Wish #11
Request 1:
Pairing/Character(s): Beecher/Keller, Beecher/Stabler (L&O SVU)
Keyword/Prompt Phrase: Before and After
Canon/AU/Either: Both
Special Requests: Thanksgiving
Story/Art/Either: Either
Title: Reflections
Pairings: Beecher/Stabler, Beecher/Keller
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3,862
Summary: Toby tries to celebrate a meaningful Thanksgiving with Elliot and his family, but memories of Oz and Chris keep getting in the way.
Toby rushed into the kitchen, barely avoiding a collision with Holly and Harry. He stepped aside as they both jostled their way out of the room, their small hands struggling to carry the heavy pitchers of water and milk. Then Toby walked quickly up to his mother, who was preoccupied with taking the last of the dishes out of the oven.
"Elliot just called," Toby alerted her. "He should be here any minute. Apparently, traffic was a little heavier than he’d anticipated."
His mother took off her oven mitts, then gently rested a hand on his arm.
"Calm down; it’s not problem," she said agreeably. With a small smile, she squeezed and added, "I’m just so pleased that he’s joining us."
Toby studied his mother briefly before mentally finishing the sentence for her. "… and not your serial-killing, mass-murdering, late prison lover."
Nevertheless, Toby returned her smile with a weak one of his own. His mother responded by pushing a green bean casserole and a bowl of freshly-mashed potatoes into his arms.
"Now, put these on the dining table," she instructed, "while I get the stuffing and the cranberries."
Toby headed toward the dining room, once again passing Holly and Harry on the way. Upon reaching the table, he proceeded to rearrange the platter of turkey and various bowls and plates to create enough space to set his food down. When he was done, he stepped back to properly take in the festive atmosphere of the room.
And that’s when he noticed the framed artwork on the wall.
It was a child’s crayon drawing of a smiling Pilgrim and a Native American, standing alongside an over-sized turkey with bright, multi-colored feathers. Down at the bottom corner of the picture were wobbly letters that spelled out a name. Toby was too far away to read them, but he knew what they said.
He stood there, staring at the picture, and tried to focus on breathing. Apparently, his lungs had decided to stop working.
Suddenly, Toby became aware of his mother’s presence beside him.
"I hope you don’t mind," she quietly said. "I still put it up every year."
Toby felt himself nod his head in an out-of-body experience.
"I just wanted to acknowledge him," she added. "But I can take it down if it upsets you."
Toby finally took a breath. "No, it’s fine," he managed to answer. "It’s… right."
He turned to face his mother, hoping that she wouldn’t notice how much he was shaking. "Besides, remembering those who are no longer with us," he continued, "helps us appreciate those who are."
As his mother nodded her head in agreement, Toby mumbled, "I’m going to go outside to wait for Elliot."
He hurried from the room, grabbed a coat, and was out the door before she could respond. Standing in the cold on the front porch, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and reflected back on the last time he had thought of that picture.
_____
Toby and Chris walked into the cafeteria together, ducking their heads underneath the "Happy Thanksgiving" banner that had been strung across the top of the doorway.
They got in line and grabbed their trays from the supply station, the sides of which were decorated with cardboard paper cut-outs of Pilgrims and turkeys. Lined up along the countertop were small balls of honeycombed orange tissue paper, intended to resemble pumpkins.
"They really went crazy with the decorating," Toby noted dryly.
Chris shrugged. "Better than nothin’."
"My mother goes all out for Thanksgiving dinner," Toby reminisced. "She uses my grandmother’s linen tablecloth and special-orders a centerpiece. She sets the table with her fine china, the crystal goblets, and sterling silverware. Even the children are allowed to use them."
Toby sighed as he shuffled further along in line, heading closer toward the food.
"The last time I was home for Thanksgiving, Gary was in kindergarten," Toby continued. "He drew this picture of the First Thanksgiving in school and brought it to my mother’s house to show off before dinner. My mother made a big fuss over it and asked Gary if she could keep it. She said she was going to get it framed and would hang it up on the wall every Thanksgiving."
Toby watched Chris hand his tray over to the latest homeboy assigned to kitchen duty, some new fish whose name Toby had not yet bothered to learn.
With a slight frown, Toby quietly added, "I wonder if she ever got around to doing that."
"Probably," Chris responded. "You know how grandmothers are."
Then he turned around to face Toby. "I think mine framed my first detention notice," he deadpanned.
Toby couldn't help but laugh at that, and the new fish gave him a strange look as Toby passed him his tray.
_____
Elliot pulled up to the front of the house and parked his car in the road. Toby watched him closely as he hurried his way up the long driveway, half-walking, half-jogging.
At this distance, Toby could easily imagine, if he wanted to, if only briefly, that it was Chris who was arriving for dinner. Truth be told, there were still moments when Toby looked at Elliot and saw Chris instead, when he needed to blink hard, remembering, to dispel the illusion. But those moments, once so common, had become few and far between as Toby and Elliot’s relationship had deepened and intensified. And, right now, Toby wouldn’t have wanted anyone but Elliot walking toward him, ready to spend a holiday dinner with him and his family.
"Sorry I’m late," Elliot exclaimed breathlessly upon reaching him.
"Don’t worry about it," Toby said with a smile. "It’s not like you were serving a detention somewhere."
Elliot gave him a strange look, then glanced around furtively before placing a light kiss on Toby’s lips.
As always, the contradictions fascinated Toby. So much like Chris, yet so very, very different.
"Did brunch with your kids go all right?" Toby asked cautiously.
Elliot shrugged. "It was okay. Things are still a little weird, but they’re coming around."
Toby suddenly noticed that Elliot was carrying a large grocery bag in one hand. He frowned slightly and said, "I told you not to bring anything. My mother has all the food taken care of."
"I didn’t," replied Elliot. Then he looked down at his bag, appearing to regard it as a foreign object himself. He carefully reached inside and pulled out a decorative foam pumpkin that had been hollowed out and filled with sprays of fabric autumn leaves and an orange pillar candle.
"Kathleen made a centerpiece for you," he explained.
Toby was sure that he had misheard Elliot’s words.
"Kathleen?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Made this?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"For me?"
"Yes! But I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to share it with your family."
Elliot gave him the pumpkin, and Toby handled it as he would a priceless vase.
"I find it interesting," Elliot said slowly, "that my most problematic child seems to have been the quickest to accept you. I’m not sure what that means."
Toby tilted his head and grinned. "Kindred spirits."
Elliot winced. "That’s exactly what I’m afraid of."
Toby tightly secured the centerpiece in the crook of his arm before grabbing Elliot’s elbow with his free hand. "Let’s get inside," he said. "I’m freezing my ass off."
They made their way indoors, where Toby’s mother eagerly greeted Elliot with a warm hug. Then she waved her hand in the direction of the dining room.
"Please, go ahead and have a seat at the table," she said. With an air of exasperation, she added, "I’ll be there as soon as I can pry Angus and his new girlfriend out of the basement. It’s about time they came up for air."
As his mother walked away, Toby placed a hand on Elliot’s back and gently led him into the dining room. Holly and Harry were already sitting at the table, fidgeting impatiently. Toby made room for Kathleen’s centerpiece while Elliot took a seat next to Holly.
"Wow, look at all the food!" Elliot exclaimed. He turned to look at Holly. "Did you make all this?"
Holly giggled and shook her head. "No, Grandma made the dinner," she told him.
Toby sat down across from them and found himself captivated by Elliot’s blue eyes, dancing over the table.
"There’s even two kinds of cranberries," Elliot observed.
Holly made a face. "I don’t like Grandma’s cranberries," she explained. "I only like the kind that come out of a can. So Grandma has both."
"Holly’s crazy," Harry interjected.
Holly flashed a look of annoyance in her brother’s direction as the remaining members of the Beecher family filed into the room.
"Don’t worry, Holly," Elliot said soothingly. "I like the canned kind, too. Can you guess why?"
Holly shook her head.
Elliot grinned at her. "I like that funny gloosh sound they make when you dump them out."
As Holly laughed, Elliot’s words hit Toby like a ton of bricks. His heart came to an abrupt stop, and he felt the blood drain from his face as another unexpected memory bore down on top of him, its clarity threatening his sanity. He was grateful when they all bowed their heads to say grace, as the act saved him from passing out.
_____
Toby reached the end of the serving line where Poet stood waiting. He held out his tray and watched in silence as Poet poured gray-colored gravy over the scoop of instant mashed potatoes, the sliced turkey loaf, and the small mound of damp bread that passed for stuffing. When the ladle was empty, Toby turned to face Chris, waiting patiently off to the side for him.
With a pained expression on his face, Toby nodded. Together, they slowly walked toward a half-empty table in the center of the cafeteria, where they wordlessly took seats across from each other.
Then Toby just sat there, staring at his food.
"Sayin’ thanks?" Chris finally asked between mouthfuls of corn.
Toby snorted. "What the fuck do I have to be thankful for?"
Chris raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I dunno, Tobe," he replied sarcastically. "How about your kids, for starters? Or your incredibly supportive parents?"
Chris paused before adding pointedly, "Or, y’know, any of the people in your life who love you."
"Yeah," sighed Toby, a chagrined expression on his face. He slowly took a small bite of the jellied cranberry sauce, then wrinkled his nose in disgust.
"Right out of the can," he said with a grimace.
"Oh, that’s the best kind," Chris enthused. He scooped up a big spoonful and popped it in his mouth.
Toby looked at him in disbelief. "Obviously, you’ve never had the cranberry relish like my mother makes," he declared. "Freshly ground cranberries and oranges, mixed with raspberry jello and lots of sugar. It’s almost a dessert."
Chris shook his head. "That sounds too fancy. Nothing beats opening a can of cranberry sauce and hearing that gloosh sound as you dump it out."
Toby smiled in amusement. "Gloosh?"
"Yeah, that’s the exact sound it makes," Chris explained. He devoured another spoonful as Toby sat there, regarding him curiously.
"My mother wasn't one for makin' many Thanksgiving dinners," Chris said softly, "but I remember her servin' this cranberry sauce."
Toby sat still as a statue, holding his breath. This was uncharted territory, and he didn’t want to spook the moment. After several seconds had passed, he prompted Chris with a quiet, "She didn’t like cooking?"
Chris shrugged. "After my old man took off, there really wasn’t any point," he said curtly. "Then we lost the house, and there really wasn’t any opportunity."
Chris took a bite of his turkey, then looked up from his food to meet Toby’s gaze with narrowed eyes. "Hey, pass me the salt, will ya?" he said.
Toby quickly handed him the shaker, then ate another mouthful of his cranberries. They tasted worse than ever.
_____
Toby became vaguely aware of Angus’s voice, breaking through the memory, as he was slowly drawn back to reality.
"Toby?!"
Looking around, Toby realized that everyone at the table was staring at him. He managed to discern Angus’s face through the fog.
"May I please have the salt?" Angus said loudly, apparently not for the first time. Then he jokingly added, "I promise that I'll give it back, if that's what's bothering you."
Toby glanced down and discovered that he was holding his mother’s crystal salt shaker in his hand.
"Sorry," he mumbled sheepishly before passing it on to his brother. "You caught me daydreaming."
There was an uncomfortable pause that lasted for a moment or two, then everyone quickly went back to eating and drinking, talking and laughing. Eventually, Toby joined in the merriment as well. But he could sense Elliot’s steady gaze out of the corner of his eye throughout the meal, despite the reassuring smiles Toby sent his way.
When dinner was over, Elliot helped clear the table and would’ve done the dishes if Toby’s mother hadn’t good-naturedly shooed him out of her kitchen. Toby’s family assembled in the Beecher recreation room instead, where Elliot and Toby made themselves comfortable next to each other on the oversized sofa.
As Toby sat quietly, Elliot made small-talk with Angus about Manhattan traffic and complimented his giggling girlfriend on her interesting choice of jewelry. He cheered alongside Harry for the Giants to beat the Cowboys and patiently listened to Holly while she described the latest antics of her favorite boy band.
And, all the while, he kept an eye on Toby.
The days were short now, and dusk descended quickly. Too soon, Elliot excused himself from the gathering. He explained apologetically to the others that he had to work the following day and needed to get up early. On his way out, he stopped to make time for conversation with Toby’s mother, thanking her for the dinner invitation and raving about her cooking. She seemed genuinely sorry to see him leave.
Toby accompanied Elliot outside where he hugged him goodbye. "Congratulations," he said as he pulled away. "You did a great job surviving a holiday dinner with my family."
Elliot looked directly into Toby’s eyes. "Maybe I should be saying the same thing about you," he said gently.
Toby shrugged. He knew it was useless to deny that anything was wrong. Elliot was too smart and too good of a cop not to see right through that. But, apparently, he was also sensitive enough not to push Toby for an explanation.
"I’ll be okay," Toby reassured him. "I'm trying to remember all the things I have to be thankful for this year. A big dinner with my family was just what I needed."
Elliot nodded his head. "I've got a lot to be thankful for this year, too," he said.
Then he leaned into Toby’s space. "I’m thankful to have you," he whispered. He closed his eyes and placed a soft kiss on Toby’s lips. He lingered for a moment, then pulled back. He smiled, turned around, and walked away into the night.
The wind picked up, blowing a hint of the first snow of the season into Toby’s face.
But Toby just stood there on his mother's porch, immobilized not only by what Elliot had just said, but by the additional words that he knew Elliot had come so close to saying. He was half-terrified, half-exhilarated, because he was close to saying them, too.
_____
Toby drew a contented sigh as he gently pushed Chris off. He used a corner of the sheet to wipe his belly dry.
"Well, I’m certainly thankful for THAT," he said in a low voice.
Chris chuckled softly in the darkness.
Toby rolled to the edge of Chris’s bed, positioning himself to get up, but stopped when he felt the weight of Chris’s hand on his hip. He settled back into place by Chris’s side, then lay there and listened to him breathe. He sensed that there was a reason why Chris had stopped him, but apparently he was going to take his time before letting Toby know what it was.
Toby slowly turned back around to face him. He locked onto Chris’s blue eyes. Even in the dim light of Em City at night, he could see a rare vulnerability in them. It was a look that no one else in Oz was allowed to see.
Finally, Chris spoke. "I’ve never been a fan of Thanksgiving," he muttered. "Even with Bonnie, it never…"
His voice trailed away, and he shrugged as he left his thoughts unspoken. Toby felt the fingers on his hip tighten into a squeeze.
"I’m thankful for you, Toby," Chris whispered. "I can’t bear the thought of this place without you."
Staring into Chris’s eyes, Toby knew that he had just caught a glimpse of his bare soul, probably coming as close as he ever would, if only for a brief moment. There was no manipulation, no ulterior motive, no mind game going on behind them.
Chris would forever be a complicated person, and a very seriously flawed one at that. But he had just voluntarily reduced himself to admitting his greatest weakness to Toby—that he still possessed the basest of human needs: the need to be loved.
"I love you, Chris."
The words came out of Toby’s mouth before he had a chance to think about them, to stop them.
The words were the same as those he’d uttered before their first kiss in the laundry room, when he’d loved an entirely different person that wasn’t Chris at all. They were the same words that he’d said when he forgave Chris for breaking his bones, when what he really loved was the idea of making peace within himself.
He hadn’t said them since, despite their emotional and physical reconciliation, too afraid of their truth, because what would that say about him?
"I love you, Toby."
Then Chris was kissing him, and Toby suddenly didn’t care. Love was love, and you couldn't always control it. He had told Chris that he loved him, and he'd meant it. He’d feel that way forever.
_____
Toby found a pad of paper and wrote down the name, address, and phone number. He located his mother, relaxing with the rest of the family. He pulled her aside and handed her the slip of paper.
"I need to clear my head," Toby explained to her. "I'll be here if you need to reach me."
She looked down at the paper and nodded. "I can drive you there, if you want," she offered.
"No, thanks," Toby said. "I'll call a cab. You stay here with Angus and the kids." Then he added with a smirk, "And Angus's new girlfriend, of course."
Raising an eyebrow, his mother said, "Did you hear the nickname she has for him?"
Toby shook his head.
"T-bone," she muttered with a frown.
Toby's mouth twitched, but he swallowed his laughter just in time.
She pursed her lips into a thin line. "I assume that's a play on his name."
"I'm sure it is," Toby assured her. He gave her a loose hug. "I'll be back in a few hours."
She hugged him back. "Take your time."
A short while later, Toby's cab pulled up to the main entrance of the local Community Center. Toby got out, walked up to the doors, and stepped inside. Quite a lot of people were there, but not an overwhelming amount. He identified a slightly frazzled woman who looked like she could be in charge.
"I was wondering if you could use some help," he offered. "I didn’t sign up or anything, but…"
"We could definitely use some help," she interrupted with a smile. "Most of our volunteers left after the afternoon rush, and we accept diners until seven o’clock. Only our core group is still left to serve them."
"Just tell me what to do," Toby said.
She gave Toby an apron and put him to work busing tables. He got busy picking up dirty dishes and silverware and taking them back to the kitchen, where he loaded them into an industrial-sized dishwasher. He noted that, unsurprisingly, there were very little leftovers to dump.
While out in the dining area, he spent time studying the multitude and variety of people, all of whom were polite and pleasant and seemed grateful to have a decent Thanksgiving meal. There were families and single adults; men and women; young and old; black and white and brown.
At one point, Toby was carrying yet another load toward the kitchen when he passed a mother with her young son. He smiled as he overhead the boy whisper to his mother, "This pumpkin pie is delicious!"
Toby took a closer look at the boy and saw the dark hair, the blue eyes, the crooked smile. It wasn’t until he reached the kitchen that Toby was able to draw another breath.
After setting down his tub of dishes, Toby discreetly snuck a piece of pie out of the serving line. He turned around to take it out to the dining area, but froze in shock when he saw who was blocking the doorway. It was Chris.
Toby blinked. No, it was Elliot.
Elliot shuffled over to him as Toby stared in astonishment.
"I left my coat at your mother’s house," Elliot explained. "When I went back to get it, she told me where you’d gone."
And, of course, Elliot had come to check on him, to make sure he was all right. Because that was the kind of man he was. That was the kind of boyfriend he was.
"I'm really glad to see you doing this," Elliot said as he glanced around. "Think they could use another hand?"
"I love you, Elliot."
Once again, the words had come out on their own, before Toby could realize what he was saying.
Elliot quickly returned his attention to Toby, and a slow smile gradually replaced his initial look of surprise. He leaned forward and used a low voice, but the words were clear.
"I love you, too."
Toby smiled back and held his gaze for a beat. Then he handed Elliot the slice of pumpkin pie.
"See that little boy over there with the dark hair?" Toby asked with a nod. "Why don't you give this to him? Then you can help me bus tables."
As Elliot retreated to the dining area, Toby went to find another apron. He felt a happiness inside that was indescribable, accompanied by a strange peace that he hadn't felt in years.
The words may have been the same as those that he'd once said to Chris, but this sudden sense of optimism was very different. Life with Chris was always going to be defined by the limitations of life in Oz, while the possibilities with Elliot were endless.
As Toby helped Elliot into his apron, all he could think of was how thankful he was for what his life had somehow managed to become.