Ficlet Requests Part One: Deadliest Catch, Suicide Kings, and my first fandom ever, Passions
I keep going over the comment length with my comment fics. Quelle surprise! So instead of posting them as comment fic, I will just stick them in their own posts. Here are the first three, one of which is the one I posted yesterday which no one but writingpathways will care about. I just figured I'd stick it here for ease of tagging.
Ficlet request #1: writingpathways, Passions, Beth/Hank, 864 words, 3:00 am phone calls from parts unknown.
The phone startles her out of a deep sleep, so deep that it takes a few seconds to realize what woke her. When she finally registers the sound of the ringing she fumbles on the nightstand for the receiver, heart pounding too loud in her chest at the thought of who could be calling at this hour. In the ten seconds it takes her to pick up the phone a dozen different scenarios race through her mind, all of them involving people she loves dead or dying somewhere. "Hello?"
"Beth? Oh, man, did I wake you? I thought I got the time change right this time."
Relief floods her at the sound of Hank's voice, and she fights through the last grip of sleep as she pushes herself up against her headboard and grips the phone a little tighter. It's not the first time he's woken her, but it's been almost six months since the last time he called, and she stopped expecting to hear from him awhile ago. "It's okay," she lies, glancing at the alarm clock on her nightstand which informs her that it's nearly 3:00 am. "It's almost time for me to get up and open the coffee shop anyway."
"You've always been a lousy liar," Hank says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. It's dark in her bedroom, and if she keeps her eyes closed she can almost imagine him there. It's been a long time since she saw him -- years now, and she's starting to think he's never coming home -- but somehow the sound of his voice is almost enough to bring him back to her.
"Where are you?" she asks, settling a little further into her pillows while she waits for a rundown of all the adventures Hank's had since the last time he called.
"I don't know," he answers, voice muffled like maybe he's looking around for a sign to tell him where he is. "Somewhere outside Egypt. It took me a long time to find a pay phone that actually works; the one at the bus station was dead."
"Egypt? What are you doing there?"
"Just looking around," Hank says, and when she closes her eyes this time she can picture his smirk. "You know, see the pyramids and all. Everybody should see the pyramids once, right?"
"Yeah, sure," she answers, but she's pretty sure she's never going to see them. She's never seen much outside of Harmony, and the more time that passes, the more everything in her life manages to stay the same. Beth swallows a sigh and opens her eyes, glancing out the window to watch snow fall steadily onto the roof. "Is it warm there?"
"Warmer than it is in Harmony," he says. "So how are you? How's Luis?"
"I don't really see him much these days," Beth says, still watching the snow fall as she pictures Hank in shirtsleeves, standing in the desert with camels wandering around in the background. She has no idea if Egypt is really like that, but it's the impression she's gotten from TV and books, so she figures it's close enough. "We broke up."
"What? Why?"
Beth smiles at the shock in Hank's voice; she felt pretty much exactly the same way when Luis first told her it was over, and she knows a lot of other people in town did too. They were supposed to be the golden couple, the high school sweethearts who got married and settled down and stayed together. They were going to grow old together right here in Harmony, have a dozen kids to make Pilar happy and settle down to a nice, quiet life. Only it turned out that wasn't what Luis wanted, and sometimes Beth wondered if she'd ever wanted it either.
"He gave me this whole speech about his family needing him, about concentrating on his career and being there for Miguel and Theresa. But the truth is, he just didn't want to marry me."
For a long moment Hank doesn't answer, and as the silence stretches out Beth feels her face turning more and more red. Hank's always been the one she told everything to, but she doesn't want him feeling sorry for her.
"Do you want me to come home?" Hank finally says, and Beth's heart skips a beat. Yes, she wants to say, but not for the reason he thinks, so instead she just says, "Don't be silly. It was months ago. I'm fine."
"You're sure?" Hank says, and something about the way he says it makes her heart race a little faster. It's still dark in the room, but the moon's shining on the snow outside and she shivers at the thought of going out in the cold in just a few hours.
"Positive," she answers, turning away from the window and tugging her old quilt up a little higher. "Tell me all about Egypt. I want to hear everything."
Hank launches into a story about a crowded bus ride and a pair of live chickens, and Beth closes her eyes and lets the sound of his voice warm her in a way even the Egyptian sun never could.
~
Ficlet request #2: duckduck, Suicide Kings (Deadliest AU), Brett/Avery, 1048 words, Brett's jeans worn very soft and so thin they're nearly worn through. Also, he has a hole in his sock.
There's a length of clothes line running from the back of the cabin to a post in the middle of what Brett and Avery tend to refer to as the 'yard', though the truth is the wilderness starts right up again pretty much at their back door. It's one of the projects Brett came up with to keep himself busy during one of Avery's fishing trips, but it's turned out to be pretty handy, at least during the months it's warm enough to hang clothes outside without worrying that they'll freeze before they ever get a chance to dry.
They don't really talk about who's in charge of what chores while Avery's home, but Brett does all the cooking and works full time at the diner besides, so Avery does what he can to pitch in. He'd never washed a load of clothes in his life before they found themselves in the middle of nowhere, Alaska, but since they moved into the cabin they've both picked up a lot of new skills. And 'laundry' isn't exactly the highlight of his resume, but it feels pretty good to be able to help Brett around the house.
Avery sets a laundry basket in the grass at his feet and reaches for the clothesline, pulling down a shirt that might have started out his, but has since been passed back and forth between them so many times he's not sure who it belongs to. Both of them, he figures, laughing to himself as he folds it and drops it in the basket. Back in New York there was no way they would have dreamed of sharing clothes; they all had tailors and collar sizes and Brett wouldn't have been caught dead in a shirt made for someone as tall as Avery.
But that was another whole lifetime ago, and now...well, Avery likes this life a whole lot more. He folds another shirt and drops it in the basket with the first one, then he reaches up to pull down a pair of Brett's jeans. They're soft under his callused hands, so threadbare along the seams that he can see the stitches starting to pull away from the fabric. Avery runs his thumb along the seam, feels the fabric wanting to give under just the gentle pressure of his fingers. He folds them and drops them in the basket, then he turns back to the clothesline and takes down the rest of the wash.
When he's finished he takes a quick look around at the woods behind the cabin, more out of habit than because he expects to see anyone looking back at him. Every once in awhile he catches a glimpse of a moose or maybe a bear further down the river, but if there's anyone from their old life still looking for them, they haven't found their way up here.
Avery lifts the basket and heads back into the cabin, through the small mud room where their old washer and dryer sit and into the kitchen. When he gets there Brett's standing at the stove, spatula in hand and wearing the Deadliest Catch apron Avery bought him for Christmas over a pair of pinstriped boxers.
"You got my jeans in there?" he asks, gesturing toward the laundry with the spatula. "I need them for work."
"Yeah," Avery answers as he sets the laundry basket on the table. He pulls open a cabinet and takes out a clean mug, hand brushing Brett's bare shoulder as he reaches around him for the coffee pot. "I think it's time to head into town and pick up some new clothes. A few more washes and those jeans might get you arrested."
Brett makes a noise that tells Avery exactly what he thinks of replacing his old, comfortable jeans with new ones. "I finally got them exactly how I like them."
"Yeah, well, your boss won't like them much when they split right up the crotch," Avery says, grinning when Brett glances over at him. "Of course, I don't have a problem with it. You can wear them at home all you want."
Brett shakes his head, but Avery can see the blush creeping along his cheekbones. He sets his coffee cup down and reaches for Brett, tugging him away from the stove to slide an arm around his waist. Brett rolls his eyes but lets Avery pull him forward, his free hand closing around the front of Avery's shirt to drag him down into a kiss. He's still clutching the spatula in his other hand, and when Avery rests a hand on his ass Brett makes a noise in the back of his throat and pulls back to look at him. "You're gonna make me burn breakfast."
"We all have to make sacrifices," Avery answers, laughing when Brett flattens his palm against Avery's chest to shove his backwards.
"You're not sacrificing my spinach omelettes. Now go sit down."
Avery laughs again but does what he's told, taking his coffee cup with him. A few minutes later Brett slides a plate in front of him, then he sits down next to Avery and sets his own plate down. He picks up his fork and digs in, making appreciative noises just to watch Brett fight a smile.
For a few minutes they eat in silence, then Brett clears his throat and looks up. "If you want you can drop me off at work and take the truck into Talkeetna. They sell clothes at that general store."
"You mean you actually trust me to buy clothes for you?" Avery asks, grinning when Brett rolls his eyes.
"It's not like we don't wear the same thing all the time anyway." Brett glances at Avery's chest, gesturing toward the shirt that's still wrinkled from Brett's grip. "Pretty sure that's my shirt you're wearing. I've got a hole in my sock, too, so you can pick up some of those while you're at it."
Avery laughs but doesn't complain about being ordered around. It's a long drive into Talkeetna and he'd rather have Brett there for company, but if he gets the shopping over with while Brett's working, it just means more time they can spend together at home later. As far as Avery's concerned, it's a pretty good trade-off.
~
Ficlet request #3: prairiedaun, Deadliest Catch, Jake Anderson, 550 words, Jake interaction with Sig and/or Edgar.
Jake doesn't make it back for the end of Opi season. No one really expects him to, but he still feels pretty bad about it. Sig's called to check up on him once or twice, and his family talks to Nick pretty regularly, but other than that he hasn't spoken to any of the guys since they put him on the skiff in the middle of the Bering Sea and sent him home.
So it's kind of weird, seeing them all again for "After the Catch", shaking hands with the rest of the crew and knowing by the looks on their faces that they're all expecting him to start crying again. And he sort of feels like it, but he's done plenty of that lately, so he sucks it up and pastes a grin on his face. "Hey," he says when Edgar slaps him on the back just a little too hard, "how's it going?"
"You know, same old," Edgar says. "How you doing?"
Jake nods kind of spastically, then catches himself and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I'm okay. My dad's taking it really hard."
Edgar nods and glances over Jake's shoulder like he's not sure what to say, but before he has a chance to figure it out Sig appears next to them. "Hey," Sig says, ignoring Edgar to focus on Jake. "You sure you're ready for this?"
Jake nods again, blinks a couple times for good measure and takes his hands back out of his pockets. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."
They all know what's coming; Ben's going to ask Jake a bunch of questions about his sister, about his family and how hard it was to be out on a crab boat when he got the news. But the truth is that it was probably the best place to be, other than at home with his sister, because when he's on the boat he's with his family. Maybe not the family that knew his sister and loved her, but they all love him, and that's good enough.
One of the production assistants hustles toward them, a clipboard gripped in one hand and one of those bluetooth things stuck in his ear. "Northwestern crew, you're up," he says. "Sig and Edgar first. Jake, they'll call you after the first break."
He takes off again before he even stops talking, and Jake shakes his head at the guy. They spend so much time talking about how hard crab fishing is, but he's pretty sure he'd rather fish than have to do that guy's job.
"Here goes nothing," Sig says, hand on Jake's shoulder and squeezing, just for a second. "You'll do fine, kid," he says, mouth open for a second like he wants to say something else. The he closes it again, shaking his head and glancing at Edgar. "Ready?"
Edgar nods and slaps Jake on the back again, nearly knocking him off balance. "Don't worry, Sig told them to go easy on you," he says, not quite meeting Jake's gaze. A second later they're both walking away, leaving Jake to grin at their backs. He knows as soon as they all get back to Dutch the guys will be just as hard on him as ever, but he can handle it. After all, that's what family's for.
~
Ficlet request #1: writingpathways, Passions, Beth/Hank, 864 words, 3:00 am phone calls from parts unknown.
The phone startles her out of a deep sleep, so deep that it takes a few seconds to realize what woke her. When she finally registers the sound of the ringing she fumbles on the nightstand for the receiver, heart pounding too loud in her chest at the thought of who could be calling at this hour. In the ten seconds it takes her to pick up the phone a dozen different scenarios race through her mind, all of them involving people she loves dead or dying somewhere. "Hello?"
"Beth? Oh, man, did I wake you? I thought I got the time change right this time."
Relief floods her at the sound of Hank's voice, and she fights through the last grip of sleep as she pushes herself up against her headboard and grips the phone a little tighter. It's not the first time he's woken her, but it's been almost six months since the last time he called, and she stopped expecting to hear from him awhile ago. "It's okay," she lies, glancing at the alarm clock on her nightstand which informs her that it's nearly 3:00 am. "It's almost time for me to get up and open the coffee shop anyway."
"You've always been a lousy liar," Hank says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. It's dark in her bedroom, and if she keeps her eyes closed she can almost imagine him there. It's been a long time since she saw him -- years now, and she's starting to think he's never coming home -- but somehow the sound of his voice is almost enough to bring him back to her.
"Where are you?" she asks, settling a little further into her pillows while she waits for a rundown of all the adventures Hank's had since the last time he called.
"I don't know," he answers, voice muffled like maybe he's looking around for a sign to tell him where he is. "Somewhere outside Egypt. It took me a long time to find a pay phone that actually works; the one at the bus station was dead."
"Egypt? What are you doing there?"
"Just looking around," Hank says, and when she closes her eyes this time she can picture his smirk. "You know, see the pyramids and all. Everybody should see the pyramids once, right?"
"Yeah, sure," she answers, but she's pretty sure she's never going to see them. She's never seen much outside of Harmony, and the more time that passes, the more everything in her life manages to stay the same. Beth swallows a sigh and opens her eyes, glancing out the window to watch snow fall steadily onto the roof. "Is it warm there?"
"Warmer than it is in Harmony," he says. "So how are you? How's Luis?"
"I don't really see him much these days," Beth says, still watching the snow fall as she pictures Hank in shirtsleeves, standing in the desert with camels wandering around in the background. She has no idea if Egypt is really like that, but it's the impression she's gotten from TV and books, so she figures it's close enough. "We broke up."
"What? Why?"
Beth smiles at the shock in Hank's voice; she felt pretty much exactly the same way when Luis first told her it was over, and she knows a lot of other people in town did too. They were supposed to be the golden couple, the high school sweethearts who got married and settled down and stayed together. They were going to grow old together right here in Harmony, have a dozen kids to make Pilar happy and settle down to a nice, quiet life. Only it turned out that wasn't what Luis wanted, and sometimes Beth wondered if she'd ever wanted it either.
"He gave me this whole speech about his family needing him, about concentrating on his career and being there for Miguel and Theresa. But the truth is, he just didn't want to marry me."
For a long moment Hank doesn't answer, and as the silence stretches out Beth feels her face turning more and more red. Hank's always been the one she told everything to, but she doesn't want him feeling sorry for her.
"Do you want me to come home?" Hank finally says, and Beth's heart skips a beat. Yes, she wants to say, but not for the reason he thinks, so instead she just says, "Don't be silly. It was months ago. I'm fine."
"You're sure?" Hank says, and something about the way he says it makes her heart race a little faster. It's still dark in the room, but the moon's shining on the snow outside and she shivers at the thought of going out in the cold in just a few hours.
"Positive," she answers, turning away from the window and tugging her old quilt up a little higher. "Tell me all about Egypt. I want to hear everything."
Hank launches into a story about a crowded bus ride and a pair of live chickens, and Beth closes her eyes and lets the sound of his voice warm her in a way even the Egyptian sun never could.
~
Ficlet request #2: duckduck, Suicide Kings (Deadliest AU), Brett/Avery, 1048 words, Brett's jeans worn very soft and so thin they're nearly worn through. Also, he has a hole in his sock.
There's a length of clothes line running from the back of the cabin to a post in the middle of what Brett and Avery tend to refer to as the 'yard', though the truth is the wilderness starts right up again pretty much at their back door. It's one of the projects Brett came up with to keep himself busy during one of Avery's fishing trips, but it's turned out to be pretty handy, at least during the months it's warm enough to hang clothes outside without worrying that they'll freeze before they ever get a chance to dry.
They don't really talk about who's in charge of what chores while Avery's home, but Brett does all the cooking and works full time at the diner besides, so Avery does what he can to pitch in. He'd never washed a load of clothes in his life before they found themselves in the middle of nowhere, Alaska, but since they moved into the cabin they've both picked up a lot of new skills. And 'laundry' isn't exactly the highlight of his resume, but it feels pretty good to be able to help Brett around the house.
Avery sets a laundry basket in the grass at his feet and reaches for the clothesline, pulling down a shirt that might have started out his, but has since been passed back and forth between them so many times he's not sure who it belongs to. Both of them, he figures, laughing to himself as he folds it and drops it in the basket. Back in New York there was no way they would have dreamed of sharing clothes; they all had tailors and collar sizes and Brett wouldn't have been caught dead in a shirt made for someone as tall as Avery.
But that was another whole lifetime ago, and now...well, Avery likes this life a whole lot more. He folds another shirt and drops it in the basket with the first one, then he reaches up to pull down a pair of Brett's jeans. They're soft under his callused hands, so threadbare along the seams that he can see the stitches starting to pull away from the fabric. Avery runs his thumb along the seam, feels the fabric wanting to give under just the gentle pressure of his fingers. He folds them and drops them in the basket, then he turns back to the clothesline and takes down the rest of the wash.
When he's finished he takes a quick look around at the woods behind the cabin, more out of habit than because he expects to see anyone looking back at him. Every once in awhile he catches a glimpse of a moose or maybe a bear further down the river, but if there's anyone from their old life still looking for them, they haven't found their way up here.
Avery lifts the basket and heads back into the cabin, through the small mud room where their old washer and dryer sit and into the kitchen. When he gets there Brett's standing at the stove, spatula in hand and wearing the Deadliest Catch apron Avery bought him for Christmas over a pair of pinstriped boxers.
"You got my jeans in there?" he asks, gesturing toward the laundry with the spatula. "I need them for work."
"Yeah," Avery answers as he sets the laundry basket on the table. He pulls open a cabinet and takes out a clean mug, hand brushing Brett's bare shoulder as he reaches around him for the coffee pot. "I think it's time to head into town and pick up some new clothes. A few more washes and those jeans might get you arrested."
Brett makes a noise that tells Avery exactly what he thinks of replacing his old, comfortable jeans with new ones. "I finally got them exactly how I like them."
"Yeah, well, your boss won't like them much when they split right up the crotch," Avery says, grinning when Brett glances over at him. "Of course, I don't have a problem with it. You can wear them at home all you want."
Brett shakes his head, but Avery can see the blush creeping along his cheekbones. He sets his coffee cup down and reaches for Brett, tugging him away from the stove to slide an arm around his waist. Brett rolls his eyes but lets Avery pull him forward, his free hand closing around the front of Avery's shirt to drag him down into a kiss. He's still clutching the spatula in his other hand, and when Avery rests a hand on his ass Brett makes a noise in the back of his throat and pulls back to look at him. "You're gonna make me burn breakfast."
"We all have to make sacrifices," Avery answers, laughing when Brett flattens his palm against Avery's chest to shove his backwards.
"You're not sacrificing my spinach omelettes. Now go sit down."
Avery laughs again but does what he's told, taking his coffee cup with him. A few minutes later Brett slides a plate in front of him, then he sits down next to Avery and sets his own plate down. He picks up his fork and digs in, making appreciative noises just to watch Brett fight a smile.
For a few minutes they eat in silence, then Brett clears his throat and looks up. "If you want you can drop me off at work and take the truck into Talkeetna. They sell clothes at that general store."
"You mean you actually trust me to buy clothes for you?" Avery asks, grinning when Brett rolls his eyes.
"It's not like we don't wear the same thing all the time anyway." Brett glances at Avery's chest, gesturing toward the shirt that's still wrinkled from Brett's grip. "Pretty sure that's my shirt you're wearing. I've got a hole in my sock, too, so you can pick up some of those while you're at it."
Avery laughs but doesn't complain about being ordered around. It's a long drive into Talkeetna and he'd rather have Brett there for company, but if he gets the shopping over with while Brett's working, it just means more time they can spend together at home later. As far as Avery's concerned, it's a pretty good trade-off.
~
Ficlet request #3: prairiedaun, Deadliest Catch, Jake Anderson, 550 words, Jake interaction with Sig and/or Edgar.
Jake doesn't make it back for the end of Opi season. No one really expects him to, but he still feels pretty bad about it. Sig's called to check up on him once or twice, and his family talks to Nick pretty regularly, but other than that he hasn't spoken to any of the guys since they put him on the skiff in the middle of the Bering Sea and sent him home.
So it's kind of weird, seeing them all again for "After the Catch", shaking hands with the rest of the crew and knowing by the looks on their faces that they're all expecting him to start crying again. And he sort of feels like it, but he's done plenty of that lately, so he sucks it up and pastes a grin on his face. "Hey," he says when Edgar slaps him on the back just a little too hard, "how's it going?"
"You know, same old," Edgar says. "How you doing?"
Jake nods kind of spastically, then catches himself and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I'm okay. My dad's taking it really hard."
Edgar nods and glances over Jake's shoulder like he's not sure what to say, but before he has a chance to figure it out Sig appears next to them. "Hey," Sig says, ignoring Edgar to focus on Jake. "You sure you're ready for this?"
Jake nods again, blinks a couple times for good measure and takes his hands back out of his pockets. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."
They all know what's coming; Ben's going to ask Jake a bunch of questions about his sister, about his family and how hard it was to be out on a crab boat when he got the news. But the truth is that it was probably the best place to be, other than at home with his sister, because when he's on the boat he's with his family. Maybe not the family that knew his sister and loved her, but they all love him, and that's good enough.
One of the production assistants hustles toward them, a clipboard gripped in one hand and one of those bluetooth things stuck in his ear. "Northwestern crew, you're up," he says. "Sig and Edgar first. Jake, they'll call you after the first break."
He takes off again before he even stops talking, and Jake shakes his head at the guy. They spend so much time talking about how hard crab fishing is, but he's pretty sure he'd rather fish than have to do that guy's job.
"Here goes nothing," Sig says, hand on Jake's shoulder and squeezing, just for a second. "You'll do fine, kid," he says, mouth open for a second like he wants to say something else. The he closes it again, shaking his head and glancing at Edgar. "Ready?"
Edgar nods and slaps Jake on the back again, nearly knocking him off balance. "Don't worry, Sig told them to go easy on you," he says, not quite meeting Jake's gaze. A second later they're both walking away, leaving Jake to grin at their backs. He knows as soon as they all get back to Dutch the guys will be just as hard on him as ever, but he can handle it. After all, that's what family's for.
~