Mini NoNoWriMo -- 518 words
Nov. 30th, 2006 01:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vanillafluffyThis is the end of the beginning; I have a whole lot more story in mind for Nancy, but because of The Job That's Eating My Brain, it's going to be a while before that gets written. (And at some point, I'll go through and organize November's output coherently, but for now, WYSIWYG.)
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There's a fragrance of coffee in the air when he awakens. Faint dawn-pink light touches the lace curtains at the windows, and John lies there for a moment trying to collect his thoughts. For the first time in weeks, the Sam situation isn't gnawing at him; Nancy put her finger on it: he's safe enough at school. What's that old proverb? Something about if you raise your child right, he'll be alright even when he's grown...it isn't like Sam doesn't know what's out there. He'll be okay. John will drop periodically to make sure of it.
The Nancy situation, on the other hand...when he started coming around, it was easy enough to think of her as a convenient piece of ass. He'd gotten used to her knowing about random things he knew he'd never mentioned, like the time he'd overheard her telling Tallboy not to call him Johnny, because that had been Mary's pet name for him. (He'd never shared that with her, though.) When she'd taken it into her head to start ghost hunting, he'd tried to prepare her for what was out there, and she turned out to have a knack with incantations, even if she still can't manage to stick a knife into anything that isn't already on a chopping block.
Nancy a danger to him. He's been avoiding the knowledge for years now, but today he faces it squarely. This woman is his refuge. During the long drive down from Jim's, all he could think about was how Nancy would welcome him, because she has from the first day they met. This house is where he comes for sanctuary; it has an air of stability that no rented room can provide. It's the home he hasn't had in nearly twenty years, and it disturbs him that he can tell just by the angle of the light coming through the windows what time it is. He can't keep coming back here; it's not safe. One of two things will happen: he'll lose his edge and get killed, or he'll bring something bad with him one of these days and get her killed. Neither one of these is a valid option.
John gets dressed. It's like putting on armor. Downstairs in the kitchen, Nancy is presiding over the stove like a domestic goddess, wrapped in one of those little aprons that always distracts him. (He doesn't remember Mary ever wearing an apron, but Nancy seems to have an endless supply of them.) She's filling a plactic container, and puts it into a brown paper bag, which she offers to him.
"What's this?"
"Some food for the road, and there's a thermos of hot coffee in there." She looks up, her pale eyes confronting him without accusation. "It's a long way to California. You may as well have some decent food along the way."
"Thanks, Nancy," he says, and gives her a long hug. A last hug.
"I'll see you when I see you," she calls from the back porch as he's climbing into the Impala. "You're always welcome here."
==============
There's a fragrance of coffee in the air when he awakens. Faint dawn-pink light touches the lace curtains at the windows, and John lies there for a moment trying to collect his thoughts. For the first time in weeks, the Sam situation isn't gnawing at him; Nancy put her finger on it: he's safe enough at school. What's that old proverb? Something about if you raise your child right, he'll be alright even when he's grown...it isn't like Sam doesn't know what's out there. He'll be okay. John will drop periodically to make sure of it.
The Nancy situation, on the other hand...when he started coming around, it was easy enough to think of her as a convenient piece of ass. He'd gotten used to her knowing about random things he knew he'd never mentioned, like the time he'd overheard her telling Tallboy not to call him Johnny, because that had been Mary's pet name for him. (He'd never shared that with her, though.) When she'd taken it into her head to start ghost hunting, he'd tried to prepare her for what was out there, and she turned out to have a knack with incantations, even if she still can't manage to stick a knife into anything that isn't already on a chopping block.
Nancy a danger to him. He's been avoiding the knowledge for years now, but today he faces it squarely. This woman is his refuge. During the long drive down from Jim's, all he could think about was how Nancy would welcome him, because she has from the first day they met. This house is where he comes for sanctuary; it has an air of stability that no rented room can provide. It's the home he hasn't had in nearly twenty years, and it disturbs him that he can tell just by the angle of the light coming through the windows what time it is. He can't keep coming back here; it's not safe. One of two things will happen: he'll lose his edge and get killed, or he'll bring something bad with him one of these days and get her killed. Neither one of these is a valid option.
John gets dressed. It's like putting on armor. Downstairs in the kitchen, Nancy is presiding over the stove like a domestic goddess, wrapped in one of those little aprons that always distracts him. (He doesn't remember Mary ever wearing an apron, but Nancy seems to have an endless supply of them.) She's filling a plactic container, and puts it into a brown paper bag, which she offers to him.
"What's this?"
"Some food for the road, and there's a thermos of hot coffee in there." She looks up, her pale eyes confronting him without accusation. "It's a long way to California. You may as well have some decent food along the way."
"Thanks, Nancy," he says, and gives her a long hug. A last hug.
"I'll see you when I see you," she calls from the back porch as he's climbing into the Impala. "You're always welcome here."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-11-30 10:27 pm (UTC)Good luck with the job!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-01 05:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-01 05:32 am (UTC)