storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2009-04-08 01:31 pm
storypaint) wrote2009-04-08 01:31 pm
Rehab; or Rube's One-Step Program (Rube/Mason)
Title: Rehab; or Rube's One-Step Program
Length: 572 words
Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic: Dead Like Me, Mason/Rube, rehab
Pairing: Rube/Mason
Other: some cursing
Excerpt: Rube called it rehab, when he made Mason move in with him. He dragged the other man out of bed early every morning, made him come home before one a.m. every night, and generally made his life (well, afterlife) hell.
Rube called it rehab, when he made Mason move in with him. He dragged the other man out of bed early every morning, made him come home before one a.m. every night, and generally made his life (well, afterlife) hell.
"Why are you doing this?" Mason asked the first time that Rube got really angry at him, the night he stayed out until dawn and stumbled in, intoxicated beyond reason. He spent a few moments retching noisily into Rube's toilet. Rube leaned back against the bathroom down and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingertips.
"Someone needs to," he said when the puking stopped.
"You never cared before," Mason grumbled, and then moaned sickly. Rube opened the door and threw in a damp washcloth before stamping off to the front door to get the assignments for the day.
*
After the third time that Mason stumbled in, reeking of drink, it was worse. Mason and Rube barely spoke at the Waffle Haus in the mornings, and they constantly fought at home.
They had a loud, lengthy argument involving everything from what time Mason had come in the previous night (late), whose turn it actually was to do the dishes (each claimed the other), and how exactly a red sock had gotten into the laundry (it was actually Rube's fault, but he wasn't going to admit it). It nearly got them kicked out, and the others slinked out as early as they could.
"You fight like a fucking married couple," George grumbled under her breath.
"Come home for dinner tonight," Rube said gruffly to Mason.
*
Shockingly, he did. They ate a good meal.
*
It took about six months before they could hold a civil conversation, and to Rube's honest surprise, Mason was pretty smart. When he wasn't hopped up on something or another, he could string two words together, and he had a lot of interest in science and music. He was also useful to have around when Rube was doing the crossword puzzle-- somehow his brain worked well for that.
It was another six months before Mason would do the dishes. If asked several times, anyway.
*
It had been a difficult day, but it seemed like lately all they'd had was trouble. George seemed to attract it. They'd been out late and ended up with Chinese food on the couch in the semi-dark, squabbling like they always were, but with no venom in it. It was just the way they communicated.
After a while, even the squabbling stopped. Mason stretched out on the couch, having no sense of personal space as always and putting his feet up in Rube's lap. Rube leaned back against the couch and sighed, shutting his eyes.
"Rube?"
"Hmm?"
"Why are you doing this?"
"I believe it is because I am dead," Rube said reflectively after a moment, "and that doesn't come with a pension plan, so I am forced to sort out the problems of idiots on a regular basis."
"No, I mean...," Mason said, frowning, "why did you make me come live with you? Really?"
Rube dumped Mason's feet off of his lap and went to bed without another word.
*
Rube woke up with the slight British man in bed next to him, curled up on the edge in a tangle of his own blankets. His hair was more than usually mussed and he snored like a rusty train.
He smiled, turned over, and went back to sleep.
Length: 572 words
Prompt:
comment_fic: Dead Like Me, Mason/Rube, rehabPairing: Rube/Mason
Other: some cursing
Excerpt: Rube called it rehab, when he made Mason move in with him. He dragged the other man out of bed early every morning, made him come home before one a.m. every night, and generally made his life (well, afterlife) hell.
Rube called it rehab, when he made Mason move in with him. He dragged the other man out of bed early every morning, made him come home before one a.m. every night, and generally made his life (well, afterlife) hell.
"Why are you doing this?" Mason asked the first time that Rube got really angry at him, the night he stayed out until dawn and stumbled in, intoxicated beyond reason. He spent a few moments retching noisily into Rube's toilet. Rube leaned back against the bathroom down and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingertips.
"Someone needs to," he said when the puking stopped.
"You never cared before," Mason grumbled, and then moaned sickly. Rube opened the door and threw in a damp washcloth before stamping off to the front door to get the assignments for the day.
*
After the third time that Mason stumbled in, reeking of drink, it was worse. Mason and Rube barely spoke at the Waffle Haus in the mornings, and they constantly fought at home.
They had a loud, lengthy argument involving everything from what time Mason had come in the previous night (late), whose turn it actually was to do the dishes (each claimed the other), and how exactly a red sock had gotten into the laundry (it was actually Rube's fault, but he wasn't going to admit it). It nearly got them kicked out, and the others slinked out as early as they could.
"You fight like a fucking married couple," George grumbled under her breath.
"Come home for dinner tonight," Rube said gruffly to Mason.
*
Shockingly, he did. They ate a good meal.
*
It took about six months before they could hold a civil conversation, and to Rube's honest surprise, Mason was pretty smart. When he wasn't hopped up on something or another, he could string two words together, and he had a lot of interest in science and music. He was also useful to have around when Rube was doing the crossword puzzle-- somehow his brain worked well for that.
It was another six months before Mason would do the dishes. If asked several times, anyway.
*
It had been a difficult day, but it seemed like lately all they'd had was trouble. George seemed to attract it. They'd been out late and ended up with Chinese food on the couch in the semi-dark, squabbling like they always were, but with no venom in it. It was just the way they communicated.
After a while, even the squabbling stopped. Mason stretched out on the couch, having no sense of personal space as always and putting his feet up in Rube's lap. Rube leaned back against the couch and sighed, shutting his eyes.
"Rube?"
"Hmm?"
"Why are you doing this?"
"I believe it is because I am dead," Rube said reflectively after a moment, "and that doesn't come with a pension plan, so I am forced to sort out the problems of idiots on a regular basis."
"No, I mean...," Mason said, frowning, "why did you make me come live with you? Really?"
Rube dumped Mason's feet off of his lap and went to bed without another word.
*
Rube woke up with the slight British man in bed next to him, curled up on the edge in a tangle of his own blankets. His hair was more than usually mussed and he snored like a rusty train.
He smiled, turned over, and went back to sleep.