letmebeallyours

[letmebeallyours]

Addendum~~

Wow. It’s been two whole years since my dad went for heart surgery and I needed a project so big it could distract me for months, no matter the outcome.  (Everything turned out fine, btw, no worries.) This story got me through that--and it’s gotten me through so much since then. Thank you (all three of you) for being so patient with me as I muddled my way through this. I hope you enjoyed reading this mess as much as I enjoyed writing it.

[letmebeallyours]

Some things that I headcanon here that just never made their way into the fics:

*When Charles got back from Europe and they started being more open about their relationship, literally no one was surprised. Everyone knew. 

*At some point Sam gets a motorcycle licence and buys a huge black motorcycle and names it “Breeze”. He rides it like every morning. Probably drives it to work.

*Eventually they adopt a little blind/deaf/mute girl named Laura. She’s Sam’s pride and joy. They probably adopt a couple other differently abled kids too. They're A++ parents.

*For Halloween at some point Charles dresses in asexual pride colors and carries around a shovel. Nobody gets that he's an ace of spades.

*They definitely do vintage engagement photos. Sam just wants to dress like Byron, and Charles is happy to go along with it. This  may or may not lead to Sam discovering a new kink

*When Charles gets his first attorney position, there's a summer intern there named Ben, and Charles occasionally sends him on "little errands" around the city...but is terrible with directions and Ben usually ends up wandering around for hours just trying to do one thing.

*Oliver Holmes may or may not have been Sam’s best man. He was definitely at the wedding reception though--he and Sam Ward had a hell of a time there.

*They go on honeymoon in Santo Domingo because fuck me I'm the worst

[letmebeallyours]

Vows

Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt both so tense and so happy at once. In fact, he may never have felt either to quite the same extreme as he felt them now. God, what a strange morning it had been so far. He’d woken up alone for the first time in months. Charles had spent the night at his family’s house because, well, tradition or ‘bad luck’ or whatever. In a way, it was a good thing. To be reminded on this of all mornings of how much he ached for Charles when his soon-to-be husband wasn’t there. He never wanted to take that for granted.     Charles hadn’t slept. True, this wasn’t exactly unusual for him, but how in the world could anyone be expected to get a good night’s sleep the evening before they got married? He had tried calling Henry again, but he had sternly scolded Charles for not resting and then hung up. He’d tried reading, but his heart had been racing and his mind galloping along with it and he simply couldn’t focus on the words in front of him. He’d even tried Nyquil—not something he usually resorted to—but even that had failed to help. Instead, he’d ended up pacing his old room in his mother’s house until nearly three in the morning when she’d come upstairs to ask him to sit down. He apologized for waking her. She smiled and sat at his old desk, looking around the room. “Have I ever told you about the day I married your father?” She stayed and spoke with him until it was time for both of them to go.       “Sam says all the decorations will be done in ten minutes,” Henry declared as he came into the room where Charles was fiddling with his bowtie. “And the place settings? Are they—“ “Taken care of.” “Henry, I should be out there helping set up. It doesn’t feel right to just wait back here.” “It’s just one of those social norms. This is your day, you’re not supposed to do any of the work. Besides, he lives for this kind of thing.” Charles grinned at that. He could, occasionally, hear Sam Ward shouting orders out in the main hall. He could practically see him, flitting about the room with a touch here, a slight correction there, magically transforming it into a stunning, tasteful masterpiece. Well, mostly tasteful. The conversation they’d had about life-size golden statues had been concerning, but given that it had been two in the morning, he’d decided to overlook it. Since Henry and Sam had come over to his place a couple weeks ago, Sam had appointed himself Charles’s wedding planner—a role Charlie’s own Sam had been delighted to let someone else take up (although their arguments over the budget had been pretty severe)—and Charles hardly knew what to expect at this point.     Now that it was so close, now that they were here, Sam’s nerves were starting to take over. He took the beautiful blue coat off before he could sweat through it. There was so much that could go wrong. What if he forgot the order of all the different ceremonial things? What if he forgot his vows? What if he threw up? That last one seemed like a very real possibility right now. Sam—the other Sam, god this was ridiculous—came in to warn him about the time. “Nearly everyone’s here and seated, your—you’re not dressed.” He sounded genuinely horrified. “I’m trying not to ruin the coat.” Sam snapped back. “It’s just lying there! There least you could have done is hang it up.” “It’s fine,” Sam nearly yelled as he snatched the coat up again. “Are you alright?” “Do I look alright?” “Silly me, trying to ask a friendly question.” A twinge of guilty prevented Sam from yelling at him again. Instead, he sighed. “Ten minutes, you said?” “Eight by now.”   “Okay, Charlie. Ready?” “Yes,” Charles said firmly, still trying to convince himself this wasn’t going to be a disaster. He turned towards Henry—and frowned when Henry burst out laughing. “What? What’s wrong? Oh god, don’t tell me there’s a stain on my—“ “No, no, nothing like that. Here, sit down.” Charles sat, bewildered. Henry came over and, to Charlie’s chagrin, undid his bowtie. “Hey!” “Sorry, Charles, but it was a mess. You can’t get married looking like your tie is trying to escape.” “It wasn’t that bad.” “Yeah, it was. Just let me…” Henry trailed off, concentrating as he worked the fabric into the right shape. “Henry?” “Yeah?” “Thank you. For everything.” Henry laughed and leaned in for a hug. “Okay. Let’s go.”     The hardest part was over. They had both come up to the altar from either side, given away by their mothers; not the usual approach, but the only etiquette compromise they could agree on. Charles was already crying by the time he kissed his mother’s cheek and let go of her hand. Reserved she may have been, but anyone looking at her that day could see how much she loved her son, how happy she was for him. Any other day, Sam might have envied that. But today his heart didn’t have room for that. Today, he looked his own mother in the eye for the first time in years, felt her squeeze his hand as she smiled at him. When she whispered “I’m so proud of you,” before going to sit down, he could feel his eyes stinging. He watched her take her place beside Charlie’s own mother, tried to imagine for a moment how many holidays they might have together now, a whole lifetime intertwined ahead of them… The priest cleared his throat softly. Charles and Sam stepped closer, reaching for each other’s hands, and the rest of the world fell away. Charles wasn’t actively crying—not at the moment—but his eyes were so soft and shining and happy. It was all Sam could do to listen for his cues and not simply kiss Charles now.   Charles knew he was crying. Or had been crying. And that he would be crying again, very soon. When they got to the vows he was going to absolutely lose it.     And then it was time.   “Charles Sumner, I have never met anyone like you. You are the kindest, most loving, most patient person to ever walk this earth. I have so much to say, so many promises to make, that I can’t fit them all into one little speech. Instead, I want to spend the rest of my life showing you my love, spelling out my vows in every quiet moment. For now, all I can say is what I said to you a few months ago. I want you to let me be all yours, now and always.”   Charles was almost glad to see the tears rolling quietly down Sam’s cheeks as he finished reciting his vows. Charles took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn’t choke, hoping his words didn’t come out completely incomprehensible.   “Samuel Howe, I love you. I have loved you from the moment we met. You have inspired me, over and over, in a thousand ways. You have helped me become the person I wanted to be. And you help me see that that’s not enough; that I can be so much more than I ever imagined before I met you. You make life an adventure. And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life at your side, growing and learning and loving you.”   He had messed up his vows. The version he’d written had been longer, more eloquent, but in this moment he hardly knew what he was saying. The only thing in his mind right now was how immeasurably he loved the man in front of him. He had a lifetime to tell him so; whatever he said today ultimately wouldn’t matter. All that mattered was— “I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss your—“ The last word was drowned out as Sam pulled Charles to him for their first kiss as a married couple and crowd applauded and cheered.

~~Fin~~

[letmebeallyours]

Help

It was strange, how time slipped by so quickly even though it seemed to be standing still. Their wedding was hardly two weeks away when it really hit Charles that it was real. It was happening. God, he felt so unprepared. Sam was at the hospital, his shift had hardly started, and Charles couldn’t sleep; instead, he had sat down to make a list of all the wedding preparations that still needed his attention. He had expected a few relatively minor things—he’d ended up with three pages of them. Before the panic could grip him too firmly, he called Henry, trying to calm down before he spiraled. “Longo, I don’t know how I’m going to pull this off,” he said the moment Henry answered the phone. “What?” “The wedding. I don’t—I can’t do this. There’s so much and I just—“ “You can do this. Also, you don’t have to take care of everything by yourself. What can I help with?” After some debate, Henry simply announced that he was coming over. “But it’s almost midnight—“ “So? I’ll sleep on your couch. But first we’re going to get some things figured out. It’ll be okay, Charlie.”   Charles, resigning himself to his friend’s good-natured intrusion, got out the extra blankets and pillows while he waited for Henry’s knock at his door. It didn’t come as soon as he’d expected. He tried to take advantage of the extra time by scrounging out some snacks. But before long he started to worry Henry hadn’t just been caught in traffic—what if he’d gotten into an accident? Or someone had mugged him? What if— Before his train of thought had gone too far, the knock derailed it. “Ah, my dear Don Carlos!” the unexpected enthusiasm from the unexpected guest left Charles momentarily speechless. Then, seeing Henry just behind him and suddenly understanding the delay, Charles grinned and reached for Sam Ward’s hand. “Sambolini, to what do I owe the pleasure?” “As with all pleasures, to our dear Longbardicus. I happened to run into him while he was on his way here, and he persuaded me to join him.” “Did he tell you what he’s here for? I’m afraid it’s going to be boring—“ “Boring? Perish the thought! Don Carlos, I adore weddings. Please, can I see your plans so far?” “If you really want to, but they’re—“ “Yes, Charles, I assure you, I want to. Where are they?” “On the table.” Bewildered, or perhaps merely bemused, Charles and Henry followed Sam into the kitchen, and listened as he exclaimed over the detailed diagrams and charts spread out over the table. Then his eyes lighted upon the dreaded To-Do list; he snatched it up and began poring over it. “Is this all?” “That’s what I still have left to work on. Henry was going to help me with some of it.” “May I?” “What?” “Do you have a laptop hereabouts?” “I—yes?” Charles fetched his computer obligingly, feeling as though he had missed something. Sam thanked him, then shooed him and Henry to the living room while he began typing frenziedly. Charles tried to stay on—it was his wedding after all, he ought to be helpful—but Sam wouldn’t have it. “I appreciate the offer, dear, but quite frankly I plan better sans aide. I know it’s rude of me, but…” he shrugged. Charles found himself apologizing and leaving his guest to plan his wedding decorations undisturbed. In the living room, Henry was settling onto the couch. “We should be helping, right? I’m not crazy?” “Trust me, Charlie, it’s easier to just let him have his way. Come on, relax. I’ll bet he has everything on your list crossed off by morning.” “That’s impossible.” “Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration. But you needed the help, and he’s happy to do it. Don’t worry over it.” “I feel bad though. He was going to visit you and now—“ “I think he was just in town. I happened to bump into him outside a bar a few blocks from my apartment.” “Just happened to?” “Yeah. Weird, right?” Charles tried to hide his grin. Poor Henry. He really had no idea. If anyone needed help here, maybe it was him.

[letmebeallyours]

Not Settled

“Charlie, are you busy tomorrow night?” “No, why?” “I want you to meet my mother.” “Okay,” Charles grinned. “She asked if she could come to the wedding and I…well, I couldn’t exactly say no. But I want you to meet her before that—before the rehearsal dinner. Just the three of us.” “I’d love that.” “Why?” Sam knew the question came out more sharply than he’d intended, but he really could not understand. “Well, I don’t know really. I guess because you’ve always been so secretive about your family. I’m excited to hear about who you were before I met you.” “You want to know about my childhood?” “Yeah,” Charles shrugged, sincerely confused about Sam’s barely repressed hostility. “You want to know my best childhood memory?” “Of course I do.” “I fell in the harbor one winter—don’t ask me how. I got out, I was fine. My father was pissed. But we were in public and he had things to do, so he told me to go home and tell my mom to beat me. So I did. But she didn’t hit me, just made me change and get in bed.” “Sam…” He already wished he hadn’t spoken. That look in Charlie’s face was too much like pity for him to bear. He knew it wouldn’t help him to get angry at Charles right now—knew it wasn’t Charles he wanted to be angry at. He took a deep breath, told Charles to be ready by six-thirty, and went to walk the restless emotion away.   He was ready long before six-thirty, but Sam was not. He kept loitering in the bathroom, changing his mind about his shirt, remembering little things he had to do before they could go. It took a while for Charles to realize he was simply putting it off. He understood why. Not as well as he might like too, but from the story Sam had told last night and from Sam’s attitude towards his family in general the entire time he’d known him, he understood enough. Eventually, seriously concerned about the impression that being this late would make, Charles half-led, half-dragged Sam from the apartment. Sam was trying valiantly to pretend that everything was alright. Perhaps to make up for his anger last night, or perhaps in an effort to convince himself, Charles couldn’t tell. Either way, the attempt was not at all successful. Charles knew him well enough to recognize the little ticks that betrayed his agitation, the restlessness and anxiety no amount of careful control could disguise. He wondered if Sam’s mother would recognize the signs as well. When they made it to the restaurant, Sam’s mother was already there waiting for them. Even though he had never met her, never even seen a picture, Charlie recognized her at once. She was a tall woman, though that was not clear til she rose to greet them. Her hair was the exact same shade of black as her son’s, and in spite of the all-too-visible nerves displayed in every line of her face, there was an unmistakable stubbornness there as well. He was so struck by the family resemblance that he stopped in his tracks for just a moment. As he did, Sam stepped boldly forward, as if he hadn’t spent all day worrying about this meeting, and sat down at the table. Charles joined him just a moment later, reaching for Mrs. Howe’s hand as Sam introduced them. As they shook, he noted that Sam had sat without really greeting her. He knew—or at least strongly suspected—that it had been more than a year since he’d seen her, and yet he had not so much as shaken her hand before sitting down. If Charles had gone more than, say, a week without seeing his mother or siblings he could be sure of a warm hug the moment they met again. How bad must things be between them that after all that time apart Sam could be content to simply say hello? “So, Charles. Sam hasn’t told me much about you. To be perfectly honest, he hasn’t told me anything. You’ll have to make up for it and tell me all about yourself.” “I’d be happy to,” he said, not entirely sure that he meant it. “Where would you like me to start?” “Oh, I don’t know. Tell me how you met my little boy.” Two feet away he could hear Sam grinding his teeth. Not wanting her to notice, he hastened to tell the story as briefly as he could. When he finished, she smiled. “Yes, that’s just like him. He always did have a knack for finding trouble. Would you believe that in school he got in fights nearly every day?” “Kids fight, mother.” “Yes, yes, kids do, but you. You had a positive mania for it.” “I didn’t pick any of those fights. I was just defending myself.” “What happened?” “Some kids heard that my father was a republican.” Charles winced. For such a simple phrase, in a place like this it carried a lot of meaning. “Don’t let him fool you,” his mother laughed. “It might have started out as self-defense, but Sammy loved those fights. He thought the black-eyes made the girls fall in love with him—that is, uh, he liked to look dangerous.” There was an awkward moment while she tried to pretend she hadn’t thought her son was straight and while Sam was too busy fuming to move things along with his usual tact, and while Charles tried to think of something, anything, to say. He suddenly doubted that he wanted to hear more about Sam’s childhood from her. “Charlie—can I call you that?—will you tell me more about yourself? What are you studying—art? Fashion?” “Law.” “Oh! A lawyer! That must be so exciting! Tell me—” And as she probed him on his studies and his interests, the conversation fell into a more natural rhythm. Sam took part occasionally, though he never quite relaxed. Now and then she would say something a little off, or make an assumption he could only guess stemmed from online articles about how to be an ally, but they got better at moving past those moments smoothly and quietly. He couldn’t tell if she actually liked him, or if her sustained enthusiasm was merely a façade meant to keep herself in her son’s good graces. In any event, on the ride back home, he pronounced the evening, more or less, a success. “You liked her?” Sam sounded incredulous. “She’s trying. I respect her for that.” “But she’s—” Sam bit his tongue. Clearly whatever she was, he did not want to tell the stories that would explain it. “Sam? She’s trying. Maybe you should start trying to forgive her, too.” The intensity of the glare that followed astounded him. It was not anger, not really, that was only a thin layer on the surface. He didn’t know what lay in the depths of that look, only that there was more pain than he could comprehend. “Charles you have no idea… Look. You dealt with your family drama your way, I dealt with mine my way. It’s too late to change what’s settled and done.” Reaching for his hand, hoping Sam could hear both the apology and the encouragement, Charles said, “Nothing is settled which is not right.” Sam rolled his eyes, but he took Charlie’s hand all the same.

[letmebeallyours]

A Secret Visit

As the bus drew near his destination, Sam began to wonder if he ought to have brought flowers. Not so much because there was any affection or respect in the matter, but purely as a matter of form. By the time he was off the bus, he had decided it was better he hadn’t. Flowers would have seemed hypocritical somehow. He could have driven here. In fact, he almost wondered why he hadn’t. He almost wondered why he was here. He had a simple answer to that: there was an itch that needed scratching. For weeks now he had had a nagging sense that he ought to make this visit; now he was finally making it just to make that feeling stop. What he didn’t know was why it felt so important to make this visit in the first place.

As he wandered through the rows of tombstones, he pondered that. He had no love for the man whose grave he’d come to see. He did not owe him anything, and it was far too late to ask his blessing. He pondered, too, why he had felt the need to keep this visit a secret. He knew why he hadn’t mentioned it to Charles: Charlie still had so many mixed feelings about his father, and Sam didn’t want to drag any painful memories back to the surface. Especially not this close to the wedding. But it would have been so much simpler if he had let himself ask Henry where exactly the grave was.

Eventually, he went to the cemetery’s office and asked for help. They were polite enough and before long he was staring at a stone that had his fiancé’s name on it. He hated that Charles had been named after his father. But after the initial shock of it, the name on the stone didn’t bother him. It was so coldly real and solid and dull…there was nothing at all to connect it to the bright, fiery man he loved except for the letters. He tried to connect it instead to Charlie’s father, but, he realized, he could not even remember that man’s face. He’d only met him once, and that had been a brief enough meeting.

Or perhaps not quite brief enough. Mr. Sumner had been there long enough to reduce Charles to a sobbing wreck (though he’d held himself together at least until the door had closed behind his father). Sam still seethed about that sometimes.

“Didn’t you know how incredible your son is? Didn’t you ever bother to notice that?”

The stone was silent.

“He still thinks about you. Sometimes he’ll get sad for no reason—disappear into himself, you know—and I can tell. I can tell he’s remembering some time when you said something that never stopped hurting, or let him down, or made it obvious you didn’t really love him. He deserved better than you.”

If stones could glare, Sam imagined this one was glaring at him. Or maybe it was just that he could almost see his own glare reflected in the mirror-bright polish of the still fresh rock. He tried again to recall the exact way self-righteous rage had shown in Mr. Sumner’s eyes. Instead, he could only recall the stories Charles had told him that night when he’d come back to Sam’s apartment for the first time. He could still feel how warm Charles had been as he held him that first time, trying to comfort him for a lifetime’s worth of invisible wounds. He could still feel the way he had trembled.

That had been the moment, he realized now, when he’d first lost his heart to him. He’d always had a soft spot for people who needed help, and that man, shaking in his arms because he’d never been given the love he craved, god, how could Sam have resisted that? That first twinge of love had grown deeper and stronger in a thousand ways since then, but where would they have been if Charles’s dad hadn’t dropped in that day? He gave the silent stone another sullen glare.

“Thank you,” he said grudgingly. Then he turned his back on the rock and walked away.

[letmebeallyours]

An Unexpected Call

He was so caught up in the book when the phone rang that he didn’t bother to look at the caller id before answering it. Which is why the voice that hesitantly asked “Hello?” took him so completely by surprise. “Mom?” “Sammy, oh I’m so glad you answered. Your sister thought you’d changed your number—I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get ahold of you.” “Is something wrong?” “No! No…well, I don’t know.” An expectant pause. “Sam?” “Yes?” “Is something wrong?” “I’m fine.” “I haven’t seen you in so long.” “I’ve been busy.” “I know. I know. I hear you’re a real doctor now.” He began to explain that he was almost able to make that claim, that he still had a few steps left, but she cut him off: “Sam, I’m so proud of you.” He grit his teeth, stood, and started pacing the room, wishing she would either get to the point or just hang up. There was a long pause in which neither of those things seemed likely to happen. Finally, he asked bluntly, “Was there something you wanted?” “As a matter of fact… I wanted to ask…” “Yes?” “Will I be invited to the wedding?” “What?” “Because if I am, I need to find something to wear. Do you have a color scheme yet?” “Mom, I…how did you know?” “Oh, I heard it through the grapevine.” He tried not to notice the reproach in her voice. “I don’t…I’m not sure…” “I’m not asking you to invite your father, or anyone else, Sam; I just want to know if I’m allowed to see my boy get married.” “Mom,” he was struggling to find a safe way to phrase the question, to broach a topic he’d never mentioned to her, “Do you know—who—I’m marrying?” “The grapevine didn’t have a lot of details Sam. I expect you preferred it that way.” “I don’t think you would actually want to be there.” “Samuel Gridley Howe don’t you dare say that to me. I am your mother and when I say I want to see you get married and be happy you can damn well believe that I mean it.” “Charles.” “What?” “Charles. That’s his name. My fiancé’s name is Charles.” “Oh.” Another lengthy pause. Even through the phone Sam could practically hear the gears of her mind whirring at top speed as she tried to take this in. “And…you love him?” “I do.” “You’re happy?” “Yes.” “Are you ever going to tell me if I’m invited to the wedding?” 

[letmebeallyours]

Just Ceremony

“Hey, what are you guys up to?” Fanny asked, shrugging out of her jacket and joining them at the kitchen table. “Wedding planning.” “Oh. Sounds fun?” “It is,” Charles asserted as Henry and Sam tried not to meet his gaze. “It’s definitely more involved than I’d expected,” Sam added. “But Charlie likes details, and weddings, and, well, all of this,” Henry said, gesturing at the binders and catalogues sprawling across the table. “It sounds like a lot of work for something that is, after all, pretty pointless.” “Sorry?” Sam frowned. “I mean,” she said, almost apologetically, “don’t get me wrong, weddings are great. They’re beautiful and they can be a lot of fun—I just don’t feel like they’re really necessary.” “What do you mean?” “It’s all ceremony. The actual marriage takes place at someone’s desk when they approve the paperwork, the relationship begins well before the wedding—one would hope. What does a wedding really mark? What does it signify?” “The beginning of your lives together.” “Unless you’ve already moved in together, which is the case more and more often.” “That’s true,” Charles conceded. “But don’t you want the wedding for the public recognition of your love?” “I’m sure lot’s of people do, but I think I’d be happy skipping the ceremony altogether.” “Wait, really?” Henry asked suddenly. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not like we need a ceremony to announce that we’re in love. If our friends don’t know it by now, they never will.” “You would be happy to just go to the county clerk’s office…to just walk in and get married?” Henry had a slightly dazed, but excited look, as he asked this. Fanny only looked bemused as she affirmed again that she would. “Fanny,” Henry asked suddenly, dropping to one knee and taking her by the hand, “will you marry me?” “Right now?” “Right now.” “Sure, I’m game.” Henry got to his feet so quickly Charles barely saw him move. He and Fanny were halfway to the door before either of them thought to turn back and ask Sam and Charles to be their witnesses. “Wait,” Charles protested, “what about—your families?” “They’ll forgive us.” “And the—the cake?” “That’s just part of the ceremony.” “What about the rings?” “We—hmm. I do want a ring, Henry.” Henry looked around the kitchen, spotted a bread tie, and quickly twisted it into a loop. Dropping to his knee again, he looked lovingly up at Fanny, who was already saying “yes” before he could repeat his proposal. Flabbergasted, Charles looked to Sam—who simply shrugged and grabbed his keys as he followed Henry and Fanny to the door.

[letmebeallyours]

Nature’s Warblers

Charles wasn’t quite sure how he’d ended up playing host when Oliver came all the way from New York to see Sam, but somehow it had happened. They’d chosen the weekend in advance to fit Sam’s schedule, but apparently shifts had been re-arranged at the last minute. Charles was disappointed, but didn’t really mind. Oliver hardly seemed to notice. He was entirely too preoccupied with complaining about the public transportation. Charles agreed with him readily enough in principle, but the sheer length at which he was able to talk about it seemed unnecessary.  As was the length at which he talked about, well, pretty much everything. Charles was an enthusiastic talker, to be sure, but even he couldn’t be that bad, right? They were only half-way through the second day of Oliver’s visit when he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Oliver, are you—” he tried to interject. Oliver didn’t seem to hear him. “Oliver, can I ask—” he tried again; Oliver simply went on about the trees in the Common.

“Time, glorious, unfathomable Time! Tracked so easily, so imperceptibly, by something so common and overlooked! Why, those very trees may have been there as far back as—“

“Oliver!”

“Hmm? Did you say something?”

“Are you always this…prolix?”

“You know, I really believe some people save their bright thoughts as being too precious for conversation. I’d hate to be so stingy.”

“Conversation is supposed to be a two-way street, is it not?”

“What does this cankering over-civilization know about two-way streets?”

“Boston is flawed, but you have to admit, it’s better than New York.”

“I don’t have to do anything of the kind. In fact—” he launched into an entirely different line of thought, but here at least Charles was able to force his way into the argument and have his own share. He may not have had much to say about measuring trees, but he could certainly defend his city. The argument, or debate perhaps, turned out to be a lot of fun. Oliver didn’t really seem to have anything against Boston, he was just enjoying the opposition. It was a very different style of debate than Charles had grown so used to in his classes and in courtrooms; there were no precedents to draw on, nothing at stake (except, perhaps, the honor of their respective cities), and no reason why his opponent shouldn’t suddenly wax poetic and begin composing an impromptu ode to the smog over his streets.

By the time Sam got home, the debate had nearly run its course. They were able to switch to a different topic as they headed out for dinner together. Sam joined the conversation very little, though whether this was because he was too tired or simply didn’t have the opportunity it was hard to tell.

[letmebeallyours]

~~

Henry could tell that Charles had something on his mind, but he was in no rush to find out what. Charles would tell him eventually—he could wait. Sure, it put a slight strain on their conversation (though he was certain Charles did not notice it), but that hardly mattered. They’d been friends long enough that it didn’t bother him if Charles was too distracted to catch his jokes, or if he sometimes had to repeat himself.

“Henry, I don’t tell you how grateful I am to know you often enough.” Ah. Here it was.

“You don’t have to. But thank you. I’m grateful to be your friend too.” It was strange how an exchange that had such potential to be horrendously awkward seemed not only sincere but natural when it was with Charles. Charles was just like that. Sometimes he just said things so honest and so obvious that it wouldn’t occur to anyone else to say them. But it was oddly comforting to hear them.

“When I get married—” this was still recent news and Henry’s head swam at the phrase. It was so bizarre to think of anyone he knew getting married—“I want you to be in my wedding party.”

Oh. Oh.

“Henry, will you be my best man?”

“I—thank you.”

“That’s a yes then?”

“Of course it is.”

“Great,” Charlie grinned, “That’s a relief.”

“You didn’t really think I’d say no, did you?”

“Well, it’s…a lot. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t…”

“Charlie, I love you, but you’re an idiot sometimes.”

“Yeah. Well…” Henry was actually surprised that Charles let it rest there. More often than not he’d have an entire speech (maybe two) prepared in defense of his doubt. Not today, it seemed. Today, he just grinned again and turned to look out the window of the café. He may have been trying to hide the mixed expression on his face—excitement and joy and more than a little anxiety—but if that were the case, he was not doing a very good job of it. Either way, Henry decided to let it be. He was having a hard enough time taking in the situation himself. In just a few months, his best friend would be getting married. And he would be there at his side…holding the rings? Giving a speech. Oh god.

“Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“I—listen, this is not me changing my mind, I promise—just, so I know, what exactly does a best man do?”

[letmebeallyours]

A Wedding Day

The sun was simply glorious that day. Charles couldn’t help thinking it was exactly the sort of day he hoped to be married on—although he didn’t think he would have that luxury. Still, at least someone was taking advantage of it. Much to his chagrin, they were almost late. He’d planned to have plenty of time to get there and claim a good seat, but he’d been helping Sam with his outfit and he’d simply looked…irresistible. Of course he looked good in anything, but that suit did wonders for him. They had still gotten there at a reasonable time, not visibly disheveled, and that had to count for something.

The ceremony was a simple one. Ann wanted to get through it on her own, which meant it had to be short. Charles beamed at her as she started up the aisle; she was stunning. He’d always known she would be. In the end, he hadn’t been able to help her choose her gown, but he whole-heartedly approved her choice. Wendy look wonderful too, though they didn’t hold a candle in comparison. As Ann joined them at the altar, the look of unbounded love and joy on their face nearly had Charles in tears. He felt Sam reach for his hand, and gratefully reciprocated, trying to convey everything he was feeling through the pressure he applied to the fingers now intertwined with his own. By the time they’d finished reading their vows, Charles really was crying. He’d known each of them for so long, since before they’d met—he’d watched them fall in like and then in love and now… Now they had their whole life together ahead of them and he couldn’t possibly be happier for his friends.

The reception that followed the ceremony was in a building just down the street the church. As the crowd of guests migrated, Sam put an arm round Charlie’s waist, drawing him a little closer.

“That was beautiful.”

“It’s not too late for us to have a summer wedding,” Charles prompted.

“We picked the date, Charlie, my love.”

“But we could—“

“Please, let’s not talk about it right now? I just want to enjoy this day with you.”

It wasn’t like Sam to be so openly sentimental, and Charlie certainly wasn’t going to pick a fight now.

“I’m going to expect your vows to be even better than that,” he teased instead.

“Ah Don Carlos, that’s just not fair,” Sam whined.

“It won’t be that hard to think of nice things to say about me, will it?”

“But things I can say in front of everyone? They don’t need to hear about how nimble your—“

Charles elbowed him—maybe a little harder than he’d intended to—and allowed Sam to change the subject as they arrived at the reception. The decorations were simple and elegant, everything sensibly arranged. The food was good: not great, catering was never really great, but certainly a cut above his expectations. Everything went off without a hitch. Wendy and Ann spent most of their time sitting at the head table, thanking people. They did get up to cut the cake and to have their first dance. They fit together so perfectly and moved so gracefully on the dance floor that Charles almost felt a twinge of jealousy. He hoped he and Sam would look even half that good on their own wedding day.

Just as he was thinking this, Sam leaned closer and asked if he could have the next dance. Charles blinked at him, surprised, then grinned and eagerly accepted the invitation. The next dance turned out to be a faster one, and, not wanting to waste what would likely be Sam’s only trip to the dance floor, they agreed to wait for the next slow dance. They mingled as they waited, catching up with mutual friends they hadn’t seen in a while. But no matter how genuine the conversation, how happy the group, Charles felt like he and Sam were somehow separate from the rest of the crowd, floating in their own little bubble. The moment the next slow dance began, they abruptly excused themselves and Sam led Charles onto the dancefloor. Being in his arms, swaying gently to the soft melody, knowing that they were there because happiness and love existed in this world and everyone got a shot at them—it was more happiness than he could hold. He hid his face against Sam’s neck so no one would see him crying again.

[letmebeallyours]

Almosts

The evening had started in the same sort of quiet comfort that so many evenings had before their senior year. Since then, they had all been too busy for board games, for one reason and another. But after all the stress they had all been through lately, they had decided they definitely needed one relaxing evening, just the three of them, just like old times. They had already gone through a game of Settlers of Catan and a few hands of Uno, simply enjoying themselves. Then they had started a game of Scrabble, and that’s when things went wrong. There were only a handful of words on the board when Charles put down “almost”—and a few moments later he and Fanny noticed Henry’s face streaming with tears.

“Henry what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Henry said quickly, shaking his head, “I’m sorry.”

“Babe, it’s okay, it’s okay. What’s the matter?”

“I—almost. All of the almosts.”

Charles and Fanny shot each other puzzled glances. Henry was trying to wipe the tears away and move on, but when he looked at them again, the silent tears became outright sobbing. Fanny moved her chair closer to put an arm around him. Charles tried again to ask what had happened.

“I just—I love you both so much—and I almost lost you both. I came so close…I don’t know what I would have done…” he explained between sobs. Charles pulled his chair closer now too. It became an awkward sort of group hug, each of them trying to hold Henry and reassure him that everything was fine. They exchanged looks of deep discomfort and guilt over Henry’s back. It was true. Of course they had both suffered a lot, they had both come uncomfortably close to losing a dear friend, but neither of them could imagine how Henry must have felt through it all. Charles wished more than anything that he could take back that word, or better still that he could undo everything that had hurt any of them in recent months. But all he could do was keep his arm around Henry as he cried and remind him that they were still here.

[letmebeallyours]

I’m Compromising

I wanted to write this story in full, but at this point all I want to do is finish it. When I started writing this AU as a coping mechanism almost two years ago, I had three scenes clearly in mind that I built the whole thing around. The rally where Sam and Charles met, the last scene (which I will still do), and this one. But these ficlet outlines have been sitting in my draft for months and I just can’t make myself write them. I’ve written several of the stories that come after them, but I can’t just skip over these. So, here’s what happens, plotwise, before the next fics I actually post:

*** Sam and Wendy show up, Wendy asks where Fanny is, Henry/Charles tells them she’s out saving the world one burning building at a time. While they’re hanging out, Henry gets a call from Mr. Appleton, walks away to take it, sprints from the building. Sam catches up outside—offers to drive him—texts everyone else from the hospital to tell them what’s going on. [all this in Charles’ perspective]. Her parents are her emergency contacts, but they’re in Maine? NY? Idk. They know henry can get there faster and let them know what’s up. She’s in pretty bad condition.***

 ***they go to visit Fanny in the hospital. She’s not great. Henry is distraught.***

***Fanny is out of the hospital. Still not great, but she’s getting there. It’s clear there will be scars, and somehow this makes her depressed. Henry reassures her he will always love her, no matter what.***

[letmebeallyours]

Looking at the crowd of men surrounding her, she couldn’t help but wonder if any of them knew. The men carrying the casket—had they known that dark secret about the man inside? Had they suspected? Did they suspect her secret?

She rather doubted it. When they looked at her, they only saw a beautiful young woman with a will of her own. But he’d known better. He’d known so much.

She could still remember every detail of the story he’d told her that day. She couldn’t remember why she’d been alone in the house, or exactly why she was crying when “Mistah Sumnah” had found her there. She could almost remember, more or less, how she had climbed into his lap and told him she was broken. She didn’t know how she explained her rudimentary child’s understanding that she was destined to love women, but she clearly remembered using the word broken. And she remembered how he listened. Intently, seriously, as though her woes were as important as any of the national policies he had a hand in each day.

And when she had cried herself to exhaustion, when her tide of speech had ebbed, he had told her a story. How once, long ago, there was a little boy who’d thought he was broken. How the boy had grown up feeling terribly lonely; always searching for someone like himself, always disappointed. Until one magical day, the boy had met a knight. The knight was brave, and generous, and bold, and kind, and everything a man should be. And the boy—barely a man himself—fell in love with the knight. The knight told the young man about his daring adventures in a distant land; and in return the young man talked about his travels through other countries, and the things he had learned there. And they became friends.  And, sooner or later, the knight fell in love with the man. So the two men, who had each felt broken for so long, both got a happy ending.

She would never forget the way the Senator had lifted her chin so their eyes could meet as he told her that everyone, everyone could have a happy ending.

It had always been so easy to believe him. About that; about everything.

She couldn’t say when she realized that the knight in the story was her father. The Chevalier. Brave, generous, bold, kind. Once the thought was in her mind she never doubted it. And from there, it was only a small leap of the imagination to realize that the boy in the story had been the Senator.

After that, all sorts of small details began making sense. The way her father, so stubborn, could be so pliant in arguments with him. The glances exchanged. Her mother’s stiff smile when the Senator came by.

Funny. There hadn’t been a princess in the story. Did the princess get a happy ending, too?

But the story had served its purpose. She had cheered up. She had stopped thinking of herself as broken. She practiced kissing girls with the statue on the stairs and flirted with herself in mirrors. And eventually, she’d learned to flirt for real. To really tell another woman how she felt. To take her in her arms.

Happy endings.

Except, this wasn’t the end. The story had hardly started. The end was…

The end was this coffin she was escorting through the streets of Washington. The only woman in a sea of men. The only man who mattered a thousand miles away; the knight hadn’t spoken to his lover in two years. So, she thought, This is how happy endings end.

[letmebeallyours]

((just for the record, I haven't had the time or motivation to write anything for this in a couple months (pretty much all of this lately was written before I went to Boston in June). I've run out of the ones I had ready to go and I'm not sure when I'll get back to it.))

[letmebeallyours]

Excited

Charles had gone out to walk Frisky quite early that morning; he’d had trouble sleeping and didn’t want to bother Sam, who’d gotten back in the small hours after an unexpected late shift. When he came back he stopped to check the mail. There was the usual batch of magazines and credit card offers, and he flicked quickly through. When he saw the large square envelope in the middle of the stack, it was only natural for him to pull it out and examine it first. He was surprised to see that it was from Wendy Phillips. As he realized what it was, he almost dropped all the junk mail in his excitement. “Sam!” he cried as he burst back into the room, utterly forgetting that his fiancé might still be asleep. Luckily, he was not. “What?” he grumbled blearily over his coffee mug. In lieu of answering, Charles handed him the envelope. “So?” “Open it.” He did. He barely glances at the invitation within before handing it back and raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t it too early in the morning to be this excited about a wedding that’s still months away?” “If you can’t at least pretend to be excited about weddings, I might have to call ours—” “Okay, okay, I’m excited. Thrilled. Can’t wait. Also, I’m still half-asleep.” “Fine,” Charles smiled, finding his ready acquiescence so endearing he had to bend over to kiss him gently. “I’ll let it slide this once.” “How magnanimous of you.”   Later that afternoon, as Charles was reviewing old lecture notes, Sam walked in holding the invitation to Wendy and Ann’s wedding. Charles smiled up at him, and Sam sat down on the couch beside him. “I am excited.” “I’m glad to hear it.” “But it took me sort of by surprise. Wedding invitations. I forgot that they’re a thing.” “What?” “The whole time I was planning how I wanted to propose to you, the whole time I was thinking of how great it would be to be married to you, somehow I never actually thought about a wedding.” “Too late to back out now.” “I know. We’re going to do this right. It’s just…there’s so much involved.” “Probably even more than you realize.” “Great.” “Do either of us even have the time to organize it?” “Well, I guess that depends on when we set the date. We can give ourselves time, there’s no deadline.” “As soon as possible. How’s next week sound?” “Ha ha.” “No good? How about June? I hear summer weddings are beautiful, if you like that sort of thing.” “I do like that sort of thing. And until we’re actually married, you’d better pretend that you do too.” “So June it is? That gives us about two months, do you think that’s enough time?” “I think next June would be better.” “I don’t want to wait that long. I meant it when I said ‘as soon as possible.’” “You’re going to have to wait a few months at least,” Charles frowned. “I want to graduate before the wedding.” “Why?” “I don’t know. I just do.” “That’s ridiculous. Seriously, what’s wrong with this June? If we need more time for all the formalities we can do July, but you know I don’t have the patience to wait any longer than that.” Charles regarded him for a moment, considering. Then he launched into an explanation of why he wanted to wait, ranging from not wanting to be distracted during his final semester to making Sam test himself, covering nearly everything in between. By the end of it Sam was not so much persuaded as simply convinced that Charles’s stubbornness exceeded his own. But next June was still much too far away. Charles loved the idea of a summer wedding, but Sam did not want to wait a moment longer than he had to. He couldn’t have said why it mattered so much, not when they had already been living together and as intimate as possible for so long. Maybe simply because he had set his mind on a goal and could not rest until it was accomplished. In any case, they eventually reached a compromise. Charles would graduate before they were married—but wouldn’t get a summer wedding. He was due to graduate in December, thanks to the medical delay in his studies, and they would be married in January. That would give Charles a little time to breathe between the two major events. Once that was settled, they both lapsed briefly into silence. Then Sam mused, “And setting the date is just the first thing we have to do.” Charles chuckled. “Just wait until we get around to picking a color scheme.”

[letmebeallyours]

Any Excuse

I have a surprise for you ? You’ll see Sam did what he always did when faced with the prospect of a surprise: he began trying to guess what it would be. In this case, he knew he would like it—he had never not liked something Charles had gotten for him. Unfortunately, he thought, he had to eliminate the first several possibilities that came to mind. Though Charles was comfortable, if not quite enthusiastic, in their sex life, he was not and never would be the kind to offer that kind of surprise. It was highly likely that it would be a book. It might even be a stargazer lily if he was very lucky (he had talked about his new favorite flower too often lately for Charles not to know he wanted one). All day as he worked it bothered him. When the end of his shift finally came around, he couldn’t wait to get home. Often he would stop to pick up dinner or ice cream, or just drive around for a while before going back to his apartment. But the persistent itch of what is it? what is it? running through his mind since he’d seen that text at lunch time simply had to be satisfied. He went straight to his apartment—their apartment, since Charles had unofficially moved in recently—and unexpectedly found Charles waiting outside for him. “Okay, before you see it, I just want you to know that I checked and it’s fine.” “What the hell does that mean?” “You’ll see.” And see he would—but he heard it first. “Is that…barking?” Charlie’s grin was infectious. He did not wait for any further explanation, simply yanked the door open—and was immediately set upon by an over-enthusiastic ball of fur. In moments, they were both sitting on the floor just inside the door, a shaggy puppy yapping eagerly and jumping from one man to the other, licking at their faces. “Charlie you know we—blegh not the beard you little beast—we can’t have—” “Pets? Like I said, I checked. It’s fine.” “Not without—” “I already talked to the landlord and paid the extra security deposit. Sam, seriously, it’s fine. And you know you want to keep him, so stop arguing.” “How long have you been planning this?” “Well, engagement presents are a thing, right?” “No?” “Too bad, they are now.” Sam laughed. “Don’t pretend this is just because I finally proposed to you; you would take any excuse to get a dog.” He looked down at the hairy face that was looking right back at him, eyes sparkling with curiosity and affection and tongue hanging out in a goofy grin. Charles was right. He loved dogs, and this one was especially cute. “It’s going to need a name.” “An astute observation.” “Ha ha. Any suggestions?” “He’s your dog, you pick.” “Hmmm,” he mused. He had never been much good at naming things. Maybe he could pick something so outlandish that Charles would overrule him and name the puppy himself? “What about Fang? Or Beelzebub? Mephistopheles? Something suitably terrifying…” “Yeah, just looking at those fierce eyes makes me tremble.” Damn. Apparently this tactic would not work. Just then, the puppy jumped out of his lap and went to bark at a pigeon that had flown past the window. When it got bored with that just a moment later, it began rapidly exploring the room, jumping at everything and trying to engage various furniture legs in play. “Sure is a frisky fellow.” “Hmmm. I like that.” “What?” “Frisky. It suits him.” “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it does.”