Fic: Hold You Our Honour Fast (Slade/Frannie)
Title: Hold You Our Honour Fast
Summary: For the Sunday morning services, Slade always sat on his stepmother’s right.
Characters: Slade Wilson, Frannie Wilson
Word count: 683
Rating: PG
AN: For katarik, as a (belated) birthday ficlet. Takes place when Slade is somewhere around 19. Title from “A Mother’s Dedication” by Margaret Peterson. Thanks to rainpuddle13 for the quick look-through.
For the Sunday morning services, Slade always sat on his stepmother’s right. He always had, from the first time she brought him along with her.
Sometimes, when he had been away, he had imagined sitting in church like this again, and it had felt ridiculous. Like this was somewhere he’d never fit again after all that he’d done. (Sometimes he felt old.)
But after he’d gotten back, Frannie had swept him back to church on the next Sunday, ignoring his protests with the same aplomb as she did everything else. Acting as though nothing had changed, when really everything had.
Everything.
It was dizzying and reassuring and even if the old biddies fawned all over him now that he was back from the war, he looked forward to the services.
He usually didn’t have nightmares on Sunday nights, at the very least.
When Frannie reached for the Bible to follow along, Slade reached over, too. Held it open between them, and traced his fingertips along the length of her hand where it supported the spine of the book as the sermon continued.
She gave him a quick, harsh look, but did not pull away.
It was easier to concentrate on the words of forgiveness and love when he could feel the worn cover and her soft skin against his own.
They sat near the back, but he can still see some of the girls glancing at him, with frosted pink smiles and pretty flowered dresses. Before he’d gone, he’d only had eyes for those girls, had wanted to know their every sweet secret. Now he just hopes they’ll look away, so that he might risk a bolder touch with the woman sitting beside him.
He really shouldn’t, not here, not when this - whatever this was - was so new. It seemed almost as though he were somewhere else, watching the scene and all the people from his new perspective. The things he’d seen and done...
Last week, the girls had gathered around him at the afternoon picnic and had, wide-eyed, asked questions about the war he couldn’t begin to answer.
He resisted the urge to squeeze Frannie’s hand. She understood. Didn’t ask, didn’t need to.
He’d known the other girls most his life. Had kissed and flirted with them a lifetime ago. Now... They shouldn’t look so young to him, he thought, stroking Frannie’s hand more restlessly.
He felt the wedding band on her finger and quickly skirted away, dropping his hands neatly to his lap.
She smirked a bit before relaxing her features back into a bland expression of concentration. A minute later, though, her foot nudged his. He stayed still for a long moment, staring straight ahead, but then nudged her back.
Mrs. Roberts across the aisle peered at them curiously. Slade scowled, but Frannie just smiled and inclined her head at the woman.
She didn’t shift her weight, so he could still feel the length of her thigh - hot even through her demure Sunday dress - against his own. She did, however, stop nudging him with her knee when the sermon mentioned something she thought he should work on.
When Frannie chastised Wade for fidgeting, Mrs. Roberts finally looked away, pushing her spectacles further up on her nose.
A brief smile lighted on Frannie’s features, some secret joke he couldn’t guess at, before she demurely lowered her head to pray. Her hair was severely pulled back, but one strand had fallen loose and trailed down her neck. Without thinking, he pushed it back, watching the way her shoulders moved involuntarily as his finger brushed her neck.
Then he remembered where he was, and lowered his own head. He risked a glance to the next pew, but Mrs. Roberts was concentrating on her own prayers.
“She especially enjoyed your letters,” Frannie explained after the service. She gave the old woman a half-wave as they left. “Quite taken with the idea of the young soldier returning home.”
“She’s not the only one,” Slade said before he could stop himself.
Frannie just gave him a smile and a wink and ushered Wade toward the car.
Summary: For the Sunday morning services, Slade always sat on his stepmother’s right.
Characters: Slade Wilson, Frannie Wilson
Word count: 683
Rating: PG
AN: For katarik, as a (belated) birthday ficlet. Takes place when Slade is somewhere around 19. Title from “A Mother’s Dedication” by Margaret Peterson. Thanks to rainpuddle13 for the quick look-through.
For the Sunday morning services, Slade always sat on his stepmother’s right. He always had, from the first time she brought him along with her.
Sometimes, when he had been away, he had imagined sitting in church like this again, and it had felt ridiculous. Like this was somewhere he’d never fit again after all that he’d done. (Sometimes he felt old.)
But after he’d gotten back, Frannie had swept him back to church on the next Sunday, ignoring his protests with the same aplomb as she did everything else. Acting as though nothing had changed, when really everything had.
Everything.
It was dizzying and reassuring and even if the old biddies fawned all over him now that he was back from the war, he looked forward to the services.
He usually didn’t have nightmares on Sunday nights, at the very least.
When Frannie reached for the Bible to follow along, Slade reached over, too. Held it open between them, and traced his fingertips along the length of her hand where it supported the spine of the book as the sermon continued.
She gave him a quick, harsh look, but did not pull away.
It was easier to concentrate on the words of forgiveness and love when he could feel the worn cover and her soft skin against his own.
They sat near the back, but he can still see some of the girls glancing at him, with frosted pink smiles and pretty flowered dresses. Before he’d gone, he’d only had eyes for those girls, had wanted to know their every sweet secret. Now he just hopes they’ll look away, so that he might risk a bolder touch with the woman sitting beside him.
He really shouldn’t, not here, not when this - whatever this was - was so new. It seemed almost as though he were somewhere else, watching the scene and all the people from his new perspective. The things he’d seen and done...
Last week, the girls had gathered around him at the afternoon picnic and had, wide-eyed, asked questions about the war he couldn’t begin to answer.
He resisted the urge to squeeze Frannie’s hand. She understood. Didn’t ask, didn’t need to.
He’d known the other girls most his life. Had kissed and flirted with them a lifetime ago. Now... They shouldn’t look so young to him, he thought, stroking Frannie’s hand more restlessly.
He felt the wedding band on her finger and quickly skirted away, dropping his hands neatly to his lap.
She smirked a bit before relaxing her features back into a bland expression of concentration. A minute later, though, her foot nudged his. He stayed still for a long moment, staring straight ahead, but then nudged her back.
Mrs. Roberts across the aisle peered at them curiously. Slade scowled, but Frannie just smiled and inclined her head at the woman.
She didn’t shift her weight, so he could still feel the length of her thigh - hot even through her demure Sunday dress - against his own. She did, however, stop nudging him with her knee when the sermon mentioned something she thought he should work on.
When Frannie chastised Wade for fidgeting, Mrs. Roberts finally looked away, pushing her spectacles further up on her nose.
A brief smile lighted on Frannie’s features, some secret joke he couldn’t guess at, before she demurely lowered her head to pray. Her hair was severely pulled back, but one strand had fallen loose and trailed down her neck. Without thinking, he pushed it back, watching the way her shoulders moved involuntarily as his finger brushed her neck.
Then he remembered where he was, and lowered his own head. He risked a glance to the next pew, but Mrs. Roberts was concentrating on her own prayers.
“She especially enjoyed your letters,” Frannie explained after the service. She gave the old woman a half-wave as they left. “Quite taken with the idea of the young soldier returning home.”
“She’s not the only one,” Slade said before he could stop himself.
Frannie just gave him a smile and a wink and ushered Wade toward the car.