Lost fic: Civil Wars
Title: Civil Wars
Fandom: Lost
Rating: PG for language
Characters: Michael, Walt, Charlie, Sawyer
Summary: They were singing round a campfire, like a cliche G-rated father-son bonding movie. Ist season.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never mine
Notes: Written for lostficchallenge #64, "Inspired by--" but once it got done I wasn't sure it fit the prompt. The first song is "Truck Drivin' Vampire" by Michael Longcor, the second snippet is adapted from "It Makes a Fellow Proud to be a Soldier" by Tom Lehrer, the third is "Red and Gold" by Ralph McTell, sung by Fairport Convention.
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He was tired, but it was a good tired. Michael hadn’t worked this hard in a while, but he was enjoying it. Now that he turned out to be the only person on the beach with professional experience in construction, he was the go-to guy for help with making a shelter that wouldn’t fall down in a high wind or leak in a heavy rain. What Michael was enjoying most was the chance to work with Walt. He really felt like a father, watching Walt’s face glow as he understood how to eye in the right angle for a roof, how to get the walls to stand together instead of falling down, how to use tension and balance and all those things that were so much easier to deal with in buildings than in people.
Now they were singing round a campfire, like a cliche G-rated father-son bonding movie. Michael shook his head; it was hard to believe they were doing this. It was strange that it felt so natural, when he hadn’t sung since quitting the church choir in high school and he still felt so awkward at acting like a parent. Thank God for Brits with guitars. Charlie was good at reading an audience and had a more extensive repertoire than Michael had expected, considering he was always talking about that one damn song. Right now, Charlie’s eyes were bright with conspiratorial pleasure, as he started a new tune:
“I was parking my 18-wheeler, outside of New Orleans,
When a big damn bat flew into the cab, and I nearly soiled my jeans.
He latched onto my jugular and started chowin’ down,
When I opened my eyes, much to my surprise, I’d become what I am now.
I’m a truck drivin’ vampire, I only drive by night
A truck drivin’ vampire, undead but not uptight
I’m a good ol’ Nosferatu, and an 18-wheelin’ stud
Wearin’ white socks, drinkin’ Blue Ribbon and red-neck blood....”
Michael caught the meaningful look Walt threw at him and grinned back. Charlie’s version of a Southern accent wasn’t perfect, but it was obvious whose he was modeling it on. That model was slouching toward them, attracted by the music, and frowning as he listened. Sawyer was doing a good job of looking annoyed, but Michael noticed he wasn’t interrupting the song to complain. Michael let his smile widen and joined in on the chorus.
Once Charlie had strummed the final chord, Sawyer went on the offensive (not that that was far to go, Michael thought, since Sawyer was usually offensive). “You might want to be careful there; when life gives me Limeys, I get a hankering to make limeade. It would make my ears feel better. If you didn’t know, I have very sensitive hearing.”
“No, I knew you were a mardy git and a barmpot as well, but I didn’t know anything about you was sensitive.”
Sawyer was momentarily thrown off stride by the unfamiliar insults. “And what’s that goin’ to mean?” he demanded.
Charlie strummed a couple of notes and sang, “Our Sawyer has a handicap to cope with, sad to tell./ He’s from Georgia, and he doesn’t speak the language very well.” Walt laughed outright, and Michael couldn’t stop a snicker escaping.
Sawyer regarded Charlie with narrowed eyes for a moment, then came to a decision. With patently fake magnanimity, he said, “Because of my respect for Tom Lehrer’s music, I won’t kill you this time. However, in honor of his bein’ a mathematician, I will be keeping count of how often you annoy me. If it happens too often, I will make you sorry.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Charlie said placidly. “Now, unless you’ve got a musical request for me, I’ll get back to this afternoon’s concert. I’ve got customers who are willing to pay...attention, which is more than I can expect from you.”
“Fine, great, I know I’ve got earplugs somewhere.” Sawyer turned away, then continued the motion, spinning completely around. “No, I do have a request.” As Charlie looked at him, startled and a bit wary, Sawyer made a show of sitting down comfortably and gave him a bright, false smile. “Since you’ve been practicin’ your Southern accent, I want to hear you sing a Civil War song.”
Michael started to bristle, and Walt tensed, although it didn’t stop him from giving Sawyer a scornful stare. Charlie looked confused for a moment, then said slowly, “That’s not a request I get often. You’ll have to give me a moment to think of one.”
“Who are you trying to insult, here?” Michael asked Sawyer, with a dangerous edge to his question.
Sawyer was all fake innocence. “Who said anything about insulting? I asked for a song-I didn’t even say what side it had to be on.”
Charlie was diddling around, playing short bits in different keys and staring at nothing in particular. Suddenly, his gaze sharpened and Michael saw him catch Walt’s eye with a mischievous look. “All right, then, if Civil War is your pleasure,” he said, and launched into the opening chords.
“Red and gold are royal colours,
Peasant colours are green and brown.
Green is the corn in the brown earth when it’s growing
Red and gold when the harvest is cut down.”
Michael frowned slightly, puzzled.
“In Cropredy in Oxfordshire the Cherwell takes its course
And willows weep into its waters clear.
My name it is Will Tims, it’s here that I was born
And raised in faith my King and God to fear.”
Michael was comforted that Sawyer looked as puzzled as he felt.
“In 1644 the King in Oxford town did dwell
Tho’ we heard that Cromwell’s army was nearby.
It did not occur to me that little Cropredy
Could be witness to the meeting of both sides....”
1644? Cromwell? Old schoolbook memories stirred in Michael’s mind. As Charlie continued to sing, Walt leaned in near his father and whispered gleefully, nodding at Sawyer, “He thinks the US is the only place ever had a civil war!” Michael hoped that he had kept his own face straight enough that Walt wouldn’t realize Sawyer wasn’t the only one who had forgotten about the English Civil War. He looked across and Sawyer met his eyes with a hint of rueful embarrassment. Sawyer looked past him at Walt and when Walt looked back with an expression of confidence and pride, Sawyer gave him a respectful nod, conceding the round. Their own civil war averted for the moment, the three returned their attention to the music, where Charlie was singing about blood and power and brothers at war with each other in God’s name. How could family take opposite sides just for God? Michael mused. He looked at Walt with a mixture of pride and protectiveness and thought, any side that’s keeping my boy safe, that’s the side God is on. Family comes first and that’s the way it should be. Even Sawyer knows Walt is worth it.
Fandom: Lost
Rating: PG for language
Characters: Michael, Walt, Charlie, Sawyer
Summary: They were singing round a campfire, like a cliche G-rated father-son bonding movie. Ist season.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never mine
Notes: Written for lostficchallenge #64, "Inspired by--" but once it got done I wasn't sure it fit the prompt. The first song is "Truck Drivin' Vampire" by Michael Longcor, the second snippet is adapted from "It Makes a Fellow Proud to be a Soldier" by Tom Lehrer, the third is "Red and Gold" by Ralph McTell, sung by Fairport Convention.
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He was tired, but it was a good tired. Michael hadn’t worked this hard in a while, but he was enjoying it. Now that he turned out to be the only person on the beach with professional experience in construction, he was the go-to guy for help with making a shelter that wouldn’t fall down in a high wind or leak in a heavy rain. What Michael was enjoying most was the chance to work with Walt. He really felt like a father, watching Walt’s face glow as he understood how to eye in the right angle for a roof, how to get the walls to stand together instead of falling down, how to use tension and balance and all those things that were so much easier to deal with in buildings than in people.
Now they were singing round a campfire, like a cliche G-rated father-son bonding movie. Michael shook his head; it was hard to believe they were doing this. It was strange that it felt so natural, when he hadn’t sung since quitting the church choir in high school and he still felt so awkward at acting like a parent. Thank God for Brits with guitars. Charlie was good at reading an audience and had a more extensive repertoire than Michael had expected, considering he was always talking about that one damn song. Right now, Charlie’s eyes were bright with conspiratorial pleasure, as he started a new tune:
“I was parking my 18-wheeler, outside of New Orleans,
When a big damn bat flew into the cab, and I nearly soiled my jeans.
He latched onto my jugular and started chowin’ down,
When I opened my eyes, much to my surprise, I’d become what I am now.
I’m a truck drivin’ vampire, I only drive by night
A truck drivin’ vampire, undead but not uptight
I’m a good ol’ Nosferatu, and an 18-wheelin’ stud
Wearin’ white socks, drinkin’ Blue Ribbon and red-neck blood....”
Michael caught the meaningful look Walt threw at him and grinned back. Charlie’s version of a Southern accent wasn’t perfect, but it was obvious whose he was modeling it on. That model was slouching toward them, attracted by the music, and frowning as he listened. Sawyer was doing a good job of looking annoyed, but Michael noticed he wasn’t interrupting the song to complain. Michael let his smile widen and joined in on the chorus.
Once Charlie had strummed the final chord, Sawyer went on the offensive (not that that was far to go, Michael thought, since Sawyer was usually offensive). “You might want to be careful there; when life gives me Limeys, I get a hankering to make limeade. It would make my ears feel better. If you didn’t know, I have very sensitive hearing.”
“No, I knew you were a mardy git and a barmpot as well, but I didn’t know anything about you was sensitive.”
Sawyer was momentarily thrown off stride by the unfamiliar insults. “And what’s that goin’ to mean?” he demanded.
Charlie strummed a couple of notes and sang, “Our Sawyer has a handicap to cope with, sad to tell./ He’s from Georgia, and he doesn’t speak the language very well.” Walt laughed outright, and Michael couldn’t stop a snicker escaping.
Sawyer regarded Charlie with narrowed eyes for a moment, then came to a decision. With patently fake magnanimity, he said, “Because of my respect for Tom Lehrer’s music, I won’t kill you this time. However, in honor of his bein’ a mathematician, I will be keeping count of how often you annoy me. If it happens too often, I will make you sorry.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Charlie said placidly. “Now, unless you’ve got a musical request for me, I’ll get back to this afternoon’s concert. I’ve got customers who are willing to pay...attention, which is more than I can expect from you.”
“Fine, great, I know I’ve got earplugs somewhere.” Sawyer turned away, then continued the motion, spinning completely around. “No, I do have a request.” As Charlie looked at him, startled and a bit wary, Sawyer made a show of sitting down comfortably and gave him a bright, false smile. “Since you’ve been practicin’ your Southern accent, I want to hear you sing a Civil War song.”
Michael started to bristle, and Walt tensed, although it didn’t stop him from giving Sawyer a scornful stare. Charlie looked confused for a moment, then said slowly, “That’s not a request I get often. You’ll have to give me a moment to think of one.”
“Who are you trying to insult, here?” Michael asked Sawyer, with a dangerous edge to his question.
Sawyer was all fake innocence. “Who said anything about insulting? I asked for a song-I didn’t even say what side it had to be on.”
Charlie was diddling around, playing short bits in different keys and staring at nothing in particular. Suddenly, his gaze sharpened and Michael saw him catch Walt’s eye with a mischievous look. “All right, then, if Civil War is your pleasure,” he said, and launched into the opening chords.
“Red and gold are royal colours,
Peasant colours are green and brown.
Green is the corn in the brown earth when it’s growing
Red and gold when the harvest is cut down.”
Michael frowned slightly, puzzled.
“In Cropredy in Oxfordshire the Cherwell takes its course
And willows weep into its waters clear.
My name it is Will Tims, it’s here that I was born
And raised in faith my King and God to fear.”
Michael was comforted that Sawyer looked as puzzled as he felt.
“In 1644 the King in Oxford town did dwell
Tho’ we heard that Cromwell’s army was nearby.
It did not occur to me that little Cropredy
Could be witness to the meeting of both sides....”
1644? Cromwell? Old schoolbook memories stirred in Michael’s mind. As Charlie continued to sing, Walt leaned in near his father and whispered gleefully, nodding at Sawyer, “He thinks the US is the only place ever had a civil war!” Michael hoped that he had kept his own face straight enough that Walt wouldn’t realize Sawyer wasn’t the only one who had forgotten about the English Civil War. He looked across and Sawyer met his eyes with a hint of rueful embarrassment. Sawyer looked past him at Walt and when Walt looked back with an expression of confidence and pride, Sawyer gave him a respectful nod, conceding the round. Their own civil war averted for the moment, the three returned their attention to the music, where Charlie was singing about blood and power and brothers at war with each other in God’s name. How could family take opposite sides just for God? Michael mused. He looked at Walt with a mixture of pride and protectiveness and thought, any side that’s keeping my boy safe, that’s the side God is on. Family comes first and that’s the way it should be. Even Sawyer knows Walt is worth it.