New Amsterdam fic: "Spin, spin, spin" 1/1 PG-13
Title: Spin, spin, spin.
Fandom: New Amsterdam.
Set: Present Day.
Characters: John Amsterdam, Eva Marquez, various members of the Marquez family.
Author: Keenir.
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: 1.01, 1.02, 1.03 (coda to 1.03)
Word Count: 19,83.
(this was *supposed to be* a nice, short ficlet to rest my fingers while Dani meets the demon and Murphy gets kidnapped….but noooo, my muses don’t cooperate even when I *do* give them a cash advance)
Summary: John saves Eva’s bacon at the Marquez family get-together. John tells Eva the truth about him, then she tells him a childhood fantasy. Finally, John realizes something about him and Eva.
GEN
Author’s notes: The song is ‘Spin, Spin, Spin’ by Jim & Ingrid Croce.
Historical note: King Philip was an Indian ruler who led a movement against the European colonists.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Spin, spin, spin,
“Spin away, spin away.”
The reunion was in full swing.
Or as much of a swing as family get-togethers ever managed to scrounge up.
“So, Eva,” cousin Gina said, grandma Marquez sitting beside her, “what have you been up to?”
Besides putting away crooks, killers, and thieves? Oh not much, really. Eva just shrugged. “This and that.”
“Are you seeing anyone?” grandma asked. And while the option was there to ignore Gina, that was just not done to grandma.
Gina smiled at Eva’s discomfort.
“I was…” Eva said.
“’Was’?” Amsterdam asked, sneaking up behind her and placing his right hand on Eva’s left shoulder. “I know I should’ve told you I was running late, but I didn’t think traffic would be as bad as it would, and I was afraid the cell ringing would interrupt a conversation.”
I’d have loved for that to’ve happened, Eva thought. “You’re right. You should’ve told me.” What in hell are you doing, Amsterdam?
“Are you Eva’s beau?” Grandma Marquez asked.
“I…well, I was. I thought I was,” John said.
“That why you have your hand where it is?” Gina asked observantly.
Kids these days. “My parents,” John said, “told me never to rush things.”
Grandma Marquez smiled broadly. “I like you already. What’s your name?”
“Nickolaus Nicolaas Philip Amsterdam.”
“’Nickolaus Nicolaas’?”
John smiled awkwardly. “My parents couldn’t decide whether to give me the Greek or the Dutch version.”
“And ‘Philip’?”
“I think he was almost my godfather…but knowing my mother, she was probably just one of her heroes,” and chalked up his first lie of the week. Mom hated King Philip with a passion. It wasn’t the second lie, because Nickolaus would’ve loved Eva…if I’d been sober at the time.
“And how long has your family lived in New York?” Grandma Marquez asked.
Amsterdam, Eva thought, if you even *think* of telling her you’re three hundred years old, so help me -
“We changed it during the First World War,” John said, “but we’ve been here - as the Amsterdams, and the van der Zees before then - since the first settlements were struck.” Give or take a generation.
Grandma turned to bring her smile to Eva. “He’s a good catch, dear. Now go, make up, before you lose him.”
“Yes, grandma,” Eva said as befitted a dutiful granddaughter. “Come on, Nick.” ‘Nick’?
And they walked away.
“Thanks for saving me in there,” Eva said. One of these days, I might actually get some answers out of you.
~~~
It was a few days later, when John was walking out of the police building, when who should walk up from behind him than Gina herself. “I did some digging, Detective,” laying emphasis on his title.
John stopped where he was, turned and faced her. “Oh?”
“Nickolaus Amsterdam’s been dead more than twenty years. You aren’t him.”
“True.”
“You’re not denying it?” Gina asked.
“No reason to.”
“And this ‘Nicolas Amsterdam’?” Gina Marquez demanded. “Did you make him up, create a past for him - or did you steal his name from the cemetaries?”
“My great-uncle,” John said calmly. Actually me, but you want something believable. “Before he died, he told me that if ever any of my friends needs help, I can use his name.”
“To lie?”
“To protect my friends.”
That mollified Gina. “Well, it didn’t hurt anybody…and it made our grandma happy. Just don’t be making a habit out of this, okay?”
“I give you my word as a gentleman.”
“That worth something?”
“Always.”
“Good. Keep it that way.”
~~~~~~~
“His age can’t be seen.
“Spin around.”
She found him feeding pigeons on a park bench, that guy from the bar next to him. “Amsterdam,” Eva said, walking up to them.
“Yes?” John asked, standing up, handing the birdseed to Omar.
“Can we talk?”
“Sure.”
“I m… Okay.” If he wanted this conversation with a witness, then so be it. “I wanted to thank you for what you did.” What you did for me.
“It was nothing.”
“If that was nothing, John, I’d probably have a heart attack if you did *something.*”
Omar faked a bit of a coughing fit to cover his laughs.
“You okay?” Eva asked him.
“I’m fine,” Omar said. “I think all the birds here are full anyway.”
“Try further from the statue,” John said. “Those pigeons don’t get as much.”
“Got it.”
“So,” Eva said, hoping to get it all out before he could stop her, “I want to do something with you.”
Amsterdam’s eyes widened, his eyebrows raising minutely.
“Not *that*.
“There’s a game we Marquez kids used to play. I figure you’d love it.” It’s right up your alley.
“Okay. What is it?”
“We take turns. Each player gets a half hour to pretend they’re whoever they want to be. And the other players have to go along with it.”
“It does sound fun,” John ventured. Though I get the feeling I might end up getting hung out to dry by the end of this. “Let’s walk.”
“Okay,” figuring it would be easier than standing in one place for an hour - her ankles always got back at her after stuff like that. “You first.”
“Me?”
“Yes, Amsterdam. You. You saved my neck at my reunion, it’s the least I can do.”
“Okay.” He sighed, pretending to think. “I’m four hundred years old…roughly.”
“Friend of Duncan MacLeod?”
Ah, so there’re shades of 20 Questions in this. “Nope. I’m the only one.”
“That sucks.”
“It does, sometimes.” After a bit, "Though my grandmother was a full-blooded Lenape.”
“One of the original tribes around here,” Eva said.
He nodded. “That’s right,” he affirmed in a way that didn’t manage to sound patronizing or gee-I’m-glad-you-know-the-obvious. “My mother was half-Lenape…but tried to be completely Dutch, even before she met my father.”
“Sounds like she just wanted to be accepted.”
Another nod, sadder this time. “Means I know next to nothing about the Lenape firsthand - I’m as dependant on archeologists as anyone else.”
“Definitely sucks.” Kids need to know where they come from. Heritage isn’t just a word. “Anything brighter, or are the next four hundred years just as dismal?” her tone making it clearly a challenge.
“Oh there’ve been tons of bright spots. Remember the guy I was feeding pigeons with when you walked up?”
Eva nodded.
“Then you’ve met my son.”
Amsterdam reached out and, with his index finger, gingerly, gently, feather-light lifted her gaping mouth closed.
Then drew his finger away.
“You’re…married?”
“Til death do us part. And she did,” looking down as was proper. Lily died. They always do.
“Sorry.” Though part of her was thinking ‘You couldn’t’ve waited a minute to tell me that? I was about to ream you for flirting with that doctor.’ All of her shared his grief; she knew loss, even if it wasn’t the loss of a spouse.
“Not your fault. People die.”
“You excepted, of course.”
“No. No, I just have to wait ‘til I find the right one.”
One feminine eyebrow skyrocketed. “You telling me you married the wrong one?”
“No…trust me, Eva, it’s a long story - might take several rounds.”
“Fine. You ever see Red Ruffing play ball?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Ever see the Astounding Dresden?”
“Meant to, but then something came up.” The reason I steer clear of handcuffs in concrete. By the time I finished that case, the magician had died - heart attack, everyone said.
“I did. Went with my dad and cousins. You missed a great show, Amsterdam.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
~~~~~~~
“Spin, spin, spin,
“Spin around, spin around.”
“Okay,” John said, as they chewed on hot dogs he’d just bought from a street vendor, “your turn.”
“Oh no,” Eva said once she’d swallowed.
“Come on, you’ve been humoring me since we’ve met. If the last hour wasn’t to’ve been overkill, you have to take a turn.”
“Fine,” trying to sound like she didn’t want to do it, though her eyes spoke of her excitement.
“Okay,” Eva said. “This is something I thought up when I was little.” She’d blush if she thought John had anyone to tell - the guy in the park, maybe. Other than that…nobody; she’d seen his emergency contact list. “I’m a princess.”
“Ah, your majesty,” John said, bowing beside her. “Which crown do you stand to inherit, if I may be so bold?”
“I probably never could inherit anyway,” she shrugged.
“Ah, then I shall call you Eva Sultan.”
“Ex-cuse me?”
“Like Princess Durreshevar Sultan, daughter of the last Ottoman Emperor? I -”
Eva coughed.
“Right. Sorry. My mistake. Apologies, highness.”
“Well alright.
“I’m an Indian princess.”
While part of him was trying to remember the feminine form of nawab, another part of Amsterdam asked her, “Continental or Subcontinental?”
“Continental. I was never sure if I was an Apache or an Iriquois.”
“Not a Lenape?”
“Nope. They disappeared too quick.”
“Hardly their fault.”
“I know. I’m just saying, I can’t be a Lenape princess when there aren’t any left.”
“True.”
“Though maybe I’m Cree,” Eva said. “I had a Cree boyfriend back in high school. Oh the muscles on him…” When her partner looked askance at her - properly shocked, he was - “Can I help it if he preferred wearing short sleeved shirts?”
“Guess not,” grinning. “So, if your highness deigns, may I ask where you procured your education?”
“Harvard,” doing her best to sound British with the long aa in the name. “Spent some time as well learning from Scotland Yard.”
Amsterdam had heard women with accents who made ‘Harvaaard’ sound sexy. Eva made it sound…normal. “Excellent schooling. And may I say, you have an excellent Dutch accent.”
“No.”
“I’m serious, you do.”
Eva blinked. “The only blood my family has, that’s from north of the Pyranees, is Amish.” Or as grandma puts it, a donation from the men we lived among during our intermission from New York during the Revolution.
~~~~~~~~
“But where are you spinning? And when will you know -
“That life is for living, and it isn’t a show?”
An idea’s in John Amsterdam’s head, and it is niggling at him, poking and prodding his thoughts, not letting him relax until he realizes that that is exactly it.
But it couldn’t be that simple.
Could it?
Could the union of his soul be - not a matter of love and passion - but of simpatico and comraderie? Friendship and banter, not kisses and moans? Risks, not rubs.
And he remembers, back on their first day working together, ‘And miss all the foreplay?’ as a jest, something to lighten the mood - even with the risk that it might easily have started watercooler gossip about the two of them. “Are you psychic?” John asked her.
To her credit, Eva didn’t even raise an eyebrow. “We doing another round?”
“No. At least not at the moment.”
“Then no. Definitely not. Why?”
He stopped and she did as well, them both turning to face one another. “Could I…I just need to -” How to say this?
“Amsterdam?”
He couldn’t believe it - he was at a loss for words. Here he was, having asked all sorts of people all manner of questions…and here he was.
“John?”
“I…I need to -” and, speech failing him, he surged forward, hugging her gently.
No kisses. No throes or being thrown. No dizziness or weakness in any part of him.
Just… Contentment.
He didn’t sigh. Johann van der Zee exhaled, more than satisfied. He’d experienced all the emotions mankind was capable of, all over the last three hundred and fifty years. All but contentment, something that hadn’t come since his time with his first family, back before that fateful battle in the woods… before he’d shouted ‘We don’t kill women!’
Eva’s hands reached around him, returning the hug. “You okay, Amsterdam?”
When it became evident she wasn’t going to shove him off at any time, he pulled back, standing upright on his own. “I’m good now.”
She smiled to him. “Good to hear.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The End
Author’s note: This was going to end on a shippy note…but my Eva muse insisted on addressing him by his surname.
Fandom: New Amsterdam.
Set: Present Day.
Characters: John Amsterdam, Eva Marquez, various members of the Marquez family.
Author: Keenir.
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: 1.01, 1.02, 1.03 (coda to 1.03)
Word Count: 19,83.
(this was *supposed to be* a nice, short ficlet to rest my fingers while Dani meets the demon and Murphy gets kidnapped….but noooo, my muses don’t cooperate even when I *do* give them a cash advance)
Summary: John saves Eva’s bacon at the Marquez family get-together. John tells Eva the truth about him, then she tells him a childhood fantasy. Finally, John realizes something about him and Eva.
GEN
Author’s notes: The song is ‘Spin, Spin, Spin’ by Jim & Ingrid Croce.
Historical note: King Philip was an Indian ruler who led a movement against the European colonists.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Spin, spin, spin,
“Spin away, spin away.”
The reunion was in full swing.
Or as much of a swing as family get-togethers ever managed to scrounge up.
“So, Eva,” cousin Gina said, grandma Marquez sitting beside her, “what have you been up to?”
Besides putting away crooks, killers, and thieves? Oh not much, really. Eva just shrugged. “This and that.”
“Are you seeing anyone?” grandma asked. And while the option was there to ignore Gina, that was just not done to grandma.
Gina smiled at Eva’s discomfort.
“I was…” Eva said.
“’Was’?” Amsterdam asked, sneaking up behind her and placing his right hand on Eva’s left shoulder. “I know I should’ve told you I was running late, but I didn’t think traffic would be as bad as it would, and I was afraid the cell ringing would interrupt a conversation.”
I’d have loved for that to’ve happened, Eva thought. “You’re right. You should’ve told me.” What in hell are you doing, Amsterdam?
“Are you Eva’s beau?” Grandma Marquez asked.
“I…well, I was. I thought I was,” John said.
“That why you have your hand where it is?” Gina asked observantly.
Kids these days. “My parents,” John said, “told me never to rush things.”
Grandma Marquez smiled broadly. “I like you already. What’s your name?”
“Nickolaus Nicolaas Philip Amsterdam.”
“’Nickolaus Nicolaas’?”
John smiled awkwardly. “My parents couldn’t decide whether to give me the Greek or the Dutch version.”
“And ‘Philip’?”
“I think he was almost my godfather…but knowing my mother, she was probably just one of her heroes,” and chalked up his first lie of the week. Mom hated King Philip with a passion. It wasn’t the second lie, because Nickolaus would’ve loved Eva…if I’d been sober at the time.
“And how long has your family lived in New York?” Grandma Marquez asked.
Amsterdam, Eva thought, if you even *think* of telling her you’re three hundred years old, so help me -
“We changed it during the First World War,” John said, “but we’ve been here - as the Amsterdams, and the van der Zees before then - since the first settlements were struck.” Give or take a generation.
Grandma turned to bring her smile to Eva. “He’s a good catch, dear. Now go, make up, before you lose him.”
“Yes, grandma,” Eva said as befitted a dutiful granddaughter. “Come on, Nick.” ‘Nick’?
And they walked away.
“Thanks for saving me in there,” Eva said. One of these days, I might actually get some answers out of you.
~~~
It was a few days later, when John was walking out of the police building, when who should walk up from behind him than Gina herself. “I did some digging, Detective,” laying emphasis on his title.
John stopped where he was, turned and faced her. “Oh?”
“Nickolaus Amsterdam’s been dead more than twenty years. You aren’t him.”
“True.”
“You’re not denying it?” Gina asked.
“No reason to.”
“And this ‘Nicolas Amsterdam’?” Gina Marquez demanded. “Did you make him up, create a past for him - or did you steal his name from the cemetaries?”
“My great-uncle,” John said calmly. Actually me, but you want something believable. “Before he died, he told me that if ever any of my friends needs help, I can use his name.”
“To lie?”
“To protect my friends.”
That mollified Gina. “Well, it didn’t hurt anybody…and it made our grandma happy. Just don’t be making a habit out of this, okay?”
“I give you my word as a gentleman.”
“That worth something?”
“Always.”
“Good. Keep it that way.”
~~~~~~~
“His age can’t be seen.
“Spin around.”
She found him feeding pigeons on a park bench, that guy from the bar next to him. “Amsterdam,” Eva said, walking up to them.
“Yes?” John asked, standing up, handing the birdseed to Omar.
“Can we talk?”
“Sure.”
“I m… Okay.” If he wanted this conversation with a witness, then so be it. “I wanted to thank you for what you did.” What you did for me.
“It was nothing.”
“If that was nothing, John, I’d probably have a heart attack if you did *something.*”
Omar faked a bit of a coughing fit to cover his laughs.
“You okay?” Eva asked him.
“I’m fine,” Omar said. “I think all the birds here are full anyway.”
“Try further from the statue,” John said. “Those pigeons don’t get as much.”
“Got it.”
“So,” Eva said, hoping to get it all out before he could stop her, “I want to do something with you.”
Amsterdam’s eyes widened, his eyebrows raising minutely.
“Not *that*.
“There’s a game we Marquez kids used to play. I figure you’d love it.” It’s right up your alley.
“Okay. What is it?”
“We take turns. Each player gets a half hour to pretend they’re whoever they want to be. And the other players have to go along with it.”
“It does sound fun,” John ventured. Though I get the feeling I might end up getting hung out to dry by the end of this. “Let’s walk.”
“Okay,” figuring it would be easier than standing in one place for an hour - her ankles always got back at her after stuff like that. “You first.”
“Me?”
“Yes, Amsterdam. You. You saved my neck at my reunion, it’s the least I can do.”
“Okay.” He sighed, pretending to think. “I’m four hundred years old…roughly.”
“Friend of Duncan MacLeod?”
Ah, so there’re shades of 20 Questions in this. “Nope. I’m the only one.”
“That sucks.”
“It does, sometimes.” After a bit, "Though my grandmother was a full-blooded Lenape.”
“One of the original tribes around here,” Eva said.
He nodded. “That’s right,” he affirmed in a way that didn’t manage to sound patronizing or gee-I’m-glad-you-know-the-obvious. “My mother was half-Lenape…but tried to be completely Dutch, even before she met my father.”
“Sounds like she just wanted to be accepted.”
Another nod, sadder this time. “Means I know next to nothing about the Lenape firsthand - I’m as dependant on archeologists as anyone else.”
“Definitely sucks.” Kids need to know where they come from. Heritage isn’t just a word. “Anything brighter, or are the next four hundred years just as dismal?” her tone making it clearly a challenge.
“Oh there’ve been tons of bright spots. Remember the guy I was feeding pigeons with when you walked up?”
Eva nodded.
“Then you’ve met my son.”
Amsterdam reached out and, with his index finger, gingerly, gently, feather-light lifted her gaping mouth closed.
Then drew his finger away.
“You’re…married?”
“Til death do us part. And she did,” looking down as was proper. Lily died. They always do.
“Sorry.” Though part of her was thinking ‘You couldn’t’ve waited a minute to tell me that? I was about to ream you for flirting with that doctor.’ All of her shared his grief; she knew loss, even if it wasn’t the loss of a spouse.
“Not your fault. People die.”
“You excepted, of course.”
“No. No, I just have to wait ‘til I find the right one.”
One feminine eyebrow skyrocketed. “You telling me you married the wrong one?”
“No…trust me, Eva, it’s a long story - might take several rounds.”
“Fine. You ever see Red Ruffing play ball?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Ever see the Astounding Dresden?”
“Meant to, but then something came up.” The reason I steer clear of handcuffs in concrete. By the time I finished that case, the magician had died - heart attack, everyone said.
“I did. Went with my dad and cousins. You missed a great show, Amsterdam.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
~~~~~~~
“Spin, spin, spin,
“Spin around, spin around.”
“Okay,” John said, as they chewed on hot dogs he’d just bought from a street vendor, “your turn.”
“Oh no,” Eva said once she’d swallowed.
“Come on, you’ve been humoring me since we’ve met. If the last hour wasn’t to’ve been overkill, you have to take a turn.”
“Fine,” trying to sound like she didn’t want to do it, though her eyes spoke of her excitement.
“Okay,” Eva said. “This is something I thought up when I was little.” She’d blush if she thought John had anyone to tell - the guy in the park, maybe. Other than that…nobody; she’d seen his emergency contact list. “I’m a princess.”
“Ah, your majesty,” John said, bowing beside her. “Which crown do you stand to inherit, if I may be so bold?”
“I probably never could inherit anyway,” she shrugged.
“Ah, then I shall call you Eva Sultan.”
“Ex-cuse me?”
“Like Princess Durreshevar Sultan, daughter of the last Ottoman Emperor? I -”
Eva coughed.
“Right. Sorry. My mistake. Apologies, highness.”
“Well alright.
“I’m an Indian princess.”
While part of him was trying to remember the feminine form of nawab, another part of Amsterdam asked her, “Continental or Subcontinental?”
“Continental. I was never sure if I was an Apache or an Iriquois.”
“Not a Lenape?”
“Nope. They disappeared too quick.”
“Hardly their fault.”
“I know. I’m just saying, I can’t be a Lenape princess when there aren’t any left.”
“True.”
“Though maybe I’m Cree,” Eva said. “I had a Cree boyfriend back in high school. Oh the muscles on him…” When her partner looked askance at her - properly shocked, he was - “Can I help it if he preferred wearing short sleeved shirts?”
“Guess not,” grinning. “So, if your highness deigns, may I ask where you procured your education?”
“Harvard,” doing her best to sound British with the long aa in the name. “Spent some time as well learning from Scotland Yard.”
Amsterdam had heard women with accents who made ‘Harvaaard’ sound sexy. Eva made it sound…normal. “Excellent schooling. And may I say, you have an excellent Dutch accent.”
“No.”
“I’m serious, you do.”
Eva blinked. “The only blood my family has, that’s from north of the Pyranees, is Amish.” Or as grandma puts it, a donation from the men we lived among during our intermission from New York during the Revolution.
~~~~~~~~
“But where are you spinning? And when will you know -
“That life is for living, and it isn’t a show?”
An idea’s in John Amsterdam’s head, and it is niggling at him, poking and prodding his thoughts, not letting him relax until he realizes that that is exactly it.
But it couldn’t be that simple.
Could it?
Could the union of his soul be - not a matter of love and passion - but of simpatico and comraderie? Friendship and banter, not kisses and moans? Risks, not rubs.
And he remembers, back on their first day working together, ‘And miss all the foreplay?’ as a jest, something to lighten the mood - even with the risk that it might easily have started watercooler gossip about the two of them. “Are you psychic?” John asked her.
To her credit, Eva didn’t even raise an eyebrow. “We doing another round?”
“No. At least not at the moment.”
“Then no. Definitely not. Why?”
He stopped and she did as well, them both turning to face one another. “Could I…I just need to -” How to say this?
“Amsterdam?”
He couldn’t believe it - he was at a loss for words. Here he was, having asked all sorts of people all manner of questions…and here he was.
“John?”
“I…I need to -” and, speech failing him, he surged forward, hugging her gently.
No kisses. No throes or being thrown. No dizziness or weakness in any part of him.
Just… Contentment.
He didn’t sigh. Johann van der Zee exhaled, more than satisfied. He’d experienced all the emotions mankind was capable of, all over the last three hundred and fifty years. All but contentment, something that hadn’t come since his time with his first family, back before that fateful battle in the woods… before he’d shouted ‘We don’t kill women!’
Eva’s hands reached around him, returning the hug. “You okay, Amsterdam?”
When it became evident she wasn’t going to shove him off at any time, he pulled back, standing upright on his own. “I’m good now.”
She smiled to him. “Good to hear.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The End
Author’s note: This was going to end on a shippy note…but my Eva muse insisted on addressing him by his surname.