Author's note: This fic was originally written over a year ago. I know, I'm a horrible person. Anyway, I'm editing it up and posting it. I plan to even write the ending part, if you're all lucky. All errors are my own fault, as the updated version hasn't been betaed.
Title: Clearest Indication
Author:
Sy
Rating: PG-13, just to be safe.
Archive:
I'm not going to stop you, but ask first.
Notes: 1) The title and chapter titles come from the
song "Clearest Indication" by Great Big Sea. They rock
my proverbial socks. 2)Thanks sooo much Eriks-lil-rocker for
answering my questions! They actually were important to the way the whole plot
is going to go, even if they seemed menial. [Did I use that word
correctly?] 3) Victory is the Greatest
Person Ever for beta-ing this. It would have been muchly confusing to read without her guidance.
Warning:
Slashishness.
Disclaimer: The Mighty Ducks belong to
various and sundry people, none of whom are me.
.:Charlie:.
Chapter
1: Did You Get What You Came For?
The
night before something important is going to happen, I can never sleep. I don't
know why. It's been true my whole life,
though, and I can't see it changing any time soon.
When I asked if I could do something other than pretend to sleep when I was little and it happened, Mom would never listen and just make me lay in bed anyway; she'd always say I was just making it up. She's figured it out by now, though. This makes tense moments happier for all parties involved.
I knew for certain the night before the orientation at school was going to be one of those nights. In the morning they were announcing our scholarships and everyone was going to… you know, look at us. And stare. And prod us with sticks.
I just might have an overactive imagination.
***
Mom let Banksie
sleep over.
His
parents, of course, didn't care. As long as he showed up at school and worked
through his classes, he could do whatever he wanted. Those were the things they were frequently
concerned about. The Bankses were nice enough, I
guess, but in a cold, separated,
what-do-you-mean-we-have-a-child-in-the-most-traumatic-and-impactful-years-of-his-life?
sort of way.
It
worked for me.
"Hey,
Banks?"
"Yeah,
Charlie?"
This
had been going on for about three hours now, and it was only 11. We were
sitting in my room watching a movie, which consisted of us staring at the
screen for a few minutes and then one of us thinking of something to say to the
other.
"Have
you ever noticed that you wear the same number as the Great One?"
Adam
rolled his eyes at me. Very sarcastically, he replied, "no, Charlie, never
even crossed my mind."
We
lapsed back into silence as Brad Pitt ran across the screen. Don't ask what the movie was, I don't
remember. It wasn't really important. Basically the only thing it was doing was
filling the silence, and giving us an excuse for when Mom came in to ask what
we were doing. Parents never buy it when you say you're just talking. Evidently
it's a code-phrase for doing illegal things.
Go
figure.
"Hey
Charlie?"
"Yeah,
Banks?"
"Is
that naked baby in the picture on the wall… well, is that you?"
"Banks…"
I trailed off, not sure what to say. I didn't want to tell him yes, but those
so are my baby pictures.
He started to laugh. Not knowing what
else to do, I quickly stood up and smacked him with a pillow.
"Conway!" he
shouted. "You're dead!"
***
Twenty
minutes later I was spread across my bed with Banks shoving a pillow into my
face.
"Take
that, Spazway!" he crowed. "Who's the man?
Aw, yeah!"
I
couldn't help thinking he was being a show off. I grinned into the pillow as I
raised my hands in defeat.
"Fine,
Banksie, you win." I conceded, muffled. "Just get that pillow away from me,
okay?" I started to push at it.
He
pulled the pillow away, laughing happily. He was completely unsuspecting when I
swung the pillow into him, but somehow he managed to duck! The force of my
swing propelled me around in a small circle and I staggered back into him,
causing us both to fall on the floor in a pile of laughter.
We
quieted down and for a minute there was nothing but silence.
"Hey,
Adam?" I asked. I was looking at him, and my face wasbarely
two inches away from his.
"Yeah?"
he replied. It was more of a whisper than anything.
I
met his eyes, and for a second too long all I could do was stare. Then, nervously, I laughed, and poked him in
the side.
"What's
this movie called again?"
***
Adam
clammed up a bit right about then. I assumed he was just tired and didn't worry
about it. I never bothered to consider what he'd thought while we were lying on
the floor together. And I really didn't
want to think back on what had been running through my head.
That all probably combined together to lead to the fact that around three
that morning we started fighting. He
told me I was controlling, and I think confusing might have popped up once or
twice. I told him I didn't know what he was talking about. He
said
I was lying and that I knew what he meant, and then he just turned away. I screamed at him for a few more minutes
because, well, that's what I do. I told
him he was stupid and being weird. I was
mad that he didn't explain what he meant.
Of all people to have a fight with, being mad at Adam was the worst.
I fell asleep just after four, hoping he didn't hate me and wishing more than anything that one of us would apologize in the morning.
