ptahrrific | Fake News: Clover and Shadows, part 4 (Reply)

Title: Clover and Shadows (4/5)
Rating: R
Warnings: Trans issues, angst, character death
Characters/pairings: MtF!"Stephen", FtM!Charlene, Jon, families
Marvelous betas:

stellar_dust and

balljointed
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

In which there is one cousin dead and one surviving, trying to make a future out of the pieces.

Now with even more gorgeous illustrations: the photos Stephen keeps in the office, by

It's following the officer down a cold blue hall, and a reedy voice saying, "Ma'am, I know this is difficult for you, but I'm going to need you to identify the body, if you can."

"Sir," says Charlene automatically.

"Yes?"

"Not you," snaps Charlene, eyebrows arching impressively. "Me. I'm a sir. Not a ma'am."

The officer rolls the words around in his mouth like a small dog worrying a bone. "I don't have time to play your little games here, ma'am. A man is dead, and we have work to do. Now, are you ready to take a look?"

It's the sheet being pulled away from Stephen's ice-pale face.

It's Angel rubbing his shoulders, and Tommy, not as pale as she was but not looking great either, assuring him that just because he's a boy doesn't mean he's not allowed to cry.

And it's the unreadable look in their eyes (or maybe it is readable, and he's just forgotten the language) when he smiles serenely and tells them she isn't gone. Not really.

He can hear her more clearly every day.

The horror on Jon's face reflected maybe a tenth of what Stephen felt.

Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid, why did you have to keep that here, now it's all going to fall apart just when everything was perfect because you had to have that stupid security blanket like a scared little girl—

Visibly fighting to look Stephen in the eye, Jon took a shuddery breath. "Stephen," he croaked, "I apologize for every time I teased you about avoiding office games of strip poker."

For the first time in years, the voice in Stephen's head was speechless.

"And all the stupid jokes I've made—!" Jon had to turn away then, rubbing his forehead with one hand. "Oh, God, I've joked about you having PMS. Of all the insensitive — I'm so sorry, I'm an idiot, I—"

"Enough!" interrupted Stephen.

A moment ago pity had been infinitely preferable to the inevitable life-shattering cataclysm, but now that life seemed to be continuing unshattered, the last thing he wanted was for Jon to melt into a puddle of touchy-feely liberal goo.

"I'm still the ballsiest man you know," he snapped, heart thudding painfully against the binding that surrounded it. That's it, Col-bert. Tough. Confident. Cocky, dammit. "That doesn't change just because my balls happen to be made of silicone."

At least Jon was looking at him again. "O-of course." His eyes flicked back down to the photos. "The, uh, the original Stephen. The one in the yearbook. What happened to...to that person?"

"I told you," hissed Stephen. "She died."

Once more Jon looked down at the pictures, wheels visibly turning as he did the math: erasing the makeup from one, adding a wig to the other, matching up eyebrows and cheekbones and the lips that curved into that beautiful smile.

"Oh," he breathed at last. "God, Stephen, I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago. And I don't want to talk about it."

"Sure," agreed Jon instantly. "Whatever you say. I — can I just ask one more question?"

Don't let him, whispered Sweetness, but without much conviction. Jon's careful touch with pronouns hadn't gone unnoticed. "Make it quick."

"Were you ever going to tell me? I mean — were we ever going to do anything that would involve me finding out?"

It was Stephen's turn to look away, folding his arms against the chill that ran along his skin.

"Ah," said Jon quietly. "Well. Nice to know, at least."

He set the cassette and its contents almost reverently on the desk, then backed away.

"You're probably not interested in dinner with me right now, either," he added. "Should I just leave you alone for a while?"

Stephen stared resolutely at his giant gold balloon. (He was not going to be unhappy. He was not. He had a giant gold balloon.)

"Right," said Jon softly. "I'll show myself out."

Pretend it's mine, suggests her sweet voice in the back of his head.

He nails the soprano version on the first take.

A month later he's on T, and a few months after that Tommy's in the hospital full-time, and before her case has been cooling for a year he stuffs everything in a couple of secondhand duffel bags and hops a bus heading south, scenery rolling by unnoticed out the window while he studies the changing landscape of his ever-broadening hands.

Passing gets easier every day. She's helping with that too: she left him a spare name, an unoccupied social security number, a driver's license handily printed with an M. He still looks young for his age, but the photo on her license is from a few years back, with long enough hair to hide the fact that it doesn't have his distinctly pointed ear.

He's going to do things right this time. Start in a small town, get a nice local job, work his way up — all the things he knows she wanted for him. She even picked the town, murmuring guidance in his good ear as his hand hovered over the map with a pin.

"Patterson Springs." It has a nice ring to it.

By the time Jon heard the pounding footsteps, it was too late to turn around before he was tackled from behind.

They tottered a few steps farther in a wobbly attempt not to go crashing to the floor, pelvises knocking awkwardly against each other, Stephen's arms locked around Jon's chest and his breath fluttering the hairs on the nape of Jon's neck as he panted, "Charlene, Mandy, Kevin, Lukey, Sammy, Penny, Carrie, Dean, and Beth."

Together they stumbled to a stop just short of the water cooler, Stephen's whole front flush with Jon's back, so that Jon was painfully conscious of the warmth of every inch of his body.

"I'm happy here," Stephen insisted, fingers clenching in the grey fabric over Jon's heart. "I really am. Mostly. But I can't lose this. You understand, Jon? I can't lose you too."

Jon clasped his hands over Stephen's, stroking the backs of them with his fingertips. "You don't have to."

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

In spite of the flames dancing merrily in his fireplace, Stephen shivered. "I do, Jon. I want you to know about this...this part of me. I'm just maybe a little nervous, that's all."

"I understand."

"You don't!" cried Stephen. "You have no idea! I mean, maybe you feel comfortable showing off yours to anybody who walks in—"

"Hey now, that's overstating it—"

"—but I've never shown these to anyone! Nobody else even knows they exist — well, except my family, but they don't know I have them, they think there's still a Charlene out there who — the point is, Jon, this is very personal, all right?"

"I believe it!" exclaimed Jon.

Still curled in on himself, Stephen nodded reluctantly.

"And, yeah, maybe I can't really understand it," continued Jon, leaning back against the couch. "But I'm following your lead here, okay? Just tell me what you're comfortable with, and that's all I'll do."

The firelight flickered in Stephen's glasses as he slipped them off, finally gazing at Jon with unshielded eyes. "Scoot a little closer," he directed, beckoning with his head.

Jon slid across the soft fur rug, static crackling under his legs as he closed the distance between them.

"And no touching. You got that?"

"Yes, sir."

Stephen scrutinized his face for any hint of mockery. At last, with a soft noise of satisfaction, he opened the photo album and spread the first pages before Jon's eyes.

"That's Dean," he said softly, pointing to a boy in a stiff collar at the front of a family portrait. "Haven't seen him since he was a baby. And here's Beth," he added, voice catching as his finger rested on a tiny girl in a lace dress. "I've only ever seen her in photos...."

Stephen lost count of how many times his voice gave out on him. It was like those first months on T all over again, when it was constantly raw and hungry and he never knew if he would get through a song or even a sentence without the damn thing cracking.

Jon listened perfectly, and let Stephen lean on his shoulder without comment, except to break the longer pauses with gentle remarks about the pictures. He's adorable. I bet she looks up to you. Oh, wow, you have your father's smile. And he fell into solemn silence when they reached the few precious glimpses of her, while Stephen gritted his teeth and paged on.

Not until he got far enough back in the album to reach the old photos of himself did Stephen slam it closed, leaning quickly against Jon to reassure him that he hadn't done anything wrong. Jon didn't pry, just rested his cheek against Stephen's hair and let the crackling of the dying fire fill the silence.

"You would have liked her," murmured Stephen at last.

He couldn't honestly say that she liked Jon, but that wasn't Jon's fault. All she wanted to do was keep Stephen safe, which she did by being suspicious of everyone.

Although, come to think of it, she hadn't objected to Jon all night.

Impulsively, Stephen pulled back and ran his tongue firmly up the side of the other man's face. She still didn't say a word, although Jon himself jumped and blinked rapidly at him. "Uh, what was that?"

"Trick I picked up from her," explained Stephen briskly, tucking his head back under Jon's chin. "Lick something, and no one — even if you have ten older brothers and sisters — will try to take it away from you."

He was trying to come up with a snappy comeback to Jon's inevitable comment about how ridiculous this was, when something warm and damp flicked against his temple.

Pulling back again, he found an incredibly flustered Jon looking shiftily away. "Sorry. Probably shouldn't have..."

Before he could finish, Stephen tongued his bottom lip, and then both their mouths were occupied for a while.

Stephen's knees were drawn up to his chest, the photo album clutched in front of him like armor, but he was just starting to get lost in the kiss when Jon pushed him away. "Sorry," he repeated, more breathlessly this time. "I knew this was a bad idea. I'm sorry, Stephen, I can't keep this up — you're beautiful and I love you, but if we're never going to go any farther than this...."

"Well, not on the first date, anyway," said Stephen, with his sternest arch of the eyebrows. "Honestly, Jon, what kind of girl do you think I am?"

Fake News: Clover and Shadows, part 4

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