Snippet: Provide His Own Alcohol (Pete, William, Bronx, FRC, 750 words)

[rsadelle]

This was written for inlovewithnight who wanted some kind of Pete-William interaction. Takes place more or less this weekend, although I'm not sure it actually fits into the reality of what those two have been up to.

Summary: Bill takes matters into his own hands. He buys his own bottle of vodka with some juice for mixing and giving to Bronx, leaves Mike to have an evening alone with Emma, and shows up on Pete's doorstep instead.


Bill follows Pete on Twitter, so he knows that Bronx is sick when his band's announcement goes live, which means Pete isn't going to show up at his hotel room with beer or vodka or whatever it is Pete deems appropriate for the occasion anytime soon.

Bill takes matters into his own hands. He buys his own bottle of vodka with some juice for mixing and giving to Bronx, leaves Mike to have an evening alone with Emma, and shows up on Pete's doorstep instead.

Pete looks worn out, and for all that Christine's usually the one doing full-time parenting when Evie's sick, Bill recognizes the look and knows what it feels like from the inside.

"Oh, shit," Pete says, "your thing was this week."

"Yes." Bill holds up the simple plastic bags. "I brought supplies. How's Bronx?"

"Fussy." Pete takes the bags from him and peers into them before taking them to the kitchen and shoving the vodka in the freezer and pouring juice into a cup with sea turtles on it. The cup has a matching lid with a plastic green straw stuck through it.

At the moment, Bronx is less fussy and more exhausted. Bill recognizes the look of an overtired, overstimulated kid, both from his time with Evie and his time on the road with bands.

"Hi, Bronx." Bill crouches down next to the couch, where Bronx has both hands fisted in the folds of Hemmy's neck. Being Pete's dog has made Hemmy alarmingly agreeable to all kinds of handling. "I heard you were sick."

"Yeah." Bronx sniffles. "I threw up."

Bill scrunches up his nose. "Yuck."

"Uncle Bill brought you some juice." Pete reaches around Bill so he can put his hand on Bronx's back and get him to sit up. Bronx seems reluctant to let go of Hemmy, but he pulls one hand out of Hemmy's fur to grip the glass.

"What about me?" Bill takes advantage of the kid and dog taking up less space to sit on the couch.

Pete sighs, but he goes back to the kitchen. It's not even fun when he's this worn down. Even Bronx has completely dismissed Bill from his attention, his eyes glued to Marlin and Dory swimming through the ocean on Pete's ridiculously large TV.

There's no more space on the couch - kid plus dog always takes up more room than seems possibly by any reasonable laws of physics - leaving Pete to find somewhere else to sit when he comes back with two glasses that are, judging by the smell, more vodka than juice. He takes the floor, head leaning back on the couch between Bill and the heap of Bronx and Hemmy.

Bronx falls asleep before the sea turtles even show up, and Bill catches his cup before he can drop it and get juice everywhere.

"Hey." He nudges Pete with his knee. "He's asleep. Want me to move him?"

Pete gets up with a groan. "No, I got it." He disentangles Bronx from Hemmy - Hemmy takes advantage of the reprieve to take up even more of the couch - and takes him down the hall. He comes back a few minutes later, looks at Hemmy, sighs, and slumps down onto the floor.

"You're supposed to be comforting me," Bill says.

Pete half laughs, half snorts. "Like you're really upset about not having to fight anyone else for Mike and Adam." He downs what must be half his vodka in one gulp. "Doesn't even begin to compare to watching your kid be miserable and sick."

Bill lets his hand drop onto Pete's head and rubs his scalp. "That is infinitely worse."

"If you can still use words like 'infinitely,' you're not drunk enough." Pete holds his glass up. "To Michael and Butcher."

Bill taps his glass against Pete's. "Michael and Butcher." This time it's his turn to drink half his vodka in one go. "How irresponsible is it for us to get drunk right now?"

"More than one of these is going to put me to sleep anyway. But you go ahead. A little more puke in this house isn't going to make a difference."

He says it so wearily that Bill can't do anything but laugh, which sets Pete off, and pretty soon they're both stifling their laughter so they won't wake Bronx up. Hemmy lifts his head, looks at them, and puts it back down. All in all, not too bad, even though he had to provide his own alcohol.

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[inlovewithnight.livejournal.com]

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(there might be more of the thing I was writing later tonight)

[rsadelle]

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(Oooooh.)