Chapter Two

The Gasman

A/N: Summary: In an attempt to guarantee that Iggy's new girl doesn't break his heart, the Gasman pulls Ella into a closet to have a chat with her.

"Hurt him, and you die."

My mother had always told me to stand up to bullies. I wondered then if she had ever taken into account that I might've been bullied by a nine-year old angel with wings who decided to pull me into a dark closet lit only by the red light pouring onto his face from the flashlight under his chin. I thought maybe not. His face was set in a look of determination heightened by a glare that was set to the level If Looks Could Kill, and aimed straight for me.

Even if he was four years younger than me, I swear if that kid had said "boo" I would've pissed my pants and ran screaming out of the closet.

Instead, the Gasman clamped his hand over my mouth, and continued his threats.

"For some reason, Iggy likes you. A lot. He would rather spend time with you than light Nudge's Hannah Montana CDs on fire, which I just don't get, but whatever he's my best friend. Whatever makes him happy, right? But if you don't make him happy, I mean, if you break his heart you're going to have five very angry mutants on your butt."

The Gasman seemed satisfied with that as he loosed his grip on my mouth and sat back in the closet.

I gaped at him, my mind a mixture of confusion and fright.

Great, Ella, you're scared of a fourth grader? Iggy will be so impressed.

So I attempted to right my composure and look bored, or at least a little amused at the Gasman's antics, but that was kind of hard to do since I was in a closet with someone who had probably snapped a few hundred necks in his lifetime and really wouldn't mind snapping mine if provoked. Lovely.

Plus, y'know, I heard that being in close quarters with the Gasman was never a smart move. But he had me hostage so I couldn't do much about the situation besides watch him play with the different colored lights on the flashlight, switching back and forth between blue and red, going from looking like a Dark Angel to a mermaid.

"So, like, what is it with birdkids and closets?"

The Gasman looked up from playing with his toy. His gaze had relaxed now that he was certain that I was thoroughly scared into not hurting Iggy for at least the rest of their stay. Instead of the Demonic look, he came across as curious.

"What?"

"Oh. See, Iggy pulled me in the closet the other day. It was kind of weird then, but not as weird as it is now cause, y'know you've also just pulled me into the closet which makes twice in four days, and I'm not accustomed to spending this much time in closets."

"What were you doing in the closet?" the Gasman asked, suddenly very interested.

"Talking… just, talking." My cheeks flushed with heat and I knew that my face was suffused with an embarrassed red. The Gasman looked slightly disgusted and I knew that he thought we'd done more than just talked. By the state of my face, it seemed like we'd done a lot more, because why would I be blushing from just a chat in the closet?

Well for starters, we were in a closet. That alone was enough starting material to last the boys in my eighth grade Health class at least three periods.

The thing was, though on the surface it seemed as if we only talked like passing acquaintances who just happened to be thrown together in a closet, it felt like more. It felt like we'd both touched each other, but not in a thirteen-year-old-dirty-mind kind of way. Deeper than that. Less tangible. Stepping into that closet had felt like taking a step toward understanding Iggy—but not just Iggy. Before now, the Gasman had hardly spoken to me. Now he was throwing me into closets, and okay he was threatening to break several limbs if I hurt his best friend, but I thought it could be the prelude to a beautiful friendship.

Speaking of Iggy's best bud…

I guess that I looked pretty stupid, because The Gasman was staring at me as though trying to decode the meaning of life and it was hidden behind my eyes. Finally he gave up with a sigh. "I don't get it. Probably cause I'm too young. That's what Iggy said, anyway, that I just can't understand cause I'm too young. Which basically sucks. I mean, I can't watch that new Will Smith movie cause I'm only nine. But I never thought that I would be too young to talk to my best friend! I know girls don't have cooties by now. YouTube cured me of that. But apparently that's not enough."

I kind of felt bad for the guy. His best friend had just entered a ride that Gazzy was just too short to get on. And instead of hopping on another one that they both could enjoy, Iggy had left the Gasman behind. "Sorry," I muttered.

"Yeah, it is kind of your fault."

I recalled a conversation with Max in which she'd explained how they really hadn't had time for Miss Manners training at the School, and how, between running for their lives and committing mutant murders, she hadn't had time to instill anything in the Flock besides the fundamental Magic Words. "Besides," Iggy had added, "who really needs Please and Thank-you when, if you want something, you have the power to render them unconscious within the next second?"

When the Gasman said that I was at fault for this rip in their friendship, I kind of wished that Max had taken the Flock aside for a brief lesson on Tact. Even if it WAS, in actuality, my fault, that didn't mean that I wanted to hear it, or that I could help but keep some irritation from mixing with my next apology. "Sorry." I crossed my arms.

The Gasman studied me again and I felt myself shrink under his blue gaze. I wanted to know what he was thinking when he looked at me like that. Was he thinking that I wasn't good enough for his friend? Did he hate me for giving Iggy the incentive to venture out on an escapade that would leave him temporarily best friend-less?

"His life kind of sucks."

That I was not expecting "What?"

"I mean, we all have a sucky life. It comes with the territory of being a freak. But out of all of us it's definitely Max and Iggy who have the suckiest life. Max has the whole Saving the World thing on her shoulders, and the whitecoats royally screwed Iggy over so that now, he's blind. The thing is…" for once in our conversation, the Gasman looked sort of nervous. He looked down at the floor in front of him, took a lighter from his pocket and ignited it again and again. I worried briefly for the state of our closet if the Gasman's flame got out of control, but Gazzy's next words blew a mind swipe toward me. "He told me… you kind of make it not suck so much. So I guess I can forgive you, but only because you make his life less crappy."

"Oh… um… well…" How does one react to that? My ears rang with the nine year old's words over and over again and I couldn't help my lips from tugging at their corners into a happy, but undoubtedly goofy, grin. I made his life less crappy…? Even in the vocabulary of a fourth grader, those words sparked at my heart. A giggle erupted from my throat which caused the Gasman to look up from his nervousness and stare at me using his now frequent expression as though he wondered just how sane I was and how long he would be safe in close proximity to me. I clamped my hand over my mouth, but the giggles continued, spilling out over my lips, tumbling like a waterfall and I couldn't help it, but I didn't want to help it, because I was happy, goshdarnnit, and a skeptical stare from a nine year old bird kid wouldn't change that at all.

"You make his life not suck so much."

Squeeee!

The Gasman stood up from the floor and pocketed his lighter. He sent one last fleeting look toward me before opening the closet door and exiting, shaking his head and muttering to himself: "I just don't get it…"

One day you will, Gazzy, I thought resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands, and gazing dreamily into space. One day you'll understand what it means when your heart thunders dangerously, when your stomach gathers your internal organs and organizes the Wave, when your mind is hooked on thoughts of one subject, of one topic, but you don't mind it a bit cause it's a topic you sure as heck can enjoy.

Someday, Gazzy, you'll understand when you make someone's life kind of not suck so much.

A/N: So… any ideas for Chapter Three? I'm not an Ella/Iggy shipper, so I'd love some suggestions.