Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2009-04-20 04:01 pm
ptahrrific) wrote2009-04-20 04:01 pm
Entry tags:
Strangers With Candy: Why Should I Care?, part 9
Title: Why Should I Care? (9/12?)
Series: Strangers With Candy
Pairings: Seamus/OMC; Chuck/Geoffrey; Jon/"Stephen"
Rating: PG
Contents: Salty language, steamy scenes, cooking with blowtorches.
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stellar_dust
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use.
Summary: In which Chuck is occupied, Jerri meets Jon, Seamus starts sewing, George keeps cooking, and Stephen worries.
Previous chapters here.
Why Should I Care?
Part Nine
Seamus hadn't had time to clean the apartment when George arrived, so the couch and chairs were draped with swatches of fabric, quite a few of them featuring needles that stuck up in unexpected places. They ended up sitting practically in each other's laps in order to fit on one of the few clean patches of floor.
Not that Seamus minded.
"Is this really all for one class?" asked George, leaning back against his chest. "They're working you awfully hard."
"The store gives you a discount on all their fabric when you sign up for the class," explained Seamus. "And, well, I may have gotten a little carried away."
George caught up Seamus' hands in his own, pressed his lips to the bandaged fingers. "You having fun?"
"I'm the only guy there. The rest are a bunch of middle-aged women who tell me what a sweet young man I am for helping out my mother like this. All we've learned are a couple of basic stitches, which should be easy because I already know what they're supposed to look like, but I keep jabbing myself with the stupid needles anyway. And I've spent half the week's food budget on fabrics I don't have a clue how to handle."
He tucked his head against George's shoulder, laughed against the nape of the younger man's neck. "I'm having the time of my life!"
§
It was a measure of how high his spirits truly were that Seamus found himself standing before Dad's apartment, fully intending to tell him everything.
Well. Maybe not everything. Maybe he would gloss over the sheer number of guys he had slept with, and leave out altogether the detail that they had ranged from teenage boys to men as old as Dad himself. And he would definitely hold off on the part where he was searching for the perfect shade of yellow ribbon to accent the ruffles of his spring-green dress. Best to ease his straight-laced father into this stuff slowly and deliberately.
But he could start with the good parts. Dad, I'm in love. And it's real love, not like the accident that forced you and Mom together. Yeah, I know, so you don't need to worry about keeping secrets from me any more. But I'm glad you kept it, because it probably would have wrecked me if I had found out before I met George....
His hand was hovering over the buzzer when he heard a strange noise from inside.
After checking to make sure he was alone in the hall, Seamus took a step forward and pressed his ear to the door. He knew he had encountered a sound like that somewhere before, but he couldn't for the life of him place it.
There it went again—and Seamus stumbled backward like he'd been hit with a brick.
It was laughter.
Dad was laughing.
This was followed by some kind of scuffle, accompanied by a high-pitched squeal of delight.
Seamus was halfway down the stairs before he could hear any more. It wasn't as if Dad couldn't screw around with whoever he wanted—he was single, after all—but damned if Seamus was going to listen to it, let alone try to compete with this bimbo for Dad's attention when he had something serious to say.
Stupid! Why hadn't he called ahead? Not that this revelation would have gone well anyway, even if he hadn't had to interrupt Dad's little romp to announce it. Maybe the whole thing had been a bad idea in the first place.
§
Seamus was woken from a truly surreal dream by the sound of sizzling.
For a moment he was too disoriented to recognize where he was, let alone why there would be strange noises in his kitchen. Then he remembered that he had decided to take a short nap on the couch, which had apparently turned into a long nap on the couch; and that he had given George a key.
Sure enough, his boyfriend was standing over the stove, poking at a couple of strips of bacon with a spatula.
"So is that gourmet bacon, or what?" he asked, leaning against the doorjamb.
"Nah, just the regular kind," replied George without looking up. "I like junk food too, you know. Sleep well?"
"Pretty well. Crazy dreams. There were these Madame Precious dolls in ripped dresses, and I was trying to fix them, but I kept jabbing the poor things with the needles, and then...and then...I dunno. Something. It's gone now. Hey, you're a psych student, right? Can you analyze that?"
"Don't even go there," said George immediately. "It's never a good idea to sleep with your patients. You want to slice the grapefruit?"
"On it." Seamus was pulling out the cutting board when it hit him. "I don't have any grapefruit."
"Bag on the table."
"You don't have to buy me food," said Seamus grimly, though he began cutting the first fruit into neat, juicy eighths anyway. "Just because I wasted some money on pretty cloth doesn't mean I'm going to starve. Besides, it was my choice."
"And it's my choice to feed you," countered George, switching off the burner and dumping the crackling bacon onto a plate. "You worry so much about taking care of me. Why shouldn't I care for you once in a while?"
§
If Seamus had known in advance that Education 240 involved mandatory field work, he never would have gotten involved. (Given that the course was called Perspectives on Literacy, he probably should have read the course description at some point.)
On the other hand, reading Dr. Seuss to the eight-year-olds in the after-school program was kind of fun.
At least, until the bright spring day when he looked up from Hop On Pop and saw Jerri in the entryway, deep in conversation with an understandably nervous-looking Jon Stewart.
"Okay, kids," he said overloudly, slamming the book shut, "who wants to have a contest?" There was a feltboard on the wall with brightly colored capital letters arranged below it; he quickly assembled the word RATATOUILLE across the middle. "In a couple minutes I'm going to ask you how this is pronounced. The first person to say it right gets a prize. Got it? Good. I'll be right back."
So saying, he hightailed it over to the door.
"Hi there!" he said brightly, cutting off Jerri in mid-word. "What are you doing here?"
Jerri looked appalled. "Seamus Noblet, where are your manners?" she demanded, in what might have been her attempt to affect the manner of a Southern belle. "Mr. Stewart founded this program! You'll have to excuse him, good sir. Seamus here was raised by wolves."
"Was not. Wait, this place is one of yours? George never mentioned it."
"George?" interrupted Jerri. "What does your little slice of fine dark chocolate have to do with this?"
"I've told you, he's not my—Mr. Stewart, just ignore everything she says."
"Well, I never!" cried Jerri. "What if I had been about to tell him that you were my star pupil?"
"Um," said Seamus.
"That you clearly had a flair for this edumacation thingamajig? Even more so than your father?"
Seamus snorted. "Like that's hard."
"Don't be so sure." Jerri turned back to Stewart, who had been silently tracking the conversation like a man watching a tennis match. "Do you know, it was this man's father who taught me to read?"
Stewart raised his eyebrows. "Is that so?"
"It most surely is. I was but a poor idiot savant: greatly skilled in the arts of love and hallucinogen production, but sadly deficient in the realm of letters. It took the care, attention, and dedicated shouting of a tortured but brilliant teacher to lead me to the light of literacy. The story was nothing short of miraculous. Lifetime ought to be picking up the script any day now."
"I see." Stewart's lips quirked in what looked like gentle amusement. "Pretty good for a wolf."
Jerri squinted. "Say again?"
"Maybe later." Stewart turned to Seamus, who was still mute with the shock of hearing that Dad had actually taught something. "Listen, I should let you get back to the kids. It was nice running into you."
"Sure," stammered Seamus. "Um—will you be here when we're done?"
"I can be. Do you want to talk?"
"That would be great."
"Then it's a plan. I'll see you then." Stewart smiled warmly at Seamus, ruffled Jerri's hair (she giggled like a little girl at the attention), and headed on to the next classroom with his steady, deliberate gait.
"I didn't know Dad ever taught English," remarked Seamus once the older man had gone.
Jerri answered this with a long-suffering sigh. "Young Mr. Noblet, your father has quite a few talents of which you know nothing."
§
"What is that for?"
"Crème brûlée. You do have eggs, right? I brought everything else."
"Of course I have eggs," said Seamus. George had trained him to always have a few on hand. "I'm talking about the...is that a blowtorch?"
"Best way to caramelize the sugar," said George brightly. "Well, I guess we could simmer it separately, but this is a lot more fun."
"You cook with a blowtorch," repeated Seamus in disbelief, following him in. "I'm kind of surprised your dad even let you near one."
"He wasn't thrilled about it at first. But Aunt Cholly insisted, and she's kind of hardcore about cooking."
Seamus found himself laughing. "Never would have guessed."
They separated egg yolks and halved vanilla beans, mixed the cream and steeped the mixture, and at last had four little dishes in the oven. While the stuff baked, Seamus scrubbed his hands thoroughly, making sure George did the same, and pulled out the wedding dress.
"I can redo the seams," he said quietly, passing George a satin glove. "It's the same stitch as this, see? It's all loose and knotted on that end, but I get the hang of it halfway through the fingers, and by the thumb it's almost completely even."
George handled the sloppy, awkward glove like some kind of exotic flower. "It's beautiful. Are you gonna bead it, so it goes with the dress?"
"What? Oh, no. Definitely not. I couldn't pull that off. Not at that level." Not yet. "But...I think I could take it in. The stomach, I mean."
George cocked his head. "Are you sure you want to?"
"Why wouldn't I? As long as I'm fixing it, might as well go all the way."
"It's not the same," protested George. "Sewing up the busted seams is one thing, but this...." He ran his fingers over the curve of the fabric. "This was you. And if sewing yourself out of the picture is 'fixing' it, well, maybe it doesn't need to be fixed."
§
Hands wrapped firmly in mismatched hot mitts, Seamus settled the ceramic dishes on a wire cooling rack.
"Once they hit room temperature, they need to chill in the fridge for a couple of hours," explained George, leaning back against the kitchen table. "I've got a class in the meantime, but I'll come back this evening, okay?"
"Sounds like a plan. And that's when we torch the sugar?"
"Exactly." A grin flashed on George's face, then faded. "Seamus...is it okay if I leave the torch here?"
"Don't see why not." Seamus shrugged off the mitts and tossed them on the counter. "Probably violates half a dozen lines in the lease, but as long as nobody sees it, we should be fine."
"I figured." George bit his lip and looked away. "I mean...you won't do anything stupid, will you?"
There was something odd about his tone. Seamus studied him for a moment, until suddenly it came together. "You mean stupid like setting a dress on fire," he said quietly.
"Yeah. Like that."
Wrapping his hands around George's narrow hips, Seamus hefted the younger man to sit on the edge of the table, putting them closer to eye level. "Nothing stupid," he echoed, cupping one palm against George's face and threading his fingers through the jet-black hair. "I mean, I'm sure I'll do plenty of boneheaded things in the future, but I won't do that. And definitely not today."
"You promise?"
Seamus knew that if he let himself keep talking, he would start swearing to never do anything that would make George worry again, and it wouldn't be a promise he could keep. So he settled for pulling George into a possessive kiss, and hoped the meaning would come through.
§
The suit was secondhand, and even after hours of Seamus' amateur alteration it didn't sit quite right, especially across his shoulders.
He was hoping Colbert wouldn't notice, but there was little chance of that. Once he had learned George's parents had been on TV, Seamus had done a bit of research. There were thousands of hours of footage of both of them, far too much to just casually flip through in an afternoon, but one thing was clear: Stephen Colbert wore suits like he was born in one.
Sure enough, when George's father arrived at the restaurant, he looked as pristine as if he had just come out of the box. The heat of the day outside didn't seem to have touched him. If the man had announced that he had bought this entire outfit just for the occasion, Seamus would have believed it.
And then he would have felt even more out-of-his-league than he did already.
"Glad you could join me, Mr. Colbert," he said, rising to shake the older man's hand.
To his surprise, Colbert gave him a brilliant smile. "I said to call me Stephen, and I meant it."
"Um," said Seamus. "If you're sure."
"Please."
Colbert smoothed down his tie as he settled into the booth; Seamus found himself mimicking the gesture. "I feel like we got off on the wrong foot the last time we met," he began. "And I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I care about your son, Mr. Co...Stephen. Very much."
"What a coincidence," said Stephen, picking up a roll from the bowl in the center of the table and turning it over between his fingers. "So do I. Which is why it worries me to see him dropping everything to drive halfway across the state because he got a phone call."
Seamus twitched, but he held the man's gaze. "I didn't ask him to do that. I didn't know he was going to. I just needed someone to talk to."
"So you had to interrupt George's vacation? He's still young, you know. Needs his down time."
"When I was his age," said Seamus, clenching his fists under the table, "I was working full time, because my father missed half the alimony payments and my mother kept getting fired for coming in hung over. And George is at least as capable as I am."
For a moment Stephen's stare bored into him, accompanied by a curving of the eyebrows that would have put the St. Louis Arch to shame.
Then the expression softened into a smile: not the over-charming greeting-guests-on-television one, but something calmer, more thoughtful. "You're more complicated than you look, Seamus Noblet."
"...thank you?"
"It's a good thing, don't worry." There went the eyebrow again. "You look like a leech who would use my son and walk away as soon as you've bled him dry."
"That's the last thing I'd—"
Seamus broke off. How many times had he come within a hair's breadth of running?
"Look, I'm not very good at this commitment thing, okay?" he amended. "But George—George makes me want to be good at it. He makes me try to be a better person. He makes me feel like I can be a better person. And the more this goes on, the more I realize that I never want to let it go."
He froze. In one swift motion Stephen had ripped the bread in his hands in two.
Only after following Seamus' gaze did Stephen seem to realize what he had done. "Sorry about that," he said quietly, setting the roll aside and brushing the crumbs from his hands. "Look, Seamus...if this conversation is going where I think it's going, can we table it until the wine shows up?"
Series: Strangers With Candy
Pairings: Seamus/OMC; Chuck/Geoffrey; Jon/"Stephen"
Rating: PG
Contents: Salty language, steamy scenes, cooking with blowtorches.
Beta:
stellar_dustDisclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use.
Summary: In which Chuck is occupied, Jerri meets Jon, Seamus starts sewing, George keeps cooking, and Stephen worries.
Previous chapters here.
Why Should I Care?
Part Nine
Seamus hadn't had time to clean the apartment when George arrived, so the couch and chairs were draped with swatches of fabric, quite a few of them featuring needles that stuck up in unexpected places. They ended up sitting practically in each other's laps in order to fit on one of the few clean patches of floor.
Not that Seamus minded.
"Is this really all for one class?" asked George, leaning back against his chest. "They're working you awfully hard."
"The store gives you a discount on all their fabric when you sign up for the class," explained Seamus. "And, well, I may have gotten a little carried away."
George caught up Seamus' hands in his own, pressed his lips to the bandaged fingers. "You having fun?"
"I'm the only guy there. The rest are a bunch of middle-aged women who tell me what a sweet young man I am for helping out my mother like this. All we've learned are a couple of basic stitches, which should be easy because I already know what they're supposed to look like, but I keep jabbing myself with the stupid needles anyway. And I've spent half the week's food budget on fabrics I don't have a clue how to handle."
He tucked his head against George's shoulder, laughed against the nape of the younger man's neck. "I'm having the time of my life!"
It was a measure of how high his spirits truly were that Seamus found himself standing before Dad's apartment, fully intending to tell him everything.
Well. Maybe not everything. Maybe he would gloss over the sheer number of guys he had slept with, and leave out altogether the detail that they had ranged from teenage boys to men as old as Dad himself. And he would definitely hold off on the part where he was searching for the perfect shade of yellow ribbon to accent the ruffles of his spring-green dress. Best to ease his straight-laced father into this stuff slowly and deliberately.
But he could start with the good parts. Dad, I'm in love. And it's real love, not like the accident that forced you and Mom together. Yeah, I know, so you don't need to worry about keeping secrets from me any more. But I'm glad you kept it, because it probably would have wrecked me if I had found out before I met George....
His hand was hovering over the buzzer when he heard a strange noise from inside.
After checking to make sure he was alone in the hall, Seamus took a step forward and pressed his ear to the door. He knew he had encountered a sound like that somewhere before, but he couldn't for the life of him place it.
There it went again—and Seamus stumbled backward like he'd been hit with a brick.
It was laughter.
Dad was laughing.
This was followed by some kind of scuffle, accompanied by a high-pitched squeal of delight.
Seamus was halfway down the stairs before he could hear any more. It wasn't as if Dad couldn't screw around with whoever he wanted—he was single, after all—but damned if Seamus was going to listen to it, let alone try to compete with this bimbo for Dad's attention when he had something serious to say.
Stupid! Why hadn't he called ahead? Not that this revelation would have gone well anyway, even if he hadn't had to interrupt Dad's little romp to announce it. Maybe the whole thing had been a bad idea in the first place.
Seamus was woken from a truly surreal dream by the sound of sizzling.
For a moment he was too disoriented to recognize where he was, let alone why there would be strange noises in his kitchen. Then he remembered that he had decided to take a short nap on the couch, which had apparently turned into a long nap on the couch; and that he had given George a key.
Sure enough, his boyfriend was standing over the stove, poking at a couple of strips of bacon with a spatula.
"So is that gourmet bacon, or what?" he asked, leaning against the doorjamb.
"Nah, just the regular kind," replied George without looking up. "I like junk food too, you know. Sleep well?"
"Pretty well. Crazy dreams. There were these Madame Precious dolls in ripped dresses, and I was trying to fix them, but I kept jabbing the poor things with the needles, and then...and then...I dunno. Something. It's gone now. Hey, you're a psych student, right? Can you analyze that?"
"Don't even go there," said George immediately. "It's never a good idea to sleep with your patients. You want to slice the grapefruit?"
"On it." Seamus was pulling out the cutting board when it hit him. "I don't have any grapefruit."
"Bag on the table."
"You don't have to buy me food," said Seamus grimly, though he began cutting the first fruit into neat, juicy eighths anyway. "Just because I wasted some money on pretty cloth doesn't mean I'm going to starve. Besides, it was my choice."
"And it's my choice to feed you," countered George, switching off the burner and dumping the crackling bacon onto a plate. "You worry so much about taking care of me. Why shouldn't I care for you once in a while?"
If Seamus had known in advance that Education 240 involved mandatory field work, he never would have gotten involved. (Given that the course was called Perspectives on Literacy, he probably should have read the course description at some point.)
On the other hand, reading Dr. Seuss to the eight-year-olds in the after-school program was kind of fun.
At least, until the bright spring day when he looked up from Hop On Pop and saw Jerri in the entryway, deep in conversation with an understandably nervous-looking Jon Stewart.
"Okay, kids," he said overloudly, slamming the book shut, "who wants to have a contest?" There was a feltboard on the wall with brightly colored capital letters arranged below it; he quickly assembled the word RATATOUILLE across the middle. "In a couple minutes I'm going to ask you how this is pronounced. The first person to say it right gets a prize. Got it? Good. I'll be right back."
So saying, he hightailed it over to the door.
"Hi there!" he said brightly, cutting off Jerri in mid-word. "What are you doing here?"
Jerri looked appalled. "Seamus Noblet, where are your manners?" she demanded, in what might have been her attempt to affect the manner of a Southern belle. "Mr. Stewart founded this program! You'll have to excuse him, good sir. Seamus here was raised by wolves."
"Was not. Wait, this place is one of yours? George never mentioned it."
"George?" interrupted Jerri. "What does your little slice of fine dark chocolate have to do with this?"
"I've told you, he's not my—Mr. Stewart, just ignore everything she says."
"Well, I never!" cried Jerri. "What if I had been about to tell him that you were my star pupil?"
"Um," said Seamus.
"That you clearly had a flair for this edumacation thingamajig? Even more so than your father?"
Seamus snorted. "Like that's hard."
"Don't be so sure." Jerri turned back to Stewart, who had been silently tracking the conversation like a man watching a tennis match. "Do you know, it was this man's father who taught me to read?"
Stewart raised his eyebrows. "Is that so?"
"It most surely is. I was but a poor idiot savant: greatly skilled in the arts of love and hallucinogen production, but sadly deficient in the realm of letters. It took the care, attention, and dedicated shouting of a tortured but brilliant teacher to lead me to the light of literacy. The story was nothing short of miraculous. Lifetime ought to be picking up the script any day now."
"I see." Stewart's lips quirked in what looked like gentle amusement. "Pretty good for a wolf."
Jerri squinted. "Say again?"
"Maybe later." Stewart turned to Seamus, who was still mute with the shock of hearing that Dad had actually taught something. "Listen, I should let you get back to the kids. It was nice running into you."
"Sure," stammered Seamus. "Um—will you be here when we're done?"
"I can be. Do you want to talk?"
"That would be great."
"Then it's a plan. I'll see you then." Stewart smiled warmly at Seamus, ruffled Jerri's hair (she giggled like a little girl at the attention), and headed on to the next classroom with his steady, deliberate gait.
"I didn't know Dad ever taught English," remarked Seamus once the older man had gone.
Jerri answered this with a long-suffering sigh. "Young Mr. Noblet, your father has quite a few talents of which you know nothing."
"What is that for?"
"Crème brûlée. You do have eggs, right? I brought everything else."
"Of course I have eggs," said Seamus. George had trained him to always have a few on hand. "I'm talking about the...is that a blowtorch?"
"Best way to caramelize the sugar," said George brightly. "Well, I guess we could simmer it separately, but this is a lot more fun."
"You cook with a blowtorch," repeated Seamus in disbelief, following him in. "I'm kind of surprised your dad even let you near one."
"He wasn't thrilled about it at first. But Aunt Cholly insisted, and she's kind of hardcore about cooking."
Seamus found himself laughing. "Never would have guessed."
They separated egg yolks and halved vanilla beans, mixed the cream and steeped the mixture, and at last had four little dishes in the oven. While the stuff baked, Seamus scrubbed his hands thoroughly, making sure George did the same, and pulled out the wedding dress.
"I can redo the seams," he said quietly, passing George a satin glove. "It's the same stitch as this, see? It's all loose and knotted on that end, but I get the hang of it halfway through the fingers, and by the thumb it's almost completely even."
George handled the sloppy, awkward glove like some kind of exotic flower. "It's beautiful. Are you gonna bead it, so it goes with the dress?"
"What? Oh, no. Definitely not. I couldn't pull that off. Not at that level." Not yet. "But...I think I could take it in. The stomach, I mean."
George cocked his head. "Are you sure you want to?"
"Why wouldn't I? As long as I'm fixing it, might as well go all the way."
"It's not the same," protested George. "Sewing up the busted seams is one thing, but this...." He ran his fingers over the curve of the fabric. "This was you. And if sewing yourself out of the picture is 'fixing' it, well, maybe it doesn't need to be fixed."
Hands wrapped firmly in mismatched hot mitts, Seamus settled the ceramic dishes on a wire cooling rack.
"Once they hit room temperature, they need to chill in the fridge for a couple of hours," explained George, leaning back against the kitchen table. "I've got a class in the meantime, but I'll come back this evening, okay?"
"Sounds like a plan. And that's when we torch the sugar?"
"Exactly." A grin flashed on George's face, then faded. "Seamus...is it okay if I leave the torch here?"
"Don't see why not." Seamus shrugged off the mitts and tossed them on the counter. "Probably violates half a dozen lines in the lease, but as long as nobody sees it, we should be fine."
"I figured." George bit his lip and looked away. "I mean...you won't do anything stupid, will you?"
There was something odd about his tone. Seamus studied him for a moment, until suddenly it came together. "You mean stupid like setting a dress on fire," he said quietly.
"Yeah. Like that."
Wrapping his hands around George's narrow hips, Seamus hefted the younger man to sit on the edge of the table, putting them closer to eye level. "Nothing stupid," he echoed, cupping one palm against George's face and threading his fingers through the jet-black hair. "I mean, I'm sure I'll do plenty of boneheaded things in the future, but I won't do that. And definitely not today."
"You promise?"
Seamus knew that if he let himself keep talking, he would start swearing to never do anything that would make George worry again, and it wouldn't be a promise he could keep. So he settled for pulling George into a possessive kiss, and hoped the meaning would come through.
The suit was secondhand, and even after hours of Seamus' amateur alteration it didn't sit quite right, especially across his shoulders.
He was hoping Colbert wouldn't notice, but there was little chance of that. Once he had learned George's parents had been on TV, Seamus had done a bit of research. There were thousands of hours of footage of both of them, far too much to just casually flip through in an afternoon, but one thing was clear: Stephen Colbert wore suits like he was born in one.
Sure enough, when George's father arrived at the restaurant, he looked as pristine as if he had just come out of the box. The heat of the day outside didn't seem to have touched him. If the man had announced that he had bought this entire outfit just for the occasion, Seamus would have believed it.
And then he would have felt even more out-of-his-league than he did already.
"Glad you could join me, Mr. Colbert," he said, rising to shake the older man's hand.
To his surprise, Colbert gave him a brilliant smile. "I said to call me Stephen, and I meant it."
"Um," said Seamus. "If you're sure."
"Please."
Colbert smoothed down his tie as he settled into the booth; Seamus found himself mimicking the gesture. "I feel like we got off on the wrong foot the last time we met," he began. "And I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I care about your son, Mr. Co...Stephen. Very much."
"What a coincidence," said Stephen, picking up a roll from the bowl in the center of the table and turning it over between his fingers. "So do I. Which is why it worries me to see him dropping everything to drive halfway across the state because he got a phone call."
Seamus twitched, but he held the man's gaze. "I didn't ask him to do that. I didn't know he was going to. I just needed someone to talk to."
"So you had to interrupt George's vacation? He's still young, you know. Needs his down time."
"When I was his age," said Seamus, clenching his fists under the table, "I was working full time, because my father missed half the alimony payments and my mother kept getting fired for coming in hung over. And George is at least as capable as I am."
For a moment Stephen's stare bored into him, accompanied by a curving of the eyebrows that would have put the St. Louis Arch to shame.
Then the expression softened into a smile: not the over-charming greeting-guests-on-television one, but something calmer, more thoughtful. "You're more complicated than you look, Seamus Noblet."
"...thank you?"
"It's a good thing, don't worry." There went the eyebrow again. "You look like a leech who would use my son and walk away as soon as you've bled him dry."
"That's the last thing I'd—"
Seamus broke off. How many times had he come within a hair's breadth of running?
"Look, I'm not very good at this commitment thing, okay?" he amended. "But George—George makes me want to be good at it. He makes me try to be a better person. He makes me feel like I can be a better person. And the more this goes on, the more I realize that I never want to let it go."
He froze. In one swift motion Stephen had ripped the bread in his hands in two.
Only after following Seamus' gaze did Stephen seem to realize what he had done. "Sorry about that," he said quietly, setting the roll aside and brushing the crumbs from his hands. "Look, Seamus...if this conversation is going where I think it's going, can we table it until the wine shows up?"
no subject
Aw, Stephen. Don't worry- Seamus is much less messed up than you were.
Commitment! o_0
no subject
Commitment is on the way...
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"It's not the same," protested George. "Sewing up the busted seams is one thing, but this...." He ran his fingers over the curve of the fabric. "This was you. And if sewing yourself out of the picture is 'fixing' it, well, maybe it doesn't need to be fixed."
THIS.
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And I'm sure the Pixar classics have staying power, so someone in that class is gonna work it out =)
♥
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The scene with Jon and Jerri was...uh. Interesting. As most things involving Jerri are.
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That's our Jerri, all right ^_^;
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Oh god, I bet that sounded familiar to Stephen. The fact that it freaks him out speaks of a lot of emotional growth, and it's so interesting to see.
Jon had to interact with Jerri. Poor Jon. =P
Good stuff!
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Thanks!
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XD
Are we going to find out what was said in the conversation between Jon and Seamus at the school?
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And, of course, Awwwww..Chuck. :)
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And thanks!
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>"I've told you, he's not my—Mr. Stewart, just ignore everything she says."
haha! that's jerri all over. *g* it's amazing she functions this well, really. :D
i got really nervous when the blowtorch made an appearance, but nothing has burned down yet, so i'm relaxing. *g*
oh, how nice that seamus heard his father laughing! even if seamus wasn't happy about it...
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Nothing will be torched that isn't supposed to be, never fear.
Glad you like =D
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Seamus and his boyfriend are so cute and sweet and and- and Chuck and Jon and Jerri and Stephen, your Jerri and Jon were so perfect, and and i can't stop listening to this song http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vdoVIcWKVJI&feature=related and i think Seamus still believes in dolls.
LOVE.
Kagaya
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Seamus may, in some corner of his heart, still have a few secret doubts =P
♥!
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I hope this song is on it! I just heard it on the radio and went OMG, HI, SEAMUS. (It helped that I misheard the name, but w/e.)
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Oh, Geoffrey. ♥ I'm perversely happy that they've found their own little sliver of happiness, even if they had to seriously psychologically scar poor Seamus to do it.
Also may I just say that I do not approve of Seamus' taste in anything whatsoever but whatever maybe fashions have changed in however fuck-many years into the future this is but I still don't think that there's an excuse for his bullshit color choices.
That being said, I JUST REALIZED THAT WELL, OF COURSE THIS ENDS IN A WEDDING SINCE EVEN THE PHRASE THAT IS THE TITLE ENDS IN A WEDDING. :< I am very excited to hear it though equally confounded at my stupidity.
To his surprise, Colbert gave him a brilliant smile. "I said to call me Stephen, and I meant it."
lol wat i was not expecting that. Stephen's come a really long way, it seems.
Oh, and I can just see the frantic fumbling of "NO NOT MY BOY HE'S TOO YOUNG TO KNOW WHAT HE WANTS, REALLY, HE'S NOT EVEN DONE WITH SCHOOL SURELY HE'S NOT READY TO BE IN A BIG-BOY RELATIONSHIP AND GET MARRIED HE'S ONLY A BABY ;_________________________________;" behind his lines.
TL;DR: Yay, I enjoyed this, eagerly anticipating the conclusion, also Seamus finally facing his Daddy issues.
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Bah! I will draw Seamus in that dress and you will see that it is pretty after all!
And, hooray, someone figured out where the title is going!
You're spot-on about Stephen, too, poor guy. He's trying to be all calm and reasonable, but it's so hard.
It's on the way!
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THERE IS NO EXCUSE FOR SPRING GREEN.
EVER.
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do update this soon, i'm loving it!
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Thanks!
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This part has already been quoted at least once, but it absolutely deserves being quoted once more. It's a fine example of all the brilliant metaphors you are using during the whole story.
Just like the whole thing with the Madame Precious dolls. (Just shows what great things you can do in fanfiction with something that was only mentioned once in canon.)
And I know that I'm repeating myself, but I positively adore your Jerri. The encounter with Jon was awesome. (And of course, Jon immediately understood how to handle her, too.^^)
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Jon at this age has reached some kind of plateau of Zen. Nothing fazes him any more. Not even the incredibly fazing (...if that's a word) Jerri Blank.
♥
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I know what you mean. Sometimes you write something and suddenly everything comes together so perfectly that it's almost scary. Like a jigsaw puzzle that suddenly falls all in place when you weren't really aware you were trying to solve one.