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carmenized-onions · 5 months

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Do the Thing! | Toilet Repair

logline; Today's itinerary: Fix the toilet, catch up with Syd, try not to cry when everyone asks you where you've been.

series history; Previous Chapter

portion; 7.1k+ (this shit got away from me man, idk what to say)

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (It's the Bear, babe, everyone's sad). I did no research on plumbing and am truly making it the fuck up-- I know for a fact I'm not using any word correctly and I simply will not be fixing it. Reader eats meat!! Specifically pork!! Your 'name' is 100% just Tony now.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'handywoman' and 'Miss' are said. Plus a chest reference).

you ever start writing and you just cannot seem to find an end so you keep going forever? yeah.

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

You sip your overpriced orange juice. You really have to fucking savour it, now a days. That’s like 25 cents a sip, and Syd’s treating you to this breakfast outing, so it’s not even your own wallet on the line here.

“You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.” Syd straightens her back, mocking her very own mechanical movements of whenever she steps in a kitchen. “I am Chef.”

This diner isn’t more than two blocks down from The Bear. It was probably your second favourite spot in this neighbourhood. Probably still is. Sitting in the back corner booth (your favourite) with Syd is nice but distracting. She’s been updating you on everything since the catering scene and her botched credit, and you’re absorbing all of it, you swear, it’s just hard to not remember why this was your favourite booth.

Not because it’s seats are the least worn in, not because it’s got the right amount of sun through the window without blinding you, but because of the company you kept here. You’re trying to not notice your own name carved into the table. Especially since it’s not your handiwork.

You laugh at Syd’s joke on time, thank God. No awkward pause. “Yeah, you fuckin’ are. Head, right?”

She nods. “It’s cool. It’s like, vomit-worthy stressful but also…”

“You wish you were dead when you’re there, but you’d rather be dead than do anything else?”

“Yessir.” She nods again, digging further into her pancakes. “I really fucking owe you, by the way.”

“You’re paying me off through breakfast.” You wave her off. “Plus, I was available and it was like maaayybe 5 minutes of manual labour, it’s nothing.”

“Y’know what?” She hums, “I think actually, you owe me.”

“Yeah?” You grin.” Please, let me clear my debts, Syd?”

She smiles, pointing her fork at you. “You owe me the fuckin’ Beef background I’ve apparently not unlocked. Everyone was talking about you after.”

“Good things?”

“Vague things. Shit made me even more curious.”

You laugh. No shit they’d be vague. What can they say? “When my dad was running the repairmen gig, Cicero or Fak would call him in—”

“Oh fuck.” She snaps her fingers, seemingly in realization. “Your dad’s the connection!”

“The connection?”

“Fak said he had a connection for our fire safety test shit, and then said he didn’t—”

“Ah.” You nod knowingly. “Dad cut the cord on his business phone when it transferred to me, didn’t really keep people updated. Whoops.”

She nods, taking another bite of her pancakes, speaking mid-chew. “You could’ve saved our asses way faster, and I’ll-I'll never forgive you, but continue.”

Snickering, you continue, “Well, they’d call my dad in, and then my dad would call me in as his like, like his fuckin’ Sous of Repairs. And shit broke all the time at the Beef, as I’m sure you’re well aware, so I hung out around Mikey and everyone a lot.”

“Ah. N’ then…”

“He fuckin’ died.” You laugh, because there’s no way to say it smooth, so you might as well say it bad. You stretch out your arms and lean back in the booth. “I kinda took a step back, after that, so we didn’t manage to crossover ‘til now. S’ironic that you’re the one that brought me back instead of an oldie, honestly.”

She desperately wants to ask more about Mike, but she can tell now is not the time, so she just lets it lie and moves on. “You stopped being an EMT to take up the handyman shit, then?”

“Yessir.” You nod, finishing your straggling home fries. “Just kinda made sense to trade off, and I didn’t want to see the family bizz die. Do I have to occasionally pick up shifts bartending to make rent during slow months? Yes. But I also don’t watch people die anymore, so that’s a win.”

“In a way, you’re watching people die still, just slowly.”

You bite down hard to stifle any semblance of a smile or laughter, deadpanning, just to see her squirm in awkwardness for a moment. It works with flying colours, of course it does. It’s Syd. She’s still Syd. You speak at the same time.

“Cause of the alcohol?” “Cause—Cause of the alcohol.”

You both break into laughter, she throws her napkin at you. “Can’t stand you, oh my god. Let’s go clock in.”

She pays your bill before you can try to sneak your card in, which feels all too familiar, and you’re off.

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

“How the fuck do you fix an exploded toilet?”

Your hands rub over your face, lifting your safety goggles for a second. Too fucking foggy. Too fucking sweaty. Plumbing never really was your biggest strength. You’re staring at the bane of your existence, and it’s the latrine. How far we fall.

“You good, Cousin?” You hear from behind. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Richie in the doorway. It’s a fair question, you’re sitting criss-cross in front of a toilet, head in hands.

“Yeah, Cousin, I’m good.” Your words are muffled by your hands. Fully not cousins. For the record. You would argue you're not even that close, but he'd slap you upside the head. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Can you like, get me a pen and note pad? I need to like, strategize an attack.”

“It’s not that bad, Cousin—” “It’s that bad.” “Just tape the—” “Fuck off with the tape!”

You click your teeth, staring at the gurgling porcelain before you— At least it’s clean, it’s just fucked. “I shut the valve and it didn’t do shit. I think I have to remove it entirely so I can see what’s going on with the underground pipe.”

“Heard.” Richie and you both know that his hotfix handiwork has absolutely contributed to this penultimate mess you’re in now, but you’re both letting that go quietly for now. “You charge by hour or service?”

“Service flat rate and then after two hours it’s by hour.”

He hums, knocking his fist on the doorway a few times before walking away. “Pen and pad, Chef.”

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

You tap your leg incessantly, groaning like you’ve got an 80-year-old body as you stand to your feet. Richie’s grown a lot. He wears suits now. Hasn’t even poked at you for vanishing. Though you have a feeling it’s coming. If not from him, from someone.

You step out into the hall, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed as you wait for your pen and pad. And now you just have more time and a better view to take in how much has changed.

Gutted. A few walls gone. Makes sense, you told Mikey he was getting a mold problem. He never listened. Seats are new. The booths are the all-around style ones now. Ritzy. It’s too good for this neighbourhood. Is that a good thing? Yeah, right? Despite the fact that The Bear should feel out of place, you feel out of place being in it. Could you afford to eat here? Could the people who work here afford to eat here? Syd said she’s not getting paid for the next few months, so at the very least, the Head Chef can’t.

“Strange?” Tina sidles up to you on the wall, wiping her hands on her apron. Completely knocking you out of your dissociative fugue state.

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly, that felt judgey, you correct, uncrossing your arms. “It’s daunting, I think; to see it all at once rather than slowly built in. Like, I know objectively this is very cool, but—”

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

“Was gutted.” You nod. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just, I dunno. Adjustment period, all that.”

“I needed a second too, but Jeff is good. Change has been good.” You nod like you know who Jeff is. “Carmen, I mean.” Your nod is now significantly more understanding. She smiles, you’re a little surprised to see Tina’s got a lot more insight than she used to. She pulled the thought of Carmen right out of your subconscious before you even detected it for yourself. “He’s good. You’ll see.”

You nod. You know the good she means is not Michelin Star Good. You already know that. He’s Mikey good. Person good. You clear your throat. “How’s Louis?”

“Good. Y’know, he’s getting to that age, getting in trouble. S’been a while since he’s had a good influence.” She nudges you. There it is. There’s the poke. The ‘where have you been?’ The ‘it’s been a year’. The— “Y’know, Chef didn’t come to the funeral neither.”

That one you didn’t expect, your head swivels to her hard. “Carmen didn’t go?”

His brother didn’t go? Oh, who the fuck are you to judge...

She nods, practically with her whole body, she looks more amused than anything. But like, mom amused. The worst amused. “You’re both the sensitive type.”

You cock your head at her, raising a brow. Smirking slightly. “Wow, Tina, I thought you changed too but you still talk your shit, eh?”

“I’m not talking shit!” She laughs, hands up in defence. “I’m just saying, you’re alike.” You hope that the laughter makes her forget the topic but it doesn’t.

“Where have you been?” She softens. She’s not asking to be mean, she’s asking out of concern. Why does that make it feel worse?

You tuck your hands in your pockets and retrain your eyes on hers, even if it feels bad. “Thought time and distance would heal all wounds.”

“Did they?”

Before you can answer, “Pen delivery, cousin!” Richie returns, triumphantly, with a pen and pad held high in the sky. He makes you jump for it. You elbow him in the gut, not hard. “Fuck off, Rich…” He keels over enough for you to grab it. “Thank you, chef.”

You turn back to Tina, who you now realize has spent half her smoke break on you. She nods to you, and then the bathroom door. “I’ll let you get back to it.” You nod in return. When she turns to walk away, you grab her shoulder.

“Tina.” She turns again. You should say something. Something vulnerable and thankful. Words of affirmation are not your thing. But maybe they could be, “If you end up with a dead plate—” Or maybe not.

She grins, and part of you is concerned by this, but she waves you off, giggling like she knows something you don’t. Already walking off. “You’re gonna be taken care of, Terry, don’t worry.”

This is a bad new nickname scheme. The fridge guy is just gonna end up being called ‘fridge guy’ if you take all his names.

It’s maybe three hours later. 11 am ish. You’ve finally put the toilet back in place, the pipes fixed underground— Which is a huge win of progress, the problem is, it’s just seemed to open the toilet’s ability to have other problems that need to be addressed. There’s a strong chance you’ll be here until you die. And even after that, this stupid toilet will still be gurgling, outliving you.

But you seriously have to eat something, so you scrub yourself clean, set your safety equipment down, and head out of the bathroom for a much-needed stretch of the legs— And to hopefully get a plate from Tina.

On your way to the kitchen, you’re stopped and walked backwards to a booth in the corner by Richie. “Hey, Miss, happy to serve you today, my name’s Richard but you can call me Richie, how’re you doin’ this fine morning?”

They’ve yet to open front of house, so you play along, taking your seat with a laugh. “I’m doing perfect, Richie, how are you?”

He nudges the air . “Ey, better now that you’re here, ah? Can I get a drink started for you?”

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

You hum, then rub your temples, the headache is setting in— Not cause of him, just been a tough morning. “Just your coldest fuckin’ glass of water, Rich.”

“Right away, Cousin.” He slips off into the kitchen.

When the door swings open again, it’s not Richie coming with your ice water, but Carmen— It’s your first time seeing him since the walk-in. When you came in this morning with Syd, it was Nat that gave you the quick briefing on the schedule and goals for today.

“Tony.” He hums, corners of his mouth just slightly upturned. The nickname has stuck. Goddamn. He sets the water down in front of you, along with a plate— Covered by a cloche—Or the silver lid thing, whatever.

“Carmy.” You only mean to mimic his tone, but then cringe. “Is Carmy fine?”

He pauses mid slide into the booth, sitting across from you. He seemed all cool and collected and is now suddenly extremely caught off guard. Already sweaty. “Y-yeah, I’m better, thank you—”

“No, I meant—” It is so difficult to hold back laughter. You deserve an Oscar.

You’re not doing great to be fair but like, still, Oscar worthy attempt.

“I meant like, like is the nickname okay?”

The horrors just keep piling on his face, and you can’t help but feel guilty. No shit he feels like he’s starting on a lower playing field here. You knew his dead brother, you know his Head Chef, your first time meeting him was at quite possibly his lowest moment and biggest mistake— Of which you had to coax him out of, and now he’s misunderstanding every innocent question you have for a inquiry into his psyche.

He clears his throat for objectively too long of a time. “Carmy is fine. Tony is fine?”

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

Thank God, he laughs, awkward sure but objectively amused.

You nod down to the covered plate, smiling, “Fuck is this?”

He leans forward in his seat to get a hand over the lid. “I, uh. Made you a thing. As thanks or like, an— an apology.”

Ah. That’s why Tina was laughing about you getting taken care of.

He lifts the lid, and what is revealed, if you weren’t careful, would be enough to make you cry. Thankfully, the shock registers as uproarious laughter, one that Carmen cannot help but join.

“What the fuck?”

Pork brisket sandwich. Something that Mikey made for you, specifically. Because you said one time you were more of a pork fan than beef and he absolutely lost it. In a cute way, though. Said ‘Oh, I’ll make you fuckin’ pork, alright?’ You’re not sure if he won or lost the argument, because you did find it better.

“I, uh, we had some cuts left over that we weren’t gonna be able to fuckin’ use, and uh, Tina showed me this, this recipe card, last night.” He slides over the very same brisket recipe Mikey had written down. Little doodles of angry faces and Xs over pigs in the margins.

“He was so fuckin’ mad.” You snort, looking at it. “All I fuckin’ said was I had a preference!”

“In The Beef!”

“He asked!” You quickly defend, through laughter. “And it tastes fucking good. All he did was prove my fuckin’ point— And spent hours doing it. Were you here overnight for this, slowcooking?”

He shakes his head, though there’s a hesitation in it— So you’re not privy to completely believe him. He sniffs, swiping at his nose “I, uh, just came in early. Had to fix some shit anyways.”

He’s staring at the sandwich, then occasionally you, expectantly. You look at him with equal expectance.

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

You nod down at the dish. “Do the thing.”

“The thing?”

You pick up one half of the sandwich, but you’ve got no plans of eating until he satisfies this craving first.

“The thing Syd does where she explains why she’s proud of her dish and why I should care. I know it’s Mikey’s, but you clearly made changes.”

“Oh. Uh…” He was both expecting and not expecting this soap box. “So, followed the rub to a T— Well, with a salt bed, this time. Put it on brioche instead of the old shit. And I uh, added uhm—” He snaps his fingers, staring at the sandwich in your hand. “Added pickled red onion, for acid and sweet, and garlic confit. I’m—I’m happy with my spin on it.”

You whistle as a form of praise, he flushes with a glow of pride and is desperately trying to not show it. He’s proud because it’s curated, personal. Ah, he is Mikey good. You nod and take a bite, trying to control your reaction. Worst part about having Artists as friends (especially chefs): They fucking stare so hard when you’re taking in their work. And they’re over analyzing every micro expression. He’s no different.

Fuck. It’s fucking good. Is it bad that it’s better than anything Mikey ever made? Nah, that’s how he’d want it.

“Ah fuck, that sucks—” Is the first thing you say, and his face falls, “Expensive food is worth it.” Right back up. Easy to please. “It’s really good, Chef. Thank you. Did you try it yet?”

He shakes his head, so you push the plate with the other half of the sandwich— It’s brisket, anyways. You’ll be full by the end of this one. Portions generous. He looks momentarily hesitant, which is cute, but inevitably leans forward and takes the sandwich. He nods with each chew.

He hums when he finishes chewing, pointing emphatically at you, though his voice is neutral. “You don’t like something, though.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He stares at into the cross section of his bite. “Chewy? Texture?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” You’re quick to deny.

He shakes his head, hand over his mouth to hide the sauce on his mouth. “M’not gonna be hurt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the dish, Carmen.” You take another bite to prove your point. Also you’re hungry. Two things can be true.

He zones in on the emphasis immediately. “It’s the plate, isn’t it? I told Syd—”

“Your tables aren’t bolted.” You interrupt, swiftly. Mouth semi-full.

“Huh?”

You put your sandwich down and swallow, taking your time with it. “Your booth tables.”

You knock on the pristine wood with the joints of your left hand. You swivel your body to look under the table, he follows suit, meeting you there. His left leg has been violently shaking, but he’s thought you wouldn’t notice it until now.

You put a hand on his knee to stop the shaking. He bristles, slightly, but you’re not even doing it on purpose. Your focus isn’t on him. It was making the table imperceptibly shift— Which, of course, you clocked. You tap your foot to the bottom of the table leg. No screws. “They aren’t bolted down.”

You lift yourself back up, moving your hand back to yourself in tandem. He stares at it for a little longer. How you noticed that, he will never know. Repairmen are a different breed…

“I just thought it was a weird choice. Nothing wrong with it, per say. Maybe you wanna test different layouts.” You shrug, taking another bite.

“The booths aren’t bolted either.” He adds, lifting his head up above the table, finally. “I don’t— we’re not gonna fuck with the layout, I don’t think.”

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

“Fak’s big-timing us.” You cock your brow, mid chew. He explains. “He’s focusing on hosting, f'now.”

You nod, swallowing, hand in front of your mouth so you can lick the sauce off your upper lip in non-humiliated peace. “This another job for me, then?”

“If you’ll take it.”

“If your fuckin’ toilet doesn’t kill me, I will.”

“How’s that going?”

You shake your hand so-so. “Ask me in two to three hours how it’s going.”

“Heard.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. The stress is too apparent not to ask.

“How’s the second day open going?”

“I’m not in a fuckin’ freezer, so that’s a win.” Oh-ho, he’s acknowledging it. You were very comfortable forgetting that moment for his sake. “Thanks, uh, f’ that.”

You shake your head, shrugging off the thanks. You lift your last few bites of the sandwich to him. “You’re good. You’ve gifted me brisket. You relax since?”

“Not really.” He replies bluntly, taking a deep inhale. He pulls at his face from the top down, with both hands. Oof. Bad sign. “I think I’ll be good by tomorrow. Gonna get off early, tonight.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Ask me in two t’ three days if I’m happy about it.”

Back to work and this is taking so much fucking longer than it needs to take. Why is there tape there? Fucking Richie. Fucking Fak. Fucking Mikey. Godssake. Pipes are fixed. Water pressure is fixed. What the fuck is still wrong with it? What the fuck is wrong with you? Everyone is going to hate you if you can’t fix this. You’ve been here for like 5 hours and you can’t figure out what’s fucking wrong here? You’re nothing. You’re—

The toilet does you the favour of knocking you out of your episode by spraying you in the fucking face, soaking through the top of your jumpsuit. With a groan, you unzip the upper half and tie the wet sleeves around your waist. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

Maybe you just need a change in task for a second. Also, a new t-shirt, because your tank did not survive the waterworks either. This room isn’t the thing you need right now. You slip down the hall to the kitchen. “Who needs a coffee? Or water?”

There’s a chorus of orders, all of which sound like you’ve just asked ‘who wants a gift from God?’, which, you might as well have. This is what you like about being a handyman. The relief you bring. You just need a smidge of praise to get through the rest of this job. You’ve got this.

The small, but serviceable coffee machine in very back of the kitchen calls your name, but Richie sticks his arm out, blocking you from walking past expo up front.

“Hol’ up, Cousin, you look like a fuckin’ wet dog.”

“Well, what ‘ya gonna do about it?” You retort, despite the retort not honestly making any sense, you put your hands on your hips. “Do you want a fuckin’ coffee or not?”

He rolls his eyes, falling back onto the balls of his feet before walking off. “Ey, Sug, are those shirts still in the basement—”

You’ve won for now. You scrub your hands clean before getting to work. This is good. Oooh, Marcus has fresh coffee beans (that he’s willing to share!)— This is easy. You can already fix most broken things, but a machine that actually fucking works? Baby, you can make that sing.

Plus, the bartending gigs you’ve done don’t make you a barista by any means, but they certainly don’t hurt. Oooh, Marcus has syrups! Fuck it. Steamed and frothed milk. That toilet has you on your ass, you need to go above and beyond here. Make each cup personal. You need a win in the form of admiration.

You gather a tray of coffees (and a water for Sweeps, who is too fucking sweaty for a hot drink right now, so fair), all varying in milks, sugars, syrups, intensity. “Coffee run, I hand ‘em out, don’t just take! Corner!”

Ebra, to no one’s shock, likes his coffee black— But, and he’ll tell no one this, you just know it on instinct— He likes it a little too watery. “Good.” Who are you to judge? He likes what he likes.

Tina would take hers black for simplicity, if you let her, but of course you don’t. 2 sugars, foamed milk, chocolate and cinnamon syrup. “Too good to me.” It’s too worth it, when she says it like that and slaps your cheek. Balm of the soul.

Marcus, who watched you make these, did opt to let his imagination run too wild and added one of every syrup to his own cup, wanting to experiment with you. It doesn’t taste good. You switch it for a spiced coffee when he’s not looking. He’s silently very thankful.

After handing out a few more to the new cooks, you come up to Syd. “Take this one, take this one.” Then whisper, so no one knows you are displaying supreme favouritism. “It’s the one oat milk latte I made.”

She turns to you from her station, then darts looks over her shoulder like she’s making an under the table deal before grabbing it from you. She takes a delighted sip, eyes rolling just slightly in the relief of caffeine, she nods. “Fire, Chef.” Ah. This will get you through the day alone.

It also gets you through the willpower it takes to ignore Fak running by you to steal a coffee off your tray. Out of the corner of your eye, you point to the one meant for him— As if you didn’t make it for him, c’mon…

“How’s bathroom?” Syd asks, taking another long sip.

I’m going to fucking explode, not unlike your drainage pipe. “Needed a thinking break, but I’ve made a lot of progress. How’s kitchen?”

“Made a lot of progress. Auto-piloting through this prep.” She looks down at her cutting board, cracking back to it. “Latte helps, a lot, thank you. You should join for family, if you’re still here for it. Unless you don’t want more brisket.”

Fuck. She doesn’t think you’re so slow that you’re gonna be here until family, does she? “Yeah, maybe.” You look around, three coffees still on the tray. “...Where’s Carmen?”

She grimaces. Uh oh. The tension she glossed over at breakfast is still definitely there. She nods her head to the back door. “Smoke break. Or temper tantrum. I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t tell him I said that.” You laugh, nodding. “You think a coffee would help—” “Please.”

“Corner!” Yells Richie, returning to you. He silently flicks out a shirt for you, holding it up proudly, ‘THE BERF’ stares back at you. You give it a solid five seconds to process before you say anything.

“Collector’s item...” You nod, tone sarcastically impressed. You pivot your shoulder for him to throw it over, hands too busy.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said!” He throws it over your shoulder. “No one fuckin’ listens, these days.”

You bite back laughter and nod, handing him his coffee. Hot. Dark. Two sugars. And, to his delighted surprise, a touch of cinnamon syrup. “Oh, fuck, missed your twists, Chip.”

You wince at what was a long-forgotten nickname, and so does Richie. Funny how remembering origins can do that to you. He’d just said it so instinctively, really. “My bad—”

“Chip is good.” You interrupt, rolling your shoulders back. And it is good, really. “It’s kinda—It’s kinda comforting.” It’s nice to not forget. He nods, and you give each other the ‘we are still so fucked, eh?’ smile before lovingly bumping shoulders as he returns to expo and you head to the back alley.

Carmen’s squatting, cigarette in one hand, creating a halo of smoke around him, and his phone in the other. He snaps out of his mental fog when the door opens, slipping his phone into the pocket of his apron like he’s got a secret to hide.

You hesitate at the doorway, maybe this is not the moment. “Sorry, Chef, I just wanted to offer a coffee? If you need air alone—”

“No, no, I’m good—” He’s quick to correct, then even quicker to correct himself. “I— I’ll take a coffee, I mean. You can stay, s’fine.”

He reaches for it when you sit next to him, but you pull the tray back to hand him the correct one. “Sorry, I—I like, did a thing, for yours. I dunno how you take your coffee, so I thought I’d do it weird.”

He takes the cup, eying it curiously. “Do it weird?”

“Do it like, like a Chef. Can’t make anything fuckin’ simple. The lot of you.”

He hums, amused, staring at the cup, then looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“C’mon, tell me why I should care.” He teases.

“Ah, fuck.” You sniff, oh to have your own words turned on you. Looking at the coffee in his hands, “I figured you’d like strong black coffee, but like, complex. So, it’s got like, cardamom and lavender n’ maple syrup. Shout out Marcus.” He smiles. “And then, I know I did just say black coffee but I wanted the aesthetic so I spooned foamed milk on top and sprinkled on some dried lavender.” You take your own cup in hand, putting the tray down. “If you hate it, we’ll trade.”

He pays close attention to your explanation. Man, his eye contact is simultaneously so soft and so scary. He takes a sip. Let’s it sit in his mouth for a second. “Excellent, Chef.”

Oh, if Syd’s ‘Fire’ could get you through the day, Carmen’s ‘Excellent’ will get you through the week to spare. You hide the way you beam by drinking your own coffee.

“How’re you doing?” It’s far too obvious that he’s had something heavy on his head all day, but you’re not going to say the quiet part loud, yet.

He takes a long time to respond. “I, uh…” And when he does, it’s weak. “I’m alright, yeah. I’m alright.”

You nod repeatedly, digesting the huge lie. “Ask me how I’m doing.”

He squints. “…How’re you—”

“Fuckin’ terrible, Carm.” You cut him off, putting your cup down next to him, standing up. You speak emphatically, gesturing with your whole body.

“I’m at my wits, Chef. Completely out of my depth. I fix the main pipe, I fix the water pressure, I triple check the tank, I fuckin’ power cycle the valve— I’m absolutely at a loss as to why it’s still gurgling— Why it shot water straight at my tits— Close your eyes, if you care, by the way.”

With barely any warning you peel off your tank top, you’ve got a bra, it’s fine. It’s very cute that he still looks away. You slip the new shirt over your head as you speak, muffling the words.

“—I’m wearing a shirt that says Berf, and the only way I can feel any semblance of not being utterly useless is by making coffees so good everyone has to praise me for them. And now I’m telling the fucking owner, my boss for the day all this.”

He nods, slowly. There is perhaps, not a single person in his life that has ever been this forthright. Someone he hasn’t had to over-analyze or dig into to figure out what’s actually going on. It is refreshing, terrifying, and for some reason, removing your walls have completely shattered his.

“So.” You lower your head to his level where he sits. “How are you doing, Chef?”

He takes a long sip of his coffee. Stews on the question before he spills his guts, calmly. “I’m sitting outside of the restaurant I started that I own, and my brother should be here, but he’s not and— And I was locked in a fuckin’ freezer on my opening night, which was my own fuckin’ fault— And the tape is wrong and the painting is stupid and that new hire did meth so now we’re down one.” He takes a deep breath.

“And we have Heinz instead of Frenchies, and it’s fine. That’s the fucked part— It’s fine. The ship did not sink without me— It went fine. Better, maybe. My problems aren’t fuckin’ problems. I’m just making it worse for myself— everyone. And I know Syd is mad at me, and I know my— My girlfriend? Is mad at me, and I know that I’m gonna break up with her tonight because I’m not meant to be— that.” He says the last part fast, more to himself than you, really. And then he finally looks back up at you.

“And I’m telling all of this to the person who saved me from hypothermia and a fuckin’—Fuckin’ meltdown, who probably thinks— knows that I’m a psycho.”

You take a beat before nodding, sitting next to him again, arms crossed. Silent. Contemplative. “I have thoughts.”

He nods, taking a drag. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Well, to start most honestly, we must remember, I love Syd. So, I’m not gonna mince about her.”

“Heard.”

You recall everything Sydney had told you at breakfast. The recap of how she got to this point. “Syd isn’t mad at you, she’s disappointed and distrustful.”

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

“Handle shit different. Actually show up to shit and make calls. Manage your priorities by urgency— Not by favourites. If I broke my fuckin’ arm and your ‘girlfriend’ had a runny nose, who are you taking to the hospital?”

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?”

“You’re not gonna tell her I said this because she would rather die than tell someone she wants something.” You lean closer to him, peeking over your shoulder to make sure no one’s secretly come from the kitchen. You knock into his knees.

He takes another drag, short, choked. “Sure.”

“You were kind of a bitch about the menu.”

“The chaos menu? She said—”

“She fucking lied. She lied when she said it was fine, Carm, it does not take a psychic to read Syd’s mind.” You interrupt, taking a sip of your coffee. “She was so excited to get to build a menu, especially with—” you, “—a partner, and then you completely ditched her. And then you just made your own! Total control freak shit! Cut her out of the fun part of being head chef completely! You get to invent masterpieces and she picks out the best cheap plate? Fuck is that?”

He nods contemplatively, poking his inner cheek. “Yeah, that, that makes sense. That’s shitty.” He turns his gaze from looking ahead to face you, hand over the bottom half of his face. “What else?”

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

“How long do you think you were locked in the walk-in for?”

He swallows, thinking. “Like… an hour?”

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

“You catastrophize, it’s a fancy therapy word,” You cannot help but be impressed by this white man writing down the word in his phone for later. “It means, basically, when something bad happens you blow it completely out of proportion into something it isn’t. Your opening night was definitely a bummer from being in a freezer— But be honest with yourself, would you have let yourself have a good night if you weren’t in there?”

“…No.”

“No. Which is also bad. Which brings me to my key point.”

He tenses up, preparing for you to rip into him further.

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

He immediately swivels back to you, almost dropping his phone. Knee knocking into yours. “Fuck off.”

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

You take a breath, putting your arms on your knees, bent over. “The restaurant is beautiful, your cooks are talented and they’re prepared— So prepared that they can handle 23 minutes without you. That’s a good thing. You’re threaded into The Bear— The ship didn’t sink, not because you weren’t there, but because you had been. Everyone had the tools they needed to succeed, even with Heinz, a Mid painting, and torn tape. And listen—” You take one last sip of your coffee. “You need to check your ego if you think you’re the first man I’ve coaxed through a panic attack while doing a repair.”

He laughs, half-heartedly. He scratches his nose. “Heard. Yeah, thank you, Chef.”

“I don’t know shit about the meth thing though, I really couldn’t tell you.” You smile when this coaxes a better laugh out of him. You’re considering a career in stand up exclusively for him because it feels like such a reward to hear it.

“And the girl?” He asks. Amusement tinging but leaving his voice.

You click your teeth, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Based purely on your hesitation to say girlfriend, I’d say yeah, probably not ready for a relationship.” You reach your hand out to his shoulder when he flops his head down. “But, just asking, is this your first relationship?”

He thinks for too long before nodding slightly. “First one.”

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

“Yeah.” You pat his shoulder before letting it go, opting to hold your cooling cup. “I know you’re a Michelin star fuckin’ big deal but like, me personally, I can’t name a thing I got perfect the first time I did it.”

There’s something in his eyes, when you say that. Something wistful, nostalgic, hurt? No. Something different.

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

He wrings his hands together between his knees. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

“You’re good at that.” He sniffs, head down, scratching his nose.

“At what? Self-help?”

He exhales what just barely sounds like a laugh. “Kinda. S’just, when you say it, you say it in a way where I actually believe it.”

You’re getting the fuck out of here before they open for dinner. You’re not letting anyone down tonight motherfucker. The Berf shall prevail. Maybe a win here will feel like a win for Carmen, too.

You run the sink to wash your hands, as you’ve done before here— But since fixing the pipes and the pressure… Something’s… different. You pause your scrubbing, listening closely.

…

When the sink is running, the gurgling flow of water from the toilet stops. Huh. You stop and start the faucet a few times to verify this. Yeah. You stare for a long moment before connecting the dots, then punch the sink in realization.

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

You twist around. Ah, other sibling. Natalie. Clipboard in hand, business ready. You take a beat before remembering to smile, nodding to the sink behind you. “He connected the tank flow to the toilet and the sink with one wire.”

She tilts her head, squinting. “Why would he do that?”

“I suspect to save water?” You spin around, kneeling down to look behind the sink. “I think the idea was to have the sink not function when the toilet is flushing. But, it uh, well, did the reverse, kinda. Toilet doesn’t function when the sink isn’t running.”

“Oh.”

“So uh,” You shut the valve under the sink. “Your water bill should go down a little after this, since it won’t be running into what is an essentially a second trap pipe.”

“Oh!” Did she get what you said? No. But she doesn't need to. She heard ‘bill should go down’ and that’s really all she needed. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem. S’my job.” You stand, shutting off the valve to the toilet as well. As you kneel down to work again, you feel her gaze burning into your back. You don’t turn to face her. “You have questions.”

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

“Yes.” You’re too quick to answer, unbolting the wires where it attaches to the toilet and the ground. You sniff with a panicked, “Ah, uh, it’s endearing.”

She’s quiet, for a moment. She doesn’t ask you what she actually wants to ask you, and you know that. “Well, I’ll need to exchange info for your invoice.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, your brother already covered it.” You stand once more, before going to the sink to undo it’s valve, you fish through the deep pocket of your jumpsuit, pulling out a crumpled business card and handing it to her.

“But it’s good to have my info on hand, for sure. It’s ah… Kinda old.” Kinda is an understatement. Your dad’s name is still on it, scribbled out in pen and replaced with yours. The dead business line is also scribbled out in exchange for your personal cell.

“It’s uh… I usually only work for friends and family, these days, so I’ve kinda stopped trying to keep up appearances.”

She smiles at it. Thank God, she finds it charming and not sloppy. She tucks it into the clasp of her clipboard. “That’s fine, we are friends and family.”

All you can do is nod, pivoting to the sink. There's a beat of peace.

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

Ah. There it is. For a Bear, she sure knows how to poke one. You stutter in unscrewing the bolt.

“Would’ve been nice to meet you, then.”

You clear your throat, it's strangled. “Yeah, I think I was trying to avoid introductions, honestly. Grief comes in different ways, eh?”

“Does it?”

“Mine does.” You swallow, unbolting the wire. With it free, you can just yank it out of the wall. God, forgive your brain, but Mikey was right, she does like to fight. Too bad you don’t.

She just hums in reply, watching you pull the wire from the wall. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Fuck. Fuck. Lifesaver? Is she fucking with you?

“That toilet sprayed me right in the face, yesterday. And you saved Carmen.” There’s an amused lilt to her voice. She’s not fucking with you. “There’s something about a handywoman that Fak cannot match.”

You can hear a faint ‘Hey!’ through the walls. You laugh through an exhale.

“Again, s’my job. I do my best. Did uh, what was it, Terry come by for the walk-in? I wasn’t looking when I was there.”

You sort through your tools, deciding caulking the holes closed is probably the best option.

“He came over basically overnight to fix it, bless him, still don’t know his name.”

You laugh, it’s a little strangled. So Carmen did stay overnight. He must’ve. You smooth out the caulk with your thumb and a palette knife. Blending it into the grout as best as you can. “Good. Good.”

You dust yourself off. Standing. “Well. That’s uh. That’s my job done. Carmen asked me about—”

“Bolting down the booths?” She nods, checking the time on her watch. There’s not enough time before lunch to do it now. Plus you don’t have the screws. “You’re free to come by in the morning tomorrow—”

“But?” You interrupt, throwing your tool bag over your shoulder.

“But?”

“You said free like you’ve got a preference, what do you prefer?”

She chuckles, slightly. There is something about you that feels familiar. “If you could come after close tonight around 12, that would be nice—”

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

Always gotta give the reader/mc some sort of mysterious background that even you don't have all the info on. Always.

Hehehehe, again, we're slowing this burn so much. Strangers to Friends to lovers but they're both so comfortable in friends it's hard to move !!

Forewarning, btw, if you've already sunk 10k worth of words into your brain for me (thank you!! I hope you've enjoyed!!), I've never written smut before and I feel like I probably will not build up the courage to do so by the end of this series, but I could prove myself wrong, I dunno. But warning in case that's your thing!! I might blue ball you babe!!

Pretty please tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my Berf shirt. Collector's value!! Thrown away!!

Next Part

#carmen berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmen x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto #the bear fx #carmy the bear #the bear x you #the bear #the bear x reader #the bear fanfiction

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thebearer · 1 year

Note

Hoohoohoo look at all these requests I’m behind on that I get to binge 🤭

I have one of my own tho, if you want! I just neeed Dad!Carmy and mom reader like so bad I just need some domestic fluffiness with him. I feel like he would such a cute protective dad especially with a daughter. Like imagine if she was picky and he made all her fav foods from scratch for her in cute little shapes. Stop.🥹

omg ahhh!!! a picky little baby bear i'll sob rn!!!

"Look! Look at what Daddy made you, Teddy." You cooed, bouncing the two year old on your hip, her curls tickling your chin. Carmen turned the pan towards her, far enough she couldn't touch but close so she could see the tiny heart shaped pancake in the pan.

"Mmm, doesn't that look so yummy?" Your tone lilted, exaggerated but soft, hoping it might sway the stubborn two year old.

Carmen's eyes rounded, hopeful that she might be impressed- would finally be impressed. Instead, Teddy just blinked, looking from you back to Carmen. "No."

Carmen's shoulder's deflated, letting the pan rest back over the flame. Teddy turned two only a month ago, and since then, she'd entered a new realm, passing the "terrible twos" and going into something much worse. You blamed Carmen, she had inherited his stubbornness and this was his own form of karma, because no matter what he did, the answer was the same- no.

"You're being silly." You tsked lightly, shaking your head at her. "You love pancakes."

"No." Teddy shook her head, curling further into your chest.

"Then what do you want, baby?" Carmen's tone was tired, and holy shit was he. "Do you want cereal?"

"No."

"Do you want eggs?" You tried.

"No."

"Do you want donuts?" Carmen tried again, ignoring your glare over her head. He was desperate, desperate for any other answer other than no.

"No." Teddy whined, wiggling in your arms to get down.

You set her carefully on the ground, letting her walk towards the cabinets, pulling on the child proofed locks. Carmen looked at you, tired, defeated, a little hurt. "I don't know what she wants." He admitted.

You shrugged gently, running a hand down the soft cotton of his shirt. "She'll eat it. I think she just likes saying no because you give her a reaction." You hummed, giving him a very pointed look.

Carmen snorted lightly, shaking his head. "Yeah? Who's she get that from, hm?" He hummed, arms snaking around your waist to pull him back into you. "Sounds like she gets it from you."

You giggled, pushing his hands off your sides. "More like she gets it from you." You pushed a finger into his chest. "This trait screams Berzatto, and you know it."

Carmen rolled his eyes, looking at Teddy on the floor, yanking furiously on the cabinets. "Hey, cut that out." Carmen said, firm with a little frown that had her stopping, rounded eyes meeting his. "That's not for you, Dorothea, stop."

The use of her full name, not the beloved "Teddy" nickname had her bottom lip quivering, your breath hitching knowing tears were coming. A loud wail filled the kitchen, Carmen's heart sinking when Teddy ran into your legs, hiding her face in the soft fabric of your pajama pants.

"Mama!" You picked her up, cradling her against your chest. Carmen looked sick, wracked with guilt. You snorted lightly, shaking your head. Teddy's crocodile tears won him over every time, had him bending to her every whim which you were sure is why she did it.

"She's fine," You hum, running a hand down her curls. She wasn't even fully committed to this "breakdown" already quieting down her sobs, clearly distracted with something over your shoulder.

"Teddy," Carmen's hand was on her back, nearly covering her whole little spine. It made you want to melt. She looked at him, bottom lip jutted and sniffling in a way that looked so much like you. No wonder Carmen didn't stand a chance ever staying mad at her.

"What do you want, Teddy Bear? You have to eat. What do you want Daddy to make you?" Carmen's voice was calm, gentler now and a near coo. You were sure at her nap time you were going to try and convince him for a sibling for Teddy, or at least try and practice.

Teddy whined, pointing at the cabinet she'd been pulling on earlier. Carmen's brows furrowed curiously before opening it, sighing heavily. "You gotta be fuckin' kidding me-"

"-Carmen." You hissed, eyes cutting to Teddy, who was not paying attention, thankfully.

"She wants goldfish again!" Carmen sighed, pulling out the orange box with the smiling cracker on it. Teddy perked, squirming in your arms to get down. "All she wants to eat is this!"

"Just let her have them. I'll cut the pancake too, maybe she'll eat that." You shrug, reaching for the cooling stack on the counter.

"This can not be healthy, baby. Maybe I should try and make them again? With some vegetables and-and I'll blend then better this time-"

"-Carmy, she spit those out last time." You bit back a laugh, remembering the disaster that was the homemade goldfish.

Carmen sighed, running a hand through his hair, setting the bowl of goldfish on the ground while you fixed her high chair. "I know." He sighed. "I just... I feel like she should be eating something healthier, ya know?"

"I think you're gonna have to give into her a little, Mr. Stubborn." You smirked, he was only proving your point now. "Give her the goldfish and the other. She won't even know she's eating it, promise." You hummed, tossing the pancakes on the tray and picking Teddy up to fasten her in.

"That doesn't seem right." Carmen frowned. "Tricking her into eating things."

"She's two, Carmen." You rolled your eyes lightly at him. "It's not like we're force feeding her. She likes it." You nod towards your baby, chubby little fingers grabbing the cut pancake, shoving it in her mouth. "If she didn't like it, we'd know. We didn't force her to eat the homemade goldfish. Now that would have been wrong." You smirked.

Carmen rolled his eyes. "Funny." He scoffed. "I just worry about her."

"I know you do." You hum, wrapping your arm around his torso. "You're a good dad like that."

"Yeah?" Carmen blushed, heart soaring under your praise. "You think I'm a good dad."

"You know I do." You shook your head lightly at him, letting your cheek rest against his chest.

"I think you're a good mom. The best mom." Carmen added, leaning down to peck your head.

You smiled, tilting your head back so he could kiss you, fully and sweet, lips slotting over yours, hand pressed into your spine to pull you closer. It wasn't nearly the sloppy make outs you used to have on Sunday mornings, sweeter now.

A sharp jab to your temple had you pulling away, hearing the soft clatter of something on the ground. You gaped, looking at the goldfish back at Teddy, who giggled wildly. "Dorothea, did you throw that?" You frowned, her laughter only growing louder.

Carmen bit back his own laugh, turning back to the stove, while you picked the food off the floor. "That," Carmen muttered. "Is definitely a you trait, baby."

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thecapricunt1616 · 5 months

Text

Hello all I’m still working on my requests daddy Carmy has just been taking over my fucking brain.

I’ve been seeing the trend on tik tok of wives asking their husbands questions about their babies it just got me thinking how Carmy would KILL this challenge and he would be super proud of himself because he’s so competitive I think it would go something like (Drabble below)

You walk out onto the patio of your gorge house where he’s in sexy daddy mode cooking breakfast on the little black stone grill while he drinks his coffee and you’re like -

“Babe I saw this video about this dad he didn’t know anything about his baby but I know you know cause you’re an awesome dad can we show the people what a good dad you are?”

and ofc he gets all blushy and is like “I’m not a good dad because I know stuff about my kid but I love talkin’ bout’ em so you can ask me questions sure.”

So you start off easy “What kind of formula do we use for cub when I’m taking a break?”

He answers straight away “Yellow one Enfamil neuropro I’m like 99% sure it’s in a yellow container”

“Correct and how many naps does he take a day?” You ask and He chuckles

“Uhm well when he’s bein’ good he’ll take 2 er 3 even if he’s doin’ a lot ‘er he’s sick, but we can usually only get one outta him.” He said while shaping the pancake batter into little Mickey Mouse shapes

“He gets being a bad sleeper from his dad, and what time does he usually nap?”

“Ye’ but he gets the attitude from you. We try gettin’ ‘em down at 12:30ish 1 but he usually fights us and he doesn’t go down until 2” he teased

“What brand and size diaper do we use?” You panned the camera down as he sprinkled blueberries on top of the batter

“Huggies - you like the snug and dry ones - he likes the snug and dry ones cause the box has Mickey on it- and he’s size 4 I think - ye’ 4 now cause the 3’s were lookin uncomfortable - are you filming my hands?”

You laughed, blushing a bit having been caught “sorry you have nice hands, how does he like to be held?” You moved the camera back up

“Uhhh depends? Is he tired is he upset is heee-“ he questioned

“Mm puttin him down f’bed” you said

“Ohh lil’ man likes the football hold” he demonstrates “likes to be all curled up here in my arm like a football and I’ll give ‘em his bottle. But w’you he wants t’fall asleep eating” he said and you smiled big at how attentive he was

“You got an A, I knew you would” you said and he grinned proudly

“That was it? Cmon! Those are easy gimme harder questions then that!” He chuckled

“Hmmm… alright-“ you think for a moment “oh! What’s his favorite movie”

“Monsters inc and monsters university” he said without missing a beat “he goes nuts he loves it he makes us do scary feet with ‘em” he laughs a bit at the thought

“Also correct, what abouttt…his favorite-“ he cuts you off

“Animal? A Bear” he smirks and you both laugh

“Okay what makes him laugh every time?” You asked

“Ohhh hmmmm…” he thinks with a big grin “well there’s a lot- oh well I’m gonna get you that always makes him crack up, also coughin’ if anyone coughs kid is done for” you giggle

“Which is why he is always wakin’ up laughin’ when you cough up a lung in the middle of the night after coming in after a cigarette” you teased and he laughed a bit

“Id rather him wake up laughin’ then cryin it’s easier to go in there and read to em till he falls asleep” he said

“Oh! That’s a good one- what’s his favorite book?” You ask

“Brown bear brown bear what do you see” he smiled “or Goldie locks, but he likes it better when you read that one to him” he said and you heard him squealing over in his playpen happily

“See he agrees doncha little bear?” He coo’d adorably over at him as he bounced up and down

“Dada dada dada dada” he babbled happily and lifted his arms, golden curls like Carmys of course falling over his forehead.

Of course carmen couldn’t deny his little guy so he walked over, picking him up and holding him on his hip and came over to resume cooking

“ you win this challenge bear you crushed it” you told him and your son is just so smitten and happy, cuddling up to Carmy and sucking on his pacifier contently

You post the video ofc it goes viral bc he’s Carmen but also becomes dilf of the year all the ladies in the comments simping over his sexy muscley arms and his tattoos and his ability to hold a baby and flip pancakes at the same time, everyone’s heart melting at the end of the video when your son pointed at the pancakes and went “mi-tee” and Carmy smiling telling him “you’re right cub! Such a smart little man. That’s Mickey Mouse. We gonna watch Mickey house while we have breakfast mm? With mommy?”

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laiiaaa · 1 year

Note

i hate children but would have one with carmy…

would love a dad!carmy blurb

lolllll i’m the exact same. i don’t want kids, don’t think i ever will…but for carmy…? i’d be a changed woman

You know you’re the last one to wake up when you hear all three voices in the kitchen: Carmen, and your two little girls, now five and eight years old.

“Hey, Jack, uh-uh, get your hand outta there.”

“But you let Rory do it—”

“‘Cause I’m older, idiot—”

“Hey, don’t talk to your sister like that. Go sit down.”

“But Dad—”

“I said sit down, Lorraine. C’mon.”

You hear your girl huff as a chair slides along the floor, and pitiful little cries from the other. When you round the corner you find Carmen standing in front of the stove, wearing a white tank like he usually does in the mornings, paired with sweats that hang low on his hips—even lower now with Jacqueline’s grabby hands trying to get his attention. You’re still groggy with remnants of sleep and rub at your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that comes through when Carmen finally sets his sight on you.

“Hey,” he coos at Jack, picking her up so she’s propped on his hip, “Look who’s here, hm? Say hi to Mama?” With his free hand, he curves his arm around your waist and nudges you close, and he beams when you cup your hand to his jaw and give him a gentle kiss, no later giving Jack a smooch to her fleshy cheek.

“Good morning, Bear.”

He relishes in your soft hands against his skin when he kisses you again, smiling against your lips and a hand teasing at the curve of your ass with a light squeeze. “Mornin’, baby.”

“Good morning, Mama,” your girl babbles, chubby little hands reaching for your face, and you scrunch your nose with an affectionate heart as you hold her tiny digits and kiss her tinier nose.

Not forgetting Rory at the table, you eye the scene of the crime: a bowl full of batter by the stove, a pan over flame, a stack of pancakes only two high, spatula barely-used, and chocolate chips piled close by. A typical Saturday morning.

“C’mere, Lo,” you start, opening an arm to bring her into the loop.

She pouts. “Dad told me to sit.”

You sigh and look back at Carmen, that Are we really doing this right now? look, and without much thinking he concedes, like he always seems to when it comes to you: “Come give your mom a hug.”

And just like that, everyone’s all better.

In that little gap that’s all girly little giggles and tiny feet padding against the floor, all Rory hopping into your arms and you pressing kisses to her face, Carmen silently ushers you forward, casually, away from the stove, and he’s even quicker to shut off the flame in this breadth of a meantime.

His hand stays stationed at your back, making soothing circles against the fabric of your tee, convincing you to leave kisses on his bare shoulder while he uses the opportunity to land one on your forehead.

Right now, just like this, the pancakes can wait, just like the rest of the world. All he needs are his girls.

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #jeremy allen white #papa bear #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto fluff #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu

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crimsonblackrose · 3 months

Text

Robby's fake job is at Tech Town whose tagline is Sales| Service| Repair and the guy who he impersonated is named Edwardo who he winks at.

Like I get Carmen's: I don't want you around my son ever. But he was already being bothered by these kids even without Johnny around. So that seems like it'd just make it worse?

Banana-rama chocolate chip pancakes. What I've realized with this watch through is that Daniel has given a nick-name to almost every dish he makes. It's adorable.

Anthony immediately turns it into a 'pancake taco' which feels like maybe he takes after his dad in nicknaming food and coming up with his own spin despite Daniel's disappointment in the whole idea.

Amanda trying like 12 different ways to calm Daniel down about the billboard and I love her first response is to make a joke. She'd already done the pr spin and I love that for her.

So no deadpool art anywhere in his room but Miguel is wearing a rick and morty t-shirt.

Miguel calls his mom Mama, which I feel like I need to remember. I remember Ma for Daniel all the time, but I forget Miguel's Mama.

The comedic timing of Miguel defending Johnny only to show Johnny passed out on his floor with the spray can and a beer is still hilarious to me.

I was wondering what his keychains are. Seems to be a bird, which maybe should've been a clue. But it also might just be a 'firebird' or phoenix for his car. Honestly with how much of a mess he is I'm surprised he doesn't lose his keys more.

According to the phone call with Ms. Jenkins it's been a couple of months, which it being after Halloween makes sense.

Colorado canoe trip. 😂The fact she heard how Robby spoke to Johnny and was like maybe I'll call his mom instead and then was like ah yeah this kid going on a canoe trip with his dad makes total logical sense...like ma'am no wonder Robby's giving you trouble. She grew up on the Mississippi delta. Which is a fun little fact and makes me wonder if she's mentioned it multiple times before and if that's why Robby told her he and his dad were going to canoe the Colorado. Which is just...smart.

That is not what I'd expect to be in Aisha's locker. Let alone how little is actually in it. It's so...empty. I'd expect like science jokes and pictures of her and Sam from when they hung out more. Not one random red blob and what looks like a card with a fairy on it.

What are these schools new colors? The outside is very bland with some red, a lot of the posters are red and white but one of the kids is wearing a shirt and it's blue.

It's a Sony production so why am I not surprised Daniel's phone is Sony? Also what teen has their phone size for calls and texts so big. Also Daniel, Sam's at school, do you really want her to be texting and calling you back while at school?

oh right the 100 sausages from Cole.

I love that Amanda is like oh hey free lunch. Which is funny for Cole to have done.

Robby seeing his dad: angry. Robby's friends trying to trash talk his dad: fail and then feeling self conscious when he strikes back. Which is fascinating because I always kind of thing of Robby's friends like Kyler and his group, but Kyler and his group will fight Johnny while Robby's friends are just like ah man don't diss my mustache.

The decor choices for the Keene household are interesting. It's got a bit of a hippie vibe with wall tapestries but also art that looks like something Johnny would pick out but I guess more tasteful and a whole lot of wine. Which, Robby doesn't have food at one point so is the wine gifts from someone else that isn't consumed that frequently? Or does their money get spent on wine rather than food?

It's interesting that they make it seem like Johnny's had absolutely nothing to do with Robby most of his life. But Robby knows who Daniel is.

Oof Robby does get his wish, the whole I'm not going to school I'm done. Bud, you do want to go to school. I also do not believe Shannon is okay with it.

Both Kyler and Miguel ended up with bruises on the same side of their face. Both the left eye. Kyler's from his fight with Johnny and Miguel from his fight with Kyler and his friends.

Brucks being an english and grammar nerd surprises me a little.

Miguel speaks up to Kyler and Demetri's whole body language of like bro what did we just talk about. Even though the person they're being mean to is Eli Demetri's bff.

Demetri, how much yogurt did you throw in the trash can? Also how did you manage to throw so much in there that it got all over your back pack? It's generally in a cup. Like logically that amount of backpack coverage doesn't make sense.

The library has a 2 chalkboards in it?

Carmen taking Miguel to see the new spiderman is cute. Miguel apparently likes m&m's in his popcorn.

The marketing team they use and that tom cole uses is called VP productions. Tom Cole has locations in Sherman Oaks, Van Nuys, Encino Oaks, North Ridge, and Arleta. Which is interesting because on the Van Nuys location has been mentioned so far.

The guy who did the ad for Tom is named Bobby Lamont and it's called Yankee doodle which...was originally created to make fun of the USA so it's kind of a funny choice. Kinda shows how he wanted to hit at Daniel but then also didn't do any research.

The drought-resistant cactus 😂

The marketing lady realizing the mistake she'd made as soon as the ad ends.

Shannon not-so subtly hinting that she needs another drink.

Shannon's date is (I assume an accountant) named PJ. And Shannon actually in front of the guy is being very friendly to Johnny which is fascinating.

The bartender's name is Terry and he's so ready to give Shannon an application to work there. Though it shows she lied about it.

Robby's had mono.

He tried to build his own half-pipe and broke his wrist.

I get that Shannon's mad and has every right to be, but you'd think if you can't get Robby to do anything at all including go to school and you're at bars trying to scrounge a meal for yourself you'd take Johnny up on the offer to take Robby in. Because a. someone else can give it a try and you make sure Robby knows he cane come back to you if Johnny screws up. B. Johnny will not let those other kids in his home. c. you don't have to worry about Robby getting food/feeding Robby for a bit. Like you'd think that Johnny looks relatively good and sober and less of a wreck and you might be like well maybe but if you break Robby's heart it's over.

I guess I just think Johnny should've gotten that chance and things would've been so different.

Oh hey Shannon did get her drink refilled.

Tom Cole calls Daniel "Dan" and despite making a very targeted ad is selling and drinking boba. Tom cole has a blonde staff member named Angela.

Angela disapears into the back on the left with a customer for boba and then somehow pops out from the right to get Daniel a boba. Girl is fast at making boba and in those heels. Sorta just teleports wherever Tom Cole points ready to bring people boba.

Is Tom Cole shorter than Daniel?

Looks like it. Wow Daniel actually taller than one of his rivals? Who would've ever known?

I'm surprised no one made a joke about the boba.

The fake movie they made for Sam and Kyler's date is hilarious. Dying teenage romance drama "Let me give you one of my lungs" like I don't know if you can medically do that. It sounds like a great B movie.

Sam not just telling Kyler to stop but literally flawlessly and very subtly kicking his ass is amazing. Where's Daniel and his JERSEY TOUGH or THAT'S MY GIRL.

We will put a little note for times Johnny was right and no one listened. Ah I should've made a counter for that at the beginning. Oh well.

Kyler sitting there looking terrified and in shock is delightful.

Johnny sees a guy and his son, gets turned down on son #1 on both fronts (by son and mother) so goes tries to be parent to son #2 knowing son is excited and mom is the no.

I love Carmen's bored tired look at Johnny here

She is so not impressed.

And it's interesting how Johnny does in fact listen. Because he got the "there's no do-overs with your son" from Shannon. and is like well okay, if I don't have a chance here, which he did in fact try, he went to Miguel.

I won't fail him again...says this guy. Though I will say Kyler is not Johnny's fault.

I love that Rosa is on team Johnny since day 1. Even before she knows him. Like heck yeah Miguel found something he likes, love that for him he just needs to keep his hands up for his next fight. and then Johnny comes by and Rosa's like yup I like that random weirdo who lives next door.

Which I get Carmen being concerned makes sense and protective, but Rosa also knows everything and is protective of Miggy too.

What do you think that top room gets used for? It's like a little watch tower.

Even on low-energy not up for making breakfast Daniel still sets the table with english muffins.

Sam totally knows she's got her dad wrapped around her finger with that what no banana-rama pancakes.

Quick talking Daniel back for the win in response to don't look so excited dad.

6 trophies, a bunch of tiny ones on his desk. Clearly Johnny won more than just the all-valley. It would've been fun to have had the kids in smaller tournaments or just...other tournaments.

The graffiti on the billboard is such a...prank. The fact Louie takes it to an 11 and it ruins Daniel's day to find out who did it is just...oof.

Like Anoush clearly was like debating even telling Daniel and Louie is ready to fight and taking it personally. My dude there's graffiti everywhere.

Honestly the better choice would've been to call up Johnny and be like hey, you graffiti'd my billboard, you know that's an actual legal no no, how about you graffiti Tom Cole's and we'll call it even?

But nooo Louie's gotta get a biker gang involved. This is such a soap opera.

Louie I thought this was cute until I realized who did it which is Johnny and now it's not cute. Which fair, all he knows about Johnny is that he gave Daniel's life hell and then Daniel fixed Johnny's car for free. Not that Johnny's car got wrecked by Sam's friends or that Sam's now ex-boyfriend is the reason Johnny got arrested and his only student got beaten up so badly.

The main component of this show is that no one ever has all the facts and/or actually investigates and discusses the facts making it very pride and prejudice and soap opera-y

#mumbling about shows #i kept wondering why my read mores weren't working #I forgot you have to put something above the read more for it to take at all #so apologies for the long posts last night #i should've fixed it now

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fanforthefics · 6 years

Note

Gabe/Tyson out of lust?

a kiss out of lust

Here’s the thing–Tyson is definitely not going to break first.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good thing,” Nate agrees, when Tyson tells him that, one night after practice when they’re idly watching Netflix and definitely not ruining their diet plans. “Gabe’s been on fire recently, you don’t want to mess with that.”

Tyson glares, and also eats a cookie. It’s a combination he’s perfected over the years. “Are you saying I mess with his game?”

Nate makes an apologetic face, because he knows that’s a thing people would say and how shitty it is. But also, “I mean, all that energy has to go somewhere, and it’s not going into fucking you, so…”

“It could go into fucking me if he would just break,” Tyson mutters. Clearly he’s not going to break first, but also, it’s been a week since he properly touched Gabe and he’s gone longer but it still sucks. Or rather, it doesn’t. “Am I seriously not that attractive?”

Nate pats him on the head. “You’re very hot, Brutes.”

“I am,” Tyson agrees, waving another cookie at him. Nate’s mom makes the best cookies. “I am very hot, and Gabe should remember that. I might not be Gabe the Babe, but I am in fact very hot. Gabe wants this.”

“Okay,” Nate agrees. He looks pretty done with this topic, but if he really didn’t want to talk about it anymore he would tell Tyson so, or maybe hit him with a pillow. it’s how their friendship works. “He wants you.”

“He does.” Tyson crosses his arms and pouts at the TV. “Just not enough.”

Nate rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t be in this if you guys didn’t make this stupid bet.”

“It’s not a bet, it’s a challenge,” Tyson informs him, because it is. That’s important. “And it’s all EJ’s fault.”

“You didn’t have to take the challenge.”

Tyson scoffs. Nate smirks too. That’s clearly a ridiculous statement. “What was I supposed to do, leave Gabe and EJ and everyone thinking I’m more into him then he’s into me?”

“Definitely not.” Nate makes a face, then, like it’s being dragged out of him. “But, um. Was making a bet that the other would be the first to break and need sex first the right way to prove it?”

“It’s too late now,” Tyson says instead of answering. Fuck, but he’s horny. He wants to have sex. Specifically, he wants to have sex with Gabe. Admittedly, it’s not entirely outside of…whatever they’re doing to go have sex with someone else, but… Tyson’s not going to do that. It’d be cheating on the challenge, or something.

He wonders if Gabe is, and that’s why he doesn’t seem to be affected. It’s a realistic thought, but not one he lingers on.

“Okay, then. You have to step up your game.” Nate leans in, snags a cookie too. “I’m talking full on seduction.”

Tyson sits up and grins at him. “I like the way you think, Dogg. Hit me with your ideas.”

Tyson starts with wearing all the smallest clothes he owns. It’s not actually that hard–he’s bulked up this summer, and even his normal t-shirts are a little tighter than usual–but he leans into it.

“Are those jeans painted on?” EJ asks, as Tyson gets dressed in the locker room. Tyson’s maybe having a little trouble getting the jeans on, but it’s basically over and no one else noticed.

Except now, everyone’s looking. Including Gabe, who only has his own obscenely tight jeans on and no shirt and there’s water dripping from his hair down his neck over his chest and then his abs and into the line of his jeans. Tyson isn’t looking or anything. But he does look long enough to see that Gabe’s looking at him–specifically, his general jeans region.

“What, these?” Tyson asks. He knows he’s not going to sound innocent but he doesn’t really care. “I just found them, what do you think?” He twists; Nate snorts but Gabe is definitely looking at his ass, so Tyson’s going to count it as a win. Then maybe Gabe will break and instead of going out with everyone they can go back to Tyson’s and fuck. And then Gabe will make Tyson pancakes, because Tyson can usually bully him into that even if he complains.

“They look great, T-Bear,” Josty pipes up, smirking at Gabe. Tyson nods to him in Tyson solidarity.

“You’re wearing them to the bar tonight?” EJ adds. He’s also smirking at Gabe. Tyson’s a little worried that the whole team energy will turn on him next time Gabe makes a move, but he’s going to ride it for now. Gabe’s a little red now, and he pulls on his t-shirt in a clear move to cover his face. “We’ll have to beat the boys away with a stick.”

“Who says I want you to?” Tyson retorts, which gets a ‘oooh!’ from Mikko, and eyebrow waggle from EJ, and Gabe emerging from his t-shirt still flushed but now he’s smirking too. There’s a lot of smirking going on. Tyson may need to learn to smirk as well.

Gabe pauses by Tyson’s stall on his way out, his hand dropping down over Tyson’s side and just barely brushing against his ass as he passes. “I know what you’re doing,” he murmurs, and his voice is low and rough and his beard brushes against Tyson’s ear and Tyson maybe shivers. Fuck, he hopes these tight jeans won’t become a problem. “It’s not going to work.”

Tyson wills himself not to lean into Gabe. “Your move, Landeskog,” he retorts.

Gabe chuckles, and keeps going. Tyson takes a few deep breathes before he moves again. He’s not going to break. He’s not.

He reminds himself of that again at the bar, where Gabe shows up not in the clothes he left practice in, but instead in his own ridiculously tight jeans and the sweater he knows Tyson thinks he looks incredibly hot in, because Tyson has told him this before. It brings out his eyes and does great things for his shoulders and chest and every time Gabe wears it Tyson wants to rip it off of him. It’s whatever. Tyson’s fine.

Gabe slides into the booth across from Tyson, and grins. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Tyson announces. Then, “I’m getting a drink. Anyone else want one? No? Good.”

He leaves as he hears Comes say, “I actually would like a–”

He makes it to the bar, orders a sangria. Takes a breath. It’s fine. It’s been barely a week. Tyson lasted the whole off season.

It’s just–since the season started, it’s felt different. Last season they’d just been fooling around, whatever. But then they’d had, like, an intense night after they got knocked out of the playoffs when Gabe had basically grabbed onto Tyson and barely let him go to drive back to Gabe’s, and then it had felt almost romantic, how they’d had sex slow and somehow cathartically and then Gabe had cuddled into Tyson and Tyson had somehow kept talking until he looked less like he was carrying the whole weight of them getting knocked out on his shoulders. And in the morning Tyson had woken up and Gabe had made them pancakes without Tyson even bitching about it and they’d eaten in Gabe’s sunny kitchen with Zoey being as dramatic as her dad about how she wanted pieces and it had been…nice. Different, somehow.

And Gabe had kept texting during the off season, more than he usually did, and so Tyson did too, and maybe Tyson had drunk dialed him more than once for some phone sex, but Gabe had definitely been into it. And this season–it hadn’t been a question. This season, until this week, Tyson had barely slept in his own bed.

It’s just different, he thinks, and takes the sangria the bartender hands him. He turns back to the group–they’re all deep in conversation about something, but as he looks over, Gabe looks up and catches Tyson watching. He grins. Tyson glares, then turns to the group of girls getting drinks next to him.

“Hi, excuse me, sorry about this,” he says. They all turn to him. The closest one raises her eyebrows skeptically at him. She’s cute, with unnaturally red curls and awesomely dramatic makeup. “Can you pretend to be talking to me for a second? I”m trying to prove I’m not paying attention to my friends over there. I promise I’ll go away quietly after a second.”

The girls all look at each other, then glance over at the table, then shrugs. “Yeah, sure,” The redhead says. “I’m Carmen. What’s your name?”

“Tyson,” Tyson says, and smiles thankfully. “No, this round’s on me,” He tells the bartender, as he comes over to take the girls’ order. “Put it on my tab. I owe them.”

One of the girls tilts her head at him. “Do you play hockey?” she asks, slowly. “I swear you look familiar.”

Tyson beams. “I do!” He says enthusiastically. That starts enough of a conversation, because even though apparently only the girl who asked about it is a fan, it’s still a topic of conversation. Then things spiral a little bit, and Tyson ends up bringing the whole group back to the table, and somehow discussing makeup with Carmen for an hour as Kerfy strikes out hilariously with Shannon, the hockey-liker.

Something knocks against Tyson’s foot, while he’s talking with Carmen. Tyson looks up–Gabe’s watching him, biting his lip a little, and he’s not smiling anymore. Tyson narrows his eyes at him in a question, but Gabe just shakes his head. Then he runs his toe up Tyson’s calf almost to his knee, and Tyson yelps, and then everyone laughs at him, including Gabe.

Then Gabe gets a hat trick. Tyson has to physically avoid Gabe to make sure he doesn’t do something rash and break, because fuck.

“Landy was looking for you after the game,” Nate says mildly on the way home. “He looked kind of sad you didn’t congratulate him.”

“I couldn’t.” Tyson feels bad about that, but. “It was too dangerous. Did you see those goals? And how he looked afterwards? I mean his hockey is always gorgeous but I was ready to–”

“TMI!” Nate shouts. “Ugh, fine. But text him at least.”

“Fine,” Tyson sighs, but he pulls out his phone. Beauty goals! he texts to Gabe. find a hat that fits your head yet?

you’d know if you’d stuck around, Gabe replies, which is sulky enough that he is mad.

not my fault you’re too hot after a hattie, Tyson texts back. I’m not going to be suckered into breaking just because of your gorgeous hockey.

The dots show up for a long time, then. You’re killing me here, 4.

You could break. Just have to ask

Fuck that

But not me

Gabe sends back a row of frowny faces, then a picture of Zoey, so really Tyson’s getting a lot of mixed messages here, none of which is getting his dick sucked. He must make a noise, because Nate rolls his eyes as he merges closely enough that Tyson grabs onto the door.

“It’s just a challenge,” he points out. “You could give up.”

Tyson shakes his head, looks out the window where the cars are going by, Denver in the background. “I can’t,” he says. Quieter than he wants it to be. “I–it can’t be true.”

“That you want Gabe more than he wants you?” Nate snorts. “Trust me. I’ve been in a room with you two. It’s pretty clear that’s not true.”

“Yeah, well. I’d like to see you hook up with a literal almost-model and not get a complex,” Tyson retorts, because this is all getting super close to home. He’d like to see Nate see Gabe all scruffy in the mornings as he got ready for practice or reading on the couch with Zoey’s head in his lap or beaming at his computer screen as he Skypes Sweden and not feel–more, maybe. Then he was sure was what they were doing.

Nate sighs, then. “He likes it when you say nice things about him.”

“Well he’s in luck, I can’t stop apparently.” Tyson pauses. “Wait. Likes, or likes? And how do you know this, MacKinnon?”

Nate is very clearly looking at the road ahead. “I plead the fifth.”

“You’re not American, you can’t do that.”

“I’m in America, I have rights.”

“You don’t know that, you–”

“I’m not telling,” Nate says, and then disappointingly keeps his promise.

“Yeah, Gabe has a real flair for the dramatic,” Tyson tells the camera, and for once lets himself be actually shameless.

When he’s done and the media’s gone, he sees Gabe watching him, and sure enough, his eyes are dark and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. Tyson swallows.

“Seriously?” he asks.

Gabe shrugs.

Mikko snorts. “If you like hearing someone say nice things about you, you’ve chosen the right person,” he tells Gabe.

“I can keep going,” Tyson adds, before Gabe has a chance to say anything about choosing people or how he hasn’t chosen people. Mikko might as well have said boyfriend and really started something.

“Should I start, then?” Gabe asks. He’s still glowing a little bit from his game tonight. If Tyson were going to break, he’d be very tempted to find like, a supply closet or something. He takes a step towards Tyson. “Should we talk about your night?”

“Nope!” Tyson yelps, There is proof all over the internet that Tyson is incapable of keeping it together when Gabe tells him nice things. “That’s okay.”

“Don’t play with fire if you can’t take it back,” Gabe tells him. He looks very smug. It is, irritatingly, one of Tyson’s favorite looks on him–when he’s smug and confident and just a little arrogant.

“You don’t play with fire,” Tyson mutters, and grabs a towel. It’s time for a judicious retreat.

“Tyson,” Gabe starts, “Tyson, come on, stay–” But Tyson’s already on his way to the showers.

Gabe has a bunch of the guys over for a casual, making sure everyone’s fitting in on the new team sort of thing, so Tyson shows up with a cake he baked himself because all of his energy needs to go somewhere that isn’t fucking Gabe.

“Don’t worry, I’ve saved you from Gabe’s kale smoothies,” he announces as he opens the door. From the living room, Gabe groans.

“That was one time!” he objects, but Tyson’s a little busy dealing with Zoey jumping on him, either because she missed him or because she wants cake. Tyson suspects the latter.

He leans down anyway to pet her, because he’s missed her, even if it’s not reciprocated. “I”m putting the cake in the kitchen,” he calls, and gets enough sounds of acknowledgment that he knows the hordes will come out soon enough.

Sure enough, he’s dodging Zoey–who knows he’s maybe weak for her begging face–and grabbing a knife to cut himself a slice of the cake when Josty wanders in.

He looks droopy, which is unusual for him; Tyson changes the angle on the knife. “Everything okay?” he asks.

Josty shrugs. “I’m supposed to stay away from bright lights,” he says, waving back towards the video games going on in the living room.

“Sucks,” Tyson agrees. “Cake?”

“Yeah,” Josty sighs. Tyson hands him the extra large slice of cake.

“Cake will always be there for you,” Tyson informs him, cutting him a slice of his own. “Even when your head betrays you.”

“Yeah.” Josty makes a face. “I’m just bored. I can’t do anything fun.”

“Sure you can. You could take up baking. We could have a bakeoff! Or you could like, learn guitar. Or read books, I guess, but that seems iffy.”

“I can read!” Josty protests. Tyson cocks his head.

“I never said you couldn’t,” he points out, and takes a bite of the cake. It’s a little dry. “Whipped cream?”

“Gabe has whipped cream?”

“For pancakes, I insisted,” Tyson tells him, and gets it from the fridge. “Here.” He puts a bunch of whipped cream on Josty’s cake, then on his own. “He was eating pancakes with just butter, so I made sure to educate him.”

Josty snorts. “On whipped cream?”

“On the important things in life, yeah,” Tyson says. He takes another bite of cake–much better–and licks his lips. “Like whipped cream. Whipped cream will always be there for you too.” He shoots a look at Josty. “Even when reading, I hear.”

“I’ve read a book!” Josty retorts, but he’s laughing. Tyson takes a satisfied bite of cake. He was maybe a little ambitious about the whipped cream; it gets not just on the cake but also on his nose.

“What’s going on in here?” Tyson turns, and Gabe’s in the doorway. God, Tyson hadn’t even been planning–he’s in his now-usual tight jeans and a t-shirt, but he’s also eating cake and has whipped cream on his nose. Gabe looks like a model. Which he always does, but–he looks even more so, somehow, with the sun streaming through the windows to light of his hair and the smile lines at his eyes. Fuck, Tyson wants–so much.

“We’re raiding your fridge for whipped cream,” Tyson informs him. “Also, pick up eggs.”

Josty snorts. Gabe cocks his head. “What?”

Tyson knows he’s going red, but–”You need eggs,” he tells Gabe, because look he’d noticed that in the fridge, okay? He’s allowed to notice shit. “You don’t have any and you get sulky when you don’t have eggs in the morning if you want them, so get them. And also paper towels, because let’s be real we’re going to need at least a roll tonight, and–”

“You have whipped cream on your nose,” Gabe informs him. Tyson rolls his eyes as he licks it off. Gabe at least watches his tongue, so that’s something.

“Yes, Gabriel, thank you, I noticed, why do you think I was considering your paper towel supply? I’m not going to like, have a paper towel war back here.” He pauses. “Unless…”

Gabe grins, and–wow, that grin is never going to get less heart-stopping. “Please do not have a paper towel fight,” he says, taking a step forward, and Tyson does the only reasonable thing, which is rip off a piece of paper towel, ball it up, and throw it at Gabe.

Gabe blinks as it bounces off of him. “Did you seriously just throw a paper towel at me?”

“Yes.” Tyson is going to brazen through this if nothing else. “Now are you going to break, at my amazing paper towel war skills?”

Gabe laughs. “Yeah, that’s what’s going to get me to break.”

“I knew it.” Tyson crosses his arms triumphantly. “Go me. You ready to ravish me, or do I have to pull out the big guns?”

“You haven’t yet?”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Tyson informs him, then grabs the whipped cream. He sprays a bunch onto his hand, then drags two fingers through it, so he can lick it off. Slowly. While keeping eye contact with Gabe.

Gabe’s gaze definitely goes dark. So Tyson does it again. He’s got his fingers in his mouth when it occurs to him that, “Hey, how long does whipped cream stay good for?”

Gabe chokes, then shakes his head, then wipes his hand over his mouth. Then he looks back up at Tyson. “I love you.”

Tyson’s finger falls out of his mouth, fast. “What?”

“I love you,” Gabe says again.

“Like, as buddies?”

“Not just as buddies.” He sounds–certain. Sure. The words are filling Tyson up from his toes to his head and Gabe is looking at Tyson soft and warm and his eyes are shining and he’s looked at Tyson like that before but there hasn’t been an emotion to that before and fuck, Tyson wants to taste those words off of his lips.

“Fuck it, I don’t care who wins,” Tyson decides, then he crosses the room in two quick strides to tug Gabe in. Gabe’s laughing into his mouth, and Tyson’s hand is still sticky with the remnants of whipped cream, and it’s been weeks and Gabe’s as good a kisser as Tyson remembered. Tyson’s hands slide down from Gabe’s shoulders to his ass. He missed Gabe’s ass. He needs to get reacquainted. Gabe clearly feels the same way, given how he’s apparently trying to devour Tyson.

“Um, guys?” Josty says. “You can do what you want and I’m happy for you and all, but you’re kind of blocking the door.”

Tyson manages to remove his mouth from Gabe’s lips. “You’ve got a room upstairs,” he points out. “It’s been weeks, Gabe.”

“No fucking kidding,” Gabe agrees, and slides his hands down to Tyson’s wrist. “Enjoy yourself!” He calls to the living room. “Beer’s in the fridge!”

“Seriously?” Nate asks.

“Where are you going?” EJ demands.

“We broke!” Tyson calls back, and Gabe groans but ignores the catcalls as he tugs Tyson upstairs, then to his room. They barely get the door closed before Tyson’s tugging Gabe back against it, kissing him again until Gabe’s groaning into his mouth and Tyson can feel him getting hard.

Then Tyson lifts his head. “Hey,” he says. “You want me a lot.”

“You think?” Gabe demands. “Was that ever in question? You’ve been killing me, Tys.” When Tyson doesn’t say anything, his face softens. “Was that actually in question?”

“You’re a lot!” Tyson protests. “And like, we hadn’t said what this was and I wasn’t even sure if you were sleeping with anyone else and I really like you and I wasn’t sure–”

“Trust me,” Gabe cuts him off, and his voice is low and rough, and his hands are on Tyson’s hips now, pulling him closer. “However much you want me, I want you more.”

“Really?” Tyson raises an eyebrow. “I really like you. And want you. Probably more than you do.” He waits a second for Gabe to get it, to see Gabe grin. “I bet I want you more.”

“Shut up, Tyson,” Gabe says, on something that’s half groan and half laugh and all Tyson’s, and then tugs him into a kiss to make sure he does just that.

#avs fic #this was almost just pwp but then shenanigans had to happen instead #enjoy!#my fic #eafay70 #avs tumblr fic

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ranwing · 6 years

Text

Kadam Fic: Learning to Fly (7/?)

Title: Learning to Fly Series: A New Direction (was Season Four Remix) Pairing(s), Characters(s): Kadam, Kurt Hummel, Adam Crawford, Burt Hummel, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez, Carmen Tibideaux, Cassandra July, Artie Abrams, Tina Cohen-Chang, Elliot “Starchild” Gilbert, Dani, Adam’s Apples, Original Characters Rating: PG13 Genre(s): canon divergence. Parts: 7/? Summary: As another school year starts at NYADA, Kurt seemed to have it all. The respect of his teachers, a group of wonderful friends and best of all, getting to live with the man that he’d come to love. So of course the universe would throw a few curve balls in his direction.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

On AOE

There was something oddly comforting about waking up at his old home. In his old bed, Kurt considered as he slowly came awake. It helped ease the feeling of displacement and feeling totally adrift in the world. The home that he’d shared with Adam no longer existed and his lover was no longer close at hand to reassure him that everything was going to be all right. For someone who’d always prided himself on being so self-sufficient, this sense of vulnerability was extremely disquieting.

He and Adam had spoken on the phone the previous night for what seemed like hours. The Englishman was settled into the hotel room he was sharing with Nialls and told Kurt about how interesting Boston was and that he and the others in the cast planned to spend a day or two sightseeing before they went into tech and all of their free time vanished. He was glad that Kurt was taking a bit of time to spend with his family before the school term began.

It’ll be good for you, sweetheart, the older man had insisted when Kurt had first proposed his plans to visit while his father was home on winter recess. I don’t want you to be alone right now.

Better to crawl home to lick his wounds than hide away in his dorm room in a nearly empty school, Kurt thought petulantly as he curled up under the heavy layer of blankets that provided a warm nest and pulled a pillow to his chest. He would be content to hide there for the duration of his visit.

A knock on his bedroom door roused his unwilling attention. All he wanted to do was huddle under the blankets like he did when he was a child and the outside world became just too much to bear.

“Kurt?” he heard his father’s voice call out gently. “You awake, buddy?”

Despite himself, he sat up and emerged from the covered. He didn’t want to worry his father unnecessarily. “Yeah..,” he answered, his voice sounding wan even to his own ears.

His father opened the door and peeked in to make sure that Kurt was decent before coming in and sighed when he saw that he was still in bed. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “How are you holding up?” he asked gently, sitting down on the edge of Kurt’s bed.

Kurt shrugged, feeling too mentally and physically tired to feign otherwise.

“Did you get any sleep at all?”

Kurt shook his head. “Not really,” he admitted, knowing that it wouldn’t do any good to lie. His father would know from the dark circles under his eyes that he’d been tossing and turning most of the night.

Burt sighed in sympathy. “I know that telling you that everything is going to work out isn’t going to make you feel at all better, so I’m not going to try,” he said. “But you can’t hide away from the world the whole time Adam is away. And you’re going to have to get your head back on straight before you head back to school. Adam wouldn’t appreciate you letting your grades slide because you miss him.”

Kurt couldn’t help from smiling a tiny bit at his father’s blunt form of comfort. It was kind of gentle kick in the pants that he needed.

“I know,” he granted. “I just need to feel sorry for myself for a little while.”

“That’s okay. You’re allowed under the circumstances,” Burt granted. “But not too long. Got that?”

Kurt nodded, inhaling deeply. He knew that however much he wanted to wallow, his own nature would push him to push past his pain and shift his focus on his education. But right now, he just hurt.

“Why don’t you get dressed and come downstairs,” Burt suggested, though there was just the slight edge of command in his tone. “Carole’s making breakfast. Just between you and me, I think that she’s looking forward to feeding you up while you’re here.”

Kurt couldn’t help from smiling. His stepmother apparently missed having boys around to take care of and he could look forward to plenty of home cooking and hearty meals during his visit. He’d have to make sure that he went running every day if the weather permitted, otherwise he’s probably gain twenty pounds before he returned to New York.

“I’ll be down in just a little bit,” Kurt assured his father. “I just need… Let me just wash up.” He needed a bit of space to get his mental feet under him.

“You got it, sport. Better get a move on while there’s food left,” Burt said, pleased that he at least was able to get Kurt out of bed. He ruffled Kurt’s hair playfully, hoping to coax another smile out of him before leaving his son to make himself suitably human.

“Don’t eat all the bacon before I get there,” Kurt called out, hearing his father chuckle at the not-so-playful admonishment. His father did still need to watch his diet and now that he was home for a little bit, Kurt was going to remind him of his dietary restrictions.

He arrived in the kitchen about fifteen minutes later, his face washed and teeth brushed, a soft robe wrapped comfortingly about his body. The warm scents of coffee and cinnamon greeted him and he went right for the coffee pot to pour himself a mug. The kitchen table was already set with plates and a bowl of fresh fruit salad.

Carole was standing at the counter in front of an electric skillet, turning over the pancakes she was cooking. At seeing Kurt, she placed down her spatula and pulled him into a warm embrace. “Good morning, sweetie,” she greeted gently, seeing immediately that he wasn’t his usual chipper self. “How are you feeling?”

He wasn’t going to lie to her. This was the one place where he felt that he could let down his shields and admit how much he was hurting. “Not so good. I didn’t sleep much and… I miss Adam.”

Carole smiled understandably and pressed a kiss to Kurt’s forehead. “I know you do, honey. But he’ll be back before you know it. And I’m sure that he misses you just as much,” she insisted kindly.

Kurt felt himself smiling a little sadly. “I know he does,” he granted. “It just hurts… being away from him like this.”

Carole hugged him again. “Why don’t you sit down? Breakfast is almost ready. You’ll feel better after you get some food into you.”

His stepmother’s cooking skills hadn’t deteriorated since he was home the last time, Kurt noted. And while she had prepared what she’s hoped would be comfort food for her stepson, she did it with a nod towards Kurt’s normal eating habits and her husband’s health. The pancakes were whole wheat, studded liberally with blueberries and accompanied by a plate of turkey bacon.

“This looks great, Carole,” Kurt complimented, feeling his appetite start to kindle. He took two pancakes and some fruit onto his plate, along with several strips of bacon. After pouring a healthy amount of syrup onto his pancakes, he took a bite and made an appreciative moan. “I missed your cooking.”

His stepmother smiled broadly as she served herself. “Well, if you came to visit every now and then, or came down to Washington while we’re there...,” she hinted playfully,

“Carole, let the boy be,” Burt admonished gently, chuckling at her teasing. “He’s got school and work to worry about.”

“Thanks Dad,” Kurt grinned and nibbled on a piece of bacon.

Carole huffed with mock indignance, but offered her stepson a tolerant smile. “Well, I’ll just have to send a few extra care packages your way. Especially since you’re going to be living on dorm food for the duration.”

“I won’t say no,” Kurt said agreeably, sipping at his coffee. While the dorm cafeteria kept the eating habits of their student body in mind with lots of healthy options, he was sure that it would get boring after a while. Between Carole and Ellie Crawford, he’d be the envy of all the dorm residents.

“Do you have any plans for today?” Burt asked, looking at his son pointedly. It was clear that he did not want to see Kurt moping around the house, feeling sorry for himself during the whole duration of his visit.

Kurt sighed, knowing that he needed to find something to occupy himself with besides quality family time. Thankfully McKinley High School was out for winter break, so he wouldn’t be tempted to pop in on New Directions. He’d made some tentative plans to meet up with Tina and Artie while they were all home, but he really need to find something to occupy himself with. And at the moment, he needed something to clear his head.

“I thought I’d head over to the garage this morning,” he proposed. “I kind of want something to tear apart and put back together again. I’m sure they’ve got something I can get my hands into.”

Burt nodded approvingly. “That sounds like a great idea,” he agreed. “I was going to stop by later on, but I’m sure the guys won’t mind you going in to help out.”

Having a goal now perked Kurt’s spirits up a bit. “I figured that some of the guys might be taking some time off for the holidays and they might need some help. And it’ll feel good to get my hands dirty for a little bit.”

Carole chuckled brightly at Kurt’s apparent enthusiasm. “It’ll also give you an excuse to treat yourself to a manicure,” she teased.

Kurt couldn’t help from laughing a little bit. “Well, I do have to keep myself in good condition,” he advised. Oil under his fingernails and obvious calluses would not help his employment options as audiences liked their actors to be pretty.

After finishing breakfast and helping to clean up, Kurt returned to his room to find something suitable to wear to the garage. He was sure that he had a set of coveralls in the back, but he didn’t want to risk any of his good clothes with stains that he knew from experience would never come out. He found an old pair of jeans in the back of his closet and pulled them on, wondering if they still fit.

They were a bit short since he’d bought them before his last growth spurt and a little snug about his thighs, but he definitely needed a belt because they were loose in the waist. Squatting a few times, he thought that they’d be comfortable enough to work in. Topped with an old henley that stretched across his shoulders, he realized just how much he’d changed since leaving for New York. The physical changes were just as profound as his mental and emotional ones, and he felt a certain amount of gratification that he was so far from the boy he’d been just a few years ago. He liked who and what he’d become.

Tugging on an old pair of Doc Martins, he headed downstairs. His father and Carole were lingering over another cup of coffee and talking quietly when he entered the kitchen. “Dad, I’m going to head over to the garage now.”

“Okay, sport. Tell the guys that I’ll by a later this afternoon,” Burt advised, sipping at his coffee. “Have fun destroying something.”

Kurt grinned and gave them a quick wave before bundling up to face the bitter Ohio winter. The drive to the garage went quickly, the route permanently imbedded in Kurt’s memory and he parked behind the building in the employee area. Dodging slush puddles and snow piles, he walked into the garage area where several of the mechanics were already at work.

The manager spotted Kurt as he entered and exclaimed happily, “Kurt! We were hoping you’d stop by!” Bill hurried over to hug the younger man warmly.

“Hey Bill. Good to see you,” Kurt greeted, smiling at the man who’d been mentor and baby sitter for a good portion of his childhood. He accepted the hug, feeling a sense of comfort to be around friendly faces and a familiar setting.

The other mechanics came over to offer their own welcome, glad to see Kurt. Greg leaned against the Ford SUV that he was working on and looked to him expectantly. “Your dad warned that you were in town for a little while,” he said, wiping his dirty hands on a rag.

Kurt nodded, letting himself relax a bit. “I’m on winter break and Adam had to go out of town for work so I thought I’d come home for a little bit.”

“And you’re doing well in school?” Bill asked, making his near-parental concern clear.

Kurt thought back to his winter critiques and let himself nod confidently. “It’s hard work, but I’m doing okay. We’ve got a big musical this spring and I got cast as an understudy for one of the major roles.”

“That’s great, kid,” Greg complimented. The mechanics might not know all that much about musical theater but they knew enough to understand that being cast as an understudy at this stage was no small thing.

“I was kind of hoping to get my hands into something,” Kurt explained, looking about the garage. “I need a little automotive therapy.”

Bill nodded understandingly. “I think there’s a set of your old coveralls are in the back room,” he offered. “Go get changed and I’ll see what we’ve got around for you to play with.”

Kurt smiled appreciative and headed to the staff room. Pulling on the heavy cotton material felt comforting in its own strange way and he marveled that he could still be as comfortable in an oil stained jumpsuit as he could in the most elegant couture fashion. Adam would just smile and say that it was an example of how complex a person he was.

Thoughts of his boyfriend dimmed his smile a bit. He really needed to get his hands on an engine and start taking it apart so he could clear his head a little bit.

Returning to the work area, Bill pointed him in the direction of an Audi that had clearly been on the wrong end of a significant accident. The whole front end was crunched in and the airbag had been inflated, warning that the impact had been substantial. Hopefully the driver was not seriously injured.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Kurt cooed sympathetically to the car, running his hand over a crushed bumper. It was an absolutely crime for such a beautiful vehicle to be in such sorry condition. “What happened to you?”

“This just came in yesterday,” Bill explained, amused at how Kurt always treated damaged cars like he would a wounded kitten. “Got into a fight with a lamp post after skidding on some ice and I think the lamp post won. Think you can you get started on the diagnostic so it can be submitted to the insurance?”

Kurt nodded, feeling his mood start to improve. This was exactly the kind of thing he needed. Rolling up his sleeves, he pulled a tool cart over to where the damaged car sat and carefully popped open the hood to get a look at the engine and see what needed to be done.

Running the diagnostics gave Kurt something to focus on, taking his mind away from his loneliness. He had to pay attention to what the instruments were telling him and what his own eyes were seeing. This was the part of working with cars that he’d always found the most interesting; trying to figure out just what was wrong and how to fix it in a way that was economical for the customer. It was like working out a large, greasy puzzle and he’d always been pretty good at it.

He took his time, going over the entire car and made careful notes of all the things that were wrong and needed immediate repair. There was a good crack in the radiator that he wasn’t sure could just be repaired and might need a complete replacement. Several hoses were torn or pulled loose, but those were easy fixes. One of the engine mounts was missing and definitely would need to be replaced, otherwise the owner would hit a bump and end up with the engine in his lap.

The rest of the engine seemed okay, he needed to check out the undercarriage and make sure there was no other damage. Getting a creeper board and hanging light, he lay down and slid under the car to see what was going on.

Fortunately, there didn’t seem to be any damage to the major structures and while the repairs would be considerable, the owner was lucky that the car wouldn’t have to be junked. Sliding out from unde the car, he wiped off his hands and wrote up the report to be submitted to the owner’s insurance.

There were other jobs on the list that he took over to give the guys a little breathing room. It felt good to do simple tasks like oil changes and brake jobs where he got a bit dirty but was able to keep his head clear. Focusing on the tools in his hands and the machinery in front of him prevented him from dwelling too much on the other things in his life. Here there were no worries about the pressures of school or the loneliness of Adam being away. One of the guys turned on a radio and Kurt found himself humming along with the classic rock tunes, dancing a bit as he worked.

“I don’t hear any singing,” Greg complained from his station, where he was elbows deep in the engine of a Dodge Charger. “What do we have to do around here to get some entertainment?”

Bill laughed, giving Kurt a playful nudge. “Come on, kid,” he urged. “Give us a little show while we still can afford to see you.”

Kurt couldn’t help from grinning at their urging. They’d always been so supportive of him when he was growing up, despite the fact that he couldn’t be more different from them. When he came out, it was probably not much more of a surprise to them as it had been for his father and they never treated him any differently. The teasing was good natured and affectionate and he would always have a place here, no matter where life took him.

“Oh, Mama, I’m in fear for my life from the long arm of the law,” he began, using the lower end of his register. He was standing underneath a classic Chevy, draining the old oil into a disposal pail. He could certainly sing while he worked and gave his father’s employees the show that they wanted.

Kurt left the garage a few hours later after having lunch with the guys and returned home to clean up. He was feeling a bit better about things now that he had a chance to clear his head a little bit. He washed his hands in the kitchen sink with a bar of abrasive soap that his father kept there to scrub the stains off his hands, using a nail brush to get the grime out from under his fingernails. He would need to seriously moisturize his hands afterwards because the soap was so harsh on his skin, but by the time he was done, his hands were in pristine condition. A quick shower and a change of clothes left him fit to face the world again.

Coffee, he decided. He needed coffee and something sweet. It had been over a year since he last went to the Lima Bean and hoped that they were still serving the gingerbread loaf cake that he’d always loved. With a vanilla latte. That would be just the kind of pick-me-up he needed.

Driving to the café, he slipped back into instinct. He knew the way like the back of his hand, having followed the path hundreds of times before leaving this town for good. It still felt a bit strange that he was now starting to see Lima through a visitor’s eyes and not that of boy desperate to leave. Now he was more aware of the charms of the town and less focused on its obvious shortcomings. The feeling of nostalgia was almost pleasant.

The Lima Bean seemed much the same as it ever was; brightly lit and clean, the display cases filled with appetizing treats and smiling baristas preparing drinks. For a moment when he walked through the doors he felt a flash of the panic he’d felt when he’d worn one of those aprons. He’d lived in absolute anguish, fearful that he was doomed to spend his life trapped in Lima and working here because he didn’t have any other options. It had just been something to do that filled his days until he managed to find the courage in him to take the plunge and leave nearly everything and everyone that he knew in order to chase his dreams.

Going to New York without a place or plan had been terrifying, but less frightening than being stuck behind that counter with a fake smile pasted on his face so that the customers would never know that he was screaming inside. Thankfully he had escaped this trap and now felt that could walk in with his head held proudly. He wondered if the day would come when he no longer saw his hometown as a place just waiting to snare him and drag him back.

He was still seeking the balance, Kurt realized as he pulled himself mentally together. He didn’t have many fantastic memories of life in Lima, so coming back home was still hard in a lot of ways. But he had family here and it would always be a part of him no matter where his career took him in the future. Be it a Broadway stage or touring the country the way Adam was, Lima would always be a huge part of his past. It helped make him who he was.

Looking over the offerings in the case, he was torn between the gingerbread that he’d been craving and an absolutely scrumptious looking cranberry scone. He couldn’t afford to eat both, not with the way Carole was going to be stuffing him the whole time he was home. There was no way he would dare show up back at school having gained an ounce because Ms. July would certainly notice and make him suffer the consequences. One treat only.

He ordered the gingerbread since he could get scones back in New York anytime he wanted, along with the much-needed latte. The café was pretty full with the afternoon rush and there didn’t seem to be empty tables. Maybe he could find someone who would be willing to share so he could enjoy his afternoon snack.

He smiled to himself when he saw a tall blond woman sitting at the table in the back reading a magazine while nursing a large coffee that Kurt knew from past history would be black with no fewer than five packets of sugar.

Taking his plate and cup, he walked over to the table. “Mind if I join you?” he asked to get her attention.

She looked up at him with a sharp-eyed glare and prepared to launch what was probably a viciously worded refusal that would have left him gathering up his own entrails when she realized who was standing there. Her blue eyes widened in shock and, Kurt suspected, pleasure.

“Porcelain,” Coach Sylvester said softly, very clearly surprised by his presence. Her mouth drew into a wide smile. “Sit that tight little tush down right now.”

Kurt couldn’t help from smiling at the command in her voice. He placed his food down and took the chair opposite her. “It’s good to see you, Coach. Even if you are out of uniform.” It felt odd to see her dressed in anything other than her customary track suit.

“I’m off duty right now, and I’m not your coach anymore,” she reminded him playfully. “You can call me Sue if you want.”

Kurt recognized this for the honor that it was. There were moments when he felt like he was one of the few students that she’d not only genuinely liked, but respected in some way.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked. “I would have thought that the only way you’d ever come back to this town would be dragged kicking and screaming. You were already halfway out the door during your sophomore year.”

Kurt was reminded that for all her cutting comments and bizarre behavior, Sue had been one of his chief supporters while he was in high school. He’d never forgotten the lengths that she went through to protect him during the worst of the bullying he’d suffered and he knew that she’d been very upset during her stint as principal that she hadn’t been able to do more. Even after he gave up being a Cheerio, he remained one of her chosen few.

“Just here for a little while on winter break,” he explained. “I start classes again in a few weeks so I thought I’d enjoy a little family time. Dad’s home on recess, so it seemed like a perfect time.”

She nodded understandingly. If there was anyone who appreciated the need for family, it was Sue. “And that gorgeous hunk of English beefcake that looked like he’d follow you to the ends of the earth?”

Kurt couldn’t help from sighing. “He graduated last June and he got cast in a show that’s doing a national tour,” he explained. “We’re going to be doing the long-distance thing for a couple of months.”

His former coach gave him a sympathetic stare. “Well, if he gives you any problems, you let me know. I have several highly skilled and very discreet assassins on retainer if you need a referral.”

Kurt could only stare at her in surprise, but the twinkle in her eyes betrayed her and he realized that she was joking a little bit. He couldn’t help from laughing. He’d long suspected that Sue’s outrageous behavior at school was something of an act, but this confirmed it for him.

At least, he hoped that it did.

He nodded his head at the magazine, seeing an overly perky cheerleader photographed in mid-leap on the cover. “Professional research?” he asked, not hiding his amusement. “I assume that you’re going to be gearing up for Nationals when school restarts, right?”

She chuckled, nodding. “Just getting a sense of what some of the other teams may have in mind,” she explained. “You know, considering what a few of them tried last year trying to outdo me, my plan to shoot Brittany from a cannon wasn’t that insane.”

“Well, you were always a trail blazer,” Kurt reminded her, taking a taste of his gingerbread. It tasted just the way he remembered, the bite of ginger and cloves perfectly tempered by the creamy glaze.

“I don’t think we ever did so well as when we had you on the team. Your Celine Dion solo was a total showstopper that no one has been able to match,” she reminisced fondly. “What I wouldn’t give to have you back and doing a ten-minute Italian aria while doing a perfect handstand at the top of the formation.” She sighed happily at the concept.

“How NYADA is treating you? I’m assuming that you’re doing well there.”

Kurt smiled. “It’s good,” he insisted. “I’m learning a lot and we’re doing this huge musical in the spring. It’s a pretty amazing place.”

“And you’re looking awfully fit,” she noted admiringly. “It’s a shame I can’t steal you back for the team.”

Kurt couldn’t help from feeling flattered at her appraisal. “I run now pretty regularly and I’ve been doing a lot of upper body work. And I’ve got dance three times a week with a teacher that I would love to run a DNA test on, because there is no way that she’s not related to you in some way.”

“And she’s going to let you get away with eating that?” Sue asked archly, pointing to Kurt’s cake. “Because I would have had you doing jumping jacks until your limbs came flying off.”

“I usually burn it off pretty quickly because I’m so active, and I’m keeping up on my physical regimen while I’m here,” he assured her. “Ms. July will personally cut off any flab she sees with a letter opener so I need to take care of myself. My body is one of my instruments, after all.”

Sue nodded approvingly. “Well, whatever you’re doing, the results are certainly impressive,” she complimented, eyeing the breadth of his shoulders appreciatively. “You look like you could probably toss any of our fliers one handed now.”

Knowing how rarely Sue gave unvarnished approval gave Kurt a sense of pride at her positive appraisal. “We did a lot of pairs work in dance the past semester and I wasn’t always matched with the lightest girl,” he admitted. “Missing a lift always ends up with Ms. July bitching us out in the middle of class and no one wants that. And I’m taking stage combat this semester so I really need to be in good shape.”

“Now that is something I would look forward to seeing you do,” Sue chuckled, mentally picturing him wielding a sword and slicing through the bullies that had tormented him when he was younger. She paused to look at him, her eyes softening in a way that Kurt rarely remembered her showing to anyone other than her sister.

“Oh Porcelain… I’m glad to see you doing so well,” Sue claimed with clear sincerity. “I never doubted that you’d manage to find your way out of Lima. I think that you would have crawled out of here on your hands and knees if that’s what it took. If only to spite anyone who ever tried to make you feel like nothing.”

Kurt nodded, knowing that there was more than a grain of truth there. All the times he’d ended up atop a pile of trash in a dumpster, the times when he did laundry as soon as he got home from school so that his father wouldn’t see the stains from food being thrown at him or the time when he spent several weeks’ worth of allowance money to buy a designer sweater to replace the one that his father had given him as a gift and ended up destroyed… it had all been fuel to Kurt’s determination to escape Lima.

“And that was something I always appreciated about you,” she explained. “You didn’t need anyone carrying your ass the way Berry did. I mean, Schuster all but ferried her to New York on his back.”

Kurt winced a bit internally, not liking to hear the harsh reminder of how unfair an advantage Rachel had back then and not surprised that Sue still had a rather unforgiving opinion about his friend, but she hadn’t seen how Rachel had matured since coming to New York. His friend had a better understanding of her own flaws and Rachel was constantly striving to prove to Kurt that she could be the kind of friend that she wanted to be. He hoped that in time others might see that shift.

“I’ve run into your father a few times, when he’s in town,” Sue confessed. “I always liked Burt. He’s always talking about how well you’re doing, which is the best ‘screw you’ to everyone in this town that looked down on you. He mentioned that you were in some plays this past summer. I would have liked to have seen that.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt answered softly, surprised at her statement. “I didn’t even think…”

“It’s okay. I’ll forgive the lapse this one time,” Sue assured him, a touch of teasing in her voice. “I checked out some videos on line and your dad gave me a program for the Cheerio display at McKinley. You’re definitely turning out to be one of our prouder legacies.”

Kurt wouldn’t put it past Sue to wanting to brag about him, setting up the constant reminder that someone who she had personally chosen had been mocked and put down so harshly was now succeeding. It didn’t matter that he’d only been on the squad for a few months. In Sue Sylvester’s eyes, no one ever stopped being a Cheerio once they donned the uniform.

“And next time you’re in a show, I expect that you will tell me and have a ticket for me,” she said warningly, a familiar spark that bordered on madness in her eyes. “Because if you don’t, I will personally carve out your right kidney with a grapefruit spoon and sell it on the black market to compensate my hurt feelings. Am I clear?”

He couldn’t help from laughing a bit. “Yes. I promise,” he assured her.

“Good, because I don’t think your boyfriend will be happy to be visiting you in the dialysis unit,” Sue warned playfully.

Kurt’s phone beeped for his attention and he quickly checked it in case it was something important. “Speak of the devil,” he pronounced at seeing that it was a message from Adam.

Sue smiled, amused at the way Kurt’s expression brightened at just receiving a text from his lover. It gratified her that her protégé had found someone worthy of him. “What does he have to say?” she asked, chuckling to herself at the starry-eyed look on Kurt’s face.

Kurt opened up the message and immediately started to laugh. He pressed his hand over his mouth to keep from disturbing the entire café. Adam had texted a photo of him and Nialls at what looked like Boston Commons, both of them with their hands raised in surrender because a man dressed in a colonial military uniform was guarding them at musket point. Adam had added a quick caption, Bad day to be a Brit in Boston.

Kurt handed Sue his phone and watched as she chuckled at Adam’s silly antics, but not in a way that felt like his boyfriend was being mocked.

“I’m glad that you found someone more on your level,” she insisted, handing him back his phone. “He looks like he can keep up with you.”

Kurt nodded. “I’m very happy with him,” he stated confidently.

“Good. I’m glad about that. Otherwise I’d have to take steps,” Sue warned with apparent seriousness. “I have friends in several government agencies that could have him shipped back to England before he could finish his tea.”

“Well, as much as I appreciate the gesture, that won’t be necessary,” Kurt chuckled. “He treats me like absolute royalty and besides… he can’t be deported.”

“Oh?” Sue questioned, one thin eyebrow rising in query.

Kurt couldn’t help from grinning, knowing that he was going to be surprising her. “He’s got dual citizenship,” he boasted, popping the last bit of gingerbread into his mouth.

Sue cocked her head, the surprise apparent in her expression. “Does he now? Well… that does raise my opinion of him a bit.”

“He’s not Blaine,” he assured his former coach. “Not by the furthest stretch of the imagination.”

She nodded evenly, her eyes softening. “That’s good, because if I had any inclination that he was anything at all like that weaselly Muppet that you foolishly allowed yourself to become enamored with, I’d have to arrange for your immediate kidnapping and deprogramming. I know people at Langley that excel in such matters, but I suppose that would put a crimp in your Broadway career aspirations,” she mused.

Kurt laughed at her outlandish threat, accepting that at least the sentiment was sincere. “I think that it would, so I’ll avoid doing anything to warrant such drastic actions,” he promised.

Sue laughed riotously and got a few stares turned in her direction, but she clearly didn’t care about anyone looking. She gazed at him adoringly, reaching out to touch his cheek. “Oh, I’ve missed you. You, Lopez and Fabray… you were my special ones. I saw a lot of me in all of you.”

Kurt smiled, smart enough to recognize what an honor that actually was in Sue’s estimation.

“So make sure that you enjoy your visit here,” she advised. “Take a look around and see how far you’ve come. Because as time goes by, you’re only going to push further away from this place.”

Kurt felt himself nodding, having had very much the same thoughts since he arrived in Lima. He’d long ago made the decision not to let Lima become a trap for him. There was so much waiting for him in New York. Hard work, to be sure, and undoubtedly disappointments with no promise of success. But it was what he hungered for.

He knew that in a few days, he’d be returning to New York. Classes would be starting at the end of the month and he would be moving towards the future he wanted. He looked to his former coach, deeply grateful for all that she had given him.

“I have to thank you,” he said sincerely. “I don’t know if I would have made it out of here if it weren’t for the help you gave me over the years. Or if I’d be able to survive NYADA if I hadn’t experienced learning with you. Surviving you gave me the kind of tough skin I needed.”

Sue chuckled ironically, a touch of color reaching her cheeks. She seemed touched by his statement and a bit at a loss for words. He doubted that too many people thanked her for the insults and teasing, but he recognized how it was helping him now.

“I’d better get going,” he said reluctantly. “I promised my dad that I’d be home for dinner tonight.”

Sue just smiled. “Go on,” she urged. “And say ‘hi’ to Burt for me.”

Kurt nodded and gathered up his trash. Impulsively he bent to quickly kiss Sue on her cheek. “Thank you for everything,” he said again. “I’ll let you know about my next shows.”

It took Sue a moment to recover her wits, but she reached for her wallet and pulled out a business card. “Here’s my personal information,” she said, a suspicious hoarseness in her voice as she tried to maintain her customary air of detachment. “If you need my help… or just to brag about what you’re doing so I can rub it in Schuster’s face.”

Kurt snickered, knowing too well that she would do just that given half a chance.

* * *

“Are you kidding?” Finn asked, astonished at what his stepbrother was telling him. “Sue Sylvester?”

Kurt nodded, laughing out loud. “Finn, I’m telling you that beneath that diamond-hard exterior beats a heart that is pure marshmallow.”

“For you maybe,” Finn said cautiously. “She threatened to rip my spleen out when she thought I’d knocked up Quinn and I didn’t even know what my spleen was at the time.”

“Oh, she’s not that bad,” Kurt insisted, only to be cut off by Finn’s laughter.

“To you! You were one of her favorites,” Finn pointed out. “She would have happily murdered anyone else.”

Kurt leaned back and looked at his brother’s laughing expression on his computer monitor. “Oh, I miss you so much,” he sighed fondly. Finn had always been able to get Kurt to smile. “How are things going down there? The job working out?”

Finn nodded enthusiastically. “It’s been great. You would love it here,” he insisted.

Austin certainly seemed to be agreeing with Finn. He looked tanned and fit and really happy with things. Happier than Kurt could remember him being in quite some time. He seemed to have made some progress on finding his own path, which gratified Kurt tremendously. He’d hated how Finn had felt so lost, but he appeared to be much more secure with himself now.

“And the new apartment is okay?” Kurt asked, glad that his brother had managed to find better accommodations. The one room that he and Puck had managed to find when they first arrived in Austin was neither comfortable nor safe, and Kurt was relieved when they quickly moved out.

“It’s fine,” Finn assured him. “And work has been really great. Our boss has been teaching us a lot and we’ve been going out on a lot of jobs with him. There’s this mansion that we’ve been working on that’s really amazing. Robb, our boss, said that we’re doing so well that he’s giving us a raise and wants us to stay on for good.”

Finn paused, looking a bit contemplative. “You know, I didn’t expect things to turn out this way but I think that it’s really working out well for us. Robb said that we can really do well as craftsmen and I like the work,” he assured Kurt. “He said that if you find something that you’re good at and you like it, you can really be successful if you work hard. And I think I can really see myself this.”

“That’s great, Finn,” Kurt praised happily, delighted that Finn finally seemed to be finding a pathway for himself. “Austin really seems to suit you.”

Finn nodded. “We really like it here. I mean, the people are great and it’s fun and there’s all kinds of stuff to do. Puck and I are looking to put a band together,” he confided. “There are so many clubs down here and the music scene is amazing. We think we might be able to get something going. Just for fun. And we seem to have found another guitarist so we’re off to a good start.”

“I’m so glad, Finn. That sounds amazing!” Kurt said sincerely. He could understand how the two of them might miss music and even if the band turned out to be nothing more than a hobby, it would be good for the both of them.

Finn chuckled to himself. “It’s kind of cool because he moved in with Puck and me. We can share expenses and jam whenever we want,” he explained. “And Robb gave him a job so we can afford to stay here.”

Finn cocked his head. “You want to meet him?” Before Kurt could answer, Finn turned his head and called out, “Hey! I’ve got Kurt on Skype!”

There was a bit of jostling on Finn’s end as the computer image shook and Puck’s face came into view. “Hey, little dude!” he greeted happily. “Good to see you!”

“Hi, Puck!” Kurt couldn’t help from grinning at the sight of his old friend. Like Finn, Puck was looking healthy, tan and happy. Getting out of Lima has definitely been to both of their benefits.

The image on Finn’s end jostled again as the boys shifted so that a third man could squeeze in. Kurt felt his jaw drop in shock at seeing a familiar blond head come into view.

“Sam? Is that you?” he gasped.

Sam’s familiar wide smile came into focus. “Hi Kurt,” he greeted happily. “Bet you’re surprised.”

Kurt nodded, his eyes wide with shock. “You could say that,” he admitted. “How did this happen?”

Sam cocked his head towards the other boys, who sat behind him laughing at Kurt’s reaction. “Well, I’ve been keeping in touch with these bozos and they called me up one day that their boss was looking for more workers and if I was interested in a change of scenery. So, I flew down to Texas last week and the rest is history.”

Finn leaned forward, throwing an arm around Sam’s broad’s shoulders. “It’s really cool,” he told his stepbrother happily. “It’s kind of like us having our own New Directions offshoot down here. All we need is a bassist and we’ll have a proper band.”

Kurt looked at their smiling faces and felt a sense of relief for them. “That’s great,” he stated. “I’m so glad that it’s working out for the three of you.”

Puck gave Finn a playful nudge. “And tell him about Jane,” he urged.

That sparked Kurt’s curiosity. “Jane? Who’s Jane.”

Finn began to blush so deeply that Kurt could see it over his computer, and that got some teasing laughter from the other boys. “I… I kind of started seeing someone,” he confided shyly.

Kurt’s smile widened. “Oh? Tell me more…,” he urged.

“She’s a student over at the university, studying to be a social worker,” he explained. “I met her at this bar where she works as a waitress and we started talking. You’d like her…. She’s really cute and smart and…” His voice trailed off and he started blushing again.

Kurt remembered how moony he’d been when he first met Adam and fully understood what Finn was feeling. “She’s sounds nice,” he agreed. This was the first girl that Finn seemed to be really interested in since his break up with Rachel and Kurt grasped just how big a deal it was for him. It was the last step in Finn moving on.

His phone began to ring for his attention and Kurt quickly checked to see who it was. “Oh, I’ve got Adam trying to call me,” he explained. “Gotta go.”

Finn nodded understandingly. “Okay… say hi to him for us,” he urged.

“I’ll talk to you guys soon,” Kurt promised. “Sam, you keep those two out of trouble!”

“I will,” Sam assured him. “Talk to you soon.”

“Bye Kurt!” Puck chimed in before Finn ended the connection.

Kurt shook his head in amusement at their antics before answering his phone. “Hi sweetie!” he greeted happily, putting his laptop aside.

“Hello darling,” Adam answered and Kurt could all but hear the smile in his voice. “Oh, I miss you!”

“It’s only been two days,” Kurt reminded him, though he wasn’t going to protest as he missed Adam just as much.

“I know,” Adam acquiesced. “But I still miss you.”

Kurt felt his eyes start to water from the emotions that he’d been pushing down all day. “I miss you too,” he confessed. “But you look like you’re having fun.”

Adam laughed a bit. “We had most of the day to ourselves so we did a bit of sightseeing about the city,” he explained. “We visited the Freedom Trail and Independence Hall… I’ll tell you, love, that there seems to be a bit of anti-British bias in all this.”

Kurt chuckled in amusement at the playfully hurt tone in his lover’s voice. “Imagine that,” he teased.

Adam sighed a bit dramatically. “Well, I suppose that’s to be expected,” he granted. “Admittedly this part of history gets a bit glossed over in school across the pond.”

“I assume that it would be,” Kurt laughed. “So, tell me everything. What do they have planned for all of you?”

He could hear Adam settling down more comfortably on the other end. “The hotel is quite nice and I’m rooming with Nialls. Apparently, the others decided that us ‘old marrieds’ should bunk together, but that’s fine. He and I get along well enough. Oh, and we saw the theater this morning and it’s huge! I’ve never performed in a venue this large before.”

“That’s so exciting,” Kurt said happily. “That sounds like it’s going to be amazing. Now what kind of schedule do they have for you?”

“Tomorrow we have a cast and crew meeting that’s probably going to take up a lot of the day,” Adam explained. “And in the afternoon, there’s a meet and greet with the local press so you’ll probably see some things in the next few days before our opening.

“Then we go right into tech and our final dress rehearsals before our opening night,” Adam sighed. “The producers have already warned that most of our run in Boston is selling out. It’s a bit intimidating.”

Kurt wished that he could reach through the phone and wrap his arms about the older man. It broke his heart that Adam was facing such a huge step in his career and that he wasn’t there to support him in person. He knew that Adam was capable of meeting this challenge and that he would be wildly successful, but he wanted to be at his lover’s side to encourage him.

“You have no idea how proud I am of you,” Kurt insisted. “You are going to be so amazing and everyone is going to see what I see in you. You deserve this so much.”

Adam didn’t answer for moment and Kurt thought that he could hear the older man sniffling. “Thank you, darling. But I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for you,” he insisted. “You’ve been so generous in encouraging me, even when it caused difficulty for you. I owe you so much…”

“Hush,” Kurt admonished gently, feeling his heart swell for this wonderful, gentle man. Adam had been so giving and supportive since the two of them first met that he couldn’t imagine not making the same effort for his lover’s benefit. “I’m fine and the next few months are going to go by so quickly for the both of us. Before we know it, your tour will be done and you’ll be back in New York with me.

“And you’ll be the big star that everyone will the clamoring to hire for their shows,” Kurt claimed. “It’ll be worth all the hard work in the end.”

“I hope so,” Adam sighed.

“It will be,” Kurt insisted gently, sensing that Adam needed a bit of metaphysical hand-holding.

He heard Adam huff a bit, as if trying to regain his composure. “Tell me what you’ve been doing, love,” he urged. “How are Burt and Carole?”

Kurt could see a deflection from a mile away but decided that it wasn’t worth pointing out. Adam was going to have to deal with his worries on his own for now. He didn’t want to start an argument right at the start of Adam’s trip.

They chatted quietly about the kind of small, unimportant things that they always discussed when together. Kurt listened to Adam’s amusing stories about the cast and updated him on his family’s antics. They laughed as they shared their stories, both of them wishing that they could be with their partner.

Kurt lay down on his bed and stretched out, cradling his phone against his cheek so he could hear Adam’s voice clearly. He closed his eyes as he listened to Adam regaling him to stories about a group of British expats on the wrong side of American patriotic exhibitions and feeling a bit on display to the other tourists.

“It was so absurd darling, but I thought that this flock of schoolchildren were actually going to demand that we personally apologize for the starting the war,” Adam laughed. “One little boy was eying me very angrily. I thought he was going to start kicking me.”

“You poor thing,” Kurt chuckled teasingly.

“Their teacher was most apologetic,” Adam reassured him. “She reminded her class that none of us had been born at the time and that we shouldn’t be held responsible for what Old King George did.

“Oh… and maybe you can clear up something for me,” he requested. “That bell… why didn’t anyone ever fix the crack? Because it’s looks so odd!”

Kurt just smiled, listening to Adam chatter about the things he’d seen and was content to let his boyfriend tell his stories. He kept his eyes closed so he could imagine that Adam was in the room with him and not several states away. And maybe if he waited long enough, he would feel Adam’s hand reaching out to touch his.

* * *

“See anything interesting?” Kurt asked as he thumbed through the racks of sheet music.

Tina shook her head. “Not really. I just don’t know what my teachers are going to be asking me to do,” she sighed.

The past few days of his vacation had gone quietly for Kurt as he’d settled into something of a routine. He would wake up early, have a cup of coffee and then go out for a quick run. He stopped by the garage a few times to help out, glad to have a chance to see the guys for a bit before he returned to New York and keep his mechanic skills up to snuff. He spent time with his father and preparing meals with Carole. He did some studying for school, rested a bit and talked with Adam every moment that Adam could steal away from his work.

To be honest, he was very much looking forward to getting back to school and what passed for normal in his life at this point. Being at loose ends was wearing on him and he wasn’t very good at coping with not having a hundred things to do at a time. He just wasn’t’ made for inactivity

He had been lazing in front of the television while his father and Carole were out for the day, feeling his brain cells dying one by one from too many hours of appalling stupid daytime television shows. Not sure if he could stand another moment of watching pathetic dramas about paternity claims, he was nearly delirious with gratitude when Tina had called to ask if he could join her at Between The Sheets to help choose some material for the upcoming semester.

Kurt looked at the stack that she’d picked, seeing that she had chosen an assortment of classic and contemporary musicals. “I think you’re off to a good start,” he consoled. “You’ve got a little of everything. Some of these are just perfect to showcase your voice.” And to push her a little out of her comfort zone, he added mentally.

She looked at the books and shrugged. “I guess,” she conceded. “I just wish that I knew myself as a performer a bit more. Rachel never had that problem.”

“That is not true,” he corrected. “Rachel thought that she did and learned the hard way that trying to copy he favorite performers wasn’t going to get her the career she wants. She’s trying to find herself just as much the rest of us are so don’t feel like you’re at a disadvantage. That’s what going to school is supposed to be about. Don’t be afraid to try new things.”

Tina looked over her selections, making sure that the music she had selected was in the key for her voice. “Did you find anything for yourself?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t need any classic musicals and they don’t have too much contemporary for my range,” he admitted. There was a decided lack of anything written specifically for a countertenor’s range, so he was concentrating on traditional tenor material. “I’m going to check out some other stuff.”

While Tina continued her search in the musical theater section, Kurt moved to where the books for other musical genres were kept. Working with the Apples had expanded his comfort zone and he wanted to utilize that more unorthodox material in his voice work in class to help him stand out from the other students. He pulled out a book of Gilbert and Sullivan operettas that looked promising and began to thumb through it. He’d like to be able to surprise his voice teachers with some unorthodox material.

“Kurt?”

He felt himself freeze at the tentative greeting, his shoulders instinctively stiffening. Taking a breath to maintain his calm, Kurt turned to find his ex-boyfriend standing too close for his comfort.

“Blaine,” he said with cool indifference, pleased that he was able to keep any anger out of his voice.

The shorter man gave Kurt a tentative smile. “Hi. I wasn’t sure if I would see you while I was in town,” he said carefully. “I’m home on winter break.”

Kurt nodded. “Dad’s home on winter recess from Congress so I thought I’d spend a little time with him before classes start.”

“That’s nice,” Blaine responded, still clearly trying to gage Kurt’s reactions.

Kurt looked Blaine over, seeing that his olive complexion was darker from the California sun and that he still had the tendency to dress like a color-blind geriatric. And he felt…. He was surprised that he felt nothing. No real anger or frustration or lingering affection. Just a bit of annoyance at being bothered when he had things to do.

It was as if he was looking at a stranger that he had no past or present contact with.

“Is… is your boyfriend with you?” Blaine asked carefully, obviously putting out feelers over Kurt’s current relationship status.

Kurt snorted, not surprised that Blaine either couldn’t be bothered to remember Adam’s name or couldn’t bring himself to actually use it.

“No, Adam is out of town right now on a job. He got cast in a play that’s doing a national tour,” he proclaimed proudly. “And yes, he and I are still together. Just in case you were wondering.”

“No! I mean…. That wasn’t…,” Blaine stammered, clearly caught off guard by Kurt’s blunt assessment of his motives. His cheeks began to burn red. “I just saw you and stopped to say hi. Nothing more, I swear.”

Kurt shrugged, honestly not caring what Blaine’s motives were. “Sam said that you’re going to school in California,” Kurt said indifferently, as if he was making polite party conversation. He eyed Blaine’s gelled helmet of a hairstyle and wondered what the hell he’d ever seen in his former boyfriend.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Tina notice the unwanted intrusion on Kurt’s personal space and gave him a silent signal to see if he wanted her to step in. He shook his head, letting her know to keep her distance, aware that she didn’t want to be around Blaine any more than he did but he was grateful to see that she was ready to step in if needed.

Blaine seemed to brighten a bit at Kurt’s vague knowledge about his current activities, apparently mistaking neutral awareness for genuine interest. He still clearly lacked anything in the way of self-awareness, not realizing that the only real emotion Kurt felt was relief that Blaine was on the opposite side of the country and that he could avoid most of Blaine’s drama.

“Yeah, I’m living with Cooper while I go to UCLA,” he explained, displaying his usual pleasure in discussing anything revolving about himself. “It’s really amazing out there. I’m doing well there in my acting classes and am already being considered for television roles. I met an agent at one of Cooper’s parties and she’s convinced that she can get me a lead role.”

Somehow, Kurt doubted that, though he kept his opinion to himself. The boasting reminded him far too much of the way Rachel used to brag about her questionable achievements in a way to puff herself up when she wanted to impress others. And whether or not it was true, no longer mattered to him.

Kurt was surprised at the lack of anger and resentment he felt towards Blaine. He hadn’t forgotten what Blaine had done, but he realized that he had truly moved on. Blaine and his actions was no longer a factor in his life. The only emotion he felt was gladness that Blaine wasn’t in his life.

He felt himself nodding absently, offering the barest of compliments for whatever fortune Blaine was finding for himself without any emotional investment, good or bad. He didn’t wish any misfortune on Blaine, but he was thankful that that their lives were on completely separate tracks and would likely not be intersecting in anything other than the most superficial way ever again.

“Kurt, listen… It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other. Why don’t we go grab a cup of coffee? My treat,” Blaine offered, a bit desperately in Kurt’s opinion. “We can talk… catch up a little…”

Kurt just shook his head. “No thanks. I’ve got to get going,” Kurt pronounced, a trace of firmness in his voice that warned Blaine not to try to argue him into lingering.

“Oh, come on Kurt,” Blaine whined. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other, and…”

“I said no, Blaine,” Kurt said again, making the refusal as clear as possible since Blaine was determined to be obtuse. “Tina’s waiting for me, but good luck in L.A.”

Blaine’s expression fell at the realization that Kurt was so totally closed off to him. He could only nod in defeat and mutter, “It was good to see you, Kurt. I’ve missed you.”

Kurt didn’t say anything more, only gathering up his purchases to join Tina over by the cash register. She looked over to him with gentle concern while the cashier bagged up her purchases. “You okay?” she asked. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to cut in, but you seemed to be handling him.”

Kurt smiled brightly, openly displaying the emotions that he refused to with Blaine. “Oh, definitely,” he assured her. “Let me just pay for my stuff and we can go grab lunch. There’s a burger joint that opened up that the guys in the garage said is really amazing.”

“Sounds good,” she chirped, accepting the shopping bag with her music.

Neither of the bothered to look behind them to see Blaine’s longing stare, the final realization of just how much he’d lost evident on his face.

* * *

The moment Kurt and Tina walked into Brew & Que, Kurt knew that his father’s employees had it right. The smells coming out of the restaurant kitchen were amazing and Kurt found himself liking the casual atmosphere. The restaurant had been designed to look like a roadhouse, but it was clean and the staff appeared to be friendly.

Tina picked up the menu and looked it over. “Well, there goes my diet,” she laughed when she looked at all the choices. “This all looks so good.”

“You don’t need to diet,” Kurt assured her honestly as he looked over the options. He could see why the guys at the garage liked this place so much, as the overwhelming majority of the menu was meat-based and there didn’t seem to be a low-calorie option in sight. Well, there was a salad but given how woefully out of place it looked on the menu, Kurt decided that it probably wasn’t the best offering.

Once they gave the smiling waitress their orders, Tina settled back in her seat. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked. “I know that Blaine can be a pill and he didn’t look like he wanted to take ‘fuck off’ for an answer.”

Kurt couldn’t help from laughing at his friend’s words. He was so glad that they had reconciled and that he had given her the chance to regain his trust. “I’m starting to think that I’m never going to totally shake him,” he sighed dramatically. “I could be celebrating my ten-year anniversary and I’ll have him showing up, trying to serenade me with Katy Perry. I really wish that he’d meet someone else so he’ll forget about me.”

Tina smiled gently. “You are kind of unforgettable,” she advised. “And I know what it’s like to be hung up on an ex longer than is healthy.”

Kurt’s gaze softened. He hadn’t been around when Tina was dealing with the aftermath of her breakup with Mike, but he had been on the receiving end of some of her poor behavior. He was glad that she woke up and recognized what she’d been doing and only hurting herself before it was too late.

“So, tell me more about your classes,” he urged, changing the conversation to something more pleasant. He didn’t want to discuss Blaine any further.

He let Tina ramble on about her teachers and classmates while they waited for their lunch, giving her his full attention. On some things, NYU didn’t seem all that different than NYADA. Demanding teachers, challenging classes and competitive classmates. Tina was faced with the same challenges that he and Rachel faced; figuring out how to stand out in a school filled with talented students while developing her own unique gifts as a performer.

“Are you taking any dance classes this year?” Kurt asked, sipping at his iced tea. “You should do well in that.”

She nodded. “Dance, voice and acting,” she confirmed. “I’m going to have a pretty full schedule.”

“How are your teachers?”

Tina couldn’t help wincing. “Tough,” she sighed.

“That’s good,” he assured her. “I know that it doesn’t feel like it at times, but the tougher they are, the better a performer you’re going to become. The key is to learn to take criticism and use it to grow. Not let it demoralize you.

“You know, you can always talk to Elliot if you’re feeling a little overwhelmed,” he reminded her. “He’s still at NYU, and I’m sure he’d be glad to help.”

Tina smiled gratefully. “Thanks,” she said sincerely. “There are times when I envy you and Rachel being able to support one another at school. I feel kind of on my own.”

“Well, you’re not,” Kurt promised. “Just because I’m at NYADA doesn’t mean that I can’t be there if you need me. NYU isn’t that far away.”

Tina couldn’t resist reaching out to grasp his hand in gratitude. “Thank you, Kurt,” she said earnestly. “I’m so glad that we’re still friends. Especially after how I treated you. I was such a jerk, and…”

“Shush. It’s fine,” Kurt insisted gently. “We went through a rough patch, but we’re good now.”

And they were. Kurt recognized what a dark place Tina had been in and that Blaine had taken advantage of her vulnerability, playing with her feelings in order to make himself feel better about his lot in life. Holding a grudge would not do either one of them any good. And it would give Blaine a win by letting him destroy a friendship that Kurt had cherished. He was sure that Blaine must have been annoyed to see Tina with him and not willing to give him even a word of greeting.

He probably should feel a trace of sympathy for his ex. After all, he was the one exiled to the other end of the country with none of his old friends to support him, but Kurt didn’t have quite that much nobility in him. There was just enough vindictive pettiness within him to take a rare bit of pleasure in Blaine’s misfortune.

“Kurt Hummel! Is that you?”

Kurt looked up in surprise at the familiar voice calling his name and grinned when he saw Dave Karofsky approaching their table with a huge grin on his face.

“Oh my God,” Kurt exclaimed happily, letting the bigger man sweep him up into a hug. “How long has it been?”

“Too long,” Dave admitted, letting Kurt find his feet again. He looked Kurt over from head to toe. “Wow…. You look fantastic.”

“Thanks! So do you.” And Dave did look good, in Kurt’s opinion. He was still a big, brawny young man but he was solid muscle underneath his snug fitting shirt. But what made him good looking was the brightness of his brown eyes and the open smile that contained none of the anger that had so marked him back in high school.

“You remember Tina, right?” Kurt asked, motioning to his table-mate.

Dave nodded animatedly, offering her a warm smile. “It’s good to see you,” he greeted sincerely.

“So how are things at OSU?” Kurt asked curiously.

“Good… good,” Dave confirmed. “It’s been great there.”

“You still majoring in sports business?”

Before Dave could answer, a tall young man approached him with a warm smile. “Hey, I paid the check. Are you ready to go?”

Dave’s eyes softened at the other man’s approach. “Hey, come here… I’ve got someone I want you to meet. Taylor, this is Kurt… from my high school.”

He looked to Kurt, with a gentle smile on his face. “This is Taylor. My boyfriend.”

Kurt’s eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly remembered his manners and moved to shake the other man’s hand in greeting. “Hi! This is… wow… It is so good to meet you.”

Dave’s boyfriend was a good looking young man with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes that seemed to glimmer with spirit. He appeared to be about Kurt’s and Dave’s age and was dressed neatly in a pair of dark wash jeans and a soft knit sweater that clung to surprisingly broad shoulders.

And it didn’t miss Kurt’s attention that Taylor bore more than a fleeting resemblance to himself, and he turned a teasing arched eyebrow to the larger man. Dave just gave a small shrug, as if to say, “Hey, I’ve got a type.”

Taylor seemed just as surprised at the unexpected introduction. “So, you’re the Kurt he’s always talking about,” he laughed. “Dave was always going on about you and how I reminded him of you a bit so I feel like I probably already know you.”

Kurt felt his cheeks warm. He probably shouldn’t be too surprised that Dave apparently still regarded him so strongly.

Dave placed his arm about Taylor’s shoulders and pulled him close. “Taylor’s also a student at OSU. We met when he came to see a rugby game that I was playing in.”

The other boy laughed brightly. “I was actually there to cheer on my cousin when I saw Dave. He was totally adorable pushing around the other guys and totally kicking butt.”

Dave blushed at his boyfriend’s compliments and Kurt noticed the way the slimmer man leaned in to nuzzle teasingly under Dave’s jaw. To see Dave so easily accepting physical affection warmed Kurt’s heart because he knew just how fearful Dave had been when he was younger. It was gratifying to see just how far Dave had come. And if he had any worries that Dave’s attraction to Taylor was because of any resemblance to Kurt, the genuine affection between the two of them put his mind at least. Dave clearly liked his boyfriend for himself and not any lingering torch he might have carried.

“You’re home visiting your folks?” Kurt asked. Dave looked so happy and he hoped that everything was well with his family.

“Yup,” the larger man confirmed. “I wanted them to meet Taylor since we’ve been together for a while. Dad’s just happy that I’m happy, and Mom… she’s learning to deal.”

Kurt nodded sympathetically, knowing that Mrs. Karofsky was still learning to accept that her son was gay. Still, it sounded like she was trying, which was a lot better than the outright rejection Dave had experienced when he was first outed.

“We’re going up to Dayton to spend a few days with Taylor’s family before we head back to school,” Dave explained. “This is kind of the ‘meet the mutual folks’ tour.”

“And they’re gonna love you,” Taylor insisted.

“So, what are you doing in Lima?” Dave asked. “I would think you’d have to be pried out of New York with a crowbar.”

He turned to his boyfriend and explained, “This guy is at the best singer you ever heard. He got into this super-elite theater school. It’s like the best in the country.”

Tina couldn’t help from laughing at Dave’s effusive praise of her friend. “Careful Kurofsky, or you’re going to make your boyfriend jealous,” she teased.

“You’re mine, big guy,” Taylor reminded his boyfriend possessively. “And I don’t share, so don’t forget it.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to do that,” Dave agreed, giving Taylor an affectionate glance. “We already saw what happens if he thinks that someone is poaching.”

Kurt found himself liking Dave’s guy, if only for the fact that he seemed completely head over heels for his former classmate.

Dave gave Kurt a rueful grin. “We were at Scandals the other night and ran into your ex,” he admitted. “Taylor was in the bathroom and Blaine… Well, he started hitting on me.”

He paused, gaging Kurt’s reaction to that bit of news but Kurt just sighed.

“I’m not surprised, to be honest,” Kurt said evenly. “That’s a primary reason why he’s my ex. Was he drunk?”

Dave nodded. “He’d definitely been drinking. And he was really pushy. He kept going on about… well, about what happened back in high school and that I could do so much better.”

Kurt couldn’t help from wincing. After the way Blaine had behaved at the music store, he was left wondering if Blaine had any real feelings at all besides his own immediate gratification. Trying to use Dave’s old crush to entice him seemed to be just the kind of childish pettiness that was up Blaine’s alley. And trying to use Dave to get back at Kurt for rejecting him really ticked him off.

“Anyway, this one,” Dave continued, giving his boyfriend a playful nudge. “He comes out of the bathroom and…”

“I see this badly dressed, drunk creep all over my boyfriend and I told him that if he didn’t remove his hands from my man, then I was going to rip his arms off and beat him over his greasy head with them.”

Taylor laughed wickedly. “You never saw someone back pedal so fast in your life!”

“And he would have done it!” Dave insisted, giving Taylor and affectionate look. Having someone that looked like him being treated with such possessiveness was more than a little satisfying.

Looking at Taylor’s hands, Kurt had to agree with Dave’s assessment. They were surprisingly strong-looking, with unexpected calluses on the fingers and palms that hinted at a lot of hard physical activity. The young man’s forearms were corded with powerful muscle and sinew. Paired with those strong shoulders, there was a lot of upper body strength there. Taylor looked like he could probably lift Dave without too much effort.

Dave couldn’t resist leaning close to Kurt and whispering confidingly, “He’s on the gymnastics team.”

Kurt cocked an eyebrow. “Impressive.”

Dave nodded, looking very pleased with himself. “He’s super bendy.”

Kurt couldn’t help from laughing. He was genuinely happy for Dave, glad that he was finally in a good place and seemed really content with his life. That was all Kurt could have ever wanted for him.

“Are you still seeing that guy you met at school?” Dave asked curiously.

Kurt nodded and got out his phone. “Yup. Adam’s working on a national tour right now, but we’re still together.”

“They’re disgustingly in love,” Tina inserted, giving her friend an affectionate smile.

Kurt pulled up a photo of the two of them from Thanksgiving and showed it to Dave and Taylor.

“Oh, he’s gorgeous,” Taylor cooed admiringly. He looked to Kurt and nodded in approval. “Very nice.”

Kurt smiled proudly. “We know how to pick the good ones,” he informed Taylor, causing Dave to blush.

And Dave was a good guy to Kurt. He’d come so far from the fearful, bullying boy he’d been and was now a man who was confident and open about who and what he was. It was wonderful to see.

When the waitress returned with Kurt’s and Tina’s lunch, Dave stepped back. “It was great to see the both of you, but we’d better get going,” he said graciously. “I promised my dad that we’d spend the afternoon with him.”

Kurt nodded, turning to shake Taylor’s hand again. “It was really great meeting you,” he insisted sincerely. “Take good care of the big guy here.”

Taylor nodded. “I will. Good luck back in New York.”

Kurt smiled appreciatively, glad to see that Dave had found himself a really good guy. He turned to give Dave a hug. “Take care of yourself,” he urged. “And let’s make sure that we keep in touch more.”

“You got it,” Dave confirmed. He glanced over to Tina and gave her a friendly wave. “It was nice to see you, Tina.”

She smiled back. “You too!”

Once the two men left, Dave’s arm casually thrown around the other man’s shoulders to keep him close, Kurt and Tina sat down to enjoy their lunch. Tina picked up a french fry and popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“It’s funny,” she mused. “Some people change so much and others… they don’t really change at all. Do they?”

Kurt knew that Tina was talking about Blaine and sad realization that the behaviors he’d been displaying of late were his true colors showing through. And that he probably had been showing for a very long time. And that it hurt to have loved and trusted someone who clearly had been so unworthy of that consideration.

And he wasn’t the same person that he’d been when he first left Lima. He was discovering strengths and desires that he’d barely begun to tap. He could see the boy he’d been when his father first put him on a plane for New York and the man who had returned for a brief visit.

All they could do was take what they had learned from the experience and move on. Kurt took a bite from his burger and took a moment to savor the taste, putting Blaine from his mind. He had so much to look forward to in life and it was something of relief that his old relationship no longer haunted him quite so strongly.

Blaine, like Lima itself, could hold him back only if he permitted them to. And he had long since made the decision that they wouldn’t.

He had dreams to follow and Blaine had long since ceased to be a part of them.

* * *

The last days of Kurt’s visit home were pleasant and easy ones. He allowed Carole to mother him, and spent quiet hours with her and his father to reconnect. He rested and prepared for his upcoming classes and rehearsals. He hung around with his friends who were in town. And he spoke with Adam every moment that his boyfriend could spare during his tech preparations.

Still, he would be lying if he tried to claim that he wasn’t glad to be returning to New York. Back where he really belonged.

He nearly went back to the apartment that he’d shared with Adam, only recognizing after he stepped onto the subway with his luggage in tow that he couldn’t go back there again. A change of trains brought him to NYADA, which would now be his base of operations in all things

His room in the dorms was stark and bare, the only amenities being the bed, dresser and desk that had clearly seen a lot of wear and tear since they were installed. The cinderblock wall behind his bed was painted a clean white, providing him with a blank canvas that he could transform into his own space. The boxes and bags containing his possessions sat on the floor, waiting to be unpacked.

Kurt sighed to himself, the realization of what the next few months would really entail finally hitting him. But there was no use in moping, not when he had things to do. Adam needed him to be strong enough to stand on his own two feet while the older man was away and the last thing that Kurt wanted to do was disappoint him. He needed to be able to do this for the both of them.

With quiet resolve, he took up the box cutter and opened up the first box. A framed photo of himself and Adam took a prominent spot on the desk where he would be able to see it from anywhere in the room. After that, the rest of things would fall into place.

#kadam fic #kurt hummel #adam crawford #rachel berry #santana lopez #tina cohen chang #artie abrams #burt hummel #carole hudson #finn hudson #sam evans #noah puckerman #dave kurofsky #blaine anderson #not blaine or klaine friendly #original characters

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mittensmorgul · 8 years

Note

Have we ever seen waffles on the show, outside of Dean buying Sam a waffle maker as a wedding present? What if waffles symbolize marriage? Destiel could "go canon" with Dean and Cas eating waffles together. They could even have strawberry syrup.

A short history of waffles on Supernatural:

7.05: Dean mockingly compares Don’s affair, which he refers to as a “thing,” with a waffle iron (after Sam mockingly compared that “thing” to a shoe or a golf club… and I can’t help imagining Sam’s still lamenting the loss of that one shoe here)

7.08: Dean buys Sam and Becky a waffle iron as a wedding present (as you mentioned in your ask). They never get to EAT the waffles, but Becky clobbers Sam over the head with it when she runs out of love potion.

8.18: Victor makes the kids Krissy’s favorite breakfast– waffles. They were the only thing her dad knew how to cook

10.18: Metatron eats a whipped cream covered stack of waffles while Cas glares at him and refuses to forgive Metatron for having killed Dean. Metatron experiences embarrassing intestinal distress…

11.03: When Sam and Dean are questioning Cas about Metatron and where he might be hiding, Cas suggests that they look at places that serve waffles, because Metatron seemed fond of them… to Dean’s frustration, because that narrowed it down to pretty much every restaurant in the country… :P

11.05: Poor Len who had his soul eaten by Amara, listing of all the stuff he used to care about that he just… doesn’t care about anymore. “Kitten videos, chicken and waffles, eucalyptus scent. I don’t care for it anymore. Used to swoon for dark, curly hair. Now, not so much. Do you think I had a stroke? Or maybe it’s a brain tumor. What’s really freaky is all the stuff that used to make my skin crawl now seems … eh.” Nope, sorry Len. You lost your soul.

11.08: In a flashback to his childhood, Sam’s chatting with Sully, playing a very imaginative game about things they’d imagined could be true. One of Sully’s “ever think…” items is “Okay. Ever think… you could eat ten waffles in one sitting?” And Sam replies, “I hope so. When I’m big.”

And that’s all the waffle references I could find in the entire series. So, what does it all mean?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I’m gonna go eat some waffles now.

Okay, the waffles inspired me. I don’t think they symbolize marriage. At all. They seem to function as a non-alcoholic version of El Sol. Sort of a sweeter and more innocent form of illusion or deception (but that’s not exactly the right word here…). Let me try to explain.

In 7.05, Dean (rather mockingly) compares an extramarital affair (a deception!) to a waffle iron.

in 7.08, Sam and Becky’s entire relationship is a sham (a deception!) pulled off with a love potion, via the assistance of a demon. Dean shows his grudging acceptance of “Sam’s love for Becky” by giving them a waffle iron. And then Sam gets clobbered with it when he begins to see through the deception (when the love potion wears off)

in 8.18, Victor used the waffles to further his manipulation of Krissy (a deception!) by cementing his role as her “new father figure” by using her own fond memories of her dad against her as leverage.

in 10.18, Metatron’s first meal as a human is waffles. (recall if you will he’s eaten before, as an angel, but it was CREPES, not waffles). There’s a twisty knot of deception going throughout that entire scene, as we expect from a Robbie Thompson episode, tbh. Metatron’s leading Cas on a veritable wild goose chase to retrieve his own grace. He’s playing his usual Metatron avoidance games, baiting and taunting Cas all the way. And yet… the waffles give him serious indigestion. Ew. But he nearly uses that excuse to escape from Cas. (deceptions within deceptions covered in whipped cream)

in 11.03, Cas recalls Metatron’s fondness for waffles, but heck it also reminds me of Cas’s plan to evade capture in 8.21, popping between Biggersons restaurants (i.e. Dean’s “every restaurant in the country” remark). If the only thing they have to track Metatron down now is waffles, Metatron’s effectively occupying that same quantum superposition that Cas did… but it’s all still a deception, because Metatron can’t be doing that. He’s human. And also a self-important jerk who hasn’t learned to love humanity yet. Just our “stories.” There’s like nine layers of deception going on here.

in 11.05, poor Len can’t understand why he doesn’t feel the same passion, joy, and love for the things that always made him feel something. Including chicken and waffles (is anyone else really hungry for chicken and waffles right now?). It’s all beyond his reach, and he’s trying to understand why. Without a soul, he’ll never feel anything for it again. And Dean gets it, because he’s just spent a year and a half struggling with the Mark of Cain, and heck Len’s soul is gone for good, but Dean’s soul is finally his own again… He can go taste those waffles if he wants.

in 11.08 (called JUST MY IMAGINATION, ffs) little Sam imagines he’ll be able to eat 10 waffles in one sitting when he’s big. Which was a scenario proposed by his literal IMAGINARY friend, as part of a GAME of SPECULATION. Basically, DAYDREAMING up IMPOSSIBLE THINGS they’ve thought about doing. Putting waffles in the same category as the ability to fly and running away from the hunting life… >.>

So yeah. Waffles are the non-alcoholic food-equivalent, slightly sweeter and more family friendly version of El Sol beer.

And dangit, now I’m thinking about the pancakes in 3.11. The first time Sam goes into that diner on his first Tuesday, he orders a short stack. Then the trickster’s switching up the syrup on his own pancakes is what gives away the first part of the trick… Deception and illusion… Nearly identical to waffles… just… flatter. :P

Do I have to go through and find all the relevant pancake-related stuff now too?

ETA: Episode 12.11, Regarding Dean, for the chocolate, strawberry, and whipped cream soaked MOUNTAINS of waffles he consumed after he’d been hexed into losing his memories. And how “the girl from the waffles” functioned in 12.11 EXACTLY THE SAME WAY Carmen from the El Sol ad functioned in 2.20, because this is just too much.

#Anonymous #the waffle masterpost #i need to make a masterpost of all the masterposts tbh #spn 7.05 #spn 7.08 #spn 8.18 #spn 10.18 #spn 11.03 #spn 11.05 #spn 11.08 #spn 8.21 #spn 3.11 #the abominable cheeseburger #somehow all my food-related meta seems to get filed there :P #spn 12.11 #CAN WE OFFICALLY JUST CALL THEM THE BREAKFAST FOOD OF DECEPTION NOW?!

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thecoliverlibrary · 8 years

Text

Simple Gifts

Gift Type: Fan fiction Title: Simple Gifts Author: @biclasstrash Recipient: @samwhambam Rating: Teen Word Count: 2795 Summary: Connor and Oliver look back on the moment they got the greatest gift they’ve ever gotten Author’s Note: Ama means “father” in Tagalog.

The multicolored lights twinkled in sporadic patterns, splashing a rainbow display against the wall. The colored lights blended in with the white lights that hung along the ceiling, now on a dimmer setting now that nighttime has fully encroached. On the coffee table and mantel piece, extending out to the kitchen, were paper plates and cups and silverware, showing the remnants of the party they had, with the plates housing cookie crumbs and finger foods, including an entire baguette, that surely has gone stale by now even mere hours after it was opened on the kitchen island. The floor was a war zone of wrapping paper and bows, boxes and toys that were hugged and fawned over by a little girl, big brown eyes wide and bright with each new present she opened, loving each one a new guest brought her.

Also on the floor, was that same little girl, eyes closed and thumb in her mouth, one arm wrapped around the doll crafted to look just like her, matching PJ’s and all. Her soft, wild and curly dark hair splayed out along the festive Christmas rug they laid out for the occasion.

Emerging from the kitchen was Oliver, having just finished putting most of the desserts away to the fridge. He was still tall and lean, walking with more confidence than he’s ever had these days. Now in his mid-thirties, he retired his contacts and opted for classy lenses that framed and brought out his handsome face. His hair, still thick and full, housed more silver strands, though he did not fear those anymore. He glanced around the living room at the mess he, Connor, his daughter and his guests made. His eyes found the floor and he smiled fondly at his sleepy little girl, understandably beat from the day’s events. He knelt next to her and extended his arm.

“Tala? Tala sweetie?” Oliver asked softly, gently shaking his daughter’s shoulder.

Tala’s eyes creaked open, looking around then wiped the hair out of her eyes with a pudgy arm.

“Mhmh?” she mumbled.

“Looks like someone is ready for bed, you sleepy?”

Tala’s slow nod was the only answer he needed. She sat up as much as her little arms could, and then raised them.

“Come on, honey,” he murmured, scooping her up in his arms with ease. She wrapped her arms around his neck instantly, resting her head on his shoulder. She held her doll—Jasmine—tightly.

“Did you have a good Christmas?” Oliver asked as he made his way up the stairs, watching his footing as the light grew dimmer the higher they went.

“Mhm,” she mumbled sleepily.

“Did Santa give you everything you wanted?”

“Yeah, Jasmine’s my favorite,” she said.

“I’m glad, I’ll be sure to let Santa know you liked everything,” Oliver chuckled.

The pair made it to her room, decked out in pink and purple, the butterfly theme apparent from the bedding to the wall decals. As soon as Tala’s feet hit the fluffy sheets she scrambled out of Oliver’s arms and crawled into bed, eager to hit the pillow.

“Ama?” she asked.

“Mhm?”

“Can I write letters to Auntie Michaela and Auntie Laurel tomorrow? I liked the clothes Auntie Michaela got me, and the art set Auntie Laurel got me. Can I, please?”

Oliver’s heart did a flip; how did his daughter know about gratitude? She was only five but had consideration far better than most adults he knew.

“I think they would like that a lot. You want me and Daddy to help you?”

Tala nodded enthusiastically despite her fatigue.

“Yeah!”

“Well great, but you should get some sleep first, huh?” Oliver coaxed softly, earning another nod from his daughter.

Tala buried herself deeper into the covers, pulling her stuffed sheep close to her, sandwiched between her and Jasmine.

“I’m happy I had a good Christmas,” she said, eyes growing heavy again.

“Me too; Daddy and I will see you in the morning okay? He’ll make pancakes.”

“Goodnight, Ama,” she whispered.

“Goodnight, love,” Oliver replied, leaning down to kiss her forehead before switching on her night light, flickering off her lamp, and closing the door behind him.

He stood outside her room until he heard the soft snores. Smiling, he went downstairs to turn off the lights on the tree and those around the house before going to his room.

“Is she asleep now?” Connor asked when Oliver entered, putting setting his new tablet on the nightstand.

“Uh huh, out like a light. I think we Christmas’d her out,” he said, toeing off his slippers and crawling into bed.

“We nailed it again,” Connor said coolly, swinging his feet off the bed and moving to the dresser to fish out pajamas. “Has it really been five years already?” Connor asked after a beat.

Oliver chuckled and meandered into the bathroom and turned on the sink. “I can’t believe it either. When we first adopted her it looked as though we would never get the hang of it. Remember that one night, when she slept through it for the first time. All thanks to you, remember?” Oliver called, talking over the sink.

“Of course I do,” murmured Connor.

oOoOoOo

Connor and Oliver have since left Philadelphia behind, uprooting themselves to New York. Connor graduated from Columbia Law with highest honors, passing the Bar with flying colors, and joining a firm that specializes in family and LGBTQ rights that was begging for them to be a part of it. Oliver was hired by Lincoln Center, joining their marketing team and enjoying his job for what felt like the first time. In those first new months and years, Connor and Oliver would have long talks about how happy they were, how calm they were. They woke up in the morning with contentment and excitement about their days ahead, knowing they did what made them happy and what they were passionate in. They spent countless nights talking about the future, then one night Connor said,

“What if we adopted a child? Remember when we said we wanted to have kids?”

And that was that.

As soon as they mentioned the word adoption to Michaela in passing one afternoon she was over, she e-mailed Oliver every possible article and resource on adoption laws the next day. This led the couple to pouring over article after article, revising their application again and again until they got it right. They agreed to adopt internationally, a baby girl from the Philippines.

Their application wasn’t all a walk in the park. Even though it was five years ago, Connor still winces at the memory of being late for the home inspection. It was raining and cold and he was forty-five minutes late—thanks to rush hour on the subway and being held up for a dangerous amount of time at the office. Once he made it home, he threw himself into the door, soaking wet and hair disheveled, shaking hands with the social worker who wore her impatience and annoyance like a badge. Thanks to Oliver, they passed, and that stage was complete. His mood and expression, going from jovial and welcoming for the woman, quickly turned into disgust and anger the moment the door closed.

This led to one of their biggest fights, Oliver hurling words at Connor, accusing him of not taking this seriously. Connor spit back with words about income and who makes more at their job—hitting below the belt, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth, the living room heavy with silence.

Oliver just stared at him, tears welling in his eyes before retreating to their bedroom, slamming the door behind him. A quick text to Carmen—a fellow lawyer at the firm—a friend he’s gotten to know, and he was out the door, needing to cool off, mentally punching himself for allowing the anger to get the better of him.

It was about four hours before Connor came back home, apologizing profusely to Oliver, whose eyes were red and puffy from crying. An exchange of apologies and deep breathing later, they agreed to put that behind them and move on to the next steps in the process.

After what felt like years, the wait was over. Oliver still thinks back to the day they got the call. It was a brisk afternoon in March on a lazy Saturday. Oliver’s phone buzzed and picked it up in a matter of seconds, trying to hide his shaking voice when the agency said that everything went through. They booked a round trip to Manila that afternoon and were on the plane four days later. Connor and Oliver clutched their hands together from the cab ride to the airport to the drive to the agency in Manila.

Oliver looked at the tiny bundle in his arms, skin and eyes matching his. Her name was Tala, 8 weeks old, with tufts of dark hair framing her face. Connor sobbed when he first held her, not really believing what he was seeing. After months of grueling stress and uncertainty, they made it.

She was here, she was their daughter.

This was real.

Their dream-like state was over, as they were now fully immersed into parenthood. This meant early morning feedings and never-ending crying and lack of sleep. There was a day where Tala cried for hours straight. Connor and Oliver were so distraught after they tried everything they thought would help her stop, they took her to the hospital. After the doctor said it was normal and gave them ways to calm her even if for a little while, they returned home. It was as if Tala knew where they went and how distressed her dads were, for she finally decided to stop.

Connor’s heart broke into a million pieces when Oliver, who was often level headed and more rational of the two, slid down the wall and burst into tears, the kind that shake the whole body and pour out endlessly. Connor slid to the floor and held him tight, eventually letting tears fall as well, the stress of the day and past days getting to the both of them.

“I can’t…I don’t know how to do this, I don’t know what to do…” Oliver sobbed.

“We can…we can do this. We’ll do it together…it’ll get better,” Connor assured Oliver, hoping his words were true.

A few weeks have passed and the jitters and stress wore off….a little. The couple developed a system, switching off who does the bathing and feeding and bedtime lulling if Tala wakes up in the middle of the night as she often did. When Oliver oversaw getting her back to sleep, he would sing a lullaby in Tagalog that his mother taught him. Connor would sneak around the corner of her little nursery and hear Oliver sing; his deep, smooth voice would get her to sleep in a matter of minutes. Connor would peer some more and see Oliver’s content face as he gazed at his daughter, even if there were bags under his eyes, Oliver was still the most beautiful man Connor ever saw, forever grateful that he could share this life with him.

There was one time when it was Connor’s turn; and he hear her low cry turn louder and shriller. He staggered out of bed and to her nursery and took her out of the crib, her little face red and wet, her hands balled into fists. He scooped her up and made his way over to the rocking chair.

“Okay, honey okay. Shh, shh I’m here I’ve got you,” he whispered, gently rocking back and forth in the chair. He kissed the top of her head and kept rocking.

“Hey, you wanna hear a song? Your grandma sang it to me when I was a baby,” he whispered. He straightened up in the chair, cleared his throat and began to sing.

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li, Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Hush now, don’t you cry. Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li, Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, That’s an Irish lullaby.

He looked down at Tala, whose crying was replaced with small hiccups. He took a thumb and wiped her tears away.

Over in Killarney, many years ago, My mother sang a song to me in tones so soft and low. Just a simple little ditty in her good old Irish way, And I’d give the world if I could hear that song of hers today.

He rocked the chair in time with the song, holding her closer.

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li, Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Hush now, don’t you cry. Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li, Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, That’s an Irish lullaby.

Connor looked down and saw Tala’s face, once scrunched up in distress, was sweet and content, long eyelashes dusting her chubby cheeks.

Connor sighed and let himself relax, huffing out a breath of triumph that he got her to sleep. He kissed her on the forehead again before gently setting her back down in the crib.

He went back to the room and got under the covers, Oliver’s form snuggled in the sheets. Connor was just about to close his eyes when,

“I heard that,” said the sleep rough voice next to him.

“Hmm?”

“I heard your singing just now. Where’d you learn that song?”

“My mom used to sing it to Gemma and me; I asked her to send me the words.”

Oliver turned in the bed to face him, “it was beautiful,” he murmured.

Connor waved an exhausted hand, “No it wasn’t. Just something I did on the fly.”

“No, it was. I think that’s the first time you sang to her huh?”

“I guess so.”

Oliver snuggled closer to the other man, “You should sing to her more often, I think she likes it.”

“Maybe I will. Hey, Oliver?”

“Yeah?”

“We’ll get the hang of this, right?” Connor asked softly, voice a little shaky.

“Yeah, yeah we will. I know we will.”

They eventually did, watching their child grow and learn new things while learning how to day each day one at a time. Tala quickly became the stars of the couple’s social media, flooding Instagram and Facebook with pictures and videos of her. They took her on trips to different parks and museums, loving the way her eyes would light up at a statue in the museum or at a big tree in the park. She was their pride and joy.

The day after Christmas

Connor felt strong arms wrap around his middle, pulling him slightly away from the stove, the pancake batter bubbling to form in it. He smiled when he felt Oliver’s chest press against his back.

“Good morning to you, too,” he murmured, bringing Oliver’s hand to his lips and kissing along the knuckle.

“’morning, is Tala still asleep?”

“I checked up on her ten minutes ago and she was still sleeping like a log,” Connor turned from the stove and wrapped his arms around Oliver’s shoulders, “so that means we could, you know,” he said smirking.

“Oh my god, no!”

“Come on, five minutes! We’ve done it in less time,” Connor whined.

“Just focus on the pancakes, sir.”

Connor pouted, “you’re no fun,” he said turning back to the stove.

“I am the most fun,” Oliver replied fixing his cup of coffee.

Oliver smiled when he heard the light chuckle from Connor, and a comfortable silence floated into the kitchen. It was a moment of post-holiday calm in the wake of a hectic season, and the cozy warmth of the house went well to compete with the inevitable December chill outside. Connor let himself sigh softly, a little domestic silence was good every once in a while.

That silence did not last for very long when they heard Tala’s excited feet bound down the stairs. Her eyes glinted when she saw her fathers together.

“Daddy!” she cried, running and latching on to Connor’s leg. He put down the spatula and lifted his daughter up, spinning for a moment before peppering her little face with kisses.

“And how’s the princess doing today?”

“Good,” she piped.

“Someone’s excited today. Hey, where’s Jasmine?” Oliver asked playfully, walking over and kissing Tala’s cheek.

“She’s still sleeping, we had a long day yesterday and stuff,” Tala whispered, as if her doll could hear her conversation from upstairs.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Oliver whispered, playing along.

“It’s pancake day, would you like strawberries or chocolate chips?” Connor asked, putting Tala down and letting her walk to the kitchen table.

“Both!”

“That’s a way to do it, coming right up,” Connor said, heading back to the stove.

Oliver gazed at Tala with a fond smile, loving at the way her feet kicked happily while she danced a little in the chair. He walked back over to the stove and wrapped an arm around Connor’s shoulder.

“Yeah, we got this,” he murmured kissing Connor’s cheek.

#coliversecretsanta #HTGAWM #connor walsh #oliver hampton #coliver #one shot #T #5k #fic #css gift #submission

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