Fic: Terpsichore
Terpsichore
By Miriam Heddy
When I sit, you sit. When I kneel, you kneel. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera!
"So what're you two up-"
"Charles, please reassure me on one point. You do know how to count to three in base ten?"
Alan frowned, stopping midway down the stairs. Neither of them had heard him, which was not surprising considering the volume of the music. Most of the subtlety of "The Blue Danube" was lost when the music was up so loud you had to shout to be heard. Alan sighed and sat down on the stairs, not sure he really wanted to come down after all. He'd almost gotten used to the house transformed, covered in plastic and melting ice, the dining room table squeezed out by scaled dioramas of murder scenes. But this?
At least there was no blood. Yet.
"I can count, Lawrence. The problem is not with my counting."
"Fine, well, let's just try this again, shall we? This time, you lead and I'll just try to keep out of your way."
Alan watched Charlie frown at Larry, his arms up, hands held out at his sides, waiting as Larry re-positioned him. For just a second, Alan remembered Charlie standing like that before. Halloween, Charlie was five, and Margaret was getting him dressed up in some costume-now what was that? An animal of some sort, at any rate, something yellow. A lion? And he'd walked around the room growling at them, tripping on his own tail. Don kept flipping Charlie's tail up and over his shoulder, laughing as it slipped back down again between his legs, until Margaret finally had to trim it down, and then Don had grabbed the extra fabric and chased Charlie around the house with it. Don had been Batman and had tried to convince Charlie to be his Robin, but Charlie had refused, though why he'd chosen to be a lion, Alan couldn't remember now. Such a long long time ago, he almost couldn't believe it. Don didn't laugh quite so much anymore, but Charlie-Charlie here had unfortunately chosen to grow his own mane- still Charlie, still growling at the world in his own small way.
They began moving to the music again but then Larry stopped, shouting. "Charles, your hand goes here, not on my-"
"Sorry, but you keep-"
"Higher than that. Just keep it-no, not there. Higher. Yes. Right there, unless you want people to-"
"No. I've got it." Charlie shook his head and moved his hand up Larry's back to rest just under Larry's shoulder-blade. Their hands were clasped in the air, arms extended, as if Charlie was considering using Larry to fight off an invading army, which was not such a bad idea.
Larry seemed to notice the problem, and unlocked his arm at the elbow, shaking both their arms together and forcing Charlie to relax a little. Charlie readjusted his grip, still looking awkward and uncertain-two feelings Alan knew Charlie did not enjoy. Charlie had inherited none of his mother's grace, which was a shame, because Margaret-Margaret could dance.
Alan remembered her trying to teach Charlie, once, before giving up altogether when Charlie stomped off in a huff to the garage after Don laughed a bit too heartily. Now Don had her grace, not that he used it all that often, from the looks of things. But good for Charlie, now, getting in there and giving it another try. Margaret would approve of that. Not to mention that Aunt Irene would be thrilled. And maybe he could take that Amita out dancing-give them something to talk about besides math. Everything was math with Charlie, but women weren't math, and that was something Charlie had some trouble understanding for some reason.
"Okay, so let's try boom-tick-tick...boom-tick-tick-and lean. No-lean or you'll pop the clutch on your-”
"There's a clutch? Where's the clutch?"
Larry stumbled and winced as Charlie boom-tick-ticked right onto Larry's instep. And Larry leaned into Charlie as he regained his balance, righting himself, his face a bit flushed.
"It's an expression, Charles, and apparently only meaningful if you drive a stick."
"Which I don't?" Charlie said loudly, trying to catch Larry's eye but Larry was looking away, purposefully, at their clasped hands.
Alan frowned. There was something going on here-something he wasn't so sure he….
"You need to signal with your body when you're going to move so that I can move with you instead of… well, what we've been doing."
"This is not as easy as it looks," Charlie said, and Larry nodded, dropping Charlie's hand and wiping his own hand on his jeans, picking Charlie's hand back up again and lacing their fingers together.
"No. It's not. But I'm sure we'll manage. Let's try that again. And don't look at your feet. No-just-look over my shoulder at the wall over there."
"If I don't look at my feet I don’t know where they are," Charlie argued, though he was smiling now, his face a little flushed from the exertion.
"I think you'll find them on top of mine," Larry sighed, but he was smiling, too, sweat staining his underarms and the back of his shirt where Charlie was resting his hand as they talked, before his hand moved back into place on Larry's shoulder-blade. "Now look-look over my shoulder and count. One-two-"
"Three-and-" Charlie leaned.
"One-two-three-and-" Larry nodded and shut his eyes, his head tipped to the side as he listened to the music and moved, wincing only occasionally now as Charlie continued to not so much step on him as shuffle into him, sometimes missing the beat and then catching it again, until finally something seemed to connect between them, and they were moving together across the floor, looking reasonably graceful.
Charlie's hand had moved back down as he and Larry danced, sliding from Larry's shoulder to his waist, and Alan waited for Larry to stop and correct him, but Larry didn't, his eyes still shut, the two men moving together and….
And Alan noticed that Charlie wasn’t looking over his shoulder, or at his feet, but was instead watching Larry, and Alan had seen that look on Charlie's face before....
And this was very much not a good thing. He didn't know what this thing was, precisely, but he knew enough to stand up and walk down the stairs, making sure to make quite a bit of noise.
"Very nice. Very nice you two." He got to the bottom and clapped his hands together and Larry opened his eyes, stumbling as Charlie abruptly stopped moving. Larry fell forward and Charlie caught him, pushing him back upright with a hand on Larry's wrist, where it remained even after Larry no longer had any need of it. Larry was still holding onto Charlie's other hand as if he didn't realize they were no longer dancing.
"Dad."
"Alan, I was just-"
"Yes, I see that you were. So, Charlie, what's with the sudden need to waltz?" He turned down the music until Strauss was no longer flooding the room with the Danube.
Charlie shrugged at him, the movement hampered by Larry's hand in his own, though Charlie seemed to not notice and didn't step away. "It's a charity thing. Megan-"
"Ah! Yes." Alan grabbed hold of that. Megan was good. Megan was supposed to be seeing Larry, wasn't she? "And what's she got to do with all this?"
Larry scratched his chin with Charlie's hand, and then seemed to notice he was still holding it and let go, his expression puzzled. Charlie's other hand was still gripping Larry's wrist, where he'd apparently forgotten it. "Well, it's a marathon of sorts."
"A dance marathon?"
Charlie nodded, adding, "Yes, and from what I understand, the important thing is endurance, which I have."
Larry frowned. "The question is, can your partner endure your dancing?"
"So who's your partner, Charlie? Megan?" Alan interrupted, seeing that they were about to lose the thread of the conversation.
Charlie ran his hand through his hair and sighed.
And Alan shook his head, suddenly seeing what was going on, relieved. "What-Charlie-you said you'd do this marathon and you haven't asked anyone yet? What're you waiting for? I'm sure Amita would-"
"No, I-um-Dad, I'm-"
"I'm his partner," Larry said, and though Alan heard the words, it took a moment for them to sink in.
"You're his-you're his partner?"
"Yes, well, yes, it's a-" Larry seemed to founder and looked at Charlie, who shrugged again.
"It's a single-sex event."
"A single-sex event," Alan repeated. "What's that?"
"Men dancing with other men, Dad. For charity."
If you asked him, there was no such thing as two men 'dancing' without there being a little something else going on there somewhere, and usually not for charity. "So Megan set this thing up with you two?"
"Yes, and it's an interesting story, actually," Larry offered, his eyes not leaving the floor, which suggested it was very interesting indeed.
Alan waited, and when Larry didn’t say anything, Charlie stepped in.
"Yes, well, originally, Dad, Megan was sponsoring a friend of hers in the dance, but then Larry-"
At his name, Larry nodded and then glanced up and started talking. "Unfortunately for my arches, Megan's friend fell ill with the flu-which has been going around on campus as well, though thankfully neither Charles nor myself seem to have come into contact with the vectors, and I have taken the precaution of getting an influenza vaccine, though some recent studies suggest an efficacy rate of less than 15% among hospital workers, which I'll admit does not bode well for my chances."
"Of winning the competition?" Alan asked.
"Of coming through flu season healthy."
"The dance-" Charlie prompted and Larry blinked and then nodded.
"Oh, well, as for our chances of winning the marathon, I'd put the odds only slightly higher, as your son may well have just broken my toe."
"I did not."
Larry smiled softly and Alan sighed. Getting a straight story out of these two was often more trouble than it was worth.
"So Megan's friend who was supposed to dance was sick?" Alan reminded him.
"Ah, yes, and with her friend out with the flu, naturally, Megan asked me if I would consider being a substitute."
"Naturally." Charlie rolled his eyes, but Larry seemed not to have noticed.
"As she had occasion to discover that I do have some small ability in that area, and I've actually done one of these before-"
"You've done this before?" Charlie asked, turning to Larry.
"Yes, didn't I tell you about that? Well, it was quite a long time ago-"
"In a galaxy far, far away," Charlie added, and Larry winced.
"You do realize, Charles, that it is only my skill standing between you and hours of humiliation this Saturday."
"Your skill? I find your lack of faith disturbing," Charlie shot back, still smiling.
Larry grin broadened, and though he turned to Alan, his eyes were still on Charlie. "The Waltz is what gives a Jedi his power. It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together."
"Boom-tick-tick-"
"Lean," Larry said, not missing a beat.
"I have no idea what that means, and I don't think I want to know," Alan broke in, though he knew enough to recognize an in-joke when he heard it, and he knew enough to find it disturbing that Charlie still had his hand on Larry's arm and was waving it around whenever he gestured. "So in other words, Charlie, you're filling in for someone for Megan's charity."
"Yeah, so first one of the sixty-niners gets sick, and now they're both down with the flu, which means Saturday, we get to dance-"
"If you can call what he does dancing," Larry added, and Charlie elbowed him in the side, Larry elbowing him back awkwardly, considering Charlie still had his wrist and showed no signs of letting go.
"And this is a charity for…?"
"AIDS, Dad."
"Oh. Oh. And they're both sick-"
"No-well, yes-they're sick. With the flu."
"Asian flu, I believe, though I'm not sure what strain I'm apparently destined to receive this year. Y'know that last year I was absent for two days as a result of almost unbearable nausea?"
"I remember that, yes." Alan remembered that Larry spent several days of his illness in the Eppes household, surrounded by crumpled Kleenex and plates of mashed potatoes (the only thing Larry claimed he could manage), dictating ideas to Charlie as he worked. Apparently, Larry had been unable to find potatoes at his own house.
"But they're not sick with-not AIDS," Charlie added.
"No, no, though so many are, still, so very ill." Larry's voice went soft, and for a moment, they were all silent. Alan couldn't help but think about Margaret, and how she would have approved of Charlie doing this for charity, but not so much with the rest of it. But who knew? What right did he have to speak for her on this? And for that matter, why the hell hadn't she lived to speak for herself? Somewhere, she was probably laughing, enjoying this. She always had an odd sense of humor, especially when it came to Charlie.
"So, Dad, anyway, basically, now they both have the flu, and as Megan's already managed to organize some sort of massive sponsorship for Couple 69, she needed a couple to substitute for…"
"69?" Alan interrupted, paying attention again.
Larry's face went pink and Alan frowned, glancing at Charlie, who seemed oblivious.
"Charlie, can I see you alone for a minute?"
"Yeah, sure Dad. I-"
"I'll just go get myself something to drink from the…"
"Kitchen," Alan supplied, before Larry could look any more lost than he already was.
"Yes. The… Would either of you-no, I suppose you can get something for yourself when you're…."
And with a distracted nod, Larry pulled his arm away from Charlie's hand and wandered off into the kitchen, and Charlie turned to him. "So… you wanted to say something?"
Alan looked him over-this boy who was not so much of a boy anymore that he didn't know what he was getting into. Probably.
He cleared his throat, then put a hand on Charlie's shoulder, steering him into an armchair, where Charlie sat down heavily, looking tired and curious and guarded.
Alan didn't sit down. "So… I take it you know what you're getting into with this… dancing?"
Charlie frowned at him, his eyebrows pulling together in a way that reminded him of himself at that age, up to a point-that point being that when he was Charlie's age he was married to Margaret and not waltzing Mathilda over there.
He noticed Charlie look down and to the left, which Don said meant a suspect was being not so truthful and Charlie had argued, at the time, merely meant the suspect was using the creative part of his brain, to which Don had replied, "Yes, creating a lie." So which was it his son was doing now? The world inside of Charlie's head was still a mystery to him, and he'd long ago decided to accept that, as he'd come to accept everything else that came along with Charlie. Even this, he supposed. Even this.
"Well, Dad, I obviously don't know how to dance except in the most general sense, but aside from some small concerns over technique, yes. I think I know what I'm getting into."
"Ah." Alan nodded. "So who's idea was this again?"
"I think we already established that it was Megan's idea," Charlie said quickly, and Alan frowned, wondering if Charlie really didn't know what they were talking about here after all. Here was the genius who didn't figure out how to ask a girl on a date until… well, as far as he knew, Charlie still hadn't worked that one out. It was Sarah who asked Charlie out first, and then he somehow ended up living with her until eventually she moved out again, and Alan still wasn't quite sure what had happened there between them, and hadn't asked, and didn't want to know. Which was maybe the safest approach to this, too.
"Good, well, it sounds like you have it under control then." He patted Charlie on the hand he noticed was curled into a fist on the armrest and headed for the kitchen. "You coming Charlie? I was thinking about sandwiches. Larry looked hungry, and I'm hungry. How about you? I bet you two worked up quite an appetite."
"I-" Charlie got up and followed him and then stopped. "Shouldn't I wait here while you interrogate your next suspect?"
"Interrogate? Ah, well, I'm not so good at this as your brother."
"No. You're really not, Pops, but you keep practicing. I'm sure you'll pick it up eventually. Just don't practice on Larry, okay? Because even he's better at it than you are." And with that, Charlie went on ahead and into the kitchen to join Larry, leaving Alan alone in the living room to contemplate the possibility that all of this dancing around was Charlie's way of not having to have this conversation that they just hadn’t had, in which case, Alan was left to wonder if Larry realized yet how much trouble he'd gotten himself into.
Lucky for him, it was not his place to warn Larry or anyone else about Charlie. No. He wasn't sure any longer just what his place was now that he was a guest in his own house and Charlie appeared to be running things in his own peculiar way.
Alan turned away from the kitchen and toward the front door, deciding that it was high time he showed up at Don's place for once and left Larry and Charlie to fend for themselves. Together, they could probably work out how to open the refrigerator and work the stove without burning down the house. And Don could buy him dinner, because Don certainly couldn't cook. And if he was lucky, that might give Charlie a little more time to figure this thing out before Don himself figured out what was happening, if he didn’t already know, in which case Charlie would already have experienced the true meaning of interrogation as done by a real expert in the field.
The world was changing, that much Alan knew. He was maybe a little old fashioned about some of it, but he took pride in having raised two boys to face new challenges, even if neither of them could make a potroast. He'd taught them to accept that the world was complicated-more complicated than it should be, sometimes. He'd learned to adapt, tried to teach them how to do it. People changed. People left. New people came into your life, and you adapted to them, too.
Men dancing was one thing. Charlie dancing was another. And Charlie and Fleinhardt?
Charlie and Larry, in his kitchen, two men who could count the stars in the sky but who had taken decades to get to this point, out of step with the rest of the world, and sometimes each other.…
As he shut the front door behind him, he could hear Strauss through the open window-could almost see, almost hear Margaret humming along to the music, gliding over the hardwood floors so lightly, so softly, with such ease that he felt himself pulled along.
And on the sidewalk outside, he took a halting step, then another and another, leaning into the air, still and always carried by her grace.
The End.
Thanks to perpet for saying post it.
By Miriam Heddy
When I sit, you sit. When I kneel, you kneel. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera!
"So what're you two up-"
"Charles, please reassure me on one point. You do know how to count to three in base ten?"
Alan frowned, stopping midway down the stairs. Neither of them had heard him, which was not surprising considering the volume of the music. Most of the subtlety of "The Blue Danube" was lost when the music was up so loud you had to shout to be heard. Alan sighed and sat down on the stairs, not sure he really wanted to come down after all. He'd almost gotten used to the house transformed, covered in plastic and melting ice, the dining room table squeezed out by scaled dioramas of murder scenes. But this?
At least there was no blood. Yet.
"I can count, Lawrence. The problem is not with my counting."
"Fine, well, let's just try this again, shall we? This time, you lead and I'll just try to keep out of your way."
Alan watched Charlie frown at Larry, his arms up, hands held out at his sides, waiting as Larry re-positioned him. For just a second, Alan remembered Charlie standing like that before. Halloween, Charlie was five, and Margaret was getting him dressed up in some costume-now what was that? An animal of some sort, at any rate, something yellow. A lion? And he'd walked around the room growling at them, tripping on his own tail. Don kept flipping Charlie's tail up and over his shoulder, laughing as it slipped back down again between his legs, until Margaret finally had to trim it down, and then Don had grabbed the extra fabric and chased Charlie around the house with it. Don had been Batman and had tried to convince Charlie to be his Robin, but Charlie had refused, though why he'd chosen to be a lion, Alan couldn't remember now. Such a long long time ago, he almost couldn't believe it. Don didn't laugh quite so much anymore, but Charlie-Charlie here had unfortunately chosen to grow his own mane- still Charlie, still growling at the world in his own small way.
They began moving to the music again but then Larry stopped, shouting. "Charles, your hand goes here, not on my-"
"Sorry, but you keep-"
"Higher than that. Just keep it-no, not there. Higher. Yes. Right there, unless you want people to-"
"No. I've got it." Charlie shook his head and moved his hand up Larry's back to rest just under Larry's shoulder-blade. Their hands were clasped in the air, arms extended, as if Charlie was considering using Larry to fight off an invading army, which was not such a bad idea.
Larry seemed to notice the problem, and unlocked his arm at the elbow, shaking both their arms together and forcing Charlie to relax a little. Charlie readjusted his grip, still looking awkward and uncertain-two feelings Alan knew Charlie did not enjoy. Charlie had inherited none of his mother's grace, which was a shame, because Margaret-Margaret could dance.
Alan remembered her trying to teach Charlie, once, before giving up altogether when Charlie stomped off in a huff to the garage after Don laughed a bit too heartily. Now Don had her grace, not that he used it all that often, from the looks of things. But good for Charlie, now, getting in there and giving it another try. Margaret would approve of that. Not to mention that Aunt Irene would be thrilled. And maybe he could take that Amita out dancing-give them something to talk about besides math. Everything was math with Charlie, but women weren't math, and that was something Charlie had some trouble understanding for some reason.
"Okay, so let's try boom-tick-tick...boom-tick-tick-and lean. No-lean or you'll pop the clutch on your-”
"There's a clutch? Where's the clutch?"
Larry stumbled and winced as Charlie boom-tick-ticked right onto Larry's instep. And Larry leaned into Charlie as he regained his balance, righting himself, his face a bit flushed.
"It's an expression, Charles, and apparently only meaningful if you drive a stick."
"Which I don't?" Charlie said loudly, trying to catch Larry's eye but Larry was looking away, purposefully, at their clasped hands.
Alan frowned. There was something going on here-something he wasn't so sure he….
"You need to signal with your body when you're going to move so that I can move with you instead of… well, what we've been doing."
"This is not as easy as it looks," Charlie said, and Larry nodded, dropping Charlie's hand and wiping his own hand on his jeans, picking Charlie's hand back up again and lacing their fingers together.
"No. It's not. But I'm sure we'll manage. Let's try that again. And don't look at your feet. No-just-look over my shoulder at the wall over there."
"If I don't look at my feet I don’t know where they are," Charlie argued, though he was smiling now, his face a little flushed from the exertion.
"I think you'll find them on top of mine," Larry sighed, but he was smiling, too, sweat staining his underarms and the back of his shirt where Charlie was resting his hand as they talked, before his hand moved back into place on Larry's shoulder-blade. "Now look-look over my shoulder and count. One-two-"
"Three-and-" Charlie leaned.
"One-two-three-and-" Larry nodded and shut his eyes, his head tipped to the side as he listened to the music and moved, wincing only occasionally now as Charlie continued to not so much step on him as shuffle into him, sometimes missing the beat and then catching it again, until finally something seemed to connect between them, and they were moving together across the floor, looking reasonably graceful.
Charlie's hand had moved back down as he and Larry danced, sliding from Larry's shoulder to his waist, and Alan waited for Larry to stop and correct him, but Larry didn't, his eyes still shut, the two men moving together and….
And Alan noticed that Charlie wasn’t looking over his shoulder, or at his feet, but was instead watching Larry, and Alan had seen that look on Charlie's face before....
And this was very much not a good thing. He didn't know what this thing was, precisely, but he knew enough to stand up and walk down the stairs, making sure to make quite a bit of noise.
"Very nice. Very nice you two." He got to the bottom and clapped his hands together and Larry opened his eyes, stumbling as Charlie abruptly stopped moving. Larry fell forward and Charlie caught him, pushing him back upright with a hand on Larry's wrist, where it remained even after Larry no longer had any need of it. Larry was still holding onto Charlie's other hand as if he didn't realize they were no longer dancing.
"Dad."
"Alan, I was just-"
"Yes, I see that you were. So, Charlie, what's with the sudden need to waltz?" He turned down the music until Strauss was no longer flooding the room with the Danube.
Charlie shrugged at him, the movement hampered by Larry's hand in his own, though Charlie seemed to not notice and didn't step away. "It's a charity thing. Megan-"
"Ah! Yes." Alan grabbed hold of that. Megan was good. Megan was supposed to be seeing Larry, wasn't she? "And what's she got to do with all this?"
Larry scratched his chin with Charlie's hand, and then seemed to notice he was still holding it and let go, his expression puzzled. Charlie's other hand was still gripping Larry's wrist, where he'd apparently forgotten it. "Well, it's a marathon of sorts."
"A dance marathon?"
Charlie nodded, adding, "Yes, and from what I understand, the important thing is endurance, which I have."
Larry frowned. "The question is, can your partner endure your dancing?"
"So who's your partner, Charlie? Megan?" Alan interrupted, seeing that they were about to lose the thread of the conversation.
Charlie ran his hand through his hair and sighed.
And Alan shook his head, suddenly seeing what was going on, relieved. "What-Charlie-you said you'd do this marathon and you haven't asked anyone yet? What're you waiting for? I'm sure Amita would-"
"No, I-um-Dad, I'm-"
"I'm his partner," Larry said, and though Alan heard the words, it took a moment for them to sink in.
"You're his-you're his partner?"
"Yes, well, yes, it's a-" Larry seemed to founder and looked at Charlie, who shrugged again.
"It's a single-sex event."
"A single-sex event," Alan repeated. "What's that?"
"Men dancing with other men, Dad. For charity."
If you asked him, there was no such thing as two men 'dancing' without there being a little something else going on there somewhere, and usually not for charity. "So Megan set this thing up with you two?"
"Yes, and it's an interesting story, actually," Larry offered, his eyes not leaving the floor, which suggested it was very interesting indeed.
Alan waited, and when Larry didn’t say anything, Charlie stepped in.
"Yes, well, originally, Dad, Megan was sponsoring a friend of hers in the dance, but then Larry-"
At his name, Larry nodded and then glanced up and started talking. "Unfortunately for my arches, Megan's friend fell ill with the flu-which has been going around on campus as well, though thankfully neither Charles nor myself seem to have come into contact with the vectors, and I have taken the precaution of getting an influenza vaccine, though some recent studies suggest an efficacy rate of less than 15% among hospital workers, which I'll admit does not bode well for my chances."
"Of winning the competition?" Alan asked.
"Of coming through flu season healthy."
"The dance-" Charlie prompted and Larry blinked and then nodded.
"Oh, well, as for our chances of winning the marathon, I'd put the odds only slightly higher, as your son may well have just broken my toe."
"I did not."
Larry smiled softly and Alan sighed. Getting a straight story out of these two was often more trouble than it was worth.
"So Megan's friend who was supposed to dance was sick?" Alan reminded him.
"Ah, yes, and with her friend out with the flu, naturally, Megan asked me if I would consider being a substitute."
"Naturally." Charlie rolled his eyes, but Larry seemed not to have noticed.
"As she had occasion to discover that I do have some small ability in that area, and I've actually done one of these before-"
"You've done this before?" Charlie asked, turning to Larry.
"Yes, didn't I tell you about that? Well, it was quite a long time ago-"
"In a galaxy far, far away," Charlie added, and Larry winced.
"You do realize, Charles, that it is only my skill standing between you and hours of humiliation this Saturday."
"Your skill? I find your lack of faith disturbing," Charlie shot back, still smiling.
Larry grin broadened, and though he turned to Alan, his eyes were still on Charlie. "The Waltz is what gives a Jedi his power. It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together."
"Boom-tick-tick-"
"Lean," Larry said, not missing a beat.
"I have no idea what that means, and I don't think I want to know," Alan broke in, though he knew enough to recognize an in-joke when he heard it, and he knew enough to find it disturbing that Charlie still had his hand on Larry's arm and was waving it around whenever he gestured. "So in other words, Charlie, you're filling in for someone for Megan's charity."
"Yeah, so first one of the sixty-niners gets sick, and now they're both down with the flu, which means Saturday, we get to dance-"
"If you can call what he does dancing," Larry added, and Charlie elbowed him in the side, Larry elbowing him back awkwardly, considering Charlie still had his wrist and showed no signs of letting go.
"And this is a charity for…?"
"AIDS, Dad."
"Oh. Oh. And they're both sick-"
"No-well, yes-they're sick. With the flu."
"Asian flu, I believe, though I'm not sure what strain I'm apparently destined to receive this year. Y'know that last year I was absent for two days as a result of almost unbearable nausea?"
"I remember that, yes." Alan remembered that Larry spent several days of his illness in the Eppes household, surrounded by crumpled Kleenex and plates of mashed potatoes (the only thing Larry claimed he could manage), dictating ideas to Charlie as he worked. Apparently, Larry had been unable to find potatoes at his own house.
"But they're not sick with-not AIDS," Charlie added.
"No, no, though so many are, still, so very ill." Larry's voice went soft, and for a moment, they were all silent. Alan couldn't help but think about Margaret, and how she would have approved of Charlie doing this for charity, but not so much with the rest of it. But who knew? What right did he have to speak for her on this? And for that matter, why the hell hadn't she lived to speak for herself? Somewhere, she was probably laughing, enjoying this. She always had an odd sense of humor, especially when it came to Charlie.
"So, Dad, anyway, basically, now they both have the flu, and as Megan's already managed to organize some sort of massive sponsorship for Couple 69, she needed a couple to substitute for…"
"69?" Alan interrupted, paying attention again.
Larry's face went pink and Alan frowned, glancing at Charlie, who seemed oblivious.
"Charlie, can I see you alone for a minute?"
"Yeah, sure Dad. I-"
"I'll just go get myself something to drink from the…"
"Kitchen," Alan supplied, before Larry could look any more lost than he already was.
"Yes. The… Would either of you-no, I suppose you can get something for yourself when you're…."
And with a distracted nod, Larry pulled his arm away from Charlie's hand and wandered off into the kitchen, and Charlie turned to him. "So… you wanted to say something?"
Alan looked him over-this boy who was not so much of a boy anymore that he didn't know what he was getting into. Probably.
He cleared his throat, then put a hand on Charlie's shoulder, steering him into an armchair, where Charlie sat down heavily, looking tired and curious and guarded.
Alan didn't sit down. "So… I take it you know what you're getting into with this… dancing?"
Charlie frowned at him, his eyebrows pulling together in a way that reminded him of himself at that age, up to a point-that point being that when he was Charlie's age he was married to Margaret and not waltzing Mathilda over there.
He noticed Charlie look down and to the left, which Don said meant a suspect was being not so truthful and Charlie had argued, at the time, merely meant the suspect was using the creative part of his brain, to which Don had replied, "Yes, creating a lie." So which was it his son was doing now? The world inside of Charlie's head was still a mystery to him, and he'd long ago decided to accept that, as he'd come to accept everything else that came along with Charlie. Even this, he supposed. Even this.
"Well, Dad, I obviously don't know how to dance except in the most general sense, but aside from some small concerns over technique, yes. I think I know what I'm getting into."
"Ah." Alan nodded. "So who's idea was this again?"
"I think we already established that it was Megan's idea," Charlie said quickly, and Alan frowned, wondering if Charlie really didn't know what they were talking about here after all. Here was the genius who didn't figure out how to ask a girl on a date until… well, as far as he knew, Charlie still hadn't worked that one out. It was Sarah who asked Charlie out first, and then he somehow ended up living with her until eventually she moved out again, and Alan still wasn't quite sure what had happened there between them, and hadn't asked, and didn't want to know. Which was maybe the safest approach to this, too.
"Good, well, it sounds like you have it under control then." He patted Charlie on the hand he noticed was curled into a fist on the armrest and headed for the kitchen. "You coming Charlie? I was thinking about sandwiches. Larry looked hungry, and I'm hungry. How about you? I bet you two worked up quite an appetite."
"I-" Charlie got up and followed him and then stopped. "Shouldn't I wait here while you interrogate your next suspect?"
"Interrogate? Ah, well, I'm not so good at this as your brother."
"No. You're really not, Pops, but you keep practicing. I'm sure you'll pick it up eventually. Just don't practice on Larry, okay? Because even he's better at it than you are." And with that, Charlie went on ahead and into the kitchen to join Larry, leaving Alan alone in the living room to contemplate the possibility that all of this dancing around was Charlie's way of not having to have this conversation that they just hadn’t had, in which case, Alan was left to wonder if Larry realized yet how much trouble he'd gotten himself into.
Lucky for him, it was not his place to warn Larry or anyone else about Charlie. No. He wasn't sure any longer just what his place was now that he was a guest in his own house and Charlie appeared to be running things in his own peculiar way.
Alan turned away from the kitchen and toward the front door, deciding that it was high time he showed up at Don's place for once and left Larry and Charlie to fend for themselves. Together, they could probably work out how to open the refrigerator and work the stove without burning down the house. And Don could buy him dinner, because Don certainly couldn't cook. And if he was lucky, that might give Charlie a little more time to figure this thing out before Don himself figured out what was happening, if he didn’t already know, in which case Charlie would already have experienced the true meaning of interrogation as done by a real expert in the field.
The world was changing, that much Alan knew. He was maybe a little old fashioned about some of it, but he took pride in having raised two boys to face new challenges, even if neither of them could make a potroast. He'd taught them to accept that the world was complicated-more complicated than it should be, sometimes. He'd learned to adapt, tried to teach them how to do it. People changed. People left. New people came into your life, and you adapted to them, too.
Men dancing was one thing. Charlie dancing was another. And Charlie and Fleinhardt?
Charlie and Larry, in his kitchen, two men who could count the stars in the sky but who had taken decades to get to this point, out of step with the rest of the world, and sometimes each other.…
As he shut the front door behind him, he could hear Strauss through the open window-could almost see, almost hear Margaret humming along to the music, gliding over the hardwood floors so lightly, so softly, with such ease that he felt himself pulled along.
And on the sidewalk outside, he took a halting step, then another and another, leaning into the air, still and always carried by her grace.
The End.
Thanks to perpet for saying post it.