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ds_flashfictionTitle: Follow your dreams in through every out-door
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wintercreek
Rating: G
Pairing: Fraser/Thatcher pre-relationship
Spoilers: Perfect Strangers
Word Count: 647
Notes: Sequel to And I can name them in my dreaming.
Summary: But what they had on the phone just now was simpler, more pure perhaps - and so here he is, on her doormat, waiting to be admitted.
He feels like they're always apologizing to each other. Awkward linguistic missteps, crossed wires, flustered faces averted - he cannot have an easy conversation with this woman. It is amazingly frustrating.
But what they had on the phone just now was simpler, more pure perhaps - and so here he is, on her doormat, waiting to be admitted. He starts to fidget with the bag in his hand and then schools himself to stillness.
Meg opens the door, shoeless and wearing RCMP sweats and no makeup. Benton's never seen her look so unguarded. "Fr- Benton." She smiles, a little embarrassed but determined not to be stopped by it. She's seldom called him by his given name, and never with such tenacity. "Come in, please."
He takes off his hat as he enters. Her apartment is quiet save for the whistling of the tea kettle; her walls are painted a cool white and hung with tasteful photographs and paintings. He cannot imagine a child here, among the nice furniture and spare, elegant decoration. In his heart, he apologizes to her for thinking such a thing. Surely she would find ways to accommodate a child.
Benton leaves his hat on the low table by the door and moves into the kitchen. There is a variety of tea on the counter beside two mugs. Meg is already making hers: herbal, something fruity and probably non-caffeinated. She gestures wordlessly for him to choose a tea of his own.
"I brought you something." Benton lifts the bag in his hand and presents it to her.
Meg furrows her brow. "It's ... cold." She sets it on the counter and pulls the plastic down to reveal the carton of ice cream within. "Benton. Ice cream?"
He smiles, looking down at her stocking feet, his boots, side by side on the kitchen tile. "You did say you needed a friend," Benton explains, lifting his gaze to meet hers. "In my experience, that particular sentiment is best met with both companionship and dessert."
"You're quite right." She pulls out bowls and spoons while he makes his tea. The ice cream is cookie dough, her guilty favorite if he recalls correctly. The look she gives him when she sees it - only the smallest curve to her lips, but the corners of her eyes have crinkled in pleasure - suggests that his memory is accurate.
They take their tea and ice cream into Meg's living room and sit at opposite ends of her couch, half-facing each other. Meg tucks her feet under her. She looks smaller than usual this evening. Perhaps it is her clothes - Benton knows that it is considered unusual for him to be seen out of uniform, but he finds it even more unusual to see Meg Thatcher dressed down.
She tells him about the paperwork, the home inspections, the fees, the lawyers. About her dreams, and the rocking chair that stands in her second bedroom. About the disappointment and the emptiness. He listens, nods, makes the appropriate sympathetic noises. When she comes to a halt, he drops his eyes to consider the best response. Meg's drawn her knees up to her chest and pulled her socks off somewhere during the course of the conversation. Her toenails are painted silver. Benton has never known her to wear nail polish, but, of course, he's never had an opportunity before to consider that she might paint her toenails. He thinks that this is the best encapsulation of Meg he can imagine: hidden, delicate details where one might never think to look.
He meets her eyes. They are sad, the inner ends of her eyebrows raised in telling expression. "Meg," he starts. "I'm so sorry. I wish things were different. I wish- I'm so sorry." He opens his arms and she curls into them. They sit there a long while; nothing else needs to be said.
Author:
wintercreekRating: G
Pairing: Fraser/Thatcher pre-relationship
Spoilers: Perfect Strangers
Word Count: 647
Notes: Sequel to And I can name them in my dreaming.
Summary: But what they had on the phone just now was simpler, more pure perhaps - and so here he is, on her doormat, waiting to be admitted.
He feels like they're always apologizing to each other. Awkward linguistic missteps, crossed wires, flustered faces averted - he cannot have an easy conversation with this woman. It is amazingly frustrating.
But what they had on the phone just now was simpler, more pure perhaps - and so here he is, on her doormat, waiting to be admitted. He starts to fidget with the bag in his hand and then schools himself to stillness.
Meg opens the door, shoeless and wearing RCMP sweats and no makeup. Benton's never seen her look so unguarded. "Fr- Benton." She smiles, a little embarrassed but determined not to be stopped by it. She's seldom called him by his given name, and never with such tenacity. "Come in, please."
He takes off his hat as he enters. Her apartment is quiet save for the whistling of the tea kettle; her walls are painted a cool white and hung with tasteful photographs and paintings. He cannot imagine a child here, among the nice furniture and spare, elegant decoration. In his heart, he apologizes to her for thinking such a thing. Surely she would find ways to accommodate a child.
Benton leaves his hat on the low table by the door and moves into the kitchen. There is a variety of tea on the counter beside two mugs. Meg is already making hers: herbal, something fruity and probably non-caffeinated. She gestures wordlessly for him to choose a tea of his own.
"I brought you something." Benton lifts the bag in his hand and presents it to her.
Meg furrows her brow. "It's ... cold." She sets it on the counter and pulls the plastic down to reveal the carton of ice cream within. "Benton. Ice cream?"
He smiles, looking down at her stocking feet, his boots, side by side on the kitchen tile. "You did say you needed a friend," Benton explains, lifting his gaze to meet hers. "In my experience, that particular sentiment is best met with both companionship and dessert."
"You're quite right." She pulls out bowls and spoons while he makes his tea. The ice cream is cookie dough, her guilty favorite if he recalls correctly. The look she gives him when she sees it - only the smallest curve to her lips, but the corners of her eyes have crinkled in pleasure - suggests that his memory is accurate.
They take their tea and ice cream into Meg's living room and sit at opposite ends of her couch, half-facing each other. Meg tucks her feet under her. She looks smaller than usual this evening. Perhaps it is her clothes - Benton knows that it is considered unusual for him to be seen out of uniform, but he finds it even more unusual to see Meg Thatcher dressed down.
She tells him about the paperwork, the home inspections, the fees, the lawyers. About her dreams, and the rocking chair that stands in her second bedroom. About the disappointment and the emptiness. He listens, nods, makes the appropriate sympathetic noises. When she comes to a halt, he drops his eyes to consider the best response. Meg's drawn her knees up to her chest and pulled her socks off somewhere during the course of the conversation. Her toenails are painted silver. Benton has never known her to wear nail polish, but, of course, he's never had an opportunity before to consider that she might paint her toenails. He thinks that this is the best encapsulation of Meg he can imagine: hidden, delicate details where one might never think to look.
He meets her eyes. They are sad, the inner ends of her eyebrows raised in telling expression. "Meg," he starts. "I'm so sorry. I wish things were different. I wish- I'm so sorry." He opens his arms and she curls into them. They sit there a long while; nothing else needs to be said.
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no subject
Date: 2009-05-21 08:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-30 03:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-22 03:26 am (UTC)This was really well done. I liked the whole idea of them both dressed down, and how they intereact with something so heavy for Meg. Kudos.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-30 03:32 am (UTC)I'm so pleased you liked it. Thank you kindly!
no subject
Date: 2009-05-22 06:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-30 03:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-22 09:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-30 03:36 am (UTC)Yeah. I'd much rather see him buying ice cream for Meg, you know? Thank you kindly for your comment - I'm glad you enjoyed it.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-23 11:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-30 03:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-24 07:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-30 03:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-24 09:12 pm (UTC)He thinks that this is the best encapsulation of Meg he can imagine: hidden, delicate details where one might never think to look.
...which is why I love Thatcher so much.
I was going to suggest that you post this to
no subject
Date: 2009-05-30 03:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-30 03:02 am (UTC)And this, He thinks that this is the best encapsulation of Meg he can imagine: hidden, delicate details where one might never think to look, this is absolutely perfect. <3
no subject
Date: 2009-05-30 03:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 09:49 pm (UTC)