Plot Summary: The title is rather tongue-in-cheek; hope it inspires a giggle or two. Bobby guilts Jack into quitting smoking. (If you've ever known someone who's tried to do so when they're not totally willing, you're probably wincing at this point...and rightfully so.) Chaos, naturally, ensues. Rated M for language (and adult content, perhaps, if you consider smoking to be such. That's your call.)
Disclaimer: Alas, I don't own any of the Four Brothers characters. Credit goes to director John Singleton and the writers, David Elliot and Paul Lovett. I keep none for myself. Tragic, I know.
Author's Note: Dedicated to Whilom, who inadvertently roused my muse from its apparent coma and encouraged the conception of this piece. Also for HaloFin17 and powerhungryjr, who expressed greed for more after my first Four Brothers piece. :)
- - - Kicking Butts - - -
I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that I was sitting in my living room.
I could see the familiar painting on the opposite wall out of the corner of my eye, feel the plush couch cushion beneath me, smell the clean scent of the carpet freshener that had been sprinkled generously around before I'd vacuumed several hours prior. I could hear the television that was producing quite a racket about five feet in front of me. All my empirical senses were stimulated...so why did everything still seem so surreal?
I had turned on VH1 in hopes that it might distract me from the horrible circumstances that kept plaguing me, but while my eyes were glued to the screen, my mind was definitely elsewhere.
The inescapable truth was that my mom had died three days ago. Yes, she was getting up there in age, but this hadn't been a natural thing. It hadn't been an act of God. It had not been a random car accident, either. No. Nothing so simple.
Evelyn Mercer had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time during an armed robbery. The cowards had burst into the little convenience store like the hounds of hell, demanding every dollar in the register. Once they'd gotten what they wanted, they apparently were both struck with blood-lust. They loaded two bullets into the clerk, then shot my mother as she tried to hide behind an aisle...according to the rumors, at least.
Anyone can tell you I've had a rough life, but nothing in this world has ever been or will ever be as damaging as that random crime that took the only mother I've ever known away from me. To call this "heinous" would be to label it with the greatest understatement in history.
It was all I could think about. It consumed me; ate me alive from the inside out. I was terrified I'd never move past it, and it hurt. It was so painful I could barely stand it, and I'm no stranger to pain.
I had not seen the surveillance video; did not in fact know if such a thing even existed. I was pretty sure I wouldn't watch it if the tape was thrust into my hands, anyway. Too hard, way too fucking hard, to watch the angel that was my adopted mother in her last moments on this earth. It would rip me apart. Besides, in any case, my stupid mind filled in the blanks whether I wished it or not. I was blessed (read: cursed) with an overactive imagination. Perhaps it's some remnant of my childhood. Maybe I used to use my imagination to escape reality. I don't know. Haven't done that for years, if that's the case, because I was finally happy. Evelyn made me happy. And now she's gone, and I'm miserable again and wishing I could withdraw into my mind and pretend this never happened. Make all this go away. But I can't, because memories fill it to the brim and there is no room left for wishful deceptions.
Van Halen blared from the television, but all I can ever seem hear is the voice of my mother. "You are home, Jackie. You're safe within these walls. No one will hurt you here. You'll see." I had been nine when I had arrived at the Mercer house, and terrified out of my mind at first, but I remember staring up at her as she spoke those words and suddenly realizing I trusted her instinctively. She was incredible like that. I remember that I asked her to stay. I had been left behind all my life, and now I wanted a stable figure in it. I'd picked the right woman; I knew this the second she replied. Her tone was gentle, but it held a strong promise as she told me, "I'll never leave."
But you did leave, Mom. You left and now we're lost little boys again without you. I sighed, blinking back tears and raking a hand through my unruly hair as I lifted the remote and turned the volume down a bit. Surely one of my three brothers would be down here any minute, complaining that I'd been making the walls vibrate.
If only to think about something, anything, else, I had to wonder who would be the first to tell me to pipe down. Jerry, bitchy because his kids had kept him up the night before? Angel, bitchy because his girlfriend Sofi had kept him up the night before? Nah, most likely Bobby, bitchy because I had kept him up the night before. I'd needed to talk, and wasn't apologetic in the least bit, although I did feel bad for making him miss out on a few hours of beauty sleep. Bobby sure did need it; he was looking older by the day. I made a mental reminder to tease him about the crow's feet around his eyes. Anything to piss him off. He'd hate me for it, but he'd get over it. He's adored me since the day he laid eyes on me, and he can't stay mad at me for long.
As if on cue, a deliberately loud cough from the doorway interrupted my reverie. I nearly jumped out of my skin at the unexpected sound, practically giving myself whiplash as I jerked my head toward the door.
Bobby himself. I might have guessed. The bastard just stood there, leaning one shoulder against the door-frame, a smirk tugging at his lips. He obviously could barely contain his delight at having scared the piss out of me.
"Jesus, Bobby," I gasped, slapping the palm of my right hand over my heart to ensure that it didn't pound right through my chest. "You tryin' to kill me?!"
Bobby muttered just loud enough for me to hear that fairies are so easy to sneak up on. When I didn't rise to the bait, he shrugged and informed me, "I'm not really in a killing mood. Maybe later. Just want to chat. Want to spend some time with my baby brother. Have ourselves a heart-to-heart. How's life been treating you, Jackie?"
"I'm busy."
"Turn off 'Ricki Lake' and talk to your older brother. We have a lot to catch up on."
"'Behind the Music,'" I corrected without any real vehemence, turning my full attention back to the flashing screen.
"Your band on there yet?"
"Fuck off, Bobby."
"Those pretty puppy eyes of yours are going to fall out of your head, you know. Too much T.V."
"I'll take my chances," I answered dryly without moving said pretty puppy eyes from the screen.
At this point, Bobby apparently lost interest in pestering me about my television-watching habit and seized on another one he didn't approve of without skipping a beat. "You know, Jackie, you promised Mom you'd quit." To further emphasize his point, he nodded to the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table in front of me. I gave him a Look that indicated I didn't need him to water it down for me; I had known damn well what he was referring to long before he'd turned into Captain Obvious. Bobby just frowned, unruffled by my stare. "After all she did for you, it'd be nice to at least give it a shot. Show her she raised you right."
"You have a lot of room to talk. You beat people up for fun and then occasionally put a bullet in one or two of 'em."
"Not lately," Bobby replied calmly.
I adopted my most condescending grin. "Good for you! Congratulations! Bobby Mercer finally got his hands on some morals! Drinks all around!"
He ignored me. "You promised Mom," he repeated.
I sighed. Clearly, he wasn't going to let this go. "Yeah, well, that was before she was murdered and I started to stress out about it. When I'm stressed, I smoke." I pouted for dramatic effect. "What, don't you remember me at all, Bobby?"
His dark eyes narrowed. "I remember you making a promise to Mom that you'd quit."
"Selective amnesia," I mused.
"You said you'd quit, fairy, so quit." His tone became mocking as he added, "Be a man, Jackie-boy."
"If you're trying to dare me, or something, Bobby, you're wasting your breath. I'm too old for that." I sat up lazily, looking at the cigarettes wistfully as I contemplated the reward of having one versus the effort it took to obtain it.
"And too young," he retorted, swiping the pack before I could make up my mind, "for these."
"Dammit, Bobby, give 'em back. Don't be an asshole."
"No."
I snorted. "Are you going to play keep-away? Or maybe gather up Jerry and Angel and have yourself a game of monkey-in-the-middle?"
"I'm not in the mood for games," Bobby informed me calmly. "You are going to quit, Jack. I will make sure of it."
"I'm shakin' in my shoes, Bobby, believe me."
He stared at me until I had to fight the urge to squirm, then rolled his eyes and tossed the pack at me. Surprised, I caught it with carefully both hands as if it were a precious, fragile object. "Well, that was smart," I remarked sarcastically. "Take them away and then give them back to me. Nicely done. Hope you thought that one through."
"I'm trusting your integrity."
"Surely you know better than that by now."
Bobby rubbed his hand down his face. "Just do this for Mom."
"Fine." I retrieved my lighter from my jeans' pocket, then flipped it open. "One more. Then I'll quit. I swear."
"Do not light it. I'll pound you into that sofa."
Just to piss him off, I produced a cigarette from the pack and set it between pursed lips, then bent my head and let the tip meet the flame. Satisfied that it was lit, I closed the lighter with a flourish and sat back, inhaling deeply. Before I could release the plume of smoke as intended, however, Bobby literally jumped onto the coffee table and reached out, quick as lightning. Startled, I began to cough, and that's when he snatched the cigarette out of my mouth and crushed it on my belt.
He tossed the butt away, then looked at the pack still in my hand, but I was faster this time and quickly stuffed it beneath me. Once I was sitting on it, I tried not to imagine the damage done and simply stared at Bobby. "No such luck, bro."
"Come on, Jack. Grow up. Give 'em to me."
"But Bobby," I protested, not really caring that I was bordering on whiny, "why can't I just have one more? Give them a proper farewell?" I put on my best mournful expression, looking pleadingly up at him through my lashes and pouting pathetically.
As usual, Bobby didn't fall for it. His voice took on a harder edge as he insisted, "Hand them over."
"What difference will one more make?"
"Hand. Them. Over."
I straightened my posture on the sofa and smirked. I like to flaunt the fact that although he may be older, I am still at least two inches taller than he is. Even while sitting. Even with him perched on a table. "Or?" I taunted.
"Jackie..." Bobby snarled warningly. I arched a brow in response, and his glare intensified.
I was playing with fire, and I knew it. And here I'd always thought Bobby was the resident pyromaniac of the Mercer family.
"I'm not kidding," he told me coolly.
"Well, you're not really famous for your sense of humor, Bobby."
I swear he was on top of me in less than a second. I yelped as his weight settled on me like a sack of bricks. "Give them here," he stated with unnerving calm, "or I will flatten you like a pancake."
I couldn't help myself. The inspiration his comment sparked was too much. I announced brightly, "No, not a pancake...a flap-Jack!" A howl of laughter escaped me. Truly, one of my finer moments. I kept giggling even after he smacked me upside the head and assured me that only I could find something so stupid that hilarious.
He took advantage of my mirth and more or less dumped me off the couch. I landed with a thud and an insulted exclamation of "Hey!" He ignored me, regaining possession of my cigarettes and calmly walking out of the living room.
Well, shit. So much for victory.
Then, another flurry of inspiration hit me. I still had my driver's license. I still had my wallet. And the store was only two blocks away.
To be continued...
