Fic: The sea becomes the waves that meet the shore [Wilby Wonderful, Duck/Dan]
Title: The sea becomes the waves that meet the shore
Pairing, Rating: Wilby Wonderful, Duck/Dan, FRT
Written for the dS/C6D tag game (so if there are any egregious errors, please to let me know), for the prompt of "ask."
Duck is surprised the first time Dan asks. He looks up, but Dan's eyes are calm and steady. Duck's the one who can't hold his gaze, whose breath gets short like all the air's been sucked out of the room. He mutters something and flees to the Watch.
Duck'd thought that moving back to Wilby meant he'd never be surprised again. Despite what people might think, though, things in Wilby changed all the time. Births, deaths, feuds, love affairs beginning and ending - all the big and little things that made up the island as much as the town and the hills and the waves. But just like the waves, they came and went but never changed their patterns, never became something truly different. Duck'd resigned himself to ending his life as the observer, the quiet watcher, just like he'd started it.
But then... it was too simple to say that Dan'd moved to town and everything had changed. It might not have; the arrests could have been just another source of gossip, another wave against the shore that swells and then fades. But Duck'd learned enough in life to know that every once in a while there was a time to speak up, to stick your neck out or you wouldn't be able to look at yourself in the mirror afterward.
Sandra's kid had asked him once, her teeth digging into her bottom lip, whether he and Dan ever talked to each other. They did, but maybe not as much as they should, sometimes. The guys Duck'd been with - and there hadn't been that many that weren't just one-night stands or anonymous encounters in a club, that could've actually been called a relationship - tended to be verbose to counter his quietness. They were the ones that argued, made demands, set terms, and Duck had acquiesced, or he'd left. Not what the shrinks called functional communication. Dan didn't talk about his wife much, but Duck guessed that their relationship had been that way too. It'd been an adjustment for both of them, when they were both used to the other person being the one to press, to set down rules and limits, to pop the relationship blisters before they got infected.
Duck stands at the Watch for a long time, looking out at the waves. When the cold and mist have worked their way through all his layers, he walks home the long way. Dan is still up when he gets home, reading a battered Louis L'Amour paperback in the dim light of the bedside lamp. He doesn't say anything, just looks at Duck searchingly for a moment, then pulls him down to the bed, curling himself around Duck, warming him through.
The second time Dan asks, Duck smiles a little and says yes. This entry was originally posted at http://bonspiel.dreamwidth.org/30185.html.
Pairing, Rating: Wilby Wonderful, Duck/Dan, FRT
Written for the dS/C6D tag game (so if there are any egregious errors, please to let me know), for the prompt of "ask."
Duck is surprised the first time Dan asks. He looks up, but Dan's eyes are calm and steady. Duck's the one who can't hold his gaze, whose breath gets short like all the air's been sucked out of the room. He mutters something and flees to the Watch.
Duck'd thought that moving back to Wilby meant he'd never be surprised again. Despite what people might think, though, things in Wilby changed all the time. Births, deaths, feuds, love affairs beginning and ending - all the big and little things that made up the island as much as the town and the hills and the waves. But just like the waves, they came and went but never changed their patterns, never became something truly different. Duck'd resigned himself to ending his life as the observer, the quiet watcher, just like he'd started it.
But then... it was too simple to say that Dan'd moved to town and everything had changed. It might not have; the arrests could have been just another source of gossip, another wave against the shore that swells and then fades. But Duck'd learned enough in life to know that every once in a while there was a time to speak up, to stick your neck out or you wouldn't be able to look at yourself in the mirror afterward.
Sandra's kid had asked him once, her teeth digging into her bottom lip, whether he and Dan ever talked to each other. They did, but maybe not as much as they should, sometimes. The guys Duck'd been with - and there hadn't been that many that weren't just one-night stands or anonymous encounters in a club, that could've actually been called a relationship - tended to be verbose to counter his quietness. They were the ones that argued, made demands, set terms, and Duck had acquiesced, or he'd left. Not what the shrinks called functional communication. Dan didn't talk about his wife much, but Duck guessed that their relationship had been that way too. It'd been an adjustment for both of them, when they were both used to the other person being the one to press, to set down rules and limits, to pop the relationship blisters before they got infected.
Duck stands at the Watch for a long time, looking out at the waves. When the cold and mist have worked their way through all his layers, he walks home the long way. Dan is still up when he gets home, reading a battered Louis L'Amour paperback in the dim light of the bedside lamp. He doesn't say anything, just looks at Duck searchingly for a moment, then pulls him down to the bed, curling himself around Duck, warming him through.
The second time Dan asks, Duck smiles a little and says yes. This entry was originally posted at http://bonspiel.dreamwidth.org/30185.html.