Fic: Whatever Comes Monday
Author: rivlee
Title: Whatever Comes Monday
Rating: PG
Characters: Hoosier, Skinny.
Summary: There’s nothing like coming home. Part of the Nashville ‘verse
Disclaimer: This is all fiction based off the characters as portrayed in the HBO mini-series. Title and cut text from Keith Urban’s Raining on Sunday.
A/N: Unbeated. Sugary domestic fluff. I had a shitty morning and wrote this instead of bitching.
Rain wasn’t always a good thing in Nashville. There had been one too many floods in recent memory that left the populace wary of any large rainfall amount, especially for people who lived and worked near the Cumberland. On nights like this though, when it was just overcast and drizzling, it was easy to let the tension go.
Hoosier never really liked the rain. The only thing it was good for was sleeping, curled up under the covers in a nice, warm bed. Rain in the winter was worst, freezing to hail, and chilling the bones. He preferred never going out in it, but since he decided to spend his idle days as a working grunt, he’d taken that luxury away from himself.
He called Skinny as he started the hour long drive back home.
“You know how I feel about you driving and talking at the same time,” Skinny answered, “especially when it’s dark and raining.”
“But think of all the money you could make off my death benefits,” Hoosier said.
“I need you alive for when I sell your story to the tabloids,” Skinny said.
Hoosier didn’t bother to hide his smile in the dark of his truck. “You need me to pick anything up?” he asks.
“Nah,” Skinny said, exhaling the word on a tired breath, “just get home whole.”
“I will,” Hoosier said before he hung up the phone.
Jason Aldean’s voice sang low over the radio’s speakers. There weren’t too many cars out on the highway this late, and Hoosier took a sip of his coffee to stay awake. It was damn easy to be lulled, by the open road and surrounding mountains, following the curves of concrete deeper into the country.
The farther he got from the city, the colder it felt, and he wasn’t surprised to see the light dusting of flakes start to fall. He only hoped the roads weren’t too slick yet. He slowed the truck, hearing Skinny’s familiar lecture about driving conditions and speed limits in his head.
He pulled up into the driveway, shaking his head as he jumped out of the cab.
“What? You don’t trust me to find my own way to the door?” he asked.
Skinny was on the porch, bare toes wiggling in the cool night air, Butch yapping at his feet. It was hell of a sight to come home to, and one Hoosier couldn’t have imagined ten years ago.
“Considering you’ve wound up in the bushes more than once, no, I don’t,” Skinny said.
Hoosier just shrugged and joined them on the porch, reaching down to pet Butch’s soft fur.
“Look at you,” Skinny said, dusting the snow off his jacket, “don’t even know when to wear a coat.”
“It was just raining when I left,” Hoosier argued, “you’re lucky I remembered to take a jacket with me.”
“Small blessings,” Skinny muttered, tugging him inside.
The house was overly warm, Skinny hated the cold and had no problem paying the higher heating bill in the winter. It smelled like pine and oranges, which meant Mable had been by to clean. Minnie was laid out at the foot of the stairs, the mastiff’s body blocking the way.
“What pissed the princess off?” Hoosier asked.
Shifty shrugged. “You know how she feels about vacuum cleaners.”
“She could eat one,” Hoosier muttered, toeing his shoes off.
“You know she only eats that ridiculously overpriced organic dog food you buy for her,” Skinny said as he put Hoosier’s jacket over one of the chairs.
“Sorry if I want our dogs to live long, healthy lives,” Hoosier bitched.
“Our dogs eat better than we do,” Skinny muttered.
Hoosier didn’t argue with that, he knew he spoiled the dogs, but he didn’t really have another hobby. He followed Skinny into the kitchen, leaning against him as they poked through the fridge.
“What are you even doing up?” he asked, resting his chin on Skinny’s shoulder.
It’s not that Hoosier didn’t appreciate the gesture, but it was 3am and Skinny always had morning meetings.
“I’m taking a personal day,” Skinny said, sniffing at a casserole.
Hoosier straightened up. “What?” he asked.
Skinny continued to rummage through the fridge. “I am taking a personal day tomorrow,” he repeated.
Skinny Sisk didn’t take personal days; it took an Act of Lipton to make him take a vacation and Hoosier had to drug him with Nyquil to take a sick day.
“Are you dying?” Hoosier asked, steadying himself against the counter.
“What?” Skinny asked turning around.
Hoosier shrugged.
“Christ, Bill,” Skinny said, “I’m not that bad.”
Hoosier just looked at him.
“I figured,” Skinny said, “since the last time the forecast called for this much rain, I was stranded in downtown Nashville for a week, that I’d stay home this time.”
“I’m touched,” Hoosier said.
“I don’t want you to burn the house down,” Skinny said. He bumped Hoosier out of the way as he started to make a sandwich. “Besides, the last time I left you alone for a week, you watched QVC for two straight days and bought a fuck ton of shit we didn’t need.”
“And yet we were done with Christmas shopping before October,” Hoosier argued.
He stole a slice of cheese from the pack and settled down at the table, Butch jumping into his lap. He could get used to this, decompressing from work with Skinny at his side, rather than waking him up when he crawled into bed. They’d both been working overtime through the holiday rush and hadn’t spent more than few hours together in weeks. There was an easy solution to it, Hoosier could quit his job and be a house-husband but he’d probably blow something up out of boredom. Not that Skinny would let him quit, they both needed that time away from each other, with separate lives that just occasionally overlapped.
“Eat,” Skinny ordered, dropping a plate in front of Hoosier before he picked Butch up. “Take a shower before coming to bed.”
“What, no meal side entertainment?” Hoosier asked.
Skinny yawned in response.
********
Hoosier woke up around noon to the sound of rain pelting against the windows. It was dark in his bedroom. He turned to his side, surprised to find Skinny still there, sitting up and reading a magazine.
“You’re such a dork,” Hoosier murmured after spying the familiar yellow of National Geographic.
“I read it for the pictures,” Skinny said
Hoosier smiled and rolled into Skinny’s side. “At least it’s not snowing,” he said.
“Hmm,” Skinny agreed, hand tangling in Hoosier’s hair.
“You’re ignoring me,” Hoosier said.
“Half-listening,” Skinny corrected.
Hoosier laughed, the sound startling Minnie at the foot of the bed, and setting off a whole round of barking between her and Butch.
“And now I’m up,” Hoosier said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
“You’re such a child,” Skinny said before he kissed the top of Hoosier’s head.
“It’s my charm,” Hoosier deadpanned.
He stretched his arms out and debated getting out of bed. He stuck one foot out on the floor before making up his mind, retreating back under the covers.
“Now I know why you’re really in bed, it’s fucking cold in this house,” Hoosier said.
Skinny wiggled his sock-covered toes. “I decided to give the heater a break. The last thing I need is for the roads to be washed out and the heater dead. Suck it up, Smith, you’ll live.”
“Why do I put up with you?” Hoosier asked.
“Because I’m attracted to more than just your bank account and since we have to live together anyway, we might as well get laid,” Skinny answered without looking up from his article. The bastard almost sounded bored.
Hoosier smiled wide, that’s just how he like his Skinny Sisk, dry-witted and bitchy. He rested his head on Skinny’s stomach. “You say the most romantic things to me,” he said.
Skinny tapped him on the head with the top of his magazine. “Go back to sleep,” he ordered.
Hoosier knew better than to disobey the man.