This is the first (thing I remember)/Now it's the last (thing left on my mind)
Who: Stubby Boardman and the Lone Ranger
When: Oct. 14th, noonish
Where: The sky.
Summary: Flying lessons
( Afraid of the dark (do you hear me whisper?)/An empty heart (replaced with paranoia)/Why is this hard (do you recognize me?)/I know I'm wrong (but I can't help believin') )
When: Oct. 14th, noonish
Where: The sky.
Summary: Flying lessons
( Afraid of the dark (do you hear me whisper?)/An empty heart (replaced with paranoia)/Why is this hard (do you recognize me?)/I know I'm wrong (but I can't help believin') )
He set aside his textbook--it was upsidedown, no wonder he hadn't been able to focus on a single word, the few times he'd glanced down in an effort to read. The keys were in the pocket of his jacket, which was across the room on the doorknob--so Sirius hauled himself to his feet and went for it, turning his back on Jack for a moment.
A grimace twisted his face as he fumbled for the keys. Times like these were enough to remind him that Jack was someone different--not James, or Remus, or Peter. Sirius knew his flatmate fairly well, certainly, but not enough to know what to do all the time. If it were James, he'd tackle him; if it were Remus, he'd throw bits of chocolate at him; if it were Peter, he'd tease him--but none of them had half the history that Jack had, and he'd know them for nearly seven years, and the fact remained that Sirius didn't know what to do, and was largely useless, and even the thought of that made him extra anxious.
He'll be caught; it'll be all right, is what he wanted to say. But he didn't. He didn't want to get into that just yet. Better to distract Jack, or attempt to, or something.
"C'mon, mate," he said instead as he pulled on his jacket. He tossed the keys at Jack, aiming for the space beside the bed so as not to jar his arm or anything. "You take those, o trusted confidant of mine. You're about to be the first person ever to be allowed to fly my motorbike. I never even allowed my mate James a chance at this--but then, I think you're a bit more clever than him. But just you grow anxious with anticipation in advance."
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"Flattered, even," he added, feeling the need to be extra sarcastic now that he wasn't acting normally (and somewhere, deep in the pit of his stomach, there was a dread that Sirius would be repulsed by his strange behavior, that he would hate times like these, when Jack wasn't completely normal, and try to hurry the lesson in order to get away from him). "I'm gonna start bitin' me fingernails, I'm so anxious."
That last one sounded more catty than sarcastic, and he grimaced, regretting it; he didn't want to take things out on Sirius, after all, not especially when he had been doing so much for Jack lately. But he couldn't take it back, not without losing pride, and so Jack simply fell silent, glancing at the floor as they moved outside.
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He tried a grin over his shoulder. With things like this, it was best to just keep at it--staying sarcastic and making jokes (no matter how weak)--because the moment it stopped, there would be silence, and from silence came trouble.
The garage was locked up, of course, but Sirius did away with that quickly enough and shoved the door open with his shoulder. The motorbike stood in its usual space, gleaming even in the weak afternoon light. He went over to it and put a hand against the seat, his smile slipping into something a bit more genuine.
"You've never done anything like this before, right?" It wasn't a I know something you don't know sort of question; it was genuine. Sirius was a bit fuzzy as to the timing of Muggle inventions--and Jack had been to places in the future with televisions; that muddied it even more. "C'mere, I'll show you the necessary bits. I expect you ought to drive it on land for at least a bit--although perhaps not, as there's nothing for you to drive it into in the sky. But let's just avoid that altogether--I quite like you, and I'd have to kill you for wrecking my darling motorbike."
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"You keep sayin' that," he drawled, "like it's somethin' inevitable. I'll be careful, Mister Black." He came to stand by the other boy, his fingers straying forward to brush against the leather seat. He could feel, despite himself, despite his skittishness and anger and panic, a quiet sort of thrill as he regarded the motorbike. Over the next few hours he was going to learn to fly; it was impossible to think that and not be a little excited. Even if he didn't actually get up in the air, even if it was just verbal lessons, that would be good enough.
"So how do I start?" he asked, and silently took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on this and only this. No Scarecrow, no torture, no Claire, no Edelweiss. Just flying and Sirius.
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The actual process of teaching was going to be a bit difficult. Sirius shifted, giving the motorbike a once-over before swinging onto it, straddling the seat without sitting down. "Right," he said, "first things first. It starts the same as a Muggle bike does, so first there's the fuel supply down here--" He leaned down towards the side of the bike, where the mechanics of the bike were exposed. "That's this little thinger here. And that's the choke, just there, so you let that out next. Then keys, then you can actually turn on the ignition."
He sat more normally now, putting his hands on the handlebars. All of this was nearly second nature by this point, so it was difficult to articulate in a logical way. "Er--right, then it's the clutch, that's this here, on the handlebars--you squeeze that, and then you can kick it into neutral--that's how you do all the shifting, see, and eventually how you'll get it to fly as well. And, er--then you actually start it, and shift into first--and then you've got to steer.
"Sure you can manage steering at least, right?" He looked over at Jack with another grin, scratching at his nose. "S' a great deal all at once, isn't it. Just don't cock up the gear shifting, would you; wouldn't want my bloody engine ruined."
He was worried about the bike, honestly, but--well, it was Jack; Jack would take good care of it. He was a man of his word. So, with a decisive sort of nod, Sirius climbed off the bike and shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to disguise that worry the best that he could. "Want to give it a go, then? At least that much."
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"Go through it again," he ordered, and waved his hand at the bike. "All o' it-- the gear shiftin' and steerin' and kickin' and clutches and all that. Slowly. I've never seen one o' these before," he added as a reminder, feeling the need to defend his slowness.
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Sirius relaxed slightly, his shoulders dropping a bit. He shook out his hands, as if having just finished some complicated bit of detail work, and gave Jack a grin. "Right," he said, "slowly for slow students. I can manage that, I think--"
He crouched beside the bike this time, trying to remind himself to go slowly all the while. "First it's the fuel supply, there; you switch that on. Then you let out the choke, there--and then you put the keys in the ignition. Ease up on the clutch, that's on the handlebars, and kick it into neutral. That's where you kick, just there," he said, tapping it with his finger. "Once you've done that, you actually turn the keys, and then kick it into first gear, and that's you done."
Taking it too far wouldn't do, but Sirius couldn't resist just a bit of teasing. He shot Jack a smirk. "Think you've got it now, at least the basics--or do I have to spell it out for you in signal flags as well? I'm sure you'll be all right, you're mostly clever," he added judiciously, sitting back on his heels and looking back at the motorbike once more. Real compliments like that felt strange to just hand out.
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Nodding firmly to himself, he offered the other boy half a smile-- shaky, and not as brilliant as his usual ones were, but a smile nonetheless. Coming forward, he raised an eyebrow at the other man, one hand straying to rest on the bike as he waited for permission. "But I got it, I think. Can I--?"
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"You may, my son," he said magnanimously, waving a hand at the bike and shutting his eyes. "Go forth, and know it better, man. Go slowly, now, or else you'll ruin the gears and get overexcited--and don't do that last bit, the kicking it into first, or else you'll be out the door faster than even I can stop you."
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Jack paused for a moment, going over the instructions once more in his mind, trying to be sure he remembered it all-- and then began. Switch on the fuel, ease on the clutch (which took two tries), stick the keys into the ignition (which gave him a bit of trouble until he realized he was holding them upside down). Kick it into neutral and turned the keys. There was a small moment of panic where he moved to kick it into first and then remembered he wasn't supposed to, but, thank god, was able to stop himself in time.
Beaming proudly, he smirked at Sirius, pleased he had managed to start the bike with only a few errors. "Not bad for someone from 1899, hey?"
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It wasn't that he didn't trust Jack, he assured himself yet again, watching his friend go through the movements of starting the bike. It was just... Mistakes were painful, that was all, and seeing them made on his bike was needling. That was literal--seeing mistakes made him want to flinch, as if there were little needles sticking him--but he held back from vocalizing any of that, much as he wanted to. Not this time around.
And he really had done a fairly good job, overall, Sirius admitted grudgingly to himself. He gave Jack a grin in return. "Wouldn't even have remembered that you were from 1899 if you hadn't mentioned it, mate," he said, pushing a hand through his hair. "We've modernised you, I think. Right," and he pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his hands. "Let's take it outdoors--the street's a bit empty, usually, so you can get the hang of steering. You kick it into first and it ought to go straight out the door."
He pushed open the garage door, stepping off to the side with a grin, trying to suppress the instinct to throw himself in front of the bike and stop the progress. It's Jack, you nonce, he'll do right by her. "Ready?"
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"You're not comin' along?" he finally said, raising an eyebrow and offering a crooked half-grin. There were times-- not many, but occasions-- when Jack rather wished he could come out and say what he meant; it was difficult, playing a game of teasing and jokes in order to avoid a semi-serious subject. "Come on, what's the point if I'm drivin' by meself?"
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"Don't go and have a lack of self-confidence now, mate," he said, folding his arms over his chest, "I'm trying to be magnanimous, put all my faith and trust and hope in you, like." But it was a small bit of comfort, too--much like Jack asking for clarification had been. It meant that he was taking it quite seriously (but of course he was; Sirius would expect no less--Jack was, after all, quite the decent sort).
And he was a bit too nervous to allow that to happen straight from the off. He could do a bit of magic and stop the bike, should it come to that, but it would be better not to have to do it at all. So Sirius heaved a theatrical sigh, flipping the front of his fringe out of his face and coming over to the back of the bike. "Right, right, shove up, would you, I'll come along. Everyone needs a wingman, I expect."
It was a bit odd, climbing onto the back of his own bike, with someone else intending to drive it off into the wild blue yonder. But, well, if he could get used to magical bloody Canada, Sirius supposed, rolling his eyes a little, he could get used to this.
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