Inspired by two of Scribbler's YGO fics, A Ship Sailing Over the Edgeof the World, and Forget Everything I Ever Told You. Oh, and a Fillmore! fic I once read dealing with Ingrid and her dad and child abuse…which I can no longer find…
Might switch POVs throughout… I may turn the opposite POVs into different chapters… Dunno yet. It's just a bunch of ideas bouncing around in my head as of yet.
Sorry if it's kind of OOC for either of them, but I haven't seen the show in FOREVER, so I don't really remember everything about the characters…
The silence was strange, alien, foreign compared to the silences they'd shared in the past. Those had been comfortable, had fit into their conversations as easily as the actual conversing had. Now, he wished he could think of something to fill the air—even a random crack like old times.
But he feared "old times" were lost, as bizarre as the present lack of speech.
Why hadn't she told him? Or at least someone? Why had she kept it a secret? How could she not have known that this would be as obvious to her friends as a black panther in a room of white-washed walls?
Looking back, he realized he had figured it out—somewhat. He'd known something was wrong, just hadn't been sure what at the time.
The signs had all been right there, right under his nose—surely he wasn't the only one to have noticed them?
No, he couldn't have been. The others were just as perceptive as he, he reminded himself—especially when it came to close friends. If one had noticed something seemed off, then they had all suspected it.
He watched her, noticing yet again how different she seemed and wanting to do something about it. But he feared what would happen if he mentioned anything…
After five more glances at the clock—had it really only been ten minutes??--he cleared his throat and asked, "Why didn't you say anything?"
She sighed as she looked at him, green eyes slightly clouded.
"Because," she replied, pausing for a moment as if sorting through her thoughts for the right reply. Finally settling on one, she continued with him gazing anxiously at her, "Because, if I had mentioned anything earlier, the gang would've gone berserk. I didn't want you all worrying about something that I figured I could handle myself. I didn't want you reacting the way I figured you would." She cracked a grin. "You guys are so protective, especially of me."
He wanted to scream, to get up and shake the living daylights of the next unfortunate soul who should pass their way, but he reluctantly restrained himself, managing a controlled, "How can you stay so…chipper? I mean, you went through…Hell…and you're sitting here giggling about your situation! Don't you ever get mad about it?"
She looked at him, a look he knew all too well: Her "I'm-going-to-tell-you-the-truth-even-though-you-might-not-like-it" look, a look of genuine honesty he rarely saw on any face but hers. He knew better than to speak negatively when she looked at him like that—he'd gotten many gently sharp (sharply gentle?) responses for that act in the past and didn't like it.
The look warning him, he kept his mouth shut as his companion answered softly, "Not really. I've come to terms with my…situation, as you've so cleverly dubbed it."
The look intensified as he opened his mouth, and he shut it again with an audible, ticked-off "Humph."
She smiled almost sadly, much to his chagrin, continuing, "I'm used to it by now, and don't you dare try to treat me differently because of this. That's another reason I didn't want to tell anybody—they'd feel sorry for me, and I don't want anybody's pity or sympathy. I just wanna be treated like the normal, functioning person I am. I'm perfectly capable of doing the same things other people do. I'm perfectly fine."
She'd noticed his pained expression at the beginning of her spiel and had glared at him even more determinedly. But of course she'd noticed—she'd always had a knack for reading body language and facial expressions, a talent he'd often wished he'd possessed.
And speaking of wishing, he wished this had never happened, that she'd never gotten hurt, and especially that he hadn't had to hear the news almost two months after she'd already been going through the ordeal. He'd give anything—anything—to make this all go away so that they wouldn't have to live through anymore of the heartache they were all facing right now.
His face was contorted, a look she knew all too well. He was thinking, angry & confused, about what had happened the past few weeks, and about how he had finally found out about her dilemma…
--Flashback--
"Hey, you've reached the Fillmore residence. We can't get to the phone right now. Leave a message and we'll get back to you ASAP. Muchas gracias!"
Beep.
"Crackers, I forgot you knew Spanish… Anyway, it's Ingrid. Thought I'd let you know I'm back and…that's about it…"
Beep.
"Hello?"
Her voice was like music to his ears, a melody he'd missed hearing the past few weeks…
Did I just think that? Dawg, I gotta stop reading all those goofy magazine articles. He shook his head to clear away the mushy thoughts, and cleared his throat.
"Um, Ingrid?"
"Fillmore?" She sounded happy to hear from him. Surprised, but happy. He smiled, a slight upturn of his lips.
"Yeah, it's me."
"Hey. What's up?"
He cringed, responding, "I should be asking you the same thing. You kinda dropped off the face of the planet a few weeks ago, girl."
He winced at the sound of his voice as the statement left his lips. He sounded like an angry Safety Patroller, like he was accusing her of something, as he would a perp in the interrogation room. Before she could reply, he blurted, "Sorry for the harshness. I'm just…"
He sighed, gathering his courage.
"I…I just…missed you."
There, he'd said it. And he felt slightly calmer.
There was an expected beat before her voice replied calmly, "It's okay. I was…" She paused. "You missed me?"
She sounded surprised, like she hadn't expected him to even realize she'd been gone. He could see her eyebrows rising at the thought. He smiled at the image, trying to keep his voice level as he responded, "Of course I missed you. We all did. You're a Safety Patroller, the smartest kid in school…people notice you, Ing. We notice when you're there, and we definitely notice when you're gone. How come you ditched us?"
He heard her sigh, saw it in his mind, and his smile widened.
Her response, however, made the smile fade.
"Fillmore, I…need to tell you something. But I think I should do it in person. Can you…can we meet somewhere, maybe?"
He looked at the clock. Almost seven. "Sure. What did you have in mind?"
---
Dawg, this is uncomfortable. Why am I so fidgety??
He'd been sitting on "his" bench for almost ten minutes, the ticking of the clock tower wreaking havoc on his brain. With every second that passed, his mind kicked out scenarios of what was to come, along with possible conversations they could have, each slightly disturbing.
Her heart jumped to her throat when she saw him sitting there, the butterflies in her stomach picking up their speed. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself, then quickly made her way toward him.
She looked less pale, he realized as she walked toward him, her black hair pulled back from her face.
Has she been…tanning? he wondered, surprise making its way across his face as quickly as she made her way across the park.
When she reached him, he stood, and her surprised expression made him chuckle as he gave her a hug.
"Fillmore, are you…laughing at me?" she asked, an eyebrow rising in confusion and disbelief.
"Not you, your expression," he corrected gently, smiling as they both sat down.
"Sure," she acknowledged with a teasing grin. But her expression changed as she continued, "Sorry I kept you waiting."
"Ten minutes isn't that long, Ing."
"Not just tonight, Fillmore. The past couple of months. I disappeared, and I shouldn't have, but I didn't know what else to do." Her head dropped. "I'm sorry."
"Ing," he said, his tone making her head pop up again, "you have nothing to be sorry for. If you disappeared, it was for a good reason."
"Yes, it was," she whispered, the comment barely audible.
He knew that expression, the one that meant she was struggling with at least one emotion, if not more. His concern grew, and he asked, "Ingrid, what's wrong?"
Suddenly, his partner was crying, something Fillmore was not used to. Ingrid had always been the no-emotion type of person, and now she was crying? Fillmore was lost.
Ingrid snatched a tissue from her pocket, wiping at her eyes, a blush creeping across her face.
That's new…
"Sorry," she sniffed. "I'm just…I don't know how to tell you this…"
"Ingrid, if something's wrong, tell me, and I promise I'll help you any way I can."
"I know you will, Fillmore, but this is really hard."
"It's okay. I've got time. I swear, I'm not leaving until you want me to."
"Fillmore…You've always been a good friend…"
"And I always will be. Now, what happened? Is it your family? Did something happen to your dad?"
"No, not Dad. Not Ariella, either." Ingrid inhaled slowly, then…
"Fillmore…Iwasraped."
There, I said it.
"What?" He blinked at her. "Did you just say…raped?"
Ingrid nodded.
His expression was a mix of emotions—she could see anger, fear, concern, and…tears? He's crying? Crackers. I didn't know Fillmore cried…
"Fillmore?" she tried, but he wouldn't look at her.
--End Flashback--
"Cornelius!"
"Huh? Wha?" He blinked, shaking his head. Her face showed worry and concern, along with just a hint of annoyance.
"Fillmore, if I have to practically scream your first name to get your attention, it's not good. What were you thinking about?"
"You know exactly what I was thinking about—don't pretend you don't."
Crud, that came out wrong.
He had no time to correct himself or apologize. Ingrid spoke milliseconds after he did, her voice shaky and her eyes still moist. "Fillmore, please. Watch your tone."
"I know. I'm sorry. But Ingrid, you have to expect me to be upset—"
"More like furious," she interrupted, giving him a stern look.
"Alright, furious. But you know me.I can't always control my temper, remember?"
"Got that right."
"Hey, now who's got the tone problem?"
She sighed. "Sorry."
"It's okay. We're both…upset right now. It's expected. But Ingrid, why didn't you tell me? Do you know who did it? Maybe we could help you find out. When did it happen, exactly?"
"Fillmore. Stop thinking like a Safety Patroller."
"Ingrid. I'm thinking like your friend, who happens to be a Safety Patroller. Get used to it."
"Can we…not discuss it here, please?"
He looked around. "What's wrong with the park?"
She blinked. "I just…I'd rather be at home, alright?"
"Alright, let's go." He stood, offering her his hand.
She took it, that surprised look once again capturing her face as he helped her up from the bench.
Silently, the pair began walking, their footfalls taking the place of conversation until they reached the Thirds' home and were (almost) comfortably seated in Ingrid's room.
"Alright, now can you explain it to me?"
Ingrid's eyebrows rose, and he winced. "Sorry. But seriously. Please?"
She sighed, grabbing a box of tissues from her bookshelf before beginning, "It was about six weeks ago…exactly that two days from now, actually…and I was walking home late—"
"That was the night you made me head home without you, wasn't it?" Fillmore's face was etched with sorrow, as if he thought it was his fault.
"Yes, that was the day you stayed 'til almost nine because you wanted to help clean up that beef stew catastrophe, even though you'd practically gotten a concussion during the chase. But anyway, I was walking home—"
"Ingrid, what time did you leave X?"
"Fillmore, quit interrupting."
"Tell me."
"It was only half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes after you left. Promise. May I finish my story now? Be prepared for waterworks…"
"Yeah, sure. Sorry."
"Thank you. As I was saying, I was walking home, and," she sniffed, "he grabbed me, shoved me into a van, and he and some other guy talked while one of them drove…it seemed like forever, and I thought they were kidnapping me. I would've talked, but the guy who grabbed me stuffed a sock in my mouth. Not fun. And when they finally stopped, we were in some sort of abandoned building—all I saw of the name was an S and part of what was probably an I or an H—and…and…"
"Ingrid, what?"
Fillmore's voice was gentle, and he moved closer to her, not sure what else to do.
"There were more guys in the building…"
Anger overtook him when he realized what her statement meant.
"How many?" he demanded gently, tipping her tear-stained face up so he could see her expression.
She was hiccupping between tears, and her response was barely audible. "At least three, maybe more…"
"Five guys? Did all of them hurt you?" He was furious, the anger rising with each second that passed.
A hiccup, then, "Yes. In more ways than one."
He blinked. "You mean…what do you mean?"
"I mean not just one form of rape, but two or three, plus the fact that a couple of them would punch me if I made any noise at all."
"Ingrid…" When I get my hands on those guys…
"Fillmore, don't. Don't try and find them."
"Ingrid, they tortured you. They should be locked up for life for what they did."
The anger in his voice almost scared him, and he knew it was affecting Ingrid, but still he spoke. He had to convince her to let him help.
"You won't find them."
"Ingrid, did they threaten you? Tell you they'd kill you if you told?"
"Fillmore, I know how these things work. I'm a Safety Patroller, after all."
"Yes, and as such, you should want to go after them." A thought dawned on him, and he asked softly, "Are they students—or teachers—at X? Are they—any of them—guys you consider your friends?"
Her expression told him that at least one of his guesses was correct, and he wracked his brain, trying to figure out which one would make Ingrid this afraid.
"Ingrid, you have to tell me. If they're teachers, they could be doing this to other students. If they're students, it could be the same thing. And if they're your friends…then they're in big trouble and aren't your friends."
Ingrid sniffed again, then stared at him. "Put yourself in my shoes, Fillmore. I've gotten used to the thought by now, and I'm happy to not think about it anymore. It's over, and I'm doing just fine."
"Obviously not," Fillmore muttered, and Ingrid's glare intensified.
"Excuse me?"
"Ing, you're obviously not okay. If you were okay, you'd be going after them, and you would've told me or Tehama or somebody about what happened. You're not yourself, and it's scaring me," he said, standing.
"Where are you going?" Ingrid asked, voice shaky.
"Home for now. I don't think I feel like continuing this discussion right now. I'm gonna give us both a couple days to think about what we've both said, and maybe we'll finish this later."
Mer. Crappy ending, but oh well.
So, does it stink? Is it okay? I'd like some feedback, and maybe ideas for the next chappy. I've got it partly written, only WB struck, and I haven't continued it yet. o.o
And I can't remember when I started writing this, but it's MINE, so NO STEALING! Thanks. :-D
