FIC: Welcome
Jan. 28th, 2011 05:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceTitle: Welcome
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nilchance
Pairing: Gen.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Set after "Damsel". Stephanie meets Jeff's brother.
Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the series in any way. It belongs, presumably, to Vince, Jeff and Evan.
When Stephanie sees someone investigating the fridge, their back to her, she thinks it’s Jeff. From the back, it looks like Jeff: broad shoulders, greyhound body, long arms. She doesn’t know the etiquette of meeting for a midnight snack in a stranger’s house, after he rescued her from a locked ward that he put her in. She doesn’t think Dear Abbie dealt with that.
She says, “Good morning.”
He jumps like she pinched him, whipping around to stare at him. From the front, she can see her mistake; he isn’t Jeff, though he looks enough like him to be related. He’s skinnier, raw-boned and gawky, like an adolescent puppy that hasn’t grown into his enormous paws. His eyes are blue and wide. Gun shy.
Now that she looks at him, she remembers Jessa saying something about her boyfriend’s little brother. Steph had assumed he’d be little, not a teenage boy a head taller than she is. It’s better for her not to notice things (don’t look out the window) but she can’t help noticing the bandages wrapped, mummy-like, around his wrists and forearms.
And now she’s staring at him. “Sorry,” she says, and tries on a smile. “I thought you were Jeff.”
He ducks his head, looks at the milk carton he’s still holding in one hand, and sheepishly replaces it in the fridge. Boys, she thinks, and makes a mental note not to drink milk at breakfast.
“Uh,” he says, in a voice that’s deeper than she would’ve expected. Little brother, indeed. “No, it’s cool. Didn’t know anybody was staying over.”
His eyes flick down to her borrowed sweats. The scent of Jessa’s hand lotion is still on them, even though it’s been months; Jeff gave them to her from one of his own drawers, haltingly, like he was pulling a knife out of his back. She should have told him no, that’s okay, she could wear her dirty clothes to sleep, but she didn’t. She wanted Jessa with her again, wrapped around her in a ghost’s embrace.
Little Brother thinks Jeff had her over to fuck her. She can’t tell by his expression whether he approves of this or not.
“Stephanie,” she introduces herself. He looks at her without comprehension, and she adds with a sigh, “Damsel.”
Naturally, he recognizes the nickname. Some of the tension leaves him. He wouldn’t have approved of Jeff getting back on the horse, then; she likes him better for that. Wiping his hand on his pants, Little Brother offers it for her to shake. His grip is too tight. “Alex. Evan wouldn’t shut up about you. Hey, you’ve got good taste in music.”
She gets the feeling that this is Alex’s version of smooth and subtle. “For a girl?” she asks, dryly.
Alex blinks at her. “No, for somebody who likes My Chemical Romance.”
When she laughs, it feels like a lead weight has been lifted off her chest. Tentatively, Alex smiles back at her. She could draw him, the coltish length of his face and the slope of his ribs where the t-shirt clings. Maybe there would be no violence in his picture; she’s tired from all this death.
“Well,” he says, “if you’re up and I’m up, we could watch some TV? Or you could borrow my laptop, I mean, to check your blog and stuff.”
It sounds better than trying to read her e-mail on Jeff’s computer, wondering if there are pictures of Jessa in his photo galleries. “I’d like that,” she tells him. Friendly words taste rusty in her mouth. “Thanks.”
So they settle into the living room, all the borrowed blankets shucked to one end of the couch like an old cocoon. The old dog (that Alex introduces as Sparky, with all the weight of a visiting dignitary accorded full honors) settles half on her lap, its gray-streaked tail thumping against Alex’s knee. She tries not to notice that Alex clears his cache before he gives her the laptop, because he’s too young to be watching porn. He picks up the remote and turns on the TV. Blue-tinted light casts rippling shadows across their bodies.
She checks her e-mail, touched by the messages of worry and relief and sympathy. Of course there are assholes telling her she’s crazy, that the Man is going to gut her and hang her from a tree (don’t think about it), but they’re not the majority. She opens a document for a new blog post.
Upstairs, floorboards creak. Alex tenses until he’s hardly breathing, his fingers locked on the remote, and his stillness topples onto her.
(don’t give it a name)
She wishes she’d taken a knife from the kitchen, or wondered more about what had cut up Alex’s arms.
Alex gets up from the couch, making a ‘stay here’ gesture at her as he goes to the foot of the stairs. Chivalrous of him, but she closes the lid of the laptop and clutches it to better bludgeon anything that attacks.
Voice rough and tired, Alex calls up into the darkness at the top of the stairs, “Go back to sleep, Mom. It’s just me.”
Steph had asked about their parents when they first came to Jeff’s house. Don’t worry, Jeff had told her. You don’t have to worry about that.
Something moves at the top of the stairs. Adrenaline tingles its way down to her fingertips, and she tightens her hold on the laptop until plastic creaks. Then it moves forward into the light, and she sees Jeff. He meets her eyes, a quick look that says too much about please don’t kick him, and for a moment she hates him; doesn’t she have enough trouble of her own without borrowing from another dead family, another person’s trauma?
Unfortunately, no, it doesn’t work like that. She sees the brief confusion on Alex’s face, the haunted loss that hits him all over again as he realizes that his mother is never coming down those stairs, and she can’t not care about it. She spends enough time not thinking about the big horrifying elephant in the room, and if she starts ignoring the things that connect her to this world, she might as well be dead.
She puts the laptop down on the couch, and she reaches for Alex’s hand. He twitches, startled, and then squeezes her fingers. His grip is still too tight.
“Hey, guys, are we having an insomnia party?” Jeff asks, loping down the stairs. “I can make some coffee.”
Alex relaxes, letting her hand slip away, and follows Jeff into the kitchen. His voice trails back to her. “I was maybe gonna play some Black Ops. Steph, I can show you...”
“Yeah, Evan called teaching her Left 4 Dead.”
“Aww!”
In the living room, alone with her own company for long enough, Steph wraps her arms around herself. It’s almost like having Jessa back, for a moment, and that helps to get a grip on her confused heart.
Author:
nilchancePairing: Gen.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Set after "Damsel". Stephanie meets Jeff's brother.
Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the series in any way. It belongs, presumably, to Vince, Jeff and Evan.
When Stephanie sees someone investigating the fridge, their back to her, she thinks it’s Jeff. From the back, it looks like Jeff: broad shoulders, greyhound body, long arms. She doesn’t know the etiquette of meeting for a midnight snack in a stranger’s house, after he rescued her from a locked ward that he put her in. She doesn’t think Dear Abbie dealt with that.
She says, “Good morning.”
He jumps like she pinched him, whipping around to stare at him. From the front, she can see her mistake; he isn’t Jeff, though he looks enough like him to be related. He’s skinnier, raw-boned and gawky, like an adolescent puppy that hasn’t grown into his enormous paws. His eyes are blue and wide. Gun shy.
Now that she looks at him, she remembers Jessa saying something about her boyfriend’s little brother. Steph had assumed he’d be little, not a teenage boy a head taller than she is. It’s better for her not to notice things (don’t look out the window) but she can’t help noticing the bandages wrapped, mummy-like, around his wrists and forearms.
And now she’s staring at him. “Sorry,” she says, and tries on a smile. “I thought you were Jeff.”
He ducks his head, looks at the milk carton he’s still holding in one hand, and sheepishly replaces it in the fridge. Boys, she thinks, and makes a mental note not to drink milk at breakfast.
“Uh,” he says, in a voice that’s deeper than she would’ve expected. Little brother, indeed. “No, it’s cool. Didn’t know anybody was staying over.”
His eyes flick down to her borrowed sweats. The scent of Jessa’s hand lotion is still on them, even though it’s been months; Jeff gave them to her from one of his own drawers, haltingly, like he was pulling a knife out of his back. She should have told him no, that’s okay, she could wear her dirty clothes to sleep, but she didn’t. She wanted Jessa with her again, wrapped around her in a ghost’s embrace.
Little Brother thinks Jeff had her over to fuck her. She can’t tell by his expression whether he approves of this or not.
“Stephanie,” she introduces herself. He looks at her without comprehension, and she adds with a sigh, “Damsel.”
Naturally, he recognizes the nickname. Some of the tension leaves him. He wouldn’t have approved of Jeff getting back on the horse, then; she likes him better for that. Wiping his hand on his pants, Little Brother offers it for her to shake. His grip is too tight. “Alex. Evan wouldn’t shut up about you. Hey, you’ve got good taste in music.”
She gets the feeling that this is Alex’s version of smooth and subtle. “For a girl?” she asks, dryly.
Alex blinks at her. “No, for somebody who likes My Chemical Romance.”
When she laughs, it feels like a lead weight has been lifted off her chest. Tentatively, Alex smiles back at her. She could draw him, the coltish length of his face and the slope of his ribs where the t-shirt clings. Maybe there would be no violence in his picture; she’s tired from all this death.
“Well,” he says, “if you’re up and I’m up, we could watch some TV? Or you could borrow my laptop, I mean, to check your blog and stuff.”
It sounds better than trying to read her e-mail on Jeff’s computer, wondering if there are pictures of Jessa in his photo galleries. “I’d like that,” she tells him. Friendly words taste rusty in her mouth. “Thanks.”
So they settle into the living room, all the borrowed blankets shucked to one end of the couch like an old cocoon. The old dog (that Alex introduces as Sparky, with all the weight of a visiting dignitary accorded full honors) settles half on her lap, its gray-streaked tail thumping against Alex’s knee. She tries not to notice that Alex clears his cache before he gives her the laptop, because he’s too young to be watching porn. He picks up the remote and turns on the TV. Blue-tinted light casts rippling shadows across their bodies.
She checks her e-mail, touched by the messages of worry and relief and sympathy. Of course there are assholes telling her she’s crazy, that the Man is going to gut her and hang her from a tree (don’t think about it), but they’re not the majority. She opens a document for a new blog post.
Upstairs, floorboards creak. Alex tenses until he’s hardly breathing, his fingers locked on the remote, and his stillness topples onto her.
(don’t give it a name)
She wishes she’d taken a knife from the kitchen, or wondered more about what had cut up Alex’s arms.
Alex gets up from the couch, making a ‘stay here’ gesture at her as he goes to the foot of the stairs. Chivalrous of him, but she closes the lid of the laptop and clutches it to better bludgeon anything that attacks.
Voice rough and tired, Alex calls up into the darkness at the top of the stairs, “Go back to sleep, Mom. It’s just me.”
Steph had asked about their parents when they first came to Jeff’s house. Don’t worry, Jeff had told her. You don’t have to worry about that.
Something moves at the top of the stairs. Adrenaline tingles its way down to her fingertips, and she tightens her hold on the laptop until plastic creaks. Then it moves forward into the light, and she sees Jeff. He meets her eyes, a quick look that says too much about please don’t kick him, and for a moment she hates him; doesn’t she have enough trouble of her own without borrowing from another dead family, another person’s trauma?
Unfortunately, no, it doesn’t work like that. She sees the brief confusion on Alex’s face, the haunted loss that hits him all over again as he realizes that his mother is never coming down those stairs, and she can’t not care about it. She spends enough time not thinking about the big horrifying elephant in the room, and if she starts ignoring the things that connect her to this world, she might as well be dead.
She puts the laptop down on the couch, and she reaches for Alex’s hand. He twitches, startled, and then squeezes her fingers. His grip is still too tight.
“Hey, guys, are we having an insomnia party?” Jeff asks, loping down the stairs. “I can make some coffee.”
Alex relaxes, letting her hand slip away, and follows Jeff into the kitchen. His voice trails back to her. “I was maybe gonna play some Black Ops. Steph, I can show you...”
“Yeah, Evan called teaching her Left 4 Dead.”
“Aww!”
In the living room, alone with her own company for long enough, Steph wraps her arms around herself. It’s almost like having Jessa back, for a moment, and that helps to get a grip on her confused heart.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 10:28 pm (UTC)Oh, my poor heart. This is lovely and painful in so many ways. <3
no subject
Date: 2011-02-13 03:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 10:40 pm (UTC)(Also lol Alex hiding his pr0n.)
no subject
Date: 2011-02-13 03:34 pm (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2011-02-15 01:37 am (UTC)This makes me want to dust off that idea where HABIT seduces Alex and Alex is all "OMG Evan likes me I feel special!" only for Evan to blink awake while they're cuddling and be like all "wait wtf no homo" and Alex is all ;_;
no subject
Date: 2011-03-23 11:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 11:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-13 03:35 pm (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 08:29 pm (UTC)