[ .009 months; .038 touch; .061 winter; .086 choices]
4 fanfic100 ficlets:
[42-45/100]
[.009 Months]
He drove miles out of his way to see her. Not that he'd admit it, but Lindsay was always a smart girl. She saw his line -- 'I was just in the neighborhood' -- for the lie that it was. With a raised eyebrow and a smirk, she let him into the house.
He followed her into the kitchen, flopping gracefully into her dinette set, filling her in on his latest conquests -- business and personal -- while she made tea.
She sat across from him, holding her cup, listening dutifully, adding in her own commentary. Mid-sentence, she stopped. The teacup in her hands was set down on its saucer.
Taking in her suddenly pale face and shaking hands, he was at her side in an instant. He was just about to ask her what was wrong when she grabbed his hand and set it on her stomach.
And there it was...the slightest fluttering beneath his palm.
That was the moment where his kid had gone from this theoretical topic of discussion to an actual being.
His kid was growing inside her, kicking her.
A baby.
That they'd made together.
He felt the movement again as he let out an unsteady breath. The look of awe on Lindsay's tear streaked face made him smile a little.
The baby might be a Kinney, but, this time, it would be loved.
[.038 Touch]
He'd always remember the first moment he held his kid. It was one of those memories that was burned into his soul.
Gus weighed next to nothing. His skin was red and wrinkled, and, in any other situation, he'd have had a few snarky comments about it.
But this was different.
And all Brian could do was stand in awe as his son wrapped his tiny hands around the tip of his finger.
The red, wrinkled little kid was his.
Something he'd made.
And he knew he'd stop at nothing to protect his child.
[.061 Winter]
When Brian was a kid, his coat was tatty and threadbare. He'd spend more time shivering and rubbing his hands together to keep warm than he cared to admit.
Debbie would always look at him with kind eyes and a worried expression. She made it a point to knit him sweaters and scarves and mittens that were given to him like clockwork -- birthdays, Christmas, or 'just because you fucking need it.' He'd roll his eyes and play down the presents, but, in actuality, he'd kept every single last one of the fucking things. Had them stored in a box in his closet.
Not that he'd admit it.
When Brian had a kid, he made sure Gus had the warmest, most fashionable coats money could buy. And, yeah, he'd groan and make feeble attempt to plunk those hideous, pom-pom, rainbow colored beanies off his kid's head, but, in truth, it would always made him smile a little that Deb would take the time to knit them.
Gus might be a Kinney, but he'd never know what it was like to feel unloved or cold.
And that made all the difference in the world to Brian.
[.086 Choices]
He tugged the door open...after pulling on a pair of jeans. Not that he bothered to fasten them.
Lindsay, of course, noticed this and the fucked out looking trick slipping passed them and out the door.
"Here for another deposit?" Brian quipped, stepping back to let her in.
She stood in the doorway, eyebrow raised.
"You know...one of these days you'll meet someone like I have and it'll be enough to have just one person in your life."
The tone was equal parts chiding and amused. Lindsay had been able to pull off the role of the corrupt WASP since college.
Rolling his eyes, he headed towards the kitchen.
"Yes, and then I, too, can have a nagging, overbearing partner that I kowtow to when they disapprove of my life choices."
He didn't miss the narrowed eyes or the jaw ticking in anger as Lindsay worked through and avoided saying all the cutting comebacks tumbling through her head.
Truth was this was an old argument of theirs --Lindsay spouting the virtues of monogamous relationship and Brian reminding her of the massive, anger filled arguments that seemed all too common between Lindsay and Melanie.
Rather than launching into yet another 'discussion,' he decided to change topics.
"Was there something your wanted?"
A brief pause followed, a brilliant smile broke across her face, and then she spoke two words that would change everything:
"I'm pregnant."
. . . . .
He didn't remember throwing his gym bag in the back seat, didn't remember turning the engine over, nor did he remember most of the drive back to the place Mel was staying.
He did, however, remember Melanie's near hysterical comments.
"What am I going to do? She's going to marry that Frog and I'll never seem my son again."
The voice was ragged from too many hours of crying. And Brian wasn't sure if it was the harsh broken words or the whole situation that made his throat scratchy with emotion.
The fact that one of his best friends would betray him, his kid, and her ideals just because her partner made one bad choice didn't sit well with him.
"We've got to do something," she said suddenly, grabbing his forearm to draw his attention back to her.
Swallowing thickly, he nodded, the wheels in his mind already working on possible solutions.
But they always landed back on the same one -- custody.
. . . . .
The papers seemed unrealistically heavy in his hand. Ink drying quickly. His signature -- something that he'd written a thousand times -- seemed foreign on the page. A self-made treachery of letters that would forever change the course of his life...and Gus'.
Brian closed his eyes, forcing, willing away the tears. Even behind closed eyes, he could remember the words.
I, Brian Aiden Kinney, hereby dissolve all parental rights to my biological son, Gus Peterson-Marcus..."
He'd promised himself he'd give Gus everything that was his to give, and, if that meant signing his rights away to ensure his kid had a loving family, he'd do it.
Even if it did fucking hurt.
[42-45/100]
[.009 Months]
He drove miles out of his way to see her. Not that he'd admit it, but Lindsay was always a smart girl. She saw his line -- 'I was just in the neighborhood' -- for the lie that it was. With a raised eyebrow and a smirk, she let him into the house.
He followed her into the kitchen, flopping gracefully into her dinette set, filling her in on his latest conquests -- business and personal -- while she made tea.
She sat across from him, holding her cup, listening dutifully, adding in her own commentary. Mid-sentence, she stopped. The teacup in her hands was set down on its saucer.
Taking in her suddenly pale face and shaking hands, he was at her side in an instant. He was just about to ask her what was wrong when she grabbed his hand and set it on her stomach.
And there it was...the slightest fluttering beneath his palm.
That was the moment where his kid had gone from this theoretical topic of discussion to an actual being.
His kid was growing inside her, kicking her.
A baby.
That they'd made together.
He felt the movement again as he let out an unsteady breath. The look of awe on Lindsay's tear streaked face made him smile a little.
The baby might be a Kinney, but, this time, it would be loved.
[.038 Touch]
He'd always remember the first moment he held his kid. It was one of those memories that was burned into his soul.
Gus weighed next to nothing. His skin was red and wrinkled, and, in any other situation, he'd have had a few snarky comments about it.
But this was different.
And all Brian could do was stand in awe as his son wrapped his tiny hands around the tip of his finger.
The red, wrinkled little kid was his.
Something he'd made.
And he knew he'd stop at nothing to protect his child.
[.061 Winter]
When Brian was a kid, his coat was tatty and threadbare. He'd spend more time shivering and rubbing his hands together to keep warm than he cared to admit.
Debbie would always look at him with kind eyes and a worried expression. She made it a point to knit him sweaters and scarves and mittens that were given to him like clockwork -- birthdays, Christmas, or 'just because you fucking need it.' He'd roll his eyes and play down the presents, but, in actuality, he'd kept every single last one of the fucking things. Had them stored in a box in his closet.
Not that he'd admit it.
When Brian had a kid, he made sure Gus had the warmest, most fashionable coats money could buy. And, yeah, he'd groan and make feeble attempt to plunk those hideous, pom-pom, rainbow colored beanies off his kid's head, but, in truth, it would always made him smile a little that Deb would take the time to knit them.
Gus might be a Kinney, but he'd never know what it was like to feel unloved or cold.
And that made all the difference in the world to Brian.
[.086 Choices]
He tugged the door open...after pulling on a pair of jeans. Not that he bothered to fasten them.
Lindsay, of course, noticed this and the fucked out looking trick slipping passed them and out the door.
"Here for another deposit?" Brian quipped, stepping back to let her in.
She stood in the doorway, eyebrow raised.
"You know...one of these days you'll meet someone like I have and it'll be enough to have just one person in your life."
The tone was equal parts chiding and amused. Lindsay had been able to pull off the role of the corrupt WASP since college.
Rolling his eyes, he headed towards the kitchen.
"Yes, and then I, too, can have a nagging, overbearing partner that I kowtow to when they disapprove of my life choices."
He didn't miss the narrowed eyes or the jaw ticking in anger as Lindsay worked through and avoided saying all the cutting comebacks tumbling through her head.
Truth was this was an old argument of theirs --Lindsay spouting the virtues of monogamous relationship and Brian reminding her of the massive, anger filled arguments that seemed all too common between Lindsay and Melanie.
Rather than launching into yet another 'discussion,' he decided to change topics.
"Was there something your wanted?"
A brief pause followed, a brilliant smile broke across her face, and then she spoke two words that would change everything:
"I'm pregnant."
. . . . .
He didn't remember throwing his gym bag in the back seat, didn't remember turning the engine over, nor did he remember most of the drive back to the place Mel was staying.
He did, however, remember Melanie's near hysterical comments.
"What am I going to do? She's going to marry that Frog and I'll never seem my son again."
The voice was ragged from too many hours of crying. And Brian wasn't sure if it was the harsh broken words or the whole situation that made his throat scratchy with emotion.
The fact that one of his best friends would betray him, his kid, and her ideals just because her partner made one bad choice didn't sit well with him.
"We've got to do something," she said suddenly, grabbing his forearm to draw his attention back to her.
Swallowing thickly, he nodded, the wheels in his mind already working on possible solutions.
But they always landed back on the same one -- custody.
. . . . .
The papers seemed unrealistically heavy in his hand. Ink drying quickly. His signature -- something that he'd written a thousand times -- seemed foreign on the page. A self-made treachery of letters that would forever change the course of his life...and Gus'.
Brian closed his eyes, forcing, willing away the tears. Even behind closed eyes, he could remember the words.
I, Brian Aiden Kinney, hereby dissolve all parental rights to my biological son, Gus Peterson-Marcus..."
He'd promised himself he'd give Gus everything that was his to give, and, if that meant signing his rights away to ensure his kid had a loving family, he'd do it.
Even if it did fucking hurt.