Title: A Mechanism in Coping

POV: Cal

Author: Obi the Kid

Rating: PG

Summary: Niko deals with the aftermath of the events of "Doubletake" by coping in a way only he can.

Disclaimer: All hail Rob Thurman! No profit here, I'm just having fun.

"I burned them, Cal. They are no more."

"Damn it, Cyrano! Why?"

"If you have to ask, then I truly did fail in raising you."

My brother, the bastard.

One, two, three dresser drawers…empty! Niko had tossed every single one of my graphic tee shirts. Every. Last. One.

"You know I have very few things in life that I love, Nik. I loved those shirts. They are who I am. They are me!"

"They were those things, yes. They were also crude, profanity-laced rags. Time to grow up, little brother. We will buy you some new shirts - plain, boring and black."

Picking up a pair of dirty jeans from my floor, I hurled them in Niko's general direction, glaring at him, raising a finger and pointing towards his chest as I got closer. "I am not going shopping with you. I am not becoming one of those people."

"I can kill you with that finger, so you may want to remove it. And you are coming with me. We can take the car or we can run. It's about 30 degrees outside, so I would advise you to make the appropriate decision within a moment's time, or we will be running."

"No one runs to the store. No one in their right mind anyway."

"I do."

"Exactly my point!"

"Tread carefully, Cal."

"Damn it, Nik, you're ruining a perfectly good day of me sitting on my ass and doing absolutely nothing. Who the hell dropped you off the wrong side of the meditation mat this morning?"

Those jeans I'd just hurled at my brother ended up around my neck, because only Niko could have mastered the art of strangling one's younger sibling with a cruddy old pair of blue jeans. I called for mercy. This wasn't getting me anywhere. Currently, I was a royally ticked off smart ass who was succeeding only in irritating my brother, which normally is quite enjoyable, but he was in a good mood. And I wasn't. This wasn't fun. This was just a pain in the ass. Having no choice, however, I relented.

"Okay, okay. Jesus, Nik. I'll go shopping with you."

"And you will not venture into any area in which there are adult sized tee shirts with graphics suitable for immature sixteen year old boys or I will tie you to the shopping cart with a pair oversized panty hose and drag you through the store."

"You really do hate me, don't you?"

"Not particularly, no. I did however hate your tee shirt collection."

"Those shirts were me, Nik. They were what I'm all about. I spoke through them."

"I'm quite certain you can be just as snarky, angry and repulsive wearing plain black or even a nice dark gray or blue. And if not, then well, it'll be a challenge for you. And it's good to challenge the mind once in a while. Buddha knows yours doesn't get much activity in the course of a 24-hour day."

We ended up in a Wal-Mart of all places. In order to stay away from the shirts and keep myself from being pulled through the store by panty hose and a squeaky plastic buggy in desperate need of a front wheel alignment, I let Nik do the clothes shopping and meandered myself into the snack aisle. If only my arms had been longer, I'd have been able to fill up the entire cart with one trip. As it was, once I caught up with him, Niko's daggered eyes kept me halted at that one armful.

"Don't look at me like that. You dragged me into this hell hole. You tossed my shirts…"

"Burned…"

"You burned my shirts. You will repay me in the form of junk food. All the chemicals, poisons, sugar, fat and caloric intake my body can take, and then some. Here," I tossed a box of oatmeal cookies his way. "I found something for you too. See? Oat. It's a grain. You eat grain. There! Healthy."

The oatmeal cookie box smacked me in the back of the head. "Do not insult the grain community by calling these toxic-loaded objects healthy."

"There's a grain community? Jesus, Nik. It's worse than I thought. Can we go home now?"

I stuck a finger through the end of the cart and began pulling it towards the check out. I managed exactly three inches of forward progress.

"Not yet," Nik said as he hooked my shirt, forcing me to follow him around and through several aisles until he pitched a package of something in my direction. Underwear. I immediately tossed the package back on the shelf. "Nope. I've got plenty sprawled on my floor. I just need to find it and wash it."

"That," Niko replied as he bent several inches to my level and met my eyes, "is disgusting."

"I am disgusting, remember? It's what little brothers are. It's our job to repulse our big brothers all of our lives. I'd be a failure if it were any other way."

"Not my little brother. I know how I raised you. I just can't figure out why you turned out the way you did."

"Ah, you mean non-anal and non-obsessive-compulsive?"

Another glare. I think I'd ruined Niko's happy day. Eh. His fault. But…I relented again. Sometimes it was just easier.

"Fine, mom, I'll get new underwear, but I am not wearing these tighty-whitey things. It's boxers or nothing." I yanked a single yet colorful pair of my size off the nearby display. "There. Happy now?" A subtly sharp elbow to my ribcage momentarily doubled me over in pain. Damn it!

Niko put the boxers back.

"Plain black or you go natural."

My dark sense of humor again, not appreciated. Niko didn't respect my choice in underwear. Go figure. My take? If adult males were not meant to wear boxers with "Bite Me" sprawled across the front, why they hell are they sold in stores?

"Seriously, Nik. You are cranky, even for you," I snarled as I found a five pack of black boxers to replace the Bite Me ones. "You need to lighten up a bit. I haven't been more of an ass than I usually am. What the hell's wrong with you today?"

There was a reason for all of this. There had to be. Coming off our most recent adventure that featured the return and subsequent death of his man-of-the-year father, along with another 'Cal almost died again' moment, and the appearance of an evil half-Auphe who wanted to remake the world with breeding assistance from yours truly, I expected a little time for the both of us to find our sea legs again, but this…burning the majority of my wardrobe? The only thing, other than my brother and my guns, that I take comfort in? It was a little much, even for Nik. Something was up.

He pushed a shoulder into mine before moving the cart ahead. "We need to be better, Cal," he finally said. "This new…issue…and you almost…again…we just need to be better. And I will apologize for burning all of your shirts. I began with just a specific one targeted and then I'll admit to getting carried away."

Carried away was putting it mildly, but the one shirt thing I wondered at. Why a specific shirt? Why…oh. Of course. It had to have been one that I'd been wearing when I'd almost recently died…again. It would have to go. Seeing that shirt time after time would bring up every bad image and emotion associated with his little brother almost dying…again. It had to be burned to an ashy crisp if for no other reason than to help keep those agonizing memories buried, hidden or plugged behind his emotional walls. It's how Niko coped. Like the rug after he was made to believe I'd died in our apartment a couple years back. Tossed and shredded. Now the shirt. Burn it and lessen the memory. After that, the rest of the shirts followed…just because. I knew my brother and I knew I had this figured out.

I tapped a sneaker-covered toe into his right shoe. "I didn't die. I think maybe Salome's nine – or nine hundred - lives have rubbed off on me. And, oh, I didn't die."

Gray eyes met mine and then floated away. Bingo! We have a winner!

"Look, Cyrano, don't make me pull out the Cal dancing on Santa's lap Polaroid again. Because that only leads to you being forced to make me waffles with lardy butter and sugary syrup for breakfast, and inhaling all those blubbery grease fumes might upset that organic, vegetarian balance you've got going on there in your 'body is a temple' thing. I'm alive, Nik, okay? So, cut it out. I need you focused with me, not living in your head with what-ifs and what-might-have-beens."

This time, he was the one who relented…in an oddly surprising way. As we passed the crude section of the men's department, he picked up a black shirt in a size large with 'I don't discriminate, I hate everyone' on the front. Tame by my standards, but I could deal. The shirt landed in my hands and I couldn't resist giving that blond ponytail a bit of a tug.

"Awww, you really do love me, don't you, big brother?"

"On occasion, yes. But it's generally only a sentiment I get when I don't feel the desire to mummify you in duct tape."

Yup, that was nothing but pure old-fashioned brotherly love right there.

Once home, I did a bit of cleaning. Miracles anyone? I took pity on my brother and even did the laundry to get my new shirt and boxers to my personal level of worn. Nik had gotten me a variety of blank tee shirts. Single colored in black or gray. Boring as hell, they reminded me of his own wardrobe…and I so wasn't my brother. But for now, I kept my smart assed mouth shut. At least until he was back to the Niko I knew. I'd give him the time and hope for waffles in the morning.

I did get waffles. I also got a dirty sock stuffed into my mouth after the fact. Say what you will, but maple syrup and the smell of old feet are not my idea of the perfect breakfast. However, all of this meant that Nik was Nik again and that he was okay. And I'd take syrupy socks any day if it meant keeping my brother okay.

And although I wasn't yet over being pissed about my shirts being burned to a crispy hell, I could drown my sorrows in Twinkies and Ho-Ho's and be content with the toxins that helped me grow into the mature twenty-something that I was.

The end.