[ do you know what, texting one-handed is far from his forte and there's nowhere to put his glass out here and that absolutely covers all the reasons why he's tapping through the text window into his contacts and calling instead ]
[ it pulls a chuckle loose from him as he takes a sip from his glass on cue. Freddie's soft tonight (thanks wine), and John's very glad he called. ]
I might give that a go. Maybe if I drink enough it'll get you full circle into somewhere with a hot shower you can take at any time of the day.
[ John's long since given up caring that Freddie lives the life of a squatter with poor selectivity. doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy taking the occasional prod at him. another falling bit of space shoots by and John remembers he's got a job to do— ]
If you've got one, you should go first. I'm still thinking.
Please, there are like twenty hot showers I can use. [Most of them don't even come with a precursor of something else hot happening first, anymore, because fuck everything he's making friends. And despite that, he still needs these things: the broken shower, microwave, general lack of a decent meal - as excuses to call on them.
Not that he calls on more than a couple, lately.] I've literally got hot showers on tap.
[There's a chirp of pleasure at his own cleverness, gracefully swallowed back.]
[ the amount of time he spends smiling into space with his phone in his hand or pressed to his ear these days is getting out of hand. a tiny mrrr somewhere down below soon puts paid to that, swallowing up any response John might have had to make room for - ]
—Oh, shit. Hey, [ ch-ching, glass tapping on something solid, phone away from face leaving John's voice distant, ] hey. Come on. Come on, you... Come here.
[ whisper of fur and the purr underneath it while John adjusts himself where he's ended up, sat on his porch step, cat balanced and kissed and settled enough that a handful of seconds later he's back on the line, voice rich with humour and touched, tellingly, with an undertone of fond distraction. it's not completely for the creature curling her paws into his shirt. ]
I wish I knew how I'm ever going to persuade myself to go.
[Freddie missed the faint catsounds to the night noises of a rooptop above a busy street and blinks at the summons, narrowing his eyes at the phone until the connection clicks.
Despite all his attempts with John and Claire, he's not terrible at knowing what someone needs. Sometimes he's more attuned than he'd like.
There's a pause where the only sound is his breath, a slow intake, loud as a sigh.]
You have to wish for something you want. [Quiet, careful.] Or it doesn't count.
[ John, in response, is quiet too. fingers running through a soft coat, thoughts running through possibilities - for something he's willing to say out loud.
of course there are things he wants, of course there are. but he's never been any good at admitting to that out loud, and he's never been particularly good at properly identifying them either.
another stream of light darts overhead and he leaves the cat alone for a second to take a sip from his glass. the words come off the back of a swallow. ]
[The wish police would like to continue their interrogation. Please present your hopes and dreams for judgement. Freddie watches the sky as he waits for a response, waits for a new white streak to run across it.]
[ brightly: ] I wished you'd sleep 'round every now and again.
[ and maybe it's not the sort of thing he'd say completely sober, but only because the boundaries are blurred enough as it is. only because he doesn't know how far he's allowed to step into certain territories, because he doesn't know what sort of territories he wants to be standing in. because he doesn't want to have to think about it at all, is perfectly happy with things as they are.
but he does wish that. and means what he says, too: sleep.
he's spent a very long time sleeping in empty spaces. it'd be nice, every now and again, to feel at home. another heart beating over the same threshold. on the other side of the bed or a room and a corridor away doesn't matter as much as who it belongs to. ]
[Something clatters as he rolls onto his stomach because fuck you needs to be more pointed than dreamily laying with tiles pressing into his back can achieve. He needs to point a finger, unseen as it may be.]
Seriously, fuck you. [A huff. Another clatter and a soft whisper of shit before he's back to the subject at hand. The point being John both being obedient and utterly diverting from what he was asked to do at the same time. The point is, for a doctor, he's a sneaky fuck. The point is:]
I was going to wish for what you wished for. As backup.
[ there's a holding of breath in here because Freddie is volatile at the best of times, tipped easily from one state to another by a wrong step in an unexpected place, and John hadn't expected it of him in this sort of state but that doesn't mean it can't happen—
then his held breath gusts out in a bark of laughter, sucks back in with a hiss as his elbow slams into concrete a little too hard as he spreads himself back to enjoy victory. he recovers quickly - this is too good. ]
Well, nobody's stopping you.
[ but the reality is that Freddie was waiting for something substantial, and that he was going to - wish backup. as innocent as that is, as ultimately useless, the sentiment is— ]
Backup. [ it's not incredulous. there's fondness all over it, almost cloying. ]
Fuck off. [Now it's huffy and fond and you shit John Watson.] If I'd known you wanted a sleepover I could have brought round some nail polish and picked up Mean Girls.
[He knows, he thinks, what John actually meant, but this gentle deflection is instinctive for him, taking any grain of care and turning it to sandpaper.]
You just want someone else to get up and feed the cat.
[Another irritated-not-irritated click of his tongue when John calls him on his words.]
Backup. [Yes, yes fine.] I can't wish that I'd go take a nap though, can I.
Basically, yeah. Since you dropped her on me, it's only fair you take the occasional shift.
[ he's still laughing, chuckling away under his breath, no space for concern. ]
I don't know what you were expecting. It's taken me nine months to come up with cock all for a new incentive. [ so a big, magnificent wish wasn't going to happen in five minutes, was it? and he's already said as much over text, but it bears repeating.
he could have delivered something meatier. but wanting anything that needs a granted wish to procure isn't anything safe to want in the first place, much less something safe to share. all his dreams are bigger than his hopes. ]
[Look it must have been nearly half an hour with no mention of sex and that's near enough to being a record, let him have this.
He had thought that, perhaps, catching John by surprise might mean catching him off guard, but that's a case of not learning from experience. John Watson rarely lets anything slip without first being pushed into dropping it.
Though, this is something. It's not nothing.]
We've never done it in your bed, have we. [Couch, yes, and a small collection of relatively public spaces.] I wouldn't mind.
[Somewhere, the pretence that next time's an if not a when has been allowed to grow lax.]
You'll have to get rid of the scatter cushions and the chintzy throw. I do have standards.
What about my plethora of cuddly animals? They don't like to feel left out, Freddie.
[ the roll of his eyes is easily inferred, as is the smile that finishes off the set. John's fallen into living off the assumption that they'll do what they feel like when they feel like it, be that drunkenly littering good friends' doorsteps at ridiculous hours of the morning or fucking on his sofa at the end of a nice night.
it's pleasant to have Freddie put voice to it. that it's alright to think of it that easily. ]
Actually, we'll have to fight the cat if we don't want an audience. Tried to keep her out of the bedroom for the first couple of weeks, fat lot of good it did me. And if you're in there too we'll have no chance.
[ one thing he definitely hadn't anticipated upon becoming an impromptu cat care-person: enjoying it. Old Man, level up. ]
Yeah well, cats are kinky fucks. [A clatter. Perhaps, far away, a distant shattering sound.]
I don't mind. Being watched. As long as no one fucking records it - it's impossible to get those things off the internet.
[Sleeping over may be more of a challenge. They've fallen asleep together - after sex and not (Claire's couch, arms muddy, John's face smeared against his shoulder, his leg in the man's crotch long before anything else was there) - but Freddie's internal alarm tends to wake him early. To tell him to shower and go before anyone can assume this state is permanent.
He's learned to be careful not to outstay a welcome (and to extend only a short one in return)]
I can give you a list of things not to google, if you do go home.
If I do, yeah. [ a laugh. it's wistful: day by day, the desire to go fades. the need to is just as strong as ever, but he's awfully good at shoving things under carpets. ] Anyway, doubt you need to bother. Unless they decided to write in you and your unsolicited camera-people, I'm not sure you'll make an appearance whatever I google.
[ different worlds. leaving those search terms almost inevitably free of Freddie's face, or anything else, were he to try. ]
[It's a jarring thing, sometimes. Worlds with so many matching reference points, but not the same.]
I could be there. You wouldn't know. How often are you trawling for cock in Mantos on a Tuesday night?
[It's not wistful, but only because that's an emotion Freddie refuses to acknowledge. He sends another tile skimming off the roof with a rattle as he sits up, reaching for the dregs of his drink.]
You're not made up. Yeah, all right, someone wrote stories but... different worlds. What if it's someone who came here and met you, then told some writer all about it, back home. Translated into a version they understand. Fuck's sake, it could be Claire.
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Well that's not news. You've been telling me that since day one.
How long do you think these will last? I'm struggling.
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And I don't know how long they'll last, do I sound like Brian Cox? [Yes, almost exactly, but shh.]
Useless.
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Not surprising though, is it. It's taken me months to come up with nothing, a couple of minutes is pushing it a bit.
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And I thought you thrived under pressure? Pictures don't work, or anyone could google a wish. It has to be now, John.
text > call attempt
call!
Hello, Lady Mary. [We've now exhausted the full extent of his Downton knowledge.]
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... Hi. Exactly how much wine just happened to be there?
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Enough. For me, not for you. You'd drink me out of house and home.
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I might give that a go. Maybe if I drink enough it'll get you full circle into somewhere with a hot shower you can take at any time of the day.
[ John's long since given up caring that Freddie lives the life of a squatter with poor selectivity. doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy taking the occasional prod at him. another falling bit of space shoots by and John remembers he's got a job to do— ]
If you've got one, you should go first. I'm still thinking.
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Not that he calls on more than a couple, lately.] I've literally got hot showers on tap.
[There's a chirp of pleasure at his own cleverness, gracefully swallowed back.]
No, it has to be you.
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—Oh, shit. Hey, [ ch-ching, glass tapping on something solid, phone away from face leaving John's voice distant, ] hey. Come on. Come on, you... Come here.
[ whisper of fur and the purr underneath it while John adjusts himself where he's ended up, sat on his porch step, cat balanced and kissed and settled enough that a handful of seconds later he's back on the line, voice rich with humour and touched, tellingly, with an undertone of fond distraction. it's not completely for the creature curling her paws into his shirt. ]
I wish I knew how I'm ever going to persuade myself to go.
[ tongue in cheek, but - not, too. ]
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Despite all his attempts with John and Claire, he's not terrible at knowing what someone needs. Sometimes he's more attuned than he'd like.
There's a pause where the only sound is his breath, a slow intake, loud as a sigh.]
You have to wish for something you want. [Quiet, careful.] Or it doesn't count.
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of course there are things he wants, of course there are. but he's never been any good at admitting to that out loud, and he's never been particularly good at properly identifying them either.
another stream of light darts overhead and he leaves the cat alone for a second to take a sip from his glass. the words come off the back of a swallow. ]
Alright, done it.
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[The wish police would like to continue their interrogation. Please present your hopes and dreams for judgement. Freddie watches the sky as he waits for a response, waits for a new white streak to run across it.]
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[ and maybe it's not the sort of thing he'd say completely sober, but only because the boundaries are blurred enough as it is. only because he doesn't know how far he's allowed to step into certain territories, because he doesn't know what sort of territories he wants to be standing in. because he doesn't want to have to think about it at all, is perfectly happy with things as they are.
but he does wish that. and means what he says, too: sleep.
he's spent a very long time sleeping in empty spaces. it'd be nice, every now and again, to feel at home. another heart beating over the same threshold. on the other side of the bed or a room and a corridor away doesn't matter as much as who it belongs to. ]
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Oh, fuck you.
[Something clatters as he rolls onto his stomach because fuck you needs to be more pointed than dreamily laying with tiles pressing into his back can achieve. He needs to point a finger, unseen as it may be.]
Seriously, fuck you. [A huff. Another clatter and a soft whisper of shit before he's back to the subject at hand. The point being John both being obedient and utterly diverting from what he was asked to do at the same time. The point is, for a doctor, he's a sneaky fuck. The point is:]
I was going to wish for what you wished for. As backup.
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then his held breath gusts out in a bark of laughter, sucks back in with a hiss as his elbow slams into concrete a little too hard as he spreads himself back to enjoy victory. he recovers quickly - this is too good. ]
Well, nobody's stopping you.
[ but the reality is that Freddie was waiting for something substantial, and that he was going to - wish backup. as innocent as that is, as ultimately useless, the sentiment is— ]
Backup. [ it's not incredulous. there's fondness all over it, almost cloying. ]
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[He knows, he thinks, what John actually meant, but this gentle deflection is instinctive for him, taking any grain of care and turning it to sandpaper.]
You just want someone else to get up and feed the cat.
[Another irritated-not-irritated click of his tongue when John calls him on his words.]
Backup. [Yes, yes fine.] I can't wish that I'd go take a nap though, can I.
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[ he's still laughing, chuckling away under his breath, no space for concern. ]
I don't know what you were expecting. It's taken me nine months to come up with cock all for a new incentive. [ so a big, magnificent wish wasn't going to happen in five minutes, was it? and he's already said as much over text, but it bears repeating.
he could have delivered something meatier. but wanting anything that needs a granted wish to procure isn't anything safe to want in the first place, much less something safe to share. all his dreams are bigger than his hopes. ]
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[Look it must have been nearly half an hour with no mention of sex and that's near enough to being a record, let him have this.
He had thought that, perhaps, catching John by surprise might mean catching him off guard, but that's a case of not learning from experience. John Watson rarely lets anything slip without first being pushed into dropping it.
Though, this is something. It's not nothing.]
We've never done it in your bed, have we. [Couch, yes, and a small collection of relatively public spaces.] I wouldn't mind.
[Somewhere, the pretence that next time's an if not a when has been allowed to grow lax.]
You'll have to get rid of the scatter cushions and the chintzy throw. I do have standards.
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[ the roll of his eyes is easily inferred, as is the smile that finishes off the set. John's fallen into living off the assumption that they'll do what they feel like when they feel like it, be that drunkenly littering good friends' doorsteps at ridiculous hours of the morning or fucking on his sofa at the end of a nice night.
it's pleasant to have Freddie put voice to it. that it's alright to think of it that easily. ]
Actually, we'll have to fight the cat if we don't want an audience. Tried to keep her out of the bedroom for the first couple of weeks, fat lot of good it did me. And if you're in there too we'll have no chance.
[ one thing he definitely hadn't anticipated upon becoming an impromptu cat care-person: enjoying it. Old Man, level up. ]
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I don't mind. Being watched. As long as no one fucking records it - it's impossible to get those things off the internet.
[Sleeping over may be more of a challenge. They've fallen asleep together - after sex and not (Claire's couch, arms muddy, John's face smeared against his shoulder, his leg in the man's crotch long before anything else was there) - but Freddie's internal alarm tends to wake him early. To tell him to shower and go before anyone can assume this state is permanent.
He's learned to be careful not to outstay a welcome (and to extend only a short one in return)]
I can give you a list of things not to google, if you do go home.
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[ different worlds. leaving those search terms almost inevitably free of Freddie's face, or anything else, were he to try. ]
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I could be there. You wouldn't know. How often are you trawling for cock in Mantos on a Tuesday night?
[It's not wistful, but only because that's an emotion Freddie refuses to acknowledge. He sends another tile skimming off the roof with a rattle as he sits up, reaching for the dregs of his drink.]
You're not made up. Yeah, all right, someone wrote stories but... different worlds. What if it's someone who came here and met you, then told some writer all about it, back home. Translated into a version they understand. Fuck's sake, it could be Claire.
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