FIC: 'Parallel Motion' - Part 1
Oct. 8th, 2011 01:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thalialunacy2Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Epilogue
"They're only wolves sometimes," he explained to his sister, who clutched her pillow and stared at him. His parents had thought it'd be a good idea for him to explain it to her. Seriously, therapist parents. What you gonna do.
"We," he amended quietly, looking down. "I guess we're only wolves sometimes."
"But you don't know?"
He shrugged. "They say it won't happen till I'm older."
Katie's nose wrinkled. It'd stay that way for the next eight years. "Ew."
"It's okay," Chris said with a smile. He thunked his hands on his hips. "I'm never gonna grow up." Then he took off out of the room, arms outstretched, yelling, "I'M PETER PAAAAAAAAN!!"
Unfortunately, as much as Los Angeles feels like Neverland (Michael Jackson joke notwithstanding), even blessed, loved, and protected southern California boys grow up.
---
It took less than a minute for Noah to defer to Chris after Chris drove Zach's shaky ass home. It took a little over three hours for Zach to sober up enough for Chris to explain anything to him. It took five tries with the explaining before Zach finally snapped and told Chris to get the fuck out of his house and go back to Venice with the rest of the crazies.
It only took four seconds after that for Chris to shift into wolf form on Zach's kitchen floor.
He'd moved off the rug first, though. His mom raised him right, after all.
---
"Christopher Whitelaw Pine!"
A small yip came from behind the door.
"You shift back this instant, young man."
The yip became a whine.
"Oh, no. Don't try that puppy act with me, darling. You're going to shift back, and you're going to come clean up the carpet. I don't care that it's full moon. You are old enough to deal with it." There was a pause, and the last thump of a tail on the floor. "And old enough to clean up your own damn messes."
There was an audible whump of a canine flopping down onto the rug. It sounded much like a fifteen year old boy throwing himself onto his bed in a fit of pique.
Fucking mothers.
---
Zach stared at him for a really long time. Watched as him and Noah sniffed around each other, then as Noah went down onto his front legs and yipped playfully. They tussled for a while, bumping into cupboards before ending up at Zach's feet in a heap.
Chris shifted back, and sat cross-legged on the floor, petting Noah while they both panted slightly, looking up at Zach.
Finally, finally, Zach just shrugged, a tiny smile on his face. "Well, I'm gay. And I swear to God Noah purrs when you pet him right. So. Welcome to the Island of Misfit Toys."
---
He didn't bring it up for a long time after that. Following suit, Chris never asked about being closeted. They talked about everything else, though. And months turned into a year, and haphazard acquaintances turned into best friends, before it got brought up again.
Chris should've known when Zach bought beer. Like, real beer. Stout. Shit that usually made Zach shudder. Zach bought it and plonked Chris down on the couch, leaving only to return from the kitchen with a bottle of whiskey.
"Oh, shit," Chris said.
"Yeah." Zach opened the whiskey and took a slug. The resultant shiver wracked him as he passed the bottle to Chris. "It was a shitty day, and this is a shitty town, and I want to know about werewolves. So drink up."
And Chris couldn’t say no, really. Zach hadn’t told anyone yet, and Chris had an inkling that his shitty day had involved a certain director who liked to reel you in then poke at all your tender spots.
So he took a drag of whiskey, and started talking.
---
First off, it's not the movies. (The fact that most weres are involved in movie making is just part of the hilariousness that is life.) There's no ritualistic ripping out of hearts (unless you mean metaphorically, but that's world-wide and across species, isn't it?), there's no fight between vampires and werewolves (vampires only exist in cold ancient places, and weres prefer to live in the sunlight and the heat). There's not even a full-moon time limitation. The moon pulls at weres just like it pulls at everyone else; weres just know it, whereas others stumble around wondering why they're having a bad week.
Second off, there's no turning. There's no conquer and mark and make someone a were. That's just uncouth, for one, and for two, against nature.
Because, third off, it is nature. Lady Gaga got one thing right: Some people are just born this way. The genetics of it are relatively parallel to albinism, only not studied in science classes around the world, because, well… awkward.
---
"You remember how middle school fucking sucked?" he said to Zach as he settled into the couch.
Zach shuddered. "I try not to, thanks."
"Right. Middle school sucks for everybody. The girls have tits and the boys are two feet tall yet their voices are cracking and their pits are smelling and school suddenly involves homework and boners simultaneously."
"Not so much with the tits."
"Right, that's what I'm saying. You had middle school times the power of gay. I had middle school times the power of alpha."
"Explain that part again."
"It's not rocket science, Quinto."
"No, because rocket science is logical. No grey areas."
"Isn't there chaos theory, though? Or are those totally not related?"
"You're so just a pretty face."
"Shut up."
"You can't make me, I'm not one of your people."
"True." Chris shrugged. "Plus, I'm lazy."
They let the blatant lie pass.
"So explain that part again."
And Chris did.
---
So fourth off, and most importantly: It's not as easy as categories A, B, and C. Alphas are not always great leaders, or even great people; they're not all just out to conquer and breed. And betas aren't always jealous or petty or stuck with their lot in life as a sort of supernatural middle child. And omegas aren't always interested in having kids, or domesticity, or being conquered.
There are grey areas.
---
The one area that's not grey, however, is the actual wolf part. Yes, it happens. No, they don’t have to take off their clothes or deal with ripping through them -- they’re supernatural creatures, and this is not a romance novel. Yes, around the full moon, and no, not by choice -- but both of those only apply when they're young.
And yes, it's fucking painful as hell.
This is why there's that No Turning thing. Chris knew eight years before it happened that it was going to happen, and that it was going to suck, and still, his first change had left him in bed for a week, crying on his mom's shoulder and begging for her to fix it. Make it better. End it. Whatever it took.
She just stroked his hair and told him it'd get easier. He was old enough to doubt her, but young enough to let her comfort him anyway.
---
"Does it still suck that much?"
Chris shrugged, but he wasn't lying when he said, "Not quite that much. You get older, hormones change, you know what you're getting into. So at least it seems to not suck as much."
Zach nodded. "Hormones change? I mean, besides the obvious."
"Yeah, actually…" Chris fidgeted a little. "The statuses take a while to sort themselves out. Alpha the longest. My parents, of course, were all 'You're destined, son,' but I dunno, I've never really been all that… divide-and-conquer-y. I mean, I fuck women hard and I've gotten in fights, but not like…" He waved his hands around. "I hate words sometimes."
"You love them. They're just fickle."
"True that."
"So, the fucking women, I get, and the fights, all right, but then--" Zach gestured vaguely to himself.
"What happened with you? Yeah. I…" Chris licked his lips. "Talk about hormones. I’d just had my 25th birthday. The week before, I'd had to smack around another alpha who was being a douche -- seriously, douche; what is it with men and sisters? -- so I was ready to fight. It's not my biggest pleasure in life, or anything, but shit, weres are fucking great at getting in trouble. And they'll fight me, they will. So I was just as surprised as you by their response."
Zach raises an eyebrow at him.
"Okay, possibly less surprised."
But only a little.
---
Because it's not something he could've prepared for, see. Yes, yes, his parents taught him rules and showed him videos and bought him books. But.
It's like… it's like how he still feels like the biggest tool when he's in front of the camera, how he's sure he looks like a big-headed imbecile with skinny legs and dark circles under his eyes, and yet when people see him act, they applaud at the end.
Being deferred to by betas and omegas is kind of like that.
Times a thousand.
---
"It wasn't always like that, obviously. Shit, when I was a kid, I got the snot beat out of me just like everybody else. It's kind of like…" He chewed on a thumbnail. "I knew this guy once who was 6'7", right, and he was the most docile guy I've ever met. He knew that people were scared of him just by being in the same room, so he tried to counteract it in any way possible, with posture and mannerisms and tones of voice." He smirked. "He was Mr. Sensitive Ponytail Man."
Zach rolled his eyes. "I don't see the parallel."
"Oh. Um. My parents? Told me from an early age I'd be great, be an alpha, be a leader, be a role model, be a taskmaster, blah blah blah. Which scared the shit out of me, to be honest. I mean, what eight year old wants to hear that? I just wanted to run around and chase girls, read my books. So I guess I let the other kids whale on me. Both the normals and the weres."
"So what happened?"
Chris shrugged. "Life."
---
"Joey Lucas." A kid in the front row stood as the teacher called out his name. "Chris Pine." Chris groaned inwardly, then stood as well. "You get Mary Queen of Scots," the teacher finished, then moved on to the next pairing.
Joey sneered at Chris. Chris tried not to clench his fists. Joey smelled like…like damp soil, bitter and roiled. He was a were, alright, but he was a bitch.
That's what Chris had always thought, anyways, as he watched Joey mow through kids like the bully in some Sweet Valley High novel. (Hey, Chris had a sister. And it paid to know these things.) But officially all minors were classified as betas until further notice.
Further notice, in this case, happened to be later that day, when they were supposed to meet up to start work on their project.
Chris could sense it before he got there, smelled the fear and anger. Heard the word ‘faggot’ get hurled through the air.
Which pissed Chris off on principle more than anything. Didn't Joey know anything? Didn't he have any kind of respect for his millennia old heritage?
Clearly not, Chris thought as he rounded the corner. He was so angry he could taste it, all the bullshit of being a teenager and being a were and being a shrink's kid, for God's sake. His brain felt like it was overheating, and he could hear his heart. Hear Joey's heart. Hear the poor freshman's heart beating like a jackrabbit as his world narrowed down to not one, but two motherfucking werewolves.
Not that he knew it. But that's beside the point. Base instincts are base instincts, and when that kid saw Chris, his eyes went from frightened to downright petrified.
But the thing is, so did Joey's.
---
"So the same thing that happened with me."
Chris shook his head. "No. I beat the shit out of Joey."
"I don't understand."
Chris rubbed at the mouth of his beer bottle. "He, uh…" He licked at the side of his upper lip. "He wanted me to. Not, like, in a sexual way. In a retribution way. He fucking showed his belly." Chris managed not to shudder. It was still a creepy fucking memory.
Zach stared at him. His head tilted, until he resembled Noah so much that Chris almost laughed. “You know, showed his belly? Surrendered? Showed himself to be an omega in the extreme?”
"Fascinating," Zach finally said, Spock-like, if Spock had a sassy pseudo-lisp. "But not an answer."
Chris harrumphed, tucking his chin into his chest and sucking on his beer noisily.
Zach poked him. "Twenty-five. Tell me about turning twenty-five."
Chris threw his head back so hard it made a smushy thunk against the couch. "Fine, fucktard. There used to be this ritual, see, hundreds of hundreds of years ago. So long ago that we don't really know when it was, just that it was done in a guy's mid-20s, as a sort of coming-of-age-slash-midlife-crisis sort of thing. My parents always told me it was pure ritual, based on nothing scientific, even though the documentation on it says it’s done because of great changes in the alpha’s hormones and status." He snorted. "My parents are not normally wrong, but about that, they were."
"Okay. I get that, science became ritual became science, but-- Midlife crisis? Does that mean you're not immortal?"
Chris full-on laughed at that. "God, no. We'd've overrun the world by now, if we were, given how much we like to fuck. Jesus. No. And no decapitation is necessary to end us, either, before you ask. Although it is a little tougher than on your lousy species." He grinned. "No offense intended."
"None taken; I'm pansy and proud."
Their beer bottles made a satisfying clinking sound.
---
"My cast itches."
"You have popsicle sticks."
"And?"
"You should use them."
"Sure, I could build a bridge."
"Chris."
Chris threw his pencil down onto the table. "I just don't see why I have to wear it."
His mom pushed it back from where it had rolled into her work space. "Yes, you do."
He stubbornly pushed it back. "I'm healed."
She sighed and rolled it under her fingers. "We're not having this conversation again."
"Only half the class saw me break it, anyways."
"You know what it's called when you do the same action repeatedly and expect different results."
"Mom."
Gwynne finally looked up at the pained tone in his voice. Her jaw tightened and her gaze softened at the look on his face. "I know, hon."
"I hate hiding."
"I know."
"I mean, I’m registered. I don't see what the big deal is."
She got up and sat down next to him. "Chris. It might not be a big deal to you, but it's a big deal to everyone else. Especially with you being…"
Chris groaned. "Mom, please don't start that again."
She put up her hands. "Alright, alright. But you see my point. We just want you to have a good life, that's all." She looked at him, at this nearly-grown son of hers. "You know if you want to go public, we'll support you."
Chris looked up at her, surprised. "You will?"
She smiled and cupped his cheek. "Of course we will. We're your parents, not the Gestapo." She sat back. "Oh, that was tasteless. But you know what I mean."
Chris couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, I know." He chewed on a pinky fingernail, staring at his cast as if it held all the answers. Finally, he shrugged. "Maybe tomorrow."
---
"The first person I knew that died was a were," Chris explained, contemplating the label on his beer bottle. Contemplating getting up to get another one. "And a young one, too. Some dumb kid who got himself--" Knocked up, he almost said, but he stopped himself just in time. "--in a shitload of trouble, and threw himself in front of a train."
Zach grimaced. "Yuck."
"No doubt. He was on life support for a while, but they let him go." Chris stood up, decided, and walked towards the kitchen. "So no, not immortal. Not even close."
He fell silent after that. It felt appropriate. Then over the snick of the fridge door shutting, he heard Zach say, "I am not the only pansy here."
Chris came back in the room, bottle in each hand, a perplexed look on his face. "What?"
"You're still not getting to the important part." Zach smirked. "The boys fucking boys part."
"Priorities." He settled back down onto the couch.
"I have them, and they're very clear. I mean, are all werewolves male?"
"Yes. Well. Mostly. Yes." Zach eyed him. "Grey areas, but penises are usually involved, yes."
“Do you... ever fuck in animal form?”
Chris looks at him. “Why the hell would we? Wolves fuck for babies, not for fun. And it’s not fun at all for the catcher, if you get what I mean.”
“Ah. That makes sense. Now, if you were weredolphins--”
Chris laughs. “Hell yes. I’d be all over that.”
Zach is still pondering. "So… are vampires all female?"
Chris looked at him, impressed. "Yes. Well, again--"
"Mostly?"
"Mostly. Their--" He makes a rude hand gesture. "--impregnating, or whatever, is done with the mouth and it's all very--"
"Hot?"
"Hot? That's like, four tits!"
"Hey, I'm gay, not dead."
Chris laughed with all his teeth. "Alright, alright. Actually, it's cold. Very, very cold."
"Huh." Zach seemed lost in this concept for a moment. He almost missed it when Chris finally brought the subject back around.
"I've never done it," Chris admitted.
"Well, yeah, you just said they were all--" Zach stopped. "Oh."
"Yeah."
Zach stared at him. "Never?"
"Nope."
"Isn't that… against your nature?"
Chris shrugged. "Grey area, my friend. Grey area."
"Mmhmm. And is this grey area perhaps a little shadowed by the darkness of homophobia?"
Chris snorted. "Oh God, you're so not allowed to attempt metaphors this intoxicated."
"My question remains, Princess."
"Princess Alpha. I'm sensing something not right about that phrase."
"Christopher."
"Alright, fuck off. Yes, I don't delve into the man-love because I don't want to deal with the fall-out." He had yet to mention the whole pregnancy aspect. He planned on telling Zach about that never, and it was a rare enough phenomenon that he figured he’d be able to get away with it. "I do truly like tits--enough to be suspicious of anybody who doesn't, because, really, all comfort in life comes from tits, and--"
"Christopher."
"Zachary," Chris shoots back. Then he huffs in acquiescence. "I've never met anybody worth the risk, okay? And at this age, with my status, it’s about as likely as... I dunno, as my eyes turning brown."
Zach studied him, then gave up and took another drink. "Okay."
---
Turns out, Chris should never, ever have spoken those words. Because a year later, they started work on Star Trek.
Master Post
