Five Thanksgivings [NCIS:LA Fic]
Nov. 23rd, 2012 08:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
miss_lucy21Just something that mostly popped into my head yesterday while hanging around. No S4 spoilers, because, um, I haven't seen hardly any of S4 yet...
The first Thanksgiving that they were partners, Sam had only known G for about 9 months. So, all he really knew about G’s personal life at that point was that G wasn’t married. He was also pretty sure G wasn’t in a relationship at all or interested in one, given that his reaction to being flirted with could be termed “violently allergic” (later, when he found out about Tracy, this all made sense. But at the time, it just seemed like overkill). But at that point, he didn’t know G’s history and so therefore, assumed that G had some family, even if he didn’t talk about them. He didn’t talk about his own family much at work, either. So, when he asked G what he was doing for Thanksgiving, and G said vaguely that he had plans, Sam didn’t question it.
By the second Thanksgiving, Sam had learned a little more about G. Such as, he didn’t go by “G” because he hated his first name; it was because that’s all of his first name that he knew. And G didn’t have any family at all and never did, so far as he could remember. So, Sam did the obvious thing and invited him over for Thanksgiving. G thanked him, and gave him the same vague line about having plans already. The thing was, this time, Sam could read G better and knew he was lying. But he’d also learned that pushing his partner led to freeze outs, and G in a snit could be a mighty uncomfortable person to deal with, so he let it go.
The third Thanksgiving, Sam was just thankful he still had a partner, and that they had taken care of the people who’d wanted to kill G (well, who wanted him dead in this case. Sam knew there were probably still people out there who wanted G dead, but those people didn’t give G nightmares and make him nervous about sleeping anywhere two nights in a row). It had been a crazy week, with Abby Sciuto being kidnapped by a sociopathic serial killer and having to rescue her, and by the time the dust settled, it was late on Wednesday night when Sam told G he ought to come over on Thanksgiving. G had hesitated and then made some comment about Sam’s wife having seen enough of him. Sam had rolled his eyes and told G to be there by 12, because they ate at 1. G had shown up at 11:45 am, wearing a shirt that Sam knew for a fact that he’d filched from wardrobe, and bearing a decent bottle of wine. He’d also been in full nervous charm mode, which made Sam flinch inwardly, even though no one else realized there was anything wrong, and Karen’s mom had pronounced him the cutest thing.
The fourth Thanksgiving, G had just looked at Sam and said, “I know you don’t want me to be alone for Thanksgiving, but if it’s all the same to you, I really just want to sleep.” Given that G had been awake for more hours than Sam liked to think about, since they’d spent the last several days chasing after Hetty’s psuedo-husband’s book of secrets, Sam really couldn’t argue with that request. Also, any time G said he wanted to sleep wasn’t going to get any pushback from Sam (who suspected G may possibly be taking advantage of that fact, but again, not going to argue). He’d nodded and told G that if he woke up hungry, there’d be hot turkey sandwiches with all the fixings in the evening. G had looked relieved and said he’d think about it. Sam was unsurprised, though, when G didn’t show.
The fifth Thanksgiving, they were still pretending that G wasn’t watching Sam’s every move out of the corner of his eye to ensure that his partner was still alive and well. And Sam was still pretending that the op in the Sudan had been no big deal. So, Sam expected that this year, of all years, G would probably show up for Thanksgiving. He was slightly surprised, then, when G said that Hetty wanted him to come to her place for Thanksgiving because she wanted to talk about something. G seemed a little unsettled by the idea, but Sam read it as the trust rebuilding move that it probably was. He told G to enjoy himself and if he wanted to come by for dessert in the evening, he was more than welcome. Or, if not, then he could come for Christmas (G was better at Christmas. He’d shown up three out of four times, although once was only because he’d been “between residences” and Sam put his foot down about his partner sleeping in the old Ops building on Christmas Eve). G had given his usual non-committal answer and they’d dropped the subject.
Therefore, Sam was pleasantly surprised when G turned up on the doorstep around 8 PM. Most of the guests had departed by then, and the ones that were left were settled in for the late football game or napping off Round 2 of food. So, it was a little more G’s speed anyway, than Karen’s whole family and whatever members of Sam’s that decided LA sounded better than New York crowded into the house. Sam grinned at him, and ushered him into the kitchen where the pie was. They cut themselves generous slices (sweet potato for Sam and pumpkin-pecan for G) and since G was looking a little tight around the eyes, Sam nudged them out the back door to sit on the patio steps.
They didn’t talk as they ate the pie, other than G commenting that it was really good pie and Sam saying that Karen’s sister had made that one. But G’s shoulders leveled out and he looked a little better by the time they set the plates aside, so Sam considered it mission accomplished.
“It was...nice,” G volunteered, after a while.
Sam hadn’t been going to ask, but he did desperately want to know what Thanksgiving with Hetty had been like. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, Hetty, you know?” G said with a shrug. “So the food was good.”
“Food’s supposed to be good for Thanksgiving,” Sam agreed.
“So you’ve said,” G said. “She made me take the leftovers home.”
Sam rolled his eyes. Of course she had. Sam made him take leftovers home, too, whenever G came over for dinner. But G didn’t seem to understand that was something fairly universal, so he didn’t point that out. “Turkey?”
“Yeah, and dressing, she called it. It looks like stuffing to me, but it’s got like, dried fruit and sausage in it,” G replied.
“Some people call it dressing if it’s not stuffed inside the turkey,” Sam explained. “You’re not supposed to put the stuffing in the turkey anymore, anyway.”
“How come?” G said, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket.
“To prevent food poisoning,” Sam replied.
“Oh.” G said. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He tilted his head and got that “thinking” look. “Although, if you don’t like the people you’re eating with...”
“G. You are not supposed to poison guests,” Sam said, mock-firmly. “Bad manners.”
G laughed at that. “Yeah, I guess it would be.” He leaned back on his elbows and stared up at the sky. “She told me a little more about my mom.”
“Yeah?” Sam asked.
“Mm-hm,” G said. “She doesn’t know much of anything that happened in Romania other than what she’s already told me, but she remembered my mom a little from when they first met.”
“That’s good,” Sam said. He’d suspected that Hetty had wanted some unpressured time with G to tell him something like that.
“Yeah,” G agreed. “She sounds like she was a good person.”
“Good,” Sam said. G just nodded and they fell quiet.
After a little while, Sam asked, “You want to go watch the game?”
G sat up and shook his head. “I just wanted some pie.”
Sam smiled a little. He knew G had really wanted someone to tell, but the pie was a good excuse. “Okay.” He stood up and offered G a hand up. They took the plates back into the kitchen and Sam walked G out to the front door.
“See you Monday?” G asked.
“Yeah,” Sam said. “I’ll pick you up.”
“Okay,” G agreed. “Thanks.”
“Any time,” Sam said, meaning both that he’d pick G up whenever and that G was welcome to come talk whenever. G knew that, though.
G gave him a bit of a crooked smile and headed out into the night. Sam closed the door gently and went back into the brightness of the living room to watch the football game. But he had to admit, he felt better knowing G was okay tonight.
The first Thanksgiving that they were partners, Sam had only known G for about 9 months. So, all he really knew about G’s personal life at that point was that G wasn’t married. He was also pretty sure G wasn’t in a relationship at all or interested in one, given that his reaction to being flirted with could be termed “violently allergic” (later, when he found out about Tracy, this all made sense. But at the time, it just seemed like overkill). But at that point, he didn’t know G’s history and so therefore, assumed that G had some family, even if he didn’t talk about them. He didn’t talk about his own family much at work, either. So, when he asked G what he was doing for Thanksgiving, and G said vaguely that he had plans, Sam didn’t question it.
By the second Thanksgiving, Sam had learned a little more about G. Such as, he didn’t go by “G” because he hated his first name; it was because that’s all of his first name that he knew. And G didn’t have any family at all and never did, so far as he could remember. So, Sam did the obvious thing and invited him over for Thanksgiving. G thanked him, and gave him the same vague line about having plans already. The thing was, this time, Sam could read G better and knew he was lying. But he’d also learned that pushing his partner led to freeze outs, and G in a snit could be a mighty uncomfortable person to deal with, so he let it go.
The third Thanksgiving, Sam was just thankful he still had a partner, and that they had taken care of the people who’d wanted to kill G (well, who wanted him dead in this case. Sam knew there were probably still people out there who wanted G dead, but those people didn’t give G nightmares and make him nervous about sleeping anywhere two nights in a row). It had been a crazy week, with Abby Sciuto being kidnapped by a sociopathic serial killer and having to rescue her, and by the time the dust settled, it was late on Wednesday night when Sam told G he ought to come over on Thanksgiving. G had hesitated and then made some comment about Sam’s wife having seen enough of him. Sam had rolled his eyes and told G to be there by 12, because they ate at 1. G had shown up at 11:45 am, wearing a shirt that Sam knew for a fact that he’d filched from wardrobe, and bearing a decent bottle of wine. He’d also been in full nervous charm mode, which made Sam flinch inwardly, even though no one else realized there was anything wrong, and Karen’s mom had pronounced him the cutest thing.
The fourth Thanksgiving, G had just looked at Sam and said, “I know you don’t want me to be alone for Thanksgiving, but if it’s all the same to you, I really just want to sleep.” Given that G had been awake for more hours than Sam liked to think about, since they’d spent the last several days chasing after Hetty’s psuedo-husband’s book of secrets, Sam really couldn’t argue with that request. Also, any time G said he wanted to sleep wasn’t going to get any pushback from Sam (who suspected G may possibly be taking advantage of that fact, but again, not going to argue). He’d nodded and told G that if he woke up hungry, there’d be hot turkey sandwiches with all the fixings in the evening. G had looked relieved and said he’d think about it. Sam was unsurprised, though, when G didn’t show.
The fifth Thanksgiving, they were still pretending that G wasn’t watching Sam’s every move out of the corner of his eye to ensure that his partner was still alive and well. And Sam was still pretending that the op in the Sudan had been no big deal. So, Sam expected that this year, of all years, G would probably show up for Thanksgiving. He was slightly surprised, then, when G said that Hetty wanted him to come to her place for Thanksgiving because she wanted to talk about something. G seemed a little unsettled by the idea, but Sam read it as the trust rebuilding move that it probably was. He told G to enjoy himself and if he wanted to come by for dessert in the evening, he was more than welcome. Or, if not, then he could come for Christmas (G was better at Christmas. He’d shown up three out of four times, although once was only because he’d been “between residences” and Sam put his foot down about his partner sleeping in the old Ops building on Christmas Eve). G had given his usual non-committal answer and they’d dropped the subject.
Therefore, Sam was pleasantly surprised when G turned up on the doorstep around 8 PM. Most of the guests had departed by then, and the ones that were left were settled in for the late football game or napping off Round 2 of food. So, it was a little more G’s speed anyway, than Karen’s whole family and whatever members of Sam’s that decided LA sounded better than New York crowded into the house. Sam grinned at him, and ushered him into the kitchen where the pie was. They cut themselves generous slices (sweet potato for Sam and pumpkin-pecan for G) and since G was looking a little tight around the eyes, Sam nudged them out the back door to sit on the patio steps.
They didn’t talk as they ate the pie, other than G commenting that it was really good pie and Sam saying that Karen’s sister had made that one. But G’s shoulders leveled out and he looked a little better by the time they set the plates aside, so Sam considered it mission accomplished.
“It was...nice,” G volunteered, after a while.
Sam hadn’t been going to ask, but he did desperately want to know what Thanksgiving with Hetty had been like. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, Hetty, you know?” G said with a shrug. “So the food was good.”
“Food’s supposed to be good for Thanksgiving,” Sam agreed.
“So you’ve said,” G said. “She made me take the leftovers home.”
Sam rolled his eyes. Of course she had. Sam made him take leftovers home, too, whenever G came over for dinner. But G didn’t seem to understand that was something fairly universal, so he didn’t point that out. “Turkey?”
“Yeah, and dressing, she called it. It looks like stuffing to me, but it’s got like, dried fruit and sausage in it,” G replied.
“Some people call it dressing if it’s not stuffed inside the turkey,” Sam explained. “You’re not supposed to put the stuffing in the turkey anymore, anyway.”
“How come?” G said, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket.
“To prevent food poisoning,” Sam replied.
“Oh.” G said. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He tilted his head and got that “thinking” look. “Although, if you don’t like the people you’re eating with...”
“G. You are not supposed to poison guests,” Sam said, mock-firmly. “Bad manners.”
G laughed at that. “Yeah, I guess it would be.” He leaned back on his elbows and stared up at the sky. “She told me a little more about my mom.”
“Yeah?” Sam asked.
“Mm-hm,” G said. “She doesn’t know much of anything that happened in Romania other than what she’s already told me, but she remembered my mom a little from when they first met.”
“That’s good,” Sam said. He’d suspected that Hetty had wanted some unpressured time with G to tell him something like that.
“Yeah,” G agreed. “She sounds like she was a good person.”
“Good,” Sam said. G just nodded and they fell quiet.
After a little while, Sam asked, “You want to go watch the game?”
G sat up and shook his head. “I just wanted some pie.”
Sam smiled a little. He knew G had really wanted someone to tell, but the pie was a good excuse. “Okay.” He stood up and offered G a hand up. They took the plates back into the kitchen and Sam walked G out to the front door.
“See you Monday?” G asked.
“Yeah,” Sam said. “I’ll pick you up.”
“Okay,” G agreed. “Thanks.”
“Any time,” Sam said, meaning both that he’d pick G up whenever and that G was welcome to come talk whenever. G knew that, though.
G gave him a bit of a crooked smile and headed out into the night. Sam closed the door gently and went back into the brightness of the living room to watch the football game. But he had to admit, he felt better knowing G was okay tonight.
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Date: 2012-11-23 01:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-23 02:02 pm (UTC)