Three. Something.
May. 26th, 2003 11:50 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfiction906 words of, um. Yeah. Family fare, and ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
melenajill, I am looking at you.
Ben ushered David into his office, watching a little nervously as the five-year-old looked around. After a brief survey, the boy went immediately to the closet, turning back before the closed door. “What’s in here?”
Ben blinked. You really are a Fraser, aren’t you? But he said only, “It’s just a closet. You can open the door.”
David did so, and peered inside intently. Ben looked in, too, from where he stood, but of course it was just a closet, empty now that his clothes had another home. David looked up at him and said, “Could this be my office?”
Fighting back a wave of déjà vu, and a grin, Ben said, “What—-what would you do with an office?”
David brandished his knapsack. “Paperwork. Ray gave me a whole bunch, and Constable Aynsford said there might be more.”
Ben nodded slowly. It was perfectly reasonable; David naturally would like to imitate the adults around him, and the small space of the closet would be naturally alluring to a child. It didn’t mean anything. He got David settled with his crayons and his paperwork—-Ray had apparently found a stack of obsolete 134B’s (the 1988 revision, instead of the 1993 revision currently in use). Leaving the closet door ajar, Ben settled down at his desk and turned his mind to his own papers.
The afternoon progressed smoothly, the quiet broken only by occasional humming from the closet and the steady whisper of crayons against paper, until the whistle of a tea kettle sang out. Ben looked toward the closet, its door still slightly open, and then went and locked the office door before venturing to the closet and peering inside.
His father’s office was just as Ben remembered, with the peculiar addition of David, kneeling on the desk chair as he colored, his papers spread across the desk. Bob Fraser, fully decked out in red serge, stood by the fireplace, watching David fondly. When Ben stepped inside, closing the door behind him, Bob looked up and smiled.
“Ah, Benton, you’re just in time for tea.”
Ben joined his father by the fire, accepting the proffered cup of tea. David, quite unconcerned, continued coloring. Ben sipped his drink and wondered what to say; he’d never expected to see his father again, and he’d given up even composing one-last-chance speeches some time ago. “Dad,” he said finally. “You’re… looking quite formal today.”
“Well,” Bob shrugged. “It’s certainly not for your sake, son. I wanted to see David, and the serge is familiar to him. Thought this would make things easier. Handy that you have the sort of work where you can bring him along."
Ben drank some more tea, and said, “Yes, in the circumstances.”
His father nodded as though he’d said something meaningful, his eyes on David. “And you shouldn’t think that I’m here checking up on you.”
Ben managed not to laugh or spit his tea out, and said quite neutrally, “I shouldn’t.”
“No, no, of course not. You’re a Fraser, I know you can handle a challenge.” Bob turned away then, rummaging about as he added, “And come to that, he’s a Fraser, which, judging from the evidence, means he’ll turn out fine no matter how he’s raised.”
Ben’s mouth fell open, but before he could say a word, his father was at the desk, setting down a mug of tea—mostly milk—-and a tin of cookies. David looked up then, waiting for Ben’s nod of permission before he said, “Thank you kindly,” and took a gingersnap.
Ben finished his tea, set down the cup, and joined them. David’s papers were organized in various piles, possibly color-coded. He’d filled in the blanks on the 134B(1988)’s with crayon scribbles, interspersing his handful of letters—D’s, F’s, R’s, and B’s—-among the random loops and squiggles.
Ben helped himself to a cookie, drawing David’s attention away from his work. “So,” he said, nodding to his father, “has he been helping you with your paperwork?”
David looked from one Mountie to the other, aghast. “No! When it comes to paperwork, it’s every man for himself.”
Ben looked sideways at his father, who sipped his tea with an air of innocence that fooled no one; David was parroting someone, and he certainly hadn’t picked up that sentiment from Ray. “Ah,” Ben said, “how silly of me. Of course.”
David nodded and had another cookie, apparently mollified. Ben was just about to ask him about the form he was working on—the marginalia seemed to consist of a number of people who’d taken hairstyling tips from Ray—-when his father set a hand on his shoulder and leaned close. “The truth is,” he whispered, “you and the Yank are doing just fine.”
When Ben turned to look at his father, he saw only the back wall of the closet; David knelt on the floor beside him, his paper spread around their feet.
There was a knock at the outside door, and Ray called, “Ben? David? Quitting time, guys.”
David’s face lit up, and he gathered his papers and dashed out into the office. Ben followed a step behind.
“David, wait.”
He turned back, and Ben hesitated. This is our secret, he might say, or Ray wouldn’t understand, but David’s eyes were wide and clear, and his excited smile was fading, and… Ben took out his handkerchief and offered it to the boy. “You’ve got cookie crumbs on your face.”
melenajill, I am looking at you.Ben ushered David into his office, watching a little nervously as the five-year-old looked around. After a brief survey, the boy went immediately to the closet, turning back before the closed door. “What’s in here?”
Ben blinked. You really are a Fraser, aren’t you? But he said only, “It’s just a closet. You can open the door.”
David did so, and peered inside intently. Ben looked in, too, from where he stood, but of course it was just a closet, empty now that his clothes had another home. David looked up at him and said, “Could this be my office?”
Fighting back a wave of déjà vu, and a grin, Ben said, “What—-what would you do with an office?”
David brandished his knapsack. “Paperwork. Ray gave me a whole bunch, and Constable Aynsford said there might be more.”
Ben nodded slowly. It was perfectly reasonable; David naturally would like to imitate the adults around him, and the small space of the closet would be naturally alluring to a child. It didn’t mean anything. He got David settled with his crayons and his paperwork—-Ray had apparently found a stack of obsolete 134B’s (the 1988 revision, instead of the 1993 revision currently in use). Leaving the closet door ajar, Ben settled down at his desk and turned his mind to his own papers.
The afternoon progressed smoothly, the quiet broken only by occasional humming from the closet and the steady whisper of crayons against paper, until the whistle of a tea kettle sang out. Ben looked toward the closet, its door still slightly open, and then went and locked the office door before venturing to the closet and peering inside.
His father’s office was just as Ben remembered, with the peculiar addition of David, kneeling on the desk chair as he colored, his papers spread across the desk. Bob Fraser, fully decked out in red serge, stood by the fireplace, watching David fondly. When Ben stepped inside, closing the door behind him, Bob looked up and smiled.
“Ah, Benton, you’re just in time for tea.”
Ben joined his father by the fire, accepting the proffered cup of tea. David, quite unconcerned, continued coloring. Ben sipped his drink and wondered what to say; he’d never expected to see his father again, and he’d given up even composing one-last-chance speeches some time ago. “Dad,” he said finally. “You’re… looking quite formal today.”
“Well,” Bob shrugged. “It’s certainly not for your sake, son. I wanted to see David, and the serge is familiar to him. Thought this would make things easier. Handy that you have the sort of work where you can bring him along."
Ben drank some more tea, and said, “Yes, in the circumstances.”
His father nodded as though he’d said something meaningful, his eyes on David. “And you shouldn’t think that I’m here checking up on you.”
Ben managed not to laugh or spit his tea out, and said quite neutrally, “I shouldn’t.”
“No, no, of course not. You’re a Fraser, I know you can handle a challenge.” Bob turned away then, rummaging about as he added, “And come to that, he’s a Fraser, which, judging from the evidence, means he’ll turn out fine no matter how he’s raised.”
Ben’s mouth fell open, but before he could say a word, his father was at the desk, setting down a mug of tea—mostly milk—-and a tin of cookies. David looked up then, waiting for Ben’s nod of permission before he said, “Thank you kindly,” and took a gingersnap.
Ben finished his tea, set down the cup, and joined them. David’s papers were organized in various piles, possibly color-coded. He’d filled in the blanks on the 134B(1988)’s with crayon scribbles, interspersing his handful of letters—D’s, F’s, R’s, and B’s—-among the random loops and squiggles.
Ben helped himself to a cookie, drawing David’s attention away from his work. “So,” he said, nodding to his father, “has he been helping you with your paperwork?”
David looked from one Mountie to the other, aghast. “No! When it comes to paperwork, it’s every man for himself.”
Ben looked sideways at his father, who sipped his tea with an air of innocence that fooled no one; David was parroting someone, and he certainly hadn’t picked up that sentiment from Ray. “Ah,” Ben said, “how silly of me. Of course.”
David nodded and had another cookie, apparently mollified. Ben was just about to ask him about the form he was working on—the marginalia seemed to consist of a number of people who’d taken hairstyling tips from Ray—-when his father set a hand on his shoulder and leaned close. “The truth is,” he whispered, “you and the Yank are doing just fine.”
When Ben turned to look at his father, he saw only the back wall of the closet; David knelt on the floor beside him, his paper spread around their feet.
There was a knock at the outside door, and Ray called, “Ben? David? Quitting time, guys.”
David’s face lit up, and he gathered his papers and dashed out into the office. Ben followed a step behind.
“David, wait.”
He turned back, and Ben hesitated. This is our secret, he might say, or Ray wouldn’t understand, but David’s eyes were wide and clear, and his excited smile was fading, and… Ben took out his handkerchief and offered it to the boy. “You’ve got cookie crumbs on your face.”
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no subject
Date: 2003-05-27 08:35 pm (UTC)For me, although I'm glad to think of Ray and Fraser with a child, I'm just glad you figured out a way to get Bob back. I love my Bob. :)
no subject
Date: 2003-05-28 03:14 pm (UTC)