Brush Strokes

VII. Worthy

by Kysra

Dedicated to Emaniahilel, my soul sister (and co-brain), and Matthew, the best birthday present an older sister could ask for.

It is a secret; but if Vicky is ever asked, she will say, "It was a beautiful, sunny day with clear, blue skies and birds singing to the melody of leaves rustling in the wind." That is, of course, a lie; and if ever asked, Jon will scoff and retort with the truth, "It was pouring rain, the sky was black, and the only thing singing was the hurricane strength winds."

***

It all begins with a note, scribbled in a tight, messy script that is at once masculine and childish. The note sits conspicuously on her desk, facing up and out for all the world to see, and she takes it up with a certain glee that only a ten year old girl learning her place in the world can. Her name is plainly written in block letters that she recognizes, but the message itself is in a combination of print and cursive that underlies the garbled meaning of the words. Eventually, she understands by sheer force of will, and she thinks - with absolute certainty - that her heart will never heal and she will be alone forever.

Meanwhile, Jon is snoozing in class, convinced that he already knows the subject material and, therefore, there is no need to pay attention. The sound of the classroom door opens to reveal Lyla Manning, a girl from Vicky's class (and a member of his own personal fan-club). He watches with one eye closed as she hands his biology teacher a yellow slip of paper.

Mr. Willis is a balding, youngish man with kind tawny eyes and a bum leg, and Jon rather likes that the man tends to test comprehension rather than simple recall. Soon, the teacher's attention is turned on him, and he sits up straighter under the scrutiny. "You've been summoned to the principal's office, Mr. Grayson."

It's not a common occurrence, but Jon isn't panicked as to what this could mean. He's been aware of the unsettled thread of feeling straining to chafe him. Vicky has never been subtle when she is upset; and when he gets there he only has a moment to allow himself a fraction of irritation before she launches herself into his arms and cries.

Vicky doesn't cry often. She's always too busy smiling, laughing, or (gods help him) rambling, and she never cries without reason; so he cradles her head where it is nestled against the side of his neck, and gently rocks her from side to side, saying nothing and releasing any tension from his body and mind.

She's shaking and biting her tongue - he can tell by the sounds she makes at the back of her throat - and refuses to look up, even when he tries to urge her chin up with his fingers. Her arms are crushed between them while his rest across her shoulders. He understands this position enough to know she is well and truly disturbed by something and that something is personal and has originated from someone else.

***

It takes a few attempts, but eventually Vicky allows Jon the space he needs to leave her for his classroom and collect his things. The principal has called Daddy, and he is allowing the both of them to check out of school for the day. It will only take a few more moments for Uncle Vic to pick them up.

She sits, in those minutes, with her hands balled into her lap and her feet tipping up from the floor, downcast and sniffling, the sleeve of her navy cardigan messed with snot. Knowing Jon, he's probably devised a list of the top ten reasons she might be depressed enough to bawl all over him; but she's not in the least embarrassed. Her brother is good at many things, but he is best at helping her center herself.

Soon enough, he's back and he doesn't hesitate to take the seat next to her and drape an arm about her shoulders. His hand cups her cheek and urges her to lean on him. She sighs and rests against his side without a word between them in the long exchange; and they remain like that until Uncle Vic arrives to take them home.

***

At home is very similar to school. Vicky sits in stillness and hurt while Jon holds on and tries to figure out what's wrong. Eventually, past lunch and approaching Mother's usual arrival time, Vicky speaks in a hoarse whisper, "Do I talk too much?"

She so rarely questions herself that he is startled enough to answer with honesty (not that he would have been dishonest otherwise, but he liked to think before he spoke in most instances), "Yes."

"Oh." She rubs her running nose against his shoulder and he has to fight with himself not to recoil. Vicky sounds entirely too defeated, and he is all to aware that he should probably apologize. "Is my hair ugly?"

"What?" Again, he's too surprised by the question to filter. "Who said your hair was ugly?" His tone is rough even to his ears. It angers him that anyone would insult his sister so, despite his tendency to tease her himself.

Vicky's mouth clamps shut as she stares at him with wide eyes. It's the expression she takes when she doesn't want to say something, so he prods a little more with a tug to the ends of a stray lock of her (very NOT ugly) hair and a tap to her forehead. "Tell me, Icky."

"Cole Samson."

Cole is a thirteen year old little prick who hails from old money and has been spoiled from the womb. He is also inexplicably judged by the female population of their school to be "hot" and Vicky has taken to him like a fish to water . . . a quirk Jon had pondered on for all of ten minutes when he first discovered her little crush. He has known it wouldn't last long due to Cole's lackluster personality and general jerkitude. Jon thinks the other boy smells like rotting fruit.

And though all he wants is to make the case against this idiot and assure her that she's being ridiculous (as usual), Jon knows that if he rubs this in her face, Vicky will never trust him again; so, he swallows the brotherly reflex and pats her hand. "What happened?"

Loudly, she blows her nose on his shirt, "I asked him out."

He wants to smack his palm against his forehead in exasperation, but he's just a small measure preoccupied with the new mess on his otherwise clean shirt. "I didn't think you liked him that much." Gods, he HOPED she didn't like him that much. "You're too young to date anyway."

She must have ignored that last comment, as she clucks her tongue and turns away momentarily to dig a little scrap of paper out of her book bag. Handing it over with a slight tremor of hesitation, she settles herself back against him again, nuzzling his collar in a veiled attempt to wipe her still running nose on his uniform shirt.

"What's this?"

"His answer."

"You sure you want me to --"

"Read it."

Jon nods a little then rests his cheek against hers, unfolds the seemingly harmless slip of paper and reads.

***

Vicky doesn't look at anything in particular. The note is short and to the point so she doesn't quite know what to make out of Jon's senseless staring. He doesn't seem angry and he doesn't speak, which has her just a tiny bit nervous as Jon never holds back his honest opinion when it's solicited.

Suddenly, he places the offending note at his opposite side and pulls her up with him to standing. There's a tiny almost-smile wreathing his lips, and Vicky is completely mind-boggled. Jon never smiles when he's upset - not even deviously; but he's smiling now and takes her hand in his and begins to pull her toward the front door which just completely exasperates her even more. It's chaos out there with howling winds and pouring rain and dark, dark clouds that streak with lightning every five minutes. She hadn't really registered the darkness or the noise until now, and as she moves evermore hesitantly behind her brother toward outside she thinks they should have taken up Uncle Vic's offer to have him stay with them until mom and dad got home from work.

"Jonny?" Her voice is small and still somewhat gravel-textured. She almost sounds like Momma.

He doesn't say anything, just brings her with him onto the porch as he lets the door slam closed behind them. The porch swing is soaked and shining with rain water even as it jerks back and forth and side to side with the tearing wind.

"JONNY!?" She almost sounds shrill and that stops him in his tracks; but instead of apologizing or offering explanation, his hands tug her shoulders then push her down on the wet swing. Her mouth opens to protest and - for once - give him a piece of her mind; but he settles in next to her, lays an arm across her back and - inexplicably - begins to push off, swinging them despite the violent winds and the leaves and debris passing by or lodging in their hair.

Her skin is getting chilled but her side, where he rests, is warm. "Jonny? You're acting pretty strange."

"Coming from you, that's almost an insult." It is a characteristic retort so she relaxes a bit, watching that small smile grow just a tad longer. Silence stretches out between them despite the white noise of the creaking swing hinges, knocking branches, rustling leaves, and the wind roaring in their ears. She finds that the destructive music is calming in its own way - it muffles her thoughts and soothes her heartache in a way that is profound and unexpected; and soon enough, her own mouth breaks into a smile as small and tentative as her brother's usually is.

And as she tips her head this way and up to look at him, she is hit by the realization that he has positioned them so that his clean shoulder is nearest and ready should she need to use him as a kleenex again. "You're the best brother in the world, Jonny."

He tugs her hair again with a tiny, barely-there chuckle and sighs, "I know." And then, "Samson's not worthy of you."

She echos his sigh and leans against him, letting the wind tangle her hair and whip him in the face. "How do you know that?"

"He thinks you talk too much."

"But you said I do."

"You DO; but I'm your brother. I'm the only one allowed to think and SAY it."

"Oh." She grins a little, biting back an amused giggle.

"And he thinks your hair is ugly and that you laugh too loud . . . among other things. What a putz.”

This time she does giggle and nudge his shoulder with her own, curling her legs up onto the seat and threading her arm through his, getting comfortable. "You called him a putz!"

"He is."

They lapse into silence again, but this time her melancholy is all but a memory. She smiles against his shoulder and closes her eyes, not minding the booming thunder or the damp under her or the crisp bite of the chilling air. Jonny presses his cheek to hers again, and she feels his breath and wonders at how he can seem so distant sometimes then be like this.

"One day, little sister, you will meet a guy who sees everything you are and loves you even if you do talk too much and your hair is unusual and you laugh too loud . . . among other things. Like Mother, Father, and I."

It is the very first time Jonny has ever said he loves her in words, and though normally she might squeal and glomp him, she just grins up at him and kisses his cheek. "Best brother in the UNIVERSE."

Jonny rolls his eyes but she knows it's not directed at her when a new voice interjects, "How about some kisses for your favorite uncle!"

Normally, Vicky would have squealed (again!) and glomped Uncle Roy reflexively, but she wants to savor this rare closeness with her brother so she simply laughs - loudly, as is her habit - and gives a little wave. "Sorry, kisses are reserved for siblings only today!"

A snort explodes into her ear, and she back-smacks Jonny in his stomach. His usual deadpan expression is back full-force as he levels a direct look towards their "favorite" uncle. "Why are YOU here? I assured Father, Mother, and Uncle Vic I would handle this."

Uncle Roy is fairly bouncing on his toes, and Vicky thinks she knows why. "What can you do? You're only - what? - Seven?"

She wants so badly to laugh outright, tears spring into her eyes; because she can verily HEAR what Jonny is about to say.

It only gets more difficult to retain her composure when she notices Jonny's grin. "Ten. I thought you had a well enough grasp of elementary math to figure that out. Apparently, I have grossly overestimated your intelligence."

"Why you little - "

"VICSTER!" Uncle Gar hops up the drive, and she is suddenly glomped herself though she never releases Jonny's arm.

"GAR-MAN!" They laugh as he tickles her with his green, green hands and cheesy smile. Jonny just sits and watches and waits patiently to have his arm back.

"What are you people doing here?" Jonny never was one to let a question go unanswered.

Uncle Gar urges the siblings to shove over so that he can take the space on Vicky's other side. "Can't your coolest relatives just drop by for a visit?"

"You live three hundred miles away, Uncle Garfield." Vicky snickers softly, cuddling into her brother now that Uncle Gar has forfeited the tickling match. "And Uncle Roy only visits when he thinks Momma will be home alone."

Uncle Roy shakes his head with feigned horror, "No I don' --" then points a finger, "How do you KNOW that?"

Vicky blinks and is ready to answer when Jonny squeezes her hand. I've got this one. "Mother told Father." He clucks his tongue and suddenly his face is transformed into an expression of faux pity. "Which reminds me, you might want to steer clear of Father for awhile. He was . . . upset."

"That's putting it mildly." The voice is wry and so beloved, Vicky cannot contain herself as she lets go of her brother, fairly leaps off the swing and runs through the rain to jump into her father's waiting arms. "How are you feeling, Princess?" He speaks into her hair as he lifts her up and her chin rests upon his shoulder, her arms splayed around his neck and back. It is then she peaks through her lashes and the dancing strands of her hair to see that their aunts Star, Karen, and Nina are there along with uncles Paul and Vic, their cousins Silas and Junior , Great Uncle Alfred and . . . Grand-Pappy?!

***

This was ridiculous, Jon thought as he saw Grand-father exit his stretch limo to take Vicky from their father. "This is ridiculous."

"Aw, don't worry, little dude. We were just concerned. She's never had a meltdown like that before." Uncle Gar puts a hand on Jon's shoulder and shakes him gently. "So, wanna tell me what was eating our princess?"

"No."

"Stingy."

"Loyal."

Uncle Roy - who is currently lounging on the swing next to his (favorite) nephew with his feet kicked up onto a nearby potted plant, snorted.

Jon smirks, giving the ginger haired man a devious side-long glance. "That means ‘faithful to a person, idea, etc. . . . But you don’t know what ‘faithful’ means either, do you?."

Uncle Gar transforms into a hyena, laughing until he chokes while Uncle Roy splutters incoherently at Jon's cheek. It is a common dichotomy, one that Jon takes a small measure of comfort in as he knows it will never change; but this gathering isn't about him and he somewhat misses his sister's attention.

"ONII-CHAN!" Speak of the devil, she fairly flies into his lap and hugs him about the shoulders with more force than the still-howling wind, and as he is just about to order her to remove herself from his person, he receives a mouthful of her hair for his efforts.

"Ugh," he spits out the offending hair.

"Eeeewww. Now I have your spit in my hair!" Vicky's nose crinkles and her tongue is sticking out. Jon just gives her his patented deadpan look and retorts,

"I have your snot on my shirt. Consider us even."

She giggles and hugs him again, and he is suddenly intensely glad he was able to cheer her. His world isn't quite right when Vicky isn't smiling.

"Aaaawww, look a them, guys." This from Roy who takes great pleasure in ruffling Jon's hair and drawing the crowd closer, closing in, with his words.

"Aren't they just the cutest little boogers you ever saw?" This from Uncle Gar who takes even greater pleasure in making goo-goo faces and tickling Vicky under her chin. She's encouraging when she giggles. Jon elbows her in the side and she stops just long enough to flash a grin at him that has nothing to do with his actions and everything to do with a newcomer.

A small, pale hand pushes through and yanks Vicky away and into royal purple clad arms. "Yes, they are." Mother speaks with a subdued sort of annoyance before looking around calmly and announcing. "Thank you all for coming and showing such deep concern for my daughter; but it is getting late and I am not feeding all of you."

The collective sigh of relief is palpable even in this stormy weather and Jon finds himself fighting a smirk. Mother's cooking has only gotten worse with time and practice, something that scares him and Vicky in the best of times and tickles Father regardless. He often says Mother's lack of skill in the kitchen reminds him of her humanity and gives him hope that someday he will deserve her.

Aunt Nina pushes through and squeezes Jon first, smacking her lips against his cheek as is her usual custom, then embraces Mother and Vicky simultaneously saying, "Good thing Paul and I brought enough bar-b-que to feed a small army!"

Jon's eyes seek and find Mother's as they give each other a long-suffering look and Vicky jumps around, all smiles and laughing noise. His gaze follows his sister as she rushes down the porch steps and begins herding their family into the house like some sort of yipping terrier; and he thinks that he prefers this Vicky from the one this morning.

At least she isn't soiling his shirt with her tears and nasal mucus anymore.

***

It is well past bedtime when the house is finally empty of visitors and their parents are finally free to clean up the mess left behind. Vicky's body is humming with energy and love; but she knows she will have to sleep soon if she is to be in any shape to attend school tomorrow.

She spies Jonny in his heinously ugly striped pajamas, going about his usual before-bed routine, but what grabs her interest is Mother's voice telling her Father to "drop it." Unable to resist, she moves to a place more suited to eavesdropping, just behind the dividing wall between the kitchen and hall.

"I can't drop it. My daughter is in pain." Daddy is so funny sometimes. It doesn't hurt anymore. Her family's love has seen to a swift healing; and she understands now what Jonny meant. Cole is a putz.

Momma's voice is steady but hinting towards annoyance, which is strange. Momma never gets annoyed. Not really. "She's not in pain, Richard. Jonathon took care of it."

Behind the wall, Vicky nods jauntily in agreement as Father answeres, "And he did a good job of cheering her up; but what about tomorrow?"

"What about tomorrow?"

"Something obviously happened at school to instigate that reaction. What if she runs into the same problem?"

"I can assure you that when she runs into the 'problem,' she won't bat an eye. He's too young and stupid to be worthy of her right now. Like most boys."

And that was a mistake. Vicky's mouth shaped into a silent "ooooh".

"That was a mistake." The voice is soft in her ear and she jumps, cracking her head lightly on the wall. Jonny cushions the noise with a well-placed hand but they still get ready to run in case their parents notice.

"BOY?!" Daddy's yelp is almost as funny as his assumption that she's still hurting; and she can just picture Momma, calm and cool as always, placidly turning her attention to the dishes piled high in the sink while Daddy runs a hand through his hair and begins to pace.

"Of course, it's a boy. What did you think it was?"

"A bully or something like that! Vicky is too young to be thinking about boys!"

Vicky turns to her brother with a questioning look. Jonny merely cocks an eyebrow as if to say, "I told you so."

Momma's giggle is a surprise, the sound of kissing even more so. "You're adorable when you're clueless."

Daddy, apparently, doesn't care that Momma's "good vibe radar" is full to overflowing as he continues pacing, the rustle of his shirt collar being torn open, a quiet sort of violence to their young ears. "She's only nine years old!"

"May I remind you that I was thirteen and you were fourteen when we started living - ALONE - together, without adult supervision."

"But nothing HAPPENED back then."

"My point. She's only nine. It's just a crush. Boys are stupid. This too shall pass."

Jonathon smirks at Vicky and she nearly bursts into loud giggles. Both their hands find her mouth to keep the noise contained.

"I seem to recall that I was a boy once."

"You most certainly are."

"Was." Daddy's voice is laced with sweet laughter and Vicky peeks around the corner to see Daddy embrace Momma from behind.

"Are. And Jonathon will take care of the rest."

"Who is this kid anyway?"

"Our son."

Jonny shakes with laughter against her at that one. It is so very rare when Momma intentionally makes a joke. This time they both peer around the corner to take in their mother's impish expression, even if it is aimed at the dishwater.

"I meant the little punk who broke my baby girl's heart."

"I told you to drop it. He's a baby, himself; it's Victoria's business, and Jonathon will handle it."

"Victoria is too young to have 'business' or secrets or whatever the kids are calling it these days."

"You are blowing this out of proportion. Vicky is her own person. She is allowed to have secrets from us as long as they are not harmful to herself or anyone else." There is a pause as Momma pulls the plug to allow the sink to drain. "And allow me to reiterate, Jonathon will handle it."

Vicky beams at her brother for a moment; because she understands what Momma is trying - unsuccessfully - to hint at. Of all the people in the world who would defend Vicky's honor in a heartbeat, only Jonny would tailor the punishment to the crime and do it in such a subtle way that no one would be the wiser until it is too late.

Her brother is extremely talented. She is relieved that he tends to use his power for good instead of evil; and she trusts him to be fair rather than boorish or harsh as her father and uncles and cousins would be.

"Jon, huh? I think I might have to go and give him some . . . suggestions."

"Absolutely not. This is a child, Richard. He shall be dealt with by his peers. You are hereby FORBIDDEN to mention this incident ever again. In my presence or not."

Daddy splutters for a few moments while Vicky and Jonny tiptoe down the hall and into their mutual bedroom where Jonny tucks his sister in before getting into bed himself. It is an unspoken promise and a loaded glance that this shall be their secret; but more than that, it is a memory full of affection, loyalty, and love.

"I love you, Jonny." Vicky whispers once the lights are out, and though she doesn't expect it, she feels her heart expand near to bursting when she hears his answering murmur,

"Love you too, Icky."

Author’s Note: It has been one of the most satisfying roles in my life, being an older sibling and I have to say that my brother and I are very much like Vicky and Jon in a lot of ways only I’m much more like Jon in temperament and my brother - used to be - a lot like Vicky. To this day, before my brother goes to anyone else, he comes to me if he has a problem or needs advice.

I'm not sure what the next Brush Stroke will be about even though I have a list of ready ideas. The two contending at the moment is something featuring the Maulers (what? you thought I'd forget?) or a day with Uncle Gar. ^_^