Gray Zone
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|Who needs another friend, I need to hold your hand. You'd need no other man. Pink Matter; Frank Ocean and Andre 3000 |
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Note(s): My first venture into this fandom; of course it's going to be an alternative universe, hah. Be warned; it's pretty lengthy. And fucked up. Eh, whatever. I just love this couple. (Robbie Shapiro x Beck Oliver)
Warning(s): Alternative universe; mental debauchery; homosexuality; sex/masturbation(?); and the Cat is a lie.
Summary: Robbie had been accused of making up people before. -Reck!au; rather murky
I hereby disclaim any rights
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i.
Robbie Shapiro is an extraordinary boy; he completely deconstructed their remote control at the age of three and patched it back together with furrowed brows and an inexplicable gleam in his doe-brown eyes. His mother frets needlessly about his prowess; he reads too much, doesn't interact with peers to often and he always murmurs to himself, whispers and fairytales.
After a while, his mother decides to take him to a crowded playground when he is six; with monkey bars in a flaky bright blue and a plastic seesaw and a sand box with tiny shovels and buckets.
He meets his first friend there: a girl with long flowing scarlet hair and Bambi eyes. They make simple towers for invisible fortresses together, draw intricate patterns in the sand with their fingertips and giggle about jokes untold.
She says her name is Catarina and insists with too bright smiles to call her Cat. He compares her to the Little Mermaid and together they pretend to be magical.
Two whole hours pass until his mother comes tugging on his sleeves, she bristles the dust off his shoulders and sighs and groans. Robbie wiggles and squirms, his eyes never leaving the smiling girl's frame. Cat waves sweetly at him in goodbye; makes him promise to return soon, she would love to play Disney with him again, she says and he nods. He doesn't notice the worry in his mother's eyes nor the furrow of her brow and the dip of the corners of her mouth.
ii.
He gets send to a lovely old lady with a difficult word in bold letters on the golden plaque of her office's door. Pede-.. Pedia.. Pediatrician? The letters whirl uncomfortably around in his mind; he's got this feeling in his gut, it's heavy like a stone and makes him dizzy.
Her office is nice, he supposes, with drawings of other children his age, anatomically incorrect frogs in mismatching colors leering at him upon paper and there's a sturdy desk behind which she is seated and his mother ushers him into one of the two gray chairs in front of the desk.
She smiles at him and introduces herself with a twinkle in her milky blue eyes. Robbie has to talk about himself; every little detail from his hobbies, his favorite cartoon series up until his selected circle of friends.
He doesn't realize how his mother's heart breaks when he tells about Cat with such uncensored glee, nor does he notice how those clouded blue irises of his doctor narrow around the pupils of her eyes. It's quite unexpected when the doctor goes to a cabinet in the corner of the room and returns with a sock-puppet; a sloppy green thing which bares somewhat a resemblance to Kermit the frog from the Muppet Show. Robbie stares into the beady-black button eyes of the sewn-together puppet and can't resist a tiny grin when the doctor asks him to define what he sees. She's testing his imagination, the boundaries and the depths.
"I think it's supposed to be a frog." He tears away his gaze and chuckles lowly.
She frowns lightly, "This is Toadstein, do you want to talk with him?"
Shaking his head lightly, the child with unruly chestnut curls merely responds, "I'd ratha.. Uh, talk with Cat. She has a funny brother and he makes me laugh."
His mother fiddles with the fabric of her cardigan, she inhales sharply, curtly through her nostrils while her teeth sink into her bottom lip.
"Have you seen her brother before?" She inquires gently, placing the sock-puppet on the smooth surface of her pristine desk.
Robbie considers the question before shaking his head no, he opens his mouth to speak and his voice is soft with a pinch of trepidation, "Uh, no. No.. Mom won't lemme visit her. She does talk a lot 'bout him." He smiles, "Like this, uh, one time; she told me how he had captured a, a mouse and.." His mother silences him by placing a hand on his bony shoulder.
While Robbie had been rewarded with some licorice for his active participation in the session, his mother and the doctor are discussing possible solutions behind closed doors. Mrs. Shapiro rubs her elbow nervously, a sign of desperation and her gaze keeps flitting from the right corner to the left to the doctor's wrinkled forehead.
She pacifies the worried parent with a few comforting words in her sage, patronizing voice.
"Your son has a vivid imagination; his imaginary friend is realistic to a fault." She fiddles with her Stadtler fountain pen and sighs lowly, "I recommend more interaction with his peers. Extra-curricular activities perhaps; Boy Scouts, reading sessions in the library."
His mother nods listlessly, "Robert's always been fond of books."
"Yes, yes. Exactly." The doctor offers a smile, "Or take him to the annual puppet theatre; there are always plenty of children there. Once he's indulged in normal social interaction, he'll replace his imaginary friend Cat."
iii.
On the small rectangular stage, there's a large doll house with multiple lavish rooms in various shades of pastel. Robbie's eyes are as big as saucers and gleam pitch-black in the darkness of the theatre, his hand darts out to grabs Cat's in excitement. She chortles happily.
Lifeless marionettes spring into action; there's a ballerina with a cotton candy tutu doing pirouettes to a chipper piano's melody and a baron with a merlot cape, the rich fabric spilling from his shoulders like wine when he statuesquely moves about. His voice is deep and commanding; the ballerina listens to his demands with spastic gestures. They waltz together and Robbie feels Cat shift a bit closer to him, cooing into his ear about how pretty the ballerina is and how she wishes she had hair the color of gold instead of blood. Robbie chuckles and when he stares at her in the darkness, her tresses seem to have a lighter sheen. He blinks and her deep red is still a deep red.
After the performance, there's a ventriloquist's show which sends the audience into a frenzy of laughter. Robbie is intrigued by the antics of the puppet, by the bobbing of the man's Adam's apple and the jokes; he gets addicted to the careless laughter and the applause. Before the realization properly dawns that he's zoned out, a halo of light floods his eyes and he squints them shut at the brightness. The ventriloquist beckons him to the stage and the puppet's scalding laughter accompanies his hesitant steps from the moment he stands up from the bench to the second he's on the stage.
In the distance, he makes out Cat's vibrant hair and he instantly knows she's excited for him, happy for him. Todd, the puppet with the wooden jaw and hair from a horse's tail, is talking to him and jokes about the ventroliquist; some of the jests sting and are harsh but the insults make the crowd roar.
He thinks he wants this too; a companion who can make him laugh, someone who is constantly at his side and whispers words of confidence to him.
When both him and Cat are waiting for their parents to pick him up; Robbie explains his revelation to the young girl. Her bottom lip juts out in a pout.
"What do you mean by that? Don't you want me to be your friend anymore?" He stiffens and immediately shakes his head, curls bouncing around like the flaccid limbs of the marionette.
He says, "We'll always be friends, Cat." His smile is gentle and he touches her shoulder gingerly. "But, uh, wouldn't it.. Wouldn't it be cool if I.. I could do the things.. That guy and Todd did?" His tone is unsure.
Cat seems to consider this in earnest, her index-finger tapping against her chin, her lips pursed together as her features are scrunched into a pensive expression, "Yeah.. I guess.." She giggles, "You should try it!"
Robbie nods, "Ex.. Uh, exactly. But, uh, I don't know where to buy a puppet. And I don't know if my mother would approve.." Cat's eyes darken and she leans in closer, so close her cute little nose nearly bumps against his and his cheeks fluster in a physical response.
"Sure she will, Robbie." The convidence in her tone makes him swallow, "Just tell'er you want this so you can meet new people." Somewhere in the distance a car honks and he wants to turn his head to look, but he can't. Her eyes pin him to his spot. "She'll surely say yes, then."
The spell is broken when she replaces the distance between them and girlishly wraps a few blood red strands around her index finger, the dimples in her cheeks are prominent again when she smiles like she always does, "My brother knows this great store; he found it when he was chasing an escaped raccoon."
iv.
His second friend is his ventriloquist dummy: Robbie and Cat piece together a background for the puppet with unruly black hair and soulless eyes, they decide to name him Rex Powers and he is like the bullies at Robbie's school; full of fire and spite. Yet instead of hurting; Rex will protect, instead of insulting, he will assist. Cat claps her hands enthusiastically when the two of them bicker about their favorite characters in Spongebob Squarepants; giggling loudly and nearly tumbling off the mattress of Robbie's bed. She straightens herself and continues to listen, her elbows propped on the folded coverlet, her knees bend and feet waggling.
"Nah, man; I'm tellin' yah; Patrick practically carries the show by 'imself." The wooden mouth clacks softly when it moves up and down. Robbie rolls his eyes in a fond manner and gives a counter-argument.
There's a soft knock on the door and hesitantly, his mother stands self-consciously in the doorway, the light wallpaper of the hall forming a contrast against her silhouette. She offers her son a nervous smile, "Honey.."
Robbie places Rex down on his desk and swivels around to face his mother instead of the bed, Cat winks at him and flops on her back, her hair spread underneath her like a bloody halo. "Hey, mom. So, uh, I've been practicin' with Rex. Do you, um, want to listen? Cat, Cat says I'm really, really good. Right, Cat?" She raises her arms and flashes two peace-signs.
Mrs. Shapiro takes a deep breath and ushers the willpower to smile lightly. "Maybe another time, Robert." She eyes the empty bed warily before treading into the bedroom, "Do you remember Mrs. Harris?"
He bites his bottom lip, deep in thought until he unsurely replies, "The old lady at the end of the street, right?" He instinctively clutches Rex a bit closer to his chest, "She tried to throw an empty bottle of, empty bottle of, uh, Evian to my head.. She said, uhm, she said she was scared of Rex."
Muttering something underneath her breath, his mother raises her chin and straightens her posture, "Well, your puppet is a bit.. Uhum, scary. Anyways," she continues in a more cheerful tone, "Her grandson is coming to live with her. He's about your age. Wouldn't you like to meet him?" She's praying to Jahweh, he wants to and he'll forget about 'Cat' and is he really consulting his puppet?
Cat bounces back on her stomach and grins breezily, her bright white teeth sparkling against her deep pink gum, "Maybe he's a bit crazy like us too, Robbie."
Robbie turns Rex head to face him and the wooden mouth clinks and clacks without him realizing, "Yeah, Rob; he'll certainly agree that Patrick is more awesome than Spongebob." He sticks out his tongue to the dummy and informs his mother he'll go visit the old crazy lady this Sunday.
v.
"That's weird, ma'am." André states matter of fact, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his gaze defiant and black brows slightly furrowed.
Mrs. Shapiro sighs lowly; she had just explained her son's 'condition' to the Harris kid and he had still, albeit reluctantly, agreed to meet Robbie and in extension his puppet Rex. André was a nice kid; his skin reminded her of chocolate and it was rather difficult to distinguish his pupils from his irises; he was polite and cordial and his smiles unveiled all of his white teeth. His grandmother was a bit suspicious of the sudden friendliness from the Shapiro family and wasn't afraid to blatantly state so.
Promises of home-made dishes quickly ended any aspirations to a full-blown discussion and she finally returns to the front door to usher Robbie inside.
She sees him talking to thin air and something stings and before she realizes it, there's a stray tear running down the expansive of her bulb cheek. She does what she has to; her boy is not insane, he's special and smart, so so smart. The tear is wiped away with the back of her hand and she puts on a front.
Against all expectations, the two boys befriend each other. André is a wonderful influence on Robbie with his ragtag lyrics and toy keyboard. He seems to tolerate the strange moments in which Rex does the talking and understands and respects the invisible presence of a girl called Cat Valentine with apparently golden smiles and bright scarlet hair and deep brown eyes.
André even jokes about it during an extensive marathon of Animaniacs. "Y'all have brown eyes, apparently."
Grinning sheepishly, the boy with the curls rub the back of his neck, "I hadn't even noticed." He tears his gaze away from the screen and muses out loud, "You have brown eyes too.. Does.. Does that mean, uh, that you'll be my friend too?" He makes Rex shift in his lap while he splutters, "I understand if you don't wanna.. Dad tells me I'm pretty strange. On plenty occasions."
He just pats Robbie's shoulder, "You're cool, kind of a spazz.." His teeth blind him for a moment, "But that's funny."
Cat, perched on the elbow rest of the sofa, leans over to Robbie and whispers secretively into his ear, "He likes us. That's so neat. We have a new friend." Her hair sways like a curtain-call when she resumes her original spot and the boy offers her some bibble but she doesn't take it; just smiles widely at the proffered gift with glassy eyes. She never eats when he's around.
Rex intervenes just before Robbie questions Cat's odd behavior with a joke about one of the characters. André bursts out laughing and nudges the dummy with his elbow.
vi.
He's not very liked at school; the other kids often pick on him for his appearance, shyness and the fact he carries a puppet with him to school. Some kids shove him to the ground on the asphalt of the playground and pull his spectacles off of his nose and trample the glass beneath the soles of their small sneakers.
Rex is squeaking out insults during these moments, words escape the wooden mouth that Robbie could never even utter with his own vocal chords and when one of the older kids are around, they kick the puppet out of his arms, effectively silencing him. Cat just stares and screams at the top of her lungs, a high shrill sound that cuts through marrow.
André usually helps him upright while Jade, a rough girl who has a permanent scowl stitched upon her pretty doll-like face, pushes them out of the way rather roughly, spitting out a few threats when they disappear. Tails between their legs. Nobody messes with Jade West. Robbie is scared of her and she's not exactly fond of him either, but they have reached some sort of tolerance for each other's presence. She always ends up chasing the bullies away although she claims that's because she likes the thrill of a fight.
"Th-thanks guys." His gaze flits to Cat, who is crying rivers and gives her a consoling smile. She sniffles and wipes her nose with the sleeve of her Hello Kitty sweater.
Jade huffs, "You're 12, Shapiro." Her tone isn't as harsh as usual, "You should know how to fight by now." Her hands fit upon her hips and she leans heavily on her left leg, a stance screaming annoyance. He dips his head low, his fists clenched and knuckles a shade of bone-white.
His friend walks over to Rex and picks him off, cradling him in his arms. "Robbie, do you want me to ask my grandma if she wants to fix Rex? He's got a tear in the stuffing of his arm." Robbie shakily regains his balance and nods slowly. Behind his eyelids, fireworks are exploding into strangely shaped flowers. He exhales through his nostrils.
When the bell rings again, his two friends bring him to the nurse's office. He's been here countless of times before; he even dubbed the second right chair in the hall his spot and plops down. He holds the remains of his glasses in his right hand; the frame's crooked and pretty much useless. His cheek is bleeding and André told him the nurse will have to use her tweezers to take out a few grains of dirt 'cause it could infect.
"Cool." Jade breathes out with a light smirk.
André rolls his eyes in exasperation, "He's hurt, Jade. Blood isn't cool." Her fingertip swipes a vermillion droplet and the motion stings. Robbie winces and Cat, who finally stopped crying and now just occupies the seat next to him, stares blankly at the wall in front of her.
"You're being weird." Robbie mutters to Cat, but Jade misinterprets the context and lifts her gaze, the blood on her finger a scarlet bauble. Bright like her wicked blue eyes.
She retorts, her smirk a bit wider and crooked, "So are you, Shapiro."
He supposes he can't argue with that.
vii.
After the incident with the bullies, Cat has become uncharacteristically more quiet and Rex a lot more vicious, towards him in particular. The three of them are walking home on an average autumn day; the rotting leaves scrunch underneath their shoes -his shoes- and his bottom lip quivers from the cold. She takes a few quick steps and twirls around in front of him, her long hair flowing graciously as she spins towards him. When she stops, her smile is rueful and her eyes are sad. Robbie hopes for the best but expects the worst.
"Whatcha doin', Ariel?" Rex spits out, the click-clack of his wooden mouth so familiar and so scary, it unsettles the other two.
She comes a bit closer to Robbie and holds his jaw line with both of her hands, encased in knitted mittens, "I have to go."
"Home?" Robbie asks, tilting his head to the right.
There's something tragic about how she shakes her head and holds on a bit tighter, her wool fingertips delving into his skin, "Do you remember the ending of the fairytale, Robbie?" Laughter spills from her pearl-pink lips, so sorrowful he wants to clench his fists but Rex is in the way. "She turns into foam. Robbie, she turns into foam. And.. And if I stay here any longer; I'll turn into foam too. From all the crying. All the crying."
She directs his head into the right angle, their eyes lock for a moment and she presses her mouth against his cheek. "G'bye, Robbie. Save some candy for me when I come back."
Cat parts from him and offers a tiny wave; the mismatched mitten with pink and blue seems so foolishly like summer against the background of brown, whirling reds and yellow and the gray of the sky and sidewalk. He swallows and returns the gesture. She seems to fade away rather than actually walk; the only constant being her vibrant red hair before even that disappears into nothing. Robbie even half-expects tidbits of foam to replace her footsteps.
Rex whispers, "Don't be sad, it's your fault to begin with after all. It's kind of funny, really."
"What is?" Robbie is almost afraid to ask but the curiosity and the confusion take the better of him.
His response is mocking laughter and he almost forgets why he wanted Rex as his companion; then it comes rushing back to him: comedy, humor and ironically, the laughter.
"She was never here to begin with, kid."
viii.
His father has the nerve to be relieved when Robbie informs his parents that Cat just left him on the pavement. His mother possesses more tact and holds him close to her chest in a tight embrace.
One down. One more to go.
ix.
Adolescence proves to be more of a challenge than anticipated: his grades are excellent and he steadily gains another friend in his tiny circle: a girl with skin of bronze and wavy curls of hazelnut brown. André often confides to him of how pretty he thinks Tori is; he sometimes writes songs for her with promises of forever and compliments of gorgeous and tantalizing.
Jade seems a bit more calmer in his presence, although she and Rex have interesting arguments, throwing about offensive nouns and adjectives and it isn't just Rex who ends up in a trash can either. He's come to hate the smell of burrito on the sleeves of his lumberjack-vests.
However, it's not just Jade, Robbie is sometimes terrified of; the jocks with their bleached teeth and impressive pectorals and tight jeans, they're demons with baby-blues. They bash and push and slam him against lockers, occasionally stuff him inside them too.
His skin burns when they touch him. Rex mutters derisive pejoratives in the shell of his ear; the click-clack of his wooden jaw sends chills down his spine.
"Masochist." One of them had just punched him in the gut and he had doubled over; Rex had fallen to the ground, sprawled over the tiles of the hallway like the pieces of a shattered vase. Robbie's not sure whether Rex said it, one of the jocks did or if it is all in his h-e-a-d.
He manages to catch his breath, their forms blending into the school building and eventually he picks up Rex and positions his hand to make the puppet speak properly.
Rex snickers, -click click, clack clack-, "You're insane, kid. Like our lil' Mermaid was."
"Don't you dare talk about Cat like that, Rex. She was our friend. You were my friend. Are.. Are." His vision is blurry, it isn't from the impact, but he likes to pretend it is.
He's gotten better at pretending lately: his gaze doesn't sweep longer than 3 seconds over the form of the attractive swimming champion of their high school, he lies through his teeth when he echoes how beautiful Tori is, he sometimes steals glances at Jade and she always rolls her eyes but seems a bit flattered at the attention.
Still, insanity seems to be embroidered on his forehead, because whenever he talks with Rex or glances over his shoulder just in case Cat might come running, the other kids keep murmuring that he's crazy and his own puppet loves to fling the word, amongst other more offensive ones, to him in their private conversations.
x.
The day he loses Rex is the day he meets Beck. One of the jocks, a quarterback, had the brilliant idea to start a bonfire on the parking lot. Rumor had it, he was just heartbroken because the head-cheerleader dumped him for his older brother who was in college and he had the need to vent his frustrations. Plus, copious amounts of tequila were involved in his exploits of the night before. If you keep drinking to the morning, you can't get hungover, Rex confides in him -not that you'll ever know. Right, Robbie?-
He could never keep his wooden mouth shut and he could never resist a verbal jab. Flames reflected upon Robbie's glasses when he watched his ventriloquist dummy burning. Tori gave him an awkward hug once she found out and André comforted him with an improvised song. Jade gave him a pat on the shoulder, she didn't even frown in annoyance.
He runs away during lunch break; the quarterback got suspended for his dangerous antics and the ashes were cleared by the groundskeeper. Robbie has nothing left to remember Rex by; except for pictures and memories.
(In all honesty, it's more than he has of Cat.)
Robbie never considered himself to be nostalgic, but his feet unconsciously end up bringing him to the playground where he befriended his bouncy, crazy Catarina. He sinks down upon one of the swings and slowly sways forwards and backwards. Silent tears spill from his eyes and his bottom lip is jutted out; his cheeks are probably a flagrant red.
"Hey.. Uhm, why are you crying?" When he looks up, he's met by the sight of deep, soulful brown orbs. His breath hitches.
Tilting his head to the left in confusion, the boy, he looks about Robbie's age, eyes him carefully and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "I would ask if you were okay.." His lips curl into a tiny smile, "But we both know the answer to that."
"It's.. going to.. Uhm, sound weird?" Robbie begins softly and the boy has to crouch to hear him better.
Shrugging, the boy takes the empty swing next to him and sits down, "I don't care." He still looks at him with something akin to kindness, "Shoot."
Straightening his back, Robbie precariously takes his glasses off the bridge of his nose and wipes them with the hem of his vest, his tear-streaked cheeks are still an interesting shade of crimson, but the skin of his ears has returned to its usual pallor. "I.. Um.. I lost a.. Very important.. Friend.." His tongue flicks against his palate when he pronounces the word, "Friend. Today."
"Well, it's pretty normal to be crying in that case." The boy replies with his frugal smile and his hand combs through his unruly hair; pitch-black and unnaturally fluffy.
Robbie shakes his head slowly, "It.. Uh.. It was a.. Puppet."
"Oh." He waits for the other to walk away, storm off maybe, -get away from the freak- but he just keeps sitting there, swinging tho and fro with a strange kind of serenity.
He slowly replies, "Yeah.. I.. Uhm. I understand if you want to leave.. Um. Now. Not, not that I want you to leave. But, uh.. Yeah.." He finishes lamely and the boy just guffaws, it's a pleasant sound; deep and rumbling. Like thunder.
"Nah. Name's Beck, by the way." He turns the swing-seat around and the iron shackles pleach together, "What's yours?"
"Robert. But, uh, most people call me Robbie."
Beck smiles a bit wider, "I'm not most people, so I'm going to call you Rob."
xi.
Beck has brown eyes like most of his friends. 'Cept for Jade, but he's still not exactly sure what she is.
xii.
"I hope you don't mind that I brought Beck with me." His father looks up from his newspaper, the wrinkle in between his two eyebrows a bit more pronounced when he's disturbed from his habitual peace and quiet.
Poking out her head through the open doorway of the kitchen, his mother offers him a carefree smile and says amicably, "Well, don't leave your guest waiting. Invite him in."
Robbie nervously rubs his upper arm, almost furiously, his nails scratching along the fabric of the sleeves of his Canadian sweater. "Mom." He sounds almost embarrassed, "He's standing right next to me."
His father's grip on the pages of his newspaper tighten, his stature is rigid and his face is the exact opposite; livid. His breathing is completely erratic. "Go.. Uh.." He stumbles over his words, a plethora of emotions straining to take the upper hand, "Go to your room." Robbie stares in shock and his father repeats himself, "Just go!"
"Da.. Dad?" Robbie asks unsurely, the spot where he had been rubbing so violently already a tad sore.
Throwing his newsprint on the wooden ancillary table next to his armchair, his father jolts upright and storms past his son without a second glance, he enters the kitchen and slams the door behind him shut. Inside, the boy can hear his parents bluster against another; the rattling of silverware on the dinner table and the clanking of pottery on the stove. With a huddled, almost frightened posture, the former puppeteer turns to his friend and offers a faint apology. Giving a comforting pat on the back, Beck shakes his head nonchalantly.
He says, in a voice of sweet molasses, "It isn't your fault, Rob." He draws out the vowel for extra emphasis. "Probably something in the paper. Let's go to your room, okay?" Everything about Beck is so enticing, from his olive skin to his abysmal deep brown eyes to his smooth, fluid gestures.
"Yeah.. Probably.. It's probably.." Robbie swallows, "Grandma's coming over.. They never got along." His smile is weak but genuine. Beck returns the sentiment and steers him to the staircase, already comfortable with the lay-out of the house.
xiii.
"I'll take him to the rabbi, dear." His mother promises; every night terror about her son's mental health clawing at her senses, at her eyes.
Her husband replies curtly, "Take him to a therapist instead." He lowers his head into his hands, fingers delving into his mop of dark curls and sighs. "I can't do this anymore."
xiv.
His bedroom is a mixture between a science-fiction movie set and a regular teenager's room: there are pictures on his chest of drawers, memories of birthday parties and his first talentshow, the sheets of his bed are covered with stars and constellations; galaxies far far away and his laptop is covered with stickers from the Doctor Who and Sherlock series.
Next to his wardrobe is a poster of a cartoon he used to watch with Cat as a child; it was extremely over the top but whenever he manages to catch a re-run, he remembers the times when Rex could still be considered something close to a brother and Cat was on his family's worn couch, hiding her eyes behind her tanned fingers when there was a scary scene. Plopping his backpack down on the expanse of his wobbly mattress, Robbie strolls over to his desk and turns on his laptop. There's the trademark 'ping' after he's typed his password and the screen transforms from a blank gray to the pristine beach of Malibu.
"So.. What music would you like to hear?" He turns to his dark-skinned friend, who has made himself comfortable on the bed. Beck hums lowly in thought; his bottom lip lightly sucked into the cavern of his mouth as he concentrates. Robbie averts his gaze.
Drumming his long slender fingers on the coverlet, Beck eventually answers, "Whatever you got on your hard drive is good 'nough for me."
Robbie stutters, "O-okay. Right. Hehe."
His friend grins slyly and can't resist the urge to tease, "Nervous? For lil' old me?" He straightens his shoulders and lightly cocks his head to the right, his ebony locks falling just perfectly. "Unnecessary, but.. Flattering." There's something subliminal in his conclusion; yet the skinny boy has yet to percept the message.
Almost choking on his own saliva, he turns beet-red and shakes his head wildly, almost trying to deny nonexistent accusations. Beck's grin widens, stretches a few flawless white teeth each and he pushes him effortlessly off the bed. He walks over to him and Robbie associates the fluency with that of a panther. Canines uncovered, glimmering and those eyes...
-If the eyes are indeed the windows to one's soul, than Beck is burning, all smoldering coals and licking flames and Robbie kind of wants to catch on fire too.-
"I would ask if you were okay." He states airily, almost as if talking about the weather. His fiery irises narrow around the pupils as he continues, "But we both know the answer to that." His hands rest on Robbie's bony shoulders and slide downwards, until they grip the flesh above his curve of his elbows.
In the background, a gentle tune plays; an accordion as only the street artists of Paris have mastered the art. It's quick and eerily light, as if telling a voyage in musical notes. Robbie thinks that if Beck would move a tad closer, he could feel the breath escaping from the gap between those thin soft-looking lips.
Beck pats both of his upper arms simultaneously and sidesteps the curly-headed boy with ease, instead going over to the laptop and scanning the bright screensaver briefly. "I like this. Who plays it?"
Blinking slowly, Robbie incredulously squeaks, "I thought.. I thought you.. And I.. And then.. You.. Um." He squints his eyes shut, "Yann Tiersen? I think he's the composer at least."
"What were you thinking?" Leaning with his back against the leather swivel chair, Beck crosses his arms in front of his chest, his features rather concealing any obvious emotions.
After he lifted his glasses from his nose, the former puppeteer nervously wipes them with the hem of his sweater while answering, "Nothing.. It's nothing."
Even with his blurry vision, he can clearly see the smirk on his friend's face. "I don't believe you." He lilts in a pitch a tad higher than usual. It reminds him of Cat.
He sighs, "I thought.. Don't hate me.. Please.. That you were kind of.. Maybe? Gonna kiss me?"
Beck snickers and it's a wonderful contrast to the quick notes of the accordion. "Have you ever been kissed before?"
Robbie places his spectacles back on his nose and pushes them a bit higher. "No.. Um, no I haven't."
"I can remedy that. If you like."
xv.
He has a serious case of déjà-vu when his mother drags him to a ostentatious manor, which turns out to be -surprise, surprise- a doctor's office of some sorts. On her door, there's a golden plaque with a glaring bold print in a morbid black.
In her office, there is a sturdy mahogany wooden desk and two empty chairs facing her; they're omens in a bleak plastic-looking gray. He swallows; he never liked physicians and he has this sneaking suspicion that he won't like her either.
Her smile screams artificial, a quivering bottom-lip from familiar exertion and her facial muscles look overcome with an unshakeable lassitude.
Robbie has to talk about himself; about his youth, about his thoughts and if he thinks they might differ from the 'norm', he has to do association exercises and explain certain patterns in his behavior. She observes him with a calculated concentration.
She pens every little movement down; how he sometimes shivers or how he talks or how he reacts to the tone of her voice.
Her diagnosis is rather unasserted; she speaks in terms of 'might' and 'shows signs of'. "You show signs of schizophrenia, but there isn't enough neurobiological evidence to support that. You might have suffered from a dissociative identity disorder based on the entire episode with your ventriloquist dummy."
And the only thing she knows for sure, is the only thing he refuses to believe. "Your current, uhm, friend Beck is not a real person; he is most likely a figment of your imagination to help you cope with certain traumatic events, most likely the loss of your other ego, Rex.. Powers, was it?"
He gets a subscription for Haldol to constrain his hallucinations and Klonopin for his 'anxiety issues'.
xvi.
"She told me you aren't real."
Butterfly kisses are pressed tenderly against his external jugular vein; it throbs uncontrollably underneath Beck's puckered lips. His heart is slamming against his ribcage.
He frowns lightly, "They breed liars at Harvard, Rob."
Acquiescing, the former puppeteer's chest deflates as he exhales. "I guess you're right."
"Will you take them?" His gaze flits towards the packaged syringe and vial on the nightstand.
Robbie sighs contently when those sharp teeth graze against his mandible. All power and dominance.
"No.. Uh. Not tonight."
xvii.
His mother blends the Klonopin pills into her Lokshen kugel the next evening; when he retreats to his bedroom, he finds Beck on his mattress, propped half-upright on his elbows.
"She made you swallow the drugs." He pushes himself off the bed and prowls towards Robbie, his hand hovering inches from the soft supple skin of his cheek.
He stumbles backwards, "How.. How did you get in?"
Beck smiles and it's magical; the twinkle in his ominous umber irises inveigles him. "I sneaked in through the window." He looks directly into Robbie's eyes, "You don't mind, do you?"
Chuckling nervously, the sound comes out strangled and raspy, the curly-headed boy says, "No.. No, of course not. I.. Tell me you're real." It's a desperate plea.
Every trace of happiness disappears off his friend's face; he closes the distance between them; their mouths clash together in a vicious struggle. Robbie loses (it).
"I taste medication on your tongue." He murmurs when they part, his right hand on the back of the puppeteer's neck, "And apples."
Robbie ends up on his knees in front of the toilet, emptying his stomach's content underneath Beck's approving gaze. His fingers weakly grip the plastic seat, there are specks of zucchini and potatoes on his chin and he shudders violently when he spots two half-digested pink pills amongst the remnants of his dinner.
He feels sick all over again.
There's a pat on his shoulder blade and a promise whispered into his ear. "Rob.. You should clean up. I don't want to kiss you like this."
xviii.
He has never experienced something like this before: the palm of Beck's hand on the back of his own when he strokes his erection. He glances up at the boy next to him; his eyes half-hidden behind the lids, his own jeans are slumped around his ankles and his other hand is hidden underneath the fabric of those expensive boxers.
Robbie knows he's jerking himself off, and out of fear for ruining this moment, he keeps his mouth shut. Feather-light fingertips glide over his curly black pubic hair and he arches into the almost nonexistent touch.
When he comes, the intensity of the orgasm wrecks the stability of his spine and he quakes into the softness of his mattress, Beck only needs a few more jerks to reach a climax.
They are both breathless for a moment, stained in sweat and cum. Robbie sighs when he realizes he has to change his checkered pajama-vest.
"Do you.. Uh, do you need to borrow a pair of boxers?" Beck shakes his head lightly, light-headed as he is, and waves the offer away.
He raises a brow, "But.. You still have to walk home in those.."
Beck rolls on his side to face Robbie more properly and cups his cheek. He reeks of sex and the musky smell suits him flawlessly.
"I love you, Rob." He doesn't whisper, he literally breathes the words to him and the puppeteer just melts into his Galaxy Wars-themed sheets.
He leans forwards for a kiss, but their lips never collide. Robbie blinks rapidly, his arm extending to grab his glasses and when his fingers collide with the cool frame of his spectacles, they nearly fall. He clumsily puts them on his nose, but Beck has disappeared into thin air.
-The Haldol starts kicking in.-
xix.
"Tell me you're real." He's in a corner of his room, hugging his knees to his chest.
Beck sits perched on his swivel chair and his expression is extraordinarily grim. He doesn't answer, he seems almost frozen in time and space; a perfect statue.
Robbie almost wails, "Tell me.. Tell me you're real.." His forehead bumps against his folded arms. His voice cracks, "Please.. Beck..."
xx.
His parents are relieved when the therapist deems their son ready to go back to school; he hasn't shown any withdrawals, hasn't mentioned people who don't exist and his paranoia has lessened incredibly. He hardly looks over his shoulders anymore.
Lumbering through the halls, walled in by lockers and glass windows, Robbie keeps his head down, still nervous to meet anyone's gaze. He knows his fellow students are casting him suspicious glances, but Jade returns the gesture with her most intimidating glare. André is very happy to see him after all those days he's been absent. He embraces him enthusiastically and chatters about all the courses he has missed. Tori flashes him a wide multi-million dollar smile and it dazzles him.
He has Physics on the second floor and is flipping through his textbook. Robbie fails to pay attention and bumps into someone.
"So.. Sorry." He squeaks, clutches his book against his chest protectively and looks up.
Brown. So incredibly brown and warm. Robbie wants to pinch himself.
"Beck?"
Raising an eyebrow, the other boy replies, "Uh, no. My name is Oliver." He extends his hand in introduction, "Oliver Beckett."
(All his friends have brown eyes, you know.)
.
Penny for your thoughts? Be gentle, it's my first venture into this fandom. After all. Also; I'm not entirely sure whether I like my characterization. If you'd like to add some critique on how I could improve, I'd be much obliged.