Oz fic: Five Thanksgivings
Nov. 24th, 2010 09:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cmk418Title: Five Thanksgivings
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 575
Pairing: Tim McManus/Sean Murphy
Thanksgiving, 1974
“What are you thankful for?”
Sean chewed on the plastic tip of the ballpoint pen as he tried to write an answer that would appease his teacher. I’m thankful for my family and my dog Pepper and that I’m getting okay grades in class and that grandma is cooking the turkey this year and not my Ma even though it means that I’m going to be away from home and not able to play basketball with Tim this weekend like I thought.
Later that afternoon, Tim cornered him. “What did you write on Mrs. Duffy’s essay?”
With a grin befitting an eleven-year-old, he said, “Thankful not to have to see your ugly mug this weekend.”
Tim grabbed him around the neck and rubbed Sean’s scalp with his fist.
“Watch the hair!”
“Just making sure you’ll be bald before I will.”
Thanksgiving, 1982
Sean took a drag of the joint. “Know what I’m thankful for?”
“Cheetos?”
“Nah, but pass them over.”
Tim complied. “Are your fingers orange?”
Sean looked at his hands. “No. Lemme see yours.”
Tim held out a hand. Sean grabbed it and leaned close. “They’re rather orange-y.”
The word “orange-y” only served to make Tim giggle. “See how they taste.”
Sean sucked one of Tim’s fingers into his mouth. “Mmm, but they’re not like an orange at all. Do you have orange juice?”
Tim laughed again.
“Know what I’m thankful for?”
“Orange juice?”
“Stop trying to guess,” he slapped Tim lightly in the chest.
“What are you thankful for?”
“That you’re home and that you go to a college where you can score some really good shit.”
Thanksgiving 1991
“Hey.” Tim’s soft voice rose above the sound of the monitors.
“Hey,” Sean replied. His voice sounded a little raspy. “How about that, huh?”
“How about that? Sean, you could have been killed.” Tim’s voice was a little shaky, expressing something that had been kicking around his head for the past forty-two hours.
“I wasn’t. Is it Thanksgiving?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want the turkey dinner. It’d be like having dinner in prison. No turkey unless it’s my Ma’s.”
“You hate your Ma’s turkey.”
“True. Know something, Tim?”
“What?”
“’M glad you’re here.”
Tim’s fingers laced through his and squeezed. “Me too, buddy. Me too.”
Thanksgiving 1999
“Why’d we get drafted?”
“’Cause we’re the only two dumb enough to admit having nowhere to go today.”
“Right.”
“Quiet out there.”
“I think everyone’s in a turkey coma. Wanna go watch the end of the football game?”
“I’d love to, but I’m behind on paperwork.”
“Ah, come on. It’s tradition.”
“I guess tradition will have to wait ‘til next year.”
“Well, give me this. What are you thankful for?”
“Not having to spend time with my family.”
“You say that every year.”
“I mean it every year.”
“C’mon, Tim.”
“Fine. Being able to spend Thanksgiving with my best friend. Even if we are in prison.”
Sean laughed. “You make us sound like we’re delinquents.”
Tim raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t we?”
Thanksgiving 2005
Sean propped himself up on an elbow to look at Tim.
“It’s Thanksgiving,” he whispered.
“Again?” groaned Tim, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
“We’ve got company coming in six hours.”
“Let’s sleep in for another four and feed them frozen lasagna.”
Sean laughed and reached for Tim’s hand. He rubbed his thumb across the gold wedding band that rested there.
“Know what I’m thankful for?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Tim replied and smiled.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 575
Pairing: Tim McManus/Sean Murphy
Thanksgiving, 1974
“What are you thankful for?”
Sean chewed on the plastic tip of the ballpoint pen as he tried to write an answer that would appease his teacher. I’m thankful for my family and my dog Pepper and that I’m getting okay grades in class and that grandma is cooking the turkey this year and not my Ma even though it means that I’m going to be away from home and not able to play basketball with Tim this weekend like I thought.
Later that afternoon, Tim cornered him. “What did you write on Mrs. Duffy’s essay?”
With a grin befitting an eleven-year-old, he said, “Thankful not to have to see your ugly mug this weekend.”
Tim grabbed him around the neck and rubbed Sean’s scalp with his fist.
“Watch the hair!”
“Just making sure you’ll be bald before I will.”
Thanksgiving, 1982
Sean took a drag of the joint. “Know what I’m thankful for?”
“Cheetos?”
“Nah, but pass them over.”
Tim complied. “Are your fingers orange?”
Sean looked at his hands. “No. Lemme see yours.”
Tim held out a hand. Sean grabbed it and leaned close. “They’re rather orange-y.”
The word “orange-y” only served to make Tim giggle. “See how they taste.”
Sean sucked one of Tim’s fingers into his mouth. “Mmm, but they’re not like an orange at all. Do you have orange juice?”
Tim laughed again.
“Know what I’m thankful for?”
“Orange juice?”
“Stop trying to guess,” he slapped Tim lightly in the chest.
“What are you thankful for?”
“That you’re home and that you go to a college where you can score some really good shit.”
Thanksgiving 1991
“Hey.” Tim’s soft voice rose above the sound of the monitors.
“Hey,” Sean replied. His voice sounded a little raspy. “How about that, huh?”
“How about that? Sean, you could have been killed.” Tim’s voice was a little shaky, expressing something that had been kicking around his head for the past forty-two hours.
“I wasn’t. Is it Thanksgiving?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want the turkey dinner. It’d be like having dinner in prison. No turkey unless it’s my Ma’s.”
“You hate your Ma’s turkey.”
“True. Know something, Tim?”
“What?”
“’M glad you’re here.”
Tim’s fingers laced through his and squeezed. “Me too, buddy. Me too.”
Thanksgiving 1999
“Why’d we get drafted?”
“’Cause we’re the only two dumb enough to admit having nowhere to go today.”
“Right.”
“Quiet out there.”
“I think everyone’s in a turkey coma. Wanna go watch the end of the football game?”
“I’d love to, but I’m behind on paperwork.”
“Ah, come on. It’s tradition.”
“I guess tradition will have to wait ‘til next year.”
“Well, give me this. What are you thankful for?”
“Not having to spend time with my family.”
“You say that every year.”
“I mean it every year.”
“C’mon, Tim.”
“Fine. Being able to spend Thanksgiving with my best friend. Even if we are in prison.”
Sean laughed. “You make us sound like we’re delinquents.”
Tim raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t we?”
Thanksgiving 2005
Sean propped himself up on an elbow to look at Tim.
“It’s Thanksgiving,” he whispered.
“Again?” groaned Tim, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
“We’ve got company coming in six hours.”
“Let’s sleep in for another four and feed them frozen lasagna.”
Sean laughed and reached for Tim’s hand. He rubbed his thumb across the gold wedding band that rested there.
“Know what I’m thankful for?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Tim replied and smiled.
no subject
Date: 2010-11-25 07:36 pm (UTC)I'm glad you enjoyed it. It was something that popped into my head on my way home from work yesterday and I just had to put it down. I'm so glad the ending worked for you, because I skated the line between Tim McManus monosyllabic romantic and Tim McManus egotistical asshole and wasn't sure what side of the line he'd land on.