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fandomweekly2019-02-21 08:21 am
catdetective) wrote in fandomweekly2019-02-21 08:21 am
Entry tags:
[#008] Hometown (The Big Chill)
Theme Prompt: #008- Schadenfreude
Title: Hometown
Fandom: The Big Chill
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 960
Summary: (the AU where they just get together and stay together) Michael doesn't return to his hometown often. He's normally of the opinion that no news out of the old neighborhood is going to make him happy. This time, something does.
He feels guilty, he does feel guilty. But the guilt doesn’t erase the bone-deep satisfaction he feels when he hears about Mr. Jones’ arrest.
Normally, Michael doesn’t swing through the old neighborhood. He doesn’t like to. Michael lives in New York, and most of the time people assume he’s from there. Unless he displays some ignorance as to where in town something is, no one assumes he’s not. He’s not sure how he feels about that-- on the one hand, he loves the city and he feels safer and more comfortable living there than he ever imagined feeling… on the other hand, he comes from a place very un-like New York City in every way, and it seems strange that people don’t see it written on him. Well, some people do.
He doesn’t have to go past his old neighborhood, when he visits his parents. The cemetery is a long way out from the block where he grew up. Mostly, he’d always been grateful for that. Neighbors had come to the memorial service, and he had hated it. Them. They hadn’t known his family, not really. These people offering him condolences had been the same people who’d quietly encouraged their children not to be too close with him. Not that the neighborhood kids liked him much, because he was a little weird, was always writing things down, because he got glasses in fourth grade, though he barely needed them back then. Through college, he could do all right with or without them, though his mother always told him he was making his eyesight worse not wearing them. Because he latched onto you too much if you were nice to him. Because… Because. But it was fine for kids not to like him because he was weird, it wasn’t fine for their parents to encourage his exclusion.
Those were the days, he supposes. He doesn’t miss them.
This time, his annual visit, he’d gone past the general area. Not the street where he once lived, not the house he sold to a family that would fit right into the cookie cutter suburb, but to the corner store that hadn’t changed much since the days before he was born and might not change for decades yet. That was where he’d learned that Mr. Jones from across the street had been steadily embezzling money from his job since ‘49. Michael remembers him as red-faced and unpleasant, and quick to accuse others of greed, which might have been guilt at work. He remembers the Jones girl, four or five years his junior, and how she’d asked at the memorial service if he’d been left a lot of money.
He can’t help thinking about it. When he starts to feel guilty for taking some pleasure in the news, he thinks about how blank her face had been, how she hadn’t seemed to understand that he was suffering, how she hadn’t thought about what it must be like to be pulled out of your college studies to be told you’re an orphan with a lot of work to do. They’d only really seemed to care about material things, like they didn’t have any concept of anything that couldn’t be put into numbers. There was no monetary value assigned to Michael’s parents. The Joneses did talk to his parents, but it was shallow and brief and always left Michael feeling a vague sense of discomfort whenever he bore witness to it. They weren’t the rudest family, in that sense, but somehow it was worse to be talked to.
He doesn’t think the Jones girl really appreciates the simple fact that she’ll get her father back, she’ll get him back. If she’s like she was four years ago, she’s upset about all the money that was seized.
“Are you ready to go?” Alex asks, breaking him out of his own thoughts-- of course the overheard local gossip wouldn’t mean anything to him, though he’d met the Joneses at the service. He’s leaning against the counter up front, chocolate bar in hand-- the one Michael had been fruitlessly searching for in the space it should have occupied, where there was only an empty box.
“You had it all along?”
He waves it in the air. “Come on. You’re in an unusually good mood, considering.”
“Am I?” He asks, though he guesses he means ‘does it show?’, and apparently it does. “Beautiful day, I guess.”
“Sure.” Alex snorts. Outside, it’s stopped drizzling, but the late autumn rains have turned the dead leaves into brown mush on the ground, and there’s no sun to speak of.
In the car, he doesn’t turn the key right away.
“I mean I’m glad you are.” He says. “You’re allowed to feel good today. I always used to… I’d worry. We’d make this trip and I’d imagine you walking into the nearest lake instead of into the cemetery.”
“Our old neighbor got arrested.”
“... Oh.”
“He was an asshole.”
“Cool.” Alex turns the key.
“They’ll take back all the money he stole over the years.” Michael continues. “I’m going to call his daughter later and ask her isn’t she glad he still has his health.”
“Oh, that neighbor.” He snickers, not at all put off by Michael’s vicious streak, not remembering the service and the question. “Yeah, do that.”
“You know I’d-- the, uh… You know you don’t have to worry about me.”
“I know, but I worry.”
“Well, ah, knock it off, will you? Just drive.”
“I’ll drive, if you’ll tell me more about how terrible your ex-neighbor the future jailbird is.”
“Okay, well, you’re aware I never come back this way if I can help it…” Michael begins. They do have a long drive in which to indulge himself in a little mean-spirited glee.
Title: Hometown
Fandom: The Big Chill
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 960
Summary: (the AU where they just get together and stay together) Michael doesn't return to his hometown often. He's normally of the opinion that no news out of the old neighborhood is going to make him happy. This time, something does.
He feels guilty, he does feel guilty. But the guilt doesn’t erase the bone-deep satisfaction he feels when he hears about Mr. Jones’ arrest.
Normally, Michael doesn’t swing through the old neighborhood. He doesn’t like to. Michael lives in New York, and most of the time people assume he’s from there. Unless he displays some ignorance as to where in town something is, no one assumes he’s not. He’s not sure how he feels about that-- on the one hand, he loves the city and he feels safer and more comfortable living there than he ever imagined feeling… on the other hand, he comes from a place very un-like New York City in every way, and it seems strange that people don’t see it written on him. Well, some people do.
He doesn’t have to go past his old neighborhood, when he visits his parents. The cemetery is a long way out from the block where he grew up. Mostly, he’d always been grateful for that. Neighbors had come to the memorial service, and he had hated it. Them. They hadn’t known his family, not really. These people offering him condolences had been the same people who’d quietly encouraged their children not to be too close with him. Not that the neighborhood kids liked him much, because he was a little weird, was always writing things down, because he got glasses in fourth grade, though he barely needed them back then. Through college, he could do all right with or without them, though his mother always told him he was making his eyesight worse not wearing them. Because he latched onto you too much if you were nice to him. Because… Because. But it was fine for kids not to like him because he was weird, it wasn’t fine for their parents to encourage his exclusion.
Those were the days, he supposes. He doesn’t miss them.
This time, his annual visit, he’d gone past the general area. Not the street where he once lived, not the house he sold to a family that would fit right into the cookie cutter suburb, but to the corner store that hadn’t changed much since the days before he was born and might not change for decades yet. That was where he’d learned that Mr. Jones from across the street had been steadily embezzling money from his job since ‘49. Michael remembers him as red-faced and unpleasant, and quick to accuse others of greed, which might have been guilt at work. He remembers the Jones girl, four or five years his junior, and how she’d asked at the memorial service if he’d been left a lot of money.
He can’t help thinking about it. When he starts to feel guilty for taking some pleasure in the news, he thinks about how blank her face had been, how she hadn’t seemed to understand that he was suffering, how she hadn’t thought about what it must be like to be pulled out of your college studies to be told you’re an orphan with a lot of work to do. They’d only really seemed to care about material things, like they didn’t have any concept of anything that couldn’t be put into numbers. There was no monetary value assigned to Michael’s parents. The Joneses did talk to his parents, but it was shallow and brief and always left Michael feeling a vague sense of discomfort whenever he bore witness to it. They weren’t the rudest family, in that sense, but somehow it was worse to be talked to.
He doesn’t think the Jones girl really appreciates the simple fact that she’ll get her father back, she’ll get him back. If she’s like she was four years ago, she’s upset about all the money that was seized.
“Are you ready to go?” Alex asks, breaking him out of his own thoughts-- of course the overheard local gossip wouldn’t mean anything to him, though he’d met the Joneses at the service. He’s leaning against the counter up front, chocolate bar in hand-- the one Michael had been fruitlessly searching for in the space it should have occupied, where there was only an empty box.
“You had it all along?”
He waves it in the air. “Come on. You’re in an unusually good mood, considering.”
“Am I?” He asks, though he guesses he means ‘does it show?’, and apparently it does. “Beautiful day, I guess.”
“Sure.” Alex snorts. Outside, it’s stopped drizzling, but the late autumn rains have turned the dead leaves into brown mush on the ground, and there’s no sun to speak of.
In the car, he doesn’t turn the key right away.
“I mean I’m glad you are.” He says. “You’re allowed to feel good today. I always used to… I’d worry. We’d make this trip and I’d imagine you walking into the nearest lake instead of into the cemetery.”
“Our old neighbor got arrested.”
“... Oh.”
“He was an asshole.”
“Cool.” Alex turns the key.
“They’ll take back all the money he stole over the years.” Michael continues. “I’m going to call his daughter later and ask her isn’t she glad he still has his health.”
“Oh, that neighbor.” He snickers, not at all put off by Michael’s vicious streak, not remembering the service and the question. “Yeah, do that.”
“You know I’d-- the, uh… You know you don’t have to worry about me.”
“I know, but I worry.”
“Well, ah, knock it off, will you? Just drive.”
“I’ll drive, if you’ll tell me more about how terrible your ex-neighbor the future jailbird is.”
“Okay, well, you’re aware I never come back this way if I can help it…” Michael begins. They do have a long drive in which to indulge himself in a little mean-spirited glee.