And off we go
More Than Human, ch5
part 1
part 2
part 3
Title: More Than Human
Chapter 5: He Knows How to Use It, or Lonesome When You Go
Pairing: RrB/PpG
Rating: R, because they're teenagers and a good handful of them use terrible, filthy language.
Disclaimer: Pay your respect to Craig, not me.
Summary: There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. - Camus
Notes: For![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mathkid and juxtaposie, who werk that beta magic like nobody else's business and, in one case, know way more about tennis than I ever will.
More Than Human, Pt. 1 - Junior Spring Semester
May – He Knows How to Use It or Lonesome When You Go (cont.)
-sbj-
***
She skipped practice all next day. Bubbles was generally a positive person, but when she felt like an emotional wreck she tended to draw into herself and shut people off. Even her closest friends had trouble talking to her.
That evening, though, when Buttercup came looking for someone to accompany her to the Townsville High End-of-Year Rock Band Concert, Bubbles caved. Pretending to study wasn't getting her much of anywhere, and showing up wasn't necessarily a guarantee that she'd talk to Boomer.
“They were going to cancel this thing,” Buttercup said conversationally a few songs into the show. “After that thing yesterday.”
“I heard. What changed their minds?”
“All the students made a big stink about it. Said canceling it was basically like letting terrorism win.”
“I don't get it. What does that even mean?” Bubbles said, frowning.
“Where's the set list?” Buttercup craned her neck over the crowd.
“Here.” Bubbles dug in her back pocket for the scrap of paper Boomer had stuffed into her locker mid-day when it became clear she wasn't going to be speaking to him. On it was the set list, scribbled in his barely readable handwriting. “Bloo Kazoo just finished. The Galaxy Girls are up next...”
Buttercup took the list from her and studied it as Bubbles shoved her hands into her pockets and sighed, scuffing her shoe along the ground as she was jostled by the rest of the crowd. Onstage the band was starting to set up.
“No Neck Joe doesn't go on for awhile,” Buttercup observed, handing the list back to Bubbles. She shook her head and indicated for Buttercup to keep it. “Hey, I'm going to go grab a soda. You want anything?”
“No, thank you. Wait, a brownie. A cookie.”
Buttercup gave her a look. “A brownie or a cookie?”
“Both. No, wait...” Bubbles sighed. “Never mind.”
As Buttercup disappeared in the direction of the concession tables at the back, Bubbles tried to focus on the stage. The lead guitarist stepped up to the mic. Behind her, Bubbles could see Haley adjusting her bass.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, we're doing something a bit different tonight. I know we're called The Galaxy Girls, but we're making someone an honorary fourth member for this night only...”
The crowd chatter died for a moment, and Bubbles blinked as Boomer strolled onto stage with his guitar in hand, beaming and waving as if he were in a beauty pageant. Slow laughter and cheering began to build up as he took center stage.
He tossed his head at the crowd. “What up, fools?!” He glanced at Bubbles and smiled as the crowd obliged him with some applause. “You came,” he said quietly, happily.
“Oh, my God, I cannot believe this guy,” Buttercup said as she reappeared next to Bubbles.
“Is—is this for real?” Bubbles stammered, gaze flitting endlessly between Boomer and Haley.
“Yeah, this is totally happening,” Buttercup said, popping her soda can open.
“Kinda every guy's dream to be onstage surrounded by hot girls, right?” Boomer said, gesturing to the band, and the crowd voiced their approval as Haley and her bandmates grinned. “But I'm actually up here tonight to cheer up a... friend of mine. Also, um, the other No Neck Joe guys said they'd rather strangle themselves on their guitar strings before playing this song.”
As the crowd laughed, Bubbles was trying to stay angry. He'd been planning this thing with Haley for over a week. He'd let her suffer from his absence for that long. One song was not going to win her over.
And yet. He'd been planning this with Haley for over a week. For her.
This is so not happening, Bubbles thought to herself through her giddiness, her excitement as Boomer turned his eye in her direction. This is so not happening.
“She's had kinda a rough time lately, guys,” Boomer went on. Several people turned to look at her, and an uncomfortable Buttercup edged away. “And I... I just, I haven't been that cool about stuff either, so... you know, she could use some cheering up.” He smiled, and strummed his guitar. “So, Bubbles?”
Bubbles was generally a positive person, and even when she was an emotional wreck it was never for long. The dull ache in her heart was already gone; it was swelling into something warm and wonderful as he met her eyes.
“This one's for you.”
Five seconds into the song, Buttercup groaned. “What the hell is this guy's obsession with Avril Lavigne?!”
***
“I totally gotcha,” Boomer teased as he and Bubbles walked around outside the school.
She looked up at the moonless sky, glad that he couldn't see her beaming in the darkness. “Okay, yeah.”
“I can't believe you thought we were getting back together!”
“I didn't think you were getting back together, I just—”
“You thought I was giving up on you.”
She hesitated before nodding. “Yes.”
“You thought I'd never really liked you, that once we hit a snag I just said, 'Oh well!' and tried to get my ex back.”
“You are a boy,” she pointed out.
“A boy who still likes you,” he said, and then they both were quiet as they shuffled along the walkway. A car passed by, and she glanced at his face as it was briefly illuminated.
He is so cute.
She turned away. “What's your obsession with Avril, anyway?”
He pouted. “You didn't like me singing, 'Hot,' to you onstage?”
“The song was fine. I was just wondering—along with everyone else in the room, I'm sure—why you're always singing her stuff!”
“She's this generation's Dylan, is why.”
Bubbles snorted. “You don't believe that.”
“How would you know?”
“You sing her because it gets you attention.” She smirked at him as they turned the corner and began to walk along the back of the school, away from the street. Most of the students had left already. “You like attention.”
“One of many things I like,” he said smoothly, and Bubbles felt his hand bump into hers. She hastily clasped her hands behind her back, her heart thudding happily in her chest.
They walked in silence for a bit.
“You were totally jealous,” Boomer said quietly, and Bubbles blushed in the dark.
She took a long moment to respond. “A little.”
He stepped in front of her and faced her, stopping them both. Even in the shadows she could see him smiling. “A lot.”
“... Maybe.”
He laughed, gently. “Why would you be jealous?”
She stared at him, taking in those eyes lifted in curiosity and that smile that already knew the answer.
When she didn't respond, he stepped a little closer and whispered, “You have no reason to be jealous. You got a piece of me...”
Her smile widened as he took another step. “And honestly?”
Their foreheads bumped together, touched, and he sang, “My life...”
“Boomer,” she finally laughed—he was always doing stuff like this, stuff that made it so hard—
“Would suck...”
She liked it. She liked him. So she let him drift closer, let herself smile as he did so.
“Without you...”
Her eyes fluttered closed as he pressed forward.
A sudden explosion of laughter—one of the doors had just opened—cut through the air, and they jerked away from each other, looking to the source of the interruption. One of the bands—judging from all the equipment they were carrying—filed out the door, laughing and chatting amongst themselves. Bubbles turned back to Boomer, catching his irritated expression in the light from the open door before they were both enveloped in darkness again.
She crossed her arms across her chest and resumed walking. His shoes scraped along the concrete as he jogged to catch up.
The moment was ruined. Bubbles had lost the lightness, the joy that filled her chest with the exhilaration of flirting with someone she liked.
“I'm going to kill those guys in their sleep,” Boomer muttered, and she smacked his shoulder.
“Leave them alone,” she scolded.
“No. I'm a bad guy.”
“Are you?”
He hesitated, catching the weight behind her question. “I mean I could revert to being a bad guy for this one time.”
“Leave them alone,” she repeated. “They shouldn't be killed just for exiting a school.”
He sighed. “You're making a better man out of me.”
She snorted. “We're still kids, Boomer.”
They both came to a stop, having circled around to the front of the school again. Boomer turned to her.
“Hey,” he said quietly, reaching a hand for her cheek.
She laughed nervously and pulled away. “Thanks, Boomer. That was really sweet, what you did.”
She almost leaned forward to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. A friendly one. A small one. But somewhere in the back of her mind she knew it was a snowball that would start an avalanche, and if she so much as leaned forward she might not be able to stop. So she only smiled and waved, ignoring the tightening in her chest.
She still didn't know, really. Whether he was good or bad. It was one thing when it came to her. It was another thing when it involved other people, people like Ashley, like the cheer squad, like the guys who'd interrupted their moment. His comment had reminded her.
Despite all that, it took an enormous amount of willpower for her to do this.
“Night, Boomer,” she whispered.
He looked at her in silence for a long while before sighing, “Night, Bubbles.”
She took off, heart sinking as they parted.
***
“Ugh! I totally had her!”
Butch watched Boomer pacing in front of the TV, face twisted in anguish. “Hey. Down in front.”
“It was perfect! Everything! The moment, the mood—and then those jackasses, they totally cockblocked me!”
“Why are you bugging me with this shit?” Butch frantically looked around. “Where the hell is Brick?”
“I can't believe it,” Boomer groaned, stopping directly in front of the TV, to Butch's immense chagrin.
“Don't you have better things to do than bug the shit out of me?” Butch cried, throwing the remote at Boomer, who caught it without looking.
“We've only got a few more weeks,” Boomer muttered, tossing the remote from hand to hand. He swore under his breath. “I was so God damn close...”
“Brick!” Butch called, voice desperate. “Brick! Help!”
“Geez, all this scheming shit is harder than it looks,” Boomer grumbled as he set the remote down on top of the TV (“No! Damn you!” Butch whined) and began to make his way to his room. “How does Brick make it look so easy?”
Boomer's door slammed just as Brick's opened, and a sullen, irritated redhead came stalking up to Butch. He stopped in front of the TV, glaring.
“What.”
Butch blinked at him, eyes flickering in the direction of Boomer's room. Then he pointed at the TV.
“Can you pass me the remote?”
Brick stared at him a long, long moment, then turned deliberately and picked up the remote. He held it up for Butch to see, eyes lifted in question, and Butch reached out from the safety of the couch, making grabby motions with his hands—
Brick crumpled it into a little wad and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor.
“Aagh!” Butch cried in despair.
“You bug me again and I'll be doing that to your balls,” Brick snarled, and walked stiffly back to his room.
***
Blossom had thought the school would cancel Dance Company auditions after the attack, but Townsville High was back up and running as usual within a couple of days, with AP tests resuming in the cafeteria instead of the devastated gym. The gym was blocked off for now with some measly yellow tape; they weren't going to start reconstruction until after testing was over.
Townsville was kind of used to violence against its person, she noted dimly. Bouncing back into normalcy was something its citizens had gotten really good at.
She was keeping busy. She still had three APs out of six total left to go, plus the Zombie Musical next week, plus preliminary practicing for next school year's Officer Induction Dance (Alicia's choreography was awesome and not the least bit sexual, but Blossom still got sick when she thought about what she might have to wear), plus today's Company auditions.
As was the case in previous years, she had a ton of people trying out for the Hip Hop team. While the Company did dances all together, they were also split up into further teams, specializing in Ballet, Jazz, Tap, Contemporary, and Hip Hop. Previously Blossom had headed Ballet and Hip Hop, but with so many students interested in Hip Hop she always had to turn Ballet auditions over to someone else.
She recognized a number of students from the community center she worked at over the summer. She always tried to be... “gentler” during auditions, but it was impossible not to exercise some firmness. These were auditions, after all.
After a grueling two hours, and many mental notes—she'd probably be cutting half of the kids auditioning—she dismissed them. As the studio fell into chatter, a couple of kids she'd worked with came trotting up. She smiled at them.
“Good to see you guys auditioning,” she said cheerily.
“Did we make it?” one of the girls asked.
“Like I'd tell you now! You'll find out next Tuesday,” Blossom said. Both of them were a Yes.
“Hey Blossom, I thought you guys had a Ballroom team?”
Blossom's attention briefly flickered, and she shook her head and said, “No, just a couple of us do Ballroom—me and Cindy, one of the girls who's graduating.”
“So it's just you now? What about that other guy?”
“I—you mean Brick?”
“Isn't he in Dance?”
“No,” Blossom said. “That was... part of a deal with... well, it's complicated.”
“He's really good!”
“Yeah, seriously! You guys looked amazing.”
“Thanks,” Blossom said, her mind flitting to the memory of Brick's arms around her as they danced. She almost smiled.
“Are you two going out?”
Blossom flushed red before she could answer, and the girls immediately latched onto it.
“Oh my God, you are!”
She found her voice and violently shook her head. “No! No, we're not! He's just—I mean, he was just my dance partner!”
“Knock knock.”
Blossom looked up to see a grinning Kris at the door to the studio and an overwhelming guilt suddenly swept over her. Like she'd just been caught cheating.
“Kris, hey! Can you wait for me outside? I'll be right there, promise. Girls, you'll find out about your auditions next week. Go home.”
“Are you doing any more ballroom dances?” one of them pressed.
“Probably not, unless I find a new partner,” Blossom said, the words somehow sinking in her chest.
Before the girls could question her further, she herded them out the side exit, then quickly locked up and changed. Kris was pacing the hall outside. He smiled when she came out.
“Hey,” he said, reaching for her hand, and she let him take it. “I'll drive you home.”
“Okay.”
Blossom walked hand in hand with Kris on the way out of the school. They passed by the yellow taped gym on the way, and she let her eyes linger on it as they passed, feeling numb. In her head she kept seeing Brick after the attack, looking almost comically heroic as Cindy and Kris had clung to him, tall and steady as a rock.
I was wrong about him. She felt wrong about everything. She had been so quick to leap to conclusions about his character, and while he hadn't discouraged those opinions of hers, he had proven that she knew nothing about character when people's lives were at stake.
He'd had no reason to help. He'd even said: he had to pack. It would've been easy for him to turn away. When she'd practically begged him to do as they said, most of her expected he'd just leave. But he hadn't.
A small part of her wanted to point out that despite the outcome, he hadn't come willingly, but she refused to let that thought surface. She wanted to believe he was a hero, she realized. She wanted him to be good.
“Blossom?”
She blinked, glancing at Kris. She'd practically forgotten he was there.
“Didn't mean to interrupt,” he said apologetically. “You were just really spacing out there.”
She stared at him, disheartened when even the act of looking at her boyfriend could not displace Brick from her mind. She felt wrong about this, too.
The weight of his hand felt heavy, foreign. Kris liked her so much. Too much. No, she couldn't do this.
“Kris,” she whispered, her voice cracking as a fear gripped her heart, a fear that felt different yet just as raw as the terror that overcame her in the face of impending loss, of defeat. This felt like the hardest thing.
She tried to push Brick out of her mind. She owed Kris that much.
“We have to talk.”
***
Brick paced the school grounds, waiting. The school doors creaked open behind him, and he turned reflexively to see who it was.
Cindy edged out, weaving her hands together. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
After a pause she came towards him, fidgeting. “I just... wanted to thank you for last week.”
Last week's attack. He shook his head and shrugged. “It was nothing.”
“No, it was something,” she said quietly. “It was my life. That's definitely something.”
If Brick had been any other type of guy he might've touched her hair or pulled her close for a hug. She looked that sad. But he only watched her, indifferent to the enormity of the emotional trauma he'd dealt her.
“Congrats, by the way,” he said.
“On what?”
“Graduating.”
“Oh. Yeah, thanks.”
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a long, black car pulling up. Mrs. Morbucks rolled down the window and waved.
He turned to Cindy and said, “Well, my ride's here.”
She was watching the car and looked as if she was fighting tears. “Yeah.”
Girls were so good at looking pathetic. Even Brick couldn't be immune to it all the time. He finally relented.
“I'm sorry,” he said, touching a hand to her cheek. She blinked in surprise, and his hand shifted against her skin. “About how it all went down.”
She bit her lip and nodded, a weak smile breaking onto her face.
Brick turned and got into the limo, where a beaming Mrs. Morbucks was waiting.
“Pretty girl,” she commented.
“She's not bad,” Brick said, holding a hand up in some semblance of a farewell gesture as he shut the door. The car started to move.
“She has such a sad face, though.”
“All girls do, at some point or another.”
Mrs. Morbucks' eyes were glittering. “Ah, yes. I remember.”
“You wanted to discuss something with me?”
The woman immediately shifted into business mode. “Brick, you've heard of PRM?”
He paused. “Formerly M2 Industries. European, right?”
“Basically JS, Inc.'s European equivalent, yes.”
“I hear they're at the top in that market. What about them?”
“When do you head back to JS?”
“Mid-June,” Brick said. “What about PRM?”
“When you go back,” Mrs. Morbucks said, smoothing out the skirt of her suit, “I want you to keep in mind PRM's interest in forming a partnership with JS, Inc.”
He settled back into his seat with a sigh and closed his eyes. “You're better off talking to Smith directly. I'm just a field agent. I don't carry any weight on the board.”
“I have no intention of speaking to Smith, or any of the current board members, for that matter.”
Brick lifted his head and opened his eyes to look at her. She smiled a winning smile at him.
“So why are you telling me?” he said quietly.
That smile of hers widened.
“You know.”
***
Brick went home in a weird mood. Butch commented on this the following Monday afternoon as he and Buttercup made their way to the school exits to take advantage of their free blocks.
“He's probably just happy about leaving,” Butch said.
“He didn't seem to like Townsville much,” Buttercup agreed. “How about you?”
“It's alright.” He caught sight of Blossom about to enter the school's double doors, and moved forward to open them for her. She paused, wary. They hadn't had much contact over the past few months.
“Go ahead,” he said politely, and she blinked. Buttercup was amused.
“Um... thanks,” Blossom said, still eyeing him as she passed.
“Anytime!” he called out. “...Beautiful,” he added under his breath.
“I heard that,” Blossom said in an undertone.
“Just telling it like it is,” he said with a shrug, allowing Buttercup to pass through first.
“Look at you, being civil,” Buttercup said approvingly.
“I may not be fluent in it, but I know a thing here and there.”
They meandered in silence for awhile, both half-heartedly contemplating things they could do to pass the time. It didn't feel particularly necessary. Just walking was nice enough.
Huh, Butch thought. Nice. This was nice. He stared at the sidewalk and matched his steps to hers.
Maybe it was too nice.
He looked up, knitting his brow as he scanned the residential area they'd wandered into. Somebody lived around here. The twins? Or was it Mitch? Which reminded him...
Butch huffed his bangs out of his face and asked, “So how come you and Mitch are so weird?”
Buttercup looked up and sighed. “It's... dumb.”
“Dumb how?”
“Just...” She waved it off. “Nothing. We just didn't make a good couple. We thought it'd work and it just didn't. You know. That kind of thing.”
“I don't know what the fuck you're saying,” Butch said bluntly.
“Thanks for your sensitivity,” she grumbled.
“It's been half a fucking year, hasn't it? Almost?”
“Look, we were friends a long damn time—”
“What'd he do? Cheat on you?”
“No.”
“Get you pregnant?”
“No!” she cried, punching him in the arm. “Shut up! We didn't even do that!”
“Then what the fuck was it?” he prodded, rubbing his arm. “Ow, by the way.”
She stared at him, the anger subsiding from her expression. A weird sort of numbness replaced it. “It was stupid,” she finally muttered. “Something really stupid.”
“Like what?”
“Are you going to mind your own God damn business or what?” she snapped. “I don't wanna talk about it.”
“Fine, whatever.” He watched her from the corner of his eye as they walked. The silence was no longer comfortable; tension was etched in every facet of Buttercup's face. It had just been a simple question. He had just been curious.
He huffed out a breath and looked around at the little suburban neighborhood they were walking through. He felt the sudden, inexplicable urge to break a window.
“You packed yet?” Buttercup suddenly asked, and he looked back at her.
“Hell, no! I got weeks.”
“Like... three.”
“I don't need three fucking weeks to throw my shit in a box.”
“You might need three fucking weeks to smoke it all, though,” Buttercup shot back with a smirk, and he started laughing.
“Good point. You should come over and help me out.”
“I've never been over to your place.”
“Wanna?”
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Naw. It's okay. I don't smoke or do any of that, anyway.”
“You're missing out.”
“So I've heard.”
They drifted past more houses and yards. Butch kicked a rock as they strolled along, sending it Buttercup's way at one point, and she kicked it back. They did this for a few more feet before it tumbled into the gutter and neither felt very inclined to go after it.
“For what it's worth,” Buttercup finally said, stuffing her hands in her pockets and staring straight ahead, “it was fun, man.”
Butch looked at her, feeling himself crack a smile.
“Yeah.”
***
“I'm missing a shirt,” Brick said aloud, perplexed. He wasn't packing so much as taking inventory, and after going through his things twice he realized one of his shirts had gone AWOL.
It wouldn't have mattered because it was just clothing, for fuck's sake, but it was one of his favorites. It was a crisp, bright red; a very comfortable shirt that worked casually or formally depending on what he paired it with. And he looked good in it. Brick was keen on looking good.
“Damn,” he muttered to himself. Maybe it was gone for good... no, impossible. He remembered wearing it, at some point... when? When had he last worn it? He must've left it somewhere.
He glanced at the clock. Technically, he had three more weeks for it to turn up, but it wasn't like he had a busy afternoon planned. Plus, he could take his precious Coil out for some exercise.
Brick pocketed his keys and left.
***
It felt good to be by herself.
Blossom stared for a long time at the mirrored wall, reflecting her lone self in the otherwise empty studio. Alicia had agreed to run the musical choreography rehearsals taking place this week at the Townsville Fine Arts Center. The students needed to get used to the space. They'd be performing at the end of the week.
Not that Blossom didn't want to help. She was just... just tired. With all the testing and practices and auditions and a very stressful armed attack not long ago, Blossom had not had much time for herself. And what free time she'd had had been spent with Kris.
Though he probably would've understood, if she'd needed time. He probably would've been cool with it. But lack of free time wasn't why she'd realized it wasn't going to work out.
She took a deep breath and turned on the stereo. Dwelling wasn't going to help things. She was here to take care of herself, and agonizing over things that were already said and done was futile.
Her music started, and she sighed in relief. It felt so good to be back. Alone.
Then about five minutes into her warm-ups Blossom decided she was going to freeze in that meat locker of a dance studio unless she put something on over her leotard. The tank top she’d changed out of would do little for the goosebumps that were only so far from taking up permanent residence on her arms.
She scrubbed her hands along her arms and trotted to the locker room. She hated to do this, but sometimes the other girls left sweatshirts in the studio. Surely it would be okay for her to just borrow one to practice in, at least until she’d warmed up…
There was one discarded hoodie on a bench, but it looked as if it’d last been used to scrub down the locker room, and Blossom would’ve opted to freeze to death long before she’d even touch it. After some fruitless scavenging, she gave up and headed back out to the floor. Her tank top would do. It was more important to keep her chest warm than her arms anyway.
As she drifted back into the main part of the studio, her eyes caught something hanging on the line of hooks next to the door, and she paused. It was a simple red button-down shirt—Brick’s, she knew, even at this distance.
Oh, no. That’s ridiculous. I’m not wearing that. Yet despite what she thought, Blossom found herself striding toward it, even though the studio didn’t even seem as cold now, even though the goosebumps on her arms were no longer a result of the chilly air…
She touched it more gingerly than necessary, eyes flickering to the door as if she might be caught at any moment, then realized it was silly to act like she was doing something wrong. Thirty seconds ago she’d wandered into the locker room looking for something exactly like this. She set her jaw and yanked it on, or did her best at yanking it on as it was very obviously not her size. The armpits came down to just under the curves of her breasts, and she had to fold the cuffs back four times just to bring them to her forearm. The tails of the shirt hung just shy of mid-thigh. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and blushed. There was something about girls in boys’ shirts that… well, that just looked sexy. She certainly felt something like that as she watched herself resume her warm-ups.
It surprised her how soft and comfortable Brick’s shirt was, almost as much as it surprised her how comfortable she felt in it, so much so that she didn’t think she wanted to take it off, but, well, she was getting ahead of herself, and that was just because it was warm and comfy, not because it smelled like him or anything like that.
Although it did smell like Brick. Not like sweaty Brick either, but clean, freshly showered Brick. And then she was thinking of Brick in the shower, and she felt even warmer, but not warm enough to take his shirt off. And then she was thinking of taking his shirt off, and then she was thinking her brain should not be allowed to wander into crazy territory like that. Silly brain.
She took a few deep breaths to clear her mind, to eliminate everything except the sensation of her body, stretching and moving to the music, forming lines of moving art with her legs and arms and torso. She sank into the familiar routine, letting her stretches carry her into a freeform dance, and everything else fluttered out of her mind as she lost herself in the music and the delicious feeling of releasing all her worldly ties and responsibilities as she moved on this earth, full of all passion and no stress.
Brick’s shirt whispered around her as she danced, and it smelled like him. When she closed her eyes, it almost felt like him.
Before she could stop herself, her thoughts were miles away from sense and logic. Dancing was the only thing on her mind.
Well... dancing and...
Suddenly it wasn’t her arms encircled about her but his, his curving down her neck, along her waist, and she tucked his shirt around her like a security blanket, foolishly letting herself wish that the arms she felt were his and the eyes she saw when she closed her own were real and not a figment of her imagination.
Brick’s shirt whispered around her as she danced, and it smelled like him.
***
He hadn't expected to find his shirt at Mrs. Morbucks'—it had been so long since he'd been there, after all—so that really only left Townsville High's dance studio. He'd probably taken it off during practice with Blossom or something.
The halls were deserted, save for a few students studying in the atrium. Brick floated past, not wanting to walk and listen to his steps, which would sound loud and invasive in that big empty space.
The locker room was quiet; he could pick up on the lack of movement with his superhearing. Beyond that, though...
It brought Brick very little joy to watch Blossom dance. And yet, he always seemed to have a great deal of trouble stopping.
He could see her when he floated in, just through the open door to the studio. He held his breath, eyes trained on the girl twirling across the floor, long legs just barely brushing the hardwood. Her hair whipped about her face, messy and undone—a far cry from the usual prim ponytail she kept it in when dancing. It was all in her eyes, masking her expression, and strands of it kept getting stuck in her mouth, which for some outrageous reason was really setting Brick off. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her lips; every time they slipped into his line of sight his gaze was riveted to them like lead to a magnet.
He caught himself wetting his lips and jerked his head away. What was with him? It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. Blossom dancing. Big deal. Dancing in his clothes, granted, that was different, and he made an effort to squash the line of thought that almost instantly followed the question of why she’d be in his clothing at all—
His eyes flicked back, and he slowly turned his head. She wore it well. There was just something about girls in boys’ shirts that made boys want to… do things.
Blossom’s figure, clad in her black leotard and tights, stood out in even starker contrast to the vibrant red of his shirt. When she hit the floor and turned it fell away from her frame, caressing her body as she moved. Against his better judgment, Brick swallowed.
Your shirt, a little voice in his head reminded him, and he blinked, forcing himself forward, against the desire to stay still and just watch, just a little longer. He brought his hand up and rapped sharply on the doorframe.
Blossom gave a little gasp and jumped, twisting around to see who'd snuck up on her. Her hair fell into a wispy mess around her face, and she hastily patted it back, the sleeves of his shirt falling back to her elbows.
“Brick,” she breathed, and hell, that was something.
He simply stared at her for awhile before she shifted uneasily and said, “Um, yes?”
He blinked and shook his head a little to clear it. “Hey. I...” He looked her up and down, not really meaning to. “I was looking for my shirt.”
She glanced down, her face taking on a shade of red almost bright enough to rival the shirt's. “Oh! Yeah, I—I'm sorry, I was just... it's always freezing in here, I didn't have the sense to bring something of my own, and this was on the back wall.”
She rolled down the sleeves and walked over to him just as he began walking towards her. They met somewhere in the middle, and after straightening out the sleeves, the collar, she scrambled out of it and held it out to him.
“Here.”
He made sure to grab at the part of shirt that was most definitely not clenched in her hand to avoid contact of any variety.
“Thanks.” He folded it over in his arms, then said, “What are you doing here? I thought you'd be prepping for that inane musical, or out with your boyfriend—”
He paused, noting how she tensed at the mention of Kris.
“Or studying,” he finished quietly, his gaze boring into her.
“I just... needed some alone time,” she said dismissively.
Her attempt to be vague and nonchalant was betrayed by the weight of her tone; there was something else, something more.
“Kris is okay with that?” he asked. “I mean, you guys probably haven't been spending a lot of time together as it is—”
“We broke up,” she interrupted abruptly, and the room suddenly felt brighter, the air cleaner. Blossom, however, was staring down at the floorboards and looking remarkably guilty. “It wasn't him—”
Brick couldn't help it; he gave a short laugh and finished for her, “'It was you?' Please, you gotta have something more original than that.”
“It’s the truth,” she said defensively. “Kris was a really good guy—”
He shrugged. “Kinda bland, if you ask me—”
“Well, you’re not a very good judge of character,” she snapped, and he wondered why she was so worked up about this. It was just high school, for Christ's sake...
She almost seemed to sense the question. “He deserved better,” she continued, her gaze falling to the floor. “And… it wasn’t right, that he was so into me, and I…”
Brick clenched his teeth, completely involuntarily, and stared intently at her. What, he wanted to scream, What?
Blossom was fixated on the wood grains next to her foot. “I couldn't—”
Suddenly she looked up, as if she had just now noticed Brick, and her face hardened. “What does it matter to you?”
Her abrupt shift in mood caught him off guard, and he almost went on the defensive before he realized he was in no mood to get into a screaming match with her. It just seemed to happen so often with them, and frankly, he was sick of it.
“It doesn't,” he muttered, and evidently his lack of animosity caught her off guard. She stepped back, a little stunned.
“Well... okay then,” she said, and rubbed at her arm.
Brick swept his gaze across the studio one last time, hesitating when it fell back to her. He directed his attention to his shirt, wrinkling in his hands.
He held it up. “Thanks.”
“Sure.”
So there. He turned and began to walk out.
“Brick,” Blossom called out, catching his attention. He paused and pivoted, his expression questioning.
“Why did you help that day in the gym?”
Brick stared at her, reflecting on how small her voice had sounded, how frantic and desperate her eyes had been.
He turned away. “I don't know,” he mumbled, and left Blossom to her alone time.
***
Opening night was upon them.
Bubbles took a deep breath and shook out her nerves in the green room. One of the girls sounded like she was getting ready to throw up her nervousness—literally, she was announcing it to the entire room. Bubbles didn't think she wanted to bear witness to that, so she slunk out and wandered down the hall of the Fine Arts Center, dodging several frantic fellow cast members along the way. Robin was one of the trumpet players in the orchestra pit—Bubbles thought she'd drop by and say hi, and then maybe wander backstage to chat with Blossom a bit...
Robin wasn't at her stand, though Bubbles recognized her trumpet case. There was a pencil on her music stand, and after a second, Bubbles scribbled a note on Robin's music—Do us proud!
“Bubbles?”
She turned, finding a black-clad Haley looking at her curiously. “Oh! Haley, hi!”
“You aren't backstage practicing?”
Bubbles winced, setting the pencil back down on the stand. “Thought I'd come say hi to Robin, but she isn't here... one of the girls sounded like she was going to barf her nerves out back there. I didn't really feel like sticking around.”
Haley made a face. “Eugh. I don't blame you.”
“Are you part of the orchestra—I mean, band tonight?”
“Yeah.” The dark-haired girl turned and pointed at her bass guitar, nearby. “I'm not sure how it happened, but Boomer talked me into helping out.”
“Well, he does think you're pretty talented—which you are.”
Haley smiled at her. “Thanks.”
“No, I should thank you. That was... I mean, back last week, the whole Boomer performance thing.” Bubbles bit her lip and looked apologetic. “I'm sure that was... I dunno...”
“Awkward?” Haley supplied, and they shared a laugh. “Yeah, I was kinda weirded out when he asked me about it. But whatever.” She shrugged. “Holding grudges isn't going to get you anywhere, right? And you know, when you get right down to it, it wasn't like he was a bad boyfriend. I gotta give the guy credit for knowing what he wants and going after it.”
Bubbles rubbed at her neck, fighting a blush. She remembered how cute they'd been together; she still felt guilty about this.
Haley read her expression and said dismissively, “Look, whatever. It's over.” After a pause, she added, “If that's what's keeping you from going out with him, don't let it. He's a nice guy. At least, he was when we were dating for all of five seconds... you'd probably have a better idea than me, now. You two really seem to hit it off.”
“Yeah, well...”
“Just go out with him!” Haley encouraged, her smile genuine. “What's holding you back, really?”
Bubbles shrugged helplessly. “This and that. Also he's leaving, like, in June.”
Haley raised her eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Ugh.” Haley crossed her arms and looked off into the distance, thoughtful. “Well, suck. That's rough.”
“Hey!” The two girls looked up to see Boomer approaching them, already decorated in zombie make-up. “There you are!”
Haley snorted. “You look ridiculous.”
Boomer frowned. “Really? I'm supposed to look dead. Dead of the rotting flesh variety and all.”
“What brings you to the orchestra pit?” Bubbles asked.
“Some girl threw up in the green room,” Boomer said, gagging. “Hey, I wanted to practice your death scene with you.”
Before Bubbles could protest, Boomer was dragging her away as Haley waved at the both of them. On the way they passed Blossom, who was trying to deal with a frantic cast member who couldn't remember their moves for the big dance number. For a girl who'd just broken up with her boyfriend last week, Bubbles thought she looked remarkably composed. Then again, she herself hadn't exactly spent a lot of tears agonizing over the split with Will. But Kris had seemed so nice...
Boomer stopped them in a not-so-crowded area of the hall and knelt. “Okay! Let's go.”
“Go what?” Bubbles asked as she laid down, settling her head in Boomer's lap and hoping he couldn't hear her heart drumming in her chest. This scene always put her on edge. “I don't exactly have a lot of dialogue in this scene, being dead and all.”
“Shh,” he hushed. “It's dramatic. I gotta get it right, don't I? Close your eyes.”
Bubbles obediently complied, going completely still. After a second, she felt Boomer stroking back her hair, whispering his lines—it was crowded back there, but she had superhearing...
“God, sis... I messed up, I messed up so bad...”
He drew her limp body up and hugged her, pressing her close. Bubbles fought back the inclination to embrace him back; she was dead, after all.
“I should've listened to you, I never should've... I should've left them alone. She wasn't worth it. She isn't worth this...”
This is it, Bubbles thought as Boomer slowly, slowly set her back down. This is how it ends. He starts a war to take back the girl who left him and winds up losing the person most precious to him. And that's it.
Well, save for a comical duet where her zombie-self began to awaken and started singing along as he rejected his ex one final time before returning to the world of the dead and ending the zombies' World Reclamation scheme.
“You play a really good dead girl.”
Bubbles cracked open an eye to look at a grinning Boomer. “So you're saying as long as I'm not moving or speaking, I make a good actor?”
“Hey, come on. I'm going to dig any role that involves me carrying you around and holding you close, aren't I?” He considered for a moment. “Or at least that would be second on my list, right after any role that involves us being a couple and kissing a lot.”
“Oh, you're making a list now?”
“Boomer! Bubbles! They're rounding us up! Let's go, we're starting in like fifteen minutes!”
They scrambled to their feet, Boomer grasping Bubbles by the hand before she could move on her own, and he pulled her along as they joined the throng of people heading backstage.
“This is it,” she breathed, and Boomer threw a smile back at her over his shoulder.
“This is it,” he agreed.
Before they hit the doors that would take them backstage, Dr. Wendell stopped everybody to give them one last pep talk. Bubbles couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. Boomer was still holding her hand. Fifteen minutes seemed to go by all too quickly. Within what felt like seconds they were silently gliding backstage, taking their places behind the curtain as Dr. Wendell stepped outside to a round of applause.
Boomer finally let go of Bubbles' hand. She looked at him as he drifted by—he wasn't in the first scene, so he took his place back where he'd be out of sight once the curtain went up.
Just go out with him, Haley had said.
He really did look goofy, all done up like a zombie. She couldn't help but smile as he met her eyes.
He grinned at her. “Ready?” he whispered, and she felt those ever-present butterflies alighting in her stomach, those butterflies that had nothing to do with performance anxiety.
“Ready,” she whispered back, and the curtain went up.
-fin-
part 1
part 2
part 3
Title: More Than Human
Chapter 5: He Knows How to Use It, or Lonesome When You Go
Pairing: RrB/PpG
Rating: R, because they're teenagers and a good handful of them use terrible, filthy language.
Disclaimer: Pay your respect to Craig, not me.
Summary: There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. - Camus
Notes: For
mathkid and juxtaposie, who werk that beta magic like nobody else's business and, in one case, know way more about tennis than I ever will.More Than Human, Pt. 1 - Junior Spring Semester
May – He Knows How to Use It or Lonesome When You Go (cont.)
-sbj-
***
She skipped practice all next day. Bubbles was generally a positive person, but when she felt like an emotional wreck she tended to draw into herself and shut people off. Even her closest friends had trouble talking to her.
That evening, though, when Buttercup came looking for someone to accompany her to the Townsville High End-of-Year Rock Band Concert, Bubbles caved. Pretending to study wasn't getting her much of anywhere, and showing up wasn't necessarily a guarantee that she'd talk to Boomer.
“They were going to cancel this thing,” Buttercup said conversationally a few songs into the show. “After that thing yesterday.”
“I heard. What changed their minds?”
“All the students made a big stink about it. Said canceling it was basically like letting terrorism win.”
“I don't get it. What does that even mean?” Bubbles said, frowning.
“Where's the set list?” Buttercup craned her neck over the crowd.
“Here.” Bubbles dug in her back pocket for the scrap of paper Boomer had stuffed into her locker mid-day when it became clear she wasn't going to be speaking to him. On it was the set list, scribbled in his barely readable handwriting. “Bloo Kazoo just finished. The Galaxy Girls are up next...”
Buttercup took the list from her and studied it as Bubbles shoved her hands into her pockets and sighed, scuffing her shoe along the ground as she was jostled by the rest of the crowd. Onstage the band was starting to set up.
“No Neck Joe doesn't go on for awhile,” Buttercup observed, handing the list back to Bubbles. She shook her head and indicated for Buttercup to keep it. “Hey, I'm going to go grab a soda. You want anything?”
“No, thank you. Wait, a brownie. A cookie.”
Buttercup gave her a look. “A brownie or a cookie?”
“Both. No, wait...” Bubbles sighed. “Never mind.”
As Buttercup disappeared in the direction of the concession tables at the back, Bubbles tried to focus on the stage. The lead guitarist stepped up to the mic. Behind her, Bubbles could see Haley adjusting her bass.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, we're doing something a bit different tonight. I know we're called The Galaxy Girls, but we're making someone an honorary fourth member for this night only...”
The crowd chatter died for a moment, and Bubbles blinked as Boomer strolled onto stage with his guitar in hand, beaming and waving as if he were in a beauty pageant. Slow laughter and cheering began to build up as he took center stage.
He tossed his head at the crowd. “What up, fools?!” He glanced at Bubbles and smiled as the crowd obliged him with some applause. “You came,” he said quietly, happily.
“Oh, my God, I cannot believe this guy,” Buttercup said as she reappeared next to Bubbles.
“Is—is this for real?” Bubbles stammered, gaze flitting endlessly between Boomer and Haley.
“Yeah, this is totally happening,” Buttercup said, popping her soda can open.
“Kinda every guy's dream to be onstage surrounded by hot girls, right?” Boomer said, gesturing to the band, and the crowd voiced their approval as Haley and her bandmates grinned. “But I'm actually up here tonight to cheer up a... friend of mine. Also, um, the other No Neck Joe guys said they'd rather strangle themselves on their guitar strings before playing this song.”
As the crowd laughed, Bubbles was trying to stay angry. He'd been planning this thing with Haley for over a week. He'd let her suffer from his absence for that long. One song was not going to win her over.
And yet. He'd been planning this with Haley for over a week. For her.
This is so not happening, Bubbles thought to herself through her giddiness, her excitement as Boomer turned his eye in her direction. This is so not happening.
“She's had kinda a rough time lately, guys,” Boomer went on. Several people turned to look at her, and an uncomfortable Buttercup edged away. “And I... I just, I haven't been that cool about stuff either, so... you know, she could use some cheering up.” He smiled, and strummed his guitar. “So, Bubbles?”
Bubbles was generally a positive person, and even when she was an emotional wreck it was never for long. The dull ache in her heart was already gone; it was swelling into something warm and wonderful as he met her eyes.
“This one's for you.”
Five seconds into the song, Buttercup groaned. “What the hell is this guy's obsession with Avril Lavigne?!”
***
“I totally gotcha,” Boomer teased as he and Bubbles walked around outside the school.
She looked up at the moonless sky, glad that he couldn't see her beaming in the darkness. “Okay, yeah.”
“I can't believe you thought we were getting back together!”
“I didn't think you were getting back together, I just—”
“You thought I was giving up on you.”
She hesitated before nodding. “Yes.”
“You thought I'd never really liked you, that once we hit a snag I just said, 'Oh well!' and tried to get my ex back.”
“You are a boy,” she pointed out.
“A boy who still likes you,” he said, and then they both were quiet as they shuffled along the walkway. A car passed by, and she glanced at his face as it was briefly illuminated.
He is so cute.
She turned away. “What's your obsession with Avril, anyway?”
He pouted. “You didn't like me singing, 'Hot,' to you onstage?”
“The song was fine. I was just wondering—along with everyone else in the room, I'm sure—why you're always singing her stuff!”
“She's this generation's Dylan, is why.”
Bubbles snorted. “You don't believe that.”
“How would you know?”
“You sing her because it gets you attention.” She smirked at him as they turned the corner and began to walk along the back of the school, away from the street. Most of the students had left already. “You like attention.”
“One of many things I like,” he said smoothly, and Bubbles felt his hand bump into hers. She hastily clasped her hands behind her back, her heart thudding happily in her chest.
They walked in silence for a bit.
“You were totally jealous,” Boomer said quietly, and Bubbles blushed in the dark.
She took a long moment to respond. “A little.”
He stepped in front of her and faced her, stopping them both. Even in the shadows she could see him smiling. “A lot.”
“... Maybe.”
He laughed, gently. “Why would you be jealous?”
She stared at him, taking in those eyes lifted in curiosity and that smile that already knew the answer.
When she didn't respond, he stepped a little closer and whispered, “You have no reason to be jealous. You got a piece of me...”
Her smile widened as he took another step. “And honestly?”
Their foreheads bumped together, touched, and he sang, “My life...”
“Boomer,” she finally laughed—he was always doing stuff like this, stuff that made it so hard—
“Would suck...”
She liked it. She liked him. So she let him drift closer, let herself smile as he did so.
“Without you...”
Her eyes fluttered closed as he pressed forward.
A sudden explosion of laughter—one of the doors had just opened—cut through the air, and they jerked away from each other, looking to the source of the interruption. One of the bands—judging from all the equipment they were carrying—filed out the door, laughing and chatting amongst themselves. Bubbles turned back to Boomer, catching his irritated expression in the light from the open door before they were both enveloped in darkness again.
She crossed her arms across her chest and resumed walking. His shoes scraped along the concrete as he jogged to catch up.
The moment was ruined. Bubbles had lost the lightness, the joy that filled her chest with the exhilaration of flirting with someone she liked.
“I'm going to kill those guys in their sleep,” Boomer muttered, and she smacked his shoulder.
“Leave them alone,” she scolded.
“No. I'm a bad guy.”
“Are you?”
He hesitated, catching the weight behind her question. “I mean I could revert to being a bad guy for this one time.”
“Leave them alone,” she repeated. “They shouldn't be killed just for exiting a school.”
He sighed. “You're making a better man out of me.”
She snorted. “We're still kids, Boomer.”
They both came to a stop, having circled around to the front of the school again. Boomer turned to her.
“Hey,” he said quietly, reaching a hand for her cheek.
She laughed nervously and pulled away. “Thanks, Boomer. That was really sweet, what you did.”
She almost leaned forward to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. A friendly one. A small one. But somewhere in the back of her mind she knew it was a snowball that would start an avalanche, and if she so much as leaned forward she might not be able to stop. So she only smiled and waved, ignoring the tightening in her chest.
She still didn't know, really. Whether he was good or bad. It was one thing when it came to her. It was another thing when it involved other people, people like Ashley, like the cheer squad, like the guys who'd interrupted their moment. His comment had reminded her.
Despite all that, it took an enormous amount of willpower for her to do this.
“Night, Boomer,” she whispered.
He looked at her in silence for a long while before sighing, “Night, Bubbles.”
She took off, heart sinking as they parted.
***
“Ugh! I totally had her!”
Butch watched Boomer pacing in front of the TV, face twisted in anguish. “Hey. Down in front.”
“It was perfect! Everything! The moment, the mood—and then those jackasses, they totally cockblocked me!”
“Why are you bugging me with this shit?” Butch frantically looked around. “Where the hell is Brick?”
“I can't believe it,” Boomer groaned, stopping directly in front of the TV, to Butch's immense chagrin.
“Don't you have better things to do than bug the shit out of me?” Butch cried, throwing the remote at Boomer, who caught it without looking.
“We've only got a few more weeks,” Boomer muttered, tossing the remote from hand to hand. He swore under his breath. “I was so God damn close...”
“Brick!” Butch called, voice desperate. “Brick! Help!”
“Geez, all this scheming shit is harder than it looks,” Boomer grumbled as he set the remote down on top of the TV (“No! Damn you!” Butch whined) and began to make his way to his room. “How does Brick make it look so easy?”
Boomer's door slammed just as Brick's opened, and a sullen, irritated redhead came stalking up to Butch. He stopped in front of the TV, glaring.
“What.”
Butch blinked at him, eyes flickering in the direction of Boomer's room. Then he pointed at the TV.
“Can you pass me the remote?”
Brick stared at him a long, long moment, then turned deliberately and picked up the remote. He held it up for Butch to see, eyes lifted in question, and Butch reached out from the safety of the couch, making grabby motions with his hands—
Brick crumpled it into a little wad and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor.
“Aagh!” Butch cried in despair.
“You bug me again and I'll be doing that to your balls,” Brick snarled, and walked stiffly back to his room.
***
Blossom had thought the school would cancel Dance Company auditions after the attack, but Townsville High was back up and running as usual within a couple of days, with AP tests resuming in the cafeteria instead of the devastated gym. The gym was blocked off for now with some measly yellow tape; they weren't going to start reconstruction until after testing was over.
Townsville was kind of used to violence against its person, she noted dimly. Bouncing back into normalcy was something its citizens had gotten really good at.
She was keeping busy. She still had three APs out of six total left to go, plus the Zombie Musical next week, plus preliminary practicing for next school year's Officer Induction Dance (Alicia's choreography was awesome and not the least bit sexual, but Blossom still got sick when she thought about what she might have to wear), plus today's Company auditions.
As was the case in previous years, she had a ton of people trying out for the Hip Hop team. While the Company did dances all together, they were also split up into further teams, specializing in Ballet, Jazz, Tap, Contemporary, and Hip Hop. Previously Blossom had headed Ballet and Hip Hop, but with so many students interested in Hip Hop she always had to turn Ballet auditions over to someone else.
She recognized a number of students from the community center she worked at over the summer. She always tried to be... “gentler” during auditions, but it was impossible not to exercise some firmness. These were auditions, after all.
After a grueling two hours, and many mental notes—she'd probably be cutting half of the kids auditioning—she dismissed them. As the studio fell into chatter, a couple of kids she'd worked with came trotting up. She smiled at them.
“Good to see you guys auditioning,” she said cheerily.
“Did we make it?” one of the girls asked.
“Like I'd tell you now! You'll find out next Tuesday,” Blossom said. Both of them were a Yes.
“Hey Blossom, I thought you guys had a Ballroom team?”
Blossom's attention briefly flickered, and she shook her head and said, “No, just a couple of us do Ballroom—me and Cindy, one of the girls who's graduating.”
“So it's just you now? What about that other guy?”
“I—you mean Brick?”
“Isn't he in Dance?”
“No,” Blossom said. “That was... part of a deal with... well, it's complicated.”
“He's really good!”
“Yeah, seriously! You guys looked amazing.”
“Thanks,” Blossom said, her mind flitting to the memory of Brick's arms around her as they danced. She almost smiled.
“Are you two going out?”
Blossom flushed red before she could answer, and the girls immediately latched onto it.
“Oh my God, you are!”
She found her voice and violently shook her head. “No! No, we're not! He's just—I mean, he was just my dance partner!”
“Knock knock.”
Blossom looked up to see a grinning Kris at the door to the studio and an overwhelming guilt suddenly swept over her. Like she'd just been caught cheating.
“Kris, hey! Can you wait for me outside? I'll be right there, promise. Girls, you'll find out about your auditions next week. Go home.”
“Are you doing any more ballroom dances?” one of them pressed.
“Probably not, unless I find a new partner,” Blossom said, the words somehow sinking in her chest.
Before the girls could question her further, she herded them out the side exit, then quickly locked up and changed. Kris was pacing the hall outside. He smiled when she came out.
“Hey,” he said, reaching for her hand, and she let him take it. “I'll drive you home.”
“Okay.”
Blossom walked hand in hand with Kris on the way out of the school. They passed by the yellow taped gym on the way, and she let her eyes linger on it as they passed, feeling numb. In her head she kept seeing Brick after the attack, looking almost comically heroic as Cindy and Kris had clung to him, tall and steady as a rock.
I was wrong about him. She felt wrong about everything. She had been so quick to leap to conclusions about his character, and while he hadn't discouraged those opinions of hers, he had proven that she knew nothing about character when people's lives were at stake.
He'd had no reason to help. He'd even said: he had to pack. It would've been easy for him to turn away. When she'd practically begged him to do as they said, most of her expected he'd just leave. But he hadn't.
A small part of her wanted to point out that despite the outcome, he hadn't come willingly, but she refused to let that thought surface. She wanted to believe he was a hero, she realized. She wanted him to be good.
“Blossom?”
She blinked, glancing at Kris. She'd practically forgotten he was there.
“Didn't mean to interrupt,” he said apologetically. “You were just really spacing out there.”
She stared at him, disheartened when even the act of looking at her boyfriend could not displace Brick from her mind. She felt wrong about this, too.
The weight of his hand felt heavy, foreign. Kris liked her so much. Too much. No, she couldn't do this.
“Kris,” she whispered, her voice cracking as a fear gripped her heart, a fear that felt different yet just as raw as the terror that overcame her in the face of impending loss, of defeat. This felt like the hardest thing.
She tried to push Brick out of her mind. She owed Kris that much.
“We have to talk.”
***
Brick paced the school grounds, waiting. The school doors creaked open behind him, and he turned reflexively to see who it was.
Cindy edged out, weaving her hands together. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
After a pause she came towards him, fidgeting. “I just... wanted to thank you for last week.”
Last week's attack. He shook his head and shrugged. “It was nothing.”
“No, it was something,” she said quietly. “It was my life. That's definitely something.”
If Brick had been any other type of guy he might've touched her hair or pulled her close for a hug. She looked that sad. But he only watched her, indifferent to the enormity of the emotional trauma he'd dealt her.
“Congrats, by the way,” he said.
“On what?”
“Graduating.”
“Oh. Yeah, thanks.”
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a long, black car pulling up. Mrs. Morbucks rolled down the window and waved.
He turned to Cindy and said, “Well, my ride's here.”
She was watching the car and looked as if she was fighting tears. “Yeah.”
Girls were so good at looking pathetic. Even Brick couldn't be immune to it all the time. He finally relented.
“I'm sorry,” he said, touching a hand to her cheek. She blinked in surprise, and his hand shifted against her skin. “About how it all went down.”
She bit her lip and nodded, a weak smile breaking onto her face.
Brick turned and got into the limo, where a beaming Mrs. Morbucks was waiting.
“Pretty girl,” she commented.
“She's not bad,” Brick said, holding a hand up in some semblance of a farewell gesture as he shut the door. The car started to move.
“She has such a sad face, though.”
“All girls do, at some point or another.”
Mrs. Morbucks' eyes were glittering. “Ah, yes. I remember.”
“You wanted to discuss something with me?”
The woman immediately shifted into business mode. “Brick, you've heard of PRM?”
He paused. “Formerly M2 Industries. European, right?”
“Basically JS, Inc.'s European equivalent, yes.”
“I hear they're at the top in that market. What about them?”
“When do you head back to JS?”
“Mid-June,” Brick said. “What about PRM?”
“When you go back,” Mrs. Morbucks said, smoothing out the skirt of her suit, “I want you to keep in mind PRM's interest in forming a partnership with JS, Inc.”
He settled back into his seat with a sigh and closed his eyes. “You're better off talking to Smith directly. I'm just a field agent. I don't carry any weight on the board.”
“I have no intention of speaking to Smith, or any of the current board members, for that matter.”
Brick lifted his head and opened his eyes to look at her. She smiled a winning smile at him.
“So why are you telling me?” he said quietly.
That smile of hers widened.
“You know.”
***
Brick went home in a weird mood. Butch commented on this the following Monday afternoon as he and Buttercup made their way to the school exits to take advantage of their free blocks.
“He's probably just happy about leaving,” Butch said.
“He didn't seem to like Townsville much,” Buttercup agreed. “How about you?”
“It's alright.” He caught sight of Blossom about to enter the school's double doors, and moved forward to open them for her. She paused, wary. They hadn't had much contact over the past few months.
“Go ahead,” he said politely, and she blinked. Buttercup was amused.
“Um... thanks,” Blossom said, still eyeing him as she passed.
“Anytime!” he called out. “...Beautiful,” he added under his breath.
“I heard that,” Blossom said in an undertone.
“Just telling it like it is,” he said with a shrug, allowing Buttercup to pass through first.
“Look at you, being civil,” Buttercup said approvingly.
“I may not be fluent in it, but I know a thing here and there.”
They meandered in silence for awhile, both half-heartedly contemplating things they could do to pass the time. It didn't feel particularly necessary. Just walking was nice enough.
Huh, Butch thought. Nice. This was nice. He stared at the sidewalk and matched his steps to hers.
Maybe it was too nice.
He looked up, knitting his brow as he scanned the residential area they'd wandered into. Somebody lived around here. The twins? Or was it Mitch? Which reminded him...
Butch huffed his bangs out of his face and asked, “So how come you and Mitch are so weird?”
Buttercup looked up and sighed. “It's... dumb.”
“Dumb how?”
“Just...” She waved it off. “Nothing. We just didn't make a good couple. We thought it'd work and it just didn't. You know. That kind of thing.”
“I don't know what the fuck you're saying,” Butch said bluntly.
“Thanks for your sensitivity,” she grumbled.
“It's been half a fucking year, hasn't it? Almost?”
“Look, we were friends a long damn time—”
“What'd he do? Cheat on you?”
“No.”
“Get you pregnant?”
“No!” she cried, punching him in the arm. “Shut up! We didn't even do that!”
“Then what the fuck was it?” he prodded, rubbing his arm. “Ow, by the way.”
She stared at him, the anger subsiding from her expression. A weird sort of numbness replaced it. “It was stupid,” she finally muttered. “Something really stupid.”
“Like what?”
“Are you going to mind your own God damn business or what?” she snapped. “I don't wanna talk about it.”
“Fine, whatever.” He watched her from the corner of his eye as they walked. The silence was no longer comfortable; tension was etched in every facet of Buttercup's face. It had just been a simple question. He had just been curious.
He huffed out a breath and looked around at the little suburban neighborhood they were walking through. He felt the sudden, inexplicable urge to break a window.
“You packed yet?” Buttercup suddenly asked, and he looked back at her.
“Hell, no! I got weeks.”
“Like... three.”
“I don't need three fucking weeks to throw my shit in a box.”
“You might need three fucking weeks to smoke it all, though,” Buttercup shot back with a smirk, and he started laughing.
“Good point. You should come over and help me out.”
“I've never been over to your place.”
“Wanna?”
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Naw. It's okay. I don't smoke or do any of that, anyway.”
“You're missing out.”
“So I've heard.”
They drifted past more houses and yards. Butch kicked a rock as they strolled along, sending it Buttercup's way at one point, and she kicked it back. They did this for a few more feet before it tumbled into the gutter and neither felt very inclined to go after it.
“For what it's worth,” Buttercup finally said, stuffing her hands in her pockets and staring straight ahead, “it was fun, man.”
Butch looked at her, feeling himself crack a smile.
“Yeah.”
***
“I'm missing a shirt,” Brick said aloud, perplexed. He wasn't packing so much as taking inventory, and after going through his things twice he realized one of his shirts had gone AWOL.
It wouldn't have mattered because it was just clothing, for fuck's sake, but it was one of his favorites. It was a crisp, bright red; a very comfortable shirt that worked casually or formally depending on what he paired it with. And he looked good in it. Brick was keen on looking good.
“Damn,” he muttered to himself. Maybe it was gone for good... no, impossible. He remembered wearing it, at some point... when? When had he last worn it? He must've left it somewhere.
He glanced at the clock. Technically, he had three more weeks for it to turn up, but it wasn't like he had a busy afternoon planned. Plus, he could take his precious Coil out for some exercise.
Brick pocketed his keys and left.
***
It felt good to be by herself.
Blossom stared for a long time at the mirrored wall, reflecting her lone self in the otherwise empty studio. Alicia had agreed to run the musical choreography rehearsals taking place this week at the Townsville Fine Arts Center. The students needed to get used to the space. They'd be performing at the end of the week.
Not that Blossom didn't want to help. She was just... just tired. With all the testing and practices and auditions and a very stressful armed attack not long ago, Blossom had not had much time for herself. And what free time she'd had had been spent with Kris.
Though he probably would've understood, if she'd needed time. He probably would've been cool with it. But lack of free time wasn't why she'd realized it wasn't going to work out.
She took a deep breath and turned on the stereo. Dwelling wasn't going to help things. She was here to take care of herself, and agonizing over things that were already said and done was futile.
Her music started, and she sighed in relief. It felt so good to be back. Alone.
Then about five minutes into her warm-ups Blossom decided she was going to freeze in that meat locker of a dance studio unless she put something on over her leotard. The tank top she’d changed out of would do little for the goosebumps that were only so far from taking up permanent residence on her arms.
She scrubbed her hands along her arms and trotted to the locker room. She hated to do this, but sometimes the other girls left sweatshirts in the studio. Surely it would be okay for her to just borrow one to practice in, at least until she’d warmed up…
There was one discarded hoodie on a bench, but it looked as if it’d last been used to scrub down the locker room, and Blossom would’ve opted to freeze to death long before she’d even touch it. After some fruitless scavenging, she gave up and headed back out to the floor. Her tank top would do. It was more important to keep her chest warm than her arms anyway.
As she drifted back into the main part of the studio, her eyes caught something hanging on the line of hooks next to the door, and she paused. It was a simple red button-down shirt—Brick’s, she knew, even at this distance.
Oh, no. That’s ridiculous. I’m not wearing that. Yet despite what she thought, Blossom found herself striding toward it, even though the studio didn’t even seem as cold now, even though the goosebumps on her arms were no longer a result of the chilly air…
She touched it more gingerly than necessary, eyes flickering to the door as if she might be caught at any moment, then realized it was silly to act like she was doing something wrong. Thirty seconds ago she’d wandered into the locker room looking for something exactly like this. She set her jaw and yanked it on, or did her best at yanking it on as it was very obviously not her size. The armpits came down to just under the curves of her breasts, and she had to fold the cuffs back four times just to bring them to her forearm. The tails of the shirt hung just shy of mid-thigh. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and blushed. There was something about girls in boys’ shirts that… well, that just looked sexy. She certainly felt something like that as she watched herself resume her warm-ups.
It surprised her how soft and comfortable Brick’s shirt was, almost as much as it surprised her how comfortable she felt in it, so much so that she didn’t think she wanted to take it off, but, well, she was getting ahead of herself, and that was just because it was warm and comfy, not because it smelled like him or anything like that.
Although it did smell like Brick. Not like sweaty Brick either, but clean, freshly showered Brick. And then she was thinking of Brick in the shower, and she felt even warmer, but not warm enough to take his shirt off. And then she was thinking of taking his shirt off, and then she was thinking her brain should not be allowed to wander into crazy territory like that. Silly brain.
She took a few deep breaths to clear her mind, to eliminate everything except the sensation of her body, stretching and moving to the music, forming lines of moving art with her legs and arms and torso. She sank into the familiar routine, letting her stretches carry her into a freeform dance, and everything else fluttered out of her mind as she lost herself in the music and the delicious feeling of releasing all her worldly ties and responsibilities as she moved on this earth, full of all passion and no stress.
Brick’s shirt whispered around her as she danced, and it smelled like him. When she closed her eyes, it almost felt like him.
Before she could stop herself, her thoughts were miles away from sense and logic. Dancing was the only thing on her mind.
Well... dancing and...
Suddenly it wasn’t her arms encircled about her but his, his curving down her neck, along her waist, and she tucked his shirt around her like a security blanket, foolishly letting herself wish that the arms she felt were his and the eyes she saw when she closed her own were real and not a figment of her imagination.
Brick’s shirt whispered around her as she danced, and it smelled like him.
***
He hadn't expected to find his shirt at Mrs. Morbucks'—it had been so long since he'd been there, after all—so that really only left Townsville High's dance studio. He'd probably taken it off during practice with Blossom or something.
The halls were deserted, save for a few students studying in the atrium. Brick floated past, not wanting to walk and listen to his steps, which would sound loud and invasive in that big empty space.
The locker room was quiet; he could pick up on the lack of movement with his superhearing. Beyond that, though...
It brought Brick very little joy to watch Blossom dance. And yet, he always seemed to have a great deal of trouble stopping.
He could see her when he floated in, just through the open door to the studio. He held his breath, eyes trained on the girl twirling across the floor, long legs just barely brushing the hardwood. Her hair whipped about her face, messy and undone—a far cry from the usual prim ponytail she kept it in when dancing. It was all in her eyes, masking her expression, and strands of it kept getting stuck in her mouth, which for some outrageous reason was really setting Brick off. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her lips; every time they slipped into his line of sight his gaze was riveted to them like lead to a magnet.
He caught himself wetting his lips and jerked his head away. What was with him? It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. Blossom dancing. Big deal. Dancing in his clothes, granted, that was different, and he made an effort to squash the line of thought that almost instantly followed the question of why she’d be in his clothing at all—
His eyes flicked back, and he slowly turned his head. She wore it well. There was just something about girls in boys’ shirts that made boys want to… do things.
Blossom’s figure, clad in her black leotard and tights, stood out in even starker contrast to the vibrant red of his shirt. When she hit the floor and turned it fell away from her frame, caressing her body as she moved. Against his better judgment, Brick swallowed.
Your shirt, a little voice in his head reminded him, and he blinked, forcing himself forward, against the desire to stay still and just watch, just a little longer. He brought his hand up and rapped sharply on the doorframe.
Blossom gave a little gasp and jumped, twisting around to see who'd snuck up on her. Her hair fell into a wispy mess around her face, and she hastily patted it back, the sleeves of his shirt falling back to her elbows.
“Brick,” she breathed, and hell, that was something.
He simply stared at her for awhile before she shifted uneasily and said, “Um, yes?”
He blinked and shook his head a little to clear it. “Hey. I...” He looked her up and down, not really meaning to. “I was looking for my shirt.”
She glanced down, her face taking on a shade of red almost bright enough to rival the shirt's. “Oh! Yeah, I—I'm sorry, I was just... it's always freezing in here, I didn't have the sense to bring something of my own, and this was on the back wall.”
She rolled down the sleeves and walked over to him just as he began walking towards her. They met somewhere in the middle, and after straightening out the sleeves, the collar, she scrambled out of it and held it out to him.
“Here.”
He made sure to grab at the part of shirt that was most definitely not clenched in her hand to avoid contact of any variety.
“Thanks.” He folded it over in his arms, then said, “What are you doing here? I thought you'd be prepping for that inane musical, or out with your boyfriend—”
He paused, noting how she tensed at the mention of Kris.
“Or studying,” he finished quietly, his gaze boring into her.
“I just... needed some alone time,” she said dismissively.
Her attempt to be vague and nonchalant was betrayed by the weight of her tone; there was something else, something more.
“Kris is okay with that?” he asked. “I mean, you guys probably haven't been spending a lot of time together as it is—”
“We broke up,” she interrupted abruptly, and the room suddenly felt brighter, the air cleaner. Blossom, however, was staring down at the floorboards and looking remarkably guilty. “It wasn't him—”
Brick couldn't help it; he gave a short laugh and finished for her, “'It was you?' Please, you gotta have something more original than that.”
“It’s the truth,” she said defensively. “Kris was a really good guy—”
He shrugged. “Kinda bland, if you ask me—”
“Well, you’re not a very good judge of character,” she snapped, and he wondered why she was so worked up about this. It was just high school, for Christ's sake...
She almost seemed to sense the question. “He deserved better,” she continued, her gaze falling to the floor. “And… it wasn’t right, that he was so into me, and I…”
Brick clenched his teeth, completely involuntarily, and stared intently at her. What, he wanted to scream, What?
Blossom was fixated on the wood grains next to her foot. “I couldn't—”
Suddenly she looked up, as if she had just now noticed Brick, and her face hardened. “What does it matter to you?”
Her abrupt shift in mood caught him off guard, and he almost went on the defensive before he realized he was in no mood to get into a screaming match with her. It just seemed to happen so often with them, and frankly, he was sick of it.
“It doesn't,” he muttered, and evidently his lack of animosity caught her off guard. She stepped back, a little stunned.
“Well... okay then,” she said, and rubbed at her arm.
Brick swept his gaze across the studio one last time, hesitating when it fell back to her. He directed his attention to his shirt, wrinkling in his hands.
He held it up. “Thanks.”
“Sure.”
So there. He turned and began to walk out.
“Brick,” Blossom called out, catching his attention. He paused and pivoted, his expression questioning.
“Why did you help that day in the gym?”
Brick stared at her, reflecting on how small her voice had sounded, how frantic and desperate her eyes had been.
He turned away. “I don't know,” he mumbled, and left Blossom to her alone time.
***
Opening night was upon them.
Bubbles took a deep breath and shook out her nerves in the green room. One of the girls sounded like she was getting ready to throw up her nervousness—literally, she was announcing it to the entire room. Bubbles didn't think she wanted to bear witness to that, so she slunk out and wandered down the hall of the Fine Arts Center, dodging several frantic fellow cast members along the way. Robin was one of the trumpet players in the orchestra pit—Bubbles thought she'd drop by and say hi, and then maybe wander backstage to chat with Blossom a bit...
Robin wasn't at her stand, though Bubbles recognized her trumpet case. There was a pencil on her music stand, and after a second, Bubbles scribbled a note on Robin's music—Do us proud!
“Bubbles?”
She turned, finding a black-clad Haley looking at her curiously. “Oh! Haley, hi!”
“You aren't backstage practicing?”
Bubbles winced, setting the pencil back down on the stand. “Thought I'd come say hi to Robin, but she isn't here... one of the girls sounded like she was going to barf her nerves out back there. I didn't really feel like sticking around.”
Haley made a face. “Eugh. I don't blame you.”
“Are you part of the orchestra—I mean, band tonight?”
“Yeah.” The dark-haired girl turned and pointed at her bass guitar, nearby. “I'm not sure how it happened, but Boomer talked me into helping out.”
“Well, he does think you're pretty talented—which you are.”
Haley smiled at her. “Thanks.”
“No, I should thank you. That was... I mean, back last week, the whole Boomer performance thing.” Bubbles bit her lip and looked apologetic. “I'm sure that was... I dunno...”
“Awkward?” Haley supplied, and they shared a laugh. “Yeah, I was kinda weirded out when he asked me about it. But whatever.” She shrugged. “Holding grudges isn't going to get you anywhere, right? And you know, when you get right down to it, it wasn't like he was a bad boyfriend. I gotta give the guy credit for knowing what he wants and going after it.”
Bubbles rubbed at her neck, fighting a blush. She remembered how cute they'd been together; she still felt guilty about this.
Haley read her expression and said dismissively, “Look, whatever. It's over.” After a pause, she added, “If that's what's keeping you from going out with him, don't let it. He's a nice guy. At least, he was when we were dating for all of five seconds... you'd probably have a better idea than me, now. You two really seem to hit it off.”
“Yeah, well...”
“Just go out with him!” Haley encouraged, her smile genuine. “What's holding you back, really?”
Bubbles shrugged helplessly. “This and that. Also he's leaving, like, in June.”
Haley raised her eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Ugh.” Haley crossed her arms and looked off into the distance, thoughtful. “Well, suck. That's rough.”
“Hey!” The two girls looked up to see Boomer approaching them, already decorated in zombie make-up. “There you are!”
Haley snorted. “You look ridiculous.”
Boomer frowned. “Really? I'm supposed to look dead. Dead of the rotting flesh variety and all.”
“What brings you to the orchestra pit?” Bubbles asked.
“Some girl threw up in the green room,” Boomer said, gagging. “Hey, I wanted to practice your death scene with you.”
Before Bubbles could protest, Boomer was dragging her away as Haley waved at the both of them. On the way they passed Blossom, who was trying to deal with a frantic cast member who couldn't remember their moves for the big dance number. For a girl who'd just broken up with her boyfriend last week, Bubbles thought she looked remarkably composed. Then again, she herself hadn't exactly spent a lot of tears agonizing over the split with Will. But Kris had seemed so nice...
Boomer stopped them in a not-so-crowded area of the hall and knelt. “Okay! Let's go.”
“Go what?” Bubbles asked as she laid down, settling her head in Boomer's lap and hoping he couldn't hear her heart drumming in her chest. This scene always put her on edge. “I don't exactly have a lot of dialogue in this scene, being dead and all.”
“Shh,” he hushed. “It's dramatic. I gotta get it right, don't I? Close your eyes.”
Bubbles obediently complied, going completely still. After a second, she felt Boomer stroking back her hair, whispering his lines—it was crowded back there, but she had superhearing...
“God, sis... I messed up, I messed up so bad...”
He drew her limp body up and hugged her, pressing her close. Bubbles fought back the inclination to embrace him back; she was dead, after all.
“I should've listened to you, I never should've... I should've left them alone. She wasn't worth it. She isn't worth this...”
This is it, Bubbles thought as Boomer slowly, slowly set her back down. This is how it ends. He starts a war to take back the girl who left him and winds up losing the person most precious to him. And that's it.
Well, save for a comical duet where her zombie-self began to awaken and started singing along as he rejected his ex one final time before returning to the world of the dead and ending the zombies' World Reclamation scheme.
“You play a really good dead girl.”
Bubbles cracked open an eye to look at a grinning Boomer. “So you're saying as long as I'm not moving or speaking, I make a good actor?”
“Hey, come on. I'm going to dig any role that involves me carrying you around and holding you close, aren't I?” He considered for a moment. “Or at least that would be second on my list, right after any role that involves us being a couple and kissing a lot.”
“Oh, you're making a list now?”
“Boomer! Bubbles! They're rounding us up! Let's go, we're starting in like fifteen minutes!”
They scrambled to their feet, Boomer grasping Bubbles by the hand before she could move on her own, and he pulled her along as they joined the throng of people heading backstage.
“This is it,” she breathed, and Boomer threw a smile back at her over his shoulder.
“This is it,” he agreed.
Before they hit the doors that would take them backstage, Dr. Wendell stopped everybody to give them one last pep talk. Bubbles couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. Boomer was still holding her hand. Fifteen minutes seemed to go by all too quickly. Within what felt like seconds they were silently gliding backstage, taking their places behind the curtain as Dr. Wendell stepped outside to a round of applause.
Boomer finally let go of Bubbles' hand. She looked at him as he drifted by—he wasn't in the first scene, so he took his place back where he'd be out of sight once the curtain went up.
Just go out with him, Haley had said.
He really did look goofy, all done up like a zombie. She couldn't help but smile as he met her eyes.
He grinned at her. “Ready?” he whispered, and she felt those ever-present butterflies alighting in her stomach, those butterflies that had nothing to do with performance anxiety.
“Ready,” she whispered back, and the curtain went up.
-fin-