Wilby Wonderful fic: 'Malpeque Bay Oyster'
Title: Malpeque Bay Oyster
Author: Signe
Fandom: Wilby Wonderful
Pairing: Duck/Dan
Rating: PG
Word count: 1,000
A/N: Written for The 4th Annual 'A Picture is Worth a 1000 Words' Challenge (picfor1000). Many thanks to estrella30 for the great beta.
"You're too drunk to drive home," Duck had said with a soft pat on his shoulder, and Dan had agreed easily enough.
Dan used to just agree with people, because it saved arguing or trying to make a point, and Dan wasn't good at either of those. Not back then anyhow: he's better at it now, though he still sometimes forgets to bother.
He had been drunk that night, enough to make everything look hazy and hopeful, though nowhere near as drunk as Duck had assumed. He might even have gotten away with driving if the roads hadn't been so eye-blindingly bright and slippery from the fresh snow. But he liked that Duck cared.
Cared enough to drive him home and promise to pick him up and take him back for his car the next morning. Cared enough not to pull away when Dan hesitantly reached out his hand - the first time he'd been the one to reach out - and felt the late night stubble on Duck's face. Cared enough to look questioningly and wait for Dan's answering nod before leaning in and kissing him. And then he'd said goodnight and driven off, and Dan had stood on the sidewalk for a while, feeling the snow-chill take away some of the drunkenness, but not the hopefulness.
*
They'd only met by chance that night. At least, Dan thinks it was chance that Duck walked in the same bar that Dan had chosen to sit and get drunk in. Maybe fate had given chance a hand, like it'd done before. Or maybe it was just that, in Wilby, there weren't enough bars to hide from anyone. Not that Dan had been hiding, exactly. Just finding his way, more like. Working things out for himself, because he'd not had much of that in his life, what with his parents who'd gotten his life all planned for him by the time he was out of diapers, and a wife who'd told him she was marrying him, and then that she was leaving him, and in-between had decided everything.
Seemed like all the important decisions were made by other people.
Even being alive wasn't really his own choice, just fortuitous timing. A series of happy accidents, that was all that stood between him and death, but it'd made him feel like he was lucky and he'd never felt that way before.
So when he'd gotten out of the hospital, and Duck had wooed him with more flowers, and bottles of Keith's ale, and the offer to help fix the broken fencing at the front of his new house, Dan had been tempted to just say yes and go along with whatever Duck suggested. But he hadn't. It was going to be up to him this time, and he'd actually told Duck that, upfront and earnest and determined, and Duck had smiled that gentle smile of his that made Dan feel like winter was over even when it was barely beginning and said that was fine with him, he wasn't going anywhere, and that Dan knew where to find him.
*
That was the thing about Duck. He knew when to be pushy and when to hold back, and there weren't many people around you could say that about, 'specially not in Wilby. Dan appreciated that, a lot.
The thing about Dan, according to his mom anyway, was that he was like a Malpeque Bay oyster: the harder you tried to prise him open, the more he'd clam up. But Duck didn't do that with Dan; he waited, patiently, with just the occasional prod, for whenever Dan was ready to open up by himself.
It took a while, because Dan wasn't used to talking much, least not to people. He used to talk to his cat, Millie, when he was a kid, and she'd always listen, never judged him or laughed, just purred and nudged him with her warm nose until she was comfortable.
Turned out, Duck was pretty much the same to talk to as Millie, just without the purring. And after a few months of a clumsy sort of friendship, Dan found himself telling Duck things that he'd never told anyone before. Even things he'd never told himself, never even known about until they tumbled out, words on words as though Duck had opened something inside Dan and let them out. And Duck didn't seem to mind when Dan talked on and on, which was pretty damn amazing as far as Dan was concerned.
*
It was a year now, and his house was fixed up. Carol French had helped him pick out the curtains and all the other sort of stuff he didn't have a clue about, and it looked good. It felt like home, his home. The video store was doing well - Sandra Anderson said it was because he'd started smiling at the customers - and, most important of all, Dan felt like he'd finally worked out exactly what he wanted.
And he really was lucky, because it turned out that everything he wanted was right here on the island. It was in him, making his own choices, living his own life. Choosing whom he wanted to live that life with, to hell with what anyone thought, or what the gossips said just barely behind his back.
He chose Duck McDonald, who simply nodded when Dan asked him to move in with him as though he'd known all along what Dan's decision would be.
Knowing Duck, he had.
So he'd ended up with someone who didn't mind when he left the toilet seat up. Someone who snored softly at night, spooned up behind him. Someone who asked him what he wanted to drink in the morning instead of always making him coffee, which he'd never liked much.
Best of all, someone who loved the person Dan really was, not the man he'd thought he was or tried to be. He was Dan Jarvis, plain and simple, and that was good enough.
Author: Signe
Fandom: Wilby Wonderful
Pairing: Duck/Dan
Rating: PG
Word count: 1,000
A/N: Written for The 4th Annual 'A Picture is Worth a 1000 Words' Challenge (picfor1000). Many thanks to estrella30 for the great beta.
"You're too drunk to drive home," Duck had said with a soft pat on his shoulder, and Dan had agreed easily enough.
Dan used to just agree with people, because it saved arguing or trying to make a point, and Dan wasn't good at either of those. Not back then anyhow: he's better at it now, though he still sometimes forgets to bother.
He had been drunk that night, enough to make everything look hazy and hopeful, though nowhere near as drunk as Duck had assumed. He might even have gotten away with driving if the roads hadn't been so eye-blindingly bright and slippery from the fresh snow. But he liked that Duck cared.
Cared enough to drive him home and promise to pick him up and take him back for his car the next morning. Cared enough not to pull away when Dan hesitantly reached out his hand - the first time he'd been the one to reach out - and felt the late night stubble on Duck's face. Cared enough to look questioningly and wait for Dan's answering nod before leaning in and kissing him. And then he'd said goodnight and driven off, and Dan had stood on the sidewalk for a while, feeling the snow-chill take away some of the drunkenness, but not the hopefulness.
*
They'd only met by chance that night. At least, Dan thinks it was chance that Duck walked in the same bar that Dan had chosen to sit and get drunk in. Maybe fate had given chance a hand, like it'd done before. Or maybe it was just that, in Wilby, there weren't enough bars to hide from anyone. Not that Dan had been hiding, exactly. Just finding his way, more like. Working things out for himself, because he'd not had much of that in his life, what with his parents who'd gotten his life all planned for him by the time he was out of diapers, and a wife who'd told him she was marrying him, and then that she was leaving him, and in-between had decided everything.
Seemed like all the important decisions were made by other people.
Even being alive wasn't really his own choice, just fortuitous timing. A series of happy accidents, that was all that stood between him and death, but it'd made him feel like he was lucky and he'd never felt that way before.
So when he'd gotten out of the hospital, and Duck had wooed him with more flowers, and bottles of Keith's ale, and the offer to help fix the broken fencing at the front of his new house, Dan had been tempted to just say yes and go along with whatever Duck suggested. But he hadn't. It was going to be up to him this time, and he'd actually told Duck that, upfront and earnest and determined, and Duck had smiled that gentle smile of his that made Dan feel like winter was over even when it was barely beginning and said that was fine with him, he wasn't going anywhere, and that Dan knew where to find him.
*
That was the thing about Duck. He knew when to be pushy and when to hold back, and there weren't many people around you could say that about, 'specially not in Wilby. Dan appreciated that, a lot.
The thing about Dan, according to his mom anyway, was that he was like a Malpeque Bay oyster: the harder you tried to prise him open, the more he'd clam up. But Duck didn't do that with Dan; he waited, patiently, with just the occasional prod, for whenever Dan was ready to open up by himself.
It took a while, because Dan wasn't used to talking much, least not to people. He used to talk to his cat, Millie, when he was a kid, and she'd always listen, never judged him or laughed, just purred and nudged him with her warm nose until she was comfortable.
Turned out, Duck was pretty much the same to talk to as Millie, just without the purring. And after a few months of a clumsy sort of friendship, Dan found himself telling Duck things that he'd never told anyone before. Even things he'd never told himself, never even known about until they tumbled out, words on words as though Duck had opened something inside Dan and let them out. And Duck didn't seem to mind when Dan talked on and on, which was pretty damn amazing as far as Dan was concerned.
*
It was a year now, and his house was fixed up. Carol French had helped him pick out the curtains and all the other sort of stuff he didn't have a clue about, and it looked good. It felt like home, his home. The video store was doing well - Sandra Anderson said it was because he'd started smiling at the customers - and, most important of all, Dan felt like he'd finally worked out exactly what he wanted.
And he really was lucky, because it turned out that everything he wanted was right here on the island. It was in him, making his own choices, living his own life. Choosing whom he wanted to live that life with, to hell with what anyone thought, or what the gossips said just barely behind his back.
He chose Duck McDonald, who simply nodded when Dan asked him to move in with him as though he'd known all along what Dan's decision would be.
Knowing Duck, he had.
So he'd ended up with someone who didn't mind when he left the toilet seat up. Someone who snored softly at night, spooned up behind him. Someone who asked him what he wanted to drink in the morning instead of always making him coffee, which he'd never liked much.
Best of all, someone who loved the person Dan really was, not the man he'd thought he was or tried to be. He was Dan Jarvis, plain and simple, and that was good enough.