A/N: Hello, everyone! Thank you so much for your awesome response to the last chapter – what a treat, I was so excited to read all of your feedback. In response, I have for you an extra long chapter: a little more than double the usual length. Yay!
So this is where the Snapshots start moving away from being so close together timeline-wise, and start occurring after larger lapses of time. This chapter takes place two months after "Affirmation", so about a month and a half after "Waiting Room Blues". In it, we finally get to meet the much-mentioned Mr. Larkin. I'm vey excited!
I hope you enjoy!
Tracy leaned forward on her chair, angling her face upward so that her mirrored reflection was clearly visible. She raised the tube of lipstick to her lips and spread the pale shade evenly across them, then dabbed lightly at the corners of her mouth to ensure an even application. Tonight was an important night, and she couldn't very well go prancing into the Larkin household with lip colour globbing all over the place. She gritted her teeth to make sure that they, too, were lipstick free.
It had taken another two months after the incident at her house for Link to propose a meeting between Tracy and his father. The suggestion had come rather unexpectedly after a Thursday evening stroll in mid-November. The two of them had just returned from a hand-holding exploration of the nicer neighbourhoods around town, both bundled up in coats and scarves to block out the chill in the air. Standing on the doorstep of Tracy's house, hands prickling from the cold and misty breath rising into the air, Link had suggested that Tracy come over to the his house for dinner the following Saturday.
His words had tumbled out a bit quicker than intended, and his cheeks had turned a light shade of pink. He had looked at her expectantly, inserting swiftly that his father had been feeling a lot better recently, and that he thought he could handle the meeting. Relief flooded his eyes when she assured him that she would love to come over. After a smile and a quick kiss goodnight, he had made a hasty departure.
The proposition had been sweet, shy, and – in Tracy's opinion – well overdue.
She mentally chastised herself for that stray thought as she slipped her earrings into place. Ever since Link had arrived on her doorstep, upset and vulnerable, she had not spoken about his family situation unless he brought it up first. Every once and a while, in the middle of an altogether different topic, Link would blurt out a sentence about his dad's alcoholism or his mom in California. Afterward, he would allow himself a few more sentences before he got uncomfortable and changed the topic.
Tracy had noted, though, that the time he spent talking was getting longer – and the awkward subject changes we becoming fewer and fewer. She was proud of him for breaking through the emotional wall he had built up over so many years – and honoured that he was coming to trust her all by himself, without any prodding or nagging.
She sat back and took a look at her reflection. Her reflection looked back, brown eyes delicately lined and long, dark hair framing her face. She smiled, lips pristine.
Showtime.
The bus ride over to Link's house was short but slightly awkward; she was by far the nicest-dressed person aboard, and people kept sending her curious looks. She had convinced Link at rehearsal earlier that it was best if she could arrange her own ride over to his house, and then he could drive her home. That way, he would be able to play the part of the host when she arrived. Link had protested at first, looking uncomfortable at the notion that their relationship constant of him driving her places was being taken away. However, he had eventually agreed.
Tracy got off the bus and began to follow the directions her boyfriend had given her. As she walked, the houses gradually became nicer, the gardens more manicured. Her breath rose into the air in front of her, and she rubbed her hands together: even with her heavy coat, it was extremely chilly. She stopped in front of a fairly large, attractive-looking house with a somewhat wilder lawn than the ones on either side of it. She double-checked the address and, finding it to be correct, made the short walk down the front path to the door. After taking a steadying breath, she knocked.
There was silence for a few moments before Tracy could hear the padding of feet on the other side of the door. It swung open to reveal Link, who was dressed in a green-striped sweater, slacks – and a white cooking apron.
Link leaned against the doorframe, the epitome of cool and suave; he seemed to have completely forgotten the presence of the apron. He made an appreciative noise as he very pointedly trailed his eyes from the top of her head down to her high-heeled shoes and back up to meet her eyes.
"Very nice," he said, bending down to give her a peck on the lips. "Lookin' gorgeous, babe."
"Why thank you, chef Link," she replied, looking him quickly up and down. "How kind of you to say."
A pink tinge appeared in Link's cheeks, and the smooth act crumpled at once. He tugged at the apron's fastenings self-consciously; Tracy giggled.
"No, no, leave it on. Don't be silly." He lowered his hands, but still looked a bit bashful. "May I come in?"
"Yeah, of course."
He guided her inside and, always the gentleman, rushed to remove and hang up her coat. When he turned around she was straightening her frock, and he gave her another look – but this one was not the practiced eying up of a high school heartthrob. He had warned her to dress conservatively, and she had; the hem of her dress fell far past her knees and it barely showed any skin at all. But the way he was looking at her, she felt like something straight out of an inappropriate daydream. Tracy fidgeted under his gaze.
"Wow," he said, sounding struck dumb. "You, uh. Look good."
They were saved by the arrival of Link's father, who turned the corner into the entrance hall at that very moment. Link snapped out of his trance at once. He took a steadying breath, looking slightly nervous, and introduced them.
"Tracy, this is John Larkin. Dad, this is Miss Tracy Turnblad."
Mr. Larkin looked a great deal like his son. They shared the same dark hair, though Mr. Larkin's was in a respectable crew cut. He was tall, thin, and possessed brown eyes with slight creases lurking in the corners. In his day, Tracy thought, he must have been quite a handsome man. She couldn't help but notice that he looked slightly pale and gaunt, as though he had been sick recently.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," said Mr. Larkin, his voice warm but gravelly as he reached out to shake her hand.
"Likewise, sir," she replied, accepting it.
Link shuffled the two of them down the long hallway (which didn't seem to have very many pictures on the walls), through the living room, and into an expansive dining room. The dining room table was very large, but only three places had been set. Mr. Larkin took the seat at the head of the table, and Link pulled Tracy's chair back so she could take the seat on his left. Tracy glanced down the long table and the many empty spaces that remained. She wondered briefly what it would be like for the two of them to eat breakfast at this table. Did they sit at either end, or next to each other? Did they even eat breakfast at the same time?
Tracy suddenly realized that Link left the room some time ago – probably to fetch dinner from the kitchen. Mr. Larkin was staring at her contemplatively, but did not say anything. She searched frantically for something to fill the silence.
"So tell me, Mr. Larkin," she started tentatively. "What's your profession?"
His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, as though surprised that she had spoken.
"I work in finances."
"Oh." There didn't seem to be anything she could say to that. She tried to think of another question, but he got there first.
"This television program you and my son are on," he began. "Could you tell me something about it? I know it's a dance show, but I'm always at work when it comes on."
Tracy opened her mouth to respond, but her brain had gone completely empty. There was so much to know about the Corny Collins show, so many stories, such a large portion that spread over into her relationship with this man's son that her mind couldn't fathom him not knowing all about it. She couldn't think of a place to start, let alone a middle or an ending.
"Well," she started, feeling rather stupid. "It's a bit of a long story."
"Oh. All right," Mr. Larkin replied. He looked down at the table, seeming to take this as her answer.
Just as Tracy was beginning to wonder desperately when Link would come back, he walked back into the dining room holding a large salad bowl and serving spoons. The apron had disappeared, and Tracy suspected he had rid himself of it as soon as he had entered the kitchen. He placed them in the centre of the table and shot her an encouraging grin from behind his father's back.
"Dinner's almost ready," he said busily. "I'll be back out in two seconds." And with that, he puttered back into the kitchen leaving the two of them alone again. She had known that Link had learned how to cook after his mother had left; he'd told her once, offhandedly. But she had never thought as far as imagining him inside an actual kitchen, bustling around preparing meals. Tracy was briefly overwhelmed – despite the gender difference and minus over one hundred pounds of weight – at how much Link Larkin currently resembled her mother.
"It's very strange," she said absently, forgetting that Mr. Larkin was still sitting right next to her, "to see Link acting domestically. He's usually so slick around school and on the show."
This got a response; Mr. Larkin barked out a loud laugh at her words. She jumped, startled, and looked at him.
"Oh, he tries to be all suave around school, does he?" Mr. Larkin asked, his brown eyes twinkling deviously. He leaned forward in his seat. "Miss Tracy, I promise you that no matter how he may act when the cameras are rolling, my son is about as slick as a pair of fuzzy slippers."
She giggled at his words, enjoying how alive Mr. Larkin appeared for this first time since she had met him. There was a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and calling her Miss Tracy had almost been affectionate. She was struck again by the strong resemblance between father and son.
"Don't I know it," she said back, laugher still pulling at her words. "He's a big softie underneath all that hair grease."
Mr. Larkin chuckled, and Tracy felt a rush of satisfaction at making him laugh.
"Miss Tracy, the stories I could tell you about Link's childhood –"
"Dad!" Link had reappeared in the doorway, looking highly embarrassed and holding two large serving bowls. He did appear, however, to be relieved that some kind of conversation had broken out in his absence.
Tracy put on an innocent expression, widening her eyes at her boyfriend and sitting as tall as she could in her chair – which, admittedly, wasn't very tall at all.
"Oh, hello Link," she said unassumingly, tilting her head to one side. "Your dad was about to tell me all sorts of humiliating stories from your youth. Would you like to join us?"
Mr. Larkin barked out another loud laugh and clapped his palm onto the table in mirth. Link's face had gone a very deep red, and he appeared astonished how openly responsive his father was being.
"You've got yourself a keeper, my boy!" shouted Mr. Larkin gleefully, a large smile spreading across his lined face. "Now, bring on the main course, that's a good lad."
Forty minutes later and the three of them had demolished dinner, even with the enormous portions of meatloaf and mashed potatoes that Link had doled onto their plates. Tracy had been starving from coming straight from a Saturday rehearsal with no dinner, but would have eaten the large amounts of food even if she hadn't been extremely hungry. She had been shocked upon her first bite of meatloaf at just how good a cook Link was – and had made such an exclamation out loud, much to Mr. Larkin's delighted laughter. Tracy had never thought about it, but she supposed that if Link's mother had left four years ago, he had been cooking for both occupants of the house consistently since he was thirteen years old.
Dessert had been plain strawberry ice cream, which all of them had managed to consume despite being very full already. Link had managed to turn the discussion away from his own childhood and onto broader, less potentially embarrassing topics such as their education and life after high school. The conversation had been nothing like the teasing chatter that normally broke out over the Turnblad residence, but it had certainly not been bad.
Mr. Larkin cleared his throat, dabbing his napkin at the corners of his mouth for stray ice cream remains.
"Now, Miss Tracy," he began, catching her eye. "I'm sure I've got some old photo albums lying around; would you like to see some baby pictures of our Link here?"
"Dad, no," groaned Link, looking mortified.
"Oh, come on, boy; she's the only girl you've ever brought home, I'm allowed to spoil her." Mr. Larkin gave sent her a wink that was very much like his son's, only he looked a little bit more weary around the edges as he did so. "Whaddya say, Miss Tracy?"
Tracy giggled at the wink, but felt something flutter in her stomach. Our Link, his and mine. The only girl he's ever brought home. "I'd love to."
"And this one here is Link in his overalls with our old cat Specs," Mr. Larkin announced proudly as he indicated the faded black and white photo. "Link was about three years old, I think. He sure loved those overalls, Miss Tracy: I remember he once refused to take them off for five whole days!"
The two of them shared a light laugh before moving onto the next photo. All three of them had migrated to the living room after taking their dishes into the kitchen, and Mr. Larkin had brought out two musty photo albums from his bedroom. Some pictures were dated and others were not, but all of them showed a younger Link Larkin in various stages of life. The real Link sat in mute horror on his father's other side. He seemed to think that steadfastly ignoring the situation was the best way to deal his mounting embarrassment: his cheeks were pinker than Tracy had ever seen them before.
Link as a small child was sickeningly adorable. And even though Tracy could pick out his individual features amid the puppy fat and toothy grins, the idea of Link going through all the phases of youth was practically too odd to grasp. She'd of course known that he had grown up – how stupid would she have been to have ever thought otherwise? But in some corner of her mind, it had always seemed that Link had appeared into the world as a fully-grown heartthrob, complete with wink and killer smile. Link Larkin the Charmer as a seven-year-old with mud all down his front seemed almost absurd.
Mr. Larkin appeared as a younger man in some of the photos, although he seemed to have been the person taking a lot of them. Tracy could tell at once where Link had gotten his patented grin from: it appeared frequently on Mr. Larkin's face, light and easy and contrasting against the severity of his crew cut.
And although Link's father gave each picture an explanation, there was a recurring figure that he never seemed to mention. An achingly beautiful woman, her dark hair in old-fashioned curls, haunted a great many of the images. She appeared holding a baby Link, and standing at the oven of the Larkin kitchen while a small Link played at her feet, and later in stiffly posed family portraits. Her eyes were as pale as her son's; they stood out in each picture she was in, drawing Tracy's eyes straight to her. She seemed desperately sad, even when she was smiling.
Mr. Larkin flipped the page, and a small scrap of paper flew off the album and onto the floor. Neither of the men seemed to notice.
"And here I am holding baby Link for the very first time. I'd volunteered to go fight the war in Europe even though Alli… even though Link's mother was pregnant. I was wounded after five months, though: see the cast? And look at that uniform. Good and dapper, that's what it was."
Tracy nodded, and then bent forward so that she could reach the paper that was lying facedown on the ground. She was about to insert it back into the book when the words 'Certificate of Birth' caught her eye. She turned it over and read:
Certificate of Birth for
Matthew Lincoln James Larkin
January 26th, 1945
There were more words, but her mind seemed to have stopped. Matthew?
Link must have noticed her staring transfixed at the birth certificate, because he seemed to decide that enough was enough.
"Thanks, dad," he said quickly, rising to his feet. "But I think I'm going to show Tracy my room now." He held out his hand to help her up, which she accepted, the foreign name still echoing over and over in her mind as she replaced the paper covertly. Mr. Larkin smiled up at them, looking a lot less pale than he had when Tracy had first arrived.
"All right, son. If you don't mind, I think I'm going to look over these old things a while longer." He gestured to the album in his lap. "It was lovely to meet you, Miss Tracy. Don't be a stranger."
"I won't," she said, mind still spinning. "It was nice to meet you, too."
Link's hand was warm around hers for the silent walk to his bedroom. They had to walk down several hallways and up a flight of stairs to get there, and though the house was large it also seemed to be very empty. Dust lingered in the corners, and most of the doors along the hallway were closed. They looked as though they hadn't been opened in quite a long time.
When they finally got to Link's room, he ushered her inside and then shut door behind him, leaning against it as though having escaped from some great horror. She raised her eyebrow at the closed door behind him: her own mother would certainly never have allowed that at her house.
"Don't worry," reassured Link, interpreting her look. "He wouldn't think about checking." It was agreeable news, and Tracy couldn't explain the distant pang of sadness she felt upon hearing it.
He looked at her from his place against the door, looking almost nervous as though waiting for her opinion. He was biting his bottom lip.
"I'm sorry about the album," he burst out suddenly. "I can't even believe he did that. And I know the house is a bit dirty, we don't really clean as often as we should. And –"
Tracy put her hand over his mouth to silence him and stared straight into his agitated eyes.
"I like your dad a whole lot. Dinner was swell, you look dashing in an apron, and your house is very impressive. How's that?"
She could feel him smile, relieved, against her hand. A devious look appeared on the part of his face she could see, and she suddenly felt something wet dart out against her palm.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, jerking her hand back as he sniggered. "Link Larkin, you licked me." The grin on his face didn't waver.
"Oh, because you've really got a problem with my spit." Link was having fun now, grabbing handfuls of her skirt and tugging her up against him. He leaned in for a kiss, but shouting his name had reminded her of something.
"So, Matthew," said Tracy, purposefully stressing the name she had seen on his birth certificate. "Why didn't you ever tell me that 'Link' wasn't your proper name?"
Link looked momentarily sheepish, but the expression on his face quickly turned to nonchalance. He grinned at her and shrugged.
"Well, darlin', I haven't gone by 'Matthew' in a real long time. I don't really consider it my name." At her expectant look, he continued. "First grade, I walk into my classroom and find out that there're four other Matthews – four. I hardly wanted to be Matthew number five, so I thought I'd use another name. James wouldn't work; there were already two boys called that. So I figured I'd use 'Lincoln', but make it less stuffy. There weren't any other Links, and I haven't met one yet. I asked my parents to use the new name at home, and I've been Link ever since." He shrugged, as though this were no big deal.
Tracy stared at him, slightly at a loss: it felt rather as though the world had been tugged out from under her. She wasn't sure what the proper procedure was upon discovering that one's boyfriend of three months had never bothered to mention his first name.
She didn't have time to reflect on it any further, though, because Link had decided to follow through on his original impulse. His hands were still curled in her skirt, so he pulled her right up against him and kissed her soundly. Tracy let her eyes fall shut and wound her arms lazily around his shoulders.
Link took a firm step forward, throwing her off balance; she tightened her grip around him and took a hasty step back to avoid falling over. He stepped again, but this time she was ready – they shuffled together, step by step, as though in a very crude impersonation of dance. Tracy realized too late what his objective had been. When the backs of her calves bumped against a solid mass of mattress, she squeaked in surprise and tumbled back onto the bed, forcefully dragging Link down with her.
They landed with a thump, the bedspread rumpling immediately as they landed side by side. There was a moment of silence before Tracy heard Link's snigger coming from beside her.
"Very funny," she said weakly, reaching out and smacking him lightly with the back of her hand. He sidled up to her, still chuckling faintly, and wrapped a sweatered arm across the upward curve of her stomach. He laid his head across the softness of her bust and nuzzled softly, then gave her a tight squeeze of a hug. Tracy couldn't help feeling like an enormous stuffed toy.
"He really liked you, you know," Link said quietly, voice coming out muffled against her chest. "Don't think I've seen him that chipper in a long while."
"I liked him, too," she answered back, her fingers trailing over the back of his neck. He showed me a whole other part of your life, a piece of you that I didn't know about. I'll always appreciate that. She didn't say the words that were on the tip of her tongue, choosing instead to sigh contentedly. Link's head rose and fell in time with her breath.
"Any other secrets you've been keeping from me, Mr. Larkin?" she asked, her fingers now brushing over Link's stiff hair. "Evil twin brother, you're in league with the Russians… favourite colour?"
"Wasn't a secret," he mumbled, then angled his head in order to be as close to looking her in the eye as possible without extracting himself from her bosom. "My favourite colour is blue. Favourite food is roast chicken, and I really don't like TV dinners." He propped himself up, lifted his head from her chest, and was gave her a very fixed look as he spoke.
"I tried to play the trumpet in elementary school, but I couldn't do that lip thing and had to quit." He moved so that he was lying over her, weight supported on his elbows and the legs that were now on either side of her, still pointedly holding her gaze. "Boats makes me nervous, I used to bite my nails, and when I was five years old I wanted to be Bing Crosby when I grew up."
Tracy laughed, but the sound came out much more breathlessly than normal. It was very difficult to concentrate with Link lying on top of her, staring at her like that, and leaning in closer, with his lips skimming over hers and god he smells good –
She gasped sharply as he moved from her lips to her throat, pressing a soft kiss against the sensitive skin there.
"Your turn, baby doll," she heard him whisper, his warm breath tickling against her neck.
Not fair.
"My birthday's on April 9th." She tried to calm her uneven breathing, but Link nipped at the juncture between neck and collar and she unravelled again. "I – I used to have a pet dog named Rolly, but he r-ran away. I'm –" Her breath hitched as his hand drifted up and down her forearm, the combined sensations overwhelming. "—I'm named for my grandmother, Tracy Hodges, my momma's m-mother. I… I…"
But she couldn't stand it any longer. As Link barely brushed his lips over hers again, every muscle screaming from restraining herself, she arched up against him and pressed her lips against his in a frenzied, open-mouthed kiss. He responded immediately, pressing her back into the pillow, kissing her back without restraint.
She lifted her both her hands to skim across either side of his waist, back and forth, before placing them on the small of his back. Her fingers drifted along the bottom of his sweater, daringly edging up underneath the fabric to feel the warm, smooth skin of his back. Link made a hoarse, desperate noise against her lips that sounded like it came from the back of his throat and kissed her with renewed heat.
He jerked his hips upward suddenly, wrenching the lower half of his body away from her. Addled, Tracy opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but soon found herself silenced again. His tongue was velvet against hers, pulling back only to bite gently on her bottom lip.
Encouraged by his responses, she swept her fingers across his now-exposed skin once more. She could feel gooseflesh beginning to rise there, but whether it was from the coldness in the air or her touches she didn't know. Slowly, and feeling very brave indeed, Tracy slid her hands up under his shirt once more – and began to tug it up over his head.
Link reacted at once, putting his weight on his legs so that she could pull the shirt free of his arms and head and then toss it absently off the bed. He sat up for a moment and looked down at her, rough gasps making his chest heave, before leaning down and catching her lips in another breathless kiss. Tracy sighed against him, her hands gliding over the smooth, bare flesh of his upper back. This was new and scary and amazing, being able to run her hands up over his shoulders and down his arms and back again, all the while eliciting little gasps and shivers. The few seconds that she had seen him without a shirt had not been forgotten, either; he was slim and sculpted from years of dancing, bare skin looking just as perfect as it felt against her fingers.
She wondered for a moment if the next step was for her own shirt to come off. Link pulled her especially tight against him, and she thought dreamily for a moment that removing her shirt might not be a half-bad idea – before realizing suddenly that she was wearing a dress. A very conservative dress. Tracy marvelled that Link could be satisfied with the very small amount of skin she was showing – after all, she certainly hadn't been satisfied with his – when he pulled way from her suddenly.
He looked unbelievably attractive, lips wet and hair mussed and a slightly dazed expression on his face. His breath was coming in large gulps, and he had a look of severe restraint about him.
"I should probably get you home to your folks," he murmured, voice unsteady, not meeting her eyes. Tracy almost protested, but quickly understood; he needed to stop, he needed to take her home while he was still in control. She kissed him quickly on the mouth and cheek – to get what she could – and then nodded up at him.
He crawled off her, then hopped off of his bed to find his sweater. Tracy enjoyed the sight of Link shirtless while she still could, watching him as she lay dishevelled and breathing heavily on the bed. After he successfully found the shirt and tugged it on, he walked over to her and offered her his hand, smiling almost shyly. She accepted his hand, allowed Link to pull her to her feet, straightened her dress and followed him out the door.
The house was quiet and dark, and she could immediately tell that Mr. Larkin had already gone to bed. They only stopped once to retrieve Tracy's coat from the coat rack before walking quickly out the door toward the black Cadillac parked stylishly in the driveway. As Link opened the passenger door for her, thoughts and feelings catapulted through Tracy's mind – but she suppressed them gently. She had all night to think, but only a few minutes to sit beside her boy in understanding silence as they cut through the darkness.
The promise of later hanging between them like an old friend, the pair pulled out of the driveway and into the night.
