Romantik/intimität - Altmodisch (Für’s Team)
Titel: Like That
Challenge: Romantik/intimität - Altmodisch (Für’s Team)
Fandom: Band of Brothers
Charaktere: Eugene Roe’s parents
Sprache: Englisch
Team: Schwarz
Kommentar: *schleift sich rein* *liefert ab* *schleift sich raus*
He knows that his wife believes him to be unobservant, but he’s been married for over 25 years, dammit, and he knows that his wife doesn’t usually have an air of veiled anxiety around her when she’s preparing herself for bed.
Like That
He can tell something is up as soon as she enters the bedroom. He knows that his wife believes him to be unobservant, but he’s been married for over 25 years, dammit, and he knows that his wife doesn’t usually have an air of veiled anxiety around her when she’s preparing herself for bed.
So he watches as she carefully pulls the door shut behind her and fusses with her hair in front of the mirror and he waits for the other shoe to drop.
“We need to talk.” There it is, the sentence that all spouses dread. Still he keeps his composure as he slowly puts the book away and sets his reading glasses down onto the nightstand.
He has to wait until she has slipped into her nightgown and sat down onto the bed. By that time, he’s anxious himself, and her next sentence doesn’t make him feel much better. “He’s buying a house.”
On the one hand he is relieved. He knows that he isn’t the perfect husband, but he tries, so he’s glad that this night’s topic isn’t that he should spend more time with the family or when - for the love of god - he was planning to take care of that engine problem of their car. On the other hand his second least-favorite topic to discuss right now is his youngest son, because he knows exactly where that is gonna end and he doesn’t like it one bit.
“I heard.” He sits up to lean against the headboard. “The boy needs a job, not a house. How is he even going to afford that? I know he put money away, but -“
“He’s going to share it with his friend.” She watches him carefully like he might explode like a grenade.
Instead he just deflates like a hot air balloon, sinking into himself. For the past weeks he had been trying to ignore his gut feeling (and honestly, he had been trying to ignore it for far longer where his son was concerned), but at least then he could pretend he didn’t know.
He opens his mouth, closes it again, then he just says: “I don’t like this.”
She slips underneath her blanket and then joins him at the headboard. “He needs this.”
“People will talk.”
“I know.” Her voice is soft and gentle and somehow that makes it worse, like she’s already come to terms with it while he’s still at the beginning.
He gets up to get his pipe from the dresser, stuffing and lighting it under her slightly disdainful eyes. The first drag calms him down a bit and helps him think.
“He’s not like that”, he says slowly, as if to convince himself.
“Yes”, she says calmly. “He is.”
He chews on his pipe for a moment. “Did we do something wrong?”
“I don’t know.” She sighs. “But he’s still our son. And he’s alive, we didn’t get him back in a coffin like so many other families! We should be grateful.”
“I am.” And he is. He’s seen the neighbors when they got the letter, he knows what could have happened. And still…
Her eyes follow him as he starts walking up and down the carpet in front of their bed. “He can’t do this alone. He needs somebody.”
He takes his pipe out of his mouth long enough to say: “Does it have to be this lanky Irish boy?”
She clucks her tongue. “His name is Babe, and you like him.”
He blows out the smoke and watches it curl under the ceiling. “He’s alright, I guess”, he admits grudgingly. In fact, they’d had a nice game of cards a few nights ago after she’d gone to bed, but he’s not about to tell her that.
He turns back towards the window, then makes another five steps towards the door before throwing her another glance. She looks very composed sitting there, even in her pink nightgown. “You’re fine with this?”
Her answer is simple. “I want him to be happy.”
A long sigh is all he can come up with as a reaction.
It’s not like he’s blind. He knows his son hasn’t been happy in a long time, far from it, until that redhead turned up at their door unannounced. And it’s not like he doesn’t know what can happen to soldiers after their return, even if no one talks about it. He even locked away the old gun after that dreadful thing with the horse, just in case.
If he had a different relationship with his son, or if he were a different man, maybe he’d have found the right words to say. But as it is, what gives him the right to deny his son his chance on happiness now?
He blows out his pipe, then opens the window so the smoke can clear the room. Afterwards he settles back into the bed, watching her as she leans over to turn off the light.
In the darkness, he’s alone with his thoughts.
She had always been the stronger of the two of them.
Challenge: Romantik/intimität - Altmodisch (Für’s Team)
Fandom: Band of Brothers
Charaktere: Eugene Roe’s parents
Sprache: Englisch
Team: Schwarz
Kommentar: *schleift sich rein* *liefert ab* *schleift sich raus*
He knows that his wife believes him to be unobservant, but he’s been married for over 25 years, dammit, and he knows that his wife doesn’t usually have an air of veiled anxiety around her when she’s preparing herself for bed.
Like That
He can tell something is up as soon as she enters the bedroom. He knows that his wife believes him to be unobservant, but he’s been married for over 25 years, dammit, and he knows that his wife doesn’t usually have an air of veiled anxiety around her when she’s preparing herself for bed.
So he watches as she carefully pulls the door shut behind her and fusses with her hair in front of the mirror and he waits for the other shoe to drop.
“We need to talk.” There it is, the sentence that all spouses dread. Still he keeps his composure as he slowly puts the book away and sets his reading glasses down onto the nightstand.
He has to wait until she has slipped into her nightgown and sat down onto the bed. By that time, he’s anxious himself, and her next sentence doesn’t make him feel much better. “He’s buying a house.”
On the one hand he is relieved. He knows that he isn’t the perfect husband, but he tries, so he’s glad that this night’s topic isn’t that he should spend more time with the family or when - for the love of god - he was planning to take care of that engine problem of their car. On the other hand his second least-favorite topic to discuss right now is his youngest son, because he knows exactly where that is gonna end and he doesn’t like it one bit.
“I heard.” He sits up to lean against the headboard. “The boy needs a job, not a house. How is he even going to afford that? I know he put money away, but -“
“He’s going to share it with his friend.” She watches him carefully like he might explode like a grenade.
Instead he just deflates like a hot air balloon, sinking into himself. For the past weeks he had been trying to ignore his gut feeling (and honestly, he had been trying to ignore it for far longer where his son was concerned), but at least then he could pretend he didn’t know.
He opens his mouth, closes it again, then he just says: “I don’t like this.”
She slips underneath her blanket and then joins him at the headboard. “He needs this.”
“People will talk.”
“I know.” Her voice is soft and gentle and somehow that makes it worse, like she’s already come to terms with it while he’s still at the beginning.
He gets up to get his pipe from the dresser, stuffing and lighting it under her slightly disdainful eyes. The first drag calms him down a bit and helps him think.
“He’s not like that”, he says slowly, as if to convince himself.
“Yes”, she says calmly. “He is.”
He chews on his pipe for a moment. “Did we do something wrong?”
“I don’t know.” She sighs. “But he’s still our son. And he’s alive, we didn’t get him back in a coffin like so many other families! We should be grateful.”
“I am.” And he is. He’s seen the neighbors when they got the letter, he knows what could have happened. And still…
Her eyes follow him as he starts walking up and down the carpet in front of their bed. “He can’t do this alone. He needs somebody.”
He takes his pipe out of his mouth long enough to say: “Does it have to be this lanky Irish boy?”
She clucks her tongue. “His name is Babe, and you like him.”
He blows out the smoke and watches it curl under the ceiling. “He’s alright, I guess”, he admits grudgingly. In fact, they’d had a nice game of cards a few nights ago after she’d gone to bed, but he’s not about to tell her that.
He turns back towards the window, then makes another five steps towards the door before throwing her another glance. She looks very composed sitting there, even in her pink nightgown. “You’re fine with this?”
Her answer is simple. “I want him to be happy.”
A long sigh is all he can come up with as a reaction.
It’s not like he’s blind. He knows his son hasn’t been happy in a long time, far from it, until that redhead turned up at their door unannounced. And it’s not like he doesn’t know what can happen to soldiers after their return, even if no one talks about it. He even locked away the old gun after that dreadful thing with the horse, just in case.
If he had a different relationship with his son, or if he were a different man, maybe he’d have found the right words to say. But as it is, what gives him the right to deny his son his chance on happiness now?
He blows out his pipe, then opens the window so the smoke can clear the room. Afterwards he settles back into the bed, watching her as she leans over to turn off the light.
In the darkness, he’s alone with his thoughts.
She had always been the stronger of the two of them.