title: biggest brother
series: sibling rivalry (02)
by: jane, the frog on the wall
rating: PG-13, for references to "littlest sister" and badly-written angst.
spoilers: "and jesus brought a casserole"
disclaimer: Once upon a time, there was a little girl. And she was verry little, and didn't know much about copyrights or complicated things with big words. And one day this little girl wrote a fic, using somebody else's characters, which was very illegal. But then she told people they weren't hers, in a disclaimer, and it was a little less illegal.
notes: Sequel to "Littlest Sister." After getting Max back, things aren't quite as rosy as Syl and Krit might have hoped. "He" is Krit, "she" is Syl, quotes are from the Wizard of Oz.
feedback: send all questions, comments, death threats and everything else concerning the fic should be sent to Happygirl_com@yahoo.com
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He's walking through the dirty, vagrant-filled streets, killing time as he waits for her to pick him up. The pants are Zack's, the dog, Zane's; the coat Syl's, too-large on her and tight-but-not-too-tight on him. He feels closer to them this way, more a part of their world. By wearing their clothing, by acting out their parts in society, he can make sure he won't lose them. His dead brother has taught him more than their demented quasi-father ever could, through the simple act of dying. He gave his little brother - the biggest brother now, he realizes with a shock - the information for the contact number, the addresses, the phone numbers. Because he somehow knew that if Max got caught, or anybody else, he'd take the hit for her. Boy scout motto - always be prepared. He sacrificed himself for the good of his sister, made the ultimate sacrifice, something he knows he can never do. He feels little irritation at the fact that he didn't think far enough ahead to take Dorothy out with him.
/: Who killed my sister? Was it you? :/
/: If you please, sir, it was an accident :/
Bullshit. He doesn't want to think about that, about his big brother and the dead-eyed soldier drone that used to be their sister, locked in the basement of Fogle Towers. But it's okay, because his little sister is here already, with Logan's car. Millie's excited, she knows Syl will find some way to feed her, she always had a soft spot for the big, retriever-friendly animal. She opens the door and steps out, waiting for the dog to jump in before closing the door and stepping up to him. He feels relief that she's safe, and a sick, butterfly feeling in his belly that means she's scared. She hugs him around the chest - all that she can reach - not an unkind remark, merely a statement of fact. At five foot three, she's the littlest one, and he feels the need to protect her. She winks and asks for her jacket back - he obliges, and she chuckles to herself.
He knows the laugh, it's the tiny selfish laugh she allows herself whenever she's won something - the laugh she uses when she's winning poker in the back room of the coffee house she's working at, the laugh she used when she told him about Max's rescue - but then, it was bitter. "What?" he asks, eyes laughing down at her.
"I just bet Zane ten bucks I could get you to strip for me."
He's a little shocked at her - surprised that she'd have the guts to make the bet, intrigued because she only bets on sure things. He gives her a smartass grin, 'cause he's the slickest one on the block, and leans his head down to her ear. "Well, since I helped," he says in a conspirator's tone, "I think I should get a share of the profits. Five."
"Three," she counters, flashing white teeth and a slice of pink tongue. "For five, you'd need to strip properly."
He mock-sighs, knowing it's all part of the game but not minding. "You want my shirt, don't you?" He smiles, reaching for the hem even as she nods.
He spares a glance, checking for sector pigs and spectators, but doesn't see any. Not that he'd really mind. He's never been arrested before, and wouldn't mind seeing what it's like. She pats his bare shoulder with a look that's part masculine companionship, part ferocious Manticore sexuality that she can't help - not as open with it as Max was - is - but still there, and turns to put his clothing in the car. She produces a chunk of raw meat from somewhere in the folds of her jacket, and tosses it through the window to Millie, waiting patiently with lolling sausage-tongue. As she turns back toward him, she catches the thoughful look he's giving her, and gives him one in return that asks him what he's thinking about. "I was just thinking," he says, staring at her face with deep concentration, "Does it count as stripping if they're your clothes?"
"Well, my little drag queen," she says, and he thinks about how she's the only person on earth who can be sassy and not irritate him. "If you want to make sure, you could always give me your pants..."
He doesn't touch the pants, worried his train of thought will start to drive through forbidden places, but feels compelled to keep up his end of the conversation. "Drag queen?" he says, fighting a smile, "But I don't have any clothes."
She shoots him a strange look, and gives him a playful shove. "I have a shirt that would really bring out your eyes," she says, showing him her teeth again.
He grunts out something like a "hmm," and asks the important question. "But what color is it?"
"You know I don't own colors, Logan," she says, knowing the name irritates him as much as Logan's eye for absolute precision and complete color coordination. But she finishes her sentence, smiling a little. "It's pink."
He raises an eyebrow. "I thought we didn't wear colors."
She sighs, catching his use of the imperial 'we' as a jab at her slightly inflated ego, and puts her hands on her hips. "Pink isn't a color, it's an abomination."
She catches the haunted look in his eyes when she says "abomination," and she knows he's thinking about Max. It kills her, too, the dead look in her sister's eyes when it's her turn to feed her pizza and read stories and show her pictures of her friends, because maybe she'll remember. But she doesn't, and nobody knows why. Logan, sparing no expense but refusing to work, suggested they stay with her, during one of the infrequent breaks between writing bad poetry and brooding. Zane is with her now, and she was supposed to hurry back to him so she could bring Millie. To show Max a dog, because animals are supposed to make people happy and calm and all that good stuff, Jondy read it in a medical journal. She puts her arms around his neck, one wrist resting on each side of his collarbone as she asks him, "You okay?"
The fun is over now, he knows. It was good while it lasted, the innocent conversation and the prospect of money. But he wants to know, he knows she has to know, because it was her turn this morning. "How is she?" he asks, timidly because he wants more than anything to not upset her.
"She's..." she sighs, and presses her face to his chest. "...she's better, I think. She's talking. That...that's a good thing, right? It's a good thing." Her voice is no more than a whisper now, he can feel her eyelashes tickling as she blinks away the tears she won't shed. "It has to be..."
He follows her into the car, gently pushes Millie into the back and sighs. He almost made her cry. Little Syl, tough as nails, sweet like honey with an iron-plated attitude, his littlest sister. He made her almost cry. He reaches over to her, telling her "sorry" with that look in his eyes that always makes her feel better. "It's alright," she says, rubbing her head against his palm in an unmistakeably catlike action. "You'll make it better."
"Why?" he asks, suddenly nervous of being expected to do things he can't.
She smiles, and reaches forward to start the car. "'Cause you're my biggest brother."
/: I'll get you, my pretty. And your little dog, too :/
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[[[End]]]
series: sibling rivalry (02)
by: jane, the frog on the wall
rating: PG-13, for references to "littlest sister" and badly-written angst.
spoilers: "and jesus brought a casserole"
disclaimer: Once upon a time, there was a little girl. And she was verry little, and didn't know much about copyrights or complicated things with big words. And one day this little girl wrote a fic, using somebody else's characters, which was very illegal. But then she told people they weren't hers, in a disclaimer, and it was a little less illegal.
notes: Sequel to "Littlest Sister." After getting Max back, things aren't quite as rosy as Syl and Krit might have hoped. "He" is Krit, "she" is Syl, quotes are from the Wizard of Oz.
feedback: send all questions, comments, death threats and everything else concerning the fic should be sent to Happygirl_com@yahoo.com
+++
He's walking through the dirty, vagrant-filled streets, killing time as he waits for her to pick him up. The pants are Zack's, the dog, Zane's; the coat Syl's, too-large on her and tight-but-not-too-tight on him. He feels closer to them this way, more a part of their world. By wearing their clothing, by acting out their parts in society, he can make sure he won't lose them. His dead brother has taught him more than their demented quasi-father ever could, through the simple act of dying. He gave his little brother - the biggest brother now, he realizes with a shock - the information for the contact number, the addresses, the phone numbers. Because he somehow knew that if Max got caught, or anybody else, he'd take the hit for her. Boy scout motto - always be prepared. He sacrificed himself for the good of his sister, made the ultimate sacrifice, something he knows he can never do. He feels little irritation at the fact that he didn't think far enough ahead to take Dorothy out with him.
/: Who killed my sister? Was it you? :/
/: If you please, sir, it was an accident :/
Bullshit. He doesn't want to think about that, about his big brother and the dead-eyed soldier drone that used to be their sister, locked in the basement of Fogle Towers. But it's okay, because his little sister is here already, with Logan's car. Millie's excited, she knows Syl will find some way to feed her, she always had a soft spot for the big, retriever-friendly animal. She opens the door and steps out, waiting for the dog to jump in before closing the door and stepping up to him. He feels relief that she's safe, and a sick, butterfly feeling in his belly that means she's scared. She hugs him around the chest - all that she can reach - not an unkind remark, merely a statement of fact. At five foot three, she's the littlest one, and he feels the need to protect her. She winks and asks for her jacket back - he obliges, and she chuckles to herself.
He knows the laugh, it's the tiny selfish laugh she allows herself whenever she's won something - the laugh she uses when she's winning poker in the back room of the coffee house she's working at, the laugh she used when she told him about Max's rescue - but then, it was bitter. "What?" he asks, eyes laughing down at her.
"I just bet Zane ten bucks I could get you to strip for me."
He's a little shocked at her - surprised that she'd have the guts to make the bet, intrigued because she only bets on sure things. He gives her a smartass grin, 'cause he's the slickest one on the block, and leans his head down to her ear. "Well, since I helped," he says in a conspirator's tone, "I think I should get a share of the profits. Five."
"Three," she counters, flashing white teeth and a slice of pink tongue. "For five, you'd need to strip properly."
He mock-sighs, knowing it's all part of the game but not minding. "You want my shirt, don't you?" He smiles, reaching for the hem even as she nods.
He spares a glance, checking for sector pigs and spectators, but doesn't see any. Not that he'd really mind. He's never been arrested before, and wouldn't mind seeing what it's like. She pats his bare shoulder with a look that's part masculine companionship, part ferocious Manticore sexuality that she can't help - not as open with it as Max was - is - but still there, and turns to put his clothing in the car. She produces a chunk of raw meat from somewhere in the folds of her jacket, and tosses it through the window to Millie, waiting patiently with lolling sausage-tongue. As she turns back toward him, she catches the thoughful look he's giving her, and gives him one in return that asks him what he's thinking about. "I was just thinking," he says, staring at her face with deep concentration, "Does it count as stripping if they're your clothes?"
"Well, my little drag queen," she says, and he thinks about how she's the only person on earth who can be sassy and not irritate him. "If you want to make sure, you could always give me your pants..."
He doesn't touch the pants, worried his train of thought will start to drive through forbidden places, but feels compelled to keep up his end of the conversation. "Drag queen?" he says, fighting a smile, "But I don't have any clothes."
She shoots him a strange look, and gives him a playful shove. "I have a shirt that would really bring out your eyes," she says, showing him her teeth again.
He grunts out something like a "hmm," and asks the important question. "But what color is it?"
"You know I don't own colors, Logan," she says, knowing the name irritates him as much as Logan's eye for absolute precision and complete color coordination. But she finishes her sentence, smiling a little. "It's pink."
He raises an eyebrow. "I thought we didn't wear colors."
She sighs, catching his use of the imperial 'we' as a jab at her slightly inflated ego, and puts her hands on her hips. "Pink isn't a color, it's an abomination."
She catches the haunted look in his eyes when she says "abomination," and she knows he's thinking about Max. It kills her, too, the dead look in her sister's eyes when it's her turn to feed her pizza and read stories and show her pictures of her friends, because maybe she'll remember. But she doesn't, and nobody knows why. Logan, sparing no expense but refusing to work, suggested they stay with her, during one of the infrequent breaks between writing bad poetry and brooding. Zane is with her now, and she was supposed to hurry back to him so she could bring Millie. To show Max a dog, because animals are supposed to make people happy and calm and all that good stuff, Jondy read it in a medical journal. She puts her arms around his neck, one wrist resting on each side of his collarbone as she asks him, "You okay?"
The fun is over now, he knows. It was good while it lasted, the innocent conversation and the prospect of money. But he wants to know, he knows she has to know, because it was her turn this morning. "How is she?" he asks, timidly because he wants more than anything to not upset her.
"She's..." she sighs, and presses her face to his chest. "...she's better, I think. She's talking. That...that's a good thing, right? It's a good thing." Her voice is no more than a whisper now, he can feel her eyelashes tickling as she blinks away the tears she won't shed. "It has to be..."
He follows her into the car, gently pushes Millie into the back and sighs. He almost made her cry. Little Syl, tough as nails, sweet like honey with an iron-plated attitude, his littlest sister. He made her almost cry. He reaches over to her, telling her "sorry" with that look in his eyes that always makes her feel better. "It's alright," she says, rubbing her head against his palm in an unmistakeably catlike action. "You'll make it better."
"Why?" he asks, suddenly nervous of being expected to do things he can't.
She smiles, and reaches forward to start the car. "'Cause you're my biggest brother."
/: I'll get you, my pretty. And your little dog, too :/
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[[[End]]]