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bryantI gave in and wrote this piece about an old favorite show. First effort. Be gentle. I'd post it on fanfiction.net but they aren't taking new posts right now.
This is a fanfic for the classic TV drama A Wave, A Look. It's poorly represented on the fanfic scene but well represented in my heart. I think my story stands up pretty well even if you aren't familiar with the show.
There's a pretty clear continuity gap between "Wave Watching" and "The Time of Trials and Torments." While it's impressive how well McKinney and his crew revamped the last few episodes under the circumstances, I still just couldn't resist inserting a little story of my own. Hopefully it serves as an addition to the picture we fans know so well.
On with the story!
----------
Davis ran down the hill without thinking, barely breathing, not even looking where his feet were landing. He'd run from the church to the docks often enough, although never at midnight. His muscles knew the way, and his mind was utterly occupied with other matters.
Five minutes ago, in the attic of the Hall, Rob had told him that Laura was planning a return to her family. Four minutes ago, Davis hit Rob, hard. Not like football, and not much like hitting any of the creeps who'd needed hitting that year. This was hitting a friend, and Davis was sorry the second Rob crumpled to his knees.
"Lousy trick, Davis," said Rob. It took a while for him to say it, and Davis couldn't quite tell if Rob was being sardonic or deadly serious.
"Look," said Davis. "Look. I mean -- you're not messing with me again? Cause..."
Rob waited a moment for Davis to finish, then shook his head. "That'd be a lousy trick too." Mark Rob down for serious.
Davis took a hard breath. "OK. Look, I'm sorry, then. But she can't leave. She just..."
"You're having trouble finishing your sentences, huh? I know, Davis. Don't think I don't care just because I've given up." Rob watched Davis, his eyes as grey as the ocean.
"I don't! I --"
Rob held up a hand, weary. "You just can't think straight because you're worried you're going to lose the girl you -- care about. I know, Davis. I said that already."
Davis reminded himself to breathe again, and watched Rob wordlessly.
"Go," Rob said. "Deal with it. Like you even need my permission, you stupid jock."
When Rob stood up, that broke the spell that held Davis still. Davis turned and ran, down the stairs from the attic, skipping the missing steps with unerring familiarity.
Now he was pounding down the hill in great jumps, leaping over the benches and crossing Federal Street without looking for traffic. The night was cold, and his varsity jacket wasn't much protection, but the warmth of exertion kept the chill from his body. He ran between the Congregational and Baptist Churches; the Manuxet River glinted in the moonlight. Church Street was empty except for the sound of his pounding footsteps.
Four blocks later, the Atlantic Ocean stretched out before him. He spent a moment standing at the intersection of Church and Water Street, catching his breath, rehearsing what he might say under his breath. Far away, waves lapped sluggishly against the far harbor jetty.
Davis turned right, and ran down to the breakwater, and didn't stop there. Heedless of the slippery rocks, he made his way out on the breakwater, towards the lighthouse. His breath was sharp in his own ears. Somewhere inside, he told himself that he was just out of breath. Davis wasn't the crying type.
He arrived at the lighthouse and fumbled for the key under the rock. It wasn't there. He stared at the vacant place, confused. He wasted a while looking under other rocks, as if he hadn't been using that same rock for over a year.
Then he tried the door, which swung open on oiled hinges. A smile hit his face like sunrise.
"Laura!"
He hurried in, looking up. "Laura," he called again. "Come out! I'm here!"
Someone in the shadows cleared his throat. "I'm not your girl," he said. "Neither is she."
Davis jerked back, and reached for the flashlight by the front door.
"No light," rasped the stranger. "Y'ain't gonna need it, cos we ain't gonna be here long enough."
"Who the hell are you?" asked Davis, fists balling unconsciously.
"Y'know what I am," he said laconicly. "And y'know that you don't need to know who I am. You also know what you need to hear."
"What's that, then?" said Davis. There wasn't much of a question in his tone.
The shadowed man shifted, moonlight playing across his features. "That Laura ain't ever gonna be your wife, and she's a damned poor choice for a sweetheart. You got no future with her, boy. You got plenty of future on the football field, I hear. Settle for that."
Davis exhaled, actually thinking for the first time since he'd heard the news about Laura. He unclenched his fists, and stuck one hand into the pocket of his jacket.
"And if I don't," he said, "You'll -- do something about it."
A shrug from the shadows. "You're a nice boy, and people speak well of you. I wouldn't want to." He paused again, in the darkness. "People speak well of your mother, too. Just sayin'."
Davis hissed, "Don't you threaten her. Don't bring her into this."
"Now, boy, it's not my choosing. You know you can keep her out of it by keepin' yourself out of --"
Davis pulled his hand out of his pocket, thumb spinning the wheel of the lighter as the shadowed figure's voice grew more menacing. Light flared before he could finish his sentence. The man in the shadows recoiled.
Davis advanced, letting the lighter illuminate the other man's large eyes and oddly formed jaw. "Fat chance," he said angrily. "Fat chance of any of it, you..."
Words failed him, but his fist didn't; he thrust the lighter at the stranger's face, and when the stranger recoiled he hit him on the protruding jaw. The man went down harder than Rob, and didn't have any comments, either.
Davis poked the man with his foot. Then he kicked the man, hard. It wasn't all that satisfying, but it was better than nothing.
"Well," he said to the unconscious figure, "You can't stay here. This is where Laura and I spend our time." He crouched and dragged the man out of the lighthouse by his collar. A few minutes spent rummaging through the man's damp pockets yielded the lighthouse key.
"Gonna have to find a new place for it, and tell Laura," said Davis under his breath.
He left the unconscious man behind in a slumped heap at the end of the breakwater. More carefully, this time, he picked his way back to Water Street and turned south towards the wharves. At least, now, his breath was back to normal. Something to be said for the physical option, he thought.
A few minutes later, loping along at an easy pace, he came to the first wharf. At the end of it, visible past the prow of one of the fishing boats, a slender blonde figure leaned against a mooring post. It almost dwarfed her.
Davis walked slowly out to the end of the pier.
"Hi," said Laura, not looking at him.
"Hello," said Davis, not looking anywhere but her.
"Um..."
Davis sighed. "I'm not good at complex, so let's make it simple. Yes, I know you think you want to go home. Yes, Rob told me. Yes, I'm pissed off that you told him first."
"Rob and you aren't a very simple thing," she said, with a hint of a smile in her voice.
"This isn't about Rob and me, it's about me and you."
"Did you hit him?"
Davis didn't say anything for a second or two. "Well, yes."
"I guess it's a little bit about him and you, and a little bit about you and me. Still sounds pretty complicated."
"But -- look, you're just making it complicated. The point is, you can't go back."
Laura said the last three words along with him, then turned to face him, finally. The man in the lighthouse might have been her uncle, or her cousin, or some other not too close relative.
"Actually, Davis, I can go back." She was icy now. "Just like I could go to the games with Rob if I wanted, for whatever reason I wanted. Same thing, jock."
"Yeah," said Davis -- matching her chill with anger -- "And I could decide not to date you anymore if you were doing it for the wrong reasons. Same thing!"
She nodded, eyes betraying the anger beneath the ice. "Do you think I was expecting to date you and go back home at the same time? It doesn't matter if you decide not to date me, Davis. Not any more."
Laura hadn't needed to hit him to take his breath away. That remark did the trick nicely.
"But," he said. "But -- you and I --"
"I know," said Laura. "And I... feel like that about you, too." She sighed, and anger slipped from her like snow off a warming roof. "But does it make a difference?"
"Sure," said Davis, resolve firming. "It does. You think the Waites aren't going to be better off after the deal with the farmhouse? You think old Willie Cabot isn't grateful even if he can't admit what happened in public?"
"Oh, Davis. Of course. But that's other people; what about us? Does it make it any better for us?"
"Gives us something to talk about," said Davis, stubborn now.
"That's not enough," said Laura. Her voice was tender. "You know it, and I know it. You've got a football career, and that's sure going to take you away from the sea. And me... I've got family obligations."
Davis turned half-away, and kicked at the wharf. "So, I forget the football. I can do other stuff. I can stay in Innsmouth, and your family can get along without you."
"And then they do -- the things they do. I bet they've threatened your family already," said Laura.
"What if they have? We'd get by. We'd figure it out." Davis' jaw tightened. "We will figure it out, because I'm not going to let you go."
"Not going to let me go?" she repeated. "Let me?"
"Yeah. Let you. We've been through too much together to end it now."
"Is that so," Laura said. The snow was back. "Is that so?"
Davis was almost growling now. "It is. Your relatives push me around, you push me around -- I don't think so. Not about this."
Laura said, chill, "What do you want, then?" Her tone should have been a warning, but Davis hadn't been thinking much that night.
"I want you," said Davis. "Just you, nothing complicated, just a simple girlfriend named Laura."
"Fine," she said, like a whip cracking. "You want me, and if that'll satisfy you and make you a content little jock that's what you'll get." She began to unbutton her shirt.
Davis' jaw dropped. "Laura, what the hell -- it's cold -- you --"
"Not for me," she said. "You're forgetting."
"OK, OK, but --"
"You've been pretty polite about it, Davis, but I know there's part of you that's been wanting this. You just said it even if you didn't realize it. You want me." She pulled her shirt off her arms, and half-turned. Quieter: "And I want you."
Davis said, gritted, "Not like this. Not as a bribe."
"It's not a bribe," she said, unbuttoning her jeans. "But I'm leaving, and that means some of the reasons we've never done this don't apply anymore."
"You're not leaving!" Davis' voice was agonized, and he was looking anywhere but at Laura's slender form.
"I am," she said quietly. "Whether you like it or not. So you can have this to remember me by, or not. Your choice. About this one thing."
Davis kept looking away. "This isn't how I want it."
"Sometimes dreams don't come true."
He looked at her, finally. Her pale skin glowed in the moonlight. "I can't believe that, Laura. I'm not built that way."
She shrugged, pretending she didn't care with her body while her eyes spoke the truth.
Slowly, he stepped away, increasing the distance between them and coming closer to the shore.
Laura watched, utterly silent, utterly still.
After minutes that dwarfed hours, Davis' left foot touched the cobblestones of Water Street. Laura lifted her hand at the end of the dock, in a half-wave, then turned away from him.
He watched as she dove into the ocean. Her clothing sat in a forlorn pile, abandoned.
Five minutes later, he walked back onto the dock to pick up the pile of clothing. As he bent over, the church bells rang one o'clock, and the moon shone down upon him. The man in the moon was smiling, without a care in the world.
This is a fanfic for the classic TV drama A Wave, A Look. It's poorly represented on the fanfic scene but well represented in my heart. I think my story stands up pretty well even if you aren't familiar with the show.
There's a pretty clear continuity gap between "Wave Watching" and "The Time of Trials and Torments." While it's impressive how well McKinney and his crew revamped the last few episodes under the circumstances, I still just couldn't resist inserting a little story of my own. Hopefully it serves as an addition to the picture we fans know so well.
On with the story!
----------
Davis ran down the hill without thinking, barely breathing, not even looking where his feet were landing. He'd run from the church to the docks often enough, although never at midnight. His muscles knew the way, and his mind was utterly occupied with other matters.
Five minutes ago, in the attic of the Hall, Rob had told him that Laura was planning a return to her family. Four minutes ago, Davis hit Rob, hard. Not like football, and not much like hitting any of the creeps who'd needed hitting that year. This was hitting a friend, and Davis was sorry the second Rob crumpled to his knees.
"Lousy trick, Davis," said Rob. It took a while for him to say it, and Davis couldn't quite tell if Rob was being sardonic or deadly serious.
"Look," said Davis. "Look. I mean -- you're not messing with me again? Cause..."
Rob waited a moment for Davis to finish, then shook his head. "That'd be a lousy trick too." Mark Rob down for serious.
Davis took a hard breath. "OK. Look, I'm sorry, then. But she can't leave. She just..."
"You're having trouble finishing your sentences, huh? I know, Davis. Don't think I don't care just because I've given up." Rob watched Davis, his eyes as grey as the ocean.
"I don't! I --"
Rob held up a hand, weary. "You just can't think straight because you're worried you're going to lose the girl you -- care about. I know, Davis. I said that already."
Davis reminded himself to breathe again, and watched Rob wordlessly.
"Go," Rob said. "Deal with it. Like you even need my permission, you stupid jock."
When Rob stood up, that broke the spell that held Davis still. Davis turned and ran, down the stairs from the attic, skipping the missing steps with unerring familiarity.
Now he was pounding down the hill in great jumps, leaping over the benches and crossing Federal Street without looking for traffic. The night was cold, and his varsity jacket wasn't much protection, but the warmth of exertion kept the chill from his body. He ran between the Congregational and Baptist Churches; the Manuxet River glinted in the moonlight. Church Street was empty except for the sound of his pounding footsteps.
Four blocks later, the Atlantic Ocean stretched out before him. He spent a moment standing at the intersection of Church and Water Street, catching his breath, rehearsing what he might say under his breath. Far away, waves lapped sluggishly against the far harbor jetty.
Davis turned right, and ran down to the breakwater, and didn't stop there. Heedless of the slippery rocks, he made his way out on the breakwater, towards the lighthouse. His breath was sharp in his own ears. Somewhere inside, he told himself that he was just out of breath. Davis wasn't the crying type.
He arrived at the lighthouse and fumbled for the key under the rock. It wasn't there. He stared at the vacant place, confused. He wasted a while looking under other rocks, as if he hadn't been using that same rock for over a year.
Then he tried the door, which swung open on oiled hinges. A smile hit his face like sunrise.
"Laura!"
He hurried in, looking up. "Laura," he called again. "Come out! I'm here!"
Someone in the shadows cleared his throat. "I'm not your girl," he said. "Neither is she."
Davis jerked back, and reached for the flashlight by the front door.
"No light," rasped the stranger. "Y'ain't gonna need it, cos we ain't gonna be here long enough."
"Who the hell are you?" asked Davis, fists balling unconsciously.
"Y'know what I am," he said laconicly. "And y'know that you don't need to know who I am. You also know what you need to hear."
"What's that, then?" said Davis. There wasn't much of a question in his tone.
The shadowed man shifted, moonlight playing across his features. "That Laura ain't ever gonna be your wife, and she's a damned poor choice for a sweetheart. You got no future with her, boy. You got plenty of future on the football field, I hear. Settle for that."
Davis exhaled, actually thinking for the first time since he'd heard the news about Laura. He unclenched his fists, and stuck one hand into the pocket of his jacket.
"And if I don't," he said, "You'll -- do something about it."
A shrug from the shadows. "You're a nice boy, and people speak well of you. I wouldn't want to." He paused again, in the darkness. "People speak well of your mother, too. Just sayin'."
Davis hissed, "Don't you threaten her. Don't bring her into this."
"Now, boy, it's not my choosing. You know you can keep her out of it by keepin' yourself out of --"
Davis pulled his hand out of his pocket, thumb spinning the wheel of the lighter as the shadowed figure's voice grew more menacing. Light flared before he could finish his sentence. The man in the shadows recoiled.
Davis advanced, letting the lighter illuminate the other man's large eyes and oddly formed jaw. "Fat chance," he said angrily. "Fat chance of any of it, you..."
Words failed him, but his fist didn't; he thrust the lighter at the stranger's face, and when the stranger recoiled he hit him on the protruding jaw. The man went down harder than Rob, and didn't have any comments, either.
Davis poked the man with his foot. Then he kicked the man, hard. It wasn't all that satisfying, but it was better than nothing.
"Well," he said to the unconscious figure, "You can't stay here. This is where Laura and I spend our time." He crouched and dragged the man out of the lighthouse by his collar. A few minutes spent rummaging through the man's damp pockets yielded the lighthouse key.
"Gonna have to find a new place for it, and tell Laura," said Davis under his breath.
He left the unconscious man behind in a slumped heap at the end of the breakwater. More carefully, this time, he picked his way back to Water Street and turned south towards the wharves. At least, now, his breath was back to normal. Something to be said for the physical option, he thought.
A few minutes later, loping along at an easy pace, he came to the first wharf. At the end of it, visible past the prow of one of the fishing boats, a slender blonde figure leaned against a mooring post. It almost dwarfed her.
Davis walked slowly out to the end of the pier.
"Hi," said Laura, not looking at him.
"Hello," said Davis, not looking anywhere but her.
"Um..."
Davis sighed. "I'm not good at complex, so let's make it simple. Yes, I know you think you want to go home. Yes, Rob told me. Yes, I'm pissed off that you told him first."
"Rob and you aren't a very simple thing," she said, with a hint of a smile in her voice.
"This isn't about Rob and me, it's about me and you."
"Did you hit him?"
Davis didn't say anything for a second or two. "Well, yes."
"I guess it's a little bit about him and you, and a little bit about you and me. Still sounds pretty complicated."
"But -- look, you're just making it complicated. The point is, you can't go back."
Laura said the last three words along with him, then turned to face him, finally. The man in the lighthouse might have been her uncle, or her cousin, or some other not too close relative.
"Actually, Davis, I can go back." She was icy now. "Just like I could go to the games with Rob if I wanted, for whatever reason I wanted. Same thing, jock."
"Yeah," said Davis -- matching her chill with anger -- "And I could decide not to date you anymore if you were doing it for the wrong reasons. Same thing!"
She nodded, eyes betraying the anger beneath the ice. "Do you think I was expecting to date you and go back home at the same time? It doesn't matter if you decide not to date me, Davis. Not any more."
Laura hadn't needed to hit him to take his breath away. That remark did the trick nicely.
"But," he said. "But -- you and I --"
"I know," said Laura. "And I... feel like that about you, too." She sighed, and anger slipped from her like snow off a warming roof. "But does it make a difference?"
"Sure," said Davis, resolve firming. "It does. You think the Waites aren't going to be better off after the deal with the farmhouse? You think old Willie Cabot isn't grateful even if he can't admit what happened in public?"
"Oh, Davis. Of course. But that's other people; what about us? Does it make it any better for us?"
"Gives us something to talk about," said Davis, stubborn now.
"That's not enough," said Laura. Her voice was tender. "You know it, and I know it. You've got a football career, and that's sure going to take you away from the sea. And me... I've got family obligations."
Davis turned half-away, and kicked at the wharf. "So, I forget the football. I can do other stuff. I can stay in Innsmouth, and your family can get along without you."
"And then they do -- the things they do. I bet they've threatened your family already," said Laura.
"What if they have? We'd get by. We'd figure it out." Davis' jaw tightened. "We will figure it out, because I'm not going to let you go."
"Not going to let me go?" she repeated. "Let me?"
"Yeah. Let you. We've been through too much together to end it now."
"Is that so," Laura said. The snow was back. "Is that so?"
Davis was almost growling now. "It is. Your relatives push me around, you push me around -- I don't think so. Not about this."
Laura said, chill, "What do you want, then?" Her tone should have been a warning, but Davis hadn't been thinking much that night.
"I want you," said Davis. "Just you, nothing complicated, just a simple girlfriend named Laura."
"Fine," she said, like a whip cracking. "You want me, and if that'll satisfy you and make you a content little jock that's what you'll get." She began to unbutton her shirt.
Davis' jaw dropped. "Laura, what the hell -- it's cold -- you --"
"Not for me," she said. "You're forgetting."
"OK, OK, but --"
"You've been pretty polite about it, Davis, but I know there's part of you that's been wanting this. You just said it even if you didn't realize it. You want me." She pulled her shirt off her arms, and half-turned. Quieter: "And I want you."
Davis said, gritted, "Not like this. Not as a bribe."
"It's not a bribe," she said, unbuttoning her jeans. "But I'm leaving, and that means some of the reasons we've never done this don't apply anymore."
"You're not leaving!" Davis' voice was agonized, and he was looking anywhere but at Laura's slender form.
"I am," she said quietly. "Whether you like it or not. So you can have this to remember me by, or not. Your choice. About this one thing."
Davis kept looking away. "This isn't how I want it."
"Sometimes dreams don't come true."
He looked at her, finally. Her pale skin glowed in the moonlight. "I can't believe that, Laura. I'm not built that way."
She shrugged, pretending she didn't care with her body while her eyes spoke the truth.
Slowly, he stepped away, increasing the distance between them and coming closer to the shore.
Laura watched, utterly silent, utterly still.
After minutes that dwarfed hours, Davis' left foot touched the cobblestones of Water Street. Laura lifted her hand at the end of the dock, in a half-wave, then turned away from him.
He watched as she dove into the ocean. Her clothing sat in a forlorn pile, abandoned.
Five minutes later, he walked back onto the dock to pick up the pile of clothing. As he bent over, the church bells rang one o'clock, and the moon shone down upon him. The man in the moon was smiling, without a care in the world.
