fics

[itsmycity]

Melbourne sat in the cabin, an open book on his lap but his gaze was directed at some faraway distance. He hadn't seen Spot since the morning, which was fine by him, in theory. It was understandable that the boy wanted to expore the ship on his own. Melbourne had nothing against Spot finding his own amusements but he did wish to speak to him as soon as possible in order to sort out something that had come to his attention earlier in the day.

They had barely gone through the incident at the harbour, and now there was already another thing to discuss. Race's words echoed in his mind: Don't let him down. That wasn't Melbourne's intention but he wasn't sure he could handle new problems every day.

Spot had finished his breakfast before Melbourne who was soon afterwards approached by two American businessmen. They asked if the boy whom they just saw leaving was Melbourne's son and he confirmed it to be true. 'Cardwell and Hall' they had introduced themselves, 'partners in a mining company in the Rocky Mountains'. Melbourne had gestured them to sit down, quite confused of why they wanted to talk to him.

They were wealthy by the look of it, but not the type of men that Melbourne typically socialized with, as he was more accustomed to quiet English gentleman, not the self-assured, loud and the more informal Americans.

They explained how the night before they had been sitting in one the recreation rooms when a young lad had stopped by their table. Children didn't normally occupy those spaces without their parents although they weren't by no means prohibited if they knew how to behave. When Mr. Cardwell continued and mentioned that they had been playing cards, Melbourne could feel his heart sink. He knew by then where the conversation was going but he kept his calm and didn't try to interrupt.

"He asked us if he could play with us," Mr. Cardwell smiled. "We told him it would be better if he went back to his mother and father but no, he was adamant. Very polite but adamant that he was good at poker, so we decided to humor him a little, and play for a round or two, keeping the bets to a minimum. It didn't quite end like that."

"I see," Melbourne said curtly. "You do not need to spare my feelings. How much did he lose?"

The men glanced at each other, amused. "He didn't, sir. We did. Twelve dollars."

Twelve dollars! That was a huge amount for Spot which made this even worse. Melbourne couldn't believe Spot had let the game go on for that long. Or actually, he could. He could definitely see Spot getting excited about winning and not wanting to stop, but what if he had lost? Although, if he was honest, Melbourne had to admit the whole thing was entertaining, too. It just wasn't something he wanted these men to know, so he tried to disguise his levity with a rueful head shake.

"I apologize. I do not have that kind of money with me at the moment, but you can be assured I will pay you back."

"No, that's not why we're here," Mr. Hall laughed. "He won, fair and square. We wouldn't imagine asking it back. We simply thought you ought to know what he has been up to. Not everyone who gambles on the ship is going to take it well to lose to a young boy. He could get in serious trouble. It's not a good idea for him to continue. We take responsibility for our part, of course, and owe you an apology that we let it happen."

Melbourne leaned back in his chair. "I appreciate you telling me. I will talk to him."

"That would be best," Mr. Cardwell nodded, pausing for a second. "I apologize if I'm being overly curious, sir, but you are British, correct, and your son isn't...?"

"Correct. He has been living with his mother in New York but I felt it was time for him to... get to know his English roots." As much as Melbourne would instill in Spot to always speak the truth, he wasn't above telling a little white lie himself. It wasn't really even that, but there was no point in getting into details about the past.

"Ah, the best of both worlds, then?" Mr. Hall concluded. "Excellent. Well, we won't keep you longer, sir. It was a pleasure to get to know you."

"Likewise."

Both men got up and shook hands with Melbourne before leaving their business cards on the table.

"One more thing... this is awfully premature, obviously, but we were discussing this together and we wouldn't mind hearing from your son when he becomes of age. Mining can be a lucrative business. Not for everyone but it has been for us and we're always looking for bright young men to add to our workforce, or to become partners with us."

"Excuse me?" Melbourne couldn't believe his ears. Were these men trying to recruit his wayward, uneducated son?

"Just an idea for future, nothing more, but it is a serious offer. The way we see it, it never hurts to keep options open. Hopefully you and your son will give it proper thought. Good day, sir."

---

"Did you think I would not find out?" Melbourne asks when Spot finally returns from his excursions. "Is the money in your trunk? I hope you aren't surprised to learn that I will confiscate it for the duration of this journey. You can keep two dollars but I don't want you to get ideas that you can go on spending twelve dollars on whatever nonsensical thing you'll find on the ship."

"I wouldn't have spent it." Never. Spot was all about saving money.

"You won't, that is true."

They stare at each other for some time, Spot feeling defiant and Melbourne at a loss.

"You know what is the most absurd thing about this? You do know, don't you? I was stunned to hear what you had told them your name was."

At that moment Spot decides that the view from the cabin's tiny window is the most exciting thing ever.

"I want to hear you say it. What was the name you introduced yourself with?"

Spot keeps avoiding the question.

"Go on, I'm waiting."

It takes a few minutes for Spot to open his mouth, just like it did the first time he told Melbourne his name. The tone of his voice is a little annoyed, even if he knows this is all his doing.

"Sean."

"Sean. Indeed. The name that you've refused to use for sixteen years. Now you're suddenly Sean. Why?"

Spot shrugs.

"You don't know? I should hope your reason was that you didn't want to downright lie about it."

"I guess."

Another quiet moment falls between them.

"What happens now?" Spot finally inquires.

"I have to think about it." Melbourne buys some time for himself by arranging clothes that he has haphazardly thrown over chairs and his bed. He isn't the tidiest person on earth. Spot waits anxiously for the verdict.

"Did you know those men own a mining business?" Melbourne finally asks.

"No."

"Well they do. Maybe I'll send you for hard labour in their mines."

His expression turns a little devious, though, which isn't lost from Spot. He dares to grin back, realising he's already been forgiven and is going to escape without any kind of punishment.

"My son, the gambler," Melbourne muses and shakes Spot gently by the shoulder. "Let's go to lunch."

He will never let Spot know about the future job offer - it would just make the boy think too highly of himself - but he believes Spot has had enough of a punishment in the form of using Sean as his name.


((OPTIONAL ENDING, because I got another thought but couldn't decide which one I liked better:))


"And that's not all. You know what is the most absurd thing about this? Not the gambling. Not the fact you let me hear about it from strangers. No. You had to pull a completely ridiculous stunt. You know what I'm talking about so don't try to deny it. What in the world got into you, making up your name?"

Spot shrugs. "'twas the first name that came to mind." In all honesty, it's the name that is on his mind all the time.

Anthony.

"Spot, I know you miss Race but you can't go around lying about your name."

"No, dad."

"You need to go and tell those men the truth."

Spot nods. "Is that all?"

Melbourne sighs. "Yes. Just... please let me have one uneventful day, alright? Go find your fun somewhere other than the gambling table."

"I promise, dad."

"Good. Let's go to lunch."

Comments

Modern AU:

[itsmycity]

(Based on a GIF)


It's Friday night. Race is lounging on the bed, one knee up and his back against a pile of pillows when Spot comes from the shower and unceremoniously drops the towel on the floor. Race glances up, dark eyes shining at the naked form in front of him before it's hidden by underwear.

"Shut up."

It's Spot's go-to phrase when he's embarrassed about being complimented (even silently, as is the case here) and they both know he doesn't really mean it, so Race simply rolls his eyes and gets back to his phone.

"You swiping left and right again?" Spot enquires, pulling up his best trousers and putting shoes on.

"Absolutely," Race grins.

"Anyone interesting?"

"Mmh... Midnight Rain. Cotton Joe. Both in South Carolina."

Spot laughs. It's a running joke between them that Race is on 'Horse Tinder', that he's looking for a stallion for Sugarheart, his favorite mare that has already produced one fine runner. He wants a good match for her and therefore spends quite a lot of time going through options.

"You thinking about going there?" Spot asks while holding two neckties in his hands: one a solid burgundy colour and another one of blue with thin yellow stripes. His shirt is light blue. Both ties match, at least in his opinion but...

Race frowns and gets up to stand between Spot and the full-length mirror in the corner of their bedroom.

"I might." It goes without saying a travelling companion would be nice but Race knows that depends on Spot's schedules.

He snatches the striped tie from the other man's hand and tosses it away. The burgundy tie gets wrapped around Spot's neck, him obligingly keeping a chin up so Race can make the perfect knot.

"Don't wanna go," Spot confesses and steals a kiss from Race, now talking about the event that he must go tonight: arranged by the publishing company he's been in for the last three years. It's an evening for socialising with other authors and agents and editors, and only for them. If Spot could bring Race along, he would. Race is good with people, Spot is not. He's good at writing but that's not enough. He's expected to make appearances here and there and have a social media presence. He's hired an assistant to manage all that for him.

"You never wanna go. What else is new?" Race says that matter-of-factly, free of judgment.

"You'd be so much better there instead of me."

"Yea but it ain't my book to negotiate deals to." Holding on to one end of the tie, Race tugs it a little to bring Spot's lips to his own. "You'll do fine. You always do. Regardless."

"If you say so."

"I do. Now, lemme see." Race steps aside to look at Spot through the mirror's image and nods approvingly. But he's feeling mischievous, too, so then he moves to stand behind his friend and slides his hands into Spot's pockets.

"Cruel," Spot whispers, leaning slightly against Race's chest. He wouldn't have it in any other way, though, but his hands still come down to stop Race's fingers wandering too low. There's no time for that now. The warm kiss he receives at the nape of his neck makes him dip his head down an inch or two and to sigh quietly.

"Racer..."

That deserves a snort from Race because just recently they both learned what that word meant about a hundred or so years ago. It's funny, and kind of awful, but not to be taken too seriously. Race still loves that endearment, nothing's going to change that.

"Isn't this what racers do?" he chuckles, looking over Spot's shoulder into their reflections in the mirror.

"I wouldn't know," Spot says defiantly, fighting away his own laughter as he turns to face Race. "What are you gonna do? Tonight, I mean, when I'm off to places I feel like I don't belong."

"Not much. Watch a bit of tv, get my stuff together so I don't hafta do anything tomorrow before I leave. I don't mind if you wake me up when you get home." He's leaving early for a race that's in another town and won't be back until Sunday.

"We'll see," Spot agrees and picks up the towel. "Call me a taxi, would you?" Then he goes to find a comb to get his unruly hair into something presentable. On Friday nights, one can expect to have to wait for a taxi so he doesn't need to rush out immediately.

"Sure."

A moment later Spot is standing at the bedroom door and checking that he has everything needed with him. He's not totally reluctant to go, no matter what he just said, but knowing Race will be gone all of Saturday and most of Sunday, he wishes the event wasn't on this particular night. He'd much rather stay in. He'd rather be in jeans and a t-shirt, too. With Race.

"You look handsome."

Spot inhales. It's not the first time he's heard that said yet it always makes his heart skip a beat. A smile creeps up on his face.

"Good night. Don't stay up too late," he replies and reaches for a kiss.

It's past midnight when he returns home and finds Race sleeping on his back, both arms above his head like he's surrendering to someone. To me, Spot thinks and sheds away his clothes before climbing up on the bed, to snuggle close. He's too kind to actually wake the other one, knowing Race needs a good night's sleep and to be sharp the next day, especially when driving a horse trailer.

With hardly any voice, with just his lips moving, Spot feels he has to say one thing about this evening. "It went well. You were right." It won't take long for him to fall asleep.

A cup of instant coffee is all Race makes for himself in the morning (he'll eat something at a stopover place along the way) and he comes to sit at the edge of the bed with it, knowing that the scent of the coffee is enough to stir Spot up. It's a pity to wake him but they have an agreement: they never leave for any overnight trips without last words, so to speak. It's not like he anticipates bad things to happen but there was one time he ended up in a car accident and while nothing serious happened and he just had a sore neck for a few days, it really shook him up. He lost his parents suddenly, when he was just a kid. There were no last words that he could remember. He won't let that happen with Spot.

"You leaving?" Spot mumbles when his eyelids finally open.

"Aha-h." Race rests his hand on Spot's hip. "I love you."

"Yea?"

"Yea."

"Love you, too."

That's all Race needs. Now he can go.

Spot's not one for instant coffee. When he wakes up three hours later, he wants the real thing. And there, leaning against the coffee maker is Race's business card. He's left a message on the back side of it. It's nothing original, because Race, who has no trouble talking the ear off of people, doesn't enjoy writing like Spot does. His messages are simple but they do come from his heart.

Spot sends him a text, content with the note as Race will be busy and it'll be much later in the day before there's a reply or a call back. This is how their weekends are sometimes but they make these small precious moments count.