Coming Out To Biff
Dec. 22nd, 2014 10:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lb_leeComing Out To Biff
Word Count: 1250
Prompt: M.D. tells Biff who she's dating. The world's most uncomfortable conversation ensues.
Notes: Takes place directly after Coming Out to the Family Rodriguez, It's Better to Give, and Coming Out To Bobcat; you should read those first. Originally, I planned to have all the coming outs in one go, and Biff's was actually the first I started, but, well, it HAS been three years since I started. Oops.
“Well, today has raised my humiliation tolerance a good few notches,” M.D. says, carefully placing the stack of books from Bobcat next to the various herbal and anatomical texts in her room. “I might as well make it three for three and do Biff now; he’s the only one left, and I’m going to visit him today anyway, so I might as well get it over with.”
“He’s going to hit the roof,” Raige says. “You know that, right?”
“God, why are you going to tell him?” Thomas groans. “Haven’t you had enough punishment for one day?”
“Because we spend too much time in each other’s gray matter for him not to find out,” M.D. says, and goes to dig the meat out of the basket from Scorch and Flame.
“Eurgh, don’t remind me,” Thomas says. “I don’t know how you stand it.”
She shrugs. “Enh, it’s like being junior healer. Once you get vomited and defecated on a few times, you stop noticing. Regardless, he’s going to find out one way or another, and he’s likely to take it less badly if I tell him.”
“I notice you say ‘less bad,’ not ‘well,’” Raige says.
M.D. ignores him. “Hopefully, he’ll rant and rave and booze it out of his system, and that’ll be that.”
Raige fusses with his hair. “Look, do you want one of us to come with you, I don’t want him to take it out on you…”
“No. Definitely not. I can always electrocute his sorry carcass. You guys can’t, and he’s far more likely to get mega-violent on you than me.”
“You’re really not reassuring me, thanks for trying,” Raige says, covering his eyes with one hand. “Seriously, he’s about the only person who I think will take this worse than my dad.”
“If he gives you any crap,” Thomas says, uncharacteristically serious, “any at all, I swear to God…”
“Thanks anyway, alpha male, but that won’t be necessary.” M.D. says, pulling out her jaunt watch again. “I’ve got this. Stay home and desecrate my bedroom; I’ll be back later.”
And she’s off again.
By this point, Biff’s usually home when she comes for dinner, but only just. This time, she hears him come through the door a bare second or two before she clambers through his window, and once she vaults inside, she sees him in gym shorts with a basketball.
“No food?” She asks plaintively.
“I do shit ‘sides cook, you know,” he says, wiping sweat off his forehead. “Tonight’s leftovers.” He eyes the paper-wrapped package under her arm, jerks his chin at it with an inquiring grunt.
“Oh, this is for you,” she says, lobbing it to him. He catches it with his free hand. “It’s meat.”
He tosses the ball away and lifts a flap of the butcher paper to eye the contents. “What kinda meat?”
“Why do you keep asking me questions when you and I both know the answer won’t mean anything to you? Just cook it thoroughly.”
Biff shrugs with his mouth, opens the paper enough to verify that no, it comes from nothing recognizable, and turns to put it in the fridge. “Pretty marbled. They always give you good shit?”
“Nah, it was a celebratory present. Speaking of which, Thomas, Raige, and I are dating now.”
Biff halts with one hand on the open fridge door. His back is to her, but she sees his shoulders tense. “Dating who?”
“Each other.”
Biff stands silent and frozen for a while, meat still in one hand, fridge door under the other. M.D. stays on the windowsill. After a few seconds, she says, “You’re letting the cold air out.”
Biff doesn’t move from the fridge. He heaves a deep enough breath that she can see it in his shoulders. He says, “okay.”
M.D. waits. “That’s it?” She asks finally.
“I said okay!” Biff snaps, slamming the meat in the fridge and shutting the door hard enough that the whole thing shakes. “You want me to be a dick about it? Cuz I can.”
“No, no, I am totally copacetic with this moment of character-building,” M.D. says quickly. “Just… surprised.”
Biff just grunts. He still hasn’t turned to face her. After a moment, he raises one finger and says, “One asshole question.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
“Thought you didn’t fuck?”
“You’re right, that is an asshole question, and none of your business. Thus, I’m not going to answer it.”
He shrugs and nods philosophically, as though he expected an answer along those lines. “’Kay. This mean next time I see ‘em, they’ll be acting like—”
“—Like people who’re dating each other? Yes. I know for a fact that Thomas plans to blast the Village People and make out with Raige just to see what color you turn. If you have any sense at all, you won’t give him the satisfaction.”
“Like I’d give him the shits and giggles,” Biff mutters darkly.
“That too, but mostly I meant I’d like to continue associating with you. Your bigotry is your business, as long as you keep it to yourself. Start splashing it on others, particularly my friends—”
“Boyfriends,” Biff corrects, turning around to lean back against the fridge and cross his arms.
M.D. blinks. “Wow, they are, aren’t they?” She shakes her head. “I’m still getting over that.”
“Yeah,” Biff says, looking her over as though he’s never seen her before. “Yeah, me too.”
They’re silent for a moment.
Then Biff says, “Pretty Boy give you herpes, I’ll fucking kill him.”
“All right, first of all, I can darn well kill Thomas myself. Second, if you and Thomas are so desperate to prove your masculinity to each other, just find a grassy field and a football, and leave me out of it. And anyway, what makes you think he’ll give me herpes?”
“Because White Boy ain’t never been laid in his life, so he ain’t giving you shit. Just cuz you got some kinda super immune system don’t mean you can’t get shit like that.”
M.D. groans and rubs her eyes. “Oh god, my worst fears are realized: you’re trying to give me sex ed. Dang it, now I owe Thomas a steak…”
“’M just saying!”
Her head snaps up. “Biff, I’m a junior healer; I know more about cleanliness and disease transmission than you do, so kindly don’t pull this creepy paternal act on me. Plus, I just came back from a sexual health seminar/intervention from my cat, so I really, really don’t need your input on top of it.”
Biff slumps against the fridge with a look of relief. “Aw, thank fuck,” he says, putting a hand to his forehead. “You think I wanted to do it?”
“Good, that means we can both spare ourselves the ego-blow and just pretend this part of the conversation never happened. Regardless. Keep your bigotry to yourself, and I won’t have to kick you to the curb as a matter of principle. Are we clear?”
“We clear, we clear, Jesus. You want me to grill your good-job-fucking-my-head meat or what?”
“Yes. Cook it. And then give it to me so I can pay Thomas off.”
When she comes back home and delivers the Treehouse steak to Thomas, he and Raige look at her as though readying themselves for the worst.
“Relax,” she said. “He took it fine. I think he’s really improving, he’s almost a recovering jerk at this point…”
Word Count: 1250
Prompt: M.D. tells Biff who she's dating. The world's most uncomfortable conversation ensues.
Notes: Takes place directly after Coming Out to the Family Rodriguez, It's Better to Give, and Coming Out To Bobcat; you should read those first. Originally, I planned to have all the coming outs in one go, and Biff's was actually the first I started, but, well, it HAS been three years since I started. Oops.
“Well, today has raised my humiliation tolerance a good few notches,” M.D. says, carefully placing the stack of books from Bobcat next to the various herbal and anatomical texts in her room. “I might as well make it three for three and do Biff now; he’s the only one left, and I’m going to visit him today anyway, so I might as well get it over with.”
“He’s going to hit the roof,” Raige says. “You know that, right?”
“God, why are you going to tell him?” Thomas groans. “Haven’t you had enough punishment for one day?”
“Because we spend too much time in each other’s gray matter for him not to find out,” M.D. says, and goes to dig the meat out of the basket from Scorch and Flame.
“Eurgh, don’t remind me,” Thomas says. “I don’t know how you stand it.”
She shrugs. “Enh, it’s like being junior healer. Once you get vomited and defecated on a few times, you stop noticing. Regardless, he’s going to find out one way or another, and he’s likely to take it less badly if I tell him.”
“I notice you say ‘less bad,’ not ‘well,’” Raige says.
M.D. ignores him. “Hopefully, he’ll rant and rave and booze it out of his system, and that’ll be that.”
Raige fusses with his hair. “Look, do you want one of us to come with you, I don’t want him to take it out on you…”
“No. Definitely not. I can always electrocute his sorry carcass. You guys can’t, and he’s far more likely to get mega-violent on you than me.”
“You’re really not reassuring me, thanks for trying,” Raige says, covering his eyes with one hand. “Seriously, he’s about the only person who I think will take this worse than my dad.”
“If he gives you any crap,” Thomas says, uncharacteristically serious, “any at all, I swear to God…”
“Thanks anyway, alpha male, but that won’t be necessary.” M.D. says, pulling out her jaunt watch again. “I’ve got this. Stay home and desecrate my bedroom; I’ll be back later.”
And she’s off again.
By this point, Biff’s usually home when she comes for dinner, but only just. This time, she hears him come through the door a bare second or two before she clambers through his window, and once she vaults inside, she sees him in gym shorts with a basketball.
“No food?” She asks plaintively.
“I do shit ‘sides cook, you know,” he says, wiping sweat off his forehead. “Tonight’s leftovers.” He eyes the paper-wrapped package under her arm, jerks his chin at it with an inquiring grunt.
“Oh, this is for you,” she says, lobbing it to him. He catches it with his free hand. “It’s meat.”
He tosses the ball away and lifts a flap of the butcher paper to eye the contents. “What kinda meat?”
“Why do you keep asking me questions when you and I both know the answer won’t mean anything to you? Just cook it thoroughly.”
Biff shrugs with his mouth, opens the paper enough to verify that no, it comes from nothing recognizable, and turns to put it in the fridge. “Pretty marbled. They always give you good shit?”
“Nah, it was a celebratory present. Speaking of which, Thomas, Raige, and I are dating now.”
Biff halts with one hand on the open fridge door. His back is to her, but she sees his shoulders tense. “Dating who?”
“Each other.”
Biff stands silent and frozen for a while, meat still in one hand, fridge door under the other. M.D. stays on the windowsill. After a few seconds, she says, “You’re letting the cold air out.”
Biff doesn’t move from the fridge. He heaves a deep enough breath that she can see it in his shoulders. He says, “okay.”
M.D. waits. “That’s it?” She asks finally.
“I said okay!” Biff snaps, slamming the meat in the fridge and shutting the door hard enough that the whole thing shakes. “You want me to be a dick about it? Cuz I can.”
“No, no, I am totally copacetic with this moment of character-building,” M.D. says quickly. “Just… surprised.”
Biff just grunts. He still hasn’t turned to face her. After a moment, he raises one finger and says, “One asshole question.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
“Thought you didn’t fuck?”
“You’re right, that is an asshole question, and none of your business. Thus, I’m not going to answer it.”
He shrugs and nods philosophically, as though he expected an answer along those lines. “’Kay. This mean next time I see ‘em, they’ll be acting like—”
“—Like people who’re dating each other? Yes. I know for a fact that Thomas plans to blast the Village People and make out with Raige just to see what color you turn. If you have any sense at all, you won’t give him the satisfaction.”
“Like I’d give him the shits and giggles,” Biff mutters darkly.
“That too, but mostly I meant I’d like to continue associating with you. Your bigotry is your business, as long as you keep it to yourself. Start splashing it on others, particularly my friends—”
“Boyfriends,” Biff corrects, turning around to lean back against the fridge and cross his arms.
M.D. blinks. “Wow, they are, aren’t they?” She shakes her head. “I’m still getting over that.”
“Yeah,” Biff says, looking her over as though he’s never seen her before. “Yeah, me too.”
They’re silent for a moment.
Then Biff says, “Pretty Boy give you herpes, I’ll fucking kill him.”
“All right, first of all, I can darn well kill Thomas myself. Second, if you and Thomas are so desperate to prove your masculinity to each other, just find a grassy field and a football, and leave me out of it. And anyway, what makes you think he’ll give me herpes?”
“Because White Boy ain’t never been laid in his life, so he ain’t giving you shit. Just cuz you got some kinda super immune system don’t mean you can’t get shit like that.”
M.D. groans and rubs her eyes. “Oh god, my worst fears are realized: you’re trying to give me sex ed. Dang it, now I owe Thomas a steak…”
“’M just saying!”
Her head snaps up. “Biff, I’m a junior healer; I know more about cleanliness and disease transmission than you do, so kindly don’t pull this creepy paternal act on me. Plus, I just came back from a sexual health seminar/intervention from my cat, so I really, really don’t need your input on top of it.”
Biff slumps against the fridge with a look of relief. “Aw, thank fuck,” he says, putting a hand to his forehead. “You think I wanted to do it?”
“Good, that means we can both spare ourselves the ego-blow and just pretend this part of the conversation never happened. Regardless. Keep your bigotry to yourself, and I won’t have to kick you to the curb as a matter of principle. Are we clear?”
“We clear, we clear, Jesus. You want me to grill your good-job-fucking-my-head meat or what?”
“Yes. Cook it. And then give it to me so I can pay Thomas off.”
When she comes back home and delivers the Treehouse steak to Thomas, he and Raige look at her as though readying themselves for the worst.
“Relax,” she said. “He took it fine. I think he’s really improving, he’s almost a recovering jerk at this point…”
no subject
Date: 2014-12-24 09:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-24 07:41 pm (UTC)Thomas's hatred of Biff is actually pretty one-sided; Biff doesn't remember Thomas except as "that other guy," and doesn't bother to learn his name for years. Much to Thomas's irritation.
As for Biff being abusive to other people... he's AWARE that he's dangerous. It's why he's such a loner for most of the series; he's petrified that if people care about him, he'll end up just like his dad and beating the shit out of them every time he's angry. Which, honestly, he probably would, until later in the series.
This story is actually a pretty big deal for him, in that he gets hit with news that freaks him out and he waits, gets a grip on his emotions, and manages not to lash out. He's not OKAY with it, necessarily, but at least he manages not to explode.
That said, he probably spends the next few days trying to decide just how he feels about it.
--Rogan