Pleated
An entry for LJ Idol, season 8, week 11: open topic. Stand-alone fiction. For dialect clarification, click here after reading.
"...oh, aye. Sometimes the fourth parrot has to flap his wings to stay on."
From her vantage point off to stage left, Shannon laughed softly as Alex played a rim shot and the crowd roared. That joke never failed, even with people who'd heard it before. Macrae certainly knew how to work a room.
The Scottish Beast grinned devilishly, wagging his behind to make the pleats of his kilt dance - the Macrae Modern Hunting tartan, natch - and despite herself, Shannon's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't spotted her yet, so for now the advantage was hers. She knew what was next, and grinned as he leaned out over a shy-looking college girl at a front table.
"Hey hon," he said, his real Gulf Coast accent on full display, "y'know what a real Scotsman wears under his kilt?" The girl blushed fiercely and shook her head, her friends giggling up a storm.
Shannon saw her opening. Time to use her faire voice. "About three inches less than he tells you!" she bellowed.
Amongst a chorus of hoots and guffaws, Macrae smirked and rolled his eyes - but then she saw it. The flicker. His eyes widened the tiniest fraction as he scanned the tables for her, grinning.
"Bah!" he bellowed. "You're just bad at math, girlie." He leaned toward the shy girl again, tipping her a broad wink and waggling his eyebrows. "The real answer is 'socks and shoes,' m'dear. Care to...check?"
"...all right, Angus, let's get on with it," Ian laughed as the crowd rippled with hearty chuckles.
"Fine, fine," he growled, peering in the direction the shout had come from. At this, Shannon leaned forward into the light - and watched him melt, just a little. She was glad she'd come after all.
"A pipe tune, then?" he shouted, and the crowd cheered as Jack blew the opening note. Angus hoisted the bodhran, Ian took up Jack's note, and on Alex's four-count on the snare, the Highland Maniacs were off again.
Shannon let herself be transported. Three long years fell away - just for a moment, it wasn't MacMallard's Pub on a 25-degree Fort Worth night, and she wasn't cocooned in a heavy cabled sweater. Instead, she was laced and layered, kicking up her heels and ignoring the sweat rolling down her back under a blazing North Texas sun. She could smell turkey legs and roasted almonds; there was beard burn on her cheek, bruises on her biceps from dancing Strip the Willow, and strong, callused hands around her generous waist.
A moment was all she had until the reverie broke, and the three years hence came flooding back. At that, it was hard to keep from breaking down.
But if anyone could put the smile back on her face, it was Macrae.
~~~
The crowd dissipated quickly at the end of the set, though as ever, the familiar faces lingered. A few - those who worked Magnolia with Brendan, mostly - barely gave her a second glance, but most were thrilled to see her. Had William's hair been so gray the last time she saw him? And she'd never seen Breanne in mundanes - though judging by the looks they kept exchanging, quiet Jack had seen her out of them, too. Shannon grinned. What happened at faire...usually didn't stay there.
She spared a thought for the shy redheaded girl at the front table, whose friends had nudged her up to the stage after the last song. Macrae had laid on his sweet, sexy charm, kissing her pale hand as he thanked her for being there. Shannon wagered that there had been a lot of squealing and bouncing as the car full of coeds drove back to campus.
Had it really been 15 years since she'd been that girl? She couldn't quite believe it. Especially not when Macrae finally turned his full attention to her. No matter that his well-used laugh lines were deeper, or that there was a Sam Beckett-esque white streak in the chestnut-brown hair over his forehead now. The second he looked in her eyes, she was 19 again.
"Á Seanáin," he uttered, and the grin he flashed came from far deeper than she'd have expected.
"A ghrá," she replied, and damned if she didn't find herself glassy-eyed.
"C'mere, you," he said, and in short order she was wrapped in his arms, feet off the floor for two glorious seconds. She was more woman than most men would try to lift - but Angus had never hesitated. He released her - reluctantly, she thought - and stepped back to take her in.
"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes. Darlin', where in the hell have you been?"
"To hell and back, Macrae, to hell and back."
"Three years without my bullshit over the weekends?" He pretended to consider. "Yep, hon, sounds like hell to me."
"You old bastard," she grinned.
"Older than I look, sweetheart, I'll tell ya."
"Well, you still do filthy things to a girl's mind, wearing that man-skirt like you do."
He winked. "Aye, and to their lovely figures too, an' they're kind enough to let me."
"Angus, you dog." Shannon smiled, but it felt watery around the edges. "Some things never..."
But then her breath hitched, and she couldn't finish. The twinkle in Macrae's eye faded into something only the inner circle ever saw: the deep concern and affection he reserved for those who had a piece of his heart. Until that moment, she'd despaired of ever seeing it again.
It was enough to open the floodgates. Shannon clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.
"Oh, damn, honey," Macrae muttered, laying his big hands gently on her shoulders. "I mean, I know the jokes are bad, but..." She sputtered a half-laugh through her tears, which he swiped at with his thumbs. "Hey. Why don't I drive you home, and you can tell me all about it. I even promise not to try anything."
Shannon sniffled, rubbing at her damp cheeks. "Even if I throw myself at you?"
"Hey," he said softly, "I'm not made of stone, you know."
"Macrae...mo chridh..."
She lifted a hand to the stubbled chin, which she suddenly realized was her favorite thing in the world, ever. It made her smile again.
"That's exactly why I came."
~~~
It began pouring out of her slowly, as Macrae guided her FourRunner expertly over the dark, icy streets, rattling over the bricks on Camp Bowie until they made it back to I-30. He knew only that she'd gone off the faire circuit after she and Brendan got together. But nobody had bothered to tell him - though several of the groupies knew, and could have shared - she'd started feeling like hell all the time, and ended up in the hospital more than once.
"I was able to hold it together for a couple weeks at Magnolia the first year," she said. "The fall weather...but after a while it was too much."
He nodded somberly, storm-blue eyes flicking back to her from the road. She smiled to herself. For all his bluster, all the crude humor and rakish behavior, he was a good listener when the chips were down. Even when the chips were her crimson tides.
Shannon kept talking, sometimes in a torrent, sometimes in drips. When she went silent, choking with tears, Macrae didn't try to fill the void; he just reached over, his thick, callused fingers squeezing hers until she was ready to speak again. She was cried out by the time he'd pulled up to the townhouse and parked behind her neglected fifth wheel.
When she emerged from her bedroom, bundled in sweats and warm socks, the coffeepot was already bubbling, and Angus was opening and closing cabinets. Shannon pulled the throw up around her shoulders and wandered to the couch, grinning. In short order, he handed her a mug and settled into the side chair, waiting patiently.
The part about the doctors came out easily. Four OB/GYNs she'd gone to told her all she had to do was lose 80 pounds and she'd be fine. The fifth had found the cysts covering nearly every centimeter of her reproductive organs, inside and out.
"Jesus," he muttered, shaking his head. "But somethin' tells me that wasn't the worst part."
Shannon stared down into her mug, as if the answer was in the inky depths.
"It was bad enough," she said finally. "I didn't exactly want to give up my uterus at 32. Or, for that matter, to have my mother taking care of me while I recovered."
"You could have done worse than that," he said gently.
But she waited a beat, then two - and then she saw it register. His eyes flashed anger, and he slowly set his cup down next to him.
"Christ, Shannon. He didn't."
"Didn't what? Help? Offer any kind of support whatsoever? Stick the fuck around when I was laid up for two months?" She grimaced. "You'd be right about that."
"Son of a bitch," Macrae growled, getting angrily to his feet.
She was still angry too. After their auspicious beginning, Brendan had moved quickly into the rest of her life. They were living together in two months, engaged in three. Shannon was so swept up - by his sharp mind, quick laugh, the amazing sex - that it took her a while to notice the cracks. The worse her health got, the more Brendan pulled away. He wasn't there when she woke up from the surgery, only showed up once the entire week she was in the hospital.
"I got a text from him when Mom was driving me home. 'I'm sorry.' He'd spent the week...packing." She swiped at fresh tears, but didn't break down. "Probably for the best. I think my mother would have beaten the shit out of him if he'd been there. And I wouldn't have objected."
Macrae's face was bright red, fists balled up at his sides. "D'ya know where he is? Because I wouldn't much mind beatin' his ass to a pulp right now."
"Thank you, mo chridh," she said softly, knowing the endearment would calm him down. Sure enough, his fingers loosened and his jaw stopped working. "Had I had you around then, I might have taken you up on it."
He sank back down on the chair, plaid pleats framing him. "But I wasn't," he said, obviously disappointed.
"You couldn't have been," she replied mildly. "Never mind that I couldn't deal, and didn't want anyone to know why. You had your own thing going, as I remember."
"For all the good that did me."
She suddenly realized he was considering the back of his hands. He absently rubbed his fingers over the place where the gold band had once been, but obviously hadn't for some time. Shannon had picked up on the fact that he and Carrie were no more while he was still on stage with the boys - and she was nowhere to be seen.
"Aren't you gonna ask?" he said, without a trace of sharpness.
Shannon shrugged. "I figured you'd tell me when you were ready."
"You know me too well, honey." And uncharacteristically, Macrae sighed. "I thought she did too. Or I thought I knew her. Or...hell, I don't know." He raked a hand through his hair. "The guys told me maybe she was a little young. I didn't think much of it, ya know? She's smart, she's tough, she's gorgeous, what the hell difference does 20 years make?" And then he laughed, sharply. "Goddamn, was I a moron."
"Screw that, Macrae," Shannon smirked. "Clearly she wasn't in her right mind if she let you get away."
"Be that as it may, mo ghrá, I was fool enough t' think it'd never happen."
"It happens to the best of us, mo chridh." And she put her hand to her chest in false humility, then grinned broadly. "Obviously."
He chuckled wryly. "Maybe they should get together."
Shannon laughed derisively. "A great match, that."
Macrae went silent, his expression turning more serious. Most definitely not like him. And when he spoke again...
"Maybe we should."
The look in his eyes nearly knocked the wind out of her. He was serious. She swallowed hard, but her mouth had suddenly gone dry.
"Macrae," she whispered hoarsely, shaking her head. "You don't have to do that. That's not why I..."
"Darlin', I know it isn't," he said, waving off her protests as he leaned forward. "You need a friend. I want to be one. And you? You do know me well enough to know when I'm not foolin' around."
Shannon hugged her knees closer, face burning bright red. She didn't trust herself to speak now. But he wasn't about to let her off that easy. He rose, sinking onto the opposite end of the sofa, and reached out to put a hand on her knee. She jumped as if jolted.
"Shannon, honey," he uttered gently, as her tears started flowing again. "What are you afraid of?"
She scoffed, looking away from him. Not the time for him to turn disingenuous.
"Look, I get it. Haven't always been good at keepin' it under wraps. But I'm too old for that shit now. I may still like to chase skirts, but I haven't been lifting any lately." He nudged her. "Except when I need to take a leak."
She laughed despite herself. "Damn it, Angus."
"Honey, you have to trust me. I..."
"I can't."
"After all this, you..."
"I can't trust myself."
"Why not?"
"Because I've been in love with you for 15 years!"
Oh, hell.
She felt her eyes go wide as platters, watched as his followed suit. And all of a sudden, his twinkle was back.
"Á Seanáin," he said, and she could see he was choking back laughter, "I fail ta ken how this might be a problem."
It was too much. Shannon dropped her head into her hands, and within a moment, she was quaking and sniffling. He sighed, reaching up to stroke her dark hair.
But in the next second, she moved her hands away and reached out for him, shaking with laughter. "Ridiculous," she breathed, then giggled as she let out a snort.
"Insane," he agreed, chuckling as he kissed her fingers. "That's my girl."
"Since I was about 19 years old."
"Ah. No pressure, then."
Shannon guffawed, then squinted at him. "How old are you, anyway? 44, 45?"
"Older. Does it matter?"
"It never did. Not to me."
"46," he said. She grinned as he brushed her hair out of her eyes, smiling wickedly. "You were always one of my favorites."
"One of?!" She pushed at him with her toes. In response, he cupped her heel, then lifted her foot and dropped a kiss on top of it.
"Quickly rising in the ranks," he said, in an undertone that she felt in her belly. He saw it in her face, she could tell. But he shook his head slowly. "Not tonight, my love."
She sighed heavily. "Angus..."
He shook his head again. "Tempting as you are, sweetheart, you've had a long night," he said, "and a long..."
"Two and a half years," she supplied flatly. He cringed.
"Christ," he said, frowning. "So even before he..."
"Yeah."
She saw his eye twitch, but he moved on. "Darlin', I hate to say this, but...one more night won't kill you."
"Says you," she scoffed as he stood up. Was he nuts? "Macrae! You can't leave now."
"Shannon, honey -" and in a heartbeat, he'd pulled her up to standing, leaning in for a kiss. The one a.m. stubble against her face made her blush from head to toe. "Who said anything about leaving?"
"...oh."
He smiled again, but it was different. Softer, almost wistful. She could definitely get used to that. And as they walked into her room, she realized he was right. It didn't have to be tonight if he was planning to stick around.
She could see in those storm-colored eyes that he would. A friend indeed.
He cleared his throat in mock humility as he stripped down to an undershirt and dropped the kilt to reveal...boxer shorts. "So I won't make you hot..."
Shannon groaned as she threw back the covers and settled into bed. "As if you could help THAT."
"...but if you've got room for me," he continued cheerfully, kissing her on the forehead, "I can try to keep you warm."
"Macrae," she beamed as he slid in next to her and tugged the covers over her shoulders, "you're doing a pretty good job already."
"What are friends for, mo ghrá."
"Loving," she said sleepily, eyes already fluttering closed. He pulled her closer, brushing the hair away from her neck as she drifted off.
"More than you know, mo Seanáin," he whispered. "More than you know."