Date: Mon, 27 Sep 2004 02:10:03 -0700
From: RC in Sacramento <sacwriter@hotmail.com>
Subject: Munchkin Chptr 12

This is a work of fiction. It depicts the often sexual relationship between
two young girls. If this offends you or if you're not old enough to be
reading this stuff, then get out NOW. If, however, you're where you want to
be, then enjoy.

			 MUNCHKIN
			 Chapter 12
			by Sacwriter


	Gia didn't have to look very hard to find her sister, Becka had only gone
as far as the garage when she stormed out of Joe's room. She was standing
over in the far corner in front of the boys' motorcycle, the one that Becka
had given them to restore. The same one that had originally belonged to her
real father.
	Gia knew what this was about, of course. No one knew Becka better than her.
It had been the mention of Becka's stepfather, Ralph Danning, the monster
who had physically and sexually abused her for most of her life. Until five
short months ago she had actually believed that he was her biological
father. It had been a cruelly deliberate lie, a means to keep her under his
control, too  frightened to ever go to the police. Too ashamed to ever tell.
The lie had made her his virtual slave and property for the six horrible
years after her mother died. It was a source of fierce pride to Gia that she
had been the one to finally reveal to her the truth about her past.
	Becka had known her mother, and had cherished memories of the woman who had
both loved her and given her life. But Hugh Jackson had died on an icy
highway in Idaho while his daughter was still a toddler. There was no doubt
in her mind that he had loved her and her mother very much, but she couldn't
remember him at all. She had tried time and again to dredge up some long
dormant image, some scrap of forgotten memory, but it was no use. He had
died a stranger, and yet she still missed him.
	She had pictures, an old album filled with photos of a tall blond man with
a ready smile and blue eyes, many of them posed with her mother or with a
baby that must have been Becka herself. And there were also about a dozen
postcards mailed from when he was on the road, with personal messages and
little jokes that showed he had a ready sense of humor that she really
liked. But other than that, she had no connection to him at all.
	Except... maybe through the bike. Hugh Jackson had bought it while he was
on the road the year before he died, had transported it all the way home and
had obviously intended to restore it, just as her brothers had finally done.
He must have loved the old Indian Chieftain, must have poured a piece of his
heart into its iron, chrome and leather. And he must have dreamed of it
looking as it did now, all shiny and new as if it had just rolled off the
factory floor that morning, ready to hit the road and turn heads like the
true classic that it was.
	Gia watched as her sister traced the lines of the big motorbike's gas tank
with the tip of one finger, knowing what she was doing. Becka was reaching
out for a connection between herself and her father, something only the old
Indian seemed to provide. Sometimes she needed that link, for those
unexpected moments when Ralph Danning's shade was thrown in her face. Needed
to remind herself that she was not the result of Danning's sick perversions.
The bike had become her touchstone, to remind herself that she was the
product of two good and loving people, and did not carry that monster's
taint inside of her.
	Becka had come here a lot in the past, although she hadn't needed to do so
for some time now. Danning was in jail, and he would never be getting out
again, not with all the charges he had against him.  And Gia knew what
coming here now must have meant, too. Her lover was hurting.
	"If you don't stop grinding your teeth like that, you're gonna pop a
filling."
	Gia winced, embarrassed. She had entered the room silently, but naturally
Becka had known she was there all along, even without turning around.
Because that was the nature of their connection.
	"And you can turn that protective mama bear attitude down a notch, too. I'm
fine, G, I just needed a little time out, okay? And I'm not really mad at
Joe, so you shouldn't be, either."
	"He hurt you. I don't forgive anybody for that, not ever." Gia's tone was
as implacable as her words, as if she wasn't making a statement so much as a
promise.
	"Joe didn't hurt me, G, I hurt me. Remember what Dr. Weiss told us about
the power of the past?"
	"She said a lot of things, I can't remember it all."
	"The hell you can't, you're the one who's always quoting her to me. You're
the only person in the world who goes to a therapy session and takes notes.
	"Anyway, she said that the past is gone, and the only power it has over us
is what we choose to give to it. Joe brought up some bad memories, and they
caught me by surprise, that's all. I'm fine, so you can stop acting like
such a bitch about it."
	Gia crossed her arms, answering sullenly, "I still don't like what he said
to you."
	Becka half turned and looked over her shoulder, a smile touching her lips.
	"You always want to protect me. And I love that about you. But," she
paused, the smile growing wider, "do you really think I need to be protected
from Joe Munson?"
	Gia tried, but she could never hold onto a negative emotion when Becka
grinned at her like that. She finally shook her head and returned the grin,
and when Becka raised her arm she stepped forward into it and hugged her
tightly. They kissed, and took a few moments to be close. Becka finally
turned and looked at the old Indian.
	"It sure is a pretty bike, isn't it, Gia?"
	Her sister knew she was talking about more than just the machine. And so
did she when she answered.
"Yes it is, little girl. It's a very pretty bike."
			* * *
	Joe wasn't in his room, but all his clothes and personal effects were still
there, so it seemed likely that he was still somewhere else on the property.
Becka hadn't really been worried that he had left, anyway. She knew he still
had too many things to work out.
	Gia finally located him out in the back yard, sitting forlornly on one of
the benches underneath the three spreading oaks. She had spotted him from
the kitchen window, and even though she had a clear view, she had almost
missed him. The small young man had been huddled into such a miserable
little ball that he had almost disappeared.
	That thought must have been all over her face, because when Becka came up
beside her she almost echoed her words.
	"Oh, wow. He looks so pathetic, doesn't he, G? I mean, like, puppy dog
pathetic. You know what I mean?"
	Gia gave her sister a glare, but didn't answer. Becka blithely ignored it
and continued.
	"Yeah, just like a little puppy dog. One that's been kicked, you know? Sort
of a whipped, sad, please-don't hurt-me look, you know?"
	"Aww, shaddup," Gia growled, digging a knuckle into the other girl's ribs.
Which only made Becka laugh, as she twisted away. "I already told you that I
wasn't going to hurt him, you don't have to book me on a guilt trip to
guarantee it. So what are we going to do about him? Go out there and tell
him all is forgiven?"
	But Becka was shaking her head. "Not we. Me. He and I are the ones with the
history, so we have to be the ones who settle it. I'm going to wait about an
hour or so to give him a chance to get his head on straight, then I'll go
out and have a talk with him."
	"And until then?"
	"Until then, we keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't take off. And
keep Dad or one of the boys from going out there and asking him any stupid
questions, either."
			* * *
	If he'd had anything to eat that morning, Joe was pretty sure that he'd
have puked it up by now. But since he hadn't, he could only sit curled up in
the corner of the wooden bench and wish that he could. Throw up, that is.
The thought of any sort of food right now just made him feel infinitely more
miserable than he already was. He couldn't remember the last time he had
been so sick to his stomach.
	But more than anything else, though, Joe felt like he was going to explode.
There seemed to be a pressure building inside him, from all the ugly things
that he desperately needed to get out.
	God, how selfish and petty he'd been! How stupid, as if the whole world
revolved Joe Munson and his problems. What arrogance, to think that there
was no pain out there that could possibly be as bad as his own.
	"He tore off my black dress, threw me down, and stuck it in me 'til I was
bleeding all over the floor. I was eleven years old, and he laughed all the
time he was doing it. And that was just the first time."
	The same words, over and over again, running through his mind like an old
fashioned broken record. Spit out into his brain in Becka's harsh voice.
Scraping his nerves like a steel file, feeding him visual images from a
waking nightmare.
	"And that was just the first time."
	Joe shuddered, feeling the horror of it, feeling his own sense of guilt and
self loathing. What kind of a egotistical little shit was he, anyway? Becka
had defended him, befriended him, and taken him into her home. She had gone
out of her way to treat him like family, and how did he repay her? He had
spit on her, if not literally, then in every other sense of the word.
	What was her crime against him anyway, what awful thing had she done to
make him treat her like that? That she had bullied him once, beaten him up
almost four years ago? Not good enough, he had been pounded on so many times
since then that he couldn't even count them anymore. It was ridiculous to
think he'd react so badly just to that.
Was it that she had humiliated him in front of the whole school, and marked
him as a victim to people like Gary Harper? No, not that either, if he was
honest he had to take on a lot of that blame himself. He had been the one
who had sat in the mud and cried like a baby, and then spent almost four
years hiding behind a sullen façade of self pity. He could have put himself
out, could have made friends, been something other than a freak who scuttled
from class to class and ran from confrontation. Ran from his life. How much
of that misery had he brought on himself?
	No, no way. He hadn't been mad at Becka because of some lousy schoolyard
tussle that had happened years before. He had been enraged at her just
because she had forgotten all about it! So was this all her fault for not
thinking the fight important enough to remember, or was it his fault for
making it so much more important than it was?
	And what was he going to do to make this all better?
	A noise, or maybe a movement, something finally occurred that caused Joe to
look up. He sighed tiredly. It looked like he was going to have to answer
that last question sooner than he had planned. Becka had just walked across
the patio and was heading his way.
	Joe had a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to run and to keep on running,
and maybe stop when he hit Canada somewhere. In fact for a minute the only
thing that kept him in his seat was the six foot adobe wall surrounding the
whole backyard. Trapped. He was starting to sweat nervously, definitely
worried about his future safety, when Becka flashed him a smile. And it was
a good smile, too. Joe let out a sigh, feeling like he had just been
paroled.
	The big girl was still smiling when she stopped in front of him, and for
the first time he noticed that she was carrying a red and white Igloo ice
chest. Without saying a word she set the chest down on the bench next to him
and opened the lid, displaying the necks of four bottles of beer packed in
ice. Becka pulled two of the bottles loose and popped the tops off with an
opener. She offered him one which he took a little reluctantly, then sat
down on the bench next to his. She leaned back against the tree trunk and
took a long draw off her own, studying him over the rim. Joe took the
opportunity to examine the label on his drink, saw that it was a brand he
was unfamiliar with. 'Ayinger', some sort of German import, he guessed. He
took a sip, decided he liked the rich dark taste, then took another. Becka
was the first one to start the ball rolling.
	"So what've you been doing out here all this time?" she asked, almost
casually.
	"Wondering whether you were going to twist my head off my shoulders, or
just beat me to death. I'm still wondering."
	Becka grinned. "Now why would I go and bring you beer if I intended to kill
you? Be a hell of a waste, wouldn't it?"
	"I dunno. Maybe you thought it'd look more like an accident if the autopsy
showed alcohol in my system."
	Becka barked a laugh of pure delight. "Oh, good one, Munson. I hadn't
thought of that. You shouldn't be giving me ideas."
	Joe shrugged, and took another, longer draw on his bottle. Although his
Aunt had been letting him drink at the house on weekends since he turned
sixteen, and he and Milo had gotten buzzed a few times at his place during
the summer, Joe really wasn't used to it. The unfamiliar beer was now
hitting his empty stomach and quickly making its way into his bloodstream.
It was a welcome sensation, and it made his next words come out a lot
easier.
	"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I shouldn't have said those things to you. I
mean, you've been good to me, and you didn't deserve all the crap I laid
down on you. I know it's not much, but I really am sorry for all of that."
	Becka nodded, not taking her eyes off of him, her gaze clearly evaluating.
When she answered she was not accusing him, but neither did she make light
of what had happened.
	"Yeah, you sure stirred up a lot of old shit of mine. Which is why I
slammed you up against the wall and almost tore your head off. But it was
some other people that did that crap to me, not you. I'm not mad at you,
Joe. Really."
	"I'm sorry, Becka. I swear, I didn't know about any of, of that stuff. I
wouldn't have said anything like that if I did."
	"And I didn't remember anything about that first day at school, so I guess
that makes us even. You had a pretty rough time ever since you got to
Roosevelt, and at least some of that is my fault."
	"But it wasn't near as bad as what happened to you!"
	Becka snorted. "Jeez, what is it with guys, always having to compare
things. Joe, just 'cause I had a rougher time than you did, doesn't make
what happened to you any less real. Or less important. You got a right to be
pissed off about your life."
	"Yeah, but not at you. All you ever did was beat me up once, but this past
week you've saved my butt... God, I've forgotten how many times! And here I
go, blaming you for every single crappy thing in my life.
	"Aww, man, I am just so sick of this. I've been obsessing about that fight
for almost four years now, as if thirty seconds of rolling around in the mud
is all it takes to ruin my whole life. While the truth is it all went to
hell before I ever even met you. You were just the final straw. I didn't
have to be the biggest loser in California, I could have stood up for myself
and even made some friends here. But it was easier to feel sorry for myself
and blame it all on you."
	"Yeah, well, my therapist says that's one of the easiest traps in the world
to fall into. Fixing the blame for everything bad in your life on one single
person or event. She says it's also one of the hardest traps to get out of."
	Joe blinked, looking at her in surprise. "You have a therapist?"
	The girl across from him twisted her lips wryly. "What, you don't think
'Becka the Beast' needs psychiatric help? That makes you a minority, sport."
	For some reason Joe found this to be hilarious, as he broke out in
laughter. Becka grinned back at him, then picked up a piece of bark from the
ground and chucked it at his head, but Joe seemed to think that was funny as
well. In the end they both just sat there, under the old oaks trees, smiling
at each other in mutual approval.
	Damn, that was good beer.
			* * *
	For the next hour they simply communicated, opening up to each other with
an ease that caught them both by surprise. For the first time ever Joe found
himself talking about his parents, and the fire that had taken them away so
abruptly. He hadn't even talked to Mattie about that. He told Becka about
the lady cop in the blue uniform who had knocked on his door, and the sick
look on her face when he told her that he was there alone.
	"I knew it was bad then, something really, really bad. I think I guessed
what it was, because before she even told me they were dead I had this dizzy
feeling like I was falling, you know? And then she told me, and I guess I
kind of shut down because I just stopped feeling anything for awhile."
	"For about a week, you mean?"
	"Yeah."

	"And that last year she just kept getting sicker and sicker, and spending
more time in the hospital. Ralph would hardly ever go there to see her,
except maybe to get her to sign some more legal papers or something. I guess
he wanted to make sure he got the house when she died. And me.
	"She got jaundice, and turned this real icky yellow color at the end, and
she was so out of it that most of the time she didn't even know who I was.
And then she died. I knew it was coming, so it wasn't a big shock like what
happened to you. I guess I did get to say goodbye. But I lost her by inches,
and I really don't know which is the worse way to lose someone. Do you?"
	"... no."

	"I mean, at first I was real scared of Aunt Mattie. I'd never even met her
before, and now here I was living with her, in this tiny little house two
thousand miles away from everyone I ever knew. And she was an amputee, with
this creepy plastic leg that I just couldn't stop staring at. And man it
really freaked me out the first time I saw her take it off!
	"Then one night I'm up late watching this old Humphrey Bogart movie, and I
suddenly remembered that I'd already seen it before. With my Dad. And I just
started crying, no sound or anything, just these great big tears running
down my face. And then Mattie was there, sitting next to me, and putting her
arm around my shoulders. Not saying anything, just being there, you know?
And my bare leg was touching her plastic one, and I didn't even care about
that anymore..."

	"Are you shitting me? Justine, red headed cheerleader about this tall,
hangs with Kelly, valley girl glaze in her eyes? You're saying that she
grabbed this guy by the, uh... "
	"With both hands! She hauled him out like he was a suitcase. And then when
we got Gia safe and away, she's jumping around and making faces, going
'eeuyew, eeuyew, eeuyeeeeww'. Yeah, go ahead, laugh. It was funny. But
believe me, I'm sure as hell glad that she was there."
			* * *
	Gia had promised Becka that she'd give her an hour alone with Joe, but
fifty minutes was all she could stand. She had watched them anxiously from
the safety of the kitchen, prepared to dash out there in a second if she was
needed, although she couldn't have said just what that need might have been,
or what she would have done if it had occurred. The needing part, that is.
Her being needed. Oh, the heck with the semantics, she just wanted to run
out there and see what was happening.
	Curiosity had been eating her alive ever since she had watched Becka leave
for her 'little talk' with their houseguest, and she hadn't taken her eyes
off them ever since. But what was there to see from all the way back here?
Joe hadn't tried to run, and Becka hadn't tried to strangle him, but that's
all she could say for sure. So all they were doing was talking. And from too
far away to either eavesdrop or to read lips, even with binoculars.
*mental note, make sure to get those back in Dad's closet before he gets
home*
	When she did finally cross the patio and head towards the back yard and the
three spreading oak trees, she at least managed to do so in a casual walk.
For the past half hour Gia had been imagining all sorts of scenarios about
what had happened between Becka, the woman she loved, and Joe, the boy who
hated and feared her. She had pictured screaming and shouting, or even an
actual fight she would have to break up. Or maybe a sullen, angry silence,
with tension so thick you could have carved it with a spoon. She had even
envisaged tears and apologies, although she was not sure who would be
apologizing to who.
	She had not expected to find them both lying back on the grass, giggling
like a couple of little kids watching Scooby Doo cartoons.
	"Hey, G," Becka greeted her, raising her beer as if toasting the other
girl, before taking a drink.
	"Hey, G!" Joe echoed cheerfully, then spoiled it by breaking up in a fit of
giggles. Gia raised her eyebrows at this, then checked to see that the
bottle Joe held was only a little over half gone. But there was also an
empty one on the bench where he had been sitting. Two beers in under an
hour, consumed by an adolescent whose body weight might or might not be in
the three figures, and on an empty stomach. It wasn't hard to do the math.
	"He's kind of wasted, isn't he?" she asked her sister, conversationally.
She had already noticed that Becka's bottle was farther gone than Joe's, but
the fourth bottle still sat untouched inside the ice chest.
	Becka gave Joe an appraising look. "Yeah, I guess you can say that. Not
falling down drunk, but I definitely wouldn't let him operate any heavy
machinery. Y'hear that, dude? Gia says you're wasted."
	"No'm not! Heheheheheheh." Apparently being called inebriated was also
funny. And since laughter was thirsty work, Joe took another long draft of
that good German beer. Man, he had to tell Mattie about this stuff.
	Gia rolled her eyes and made a disgusted noise, then glared at her sister.
"Becka, why on earth did you let him drink so much? What if Dad sees him
like this?"
	"Oh, relax, Gia," the blonde girl replied, waving her bottle dismissively.
She carefully set it down on the ground beside her, then rose to her feet in
one single, lithe motion. Becka had always had the smooth, fluid movements
of a cat, something she knew fascinated her lover. Which was why she raised
her hands above her head now and stretched, long and languorous, arching her
back and pushing her large breasts prominently forward against the thin
fabric of her blouse. It was a move absolutely guaranteed to distract Gia
when she was in one of these moods.
	Unfortunately it didn't seem to be working in this instance. Gia was still
standing there with her arms crossed, and her
I'm-waiting-for-an-explanation-and-it-better-be-good expression on her face.
Becka sighed. Well, it had been worth a shot.
	"Look, things got kind of emotional out here, you know? I figured he needed
to blow off a little steam. Besides, there's no one here but you and me, and
he'll be totally sober by the time anybody else gets home."
	"Which will be in about half an hour."
	"Huh?"
	"Dad just called. He decided he's going to work in his office at home
today. He's going to stop at the store on his way, but he says he'll be here
in time to make us lunch. Which means we've got about thirty minutes to
sober up Mr. Giggles here, or you and I are going to be grounded for at
least a week."
	"Oh." Becka's eyes went wide for a moment, as she pictured their father's
reaction to her getting a teenaged houseguest drunk. And on his private
stash of imported beer, too.
	Gia, the ever practical one, was already moving. She grabbed Becka's opened
bottle and emptied it out onto the grass, then put it back into the ice
chest with the remaining unopened bottle. Becka was right behind her,
grabbing the empty from Joe's bench, and also snatching the half full one
from his hand, ignoring his slightly slurred "Hey" of protest.
	"Sorry sport," she apologized, even as she emptied the dark brown liquid
out onto the lawn. It'd be interesting to see what effect all these German
hops had on the grass. Would it kill it, or make it grow like fertilizer?

"We've got to get something into his stomach to soak up all that alcohol.
And a cold shower, too." Gia held the ice chest while Becka put the last of
the dead soldiers inside, and then closed the lid. She carried it while she
and Becka each grabbed an arm and lifted a protesting Joe onto his feet, and
marched him towards the house.

"But I don' need a shower, I a'ready took one."
	"It's either a shower, or we drag you through the pool by your heels a
couple of times. Your choice, sport." Becka's words were spoken cheerfully,
but with enough force to guarantee that she wasn't joking. Joe blinked a
couple of times, and then made a very wise choice.
	"Um, will you scrub my back?"

(continued)