Circle of Steel by Miriel
Aug. 17th, 2005 01:43 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
mardahin.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ds_flashfictionTitle: Circle of Steel
Rating: PG
AN: This is based on the Gordon Lightfoot song "Circle of Steel". The song makes me think of Turnbull, for some reason. I had decided I wasn't going to write anything for the song-fic-ish challenge, and then this came along. It's short, but I think it works.
On cold nights, curled up in bed, he would look back and wonder how differently his life would have gone if he had been born into a different family. He wasn't picky, he would have taken just about anything. Because his real family, not the one the province had placed him with when he was four but his real family, was a vague memory at best.
He had snapshot images of his mother's face, sad and haggard. A bottle on the kitchen table. Her voice, saying things he had been too young to understand. And there had been the day when he was eleven that a man who claimed to be his father had shown up at the door, ranting about his right to visitation. He had been a small child, and the shouting had frightened him.
Shouting always frightened him. So he had hidden in his room. The man had never come around again, and the Grants, who he was living with at the time, hadn't wanted to talk about it. They told him he was better off not knowing, and he believed them.
On those cold nights, sleep never came. He would toss and turn in bed, snatches of music and light and imagery flickering across his mind as half-remembered things tried to surface. It was always worse in the winter, near his birthday that no one celebrated. Snow held bad memories. That was one reason he liked Chicago. The longer summer months meant he could forget, for a while. No one knew, and no one cared, that he was an orphan without the dignity of dead parents.
When the sun comes up, even in winter, he leaves the memories behind as he pulls on his uniform. It is who he is, now. His family. One that no one can take away. Renfield Turnbull walks the streets to the Canadian Consulate, savoring the morning light, and swears to himself he will never to gamble with his future. This is enough. It has to be.
Rating: PG
AN: This is based on the Gordon Lightfoot song "Circle of Steel". The song makes me think of Turnbull, for some reason. I had decided I wasn't going to write anything for the song-fic-ish challenge, and then this came along. It's short, but I think it works.
On cold nights, curled up in bed, he would look back and wonder how differently his life would have gone if he had been born into a different family. He wasn't picky, he would have taken just about anything. Because his real family, not the one the province had placed him with when he was four but his real family, was a vague memory at best.
He had snapshot images of his mother's face, sad and haggard. A bottle on the kitchen table. Her voice, saying things he had been too young to understand. And there had been the day when he was eleven that a man who claimed to be his father had shown up at the door, ranting about his right to visitation. He had been a small child, and the shouting had frightened him.
Shouting always frightened him. So he had hidden in his room. The man had never come around again, and the Grants, who he was living with at the time, hadn't wanted to talk about it. They told him he was better off not knowing, and he believed them.
On those cold nights, sleep never came. He would toss and turn in bed, snatches of music and light and imagery flickering across his mind as half-remembered things tried to surface. It was always worse in the winter, near his birthday that no one celebrated. Snow held bad memories. That was one reason he liked Chicago. The longer summer months meant he could forget, for a while. No one knew, and no one cared, that he was an orphan without the dignity of dead parents.
When the sun comes up, even in winter, he leaves the memories behind as he pulls on his uniform. It is who he is, now. His family. One that no one can take away. Renfield Turnbull walks the streets to the Canadian Consulate, savoring the morning light, and swears to himself he will never to gamble with his future. This is enough. It has to be.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-08-17 05:47 pm (UTC)Seriously high on the "aw!" factor too.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-17 05:56 pm (UTC)I just can't help having one possible option for Turnbull being that he clawed his way up into the RCMP, you know? Fraser's got the family connections, and Thatcher comes from money of at least some degree. He'd balance that.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-17 06:00 pm (UTC)As opposed to the Turnbull is posh and got in by virtue of being the embarrassing younger son... theory. I think I might have amalgated that one a bit.
I think this one might explain the nerves and general resultant vase smashing better...
no subject
Date: 2005-08-17 06:31 pm (UTC)*reassurance*
Date: 2005-08-18 12:00 am (UTC)Which you did incredibly well IMNSHO.
Enjoy the concert tonight!
no subject
Date: 2005-08-17 07:57 pm (UTC)But to show a loveless father that he can stand his man... hm, yes, that fits too. The show could have give him and his character a little more screentime.
Anyway, its a sad and interesting look into Turnbulls possible past.
Fine work, Miriel. :-)
no subject
Date: 2005-08-17 08:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-17 11:14 pm (UTC)The others:
no subject
Date: 2005-08-17 08:13 pm (UTC)*Smiles* Thanks! Glad you liked it, even if it is sad. I tried to stay away from overtly cliched sad-history fics. But foster kids often don't have the most pleasant lives, they know they don't fit. I made him old enough that he'd remember he hadn't always been with a foster family, because I wanted him out-of-place and not quite fitting in. I hope it worked.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-17 08:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-17 08:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-17 11:54 pm (UTC)Now go write that salt!
no subject
Date: 2005-08-18 02:00 am (UTC)Aww, woobieTurnbull!! Great job with the song.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-18 02:03 am (UTC)*wibble*
*glomps Turnbull*
no subject
Date: 2005-08-18 05:38 am (UTC)I loved "When the sun comes up, even in winter, he leaves the memories behind as he pulls on his uniform."
It's just so... right.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-25 10:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-12 02:29 pm (UTC)