[fic] they'll name a city after us, bbt-fandom, hsk/spanon, pg
Title: They'll Name A City After Us
Fandom: BBT Anthropomorphic Fandom Fic
Pairing: HSK/Spanon
Rating: PG-Bitchy
Notes: Originally posted anon here at spanon, but yeah. Twas me. So. Here's this. Thanks to juniperlane for laughing in the right places and telling me to post it.
--
The windows are open but the blinds all drawn, and she can just make out the shadows inside as she stands on the sidewalk. There are voices coming from the house, high-pitched and incessant. She strains her ears but can’t make anything out.
The steps creak as she climbs onto the porch and her shoe catches on a split in the wood. She stumbles but rights herself with a hand on the door jamb, and when she pulls away her fingers are caked with dust.
There’s no doorbell so she raps her knuckles hard against the door and waits. No one answers, so she knocks again and again. After the third knock, a gaggle of voices from inside the house yell, “Penny!” and the door flies open suddenly. A girl stands there, her smile split wide across a childish face. A t-shirt hangs off her shoulders, “Bazinga!” scrawled across it in bright red letters. The ends are tucked into her white jeans.
“Hi!” she says. The girls behind her giggle and wave from inside the house, then go back to the project they have laid out across the living room floor. “What’s your name?”
“Umm.” The ground inside is cluttered, toys thrown carelessly here and there. A poster of Bill Prady hangs on the wall, a bright blue “X” across his face. Beside it hangs one of Leonard, the treatment it’s received even worse. “I’m HSK.”
“Hi, HSK. This is Paradox! Come in!”
HSK’s hand is caught between the girl’s and she feels herself being dragged into the house, tripping over the rug as she enters. Her breath catches in her chest when she straightens up to take in her surroundings. The floor is filled with cracked and broken links, the wallpaper neon and blurry and horrid. A cut-tag lies forgotten in the corner.
HSK feels her chest go tight, her throat constricting terribly. This isn’t right. This isn’t how she left things, how she remembers the house looking at all. There should be icons hanging from the walls, piles of fic on the tables. There should be a party post going in the living room, an AIM chat running nonstop upstairs, people shouting at her from every direction just for walking in the door. But these girls--they don’t even know who she is. The house feels too empty and at the same time, overrun. HSK puts a hand to her temple and shuts her eyes. “I’m looking for-” But she stops herself. She doesn’t even know who to ask for.
“Everyone’s in the living room!” the girl answers her. HSK trails helplessly along behind her, but when they reach the living room, it’s a sea of unfamiliar faces.
“No,” HSK says. “I don’t know anyone here.”
“Oh.” The girl’s smile is unwavering. “Check the kitchen. There’s usually someone hanging out back there.” She waves cheerfully and turns back to the other girls, reaching for a pamphlet and an envelope. The front’s addressed to CBS and the pamphlet is covered in pictures of Sheldon and Penny.
“You want to help?” HSK looks down to find another girl looking at her. She’s as bright and cheery as the first, and just as young. HSK’s hands tighten into fists. She remembers that feeling, that wild and hopeful feeling, like the group of them could change the world.
But that was a long time ago and HSK just shakes her head. “No thanks,” she says. “My campaigning days are behind me.” She gives the girl a weak smile and turns toward the kitchen.
She moves slowly through the foyer and the dining room, stepping lightly as she goes. She hesitates as she approaches the kitchen and when she swings the door open and steps through, she’s already flinching.
She’s not quite prepared for what she sees. The woman in the kitchen looks thin and old, slumped down at the table with her hands in her lap. Hair hangs in front of her face and HSK’s fingers itch to reach forward and brush it back, tuck it gently behind her ear. HSK steps forward and the woman raises her head suddenly, her eyes alight, just like they always used to be. There’s still a fire there, HSK knows, but it seems to have dwindled down to just embers.
HSK steps forward and pulls out a chair slowly, lowering herself down and taking a seat beside the old woman. She reaches forward gently and puts out her hand, dropping it slowly onto the woman’s knee. Her voice is a whisper when she speaks.
“Spanon?” The woman’s eyes go unfocused for a moment, like she’s trying to remember, and when she finally speaks, it’s through cracked lips.
“HSK?” HSK smiles, her cheeks pulling painfully upward. She knows she should be mad or resentful, at the very least standoffish, but she can’t help herself as she leans in and grabs Spanon’s wrist with tight fingers.
“Spanon,” she says, her throat tight. “What happened?”
Spanon’s cheeks sag, her shoulders slumping and gaze slipping to the floor. “Everyone left,” she says, and her voice bounces sadly off the walls. HSK looks around, her eyes sweeping longingly over the room.
Everything is tidy, kept exactly in its place, but there’s a layer of dust on the counters. There’s a picture on the wall, a man and woman kissing in the rain. HSK stands and crosses the room to look at it. The lines are in pencil, painstakingly drawn by hand, and the figures beautiful. She hears Spanon speak from her seat at the table. “No one draws like that anymore. No one writes like they used to.” Her voice quiets, her words hushed. “And no one comes here to visit anymore.”
HSK feels the sadness in her chest catch fire suddenly and when she speaks, her voice is loud and angry. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re the one who kicked me out of here.” HSK keeps her back to the table, her eyes on the lines of the drawing. There’s a flower in the woman’s hair. “I didn’t want to leave,” she continues, “but you made me.”
A hush falls over the kitchen, no noise but the murmur of chatter and idle laughter from the living room. HSK opens her mouth to speak again, but Spanon says quietly, “I know.” She laughs sadly, the sound turning into a sickly cough as it leaves her throat. “I’m sorry.”
HSK turns finally, walks forward and braces her hands on a chair. “I feel like I’ve waited forever to hear you say that and now it doesn’t even mean anything. Look at yourself, Spanon. Look at what this place has become. Did you have a breakdown?”
Spanon’s jaw tightens and HSK sees the fire in her eyes flare up. “I think that’s much more your area than mine.”
“Hey.”
Spanon lifts her chin. “You couldn’t stay here and you know it.”
“I know.” HSK digs her fingers into the wood and shifts her weight from foot to foot. “But I think you needed me. This place didn’t, but I think you did.”
Spanon leans her elbows onto the table and cups her chin in her palms. She exhales slowly. She looks ten thousand comments old. “You know, I don’t even think those girls out there know who I am. They don’t know what this place used to be like.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and bites her lip. “I don’t know if that makes me sad for them, or happy.”
“Well, they didn’t even recognize me.” HSK pulls the chair out and sits, running her hands over the table cloth. She fiddles with the pile of clutter on the table. She picks at the edge of a postcard from Pawnee, traces her fingers over the outline of a deerstalker sketch on the back. “They don’t know what they’re missing at least.”
Spanon smiles sadly. “I guess. But still.” The corner of her mouth lifts just so. “Did you see them out there? In their white jeans?”
HSK hears something strange in her voice, something she hasn’t heard in a long time, and it feels like time falling away, like everything’s the way it used to be. She reaches out to the pile in the middle of the table and comes back with a flower, the clip sparkling brightly in her fingers. She can’t stop herself from asking, “Does he come by anymore?”
Spanon’s smile only falters for a second but she leans back in her chair and shrugs her shoulders. “The show? He calls on Thursdays to talk to the girls. Tells a few bad jokes and then leaves again.” HSK wants to ask if he ever asks about her, but she’s sure he doesn’t.
“You’re right,” Spanon says suddenly. Her voice is quiet. “I did need you.”
HSK smiles to herself and twirls the flower in her fingers, then leans forward across the table, tucking it softly behind Spanon’s ear. “It suits you,” she says, sitting back down.
Spanon smiles, her eyes filling. They’re two forgotten comrades, alone in a house that’s falling apart, but it’s not quite the end yet. There’s still time, and a whole house full of toys. “Fuck the show,” Spanon says suddenly. “Never needed him in the first place.”
“Hear, hear,” HSK answers. The smile on her face feels easy, natural for the first time in a long time. “You know,” she says, leaning forward conspiratorially, “I thought I saw a chess board out there.”
Spanon’s eyes light up and HSK’s chest unclenches, feels a thousand pounds lighter. “Suicide chess? I haven’t-” Spanon falters, just for a second. “I haven’t played that in ages. With these ones it’s all Lee Cooper and some nonsense about Sheldon and a broadsword.”
“I know,” HSK answers.
“We’ll have to wipe down the board,” Spanon says.
“I know.” HSK pushes up from the table, comes around and grabs Spanon’s hand to pull her from her chair.
Spanon’s eyes widen in panic and she tries to pull back. “I can’t go out there,” she says, “I haven’t gone out there in ages.”
HSK tightens her hands around the older woman’s, pulling her gently toward the door. “Come on,” she says. “You’ll be fine.”
“No,” Spanon says, “I’m a mess.”
HSK reaches out and tugs on the end of Spanon’s hair. “You look fine.” She turns and reaches out, pushing the door open. “Besides, maybe one of them will try to sing ‘Soft Kitty’ to you and we’ll have an excuse to punch her in the face.”
Behind her, Spanon just laughs.
Fandom: BBT Anthropomorphic Fandom Fic
Pairing: HSK/Spanon
Rating: PG-Bitchy
Notes: Originally posted anon here at spanon, but yeah. Twas me. So. Here's this. Thanks to juniperlane for laughing in the right places and telling me to post it.
--
The windows are open but the blinds all drawn, and she can just make out the shadows inside as she stands on the sidewalk. There are voices coming from the house, high-pitched and incessant. She strains her ears but can’t make anything out.
The steps creak as she climbs onto the porch and her shoe catches on a split in the wood. She stumbles but rights herself with a hand on the door jamb, and when she pulls away her fingers are caked with dust.
There’s no doorbell so she raps her knuckles hard against the door and waits. No one answers, so she knocks again and again. After the third knock, a gaggle of voices from inside the house yell, “Penny!” and the door flies open suddenly. A girl stands there, her smile split wide across a childish face. A t-shirt hangs off her shoulders, “Bazinga!” scrawled across it in bright red letters. The ends are tucked into her white jeans.
“Hi!” she says. The girls behind her giggle and wave from inside the house, then go back to the project they have laid out across the living room floor. “What’s your name?”
“Umm.” The ground inside is cluttered, toys thrown carelessly here and there. A poster of Bill Prady hangs on the wall, a bright blue “X” across his face. Beside it hangs one of Leonard, the treatment it’s received even worse. “I’m HSK.”
“Hi, HSK. This is Paradox! Come in!”
HSK’s hand is caught between the girl’s and she feels herself being dragged into the house, tripping over the rug as she enters. Her breath catches in her chest when she straightens up to take in her surroundings. The floor is filled with cracked and broken links, the wallpaper neon and blurry and horrid. A cut-tag lies forgotten in the corner.
HSK feels her chest go tight, her throat constricting terribly. This isn’t right. This isn’t how she left things, how she remembers the house looking at all. There should be icons hanging from the walls, piles of fic on the tables. There should be a party post going in the living room, an AIM chat running nonstop upstairs, people shouting at her from every direction just for walking in the door. But these girls--they don’t even know who she is. The house feels too empty and at the same time, overrun. HSK puts a hand to her temple and shuts her eyes. “I’m looking for-” But she stops herself. She doesn’t even know who to ask for.
“Everyone’s in the living room!” the girl answers her. HSK trails helplessly along behind her, but when they reach the living room, it’s a sea of unfamiliar faces.
“No,” HSK says. “I don’t know anyone here.”
“Oh.” The girl’s smile is unwavering. “Check the kitchen. There’s usually someone hanging out back there.” She waves cheerfully and turns back to the other girls, reaching for a pamphlet and an envelope. The front’s addressed to CBS and the pamphlet is covered in pictures of Sheldon and Penny.
“You want to help?” HSK looks down to find another girl looking at her. She’s as bright and cheery as the first, and just as young. HSK’s hands tighten into fists. She remembers that feeling, that wild and hopeful feeling, like the group of them could change the world.
But that was a long time ago and HSK just shakes her head. “No thanks,” she says. “My campaigning days are behind me.” She gives the girl a weak smile and turns toward the kitchen.
She moves slowly through the foyer and the dining room, stepping lightly as she goes. She hesitates as she approaches the kitchen and when she swings the door open and steps through, she’s already flinching.
She’s not quite prepared for what she sees. The woman in the kitchen looks thin and old, slumped down at the table with her hands in her lap. Hair hangs in front of her face and HSK’s fingers itch to reach forward and brush it back, tuck it gently behind her ear. HSK steps forward and the woman raises her head suddenly, her eyes alight, just like they always used to be. There’s still a fire there, HSK knows, but it seems to have dwindled down to just embers.
HSK steps forward and pulls out a chair slowly, lowering herself down and taking a seat beside the old woman. She reaches forward gently and puts out her hand, dropping it slowly onto the woman’s knee. Her voice is a whisper when she speaks.
“Spanon?” The woman’s eyes go unfocused for a moment, like she’s trying to remember, and when she finally speaks, it’s through cracked lips.
“HSK?” HSK smiles, her cheeks pulling painfully upward. She knows she should be mad or resentful, at the very least standoffish, but she can’t help herself as she leans in and grabs Spanon’s wrist with tight fingers.
“Spanon,” she says, her throat tight. “What happened?”
Spanon’s cheeks sag, her shoulders slumping and gaze slipping to the floor. “Everyone left,” she says, and her voice bounces sadly off the walls. HSK looks around, her eyes sweeping longingly over the room.
Everything is tidy, kept exactly in its place, but there’s a layer of dust on the counters. There’s a picture on the wall, a man and woman kissing in the rain. HSK stands and crosses the room to look at it. The lines are in pencil, painstakingly drawn by hand, and the figures beautiful. She hears Spanon speak from her seat at the table. “No one draws like that anymore. No one writes like they used to.” Her voice quiets, her words hushed. “And no one comes here to visit anymore.”
HSK feels the sadness in her chest catch fire suddenly and when she speaks, her voice is loud and angry. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re the one who kicked me out of here.” HSK keeps her back to the table, her eyes on the lines of the drawing. There’s a flower in the woman’s hair. “I didn’t want to leave,” she continues, “but you made me.”
A hush falls over the kitchen, no noise but the murmur of chatter and idle laughter from the living room. HSK opens her mouth to speak again, but Spanon says quietly, “I know.” She laughs sadly, the sound turning into a sickly cough as it leaves her throat. “I’m sorry.”
HSK turns finally, walks forward and braces her hands on a chair. “I feel like I’ve waited forever to hear you say that and now it doesn’t even mean anything. Look at yourself, Spanon. Look at what this place has become. Did you have a breakdown?”
Spanon’s jaw tightens and HSK sees the fire in her eyes flare up. “I think that’s much more your area than mine.”
“Hey.”
Spanon lifts her chin. “You couldn’t stay here and you know it.”
“I know.” HSK digs her fingers into the wood and shifts her weight from foot to foot. “But I think you needed me. This place didn’t, but I think you did.”
Spanon leans her elbows onto the table and cups her chin in her palms. She exhales slowly. She looks ten thousand comments old. “You know, I don’t even think those girls out there know who I am. They don’t know what this place used to be like.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and bites her lip. “I don’t know if that makes me sad for them, or happy.”
“Well, they didn’t even recognize me.” HSK pulls the chair out and sits, running her hands over the table cloth. She fiddles with the pile of clutter on the table. She picks at the edge of a postcard from Pawnee, traces her fingers over the outline of a deerstalker sketch on the back. “They don’t know what they’re missing at least.”
Spanon smiles sadly. “I guess. But still.” The corner of her mouth lifts just so. “Did you see them out there? In their white jeans?”
HSK hears something strange in her voice, something she hasn’t heard in a long time, and it feels like time falling away, like everything’s the way it used to be. She reaches out to the pile in the middle of the table and comes back with a flower, the clip sparkling brightly in her fingers. She can’t stop herself from asking, “Does he come by anymore?”
Spanon’s smile only falters for a second but she leans back in her chair and shrugs her shoulders. “The show? He calls on Thursdays to talk to the girls. Tells a few bad jokes and then leaves again.” HSK wants to ask if he ever asks about her, but she’s sure he doesn’t.
“You’re right,” Spanon says suddenly. Her voice is quiet. “I did need you.”
HSK smiles to herself and twirls the flower in her fingers, then leans forward across the table, tucking it softly behind Spanon’s ear. “It suits you,” she says, sitting back down.
Spanon smiles, her eyes filling. They’re two forgotten comrades, alone in a house that’s falling apart, but it’s not quite the end yet. There’s still time, and a whole house full of toys. “Fuck the show,” Spanon says suddenly. “Never needed him in the first place.”
“Hear, hear,” HSK answers. The smile on her face feels easy, natural for the first time in a long time. “You know,” she says, leaning forward conspiratorially, “I thought I saw a chess board out there.”
Spanon’s eyes light up and HSK’s chest unclenches, feels a thousand pounds lighter. “Suicide chess? I haven’t-” Spanon falters, just for a second. “I haven’t played that in ages. With these ones it’s all Lee Cooper and some nonsense about Sheldon and a broadsword.”
“I know,” HSK answers.
“We’ll have to wipe down the board,” Spanon says.
“I know.” HSK pushes up from the table, comes around and grabs Spanon’s hand to pull her from her chair.
Spanon’s eyes widen in panic and she tries to pull back. “I can’t go out there,” she says, “I haven’t gone out there in ages.”
HSK tightens her hands around the older woman’s, pulling her gently toward the door. “Come on,” she says. “You’ll be fine.”
“No,” Spanon says, “I’m a mess.”
HSK reaches out and tugs on the end of Spanon’s hair. “You look fine.” She turns and reaches out, pushing the door open. “Besides, maybe one of them will try to sing ‘Soft Kitty’ to you and we’ll have an excuse to punch her in the face.”
Behind her, Spanon just laughs.