Title; Slender Fingers
Warnings; Language, dark themes, OOC, OCs, suicide attempts, abuse, death,
in parts a wet, topless Brennan... Yummy.....
Disclaimer; Sadly, I own nothing. I just like to play with Mutant X, and
promise to return them in good condition when I'm done...
Key; "Blah"-talking, 'Blah'-thinking, ~ ~-change of scene, * *-shift
between Brennan's present and his past.
* * * * * * * * *
Ms. Kerry had told him countless times that he had beautiful hands. "These hands, Brennan, will do great things one day," she had once informed him seriously. "They may never write a symphony, and they may never hold the brush that paints a masterpiece, but I promise you, Brennan, these hands will do great things."
Brennan had been confused at the time. He understood now. The electricity that he threw from these hands saved lives. They had curled into fists and defended helpless people. These slender fingers had done great things. It almost made up for what he had done to his mother.
Almost.
Brennan went to the park again the next day. He saw the same girl, painting the same picture, just where she had been yesterday. "Hey," he said roughly.
The girl looked up at him and her green eyes lit up. "Hello again," she said cheerfully.
"What do you think?" she asked, indicating to her painting.
"It's good. You have talent you know."
"I would still paint, even if I didn't," she informed him solemnly.
"You love it, huh?"
"Yes." It was a factual statement, with not a trace of indecision. "The other day you said you used to paint. I don't think that I could ever stop painting."
"Yeah, well, painting never was my true passion, just something I happened to be good at."
"Well, what is?" she asked. "Your true passion?" By this time she had abandoned her painting, and the two of them were sitting next to each other on the grass.
"I don't have one I guess."
To this she grinned. "EVERYONE has a one true passion. It's an unwritten law."
Brennan snorted. "Well, I've broken practically every written law, so why not the unwritten ones?"
She shook her head seriously, her reddish-blonde hair waving. "You can't break unwritten law. If you could, it would be a written law."
Brennan frowned, a little perplexed. "What do you mean?"
"UNWRITTEN law is the law of the heart, and the law of the soul. You can't break that kind of law."
Brennan reflected on this for a moment. The girl just grinned. "You have a true passion. Believe me. You just haven't found it yet. Don't worry. You will."
Brennan flopped back into the grass and looked up at the sky. "Maybe. Don't hold your breath though."
The girl laughed and flopped next to him. The two sat in a comfortable silence, staring up as the clouds drifted by.
The girl rolled onto her stomach, a thoughtful look on her face. Brennan glanced at her. "Do you believe in Heaven?" she asked suddenly.
Brennan raised an eyebrow. "Well, that was random."
She sighed. "Do you?"
"Yes," he replied after a moments thought. "My mother is in Heaven, or so everyone says. They say she was a wonderful person. That she loved to laugh. I think that there has to be someplace for beautiful people like my mother. It wouldn't be fair otherwise."
"Who said that life was fair?"
"No one. I'm not talking about life. I'm talking about death," he informed her. His eyes glazed over. "I wish..."
When he didn't finish she looked at him. "You wish what?"
"I just want to stand by the gates for one minute. I want to see her face, just once. I never knew her. I saw a picture of her once. I don't remember it much. She had red hair. I remember that much. Her face, though, nothing. Not one little snippet. I just want to see her face. Then I can go to Hell."
"Who says that you're going to Hell?"
"I went to Hell a long time ago," he whispered almost inaudibly.
"What?"
"Look at me, girl!" he chirped, tapping his chest and changing his mood completely. "Bad boy, through and through. I am SO not getting into Heaven, I'd corrupt all the angels!" he smirked, playfully. She laughed, and Brennan breathed an inner sigh of relief. He was letting his real self show too much. He would have to watch that. Strange how this girl could make him open up so much.
* * * * * * * * *
At the dinner table, Brennan sat across from his father. It was completely silent, neither speaking. He was now ten, and his eyes were guarded. Everything about him was guarded, and he no longer did anything without thinking about whether it would upset his father and in turn cause him pain. He didn't have any friends, because he didn't have the time. Every second of his life ran on a strict schedule.
Brennan's eyes were on his plate, and he ate mechanically. He doubted that he would bother eating, but it was expected of him, so he would do it. He forced himself to finish his meal, working steadily to clear his plate. He needed to finish, then he could be dismissed. He knew that he would go straight to bed. He couldn't seem to get enough sleep lately, he was always exhausted. He managed to choke down the last of the meal, and looked up at his father. His father's plate was untouched, but he was on his fourth or fifth glass of wine.
"May I please be excused?" Brennan asked.
"No," came the immediate answer.
No? Now this was a new development. "I have finished my meal."
"I said no."
Anger shot through Brennan. He was so sick of the way his father treated him. He tried; really, he did, to do everything that his father told him to do. He had gone to the stupid tutoring sessions for things he wasn't having any trouble in the first place, went to the art and piano lessons.
He gripped the side of the table tightly. It didn't matter HOW obedient or willing he was, no matter how much he complied with his father's wishes, it never stopped. His father still hit him, and he just hated Brennan all the more.
"Stop sulking," he ordered coldly.
Before he could stop himself, he replied, "I am NOT sulking."
MISTAKE! MISTAKE! MISTAKE! Warning signals were flashing in his ten-year- old brain.
His father's eyes narrowed. "Are you contradicting me, boy?"
"I didn't mean it, Father-"
"Shut up. You never say anything you don't mean, boy, don't lie to me."
Brennan was visibly shaking now. The alarm bells in his head were deafening. He had contradicted his father, he was showing weakness! Oh, God. Brennan tried to get himself under control. His father was standing now, and Brennan's fear was getting to the point of uncontrollable. "Father, PLEASE!" His father grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. "Ah!" cried Brennan.
His father dragged him out of his chair by his hair. Brennan's eyes glazed over and he started to shut down. He put on his Mask. The Mask would get him through this.
The first blow fell. It hurt, but Brennan did not cry out. To do so would be weak, and it would not help. As a matter of fact it would make it worse. Eventually, Brennan went down, and curled into a fetal position. His father started to kick him.
'That hurts!'
'Don't cry. It is weakness. Do not show him weakness.'
'Hurts! Pain!'
'Do not show weakness; do not show weakness, donotshowweakness, donotshowweakness.'
The mantra ran through his head as the blows rained down on him. Sometimes Brennan felt like he was two people. A scared little boy and the mask that little boy hid behind to survive. Sometimes it didn't seem fair that he had never gotten to be a little boy. that he had to lock that part of him up in the back of his mind.
His brain vaguely registered that he was being dragged up by his hair again. His body was thrown against the wall. He slumped to the floor. He no longer had the strength to curl up and defend himself. He realized this beating was more severe than others he had received, even though his father was not cutting him or burning him with his cigarette this time.
"Father, Father, please, STOP! Please! Stop it!" he choked out, spitting up a little blood as his father kicked his stomach repeatedly.
'Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry, don't cry, donotcrydonotcrydonotcrydonotcry...'
His father kicked him again. Brennan gasped in pain, hearing a distinct crack. A rib, at least cracked, probably broken. The information came to him in an almost detached way. That's how it was when Brennan was behind The Mask. He felt the pain, oh, God, did he feel it, but it was almost as if he were away from himself, watching what happened. Everything was fuzzy, like it was coming in on an old TV or something. You got numb to the pain after awhile.
Brennan felt another crack. "Stop it! STOP!"
It did no good. His father simply ignored him and continued. "Stop!" shrieked Brennan.
His father was screaming at him. Calling Brennan names, telling him how useless, ungrateful and stupid he was.
"Stop! Stop it!" shrieked Brennan again, losing all control.
"You are USELESS! A waste of space! Your mother DIED to have you! This is how you repay her, you little shit? You're a waste of your mother's talent!"
And then Brennan snapped.
"I SAID STOP IT!" And with that there was electricity coursing through his fingers at his father. His father was thrown against the opposite wall. Brennan, the last of his energy spent, fell back limply on the floor, breathing with difficulty.
He was shaking even more violently than before. This time in horror. What had he done? Had he killed his father as he had his mother? Then he heard a groan. He looked over, and was shocked to see his father stir a bit before slumping back, unconscious.
Brennan looked down at his long pale fingers. That was it. He was dead now, his father would kill him. There was no doubt in his mind. Unless... Unless he wasn't here to kill. Brennan dragged himself up by the table, his legs shaking horribly. Breathing slowly, he clutched his ribs and stumbled out of the room drunkenly, leaning on the wall for support. He stepped out the door into the driving rain. Brennan blinked, wondering faintly when it had started to storm. He stumbled through the rain blindly, holding onto his cracked ribs.
He did not know how long he had been walking when he blinked up at his piano teacher's house. How had he ended up here? He wasn't sure, but didn't suppose that it mattered. He managed to knock on the door.
He leaned heavily against the doorframe, mostly because he didn't think that he could hold his battered body up anymore. The door opened and Ms. Kerry stood there, gaping at her student.
"Brennan?" she asked in shock.
"My father, he..... um... Can I come in?" Brennan slurred drunkenly.
She ushered him in and immediately got a blanket to cover his chilled form. "Brennan, what the Hell happened?"
Brennan just sat there, assessing his damaged body. Two ribs, both at least cracked, though he suspected at least one was broken. One eye was swollen shut, and there was blood running from it, along with from his temple. Bruises covered his arms and legs, and he had trouble seeing straight. He figured he must have a concussion.
"I..... My father. he....." Brennan gulped some air. "I have to go," he said abruptly. He stood up, swaying for a moment. "I'm sorry, it's just... I have to... I need to go. I have to do something. I don't know why I came here."
"Brennan, wait! You're not making any sense!"
"I just wanted to thank you. You'll never know what you meant to me."
"Brennan, what are you talking about?"
"I have to go." And with that, he stepped out into the storm.
"Brennan! Wait!"
But it was too late. He was gone.
* * * * * * * * *
It was raining outside, so Brennan made sure to take an umbrella. Shal would surely kill him otherwise. Just as he was about to leave the afore mentioned feral spotted him. "Hey, Brennan, where do you think you're going?"
"To the park. It's a beautiful day."
"Brennan. It's raining," she told him, giving him a weird look.
"So? Who says rain isn't beautiful?"
Shalimar gave him an amused look. "Didn't you go to the park yesterday?"
"Yes."
"Why the obsession with the park lately?"
"I find peace there. It's something I need." He closed his eyes momentarily. "Sometimes life gets to be too much, and I need refuge. I'll be back soon."
"Brennan, you can't hide from life forever," Shalimar told him, eyes shining with concern.
"Don't worry, I won't." He reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. He let his hand linger there for a moment longer than needed.
"Brennan?" He looked into her deep brown eyes. She was concerned and confused, maybe a little hurt that he wasn't confiding in her. He let his hand drop.
"I'll be back soon," he said again. Then he left. Shalimar stared after him, then lifted her hand and brushed the spot that Brennan's hand had lingered.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Despite the rain, the girl was there, also under an umbrella. She grinned when she saw him. "I figured you would come today."
"Sorry you can't work on your painting today."
"It doesn't matter. I needed a break anyway." They turned and started walking. "Have you found it yet?"
"What?"
"Your true passion!"
"Oh. THAT. No, not yet."
"You will," she said confidently.
"Glad one of us thinks so."
They continued on. She stared up at the sky and the falling rain. Brennan wrinkled his nose. What he had told Shalimar was true; the rain WAS beautiful. But when he was wet he couldn't use his powers, and it made him feel vulnerable. Which was why he was wearing rubber boots and standing firmly under his umbrella.
Suddenly the girl turned to him. "Have you ever danced in the rain?"
"Danced? In the RAIN?"
"Yeah! Look!" And with that, she closed her umbrella. She dropped it on the ground. She held her arms out and started to spin.
"Are you crazy? You're going to get pneumonia!"
She ignored him, dancing to music only she could hear, laughing and twirling. "Come on! It's FUN!" she called as she did a cartwheel.
Brennan rolled his eyes. He paused, eyeing his umbrella. Then he sighed in defeat and closed it. "What the Hell. I might as well, right?" Her green eyes lit up as she saw him join her. He twirled her and she giggled, and he found himself laughing along with her. He hadn't laughed in a really long time. And he was actually smiling. An actual, REAL smile.
When they both collapsed, soaked and breathless, onto the grass, Brennan found a sort of peacefulness settle over him. He, with this girl's help, was finding himself again. His Mask was slipping more often, and he found it wasn't a bad change. He still wasn't ready to lose it completely, but it was a start.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Rockergurl: And I finish Chapter TWO! Yay! I rock. I rock. I rock.
Kitta Cat: Brennan's out of character.
Rockergurl: No, see, he's not! His exterior on the show is just a cover-up for his real, vulnerable, poet self!
Kitta Cat: ...
I still say he's out of character.
Rockergurl: ::throws up hands:: OK! So he's out of character! YOU'RE my MUSE, inspire me to write him IN character if it freaks you so much. ::sulks::
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
REVIEW RESPONSES:
QUEST: Why, thank you! Hehehe, I thought it was quite amusing myself.
SARGE: Ah. The dreaded 'White Screen Syndrome'. I know it well.
ME: Not as much as my over inflated ego would like. ^__~
PETITECAT: Look! An update! As for Brennan and his father, hope this satisfied some of your curiosity.
LEIGH, EVENFARMERSONLYGAL, CHARMING KITTY CAT: Ok, just want to get one thing straight. I will NEVER discontinue a fic. I write them ALL the way through before I start typing, so there is NO danger of me not continuing a fic. Don't you HATE when writers do that? Ya, me to. I refuse to become one.
LUCYGOOSEY: Here ya go. More.
CHIMAERA-104: Amazing? Really? ::blushes:: Awww...
* * * * * * * * *
Ms. Kerry had told him countless times that he had beautiful hands. "These hands, Brennan, will do great things one day," she had once informed him seriously. "They may never write a symphony, and they may never hold the brush that paints a masterpiece, but I promise you, Brennan, these hands will do great things."
Brennan had been confused at the time. He understood now. The electricity that he threw from these hands saved lives. They had curled into fists and defended helpless people. These slender fingers had done great things. It almost made up for what he had done to his mother.
Almost.
Brennan went to the park again the next day. He saw the same girl, painting the same picture, just where she had been yesterday. "Hey," he said roughly.
The girl looked up at him and her green eyes lit up. "Hello again," she said cheerfully.
"What do you think?" she asked, indicating to her painting.
"It's good. You have talent you know."
"I would still paint, even if I didn't," she informed him solemnly.
"You love it, huh?"
"Yes." It was a factual statement, with not a trace of indecision. "The other day you said you used to paint. I don't think that I could ever stop painting."
"Yeah, well, painting never was my true passion, just something I happened to be good at."
"Well, what is?" she asked. "Your true passion?" By this time she had abandoned her painting, and the two of them were sitting next to each other on the grass.
"I don't have one I guess."
To this she grinned. "EVERYONE has a one true passion. It's an unwritten law."
Brennan snorted. "Well, I've broken practically every written law, so why not the unwritten ones?"
She shook her head seriously, her reddish-blonde hair waving. "You can't break unwritten law. If you could, it would be a written law."
Brennan frowned, a little perplexed. "What do you mean?"
"UNWRITTEN law is the law of the heart, and the law of the soul. You can't break that kind of law."
Brennan reflected on this for a moment. The girl just grinned. "You have a true passion. Believe me. You just haven't found it yet. Don't worry. You will."
Brennan flopped back into the grass and looked up at the sky. "Maybe. Don't hold your breath though."
The girl laughed and flopped next to him. The two sat in a comfortable silence, staring up as the clouds drifted by.
The girl rolled onto her stomach, a thoughtful look on her face. Brennan glanced at her. "Do you believe in Heaven?" she asked suddenly.
Brennan raised an eyebrow. "Well, that was random."
She sighed. "Do you?"
"Yes," he replied after a moments thought. "My mother is in Heaven, or so everyone says. They say she was a wonderful person. That she loved to laugh. I think that there has to be someplace for beautiful people like my mother. It wouldn't be fair otherwise."
"Who said that life was fair?"
"No one. I'm not talking about life. I'm talking about death," he informed her. His eyes glazed over. "I wish..."
When he didn't finish she looked at him. "You wish what?"
"I just want to stand by the gates for one minute. I want to see her face, just once. I never knew her. I saw a picture of her once. I don't remember it much. She had red hair. I remember that much. Her face, though, nothing. Not one little snippet. I just want to see her face. Then I can go to Hell."
"Who says that you're going to Hell?"
"I went to Hell a long time ago," he whispered almost inaudibly.
"What?"
"Look at me, girl!" he chirped, tapping his chest and changing his mood completely. "Bad boy, through and through. I am SO not getting into Heaven, I'd corrupt all the angels!" he smirked, playfully. She laughed, and Brennan breathed an inner sigh of relief. He was letting his real self show too much. He would have to watch that. Strange how this girl could make him open up so much.
* * * * * * * * *
At the dinner table, Brennan sat across from his father. It was completely silent, neither speaking. He was now ten, and his eyes were guarded. Everything about him was guarded, and he no longer did anything without thinking about whether it would upset his father and in turn cause him pain. He didn't have any friends, because he didn't have the time. Every second of his life ran on a strict schedule.
Brennan's eyes were on his plate, and he ate mechanically. He doubted that he would bother eating, but it was expected of him, so he would do it. He forced himself to finish his meal, working steadily to clear his plate. He needed to finish, then he could be dismissed. He knew that he would go straight to bed. He couldn't seem to get enough sleep lately, he was always exhausted. He managed to choke down the last of the meal, and looked up at his father. His father's plate was untouched, but he was on his fourth or fifth glass of wine.
"May I please be excused?" Brennan asked.
"No," came the immediate answer.
No? Now this was a new development. "I have finished my meal."
"I said no."
Anger shot through Brennan. He was so sick of the way his father treated him. He tried; really, he did, to do everything that his father told him to do. He had gone to the stupid tutoring sessions for things he wasn't having any trouble in the first place, went to the art and piano lessons.
He gripped the side of the table tightly. It didn't matter HOW obedient or willing he was, no matter how much he complied with his father's wishes, it never stopped. His father still hit him, and he just hated Brennan all the more.
"Stop sulking," he ordered coldly.
Before he could stop himself, he replied, "I am NOT sulking."
MISTAKE! MISTAKE! MISTAKE! Warning signals were flashing in his ten-year- old brain.
His father's eyes narrowed. "Are you contradicting me, boy?"
"I didn't mean it, Father-"
"Shut up. You never say anything you don't mean, boy, don't lie to me."
Brennan was visibly shaking now. The alarm bells in his head were deafening. He had contradicted his father, he was showing weakness! Oh, God. Brennan tried to get himself under control. His father was standing now, and Brennan's fear was getting to the point of uncontrollable. "Father, PLEASE!" His father grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. "Ah!" cried Brennan.
His father dragged him out of his chair by his hair. Brennan's eyes glazed over and he started to shut down. He put on his Mask. The Mask would get him through this.
The first blow fell. It hurt, but Brennan did not cry out. To do so would be weak, and it would not help. As a matter of fact it would make it worse. Eventually, Brennan went down, and curled into a fetal position. His father started to kick him.
'That hurts!'
'Don't cry. It is weakness. Do not show him weakness.'
'Hurts! Pain!'
'Do not show weakness; do not show weakness, donotshowweakness, donotshowweakness.'
The mantra ran through his head as the blows rained down on him. Sometimes Brennan felt like he was two people. A scared little boy and the mask that little boy hid behind to survive. Sometimes it didn't seem fair that he had never gotten to be a little boy. that he had to lock that part of him up in the back of his mind.
His brain vaguely registered that he was being dragged up by his hair again. His body was thrown against the wall. He slumped to the floor. He no longer had the strength to curl up and defend himself. He realized this beating was more severe than others he had received, even though his father was not cutting him or burning him with his cigarette this time.
"Father, Father, please, STOP! Please! Stop it!" he choked out, spitting up a little blood as his father kicked his stomach repeatedly.
'Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry, don't cry, donotcrydonotcrydonotcrydonotcry...'
His father kicked him again. Brennan gasped in pain, hearing a distinct crack. A rib, at least cracked, probably broken. The information came to him in an almost detached way. That's how it was when Brennan was behind The Mask. He felt the pain, oh, God, did he feel it, but it was almost as if he were away from himself, watching what happened. Everything was fuzzy, like it was coming in on an old TV or something. You got numb to the pain after awhile.
Brennan felt another crack. "Stop it! STOP!"
It did no good. His father simply ignored him and continued. "Stop!" shrieked Brennan.
His father was screaming at him. Calling Brennan names, telling him how useless, ungrateful and stupid he was.
"Stop! Stop it!" shrieked Brennan again, losing all control.
"You are USELESS! A waste of space! Your mother DIED to have you! This is how you repay her, you little shit? You're a waste of your mother's talent!"
And then Brennan snapped.
"I SAID STOP IT!" And with that there was electricity coursing through his fingers at his father. His father was thrown against the opposite wall. Brennan, the last of his energy spent, fell back limply on the floor, breathing with difficulty.
He was shaking even more violently than before. This time in horror. What had he done? Had he killed his father as he had his mother? Then he heard a groan. He looked over, and was shocked to see his father stir a bit before slumping back, unconscious.
Brennan looked down at his long pale fingers. That was it. He was dead now, his father would kill him. There was no doubt in his mind. Unless... Unless he wasn't here to kill. Brennan dragged himself up by the table, his legs shaking horribly. Breathing slowly, he clutched his ribs and stumbled out of the room drunkenly, leaning on the wall for support. He stepped out the door into the driving rain. Brennan blinked, wondering faintly when it had started to storm. He stumbled through the rain blindly, holding onto his cracked ribs.
He did not know how long he had been walking when he blinked up at his piano teacher's house. How had he ended up here? He wasn't sure, but didn't suppose that it mattered. He managed to knock on the door.
He leaned heavily against the doorframe, mostly because he didn't think that he could hold his battered body up anymore. The door opened and Ms. Kerry stood there, gaping at her student.
"Brennan?" she asked in shock.
"My father, he..... um... Can I come in?" Brennan slurred drunkenly.
She ushered him in and immediately got a blanket to cover his chilled form. "Brennan, what the Hell happened?"
Brennan just sat there, assessing his damaged body. Two ribs, both at least cracked, though he suspected at least one was broken. One eye was swollen shut, and there was blood running from it, along with from his temple. Bruises covered his arms and legs, and he had trouble seeing straight. He figured he must have a concussion.
"I..... My father. he....." Brennan gulped some air. "I have to go," he said abruptly. He stood up, swaying for a moment. "I'm sorry, it's just... I have to... I need to go. I have to do something. I don't know why I came here."
"Brennan, wait! You're not making any sense!"
"I just wanted to thank you. You'll never know what you meant to me."
"Brennan, what are you talking about?"
"I have to go." And with that, he stepped out into the storm.
"Brennan! Wait!"
But it was too late. He was gone.
* * * * * * * * *
It was raining outside, so Brennan made sure to take an umbrella. Shal would surely kill him otherwise. Just as he was about to leave the afore mentioned feral spotted him. "Hey, Brennan, where do you think you're going?"
"To the park. It's a beautiful day."
"Brennan. It's raining," she told him, giving him a weird look.
"So? Who says rain isn't beautiful?"
Shalimar gave him an amused look. "Didn't you go to the park yesterday?"
"Yes."
"Why the obsession with the park lately?"
"I find peace there. It's something I need." He closed his eyes momentarily. "Sometimes life gets to be too much, and I need refuge. I'll be back soon."
"Brennan, you can't hide from life forever," Shalimar told him, eyes shining with concern.
"Don't worry, I won't." He reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. He let his hand linger there for a moment longer than needed.
"Brennan?" He looked into her deep brown eyes. She was concerned and confused, maybe a little hurt that he wasn't confiding in her. He let his hand drop.
"I'll be back soon," he said again. Then he left. Shalimar stared after him, then lifted her hand and brushed the spot that Brennan's hand had lingered.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Despite the rain, the girl was there, also under an umbrella. She grinned when she saw him. "I figured you would come today."
"Sorry you can't work on your painting today."
"It doesn't matter. I needed a break anyway." They turned and started walking. "Have you found it yet?"
"What?"
"Your true passion!"
"Oh. THAT. No, not yet."
"You will," she said confidently.
"Glad one of us thinks so."
They continued on. She stared up at the sky and the falling rain. Brennan wrinkled his nose. What he had told Shalimar was true; the rain WAS beautiful. But when he was wet he couldn't use his powers, and it made him feel vulnerable. Which was why he was wearing rubber boots and standing firmly under his umbrella.
Suddenly the girl turned to him. "Have you ever danced in the rain?"
"Danced? In the RAIN?"
"Yeah! Look!" And with that, she closed her umbrella. She dropped it on the ground. She held her arms out and started to spin.
"Are you crazy? You're going to get pneumonia!"
She ignored him, dancing to music only she could hear, laughing and twirling. "Come on! It's FUN!" she called as she did a cartwheel.
Brennan rolled his eyes. He paused, eyeing his umbrella. Then he sighed in defeat and closed it. "What the Hell. I might as well, right?" Her green eyes lit up as she saw him join her. He twirled her and she giggled, and he found himself laughing along with her. He hadn't laughed in a really long time. And he was actually smiling. An actual, REAL smile.
When they both collapsed, soaked and breathless, onto the grass, Brennan found a sort of peacefulness settle over him. He, with this girl's help, was finding himself again. His Mask was slipping more often, and he found it wasn't a bad change. He still wasn't ready to lose it completely, but it was a start.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Rockergurl: And I finish Chapter TWO! Yay! I rock. I rock. I rock.
Kitta Cat: Brennan's out of character.
Rockergurl: No, see, he's not! His exterior on the show is just a cover-up for his real, vulnerable, poet self!
Kitta Cat: ...
I still say he's out of character.
Rockergurl: ::throws up hands:: OK! So he's out of character! YOU'RE my MUSE, inspire me to write him IN character if it freaks you so much. ::sulks::
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
REVIEW RESPONSES:
QUEST: Why, thank you! Hehehe, I thought it was quite amusing myself.
SARGE: Ah. The dreaded 'White Screen Syndrome'. I know it well.
ME: Not as much as my over inflated ego would like. ^__~
PETITECAT: Look! An update! As for Brennan and his father, hope this satisfied some of your curiosity.
LEIGH, EVENFARMERSONLYGAL, CHARMING KITTY CAT: Ok, just want to get one thing straight. I will NEVER discontinue a fic. I write them ALL the way through before I start typing, so there is NO danger of me not continuing a fic. Don't you HATE when writers do that? Ya, me to. I refuse to become one.
LUCYGOOSEY: Here ya go. More.
CHIMAERA-104: Amazing? Really? ::blushes:: Awww...