Writing Challenge: 150 stories. Go.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#133 – Open Door

The problem with being in the closet was that they needed to find a two-bedroom apartment. They didn’t need two bedrooms, but they had to have bedrooms designated as each of theirs individually, rather than one designated as theirs together, if they wanted to keep up appearances. Their parents came to visit occasionally and there was necessary pretense.

Apartments in Manhattan were expensive; they would never be able to afford this if not for their parents, which also contributed to the need to remain closeted. These were moments where Sean was ashamed of his privilege but relied on it regardless. Between his parents subsidizing his half of the rent, and Josh’s parents paying the younger boy’s half, they were able to afford the living space and the privacy; Sean knew they were quite fortunate.

The apartment they’d chosen was nice. Located in the middle of the Village, they were nearby NYU, and the surrounding nightlife: movie theaters, restaurants, bars and clubs; everything that two young men could need to sustain themselves while continuing their studies.

They were also fortunate in that Sean’s parents lived farther away than Josh’s parents, which meant that they had a bit more leeway with the décor. The Nevilles had come to terms with their son’s political leanings, and Sean tried not to make more mention than was necessary at family gatherings. In exchange, his parents (and, to a lesser extent, his sister) didn’t comment on his hobbies. As long as he didn’t tell them too much about his true interests.

In “Sean’s” bedroom, which was really their bedroom, Josh put up a campaign poster for Jimmy Carter, from the 1976 election. It was presumed the current president would seek reelection the next year, and the younger boy intended to buy one of those too; he might put that in the living room. Sean put up a collage of photos from his senior year, Josh’s freshmen year, with the other Radicals. Sean’s bedroom had been chosen as the common bedroom because he was taller and more solid and needed a bigger bed than Josh did on his own. It would be easier to share his bed than to share Josh’s. The younger boy hadn’t disagreed with this arrangement.

He did disagree about the Audrey Hepburn poster that Sean had kept in his dormitory room. After a bit of discussion, the telepath hung it in the bathroom as a compromise.

They had bought some classier art at the MoMA, including Starry Night Over the Rhone and The Vitruvian Man.

A church nearby was shutting down, and it had been undedicated. As part of the clearance process, there had been a sale on furniture, and Sean had bought one of the pews. Greg had helped him carry it home and up the stairs into the apartment.

After a couple of weeks of moving furniture and acquiring items, the apartment was starting to feel like home.

So when Josh came back one day with the beaded curtains he’d bought at the shop down the street and asked if Sean wanted to hang them up in the kitchen, the telepath had smiled. “We can put them in every room, if you want.”

After all, it was their apartment.

[Tarak Rana]

47. Squished

"We're home! We're hoooome!" Six-year-old Chandresh whooped with delight, leaping out of the family minivan and running in circles in the driveway. Ten-year-old Vinaya exited with far more poise than the youngest Rana, hefting powder blue backpack full of coloring books over her shoulder and heading into the house.

Tarak hopped out after her, toting along his own backpack, though his was what he considered a manly red.

It had Spiderman on it.

"Taraaaaaaak." Chandresh called, falling over into the grass, too tall after a week without mowing, "Come find Buddy with meeeee."

Tarak made his way into the garage, tossing his bookbag at the bottom of the stairs before darting back toward the lawn, ignoring his parents impositions for the two boys to come help unpack and not to leave things in the middle of the stairs.

"Buddy!" Tarak called, flopping down beside Chandresh, "Heeeeeeere, kitty kitty kitty."

No cat came.

After several moments of calling vainly Tarak pushed himself up by his elbows, glancing around the yard.

No cat.

"Maybe he went to the neighbors while we were gone." He suggested, standing and offering his younger brother a hand. "Let's go see."

The two boys clambered across the yard, through the tangle of trees that separated their house from the people next door.

The neighbors were an elderly couple with no grandchildren, and thus they treated the Rana's as such. Sometimes the old woman would sigh and wish that her son would marry so she could have children, but Tarak had seen him; he had to be at least as old as his parents.

That was pretty old for getting married, he thought.

They rapped smartly on the door, waiting patiently for the door to open.

As soon as the old woman saw them her face fell.

"Oh." She said, looking over her shoulder uncomfortably. "You're back."

Tarak nodded, offering her a friendly smile. "We just got back." He informed her, placing both hands behind his back and rocking back and forth on his heels. "We were wondering if Buddy came over here while we were gone. I know he gets lonely..."

"I'm so sorry, boys," The neighbor said regretfully. "But your cat......your cat was run over a few days ago. By the Fed Ex truck. I saw him run out into the road in front of it..."

Chandresh let out a wail of despair, and Tarak wrapped one arm around his little brother's shoulders comfortingly. He kept the smile on his face, but there was a hitch in his voice as he said, "I guess we'd better go tell mom and dad."

And with that he turned Chandresh gently, steering him back home.

[Mariposa Nazario]

21. Fortune

A young woman with short hair was tied to the altar, her mouth wrapped tightly with a white cloth, though the drugs in her system would surely keep her too torpid to scream even as the knife descended.

Nearby, flames flickered in a brazier, the acrid smell of burning flesh remnant from other, similar sacrifices over the course of decades.

Mariposa wrinkled her nose in disgust.

She wasn't here to play the hero; she was here to acquire items. Or rather, one item in particular, although that hadn't stopped her from swiping the odd jewel here and there. Still, it was less risky to steal jewels than people, and further, there were guards.

Getting past them would be difficult.

It would be better to vanish, allowing Cyric his bloody sacrifice with no one the wiser. It certainly would be foolish to disarm the guards and do away with the young woman, particularly in her drugged state; she would only be a burden, and a dangerous one at that.

Mariposa sighed in aggravation, her conscious pricking her at these thoughts. Tyr would certainly not approve of just leaving someone to be sacrificed.

She unbuckled her sword, slipping through the columns like a shadow until she arrived before the first guard. She whacked him over the head, watching with satisfaction as he slid to the ground, unconscious. It would be far safer just to slay him, but that would unfortunately go against her god's laws.

She regretfully left him there, stealing to the side of the sacrifice and swinging her blade, severing the woman's bonds.

Shouts told her she was noticed.

She had expected that.

Swinging the inert form over her shoulder, the tall warrior took off at a run, as fast as she could with a person in one hand and a sword in another, swinging her blade at any who crossed her path, not stopping to see the results of her bloody handiwork.

Once outside she swung the woman onto her pack mule, slapping the animal's flank so that it sped off, back towards the encampment while she flung herself haphazardly into the saddle of her war horse.

Soon the cries of the Zhentarim were left behind, though she had no doubt they would put up a pursuit come daylight.

When she reached the encampment the old magician, Sean, was already reviving their new guest.

"Brought back more than just a scroll, I see," He remarked without looking up.

Mariposa flopped down beside the fire gratefully, tossing him the scroll she'd confiscated, followed by a tan colored bag that jingled with the sound of the jewels and coins she had liberated while seeking out the scroll. "Yup." She replied, peeling off her gloves and dropping them beside her. "Didn't seem right to leave her there. What's her name?"

He always seemed to know those things, even without being told.

Sean looked down at the woman, who was only just beginning to stir. "Jen. Her name is Jen."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#74 – Deodorant

It had happened again.

Josh blamed himself for these incidents, although he didn’t say that to Sean. He tried very hard not to think this around Sean, because he didn’t want to cause the telepath any pain, and he didn’t want to share his guilt. It was his own fault for not having the self-control to not drink around the telepath. Or the self-control, when drunk, to not take advantage of his friend.

He hated that about himself.

He hated that he felt like a predator: getting close to Sean when they were drunk, pawing at him, kissing his face sloppily, whispering words of affection that he would never, ever feel comfortable saying sober because they were far truer than he wanted Sean to realize. And then taking him to bed when there was no chance that the telepath ever would agree to do that if he was sober.

Josh knew that he wasn’t a good person.

But he wasn’t so bad a person that he wanted Sean to feel worse about what had happened, so he immediately slipped out of bed, holding a blanket around his waist to conceal himself.

Sean seemed a little stiff behind him, which he supposed made sense; surely his friend was as embarrassed by these incidents as Josh was. He was probably also more ashamed and disappointed, for which the attorney couldn’t blame him. After all, Sean had to wake up next to him in bed; there was no reason to be happy about that.

“I’ll go make breakfast,” the telepath said. He also got out of bed, and looked for his bathrobe and a pair of underwear to cover himself. Josh hated himself because he turned his head to watch surreptitiously, and then he forced his attention back to his feet.

“Would you prefer French toast or omelets?”

“Anything,” Josh whispered, looking at his feet. “I’m not that hungry.”

“I’ll put the coffee on; maybe that will perk you up.” The telepath tightened the sash on his bathrobe, offered Josh a smile, and then he left the bedroom.

“I’ll shower!” Josh called after him. He waited until the door had been closed behind the telepath before he dropped the blanket and ducked into the master bathroom. He shut the door, offering him a bit more seclusion, before he stepped under the spray and tried to wash away his hangover and his guilt.

Despite the fact that never worked, he held out hope for this time.

It didn’t. This time, he had to deal with a hazy memory of sitting in Sean’s lap, looking him in the eye, and whispering I love you.

He was such a fool. His only hope was to not think about this at all; he had to compose himself so that Sean wouldn’t overhear any of this downstairs when they were having breakfast and trying to make plans for the rest of the day.

Deep breaths. In and out. Slowly, he was able to compartmentalize those thoughts.

Finished with his shower, he wrapped a towel around himself and went into the bedroom to pull on his clothing from last night. Then he took his emergency toothbrush and went to brush his teeth.

But he didn’t have deodorant. He looked through the emergency kit that Sean kept for him, but there was no deodorant there.

Unsure of what else to do, he borrowed some of Sean’s cologne and hoped the telepath wouldn’t mind.

Feeling more in control of himself, he went downstairs and entered the kitchen, offering his friend a tentative smile. “Good morning,” he murmured.

“Good morning,” Sean replied, setting a cup of coffee down in front of the attorney. “You smell nice this morning.”

“Ahh,” Josh stammered, looking down at the coffee cup. “It’s your cologne; I had to borrow it.”

“You can keep the bottle,” Sean said with a chuckle, before sitting down across from him. “I think it suits you better than it does me.”

Josh didn’t agree, but he kept that thought to himself.

[Joshua Bernstein]

49. Scramble

Under Riley's instructions Josh had slowly become competent in the kitchen. Or rather, he had become competent at baking, which he had decided was more or less the same thing. In his burgeoning confidence he had determined that he should make breakfast for Sean.

He had slipped out of bed while the telepath was still asleep, grateful that his partner didn't stir; Sean wasn't as deep a sleeper as he was. More than that, he was grateful that he had managed to wake up first. Usually Sean was awake far before he was, but anxiety over his plans had caused him to wake every couple of hours until the morning.

He pulled on a pair of khakis then grabbed a robe (Sean had worn off on him in that regards since he had moved in) and slipped down the stairs, careful not to make any noise.

The recipe he had seemed easy enough. At least, it had very few ingredients, and he had all of them because they were staples and Sean was good about keeping basics in the house.

He busied himself placing all the proper ingredients on the counter before pulling out the utensils he would need. He wasn't quite sure about the size of the pan, so he took out the largest skillet he could find.

He turned on the stove, then grabbed the bowl, peering at the directions he had written down.

In went the milk and the salt and pepper; the pepper shook too well, and he decided to balance it out by adding more salt. Then he cracked the eggs over the edge of the bowl, panicking as flecks of shell fell into the mixture.

He found a spoon and fished them out, then tossed it into the dishwasher, returning to his recipe.

Beat the eggs, it said.

He was glad he had taken lessons from Riley; baking sometimes required beating eggs. If he hadn't done this with his friend's help, however, he knew he would be utterly confused by the terminology.

When he thought that was well and blended he heated the butter over the skillet, staring hard until it looked more or less melted. He immediately poured in the egg mixture, then, stirring obsessively, waiting for the eggs to turn into fluffy yellow clouds of egg.

Instead they turned dark, with black flecks from the mound of pepper he'd dumped in. And they looked rubbery.

"Josh?"

At the sound of the sleepy voice Josh turned around guiltily. "Oh, Sean...." He stammered, wishing he could hide his project not because he was worried about the surprise now, but because it hadn't turned out like he'd hoped. "I...ahh..."

The telepath peered over his shoulders. "Scrambled eggs?" He questioned, quirking an eyebrow. As the attorney nodded in embarrassment his partner smiled.

"I'll go start the coffee."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#61 – Translation

The mind worked with a language of its own.

That wasn’t to say that thoughts had their own universal language, wholly unrelated to the languages of humankind. Thoughts were in whatever language one thought in, which was why a telepath hearing the thoughts of someone who spoke a language in which he wasn’t fluent heard only gibberish. Or gibberish coupled with more visual images and sometimes almost tactile sensations that made parsing those thoughts easier even with the language barrier. Most telepaths studied languages as a means of understanding other people’s forms of communication, to decode those thoughts for their own comfort if for no other reason.

It was why Sean had taken it upon himself to learn several languages: for professional as well as personal reasons.

But working within the mental realm involved an entirely new vocabulary, with which most of the population was completely unfamiliar: coring, overloading, scanning, probing, shielding, merging...the list went on. Psychic powers had their own vernacular.

That language barrier made it occasionally difficult to explain psychic powers to non-psychics. Particularly when the long list of side effects and what such powers actually felt like had to be described.

“Drowning” had been the closest approximation that Sean had as a child, but even that wasn’t quite accurate.

“Suffocating” was how most non-psychics described a long-term emotionally and physically intimate relationship with Sean. That tended to be more accurate, even if it wasn’t always fair; after all, Sean wasn’t able to help that his needs were different.

But acute awareness of those differences, and the difficulty most people had with them, caused him to do everything in his power to compensate for the stress.

Kathleen said he let other people take advantage of him. Josh said that he rebuffed conversations about his needs and changed the subject; that he actively sabotaged all efforts to have them met.

Sean disagreed. But there wasn’t a way to communicate just how important it was to him that Josh didn’t resent the telepathy. That Josh didn’t think in another language around him, one of the many he had never learned. That Josh accepted how Sean would know when he was home, or that he would know what Josh was thinking and might respond to unvoiced thoughts. Or how intimacy was meaningful to Sean because of the mental merge and not merely the physical aspects, and Josh enjoyed that too.

It was difficult enough to explain how he had the personality of a telepath; he knew that as much as he explained to Josh, and Josh could parrot the information back to him, his partner didn’t really understand what it was like.

Josh flung one arm around the telepath’s shoulders as they sat on the sofa, watching the BBC news broadcast. When the program broke for commercials, he turned to press his lips to Sean’s cheek. “What are you thinking about?”

Sean leaned into both the embrace and the kiss, and then he turned to capture the attorney’s lips with his own. When they broke for air, he replied, “You.”

“Good things, I hope.” Josh’s smile was teasing.

Always.

He could communicate that much, and it was enough.

[Joshua Bernstein]

68. Expanse

Joshua sighed heavily, resting his head against the arm of the sofa. He hadn't expected this to be easy, but he also hadn't expected to be quite so miserable.

He had thought that he would feel better after making a firm decision.

After all the suffocating and the uncertainty and the desperate longing coupled with the need to escape and be alone, a need he had never felt before, and he was sure that he could only feel better once the source had been dealt with.

Only he had seen the look on Sean's face as he'd told him, and it had taken all of his control not to cry with misery and guilt. He didn't want to hurt Sean, not more than was necessary to end things. It would probably be better in the long run. Sean would find someone who deserved him, someone who didn't feel confusing pressure.

Someone who could meet his needs without feeling conflicted and scared.

He didn't feel suffocated anymore. In fact, he felt too free. He wasn't sure what to do with himself without Sean; they had done everything together. Meals, studying, parties, free time. Time between classes and drinking and movies.

And because most of his friends had been Sean's friends first he didn't even have anyone to turn to, at least not anyone who was also a student at NYU. He would have to make friends. Usually he was fine with the idea of more friends, but somehow the thought of expanding his social circle was intimidating.

A lot of things were expanding now, freeing him from the constant pressure of his relationship with Sean, from the discomfort of knowing that his boyfriend knew what he was thinking even when his thoughts were conflicted and he hadn't processed them on his own and he couldn't process them on his own, because Sean would say something, trying to be nice and helpful and it was just frustrating and embarrassing and he couldn't say any of that.

He didn't have to worry about that anymore, and that was also intimidating.

He didn't know what was wrong with him.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#111 – Iron

Sean Neville was used to doing stakeouts alone. He hadn’t gone on a stakeout with company since Robert Hopkins had mentored him, and that had been many years ago. Occasionally, he was involved with other Hunters when the stakes were big enough, like the time the demons had infested Los Angeles, but otherwise, he preferred solitude. He worked best alone.

“Why do you own this ghastly vehicle?”

For the half-dozenth time that night, Sean wondered why he had agreed to take the other occupant along with him. “Because it comes in handy.”

“It’s a hideous pickup truck,” Joshua said. He glanced around the cabin with distaste that he didn’t bother to conceal.

Sean rolled down the driver’s side window and rapped the outside with his knuckles; the metallic clang was clear to both of them, but was even louder to Joshua’s keener sense of hearing. “Do you hear that? It’s iron. That makes it more useful than taking a steel-bodied sedan.”

“Ah.” Joshua had to concede the logic in that. “How nice that they make faerie-proof vehicles. I didn’t think the American automobile manufacturers were that savvy.”

“They aren’t. The truck companies didn’t have enough incentive to switch to steel when the other cars did.” Sean reached for his coffee mug and took a sip; he needed to remain awake to pull this off, and he had already foregone sleep for almost a day. “Why are you asking this? We both know you don’t care about this at all.”

“Boredom.” Joshua grinned, baring his fangs because there was never a reason to hide those around the hunter; Sean knew what he was. “I had expected to kill something by now.”

“We both know you have more patience than that.” Sean took another sip of his coffee while peering into the darkness through the night-vision binoculars. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be Lord of your coven.”

“I have patience,” Joshua agreed, as he hadn’t intended to deny that. “But you promised me a night of adventure and bloodshed.”

The hunter frowned. “I told you that faeries were kidnapping and eating children and that I was going to stop that. The only thing I promised was that I wouldn’t get myself killed.”

Joshua waved his hand dismissively. “You implied that there would be an exciting evening of adventure and bloodshed.”

“Shut up.” Sean simply stopped engaging the vampire in conversation after that, which he had learned long ago was the best way to get his frustration and displeasure across. Joshua Bernstein didn’t take well to being ignored, and he took notice when he was.

The silence lasted for a while, before the vampire suggested, “Why don’t you just get the faerie queen to agree to only prey on fetishists? You seem to have a good track record with extracting such bargains.”

“There aren’t faerie fetishists.”

“There are fetishists for everything.”

“Not for this. And I don’t negotiate with child-snatchers. That’s a line I don’t cross.”

Joshua wisely kept his mouth shut.

Movement in the street caused Sean to grab the steering wheel and turn the truck, following closely. When the movement stopped, so did Sean. Then he grabbed his crossbow and the iron arrows, before climbing out of the vehicle and stepped into the street.

Joshua followed close behind; he wouldn’t miss this for the blood of everyone in Boston.

The hunter aimed and shot one arrow, piercing the creature up the street with a horrified howl. Its compatriots leapt away.

“Can I, Libeling?” The vampire asked, teasing in his voice tempered by the flaring of his nostrils, indicating that he quite dearly wanted to participate and was only holding himself back as a courtesy to the hunter.

Go for it.

Joshua grinned and stalked after the other faerie, moving as quickly as he could before pinning the faerie to the concrete ground in the alley off the side of the street. As the faerie fought back, Joshua stabbed it in the leg with one of the iron arrows that he had taken from Sean’s quiver.

A moment later, the hunter appeared behind him, holding a faerie head, quite detached from its body. He tilted his head slightly to the side while studying the faerie on the ground. “We’re looking for your Queen.”

“I will never betray Her Majesty.” The faerie replied.

“Too bad,” Sean said, as he tossed the head to the other faerie, before lifting his crossbow. “That’s what your friend said.”

A few minutes later, Sean had finished burning the bodies and heads in a trashcan and Joshua was dusting off his hands. “That was fun,” the vampire declared. “Now what?”

“Another stakeout. We still have to find their Queen.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

((OOC: I am putting a warning on this. There is nothing inappropriate in this story, but you might never be able to look at Hammel the same way again. I would like to blame the C-Box, but I accept full responsibility.))

#43 – Wax

Beeswax dripped from the walls of the house, and the air was sweet with the aroma of honey. Honey in the kitchen, honey in the living room, honey in the dining room, honey in the den, honey in the family room, honey in the nook. Honey everywhere, just as it should be.

Throughout the house and outside, all of the workers and drones were gathering pollen and nectar. Everyone from Hammel: James and Chase, Clarisse, Anya, Mitya, John Thornton, Bradley, Debra and Walter Jenkins, Yulia, Kateri...and all past partners: Alex, Felicity, Sam, Maggie, Griffin Jones, Danny...even Simon and Saul and Sanjay and Greg. Everyone tended to their designated tasks of gathering food for the hive.

The steady buzzing of the work songs was calming and familiar, and Josh buzzed along as he moved through the house, watching everyone work. Occasionally, a dance would come down, communicating that the temperature needed to be changed in the house, and he would flap his wings to help cool the house. It was too hot in the summer, and the Queen had to be kept at a comfortable temperature at all times.

Greg stopped him in the den and handed him a bowl of nectar, before gesturing upstairs at the master bedroom. Josh buzzed his understanding; he was to bring the nectar up to feed the Queen.

Feeding the Queen was the second best of all assigned tasks. The best of all tasks was mating with the Queen, for which Josh had been lucky enough to have been chosen before. Afterward he had strutted more than was proper around the house, but the Queen had allowed it because it hadn’t interfered with his other assigned tasks.

Josh climbed the stairs with alacrity, not wishing to keep the Queen waiting. He walked down the long corridor to the master bedroom at the end of the hall, and he knocked before entering.

The Queen lay in bed, bouncing one of the hatchlings on his large abdomen; it was a female, possibly one who could become the new Queen many seasons from now. Josh couldn’t help but buzz with pride; he recognized that she was his. Well, all the hatchlings belonged to, and were from, the Queen, but he had helped.

“May I feed you?” He asked, holding the bowl up reverently.

The Queen turned to inspect him, and Josh was sure that he smiled at him. “Yes, you may.”

Josh beamed and settled himself on the edge of the bed. He took a spoonful of the nectar and brought it to the Queen’s mouth, and the Queen ate. He continued this ritual until the bowl was empty.

Then the Queen leaned over and touched his feelers to Josh’s, which caused him to buzz with pleasure. Although he knew it was silly to think this way, since they were a hive, he still couldn’t shake the thought that he was the Queen’s favorite; it was a thought that put a spring in his step.

The gentle moment was interrupted by the sudden shaking of the house. The Queen frowned and buzzed at him. “Protect the hive.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Josh dropped the bowl and dashed out of the bedroom. He moved down the corridor and down the stairs, buzzing loudly and dancing wildly. Protect the Queen! Protect the Hive!

The other workers and drones armed themselves and readied their stingers. Most moved outside to swarm, a few fell back to guard the house, in case the perimeter was breached. But then, horribly, the top of the house was ripped open, and a large, brown, furry paw reached down and picked up the bed containing the Queen.

Sean!!!! Josh buzzed, flying up to rescue the Queen and the hatchling, but the paw swiped at him, tearing his wing and knocking him to the ground at alarming speed. The other workers and drones flew up to try to rescue, but Josh couldn’t help; his wings were broken. All he knew was crushing fear and pain.

*********************************

Josh woke with a start in bed, and he was momentarily worried, in that place between dreams and wakefulness, when he couldn’t feel his wings or two of his six limbs. Then full consciousness set in and he remembered that he wasn’t a bee.

Thankfully.

Not only wasn’t he a bee, but neither was Sean; and his partner was lying beside him in bed, deeply asleep. Their roof was in place, and the air didn’t smell of honey.

As Josh nestled up against the telepath, he inwardly resolved not to watch Winnie the Pooh and the Honey Tree with Eleanor for a while. They would just have to find another movie to watch for family night.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#44 – Four Score

“How can you not admire Abraham Lincoln?”

“Because he suspended habeas corpus during the Civil War and he only emancipated the slaves in the states that had seceded from the Union, where he had no authority. It was an empty gesture.”

“Slavery was already outlawed in the northern states.”

“What about the border states that hadn’t seceded? He could have emancipated their slaves, but he chose not to as a strategic move; he chose states over individual liberties, and he gave several speeches and wrote letters confirming that those were his priorities.”

“But he did eventually emancipate the slaves.”

“I don’t think we’re having the same conversation.”

The brown-haired, blue-eyed boy chewed on his bottom lip in thought, studying the older man seated across from him. “Well, what about Franklin Roosevelt?”

“What about the Japanese Interment Camps?”

“But he fought the Nazis! And he ended the Depression!”

“He rounded up all of the Asian people in the United States under a flimsy pretense of national security, and put them into internment camps for years. He shouldn’t have done it to anyone, but he didn’t do it to German and Italian citizens because they were European and thus too many of the ‘wrong people’ – white people – would have suffered. Nobody cared about the Japanese citizens with no ties to Japan, or the Chinese or Korean citizens or the citizens from any other country, because they were just a bunch of Asians and not really American.” The old man shrugged his shoulders, demonstrating that he wasn’t moved by the boy’s enthusiasm.

“But-but what about all of the good things he did?”

“I like Social Security,” the old man said. “That isn’t my problem with the man. But I don’t think you can whitewash your heroes because you agree with them on some points.”

“What about Harry Truman? He ended World War II.”

“With two nuclear weapons.”

The boy didn’t actually want to argue that point, since he didn’t like nuclear weapons at all, and he attended protests to try to get them dismantled and banned from future production and use. “What about Jimmy Carter? He did some good things.”

“He did, although many of them were largely ineffective. Then he got involved in the war between the U.S.S.R. and Afghanistan.”

“Yeah, but...”

“There’s no but. That comes back with a vengeance, both during Reagan’s presidency and then later during the 90s and beyond. Not to mention the Iranian hostage crisis. And the problems with China and Taiwan. Then he deregulated oil prices, and I know he thought he was helping with conservation, but Americans refuse to move from dependence on oil to more effective, efficient, environmentally-conscious methods and so that also put us over a barrel.”

The boy frowned and let out a sigh. “But he tried to help people.”

“It’s ambiguous whose fault the collapse of the health care reform was, him or Ted Kennedy, so I’ll leave that alone for now. But did you know he goes on to work for an organization that builds houses?”

“See?” The boy said, glad that they were reaching a place of consensus.

“It discriminates against LGBT families. On ‘moral’ and ‘religious’ objections.”

“What about JFK?” The boy was sure he had a trump card there, given how the entire nation had mourned the passing of Camelot.

“Aside from the Bay of Pigs? He also ordered the F.B.I. to watch Martin Luther King and try to discredit him, and he criticized the Freedom Riders for messing with his political plans.”

The boy sighed and leaned forward, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You don’t admire anyone, do you?”

“Not politicians. Although I warmed up a little to LBJ.”

“LBJ?!?!” The boy squealed, eyes widening. “He escalated Vietnam!”

“Unlike JFK, he actually cared about Civil Rights and did something about them. And he created the Great Society. But he did escalate Vietnam and held the draft lotteries, which is why I only said that I warmed up to him a little.”

The boy stared into the blue eyes of the old man, watching him from behind his glasses. “I don’t think I want to grow up to be as cynical as you are.”

“I’m not that cynical,” his older self, replied. “I’m realistic, and it took me a long time to get to this point.”

“What changed?”

“Fifty years of being involved in politics and watching the government try to destroy my family for existing and being different.”

“That’s horrible!” The boy exclaimed.

“It made me want to die, at the worst of it,” his older-self admitted. He reached up and removed his glasses, cleaning them with the bottom of his shirt. “But I found people that I actually can admire, and they came to our aid when we needed it.”

“Oh.” The boy couldn’t wrap his mind around the notion of believing in so little. “So everything worked out?”

“You could say that,” his older-self replied. His lenses clean, he replaced them on the bridge of his nose. “But you do need to stop turning a blind eye to the harm being done by the so-called Democrats who coopted the actual liberal party and shift it to the right. Otherwise, you’ll find yourself and everyone else in for a lot of grief, because they will turn on you, and they will persecute you and everyone you care about in the interest of ‘compromise.’”

“Hmm.” It was a serious point, one far too serious for the boy to consider right now. “But we’re at least agreed about Martin Luther King, right?”

“Yes. We agree about him. But he wasn’t a politician.”

[Walter Jenkins]

98. Enjoy

Walter was…more than a little nervous. The twenty-year-old hadn’t been on too many dates, really. And he really wanted to impress this one. She was just so…colorful. She’d twirled into his life in a whirlwind of scarves and long skirts and long, shining hair, and Walter wanted to figure out how to persuade her to stay. Her name was Debra, and she was a senior and he had no idea what he was going to do on this date.

They were going to go see Evil Dead which a friend of Walter’s said was brilliant. That seemed like a good sign. Debra had never seen it and seemed reasonably eager to go, so Walter had set aside his Friday evening for a movie with his new…girlfriend? Were they dating yet? Walter just didn’t know, but he felt this was something that should get cleared up soon.

They met up outside the theater. Walter had offered to pick Debra up, but she had wrinkled her nose and laughed dismissively, saying that she didn’t really need a ride, thanks. That was fine by Walter.

“Walter, hey!” He turned to see Debra, the light October breeze ruffling her long, green skirt, flowing about her ankles. She was wearing a white blouse and her forearms glinted with bangles from her wrists up to almost her elbow. Walter swallowed hard, feeling decidedly plain in his blue polo shirt and jeans.

“Hi.” He winced inwardly. She’s going to think you’re lame, he chastised himself inwardly before scrambling to recover, “how are you? How was class today?”

She rolled her eyes. “I poked some guy in the back of the head. I thought he was one of my illusions. Ooops.” She shrugged, not looking particularly embarrassed. “But this’ll be fun! I’m looking forward to the movie.” She flashed him a wide smile and he grinned, feeling a little better about this all. “Well, come on!” She reached down and grabbed his hand, lacing her slender fingers between his and impatiently tugging him towards the ticket line. Walter stammered something before giving up and allowing himself to be pulled away.

They had a brief debate at the booth as to who would be paying for what. Debra wanted to go dutch until Walter protested that it wouldn’t feel like a date. Then she jokingly said that if he felt that way, she would just pay for him too. He laughed and agreed that she could pay for her own ticket and let her in line first.

She bought both tickets and presented his to him with a smug little wink.

In the theater, Debra had mercy on him and allowed him to split a large order of nachos with her. She kept a hold of his hand the whole time.

The movie, as it turned out, was terrible. But the exact kind of terrible that made it good against all reason. They sat next to each other and laughed breathlessly, taking breaks to shove absurd amounts of nachos in their mouth. It wasn’t like any date Walter had been on before. Before, any girl he dated wouldn’t even dream of eating so sloppily on their first date. Before, he wouldn’t have found anything heartachingly endearing about the way a girl was able to shove almost a full handful of cheesy chips in her mouth. Nor would he think it a good idea to get into an unspoken contest with her for how much cheese they could get on their mouths.

When the movie let out, they tossed the box—empty save for wads of sticky napkins—into the trash and stumbled out into the cool night air. They walked arm-in-arm to the parking lot, chatting loudly about the movie. At one point, Debra rested her head on his shoulder.

When they reached Debra’s car, she looked up at him with shining brown eyes and smiled. “I had a really good time.”

“Me too.” Walter replied, shifting from one foot to the other. The nervousness that had fled during the movie had returned now in full force. Debra laughed and rolled her eyes.

“You think too much.” She pulled him down by his collar and kissed him. Walter froze in surprise for only a moment before kissing her back, a smile on his lips.

[Chase Campbell]

86. Mode

Ever since the uprising, Chase had been forced into different modes of action.

Like Badass Mode.

Used when he needed something done, and now. Used when he was breaking into places, making people do things against their wills. Used to recruit. Used for everything, it seemed. If he was honest, which he wasn't very often these days, he'd admit to being tired. All this shit felt like it had aged him sixty years. Oh, he was as athletic as he'd ever been, perhaps even more so. But mentally, he was utterly spent. His days were full of planning with the others, his nights often occupied by missions. The little sleep he managed to sneak in here and there was usually restless, filled with images and scenes he did not want to relive. But he couldn't stop. Not now. The kids needed him. His friends needed him. So, he would continue to fight. What other option did he have?

The only real comfort he could derive from all of this was that it was, at least, a cause he knew James would have supported.

Sometimes, he would relapse himself into Widow Mode.

He hated how he felt when James' death would hit him again like a ton of bricks. Just when he thought he might have a handle on himself, when he thought that he might be able to get through the day, the week, the month without thinking about his husband, there it was again. The empty feeling in his heart that nothing could fill or distract him from. Not the vigilante acts James would have given him hell over. Not helping the kids with the homework Kateri assigned. Not the recruiting process. Not anything. Even Niko had a hard time getting through to him those days. As a leader, he knew he was failing everyone, despite their claims of understanding.

His only motivation to move was driven by a sheer need to do something. Even if that something was to stare up at the ceiling of whatever building they had managed to commandeer, force a smile, and tell James that he was still a stupid, reckless teenager. At least if he was still alive, he suspected that James would understand this need to protect. He'd always had it, even before this mess. He'd just never had the need to enforce this kind of protection. Not until... Gabriel.

At least he was practiced. He'd become far too comfortable with that side of himself. The one that had once gotten away from his iron grip on his powers and ended Gabriel. At the time, he'd been horrified. And he'd never completely come to terms over what he'd done. Now, it was too easy to control someone's breathing. Sometimes he needed to be reminded to stop before he completely ended someone's life. Like the night he'd broken Jessica and Nikki out of Hammel.

Father Mode was by far the hardest, but the best place he found himself. When he wasn't planning, recruiting, or out on missions, he spent his time with Nikki. It didn't matter if he was just helping him with his homework, eating dinner beside him, or putting him to bed, it made him feel like himself again. Like James was still just out on a recruiting mission. Like he'd come back any day, tease him about eating junk, scoop Nikki into a hug and propose a Criminal Minds marathon.

What he wouldn't give for a simple argument over what to watch on television.

It was Father Mode he found himself in now. Sitting at the end of Nikki's bed, watching his son sleep. It wouldn't be long before Nikki broke into his teenage years. He wouldn't be a kid anymore.

And James would miss it. He’d miss all of it.

The former trainer sighed and pulled his knees to his chest, his cheek pressed against them. Thoughts of his husband were too much again. It was going to be a long night.

[Chase Campbell]

130. Physical

Sleep did not always come easy for Chase. Not anymore. Not only was he on alert, even when someone else volunteered to take over the night watch, but when he did sleep, he dreamed. Most of them were nightmares, reliving the day James had died over and over again. Sometimes, his mind gave him a break and let him have some happier memories, but the possibility was always there for something to go awry. He seemed to alternate between mainlining coffee, and considering knocking himself out with some sort of sleeping pill. The others lectured him enough about it, but he largely ignored them. It was his job to worry about all of them, not the other way around.

It was Kateri that had finally shooed him off to his quarters, threatening to cut off his coffee supply, and teach Nikki about wildly inappropriate things. Of course he knew she was lying, but just to appease her he actually stretched out on his bunk. She promised to watch Niko like a hawk before shutting the door.

Chase honestly didn’t have much faith in his ability to fall asleep, but exhaustion soon caught up with him.

When he woke up, he was startled to see James sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him.

Okay. Okay. This had to be a dream.

“Chase.” Oh God, his voice. The former trainer lurched forward, his arms winding around his husband’s shoulders.

“Jamie.” He wasn’t imagining it. James was warm. He couldn’t be imagining this. “I missed you.” The words sounded slightly choked. “So much.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.” James sighed and carded his fingers through Chase’s hair. It was getting longer. The blond roots were showing against the dark dye. “But you’re doing such a good job. Looking after everyone, after Nikki. Even making him eat his vegetables.” That elicited a quiet laugh from Chase.

“Of course I am. Who else would?” He closed his eyes when he felt James’ lips touch his hair.

“You’re a good dad, Chase. The best.”

“Never as good as you.”

“You’re amazing.” There was a soft, almost sad sigh. “But you have to look after yourself.” Chase stiffened slightly in the embrace, shaking his head.

“No. I have to take care of everyone else.”

“I know.” James hugged him tighter. “But they need you at your best.” After trying for so long to be strong, just like he had before James had...

He started to break down again.

“But I miss you.” It was no more than a whimpered whisper as Chase tucked his face against James’ neck. James gently stroked his fingers across his cheek.

“I know. But I’m with you. Always looking out for you. I’m so proud of you.” Chase didn’t move, but he forced a little smile.

“I talk to you. All the time. Tell you how mad you’d be if you saw the risks I was taking. Tell you how much Nikki’s growing up to be like you.”

“I know,” he repeated. “And I love you. Even when I’m mad.”

“I love you too,” Chase said softly, pulling back to look at him. “Still.” As if it was proof enough, he twisted his wedding band around his finger.

“I’m always going to be here, Chase. Looking out for you, and Nikki and Ginny.”

“I like it better when you’re here.” Chase was refusing to let go, as if his touch was the only thing keeping James in place.

“Me too,” James assured, taking Chase’s hands and kissing them softly. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you, too.”

“You’re doing so well, though. Just remember when you’re doing this.”

“For you. Nikki. Our friends.”

“No, because it’s the right thing. Remember that.” Chase scoffed, trying to put on a brave mask.

“Tell that to the government.”

“I would if I could. You know that.”

“... Go haunt them?” Though it was clear that Chase was still hurting, he managed to pull up a tiny bit of humor. He was rewarded with James’ laugh.

“Yes, I’ll do that.”

“There. Problem solved.”

James looked at his watch then, and enveloped Chase in one last hug. “Hug Nikki for me.” Chase hugged back, trying to steel his nerves for what he knew was inevitable.

“Always. And I’ll make sure he eats all the green things.”

“Good.” James pulled back, smiling and brushing his fingers over Chase’s ear, tucking some of the hair back. “And get a haircut.”

“You always were a critic,” Chase managed to get out. “But I still love you.”

James just smiled and kissed him softly.

[Dr. James Campbell]

12. Slipping

He'd promised himself he wasn't going to do this.

The last time Chase had seen his stepdaughter, he'd just resigned his training position. She'd sat beside him in the church and nudged him so he knew when to stand or kneel. She'd cracked a smile when she saw he was wearing one of Jamie's ridiculous ties, and she'd been the one to ask Harri to stay with him for a few days.

That was almost eight months ago, now. Chase didn't know how many times in the last six Ginny had been pulled into one agency or another for an interview. He didn't know how she was handling all this, but he'd told himself over and over that she was safest if she didn't know anything.

He kept telling that to himself as he fell into step next to her as she left her internship. He shouldn't do this. He shouldn't take this risk. "Ginny."

The girl young woman looked up at him and jumped away. "What the he--!" Ginny's eyes went even wider as her voice cut off. Chase didn't look like himself anymore. Unkempt, dark hair fell into his eyes, over the glasses what were so familiar. And he'd never used his power on her before. Ever. She kept walking, though she wanted to stop, wanted to run the other way.

"I'm so sorry for doing this, but I need to tell you something and I can't if you start screaming." Chase watched her shake her head, as if promising she wouldn't. But he couldn't risk that, not when he was already making the target on her back flash neon lights.

"You're going to be contacted by a lawyer in the next week. She's a friend. You can trust her when she says you own the cabin. She'll help you sell it, if that's what you want, and you probably already know you have half of Jamie's insurance policy in your account already. The rest is in one for Nikki." He fiddled with his wedding ring, twisting the band around his fingers a few times before continuing. "And Nikki's safe. He wasn't at Hammel, since his power is so 'dangerous' and I couldn't let him stay. He misses you."

Finally, Ginny felt the hold on her mouth release and she gasped. She'd been breathing, but up until then she hadn't realized exactly what Chase could do with his ability. This wasn't gently nudging her dad out of a nervous panic, he'd actually controlled her. "Dad said you'd never do that to me. That you hated your power."

Chase looked down as they kept walking. "I do."

"But you can just...use it whenever you want, on whoever, and no one can stop you. You are dangerous. Stop doing this to me." Ginny nearly tripped as she gained full use of her own legs again. She didn't run though, just looked up at her stepfather. "I've had to talk to the police a hundred times about Niko getting kidnapped. I had to hear from the police that my brother is missing and that whoever took him nearly killed a security guard. They thought I had something to do with it."

"I'm sorry. I just had to get him out of there. It's only going to get worse."

"Worse? At least Hammel was stable. And you resigned. You chose to leave." Surprisingly, she managed to keep her voice low as she snapped back at him. "You could have protected him there without hurting anyone."

"No. Not when they let the government kill that child. The one from Jackton."

Ginny just stared at him. "He killed Dad. He killed hundreds of kids and teachers and then when Dad found him he blew up again and killed him too. That kid blew himself up."

"That's not what happened!" Chase was almost crying, and a few people walking past looked over, curiously. The man glanced around and wiped his eyes, then took a deep breath before continuing. "I made them tell me what really happened, Gin. I forced them to. There were agents, there to kill him instead of letting him be a danger and Jamie got in their way. He was just doing his job and now Hammel won't and so I have to."

"You run around with your little team and you hurt people! It's in the news all the time how someone else was almost suffocated and another child is gone. I didn't think it could be you. Dad said psychics can't kill people with their powers, not even Dr. Neville."

"I can, but I haven't in a long time." He was quiet for a long moment, then reached out to hug her.

She pushed him away. "Don't touch me! Just...I have to go."

Chase looked down at the sidewalk, at his shoes that Jamie would have a fit at being so muddy. "I'm sorry, Gin. I won't bother you again. But I just wanted to tell you about the house, and see that you're okay."

"I'm not okay. Dad's dead and you took Nikki away and now you run around playing superhero."

"You will be okay though. Your dad is still looking out for you." Chase's voice was sad, resigned. "He'll protect you. He told me he would."

Ginny just didn't know what to say. "When?"

"Yesterday." And Chase turned and walked away.

[Aaron Walker]

#123 - Ferret

((My sincere apologies to both Jam and Sean for stealing their characters.))

“Don’t worry,” AJ whispered as he squished himself further under the desk. “We’ll ferret our way out of this.”

“I think the term is ‘weasel’,” Jared replied from behind a chair across the room.

“Shh!”

Both boys held their breath as the doorknob to the office started to turn. And what had seemed like the greatest idea in the world at the start of the day was quickly turning into a guaranteed disaster.

Of course it had taken some convincing on AJ’s part. Since their last great prank against the ogress Danicaa, Jared had been a little more than hesitant to follow along with another one of his friend’s schemes. Since then he’d only agreed to the more harmless ones, such as sneaking into the cafeteria to steal some ice cream or cookies or filling water balloons with jello and dropping them off the roof to see if they would bounce.

Maybe Danicaa was rubbing off on AJ. Or maybe he was just trying to make up for the big failure last time. Whatever the reason, Jared had noticed lately that AJ’s adventures were more about pranking someone and less about just finding something exciting and new to fill their days.

But even Jared couldn’t turn down the chance to get the better of a telepath.

Admittedly, it was Jared’s fault for starting the whole thing. AJ had asked one day who the older man was that was often seen walking around the hallways. That evening the two had spent talking about the wild rumors Jared had heard about concerning the psychiatrist. Since AJ wasn’t all that great at keeping up with the stories told around the hallways at Hammel, he had missed most of them. And Jared was always thankful for an audience.

Two days later, AJ had showed up in Jared’s room with what he called his “Best Idea Ever”. Although it seemed that every idea AJ came up with deserved that title, the two were pretty excited about this one. What other students in their right mind would try to sneak into the office, armed with whoopie cushions and fake rodents, of one of Hammel’s staff members. Not to mention the fact that this staff member could read their minds.

They tried to avoid any area where they might bump into the man for the morning while scoping out the area where his office was. After all they couldn’t take the chance that he would peak into their heads and see what they had planned.

Now as they watched the doorknob turning, Jared was wishing for a miracle. Maybe his power was really teleportation. Or this whole day had been a dream. “We’re gonna die,” he hissed at AJ again.

And then suddenly the doorknob stopped and the boys heard the sound of footsteps walking further down the hall. Jared jumped up and pulled AJ out from under the desk. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, dragging his friend towards the door.

“But we’re not done yet,” AJ said. Jared shot him a look and the boy sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.”

The two were just shutting the door behind them when Dr. Neville appeared at the end of the hallway. He smiled pleasantly at the two youngsters as he walked toward them. “Can I help you boys with something?”

“Uh…”Jared stammered, starting to wonder for the hundred time why he let AJ talk him into things.

“Well you see,” AJ said, taking over for him. “Jared has a problem. You know…with his head…but he didn’t want to come here alone cuz he heard that you’re some kinda mind freak and he…”

Jared stomped on his friends foot, resulting in both a yelp and a confused look from AJ

“But I’m fine now,” Jared finished. “Fine and dandy.” He forced out a laugh, hating the girl-ish whine his voice had taken on. “So we’ll just be going. Things to do…and yeah.” He shoved AJ away from the older man and started walking down the hall.

“Boys?” Dr. Neville said, still standing by his office door. The two friends froze halfway down the hallway before turning around to give him strained smiles. “Would you mind taking your toys with you? I don’t have much use for them at my age. Although I wouldn’t mind keeping one of the whoopie cushions. It’s been years since I’ve seen one of those.” He smiled pleasantly as the stunned and horrified looks on the boys’ faces.

Maybe telepaths weren’t monsters after all.