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Jan. 6th, 2004 09:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
doyle12 Days of Ficlets Day 6: Secrets
In which I attempt to write Riley. This was meant to be less schmoopy than it turned out.
Last Christmas there'd been an upsurge of demon activity in Costa Rica - not to mention the spur-of-the-moment wedding - and he and Sam hadn't been able to get away. Mom still tossed that into conversation when she wanted to make him feel extra-guilty about not writing, or forgetting to call home. He didn't mind. She worried about him, about them both; his parents had never said anything aloud, but he picked up on it. Little things. Like how Mom didn't often answer the phone these days. He sometimes heard her in the background, a quiet, anxious, "who is it?" before she took the phone off his dad and turned back into Supermom.
He wondered, sometimes, if she'd be more or less worried if she knew the truth. She thought he'd spent the past three months in Baghdad, not tracking down a species of demon that liked to snack on kindergarteners.
His parents had raised him not to lie. And it couldn't be helped, and it was in everyone's best interest, but that didn't make the itchy, crawling guilt go away. The brightly-wrapped Christmas gifts on the back seat of the rental car felt like bribes. His mother would love the bracelet and scarf Sam picked for her in Buenos Aires, and she'd be delighted to have the family together at Christmas, but come the new year she still wouldn't pick up the phone.
He sighed.
"You want me to drive for a while?" Sam asked. "I've been scooping the terrain and I think I can avoid putting us through someone's barn."
"Nah," he said. "Go ahead and sleep. There's this whole big Christmas Eve thing where me and my parents go and see Aunt Chrissie and Uncle Marvin, and then we all go to Granma and Granpa's house and my other aunt and uncle and cousins will be there already. Remember in January, staking out the Thulyte demons?"
She groaned. "God, yes. Four days and nights…"
"Piece of cake," he said. "Wait till you spend the evening listening to my Aunt Marcie talk about her three divorces and my little cousin Sue yelling at you for being part of the evil machinery of war."
He took his eyes off the road just long enough to see the fond, knowing smile she was sending his way.
"You so love this," she accused.
He grinned, the weight of guilt and secrets easing just a bit. "I'm glad you're here with me, Sam," he quoted in a bad attempt at an accent that came out too close to Spike's for his liking.
"I could kick your ass, Finn. And you're not allowed to see that movie ever again." But she smiled as she said it.
In which I attempt to write Riley. This was meant to be less schmoopy than it turned out.
Last Christmas there'd been an upsurge of demon activity in Costa Rica - not to mention the spur-of-the-moment wedding - and he and Sam hadn't been able to get away. Mom still tossed that into conversation when she wanted to make him feel extra-guilty about not writing, or forgetting to call home. He didn't mind. She worried about him, about them both; his parents had never said anything aloud, but he picked up on it. Little things. Like how Mom didn't often answer the phone these days. He sometimes heard her in the background, a quiet, anxious, "who is it?" before she took the phone off his dad and turned back into Supermom.
He wondered, sometimes, if she'd be more or less worried if she knew the truth. She thought he'd spent the past three months in Baghdad, not tracking down a species of demon that liked to snack on kindergarteners.
His parents had raised him not to lie. And it couldn't be helped, and it was in everyone's best interest, but that didn't make the itchy, crawling guilt go away. The brightly-wrapped Christmas gifts on the back seat of the rental car felt like bribes. His mother would love the bracelet and scarf Sam picked for her in Buenos Aires, and she'd be delighted to have the family together at Christmas, but come the new year she still wouldn't pick up the phone.
He sighed.
"You want me to drive for a while?" Sam asked. "I've been scooping the terrain and I think I can avoid putting us through someone's barn."
"Nah," he said. "Go ahead and sleep. There's this whole big Christmas Eve thing where me and my parents go and see Aunt Chrissie and Uncle Marvin, and then we all go to Granma and Granpa's house and my other aunt and uncle and cousins will be there already. Remember in January, staking out the Thulyte demons?"
She groaned. "God, yes. Four days and nights…"
"Piece of cake," he said. "Wait till you spend the evening listening to my Aunt Marcie talk about her three divorces and my little cousin Sue yelling at you for being part of the evil machinery of war."
He took his eyes off the road just long enough to see the fond, knowing smile she was sending his way.
"You so love this," she accused.
He grinned, the weight of guilt and secrets easing just a bit. "I'm glad you're here with me, Sam," he quoted in a bad attempt at an accent that came out too close to Spike's for his liking.
"I could kick your ass, Finn. And you're not allowed to see that movie ever again." But she smiled as she said it.
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on 2004-01-06 03:14 pm (UTC)