Chapter Text
Suburban life in California turned out to be exactly how he thought it would. Positively, mind-numbingly boring. Every day he went through the same blasted routine. Wake up before his wife. Get dressed. Cook Tate breakfast. Make sure his clothes matched and clean up whatever had spilled in the kitchen today. Get him off to school and walk him to his kindergarten class.
This he enjoyed. Tate was smart for his age. Reading at a first grade level and able to solve simple math questions. His speech was a little off and he often confused concepts and meanings but his teacher never minded to correct him. He revelled in the fact that his boy was the smartest in his kindergarden. He sure as hell wasn’t about to brag about it at PTA meetings or slap one of those dang ‘My kid is an Honour Student’ stickers on the back of his truck, but he made sure the little hayseed knew how proud he was.
Unfortunately, being the smartest, he was also the biggest trouble maker. When you’re smart, being a little hellion can break the will of even the strongest men. He’d been like that when he was a boy. Chasing girls on the playground with Gardener snakes and fashioning swords out of sticks just to go into the school and built a sustainable paper sailboat using a rubber band and crayon as a little propeller. He secretly loved those angry calls from the principal telling him that Tate had ‘ripped the ink out of all of his markers and put them in the back of the toilet to, quote, make the water prettier,’.
They had hardly taken a step in the classroom before Tate’s teacher and a few students were on them like wildfire in September.
The kids all loved ‘Mr. McGucket’. He had been a frequent helper in their preschool class and the school was small enough to where all of the kids had gone on to kindergarten together. Fiddleford selfishly loved the fact that he could nearly hypnotize a class of fifteen sugar fueled five year olds with a piece of pencil lead and a light bulb.Tate loved it too. He got to see his pa all day and his friends thought he was just as cool as his daddy. Especially when he started his mischief with the art supplies.
“Mr. McGucket! Just the man I wanted to see. Good morning!” He smiled in the direction of the voice as Tate was tugging at his hand and pointing to a picture on the wall by the window.
“Hello Mr. McGucket! Hi! Will you come look at our pictures? Want to play race cars with us? Look at my new dolly. Her name is Peggy.” Fiddleford knelt down in order to hand out all of the necessary hugs and look at the new (mostly rediscovered at the bottom of the toy chest) toys.
“These sure are swell! I love her dress! Maybe later, darlin’. You gotta go listen to yer lessons.” He stood and smiled weakly at the hardly phased woman in front of him.
“Pa! Look! That one’s mine! See?” Tate’s high voice squeaked with excitement as he attempted to drag the lanky man to the pieces of colored paper littering the wall.
“Woooah there, June Bug. Pa’ll look at it in a sec’nd. I’ll be right there after I talk to your instructor.”
“Alright.” With that he was gone, running after a group of boys who had formed a matchbox track in the corner of the room.
“Sorry bout’ that, ma’me. How are you doin’ this mornin’?” He stood straight, bowing slightly and mimed tipping the brim of a hat invisibly perched over his messy blonde hair.
“Oh, jeeze. I’ve told you a million times, my name isn’t ‘ma’me’. Call me Susan!” She swatted his arm frowned playfully. She was a wonderful woman in Fiddleford’s eyes. Just passing her mid sixties and her dark brown hair had started to grey but her bright green eyes showed no intention of aging past thirty. Her clothes seemed to smell of laundry detergent no matter the time of day. If Fiddleford had been a weaker man he wouldn’t even try to resist the urge to stay in class with his son and cuddle with her during naptime as if she were his own mawmaw.
“Well, now Susan. My name isn’t Mr. McGucket. At least not to anyone over the age of twenty. It’s Fiddleford.” He winked gaily and smiled wide when she blushed.
“Well now, Fiddleford . I know it might be a bit short notice but I wanted to ask you to accompany us on our class field trip to the farm on Monday. Principle Carmon was supposed to be coming alone but was taken away from us by the school board. Them and their silly meetings. And forgive me if this is out of line, but out of all of the parents here, I know you would appreciate it more than any of they would have. Plus the children adore you. That is unless, you’re otherwise occupied. I know you’re a busy man. ”
“I’m tickled pink, Mrs. Campbell. Why I can’t think of anythin’ else I’d rather do Monday. Or an’day for that matter. I’m startin’ to go mad’n this town. Everythin’ is so close together. Can’t darn well walk down the street without feelin’ claustrophobic.”
“You’re sure I’m not dragging you away from your work?” She quirked her eye giving him a hard, questioning glance.
“Sugar, that’s the thing about bein’ yer own boss. I can do whatever I please.” He winked again, hoping to get the same blush as before and fully succeeding.
“Well, alright then. I think I’ve took up enough of your time. Your public awaits.”
His smile brightened as he headed toward the group of boys who had gathered on the carpet next to their make-shift racing track.
“Mr. McGucket, can you build us a better race track?” Fiddleford bent over to look at the stacks of crayon boxes and lincoln logs that they had used to construct the track.
“Now why would I wanna do that? This one looks fine’n dandy to me. Ya’ll fella’s did a wonderful job. I do think I’m gonna have to inquire about this here...umm...what is this, huh?” He grabbed something that looked like a mulit-colored eraser but was oddly shaped and lumpy with bits of the carpet stuck in it.
“It’s our old gum!” One of the boy’s spoke up, as proud as a peacock at their gum-wad. Fiddleford made a face of disgust but then set it back in its place near the center of their track. He’d done MUCH worse things in his early engineering career. He shuddered slightly at the memories. One in particular involving a lot of spray-can cheese and a horse saddle that he wished to god he could forget. He’d have to look into developing some kind of memory altering helmet or something.
“Well, be sure not to let it get stuck to anything. I’ll see ya’ll later. Be good for Mrs. Campbell and I’ll bring back a treat before ya’ll go home. Deal?” He held out a slim, calloused hand to the group and waited until each of them had shook his hand. “Alright. Goodbye.”
“Pa! Now will you look at my drawing?” Tate pulled on the leg of his father’s worn jeans.
“Of course, sweet pea. Which on is yours, huh?” He looked over the wall of drawings of sun’s wearing glasses and trees and what looked like dogs?
“Here! This one.” Tate jabbed a tiny finger at a green blob with wings surrounded by trees.
“It’s a pterodactyl!” His smile reached his eyes as Fiddleford looked over the drawing of the dinosaur.
“My stars, June Bug! This is beautiful! It’s gonna go right on the wall at home in’a nice frame. Is that ok with you?” He ruffled the young boy’s thick brown hair, sending it cascading down his forehead and covering his eyes.
“Yeah, pa! That’s ok!”
“Why don’t ya go over there and help your friends with their race track, huh?” Fiddleford bent over to lift his son into his arms. “But first-”, he planted an exaggerated kiss on the young boy’s cheek and turned his face away from him as he giggled. “Now, where’s mine?” He smiled as his son clumsily attempted the same degree of theatrics. “I’ll see you in a few hours. Be a good boy, ya’ hear?”
“I will! Bye!” With a wave he was gone to play with his friends and Fiddleford was out the door.
He drove his rusted old Ford down the tree lined streets of their neighborhood, sighing heavily at the sight that mocked him every morning. Million dollar houses complete with hundred thousand dollar cars and swimming pools and dogs no bigger that a sack of flour connected to what he wouldn’t be surprised to find out to be gem studded leashes. People jogged down the sidewalk in hundred dollar track suits and sneakers. Lawns were mowed with neat criss-cross patterns and bushes were trimmed as if by some unnatural force overnight into perfect squares. He hated every second of it.
It was his wife, Carol, who’s idea it was to move here. She wanted to live life like a dang queen and she had no problems using his money to do it. She never wanted to marry him, but one little drunken mistake in college and now ‘To death do us part’ couldn’t seem to get there quick enough. Luckily he had had more faith in his inventions than she did at the time and signed a prenuptial without question. She hasn’t asked for a divorce and he wasn’t about to push it. She was absent enough from their little boy’s life as it is. She never wanted kids and did as little as possible to take care of their little June Bug. Still, he needed a mother figure in his life. He didn’t want to completely take that away from him and if his thoughts continued on their current path, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get married again. To be honest, he’s surprised he’d gotten the woman pregnant in the first place.
“Hey!” A shout from his neighbor's driveway caught his attention as he was pulling into his yard. “McGucket!”
Fiddleford groaned and pushed the heel of his hand into his forehead preparing for the same conversation he had with the bloated old man every day since he’d moved in. Leaning over the passenger seat, he cranked the window down and forced a smile.
“Mornin’ Mr. Oakwood. Nice, sunny day today, ain’t it?”
“Sure, sure. Until that noisey piece of junk came rolling down the road. Look around you. Do you see anyone else driving a truck that looks like got at least two girls pregnant in the back seat during some hillbilly hoedown? No. This is a nice neighborhood. You’ve got the nicest home on the street and you’re ruining it with your backwoods hick garbage.” His round face was quick to turn red when he was yelling at Fiddleford. He often found himself thinking about what it looked like when he heard him screaming at his wife or the UPS man.
“Well, ye’r sure entitled to ye’r opinion, Mr. Oakwood but I happen to love ol’ Bertha, here an’ I don’t plan’n givin’ her up until she ain’t got a spark of life left in’er. And that’s gonna be quite a long time considerin’ the motor I built’er shouldn’t be quittin’ for at least another fifteen years.” He patted the side of his door and flashed the fuming man an icy grin.
“I thought you were supposed to be a genius.”
“That don’t mean I ain’t still Tennessee trash now, does it?” He leaned back over to the driver side and switched gears. “Ye’r wife and you are always welcome over for supper!” He shouted out the window as he drove up the drive, crossing his fingers that his wife wouldn’t be home.
Fiddleford parked his truck on the side of the house where it wasn’t visible from the road. It was the least he could do to try and keep a little bit of peace in his home. It killed him that Tate had to listen to him and Carol bicker and argue about the smallest, most trivial things day after day. He tried so hard not to let her get to him. From staying in his garage as much as humanly possible to being as sweet and charismatic as he could possibly attempt. Nothing could make her happy. If he stayed in his garage, she got pissed that he wasn’t around to take care of Tate. If he tried to be romantic and hold her or even hint at the suggestion of sex, she called him clingy and made up every excuse in the book not to touch him. Hell, he was pretty sure she made up some new ones.
It wasn’t that he particularly wanted to sleep with her more as he was still a human. A married human. A married human man in the prime of his life and there was only so much he could accomplish with his own hand and a few toys hidden in the bottom of his sock drawer. He was starved for human contact. Just a brush of a hand on his shoulder anymore was enough to send emotions coursing through his body. He knew it probably wasn’t fair that he had Tate hug and kiss him so much and was more than welcoming to the hugs the children offered him in class but it very well might be the only thing keeping him from going insane from isolation. He was nearly positive Carol was cheating on him and it had come to the point where he often brought a pillow into his sons room and curled up with him in his small pirate ship he’d built for his little explorer just so he could get some sleep at night.
“Hello? Anyone home?” His voice rang out, responding to him in an eerie echo. Thank his sweet stars the walking thornbush was out spending his money. The clock on the wall read nine thirty. Still four more hours until he had to go back and pick up his little June Bug. He could get there a little earlier. He had promised the boy’s a treat hadn’t he? He could bake some cookies. Or he could actually go and get some work done. The only problem with that is he knew it was never a good idea for him to invent while under stress. It never really worked out for him. On the other hand, Tate’s birthday was coming up and he had been slacking off on the shopping department. He was sure he had enough scrap metal in the shed to make something cool for the little sprout. And nothing ever made he feel quite as complete as a screwdriver and a soldering gun.
It was three hours before Fiddleford wiped the sweat off of his forehead, a wide smile splitting his face. He had hardly accomplished anything but he knew that this one was going to be worth it in the end. He glanced over at the little Kit-Cat clock that hung on the wall of his lab. Sure, it was corny but he adored the danged thing. It reminded him of the one his mama had back when he was a kid.
“Sweet sarsaparilla! I gotta learn to start settin’ an alarm when I come in here.” He looked down at the streaks of oil and singe marks on his sleeves and shrugged. “Ain’t got nobody to impress.”
He stopped off at the bakery run by a young spit-fire named Bethany and her boyfriend Elliot on his way to the school. They were both as sweet as the cakes they baked and twice as pretty. Bethany didn’t give into the gluten free, sugarless, cardboard diets that seemed to be the only thing these people ate around here. When he had first arrived in Palo Alto he was sadder than a turtle on asphalt. On one of his walks around town with his little June Bug he had spotted the displays from the windows and was naturally lured inside. When he had asked if they had or were intending to bake any molasses cookies, the darling girl told him no, but she was always looking to try something new and to come back tomorrow. He swears on his own grave that that girl had to have been sent from heaven. She had prepared some of the best cookies he had ever had the glory of sticking in his mouth.This was why it was one of the only shops around he visited on a semi-regular basis. Today he went in intending to pick up the sugariest, most cavity causing cookies and cupcakes that he could fine. Poor kids out here, growing up thinking that that devil himself created high fructose corn syrup. Like Mawmaw always said, ‘run it off’. Then again, there weren't many hogs to chase around in California. Ehh. He was ok with being the weird, rebel parent. He’s learned that embracing the disgusted looks that he gets from the other parents is a lot more fun than sulking. Tate was just as happy, if not happier than most of those little britches being raised by yuppie, spray-tan fuckers.
“Well, Mr. McGucket! What brings you in today? Oh, my. You’ve got a little something-,” the young girl behind the display case gestured to her cheek. Fiddleford leant down to examine himself in the reflection of the case but the glare from the window was blinding and he ended up smearing the grease across more of his face.
“Haha. You’re making it worse.” Elliot crossed the room, grabbing a dish towel and wetting it at the sink. “Let me.” He grabbed Fiddleford’s chin and turned his face toward Bethany as he wiped the smudges away. She rolled her eyes as Elliot gave one last unnecessary wipe over his bottom lip and winked.
“Ell, stop being a fucking creep.” She huffed and did her best to hide the laugh she was hiding at Fiddleford’s reddening cheeks.
“Boy, you’re gonna be the death of me, I tell ya’. He shook his head and headed back to the display case to gaze over today’s selection.
“Aww. Come on, Fidd’s. When are going to let Beth and I take you on the tour of the place, huh?” Elliot leant on the counter, his eyes dancing over Fiddleford’s body and settling on his face with a little eyebrow wiggle.
He couldn’t help the giggled sigh that escaped his mouth as he shook his head and stared meaningfully at his dirty sneakers.
Elliot nudged him with his elbow. “Huh? Huh? If you think the cookies are good, you should taste the pie.”
“”Oh my sweet christ, Elliot! Stop! You’re going to scare off the only customer I actually like. Fidd’s, please ignore my mentally unstable boyfriend. I’m trying to get him the help he so obviously needs.”
“But Beeeeth!” He sprawled himself dramatically over the counter and gave Fiddleford his best attempt at puppy dog eyes before Bethany had the chance to swat him with the wet dishrag.
“Now, Elliot. Ya’ll know Im’ma married man.” Even if he hadn’t slept with his wife in at months and he wasn’t really too riled up about the idea anyways. Still, he faked a mocking glare in the young man’s direction. “B’side’s I’m way too old for you.”
“What? You’re like, five years older than me, max. How old are you?” He jumped up and sat on the counter, apparently not worried in the least about health codes. Fiddleford could respect that.
“I’m twen’y six.”
“Ok, so six years older than me.”
“Elliot, go get the muffins out of the oven and stay back there until they cool. Or longer.” His face fell comically as he wrinkled his brow in mock-frustration, looking for all of the world like a despondent child.
“Fine. See ya’ next time, Mr. McGucket .” He said these last words as if mocking him. Fiddleford rolled his eyes and smiled as the younger man jumped down from his perch and heading into the depths of the bakery.
“Just ignore him. He just likes to get you flustered because, admittedly, it’s incredibly adorable.” Bethany started pulling out some of her most heavily frosted cupcakes, already knowing what he wanted coming in at this time of day.
“Aww, I don’t mind it a bit. S’not like I wanna’ say ‘no’. Just weighed down by the beatin’s of a southern preacher an’ my maw. Ain’t no breakin’ that oath now.”
“Oh, man. You don’t exactly sound like a happily married man.” Bethany stopped arranging his cupcakes long enough to look up into his eyes.
“I said ‘married’. Not happily married. More like, she doesn’t want to give up livin’ in a fancy house and squanderin’ away my money’ and I don’t wanna leave Tate without a mama.” He sighed as Bethany finished placing his order on the counter. “Just wish she’d do somethin’ with me. Fuck, she doesn’t even have’ta look at me. Lord knows I’m gonna be keepin’ my eyes closed.”
“Would it be inappropriate for me to ask you just how long it’s been since you, you know. Had someone else touching you?” She didn’t seem to have even the slightest hint of reservation in her voice as she asked him.
“Extremely. But I got no one else to bitch to. It’s been almost five months. I guess when I say it out loud, it doesn’t seem like a big deal but I’m dyin’. Just for human contact. It doesn’t even have to be foolin’ around. Just a cuddle or a little neckin’ maybe. Ah, consarn it. I shouldn’t be spoutin’’ off this garbage. I gotta get to that damned school. How much do I owe ya, darlin’?” He grabbed a crisp hundred dollar bill from his wallet, not intending to take the change. These kids deserved every cent.
“Uhhh, $35.” She punched a few numbers into the cash register, her eyes downcast and her forehead wrinkled in concentration. She allowed their fingers to brush when she reached for the bill offered out to her.
“You know, you could always find Tate a new mom.” Her eyes shone in the light sunlight pouring through the large windows surrounding the small bakery.
“That’d take a miracle, sweetheart.” He allowed a sardonic giggle to mingle in with his words.
“Yeah? And why is that? You’re sweet, attractive and charming. You’re a fucking literal genius. Any woman would die to have a guy like you.” She put her hand on her hip, preparing for the battle of self-esteem to set its pace.
“That’s the problem. I only got this one pregnant cause’ I was drunker than my mawmaw on bingo night. Thought if I was round’ her enough, I’d learn to love her. Didn’t work.” Fiddleford grabbed his box and turned toward the door. “Keep the change, sugar. Thanks again.”