Chapter Text
“But, I don’t understand! We had locked in these plans like a week ago!” Joan winced at the whine evident in her tone.
The martyr clone once more found herself fighting back tears - like such a girl - while Abe absent-mindedly rummaged through his locker.
“I know, but I figured it wasn’t that big of a deal,” Abe shrugged. “Besides, Gandhi had dance practice, so he didn’t go.”
“Yeah, but we knew that ahead of time! He told us and was fine with missing out,” Joan said, familiar nausea returning.
Of course, she knew Gandhi had a rehearsal when she decided they should “all” go hang out at the Grassy Knoll. Joan did check, and Gandhi had been okay with not going since he and Marie Curie were hanging out after practice. As bad as excluding their third friend made her feel, Joan was just desperate for some one-on-one time with Abe - an anomaly that had become akin to hearing the voice of God.
“You,” Joan grit her teeth through her cracking voice. “You never told me you were bailing! I sat there alone for...” She trailed off at the memory of Marie Antoinette giving her a free basket of fries after an hour of waiting with a silent shake of her head.
Joan restrained herself from swiping at her eyes for fear of smudging her eyeliner, and God, she thought with a shutter. Living with Cleo was starting to rub off.
“Well, Cleo needed me! She’s my girlfriend, Joan. She outranks you, so if she needed a ride to the mall, my credit card, and for me to carry all her bags, then I have to be there for her!”
Abe still hadn’t looked at Joan nor did he seem to be angry with her. Lincoln merely appeared annoyed that the conversation was even happening. He kept gazing down the hall and glancing at his phone.
“She outranks you.”
“She outranks you.”
“She outranks you.”
Abe’s words rattled around Joan’s skull as her vision began to blur.
“I don’t know why you’re so upset, we see each other every day.” Finally, Abe turned to look at Joan but didn’t fully meet her eyes. “I’m sure we can make it up at some point when you’re feeling better.”
He surveyed her one last time, “You look like you’re gonna yak.”
Joan swallowed the bile in the back of her throat as she deflated. “You’re right, Abe. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I got so upset.”
Abe patted her shoulder, as he continued to scan the halls. “Apology accepted. I think I see Cleo; gotta go.”
Abe slid past her, and she watched his head bob through the crowded hallways as he departed. Classmates bumped into her as though they didn’t realize she was there; let alone that she had just had her heart shattered for the umpteenth time by a clone of Abraham Lincoln.
In through the nose and out through the mouth, Joan reminded herself as she rested her head against Abe’s locker; her pulse pounding in her ears.
“Oof, that was hard to watch.”
Joan jumped with a raised fist and gasp to see Gandhi behind her leaning against the lockers.
“Ho-” She cleared her throat. “How long had you been standing there?”
“Long enough,” Gandhi answered with a shrug. “So, you can disengage now.”
Joan lowered her fist.
“You good?” he asked, despite already knowing the answer.
Joan bit her lip and tugged at a handful of her hair. “I don’t wanna talk about this. See you later,” Joan mumbled as she took off in the opposite direction of Abe.
“Okay,” Gandhi called out. “But, if it makes you feel any better, he didn’t even notice his homie was right here.”
That decidedly didn’t make her feel better.
In fact, Joan had the sudden urge to punch something.
“So, what do you say to uh you and me taking a little road trip to Pennsylvania?” JFK smirked at Catherine, the So-So (Ha!).
She was batting her eyes at him which JFK knew meant that Catherine was already a hook, line, and sinker. But, he still hadn’t gotten to the best part of the pick-up line, so JFK pressed on.
“I-err-uh was thinking of this little town called ‘Intercourse?’ And by ‘road trip,’ I mean SE-”
Before JFK could finish his delivery, he spotted Joan of Arc stomping down the hallway with an annoyed look on her face.
“Sorry, Cathy,” JFK closed his locker. “New target acquired, and she’s alone. There has never been a better time to invade her Bay of Pigs.”
As the Kennedy clone slinked away, he heard Catherine the Great sigh, “Why do I even bother with that jackass?”
JFK smoothed his quiff and checked his breath before veering towards Joan. The redhead glanced at him, grimaced, and kept treading past him without the slightest bit of hesitation.
Ooo boy, this should be fun, the Kennedy clone thought. With new vigor, he whipped up his most presidential smile.
“Hey, err-uh, of Arc,” he started as he followed her down the hall.
“Cut the shit, Kennedy,” Joan said flatly. “I’m really not in the mood today.”
JFK paused momentarily as his grin wavered. Usually, there’s one neutral-borderline-apathetic exchange from Joan, he would hit on her, and she would hit him. This was their steady, reliable cycle - their thing. Something was off.
“Aww, come on, of Arc!” He bumped his shoulder against hers, and she immediately stilled. “Why don’t you uh relax and tell Ol’ Fitzy all about what’s wrong?”
Joan shoulder-checked back with what Kennedy had long ago learned was deceiving strength.
“I said,” Joan began, voice rising in volume. “‘Cut the shit!’” She swung a clean right hook that connected with his left eye.
The first thing JFK was aware of was Catherine the Great laughing loudly from behind him. He then took a step back and just knew that he was going to have to explain another black eye to Wally and Carl. JFK chuckled.
He turned to find Joan cracking her knuckles and staring back, eyebrow raised as if throwing down the gauntlet. JFK couldn’t help the growing grin. There she is.
“Thanks,” Joan said after a moment with a huff, tension leaving her shoulders. “I needed that.”
“Just doing my err civic duty. But, is there any chance the scary goth girl wants to uh sock me again?” JFK asked with a glimmer of hope.
Joan just stared at him for a split second before she rolled her eyes. “Sorry to disappoint, Kennedy, but I think I’m good. Next time.”
A chorus of boos filled the hallway, and JFK suddenly realized that, apparently, a crowd had formed around him and Joan - anticipating a fight. Well, it has been a while since she’s given me a black eye; can’t blame them for wanting a show.
“What seems to be the cause of all this commotion?” a familiar metallic voice inquired.
“Oh shit,” Joan groaned as Mr. Butlertron approached them.
“Hi, err-uh, Mr. B! No issue here!” JFK quickly responded as the crowd began to dissipate around them.
Joan shot him a look and arched an eyebrow. He mouthed back, ‘Play along.’ She scrunched her brows together in confusion, but JFK waved her off.
“Joan, here, uh slipped, and while I tried to catch her, she err accidentally planted one on me.” JFK scratched the back of his neck as he realized how that sounded. “Uh, fist that is. Can’t imagine a smooch doin’ this kind of damage.”
He gestured vaguely to his reddening face, which was only turning that shade because of the punch thank you very much, and laughed weakly.
He received an unimpressed glare from Joan before she cleared her throat, “Yeah, Kennedy was just,” she stated flatly before cringing. “Making sure I was safe because I can be such a clutz.”
Mr. Butlertron rotated between Joan and JFK. The redhead mimicked gagging behind the robot’s back and flipped off JFK. The Kennedy clone was desperately trying to keep a straight face with Joan staring adorably menacing daggers at him.
“If that is the case, why was there a crowd?” Mr. B directed the question to the brunette.
“Uhh…” he trailed off. I’m a Kennedy goddamnit! JFK panic-thought. Not being held responsible for our actions is a key component of the name!
“Well, you see Mr. B, we wer-” Kennedy had started.
“Mr. B!” A voice boomed in the distance.
Kennedy turned to see Cleo, with Lincoln in tow, strutting towards them. JFK saw Joan’s posture stiffen as they approached.
“Mr. B, I saw the whole thing,” Cleo said.
She paused for a moment to reapply her lipstick, savoring the attention of a dramatic pause. JFK had to admit, she always knew how to dominate the moment.
“Hold this,” Cleo said to Abe, who was already carrying two stacks of textbooks, Cleo’s purse, and now a single tube of lipstick balanced on top.
Joan bit her lip and clenched her fists. JFK scrunched his brows together as if to ask if she was okay, but the question was left unanswered. Her gaze remained fixed behind Cleo, on Lincoln, who was staring down adoringly at Cleo.
Oh.
JFK blinked a few times and tried to catch the rest of what she was saying.
“-nd I was just walking here with my boyfriend Abraham Lincoln,” she said with a caress of his arm; the Lincoln clone shivered.
“When I saw Joan assault poor, defenseless Jack,” she continued. “Punched him straight in the face, and he didn’t even punch back because some people were raised with poise.”
Cleo’s smirk at Joan morphed into a sincere smile toward JFK. Upon seeing this, Abe stepped forward to try to hold Cleo’s hand but ended up dropping half the content he was carrying. While Cleo commanded him to clean it up, JFK turned back to the robot.
“I-err-uh don’t have a clue what’s happening with those two right now,” he began nodding at Abe and Cleo. “But uh, Joan didn’t sock me.”
Cleo’s head snapped towards him, and she suddenly was grinning at him with all teeth and dead eyes. They had dated long enough for JFK to know that she was sending him to the dog house.
“JFK,” Cleo menaced, smile unwavering and eyes unblinking. “Are you calling me a liar?”
She began laughing dryly, and for the Celtics’ sake, I am a dead man walking.
Abe picked himself up off the floor and puffed out his chest, fixing a glower at JFK.
“Cleo would never lie! She’s the most honest person I know,” Lincoln said loudly over Joan’s indignant snort. He turned back towards Mr. B, “If she says that Joan punched Kennedy then she punched Kennedy.”
“Abe?” Joan scoffed as she gave him a bewildered ‘What the fuck?’ shrug.
Mr. B rolled over to Joan and stated, “I am programmed to be a vice-principal, butler, and occasional dehumidifier - not to diffuse tension. Did you punch another student, Wesley?”
Joan, who probably could have skedaddled during all the commotion unnoticed, crossed her arms with a groan, “Yes.”
“Alright, that settles it. Detention, follow me,” Mr. B instructed.
Joan began stomping along after the robot, glowering. Cleo waved at her as she passed and commented with a sneer, “I think Abe and I will use our room after school since it looks like you’ll be preoccupied.”
He wasn’t exactly sure when he started, but JFK had just noticed he was trailing after Joan again. “Uhh, Mr. B?”
“What is it now, Wesley?” The vice-principal asked. “Sigh. I said ‘sigh’ as I cannot actually sigh.”
“I-err-uh may not have hit Joan, uh I would never fight a broad, but I egged her on,” JFK admitted before his brain caught up to the situation.
Joan cocked her head to the side and peered at JFK out of the corner of her eye, but he just shrugged.
“Fine, whatever, detention for you too,” the robotic vice-principal computed. “This whole encounter is taking much longer than I had anticipated. Teenagers. Groan. I said ‘groan’ as-”
“Yeah, we got it, Mr. B,” Joan interjected. “Can we just go?”
“Just be glad it was me who caught you two and not Principal Scudworth, or you would be spending the rest of the day in the Death Maze, Wesley,” Mr. B declared. “Now, you two, follow me.”
The two clones proceeded silently for some time before Joan squinted at him, “Why did you do that?”
“Huh?” JFK retorted.
“Get yourself in trouble when Cleo handed you a ‘Get Out of Jail’ free card? What are you up to?” she asked suspiciously.
“The only thing up is my dic-”
“Okay, enough of that,” Joan interrupted, unphased.
She took a step closer to JFK and lowered her voice, “For real though, what are you gonna do? Antagonize me the whole time or?”
JFK shifted closer to Joan, “Dunno, why? You want me to?” He leaned down and gave her his best wolfish grin.
Joan frowned and jabbed an elbow at JFK’s stomach with a quick, “Shut up, Kennedy.”
JFK groaned and doubled over, “You uh wound me, of Arc.”
“If you two are done,” Mr. B chimed in. “I’ve got to file your disciplinary reports. Please wait outside the office until I call you in.”
Joan and JFK both stiffened and quickly jumped apart as JFK nervously chuckled.
“I don’t trust you, you know,” Joan announced more to the hallway than him, eyes averted. “So, whatever Cleo’s masterminding and you're helping with, just know that I’m not falling for it.”
“of Arc, I-er-uh, have no idea what you’re going on about,” said JFK, brow furrowed in confusion.
“Look, people like you and Cleo? You always want something, and it’s usually at my expense, or worse, Abe or Gandhi’s,” Joan barked.
She entered his personal bubble and jabbed her finger in JFK’s chest, mere inches between the two of them. “So, whatever’s going on, I’ll figure it out because Abe and Gandhi are too stupid to know when they’re being played.”
Joan’s finger was still digging into his chest, and she was now holding fiery eye contact with him despite being a head shorter than the jock. JFK swallowed thickly and felt his face heating up. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Is it uh hot in here or is it just us?” he asked with a weak smile.
“Can’t you just go a minute without some sort of come-on?” Joan questioned, exasperated.
JFK opened his mouth to retort.
“Stop it.”
JFK closed his mouth.
“Hey JFK, wha-” Cleo began as she approached them but froze upon seeing Joan and JFK squared off. “What the fuck?”
Joan dropped her finger and took a step back with her hands up, much to JFK’s displeasure. Then out of seemingly nowhere, Abe appeared and grabbed Joan to pull her behind him.
“Get away from her!” Abe snarled at JFK.
“Look Lincoln,” JFK began, irritation beginning to course through his veins.
Who the fuck gave him the right to just grab at Joan like that?
“I-err-uh don’t know what you think is happening right now, but I doubt it-” the Kennedy clone was cut off.
“I know you’re used to fooling around with whoever you want,” Abe spat out. “And if I’m being honest, I always kind of envied you for it. But Joan's not like those other girls, so why don’t you just try porking someone else, okay? She won’t fall for it!”
The Lincoln clone spun on his heel and picked up one of Joan’s hands. “Are you alright?”
Joan’s head snapped back and forth between Abe’s face and their hands so fast that JFK thought her neck was going to break.
“Yeah, I’m great!” Joan exclaimed. “But, nothing was happening between Kennedy and me, I swear.”
“Oh that’s a relief,” Lincoln exhaled.
He immediately dropped her hand before returning to Cleo’s side where he then reached for her hand. Cleo swatted it away, and Abe stared blankly at her.
“What?” he asked.
“Of fucking course,” Joan murmured with a sigh.
“‘What? ’” Cleo mimicked. “I think you and I need to have a discussion when we get back to my place.”
Just then, the office door opened, and Mr. B gestured for JFK to enter.
Joan’s head and heart had matching whiplash, so she closed her eyes as she leaned against the wall. Cleo was whisper-yelling at Abe, but the redhead couldn’t make out anything. She heard Cleo’s heels clack on the linoleum as she paced in circles around the now-silent Abe. Eventually, Joan heard the click-clack of Cleo’s heels halt with a resounding huff.
“Abe and I will see you at home, Joan!” Cleo called, voice laced with false sincerity. “Might wanna knock on our bedroom door before you walk in though.”
Joan cracked open an eye to see Cleo marching away.
“See you later, Joan. Let me know if Kennedy causes any more trouble, and I’ll be sure to give him a stern talking to,” Abe said with an edge to his voice as he hurried after Cleo.
After a minute or so of the newfound serenity in silence, Joan opened her eyes.
Okay, so - noteworthy things, Joan thought. Abe doesn’t like JFK. I knew this, but he doesn’t like JFK around me, not just around Cleo. He came to check on me, and he held my hand. Nice. Good information. I can work with this. Cleo doesn’t want me around JFK, and it upsets her. I mean, being around him upsets me too, but if it upsets her, he probably isn’t doing her bidding…
As the cogs in Joan’s head turned, JFK walked out of the office, “Hey, er-uh, Mr. B’s ready for you.”
Joan just nodded, not wanting to lose her train of thought, and JFK held the door open for her.
“Of Arc, just wanted to say sorry for the shitstorm earlier,” JFK added. “I didn’t mean all this err hullabaloo.”
Joan paused and dared a glance at JFK.
“And just so you know, I-err-uh really am not planning anything. At least, I don’t think I am,” he concluded sheepishly.
“You may not be up to anything, but I just might be,” Joan retorted with a small smirk.
JFK blinked in confusion and flinched when Joan's smirk metamorphosed into the most minuscule of smiles before entering the office.
“What just happened?” Joan heard JFK ask the hallway as the door clicked into place.