Wilby fic: Points In Common, Part 5, by kuonji (R)
Title: Points In Common, Part 5
Series: Points In Common
Author: kuonji
Fandom: Wilby Wonderful
Characters: Duck MacDonald, Buddy French
Pairings: Duck/Dan mentioned, Buddy/Carol mentioned
Category: character study, drama
Rating: R
Warnings: *highlight for spoilers: mention of domestic abuse
Words: ~3690
Summary: By his seventh run, Buddy has enough breath left over to chat.
Points In Common
by kuonji
PART FIVE
Buddy's as good as his word. He's waiting at the turnout when Duck reaches it on the morning of January 3rd, bundled in what looks like a brand new set of sweats. Duck's already a little fatigued from his run uphill, so his pace is perfect for Buddy's beginners' legs. Despite his prior teasing, he takes it slow, doesn't push. Buddy powers along grimly beside him and is looking remarkably like a steam engine huffing in the cold air when he peels back off again at the end.
The next day, Buddy's back, his face determined. He starts to get the rhythm down. He must have done this before, after all, in high school and at the police academy. Duck's pretty sure it's half relearning the breathing as much as training the muscles. Buddy's not that out of shape, really.
It's relatively easy to get fit again if you once were, so by his seventh run, Buddy has enough breath left over to chat. Neither of them is particularly talkative, but they've started feeling that sense of comfort that spending every morning with each other eventually brings.
Duck finds out that Buddy is a Leafs fan due to an uncle who almost played for them. He doesn't know the first thing about boats, but he likes to fish. He still wants to save the trees. He's a determined agnostic (not an atheist). He's a fan of Mark Twain, Leonard Cohen, and Jim Carrey.
Buddy starts walking downhill a ways to meet him, and then following him partway past the turnout on the way back.
By the time Buddy's able to meet him outside his house and do the whole run with him, Duck has him laughing at bar stories from the mainland, and Buddy's telling tales from college and his one year with the Huskies.
***
On February 12th, halfway up the hill, Buddy asks him, "Do you have anything planned for Monday?"
Duck, who's privately been stewing about it, throws him a glare. "Do you?"
"Steakhouse dinner with a live quartet." He's trying to look smug, Duck thinks, but Buddy's face seems inclined toward sunny and childish. Duck rolls his eyes.
"I was thinking of dinner out, but Dan wants us to be alone. We might go out for a walk if it's clear enough."
They run for a while. Then Buddy says, "Dan's from Vancouver, right? You think he's ever been ice fishing by moonlight?"
Duck's twenty minutes late prying himself away from the warmth of his bed on the morning of February 15th. Dan's hands are very strong, and his mouth is very, very sweet. "Didn't catch anything," he tells Buddy shortly.
"Not even a cold?" Buddy answers innocently. He's been patiently waiting on the stoop the whole time.
Despite stamping his feet to keep warm, the man is at last managing to look smug.
***
March 3rd, a Thursday, Buddy is moody and out of sorts.
"Have you ever thought...?" he says, just after they hit the steepest part of the run up. The exertion steals his breath, or else he uses it as an excuse not to finish. After a while, he says, "When were you thinking about extending your garage? I don't think I'll have the time for a couple of months."
"Not until summer, probably." The weather's only just starting to warm up, and it's still too wet to get any work done. Dan had said it was no big deal when Duck told him last October it was too late in the year to start. That was before he spent a winter bitching about de-icing his car every morning, and blaming Duck for not reminding him about the consequences of not having a covered parking space whenever Duck dared to tell him some form of I-told-you-so.
"Good, good. Summer should be fine," Buddy says, distractedly.
It's not until two weeks later that he hears through Dan, who heard from Sandra, who heard from Deena, that Carol had very quietly had some sort of surgery -- something serious enough to go to the mainland for. She's making a full recovery, though, and already calling into the office with errands for Deena to run.
Duck thinks about sending over some flowers and a casserole like Brenda had done for him. But instead, he keeps up his runs with Buddy and talks about the new garage he's planning. The first time Duck finds an excuse to see Carol at home, she treats him with bright courtesy and makes no mention of it at all. The next morning, however, just before they separate back at Duck's house, Buddy says to him, simply, "Thanks for coming by. Carol really appreciated it."
***
One Friday morning, Buddy calls to say that he won't be there.
"Something wrong?" Duck asks him. Buddy doesn't sound concerned, but he hasn't missed a day yet until now, which makes Duck wonder.
"No. It's just that, you're going to need the time to get your truck out. Oh, and you better wake Dan up, too, or he's going to be late for work."
"What...?"
Buddy laughs and hangs up.
Rushing outside, Duck stares in horror at what looks to be a few kilometers' worth of masking tape, sealing his garage shut. Dan's car in its space on the front lawn has been wrapped around with saran wrap so the doors won't open, and the windshield is covered in window paint -- abstract designs and drunken-looking smiley faces.
"April Fool's!" proclaims the chalk message on his garage door, in garish green and pink.
Duck stumbles back inside in a daze. As soon as he closes the front door, he goes to the bedroom to wake Dan up roughly and tell him with grim determination, "We have eighteen hours. Think!"
***
On April 19th, Buddy knocks on his door instead of simply waiting for him outside. Duck lets him in to use the washroom while he gets started on his stretches and warm-up in the front yard. Buddy still looks antsy once he joins him, but Duck doesn't press until they've gotten about a kilometer down the road.
"Something up?" he asks.
Buddy sucks air through his teeth, then tells him, "Warren Montrose is retiring. They, uh, the Mayor asked me if I wanted his job."
Duck's not especially surprised. Buddy's good at what he does, and, perhaps more pertinent, his practical attitude toward discipline and justice align neatly with Chief Montrose's and Mayor Hilborne's. It would mean more time in the office, and more time dealing with police personnel instead of civilians. If he works at it, though, Buddy could still keep his finger on the pulse of the town. Stan would probably help with that.
It would mean a raise, and no more night shifts. It would mean prestige, formal dinners, and pictures in the paper. At forty-five, Buddy would be one of the youngest Chiefs of Police Wilby Island has ever had, but the people trust him, and he wouldn't break that trust.
"Are you going to take it?"
"Yeah. I think I am."
"That's good. Congratulations."
"Thanks."
"You going to buy a new suit?"
Buddy groans. "I think I'd better."
***
On May 5th, Buddy looks tired.
"Carol's parents are going to call her tonight," he says, without prompting. "They're going to tell her how adorable her niece looks in her traditional garb. They'll probably email us pictures. They'll ask us again why we don't have kids. They'll wail about how old Carol is getting. They'll probably call me impotent and a few other names that Carol won't translate for me. We'll probably have a fight afterwards. I don't know why the hell she even picks up."
Duck squeezes Buddy's shoulder. "They're her parents."
"I know."
***
On May 23rd, Buddy meets him at the turnout for a short run. He needs to be on duty early to help lead the parade and then run security for the Victoria Fair.
He's still nervous about being Chief. This is the first large-scale event he'll be in charge of in his new position.
On the way back down, he tells Duck, "My dad loved Victoria Day. Looked forward to it every year. He'd forget my name after a day away at school, but he always remembered the Queen."
Duck checks to see if Buddy's sad, but his expression is relaxed and fond.
He goes to see the parade later with Dan, Sandra, and Emily. Everything runs smoothly.
***
On July 21st, Duck's outside early enough to watch Buddy come down the hill and park his car at the curb.
"Morning," they call to each other.
Buddy puts his left leg up on the rail to stretch his hamstrings just like usual. "Good news yesterday," he remarks, as he switches legs.
Duck shakes out his arms to keep from tensing up. "Yeah." He gets down and starts his pushups. Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty... He gets up and jogs in place, waiting for the question.
Buddy asks a different one instead: "Anyone give you trouble?" He's bent over, doing opposite toe reaches, not looking at Duck. His voice is quietly authoritative. Now that he's Chief, he'd be the one ordering extra patrols if need be.
"Haven't been to town yet, but I'll be meeting Dan for lunch."
"Keep me posted."
"Sure."
A minute later, they're moving out. The day's going to be a hot one. The sun's already clear and strong on their backs. Duck squints upward, wondering if he should have worn a cooler tank top like Buddy has, or if he's the smart one for keeping his shoulders covered from burning.
They're quiet this morning, working faster than usual up the hill, maybe because they're both racing the impending heat.
The combination of the quiet, the heat, the news yesterday, and memories of last July get to him somehow. "It's been a year," he says. "For me and Dan."
Buddy grunts in acknowledgement. "Take your time. Carol and I only dated for four months before we got married. We're lucky it worked out."
There it is, out in the open. "We haven't talked about it."
"Have you thought about it?"
It's nearly half a kilometer before Duck answers: "I've thought about it. Don't know if he has."
"Well, you've got time. No rush. I don't think either of you is going anywhere." Buddy throws him an amused look that Duck manages to return.
***
The next day, a shifting sea breeze brings in fog heavy enough to cover much of the sun's direct heat. They pace themselves better this time and have more breath to josh each other about Buddy's new running shorts (bright yellow) and Duck's new haircut (not quite bald), and to argue over the Mooseheads' new lineup.
At a lull in their conversation, Duck tells Buddy, "My first serious boyfriend. Erik. We got along great for the first year. And then it just -- fell apart."
Buddy seems to wait for him to say more. When Duck doesn't, he replies, "Carol and I were great for two years, and pretty good for the third. I think it was my mum getting sick that first caused problems. We got through it in the end, though."
Duck thinks about that. "I don't think there was really a thing like that for us. We just started fighting about stupid stuff, more and more." He pauses to wipe his forehead with the sweatband on his right wrist. "Then the fights started getting mean."
"Mean, how?" He glances over at Buddy, and he senses a chilliness come over the other man, a tight air of expectancy.
That makes it easier to say, "Mean like, he'd throw me against the wall sometimes." He leaves out the part about the bruises and the headaches.
There's a long silence.
"It wasn't a big deal. He never hurt me bad, and after a while, I stopped taking it. We MacDonalds don't go down easy." He smiles, but the sharp attention beside him causes his attempted levity to go flat.
"How long a while?" Buddy's voice is quiet, but steely.
"Long enough."
"You were with him for three years, right?"
"Minus a couple of months, yeah. Like I said, it was good for the first year. I almost thought I might bring him home to meet my dad." That hurts to admit.
"What changed?"
"I don't know. I started getting... smarter, I guess." It was a long time ago. He thinks it'd feel stranger to recall all this if he hadn't been thinking about it a lot lately. "I was settling down, getting to know the place. I got along great with his friends. He didn't like that. He started getting pushy, ordering me around. I put up with it for a while, because the good parts were still there, but there were less and less of them as time went on. By the end, seemed pretty much all he wanted from me was to fight or fuck."
Their feet pounding on the road and their labored breathing are the only sounds for a while.
Quietly, Buddy observes, "You were with him for a long time." He's not judgmental, but he is angry. Buddy, angry, is a low rumbling feeling. A few months ago, Buddy had caught a group of kids playing Fire Brigade by setting fire to people's sheds so they could put them out. The story had been in the Sentinel. Duck rubs the hairs on the back of his neck.
"Yeah," he agrees. "But it was really nice when we were good, you know? I guess at one point I just figured, this is probably it. This is the best a guy like me can get, so I might as well hang on to it."
A tall, bulky shape looms out of the fog on the right side of the trail. It's the triple-trunked pine tree that signals the last leg of their run before the turnaround point. Duck starts their sprint, and Buddy swiftly follows. They race, overtaking each other in turns, until Duck puts on a final burst of speed and crosses the 'finish line' -- the demarcation from asphalt to gravel -- half a meter in the lead.
His momentum carries him to break against the cement safety barrier around the lookout point they're at. Buddy fetches up next to him and grunts, his face red and sweaty with exertion. He scowls at Duck.
"You didn't call it," he accuses, through heaving gasps. Duck hadn't yelled, 'Go,' like he was supposed to.
"You're slowing down," Duck answers, grinning but no less breathless. He leans over, bracing his hands over his knees, and checks his wristwatch for the time. They can't rest for more than thirty seconds before their heart rates start falling too far. He rolls his neck and stretches his calves. Beside him, Buddy does the same.
As always, he waits for Buddy's cue. His recovery time is longer than Duck's, partly because he spends his days behind a desk, partly because he still smokes too damn much. At around twenty seconds, Buddy meets his eyes, and Duck readies to take off again -- but Buddy snags him by the arm as he does, causing him to yell in surprise, his feet skidding slightly on the gravel.
"Wait." Buddy's still panting a bit. It takes a second before he asks, "What did you mean? 'A guy like you'?"
Duck frowns.
"Because you're, what, the son of a fisherman? A high school graduate? Because you're gay?"
Duck shrugs. He should have known Buddy would get like this. Yes, he had known, something whispers. So why had he said anything?
"The fucker had no right," Buddy hisses. He's getting worked up.
"No, he didn't. That's why I hit him back." Too late, he remembers he hadn't intended to mention that.
"Bloody hell." Buddy doesn't often swear. The words come oddly from his soft mouth. "Did he ever force you? Coerce you for sex?"
Duck shakes Buddy's hand away, poised between shocked laughter and embarrassed fury. "What the f--" He clamps his mouth shut. He reminds himself that Buddy's a cop. A good one who patrols with a purpose and asks the questions that need asking. Wilby's not the sort of place that has knife fights in the street, but things happen that everyone knows and doesn't talk about. "No," he answers.
"Bloody fucking bastard." Buddy slaps his hands down on the safety barrier as he pivots away to turn his glare out over Lighthouse Point.
Duck watches him for a long moment, before he says, "He threatened to tell my dad about us if I tried to leave him." Buddy's mouth thins in a tight line. "I don't think he would have. He didn't have the guts. But it was a shitty thing to say."
Buddy swears again. The next thing Duck knows, there's arms around him. He tenses up purely out of reflex, but when Buddy strokes fingers through his hair, he tries to pull away for a different reason.
It's a quiet road they're on at this time of day, but anyone might happen by. Some people still give nasty looks when he and Dan hold hands in public. He can't let them think... But Buddy doesn't let him go. He should have expected that, too, shouldn't he?
"He had no right," Buddy repeats, softly now.
Duck shudders. He takes a couple of breaths and then lets his head drop forward onto Buddy's broad shoulder. He leans a bit, letting Buddy take some of his weight. How long had it been since he'd shared a hug with someone who wasn't a lover? Not since his dad had died, maybe, and now Nancy won't even look at him anymore, much less touch him.
The skin under his forehead is hot from their run and a little acrid with sweat, but Buddy's scent is familiar and comfortable. Safe. He wonders if Emily had felt this way when he'd tried to comfort her after running off that little shit at the motel. He hopes so. He really hopes so.
"What if I screw up?" The words burst out of him, falling into the small triangle of space between them. "What if he wants to leave me, and I lose it?"
Buddy gets what he means. "You'd never hurt anyone, Duck," he assures.
"What if I do? Shit, I... Buddy, I love him." He does. He has for a long time. His dad had loved the same woman long after even her death, enough to cause grief to the next woman who dared to love him. Duck's more like his dad than he maybe wants to be. He knows he has a lot in common with Erik, too. That's why they'd hit it off in the first place. He's afraid to imagine what he'd do if Dan decided to leave.
"Yeah, so you won't hurt him. And why would he want to leave you, anyway?"
"Hell, lots of reasons."
"He won't. Trust me." He sounds so sure. It's a crazy thing to say, but Duck wants to believe it. Buddy takes his shoulders and pushes him back to look in his face. "If you do ever hurt him, I'll bust you for it. I promise. Toss you in jail and throw away the key." He's got a grim smile that nevertheless speaks of truth.
Duck laughs with a little hitch. His head's crowded with things that he doesn't know how to say. He pulls Buddy in and squeezes him once -- tight -- then steps back. He looks at his watch. "We need to go. My heart rate's in the basement."
"Whose fault is that? Drama queen."
Duck shoves him, and lets himself be shoved in retaliation, before they start back.
***
The chill, windy morning of November 22nd, Duck's late again. He apologizes as he hurries through his stretches, and he tells himself that he's only imagining the curious looks Buddy is giving him. He restrains himself firmly from bouncing and he tries to keep the smile off his face for as long as possible, but it's useless. He definitely isn't imagining anything, because by the time they're ready to go, Buddy is grinning outright.
"Something you want to tell me?" he asks mildly.
"Fuck, yes!" Duck explodes. He runs his hands through his hair, unable to keep still. "Dan proposed to me yesterday."
Buddy laughs in delight and pulls him in for a rough hug. "I knew it," he shouts after letting Duck go. "I always knew you were the girl."
"Shut up," he returns, but it's impossible to put any heat into it.
"You said yes, right?"
He clears his throat. There's no reason to be shy about it, goddammit. "Yeah."
"When's the wedding?"
"I have no idea," he answers truthfully. "I don't know what the hell we're doing. We didn't even talk about it."
"You'd better start making decisions. When, where, who. What color, what style, how many. Every tiny little thing. I thought Carol would strangle me before we were ready. Hell, I half-way wanted her to."
Duck groans. "You're not helping, Buddy!"
"Okay, Juliet." Duck gestures mock-threateningly with a fist, but Buddy dodges and dances backward, starting to jog in place. "Let's burn off some of those pre-wedding jitters."
They talk about how abysmal the roads are on the way up, and how two more snowplows might need to be hired this year, with the new construction that's been going on. Buddy wins the sprint and Duck tells him it's only because he lets him, which makes Buddy swat him over the head.
When they get back, Buddy doesn't borrow the shower like he normally does, just stops in to say another 'Congratulations' to Dan.
"Can I tell Carol?" he asks, causing them to look at each other and stammer. Buddy's wide grin turns somewhat droll as he adds, "Brace yourselves. The Sentinel will probably want an interview."
END Part 5.
Dates mentioned:
Feb 14 -- Valentine's Day, for celebrating romantic love
Apr 1 -- April Fool's Day, for playing practical jokes
May 5 -- Children's Day in Korea, for celebrating children
Monday before May 25 -- Victoria Day, for celebrating the reigning monarch's birthday
Jul 20 -- "On July 20, 2005, Canada became the fourth country in the world and the first country in the Americas to legalize same-sex marriage nationwide with the enactment of the Civil Marriage Act which provided a gender-neutral marriage definition." (more info)
Note: Victoria Day is not generally a paid holiday in Nova Scotia. However, I see no reason why Wilby -- a town that makes up a new summer festival for no reason -- shouldn't have some fun on that day anyway.
Useful links here for Canadian holidays in 2005 and Nova Scotia weather.
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