FICLETS! Holiday: Day Five
For lokei
Lee
Lee has a calendar that he keeps hidden. It’s hopelessly out of date, but it has all this information in it that he likes to look at from time to time. He traces his fingers over the letters that have faded on some of the days and the ink that has bled through on others. There are birthdays and anniversaries and phone numbers and words he can’t read anymore, but he thinks might have been his grocery list at some point in his life.
He traces the days as they pass, keeping a record in his head of what is when and if there’s anyone alive besides him that it still affects. There are days that they all carry with them - the attacks, Zak’s death, his parents’ anniversary. The rest though are Lee’s personal days of celebration and mourning, with new things etched into the small boxes as the events go on.
The night on New Caprica with Kara. The day he married Dee. The day Pegasus saved their lives. He remembers them even if no one else does and celebrates them all with a toast to the empty skies. Every celebration he has is tainted with death or destruction or loss, and he offers up prayers he doesn’t believe in for the living and the dead.
It’s been almost three years now and the numbers on the President’s white board hold steady as the dying and the born balance each other out. He stares down at his calendar at one of the few blank squares. No knock will come. The hatch won’t open. But it’s still his birthday. Lee raises a toast.
For musesfool
House/Cuddy
House glances at the oven and then at Cuddy. “Bun?”
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m exceptionally funny. You’re bitter and therefore don’t appreciate humor.” He settles on the kitchen chair and stretches his legs out in front of him. “Should I do the whole ‘hi, honey, I’m home’ routine or did you just want to tell me what the occasion is? Are Barney and Betty coming over for dinner?”
“No. I wouldn’t invite guests over for dinner. They always feel so strange when they can’t stop staring at you covering yourself in food and making animal noises.”
“I only do that in bed.”
“Right. At dinner it’s race track noises.”
“You know it turns you on.”
“They have places for people like you, you know. Nice places with bars on the windows.” She manages to withhold her smile as he catches her hand and tugs her closer. “With nice white coats with extra long sleeves.”
“I never wear white coats.” He pulls her down onto his lap and nuzzles at her neck. “What’s in the oven, Cuddy?”
“Your record collection.”
His teeth graze her skin, causing a shiver to run through her. “I’d recognize the smell of scorched vinyl. This smells much more like almonds.”
“It’s the cyanide flavoring.” She turns her head and kisses him softly. “Happy birthday.”
“Careful, woman. You keep it up, I might keep you around.”
“I keep you around, House. Let’s never forget that.”
For storydivagirl
Kevin
There are three pictures on Kevin’s bookshelves in front of books he rarely uses but can’t bear to part with - books that Saul has gotten him over the years that he rereads during fits of nostalgia or when his self-esteem has sunk to newfound lows.
The pictures are moments Kevin refuses to forget, moments he never knew anyone might have captured, and that’s why he keeps them. Two are slightly out of focus, but that makes them all the more significant for him, since they’re both from times in his life that are laser-sharp in his memory.
The first one is from when he went fishing with his dad alone for the first time. The rest of the family was back at the campsite, but William had woken up early, raised his eyebrows at Kevin, who was already sitting at the fire, poking the glowing embers with a stick as he read his book. William had taken the book out of Kevin’s hand and tossed it aside - not on the fire, which had been Kevin’s first, not quite irrational fear - and told Kevin to put his coat on.
The rest of the day they’d spent in the boat, talking about everything and nothing. William mentioned a little bit about sports and Kevin mentioned a little bit about debate and the rest was bad jokes, the first dirty joke Kevin ever told, and laughter. They’d come back and it was nearly dark and Kevin could see the worry etched on Nora’s face, but it had been worth it when she’d seen them and seen the fish and declared them hunters and gatherers. Kevin hadn’t corrected her and William had just slapped him hard on the back.
It was the first time Kevin had ever felt like a man.
The second one is from when Kevin came out. He doesn’t know who took the picture, and he’s almost positive no one would confess to having snapped it, but it’s there, living proof of things that he can’t ever forget, things that define him. He’s in the corner of his father’s study, sitting on the window seat, curled up smaller than he had a right to be at his age. He’s staring off into the distance and the picture is washed out, white and full of glare from the sun streaming in the window, but because of the shadows or the way the curtain falls across the window, you can see the tracks of tears on his skin like shimmering scars that rake his cheeks, and the hint of the burgeoning black eye, staining the skin dark and purple in the corner.
The third is from the day his father came to his office. They were having a Christmas party and there was champagne and booze and food and people sneaking off into closets and offices that had more privacy than the glass cage Kevin calls his own. He was sitting on the edge of his desk, watching the revelry as he finished up a phone call when he recognized his father moving through the crowd.
William had asked him to be executor of his estate, asked him to be the official lawyer for Ojai foods. He’d asked him, at that moment, to be something Kevin had never thought he’d be and had never thought he wanted to be. A partner in something bigger than his law firm - a part of the family business.
Kevin had nodded and someone had taken a picture from inside the party, the glare reflecting off the glass again, and whoever had taken it had been more than a little drunk, so they’re out of focus and blurry, looking as drunken as the photographer. Kevin likes it though because, even though he and his father look like they’re about to fall, they’re falling in toward each other instead of, as usual, falling apart.
Lee
Lee has a calendar that he keeps hidden. It’s hopelessly out of date, but it has all this information in it that he likes to look at from time to time. He traces his fingers over the letters that have faded on some of the days and the ink that has bled through on others. There are birthdays and anniversaries and phone numbers and words he can’t read anymore, but he thinks might have been his grocery list at some point in his life.
He traces the days as they pass, keeping a record in his head of what is when and if there’s anyone alive besides him that it still affects. There are days that they all carry with them - the attacks, Zak’s death, his parents’ anniversary. The rest though are Lee’s personal days of celebration and mourning, with new things etched into the small boxes as the events go on.
The night on New Caprica with Kara. The day he married Dee. The day Pegasus saved their lives. He remembers them even if no one else does and celebrates them all with a toast to the empty skies. Every celebration he has is tainted with death or destruction or loss, and he offers up prayers he doesn’t believe in for the living and the dead.
It’s been almost three years now and the numbers on the President’s white board hold steady as the dying and the born balance each other out. He stares down at his calendar at one of the few blank squares. No knock will come. The hatch won’t open. But it’s still his birthday. Lee raises a toast.
For musesfool
House/Cuddy
House glances at the oven and then at Cuddy. “Bun?”
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m exceptionally funny. You’re bitter and therefore don’t appreciate humor.” He settles on the kitchen chair and stretches his legs out in front of him. “Should I do the whole ‘hi, honey, I’m home’ routine or did you just want to tell me what the occasion is? Are Barney and Betty coming over for dinner?”
“No. I wouldn’t invite guests over for dinner. They always feel so strange when they can’t stop staring at you covering yourself in food and making animal noises.”
“I only do that in bed.”
“Right. At dinner it’s race track noises.”
“You know it turns you on.”
“They have places for people like you, you know. Nice places with bars on the windows.” She manages to withhold her smile as he catches her hand and tugs her closer. “With nice white coats with extra long sleeves.”
“I never wear white coats.” He pulls her down onto his lap and nuzzles at her neck. “What’s in the oven, Cuddy?”
“Your record collection.”
His teeth graze her skin, causing a shiver to run through her. “I’d recognize the smell of scorched vinyl. This smells much more like almonds.”
“It’s the cyanide flavoring.” She turns her head and kisses him softly. “Happy birthday.”
“Careful, woman. You keep it up, I might keep you around.”
“I keep you around, House. Let’s never forget that.”
For storydivagirl
Kevin
There are three pictures on Kevin’s bookshelves in front of books he rarely uses but can’t bear to part with - books that Saul has gotten him over the years that he rereads during fits of nostalgia or when his self-esteem has sunk to newfound lows.
The pictures are moments Kevin refuses to forget, moments he never knew anyone might have captured, and that’s why he keeps them. Two are slightly out of focus, but that makes them all the more significant for him, since they’re both from times in his life that are laser-sharp in his memory.
The first one is from when he went fishing with his dad alone for the first time. The rest of the family was back at the campsite, but William had woken up early, raised his eyebrows at Kevin, who was already sitting at the fire, poking the glowing embers with a stick as he read his book. William had taken the book out of Kevin’s hand and tossed it aside - not on the fire, which had been Kevin’s first, not quite irrational fear - and told Kevin to put his coat on.
The rest of the day they’d spent in the boat, talking about everything and nothing. William mentioned a little bit about sports and Kevin mentioned a little bit about debate and the rest was bad jokes, the first dirty joke Kevin ever told, and laughter. They’d come back and it was nearly dark and Kevin could see the worry etched on Nora’s face, but it had been worth it when she’d seen them and seen the fish and declared them hunters and gatherers. Kevin hadn’t corrected her and William had just slapped him hard on the back.
It was the first time Kevin had ever felt like a man.
The second one is from when Kevin came out. He doesn’t know who took the picture, and he’s almost positive no one would confess to having snapped it, but it’s there, living proof of things that he can’t ever forget, things that define him. He’s in the corner of his father’s study, sitting on the window seat, curled up smaller than he had a right to be at his age. He’s staring off into the distance and the picture is washed out, white and full of glare from the sun streaming in the window, but because of the shadows or the way the curtain falls across the window, you can see the tracks of tears on his skin like shimmering scars that rake his cheeks, and the hint of the burgeoning black eye, staining the skin dark and purple in the corner.
The third is from the day his father came to his office. They were having a Christmas party and there was champagne and booze and food and people sneaking off into closets and offices that had more privacy than the glass cage Kevin calls his own. He was sitting on the edge of his desk, watching the revelry as he finished up a phone call when he recognized his father moving through the crowd.
William had asked him to be executor of his estate, asked him to be the official lawyer for Ojai foods. He’d asked him, at that moment, to be something Kevin had never thought he’d be and had never thought he wanted to be. A partner in something bigger than his law firm - a part of the family business.
Kevin had nodded and someone had taken a picture from inside the party, the glare reflecting off the glass again, and whoever had taken it had been more than a little drunk, so they’re out of focus and blurry, looking as drunken as the photographer. Kevin likes it though because, even though he and his father look like they’re about to fall, they’re falling in toward each other instead of, as usual, falling apart.