Fic: Heart Is Home; Nashville 'verse

[rivlee]

Author: rivlee

Title: Heart Is Home

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Hillbilly, Haldane, and the Allison’s crew.

Summary: Andy wants to learn how to play. Part of Nashville ‘verse

Disclaimer: This is all fiction based off the characters as portrayed in the HBO mini-series. Title and cut text from Dierks Bentley’s Love Grows Wild.

A/N: Unbeated. Mostly background. More domestic fluff than anyone can dare stand.



Andrew Haldane’s hands were made for writing letters and throwing footballs; for flipping through old books and tinkering with machines. He could wield a hammer or an axe without hesitation and easily drew out game day strategies. He could put together a carburetor block and electrically wire a house. He received his carpentry licensure under his father’s watchful eyes. He did not have the fingers of an artist or a musician and felt clumsy, cradling the smooth strings and frets of the guitar in his hands. His calluses were in the wrong place, his fingertips didn’t move quick enough, he felt awkward trying to maneuver his limbs around the guitar body.

Really, he didn’t know why he bothered. Well, that was a lie, he knew damn well, why but it’s not like his partner, Eddie Jones, would care. Eddie always said he loved Andy in spite of his lack of guitar-laden musical talent.

Andy loved music, he always had. Even as a kid, he remembered watching his father dance his mother around the kitchen while The Temptations crooned though the old console radio. He wasn’t used to liking things as the spectator, in the audience. Andy was born to participate, could never quiet the urge to do something for himself, to discover it on its own, how to make it work, how to make it his. But music, that was always the one thing that made him sit back and enjoy, without feeling any guilt over not being constantly active.

He was lucky, living in New England. There was always some new up-and-coming band, either the students out of Berklee or the kids with nothing but an instrument and a dream from all over the region. The musical festivals and free shows, the supportive, sprawling scene led him to meeting lifer after lifer in the business, from merch guys to tour managers, roadies to bus drivers. He still remembered the first time he met Ken Casey, stumbling across him in an auto repair shop of all places, amazed that the man who growled over Dropkick Murphys’ tracks could calmly read Better Homes & Gardens with a smile on his face.

That moment, it made the actual talent more human to him than ever before. He started paying attention to the talent as human beings rather than artists. Learned that though quite a few did want the fame and the glory, most just wanted to play enough to make a steady income.

And still he marveled at their talent, the way they effortlessly played, even though Andy knew logically, hours upon years upon decades went into their work. They were in a constant state of practice and improvement. Even the established greats knew better than to get rusty, to rest on their laurels, to forget that fame and success could easily and quickly turn against you.

Despite all his knowledge, love, and obsession with music, specifically the guitar led, he never wanted to play, not really. He could pound out a decent tune on the piano, though his father begged him never to attempt the bagpipes again. Andy was content being in the audience, watching others work their craft, until he stumbled into a dive bar in Knoxville.

Life changing epiphanies aren’t supposed to happen in dive bars, but once Andy arrived in Knoxville, things never quite went as he planned.

And he never planned on Knoxville.

Andy planned on finishing his Bachelor’s and applying to Harvard Law or Suffolk. His mother loved the idea, even if Boston was full of lawyers, it was something better than being a high school football coach and teaching Health and Physical Education. His father ordered him to look at other options first. He traveled down to Duke, didn’t like the brick and mortar feeling of Durham and decided to drive the Blue Ridge Parkway before going back home.

It was at a rest stop just over the North Carolina border where he fell in love with the area. He saw a sign listing the miles to Knoxville and figured why the hell not. He always loved learning about the Tennessee Valley Authority.

If he stayed in New England who would’ve followed the same path set out for him and all his peers. Go to a good high school, an Ivy League, a Law School, and then join one of the many firms in Boston. Andy liked to argue but he never wanted to be paid for it. He didn’t know what his father expected as the result of Andy’s impromptu tour of the Southern states, but announcing at the family reunion that he was going to the University of Tennessee and studying anthropology certainly wasn’t what Grandma Bessie was hoping for.

He liked Knoxville, even if it came with its own body farm and too many federal authorities milling about.

He was halfway through his master’s program when he stumbled into a rundown bar. Well, pizza place. Honestly, both. Depending on the time of day Brick Crossing served a different function.

On the stage sat Eddie Jones, holding court with nothing but a stool, a mic, and a guitar to bring people in. He’d heard about Eddie from various members of the musical community around town, heard his name whispered in awe and muttered in revelation. The man had his own set of legends around him, everything from people saying he’d made a deal at a crossroads Robert Johnson style, to rumors about being a country star in disguise or a traveling ghost musician.

After five shots of whiskey and a tumble in a dark alley, Andy could attest to the fact that Eddie Jones was a flesh-and-blood man. He didn’t know about the crossroad deal, and wouldn’t find out for another six months about Eddie’s hatred for big music. All he knew after that first night was that Eddie’s hands had callouses of all kinds, not just from guitar strings. He knew what Eddie’s mouth tasted like after a tequila shot, knew what it felt like to have his slim frame pressed up against a brick wall, to tangle fingers in curly hair, warmed by the humidity of a summer night.

It was a move that could’ve gotten them both arrested, assaulted, or both, but someone was looking out for them that night, and all the times after.

********

“Why are you doing this again?” Hoosier Smith asked, guitar cradled in his hands as the sounds of the Nashville night surrounded them.

“I want to surprise Eddie,” Andy told him.

Hoosier used to be a pop star, he knew how to play. Now he was a part-time bartender for the hell of it, letting his royalties cover his living expenses and using his tip-money to amuse him for whatever else. Jumping out of airplanes, climbing mountains, and doing his level best to make Skinny Sisk lose all his hair before the age of forty.

Hoosier fit in well with Allison’s, he was the asshole bartender, Mike Wynn, was his older, nicer bartender.

“I don’t see why you’re bothering.” Hoosier said, “you already live and sleep with the man.”

“Hell, Andy,” Mike said, “Eddie probably likes you because you’re not a musician.”

“It is such a chore to have more than one diva attitude in a relationship,” Hoosier said with a straight face.

“Help me or I tell that journalist your true history and take away all your fun,” Andy threatened.

“Aww, don’t ruin my Leckie visits. That’s cruel and unusual, Haldane,” Hoosier said, twirling a pick between his fingers.

“You’re cruel and unusual,” Andy shot back. He never was one for poetic license.

“Aren’t you college boys supposed to have better insults than a seven-year-old?” Hoosier said.

“Fuck you, Bill.”

“Sorry, Andy, I’m saving myself for marriage.”

“Kids, don’t make me separate you two,” Mike said. He pointed to Hoosier. “You are going to help the man who signs your paychecks. And you,” he said pointing to Andy, “are just going to have to deal with the consequences of asking Hoosier for help.”

“He taught Chuckler,” Andy said.

“Chuckler had innate talent,” Hoosier said.

Mike slapped Hoosier on the back of the head. “Be nice or I’ll call Sisk.”

Hoosier grumbled but settled back and studied Andy. “You know this is hopeless, right? You want to learn how to play a song in less than a week.”

“Hell, Hoosier, I’m not asking you to teach me Stairway to Heaven or , just something you’d teach a kid,” Andy said.

“Kids have more nimble fingers than you,” Hoosier said.

“Bill, I swear to all that is holy--” Andy started.

“Okay, fine,” Hoosier interrupted him, “but we’re going to need some additional help.”

“Like who?” Andy asked.

Hoosier just smirked.

********

Their move to Nashville came due to three major events. Andy graduated, his uncle Eliot died, and Eddie signed a song-writing deal with a bluegrass label. Andy could’ve stayed in Knoxville, gone for his Doctorate, but he’d grown used to a life shared with Eddie; he couldn’t live without those prefect grilled cheese sandwiches and Sunday mornings filled with the faint sound of piano-laden hymns.

Uncle Eliot left him a large sum of money in his Will. There was only one requirement, Andy couldn’t become a lawyer. Uncle Eliot went to his grave hating the profession and had to get that last jab in after death.

So while Eddie negotiated his contract, Andy drove through Nashville, its outskirts and suburbs. Across the street from a second-hand instrument store he found an old bar for sale, plastered paint peeling and dusty windows under a wooden sign that said Allison’s.

Andy was never one to believe in things like fate, but he also knew when to take a hint.

Logically he knew that buying a bar before they even had a house wasn’t the smartest thing to do in the world, but the label already promised Eddie some artist housing that would work in the interim. They spent four months in cramped quarters, while Eddie secured business contacts and they both started the clean-up process of Allison’s. One night, while driving back from some church flea market, they stumbled across their home. Sat back far from the road, they almost missed the “For Sale By Owner” sign.

In one year Andy went from a graduate student to a business and home owner and it all somehow felt right. And most of that had to do with the supportive musical man at his side. Eddie was used to a life of hardship, growing up in a large but poor family. There was never enough money to go around, but it was a house full of love. Most of what Eddie made still went back to his Mom and younger siblings. Eddie wanted the babies, as he called them, to be able to go to college. To live without the worry that always gnawed at him and his older siblings. Andy had more than enough from his inheritance, stock investments, and jobs he picked up to support the two of them. One of the reasons he’d fallen so hard for Eddie was his unwavering devotion to his family, and he thanked whatever deity out there was listening for letting him stumble into the path of such a man.

********

Hoosier’s idea of help was recruiting Runner Conley, who only signed talent, he didn’t play anything, and Ray Person who, well, he was in a band at one time. In two days they’d achieved precisely nothing.

“Okay, look, Eddie gets back from Las Vegas in a week and the closest Haldane is to performing is Hot Cross Buns via recorder,” Runner said.

“I always felt like the recorder got the bullshit treatment by all the other musical instruments. It’s like the Wildebeests of the Animal Kingdom. No one thinks of the poor Recorder,” Ray said.

“Person, please, shut the fuck up,” Runner said as he slapped Ray on the back of the head. “Now we all know Haldane is doomed to fail, but he’s gone to bat for all of us at one point or the other so the least we can do is teach the guy how to play Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star or some shit.”

“I can hear you,” Andy said from his table. “And for you information, Person, I do know how to play the recorder. It led to my career as a trumpeter in the school band.”

“You were in band?” Ray asked.

Andy shrugged. “It was the 90s, schools still had funding for music programs. I spent more time on the football field, but since I sucked at basketball, I needed something to do in the winter other than hockey.”

“Wait, what the hell,” Hoosier said, “you can play the fucking trumpet but you can’t figure out a simple six-string?”

“They’re not the same instrument,” Andy said, “I never said I couldn’t play any instrument.”

“Then why the hell are we here?” Hoosier asked.

“Because Hillbilly sleeps with his guitar,” Ray said.

“Bed must be crowded,” Mike said.

“Between the guitars, the dog, and Pointy-Elbowed Jones,” Andy said, “just a bit.”

“How is that you’ve managed to live with Eddie for six years and you still don’t know how to play a full song?” Mike asked.

Andy shrugged. “We get distracted during lessons.”

“Really,” Ray said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Andy chucked a bottle cap at his head. “I hate to shatter your illusions, Person, but real grown-ups have to take care of things like bills, household matters, and random homeless kids from Missouri who drop in their laps and need a place to live.”

“I offered to prostitute myself on the streets; it’s not my fault you have a thing for Little Orphan Annies,” Ray said.

“If I threaten to withhold your pay, will you stop talking?” Andy asked.

“Not as long as he has a vantage point to stare at Walt Hasser’s ass,” Runner said.

Andy pinched the bridge of his nose. “I need a beer,” he muttered as he walked over to the bar.

“I just don’t understand why you feel the need to do this,” Runner said, “everyone knows you worship Eddie.”

“Conley, what the hell are you talking about?” Andy asked.

“You did build Eddie a recording studio,” Hoosier said. “Hell, I don’t know anyone else who’s given out one of those for a birthday surprise.”

“I didn’t want him driving on those country roads at night,” Andy said.

Mike shook his head. “Stop making Andy feel like a jackass, boys. We all know that studio is nothing fancy and only big enough to fit three people inside. Don’t be jealous that Skinny doesn’t love you enough to put one of those in your house, Hoosier.”

“Sisk would build me one in a heartbeat if he didn’t think I’d ruin the equipment with beer and cigarette smoke,” Hoosier said.

Andy said nothing, just looked at the clock above and saw it was time to open. Chuckler was playing tonight and that meant they’d be packed. Mike was thinking the same thing too and he nodded at Andy when their eyes met.

“Alright, boys, time to get to work. Got a show to put on tonight,” Mike said.

Andy smiled and silently thanked god for Mike. He was the only reason Eddie and Andy felt like they could ever leave this place for an extended period of time. Hoosier would just drink all their beer and Ray would try and turn it into a sex club, but Mike, he always knew what he was doing.

********

Their home was on an old horse farm. A majority of the land had been sold off into large lots, but most of their neighbors were still separated by pastures and woods. Eddie had a whole stack of old horseshoes either he or Bocephus dug up. Their garage was a converted stable and in the morning the smell of the local tobacco smokehouse filled the air. It wasn’t the type of place Andy pictured for himself as a child, but he didn’t think he could find a decent peace anywhere else now.

Only a handful of people knew they were married. Not that it mattered in Tennessee, but it mattered in Massachusetts and even though they’d done it on a whim three years ago, it still felt right. They’d only gone to see Andy’s parents after Mike Wynn came rolling into Nashville. They were back in his home state, surrounded by his family and old friends for a week when Andy woke up one morning and dragged Eddie, his parents, and his cousin Vera down to the courthouse.

Mama Jones was pretty damn pissed she’d missed the big event. They went to visit her later that year and she threw them a huge party, complete with a homemade wedding cake, and a huge puppy as a wedding gift. Even then, when Bocephus was nothing but three months old, his paws were huge. He was part wolfhound, part retriever, and Andy swore he was part horse too.

He fit in perfectly with their live in Nashville. Felt like the missing piece had finally slotted in, the one they didn’t even know they needed.

********

“Why the guitar?” Ray asked.

“Because Eddie gave me this guitar,” Andy said, gesturing to the instrument in his lap.

“What about his banjos,” Ray said.

“Even I don’t touch his banjos,” Andy said.

“And that doesn’t worry you? That obsession he has with them?” Ray asked.

Andy shrugged. “They’re family heirlooms and even if the instruments themselves weren’t worth vast sums of money, they’re full of memory and history. It might have escaped your notice, Ray, but until recently there was precious little Eddie held on to.”

“And now he’s got the house, the dog, and the husband,” Ray said. He made a face. “God, you two are sickening and really fucking boring.”

Andy laughed so hard he actually cried.

********

Eddie came home two days early looking like hell. He stumbled into the house bleary-eyed, barely coherent, and in desperate need of a shave.

“You tried to drive it all straight through, didn’t you?” Andy asked.

Eddie flopped down on the couch next to him, burying his head under one of the throw pillows.

“Apparently it’s a bad idea to chug down those five hour energy drinks like they’re water,” his muffled voice replied.

Andy poked his stomach, trying not to wrinkle his nose at what he long called Eau de Rest Stop. “Remember that time where I told you I didn’t want you to die of electric shock before the age of 40. Now I’m amending to it to add, or a caffeine induced heart attack.”

“I don’t even have the energy to give you the finger right now, Andy, but just to let you know, I’m thinking it,” Eddie said.

“I’m shocked by your vulgar sign language. My virgin eyes are sullied. I shall never be able to look you in the face again.”

Eddie pushed the pillow of his face and threw it at Andy’s head, missing by a mile.

“It’s a good thing you never tried to play baseball,” Andy said.

“Shut up and help me to bed,” Eddie demanded.

“If only all those boys and girls who idolize you and your calm, collective nature could see you now,” Andy said, trying his best not to laugh. He heaved Eddie up with one arm and led him up the stairs.

“Oh, I’d just let the Church of Haldane see you first thing in the morning. Between the bed head and the coffee breath they’d all run screaming.”

“Why did I marry you again?”

“Tax advantages,” Eddie yawned.

Andy gently lowered him down into the bed and started to pry all his traveling clothes off while Eddie gave a rambling account of his drive home. Eddie was beyond speaking coherently, but Andy could grasp the majority of it. He was well versed in Tired Hillbilly.

********

“What do you mean he’s already back,” Ray demanded slamming down a set of ashtrays. “Shit, holmes, we needed those extra days.”

“Grasshopper, you will learn that Edward Jones always comes back at least one day early,” Hoosier said.

“Damn, Haldane, I didn’t think you were that good in bed,” Ray said.

“Don’t make me fire you, Ray,” Andy said.

Ray smirked, knowing it was an empty threat. For all his attitude and bullshit, Ray really was a quality Sound guy. Andy didn’t know why the kid wouldn’t take a full time engineering position in one of the studios, but hell, maybe Ray just liked the bar scene.

“What are you going to do?” Hoosier asked.

“I’ve got a back-up plan,” Andy assured him, “always need to plan for all occasions.”

“Such a Boy Scout,” Hoosier said.

“Eagle Scout,” Andy corrected. He earned that title with pride and poison oak scars.

“Of course,” Hoosier muttered before turning back to the liquor order.

They let the sounds of work fill the void of conversation. It wasn’t like working in an office, with beeping fax machines, staplers slamming, and computers humming. Their days were full of the sound of clinking glass and the swoosh of a rag wiping down a table, the shuffle of wooden tables and chairs and the pull of electrical tape. Andy paused in the middle of his inventory to think about what could have been. He could be working in an established law firm, going to work in expensive suits with a Bluetooth attached to his ear, living in Brookline or Beacon Hill. Instead he lived in the Tennessee country side, when to work in old jeans and faded t-shirts, his cell phone often left forgotten on a shelf somewhere. Neither life was easy, but the differences were pretty damn obvious and vast. And he didn’t want to fathom what the hell would’ve happened if he hadn’t picked Knoxville.

“You’re waxing poetic again,” Eddie’s voice murmured into his ear. Eddie’s arms wrapped around his waist and pulled Andy’s cell phone out of his pocket. “How many times do we need to have the discussion about you leaving this on?” he asked.

“At least one more,” Andy admitted.

“Not in the bar, you two,” Mike chastised them as he walked by, lugging a box of Coca-Cola syrup.

“You don’t sound surprised to see me,” Eddie said.

Mike laughed. “Hell, Hillbilly, I was expecting you two days ago. You’re late.”

Eddie laughed into Andy’s hair, his breath trailing down his neck, before he pressed a quick kiss to the top of Andy’s head and backed away.

“I better go see how much damage Ray’s done to my amps,” he said.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Andy said.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Eddie replied.

********

Eddie was out in the backyard when Andy got home, playing tug-a-war with Bocephus. The dog was winning this time, but they were both covered in leaves and mud. The kitchen would be ruined if they got any worse. Andy opened the back door and whistled to bring them both inside. Bocephus beat Eddie back, but it was a close one.

“Which one of you needed to work the energy off?” Andy asked as Eddie toed off his shoes.

“Me,” Eddie said, “skin’s itching. Something don’t feel right.”

“Maybe Merriell’s grandma really did put a curse on you,” Andy said.

“There he is,” Eddie told Bocephus while pointing at Andy, “the love of my life, wishing my death. My heart of hearts has been betrayed. How am I to live with this scoundrel?”

“Reading your sister’s romance novels again?” Andy asked.

“It had a really interesting cover,” Eddie said.

“Foiled by a man in a kilt were you?” Andy asked.

Eddie shrugged. “It’s a weakness. I have a thing for calf muscles.”

“Ah, and suddenly the real reason for going to all those Highland Games is revealed,” Andy said. He threw Bocephus a handful of dog biscuits as he walked to the fridge. “Any ideas for dinner?”

“Tuna sandwich and tomato soup,” Eddie said.

Andy smiled at him. “I love your simple tastes.”

Eddie nodded as he propped his feet on one of the kitchen chairs. “It’s one of the things that make me the perfect man,.”

Andy chose not to respond to that one.

Dinner was a quiet affair as they both took the time to unwind. They only one who really made noise was Bocephus and that was because Eddie kept sneaking him bits of his dinner. They sprawled out on the back porch afterwards and Andy decided it was time.

“So, you know how three years ago we were visiting my parents’ house?” Andy asked.

“And decided to go down to the courthouse and get married, yes, I think I recall such an event,” Eddie said with a wide smile.

“Well, in celebration of that random yet momentous occasion, I’ve decided to surprise you with something,” Andy said.

“Andy, if you’re about to tell me you’re somehow pregnant, I’ve got be honest, that might be a deal breaker.”

Andy laughed. “I think we’ve got more than enough adopted children without me getting magically knocked up. No, as something to mark our non-anniversary anniversary, I, uh, just listen, okay,” he said. He pulled out the guitar from where it was hidden behind the wicker couch.

Eddie sat up intrigued.

“Don’t laugh,” Andy said.

“When have I ever laughed at you?” Eddie asked, eyes warm.

Andy looked up from tuning the guitar. “About five minutes ago when I tripped over the dog,” he said.

“But that was funny,” Eddie said.

“This is serious,” Andy said.

“Okay,” Eddie agreed. He went suddenly serious and straightened up. “What’s this about?”

“I wanted to do something special for you, for us, this being our sort of sixth year anniversary of living together and our third year of being married.”

“No sort of about it,” Eddie said, “I happily remember that night when you stumbled into my musical web.”

“Stop talking to Luz when he’s writing his screenplays,” Andy said.

Eddie laughed and ran a hand through Andy’s hair. “What are you so worked up about?”

“I really suck at this,” Andy said.

Eddie stood up and settled behind him, resting his chin on Andy’s shoulder. “We’ve all got to begin somewhere. Just start,” he said.

Andy took a deep break and began to play. He knew how to play the piano, knew how to do it damn well, and his only hope to get through this was to convert the piano chords to guitar chords in his head. It meant that he played slow, out of time, and very much stuttered, but the melody was still there. House of the Rising Sun was one of the first rock songs he leaned to play on the piano, and now it held the dubious honor of the guitar as well. Eddie hummed the words while he played, his beard scratching into Andy’s neck, as his fingers tapped the rhythm out on Andy’s thighs.

“So that was my great musical debut and retirement performance,” Andy said when he strummed out the very last note.

Eddie clapped. “I am honored to share this moment with you. Though it always hurts my soul to see such a quick rise and hard fall of a new act.”

“I decided to leave it all behind before my looks faded away and all my fans left me for the next young thing.”

“No hope for a comeback tour?”

“I think I’ll leave that to the more talented among us.”

Eddie tugged the guitar out of Andy’s hands and carefully set it to the side. He pulled Andy down into a kiss.

“Thank you, really,” he murmured.

“You’re welcome, really,” Andy replied. “You can laugh now.”

“No need to laugh at something you tried so hard at.”

“Right,” Andy said, “go ahead before you break something.”

Eddie just shook his head and entwined their fingers. “I am so stupidly in love with you, you know that, right?”

Andy nodded, ducking his head, still never quite sure how to properly handle so much honest emotion. Still disbelieving how fucking lucky he was that he’d found Eddie, of all people.

“I can assure you it’s mutual,” Andy said.

Their tender moment was broken by Bocephus howling at something in the back yard but even that was still, somehow, perfect.