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stunt_muppet at 02:41pm on 04/12/2007 under csi:miami, fanfics, fic posts, fic posts: gen, little brothers
stunt_muppet at 02:41pm on 04/12/2007 under csi:miami, fanfics, fic posts, fic posts: gen, little brothers Now, in contrast to the two-to-three months of agonizing required for Chapter 4, Little Brothers Chapter 5 came to me in an hour. Literally. Maybe an hour and a half.
Of course, that hour and a half adds up to a lot of homework-fleeing ten-minute LJ breaks, so I suppose after I post this I'm signing off for the day.
So, without too much further ado, I give you Chapter 5: The Daddy Issues Strike Back!
*_*_*_*
Little Brothers
Chapter 5: Leaving, Part 1
Horatio: 18
Raymond: 14
Moving on now...
-----
One last note, because I know someone's going to call me on it: Yes, I know that Ozzy Osbourne is not the guitarist for Black Sabbath. But Horatio doesn't know that. Which was kind of the point.
Oh, one more question: I couldn't quite decide if I wanted to make Raymond a Black Sabbath fan or a Buzzcocks fan. Thoughts?
Of course, that hour and a half adds up to a lot of homework-fleeing ten-minute LJ breaks, so I suppose after I post this I'm signing off for the day.
So, without too much further ado, I give you Chapter 5: The Daddy Issues Strike Back!
*_*_*_*
Little Brothers
Chapter 5: Leaving, Part 1
Horatio: 18
Raymond: 14
A/N: The final timeline of events for Little Brothers was stamped down, or finalized, or whatever you want to call it, in the very early days of Season 6. Now, I've tried so far to alter the timeline in accordance with new revelations in canon, but we're getting to the point where I can't anymore - I can't rewrite and rework this massive timeline over and over again, or I'll never get anything written. As such, Little Brothers is (mostly) canon-compliant up until, let's say, Episode 6x03. It's an AU after that.
Because I like my Julia BETTER than the one they've got and I don't feel like changing her, dammit. That's why. Fuck you, Powers That Be.
Moving on now...
-----
Raymond was well aware that he should have been helping Horatio pack. Specifically, he should have been doing that for the past two weeks, so they wouldn’t have ended up tossing everything into a suitcase at random like his brother was doing right now.
But really, Horatio seemed to have a handle on packing, more or less, so Ray could comfortably assume that his services were not needed. Which, in turn, left him free to sit on his bed and needle his increasingly frustrated older sibling.
“You sure that suitcase’s big enough?” he asked, glancing at the battered blue luggage set on the floor. “It’s almost full already.”
“Doesn’t need to be all that big, does it.” Horatio didn’t face him. “It’s just college. I don’t need every single piece of clothing I’ve ever owned.”
“Yeah? What if you forget something?”
“I’ll be half an hour away, Raymond; I could just come back and get it.”
There was a moment of silence between them. “You’re leaving soon as you finish getting packed, aren’t you?” Ray finally asked, more for something to talk about than anything else.
“Yes, Ray. I’m pretty sure I’ve told you that already.”
“You’re not saying goodbye to anyone?” Ray asked as his brother rummaged through his closet. “How about the Girl from Ipanema; you break the news to her yet?”
“She’s from Peru.” Horatio’s exasperated reply was muffled by row upon row of T-shirts. “And yes, I did; we broke it off last week.”
“Why?”
Horatio paused just long enough to shoot his brother a look. “Because I’m leaving for college, maybe?”
“You’ll only be half an hour away.”
He was about to reply when he realized that their conversation had lapped itself and gave up.
“Hey, all I’m saying is, she’s hot stuff. Especially since you’re gonna be spending the next four years with a bunch of wound-up pre-law kids and wannabe cops. Seems like a waste to just let all that go over a half-hour commute.”
“It’s not just the commute; I won’t be living here anymore. Gets harder to manage when I won’t see her every day. Besides –” Another shirt was pulled off its hanger and dropped unceremoniously to the floor. “ – it’s not fair to make her wait for me, don’t you think?”
“Who said anything about fair?”
He ignored the comment once again. “Do you have any idea where my blue shirt is? I just put it back up yesterday; I know it’s here.”
Ray glanced back at his brother’s bed. The shirt – cobalt blue, with tiny grey buttons and a collar and cuffs ironed into submission a hundred times over – lay folded on the pillowcase, set aside for packing and forgotten. But he wasn’t about to tell Horatio that, because so long as his brother stood there looking through his closet, he couldn’t close up that suitcase and head out the door.
-----
“You all packed up?” Dad looked up as Horatio rolled his suitcase through the front hall.
“Just finished.” He stopped, halfway to the front door.
“Put your suitcase in the trunk. I’ll drive you there.”
“I already called a cab, Dad.” And even after all this time he couldn’t meet his father’s eyes. “But thanks.”
“Oh. Okay, then. When’s it coming?”
“It should be here in a few minutes.”
“’Kay.” Dad fell silent, looking at the floor. “Look…I know it’s been hard not having your mother around. I know you’ve, ah…” He shrugged, and there was a mirthless smile trying to take hold on his face. “I know you’ve really had to step up, look after your brother. And I just wanted to let you know I’m proud of you, all right?” The smile gave up. “I really am.”
“Thanks, Dad.” He should have punched his father, really he should have – right then, right there, because what could Dad do to him now? And he was standing there, in the middle of that same damn room, talking about Mom like she’d just up and left one day.
But he wouldn’t do it. Of course he wouldn’t. He never would. It didn’t matter that, rationally, he knew he was an adult now and didn’t have to do a single thing his father said. Rational thought had nothing to do with it, because no matter what that was still Dad giving him that sheepish, apologetic face. Don’t talk back to Dad was hammered into his brain as thoroughly as Thou shalt not kill.
At a loss for anything else to say, Dad held up his arms, inviting a hug which his son grudgingly obliged. He didn’t smell of alcohol the way he used to, Horatio noticed; come to think of it, he hadn’t seen his father touch a drop for days now. Maybe weeks.
Why did Dad bother with the hug and the goodbye and the sendoffs, anyway? He wasn’t fooling anybody. Did he think someone was watching, checking to make sure they were still an appropriately normal, domestic family? Did he think he still had to put on this show?
“You’d better get going.” Dad’s voice was only a rumble by now.
Yes, he had. If he stayed in this house one more second he was going to be sick.
-----
Thus far, today, Raymond had been the proud and happy owner of his own bedroom for no less than four hours, sixteen minutes, and thirty-four seconds (he’d been counting). And he was relishing every second of it.
Oh, sure, at some point he knew he’d start to miss his older brother; it would take a while to adjust to the absence of someone who’d been there his entire life. But for now, he had his own. Damn. Bedroom.
He had the complete and unrestricted freedom to leave his laundry on his brother’s bed without enduring a glare (and a mini-lecture, if Horatio was in a bad mood for whatever reason). He could leave the lights on all night if he wanted to. He had the option to kick up that Sabbath album as loud as he desired and air guitar like a crazy person without listening to any snide commentary.
Fine, maybe that last bit had nothing to do with having his own room. But it would be nice to go through an entire round of “Supernaut” without hearing “You might want to think about a day job, Ozzy.”
So far, he hadn’t done much with his newfound freedom, except lounge on his own bed and enjoy the absence of anyone else in the room. Occasionally he would get up, walk around, play basketball with the trash basket and a crumpled-up paper sheet, or come as close as he could to turning a cartwheel without hitting the wall – just because he could, he had that space now.
Four hours, twenty-one minutes, and forty-two seconds. He could certainly get used to this.
It would be odd, though, not having him around. Horatio had been his constant, the one thing that was always present and always the same. After Mom died there’d been only Dad and Big Brother, and Dad had so withdrawn recently that he was barely even present anymore. Mom was gone, taken away, and Dad was Out There Somewhere if he really cared to look (and he didn’t), but Horatio was always here, right next to him, keeping an eye on him, helping him with his homework one minute and telling him to please get your damn socks off my bed, Raymond the next.
He had never really been by himself. On his own. Alone in a room.
Not that being alone in a room was a bad thing, he thought as he stretched out his arms and yawned. One less person looking over his shoulder; what was there not to like about that?
*_*_*_*One last note, because I know someone's going to call me on it: Yes, I know that Ozzy Osbourne is not the guitarist for Black Sabbath. But Horatio doesn't know that. Which was kind of the point.
Oh, one more question: I couldn't quite decide if I wanted to make Raymond a Black Sabbath fan or a Buzzcocks fan. Thoughts?
tired
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Oh, and a side note - Guitar Hero party? In the Union? "Iron Man"? Unbelievably awesome. And I could actually do it, only a half hour after first picking up a guitar.
I'm addicted.
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