For joanne_c by acacia_123
Title: Christmas with the Quintos
Author: acacia_123
Giftee: joanne_c
Rating: PG
Characters: Zach, Joe, Mama Quinto
Prompt: Dad's record collection (Beatles, Rolling Stones, other 60s bands)
Note: My first foray into Quinto fic. (I'm nervous) I hope you like it. If the fic fails then I hope you like the manip I made.
I climbed the small staircase into the dark attic. This was always my job and I didn't mind it. Though I never understood why mom didn't ask me sooner, why she always waited until the noodles were in the pot to ask me to find her extra big lasagna pan; the one she only ever used on Christmas.
But as I said, I didn't mind going into the attic to look. Not only did I get the final product of Mom's awesome lasagna,(Hello!) but I always found interesting treasures while going through the boxes. Knickknacks Mom had collected or old pictures of Joe and me, but my favorite was when I came across boxes with Dad's stuff. I spent hours once just looking through some boxes once of Dad's clothes and trying them on.
I kind of felt bad when Mom started crying after she saw me. I thought I was going to be introuble and not be allowed up here but Mom had said that I wasn't in trouble. Just that she missed Dad lots and sometimes it still made her cry. I understood, I missed Dad sometimes too, like this past summer when my baseball coach asked if I wanted to go to the father/son camp weekend with the team. I didn't want anyone to see me cry so I ran upstairs and to my room.
Joe figured it out and told Mom, though, and we all went to camp. It had been a disaster, a great and wonderful disaster.
Joe was a great brother, too. He taught me stuff and didn't kick me out of his room too much; only when he was on the phone with a girl.
On this trip to the attic, I found the lasanga pan a little too quickly so I put it aside and continued snooping in the boxes. I figured Mom wouldn't be expecting me back so fast and I had time. I found an old pair of glasses and put them on and ran my fingers through my hair and smoothed it down so I'd look more like he did. I found an old photo album from like the 70's and in it were pictures of Mom and Dad as teenagers.
I must have taken a long time because suddenly I could hear footsteps on the attic ladder.
"What's taking so long? Mom's having a fit." It was Joe coming to get me. His head popped through the attic door a laugh bubbling up as soon as he saw me. "Take those glasses off, you look ridiculous."
I snatched them off my face and threw the photo album into the box along with the glasses.
"I found some of Dad's stuff," I said nervously.
"I see that," Joe responded. "Let me see."
I pulled the album back onto my lap as Joe sat next to me. We laughed at the pictures, especially one of Dad in a light blue bellbottom suit.
By the time Mom came looking for us, I had the glasses on again.
"What is taking you boys so long?" She said from the bottom of the stairs.
"Uhm," Joe started. "Nothing Mom, we were just looking at some stuff . . . some of Dad's stuff."
"Oh . . ." Her face appeared in the opening, worried.
"You guys ok?"
"Yeah, great Mom," I answered. "Is this okay?"
"Yeah, baby, you can look at your Dad's stuff anytime you want."
I smiled, "Can I bring some of this stuff downstairs?"
"I don't think . . ."
"Mom?" Joe interrupted. "How about a few records? I'll make sure to put them back as soon as we're done."
"Please, Mom?!" I begged.
"Okay, fine, but only three." Mom said. "That record collection was your Dad's pride. If they get scratched . . ."
"Yes!" I exclaimed. "I'll pick."
"How about no, loser." Joe said, you have no appreciation for good music."
"I do too!"
"Fine, pick one."
I grabbed this one because the picture looked cool.
Joe grabbed these:
We left the attic but before I climbed down, I asked Mom, pointing to the glasses,"Can I hold on to these?"
"Zach, why?"
"I don't know," I shrugged. "I just like to wear them."
"Sure, baby." She answered. "Don't forget my pan, Zach."
"I got it," I said going back for it. Joe had already jumped down with the records and was racing for the living room record player.
As I passed Mom, she kissed my forehead. "I love you, Zach."
"I love you, too, Mom," I said hugging her. She seemed in a good mood so maybe . . .? "Can we open our gifts early?"
"No, you little manipulater." I tried to give her my best pout, but it was hard because I was smiling so hard. "Aww, but I wanna try out my Sega: Genesis."
"Zachary John Quinto!"
"What? I'm a kid and an insatiably curious one at that."
"'Insatiably'? Where do you get these words, Zach?"
"The dictionary. I need all the help I can get so I can someday beat Joe at Scrabble."
I hurried down the stairs as the music began to echo through the house.
"You're not off the hook for peeking at the presents."
"So, I shouldn't tell Joe you got him the camera he wanted?"
"Whoo!" Joe yelled.
"Zach." Mom threatened. "That's it, no seconds of the lasagna for you."
"NOOOOOOOOOO!"
Author: acacia_123
Giftee: joanne_c
Rating: PG
Characters: Zach, Joe, Mama Quinto
Prompt: Dad's record collection (Beatles, Rolling Stones, other 60s bands)
Note: My first foray into Quinto fic. (I'm nervous) I hope you like it. If the fic fails then I hope you like the manip I made.
I climbed the small staircase into the dark attic. This was always my job and I didn't mind it. Though I never understood why mom didn't ask me sooner, why she always waited until the noodles were in the pot to ask me to find her extra big lasagna pan; the one she only ever used on Christmas.
But as I said, I didn't mind going into the attic to look. Not only did I get the final product of Mom's awesome lasagna,(Hello!) but I always found interesting treasures while going through the boxes. Knickknacks Mom had collected or old pictures of Joe and me, but my favorite was when I came across boxes with Dad's stuff. I spent hours once just looking through some boxes once of Dad's clothes and trying them on.
I kind of felt bad when Mom started crying after she saw me. I thought I was going to be introuble and not be allowed up here but Mom had said that I wasn't in trouble. Just that she missed Dad lots and sometimes it still made her cry. I understood, I missed Dad sometimes too, like this past summer when my baseball coach asked if I wanted to go to the father/son camp weekend with the team. I didn't want anyone to see me cry so I ran upstairs and to my room.
Joe figured it out and told Mom, though, and we all went to camp. It had been a disaster, a great and wonderful disaster.
Joe was a great brother, too. He taught me stuff and didn't kick me out of his room too much; only when he was on the phone with a girl.
On this trip to the attic, I found the lasanga pan a little too quickly so I put it aside and continued snooping in the boxes. I figured Mom wouldn't be expecting me back so fast and I had time. I found an old pair of glasses and put them on and ran my fingers through my hair and smoothed it down so I'd look more like he did. I found an old photo album from like the 70's and in it were pictures of Mom and Dad as teenagers.
I must have taken a long time because suddenly I could hear footsteps on the attic ladder.
"What's taking so long? Mom's having a fit." It was Joe coming to get me. His head popped through the attic door a laugh bubbling up as soon as he saw me. "Take those glasses off, you look ridiculous."
I snatched them off my face and threw the photo album into the box along with the glasses.
"I found some of Dad's stuff," I said nervously.
"I see that," Joe responded. "Let me see."
I pulled the album back onto my lap as Joe sat next to me. We laughed at the pictures, especially one of Dad in a light blue bellbottom suit.
By the time Mom came looking for us, I had the glasses on again.
"What is taking you boys so long?" She said from the bottom of the stairs.
"Uhm," Joe started. "Nothing Mom, we were just looking at some stuff . . . some of Dad's stuff."
"Oh . . ." Her face appeared in the opening, worried.
"You guys ok?"
"Yeah, great Mom," I answered. "Is this okay?"
"Yeah, baby, you can look at your Dad's stuff anytime you want."
I smiled, "Can I bring some of this stuff downstairs?"
"I don't think . . ."
"Mom?" Joe interrupted. "How about a few records? I'll make sure to put them back as soon as we're done."
"Please, Mom?!" I begged.
"Okay, fine, but only three." Mom said. "That record collection was your Dad's pride. If they get scratched . . ."
"Yes!" I exclaimed. "I'll pick."
"How about no, loser." Joe said, you have no appreciation for good music."
"I do too!"
"Fine, pick one."
I grabbed this one because the picture looked cool.
Joe grabbed these:
We left the attic but before I climbed down, I asked Mom, pointing to the glasses,"Can I hold on to these?"
"Zach, why?"
"I don't know," I shrugged. "I just like to wear them."
"Sure, baby." She answered. "Don't forget my pan, Zach."
"I got it," I said going back for it. Joe had already jumped down with the records and was racing for the living room record player.
As I passed Mom, she kissed my forehead. "I love you, Zach."
"I love you, too, Mom," I said hugging her. She seemed in a good mood so maybe . . .? "Can we open our gifts early?"
"No, you little manipulater." I tried to give her my best pout, but it was hard because I was smiling so hard. "Aww, but I wanna try out my Sega: Genesis."
"Zachary John Quinto!"
"What? I'm a kid and an insatiably curious one at that."
"'Insatiably'? Where do you get these words, Zach?"
"The dictionary. I need all the help I can get so I can someday beat Joe at Scrabble."
I hurried down the stairs as the music began to echo through the house.
"You're not off the hook for peeking at the presents."
"So, I shouldn't tell Joe you got him the camera he wanted?"
"Whoo!" Joe yelled.
"Zach." Mom threatened. "That's it, no seconds of the lasagna for you."
"NOOOOOOOOOO!"
