#bitb fic

Befriending Al's Babies

Words: 1387 Rating: G Notes: this is book canon - aka Bobby, Chuck and Jim were in the varsity boat while Joe, Shorty and Roger were sophomores. Ulbrickson clearly had a soft spot for Joe's boat, which pissed off the varsity guys enough that Bobby created a specific chant about it - BAB, or "Beat A'ls Babies"

Bobby should be thrilled. They've got Rantz now, finally - Bobby knew he was the final piece long before Ulbrickson did, even though the prospect of working against Rantz's uneven technique doesn't fill him with joy - and the boat is flying. It's what Bobby has wanted, what he's known he could have, ever since he saw what that stupid sophomore boat could do last year and knew he could have made them even better.

But instead, there's something nagging at him.

"Alright, Moch, you've been frowning to yourself long enough," Chuck says, jogging slowly beside Bobby as they make their way up from the shell house towards campus. "Tell uncle Chuck and auntie Jim what's got you down when we should be celebrating."

"Why am I auntie?" Jim says. With his long legs he doesn't need to jog to keep up, even though Bobby is striding as purposefully and quickly as he can in the hopes of escaping any conversation.

Chuck is loping now, circling around in front of Bobby with a little backwards dancing step. "Because I don't want to be. Out with it, Bobby. You're no fun when you're moping."

"No one is fun when they're moping," Bobby mutters, but he knows when he's beaten. He keeps walking anyway just to make Chuck jog backwards for a little longer. "It's Morris and Hunt."

Chuck frowns, stumbles, and winces. Serves him right. "What's wrong with Morris? I like sitting behind him. He's steady, never crabs. And Jim likes Hunt, too."

Bobby doesn't want to have this conversation. He never wants to have any conversation about his interpersonal skills or lack thereof, but Chuck and Jim are his friends and they're trying to act like it, too. He can only keep pushing them away for so long before they stop. He sighs, making an about-face towards the water and starting to walk again. If he has to talk feelings, at least he can do it with something to look at besides Chuck or Jim.

"They're fine in the boat. They row well and they listen to what I say. But out of the boat... I don't know. There's something off, like they don't trust me or they don't like me. And I know I'm not exactly a likeable guy -"

"Shut your trap, Moch. Don't fish for compliments," Chuck says cheerfully. He winces a little with each step; he must have tweaked his ankle.

Jim is slightly more understanding, but that might just be because he's not dealing with a minor ankle injury. "Have you considered that maybe, possibly, they're still a little sore about you calling them Al's babies all last season?"

"That's - well - that's true, I guess," Bobby says. It feels like pulling a staple out of his thumb to admit it, but Jim has a point. He keeps walking anyway. "But I'm nice to them now. Outside of the boat."

"Right, because you've never held a grudge in your life."

That's true too, and ordinarily Bobby wouldn't be ashamed to admit that he can nurse a grudge with the best of them, but in this moment he's frustrated and a little bit hurt - both by Roger and Shorty's obvious distance from him and by his friends' ability to brush it off so easily as being all Bobby's fault.

He stomps down the grassy embankment towards the cut and doesn't check to see if they're still following. Maybe it is his fault; people often find his abrasiveness in and out of a shell off-putting. But that's just who he is. Roger and Shorty will just have to deal with it.

"Well there's nothing I can do about it," he says, once scuffing footsteps in the grass behind him have confirmed that he does still have a captive audience for his fit of pique. "I can't go up to them and apologize; it was just smack talk. If they're still mad then that's their issue to fix."

Suddenly there is a hand gripping his bicep to spin him around, knocking him off balance. He sets his jaw as he finds his footing again and glares even further up than usual at Chuck Day.

"Robert Gaston Moch. You can use your grown-up words and tell them hey, all's fair in love and crewing, no hard feelings. It's that easy." Chuck heaves a sigh and releases Bobby's arm, smoothing out the wrinkles left in his sleeve. "They'll like you just fine once you've cleared the air."

It's petty and childish to keep arguing back, but Bobby is petty and childish, and he's so damn frustrated that he can't just feel good about a successful practice, or at the very least sulk about it peacefully in his room.

"It's just that people don't like me, usually, and I'm an asshole most of the time and -" he says, ignoring how his voice has gone tighter with suppressed emotion. Then, even more suddenly, he is hoisted into the air.

Jim, now holding him bridal-style, shakes him gently, like a cat taunting a captive mouse. "Okay, into the lake with you."

"What -"

Before Bobby can question or protest, he's in the water. It's cold - colder even than it usually is for March, and for a second the shock of it leaves him unable to tread water. He recovers quickly enough to glare at Jim without betraying his momentary loss of control and paddles slowly to the bank, gritting his teeth against the icy pins and needles pricking his bare arms.

Jim grins, raising his voice just loud enough to be heard. "Are you ready to take it back?"

Bobby is even less ready now.

"You bastard," he pants as he clambers up onto the grass. "And people call me unpleasant to be around -"

"Haven't learned your lesson yet, I see," Jim says, deceptively pleasant, as he pins Bobby's arms to his sides and hefts him into the air again. Bobby tries to kick out and escape, but Chuck is immediately there to restrain his legs as well.

Voices behind them briefly postpone his soggy fate.

"Are we throwing Moch in the water now? Did we win something?" Roger Morris slopes into view, seemingly unfazed  by Bobby's torment. Then his dark brows come down in concern and displeasure. "Shit, he's shivering. Are you guys hazing him? Weren't you on varsity together?"

Bobby feels his face burning with embarrassment and anger despite the shivers. Of all the people to come to his defense, to see him when he looks this pathetic at the hands of his so-called friends - of course it's one of the two guys who currently like him least.

"I'm fine. I don't need anyone babying me," he says. He realizes his unfortunate wording immediately, but it's too late.

Roger grins. "That's odd; I thought we were the babies."

Bobby grits his teeth and looks away. He won't snap back. If Chuck and Jim are right, he'd only be making things worse. He can be the bigger person, even if his jaw hurts with how much he's holding back. It's not fair -

"Don't look so hang-dog, Moch, we know it was all just talk," Roger says, with an audible roll of the eyes. "We were just letting you stew in it for a bit before we forgave you all the way. You're too good of a cox to stay mad at forever."

"And Rantz?"

It's still spoken through gritted teeth; Bobby can't forgive that easily either. But he feels a little less cold anyway.

Roger shrugs. "Joe will forgive anyone anything, poor man. You can ask him yourself. Anyway, we're middle children now, just like McMillin and Day. We're all grown up and mature; holding grudges is beneath us."

Jim turns a laugh into a cough.

"Oh, I like him," Chuck says, delighted. "Morris, I think you and I are going to be great friends."

He gently lowers Bobby's legs until Bobby's feet can find purchase on the ground again, and once Bobby is steady Jim, too, lets go with an encouraging back-pat.

"That's good to hear, because you've lost me as a friend after today," Bobby says sullenly.

Chuck pouts. "Aw, no, Bobby, I like you too. You're a likeable guy; isn't he, Roger?"

Nice and Easy

Word count: 960 Rating: G Pairing: Don/Bobby

Every muscle in Don’s body hurts. The skin of his cheeks feels tight and a little warm to the touch, a pink he’s sure must be deepening to red. Breathing is agony. He’s never felt better.

And Bobby is beside him, sweaty and grinning, running his mouth in the way Don has already come to find dangerously endearing in the few weeks they’ve known each other. It makes him want to say things he shouldn’t, and the only thing stopping him right now is the fact that he can’t get a word in edgewise.

“And you saw their faces when we passed them, Christ, felt so good to wipe that smugness right off ‘em. We destroyed those assholes. And it was all thanks to you, Don.”

“It was just a time trial,” Don says in the brief pause while Bobby takes a deep breath in preparation to start up again. He has to fight down his natural awkwardness and propensity for blushing; Bobby is being much too kind. “And I just did my part.”

Bobby shakes his head like a dog emerging from the water, so violently that a drop of sweat lands on Don’s cheek. It should be gross. But, somehow, as is everything Bobby does in Don’s eyes, it’s mostly cute.

“But it was varsity. And you knew exactly what to do; it was like you were reading my mind out there. I’ve never had a stroke who could do that. You’re the best. You carried that boat.”

Don glances guiltily around the empty shell house, just in case he miscounted and one of his teammates is still lingering after all. Bobby is just exaggerating because he’s excited and on is the only target on hand for his praises, but it still wouldn’t be great if anyone else overheard. They’d be hurt by the implied slight to their own rowing, and then Don would have to tell Bobby to stop complimenting Don alone. Which he doesn’t want to do.

He knows Bobby would be just as nice to Chuck or Joe or anyone else if it was them standing there instead of Don. Don isn’t special to Bobby. It’s just nice to let himself pretend he could be for a little while.

“I don’t think I could do it with another cox,” he says quietly. Let Bobby think it’s just the win spurring Don to hyperbole too. “You’re just… you. It’s easy with you.”

Bobby makes a small sound of surprise, opening and closing his mouth several times. Don might be proud of himself for how easily he managed to shut Bobby up if he weren’t so busy being mortified by the fact that he obviously misjudged the level of sincerity appropriate to the situation.

He tries to walk it back. “Not - I mean - you’re very… easy to listen to. Hear, I mean. You enunciate well.”

“Not a chance,” Bobby says with another shake of the head - slower, this time, closer to amazed. “You don’t get to take it back. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, Don Hume. Don’t cheapen it with qualifications.”

“Nicest thing about your coxing, you mean,” Don says. Even laying claim to that small honor sends further heat to his face and makes the aches and weariness in the rest of his body recede a little. He could say even nicer things, if they weren’t so terribly incriminating.

Bobby bites his lip, smiling at his feet. He looks shy. “No, I mean nicest thing about me ever.”

He has to be exaggerating again. Don wants him to be exaggerating.

“But… all I said was that you’re you,” he says, bewildered.

Bobby’s lip is still caught between his teeth when he looks up, stretched into a sweetly pleased smile. “Yeah. But you said it like it’s a good thing.”

Don wants to do a lot more to the varsity crew’s faces than wipe an expression off them, if he’s right in thinking they played any part in making Bobby think it wouldn’t be a good thing. But there’s also a small thrill of possessive pride creeping up from his chest and into his already-red cheeks at the thought that he made Bobby smile like that, and maybe no one else ever has.

He wants to do it again.

“It’s a fantastic thing. You’re…”

His words fail him. All the things he wants to say, the things that come too easily to his tongue whenever he’s around Bobby - they’re all too dangerous. He falls silent instead.

“I’m?”

Bobby’s eyes are so bright.

“You’re… good. As a cox and… and just by being you,” Don says. He doesn’t know Bobby all that well yet, but that much, he knows, is true.

He watches Bobby take the words in, watches that smile reappear - smaller than Don would like, shyer, and yet somehow brighter even than the shine of his eyes. Bobby doesn’t sunburn as easily as Don does, but his cheeks are pink anyway.

Bobby clears his throat. “Careful with those compliments, Don, or I’ll get spoiled.”

“Good,” Don says, too caught in the loveliness of the whole picture to think before he speaks. “I want to.”

He shuts his mouth in horror and waits, heart sinking, as Bobby’s drops open in surprise. Any second now that smile will vanish, those eyes will turn cold, and Don will have to face the consequences of how stupidly, damnably easy Bobby makes things.

This time when Bobby bites his lip, it looks intentional.

“Okay. You can spoil me. If you want to,” he says, just above a whisper. “And… if there’s anything else you want - you can do that too.”