AI S7
Title: These Old Bones
Pairing: Andy Skib/Neal Tiemann
Rating: pg
Warnings: Mentions of past death
Summary: Future fic. A Skibmann Christmas when they are old men.
Word Count: 700
Andy reaches for the guitar, carefully removing it from the stand. His grip is not what it used to be, arthritis in his hands, but he can still play. He thinks yet again that this must be what Neal felt like all those years playing through the pain. His heart aches for Neal but now is not the time, he has work to do and Neal will be back from David’s when the game is over.
There is only one song left but he does not know if he can finish today, these things take time. Christmas is only days away and he may not get the chance to have the house to himself again. Today is not one of his better days but for this he will play through the pain, will play because he can still play. He flips through Neal’s note book to find the last song he’d picked out, and there it is- All These Notes We’ve Played.
By the time Andy is setting the guitar back on it’s stand and tucking Neal’s notebook back in the drawer, just as he’d found it, Andy’s hands hurt pretty bad. He heads for the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and his pain meds, not at all sorry. He would do it again a thousand times over, for Neal, for himself. He will always reach for one more chance to touch those strings. He know’s his last time is coming soon.
Christmas morning in Tulsa dawns clear and bright and snowy. Andy does not miss LA, he never has. Oh he misses the performing and the crowds and the recording but never LA it’s self. Neal is warm along his side and Andy does not move for fear of waking him. Neal sleeping through the night is rare thing, the pain usually wakes him eventually. Tylenol is not enough but he won’t take anything else not anymore.
It’s not like Andy doesn’t understand, he remembers those dark days when Neal was popping anything he could to take the edge off so he could play just one more time. When he had finally put his guitar away the rest of it hadn’t stopped, just gotten worse, easier to be numb then face reality. Surgery has come along way and these days they could have fixed Neal’s hand no problem and he could still play. They can’t fix a lifetime of damage.
Later when they’ve both settled in the living room with coffee Andy fetches the package from under the tree. Dave is coming over later to celebrate with them (nowhere else to go, and only his second with out Archie and Andrew) but this is not something he want’s to do with an audience- even Dave.
Neal slides the papers out of the mailing envelope and stares at the music sheet on top. “They’re yours, your words.” Andy’s voice cuts the silence and Neal finally sees the title, All That’s Left. “I just, I never learned to write music without playing it out anymore than you did so I thought we could record them and you could sing? Not for anything just for us. They shouldn’t be hidden away in your notebook. I can’t play forever.” Andy tries but his voice breaks just a little on the last sentence damn it. This is about Neal not himself.
Neal reaches out and grabs Andy’s hands. “One last time then?” And Andy can only nod.” “We can ask Dave and” Neal starts planning. Neal is smiling like Andy hasn’t seen in a while and Andy knows this is more than a good thing, it’s maybe the best thing. His hands ache this morning but he knows his old fingers have one more album in them, he can play through that pain- for Neal, for one last time.
The doorbell rings once and Dave just comes on in looking every day of his years since the car accident that killed Archie and Drew. His eyes are sad but the smile, though small, is real. Andy maybe holds on a little longer than necessary when they hug hello. Life has been good to him and he knows everyday he wakes up with Neal is another day blessed.
Pairing: Andy Skib/Neal Tiemann
Rating: pg
Warnings: Mentions of past death
Summary: Future fic. A Skibmann Christmas when they are old men.
Word Count: 700
Andy reaches for the guitar, carefully removing it from the stand. His grip is not what it used to be, arthritis in his hands, but he can still play. He thinks yet again that this must be what Neal felt like all those years playing through the pain. His heart aches for Neal but now is not the time, he has work to do and Neal will be back from David’s when the game is over.
There is only one song left but he does not know if he can finish today, these things take time. Christmas is only days away and he may not get the chance to have the house to himself again. Today is not one of his better days but for this he will play through the pain, will play because he can still play. He flips through Neal’s note book to find the last song he’d picked out, and there it is- All These Notes We’ve Played.
By the time Andy is setting the guitar back on it’s stand and tucking Neal’s notebook back in the drawer, just as he’d found it, Andy’s hands hurt pretty bad. He heads for the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and his pain meds, not at all sorry. He would do it again a thousand times over, for Neal, for himself. He will always reach for one more chance to touch those strings. He know’s his last time is coming soon.
Christmas morning in Tulsa dawns clear and bright and snowy. Andy does not miss LA, he never has. Oh he misses the performing and the crowds and the recording but never LA it’s self. Neal is warm along his side and Andy does not move for fear of waking him. Neal sleeping through the night is rare thing, the pain usually wakes him eventually. Tylenol is not enough but he won’t take anything else not anymore.
It’s not like Andy doesn’t understand, he remembers those dark days when Neal was popping anything he could to take the edge off so he could play just one more time. When he had finally put his guitar away the rest of it hadn’t stopped, just gotten worse, easier to be numb then face reality. Surgery has come along way and these days they could have fixed Neal’s hand no problem and he could still play. They can’t fix a lifetime of damage.
Later when they’ve both settled in the living room with coffee Andy fetches the package from under the tree. Dave is coming over later to celebrate with them (nowhere else to go, and only his second with out Archie and Andrew) but this is not something he want’s to do with an audience- even Dave.
Neal slides the papers out of the mailing envelope and stares at the music sheet on top. “They’re yours, your words.” Andy’s voice cuts the silence and Neal finally sees the title, All That’s Left. “I just, I never learned to write music without playing it out anymore than you did so I thought we could record them and you could sing? Not for anything just for us. They shouldn’t be hidden away in your notebook. I can’t play forever.” Andy tries but his voice breaks just a little on the last sentence damn it. This is about Neal not himself.
Neal reaches out and grabs Andy’s hands. “One last time then?” And Andy can only nod.” “We can ask Dave and” Neal starts planning. Neal is smiling like Andy hasn’t seen in a while and Andy knows this is more than a good thing, it’s maybe the best thing. His hands ache this morning but he knows his old fingers have one more album in them, he can play through that pain- for Neal, for one last time.
The doorbell rings once and Dave just comes on in looking every day of his years since the car accident that killed Archie and Drew. His eyes are sad but the smile, though small, is real. Andy maybe holds on a little longer than necessary when they hug hello. Life has been good to him and he knows everyday he wakes up with Neal is another day blessed.