December posting 7: Kastagir fic, Aidan-verse.
Have a Coda (And Cider) to ...Greatly Exaggerated, written for 
ymfaery 's prompt about immortals, mortals, and Pearl Harbor. Somehow, I got this! The new chapter is at the AO3 here, or the entire work is here.
Coda. (And Cider).
Rachel passed the plate of appetizer tidbits over and let the leather couch cradle her tired bones before she tried the glass she'd just been handed. Arthritis and New York winters were still a terrible mix, but she was very glad she hadn't retired before seeing this reunion. She sipped, stirred, sipped again, and smiled over the coffee table at Sunda Kastagir, a man she'd never expected to see in the flesh again. "You were right; it's a perfect Manhattan. Were you a bartender, sir?"
"Sunda, please, or Kastagir, but not sir. Connor will start laughing again if you keep calling me that. Kastagir leaned back against his own section of the couch, his feet flagrantly up on the coffee table and impossible to miss in those brilliant yellow and red socks, and laughed. "And tend bar? Once or twice-"
"A decade," Connor cut over him. "At least." He came in from the kitchen with a timer in his hand and put it on the coffee table to tick quietly away. "So, mad man, what will you have? You've seen the bar contents, and the fridge and basement are still well-stocked from your party." He hadn't stopped smiling since that first hug.
Kastagir laughed. "Hell, what I want is that cider you used to make-" He cut off when Connor bounced up off the couch and behind the bar. "Dear God, you still make it?"
Rachel smiled and sipped her cocktail again. "Every winter, I insist I'm not helping with the job again and every fall he talks me into feeding the press while he makes another twenty gallons."
Connor snorted. "And every winter you consult God knows where-" Rachel smiled demurely and refused, again, to tell him. "-on that spice mix you put in when you mull it. Almost as sharp as the cheese straws, Sunda."
Kastagir was happily devouring them. "Lovely. Almost spicy enough."
"He has no taste buds," Connor warned, but his eyes were laughing if his mouth wasn't. Quite.
Rachel smiled. "And we've another eight tins left from the party, Connor. Kastagir at least compliments my baking," she teased
"And so I should," Kastagir said cheerfully. "Lovely snacks on no notice. Now, if my idiot student just sees the sign with your number."
"He'll miss it?" Connor asked, amused. "It's two feet high."
"One good set of legs or shoulders and Tahir would miss the second coming, MacLeod." Despite his complaints, Kastagir was smiling. "But I like him. You will too. One of the relaxed ones."
"You always did find those," Connor said.
"If Farrell Jameson is an example of your work, you should teach more students," Rachel said firmly. She'd grown very fond of the New Zealander both after the line war and then in the preparations for the Christmas party.
"Farrell was, oh, a graduate student, say," Kastagir said, gesturing grandly with a piece of pastry. "Hardly as if I had to teach the man sword work. Or knife work. Certainly not paranoia. Proper proportions of paranoia, now…." He bit into the pastry, his eyes widened, then narrowed again, and he snagged the plate closer. He washed the first tiropita down with more cider, took a second, and added, "And when did you fall in with my student and how do I find him? Farrell made that. I recognize his touch with the spices."
Connor grinned and stole the plate back, offering it to Rachel as if correcting Kastagir's manners had been his sole intent. Rachel raised an eyebrow at him but she shifted a cheese straw and a zucchini muffin to her plate before Connor retracted his offer.
Connor passed the appetizers back to Kastagir, who seemed hungrier than they were, and told him, "I met the man last spring and Farrell's down in Charleston with Damiano Rufio, Damien's fiancée, Stormy, and Ishtvan Aziz."
"Oh, that'll be some fine hellraising," Kastagir said gleefully. "I'll just take Tahir down to meet his brother, then. Shahar's mad students like Farrell; they'll cope fine with Tahir."
Having met Damien and Ish, Rachel couldn’t very well argue the description for either of them, although she used a different definition of mad for each of them. "Yes, well, plan on coming back up to visit more," Rachel said firmly. "I held the store together this summer, Connor. I can hold it for another month this winter while you two catch up."
"A month?" Connor smiled at her, though. "I'd not do that to you in winter, Rachel. We'll do some wandering during the week and be back on weekends to take deliveries and handle restocking and refinishing. I'll see if the Goldbergs have a grandchild who wants spare hours."
"I can manage," Rachel repeated. "The storms aren't so bad and better I'm slow and careful and can find everything later than you, Damien, and Andrew are so hungover you have to think about where you remember leaving the silver plate?"
"And the silver polish," Connor reminded her, "and I still don't know how that rag got over the doorframe. But that was them."
"I don't want to know, either." Rachel smiled at him. "And I know. My standard for you being drunk was the wake you and Aidan threw for Ramirez. I found the last bottle a month later and I have no idea why one of you thought it should have gone in the refinishing closet."
"Oh, that," Connor said. "The cork had gone and the wine with it and stripping varnish with it seemed a good idea at the time."
Kastagir raised an eyebrow and his glass. "Andrew first, Aidan next."
"Aidan is Shahar; the cider's behind the bar, in the fridge. The unlabeled brown bottle." Connor just grinned. "Someone has to get the next batch of appetizers out of the oven in two minutes and we're not making Rachel do it."
"Fine, fine, I can wait on myself," Kastagir agreed. "Another, Rachel?"
"Not yet, thank you, I'd rather stay awake and hear the stories." Rachel lifted her own legging-clad feet to the table. "It is a good night not to move around. And we were talking about Andrew Bartlett, Damien's student?"
"Ah! The unflappable one that made Rufio curse so a decade later?"
Connor's laughter trailed him to the kitchen, rasping and amused as ever. "That one. They were both in town on the 7th and Damien complained about that, again."
Rachel laughed. "Because Andrew told him the Marine drill instructors were almost soothingly familiar after seven years with Damien, you see."
Kastagir roared with laughter without ever spilling a drop of the cider. Both glasses topped off, he recorked the bottle and left it on the table, too; on a coaster, at least. He grinned at Rachel. "They would be indeed. So I take it Andrew joined the Marines because of Pearl Harbor?"
"Hell, Damien joined the Army because of Pearl Harbor. Got to shot Johannes Engeles in Italy, he told me." Connor came back in with more appetizers, made sure Rachel got some to cushion the alcohol although he'd never put it that way, and then sat down with his own drink. "And then my Fahizah told both the louts to hush, she'd outranked them both before it was over. She made full colonel in the WAACs, keeping supplies straightened out in the Pacific with the quartermasters branch."
"She was always an organized one," Kastagir agreed, lifting his glass. "Pearl Harbor - thank God it kicked the States into the war, finally."
Connor patted Rachel's shoulder and lifted his glass. "To my daughters. I got excellent ones."
Rachel smiled and toasted them both. "To that war being over."
Kastagir nodded. "It was a bad one. There's always another war, but that one was a steppes fire: first thing you know, everything's burning and there's nowhere to get underwater." He pulled over the new plate of appetizers, though, and tried some of the rye bread, cream cheese, thin-sliced onion, and smoked salmon. "New York. Perfect."
Rachel smiled at him; she'd made those earlier for the 'bits and bites' dinner she and Connor had originally planned. (Somehow, they always thought there wouldn't be enough food for the annual Christmas party/now defunct wake. They were always right about a few things and wrong about others.) "I'm glad you like them." She leaned in, conspiratorially, to say, "I wanted something I hadn't had for dinner four nights running."
Connor pulled a throw rug down while she was out of his way. "Now we throw it all at Sunda and his lad and you and I order pizza or Chinese."
Rachel wrapped the blanket around her. "If we're ordering in, I'm borrowing the guest room and having another Manhattan, Connor."
Kastagir smiled at her. "How can you hear the stories and meet my student if you go home? Another Manhattan it is, Rachel."
"And more stories," she ordered him, pleasant and implacable and determined not to miss any of the fun. Connor had already gone to get her a glass of water to let her draw the evening out, and she took a pair of the salmon appetizers to help the process along.
"But of course more stories," Kastagir said, waving a toothpick-speared cherry as if it was the world's shortest magic wand. "And at least two more rounds of these lovely foods you two are maligning. My student will show; never fear. He hates missing fun."
"Sounds like one of yours," Connor agreed. "We'll go find him if he doesn't turn up soon. Meanwhile, what's this about you were in the south of France? How did you dodge Amanda?"
"It's called honest work, MacLeod; she avoids it…."
~ ~ ~
Tahir called during the third round of appetizers and demolished the fourth and fifth by himself.
It was a very good post-party party.
Original post on Dreamwidth | Leave a comment on DW | Read
comments on DW
Given the new LJ 'design' decisions, please comment on DW if you can.
ymfaery 's prompt about immortals, mortals, and Pearl Harbor. Somehow, I got this! The new chapter is at the AO3 here, or the entire work is here.
Coda. (And Cider).
Rachel passed the plate of appetizer tidbits over and let the leather couch cradle her tired bones before she tried the glass she'd just been handed. Arthritis and New York winters were still a terrible mix, but she was very glad she hadn't retired before seeing this reunion. She sipped, stirred, sipped again, and smiled over the coffee table at Sunda Kastagir, a man she'd never expected to see in the flesh again. "You were right; it's a perfect Manhattan. Were you a bartender, sir?"
"Sunda, please, or Kastagir, but not sir. Connor will start laughing again if you keep calling me that. Kastagir leaned back against his own section of the couch, his feet flagrantly up on the coffee table and impossible to miss in those brilliant yellow and red socks, and laughed. "And tend bar? Once or twice-"
"A decade," Connor cut over him. "At least." He came in from the kitchen with a timer in his hand and put it on the coffee table to tick quietly away. "So, mad man, what will you have? You've seen the bar contents, and the fridge and basement are still well-stocked from your party." He hadn't stopped smiling since that first hug.
Kastagir laughed. "Hell, what I want is that cider you used to make-" He cut off when Connor bounced up off the couch and behind the bar. "Dear God, you still make it?"
Rachel smiled and sipped her cocktail again. "Every winter, I insist I'm not helping with the job again and every fall he talks me into feeding the press while he makes another twenty gallons."
Connor snorted. "And every winter you consult God knows where-" Rachel smiled demurely and refused, again, to tell him. "-on that spice mix you put in when you mull it. Almost as sharp as the cheese straws, Sunda."
Kastagir was happily devouring them. "Lovely. Almost spicy enough."
"He has no taste buds," Connor warned, but his eyes were laughing if his mouth wasn't. Quite.
Rachel smiled. "And we've another eight tins left from the party, Connor. Kastagir at least compliments my baking," she teased
"And so I should," Kastagir said cheerfully. "Lovely snacks on no notice. Now, if my idiot student just sees the sign with your number."
"He'll miss it?" Connor asked, amused. "It's two feet high."
"One good set of legs or shoulders and Tahir would miss the second coming, MacLeod." Despite his complaints, Kastagir was smiling. "But I like him. You will too. One of the relaxed ones."
"You always did find those," Connor said.
"If Farrell Jameson is an example of your work, you should teach more students," Rachel said firmly. She'd grown very fond of the New Zealander both after the line war and then in the preparations for the Christmas party.
"Farrell was, oh, a graduate student, say," Kastagir said, gesturing grandly with a piece of pastry. "Hardly as if I had to teach the man sword work. Or knife work. Certainly not paranoia. Proper proportions of paranoia, now…." He bit into the pastry, his eyes widened, then narrowed again, and he snagged the plate closer. He washed the first tiropita down with more cider, took a second, and added, "And when did you fall in with my student and how do I find him? Farrell made that. I recognize his touch with the spices."
Connor grinned and stole the plate back, offering it to Rachel as if correcting Kastagir's manners had been his sole intent. Rachel raised an eyebrow at him but she shifted a cheese straw and a zucchini muffin to her plate before Connor retracted his offer.
Connor passed the appetizers back to Kastagir, who seemed hungrier than they were, and told him, "I met the man last spring and Farrell's down in Charleston with Damiano Rufio, Damien's fiancée, Stormy, and Ishtvan Aziz."
"Oh, that'll be some fine hellraising," Kastagir said gleefully. "I'll just take Tahir down to meet his brother, then. Shahar's mad students like Farrell; they'll cope fine with Tahir."
Having met Damien and Ish, Rachel couldn’t very well argue the description for either of them, although she used a different definition of mad for each of them. "Yes, well, plan on coming back up to visit more," Rachel said firmly. "I held the store together this summer, Connor. I can hold it for another month this winter while you two catch up."
"A month?" Connor smiled at her, though. "I'd not do that to you in winter, Rachel. We'll do some wandering during the week and be back on weekends to take deliveries and handle restocking and refinishing. I'll see if the Goldbergs have a grandchild who wants spare hours."
"I can manage," Rachel repeated. "The storms aren't so bad and better I'm slow and careful and can find everything later than you, Damien, and Andrew are so hungover you have to think about where you remember leaving the silver plate?"
"And the silver polish," Connor reminded her, "and I still don't know how that rag got over the doorframe. But that was them."
"I don't want to know, either." Rachel smiled at him. "And I know. My standard for you being drunk was the wake you and Aidan threw for Ramirez. I found the last bottle a month later and I have no idea why one of you thought it should have gone in the refinishing closet."
"Oh, that," Connor said. "The cork had gone and the wine with it and stripping varnish with it seemed a good idea at the time."
Kastagir raised an eyebrow and his glass. "Andrew first, Aidan next."
"Aidan is Shahar; the cider's behind the bar, in the fridge. The unlabeled brown bottle." Connor just grinned. "Someone has to get the next batch of appetizers out of the oven in two minutes and we're not making Rachel do it."
"Fine, fine, I can wait on myself," Kastagir agreed. "Another, Rachel?"
"Not yet, thank you, I'd rather stay awake and hear the stories." Rachel lifted her own legging-clad feet to the table. "It is a good night not to move around. And we were talking about Andrew Bartlett, Damien's student?"
"Ah! The unflappable one that made Rufio curse so a decade later?"
Connor's laughter trailed him to the kitchen, rasping and amused as ever. "That one. They were both in town on the 7th and Damien complained about that, again."
Rachel laughed. "Because Andrew told him the Marine drill instructors were almost soothingly familiar after seven years with Damien, you see."
Kastagir roared with laughter without ever spilling a drop of the cider. Both glasses topped off, he recorked the bottle and left it on the table, too; on a coaster, at least. He grinned at Rachel. "They would be indeed. So I take it Andrew joined the Marines because of Pearl Harbor?"
"Hell, Damien joined the Army because of Pearl Harbor. Got to shot Johannes Engeles in Italy, he told me." Connor came back in with more appetizers, made sure Rachel got some to cushion the alcohol although he'd never put it that way, and then sat down with his own drink. "And then my Fahizah told both the louts to hush, she'd outranked them both before it was over. She made full colonel in the WAACs, keeping supplies straightened out in the Pacific with the quartermasters branch."
"She was always an organized one," Kastagir agreed, lifting his glass. "Pearl Harbor - thank God it kicked the States into the war, finally."
Connor patted Rachel's shoulder and lifted his glass. "To my daughters. I got excellent ones."
Rachel smiled and toasted them both. "To that war being over."
Kastagir nodded. "It was a bad one. There's always another war, but that one was a steppes fire: first thing you know, everything's burning and there's nowhere to get underwater." He pulled over the new plate of appetizers, though, and tried some of the rye bread, cream cheese, thin-sliced onion, and smoked salmon. "New York. Perfect."
Rachel smiled at him; she'd made those earlier for the 'bits and bites' dinner she and Connor had originally planned. (Somehow, they always thought there wouldn't be enough food for the annual Christmas party/now defunct wake. They were always right about a few things and wrong about others.) "I'm glad you like them." She leaned in, conspiratorially, to say, "I wanted something I hadn't had for dinner four nights running."
Connor pulled a throw rug down while she was out of his way. "Now we throw it all at Sunda and his lad and you and I order pizza or Chinese."
Rachel wrapped the blanket around her. "If we're ordering in, I'm borrowing the guest room and having another Manhattan, Connor."
Kastagir smiled at her. "How can you hear the stories and meet my student if you go home? Another Manhattan it is, Rachel."
"And more stories," she ordered him, pleasant and implacable and determined not to miss any of the fun. Connor had already gone to get her a glass of water to let her draw the evening out, and she took a pair of the salmon appetizers to help the process along.
"But of course more stories," Kastagir said, waving a toothpick-speared cherry as if it was the world's shortest magic wand. "And at least two more rounds of these lovely foods you two are maligning. My student will show; never fear. He hates missing fun."
"Sounds like one of yours," Connor agreed. "We'll go find him if he doesn't turn up soon. Meanwhile, what's this about you were in the south of France? How did you dodge Amanda?"
"It's called honest work, MacLeod; she avoids it…."
~ ~ ~
Tahir called during the third round of appetizers and demolished the fourth and fifth by himself.
It was a very good post-party party.
Original post on Dreamwidth | Leave a comment on DW | Read
comments on DW
Given the new LJ 'design' decisions, please comment on DW if you can.