Mute Fraser Challenge by Speranza
Feb. 25th, 2005 11:51 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
cesperanza.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ds_flashfictionHey, it's a real flashfiction--1021 words!--and on time, yet! Ben talks a lot in this; just not aloud.
A Rare and Genuine Gratitude
by Speranza
Ben Fraser raised his eyes, still panting. He darted a quick look at the palm of his hand. The skin was all ripped up, bloody and black with embedded dirt.
Asswipe! Jackoff! Scum-sucking bastard!
The old man took a step or two backwards, took a deep breath, and then went into a stiff-seeming crouch. "Come on, boy," he said, and licked the underside of his lip. "Take me if you think you can take me."
I'm going to fucking kill you, Ben thought. He launched himself forward, instinctively keeping his center of gravity low, and aiming at the old man's legs, wanting to knock him down. But the old man moved fast, stepping out of the way with a nimble twist of his leg--and then Ben was tripping, flailing for balance. Hands grabbed him from behind, hard, and then suddenly Ben was being flung around and slammed into the side of the shed. Inside, the dogs howled.
"George! George! Jesus!" Ben darted a glance sideways. His grandmother had appeared out of nowhere, one hand pressed to her lumpy, old lady's bosoms.
Ben licked his own lower lip and tasted blood. He waited.
"Go in the house, Martha," the old man said calmly.
For a long moment, his grandmother didn't move, and the three of them just stood there, frozen in time, waiting. Ben supposed his grandmother was giving him time to make a run for it if he wanted to, but he didn't want to. This was between him and the old man.
Finally, she seemed to understand this and sighed. "God forgive you, George," she said, and disappeared back around the house, picking her way across the uneven ground with stodgy, deliberate steps.
Once she was gone, Ben lifted his hand and swiped blood away from his nose. The old man just stared at him narrowly, not asking him if he was okay. After a moment, the old man again dropped into his crouch, extending his leathery hands like he was going to catch a baseball. "You want to go again?"
Ben surveyed the situation with narrowed eyes, and tried to strategize the best mode of attack. After a moment he remembered the old man's weak right knee. He feinted right, then hurtled low and left, wrapping his arms around the old man's waist as he tackled him, sliding a little as they slammed together and reeled sideways.
The old man moved fast but not quite fast enough, and as Ben had hoped, his knee buckled and wavered. Ben bent his head and butted his forehead hard against the old man's solar plexus, and then they were both falling onto the gravel--rolling, scrabbling. Suddenly the old man dealt him a sideways blow to the head that dizzied him. He kicked and punched wildly as the old man grabbed him around the middle--strong bastard! Motherfucker!--and hauled him up like a sack of potatoes.
"Have you--" and the old man was gasping now, and that was something, wasn't it? That was something, he'd done something. "Have you--had enough?"
He twisted in the old man's hands and wrenched himself out of the old man's grip, falling to the ground with a painful bang that was entirely worth it. He rolled and launched forward again, this time with fists flying, banging against the old man's rock hard stomach. The old man grabbed his arm, whirled him around, and seized him by the neck of his shirt, hauling him up and half pulling him, half dragging him toward the wall of the shed.
Stifling a sob, Ben braced himself for the impact, more startling than painful as he banged loudly into the splintery old boards. Again, the dogs let out renewed howls of outrage at the disruption. Ben rolled against the rotting old shed wall, gasping, struggling to keep his feet under him, and then stumbled forward again, swinging. There was no power in the assault this time, and the old man caught him easily, half fighting him off, half holding him up. They were staggering together in the yard behind the shed, kicking up gravel and clouds of dust, almost like they were dancing.
Ben took a few ragged breaths and then gathered up his strength for a final assault. He was barely able to land a blow, his weakened arm failing him, his fist glancing off the old man's side. He let out a scream of inarticulate frustration--and then he was sagging against the old man's body, face pushed against his chest, smothering his breath.
"Have you had enough?" he heard the old man whisper. "I can keep going if you can," and the old man was the only one who understood what it felt like to have all this bottled up inside him, to have been screwed over so royally by his stupid mother who'd gone and died on him and his fucking freak of a father who'd sat in the dark for months and scared the royal fucking shit out of him, only to take off for parts unknown five minutes after he'd finally recovered: Hey, Dad--don't let the door hit you on the way out! It had hurt so much, the hard-fucking-fact that his father's new life didn't include him. So he'd been warehoused here with his grandparents--and he had to say please and thank you and censor himself, censor the not-so-grateful, fucking pissed off "you screwed me, you bastards!" part of himself for ever and ever and ever, Amen.
He wanted the old man to slam him into the shed again, maybe just one more time. It felt good. It felt real--like his insides and outsides matched up for a second. But suddenly he was too exhausted to go on, and felt he might fall asleep right there, leaning against his grandfather's strong body. Who else was he going to fight against? How could you fight the dead and the missing? And then a hand dropped heavily onto his head, and Ben stilled at last, feeling a rare and genuine gratitude for the old man's hard sympathy.
THE END
(1021 words)
A Rare and Genuine Gratitude
by Speranza
Ben Fraser raised his eyes, still panting. He darted a quick look at the palm of his hand. The skin was all ripped up, bloody and black with embedded dirt.
Asswipe! Jackoff! Scum-sucking bastard!
The old man took a step or two backwards, took a deep breath, and then went into a stiff-seeming crouch. "Come on, boy," he said, and licked the underside of his lip. "Take me if you think you can take me."
I'm going to fucking kill you, Ben thought. He launched himself forward, instinctively keeping his center of gravity low, and aiming at the old man's legs, wanting to knock him down. But the old man moved fast, stepping out of the way with a nimble twist of his leg--and then Ben was tripping, flailing for balance. Hands grabbed him from behind, hard, and then suddenly Ben was being flung around and slammed into the side of the shed. Inside, the dogs howled.
"George! George! Jesus!" Ben darted a glance sideways. His grandmother had appeared out of nowhere, one hand pressed to her lumpy, old lady's bosoms.
Ben licked his own lower lip and tasted blood. He waited.
"Go in the house, Martha," the old man said calmly.
For a long moment, his grandmother didn't move, and the three of them just stood there, frozen in time, waiting. Ben supposed his grandmother was giving him time to make a run for it if he wanted to, but he didn't want to. This was between him and the old man.
Finally, she seemed to understand this and sighed. "God forgive you, George," she said, and disappeared back around the house, picking her way across the uneven ground with stodgy, deliberate steps.
Once she was gone, Ben lifted his hand and swiped blood away from his nose. The old man just stared at him narrowly, not asking him if he was okay. After a moment, the old man again dropped into his crouch, extending his leathery hands like he was going to catch a baseball. "You want to go again?"
Ben surveyed the situation with narrowed eyes, and tried to strategize the best mode of attack. After a moment he remembered the old man's weak right knee. He feinted right, then hurtled low and left, wrapping his arms around the old man's waist as he tackled him, sliding a little as they slammed together and reeled sideways.
The old man moved fast but not quite fast enough, and as Ben had hoped, his knee buckled and wavered. Ben bent his head and butted his forehead hard against the old man's solar plexus, and then they were both falling onto the gravel--rolling, scrabbling. Suddenly the old man dealt him a sideways blow to the head that dizzied him. He kicked and punched wildly as the old man grabbed him around the middle--strong bastard! Motherfucker!--and hauled him up like a sack of potatoes.
"Have you--" and the old man was gasping now, and that was something, wasn't it? That was something, he'd done something. "Have you--had enough?"
He twisted in the old man's hands and wrenched himself out of the old man's grip, falling to the ground with a painful bang that was entirely worth it. He rolled and launched forward again, this time with fists flying, banging against the old man's rock hard stomach. The old man grabbed his arm, whirled him around, and seized him by the neck of his shirt, hauling him up and half pulling him, half dragging him toward the wall of the shed.
Stifling a sob, Ben braced himself for the impact, more startling than painful as he banged loudly into the splintery old boards. Again, the dogs let out renewed howls of outrage at the disruption. Ben rolled against the rotting old shed wall, gasping, struggling to keep his feet under him, and then stumbled forward again, swinging. There was no power in the assault this time, and the old man caught him easily, half fighting him off, half holding him up. They were staggering together in the yard behind the shed, kicking up gravel and clouds of dust, almost like they were dancing.
Ben took a few ragged breaths and then gathered up his strength for a final assault. He was barely able to land a blow, his weakened arm failing him, his fist glancing off the old man's side. He let out a scream of inarticulate frustration--and then he was sagging against the old man's body, face pushed against his chest, smothering his breath.
"Have you had enough?" he heard the old man whisper. "I can keep going if you can," and the old man was the only one who understood what it felt like to have all this bottled up inside him, to have been screwed over so royally by his stupid mother who'd gone and died on him and his fucking freak of a father who'd sat in the dark for months and scared the royal fucking shit out of him, only to take off for parts unknown five minutes after he'd finally recovered: Hey, Dad--don't let the door hit you on the way out! It had hurt so much, the hard-fucking-fact that his father's new life didn't include him. So he'd been warehoused here with his grandparents--and he had to say please and thank you and censor himself, censor the not-so-grateful, fucking pissed off "you screwed me, you bastards!" part of himself for ever and ever and ever, Amen.
He wanted the old man to slam him into the shed again, maybe just one more time. It felt good. It felt real--like his insides and outsides matched up for a second. But suddenly he was too exhausted to go on, and felt he might fall asleep right there, leaning against his grandfather's strong body. Who else was he going to fight against? How could you fight the dead and the missing? And then a hand dropped heavily onto his head, and Ben stilled at last, feeling a rare and genuine gratitude for the old man's hard sympathy.
THE END
(1021 words)
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no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 05:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 08:20 pm (UTC)Anyway, rambling at you, but that's what you get for being all articulate in your feedback for Next of Kin!
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 06:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 08:23 pm (UTC)Thanks so much for commenting!
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 06:33 am (UTC)I love the new twist on Fraser's childhood. This now seems just as plausible as the idealized affectionate, literary care he supposedly received from his grandparents.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 08:26 pm (UTC)Meanwhile, at some point when I see you, ask me how I am (rolls eyes.)
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 07:05 am (UTC)Yes, this is how Ben grew up to be the Fraser on the show, isn't it! I mean, there had to be someone other than the dead mother and the missing father and an austere grandmother and a handful of Inuits. I love your insights into Fraser's childhood.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 08:29 pm (UTC)Thanks so much for commenting!
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 08:01 am (UTC)Damnit. Close to crying.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 08:31 pm (UTC)I'm glad you found this realistic. Thanks for commenting!
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 08:17 am (UTC)Also, The Icon? Nnrgh!
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 08:33 pm (UTC)The icon--omigod.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 08:33 am (UTC)Great fic.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 08:36 pm (UTC)Anyway, again, thanks for the icon--and thanks for commenting!
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 09:30 am (UTC)This resonates so deeply that even if it isn't true of young Ben, it should be.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 08:39 pm (UTC)Cheers and thanks for commenting!
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:When you do gen
Date: 2005-02-26 12:28 pm (UTC)Re: When you do gen
Date: 2005-02-26 08:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 01:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 08:40 pm (UTC)Cheers and thanks!
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 02:47 pm (UTC)Slays me.
This is the complexity being built. Right here.
Awesome!
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 08:41 pm (UTC)Please, miss.....
Date: 2005-02-26 02:51 pm (UTC)If I'm really, really good and work really, really, really f*cking hard....
Can I write like this when I grow up?
Re: Please, miss.....
Date: 2005-02-26 08:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 03:10 pm (UTC)and the old man was the only one who understood what it felt like to have all this bottled up inside him, to have been screwed over so royally by his stupid mother who'd gone and died on him and his fucking freak of a father who'd sat in the dark for months and scared the royal fucking shit out of him, only to take off for parts unknown five minutes after he'd finally recovered:
What a perfect freaking way to look at this. I love it! Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 08:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 04:03 pm (UTC)*pets poor Angry Young Ben*
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 08:58 pm (UTC)Offhand, this is my favorite description of the story--YES, YES, exactly!! You've really nailed it!
On some level his grandfather understands and he gives Ben an opportunity to get some of that anger out in a relatively safe place.
Exactly right--I'm so glad that it comes across. I didn't want people thinking it was just "abuse"--well, yes, at first I want you thinking that, but honestly, I mean this as an act of love on George's part. He's letting himself be a target, giving the boy a mode of expression, but also taking his feelings seriously, if that makes sense.
This comment makes me happy, happy! Yay!
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 04:35 pm (UTC)As for me, when I thought about how Ben would deal with his mother's death and father's abandonment, I sort of automatically assumed that he'd handle it the same way adult Fraser would- you know, stoically and politely. Of course that couldn't really be the case- no six year old is that controlled and repressed. So at first I was shocked by the sheer amount of cursing, hurting, rage here, but it makes perfect sense really.
What's really sad about it, though, is to think that even adult Fraser needs to feel like that sometimes, but he'd never let himself, would he?
Also, naming his grandparents George and Martha made me think of 'Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?' for some reason, which just added another layer of fucked-up-ness to the whole thing.
Anyway, I'm blown away here.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 09:03 pm (UTC)I don't think it's an either/or; I've done it that way too, in Passion and elsewhere. That being said, even if you put him on the more "adult" end of the scale, he'd have to have some moments of rage. He's got a lot to be angry about, after all.
What's really sad about it, though, is to think that even adult Fraser needs to feel like that sometimes, but he'd never let himself, would he?
Ahhhh, well, here's you're anticipating the sequel that I'm not yet sure I have time to write, because if Fraser feels a deep gratitude and love for someone who lets him express this side of himself? I smell a RayK story. *vbg!!* I'm just not sure I'll have time to get it in for this challenge or not. But yeah. *cough* I think he might well let himself, if the right person guided him there. *g*
Also, naming his grandparents George and Martha--
Not me, canon, and yeah, I think you're right; this is them playing "American Theatre History" with us again. Streetcar named Desire, why not Virginia Woolf? If you're gonna steal, steal from the best, no??
Thanks so much for these great comments!
(no subject)
From:Tongue in cheek
From:no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 04:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 09:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 06:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 09:10 pm (UTC)Secondly: Just curious: how old is Ben when this takes place?
This is an interesting story; I had an age in mind, and then I asked
In my mind, he's twelve.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:wow...big up to you...
Date: 2005-02-26 06:59 pm (UTC)Re: wow...big up to you...
Date: 2005-02-26 09:12 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for this comment!
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 08:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 09:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 12:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 02:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 05:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-01 02:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 06:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-01 02:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-28 01:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-01 02:45 am (UTC)Right,yes, exactly--and Bob's not there. I suspect that Bob would be the target of most of this, and I'm also guessing that Fraser loves his grandfather desperately for his availability as a punching bag, if you understand me.
Otherwise he'd just be all repression and then a psycho.
RIGHT!--I meant to imply that this was something that kept him healthy in the long run; a GOOD thing!
Thanks for the great comments!!
no subject
Date: 2005-02-28 07:43 am (UTC)I have no words.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-01 02:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-28 03:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-01 02:47 am (UTC)