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“This—I fuckin’ hate this—” Ron swore softly, shoving things haphazardly in his duffel. “He demanded you stay away last year but now he demands your presence? Like you’re a fuckin’ dog and he can just call you to heel—”
“Ron—”
“It’s not right, Tommy— I know we weren’t doin’ a traditional Thanksgiving but it—I wanted to take you with me.”
“I know, and I really do appreciate that, but he’s not gonna budge so there’s no reason to keep bein’ angry about it. I have to go to a Kazansky Thanksgiving just like everybody else,” Tom shrugged, fidgeting with the edge of his blanket as he sat on Ron’s bed.
“I should just stay here,” Ron decided, turning back towards his young roommate. He playfully spiked the blond locks up as the kid frowned. “I’ll just—”
“ You have to go home and see your mother,” Tom insisted. “You promised—and your Nana is going to be there. There’s absolutely no reason for you to stay here. What’re you gonna do? Just sit around on Thanksgiving, waiting for me to get kicked out of my parents’ house?”
“There are way worse ways for me to spend my time,” the taller man shrugged. “You’re important to me, kid. I can cancel my trip with one phone call—”
“Don’t do that, please? It’s just going to make me feel guilty,” the blond shrugged. “Seeing your family is important. I want you to go so that when you get back I can hear all about what they’ve been up to. And you can bring me some of those caramels from Nana?”
Ron laughed before tugging the kid into a tight hug. “Ohhhhh, I see how it is— you just want me to go for the sweets, huh? Think you can get me to go visit my sweet ol’ Nana and get you homemade candy? The motive!”
“Nana’s making caramels?” Nick suddenly spoke up from the doorway. “No way! I want some—maybe we should all go home with Ronny?”
At that, Ron huffed once more, turning back to his duffel.
“What? What did I say?” Nick frowned.
“I’m not going anymore,” Tom said softly. “The Admiral is requiring my presence at Thanksgiving this year.”
Nick tensed, exchanging a worried look with Ron. “What are you going to do, Kaz?”
“I have to go,” the kid shrugged. “Can’t really disobey the Admiral.”
Ron grumbled as he zipped his bag shut. Nick nodded sharply, mind whirring.
“What about the rest of the weekend? Or tomorrow?”
“The Admiral is in DC tomorrow so I’m gonna go visit my mother. I’m not sure what I’ll do the rest of the time. Can always come back here I guess.”
“No you can’t,” Ron crossed his arms. “They’re repairing the heating system over the leave. There won’t be any heat here, kid. And we both know you’ll get sick if you try so—”
“Okay, well how about this? I’m renting a place off base for leave,” Nick interjected. “My little brother’s comin’ up here to see me and we figured we’d just hang around here instead of me tryin’ to get all the way down to Tennessee and then back up here. Would take half of leave just to travel. He’ll be here tomorrow at some point. I can get you the address and leave a key for you at the desk if you want Kazaroni? Just a simple little cottage deal they had down just off the far end of base but—”
“Are you sure?” Tom frowned.
“100%, kiddo,” Nick beamed. “Besides, I’d love for you to meet the menace. And that way Ronny here doesn’t have to worry about you. You’ll have a warm place to stay if you need it, okay? Won’t be stuck with the Admiral longer than you have to be.”
“See?” Tom offered Ron a small smile. “Nothing to worry about. I’ll have Nick.”
Ron pulled him into a tight hug and relaxed a bit. “Yeah—and don’t you forget it.”
*************************************************************************************************************
Wednesday was decent, a sort of calm before the storm if you will. Tom should have known that it was too good to be true. He’d allowed himself to relax into the familiarity of being home with his mother and sister, to smile and to be himself as they laughed and flit around the kitchen. When his mother kissed his forehead and told him to sleep in because he’d earned it helping her with the pies—-he should have known better.
But he hadn’t been home the previous Thanksgiving; he hadn’t seen the Admiral in a holiday capacity in almost two years—he hadn’t known what being in the Navy meant for holidays.
He learned.
There was a loud pounding on the bedroom door at 0630, alerting him to the fact that the Admiral had apparently made it home from DC.
His father didn’t wait for admittance before slamming brutishly into the room, disdain clear as Tom scrambled to get out of bed.
“Of all of the— still in bed? Really Thomas, I would’ve thought by now that you understood the importance of discipline and routine. Damn disgrace—-”
He stormed out of the room without another word, leaving a blinking, confused Tom to try and process what had just happened.
“So much for sleepin’ in,” he muttered to himself, taking the time to make the bed properly before he got dressed.
Thanksgiving was one of those holidays that the Admiral typically expected formality, so Tom had brought nicer clothes for the actual meal. But if he was going to be up this early, he was most likely going to seek refuge helping his mother cook, so he selected a dark henley and khakis to wear for the morning.
He ran a quick brush through his hair, making sure it was lying flat in an ‘acceptable’ manner before he hurried down the stairs.
He slipped into the kitchen just as his mother was pulling the turkey out of the refrigerator, reaching out to help her place it in the sink.
“Good morning mother,” he offered quietly, placing a kiss on her cheek before starting to chop the vegetables she’d already set aside.
“Morning, Tom—I thought I said you could sleep in, darling?”
Before Tom could say anything, his father swept into the kitchen, frowning deeply at the sight of his youngest. “Make sure you’re helpful to your mother, Thomas. It’s the least you can do after wasting your morning.”
“He’ll be helpful,” Mrs. Kazansky insisted. “He and Sarah were a great help to me yesterday.”
The Admiral snorted with an eye roll. “I’m sure he was. Too damn soft on the boy, Anya. Always were— and now look at him! In the damn Academy and spending his leave baking fuckin’ pastries .”
The tall man grumbled as he stormed out of the room, leaving an all too familiar tension in his wake.
“Tommy?” Anya said softly, reaching up to gently scratch the hairs on the back of her boy’s neck. “Darling he— he doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s just tired. Traveled early this morning, you know—-”
“I know, mother,” Tom smiled weakly, resolutely chopping vegetables.
He spent the rest of the morning in a similar vein.
He’d do whatever his mother directed him to do, being the diligent youngest child and helping in the kitchen like he had when he was much younger. He fielded the usual insults and put downs from the Admiral as he did so, but he was relatively safe in the kitchen.
After all, that’s not where a man spent his time. No, the great Aleksander Kazansky had far too many other important things to do on a day such as today. He had to call the usual brass to metaphorically rub elbows.
He had to visit with his children, or at least the ones he wished to acknowledge. He had to sit down with Sarah and hear, formally, about her grades in each and every class she was taking. To hear how close she was to passing the Bar. He had to place a collect call to David, as the eldest Kazansky was unable to get leave this year.
Part of Tom wondered if that was why he’d been requested home this year.
Davy wasn’t able to make it, since he was off being the ‘noble’ sailor—the one they could be proud of. Maybe Tom was just supposed to fill the seat at the table? To be photographed so no one questioned the lack of a Kazansky son in the picture perfect family image?
He hated that that was where his head went but—
An all too familiar pounding was starting to build at the base of his skull, the tension of his neck adding to the mounting headache. How sad was it that home gave him more stress than the damn Naval Academy?
“We’re just about finished, Tommy,” Anya said with a soft smile. “Why don’t you go clean up? I’m going to go change as well and then set the table. Your father wanted the meal served at 1300 so we have just enough time I think.”
Tom nodded easily before heading back up the stairs to his room. It wasn’t truly his anymore. The majority of his possessions appeared to have been boxed and placed in the closet, but it was still familiar as his childhood room.
The Admiral had always required the holidays to be a formal affair, so Tom had taken care to have Ron help him press his suit jacket and slacks, as well as his new powder blue shirt.
He looked pretty good, if he did say so himself. The first two years of the Academy had done its’ best to help him fill out what it could of his 19 year old frame, and he felt, for once, like he belonged as he moved back down the stairs.
He easily helped his mother to set the table, carefully carrying the heavier dishes to the table for her before taking his seat across from Sarah. His sister offered him a warm smile and a wink as she made a big show of checking out his new shirt.
“Very nice TK—” she teased. “I bet the ladies love that shirt—-”
“He wouldn’t know, Sarah,” Aleksander suddenly interjected, taking his seat. “Thomas spends the majority of the time he’s not in class splashing around in a swimming pool like a damn goldfish.”
“How’s it going?” Sarah persisted, serving herself from some of the bowls before handing them to her father.
“Really well,” Mrs. Kazansky spoke suddenly, slicing the turkey. “I heard from Mrs. Sanders that Tommy is on the medal podium every single meet! Her husband, Admiral Sanders says that the instructors are very impressed.”
“Way to go, TK,” his sister grinned.
There was a sudden loud thunk as the Admiral suddenly slammed the heavy casserole bowl down on the table. “ Enough ! Sarah Marie, you have far better things to concern yourself with. You only have a limited amount of time to make an impression when you head to DC next week. You should be focusing on that, not your brother’s swimming .”
“It sounds like he’s doing a good job, Daddy—” she said softly. “Doing the Navy proud. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted from him?”
The man laughed then, and it was a harsh, pitying sort of laugh. “You think he’s doing the Navy proud? This scrap of a whelp spends his days splashing around in a pool earning medals for himself . No records, nothing entombing the Kazansky family name for generations. Nothing of record in his classes or his presence—he doesn’t even bother to dress appropriately for today’s meal !”
Tom flinched, gripping his fork stiffly. He felt his pulse start to thud more in his temples. Well, there went his appetite.
“Aleksander—” Mrs. Kazansky tried. “He looks wonderful— the shirt brings out your eyes darling.”
Tom managed a small smile at his mother. “Thank you, mama—”
The Admiral snorted derisively. “Didn’t even bother to wear his dress uniform.”
“ That is for military functions—I was under the impression that this was a family event,” Tom bit out, finally meeting his father’s glare.
“You’re eating with a damn Admiral, boy ,” Aleksander growled.
Tom huffed a soft laugh. “I thought I was eating with my father, sir .”
“You dare speak back to me in my own home, Thomas?”
“Aleks— please ,” Anya insisted. “It’s Thanksgiving—our son and daughter are here . Can we not just be thankful —”
“Thank you for this incredible meal,” Sarah interjected, trying to diffuse the tension.
“It smells great,” Tom agreed, holding his plate up when his sister gestured. He held his breath as she spooned green bean casserole onto it.
“Thank you, both of you,” their mother beamed. “I’m so glad you’re both here to share it with. If only David had been able to make it home as well—”
“ He’s doing his duty to this country.”
“Well of course he is,” she agreed softly.
“ Damn proud of him,” the Admiral grumbled, digging into his plate of food.
“We all are,” Anya conceded.
The four descended into a tense silence that was only broken by the scraping of silverware on plates.
Tom wished he was anywhere else.
***********************************************************************************************************
Pete had screwed up. There was no other way around it—and Nick was never going to let him hear the end of it. That was certain—-
His ankle throbbed as he hurried through the little strip mall to a back door, slipping into the alleyway.
He never should have gone into the little two story sandwich sort of pub but it was one of the few places that was open .. It looked like it would serve some great food, but he was smarter than this.
He knew better—-he didn’t have to worry so much in Tennessee, but he’d grown up on base.
He knew better than to go into Navy establishments wearing anything from his Pops. But it was his favorite jacket—and he really hadn’t thought the patches would be that recognizable.
He’d just wanted to get Nick a sandwich—surprise his brother with a little pick me up from the bakery next door maybe.
He was just taking a walk !
But that cursed jacket and his cursed name meant he’d been chased up to the second story of the little pub by a bunch of academy grunts.
“Where the hell did you go, Pipsqueak?!”
Pete cursed and hobbled a bit faster through the alleyway. Maybe if he made it to the parking lot, he could duck under a car or something until they got bored and wandered off. It wasn’t that far of a walk back to the little cottage. He could maybe even get there before Nick woke up—-
“Hey! YOU!”
“Oh shit,” Pete muttered, breaking into an uncoordinated run as his ankle burned . There would be time for that later—
He ducked between two buildings, hoping to catch the men following him off guard, or at least to gain a bit of space.
He didn’t want to think about what would happen if they caught him again. He didn’t jump out of a second story window just to be caught by these jackasses—-
Pete bit his lip and pushed through the pain to run a bit faster. He could ice it later maybe.
He dodged the one larger guy who’d caught his ribs earlier, slipping into the parking lot and breaking into as fast of a run as he could. There was a little park that direction it looked like—maybe if he just—-
“Shit,” he yelped as he tripped on the curb, rolling head over heels down a grassy hill.
Pete rolled for what felt like at least a minute, doing his best to cover his head. He came to an abrupt halt as he rolled into a park bench, coughing harshly as he uncurled himself.
“Ouch—-” he huffed, one arm wrapped around his midsection as he scrambled to his feet.
“What the hell happened to you?”
Pete froze, spinning to see a blond guy on the bench he’d just crashed into. “Uh—”
“Hello? Why do you have a bunch of sailors chasing you, kid?”
“I—they hate—-” Pete frowned when he saw the fresh shiner starting to form on the guy’s face, the blood crusting his eyebrow and split lip. Who’s to say he could trust him ?
“What the hell do you think you’re doing traitor —” one of the sailors roared.
“Get back here!” another one yelled as they drew close.
“Did you steal something from them?” The blond demanded sharply.
“No,” Pete offered. “I just wanted to—I was just tryin’ to buy a sandwich at McGregor’s but—”
“Where the hell do you get off—oh shit ,” one of the sailors froze, grabbing the arm of another as the group of five stumbled to a stop. “That’s Kazansky—”
“Like Admiral—-”
“Who the hell messed with
him
?”
“If that little fuck up—-”
“I’m not sticking around to find out! That little bastard wants to mess with the Kazanskys of all the fuckin’ Navy—”
Their voices trailed off as they turned tail and headed back across the parking lot.
Pete frowned and turned to look at his new companion, who was merely watching them with an unimpressed look and a raised eyebrow.
Who the hell was this guy? And related to an admiral?
Pete haphazardly began tugging his jacket off, rolling it up and tucking it under his arm as he slowly backed away from the other man.
The other man who was seemingly swaying a bit now, his eyes squeezed shut.
“Hey—uh—-are you okay, man?”
“Kid—”
“I’m not a kid—I’m 17,” Pete shot back. “You’re not that much older than me I bet—”
The blond opened his eyes a small amount, frowning. He seemed to be evaluating Pete before he sighed. “You might be right— so you gonna tell me what you did to piss off the brute squad?”
“You gonna tell me why you look like you’re gonna fall over?”
“Not that it’s any of your concern, strange kid I just met—but I have a migraine and I was trying to sit on the bench for a second before you crashed into it.
Pete frowned, looking at the bruises rapidly forming on the other man’s face. “A migraine or a concussion from someone knocking the shit out of your face?”
“Migraine—headache was prior to—well, this,” the blond gestured to his head vaguely.
Each teen took a second to look at one another.
The brunet was a skinny little thing, standing without much weight on his left ankle, his green jacket tucked under his arm and his jeans covered in grass stains from rolling.
The blond was taller and a little more filled out but not by much. He was dressed in what appeared to be a nice outfit with a shirt and slacks and a suit jacket over top. But blood was now dripped a bit garishly on the powder blue shirt, presumably from the cuts on his face. There was a duffel bag on the ground by his leg, too, which was odd.
Both boys seemed to size the other up before sighing.
The blond offered his hand to the shorter man. “Tom—”
“Pete—” he shook his hand a bit skeptically. “How’d you get the face?”
“Said the wrong thing at Thanksgiving dinner,” Tom shrugged. “What happened to your ankle, that seems pretty bad—”
“Tried to buy a sandwich and ended up jumping out of the second story when I got chased. Runnin’ here probably didn’t help.”
Tom felt his brows raise. Just who the hell was this kid?
“Well—”
“Well—”
They both stared at one another for a second before Tom spoke. “Look obviously you need to get that looked at, and it doesn’t seem like a good idea to leave you alone for those guys to come back so—-”
“Don’t suppose you have a car?”
“Nope,” the blond winced, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them purposefully. “But I was going to meet my friend just a little bit in that direction. He’ll help us to make sure you get looked at.”
“What about you?”
Tom snorted. “He’ll look after me too, I’m sure.”
Pete hesitated. He really should just go back to Nick, but he hated to think about leaving Tom here on this bench. What if whoever hit him came back? Or what if this wasn’t a migraine and was really a concussion? He was fairly certain Nick’s rented cottage was that direction too. Maybe they’d pass it first?
“Um, yeah, okay— we can do that.”
Pete started hobbling off the direction Tom had indicated, grinding his teeth as white fire raced up his leg.
“Oh for the love of—-c’mere Trouble,” Tom grabbed Pete’s arm and pulled it over his shoulders, holding the majority of the kid’s weight so he could hop on his right leg only.
“M sorry,” Pete grit, doing his best to keep up.
“Yeah, me too, kid. Hell of a Thanksgiving, huh?”
**************************************************************************************************************
Nick couldn’t believe his luck. The first time he decides to relax and take an afternoon nap, Pete goes out on his own.
The kid had a hell of a knack for getting into trouble on his own, who knows what he’d found wandering around an unfamiliar Navy town!
Nick was just tugging on his jacket when heard a haphazard knock on the door.
“Pete?” he called, moving quickly to the door.
He saw a strange shadow of two people.
“Are you sure this is the right one?”
“Oh yeah, he told me this—--”
“Wait a second—-”
Nick pulled the door open in confusion, having recognized the two voices.
“Nick!”
“Nick!”
Both teens turned to look at each other in surprise.
“You know—”
“----Know Nick?”
Nick rolled his eyes. “Yes, you’re both my idiots—oh for the love of christ—what the hell happened to the two of you? How’d you even end up together?”
“Pete’s got a really bad ankle,” Tom spoke up first. “And keeps holding his ribs. Some sailors were chasing him across town and he apparently jumped off of the second floor of McGregors—”
“Oh for shit’s sake, Peter,” Nick grumbled, lifting the kid up into his arms and carrying him into the cottage. “What the hell did you do, huh?”
“I was just tryin’ to buy you a sandwich. Though I could surprise you since you got this place and cooked last night and— I screwed up—”
Nick set him up on the kitchen counter, bending to remove the obnoxious boot from the left leg as he did so. He hissed as he saw the obvious swelling. “Damn, Petey pie—-did anything crack or pop?”
“No, just—I think I rolled it but then I was runnin’ on it and—”
“Sure you were,” Nick sighed. “Well—let’s try some ice and then maybe epsom salts, huh?”
The mustached man grabbed some ice cubes from the freezer, tucking them into a dish towel before placing it on the swollen ankle he carefully maneuvered onto the counter.
“What do you mean you screwed up, honey?”
“Wore my jacket,” Pete said softly, mumbling as he looked worriedly at Tom who was standing in the background.
“What? Why are you mumbling—” Nick followed his gaze, quickly glancing at Tom. “Oh you don’t have to worry about him, kiddo. Tommy’s not gonna care who your daddy was. S’that why you’re not wearing it now? It’s cold Peter—”
“They—the other punks ran off when they saw him. Said he’s—he’s related to an Admiral and whoever—whoever had messed with him was gonna have to answer to him and I didn’t—”
“Messed with him—” Nick trailed off, turning back to really look at Tom. “Oh for fuck’s sake— Tommy — the Admiral?”
He moved quickly towards the blond, reaching for his bloodied face a bit forcefully. Tom flinched visibly, causing Nick to slow his movements.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Hey Kazaroni…. It’s okay honey—- talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Said he had a migraine,” Pete said suddenly, leaning himself way over one on side to reach the light switch and flick it off, sending the kitchen into partial darkness.
“Oh honey,” Nick whispered, gently framing the boy’s face and looking him over closely. “Kaz I need you to be straight with me here, okay? Did you have the migraine before the Admiral? Or is there a chance this is a concussion because of the hit?”
“W’s before,” Tom said softly, letting the taller man tuck him into a gentle hug. “Buildin’ all day—Ad’ral only did this hour ago—-”
“Okay kiddo,” Nick sighed, feeling the rest of the kid over as he did.
“F’l sick, Nicky—” Tom shuddered.
“I’m sure, honey. But it’s all going to be okay, I promise. Gonna look after both of my little brothers—don’t you worry. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
“Oh—you’re Kazaroni,” Pete said softly, smiling a bit. “Guess that’s cause you’re Kazanny or whatever.”
“Kazansky,” Nick corrected gently, pulling the blond to sit in a chair. “Pete, this is Tom Kazansky, also known as Kazaroni, and my other little brother. Tommy, this is Pete, better known as my menace from Tennessee. I take it you two didn’t know who each other really was?”
Pete shook his head.
“Well, I’m really glad you both found each other and made your way to me,” the uninjured man decided. “Petey, stay right there, okay? I’ll be right back—”
Without much preamble, Nick scoops the trembling Tom up and carries him into the master bathroom of the cottage.
He made quick work of stripping the kid to his undershirt and boxers while filling the bathtub with steaming hot water. He then sat Tom on the edge and directed him to tuck his feet and hands in the water, massaging some peppermint oil from his back into the boy’s neck and shoulders.
“Try to take a deep breath honey—-take it easy, okay?” he said softly, running a towel under cold water in the sink and placing it on the back of the kid’s neck. I’ll be right back—-”
Tom tries to take slow measured breaths, trying to will away his throbbing, aching head. Tears prick the corner of his eyes.
Nick came back into the room with Pete, placing him on the other end of the tub, letting him soak his aching ankle in the heated water.
“There we go, everyone’s going to be just fine—- I’m going to take care of everything, you two, okay? Nothing to worry about now—”
It took a while, and was far from smooth sailing, but Nick eventually got both of his brothers tucked in the master bed, each falling into an exhausted sleep.
Pete really needed his ankle wrapped, and Tom’s cuts needed more cleaning and his poor eye was starting to swell— but they were safe and he had several days to spoil them, and to properly introduce them.
First though….
“Ron?”
/What happened? Is he okay? I’m flying back first thing tomorrow—-Nana didn’t like the idea of Tommy being alone…./
“Better bring that shovel, Ronny. Both the kids got themselves into some trouble today.”
/Both—? Are they okay? Where are you?/
“In the cottage I rented,” Nick sighed. “And they’re going to need some TLC the next few days, but they’re alright.
Nothing
is gonna happen to either of them while I'm here. Not a damn thing.”