Fandom Bingo

On Thanksgiving, Winter woke to Greg already dressed, stood at the counter with a look of concentration that implied that either he was attempting something ambitious, or that an inanimate object had once again developed opinions.

Occasionally both.

“You’re doing things,” Winter noted sleepily, leaning against doorframe.

With a brief glance over his shoulder, Greg arched an eyebrow. “I’m adapting.”

With a stretch and a yawn, Winter moved closer, peering into the mixing bowl. “Is that-?”

“Yes,” Greg replied, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “I asked your mother.”

Leaning in, Winter dipped his finger, and hummed. “You followed the recipe.”

“I always follow the recipe.”

The younger man smiled fondly, leaning against his lieutenant’s shoulder. Tyne shifted instinctively, moving to accommodate him, his arm settling around Winter’s back with an easy familiarity.

The smell of pumpkin and cinnamon began to fill the apartment before long, and it felt like Home.

The cookies are just as good as his Ma’s, and Winter told him as much around a groan and a mouthful of crumbs.

Greg grinned like he’d been given the key to eternal happiness.

“I guess following the recipe isn’t always a terrible decision,” Winter acknowledged reluctantly, brow furrowed in a teasing scowl.

When a knock sounded at the door, Greg answered it, Winter hovering a few steps back with curious uncertainty.

The neighbor that hovered on the doorstep - sharp eyes seeing everything, a knitted scarf high up her throat to keep out the chill - offered a small tin.

“I had extra,” she informed them by way of explanation, her gaze moving between the two men with an open, but not unkind, curiosity.

Tyne thanked her, and offered some of his cookies in response. Winter simply smiled.

When the door closed, the younger man looked at his lieutenant steadily. “… She knows.”

Greg considered his comment for a moment, before nodding. “I suspect so, yes.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No,” Greg replied slowly. “It feels… Efficient.”

They began to develop their own routines.

Sunday mornings meant walking to the market. Greg carried the bags, most of the time. Winter wandered off and came back with something that wasn’t on the lieutenant’s list. Every time.

Evenings meant reading - Greg on the sofa, Winter on the floor with Tyne’s fingers carding idly through his hair. Winter was always the first to stop, closing his book and snagging Greg’s glasses when it started to get too dark.

“You’ll strain your eyes.”

“I was nearly finished!”

“You were four pages into a new chapter, Gregor.”

Tyne sighed, long-suffering, and let himself be pulled to bed, trying to pretend he didn’t love it.

It was a life. Ordinary. Soft.

Earned.

The first time it happened, it was at the store with Effie.

“This is Gregor,” she explained to a woman from her block, her hand resting casually on Tyne’s arm. “He’s family.”

Greg froze, and Winter’s head snapped up from where he’d been debating arbitrary differences between two loaves of identical bread. “Ma-”

“What?” she replied, shooting him a look.

Tyne swallowed. “Mrs. Barnes…”

“Oh, hush,” she interrupted. “You’ve been eating my food for weeks. You live with my son. That makes you family, whether you like it or not.”

The woman simply smiled warmly. “Nice to meet you.”

Greg nodded in response, dazed. “Uh… Likewise.”

It wasn’t until they were walking home, Winnifred having gotten a few paces ahead, that Greg finally spoke again, his voice quiet. “She didn’t- she just…”

Winter grinned. “Yeah. She does that.”

“She didn’t ask.”

The younger man smiled, squeezing his hand gently. “She didn’t need to, sweetheart.”

Winter smiled when Effie set Greg’s place at the table.

He grinned a little wider when they’d finished eating and Tyne moved to help clear the dishes, his Ma passing his partner a towel like it was just part of their routine.

“Don’t forget,” Effie noted, “we’re having dinner on Sunday.”

“We are?” Greg repeated, blinking.

“Yes,” she answered, without turning. “We are.”

Winter watched the moment Tyne realized it, surprise and disbelief flitting across his features.

The sudden flash that he had not just been welcomed, but claimed.

A part of the family.

The Sunday dinners became a recurrence without anyone really declaring it as one.

It just… Happened.

Winter and Greg began to show up at Winnifred’s apartment around the same time each week - usually carrying something that Tyne insisted on buying even though Effie always told him not to bother.

“You don’t have to bring things,” she pointed out, every week.

And every week, Greg simply nodded. “I know.”

He continued to bring them anyway.

Winter helped without being asked, moving around the small kitchen with the ease of familiarity that made it seem like he never left.

Greg tried to help, too - usually hovering uncertainly until Winnifred handed him a task with the same brisk authority she once used on her son.

“Peel those.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Winter grinned, and Effie pretended not to see.

They ate crowded around the table intended for two, elbows brushing and conversation easy. Effie would tell stories about the neighbors, and Greg would listen with the same intensity he applied to most things in his life, asking polite questions that made her smile.

Winter often simply watched in silence, something warm and incredulous settling deep in his chest.

They were never ones to take many photographs. It felt strange at first - in a life they carved out of impermanence, it felt too deliberate. Too much like trying to fix a spot that might not be there tomorrow.

But one afternoon, stomachs still full and heavy with the lethargy of a good meal, Effie insisted.

“Sit,” she ordered, already adjusting the camera, addressing her boys with a tone that brooked no disagreement. “I want one.”

Winter flopped into the chair with the acceptance of one who knew that protest was futile. Greg hesitated for a moment, then sat beside him, posture careful until Winter’s knee knocked gently against his lieutenant’s.

“Relax,” he murmured softly.

Tyne exhaled once, and tried his best.

The photograph caught them mid-smile - Winter leaning slightly toward his partner, Greg’s hand resting near the younger man’s wrist without quite touching.

It was… Ordinary. The kind of photograph that any couple the world over might have.

Which was exactly the reason that Effie loved it. There was no difference in her eyes between photographing her son with a woman or with the lieutenant - she was simply capturing her Jamie with the person he loved.

She framed it and put it on the shelf without ceremony.

Greg noticed it the next week after, staring at it for a long moment until Winter came and tucked himself into his side.

“We look… Happy,” he observed softly.

Winter smiled, squeezing his hand. “We are.”

Winnifred Barnes rarely announced her intentions.

She didn’t believe in making noise about things that were simply going to be. Instead, she observed, noted, and adjusted accordingly. Prepared.

The first thing that Winter noticed was the cupboard.

“Ma,” he started slowly, brow furrowed, “why do you have more of everything?”

Effie didn’t even look up from where she was trimming the green beans. “Because two people frequent this apartment and live like they’re afraid things will disappear - and one of them has been forgetting to shop ever since he was old enough to walk to the corner alone.”

Tyne’s head snapped up, startled. “I can g-”

She waved a hand dismissively as he began to rise, her gaze barely lifting. “Sit down, Gregor. You’ll only get in the way of my routine.”

Winter grinned, and Tyne sank back to his chair obediently, looking baffled.

The second was the calendar.

Winifred Barnes had always kept a calendar, never wanting to forget the important things, her neat handwriting penciling in appointments and clothing collections, birthdays circled with care.

At some point, she’d begun to add new entries, written with the same quiet, certain hand.

Gregor - doctor, 9:45am.

Gregor - coat mended, 3pm.

Both - Sunday lunch.

Both.

Effie watched from across the room as Winter half-smiled, his hand coming up to trace the word with his fingertip.

“What?” she asked, never missing a beat.

“Nothing,” he replied softly, still smiling to himself. “Just… Noticing.”

She nodded once, returning to the paper without further comment, content to let him notice.

The third sign was the not-so-subtle hint.

Greg and Effie were doing the dishes together - she washed, he dried - when she noted, with the same tone she would use to comment on the weather: “You know, the apartment down the hall is still empty.”

The lieutenant paused mid-dish, freezing like a deer in headlights. “Is it?” he replied slowly, visibly pushing himself back into motion.

“Yes. Mrs. Kline moved out months ago now,” she mused, handing him a plate without looking directly at him. “Too many stairs for her knees these days. I suppose they just haven’t managed to find someone to take over the tenancy yet.”

Winter paused, his eyes shifting to the back of his mother’s head, already sensing what was coming.

“They’ll probably rent it to someone nice,” Effie continued innocently. “Quiet, I imagine. Two men, maybe. Ones who don’t mind carrying groceries.”

Greg swallowed, his eyes still on the plate now in his hands. “That would certainly be… Convenient.”

“Mhm,” Effie agreed. “And close.”

Winter let out a quiet huff of laughter. “Ma.”

She turned, her gaze shifting to him, fixing him with a look that brooked no nonsense. “What?”

“You’re… Planning.”

She shrugged, just once. “I’m preparing. It’s different.”

“For what?”

“For the day you stop pretending this is temporary,” she answered plainly, her eyes flicking between the two men slowly. “For either one of you. For you to live together, properly, rather than in a way that makes it easier to pretend that this isn’t forever.”

Greg folded the towel in his trembling hands once, then again, before placing it down carefully, not quite looking up. “… Mrs. Barnes…”

“Effie,” she corrected immediately. “And you listen to me, Gregor Tyne.”

Greg blinked owlishly, but she met his eyes without flinching.

“I already buried one son,” she noted quietly. “I will not bury another by denying who he is or pretending he hasn’t built a life.”

Winter stiffened minutely. They’d barely talked about Steven - his mother had shown him the clippings she’d collected from the papers, showing his ascent to heights previously unimagined - and then his sudden disappearance. Winter knew there was an exhibit about the man he’d considered his brother, but he hadn’t yet brought himself to visit.

He didn’t know if he could bear it, seeing everyone praising the man who he had become.

Winter had cherished the person he was.

Greg’s throat worked soundlessly for a beat. “I would never deny him, or hurt-”

“I know,” Effie interrupted gently. “That’s why you’re still here.”

She turned back to the sink, picking up the next dish as if nothing had happened. “You don’t have to move tomorrow. Or next month. Or ever, not if you don’t want to.” She shrugged a shoulder. “But when you’re ready, if you’re ready… There’ll be a place for you.”

Winter stepped forward at that, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pressing his cheek to her shoulder, eyes closing as his chest ached.

“Thank you,” he breathed, and she patted his arm with a soapy hand.

“You’re welcome,” she replied easily, the smile evident in her voice. “He’s already family, Winter. The world and its paperwork can catch up later.”

Winter smiled, squeezing her a little tighter. Beside him, he heard Greg swallow hard.

Later, as they lay in bed, Winter’s head resting gently on the lieutenant’s chest, Greg spoke into the dark.

“I’ve never had this,” he murmured quietly.

Winter tipped his chin up, tracing the older man’s features with his gaze in the dim light. “Had what?”

“A place where I’m not… Provisional.”

The words came softly, laced with pain and grief and decades of being someone who moved along when their job was done. Winter pressed a kiss to his shoulder, gentle and certain. “You’re not going anywhere, pretty boy.”

Greg let out a soft, contented sigh, arms settling more comfortably around his partner.

“No,” he replied, the smile audible in his voice. “No, I don’t think I am.”

When they rose, Greg made the coffee a little stronger than usual without mentioning why.

He never asked questions. Never pushed Winter to speak before he was ready. Sometimes he never did. Sometimes he would tell Greg about his nightmares in the light of day when the pain felt a little less sharp. Sometimes they’d burnt away so completely with the dawn that he almost forgot it had happened.

Sometimes, life was simply too good to want to return to the darkness.

And it would prove to be one of those days.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

Greg looked at him uncertainly, something akin to disorientation in his gaze. “What thing?”

“Lookin’ like you’re waitin’ for orders,” Winter chuckled, squeezing his fingers gently.

Greg shifted his posture consciously, frowning a little. “… Better?”

The younger man shook his head fondly, laughing. “Marginally.”

It was no secret that Greg found the civilian life and its lack of structure overwhelming. He’d made it clear time and again; he missed knowing what to do and where to be, what he should be doing with his hands at any given moment. After a life at sea, Brooklyn felt loud, and loose, and too full of people that did not care about the sense of responsibility he still carried, even without anyone under his command.

With a small, thoughtful hum, Winter stopped at a street vendor, ordering without hesitation. When Tyne tried to ask what he was getting, Winter simply waved away the questions, practically bouncing on the spot with impatience before he was handed two wooden sticks.

“Here!” He handed one off to Greg with a broad grin, watching expectantly.

“What… Is it?” Tyne asked, one eyebrow arched.

“It’s food,” Winter deadpanned with a sigh.

“I got that far,” Greg replied in the same tone, sighing back just as heavily.

“Just eat it,” came the response, accompanied by a snort. “Trust me.”

Almost reluctantly, the lieutenant took a slow bite, and his eyebrows lifted despite himself. “Oh.”

“Mhm,” Winter replied with a smug grin.

“That’s… Actually… Excellent.”

“See?” the younger man replied, nudging him lightly as he took a bite of his own corndog. “Civilian life, my love. Full of surprises. Like meat inside sweet bread.”

They walked slowly when they moved around the city. It was through necessity - Tyne couldn’t move with the same speed he used to - but also a sense that life was slower now. They had time to look around and observe where they were.

But when Greg slowed further of his own volition, peering in the window of a bookstore, Winter grinned.

This is new.

“You wanna go in?” he asked, head tipped as he considered his partner with an adoring ache in his chest.

Tyne hesitated, eyes flicking to the younger man. “… But I don’t need anything.”

With a snort, Winter took his hand, and tugged gently. “That’s not what I asked.”

Greg bought a book he didn’t technically need, and looked faintly embarrassed about it for the rest of the walk home.

Winter found it all extremely endearing.

The younger man cooked that night, with his partner sat on the counter, a companionable silence between the two, each focused on his own task.

Winter with not burning the pasta.

Greg with the exploits of a small, hairy man and a seemingly very crucial piece of jewelery.

“So this guy - this homely little guy, with his beautiful hole - an amazing description by the way - is just… Off in the world? With some dwarves that showed up and ate his food? And some troll mom out there was just naming her kid Tom? In a world where the protagonist is called Bilbo, and the other characters have names like Dwalin and Gloin and Gandalf… But not the trolls. The trolls have names like Burt.” He snorted to himself and flashed the cover at his partner. “Have you read this? It’s not bad.”

Winter’s lips twitched. “I did, yeah. A while ago, though.”

Without asking, without warning, Greg’s voice, low and melodic in its way, began to fill the small kitchen.

“They did not sing or tell stories that day, even though the weather improved; nor the next day, nor the day after. They had begun to feel that danger was not far away on either side…”

It became a new routine.

A few times a week, Winter would take over the cooking. Greg would sit on the counter and keep him company, reading aloud.

He read The Wonderful Wizard of Oz when he was finished with the Hobbit - and so they continued.

A small piece of their forever, page by page, lived quietly in a nondescript Brooklyn apartment by the water.