Chapter 5
Dedicated to SuperNova, for being the first person to sign up for the AMSA!
A/N: I do NOT own the lyrics to 'Crawling'. I'm using them in my story because I think they fit very well, and have no legal permission but a lot of love and respect!
The funeral was typical and sappy. Candice stood up and recited a eulogy, her voice breaking every few words to the point of almost being annoying. Because of a severe lack of aquaintances, Candy had actually hired mourners. Alex and Grinder found it a might disturbing, but Rikki never commented. He spent most of the ceremony with his face buried in his hands, an odd sound floating up every now and again. Besides the professionals, there was one woman Alex didn't recognize and a homeless man with a bag of soda cans and a ragged blue beanie. He wondered the significance of the homeless man, but put it out of his mind for the time being.
Once the funeral was over, Candy stepped down and offered they go to her place and have some refreshments. Alex declined, speaking on Rikki's behalf with a 'we've got to be going, but thank you anyway.' On the way out, he stopped by the woman.
She wasn't exactly old, but wasn't young, either. In truth, she looked about 40, but her hair and eyes gave the appearance of someone much younger. She had a brightness in her eyes that suggested a rebeliousness not lost from her teenage years. Alex thought he'd seen the same look somewhere else...
The woman stood and held out her hand. "Tabitha St. Germain. I was Agnes' mother."
Alex shook her hand, placing at last the bright greenish-blue eyes. "I'm so sorry."
Tabitha dropped her head slightly, but looked up again within a few seconds. "Me, too. Don't loose hope, though, fellas." She added suddenly. "She's been presumed dead before, and they haven't found her body yet, if I'm not mistaken!"
This statement earned odd looks from all of the team, but she followed Candy out of the chapel. Alex, Grinder, and Rikki got back into the car and made their way back to Big Air.
*
Fidget had mostly given up hope of her friends rescuing her. Her thoughts about the rest of the team were resentful, even bitter, as she tried for the thousandth time to come up with a reason they wouldn't have come to get her yet.
Maybe they've been captured by Dr. X, too, and I just haven't seen them. This theory was improbable; she had been mostly turned loose as the days, then weeks, went by. She had wandered in and out of most rooms on the blimp without incident, one or two she had been thrown out of with the threat of death did she return.
Footsteps behind her brought her thoughts to the present. She turned around to see Tempest, and groaned involuntarily. She must have been correct in assuming he had a little thing for her to some degree, for he spent more time with her than anywhere else. Mostly he gave lectures on different things that soared above Fidget's understanding, and she frowned at him for boring her. This last didn't seem to hinder his interest, though, and he always continued despite her best scowling.
Today, he didn't talk, only sat on a chair facing her. She frowned anyway, his presence knawing at her patience like it always did. He slouched a little, uncharacteristically enough to rouse her attention.
"So," He began, picking at a fingernail almost avidly. "You never really talk about yourself."
She snorted derisively. "You never shut up long enough for me to get a syllable in. It's amazing there's enough air in the room for me to breathe once you get started."
Tempest lowered his eyebrows somewhat. "Yeah. Well, today I'll 'shut up long enough'. Now, tell me about yourself."
"What's this all about?" Fidget didn't trust the casual air of conversation he was taking. A sudden thought struck her. "I haven't got a clue where Alex and the team are headed!"
Now he definitely looked mad, and stood up quickly. "I didn't ask where they were headed! All I asked about was a little personal info! Does every conversation with you have to be so frustratingly difficult?!
Fidget stood up, too, and shook with an anger to match or surpass his own. "Maybe it does! What are you gonna do about it, ya' big vibrator?!"
Asazi, in the room across the hall eavesdropping, snickered and covered her mouth.
Tempest looked outraged. "What kind of a name is that?!" He roared.
"You'll find out when you're older." Fidget said mockingly through her nose. She stuck out her tongue for a moment, crossed her arms, and closed her eyes with a stuck-up sort of dignity. Tempest clenched and unclenched his fists, grinding his teeth.
"This!" He hissed finally, and with a single step he was on her. He grabbed her up in both his arms, pinning her own to her side, and kissed her full in the lips.
Fidget's eyes snapped open and she squirmed. Surprised, then anxious, then angry noises came from her and she fell on the floor when he released her. She coughed and spluttered for a moment, then spit on his feet. She glared up at him.
"What the hell was that?!" She demended, and wiped her mouth with her arm. Her bare arm did little good, and she bent over to use the front of her shirt. Tempest, about to reply, let his mouth hang open in mid-syllable as she pulled at the tight hem of her crop-top, her head bent over enough to render any chance of seeing something impossible. When she faced him again, she was disgusted at his stare. She clenched her teeth and growled, but her angry growling turned to frightened wails as her skin flickered transparent blue once again. When the storm let her go, she fell back on the floor and panted. Tempest smirked.
*
For the next few days, Fidget tried to avoid the teenage boy as much as possible. She wandered down long, barren halls much of the time, where he was unlikely to find her. She wasn't really sure why she ws avoiding him, once she thought about it.
So he won't do it again.
Would he do it again?
Probably, yes.
And it was a serious threat?
What was that supposed to mean?
He's only 14. Raging hormones are apt to pull weird crap like that.
(pause)
You're wasting your energy avoiding him.
Fine. Have it your way.
She went back to her makeshift quarters, a cleaned-out closet. She flipped on the bare, swinging bulb and examined her little room again. A slippery, nylon cot with an equally slippery nylon sleeping bag against the far wall. A folded towel for a pillow. A radio/alarm crammed beside the cot on the floor.
Even these few objects filled the doubly-small room, and Fidget sighed and lay down warily on her side on the cot. She pulled her knees up to her chest and tucked her hands under the towel for more support, then grappled at the nub of a doorknob on the inside. Her eyes were opened very wide, and she stared at the hinge on the door without blinking until her eyes cried out for moisture. Tears welled up in her eyelids, comforting where they touched her lens, but she blinked and wiped them away. Her gaze and hand dropped towards the radio/alarm and she spun the volume dial up. An almost mournful voice filled the her ears.
Discomfort, endlessly has pulled itself upon me.
Distracting, reacting.
Against my will I stand beside my own reflection.
It's haunting how I can't seem
To find myself again, my walls are closing in...
Without a sense of confidence and I'm convinced that there's just too much pressure to take!
I've felt this way before,
So-
She turned the volume back down. That was really all she needed, a depressing song. She turned her face flat against the pillow and closed her eyes.
My life's a wreck.