#the improv i had to do when presenting her father in law bc i understood NOTHING😭😭 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

antiquecompass · 6 years

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So I was HOPING to have 1 complete story and 2 complete ficlets done for @warriorgays birthday today. I don’t know why I plan on anything honestly bc whenever I do my family decides it’s time for massive Home Improvement Projects which take up my days off. I wanted to get SOMETHING up for Alex’s birthday though, so here’s a very long preview of the will-not-end superbowl fic:

A lot had changed in Babe Heffron’s life since 2004. His Philly family had lost a few members, but gained a ton between new babies, a hell of a bunch of in-laws, and groups of folks that just got adopted in along the way. In those years Bill had lost an entire leg, gained a desk job, finally convinced Fran to marry his foolish ass, and started raising three kids. Ralph was an actual doctor now, running one of the Thibodaux Medical Clinics just outside Baton Rouge. Maggie lived with Ralph and Sid in their own place in St. Boniface, working at the clinic there and forging her own path like usual.

And Babe?

Babe went from being a bartender to working an actual office job for Nixon Development. He had most weekends and holidays off and a 401k and an actual accountant to handle his taxes now. He was married for Christ’s sake. To a friggin’ doctor. In Louisiana of all places. If he could’ve gone back in time and told his teenage self he’d be settled down, far away from South Philly, with some Cajun doc he’d met during Mardi Gras, he probably would’ve punched himself. He definitely would’ve called Ron to take care of his delusional evil clone.

And there was no way, in any of his wildest dreams, he could’ve predicted having Merl-Francis as his brother-in-law.

He was pretty fucking proud of Shelton too. Boy had gone and become a Registered Nurse. They’d done so many study sessions in the middle of the night to past that certification test. They’d held a bake sale outside the clinic to raise the $500 fee just to take that fucking test.

Merl-Francis got it done on the first try.

So Babe definitely couldn’t complain about how his life had turned out since last February 2004. 2018, despite the hellscape that had become the world in general, hadn’t been too bad to him so far. He was cautiously optimistic about the year, after having gotten past the normal mourning days around Christmas. It was nearing his anniversary of meeting Gene and the Eagles were in the play-offs. So yeah, things were looking bright and shiny for Babe Heffron. Sure, he was waiting for Ralph to finally admit he was dating Maggie, but that was more fun to watch Spina struggle to come up with excuses for why he couldn’t hang out other than ‘I’m dating your little sister.’ It was amusing as hell.

And then fucking New England has to fuck up the good year Babe had going for him. Honestly, he should’ve expected it from the Patriots.

“You look like you’re fixing to punch the tv,” Eugene Sledge said as he looked up from his laptop. “Please don’t. It took Snafu three different trips to pick that one out.”

“I had to compare the specs,” Merl-Francis said through a mouth of crab dip.

Gene slapped him. “Close your mouth. Never could take you nowhere.”

Merl-Francis glared at him. “We at home, Gene-Baptiste. Ain’t no one here not used to me.”

“We still don’t want to see all that,” Gene said.

None of the men present understood Babe’s pain. It was the fucking Patriots. Again. If only Ralph and Maggie were here, instead of being all responsible and working. They didn’t get it, this group of Saints fans. They didn’t know.

“You don’t understand,” Babe said.

Sledge shrugged and went back to working on his manuscript. “You don’t like the Patriots. A lot of people don’t. Andy’s probably the only one I know who does.”

“No,” Babe said. “It’s a rematch of Thirty-Nine. I don’t know if I can take this shit again.” He stood up and went to the small kitchen medicine cabinet. “I need all the Tums.”

Merl-Francis smirked at him. “You got such a weak constitution.”

“Fuck you,” Babe said as he stepped over a sleeping Kipling.

Babe’s phone started to ring on the coffee table. Gene reached for it and frowned as he looked at the screen.

“What?” Babe asked as he shook a handful of Tums into his hand.

“It’s your dad,” Gene said.

“Well, answer it,” Babe said.

“Good evening, Mr. Heffron,” Gene greeted as he put the phone on speaker.

Joe Heffron sighed. “Gene, when will you just call me ‘dad’?”

“Sorry, sir,” Gene said.

His dad sighed again. “We’ll work on it. Where’s my boy? Eating a handful of antacids?”

“Yes,” Gene said glancing over at Babe.

Babe made a face at both of them. It wasn’t his fault his stomach didn’t like sports-event related stress.

“Just like his mother,” Dad said. “Once he’s done choking down chalk, tell him to call me back. We need to know when he’s coming home.”

“What now?” Babe asked.

“There’s my boy. You’re coming home for the Super Bowl. You can’t celebrate it there.” Dad paused. “No offense, boys.”

“None taken,” Gene said.

“Bullshit,” Merl-Francis muttered.

His father did have a point. There was just something about Philly fans being at home around other Philly fans. Look, he knew the reputation they had in the sports world. They were the most asshole of fans who did stupid shit like climb poles and flip over cars and throw batteries at opposing pitchers and fall into the penalty box to fight a professional hockey player and booed Santa Claus once almost fifty years ago. And sure things got so bad for a time there the Eagles Court had to be established to deal with all the shit happening at games, but that had been disbanded over fifteen years ago. Despite all that, there was nothing like being around that energy. Even with the actual game in Minneapolis, Babe had to admit that he couldn’t picture watching the game anywhere else but in his parents’ living room.

“I don’t know if I can get the time off,” Babe admitted.

Merl-Francis laughed. “You run that office. You can give yourself some days off. Take Gene with you, he needs a vacation.”

“I have work,” Gene said.

“Nope, you’ve got paperwork,” Merl-Francis said. “You don’t even practice much medicine anymore, running all the Thibodaux clinics. You got Anna, Renee, Sid, and Bryan to cover your shit. Take a vacation.”

“You forgot Spina,” Babe said.

“Ralph and Maggie conditionally asked for the time off if the Eagles made it to the Super Bowl,” Gene said. “I already approved their vacation.”

Merl-Francis grinned from his sprawl on the couch. “They’ll be there, Mr. Heffron.”

“I knew I could trust you, Merriell,” he said. “You and Eugene should come up as well. You’ve got to come see our city again.”

Merl-Francis smiled like that had been his plan all along. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Fuck,” Babe muttered as he threw another couple Tums into his mouth. He eyed the economy sized bottle of Excedrin as Merl-Francis started humming an off-tune version of Fly Like An Eagle. As he started on the second verse Babe reached for the bottle and reminded himself to pack it for the trip to Pennsport.

There was a sold period of Babe’s life where he couldn’t go back to Philly. At first it was a question of safety. In the wake of Julian’s murder—and that’s what it was even if people still didn’t want to call it that—Babe was forbidden from setting foot in the city. He couldn’t explain that to his parents, didn’t want them to know everything about Ron Speirs’ more classified business dealings or the shit Babe sometimes got mired in to make an extra buck. And the more people who knew the truth, the more lives were at risk.

After that issue got permanently resolved, Babe couldn’t return because of his own grief. It was funny, really. Babe’s grief was they excuse they used for so long while Julian’s killers were being hunted down, that even Babe forgot there was a world of truth to it. He didn’t know how deep the roots of his grief had grown, even after years, until he was asked to return to Pennsport and had an actual fucking panic attack.

He couldn’t make himself get on a plane back then, so they drove, and honestly? Babe didn’t know what he did in his past lives to get Gene, but he was full of immense gratitude to whatever good deeds he accomplished back then.

After overcoming that emotional hurdle, Babe made sure to visit at least twice a year. He’d just been there back in October to welcome the latest Guarnere into the world and hadn’t planned on returning again until May.

Babe looked through the storage bins and the closet and realized he’d probably have to buy a winter coat while he was up there. The two he’d owned had already been claimed by Gene and Merl-Francis. Sledge, ever the Boy Scout, already had his own.

“Well that’s a nice view,” Gene said.

Babe laughed and wiggled his ass as he leaned over the bin. “At least there’s something you still like about me.”

“I’m just with you for the life insurance and the tax break,” Gene said.

“Figure out how you’re going to kill me yet?” Babe asked.

“I figured with the amount of almond milk you drink I’ll just let the cyanide do its thing. Claim you must’ve got hold of some bitter almonds and made your own homemade glass of milky poison.”

Babe looked up and had to laugh at the evil smirk on Gene’s face. “That’s horrifically brilliant.”

Gene shrugged. “I needed something to do at the last board meeting.”

Gene didn’t like having to play the businessman. He liked being a doctor, it was his calling, but they both knew how important it was to him to make sure lower-income and rural areas had access to decent health care clinics. It was a never-ending battle with local governments and the more religious members of the board who didn’t want to provide free contraceptives, pregnancy tests, or rides to the few Planned Parenthood clinics still in the state, but Gene always won. It was hard to argue with him when he got that look on his face and that tone in his voice.

“Maybe you need this vacation,” Babe said.

Gene nodded as he walked into their bedroom. “I was thinking about going down to five days a week too. Apparently there’s benefit in taking more than one day off a week.”

Babe almost fell on his ass. “Did I just hear you speaking actual common sense?”

“Fuck you,” Gene said with love.

Babe grabbed an armful of sweaters and walked over to his open suitcase. “I know what this is about. It’s because you’re turning forty next year.”

“Fuck you,” Gene repeated. He slipped his arms around Babe’s waist and rested his chin on his shoulder. “You got enough clothes there?”

“Half of these are for you,” Babe said. He leaned back into Gene’s embrace and softly laughed. “And Merl-Francis. He’s going to have ten layers on. We’ll be able to roll his ass down the street.”

Gene laughed in agreement. “Never could fatten that boy up.” His lips were warm when the pressed against Babe’s temple. “You happy?”

It had been on those little traditions of theirs, to ask this, in the quiet times. The answers differed at times, but it was an honest question for an honest answer.

“So much,” Babe said. He turned his head to meet Gene’s warm gaze. “So much,” he repeated.

After the job that had cost both Bill and Joe Toye a leg a piece, they’d come back to Philly to stay. There had been some bullshit with the Department of Defense, even more with Veteran’s Affairs, and finally they’d just taken jobs with the Nixon Development Philadelphia office. Joe had been officially adopted by the Guarnere-Heffron-Julian-Spina clans. Fran and Bill had insisted Joe live with them, since their place had newly constructed ramps and handrails, and while it’d been a fight, Joe had finally given in.

The Guarnere home was their first stop. Babe pulled their rental car up to the small strip of concrete that masqueraded as a driveway on the backend of the house. He had insisted on driving, knowing damn well his car full of backwoods country boys wouldn’t survive the trip from the airport without getting in at least three accidents. Babe smiled to himself as he got out of the car. St. Boniface was home, had been for a long time, but there was nothing like the old buildings and decorated front stoops of where he grew up. Green and white flags and Eagles logos decorated damn near everything as far as the eye could see.

“Uncle Babe!”

Babe braced himself as Juliana Guarnere came running down the steps at full speed.

“You gonna dent the car,” Merl-Francis said from where he sat in the backseat, huddled up like he was about to trek the Antarctic. It wasn’t even that cold outside.

Babe caught Juliana up in his arms and marveled at how tall she’d grown. Seven years old and already half her mother’s size. She had green and white hearts painted on her cheeks which clashed horribly with the faded orange and back Flyers t-shirt she wore.

“Missed you, Julie,” he said, hugging her tight.

She gave Babe another hug and then moved on to Gene before waving at Sledge. She frowned at Merl-Francis in the backseat.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s cold-blooded like his gator relatives. He’s just conserving his body heat,” Babe said.

“I can hear you,” Merl-Francis said. He finally slid out of the car. “I assume there’s heat inside your house.”

“Duh,” Juliana said. She grabbed Babe’s hand and tugged him towards the back door. “Come on! Uncle Joe’s making lunch. Uncle Ralph is supposed to be coming by too. Why didn’t he fly with you?”

“He had his tickets long before we got ours,” Babe said.

“’Cause he’s got more faith in the Eagles than you,” Juliana said.

Babe laughed. “You sound like your grandmother.”

Juliana laughed as they walked into the kitchen that smelled like ricotta and marinara. Joe Toye was balanced on a stool over the stove, slathering loaves of bread with butter.

“Look at you all domestic and shit,” Babe said.

Joe smirked at him and cleaned his hands on the bar towel resting on his shoulder. “I can’t cook much, but this? I’ve got it down.”

“Smells good,” Gene said. He was looking at Joe with his doctor’s gaze, but probably only Babe and Merl-Francis knew it enough to tell. “Anything we can do to help?”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “Get out of my kitchen. Go play with the kids. Henry’s teething, just so you know.”

Juliana nodded. “It’s the worst.”

“You weren’t exactly a ball of fun,” Joe said. He tugged on Juliana’s ponytail. “You going to stay here? Be my proper sous chef?”

“Do I get first dibs on the sauce?” Juliana asked, a wicked grin on her face reminiscent of her father.

“Of course,” Joe promised.

“Okay,” Juliana said. She waved at Babe and Gene. “You know the way.”

Gene led the other two out, but Babe lingered by the doorway.

“Hey, Joe?” he said.

“You about to start singing some Hendrix at me, Heffron?” Joe asked. “The baby wailing is enough noise.”

Babe shook his head. Some things would never change. “Just saying, you look good.” He paused and added, “Asshole,” as a parting shot.

“Watch your mouth,” Juliana yelled after him.

Babe followed the sound of childish laughter to the living room. Bill Guarnere held court on the couch, little Henry is his lap sucking down a bottle and four-year-old Sofia laughing as Bill made funny faces at her, apparently more entertaining than the Bubble Guppies on the screen.

Sledge was looking over all the family photographs on the wall, while Merl-Francis had claimed the chair closest to the heating vent. Gene was conspicuously absent.

“Fran stole him,” Bill said.

“Already?” Babe said. He held out his hands and took the baby and the bottle. “That’s got to be a record.”

“We got a new big girl bed for Sofia and a canopy to go with it. The canopy is driving Fran up the wall.”

“It’s has Elsa and Anna on it,” Sofia helpfully supplied.

“And it lights up,” Bill said.

“Jealous you don’t get one?” Babe asked. He shifted Henry in his arms, surprised how much he’d grown since the last time Babe had seen him, and tried not to make a face when he got spit up on.

“Why do all your children do this to me?”

Bill smiled, eyes tinged with memories from a lifetime together. “Maybe it’s just a Guarnere thing.”

#long post #fandom: hbo war #fandom: band of brothers #verse: gone are all the days #tag for alex #happy birthday darling!

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