said
that, very stiff. "If I had have known, I would have stopped it."
"Yes?" Grant looked at him. "But you didn't stop her being horrible to Rodney,
and you were here for that." Again, he was just stating facts, but somehow he
knew that he was surprising all of them.
"Rodney was a... difficult child to get to know. I didn't know what was going
on." And he kept *saying* that, but Shona and Lachlan knew everything. They
knew when Grant tried eating the toothpaste, and they knew when he sorted the
fruit in the fridge, and they knew what he was doing when he sat down with
Rodney's textbooks from the last semester and did the extra problems at the end
of each chapter.
"I wonder why I was difficult," Rodney muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.
"Mommy said all boys are difficult," Jeannie chipped in. "And men too. Stupid
too."
"Jeannie," Jeff said. "What have we talked about?"
"But that's what she said, Daddy!" Jeannie protested. "Girls are good and boys
are bad."
Grant remembered her saying that, so Jeannie wasn't lying, but Shona had said
differently. Shona seemed to know more things about them than their mother ever
had, so logically it made sense to follow her decisions. Carson wasn't bad, or
Jamie, Allan or Collin.
"No, you are wrong." he said decisively. "Not all boys are bad, not all girls
are good. And sometimes people can be good to one person, and not to others.
Rodney is very good to me, and to mom he was bad. More people agree with my
opinion than with mom's, therefore Rodney is very good."
Jeff cleared his throat again. "Right. I, uh. I'm glad that you're both doing
so well. What're you planning on doing, Grant?"
"I'm going to college," he said proudly. "I've been catching up, and Rodney's
been helping me, and Carson and I get to go soon. And Shona's been teaching me
about other things as well so I won't do the wrong things."
"Do you do the wrong things a lot?" Jeannie's attention seemed caught, and
maybe she was a little, a little, Grant wasn't sure. She was nine, which Rodney
had told him repeatedly, and smart, but apparently biased.
"Only when I don't know that they are wrong," Grant said looking at Shona. "I
don't like wrong things. Being nasty is wrong and hurting people is wrong.
Being selfish is wrong and greedy. Those are wrong things. Shona says I have
learned it much faster than anyone thought I would."
"Have you visited mom yet? Dad won't let me."
"No." Rodney sounded surprised. "I saw her at the trial, and I don't want to
see her anymore. I don't know about Grant..."
Grant shook his head. "She'll hurt me," he said in a quiet voice. "She always
did. I don't want to be hurt anymore."
Jeff looked very discomfited by the conversation. "I don't think it would be a
good idea, honey," he said to Jeannie. "She was... very unhappy about the
verdict."
Shona seemed to understand what that meant. Grant wasn't sure, but there had
been times when his mother had been so unhappy with him that she had been
screaming and hitting and spitting at him, and if that was what he meant then
taking Jeannie to see her would be wrong as well.
"But she's *mom*, and it's Christmas, and I thought Rodney would just come home
and stay home and..."
Grant was alarmed at that thought. "Nonono," he said looking at Rodney. "We're
not coming here? Rodney? We're..."
"It's all right Grant," Shona soothed. "You're staying with me."
"I'm not applying for custody," Jeff told them. "My lawyer says I should,
but... I wouldn't know what to do with you."
"You wouldn't *do* anything," Rodney groused. "Just like you always did. So
thanks for not applying for the legal right to neglect us."
"Rodney..." Not scolding, but a gentle reminding tone to Rodney from Shona that
made Rodney sit back and sigh.
"But I want Rodney back!" Jeannie protested. "Rodney should be here! It's home,
and he's my brother, and I want him here!" She started to sniffle a little,
obviously used to getting what she wanted.
"I'm kind of screwed up, Jeannie, and need to *not* be here. Just sitting in
the living room is creeping me out," Rodney countered. "I'll still visit but I,
*we* can't live here anymore."
"But it's so *boring* without you," Jeannie complained tearfully. "I, I don't
have anyone to play with!"
Jeff bit his lip. "Your mother didn't encourage friends that might hold her
back," he admitted.
"Well, lad," Shona said. "I think it's about time you took charge of your
daughter, and helped her get some friends. Rodney and Grant are her brothers,
but she needs friends of her own age more than anything."
"I even have friends now." Rodney saying it maybe had more power coming from
him than it did from Shona. "It's nice."
"You do?" Jeannie looked at them. "But aren't they annoyingly stupid like Mom
said?"
Grant thought people were clever in different ways; after all, most of them
knew what to do in situations where he didn't have a clue. That was being
clever as well as doing math.
"No. There are a lot of smart people out there. It's not just us. There's a lot
of *interesting* people out there. Like, the girl at the coffee shop I go to.
She's a retail worker, yeah. And on the weekends she's a low-level competitive
racecar driver. And I wouldn't know that if I'd been an asshole to her."
"Oh. " Jeannie seemed to be thinking about it a little. "I think I'd like
friends like that."
Grant nodded. "And there are people who are clever as well," he said. "Lots of
them."
"And having them as friends isn't a bad thing at all." Rodney was focusing on
Jeannie instead of Jeff, and he sounded less angry, which was nice. Grant
didn't like it when Rodney sounded angry.
Jeannie nodded. "We got you both presents," she announced, her tears drying up
some. "For Christmas."
"Jeannie day," Grant said nodding.
"Grant..." Rodney groaned, and elbowed Grant in the side gently. "Shhhh."
"What's Jeannie day?" Jeannie asked, looking at them both, confused, and Grant
mimed having a zipped up lip apologetically to Rodney.
"Christmas," Rodney said, after an awkward pause. "It was always... really,
your big day. Is all."
"Oh." Jeannie looked at him, and looked upset. "You...you don't like me anymore
Rodney..." She looked like she was about to cry again.
"No, no, it's not that at all. I still like you. You're my sister." Rodney
leaned forwards on the sofa, sitting on the edge. "I was just jealous, is all."
Jeannie surprised them all then, by getting off the chair, and then running
over to hug Rodney. Maybe she really had missed him. People hugged when they
loved each other, Rodney said so.
"I'm sorry. I just can't come back here to stay." Rodney hugged her back,
tight, close, and Grant didn't know her. Didn't know what to do or say.
"I... I don't mind as long as you don't forget me," Jeannie said. "Will you
send me letters?"
Grant thought he could send letters if he tried.
"Yeah. We can do that. And we don't live far away, so we can visit..."
"Any time you want," Jeff agreed. "You are welcome here, Rodney, Grant."
Rodney exhaled, still sitting close beside Grant. "Thanks."
"Presents?" Jeannie said letting go of Rodney's legs and running to get them.
"This is for you, and this is for Grant. I helped pick them out."
"Thank you." Rodney reached to take the gift that Jeannie handed him. "Grant
and I got you presents, too."
"Are you going to open them now?" Jeannie asked as Grant got the presents out.
Shona had helped them pick out something suitable for a girl, and he liked it
as well because it was sparkly and shiny.
"Should we?" Rodney looked to Shona for the answer to that, even as Grant
handed over the gifts that they’d brought.
"If you want to boys, there's no reason not to," Shona said. "Sometimes it is
nice to see other people's reactions to your gifts."
"Okay. You first, Jeannie." Rodney shifted, and he was close at Grant's side,
happily so.
Jeannie tore into her wrapped presents with enthusiasm, and pulled out the
sparkly tiara and glittery fairy wings, complete with wand, that Grant knew
Rodney had modified to light up. "Ooo." she said. "What... what do I do with
it?"
"You wear it, honey," Jeff said. "And pretend to be a fairy princess."
Rodney was nodding while Jeff said that, and it was the only time he'd seen
Rodney agree with the man. "Yes. Yes, you pretend, and enjoy it."
`"Mommy didn't like pretending," Jeannie said. "But it is pretty. Can I try it
on?"
Grant nodded, even though they hadn't asked him directly.
"Pretending can actually be sort of fun." Rodney liked to pretend that he was
completely grown up, with varying degrees of success. He sat back, and looked
at Grant, trying to catch his eyes.
Grant wasn't sure what Rodney wanted, except he wanted something, so he said.
"I used to pretend I could see the stars, and then we did go and see the stars,
and we told stories about them," he offered, hoping that was what Rodney
wanted.
Jeff just went pale again, and Jeannie looked thoughtful as she perched the
tiara on her head. "What do you like most?"
"Rodney," Grant answered immediately, hoping that was what she meant.
"Not *who*, what." Jeannie fiddled with her wand, and startled when the tip lit
up. "Oh!"
“Rodney did that for you," Grant said. "He's, He’s very good at making things."
What did he like the most. "I like Math. And sweets. And books. And outside."
"Good." Jeannie seemed to declare it the same way their mother did, firm and
satisfied with some decision. Rodney plucked at wrapping paper.
"You first, Grant."
Grant undid his present carefully and beamed. "Chocolate! I love chocolate," he
said. It was one of his favorite things.
It was milky and sweet. and he had a mental list of bars he has liked and bars
he hadn't liked. Dark chocolate was pretty good, and he hoped that there was
more of it in the future, more flavors and tastes and differences.
Rodney started to unwrap his gift.
Jeannie went and practically sat on Rodney as he opened it. "Do you like it?
It's about physics? It's new. I thought you might like it."
"I love books," Rodney grinned, picking it up, and showing it to Grant in a
slow motion. The same man had written one of Rodney's textbooks, which meant
that Grant was going to look forward to finding more errors. "Thank you."
"That's okay," Jeannie said. "Thank you for my fairy outfit. I like it a lot."
"It looks pretty," Grant said agreeing. Rodney was happy now, less stressed.
That was good.
He didn't like it when Rodney was stressed.
Jeff lifted his eyebrows at them, and started to stand up. "Mrs. Beckett, can I
talk with you in the kitchen? I think the kids are fine together."
"I think you might be right," Shona answered. "Play nice, boys." She patted
Grant affectionately on the head as she got up. "I won't be long."
Rodney watched Jeff lead the way to the kitchen, and Shona followed, and that
was when Grant felt his brother relax. "How've you been, Jeannie? Everything's
okay?"
"It's been strange without mom here," Jeannie said. "But Dad does different
things with me, and I don't get told off for playing."
Grant looked at Rodney. It seemed to him that Jeannie had been controlled in a
different way to them, but still controlled. "Good." Rodney slid a hand over
the cover of his book a couple of times. "If he ever goes weird on you..."
"Dad won't get weird on me," Jeannie said with certainty. "He's not like that."
"Mom wasn't like that to you either,” Grant said. "But she was to us."
"Just keep it in mind, Jeannie," Rodney suggested. "If, and it's the big if,
just remember you can call us. I'm going to give you the Becketts' phone number
and address, so you can contact us. You can't tell mom."
Jeannie nodded. "Mom said horrible things about you both before they put her in
jail. She really doesn't like you."
"We... we know that," Grant answered, and he really didn't like thinking about
that too much either.
"We don't like her much, either, so it's okay. Just, you can't tell her where
we are. Things are finally going nice." And while Rodney was curious about
everything, had to know *everything*, he didn't ask what horrible things their
mother had said about them. Grant knew the words already by heart.
She repeated them over and over, and he didn't need his memory to recall the
details, because it felt like they were in his bones.
"Maybe I can visit you at your new home sometime?" Jeannie asked. "It's so
lonely here."
"Maybe. We'll have to ask Shona." Grant understood lonely, the pluses and the
many many minuses that went with it. The silence, the crawling feelings, the
rising panic that ebbed and faded when he least expected it, the desperation.
"You can wish for friends with your wishing wand," Grant said. "Rodney let me
wave it when he was making it light up."
"You should ask your dad if you can get lessons in something you like,
something that mom always said no to. You might make friends there...?" Rodney
was offering it, unsure. "And wave your wand."
"I wanted to try dancing but mommy wouldn't let me go," Jeannie said, and
smiled. "I'll wish for that!" She closed her eyes in concentration, and then
waved her wand so it sparkled and glowed as Rodney had designed. "There. Do you
think it will work?"
"It might. I hope it does." Rodney would *make* it work, say something to Jeff
on the way out or to Shona, and he could make it happen for Jeannie.
He knew Rodney, and he was good at making wishes come true.
Shona and Jeff came back in then and Shona smiled at them both. "Rodney,
Grant... are you ready to go now or do you want to stay a wee bit longer?"
Rodney shifted, slid the book onto the sofa, and stood up to hug Jeannie. "We
should probably go, but I'd like to come back sometime. Maybe find out how
Jeannie's doing in the dance lessons she should be taking."
"Dance lessons?" Jeff looked at Rodney and then seemed to catch on. "Oh. Right.
Dance lessons. Of course."
Jeannie beamed and hugged Rodney, and then, much to Grant's surprise, came and
hugged him too.
“I hope you have a good Christmas, R...Grant." She stepped back, and maybe he
didn't know her, but he could get to *like* her, Grant figured.
She'd hugged him, and it hadn't felt too wrong, and he could cope with that.
"You have a good Christmas too," he said in response, catching Shona's
approving smile.
"Grant, Rodney..." Jeff cleared his throat, still nowhere near them standing
wise. He was maybe three feet and 4 inches away from Grant, and a full four
from Rodney. "I'm sorry, and I hope that the two of you have a very good
holiday."
"Thank you," Grant said and got up. "You too." There he had been polite and he
hadn't rambled or, or anything.
"I don't particularly want you to fall down a set of stairs or anything, so...
I hope you have a good holiday, too," Rodney offered, not much of a peace
offering.
"Come on then," Shona said ushering them away.
"Bye, Jeannie. Be good!"
"Bye Rodney!" Jeannie waved. "Bye Grant!"
He waved back, still relieved to be leaving the house. It meant nothing to him
except darkness and fear in his memory. But he had done well, Rodney had not
been really really angry and he had a half sister who knew his name. This was a
good thing.
He wasn't The Other Rodney. He was Grant, and he *liked* being Grant, having
differences between them. It was nice.
"That went well," Rodney murmured.
"Well, you didn't lose your temper," Shona said with a smile. "Or get scared. I
am proud of you both."
He put his arm around Rodney then, for comfort and support.
Rodney leaned into him, and exhaled. "I don't want to go back to the house."
"Our house?" Shona asked. "We can go elsewhere for a wee bit Rodney, if you
want."
"No, no, back..." Rodney waved a hand back towards their old house as they
walked down the stairs, away. "I don't like it."
Grant patted his brother gently. "Mm. It is strange. I do not want to go there
to where I was. But I do not know those rooms."
"Place was still a prison." In its own way, yes, it was. Rodney leaned close to
him, all the way to the car, and then he let Grant sit in the front seat for
the drive back. Rodney usually sat there, and it was a little strange to be
where Rodney was. And if Rodney stayed close to him and Carson that evening,
then he wasn't going to complain.
 
There were certain things the Beckett family did at Christmas that were
uniquely their own traditions. His mum made Dundee fruit cake as a Christmas
cake, there were tartan bows on the Christmas tree, they had a Yule log that
had been drying out since the summer, and there would be bannock cakes, and
parading around the kitchen three times with the log on Christmas Eve in a
ceremony that would have the neighbors staring.
Still, Carson enjoyed Christmas, even if the peace and quiet he was used to was
rapidly disappearing as the rest of the clan started descending on the
household once again. His mum had put up beds all over the place. Rodney and
Grant were going to be sleeping in the same room while the others were there,
Lachlan’s study was back into a room again for the twins to share, and most of
the other rooms were still set up for guests.
He holed up in the living room, near the fire and the tree that was practically
exploding with presents underneath it, and listened to the house filling up
with the noise and chaos that had been normal for the Beckett family in his
pre-teen years.
He missed it, sometimes, but Carson was also bloody sure that he wouldn't want
to do it again for another year once it was all over.
"Boo." Rodney leaned over the back of the sofa, holding a cookie in front of
his face. "Your brother's making stained glass cookies. It's sort of lopsided,
but tasty."
"Which brother?" Carson asked. "Let me guess, Jamie? " He took the cookie and
looked at it. "Aye, that's Jamie's handiwork. The shape is probably some
artistic comment on the human condition."
He nibbled at it. It wasn't bad actually, and he smiled a little.
"He's trying to teach Grant Art Deco style." Which was better than Grant's
initial reaction to Jamie hugging him, which had been to scream and try to dive
under the coffee table. "Hi."
"Hi," Carson smiled at him. "They'll all drift in here in a bit, so when mum
and dad go to the late service, we'll sort've catch up. Did you see Collin get
here yet?"
"No, though for all you've talked him up," Rodney told him, leaning comfortably
over the back, "I'm expecting Thor to come in and kick the door down."
"Are you sure you haven't met him?" Carson said with a grin. "How's Grant
doing?"
"Cookies. I think if he could date them, he would." Rodney was eyeing the tree,
the lights. Once the sky started to go dark outside, the tree was turned on,
and Carson saw how Rodney watched it. "He's getting along with Jamie, and with,
uh..."
The Beckett household was a bad place for someone who was bad with names to
live.
Carson grinned. "Jamie and Mairi are the two blonde twins. Isobel is here as
well. She's the one who looks like a TV star, partly because she is. Allan is
the tall one who looks like someone off of Miami Vice - he's the banker. I
think he was talking to dad about investments, he usually does, and Aileen is
the one with the long dark hair clipped back, the lawyer. Collin when he gets
here is the rugged looking one. Mum said he was coming so I'm sure he'll be
here soon."
"You talk about him a lot." Rodney moved, climbed over the back of the sofa
with long legs, and plopped down beside Carson. "*I* think you might idolize
him."
"What, Collin? I... no, he..." Carson stammered and hesitated. "He goes from
teasing the hell out of me to helping me out. Sometimes I hate him because he
never lets up, but other times I worry myself sick over him being away." It was
complicated. "And he's going to kick my ass over getting beaten up and
bullied," he confessed morosely.
"That's sort of redundant," Rodney pointed out. "What's he do, again?"
"He's in the Airforce. Training to be a pilot," Carson said as the fire
crackled next to him. "He could be... he could end up in war zones and things."
It was a sort've nameless dread he had. He'd felt it when Isobel had meningitis
and, even though they'd caught it quickly, it had been so bad that they’d been
clustered around the ICU waiting. And that time when he heard his mum on the
phone say, "What kind of accident? How bad?" when Allan had been in a car
crash.
"He wants to be a pilot, though," Rodney pointed out. "And doing what you want
is important. That's pretty cool."
"Yeah," Carson exhaled a little, listening a little as there was a surge of
noise from the kitchen, and then laughter. "I think that's him."
The door burst open with Isobel backing through. "I'm dumping your stuff here,
Col. Don't think I'm lugging this all the way upstairs for you."
"Hey, support your armed forces, Iz, " a male voice said. "Give me some of that
patriotic consideration."
There was one thing that Carson always forgot about Collin, which was quite how
ridiculously good-looking he was with no apparent effort. Although, the aviator
shades were a little over done, considering it was late Christmas Eve.
Rodney glanced up and over at Collin, and stayed sitting slightly upright, like
a prairie dog at the ready. "What room's he in?"
"Hey, you must be Rodney," Collin ,taking the shades off and grinning at him.
"And there's Sonny boy... hey, no hugs for me? "
"Thought you might be too cool for that," Carson said, his nickname bringing
back flash backs, but he did get up and go to hug his brother. Collin hugged
back hard enough to make his nearly healed ribs protest, and for him make a
muffled 'ow'. He covered it by saying, "Rodney's not going to be your slave for
the holidays, Col. Or Grant."
"You volunteering?" Collin smirked a little. "Hell, I'm downstairs, it's just
over there. I think I can manage."
"Oh right, *now* you take your own things," Isobel said. "After I broke a nail
- that's a serious thing in my line of work. They notice that sort've thing,
you know!"
It was funny that Rodney went mostly quiet in the face of Carson's relatives,
as though he didn't know what to do with them, and he was as much in awe as
Grant was. "Can't you get a new one glued on?"
"Well yes, but it costs to have it done properly," Isobel said. Collin had
lifted his bags, and disappeared off for a moment to dump them in his room, but
was back soon enough, and flopped down with a smirk.
"So, how's things going? Can't help but get the impression you've been missing
things out of your letters, Sonny," Collin said, even as he helped himself to a
handful of chips that were put out. "Maybe Rodney can tell me what's been going
on with you."
"Carson's graduating in May." Rodney was so *proud* of that, pleased that
Carson was going to do his pre-med locally, that he'd already applied for
Western Ontario and would surely get in.
"Wow, going for the Beckett over-achiever award huh?" Collin said with a grin.
"So, what's the deal with you getting hurt?"
The affable easiness with which he said that didn't fool Carson a bit. "Just
some bullies," he said with a shrug. "It's not really a big deal."
"Not a big deal?" Isobel said. "They practically left you for dead, Carson!"
Carson winced at that. This wasn't helping much; Rodney might feel bad about
it, and it would stir Collin up.
"That's past bullies and into assault, Carson," Collin pointed out, voice dire.
"They're in proceedings for that," Rodney pointed out, starting to move like he
was going to get out of the way.
Carson shot him a pleading look to stay. It got hard when they all ganged up on
him, even if it was for his own good. "Aye well, I'm pretty embarrassed about
it. I know no one else has ever had a problem like this and I know what you're
going to say but...it just happened okay? Things just happened."
"Anyway, it's over, and Carson's last couple of weeks at school have been
uneventful." Verifiably so, with his parents checking with his teachers and the
principal.
"Well you should've told someone," Isobel said. "Jamie did, when they started
on him."
"Jamie was bullied?" Carson asked faintly surprised. How had he missed that?
"A few tried it on with me," Collin said. "I kicked their asses and got
suspended for a few days." He smirked a bit.
"Thanks for rubbing it in, Col," he said.
Isobel threw a nut at Collin, bouncing it off his head. "Collin, stop being a
bastard. Carson got really hurt."
"Broken ribs," Rodney offered quietly, leaning into Carson just a little,
watching Isobel and Collin. He seemed to be less intimidated by Jamie. Possibly
because Jamie was goofy.
It was hard to be intimidated by him because he was wildly fey as Carson's mum
always said. Creative, artistic bouncing from idea to idea, and a wee bit head
in the clouds. Mairi was more down to earth, but no less talented.
"Broken ribs, and an arm fracture, and a concussion," Isobel said. "We're not
talking one bully here."
Carson groaned. "Guys, come on...I don't want to go over this all over
Christmas. "
"Tell me who they are, Sonny, I'll... encourage them to never do it again,"
Collin said in a serious tone of voice.
"Oh please, Collin, you are not that badass," Isobel snorted.
"No, but we do have a kick-ass lawyer in the family." Collin pointed out. "We
could litigate the pants off of them all."
"They're already litigating," Rodney shrugged from his side. "So. Uh, why do
you call Carson Sonny?"
"Didn't want to call him Car," Collin shrugged as if that made it logical.
"You could try just calling us by our real names, you know," Isobel said with a
good-natured sniff. "Oh, guess what I auditioned for last week? Star Trek - I
get a speaking part as well."
"I bet you're wearing so much latex no one will recognize it's you," Collin
said with a grin.
Carson sat up. "Hey, that's really cool. We all watch it here. What are you
doing in it?"
"They're starting a *new* series," she told them. "Instead of you guys watching
re-runs of the other one."
"They're replacing Kirk?" Rodney sounded mildly offended. "So you're....?"
"Playing a jealous Alien wife."
"Oh well, practically method acting," Collin snarked.
"Hey!" Isobel poked at him hard enough to have him rocking back. "I'm single at
the moment and I'll have you know, this could be a big break. Everyone knows
that if you get in with these guys then you get parts in pretty much everything
that gets made in those studios. There's a lot of talk about a lot of
filmmaking and series being moved up to Vancouver to shoot. And that means I'm
at an advantage, short've getting a recurring role in one of the soaps or
something."
"Anyone we know in this new series?" Carson asked. Maybe they could get Isobel
to get autographs or something.
She shook her head. "New actors, time jump and all. But, it'll be on the air
next September. Filming starts in February." She sounded proud of herself, and
Carson was always happy when his sister had work.
"Cool." Rodney grinned a little. "Still not sold, but. Cool."
"We want pictures of you," Collin said. "So I can take it with me if I get
deployed next year."
"Deployed?" Carson could hear his own rising anxiety.
"Sonny, I'm a full pilot. I've been doing milk runs for a while now and I've
been doing special training on combat helos. They're not going to let me rot on
the ground somewhere," Collin said with a shrug.
"But..." Carson looked around for support. "That could be dangerous. "
Collin grinned. "Something happens to me I'll have the best doctor in Canada to
sort me out, won't I?"
"It'll take that long before Canada's involved in a real war," Rodney said
agreeably. "Because, honestly, what're you expecting the Russians to do when we
have second strike capabilities? Bluster. A lot."
"Their economy is more dependent on the west than they'd admit," Allan said
from the door. "Mum and Dad want to know if anyone is going to the late service
with them, or if we're going tomorrow morning?"
Carson grinned. "I'll go tomorrow. Mum chases us out of the kitchen on
Christmas morning anyway. You coming tomorrow, Rodney, or do you want to hang
out here?"
Rodney shook his head a little. "I'll be right back -- I want to confer with
Grant on this one. I never thought much about Mass."
"It's not compulsorary," Carson said as he got up. "Bring back more cookies!
"Funny art deco cookies, coming up." Rodney stood up, and wove his way past
Collin and Allan and Isobel, pushing open the kitchen door. Carson thought he
saw sugar dust being thrown into the air.
He dreaded to think what was going on in there. Grant and the twins, that was a
combination and a half right there.
"So Carson, about this assault." Allan started and Carson groaned.
"Seriously, I'm not going over it again. Can't we just talk about interesting
things?" he pleaded.
"Hmm. Later then. Talking of interesting, Grant has an exceptional grasp of
economics," Allan said. "He just made a comment out there when I was talking to
dad and...that's advanced stuff."
"Oh, that'll only be the tip of an iceberg," Carson said immediately. "Grant
and Rodney are both geniuses, not just smart but... way out there."
"Well you're smart," Collin pointed out. "So are Allan and Aileen. It's in the
blood."
Carson shook his head. "You, you need to see it happen. Grant remembers
everything. He has an eidetic memory. Rodney is close. They write equations as
easily as I would write a note to mum. Rodney is a brilliant musician,
incredible, and he can make practical things, amazing things and Grant can see
patterns in everything..."
And he sort of doted on them, wanted to protect them. He was glad, for example,
that Rodney had stopped going out at night, and that they'd started to go back
to the coffee shop together on weekends. That life was sort of settling back
down after the Trial, finally.
"So they're not the average fosters, then," Collin guessed. "Which one was just
in here?"
"That's Rodney," Carson answered. It was strange because he never had any
problem telling them apart. "They are definitely not average fosters. They're
great, been through so much. Rodney had to take care of Grant a lot, and he
pretty ended up dealing with the trial on his own. We were there to help but,
he was the one being cross examined and offered up for a desperate hatchet job
by the defense."
"Mmm, that's what they do." Allan had that same sort of observational tone that
he always did. "How do you think they'll do?"
"Rodney and Grant? Brilliantly," Carson said without hesitation. "They'll
change the world, and their ... mother had them locked in a bloody basement."
"That's horrible," Isobel sighed. "Mum told me some of it, but, you know, I'm
out in Vancouver, and... I'm glad you like them, Carson. You're a good kid."
"I'm going to be 16 soon and graduating," he reminded her, without too much
heat. "I'm glad they're too old to be placed for adoption. I don't want them to
leave. Grant's come on amazingly and Rodney..." He tried to find the right
words. "Rodney's my best friend."
"Fellow geeks," Isobel decided in a mild voice as she moved towards the kitchen
door. "I'm going to just--"
The door swung open, pushed backwards while Rodney backed out with a tray in
his hands. "Cookies," Rodney declared. "Fresh from the oven, possibly over
sugared..."
"Can you over sugar a cookie?" Collin said. "Thanks, Rodney," he said, only
momentarily hesitating over the name.
"If Mairi and Jamie are out there, you better believe it," Allan replied. "Hey,
don't let the fire die down Carson. Dad'll be swearing that the pixies will be
getting in if you're not careful."
"The pixies?" Rodney shot them all an incredulous look, while he set down the
tray.
"It's Scottish tradition," Carson said with a grin. "Apparently, you are meant
to have a lit fire in the grate on Christmas Eve to make sure the wee folk
didn't creep in and bring bad luck... or run off with any presents."
"So, this is your job, huh? See, if you have a fire going, how will Santa get
down the chimney?" Rodney snagged a cookie, and flopped back onto the sofa.
"This is nice."
"I asked the same question," Carson said, beaming at him. "Dad informed me
Santa has an asbestos suit - and very good health insurance."
"Yeah, he spent a whole Christmas worried about Santa getting asbestosis after
that one," Collin said.
"The military still uses a lot of it," Rodney mused. "We'll have to tell Grant
that one."
"He's very excited by Santa," Carson had to explain. "I don't think he's had a
present before, except what Rodney could get him. Have you had any before,
Rodney?"
He'd done his best to try and get something special for Rodney. He just hoped
that they were getting a computer, because he'd managed to order a book on
building your own computer and, after a lot of saving, a CD player as well.
Rodney peered at his cookie, and then glanced up at Carson. "No. It was Jeannie
day, and 'Santa' didn't tend to bring 'bad' boys gifts." He rolled his eyes.
"Thinking about it, my stepfather was a doormat."
"Sounds like it," Collin said. "Occasionally, we'd get threatened with a lump
of coal in the Christmas stocking."
"No, you mean, you'd be threatened with it," Allan said dryly.
"But it never happened," Collin continued. "Speaking of which, Mr. Wall Street
- where's this very own plane you promised me when I was thirteen, huh? You
must've made enough to buy me one by now."
"Pffft, if I wanted to break myself, sure," Allan smiled. "No, it's all
invested. To make more money. Which will make more money. And someday, with the
interest, I'll buy you a plane. When you're in a mid-life crisis."
Carson snorted a little at that, even as Grant came bounding in, along with
Mairi and Jamie. They looked as though they had been fighting with icing sugar
rather than putting it on cookies, and then inhaling it, so they were all on
sugar highs and giggling as they came in.
"Behold!" Jamie announced theatrically. "My latest work of art..." He raised up
another plate of the cookies. "I call it... Soul in Torment!"
Carson looked at the plate of cookies. "They don't looked particularly upset to
me," he said dubiously.
"It's a commentary on the masks of the human condition," Mairi said solemnly.
Rodney grinned perceptively at Jamie. "You just push the limits to see what you
can get away with, don't you? I'll take one mask, please."
Grant laughed and swiped a cookie before he sat on Rodney's other side.
"Art is all about pushing the limits to see what we can get away with," Jamie
said. "Oh hey, quick Mairi write that down, I can put it up as something
pretentious at the next exhibition!"
"I've got a notebook full," Mairi said. "Gimme another symbolic expression of
man's innate dichotomy, will you? They taste great."
"I helped!” Grant said to Rodney, eating his cookie and Carson grinned at him.
Grant looked so happy with the world just then, like an overgrown kid.
That was such a *change* from the scared, skinny, miserable-looking young man
who'd come into the house with Rodney. They both looked healthier, happier, and
it had only been 8 months. "I can tell. They're very... artsy." Rodney lifted
his eyebrows at Grant. "Oh! I have the answer to how Santa's going to come down
the chimney with the fire going, Grant. Asbestos suit."
"Asbestos suit!" Grant repeated, as if that made all the sense in the world. It
very nearly made Carson giggle.
"So, Rodney, Carson says you like music and can play?" Mairi said, and of
course she'd be interested in that with all her own talents in song writing.
"What do you like?"
"The piano you all have?" Rodney offered that, clearly still thinking about his
answer. "Anything. I play some classical, some modern, anything that comes to
mind. I've been getting lessons again."
"He can improvise a version of pretty much anything," Carson said, feeling a
surge of pride that it was *his* friend who could do all these things.
"Really?" Mairi beamed at him. "Maybe we'll try a few things sometime over the
break. I write songs and sell them some times. I'd like to get a fellow
musicians ideas on things."
"You know, we could always just drag the piano in here," Collin suggested. "You
know it'll happen somewhere along the line."
"What, the piano in here?" If they did that, Rodney and Mairi would never get
to play anything but Christmas carols.
"Relax, we can move it back," Collin said breezily, "If you guys don't want our
creative input. But you know, we could be a useful audience for you! We all
like different things."
"I don't think Mairi writes pop rock, Col," Isobel said.
"Maybe she should, that's what sells!" Collin said getting up. "C'mon, Al, give
me a hand...no, Sonny, you're not helping, not if you've had broken ribs."
That was his brother all over. Other people talked about things, and he might
joke about being lazy, but Collin was the one that actually got up and acted on
ideas even if he didn't have them himself that often.
"Seriously, we've moving the *piano*?" But his brother was moving to follow
Collin, and Rodney sort of hesitated, like he wasn't sure if he should be
trying to help or not.
Thankfully, Grant seemed oblivious.
"Pop music is, is an expanding market," Grant said half with his mouth full.
"The, the new media that is being produced will supersede tapes." He nodded to
himself. "They'll...they'll figure out how to do it for visual things too. Or
they should be working on it. It should work."
Carson blinked a little. He was never sure if Grant was basing these
pronouncements on information or something in his own head.
"CDs cost though," Mairi said. "The big artists are using them but, smaller
independent ones can't afford it. "
Grant shook his head. "Will become cost efficient. In time."
"Economies of scale," Rodney agreed, leaning back into the sofa, and Carson
knew where Rodney had picked *that* up from. At least he could be sure what
they did when they sequestered themselves into one bedroom or the other now.
"I'm more interested in the miniaturization of technology, but I don't think
tiny CDs are that... viable."
"Portable is good," Grant said miming it with his hands, and Carson wished he'd
been able to afford one of the really portable CD players for Rodney, but they
were way too expensive. "Portable opens... open other avenues of demand. New
area of development. Paradigm shift."
"So we should invest in CDs?" Jamie asked, sounding amused. "That's more advice
than I've ever had from Allan."
"Computers and technology. Biggest growth area. Anything portable. Phones,
computers..." Grant nodded. "Communication is needed by everyone... so... so
there will be companies and... things."
There was a crashing sound as Allan tried to stop the piano crashing into the
door frame. "Hey, they let you fly multimillion pound jets? You can't even
steer a piano."
"It doesn't have wings," Collin said reasonably. "Shift yourselves, piano
coming through."
Rodney finally did move, trying to shift the sofa out of the way, and that got
Carson to stand up, while Grant stayed happily seated on it. "Ooof, you guys
are going to have to put it back before you leave town."
"Not like that's a problem," Collin said as they all moved the furniture
around, with Grant in situ. "Your piano. Okay, let's hear what you can do
Rodney."
Carson grinned at him. "Go on, Rodney," he said, patting him gently on the arm.
"He's tons better than I was," he said to his brothers and sisters.
"That doesn't say much," Isobel said wryly.
"Carson can read x-rays," Rodney shrugged. "It's not a performance art, but
it’s interesting. Useful, too." But he sat down at the bench, and lifted the
key cover. "Okay, I'm taking requests."
"Know anything from Top Gun?" Collin asked with a smile and Carson chuckled.
"He knows *everything* from that," Carson replied. "He's always getting
requests for that at the coffee bar."
"We need more movies to come out so people might start asking me for other
songs," Rodney griped, but he was already poising to play.
"How about Loving Feeling?" Isobel suggested. "I sang that at a gig not that
long ago."
Rodney snorted, and started to play the beginning. "I'm not sure I know all of
it, and I won't sing along, so."
Carson knew it didn't matter, he was here with his family, and there would be
laughing, bad singing, bickering and everything was going to be great. And if
he noticed how blue Rodney's eyes were a little more than usual, or how great
he looked when he laughed, well, he put that down to his Scottish
sentimentality, and Christmas spirit.
 
He was warm, but his nose was cold.
It was sort of a weird thing to be aware of, but Rodney enjoyed sleeping face
down, burrowed up, and his nose was cold because someone had pulled the sheets
back?
There was a warmth on him, and a little peck of a kiss that was forbidden and
sweet on his cheek, and he opened his eyes enough to see Grant peering at him,
eyes bright with excitement.
"Hi." He smiled at Grant. Grant's breath smelled like something foodish that
he'd tucked away. Grapes, maybe. " 'een downstairs?"
"I... I heard people up and I went and looked," Grant said in an overly loud
whisper. "Santa made it down through the fire and there is a special breakfast
and presents..."
"Who else is up?" Rodney shifted, sliding and arm around Grant for a moment
before he started to stand up.
"Collin, Ai..Aileen, Shona and Lachlan. Allan is in the shower," Grant said.
"Carson isn't. Should we wake him up?"
"Yeah." Rodney moved, gentled Grant out of bed slowly. He liked that close
comfortableness, but it was cold in the room, so he leaned to get his sweater.
"Mmm. It smells nice."
"It is! Lots of nice food so, Carson would have to get up soon anyway," Grant
said moving out of the way.
It was nice, getting up on their own time, moving together, just the two of
them. Sometimes, Rodney missed that. "Okay, let's get Carson up."
Grant grinned at him and bounced up again. "It's Christmas, not Jeannie Day so
Santa didn't forget us this year. Shona told him where to find me."
“Santa's probably wanted to see you for a long time." He got steadily to his
feet, and leaned over to hug Grant for a second.
Grant hugged him back. He smiled, and then tugged him in the general direction
of the door and Carson's room.
Carson was obviously still tired, because he didn't notice when they opened the
door.
"Carson..." Rodney almost tripped on Grant's foot, trying to keep the door from
squeaking. "Merry Christmas."
Carson made a sort've flailing motion as a response."Mmph," he grunted.
"Wake up, Carson!" Grant prompted.
It was great to see Carson kick hard at the sheets wrapped around his legs
before he sort of lurched to his feet, still caught up in bedding. "You
overslept."
"Bloody hell..." Carson looked bleary eyed at them both.
"It's Christmas, Carson, and Santa came," Grant pointed out. "And Shona has
made a big breakfast because dinner will be late."
Carson blinked a few times and then smiled. "Merry Christmas, Rodney, Grant. At
least you didn’t wake me up like the twins usually do with a flannel. A very
cold wet flannel."
"What would they do with a cold wet flannel?" It felt good to watch Carson
smile, and Rodney edged in closer, picking up a sweater for Carson from the
chair he had situated at his little desk.
"Usually dump it on my face, or down my back," Carson said, getting up and
taking the sweater. "We best get down there before the food vanishes. Because
we'll be opening presents at the same time."
"Is it a speed event?" Rodney asked, grinning as he moved to herd Grant out the
door. "I don't think we really have to worry about the food vanishing."
"You haven't seen my family in action," Carson said as they headed off down the
stairs. "It can get a bit loud."
Just from how many of them there were, sure, Rodney assumed that. He started
down the stairs, moving steadily, a hand on the railing, one foot in front of
the other. It was funny that he'd always hated going down stairs before.
It had been returning to the basement and, even when he was out of the
basement, it was a reminder each time that he had failed to get Grant out.
"Merry Christmas, sleepyheads," Lachlan said from where he was literally piling
things onto the breakfast table.
"Collin! Leave the bacon until everyone is here!" Shona called out.
"Hey, they snooze, they lose," Collin said, stealing a fresh bread roll and
snagging bacon to put inside it.
"It smelled too good to get up," Rodney countered, herding Grant in front of
him. "Go wild. Shona, this looks great, all of it..."
"Why thank you, Rodney," Shona replied. "At least someone has manners. Help
yourselves, grab a plate, we'll be eating and opening presents in the living
room. People tend to just come back and refill as we go along."
"Oh, that's..." Neat, and something he was only starting to get used to doing.
Shona didn't much care for how it *looked* as much as for how they could all be
there as a family.
Not like his mother, where it was all about appearance. Carson had grabbed a
plate and was piling it high.
"Hey, are those scotch pancakes?" Jamie bounded in, all flamboyance and bright
smiles. "Gimme, I love them hot with butter."
"Don't eat all of them," Carson said. "I want Rodney and Grant to try them."
"What's a scotch pancake?" Rodney leaned in, grabbed a plate to press into
Grant's hands before he got one for himself.
"One of these. Sort've mini pancakes," Carson said. "Here, try it with butter."
Grant was helping himself to pretty much something of everything even as Collin
tugged him towards the living room. He didn't freak this time, which was good.
It was great. There was too much food, and Rodney was moving slower, picking
and choosing what he wanted to try the very very most.
At first it looked like an impossible amount, but he had underestimated the
ability of the Becketts to eat. By the time they all went in the living room
they had made a big dent in the amount of food there, and he had no doubt they
would be going back for more.
Collin had taken up position by the tree and the pile of presents, and Aileen
and Allan were getting the stockings that had been hung up over the fireplace.
"Okay, stockings everyone," Aileen called out. "Col... no shooting the orange
this year,."
"It accidentally exploded. I reckon it was fermenting," Collin said catching
the stocking.
"Mum, Dad, Carson, Rodney... pass that to Rodney, Carson... Grant..."
Grant looked like he'd been passed pure gold as he took his own stocking.
"Is...is this mine?" he asked, looking at Rodney.
"Yeah." Rodney took his stocking by the handle, though, waiting for the others
to dig through them. Collin had just said something about oranges and oh, hell.
"Actually, the oranges have been replaced this year with candy," Shona said. "I
made fudge instead." She smiled at Rodney and he realized that his expression
must've given him away.
"But fudge is actually useful, mum," Collin said and Mairi snickered a little.
"You are not likely to die of scurvy if you don't have an orange," Lachlan
pointed out. "But Rodney might be very ill if it gets to him."
"Sorry." Except, he wasn't at all. He settled down, balancing his plate on his
knees while he watched Grant slowly dig through his stocking, starting to peer
through his own. There were little candy things, mint-things that looked nice,
maybe air-puffed peppermint things? He wasn't sure, but he took a bite of
pancake before he slipped one into his mouth.
It was really nice. Not too sweet but somehow satisfying, a little like a
batter cake, and Grant was eating a sausage in a roll as he took each thing out
as if it was precious. There were silly things in the stocking as well, the
sort've toys they were meant to be too old to play with. There were small
wrapped pairs of socks, and bits and pieces, and Grant had each one of his
lined up in front of him, and it was the most he'd ever had in his life.
It really was, and it made Rodney sort of sad and sort of pleased too, because
Grant could finally have things. "What's caught your eye most?" Rodney asked,
leaning in close to Grant. There was no sense in asking what he liked the
*most*, because he liked it all
"I..I like this toy," Grant said picking up the Rubik cube. "The colors move.
You can make patterns."
Carson grinned. "The idea is to have someone mess it up randomly and then see
how quickly you can get it back to that state."
"I think the messing it up part might be the best part," Rodney told him,
watching Grant twist it.
"Here, Grant, do you want to try that?" Carson said, even as he ducked Collin's
dart gunshot.
Grant nodded, and Carson took the cube and messed it up, then tossed it back to
Grant who stared at it for a bit.
"I did mine in under five minutes once," Allan said, as he opened what appeared
to be a smart looking tie.
Grant blinked at him a moment, and then, with sure deft movements, twisted and
turned the Rubik's cube without hurrying until it was done.
It left Rodney feeling proud of Grant. He dumped his stocking out onto the
niche of sofa to his right, and started to sort the candy back into the
stocking.
"Right then. Main presents," Shona said. "Who do we have first, Collin, as you
are nearest?"
"We have... a present for Grant from Rodney," Collin announce. "Pass it round."
"It's just..." Rodney sat up a little, and just hurriedly put the candy back
into his stocking. "Something I made. I didn't get anyone anything really
impressive..."
"Believe me, Rodney, there's no obligation," Shona reassured.
Grant took the gift, and started unwrapping it carefully. Carson settled
himself next to Rodney and murmured. "What you get him?"
"Light." It was probably a weird answer, but it was true. He'd tried to think
of something that Grant had wanted forever, and other than more books -- books,
things to learn were always something Grant wanted -- Grant had wanted light. A
light he could keep with him, small, and that never ran out of power.
So he'd made him one. It was small, but it had a battery, and a back up wind up
dynamo.
The look on Grant's face as he opened it and realized what it was, was perfect.
He looked shocked and amazed, and then, after he had turned it on and off a few
times, totally delighted. He leaned over from where he was sitting on the floor
and hugged Rodney’s legs.
"You're welcome," Rodney grinned, leaning down to press a hand against Grant's
back. "I knew you'd like it."
"I have light!" Grant said looking up at him. "A light of my own! And, and it
doesn't matter if it's dark because there is a light now."
A few other presents had been passed around while they had been talking and
Carson had ended up with some clothes, and books.
"And here we have a present for Carson from Rodney, and one for Rodney from
Carson," Collin said passing them over.
It seemed like the made by himself thing seemed to be a good idea, Rodney
decided as he grinned back at his brother. "I thought you might like that. I
wish I could've done it sooner." It was more interesting too, to see what
people thought of what he got them, than the other way around.
"Hey, you made that?" Jamie asked. "That's cool. Things that are made are the
best."
"Which means we've all got one of your creations again this year?" Isobel said.
"Aye, well, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised, Iz," Jamie answered, and
Carson was opening his present beside him.
Rodney heard a laugh as Carson pulled out the item he had made. "It's probably
not up to spec," he apologized, a little sheepishly.
"It's a stethoscope, you made me a stethoscope?" Carson asked grinning. "Oh
hey, it works.." He placed it on Rodney's chest.
Rodney tried to not laugh, and just grinned while he watched Carson. "I hope
so. It's just an acoustic stethoscope. I didn't want to try something more
complicated with it and then just ruin its usefulness."
"I can't believe you made that. Dad, have a look at this," Carson said letting
his father look at his present.
"That's a nice piece of equipment there," Lachlan approved. "Nice work,
Rodney."
"Open your present!” Carson encouraged.
"If I ask you what it is before I open it, you'll smack me," Rodney bantered,
starting to carefully slit the tapeline at the back.
Grant had just opened a present with a homemade scarf in it by Mairi, and had
it wrapped around his neck. "What is it?"
Rodney peeled the paper off, and he was pleased by how heavy the whole thing
felt -- heavy meant books, and books he knew he'd like, he always liked...
"Holy shit. Carson!"
Carson beamed. "Do you like it? You said you wanted one really badly."
"You, how did you do this?" He stroked a hand over the box carefully. There was
part of an 'open box' sticker peeled off at the corner, and Rodney was torn
between looking in detail at his prize and hugging Carson, because. Because
Carson had spent who knew how much on a gift for *Rodney*, a CD player, and
he'd wanted one, he had, because lasers and music and oh.
"I saved up," Carson said smiling. "Mum gave me lots of jobs to do and I did a
few lawns this summer. And mum helped as well. She thought it was a good idea."
Shona nodded. "Your music should be encouraged Rodney. And I'm sure Grant and
Carson will get a wee bit of use from it too."
"This is going right up into the..." Rodney waved his hand a little, and leaned
over to hug Carson. "I almost said 'crash room' but I forget sometimes it's
your bedroom, too."
"We'll all try it out," Carson replied, smiling at him.
"And that's where my present comes in," Lachlan said passing over a wrapped box
that definitely had to be CD's of some description.
"You all conspired." It wasn't an accusation, though, because Rodney couldn't
stop smiling as he took that wrapped box and looked down at the box on his lap.
"I, thank you."
"You deserved it sweetheart," Shona assured him. "Considering what you've been
through. Now, the big present for Carson is going to be shared by you and Grant
as well okay?" A large box was pushed over towards them and there was really
only one thing it could be. A computer.
"Carson should open it," Rodney said, voice tinged with a little awe. CD
player, and CDs. He was trying to surreptitiously open the CD box.
Carson nodded and set about tearing his way into the box.
"Well, that's the boys taken care of for the day," Aileen commented dryly. "I
have to say, Jamie, this jewelry is exquisite."
"All made by my own fair hands with the help of twin here," he said nodding to
Mairi. "It's from both of us."
"Now this would sell commercially in a big way," Allan agreed, looking at his
handcrafted tiepin in the shape of a dollar sign.
The CDs turned out to be two compilations, one of classical music, and one of
the greatest hits of the year to date. Awesome. Rodney shifted them to the sofa
behind him, and moved to sit beside Grant on the floor, seeing as Carson was
already on the floor, plucking at the packing tape on his computer's sales box.
"Hey, Grant."
"There are lots of things," Grant whispered to him. "Does that mean something
bad will happen?"
"No." Rodney shifted, and slid an arm behind Grant, and just sat there, pulling
his plate in close. "It means it's better than mom ever was."
Grant flicked his little light on and off a little while longer before asking
very quietly, barely audible over the noise of Beckett siblings, "Is this
home?"
"Yeah." Rodney slouched down a little, and picked at scrambled eggs that had
gotten sticky bun in them. "We have a home, and this is it."
And surrounded by the sounds of a normal family bickering and laughing, for the
first time he actually started to believe it.
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