houseofcards_rp | [ota] you're gonna go far, kid

There are very few people, particularly in the Deck, who wouldn't describe Evan McCartney as 'an annoyingly happy camper.'

And he is happy. He's happy to be getting his degree sorted out. He's happy to be looking at jobs which will allow him to be productive--to actually use what bit of a brain he has properly, the way it's meant to be used. He's happy to be in love and waking up every morning next to the woman he's in love with. He's happy to run with the dogs and spend afternoons with his parents and run errands for his sister. He's even happy to get into fights with cousins who look down their noses and young idiots who need to get their heads out of a generation far too outdated to still be crafting culture.

He's happy. He's Evan McCartney.

But he's quiet these days. He's not entirely certain why. He's been singing less. Shouting less. Simply moderating his voice far better than he ever has, as if the concept of 'an indoor voice' has sunk in more than twenty years after being introduced. It sits funny in his shoulders.

So he does what he can. He gets up early to study; makes Riley breakfast and takes the dogs on a run. He goes to throw punches at bags until it's time to ice his shoulder and suck on his lip so the bleeding will stop. And he goes, ultimately, to lie on his back in the snowed-upon Green, because he's not entirely certain where to go when a body feels pensive.

Someone should teach him how to do 'pensive.'

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"I'd heard we'd acquired a new abominable snowman," Tess says as she plops--okay, edges down in degrees--onto the snow beside him. She can wait. If Evan has anything he wants to say, it will come out soon enough.

Well, edging down does mean he has a chance to unbutton his coat and leave her an edge of space to sit on, if she chooses to. Because gentleman and such. Gentleman snowman.

"'m stakin' the situation out, y' see."

"Good money in't is there? Never knew that." She scootches closer smiling at the deja vu brought on by memories of younger days and a time far, far away. She doesn't think Cadogan would take to toenail polishing.

"Seasonal work, I'd expect." She nudges his shoulder with hers. "You look...thoughtful." She decides not to say "down" at the last moment.

There would always be something qualitatively different about childhood friends. It wasn't a bad thing.

Neither was the idea of being thoughtful. There wasn't even anything bad about the lack of being able to actually smile in response to the question. "Am. A little."

Some might call the McCartney brood airheads because of the blonde good looks and happy-go-lucky attitude. Some, not anyone who knew them. "Should I be worried? I remember all the trouble your thoughtful sessions used to get us into."

The teasing doesn't stop the concerned study she turns on him. Nothing worse than people asking you if you're 'feeling okay' when you're absolutely fine. Doesn't mean she won't sit up and take notice when someone she cares about isn't acting true to form.

Or maybe they're all just getting older.

"Nah, no worries there. Ain't the fun kinda thinking."

Which, well. Maybe came with separate worries. Evan thinking about a teenage caper and Evan thinking about his own adult life were, after all, worrisome beasts in their own way.

"Just tryin' to get... my land-legs under me, y'know?"

"What do do know that you're a Real Boy?" She's not sure what brought this on. Probably Evan doesn't know himself. "You've been back home for awhile now, huh?"

And there it is, of course--right to the heart of the matter.

"Real long time. Which-- seems ridiculous."

"Which? That you haven't been Outside for awhile or that it bothers that you that you haven't been outside?" She stabs in the dark. "Or that you can't figure out which it is?"

Or maybe it doesn't bother him at all, which in itself might seem strange.

"Little bit of both, I think." His lips twist slightly, eyes squinting off toward the sky for a moment. "Thought it'd be... easier t' settle down."

"You're not gonna change your spots just 'cause you fond someone special to put up with you." She bumps his shoulder again with hers. "Bet Riley wouldn't expect you to. You been listening to what other people think you ought to do? Tell me you haven't fallen for the Hollywood ideal. Completing each other's fine, but 'Becoming One--'" Her voice lowers in deep exaggeration. "--sounds uncomfortable and a little gooey if you ask me. No reason you can't continue doing what makes you happy."

He wouldn't be loving Riley any less if part of that happiness came in time away.

"Ain't that. Not really. Just--"

And there's a very frustrated huff of breath. It's been hard to articulate for himself, and getting it out--even to a good friend who understood his idiosyncrasies--was coming up short.

"Just I... really wanted t' be able to come home. T' be-- happy livin' here the way my mom and dad were."

Oh, Evan. "But you're you, not your parents." Tess reaches out and threads her fingers with his. "There's nothing wrong, y'know, if what works for them doesn't work for you. You haven't let anyone down." Time for another nudge. "'Sides, much as I like your dad and think he's a great guy an'all, I like you a lot better."

She wasn't sure how open he'd been about his folks and sister and what they expected of him. Even the easiest of families left their marks. Elani, for one, had always wanted him to stay home. Maybe he'd heard his own share of, why can't you settle down and be happy.

And settling down meant staying on the Deck, natch.

He nods, because she's right. He isn't his parents. William and Ava McCartney were wonderful people--and very sedentary people who got meaning and value from living a life settled comfortably in their little house in Town.

But he can't stop the frowning. Can't not still give a tiny unhappy squirm.

"How'm-- I gonna be a dad, though? If I can't-- stick t' one place?"

"Evan! What are you hiding? There isn't a bun in the oven is there?" This calls for all the celebratory cheek pinches.

"You do what any good dad who travels does: spend quality time while your home, talk to the kids on the phone or chat or email, bring them presents. Plenty of fathers--and mothers--travel because of work. You saying they're all bad parents?" And now she's serious. "Your folks are wonderful. You learned the important stuff from them--stuff like love and caring and not smothering. There is absolutely, categorically no way you could ever be a bad parent. You wouldn't worry about it now if you were going to be horrible later. Bad parents don't. They don't care."

"Be a lot less sittin' and a hell more hollerin' when Riley gets knocked up, tell you that."

Which he was fairly certain would happen--possibly even sooner than later. Which would probably wait for a wedding ring, but how far along could that really be?

There's absolutely a relaxing of his shoulders as he listens. There's absolutely a comfortable slumping against her shoulder properly as she talks. There's nothing in the world like the friends a person takes with them out of childhood. "You sure, Tess?"

"And drinks around for the entire Deck?" This time she nudges him hard enough with her shoulder to rock him to one side. "Dummy. 'Course I'm sure. Some things you just know, y'know? Deep down. And I know you'll be a terrific dad and husband. Only a complete brain transplant would prevent it."

She decides not to tease him about finding a brain of suitable miniscule size. Now's not the time.

"Bet the kids can even go with you sometimes once they're older. If Riley comes along and all. Be good for 'em. How many of us are scared to venture Outside? Your kids won't be. They'll learn how to get along in both worlds." She guesses his work isn't as glamorous or tame as he'd like them all to think, but there must be occasions. Even if there weren't, there'd still be vacations.

"You know it." He'd be celebrating every day between being told the news and actually having the child to distract him.

And really, he knows she's right about being able to find a balance. He'd found a balance for staying close to Elani, hadn't he?

And to lovely friends like this one. Lovely friends who clearly needed to be flopped on in a proper pile of limbs and love. "How's things with you, then, 'f I don't have to be pouting around about my own stuff?"

[ota] you're gonna go far, kid

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