FIC: Big Eden, Henry/Pike, Quiet
Written for smallfandomfest as a means of dipping my toes back into the fanfic writing waters. *g*
Title: Embracing the Quiet
Author: spikeNdru
Fandom: Big Eden
Pairing/Characters: Henry Hart/Pike Dexter, mentions of Henry/Dean
Rating/Category: PG, slash implied, but not explicit
Prompt: Quiet
Spoilers: Entire movie
Summary: “I like the quiet”, Xander Harris, The Zeppo
Notes/Warnings: Takes place in the early spring, the year after the end of the movie. 1778 words. Many thanks to makd for the usual excellent beta, in spite of a thrown-out back, food poisoning, and the necessity of finishing the annual report. You’re terrific, sweetie!
Silence used to make him uncomfortable. His New York life was full of sounds-the noise of the city an ever-present background to his thoughts and Mary Margaret’s incessant fast-paced patter the foreground of his memories. When he first came home to Big Eden, the silence was a living thing, and it frightened him. It hadn’t been like that in the past. The past was full of noisy childhood games, deep conversations and sharing-the past that belonged to him and Dean.
But Pike wasn’t Dean. Pike wasn’t loud or silly. When Pike spoke, it was for a reason, and it always mattered. It meant something. Pike never spoke just to break the silence.
At first, Henry wasn’t sure he could survive the silence that wrapped around him in the huge old house after Sam had . . . gone. He was completely alone-the last of his family. There was no one alive who shared his blood, his thoughts, his dreams. His first thought was to run back to New York; to bury the silence beneath the noise and bustle of the city. Thank God for Grace! If it hadn’t been for her, he’d still be running. He was tired of running. He’d run for eighteen years from his knowledge that Dean would never love him the way he needed to be loved, and if not for Grace, he’d have made the same mistake again. He came so close. Too close.
He’d started out for the airport with every intention of getting on that plane. But, somehow, he must have known his destiny wasn’t back in New York. Else, why had he asked Grace to ride along and to bring Sam’s truck back from the airport? She had told him he had to let himself be found, but maybe that’s what he feared. Being found. Being known. Being loved.
Dean was safe. Through all those lonely, empty years that he convinced himself that Dean was the one, he must have known that Dean could never be ‘The One’. Everyone else certainly did-Mary Margaret, his therapist, his friends-everyone but Henry Hart. He could avoid the glorious messiness of an actual relationship by participating in couplings that meant nothing, because he was “in love” with Dean-Dean, whom he hadn’t seen in eighteen fucking years! Or, he guessed that would be eighteen non-fucking years. Dean loved him, but Dean’s love was philia, not eros. Friendship and closeness, without the passion and longing.
Yes, Dean loved him, but Pike loved him and Henry finally understood the difference. His love for Dean was all mixed up with childhood friendship-Henry & Dean BFF-and the unrequited angst of falling for someone for the first time and thinking it’s forever. What he found with Pike was very different. Dean was summer lightening-a flash and then gone, with nothing but the afterimage seared into one’s retinas as the reminder of what once was.
Pike was like the majesty of Big Eden itself-the firmness of bedrock, the openness of the sky, the strength of the mountains and the warmth of home. Pike’s love was a quiet love, but deep and real, like Pike himself. Pike had taught himself to cook . . . for Henry. Why hadn’t he noticed that? Why had it only taken Mary Margaret the taste of one dessert to know, when he’d been the recipient of months of perfect dinners and hadn’t a clue? Or, maybe he had known, but couldn’t admit it because that would mean giving up on his doomed obsession with Dean. In retrospect, Pike’s love and generosity of spirit shone through every bite of every dish he’d made. Sam recognized it-why hadn’t he? For an artist, he had certainly been blind about a lot of things! Not only about Pike, but also about himself. And the quiet. The silence he’d found in Big Eden was not just an absence of noise, it was a living, breathing affirmation of the rightness of his decision to stop running and allow himself to be found. Why had he ever thought he needed to hide anonymously in the city to paint? The light and the stars and the quiet here spoke to his soul and he was working more intuitively and prolifically than ever.
Henry’s lips curved into an ironic half-smile. Mary Margaret would think he was crazy if he told her, but he could feel Sam’s approval-of his work, his choices, his life in Big Eden. Sam had been an artist himself; the houses he created and built for his friends and neighbors stood as a monument to his love of wood and superb craftsmanship. Henry had never realized the care and creativity that had gone into Sam’s lifework until he’d seen the carved replicas Sam had made as parting gifts. Henry felt his eyes blur and he blinked back tears. All those years he had stayed away from home weighed heavily upon him now. He and Sam had so little time together as adults, and he had never been able to share his innermost thoughts and feelings with Sam. He knew now that was his failure-not Sam’s. Sam loved him unconditionally, even when he hadn’t been able to love himself.
Henry nudged the watch he had draped over the corner of his easel to check the time. Pike would be closing the store soon and coming home. A delighted grin broke out on Henry’s usually somber face at the thought. Home. Sam’s lovingly built house had once again become a home. Different from the home in which he had grown up after the death of his parents, but just as filled with love. He wondered if Sam knew. Grace said he did, and that Sam would be pleased as punch that the home he had created for his wife and child-and later, his grandchild-hadn’t been left empty and alone as Henry returned to his ‘life’ in New York. Sam would have been happy to know that Henry had found love and acceptance, and family, in the beautiful place Sam had chosen all those years ago.
Henry glanced at the watch again. Better quit dawdling and clean up his painting supplies-Pike would be here any minute and he wanted this painting to remain a surprise.
Henry had just finished hiding the surprise painting and putting away his supplies when he heard Frances’ whoof of greeting. A delighted grin curved his lips as he finished washing his hands. He was still holding the paint-stained towel in one hand as he hastened to the door. He held the screen door open for Pike, who was attempting to balance a large cardboard box in his arms while Frances twined herself around Pike’s legs. An answering grin formed on Pike’s craggy face as he swiveled a hip to hold the screen door open. Frances butted her way in as Henry reached to take the box from Pike. Pike no longer had to pretend the dinners he made with such loving care came from the Widow Thayer, but he continued to do the cooking at the store for convenience.
Henry sniffed appreciatively at the tantalizing aroma that arose from the cardboard box. Thankfully, he and Pike were getting enough exercise to work off the wonderful dinners Pike prepared nightly. And since Pike no longer had to be quite so careful as he had been when he cooked for Sam, his creativity was allowed free reign. Pike was currently subscribing to an international gourmet magazine; from the delicious-smelling scents wafting Henry’s way, Pike had outdone himself tonight.
Pike placed the cardboard box on the table and began to lift out the dishes. Henry slipped his arms around Pike’s waist and leaned his cheek on Pike’s broad back. They stood silently for a long moment, enjoying each other’s company. How had Henry managed to exist all those years alone without Pike? He was just very grateful they had found each other now. Henry dropped a kiss in the center of Pike’s back and inhaled the scent of his flannel shirt - wood smoke, pine resin, garlic, lemon, and the healthy male scent that was uniquely Pike. With a sigh, Henry backed away and went to the cupboard for the plates and glasses. No sense in letting Pike’s superb cooking get cold; they had plenty of time for romance later. Pike removed the cover from the main dish to display a large fish filet poached in white wine with lemon, garlic and shallots. Henry’s stomach rumbled in appreciation.
“How was your day?” he asked as he helped himself to the fish.
Pike produced his exceptionally sweet smile. “Good. Jim ordered new coffee for the cappuccino machine. Hazelnut. You’ll have to try it. How was your’s?”
“I did some work, but the weather was so fine, I went for a walk. I ran into Anna. She and Dean are getting married.”
Pike frowned. “Mmmph.”
“I’m happy for them. I really am. When she told me, I felt kind of relieved, actually. I realized that all I want is for Dean to be as happy as I am.”
“You mean that?”
“Yeah, I do. I really do.”
Pike’s smile was luminous. Henry rapidly calculated, and decided he’d seen Pike smile more in the time they’d been together than in all the years he’d previously known him. It made him glad.
The rest of the meal was enjoyed in silence. There was no need for further conversation.
After dinner, Henry, Pike and Frances went out to the porch. They sat together on the new double swing Henry had ordered and managed to assemble with Lloyd and Leon’s help. Pike’s arm slipped around his shoulders as if it had always belonged there. His life would be absolutely perfect, if only Sam were here to share it with him. But then, Sam had always said To every thing there is a season, and Sam’s season had passed. This time belonged to him and Pike, and he planned to enjoy every minute of it.
They sat in silence while the swing gently swayed. Pike’s foot gave it an occasional push to help it along. The night sky was full of stars and the only sounds were Frances’ occasional huffs and snorts as she slept on the porch beside them. Come summer, there would be cicadas and fireflies and probably mosquitoes, with their annoying whine, but now there was only a deep, restful, life-affirming silence.
That was fine with Henry Hart. He liked the quiet.
The End
And here is the painting Henry was working on as a surprise for Pike:
Title: Embracing the Quiet
Author: spikeNdru
Fandom: Big Eden
Pairing/Characters: Henry Hart/Pike Dexter, mentions of Henry/Dean
Rating/Category: PG, slash implied, but not explicit
Prompt: Quiet
Spoilers: Entire movie
Summary: “I like the quiet”, Xander Harris, The Zeppo
Notes/Warnings: Takes place in the early spring, the year after the end of the movie. 1778 words. Many thanks to makd for the usual excellent beta, in spite of a thrown-out back, food poisoning, and the necessity of finishing the annual report. You’re terrific, sweetie!
Silence used to make him uncomfortable. His New York life was full of sounds-the noise of the city an ever-present background to his thoughts and Mary Margaret’s incessant fast-paced patter the foreground of his memories. When he first came home to Big Eden, the silence was a living thing, and it frightened him. It hadn’t been like that in the past. The past was full of noisy childhood games, deep conversations and sharing-the past that belonged to him and Dean.
But Pike wasn’t Dean. Pike wasn’t loud or silly. When Pike spoke, it was for a reason, and it always mattered. It meant something. Pike never spoke just to break the silence.
At first, Henry wasn’t sure he could survive the silence that wrapped around him in the huge old house after Sam had . . . gone. He was completely alone-the last of his family. There was no one alive who shared his blood, his thoughts, his dreams. His first thought was to run back to New York; to bury the silence beneath the noise and bustle of the city. Thank God for Grace! If it hadn’t been for her, he’d still be running. He was tired of running. He’d run for eighteen years from his knowledge that Dean would never love him the way he needed to be loved, and if not for Grace, he’d have made the same mistake again. He came so close. Too close.
He’d started out for the airport with every intention of getting on that plane. But, somehow, he must have known his destiny wasn’t back in New York. Else, why had he asked Grace to ride along and to bring Sam’s truck back from the airport? She had told him he had to let himself be found, but maybe that’s what he feared. Being found. Being known. Being loved.
Dean was safe. Through all those lonely, empty years that he convinced himself that Dean was the one, he must have known that Dean could never be ‘The One’. Everyone else certainly did-Mary Margaret, his therapist, his friends-everyone but Henry Hart. He could avoid the glorious messiness of an actual relationship by participating in couplings that meant nothing, because he was “in love” with Dean-Dean, whom he hadn’t seen in eighteen fucking years! Or, he guessed that would be eighteen non-fucking years. Dean loved him, but Dean’s love was philia, not eros. Friendship and closeness, without the passion and longing.
Yes, Dean loved him, but Pike loved him and Henry finally understood the difference. His love for Dean was all mixed up with childhood friendship-Henry & Dean BFF-and the unrequited angst of falling for someone for the first time and thinking it’s forever. What he found with Pike was very different. Dean was summer lightening-a flash and then gone, with nothing but the afterimage seared into one’s retinas as the reminder of what once was.
Pike was like the majesty of Big Eden itself-the firmness of bedrock, the openness of the sky, the strength of the mountains and the warmth of home. Pike’s love was a quiet love, but deep and real, like Pike himself. Pike had taught himself to cook . . . for Henry. Why hadn’t he noticed that? Why had it only taken Mary Margaret the taste of one dessert to know, when he’d been the recipient of months of perfect dinners and hadn’t a clue? Or, maybe he had known, but couldn’t admit it because that would mean giving up on his doomed obsession with Dean. In retrospect, Pike’s love and generosity of spirit shone through every bite of every dish he’d made. Sam recognized it-why hadn’t he? For an artist, he had certainly been blind about a lot of things! Not only about Pike, but also about himself. And the quiet. The silence he’d found in Big Eden was not just an absence of noise, it was a living, breathing affirmation of the rightness of his decision to stop running and allow himself to be found. Why had he ever thought he needed to hide anonymously in the city to paint? The light and the stars and the quiet here spoke to his soul and he was working more intuitively and prolifically than ever.
Henry’s lips curved into an ironic half-smile. Mary Margaret would think he was crazy if he told her, but he could feel Sam’s approval-of his work, his choices, his life in Big Eden. Sam had been an artist himself; the houses he created and built for his friends and neighbors stood as a monument to his love of wood and superb craftsmanship. Henry had never realized the care and creativity that had gone into Sam’s lifework until he’d seen the carved replicas Sam had made as parting gifts. Henry felt his eyes blur and he blinked back tears. All those years he had stayed away from home weighed heavily upon him now. He and Sam had so little time together as adults, and he had never been able to share his innermost thoughts and feelings with Sam. He knew now that was his failure-not Sam’s. Sam loved him unconditionally, even when he hadn’t been able to love himself.
Henry nudged the watch he had draped over the corner of his easel to check the time. Pike would be closing the store soon and coming home. A delighted grin broke out on Henry’s usually somber face at the thought. Home. Sam’s lovingly built house had once again become a home. Different from the home in which he had grown up after the death of his parents, but just as filled with love. He wondered if Sam knew. Grace said he did, and that Sam would be pleased as punch that the home he had created for his wife and child-and later, his grandchild-hadn’t been left empty and alone as Henry returned to his ‘life’ in New York. Sam would have been happy to know that Henry had found love and acceptance, and family, in the beautiful place Sam had chosen all those years ago.
Henry glanced at the watch again. Better quit dawdling and clean up his painting supplies-Pike would be here any minute and he wanted this painting to remain a surprise.
Henry had just finished hiding the surprise painting and putting away his supplies when he heard Frances’ whoof of greeting. A delighted grin curved his lips as he finished washing his hands. He was still holding the paint-stained towel in one hand as he hastened to the door. He held the screen door open for Pike, who was attempting to balance a large cardboard box in his arms while Frances twined herself around Pike’s legs. An answering grin formed on Pike’s craggy face as he swiveled a hip to hold the screen door open. Frances butted her way in as Henry reached to take the box from Pike. Pike no longer had to pretend the dinners he made with such loving care came from the Widow Thayer, but he continued to do the cooking at the store for convenience.
Henry sniffed appreciatively at the tantalizing aroma that arose from the cardboard box. Thankfully, he and Pike were getting enough exercise to work off the wonderful dinners Pike prepared nightly. And since Pike no longer had to be quite so careful as he had been when he cooked for Sam, his creativity was allowed free reign. Pike was currently subscribing to an international gourmet magazine; from the delicious-smelling scents wafting Henry’s way, Pike had outdone himself tonight.
Pike placed the cardboard box on the table and began to lift out the dishes. Henry slipped his arms around Pike’s waist and leaned his cheek on Pike’s broad back. They stood silently for a long moment, enjoying each other’s company. How had Henry managed to exist all those years alone without Pike? He was just very grateful they had found each other now. Henry dropped a kiss in the center of Pike’s back and inhaled the scent of his flannel shirt - wood smoke, pine resin, garlic, lemon, and the healthy male scent that was uniquely Pike. With a sigh, Henry backed away and went to the cupboard for the plates and glasses. No sense in letting Pike’s superb cooking get cold; they had plenty of time for romance later. Pike removed the cover from the main dish to display a large fish filet poached in white wine with lemon, garlic and shallots. Henry’s stomach rumbled in appreciation.
“How was your day?” he asked as he helped himself to the fish.
Pike produced his exceptionally sweet smile. “Good. Jim ordered new coffee for the cappuccino machine. Hazelnut. You’ll have to try it. How was your’s?”
“I did some work, but the weather was so fine, I went for a walk. I ran into Anna. She and Dean are getting married.”
Pike frowned. “Mmmph.”
“I’m happy for them. I really am. When she told me, I felt kind of relieved, actually. I realized that all I want is for Dean to be as happy as I am.”
“You mean that?”
“Yeah, I do. I really do.”
Pike’s smile was luminous. Henry rapidly calculated, and decided he’d seen Pike smile more in the time they’d been together than in all the years he’d previously known him. It made him glad.
The rest of the meal was enjoyed in silence. There was no need for further conversation.
After dinner, Henry, Pike and Frances went out to the porch. They sat together on the new double swing Henry had ordered and managed to assemble with Lloyd and Leon’s help. Pike’s arm slipped around his shoulders as if it had always belonged there. His life would be absolutely perfect, if only Sam were here to share it with him. But then, Sam had always said To every thing there is a season, and Sam’s season had passed. This time belonged to him and Pike, and he planned to enjoy every minute of it.
They sat in silence while the swing gently swayed. Pike’s foot gave it an occasional push to help it along. The night sky was full of stars and the only sounds were Frances’ occasional huffs and snorts as she slept on the porch beside them. Come summer, there would be cicadas and fireflies and probably mosquitoes, with their annoying whine, but now there was only a deep, restful, life-affirming silence.
That was fine with Henry Hart. He liked the quiet.
The End
And here is the painting Henry was working on as a surprise for Pike: