Dj so downbad ..

Drabble: The Kale Chronicles

Title: The Kale Chronicles (2010) Rating: PG-13 Characters: Gabriel James-Michaels, Jonathan James-Michaels, Kaleidoscope Johnson, Zacarias Fawkes Relationships: Gabe/Johnny, Kale/Zach, Gabe & Kale Summary: Did he tell you? Did he tell you we were best friends now?

2010 “Is this your first gala?” The voice surprises Gabe and he almost dumps his glass of champagne all over the man next to him. As far as Gabe can tell he’s ten, maybe fifteen years older than him. He’s caramel skin and deep brown eyes that are dragged down by wrinkles and dark circles. Gabe’s sure that in his heyday he was handsome and had his pick of partners. Now he looked sick and frail, like one wrong breath will knock him over. The wheelchair probably added to that illusion, too. And the fact that he was leaning towards one side, brightly colored pillows keeping him propped up. “Am I that obvious?” He asked with a chuckle. Being invited to the MET was one thing. Being invited to the MET Gala because you were a finalist for a permanent installation piece? That was a whole different ballgame, and Gabe had been antsy as hell since they got there. His husband had gotten pulled away by someone he knew from school almost right away, which left Gabe to be sucked into the art crowd. It wasn’t that the art crowd was a bad place to be. These were his people, after all, but he felt like an interloper. They hadn’t been in New York for very long; it didn’t feel like his scene quite yet. The man laughed. “It’s just that no one has sunk their claws into you yet. You’re Gabreel, right?” He offered his hand up for Gabe to shake. “I’m Zach. Zacarias, but don't call me that. Call me Zach. Also, I’m dying. AIDS. Well, HIV, but it’s the same difference in the end, isn’t it?” And he spoke so quickly that Gabe had a hard time keeping up with him. His accent made Gabe think of New Orleans - maybe Creole? There was a cadence to the way he spoke. The consonants and vowels didn’t line up quite the same as Gabe’s own laidback West Coast pronunciation. “I guess.” He said with a shrug. “You’re one of the other finalists, right? You made the see-through hospital bed.” Zach nodded. “Scope - that’s my partner - he said it’s a little too on the nose, but he’s bitter right now.” The other man picked at the seam on his armrest. It seemed like this was probably a point of contention between Zach and his partner. “He likes to bury his head in the sand when things get a little too tough. Anyway, he didn’t see the point in coming tonight. Said you were going to win.” That took Gabe by surprise. “Your partner doesn’t think you’re going to win? Your piece is beautiful.” And he meant it. After seeing the art he was competing against, Gabe had no idea why he was even selected. Everyone was just so talented, and his piece… Well, his piece was different than the others. They had made sculptures. Gorgeous pieces made of metals Gabe wasn’t sure how they were able to afford, and his piece was… Well, it was a prison cell with malleable bars and a painted sky. He didn’t feel like he was on the same level as the others. He shrugged. “Naw, but that’s Scope. He always tells it like it is.” The look on Zach’s face made it seem like that was his favorite thing about him. “C’mon. Come sit with me until it’s time to find out who won.” And oversharer or not, Gabe found himself following after him. A Month Later “Gabreel,” Zach was bundled under three blankets as Gabe pushed him through the walking path at the hospital. It was only in the high 60s, but Zach was freezing. His nasal cannula was pushed out of his nose. He wanted to breathe fresh air - not bottled air. The doctors hadn’t even wanted Zach out of bed, but the older man had insisted and well, he had a way about always getting his way. “Did you know Scope and I have been together almost twenty years?” That made Gabe pause for a moment as he processed that. He’d barely been married in comparison. He couldn’t imagine being with someone for 20 years. Especially as a gay man in New York in the 90s. It amazed him they were together for this long. And he wasn’t even factoring in all the stories he’d heard about Scope. “You must have been babies when you got together.” He said finally, continuing their walk. Zach nodded - or at least Gabe thought it was a nod; it could have been a cough. “Scope was barely 18. I was 29, you know. I was a very bad boy. I was ready to settle down. And Scope? Well, I think he just looked at me and thought: this one is mine now.” This time Zach did cough, and he pulled the cannula back into his nose for a bit before he was able to talk again. “Scope broke up with me last week. Think he thought it would be easier - not to watch me die.” He didn’t know how to respond to that. “Zach…” And what was he going to say? That he wasn’t dying? He was. That Scope was being a chicken? He probably would have done the same. He couldn’t fault him, but he also couldn’t comprehend breaking up with someone you loved so deeply. “Don’t try, Gabreel.” Zach murmured out as he fiddled with one of his blankets. “This hasn’t been easy for him. We didn’t know my status until much later into our relationship. We’ve had more scares than you know. I ate clean, did what I could to stay healthy, but our friends? Their luck weren’t so great. They died one after the other. And I… I just didn’t. For a while I think he just thought it was a false positive and then this year…” He gave a dry sounding laugh. “This year it reared its ugly head with a vengeance. I’ll be gone by Christmas - don’t try to argue. We both know it’s true. And I need you to promise me something.” And he knew - he knew what the promise was going to be. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, and yet he still found himself saying: “Anything.” A few months later “Kaleidoscope? It’s Gabriel. We’ve met a couple of times at the hospital? I’m Zach’s friend. I’ve been taking him to his appointments for that study he was participating in.” Gabe wasn’t sure what he would be walking into. From what Zach had told him during their brief friendship, Kaleidoscope had run away to the city at a young age, and their friend group had been… wild. Other than a woman named Katie, Zach and Kaleidoscope were the last ones standing. Drugs and HIV had wiped out the rest. And now? Now it was just Kaleidoscope. The entire condo was pitch black. As Gabe traversed further inside, he turned on lights and opened windows to air the place out. It smelled like the other man had been in mourning for a lot longer than the week Zach had been gone. Zach had warned Gabe that Kaleidoscope could come off as being… a lot. He had a big personality, but a lot of it was manufactured. It had been created to deal with his many losses, and Zach had begged Gabe to see through him. And Gabe’s plan was to hold true to that promise. When it came to promises to the dead, Gabe was a sucker. “Scope, I know you’re home.” He called out, walking until he found the kitchen. Once it was aired out, he grabbed a trash bag to conquer the living room. “And I know you know what today is. And we both know you’re going today.” He poked at a congealed mess stuck to some magazines and just tossed the entire thing into the garbage bag. Room accomplished, he set the bag out in the hallway for now before making his way deeper into the condo. “I’m coming in.” He all but kicked the door open to find Kaleidoscope half-dressed and lying in the middle of the bed. “I finally understand what the point of that stupid Jonathan Larsen musical is now.” He said apropos to nothing. “I am now the only one to survive.” “On a scale of 1-5, how stoned are you right now?” Gabe asked as he approached the bed and got Kaleidoscope into a sitting position. “Yeah, you’re going to need to shower.” As he shifted Kaleidoscope to his feet, the other man grabbed Gabe’s wrist. “He said he picked you out for me.” And great. He was drunk and stoned. The perfect combination for a funeral. “He said you were lonely, too. You lost everyone, too. He said we would be best friends. Did he tell you? Did he tell you we were best friends now?” And he hadn’t, but that made sense. He had been dying and he just wanted to make sure his partner was taken care of. “Yeah, Scope.” He conceded. “We’re best friends now.” And it would be one of the last times he’d call him that. The name would remind both of them too much of Zach. But in that moment Gabe knew it was true - they were going to be best friends whether Gabe liked it or not. Towards the end of the year When Gabe got the invitation to attend the dinner party at Kaledescope’s place, he had a moment where he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea. First, it was his first party since his partner passed away, and second, it was Jay’s first social event with the Collective. It wasn’t like he was hiding his husband from them. It was more like… he knew how his friends were, and he knew how his husband was. They were completely different personalities and he didn’t know how well they were going to mesh, but he figured he could only put it off for so long. They had barely walked into the condo when Katie grabbed him. “You need to talk to your friend.” Katie had known Kaleidoscope longer, but she never actually considered them friends. He was her big brother’s friend - that was how she told it. “He’s lost his mind.” All he can do is shoot Jay an apologetic look before he’s pulled deeper into the condo. Although condo is a loose term. One of four units on the floor of a luxury building is a better word. And she’s not wrong. The condo was huge, and yet there seemed to be people everywhere. This was definitely not the quiet dinner party he had been promised. It was like the other man had switched from being in mourning to being a party animal overnight. He honestly didn’t know how he had turned into Kaleidoscope’s keeper. He’d barely known the man when he had decided they were best friends, and word had spread to everyone else they knew. Apparently Gabe was the only person remotely capable of dealing with Kaleidoscope’s mood swings. Or maybe it was because everyone else they knew had only known Kaleidoscope when it was Zach + Scope. They didn’t know how to deal with a man who was spiraling out of control now that he was alone. Gabe had only known Zach for a brief period of time, but the version of Scope that Gabe had met was the one who was slowly going crazy from loss. And that was how Gabe found himself walking into Kaleidoscope's bedroom - where he was in the middle of a threesome with two blonde tan men. He’s not sure where it comes from, but he slammed the door shut and closed his eyes. “Ken Doll 1 and Ken Doll 2 - beat it.” It must be the tone of his voice - or maybe they were startled by the slamming of the door. Either way the two men all but scrambled out of the bed and into their clothes. Neither of them looked at Gabe before leaving him alone with Kaleidoscope. “I didn’t think you would be a spoil sport.” Kaleidoscope grumbled out - and there was the sound of him putting his clothes back on. “Weren’t you the one who said I shouldn’t be holing myself up in here? That it’s been six months since Zach died and I needed to get out and re-embrace the world?” It was physically taking everything in him to not open his eyes. “I didn’t mean to throw keggers and have orgies.” He defended before deciding to finally open his eyes. “I meant taking walks or opening your art software and painting again. Scope.” “Don’t call me that.” And it was a growl more than anything else. “I’m rebranding. I’m now just Kaleidoscope. You can call me Kale.” And it sounded like he had just decided that part. “My friends can call me Kale. Where’s your wife?” Gabe couldn’t help but to stare at him. “My ex-wife?” He tried to clarify - not fully able to keep up with the sudden change in conversation. “She’s in Roswell with my kids?” Kale sighed dramatically. “No. Your new wife.” He waved an impatient hand at Gabe. “You said you were married.” It took him a moment to realize where the confusion was coming from. Same-sex partnerships were legal in New York, but marriage licenses weren’t being issued yet. Same-sex marriages from other states, however, were still being recognized in New York. “Yes.” He said slowly, mostly because he didn’t know what Kale’s reaction was going to be. “I am married, but I don’t have a wife. I have a husband, and he’s with Katie I think.” And all that fake bravado and the new personality fell off his face for a moment. “You married your partner.” And he sounded small. He’d been with the same man for 20 years, but marriage… that had been off the table for them. “What’s his name?” The question was strange, but he found himself answering anyway. “Johnny. Well, Jonathan.” And he didn’t know why Kale needed to know, but he felt like it was part of his coping process. Kale nodded and then as suddenly as it had left, the fake persona was back. “Let’s go meet your Jonathan.”

make confessions and we're begging for forgiveness.

to fiona’s credit, she didn’t lie.

she calls her brother as she heads out of the building, but she knows what he’ll say before he even says it. “–––i’d never do anything like that, kiddo. i wouldn’t put you or your friends in that kind of danger.”

fiona drags her fingers through her hair. “i figured as much. just had to be sure. i’ll call you if i find anything out, okay? thanks again for what you did today. we couldn’t have done that without you.”

“of course, fee. i love you, okay?”

fiona would like to call the relief that spreads through her bones ridiculous, but it doesn’t surprise her. she’s always needed her family’s love more than anything else, yet it’s remained the one thing outside of her reach. she doesn’t miss her life in ipswich, nor does she miss the lost family anymore, but knowing that she hasn’t lost this still soothes an ache that she wasn’t aware she still felt. “i love you, too. i’ll talk to you soon.” she hangs up the phone, her smile remaining for another second.

it’s while she’s still in this cloud of euphoria that she bounces away from the loft. the pack might not be able to feel her the way they can feel each other, but they would smell her anger. fiona’s good at hiding how she feels; it’s a craft she mastered long before she moved to beacon hills. she had to work out the kinks in her time with the pack, but feigning content and confidence is a required skill when you’re the pariah of the town. she knows how to keep the pack from getting suspicious, and the key to that is holding onto whatever happiness she feels until she’s out of range.

she rides her wave of happiness as reality tears before her eyes, loose fringes fluttering before her like a rip in an old cloth. she steps through with the words i love, okay still ringing in her ears, skin warmed by the reminder that she didn’t lose everything, and her heart skips at the idea of mending her relationship with her brother. they aren’t horribly estranged –– they could fix things. maybe he could move to beacon hills one day. the idea has her grinning as she leaves beacon hills and she knows that she’s nothing more than a beacon of joy.

that doesn’t change until she’s stepping through that tear and into her grandmother’s house. ( she doesn’t need anyone to tell her this is fucking dumb. she was the first to shoot down the idea of bouncing all the way across the nation, she knows it’s a bad idea. but her anger runs deeper than her sense does, and she doesn’t think. ) for the first time since she learned how to bounce, she feels dizzy, stomach twisting and turning, but she doesn’t let it hinder her. the sickness pales in comparison to the fire that heats her veins and taints her vision.

there’s puttering in the kitchen and fiona’s hands clench as she follows the sound. irene porter stands at the counter, her back to fiona as she digs through the cabinets. fiona says nothing; she knows that her grandmother knows she’s here. she felt the wards go off when she stepped into the house, and she’s not foolish enough to think her grandmother might’ve missed it.

“if you’re going to stand there, get over here and make yourself useful,” irene calls over her shoulder, voice so casual and unbothered, fiona almost thinks she’s innocent. almost. when fiona doesn’t move, the elder sighs impatiently. “you really can’t do anything right.”

“what the fuck,” fiona spits, “is your problem?”

irene takes a box of crackers and heads to her wooden table, the same one that’s been sitting there since fiona was an infant. the woman sits down and aims an unfazed stare at her granddaughter. “i could name a few.”

“i’m your problem! me!” fiona stabs a finger at her own chest, angrily advancing. “you have a goddamn problem, you take it up with me. you do not��drag innocent people into our feud. jesus christ, grandma, they had a child!”

“then she was better off being caught than following your example.”

it’s not a confession. it is, at best, a deflection. but she doesn’t deny her involvement; if anything, she confirms it. fiona never said there was a girl involved.

anger swells faster than she can contain it, hot tears coating her eyes, and she lets out a frustrated shout. the earth reacts, though she hardly notices. the wooden table and chair that irene sits so comfortably in become sentient, their brown skin bleeding into her hands, gradually turning her to wood. it starts at her fingertips, turning her pale nails to wooden chips, melding her palms to the arms of the chair. it slowly spreads, the transmutation tracing its way up her arms. panic and fear cloud her expression as she tries to move, but it’s no use; she’s already fusing with the earth around her, and fiona is too caught in her fury to notice.

“what the fuck is so wrong with me?” fiona cries. the plants hanging from the ceiling grow, their lengthy arms spreading to drape across the floor, slithering their way towards the two witches. “what did i do that was so bad, you thought it was okay to kill everyone? you think i’m such a fucking sinner, look at yourself!”

irene tries to speak –– she tries to form fiona’s name, but the wood eclipses the left side of her body, leaving her mouth immobile. it finally catches fiona’s attention, but she makes no move to stop it. “i have hated myself for years because of you,” she says, her voice quiet and full of malice. “i thought i was wrong for not caving and lying about my sexuality. i thought so many times about whether i’d be happier if i’d just married a man and lived the way you wanted me to. but i wasn’t the problem. it was you. it’s always been you. but that shit? that’s over.” she shakes her head, willing away tears. “you are done taking control of my life. you don’t deserve that power. you don’t deserve the energy and happiness i’ve been wasting, looking for your approval. i’m done –––– we’re done, irene.”

finally, the spell reverses itself, slowly then all at once. irene gasps, choking as she tries to catch her breath and fiona only watches.

“i hope you find something that makes you happy one day,” fiona says, looking at her with pity. “because i’m so fucking happy these days. and this is the last time you’re ever going to take up a portion of that.”

fiona’s interrupted by the rush of air in the room as her sister appears. she looks to irene, then to fiona, eyes widening. “what are you doing?” she starts towards their grandmother, then––– “shit.” she takes three rapid steps towards fiona, grasping her shoulders tightly. “listen to me carefully, fiona. this–––” she gestures to irene; she’s all pale skin now, but the overgrown plants and the shortness of breath paint a picture of their own. “is an act of war. if the coven finds out, they will kill you. they will find you a hell of a lot quicker than you think, and they will burn you to death in the forest.” eloise speaks with a finality that would scare fiona on another day; as if this is a conversation that the coven has had before; as if they’ve had fiona’s capital punishment picked out from the day she came out. “i’m going to take care of this, okay? i’m going to make sure no one finds out about this. i’m going to wipe her memory, clean up the house. but you set off alarms when you came here, i––– fiona, i’m going to have to hurt you. but i’m doing it to protect you, and i really need you to know that, baby girl.”

fiona doesn’t have time to question it. eloise’s lips press against her hairline, rough and firm and sorrowful, before she steps away and slams her palm into fiona’s chest.

by fiona’s count, she bounces a little over thirteen times. not a single one is her choice.

it doesn’t feel like bouncing, the way she’s so used to. it feels more like she’s being popped in and out of place, with no time to figure out where she’s going, let alone take a break to refresh. her body tears itself to shreds, puts itself back together, and repeats the process again and again and again and again and again––––

she comes to a stop a mile away from the loft and dry heaves into a trashcan. nothing comes out of her, but she considers that a blessing. the heaving process hurts enough without the addition of actual content. she curls her fingers into the trashcan and sets a hand on her stomach, only to pull it away with a sharp inhale. it hurt.

she ducks into the nearest store ––– luckily, the same starbucks she’s been frequenting since she moved to beacon hills, so zach only waves at her as she passes ––– and hurries into the bathroom. she steps into an empty handicap stall, locking the door behind her and gingerly pulls up her shirt. the sight almost makes her gag, but she presses the back of her hand to her mouth to quell that urge. her stomach protrudes at the bottom, a drooping weight that hands above her waist. if the weight itself wasn’t concerning, the discoloration is. where the skin should be pale, it’s translucent to the point where she sees red, green veins lining whatever is pressing against her skin. with a shaking hand, she hesitantly pokes at the bulge and her vision swims. she grips the stall door tightly, forcing her breathing to even out and her tears to make themselves scarce.

the pain is agonizing and she feels––– she feels–––

empty. she feels so fucking empty, she wants to cry.

a tentative feel for her magic confirms what she’d already guessed: eloise sapped her magic. she knew what the bouncing would do to fiona, but if there was even a trace of her magic, it would have been tracked. “...fuck,” she murmurs, leaning her head against the cool door. it was dumb; she knows it was dumb, but she’d been so angry. she’d let her anger get the best of her, and she’d almost committed an act far worse than her grandmother’s own.

that wasn’t smart. that wasn’t fee.

she sucks in another breath and stands up straight. every minor movement aggravates the displacement of organs in her body, but she sucks it up. she’s walked off worse injuries ( kind of? ) worst case scenario, she calls liam’s dad and asks for his advice ––– as best she can, anyway. she knows she can’t ask the other witches about this; the last thing dominic or cass need to do is worry about her, and she’s not sure her body will take any supernatural intervention well at all. she can tell her parents, but ––– later. first, she has to get back to the pack. she has to tell derek she was right.

she straightens her clothing in the mirror and appraises herself with a critical eye. her floral skirt sits beneath the bulge of her stomach, and her brown knit sweater hangs low and loose enough to hide any deformities in her body. it all looks normal. she then works on fixing her face into a smile. she stands there tweaking it until it looks like her, a process she’s far too used to. she pushes the pain to the back of her mind and focuses on her happiness ––– they got cecelia. dominic and cass are so happy. nick still loves her. eloise saved her. eloise promised she’d take care of irene and fiona doesn’t doubt her at all. 

everything is okay. everything is really, truly okay.

fiona all but skips out of the bathroom, forcing her body to acclimate to the pain, and orders a vanilla bean frappe. once she has her order, she starts the slow trek back to the apartment. the act of being okay is child’s play to her –––––– she’s got this.