Ficlet: Meet the Ramseys
ooc: tm_northstar and john_movinon used with permission. This takes place today (Saturday).
In a tiny café somewhere in New England, the calm aura of a small town has been shattered by the arrival of three young men on a mission. Admittedly, all they've done so far is drive up the main street in a battered old Ford (although some might say that one of them - the loud one - had simply dropped from the sky) and order drinks at a family-run cafe, but even this is enough of an event to start tongues wagging.
"Drink!" Jean-Paul orders, leaning across the table to push a quarter-finished strawberry milkshake closer to Doug. "It's good for you. Calcium. Something. Chrisse."
Doug is busy staring out of the window, oblivious to everything but the task before him. "You can almost see their house from here. My house. This is so strange… I thought everything would have changed."
John, entirely underwhelmed by the surroundings, is nursing a Coke and wishing it were a Dr. Pepper. "Well, that's good, right? And you checked that they didn't move, so it's the right place."
"No, they're still there." Doug turns back, and absently takes a sip from the milkshake that Jean-Paul is one step away from forcing down his throat. "Eww! Jeep! Did you spike my milkshake?"
Jean-Paul is the picture of Catholic innocence. "The calcium has a real kick."
"So, did you decide if you want us to come with?" John asks, concerned on Doug's behalf. "We can be… nice."
"...and quiet..."
"...and not look like ex-terrorists or…"
"...ex-political assistants who keep being described as flamboyant…"
"...at all!"
Doug looks over the two of them - their eager expressions, their prepared-for-a-New-England-winter clothes - and smiles. "Thanks, guys, but I think I have to do this on my own. But I'll be right over there." He points. "I bet it's warmer in here anyway."
John pulls his hoodie a little closer. "You've got to be kidding."
-----
The name "Ramsey" is still there, stuck in tiny bronze letters next to the mailbox, and Doug's bright orange Frisbee from years ago is still lodged in the gutter. The car is new, though - one of those fashionably rugged offroad things that somehow manages to look like a survivor of D-Day even when brand new.
Doug has been putting off this meeting for years. At first it had been a struggle to tell them that he was a mutant, then that he was gay, then that he was in a relationship with the infamous terrorist Pyro. Of course, it's precisely now, when he's a gay mutant in a polyamorous relationship with two men (neither of whom have the shiniest, cleanest records), that he finds himself knocking at their door.
After a few bangs and thumps, the door finally opens. "Yeah?"
Doug stares. This isn't his Mom or Dad. It's a boy. A boy about his age, with about the same haircut, about the same clothes. For a moment, it's like looking into a mirror. For another moment, he wonders if this is like that whole Clone Wars saga that had given Spider-Man so much trouble.
For a linguist, Doug is having quite a few problems with words.
"Hi," the other boy says. "I'm D..."
"Doug!" Doug finally says, in a pitch several tones higher than he would have ordinarily like. "I'm Doug."
The boy grins. "Yeah, I know. You're in all the photos. I'm Duncan."
-----
"He'll be fine," JP is telling the window of the café, trying to somehow see around the corner to figure out whether Doug's parents have called the cops already.
John has come back with a polystyrene cup of coffee, mostly to warm his hands on. "Course he will. He's Doug. Who doesn't like Doug?"
Jean-Paul reluctantly looks back over at John. "You know I want this to go well for him, cher. But… My parents. Your stepdad."
John thinks that, were Doug still here, he might say something about averages. Surely, between the three of them, they must have at least one parent who was nice and tolerant and good. Or maybe they'd already lucked out in the family stakes with Jeanne-Marie.
"Hmm."
"Maybe we should go and check on him," Jean-Paul is fiddling with sugar packets. "What if his Dad works for Wideawake? They could have him in the back of a truck in minutes, and..."
John's eyebrows shoot up. "JP. He'll be fine."
"Yeah..." Jean-Paul sighs and stands up. "Do you want some coffee?"
-----
The interior of the Ramsey house hasn't changed much, either. It's tidier than Doug had remembered, but then he hasn't lived here in years, and it had usually been his school papers or science experiments littering the floor. He examines the photographs on the mantelpiece before turning back to Duncan, who is standing around looking at his watch.
"How long have you lived here?"
He shrugs. "About a year. They've been really cool to me. Most foster parents don't like to take in older kids. We're normally too much trouble."
"I didn't know they were fostering."
"Guess they got into it after you left... empty nest syndrome, yeah? Anyway, they talk about you all the time. They've even got..."
And the front door opens.
"Douglas?"
"Mom?"
-----
Jean-Paul is busy building a pyramid out of polystyrene coffee cups, while John slouches in his seat and listens to his iPod. Faint strains of My Chemical Romance can be heard, and the other patrons of the cafe are giving them both more than their share of odd looks.
"Okay, five more minutes and we bust in there," Jean-Paul asserts. "We can call my sister if we have to. And Kelly. And Pietro. They can all get here like that."
The bell on the door at the front of the cafe rings, and both of them quickly look up.
"Hey, Dou... hey, you're not Doug," John says, sitting up.
"I'm Duncan," Duncan says with a grin. "He told me to come fetch you. Mrs. Ramsey's making tea."
Jean-Paul looks at him suspiciously. "Tea?"
Duncan blinks. "To... drink?"
"Oh, come on, JP." John stands up. "If it's a trap we can always call Dickhead and Mr. Splooshy and whoever else, okay?"
Jean-Paul gets up, and shoots a look at Duncan on his way towards the door. "Those are codenames, all right?"
-----
Doug is sitting on the couch, sandwiched between his parents - his father, who keeps inquiring about his grades in school, and his future career plans, and whether this 'John Allerdyce' has an accountant, and his mother, who is going through an entire bulging scrapbook of articles on the Xavier school and Doug's various adventures over the years.
Soon, however, the door opens again, and John and Jean-Paul venture into the living room a little nervously.
"Hey guys!" Doug says, beaming.
JP looks like he wants to whip out a cigarette. "So. You're okay?" He surreptitiously inspects the room for evidence of Sentinels, Skrulls, or supervillains.
"Yeah!" Doug says brightly. "Look, J., you're in here!" He thrusts out the scrapbook so they can see, just as Mrs. Ramsey excuses herself.
John takes it, relieved to discover that it's an article about the Shelter, not about the Brotherhood.
"That's not a very good picture," JP says, hovering over his shoulder.
Mr. Ramsey gets up from the couch, a little stiffly. "You must be Jean-Paul. I could tell from the accent. Well, and I've seen you on CNN a few times." He offers his hand to shake. "We're so glad Doug's made such good friends."
Jean-Paul shakes, trying to judge just how much Doug has told them. "Friends. Right."
"And John." Mr. Ramsey grabs his hand, in turn. "Now, Doug's been telling me about this apartment building you've bought. Are you really sure that's a sound investment in today's economy?"
"Well, it's more a place to live than an investment," John starts, just as Mrs. Ramsey comes back, bearing tea and buns.
Suddenly, JP is sitting on the couch, halfway through a cake, jam on his chin. "Mmm, these are good," he says, waving it at John.
"Well, you have as many as you like, dear," Mrs. Ramsey tells him. "It's so nice to see young men with healthy appetites."
John sits down on Doug's other side, and pushes back his hoodie as Doug puts an arm around both of them. "It's really cool to have all of my family together for once."
-----
"So how much did you tell them?" John asks, as they make their way back to the car. "I mean, I got that they knew about the mutant thing, and who we are, but..."
Jean-Paul is still munching on cake. "Are we just your friends, or what?"
"Jeep. J." Doug takes their hands, even though JP's is slightly sticky. "They have my entire life documented in there. All the stuff about me dating John. And I told them that I'm living with you both. I think they've probably figured it out."
"Cool. So you must feel better now, huh, babe?" John says. "Talking to them, finally."
Doug smiles. "Yeah, I really do."
"It was sort of weird, though, that they have so much about you," Jean-Paul muses. "And that they were that cool about everything. And what about..."
John reaches over and smacks him with Doug's hand. "You were worried they were going to kidnap him! Can't you just admit you were wrong? His parents are actually nice people. Come on - we were due one after everything that's happened."
"Yeah, maybe," Jean-Paul scowls, and then brightens. "Think you can get your Mom to Fedex those cakes to our building?"
-----
In the Ramsey home, Mrs. Ramsey is clearing up teacups and plates.
"Do you think they suspected anything?" Mr. Ramsey asks, carefully putting away the scrapbook.
Duncan smiles, and sits back against the couch. "We'll just have to wait and see."
In a tiny café somewhere in New England, the calm aura of a small town has been shattered by the arrival of three young men on a mission. Admittedly, all they've done so far is drive up the main street in a battered old Ford (although some might say that one of them - the loud one - had simply dropped from the sky) and order drinks at a family-run cafe, but even this is enough of an event to start tongues wagging.
"Drink!" Jean-Paul orders, leaning across the table to push a quarter-finished strawberry milkshake closer to Doug. "It's good for you. Calcium. Something. Chrisse."
Doug is busy staring out of the window, oblivious to everything but the task before him. "You can almost see their house from here. My house. This is so strange… I thought everything would have changed."
John, entirely underwhelmed by the surroundings, is nursing a Coke and wishing it were a Dr. Pepper. "Well, that's good, right? And you checked that they didn't move, so it's the right place."
"No, they're still there." Doug turns back, and absently takes a sip from the milkshake that Jean-Paul is one step away from forcing down his throat. "Eww! Jeep! Did you spike my milkshake?"
Jean-Paul is the picture of Catholic innocence. "The calcium has a real kick."
"So, did you decide if you want us to come with?" John asks, concerned on Doug's behalf. "We can be… nice."
"...and quiet..."
"...and not look like ex-terrorists or…"
"...ex-political assistants who keep being described as flamboyant…"
"...at all!"
Doug looks over the two of them - their eager expressions, their prepared-for-a-New-England-winter clothes - and smiles. "Thanks, guys, but I think I have to do this on my own. But I'll be right over there." He points. "I bet it's warmer in here anyway."
John pulls his hoodie a little closer. "You've got to be kidding."
-----
The name "Ramsey" is still there, stuck in tiny bronze letters next to the mailbox, and Doug's bright orange Frisbee from years ago is still lodged in the gutter. The car is new, though - one of those fashionably rugged offroad things that somehow manages to look like a survivor of D-Day even when brand new.
Doug has been putting off this meeting for years. At first it had been a struggle to tell them that he was a mutant, then that he was gay, then that he was in a relationship with the infamous terrorist Pyro. Of course, it's precisely now, when he's a gay mutant in a polyamorous relationship with two men (neither of whom have the shiniest, cleanest records), that he finds himself knocking at their door.
After a few bangs and thumps, the door finally opens. "Yeah?"
Doug stares. This isn't his Mom or Dad. It's a boy. A boy about his age, with about the same haircut, about the same clothes. For a moment, it's like looking into a mirror. For another moment, he wonders if this is like that whole Clone Wars saga that had given Spider-Man so much trouble.
For a linguist, Doug is having quite a few problems with words.
"Hi," the other boy says. "I'm D..."
"Doug!" Doug finally says, in a pitch several tones higher than he would have ordinarily like. "I'm Doug."
The boy grins. "Yeah, I know. You're in all the photos. I'm Duncan."
-----
"He'll be fine," JP is telling the window of the café, trying to somehow see around the corner to figure out whether Doug's parents have called the cops already.
John has come back with a polystyrene cup of coffee, mostly to warm his hands on. "Course he will. He's Doug. Who doesn't like Doug?"
Jean-Paul reluctantly looks back over at John. "You know I want this to go well for him, cher. But… My parents. Your stepdad."
John thinks that, were Doug still here, he might say something about averages. Surely, between the three of them, they must have at least one parent who was nice and tolerant and good. Or maybe they'd already lucked out in the family stakes with Jeanne-Marie.
"Hmm."
"Maybe we should go and check on him," Jean-Paul is fiddling with sugar packets. "What if his Dad works for Wideawake? They could have him in the back of a truck in minutes, and..."
John's eyebrows shoot up. "JP. He'll be fine."
"Yeah..." Jean-Paul sighs and stands up. "Do you want some coffee?"
-----
The interior of the Ramsey house hasn't changed much, either. It's tidier than Doug had remembered, but then he hasn't lived here in years, and it had usually been his school papers or science experiments littering the floor. He examines the photographs on the mantelpiece before turning back to Duncan, who is standing around looking at his watch.
"How long have you lived here?"
He shrugs. "About a year. They've been really cool to me. Most foster parents don't like to take in older kids. We're normally too much trouble."
"I didn't know they were fostering."
"Guess they got into it after you left... empty nest syndrome, yeah? Anyway, they talk about you all the time. They've even got..."
And the front door opens.
"Douglas?"
"Mom?"
-----
Jean-Paul is busy building a pyramid out of polystyrene coffee cups, while John slouches in his seat and listens to his iPod. Faint strains of My Chemical Romance can be heard, and the other patrons of the cafe are giving them both more than their share of odd looks.
"Okay, five more minutes and we bust in there," Jean-Paul asserts. "We can call my sister if we have to. And Kelly. And Pietro. They can all get here like that."
The bell on the door at the front of the cafe rings, and both of them quickly look up.
"Hey, Dou... hey, you're not Doug," John says, sitting up.
"I'm Duncan," Duncan says with a grin. "He told me to come fetch you. Mrs. Ramsey's making tea."
Jean-Paul looks at him suspiciously. "Tea?"
Duncan blinks. "To... drink?"
"Oh, come on, JP." John stands up. "If it's a trap we can always call Dickhead and Mr. Splooshy and whoever else, okay?"
Jean-Paul gets up, and shoots a look at Duncan on his way towards the door. "Those are codenames, all right?"
-----
Doug is sitting on the couch, sandwiched between his parents - his father, who keeps inquiring about his grades in school, and his future career plans, and whether this 'John Allerdyce' has an accountant, and his mother, who is going through an entire bulging scrapbook of articles on the Xavier school and Doug's various adventures over the years.
Soon, however, the door opens again, and John and Jean-Paul venture into the living room a little nervously.
"Hey guys!" Doug says, beaming.
JP looks like he wants to whip out a cigarette. "So. You're okay?" He surreptitiously inspects the room for evidence of Sentinels, Skrulls, or supervillains.
"Yeah!" Doug says brightly. "Look, J., you're in here!" He thrusts out the scrapbook so they can see, just as Mrs. Ramsey excuses herself.
John takes it, relieved to discover that it's an article about the Shelter, not about the Brotherhood.
"That's not a very good picture," JP says, hovering over his shoulder.
Mr. Ramsey gets up from the couch, a little stiffly. "You must be Jean-Paul. I could tell from the accent. Well, and I've seen you on CNN a few times." He offers his hand to shake. "We're so glad Doug's made such good friends."
Jean-Paul shakes, trying to judge just how much Doug has told them. "Friends. Right."
"And John." Mr. Ramsey grabs his hand, in turn. "Now, Doug's been telling me about this apartment building you've bought. Are you really sure that's a sound investment in today's economy?"
"Well, it's more a place to live than an investment," John starts, just as Mrs. Ramsey comes back, bearing tea and buns.
Suddenly, JP is sitting on the couch, halfway through a cake, jam on his chin. "Mmm, these are good," he says, waving it at John.
"Well, you have as many as you like, dear," Mrs. Ramsey tells him. "It's so nice to see young men with healthy appetites."
John sits down on Doug's other side, and pushes back his hoodie as Doug puts an arm around both of them. "It's really cool to have all of my family together for once."
-----
"So how much did you tell them?" John asks, as they make their way back to the car. "I mean, I got that they knew about the mutant thing, and who we are, but..."
Jean-Paul is still munching on cake. "Are we just your friends, or what?"
"Jeep. J." Doug takes their hands, even though JP's is slightly sticky. "They have my entire life documented in there. All the stuff about me dating John. And I told them that I'm living with you both. I think they've probably figured it out."
"Cool. So you must feel better now, huh, babe?" John says. "Talking to them, finally."
Doug smiles. "Yeah, I really do."
"It was sort of weird, though, that they have so much about you," Jean-Paul muses. "And that they were that cool about everything. And what about..."
John reaches over and smacks him with Doug's hand. "You were worried they were going to kidnap him! Can't you just admit you were wrong? His parents are actually nice people. Come on - we were due one after everything that's happened."
"Yeah, maybe," Jean-Paul scowls, and then brightens. "Think you can get your Mom to Fedex those cakes to our building?"
-----
In the Ramsey home, Mrs. Ramsey is clearing up teacups and plates.
"Do you think they suspected anything?" Mr. Ramsey asks, carefully putting away the scrapbook.
Duncan smiles, and sits back against the couch. "We'll just have to wait and see."