![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: My Life Catching Up With Me
Author: Clay
Characters/Pairings: Rick/Linda, with Rick/Braeden, Sean/Braeden and Linda/James background
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Finally having kicked his heroin addiction, Rick thought life would be better now, but he finds himself stuck in the same old rut that led him down that path to begin with. A late night call to an old friend, however, just might change his outlook. Title taken from In This All Alone by Richard Marx. Despite that being a very good after-heroin!Rick song, in my opinion, this story is more of a sappy romance, which is totally not what you wanted, but it's what they wanted to do. I'm sorry! Happy birthday, Lyndsey! I hope you like it anyway. I feel like it's too short, but I just didn't have time to expand on it anymore. See you in a few hours. ^_^ *kiss*
Word Count: 5,066
Friday, March 14, 1986
His hair felt damp as he ran his fingers through it, lank and greasy as though he hadn't washed it in a few days, and, when he stopped to think about it, he actually couldn't remember the last time he'd bathed. Cleanliness wasn't on the forefront of his mind these days, though it really should have been. It made up part of the “routine” that would get his mind off slipping into old habits.
Get up, shower, dress, feed the animals, go to work, come home, watch a movie, huddle up at the end of Braeden's couch and try not to focus on the fact that his would be soulmate was busy kissing someone else. It wasn't the best routine, Rick had to admit, but it got him through each day and then the next.
Amy still hadn't returned from Washington. Had she, he might have something else to take up his time, distracting himself with the child they'd unwittingly planted in her belly, but no, she was concerned with kicking her own addiction with the help of Briar and Claire up in Seattle. Sometimes Rick wondered if it wasn't just the percocets she was trying to kick, but her obsession with her brother, too.
He had no such luxury, nowhere he could run and hide. Oh, he had Daniel: loving, patient Daniel whom he claimed to love more and more every day Braeden refused to come around, Daniel who'd fought his own addictions, who was more than willing to help him over this hump and forgive him his infidelities that had brought about his uborn son, but Rick refused to give in to his soft words and kind touches. Rick wouldn't for one second allow himself to seek sanctuary in Daniel's waiting arms because he knew the very second Braeden said the word, he'd drop Daniel, and how could he take so much without willing to give in return?
He breathed a heavy sigh and ran his fingers through his hair again. It hung limply around his shoulders. The mirror before him was spotted with water stains and what appeared to be a streak of blood. Behind him, someone was vomiting inside a toilet stall.
The reflection that stared back at him wasn't as dreary as he'd feared. Two months of staying clean had brought some of the color back into his cheeks, had softened the hollowed look behind his eyes. He'd gotten through the worst of it, the sweating and retching and the pain, but he couldn't help but still feel lost.
Maybe, for once, he should call her.
He'd chosen Braeden's mother, Linda—his own self-chosen surrogate—as his sponser, the one he could call any time of day or night when the need to shoot up was boiling in his veins and he didn't know where to turn, but in the time since then, he'd never once picked up the phone.
Linda had practically raised him after puberty, when his own parents fell short. In a way, she was his ideal woman. His preference veered very sharply to the male half of the species, but Linda still held a grace and a beauty that was utterly undeniable. She was stately and yet warm, stern but loving, and he'd always been able to go to her for a word of advice or something as simple as a hug.
But now...
When he thought of her now, all he could think was that he'd let his momma down.
She'd calmed him during his rebelious teens, brought him up when the world was crashing down, and then he'd gone and done this, traded her in for a bag of heroin, trying to tell himself that he was saving her from having to deal with his sorry ass, but the real reason was...well, he was never actually quite sure why he'd pulled away from her. Maybe he'd been sick of bringing her down with his own problems. Maybe he'd been reluctant to associate with someone so close to Braeden, to the one that drove him to the needle in the first place. Maybe he'd just known that he could never be the man she wanted him to be, and he couldn't bear the thought of her looking at him with disappointement.
She'd found out eventually, of course, but she hadn't looked at him with disappointment. She hadn't yelled or reprimanded or judged in the least; she'd just looked sad, as though it was she who'd let him down, and maybe that was why he tried so hard not to drag her into this any more than absolutely necessary.
He'd been off his shift for a half hour now, and yet he hadn't left the bar's restroom. All that was waiting at home for him were his cat and dog, another pile of bills and messages left by debt collectors. He was finally getting his shit back together, but it was never enough for the vultures. Normally, he'd escape over to Braeden's, but Braeden had given him explicit instructions to stay away that night. He wanted to spend some alone time with Sean.
So where to go? What do to? Shooting up might take the edge off a lonely night giving his money away, but, Rick told himself over and over, that was the wrong answer, but he wasn't listening.
He was in the hall, his hand curled around the heavy black handset of the payphone, change clinking down the chute and half the numbers dialed by the time he'd realized what he was doing. He hesitated then. He could still call Daniel, even if the thought filled him with more dread than comfort.
With a weary sigh, Rick shut his eyes and finished dialing. The phone gave a tinny ring. What time was it? Two rings. Midnight? No, at least half past. Three rings. Maybe she was asleep. Maybe she wouldn't pick up—four rings—and he could tell himself he'd at least tried. Then Linda's sleep addled voice was questioning the silence on the other end of the phone.
“Momma?” Rick said quietly, his throat dry.
Her tone went from mildy put out to sharp and concerned in a fraction of a second. She questioned him slowly, cautiously, but Rick barely gave an answer—not really listening, but more just letting her voice wash over him, soothing him. Eventually the questions stopped coming, and Rick realized it was time to get to the point of the call.
He hesitated for one more moment, knowing he could still back out, but the thought of heading home to his crappy little apartment on the west end, to spending the night paying bills and snacking on whatever in the fridge hadn't gone bad yet pushed him to ask, “Can I come over?”
* * *
James' car was in the driveway, but the upstairs lights were all off. Rick took a drag on his cigarette, still settled on the seat of his salvaged, silver 77' R100RS. He stroked the side of the machine like a man would soothe a horse. She was a good girl, and taking her down the highway had never failed to calm his nerves. Even now, smoking his Marlboro down to the filter, staring at Linda's house, thinking of her husband alseep in his bed, possibly ready to snap Rick's neck like a twig for disturbing his family so late at night, the simple ride over left him significantly calmed.
He could just drive away. He was feeling better now; not perfect, mind, but better.
Just then, the front door opened, and Linda appeared. She folded her arms over her chest, huddling her housecoat tight around her body, and leaned against the doorframe, watching him expectantly. With a sigh and a half smile, Rick tossed his cigarette to the blacktop before raising his hand in greeting.
Linda didn't say a word, just nodded him inside before disappearing once more into the black of the house.
There was a night light on in the kitchen, but otherwise the house remained dark. Linda stood with her back to him, and the rich, warm scent of coffee hit him the moment Rick closed the door.
“Richard,” she called, “could you take these?”
Rick dutifully moved forward, taking the steaming mugs she presented while she took a tray laden with cream and sugar, then preceded her into the living room where they settled on the couch, side by side. Linda switched on the side-table lamp and then busied herself preparing the coffee.
Rick glanced around the room while she worked. Little had changed since the time he'd lived there. The walls were still adorned with pictures of the Carter children: Braeden, Briar and Bradley smiling down at them in full color. There were even a few shots of himself, both solo and in groups. The chairs and couches were draped with Linda's knitted masterpieces, and a carefully placed line of scripture in all its caligraphic glory decorated the doorway.
Suddenly Linda was thrusting a mug of coffee under his nose, sweet, sugar coated steam whetting a sudden thurst in him. Nodding gratefully, Rick took the cup, experimentally taking a few sips. It warmed him thoroughly, and for the first time since stepping through the front door, Rick found himself truly relaxing. It only helped matters when Linda drew a homemade throw blanket across his knees.
“Thank you,” he said, sinking into the couch.
Linda sipped her own coffee and looked him over. She took in his tired eyes and worn leather jacket, the stained Mystic Bar & Grill t-shirt beneath, and, more than she should, the way his tight, ripped jeans clung to his thighs. Raising her eyes back to his face, she answered. “You're welcome, Richard.” She paused, waiting for him to speak, and when he didn't, continued, “Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?”
“No, momma,” Rick said softly. He closed his eyes and took another sip.
She watched him another moment, wearing a slight smile behind the rim of her mug. “You just stopped by at one in the morning to say hello?”
Not opening his eyes, Rick cracked a smile. “Something like that.”
“Richard...” Linda warned. She scooted closer, slumping down against the cushions herself.
“Momma...” Rick answered her right back, matching her in tone and cadence. He opened his eyes and turned to her, his smile slight and comfortable. “I just wanted to see a friendly face,” he explained, catching her gaze and holding it.
It wasn't a true explanation, but Linda had learned a long time ago that pride kept Rick from sharing too many of his darker inner thoughts with those that would help, and the best thing she could do was just be there for him, so that's what she did. Nodding, she fit an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, laying his cheek against her breast and kissing the top of his head.
She pulled a face, wrinkling her nose as he snuggled down against her, sighing contentedly.
“Richard?”
“Mm?”
“When was the last time you bathed?”
Rick let out a light chuckle and pulled away from her, looking properly abashed. “What? You telling me I stink?”
“Well,” Linda smirked at him, crossing her arms over her chest, “I think I could use your hair to grease a pan, if you know what I'm talking about.” Flushing slightly and running his fingers through said greasy hair, Rick made to stand, but Linda laid a hand on his arm, stilling him. “You could shower here, Richard. I don't mind. You can use my shampoo.”
He paused, watching her, then gave her a curious smile. “I'd smell like you.”
Linda considered it, shrugging, “Yes, I know lilac isn't your normal scent, however—“
“I didn't say that was a bad thing.”
Linda wasn't sure how to respond to that. She watched him carefully, smiling slightly, as he stood and looked toward the upper landing. “But yeah, I...” he started, then looked back to her and grinned wider. “I'll do that now, okay?” Leaning down, he placed a quick kiss to her cheek. “Thanks, momma.”
* * *
It was half past one by the time he exited the bathroom. She hadn't been waiting for him, Linda told herself; she just happened to be arriving with one of Braeden's old shirts at the moment that he opened the door. Rick stood in the doorway for a moment, just blinking at her. His hair was wet and clean and water still dotted his bare chest. He'd redonned his jeans and sneakers, but, as Linda had apparently rightly guessed, he was in no mood to wear his work shirt for the remainder of the night.
She held a khaki cargo shirt folded between her hands. The material was thick and rough, though softened over time and multiple washings. She'd bought it for Braeden on a whim when he'd been only 16 or 17, and though she thought it made him look adorably rugged and grown up, he'd never quite taken a liking to it. He'd grown too large for it quickly enough, but she'd kept it anyway. Rick was of a smaller size, and she approached him now, unfolding the shirt to hold it up against him, studying the affect.
Rick cocked his head, watching her curiously before looking down at the shirt. “That's pretty cool,” he murmured, lifting a sleeve and smoothing his thumb over the material.
“It was Braeden's.”
Rick continued to study it. “I don't remember...”
“He rarely wore it.” Linda let the shirt drop slightly, then offered it to him. “Why don't you have it?”
Rick nodded slowly, taking the shirt from her, stroking the sturdy material once more. Something of Braeden's, his to keep—the idea made him smile. “Thanks, momma.”
Though Linda was disappointed to see the tanned chest disappear, she had to admit the shirt looked finer on Rick than it ever had on Braeden. The cut accented his trim waist and broad shoulders and brought out the highlights in his hair. Even his eyes seemed lighter, warmer.
Rick was no fool; Linda's appreciation showed plainly on her face, in the way her eyes traveled the length of his body, and it felt only natural to do her the same favor. Her house coat had fallen open, showing off the vibrant teal, satin nightgown she wore. The material clung to her skin, rounded over her breasts and hung, dancing, around her knees.
His eyes were drawn back to her breasts, to the fullness of them, and he wondered if they would be warm to the touch. He'd never cared much for breasts himself, but perhaps he bore a bit of an oedipal complex when it came to Linda. Her motherly curves stirred places inside him that even Braeden had never before been able to touch, the idea of being held by her now both a comfort and a tease.
Without thinking, Rick passed his hand forward, ghosting the tips of his fingers over her breast and then cupping the warm weight in his hand. Linda drew in an almost inaudible breath, watching him carefully, and Rick gave her a lazy smile. “Thank you, momma,” he said again, softer now, before he leaned in to kiss her.
Her lips were just as warm, and incredibly soft as she kissed him back, chastely, for a scant second. She pulled back rather abruptly, her eyes trained on his, a faint blush staining her cheeks. “Richard,” she scolded gently, almost a whisper, “I don't believe you came here to kiss me.”
Rick laughed gently, allowing his hand to slip from her breast. “No,” he agreed.
“Then let's—“
“Let's get out of here.”
Linda blinked at him for a long moment, uncomprehending, before a wary smile tugged at her lips. “I'm sorry?”
“Let's get out of here.” Rick took her hands, squeezing them briefly. “Take a ride with me. Please?” His grin was insatiable. “Come on, you'll love it.”
“Richard,” Linda said again, lowering her eyes as she made a vain attempt to free her hands from Rick's grasp. “You do realize that it's two a.m., and you're talking to a old woman.”
“Momma, you're not—“
“I'm forty six years old. I'm no spring chicken anymore. You should be proud of me for being awake enough to form a sentence; I'm certainly in no condition to go careening about on that—“ She finally freed a hand and waved it about dismissively, turning her head to look toward the front of the house, beyond which sat Rick's bike. She turned her mouth down in disapproval.
Rick heaved a sigh, allowing her her peace for just a moment as he studied her. Her face remained turned away, and she bit her lip, the apples of her cheeks still touched with pink. Rick tilted his head curiously, the sight stirring his imagination.
“Please, momma?” he asked, doing his best to bring a pout to his tone. “It'd make me really, really happy...”
Her dark eyes shot his way, narrowing slightly, and Rick just grinned wider.
“Richard?”
“Pretty please?”
Linda sighed; she couldn't say no to that face. “All right, but—“
“I'm going to pick out your clothes!”
“Rick took off like a rocket, and Linda snapped her head up, her eyes going wide. “What? Richard, what are you—“
“Hey, you picked out my shirt, didn't you?” He threw a wink her way before disappearing inside her bedroom.
Linda approached the doorway slowly. Her husband remained asleep in their bed, blissfully unaware, not that he'd have anything negative to say had he been awake. Their swinging days were long over and done with, but a wildness still lived in their hearts that kept them both feeling young. When it came to a familiar face such as Rick's, James would more often cheer her for a job well done rather than take it as a betrayal were anything to happen between them. He knew where her heart lay and what bed she would return to.
Linda watched him sleep fondly, suddenly longing to be there with him, curled against his chest, fast asleep. Maybe she really was too old for this.
Meanwhile, Rick found her youth packed away in the recesses of her closet in the form a homemade protest t-shirt worn by a young black mother living in 1960s urban America. A simple message of “peace” was scrawled across the dark material in what Rick imagined had to be bright purple nail polish. The letters were cracked and chipped, but it still read clearly enough. Rick had heard the stories, but he still found it hard to imagine the soft spoken, matronly woman he'd grown up with out there, screaming at police every obscenity she could think of. He shook his head as he put the shirt aside, and turned back to see what other treasures he could find.
When he presented her with the completed outfit, Linda had scoffed in his face, but ten minutes later she descended the hall stairs in that old t-shirt and a pair of thift store mens' jeans that barely fit her now that her figure represented a mother of three. Though in seeing the way the denim stretched across her thighs and ass, Rick wasn't about to complain.
She was shaking her head, her mouth pursed indignantly and still blushing, much to Rick's amusement. “I haven't worn these in twenty years...” she was muttering to herself. She hit the lower landing, and suddenly Rick was there, grinning down at her, her hands safely ensconced in his.
“I think you look absolutely beautiful, momma.”
Her blush deepened with appreciation, a smile dimpling her cheeks, but she drew back, smacking him lightly on the arm. “Don't lie to me.”
“I would never.”
She didn't say anything, then, just continued to grin, and he gave a light tug on her hands, drawing toward the door.
* * *
When the engine revved and the bike peeled off down the street, Linda actually shrieked, but it was difficult to hear over the roar of the engine and the deafening blast of the wind whipping past. She wore the spare helmet he kept in a rear-mounted storage case, and clung to his waist tightly. She kept her head down, the helmet's chin guard digging into his shoulder, and chances were her eyes were tightly closed, but Rick grinned at the night and headed straight into it.
He took a sharp left onto Cherry Avenue, outright laughing when Linda let out another yelp and clung to him tighter. At 2 a.m., the streets seemed to be on his side, every light staying green long enough for him to fly through it. Mercifully, he slowed as he approached Ocean Avenue until he was just barely cresting the speed limit.
Only then did Linda's grip loosen to the point where Rick could actually draw another breath. She dared to look as they turned onto Ocean Avenue proper. To their left, the ocean stretched as far as the eye could see. The beach was dark and dormant in the wee hours of the morning, but the water was desperately alive, rising and crashing against the shore, straining to be heard by the sleeping city dwellers.
Rick coasted along, past Bluff Park's historic district until he reached an open stretch of grass. Here he idled to a stop and then rested astride the bike and lit a cigarette. Though it stretched for ages along the road, the grassy area was only twenty or so yards wide, ending at a jogging path that was railed on the far side, and over the railing, after a steep incline, lay the beach and the water beyond.
Linda stayed with him for a few minutes. She unbuckled her helmet and pulled it free, shaking out her hair. She could still fell the ghost of the bike's reverberations in her thighs; they ached from being stretched so wide, and the wind had chilled her to the bone, but she was too overtaken by the beauty before her to feel any discomfort.
Silently, Rick sat before her, a warm and solid presence, smoking dolefully. Linda replaced her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his shoulder, staring out over the water. It wasn't the cleanest beach, nor was it a favorite spot of hers, but she'd never seen it like this before. So silent, so free of tourists and joggers and dogs. Feral cats mewled in the brush on the slope, but even their song seemed more a harmony to the crash of the ocean than a disturbance.
“It's so beautiful, Richard,” she breathed.
Rick gave a slight nod, as though seeing it anew through her eyes. He chucked his cigarette to the grass and coughed into his fist. “Yeah,” he murmured once he'd caught his breath. “It is.
“I've never taken anyone here before,” he continued after a moment. He twisted his head to look at her and found her smiling.
She climbed off the bike and treked the distance to the railing, where she wrapped her arms about herself and looked out over the water. After a moment, Rick followed. He stripped off his leather jacket to lay it across her shoulders. She smiled up at him, then leaned into his side, and he wrapped an arm around her, holding her close.
“I've never liked this beach,” she said after a few minutes had passed. “But then, I've never seen it like this before. It's amazing how things change when you look at them from the right perspective.”
“It is,” Rick agreed. He rubbed a hand up and down her forearm thoughtfully. “Momma?”
“Hm?”
“Do you think Braeden will ever come around?”
Sighing deeply, Linda turned to him. She wore a wry smile now, and prodded Rick in the side, catching his attention and getting him to smile in return. “Of course he will,” she told him gently. “My son is a complete idiot sometimes, but it's obvious he loves you. Just...” She shook her head, leaning into him again as she returned her gaze to the beach. “Don't think about him so much, Richard. He's not the only one who loves you.”
“Yeah, but...he's Braeden.”
Scoffing, Linda twisted her head to peer up at him. “And what am I, dog food?”
“No, momma,” Rick said, laughing. He tugged her into a tight backwards hug, closing his eyes, the cool, salty breeze washing over them. “You're my momma.”
Linda continued to lean into him, though she couldn't maintain her smile as she replied, “I just wish you weren't so caught up in him.”
“Me, too, momma. Me, too.”
They fell silent, lulled by the crash of cresting waves. Sand pipers danced along the shore, only visible when the tide spilled white foam over their feet.
Linda rested her hands over Rick's and closed her eyes. His jacket draped over her shoulders kept her warm. It smelled like cigarettes and fresh air, the cracks in the leather catching and holding each scent, releasing them with every small movement.
“Is that why you came over tonight?” she said into the silence some time later. “Did Braeden do something?”
“Mm?” Rick murmured, his chin against her shoulder, his warm breath ghosting along her neck. “Oh, no, no. He didn't do anything. It's just...life. Tonight was one of those “what's the point” nights, you know?”
She nodded thoughtfully. “We all have those.”
“So?”
Linda furrowed her brow. “So? So what?”
“So...what do you do? What is the point?”
As the question settled around her, Linda let out a soft chuckle. She turned in Rick's embraced, looking up at him. The full moon shone down on them, its light catching in Rick's hair and softening his world weary face. Lifting a hand, she traced his mouth with her index finger, and he watched her in wonder.
“This, Richard, is the point.”
“My mouth?” Rick gave her a cheeky, if slight, grin, his tongue darting out to lick the tip of her finger when it made another pass.
Laughing, Linda removed her hand, placing it on Rick's chest, just over his heart. “No, sweety. This. The night, the beach, you and me. Moments. It's moments like this, when everything is okay, that we keep going for. James and I lived through years of things being very, very not okay, but here we are. And I have him and you and Briar and Braeden, and...and I'm happy, Richard. It took half my life to get here, but I'm happy. And you will be, too.”
Rick watched her, a half smile curving the corners of his mouth. “I want to believe it when you say it.”
“Believe it.”
Giving a light, disbelieving groan, Rick turned her again, fitting her back against his front. “You look sexy in that outfit.”
“What? No, Richard, no changing the subject.”
“I'm not changing the subject. You do. I can't think.” He snuggled her tighter, and Linda sighed.
“I wish you would believe me.”
Rick didn't answer, not because he didn't want to disappoint her, but because he did believe her, and it startled him beyond words. The moments when he honestly, truly believed that everything would work out were few and far between, and he hadn't felt that way in half a decade now. He didn't want to analyze it or overthink it; he just wanted to feel it, to stay in that moment, with the woman who was mother, lover and best friend to him cradled in his arms, making it all happen.
Partly to distract her, and partly because he hadn't been lying when he'd called her sexy, Rick fitted a hand beneath the hem of her t-shirt, skimming up along her stomach and between her breasts, delighting in the warm, smooth skin and in the way she shivered at his touch.
“Richard...” she murmured sternly.
Rick smiled, pressing his lips to the side of her neck. “Can't help it.”
“You're not going to distract me.”
“Yes,” Rick argued, whispering the words so she felt them more than heard, “I am.”
She didn't answer, nor did she stop him when his fingers slipped beneath her bra to tease a nipple. She only let out a soft breath, pressing back into him. She found his free hand and threaded their fingers together, leaning her head back. Her touch combined with Rick's thoughts found a warmth pooling in his belly, and for a moment he wondered if maybe it wasn't himself he was trying to distract, but then, he didn't really care.
“Ever get fucked on a bike?”
Linda tensed. “Richard, no—“
“How about a railing?”
With one deft move, he twisted her around, caught her waist and lifted her until she was seated on the cool, metal bars. She let out a gasp, her arms flying around his neck as she fought the fear of tumbling over the edge. Laughing, Rick held her securely, fitting between her thighs.
“Richard,” she breathed, turning this way and that, still fearful of falling, “we're in public...”
“And?”
“And I don't want to get arrested!”
Rick laughed, catching her mouth with his in a brief kiss when she finally turned back to him. She only kissed him back for a moment before shoving him away, realizing her mistake a second later as she teetered on the railing, then grabbed at his shirt, sending Rick into a fit of laughter once more.
“Like you've never been arrested before!”
“Not in twenty years!” Linda argued, clinging to him.
Rick only continued to laugh, deep and heartfelt, the joyous sound ringing off the empty streets and filling the air around them, and finally Linda began to calm, grinning up at him quizzically. When his laughter finally died down, there were tears in his eyes. Linda reached up, wiping them away with her thumb as she shook head head.
“Richard,” she asked quietly, one arm still wrapped around his waist, his own on hers an assurance that he'd never let her fall, “what are you doing?”
He smiled at her brilliantly, the happiness in his gaze unmistakable, and just before he leaned down to kiss her, he answered, “I'm living my life.”
End.
Author: Clay
Characters/Pairings: Rick/Linda, with Rick/Braeden, Sean/Braeden and Linda/James background
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Finally having kicked his heroin addiction, Rick thought life would be better now, but he finds himself stuck in the same old rut that led him down that path to begin with. A late night call to an old friend, however, just might change his outlook. Title taken from In This All Alone by Richard Marx. Despite that being a very good after-heroin!Rick song, in my opinion, this story is more of a sappy romance, which is totally not what you wanted, but it's what they wanted to do. I'm sorry! Happy birthday, Lyndsey! I hope you like it anyway. I feel like it's too short, but I just didn't have time to expand on it anymore. See you in a few hours. ^_^ *kiss*
Word Count: 5,066
Friday, March 14, 1986
His hair felt damp as he ran his fingers through it, lank and greasy as though he hadn't washed it in a few days, and, when he stopped to think about it, he actually couldn't remember the last time he'd bathed. Cleanliness wasn't on the forefront of his mind these days, though it really should have been. It made up part of the “routine” that would get his mind off slipping into old habits.
Get up, shower, dress, feed the animals, go to work, come home, watch a movie, huddle up at the end of Braeden's couch and try not to focus on the fact that his would be soulmate was busy kissing someone else. It wasn't the best routine, Rick had to admit, but it got him through each day and then the next.
Amy still hadn't returned from Washington. Had she, he might have something else to take up his time, distracting himself with the child they'd unwittingly planted in her belly, but no, she was concerned with kicking her own addiction with the help of Briar and Claire up in Seattle. Sometimes Rick wondered if it wasn't just the percocets she was trying to kick, but her obsession with her brother, too.
He had no such luxury, nowhere he could run and hide. Oh, he had Daniel: loving, patient Daniel whom he claimed to love more and more every day Braeden refused to come around, Daniel who'd fought his own addictions, who was more than willing to help him over this hump and forgive him his infidelities that had brought about his uborn son, but Rick refused to give in to his soft words and kind touches. Rick wouldn't for one second allow himself to seek sanctuary in Daniel's waiting arms because he knew the very second Braeden said the word, he'd drop Daniel, and how could he take so much without willing to give in return?
He breathed a heavy sigh and ran his fingers through his hair again. It hung limply around his shoulders. The mirror before him was spotted with water stains and what appeared to be a streak of blood. Behind him, someone was vomiting inside a toilet stall.
The reflection that stared back at him wasn't as dreary as he'd feared. Two months of staying clean had brought some of the color back into his cheeks, had softened the hollowed look behind his eyes. He'd gotten through the worst of it, the sweating and retching and the pain, but he couldn't help but still feel lost.
Maybe, for once, he should call her.
He'd chosen Braeden's mother, Linda—his own self-chosen surrogate—as his sponser, the one he could call any time of day or night when the need to shoot up was boiling in his veins and he didn't know where to turn, but in the time since then, he'd never once picked up the phone.
Linda had practically raised him after puberty, when his own parents fell short. In a way, she was his ideal woman. His preference veered very sharply to the male half of the species, but Linda still held a grace and a beauty that was utterly undeniable. She was stately and yet warm, stern but loving, and he'd always been able to go to her for a word of advice or something as simple as a hug.
But now...
When he thought of her now, all he could think was that he'd let his momma down.
She'd calmed him during his rebelious teens, brought him up when the world was crashing down, and then he'd gone and done this, traded her in for a bag of heroin, trying to tell himself that he was saving her from having to deal with his sorry ass, but the real reason was...well, he was never actually quite sure why he'd pulled away from her. Maybe he'd been sick of bringing her down with his own problems. Maybe he'd been reluctant to associate with someone so close to Braeden, to the one that drove him to the needle in the first place. Maybe he'd just known that he could never be the man she wanted him to be, and he couldn't bear the thought of her looking at him with disappointement.
She'd found out eventually, of course, but she hadn't looked at him with disappointment. She hadn't yelled or reprimanded or judged in the least; she'd just looked sad, as though it was she who'd let him down, and maybe that was why he tried so hard not to drag her into this any more than absolutely necessary.
He'd been off his shift for a half hour now, and yet he hadn't left the bar's restroom. All that was waiting at home for him were his cat and dog, another pile of bills and messages left by debt collectors. He was finally getting his shit back together, but it was never enough for the vultures. Normally, he'd escape over to Braeden's, but Braeden had given him explicit instructions to stay away that night. He wanted to spend some alone time with Sean.
So where to go? What do to? Shooting up might take the edge off a lonely night giving his money away, but, Rick told himself over and over, that was the wrong answer, but he wasn't listening.
He was in the hall, his hand curled around the heavy black handset of the payphone, change clinking down the chute and half the numbers dialed by the time he'd realized what he was doing. He hesitated then. He could still call Daniel, even if the thought filled him with more dread than comfort.
With a weary sigh, Rick shut his eyes and finished dialing. The phone gave a tinny ring. What time was it? Two rings. Midnight? No, at least half past. Three rings. Maybe she was asleep. Maybe she wouldn't pick up—four rings—and he could tell himself he'd at least tried. Then Linda's sleep addled voice was questioning the silence on the other end of the phone.
“Momma?” Rick said quietly, his throat dry.
Her tone went from mildy put out to sharp and concerned in a fraction of a second. She questioned him slowly, cautiously, but Rick barely gave an answer—not really listening, but more just letting her voice wash over him, soothing him. Eventually the questions stopped coming, and Rick realized it was time to get to the point of the call.
He hesitated for one more moment, knowing he could still back out, but the thought of heading home to his crappy little apartment on the west end, to spending the night paying bills and snacking on whatever in the fridge hadn't gone bad yet pushed him to ask, “Can I come over?”
James' car was in the driveway, but the upstairs lights were all off. Rick took a drag on his cigarette, still settled on the seat of his salvaged, silver 77' R100RS. He stroked the side of the machine like a man would soothe a horse. She was a good girl, and taking her down the highway had never failed to calm his nerves. Even now, smoking his Marlboro down to the filter, staring at Linda's house, thinking of her husband alseep in his bed, possibly ready to snap Rick's neck like a twig for disturbing his family so late at night, the simple ride over left him significantly calmed.
He could just drive away. He was feeling better now; not perfect, mind, but better.
Just then, the front door opened, and Linda appeared. She folded her arms over her chest, huddling her housecoat tight around her body, and leaned against the doorframe, watching him expectantly. With a sigh and a half smile, Rick tossed his cigarette to the blacktop before raising his hand in greeting.
Linda didn't say a word, just nodded him inside before disappearing once more into the black of the house.
There was a night light on in the kitchen, but otherwise the house remained dark. Linda stood with her back to him, and the rich, warm scent of coffee hit him the moment Rick closed the door.
“Richard,” she called, “could you take these?”
Rick dutifully moved forward, taking the steaming mugs she presented while she took a tray laden with cream and sugar, then preceded her into the living room where they settled on the couch, side by side. Linda switched on the side-table lamp and then busied herself preparing the coffee.
Rick glanced around the room while she worked. Little had changed since the time he'd lived there. The walls were still adorned with pictures of the Carter children: Braeden, Briar and Bradley smiling down at them in full color. There were even a few shots of himself, both solo and in groups. The chairs and couches were draped with Linda's knitted masterpieces, and a carefully placed line of scripture in all its caligraphic glory decorated the doorway.
Suddenly Linda was thrusting a mug of coffee under his nose, sweet, sugar coated steam whetting a sudden thurst in him. Nodding gratefully, Rick took the cup, experimentally taking a few sips. It warmed him thoroughly, and for the first time since stepping through the front door, Rick found himself truly relaxing. It only helped matters when Linda drew a homemade throw blanket across his knees.
“Thank you,” he said, sinking into the couch.
Linda sipped her own coffee and looked him over. She took in his tired eyes and worn leather jacket, the stained Mystic Bar & Grill t-shirt beneath, and, more than she should, the way his tight, ripped jeans clung to his thighs. Raising her eyes back to his face, she answered. “You're welcome, Richard.” She paused, waiting for him to speak, and when he didn't, continued, “Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?”
“No, momma,” Rick said softly. He closed his eyes and took another sip.
She watched him another moment, wearing a slight smile behind the rim of her mug. “You just stopped by at one in the morning to say hello?”
Not opening his eyes, Rick cracked a smile. “Something like that.”
“Richard...” Linda warned. She scooted closer, slumping down against the cushions herself.
“Momma...” Rick answered her right back, matching her in tone and cadence. He opened his eyes and turned to her, his smile slight and comfortable. “I just wanted to see a friendly face,” he explained, catching her gaze and holding it.
It wasn't a true explanation, but Linda had learned a long time ago that pride kept Rick from sharing too many of his darker inner thoughts with those that would help, and the best thing she could do was just be there for him, so that's what she did. Nodding, she fit an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, laying his cheek against her breast and kissing the top of his head.
She pulled a face, wrinkling her nose as he snuggled down against her, sighing contentedly.
“Richard?”
“Mm?”
“When was the last time you bathed?”
Rick let out a light chuckle and pulled away from her, looking properly abashed. “What? You telling me I stink?”
“Well,” Linda smirked at him, crossing her arms over her chest, “I think I could use your hair to grease a pan, if you know what I'm talking about.” Flushing slightly and running his fingers through said greasy hair, Rick made to stand, but Linda laid a hand on his arm, stilling him. “You could shower here, Richard. I don't mind. You can use my shampoo.”
He paused, watching her, then gave her a curious smile. “I'd smell like you.”
Linda considered it, shrugging, “Yes, I know lilac isn't your normal scent, however—“
“I didn't say that was a bad thing.”
Linda wasn't sure how to respond to that. She watched him carefully, smiling slightly, as he stood and looked toward the upper landing. “But yeah, I...” he started, then looked back to her and grinned wider. “I'll do that now, okay?” Leaning down, he placed a quick kiss to her cheek. “Thanks, momma.”
It was half past one by the time he exited the bathroom. She hadn't been waiting for him, Linda told herself; she just happened to be arriving with one of Braeden's old shirts at the moment that he opened the door. Rick stood in the doorway for a moment, just blinking at her. His hair was wet and clean and water still dotted his bare chest. He'd redonned his jeans and sneakers, but, as Linda had apparently rightly guessed, he was in no mood to wear his work shirt for the remainder of the night.
She held a khaki cargo shirt folded between her hands. The material was thick and rough, though softened over time and multiple washings. She'd bought it for Braeden on a whim when he'd been only 16 or 17, and though she thought it made him look adorably rugged and grown up, he'd never quite taken a liking to it. He'd grown too large for it quickly enough, but she'd kept it anyway. Rick was of a smaller size, and she approached him now, unfolding the shirt to hold it up against him, studying the affect.
Rick cocked his head, watching her curiously before looking down at the shirt. “That's pretty cool,” he murmured, lifting a sleeve and smoothing his thumb over the material.
“It was Braeden's.”
Rick continued to study it. “I don't remember...”
“He rarely wore it.” Linda let the shirt drop slightly, then offered it to him. “Why don't you have it?”
Rick nodded slowly, taking the shirt from her, stroking the sturdy material once more. Something of Braeden's, his to keep—the idea made him smile. “Thanks, momma.”
Though Linda was disappointed to see the tanned chest disappear, she had to admit the shirt looked finer on Rick than it ever had on Braeden. The cut accented his trim waist and broad shoulders and brought out the highlights in his hair. Even his eyes seemed lighter, warmer.
Rick was no fool; Linda's appreciation showed plainly on her face, in the way her eyes traveled the length of his body, and it felt only natural to do her the same favor. Her house coat had fallen open, showing off the vibrant teal, satin nightgown she wore. The material clung to her skin, rounded over her breasts and hung, dancing, around her knees.
His eyes were drawn back to her breasts, to the fullness of them, and he wondered if they would be warm to the touch. He'd never cared much for breasts himself, but perhaps he bore a bit of an oedipal complex when it came to Linda. Her motherly curves stirred places inside him that even Braeden had never before been able to touch, the idea of being held by her now both a comfort and a tease.
Without thinking, Rick passed his hand forward, ghosting the tips of his fingers over her breast and then cupping the warm weight in his hand. Linda drew in an almost inaudible breath, watching him carefully, and Rick gave her a lazy smile. “Thank you, momma,” he said again, softer now, before he leaned in to kiss her.
Her lips were just as warm, and incredibly soft as she kissed him back, chastely, for a scant second. She pulled back rather abruptly, her eyes trained on his, a faint blush staining her cheeks. “Richard,” she scolded gently, almost a whisper, “I don't believe you came here to kiss me.”
Rick laughed gently, allowing his hand to slip from her breast. “No,” he agreed.
“Then let's—“
“Let's get out of here.”
Linda blinked at him for a long moment, uncomprehending, before a wary smile tugged at her lips. “I'm sorry?”
“Let's get out of here.” Rick took her hands, squeezing them briefly. “Take a ride with me. Please?” His grin was insatiable. “Come on, you'll love it.”
“Richard,” Linda said again, lowering her eyes as she made a vain attempt to free her hands from Rick's grasp. “You do realize that it's two a.m., and you're talking to a old woman.”
“Momma, you're not—“
“I'm forty six years old. I'm no spring chicken anymore. You should be proud of me for being awake enough to form a sentence; I'm certainly in no condition to go careening about on that—“ She finally freed a hand and waved it about dismissively, turning her head to look toward the front of the house, beyond which sat Rick's bike. She turned her mouth down in disapproval.
Rick heaved a sigh, allowing her her peace for just a moment as he studied her. Her face remained turned away, and she bit her lip, the apples of her cheeks still touched with pink. Rick tilted his head curiously, the sight stirring his imagination.
“Please, momma?” he asked, doing his best to bring a pout to his tone. “It'd make me really, really happy...”
Her dark eyes shot his way, narrowing slightly, and Rick just grinned wider.
“Richard?”
“Pretty please?”
Linda sighed; she couldn't say no to that face. “All right, but—“
“I'm going to pick out your clothes!”
“Rick took off like a rocket, and Linda snapped her head up, her eyes going wide. “What? Richard, what are you—“
“Hey, you picked out my shirt, didn't you?” He threw a wink her way before disappearing inside her bedroom.
Linda approached the doorway slowly. Her husband remained asleep in their bed, blissfully unaware, not that he'd have anything negative to say had he been awake. Their swinging days were long over and done with, but a wildness still lived in their hearts that kept them both feeling young. When it came to a familiar face such as Rick's, James would more often cheer her for a job well done rather than take it as a betrayal were anything to happen between them. He knew where her heart lay and what bed she would return to.
Linda watched him sleep fondly, suddenly longing to be there with him, curled against his chest, fast asleep. Maybe she really was too old for this.
Meanwhile, Rick found her youth packed away in the recesses of her closet in the form a homemade protest t-shirt worn by a young black mother living in 1960s urban America. A simple message of “peace” was scrawled across the dark material in what Rick imagined had to be bright purple nail polish. The letters were cracked and chipped, but it still read clearly enough. Rick had heard the stories, but he still found it hard to imagine the soft spoken, matronly woman he'd grown up with out there, screaming at police every obscenity she could think of. He shook his head as he put the shirt aside, and turned back to see what other treasures he could find.
When he presented her with the completed outfit, Linda had scoffed in his face, but ten minutes later she descended the hall stairs in that old t-shirt and a pair of thift store mens' jeans that barely fit her now that her figure represented a mother of three. Though in seeing the way the denim stretched across her thighs and ass, Rick wasn't about to complain.
She was shaking her head, her mouth pursed indignantly and still blushing, much to Rick's amusement. “I haven't worn these in twenty years...” she was muttering to herself. She hit the lower landing, and suddenly Rick was there, grinning down at her, her hands safely ensconced in his.
“I think you look absolutely beautiful, momma.”
Her blush deepened with appreciation, a smile dimpling her cheeks, but she drew back, smacking him lightly on the arm. “Don't lie to me.”
“I would never.”
She didn't say anything, then, just continued to grin, and he gave a light tug on her hands, drawing toward the door.
When the engine revved and the bike peeled off down the street, Linda actually shrieked, but it was difficult to hear over the roar of the engine and the deafening blast of the wind whipping past. She wore the spare helmet he kept in a rear-mounted storage case, and clung to his waist tightly. She kept her head down, the helmet's chin guard digging into his shoulder, and chances were her eyes were tightly closed, but Rick grinned at the night and headed straight into it.
He took a sharp left onto Cherry Avenue, outright laughing when Linda let out another yelp and clung to him tighter. At 2 a.m., the streets seemed to be on his side, every light staying green long enough for him to fly through it. Mercifully, he slowed as he approached Ocean Avenue until he was just barely cresting the speed limit.
Only then did Linda's grip loosen to the point where Rick could actually draw another breath. She dared to look as they turned onto Ocean Avenue proper. To their left, the ocean stretched as far as the eye could see. The beach was dark and dormant in the wee hours of the morning, but the water was desperately alive, rising and crashing against the shore, straining to be heard by the sleeping city dwellers.
Rick coasted along, past Bluff Park's historic district until he reached an open stretch of grass. Here he idled to a stop and then rested astride the bike and lit a cigarette. Though it stretched for ages along the road, the grassy area was only twenty or so yards wide, ending at a jogging path that was railed on the far side, and over the railing, after a steep incline, lay the beach and the water beyond.
Linda stayed with him for a few minutes. She unbuckled her helmet and pulled it free, shaking out her hair. She could still fell the ghost of the bike's reverberations in her thighs; they ached from being stretched so wide, and the wind had chilled her to the bone, but she was too overtaken by the beauty before her to feel any discomfort.
Silently, Rick sat before her, a warm and solid presence, smoking dolefully. Linda replaced her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his shoulder, staring out over the water. It wasn't the cleanest beach, nor was it a favorite spot of hers, but she'd never seen it like this before. So silent, so free of tourists and joggers and dogs. Feral cats mewled in the brush on the slope, but even their song seemed more a harmony to the crash of the ocean than a disturbance.
“It's so beautiful, Richard,” she breathed.
Rick gave a slight nod, as though seeing it anew through her eyes. He chucked his cigarette to the grass and coughed into his fist. “Yeah,” he murmured once he'd caught his breath. “It is.
“I've never taken anyone here before,” he continued after a moment. He twisted his head to look at her and found her smiling.
She climbed off the bike and treked the distance to the railing, where she wrapped her arms about herself and looked out over the water. After a moment, Rick followed. He stripped off his leather jacket to lay it across her shoulders. She smiled up at him, then leaned into his side, and he wrapped an arm around her, holding her close.
“I've never liked this beach,” she said after a few minutes had passed. “But then, I've never seen it like this before. It's amazing how things change when you look at them from the right perspective.”
“It is,” Rick agreed. He rubbed a hand up and down her forearm thoughtfully. “Momma?”
“Hm?”
“Do you think Braeden will ever come around?”
Sighing deeply, Linda turned to him. She wore a wry smile now, and prodded Rick in the side, catching his attention and getting him to smile in return. “Of course he will,” she told him gently. “My son is a complete idiot sometimes, but it's obvious he loves you. Just...” She shook her head, leaning into him again as she returned her gaze to the beach. “Don't think about him so much, Richard. He's not the only one who loves you.”
“Yeah, but...he's Braeden.”
Scoffing, Linda twisted her head to peer up at him. “And what am I, dog food?”
“No, momma,” Rick said, laughing. He tugged her into a tight backwards hug, closing his eyes, the cool, salty breeze washing over them. “You're my momma.”
Linda continued to lean into him, though she couldn't maintain her smile as she replied, “I just wish you weren't so caught up in him.”
“Me, too, momma. Me, too.”
They fell silent, lulled by the crash of cresting waves. Sand pipers danced along the shore, only visible when the tide spilled white foam over their feet.
Linda rested her hands over Rick's and closed her eyes. His jacket draped over her shoulders kept her warm. It smelled like cigarettes and fresh air, the cracks in the leather catching and holding each scent, releasing them with every small movement.
“Is that why you came over tonight?” she said into the silence some time later. “Did Braeden do something?”
“Mm?” Rick murmured, his chin against her shoulder, his warm breath ghosting along her neck. “Oh, no, no. He didn't do anything. It's just...life. Tonight was one of those “what's the point” nights, you know?”
She nodded thoughtfully. “We all have those.”
“So?”
Linda furrowed her brow. “So? So what?”
“So...what do you do? What is the point?”
As the question settled around her, Linda let out a soft chuckle. She turned in Rick's embraced, looking up at him. The full moon shone down on them, its light catching in Rick's hair and softening his world weary face. Lifting a hand, she traced his mouth with her index finger, and he watched her in wonder.
“This, Richard, is the point.”
“My mouth?” Rick gave her a cheeky, if slight, grin, his tongue darting out to lick the tip of her finger when it made another pass.
Laughing, Linda removed her hand, placing it on Rick's chest, just over his heart. “No, sweety. This. The night, the beach, you and me. Moments. It's moments like this, when everything is okay, that we keep going for. James and I lived through years of things being very, very not okay, but here we are. And I have him and you and Briar and Braeden, and...and I'm happy, Richard. It took half my life to get here, but I'm happy. And you will be, too.”
Rick watched her, a half smile curving the corners of his mouth. “I want to believe it when you say it.”
“Believe it.”
Giving a light, disbelieving groan, Rick turned her again, fitting her back against his front. “You look sexy in that outfit.”
“What? No, Richard, no changing the subject.”
“I'm not changing the subject. You do. I can't think.” He snuggled her tighter, and Linda sighed.
“I wish you would believe me.”
Rick didn't answer, not because he didn't want to disappoint her, but because he did believe her, and it startled him beyond words. The moments when he honestly, truly believed that everything would work out were few and far between, and he hadn't felt that way in half a decade now. He didn't want to analyze it or overthink it; he just wanted to feel it, to stay in that moment, with the woman who was mother, lover and best friend to him cradled in his arms, making it all happen.
Partly to distract her, and partly because he hadn't been lying when he'd called her sexy, Rick fitted a hand beneath the hem of her t-shirt, skimming up along her stomach and between her breasts, delighting in the warm, smooth skin and in the way she shivered at his touch.
“Richard...” she murmured sternly.
Rick smiled, pressing his lips to the side of her neck. “Can't help it.”
“You're not going to distract me.”
“Yes,” Rick argued, whispering the words so she felt them more than heard, “I am.”
She didn't answer, nor did she stop him when his fingers slipped beneath her bra to tease a nipple. She only let out a soft breath, pressing back into him. She found his free hand and threaded their fingers together, leaning her head back. Her touch combined with Rick's thoughts found a warmth pooling in his belly, and for a moment he wondered if maybe it wasn't himself he was trying to distract, but then, he didn't really care.
“Ever get fucked on a bike?”
Linda tensed. “Richard, no—“
“How about a railing?”
With one deft move, he twisted her around, caught her waist and lifted her until she was seated on the cool, metal bars. She let out a gasp, her arms flying around his neck as she fought the fear of tumbling over the edge. Laughing, Rick held her securely, fitting between her thighs.
“Richard,” she breathed, turning this way and that, still fearful of falling, “we're in public...”
“And?”
“And I don't want to get arrested!”
Rick laughed, catching her mouth with his in a brief kiss when she finally turned back to him. She only kissed him back for a moment before shoving him away, realizing her mistake a second later as she teetered on the railing, then grabbed at his shirt, sending Rick into a fit of laughter once more.
“Like you've never been arrested before!”
“Not in twenty years!” Linda argued, clinging to him.
Rick only continued to laugh, deep and heartfelt, the joyous sound ringing off the empty streets and filling the air around them, and finally Linda began to calm, grinning up at him quizzically. When his laughter finally died down, there were tears in his eyes. Linda reached up, wiping them away with her thumb as she shook head head.
“Richard,” she asked quietly, one arm still wrapped around his waist, his own on hers an assurance that he'd never let her fall, “what are you doing?”
He smiled at her brilliantly, the happiness in his gaze unmistakable, and just before he leaned down to kiss her, he answered, “I'm living my life.”
End.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
Sometimes Rick wondered if it wasn't just the percocets she was trying to kick, but her obsession with her brother, too.
-- I love this line. And see? This is why I love the 80s. Everyone had so much shit going down at any given time and I feel like, more than with happiness, you really get to know a person based on how they handle adversity.
Rick's thoughts on Daniel are right on.
The mirror before him was spotted with water stains and what appeared to be a streak of blood. Behind him, someone was vomiting inside a toilet stall.
--I like this, too. A lot. And I think this is what I mean when I say you can do things with writing that I wish I could. You're very good at setting a scene and putting a picture in someone's head. I try, but I fear I fall short because I get too caught up on internal monologue and the like. But this... this is one of those lines that I read that just sort of reinforce the fact that, if we ever get "One Day" off the ground, I'd love to give directing a go. I can picture this so clearly.
Though I can't help but wonder what would Brae do if he knew his beloved Mystic's bathroom was full of blood and vomit? ~_^
When he thought of her now, all he could think was that he'd let his momma down.
-- My poor baby. *pets him* Though God, did he feel this way.
All that was waiting at home for him were his cat and dog, another pile of bills and messages left by debt collectors. He was finally getting his shit back together, but it was never enough for the vultures.
-- I like this. And I know how he feels. :P Did I tell you that regardless of me paying Reynolds (and regardless of them being the one and only reason why I can't take my class next month) they still call at least three times a day in search of money? *rolls eyes* It never is enough for the vultures.
still settled on the seat of his salvaged, silver 77' R100RS.
-- I assume this was part of the weird research you were referring to?
I like when Linda first opens the door. She doesn't throw herself at Rick; doesn't do anything over dramatic or anything. Just kind of opens the door, invites him in and that's the end of it. I'm curious if this is because she's half asleep or if it's because this is sort of habit to her by now?
*giggles* Rick's a smelly bunny. :) And aw. All the Rick/Linda action's so cute. I adore these two. And Rick's purring in my head right now.
Picking up and leaving is very much a Rick attitude, as is running to pick out Linda's clothing, regardless of James sleeping. :p
Meanwhile, Rick found her youth packed away in the recesses of her closet in the form a homemade protest t-shirt worn by a young black mother living in 1960s urban America.
-- This whole paragraph just intrigues me about their youth. We really need to go back and do generation one some day, girlie.
Also, I like the fact that the word "peace" is written in fingernail polish.
The following scene, where Rick and Linda finally leave, I absolutely adore. Again, you can set a scene in a way that I can't even pretend to do. The images of Linda and Rick on a bike so late at night careening about the streets are just so... so... there. I think it's one of my favorite scenes from this story. I don't know why. And like, in "Heartbreak Hotel," the scene where Derek and Cody go to the beach and the way you described it and everything? So breathtakingly beautiful. You can take me to a place and time and paint a picture in my mind in a way that even Stephen King can't half of the time, girlie.
The beach was dark and dormant in the wee hours of the morning, but the water was desperately alive, rising and crashing against the shore, straining to be heard by the sleeping city dwellers.
-- I love this line.
From:
no subject
-- I like this, too. More of that atmospheric thing I was talking about.
“I've never taken anyone here before,” he continued after a moment. He twisted his head to look at her and found her smiling.
-- This intrigues me. I always wondered whether or not Rick had a secret spot he ran away to on his bike. I'd like to explore this a bit once we get back to canon.
I absolutely adore the discussion toward the end. About Braeden and what's the point and everything. Because he's so Rick and she's so right, and that's something Rick was unable to comprehend more often than not. And you're right--when he did comprehend, it scared him a little. I think because he was afraid to let his guard down? I don't know. But I love their discussion. I was trying to decide what lines to pick out but I realized I'd be copying and pasting the whole thing. :P So, yeah. Just know I really dig that.
“Ever get fucked on a bike?”
Linda tensed. “Richard, no—“
“How about a railing?”
-- *smiles* I love that. And they're so yummy.
“Like you've never been arrested before!”
“Not in twenty years!” Linda argued, clinging to him.
-- *laughs*
“Richard,” she asked quietly, one arm still wrapped around his waist, his own on hers an assurance that he'd never let her fall, “what are you doing?”
-- The arm talk in there. I like the arm talk. It sums up their relationship pretty damn well, I think. And in a very subtle manner. You probably didn't mean that at all, but I like to think that way anyway.
*smiles* Girlie, I loved that so much. Rick and Linda are so awesome and your post!heroin Rick is fabulous and they make me happy like a bunny. Your descriptions are to die for and your characterizations are amazingly accurate. I really, really loved that. *hugs*
And I know I'm a whore for not commenting on the other two, but know that I love them just as much and I've reread both a zillion times each and that their comments will come.
Thank you so much, baby. *hugs everywhere* Keem. :)
From:
no subject
I think Linda's my new favorite. she seems like a wonderfully sane nutter. (it also pleases me greatly that she calls him richard.) I like her views on life.
and i do so love motorcycle scenes. I forget if you've told me, have you ever been on one? I would think that you have, from the way you write it.
“I'm going to pick out your clothes!”
i dont know why, but that amused me greatly.
“Yeah,” he murmured once he'd caught his breath. “It is.
<-the quotation mark that should be there ran away to here->“Rick took off like a rocket