FIC: Vistas (Virgil Adamson, Jennie Adamson, PG)
TITLE: Vistas
RATING: PG
FANDOM: At First Sight
CHARACTERS: Virgil Adamson, Jennie Adamson
SUMMARY: For myhappyface, who wanted Virgil's First Day at Masseuse School.
Virgil was less than a week outside graduating high school when he told Jen he was getting a job. Jennie was upset, and tried to dissuade him. But she was only worried, and that was a big sister’s job, so Virgil didn’t mind so much.
“You don’t need to work. You don’t-you don’t need to worry. I can take care of everything.”
The rain was coming down heavy, the fat droplets of spring showers. Virgil, sitting still on the sofa listening to Jennie yell, could see the dimensions of the house around them unfold, as detailed and precise as a blueprint. He could see Jennie, too, how the strength of her concern gave her body harsh angles, how her hands were probably shaking a little, just like her voice was, but the rain didn’t help with that.
“So, what?” he asked. “I’m just going to sit here, shut up in the house, every day for the rest of my life?”
Jennie didn’t say anything. And she knew better; Virgil frowned.
“Jen-”
He could hear her exhale, one long, steady breath.
“I’m thinking, Virgil.”
Something soft, warm, filling his palm-the dog nuzzling her head into his idle hands. Virgil stroked her ears absently while waiting for Jennie to collect her thoughts.
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” she said finally.
“Me neither. But I’m not a kid anymore, and I can take pain, but I don’t think I can take being useless.”
Jennie was quiet for another long moment. Silence was the hardest thing.
“You could never be useless,” she said.
Virgil could hear the waver of resolve, the offer of permission, in her voice.
“You’ll drive me?” he said.
Jennie did not say anything, not right away, but Virgil could hear her moving toward him. And then the feeling of her fingers sliding through his hair, her hand resting on his cheek, and the seismic dip in the sofa cushions as she sat beside him.
“When did you grow up?” she asked.
Being blind was often less about perception and more about interpretation, and Virgil knew this meant yes.
***
They have to drive almost an hour each way. Virgil feels bad, making Jennie get up so early when she has to work all day after, and then making her come all the way back out to get him afterwards. But instead of saying this, because he isn’t quite sure how to put it without making her feel guilty for being the one who can see, he just clasps her arm and tells her thank you, and she hugs him longer and tighter than she usually does, which means she is proud of him.
There are proper schools for this, but the ones they could drive to aren’t set up for people like him, and he doesn’t want special treatment or to stand out. Virgil found an ad in a magazine for one-on-one instruction, which he does better with, anyway.
Jennie drives him, and then she leads him down the driveway, explaining the dimensions to him. Virgil listens to her, adding her descriptions to his mental blueprint. They must be in the woods, surrounded by lots of tall trees growing thicker and thicker the further they are from the road; he can hear birds twittering, but far up, and there’s less and less wind the closer they get to the house.
Jennie stops him, a gentle hand on his chest, and then Virgil can hear the doorbell echoing throughout the dimensions of the house before him. It’s bigger than his house, and with more open space.
The door squeaks open-the hinge has passed rusted and needs to be replaced-and Jennie’s hand on his arm tenses.
“Right on time,” says a voice from the house, gravely with age. “Come on if you’re coming.”
Virgil listens to Jennie’s descriptions of the space, and the shuffle of the old man’s shoes on the hardwood.
“Is there anyone else home?” Jennie asks.
“Nope, it’s been just me a long time. My wife died in eighty-nine; cancer.”
“I’m very sorry,” Jennie says. “But-will you two . . . should I . . . ?”
“Don’t you worry, miss. I’ll look after him.” He chuckles. “In a matter of speaking.”
Each subsequent room is more open, and when they finally stop, there is so much free space that for a moment Virgil wonders if they are still in a house; it is more like an auditorium.
The man takes Virgil’s hands in his own.
“Let’s see what we’re working with, here,” he says, and his fingers parse Virgil’s hands like he is counting the bones. It is not uncomfortable, but Virgil has never been touched like this. But he is here to learn. “Oh, yes. You have good hands, boy.”
The man places Virgil’s hands on a flat surface. Virgil frowns; at first it gives, like it’s padded, but there is a definite rigidity beneath it.
“This is your table,” the man says, just as Virgil is about to ask. “Why don’t you take some time getting acquainted; you’ll be spending a lot of time together. I’ll show your sister out.”
Virgil turns away from the table just in time to be tucked into Jennie’s embrace.
“You’re sure?” she whispers.
“I’m sure. Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”
Virgil can feel her frown in the tense line of her shoulders. But finally she relents, pressing a kiss to his temple before drawing away.
“If you need me for anything-”
“We’ll be fine, miss,” the old man says, and Virgil turns back to the table as their steps grow fainter.
Virgil circles the table slowly, working around the perimeter with his hands and body. A smile blooms on his face, and for the first time, he is not just trying to escape inertia, but actually excited. He will learn something new. He will also, for the first time in his life, spend some time with another blind man.
It’s a brave new world.