"Shit!"

If you'd met Dave Tuckey under any other circumstances, it was unlikely that you would recognize the easygoing fellow in this harried looking young man who was standing in the middle of the stage, running a hand through his (newly buzz cut) hair and looking up at the lights and sound booth with an expression that spelled trouble for his fellow technicians.

His jeans and black t-shirt are both old, generic. Well, all but the paint splatters. Painting sets tends to end up with some paint on the painter, you know.

At the moment, Dave was faced with the daunting task of focusing the lights for the upcoming show all by himself. The actual act of focusing them--that is, of pointing groups of lights on specific areas with specific colors, for those who are unversed in theatre--was not the problem. That was a job that a single person could do, easily.

The problems come in because he doesn't have any way to tell if he's focusing them at the right height or in the right area because there's no one to stand down here.

It's irritating, and the show opens in two weeks, and he needs to get these lights focused now.

((For Poe.))

Zeke was prowling.

He was moving from seat to seat, holding one of those mechanical thermometers over each chair. It made sense, since ghosts notoriously catered around cold fronts and the air just felt different when there were paranormal beings around.

Of course, he had just bought the thermometer from your local pharmacy and tinkered with it. It was really nothing special.

As he got closer to the stage, he realized that he wasn't the only being in the theatre. It was a subtle feeling, one you got after someone had shouted "shit!" somewhere to your left.

He doubted it was a ghost. Unless it was a pirate who died, and was very frustrated about something.

Straightening, he looked around the theatre. "Hello?" he called out.

"Hello yourself. What the hell are you doing in here?"

Dave vaulted down off the stage--show off--and headed towards the kid down in the house. He looked him over for about two seconds, then shrugged. Why the kid was in here didn't matter as long as he could rope him into standing on stage while he focused the lights.

"Never mind," he added, with a sharp gesture at the boy, beckoning him towards the stage. "Get over here."

For a long moment he stood still, confusion gluing him to his spot.

Especially since he recognized that voice, but couldn't figure out why.

With a small shrug, he walked to the foot of the stage and looked up at the guy, trying to put a name on the face. He could swear he had seen him somewhere before.

"Can I help you?"

Of course, Zeke didn't realize that the theatre generally wasn't open for the general public when there wasn't a production going on. He knew it, yes, but he had just forgotten.

"Yes. Get up here and stand there."

Demanding, isn't he.

Probably the reason that Zeke can't place the voice is because Dave is using a tone with him that is very different from the friendly one of their first encounter. Well, that... and there is absolutely no flirting going on.

There was something vaguely familiar about the kid, but Dave wrote it off as him having been at a performance sometime in the past.

Zeke blinked and clambered up the stage, using no forms of grace. He frowned slightly at the other man, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Um, am I supposed to pose or something?"

He peered closer at Dave, confused.

It should be noted that although his appearences changed, his eyes didn't.

The vague feeling of familiarity intensified, but at the moment, Dave was just a bit preoccupied.

"You can pose if you like, I guess, but that's not what I need you for. Stay put."

With which he turned and disappeared offstage.

In a minute or two, he reappeared, this time in the catwalks above the house.

Zeke watched him, craning his neck but not moving from his place. "Um, what are you doing?"

He didn't quite realize that perhaps he shouldn't bother asking. People who were in their mode of working tended to not pay attention to what their tools were saying. He pushed his hands in his pockets and dropped his head back down, taking in a view from the stage.

"Focusing the lights." Whether Zeke could hear him or not was debateable, since he wasn't precisely trying to be heard.

At this point, he flipped a switch, and Zeke was bathed in very, very bright white light. It would be amber and patterned in the actual production, but Dave didn't need to put the goboes on yet. He just wanted the lights pointing the right direction.

"What was that?" He had heard something, but it was muffled and basically just sounded like one of the Peanut's character's adults chatting away. Zeke blinked when the blinding light filled his vision, putting a hand over his eyes in a saluting position to block out some of the light. He squinted, then finally just gave up and looked at the ground.

"Focusing the lights," Dave reiterated, a little more loudly, pointing another of the things at Zeke and flipping it on. This director wanted a several different 'areas,' which would be different places in the play. The set was mostly moveable, and thus the areas weren't immediately obvious.

"For the next show. Move about fifteen feet to your left."

He moved almost exactly fifteen feet to his left, only off by a couple of inches. "Oh. How long is this going to take?" He didn't find it very invigorating, being a test subject for the whole lighting thing. It sounded like it could get rather annoying fast, and he felt rather washed out standing underneath such a bright light.

The light brought out his freckles, but even more so his eyes. They were focused on Dave again. He was starting to remember clippets of a conversation he had had with this man, but had no idea what to associate them with.

He was washed out. There are reasons that actors wear all that makeup. His eyes, though... Dave actually paused for a moment, trying to remember where he'd seen eyes like that before.

"Depends. If you do exactly what you're told, it won't take that long."

Three more lights.

"Perfectly logical. Do you want me to move again?" It was weird having a conversation with someone who was so far above you. His neck was starting to get a kink in it, so once again he dropped his eyes to the side. "If I do everything you say, then how long would it take?"

If he said an hour, Zeke was bailing out.

Far above in more ways than one...

... sorry. Couldn't resist...

Anyway.

Dave shrugged. "Mhmm. That way, about as much as you moved before. And I dunno. As long as it takes."

They'll be done in less than an hour, probably. Assuming Dave is satisfied with what he's done after they're finished.

Zeke made a face at him, not liking the idea of this set-up. He didn't want to be stuck walking around a stage and posing and being blinded for this familiar guy in the rafters. He wanted to be exploring, looking for secret compartments and rooms and supernatural...things.

He also didn't like the estimate of time. He wanted a solid time.

Rubbing his lips together, he moved to the guy's desired place.

...who was he?

It was about half an hour later when Dave finally had the last light set up to his satisfaction--or almost satisfaction, anyway. It wasn't perfect, but this stuff never was anyway. It's pretty much impossible to reach perfection in this kind of thing.

However, Dave didn't actually tell Zeke that he was finished until after he'd disappeared from the catwalk and appeared downstairs again. He came out of the wings, grinning merrily.

"Done. Thanks... uh, what is your name anyway, kid? I'm Dave."

"So that's where I know you from!"

Well, he had almost said that, but caught himself just in time. It would have been a very bad situation if he had accidentally let that slip out—how would he explain that? 'Oh, you met me in a skirt? Don't mind that—it's just a Monday thing.' Yeah effing right.

Zeke stared at Dave, eyes wide and very very gray. He opened his mouth, closed it, then swallowed thickly and tried to smile.

"Uh, hi. I'm Zeke."

He had almost said Zoe. Shit.

Dave was actually looking at him now... And that vague sense of familiarity was now a certain sense of familiarity... But where the heck did he know this kid from? He didn't know anyone named Zeke, and it wasn't as if that was a common name, either.

It must be the eyes. They looked like Zoe's, from the other day.

"... You don't happen to have a sister, do you?" he asked, before thinking. Dave's impulsive like that. After which, though, he looked chagrined, and added, "Sorry, weird question."

Actually.

That was perfect.

"I don't know." Zeke blinked and shrugged, trying to maintain an innocent look. It was surprisingly easy, since he was continuously oblivious and the look came naturally. On top of that, also, he wasn't lying. Not even in the slightest.

"I'm actually adopted. I suppose I could have a sister that I just don't know about. And it's not a weird question, do I remind you of someone?"

"Mhmm. Some chick I met at the mall the other day.... I don't look like a girl, do I? And if you say that's not a weird question, you must have a very strange idea of what weird is."

He doesn't. Look like a girl, that is. His face is clean cut, with firm lines. His hair is much shorter than the last time that Zeke--or 'Zoe'. Whatever--saw him (The haircut is partially a result of that rather odd encounter) and definitely not a length that most girls would sport.

Also, he's completely flat chested.

This time Zeke did give him a puzzled look, even though he knew exactly what Dave was talking about. "Why would you look like a girl? Sounds like you just picked up an odd one. Say, are there any ghosts around here?"

Not that Zeke wasn't odd. In any case, he still managed to be adorable while also a bit strange.

"Er, do you need reassurances of your masculinity?"

If anyone needed that, it was Zeke, but that was merely a deep, dark secret of his.

"Hell no. She just said something weird, 's all." He tilted his head. "Huh. She was interested in ghosts and shit too. Asked me if there were any secret passages here. Like this was some kind of Paris Opera, or something."

He looked more closely at Zeke, especially peering at the younger guy's eyes. "You sure that if you've got a sister, you don't know her? Same eyes, same interests. Weird."

This was confusing. And a bit irritating, because it was something that felt like it should be easily solved, and wasn't being easy to solve.

"I'm positive," Zeke said, sounding slightly irritated, himself. Sure he was leaving stuff out (like they had met before, but Zeke had been in a skirt), but why the hell did this guy have to question him?

"Anyway, a lot of people are interested in the paranormal," Zeke said, bristling slightly and having no idea why he was being so defensive. "And my eyes aren't that different from everybody else's."

They were. It was how he was defined.

"Sure they are," Dave argued, not really sure why he was getting into this kind of a discussion anyway. "I mean, everybody and his uncle's got boring brown eyes like mine, but you--"

Why was he talking about another guy's eyes like this? Because they looked a hell of a lot like the eyes that had so entranced him in a girl's face. Strike that. They looked exactly like.

"Her eyes were just like yours. And I'd never seen them before her and now you."

"Come on now, no one's eyes are exactly alike," Zeke grumbled, not sure why he was getting so heated up. Maybe it was because he was so close to getting away with dressing like a woman—but hell if it was his idea in the first place. Patricia was going to get hell for this. "Maybe she was wearing contacts or something."

He narrowed the eyes they were debating and frowned at him. "In any case, like I said, my eyes aren't that special." He also didn't know why he was arguing so valientlys against his eyes.

"Are you? Wearing contacts? Come on, kid, if I didn't know better, I'd think this was some kind of conspiracy to make me certain that I'd gone nuts."

This was ridiculous. Not to mention that it would be potentially embarrassing if any of the other techies wandered in and saw him arguing with some strange kid about his eyes. Worse if one of the actors wandered in, because they would be sure to reenact it in front of everyone.

Somehow, that didn't stop him.

"Jesus!" Zeke snapped, folding his arms over his chest in annoyance. "I came here to look around because I heard it was great for paranormal findings, and I first get ordered to be your little tool, and then I get interrogated! What's the matter with you?"

He glared at him, eyes sharp and very, very grey. "I'm not wearing contacts, and I certainly wouldn't spend my time trying to conspire against you. You give yourself way too much credit. I don't even know who this Zoe girl is!"

He had, of course, completely forgotten that Dave didn't say Zoe's name.

The retort that Zeke wasn't supposed to be in the theatre in the first place died on Dave's lips and he stared blankly at Zeke for a long moment. Finally, he said, in a much quieter and more confused than angry voice, "... I never told you her name was Zoe..."

Okay. Okay, this could still just be some crazy joke by a couple of kids. Brother and sister. That explained the eyes. Hell, they were probably twins. Yeah. That was it. That was it.

... Wasn't it? 'Course it was. It made more sense than the other obvious explanation.

If he could have, Zeke would have squeaked. That would have probably given him away more. Instead, he gave Dave a confused look back.

"Yes you did."

That was the obvious answer. He couldn't say anything else, without giving away the fact that, yes, he was indeed the girl with the gray eyes and nice ass.

"No, I didn't." He sounded sure of himself. He'd never mentioned Zoe by name, just asked if this Zeke kid had a sister--and come to think of it, it was weird that they both had names that started with Z. Or at least, went by names that started with Z--and mentioned that she'd said some weird things...

He would probably have been adorable to any girl (or maybe a gay guy) as he stood there, with this confused look on his face.

He's going to be mad as hell in a moment, though. Soon as he gets out of his denial phase.

Zeke had a feeling he was in deep shit. This wasn't good. Not at all. He cursed himself, silently, for letting such a stupid slip-up happen. Now this Dave character was going to make the connections and realize, yes, Zeke had been traipsing around as a woman.

Zeke wondered if this guy would beat the shit out of him. That didn't sound very pleasant.

"Fine," he growled, hackles up. "I'm Zoe, and that ass you were checking out at the mall was mine."

Dave's face went through a number of interesting contortions and colorations before settling on red and angry. Though the red was probably as much embarrassment as fury.

"What the hell!? What the freaking hell!?" He seemed incapable of saying much else, running his hands back through his hair--what was left of it, anyway--and repeating himself.

Then, "Dammit, do you get your kicks that way?"

"If I recall corrrectly, you were the one trying to pick me up, buddy!" Zeke snapped back, feeling considerably embarrassed himself. "I was just investigating some paranormal activity in the video store, incognito!"

He took a step away from Dave, frightened, angry, and embarrassed. "It was one of my mom's ideas, anyway." He growled, on the defense now. "I don't go around as a woman to pick up men, you crazy bastard. And why the hell are you so pissed? Do you feel like your masculinity is being threatened or something?"

Good job, Zeke. Taunt the tiger.

"Yeah, but you were a girl! God, do you think I'd have looked at you twice if I'd've know you were a guy!?" Never mind that he did indeed look at Zeke twice. More than twice. But that was only because he was trying to figure out why this kid looked so familiar.

And he would stand by that story no matter what anyone else said. Because of course he was not at all interested in Zeke as Zeke, only as Zoe. He wasn't gay or anything.

As for his masculinity being threatened... "My masculinity? I'm not the one who goes around dressing up in girl's clothes, kid."

"So what if I dressed up as a woman?! At least I'm comfortable enough with my sexuality not to spaz out over a small misunderstanding!"

Actually, he was completely unsure as to how he would have responded if it turned out the girl he was checking out was a guy. Humiliation? Anger? Betrayal? In any case, it wasn't as if—

"It's not as if we kissed or anything, homophobe!"

It wasn't like Zeke to generalize like so, but he was feeling mighty defensive, and he didn't like that.

His naturally curled eyelashes lowered slightly over those sparking gray eyes in a glare. "You should just embrace your inner homosexual. So what if you check out a couple of guys' asses?"

"Small misunderstanding!?" Sometime in this past conversation, Dave's hands had become fists. He might not be the kind of guy who spends hours and hours in the gym, but he is nicely muscled. Besides. Anger always seems to add strength.

"I'm not! You think I can work in theatre and be homophobic? Come on, kid, don't you know anything? I'm not a 'phobe, I'm just not gay, dammit." He was coming so close to just hitting Zeke over the head with something large and heavy and throwing him out...

Actually. Let's forget the throwing him out part and just beat the hell out of him. That would be nice and therapeutic, though rather hard on the stage... Damn.

He took a menacing step forward.

"Then why the hell are you so flippin' threatened?!"

Zeke stood his ground. He had been roughed up enough in grade school to know the warning signs of someone who was very, very close to poppin' him one. He also knew that running away would accomplish nothing, perhaps only spurring the attacker on in a chase. Instead, he swallowed and straightened his back, trying to make himself appear taller than he really was. He looked straight into Dave's eyes, own eyes fearful, determined, and pissed.

"If you're not gay, then why are you so pissed? You know you're hetero. I know it. Everyone knows it. Are you just not comfortable enough with your sexuality to not beat the shit out of me?"

Dave's only answer was a low growl. He didn't want to think about the logic in that statement, because then he would have to be not angry anymore. And right now, he wanted to be angry--if he weren't angry, he would have to be embarrassed, and he didn't like being embarrassed.

If it's any consolation, he'll probably feel horribly guilty for this later. Dave isn't the kind of guy who hits people on a regular basis. He has a temper, sure, but he's not usually violent.

Then again, he's not usually dealing with this many conflicting emotions.

Another step. Another. He's awfully close to Zeke now.

Zeke stood frozen to the spot. There was a look of resignation on his face, this was going to hurt. He valiently wished that people would listen to logic at times, it would make his life so much less painful. Especially when he wasn't exactly sure why he was being beat up now. Sure, he was the one who had dressed up as a girl, but it wasn't as if he had thrown himself at Dave. He had just...stood there.

"Okay," he said, simply. "I'm ready."