formoftherapy | (no subject)

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The school database has the following information on Morian, Kite:

Home address and phone number, mother's name. In the event her mother can't be reached, there is a phone number listed for her brother, Eagle; the area code is for Los Angeles.

Records of her detentions (six) and suspensions (one).

Notes made by the school counselor during her freshman year, following her brother Kestrel's disappearance.

Grades--a solid B to B+ student; her attendance records indicate she could easily have As if she put in just a little more effort.

Last but not least, her class schedule:

Spanish 4, Young

English 11, Parker

Calculus, Acevedo

Lunch Period

Physics, Russell

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Except for the part where I'm a genius."

"And modesty, too; I left that out."

"Oh please."

(The mun is getting such cognitive dissonance playing Tony off Sherry's journal, you have no idea.)

"What good did modesty ever do anybody?"

(This mun can only imagine.)

"None that I've seen," she admits.

"So there you go then."

Tony is pretty sure he just won something! He's not quite so sure what.

"There we go where?"

"Uh..."

They are saved from trying to figure out what either of them means by the start of the second half.

Final score: Sunnydale - 24, Deep Creek - 16.

Kite stretches as people filter down out of the stands. "What do you want to do now? Somebody's probably throwing a party, or we could head to the Bronze..."

"One thing first," says Tony, leaning over to peer under the bleachers.

"...Huh. He's actually not there."

Shrug.

"Let's go to the Bronze."

The Bronze is crowded on any Friday night; after a Sunnydale home game, it's packed. Still, they make it inside quickly enough.

"What first?" Kite asks, almost shouting over the roar of other conversations and the band. "Drinks? People watching? Or dancing?"

"—Just a minute," he says, and makes a beeline for the balcony. Tony can go fast when he tries. He's up at the top, in the darkest corner, in fifteen seconds at most.

The conversation goes like this:

"Goddammit, Sherry, you followed us here!"

"I did not."

"You are such an unbelievable creep! I don't know why I—"

"Careful, Tony. One never knows who may be listening."

Kite is at the bottom of the stairs, well out of earshot. She peers up into the dark, squinting.

She can't properly see either of them, but the list of things that would send Tony running off like that is very short and she knows where she'd put her money.

"Oh bullshit," Tony says contemptuously, but he does cast a glance back towards the stairs.

"I'll tell you if your lady friend approaches."

"Sherlock fucking Holmes, I swear sometimes you are not even a real person."

A silence falls into place around those words.

Patience is not Kite's virtue.

She starts up the stairs one at a time, keeping her steps as light as she can.

"Fuck," Tony says softly. "I..."

"She is attempting stealth," Sherlock breaks in coldly.

Softer still: "I'm sorry."

"Yes," Sherlock agrees, "you are."

Kite stops just short of the top. She can see them at last, but not quite hear them.

She opens and shuts her mouth twice before she manages, "We okay?"

(It's not what she meant to say. She meant to say 'you' or 'everything,' but 'we' is what she does say and she can't take it back.)

Tony looks from Kite to Sherlock, covers his face with his hands, and groans.

Sherlock snorts unsympathetically.

Kite looks back and forth between them, climbing the last few steps.

"Anybody gonna tell me what I'm missing here?"

"No," says Sherlock."

"aaaaaaaa," says Tony.

"Alright, then."

She doesn't sound particularly surprised or disappointed.

"You two take your time."

She goes down the stairs considerably faster.

"when will either of us stop fucking everything up"

Sherlock gently tugs Tony's hands away from his face. "None of that," he says sternly. Unwilling to look at the world just yet, Tony reburies his face in his clone's—his brother's—in Sherry's shoulder.

They stay like that for a while. Tony isn't counting.

Kite goes down to the bar, stopping just long enough to grab a bottle of water. (They know her too well here for her fake to do much good. She has to cross the city line for that to work.)

She pushes her way into the crowd on the dance floor, right up near the speakers. Her ears will be ringing clear into tomorrow and she doesn't care.

"Is... I mean, are we..."

"You are an idiot, but by now that is hardly a surprise. Go. Make your peace with Miss Morian."

Tony gives Sherlock a hug, quick but more desperate than he feels like admitting, and flees down the stairs. Sherlock stays in his dark corner and does not come out to watch.

When Tony sees Kite, he's glad of where she's standing. No way in hell will they be able to talk. He doesn't want to talk; he just wants to... be.

Kite has her head tipped back and is screaming along with the lyrics, though she can't hear her own voice.

She sees Tony coming out of the corner of her eye and turns to meet him. Her grin is crooked but friendly.

He grins back, relieved.

Above, Sherlock leans on the balcony railing in plain sight, watching the pair of them communicate without words. He finds it fascinating.

The impulse to throw something at Tony's head, he disregards as beneath him. Tony did not mean to say what he did. Tony can be a damn fool sometimes.