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Chapter Text

The eldest daughter of Louis Richter cuts her hair in the shitty bathroom of a gas station outside of Guadalajara the same day she runs away from home.  She stole some of her cousin Omar's clothes and it's safer, she knows, if she looks like a boy.  Little girls all by themselves get hurt.  If people think she's a boy, then they won't mess with her.  It's not as hard as she thought, cutting it off, and there's something freeing about it.  She gets on the bus wearing Omar's clothes and sits at the back with her shoulders hunched.  She doesn't have breasts yet, but it's better to be safe.  Her hands are shaking.  She hasn't been able to stop shaking since she leveled half of Guadalajara.  There's an old woman sitting next to her who reminds her of Tía Callida, the old woman who watched her when her step mother was busy, and she almost starts crying.  She smiles at her and calls her a nice young man when she helps her with her bag and the words sticks in her brain like a pebble in her shoe.  It feels right and that scares her.

She takes three buses to get to Tijuana and gets a hotel room with the cash she stole from one of her uncles, the one who's a little too touchy and always smells like beer.  He's an asshole, so she doesn't feel bad about it.  At least, not too bad.  She still prays for forgiveness when she climbs into bed, trying not to cry, trying not to shake.  She wakes up soaked in sweat with tears drying on her cheeks, dreaming of her father calling her mijo and a gun to her head and blood on her mary janes and nothing makes sense.   She throws up, and it's all stomach bile.  She hasn't eaten in two days.  She presses her forehead to the cool bathroom tile and tries to figure out why young man felt so right.  Why being a boy seems so much easier.  When the man in the suit asks her what her name is, she says Rictor because it's the first thing that comes to mind and it feels better than her real name ever has.  It's easier, to pretend.  It feels so much truer than the dresses she wore to Church and the long braids heavy against her neck.  The more time she spends being Rictor, the less she actually feels like a girl and the more she-

The more he thinks maybe he can just be a boy.  And of course, it all goes to shit soon after.  The machine the Right hooks him up to hurts worse than anything he's ever felt and he hopes he dies because it's easier than being like he is.  Stuck like this, confused and scared and in so much pain he wonders why he hasn't caught on fire yet.  It would be better if he just fucking died right here and now.  He's accepted it.

And then the X-Men save him.  He can't control his powers and they should just put him down after what he did in San Francisco, but they don't.  They take him in, like he's not some freak.  He's not sure if they know that he's not really a boy, but neither Jean nor Hank ever comment on it.  Even after Hank checks him over for injuries and wraps the places on his arms where the machine rubbed the skin clean off, he still calls him son.  It makes no sense.  Jean can read minds, but when she takes him to buy new clothes, she steers him towards the boys section with a smile.  He doesn't get it, but he's grateful all the same.  Still, he's stuck playing chicken for the longest time, not wanting to bring it up in case they don't know and they make him be a girl.  The very idea makes him feel sick.  He could do it, probably, but he'd feel like clawing his skin off (even more than he already does, because he's getting breasts and he hates the fact that his own body is betraying him).  

Hank is the one who eventually breaks their stalemate.  "Rictor," Hank says gently, when Ric comes to him feeling sick and uncomfortable and wrong.  "I have something for you.  As you know, Warren needed to conceal his wings in public."

Ric nods, shuffling awkwardly.  "Yeah, so?"

"So," Hanks says, "I have done some research, and I have contrived a similar garment that should work for you as you, er, develop physically."

Ric blanches, "Whaddya mean?"

Hank looks at him over the rim of his glasses, "I'm a doctor, young man, and there is a fair bit of overlap between homosexuals and transexuals and mutants.  Birds of a feather flock together, as it were.  I've often wondered about the scientific implications of such a convergence, but that is for another day."

"Oh," Ric says softly, "So, uh, you know?  About me?"

"Yes," Hank tells him.  "And I have been looking into other options.  I am primarily interested in genetics, but the development of hormone treatments is a fascinating field of study."  He grins.  "Perhaps, a subject for another time."

Ric scuffs the floor with his sneaker, "So you don't think that- That I'm a freak or somethin'?"

"No more so than the rest of us," Hank assures him.  "However, if you wish to continue as you are, we must take some precautions.  The world is full of those who do not and will not understand those who are different, and it can be dangerous.  The legal aspect will be taken care of shortly, so do not worry about that."

"Oh," he says, chest tight with emotion, "Oh, yeah.  Thanks."

Hank waves him off, "It's no trouble."  He turns away and grabs a box.  "Jean insisted on wrapping it for you," he says with a smile.

Ric opens it, tearing off the brightly-colored wrapping paper (blue, he notes).  It looks like a tan tank top, maybe a few shades lighter than his skin.  "What is it?" he asks skeptically.

Hank claps his hands, "I am so glad you asked!  Your body is developing as it should during puberty, however in your case this is something that causes discomfort and what is known as gender dysphoria.  Therefore, this device will bind your chest and render it flattened!"

Ric rubs the fabric between his fingers.  It's stretchy and thin enough that it won't show up underneath his shirts.  "Cool," he manages.  He feels like he's about to cry.

"Just make sure you don't wear it for longer than a few hours, or you'll injure your ribs," Hank tells him.

Ric just nods, overwhelmed.

Things are better, with the binder.  Ironically enough, he feels like he can breathe for the first time since he noticed his chest was no longer completely flat.  He can finally look himself in the mirror and not hate what he sees.  At least, not as much.  For a while, things are okay.  And then he wakes up in a pool of his own blood, stomach aching so bad he can barely move.  He lays there for a while, choking in self-hatred and what Hank said was dysphoria.  He hates his body, hates the fact that he can't just be normal for once.  He screams into his pillow, filled with rage and disgust and the desire to crawl out of his skin, to just find a new body that actually looks how it's supposed to.

He stumbles to the bathroom and curls up in the bathtub.  There's blood on his legs, soaking his underwear and he feels worse than he ever has.  There's a razor blade on the counter, and he stares at it for a while, then grabs it.  He stares at it, wondering if he can cut whatever's making him feel this way out from under his skin if he tries hard enough.  Tabby is the one who comes to get him.  She finds him in the bathroom, covered in his own blood and still staring at the razor blade.  She shrieks, and Ric almost stabs himself trying to grab her before she goes to get Hank.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm not dying," he tells her.

"You're bleeding!" she hisses.  "Where is it even all coming from, what..." she trails off, really looking at him.  He shifts uncomfortably.  "Ric," she says after a minute, "Are you a girl?"

"No!" he snaps, "I'm not a fuckin' girl!"

"But you have-" Tabby gestures at his chest, then at the blood on his legs.

He hunches, "Yeah, but I'm a boy.  Inside."  Explaining it makes him sound nuts.

"Okayyyy," Tabby says skeptically, drawing out the word.  "Still, you're having your period."

He sets his jaw, hating the fact that he has to deal with this.  "I guess."

"Wait here," Tabby says.

"What are you doing?" he asks nervously.

"Omigod, I'm not gonna get anyone.  I'm just grabbing some pads from my room, okay?"

True to her word, Tabby brings him some pads, as well as some clean underwear and sweatpants from his dresser.  She lets him change, but she's sitting on his bed when he leaves the bathroom.

"So you're a guy," she says, "How does that even work?  How did you know?"

"How'd y'know you were a girl?" he snaps back.  He's tired, and he still has to change his sheets before someone finds out.

Tabby nods, like that makes sense, "Do you like girls, then?"

"I guess," he shrugs.

"I hope you don't like me," she says wrinkling her nose, "That would be weird."

"Why?" he says, bristling.

She rolls her eyes, "Cause you're like the annoying little brother I never had."

"Oh fuck you," he says, rolling his eyes, but something warm spreads through him.  Tabby knows, and she's not calling him a freak.

"Dork," she snorts.  "We need to get you some better clothes, though, if you wanna impress any girls."

His throat tightens.  "Fine, whatever," he says, pretending not to be happy about it.  "But just 'cause I look like a girl doesn't mean you can drag me shopping.  I'm still a boy."

"Yeah, I got that," she says, rolling her eyes again.

When they go to school, Jean convinces the principal to give him his own room.  And when things get too hard or he's terrified that someone's going to find out, he sticks with Tabby.  When they break out to rescue Artie and Leech and they steal clothes, she insists on dressing him up.  At first, he's worried she's going to make him look like a girl, but she doesn't.  She gets him jeans and a cool leather vest and red sneakers.  It's a little bit flashy for his taste (the last thing he wants is to stand out) but it makes him feel like one of those handsome movie stars that Tabby and Skids are always swooning over.  He ignores the fact that if he had to choose between kissing Molly Ringwald or Judd Nelson, he'd go with Judd Nelson.  Boys don't want to kiss other guys.  If he wants to be a boy, then he has to want to kiss girls.  That's just how it is.

He meets Rahne and thinks, this is it.  This is the girl he's going to marry someday.  She's pretty and shy and her wolf form is pretty cool.  And for a while, they orbit each other.  Tabby doesn't seem to like Rahne all that much, but Ric thinks she's too cool.  And then Cable shows up and fucking ruins it all.  He tries to ignore the fact that the man who killed his father is right in front of him, he really does, but it reaches a breaking point after Genosha.  The fact that Rahne saw him naked just makes it worse.

"How could ye lie t'me?" she asks while they're in that cell together.

Ric feels awful and sick.  Cameron Hodge's taunts are still ringing in his ears and he's terrified.  At least Tabby already knew.  But Rahne, Rahne is a Calvinist and she won't even look at him.  "I didn't lie," he hisses, hugging himself.  "I really am a boy."

Rahne snorts, "Well, ye d'nae look like one."

"I am, I am," he insists, "My body's just... wrong."

Rahne shrugs, "Ah suppose it's possible."  But she still won't look at him.

She stays on Genosha, and it doesn't take long for Ric to snap and leave.  He fucking hates Cable, hates the fact that he acts like he doesn't know what he's done.  Calls him Julio, like he has any right to the name Ric chose for himself.  He leaves a note for Tabby, telling her he's going to find Rahne.  Truthfully, he has no idea where he's going.

He just needs to leave.

Chapter Text

When he finally does reunite with Tabby and Sam and 'Berto, it's only because Cable is dead and he refuses to fight his own friends.  There's some people he doesn't recognize, including a guy with long red hair and an absurd tattoo on his face.  He's too tall and too fucking weird to be human, not even by their loose standards, so Ric isn't really surprised when he finds out about the whole alternate dimension/other planet situation.  They settle down in Camp Verde, Arizona and for a while things don't suck.  At least he isn't alone.  And he missed Tabby.  Still, there's that creeping terror of someone finding out, without the safety net of having a powerful telepath like Jean Grey on his side if things go South.  Sure, Tabby would back him up but in the end he's not sure how much weight her support would even carry in a fight with people like Sam and 'Berto and a fucking alien warrior.

Then, in the span of less than two months, three things happen: Cable comes back, 'Berto disappears, and his uncle ends up in the hospital.

For some reason, Shatterstar decided to learn Spanish so they could speak privately, even though they're not really friends.  And Ric can't deny that there's something enthralling about having the guy's full attention, even if the feeling is mostly overshadowed by the fact that he's going to have to go home.  He doesn't want to, but he has to.  No one else gives a shit about what's happening down there.

Home looks the same as the day he left it, which makes everything that's changed about him feel even more obvious.  He can feel Cable and Domino's eyes on him, burning into his back.  His stepmother opens the door, shouting about reporters and when he opens his mouth, he tries not to sound like that terrified little girl.  

"---?  Everyone come here quickly, --- is home!" she calls, pulling him into a hug.  He winces at his old name and tries not to pull away because there's a part of him that missed her.

"Yes, momma," he says, voice thick, "I'm home again."

She ushers him inside, pinching his cheek and chattering about what a beautiful young woman he's become and he tries to bite his tongue because he really doesn't want to hash this out in front of everyone.  They won't get it.  He was raised going to Church every Sunday, and he might not really think much of God these days but he knows what the Bible says about people like him.  Mutie, tranny, dyke.  Even just one of those is enough to get him murdered or worse.  He tells her anyway, in sharp, biting Spanish because there are words for this in English, albeit not many and none that are kind, but it's even less common at home.  He watches the joy turn to confusion turn to denial and disgust and he lets himself float away and out of his body.  There's the accusations that he's confused, that the freaks up North have infected him, turned him wrong.

He breaks up a fight between his family members and Cable and Domino and goes to find Omar and isn't surprised when unkind words get spit in his face.  "Traitor!  You too good for your own family now, ---, is that it?"

"No," he chokes out, "Omar, that's not it.  I'm not too good for all of you..."  He swallows back the taste of gunpowder and blood, "But I'm trying to be."

When they leave, he shrugs off any attempt by Cable to talk about it.  He's not going to, not ever, and certainly not with him.  He's been binding for too long and his ribs ache something awful by the time they get back to Camp Verde.  He hisses as he takes off the bandages.  He needs a new binder, but he's not sure how to get into contact with Hank without outing himself.  He could ask Cable, but the very thought of that makes him cringe.  He misses those early days with X-Factor with a sudden startling intensity, when he wasn't constantly looking over his shoulder because Jean and Hank knew and wouldn't let anyone say shit.  Not that he can't handle himself, but the idea of anyone but Tabby knowing scares the shit out of him.  He still wakes up sometimes in a cold sweat wondering if Rahne's told anyone.

He's so deep in his own shit that he doesn't hear the door open.  "Rictor?" Star says, and he drops his shirt.

Shit, he thinks, terrified.  Star's eyes scan him and he covers his chest, though there's really no point.  Star's seen everything.  He's totally fucked.  "Fuck off," he hisses, even though he really shouldn't antagonize him at this point.  Star holds all the power here.

He wonders if he's just going to kill him.  He'll take that over the other ways people might try to fix him.

Star cocks his head, "You are upset.  I do not understand."

He's shaking, Ric realizes, as he backs away from Star.  The backs of his knees bump the bed and he stumbles, unsteady and terrified.  "Go away, Star," he growls, low and terrified, a lump in his throat.

"I will not," Star decides.  Ric flinches when he steps forward.  "You are injured."

"What?" Ric asks, half-hysterical, "That's what you're focusing on?"

"What else would you have me focus on?" Star asks, sounding genuinely confused.

"Close the door," Ric tells him, voice flat.  "And lock it.  I don't want anyone walkin' in on this."

Star does, then turns to look at him, head still cocked like a confused puppy.  Shit, Ric thinks, he's cute.  He doesn't get to have this.  He doesn't get to be what he is and like guys.  That's not how things work.  Slowly he uncrosses his arms from his chest, letting Star look even though it makes his skin crawl.  He keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Star to go for his swords or call him a freak or get him kicked off the team or... Or...

But Star is just looking, not even at his tits but at his ribs, frowning.  "We have not fought in some time.  You should not be injured," he says finally.

"What's your fucking problem?" Ric finally spits, in Spanish because he doesn't want anyone to hear this.

"You are hurt," Star repeats, also in Spanish.

"Why aren't you pissed at me?" Ric snaps.  "I fucking lied to you, I lied to everyone!"

Star takes another step forward.  "I do not understand."

"Star, man," he chokes, "Look at me."  He gestured at his chest, skin prickling.

"I am looking," Star says.  "You are bruised and require medical attention."

"Goddammit, why aren't you asking about the fact that I have tits?" he snaps.

Star furrows his brow, "I do not see why that is relevant."

"Dude," he says, switching back to English because maybe Star doesn't understand.  Languages can be tricky, he knows that.  "I'm a-" the word sticks in his throat.

"Rictor, I understand how human biology works," Star says, impatient.

"Do you?" he snaps, "Because you're not acting like you're seeing tits.  Most guys would go nuts."

"As has previously been established, I am not 'most guys'," Star deadpans.

A hysterical laugh bubbles up, "That's for sure."  Star is staring at him, but in that normal, unblinking alien way, not the creepy way he knows most guys would be if he was shirtless around them.  Something about Star is safe, which makes no sense considering the fact that he's actually killed people.  "So," he clears his throat, switching back to Spanish, "Are you going to ask?"

"If you do not wish to tell me, then I will not ask," Star says.  "But I think this is a secret, yes?"

"Fuck, yes it's a secret," Ric says emphatically.  He rakes a hand through his hair, figuring he's screwed either way so he might as well just explain.  "I'm a man, okay.  Doesn't matter that I have-" he gestures at his chest, "I know I'm a guy."

Star nods, like this makes perfect sense, but doesn't say anything and Ric can tell he's just being polite.

Ric swallows, throat dry, and continues, "I feel it, on the inside.  Fuck, I'm not explaining this well, uh, okay, listen.  Imagine you woke up and you had a tits and your dick was gone?  How would that feel?"

Star cocks his head, face serious.  "It would be a challenge, but I am confident in my abilities to adapt.  The breasts might prove useful for distractions.  I have observed that many of your warriors are very interested in them."  He sounds completely serious, is the thing.

Ric stares at him, "It wouldn't, I don't know, bother you?  If people called you a girl?"

Star hums, "Not particularly.  As long as I can fight, such things are irrelevant."

"Huh," Ric says, because he can't imagine not caring how he's perceived or what he's called.  "Are you even, like, a guy, then?" he asks.

Star shrugs, "It does not really matter."

"Okay," Ric says, because he's a little out of his depth here.  And he thought he was weird.

"But you are injured," Star says, focusing back on the bruises on his ribs.  "Why?"  Ric jumps when Star reaches out and presses down on one, fingers unnaturally warm.

He flushes, batting Star's hand away, "Dude!  Don't do that!"  He realizes that he's just been sitting here with Star, shirtless, and nothing bad has happened.  For once, he really feels like one of the guys.  "So, most of the time I wrap my chest so that no one realizes I have, y'know.  And it's not great for my ribs, but if I don't then no one will treat me like a guy."

Star's eyes go huge, "So you hinder yourself in battle on purpose?"

"I mean," Ric shifts, "I gotta do what I gotta do."

Star doesn't seem to get it, but he doesn't tell anyone either.  So he starts hanging out with Star and if anyone notices, he tells them he's trying to teach him to be normal.  Like Ric knows anything about normal, but they seem to buy it.  He watches MTV and movies and telenovelas with Star and answers all the random, out of left field questions he has about being a person and tries to ignore the fact that Star's really fucking hot, actually.  He has a bunch of nonsensical dreams about sparring with Star, waking up wet and flushed and scared shitless because he cannot like men.  So he drags Star to clubs and when Star has some kind of sexual awakening and freaks the fuck out, he's stupid enough to offer to help him with that, too.

"My designation was Gaveedra Seven," Star says one day, when they're sitting alone in Ric's room.  "I do not like it.  Shatterstar was my title.  It is better, but I like it best when you call me Star.  It feels like a name."

Ric swallows, "I always liked the name Julio, for me."  It's technically his legal name, at least on the documents X-Factor drew up for him way back, but he's never told anyone other than Hank and Jean.  He's not even sure how Cable found out, but it doesn't matter, not when Star's looking at him with wide eyes.

"I will call you Julio, if you would like," Star says.

"Yeah," he says, "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Julio," Star says tentatively.  It settles over Ric's bones like a blanket.  "Julio," he says again, like he's tasting it.

"Star," he says, mouth dry.  Suddenly, there's this startling, aching need to kiss him.  He pushes it down, except Star's looking at him through his lashes and he's so fucking beautiful it hurts.  He reaches out, hand shaking, and tangles their fingers together.

"Oh," Star says, sounding a little like he's been punched in the gut.  His hands are softer than Ric thought they'd be, with his swords.  But then, maybe it's something to do with his healing factor.

"You can't tell anyone," Ric says quietly.  "About me... Or- or about this," he nods at their hands.  "They won't get it.  They'll," he swallows, "Fuck, there's a lot of things they might do, to me.  I don't think anyone could do anything to you, but still."

"I will take this to my grave, if that is what you wish," Star tells him, solemn and sincere.  Then he leans over and half-slumps against Ric, like he's trying to hug him but doesn't know how.  "I will not let anyone harm you," he says, voice rumbling low in his throat.

"Fuck off," he mutters, "I'm not some damsel in distress.  I'm not a girl."  His voice breaks.

"This is true," Star agrees.  "But I still do not wish to see you come to harm."  Rictor turns his face into Star's neck, and wonders if he can let himself have this.  Probably not, but who knows?

The answer, as it turns out, is absolutely not because Cable is a bastard who doesn't understand basic privacy.  When he decides (and decides is the right word, because he doesn't give them a choice in the matter) to psychically link up the team, Rictor is out.  It doesn't matter how much Star begs, not even when he calls him Julio in front of everyone else with those damn puppy dog eyes, Ric leaves because he can't have anyone know.  He just can't.

So he goes home, leaving Star heartbroken at the airport.  His stepmother looks him up and down, mouth set in a grim line, and he feels like that little girl that hated sitting still long enough to have her hair braided all over again.  The driver takes them back to the ranch and he endures the looks of confusion from the people who don't recognize him and the derision and disgust from those who do.  Omar's still in jail, and good riddance, but Ric misses him because he was the most tolerable of all his cousins.  He avoids talking to anyone for as long as possible, but one day, about a month or so after he arrives, a group of his cousins and one of his uncles shows up at the house demanding to see him.

"So you think you're a man, then?" one of his cousins snorts.

Another one laughs, "Little girl thinks she's better than us."

"I'm not a little girl," Ric snaps at him, angry and tired and missing Star so much it aches.

"Sure you ain't," his uncle snorts.  "Well, c'mon then."  He tilts his head towards his truck.  "Let's go prove it, then, boy."

Going anywhere with his family is probably the height of stupidity but right now all he has is his anger and the need to make them eat their words, so he goes with them anyway.  They don't drive for long, ending up in an open field.  Ric feels safe, despite the fact that he's definitely not, because he can feel the earth here and She's got him, cradling him.  They can't touch him when he's here, power flowing up and into him.  Another truck pulls up, and a man is dragged out with a bag over his head and Ric's blood goes cold because he's seven years old and watching Stryfe kill his father.

"You look just like your mother, mija."

His uncle hands him a gun.  "Those gringos teach you how to use these?" he asks, laughing, "Or is that another thing that we have to do ourselves?"

"Yeah," he hears himself say, "I know how to use a gun."

Her father's hands are big and warm as they hand her the gun.  It feels impossibly heavy, and it's black as pitch, like it's drawing all the light into itself.  "This is our livelihood.  I am going to teach you how to use this, because there are bad men who will try and use my daughter against me."  A hand grips her chin, forcing her to look up at her father's face, "You will not be a weakness."

"You wanna prove that you're a man like the rest of us?" his uncle whispers in his ear, breath hot against his skin.  "Take the shot."

The gun feels heavy in his hand.  The man in front of him is bleeding from the temple and his eyes are wide and terrified.  His uncle's hand is heavy on his shoulder, and he can still feel it even when he moves back to give Ric space to shoot.

"Go on, Julio," his uncle says, grinning viciously, "Show us how much of a man you are."

There's blood on his face and he can hear Cable's I told you so and his father's voice and sees Rahne's look of betrayal and the look in the man's eyes as he stares down the barrel of the gun in Ric's hand and his hands are shaking so hard the gun is a blur.  They'll never fucking learn, will they?

He drops the gun and walks away.

He hitchhikes to the nearest town, hands still shaking, and he's not sure where he's going but it can't be here.  He gets a hotel room and stares at himself in the mirror, his father's words from all those years ago ringing in his ears and suddenly the weight of his hair on the back of his neck is too much.  He grabs a pair of scissors from the desk in the room and chops it off, quick and messy like he did all those years ago before leaving home for the first time.  It's a right of passage, a new beginning.  He will not be his father or his uncles or his cousins and certainly won't be Cable, either.  He can't go back to the team.  He refuses to.  At least, he refuses until Cable calls him to tell him that something is wrong with Star.  And he may hate Cable but he also made Star a promise that he'd be there if he needed him, and apparently Star needs him, so he packs his shit and does what he does best.  He runs.  At least this time he's running towards something.  (But he's still running away, and at some point he knows he's going to have to face his family.)  At the end of the day, he'll always be that little girl running scared.

And god, does the confusion in Star's eyes scare him.  The way his accent sometimes takes on a Boston thickness that isn't his own.  The way he sometimes seems like he doesn't recognize Ric at all.  It's during one of those moments, where there's more Boston than Mojo in Star's voice and he looks at Ric like he's got no idea who he is, that Ric grabs his hands and flares his powers.  Not hard enough to hurt Star, but hard enough that he feels it.   And Star's eyes go wide and he yanks his hands out of his grasp.   For a second, Ric thinks he's fucked up, but then Star grabs the sides of his face and kisses him, biting down like he's trying to win a fight.  Ric pulls back, lip raw and bleeding a little.  And then he kisses Star back.

They mess around, because they're teenagers and they're horny and maybe a little in love (at least, Ric is, and that scares the shit out of him).  Star doesn't know anything about sex and everything Ric knows applies to people who aren't exactly like him, so it's mostly making out and pawing at each other clumsily.    Neither of them are very good at it, but it's fun.  Hell, for a long time Ric had just resigned himself to the fact that he'd never have sex because with a body like his that just meant getting fucked by someone who saw him as a girl and the very thought made him sick.  But Star doesn't do that.  He still doesn't even seem to get the big differences between men and women (and that's partially his own fault, Ric knows), so he doesn't seem too bothered by the fact that Ric looks like a chick when he takes his clothes off.  He's honestly more interested in leaving hickies on Ric's neck than playing with his tits (he likes to bite, which is hotter than it should be) and that's... It's nice.

They're good.  Even if they can't go out and do things like a normal couple, they're good.  And Ric feels a little guilty about it, even though Star only ever brings it up the one time.  Star's not great with understanding social stuff, and Ric is guiltily grateful for that because he's pretty sure that it's the only reason Star still treats him like a guy.

"Star," he says quietly one day, when they're lying on his bed together listening to his walkman, "We could go out if I, y'know, dressed like a girl."  His heartbeat is too loud and every word feels like a knife, but he likes Star and Star wants to do romantic shit.

Star is still and silent for a moment.  "But you are not a girl," he says finally, sounding genuinely confused.

"I know, but," he shrugs, "Could borrow a dress from Tabby and just... Suck it up."  He buries his face in Star's stupidly muscular chest.

"I do not think that is a good idea," Star says, "Because you would be uncomfortable."

"Yeah, but it would make you happy," he mutters.

"Not if you are uncomfortable," Star insists.  "I could wear a dress, if it is necessary."

Ric pulls back, staring at him.  "What?"

"If it is necessary, I would not mind wearing a dress," Star repeats.

"You wouldn't?" Ric says, bemused and a little flustered by the idea.  "But, like, you're..."  He almost says, You're a guy, but he remembers Star saying that he isn't sure and doesn't.  "It doesn't work like that, dude," he settles on.  "You don't look girly enough to pull it off.  Not that, y'know, you couldn't rock a dress, but that's not the point."

"Then we will not go out," Star says.

Star doesn't push it, and he doesn't run away, for once.  Not even when Star and Cable get taken by Mojo and Star stabs himself in the fucking gut.  He doesn't run, just grabs Star's hand and squeezes it tight because, fuck, that was terrifying.  Star seems upset by his new body, and Ric gets that more than anyone on the team.  He keeps finding him curled up on the floor of his room, picking at some old scar that didn't exist on his original body.  He has more freckles now, too.  They're cute, not that Ric would ever say that out loud.  And when Cable pushes too far and Ric leaves again, Star follows him all the way back to Mexico.

Being alone with Star is weird because he doesn't have to hide when it's just the two of them sharing a shitty motel room or a run down apartment.   His family comes down on them hard, and they fight back just as vicious.  And for a while, things are good.  They go swimming, or more accurately they go to a secluded beach and Star spends ninety percent of the time staring wide-eyed and nervous at the ocean because apparently they don't have large bodies of water on Mojo and he doesn't know how to fucking swim.  Ric does coax him into the water eventually, laughing when he sputters and insists that the water is trying to kill him when it stings his eyes.  Star ends up with a peeling sunburn because he refuses to wear sunscreen, claiming the texture is awful.  He tastes like salt when Ric kisses him and when they fumble clumsily through sex, it's not the terrible, scary thing he thought it would be.

"I gave you a blowjob," Star says, smug and sleepy, when they're tangled together afterwards.

"Dude, you didn't give me a blowjob," Ric tells him, laughing, "I don't have a dick, that's not what that was."

"It was a blowjob," Star insists.

Ric rolls his eyes but lets him have it because the very idea of getting a blowjob from anyone, let alone Star, is an ego boost.  They fall asleep together and when he wakes up to Star still asleep, which is super rare.  He lets himself watch Star sleep for a while and doesn't feel like a total creeper because, hey, they had sex last night.  Which, cool, wow... He's going to be thinking about that forever.  Star is pretty like this (he's always pretty), all relaxed, hair loose and messy and almost strawberry blond from being out in the sun.   He makes coffee and one of those shitty protein shakes that Star is obsessed with and they have a quiet morning.  It's nice, downright domestic.  It scares the shit out of him.

Three days later, they have an argument that ends with him literally shaking the hotel room and Star breaking three lamps.  And when Star leaves, he doesn't go after him, because he's a coward who runs away from everything.

Chapter Text

Losing his powers is like losing one of his senses.  No, it's like losing all of them; it's like being blind and deaf and fucking dumb.  It's the worst thing that's ever happened to him.  And he misses Star, misses the easy thing they had in Mexico, when he didn't have to hide or even wear a shirt.  He could just exist without constantly being judged.  It's not surprising that he ends up on the ledge, in fact, it's really more surprising that he made it this far without trying to off himself again.  He's due for it, he figures.

He wonders if Star will even care.  Probably not, because just like everyone else he's moved on and is doing his own thing.  Who gives a shit about Rictor?  

He doesn't end up jumping, even if he wishes he had most days.  Jamie Maddrox, of all people, talks him down and then pushes him off.  M catches him, and he tries not to wish she hadn't.  He throws himself into investigations and hacking because when he's at a computer he's as close as he can come to having his powers back.  He drinks and gets into fights and slips back into old, bad habits that leave him with bandaged wrists that he hides under baggy sweaters.  His hair grows out shaggy and tangled and he avoids mirrors as best he cans.  Gets drunk and shatters the one in the building's only bathroom.  Sleeps with Rahne, and he doesn't even want to think about that.  Doesn't eat as much as he should.  Generally just doesn't take care of himself. 

About six months after he lost everything, Hank emails him asking to talk.  Julio almost doesn't reply.  He's fucking tired, and as long as he keeps getting his HRT in the mail he doesn't want to talk about it.  Jamie forced them all to see a therapist and all it did was piss him off.  But he owes Hank a lot, and he hates having debts he can't pay.  The diner is crowded, but Hank chose a booth in the back corner and it makes everything muted.  Or maybe that's just Ric's own fucked up head.  Who knows.

"Rictor," Hank says.  He sounds pleased to see him, god knows why.

"Hey, man," Ric says back, fiddling with the straw wrapper.  "How's it goin'?"

"Things are tense," Hank says with a strained smile, "But I'm not here to talk about that.  How are you, my boy?"

"How do you think?" he snaps, then winces.  It's not Hank's fault he's fucked in the head and the only thing about him that was worth anything is gone.  It's not Hank's fault he couldn't be fixed.

But Hank just sighs.  "I have a proposal.  You've been continuing your hormonal regimen, and are pleased with the results, I take it?"

Ric shifts, uncomfortable with talking about this in public, "Yeah."

"And you have considered further options, I take it?"

He swallows, mouth suddenly dry.  "What, like surgery?"

Hank nods.

"Shit," he inhales.  "Yeah, that would be-  That would be great."  Then the fear creeps in.  "But I don't want anyone else knowing.  Hank, man, I can't-"

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," Hank says firmly.  And the only reason Ric doesn't snap at him is because he knows that Hank understands better than most what it's like to be treated like a freak for your body.  "But I would be performing the surgery, if you choose to pursue that avenue of transitioning."

"Yeah," Ric breathes, because it's not even a question.  "Yeah, yeah, that would be-  When?"

Hank smiles.  "I would have to procure the right equipment, but mostly it would be up to you."

Ric nods, and when his food arrives he actually eats some of it.  He showers without fighting (and losing to) the urge to cut into himself.  He's not happy, of course, because he's basically in a state of dissociation ninety percent of the time, but he's giddy with the prospect of top surgery.  And it goes well.  Hank cracks jokes right up until he goes under and he wakes up with a literal and metaphorical weight off of his chest.  He bullshits to Jamie about needing time off to take care of his mental health, acts like he's actually going to clean up his act.  He doesn't even feel guilty about that, but Terry's tight hug and whispered I'm proud of you definitely do make him feel like a terrible person for lying.  He talks with Hank about bottom surgery, but Hank tells him he should give his body time to heal, and he reluctantly agrees.  He's so close to not being afraid whenever he showers.  He's so close to feeling a little bit more like himself.  He's almost reached a sense of peace (not really, but he can kid himself most days).

And then Star crashes back into his life.  They didn't part on great terms.  They fought, and he said a lot of shit that he deeply regrets while trying to push him away.  But seeing Star like this, hair short (and that's as wrong as his church braids and Mary Janes) and eyes blank, hurts so damn bad.  Mind control.  God, he fucking hates telepaths.  But Star is strong, and stubborn, and Ric's not even sure how he breaks free but he does and he's here in his arms.  Safe.  And then Star kisses him, right in front of Guido.

Ric's come to terms with the fact that he is deeply in love with Star.  Deeply attracted to him too.  He's one of the only people Ric's ever had sex with, mostly because he was too scared of anyone finding out what's in his pants.  Star never cared, and even then it still scared the shit out of him.  And maybe it's less scary to let people think he's a normal guy who's gay than a gay guy who was born a little girl.  So he snipes at Guido and focuses on Star and is maybe a little thankful it was this secret that got out and not the one that put twin scars on his chest.

Star's out of it, clinging to him whenever there's nothing to fight.  Once they get back to headquarters, he endures awkward stares and pointed comments for as long as he has to before dragging Star up to his room.  Finally, they're alone, and it's like he can actually breathe again.

"Hey," Ric says, closing the door behind them and locking it.

Star doesn't say anything, just staring at a blank spot on the wall.  Everything that's happened to him seems to be finally taking its toll and he's frozen, so Ric gently tugs him towards the bed.  They sit together in silence for a while, Star gripping his hand so hard it hurts.

After what feels like hours, Star clears his throat.  "Julio," and god has it been too long since he's heard Star say his name, "I missed you."

"I missed you too, man," Ric says, squeezing his hand.

"I apologize-"

Ric cuts him off.  "You got nothin' to be sorry for."  Star's lower lip wobbles, and Ric realizes that he's about to cry.  "Oh, baby, no," he says quickly.  It just slips out without him meaning to, "C'mere, you're okay."  He pulls Star into his arms and holds him as he shakes.

Star makes these ugly noises in the back of his throat, like he's trying not to scream, and Ric realizes that this is the first time he's ever seen Star cry.  It shakes something loose inside of him, like he's standing on the edge of a cliff above the ocean.  He can't move the Earth anymore.  Star's hair is short.  Everything is different.  But it doesn't matter because Star is here.  That's all they've ever needed.

The shoulder of his jacket and shirt are soaked through by the time Star stops crying.  He lifts his head and Ric wipes the tears from his cheeks, making little shushing noises in the back of his throat.  "You're okay," he repeats, like a broken record.  "C'mon, man, talk to me."

"They cut my hair," Star says mournfully.  "It is gone."

"Yeah, I know," Ric says, wondering who they are and wishing he still had his powers so he could pay them a visit.  "You're gonna be okay, dude.  I'm right here.  Do you wanna talk about it?"

Star shakes his head.  "I would like to sleep."

"Alright."  He kisses Star's forehead and strips out of his jacket and shirt, stopping when Star makes a quizzical noise.  "What's up?"

"Your chest," Star says, brow furrowed.

"Oh," he says lamely, because he forgot.  "Yeah, uh, I had surgery."  A little bit of anxiety tugs at the back of his skull.

"May I-" Star reaches out, flicking his eyes up to Ric's, searching for permission.

He takes Star's hand, tugs it towards him.  Let's him touch because he's missed the way Star's hands feel on his skin.  With a solemn expression and gentle hands, Star traces the scars under his pecs.  It feels intimate in a weird way, and he shivers.  He forgot how intense Star gets when he's focusing on something.  Star explores for a little while, fingers brushing through the hair on his chest and running up his neck to thumb at the stubble on his jaw, then skimming back down over his stomach.  Stopping at the hair on his belly.  Pressing his hand flat there.  Ric groans at the contact, pushing into it without meaning to.

"Julio?" Star asks.

"Yeah, dude?" he replies, breathless.

"I did not ask to kiss you earlier.  I apologize."

"It's fine," and really he's only thinking about the fact that Star's touching him like this and that it's been years.  "M'gonna kiss you now."

"I would like that," Star breathes, and he tastes like home.

Star's hands are something Ric's always been a little insane about.  He's good with them, and in bed isn't an exception.  Ric tries to figure out how to say all the things he wants to and can't so he just kisses Star hard, biting and sucking at his lips.  Gasps, when Star's fingers curl inside him.  It's been way too long and he missed this, even if it only happened a few times when they were kids.  Cums so hard he sees stars and then sucks Star off and tries to communicate how much he missed him with his tongue.

He falls asleep in Star's arms for the first time in years, and he's still there when he wakes up.  Star squints at the light coming through the blinds, humming happily as Ric cards his hand through his short hair.  He can't deny that he misses it being long, but he doesn't say that because he's pretty sure Star misses it more.  Remembers when they were kids and Star had said it wouldn't have bothered him if he'd woken up in a woman's body.  Wonders if that's something he should bring up again.  Decides that it's something for another time.

"Is it okay if I stay here with you?" Star asks, looking unsure and it breaks Ric's heart.

"Of course you can stay, man," he says.

Star is visibly relieved.  "I am glad.  I have nowhere else to go."

"Where were you?" he asks.  "Before Cortex, I mean.  What'd you do after Mexico?"

Star frowns, and Ric immediately regrets asking.  "I went many places."

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

Star shrugs.  "I do not know.  I found that I mostly missed you very much."

"Aw, dude, I missed you too."  He kisses Star, cupping the back of his head, still not used to the short hair.  "What do you want for breakfast?"

Star blinks, chewing his lip.  He fidgets with the blanket, and Ric is reminded viscerally of asking him to choose things for himself back when they were kids.  It was like pulling teeth in the beginning, and only a little better by the time they separated in Mexico.  After a solid minute of silence, he pats Star on the shoulder.

"How 'bout I just make us both eggs?" he says, giving him an out.

Star nods, looking relieved.  "That is acceptable."

Ric kisses him one more time for good measure.  "You can borrow some of my clothes.  I'll go start cooking."

It only really hits him that everyone knows when he's dressed and standing at the top of the stairs.  He should shower, but he'll do that later.  He and Star never showered together, mostly because he was too nervous and hated being naked most days.  Sex was different, because he had Star as a distraction.  Maybe this is something they can do now that they're semi-functional adults in an actual relationship.  A relationship that his entire team is aware of.  Fuck.

The kitchen is mostly empty, and when he looks at the clock it's almost noon.  He's not surprised no one came to check on him.  They all know that if he's not downstairs by ten-thirty then he's probably not getting out of bed for the day.  Terry usually brings him food.  Rahne used to do it, before she left.  Monet will knock on his door to tell him if they need him for a case, or Jamie.  They all know that he has the door locked whenever he's inside.  He shakes his head to clear it and instead focuses on cooking for Star.  There's a little bit of relief in the fact that it's out of his hands.  They all know, and it's one less thing to be stressed about.

"Wow, didn't expect you to actually get outta bed today," Jamie comments as he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge.

Ric shrugs.  "Had a late night, but I'm fine."  No one ever talks about it, and he's fine with that.

"So, uh," Jamie starts, "Shatterstar?"

"What about him?"

Jamie makes a noise in the back of his throat.  "You know..."  He trails off, pulling a face.

"He's gonna hang around for awhile," Ric tells him shortly.

"Right," Jamie says.  "Thanks, now that's one extra person I have to pay."  He's messing around, Ric knows, but it still feels awkward.

Ric plays along, though, because he's too tired to start a fight.  "Speaking of, when's the paycheck coming in?"

Jamie laughs, then leaves the kitchen.  It's not too much later when Ric feels a chin on his shoulder and arms around his waist.  He smiles, turning his head so his nose brushes Star's cheek.

"Hey," he says.  "Hungry?"

Star nods, nuzzling into his neck.  His now-short hair tickles his jaw, and Ric runs his fingers through it absentmindedly.  He could get used to this, if he's not careful.  He's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.  Maybe that's just growing up.  They eat on the couch, watching HGTV because that's the channel that got left on and Star is enamored by the renovations.  Mostly just the guys ripping apart the old kitchens.  Ric understands.  It's looks like it would be therapeutic to just rip a room apart, smash through walls and cabinets with a sledgehammer.  It would almost be like having his powers back.

His hands don't shake anymore.

He takes a deep breath.  "Hey, Star?  I gotta tell you something."

Star puts down his fork (Ric remembers when he used to eat with his hands, like a kid, shoveling everything into his mouth like he was afraid someone would take it away from him) and turns fully to face him.  "Yes, Julio?"

He jiggles his leg nervously, suddenly unable to look Star in the eye.  "I, uh," he swallows, "I don't got my powers anymore.  They're gone."

Star doesn't say anything, and when Ric finally works up the courage to look at his face, his expression is blank and his eyes are wide.  Star makes eye contact with him and actually holds it, which is rare for him.  He only does that when he has something important to say.

"Julio," Star starts, reaching over and taking one of his hands, "Does it hurt?  In here?"  He presses his other hand over Ric's heart, palm flat against his chest.

Ric's throat closes up on him, the question hitting him like a punch to the gut.  He folds over, sobs bubbling out of his throat.  He presses a fist to his mouth, bites down on it like he contain it.  Star's grip on his hand is so tight it hurts, but it's better than the wild, spun out feeling that crying usually brings.  He clings to Star's hand and sobs pathetically, trembling ineffectually.  Star tugs him into his chest and holds him.  It's awkward and his wrist aches from the way it's pinned between their chests, but it's the most stable he's felt in a long, long time.  They stay like that through two episodes House Hunters and he's pretty sure Layla walks through the living room, but for once he couldn't care less.  He just lets it out.  It's not as cathartic as creating earthquakes, but it's as close as he's getting the way he is now.  He doesn't tell Star about getting up on the ledge.  He just can't do it.  He's not even sure if Star knows what suicide is, and he doesn't think he'll be able to get through explaining it without breaking down again.  Anyway, it's in the past.  It doesn't matter.

Rahne comes back about a month later, heavily pregnant, and walks in on him and Star.  It's the worst standoff he's ever been in.  He can't breathe, and she looks at the scars on his chest with disapproval.

"Why would ye do that to yuirself?" she asks him, when they're by themselves.

"Rahney," he says, "I'm a guy.  I told you that, years ago.  That hasn't changed."

She looks uncomfortable.  "I suppose I thought ye might grow out of it eventually."

He laughs, sharp and flat.  "It's not a fucking phase, okay?"

"Are ye happy?" she asks, changing the subject.  "Did it help?"

"Yeah," he tells her, "Yeah, it helped."

She nods.  They don't talk about it again.  They don't talk about the sex, either.  They just slip back into their familiar, if slightly strained, friendship.  It's easier not to talk about it.

He and Star settle into something like domesticity.  He's still a mess, and there are days where Star just clams up and won't say a word and barely lets Ric touch him, but for the most part it's good.  Star seems genuinely pleased that he got top surgery, doesn't seem bothered that he got rid of his tits.  He starts helping him with his shots, too.  Neither of them like needles much, but Star seems determined to help.  Terry takes him shopping, and he comes back with shirts and pants, but also a few skirts and a pink satin dress that makes Ric's knees weak when Star puts it on.  He gets down on his knees and blows him, tells him how gorgeous he looks while Star clutches at his hair and whines.  It's good.  Ric's always been scared shitless about sex, but they're figuring it out.  Star isn't always up for it.  Which is fine.  If Ric really needs to, he can rub one out.

"I can go in the bathroom," he tells Star apologetically.  He's restless and horny and Star's made it clear he's not interested tonight.

"No," Star says, kissing his cheek, "Stay.  I will watch."

Ric's stomach flips.  "Thought you weren't feelin' it," he says tentatively.

Star shrugs, languid.  "I am not.  But I enjoy watching you experience pleasure."  He says it so matter of factly, like it's not the most mind-melting thing Ric's ever heard him say.

"God," he whimpers, thighs clenching reflexively.  "Fuck, Star."

He lays down and gets himself off while Star lies next to him, propped up on his elbow and watching his every move in the dark.  It's kind of weird, because it's not sex but it makes him feel the same way; all raw, like his layers have been peeled away and his ribs are exposed.  It's good.  It's always good, when it's Star.

He's adjusted to being a baseline human, almost, by the time the Scarlet Witch and her kids show up at their front door.  Getting his powers back almost kills him, but he was ready to die to get them back when Pietro offered so it's not something he even has to think about.  He says yes, and he thinks that if it kills him then at least he has an excuse.  At least this time he wasn't obvious about it.  He doesn't tell Star that he felt his heart skip several beats, literally, when Maximoff blasts him.  He doesn't need to know that.  He doesn't want him to worry about it.  He ends up on the floor and everything is shaking and he's never felt more alive.  Star crouches down next to him, grabbing his hands.

"You are shaking," Star says, concerned.

He laughs, excited and a little strained.  "Yeah, I am."

They go to a park even though it's ugly and grey outside and Ric takes off his shoes and just stands in the dirt and cries.  He's a goddamn mess, but he can finally feel everything again and it's almost too much.  He's shaking like a leaf, and Star holds him.  The two of them sit in the dirt for a while, Ric crying and Star wrapped around him and whispering soothing words.  By the time he calms down, the sun is setting.  They head back to headquarters and curl up in bed together.  They don't have sex, because they're both exhausted and Ric feels kind of like a live wire or an exposed nerve.  He can feel everything, can feel the vibrations of Star's heartbeat whenever he touches him and he's pretty sure even kissing would be sensory overload right now.  He'd cause too much destruction.  It takes him a long time to relax enough to fall asleep.

For a while, things are looking up.  And then Rahne has her baby and then that baby causes the end of the world.  Ric feels for the poor kid, because he didn't ask to be born dangerous, and he fights tooth and nail to protect him.  And he fails.  They all fail.  And when Mephisto turns Star to ash right in front of him, Ric loses it a little.  He throws himself into a fight he knows he won't win because the alternative is accepting that Star's gone and he can't do that.  Never again.

He wakes up flat on his back in a cell, and it's a new flavor of hell.  Mojo is cruel in ways that Star hadn't even told him about, whether it was because it had been normal or he hadn't wanted to remember.  They take his clothes, seemingly unphased by his body, and give him new ones that "fit the look the sponsors are raving about this season".  The casual way they talk about it, like they're writing for a television show and not playing with people's lives, makes his skin itch.  He resists the urge to tear the place down, because if he survived then he has to believe Star did too.  That he's out there somewhere.  The four months he spends in the Arena are some of the worst he's ever experienced, up there with losing his powers.  He tries not to kill anyone, point blank refuses to at first.  But the person he spared starts screaming and writhing in agony, and Ric watches in helpless horror as they bubble and burn, skin turning red and then black and charred, electricity crackling off their body.  He understands the message.  It's kill or be killed.  From then on, he forces himself to take a backseat mentally during fights.  When he wins, and he wins because he has to, he makes sure to look his opponent in the eyes because it's the least he can do.  They deserve to be treated like a person at the end.

When he realizes that he's fighting Star, Ric seriously considers letting Star kill him if he can't get through to him.  Although let is a generous word.  He's good, but Star is ruthless and fighting without any remorse or recognition.  Still, Ric can't make himself actually fight back.  When Star kicks him hard enough to put him flat on his back, he thinks that at least he's going to die looking at his boyfriend's face.

He gets lucky.  Longshot and the Alliance show up and they don't recognize him and that's his first clue.  He doesn't have time to figure out what it actually means, though, because they're dragging him and Star back to a hidden lab.  Arize is a pathetic piece of shit coward and Ric seriously considers knocking him on his ass.  The only reason he doesn't is because the guy is holding Star's life in his hands.  And when Star climbs out of that pod, whole and real and here, Ric can't quite keep the tears out of his eyes and the thickness out of his voice.

"Dude," he says, hands shaking, "Dude."  He cups Star's face in his hand, rubbing his thumb over his jaw.

Star leans into it like a cat, eyelids fluttering.  "I am sorry," he says, and his voice is tight and raw, "Julio, I-"

"You don't gotta apologize," Ric cuts him off, "I get it.  You weren't in control."

"I would have killed you," Star says, voice breaking, "Why did you not stop me?"

"Cause I knew you wouldn't hurt me," Ric lies.  "I know you, man.  I know you didn't want to.  We're good.  It's all good."

Star inhales shakily, and then surges forward and kisses him.  He tastes like salt and copper and himself.  He tastes like home.  He runs his hands through Ric's hair, pulling back and touching the braids at his temples reverently.

"Your hair," Star says quietly.

"The braids?"

Star nods.

"Oh, I did these cause you used to have two little ones when we were kids.  It made me feel like you were with me."  He flushes, suddenly a bit embarrassed by how sappy that is.

But Star smiles, small but so openly adoring that it makes Ric want to start crying again.  "Braids have special significance to the Cadre Alliance.  Anyone watching would see these as a sign of your allegiance to them."

Ric grins.  "Hey, I've always been a bit of a rebel."

"Yes," Star agrees, "That is one of the many things I like about you.  You taught me how to decide things for myself."

"You would've figured it out eventually," Ric says, pressing their foreheads together, "And you're pretty fuckin' stubborn when you wanna be."

"That is something you like about me," Star says smugly.

"You bet, dude."

They spend the next few days dodging Mojo's henchmen and trying their best to get home.  There's something about this place that makes Ric's head hurt.  The planet is different, too different, and it's like someone's fucking with his inner ears, throwing off his equilibrium and making him dizzy.  He threw up in the corner of his cell after every fight.  It wasn't fun.  Now, though, Star will run his finger through his hair whenever the dizziness gets too bad, soothing the pounding in his head. 

They're resting in some corner of Mojoworld that Star knows, some hiding place tucked just out of sight of the hidden cameras that Star insists are everywhere.  If it were anyone else and he was anywhere else, Ric might think they were paranoid.  He knows that Star isn't.  He's being cautious.  Doesn't stop Ric from getting on his knees because he missed Star and he hasn't had a chance to touch him in months.  They need to get home.  He's seeing the effects of being cut off from HRT and he hates it.  Oscillates wildly between wanting to claw his skin off and wanting Star to swallow him whole.  So he kneels down in front of Star and puts his hand on his belt.  Asking.  Pleading, maybe.  But Star pushes him away, eyes wild and scared.

"Not here," he says, and he's shaking with exhaustion from teleporting them.  "Mojo will see and I do not want-  This, you, it is for me.  Only."  He's struggling to get the words out, so tense Ric's afraid he's going to pull a muscle.

"Okay," Ric says, pulling him down next to him and wrapping an arm around him, "Okay."

Star burrows his face into Ric's neck, and Ric strokes his hair.  Star's mumbling in Cadre, too low for him to make out.

"What's up?" he asks.

Star shakes his head, leaning against him more firmly.  Ric sighs and presses a firm kiss to the crown of his head.  They need to get out of here.  Star's breathing has evened out some, and he cards his fingers through his hair, reveling in the feeling of him solid and warm and alive in his arms.  He missed him so fucking much.  Ric dozes but doesn't sleep fully, one eye always open and watching.  He hasn't been sleeping much, because Star needs to rest in between jumps and they can't afford the luxury of relaxing in such a hostile environment.  Every few hours, Star squirms and whimpers in his sleep, making painful little noises.

"Tranquilo, mi amor, you're okay," Ric tells him, whispers it into his hair, "You're okay, you're okay.  I'm right here."

Star mumbles, turning on his side and settling, but his brow is still furrowed.  Ric sighs, pets his hair.  Tries not to cry.  He wants to get Star out of here.

Finding Allison was not part of their plan.  Ric holds her hand as she gives birth, his own stomach lurching in sympathy, while Star waits patiently between her legs, seeming unbothered by the intensity of the moment.  Childbirth is nothing like it seems on TV; it's sweaty and gross and awful.  Allison screams so loud she loses her voice, and the baby is covered in blood and mucus.  They have to use Star's swords to cut the umbilical cord, which probably isn't very sanitary but they don't have any other options.  The baby is pink and wrinkly and Star is staring at him with wide eyes.

"What?" Ric asks, still holding Allison's hand.

"How's the baby?" she asks, and he turns back to her.  "Are they okay?"

"He's okay," Ric tells her.  "Star, give her her baby."

Star looks up at him.  His eyes are wide, and he seems unsettled, but he hands Allison her baby.  Ric finally gets a good look at the baby's face as Allison feeds him, and his blood goes cold.  It's Star.  The eye mark and the faint tufts of ginger hair.  The mole on his neck.

"What the fuck," he whispers hoarsely.

"That is me," Star says, hands clenching and unclenching like they do when he's stressed.  "I do not-" he swallows, turning to Ric.  "We are in the future."

"Shit," Ric whispers.

"Do you want to hold him?" Allison asks, interrupting them.  She holds out the baby to him, a tired smile on his face.

Ric wants to laugh and tell her that he already has, but he nods.  He's not usually very comfortable around babies, but this is Star.  He'll hold any version of him.  Little Star weighs almost nothing in his arms, and he blinks sleepily up at Ric.  It triggers a sense of deja vu, a memory of Star waking up earlier today.

"Hi," Ric says, touching the mark on the baby's face.  He's so small, so fragile.

The baby scrunches his nose and yawns, showing off pink gums.  Ric laughs a little, and the baby blinks again, tiny fist grabbing at his finger.  His grip is strong.

"Yeah, okay," Ric mumbles, feeling emotional for no real reason.  "Here, kid, let's give you back to your mom."

He hands the baby back to Allison, who adjusts him so that he can feed.  Ric looks away, giving her privacy.  This is weird, so brain-breakingly weird even by their standards, and he's doing his best not to freak the fuck out.  He tugs Star away so they can talk privately.

"They didn't raise you," Ric says quietly, a pit in his stomach.  He doesn't have a ton of experience with time travel, but between the movies and heard Cable's lectures he knows enough.

Star nods.  He looks like he's about to freak out too, and that means that Ric has to hold it together.  "No.  They did not."

"Hey," Ric says, glancing back at Allison.  She's holding the baby gently, a small smile on his face.  It makes his chest ache.  "Do you want them to raise you?"

"I-" Star shakes his head, looking mournful, "I would never have met you if they did."

Ric winces.  The thought of never meeting Star... It's something that fills him with panic.  But he doesn't get to be selfish about this, no matter how much he wants to be.  "Yeah, but... it might be better for you.  If they did raise you.  You might be happier.  I won't be mad, if that's what you want."

Star shakes his head.  "No.  You make me happy," he insists, chin set stubbornly.  "I do not want that to change.

Ric reaches for his hand.  "Star-"

"There are machines here," Star continues abruptly, jerking away from him.  His eyes skate over the walls of computer screens behind them.  "They could make her forget."

Ric inhales sharply.  "And we'd, what, take you and put you in the shithole you grew up in?  Star, you were a slave, dude.  You can't expect me to do that to you.  Or her."  His chest aches.

"I will never meet you, if we do not do this," Star says softly, hands pulled to his chest, fiddling with the ends of his hair.  "I do not want to experience life without you.  It would be meaningless."

"No," Ric says, "No, 'cause you'd have actual parents who love you and you'd grow up and make friends.  You'd be happy."

"Would you be happy without me?"

He sucks in air through his teeth.  "I wouldn't know any better, man.  Neither of us would."

"I would," Star insists, pressing his palm flat against his chest.  "I would feel it.  Here."

"Okay," Ric says, scrubbing a hand through his hair, "Fuck, okay.  If you're sure."

Star kisses him, catching him off-guard.  They haven't kissed much on Mojoworld beyond their initial reunion because Star is cagey about the cameras.  Ric understands, but god did he miss this.

"I am sure," Star whispers when he pulls away.

Star fixes the machines easily as Allison sleeps, and Ric's never felt more awful and guilty than he does as he takes the baby from her arms and they put her in one of the pods.  Star assures him that she won't feel anything, won't even remember that she was pregnant, but Ric is pretty sure this type of thing leaves a physical mark.  Your body doesn't forget making a whole other person for nine months, no matter how much someone fucks with your brain.  The baby rouses briefly, then falls back asleep in his arms, seeming perfectly content to nap in the arms of a stranger.

The slave pits are noisy and chaotic and most of the babies are wailing.  Their cradles are plain, functional metal with foam padding, and there's nothing personalized or comforting about them.  His heart aches.  The thought of leaving any version of Star, or any kid at all, in this place voluntarily goes against every single instinct he has.  But that doesn't stop him from putting the baby in an empty crib, because at the end of the day this is Star's decision.

"I'm sorry," he says to the baby, brushing a thumb over his cheek and swallowing the lump in his throat.  "You'll be okay, I promise."

Star doesn't say anything, just grabs his hand and holds on tightly.

It takes them almost a week to get back to Earth.  Ric cries a little when he steps through the portal.  It feels familiar, like a hug from his mom.  He misses her, even if she said things to him that still hurt to think about all these years later.  He wonders if in another life she loves him as is.  Probably not.   Headquarters is a smoking wreck, or at least it was when they got zapped halfway across the universe. They get a hotel, because Ric managed to hang onto his wallet.   He's not really sure how, but it doesn't matter.   They both need a shower, and a good night's sleep in an actual bed.  Hell, he actually shells out for a semi-nice hotel because Star looks dead on his feet.  He can feel the receptionist judging them, but he's too exhausted to care.

As soon as the hotel room door closes behind them, Ric is kissing Star deeply on the mouth, pressing as close to him as possible.  He strips out of his jacket and shirt, skin prickling in the cool air.  He wonders idly if there's a thermostat in here they can mess around with.  Decides he doesn't care.  Star's arms loop under his thighs and he's being lifted, back pressed against the door, Star's teeth grazing his neck.  He threads his fingers into his hair and locks his legs around his waist.  Feels his hard-on, groans out loud.  He wants to crawl under Star's skin and live there.  He'll have to settle for the next best thing.

"I want you to fuck me," he gasps, head thudding back against the door.

It's not something they've ever done before, for a lot of reasons.  But it's different, after experiencing the Arena for himself.  He wants this for both of them, wants to try this at least once before they die.  Wants to be as close as he can possibly be to Star.  Wants Star under his skin, inside him.  Star looks up at him, eyes wide.  He's flushed, so red his freckles almost disappear and it makes Ric feel a little shaky, fragile all of a sudden, cradled like this in Star's arms.  They stare at each other for a while, just breathing.  Star hasn't said anything yet, but he shifts so he's holding Ric in one arm, bracing him against the door, and uses his free hand to brush some of Ric's hair out of his face.

"Julio," he says, and it's soft, reverent.  "Do you mean this in the way that we usually have intercourse, or the way that we have not tried?"

Star's the only one who says his name like that.  Like it's worth something.

Like he's worth something.

He nods, swallowing nervously.  "The second one.  We can't, uh, do it right now.  I need a shower and I don't wanna get-" He swallows, "We need condoms."

Star nods slowly.  "I can procure them.  You may shower while I do this."

He blows his hair out of his eyes, a stupid little bit of anxiety blooming in his chest at the idea of letting Star out of his sight.  "Yeah, dude, put me down and I'll give you my wallet."

Star kisses him, light and quick, then puts him down.  "I love you," he says, painfully sincere.  

"Love you too, dude.". Ric runs a hand over Star's arm, squeezes his forearm once.  Hands him his wallet, watches him go.  Wipes his sweating palms on his pants.

The shower is one of those fancy ones with too many settings, but he figures it out eventually.  He turns up the water as hot as it can go and practically drowns himself under the stream.  His vision is blurry, but he isn't sure if it's tears or the steam.  He's vaguely aware of the little sample bottles of hair product clattering onto the tile behind him, but he can't be bothered to do anything about it.  He doesn't know why he's having a breakdown now, when he and Star are safe.  His legs are shaky and he almost slips, sitting down heavily on the floor of the shower.  He's definitely crying by the time Star gets back from the store, sobbing so hard he can barely breathe.

"Julio?" Star says, opening the shower.  "Julio, what is the matter?"

He shrugs helplessly.  Distantly he's aware of Star stripping out of his clothes and getting into the shower with him.  Star pulls him into a hug and he cries until his throat hurts.  He should be the one comforting Star.  Star's the one who got sent back into his worst nightmare.

"I know it is difficult," Star murmurs, rubbing his back.  "Coming to terms with being made to do things you do not want to.  Being forced to kill."

"I tried," he sobs.  "Man, I- I tried.  He killed 'em anyway."

"It is unfair," Star soothes.

"I didn't-" he chokes, "I tried not to.  I swear.  I didn't wanna hurt anyone, Star."

"I know.  You are very kind.  It is why I love you."

He cries until he physically can't anymore, Star holding him the entire time, whispering soothing words in Cadre into his hair.  By the time he's calmed down enough to be embarrassed, Star has started humming softly under his breath and Ric feels like he could fall asleep.  At some point, Star grabs one of the shampoo bottles and starts washing his hair.  He closes his eyes, pressing his face into Star's neck.

"M'sorry," he starts.

"Do not be," Star tells him calmly.  "You have nothing to apologize for."

He nods, too drained to argue.  Star finishes washing his hair, then takes his time cataloguing all of his lingering injuries as he scrubs him down.  Star presses down gently on the nasty bruise on his ribs.  It's mostly faded by now, but it still aches a little when Star touches it.

"Did I do this?" he asks, voice small.

Ric shakes his head.  "Nah, dude," he lies.  "S'from someone else."  Star doesn't need any extra guilt.

He washes Star's hair even when Star insists that he doesn't have to because he needs to feel useful and he missed this.  They never got to take long showers like this with X-Factor.  There was always the looming threat of being interrupted that kept it quick and to the point.  He kisses Star's shoulder, rubs a hand down his side.  They finish up and wrap themselves in those fluffy white towels hotels always seem to have.  Star looks cozy like this, red hair grown out down to his chin.  He keeps twisting his fingers in it absentmindedly.  It's a tick he used to have before his hair got cut off, and it's kind of nostalgic to see it return.  There's a bag from the local CVS on the bed, and Ric's stomach flips nervously as he sits down.  He kisses Star, long and lingering, tugging him down on the bed next to him.  He feels hollowed out.

"I don't feel very sexy right now, dude," he sighs, "This is probably the least hot I've ever been."

"I disagree," Star says easily.  "I always think you are attractive."

Ric blinks, because Star says it like it's nothing.  "Shit, okay."

"We do not have to have sex if you are not feeling 'in the mood'," Star continues.  "We can simply watch television and then go to sleep."

"No," Ric says quickly, "No, dude, I definitely wanna."  His hands flex.

Star peers at him, eyes narrowed.  "You appear anxious."

He laughs nervously, taking a hand through his hair.  "Yeah, that's cause I've seen the size of your dick."

Star flushes a little.  "I was designed to be pleasing to the eye."

Ric winces.  "I know, dude."

"I would not be upset if you decided you no longer wanted to do this," Star tells him.  "You have told me many times that I am allowed to tell you no.  This is a mutual agreement."

"I know," he repeats.  "I swear, it's just nerves, okay?"

Rolling his shoulders, he climbs into Star's lap, leaving the towel on the bed.  Star blinks up at him owlishly, running a hand over his chest.  He leans into helplessly, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of need.  It's been too fucking long.  He kisses Star deeply, threading his fingers through his hair.  Feels Star's hand slip down his belly and between his legs, right where he wants him.

"I love your hands," he pants into his mouth.

Star just kisses him harder, flipping him onto the bed and looming over him, fingers never stopping.  He's so good at anything he puts his mind to, and sex hasn't seemed to be the exception, not that Ric's complaining.  He's the one reaping all the rewards, after all.

"Mm, baby, if you keep doin' that I'm not gonna last long enough for the rest of it," he tells Star, back arching off the bed.

"Ah," Star says, and he's blushing.  "I apologize.  You are very distracting."

Ric kisses him deeper, running his tongue over Star's teeth until he's the one breathless and moaning.  "Condom.  Right now."

Star rummages through the bag, and Ric leans back against the pillows to watch him.  He's gorgeous, always has been, but Ric likes it best when he's disheveled and flushed and clearly happy.  He looks more real, more like the person Ric knows that he is instead of the piece of meat Mojo saw him as.

"How do you want me?" Ric asks, because they both got back from hell but it was Star's hell first, "We can do this whatever way you want."

"No," Star says, frowning as he tries to wrangle the condom.  "I would like you to tell me how you would like it.  I would like to take care of you."

Ric clears his suddenly-tight throat.  "You don't gotta-"

"I want to," Star insists, finally getting the packaging open and slipping it onto his dick.  "You have been taking care of me since we were reunited.  Please, allow me to take care of you."

He sounds so sincere that Ric can't help but nod, eyes fluttering shut as Star positions himself.  He wraps his arms around Star's neck, feeling the way the muscles in his back move under the skin.  Feels him slip inside, and can't keep from gasping out loud.  Star doesn't move, like he's waiting for Ric's permission to keep going, and Ric gives it to him happily.  Star is so careful, always is, not like he's afraid of hurting Ric but like he feels that Ric deserves gentle.  Kisses his neck, his shoulders, his jaw, as he fucks him.  They're pressed as close as two people can physically get, and Ric just about floats out of his body by the end, legs locking around Star's waist and nails digging into his back.  And it's exactly what he needed.

The next morning, they get a call from Layla.

"I figured you two might want some alone time," she says with a grin Ric can hear.  "But you can stay on the farm with me and Jamie until you're back on your feet."

"Farm?" Ric asks.

Star cocks his head, still picking at the remnants of the room service breakfast they ordered.

"We're retired," Layla says, "At least until the baby comes."

"Oh," Ric says, guilt over what they did to Allison flashing through his mind, "Congrats."

"Thank you," Layla says, sounding pleased.

The farm is nice, and it reminds him a little of home.  He offers to help with the chickens, and it seems that being little shits is just a built in feature of chickens everywhere rather than something unique to his mom's birds.  He and Star take the trip into the city to look for apartments, and it's ridiculously mundane and domestic.  Star doesn't seem to have that many opinions about their house, except that it should have a balcony "for a garden".  Ric doesn't ask where he got the idea, because a garden actually sounds really nice.  They find a place, and promise to come see the baby once they're born.

Ric waits until their lives are settled until he brings up bottom surgery.  It's something he's always wanted, but he's worried about how Star might react.  Which is stupid, because Star has never had any opinions on what he does with his transition as long as it makes him happy.  He doesn't have to worry.  Once he explains what it actually is, Star is enthusiastic about it.  It honestly is the final push he needed.  Star doesn't have a license yet, and Ric's not supposed to drive and there's too much stuff to actually teleport with, so Tabby drives them to the actual clinic.  She's and Star are there when he wakes up and it's so different from waking up alone after he got his top surgery done because Hank had to put out some fires that he almost cries.

"You have a penis now," Star says, about a week later.  "Does this mean we can have penetrative sex?"

Ric chokes on his coffee.  "Uh, fuck, dude, I mean, we have.  The hotel, remember?"

Star gives him a look.  "I believe you are deflecting.  You would be up above in this scenario."

"Do you mean on top?" he asks, a little incredulous.  "I mean, we can't do it now.  I'm not fully healed yet."  His voice comes out a little strangled when he asks, "Is that something you, uh, wanna try?"

"Yes," Star says immediately.

"Okay, then," Ric says, face burning.  "Yeah, cool, I'm up for that."

Star glances unsubtly at his lap.  "It does not appear that that is currently the case."

Ric laughs, shoving his shoulder.  "Asshole.  C'mere."  He kisses Star, tastes the Lucky Charms he's been eating.  Feels his pleased smile at making at joke.

Later, once he's healed, Star asks to see his dick.  It's kind of embarrassing at first, to have Star quietly staring at him while he's naked.  He feels weirdly exposed, despite the fact that Star's seen him naked a million times.  

"Like what you see?" he quips nervously, laughing a little.

Star gets on his knees.  "Yes."

Ric inhales so fast he goes light-headed.  "You don't gotta- I mean-"

Star's hands are warm on his hips.  "I would like to."

Ric groans helplessly.  "Okay, yeah, please."

Star's mouth is warm and wet, and it's different from the times he's eaten him out.  It's still Star's mouth, familiar and clever and loving, but it's different in all the ways that matter because Ric is different now.  And it's good.  It's some of the best sex he's ever had.  He grabs at Star's hair and holds on for dear life, fucking his mouth, head spinning with the fact that he can do that now.  And Star seems to like it a whole lot, which makes it a million times better.  Star tugs him towards the bed and he almost trips because his legs are still shaky from getting his first-ever blowjob (he remembers Mexico, Star smugly insisting that that's what he'd done even though Ric hadn't had a dick for him to suck), but he follows because right now he'd do just about anything Star asked.

"I would like your penis inside me," Star tells him, matter of fact.

"Jesus," he gasps, "Shit, okay."  He hauls himself over Star and kisses him hard.  Tastes himself in Star's mouth and that makes him a little nuts.  "Just need to get the stuff-"  He groans, annoyed, because the lube and condoms are in the bathroom.

"I moved them back to the nightstand," Star tells him.  "They are in the top drawer."

"I love you-" Ric kisses him again "-so fucking much.  You're so smart."

Star smiles, pleased at being praised.  "Yes.  I have been thinking about this for some time."

Ric fully moans, and he's definitely hard again, which is a new sensation.  "You're gonna kill me, y'know that?  You keep sayin' shit like that and I'll just die."

"But it is the truth," Star insists, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a way that means he's doing this on purpose.  "And I enjoy seeing you like this."

"What, horny?"

"Experiencing pleasure."

Ric flushes.  "Yeah, okay.  Let's get goin' then."

Star really, really seems to enjoy him on top.  It's gratifying as hell to see him writhing around in the sheets, moaning his name.  It's definitely something they're doing again, if only because being the one inside Star, first his fingers and then his dick, is an experience that's extremely addicting.  He didn't know what he was missing before, not really, but he does now and he's got a lot of lost time to make up for.

Life goes on, as smoothly as it can go.  He opens the Shakedown, keeps cots in the back room for people who need a place to stay, no questions asked.  Star and Allison work together to create a halfway house for mutants and other people society doesn't give a shit about, and Ric is so damn proud of him for it.  They talk about telling her and Longshot about Star being their kid, but Star gets cagey about the topic and Ric doesn't push it.  He'll talk to them when he's ready.  Every once in a while, they get a kid with a shitty, did-it-themself-in-a-mirror haircut and he fights the urge to reach out, to sit them down and talk.  He does what he can, but he's still scared shitless of anyone knowing about him.  He does what he can.

They fight.  They break up.  Ric gets drunk and hits on Bobby Drake like an idiot.  Bobby sits him down the next day and asks him point blank if he needs help, looking at him the same way everyone used to for months after he got up on the ledge.  Star almost dies, and Ric pulls him back home through sheer force of will.  They get back together.  Not everything's fixed, and it doesn't last because good things never fucking last.  When Jean Grey sends out the call for aid, Ric doesn't hesitate.  He owes her a lot, in a way he's never going to be able to repay.  It's the same way he owes Hank, and Tabby, and everyone else who didn't give up on him.  But she was the first, and so he texts Star to tell him that he'll probably be late for dinner.

And then Nate fucking Grey happens.  Maybe the cruelest part of it all is that in that fake bubble, Ric is fully himself from birth.  Maybe Nate just didn't look to close, maybe he didn't care enough to undo Ric's sense of self.  Whatever the case, it's the only part he almost misses once he's out, and he hates himself for it.  Being happy in his body didn't stop him from feeling hollow, from seeking out an abandoned movie theater and showing what he will later realizes are all the movies he and Star watched as kids.  And that makes it hurt even worse when he gets out and Star is just gone.  No one knows where he fucked off to, and it aches.  He doesn't get to have both, he figures.

He tries, for a little while.  He fills his apartment with plants because at least then it feels like there's something else alive in there with him.  It works, for a little while.  But the bed is too big and too empty and his powers start breaking down and he eventually buys a wooden crate and fills it with dirt and doesn't leave his apartment.  There's really no point, is there?

The plants are dead.  He's alone.

Chapter Text

Things go fine up until he dies.  Star might be gone but he's busy enough that he doesn't think about it much (that's a lie, he thinks about Star so much it fucking hurts) and -[A]- is a guilty distraction.  They aren't fucking, but that doesn't stop Ric from thinking about it.  He used to only think about Star and that makes him feel even more guilty.  And then he gets angry for feeling guilty because Star was the one that left him.  So he's got nothing to feel guilty for.  He and -[A]- haven't done anything and it's not like he and Star are still together after all this time.  Even if they never actually broke up before Nate Grey sent him to that stupid fucking dimension and stole his memories of Star and sex and love.

He dies in Otherworld and wakes up in an Egg.  Immediately, he knows that something is wrong.  Things that he had this morning are missing and things that he hasn't had in years are heavy on his chest.  He barely has any time to panic before he's being pulled naked and exposed into the cold air.  It's bright, and his ears are buzzing and he really, really does not want to be here.  The ground is shaking and someone touches his bare shoulder and he jerks away on instinct.  Fuck.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.  His dick is gone and that would be such a funny sentence if it didn't feel like something integral has been ripped out of his chest.  It's not the first time he's had a panic attack but this is the worst one he's had in a while and the island is rolling under his feet.  His chest feels heavy

"Rictor," and that's Betsy's voice in his head, and he jerks back, needing to run.

"Stay out of my fuckin' head," he pants, pushing at the hands on his shoulders.

"Rictor, take a breath," Betsy repeats, "You're safe.  Something went wrong with the resurrection, but you're alive."

I don't want to be, he thinks wildly and, judging by the way Betsy's hands tighten on his shoulders, she hears it.

"Take a deep breath, sugah," and that's Rogue, and someone's wrapping a blanket around his shoulders.  "Yer okay.  It's all gon' be okay."

By the time he's calmed down enough to actually process what's happening around him, everyone except his teammates have cleared out of the room.  He scrubs at his face, and he's still naked and still very aware that his body isn't what it was this morning.  He hasn't felt this suffocating need to claw his skin off since he was a teenager, and now it's back like the dysphoria is trying to make up for lost time.  He sucks in air, trying to ignore the way his chest moves.  Trying to ignore the wrongness that's being drip-fed into his veins.  Years of progress fucking gone.

He wishes they hadn't resurrected him.

"Someone get me some fucking clothes," he chokes out, rubbing his wrists.  It's a bad habit, a way of staving off the need to actually cut himself.  But the skin there is smooth and when he looks down, years of overlapping scars are gone.  He almost laughs.

Betsy clears her throat, "Rictor-"

"Don't," he snaps.  "Don't fuckin' ask."

Rogue squeezes his shoulder.  His suddenly deeply aware that only the women on the team are here.  It makes his stomach twist.

"Ric," Jubilee says, "Hey, man, was this just a complete fuck up on the Five's part or are you...?"  She trails off.

"I'm not-" he chokes.  "This isn't-"

"It's okay," Rogue soothes.  "I understand."

He laughs, hollow.  "No you don't.  You can't.  None of you get it."

"Okay," Betsy says, "We don't get it.  But, love, why don't you let us help anyway?"

He does, because he doesn't really have a choice.  Jubilee hands him a hoodie and pants and he doesn't realize until they get back to the Lighthouse that the hoodie used to be Star's.  It makes him want to scream.  He ignores the looks he gets and locks himself in his room, burrowing under the covers of his bed and curling up as tight as he can, like he can squeeze himself back into the correct shape.  Like metamorphic rock, enough pressure changing him from this body he thought he was done with into the one he worked so hard to build for himself.  He stays in bed for three days.  Doesn't shower, doesn't eat.  Thinks about finding the nearest cliff and jumping off it, but know that they'd just bring him back.  That he'll just be stuck like this again, that it'll just give everyone else another chance to stare at him.  He drags himself to shower when he gets his period.  He hasn't had one in years and he almost breaks the windows with how hard he's shaking.  He sits down on the floor of the shower and stares at the blood swirling around the drain.  He didn't think it was possible to hate his body this much.  Maybe he just forgot how much this sucked, or just repressed it.  His stomach aches and he stares at the razor on the bathroom counter.  His body is completely unmarked.  He should see this as a fresh start, and not fuck it up.  But then, he's never been very good at not fucking things up.

(There's a wild moment where he considers going all the way.  It won't fix anything.  They'll just bring him back.  But it would mean he wouldn't have to deal with this for a little while, at least.  He doesn't, though.)

His wrists are shredded and he curses under his breath as he digs around for the first aid kit.  He's getting blood everywhere and it's going to be a bitch to clean.  He just wants to crawl back into bed and not have to worry about changing a tampon or taking painkillers or hiding the fresh cuts on his wrist.  He just wants things to go back to the way they used to be.  The way he used to be.  He sits down on the toilet and scrubs at his face, trying not to cry, towel wrapped around his waist.  Men don't cry.

(Stupid, completely untrue.  But he's clinging to it now like a prayer.)

His arms sting, and he clumsily opens a pack of gauze with his teeth, leaving bloody fingerprints on the packaging.  It's awkward, having to wrap his wrists when they're both bleeding sluggishly, but he gets it done.  Then he stumbles back into the bedroom and throws on the first thing he pulls out of his dresser.  He doesn't have a binder anymore; he donated all of his once he got surgery.  Didn't think he'd ever need them again.  He keeps his head turned away from the mirror.  There's one in every room in the Lighthouse, and it didn't used to bother him.  He curls up on the bed and sets a timer for six hours on his phone, because the last thing he needs is TSS.  He hates himself, but he hates the thought of getting sick like that more.  Closes his eyes.

Someone pounding on his door is what ends up waking him up.  He sits up, smacks his wrist and hisses in pain.  "Hey, Ric, open the fuck up!" Tabby shouts, pounding on the door some more.

He doesn't move, hoping that she'll just leave if he ignores her enough.  He's wrong, because if there's one thing Tabby's good at it's annoying the shit out of him.  There's a popping noise, like fire crackers going off, and his door swings open.

He sits up.  "Did you time bomb my fuckin' door?"

She shrugs, raising a bottle of wine.  "Maybe.  But I've got booze, so I'm still your favorite."

He flops back down on the bed, keeping his back to her and his arms tucked against his chest.  "Go away, Tabs."

"Nope," she says, marching over to the bed and sitting next to him.  "I'm not letting you mope around."

He says nothing, and the only noise is Tabby popping the cork on the wine and taking a long drink.  He feels the bottle knock against his back.  He ignores that, too.  Tabby grabs his arm, and he jerks out of her grip, accidentally hitting his wrist against his chin.  He hisses.

"Ric," Tabby says, voice gone serious.  "Show me your wrists."

They haven't done this since right after he tried to kill himself.  He continues to ignore her.

"Wrists," she says, "Now."

He holds them out, and hears her hiss through her teeth.  "I thought you were doing better," she says softly.

"I was," he says sullenly, "Until the Five decided to reverse my transition."

Her grip tightens on his hands.  "I heard about that.  Was it on purpose?"

He shrugs.  "Don't think so.  I died in Otherworld and it probably fucked with the backup.  So it's really my fault for getting my dumbass killed."  He sniffles, feeling stupid and emotional for no reason.  "Got my period today."

"Fuck," Tabby says.

"Fuck," he agrees.

"You need me to get you anything?" she asks.  "I ordered you a binder online when I heard.  Impulse purchase.  Dunno if it's the right size."

He starts crying.  It just hits him all of a sudden and he's completely unprepared.  He just sobs and sobs until he can't breathe, and at some point Tabby pulls him into a hug and holds him while he cries.  The shoulder of her jacket is soaked with snot and tears but she doesn't complain, just rubs his back and hums under her breath and it reminds him so much of being thirteen and waking up screaming.  Tabby would be there, and she'd tell him to scoot over and she'd lay down next to him.  He feels like he's a kid again, and it's the worst feeling in the world.  Eventually, he cries himself out, feels the mucus draining into his chest and the dull pounding in his head.  Tabby stays the night, curled around him protectively like she can shield him from all the nasty shit people are going to say, because people always have shit to say.  He wakes up once, flailing, and she makes soothing noises and cards her fingers through his sweaty hair until he falls back asleep, dead to the world.

The next night, he sits out on the back porch with his shoes off and feet in the grass because it helps him stay sane.  The feeling of being rooted to something much bigger than himself is the only thing keeping him from walking off a cliff right now.  There's an empty bottle of beer next to him and he considers getting up and getting another but he just can't make himself move.  At least like this he's not hyper-aware of his body in all the wrong ways.  The sliding door opens and Ric tenses reflexively, rolling his shoulders forward like it hides anything.  Like it would make a difference if it did.  He picks at the bandages on his wrist as Remy sits down next do him, holding out a beer.

"Hey," Remy says, "Figured y'could use a pick-me-up."

Ric nods.  Doesn't feel like talking.  Doesn't want to hear his own voice right now.  He takes the beer and swallows half of it in one go.

Remy whistles.  "Slow down there."

"Fuck off," he says flatly.  "What do you want?"

"Here," Remy says, holding something out.

Ric looks at it reflexively, taking it when Remy shakes it at him.  It takes him a minute to figure out what he's looking at; it's an old polaroid, a guy and a girl in formal wear.  Except, it's not.  He looks a little closer and realizes it's Rogue in the suit and Remy in the dress.  They're draped over each other, caught mid-laugh.  It makes something in his chest go tight.  He stares at for a little longer than he maybe should, then swallows hard and shoves it back at Remy.

"Why'd you show me that?" he asks, voice thick.

Remy leans back.  "Figured y'should know that yer not the only onuva us tha's a bit-" he waves his hand "-fluid."

Ric tenses, then empty beer bottle rattling.  "I'm a man," he says, wincing at the sound of his own voice and feeling like he's drowning.

"I know," Remy says, and he actually sounds like he believes him.  "M'just sayin', mon ami.  Y'ain't the only one."

Ric nods, rolling that around in the back of his throat.  Remy doesn't say anything for a long time.  Then he pats him on the back and leaves him be.  It almost makes him feel better.  Almost.

After a week, he decides he can't keep avoiding everyone without looking even more pathetic and fucked up than he already does, so he reluctantly makes his way down to -[A]-'s lab.  He wonders idly if he can figure out a way to reverse this, put him back to normal, then discards the idea because he doubts -[A]- would even understand this at all.  The door to the lab parts without him having to touch it and  -[A]- looks up from his work, looking at him with that unreadable expression he gets sometimes.  Ric hates it.

"You got somethin' to say?" he asks, bitter and angry and drowning in dysphoria he thought he'd never have to feel again.

-[A]- gets up and stands in front of Ric and he's suddenly extremely aware of how much bigger -[A]- is.  He has his powers but -[A]- is basically a god and Ric has always been known for making dumbass decisions and thinking with his (now non-existent) dick.  -[A]-'s hand is huge on his shoulder as he smiles and says, "Just that the Earth is referred to as our Mother for a reason.  It is only fitting that her son, too, has a womb."

He knows that -[A]- means it as a compliment, or some sort of show of acceptance.  Doesn't stop his skin from crawling as he swallows back a wave of revulsion.  "Yeah, whatever."

-[A]- nods, hand moving to tilt his chin up.  "You are strong, and worthy of what I have to teach you."

Ric closes his eyes, soaks in the praise.  He knows that this is fucked up.  He feels too shitty to care.  "I hope so."

-[A]- continues their lessons, and maybe he touches Ric more than he used to, but it's never anything sexual.  He's just showing Ric the ropes.  Remy calls -[A]- a predator, and Ric tries not to let it get to him.  Tries to ignore the fact that he's probably right.  And then -[A]- dies and it doesn't matter what he was or what they were.  None of it fucking matters.  He gets back on T and it doesn't fix everything, but it makes things shift a little bit.  Someone's already taking care of his healthcare, and he's got no idea who until Roberto shows up at the Lighthouse with a casserole.

"Hey, Ric," he says.  "Sam asked me to come check on you."

"Wanted to make sure I haven't offed myself yet?" Ric asks, flat.

Beto's smile doesn't falter, but there's a little twitch in his jaw that's as good as a wince.  "Can I come in?"

He sighs, opening the door all the way.  "Be my fuckin' guest."

Beto follows him to the kitchen, setting it down on the table as he sits down.  "So," he says, "How're you doing?"

"How do you think?" Ric bites out.

"Woah, okay-" Beto holds up his hands "-what's with the hostility?  Sam was worried, and honestly, so am I."

"I'm not-" he sighs, swearing under his breath.  "It's been rough, alright.  Thanks for the food."

Beto nods, tapping his fingers on the table.  For a second, neither of them say anything.  Then, "I heard that you died."

"Yup," Ric says.  "Want something to drink?"  If he's going to have this conversation, he's not doing it sober.

"That would be great, thanks."  He takes the beer but doesn't drink it yet.  "I also heard that the resurrection was kind of messed up?  That it, uh..."  Beto trails off.  Then he clears his throat.  "You know I'm bi, right?"

Ric blinks at him.  "Okay?"  He didn't know, but he's not really sure how it's related to this conversation.  "I'm gay.  And not interested."

"Yeah, I know," Beto says.  "What I'm saying is, you're not the only one of us that ended up being queer.  You don't have the monopoly on shitty experiences either."

"I have the monopoly on getting outed to my entire team after dying," Ric shoots back.  "It's not the same, man."

"Yeah, that's true," Beto agrees.  "But none of us would've hated you, if we'd known."

"Even back then?" Ric snorts.

"Yes," he says, dead serious.  "Did Shatterstar hate you?"

The cabinets rattle.  "Don't."

"Alright," Beto says.  "Just wanted to make sure you weren't dead.  Also, um, if you want to get whatever surgeries you need, I'll pay for it."

Ric blinks.  "Why?"  Something feels caught in his chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Because you're my friend, and I have the money."  Beto pushes the casserole at him.  "And make sure you eat that.  Sam's a really good cook."

He swallows, panicked.  "Does everyone know now?"

"Hey," Beto says, reaching out and patting his shoulder.

Ric recoils, fists clenching.  "I didn't want people to know-"

"No one's saying shit, and if they do I'll handle it," Beto says, in that tone he typically reserved for Rahne or Tabby when they were kids.

Ric feels sick.  "Don't do that," he says, "Don't treat me like you treat the girls.  I don't need to be taken care of, dude."

Beto stops, "I wasn't-"

"You were," Ric runs a hand over his face.  "I think you should go.  Thanks for the food."

"Sorry," Beto says.  "I didn't mean to-"

"I know you didn't," he says.  "But I still need you to leave."

He leaves, and Ric gets drunk and passes out at the table, waking up once with a sharp pain in his chest and a flash of red behind his eyes; he knows that if he moves he's either going to walk outside and bury himself alive or slit his wrists.  He wakes up on the couch with a blanket over him and tries to remember who put him there, but he can't.  The casserole is really fucking good, and that makes him laugh a little.  And life goes on, because it always does.

The Hellfire Gala is good for only one thing in his mind, and that's getting drunk.  No one gives a shit about -[A]- and he can feel everyone staring at him, eyes prickling against the back of his neck.  He gets a couple guys asking him to dance and he has to grind his teeth to keep from telling them to fuck off instead of being polite like Betsy asked because he knows for a fact that most of them have only ever dated women.  It makes him want to break something.  He does dance with Jubilee, and they're both tipsy and it's the one thing that makes him smile a little.  And then Star shows up and all Ric feels is pissed off and betrayed.  Where the fuck were you when I died and came back wrong, he wants to scream at him, I needed you, and you weren't fucking there.  So he storms off and channels his vibrant rage and manic energy into creating an island, because at least then he's creating something instead of burning it to the ground.

He's still standing on the new beach, shoes off and feet buried in the sand to anchor himself, when Star finds him again.  He's still covered in blood and he looks small and apologetic and Ric's burnt off enough steam to feel like an asshole for how he reacted earlier.  There's a six pack in Star's hand and Ric knows a peace offering when he sees one.

"Hey," he says, shifting his weight.  "Lemme show you the beach I just made."  He holds out his hand to Star, relieved when Star takes it.  "You tell me where you've been," he says, because he recognizes the hollowness in Star's face, "I tell you where I've been."  Star squeezes his hand, following him as he leads him down to the water's edge.  "And then we figure out where we are now."

In the end, they don't do a whole lot of actual talking.  They've never been very good at it; Star has a hard time with words and Ric hates feeling vulnerable.  Instead, they hold onto each other and drink.  Ric presses his face into the crook of Star's neck and shudders when he feels Star's hand cupping the back of his head.

"M'sorry," he whispers.  "I acted like an ass."

"It is okay," Star says.  "I was not here for you."

Ric pulls back, smoothing his hands over Star's bare shoulders.  "Did you wanna be gone?"

Star shakes his head, looking miserable.  "It was not my choice."

It never is, is it?  Ric leans in slowly, giving Star time to pull away.  He doesn't; in fact, he closes the distance and kisses Ric with a barely restrained desperation.

"Let's go home," Ric tells him when he breaks the kiss.

Star nods, standing and holding out a hand to help Ric to his feet.  He stumbles a little, feels Star's hand at his waist to steady him and almost cries.  He missed him, missed this.  He rests a hand on the small of Star's back as they walk to the Lighthouse, suddenly desperate to touch him.  As soon as they're through the front door, he presses Star against the wall and kisses him as deep as he can.  He feels Star go limp and pliant, hands still on his waist.  He wonders if Star can tell what's changed or if he's going to have to explain that.  Decides that can wait as he gets a thigh between Star's legs and presses it against him until Star starts shaking.

"C'mon," he mumbles into his mouth, "Bed."

"Yes," Star agrees.

He strips out of his jacket and closes the door behind them.  Star is sitting on the edge of his bed and Ric straddles him, pushing him down onto the bed.  His head spins from the alcohol, despite the fact that he's got a pretty high tolerance, but he ignores it and rolls his hips against Star's.  He missed him so much it makes him feel sick.  Star is staring up at him with a look like someone hit him over the head with something heavy, all flushed with alcohol and the heat of the moment.  Ric grinds against him, grinning as he squirms and arches into it.  Feels how hard he is, and is smug that he can still get his all worked up like this.  Not that he's doing any better.

"Hi," he says, leaning down and kissing Star.  Fucks his tongue into his mouth and tastes the beer and something he's never been able to put a name to that makes Star taste like Star.

"Nngh-" Star's hand goes to clutch at his hair, just this side of too-hard but that's how he likes it "-Julio."  

"Missed you," Ric murmurs into his mouth, "Missed you so fuckin' much, dude."

Star blinks up at him, dazed.  "I missed you as well," he says, voice low and raw.  His hair fans out over the pillows in a gorgeous red wave and he looks so fucking pretty it's almost annoying.  Or it would be, if Ric wasn't the one sitting in his lap and kissing him stupid.  Then Star looks at him and frowns, eyes clearing.  "You are not erect."

Ric twitches, shoulders tensing.  "Yeah.  About that-" the words stick in his throat.  "Something happened."  Swallowing, he shrugs off his jacket and strips off his shirt.  Then he takes off the binder.

"Oh," Star says, and he looks confused.

Hesitantly he reaches out, freezing when Ric flinches back on instinct.  He never liked having his chest touched before.  But it's Star and Star's safe, goddammit, so Ric grabs his hand and cups it around one of his breasts.  The glass of water on his nightstand rattles dangerously.  He waits for Star to get grabby or something, but when he takes his hand away Star just shifts so his palm is pressed over Ric's heart.

"Hm," Star says.  "Still you."

Of course.  Of course, but what did he expect.  For Star to call him a girl and kick him out?  He's a colossal idiot and a shit friend for thinking Star would ever act like that.  Star, who likes to wear dresses sometimes.  He's not exactly cis himself.  Star, who's never given a shit about what was under his clothes, ever since the beginning.

Ric swallows, nodding.  "Yeah.  Still me."  He clears his throat, adjusting his position in Star's lap.  "You still wanna-"

"Yes," Star says, so intense it makes the breath go out of Ric.  Then, voice softer, "Please."

Ric leans down, kissing him, and it starts off softer and gentler but then both of Star's hands are at his waist and dipping below the waistband of his pants and they're basically already fucking with how he's resting his weight on Star.  He suck a bruise into the skin of Star's neck, then kisses a little bit further down and scrapes his teeth over one of his nipples, pinching the other.  Feels the way Star jerks up against him and pants against his skin.  They're both sloppy and uncoordinated, super fucking drunk, but Ric manages to get his pants off.  Star's skin-tight shorts present a bigger challenge, but they figure it out eventually.  And then it's just skin, and him lining himself up with Star's dick and taking Star in one roll of his hips and it's good.  It's always going to be good, when it's Star.

Later, when they've worn each other out, Ric tells him what happened.  Keeps it to the bare bones and leaves out the parts about wanting to kill himself, but Star doesn't need to know that.  It would just upset him.  It's why Ric never told him about the other times he really did try to off himself.  He wonders if he should.  After the conversation has petered out, they cling to each other.  Star hums, sleepy subvocalizations that Rictor knows how to interpret even after so long apart.

"Love you too," he tells Star, kissing the bare skin of his shoulder.

For a while, things are good.  He and Star settle pretty easily back into a routine.  Sometimes, Ric can pretend like the nearly a year of separation was just a bad dream.  Waking up next to Star makes everything suck a little bit less, even having his body reset.  Things start to go wrong when they're in Otherworld.  It starts with heartburn, and he thinks that maybe whatever food those faerie chicks gave them is fucking with him.  Then, he starts getting dizzy.  He almost gets blasted because he doesn't pull up a wall of earth fast enough.  His head is spinning, and there's a throbbing in his temples that makes him snappy and irritable.  And then he starts throwing up.

"Rictor," Betsy says, and she's giving him an odd look.  "Why don't you head back.  We should have someone on Krakoa in case something goes wrong over there."

He knows she's bullshitting, but he feels like shit.  "Yeah, sure."

"I will go with you," Star says, hand rubbing his back.

"Nah, man, you don't hafta," Ric tells him, even though he wants him to.

"That's a good idea," Betsy tells Star.  She gives Ric that look again.  Then, telepathically, "When was the last time you got your period?"

He flinches.  "Why're you asking me that shit?"

She's still giving him a look, and he can't figure it out, so he decides to ignore her.  His head feels like it's been put through a blender right now, anyways.  He and Star head back through the gate and to the Lighthouse.  Ric strips out of his uniform and binder and grabs sweatpants and one of Star's shirts.  Sue him, he wants to wear his boyfriend's clothes when he feels like shit.  He's allowed.  He curls up in bed and drifts off for a bit, blinking when Star climbs into bed next to him.

"I received a text from Theresa," Star tells him in a low voice.

"Yeah?"

He nods.  "She wishes to meet up."  He pulls a face.  "I was unsure if she would want to see me again."

Ric knows that texts don't come through when they're on Otherworld.  "When'd she send it?"

"Two days ago.  She wishes to meet whenever I am 'free'."

"Y'should text her," Ric tells him sleepily, relaxing as Star runs his fingers through his hair.  "Go and hang out."

"But you are not feeling well," Star says.

He shrugs.  "Eh, I'll probably just sleep it off and scroll through my phone.  I'll be fine."

"If you are sure..."

"Yeah, man," Ric tugs Star's hand over to his face so he can kiss it.  "Go have fun."

"You will text me if you need me to come home," Star tells him.

"'Course."

"Alright," Star says, getting up.  "I will text Theresa."

Ric drifts off again, waking up when Star quietly tells him he's leaving.  He lifts his head a little off the pillow for Star to kiss him goodbye, then goes back to sleep.  He wakes up maybe an hour later, and there's antacids on the nightstand.  He laughs a little, because of course.  He takes one, opening his phone.  He's got about fifty missed emails, and he decides to be proactive for once in his life and actually go through his inbox.  It's mostly junk mail, but there's one from Krakoan Health Services that he opens out of habit.  He squints at the screen.  It's an email about early signs of pregnancy, and he almost deletes on instinct.  Except.  Except this sounds like the shit he's been dealing with, and a murky memory surfaces of the night of the gala.  He realizes he and Star forgot to use a condom.

He sits up straight, opening his contacts and clicking on Star.  He's this close to calling him when he realizes that he's being stupid.  He should at least figure out if he really is pregnant before he has a meltdown.  Star deserves to hang out with a friend without Ric's issues distracting him.  He's not a fucking child; he can go and buy a test himself.  Even if his hands are shaking so bad he drops his phone.  He pulls on a hoodie and heads for the nearest gate; the paranoid part of him telling him that they'll know if he buys one on Krakoa.

The guy at the counter barely glances at him as he makes his purchase.  "Knock someone up?" he asks with a laugh.

Ric forces himself to smile.  "Somethin' like that, yeah."

He lives in a fantasy world where he's a normal guy whose worst problems are getting his girlfriend pregnant.  Then he goes home and shuts himself in the bathroom to use the test.  He sits on the toilet looking at the ceiling for a long time before he works up the balls to actually look at the results.  Jiggling his leg, he forces himself to look.  He stares at the test.  Blinks once.  Blinks again.  Flips it over in his hands.  Positive.  Flips it again.  Still positive.

He inhales shakily and takes a half-step towards the door, but his legs give out abruptly and his ass hits the tile hard.  He curls in on himself, shaking so hard he drops the test.  Scrambles on his knees towards the toilet and barely makes it in time before he vomits.  He retches into the toilet until there's nothing left in his stomach except the thing growing inside of him.  He claws at his arms, feels like something is crawling under his skin.  His phone buzzes, vibrating along the tile.  He picks it up, and drops it because the email is still on the screen.  He picks it up again, hands shaking so bad he can barely see the screen.  There's a text from Star, a shaky selfie of him and Terry.  Ric sobs violently, thumb hovering over Star's contact.  He should call him, tell him that-

That-

Fuck.

He swipes away to his recent texts and opens Tabby's contact.  Hits call.

"Pick up," he mutters under his breath, jiggling his leg.  "Pick up, pick up, pick up."

She does, because when it matters she always comes through for him.  "Wha's up?" she says, voice slurring a little.

"Uh," he chokes.  "Fuck.  Can you come over?"

"Ric?" she shouts into the phone.  Wherever she is, it's loud.

"Tabs," and his voice breaks.  "Please.  I need you to come over."

"Okay," she says.  "I'll be there in ten, jus' gimme a minute."  There's a pause.  Then, "Don't do anything stupid until I get there, okay?"

He nods, realizes she can't see him.  "Okay," he says, voice small.

He's still on the floor when Tabby shows up, slamming through his bedroom door and into the bathroom.  She scans him, eyes going straight to his wrists.   She knows him too well.

"Jesus," she says after a minute.  "What the fuck happened?"

Instead of answering, he throws the pregnancy test at her.  She catches it on instinct, then actually looks at it.

"Shit," she says.  "Shit, Ric."

His head thuds back against the wall.  "Yup."

"It's Shatty's?" she asks.

He laughs.  "Who else's would it be, Tabs?"

"Have you told him?"

He shakes his head, scrubbing at his eyes.  "I called you first."

She crouches down in front of him.  "Do you wanna keep it?"

He physically recoils at the idea.  "Fuck no."  He waits for her to tell him that he should.

"Okay," she says instead.  "Do you wanna go now?"

"What-"  Then he realizes what she's asking.  "You'd go with me?" he asks, voice small, and christ he sounds pathetic.  Like a little kid.

"No, I'm gonna make you go get an abortion by yourself."  She rolls her eyes.  "Yeah, doofus, I'm coming with you."

"Okay," he says, wiping his face.  "Yeah, fuck, let's go now."

"What about Shatty?" she asks him.

"I'll tell him after," he says.  "Or- or, I'll call him at the clinic, I dunno."

Tabby gives him a look.  "You sure that's a good idea?"

He laughs hysterically.  "No!" he laughs again, then it turns into a sob, "No, but I can't right now Tabs.  I can't.  He'll- he'll understand."

Tabby holds out a hand and hauls him to his feet.  "Then let's go."

Ric is so sure that someone's going to stop them as they head to the gate.  Someone will grab him and yell at him and force him to stop.  You can't get an abortion on Krakoa for a reason.  It's not technically banned, but one of the laws is make more mutants.  Everyone knows it's something the council discourages.  But no one seems to be paying attention to them and for a second, he thinks they're going to make it scott-free.

"Ah, Rictor," Xavier calls out just before they reach the gate.

Rictor freezes, mind reeling.  He can't breathe, and he feels a prickle at the edges of his mind and tries to cut himself off before anything slips out.  He's been told repeatedly by multiple telepaths that his mind is like a Faraday cage.  Nothing gets in or out psychically.  There's a dark sense of humor in that.  Tabby squeezes his hand.  He squeezes back, feeling like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

"I believe congratulations are in order," Xavier continues pleasantly, wheeling up to them briskly.  His eyes dart to Ric's stomach.  "Do tell Shatterstar how pleased I am that more mutants are taking the law seriously."

He's going to throw up.  He bites back the urge to snarl at Xavier to stay the fuck away from Star.  He fights the urge to open up the ground beneath Xavier's feet, to claw out the thing growing in his stomach.  He feels like he's suffocating, dirt pouring down his throat and filling his lungs and stomach.  Oil in groundwater.  Choking him.  He wants it gone, now.  He wants Xavier out of his fucking head.  He remembers Scott's lessons on blocking telepaths, remembers Jean helping him practice, her gentle pride when she told him she had no clue what number he was thinking of.  Even Cable, who was an asshole but at least was on the level.  He never tried to bullshit them about how the world worked.

"I understand your concerns," Xavier says, and he's got that smug little smile on his face.  Like he thinks he's got this all figured out.  "But you want to help your community, don't you?  You want mutants to grow and thrive.  The children are our future, after all.  It's why I became a teacher."

"I'm not one of your students," Ric snaps.  "Don't patronize me."

Xavier's eyes flash, and there's a sharp pain in Ric's temple.  His ears buzz.  He grits his teeth and fights back the urge to bury the man in front of him under fifty tons of topsoil.

"Young man," and the way Xavier stresses that word makes him feel about ten inches tall, "There's no need to get aggressive with me.  I am simply giving my congratulations on your pregnancy."

Tabby's grip on his fingers is tight enough to hurt.  "Yeah, well, save 'em.  I'm not keeping it."

Xavier raises a brow.  "You would do that to your own people?  After my X-Men saved you from the Right?  You, of all people should understand the importance of protecting children."

Suddenly, he's shaking.  Not even his powers, just plain old anxiety.  He can feel the panic attack coming from a mile away.  "Go fuck yourself," he snaps at Xavier, wrenches his hand out of Tabby's, and practically sprints back towards the Lighthouse.

He makes it about halfway there before he stumbles, legs giving out.  His heart is beating so fast he can feel it in his fingertips.  The ground shifts underneath him, roiling and churning like the ocean in a storm.  He feels like throwing up and claws at the grass, grasping desperately for any stability.  Feels like digging a hole and burying himself six feet under and staying there until his lungs work right.

"Ric," Tabby says, her voice sounding like it's coming from underwater.  "C'mon, let's just go to a different gate.  Fuck him."

"What if he's right?" he manages, "Tabs, what if I'm bein' selfish?"

"You're not," she says, crouching down next to him and wrapping her arms around him.  "You're not selfish, Ric."

"I wanna go home," he says, sounding like a fucking child.

Tabby takes him home, no questions or judgements or arguments.  He crawls into bed, wrapping the covers tightly around himself, and she sits next to him, rubbing his back.  Eventually, he tells her to go.  He kind of just wants to be alone and cry without feeling pathetic.

"Are you sure?" she asks.

"I'll be fine," he tells her, voice thick.  "I need to, uh, tell Star, anyways."

"Don't-" She hisses through her teeth, "Don't do anything stupid."

"M'not gonna kill myself," he tells her, feeling her hand tighten on his shoulder.  "They'd just bring me back like this."

She squeezes his shoulder.  "I love you, y'know that, right?"

"Yeah," he says, muffled by the pillow, "Love you too."

She leaves, but not before leaning down to awkwardly hug him.  It's more of her just laying on top of him and patting his back because he refuses to sit up, but she gets her point across just fine.  Once he's alone, he thinks about the razor blade in the bathroom for about a minute.  Then he shakes his head and texts Star.

can you come home pls

feel like shit

He doesn't tell Star why, but he doesn't need to.  Star thumbs-ups the text and it's not very long before he hears the front door open.  He tenses reflexively, suddenly really fucking afraid.  It's just Star, he tells himself.  It's just Star.

"Julio?" Star says as he enters their bedroom.  Ric's facing away from the door, so he can't see Star's face, but he can hear the worry in his voice.  "Are you feeling worse?"

He shrugs, tongue suddenly thick and useless in his mouth.  Two words.  That's all he has to say.  Two goddamn words that will absolutely blow up his life forever.  The words don't come; instead, he starts crying.  Quiet, shuddering sobs that feel like they're being ripped from deep in his chest and pulled out through his nose.

"Oh, Julio," Star says, climbing onto the bed and pulling him into his lap.  "Beloved, what is the matter?"

Ric chokes at the endearment, pressing his snotty face into Star's thigh.  Fighting back another wave of panic, he forces himself to breathe.  It's just Star.  He trusts Star, more than anyone else in the world.  He's got no reason to be so freaked out.

Fighting the lump in his throat, he takes a shaky breath.  "M'pregnant," he mutters.

"What?" Star asks, in a way that makes it clear he didn't catch the words.

"I'm, uh," Ric takes another breath.  "I'm pregnant."

The hand Star's been rubbing over he shoulders goes still.  "Oh," Star says, voice blank.  It's been a long time since Ric's heard that tone, the one that means total emotional confusion.

He looks up, finally working up the courage to watch Star's face.  His expression is blank, and he's blinking rapidly.  Ric can practically see the gears turning in his head as he processes the information.  There's no point in rushing him.  He'll get his answer when Star figures out what he's feeling.  After a minute or two, Star nods slowly, looking around like he's reading some invisible words that Ric can't see.

"This is-" Star pauses "-it is upsetting.  To you."

Ric nods, going limp in Star's lap.  "Extremely."

"There is a baby inside of you," Star says, like he's trying to make sure he's got the right idea of what's happening.

Ric cringes bodily.  "Um, it's not really a baby yet."

"Oh," Star says, "Okay."

"Star," Ric says cautiously, "What's goin' on in your head right now?"

"I am unsure," Star confesses.  "On television, this is typically a positive occasion for couples.  But television is not always reality.  And you are upset by this, and I do not like that because watching you be upset is painful.  So I do not think this is a positive occasion."

"No," he says quietly, "It's not.  I mean-" he swallows "-do you want it to be positive?  Because, uh, it would be your kid, too.  If we kept it."

Star blinks, like the thought hadn't occurred to him.  "But being pregnant is very upsetting to you.  Why not just end the pregnancy?"

Ric inhales.  "You'd be good with that?  With me getting an abortion?"

"Is that the term?"

Ric nods.

"Then yes, of course.  If that is what you want."  Star takes his hand, squeezing it.  "I want you to be happy, and this is making you very sad."

Ric exhales.  "Oh, thank fuck.  I- I thought-"

Star blinks at him.  "I do not understand."

"Well, I mean, you always seem really fascinated by kids," he says, shrugging.  He feels a stray tear escape from the corner of his eye, and Star wipes it away.  "I thought you'd be more interested in keeping it."

"But you do not want to be pregnant," Star says, sounding confused.  "It would be wrong of me to insist you do something with your body that you do not want.  Especially something that I have seen takes such a physical toll."

"I love you," Ric says, voice strangled.  Then, feeling guilty, he admits, "I called Tabby first.  Before texting you."

"She is like family to you," Star says.  "That is logical."

"She was gonna take me to get an abortion without me telling you," he says.  "I- I was scared, dude."

Star looks confused for a second.  Then his face crumples.  "You believed I might force you to keep being pregnant.  Julio, I would never-"

"I know," he says quickly, because Star looks like he might cry.  "I know.  It's just-" he swallows "-sometimes my brain lies to me.  And I have a hard time remembering what the truth is."

"Oh," Star says, voice thick.  "Does it lie to you often?"

Ric nods.  "I'm sorry.  I know you wouldn't ever force me to do something like this.  It was shitty of me not to tell you first."

Star squeezes his hand.  "It is as you said.  You were scared.  Fear makes people act irrationally."

"Would you come with me when I get it?" Ric asks him.  "I don't wanna do it alone."

Star bends down, hair falling in a curtain around them as he kisses Ric softly, one hand gently stroking over his jawline.  "Of course."

The next day, they leave Krakoa and go to the clinic.  Star holds his hand the entire time, and it's still fucking scary, but it would be even more terrifying not to do this.  Ric texts Tabby afterwards, telling her that he's all good.  They go home, and the rest of the team still isn't back from Otherworld, which is a relief.  Ric feels sore and sweaty and wrung out emotionally.

"Think m'gonna take a shower," he tells Star.  They're sitting on the couch together, Ric in Star's lap for once.

"Would you like to take a bath instead?" Star asks, "I can bathe you."

"Yeah," because that actually sounds fucking fantastic right now, "Yeah, please."

Star just picks him up and carries him to the bathroom.  Normally, Ric might protest that he can walk, but he's just so tired right now.  He strips down and sits on the toilet while the water fills the tub and for no fucking reason he feels like crying.  It's just been a really long day.  He reaches out and tugs Star close, so that he's standing between Ric's legs, and presses his face into his chest.  He takes several shaky breaths while Star rubs his back, screwing his eyes shut until he's sure he's not going to break down again.  Then he inhales and gets into the tub, sinking into the warm water.

When Star puts his mind to something, it's the only thing he focuses on.  It's what made him so good at fighting, and then at video games, and then at sex.  He just focuses until he's mastered it.  Ric envies him a little for that.  Being the center of his intense focus is always a bit of a rush, and a little bit embarrassing.  It always makes Ric feel stripped raw and vulnerable.  In this case, he is.  But he lets himself float out of his body and focuses on the gentleness of Star's hands and the warmth of the water.  When Star gets to his wrists, he stops, rubbing his thumb over the scars.

"These are different from the old ones you had," Star says quietly, "They are fresher."

Ric nods, hoping he won't ask.

Star looks at him, frowning softly.  "Who caused them?"

Ric laughs a little.  Fuck it, he might as well tell him.  He's lied enough.  "Me, dude."

Star blinks.  "I do not understand."

"Um, okay."  Ric runs a hand through his wet hair.  "You remember last night when I told you my brain lies to me sometimes?"

Star nods.

"Okay, so, it's like that.  I'm kinda fucked in the head, and sometimes-" he swallows "-sometimes, I take it out on myself.  When I'm really upset about something or I feel generally like shit, it makes my brain shut up for a while if I hurt myself."

Star's eyes have gone very wide and very round.  Ric really doesn't want to upset him, but he figures he owes it to him to explain.

"And sometimes, I feel like-" he looks up at the ceiling instead of at Star's face "-a few times, I've tried to kill myself."  It sounds so clean and simple when he says it like that.

Star's voice is shaking, "Julio-"

"Three times," he interrupts him.  "Before you ask.  I've tried to kill myself three times.  Twice when I was thirteen and once when I lost my powers."

Star makes a distressed noise, sharp and painful-sounding, and when Ric looks at him, he realizes that Star is crying.

"Oh, fuck, Star, I'm sorry," he says, hauling himself halfway out of the tub and wrapping his arms around him.  "I didn't-  I'm sorry."

Star makes a thin, wavering noise in the back of his throat.  "Did being pregnant make you feel like that?"

Ric presses his face into Star's neck, and wants to say no.  He can't, though, because that would be a lie.

And Star knows exactly what him not saying anything means.  "Oh, oh, I-" he flaps his hands, more visibly distressed than Ric's ever seen him.  "I am sorry," he says tearfully, "Julio, I am sorry.  It is my fault.  I made you pregnant."

"No, baby, no," Ric says.  "We were drunk.  It was a stupid mistake.  We both forgot."

Star wails, pulling him into a hug so tight it might actually leave bruises.  He's babbling in Cadre, and it makes Rictor's heart ache.  He just holds onto Star until he stops freaking out.  By then, the water's gone cold, but he doesn't care.  He just gets out once Star lets go of him and lets Star dry him off and dress him because he looks so upset still and Ric knows that being given a task calms him down.  They crawl into bed together and they hold onto each other and it feels like they've passed some sort of mile marker.

They rejoin the team in Otherworld and they get shit done, because it's what they're good at.  And if sometimes Star stares too long at the scars on his wrists during quieter moments, well, Ric doesn't call him on it.  They keep going, and they hold onto each other while they do.  He gets top surgery again and as soon as he's healed up enough, bottom surgery too.  He's done with hating his body and feeling like throwing up every time he looks in the mirror or showers.  He heals from that just in time for the Hellfire Gala.  It's been a year since Star came back into his life and Ric is starting to let himself believe that maybe things will actually last this time.  Maybe.

And then the world comes crashing down around their ears.

He swears, head throbbing as the red triangle pulses in his mind.  Even with his tough mental defenses, he can feel the compulsion leaking through, tugging him toward the gates.  He shakes his head, willing his eyes to focus enough for him to get Star and get out.  

Fuck, Star.  

Rictor feels like throwing up.  If he's struggling, then there's no way Star would be able to resist this level of telepathic control.  He desperately scans the room, shoving through hordes of people moving like they're sleepwalking.  He pushes the memory of Sam dying out of his mind.  He can break down about it later.   He tries to remember if he'd seen Tabby.  The thought of losing her panics him almost as much as losing Star.   He needs them both to be safe, but he trusts that Tabby can handle herself when it comes to this.  She was almost as good as him at keeping people out of her head.  After what feels like hours of searching, he sees Star on the far side of the room.   He decides that he doesn't care what happens to the room or to himself or anyone else.  He needs to get to Star.  He pulls the ground up and heaves himself forward, teeth rattling in his skull and joints protesting the strain.  He knows he's going to feel this tomorrow, if he's alive then, and he doesn't care.   He shoves the pillar of earth he's standing on forward, and feels Krakoa push with him.  He can feel the island screaming out in protest and he wishes suddenly there was some way to stop all of this.   To save everyone.  But deep down he's a scared, selfish little kid, so he skids to a stop in front of Star and ignores the feeling of Krakoa's rage.  

"Star," he pleads, grabbing his wrist.  "Shatterstar, baby, look at me, por favor."

Star looks at him, and Ric almost wishes he hadn't.  His eyes are blank and empty of everything that makes Star himself.   It makes Ric feel sick.  Star tries to tug his arm out of Rictor's grip, but he just sends a vibration up Star's arm.  He's panicking and his control is shot to hell, so he's not as careful as he would normally be.  Star's arm jolts and the bone snaps with a sickening crunch under Rictor's fingers.  

"Oh god," he sobs, "Star, I'm so fuckin' sorry, please."

Star blinks, grimacing in pain, and then his eyes narrow.  "Julio?" he says hoarsely, searching his face with wild eyes.

"Yeah," he says, "Yeah, sweetheart, it's me."  He decides that the next time he sees Charles Xavier, he's punching him in the face.  "I'm right here.  I'm so sorry."

Star's eyes go foggy and he starts to sway, but Rictor swallows back a sob of relief and snaps his fingers.  "Hey, no, mírame."

Star nods, expression tense.  "I- I am struggling."

"We need to get outta here," Ric tells him.  "Can you do that?"

He's worried about ending up stranded in fucking Alaska or something with how scrambled Star's brain is right now, but it's not like they have a choice.  It's either risk whatever happens when they teleport or he loses Star to the mind control.  He figures if it kills them, then at least they made that choice themselves.  Star winces in pain, squinting against the pull of Xavier's mind, and when he looks at Rictor his nose is gushing blood.  But he just nods, determined.  Ric squeezes his hand and the light flares to life in front of them.  He's suddenly ridiculously grateful that Star still refuses to leave home without his swords.  They would be fucked otherwise.  Clinging to Star's hand, Ric tugs them both through the flickering portal and the snapping of the mind control being cut away makes him black out for a second.  When he opens his eyes, he's flat on his back in the grass.  He sits up, hissing in pain, and is deliriously relieved to see the familiar buildings of London.

Krakoa is gone from him, though, and when he turns his head he sees Star lying completely still and limp on the grass.  Panic flooding him, he grabs at his wrist and feels for a pulse.  It takes him what feels like the longest string of seconds in human history to find it, but it's there.  Thready and weak, but there.  It's only then that something in his chest snaps clean in half and he sobs, curling over Star and shaking uncontrollably.  That's how the EMTs find them, him curled protectively over Star's unconscious body, sitting in a crater with the earth curling up around them like a shield.

Life goes on, despite everything else.  They go to Sam's funeral and he and Tabby get drunk together.  He's never met Sam's wife or kid before, and it's a surreal fucking experience.  Beto is like a ghost, thin and forcing a smile and a joke like he doesn't know how to stop.  Ric doesn't call him on it.  When he and Star get home, Star breaks down sobbing in a way Ric's never seen before.  They curl up in bed together and Ric just holds him as tight as he can and lets him get it all out, humming under his breath and kissing his hair because he doesn't know how to fix this.  So many fucking people died and neither of them are very good at handling that.

Ric doesn't actually remember much of getting burned.  He remembers the pain, mostly, and Star's careful hands holding him up.  Betsy's presence in his head that he instinctively flinched away from.  He does remember waking up to Jamie fucking Maddrox hovering over him with a nervous expression.  He's pretty well-aware of what being drugged feels like, and he usually avoids anything stronger than an Advil because he hates what drugs do to him.  Not being in pain was nice, at least.  He doesn't take any again, not even when he screams himself awake because it fucking hurts.  He's not doing that again.  They can't make him.  He finds out Sam's alive because he gets a Get Well Soon card signed by him, his wife, and his kid.  Ric stares at it for a long, long time.  Then he texts Tabby, just in case she didn't know.

When the bandages come off, he stands in front of the mirror and stares for a long time, wondering if the him from ten years ago would recognize the person he is now.  He wonders if that's a bad thing.  Maybe that's just part of growing up, becoming unrecognizable.

"Julio?" Star says, poking his head into their bedroom.  "Oh."

Ric can feel Star's eyes trailing over his body.  He stripped down to his boxers and christ, it's just Star, but he suddenly feels too exposed.  He crosses his arms over his chest, a reflex from before that he hasn't quite been able to shake.  "What's up?" he asks, and his voice sounds raw even to his ears.

"I was going to ask if you wanted pizza for lunch," Star tells him, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.  "Are you in pain?"

He shakes his head.  "Nah.  M'just, uh, getting the full extent of the damage."  The scars run up the left side of his torso and face, his outer arm getting the worst of it.  The scars are ugly red and warped and Ric takes a shaky breath.  "What do you think?"

"I am glad you are alive," Star says without hesitation, wrapping himself around Ric from behind.  "I was very concerned, especially when you would not take the medication."

"I took the antibiotics," Ric argues, leaning back into Star's embrace.  "I just don't like how the painkillers make me feel."

"They do dull the mind," Star agrees, kissing the scarred part of his neck.  The sensation is a bit duller than normal, but that makes sense.  Damaged nerves and shit.

Ric lets his eyes close as Star trails kisses down his neck and over his shoulder.  "I know what you're doin'," he tells him.

"And what is that?"

"You're tryin' to make me feel better about looking like shit."

"I do not think you look 'like shit'," Star tells him, the words hot against the bare skin of his shoulder.  "I think you look like a survivor."

And, well, Ric can't not fuck him when he says sappy shit like that.  He forgot, after the resurrection reset his body, what being on top made him feel.  A lot of things, obviously, but even the strap-on they used before wasn't quite the same.  Being inside Star and feeling it is something that makes him so deliriously pleased.  Especially because Star seems to like it so much.

After, laying tangled together in the sheets with Star trailing lazy kisses over his scars, Ric squeezes Star's hand and says, "I've been thinking about getting a tattoo."

Star moves, adjusting himself so he can look Ric in the face.  "What would you get one of?" he asks.

Ric shrugs.  "Dunno.  Plants or somethin'."

"I think you would look very handsome with a tattoo," Star says, like it's a fact of life and not just his admittedly biased opinion.

He ends up getting vines twining around his right forearm.  He thinks about getting Star's eye mark somewhere in there, but decides against it because he knows Star has a complicated relationship with it.  The vines are green, standing out against his skin and it's a similar boost whenever he looks in the mirror as seeing his chest flat when he's shirtless.  One more thing marking his body as his.

"I have been thinking," Star says one night.  "Perhaps we could go on a vacation.  Like camping."

Ric looks at him, a little amused.  "You wanna go camping?"

"Yes," Star tells him, and it still makes him so fucking proud that Star is able to just ask for what he wants now.  He's come so far.

So they go camping.  They sleep in a tiny tent and it's actually not that bad.  There's something soothing about feeling the earth directly underneath him as he sleeps.  Especially with Star pressed up next to him.  Ric wakes up before Star for once.  He's not sure why, but he assumes it has something to do with the altitude.  He gets up, throwing on a shirt because it's fucking cold up here in the mornings, and starts making breakfast.  It's not long before Star joins him at the campfire, plopping himself in his lap like an over-sized lap dog.  He's warm enough to drive away the lingering morning chill.

Ric twines his fingers through Star's hair, working out the tangles.  "Sleep good?"

Star nods, humming.  Too early for words, then.  That's okay.  Ric can talk enough for the both of them.

"I'm glad.  We got bacon for breakfast."

Star hums again, making a low sound under his breath.  It's a good noise, and Ric kisses his cheek, scratching gently over his scalp.

"Julio," Star mumbles in his ear, and he blinks.  Usually, it takes Star a while to work up to actually talking in the mornings.  "Do you remember when we were teenagers and I told you that being put in body like yours would not phase me."

Star never calls it a woman's body.  It's kind of sweet.  "Yeah," Ric says hesitantly.  He does vaguely remember that conversation.  "What's up?"

"I have been considering my-" he makes a noise in the back of his throat "-further opinions on that matter, and I believe I am not entirely a man."

"Okay," Ric says.  "That's totally okay, dude.  I'm glad you told me."  In all honesty, he's not totally surprised.  "Do you want me to call you my partner instead of boyfriend?"

Star shakes his- their? - head vehemently.  "No.  I like boyfriend."

"Okay," Ric says.  "What about girlfriend?"

Star stills.  "I would like that," they say after a moment.  "But I still like being called your boyfriend as well."

"I'll switch it up," Ric tells them.  "How about pronouns?"

"He is fine," Star says.  "They is fine as well."  Then, hesitantly, "I would like to be called she along with he and they."  They look at him shyly, like he thinks Ric might have something against that.

"Alright, baby," Ric tells her.  "I can do that."

"Thank you," Star says.  "I know it might be difficult."

"It's not," Ric tells them.  "I love you.  You've already done it for me a bunch of times over."

Star hums, and they watch the sun crawl it's way up the sides of the mountain while they eat bacon and cereal.  Star sits on his lap and the rays of sun turn her hair gold and crimson and Ric thinks they've never been more beautiful.  The world is shit, sometimes, but he figures that moments like this are worth all the other awful parts of being alive.