Post by Fourever Charmed on Jan 26, 2007 16:28:08 GMT -5
Summary: On a cold winter night in New York, Victor decides to pull out a box of pictures and remember the life he once shared with his wife and little girls.
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Yeah, I know, another song fic. You’re probably all rolling your eyes. But apparently, writing these helps me get my creative juices flowing in between chapters of my series fics, so it’s actually helping everyone who reads my work in the end.
lol This is a song I found when I was looking for Prake (Paige/Drake) songs, and I knew I had to do it as a Patty/Victor song fic. The song is called A Night To Remember, by Joe Diffie.
A cold burst of icy wind shot through the rickety apartment. The curtains at the far end of the room rustled, and the top papers on a stack of old newspapers flew off the pile. There was the slam of the front door, followed by the low shuffling of heavy boots, and then a young man with dark hair and dark eyes labored into the room.
He was wrapped tightly in a heavy, olive green coat and wore thick, rubber snow boots that laced up the front. They were caked with hard, white snow. The man shuffled to the stained couch and dropped onto the center cushion. He stared blankly at the room for several minutes, and then began to peel off the wool scarf from around his neck. He held it gingerly between his fingers, staring at it wistfully.
Victor Bennett hauled himself up from the couch, still clutching the navy blue scarf in his left hand, and wandered to the dingy window. He was several stories up, staring down at the New York traffic jam below him. A gentle snow was falling from the darkened sky, and it was already so thick on the streets below that one couldn’t see the sidewalks.
His eyes shifted back to the scarf. He squeezed it. The man let out a sigh as he shimmied out of his heavy coat and tossed it across the room, watching as it landed haphazardly on the couch. Victor kicked off his snow boots where he stood, allowing some of the larger blocks of snow to fall onto the thin layer of carpet. The white snow instantly began to melt, and some even soaked into his dingy white socks.
Victor shuffled slowly across the small one bedroom apartment, heading for one of the only other doors in the place: the bedroom. He grabbed the copper handle and swung it open, greeted by the pungent smell of tobacco. Smoking cigars was an old habit that his own father had been hooked on, and he had decided to try it shortly after he moved to New York City. As the door closed, he leaned against it and surveyed the room. His sorrowful eyes landed on the closed closet doors.
The tired man locked the door and then crossed the room, only to drop to his knees at the closet. He yanked open the door and shoved aside the hanging clothes so that he could get to what was buried deep within the back. His heart was beginning to pump a little faster as he wriggled deep into the closet, and he could feel his eyes beginning to sting.
And then he found it! Victor froze as his hands wrapped around the wrinkled cardboard box. His fingers twitched and his muscled tightened, and then with a grunt, he pulled the box into view. He blinked back several salty memories, that were knocking at the back of his eyelids.
The box was medium in size, and slightly sunken in on one side. It was covered in a thick layer of gray dust and cobwebs, some of which had even formed little balls. The cardboard was old and weathered, obviously having had taken the brunt of water damage and direct sunlight a couple times.
Victor pulled the box into his arms and carried it around his small bed, placing it just under the lamp. He reached up and flicked it on. Too bright, he thought, twisting the knob until the lights had dimmed a shade lower. When it was still not to his satisfaction, he twisted the knob one more time. Good. Perfect.
He struggled to open the top of the box. His hands were shaking like mad. And then it popped, blowing a puff of gray dust into the air and showering him within it. He didn’t care. All he wanted was what was inside the box. He brushed away the dust and dug his trembling fingers into the frail container.
“Patty.” Victor held the framed photograph of his ex-wife up to the light. He used his hand to dust off the glass covering and he smiled at the sight of her smiling face. Gently, he placed the photo on the floor and then turned the box over, easing out the rest of the photos.
He used his sleeve to wipe away the dust and grime that had collected since the last time he’d done this; he cleaned off each and every picture. All except for a handful, they all had Patty Halliwell in them. Most of them were of her alone, some of her and their eldest daughter, Prudence. Some of her and all three girls, while others had just Patty and Phoebe or Patty and Piper.
Several, which had been taken long before Prue, were just of Patty and Victor. A none framed photo was even a string from a photo booth, back when they had just started dating; goofy smiles, bunny ears, hugs, kisses, and in the last one he had even pinned her down just to tickle her.
Victor smiled fondly at the memory. His eyes shifted to another picture. He chuckled slightly. It was a picture that had been taken of Prue during her piano recitals. “I wonder if you remember that,” he said aloud. The picture was slightly fuzzy, not quite in focus, but if one looked close enough they would be able to see a tiny woman, Patty, in the background. Victor remembered that day well. Patty had been too nervous to take the pictures, so he had to.
He moved to another one. It was a picture that had been taken on a day that they had designated for a family picnic, unfortunately it had rained. So instead of having the picnic outside, Patty had opted for a picnic inside the Halliwell Manor, right in the living room. He rubbed the picture with his index finger. She always had such creative ideas.
Victor set it down and grabbed another; a five by seven. It was a picture of himself and his girls, one of the few which his late wife was not in. “I remember when you took that one,” he said softly. He closed his eyes, sighing as he set it down.
Then his dark eyes fell upon a Christmas photograph. It had Victor holding a little Phoebe in his lap, a young Piper handed out a navy blue scarf to him. Victor gently stroked the scarf, which was now draped over his arm. It had been a combined present from Patricia and the girls, but Piper had been so excited that she insisted on giving it to him. His eyes lifted to the ceiling. “And you had insisted on capturing it on film.” His hands trembled. “I’m so glad you did.”
Victor wiped his nose with his sleeve. His throat was beginning to tingle and he was suddenly finding it very hard to breathe. It was like this every time he pulled out these pictures, every time he sat down on a cold and lonely night, just to remember the life that he used to have.
Those years with Patty had been so precious. He grabbed another photo. This one was taken in a hospital room. He couldn’t remember who had taken it, probably a nurse, but it had been just hours after Prue’s birth. In the picture, Victor was huddled over Patty and the tiny, dark haired baby who was wrapped in a soft yellow blanket, complete with a tiny ‘P’ stitched into the corner.
He placed his finger over the stitched ‘P’ in the picture. He would never forget how hard Patty had worked on that blanket in the months before Prue’s birth, so that it could be the first thing their daughter was wrapped in. He closed his eyes, imagining her dedication as she hand knitted that yellow blanket.
“You were special, Patty.” Victor gently drew his finger over the small outline of her face. “And for a while, I was the luckiest man in the world.” He lowered the picture to the floor. His eyes were glazing over with wetness again. “You were so strong and brave…Sometimes I still wake up, expecting you to be lying next to me. It’s so hard to believe that…” His eyes lifted to the brown ceiling again. “…you’re gone.”
He shook his head, almost finding his words silly. Despite the things he’d heard and seen with his very own eyes over the course of meeting Patty, marrying her, and having their three beautiful daughters, somehow it still seemed silly to be talking to the ceiling. “Can you even hear me?” He wondered aloud.
His eyes flitted across the photographs, jumping from pictures of Piper’s third birthday party, the same year he’d gotten her an Easy Bake Oven, to Phoebe’s first Halloween, in which he and Patty had gone as Cinderella and the handsome Prince and they had dressed Phoebe up as a little pumpkin. It had been so symbolic of their relationship at the time, with Patty’s pregnancy with Phoebe as the only thing that had gotten them back together.
Something glinted out of the corner of his teary eyes. He shifted his head. One of the crystallite stones on his ring, a seventeenth century Egyptian protection ring which had also served as Patty’s wedding band to him, was glinting in the dim light.
Victor wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, and immediately picked up another one of himself and Patricia, this time on their wedding day. Unfortunately it quickly produced a leak of tears that he couldn’t cure with just the blotting of his fingers, and several tears splashed onto the surface of the photograph.
Victor dabbed his eyes heavily with the cotton scarf, and then carefully folded it and sat it atop his bed. He began to mournfully collect the pictures from the floor, one by one, and replace them into the sad-looking cardboard box. He started with wedding photograph, which he preferred to keep at the bottom of the box, for it caused him the most pain of all.
He followed it by the one from Prue’s birth, then Piper’s third birthday party, and Phoebe’s first Halloween. On top of them he stacked the ones from the indoor picnic, Prue’s piano recital, and the five by seven. Victor quickened his pace. With each picture he tucked away, his heart ached a little more for his ex-wife and his three young girls, who were all the way across the country.
Time passed slowly as each of the photographs found their place, and he was finally left with just two. The unframed strip from the photo booth, and the very first picture in which he’d taken from the box, which was solely of Patty. Sorrowfully, he tucked the booth strip onto the top and then placed the last picture of Patty over that, hoping that the next time he opened it, they would all be in the same perfect arrangement in which he’d left them.
And then he fumbled with the flaps, until he’d somehow managed to close them again, hiding all his long lost memories inside the darkness of the dusty box. Wobbling, he picked up the box and lugged it back to the closet, where he sealed it away back in the deep dark corners, hidden beneath clothes and dust. He kept it where he kept his heart: buried.
Closing the closet door he whispered, “Goodnight, Patty.”
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Yeah, I know, another song fic. You’re probably all rolling your eyes. But apparently, writing these helps me get my creative juices flowing in between chapters of my series fics, so it’s actually helping everyone who reads my work in the end.
lol This is a song I found when I was looking for Prake (Paige/Drake) songs, and I knew I had to do it as a Patty/Victor song fic. The song is called A Night To Remember, by Joe Diffie.The Pain Of Remembrance
A cold burst of icy wind shot through the rickety apartment. The curtains at the far end of the room rustled, and the top papers on a stack of old newspapers flew off the pile. There was the slam of the front door, followed by the low shuffling of heavy boots, and then a young man with dark hair and dark eyes labored into the room.
He was wrapped tightly in a heavy, olive green coat and wore thick, rubber snow boots that laced up the front. They were caked with hard, white snow. The man shuffled to the stained couch and dropped onto the center cushion. He stared blankly at the room for several minutes, and then began to peel off the wool scarf from around his neck. He held it gingerly between his fingers, staring at it wistfully.
Victor Bennett hauled himself up from the couch, still clutching the navy blue scarf in his left hand, and wandered to the dingy window. He was several stories up, staring down at the New York traffic jam below him. A gentle snow was falling from the darkened sky, and it was already so thick on the streets below that one couldn’t see the sidewalks.
His eyes shifted back to the scarf. He squeezed it. The man let out a sigh as he shimmied out of his heavy coat and tossed it across the room, watching as it landed haphazardly on the couch. Victor kicked off his snow boots where he stood, allowing some of the larger blocks of snow to fall onto the thin layer of carpet. The white snow instantly began to melt, and some even soaked into his dingy white socks.
Victor shuffled slowly across the small one bedroom apartment, heading for one of the only other doors in the place: the bedroom. He grabbed the copper handle and swung it open, greeted by the pungent smell of tobacco. Smoking cigars was an old habit that his own father had been hooked on, and he had decided to try it shortly after he moved to New York City. As the door closed, he leaned against it and surveyed the room. His sorrowful eyes landed on the closed closet doors.
Been one tough week, dead on my feet
But, I’ve made plans for tonight
When I’m feeling blue, know just what to do
And how to make it right
Seems like I’ve needed this forever
Gonna have myself a night to remember
But, I’ve made plans for tonight
When I’m feeling blue, know just what to do
And how to make it right
Seems like I’ve needed this forever
Gonna have myself a night to remember
The tired man locked the door and then crossed the room, only to drop to his knees at the closet. He yanked open the door and shoved aside the hanging clothes so that he could get to what was buried deep within the back. His heart was beginning to pump a little faster as he wriggled deep into the closet, and he could feel his eyes beginning to sting.
And then he found it! Victor froze as his hands wrapped around the wrinkled cardboard box. His fingers twitched and his muscled tightened, and then with a grunt, he pulled the box into view. He blinked back several salty memories, that were knocking at the back of his eyelids.
The box was medium in size, and slightly sunken in on one side. It was covered in a thick layer of gray dust and cobwebs, some of which had even formed little balls. The cardboard was old and weathered, obviously having had taken the brunt of water damage and direct sunlight a couple times.
Victor pulled the box into his arms and carried it around his small bed, placing it just under the lamp. He reached up and flicked it on. Too bright, he thought, twisting the knob until the lights had dimmed a shade lower. When it was still not to his satisfaction, he twisted the knob one more time. Good. Perfect.
He struggled to open the top of the box. His hands were shaking like mad. And then it popped, blowing a puff of gray dust into the air and showering him within it. He didn’t care. All he wanted was what was inside the box. He brushed away the dust and dug his trembling fingers into the frail container.
“Patty.” Victor held the framed photograph of his ex-wife up to the light. He used his hand to dust off the glass covering and he smiled at the sight of her smiling face. Gently, he placed the photo on the floor and then turned the box over, easing out the rest of the photos.
He used his sleeve to wipe away the dust and grime that had collected since the last time he’d done this; he cleaned off each and every picture. All except for a handful, they all had Patty Halliwell in them. Most of them were of her alone, some of her and their eldest daughter, Prudence. Some of her and all three girls, while others had just Patty and Phoebe or Patty and Piper.
Several, which had been taken long before Prue, were just of Patty and Victor. A none framed photo was even a string from a photo booth, back when they had just started dating; goofy smiles, bunny ears, hugs, kisses, and in the last one he had even pinned her down just to tickle her.
Victor smiled fondly at the memory. His eyes shifted to another picture. He chuckled slightly. It was a picture that had been taken of Prue during her piano recitals. “I wonder if you remember that,” he said aloud. The picture was slightly fuzzy, not quite in focus, but if one looked close enough they would be able to see a tiny woman, Patty, in the background. Victor remembered that day well. Patty had been too nervous to take the pictures, so he had to.
He moved to another one. It was a picture that had been taken on a day that they had designated for a family picnic, unfortunately it had rained. So instead of having the picnic outside, Patty had opted for a picnic inside the Halliwell Manor, right in the living room. He rubbed the picture with his index finger. She always had such creative ideas.
Victor set it down and grabbed another; a five by seven. It was a picture of himself and his girls, one of the few which his late wife was not in. “I remember when you took that one,” he said softly. He closed his eyes, sighing as he set it down.
Then his dark eyes fell upon a Christmas photograph. It had Victor holding a little Phoebe in his lap, a young Piper handed out a navy blue scarf to him. Victor gently stroked the scarf, which was now draped over his arm. It had been a combined present from Patricia and the girls, but Piper had been so excited that she insisted on giving it to him. His eyes lifted to the ceiling. “And you had insisted on capturing it on film.” His hands trembled. “I’m so glad you did.”
Dim the lights, lock the door, spread your pictures
On the floor, throw the dust off of our past let it
All come floodin’ back, ‘cause it ain’t easy being
Strong and when I can’t forget you’re gone I just
Surrender, and have myself a night to remember
On the floor, throw the dust off of our past let it
All come floodin’ back, ‘cause it ain’t easy being
Strong and when I can’t forget you’re gone I just
Surrender, and have myself a night to remember
Victor wiped his nose with his sleeve. His throat was beginning to tingle and he was suddenly finding it very hard to breathe. It was like this every time he pulled out these pictures, every time he sat down on a cold and lonely night, just to remember the life that he used to have.
Those years with Patty had been so precious. He grabbed another photo. This one was taken in a hospital room. He couldn’t remember who had taken it, probably a nurse, but it had been just hours after Prue’s birth. In the picture, Victor was huddled over Patty and the tiny, dark haired baby who was wrapped in a soft yellow blanket, complete with a tiny ‘P’ stitched into the corner.
He placed his finger over the stitched ‘P’ in the picture. He would never forget how hard Patty had worked on that blanket in the months before Prue’s birth, so that it could be the first thing their daughter was wrapped in. He closed his eyes, imagining her dedication as she hand knitted that yellow blanket.
“You were special, Patty.” Victor gently drew his finger over the small outline of her face. “And for a while, I was the luckiest man in the world.” He lowered the picture to the floor. His eyes were glazing over with wetness again. “You were so strong and brave…Sometimes I still wake up, expecting you to be lying next to me. It’s so hard to believe that…” His eyes lifted to the brown ceiling again. “…you’re gone.”
Sad ain’t my style but once in a while
I just have to give in
‘Cause a woman like you, is so hard to lose
You just don’t want it to end
I know this can’t go on forever
So tonight I’ll have a night to remember
I just have to give in
‘Cause a woman like you, is so hard to lose
You just don’t want it to end
I know this can’t go on forever
So tonight I’ll have a night to remember
He shook his head, almost finding his words silly. Despite the things he’d heard and seen with his very own eyes over the course of meeting Patty, marrying her, and having their three beautiful daughters, somehow it still seemed silly to be talking to the ceiling. “Can you even hear me?” He wondered aloud.
His eyes flitted across the photographs, jumping from pictures of Piper’s third birthday party, the same year he’d gotten her an Easy Bake Oven, to Phoebe’s first Halloween, in which he and Patty had gone as Cinderella and the handsome Prince and they had dressed Phoebe up as a little pumpkin. It had been so symbolic of their relationship at the time, with Patty’s pregnancy with Phoebe as the only thing that had gotten them back together.
Something glinted out of the corner of his teary eyes. He shifted his head. One of the crystallite stones on his ring, a seventeenth century Egyptian protection ring which had also served as Patty’s wedding band to him, was glinting in the dim light.
Victor wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, and immediately picked up another one of himself and Patricia, this time on their wedding day. Unfortunately it quickly produced a leak of tears that he couldn’t cure with just the blotting of his fingers, and several tears splashed onto the surface of the photograph.
Dim the lights, lock the door, spread your pictures
On the floor, throw the dust off of our past let it
All come floodin’ back, ‘cause it ain’t easy being
Strong and when I can’t forget you’re gone I just
Surrender, and have myself a night to remember
On the floor, throw the dust off of our past let it
All come floodin’ back, ‘cause it ain’t easy being
Strong and when I can’t forget you’re gone I just
Surrender, and have myself a night to remember
Victor dabbed his eyes heavily with the cotton scarf, and then carefully folded it and sat it atop his bed. He began to mournfully collect the pictures from the floor, one by one, and replace them into the sad-looking cardboard box. He started with wedding photograph, which he preferred to keep at the bottom of the box, for it caused him the most pain of all.
He followed it by the one from Prue’s birth, then Piper’s third birthday party, and Phoebe’s first Halloween. On top of them he stacked the ones from the indoor picnic, Prue’s piano recital, and the five by seven. Victor quickened his pace. With each picture he tucked away, his heart ached a little more for his ex-wife and his three young girls, who were all the way across the country.
Time passed slowly as each of the photographs found their place, and he was finally left with just two. The unframed strip from the photo booth, and the very first picture in which he’d taken from the box, which was solely of Patty. Sorrowfully, he tucked the booth strip onto the top and then placed the last picture of Patty over that, hoping that the next time he opened it, they would all be in the same perfect arrangement in which he’d left them.
And then he fumbled with the flaps, until he’d somehow managed to close them again, hiding all his long lost memories inside the darkness of the dusty box. Wobbling, he picked up the box and lugged it back to the closet, where he sealed it away back in the deep dark corners, hidden beneath clothes and dust. He kept it where he kept his heart: buried.
Oh it ain’t easy being strong and when I can’t
Forget you’re gone I’ll just surrender and have
Myself a night to remember
Forget you’re gone I’ll just surrender and have
Myself a night to remember
Closing the closet door he whispered, “Goodnight, Patty.”
