To Want Me

Modern-day Zutara AU with powers. Angst and fluff are just around the corner!! =o you have been warned.

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FYI: Zeke Holt isn't the most popular guy in school; he may have moved out of his father's house and changed his name, but thanks to his scar, everyone knows who he is. After one especially harrowing day confronting the principal in front of most of the school population, he comes home to brood...


TO WANT ME


Oh, didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you cryin'?
Feelin all alone without a friend; I know you felt like dyin',
Oh, didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you cryin'?


The rain was coming down even harder, driving across his vision in angry, angled sheets. He was soaked to the skin even as he crouched beneath the old awning that covered the front porch. The rusty Buick was only two or three yards away, probably taking a beating, but to his eyes, the rain appeared to be a shimmering gray curtain pulled across the front of the steps, obscuring everything that lay three or four feet beyond his line of vision. The sound came like snow from a lost TV signal, thundering against the roof and breaking across the concrete before him in waves. It was soothing, in an way he didn't bother to think about. He didn't want to think about anything, right now. He let the storm sink into his thoughts, his skin, his eyes. He didn't blink against the onslaught; if he were crying, at least no one would be able to tell.

Not that anyone would be out here with him, not in this weather. His uncle and sister were both upstairs; the old man probably sound asleep, and Tam most likely with her sound-reducing mega-headphones on, drowning out the storm and her own fears with angry music. No one would think to look for him out here on the sagging front porch, watching the storm. They didn't normally interest him. In fact, he'd never really liked the rain, period; it got into everything, from squelching in his shoes to dragging down his backpack to plastering his shaggy hair into his eyes, stinging and obscuring everything around him. It beat down across his shoulders and back like his father used to, only his father's fists were much, much hotter.

He didn't know why the rain reminded him of his old family, but whenever he felt the icy pinprick of water crawling down the back of his neck, spitting into his face and turning his blood to ice, he thought of his father and the last time he saw him. But he didn't want to think about that right now. He wished his brain had an off switch. He wished he had someplace to go, he wished someone would come up and ask him what was wrong and maybe sit with him a while. But people like him didn't have friends. He had an aging uncle that regurgitated convoluted, useless sayings and thought tea was God's answer to everything, and a sister who wasn't his real sister, but should have been, that preferred a good tussle-and-toss on the living room floor to meaningful silences and hugs.

Not that he wanted a hug. He'd claim his undying love to Spence Waters in front of the entire student body before he ever admitted he wanted something as personal and silly as a hug. So he sat on the front steps of his odd, quiet little home, wrapping his own arms around his middle and trying to believe that it was just the rain that soaked his clothing and ran down his face.

He was strong. He had always been strong, and stoic, and the one that never complained about life's storms. Because everyone else did, and what was the point, really? It never changed anything, and it wouldn't make anyone care any more than they already didn't. So he kept his mouth shut and his head down, and if someone else had a problem with it, then he'd deal with it when it came. Why play nice? Every time he did, all he got for his efforts were hateful looks and a boot in the ass, telling him to remember his place, remember who he was and what his father did. They didn't realize that he couldn't forget, no matter how much he may have wanted to. In the end, he just gave them what they all wanted, because every time he tried otherwise he always wound up face down in the mud, wallowing in self-loathing and old scars ripped open; so surprised, because wasn't he supposed to be over it by now?

So he hated himself. It was easier than trying to be someone different.

Wasn't it?

He wasn't kind. He wasn't tactful. He wasn't contrite, or forgiving, or any of those other things a person needed to be to better themselves. The only thing he really had going for him was honesty. He was truthful to a fault, something he prided himself on, on the good days and -

- Who the hell would want to stand in front of my house in the middle of a lightning storm? ...Oh.

He blinked, finally, and made to stand up. She just gave him that little, ironic smile that she reserved for their shared moments of idiocy, like now, and fluttered her fingers; don't get up for me. Her long, dark hair had come loose from its braid and was plastered to her face and neck, straggling over her thin shoulders and down the canal of her back. He could just make out her eyes, held in sharp relief against the grey of the storm and the ink of her hair, glittering like stars in the gloom. Her eyes and her smile, the two brightest things about her. The smile warped just a little under his gaze, turning into something more grown-up and sad.

"Did you enjoy the show?" His voice, was more gruff than usual, and bitterness lent a keen, low edge to it. He didn't think she could hear him over the rain. She moved closer, looking down at the top of his head, bent now over his knees.

She didn't say anything, and he winced. He chanced a glance up to peer into her face, and - she looked like hell, but she was still smiling, lips tight and shaking. Her fingers flexed at her sides indecisively, before coming up to tangle in his hair. He closed his eyes, suddenly unable to keep them open for a moment longer. Her hands wove through the shaggy locks, kneading his scalp, and he leaned into them, trying not to say anything. She drew in a shuddering breath, and when he cracked his good eye open to listen to her speak, her face was only a few inches from his. Her mouth was still trembling, and when she finally said something, the shock nearly knocked him off the porch.

"You have no idea - "

And of course he leapt in, as always jumping ahead of her, "I knew exactly what I was doi -"

"- no idea - "

" - WHAT I WAS DOING, I don't care if I'm expelled - "

" - how frakking proud of you I am today."

" - so don't stand there and tell me that it....wait, what?"

She closed off the last small distance between them, pulling his head into her stomach. He went very still, hands out and hovering indecisively at her hips. She was shaking, whether from the rain or some unknown emotion, he couldn't tell, but he closed his eyes and let her hold him. Her fingers had worked themselves into the short growth at the nape of his neck, and her face was pressed into his hair. Slowly, as if they were trying to remember how this worked, his arms stole upwards around her waist, limply hanging onto the back of her jacket for support. He buried his face in her shirtfront and tried to remember how to breathe. Proud of you. Proud of you.

Uncle hadn't heard yet, and so had yet to say anything. Tam had laughed herself sick and punched his arm, that rocks, bro. No one but his uncle ever used that word. Not with him. And did the old man even count? Not right now, he didn't.

Proud of you. "Someone had to stand up to that prick. Might as well be me, right?" His voice was muffled, as she still had him in an awkward, but nice, sort of headlock.

Proud of you. "Better me than someone with something to lose."

Her slim, strong fingers tightened in his hair, and she squeezed him briefly, before pushing him away from her unsteadily. Her hands lingered on his shoulders. He looked up at her, not quite meeting her eyes. Why the hell is she crying? All I did was argue with a teacher...the principal...who's a close, personal friend of my deranged, megalomaniac father...."Look, that jerk-off had it coming, I just did wh -"

What else he might have said was promptly forgotten forever as lightning struck the Buick's antenna and a cool, wet mouth pressed against his. Everything, the rain, the unsteady light, her hands, his heart, went totally and utterly still for one agonizingly long, sweet second. From behind closed eyelids the brief crash of light imprinted on his retinas, and years later he would still see that jagged streak of lightning, and smell the biting, clear scent of ozone and wet concrete and earth when he kissed her. Then the lightning blinked out of existence, and the rain thundered around them, but her lips were still there, brushing against one corner of his mouth. He found his hands grasping her forearms where they leaned into his shoulders, and he couldn't make himself let go.

But then she pulled away, too soon, leaning back inch by inch until she could look him in the eyes. Even in the half-dark, this close, he could see that her face was flaming, a deep red bloom in dusky cheeks wet with rain and probably tears. His brain felt like he'd just put his finger in a light socket. A new one. Before he could stop himself, he found himself asking, lowly, as if someone might hear him, "what was that for?"

Her lips pressed together, the subtle movement drawing his gaze. Then she smiled, and he found himself swallowing heavily. She was close enough that her breath buffeted his face when she said, giving him his smile, "just for being you."

Proud of you.

Somehow he found enough of his wits to get out the next sentence. "I never thought that could be a good thing."

It made her laugh, her head falling back to look into the rain that fell around them. Something inside him loosened, just a little, just enough to make him laugh too and grab her elbows to keep her from falling off the porch. She looked back down at him, droplets caught in her eyelashes and still smiling, and let her knees unlock. He stretched his legs out enough to make room for her as she slid lazily into his lap, straddling him. Her cool, damp hands snuck up his shoulders and tangled themselves behind his neck, making sure he couldn't move away. He was pretty sure he didn't want to. She let their foreheads fall together, and suddenly he was very sure.

"You know," she murmured, and her lips brushed his with each syllable, "I really thought you were going to roast him. I mean, literally. Like, frwoosh." Her hands made a sloppy exploding motion behind him, illustrating her point. He wasn't really paying attention by then, though; by the time she'd gotten to 'thought' his universe had narrowed considerably, to the steady measure of her pulse and the weight of her against him and the way her soft, wet lips moved against his. So he smirked, and nodded absentmindedly. She laughed at the movement, her head bobbing in time with his.

Whatever it was that had loosened inside of him earlier was expanding, moving and shifting things around that he hadn't realized were so heavy, and he realized that he couldn't care less about what was going to happen at school tomorrow. Or the day after, or what they were going to do with Tam, or if he was going to be ready for the Euro-History test this Friday. He felt so light. Such a strange sensation, especially since there was extra baggage perched in his lap, chattering on. Her mouth made a moue as she said something else, something about the Buick, her fingers drawing abstract patterns across his shoulders and back, and he realized that she really did smell good. Like the rain that fell around them, but also something else. Something simple and straightforward, but he couldn't quite place it. Actually -

"Do you think it's OK?"

"...Hum?"

"...you haven't heard anything I've said, have you."

"Ye -es...no?...er, no, not really."

"Alright, Spence. Enough cosmonauting; it's time to return to Earth."

"I do not sound like your brother. I have at least a 30 - no, a 40 - point jump on him in the IQ department."

"Just because you've got a hot girl in your lap does not give you automatic exaggeration rights. I happen to know you and Spence are about neck and neck in the 'IQ department.' "

"...that's right, you were -"

" - sitting right beside you during the test? Yeah. I gave you the answer to like, five of of the math problems."

"Dammit. You know, I really don't want to talk about...or think about...or acknowledge the existence of in any way, shape or form....your brother. Especially when his little sister is sitting in my lap. Makes me damned uncomfortable. About your brother. That your brother might find out. Not that - it's -" Her eyebrows had hiked into her hairline, and she looked like she was either going to sneeze or laugh at him. "Not that you make me uncomfortable! This is...good. It - I – you're really pretty."

She burst out laughing, and hooked her legs around his hips, effectively shutting down any final lingering coherent thoughts he might have had. "I'm also hungry. And cold." Her tone was too innocent, and she grinned up at him from underneath glittering lashes.

"Yes, Tam - Ma'am." And he slid his hands along her thighs to hitch her more securely against him. She might have made a noise, but he was too busy standing up and enjoying their proximity to really notice. He carried her like that into the house, and she clung to him like a sloth the whole way. Her chin rested on his shoulder, her arms and legs wrapped tightly around him.

Her breath in his ear, among other things, was driving him to distraction, and he almost missed the kitchen. With a playful growl, he swerved around the couch, trying to drop her off there. She laughed silently into his shoulder, body quivering as she held on determinedly, refusing to let go. He couldn't remember what she said, or what he may or may not have said back, but it was making her laugh and squirm against him, and though he made a half - maybe just a quarter - hearted attempt to shush her, he really couldn't complain. With every faked attempt to drop her, her nails would dig into his back and her thighs would tighten around him. She couldn't see the smirk that crossed his face as she narrowly escaped being dropped onto the dining table. He tried not to think too much about what might have happened, had he succeeded.

Trying not to be loud, but not always managing, they argued their way into the kitchen. With a groan, he hitched her up onto the counter nearest the fridge, and tried to untangle their limbs. She wouldn't let him; she kept digging her heels into his back and squeezing every time he tried to get to the ice box. Needless to say, he didn't try very hard. Her jacket buttons had also gotten caught in the rip that trailed along the hem of his shirt, and that stopped him, too. He didn't know what had happened, but she was still giggling and it was contagious. He never giggled. At the risk of sounding like her jackass of a brother, it was unmanly.

"Ok, are you hungry or not?"

She finally deigned to let go of his shoulders, but kept her legs in place. She was grinning. "Yes, please."

His eyebrows raised in a silent question, and glanced pointedly between them. Smirking, she leaned her head back against the cabinets, letting her hands fall to the counter. "You're just going to have to get used to it, I gue - oomph!" She was cut off when he yanked her unceremoniously off of the counter top; she almost fell, but caught herself on his neck just in time. He stood like that for a minute in the middle of the darkened kitchen, watching her pout at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He would never understand girls. Was she flirting? He rather hoped so, after the episode out on the porch, but wasn't too sure what to do about it. Should he kiss her again? Push her up against the fridge and...well, that thought wasn't going to get him anywhere, and it was making him damned uncomfortable, besides. And...and did best friends really kiss each other? He wouldn't know.

Her brows raised. She tried to look cool and confident, but even in the dim light he could see the blush spread across her cheeks. As she leaned in, he could feel the sweet warmth of her breath hit his face, and he unconsciously hung on a little tighter. "What do you want it to mean?" Her bright eyes searched his, waiting.

He blinked, and swallowed. Why was she putting this on him? Did she think he wanted to - what, date her? Make out with her on the counter top? He blinked again, and she was still watching him. A little crease had formed between her brows, and her mouth had tightened, almost imperceptibly. If he hadn't been holding her so close, he wouldn't have noticed. But the corners of her mouth had tucked inwards, a sign that she was getting frustrated. His own mouth twitched in amusement, but he tried to hide it. Despite the levity of the last few minutes, she was being serious, and the least he could do was give her a straightforward answer. But how do you do that when you aren't even sure of your own feelings? Were inconvenient daydreams in the middle of Euro History and wishing she'd never leave his house when she came over the right ingredients for a good relationship? He'd never want to scare her away (despite all of his initial attempts when he first met her), and if she knew just how much he thought of her, what he thought of her...was that what she wanted to hear? Would it end this...whatever it was? It wasn't like any relationship he'd ever had, inside the family or out. Barring Uncle and Tam, she was the best thing to ever happen to him. He wouldn't know what to do if he lost her.

She was almost done waiting. Her eyes finally dropped, and she turned away. He felt her legs finally begin to loosen, so she could slide down him, but he secured her against him more firmly and moved to sit her on the counter again. She glanced up at him through the veil of hair that had fallen across her eyes, but still didn't lift her chin. "Look, I'm just being a girl, alright? Don't worry about it."

Something in his throat closed a little. She was giving him a way out of an increasingly awkward situation, and a part of him was tempted to take it. But if he let go now, he wasn't sure when he'd get another chance at this. She might think he didn't care about...what she did. The kiss. And after everything Uncle had attempted to pound into his head, all those idioms and sayings about life and experiences and girls, it finally clicked. She hadn't asked him what he wanted out of sheer curiosity. Her posture, her tone, her expression - or lack thereof, from what he could see behind her hair - all gave it away. She wanted him to say he cared. That he'd liked it. That he liked her. The thought floored him.

It also put everything into a whole new perspective, and suddenly the thoughts that had been crowding his brain the last few minutes came into sharp focus. "Hey," and his voice cracked like a 12-year-old's. He winced a little - smooth - and she raised her head just a fraction. "This..." and he let one hand let go of her thigh so he could run his fingers over the curve of her flushed cheek. Take a deep breath, focus, in, out, just like meditation, let it all go,  "this is what I want."

And he closed the gap between them, lowering his head to just brush his mouth against hers. She went very still, her warm lips unmoving beneath his. They remained like this for the longest and shortest seconds of his life, and then her lips parted, just enough to feel her breath mingle with his. Something woke within him then, a fire that ignited low in his belly and spread outward, to his fingertips. He sucked in a sharp breath, and pressed himself against her the best he could, considering their position. Her legs hooked behing him, and squeezed, and slim, callused fingers stole up his chest to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him against her.

And suddenly the still, sweet moment was gone, and everything was friction and hot hands exploring each other. He pried her mouth open further with his own, deepening the kiss. She made a small, wanton noise in the back of her throat, and bit his lip hungrily, sucking on it. He could actually feel his knees start to buckle a little at that, and he had to push her all the way against the cabinets in order to have something to lean on. His hands twisted in her damp shirt, and almost by accident his fingers brushed the soft, flushed skin beneath it. She jerked against him, startled at the sudden contact, but didn't let go of him, continuing her assault on him. When she didn't pull away, he dared to slip the rest of his hand just under the hem of her shirt and skim over her side, squeezing just a little. She made that noise again, and he echoed her, gasping into her mouth when she mirrored his movements. She'd just about made it to his ribs when the light turned on behind them.

"I think if I wasn't blind before this, I would be now."

An indulgent chuckle answered Tam. "Come now. Love is a beautiful thing, not something to be disgusted at."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure your kind of love doesn't cop a feel in someone else's kitchen at eleven o'clock at night. No offense, Kat."

Neither of them had moved since jerking apart when the light flooded over them. They stared at each other through the short conversation, Kat's cheeks flooding with more color than before, and Zeke could feel his own face ignite. Suddenly Kat's face crumpled, and for one horrible second he thought she had burst into tears, but she was howling with laughter. Her shoulders trembled, and her hands grabbed at the front of his wet shirt so she wouldn't fall off the counter, she was shaking so hard.

"How - how did you know i was c-copping a f-feel?" She could barely talk through the giggles, and Zeke felt himself sliding from one end of the spectrum to the other - on one hand, he knew he was going to throttle Tam the second he had her upstairs and away from the ground, but he also had an insane urge to break down too. Right after he died of embarrassment.

"I didn't; you just told me. I hope it was nothing below the belt."

That just set Kat off again, and this time, Zeke finally joined her.