Quickfingers: On This Day I Weep
Title: On This Day I Weep
Author: caramelsilver
Fandom: grim_lupine's Quickfingers - Original fiction.
Word count: 1100
Characters: James and Max
Summary: It's the anniversary of his mother's death and James have shown no sign that it is bothering him. Max is worried.
AN: Written as a birthday present for the lovely and awesome grim_lupine. This is the first time I have written original fiction for someone else's imaginary show. Hopefully I have done the characters justice.
On This Day I Weep:
It was the anniversary of his mother's death and James had shown no sign that it was bothering him. In fact he hadn't even mentioned the day like he did last year. Max didn't leave his side though. He could read James like a book; he recognised every facial expression like the details on a favourite painting. James was so familiar to Max, that he knew that every tick of James jaw was a like a count-down clock. Soon, very soon, James would crack and Max was not going to let him fall alone. So, they went through the day like it was any other. Except for a few worried glances from Darren and Leah, nobody acknowledged the big elephant in the room.
He made sure that James was never alone, not for a second. If it bothered him, he didn't let it show; he barely acknowledged that Max was even there. As the day went by, James' hands started to shake as the sun bathed the evening in a golden glow. The hour on which she died was nearing, she had died right before the sunset, and James was slowly loosing focus. Max knew because of the sound of James' irregular breathing and the way he kept bumping into people in the street without reaching into their pockets. His had a faraway look and his thoughts was centred on a terrible event that he never seemed to be able to escape. Max wasn't sure why James didn't want to talk, usually they spent the day crying and reminiscing of the golden days of their childhood spent in Mrs. Kinney's kitchen. It would have been so much easier to take care of him if he had just acted like he used to. But that was a selfish thought, Max berated himself. Their friendship was not about what was easiest, but what was needed. And today James needed him to walk silently by his side while he faced his demons on the open streets of Dale.
The sunset was always an abrupt affair. The sky was painted in a wonderful shade of gold and red, and suddenly, the next second, it was dark and the first stars came out to play. As the street-lamps lighted up and people started heading home, James stopped in the middle of the side walk.
"She's dead," James whispered. Max grabbed hold of his shoulder and steered him towards some stairs and made him sit down.
"I know," Max said, his voice low and soothing. They went through this every year, but Max was not sure what made this year different.
James' mother had been as much of a mother to him as she had been to James. Sometimes Max would wake up with a ache in his chest and all he longed for was the warm embrace of Mrs. Kinney and her soothing words as she gave him a cup of tea. He missed her warm smile as she stroked his hair and said, "Of course you can stay the night, Maxie. Stay as long as you want."
The day of her death was not an easy one for Max either. But he had never any time to think about that, a thing he was grateful for, by the way, because James always needed him on this day.
"I know," he repeated. James turned his face towards him and his eyes were wide and hollow. They were red-rimmed, but dry.
"I-" he began to say, but Max shushed him.
"Not now," Max said. "Let's go home and I'll make you a cup of tea. Then you'll tell me why you've been acting crazy today." He rose from the cold stone stairs and reached down and grabbed hold of James. With his hand safely in his the two boys walked back to their home in silence.
With a steaming cup of tea in front of him James finally started talking. Directing his words towards his hands and not Max he said, "It's been five years."
Max nodded. Yeah, it had. It was unbelievable how fast the time had gone. They were no longer scared little boys without a home and family. They had a home now, and people who cared about them. Max always liked to think that Mrs. Kinney wouldn't mind their new-chosen career-path, because they had finally found a place where they belonged.
James cleared his throat and said again, "It's been five years and I-" He choked on the next sentence, "and I don't miss her as much any more!" The eyes that finally looked at Max was pained. "She's not the first thing I think about when I wake up any more. She's there, but the thought of her doesn't hurt any more!"
Max frowned a little. "Isn't that a good thing?" he asked cautiously. James eyes flashed with anger.
"How can that be a good thing?" he demanded, and his hands shook. "How can not being sad about your mother's death be a good thing? I am an awful son and I bet she hates me for forgetting her!" Tears were finally rolling down his cheeks.
Max stood up from his chair and was at James' side in a second. He hugged his best friend fiercely and let the sobs rack his body. When James finally calmed down, Max murmured, "You stupid boy."
James lifted his head from Max' shoulder and looked at him with question. "If you had only talked to me sooner I would have eased your worries at once." He sat down on the table in front of James. "Of course your mother wouldn't hate you for forgetting her. She would be relieved that her death no longer cause you any pain. That you finally are done grieving!" He put his hands on his friend's shoulders and shook him gently. "This is a good thing!" He said the words slowly, hoping it was sinking in. "It does not mean that you love your mum any less, it just means that now you can think of her with love and not sadness. This. Is. A. Good. Thing!" He said again, punctuating each word with a shake.
Looking at the table and not at Max, James sighed. "You sure?" he asked. His voice was small and vulnerable and it reminded Max so much of the time James had broken a mug and Max kept reassuring him that his mother wouldn't mind. (She never noticed to be honest.) "Are you sure?" James had asked him then, looking down at the broken mug, his whole body oozing with guilt. Max wished he could allay his friend's fear as easily today as he had done then.
He answered like he had all those years ago: "Yes. I am completely sure."
A small smile was to be seen on James' face when he looked up again. "I hope I can believe that soon," was all he said.
It was a start, at least.
Finis.
Author: caramelsilver
Fandom: grim_lupine's Quickfingers - Original fiction.
Word count: 1100
Characters: James and Max
Summary: It's the anniversary of his mother's death and James have shown no sign that it is bothering him. Max is worried.
AN: Written as a birthday present for the lovely and awesome grim_lupine. This is the first time I have written original fiction for someone else's imaginary show. Hopefully I have done the characters justice.
On This Day I Weep:
It was the anniversary of his mother's death and James had shown no sign that it was bothering him. In fact he hadn't even mentioned the day like he did last year. Max didn't leave his side though. He could read James like a book; he recognised every facial expression like the details on a favourite painting. James was so familiar to Max, that he knew that every tick of James jaw was a like a count-down clock. Soon, very soon, James would crack and Max was not going to let him fall alone. So, they went through the day like it was any other. Except for a few worried glances from Darren and Leah, nobody acknowledged the big elephant in the room.
He made sure that James was never alone, not for a second. If it bothered him, he didn't let it show; he barely acknowledged that Max was even there. As the day went by, James' hands started to shake as the sun bathed the evening in a golden glow. The hour on which she died was nearing, she had died right before the sunset, and James was slowly loosing focus. Max knew because of the sound of James' irregular breathing and the way he kept bumping into people in the street without reaching into their pockets. His had a faraway look and his thoughts was centred on a terrible event that he never seemed to be able to escape. Max wasn't sure why James didn't want to talk, usually they spent the day crying and reminiscing of the golden days of their childhood spent in Mrs. Kinney's kitchen. It would have been so much easier to take care of him if he had just acted like he used to. But that was a selfish thought, Max berated himself. Their friendship was not about what was easiest, but what was needed. And today James needed him to walk silently by his side while he faced his demons on the open streets of Dale.
The sunset was always an abrupt affair. The sky was painted in a wonderful shade of gold and red, and suddenly, the next second, it was dark and the first stars came out to play. As the street-lamps lighted up and people started heading home, James stopped in the middle of the side walk.
"She's dead," James whispered. Max grabbed hold of his shoulder and steered him towards some stairs and made him sit down.
"I know," Max said, his voice low and soothing. They went through this every year, but Max was not sure what made this year different.
James' mother had been as much of a mother to him as she had been to James. Sometimes Max would wake up with a ache in his chest and all he longed for was the warm embrace of Mrs. Kinney and her soothing words as she gave him a cup of tea. He missed her warm smile as she stroked his hair and said, "Of course you can stay the night, Maxie. Stay as long as you want."
The day of her death was not an easy one for Max either. But he had never any time to think about that, a thing he was grateful for, by the way, because James always needed him on this day.
"I know," he repeated. James turned his face towards him and his eyes were wide and hollow. They were red-rimmed, but dry.
"I-" he began to say, but Max shushed him.
"Not now," Max said. "Let's go home and I'll make you a cup of tea. Then you'll tell me why you've been acting crazy today." He rose from the cold stone stairs and reached down and grabbed hold of James. With his hand safely in his the two boys walked back to their home in silence.
With a steaming cup of tea in front of him James finally started talking. Directing his words towards his hands and not Max he said, "It's been five years."
Max nodded. Yeah, it had. It was unbelievable how fast the time had gone. They were no longer scared little boys without a home and family. They had a home now, and people who cared about them. Max always liked to think that Mrs. Kinney wouldn't mind their new-chosen career-path, because they had finally found a place where they belonged.
James cleared his throat and said again, "It's been five years and I-" He choked on the next sentence, "and I don't miss her as much any more!" The eyes that finally looked at Max was pained. "She's not the first thing I think about when I wake up any more. She's there, but the thought of her doesn't hurt any more!"
Max frowned a little. "Isn't that a good thing?" he asked cautiously. James eyes flashed with anger.
"How can that be a good thing?" he demanded, and his hands shook. "How can not being sad about your mother's death be a good thing? I am an awful son and I bet she hates me for forgetting her!" Tears were finally rolling down his cheeks.
Max stood up from his chair and was at James' side in a second. He hugged his best friend fiercely and let the sobs rack his body. When James finally calmed down, Max murmured, "You stupid boy."
James lifted his head from Max' shoulder and looked at him with question. "If you had only talked to me sooner I would have eased your worries at once." He sat down on the table in front of James. "Of course your mother wouldn't hate you for forgetting her. She would be relieved that her death no longer cause you any pain. That you finally are done grieving!" He put his hands on his friend's shoulders and shook him gently. "This is a good thing!" He said the words slowly, hoping it was sinking in. "It does not mean that you love your mum any less, it just means that now you can think of her with love and not sadness. This. Is. A. Good. Thing!" He said again, punctuating each word with a shake.
Looking at the table and not at Max, James sighed. "You sure?" he asked. His voice was small and vulnerable and it reminded Max so much of the time James had broken a mug and Max kept reassuring him that his mother wouldn't mind. (She never noticed to be honest.) "Are you sure?" James had asked him then, looking down at the broken mug, his whole body oozing with guilt. Max wished he could allay his friend's fear as easily today as he had done then.
He answered like he had all those years ago: "Yes. I am completely sure."
A small smile was to be seen on James' face when he looked up again. "I hope I can believe that soon," was all he said.
It was a start, at least.
Finis.