Seven Ways Fic, Part Two
I'm being very spammy today. I'm sorry. It's because I'm desperately putting off my English homework bored.
That's good for all you. Because it means that I finished the second half of the Very Late Holiday Fic: Seven Ways This Doesn't Work
And Seven Ways It Does. Same deal as last time: Ray/Ray for catwalksalone, Josh/Donna for lordessrenegade , Dan/Casey for phoebesmum , Sam/Toby for thecolourclear , Turnbull/Fraser for lipstickcat (still the hardest and most annoying to write), Tony/Abby for ewanspotter , and Jack/Jordan for laylee , because I couldn't have two Dan/Caseys.
Lyrics belong to the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Snow Patrol, Metallica, the Counting Crows, Metallica again, Fiona Apple, and Arcade Fire.
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Where it's so white as snow
Snow has stopped seeming so harsh to Ray. It’s cold, but he can deal with that. He gets that.
And Kowalski seemed to be getting it, too. They even talked about it once, huddled up in bed on a day off, red on white and places where snow goes on forever.
What they have is more autumn, bright colour and sadness, and maybe even a little like spring. They’re coming together a little, broken edges adjusting to one another. The important thing is that it’s not as cold as snow. And Ray’s even beginning to suspect it’s almost as bright.
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Forget what we’re told before we get too old
When he first into the White House, he decided that he wasn’t getting older too fast - everyone else was just staying young.
After eight years, he couldn’t lie to himself anymore.
He had never bought into the soul-mate thing, but he knew that, if he did, Donna would’ve been The One. When he kissed her that first time, he would’ve known for sure. She tasted like lip gloss, over-sweetened coffee, wood pencils. High school and summer.
That was when he slowed down. And now he felt like maybe he was finally moving through life at his own pace. Their pace.
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Never opened myself this way
The guy on the radio is saying something about love, and Dan thinks that, for the first time, maybe he gets it.
Dan always figured he’d be the one to break, but one night he opened the door to see Casey on the other side of it, wrapped, unbelievably, in a pink and blue quilt. Casey held up a hand.
“I brought beer,” he said.
“Beer’s good,” said Dan.
The radio guy launches into an extended “oh,” a crescendo of falling notes, a series of descending pitches. And Dan smiles as he hits the bottom one and starts to rise.
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It’s getting cold in California | I guess I’ll be leaving soon
California never seemed empty to Sam until he left and came back. It wasn’t cold or detached or any of those adjectives that imply distance. Just… empty.
But it wasn’t just California, he realized when he went on vacation. It was everywhere that wasn’t DC.
He refused to think of it as anyplace that didn’t have Toby. Until he found himself on his doorstep.
They still yell at each other, though Toby yells more than him. But they live around each other, and somehow with them, it’s living together. And he thinks, in their way, they might even be happy.
-----------------------------------------------
Never cared for the games they played
They’ve both discovered that they don’t fit into the outside world, for varying reasons.
They’ve both discovered that they don’t want to.
It’s cold out there, and painful and futile. They don’t want that for themselves. So while Fraser goes around trying to fix it, Turnbull stays home and make sure that the real world doesn’t creep up on them.
Because home is good. It’s warm and happy and gold lighting and red wine really, really good Chinese take-out. They’re their own rebellion against the deliberate games of pain played in the gray world outside. And they’re each other’s sanctuary.
-----------------------------------------------
And when the day is done, and I look back, and the fact is I had fun
It shouldn’t have worked, but neither one of them was used to living with regrets, and sometimes, he supposes, that must be enough.
It’s become a pattern, routine without the blandness. And her stuff just sort of migrated to his apartment (because it’s bigger, after all, and he has those wicked new subwoofers). And she throws his boxers at him and he laughs and pours Honey Nut Cheerios, and they read the comics together. And she gets him.
People might almost call them a couple.
They don’t think of it that way. They tend to just say that they happened.
-----------------------------------------------
Come on, baby, in our dreams, we can live our misbehavior
When they get mad, they throw things. Just like her marriage. Except that it’s different - pillows and clothes instead of books and that glass paperweight he used to like. Plus, the make-up sex is better. Less angry, somehow.
And she’ll curl up next to him when she can, and see him to the door when she can’t, and she’ll sleep and dream that someday she won’t have to. And she knows that he’s dreaming the same.
One day, she’s sure, she’ll get tired of just dreaming, jaded and bitter. But it hasn’t happened yet.
And it’s not happening anytime soon.
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Okay, so here I go.
"You've reached thehousekeeper. I'm currently doing my English homework, or possibly killing myself instead. Please leave your name, number, and a eulogy, and someone will get back to you with the funeral plans."
_
That's good for all you. Because it means that I finished the second half of the Very Late Holiday Fic: Seven Ways This Doesn't Work
And Seven Ways It Does. Same deal as last time: Ray/Ray for catwalksalone, Josh/Donna for lordessrenegade , Dan/Casey for phoebesmum , Sam/Toby for thecolourclear , Turnbull/Fraser for lipstickcat (still the hardest and most annoying to write), Tony/Abby for ewanspotter , and Jack/Jordan for laylee , because I couldn't have two Dan/Caseys.
Lyrics belong to the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Snow Patrol, Metallica, the Counting Crows, Metallica again, Fiona Apple, and Arcade Fire.
-----------------------------------------------
Where it's so white as snow
Snow has stopped seeming so harsh to Ray. It’s cold, but he can deal with that. He gets that.
And Kowalski seemed to be getting it, too. They even talked about it once, huddled up in bed on a day off, red on white and places where snow goes on forever.
What they have is more autumn, bright colour and sadness, and maybe even a little like spring. They’re coming together a little, broken edges adjusting to one another. The important thing is that it’s not as cold as snow. And Ray’s even beginning to suspect it’s almost as bright.
-----------------------------------------------
Forget what we’re told before we get too old
When he first into the White House, he decided that he wasn’t getting older too fast - everyone else was just staying young.
After eight years, he couldn’t lie to himself anymore.
He had never bought into the soul-mate thing, but he knew that, if he did, Donna would’ve been The One. When he kissed her that first time, he would’ve known for sure. She tasted like lip gloss, over-sweetened coffee, wood pencils. High school and summer.
That was when he slowed down. And now he felt like maybe he was finally moving through life at his own pace. Their pace.
-----------------------------------------------
Never opened myself this way
The guy on the radio is saying something about love, and Dan thinks that, for the first time, maybe he gets it.
Dan always figured he’d be the one to break, but one night he opened the door to see Casey on the other side of it, wrapped, unbelievably, in a pink and blue quilt. Casey held up a hand.
“I brought beer,” he said.
“Beer’s good,” said Dan.
The radio guy launches into an extended “oh,” a crescendo of falling notes, a series of descending pitches. And Dan smiles as he hits the bottom one and starts to rise.
-----------------------------------------------
It’s getting cold in California | I guess I’ll be leaving soon
California never seemed empty to Sam until he left and came back. It wasn’t cold or detached or any of those adjectives that imply distance. Just… empty.
But it wasn’t just California, he realized when he went on vacation. It was everywhere that wasn’t DC.
He refused to think of it as anyplace that didn’t have Toby. Until he found himself on his doorstep.
They still yell at each other, though Toby yells more than him. But they live around each other, and somehow with them, it’s living together. And he thinks, in their way, they might even be happy.
-----------------------------------------------
Never cared for the games they played
They’ve both discovered that they don’t fit into the outside world, for varying reasons.
They’ve both discovered that they don’t want to.
It’s cold out there, and painful and futile. They don’t want that for themselves. So while Fraser goes around trying to fix it, Turnbull stays home and make sure that the real world doesn’t creep up on them.
Because home is good. It’s warm and happy and gold lighting and red wine really, really good Chinese take-out. They’re their own rebellion against the deliberate games of pain played in the gray world outside. And they’re each other’s sanctuary.
-----------------------------------------------
And when the day is done, and I look back, and the fact is I had fun
It shouldn’t have worked, but neither one of them was used to living with regrets, and sometimes, he supposes, that must be enough.
It’s become a pattern, routine without the blandness. And her stuff just sort of migrated to his apartment (because it’s bigger, after all, and he has those wicked new subwoofers). And she throws his boxers at him and he laughs and pours Honey Nut Cheerios, and they read the comics together. And she gets him.
People might almost call them a couple.
They don’t think of it that way. They tend to just say that they happened.
-----------------------------------------------
Come on, baby, in our dreams, we can live our misbehavior
When they get mad, they throw things. Just like her marriage. Except that it’s different - pillows and clothes instead of books and that glass paperweight he used to like. Plus, the make-up sex is better. Less angry, somehow.
And she’ll curl up next to him when she can, and see him to the door when she can’t, and she’ll sleep and dream that someday she won’t have to. And she knows that he’s dreaming the same.
One day, she’s sure, she’ll get tired of just dreaming, jaded and bitter. But it hasn’t happened yet.
And it’s not happening anytime soon.
-----------------------------------------------
Okay, so here I go.
"You've reached thehousekeeper. I'm currently doing my English homework, or possibly killing myself instead. Please leave your name, number, and a eulogy, and someone will get back to you with the funeral plans."
_