Fic Snippet: Brightest minds and light will shed (DCU)
Title: brightest minds and light will shed
Author: Re White
Rating: G
Pairing: Connor/Eddie
Summery: Connor living in the apartment is the beginning of a new age in which Eddie has no idea what the fuck is going on.
Things mysteriously appear and disappear.
Books he didn’t buy materialize all over the place. Vegetarian cook books and obscure, probably boring as hell history texts show up on end tables and in between sofa cushions. Rex Stout’s ‘A Family Affair’ has been spotted in every room of the apartment now at least twice. Eddie came across Anais Nin’s “Delta of Venus” in one of potted plant boxes on the patio and immediately resolved to never mention it. Ever. (Ever.) The migration patterns of Connor’s books boggle Eddie to the point of migraines, but only when he’s too stupid to not let his mind glaze over and move on to something less stressful.
Mostly, he drives himself insane by thinking of *other* weird shit that happened when he wasn’t looking.
Like where all clothes that suddenly exploded in his closet came from.
He has no idea where, how or why Connor got Superboy’s t-shirt. But once he thinks about it, it makes a weird kind of sense that clothes would tend to circulate around the hero community like flu germs in an elementary class. Sometimes Eddie kills time by trying to guess the crazy path the shirt had to have taken to end up in *his* laundry basket. Sometimes he toys with the idea of asking Connor, but Eddie knows he won’t. It’s one of the Connor related mysteries he’s come to kind of like.
There are a lot of those. Connor Related Mysteries strewn around his once nice, orderly, no bizarre bull shit to be found apartment, waiting to be discovered and boggled over until Eddie gives up and steps out on the patio for a deeply needed cigarette.
Eddie can handle the books, and the clothes, and even the blonde hair that’s accumulated the fuck all over everything. (He doesn’t remember finding hair all over his stuff while they were crawling across the whole of creation to find Ollie. But then again, people were shooting at them a lot more often, so maybe he was just too busy to notice. )
It’s the kitchen. The kitchen situation. It makes his brain itch.
Eddie can’t figure out just when Connor’s been rearranging the stuff in there, or what exactly it was about his toaster that prompted the kid to put it in exile under the counter. He doesn’t know why the cans of soup don’t get to sit with the canned green beans or how Connor managed to justify separating the fruits and vegetables in the fridge by color, but whatever. There are exactly forty eight hundred different kinds of tea on the shelf that used to house the cooking spices and he hasn’t seen caffeinated coffee in six weeks.
He’s tried to catch Connor at it, maybe spot him rearranging all the silverware or switching all the bowls and plates around. If Eddie managed to see it happen, as opposed to walking in one morning and finding all his shit’s been moved, then maybe, *maybe* he could figure it out. But so far, no luck. Eddie feels eight years old again, frustrated he can’t catch Santa Clause in the act, no matter how many cookies he leaves that fat bastard every year.
*
Author: Re White
Rating: G
Pairing: Connor/Eddie
Summery: Connor living in the apartment is the beginning of a new age in which Eddie has no idea what the fuck is going on.
Things mysteriously appear and disappear.
Books he didn’t buy materialize all over the place. Vegetarian cook books and obscure, probably boring as hell history texts show up on end tables and in between sofa cushions. Rex Stout’s ‘A Family Affair’ has been spotted in every room of the apartment now at least twice. Eddie came across Anais Nin’s “Delta of Venus” in one of potted plant boxes on the patio and immediately resolved to never mention it. Ever. (Ever.) The migration patterns of Connor’s books boggle Eddie to the point of migraines, but only when he’s too stupid to not let his mind glaze over and move on to something less stressful.
Mostly, he drives himself insane by thinking of *other* weird shit that happened when he wasn’t looking.
Like where all clothes that suddenly exploded in his closet came from.
He has no idea where, how or why Connor got Superboy’s t-shirt. But once he thinks about it, it makes a weird kind of sense that clothes would tend to circulate around the hero community like flu germs in an elementary class. Sometimes Eddie kills time by trying to guess the crazy path the shirt had to have taken to end up in *his* laundry basket. Sometimes he toys with the idea of asking Connor, but Eddie knows he won’t. It’s one of the Connor related mysteries he’s come to kind of like.
There are a lot of those. Connor Related Mysteries strewn around his once nice, orderly, no bizarre bull shit to be found apartment, waiting to be discovered and boggled over until Eddie gives up and steps out on the patio for a deeply needed cigarette.
Eddie can handle the books, and the clothes, and even the blonde hair that’s accumulated the fuck all over everything. (He doesn’t remember finding hair all over his stuff while they were crawling across the whole of creation to find Ollie. But then again, people were shooting at them a lot more often, so maybe he was just too busy to notice. )
It’s the kitchen. The kitchen situation. It makes his brain itch.
Eddie can’t figure out just when Connor’s been rearranging the stuff in there, or what exactly it was about his toaster that prompted the kid to put it in exile under the counter. He doesn’t know why the cans of soup don’t get to sit with the canned green beans or how Connor managed to justify separating the fruits and vegetables in the fridge by color, but whatever. There are exactly forty eight hundred different kinds of tea on the shelf that used to house the cooking spices and he hasn’t seen caffeinated coffee in six weeks.
He’s tried to catch Connor at it, maybe spot him rearranging all the silverware or switching all the bowls and plates around. If Eddie managed to see it happen, as opposed to walking in one morning and finding all his shit’s been moved, then maybe, *maybe* he could figure it out. But so far, no luck. Eddie feels eight years old again, frustrated he can’t catch Santa Clause in the act, no matter how many cookies he leaves that fat bastard every year.
*