Xmas gifts (round 4)
for kikos_ai
"Hey. You alright?"
Bridge cracked an eye open and found a familiar pair of grey and blue striped pants standing before him. "Yah, I'm fine. What made you ask that?"
Sky knelt down so he was no longer staring at Bridge's feet. "Just that you seem kind of distant today, like something is bothering you. So I thought I'd check."
Bridge shrugged lightly, not an easy prospect while one was in the midst of a handstand. "Everything's fine," he replied coolly, "just been...thinking."
Sky nodded slightly, eyes briefly flickering over his teammate "Yah, I can see that." He fixed a wary gaze on his friend. "What are you thinking about?"
"Oh, nothing really. Just, you know...stuff."
Sky cocked an eyebrow slightly. "Hrm. Well, if you feel like talking about your 'stuff', you know where to find me." He gave his roommate a quick go-over before climbing back up to his feet. "See you later?"
"Sure," Bridge replied dully and waited until Sky had left the room before letting out a pent-up sigh. Oh, I wish I could tell you, Sky. But it's not that simple.
The Green Ranger had always felt cut off from others, despite his outgoing nature. His friends would argue and tell him that wasn't the case, of course, that he was never alone with them around. But Bridge knew otherwise. He was cut off, cut off from his friends, isolated from all other living beings. He couldn't deny it, he couldn't ever escape it, it was ingrained in his very genetic makeup.
He glanced down briefly at the materialistic symbol of his isolation, the constant reminder that he was truly alone. The black gloves that encased his hands did more than provide a layer of protection, they were also his prison, trapping not only his powers but his very soul. All that he was, all that he could ever truly be or ever want was held back by patent leather. He closed his eyes, wishing that he could will it away, that he didn't wear those gloves, that he wasn't being closed off from everyone else by them.
He'd never know what it was like to really touch someone, or be touched in return. What he wouldn't give to be able to experience a normal handshake, a hug where he didn't have to worry if someone accidentally brushed bare skin. And God help him, a kiss. Not even a sweet, innocent kiss from a friend or a relative was allowed him. He envied those other kids, all those long years ago, watching as their mothers graced them with a peck on the forehead, or a gentle whisper against a soft cheek.
His mother put a stop to all that, once she realized how badly it could affect her son. Like all mothers, she wanted to protect him, to keep him safe from all kinds of hurt. But it didn't quite work like she had expected. Sure, it kept him from hurting in his mind, but not in his heart. Even those few times he'd 'accidentally' slipped or leaned too far over, stealing those precious, rare gifts, his mother reacted like a wounded thing. She'd take him in her arms, babbling about how sorry she was, how clumsy of her, cooing to him as the inevitable headache set in.
But given the option of headache or heartache, Bridge would've chosen the former. However, what say does a six-year old have in the eyes of a worried mom? He'd eventually stopped pulling those tricks. It hurt just as harshly, if not more so, to hear his mother blame herself for what ultimately was his own actions. He couldn't stand to see her like that, crying for wounding her baby, so eventually, he let it go.
After that, he just gave up on it all, as if it were a fairy tale, a story that others could have, but forever out of his reach. He didn't pay it any mind, not really, not until he grew older. When his isolation took on another venue of painful reminders.
The questions he found flung in his direction, many times, were less like questions than insults. 'What's with the gloves?', 'Why do always wear those?', 'What are you, some kind of freak?' The questions that adolescent kids pummeled him with, once they spotted the oddity amongst their ranks. Always, it was the different one, the one who didn't blend in with the crowd, the freak who remained on the edges. They seemed to go out of their way at times to find him, to poke fun at him, tease him. They didn't understand him, so instead they chose to increase his isolation, pushing him out and rejecting him. Laughing at him when they could do nothing else.
He thought it would be different once he reached the Academy, but to his utter dismay, he found the same ridicule, the same laughter and the same closing off. It remained that way for nearly a year, until such time that he tripped, literally, over another cadet. Standoffish and aloof, the older cadet had just shot him an icy look as he picked himself up off the floor and humpfed loudly before walking away.
Bridge encountered him some days later, out on the training field when he was paired up to spar against him. His heart sank; the other boy was easily a foot taller than he and clearly had any number of months' training to his favor. It was over almost before it began, Bridge finding himself lying flat on his back, winded and spent. He'd blinked in surprise at the hand that appeared before him, and he took it after a moment's hesitation.
He waited for the question to come, the inevitable question that marked him as a freak. And when it did finally come, it wasn't what Bridge had been expecting.
"Gloves, eh? That's kind of different. Any particular reason you wear them?"
Bridge blinked in surprise, "Uh, yah. Different. I guess you could say that."
The other cadet cocked an eyebrow at him in curiosity. "I am saying that. I'm asking you why." He said it without any trace of mockery or jesting in his voice, apparently interested in nothing more than a forthright and honest answer to a simple question.
"Uh...well...it's...kind of hard to explain."
The second eyebrow joined the first. "Why don't you try me? Join me for lunch?"
Bridge spent the lunch break telling one Schuyler Tate about his powers, and to his utter amazement, he found himself learning about someone else with strange abilities as well.
He didn't believe it at first of course, figuring the older cadet had just found a way to amuse himself without Bridge being aware of it, until a few days later when Sky had waltzed him into an open training room. Bridge had jumped back involuntarily when a bright blue shield manifested itself right in front of him, Sky quickly dropping it and hurriedly apologizing for startling his friend.
After that, Bridge began to think that perhaps being different wasn't always such a bad thing. And ironically, the teasing and other insults grew fewer and farther in between until they faded away completely. At first, he was ecstatic about it, free to go wherever he wished, without fear of being followed or having rude names follow in his wake.
But after a while, he began to realize what was really happening. It didn't take a genius to figure out that although Sky was marked as 'different', he wasn't one many tangled with lightly. And that association filtered off onto Bridge. The jibes and insults hadn't stopped because people had accepted him, but because they were afraid of Sky. His friendship with the other cadet had made him see yet another form of isolation. Nobody bothered the freak because of his equally freakish, yet far more deadly, acquaintance.
That problem only compounded itself further with the appearance of one bubbly blonde. Ms. Popularity, pampered princess in residence of the Academy, didn't let her strange powers keep people at bay. Instead, her overflowing personality overshadowed the quieter, lurking in the corners, personality of her companion. Bridge was just as closed off with her around as he had been with anybody else. Just another measure of loneliness one could experience.
After two long years, Bridge had grown accustomed to that; being in the shadows of two others, until he suddenly found himself flung into the midst of yet two more people. Bound together tightly, they had a knack for keeping all others away, even their new teammates. Jack seemed to regard him as an oddity, not interacting with him much unless there was something of a technical nature he needed to know. And Z...
Well, there Z had him. She seemed to accept Bridge and all of his strangeness without so much batting an eye. Even while Sky and Syd sometimes still poked at him, Z didn't. Oh, she'd certainly give him a look, or an earful whenever she thought he was being incredibly dense or too far-fetched, but she never made him feel that aching sting of hurtfulness.
Actually, when he stopped to really think about, the others didn't either. Over the course of the past few months, they'd grown more accepting of his odd ways and habits, only jokingly teasing him now and again as only a group of good friends could. They'd even encouraged him at times, having a faith in his abilities that he didn't always feel himself. They'd apologized to him when they felt or realized that they'd gone a bit too far.
Bridge re-opened his eyes and blinked at the room surrounding him, his teammates and friends occupying various pieces of furniture not too far away from him. He smiled; they weren't shutting him out, he had been closing himself off. He didn't have to be alone or by himself in a corner, he could join them whenever he wished, knowing that they wouldn't push him aside or cast him away.
Z looked up as Bridge flipped himself out of his handstand. "Hey Bridge; you gonna come join us?"
"Yah, Z. I think I will."
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Whoo! It came out a bit long. Longer than I expected really.
And this concludes the posting of holiday ficage gifts. Hope you enjoyed them!
"Hey. You alright?"
Bridge cracked an eye open and found a familiar pair of grey and blue striped pants standing before him. "Yah, I'm fine. What made you ask that?"
Sky knelt down so he was no longer staring at Bridge's feet. "Just that you seem kind of distant today, like something is bothering you. So I thought I'd check."
Bridge shrugged lightly, not an easy prospect while one was in the midst of a handstand. "Everything's fine," he replied coolly, "just been...thinking."
Sky nodded slightly, eyes briefly flickering over his teammate "Yah, I can see that." He fixed a wary gaze on his friend. "What are you thinking about?"
"Oh, nothing really. Just, you know...stuff."
Sky cocked an eyebrow slightly. "Hrm. Well, if you feel like talking about your 'stuff', you know where to find me." He gave his roommate a quick go-over before climbing back up to his feet. "See you later?"
"Sure," Bridge replied dully and waited until Sky had left the room before letting out a pent-up sigh. Oh, I wish I could tell you, Sky. But it's not that simple.
The Green Ranger had always felt cut off from others, despite his outgoing nature. His friends would argue and tell him that wasn't the case, of course, that he was never alone with them around. But Bridge knew otherwise. He was cut off, cut off from his friends, isolated from all other living beings. He couldn't deny it, he couldn't ever escape it, it was ingrained in his very genetic makeup.
He glanced down briefly at the materialistic symbol of his isolation, the constant reminder that he was truly alone. The black gloves that encased his hands did more than provide a layer of protection, they were also his prison, trapping not only his powers but his very soul. All that he was, all that he could ever truly be or ever want was held back by patent leather. He closed his eyes, wishing that he could will it away, that he didn't wear those gloves, that he wasn't being closed off from everyone else by them.
He'd never know what it was like to really touch someone, or be touched in return. What he wouldn't give to be able to experience a normal handshake, a hug where he didn't have to worry if someone accidentally brushed bare skin. And God help him, a kiss. Not even a sweet, innocent kiss from a friend or a relative was allowed him. He envied those other kids, all those long years ago, watching as their mothers graced them with a peck on the forehead, or a gentle whisper against a soft cheek.
His mother put a stop to all that, once she realized how badly it could affect her son. Like all mothers, she wanted to protect him, to keep him safe from all kinds of hurt. But it didn't quite work like she had expected. Sure, it kept him from hurting in his mind, but not in his heart. Even those few times he'd 'accidentally' slipped or leaned too far over, stealing those precious, rare gifts, his mother reacted like a wounded thing. She'd take him in her arms, babbling about how sorry she was, how clumsy of her, cooing to him as the inevitable headache set in.
But given the option of headache or heartache, Bridge would've chosen the former. However, what say does a six-year old have in the eyes of a worried mom? He'd eventually stopped pulling those tricks. It hurt just as harshly, if not more so, to hear his mother blame herself for what ultimately was his own actions. He couldn't stand to see her like that, crying for wounding her baby, so eventually, he let it go.
After that, he just gave up on it all, as if it were a fairy tale, a story that others could have, but forever out of his reach. He didn't pay it any mind, not really, not until he grew older. When his isolation took on another venue of painful reminders.
The questions he found flung in his direction, many times, were less like questions than insults. 'What's with the gloves?', 'Why do always wear those?', 'What are you, some kind of freak?' The questions that adolescent kids pummeled him with, once they spotted the oddity amongst their ranks. Always, it was the different one, the one who didn't blend in with the crowd, the freak who remained on the edges. They seemed to go out of their way at times to find him, to poke fun at him, tease him. They didn't understand him, so instead they chose to increase his isolation, pushing him out and rejecting him. Laughing at him when they could do nothing else.
He thought it would be different once he reached the Academy, but to his utter dismay, he found the same ridicule, the same laughter and the same closing off. It remained that way for nearly a year, until such time that he tripped, literally, over another cadet. Standoffish and aloof, the older cadet had just shot him an icy look as he picked himself up off the floor and humpfed loudly before walking away.
Bridge encountered him some days later, out on the training field when he was paired up to spar against him. His heart sank; the other boy was easily a foot taller than he and clearly had any number of months' training to his favor. It was over almost before it began, Bridge finding himself lying flat on his back, winded and spent. He'd blinked in surprise at the hand that appeared before him, and he took it after a moment's hesitation.
He waited for the question to come, the inevitable question that marked him as a freak. And when it did finally come, it wasn't what Bridge had been expecting.
"Gloves, eh? That's kind of different. Any particular reason you wear them?"
Bridge blinked in surprise, "Uh, yah. Different. I guess you could say that."
The other cadet cocked an eyebrow at him in curiosity. "I am saying that. I'm asking you why." He said it without any trace of mockery or jesting in his voice, apparently interested in nothing more than a forthright and honest answer to a simple question.
"Uh...well...it's...kind of hard to explain."
The second eyebrow joined the first. "Why don't you try me? Join me for lunch?"
Bridge spent the lunch break telling one Schuyler Tate about his powers, and to his utter amazement, he found himself learning about someone else with strange abilities as well.
He didn't believe it at first of course, figuring the older cadet had just found a way to amuse himself without Bridge being aware of it, until a few days later when Sky had waltzed him into an open training room. Bridge had jumped back involuntarily when a bright blue shield manifested itself right in front of him, Sky quickly dropping it and hurriedly apologizing for startling his friend.
After that, Bridge began to think that perhaps being different wasn't always such a bad thing. And ironically, the teasing and other insults grew fewer and farther in between until they faded away completely. At first, he was ecstatic about it, free to go wherever he wished, without fear of being followed or having rude names follow in his wake.
But after a while, he began to realize what was really happening. It didn't take a genius to figure out that although Sky was marked as 'different', he wasn't one many tangled with lightly. And that association filtered off onto Bridge. The jibes and insults hadn't stopped because people had accepted him, but because they were afraid of Sky. His friendship with the other cadet had made him see yet another form of isolation. Nobody bothered the freak because of his equally freakish, yet far more deadly, acquaintance.
That problem only compounded itself further with the appearance of one bubbly blonde. Ms. Popularity, pampered princess in residence of the Academy, didn't let her strange powers keep people at bay. Instead, her overflowing personality overshadowed the quieter, lurking in the corners, personality of her companion. Bridge was just as closed off with her around as he had been with anybody else. Just another measure of loneliness one could experience.
After two long years, Bridge had grown accustomed to that; being in the shadows of two others, until he suddenly found himself flung into the midst of yet two more people. Bound together tightly, they had a knack for keeping all others away, even their new teammates. Jack seemed to regard him as an oddity, not interacting with him much unless there was something of a technical nature he needed to know. And Z...
Well, there Z had him. She seemed to accept Bridge and all of his strangeness without so much batting an eye. Even while Sky and Syd sometimes still poked at him, Z didn't. Oh, she'd certainly give him a look, or an earful whenever she thought he was being incredibly dense or too far-fetched, but she never made him feel that aching sting of hurtfulness.
Actually, when he stopped to really think about, the others didn't either. Over the course of the past few months, they'd grown more accepting of his odd ways and habits, only jokingly teasing him now and again as only a group of good friends could. They'd even encouraged him at times, having a faith in his abilities that he didn't always feel himself. They'd apologized to him when they felt or realized that they'd gone a bit too far.
Bridge re-opened his eyes and blinked at the room surrounding him, his teammates and friends occupying various pieces of furniture not too far away from him. He smiled; they weren't shutting him out, he had been closing himself off. He didn't have to be alone or by himself in a corner, he could join them whenever he wished, knowing that they wouldn't push him aside or cast him away.
Z looked up as Bridge flipped himself out of his handstand. "Hey Bridge; you gonna come join us?"
"Yah, Z. I think I will."
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Whoo! It came out a bit long. Longer than I expected really.
And this concludes the posting of holiday ficage gifts. Hope you enjoyed them!