Chapter Two: Partners

Disclaimer: the characters you recognize belong to Diane Duane.

Thank you to gwendelyn, my first reviewer! Glad you liked it!

Apart from the fact that they were wizards, Tom couldn't for the life of him figure out why Carl was so keen on maintaining their friendship.

Not that he was complaining; no, far from it. It was a welcome change from his previous lonely existence. He had someone to bounce ideas off of, and generate ideas in return. Carl also protected him; Grogan hadn't tried to torment Tom with anything more harmful than words, and even when other kids made fun of him, the sophomore was always there to defend his reputation.

It was almost scary how quickly his friend managed to rush to his aid. Sometimes he'd show up just as the bully appeared, barely giving Tom enough time to think a terrified thought. At first it just seemed like coincidence, but after about the fifteenth time the freshman was beginning to get a little spooked.

"How do you do that?" he finally asked after Carl had chased Grogan away once again.

"Do what?" Carl shot back. There was something in his face...he was keeping a secret, Tom could tell.

"You know what I mean, I know you do; you're an awful liar. But since you seem intent on pretending you don't know, I'll put it into words." He took a deep breath. "How do you always get there in the nick of time, no matter where we are in the school? Like just now. Grogan barely got the chance to say 'gay boy' before you just...appeared behind him." Tom got a look at Carl's expression and added hastily, "I'm not mad, man, just curious, that's all."

"Sure you won't be mad?" Carl Romeo seemed hesitant.

Tom couldn't fathom why, but he smiled reassuringly. "Promise. Again, my natural curiosity kicking in."

The sophomore took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well...I've kind of been...getting your thoughts."

"What?"

"Easy, man, not many of them! Just...when you're scared, you think really loudly, you know? It's like, I dunno, like a call for help. Or when you're happy, like in your physics class yesterday. I guess you kind of came out of your shell more and I could feel you get enthusiastic about something. It's nothing specific; just overall feelings. But they're getting more refined each time, I think I can hear them better."

"So how come I'm not getting your thoughts?" Now Tom was just puzzled, as well as relieved that he still had some privacy.

Carl looked relieved as well. "My guess is that I haven't really been terrified of anything in the past week since you took the Oath." At Tom's suddenly thoughtful expression, he asked, "What?"

A second went by. "This could be really useful, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"I did some reading in the Manual—heck, that's pretty much all I've been reading for the past week—and people have done some really dangerous stuff. If we can communicate over long distances, say get really good at it, we can share information about spells and stuff without having to be physically in the same place."

Comprehension dawned on Carl and he nodded slowly. He grinned. "That does sound intriguing."

Tom nudged him playfully, hard enough so that his friend was knocked off course. "'Intriguing', eh? I must be rubbing off on you."

Carl rolled his eyes. "With the amount of time we're spending together I wouldn't doubt it. Even now we're headed to your house for the fifth time, and we've only known each other for a week. And just to be fair, mister, you seem to be rather less shy than before."

"Yeah, I've made an improvement. I even got up the nerve to ask the person next to me in math if I could borrow a pencil. Real progress."

Carl only snorted in amusement, which got Tom chuckling.

"I think we should practice."

"I'm sorry, I don't...quite..."

"The mind-reading thing," Tom said in exasperation. "It sounds like it gets easier with practice, and you said you're hearing my emotions—wow that sounds weird—hearing them better, right?"

"Right..."

"So try to send me something. Think loudly."

"I don't know how!"

Tom heaved a sigh. "You said fear was really loud, as well as intense happiness. Try remembering something you were afraid of." Suddenly he got a vague sense of unease, and smiled. "I think it's working. Try something else—ow!" He rubbed his jaw and winced. "What was that?"

Carl smiled wanly. "The first was me being scared of the dark as a little kid. The second was having to get a tooth pulled, and the dentist didn't give me enough laughing gas. Figured if anything would get through, that would."

The blonde nodded thoughtfully and shivered. "Ouch. Okay, we've established that it's a two-way thing, that's a start... What's the Manual say about hearing thoughts and emotions?"

Carl pulled his Manual out of his backpack and opened it, flipping through more pages than a casual observer would have thought possible. "Let's see. Mind-reading, mind-reading...okay, ew, don't want to be doing that kind. Um. Here it is. Thought-sharing...whoa." His eyes widened as he stared at the page.

"What?"

"It says we're supposed to be partners."

Tom's mouth opened into a little "o" of surprise and a slow flush made its way up his face. He went uncharacteristically (well, in that company, anyway) quiet and still, the only sound coming from his direction the soft scuffing of his shoes on the pavement.

Carl must have noticed the silence, or he'd picked up on the boy's discomfiture, because he looked up from his Manual. Seeing his friend's face, he grinned and nudged him playfully. "Not that kind of partners, doofus," he said, catching the freshman by surprise. "Wizarding partners. Sheesh."

Tom stumbled from the shove and laughed embarrassedly. "Sorry, sorry. I've spent longer being gay than I have being a wizard. And in Los Angeles you get used to hearing that term a lot."

"It's really that different?"

"Yeah," the blonde answered wistfully, "like night and day. There people are more free and open. Here everyone's all rigid and uptight, cloistered in their own little worlds." Carl raised his eyebrow, and Tom caught the disbelief associated with the expression. "What?"

"Did I really just hear you use the word 'cloistered' in casual conversation?"

"Of course you did," Tom shot back loftily. "I am articulate and have an extensive everyday vocabulary."

"This emotions thing is getting more fine-tuned," Carl muttered. "You're sad about something?"

Tom fell silent again, this time his face going carefully blank.

Carl figured it out anyway with the help of the thought-sharing. "You had a lot of time alone to develop your vocabulary, didn't you?"

The freshman jerked his head up and down once, not trusting himself to speak. Moisture began to shimmer in his eyes.

"Oh, Tom," the sophomore murmured. His voice was as compassionate and understanding as Tom had ever heard it. "I'm sorry, man, I didn't mean to pry."

"It's fine," the fourteen-year-old said with a huge effort of will, taking a breath and letting it out slowly. "Nothing you wouldn't have eventually figured out for yourself, even without sharing thoughts. Must be nice, though, to have a network of friends."

"Sometimes they're more trouble than they're worth," Carl admitted with a smile. "And no, I'm not just saying that. None of my other friends are actually close friends, more like people who think being friends with athletes will make them cool."

Tom gave a wry half-smile of his own. "And I know for a fact that that's not the case; or maybe it's that anything different about you kind of cancels out your perceived coolness?"

"Oh, c'mon. You're a cool guy. Seeming cool and being cool are two completely different things. But you're right, being my friend has nothing to do with either."

"How profound," the freshman said dryly, glancing over at Carl. "Well, at least you're honest."

"I'm a wizard. Wizards are supposed to be honest; working with the language of truth would be rather dangerous otherwise, wouldn't it?"

"Mm. Guess so. Speaking of which, when are we gonna work on spells and stuff like that?"

Carl raised an eyebrow. "Maybe when we get better with the Speech."

Tom matched the expression flawlessly. "Then shouldn't we be practicing? Talking in the Speech instead of in English?"

The sophomore groaned. "Won't our conversation be a bit halting like that, since we'll have to look up the words in our Manuals?"

Tom made a face. "Fine. Then how about we practice our thought-sharing so we can turn it into a more effective form of communication?"

"You sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well," Carl said carefully, "it seems to be getting more effective, but less voluntary. You didn't seem too happy with the idea of me sharing all of your thoughts when I first told you about it, and that's what I think will happen before we develop the skills to pick and choose what to share and what to keep private."

There was a pause; then comprehension dawned, accompanied by a tinge of resignation. "You're probably right, but it'll happen sooner or later anyway if we're supposed to be—" and he flashed a quick, wry grin, remembering his previous embarrassment— "partners."

Carl shook his head in bemusement.

"What is it?"

"How do you do it?"

"Huh...?"

"So much for eloquence," the sophomore said cheekily.

Tom made a face. "Fine. Please elaborate and accept my humble apologies for not being articulate enough. Better?"

"Much," Carl replied, amused. Then he grew serious once again and took a breath. "How are you so open about it? Nobody I know has ever been so comfortable with talking about being gay. It's not even about honesty; it's like, I dunno...like you embrace it and talk about it like it's normal."

A hint of confused anger crept onto Tom's face. His eyebrows drew together slightly. "It is normal."

"That's not what I meant," Carl reassured him hastily. "I know it's normal to be gay; you're just not in the majority. It's just not normal to talk about it so openly, at least not here."

Tom nodded reluctantly. "I just grew up like that," he said with a shrug. "I'm comfortable with it. I wouldn't call it pride, exactly; but I feel no shame over it, and my parents have told me that I shouldn't ever be ashamed of who I am."

"Maybe...well, maybe if you didn't talk about it so openly you wouldn't get bullied as much," Carl suggested cautiously.

"That's probably true, but it's also a surefire way to allow me to feel ashamed of myself."

The sophomore knit his brows together. "I don't get it."

Tom blew out an exasperated breath and stopped walking, forcing his friend to stop as well. "You're straight, right?"

"Right." The word was sure and confident.

"Have you had girlfriends?"

"Yeah."

"Have you talked about them to your friends?"

"Of course...I'm sorry, I don't really see where this is going."

"You will, don't you worry," Tom replied dryly. "What would your guy friends think if you didn't mention your girlfriend at the time?" He focused on Carl's face as if searching for something.

He thought back to when just that had happened with one of his friends. "That I was ashamed of her. But seeming ashamed of one girlfriend isn't the same as being ashamed of yourself."

"Hold on, Carl, I'm not done," Tom said, holding up a hand.

"I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition," Carl muttered to himself.

Tom grinned widely. "Nobody does. But don't change the subject. Imagine that none of your girlfriends talked about you—not that that would happen, you're a nice, handsome guy. What would you think?"

Carl raised an eyebrow and backed up a step. "Are you flirting with me?" he asked, suspicion written all over his face.

The freshman rolled his eyes. "No, I'm not. It's merely a blunt statement of opinion which, coming from another guy, is undermining your preconceived idea of your own masculinity...but we'll get to that later. Just answer the question, please."

Carl took a breath. "I guess I'd think that they were all ashamed of me," he said slowly.

"Exactly. And once you got that thought into your head, you'd start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was a reason for them to be ashamed. You'd start looking inside yourself and examining everything with a fine-toothed comb, wondering what you were doing wrong, because the fault absolutely had to have been yours. Am I right?"

The sophomore could find no fault in his friend's description. "Yes."

Tom got a look of raw pain on his face, though his gaze remained steady and his voice did not waver. Carl could feel the emotion over their link and winced at its strength. "None of my boyfriends ever talked about me to their friends. I tore myself apart trying to figure out what I'd done, what crime I'd committed. Finally I confronted the last one and asked what was wrong. He was confused at first, then told me 'We're gay, we're different. It'll make other people uncomfortable.' He made me feel shame for who I was before I even realized it, Carl. And he didn't even do it on purpose. Even in California society was pretty heteronormative—you know, gays deferring to straights, et cetera. But here they'd sooner kill you than accept you for being gay even if you try to fit in." He quirked his mouth into a half-smile of defiance. "Being open is the only way I've found to preserve my sanity."

Carl let out a breath. "I'm sorry."

"What for? You didn't do anything."

"It's a sympathetic 'I'm sorry', dumbass," he retorted in a voice devoid of any malice; then he closed the distance between them and gathered his friend into an awkward hug.

Tom let out a short puff of laughter. He took as much comfort from the embrace as he could, then stepped back. "Thanks."

"Not a problem," Carl replied, giving a smile. He started walking again, and Tom followed suit.

"Well, good thing I was open; otherwise we might not have met."

"Mm," Carl replied. He somehow didn't think arguing about the Powers That Be would be a good idea at the moment, so he stuck with the noncommittal grunt.

Something else occurred to Tom and he turned beet red. "Oh God."

This last exclamation necessitated a verbal response. "What now?"

The freshman put his face to his hands and groaned. "Turn it into a mind-reading exercise, Carl, because you're not going to get me to say it aloud."

They reached Tom's house and walked in the door. Mrs. Swale was in the kitchen already, and she turned around with her trademark bright grin when she heard the doorknob's mechanism click open. "Hello, boys," she greeted them warmly.

"Hi, Mom," Tom answered.

"Hello, Mrs. Swale," Carl said respectfully, nodding.

"It's nice to see that you and Tom have become such good friends, but won't your parents be a bit worried?"

"No, not at all, ma'am," he replied with a reassuring smile. "They both work pretty late anyway. Usually they're just happy to know my homework's done earlier, and the rest of the time when they get suspicious and actually check my homework, they're happy and surprised to see it done well. Tom's really smart. They think he's a good influence on me."

"Well, that's good then," she answered, beaming. Then she frowned and looked at her son. "Tom, are you feeling okay? You're all red, dear." She peered closer at him, then looked at the dark-haired boy. "And you, Carl? You look a bit peaky yourself, kind of tight-faced...everything alright?"

"We're fine, Mom," Tom said with a swiftly-covered look of panic. "Um, Carl and I have a lot of, uh, work tonight, don't we, Carl? So we're just, um, just going to go upstairs and get started, okay? Hi, love you, bye!" He gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before practically fleeing up the stairs, Carl following only slightly more slowly behind him. They left Mrs. Swale looking thoughtfully and suspiciously in the direction they'd gone.

"She suspects something for sure," Tom groaned, shutting the door with a decisive snick. "Great. Absolutely wonderful."

Now it was Carl's turn to blush. "Um. Then maybe, uh, we shouldn't be in your room with the door closed? Especially since your mom knows you're into men and can't be sure either way about me? Just a thought, mate. That's one way to arouse suspicion for sure."

"Guess you're right," he sighed, opening the door again just a few inches so that they'd be able to see and hear what was going on in the hall and still be afforded a little privacy.

"And I figured it out." Carl's Cheshire grin was enough to remind Tom of what he meant.

"Oh God," Tom said again, relatively loudly, mournfully dropping his face into his hands once more. His hands muffled the words quite a bit, but not so much that they couldn't be made out.

"Uh-huh...it's right there in your memory, plain as day." Carl did a terrible imitation of Tom at his most sarcastic. "'You never know, I might try to seduce you with my sinful, wily ways!'"

"Carl, if you're going to seduce my son, will you please not say so in so many words?" Mrs. Swale's voice came through the door loud and clear. "And you might want to leave the door closed in the future. I knew there was something going on between you two."

"Mom!" Tom yelped at the same time Carl collapsed on the bed, cracking up and blushing furiously. "I swear, for the love of...okay. Mom. There's nothing going on between us, otherwise this hooligan wouldn't be laughing his head off at my expense. Come in, I guess. Let's set the record straight." He huffed in exasperation when she didn't enter the room immediately. "Mom, I said you could come in. There's nothing going on, I promise. We're both decent and have never been anything but decent in each other's company."

His mother tentatively came into the room, doubt written all over her face. "Then what was the groan about?"

Carl recovered enough to sit up and help with the explaining. "We were reminiscing about our very first conversation, and he-he-heeheehee! He remembered something embarrassing he'd said to me, but refused to tell me what it was. It was right after I found out he was gay, and he asked me if I minded."

"Which was why I was blushing when I came in," Tom added a trifle sullenly.

"A-a-and I...haha. Sorry." Carl fought to contain his laughter. "I remembered what it was he said when you were talking to us and I was trying not to laugh. Because when he asked if I minded, I asked if I should, and this one came out with a cool 'You never know, I might try to seduce you with my sinful, wily ways!' Hahahahaaahaha..." The sophomore collapsed on the bed again, unable to quell the bubbling mirth.

"Oh God," Tom said, exactly as before, cradling his head in his hands. "I still can't believe I said that. What was I thinking?"

"A good question," his mother replied helpfully. "Can't say I know. Although I must confess that I'm a bit disappointed; I was hoping you'd found a nice gay boy to bring home, maybe have a relationship..."

Both Tom and Carl turned purple and made choking noises. Tom finally said in a strained voice, "Well, you got three out of five. He's a nice boy, and I brought him home. But no, mom, I don't want or need you to set me up, now please will you leave us alone now that you know we're not fooling around?"

Mrs. Swale nodded and departed, looking a bit pink in the cheeks. "Um...do you...do you want the door closed?"

"Please," the two boys answered in unison, and she nodded and shut it.

"Wait. Mom. Come back for a sec."

"Yes, Tom?" She opened the door again.

Her son looked severely at both Carl and his mother. "This will never, under any circumstances, ever be mentioned outside of the present company."

They both grinned at him, but nodded anyway. Mrs. Swale closed the door again.

After a minute of quiet, Tom stretched and said, "I'm tired of sitting on the floor, it's not comfortable. Move over." He gently shoved Carl to one side of the bed and sat down on it.

The two friends sat in silence for another few minutes, with the exceptions of the occasional titter from Carl or disbelieving whimper from Tom. Then the blonde shook his head. "Okay, this is silly. We came up here to work on learning more of that thought-sharing thing and to work on the Speech, and we'll probably have to actually do homework too. Even though it's Friday...you know, if your folks won't come back until later, d'you want to stay for dinner? Mom won't mind, she likes you."

Carl smiled gratefully. "I'd like that, actually. Thanks. It's never a family occasion unless it's a weekend or holiday, so nobody'll mind."

Tom nodded and moved to the top of the stairs. "Mom?" he shouted down.

"Yes?"

"C'n Carl stay for dinner?"

"Of course," said the drifting voice. "The phone's in the hall if he wants to call his parents."

The boys both grinned. "Thanks, Mom!"

"Yeah, thanks, Mrs. Swale!"

"Okay," said Tom, plopping down on the bed once more, "let's work on the Speech. I think I've got the written bit down pretty well." He rummaged through his stuff and brought out a beat-up red composition notebook, flipping through the pages until he found the ones he wanted. The freshman pointed triumphantly. "Check it out!"

For a moment all Carl could do was stare in silent awe; then he found his voice. "God, Tom, how much time did you have on your hands?"

Tom grinned. "Well, I usually write for a good amount of time per day. It's like a diary, but I write all kinds of things in it. This was yesterday's entry; I started with something simple, detailing my argument with the tiny bit of toothpaste at the bottom of the tube."

"That'd be pretty one-sided," Carl laughed; then he peered at the neat, gracefully curling script. "Wait. Does this say the toothpaste answered you?"

"Uh-huh," he said, looking puzzled. "You mean you haven't talked to anything yet?"

Carl's confused look was self-explanatory.

"Oh come on. This is the Speech. You talk to things and they listen. How'd you think wizards cast spells?" Tom was exasperated and didn't wait for an answer. "Okay, you really need to speak to something. Try talking to something. Anything, it doesn't matter what."

For a second the sophomore looked dubious; then he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out some spare change. He flicked through the coins until he found a beat-up penny from 1929. "Um...how do you...?" Suddenly his eyebrows shot up and a delighted grin spread itself across his face. "It talked to me," he said in wonderment.

"Then say something back, be polite!" For the next few minutes he watched in fascination as a whole range of expressions flitted across Carl's face.

Finally Carl put the coin down. "Wow. Tom, you wouldn't believe the stories that penny had to tell," he said quietly. "It was just so happy to talk to someone else after so long, but it got a little annoyed after a while because I was asking too many questions and had a terrible accent." His voice was amused with a tinge of chagrin.

Tom tried, he really did, but he couldn't hold in the giggle that bubbled out of his mouth. "Sorry. I'm just imagining how interesting the Speech must sound with Brooklyn influences."

Carl glowered playfully. "Shush, you," he answered in the Speech.

"I'd prefer not to, thanks," Tom answered in the same language, chuckling harder. The Speech in Brooklyn-speak sounded funnier than he'd expected.

"Psh. You and your flowing Californian accent—"

"Tom, Carl! Dinner, come on down!"

The two declared a truce as they trooped down the stairs to eat.