Anniversary Challenge, by prudence dearly
Jul. 23rd, 2010 07:07 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfictionTitle: A Day Like Any Other Day
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
prudence_dearly
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski
Rating: G
Word count: 1,920
Summary: One day, over the years.
A/N: Thanks toexbex for beta. This is a kidfic from the Lucy 'verse.
There was a whirlwind going on at the front door, but Fraser didn’t get up immediately. He was looking at a photograph.
“Holy crap! What happened to her?”
“There was, um, well, there was an incident…”
“What is this stuff?”
“It’s food colouring.” Frannie’s voice was high-pitched. “I turned my back for one second, to stop Peter getting into the peanut butter, and when I turned back, she was covered in it. And don’t look at me like that, okay, if you didn’t encourage your daughter to go licking and sniffing and opening everything, she wouldn’t mess up her clothes like this.”
Fraser sighed, slipped the photo into his back pocket, and went out to help. It took half an hour to scrub the red food colouring out of Lucy’s hair and skin. They threw her clothes away.
“What’s gonna happen when she’s big enough to climb into dumpsters?” asked Ray, after they’d put Lucy to bed. This sort of thing was an ongoing concern. They’d put kid-safe plugs on all the sockets in the apartment, but Lucy was ingenious and sooner or later she’d figure out how to get them out, the same way she’d gotten around the kiddie-locks on the kitchen cupboards.
“I’ve told her over and over about this kind of thing,” said Fraser. “I believe she’s learning.”
“She’s two, Fraser, she doesn’t listen to lectures.” Ray lay on their bed with an arm over his eyes, exhaustion written on his face. Fraser lay down next to him.
“Then I suppose we’re just going to have to keep putting things out of reach.”
*
“What’s wrong with her?” Fraser asked after leaning in to kiss Ray’s cheek. Lucy’s bawling was competing with the sound of a hockey game on the kitchen tv. Ray was stirring viciously at pot of pasta on the stove, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
“Someone,” said Ray, “broke into the pantry and ate half a box of oreos, and someone got caught in the act, and someone won’t stop crying because she’s got a belly ache just like I told her she would, plus it’s the second time today that she got told off because someone ate someone else’s playdough at kindergarten today.”
“Lucy, I hope these tears aren’t preventing you from seriously considering the consequences of your behaviour,” said Fraser. Lucy ignored him. She was sitting at the kitchen table, hands by her sides, face red and swollen, damp with tears and snot. Fraser took out his handkerchief and gently wiped her down. “No, no,” he said, when she tried to snuggle in to him. “I agree with Dad. I’m sorry your stomach hurts, but you really have no one to blame but yourself.”
The crying started up again, twice as loud.
“I don’t think you’re helping,” said Ray from the stove.
“Sorry, Ray. How was your day?” Fraser ran one finger under the collar of his tunic as he poured himself a glass of milk. He hadn’t had a chance to take off his uniform yet.
“Oh, you know, scumbags, cheats, liars, homicidal maniacs, the usual.” Ray threw a glance at Lucy, who was far too concerned with her own woes to notice his. “Then there’s this pasta that’s still hard as a rock twenty minutes after I started cooking it, all the vegetables have gone soft, there’s no beer in the fridge and my daughter won’t stop screaming. The neighbours must think I’m killing her. I’m expecting the swat team any minute.” The wooden spoon he was using to stir the pasta clanged against the pot. Ray’s whole body was tense with frustration.
The heavy ache that had been resting behind Fraser’s right eye for most of the day sharpened its claws and started a slow crawl across his forehead. He rubbed at it hopelessly.
“We’re going to the store,” he said.
“You’re taking her? In that state?”
“Why should the neighbours be the only ones enjoying this performance? Why not share the burden with the local shop-keepers too?” Fraser scooped Lucy up and started out of the room with her. “We’ll bring back beer,” he said over his shoulder. With another glance at the stove he added, “And microwave pizza.”
*
“Is she asleep?”
Fraser pushed himself off the doorjamb and padded back into their own bedroom. “Yes, she’s sleeping now.”
“Sweet Jesus, I’d do anything not to see a clown ever again in my life.”
“Everything was going so well up until that point.” Fraser climbed into bed.
“Everyone’s scared of clowns. Who doesn’t know that? And what kind of idiot was he, anyway, jumping out like that – I nearly pulled my gun.”
“You weren’t wearing a gun, Ray. It was a child’s birthday party.”
“I shoulda been.” He groaned at the memory of one ordinary Sunday gone horribly awry. “I’ve never seen kids riot like that. Promise me we don’t have to have a party like that for Lucy’ birthday?”
“Not if I can help it,” Fraser said grimly.
*
Fraser pulled his notebook out of his pocket, and checked off item six: drop Lucy at school. It was 8.30am, and he’d ticked five other boxes so far:
- remember cartons for arts & crafts
- umbrella
- call Francesca and cancel after-school pick-up
- drop suit at tailor
- mail passport renewal forms
He looked at the rest of the list. Pick up milk, pick up flowers, book car service – all of which had to be done before he started his shift in (he checked his watch) thirty minutes. In his mind’s eye, Fraser saw the paperwork he’d left on his desk on Friday afternoon. He took a calming breath, and let it out.
“Excuse me!” a woman barreled past him, child in hand. She swung through the school doors, and moments later reappeared, sans child and with her cell phone in hand. “Don’t you just hate Monday mornings?” she said to Fraser as she hustled past him and back to her car. Fraser managed a tight smile of sympathy as he tucked his list back into his pocket.
*
For a moment the noise of the crowd was deafening. The cheers and shouts echoed around the sports field. The woman to his left was jumping up and down and shrieking at the top of her lungs. On his other side, Ray was doing his own version of the same thing. Fraser pressed his left arm tighter to his body, trying to protect himself against jostling – a fruitless effort, in this mass of enthusiastic parents.
The sling was helping a little with his arm, but the trouble now was with the three cracked ribs. They made themselves known every time he drew a breath and shouted. Fraser tried to ignore them, raising his own voice, yelling encouragement and advice that Lucy couldn’t possibly hear.
All the various calls from the crowd were united in a single chorus as the ball flew past the goalie. Ray grabbed Fraser’s good arm and Fraser grabbed him right back, and the pain from that fall from the fire escape was momentarily forgotten in a rush of euphoria.
By the time the game was over, Fraser was exhausted. They waited as the coach tried to talk Lucy and her team down off the post-game high.
“You doing okay there, buddy?” asked Ray. Fraser leaned against the railing and gave a half-shrug.
“Dad! Daddy! Did you see me?!” Lucy was upon them, jumping and squeaking, her face flushed with victory. Ray snatched her up into his arms and spun her around, hooting with pride.
“Yeah we saw you! Player of the day! Soccer superstar!”
Back on the ground, she gave Fraser a gentler hug, beaming up into his face. “The others are all going to get victory burgers,” she said. “Can I go too?”
“Sure thing,” said Ray. “Frase, I’ll be back in a second.” He went off to confer with the other parents, and Fraser watched their daughter, still elated from scoring the only goal in the game. Fraser felt as if he was glowing, his pride radiating off him, only wishing that it wasn’t dulled by the ache of broken bones.
“Hannah’s mom’s gonna bring her home after lunch,” said Ray, reappearing. “Okay, let’s get you outta here. I got a bottle of aspirin and a bed with your name on them.”
*
There was a knock on the bedroom door. Fraser rubbed his eyes and leaned up on one elbow.
“Come in.”
The door swung open, and Lucy entered, carrying a tray. On it was a bottle of champagne, two glasses, and a plate with croissants. With a small frown of concentration she placed the tray carefully on the bedside table, the champagne flutes clinking slightly against each other.
Ray was grumbling expletives under his breath, which meant that he was still half asleep but slowly waking up.
“Good morning, Daddy.” Lucy kissed Fraser on the cheek. “Good morning, Dad.”
Ray grunted in reply.
“What’s all this?” asked Fraser, sitting up against the headboard and regarding the champagne breakfast.
“It’s for our anniversary,” said Lucy. She poured the champagne into the flutes. “I went down to the bakery and got the croissants fresh from the oven.”
Ray was sitting up now. “How did you get champagne?” he asked suspiciously.
“Josie’s dad got it for me when I told him it was a special occasion. He’s going to call you at lunchtime to check.” Lucy unfurled a napkin and handed it to Fraser, then handed another over to Ray. Josie’s dad was a cop. Fraser sometimes suspected that he was a little over-protective of his sixteen-year-old daughter and her friends, but then, it didn’t seem to have done them any harm yet.
“What’s this all for?” Ray struggled to prop himself up against the pillows. It was Sunday morning and he wouldn’t ordinarily have been awake before 10am. He grabbed the glass Lucy held out to him and took a sip. Oddly, he didn’t care for champagne except at breakfast. Fraser wished they had some strawberries.
Lucy took a battered photograph from her shirt pocket. “Sixteen years ago today,” she said, and held it up for them to see.
In the picture, Fraser and Ray stood outside the adoption agency. In Ray’s arms lay Lucy, tiny and fragile, a shock of black hair and one small fist visible amongst the blankets. Fraser’s arm was around Ray’s shoulder and they were both smiling, looking dazed, their eyes holding the same shine. That day had been a long time coming.
The adoption agent had taken the picture for them. Then they’d taken their new daughter home, and, looking down at her lying in her bassinet for the first time, had confessed to each other that they were terrified.
“She’s so tiny,” Ray had whispered.
“She’s beautiful,” Fraser had whispered back. Then, “What do we do with her now?”
Lucy kissed them both again, then left them to their breakfast.
“Huh,” said Ray, chewing on half a croissant. “I didn’t know that was today. Did you know that?”
“Yes, Ray.”
“Well how did she know that?”
“They’re studying genealogy this semester. She’s been looking through the adoption paperwork.”
“Oh, right.” Ray emptied his glass and held it out for more. “Do you think we should’ve, like, done something? I mean, before now? To mark the day?”
“No,” said Fraser. He smiled at Ray. “We’ve been far too busy.”
Ray grinned back. “This is nice, though.”
“Yes, Ray. This is nice.”
Author:
prudence_dearly Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski
Rating: G
Word count: 1,920
Summary: One day, over the years.
A/N: Thanks to
exbex for beta. This is a kidfic from the Lucy 'verse.There was a whirlwind going on at the front door, but Fraser didn’t get up immediately. He was looking at a photograph.
“Holy crap! What happened to her?”
“There was, um, well, there was an incident…”
“What is this stuff?”
“It’s food colouring.” Frannie’s voice was high-pitched. “I turned my back for one second, to stop Peter getting into the peanut butter, and when I turned back, she was covered in it. And don’t look at me like that, okay, if you didn’t encourage your daughter to go licking and sniffing and opening everything, she wouldn’t mess up her clothes like this.”
Fraser sighed, slipped the photo into his back pocket, and went out to help. It took half an hour to scrub the red food colouring out of Lucy’s hair and skin. They threw her clothes away.
“What’s gonna happen when she’s big enough to climb into dumpsters?” asked Ray, after they’d put Lucy to bed. This sort of thing was an ongoing concern. They’d put kid-safe plugs on all the sockets in the apartment, but Lucy was ingenious and sooner or later she’d figure out how to get them out, the same way she’d gotten around the kiddie-locks on the kitchen cupboards.
“I’ve told her over and over about this kind of thing,” said Fraser. “I believe she’s learning.”
“She’s two, Fraser, she doesn’t listen to lectures.” Ray lay on their bed with an arm over his eyes, exhaustion written on his face. Fraser lay down next to him.
“Then I suppose we’re just going to have to keep putting things out of reach.”
*
“What’s wrong with her?” Fraser asked after leaning in to kiss Ray’s cheek. Lucy’s bawling was competing with the sound of a hockey game on the kitchen tv. Ray was stirring viciously at pot of pasta on the stove, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
“Someone,” said Ray, “broke into the pantry and ate half a box of oreos, and someone got caught in the act, and someone won’t stop crying because she’s got a belly ache just like I told her she would, plus it’s the second time today that she got told off because someone ate someone else’s playdough at kindergarten today.”
“Lucy, I hope these tears aren’t preventing you from seriously considering the consequences of your behaviour,” said Fraser. Lucy ignored him. She was sitting at the kitchen table, hands by her sides, face red and swollen, damp with tears and snot. Fraser took out his handkerchief and gently wiped her down. “No, no,” he said, when she tried to snuggle in to him. “I agree with Dad. I’m sorry your stomach hurts, but you really have no one to blame but yourself.”
The crying started up again, twice as loud.
“I don’t think you’re helping,” said Ray from the stove.
“Sorry, Ray. How was your day?” Fraser ran one finger under the collar of his tunic as he poured himself a glass of milk. He hadn’t had a chance to take off his uniform yet.
“Oh, you know, scumbags, cheats, liars, homicidal maniacs, the usual.” Ray threw a glance at Lucy, who was far too concerned with her own woes to notice his. “Then there’s this pasta that’s still hard as a rock twenty minutes after I started cooking it, all the vegetables have gone soft, there’s no beer in the fridge and my daughter won’t stop screaming. The neighbours must think I’m killing her. I’m expecting the swat team any minute.” The wooden spoon he was using to stir the pasta clanged against the pot. Ray’s whole body was tense with frustration.
The heavy ache that had been resting behind Fraser’s right eye for most of the day sharpened its claws and started a slow crawl across his forehead. He rubbed at it hopelessly.
“We’re going to the store,” he said.
“You’re taking her? In that state?”
“Why should the neighbours be the only ones enjoying this performance? Why not share the burden with the local shop-keepers too?” Fraser scooped Lucy up and started out of the room with her. “We’ll bring back beer,” he said over his shoulder. With another glance at the stove he added, “And microwave pizza.”
*
“Is she asleep?”
Fraser pushed himself off the doorjamb and padded back into their own bedroom. “Yes, she’s sleeping now.”
“Sweet Jesus, I’d do anything not to see a clown ever again in my life.”
“Everything was going so well up until that point.” Fraser climbed into bed.
“Everyone’s scared of clowns. Who doesn’t know that? And what kind of idiot was he, anyway, jumping out like that – I nearly pulled my gun.”
“You weren’t wearing a gun, Ray. It was a child’s birthday party.”
“I shoulda been.” He groaned at the memory of one ordinary Sunday gone horribly awry. “I’ve never seen kids riot like that. Promise me we don’t have to have a party like that for Lucy’ birthday?”
“Not if I can help it,” Fraser said grimly.
*
Fraser pulled his notebook out of his pocket, and checked off item six: drop Lucy at school. It was 8.30am, and he’d ticked five other boxes so far:
- remember cartons for arts & crafts
- umbrella
- call Francesca and cancel after-school pick-up
- drop suit at tailor
- mail passport renewal forms
He looked at the rest of the list. Pick up milk, pick up flowers, book car service – all of which had to be done before he started his shift in (he checked his watch) thirty minutes. In his mind’s eye, Fraser saw the paperwork he’d left on his desk on Friday afternoon. He took a calming breath, and let it out.
“Excuse me!” a woman barreled past him, child in hand. She swung through the school doors, and moments later reappeared, sans child and with her cell phone in hand. “Don’t you just hate Monday mornings?” she said to Fraser as she hustled past him and back to her car. Fraser managed a tight smile of sympathy as he tucked his list back into his pocket.
*
For a moment the noise of the crowd was deafening. The cheers and shouts echoed around the sports field. The woman to his left was jumping up and down and shrieking at the top of her lungs. On his other side, Ray was doing his own version of the same thing. Fraser pressed his left arm tighter to his body, trying to protect himself against jostling – a fruitless effort, in this mass of enthusiastic parents.
The sling was helping a little with his arm, but the trouble now was with the three cracked ribs. They made themselves known every time he drew a breath and shouted. Fraser tried to ignore them, raising his own voice, yelling encouragement and advice that Lucy couldn’t possibly hear.
All the various calls from the crowd were united in a single chorus as the ball flew past the goalie. Ray grabbed Fraser’s good arm and Fraser grabbed him right back, and the pain from that fall from the fire escape was momentarily forgotten in a rush of euphoria.
By the time the game was over, Fraser was exhausted. They waited as the coach tried to talk Lucy and her team down off the post-game high.
“You doing okay there, buddy?” asked Ray. Fraser leaned against the railing and gave a half-shrug.
“Dad! Daddy! Did you see me?!” Lucy was upon them, jumping and squeaking, her face flushed with victory. Ray snatched her up into his arms and spun her around, hooting with pride.
“Yeah we saw you! Player of the day! Soccer superstar!”
Back on the ground, she gave Fraser a gentler hug, beaming up into his face. “The others are all going to get victory burgers,” she said. “Can I go too?”
“Sure thing,” said Ray. “Frase, I’ll be back in a second.” He went off to confer with the other parents, and Fraser watched their daughter, still elated from scoring the only goal in the game. Fraser felt as if he was glowing, his pride radiating off him, only wishing that it wasn’t dulled by the ache of broken bones.
“Hannah’s mom’s gonna bring her home after lunch,” said Ray, reappearing. “Okay, let’s get you outta here. I got a bottle of aspirin and a bed with your name on them.”
*
There was a knock on the bedroom door. Fraser rubbed his eyes and leaned up on one elbow.
“Come in.”
The door swung open, and Lucy entered, carrying a tray. On it was a bottle of champagne, two glasses, and a plate with croissants. With a small frown of concentration she placed the tray carefully on the bedside table, the champagne flutes clinking slightly against each other.
Ray was grumbling expletives under his breath, which meant that he was still half asleep but slowly waking up.
“Good morning, Daddy.” Lucy kissed Fraser on the cheek. “Good morning, Dad.”
Ray grunted in reply.
“What’s all this?” asked Fraser, sitting up against the headboard and regarding the champagne breakfast.
“It’s for our anniversary,” said Lucy. She poured the champagne into the flutes. “I went down to the bakery and got the croissants fresh from the oven.”
Ray was sitting up now. “How did you get champagne?” he asked suspiciously.
“Josie’s dad got it for me when I told him it was a special occasion. He’s going to call you at lunchtime to check.” Lucy unfurled a napkin and handed it to Fraser, then handed another over to Ray. Josie’s dad was a cop. Fraser sometimes suspected that he was a little over-protective of his sixteen-year-old daughter and her friends, but then, it didn’t seem to have done them any harm yet.
“What’s this all for?” Ray struggled to prop himself up against the pillows. It was Sunday morning and he wouldn’t ordinarily have been awake before 10am. He grabbed the glass Lucy held out to him and took a sip. Oddly, he didn’t care for champagne except at breakfast. Fraser wished they had some strawberries.
Lucy took a battered photograph from her shirt pocket. “Sixteen years ago today,” she said, and held it up for them to see.
In the picture, Fraser and Ray stood outside the adoption agency. In Ray’s arms lay Lucy, tiny and fragile, a shock of black hair and one small fist visible amongst the blankets. Fraser’s arm was around Ray’s shoulder and they were both smiling, looking dazed, their eyes holding the same shine. That day had been a long time coming.
The adoption agent had taken the picture for them. Then they’d taken their new daughter home, and, looking down at her lying in her bassinet for the first time, had confessed to each other that they were terrified.
“She’s so tiny,” Ray had whispered.
“She’s beautiful,” Fraser had whispered back. Then, “What do we do with her now?”
Lucy kissed them both again, then left them to their breakfast.
“Huh,” said Ray, chewing on half a croissant. “I didn’t know that was today. Did you know that?”
“Yes, Ray.”
“Well how did she know that?”
“They’re studying genealogy this semester. She’s been looking through the adoption paperwork.”
“Oh, right.” Ray emptied his glass and held it out for more. “Do you think we should’ve, like, done something? I mean, before now? To mark the day?”
“No,” said Fraser. He smiled at Ray. “We’ve been far too busy.”
Ray grinned back. “This is nice, though.”
“Yes, Ray. This is nice.”
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