Fic: My Girl
Before I get shot for this, it's just James justifying it to himself. Whether Hartley thinks of it that way is an entirely different matter ^_~
Title: My Girl
Author: Katzedecimal
Rating: T
Characters: Trickster
Summary: Tricks gets to thinking and comes to some realisations.
"We're sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service." James set the phone back into its cradle. Land line disconnected, cel reassigned and a few discreet inquiries revealed that the house had been demolished and the land sold. The homeless shelter, rape crisis center and LGBT helpline all said they hadn't heard from him since before that ill-fated gathering of the Rogues. Every lead James chased was coming up a dead end. If Piper was still in Keystone, he was keeping very quiet.
More than likely, Magenta was right and he wasn't in Keystone anymore. If that was the case, he'd need more than just the hospital's public-access computer system to track Piper down, but he'd covered that after visiting hours were over. Hey, fair's fair, the kid had nicked his gear, so he'd nicked the little fucker's laptop. In its place he'd left a Fisher-Price laptop he'd stolen from the kiddie ward downstairs. Still, the public-access system had its uses - motivation, for one.
Hartley's old blog had been shut down and comments-locked for months. The last entry broke James's heart every time he saw it: A photograph of his old Trickster puppet, lying forlorn, with his birth and death dates superimposed on it. Every time he saw it, he teared up. Every time he saw it, it renewed his determination to find Piper.
He wondered if his old picture account was still active; it was. It was friends-only, and since James didn't have many friends, very few people ever saw the images he'd stored there. Some old girlfriends, some of Wally, some of the Rogues, some of Magenta and Heatwave from the old Project days. Some of Piper.
He pulled up his favorite, a candid shot from the Project days, that he'd taken while Piper's attention was elsewhere. Piper, in his costume, sitting crosslegged on the floor with his rats. The things were all over him and he'd cuddled and stroked them as if they were pets, his face partially hidden by his cowl. In the twilight, the shadows and his own mood had given him a dark and dangerous magnetism. Looking at it now - Piper's fingers splayed over the rat that nuzzled beneath his jaw, cupping another cradled against his chest, more leaning over his shoulders and crawling into his lap, the dark shadows playing over them - the image seemed almost erotic. It spoke of a brooding storm, its power held back by cobwebs.
Magenta had been a little uncomfortable around this Piper but she hadn't really known him when he was a delinquent kid reject: He would have been Goth if New Wave hadn't gotten to him first. Trickster remembered the copper-haired kid, always hanging in the background, silently listening, his cybernetic ears picking up all the secrets and tucking them away. And if he was feeling particularly malicious, he'd tell Trickster what he knew. In his own way, Piper was as manipulative as Trickster was himself, and he had a knack for getting you to do his dirty work, even without the flute.
And then he'd quit the Rogues and gone straight - so to speak, because it was some time around then that he'd gotten himself a steady boyfriend. Someone who filled the need that had turned Piper Roguish in the first place. He'd blossomed after that, gone from a dorky-looking kid to a total chickmagnet, which irony always made Trickster smirk.
Then Iron Heights had happened. As if it weren't enough that he'd been framed for the murder of his parents - his own parents, for pity's sake! - they'd sent Piper there. And all the hours of community service, voluntary community service, not ordered by any judge.. all the years of working with the homeless, of administering crisis aid to terrified women and broken children, all the good he'd done with his life, it all counted for nothing -- he'd been a Rogue and that was all the justification they needed for all the beatings and all the torture. James knew the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. He knew about the Wolfe's 'cone of silence,' too. And these were the 'good guys.' I never forgave myself for not hearing you out, dude.
Piper had never talked about it. Piper was an extremely private person and seldom talked about himself. It surprised people, when they ever stopped to think about it, because Piper was an out and proud queer. But he wore his gay identity like Trickster wore his stripes, as both a target and a shield. People were so distracted by the big shiny Ghey that they didn't look at the man himself, in case it led to Too Much Information. It had certainly worked on James.
This picture was James's favorite because it just seemed to be the sum of everything Piper: The darkness, the secrets, the tenderness, the heart that could love even those considered to be vermin by the rest of humanity, yet was himself unloved. James shivered, then shook his head and started up a search engine.
A few hours later he'd come up with nothing, as expected. Still, all the wandering and link-chasing had been entertaining. Courtesy of several rat fanciers' sites and wiki entries, he now knew why Piper's rat pipes were silent: They were like dog whistles. Rats' voices went into the ultrasonic ranges, but that was no problem for the Pied Piper and his cybernetic cochleae. No wonder he looked a bit loopy when he was with his rats - he was reacting to things that other people couldn't hear.
He surfed around for a while longer, then came across something that shook him up. '..seems to purport the idea that it is possible for someone who is heterosexual to fall in love with someone of the same gender, and for someone who is homosexual to fall in love with someone of a different gender,' he read. He felt his hands go clammy and his stomach did a backflip and he blinked hard against the pressure of tears. My god... is that what happened? Is that why...? I didn't fall in love with him, did I? But this is saying it's possible...
A memory flashed: Piper hardly ever talked about himself, but out in the desert, he'd opened up a little. And I had to be dead for you to do it, James thought regretfully. But he understood why; Trickster had always exploited such personal tidbits. Out in the desert, Hartley had talked a little, telling what was left of James things like when he'd first realized that he was gay, the girlfriends he'd had when he was denying it (Piper, a slut?! That would've shocked the heck out of James if he'd been alive and was still a bit of a surprise) And about his parents' reasons for having a child.
The phrase 'romantic friendship' caught his eye and he chased after it. That too seemed to fit, and he flipped back and forth between the articles, trying to figure out what the hell was going on in his head. In his heart. He opened another window and brought back that image of Piper, then looked at the articles again. No matter which way it went, whether it was love or this 'romantic friendship,' both seemed to be saying that the intense attachment he felt towards Piper wasn't unheard of and may not even have anything to do with being gay, might even be separate from sexuality entirely. Then the word 'soulmate' caught his eye and he sat back, defeated. He stared at the image of Piper and at his own impossible left hand, that he'd scarred himself in his dementia. Soulmate. That's fuckin' it, isn't it. You're my soulmate.
Out in the desert, Piper had told him about the abortions. Rachel Rathaway had been pregnant twice, before Hartley was born. Both were girls; The Rathaways had wanted a boy to be their heir and to carry the family name. It was highly illegal, but the Rathaways had money, and money could buy a lot of silence. Maybe they were you, James thought, staring at the image on the screen, Maybe that's why you ended up queer, maybe 'cause you were supposed to be a girl. My girl. Maybe you were so determined to get here, you became a boy just so they'd let you into the damned world. Hah, bet you've been regretting that ever since.
He glanced at the time; almost time for his appointment with the shrink. He usually gave the shrink a run-around. Not that the shrink hadn't been useful in helping him re-order his brain and make sense of the scrambled eggs that his memory had become, but there were some things he just couldn't talk about, y'know? Like being dead, like remembering things that'd happened after he'd died. But this time... this was just too... this time, he might just need the shrink. He picked up his coffee and noticed how badly his hands were shaking. Yeah. Think I need the shrink to make sense of this one.
Title: My Girl
Author: Katzedecimal
Rating: T
Characters: Trickster
Summary: Tricks gets to thinking and comes to some realisations.
"We're sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service." James set the phone back into its cradle. Land line disconnected, cel reassigned and a few discreet inquiries revealed that the house had been demolished and the land sold. The homeless shelter, rape crisis center and LGBT helpline all said they hadn't heard from him since before that ill-fated gathering of the Rogues. Every lead James chased was coming up a dead end. If Piper was still in Keystone, he was keeping very quiet.
More than likely, Magenta was right and he wasn't in Keystone anymore. If that was the case, he'd need more than just the hospital's public-access computer system to track Piper down, but he'd covered that after visiting hours were over. Hey, fair's fair, the kid had nicked his gear, so he'd nicked the little fucker's laptop. In its place he'd left a Fisher-Price laptop he'd stolen from the kiddie ward downstairs. Still, the public-access system had its uses - motivation, for one.
Hartley's old blog had been shut down and comments-locked for months. The last entry broke James's heart every time he saw it: A photograph of his old Trickster puppet, lying forlorn, with his birth and death dates superimposed on it. Every time he saw it, he teared up. Every time he saw it, it renewed his determination to find Piper.
He wondered if his old picture account was still active; it was. It was friends-only, and since James didn't have many friends, very few people ever saw the images he'd stored there. Some old girlfriends, some of Wally, some of the Rogues, some of Magenta and Heatwave from the old Project days. Some of Piper.
He pulled up his favorite, a candid shot from the Project days, that he'd taken while Piper's attention was elsewhere. Piper, in his costume, sitting crosslegged on the floor with his rats. The things were all over him and he'd cuddled and stroked them as if they were pets, his face partially hidden by his cowl. In the twilight, the shadows and his own mood had given him a dark and dangerous magnetism. Looking at it now - Piper's fingers splayed over the rat that nuzzled beneath his jaw, cupping another cradled against his chest, more leaning over his shoulders and crawling into his lap, the dark shadows playing over them - the image seemed almost erotic. It spoke of a brooding storm, its power held back by cobwebs.
Magenta had been a little uncomfortable around this Piper but she hadn't really known him when he was a delinquent kid reject: He would have been Goth if New Wave hadn't gotten to him first. Trickster remembered the copper-haired kid, always hanging in the background, silently listening, his cybernetic ears picking up all the secrets and tucking them away. And if he was feeling particularly malicious, he'd tell Trickster what he knew. In his own way, Piper was as manipulative as Trickster was himself, and he had a knack for getting you to do his dirty work, even without the flute.
And then he'd quit the Rogues and gone straight - so to speak, because it was some time around then that he'd gotten himself a steady boyfriend. Someone who filled the need that had turned Piper Roguish in the first place. He'd blossomed after that, gone from a dorky-looking kid to a total chickmagnet, which irony always made Trickster smirk.
Then Iron Heights had happened. As if it weren't enough that he'd been framed for the murder of his parents - his own parents, for pity's sake! - they'd sent Piper there. And all the hours of community service, voluntary community service, not ordered by any judge.. all the years of working with the homeless, of administering crisis aid to terrified women and broken children, all the good he'd done with his life, it all counted for nothing -- he'd been a Rogue and that was all the justification they needed for all the beatings and all the torture. James knew the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. He knew about the Wolfe's 'cone of silence,' too. And these were the 'good guys.' I never forgave myself for not hearing you out, dude.
Piper had never talked about it. Piper was an extremely private person and seldom talked about himself. It surprised people, when they ever stopped to think about it, because Piper was an out and proud queer. But he wore his gay identity like Trickster wore his stripes, as both a target and a shield. People were so distracted by the big shiny Ghey that they didn't look at the man himself, in case it led to Too Much Information. It had certainly worked on James.
This picture was James's favorite because it just seemed to be the sum of everything Piper: The darkness, the secrets, the tenderness, the heart that could love even those considered to be vermin by the rest of humanity, yet was himself unloved. James shivered, then shook his head and started up a search engine.
A few hours later he'd come up with nothing, as expected. Still, all the wandering and link-chasing had been entertaining. Courtesy of several rat fanciers' sites and wiki entries, he now knew why Piper's rat pipes were silent: They were like dog whistles. Rats' voices went into the ultrasonic ranges, but that was no problem for the Pied Piper and his cybernetic cochleae. No wonder he looked a bit loopy when he was with his rats - he was reacting to things that other people couldn't hear.
He surfed around for a while longer, then came across something that shook him up. '..seems to purport the idea that it is possible for someone who is heterosexual to fall in love with someone of the same gender, and for someone who is homosexual to fall in love with someone of a different gender,' he read. He felt his hands go clammy and his stomach did a backflip and he blinked hard against the pressure of tears. My god... is that what happened? Is that why...? I didn't fall in love with him, did I? But this is saying it's possible...
A memory flashed: Piper hardly ever talked about himself, but out in the desert, he'd opened up a little. And I had to be dead for you to do it, James thought regretfully. But he understood why; Trickster had always exploited such personal tidbits. Out in the desert, Hartley had talked a little, telling what was left of James things like when he'd first realized that he was gay, the girlfriends he'd had when he was denying it (Piper, a slut?! That would've shocked the heck out of James if he'd been alive and was still a bit of a surprise) And about his parents' reasons for having a child.
The phrase 'romantic friendship' caught his eye and he chased after it. That too seemed to fit, and he flipped back and forth between the articles, trying to figure out what the hell was going on in his head. In his heart. He opened another window and brought back that image of Piper, then looked at the articles again. No matter which way it went, whether it was love or this 'romantic friendship,' both seemed to be saying that the intense attachment he felt towards Piper wasn't unheard of and may not even have anything to do with being gay, might even be separate from sexuality entirely. Then the word 'soulmate' caught his eye and he sat back, defeated. He stared at the image of Piper and at his own impossible left hand, that he'd scarred himself in his dementia. Soulmate. That's fuckin' it, isn't it. You're my soulmate.
Out in the desert, Piper had told him about the abortions. Rachel Rathaway had been pregnant twice, before Hartley was born. Both were girls; The Rathaways had wanted a boy to be their heir and to carry the family name. It was highly illegal, but the Rathaways had money, and money could buy a lot of silence. Maybe they were you, James thought, staring at the image on the screen, Maybe that's why you ended up queer, maybe 'cause you were supposed to be a girl. My girl. Maybe you were so determined to get here, you became a boy just so they'd let you into the damned world. Hah, bet you've been regretting that ever since.
He glanced at the time; almost time for his appointment with the shrink. He usually gave the shrink a run-around. Not that the shrink hadn't been useful in helping him re-order his brain and make sense of the scrambled eggs that his memory had become, but there were some things he just couldn't talk about, y'know? Like being dead, like remembering things that'd happened after he'd died. But this time... this was just too... this time, he might just need the shrink. He picked up his coffee and noticed how badly his hands were shaking. Yeah. Think I need the shrink to make sense of this one.