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amethystunarmed · 12 days

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What Do You Say?

Word Count: 1753 AO3 Part 1 Written for Hatchetfield Rarepair Week Day 3: Memories Duke and Ted work on the case to get Ted custody of Peter. Duke gets a very normal migraine and Ted has a very normal reaction.

“I got your abomination of a drink,” Ted tells him. He’s only twenty minutes late to their meeting, which is honestly a record for him. Duke has started scheduling everything at least a half hour before he actually intends on starting. “Why on earth you need to add four sugars to a fucking white chocolate mocha, I’ll never understand.” Ted continues, taking a swig from what Duke hopes is his own cup. “Fair warning, it’s from Beanie’s, so it probably sucks.”

He places the cup in front of Duke, and falls into the chair for his clients on the other side of the desk. Ted says “Nothing can replace Miss Retro’s,” just as Duke picks up the cup and says, “Thanks darlin’.”

And something in Duke’s brain snaps.

Static.

It almost makes you forget about all that.

It’s all static.

It feels nice to be the hero, for once.

Forget.

Miss Holloway had a good run.

Forget, Douglas Keane.

That’s not fair.

F O R G E T.

I couldn’t forget you, even if I tried.

He hasn’t forgotten anything.

I’m trying to say good-bye.

There is nothing to remember.

Can I?

So then why does it hurt so goddamn bad.

When he next becomes aware of something other than the splitting pain searing his skull, he realizes he is no longer sitting in his chair. There is a steady hum of noise in the room. He’s on the ground, on his hands and knees. They’re warm and distantly achy. He realizes he is sitting in a puddle of hot coffee, that he must have spilled it when the migraine hit. The bizarre flare of pain recedes as quickly as it struck, just like they always do. With the migraine gone, Duke is able to parse out that the stream of noise beside him is Ted cursing.

“Oh fuck, oh shit, what the fuck, come on, man-”

“I’m fine,” Duke interrupts, voice sore. He pushes back on his hands so he can sit against his desk. The pain may have already faded, but the migraine has left him disoriented and breathless. They don’t happen often, but they leave him off-kilter. Sometimes he feels out of it for days after a bad one.

And this, this was a bad one.

“No you fucking aren’t!” Ted yells, voice squeaky with panic, “You just had like, a seizure or something. Have you had one before? We need to call 911-”

Ted pulls his phone out of his pocket like a man on a mission and Duke can’t believe he seems to be trapped in some weird temporal flux that makes Ted Spankoffski give a shit about other people. And, despite how much he would love to encourage this odd change in behavior, he really doesn't want to go to the hospital. “Ted. It's really, really fine. It wasn't a seizure.” Ted glares at him, clearly doubtful. Duke bites his lip. “I get... Migraines.”

“Dude, that was not a migraine. You fell to your hands and knees and started screaming.”

“That happens sometimes.”

Ted gapes at him like he has absolutely lost his mind, and Duke supposes that, in a way, he has.

He swallows. He doesn't like talking about it. He doesn’t think it’s anyone’s business. Right now, only three people know about his episodes: his general physician, Miss Holiday, and Duke himself. But most people haven’t seen him collapse on the ground and go nonresponsive. Most people haven’t seen the worst episode he’s ever had in person.

Ted apparently takes Duke’s silence as a sign of something further being wrong, because he unlocks his phone. “Fuck this, I’m calling an ambulance.” Duke sees Ted dial “9” and the thought of seeing an ambulance makes the static swell in his brain.

He reaches out and places a hand over Ted’s phone. “Really, I’m fine. It’s already passed.”

Ted gives him a look of blatant disbelief.

“Look,” Duke says, “I...” He quickly thinks of a half-lie, something that will explain without going into the empty hole that Miss Holloway has left in his life, about the debilitating grief he can barely feel for a woman he hardly remembers. “I was... in an accident, a while ago. My doctor knows about these attacks, and I have been checked out for them, okay? I’m fine. That was just... a bad one.”

“Okay...” Ted says, sounding like he isn’t okay at all. “...Are you sure we shouldn’t call someone?” He flips his phone anxiously in his hand. He has that panicked look, the same one he got right before asking Duke for help all those weeks ago. And suddenly Duke realizes he is missing something. Something important.

“Ted...” Duke says slowly. He has a feeling that if he gets this wrong, whatever moment is developing will crumble like sand. “Is something else going on here?”

“Psh, no,” Ted scoffs, “You must have hit your head when you fell.” He flips his phone quicker. He reminds Duke of the cagey high schoolers he is called to help, the ones who think they are too cool to show actual emotions. It almost makes Duke grin.

“You know, it’s fine if it scared you,” Duke reassures him, “Especially if you haven’t witnessed a medical emergency like that before.”

Ted barks out a startled laugh. “It’s kind of the exact opposite.”

Duke frowns at him, any amusement he was feeling rapidly evaporating. “What does that mean?”

Ted sighs. He tucks his phone in his pocket and leans back on his hands. There is something intimate, the two of them sitting on the floor beside Duke’s desk. It makes Duke lean in, like he is privy to something special. But still, he is not prepared for the words that come out of Ted’s mouth.

“Peter had a seizure. Came over for dinner and we ended up spending the night in the ER. Apparently our parents didn't have time to pick up his insulin refill and he didn't want to 'worry me.’” He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that didn't work. Fucking moron.” His voice is calm, but he brings his knees to his chest and hugs them, tightly. Duke can see the tension in his arms. “I thought he was dying.” The unspoken I thought you were dying, hangs in the air. “I thought my parents had finally killed him.” Ted chuckles, like that can disarm the absolute bomb he just dropped. “But at least he didn’t have to go to Abstinence Camp? So that’s something. We both missed out on the Honey Festival though, so, you win some, you lose some.”

It’s supposed to be a joke. An out Duke can take to make light of the situation. Duke doesn’t take it. He can’t imagine just continuing and making light of this situation, like it was something normal, a wild weekend that could be mocked.

Duke could have passed their room in St. Damien’s when he went looking for Miss Holloway’s body in the morgue.

So instead, Duke doesn’t say anything. It’s a helpful trick he has learned over the years, to just let a silence be. He reaches up and grabs some napkins from the drink tray. He begins mopping up the coffee he knocked over, and lets Ted sit.

(Besides, he doesn’t know what he would say anyways.)

“Our parents... They're not bad people. They're just distant.” Ted continues after a few minutes, almost defensively. It feels involuntary, as innate a response as shivering in the cold. Duke wonders how often he's told this lie, that he truly believes it. “So for an independent kid like me, it was fine, you know? I took care of myself when I needed to.”

And Duke has words to say about that, has heard plenty of hurt kids say the same thing, but Ted just plows through before he can get a word in. “But Peter... Peter isn't the kind of kid you can half-ass. He's too fucking good to die because my fucking parents can't bother to drive to the pharmacy. He needs someone who can actually take care of him.” Ted laughs bitterly and gives Duke a self-deprecating smile. “Guess he really inherited the Spankoffski luck if he's stuck with me.”

“I think he's plenty lucky,” Duke says without thinking. He means it though. Peter is lucky to have someone like Ted looking out for him.

Ted blinks at him, seeming utterly dumbstruck. He blushes, a bit, and isn’t that a wonder. Ted Spankoffski. Blushing. He clears his throat. “Well, you'd be about the only one.”

Duke smiles at him. “Let's get back to work so you can show the rest of Hatchetfield then, huh?” With the information Ted just gave him about Peter’s health, Duke figures they would have a pretty solid case for medical neglect. If Peter was taken to the children’s ward, Duke may be able to have Becky Barnes come in as a witness. She has always been a fantastic resource for him in past cases-

“Oh no,” Ted says, interrupting Duke's train of thought. He clambers to his feet, and holds out a hand to help Duke up. “You are going to take a fucking break, that’s what is about to happen!”

Duke blinks at him, even as he takes Ted’s hand. “Ted, I told, you, I’m fine-”

“Can it,” Ted interjects, and pokes his finger at Duke’s chest. “We’re not fucking up my little brother’s life because you were too out of it to file the proper paperwork. We’re stopping until I’m sure you’re not about to keel over.”

And just a few weeks ago, Duke would have been annoyed. But somewhere along the line, Duke has realized that Ted is physically incapable of being emotionally vulnerable, even about his brother who he so clearly cares for. Most of his worrying about Peter comes out in complaints and bitching. And Duke thinks that, maybe this is just Ted’s version of caring.

He finds himself oddly touched.

Duke feels a fond little smile creep onto his face. “Sure,” he says, “Seems like we need to pick up more coffee anyways.”

Ted looks down at the puddle of coffee-soaked napkins at Duke's feet.

“To be honest, this is probably for the best. I think both our drinks had spit in them. The baristas at Beanie's do not like me.”

And, for a brief, impossible moment, Duke finds himself wondering why.

“I mean, the crabby one is not NEARLY hot enough to be as mean as she is.”

Ah. Right.

#duke keane #ted spankoffski #hatchetfield #hatchetverse #killer track #nmt 2 #tgwdlm #nightmare time 2 #spankoffski bros #hfrarepairweek #hfrwapril #hfrwday3 #tw child abuse #tw medical neglect #angst #hurt/comfort #my writing #my fanfic

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