Fic: Feels Like Home, Part 2/5
Feels Like Home
Part 2/5
Pairing(s) in the story: Jemaine/Bret (Flight of the Conchords)
Author Name/Pen Name: she_burns1
Beta: lordstarfish
Disclaimer: I do not own Flight of the Conchords, or Hbo, or Bret, or Jemaine…though I will glad take donations of Bret/Jemaine!
Rating of story: PG
Word Count: 1,098
Warnings: Slight Australia bashing, suggestions about America’s sexuality
Brief summary: A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it. - George Moore
Neither Bret nor Jemaine could believe they were back. They were both tired and sore, looking pretty worse for wear as they exited the New Zealand airport. Murray was a bit more chipper, but not by much. Once he got them set up in their hotel, he eagerly rushed to his mother’s, as he was, quote, ‘going to be pampered silly’.
Jemaine thought it a bit disturbing that Murray was so eager to have his mother baby him but couldn’t give too much thought to it as he and Bret settled into their room. The separate twin beds looked like not only their apartment back home, but heaven. They both dozed for a good amount of time and when they woke, went their separate ways. Bret caught the bus to his parent’s house.
His mum was more than happy to see him, a big plate of scrambled eggs waiting for him as well as a red delicious, lovingly sliced. She yammered about various going-on’s and asked a million questions about New York, how many people were there, how cold was it, was he really sure that not everyone carried a gun and such.
It felt good in many ways to be home, but over all it was a bittersweet experience. His Father came in and out of the house as he was working outside on some project, his tools background noise to Bret’s conversation with his Mum. His Father would grunt this or that at him but overall, it was obvious he had missed his son and he gave him a few pats on the shoulder now and then.
His Mum’s questions turned to his love life and Bret squirmed in his chair, wondering how to get out of it.
While he had been quiet about it, Bret really hadn’t given up on Jemaine. It hadn’t even been a month since the last kiss and while it was hard, he had decided to take David Bowie’s dream advice and wait Jemaine out. To let him make the next move. Granted, patience wasn’t one of Bret’s best virtues and this could be forever, but he was willing to wait that long. Better to wait for what he truly wanted, then to settle for something he didn’t.
Bret’s Mum carefully circled around it, but eventually, with a rather shrewd look on her face, she asked about Jemaine. Bret felt like his cheeks were warm and hoped it didn’t show as he replied that Jemaine was fine.
He wondered vaguely, if he and Jemaine ever did happen, if his mother and father would be ok with that. He knew some people weren’t. A lot of people weren’t. He couldn’t really understand it himself. It was similar to that whole thing that had happened with the fruit vendor when he hadn’t liked New Zealanders. He couldn’t understand hating someone for their color or their gender or anything else.
Well…unless, of course, they were Australian.
Still, he thought maybe he should test the waters, “Jemaine is fine.”
“You said that, dear.”
“Yeah, I know, I mean,” he wrung his hands a little beneath the kitchen table, “I…sort of like Jemaine.”
“Of course you do, Bret, he’s your best friend.”
“Yes, but, I mean he’s - if he was…never mind.”
“Bret, honestly, if you start a sentence you should finish it.”
“I just…well…I mean, if he was…if we were…what if we were…more than friends-”
“Oh!” Bret’s Mum laughed and shook her head, “That. Wondered when you’d finally spill that.”
Bret blinked, “Spill what?”
“You and Jemaine. Your father and I both knew it.”
Bret’s Dad came in from outside once more, just having heard the tail end of the conversation. He gave a confirming grunt, poured himself a cup of tea, patted a stunned Bret on the shoulder and went back outside again.
Bret found stringing a sentence together difficult, only managing, “But…but…”
“Well, it was pretty obvious when you ran away with him to America. Everyone over there is gay.”
“…not everyone…”
She waved a hand dismissively, “Thought it was very romantic, myself.”
“But…we didn’t…that’s not why we…” Bret looked so terribly lost that his mother shook her head, amused by his befuddlement. Her son was too adorable for words. She kissed his forehead and told him she’d refill his cup of tea.
They talked for a bit more, or rather Bret’s Mum talked for a bit more as Bret was still lost for words. Then she sent him on his way, letting him know that she and his father would be at his gig tonight.
It took him a while to recover, but once he was back at the hotel and getting ready for the gig he found himself somewhat back together. Jemaine came back not long after; talking blithely about how he was saddened to hear that the Bra Fence no longer existed.
“Murray’s always pushing the Toothbrush Fence, but that Bra Fence was much better. All those lady brassieres-”
“Did you go see your Mum?”
“Hmn? Yeah.” Jemaine shrugged noncommittally and pulled out his bass, tuning it.
“How is she?”
Jemaine strummed the bass a bit, not answering at first. He didn’t look up. “Bit sick.”
“Really?”
“Nothing serious.” Jemaine said, packing up his bass, and walking to the door, “You ready?”
Bret had just finished rolling up his sleeves and picked up his guitar, “Yeah.”
“Why’d you roll your sleeves up? You trying to show a little arm for the ladies?”
“Actually I was just warm.”
“No, that’s a good idea. I should do that too.” Jemaine set his bass down near his feet carefully and rolled up his own sleeves, “I hope Murray brought some pencils or something. People here like a little extra to go with the show.”
“I’m sure he did,” Bret murmured, watching Jemaine. He cleared his throat, “You sure you’re all right, man?”
“’Course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, with your Mum being sick-”
“Told you. Not serious. It’s nothing.”
“Ok.”
“Good. Now let’s go rock the party.” Jemaine said with a small grin as he picked up his bass and they exited their hotel room.
Part 2/5
Pairing(s) in the story: Jemaine/Bret (Flight of the Conchords)
Author Name/Pen Name: she_burns1
Beta: lordstarfish
Disclaimer: I do not own Flight of the Conchords, or Hbo, or Bret, or Jemaine…though I will glad take donations of Bret/Jemaine!
Rating of story: PG
Word Count: 1,098
Warnings: Slight Australia bashing, suggestions about America’s sexuality
Brief summary: A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it. - George Moore
Neither Bret nor Jemaine could believe they were back. They were both tired and sore, looking pretty worse for wear as they exited the New Zealand airport. Murray was a bit more chipper, but not by much. Once he got them set up in their hotel, he eagerly rushed to his mother’s, as he was, quote, ‘going to be pampered silly’.
Jemaine thought it a bit disturbing that Murray was so eager to have his mother baby him but couldn’t give too much thought to it as he and Bret settled into their room. The separate twin beds looked like not only their apartment back home, but heaven. They both dozed for a good amount of time and when they woke, went their separate ways. Bret caught the bus to his parent’s house.
His mum was more than happy to see him, a big plate of scrambled eggs waiting for him as well as a red delicious, lovingly sliced. She yammered about various going-on’s and asked a million questions about New York, how many people were there, how cold was it, was he really sure that not everyone carried a gun and such.
It felt good in many ways to be home, but over all it was a bittersweet experience. His Father came in and out of the house as he was working outside on some project, his tools background noise to Bret’s conversation with his Mum. His Father would grunt this or that at him but overall, it was obvious he had missed his son and he gave him a few pats on the shoulder now and then.
His Mum’s questions turned to his love life and Bret squirmed in his chair, wondering how to get out of it.
While he had been quiet about it, Bret really hadn’t given up on Jemaine. It hadn’t even been a month since the last kiss and while it was hard, he had decided to take David Bowie’s dream advice and wait Jemaine out. To let him make the next move. Granted, patience wasn’t one of Bret’s best virtues and this could be forever, but he was willing to wait that long. Better to wait for what he truly wanted, then to settle for something he didn’t.
Bret’s Mum carefully circled around it, but eventually, with a rather shrewd look on her face, she asked about Jemaine. Bret felt like his cheeks were warm and hoped it didn’t show as he replied that Jemaine was fine.
He wondered vaguely, if he and Jemaine ever did happen, if his mother and father would be ok with that. He knew some people weren’t. A lot of people weren’t. He couldn’t really understand it himself. It was similar to that whole thing that had happened with the fruit vendor when he hadn’t liked New Zealanders. He couldn’t understand hating someone for their color or their gender or anything else.
Well…unless, of course, they were Australian.
Still, he thought maybe he should test the waters, “Jemaine is fine.”
“You said that, dear.”
“Yeah, I know, I mean,” he wrung his hands a little beneath the kitchen table, “I…sort of like Jemaine.”
“Of course you do, Bret, he’s your best friend.”
“Yes, but, I mean he’s - if he was…never mind.”
“Bret, honestly, if you start a sentence you should finish it.”
“I just…well…I mean, if he was…if we were…what if we were…more than friends-”
“Oh!” Bret’s Mum laughed and shook her head, “That. Wondered when you’d finally spill that.”
Bret blinked, “Spill what?”
“You and Jemaine. Your father and I both knew it.”
Bret’s Dad came in from outside once more, just having heard the tail end of the conversation. He gave a confirming grunt, poured himself a cup of tea, patted a stunned Bret on the shoulder and went back outside again.
Bret found stringing a sentence together difficult, only managing, “But…but…”
“Well, it was pretty obvious when you ran away with him to America. Everyone over there is gay.”
“…not everyone…”
She waved a hand dismissively, “Thought it was very romantic, myself.”
“But…we didn’t…that’s not why we…” Bret looked so terribly lost that his mother shook her head, amused by his befuddlement. Her son was too adorable for words. She kissed his forehead and told him she’d refill his cup of tea.
They talked for a bit more, or rather Bret’s Mum talked for a bit more as Bret was still lost for words. Then she sent him on his way, letting him know that she and his father would be at his gig tonight.
It took him a while to recover, but once he was back at the hotel and getting ready for the gig he found himself somewhat back together. Jemaine came back not long after; talking blithely about how he was saddened to hear that the Bra Fence no longer existed.
“Murray’s always pushing the Toothbrush Fence, but that Bra Fence was much better. All those lady brassieres-”
“Did you go see your Mum?”
“Hmn? Yeah.” Jemaine shrugged noncommittally and pulled out his bass, tuning it.
“How is she?”
Jemaine strummed the bass a bit, not answering at first. He didn’t look up. “Bit sick.”
“Really?”
“Nothing serious.” Jemaine said, packing up his bass, and walking to the door, “You ready?”
Bret had just finished rolling up his sleeves and picked up his guitar, “Yeah.”
“Why’d you roll your sleeves up? You trying to show a little arm for the ladies?”
“Actually I was just warm.”
“No, that’s a good idea. I should do that too.” Jemaine set his bass down near his feet carefully and rolled up his own sleeves, “I hope Murray brought some pencils or something. People here like a little extra to go with the show.”
“I’m sure he did,” Bret murmured, watching Jemaine. He cleared his throat, “You sure you’re all right, man?”
“’Course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, with your Mum being sick-”
“Told you. Not serious. It’s nothing.”
“Ok.”
“Good. Now let’s go rock the party.” Jemaine said with a small grin as he picked up his bass and they exited their hotel room.