DISCLAIMER:     Not mine, and I didn't ask'em over.  Somebody must have left
                the pub door open.

TYPE:           MakeBelieve challenge response; 'spoiled brat' arm
                with a touch of 'jealous'.
                Unbeta-ed; all faults mine. A mood shortie.

TITLE:          Only had the one
AUTHOR:         kel
FANDOM:         Fox
PAIRING:        Phil/Ray
WARNINGS:       L, consensual incest theme
COMMENTS:       Fox predates political correctness; language and
                characterisations will at times reflect this.
CHRONO:         Pre-series, related to a generalised a/u
                (currently WIP) set a couple of months after Ray gets out
                of jail for the second time (mid-1971).
SUMMARY:        Vin's blinkers
ARCHIVE:        WWOMB


===============

Only Had the One
By kel

===============


When the A-levels are up, Phil does well.  Worse than he could, better than
enough.  His relief is sharp, and sharply forgotten; it's easy to be cavalier,
be proud he hasn't studied for the first time in years.  He *knows* his nights
are better spent with velvet black skin against his own; his dawns, jogging home
against the Clapham sunrise to mask the sweat.

There's a party, of course; can't get out of it.  Best part's Ray hugging him
and holding on in front of everyone, secrets roiled dark and sweet between them
like the smoke from Pop's cigars.  Hiding in plain sight, he calls it; joking
out loud and speculating in obscene detail under his breath about Phil's nights
out.  Making him whisper, making him say; telling Phil what he'll do, how and
when, when he gets him alone.

***

From the corner it looks like they're having a ball; like Phil's being picked
on, and loving it.  All grown up, with his bits of paper and his deep, deep
blush; Ray's arm around his shoulders like a badge. -- Fuckin' exhibition,
mutters Vin, handing out the drinks and sour as ever; telling himself he's
jealous of the marks, the achievement, the chance.  Truth be told it's the
closeness that gets him.

On paper, King Billy's remarriage gave him three brothers and took one away;
made Vin and Ray extensions of Pop, new men with someone to love. And they love
Ray back, and Vin's just... there.  Respected, and less.

Twenty-five years on, fucksake, and he still feels Ray's *his*, somehow.  In his
mind he's the eldest of two, not five; might call Connie Mum but it's a
different bloody family.  And it's not supposed to matter?  What about my kids,
eh? he thinks, meaning what about me?

Phil's always been Ray's favourite, and it jars.

Lost in thought, the sudden clasp of a bare, female arm round his shoulders
startles him.  The action envelopes him in perfume, a laugh that warms and
shatters at once; cuts through the Count Basie and the crowd without effort,
like the tinkling of cheap jewelry worn with class.

-- Feelin' left out?

Sheila, Ray's wife, charm on full with a smile to light the room; but the strain
of being round Connie's showing round her eyes, and it touches him, breaks
through his mood.  Poor cow.  He squeezes her hand, automatically, and smiles,
feeling disapproval somewhere behind him at the sight.  He ignores it; he can't
be arsed to play Billy's games today.  Besides, she's all right, under it all.
Good for Ray.

-- Gis a voddy. Aw, bigger than that.

-- Ain't you had enough?

-- Never.

She sits down beside him, hitching up the long green gown Billy's deemed
suitable for family occasions. -- Cheer up.  Poor sod's had a hell of a time
this term, Ray getting out, and *her* on his back.  She jabs two fingers up at
Connie, the vehemence of the gesture laughable against her elegance, blowing
smoke delicately towards the ceiling. -- Bitch.  Sorry.

-- Leave me out of it.

-- Sorry twice, she says, sounding anything but.  Rubbing lipstick off the fag
holder, checking her eyelashes are on right.

-- I wouldn't waste any sympathy on Phil, girl.  Can't do no wrong, can he,
spoiled fuckin' brat.  Vin pours himself a drink, makes himself look away from
his brothers.  -- 'Scuse my French.  It's Ray gets the brunt.

-- Ray don't have to live with it.  Phil does.  Give him a break.

Billy's looking over at them now, calling Joey over with the smile that means
he's less than happy with all he surveys.  Sheila ignores him, pointedly; Vin
makes himself smile back, fights the automatic urge to make the distance Billy
wants between them.  He has to look away, a mistake; Phil's beet-red, laughing,
his arm round Ray's waist for support.  In the window behind you can see their
reflection; hand dropping just a little, every so often, then meandering back up
again.  Half-cut, thinks Vin.  Disgraceful; he's only had the one.

Boy his age should have a head for booze.  Fuck's Ray been teaching him, if it
ain't useful?

He sees Sheila watching him watch, and rearranges his face into the best smile
he can manage.

-- I am happy for him.  Honest.

-- Fuck you are.  Sheila laughs into her glass, ruffles his hair affectionately.
-- He'll still have to work for a living, love, don't think he won't.

-- Believe that when I see it, mutters Vin, back to watching Joey and Pop.

-- Son of Billy's, no dirt on his hands?  Right.

-- Yeah, says Vin, although he hopes not, deep down; there is a part of him
wishes Phil the things Vin doesn't have.  All of them.  Because he's earned it,
hard; and so he'll fuck off out of their lives.

He sees Joey heading over, all bounce and grin and DA hair; Billy's little pup.
Looks bloody daft, if you ask Vin, done up in Ted nostalgia for his brand new
bird.  Won't last a week.

-- Ay-ay, you're for it now.  Run, I'll cover you.

-- And miss a chance to liven things up?  Sod off. At least he likes me.  Sheila
drains the last of her glass and puts it down, too carefully, between them.  --
Be nice, eh.  It's Ray's day too.  Amount of time he's put in helping Phil out,
Christ.  Been over all the bloody time.

-- I know.

-- So it's his marks as well, the way Ray's was yours, before.  Assumin' you
helped him at all, arrogant old bugger.

-- Course I did.

-- Well then.  Be happy, can't yer.  For Ray.  She smiles, suddenly, for real; a
very different Sheila, sober and tired. She leans in close, too close; kisses
him gently on the forehead, speaking so low he has to struggle to hear.  -- You
wouldn't want what they've got, love.  Ain't healthy.

And she jumps up to meet Joey with a delighted scream, her party mask firmly
back in place; leaving Vin alone with the bottles and the crowd, stone in his
chest and wondering how long he's known.

=== (c) arjuna 2003 ===