Fic: Listener, "Reflections in a Broken Mirror" (MTF!Toby)
The product of Day 1 of our July NaNo: 725 words of Listener AU transfic (ETA: is it really AU if it could possibly happen in canon?) that I'm really proud of. Enjoy. And happy Canada Day. (Spoilers for all of season 1, btw.)
Reflections in a Broken Mirror
He’s told Ray of the bits and pieces of his history - his mother, his brother, his gift - that have been slowly but surely coming back.
What he hasn’t told anyone is that there are other things he remembers, too.
---
He remembers days when his mom wasn’t watching too closely, when he’d sneak up to her room and stand in front of the mirror in her shoes and her makeup and just stare at herself.
Most of the time, the voices in his head - confused and loud and never-ending - nearly drove him to madness, but on these days, in front of the mirror, she would listen, to be sure. Would always hear his mom coming, and never be caught.
(And if anything about that had ever been intentional on her mom’s part, well, nothing was ever said, out loud or otherwise.)
She would have just finished hurriedly washing the makeup off when Maya would appear outside the door to the bathroom, and he, his face passably clean, would look up at her and think of puppies so as not to think of makeup and pretty shoes and Mom, I’m a girl.
After a while, Maya stopped giving him the Look, and the lecture that went with it that said the same thing: I’m sorry, but we can’t have a pet right now; maybe someday.
(After a while, he realized that Maya had stopped listening, was letting him have his secrets, and she loved her mother even more.)
---
He remembers the day his name changed.
The trailer burned in the distance, but not far enough away - the heat was incredible, and both their eyes were wide with the fear of it. He - William, Toby, he - repeated it after her, his new name, but she wished she could say, “No, Mom, I’m Chloe.”
They’d never find him then.
---
He remembers her second foster home.
Remembers how she’d learned for a fact that she fit into Abby Leblanc’s clothes, and remembers the day Abby found out that same fact.
Abby had screamed so loud Toby hadn’t heard quite right for the whole time it took his foster parents to contact his social worker and start making plans to move him, not for the first time and not for the last.
---
This is what he remembers when he sees Daniel and sees Lisa and understands. And afterwards, the makeup and the clothes and the hiding and Chloe are on his mind when he says, “I know what this kid’s going through.”
The lie of omission - his telepathy, not her self - comes quickly and easily like the lies always have, and she’s never been so glad Oz can’t hear her thoughts. Let him assume.
---
Ray, of course, never could read her mind, either, but he would never assume. Learned very quickly not to. A lie a little too fast, a little too defensive, too much of what he wanted to hear, and he’d look sideways at her. Are you sure?
She’d look back at him, up through her eyelashes from where her face was angled toward the ground - and it might have looked like a glare if she hadn’t been biting her lip, nearly breaking - and she’d nod.
So Ray would nod, too, slowly, accepting her answer. But before moving on, he’d add in a tone that very nearly succeeded at sounding offhand, “If there’s ever anything you want to tell someone, I’m good at keeping secrets.” Aloud, so he could be sure Toby was listening.
And she was.
---
Years later, when Ray is no longer the only one who knows her other secret, Toby finally takes him up on the offer made decades ago and several times since. Tells him about himself, herself.
“I remember other things, now, from before I met you,” she says, and she tells him everything.
She tries her best to shut out his thoughts, tries not to pry, wanting to give him privacy to react. She owes him that, but it’s a very hard thing.
Finally, he nods, slowly, and it’s so completely a Ray reaction that she almost wants to laugh. “Toby,” he says, and then stops and looks at her. Even without her gift, she would have known the wheels were turning in his head. He tries again: Would you rather-, he starts.
“Chloe,” she says.
“Chloe,” he echoes, and he smiles.
Reflections in a Broken Mirror
He’s told Ray of the bits and pieces of his history - his mother, his brother, his gift - that have been slowly but surely coming back.
What he hasn’t told anyone is that there are other things he remembers, too.
---
He remembers days when his mom wasn’t watching too closely, when he’d sneak up to her room and stand in front of the mirror in her shoes and her makeup and just stare at herself.
Most of the time, the voices in his head - confused and loud and never-ending - nearly drove him to madness, but on these days, in front of the mirror, she would listen, to be sure. Would always hear his mom coming, and never be caught.
(And if anything about that had ever been intentional on her mom’s part, well, nothing was ever said, out loud or otherwise.)
She would have just finished hurriedly washing the makeup off when Maya would appear outside the door to the bathroom, and he, his face passably clean, would look up at her and think of puppies so as not to think of makeup and pretty shoes and Mom, I’m a girl.
After a while, Maya stopped giving him the Look, and the lecture that went with it that said the same thing: I’m sorry, but we can’t have a pet right now; maybe someday.
(After a while, he realized that Maya had stopped listening, was letting him have his secrets, and she loved her mother even more.)
---
He remembers the day his name changed.
The trailer burned in the distance, but not far enough away - the heat was incredible, and both their eyes were wide with the fear of it. He - William, Toby, he - repeated it after her, his new name, but she wished she could say, “No, Mom, I’m Chloe.”
They’d never find him then.
---
He remembers her second foster home.
Remembers how she’d learned for a fact that she fit into Abby Leblanc’s clothes, and remembers the day Abby found out that same fact.
Abby had screamed so loud Toby hadn’t heard quite right for the whole time it took his foster parents to contact his social worker and start making plans to move him, not for the first time and not for the last.
---
This is what he remembers when he sees Daniel and sees Lisa and understands. And afterwards, the makeup and the clothes and the hiding and Chloe are on his mind when he says, “I know what this kid’s going through.”
The lie of omission - his telepathy, not her self - comes quickly and easily like the lies always have, and she’s never been so glad Oz can’t hear her thoughts. Let him assume.
---
Ray, of course, never could read her mind, either, but he would never assume. Learned very quickly not to. A lie a little too fast, a little too defensive, too much of what he wanted to hear, and he’d look sideways at her. Are you sure?
She’d look back at him, up through her eyelashes from where her face was angled toward the ground - and it might have looked like a glare if she hadn’t been biting her lip, nearly breaking - and she’d nod.
So Ray would nod, too, slowly, accepting her answer. But before moving on, he’d add in a tone that very nearly succeeded at sounding offhand, “If there’s ever anything you want to tell someone, I’m good at keeping secrets.” Aloud, so he could be sure Toby was listening.
And she was.
---
Years later, when Ray is no longer the only one who knows her other secret, Toby finally takes him up on the offer made decades ago and several times since. Tells him about himself, herself.
“I remember other things, now, from before I met you,” she says, and she tells him everything.
She tries her best to shut out his thoughts, tries not to pry, wanting to give him privacy to react. She owes him that, but it’s a very hard thing.
Finally, he nods, slowly, and it’s so completely a Ray reaction that she almost wants to laugh. “Toby,” he says, and then stops and looks at her. Even without her gift, she would have known the wheels were turning in his head. He tries again: Would you rather-, he starts.
“Chloe,” she says.
“Chloe,” he echoes, and he smiles.