Author's Note: Yes, I updated. That is all.
Disclaimer: I don't own FOP and I will never own FOP. Curses.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Charity Begins at Home
She'd be lying if she says this whole ordeal doesn't scare her. Then again, she'd also be lying if she says she doesn't greatly resent the burden he's thrust upon her. How dare he do this to her, without consulting her first! No matter how vehemently Wanda might have insisted he loves her, she has other ideas.
Still, for the moment, she must agree to disagree. As pitiful as it is, she owes her life to him. Therefore, despite the fact she despises his course of action, he holds her future in his hands, yet again.
Laying her head against her pillow, she gazes melancholy at the wall and shuts her eyes again. Perhaps a nap might make things better…or, at least, end the suffering she'll have to endure here. Escape to the dream world again, where everything, other than the crap her subconscious creates, she can control. Nothing spirals away from her there.
Breathing deeply as the fatigue weighs upon her, she lulls herself into a deep slumber and the waves begin to take her away until…
"Tootie!" Casting aside the tray for himself and the stuffed bear for her, he darts to her side and nearly crashes over a cart. He clasps her hand tightly with one hand and presses his hand against her cheek with the other.
"I'm so tired…leave me alone…" She murmurs, rubbing her cheek against his hand. If she could see it, his face tenses and the hand holding her right tightens its grip like a vice. Any tighter and she'd cry out in pain.
"Please, not again…" He murmurs, kissing her temple. Lifting her tenderly, he places her in his lap and continues to hold her hand as though it's the only thing keeping her going. In his mind, of course, it is.
I almost lost you once already…don't put me through that again.
Although he hopes soon to get over it, for the moment, no matter how tired she is, he'd rather she never fell asleep again. A coma's like a deep sleep and he knows how appealing it is to her right now.
"I love you, Timmy," Tootie murmurs, snuggling up against him. "I'm just so tired…"
I wanna sleep. Why won't you let me sleep?
All the energy she'd wasted on Vicky…all the trauma of the day, it strikes its toll on her. Before he arrived, she could scarcely keep her eyes open and now…all she wants to do is sleep. Why doesn't he comprehend that?
It isn't as though her desire is so spectacular, either. People sleep, it's a normal process. What's the big deal?
"Tootie, please, don't fall asleep!" He pleads and she opens her eyes, surprised to discover his body's shaking with suppressed sobs. Suddenly, she understands- he thinks she's going to slip into another coma…and this time, he won't be so lucky. He really does love her…
"Don't leave me again," He moans, sounding very much like a little boy. In fact, in her mind, she can envision the ten-year-old boy she fell in love with, complete with the silly pink hat and pink t-shirt. He trails Trixie Tang with his tongue out, like a dog. Then again, she is a bitch.
Smiling weakly, she reaches up to place her arms around his neck. Poor boy, so desperate to ensure she remains awake. Doesn't he know she has to sleep sometime? Just because she's going to sleep doesn't mean she won't wake up…even if that that was what she was thinking just before he came in.
Very weakly, her form trembling, she presses her lips against his. Since she's awoken, he hasn't kissed her and she longs for him to. Then again, she also yearns for other activities, things she knows she's too weak for but wants anyway.
Sensing her weakness, Timmy presses back with the lightest touch, avoiding licking her lips although he'd like to. There's plenty of time for all that later…if she doesn't leave him again, that is. Ever present is the fear she'll fall asleep…and won't wake up.
Breaking off the kiss (and greatly disappointed, even if she knows why he held back), she murmurs, leaning her head against his chest. "I'm not leaving you, Timmy…I'm just really tired…I need to take a nap…"
An elevator dings nearby and, as if on cue, his cell phone rings. Instantly, he recognizes the number and, loath as he is, he must depart, for the moment. God, he hadn't known it's possible to be so frightened…
Laying her down on the bed again, he kisses her on the lips, burying his hand in her hair and running it through once. The phone continues to shriek and, lamentably, he walks out. Business calls.
-------
"So…do you think Timmy hates me more or less than my bitchy step-mother?" Trixie inquires conversationally, squeezing Veronica's hand. Already, she feels dull headed, the reactions of their parents ringing in her mind. She wishes they'd go away…but anything she has to face concerning Timmy must be much worse than Magnolia, whom she'd never liked to begin with.
"There's only one way to find out," Veronica replies, half tugging, half leading her girlfriend to the door. Clearly, she's reluctant to meet even more hatred, but what choice does she have? Timmy claimed he needed her, so visit them they must.
Doctors and nurses rush around like mad, checking up on patients and scarfing down what they can of today's meal. A few wink at them, including a very cute nurse, whom Veronica continues to check out as she rounds the corner. For this indiscretion, Trixie playfully whacks her.
"We're here to visit Timmy, not to pick up girls," She laughs, wrapping an arm around her waist.
"And are you saying I'm not as hot as that nurse? I'm hurt."
Veronica grins widely, thinking of something not fit for Disney television. There was a reason she'd stared so intently at that nurse- she's developing an idea for a drawing. Now, where did she put her sketchpad?
Before she knows it, Veronica drops to the floor and searches through her bag hurriedly. Make-up, pencils, and books scatter as she tears it apart, looking for that one crucial thing. C'mon, c'mon…where'd she put it?
"I'm not cleaning that up, you know," Trixie comments, all the while examining her stylized book covers, covered in drawings of her and Veronica. God…she never knew before the extent of Veronica's obsession.
The drawings are so good, too. It's almost a shame for her to waste her talent rendering her when she could do things for real people. Why's she going to Dimmsdale College, anyway?
She wonders if Veronica's aware of just how good she is. The way her replica looks, it's unnerving how real she is. And this isn't even in color, either.
"Found it!" Hugging the sketchbook to her chest, she crams everything back in. Naturally, not everything fits just the way she'd like it, but, oh, well. That'll teach her to leave her sketchbook, her most valuable item, all the way at the bottom of her bag.
Seizing her favorite pencil out, she sketches Trixie in a nurse's outfit, only the outfit barely fits her frame and, in spots, she seems to burst out of it. Already, she's drooling. The way her breasts clamor to be released in that tight nurse's apron…
"What on earth are you drawing?" Trixie frowns, leaning over her shoulder. However, the blonde girl, picking up her sketchbook, bag, and pencil, swiftly crosses the room to hunch over on a seat. Hmph, why doesn't she want her to see her draw? After all, she's going to be in the drawing.
Now onto her extremely short mini-skirt…that doesn't quite go past her creamy thighs…and she's not wearing underwear…Veronica thinks, forcing her mind past the perfection that is Trixie Tang and stop entertaining fantasies about what lies beneath the skirt. She has to finish this, damn it.
Reluctantly, she adds herself to the picture. Truthfully, she disdains doing this, especially when she must share the spotlight with Trixie. Even when she was younger, she hated being in her shadow but she didn't know how to be her own person. Now, she knows her own person is actually Trixie's lover and therefore, she has no place in this picture. The reasoning might be a little weak, but, nevertheless, she cannot situate herself here.
Almost absent-mindedly, she begins to erase herself out, tenderly caressing the pencil outlines that mark her love. The depiction is so realistic, she feels as though she could catapult herself into the drawing. Just like before, the temptation is nearly overwhelming and she stifles a smile, wondering just where she's going to find a nurse's outfit that tight.
How can she possibly compare with Aphrodite, the goddess of love? True, she lacks the golden hair she herself sports, but whenever she looks at her, her heart melts. She should have realized that fateful day, the beginning, she couldn't keep her hands off her. She only regretted discovering Timmy, unconscious, afterwards.
Like a breath of cool air on her neck, Trixie swiftly crosses the room to stand right behind her. Damn it, she hates when people look over her shoulder, it makes her so damned uncomfortable. Why can't they wait until she's done? Okay, so only her mother's done that in the past, but it's still annoying. (Her mother wasn't terribly pleased to see her draw Trixie in such lewd positions, but hey, if she wanted to gaze over her shoulder, that's what she got).
"I see myself, but where are you?" Gently, she traces her outline and the blank space formerly occupied by the artist's self-portrait. Already, Veronica sketches the background, a clear indication she intends to leave herself out. How often has she done this, she wonders? What is it about herself she loathes to draw?
"It's a portrait, you know, with only one person," Veronica murmurs, putting the finishing touches on. There's absolutely no blank space to put herself now, since she's covered it in sick patients, all of whom have gauze over their eyes so as not to behold Trixie's beauty. If it weren't so sad, it'd actually be quite comical.
Before she knows it, Trixie snatches the sketchbook and her lucky pencil out from under her. (She calls it lucky because she got lucky when it was in her bag). That and it always works for her, especially when she's doing a rough sketch.
Shutting her eyes (and trying to imagine Veronica in an outfit in her mind), Trixie sketches her girlfriend loosely. Yes, she's aware Ver's a far better artist than she could ever hope to be, but she's going to give it a shot anyway. Besides, this'll be their first collaboration.
"Now it's a depiction," Trixie replies, brushing away eraser remnants. "Why don't you like to draw yourself, Ver? You're gorgeous. (And I'm not just saying that because I'm prejudiced)."
A blush creeps along her face and she opens her mouth to flirt back when she abruptly shuts it again. Timmy, his face twisted in a scowl, irately strides up to them. Apparently, he hasn't forgotten his anger in the time he didn't speak with his former girlfriend.
Abandoning all pretenses, he leers down at Trixie, still intent on ignoring him and focusing on creating Veronica. Yes, she knows he's there, she's no fool, but she dreads the conversation following. And yes, there's a strand of hair dangling down her face and she can see it just out the corner of her eye, but she's not going to slide it back behind her ear.
"Hello, Tang," Timmy spits, refraining from placing the strand back. She's no Tootie, that's for damn sure. Sure, she may be pretty, but that's all she is. As far as he's concerned, she's a real bitch on wheels.
They haven't had a full conversation since that night…and both sense the tension lying thick in the air. Other than Veronica, it's essentially one on one, and, with no one else around, things can get pretty hairy if Timmy doesn't exercise restraint.
No longerable toeither pretend or ignore him, Trixie smiles weakly, a forced smile, and proffers her hand for him to shake. If he wanted a lawyer, then this must be a business deal, although she dislikes the idea of dealing with him on such cold terms. In his mind, they were lovers once, after all…
The sketchbook, with the sketch still incomplete, she shuts and places it off to the side, chary not to displace Veronica's precious pencil. She has the distinct impression were anything tragic to occur to it, she'd have her head. Some things Veronica's very stern about and it takes no extensive guesswork to deduce this might be one of them.
"Hello, Timmy." Sweeping her long skirt out from under her, she stands, her hand trembling. Within a few seconds, it's become quite evident he won't shake it, but she's trying desperately anyway.
His eyes narrowed to slits, he glares at her, a glare she returns. None dare to call Trixie a wimp, nor one to cower at a fight. She'll rise to his bait, sure enough.
And yes, she understands the way he'd discovered her sexuality was not one of her choosing and he probably had wanted to grow old with her and have kids. But that just isn't in the cards and she wishes he could simply get over it. She's not asking him to immediately recover and proclaim their friendship, just to stop treating her like she's some sort of criminal and worthy of his scorn.
"Tang," Timmy spits, as though speaking her last name causes bile to rise in his throat and a gag reflex.
"You said you had a lawyer for me." And this is the only reason I'd ever consider leaving Tootie's side for a second. She's still hovering close to that edge and I want to be there to remind her life, at least with me, is worth living. I don't have time to waste with pleasant talk.
Why did I bother showing up here, to greet Tootie, if you're just going to act as though I'm the filth of the earth? Just because I'm gay and I chose a girl over you doesn't make it all right to act as though I'm inhuman!
Meanwhile, Veronica's eyes takes in the two and she sits, her sketchbook clutched to her chest. Normally, she observes, without acting as mediator, but perhaps they need it. Silently, she catches Trixie's eye and tries to communicate if she desires for her to step in.
Shaking her head swiftly, Trixie retorts, tapping her pink polished nails against the glass case to their right, "I have a name, you know. And considering we dated for three years, you ought to."
And considering you slept with me and persisted on screaming my name as you relieved yourself, I really believe you know. You're just being a dick.
"Fine, Trixie. I'm not here to make nice with you; I'm here for a number. I don't even know why you bothered to show up here in the first place," Timmy snaps, cold anger surging through his veins. Every time he sees her, he sees the car and hears the moans.
"We wanted to see Tootie," Veronica answers, speaking for the first time since he arrived. His fists ball, but he says naught to her- his strife is with her girlfriend, not her. Although he personally considers her a seductress, he'd like to make this meeting brief.
"We?" Timmy snaps, directly his comment at his former girlfriend, who flushes but holds the glare.
"Yes, Timothy, we. I know you don't give a shit, but we were the ones who stuck up for Tootie when the cheerleaders were making bets about how soon she was going to die. I know we have no real ties to her, but maybe it'd make her feel better if she saw someone other than you visit her-" Trixie reasons, but he cuts her off.
"Yeah, I'm sure she'd love to see the girl that kept her from reaching me. I'm sure she'd just adore speaking to the reason she's in this situation-" Timmy retorts.
"It's her damn family's fault, not mine!" Trixie snaps. "Stop blaming me for what happened with Veronica, damn it!"
"Who said anything about Veronica?" Timmy growls, causing the blonde girl, still present, to flinch. The way he says her name sends shivers down her spine. God, he really, truly hates her.
"That's the whole reason you're being such a dick, because you think that blaming me for everything will make you feel better. Well, I hope it does, because it certainly isn't the truth.
"I didn't beat up your girlfriend, I didn't starve her, I didn't do anything to her! And if you're too stupid to realize that, well, I don't give a shit because we're through, Timmy Turner!
"In fact, I don't even have to give you the number of the lawyer. I chose to out of the goodness of my heart, but I don't owe you anything. I don't even owe you an explanation for the time I spent with you, while you thought you were making love to me and I felt like a fucking shell!" Trixie snaps, feeling the dam burst. Before she goes any further, Veronica jumps up, jams her sketchbook in her bag, grabs Trixie by the arm, and begins to tug her away.
"Fine! Go off with your slut, I don't care!" Timmy snaps back, glowering at both. "I don't need your damn charity!"
With that, he flips both of them the finger and, pounding the elevator key, darts into the next elevator and vanishes from sight.
Once inside the elevator, Timmy prides himself on finally telling her off…only the fact is that he didn't and, what's more, he really does need that phone number. In fact, this may be the first time in his life he needs Trixie.
Sighing heavily and banging his head against the wall, he whispers, "Damn…"