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kricketstitle: it's not that simple, see (but then again, it just may be)
fandom, words, rating: harper's island, 1350, r
pairing, characters: henry/abby, mentions of jimmy/abby, shane, mentions of others
notes: this is an AU universe in which the last few episodes ended slightly differently, who survives, who's a baddie, etc.
written for:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
the_cannery's stocking stuffer exchange for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
saiyajin_neko
Everyone thinks she’s going to fall apart.
She doesn’t.
-
Afterwards, after the bloodshed, Abby goes back home to LA. She focuses on work, denies any interviews, tries to forget.
(Tries, you see. But that is all she is capable of anymore.)
Soon November comes and goes and it's December already. Warm California air makes that easy to ignore, but there are other, more unavoidable, signs. Jimmy says, come for Christmas and please? and I miss you, and the realtor's leaving messages about cleaning out her Dad's house, and then Henry shows up at her door with a backpack, a smile, and a warm hand over hers.
You can do this, he says. And, it's time.
So she goes.
-
Shane is the first one to hug her out on the docks and she is surprised as he lifts her off her feet.
You look good, she says when he puts her back down, her fingers tracing over the scar on his cheek. All healed up. But there’s a sadness in his eyes that she doesn’t mention. She understands. They all understand.
The town, too, is recovering and there’s this electricity in the air, this sense of, finally. It’s over. We’re done.
Jimmy’s got a new girl -- Sarah, he’d told her over the phone, but she’s nothing like you -- and the Cannery’s been renovated and there’s a new manager at the Candlewick and there’s Christmas lights and a big tree in town and everything seems so normal.
Abby rolls down the window in the car on the way to her dad’s, breathes in, filling her lungs with wet, cold, Harper’s Island air.
Home, she says.
Henry reaches for her hand, always knowing when she needs him the most.
-
That first night is the roughest.
(And that’s really not true. They’re all rough.)
She can’t sleep, her old bed feeling too small, too ancient, and not nearly as familiar as she imagined. Henry sleeps out on the couch. Neither of them take her Dad’s room.
They don’t talk about it.
They don’t have to.
Abby twists the handle shut as she walks by, ignoring the impression still left in his pillow, as if he were just there, as if he never left.
-
Henry makes breakfast, t-shirt slightly askew from a rough night of sliding couch cushions. Abby leans against him, her arms wrapped around his middle as he stands over the eggs.
Thank you, she tells him. For everything.
Henry turns, kisses her cheek, tells her, anything, Abby. He tucks her hair behind her ears. Anything for you.
He presses lips to her forehead and Abby closes her eyes.
I know.
-
Jimmy brings badly-wrapped presents, talks of memories, of rebuilding, of how the cold is starting to get to him out on the water, shoves hands into pockets. She walks the trails with him, her arm laced through his, comfortable. He asks her if she’ll stay and she just shakes her head.
You’d think, he says, trails off.
Yeah, she tells him. She knows. Near-life, Near-death – it’s supposed to make you realize what you could have lost. But she can’t. She wishes she knew why, wishes she could explain.
Your girl’s pretty, she tells him instead.
She is, he says, smiles.
Abby knows he’ll be okay.
-
It’s a few days before Christmas and when Henry mentions a party at Shane’s place Christmas Eve, it sounds like a welcome break from all of the repairing, and deep shampooing, and packing her father’s personal things into boxes.
(And burning half the contents of his attic in a bonfire in the backyard. But that is a story for another time.)
There’s egg nog and rum, games, and a quiet acknowledgement of the people they’ve lost. At some point, Shane decides it’s time for tacky Christmas carol karaoke and Abby barely even notices when Henry disappears for an hour or so.
She sings Grandma Got Run-Over by a Reindeer, and can’t stop laughing, and throws snowballs out in the front yard.
She can’t remember the last time she had this much fun.
She can’t remember ever having this much fun.
-
The ride back, Silent Night coming through staticy on the radio, they pass the cemetery, and Abby tells Henry to stop the car.
You sure? he asks, because she has yet to visit her father’s grave, and it’s Christmas, and she’s got that look on her face and maybe she’s a little drunk.
I’m sure, she tells him, pulls up on the door handle.
She can feel Henry’s eyes watching her from the car, knows that he wants to follow her, put his arms around her, to bring her back home. But this is something she has to do.
He understands that.
-
When she gets back into the passenger seat, Henry reaches for her, his long, warm fingers encircling her cool, bare wrist, notices the blue and red plastic charm bracelet that Shea sent her from Madison is now absent.
I didn't have any flowers, she offers in explanation and he smiles, almost chuckles.
So? he asks.
So, I wished him a Merry Christmas, she tells him, shrugs her shoulders. Henry wouldn't have expected her to cry, to be overcome with tears or emotion, to scream and kick. That's not her. Or maybe it is and she's just not ready for any of that.
(Maybe she'll never be.)
She squeezes his hand, kisses his lips, just a little longer than she used to, and tells him, home. Let’s go home.
-
Back at the house, lights are aglow. There’s a tree in the living room filled with Christmas balls and hastily thrown-on tinsel garland. There are no presents underneath. There doesn’t have to be. Abby turns to Henry when he follows her through the front door.
You didn’t, she tells him.
Well, Henry says shyly, we found all those decorations in the basement. I couldn’t bear to throw them out. I thought you should have one last Harper’s Island Christmas.
Henry, her voice quivers.
Please don’t be mad, he tells her.
Abby kisses him then, this time with intent, her lips parted, allowing his tongue to press inside, his soft lips crushed against hers, her hand around his neck. And maybe it’s the spiced rum, or that he tastes like sugar cookies, or the fact that the door’s not closed yet and she’s just so cold, but it feels right – warm and true and right.
She leads him backwards to the room she spent as a child, pulls his shirt over his head. He laughs, hearty, when they fall back against the ancient twin mattress. She giggles, kisses him again, runs her hands down his bare back, relishes the sensation. This is Henry, her Henry. Henry, Henry, Henry. And it’s all she can think, and he’s heavy and warm and gentle on top of her and she lets him push her panties down her legs, and his cock is hard against her leg and she opens her mouth in a silent gasp when he thrusts into her.
She hears him say her name, it tumbles from his lips just as his runs through her mind, his thumb sliding over her nipple, his mouth hot on her neck, his hips moving against hers, and it’s all she can take.
It’s all she can take.
She cries out.
-
In the morning there’s coffee and kisses and stockings she has no idea how he had time to fill.
Santa, he explains, tricky fella.
By noon, they find their way back to her bed again and by evening they’re finding it hard to become motivated to get dressed properly for a Christmas dinner they’ve been invited to. But they do.
He kisses her in the doorway before they leave for the car. She follows him, and he looks out into the snow-covered trees.
Couldn’t you just stay here forever, Abby? he says impulsively, eyes falling to the ground afterward with regret.
Abby just wraps her fingers in his, kisses his knuckles. With you, I could, she tells him. With you.
-fin
fandom, words, rating: harper's island, 1350, r
pairing, characters: henry/abby, mentions of jimmy/abby, shane, mentions of others
notes: this is an AU universe in which the last few episodes ended slightly differently, who survives, who's a baddie, etc.
written for:
the_cannery's stocking stuffer exchange for saiyajin_nekoEveryone thinks she’s going to fall apart.
She doesn’t.
-
Afterwards, after the bloodshed, Abby goes back home to LA. She focuses on work, denies any interviews, tries to forget.
(Tries, you see. But that is all she is capable of anymore.)
Soon November comes and goes and it's December already. Warm California air makes that easy to ignore, but there are other, more unavoidable, signs. Jimmy says, come for Christmas and please? and I miss you, and the realtor's leaving messages about cleaning out her Dad's house, and then Henry shows up at her door with a backpack, a smile, and a warm hand over hers.
You can do this, he says. And, it's time.
So she goes.
-
Shane is the first one to hug her out on the docks and she is surprised as he lifts her off her feet.
You look good, she says when he puts her back down, her fingers tracing over the scar on his cheek. All healed up. But there’s a sadness in his eyes that she doesn’t mention. She understands. They all understand.
The town, too, is recovering and there’s this electricity in the air, this sense of, finally. It’s over. We’re done.
Jimmy’s got a new girl -- Sarah, he’d told her over the phone, but she’s nothing like you -- and the Cannery’s been renovated and there’s a new manager at the Candlewick and there’s Christmas lights and a big tree in town and everything seems so normal.
Abby rolls down the window in the car on the way to her dad’s, breathes in, filling her lungs with wet, cold, Harper’s Island air.
Home, she says.
Henry reaches for her hand, always knowing when she needs him the most.
-
That first night is the roughest.
(And that’s really not true. They’re all rough.)
She can’t sleep, her old bed feeling too small, too ancient, and not nearly as familiar as she imagined. Henry sleeps out on the couch. Neither of them take her Dad’s room.
They don’t talk about it.
They don’t have to.
Abby twists the handle shut as she walks by, ignoring the impression still left in his pillow, as if he were just there, as if he never left.
-
Henry makes breakfast, t-shirt slightly askew from a rough night of sliding couch cushions. Abby leans against him, her arms wrapped around his middle as he stands over the eggs.
Thank you, she tells him. For everything.
Henry turns, kisses her cheek, tells her, anything, Abby. He tucks her hair behind her ears. Anything for you.
He presses lips to her forehead and Abby closes her eyes.
I know.
-
Jimmy brings badly-wrapped presents, talks of memories, of rebuilding, of how the cold is starting to get to him out on the water, shoves hands into pockets. She walks the trails with him, her arm laced through his, comfortable. He asks her if she’ll stay and she just shakes her head.
You’d think, he says, trails off.
Yeah, she tells him. She knows. Near-life, Near-death – it’s supposed to make you realize what you could have lost. But she can’t. She wishes she knew why, wishes she could explain.
Your girl’s pretty, she tells him instead.
She is, he says, smiles.
Abby knows he’ll be okay.
-
It’s a few days before Christmas and when Henry mentions a party at Shane’s place Christmas Eve, it sounds like a welcome break from all of the repairing, and deep shampooing, and packing her father’s personal things into boxes.
(And burning half the contents of his attic in a bonfire in the backyard. But that is a story for another time.)
There’s egg nog and rum, games, and a quiet acknowledgement of the people they’ve lost. At some point, Shane decides it’s time for tacky Christmas carol karaoke and Abby barely even notices when Henry disappears for an hour or so.
She sings Grandma Got Run-Over by a Reindeer, and can’t stop laughing, and throws snowballs out in the front yard.
She can’t remember the last time she had this much fun.
She can’t remember ever having this much fun.
-
The ride back, Silent Night coming through staticy on the radio, they pass the cemetery, and Abby tells Henry to stop the car.
You sure? he asks, because she has yet to visit her father’s grave, and it’s Christmas, and she’s got that look on her face and maybe she’s a little drunk.
I’m sure, she tells him, pulls up on the door handle.
She can feel Henry’s eyes watching her from the car, knows that he wants to follow her, put his arms around her, to bring her back home. But this is something she has to do.
He understands that.
-
When she gets back into the passenger seat, Henry reaches for her, his long, warm fingers encircling her cool, bare wrist, notices the blue and red plastic charm bracelet that Shea sent her from Madison is now absent.
I didn't have any flowers, she offers in explanation and he smiles, almost chuckles.
So? he asks.
So, I wished him a Merry Christmas, she tells him, shrugs her shoulders. Henry wouldn't have expected her to cry, to be overcome with tears or emotion, to scream and kick. That's not her. Or maybe it is and she's just not ready for any of that.
(Maybe she'll never be.)
She squeezes his hand, kisses his lips, just a little longer than she used to, and tells him, home. Let’s go home.
-
Back at the house, lights are aglow. There’s a tree in the living room filled with Christmas balls and hastily thrown-on tinsel garland. There are no presents underneath. There doesn’t have to be. Abby turns to Henry when he follows her through the front door.
You didn’t, she tells him.
Well, Henry says shyly, we found all those decorations in the basement. I couldn’t bear to throw them out. I thought you should have one last Harper’s Island Christmas.
Henry, her voice quivers.
Please don’t be mad, he tells her.
Abby kisses him then, this time with intent, her lips parted, allowing his tongue to press inside, his soft lips crushed against hers, her hand around his neck. And maybe it’s the spiced rum, or that he tastes like sugar cookies, or the fact that the door’s not closed yet and she’s just so cold, but it feels right – warm and true and right.
She leads him backwards to the room she spent as a child, pulls his shirt over his head. He laughs, hearty, when they fall back against the ancient twin mattress. She giggles, kisses him again, runs her hands down his bare back, relishes the sensation. This is Henry, her Henry. Henry, Henry, Henry. And it’s all she can think, and he’s heavy and warm and gentle on top of her and she lets him push her panties down her legs, and his cock is hard against her leg and she opens her mouth in a silent gasp when he thrusts into her.
She hears him say her name, it tumbles from his lips just as his runs through her mind, his thumb sliding over her nipple, his mouth hot on her neck, his hips moving against hers, and it’s all she can take.
It’s all she can take.
She cries out.
-
In the morning there’s coffee and kisses and stockings she has no idea how he had time to fill.
Santa, he explains, tricky fella.
By noon, they find their way back to her bed again and by evening they’re finding it hard to become motivated to get dressed properly for a Christmas dinner they’ve been invited to. But they do.
He kisses her in the doorway before they leave for the car. She follows him, and he looks out into the snow-covered trees.
Couldn’t you just stay here forever, Abby? he says impulsively, eyes falling to the ground afterward with regret.
Abby just wraps her fingers in his, kisses his knuckles. With you, I could, she tells him. With you.
-fin
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-12-23 09:15 pm (UTC)Shane is alive, and for some reason that detail about him being the first to hug her makes me happy and a little sad at the same time. Oh Shane!
I love the way you've written her and Jimmy here. It's almost like they don't even need to say anything to each other, they just know and that's lovely. I'm glad Jimmy's happy too, he really did deserve it.
Hennrryyy! With the cooking breakfast! And the tree! And the stockings (Santa's a tricky fella hee)! And oh my heart it's wonderful!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-23 09:39 pm (UTC)Poor Jimmy, I still think he'll always be hung up on miss Abby. But you know, he can find some kind of happiness. Writing these little passages about them kind of makes me appreciate that couple more. (see? (http://pics.livejournal.com/crickets/pic/001b2ga4))
Anyway, yay! I'm glad you liked the Henry stuff. For some reason I found it difficult to write him like this after reading so much fic in which he's a total psycho. LOL. But I muscled through.
Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-23 09:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-23 09:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-23 11:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-23 10:07 pm (UTC)I love the tone of this, you're so good at creating these perfect illustrations with a few words.
Hope you have a great Christmas, I'll be thinking of you!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-23 11:33 pm (UTC)Thank you very much hon, you too!
*massive christmas hugs*
no subject
Date: 2009-12-24 01:37 am (UTC)But it's an awesome 13-hour-long-horror-flick basically. =)
no subject
Date: 2009-12-24 12:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-24 01:12 am (UTC)Thank you for your feedback. I think I will always have issues writing HI fic because I LOVED Henry so much that if I write him I always see myself writing him as not-the-killer. And it is really hard to get past the things we saw of him in those last two episodes. No amount of scrubbing can erase. But I can try to pretend! Haha.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-24 01:09 am (UTC)And I was skimming through the other comments -- yay for notdead!Sully. :) I always like to pretend that more people lived.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-24 01:14 am (UTC)Yay! Sully lives! (And Shane!) I am a big fan of him living. I really want to write some Sully/Shea "after he survives" fic but I haven't had the right idea yet. Maybe soon.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-24 01:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-24 01:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-24 01:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-24 01:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-24 01:44 am (UTC)Thanks for the feedback. ♥
no subject
Date: 2009-12-24 01:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-24 01:54 am (UTC)But to be honest with you, off the top of my head I can't think of any other fics where Henry's not the killer/not totally creepy. Which is kind of a shame. I would like to see some of those myself.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-25 08:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-26 02:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-26 09:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-27 06:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-28 05:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-28 08:38 pm (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-04 07:18 pm (UTC)Thanks again!! *Hugs* ^___^ Happy New year Crickets
no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 03:46 am (UTC)*hugs*
Happy new year to you too!
no subject
Date: 2010-02-26 04:10 am (UTC)You rock whole socks.
:)
Check out the FFJ tomorrow for more feedback love.
no subject
Date: 2010-02-26 03:27 pm (UTC)(You should read my Shane/Henry, *cough*)