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wl_fanfiction2006-02-14 11:17 pm
maradao.livejournal.com) wrote in wl_fanfiction2006-02-14 11:17 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: The Present
Okay, I’ll go ahead and post this contrived piece of schmaltz while it’s still Valentine’s Day and while I’ve still got the courage. It was my very first fic, which I long ago left half-done, and I only just recently decided to dredge it back up and finish the thing. *wince*
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
maradao
Title: The Present
Pairing: Col/Ry
Rating: PG
Summary: Colin and Ryan get into an argument, give each other the silent treatment, and then go on a vacation to make up. Standard syrupiness ensues.
Disclaimer: The people belong to themselves; Whose Line belongs to other people. No profits made; no libel intended -- the story itself is 100% fictional mush, and is mine.
Notes: The wives and kids aren’t a factor in this fic. Also for convenience, the Colin in this story lives in Vancouver instead of Toronto. Closer to Ryan that way.
*****
“You realize that’s a gay men’s magazine?” Ryan asked from over his shoulder.
Colin folded the magazine closed over his thumb, marking his place, and scanned the cover a second time.
“I do believe I noticed the word queer once or twice, now you mention it,” he remarked, turning his head to fix Ryan with one of his drollest smiles. Ryan didn’t smile back.
“You shouldn’t be reading that at a public newsstand,” he grumbled, eyeing the other people browsing the racks nearby.
Colin shrugged lightly. “Then I’ll just pay for it and take it back to the hotel with me.” He started for the check-out counter, but Ryan grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.
“Okay, what’s the trouble?” Colin asked, letting his smile drop. He tried to tug his arm away, but Ryan held fast, his other hand open to take the magazine from him.
“It’s my money,” Colin reminded him in undertone, but Ryan wasn’t even looking at him. He was still darting his eyes around suspiciously, as though they might be surrounded by fans, fundamentalists, or paparazzi at any minute. “Oh, for crying out loud -- let go, Ryan.”
When he didn’t, Colin gritted his teeth, shook his head. Again he started to pull his arm away, but this time as Ryan was tightening his grip, Colin turned towards him, circling past on his other side, forcing Ryan to twist around at the waist to keep hold of him. But Ryan’s back wasn’t very twistable -- Colin knew that -- so it was easy to break his grip once he was distracted and continue on to the counter as though nothing had happened.
Only after he’d paid for the magazine did he turn back to see if the other man was all right, but by then, Ryan had gone. Colin made it out to the street just in time to see his sandy head bobbing above a crowd of people at the next crosswalk, all of them walking briskly in the direction of the hotel. As a constant stream of Los Angeles shoppers and sightseers parted around him, Colin continued to stand in the middle of the sidewalk, holding his rolled-up magazine in one hand, the fingers of the other hand drumming unevenly against his jacket pocket as he watched Ryan walk away out of sight. Eventually he shook himself back to attention, sighed, and followed after his friend.
***
The first sight to greet Colin as he walked into their room was one of Ryan’s bags on the end of the unmade bed, already packed, and the other one open beside it. Ryan was going around picking up dirty clothes from his side of the room, wadding them up, and pitching them into the bag. Colin took his time removing his jacket and hanging it up, but Ryan didn’t once acknowledge him. They were neither of them any good at arguments.
“I was just about to go downstairs, get a cup of coffee.” Colin finally said, clearing his throat. He tucked the magazine back discreetly under one arm. “But before I do, I just wanted to say -- would you stop and listen to me a minute, Ryan?”
But Ryan didn’t stop, wouldn’t listen. Colin considered the grim set of his expression and decided not to press the point.
“Look,” he said heavily, leaning against the doorframe, “I know you’re stressed. Both of us are always stressed at the end of a season’s tapings. Which is probably why I was out to push your buttons this morning, and for that I apologize.” Still no response, but Colin could see as Ryan passed him on his way to the bathroom that he was biting his lip to keep from saying anything. Colin watched him as he gathered up his things from the sink and shower, carried them back to the bag, stuffed them haphazardly in a side pocket.
“You’re not ready to admit the fact of us in public,” Colin said quietly. He shrugged one shoulder, and opened the door a little ways. “It’s okay. We’ve been through this before, and I’m all right with it.” He started to leave, then paused for a moment to look back, watching Ryan struggling to compress a several pairs of pants into one giant pantsball that would fit into his luggage. “I just wish you weren’t ashamed of us, that’s all.”
He shut the door behind him and set off down the hall for the elevators. Behind him he could hear a muffled thump, and was glad he hadn’t stayed around to see where the pantsball had landed.
When he returned to the room later, Ryan and all his laundry and luggage had already left for the airport, to go back to Washington. It would be over six months before either man spoke to the other again.
***
One evening, when Colin had just returned home to Vancouver from a month of television work halfway across the country, he happened to notice a letter from Seattle among the backlog of bills and junk mail on his kitchen table. The address belonged to an old mutual friend of his and Ryan’s, and the first thing that fell out of the envelope was a newspaper clipping -- only a couple of narrow columns, close-set print like an obituary, with the name “Stiles” in bold at the top -- and quite suddenly Colin found that none of the rest of the words made sense to him.
He had to sit down at the table and read the first sentence over several times before he realized that it was Sonny Stiles who had died, and not Ryan. Ryan’s father was dead; Ryan was still alive -- his name was even listed at the end under surviving family members, so there could be no doubt about that fact. Feeling guilty and elated by turns, Colin checked the date at the top of the clipping and found that it had gone to press nearly three weeks before. He cut a glance at the clock above the stove: 6:50. He decided to pick up the phone right then and there and dial, and to his unending surprise, Ryan answered on the first ring.
“Thank God,” he said, sounding distantly perturbed.
“Caller ID, I assume?” asked Colin.
“Damn right. I got sick of expecting telemarketers and getting comfort calls instead. I hope this isn’t going to be one.”
“Comfort call? No…” Colin considered. “…though I do have a fifty CD set--”
“--Let me guess: Songs of the Comedian?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of Songs of the Apologetic Best Friend.”
“Music to my ears. Drop the apologetic part and it’s even better.”
“Well, not apologetic so much as just… sorry. It shouldn’t have been this long. I only just got the news about your dad and--”
Ryan cut in abruptly. “You said this wasn’t going to be a comfort call, remember?” Then his voice gentled somewhat. “Look, I hate talking long distance. I’ll be in the area next week; let’s meet face to face. You up for it?”
“Sure. When?”
“Thursday sound all right?”
“At the deli on Union?”
“Where else?” Ryan sounded amused. “Now enough with the questions only. Four o’clock this Thursday at the deli near your place; and I’m driving, so don’t bring anything but yourself, a toothbrush, and oh, ‘bout four changes of clothes…”
“Somehow this isn’t sounding like a quick eat and greet anymore…”
“Eat and greet? No, it’s a weekend getaway for two, all expenses paid, courtesy of me. You still up for it?
“Sure. Can’t pass up a free vacation, even if I still don’t know where it is we’re going.”
“Trust me, Col, it’s incredible. You haven’t been there before, I don’t think, but when you see it… trust me on this one."
“Oh, I do,” Colin said, simply. And as if on cue, though neither was there to see it, they both smiled.
***
The L-shaped cabin was as small as a motel room, with a bathroom at the longer end and a kitchenette taking up all of the short side. In between were the beds, and the front door, of course, and across from it a large sliding glass door to the back patio. Colin took it all in at a look and smirked.
“Hey, big spender.”
Ryan turned from the back patio door, shrugged.
“When I picked this place I wasn’t thinking luxury--”
“Oh, that’s obvious.”
“ Let me finish, okay? All right, now, when I was choosing this place I wasn’t thinking about the view inside; I was thinking about this…”
And with a grand flourish, he threw back the curtain and the sliding door and ushered Colin through into a fiery sunset. Colin blinked his eyes several times, dazzled.
“Just a second -- over here.” Ryan, still with a hand on his elbow, guided Colin over to the edge of the patio. From there, the slope of a distant mountain blocked out the sun itself, leaving only the underbellies of clouds to blaze with orange, lining the jagged horizon with light from one end to the other. Below them the valley was a gulf of shadows, hazy and indistinct except for the closest trees. The two men were surrounded by silence, altitude, and wilderness.
“You weren’t lying. This really is incredible. A dream come true.” Something whined near Colin's neck, and he slapped it. “Except for the mosquitoes.”
“Well, that’s how you know it’s real.” Behind him, Ryan leaned down and blew across the bite. “They’re not after me yet. I must not taste as good.”
“That’s debatable,” remarked Colin with a smirk. “Maybe I ought to go get some repellent?”
“Nah.” Ryan shook his head, making a face. “Then you won‘t taste good anymore. Besides, it’s getting dark. No point in staying out for much longer.”
Colin looked out over the nearest mountains. “Everything’s so clear still. Every tree. It’s like a crowd of people out there….”
“Like an audience.” Ryan smiled at him. “Want to give them a show?”
Colin returned the smile, albeit a little doubtfully. “Are we talking Whose Pine is It Anyway? Improv Gone Wild?”
Ryan winced. “You’re going out on a limb with that one, but yeah. Let’s play it like no one’s watching. You with me?”
Colin shrugged whimsically. “For the time being.”
“Then come on down and let’s have some fun.” Ryan took his elbow and ushered him toward the stairs. Together they descended to the edge of the patio, overlooking hundreds of trees all hushed and motionless for the night.
“Ladies and gentlemen; saplings, stumps, and assorted mooses…” Ryan began something like the usual Drew spiel, while Colin tried to keep a straight face in the background. “Welcome to Whose Line is It Anyway?” Colin heard the emphasis and made sure to be looking innocently in the opposite direction. “The show where the games are made up, and the points -- the looks, the speculation, whatever other people think and say -- it doesn’t matter.” Colin turned back to Ryan just in time to see him go down on one knee, one hand still holding onto Colin’s hand. “None of it matters. Forgive me?”
“I don’t think… I’m speechless.” Colin pressed the knuckles of his other hand to his mouth, trying to stave off a bout of the chuckles. “World’s Worst Things to say or do at a moment like this…”
“I think we’ve hashed through them all before. Many times.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Then we should just cut straight to Drew’s spit take?”
Ryan looked puzzled. Colin mimicked his expression innocently.
“You know? The Maltese Burger? The interpretive dance-off? The ravenous boa constrictor incident?”
“Ah, right,” Ryan slapped his forehead. “We never did finish that one, did we?” he asked, slipping into his suave, snaky voice as he returned to his feet.
Colin shrugged, smiled archly. “No time like the present.”
Ryan nodded agreement. Slowly his arms came up and circled up and around him, snug as a bow. “The present: good name for it.”
Colin shook his head. Neither of them were exactly God’s gift to humanity. But the way he saw it just then, Ryan could be Christmas, Valentine’s, and all his best birthdays rolled up into one person. “Whatever happens, no exchanges,” he warned, leaning in close.
“Hey now,” Ryan chuckled, tickling his ear with his next question: “Don’t I get to unwrap first?”
“No,” Colin replied in all smiling seriousness, “I do.”
*****
Author:
maradaoTitle: The Present
Pairing: Col/Ry
Rating: PG
Summary: Colin and Ryan get into an argument, give each other the silent treatment, and then go on a vacation to make up. Standard syrupiness ensues.
Disclaimer: The people belong to themselves; Whose Line belongs to other people. No profits made; no libel intended -- the story itself is 100% fictional mush, and is mine.
Notes: The wives and kids aren’t a factor in this fic. Also for convenience, the Colin in this story lives in Vancouver instead of Toronto. Closer to Ryan that way.
*****
“You realize that’s a gay men’s magazine?” Ryan asked from over his shoulder.
Colin folded the magazine closed over his thumb, marking his place, and scanned the cover a second time.
“I do believe I noticed the word queer once or twice, now you mention it,” he remarked, turning his head to fix Ryan with one of his drollest smiles. Ryan didn’t smile back.
“You shouldn’t be reading that at a public newsstand,” he grumbled, eyeing the other people browsing the racks nearby.
Colin shrugged lightly. “Then I’ll just pay for it and take it back to the hotel with me.” He started for the check-out counter, but Ryan grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.
“Okay, what’s the trouble?” Colin asked, letting his smile drop. He tried to tug his arm away, but Ryan held fast, his other hand open to take the magazine from him.
“It’s my money,” Colin reminded him in undertone, but Ryan wasn’t even looking at him. He was still darting his eyes around suspiciously, as though they might be surrounded by fans, fundamentalists, or paparazzi at any minute. “Oh, for crying out loud -- let go, Ryan.”
When he didn’t, Colin gritted his teeth, shook his head. Again he started to pull his arm away, but this time as Ryan was tightening his grip, Colin turned towards him, circling past on his other side, forcing Ryan to twist around at the waist to keep hold of him. But Ryan’s back wasn’t very twistable -- Colin knew that -- so it was easy to break his grip once he was distracted and continue on to the counter as though nothing had happened.
Only after he’d paid for the magazine did he turn back to see if the other man was all right, but by then, Ryan had gone. Colin made it out to the street just in time to see his sandy head bobbing above a crowd of people at the next crosswalk, all of them walking briskly in the direction of the hotel. As a constant stream of Los Angeles shoppers and sightseers parted around him, Colin continued to stand in the middle of the sidewalk, holding his rolled-up magazine in one hand, the fingers of the other hand drumming unevenly against his jacket pocket as he watched Ryan walk away out of sight. Eventually he shook himself back to attention, sighed, and followed after his friend.
***
The first sight to greet Colin as he walked into their room was one of Ryan’s bags on the end of the unmade bed, already packed, and the other one open beside it. Ryan was going around picking up dirty clothes from his side of the room, wadding them up, and pitching them into the bag. Colin took his time removing his jacket and hanging it up, but Ryan didn’t once acknowledge him. They were neither of them any good at arguments.
“I was just about to go downstairs, get a cup of coffee.” Colin finally said, clearing his throat. He tucked the magazine back discreetly under one arm. “But before I do, I just wanted to say -- would you stop and listen to me a minute, Ryan?”
But Ryan didn’t stop, wouldn’t listen. Colin considered the grim set of his expression and decided not to press the point.
“Look,” he said heavily, leaning against the doorframe, “I know you’re stressed. Both of us are always stressed at the end of a season’s tapings. Which is probably why I was out to push your buttons this morning, and for that I apologize.” Still no response, but Colin could see as Ryan passed him on his way to the bathroom that he was biting his lip to keep from saying anything. Colin watched him as he gathered up his things from the sink and shower, carried them back to the bag, stuffed them haphazardly in a side pocket.
“You’re not ready to admit the fact of us in public,” Colin said quietly. He shrugged one shoulder, and opened the door a little ways. “It’s okay. We’ve been through this before, and I’m all right with it.” He started to leave, then paused for a moment to look back, watching Ryan struggling to compress a several pairs of pants into one giant pantsball that would fit into his luggage. “I just wish you weren’t ashamed of us, that’s all.”
He shut the door behind him and set off down the hall for the elevators. Behind him he could hear a muffled thump, and was glad he hadn’t stayed around to see where the pantsball had landed.
When he returned to the room later, Ryan and all his laundry and luggage had already left for the airport, to go back to Washington. It would be over six months before either man spoke to the other again.
***
One evening, when Colin had just returned home to Vancouver from a month of television work halfway across the country, he happened to notice a letter from Seattle among the backlog of bills and junk mail on his kitchen table. The address belonged to an old mutual friend of his and Ryan’s, and the first thing that fell out of the envelope was a newspaper clipping -- only a couple of narrow columns, close-set print like an obituary, with the name “Stiles” in bold at the top -- and quite suddenly Colin found that none of the rest of the words made sense to him.
He had to sit down at the table and read the first sentence over several times before he realized that it was Sonny Stiles who had died, and not Ryan. Ryan’s father was dead; Ryan was still alive -- his name was even listed at the end under surviving family members, so there could be no doubt about that fact. Feeling guilty and elated by turns, Colin checked the date at the top of the clipping and found that it had gone to press nearly three weeks before. He cut a glance at the clock above the stove: 6:50. He decided to pick up the phone right then and there and dial, and to his unending surprise, Ryan answered on the first ring.
“Thank God,” he said, sounding distantly perturbed.
“Caller ID, I assume?” asked Colin.
“Damn right. I got sick of expecting telemarketers and getting comfort calls instead. I hope this isn’t going to be one.”
“Comfort call? No…” Colin considered. “…though I do have a fifty CD set--”
“--Let me guess: Songs of the Comedian?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of Songs of the Apologetic Best Friend.”
“Music to my ears. Drop the apologetic part and it’s even better.”
“Well, not apologetic so much as just… sorry. It shouldn’t have been this long. I only just got the news about your dad and--”
Ryan cut in abruptly. “You said this wasn’t going to be a comfort call, remember?” Then his voice gentled somewhat. “Look, I hate talking long distance. I’ll be in the area next week; let’s meet face to face. You up for it?”
“Sure. When?”
“Thursday sound all right?”
“At the deli on Union?”
“Where else?” Ryan sounded amused. “Now enough with the questions only. Four o’clock this Thursday at the deli near your place; and I’m driving, so don’t bring anything but yourself, a toothbrush, and oh, ‘bout four changes of clothes…”
“Somehow this isn’t sounding like a quick eat and greet anymore…”
“Eat and greet? No, it’s a weekend getaway for two, all expenses paid, courtesy of me. You still up for it?
“Sure. Can’t pass up a free vacation, even if I still don’t know where it is we’re going.”
“Trust me, Col, it’s incredible. You haven’t been there before, I don’t think, but when you see it… trust me on this one."
“Oh, I do,” Colin said, simply. And as if on cue, though neither was there to see it, they both smiled.
***
The L-shaped cabin was as small as a motel room, with a bathroom at the longer end and a kitchenette taking up all of the short side. In between were the beds, and the front door, of course, and across from it a large sliding glass door to the back patio. Colin took it all in at a look and smirked.
“Hey, big spender.”
Ryan turned from the back patio door, shrugged.
“When I picked this place I wasn’t thinking luxury--”
“Oh, that’s obvious.”
“ Let me finish, okay? All right, now, when I was choosing this place I wasn’t thinking about the view inside; I was thinking about this…”
And with a grand flourish, he threw back the curtain and the sliding door and ushered Colin through into a fiery sunset. Colin blinked his eyes several times, dazzled.
“Just a second -- over here.” Ryan, still with a hand on his elbow, guided Colin over to the edge of the patio. From there, the slope of a distant mountain blocked out the sun itself, leaving only the underbellies of clouds to blaze with orange, lining the jagged horizon with light from one end to the other. Below them the valley was a gulf of shadows, hazy and indistinct except for the closest trees. The two men were surrounded by silence, altitude, and wilderness.
“You weren’t lying. This really is incredible. A dream come true.” Something whined near Colin's neck, and he slapped it. “Except for the mosquitoes.”
“Well, that’s how you know it’s real.” Behind him, Ryan leaned down and blew across the bite. “They’re not after me yet. I must not taste as good.”
“That’s debatable,” remarked Colin with a smirk. “Maybe I ought to go get some repellent?”
“Nah.” Ryan shook his head, making a face. “Then you won‘t taste good anymore. Besides, it’s getting dark. No point in staying out for much longer.”
Colin looked out over the nearest mountains. “Everything’s so clear still. Every tree. It’s like a crowd of people out there….”
“Like an audience.” Ryan smiled at him. “Want to give them a show?”
Colin returned the smile, albeit a little doubtfully. “Are we talking Whose Pine is It Anyway? Improv Gone Wild?”
Ryan winced. “You’re going out on a limb with that one, but yeah. Let’s play it like no one’s watching. You with me?”
Colin shrugged whimsically. “For the time being.”
“Then come on down and let’s have some fun.” Ryan took his elbow and ushered him toward the stairs. Together they descended to the edge of the patio, overlooking hundreds of trees all hushed and motionless for the night.
“Ladies and gentlemen; saplings, stumps, and assorted mooses…” Ryan began something like the usual Drew spiel, while Colin tried to keep a straight face in the background. “Welcome to Whose Line is It Anyway?” Colin heard the emphasis and made sure to be looking innocently in the opposite direction. “The show where the games are made up, and the points -- the looks, the speculation, whatever other people think and say -- it doesn’t matter.” Colin turned back to Ryan just in time to see him go down on one knee, one hand still holding onto Colin’s hand. “None of it matters. Forgive me?”
“I don’t think… I’m speechless.” Colin pressed the knuckles of his other hand to his mouth, trying to stave off a bout of the chuckles. “World’s Worst Things to say or do at a moment like this…”
“I think we’ve hashed through them all before. Many times.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Then we should just cut straight to Drew’s spit take?”
Ryan looked puzzled. Colin mimicked his expression innocently.
“You know? The Maltese Burger? The interpretive dance-off? The ravenous boa constrictor incident?”
“Ah, right,” Ryan slapped his forehead. “We never did finish that one, did we?” he asked, slipping into his suave, snaky voice as he returned to his feet.
Colin shrugged, smiled archly. “No time like the present.”
Ryan nodded agreement. Slowly his arms came up and circled up and around him, snug as a bow. “The present: good name for it.”
Colin shook his head. Neither of them were exactly God’s gift to humanity. But the way he saw it just then, Ryan could be Christmas, Valentine’s, and all his best birthdays rolled up into one person. “Whatever happens, no exchanges,” he warned, leaning in close.
“Hey now,” Ryan chuckled, tickling his ear with his next question: “Don’t I get to unwrap first?”
“No,” Colin replied in all smiling seriousness, “I do.”
*****