Incommunicado (Spectre, Thomas, James)
Sep. 14th, 2011 01:23 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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darker_londonThomas was sitting on the sofa in their living room, his son on his knee while his daughter Katya sat on the floor, drawing a picture of something round and purple. James was reading to Thomas, showcasing his incredible brilliance for a boy who had just turned five. The book he was reading was easily fourth-grade level, but that was often the way things went with angels.
The three of them looked up as the door opened and a weary-looking Spectre entered the house.
"Daddy!" James yelled, grinning widely at Spectre.
"Hey, James," Spectre smiled at him and then he glanced at Thomas, looking away quickly. The gaze was uncomfortable. "Sorry, I...I should go put my guitar away," he said, holding it up as if to prove that it wasn't just an excuse to get out of the room with Thomas in it.
Thomas narrowed his eyes as Spectre beat a hasty retreat. "James, why don't you read to your sister for a moment, okay?" Thomas asked.
"Yay!" James exclaimed, and he slid off of Thomas' lap and half-crashed to the floor on purpose, immediately reading to Katya who only kind of noticed.
Thomas made his way upstairs to the room Spectre had converted into a studio. The door was ajar and Thoms pushed it open the rest of the way with his foot. "Hey," he said heavily.
Spectre put his guitar case down and he looked over at Thomas, taking a seat in his swivel chair. "Hi, Thomas."
Thomas sniffed and he hung around the door, not feeling entirely welcome in Spectre's studio. "Uhm...how was your day?"
"Fine," Spectre said with a nod.
Thomas had been looking for more, but he wasn't surprised that more was not forthcoming. The conversations between them had been getting shorter and more uncomfortable for weeks. He bit his lip and he nodded, the knot in his stomach that twisted every time he even thought of his husband growing at least two sizes. "Great. That's...that's good, Adrian."
Spectre nodded, clearly unsure what else to say so Thomas decided to say more. "Erm...I ordered pizza a while ago so that should get here soon. If you're hungry."
"I ate at the recording studio. It's catered, so-"
"Right," Thomas nodded. There were so many things he wanted to say, but they all died on his tongue. He raised his eyes to Spectre's who simply looked back at him as if trying to find the answer to their awkwardness written across Thomas' face.
"I guess...I'll go back to the kids," Thomas suggested his heart pounding in his chest.
Spectre nodded. "Alright."
Thomas wanted Spectre to ask him to stay as he took a step backwards. Spectre didn't. "Okay."
"I'm going to be going over the mixes late, so-"
"Fine," Thomas nodded, no malice in his voice. "I'll just go to bed when I'm tired then."
Spectre sniffed and then he glanced at the door in an obvious manner and Thomas' chest ached.
"Oh, right. Well...I'll see you later." Thomas backed out the door and he closed it behind him. A moment later the red light up near the ceiling flicked on, which meant that Spectre was busy and no one should enter.
Heaving a sigh, Thomas headed back downstairs where his children greeted him with tight hugs. He fed them dinner when the pizza arrived and then he tucked them into bed, reading them two stories since they had begged for more. With them safely asleep, Thomas made his way back downstairs and he switched the telly on, staring at it as it illuminated the dark room with flickering light. He would fall asleep on the sofa in front of it for the fortieth night in a row while his husband was two floors above him, closed in and surrounded by his music.
When he thought about it, which he tried so hard not to, life wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Things had been better when he was dead and he could only be with his family for weeks at a time. No one took his presence for granted then. Spectre didn't walk into the house and ignore him then. People had always been as happy to see him as his children always were. When he had been the returning dead, Spectre had treated him like he came first.
Now Thomas knew he didn't. And he hated it.
The three of them looked up as the door opened and a weary-looking Spectre entered the house.
"Daddy!" James yelled, grinning widely at Spectre.
"Hey, James," Spectre smiled at him and then he glanced at Thomas, looking away quickly. The gaze was uncomfortable. "Sorry, I...I should go put my guitar away," he said, holding it up as if to prove that it wasn't just an excuse to get out of the room with Thomas in it.
Thomas narrowed his eyes as Spectre beat a hasty retreat. "James, why don't you read to your sister for a moment, okay?" Thomas asked.
"Yay!" James exclaimed, and he slid off of Thomas' lap and half-crashed to the floor on purpose, immediately reading to Katya who only kind of noticed.
Thomas made his way upstairs to the room Spectre had converted into a studio. The door was ajar and Thoms pushed it open the rest of the way with his foot. "Hey," he said heavily.
Spectre put his guitar case down and he looked over at Thomas, taking a seat in his swivel chair. "Hi, Thomas."
Thomas sniffed and he hung around the door, not feeling entirely welcome in Spectre's studio. "Uhm...how was your day?"
"Fine," Spectre said with a nod.
Thomas had been looking for more, but he wasn't surprised that more was not forthcoming. The conversations between them had been getting shorter and more uncomfortable for weeks. He bit his lip and he nodded, the knot in his stomach that twisted every time he even thought of his husband growing at least two sizes. "Great. That's...that's good, Adrian."
Spectre nodded, clearly unsure what else to say so Thomas decided to say more. "Erm...I ordered pizza a while ago so that should get here soon. If you're hungry."
"I ate at the recording studio. It's catered, so-"
"Right," Thomas nodded. There were so many things he wanted to say, but they all died on his tongue. He raised his eyes to Spectre's who simply looked back at him as if trying to find the answer to their awkwardness written across Thomas' face.
"I guess...I'll go back to the kids," Thomas suggested his heart pounding in his chest.
Spectre nodded. "Alright."
Thomas wanted Spectre to ask him to stay as he took a step backwards. Spectre didn't. "Okay."
"I'm going to be going over the mixes late, so-"
"Fine," Thomas nodded, no malice in his voice. "I'll just go to bed when I'm tired then."
Spectre sniffed and then he glanced at the door in an obvious manner and Thomas' chest ached.
"Oh, right. Well...I'll see you later." Thomas backed out the door and he closed it behind him. A moment later the red light up near the ceiling flicked on, which meant that Spectre was busy and no one should enter.
Heaving a sigh, Thomas headed back downstairs where his children greeted him with tight hugs. He fed them dinner when the pizza arrived and then he tucked them into bed, reading them two stories since they had begged for more. With them safely asleep, Thomas made his way back downstairs and he switched the telly on, staring at it as it illuminated the dark room with flickering light. He would fall asleep on the sofa in front of it for the fortieth night in a row while his husband was two floors above him, closed in and surrounded by his music.
When he thought about it, which he tried so hard not to, life wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Things had been better when he was dead and he could only be with his family for weeks at a time. No one took his presence for granted then. Spectre didn't walk into the house and ignore him then. People had always been as happy to see him as his children always were. When he had been the returning dead, Spectre had treated him like he came first.
Now Thomas knew he didn't. And he hated it.
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