Fic: The Sweetest Decline (My Bodyguard, PG)
Title: The Sweetest Decline
Fandom: My Bodyguard
Pairing: Ricky/Clifford preslash
Rating: PG
Summary: Mrs. Peache watches Ricky and Clifford's friendship grow into something a little harder to define.
Mrs. Peache knew something about raising boys. She'd raised her own son, after all, and after Clifford's mother died she'd taken over the job of raising him too. It was something she was good at; not everyone agreed with her techniques, but she liked to think she had a natural talent for shaping young people into the kind of adults who knew how to get the most out of life.
Not everyone had that particular talent, but she did what she could with everyone she met. And every once in awhile she'd come across someone who wanted her help, even if they didn't know it. Someone so desperate to learn how to live - really live life to the fullest - that she could feel it just by touching his hand.
Ricky Linderman was one of those people. Oh, he was more afraid than most, but he wanted it more than most as well. Clifford had seen that even though he didn't really recognize what he was seeing, and from the very first time she watched them together Mrs. Peache could tell that they needed each other.
She didn't need to see the scars on Ricky's wrists to know how much he needed someone to care about him; all she had to do was watch the way he looked at Clifford, as though he was something sacred and fragile that could break at the slightest touch. It didn't take her long at all to see what Ricky's wistful expression meant; she'd seen it many times before in her long life, although in the past it had usually been directed at her. Still, she knew how these things sometimes went, and she couldn't really say she was surprised that Clifford's first love would be someone like Ricky.
She wasn't sure how she felt about her only grandson being 'that way', but he was young and she supposed he still had a lot of time to make those decisions about his life. And it was so rare to find the kind of affection Ricky and Clifford obviously shared that she couldn't begrudge them, not that it would have mattered to either of them if she did.
In a way she was proudest of Clifford for knowing himself well enough to not worry about what other people thought. He'd always been a bright boy with a good head on his shoulders, and he was going to need that now more than ever. Granted, she was more astute than most when it came to human nature, but eventually the other kids at Clifford's school would start to see what she'd known all along. As long as they were here at the hotel they didn't have to worry about what the rest of the world had to say, and she was going to make sure it stayed that way for as long as she could.
It was obvious when she watched them together that they didn't really understand what was happening between them yet, but they got a little closer to it every day. Sometimes she caught herself interrupting them on purpose, trying to protect them from crossing that last line. They'd both seen so much in their short lives, but in some ways they were still innocent and it was hard not to want to protect them from themselves. She knew if she interfered too much she'd drive them away, though, and then she'd spend all her time worrying about where they were and who might hurt them.
She knew Clifford and his father thought she was just a crazy old lady, but she'd been around a lot longer than both of them and she knew what she was talking about. She'd earned the right not to care what people thought about her; to say what was on her mind and not worry about propriety. But she'd also learned that not everyone in the world was as understanding as she was, and she had a feeling that Ricky had already learned that lesson.
No one had brought up the scars on his wrists since that first time, and she hadn't sat Clifford down and talked to him about it. She'd thought about it, but in the end she decided that he needed to hear the truth from Ricky as much as Ricky needed to be the one to tell him. And maybe it would take them a long time to get around to that conversation, but she knew when they did that Clifford would know the right thing to say. He was a smart boy, after all, and he had enough of her in him to understand people without really trying.
Mrs. Peache squared her shoulders and pushed open the door to the dining room, smiling to herself at the sight of Ricky and Clifford sitting on one side of their usual table, heads bent together in some secret conversation. She cleared her throat when she reached the table, setting a tray down and reaching for Ricky's plate.
"Don't worry about it," Clifford was saying, "Gramma probably knows."
"I know lots of things," she said, grinning merrily when two pairs of eyes turned toward her. "So what's the big mystery?"
"Ricky's jacket," Clifford said, casting a quick glance at the other boy. "You know, the green one? He left it in my room and when we went back upstairs it was gone."
"Oh, that." She waved her hand dismissively and piled sandwiches on Ricky's plate before she reached for Clifford's. "One of the maids probably got it mixed up with the sheets. You know they never watch what they're doing. I'll go by the laundry after lunch and see if I can't find it."
"They're washing it?" Ricky asked, and it was all Mrs. Peache could do not to laugh when she looked up and saw the alarm in his eyes.
She reached over and patted his hand, gently but firmly guiding him back into his chair. "They don't mind. Besides, a little soap and water never hurt anything. You'll get it back good as new."
Out of the corner or her eye she caught Clifford watching her; she was tempted to wink at him, but she didn't want to make Ricky any more nervous than he already was. He still hadn't learned how to relax when he thought people were watching him, but she'd seen him relax when he thought no one was watching, so she hadn't given up on him yet. Maybe he'd never be as easy-going as Clifford, but that was exactly the reason they complemented each other.
Ricky looked like he wanted to argue, but before he got the chance Clifford nudged his arm to get his attention. "You can stay for dinner if you want. It'll turn up by then."
"I thought you wanted to take my bike out," Ricky said, glancing back and forth between Clifford and Mrs. Peache as though he thought they were setting him up. She'd always known he was smarter than he gave himself credit for, but the more time he spent hanging around the hotel the more she could see his good sense shining through.
Clifford just shrugged and turned back to his lunch. "We can go tomorrow."
Ricky didn't answer, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He tried to cover it up by focusing on his lunch, but Mrs. Peache saw it anyway. She was careful not to watch either of them too closely during lunch; making them feel self-conscious about the glances they stole at each other wouldn't do either of them any good. When they finished eating she shooed them away from the table, promising again to track down Ricky's coat before she went back upstairs.
She took her time cleaning up their lunch dishes, stopping in the kitchen to flirt with the cook before she made her way back to the laundry room. When she got there Ricky's jacket was just as she'd promised; washed and pressed and hanging neatly on a rack with the hotel guests' special request cleaning. She smiled at the maid she'd given the jacket to earlier, carefully slipping it off its hanger and pressing her face to the warm cotton. Gone were the smells of smoke and motor oil; she wasn't sure how they'd managed to work that kind of magic, but she'd known if anyone could get it clean it would be the girls that worked at the Ambassador.
When Ricky's jacket was tucked carefully under her arm she headed back upstairs, taking a few detours along the way to avoid Griffith and flirt with the guests in the bar. By the time she finally made it back to their suite it was almost dinner time, but neither of the boys seemed to notice how long she'd been gone. In fact they hardly noticed her at all when she found them on the patio, their voices too low to make out as they whispered whatever secrets teenage boys told each other.
"Here it is, sweetheart, just like I said," she announced, smiling fondly at both of them when they started and looked up at her. "Stand up, let's see how it looks."
"It's just my old jacket," Ricky said, but he stood up obediently and slid it on.
"How's it feel?" she asked, sliding into the seat next to Clifford and nudging him with her elbow.
"Clean." He sounded as though the word was a foreign concept, and judging by the state his jacket had been in when she got her hands on it, she was fairly sure it was. That was alright, though - he just needed a little help from time to time, and between her and Clifford they made sure he had what he needed. Besides, she got a kick out of the delighted look on Clifford's face when Ricky wrinkled his nose in disgust at the clean smell of his jacket.
She watched them joke back and forth for awhile longer, smiling at the way Ricky blushed whenever Clifford teased him about how long it would take him to get his jacket dirty again. The gesture wasn't much, but she could tell from the way Ricky's hands kept smoothing down the edges of his jacket that he appreciated it. And maybe they both knew that it wasn't an accident at all, but that didn't really matter. All that mattered was that Ricky knew she'd meant what she'd told him the first time they met; he was among friends, and he didn't have to worry about being judged by the past.
Finally she stood up and announced that she was famished. She laughed at the surprised looks on both boys' faces, positive that they'd forgotten she was still sitting there. "You kids want me to have dinner sent up here tonight?"
"Sure, Gramma, that'd be great," Clifford answered. She nodded and granted them each another smile before she let herself back into the suite. Once she was safely inside she watched them through the patio doors for another moment, their skin glowing softly in the setting sun as they unconsciously moved a little closer and took up whatever conversation she'd interrupted when she arrived.
Eventually Clifford's hand found its way to the lapel of Ricky's jacket, worrying the fabric between his thumb and forefinger as he spoke. She couldn't make out the look in his eyes when he turned his face up to Ricky's again, but the older boy's answering expression was unmistakable. Suddenly she felt as though she was intruding on something private, so she turned away from the patio and headed downstairs to find someone to bring them some dinner.
She would have liked to stay and watch a little longer, if only because it was so rare to see such openness in Ricky's expression. There were some things only Clifford could help him with, though, and she had faith that her grandson would do the right thing. After all, he was growing up to be just like her.
Fandom: My Bodyguard
Pairing: Ricky/Clifford preslash
Rating: PG
Summary: Mrs. Peache watches Ricky and Clifford's friendship grow into something a little harder to define.
Mrs. Peache knew something about raising boys. She'd raised her own son, after all, and after Clifford's mother died she'd taken over the job of raising him too. It was something she was good at; not everyone agreed with her techniques, but she liked to think she had a natural talent for shaping young people into the kind of adults who knew how to get the most out of life.
Not everyone had that particular talent, but she did what she could with everyone she met. And every once in awhile she'd come across someone who wanted her help, even if they didn't know it. Someone so desperate to learn how to live - really live life to the fullest - that she could feel it just by touching his hand.
Ricky Linderman was one of those people. Oh, he was more afraid than most, but he wanted it more than most as well. Clifford had seen that even though he didn't really recognize what he was seeing, and from the very first time she watched them together Mrs. Peache could tell that they needed each other.
She didn't need to see the scars on Ricky's wrists to know how much he needed someone to care about him; all she had to do was watch the way he looked at Clifford, as though he was something sacred and fragile that could break at the slightest touch. It didn't take her long at all to see what Ricky's wistful expression meant; she'd seen it many times before in her long life, although in the past it had usually been directed at her. Still, she knew how these things sometimes went, and she couldn't really say she was surprised that Clifford's first love would be someone like Ricky.
She wasn't sure how she felt about her only grandson being 'that way', but he was young and she supposed he still had a lot of time to make those decisions about his life. And it was so rare to find the kind of affection Ricky and Clifford obviously shared that she couldn't begrudge them, not that it would have mattered to either of them if she did.
In a way she was proudest of Clifford for knowing himself well enough to not worry about what other people thought. He'd always been a bright boy with a good head on his shoulders, and he was going to need that now more than ever. Granted, she was more astute than most when it came to human nature, but eventually the other kids at Clifford's school would start to see what she'd known all along. As long as they were here at the hotel they didn't have to worry about what the rest of the world had to say, and she was going to make sure it stayed that way for as long as she could.
It was obvious when she watched them together that they didn't really understand what was happening between them yet, but they got a little closer to it every day. Sometimes she caught herself interrupting them on purpose, trying to protect them from crossing that last line. They'd both seen so much in their short lives, but in some ways they were still innocent and it was hard not to want to protect them from themselves. She knew if she interfered too much she'd drive them away, though, and then she'd spend all her time worrying about where they were and who might hurt them.
She knew Clifford and his father thought she was just a crazy old lady, but she'd been around a lot longer than both of them and she knew what she was talking about. She'd earned the right not to care what people thought about her; to say what was on her mind and not worry about propriety. But she'd also learned that not everyone in the world was as understanding as she was, and she had a feeling that Ricky had already learned that lesson.
No one had brought up the scars on his wrists since that first time, and she hadn't sat Clifford down and talked to him about it. She'd thought about it, but in the end she decided that he needed to hear the truth from Ricky as much as Ricky needed to be the one to tell him. And maybe it would take them a long time to get around to that conversation, but she knew when they did that Clifford would know the right thing to say. He was a smart boy, after all, and he had enough of her in him to understand people without really trying.
Mrs. Peache squared her shoulders and pushed open the door to the dining room, smiling to herself at the sight of Ricky and Clifford sitting on one side of their usual table, heads bent together in some secret conversation. She cleared her throat when she reached the table, setting a tray down and reaching for Ricky's plate.
"Don't worry about it," Clifford was saying, "Gramma probably knows."
"I know lots of things," she said, grinning merrily when two pairs of eyes turned toward her. "So what's the big mystery?"
"Ricky's jacket," Clifford said, casting a quick glance at the other boy. "You know, the green one? He left it in my room and when we went back upstairs it was gone."
"Oh, that." She waved her hand dismissively and piled sandwiches on Ricky's plate before she reached for Clifford's. "One of the maids probably got it mixed up with the sheets. You know they never watch what they're doing. I'll go by the laundry after lunch and see if I can't find it."
"They're washing it?" Ricky asked, and it was all Mrs. Peache could do not to laugh when she looked up and saw the alarm in his eyes.
She reached over and patted his hand, gently but firmly guiding him back into his chair. "They don't mind. Besides, a little soap and water never hurt anything. You'll get it back good as new."
Out of the corner or her eye she caught Clifford watching her; she was tempted to wink at him, but she didn't want to make Ricky any more nervous than he already was. He still hadn't learned how to relax when he thought people were watching him, but she'd seen him relax when he thought no one was watching, so she hadn't given up on him yet. Maybe he'd never be as easy-going as Clifford, but that was exactly the reason they complemented each other.
Ricky looked like he wanted to argue, but before he got the chance Clifford nudged his arm to get his attention. "You can stay for dinner if you want. It'll turn up by then."
"I thought you wanted to take my bike out," Ricky said, glancing back and forth between Clifford and Mrs. Peache as though he thought they were setting him up. She'd always known he was smarter than he gave himself credit for, but the more time he spent hanging around the hotel the more she could see his good sense shining through.
Clifford just shrugged and turned back to his lunch. "We can go tomorrow."
Ricky didn't answer, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He tried to cover it up by focusing on his lunch, but Mrs. Peache saw it anyway. She was careful not to watch either of them too closely during lunch; making them feel self-conscious about the glances they stole at each other wouldn't do either of them any good. When they finished eating she shooed them away from the table, promising again to track down Ricky's coat before she went back upstairs.
She took her time cleaning up their lunch dishes, stopping in the kitchen to flirt with the cook before she made her way back to the laundry room. When she got there Ricky's jacket was just as she'd promised; washed and pressed and hanging neatly on a rack with the hotel guests' special request cleaning. She smiled at the maid she'd given the jacket to earlier, carefully slipping it off its hanger and pressing her face to the warm cotton. Gone were the smells of smoke and motor oil; she wasn't sure how they'd managed to work that kind of magic, but she'd known if anyone could get it clean it would be the girls that worked at the Ambassador.
When Ricky's jacket was tucked carefully under her arm she headed back upstairs, taking a few detours along the way to avoid Griffith and flirt with the guests in the bar. By the time she finally made it back to their suite it was almost dinner time, but neither of the boys seemed to notice how long she'd been gone. In fact they hardly noticed her at all when she found them on the patio, their voices too low to make out as they whispered whatever secrets teenage boys told each other.
"Here it is, sweetheart, just like I said," she announced, smiling fondly at both of them when they started and looked up at her. "Stand up, let's see how it looks."
"It's just my old jacket," Ricky said, but he stood up obediently and slid it on.
"How's it feel?" she asked, sliding into the seat next to Clifford and nudging him with her elbow.
"Clean." He sounded as though the word was a foreign concept, and judging by the state his jacket had been in when she got her hands on it, she was fairly sure it was. That was alright, though - he just needed a little help from time to time, and between her and Clifford they made sure he had what he needed. Besides, she got a kick out of the delighted look on Clifford's face when Ricky wrinkled his nose in disgust at the clean smell of his jacket.
She watched them joke back and forth for awhile longer, smiling at the way Ricky blushed whenever Clifford teased him about how long it would take him to get his jacket dirty again. The gesture wasn't much, but she could tell from the way Ricky's hands kept smoothing down the edges of his jacket that he appreciated it. And maybe they both knew that it wasn't an accident at all, but that didn't really matter. All that mattered was that Ricky knew she'd meant what she'd told him the first time they met; he was among friends, and he didn't have to worry about being judged by the past.
Finally she stood up and announced that she was famished. She laughed at the surprised looks on both boys' faces, positive that they'd forgotten she was still sitting there. "You kids want me to have dinner sent up here tonight?"
"Sure, Gramma, that'd be great," Clifford answered. She nodded and granted them each another smile before she let herself back into the suite. Once she was safely inside she watched them through the patio doors for another moment, their skin glowing softly in the setting sun as they unconsciously moved a little closer and took up whatever conversation she'd interrupted when she arrived.
Eventually Clifford's hand found its way to the lapel of Ricky's jacket, worrying the fabric between his thumb and forefinger as he spoke. She couldn't make out the look in his eyes when he turned his face up to Ricky's again, but the older boy's answering expression was unmistakable. Suddenly she felt as though she was intruding on something private, so she turned away from the patio and headed downstairs to find someone to bring them some dinner.
She would have liked to stay and watch a little longer, if only because it was so rare to see such openness in Ricky's expression. There were some things only Clifford could help him with, though, and she had faith that her grandson would do the right thing. After all, he was growing up to be just like her.