Six Months Out of Every Year (DC/MK)
Title: Six Months Out of Every Year
Fandom: Detective Conan
Rating: PG
Genre: Humor/Romance
Wordcount: 895
Disclaimer: I don't own Detective Conan. But I do have homemade hand-puppets for each character...that's normal, right?
“Heiji.”
No reply.
“Heiji.”
Still no answer.
“Heeeeeeeeiji.”
Zilch.
Kazuha stood beside the table with her arms folded and her glare pointed and potent. Seated on the floor beside that table with a can of beer (blessedly unopened) at his elbow. He did not notice her, as his entire being seemed to be focused entirely on the television screen in front of him.
On that TV screen was a baseball game.
Her glare grew harder. It never failed. For six months of the year, Heiji was a wonderful (if noisy) husband. They argued as much as they always had in lieu of communication; one nice thing about marrying one’s best friend was the lack of major surprises and the ability to continue on as things already were. And the serious arguments tended to be very quickly forgotten in favor of more pleasant means of getting a point across.
Sometimes, Kazuha privately thought it a miracle that they only had the two children.
But the other half of the year was almost the exact opposite. It was like there was some strange, magical magnetic force that drew his attention to the TV once baseball season started. And it did not let him go for six excruciatingly long months. Well, they might not have been quite so long to Heiji (who usually whined for a week or so after the season ended about the lack of games to watch), but to Kazuha, the waiting was painful.
“Heiji,” she tried one more time.
The only response, if it could be called that, was the slamming of a fist on the table and a slew of obscenities directed at the umpire on the screen, who had apparently made a less than favorable call on a very close play.
Kazuha was sorely tempted to point out to him what most people learned by the time they reached preschool age: the people in the magical television box could not hear the person in the living room.
But that was the ahou for you.
And the worst part was that she had tried different things to even momentarily distract him from his precious game. The only thing that had worked was threatening to light his hat on fire. He hadn’t even responded to takoyaki, not until three hours later when he wandered into the kitchen and asked if he had smelled it earlier.
And then he’d had the nerve to look shocked when she had rubbed the plate and the takoyaki in his face, called him a couple of names for good measure, and then gone to bed. What an ahou.
And right now, it was only month two. There were four more months of this to go, plus one to two weeks of complaining and whining. After years of this, Kazuha was sick of it. And really, their daughters were sick of it, too. Though she knew that for Heiji, the sun rose and set with his family, they were not unfounded in wanting their daddy back.
But what to do…? How to get him to look away from the damn screen for a moment? She thought long and hard about what she knew of him, and how she might be able to catch his attention and prove that missing one baseball game would not bring about the end of the world.
After considering all the personality traits of her husband, Kazuha thought of the only thing she hadn’t tried. Nothing else had worked so far, not even food, so this was really a last ditch effort. And if this didn’t take, chances were that nothing would.
But as they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Thankful that the girls were at a friend’s house for the afternoon, Kazuha went upstairs and quickly changed clothes before heading back down to the room, where Heiji was still intent on the television screen. Why he was so intent on watching the coach have a conference on the mound with a couple of players was beyond her.
“Heiji,” she sang. She knew for a fact that he liked this particular outfit (if it could really be called an outfit, as it was meant to be worn for one person, not for many). So hey, maybe it would at least get him to turn his head. She even walked in front of him for good measure.
…nothing. Not a single reaction. He didn’t even speak up to tell her to get out of the way. He had to have seen her, and what she was wearing. And he hadn’t even blinked.
It was at that point that Kazuha officially gave up. She was doomed, it seemed. Doomed to be a baseball season widow, as it were. Sighing, she left the room, not even bothering to close the door behind her.
Thirty seconds later, Heiji blinked as his brain caught up with his surroundings, and he whipped around. Had she been wearing…that? That thing that he liked so very very much? “Kazuha?”
No reply.
Heiji glanced back at the TV screen, towards the door again, back to the screen, and then jumped to his feet and raced out of the room to search for her. Kazuha didn’t know what hit her, since it rammed into her from behind and half-dragged her into the bedroom.
After all, sex was more fun than baseball any day of the year.
PS. A Detective Conan fic? Me? Quick, someone call Hell and ask if it’s snowing! (SHOT) The inspiration for this came from the titular song, “Six Months Out of Every Year” from the musical Damn Yankees. I heard it, and went HEIJI AND KAZUHA. Hope you at least got a laugh. Thanks for reading! Much love!
Fandom: Detective Conan
Rating: PG
Genre: Humor/Romance
Wordcount: 895
Disclaimer: I don't own Detective Conan. But I do have homemade hand-puppets for each character...that's normal, right?
“Heiji.”
No reply.
“Heiji.”
Still no answer.
“Heeeeeeeeiji.”
Zilch.
Kazuha stood beside the table with her arms folded and her glare pointed and potent. Seated on the floor beside that table with a can of beer (blessedly unopened) at his elbow. He did not notice her, as his entire being seemed to be focused entirely on the television screen in front of him.
On that TV screen was a baseball game.
Her glare grew harder. It never failed. For six months of the year, Heiji was a wonderful (if noisy) husband. They argued as much as they always had in lieu of communication; one nice thing about marrying one’s best friend was the lack of major surprises and the ability to continue on as things already were. And the serious arguments tended to be very quickly forgotten in favor of more pleasant means of getting a point across.
Sometimes, Kazuha privately thought it a miracle that they only had the two children.
But the other half of the year was almost the exact opposite. It was like there was some strange, magical magnetic force that drew his attention to the TV once baseball season started. And it did not let him go for six excruciatingly long months. Well, they might not have been quite so long to Heiji (who usually whined for a week or so after the season ended about the lack of games to watch), but to Kazuha, the waiting was painful.
“Heiji,” she tried one more time.
The only response, if it could be called that, was the slamming of a fist on the table and a slew of obscenities directed at the umpire on the screen, who had apparently made a less than favorable call on a very close play.
Kazuha was sorely tempted to point out to him what most people learned by the time they reached preschool age: the people in the magical television box could not hear the person in the living room.
But that was the ahou for you.
And the worst part was that she had tried different things to even momentarily distract him from his precious game. The only thing that had worked was threatening to light his hat on fire. He hadn’t even responded to takoyaki, not until three hours later when he wandered into the kitchen and asked if he had smelled it earlier.
And then he’d had the nerve to look shocked when she had rubbed the plate and the takoyaki in his face, called him a couple of names for good measure, and then gone to bed. What an ahou.
And right now, it was only month two. There were four more months of this to go, plus one to two weeks of complaining and whining. After years of this, Kazuha was sick of it. And really, their daughters were sick of it, too. Though she knew that for Heiji, the sun rose and set with his family, they were not unfounded in wanting their daddy back.
But what to do…? How to get him to look away from the damn screen for a moment? She thought long and hard about what she knew of him, and how she might be able to catch his attention and prove that missing one baseball game would not bring about the end of the world.
After considering all the personality traits of her husband, Kazuha thought of the only thing she hadn’t tried. Nothing else had worked so far, not even food, so this was really a last ditch effort. And if this didn’t take, chances were that nothing would.
But as they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Thankful that the girls were at a friend’s house for the afternoon, Kazuha went upstairs and quickly changed clothes before heading back down to the room, where Heiji was still intent on the television screen. Why he was so intent on watching the coach have a conference on the mound with a couple of players was beyond her.
“Heiji,” she sang. She knew for a fact that he liked this particular outfit (if it could really be called an outfit, as it was meant to be worn for one person, not for many). So hey, maybe it would at least get him to turn his head. She even walked in front of him for good measure.
…nothing. Not a single reaction. He didn’t even speak up to tell her to get out of the way. He had to have seen her, and what she was wearing. And he hadn’t even blinked.
It was at that point that Kazuha officially gave up. She was doomed, it seemed. Doomed to be a baseball season widow, as it were. Sighing, she left the room, not even bothering to close the door behind her.
Thirty seconds later, Heiji blinked as his brain caught up with his surroundings, and he whipped around. Had she been wearing…that? That thing that he liked so very very much? “Kazuha?”
No reply.
Heiji glanced back at the TV screen, towards the door again, back to the screen, and then jumped to his feet and raced out of the room to search for her. Kazuha didn’t know what hit her, since it rammed into her from behind and half-dragged her into the bedroom.
After all, sex was more fun than baseball any day of the year.
PS. A Detective Conan fic? Me? Quick, someone call Hell and ask if it’s snowing! (SHOT) The inspiration for this came from the titular song, “Six Months Out of Every Year” from the musical Damn Yankees. I heard it, and went HEIJI AND KAZUHA. Hope you at least got a laugh. Thanks for reading! Much love!