[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.
It's not Claire. Haven't heard anyone ask after Freddie Baxter when they've recognised my name, and God knows if it were Claire I'd be running around London shagging an annoying little shit and writing my memoirs about that instead. [ oh, Freddie would absolutely be a presence in whatever stories were told about John Watson's life if it were Claire who passed on the story. it wouldn't be a particularly flattering rendition, either, "annoying little shit" John's perception of Claire's view, not his own. Olde Worlde sensibilities, so maybe not quite that, but. ] Don't think she'll ever fully recover.
[ a beat - there's a frown in his voice. ]
Can you do me a favour and go inside? You're making me nervous. Where are you, anyway?
[That tugs a laugh out of him. He's almost certainly fonder of Claire than she is of him, and part of that's how easy she is to rile - and part of it's how protective she is of John. Jem's similar and those instincts are something that draws him to her, too.]
Yeah, yeah, she'd leave that out just to spite me. [His voice echoes into the near-empty bottle, a swallow and then.] Anyway, they couldn't write about me. People think 50 Shades of Gray is fucking scandalous, I'd be relegated to... I don't know. Pay per view. Or late-night Channel four. Maybe that's where you should look.
[Movement sends another little shower downwards. The shower above them seems to have stopped now, the stars are fixed back in their places.]
Roof of the warehouse. These tiles are shit, no wonder we've got leaks.
[It's possible this is a trick of the alcohol, but the point is he's fine, and the view's beautiful, and (now) the company's not bad either. There's a whole collection of new arrivals out there but he's not tapping his fingers, impatient to sort through their number. They'll be around later.
Or they won't.
That's just how this place works. He's getting used to it now, a state someone might call settled, if they didn't know how he works.]
Jem's not going back to her world, she says. And she says you look like her dad so can you ruffle her hair when you meet her please? Ask how she's keeping up at school.
[ ahaha wow?? wow... the slightly startled laugh turns into John choking on his own breath and coughing it out into his fist and when that trails off and the phone's brought back to his face it's to the tune of residual laughter because yes, brilliant, thanks Freddie for that. that's great. ]
—Oh, definitely. [ a throat clear to get rid of the rest of the roughness ccchrist and no, no, he's not quite recovered. all else that follows is just a simple: ] God.
[You can tell when he's smiling, it's like his voice turns up at the corners.]
You don't look like mine. [And he's only just old enough to be parent to either of them, really. It's nothing to dwell on.] Do it, though, it'll be brilliant. Especially if it's first thing and you're just in your pants.
still, there's a snort, and a small throaty noise that marks John pulling himself up to his feet to usher a grumpy cat inside with his foot and shut the door behind her. ] Hi, nice to meet you. Hope you enjoy that permanent mental scarring. Did you want tea? I'm just brewing up.
[ fhumph, he's back down and seated. another sip from a reclaimed glass, the storyteller's voice discarded in favour of a question: ] You two doing alright over there?
Edited (i didn't finish my sentence SIGH) 2016-05-15 20:02 (UTC)
[Look, he owes her. And he knows Jem, she'd laugh about it once the trauma wears off, and she could use that. Which is why he pauses for a moment on the latter question, not defaulting to his usual fine, or throw-away disclaimer.]
Her demon boyfriend went back to his demon home. So she's a bit fucked. Then again, apparently she's eloping there with him, eventually, but her debt's taking longer to pay.
[He takes a moment to think if that answer's John's question.]
And we're out of crunchy nut. Otherwise, scraping through.
[ he's still surprised, occasionally, by the insanity of some people's lives here. the demon bit isn't fresh news but it's been easily forgotten and his rising brows tug his hairline down - sometimes he's incredibly grateful that he's managed to have such a normal experience here. but it's an answer, a real one, and it slowly catches up: she's been left behind, however temporarily, by someone important.
[At last, a serious conversation. Freddie idly attempts moving in the moments that follow, but the height seems dizzier now than when he'd come up here pre-wine, and swaying on his knees isn't a good sign for what might happen on his feet.
Wow. [ that was decisive. also not something he's in a particular position to contest, being more of a toast man himself. ] Good to know you've got strong opinions on cereal. Hope is not lost for the youth of today.
[ but he thinks there's some shuffling, John's not deaf, and he falls quiet to listen just as the shuffling stops. a beat, and: ] Are you stuck.
[Don't be stupid, John. He's actually offended by the insinuation. Haven't you met him: lithe as a mountain goat and twice as horny. He could get off the roof if he wanted, but he doesn't so he'll just lay back down and
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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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[ a beat - there's a frown in his voice. ]
Can you do me a favour and go inside? You're making me nervous. Where are you, anyway?
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Yeah, yeah, she'd leave that out just to spite me. [His voice echoes into the near-empty bottle, a swallow and then.] Anyway, they couldn't write about me. People think 50 Shades of Gray is fucking scandalous, I'd be relegated to... I don't know. Pay per view. Or late-night Channel four. Maybe that's where you should look.
[Movement sends another little shower downwards. The shower above them seems to have stopped now, the stars are fixed back in their places.]
Roof of the warehouse. These tiles are shit, no wonder we've got leaks.
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or maybe not. there's a lot he can't be allowed to remember. maybe they'll just wipe it all. ]
Yeah, alright, just don't prove the point by stepping on the wrong one and sliding off with it.
[ you will probably be the death of him, get off the damn roof he can't catch you from here ]
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[It's possible this is a trick of the alcohol, but the point is he's fine, and the view's beautiful, and (now) the company's not bad either. There's a whole collection of new arrivals out there but he's not tapping his fingers, impatient to sort through their number. They'll be around later.
Or they won't.
That's just how this place works. He's getting used to it now, a state someone might call settled, if they didn't know how he works.]
Jem's not going back to her world, she says. And she says you look like her dad so can you ruffle her hair when you meet her please? Ask how she's keeping up at school.
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—Oh, definitely. [ a throat clear to get rid of the rest of the roughness ccchrist and no, no, he's not quite recovered. all else that follows is just a simple: ] God.
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[You can tell when he's smiling, it's like his voice turns up at the corners.]
You don't look like mine. [And he's only just old enough to be parent to either of them, really. It's nothing to dwell on.] Do it, though, it'll be brilliant. Especially if it's first thing and you're just in your pants.
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still, there's a snort, and a small throaty noise that marks John pulling himself up to his feet to usher a grumpy cat inside with his foot and shut the door behind her. ] Hi, nice to meet you. Hope you enjoy that permanent mental scarring. Did you want tea? I'm just brewing up.
[ fhumph, he's back down and seated. another sip from a reclaimed glass, the storyteller's voice discarded in favour of a question: ] You two doing alright over there?
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[Look, he owes her. And he knows Jem, she'd laugh about it once the trauma wears off, and she could use that. Which is why he pauses for a moment on the latter question, not defaulting to his usual fine, or throw-away disclaimer.]
Her demon boyfriend went back to his demon home. So she's a bit fucked. Then again, apparently she's eloping there with him, eventually, but her debt's taking longer to pay.
[He takes a moment to think if that answer's John's question.]
And we're out of crunchy nut. Otherwise, scraping through.
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he doesn't know her, but he knows that.
a second or two, and then: ]
Plain or clusters?
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[At last, a serious conversation. Freddie idly attempts moving in the moments that follow, but the height seems dizzier now than when he'd come up here pre-wine, and swaying on his knees isn't a good sign for what might happen on his feet.
He can sleep here, it's fine.]
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[ but he thinks there's some shuffling, John's not deaf, and he falls quiet to listen just as the shuffling stops. a beat, and: ] Are you stuck.
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[Don't be stupid, John. He's actually offended by the insinuation. Haven't you met him: lithe as a mountain goat and twice as horny. He could get off the roof if he wanted, but he doesn't so he'll just lay back down and
clatter-atter-atter-shatter-smash.]
...Well I wasn't when you asked.
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