Pixie Perv Protector
By Mice
Chapter 8: Perfect Memory
NOTE: Refers to some events that happened in Applejack that weren't written.
-Santa Monica, CA – Present-
"Nan?"
"Yes, Bobby."
"You should get back inside."
"It's too hot in there."
"We'll turn on the air."
"We can't."
"Why?"
"Jacqueline broke the controls so I couldn't tamper with it anymore."
"She updated it. You can control it from your phone."
"She hid my phone."
"Nan…"
"She HID my phone, Bobby!"
Bobby held up the phone he found under his grandmother's bed. "It's right here, Nan. I got it back from her. Let's go back inside."
"It's too hot in there!"
"Be that as it may, right now we're in the middle of the street in the middle of the night and it's not safe for either of us."
Nan Bass, a woman who had seen the world, been a radio/vaudeville star, a major asset to an upscale assassin's guild and the only living grandmother of Robert Drake, the Iceman, shrugged in her fur coat and slip. "Really, Bobby? This is what's dangerous?"
Bobby put his harm around his grandmother's. "Yes, Nan. Please walk with me?"
She sighed as he began to guide them back home. Bobby thought that by coming back to Santa Monica, he would lessen the stress from being a super hero in New York. He assumed that any family stress would be a breeze.
It never was.
Bobby had always shrugged off his cousin Holland's (or Jacqueline, as Nan liked to call her) insistence that their grandmother wasn't well. It wasn't until recently he had begun to take her seriously. The neighbors had begun to call him while Holland was touring a string of nightclubs in the Pacific Northwest to let them know that his grandmother was roaming the neighborhood and seemed confused.
His grandmother was always the sharpest one in the room and insistent in her independence. And now he was routinely escorting her home and thwarting her half hearted excuses as to why she had left the house – sometimes insisting that she hadn't left at all. Bobby found himself routinely explaining to her basic rules of reality.
It made him long for alternate universes.
"Bobby, will you do me a favor?"
"Anything, Nan."
"I'm worried about Billie. "
"Billie?"
"Your friend."
"Which one?"
"The one you fucked in my house."
Bobby remained silent.
"Have you heard from her?"
"Jubilee and I don't talk anymore, Nan."
"Because you fucked her?"
"Because of a lot of things."
"Mostly that, though."
"Mostly because I left a lot of things when I left New York –"
"I'd call it flushing away your responsibilities."
"It's hard to explain, Nan—"
"Look, Bobby – it's okay to fuck up your life. Your grandfather and I did plenty of things you would not be proud of and fucked up plenty."
"I went to rehab. A few times."
"You may go back yet, Bobby. You're young!"
"Thanks for that vote of confidence."
"The point is, Bobby, you can fuck up your life. You do not fuck over your friends."
"I shouldn't have fucked my friend."
"It happens. I did time with Omar Sharif and he still managed to send me a Hanukkah chard every year."
"Wait, you and –"
"Not important. I haven't heard from Billie since that wedding Annie didn't have. I'm worried."
They reached Nan's house and Bobby got out the keys. "I hear she's doing good."
"I wish she'd call me."
"I'm sure she'll call you soon." Bobby opened the door and let Nan in.
"…I'm not doing well, am I?"
His grandmother suddenly looked very old.
"You're doing okay," he lied.
-Next Morning-
"What?"
"…that's how you pick up the phone now?"
"You use the phone now?"
"I'm giving it a whirl."
"You go, you astronaut you. Why are you calling?"
"You sound like you're in a hurry –"
"Sort of. It's not major."
"Define not major."
"Waffle delivery."
"From?"
"A tiny waffle maker that can't seem to find the address."
"There's your problem."
"The address?"
"The tiny waffles. This tiny waffle maker clearly has tiny technology. GPS wouldn't fit the aesthetic."
"True. It's tiny artisanal waffles."
"What does that even mean –"
"Nutmeg."
"Nutmeg?"
"It's a game changer."
"Nutmeg."
"It's the perfume of angels. Why are you calling me? I think the last time we saw each other –"
"You nearly slaughtered me in a fancy hotel suite in front of all our friends."
"I relayed my apologies."
"None necessary. Comes with being an X-Men."
"Also, you made it pretty clear before that we shouldn't talk ever, so…"
"It's Nan. She said she's worried about you and you should call her."
"Call her?"
"Yeah, just every once in a while to check in on her."
"Bobby, I call her every day."
"What?"
"Yeah, I call her everyday. Holland told me about the Alzheimer's so I am stepping up my baffle game. She calls me, too. She forgets we talk. Sometimes I'm out on a job and there are ten missed calls from her. I call her right back, I swear! I don't abandon friends." Pause. "Sorry."
"I know you don't." Pause. "Looks like she's not so far gone as to not be able to find a way to get me to call you."
"She's a chess master. No matter what's going on in that creamy nougat of hers, she's still Nan Bass."
"I guess this was a reminder."
"I gotta go. Tiny waffles appeared. While they won't eat themselves, they will be eaten by others."
"I forgot about the tiny waffles."
"…you've been picturing angels rubbing waffles all over their bodies for their perfume, though, right?"
"Absolutely accurate."
"Bye, Perv."
"Bye, Pixie."