Anticipate - Snafu/Liebgott (Flashfic)
Title: Anticipate
Author: skylilies
Pairing: Snafu/Liebgott
Fandom: The Pacific/Band of Brothers
Word Count: 500
Genre: post-war fic (vaguely domesticated fluff?)
Rating: pg-13 (cussing)
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, just my interpretations of them. Based on fictionalized representations, no disrespect is intended.
Teaser: Snafu is sitting in the rocking chair, looking for all the world like Joe’s Grandma Liebgott, complete with the crotchety expressions and half-smoked cigarette.
Notes: still my favorite crack pairing. especially like this. title/vague inspiration from anticipate by ani difranco.
Snafu is sitting in the rocking chair, looking for all the world like Joe’s Grandma Liebgott, complete with the crotchety expressions and half-smoked cigarette. The thought makes him snort out laughter, distracting him from the shoe he’s trying to shine.
Snafu stops with his foot outstretched, toes against the floor keeping the rocking chair still. “What,” he says, slow and hazy. Joe doesn’t want to know when he started to pick up on this, but he can hear the undercurrent of self-conscious caution in Snafu’s tone. He ignores him and pushes his sleeves further up, and picks the shoe back up. Snafu’s work boots are in a heap on the floor nearby, from where they landed when Snafu chucked them in his direction after he saw the polish. He’d said, “Get workin’,” and Joe had side-eyed him while he grinned back.
Snafu is still waiting for an answer. Joe says, “What were you going to do after the war?” and Snafu looks at him like he’s crazy, stupid, isn’t this what he’s doing after the war?
Joe shrugs, says, “I don’t know, I just thought you might’ve had plans or something.”
Snafu puts out the cigarette butt on the arm of the chair, and pushes his foot off the floor, rocking slowly. The chair creaks as he stares past Joe. After a moment, he says, “Nothin’ but working and maybe someday dying.” He sends a gaze in Joe’s direction, “Thought you were gonna have lots of babies.”
“Yeah, well.”
Snafu says, “Bet your mama’s sad you ain’t got grandbabies for her to try and suckle.” His expression goes fierce, eyes wide and blank. He chews on each syllable before he lets it out. “Gonna leave all this for a pretty little housewife?”
Joe drops the shoe and cloth to the ground. “Aw, fuck you, Shelton,” he says. Snafu tucks one of his legs underneath him and leans forward, still pushing the chair back and forth with the pad of his other foot. He opens his mouth, pauses, says, “What? I ain’t stupid.”
And Joe shoves his shoe aside and heads for the front door, says, “You really fucking are, you idiot.” He kicks Snafu’s boots out of his path on the way, sending both sliding across the wood floor. “And you can shine your own damn shoes.” He slams the front door behind him.
Snafu stops rocking with one last creak. His foot is frozen, toes splayed out against the floor, and he stares in the direction of the door. There’s a huff, and then Joe elbows his way back inside and says, “I’ll be back in an hour. If you do anything stupid, I’ll throw ya out.”
In the silence that follows the door shutting again, Snafu coughs out a laugh. He starts rocking again, settling into the chair and rifling through his pockets for his lighter. With a stale cigarette caught between his lips, he leans back and waits for Joe to return.
Author: skylilies
Pairing: Snafu/Liebgott
Fandom: The Pacific/Band of Brothers
Word Count: 500
Genre: post-war fic (vaguely domesticated fluff?)
Rating: pg-13 (cussing)
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, just my interpretations of them. Based on fictionalized representations, no disrespect is intended.
Teaser: Snafu is sitting in the rocking chair, looking for all the world like Joe’s Grandma Liebgott, complete with the crotchety expressions and half-smoked cigarette.
Notes: still my favorite crack pairing. especially like this. title/vague inspiration from anticipate by ani difranco.
Snafu is sitting in the rocking chair, looking for all the world like Joe’s Grandma Liebgott, complete with the crotchety expressions and half-smoked cigarette. The thought makes him snort out laughter, distracting him from the shoe he’s trying to shine.
Snafu stops with his foot outstretched, toes against the floor keeping the rocking chair still. “What,” he says, slow and hazy. Joe doesn’t want to know when he started to pick up on this, but he can hear the undercurrent of self-conscious caution in Snafu’s tone. He ignores him and pushes his sleeves further up, and picks the shoe back up. Snafu’s work boots are in a heap on the floor nearby, from where they landed when Snafu chucked them in his direction after he saw the polish. He’d said, “Get workin’,” and Joe had side-eyed him while he grinned back.
Snafu is still waiting for an answer. Joe says, “What were you going to do after the war?” and Snafu looks at him like he’s crazy, stupid, isn’t this what he’s doing after the war?
Joe shrugs, says, “I don’t know, I just thought you might’ve had plans or something.”
Snafu puts out the cigarette butt on the arm of the chair, and pushes his foot off the floor, rocking slowly. The chair creaks as he stares past Joe. After a moment, he says, “Nothin’ but working and maybe someday dying.” He sends a gaze in Joe’s direction, “Thought you were gonna have lots of babies.”
“Yeah, well.”
Snafu says, “Bet your mama’s sad you ain’t got grandbabies for her to try and suckle.” His expression goes fierce, eyes wide and blank. He chews on each syllable before he lets it out. “Gonna leave all this for a pretty little housewife?”
Joe drops the shoe and cloth to the ground. “Aw, fuck you, Shelton,” he says. Snafu tucks one of his legs underneath him and leans forward, still pushing the chair back and forth with the pad of his other foot. He opens his mouth, pauses, says, “What? I ain’t stupid.”
And Joe shoves his shoe aside and heads for the front door, says, “You really fucking are, you idiot.” He kicks Snafu’s boots out of his path on the way, sending both sliding across the wood floor. “And you can shine your own damn shoes.” He slams the front door behind him.
Snafu stops rocking with one last creak. His foot is frozen, toes splayed out against the floor, and he stares in the direction of the door. There’s a huff, and then Joe elbows his way back inside and says, “I’ll be back in an hour. If you do anything stupid, I’ll throw ya out.”
In the silence that follows the door shutting again, Snafu coughs out a laugh. He starts rocking again, settling into the chair and rifling through his pockets for his lighter. With a stale cigarette caught between his lips, he leans back and waits for Joe to return.