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word challenge # 61 - Joan of Arcadia ficlet
Title: The Pact
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
storydivagirl
Fandom: Joan of Arcadia
Characters: Joan, Kevin
A/N: Written for Word Challenge # 61 at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
15minuteficlets so it's unbeta'd and not the best ending in the world. Spoilers through the season one finale--so consider yourself warned. Feedback always appreciated.
word # 61 = Aggravation
**
There were only so many times in one day that Joan felt she could handle being asked how she was feeling. It was starting to drive her insane, grating on her last nerve until she snapped at whoever was sent to check on her. It had been this way for the past few weeks. Her staying in her room, contemplating how insane she was, how alone she felt. Everyone else, filtering in and out of the room, asking stupid questions, and aggravating her until she found herself sneaking out onto the roof.
It never changed…until she found herself screaming at Luke and running out the front door, unsure where she was going or why she was running in the first place.
But she knew her family would let it slide. The same way they had been with everything lately. They kept saying, “give it time” or “let the meds kick in” as if she were one of those schizophrenic types that could only interact with the outside world through plated glass. They didn’t understand her. They didn’t understand that while being sick kinda sucked, she could handle it because that’s life. Things like that happen and they happen for a reason. Or so she used to believe. No, what she couldn’t handle was the idea that she was all alone in this universe, that there was no one watching out for people, and that everything she had felt the past year—ranging from the irritated to emotional catharsis—was about as real as her imaginary friend, Blair, from when she was three years old.
She stopped running when she reached a park bench. It was the same park bench she had sat on only weeks earlier with Grace, discussing whether or not she should sleep with Adam. That seemed like a lifetime ago. A different Joan Girardi from a different universe. A Joan Girardi who had faith.
She heard someone cough and looked over to see Kevin staring at her. It was one of those gazes she had come to recognize on various people’s faces—a look of worry, anger, and relief all bundled into one. He moved over next to her and said, “So…that was an interesting display back there.”
She scoffed at him, rolling her eyes, and remaining focused on the tree branches in front of her. She replied, “You’re the last one to talk, Kevin.”
“Well, that’s why I’m doing it. Because you can’t pull this crap with me, Joan. I know it like the back of my hand.”
“It’s different.”
“Yeah, because you’re going to be fine.”
She wanted to roll her eyes again or stomp off, searching for privacy, but there was something in Kevin’s tone that made her lose control of her muscles. It reminded her of when they were little and she would follow him around everywhere he went until he finally snapped. Joan was pretty sure that this was adult Kevin at his breaking point.
“Shut up, Kevin,” she forced out, refusing to feel guilty or ashamed of her feelings. So what if Kevin couldn't walk? It wasn't like she was driving the car. Why did everything she felt have to get compared to that? So she folded her arms, a faux brave stance for her, and said, “You don’t know what I’m feeling or what I’m going through.”
“I know that you’re angry and you’re wondering why this had to happen to you.”
“Partly—“
“And that if there was some clear sign as to why it happened, then maybe you’d be able to make sense of it all, maybe things wouldn’t be so bad,” Kevin finished. He reached out and touched her leg. He patted it and said, “Let me tell you, from experience, you’re not going to figure anything out by pushing everyone away. It makes things worse, Joan. It just makes you alone. That’s all.”
“I lost more than you know.”
“So tell me.”
She laughed mirthlessly. She had been down this road once before. She had taken Adam’s hand and told him that she spoke to God, that he assigned her tasks to do and even though sometimes she complained, she always did what he asked. And Adam had looked at her like she was crazy, like what she needed was a heavy dose of Zoloft. She didn’t want to see that look in Kevin’s eyes. She didn’t want her big brother to sigh and offer up some ridiculous explanation for how she was sick all along.
She didn’t want that to be true. She wanted God to exist and to have been talking to her. She wanted to be making a difference in the world and maybe in people’s lives. She wanted to feel like she belonged somewhere, that she fit. And if Kevin told her it wasn’t real, that it was all a part of her Lime Disease, well…he was her big brother. What he said held weight with her, even when she didn’t let on. What he said was usually true.
And this couldn’t be true.
She stood up and said, “It doesn’t matter.”
Kevin looked up at her and said, “Fine. No one can force you to talk—but you can’t keep doing this, Joan. You can’t run off in the middle of the night and scream at mom and dad for asking a simple question.”
“Hey pot, you’re black.”
“You’re right. I did that and I was a real jerk to be around, wasn’t I?” he said. He nudged her in the side and said, “You can say it. I was. I know I was.”
“Sometimes.”
“So how about this…when you feel the need to scream at someone or everyone is driving you crazy, you come to me. And I’ll return the favor. We’ll start our own ‘sick of being coddled’ club. How’s that?”
Joan smiled even though she didn’t want to, but sometimes she knew how lucky she was. God or no God, she had a good family and when he wasn’t annoying her or making fun of her wardrobe, Kevin wasn’t a bad older brother either. She watched Kevin stick out his hand to shake on the new pact and she sighed as though she couldn’t be bothered with such things but would placate him anyway. She shook his hand and said, “Fair enough.”
“Now can we go home? It’s so hot out here that I think the wheels of my chair are melting.”
She laughed and replied, “Nice, Kevin.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone know that you actually smiled. Heaven forbid the new Joan laugh.”
“Exactly what I was worried about. I’d say it would ruin my image, if the fact that hallucinations hadn’t already done that.”
“Cindy Crawford in any of these hallucinations?”
“No.”
“Pamela Anderson?”
“No.”
“How about—“
“No. My illness is not your own personal porn playground and ew. Too much information. Have now gone deaf and feel nauseous.”
Kevin stopped and stared at her. She turned to look at him as he studied her, practically scrutinized every hair on her head, before he finally replied, “Yeah, you’re gonna be fine, Joan. I promise.”
And for the first time since she was diagnosed, Joan really believed it.
{fin}
Author:
storydivagirlFandom: Joan of Arcadia
Characters: Joan, Kevin
A/N: Written for Word Challenge # 61 at
15minuteficlets so it's unbeta'd and not the best ending in the world. Spoilers through the season one finale--so consider yourself warned. Feedback always appreciated.word # 61 = Aggravation
**
There were only so many times in one day that Joan felt she could handle being asked how she was feeling. It was starting to drive her insane, grating on her last nerve until she snapped at whoever was sent to check on her. It had been this way for the past few weeks. Her staying in her room, contemplating how insane she was, how alone she felt. Everyone else, filtering in and out of the room, asking stupid questions, and aggravating her until she found herself sneaking out onto the roof.
It never changed…until she found herself screaming at Luke and running out the front door, unsure where she was going or why she was running in the first place.
But she knew her family would let it slide. The same way they had been with everything lately. They kept saying, “give it time” or “let the meds kick in” as if she were one of those schizophrenic types that could only interact with the outside world through plated glass. They didn’t understand her. They didn’t understand that while being sick kinda sucked, she could handle it because that’s life. Things like that happen and they happen for a reason. Or so she used to believe. No, what she couldn’t handle was the idea that she was all alone in this universe, that there was no one watching out for people, and that everything she had felt the past year—ranging from the irritated to emotional catharsis—was about as real as her imaginary friend, Blair, from when she was three years old.
She stopped running when she reached a park bench. It was the same park bench she had sat on only weeks earlier with Grace, discussing whether or not she should sleep with Adam. That seemed like a lifetime ago. A different Joan Girardi from a different universe. A Joan Girardi who had faith.
She heard someone cough and looked over to see Kevin staring at her. It was one of those gazes she had come to recognize on various people’s faces—a look of worry, anger, and relief all bundled into one. He moved over next to her and said, “So…that was an interesting display back there.”
She scoffed at him, rolling her eyes, and remaining focused on the tree branches in front of her. She replied, “You’re the last one to talk, Kevin.”
“Well, that’s why I’m doing it. Because you can’t pull this crap with me, Joan. I know it like the back of my hand.”
“It’s different.”
“Yeah, because you’re going to be fine.”
She wanted to roll her eyes again or stomp off, searching for privacy, but there was something in Kevin’s tone that made her lose control of her muscles. It reminded her of when they were little and she would follow him around everywhere he went until he finally snapped. Joan was pretty sure that this was adult Kevin at his breaking point.
“Shut up, Kevin,” she forced out, refusing to feel guilty or ashamed of her feelings. So what if Kevin couldn't walk? It wasn't like she was driving the car. Why did everything she felt have to get compared to that? So she folded her arms, a faux brave stance for her, and said, “You don’t know what I’m feeling or what I’m going through.”
“I know that you’re angry and you’re wondering why this had to happen to you.”
“Partly—“
“And that if there was some clear sign as to why it happened, then maybe you’d be able to make sense of it all, maybe things wouldn’t be so bad,” Kevin finished. He reached out and touched her leg. He patted it and said, “Let me tell you, from experience, you’re not going to figure anything out by pushing everyone away. It makes things worse, Joan. It just makes you alone. That’s all.”
“I lost more than you know.”
“So tell me.”
She laughed mirthlessly. She had been down this road once before. She had taken Adam’s hand and told him that she spoke to God, that he assigned her tasks to do and even though sometimes she complained, she always did what he asked. And Adam had looked at her like she was crazy, like what she needed was a heavy dose of Zoloft. She didn’t want to see that look in Kevin’s eyes. She didn’t want her big brother to sigh and offer up some ridiculous explanation for how she was sick all along.
She didn’t want that to be true. She wanted God to exist and to have been talking to her. She wanted to be making a difference in the world and maybe in people’s lives. She wanted to feel like she belonged somewhere, that she fit. And if Kevin told her it wasn’t real, that it was all a part of her Lime Disease, well…he was her big brother. What he said held weight with her, even when she didn’t let on. What he said was usually true.
And this couldn’t be true.
She stood up and said, “It doesn’t matter.”
Kevin looked up at her and said, “Fine. No one can force you to talk—but you can’t keep doing this, Joan. You can’t run off in the middle of the night and scream at mom and dad for asking a simple question.”
“Hey pot, you’re black.”
“You’re right. I did that and I was a real jerk to be around, wasn’t I?” he said. He nudged her in the side and said, “You can say it. I was. I know I was.”
“Sometimes.”
“So how about this…when you feel the need to scream at someone or everyone is driving you crazy, you come to me. And I’ll return the favor. We’ll start our own ‘sick of being coddled’ club. How’s that?”
Joan smiled even though she didn’t want to, but sometimes she knew how lucky she was. God or no God, she had a good family and when he wasn’t annoying her or making fun of her wardrobe, Kevin wasn’t a bad older brother either. She watched Kevin stick out his hand to shake on the new pact and she sighed as though she couldn’t be bothered with such things but would placate him anyway. She shook his hand and said, “Fair enough.”
“Now can we go home? It’s so hot out here that I think the wheels of my chair are melting.”
She laughed and replied, “Nice, Kevin.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone know that you actually smiled. Heaven forbid the new Joan laugh.”
“Exactly what I was worried about. I’d say it would ruin my image, if the fact that hallucinations hadn’t already done that.”
“Cindy Crawford in any of these hallucinations?”
“No.”
“Pamela Anderson?”
“No.”
“How about—“
“No. My illness is not your own personal porn playground and ew. Too much information. Have now gone deaf and feel nauseous.”
Kevin stopped and stared at her. She turned to look at him as he studied her, practically scrutinized every hair on her head, before he finally replied, “Yeah, you’re gonna be fine, Joan. I promise.”
And for the first time since she was diagnosed, Joan really believed it.
{fin}