greatamazingfeelingsboy

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early Jan

Being in a feminine body is... different, but not bad. Now that he's been assured that, yes, this is a thing Darrow does, and, yes, he's going to change back, Caleb's taken the time to sort of... get used to the idea. He's still pretty tall, though not over six feet anymore. Rosie had helped him get his hair into a ponytail so it's not in his face, and then she'd blessedly helped him buy clothes so he didn't feel totally weird.

He doesn't really want to talk about the bra experience.

But it's Saturday, so now he has to face Michael. He hadn't been anticipating that. He'd ended up trying to call him, but, of course, it went to voicemail. He was the worst. So, dressed in his new, much better fitting clothes, Caleb makes his way to the shop.

Tim greets him like always, with a smile and a "Hey, Kid," and doesn't seem to think there's anything weird about Caleb being girl-shaped. That's... kinda weird.

"Hey," he greets, still a little thrown off by the sound of his new voice. Then he makes his way back to the car he and Michael have been working on.

He braces himself for Michael's feelings, squares his shoulders, and calls out another "Hey," loud enough for Michael to hear him.

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Caleb wants to argue, but Michael's only saying this because he cares, he can feel that. So why does he feel like he wants to cry? He's still annoyed — angry, almost, but it feels big, and it doesn't make him want to punch something like it usually does. It just burns behind his eyes, making him narrow them.

...It's not because he's girl-shaped, is it? He keeps his back to Michael has he grabs another tire, tilting it onto its tread the same as before. He does not want to deal with this right now. This is supposed to be Car Day, and he just wants to feel normal for thirty fucking seconds.

Michael sees the way Caleb is reacting and he sighs, throwing his hands up in frustration before settling back, staring at him pointedly. "Just say it," he encourages, because he hates the silent treatment, always has. Nothing good ever comes of it, so if Caleb has something to say, he'd rather just hear it.

Talk to me talk to me talk to me. It plays on a refrain in Caleb's ribs, beating a gentle tattoo in time with his heart. He huffs harder.

"Stop it!" he insists, leaning the third tire against his leg. "I'm not mad at you, I-I'm just mad, okay? I hate this stupid city, and I hate this stupid, wrong body, and I hate that you're so worried about me!"

Michael's not insulted or hurt by anything he says until the last part. He recoils, and every part of him says that he needs to save face. His nostrils flare slightly, and he hears it. The little voice in his head that says, fine, then I'll stop caring at all.

It's so easy to do, and he doesn't spit it out, but he wants to.

"It's temporary," he snaps instead. "In a week, you'll be back to normal, and you're allowed to be mad, but if you don't want me being worried about you, then don't fucking come to car day and expect anything else."

Caleb flinches as soon as he feels that hurt, and he looks down. "No, fuck, Michael—" he tries, but then Michael's speaking, voice propelled by the sting of Caleb's words.

"I'm sorry," he insists. "I didn't mean it like that. I-I'm just— fuck." He pushes the tire over so it lays flat, then sits on it in a heavy slump, fingers buried in his hair until it gets caught on the braid. "Everything feels so sharp right now," he continues, and he hates how this wrong voice sounds with the sob trying to come through. "Your worry hurts."

That's not right, either. It's so hard to explain it, especially because, right now, in this girl-shaped body, even his ability feels slightly different. He feels too full, like his skin might rip open from the pressure. It's like his ability stayed Caleb-shaped, but his body didn't, and now it's like a water balloon with too much water inside of it. How is he supposed to make room for other people's emotions when he can barely contain his own?

Michael's anger is still the thing that often controls him and right now, it's front and center. He hates that Caleb doesn't want him to worry, that it hurts, and it's probably good because it's ebbing away, replaced by his rage instead.

"Then what the fuck are you here for?" he snaps, and he tries not to let the objects on the table vibrate. "You're in a weird bind, I get it, but guess what, I'm gonna worry when you drop tires on yourself or you're feeling hurt." He shakes his head, and gestures to him. "Don't, you'll..." he sighs, because Caleb's fucking up the braid.

Caleb realizes too late that something's wrong. Michael's so angry, and it's feeding into Caleb's frustration, darkening it, and suddenly, he does want to punch something. How the hell did this happen? They were fine just a minute ago. Now everything is red and hot and Caleb's hands are white-knuckled in his hair as he tries to find the orange under the red. His breathing is coming harsh where he's buried his face into his knees, and distantly, he's aware he's shaking.

Michael recoils back when he sees the way Caleb is acting, feeling like shit for being the one who yelled and scared him. His eyes are wide and he knows that he's quick to anger, but fuck, it's hard for him not to do it.

He swallows it back, gesturing for his hair. "Here," he says, sounding rough. "Let me fix your hair."

"No, I don't— I don't want to hurt you."

His voice is tight and shaking, but he slowly pulls his fingers from his hair to wipe his face instead. Then he covers his mouth and nose with his hands, and he breathes on the four-count, holds for four more, then releases on a four-count, the way he's been taught. He shakes his head, trying to pull his ability back in from Michael.

"I don't want to hurt you," he repeats, muffled into his hand.

Michael's pretty sure that Caleb won't hurt him, so he keeps approaching, sitting on the tire beside him and resting a hand on Caleb's back, rubbing in circles as he gives him a worried look. He knows that if the worry hadn't been helping before, it's definitely not going to work now, but it's just who he is.

"I feel like I'm the one hurting you," he says, a little confused and definitely not sure of his next step here.

It feels like forever, but slowly, Caleb feels the orange again, and he closes his eyes and sinks into it. Michael's hand on his back feels good, too. His immediate anger has faded, and now it's just that same, simmering red it usually is, making way for confusion and worry he's feeling now.

It still hurts. Caleb still feels too big for his body. But it's easier to feel than the anger had been. That had felt like... melting. Almost as bad as the safe house.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles when he feels like he can speak.

Michael's still feeling kind of awkward and unsure, because what the hell is he doing, trying to comfort someone when it's his own angry outburst that had upset Caleb in the first place, right on the heels of his worry.

"Look, if me being worried for you is a thing, then we might need to figure something out," he admits. "Cuz I don't think that I can stop it." Caleb's one of his people, that means he's definitely going to be concerned when it seems like he's having a rough go.

"No, it's..." He trails off, looking over at Michael finally. His eyes are wet, slightly red-ringed, but he isn't crying. Anymore.

"It doesn't usually bother me. It's... kinda nice, actually, normally. But... I think when I woke up in this body, it... didn't take my ability with it? It feels too big, and when you're — anyone, really — worried for me, it's this, like, targeted feeling? So, it feels like someone's poking at a really sore bruise, and normally, it feels like. Well, like this." He gestures to Michael's hand on his back, a gentle, warm weight. "I'm sorry. I should've tried to be, like, clearer, it's just. It's hard right now."

Michael feels like he understands that.

When he'd been little, his powers had always felt too big for him, but he'd learned to control them and funnel them through something that he could do. He keeps rubbing Caleb's back, reaching over to fix a few strands of messy hair.

"You wanna run through it like the mood ring?" he suggests. "Maybe bleed some of it off?"

He takes a breath as he thinks about it. The fingers of his free hand twist and roll the mood ring on his thumb. It's way too big for his pinkie finger right now, and pretty close to too big for this thumb, but it stays in place.

He imagines the fishing line of his ability reaching back out for Michael, but all he feels is the comfortable orange, now. Their feelings are lining up again, and it's making Caleb feel a little less full. He closes his eyes, shoulders sagging in relief.

"I, I think I'm okay," he says. "I think it's okay, now."

Michael's feeling better too, because he's not sure what he would have done if Caleb had announced that he couldn't stand to be there with him, if the worry had been too much. He tucks a last strand of hair back, pushing to his foot with his heel dug in, offering a hand out to him.

"In that case, come on, let's go pick out what rims you want," he says. "I lined up some really cool ones."

Caleb nods, managing a wan smile. "Yeah, okay," he says. He grabs Michael's hand, using the leverage provided to stand, then uses his sleeve to wipe his face.

It feels... better. He still feels too big for his skin, but Michael isn't upset anymore, and neither is he, and it's just... easier, this way.

Once he's off the tire, he tilts it back up on the tread to park it next to the car, then turns to let Michael show him the rim selection.

Michael is grateful that this didn't completely go disastrous, because he's not sure he could have managed if Caleb told him that they couldn't do this anymore, all because of his concern. He still feels like they should be working on controlling it more, but they can do that later.

"All right, I lined up a bunch in the catalogue," he says, bringing over the tablet. "Go through 'em, tell me which ones you like."

Caleb looks through them, scrolling through the options that Michael thought he'd like the most. He ends up inadvertently choosing the one Michael likes the most. It looks cool, and makes a neat design when it spins, according to the demonstration gif on the site.

"This one," he says, but then snaps his head up towards the front of the shop, frowning.

"Uh. Someone's pissed."

Out in the shop, Tim has his hands up in a calming gesture, as a short-haired woman jerks her thumb over her shoulder towards her car, then stabs her finger at Tim's chest. He can't hear what they're saying, but all of her annoyance — not quite anger, but pretty close — is directed at Tim, who is mostly confused and concerned.

Michael wipes his hands on a rag, glancing over. "Yeah, I got this," he promises, and heads over to the front, all swagger and charm. He hasn't got Isobel's powers, but what he does have is just the right level of flirtation that he can perch on the edge of the desk and charm her a little.

Usually that's Alex's job, but Michael can manage sometimes.

He nods for Tim to get out while he can, absorbing her complaints, while he peppers compliments about her youth and her patience and god knows what else she wants to hear, but he offers it all. "How about I take your car for a wash, then get it back to you as soon as we get the part in?"

She's blushing, just a little, as Michael charms her. Tim's gone on break, and based on the worried shape of his feelings, he's talking to his wife. It's easier for Caleb to focus on him than on the artificial textures of Michael's flirting, the ill-fitting puzzle pieces of his lying, or the slightly slimy fluttering of the woman's butterflies. He frowns, sort of shuddering, but finally, the woman agrees, and finally, finally, she leaves.

Caleb has a little bit of a wrinkle in his nose by the time Michael comes back.

"That was gross."

Michael snorts as he returns. "That was basically my life in Roswell," he quips, because he had a good thing going in terms of casual sex before Alex came back to Roswell. "I know how to handle a housewife," he says, and yeah, okay, it's gross.

He gets how gross it is, but whatever, those ten years were hard times, sometimes.

"She's happy, isn't she? And you'd know."

"Well, sure, she left satisfied, but." He frowns, tilting his head just a little, like it'll help him understand Michael's emotions better. "You didn't even like doing that. Why'd you do it if you don't like doing it?"

"Because now she's not yelling at Tim or me," he says, and if it were Roswell, then he'd also have set things up for him to take advantage of later, if he got really drunk and desperate.

The first part definitely applies.

"Look, she didn't know I was being insincere," he points out. "Makes things easier for us, so why the hell wouldn't I?"

"I mean... I guess," he says, though he doesn't sound certain. Michael's logic is fairly sound, if he thinks about it. He flirted, he charmed, he calmed her down, and she left, no longer in a terrible mood. But it was all a lie, and that's where Caleb's having a hard time. Being an empath has changed his opinions a lot on honesty and lying, and this is proving to be one of those times that he has to reconcile his ability with the basic societal need to keep people happy.

He shakes his head and huffs out a laugh. "Fuck, I dunno, Dude. Don't mind me."