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pacifi_cantTitle: Legacy
Fandom: Wilby Wonderful
Pairing: Duck & Buddy (friendship)
Rating: G
Word Count: ~1850
Thanks: Tosage for lightning turnaround beta, and most of all for letting me know what wasn't working.
Notes:whoisus asked for Duck/Buddy, which didn't happen; instead my fic brain took me back to their childhood years. Apologies for the sad dearth of porn. Additionally, I suspect this will eventually become part of a larger story spanning many years. I hope that's okay.
~ * ~
Duck was eleven when he and Buddy became friends.
The little clapboard house had belonged to Duck's grandparents. His grandfather had worked for the man who built it, had poured the foundation and raised the framed walls held together with nails he'd pounded. It'd taken him six years to save the down payment, but with the help of a frugal wife he'd done it, and their three babies had been born and raised there.
Duck's uncles had moved to the mainland where there were more jobs, so it was Ruth, the youngest of the three and the only daughter, who'd moved into the house when her father retired and, with her mother, moved to the mainland to be closer to their grandchildren. Duck was born in Wilby Hospital, which was so new that one wing was still under construction at the time, but he'd lived in the McDonald family house since he was four days old.
The park with the ball field was at the other end of town, past the school and the churches and the big houses with the fancy paint jobs and the long, wide porches with swings hanging from heavy chains and white wicker chairs and little tables for your tea or lemonade.
It was far enough that Duck always rode his bike there – though really, if truth be told, he rode it almost everywhere as long as the weather wasn't too awful and the roads weren't slick with ice or deep with snow.
He was rounding the last curve, chugging up the steep stretch that got you warmed up good so you were ready to play as soon as you hit the field, when he almost collided with Buddy walking his own bike down the hill. Duck stomped on the pedal and threw all his weight into braking, sending himself skidding onto the shoulder. He only just managed to throw a foot out in time to keep from ditching.
"Jeez!" His breath came short and fast, like the thumping of his heart in his chest.
"Hey, good save," Buddy said.
Duck didn't have an answer for that, so he just stared at Buddy, except that got uncomfortable really fast, so he looked at Buddy's bike instead.
It was tall and beautiful, with a deep cherry red frame that almost glowed and shiny silver spokes, not even splashed with mud yet, not a spot on it anywhere except for the bit of dust and grit thrown up by Duck's skidding tires. "Wow," he breathed. "Is that a Motobecane?"
Buddy grinned and nodded. "Yep. Just got it for my birthday." He gestured down at the gears; Duck counted six in the rear, two in the front. "Twelve-speed. One for each year, my dad said."
Duck wanted to touch it so bad it made his chest hurt, wanted to take it for a ride and feel it shifting smoothly through the gears at his command as he sailed along Wilby's back roads. He let his own battered one-speed fall onto the leaf-littered shoulder of the road and squatted down for a closer look.
"Huh," he said. "You got a flat." Fortunately it was in the front, so hopefully Buddy had noticed right away and stopped riding before he ruined the wheel rims.
"Yeah," Buddy said. "Found a bit of glass in it when I got here. That's why I was walking it instead of riding."
Duck looked up at him, squinting and raising a hand to block the sun. "How come you don't just patch it?"
Buddy moved to shade Duck's face. He shrugged. "My dad will get somebody to fix it for me."
"That's dumb," Duck said. "You won't be able to ride it until it's fixed. Fix it yourself and you could be riding in ten minutes."
Buddy shrugged again and looked away.
"You don't know how, do you?"
Buddy didn't say anything, just shrugged again. It was hard to see with the sun so bright behind Buddy, but Duck thought he might be blushing.
"C'mon," Duck said. He lifted his own bike onto its wheels and pointed up the hill. "I'll show you. It's not that hard." He wheeled his bike around Buddy's and started walking. He wasn't sure Buddy would follow, and was almost surprised when he heard the twelve-speed's wheels tick-tick-ticking softly close behind him.
There was a tall stand of sugar maples at the top of the hill. Duck dropped his bike onto the shady patch of grass beneath them and turned to Buddy. "Turn it upside down," he said, and gestured awkwardly with his hands.
Buddy looked worried. "My dad will kill me if I scratch it when it's still brand new."
Duck stepped in and leaned over the bike, grabbing the frame on the far side. He flipped the bike over – it felt like it weighed nothing, especially compared to Duck's own aged Huffy – and stood it on its seat and handlebars.
"Okay," Buddy said. "How do you get the tire off?"
"If we're lucky, we might not have to." Duck rummaged in the little case strapped behind his bicycle seat for the things he needed, then fished his pocket knife out of his jeans.
Doing had always been easier than talking for Duck, so he just got down to it. Buddy peered over his shoulder and asking questions every now and then as Duck worked on the wheel, the tire, and the tube. It felt good, doing with ease and confidence what he'd done a dozen times before, working on a bike very different from his own and finding that he still knew just what to do.
"There," he said at last. "Almost done." He looked at Buddy. "Got a dollar?"
"Huh?" Buddy looked puzzled, but he pulled a few crumpled bills out of his pocket. "What for?"
Duck took a dollar and smoothed it over his jeans, getting the wrinkles out, then folded it neatly in half. "Just in case maybe the casing wouldn't hold," he said. "Money's strong. Makes a good emergency patch." He smoothed it between the patched tube and the tire, then gently lay the bike down with the wheel in his lap so he could reseat the tire on the wheel.
Moments later it was done, and he pushed the bike off his lap, brushing away the dirt and grit the tire had left on his pants. While Buddy put his bike back on its wheels, Duck unstrapped the tire pump from the frame of his own bike.
"You need to get one of these," Duck said, handing Buddy the pump. It'd probably make Buddy feel better to pump up his own tire, make him feel less useless. "And a patch kit and a tire lever. The hardware store has them."
While Buddy worked the pump, Duck used the time to stow his tools and patch kit back in their pouch, watching out of the corner of his eye to make sure Buddy didn't over-inflate the tire and blow out the patch.
The patch held – both patches, actually – through a quick test ride, just a couple of small circles, Buddy carefully avoiding a pothole so as not to push his luck.
Buddy braked to a stop in front of Duck just as he finished strapping the tire pump back onto his bike frame. His face broke out into a grin. "Hey, thanks!"
Duck smiled back, inwardly cursing at the blush he could feel climbing his neck and rising up his cheeks. "Sure," he said. "No big deal."
Buddy looked down at his front wheel. "It's a strange thing," he said, "what you can do with a little bit of money." The touring bike's sleek frame glowed rich and red in the sunlight, just that quickly out of Duck's reach again, no matter that he'd had his hands all over it just moments before.
McDonalds didn't own beautiful things like that bike. They fixed them for people like the Frenches, people who drove fancy cars and lived in those big houses at the other end of town and called Duck's dad only when something broke.
Duck had had a lot of practice at trying not to be jealous of rich kids like Buddy, but sometimes it still burned. "Money can do a lot of things," he said as he pushed his own heavy, clunky, old bike out onto the pavement and swung himself up onto the seat. He pedaled toward the ball field and didn't look back.
Duck was alone on the field, throwing overhand pitches with a tennis ball against the side of the dugout and fielding them himself when Buddy pulled his bike up to the rack and parked it. He was surprised; he'd thought Buddy had headed home, or at least somewhere else, once his tire was patched. Back to his own friends, his own part of town.
"Hey," Buddy said. "Want to play catch?"
In answer, Duck threw one to him. Hard. It smacked into Buddy's hands, belly high. Not bad.
Buddy threw it back, and Duck was pleased to see that he had a decent enough arm. "Okay," he said, and jogged out to the pitcher's mound.
Buddy took his place behind home plate, and they threw the ball back and forth a few dozen times, doing their best to bruise each other's hands. Not likely with a tennis ball, sure, but it felt good to try.
Really, Buddy was pretty much okay, Duck decided. He just grinned at himself when he made a bad throw or missed a catch. Nothing made him mad, and he never blamed Duck.
That was pretty cool.
"You know," Duck said, and tried to throw a curve ball over home plate. It was low and outside, but not by too much, and Buddy caught it easily. "If you want to come over some time, I could show you how to take care of your bike. Tune it up and stuff."
Buddy threw to him, a little slow for a fastball but right into his hands. "Yeah? You know how to do lots of stuff, don't you?"
Duck tried another curve ball. It almost ditched in the dirt, but Buddy managed to scoop it up. Duck shrugged, feeling himself flush hot again. "Some. My dad teaches me."
"You're lucky," Buddy said, and threw a wild one that Duck was barely tall enough to grab as it sailed over his head.
Somehow that made Duck feel really good. "Any time," he said. "Got all the tools we need in our garage." He tossed an easy one back to Buddy. "Saturday, maybe?"
"That'd be great," Buddy said, his face breaking out in another of his ready smiles. He lobbed a high, looping throw back to Duck and let out a whoop. "Come on," he called over his shoulder as he trotted off the ball field toward his bike. "Race you into town."
"Hey!" Duck called back. "No fair! Your bike's faster!"
Buddy flashed him a grin as he swung onto his bike and wheeled away. "Winner buys ice cream."
Duck figured he could live with that.
~ fin ~
For:whoisus
Prompt: "It's a strange thing."
Fandom: Wilby Wonderful
Pairing: Duck & Buddy (friendship)
Rating: G
Word Count: ~1850
Thanks: To
sage for lightning turnaround beta, and most of all for letting me know what wasn't working.Notes:
whoisus asked for Duck/Buddy, which didn't happen; instead my fic brain took me back to their childhood years. Apologies for the sad dearth of porn. Additionally, I suspect this will eventually become part of a larger story spanning many years. I hope that's okay.~ * ~
Duck was eleven when he and Buddy became friends.
The little clapboard house had belonged to Duck's grandparents. His grandfather had worked for the man who built it, had poured the foundation and raised the framed walls held together with nails he'd pounded. It'd taken him six years to save the down payment, but with the help of a frugal wife he'd done it, and their three babies had been born and raised there.
Duck's uncles had moved to the mainland where there were more jobs, so it was Ruth, the youngest of the three and the only daughter, who'd moved into the house when her father retired and, with her mother, moved to the mainland to be closer to their grandchildren. Duck was born in Wilby Hospital, which was so new that one wing was still under construction at the time, but he'd lived in the McDonald family house since he was four days old.
The park with the ball field was at the other end of town, past the school and the churches and the big houses with the fancy paint jobs and the long, wide porches with swings hanging from heavy chains and white wicker chairs and little tables for your tea or lemonade.
It was far enough that Duck always rode his bike there – though really, if truth be told, he rode it almost everywhere as long as the weather wasn't too awful and the roads weren't slick with ice or deep with snow.
He was rounding the last curve, chugging up the steep stretch that got you warmed up good so you were ready to play as soon as you hit the field, when he almost collided with Buddy walking his own bike down the hill. Duck stomped on the pedal and threw all his weight into braking, sending himself skidding onto the shoulder. He only just managed to throw a foot out in time to keep from ditching.
"Jeez!" His breath came short and fast, like the thumping of his heart in his chest.
"Hey, good save," Buddy said.
Duck didn't have an answer for that, so he just stared at Buddy, except that got uncomfortable really fast, so he looked at Buddy's bike instead.
It was tall and beautiful, with a deep cherry red frame that almost glowed and shiny silver spokes, not even splashed with mud yet, not a spot on it anywhere except for the bit of dust and grit thrown up by Duck's skidding tires. "Wow," he breathed. "Is that a Motobecane?"
Buddy grinned and nodded. "Yep. Just got it for my birthday." He gestured down at the gears; Duck counted six in the rear, two in the front. "Twelve-speed. One for each year, my dad said."
Duck wanted to touch it so bad it made his chest hurt, wanted to take it for a ride and feel it shifting smoothly through the gears at his command as he sailed along Wilby's back roads. He let his own battered one-speed fall onto the leaf-littered shoulder of the road and squatted down for a closer look.
"Huh," he said. "You got a flat." Fortunately it was in the front, so hopefully Buddy had noticed right away and stopped riding before he ruined the wheel rims.
"Yeah," Buddy said. "Found a bit of glass in it when I got here. That's why I was walking it instead of riding."
Duck looked up at him, squinting and raising a hand to block the sun. "How come you don't just patch it?"
Buddy moved to shade Duck's face. He shrugged. "My dad will get somebody to fix it for me."
"That's dumb," Duck said. "You won't be able to ride it until it's fixed. Fix it yourself and you could be riding in ten minutes."
Buddy shrugged again and looked away.
"You don't know how, do you?"
Buddy didn't say anything, just shrugged again. It was hard to see with the sun so bright behind Buddy, but Duck thought he might be blushing.
"C'mon," Duck said. He lifted his own bike onto its wheels and pointed up the hill. "I'll show you. It's not that hard." He wheeled his bike around Buddy's and started walking. He wasn't sure Buddy would follow, and was almost surprised when he heard the twelve-speed's wheels tick-tick-ticking softly close behind him.
There was a tall stand of sugar maples at the top of the hill. Duck dropped his bike onto the shady patch of grass beneath them and turned to Buddy. "Turn it upside down," he said, and gestured awkwardly with his hands.
Buddy looked worried. "My dad will kill me if I scratch it when it's still brand new."
Duck stepped in and leaned over the bike, grabbing the frame on the far side. He flipped the bike over – it felt like it weighed nothing, especially compared to Duck's own aged Huffy – and stood it on its seat and handlebars.
"Okay," Buddy said. "How do you get the tire off?"
"If we're lucky, we might not have to." Duck rummaged in the little case strapped behind his bicycle seat for the things he needed, then fished his pocket knife out of his jeans.
Doing had always been easier than talking for Duck, so he just got down to it. Buddy peered over his shoulder and asking questions every now and then as Duck worked on the wheel, the tire, and the tube. It felt good, doing with ease and confidence what he'd done a dozen times before, working on a bike very different from his own and finding that he still knew just what to do.
"There," he said at last. "Almost done." He looked at Buddy. "Got a dollar?"
"Huh?" Buddy looked puzzled, but he pulled a few crumpled bills out of his pocket. "What for?"
Duck took a dollar and smoothed it over his jeans, getting the wrinkles out, then folded it neatly in half. "Just in case maybe the casing wouldn't hold," he said. "Money's strong. Makes a good emergency patch." He smoothed it between the patched tube and the tire, then gently lay the bike down with the wheel in his lap so he could reseat the tire on the wheel.
Moments later it was done, and he pushed the bike off his lap, brushing away the dirt and grit the tire had left on his pants. While Buddy put his bike back on its wheels, Duck unstrapped the tire pump from the frame of his own bike.
"You need to get one of these," Duck said, handing Buddy the pump. It'd probably make Buddy feel better to pump up his own tire, make him feel less useless. "And a patch kit and a tire lever. The hardware store has them."
While Buddy worked the pump, Duck used the time to stow his tools and patch kit back in their pouch, watching out of the corner of his eye to make sure Buddy didn't over-inflate the tire and blow out the patch.
The patch held – both patches, actually – through a quick test ride, just a couple of small circles, Buddy carefully avoiding a pothole so as not to push his luck.
Buddy braked to a stop in front of Duck just as he finished strapping the tire pump back onto his bike frame. His face broke out into a grin. "Hey, thanks!"
Duck smiled back, inwardly cursing at the blush he could feel climbing his neck and rising up his cheeks. "Sure," he said. "No big deal."
Buddy looked down at his front wheel. "It's a strange thing," he said, "what you can do with a little bit of money." The touring bike's sleek frame glowed rich and red in the sunlight, just that quickly out of Duck's reach again, no matter that he'd had his hands all over it just moments before.
McDonalds didn't own beautiful things like that bike. They fixed them for people like the Frenches, people who drove fancy cars and lived in those big houses at the other end of town and called Duck's dad only when something broke.
Duck had had a lot of practice at trying not to be jealous of rich kids like Buddy, but sometimes it still burned. "Money can do a lot of things," he said as he pushed his own heavy, clunky, old bike out onto the pavement and swung himself up onto the seat. He pedaled toward the ball field and didn't look back.
Duck was alone on the field, throwing overhand pitches with a tennis ball against the side of the dugout and fielding them himself when Buddy pulled his bike up to the rack and parked it. He was surprised; he'd thought Buddy had headed home, or at least somewhere else, once his tire was patched. Back to his own friends, his own part of town.
"Hey," Buddy said. "Want to play catch?"
In answer, Duck threw one to him. Hard. It smacked into Buddy's hands, belly high. Not bad.
Buddy threw it back, and Duck was pleased to see that he had a decent enough arm. "Okay," he said, and jogged out to the pitcher's mound.
Buddy took his place behind home plate, and they threw the ball back and forth a few dozen times, doing their best to bruise each other's hands. Not likely with a tennis ball, sure, but it felt good to try.
Really, Buddy was pretty much okay, Duck decided. He just grinned at himself when he made a bad throw or missed a catch. Nothing made him mad, and he never blamed Duck.
That was pretty cool.
"You know," Duck said, and tried to throw a curve ball over home plate. It was low and outside, but not by too much, and Buddy caught it easily. "If you want to come over some time, I could show you how to take care of your bike. Tune it up and stuff."
Buddy threw to him, a little slow for a fastball but right into his hands. "Yeah? You know how to do lots of stuff, don't you?"
Duck tried another curve ball. It almost ditched in the dirt, but Buddy managed to scoop it up. Duck shrugged, feeling himself flush hot again. "Some. My dad teaches me."
"You're lucky," Buddy said, and threw a wild one that Duck was barely tall enough to grab as it sailed over his head.
Somehow that made Duck feel really good. "Any time," he said. "Got all the tools we need in our garage." He tossed an easy one back to Buddy. "Saturday, maybe?"
"That'd be great," Buddy said, his face breaking out in another of his ready smiles. He lobbed a high, looping throw back to Duck and let out a whoop. "Come on," he called over his shoulder as he trotted off the ball field toward his bike. "Race you into town."
"Hey!" Duck called back. "No fair! Your bike's faster!"
Buddy flashed him a grin as he swung onto his bike and wheeled away. "Winner buys ice cream."
Duck figured he could live with that.
~ fin ~
For:
whoisusPrompt: "It's a strange thing."
no subject
Date: 2010-04-11 04:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-11 05:34 am (UTC)However while I'm sure this is a great story I can't bring myself to read it, I gave it a try and couldn't get past the first line. It's not that the story isn't slash as I enjoy gen and friendship fic very much. Its because stories focused solely on the childhood of characters that are adults in their film/tv show/book is an incredible pet hate of mine. I didn't think to mention my dislike of characters as children in my prompt as I'd requested slash (and this is C6D not HP so I doubted there'd be any overlap).
If you do continue this as a larger story I'd love to read the adult years but even so I appreciate the time and effort that you put into writing a story for me even though it's not really my thing (and I hope that you aren't offended by this, as I didn't want to lie and say I loved it when I haven't read it or just say nothing and have you think I was rude and not appreciative of the effort you put in).
no subject
Date: 2010-04-11 05:54 am (UTC)Your just happened to come along when my writing-brain was deeply immersed in thoughts of something I've been pondering for, wow, three years? A long time, anyway. It will follow the intersection of Duck's and Buddy's lives starting from before they're even born, ending shortly after the the events of the film. This segment just seemed to hurl itself through the keyboard and onto the screen, and since time was short, I went with it.
May I give you a rain check, along with my apology? I can't deliver it by tomorrow, but I will write you a grown-up Duck/Buddy story within the next few weeks. I love them both. It'll be no hardship to play with them again. If you want to give me any additional prompts (happy vs angst, porn vs UST, that sort of thing) I'd welcome it. Just... not another line of dialog, please, since that's my least favorite sort of prompt, and the hardest for me to work with. *g*
no subject
Date: 2010-04-11 06:28 am (UTC)I'll gratefully take you up on your offer to write a grown-up Duck/Buddy story and don't worry there's no concern about getting another line of dialogue as a prompt, as I have great trouble thinking of them or any other sort of prompt really *g*.
I don't really have any preference about the subject matter of the fic but I'd prefer it to be happy and porny, or if you can only manage one of those: porny (as I am a shallow creature with a rather one track mind *g*).
no subject
Date: 2010-04-11 06:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-24 11:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-25 01:03 am (UTC)But yes, this is still in the works, at least in my brain.
I've spent a great deal of time thinking about this -- many hours, actually -- and I keep stumbling over my own conclusion that Buddy is mostly straight, which seems to have become personal canon to the extent that it's hard (or impossible?) for me to overcome. So while I can write them getting porny as adults, even post-movie era, I can't seem to do so with a happy ending. More... wistful, bittersweet, nostalgic, and fundamentally friendship rather than romance and hot sexin's.
My brain really wants to produce a story set at the time Duck returns to Wilby after his years off-island, and while it's got a bit of porn, discussion of hings that happened during their shared history, including at least a couple of events during their teenage years, is a significant story element. This stuff comes up only in conversation -- i.e., there are no flashback scenes -- but I'm still concerned that it might be outside your comfort zone. Any guidance there?
no subject
Date: 2010-07-25 06:43 am (UTC)I’m having trouble working out how to respond to this…[three years later]…When I made my original request the dialogue prompt was secondary I just wanted post-film Buddy to actually get laid because fandom hasn’t really given him much love, in the fic I’ve come across it appears that Buddy only ever gets laid as a teenager (which I just can’t read) and then post-film wanders Wilby angsting or being generically friendly and supportive to Duck/Dan.
I suppose what I really want is post-movie Buddy/Duck getting porny as the context and physicality of the characters as they are in the film is more appealing to me than aged down versions. I generally prefer happy and porny but in this particular either/or situation I’d pic sexing over a romantically happy ending so the mostly friendship situation you described doesn’t really bother me.
However while I’d greatly prefer the first option if you just can’t hammer anything into shape the story set after Duck returns to Wilby does sound intriguing. As if the mentions of their shared history are only in conversation I can always skip those pieces of dialogue if I find them to not be quite my thing.
Hope this helps, and once again thank you for writing for me :)
no subject
Date: 2010-07-25 07:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-25 08:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-11 12:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-12 04:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-11 12:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-12 04:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-11 11:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-12 04:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-12 10:11 am (UTC)"Winner buys ice cream."
Awwww... *is a puddle of goo*
no subject
Date: 2010-04-12 05:03 pm (UTC)*is still saving up to replace the bike that broke this winter*
I really enjoyed this fic, Mal. They both rang very true and I like how natural it felt how they met and just became friends.
Can't wait to read more of this. :)
no subject
Date: 2010-04-13 12:42 pm (UTC)I would love to read a longer fic about them.