#but her over controlling cousin wanted to go to Nashville and she’s too nice to say no

[hoots-the-owl]

I’m driving over with some friends to Nashville today for my friend bachelorette’s party (I mean technically we won’t get there until tomorrow but we’re leaving today) anyone who lives in Nashville or been there know any good hole-in-the-wall kinda type place? Like not a popular tourist attraction but something that’s not well know but should be checked out

[pastelwitchling]

Brother in Arms Chapters: 1/2

Also on ao3 ❤

***

               It was past midnight at the Pony when Alex got the call.

               Michael was at the counter, coming in and out of Isobel and Maria’s conversation as he scanned the bar, looking for one particular man who said he’d try to come in late. Because they did that now. Offhandedly mention whether or not they were likely to see each other. It was a nice change of pace.

               Michael straightened in his seat when he saw Alex finally come in, his hair windswept, his shoulders scrunched against the cold outside. He caught his eyes, and Alex smiled softly, weaving through the crowd towards him.

               “Hi,” Michael said.

               “Hey,” Alex murmured, his cheeks and nose red from the cold. They held each other’s gaze for several long seconds before Alex looked down, tugging off his scarf. Progress.

               Michael cleared his throat and adjusted himself slightly on his chair, subtly scooting closer to Alex, to get a whiff of his vanilla scent, to feel the roughness of his jeans against his own. Alex seemed to notice and he turned slightly so that his left knee just barely grazed Michael’s.

               Michael began to smile until he noticed the slight tension in Alex’s shoulders, the pinch of his brows, the pensive purse of his lips.

               He looked back over his shoulder at Isobel and Maria, and when he was sure they wouldn’t be overheard, said, “You okay?”

               “Yeah,” he said on a sigh. “Just feel a little off, don’t know why.”

               “Maybe you’re just tired from work?”

               Alex hummed, unconvinced. “Maybe.”

               For the next half-hour, Michael tried getting Alex to smile in earnest. He kept close to him, listening to his day and telling him all about his own. He pretended to swoon (absolutely not actually swooning on the inside) when Alex mentioned his team following his orders, and made a sexual innuendo about Alex’s commands and authority. At one point, he even got a laugh from Alex that made his heart flutter in an embarrassing way that he swore never to mention aloud to anyone.

               Michael was sure he looked like a lovesick idiot, smiling at Alex like he did when they were seventeen and he had managed to make the emo kid giggle, but he didn’t care. Moments like these, when they got to just be happy to have each other, weren’t as common as Michael wanted them to be. Some words were still too hard to say, and some confessions still stuck in Michael’s throat, keeping him frozen when he longed more than anything to cling to Alex and never let him go.

               But if he’d known the kind of call Alex would get in the next few minutes, he would’ve held on and kept him on that stool, kept him from picking up. He would’ve taken him to the airstream, and they would’ve gotten lost in each other’s touch, a night they probably wouldn’t have talked about the next morning, if only to give him one more night of peace.

               But how could he have predicted, when Alex’s phone had rung, the way Alex’s smile would dim at the sight of the caller on the screen? The way panic would cross his expression, however trained he was to hide it? The way his jaw would clench and he’d mutter an excuse under his breath to take his call outside? How could Michael have predicted coming out onto the Wild Pony’s back porch to see Alex sitting on the front step, numbly writing out a date and address in Nashville?

               “Okay, Katie,” he said into his phone. “Yeah. . . . Eleven. . . . Mm.”

               Michael heard crying on the other end of the line. Alex listened silently, staring at the address he’d written, mindlessly underlining it over and over, the pen tearing into the paper. Alex didn’t seem to notice.

               Michael heard muffled voices, Alex responded with, “I’m going right now. I’ll see you in the morning,” and he hung up.

               Michael swallowed. “Alex?”

               Alex didn’t looked around at him. “Air Force buddy,” he said, and sniffled. “That was his sister.”

               Michael’s shoulders fell. There was only one reason Alex’s military buddy’s family would be calling. He came to sit down beside him.

               “Private –”

               “I need to pack,” he said, standing. His eyes were dry, his tone calculating. “Get some things ready.” He was already typing something on his phone, and Michael followed to find a list of flights to Nashville.

               “O-Okay,” Michael tried. “I can drive you –”

               “If anybody asks, can you just tell them I’ll be out of town for a few days?” he said, eyes on his phone, his other hand stuffing the piece of paper into his pocket.

               “Uh – yeah, but, Alex –”

               “Thanks, Guerin,” he said, climbing into his car. Michael’s mouth hung open on a silent sentence as Alex drove away.

               *

               It was a freezing late morning in Nashville, as if even the weather was lamenting the loss of a great man. Alex sat a few chairs down from Katie and her mother, both pairs of blue eyes filled with tears. The sun caught off Katie’s blonde hair, turning it gold, just as Scott’s used to be.

               Scott had joined the military a week before Alex had. He had been a ball of light and energy the day he’d arrived, catching Alex’s eyes with a smile and sticking by his side ever since. Alex, who had wanted to keep his head down and get the work done, to rise in ranks with the sole purpose of defeating those who thought they could beat him down, was taken hostage by this man’s piercing blue eyes and his kind voice.

               “You and me, Manes,” he’d said that first night, taking the bed beside Alex’s, “we’re brothers.”

               “I don’t need another brother,” Alex had murmured, glad for the dark that hid his blush.

               Scott had smiled. “Then I’ll be more.”

               And he had been. It felt strange to go through the months of basics, feeling like part of him was missing unless Scott was there. This blond, disastrous, one-man hurricane had been the same way; always a little more out of control, always a little easier to slip up, always scolded more by the sergeant unless Alex was there to reel him in. He’d been, in every way, Alex’s opposite. As they had lain on their stomachs one night, Alex had told him as much.

               “Which makes it all the more incredible how much we connect,” Scott had said. He’d had a fondness in his eyes then that Alex had pretended not to notice. “That’s us, Manes, just like I’d said we’d be. More.”

               When Alex had left, they’d kept in touch as much as they were able. A call here, a letter there. Neither of them ever feeling like they were separated at all. No “I miss you”s, just ventures relayed and heartaches confessed.

               “Next time I see you, I’ll have a word with that cowboy of yours,” Scott had told him on their last discreet phone call. Alex had laughed and asked him when that visit would come.

               “Soon,” Scott had promised. “I’ll come running home to you, brother.”

               As Alex watched them lower the black coffin into the ground, those words echoed on repeat in his head. Scott’s team stood, saluting as the bugle played and Alex heard faint sniffles and cries behind him, all turned to background noise.

               It felt wrong. Knowing a force of nature like Scott Mason rested in a wooden box, the American flag folded and handed to his mother who clung to it now as if it was her son himself. Alex didn’t take his eyes off the coffin until it was thoroughly buried. People around him began to disperse, but Alex sat there, his fingers quickly growing numb with the cold.

               He buried his chin deeper into his scarf, Scott’s laugh in his ears. He would be returning to Roswell in a few hours.

               Would that be okay, Scott? he thought, hoping his friend could read his thoughts as he always managed to do, and answer him. If I left?

               He had yet to shed a tear, and felt a strange tingling in his chest, like something was building up to be released but couldn’t quite make it through the surface. He wondered if he should stop by his buddy’s favorite burger place around the street before he left, get a double cheeseburger with fries, and dip them in a milkshake.

               “Try it,” he’d encouraged him on their first leave. “You’ll thank me.”

               Alex blew a tiny breath, a white cloud forming before his face. He muttered, “Thanks, brother.”

               “Alex,” someone gasped, “what’d you do?”

               Alex looked up, blinking out of his thoughts. He realized almost everyone around them had gone, and Katie stood next to him now, her blue eyes looking down with worry. He followed her gaze and saw that he’d carved into the back of his hand with his thumb, a faint line of blood trickling down the torn skin.

               “Oh,” he said. He wiped his hand against his jacket as he stood. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

               Katie searched his face. Her lower lip trembled as she opened her mouth. “I –” she cleared her throat. “I can’t imagine what he meant to you.”

               Alex nodded. It’s not real, he thought. Scott’s fine. He’s not the kind of man who dies. I’m just having a nightmare. I’ll wake up, and my brother will be fine.

               Still, even as he thought so, he said, “Your brother loved you, Katie.”

               Her eyes filled with tears, and she sniffled as she roughly wiped her face. “He loved you, too.”

               Alex held out his arms, and Katie fell in against him, hugging his waist tightly enough to bruise. Alex only wished he could feel any of it.

                 There was to be a reception. Alex had insisted he would help take care of things while Scott’s mother, Ashley, tried to relax. She’d been frighteningly quiet since Alex had arrived two days ago, but Katie assured him that she spent the nights crying.

               “She’s letting it out,” she assured him. “Wears herself out half the time. I just don’t think she’s really processed it yet, but she’s getting there.”

               Hours later, after guests had gone, Alex found himself sitting amongst Scott’s immediate family. His mother and sister, his uncles and aunts and a few of his first cousins who were able to fly back into town on short notice.

               An untouched cup of wine sat in front of Alex on the table as his family laughed through their tears, recounting stories about Scott, memories of him as a kid, funny letters he’d send back so that none of them would ever worry about him.

               “He was a good man,” his uncle said gruffly, keeping his head down to hide his glistening eyes.

               Alex nodded, his heart still tingling strangely, not quite letting him breathe. “He was a hero,” he said, and was met with nods and “Hear Hear!”s and more tears. Alex wished he could cry. Why couldn’t he cry?

               “I remember when he brought you home, Alex,” Ashley said hoarsely, her smile faint. “I was so sure we were going to get some big news.”

               Katie scoffed half-heartedly, leaning her chin on her palm. “Mom made Scott’s favorite ribs and chocolate cupcakes. She was so proud he finally found someone. Then Scott told us you were just his friend, and she kept huffing through dinner.”

               The corner of Alex’s lips quirked up. “Sorry.”

               Ashley grasped Alex’s arm and gave it a tight squeeze. “Far as I’m concerned, sweetheart, you were the only one Scott ever really loved. I felt it in my bones.” Her smiled faded, and her chuckles turned to sobs. Her forehead came to rest on Alex’s shoulder, and he put a hand on her head, keeping her steady against him.

               The rest of the group dissolved into sniffles for the next hour. When Ashley had worn herself out and fallen asleep on the couch, Alex stood and grabbed his jacket.

               “You have a flight back to Roswell already?” Katie asked, stretching.

               He nodded. “I need to get back.”

               She managed a smirk. “To your cowboy?”

               He scoffed. “Anything else Scott told you?”

               “Just that you never wanted to go back to Roswell during your leaves,” she said. “Said you didn’t think anyone would care. You still think that?”

               Alex considered it, and it gave him a headache. He exhaled a soft chuckle. “I can’t think of much right now.”

               Her eyes were kind. “I understand.” She heaved a groan that cracked at the end. “Is it bad that I kind of want to fast forward to next year? When all of this is just a bad memory?”

               “No,” Alex said, pulling her in for another hug. He sighed against the top of her head. “It’s not bad at all.”

               “Don’t be a stranger, Alex,” she whispered into his shoulder. “You’re family, too.”

               A lump lodged itself in Alex’s throat. Try as he might, he couldn’t swallow it down. He said nothing as he held Katie tighter.

               *

               Michael, Gregory, and Flint met Alex at his house the day he came back to Roswell. Michael sat on the back of his truck as Gregory and Flint leaned against Gregory’s car. Flint’s arms were crossed, Gregory was checking his phone for calls, and Michael was pretending not to be nervous about Alex as he’d been days ago. He tapped his finger on the trunk bench, remembering that morning days ago when he’d come to Alex’s doorstep at the crack of dawn to offer a trip to the airport, and found the airman had already gone.

               He had no idea what to expect now. Isobel, Liz, and Maria had wanted to come see him, too, but Gregory had told them that it was better they not crowd him. Michael had gotten to come along for sheer insistence that he wouldn’t leave until he got to see Alex was safe and back in Roswell.

               “You heard from him since he got off the plane?” Flint asked at some point.

               “No,” was all Gregory said, and the brothers fell silent again. There seemed to be a weight that Michael couldn’t grasp, couldn’t touch and felt pushed down by anyway.

               A familiar car rounding the corner into the driveway yanked Michael from his thoughts. He came down from the bench, putting it up as he kept his eyes on Alex behind the steering wheel. He couldn’t discern his expression, even as he parked, opened his door, and pulled out his suitcase.

               “Hey,” Michael said, trying to keep his voice light. He was the only one to speak.

               Alex managed a press of his lips, his eyes spacing out almost at once. Michael held out his hand for his suitcase, and Alex seemed to realize too late that it had been taken from him. He touched Michael’s arm in thanks.

               Gregory and Flint seemed to know what to do better than Michael did, which apparently wasn’t much. Gregory patted Alex’s back with a sigh while Flint stayed behind them. Michael didn’t understand why until they’d gotten to the porch, Alex fishing for his keys, and his eyes suddenly fluttered. He swayed and Flint readily caught his arm, steadying him as if he’d been expecting it.

               Michael opened his mouth in a gasp, but Flint shook his head minutely. Don’t talk about it, he seemed to be saying. He won’t be able to answer you.

               Michael hesitated, fighting against every fiber of his being that longed to carry Alex inside himself so that he didn’t have to take another step on his own.

               Flint released Alex as soon as he was on his feet again, and Alex opened the door and walked on inside as if nothing had happened. Michael stayed close and set the suitcase beside Alex’s couch as he took a seat. Flint went to open the windows, letting in the light, while Gregory said he would go make them some tea.

               Michael sat down beside Alex, but Alex was staring into the distance, unseeing, his brows pinched slightly. Michael wanted to trace the path down the bridge of his nose, hoping it would ease whatever storm was raging in his head, but didn’t dare touch him.

               Flint leaned against the wall, looking out the window as rustling sounded from the kitchen. When Michael risked speaking again, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Are you hungry? I – I can go get you something.”

               But Alex was already shaking his head, waking with a deep inhale. “No, no, thanks, Guerin.”

               Flint tilted his head. “If you want him to stay here, Alex, I can go grab –”

               “I don’t have much of an appetite,” Alex said, and went back to staring at nothing.

               Flint nodded, unsurprised. “Yeah.”

               Gregory came back a few minutes later, holding a tray of four mugs.

               “Thanks,” Michael muttered as he handed him one. Alex hugged his with his hands.

               “Hey, hey,” Flint said, setting his cup down and gently prying Alex’s fingers from around the steaming ceramic. “You’ll burn yourself, brother.”

               “Hm? Oh.”

               Gregory sat down in the armchair across from the couch. He rested his elbows on his thighs, tapping a finger against his own mug. A few minutes of silence, then –

               “Alex,” he said, “do you want to . . . talk about –”

               “No,” Alex said at once. “I don’t, I – I can’t.” He didn’t seem angry or upset. Just tired. There was a numbness to his expression that almost scared Michael.

               He hesitated, then put a hand on Alex’s back. Then he dared to rub soothing circles, letting his eyes roam the airman, reassuring himself that Alex was okay. That was when he saw the line of dried blood on the back of his hand, his skin carved into and torn.

               “Alex,” he breathed, holding up his hand. “What happened?”

               “I don’t know,” Alex muttered, his brows furrowed as if just now remembering that this injury was here. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

               Michael gaped. “You did this to yourself?”

               Flint sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Leave it alone, Guerin.”

               “Manes –”

               “He’s fine,” Gregory said, his voice calm and intent. “It’s fine.”

               Michael wanted to argue, to demand if they were crazy, if they weren’t seeing what Michael was seeing. But Alex just let his hand fall from Michael’s and patted his shoulder consolingly as if he was the one that had lost a friend. And Michael’s words caught in his throat.

               Alex’s head fell back. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes as he heaved a deep breath. “I . . . uh . . .” he sniffled, “you guys should go. I know you have work, I don’t want to keep you.”

               Michael frowned. “Alex . . .”

               He thought Gregory and Flint would definitely argue, that they’d refuse to leave their brother like this, but Gregory asked, “And you? You sure you don’t want one of us to get you something from the Crashdown?”

               Alex shook his head. “No, I’m just gonna . . . head to bed. I’m tired after the plane.”

               Flint nodded. “Okay. You have our numbers.”

               “I know.”

               “What? No,” Michael said, moving closer to Alex on the couch. “I’m staying here.”

               “Guerin,” Alex said. “I already told you, I’m –”

               “You’re not fine,” Michael nearly yelled.

               “Guerin –” Gregory tried.

               “He carved into his own skin! I’m staying!”

               “Okay,” Flint said, nudging his chin at the door. “Come with me. We need to talk.”

               Alex watched, only half-there, as Michael stood and followed Flint, hesitant to leave his airman at all.

               The second the door closed, Michael demanded, “He’s not okay.”

               “No kidding,” Flint frowned, a lot quieter than Michael was. “His brother just died, how do you think he’s doing?”

               He smirked humorlessly. “And you two just wanna leave him. Let him fend for himself. After all this time, you still don’t care about what happens to him, do you?”

               Flint tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “Who do you think Alex is? Some defenseless kid? You do realize he’s an Air Force Captain, right?”

               “Yeah, I know,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Big tough military man, I get it.”

               “No,” Flint said easily. “You don’t.” He pressed a finger to Michael’s chest. “Don’t pretend you know what losing a brother-in-arms is like, especially for someone like Alex. Someone like us. You have no idea the kind of weight that��s on our shoulders.”

               Michael faltered. He licked his lips. “All the more reason,” he said, “to stay with him.”

               Flint considered Michael, and began to chuckle. “Wow,” he said. “You really think that little of him?”

               Michael frowned. “He hurt himself.”

               “He didn’t do it on purpose,” Flint said, like that was supposed to be a reassurance. “You have no idea what he’s going through, but Greg and I do.”

               “But this guy –”

               “Yeah,” he sighed, putting his hands in his pockets. “Looks like this one was important. But he learned to live with it a long time ago. He’s not as broken as you think he is.”

               Michael couldn’t let it go so easily. He remembered too well a conversation he and Alex had had months ago, in his bunker.

               “I need to believe in a reason to stay.” What if this was it? The last straw? What if Alex was on a countdown?

               He swallowed. “I’m going back inside.”

               Flint grabbed his arm. Michael glared at him, but he was unrelenting. “Listen to me. I know you care about him –”

               “I love him,” Michael said fiercely. Flint’s gaze didn’t waver. Always as prepared for battle as Alex.

               When he spoke next, his words were quieter, but no less commanding. “Then let him breathe. I know Alex doesn’t always say what he means, but he means this. That captain in there is so much stronger than you think he is.”

               Michael glared. “I know Alex is strong.”

               To his surprise, Flint’s gaze slightly softened. He shook his head, as if Michael had completely missed the point. “That’s not what I just said, Guerin.”

               *

               Alex woke at twilight to find he’d fallen asleep on his couch, his clothes and prosthetic still on. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, and rubbed his eyes. He looked around, the pale light behind the blinds casting the house into dark shadows.

               He shouldn’t have, but Alex lied back down, staring at the ceiling with one hand covering the other on his stomach. He heard nothing but his own breathing, and then not even that.

               “Hey, Manes, have you ever been in love?”

               Alex closed his eyes against the memory, and immediately, his mind filled with images of himself and Scott laying on opposite sides of his bed, staring at another ceiling.

               He forced himself up again, furiously scrubbing his face. He sat there a second longer, staring at nothing and thinking of a mess of things, from what time he had to wake up tomorrow to errands he had to calls and texts and emails he probably had to answer –

               “Guerin,” he called faintly, and was answered with silence. His shoulders fell. Oh yeah . . . He had asked them to leave. He knew it was for the best, there wasn’t really anything he thought he could say to any of them, but just saying Michael’s name brought him a slight peace that he couldn’t explain and which vanished as quickly as it came when Alex couldn’t find him. That had happened a lot in the past decade.

               Scott’s smile came back to him. “That the cowboy I should be jealous of?”

               Alex exhaled shakily, and pushed past the memory. He changed into his sweats, took his prosthetic off, and curled up in bed. He lay awake under the covers for several minutes that felt like hours, cramming a million other things into his mind to force out the one thought that he knew he couldn’t handle right now, and eventually, the darkness had mercy on him, and sleep took over.

               *

               Michael wanted to be useful. He’d spent the past two days wandering the junkyard, finding things to do that didn’t really need doing, if only to keep moving. He may have broken down several cars and driven Sanders crazy, but he was losing his mind.

               At one point, he’d snapped, gotten in his truck, and made it halfway to Alex’s house before he came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road and hit his forehead against the steering wheel.

               “That captain in there is so much stronger than you think he is.”

               “I know Alex is strong.”

               “That’s not what I just said, Guerin.”

               Michael clenched his jaw. “What does that mean?” he growled through grit teeth. Michael knew who Alex was, what he was. What did that matter?

               Michael all but slammed the gearshift back again, and turned a corner to the Project Shepherd bunker instead. If he couldn’t take care of Alex, he could at least get through some of the files they had waiting there, look into a few leads so Alex didn’t feel like he had to himself.

               The last thing Michael had been expecting when he’d pulled up to the hidden entrance was to find a familiar car parked there already. His heart leapt into his throat, and he almost stepped out of the truck without turning it off.

               He wrenched the door open, and came down the stairs to find the white lights already on. Alex was at the far end of the bunker, typing at a computer. Michael stopped, staring.

               Alex glanced up and gave him a quick, small smile. He was surrounded with open files, more than half of them marked. He shrugged a shoulder. “They gave me a week leave,” he said. “Figured I’d get something done.”

               Michael didn’t know where to start. Are you any better? Have you slept? Did you want me to stay?

               In the end, he managed a quirk of his lips and a light, “Don’t you military men ever rest?” He pulled up a chair next to Alex. “Oh, wait, don’t tell me. ‘I don’t know what rest means, Guerin. I can go for weeks, Guerin. I don’t actually need to be on leave, Guerin.’”

               He smiled, but Alex did not seem amused, his eyes unmoving from the screen. “No,” he said simply. “I definitely need it. Way I’m feeling, I might just end up shooting anybody in a uniform.”

               Michael faltered. Alex’s tone was light, but something in his eyes darkened, something frightening that Michael wasn’t used to seeing on his airman’s face. He hesitated, then, because he wanted to do something and didn’t know what, he reached out and covered Alex’s hand with his own.

               Alex didn’t smile or look at Michael. Instead, he turned his hand over in Michael’s and gripped his fingers so tightly his knuckles turned white.

               Michael tilted his head, trying to discern his thoughts. “Alex?”

               He blinked. “Hm?”

               “About . . . uh . . . that Mason guy –”

               “Shh, shhh,” he shook his head, his eyes shut tight. “We don’t have to talk about that, I don’t want to talk about that.”

               Michael stared. If he wasn’t so aware of Alex’s every move, of every inch of the airman’s skin that touched his own, he might’ve missed the way Alex’s fingers slightly trembled in his. But he was, so he didn’t.

               He swallowed and nodded. He pulled Alex’s head in towards his with his other hand, and kissed his forehead.

               “Okay, baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

               Alex’s grip did not loosen, his eyes did not open, his breathing did not calm for two whole minutes. Michael raised his other hand to rest between Alex’s shoulder blades, running up and down his spine, turning his nose into Alex’s hair and inhaling his scent.

               Alex turned his head slightly so that Michael’s lips hovered above his. Michael’s eyes fell to Alex’s mouth, his own falling open. He could feel Alex’s hot breath against his bottom lip. His own breathing quickened as he thought about fitting his mouth against Alex’s, tasting his tongue, running a hand up his shirt and feeling his naked skin as he hadn’t gotten to do in over a year.

               Michael wanted to be useful, and Alex always seemed able to breathe better when they were together. Maybe this would be useful. That, and Michael just really, really wanted it.

               Somehow, as he always did, Alex was able to read his mind. His dark, hooded eyes looked up at Michael through long lashes. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

               “You want to help me feel better, Guerin?”

               Michael’s eyes fluttered as he nodded, entranced. He leaned in, their mouths open. His breathing turned more and more ragged as the soft press of Alex’s lips against his own filled his gut with a fire. It had been too long since he’d gotten to touch.

               Against Michael’s lips, Alex whispered, “Then help me,” and slowly closed their mouths in a kiss.

               Michael’s eyes fell shut and a moan escaped his lips as he kissed Alex again, then again. He reached up, taking Alex’s face in his hands as he tilted his head, devouring his mouth.

               “Baby,” he breathed against Alex’s lips between kisses, unable and unwilling to keep it in.

               Alex whimpered at the nickname, and the sound spurred Michael on. Alex took Michael’s wrists, as if silently begging him not to leave. As if Michael would ever go anywhere.

               “I,” Alex managed, “I want more. Touch me, Guerin.”

               Michael looked at Alex then. His expression was filled with lust, his lips kiss-swollen, making Michael’s cock twitch in his jeans. He bit his lower lip, kissed Alex again, and nodded.

               “Okay,” he said. “Okay, let’s get back to the airstream –”

               But Alex was already shaking his head, moving out of his chair. He worked on the buttons of his jeans, and without any hesitation at all, pushed them and his underwear down, revealing his half-hard length. Michael’s mouth fell open, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, imagining the taste of Alex on his tongue.

               “Now,” he panted. “I want you now.”

               Alex climbed onto Michael’s lap, his naked, smooth, hairy skin against the hard fabric of Michael’s jeans. Michael was fully hard now as his hands slowly rose up Alex’s thighs, reveling in the touch of his warm skin and imagining his body against his own. Then Alex undid the first two buttons of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it to the ground. He was now completely naked as he straddled Michael, down to his toes. Michael was sure he would die.

               Alex took Michael’s face in his hands, crashing their mouths together. He moaned against Michael’s lips as he grinded into his hardened, clothed cock.

               “C’mon,” he breathed, his nimble fingers working on Michael’s belt. “Take them off. I want you to fuck me hard.”

               “Alex,” Michael groaned, and in one rough tug, managed to tear off his belt. He pushed his pants and underwear down, releasing himself. As soon as his cock rubbed against Alex’s, his eyes rolled back into his head and he all but screamed.

               “I’m ready,” Alex said between hard, wet, open kisses. He ran a hand up Michael’s stomach, his chest, scratching through the trail of hair and digging his nails into Michael’s nipples. “Please, Guerin. Fuck me.”

               “Yeah,” Michael breathed. “Yeah.” And he did as he’d fantasized doing for the past year. He aligned his cock to Alex’s hole with one hand, his other coming around to grab Alex’s ass, feeling his soft skin in his hands.

               Alex choked on a scream as Michael took him in all the way, his hands gripping Michael’s face tightly against his neck where Michael got to bite and suck and lick and kiss as much as he wanted. When the airman was ready, Michael thrusted softly, not wanting to hurt him.

               But Alex pressed his lips against Michael’s ear and commanded, “Harder, baby. I want to feel you for days.”

               The thought was enough to erase all other from Michael’s mind, and he wrapped an arm around Alex’s waist, his other still gripping Alex’s cheek as he thrusted up hard, Alex coming down just as roughly, as eagerly.

               Alex came a split second before Michael, and only through Michael’s sheer force of will that Alex enjoy it for as long as possible that he managed to keep himself from letting go in those first few seconds. They breathed heavily into the small space between them, and Michael leaned in, taking Alex’s lips in long, lazy kisses.

               Alex was still running a hand through Michael’s curls, making his eyes flutter. When their breaths evened and Alex’s movements slowed, Michael looked up to find his airman staring at his chest, his brows pinched together slightly. His eyes were unfocused.

               Michael felt a fear he’d almost forgotten about climb into his throat now. He swallowed it down, and put his fingers under Alex’s chin, lifting his gaze.

               “Hey,” he whispered, moving his hand to cup Alex’s jaw, his thumb caressing his cheek. “Look at me, baby. Look at me, I’m right here.”

               “Um,” Alex said and cleared his throat, closing his eyes as if trying to wake himself from his haze. His fists laid curled against Michael’s chest. He brought his head down, his forehead against Michael’s chin as he exhaled shakily. He looked around. “My clothes, I –”

               “I’ve got ‘em,” Michael said immediately, trying not to sound as disappointed as he felt. He’d wanted to stay with Alex like this, naked and holding each other, a little longer. Instead, he used his powers to bring Alex’s clothes right up to him.

               But before he got dressed, Alex curled in against Michael, pressing his nose to Michael’s cheek, his lips brushing the cowboy’s jaw. Michael wrapped his arms around him, taking his chance to press light kisses to Alex’s bare shoulder.

               Alex seemed to need a second to straighten his spine and brace himself before he grabbed his clothes from midair and pulled them on. He gently moved off Michael so that he could do the same, and when they were both dressed, Michael grabbed a file, not knowing what else to do. He kept glancing at Alex who was staring at his computer screen, his fist against his lips as he seemed too distracted to keep doing whatever he was doing.

               Finally, Michael couldn’t take it anymore, and he said, “Tell me what to do.”

               He knew he sounded desperate, his demand more of a plea, but he didn’t care. Because Alex wasn’t acting like Alex, and he was breaking, but he wasn’t breaking, and it was all very scary and not where Michael wanted his airman to be.

               Alex frowned. “Do?”

               “To fix this,” he said, and winced at how stupid it sounded. But he couldn’t stop himself. “O-Or make it . . . I don’t know, easier. Tell me what I have to do, I’ll do anything, Alex.”

               Alex’s look was unreadable as Michael held his gaze. Then something shifted, something turned sadder, and suddenly, it was Alex who held Michael. “I feel like there’s a hole in my chest, Michael. And it’ll never heal.” His lips quirked in a soft, helpless smile. “And there’s no fixing that.”

               Michael watched, speechless and unable to do anything as Alex closed his laptop with a sigh, put his hands in his pockets, and made his way out of the bunker.

               *

               Alex finished scrubbing down his counter, and looked up, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. The kitchen, like his living room, bedroom, guestroom, and bathrooms, was spotless. The sky outside the window was pitch black, the wind still rustling through the empty branches and the yellow, dead grass. The world still turning, and not turning at all.

               Alex’s phone on the table behind him buzzed, the screen lighting with new messages. Alex picked it up, scanning the texts. Flint said he would meet him at the Pony tomorrow night after they were both done at the base for drinks, Gregory said he’d be bringing over lunch so they could eat together, Clay left him a voicemail, telling him to call when he had the chance. It was Liz and Maria who asked if he was okay, if he needed them to come over right away.

               Alex asked them not to. His brothers hadn’t asked if he was okay. He was grateful; he didn’t have an answer right now. He felt like he never might.

               “Miss me already, Manes?”

               Alex shut his eyes. The edges of his phone dug into his palms. The last phone call he and Scott had had, what had they said? He didn’t remember the exact conversation. Shouldn’t he have remembered?

               But no. There was a moment from their last meeting that stuck in his mind.

               “Start counting down, brother,” Scott had told him, a whispered eagerness in his voice. “I’m coming to Roswell next. You just tell me who I need to beat up.”

               “What’re you coming here for?” Alex had said. “I’ll come see you wherever you want. Just pick anywhere else.”

               “No,” Scott had said more softly. “No more running, Manes.”

               “A drive,” Alex said, hoping the sound of a voice, even if it was his own, would keep the memories at bay. “I need a drive.”

                 The drive wasn’t helping. Alex had the window open, the icy wind biting his face and burning his eyes. Alex’s hands were clenched painfully tight around the steering wheel, his fingers numb with cold. His jaw was clenched, that small trickling in his chest turned to painful hammering now.

               Scott’s letters. I’ll never get them again. His secret phone calls. That phone will never ring now. And he had been planning to come to Roswell. I should’ve brought him sooner. All the days on leave, I should’ve brought him. Roswell would’ve been better with him here.

               “I should’ve brought him,” Alex said, his words breaking in his own ears.

               Alex clenched his jaw, and pressed harder on the gas pedal. Scott would never see Roswell now, would never meet his friends, or know Michael. Places Alex could’ve taken him, the stars he could’ve shown him. They were brighter in Roswell than anywhere else in the world. And now his brother would never see them.

               Headlights. Alex saw a pair of headlights far ahead, the large truck driving, for some reason, on the wrong lane. Or was Alex on the wrong one? It didn’t matter. He didn’t move. The gas pedal was on the floor of the car now.

               As the truck neared, the headlights growing larger, brighter, the thought kept coming to Alex; if he could see Scott again, if all the pain and loss would finally end, it would all be okay. That was what he wanted, right? To stop the pain?

               BEEP BEEEEEEP!

               “No more running, Manes.”

               Alex gasped, the realization of what he was doing hitting him like an explosion, and he wrenched the steering wheel aside at the last second. The car slowly came to a stop as the angry trucker’s honks faded into the distance behind him.

               Alex’s trembling hands fell off the steering wheel as he slumped in his seat. Tears streamed down his face, his own ragged breathing like thunder in his ears in the silence around him.

               He didn’t want to do this alone. Not this time. His hands still shaking, Alex turned the ignition back on.

               *

               Michael couldn’t sleep. He’d been tossing in his bed the past several hours before he’d given up on the idea of resting, and he went down to his bunker to tinker instead. He kept running into dead ends there, too.

               When he’d tried and failed to solve a calculated projection for the eighth time, he’d had enough. His mind was flooded with thoughts of Alex, his dark eyes, his quiet words, his naked body and the way he’d curled against Michael, eager to stay close.

               Michael let the pen fall from his hands. He needed to go to the Pony. Maybe he could get really drunk and forget that, somewhere in his house, Alex was probably locking himself out of his own mind, breaking apart and unwilling to let anyone near him. Because that was what it meant to be a military captain, right? Weather the storm alone? Prove that you were tougher than everyone else? Alex just didn’t need anybody because he’d been through so much worse, was that it?

               The thought had him shaking. He pulled his shirt over his head as soon as he’d made it up the ladder. He thought he’d throw any somewhat clean clothes on and go drown his sorrows in a glass . . . then a car pulled up into the junkyard.

               The low beams dimmed as the driver’s door opened. It was Alex. The lights turned off, and the moonlight revealed his tear-streaked face, his lower lip trembling, his chest rising and falling as if he could barely breathe. And Michael could see and think of nothing and no one else.

               A sob escaped Alex’s lips, and Michael exhaled sharply before running to him. They met in the middle, Alex’s arms around Michael’s shoulders as he cried into the crook of his neck. Michael held him tightly enough that it should’ve hurt, but he didn’t care. He brought a hand up Alex’s neck to rest in the soft strands of his hair, his body trembling. Michael held him tighter.

               “I’m right here,” Michael whispered into his neck. “I’m right here, baby.”

               Alex wept as Michael had never heard before, his nails clawing into Michael’s back. Michael closed his eyes, reveling in the sting. Because it meant Alex was here, with him, safe and far away from what had taken his brother-in-arms.

               “I – I want to see him,” Alex cried. “Just one more time, I want to see him.”

               “Shh,” Michael said, rubbing his back soothingly. “Shh, baby, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

               Alex buried his face against Michael’s skin, the sounds of his cries in the dark, silent night shattering Michael’s heart, one crack at a time.

                 In seconds, Michael had the bonfire started. Long after Alex had turned silent, Michael swaying them left and right, he led the airman to a chair and let him soak in the flames. He had his elbows rested on his thighs when Michael came back out, after hurriedly shoving a shirt on, and handed him a bottle.

               Alex took it with a murmur of thanks and downed half of it in one gulp. Michael pulled his chair closer and sat down next to him. And he waited.

               After a long while of staring into the fire, the gold and orange flames reflected in his dark eyes, Alex quietly said, “I never know what to say. When this happens.” He shook his head. “It’s a repeat, but none of them are the same. You know? Scott wasn’t . . .” he faltered, and closed his eyes, exhaling shakily.

               His eyes glistened and he wiped the back of his hand against his nose before he went on, “They’re not lumped in together, you know? I remember each of their faces, I remember everything. And I felt it, I – I felt it coming. I know you don’t think it’s possible, but I did. Because he was part of me, I felt it.”

               Michael swallowed. “He sounded special.”

               Alex’s eyes filled with tears that fell before he could stop them. “He was so good. So brave.” He huffed a sad chuckle. “You would’ve liked him. I mean –” another sniffle “—he hit on me all the time, so I don’t think you would’ve loved him, but . . . you would’ve really liked him, Guerin.” He shook his head. “I should’ve introduced you, I should’ve done so much more for him.”

               Michael reached over, gripping Alex’s forearm. “Hey. That’s not on you.”

               Alex sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, it is, Guerin. You live with that. Knowing that your family’s on a time limit that’s usually a lot shorter than most people’s. And when it comes, all you can think of is the time you wasted. You don’t know what the good side is anymore, and eventually, they all become enemies because they all kept you apart.”

               He huffed, ducking his head as another tear fell. “It’s . . .”

               “A lot of weight to carry,” Michael finished, remembering Flint’s words. How much Alex had on his shoulders . . .

               And suddenly, as Michael watched this beautiful man, carrying himself only by the memories of the people that had become a part of his heart, by the love he had for this family he’d created for himself, he realized how far apart he and Alex actually were.

               He leaned in as a tear rolled down Alex’s cheek, as he was too weary to wipe it away. Michael kissed it, and Alex looked up.

               “You’re so . . . grown up,” he whispered. “Tell me what to do. Please, Alex, tell me what to do.” Tell me what to do to keep you.

               Alex’s considered him. Then he tugged at Michael’s arm until Michael was against him. Alex rested his head against his shoulder. “Just let me touch you,” he breathed, “for a little longer.”

               Michael wrapped Alex in his arms and held him tightly, one hand going up and down his arm, his other hand sliding into his hair. Alex’s hand came up Michael’s chest, as if eager to feel under his shirt, to have that skin-on-skin contact that reassured them like little else did.

               “Let me keep you,” Michael whispered into Alex’s hair.

               Alex turned his face into Michael’s shoulder. His grip tightened on the cowboy’s body, and for a second, Michael thought he would say yes. Then –

               “I should get back.”

               Michael’s face fell. “I – I take it back,” he said quickly, “I just want you to stay the night –”

               But Alex kissed his jaw softly, then the corner of his mouth, then his lips, effectively silencing him.

               When he pulled back, he was cupping Michael’s cheek. “I have work tomorrow,” he said. “All my things are back at the house. Okay?”

               Michael nodded, and kissed Alex one more time before letting him up. “I’ll drive you,” he said.

               Alex managed a smile. “My car’s here.”

               “Then we’ll go in yours.”

               “Then you’ll be stuck with me.”

               “Yes, please,” Michael breathed, taking hold of Alex’s waist again.

               Alex huffed a laugh which quickly turned to a cry. He turned away, covering his face with one hand. When he looked up again, his smile was weak and his eyes were rimmed red.

               “I – uh – think I just need to be alone.”

               Michael wished he could be angry, frustrated. But instead, all he felt was fear. Alex didn’t seem stubborn to him anymore, just . . . far away. Why? What had changed?

               “Hey,” Alex said softly, and pulled him in for another kiss. “I’ll be back. I need you, too.”

               Michael swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he whispered. But I have no idea how to help you. I don’t even think I know who you are.

               “Alex, I . . .” I love you. He’d almost said it. He’d wanted to. But Alex was heartbroken and lost, and that wasn’t what he needed to hear right now. Instead, Michael pulled Alex in one more time, kissing him hungrily.

               “I’d do anything for you,” he panted against his lips when they pulled apart again.

               Alex nodded, his forehead pressed against Michael’s, and he roughly wiped at his eyes with his forearm before he turned to leave. Michael watched him walk away, already freezing at the loss of his touch. What was wrong with him? What was it that felt so off this time?

               “Because he was part of me, I felt it.”

               Was that what this was? No, it was different. Michael couldn’t begin to list the ways, but it was different. Alex gave him a soft smile before he climbed into the driver’s seat and disappeared.

               The man that made music and smiled blushingly whenever Michael kissed him, and the man that held the world on his shoulders, always one crack away from shattering completely. They’d always been the same to Michael, but something had changed now.

               He had once confessed that he couldn’t get used to seeing Alex in his uniform. At the time, he’d played it off as a joke, though something in his heart had stung at the image. And he’d never understood why. Now he did.

               “He’s mine,” he said before he could help himself. The silence of the night threatened to engulf him, to keep him quiet. Alex, after all, belonged to a different world. He had a life and identity outside of Roswell, outside of Project Shepherd and music and aliens that had no place for a temperamental, telekinetic cowboy.

               Michael didn’t care. He didn’t know where he fit in with all of this, and the painful thudding of his heart served to betray his true fears of never being allowed to belong to the airman, but he didn’t care.

               “He’s mine,” he kept repeating, hoping that the words would be enough to make it real. “Alex belongs with me. He’s mine.”

***

I’m exhausted! I might be sharing an IG with y’all soon for my writing/reading. Just in case anyone would like to follow something like that 💖

[artificialqueens]

surprise, surprise (branjie) - evan

In which Brooke and Vanessa spend Easter together.

AN: AN: Guess who’s back in the queue!! It’s been impossible for me to write recently, but this disgustingly sweet one shot started pouring out of me this weekend and I figured it was worth it to go ahead and post it. By the time it’s out there it’ll probably be debunked irl, but here’s the softest thing I’ve ever written, and I hope you like it!

1.8k. Find me @formercongressman.

—–

Brooke kisses Vanessa at the LA airport at nine in the morning in front of a crowd of strangers in their Easter best and she’s never felt more right.

It’s a movie-quality, sweep-her-off-her-feet, slow-motion music-swells kiss. Brooke hears an old woman behind them say, “oh, that’s sweet,” and then nothing else because she’s so focused on Vanessa’s mouth on hers again, the warm and sweet and familiar pressure that she thinks about all the time. No memory compares to the real deal.

When they pull apart, Brooke is smiling so wide that her eyes are barely open. Vanessa is this gorgeous and giddy ball of energy and light. She wraps her arms tightly around Brooke’s waist, holding her as close as she physically can.

“I missed you,” Brooke murmurs into Vanessa’s hat.

“I missed you, too.”

It’s been far too long. They haven’t been in the same place since that night Brooke and Nina had come to Vanessa’s show in New York and Vanessa had smiled into that measly filmed kiss that Brooke had since watched over and over. It’s nice to have a memento. And they Facetime whenever it’s possible, but their schedules keep them busy and it’s always a struggle to find a shared break of time. It’s never enough. There’s just something indescribably better about having Vanessa close, being able to feel her heartbeat and smell her excessive cologne, that makes Brooke want to barricade herself in a room with Vanessa and never leave. They can’t, not for months and months, but she’ll take whatever short visits she can get.

They can’t keep their hands off of each other. They know they’re making a scene at baggage claim, Brooke wrapping her entire frame around Vanessa, distracting her as she tries to spot her bag. She’s never been less concerned about what other people are thinking. She and Vanessa are finally, finally in the same place and damn it, they’re going to soak up every minute.

Brooke calls an Uber and rolls her eyes as Vanessa insists on carrying her own heavy bags.  Their driver is surprisingly unobtrusive, eyes forward the whole time as Vanessa presses five, ten, twenty kisses into Brooke’s jaw.

The driver pulls off of the interstate and Vanessa notices.

“Wait, this ain’t the way to my apartment.”

“Oh, I thought we could go to my hotel room first? It’s, uh, it’s a bit closer to the airport?”

“You’re that hungry for it?” Vanessa’s eyes are bright as she laughs into Brooke’s shoulder. “Alright baby, you know I can’t say no to that.”

Brooke smiles and pulls Vanessa closer, but she feels a twinge in the muscles in her shoulders. She’s got a surprise planned and her anxiety piques as she thinks about the short two days they have together before Vanessa leaves for Europe, and the pressure for everything to go perfectly, just according to plan.

For once, LA traffic isn’t miserable. It’s Easter Sunday, and people are at church or sleeping in or going to potlucks with their families. They get to Brooke’s hotel in what must be record time.

In the otherwise-empty elevator, Vanessa tightens her fist in Brooke’s t-shirt and drags her down to her level to meet her in a firey kiss. She rolls Brooke’s bottom lip between her teeth and Brooke can’t help but let out a small sound. It’s everything Brooke can do not to forget about the surprise completely and fall as quickly into bed with Vanessa as possible.

Brooke struggles to fish her room card out of her wallet while Vanessa is trying to hold both of her hands at once. Just as soon as the door clicks closed behind them, Vanessa has Brooke pressed against the door, lips and hands in places Brooke hasn’t felt them in over a month, and she’s almost completely swept away in the sensation of being finally, finally alone together.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Brooke says. She detaches herself from Vanessa with a smile, but Vanessa is actually pouting like a little kid, and it’s the hardest thing in the world for Brooke to not give her everything she wants immediately. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“This better be good.”

“Come here.” Brooke leads Vanessa into the room, and grabs a pink plastic egg off of the hotel TV stand. She pops it open, revealing the small Cadbury eggs inside. “Since it’s Easter morning, I thought maybe we could be a little bit traditional, and do an Easter egg hunt?” Her heart flutters a little bit, nervous, worried Vanessa is going to think this is dumb, or childish,

“You made me… an Easter egg hunt?” Vanessa asks.

“Yeah, I do it with my family and my little nieces and nephews every year, and it’s always really fun, but I’m not with my family this year and I thought maybe you might want to, um, do a family thing with me?”

Brooke pauses, holds her breath, tries to read Vanessa’s face. A family thing. She knows it’s a risk, knows it’s a step, and hopes with every fiber of her being that Vanessa is on the same page.  Vanessa’s mouth is hanging open in a little “o” and Brooke can tell that her mind is racing and she wishes, as she frequently does, that she could read what was going on in there.

Brooke starts again, “And if you don’t like it you totally don’t have to do it–”

“Baby.” Vanessa breaks into a wide smile and stands on her tiptoes to cut Brooke off with a kiss. “This is the cutest shit I’ve ever seen.”

“You like it?”

“Yes, bitch, I love it. And I love you.”

“I love you.” Brooke wraps her arms tightly around Vanessa’s shoulders, trying to drink up every second of the moment. “So much.”

Vanessa grabs a piece of chocolate out of the Easter egg in Brooke’s hand and tosses it in her mouth. “When did you even get up to do this?”

“At like seven this morning–”

“Oh! Found one!” Vanessa immediately spots a bright green egg tucked behind the window curtain, and then she’s off, digging through every nook and cranny of the admittedly small room.

Soon there’s a pile of plastic easter egg shells on the hotel bed, candy emptied out into a paper coffee cup, as Vanessa moves in a flurry around the room to find all the eggs that Brooke has hidden. Brooke watches from a perch on the hotel bed, smiling as Vanessa struggles to reach one egg she hid on the top edge of the hotel picture frame.

“You did this one on purpose, didn’t you?” She’s on her tiptoes, the egg just beyond the reach of her fingertips.

“Maybe.” Brooke reaches far over Vanessa’s head to retrieve the egg out of her reach.

“Is that all of ‘em?” Vanessa asks.

“There’s still one left.” Brooke nestles back down on the bed.

“I give up, gimme a hint. Hot or cold?” Vanessa asked as she started moving toward the bathroom.

“Colder.”

She pauses, then turns back toward Brooke.

“Warmer.”

Vanessa starts taking painfully slow steps directly toward Brooke, who is chuckling every time she has to say “warmer” again before Vanessa will take a step closer. Then Vanessa is frustratingly close, bringing her lips to just barely hover over Brooke’s, and Brooke is ready to throw the whole game and pull Vanessa down into the bed with her.

“Hot or cold?” Vanessa barely breathes.

Brooke controls herself, presses the tiniest peck to Vanessa’s lips, and smiles mischievously. “Well, it’s not inside my mouth, obviously.”

Frustrated, Vanessa rolls her eyes and falls back onto the pillow on the other side of the bed with a sigh.

“Warmer,” Brooke said softly.

Vanessa looks up at her with narrowed eyes, but then begins feeling around on her side of the bed. It doesn’t take her long to find the teal egg under the pillow that Brooke had banked on her saving for last. Vanessa holds it up triumphantly. “Alright, do I win my prize now?”

“Open it.”

There’s no candy in this one. Instead, Vanessa finds two rolled up pieces of paper. Her forehead creases as she looks over at Brooke with a question in her eyes as she unravels them.

“It’s plane tickets,” Brooke explains. “They’re for two weeks in early December, after we’re done with all the touring and we’ve got a long break and we can just kind of… go away together. No gigs, no drag, just us. And it’s for Cape Town, it’s one of the most beautiful places in the world and I want to share it with you and…” Brooke stops. She realizes she’s rambling again. “I know that it’s a lot.” she says simply. “But I kind of want a lot with you.

It’s a moment like this that they couldn’t have shared over Facetime. Vanessa curls herself tightly against Brooke’s side, nesting her head perfectly into Brooke’s shoulder. Brooke can feel her smiling, feel the warmth of her small body against her own, and she wants to bottle this moment and take it with her everywhere she goes. This is her Vanessa, the kind that stayed hidden from the cameras for the most part, the impossibly soft and gentle core underneath her vibrant exterior.

“I want a lot with you too,” Vanessa says so softly against Brooke’s neck that she almost can’t make it out. “Thank you, baby.”

Brooke feels the same kind of twist in her gut that she felt the felt the first time Vanessa had whispered “I love you,” to her in that hazy midafternoon sunlight in Nashville. Now, Brooke is hit with these sudden flashes of a future, of laying on a beach in Cape Town, making breakfast in Vanessa’s apartment, and next Easter watching Vanessa trying to outmuscle Brooke’s hockey-playing teenage cousins as they fight over who found the last Easter egg.

They stay in that warm moment for as long as it will hold, until Vanessa presses a quick, soft kiss to Brooke’s lips. “Now, please tell me you have some kind of sexy bunny shit planned too, because I still have needs.” Brooke feels Vanessa’s fingers at the bottom edge of her shirt.

Brooke gleams and traces her thumb across Vanessa’s cheek. “Hm, what do you think about something along the lines of a sexy resurrection, ‘he is risen’ kind of thing?”

Vanessa goes stone-faced. “I swear I will go and get right back on that plane to West fucking Virginia before I–”

But then Brooke rolls on top of her, kisses her deeply, slots her body perfectly against Vanessa’s, and all the jokes fly out the window. This one is a different kind of movie-quality kiss. Their lips slide together slowly, like they’ve got all the time in the world, because in the grand scheme of things, they do.

[letstalkaboutsebbaby]

Anything Else Is Outside - Chapter 7

It wasn’t a pleasant flight for Harper. Not that it had any problem but her mind was ruining everything. She leaved home sure of what she wanted and now she’s feeling like she’s an idiot for doing it.

He sends her a text while she’s waiting for her bag. “Hey, I’m just out of the baggage claim area, ok?”

Fuck. He’s here. I’m here. What the fuck is going on, Harper? She gets her bag and leaves, looking out for him. And there he is, wearing black jeans, a white shirt, and dark blue coat, with a dark cap and glasses, looking annoyingly handsome. He’s just on the side of a trauma kit, which is a great thing since she feels she’s going to pass out. He sees her and opens a big smile, walking up to her and enveloping the woman in his strong arms. She let go of her bag and holds his waist.

“Fuck, you smell so good. How was the flight?” He says without letting go of her.

“Uneventful. Unless you count me freaking out as an event”

“Why?”

“Too much time to overthink this”

“Are you better or still nervous?”

“I’m great. This is a good place to be”

“We better go then, do you need to go to the restroom or eat?”

“Let’s go, I’m good.”

He takes her backpack, suitcase and holds her hand, taking her to his car. There, he opens the door for her, making her smile. He puts the bags at the trunk and slides in the driver’s seat. He drops his head back and turns to the side to look at her. “I’m so glad you’re here”

She smiles and gets closer, giving him a peck in the lips. “I’m glad to be here, Chris” He turns towards her, his hand in her neck, bringing her closer and kissing her deeper.

“Come on, let’s get you home. You must be tired.” He kisses the back of her hand and turns to drive out of there. “It’s about 30 minutes to my house, do you want to grab something to eat in a drive-through or something?”

“Why do I have the feeling that you’re hungry?”

“I am. I was so nervous about you coming that I didn’t eat at all since we finish talking and now I’m starving”

She laughs “Let’s eat then, you fool! You want to stop or buy something?”

“Let’s buy, I want to go home”

They go to Burger King and he orders burgers, cokes and fries for them both. The clerk was so gleeful it’s pleasing for Harper to watch their interaction. “Ok, drive and I feed you...”

“Thanks. So, tell me everything I don’t know.” he says.

“Do you know something, really? This is so crazy!”

“I know you’re smart, brave, gorgeous, sweet, admired for your work, lovingly with your family and that to talk to you lights me up. Now I even know you smell amazing and has the most delicious kiss…” he smiles, proud of himself.

“Ok, well..I’m 31, born and raised in Nashville, I work as the producer of my cousin’s band, and I travel a lot because of it. I’m frequently torn between opposites...like I want to be in the snow as much as I want to be by the beach and it takes me so much time to decide it’s infuriating, really. I love tattoos, as you can see and I can’t live without music.”

“Good, good. I’m 37, actor, traveling a lot because of it, I have anxiety so I’m frequently torn over anything, but I’m way better than I used to be, I learn a lot about it and I’m able to control it. I love tattoos and music too and I’m not as mature as a man of my age should be”

Harper was going to give him a french frie, but stopped to ask “Why do you say that?”

“I...I’m always playing around, waking up late, planning Disney trips and I can spend days doing nothing productive”

“And you compare this to what? Grown-up men that hate their jobs and need to have a controlled routine cause they don’t make money enough to enjoy life?”

“Well, yes. But since you put it this way…” he opens his mouth to bite the salty food

“You’re not immature, you’re financially stable”

They stop at a traffic light and he puts his hand in her thigh. “Where were you ten years ago?”

“Having my heart broken, that would have been the worst year to meet you.”

“I would probably be an assehole anyway, so 2008 it’s crossed off”

“There’s nothing wrong with today, Chris.”

“No, I’m good with today” he leans towards her and kisses her till the traffic lights turn green and the car behind them blew the horns. They talk more about work and some Christmas’ ongoings till he stops the car at his garage.

Chris opens the door for her again and holds her hand to enter his house. His plan was to show her the house and offer her some wine, but as soon as they got in he turns her around and kisses her again, one arm around her waist and the other on her neck, tilting her face to the perfect angle. The kiss is slow and deep, teeth biting lips, hands bringing each other’s body closer and a soft moaning here and there.

“I don’t want to play hard to get, but I’m tired...I don’t want to lead you on.”

“It’s okay, I know. I’m so fucking happy you’re here” He kisses her again “Do you want to go to bed?”

“No. I’m not sleepy, just tired. Can we stay like this?”

“Kissing in the middle of the hall?” a cheeky smile and an upturned brow gives him a naughty aura.

“Kissing, feeling you...I don’t care where”

“The couch. The bed is too tempting.” She smiles and he walks her to the living room.

“You have a nice house, very comfy. Where’s Dodger?”

“With my mother. I wanted some privacy.”

“Oh, poor dog.” She settles on the couch and he sits by her side.

“We can pick him up tomorrow” Chris offers

“We?”

“No pressure, let’s see..” he kisses her again and the make-out session starts, hands wandering around a bit, soft touches mixed with hard squeezes.

“God, you feel so good, Chris. I want you so much.”

“Fuck babe, don’t say things like that, I’m gonna cum on my fucking pants”

She laughs “I’m sorry, I’m sorry...I don’t mean to be a tease” she pecks him all over the face.

“We better do something else or take a cold shower”

“Yeah, let’s do something else”

His phone rings and he stands to answer it. “Let me get that, you keep thinking about something not sexy that we can do”.

She lays in the couch and tries to control her breathing. That was torture, she wants him and he wants her, but her body is so tired! She doesn’t want to have crappy sex with him. When she opens her eyes, he was looking back at her from the other side of the living room. She waits for him to finish the call and stands, walking to where he is.

“Ok, cold shower it is, where is the bathroom?”

“Erm, do you want to stay at the guest room?” he rubs his head.

“I want to be with you. Is a shower for two. Where can we go?”

[thefamilyineverknew]

Turning 47: pt. VII

“All in the Family”

17-21 May

During that blustery drive across the southwestern stretch of Kansas to the Double Bar “L” farm, a thought occurred to me that continued to build. In her original message, Arla had written both her email and phone number, the area code placing her in Colorado. I’m thinking, I’m already this far west, and Colorado is only a few hours further...maybe I could just continue to drive after joining my family here for my cousin Matt’s wedding and perhaps...hmmm. I only foresaw two obstacles; one, I had been borrowing one of my folk’s cars for the entire Spring in Chicago and had already racked up considerable miles, and two, they could have a bad reaction to the news. That was a toss up. So I would need to tread lightly if I were to reach for that.

Coming in from the rain, I set my bags down and kick off my boots. I’m shown where I will be sleeping; downstairs in the den area where my cousins and I used to play Atari PONG on the Magnavox console TV. This was formerly my Grandpa Lightner’s house and there are still vivid set pieces from that time; the Brunswick Balke Collender pool table, the card table with inset compartments for each player’s cards, the mid-century stonework. My aunt and uncle had expanded the back of the house, where my grandpa’s desk used to sit, into a large, open sitting room with a wrap-around sofa and a couple comfy rockers the color of oxblood (which looked to me like pair of Claes Oldenburg soft-sculpture art objects resembling over grown livers). There was a lot of memory in this place. I was about to make one more.

After getting settled, I was talking with my mom & dad about the trip, the time at Wheaton, and such. Then I said, “I took the opportunity while I was here to get my DNA run through Ancestry”. My mom shot back, ”Oh wow. We thought that might be something for you.” (positive). They were visibly excited, in a good way. “So, what did it say?”, my dad asked. So, I showed them how it worked on the app; the background information estimated by the service, and the section showing others whose DNA markings make them a close match to distant relative. They were fascinated, of course, bordering on giddy. They had never known any more information than what they had told me, so this was a big moment for them, too.

When I showed them the 2nd section for connections, I pointed out this woman marked as a close relative who I had seen straight away after receiving the results. “I saw this and thought, ‘Am I looking at my mother’?”, I said, “But it turns out, she’s my aunt. My birth mother contacted me the day after I got the results”. Oh wow.

Visibly, my parents were afflux with emotion; glee to reservation, and back again. So I read the message that Arla had written aloud to them, then my response. My dad was impressed, ”She sounds level-headed and cautious. That’s good.” Over a career as a pastor, he has seen and counseled all sorts of desperate people in distress and in need, so he knows the markers and potential dangers in situations like this. He kinda teared up. This was an emotional thing for them.

Then he blurts,”Hey! You’re already in Kansas! Colorado is just next door! You should try to meet her.” And that was that. Wow. No need to angle. I would go to Colorado. But first, we had the business of attending my cousin Matt’s wedding the next day.

Now, I would never be accused of being known to travel great distances to attend momentous events in my relatives’ lives. It’s not a point of pride, just a fact. But this particular wedding was a little, nay, a lot different.

Matt became a widower last year when his wife Emily was t-boned at a rural Kansas intersection by a 17 yr old driving upwards of 90 mph (145 kph) outside of Hutchinson, leaving behind six children under the age of 10, including a newborn and two adopted toddlers. It was such devastating news to receive being overseas. I never had the pleasure of meeting Emily, but my sense is that she was a dynamo, the engine, the dreamer and doer, and she perfectly matched Matt. I saw them as two tent posts, creating a warm family nest together, and then suddenly, one of the tent post falls, and the tent falling in around them. I reached out to Matt via FB, but did not expect a reply. It was an extremely grievous time.

Then, in the Spring, as I’m making plans for what to do after classes finish up, (the plan was to drive to Nashville, hop a plane to Seattle, drive down and up the coast to see friends, fly back to Nashville, spend some more time there, then drive back up to my folks in MN, and fly out to Sweden on the 30th of May) my folks called to let me know that Matt was getting remarried May 19th and it sure would be nice if I were able to make it. My northwest plans were foiled, but I was amazed and thrilled for Matt and, of course, I would go. I would be able to celebrate with him and offer my condolences about Emily in person, all in the same go.

So I hear that the woman he’s marrying, Megan, is also the survivor of a departed partner. From what I know, her husband died of cancer, leaving her to care for their four children, also all under 10 yrs old. 😮 so that means...let me do the math...6 + 4...hmmm....WHOA!! Ten under ten. That is incredible on top of improbable on top of nearly impossible; that they found each other and that they already knew each other from high school and that they and their families can begin to heal. Just beyond.

And since they were both originally from Garden City, it seemed the whole city showed up (well, at least 300 people). And all ten kids stood in the wedding as both groomsmen and bridesmaids. There was sadness and joy. Emily’s folks were there, which must have taken all the strength and love they have. What an emotional event!

Matt and Megan get in their 15 person van, with the “Just Married” markings soaped on the back, and drive off...only to drive around the block and return, cause...you know...ten kids. And the reception. There, my dad was making the rounds, shaking hands, seeing relatives; cousins, aunts, uncles. He wanted to take me around with him and reintroduce me to a bunch of people. My father was completely in his element at the reception, it was a joy to see. I was able to get reacquainted with several distant Lightner relatives who knew me from the time I was just a rambunctious, curly toe-headed kid. That my path would take me through the arts and performance and abroad, and not to farming, with fingers the gauge of a baseball bat, was always a bit intimidating, but the conversations flowed with ease, and were very intelligent, even some Swedish spoken by the husband of a second cousin of mine who did a student exchange back in high school. I felt the instant acceptance as I always had as a kid.

It was about this time that my dad began to lobby me to tell everyone the big story about finding out my background and hearing from my birth mother. I felt very private and protective of the story, just having had this lifetime mystery unveiled to myself. I wanted to maintain a level of control over the rate at which I revealed, which I was able to do up to a point but, man, was he excited about it. And that’s a whole world better than the opposite reaction.

The plan now was to stay at the Double Bar “L” to hang with my family until my folks and aunt Mary Sue left to return to Minnesota on Monday. Then...Colorado.

Now, I really need to message the woman who gave me life...

[junker-town]

NFL Dad: 6 hours of RedZone with 2 kids under the age of 3

Football’s back! But the kids are still around. One dad’s diary of the enervating journey to heartbreak and bedtime.

Killing time until 1:00 p.m. Eastern during football season used to feel like an eternity. Wake up at 11, eat a breakfast sandwich, set fantasy lineups, and then ... wait. Maybe go to a bar? Yes, I would go to a bar and watch dozens of TVs at once and drink all the beer I wanted for three or 7 hours.

That was another lifetime. Today, I spend my morning at a 3-year-old’s birthday with my wife, daughter (almost 3), and son (16 months). The party, which is three miles from our home, requires us to pack enough provisions for an Arctic expedition, yet I eat no breakfast and pack no food for myself; I am too preoccupied with the high-wire act of keeping two toddlers happy and entertained without resorting to bribery.

Because the kids’ naps (and my job) start at 1:00, my wife and I vow to leave the party at EXACTLY noon. We leave at 12:15. My son falls asleep in the stroller, practically guaranteeing he won’t take his usual 2-hour nap. But that doesn’t mean we won’t TRY to get him to sleep. We arrive home at 1:00. I take off my son’s shoes and dunk him in his crib like Shawn Kemp cleaning up the glass.

I turn on the TV, and Scott Hanson’s handsome visage fills the screen. I instantly have the same feeling that people used to have for news anchors: here is a steady voice to guide me through the coming storm.

EARLY GAMES, FIRST HALF

— The Titans, hosting the Raiders, begin their season with an onside kick attempt; it fails, and Derek Carr will start at midfield. The Browns begin their season by getting a punt blocked, which the Steelers recover for a touchdown. Marshawn Lynch rumbles through traffic for a gain of 14 on his first carry as a Raider. Matt Stafford throws a pick-6. Amari Cooper catches a touchdown. The Jets intercept a Tyrod Taylor pass in the end zone, but fumble the ball back during the return? I can’t be sure about that last part, because I’m reading to my daughter before her nap. Mr. Plumbean has a big orange splot of paint on his roof, and the neighborhood association is PISSED.

On third-and-12, Carson Wentz evades most of the Washington defense and hucks it downfield to a wide-open Nelson Agholor, who races in for a 58-yard score. I have now seen multiple touchdowns scored on offense, plus defensive and special teams scores, AND I’ve read a children’s book. It has been 15 minutes since I turned the TV on.

— At 1:20, with both kids in bed and Marcus Mariota scoring on a zone-read keeper, my wife leaves to run some errands. “Is that my son making noise?” I think to myself as she closes the door. Surely not!

1:22 — He is definitely awake. I go to check his diaper; it’s dry. I sing him a song and put him back down.

1:26 — I leave my son’s room to the sound of my daughter calling me. She needs a diaper change. I sing her a song and put her back down.

1:31 — I leave my daughter’s room to the sound of my son crying. The Ravens intercept Andy Dalton as I pour a bottle of milk. SLEEP, YOU ADORABLE VAMPIRES.

— In Nashville, the Raiders go for it on fourth-and-1 inside the Titans’ 5. Marshawn Lynch sidesteps an unblocked defender in the backfield, then fights two more defenders to move the chains. Now facing first-and-goal from the 2, the Raiders proceed to:

throw incomplete to Amari Cooper on first down,

throw incomplete to Amari Cooper on second down, and

throw incomplete to Amari Cooper on third down.

Goddammit, Raiders! You indefensible slugwits. Did Super Bowl XLIX teach you nothing? THE SEAHAWKS DIED SO THAT YOU MAY LIVE.

And well well well, looky here. It’s Derek Carr taking shots at the Seahawks’ play calling back in June.

"There's no we'll be on the 1 yard line and I won't give it to Marshawn, I'll throw it." http://pic.twitter.com/0yhqrWEFWT

— NBCS Raiders News (@NBCSRaiders) June 23, 2017

ENJOY REGRESSING TO THE MEAN, FRESNO BOY.

— My son is making noise in his crib, but he isn’t crying. He’s probably having fun by himself in the dark room, right? I leave him be. As Andy Dalton throws another interception, I text my wife and beg her to come help. She’s nearby! Parenting: successfully dodged.

— Jordan Howard scores for the Bears to tie Atlanta 10-10 just before halftime. There’s a ton of Twitter chatter about Tarik Cohen, a player I have definitely heard about before today, because I am a fantasy football savant and professional NFL commentator. Like, who doesn’t know that Cohen, uh ... (*opens new tab*)

I only went to this page to add information to it!

... is an American football running back? And that he played the same position for North Caroline A&T? Common knowledge for even the most common fan, says this dedicated NFL expert.

— Chris Thompson scores an incredible touchdown for Washington:

6? 7? 8? More? Let’s count how many defenders Chris Thompson made miss on this CRAZY @redskins TD. #HTTR http://pic.twitter.com/iHnmjE4nnG

— NFL (@NFL) September 10, 2017

Yes, it was pitiful tackling from the Eagles, but credit Thompson for staying on his feet through the contact. Kind of unfair that Kirk Cousins gets credit for throwing that touchdown.

— In Houston, where J.J. Watt received a hero’s welcome when he stepped on the field, the Texans are getting worked by the Jaguars. Tom Savage fumbles, resulting in a scoop-and-score for the Jags, but it’s overturned on review — his arm was moving forward before he lost the ball. The telecast barely has time to show that Calais Campbell has 3.5 sacks in the first half when Savage is sacked and fumbles AGAIN, resulting in another defensive score. For a moment, I thought I was watching a replay of the previous fumble return touchdown, but no: this is a different play, and this time it counts. The Jags go into halftime up 19-0; Tom Savage has been sacked six times while leading Houston to 52 yards of offense.

— Through 100 minutes of RedZone, I have seen one offensive play from the Jets: a 1-yard pass. Granted, I missed some time while parenting, but RedZone knows what the people want: not the Jets, dear God, anything but the Jets.

EARLY GAMES, SECOND HALF

— DeShaun Watson makes his Texans debut; Bill O’Brien has benched Tom Savage. And say what you will about O’Brien’s complete inability to evaluate quarterback talent, at least he’s quick to pull the hook when he chooses the wrong guy, which is usually. Watson completes his first three passes in what is already the Texans’ longest drive of the day — not that the bar was high.

The drive ends in a touchdown pass to DeAndre Hopkins, and I cannot understate the glaring and obvious difference between Savage and Watson. Savage’s movement in the first half resembled the first time in Ratatouille that Remy remote-controlled his blindfolded human friend by yanking his hair. Watson, conversely, looks like a natural biped. I am convinced Bill O’Brien has brain parasites.

— Hey, a Jets touchdown! I saw precisely zero of the plays that led to it. The ensuing 2-point conversion is intercepted, and I believe all the way down to my marrow that every Jets TD this season should come with a pick on a 2-point attempt. I want to look at the final score every week and have reason to doubt that they scored a touchdown.

— T.J. Watt earns a personal foul penalty, and then immediately intercepts DeShone Kizer. He’s got two sacks and a pick in his debut for a storied NFL franchise. I’m going to enjoy this moment right now: it’s the last one before I am shown T.J. Watt’s face repeatedly every week. But at this second? I couldn’t pick T.J. Watt out of a crowd of large, muscular people. It’s nice.

— Matt Ryan finds Austin Hooper wide open for an 88-yard touchdown. “Wait,” you’re saying, “how does a tight end run the length of the field without getting caught?”

Well, my friends, he does it buy putting Quintin Demps into the ground.

RIP, Quintin Demps, conveniently already buried in the grass of Solider Field.

— Quick story from the kids’ birthday party. One of the dads there had a thick orange cast on his hand. He was a bookish guy: slim, glasses, graying hair and gray beard neatly trimmed — a Brooklyn Dad like many other Brooklyn Dads. One of the other dads signaled to his cast and said, “What happened?”

He sighed. “I smashed it pretty bad at Burning Man.” A long pause, and none of us interrupted it. He added: “... as one does.”

— Tony Romo breaks down Seth Roberts’ touchdown, pointing out the Air Raid staple Four Verts. It’s maybe 10 seconds of analysis, but it’s like breathing pure oxygen after YEARS of Phil Simms leaking carbon monoxide into my home. It’s also only one game, and we haven’t had time to get tired of his vocal tics, but Tony Romo is already legitimately great in the booth.

Thank you for retiring, Tony. This is so much better than you making the Broncos good.

— HOLY ADOREE’ JACKSON:

He jumped at the 26-yard line and landed at the 33: approximately 21 feet in the air, in football gear, as three different players tried to stop his forward movement. It’s no surprise he almost went to the Olympics in the long jump.

— Tarik Cohen scores a touchdown on what looked like a wheel route (my attention is not always fully invested in Mike Glennon’s work), and the Bears are giving the Falcons all they can handle. Remember that name: Tarik Cohen. I certainly will and always have, dating back to his youth in Bunn, North Carolina.

— On third-and-6 in the red zone with his team trailing, Kirk Cousins makes a terrible throw that gets intercepted at the goal line. The next time RedZone clicks over to the Washington-Eagles game, Brandon Graham is pulverizing Cousins just as he’s about to throw, leading to a fumble that Fletcher Cox takes into the end zone to ice the game. The replay looks like it could be ruled an incomplete pass, but the refs are like, “Nah, let’s go home,” and I respect that.

— With the Bears trailing by 6, Mike Glennon leads a hopeful but doomed last-gasp drive into the red zone. He gets sacked on fourth-and-10 to end the game, and the Bears all lift him onto their shoulders to celebrate covering the 7-point spread. They’re gonna be the best damn 5-win team you’ve ever seen.

— The Jaguars are up 29-7 with two minutes remaining, and they now have nine sacks. But hey, at least the Texans found their quarterback! He was hidden in the first round of the draft! Who would think to look there?

— The Lions and Cardinals are taking their sweet damn time finishing up their game. Kenny Golladay scores on a deep bomb, his second touchdown of the day, and I rue each of my three fantasy drafts in which I gave him serious consideration but ultimately passed. With the Lions up 28-17, Carson Palmer throws a pick-6. Ballgame.

LATE GAMES, FIRST HALF

— Ugh, Colts-Rams on RedZone. I’d rather watch truck commercials. I grab the remote, because I’m choosing Seahawks-Packers and commercials over the barren puntscape of the RedZone channel during the late games. I try to click over, and nothing happens. Am I in hell? No: I removed the batteries when I gave the remote to my son. Kid loves anything with buttons. Give him a room filled with fans, clocks, and buttons to push, and the only thing I’d ever have to do is change diapers and toss food in a couple times a day.

But before I can change the channel, Scott Tolzien throws a touchdown, but to the defense. The Rams are up 10-0 barely three minutes into the game.

And hey, Colts? Y’all know Colin Kaepernick is free to sign, right? You don’t have to ship your former first-round draft pick to the NFL’s reigning dynasty for their third-string quarterback.

— You and I, we’re friends, right? We’ve gotten this far in this football LiveJournal together, and so it’s time you knew the truth: I am a Seahawks fan, and for the next 3 hours the TV will be on this game. If you are a Panthers fan who wants to read about the 49ers game, you should leave this page now before you get even more disappointed.

— The first quarter is bad, both from my perspective as a Seahawks fan, and for anyone who enjoys fun things. Seahawks defensive tackle Nazair Jones, who has one of the most uplifting stories in this year’s rookie class, intercepts Aaron Rodgers point-blank and rumbles the length of the field for an incredibly rare and joyous Fat Guy Pick-6.

The Seahawks, though, pick up two flags on the play: Cliff Avril had a glancing swipe of Rodgers’ shoulder pads that was ruled a block in the back, and cornerback Jeremy Lane — who was dragged to the ground by Davante Adams grabbing his facemask — was ejected for a retaliatory forearm shiver. The touchdown is wiped off the board.

In #SEAvsGB they missed the initial foul on Adams. And that was a block in the back on Rodgers? I don't think the play was well-officiated.

— Mike Pereira (@MikePereira) September 10, 2017

I do not yell. I do not swear. The person that my children see in this moment is, essentially, the same gentle father who guides them through every morning and every night. Perhaps I say, “Gosh darn it,” which my daughter parrots, which makes me smile even though my blood is BOILING. I calmly pour myself a glass of gin in a mug. The game, somehow, stays scoreless through the quarter.

— My daughter has a habit of repeating the same question over and over; it’s how she sponges up language, hearing the same words repeated until she gets everything in full context. But ohhhhh, sweetie, my daughter, light of my life: If you ask me “What is the yellow man doing?” again, I will lock you out in the hallway. His name is Aaron Rodgers, and he’s screwing us, mmkay?

— Five minutes into the second quarter, the Seahawks get their first first down. BUST OUT THE CONFETTI. But on 3rd-and-7, Russell Wilson — under pressure from Mike Daniels — overthrows an open Tyler Lockett downfield on what would have been a touchdown.

— How have the Packers not scored yet? Aaron Rodgers seems to have two or three miracle 3rd-down conversions every drive before the Seahawks defense can force a punt. The only reason Green Bay hasn’t kicked a field goal yet is Jon Ryan, the finest ginger Canadian punter in the NFL, who pins the Pack deep repeatedly.

— I’m still mad about Naz Jones’ touchdown being called back, and I’m still mad about Jeremy Lane’s ejection. But time and gin are helping.

— My daughter asks if I took any photos of her at the birthday party today. Are you kidding? All I do is photograph my kids. So she crawls up onto the couch and I swipe through pictures of her blowing bubbles and pushing a giant beach ball as the Seahawks only rush 3 on 3rd-and-16 and OF COURSE Rodgers converts! UGH. NEVER RUSH THREE. YOU IDIOT COWARDS.

I don’t say any of that, of course. I am sharing a moment with my firstborn, trying to focus on the sheer joy that she got from blowing some bubbles on a sunny day in the park. That’s the life, man. Just blowing bubbles. Sports are for dopes.

— With a minute left in the half, the Seahawks get the ball on their own 11. With three straight running plays, it’s clear Pete Carroll wants to kill the clock and head into the halftime with the score knotted at zero. But the Packers — anticipating a chance for one last drive — call their final two timeouts before the Seahawks, seemingly by accident, pick up a first down. NOW they call a timeout and try to score.

The next two plays are a 34-yard pass to Doug Baldwin and a Russell Wilson scramble to the Packers 15-yard line. It is incomprehensible to watch after almost a full half of three-and-out drudgery.

So, with two timeouts and the ball on the 15, the Seahawks are forced to kick a field goal on third down, lest the clock expire without getting any points — all because they wasted half their time trying to burn clock at the other end of the field. This team is bad and winning and I hate them.

LATE GAMES, SECOND HALF

— Let’s check in on the action in Los Angeles and Santa Clara.

Tickets for Colts vs. Rams were $6 and still nobody showed up. http://pic.twitter.com/RND1DmDOof

— Jordan Heck (@JordanHeckFF) September 10, 2017

Second half kickoff http://pic.twitter.com/sEQgbtfJIq

— Ann Killion (@annkillion) September 10, 2017

See? I’m not ignoring the 49ers and Rams games! I’m merely giving them the same enthusiasm they got from local fans.

— With the Seahawks facing third down deep in their own territory, I think, “Oh God, Russell’s going to throw an interception here, isn’t he?” But no, I’m wrong. He fumbles instead. Packers get the ball on the 5.

Watching the replay, Troy Aikman blames Wilson for not protecting the ball better. And yes, that is technically factual, but it also ignores the reality of Packers linemen streaming through Seahawks-colored turnstiles on every play.

Just how Tom Cable drew it up. http://pic.twitter.com/RKNMH276QD

— Keith Myers (@MyersNFL) September 10, 2017

Hey, Dr. Aikman, maybe we can talk about the sickness instead of blaming the symptoms? (LIFEHACK: Never go to a doctor named “Troy.”)

Ty Montgomery punches it into the end zone. Packers up 7-3. Crap.

— Jimmy Graham gets mugged in the end zone, and the refs don’t call pass interference. The announcers find it questionable. Mike Pereira says it’s a bad call. I yell, “P. I.!” My daughter yells, “P. I.! P. I.!” because she knows more about football than these refs. Seahawks Twitter ... well, I will spare you the things that Seahawks Twitter said, but this unrelated image sums it up:

MARSHAWN LYNCH http://pic.twitter.com/q5eG5nlvVN

— SB Nation GIF (@SBNationGIF) September 10, 2017

Deep breath. Here is my rational take: it’s the kind of call you don’t get when you’re the away team and it’s not your day, and this is most definitely not the Seahawks’ day.

I close my laptop. I pause the game. When I come back to watch it, after my kids are in bed, I will watch most of the 4th quarter on fast-forward. The frames that click by will look like repeats of each other: Rodgers knocked to the ground, but a Packer with the ball crossing the yellow line anyway. The final 6 minutes-plus of game time will pass that way, the ending so unremarkable I zip past the final: Packers 17, Seahawks 9.

But for now, with sports frozen in time, I read books to my kids. I sing them lullabies. I hug them and kiss them, and their hair is fine and soft like fresh corn silk as I put them to bed.

It is immeasurable how much better this is than football. Even when my team wins.