The Three Strike-Point-Flag-System

A Lorax Fanfic Series by Digitaldreamer

XII: Nowhere to Go But Up


Annnnd now we're on the one I've been wanting to do since I started this. In spite of that, this took me awhile- big arguing scenes are hard to do right. Really, ideally they should be done in a single shot so the conversation flows, but I had to do this in pieces so that messed with it. I can only hope this actually works like I want it to- it's really meant to be the climax, which means it should be very emotional. I can only hope I've built things up to the point where this works and doesn't seem cheesy.

So uh, yes. Enough of my nerves. I hope you enjoy and please tell me what you think!


It really wasn't shaping up to be a good day.

He'd already known today wasn't going to be the best when his alarm had gone off roughly two hours after he'd finally managed to cease his tossing and turning for some sorely needed sleep. This had lead to a lack of coordination that he'd hardly been prepared for, resulting in more banged elbows and battered shins than he'd like to admit. This was only the tipping point of a number of small disasters, from a shower that seemed all too cold to the empty bottle of conditioner to the burnt toast that felt closer to razors in his dry throat when he'd forced it down.

In spite of all this, the Once-ler had still strode into his office at six in the morning, right on the dot. He'd managed to keep his head high, flashed that winning smile and hid the quick glance at his secretary's nameplate quite well before bidding her a jaunty good morning. The instant those gold-rimmed doors had closed, however, he'd visibly slumped, whole body seeming to droop as he'd essentially collapsed into his over-sized office chair. He simply lay there for a moment, head tipped back, taking several wheezing breaths that shook through his thin frame like wind in a tunnel.

Okay, yeah. "Wasn't shaping up to be a good day" was an understatement. He felt like hell.

But hell or not, the stack of papers on his desk was still towering higher than all seven-something feet of himself and his top hat, and it wasn't getting any smaller. The Once-ler grimaced as he rubbed at his aching eyes, glancing down at the itinerary sheet placed on his desk.

Oh, it was a press conference day. Fantastic.

The Once-ler let out a sigh as he picked up his mug (its bold print bragging about him being "Our Number One Once-ler" seemed downright obnoxious in his current state, but he'd have to deal) and gulped down a mouthful of tea. The heat of it only made his collar feel tighter and the sweat on his brow multiply, but knowing how the morning had been he'd be grateful for it when the chill returned. Besides, the scald against the agony of his throat felt downright pleasant, like scratching an itch. Unfortunately, the rest of his body seemed to disagree, as he found himself once again racked with a storm of coughs that left him gasping for breath and sprawled over his desk in a groaning heap.

"You look like hell, Beanpole."

The familiar voice echoed through his office again as the coughs subsided, drawing a groan from the young man. The Once-ler raked his fingers through sweat-soaked bangs, not bothering to glance over to the window for the source. "Get out of here, Meatloaf, I'm not in the mood," he grumbled, though his exhaustion robbed the conviction from his tone.

"Since when did I ever care about your mood?" The Lorax replied with a snort as he made his way across the office, then struggled his way to the top of the desk. "Seriously, ya look awful," he grunted as his paws scrabbled for purchase. "What'd you go and do to yourself? Breakup still gettin' ya down?"

The mention of Norma made the inventor wince, though he didn't comment on the subject. "I didn't do anything," the Once-ler grumbled as he took another sip of his tea, then pulled a form from his stack of papers and began to glance over it. He then let out a yelp as the paper was abruptly pushed aside, making room for the orange paw that pressed against his temple. "Hey-"

"Sheesh, kid, you're burning up!" the Lorax exclaimed, paw flying back so fast it almost seemed like he'd been burned. He scrutinized the young man for another moment, eyes narrowing. "The hell are ya doin' at work? You're so sick Pipsqueak could knock ya over with a breath. You should be at home sleepin', this is stupid even for you."

The Once-ler rolled his eyes as he pressed the form onto his desk, then grabbed a pen from the little golden statue of himself to his right. "Thanks for your concern, but I'm not going anywhere. I've got way too much to do." The pen shuddered in his hand as he spoke, his normally neat handwriting nearly illegible in glistening green ink.

That got a glare from the forest guardian, whom crossed his thin arms and tapped his foot against the desk as he spoke again. "Seriously? You're the CEO, I'm sure ya can afford t' take a sick day. The company can go on without ya for once."

"Then you don't know very much about my schedule," the Once-ler said matter-of-factly as he grabbed for the next form. He paused in the motion as he began to cough again, shoulders hunching over his work. He then swallowed thickly, ignoring the feel of razors in his throat as he dug into his pocket. He quickly swabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief already stained with a heavy black, then slid it back into his pocket with a movement so practiced it almost could have gone unnoticed. "Besides, there's no way I can take today off. Mom has press conferences scheduled all day, and I know she worked really hard to get all these people together. There's no way I can afford to miss it."

The Lorax frowned at this. "Why'd she go and schedule somethin' like that if she knew ya weren't feeling well?"

A soft, bitter laugh came in response. "Well, as you've pointed out, I've had the flu for awhile," the Once-ler drawled as he initialed another form, then set it aside. "We can't just postpone all public appearances indefinitely, especially with the whole air quality fiasco. The sooner I get out there, the sooner people remember that this whole mess isn't our fault- and with mom's new idea for the water park in Thneedville, they probably won't care." The next chuckle was considerably happier, warmed by the nostalgia of a memory that seemed impossibly distant by this point. "Remember that waterslide I made ages ago? Mom was finally okay with the prototype and we're moving forward on that, it's-"

Again he was interrupted by a series of hacking coughs, leaving an opening for his former friend to speak up. "Why is it she's t' one approvin' your prototypes? Shouldn't it be your board of directors?"

"W-well," the Once-ler winced as he thumped his chest, trying to clear away the last of the wheezing. This time a bit of the blackness clung to his chapped lips, though he did his best to swallow it. "Yeah, but it's always best to run it by mom first. She just has a better handle on what works- my ideas are always so far out there, so… you know. She makes them work."

Those green eyes scrutinized him for a moment. "What about yer stupid thneed? That was your idea in the first place, she was the one telling you it wouldn't work."

His former charge flinched a bit at this, then began to fiddle with the pen in his hands, twirling it across his fingers shakily. "W-well, she was just trying to motivate me, like she said, and that's totally different."

The Lorax cocked his head to the side, simply studying the Once-ler as the young man focused just a bit too purposefully on that twirling pen. When the creature did finally speak, his voice was surprisingly cold. "Ya just don't get it, do ya? She's using you."

At these words, the pen went flying out of the Once-ler's hands, clattering across the desk loudly. He sat there for a moment, seemingly in shock. "Excuse me?"

The creature on his desk let out a sigh, scratching the back of his head and clearly using the moment to choose his words carefully. "Don't ya see? She's just chewin' ya up t' spit ya out, and you're just lettin' it happen. She didn't care about you before you were successful, and she don't really care about you now, either."

At these words, the Once-ler's eyes narrowed. "Mustache," he spoke up, his tone slow, careful, and very dangerous. "I'd shut up if I were you."

The Lorax continued, undeterred, tiny paws clenching into fists at his sides. His words came out in a rush, like a torrent of rain poured from long-gathering storm clouds. "All she cares about are your ideas and how much money you can make her. Face it, when's t' last time she paid ya the time of day and you didn't have some kind of cash cow preposition t' catch her attention first? I'm gonna bet ya had t' pay for it- funny how her love is based around what kind of pearl earrings ya bought for her on Mother's Day, isn't it?"

"That was my own fault for forgetting how much she doesn't like pearls!" The Once-ler snapped, mouth pressing into an angry line.

That elicited a hearty, barking sort of laugh from the forest guardian. "Seriously! Are you even listening t' yourself?" The Lorax exclaimed. "Face it, Beanpole, she ain't in this for anyone but herself, and she ain't even doing it that well. Think about it- how t' hell is choppin' down those trees helping your business?"

"Oh, gee, here we go!" The Once-ler exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air and rolling his eyes dramatically. "I should have realized that was what this was about- it's always about the stupid trees with you!"

"I'm just trying to get your attention, idiot!" The Lorax snapped, pointing a claw in the Once-ler's direction. "If remembering your damn promises ain't gonna get through your thick skull, if showin' ya how many of your old friends you've left in the dust ain't gonna do anything, then maybe this will! What happens t' your precious thneeds when you run outta trees, huh?"

The inventor had been opening his mouth for a retort, but these words- along with yet another cough -did give him a moment's pause. "I… what are you talking about?" He muttered, brow furrowing. "We aren't going to run out of trees, there's millions of them. We're just cutting down a few, it's not a problem."

The Lorax gave a snort. "Shows how much ya know about your own shindig, don't it? At t' rate you're going, they'll be gone before long- and it's not like ya need the whole tree, just the tufts. Choppin' em down like you're doing is as stupid as an apple farmer choppin' down their whole orchard t' get at their apples faster- it's just gonna screw ya over in the long run."

Blue eyes narrowed a bit in confusion as the Once-ler studied the creature for a moment, then abruptly dropped his gaze to the desk. "Well… no, that's not true. I mean, we just… demand's higher than ever, Mustache, and if we don't get those thneeds out our stock is going to go down," he mumbled as he began to shuffle the papers on his desk, an obvious attempt to give his hands something to do. "And I mean, you know how it is, there's a holiday weekend and mom says we've got to get extra out for the rush, so-"

"Are you even listening to yourself?" The Lorax cut him off, his glare relentless. "There ya go with your mom again. She don't know what's goin' on- she's jus' worried about a quick buck, that's all she's ever been worried about. She don't care about what happens t' the forest later on, she don't care about all those employees you hired, and she definitely don't care about you."

That got the anger back, a flare of cold fire behind blue eyes as the Once-ler met the Lorax's glare with one of his own. "I thought I told you to back off on this?"

"I'll back off on it when you finally listen t' me," the Lorax replied with a cold, heavy sort of clarity. "She has ya running around on puppet strings and you don't even realize it."

"Shut up."

"I'm sorry, does that hit a bit close t' home?" The creature murmured grimly as he took a step toward the Once-ler. "Don't ya find it funny that she hasn't actually let ya have an idea of your own since the thneed? And don't tell me Thneedville was your idea- you made it work, you didn't come up with it."

"Shut up, Mustache," the Once-ler repeated, louder now.

"She let's ya think every damn idea she's had is actually yours so she can get away with it. She tells ya t' buy and buy and buy and you just do it, you let it all blind you because she's taken everything else and you just won't admit it." Again those words came in a rush, hard, painful and clear, each word punctuated with a jab of a claw as the Lorax drew closer and closer.

"There's nothing to admit," the Once-ler put in, scowling as he squared his shoulders, drew himself up. Even seated, he towered over the forest guardian, a tall green monster of excuses and denial. "I deserve this stuff, you know I deserve it. I've worked hard and-"

"And what!" The Lorax snapped, throwing his paws up in the air. "What are ya even working for, idiot? For fame? Those people don't know you, they know your stupid show! Ya can't say acceptance, 'cause it ain't you they're accepting, you know that! Ya ain't workin' for stuff, you never wanted stuff, you were happy with that crappy tent in the forest!" He gestured around the office, the colossal desk, the gold-lined mirror, the stupid top hat. "Ya swallow it all like it's gonna fix things and what's it actually done for you, eh? Nothing!"

"I don't recall asking for your opinion, you stupid muppet!" The Once-ler snarled as he finally rose to his feet, shoving his office chair back with a horrid squeal against the polished floor.

"Well that's too damn bad, cause I ain't done!" The Lorax continued, undeterred by his former charge's added height. "Admit it, this ain't gonna fill that hole inside you- you know that, you can see it just as well as I do. You've been trying to fix it this whole time, and you're going about it all wrong. You want stuff, you want acceptance, you want all those things ya never had- but it's been right here the whole time, don't you get that!"

Here he finally jabbed a claw into the Once-ler's chest, glaring up at him as he screamed.

"We accepted you, you stupid idiot! The trees accepted you, Pipsqueak accepted you, the valley accepted you, Norma accepted you- I accepted you! And you just spat it all in our faces- you threw it all away, and for what? A stupid top hat and some stuff ya never get t' use?"

"Try success!" The Once-ler barked right back, shoving the creature's paw away. "All my life I bent over backwards for people, and for absolutely nothing! For the first time, thing are finally going right for me, and I'm sick of hearing you whine about it! I know my rights, I haven't done anything wrong- I'm just finally winning and nobody's willing to let me do that! Norma-" Here his voice seemed to catch in his throat, though that may have been the illness. "Norma didn't get it, okay?"

His shoulders dropped and his voice lowered as he spoke, took on that bitter, lonely sort of lilt that fit the man eating pancakes all alone in his oversized kitchen. He reached up to run a hand through his hair again, gaze going to the window as he seemingly spoke more to himself than the creature on his desk. "All I tried to do was make her happy. I gave her stuff, I gave her clothes, I took her on all these lavish outings… she's the one who spat all my sacrifices in my face. She was being so unfair- I was doing all this work for her, you know? I could have given her everything, and she just…." He trailed off again. He then swallowed, took a deep breath and faced the Lorax again, drawing himself up to his full height.

"I finally have everything, and there's nothing wrong with that. I've finally succeeded, and if you have a problem with it, so what? There's no law against what I'm doing." His tone started out surprisingly calm, assured, the well-practiced dribble meant for flashing cameras and microphones, salesmen excuses and lies. But the cold came out at the end, that awful darkness that matched those squared shoulders and the set jaw."Nature's about survival of the fittest, and I'm doing just that- I'm surviving, finally, and-" Again he was cut off by an awful cough that seemed to pull the growl of frustration from his throat along with the black bile and stinging razorburn. "If you can't handle that, you can go right along with her! Get out!" He barked, his voice rasping and raw as he tried to choke the snarl past the bitter taste in his dry throat. His gloved fingers scratched against desktop for some sort of handhold as he continued to hack and cough, thin shoulders shaking so violently it looked like he might collapse then and there.

"But you ain't surviving," The Lorax replied matter-of-factly, refusing to back down even as he spoke over the young man's coughing. His expression was impassive as he watched the young man double over the desk, but still he spoke. "Nothing is! The trees are dyin', your business is comin' soon after that, your employees are getting sick, and above all else you're crumbling right alongside it! Don't you get it? It's not your company, it's hers, and you-"

"Stop talking about my mom like that!" The Lorax was cut off as the Once-ler roared in his face. The inventor had to lean nearly double to do it, his snarl sending black spittle flying through the air, voice hoarse and rasping like a dying animal. "This isn't her company, it's mine, and it's doing just fine" This was punctuated by a violent jab to a furry chest with a gloved finger. The young man's bright blue eyes narrowed into something dark and awful, a primal thing that matched the blackness oozing from his mouth and clinging to his bared teeth.

"I have had it with you barging in here and telling me what to do! I've had it with you telling me I'm wrong, I've had it with everyone telling me I'm wrong! I'm not wrong, I'm going to keep biggering and biggering, and there's nothing you or Norma or anyone else can say that's going to make it stop! Besides, if you've got such a problem with that, then why don't you stop me!" The last bit was punctuated by the young man slamming his gloved palms against the desk, the sound echoing through the giant office. He stood there for a moment, panting violently after his outburst, blue eyes wide as if he himself were surprised by it. Black hair clung to his sweat-soaked face, got sent billowing with each heavy, wheezing breath, matched the color of the blackness dribbling from the sides of chapped lips.

"Why don't you stop me?" He repeated, and his voice was quieter now, so quiet it could barely be heard, almost a plea. "I've got to be on what, strike five hundred by this point? Your system is stupid but this is ridiculous even for that, so why don't you…" The Once-ler trailed off, head falling forward as he braced himself against the desk, still panting and wheezing for breath.

There was a silence that seemed to stretch on forever, endless, something empty and impossibly huge that only seemed to emphasize how small the Once-ler seemed in comparison. Smaller still came the Lorax's reply, a quiet thing nearly swallowed in the stillness.

"I can't," the Lorax said, and there was something small and almost helplessly sad to it as he watched his old friend. "That's not how it works."

The Once-ler watched him for another moment, still breathing hard. He took in the sight of small slumped shoulders, those green eyes that suddenly seemed large and so very helpless. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many "whys" and "what about the lightning" and pleas he wasn't sure he felt comfortable voicing. There was recognition that "I won't stop" had somehow become "I can't stop" and he had no idea how to fix it. There were so many questions and pleas and anxieties he never voiced, anxieties that match so uncomfortably well with the accusations that still seem to hang in the air. There was the anger and the demands and the insistences that he wasn't wrong, he could never be wrong, he's so sick of being wrong and this is so unfair. Then there's here's the guilt, a heavy thing that he so desperately tried to ignore, a thing normally masked by sunglasses and suit jackets that abruptly has him truly looking at his old friend for the first time in awhile.

The Lorax seemed small, impossibly small on his desk, and the Once-ler figured that has something to do with the sheer thinness that- in this moment of clarity -he could not deny lay outside. The creature was thinner and his coat was grayer, his mustache seemed droopier, everything about him seemed weaker and sadder and suddenly the Once-ler felt all the worse for asking something he wasn't even sure of himself. There was a part of him that felt incredibly mad, a part that insisted "you let this happen", but he wasn't sure who "you' is and he feels all the madder for that.

This pain was as sharp as the daggers in his throat as the coughing started anew, brought him back to Earth and let him force the veil back over his eyes. The Once-ler winced as he fought to clear his throat, then finally collapsed in his chair. "Get out," he finally rasped. "Just go."

Those green eyes watched him for another moment. Though he could not meet them, the Once-ler was well aware they were more pained than angry and that only served to reignite the cooling embers of his righteous anger from before. But then the Lorax was turning and walking away, leaving the bile and empty words sour on his tongue as those foosteps and the last hint of butterfly milk seemed to vanish on the wind.

In reality this was fortunate, as his mother chose that instant to poke her head in. "Oncie!" Her sing-song tone rang over the squeak of the door hinges. "I was just talking with the publicists and we need to be ready in five, so if you could just be a dear and-" The woman stopped dead in her tracks as she finally got a good look at her son, brow furrowing. "What in tarnation is wrong with your face?"

The Once-ler blinked at her, then reached up absently to rub some of the black gunk gathered at the edges of his lips. "Oh, uh… sorry mom," he mumbled. "I just-" He was cut off by another cough, grimacing as his shoulders hunched around his ears. "I'm just not feeling well today, that's all."

"Oh." Her response was quiet, dead, tinged with obvious disappointment that hurt just as much as his throat. Then her smile was back in place and she gave a laugh, waving her ring-encrusted hand in a careless manner. "Oh honey, it's no problem! A little bit of cover-up and we'll have you lookin' right as rain in no time!"

Her son winced a bit at this. "But…" The words hung on his lips, fighting to leave. Reminders that he was ill, so very ill, pleas to shift things to another day, that nagging doubt in his mind in that stupid child's voice asking a question never should have had to be asked.

It never got out, however, and after a few moments of staring down her nose his mother rolled her eyes. "I hope ya ain't this tongue-tied for the reporters, Oncie," she drawled, a warning laced through her otherwise sweet tone. Then her smile was back, wide, plaster-of-Paris fake and his ultimate inheritance."Now hurry up, time is money~!" With those words she slammed the door behind her, leaving her son alone.

The Once-ler sat in the stillness for a moment before the coughing returned. He grimaced as he fell back against the leather material of his chair, listened to the material squeak. His breath came out in a pathetic wheeze, chest heaving as his gaze flicked around his office. Expensive chair, giant desk, golden statues, mirrors, award after award, stacks of money that stretched from floor to ceiling.

The king sat alone with his kingdom crumbling at the edges, and there was nowhere to go but up.