Someone Like You 57/61: Family portraits - Beecher/Stabler
Someone Like You
by Dr Squidlove
drsquidlove @@@ livejournal.com
Oz/Law & Order: SVU crossover
Tobias Beecher's trying to rebuild his family in the shadow of the man he was in prison. Elliot Stabler's struggling to continue in the wake of divorce while his job eats away at his soul. It makes for an odd friendship, but it works.
Rated R for violence and explicit references to sexual violence.
Wordcount this post: 4019
Huge thanks to Elayna, from whom I sourced all my Thanksgiving cooking information. She was kind enough to give an incredibly detailed portrait of your weird Thanksgiving traditions.
Technically, yes, you're unlikely to find community ski areas open for Thanksgiving in Vermont. This is going to be one of those things you accept and move on, okay?
Full headers are on chapter 1.
Oz is the property of Tom Fontana and HBO. Law & Order: SVU is the property of Dick Wolf and NBC. The characters are used without permission, but with much appreciation.
Someone Like You
chapter 57: Family portraits
by Dr Squidlove
Previously, in chapter 56, The long drive:
Elliot came for a sleeping visit, and to add Olivia to the Thanksgiving guest list. Holly was disappointed that he wouldn't stay to celebrate a year of Holly and Toby's independent living, but he was forgotten in favour of fancy clothes and fine dining.
On the long, late drive to Vermont, Toby put some thought to his feelings for Elliot, and finally found the words Elliot needed to hear.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A sensor light blinked on as they pulled into the driveway.
Elliot climbed out of the car, grateful to stretch his legs and even more grateful to be done with the icy night driving. And already shivering. He hoped Toby was telling the truth about the caretaker turning the heating up for them. Elliot had lifted an eyebrow at that. "Caretaker?"
Toby had rolled his eyes. "You can hardly leave a house up here unattended. Arthur looks after a lot of houses around here."
Arthur had cleared the driveway. Elliot had been expecting patches of snow here and there, but they'd had a surprise fall last night and the lawn was covered. The house was modest, at least as far as Elliot had been expecting. Two stories, about the size of his and Kathy's house, with a bigger yard.
"Wait here. Arthur said he left the garage door clicker on the table." Toby crunched across the thin layer of snow to the front door, arms wrapped around himself against the chill. Elliot was watching his ass.
Toby loved him. Elliot pulled in a long breath, felt the icy air tickle his throat, swell in his chest. Toby loved him, and in a few words he'd managed to dispel all Elliot's fears about being second best. Elliot was never going to understand Toby and Chris, but whatever they'd had, it was nothing to be jealous of.
After another minute he climbed back in the car. Holly was still fast asleep.
The garage door trundled up, and Elliot drove inside. He couldn't help smiling as Toby came in and tugged Holly out of the car, and then hoisted her up to carry her. She barely woke far enough to wrap her legs around his waist. "Isn't she getting a little big for that?"
"I missed most of the years I could have done this. Grab a couple of bags, will you?"
Elliot loaded himself up and followed Toby through the door into the main house, grateful for the blast of heat. Toby was managing to carry Holly up the stairs, so Elliot doubled back for the rest of the bags, dropping them just inside the house. They could figure it all out in the morning, when Elliot wasn't still wound up from hours concentrating on the road.
He looked around. This was the home Toby had been eager to show him. It was simply furnished and bare of clutter. Like a vacation home, Elliot supposed. Timber floors with plush rugs, comfortable-looking couches in front of a fancy glass-doored wood-burning stove with logs set ready to light inside, and more stacked beside it. There was a huge old-wood dining table, made for entertaining a big family. He tried a door and found a bathroom, towels already hanging, so he emptied his bladder gratefully. Wandered out to explore the sprawling open-plan kitchen. There was a note on the fridge from Arthur to say the groceries had arrived and been put away, posted alongside instructions for trash collection and controlling the heat.
Arms slipped around Elliot's waist, and Toby's head pressed against his neck. "Hey."
"Hey." Elliot covered Toby's hands and just stood there for a while, enjoying the company. Feeling loved. "Show me your home."
"This is the kitchen."
"I already used my cunning detective skills to figure that out."
Lips pressed against Elliot's neck. "My dad used to make gingerbread at Christmas. It was the only thing he knew how to cook, and up here was the only time he had time to do it. It was amazing. I helped. Or hindered, maybe. The whole house smelled good enough to eat."
Elliot tried to imagine his own dad baking, and drew a blank. The kitchen was women's work. His dad took care of the yard, the house, probably only ever strayed into the kitchen to fix something that broke. "I don't think my father knew how to brew his own coffee." He felt Toby's gaze, waiting for more, but Elliot shook his head. He didn't want to ruin this mood. "Tell me about your dad."
"He was a big guy. Six-foot-five and broad-shouldered. He had this ridiculous fur flyer's hat he used to wear when we went out in the snow... It's probably around here somewhere." He glanced towards the door, like he might see it hanging up. "Right to the end, y'know, he thought I was a good person. No matter how much I fucked up... I remember him standing in the visiting room at Oz, telling me I was remarkable."
Elliot thought Harrison Beecher had it right.
Toby tugged him out to the main room and looked around, sifting through memories. "Gary took his first steps here. Headed straight for the stove. It wasn't the last time we had to dive for him - he loved fire. He'd stare at it for hours."
Toby led him through the house, catching Elliot's elbow as he shared stories, eyes alight. Looking as happy as Elliot had ever seen him. "Tomorrow I'll show you the park where I smoked my first cigarette." He straightened. "Which reminds me." He went to the pile of bags, dug through Holly's blue school backpack until he grunted and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
Elliot's eyebrows rose. "That's still going on?"
"It's a work in progress." He shoved the pack in his back pocket and pointed out the stick figure artwork hanging in frames on the way up the stairs: family pictures drawn by him and Angus when they were kids, and then one by Gary: a mother in a triangle dress and father with a tie, a little boy in blue and a baby in pink, all smiling as they stood on a green line of grass under a blue line of sky, with a spiky yellow sun. Toby ran a finger along the frame. "He'd be fourteen now."
Next was Holly's, and then one each from his nephews. "I'll have to make sure we get something from Harry."
Elliot ducked back down to catch up their bags and shut off the lights before he followed him up. He wondered who Harry would draw in his family picture.
Toby had put Holly to sleep in his own childhood bed, so Elliot was led along to the master bedroom.
Elliot put the bags down. This was something else. A king-size bed with a cloud-like comforter, under broad picture windows that he was sure would give him a view of something breathtaking in the morning.
Toby looked him over. "Are you tired?"
"No. But I'm ready for bed." Elliot hooked two fingers in Toby's pants and tugged him close. "I love you." Now he could tell Toby he loved him without it being a question. Toby loved him. Toby was happy. This weekend might be a disaster, but tonight it was just the two of them.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
They picked Harry up from the airport early, and headed to a local community ski slope mid-morning. Elliot politely declined a lesson of his own while he watched Toby in his thick red parka and his father's fur flying hat teach Holly and Harry to ski. He showed them all sorts of positions, turning his own skis this way and that, leaning forwards and to the sides as he taught them to stand and stop and turn, pointing out people on the slope as he explained safety and etiquette.
Harry had something of a resemblance to Toby, but he looked more like the photos of Genevieve. It made Holly's likeness to Toby stronger: the snub nose, the way she narrowed her eyes. Toby had introduced Elliot to Harry this morning as his 'friend', and Harry hadn't made anything of it. He'd shaken Elliot's hand, and gone back to telling Toby about how he was thinking of joining the air force instead of the navy.
Toby made them both laugh, and then led them to the smallest hill's rope tow. Elliot didn't think Toby's glow was entirely from the icy wind. Holly was reluctant at first - she never did like anything that got the adrenaline going - but Harry was a natural, and she wasn't going to let him have Toby's attention to himself. But the two kids were getting along well enough, like a couple of strangers who never expected to see each other again. Elliot wondered how much time Toby had spent begging Holly to behave herself.
Watching this made Elliot look forward to seeing his tomorrow. He was nervous as hell about how they'd be with Toby, but it wasn't the holiday without his family. They'd called him earlier from Kathy's sister's in New Jersey, where they were having the Thanksgiving day Elliot had shared with Kathy for the last twenty years. That had been weird.
Now Holly stood to the side, glaring as Harry dragged Toby higher up the hill. Higher than Holly was willing to go. Toby was laughing, egging Harry on even as he reminded him to bend his knees and mind where his skis were pointing. Elliot hoped Holly wasn't going to ruin this. He bent down for a handful of snow, packed it up and threw it at Holly's neck. She rounded on him, indignant, so Elliot looked behind him, looking for someone else to blame, and felt a snowball hit his leg. Perfect. Suddenly it was on, and she'd dumped her skis to chase him, snowballs flying while Toby got some time alone with Harry.
They fought until they were sitting on the snow, panting, and Elliot had ice trickling down his neck, and then Holly glared up at Toby and Harry as they headed for the T-bar up the bigger hill. Elliot leaned over to bump his arm against her shoulder. "You have lots of things you get to share alone with your dad, Hol. How about you let Harry and your dad share scary things?"
"I'm not a chicken."
Holly wasn't a chicken by a long shot. "I know that. You don't have to enjoy scary things. I don't like going to the theatre. My daughter Lizzie hates the beach."
"I love the theatre!"
"If you promise never to make me go see a show, then I promise I'll never make you ski from the top of that hill."
"Maybe you just haven't seen anything good. You should see 'Into the Woods'."
"Maybe you should try skiing from the top of the hill."
She looked at him like she was about to argue, and then a smile cracked through. "It's a really good show."
"That's a really good hill."
She settled back. "How come you're not skiing, anyway?"
"Because I can't afford to take time out of my career with a broken leg."
"So you're scared of skiing."
Elliot opened his mouth to explain the difference between the fear of getting hurt and the fear of medical bills putting his family into bankruptcy, and then he closed his mouth again. What did it hurt for Holly to think even big men had their phobias? So he just told her to be quiet, and enjoyed the giggle.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Elliot was watching Holly putting the finishing touches on a snow-castle in the front yard. A couple more inches had fallen sometime in the night, enough for building out of the drifts. He'd been charged with the heavy lifting as Toby led Harry off to the park to talk, but now Harry was gone, Elliot was forgotten. Toby had predicted right: Elliot was Holly's new best friend. Their talk last weekend had fixed the last of the damage Elliot had done when he hit Toby, but Elliot suspected their new closeness had a lot more to do with her showing Harry she was on the inside.
Sitting alone on the porch, watching someone else's kid. It was the most un-Thanksgiving ever. No turkey or pumpkin pie, no Macy's parade on the TV in the background, none of Elliot's own family. They were saving it all for Saturday. Even then, no beer: Olivia still couldn't drink after the accident, so unless Elliot wanted to split a six-pack with Maureen - which he didn't - he would have been drinking alone. At least Toby had promised Elliot and Harry they could watch the game this afternoon while he and Holly got started cooking.
That was the plan, depending how things went with Harry. Toby was explaining Elliot to Harry right now, the first big hurdle of the weekend. Elliot was feeling a lot less good about that than he had a couple of days ago, now that he'd seen Toby and Harry interact. There'd been some nice progress on the slope this morning, but when they came home for a late lunch, Harry was back to reacting with stiff formality to Toby's overtures, like he was a distant uncle. Toby seemed to take it as normal.
Elliot's gut tightened. There they were, coming slowly down the street. Harry was walking a good few steps ahead of Toby. Too far ahead to still be talking. Even from here, Elliot could see the slump in Toby's shoulders. It hadn't gone well.
He waited until they reached the yard, Harry staring at Elliot like he was an alien as he stalked past, heading straight in the front door and slamming it behind him.
Toby sat beside Elliot on the step, ignoring Holly's curious look as he said, just loud enough for Elliot to hear, "He wants to go home."
Elliot wanted to reach out to him, but he held back. "Don't let him."
"I told him even if I wanted, I can't put him on a flight this soon, but he wasn't hearing it. He's upstairs packing."
"What did he say, exactly?"
"That it's weird and wrong and haven't I embarrassed him enough? And I should leave him alone with Jonah and Marta and stop ruining his life."
There were tears in his eyes. Elliot wanted to pull him close, but he didn't know if that was what Toby wanted. Toby probably didn't want to break down in front of Holly - Elliot couldn't stand to lose it in front of his kids.
"It will be better when my kids get here tomorrow."
"I thought you were still worried about yours."
"I am." But what else was he supposed to say? Whatever other problems they had, Elliot was pretty sure they wouldn't stand for Harry being openly homophobic. He waved his hand. "It will be like your big family gatherings: more people, more breathing room. Maybe he'll sulk for a while, but he'll get to see everyone else getting along. It's hard for a kid to pout when other people are having fun without him." He could see how badly Toby wanted to believe it. "This is the part of parenting you just have to weather. Or so Kathy keeps trying to tell me. Didn't you ever tell your parents they were ruining your life?"
Toby snorted. "Yeah. Then I slammed my door and threw myself on my bed and swore I'd be a better parent than them."
"Yeah."
Toby's phone rang, and that little bit of calm evaporated. "That will be Jonah."
Elliot laid a hand on his back. "How about I take Holly for a walk?"
Toby looked up at Holly, who'd stopped pretending to play and was watching like a worried mother. "Thanks."
He pulled his phone out and Elliot caught his wrist before he could answer. "Don't let them convince you there's anything wrong with the way I feel about you." He kissed Toby's forehead and got up to escort Holly out of the way.
She looked longingly at her father, but let Elliot nudge her towards the sidewalk. He understood: he didn't want to leave Toby alone with that phone call, either. The lake was somewhere this way. "I told you he's horrible," said Holly. Elliot let it go.
A couple of minutes' walk and they found the lake, the water stretching all the way to the horizon. There were a couple of boats out there: yachts and die-hard fishermen with their own Thanksgiving traditions. They lingered for half an hour, barely talking, until Elliot saw Holly shiver, and then he led the way home.
He guessed he wasn't going to be watching the game with Harry after all. Elliot wished he could: maybe he could find a line to Harry. Or maybe Toby wouldn't want him waltzing in with his children again.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Toby chopped the onion slowly, reminding himself every few cuts not to throw the knife at a cabinet. He'd finally shooed Elliot out of the kitchen to sit on the couch and watch the football, the least he could do for him after dragging him into this mess. Toby wished he'd waited until after the game to talk to Harry, so that Elliot and Harry could have had some time to get to know each other before this all blew up, but then he also wished he'd put off telling Harry until Christmas. Or his twenty-first birthday. Elliot had tried: he'd gone up to coax Harry down, but to no one's surprise, he'd come back alone.
Holly crept up and took a bowl, and crept away again, and Toby wished she didn't read him so well, wished he could calm himself enough to soothe her. He wished a lot of things.
Jonah's phone call tirade on Toby's selfishness was still boiling his blood. Jonah had blamed Toby for dumping it on Harry without warning, he'd accused Toby of bringing home some casual partner, he'd tried to paint it that Harry was disgusted by men fucking each other, that this would ruin any chance Toby had of building a relationship with him. Jonah had said everything except what he really thought: that he was the one disgusted. That a goddamned homo had no right to be a father to his grandson.
Toby unclenched his fingers, took a long, slow breath. Jonah was full of shit. Harry was too young to care what men did in the bedroom. At ten years old he'd be just as grossed-out by straight sex. He only understood that his absent father was being weird and different, again, that this was another social embarrassment being visited on him by an almost-stranger.
Harry didn't hate Toby. He didn't care enough to feel anything like that. Toby was a nuisance to him, a frustrating interloper into his steady world, nagging for attention Harry didn't want to give.
He grabbed another onion, reminded himself to be calm, and started slicing.
Toby had been shaking with fury ever since the call, but he couldn't vent to Elliot just yet. Elliot might tell him to just bring Harry home, and Toby would lose the last thread of his temper. It was as simple for Elliot as it had been for Chris: he's your blood, he belongs with you. But Harry wasn't a possession. He was a person, and he was happy in San Diego. He had friends and a life and he loved Jonah and Marta, and Toby couldn't drag him out of all that just because Jonah was a homophobic prick. If Toby broke up his home, Harry would have every right to hate him. Toby wouldn't do it.
This whole weekend had been a stupid idea. He should have listened to Elliot but he'd blundered in, wanting to get everything over with at once, and now he had Harry trapped here, Elliot's kids on their way to add fuel to the fire, and Elliot dragged into the middle of it all. Thank god Elliot was being such a saint about it.
A little air rushed out of him. Thank god for Elliot.
Toby swept the onion into a bowl and wiped his hands on a towel. He dug deep into the fridge and wandered into the living room to lean over the back of the couch, laid a cold bottle against Elliot's chest, made him jump.
Elliot took the beer, twisting to meet his eyes. "Toby, you didn't have to buy this."
"It's okay, I sent Holly to the store to buy it."
Elliot just raised an eyebrow.
"I'm guessing it's one of your Thanksgiving traditions."
"We're breaking a lot of traditions this year."
"All the more reason to preserve a few." He rested his elbows on the back of the couch, and more quietly, he added, "I don't want Holly thinking it's some kind of unnameable evil. I can't drink, so I'm going to let you model a healthy relationship with alcohol."
Elliot nodded with a small smile. "Football does go better with beer. Thank you, Toby."
Toby leaned forward and kissed him, stroked his neck. "The rest of the six-pack is down the bottom of the fridge."
Elliot caught the collar of his polo shirt. "Are you all right?"
That was a big question. "Need some time to calm down."
Elliot nodded, understanding.
There must have been something going on here, because Toby was tempted to slide over and join him, and he hated football. But there was cooking to do, so he headed back to the kitchen as Elliot cracked the lid on his bottle. Nobody would have dared switch on a television at his parent's house at a family celebration, but he decided he liked the background drone. Or maybe it was just the reminder that Elliot was settled nearby.
Maybe Toby should start paying attention to football, use it to make a connection to Harry.
Holly had taken Toby's onions and was frying them up for the stuffing. She'd found a grey pinstripe apron in one of the drawers that hung well past her knees. He didn't know if she knew that was the one his father used to wear for baking gingerbread.
He kissed the top of her head. "How are you doing, Hol?"
"I'm okay." She gave him a long look.
"Me too." He smiled until she returned it. "What's next?"
She swished the onion around the frypan. "You could start the pumpkin."
"Got it." Toby dug out the steamer. Holly had at some point decided that befriending Elliot's kids was going to live or die on impressing them with Thanksgiving lunch. It didn't seem like a healthy approach, but fighting her on it seemed hypocritical. Toby was keeping charge of the turkey, and a careful eye on the scheduling, but he let Holly organise as much as she could.
Elliot wandered in as Toby was digging through mixing bowls. "Can I help?"
"We're fine. Enjoy your game."
"It's not the same alone. The game's a train wreck anyway. Give me something to chop up, and don't mind me if I wander off if something exciting happens."
"You can cut things up for the couscous salad," said Holly, laying a recipe print-out in front of him.
"Okay, boss."
Holly passed vegetables out from the fridge, explaining the exact size and shape she wanted each diced. Elliot waited until she'd turned back to take the pie crust out of the oven before he let his smile out.
He looked good. Tight jeans that cupped his ass and a black sweatshirt that stretched across his chest, the sleeves pushed up to show those raunchy forearms. Elliot had great forearms. Corded muscles that flexed as he chopped peppers or jerked Toby off. The tattoo that said Elliot had been proud to serve his country.
Toby didn't know if Elliot's mischievous look was because he knew Toby was watching, or because Holly was being so picky. Though when Elliot reached around him to pull a different knife from the block, pressing for just a moment, Toby had his suspicions. Elliot went back to his chopping board, and Toby went back to mashing pumpkin.
There was cheering from the television, and Elliot rushed out to see what he was missing. Harry was upstairs contemplating his social demise, and Toby was down here with a hard-on for his boyfriend. He was going to hell. But for now, he was taking whatever distractions he could get.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
end chapter 57
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The complete works of Dr Squidlove can be found at http://members.iinet.net.au/~tentacles/squidfic.html
S.
by Dr Squidlove
drsquidlove @@@ livejournal.com
Oz/Law & Order: SVU crossover
Tobias Beecher's trying to rebuild his family in the shadow of the man he was in prison. Elliot Stabler's struggling to continue in the wake of divorce while his job eats away at his soul. It makes for an odd friendship, but it works.
Rated R for violence and explicit references to sexual violence.
Wordcount this post: 4019
Huge thanks to Elayna, from whom I sourced all my Thanksgiving cooking information. She was kind enough to give an incredibly detailed portrait of your weird Thanksgiving traditions.
Technically, yes, you're unlikely to find community ski areas open for Thanksgiving in Vermont. This is going to be one of those things you accept and move on, okay?
Full headers are on chapter 1.
Oz is the property of Tom Fontana and HBO. Law & Order: SVU is the property of Dick Wolf and NBC. The characters are used without permission, but with much appreciation.
Someone Like You
chapter 57: Family portraits
by Dr Squidlove
Previously, in chapter 56, The long drive:
Elliot came for a sleeping visit, and to add Olivia to the Thanksgiving guest list. Holly was disappointed that he wouldn't stay to celebrate a year of Holly and Toby's independent living, but he was forgotten in favour of fancy clothes and fine dining.
On the long, late drive to Vermont, Toby put some thought to his feelings for Elliot, and finally found the words Elliot needed to hear.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A sensor light blinked on as they pulled into the driveway.
Elliot climbed out of the car, grateful to stretch his legs and even more grateful to be done with the icy night driving. And already shivering. He hoped Toby was telling the truth about the caretaker turning the heating up for them. Elliot had lifted an eyebrow at that. "Caretaker?"
Toby had rolled his eyes. "You can hardly leave a house up here unattended. Arthur looks after a lot of houses around here."
Arthur had cleared the driveway. Elliot had been expecting patches of snow here and there, but they'd had a surprise fall last night and the lawn was covered. The house was modest, at least as far as Elliot had been expecting. Two stories, about the size of his and Kathy's house, with a bigger yard.
"Wait here. Arthur said he left the garage door clicker on the table." Toby crunched across the thin layer of snow to the front door, arms wrapped around himself against the chill. Elliot was watching his ass.
Toby loved him. Elliot pulled in a long breath, felt the icy air tickle his throat, swell in his chest. Toby loved him, and in a few words he'd managed to dispel all Elliot's fears about being second best. Elliot was never going to understand Toby and Chris, but whatever they'd had, it was nothing to be jealous of.
After another minute he climbed back in the car. Holly was still fast asleep.
The garage door trundled up, and Elliot drove inside. He couldn't help smiling as Toby came in and tugged Holly out of the car, and then hoisted her up to carry her. She barely woke far enough to wrap her legs around his waist. "Isn't she getting a little big for that?"
"I missed most of the years I could have done this. Grab a couple of bags, will you?"
Elliot loaded himself up and followed Toby through the door into the main house, grateful for the blast of heat. Toby was managing to carry Holly up the stairs, so Elliot doubled back for the rest of the bags, dropping them just inside the house. They could figure it all out in the morning, when Elliot wasn't still wound up from hours concentrating on the road.
He looked around. This was the home Toby had been eager to show him. It was simply furnished and bare of clutter. Like a vacation home, Elliot supposed. Timber floors with plush rugs, comfortable-looking couches in front of a fancy glass-doored wood-burning stove with logs set ready to light inside, and more stacked beside it. There was a huge old-wood dining table, made for entertaining a big family. He tried a door and found a bathroom, towels already hanging, so he emptied his bladder gratefully. Wandered out to explore the sprawling open-plan kitchen. There was a note on the fridge from Arthur to say the groceries had arrived and been put away, posted alongside instructions for trash collection and controlling the heat.
Arms slipped around Elliot's waist, and Toby's head pressed against his neck. "Hey."
"Hey." Elliot covered Toby's hands and just stood there for a while, enjoying the company. Feeling loved. "Show me your home."
"This is the kitchen."
"I already used my cunning detective skills to figure that out."
Lips pressed against Elliot's neck. "My dad used to make gingerbread at Christmas. It was the only thing he knew how to cook, and up here was the only time he had time to do it. It was amazing. I helped. Or hindered, maybe. The whole house smelled good enough to eat."
Elliot tried to imagine his own dad baking, and drew a blank. The kitchen was women's work. His dad took care of the yard, the house, probably only ever strayed into the kitchen to fix something that broke. "I don't think my father knew how to brew his own coffee." He felt Toby's gaze, waiting for more, but Elliot shook his head. He didn't want to ruin this mood. "Tell me about your dad."
"He was a big guy. Six-foot-five and broad-shouldered. He had this ridiculous fur flyer's hat he used to wear when we went out in the snow... It's probably around here somewhere." He glanced towards the door, like he might see it hanging up. "Right to the end, y'know, he thought I was a good person. No matter how much I fucked up... I remember him standing in the visiting room at Oz, telling me I was remarkable."
Elliot thought Harrison Beecher had it right.
Toby tugged him out to the main room and looked around, sifting through memories. "Gary took his first steps here. Headed straight for the stove. It wasn't the last time we had to dive for him - he loved fire. He'd stare at it for hours."
Toby led him through the house, catching Elliot's elbow as he shared stories, eyes alight. Looking as happy as Elliot had ever seen him. "Tomorrow I'll show you the park where I smoked my first cigarette." He straightened. "Which reminds me." He went to the pile of bags, dug through Holly's blue school backpack until he grunted and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
Elliot's eyebrows rose. "That's still going on?"
"It's a work in progress." He shoved the pack in his back pocket and pointed out the stick figure artwork hanging in frames on the way up the stairs: family pictures drawn by him and Angus when they were kids, and then one by Gary: a mother in a triangle dress and father with a tie, a little boy in blue and a baby in pink, all smiling as they stood on a green line of grass under a blue line of sky, with a spiky yellow sun. Toby ran a finger along the frame. "He'd be fourteen now."
Next was Holly's, and then one each from his nephews. "I'll have to make sure we get something from Harry."
Elliot ducked back down to catch up their bags and shut off the lights before he followed him up. He wondered who Harry would draw in his family picture.
Toby had put Holly to sleep in his own childhood bed, so Elliot was led along to the master bedroom.
Elliot put the bags down. This was something else. A king-size bed with a cloud-like comforter, under broad picture windows that he was sure would give him a view of something breathtaking in the morning.
Toby looked him over. "Are you tired?"
"No. But I'm ready for bed." Elliot hooked two fingers in Toby's pants and tugged him close. "I love you." Now he could tell Toby he loved him without it being a question. Toby loved him. Toby was happy. This weekend might be a disaster, but tonight it was just the two of them.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
They picked Harry up from the airport early, and headed to a local community ski slope mid-morning. Elliot politely declined a lesson of his own while he watched Toby in his thick red parka and his father's fur flying hat teach Holly and Harry to ski. He showed them all sorts of positions, turning his own skis this way and that, leaning forwards and to the sides as he taught them to stand and stop and turn, pointing out people on the slope as he explained safety and etiquette.
Harry had something of a resemblance to Toby, but he looked more like the photos of Genevieve. It made Holly's likeness to Toby stronger: the snub nose, the way she narrowed her eyes. Toby had introduced Elliot to Harry this morning as his 'friend', and Harry hadn't made anything of it. He'd shaken Elliot's hand, and gone back to telling Toby about how he was thinking of joining the air force instead of the navy.
Toby made them both laugh, and then led them to the smallest hill's rope tow. Elliot didn't think Toby's glow was entirely from the icy wind. Holly was reluctant at first - she never did like anything that got the adrenaline going - but Harry was a natural, and she wasn't going to let him have Toby's attention to himself. But the two kids were getting along well enough, like a couple of strangers who never expected to see each other again. Elliot wondered how much time Toby had spent begging Holly to behave herself.
Watching this made Elliot look forward to seeing his tomorrow. He was nervous as hell about how they'd be with Toby, but it wasn't the holiday without his family. They'd called him earlier from Kathy's sister's in New Jersey, where they were having the Thanksgiving day Elliot had shared with Kathy for the last twenty years. That had been weird.
Now Holly stood to the side, glaring as Harry dragged Toby higher up the hill. Higher than Holly was willing to go. Toby was laughing, egging Harry on even as he reminded him to bend his knees and mind where his skis were pointing. Elliot hoped Holly wasn't going to ruin this. He bent down for a handful of snow, packed it up and threw it at Holly's neck. She rounded on him, indignant, so Elliot looked behind him, looking for someone else to blame, and felt a snowball hit his leg. Perfect. Suddenly it was on, and she'd dumped her skis to chase him, snowballs flying while Toby got some time alone with Harry.
They fought until they were sitting on the snow, panting, and Elliot had ice trickling down his neck, and then Holly glared up at Toby and Harry as they headed for the T-bar up the bigger hill. Elliot leaned over to bump his arm against her shoulder. "You have lots of things you get to share alone with your dad, Hol. How about you let Harry and your dad share scary things?"
"I'm not a chicken."
Holly wasn't a chicken by a long shot. "I know that. You don't have to enjoy scary things. I don't like going to the theatre. My daughter Lizzie hates the beach."
"I love the theatre!"
"If you promise never to make me go see a show, then I promise I'll never make you ski from the top of that hill."
"Maybe you just haven't seen anything good. You should see 'Into the Woods'."
"Maybe you should try skiing from the top of the hill."
She looked at him like she was about to argue, and then a smile cracked through. "It's a really good show."
"That's a really good hill."
She settled back. "How come you're not skiing, anyway?"
"Because I can't afford to take time out of my career with a broken leg."
"So you're scared of skiing."
Elliot opened his mouth to explain the difference between the fear of getting hurt and the fear of medical bills putting his family into bankruptcy, and then he closed his mouth again. What did it hurt for Holly to think even big men had their phobias? So he just told her to be quiet, and enjoyed the giggle.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Elliot was watching Holly putting the finishing touches on a snow-castle in the front yard. A couple more inches had fallen sometime in the night, enough for building out of the drifts. He'd been charged with the heavy lifting as Toby led Harry off to the park to talk, but now Harry was gone, Elliot was forgotten. Toby had predicted right: Elliot was Holly's new best friend. Their talk last weekend had fixed the last of the damage Elliot had done when he hit Toby, but Elliot suspected their new closeness had a lot more to do with her showing Harry she was on the inside.
Sitting alone on the porch, watching someone else's kid. It was the most un-Thanksgiving ever. No turkey or pumpkin pie, no Macy's parade on the TV in the background, none of Elliot's own family. They were saving it all for Saturday. Even then, no beer: Olivia still couldn't drink after the accident, so unless Elliot wanted to split a six-pack with Maureen - which he didn't - he would have been drinking alone. At least Toby had promised Elliot and Harry they could watch the game this afternoon while he and Holly got started cooking.
That was the plan, depending how things went with Harry. Toby was explaining Elliot to Harry right now, the first big hurdle of the weekend. Elliot was feeling a lot less good about that than he had a couple of days ago, now that he'd seen Toby and Harry interact. There'd been some nice progress on the slope this morning, but when they came home for a late lunch, Harry was back to reacting with stiff formality to Toby's overtures, like he was a distant uncle. Toby seemed to take it as normal.
Elliot's gut tightened. There they were, coming slowly down the street. Harry was walking a good few steps ahead of Toby. Too far ahead to still be talking. Even from here, Elliot could see the slump in Toby's shoulders. It hadn't gone well.
He waited until they reached the yard, Harry staring at Elliot like he was an alien as he stalked past, heading straight in the front door and slamming it behind him.
Toby sat beside Elliot on the step, ignoring Holly's curious look as he said, just loud enough for Elliot to hear, "He wants to go home."
Elliot wanted to reach out to him, but he held back. "Don't let him."
"I told him even if I wanted, I can't put him on a flight this soon, but he wasn't hearing it. He's upstairs packing."
"What did he say, exactly?"
"That it's weird and wrong and haven't I embarrassed him enough? And I should leave him alone with Jonah and Marta and stop ruining his life."
There were tears in his eyes. Elliot wanted to pull him close, but he didn't know if that was what Toby wanted. Toby probably didn't want to break down in front of Holly - Elliot couldn't stand to lose it in front of his kids.
"It will be better when my kids get here tomorrow."
"I thought you were still worried about yours."
"I am." But what else was he supposed to say? Whatever other problems they had, Elliot was pretty sure they wouldn't stand for Harry being openly homophobic. He waved his hand. "It will be like your big family gatherings: more people, more breathing room. Maybe he'll sulk for a while, but he'll get to see everyone else getting along. It's hard for a kid to pout when other people are having fun without him." He could see how badly Toby wanted to believe it. "This is the part of parenting you just have to weather. Or so Kathy keeps trying to tell me. Didn't you ever tell your parents they were ruining your life?"
Toby snorted. "Yeah. Then I slammed my door and threw myself on my bed and swore I'd be a better parent than them."
"Yeah."
Toby's phone rang, and that little bit of calm evaporated. "That will be Jonah."
Elliot laid a hand on his back. "How about I take Holly for a walk?"
Toby looked up at Holly, who'd stopped pretending to play and was watching like a worried mother. "Thanks."
He pulled his phone out and Elliot caught his wrist before he could answer. "Don't let them convince you there's anything wrong with the way I feel about you." He kissed Toby's forehead and got up to escort Holly out of the way.
She looked longingly at her father, but let Elliot nudge her towards the sidewalk. He understood: he didn't want to leave Toby alone with that phone call, either. The lake was somewhere this way. "I told you he's horrible," said Holly. Elliot let it go.
A couple of minutes' walk and they found the lake, the water stretching all the way to the horizon. There were a couple of boats out there: yachts and die-hard fishermen with their own Thanksgiving traditions. They lingered for half an hour, barely talking, until Elliot saw Holly shiver, and then he led the way home.
He guessed he wasn't going to be watching the game with Harry after all. Elliot wished he could: maybe he could find a line to Harry. Or maybe Toby wouldn't want him waltzing in with his children again.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Toby chopped the onion slowly, reminding himself every few cuts not to throw the knife at a cabinet. He'd finally shooed Elliot out of the kitchen to sit on the couch and watch the football, the least he could do for him after dragging him into this mess. Toby wished he'd waited until after the game to talk to Harry, so that Elliot and Harry could have had some time to get to know each other before this all blew up, but then he also wished he'd put off telling Harry until Christmas. Or his twenty-first birthday. Elliot had tried: he'd gone up to coax Harry down, but to no one's surprise, he'd come back alone.
Holly crept up and took a bowl, and crept away again, and Toby wished she didn't read him so well, wished he could calm himself enough to soothe her. He wished a lot of things.
Jonah's phone call tirade on Toby's selfishness was still boiling his blood. Jonah had blamed Toby for dumping it on Harry without warning, he'd accused Toby of bringing home some casual partner, he'd tried to paint it that Harry was disgusted by men fucking each other, that this would ruin any chance Toby had of building a relationship with him. Jonah had said everything except what he really thought: that he was the one disgusted. That a goddamned homo had no right to be a father to his grandson.
Toby unclenched his fingers, took a long, slow breath. Jonah was full of shit. Harry was too young to care what men did in the bedroom. At ten years old he'd be just as grossed-out by straight sex. He only understood that his absent father was being weird and different, again, that this was another social embarrassment being visited on him by an almost-stranger.
Harry didn't hate Toby. He didn't care enough to feel anything like that. Toby was a nuisance to him, a frustrating interloper into his steady world, nagging for attention Harry didn't want to give.
He grabbed another onion, reminded himself to be calm, and started slicing.
Toby had been shaking with fury ever since the call, but he couldn't vent to Elliot just yet. Elliot might tell him to just bring Harry home, and Toby would lose the last thread of his temper. It was as simple for Elliot as it had been for Chris: he's your blood, he belongs with you. But Harry wasn't a possession. He was a person, and he was happy in San Diego. He had friends and a life and he loved Jonah and Marta, and Toby couldn't drag him out of all that just because Jonah was a homophobic prick. If Toby broke up his home, Harry would have every right to hate him. Toby wouldn't do it.
This whole weekend had been a stupid idea. He should have listened to Elliot but he'd blundered in, wanting to get everything over with at once, and now he had Harry trapped here, Elliot's kids on their way to add fuel to the fire, and Elliot dragged into the middle of it all. Thank god Elliot was being such a saint about it.
A little air rushed out of him. Thank god for Elliot.
Toby swept the onion into a bowl and wiped his hands on a towel. He dug deep into the fridge and wandered into the living room to lean over the back of the couch, laid a cold bottle against Elliot's chest, made him jump.
Elliot took the beer, twisting to meet his eyes. "Toby, you didn't have to buy this."
"It's okay, I sent Holly to the store to buy it."
Elliot just raised an eyebrow.
"I'm guessing it's one of your Thanksgiving traditions."
"We're breaking a lot of traditions this year."
"All the more reason to preserve a few." He rested his elbows on the back of the couch, and more quietly, he added, "I don't want Holly thinking it's some kind of unnameable evil. I can't drink, so I'm going to let you model a healthy relationship with alcohol."
Elliot nodded with a small smile. "Football does go better with beer. Thank you, Toby."
Toby leaned forward and kissed him, stroked his neck. "The rest of the six-pack is down the bottom of the fridge."
Elliot caught the collar of his polo shirt. "Are you all right?"
That was a big question. "Need some time to calm down."
Elliot nodded, understanding.
There must have been something going on here, because Toby was tempted to slide over and join him, and he hated football. But there was cooking to do, so he headed back to the kitchen as Elliot cracked the lid on his bottle. Nobody would have dared switch on a television at his parent's house at a family celebration, but he decided he liked the background drone. Or maybe it was just the reminder that Elliot was settled nearby.
Maybe Toby should start paying attention to football, use it to make a connection to Harry.
Holly had taken Toby's onions and was frying them up for the stuffing. She'd found a grey pinstripe apron in one of the drawers that hung well past her knees. He didn't know if she knew that was the one his father used to wear for baking gingerbread.
He kissed the top of her head. "How are you doing, Hol?"
"I'm okay." She gave him a long look.
"Me too." He smiled until she returned it. "What's next?"
She swished the onion around the frypan. "You could start the pumpkin."
"Got it." Toby dug out the steamer. Holly had at some point decided that befriending Elliot's kids was going to live or die on impressing them with Thanksgiving lunch. It didn't seem like a healthy approach, but fighting her on it seemed hypocritical. Toby was keeping charge of the turkey, and a careful eye on the scheduling, but he let Holly organise as much as she could.
Elliot wandered in as Toby was digging through mixing bowls. "Can I help?"
"We're fine. Enjoy your game."
"It's not the same alone. The game's a train wreck anyway. Give me something to chop up, and don't mind me if I wander off if something exciting happens."
"You can cut things up for the couscous salad," said Holly, laying a recipe print-out in front of him.
"Okay, boss."
Holly passed vegetables out from the fridge, explaining the exact size and shape she wanted each diced. Elliot waited until she'd turned back to take the pie crust out of the oven before he let his smile out.
He looked good. Tight jeans that cupped his ass and a black sweatshirt that stretched across his chest, the sleeves pushed up to show those raunchy forearms. Elliot had great forearms. Corded muscles that flexed as he chopped peppers or jerked Toby off. The tattoo that said Elliot had been proud to serve his country.
Toby didn't know if Elliot's mischievous look was because he knew Toby was watching, or because Holly was being so picky. Though when Elliot reached around him to pull a different knife from the block, pressing for just a moment, Toby had his suspicions. Elliot went back to his chopping board, and Toby went back to mashing pumpkin.
There was cheering from the television, and Elliot rushed out to see what he was missing. Harry was upstairs contemplating his social demise, and Toby was down here with a hard-on for his boyfriend. He was going to hell. But for now, he was taking whatever distractions he could get.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
end chapter 57
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