Parka Girl Fic
Title: Baby... A Dangerous Idea
Pairing: Benny Fielhaber/Giles Barnes
Rating: PG
Notes: 1,670 words. Not the exact rating you wanted, apologies, and late on top of it. Man, I’m kind of dropping the ball on this one, eh? I hope I did the pairing justice, as it’s not one I know anything about, but I’ve tried to get Benny as close to your character as possible, from reading your fic (which are excellent, by the way). And I hope I didn’t make any glaring errors with the Hanukkah thing, I’m not Jewish.
Also, figured out the e-mail. Sent it to parka_girl@blah. Copy paste, for the future.
“So what’s this thing you’ve dragged me through the wind and the rain to see?”
Benny blinked up at the sopping midfielder on his doorstep, mind working too slowly for the circumstances. His mother asked who it was and the spell was broken. Come in, he mouthed, standing aside and shutting the door on the icy night.
“No,” Benny answered his mother absently, taking Giles’ coat and holding it away from himself, grimacing as it dripped all over the floor. He looked around, grunting at his mother’s story about the doctor’s daughter and how pretty she’d become, finally walking into the bathroom and dropping the sodden thing in the bathtub.
“I’m sure she’d love to move to England, Benny.”
“Uh-huh,” Benny replied, walking back to his living room and seeing Giles lounging on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table next to the Menorah. Benny’s face contorted at the water dripping off the younger man’s shoes.
“Are you listening to me, Benny?” Benny darted forward and swatted Giles’ feet off the table.
“Uh-huh.” Giles gave Benny a sarcastic look, sliding his feet off only to drop them back on the moment the older man stepped out of swatting distance.
“My yeast infection is back.” Benny glared and moved back around the table, swatting the dirty shoes off the table again.
“Yea-Wait, what?” Giles put his feet back on the table.
“It’s burning up my-”
“Giles!” Benny snapped, the Menorah and all of its candles crashing onto the coffee table, wax splashing across the shiny wood top as Giles’ feet slammed down.
“Who?”
“Will you-Ma, I-I got to go. Can I call you back later?” Benny asked distractedly. He barley waited for the answer before hanging up and throwing the phone into the couch. Giles was up and gone into the kitchen and Benny swore profusely as he collected the fallen candles and righted the Menorah. Giles came back into the room with paper towels and the look of a shamed puppy. Benny sent him a scathing look as he bent to wipe the hot wax off the table top.
“Sorry,” he finally muttered. Benny sighed and sat down on the couch, pulling the menorah close to replace the candles.
“Go take your fucking shoes off, Giles,” Benny sighed. Giles traipsed wordlessly back to the hall and shucked his shoes off. He returned and collected up the soiled paper towels to throw them away.
“Sorry, mate. But look, no harm done, eh?” Benny shot a stare across the table to the midfielder, who threw up his hands in a gesture of appeasement and slouched into the kitchen to throw away the towels. Benny heard him rummaging in the fridge and rolled his eyes. He frowned at the bottom of the Shamash, which had chipped, and swore softly under his breath, as the candle would no longer sit properly in its holder, instead slouching over. He leaned back in the couch and looked at the rebuilt Menorah, decidedly shabbier looking to Benny’s eyes.
“What’s up with the candlestick holder? Didn’t think you were the type to decorate too much.” Benny looked over at Giles, who had dropped into the couch next to him, offering a beer. “Peace offering?” the Englishman asked with a grin. Benny listlessly took the bottle-his own beer, he noted with a slight annoyance-and sighed once again. Giles rolled his eyes and gestured at the Menorah.
“What’s it, a gift?”
“No,” Benny said, too exasperated to explain. “What are you doing here?” Giles put his now stocking-clad feet on the table-top.
“I’ve come to see that thing you wanted me to see.” Benny rolled his eyes and took a swig of beer.
“What thing? I haven’t invited you over for weeks.”
“Then why am I always here?”
“Because you keep showing up. What thing?” Benny asked again. Giles waved his beer in a sort of universal gesture.
“That thing you were talking about in the dressing room. The reason you just can not go out with us for the next month. Something to do with you being Jewish.” Benny dead-panned a look at the man next to him, but bit his tongue instead of noting the tactless remark or correcting his misconception about the length of the celebration.
“Hanukkah. It’s a holiday. Why would you think I invited you over to see it?” Giles threw a ‘duh’ look in the older man’s direction.
“Well obviously you wouldn’t have mentioned it unless you wanted me to know about it.” Giles followed the remark with a cheeky smile, but the humor was lost on Benny, who was annoyed and haggard from this interruption of his quiet night at home. Instead he shrugged unsmilingly and set his beer on the coffee table. He got up and crossed the room, grabbing a lighter from a bureau drawer.
Giles had perked up, interested. “What are you doing?” Benny picked his way back to the couch.
“Lighting the Menorah.” Giles appeared impressed.
“Really.” Benny gave him an odd look and sat down on the couch picking up the Shamash. Giles leaned forward.
Benny hesitated for a second, a flash of the eyes towards the man sitting so close, before throwing up a quick, silent prayer for forgiveness and lighting the Shamash and throwing down the lighter. He proceeded to light the Hanukkah candles by the Shamash without saying the appropriate prayers. He was painfully conscious of Giles’ eyes on his actions, and somehow that made it all the harder. He reached the sixth and last candle, but before he could bring the Shamash to close enough to light it, Giles’ hand closed over his own. Together they lit the sixth candle and brought the Shamash back to the center, where it stood lopsided in its holder.
Giles leaned back and Benny could feel the younger man’s gaze drawing patterns into his back. He rubbed the hand he had used to light the candles, the hand Giles’ had closed over, incessantly, uncomfortable in his own skin suddenly. He didn’t know why, for a moment, but suddenly he let himself know the reason. This was his holiday. This was his. It was something he knew well, something he was good at. Every night for eight nights he went home alone, he lit his candles and said his prayers, and it was his. He didn’t have to perform for the curious eyes of the ignorant, he didn’t have to share the time he spent with anyone. And now Giles was here, and on top of everything else, Giles had lit his Menorah, had infringed upon his space, dampening his home and spoiled what was Benny’s. It was Benny’s. Not Giles’. He didn’t want to share it with Giles.
And the worst part was that Giles would find meaning in that act, where Benny found only destruction. Because Giles didn’t know what it was like to live six thousand miles from home, to live amongst strangers, to have only the small intangible things that could be carried with you. To have nothing that was yours. Because Giles was just too fucking young to understand lingering unhappiness. And it was only three years but it was an eternity.
“So what is this all about?” Giles asked, his voice floating into Benny’s thoughts. Benny grimaced and squeezed his tarnished hand tighter.
“It’s a celebration of the miracle of the oil that burned for eight days instead of one,” he replied, simplifying the story as much as he could. He could feel Giles lean forward.
“Seems kind of… random,” Giles finished, not without a hint of cheek.
Benny rolled his eyes. “It has to do with a temple and a war. Why are you here, Giles?”
Giles was silent for a few moments. “Well,” he said eventually, “Because I haven’t seen you for a while.” Benny looked over.
“Is it that important that we do?”
Giles shrugged, absently reaching over and placing his hand on Benny’s thigh. “I guess. I think so.” Giles looked up into Benny’s eyes. “You’re more than a pretty face to me, Benny. I know it’s stupid, but… Well. You know.”
For a moment, Benny was silent. Then he laughed, loud and humorless. The look on Giles’ face was one of hurt and confusion, and Benny looked away, the sight fueling his mad giggles. He buried his face in both hands and stifled himself, his giggles subsiding enough to let the older man draw a noisy breath.
“I know, huh?” He replied eventually. “Yea, I know Giles, I know. I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
And so Benny pulled his hands down, looked at Giles’ shining face, with all its ignorance and inexperience, and kissed him, hard and panicky. And Giles responded, clueless. Benny’s hand fisted in Giles’ shirt and he kissed the younger man hungrily and deeply. Then he pulled back, away, and pushed Giles away from him when he tried to follow.
“Go home, Giles.” Giles looked on, confused.
“Benny-”
“Go home,” Benny repeated, more forcefully. “I may know what you’re talking about, but you don’t have a fucking clue.”
Giles waited a few moments, frozen. But eventually, he got up and walked into the hall. Benny heard the front door open and close, and he knew the younger man had forgotten his coat. But he also knew Giles wouldn’t come back for it.
“Fucking ego,” Benny muttered absently. He looked at his Menorah, his shabbier, soiled Menorah, and sighed with frustration. Getting up, he snatched the thing off the coffee table and padded into the kitchen, blowing out all the candles and tossing the whole thing into the trash. He stared at it a moment before turning to his sink and staring out the window.
On a whim he pulled open the small window and slid his hand outside, feeling the chill rain drench it in no time. Sighing, he leaned over the sink and pressed his forehead to the sill. The rain wouldn’t change anything, but he could pretend.
Pairing: Benny Fielhaber/Giles Barnes
Rating: PG
Notes: 1,670 words. Not the exact rating you wanted, apologies, and late on top of it. Man, I’m kind of dropping the ball on this one, eh? I hope I did the pairing justice, as it’s not one I know anything about, but I’ve tried to get Benny as close to your character as possible, from reading your fic (which are excellent, by the way). And I hope I didn’t make any glaring errors with the Hanukkah thing, I’m not Jewish.
Also, figured out the e-mail. Sent it to parka_girl@blah. Copy paste, for the future.
“So what’s this thing you’ve dragged me through the wind and the rain to see?”
Benny blinked up at the sopping midfielder on his doorstep, mind working too slowly for the circumstances. His mother asked who it was and the spell was broken. Come in, he mouthed, standing aside and shutting the door on the icy night.
“No,” Benny answered his mother absently, taking Giles’ coat and holding it away from himself, grimacing as it dripped all over the floor. He looked around, grunting at his mother’s story about the doctor’s daughter and how pretty she’d become, finally walking into the bathroom and dropping the sodden thing in the bathtub.
“I’m sure she’d love to move to England, Benny.”
“Uh-huh,” Benny replied, walking back to his living room and seeing Giles lounging on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table next to the Menorah. Benny’s face contorted at the water dripping off the younger man’s shoes.
“Are you listening to me, Benny?” Benny darted forward and swatted Giles’ feet off the table.
“Uh-huh.” Giles gave Benny a sarcastic look, sliding his feet off only to drop them back on the moment the older man stepped out of swatting distance.
“My yeast infection is back.” Benny glared and moved back around the table, swatting the dirty shoes off the table again.
“Yea-Wait, what?” Giles put his feet back on the table.
“It’s burning up my-”
“Giles!” Benny snapped, the Menorah and all of its candles crashing onto the coffee table, wax splashing across the shiny wood top as Giles’ feet slammed down.
“Who?”
“Will you-Ma, I-I got to go. Can I call you back later?” Benny asked distractedly. He barley waited for the answer before hanging up and throwing the phone into the couch. Giles was up and gone into the kitchen and Benny swore profusely as he collected the fallen candles and righted the Menorah. Giles came back into the room with paper towels and the look of a shamed puppy. Benny sent him a scathing look as he bent to wipe the hot wax off the table top.
“Sorry,” he finally muttered. Benny sighed and sat down on the couch, pulling the menorah close to replace the candles.
“Go take your fucking shoes off, Giles,” Benny sighed. Giles traipsed wordlessly back to the hall and shucked his shoes off. He returned and collected up the soiled paper towels to throw them away.
“Sorry, mate. But look, no harm done, eh?” Benny shot a stare across the table to the midfielder, who threw up his hands in a gesture of appeasement and slouched into the kitchen to throw away the towels. Benny heard him rummaging in the fridge and rolled his eyes. He frowned at the bottom of the Shamash, which had chipped, and swore softly under his breath, as the candle would no longer sit properly in its holder, instead slouching over. He leaned back in the couch and looked at the rebuilt Menorah, decidedly shabbier looking to Benny’s eyes.
“What’s up with the candlestick holder? Didn’t think you were the type to decorate too much.” Benny looked over at Giles, who had dropped into the couch next to him, offering a beer. “Peace offering?” the Englishman asked with a grin. Benny listlessly took the bottle-his own beer, he noted with a slight annoyance-and sighed once again. Giles rolled his eyes and gestured at the Menorah.
“What’s it, a gift?”
“No,” Benny said, too exasperated to explain. “What are you doing here?” Giles put his now stocking-clad feet on the table-top.
“I’ve come to see that thing you wanted me to see.” Benny rolled his eyes and took a swig of beer.
“What thing? I haven’t invited you over for weeks.”
“Then why am I always here?”
“Because you keep showing up. What thing?” Benny asked again. Giles waved his beer in a sort of universal gesture.
“That thing you were talking about in the dressing room. The reason you just can not go out with us for the next month. Something to do with you being Jewish.” Benny dead-panned a look at the man next to him, but bit his tongue instead of noting the tactless remark or correcting his misconception about the length of the celebration.
“Hanukkah. It’s a holiday. Why would you think I invited you over to see it?” Giles threw a ‘duh’ look in the older man’s direction.
“Well obviously you wouldn’t have mentioned it unless you wanted me to know about it.” Giles followed the remark with a cheeky smile, but the humor was lost on Benny, who was annoyed and haggard from this interruption of his quiet night at home. Instead he shrugged unsmilingly and set his beer on the coffee table. He got up and crossed the room, grabbing a lighter from a bureau drawer.
Giles had perked up, interested. “What are you doing?” Benny picked his way back to the couch.
“Lighting the Menorah.” Giles appeared impressed.
“Really.” Benny gave him an odd look and sat down on the couch picking up the Shamash. Giles leaned forward.
Benny hesitated for a second, a flash of the eyes towards the man sitting so close, before throwing up a quick, silent prayer for forgiveness and lighting the Shamash and throwing down the lighter. He proceeded to light the Hanukkah candles by the Shamash without saying the appropriate prayers. He was painfully conscious of Giles’ eyes on his actions, and somehow that made it all the harder. He reached the sixth and last candle, but before he could bring the Shamash to close enough to light it, Giles’ hand closed over his own. Together they lit the sixth candle and brought the Shamash back to the center, where it stood lopsided in its holder.
Giles leaned back and Benny could feel the younger man’s gaze drawing patterns into his back. He rubbed the hand he had used to light the candles, the hand Giles’ had closed over, incessantly, uncomfortable in his own skin suddenly. He didn’t know why, for a moment, but suddenly he let himself know the reason. This was his holiday. This was his. It was something he knew well, something he was good at. Every night for eight nights he went home alone, he lit his candles and said his prayers, and it was his. He didn’t have to perform for the curious eyes of the ignorant, he didn’t have to share the time he spent with anyone. And now Giles was here, and on top of everything else, Giles had lit his Menorah, had infringed upon his space, dampening his home and spoiled what was Benny’s. It was Benny’s. Not Giles’. He didn’t want to share it with Giles.
And the worst part was that Giles would find meaning in that act, where Benny found only destruction. Because Giles didn’t know what it was like to live six thousand miles from home, to live amongst strangers, to have only the small intangible things that could be carried with you. To have nothing that was yours. Because Giles was just too fucking young to understand lingering unhappiness. And it was only three years but it was an eternity.
“So what is this all about?” Giles asked, his voice floating into Benny’s thoughts. Benny grimaced and squeezed his tarnished hand tighter.
“It’s a celebration of the miracle of the oil that burned for eight days instead of one,” he replied, simplifying the story as much as he could. He could feel Giles lean forward.
“Seems kind of… random,” Giles finished, not without a hint of cheek.
Benny rolled his eyes. “It has to do with a temple and a war. Why are you here, Giles?”
Giles was silent for a few moments. “Well,” he said eventually, “Because I haven’t seen you for a while.” Benny looked over.
“Is it that important that we do?”
Giles shrugged, absently reaching over and placing his hand on Benny’s thigh. “I guess. I think so.” Giles looked up into Benny’s eyes. “You’re more than a pretty face to me, Benny. I know it’s stupid, but… Well. You know.”
For a moment, Benny was silent. Then he laughed, loud and humorless. The look on Giles’ face was one of hurt and confusion, and Benny looked away, the sight fueling his mad giggles. He buried his face in both hands and stifled himself, his giggles subsiding enough to let the older man draw a noisy breath.
“I know, huh?” He replied eventually. “Yea, I know Giles, I know. I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
And so Benny pulled his hands down, looked at Giles’ shining face, with all its ignorance and inexperience, and kissed him, hard and panicky. And Giles responded, clueless. Benny’s hand fisted in Giles’ shirt and he kissed the younger man hungrily and deeply. Then he pulled back, away, and pushed Giles away from him when he tried to follow.
“Go home, Giles.” Giles looked on, confused.
“Benny-”
“Go home,” Benny repeated, more forcefully. “I may know what you’re talking about, but you don’t have a fucking clue.”
Giles waited a few moments, frozen. But eventually, he got up and walked into the hall. Benny heard the front door open and close, and he knew the younger man had forgotten his coat. But he also knew Giles wouldn’t come back for it.
“Fucking ego,” Benny muttered absently. He looked at his Menorah, his shabbier, soiled Menorah, and sighed with frustration. Getting up, he snatched the thing off the coffee table and padded into the kitchen, blowing out all the candles and tossing the whole thing into the trash. He stared at it a moment before turning to his sink and staring out the window.
On a whim he pulled open the small window and slid his hand outside, feeling the chill rain drench it in no time. Sighing, he leaned over the sink and pressed his forehead to the sill. The rain wouldn’t change anything, but he could pretend.