Herc Hansen (stoptheclock) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2013-12-25 14:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, hercules "herc" hansen |
Who: Herc Hansen (& Chuck at the end)
When: Christmas morning, 2013
Where: Herc's room
What: HANSEN CHRISTMAS FEELS
Rating: G???
Christmas was difficult (that was an understatement, Herc thought; Christmas was heartbreaking and lonely and he often woke up feeling like he was drowning at the bottom of the breach itself with no way out), but this year was different. This year was supposed to be the first Christmas without Chuck -- and Stacker, too -- and it occurred to Herc as he sat up in bed early Christmas morning that he would have been completely alone for the first time in his entire life, had it not been for the tesseract. He’d survived Chuck’s birthday, but only barely: the only reason he’d been able to remain conscious was because he had work to do, and a Hansen never shrugged his work off. (Unless you were Scott, but Herc was pointedly not thinking about Scott that morning.) That was how they’d gotten through every other Christmas since Angela’s death, by keeping so busy that they almost forgot -- almost, but never completely -- the emptiness in their lives, the gaping hole where Angela’s love used to be. Herc tried to keep the spirit alive after Angela died, but his attempts were met with sullen looks and slammed doors (and presents that later disappeared from the table, when Herc wasn’t looking). Eventually, he learned it was safer to leave Chuck’s presents by his bed and not say a thing. At least that way he wouldn’t see the betrayal and grief written all over his son’s face, which was made only worse by the anger he saw -- how dare Herc bring up Christmas like everything was okay, like there was anything to celebrate at all. This year was different. There was anger (there would always be anger), and there was grief (there would always be grief), but neither were directed at Herc now. He could coexist with Chuck now in a way he couldn’t before. That was the best gift he could ever imagine receiving: Chuck’s forgiveness and understanding. Their relationship now wasn’t perfect, but it was better, and that was enough. He was better, too. He no longer woke up plagued by nightmares where he watched a kaiju rip Angela from his grasp; where Angela survived and he failed to reach Chuck in time and he was left behind in the wake of her resentment instead of Chuck’s; where he failed to protect his son over and over in different ways, where he watched Chuck drown in Striker Eureka’s Conn-Pod and felt every emotion surging through Chuck’s mind until it all stopped at once along with his heart. He wasn’t healed -- he never would be, the loss of his wife and son would always be there, carried with him everywhere he went, holding him back and guiding him -- but he was better. It was a start. When he’d asked Chuck to come over on Christmas morning, it wasn’t because Pepper probably wasn’t going to be there and he wanted someone to spend Christmas with, but he didn’t know how to say that. He still didn’t know how to talk to Chuck about the things that really mattered, about what was really important, so he’d been trying to show him instead. He asked because he wanted to see his son on Christmas Day; it was that simple. He didn’t want to be alone, but more importantly, he wanted Chuck there. He wanted to remind Chuck of what their relationship used to be like, before Scissure ripped their lives apart. Chuck hadn’t said yes -- but he hadn’t said no, either -- and that was enough. Herc knew Chuck, better than anyone, better than he ever had in life, and he knew this was a choice Chuck had to make without feeling forced into it. Christmas morning used to be a spectacle around the Hansen home -- at least whenever Herc was actually home for it. Chuck woke his parents up before the sun rose, a bundle of energy that Herc couldn’t understand at that time of day, but his joy was infectious. The three Hansens would make a mess of their living room, presents and wrapping paper and bows and ribbons covering every surface. Angela would sigh at how much cleaning she’d have to do later, but Herc would give her a kiss and promise to take care of it while she relaxed. She’d make breakfast and Herc would clean and Chuck would play with his new toys and laughter filled the house. After Angela died, the magic was gone, but eleven years (and one new girlfriend) later, Herc finally felt ready to try to recreate their old tradition again. Or to at least create a new one. It was about damn time they began to move forward with their lives. They should have years ago, and Herc knew that if Angela could talk to them, she’d say the same thing. They’d had that conversation before -- about what to do if one of them died, and usually Herc imagined he would be the one to die, not Angela -- and they always came back to the same disagreement: Angela insisting that he find a way to be happy, Herc insisting he’d never love someone again. It was time to move on. He felt that with certainty now. The timing hadn’t been right before, and they hadn’t been ready, but Herc was ready now. (And God help him, that realisation still ached deep in his chest. This shouldn’t have been their life.) He’d gotten up early to take Lucky out, and now the puppy sprawled out on the kitchen floor, chewing on one of his new toys. Herc had only gotten as far as to set out all of the ingredients and pans he’d need to make breakfast, and then he’d hesitated. If Chuck wasn’t coming… Herc took a deep, shaky breath. If Chuck didn’t come, then he’d just make breakfast for himself and pretend it didn’t bother him. The knock at the door startled him. Herc set down his coffee mug to answer the door, giving Lucky enough time to beat him there. On the other side stood Chuck, a bag of gifts in one hand and Max’s leash in the other. “Hey, dad.” |