turps | Chris month day 2

My plans for last night didn't go as I expected at all. Let's just say three OE crashes are three too many, and I now have a shiny new version of thunderbird to use. I'm trying not to remember how long it took to sort out my pop settings though.

Anyway. It's trickyfish today! Which means that today's Chris ficlet had to be the trickyfish prompt. Same deal as yesterday. Not beta read, so read at your own risk.

Lance blinked; stared. Chris looked back at him, grinning.

“It’ll be fun.”

“It’ll be carnage,” Lance corrected, and he plucked at the sheets that Chris held in his arms, a huge wad of off white cotton that Lance suspected he’d seen on the catering tables not an hour before.

Chris sighed sadly, and held out his arms, letting the sheets unfurl to the ground. His hands were fisted next to an orange stain, and he looked at Lance, eyes wide and mournful. “You need to get out.”

“Not like this,” Lance said, looking at the orange stain, and taking no notice of Chris’ hopeful expression at all. He could say no to Chris, especially when his ideas had the potential to get them killed, torn apart by rampaging hordes of teenage girls. “Maybe to a club, something like that.”

Chris shook the sheet and rolled his eyes. “We can go to a club anytime. It’s Halloween, Lance. Trick or Treat time.”

“If you’re five, maybe.” Lance laced his reply with scorn, which as expected, had no impact at all. An insult needed more barbs than a comparison to a five year old to hurt Chris Kirkpatrick, someone who could remove adult filters from his world at will.

“You’re being very ageist, Lance.”

Chris shook his head, as if disappointed that Lance could be so narrow in his definitions of age defined activities. Lance bit his tongue to stop from immediately apologising, because come on. Trick or treating was for kids.

Chris looked at him. Eyes wide and mouth curled down.

Lance looked back at him. Reminded himself that this idea was insane. Looked down the length of the sheet to Chris’ sneakers, their laces trailing on the ground. Looked back up, his heart steeled.

“Please.” Chris said.

Like Lance could say no.

~*~*~*~

It took almost four hours to finish the costumes. While the idea was simple, Chris turned out to be a stickler for what constituted an acceptable ghost. Lance was cast in the role of helper, handing over scissors and markers and sent to persuade wardrobe that they really did want to bedazzle the edge of two slightly stained cotton sheets.

Still, when they were finished, he had to admit the costumes looked great, and very them.

~*~*~*~

Later, and Lance was hurrying toward a waiting car. He felt slightly sick, nervous without the constant presence of security at his back.

It was then he realised Chris was right. This was exactly what he did need.

~*~*~*~

Lance sat in the back of the car, body pressed against Chris’ -- who’d declared that the middle of the back seat was exactly where he wanted to be -- watching the houses they drove past, all decorated for Halloween. Lance liked the ones with carved pumpkins arranged in piles. Gruesome faces flickering with candlelight. They reminded him of time spent with Stacy, their hands slimy with pumpkin guts which his mom would later make into a pie.

He didn’t look at Chris, who was leaning forward, chatting to the driver about something to do with sports. Except when he did look, watching Chris’ reflection in the window. The way his eyes narrowed when he laughed, the way he argued a point with an excess of hand movements and listened intently before adamantly telling the driver he was wrong.

Lance watched it all, and he only flushed a little when Chris turned around, caught Lance’s eyes in the reflection, and smiled.

~*~*~*~

“Chris, there’s people here,” Lance said, trying to remain calm when they pulled up next to a group of assorted monsters, witches and what looked like a cow with three legs.

Chris waved, grinning when a tiny ballerina squealed and waved her wand in the air. “I know, they live here.”

“You know them?” Lance asked, hand on Chris’ knee.

“No, I just told the driver to stop at the first likely group of people so we could hijack their trick or treat outing.”

Chris rolled his eyes, like Lance was the stupidest idiot ever, which Lance thought was unfair, because this was Chris after all.

“The cowgirl with the pink hat? We went to college together.” Chris looked at Lance. “You need kids to go trick or treating, and she has some.”

Lance sank back in his seat, relieved. “I thought we’d be trick or treating alone.”

“Two grown men trick or treating together. Don’t you think that would look a little strange?” Lance blinked, any reply cut off when Chris leaned past him to open the door. “Come on, they’ll be going soon and we’re not ready.”

Lance quickly exited the car, unwilling to put any sensitive body parts in the way of Chris’ scramble for the door. He stood to one side, watching as Chris, who tended to share true happiness with a select few, gathered the cowgirl in a tight hug. One that lasted until she kissed him on the cheek, then stepped away, grinning as she took two plastic pumpkin pails from the three-legged cow.

“I brought you one too, Lance.”

Lance took the offered pail and smiled a thanks as she winked, then turned to help marshal the children into a controllable line.

Still smiling, Chris walked over to Lance. “We need to get ready.”

Lance nodded, but he was staring at the pumpkin pail, swinging it by the black handle. “She knew my name.”

“A lot of people know your name,” Chris said, and bumped Lance with his arm. “Anyway, I told her you’d be coming.”

“I didn’t even know I was coming myself until this afternoon.”

Chris shrugged. “I knew.”

He moved toward the trunk of the car and said no more, as if Lance being here was a foregone thing. Maybe to Chris it had been.

“Here.”

Lance took the offered costume, slipping it over his head. The sheet slipped down to his feet, the bedazzled edge skirting the ground. He adjusted the top, moving fabric until he could see, smiling at the sight of Chris in his own costume, his sheet scraping the ground, dark eyes gleaming from behind two holes, both outlines in black.

The sheet billowed outwards as Chris held out his hand. Lance reached for it, linking their fingers as best they could, then set off after the group. Two anonymous, if slightly sparkly ghosts.