Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2009-07-04 03:25 pm
ptahrrific) wrote2009-07-04 03:25 pm
Entry tags:
Strangers With Candy/Fake News: Why Should I Care?, epilogue
Title: Why Should I Care? (Epilogue)
Series: Strangers With Candy
Pairings: Seamus/OMC; Chuck/Geoffrey; Jon/"Stephen"
Rating: PG
Contents: References to sex; family drama
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stellar_dust, who gave thoughtful feedback on everything from sentence structure to character arcs, just rolled with it when I did things like randomly re-ordering chapters, and was generally helpful and awesome beyond belief.
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: Seamus wears a gown down the aisle and embraces his future. Love may not quite conquer all, but it doesn't do too badly for itself, either.
Those of you who have been waiting to see more of the dresses, check out Seamus in green, George in blue, the wedding portrait, and a bonus Seamus in slinky red. Previous chapters here.
(Would you believe this was originally supposed to be a one-shot?)
Why Should I Care?
Epilogue
It's the last class of the day, and the lesson finishes a few minutes early, so the students get some time to talk and pack up. As soon as the bell rings, they stampede for the door, followed by the teacher's call of "Recipes are online; make sure you pick one by Wednesday!"
Once they've all poured out into the hall, he does a quick round of the room, making sure the fridge and cupboards are locked, the sewing machines all unplugged. The bowl of free condoms is running low; he'll have to refill that soon.
The commotion at the lockers is so noisy that he doesn't notice there's somebody at the door until the visitor speaks. "Mr. Noblet?"
"Mr. Colbert," corrects Seamus, picking a torn wrapper from the bowl and lobbing it at the trash can before turning around. He's had to say the same thing to half the staff, from Principal Littlenut on down. "Mr. Noblet is my—"
His voice catches as his eyes land on the man in the doorway, hands stuffed awkwardly in pockets, looking more like an errant schoolboy himself than someone on the far side of retirement. For a moment neither one breathes.
"Father," Seamus finishes, and Dad relaxes, just a little.
§
They stumble through small talk as they walk down the street, shoulders a good foot apart and eyes fixed in front of them: technically walking together, but each taking care to keep their distance. Yes, Seamus is doing fine. Yes, he's teaching Home Ec. Yes, this is what he wants. ("It asks of me everything I know how to do," he says fondly. The phrase It has nothing to do with you goes unspoken, but hangs between them just the same.)
"And how is your...?" begins Dad, stumbling at the word.
"Husband?" prompts Seamus.
Dad nods.
He's clever and sexy and funny and charming as ever; he's knee-deep in work on his Ph.D.; he's spending the week in Malaysia for a psych conference, and I still haven't found all the notes he left around the house, but that's okay, because he has yet to discover what I stashed in his suitcase. "He's fine too."
They walk in silence for a bit. Dad probably knows these streets as well as Seamus does, though he hasn't lived on them for twenty years; but he doesn't try to lead, just matches Seamus' pace.
"I should have been there," mutters Dad abruptly.
It isn't quite an apology, but it's a start.
Seamus takes a deep breath. "I have pictures," he says. "Do you want to see?"
§
Not to brag, but Seamus looked stunning in the dress.
Mom had gotten a bit nervous when she found out about the wardrobe decision, until Seamus assured her that he was designing his own, not asking to borrow hers. Once that was settled, she turned out to be surprisingly calm about the basic idea of her son in drag. As though it weren't quite so distasteful that Seamus was marrying a man if he was going to dress like a woman while doing it.
Seamus decided not to give her details about the lingerie. It wasn't as if anyone but George would be seeing that, anyhow.
The plan had always been for Mom to give Seamus away.
("Even if—"
"Always.")
George, after waffling for several weeks about how much of his extensive family to drag to the altar behind him (changing his mind nine times in total; Seamus counted). In the end, he decided to go with symmetry (never mind that everything else was lopsided towards him, from the guest list to the bankrolling), and settled on a lone parent.
There was never any question about which one it would be.
By the time he got to the end of the aisle, Seamus was so wrapped up in George that he was barely aware of the bouquet in his hands, let alone that there was anybody else in the room. So it wasn't until the phrase 'Who gives this man?' was followed by a pregnant pause that he looked at Stephen at all.
That was when he realized that there were silent tears rolling down Stephen's cheeks, and had been for a while.
Seamus had been wondering why George insisted on slipping a couple of tissues into his tux pocket.
Charlene had offered to do the catering, but George put his foot down: "This is my wedding, Aunt Cholly. You're not allowed to miss a minute of it to be in the kitchen. Not even if they mix up the flour and the salt."
Seamus was a little worried about dragging the woman into the middle of a crowd, but as it turned out, when forced to be social, Charlene could be thoroughly charming. She seemed to greet everyone in the room before ending up deep in conversation with one of the Secret Service agents.
("Secret Service?"
"Er, bodyguards, anyway. They didn't give specifics. But, come on, don't tell me you didn't recognize this guest?"
"Hang on. Is that—?"
"It is."
"Eleanor Holmes Norton?"
"Yep."
"THE Eleanor Holmes Norton? As in, former Vice President Eleanor Holmes Norton?"
"The same."
"How—?"
"Apparently she owes Stephen a few favors.")
And if Charlene did look a little skeptical when she eventually tasted the cake, she never said a word.
For the music, though Stephen offered to get in touch with a dozen different platinum artists, they asked Jerri to play the violin. If there was any guest who needed to be kept away from the crowd....
("Wait, how did that junkie whore get into this?"
"Jerri's like a rash. She'll get everywhere.")
It had taken some serious cajoling to keep her from showing up in a low-cut dress, and when George's sister caught the bouquet Jerri tried to bite her. But the impossibly virtuoso score was worth it.
Jon gave a toast that was eloquent and funny and moving. Mom gave a toast that was hesitant but no less heartfelt. Stephen had mostly composed himself by this point, but he only made it through a few words before sitting back down.
After the first dance with George and a slow dance with Mom, Seamus retreated to a chair on the sidelines while George and Stephen took the floor. Their lips moved in constant whispered conversation as they swayed together, leaving Seamus to watch from the sidelines, feeling a pang of jealousy and wondering who, exactly, he was jealous of.
He jumped at the gloved hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Jon's understanding smile.
"He'd go through hell for George," murmured Seamus.
"He already has."
Jon didn't elaborate, and Seamus didn't ask.
("I'm sorry.")
§
Seamus looks up from the album. Dad is still focused on the picture, on the face that could almost be his.
"I'm a coward," he continues. "No wonder you dropped the name."
"I didn't," confesses Seamus. "Not quite. It's Seamus Noblet Colbert."
George's side of the family is littered with the wreckage of abandoned paternal last names, from Leibowitz and McShane to Col-bert with a hard T. Three of his four half-siblings have even ditched Colbert. After running through a whirlwind of replacement options (Winston, after Mom; Williams, if they followed the strategy of George's godparents; Noblet with a French pronunciation, which cracked them both up), Seamus decided not to let go of Dad's name entirely.
So it's still there, albeit tucked safely away in the middle. Colbert is the part he's going to pass on.
Dad swallows. "Maybe you should have," he says. "I couldn't go through hell for y...for anyone."
Which of course begs the question. "Not even Jellineck?"
"Geoffrey least of all," mutters Dad bitterly. "Can't even tell him I...."
He runs a wistful finger over one of the portraits: down the clean lines of George's tuxedo, along the hem of Seamus' rippling train of fabric. For the first time, Seamus notices the tiny tremors in his hands.
"You're a lot braver than I am, son," he finishes at last.
"The riches that you seek are waiting on the other side," quotes Seamus softly.
It takes a few beats for the words to sink in.
A second later, Dad's head whips up, eyes wide in recognition and fear. Like Seamus has just recited one of his passwords, instead of a line from a fifty-year-old rock song. "How—?"
"Jerri told me," explains Seamus quickly. "How you used to sing to yourself, when you thought nobody was listening."
"The songs aren't true, anyway," stammers his father uncertainly. "Can you really tell me you haven't lost anything? People must judge you for...." He waves his hand at the portrait, the motion encompassing George's race and gender and Seamus' thing for pretty dresses all at once. "...all this!"
Frightened though Dad sounds, a smile breaks across Seamus' face. For once, he knows exactly what to say.
§
The music crescendoed, fell, and shifted into a lighter tempo; and then the whole crowd began to make its way onto the floor, while Jerri worked the violin like...okay, Seamus didn't really want to think about the other things Jerri had worked. But she did it well.
As Jon stepped up to Stephen's side, Seamus gathered George into his arms before turning to his fathers-in-law. "Thank you. For being here. For everything."
"It was our pleasure," said Jon warmly. Stephen even gave them a genuine smile before taking Jon's arm.
Seamus followed the pair with his eyes as they made their way back to the table, until George rested both hands on his waist and began leading him in slow circles. "You all right?"
"Just thinking," admitted Seamus, the train of his dress sweeping behind him as they swirled. "I hope we're like them when we get older."
"My dads are pretty awesome," agreed George with a wry smile, before sobering. "And...yours will come around, Seamus Colbert. Sooner or later."
Seamus shrugged as the guests flowed around them, surrounding him with old friends and new family. He could feel Dad's absence, sure, but it wasn't a gaping hole. Maybe his father would adjust eventually; maybe not. In the meantime, it would be okay. He would be okay.
"Why should I care?" he asked, and meant it, as he pulled George close. "I'm married."
Series: Strangers With Candy
Pairings: Seamus/OMC; Chuck/Geoffrey; Jon/"Stephen"
Rating: PG
Contents: References to sex; family drama
Beta:
stellar_dust, who gave thoughtful feedback on everything from sentence structure to character arcs, just rolled with it when I did things like randomly re-ordering chapters, and was generally helpful and awesome beyond belief.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: Seamus wears a gown down the aisle and embraces his future. Love may not quite conquer all, but it doesn't do too badly for itself, either.
Those of you who have been waiting to see more of the dresses, check out Seamus in green, George in blue, the wedding portrait, and a bonus Seamus in slinky red. Previous chapters here.
(Would you believe this was originally supposed to be a one-shot?)
Why Should I Care?
Epilogue
It's the last class of the day, and the lesson finishes a few minutes early, so the students get some time to talk and pack up. As soon as the bell rings, they stampede for the door, followed by the teacher's call of "Recipes are online; make sure you pick one by Wednesday!"
Once they've all poured out into the hall, he does a quick round of the room, making sure the fridge and cupboards are locked, the sewing machines all unplugged. The bowl of free condoms is running low; he'll have to refill that soon.
The commotion at the lockers is so noisy that he doesn't notice there's somebody at the door until the visitor speaks. "Mr. Noblet?"
"Mr. Colbert," corrects Seamus, picking a torn wrapper from the bowl and lobbing it at the trash can before turning around. He's had to say the same thing to half the staff, from Principal Littlenut on down. "Mr. Noblet is my—"
His voice catches as his eyes land on the man in the doorway, hands stuffed awkwardly in pockets, looking more like an errant schoolboy himself than someone on the far side of retirement. For a moment neither one breathes.
"Father," Seamus finishes, and Dad relaxes, just a little.
They stumble through small talk as they walk down the street, shoulders a good foot apart and eyes fixed in front of them: technically walking together, but each taking care to keep their distance. Yes, Seamus is doing fine. Yes, he's teaching Home Ec. Yes, this is what he wants. ("It asks of me everything I know how to do," he says fondly. The phrase It has nothing to do with you goes unspoken, but hangs between them just the same.)
"And how is your...?" begins Dad, stumbling at the word.
"Husband?" prompts Seamus.
Dad nods.
He's clever and sexy and funny and charming as ever; he's knee-deep in work on his Ph.D.; he's spending the week in Malaysia for a psych conference, and I still haven't found all the notes he left around the house, but that's okay, because he has yet to discover what I stashed in his suitcase. "He's fine too."
They walk in silence for a bit. Dad probably knows these streets as well as Seamus does, though he hasn't lived on them for twenty years; but he doesn't try to lead, just matches Seamus' pace.
"I should have been there," mutters Dad abruptly.
It isn't quite an apology, but it's a start.
Seamus takes a deep breath. "I have pictures," he says. "Do you want to see?"
Not to brag, but Seamus looked stunning in the dress.
Mom had gotten a bit nervous when she found out about the wardrobe decision, until Seamus assured her that he was designing his own, not asking to borrow hers. Once that was settled, she turned out to be surprisingly calm about the basic idea of her son in drag. As though it weren't quite so distasteful that Seamus was marrying a man if he was going to dress like a woman while doing it.
Seamus decided not to give her details about the lingerie. It wasn't as if anyone but George would be seeing that, anyhow.
The plan had always been for Mom to give Seamus away.
("Even if—"
"Always.")
George, after waffling for several weeks about how much of his extensive family to drag to the altar behind him (changing his mind nine times in total; Seamus counted). In the end, he decided to go with symmetry (never mind that everything else was lopsided towards him, from the guest list to the bankrolling), and settled on a lone parent.
There was never any question about which one it would be.
By the time he got to the end of the aisle, Seamus was so wrapped up in George that he was barely aware of the bouquet in his hands, let alone that there was anybody else in the room. So it wasn't until the phrase 'Who gives this man?' was followed by a pregnant pause that he looked at Stephen at all.
That was when he realized that there were silent tears rolling down Stephen's cheeks, and had been for a while.
Seamus had been wondering why George insisted on slipping a couple of tissues into his tux pocket.
Charlene had offered to do the catering, but George put his foot down: "This is my wedding, Aunt Cholly. You're not allowed to miss a minute of it to be in the kitchen. Not even if they mix up the flour and the salt."
Seamus was a little worried about dragging the woman into the middle of a crowd, but as it turned out, when forced to be social, Charlene could be thoroughly charming. She seemed to greet everyone in the room before ending up deep in conversation with one of the Secret Service agents.
("Secret Service?"
"Er, bodyguards, anyway. They didn't give specifics. But, come on, don't tell me you didn't recognize this guest?"
"Hang on. Is that—?"
"It is."
"Eleanor Holmes Norton?"
"Yep."
"THE Eleanor Holmes Norton? As in, former Vice President Eleanor Holmes Norton?"
"The same."
"How—?"
"Apparently she owes Stephen a few favors.")
And if Charlene did look a little skeptical when she eventually tasted the cake, she never said a word.
For the music, though Stephen offered to get in touch with a dozen different platinum artists, they asked Jerri to play the violin. If there was any guest who needed to be kept away from the crowd....
("Wait, how did that junkie whore get into this?"
"Jerri's like a rash. She'll get everywhere.")
It had taken some serious cajoling to keep her from showing up in a low-cut dress, and when George's sister caught the bouquet Jerri tried to bite her. But the impossibly virtuoso score was worth it.
Jon gave a toast that was eloquent and funny and moving. Mom gave a toast that was hesitant but no less heartfelt. Stephen had mostly composed himself by this point, but he only made it through a few words before sitting back down.
After the first dance with George and a slow dance with Mom, Seamus retreated to a chair on the sidelines while George and Stephen took the floor. Their lips moved in constant whispered conversation as they swayed together, leaving Seamus to watch from the sidelines, feeling a pang of jealousy and wondering who, exactly, he was jealous of.
He jumped at the gloved hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Jon's understanding smile.
"He'd go through hell for George," murmured Seamus.
"He already has."
Jon didn't elaborate, and Seamus didn't ask.
("I'm sorry.")
Seamus looks up from the album. Dad is still focused on the picture, on the face that could almost be his.
"I'm a coward," he continues. "No wonder you dropped the name."
"I didn't," confesses Seamus. "Not quite. It's Seamus Noblet Colbert."
George's side of the family is littered with the wreckage of abandoned paternal last names, from Leibowitz and McShane to Col-bert with a hard T. Three of his four half-siblings have even ditched Colbert. After running through a whirlwind of replacement options (Winston, after Mom; Williams, if they followed the strategy of George's godparents; Noblet with a French pronunciation, which cracked them both up), Seamus decided not to let go of Dad's name entirely.
So it's still there, albeit tucked safely away in the middle. Colbert is the part he's going to pass on.
Dad swallows. "Maybe you should have," he says. "I couldn't go through hell for y...for anyone."
Which of course begs the question. "Not even Jellineck?"
"Geoffrey least of all," mutters Dad bitterly. "Can't even tell him I...."
He runs a wistful finger over one of the portraits: down the clean lines of George's tuxedo, along the hem of Seamus' rippling train of fabric. For the first time, Seamus notices the tiny tremors in his hands.
"You're a lot braver than I am, son," he finishes at last.
"The riches that you seek are waiting on the other side," quotes Seamus softly.
It takes a few beats for the words to sink in.
A second later, Dad's head whips up, eyes wide in recognition and fear. Like Seamus has just recited one of his passwords, instead of a line from a fifty-year-old rock song. "How—?"
"Jerri told me," explains Seamus quickly. "How you used to sing to yourself, when you thought nobody was listening."
"The songs aren't true, anyway," stammers his father uncertainly. "Can you really tell me you haven't lost anything? People must judge you for...." He waves his hand at the portrait, the motion encompassing George's race and gender and Seamus' thing for pretty dresses all at once. "...all this!"
Frightened though Dad sounds, a smile breaks across Seamus' face. For once, he knows exactly what to say.
The music crescendoed, fell, and shifted into a lighter tempo; and then the whole crowd began to make its way onto the floor, while Jerri worked the violin like...okay, Seamus didn't really want to think about the other things Jerri had worked. But she did it well.
As Jon stepped up to Stephen's side, Seamus gathered George into his arms before turning to his fathers-in-law. "Thank you. For being here. For everything."
"It was our pleasure," said Jon warmly. Stephen even gave them a genuine smile before taking Jon's arm.
Seamus followed the pair with his eyes as they made their way back to the table, until George rested both hands on his waist and began leading him in slow circles. "You all right?"
"Just thinking," admitted Seamus, the train of his dress sweeping behind him as they swirled. "I hope we're like them when we get older."
"My dads are pretty awesome," agreed George with a wry smile, before sobering. "And...yours will come around, Seamus Colbert. Sooner or later."
Seamus shrugged as the guests flowed around them, surrounding him with old friends and new family. He could feel Dad's absence, sure, but it wasn't a gaping hole. Maybe his father would adjust eventually; maybe not. In the meantime, it would be okay. He would be okay.
"Why should I care?" he asked, and meant it, as he pulled George close. "I'm married."