Fic: Lives Are For Living. (7/35)
Aug. 25th, 2013 09:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silver_sunTitle Lives Are For Living. (7/35)
Fandoms Torchwood/Being Human crossover fic.
Characters/pairings Andy Davidson/Tom McNair. Other Torchwood and Being Human characters will appear later on.
Word count: This part 1800. (Total posted 12650 /65,000)
Rating This part PG13. Later parts adult.
Contains Mentions of depression/anxiety. Mentions of past canon character death. In later parts canon level violence, graphic sex, Andy's homophobic mother. Spoilers for Being Human (UK version) up to series 5 episode 3, and for Torchwood up to Children of Earth.
A/N: Crossover with Being Human. Technically a CoE fix it as it's set in the same 'verse as Finding Ways To Smile Again (although that isn't apparent until about 2/3 the way through the story). Follows on from Break and Breakaway from Tom McNair's POV – which is where it breaks from Being Human canon.
Summary
After being pushed out of the police force following the events of Children of Earth, Andy Davidson tries to build a new life for himself in the deep in the Welsh countryside.
Tom McNair walked out off his old life after realising it wasn't what he needed.
A chance meeting would take their lives in directions that they had never expected and bring them love that they'd not thought they'd find.
Starts here: http://the-silver-sun.livejournal.com/214504.html
The sun hadn't long set and a brilliant full moon hung in the dusk sky over the Elan Valley. It would be another warm night, Andy thought as he watched a barn owl fly low and silent across the fields.
There was still no sign of Tom, but it was nothing to worry about, Andy told himself. As although he couldn't think what he could have found to keep himself occupied in Rhayader for so long, Tom was a young man and it was Saturday night. So in all likelihood he was probably in a pub, watching football on the telly there and maybe talking to the bar staff to find out what the night life was like there.
It'd been a long time since Andy had gone on a night out. He'd never really been one for drinking alone, and with his pool of friends to invite shrunk to just about nothing and his mood prior to moving away from Cardiff at rockbottom, he'd not really felt like it either.
With a sigh, he leant back against the wall by the door. Perhaps he should go down into Rhayader too or maybe arrange a trip to somewhere larger like Newport or Bristol and visit a few clubs. Not to Cardiff though, not for the sort of pubs and clubs he wanted to visit. He didn't feel able to run the risk of somebody he knew seeing him leave a gay club, preferable with company, and the information getting back to his mother. Certainly not since the last time, when he'd bottled out of telling her why he'd been there and instead lied to her, claiming that he'd working undercover for the police. Her response, asking him if he was going to help shut places like that down, had been enough that he'd decided not to risk going out in Cardiff like that again.
He sighed again. He was a grown man, he thought, he should be able to tell her, he should be able to face that fact that she would say some terrible, hurtful things and most likely tell him to go away and not come back. Fancying both men and woman could be the worse of both worlds sometimes. People told you 'why make yourself a target? Just stick to woman and you'll fit in' or 'you're just confused, it's only a phase, you'll grow out of'' or 'it's god's way of testing you, you have to resist temptation and do what's right.' It didn't help that when he'd tried to talk to a guy he'd attempted to date about it he'd been told that he was in denial about being gay and he'd be happier once he stopped trying to fool himself. Either that or they assumed that you must be some kind of commitment phobic nymphomaniac. It was all bollocks. Hurtful, damaging bollocks that had made him feel like failure and a freak.
All he wanted was to find somebody, regardless of gender, who loved him and who he loved back. Was that really so much to ask?
Andy was still considering what to do when long, mournful howl sounded across the valley. Realistically he knew it was some slobbery great mutt one of the holiday makers or hikers had brought with them, but there was something so eerie about it, so off that it made him shiver. Giving one last look towards Tom's tent, Andy went inside and locked the door behind him.
x-x-x
Andy heard the dog twice more during in the night, both times the distance, the eerie howl waking him from sleep.
Remembering Tom said that he got something to do that would keep him busy on Sunday morning, Andy waited until it was nearly lunch time before making his way down to Tom's tent.
The camp fire was burning again and as Andy approached he saw Tom lift the kettle off the fire and pour the into an old plastic half barrel, that had been stood on a tree stump. The barrel, which had been scavenged from somewhere, looked like it had once been used as a water trough for animals. And was now, after a quick clean, apparently about to be used to have a wash.
Without his vest on, Andy could see scars on Tom's back. Four thick, raised lines starting on his shoulders and finishing near his waist. It made him think of claw marks, of creatures terrible and vicious, their form nightmarish parody of humanity. Andy shuddered at the unwanted memories and wondered whether he'd have even thought of claws if he hadn't seen the kind of damage a weevil could do. It was doubtful Tom's scars had been caused by a weevil though. His albeit limited experience of them told him people didn't walk away from a fight with one.
The scars were old, faded silver-pink in the way that only the passage of time can manage. They matched the ones that snaked through Tom's hair. Whatever had happened it had been when Tom was smaller and younger. Not that Tom wasn't relatively small or young now, Andy thought looking at him; he was barely into his twenties and about five seven with his boots on.
Tom was lean, but not thin. Muscles from a life lived in almost constant activity reasonably well defined on his compact frame. He was also filthy, like he'd be sleeping in a ditch or rolling about in a ploughed field, and half naked, dressed in just his cargo shorts which hung low on his hips. Low enough, Andy realised, that he couldn't be wearing any underwear.
“You had a good night, then?” Andy asked realising he needed to say something, rather than just stare.
“Err...yeah.” Tom gave him a rabbit caught in the headlights look before replying. “Nothin' much. I just like to...um... get back to nature. What's it they call it? Naturistism or somethin' like that.”
The world took all sorts, Andy thought, trying hard not to blush or to think about it. Which of course meant that it was suddenly all he could think about. The light tan Tom had, as well as the grime, extended below the almost indecently low waist of his shorts. The shorts were baggy, but he had little doubt that the thighs beneath would be just as lean as the rest of him. All that walking with a heavy pack, they'd be well toned. Powerful. Andy swallowed hard, mouth dry. He was not going to think it, not going to let himself imagine it. Tom had shown no signs of being even remotely interested, he'd just be setting himself up for disappointment.
“You don't mind do yer?” Tom said, nodding towards the barrel. “Only you didn't seem to be using it for owt.”
“No. No, of course not,” Andy said relieved that Tom had either not noticed or at least was polite enough not to point out that he was doing a fine impression of the world tallest beetroot. “I just came to see if you wanted any breakfast.”
“I've already had some, thanks, but if it'll keep til lunch I'll eat it then.” Tom wandered back over to the barrel and grabbed a flannel and soap out of the water.
“I can get us some sandwiches for lunch. I thought...” Andy hurried turned away as Tom rubbed the now soapy cloth across his chest, trails of water running down to soak into the waistband of his short, threatening to drag them lower still. “Plans...I thought I could show you the plans for what we'll be doing in the buildings...with the buildings.”
“Sounds great.” There was another wet slopping noise as Tom dropped the soap back in the water. “D'ya want to wait while I wash up or shall I come up to the farm when I'm done?”
“Farm,” Andy said hurriedly, then still not turning round, quickly walked back to the house. “See you later.”
Despite the earlier awkwardness, lunch went better than Andy had hoped for, with Tom making no mention of his although whether it was him being polite or if he genuinely hadn't noticed he couldn't say for certain. Either way Tom chose to focus on giving suggestions about the plans and about how long certain jobs would take to complete.
“I used to read these when I was a kid,” Tom said, running his thumb along books in one of the bookcases, while Andy put the farm plans away. “Spent hours in libraries while me dad were out hu...er working.”
“All day?” Andy said before he could stop himself. “What about school?”
“I never went, did I. We moved round too much, me dad taught me all I needed to know. Any way it were only ever for a few hours an' I liked it.” Tom smiled like the memories were happy ones. “D'ya mind if I borrow this one? I promise I'll give it back.”
For a moment Andy couldn't answer, disturbed by the fact that somebody could apparently repeatedly abandon their child in a public place and nobody noticed or cared. Being home schooled wasn't common, but not unheard of. Choosing to home school and then just leaving the kid to fend for them self was negligent at best and abuse at worse. For all Tom seemed to adore his late father he didn't seem to have been a good parent as far as Andy was concerned. Not that he was about to point it out.
“I can just read it here at the house if you're worried it'll get mucked up out at the tent,” Tom said, sounding a little more unsure of himself now.
“Borrow what want, I'm not reading any of those at the moment,” Andy said, trying and failing to convince himself that perhaps Tom had been a teenager when his dad used to leave him alone in a library.
“Thanks.” Tom picked out a copy of the first Lord of the Rings books. “I ain't read the third one, but it's been ages since I read the other ones, so I reckon I should start at the beginning again.”
“Have you ever seen the films?” Andy asked sitting down on the sofa, glad of a safe topic of conversation.
“Nope.” Tom flopped down on the sofa next to him, completely ignoring any concept of personal space. “So are they any good then?”
“Well they don't always exactly follow the books, but...” Andy began, launching into what his brothers had used to jokingly call the never ending film review of doom. It had been ages since he'd found someone to listen with the obvious interest that Tom had. It was, Andy thought, turning out to be a very good afternoon.
NOTE
Idea of Tom having read and presumably enjoyed these kinds of books comes from one of the episodes where he's naming his stakes things like Conan and Beowulf and Thor. Whether his dad really left him in libraries is unknown, but they didn't seem to have books in the van, and presumably he had to do something with Tom when he was kid while he did things like break into disused buildings to see what metal he could steal and sell as scrap.
Andy having these sorts of books is a bit of a guess, but he made a few sci-fi tv series references in the show, so for the purposes of this story he also reads that genre of books too.
Fandoms Torchwood/Being Human crossover fic.
Characters/pairings Andy Davidson/Tom McNair. Other Torchwood and Being Human characters will appear later on.
Word count: This part 1800. (Total posted 12650 /65,000)
Rating This part PG13. Later parts adult.
Contains Mentions of depression/anxiety. Mentions of past canon character death. In later parts canon level violence, graphic sex, Andy's homophobic mother. Spoilers for Being Human (UK version) up to series 5 episode 3, and for Torchwood up to Children of Earth.
A/N: Crossover with Being Human. Technically a CoE fix it as it's set in the same 'verse as Finding Ways To Smile Again (although that isn't apparent until about 2/3 the way through the story). Follows on from Break and Breakaway from Tom McNair's POV – which is where it breaks from Being Human canon.
Summary
After being pushed out of the police force following the events of Children of Earth, Andy Davidson tries to build a new life for himself in the deep in the Welsh countryside.
Tom McNair walked out off his old life after realising it wasn't what he needed.
A chance meeting would take their lives in directions that they had never expected and bring them love that they'd not thought they'd find.
Starts here: http://the-silver-sun.livejournal.com/214504.html
The sun hadn't long set and a brilliant full moon hung in the dusk sky over the Elan Valley. It would be another warm night, Andy thought as he watched a barn owl fly low and silent across the fields.
There was still no sign of Tom, but it was nothing to worry about, Andy told himself. As although he couldn't think what he could have found to keep himself occupied in Rhayader for so long, Tom was a young man and it was Saturday night. So in all likelihood he was probably in a pub, watching football on the telly there and maybe talking to the bar staff to find out what the night life was like there.
It'd been a long time since Andy had gone on a night out. He'd never really been one for drinking alone, and with his pool of friends to invite shrunk to just about nothing and his mood prior to moving away from Cardiff at rockbottom, he'd not really felt like it either.
With a sigh, he leant back against the wall by the door. Perhaps he should go down into Rhayader too or maybe arrange a trip to somewhere larger like Newport or Bristol and visit a few clubs. Not to Cardiff though, not for the sort of pubs and clubs he wanted to visit. He didn't feel able to run the risk of somebody he knew seeing him leave a gay club, preferable with company, and the information getting back to his mother. Certainly not since the last time, when he'd bottled out of telling her why he'd been there and instead lied to her, claiming that he'd working undercover for the police. Her response, asking him if he was going to help shut places like that down, had been enough that he'd decided not to risk going out in Cardiff like that again.
He sighed again. He was a grown man, he thought, he should be able to tell her, he should be able to face that fact that she would say some terrible, hurtful things and most likely tell him to go away and not come back. Fancying both men and woman could be the worse of both worlds sometimes. People told you 'why make yourself a target? Just stick to woman and you'll fit in' or 'you're just confused, it's only a phase, you'll grow out of'' or 'it's god's way of testing you, you have to resist temptation and do what's right.' It didn't help that when he'd tried to talk to a guy he'd attempted to date about it he'd been told that he was in denial about being gay and he'd be happier once he stopped trying to fool himself. Either that or they assumed that you must be some kind of commitment phobic nymphomaniac. It was all bollocks. Hurtful, damaging bollocks that had made him feel like failure and a freak.
All he wanted was to find somebody, regardless of gender, who loved him and who he loved back. Was that really so much to ask?
Andy was still considering what to do when long, mournful howl sounded across the valley. Realistically he knew it was some slobbery great mutt one of the holiday makers or hikers had brought with them, but there was something so eerie about it, so off that it made him shiver. Giving one last look towards Tom's tent, Andy went inside and locked the door behind him.
x-x-x
Andy heard the dog twice more during in the night, both times the distance, the eerie howl waking him from sleep.
Remembering Tom said that he got something to do that would keep him busy on Sunday morning, Andy waited until it was nearly lunch time before making his way down to Tom's tent.
The camp fire was burning again and as Andy approached he saw Tom lift the kettle off the fire and pour the into an old plastic half barrel, that had been stood on a tree stump. The barrel, which had been scavenged from somewhere, looked like it had once been used as a water trough for animals. And was now, after a quick clean, apparently about to be used to have a wash.
Without his vest on, Andy could see scars on Tom's back. Four thick, raised lines starting on his shoulders and finishing near his waist. It made him think of claw marks, of creatures terrible and vicious, their form nightmarish parody of humanity. Andy shuddered at the unwanted memories and wondered whether he'd have even thought of claws if he hadn't seen the kind of damage a weevil could do. It was doubtful Tom's scars had been caused by a weevil though. His albeit limited experience of them told him people didn't walk away from a fight with one.
The scars were old, faded silver-pink in the way that only the passage of time can manage. They matched the ones that snaked through Tom's hair. Whatever had happened it had been when Tom was smaller and younger. Not that Tom wasn't relatively small or young now, Andy thought looking at him; he was barely into his twenties and about five seven with his boots on.
Tom was lean, but not thin. Muscles from a life lived in almost constant activity reasonably well defined on his compact frame. He was also filthy, like he'd be sleeping in a ditch or rolling about in a ploughed field, and half naked, dressed in just his cargo shorts which hung low on his hips. Low enough, Andy realised, that he couldn't be wearing any underwear.
“You had a good night, then?” Andy asked realising he needed to say something, rather than just stare.
“Err...yeah.” Tom gave him a rabbit caught in the headlights look before replying. “Nothin' much. I just like to...um... get back to nature. What's it they call it? Naturistism or somethin' like that.”
The world took all sorts, Andy thought, trying hard not to blush or to think about it. Which of course meant that it was suddenly all he could think about. The light tan Tom had, as well as the grime, extended below the almost indecently low waist of his shorts. The shorts were baggy, but he had little doubt that the thighs beneath would be just as lean as the rest of him. All that walking with a heavy pack, they'd be well toned. Powerful. Andy swallowed hard, mouth dry. He was not going to think it, not going to let himself imagine it. Tom had shown no signs of being even remotely interested, he'd just be setting himself up for disappointment.
“You don't mind do yer?” Tom said, nodding towards the barrel. “Only you didn't seem to be using it for owt.”
“No. No, of course not,” Andy said relieved that Tom had either not noticed or at least was polite enough not to point out that he was doing a fine impression of the world tallest beetroot. “I just came to see if you wanted any breakfast.”
“I've already had some, thanks, but if it'll keep til lunch I'll eat it then.” Tom wandered back over to the barrel and grabbed a flannel and soap out of the water.
“I can get us some sandwiches for lunch. I thought...” Andy hurried turned away as Tom rubbed the now soapy cloth across his chest, trails of water running down to soak into the waistband of his short, threatening to drag them lower still. “Plans...I thought I could show you the plans for what we'll be doing in the buildings...with the buildings.”
“Sounds great.” There was another wet slopping noise as Tom dropped the soap back in the water. “D'ya want to wait while I wash up or shall I come up to the farm when I'm done?”
“Farm,” Andy said hurriedly, then still not turning round, quickly walked back to the house. “See you later.”
Despite the earlier awkwardness, lunch went better than Andy had hoped for, with Tom making no mention of his although whether it was him being polite or if he genuinely hadn't noticed he couldn't say for certain. Either way Tom chose to focus on giving suggestions about the plans and about how long certain jobs would take to complete.
“I used to read these when I was a kid,” Tom said, running his thumb along books in one of the bookcases, while Andy put the farm plans away. “Spent hours in libraries while me dad were out hu...er working.”
“All day?” Andy said before he could stop himself. “What about school?”
“I never went, did I. We moved round too much, me dad taught me all I needed to know. Any way it were only ever for a few hours an' I liked it.” Tom smiled like the memories were happy ones. “D'ya mind if I borrow this one? I promise I'll give it back.”
For a moment Andy couldn't answer, disturbed by the fact that somebody could apparently repeatedly abandon their child in a public place and nobody noticed or cared. Being home schooled wasn't common, but not unheard of. Choosing to home school and then just leaving the kid to fend for them self was negligent at best and abuse at worse. For all Tom seemed to adore his late father he didn't seem to have been a good parent as far as Andy was concerned. Not that he was about to point it out.
“I can just read it here at the house if you're worried it'll get mucked up out at the tent,” Tom said, sounding a little more unsure of himself now.
“Borrow what want, I'm not reading any of those at the moment,” Andy said, trying and failing to convince himself that perhaps Tom had been a teenager when his dad used to leave him alone in a library.
“Thanks.” Tom picked out a copy of the first Lord of the Rings books. “I ain't read the third one, but it's been ages since I read the other ones, so I reckon I should start at the beginning again.”
“Have you ever seen the films?” Andy asked sitting down on the sofa, glad of a safe topic of conversation.
“Nope.” Tom flopped down on the sofa next to him, completely ignoring any concept of personal space. “So are they any good then?”
“Well they don't always exactly follow the books, but...” Andy began, launching into what his brothers had used to jokingly call the never ending film review of doom. It had been ages since he'd found someone to listen with the obvious interest that Tom had. It was, Andy thought, turning out to be a very good afternoon.
NOTE
Idea of Tom having read and presumably enjoyed these kinds of books comes from one of the episodes where he's naming his stakes things like Conan and Beowulf and Thor. Whether his dad really left him in libraries is unknown, but they didn't seem to have books in the van, and presumably he had to do something with Tom when he was kid while he did things like break into disused buildings to see what metal he could steal and sell as scrap.
Andy having these sorts of books is a bit of a guess, but he made a few sci-fi tv series references in the show, so for the purposes of this story he also reads that genre of books too.
no subject
Date: 2013-09-09 08:15 pm (UTC)Andy said relieved that Tom had either not noticed or at least was polite enough not to point out that he was doing a fine impression of the world tallest beetroot.
I LOL'd :D
“Plans...I thought I could show you the plans for what we'll be doing in the buildings...with the buildings.”
I howled!!
Could they be any more adorable? I don't think so.