#dear god click on this for good quality tumblr eated it

[wolfhotels]

FIXFAXFUCKYOU!!!!!!!!

[goldeneyedgirl]

JaliceWeek2020 Day 7

JaliceWeek2020 Day 7: Yeehaw/Western/Sheriff

Love & Duty

Notes: Okay, I’m pretty sure this isn’t nearly ‘cowboy’ enough, and I’ve already started an alternative piece, but I found an old tumblr post about how cowboys were just daytime witches, and I frickin’ loved it (I’ll link it in the morning) and my excitement got out of hand again. There’s definitely going to be more to this story, but separately. 

I also just wanted to prove to myself I could smash out two prompts in one day, honestly. I opted for quantity over quality, and I currently only have some regrets - 4.5 down, 3.5 to go. 

--

The old farmhouse sits outside Laredo, Texas. The wood has blackened from decades underneath the sun and seems to sink in on itself; the ground cracked and dry. The barn roof has caved in, obviously years before if the elaborate nest tucked at the edge is any indication. At the end of the drive, the sign once bore the name of the owners, but that name has long since faded into the wood.

It is an unwelcoming place, for any passerby or stranger - a house that actively discourages anyone from crossing the boundary, even if they never notice it.

But for those that sought it out, and for those few that lived there, it was very different.

—

It was a sacred duty, once upon a time - the Guardians of the Border, sent to protect and prevent the Southern Wars from spilling over from Mexico into America proper. For decades, girls from all the old families across the country were sent to Texas to run the Guard Houses, to protect and shield those. Back then, there were so many daughters that only the very best were accepted at the Border Guard Houses, most of them settled in the city houses, mixing the potions and preparing the weapons. Some girls were even sent home - there were only so many beds, after all.

And Texas remained well-guarded.

But time marches on. Vampire wars, human wars, they all have a death toll, and entire family lines died out. It became less of an honour, more of an obligation, and one that fell to the oldest daughter, or the oddest daughter, or the ugliest daughter. It became more important to keep the bloodlines strong than to protect the South from the never-ending Wars.

Mary-Alice Brandon was never surprised to be banished to Texas on her sixteenth birthday; she’d known her entire life she’d don the blacks and take up the mantle as six generations of Brandon witches had done before her. She was not good breeding stock, with her ‘visions’ and her temper and her complete disinclination to conform to her parents’ social obligations. Cynthia was a much better heiress, and so off to Texas Alice was sent, to three ancient ‘aunts’ who would train her in all she would need to know, having lived their entire lives defending the Laredo house.

The house wasn’t so bad, if you looked past the glamour. The house was in good repair, and the aunts maintained a lush garden out the back, of herbs and flowers. They had two strong horses - Hallow and Haven - and half a dozen well-pleased cats. Her own bedroom looked over the road, hidden only by the branches of an ancient willow tree. Of course, the aunts were strict teachers that expected impossible standards, and third-rate cooks. But no place was perfect, and at least here no one cared about manners or propriety.

But she missed the sunshine. That was one thing the aunts never budged on. “Day is for sleep.” And hell was raged over her head if she wasn’t tucked up tight in bed every morning before dawn, the curtains drawn tight and refusing to budge. Once every moon cycle, her aunts would have a dawn meeting with someone but she wasn’t allowed to join those until she was twenty one, when she formally became a Witch Guardian. Until then, she was just a handmaid and dogsbody.

Which is why she was up to her ankles in mud, trying to pry an overzealous hemlock plant from the ground because it was smothering the chamomile again, with nothing to light her work except the lanterns on the porch. And this was just the first of the positively irritating chores she had been assigned that night.

It was her own fault, really. She should have kept her nose out of the books, and maybe there’d be more lessons for her to finish.

Shoving her hair out of her eyes, Alice glared viciously at the hemlock plant, and wondered if the aunts would consider it ‘inappropriate behaviour’ to curse the damn thing to burn.

“Mary-Alice!”

One of the aunts came dashing out of the backdoor - all three were fairly interchangeable, which felt like an uncharitable thought, but it was the  honest truth - looking more agitated than Alice had ever seen her.

“Yes, Auntie?”

“Get out of the mud, and go and fetch one of the horse,” the older woman said, buckling an over-stuffed messenger bag. “Be quick, girl. Change your boots, don’t worry about your dress.”

Struggling out of the garden and into the house to find her riding boots, Alice knotted her hair back before hurrying to the barn, where all three aunts were gathered, Hallow already saddled - she would have thought Haven a better choice, since Hallow was so big and she was not the strongest rider.

“You’re going to Del Rio, girl,” one of the aunts said, shoving over a mounting block with surprising strength. “One of our allies has suffered an injury and cannot be moved. Hallow should have you there by dawn.”

“Del Rio?” Alice couldn’t remember the last time she’d been into Laredo, let alone more than a hundred miles up the border.

“Yes. Now, they’re expecting you,” the second aunt said, taking her hand and half shoving her up and into Hallow’s saddle. “Everything you need is in the bag; there’s food and water for you, but you’ll need them to provide more for your return journey. Hallow knows the way; if you hit the yellow farmhouse, you’ve gone too far. There should be a scout waiting for you anyway, don’t worry. It’s a long trip, but it’s a good practice for you, and you’re a good, clean healer.”

“The boy’s in a bad way, so you best be off,” the final aunt said, looking grim. “Let us know how long you’ll be staying and when you set off home.”

“Okay,” Alice managed, a bit dazed from the amount of information she’d just been given.

“Blessed and safe journey, my dear,” the first aunt said, looking worried before Hallow decided they had lingered long enough, and moved out of the barn.

Alice suddenly regretted cursing the hemlock.

—

The ride was long and hard. She honestly regretted not getting changed into something more sensible - she’d learnt to ride as a girl English style, side-saddle, but the aunts had laughed at that particular pretension, and Western saddles and long skirts were not a winning combination.

The bag wasn’t heavy enough for any of them to have thought to pack her a clean dress, either, and she was truly wretched at cleaning spells. Perhaps the Del Rio coven could loan her a dress.

Hallow stopped some time after midnight, and she took that opportunity to eat - a floury apple, some dry bread, and cold chicken that was so well cooked it might as well have been ash. But it was food, and the urgency that she been sent off - alone - implied she didn’t have more than a few minutes to rest.

The rest of the trip felt long, and as pink and gold streaks began to hover at the horizon, Alice wondered if she’d taken too long - if the poor boy (boy? she’d never heard of a coven accepting a boy, but maybe the Guard Houses had decided to modernise) had already succumbed. But it wasn’t like she was provided with a map or proper direction…

It was dawn when Hallow began to slow, and she saw a man leaning against a signpost with an indecipherable sign, the road behind him leading to a fire-decimated house on a hill in the distance.

“Miss Brandon?” the man said, looking at her with suspicion before his eyes softened. “Ah, Hallow.” The horse clearly recognised him, nickering affectionately at the man.

“Yes, I am Miss Brandon. You are the scout from Del Rio?” she asked primly, as if she didn’t have mud on her face and dress and sleeves, and no hat.

“Yup. Come on, he’s in the house. I’m Peter,” the man said. “Budge up.”

Within seconds, Peter had swung himself onto Hallow behind her, and Alice gasped at the impropriety, but didn’t get a moment to say a word as Peter clicked and Hallow took off like a bullet.

As Hallow passed another sign that couldn’t be read, the fire-ruins shimmered before reforming into an expansive and well-lived farmhouse, with a large barn. Out the back, she could see pristine fields full of horses and cattle. It was like chalk and cheese from home, and for a moment, she was jealous.

As they stopped in front of the house, Peter slid off, and tied off Hallow’s bridle to the porch railing, reaching up to help her down.

“Quick now, one of the boys will come take care of Hallow, we need you to tend to Jasper now,” Peter said, half dragging her up the front stairs and into the house.

It felt like a bustle of activity, and was so bright and airy. The smell of fresh bread filtered through the house, and Alice couldn’t help but snatch a look as she was dragged deeper into the house.

“Char! The witching’s here!” Peter bellowed, and suddenly Alice was presented with a drawn-looking woman with strawberry-blonde hair.

“Oh, thank gods,” she said. “I’m Charlotte. Come with me. His fever keeps getting higher, and I’ve tried everything I know. We called out to everyone, but your aunt was the only one who got back to us.”

She was lead into a backroom, where a mattress was laid out on the floor, and the curtains were drawn. And in the middle of the room, moaning in pain and sweaty, was a tall man covered in scars.

Alice tried not to gasp. The scars were quite clearly vampire bites, healed ones. Covens had some natural immunity to vampire venom, but it only slowed down the process and allowed it to be reversed. There were dozens of stories of girls who couldn’t be saved, and had been burnt before the change could be completed. It was, unfortunately, one of the risks of their duty.

“He got ambushed,” Charlotte said, kneeling beside the man. “The harpy practically gutted him, but he got away okay.” She pulled back the sheet, to reveal an enormous wound that had been clumsily stitched, from the middle of his chest, slashing downward over his stomach to his hip. “It needs cauterising I think, but I’m no healer.”

Alice came back to herself then. Whatever was going on here - male Guardians, this untrained woman, all the bite marks - could be questioned after this poor man - Jasper, had Peter called him? - was treated.

Dropping to her knees, Alice quickly inspected Charlotte’s stitching of the wound. “It will need cauterising, it’s too deep,” she determined quickly. “And treatment for infection, but stitching it was a smart thing to do.” Charlotte looked relieved. “Did he get bitten?”

“His arms,” Peter said, and Charlotte quickly pulled off bandages, already blackening from the venom. Three bites on one arm, four on the other. Bad, bad business.

“Okay. Do you have a smock, and a place I can wash up?” she said, standing quickly. Walking into a sick room in her filthy clothes and boots had been a stupid thing to do, but nothing for it now.

“Of course - show her the bathroom, Peter,” Charlotte darted out.

Within moments, Alice had a smock over her underthings and a pair of borrowed slippers - Charlotte promising to wash her dress immediately - and she’d scrubbed every visible inch of her skin as fast as she could, her hair pinned under a kerchief.

It was a very, very long day. The bites had to be purified, cleaned, and bandaged to draw out as much venom as possible; the bandages had to be changed four times every day, to prevent the venom lingering against the skin. Jasper had to be fed the tonic that the aunts had sent every two hours to flush any venom that had already ended his system. Then she had to treat the fever, to lesson his evident discomfort, and treat the infection that had clearly set into the wound Charlotte had stitched, whilst reassuring Charlotte that it was nothing actively wrong that she’d done, just the unlucky result of riding home with an open wound.

But by the time night fell, Jasper was somewhat more comfortable - the moaning had stopped, and with a generous dose of pain and sleep tonic, he seemed to actually be sleeping.

Alice wished she could.

Instead, she changed his bandages again before finding herself in the kitchen, with Charlotte piling plates with food.

“We heard from the others,” she said, taking her own seat. “Days away, Carlisle is furious. Emmett’s already on his way back with Rosalie, but they won’t make it here for at least a week.” Charlotte looked exhausted. “At least they’ll bring supplies.”

“What’s done is done,” Peter said smartly, watching Alice as she began to eat, exhaustion in every one of her motions. “Jasper will be okay now, yes?”

Alice looked up. “Well,” she began, and sighed. “There were so many bites,” she managed, trying to be kind. “And he’s been bitten before - even one previous bite decreases the effectiveness of treatment. I swear I am doing everything I can possibly do.”

“You’re young, yes?” Peter shot back. “Not even a full Guardian yet?”

“Peter!” Charlotte scolded.

“No, I’m not of age yet. My title does not affect my ability - I have been trained. I have completed my lessons. There is nothing I can think of that I am not already doing,” Alice retorted.

“And we are grateful,” Charlotte broke in.

“Yup, I’m positive Jasper would be thrilled that his life is in the hands of a schoolgirl,” Peter muttered before getting up from the table and storming away.

Alice was too tired to be angry, and just sighed and went back to her food - Charlotte was far and away a better cook than the aunts; perhaps a week of edible food, and she’d be filling out her dresses properly.

“I’m sorry, Peter and Jasper… they’re like brothers. They’ve been together for years,” Charlotte said, looking at her plate. “…Please, please don’t let Peter’s rudeness dissuade you from helping Jasper…”

Alice looked up in shock. “No. No, of course not. I understand his frustration, I do. And there’s nothing he could say to me that would make me treat Jasper any less, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte smiled, and began to clear the table. “The guest room is at the top of the stairs, I’ve laid out a nightgown for you, and some towels. Peter’s taken care of your horse, and I’m sure…”

“That’s very kind of you,” Alice said gently, “but I’ll sit up with Jasper tonight; he’ll need watching.”

“Could I help at all? Watch him in shifts?” Charlotte asked, but Alice could see the exhaustion and worry in every line of the woman’s face. If they weren’t careful, Charlotte would fall ill too and she’d have two patients.

“No, it has to be me, to make sure the bites are clean and the tonic takes. We’ll have a better idea of how he is tomorrow, though,” Alice offered. “I would like to bathe, though, if you could watch him?”

“Oh, of course - there’s a washroom in the guest room,” Charlotte said, gesturing to the stairs. “Thank you, Alice. I mean it. Thank you for coming, I feel like everything is going to be okay now that you’re here.”

—

It was a long night, with exhaustion setting in for Alice - she hadn’t slept in over a day, had ridden half-way up the border… she felt like an old woman. But it was her duty. And she would do it to the best of her ability.

Charlotte had leant her several dresses, and it was quite strange to wear a colour that wasn’t black or grey, but a welcome novelty, even if the dresses were a size too big.

Settling beside the sickbed, Alice administered the tonic every two hours, and found herself changing the bandages obsessively, as soon as she saw or smelt the venom. She flushed out the bite wounds - one would need stitching. She’d have to cauterise the chest wound first thing in the morning; his fever still lingered, but the tonics and potions seemed to have had a powerful effect on the infection, with the red veins having already retreated.

Though, she might have to teach Charlotte how to administer stitches whilst she was here. The woman was clearly unfamiliar with stitching flesh. Maybe some rudimentary treatments so that they didn’t have to wait twelve hours for help.

The aunts had packed her two new books to read - purely educational, histories of the coven, that were not even a little bit relevant in her current situation, or interesting. But they did keep her awake.

Morning came, and Jasper’s fever had broken. She nearly cheered at that, and when Peter and Charlotte burst in at dawn, she gave them the good news. She thought that Peter was going to cry - Charlotte certainly did. But then she required the couple hold him down as she cauterised the chest wound.

Charlotte ended up vomiting at the smell, and Peter looked at little woozy, but at least he was held together with more than embroidery thread now. She quickly applied a fresh layer of ointment that smelt like mint and tea leaves to the raw wound and bound up his chest up in fresh bandages. At least Charlotte had the practicality of preparing an immense quantity of fresh, sterile bandages that looked like they been cut from good quality bed linens or petticoats.

The day moved slowly; Charlotte brought her meals in on a tray, and sat with Jasper whilst she changed her dress again, and sent a message to the aunts. Peter was very respectful around her, and brought her anything she asked for - purified water, feverfew, lavender, aloe vera. Jasper seemed to sleep more comfortably each day, as she fed him cold tea laced with every possible tonic and potion she had in her bag and could create from scratch. His bite marks were cleared every day, settling into fresh scar tissue. She was genuinely sorry that they had scarred, but there was nothing for it.

But only time would tell if the venom had made it to his heart.

—

Seven days. She had been at the Del Rio house for seven days and seven nights. Jasper had passed out of danger, and was now just healing, though he hadn’t regained consciousness. But Alice continued to nurse him, as was her duty and purpose here. She fed him careful sips of tea and then herbal broth, to build up his strength and hopefully reinforce his immunity; she rubbed ointments into his new wounds to keep the skin supple and preveshe lnt thick scar tissue and ease any discomfort. She helped Charlotte wash and dress him as soon as she deemed it safe.

That she had not been expecting. She hoped her poker face was good, because she’d really never seen a man’s body before. Not like that - she was only nineteen, had lived with the aunts since she was sixteen and had never been courted. Even her lessons had been done on whatever animals they could hunt or trade for from the market, not really humans. And this man, he was… handsome. He was tall and just the right amount of muscular and tan and, she shouldn’t be having these thoughts.

She couldn’t even imagine her embarrassment if this Jasper had seen her in such a way.

Oh, she was definitely sleep deprived. She had yet to sleep a single second in the guest room, snatching cat naps in the corner of Jasper’s sick room when she couldn’t hold her eyes open a single moment longer.

Which was what she was doing now. She twisted her neck uncomfortably; she’d been sleeping at a funny angle, she’d be feeling that all day. Stretching out, she looked over at her patient, only to see Jasper staring back at her curiously.

“Oh my gods!” Alice gasped, scrambling over. “You’re awake? How are you feeling? How long have you been awake?”

She quickly helped him sit up, reading for the water cup on the beside table. He took two deep swallows before coughing.

“Oh, it’s got lemon and mint in it, for healing,” she explained. “It’s helped, I promise. Hopefully we can get you back to normal drinking water and food tomorrow.”

“Who are you?” croaked Jasper, looking up at her with glazed eyes.

“Oh. Um, I’m Alice Brandon. From the Laredo Guard House,” she said, embarrassed. She was acting like a bumbling sixteen year old trainee, not a proper Guardian. “I was summoned when you were wounded.”

“Alice Brandon from Laredo,” Jasper repeated, a quirk of his lips. “Thank you.” His energy seemed to drain out of him all at once - totally normal for the severity of his wounds and his recovery.

“It was nothing,” she said. “Sleep now. It’s a great healer. Charlotte and Peter will be awake in a few hours.”

He nodded half-heartedly before he closed his eyes again, and Alice sat backwards. He was okay. Two blue eyes without a hint of red, talking and lucid, and drinking easily. She did it.

He lived.

—

Both Peter and Charlotte had wept when they realised that Jasper was conscious again, and Peter had nearly tackled the man when he saw Jasper sitting up, drinking water and talking to Alice, trying to piece together what had happened to him, and to learn how she had treated him - the Del Rio Guard House had fallen to the Whitlock-Hales several generations ago, and many of the old skills - like healing - had been lost.

In fact, it was only him, Peter, and Charlotte who were at the house full-time now - they hired local boys to help out on the ranch that funded the Del Rio clan. Jasper’s own sister and brother-in-law visited regularly, as did various other friends and allies, “but none of us are witchlings,” he coughed. “We were raised in the sun, not in the night.”

She smiled at reference to the old rhyme. “Even your sister?” she asked; girls were kept to the night, boys to the day. Old attitudes that had held true - girls were protected and cloistered (and much less likely to be caught poisoning or cursing) in the darkness. Their herbs and plants bloomed and grew so much harder under the moon than the sun. But boys, they were the fighters, the warriors, and battle against vampires and other dark creatures was best done when there was no darkness to escape into.

“Even my sister,” Jasper had smiled. “Rose would have made a horrible healer - punched me in the arm and told me to ‘man up’ the first time I fell off a horse; my arm was broken. She’s not nearly as committed as I am, but she helps. Her husband’s good at it too, he just married into the madness.” He spoke about his family with such affection, Alice felt a little jealous, but before she could ask any other questions, Charlotte and Peter were there, Jasper just as pleased to see them as they were to see him.

Alice slipped out to give them privacy - a bath and a clean dress sounded heavenly right now, and she ought to send another message to the aunts. She’d help Jasper wash and change afterwards, and hopefully be able to move him from the sick room to his usual quarters with fresh sheets. He’d sleep more comfortably in his own bed.

By lunchtime, Jasper was safely ensconced in his own bed, in a room that overlooked the a paddock of horses. He’d eaten some broth and drunk as many cups of herbal tea as Alice could press on him, as she fussed around. Peter had headed off to get ranch work done, and Charlotte had taken up a vigil at Jasper’s bedside with some sewing.

“Alice, please, you don’t have to do anything of that,” Charlotte laughed as Alice began folding clothing. “You should rest - you must be exhausted.” Turning to Jasper, she continued, “I don’t think she’s rested this entire time - she sat with you every night, didn’t even wake us to help change your bandages. She insisted Peter and I sleep.”

“Oh, I’m up at night anyway,” Alice laughed. “And I’m here to help.”

Jasper was watching her carefully now.

“She hasn’t stopped at all. I cannot imagine how efficient the Laredo House is,” Charlotte shook her head. “Though, I’m sure having proper recruits makes a difference.”

Alice shook her head, as she reached out to plump a pillow behind Jasper’s head. “Oh, it’s just me and the aunts,” she said airily. “All the old families are dying out, and, well, it’s not exactly a glamorous position. I knew I’d be sent to Laredo since I was very small, so I suppose my mother and father prepared me for it.”

“It sounds lonely,” Jasper said quietly.

And it was. She always tried to think of the positives, that she had her own bedroom, and she got to learn so quickly and do hands on practice much more quickly, and there were practically no chores but she had still been alone there for three and a half years. No companions, just duty. It hadn’t felt quite as bad until she’d come here, to this bright, happy place with sweet Charlotte and practical Peter and handsome Jasper…

“It’s home,” she finally said, honestly. “But I will take you up on that offer for a rest. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to wake me.”

“I’ll be fine, I promise,” Jasper said.

“See that you do - you’re my first official patient, and it would look terrible if you died when I was napping,” Alice teased, before slipping out of the room. She could sleep, finally.

—

The next week and a half fell into a routine. Jasper regained his strength surprisingly quickly, and went from being bedridden to eating meals in the kitchen with them all, to back on his horse - an enormous brown beast named Duke - within the week, though he did seem to tire quickly.

He took to showing her their operation - the wall of blessed weapons in the barn and in the house, the modified saddles to carry the weapons, the horses carefully trained to protect their rider and be desensitised to the presence of vampires.

It turned out that Charlotte was a newcomer, a local girl raised as a kitchen-witch whose brother had worked on the ranch. Charlotte had fallen quite hard for Peter, to hear Jasper tell it, and hadn’t flinched when she realised she’d married into a quasi-family of cowboy vampire hunters. She had started a small greenhouse with many common herbs that was a good start, but Alice knew that they needed something a little more robust for their ‘business’. She immediately promised Jasper to write them a list of additions they needed - and send them seeds and samples - and their purpose as soon as she was back in Laredo.

It was all very pleasant, but Alice realised quickly that Jasper was, for all intents and purposes, healed. She had no place here any longer; his sister would arrive soon, and he had no use of a nurse or witching now. She needed to leave.

She announced those plans at dinner that night, as Charlotte presented another one of her delightful spreads.

“I’m going to miss this,” she said ruefully, as they all dug in. “The aunts cannot cook at all.”

“Miss this?” Charlotte asked innocently, passing out hot rolls.

“Jasper is healed,” Alice smiled, trying to keep her voice upbeat. “Your recovery will continue, and you should be conservative about what you take on for a months or two, but you have no need for me any longer. I should return home first thing tomorrow.”

Everyone froze.

“So soon?” Jasper managed, almost looking… hurt?

“The aunts need me. They’re elderly,” Alice explained, “and it’s where I belong.”

Silence.

“Well, we’re mighty grateful you came all the way out here for us,” Peter said. “We’d all be happy to see you around here again.”

“Ah, but that would mean one of you was hurt, and that would be acceptable,” Alice teased. “You’ve been very kind to me. If I could trouble you for some food for the trip home, Charlotte…”

“Oh, of course,” Charlotte nodded. Jasper was focused on his potatoes and not looking at anyone. “You must stay in touch, yes? It’s been so nice having another woman here.”

“Of course,” Alice gushed, trying to ignore the reaction she knew the aunts would have if she started using the messaging system for socialising. “I’m going to be lost without you!”

“You’re not the only one,” Peter murmured, and Alice chose not to pull at that thread, and instead turned the conversation to Jasper’s sister’s arrival and tried not to dread the next morning.

—

It was a moment of weakness when she waited til Jasper was downstairs helping Peter wash up, when she slipped the medallion into his cowboy boots. He’d never feel the tiny silver charm, blessed with protection and a long life, but it would keep him safe.

She tried to convince herself it was because he probably wouldn’t survive another bite, but it didn’t work.

—

She left just before dawn, once again clad in her blacks - freshly washed and mended by Charlotte - and Jasper was waiting there, holding Hallow’s bridle as she walked out, Charlotte’s food tucked into her bag.

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” she said, realising Hallow was saddled and ready to leave.

“I wanted to.” He looked her up and down. “You look beautiful.”

Alice smiled - her black lace dress, from ankle to wrist to throat - was practically her uniform; she had four more just like it hanging in her wardrobe at home. Any particular beauty in the garment had faded the one hundredth time she wore it.

Jasper stepped closer to her; standing on the second step of the porch, they were nearly eye-to-eye.

“I never truly thank you for what you did for me - Peter and Charlotte filled me in,” he continued.

“It was truly nothing, it was what I was born for,” she said, wondering if it was Jasper’s proximity that was making her so warm, or if summer was coming early.

Jasper just stared at her and all of a sudden his lips were on hers.

She had never been kissed before, not even once, and it was… unexpected. Within a moment, Jasper deepened it, and she was properly clinging to his strong shoulders and oh, how could he do such a thing to her when she was about to leave?

Pulling back slowly, Jasper ducked his head. “I just wanted to do that once,” he murmured. “I couldn’t let you walk away without…”

“I can’t,” Alice whispered, somehow unable to pull away. “I… I’m not allowed. I would have to recant my vows, and the aunts have no one else to take on the Laredo house… I just can’t.”

Jasper looked at her. “That seems cruel,” he said in a low voice. “Looking after some old ladies until they die, then being left alone without being allowed anything more.”

“It’s how things are done,” Alice took a shaking breath. “I’m sorry. Please thank Charlotte and Peter for their hospitality.”

And with that, Alice took Hallow’s bridle from Jasper and mounted her horse, leaving for the Laredo house, trying to drag her mind away from what was behind her, from the first (and likely the only) kiss she had ever been given. From the way he looked at her, like she hung the moon.

She was, in all probability, never going to see him again. And that was how it was supposed to be.

[let-it-raines]

Second in Command (35/35)

Summary: Life as the “spare to the heir” isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be when you’re the supposed screw-up of the family, but people don’t know what really happens behind closed doors. 

Rating: Mature

A/N: I have apparently written over 300,000 words of this story and its sequel (and I’m not saying I won’t write some one shots in the future if inspiration strikes), but I don’t even have the words to thank you guys right now. This story started because I was bored and needed something to do, and I’ve loved writing and learning how to craft words and stories more easily and with better quality over the past few months. You guys are the best, and I thank you for every click, kudos, comment, and reblog! I’ve seen and appreciated every single one!

But seriously. Thank you for liking this insane story. I can’t believe so many of you have stuck with it and gone through all of the highs and lows of the emotions of it with me. It’s been a pleasure ❤️

AO3: Beginning | Current

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Sequel: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

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“Do you have any idea what’s going on here?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Emma admits, straightening out her dress and crossing her legs at her ankles while the wet grass touches her skin. “I’ve never really learned what goes into playing polo, but you’re British. Shouldn’t you know how this works?”

“First of all, my dear,” Ruby huffs while she scrolls through her phone, large white cat-eyed sunglasses perched on her nose with her hair falling down her back, “you are also British now. I don’t know if you’re ever going to remember that. But yeah, I was not at all into all of this uppity stuff until you started dating someone who was, which incidentally caused me to marry an uppity man.” “Woah, woah, woah. Are you seriously complaining about meeting Graham because of me?”

“Eh,” she laughs, leaning back onto a rolled-up towel with her hands resting behind her back, “maybe. He was being annoying this morning because he couldn’t find the right boots, and I was ready to just burn all of his boots.” Emma lets out a low whistle, one that travels in the slight breeze and down the small hill so that both Andy and Sutton turn their heads from where they’re playing to look at her. They don’t look for long, though, the ball they have far more interesting even if poor Sutton can’t keep up with the older kids. She’s trying, though. She’s going to have grass stains all over her dress, but it’s fine. She’s seventeen months old. Grass stains are the least of her worries.

She doesn’t really have worries as long as someone is entertaining her, and honestly, Sutton is attached at her hip. All she has to do is talk about everything she’s doing, and her girl is as happy as can be. It’s only annoying when she’s brushing her teeth.

“So he was really annoying?”

“The most annoying. I would say sometimes I miss living in my old flat with Granny, but, you know, Graham has a few more perks than her. And he’s not always so obnoxious over his riding boots.”

“Killian has this thing with shoes,” she begins, picking at her nails before twisting her wedding band on her finger, a habit that she can never quite stop, but it’s likely because Killian likes to play with her rings when they’re sitting together. “In our closet, he has all of his lined up on this small little shelf, and then on my side I have that wall of them, you know?”

“Trust me, I know. All of the nice clothes you have are totally wasted on you.”

“I let you borrow them,” she sighs, glancing over at Ruby for a moment before looking down to make sure she can still see the kids. She should probably watch a bit of the match, but she can just fake it later. That’s what she usually does when she has no idea what’s going on. “But anyways, Killian is always fixing them. If I leave my shoes in the entryway or the bedroom, he picks them up and puts them up, and sometimes he gets so pissed over it. I can’t tell you how many arguments we get into that start off with me leaving my tennis shoes just inside the door.”

“Does he do that with the kids too?

She shrugs and looks back to Ruby before sliding her own sunglasses down over her eyes, her hair getting stuck in them for a moment. “Andy is supposed to put all of his things up, but Killian’s not about to pick a fight with a four-year-old over leaving his shoes somewhere. It’s much more fun to fight with me.”

“That’s because making up with you is more fun,” Ruby teases, reaching over and squeezing Emma’s wrist. “Our husbands are so damn weird.”

“Well, we do weird shit too, but yeah, that’s very true.”

“Mummy,” Sutton whines, running up the hill as fast as she can with crocodile tears running down her cheeks.

“Baby,” Emma sighs, getting up from the ground and walking down to Sutton, scooping her up off the ground and wiping her tears away while she scans her face for any obvious injuries. She obviously missed something when she was talking to Ruby. “What happened?”

“I fell,” she sobs, the tears still coming even if Emma is sure that she’s not hurt, that it’s still the shock and the dramatics of it all.

“Oh, it’s okay,” she soothes, letting Sutton wrap her arms around her neck and snuggle into her shoulder. “It’s okay. Do you want to come sit with Mommy and Aunt Ruby?” Sutton nods her head up and down while Emma continues to rub her back. “Andy,” she calls, and when he doesn’t turn around, she calls him again. “Andrew Killian.” That gets him to turn around, his head snapping toward and his hair whipping with it. He needs a haircut, especially if they’re going to spend so much time outside this spring and summer. He gets sweat and dirt everywhere. “Andy, why don’t you come up here and sit with Mommy and Ruby, okay?”

“But I’m playing.”

“But I asked you to come sit with me.”

“Mummy.”

Sometimes it’s cute when he thinks that he can out argue her, especially since he’s still so small, but other times she knows that they’re about to go down kicking and screaming if she lets the emotions build up. Kids are kind of like dynamite, except half the time you don’t know when the fuse is about to burn up and explode. It surprises you out of the blue and you’re the one who’s left kicking and screaming.

“Andy, please listen to me. I need to put more sunscreen on your nose so you don’t turn all red like a tomato.”

“I don’t want to be a tomato,” he screeches, running up the hill so quickly that he catches up to her as she slowly makes her way back up, Sutton like dead weight in her arms.

“Why are you so scared of tomatoes?” Ruby laughs, catching Andy when he gets up to their spot and settling him down on her lap. “I love tomatoes. They’re red like rubies, and, well, you know, my name is Ruby.”

“Tomatoes are gross,” he whines, his eyes scrunching up as he sticks out his tongue. “Daddy makes me eat them.”

“Daddy does not,” Emma laughs, settling back down on the blanket and putting Sutton on her thighs while she rummages through her bag, first pulling out a bag of fruit and handing it to Andy before she gets the lotion. “Daddy lets you eat other vegetables so you can grow bigger.”

“Like Papa and Daddy and Grandpa.”

“Or your mummy and me,” Ruby laughs, tickling Andy’s stomach while he lights up with joy, his eyes scrunching together again, this time in a much more pleasant way. God, he looks so much like Killian sometimes that it kills her. She thought Sutton was going to be her twin for a little while, but her blonde curls have definitely turned a bit more brown. Or maybe it’s a dirty blonde. It changes depending on the light. She’s got these green eyes, though, and they’re so beautiful. Andy is always saying they’re like a cat. She’s not even sure he’s ever seen a cat in person, but he knows that they have green eyes.

“Mummy isn’t as tall as Daddy.”

“He makes a good point, Rubes. It’s probably because I didn’t eat tomatoes.”

Andy groans again, tilting his head back while he pops an apple slice in his mouth.

“I want,” Sutton sighs, her lips no longer quivering as she points to Andy’s bag of fruit.

Andy digs in the bag until he finds another apple slice, handing it over to Sutton who pops half of it in her mouth before pulling it out like she’s just remembered how to chew.

“What do you tell your brother, Sutton?”

“Thank you,” Sutton whispers, the words coming out more like “tank you” and Emma’s heart flutters a little bit. Listening to kids mispronounce words is definitely one of the great wonders of the world…if you’re into things like that. If you hate kids, it’s probably not quite as cute.

“You’re welcome. I gave you a red one because you don’t like the green.”

“That’s so sweet, Andy,” she smiles reaching over and pushing his hair off of his forehead. “Now let me put this lotion on you, and then you can go back to playing with your friends, okay?”

“Okay. ‘Cause I don’t want to be a tomato.”

When the match is over, Killian and Graham come walking over to them, their gaits not quite as confident as usual even though they won (she thinks), and she chuckles to herself knowing that Killian is most definitely going to want to ice his thighs and his groin later. He gets far too into these charity matches, but that’s what happens when you’re that competitive. Besides, he may be in a bit of pain, but she’s really enjoying the way that his pants cling to his legs and sweat beads off of his forehead, a few strands falling in front of his eyes. He should get his hair cut at the same time that Andy does.

Or not. It’s kind of hot.

“Hello, love,” he greets, flashing her a smile so bright that his eyes crinkle.

“Hi, babe.”

“Oh, Emma darling,” he laughs, leaning down and briefly brushing his lips over hers, “I was talking to my little love, but I’m excited to see you too.”

“Daddy,” Sutton squeals, reaching her arms up until Killian picks her up. “Play horse?”

“I did, sweetheart. I played on a rather large horse. Have you been playing with your mummy and Ruby?”

She nods her head up and down, running her fingers over Killian’s face. “I fell.”

“Oh no,” Killian gasps, overexaggerating his sounds as he settles down next to her on the blanket. He smells a little bit like a horse, and she’s surprised that Sutton hasn’t pointed it out. She’s a spirited little thing even with her limited vocabulary. “Did you get a scratch? Does Daddy need to kiss it all better. You know, Mummy says that Daddy’s kisses are like magic?”

“Totally not something you should be sharing with your daughter there, mate,” Graham laughs as Emma can feel her cheeks flush, red forming that has nothing to do with the little bit of sun she’s gotten today despite the lotion she’s reapplied. She can’t turn into a tomato or anything.

“That is not what I meant,” Killian scoffs, his eyes darting toward Graham before she sees him focus back on Sutton. “I was simply trying to make sure my little love is okay. You okay, Button?”

“Yep,” she sighs, scrambling up to kiss Killian’s cheek. She used to not be too much of a fan of her dad, which was such a shame because he’s a good person to be a fan of, but she’s definitely turning around and being affectionate toward him. Killian’s so gentle with her and always calling her ridiculous names like Button, so that likely helps. You’ve just got to know what Sutton likes to get in her favor. “Mummy fix.”

“Well, she’s very good at making things better. I’m telling you, little love, she has magic kisses.”

“Daddy,” Andy screams, shocking everyone out of their little bubble as he runs back up the hill, determination set in his features, “your face looks like a tomato!”

-/-

-/-

“This suit scratches, Daddy.”

“It’s just for a little while, lad.”

“But why?”

“Because this is what we do on Christmas Eve. Grandpa has been doing it for a long time, and we all do what he says.”

“But I don’t like this suit. I want to wear my Rudolph pajamas. He has a nose that lights up.”

“After dinner,” Killian sighs, buttoning up Andy’s shirt and tucking it in pants even as Andy squirms. “After we eat, I promise Mummy and I are going to come up here and change into our jammies and read you and Sutton a book.”

“Two books.”

“One book.”

“Two. One I pick out, and one for Sutton.”

“Maybe,” Killian laughs, reaching over and grabbing Andy’s suit jacket off of the chair. “Arms up.” Andy’s arms fly up, and Killian slides the jacket over them until he’s fully dressed. “See, lad, you look handsome, and I’m wearing something similar to you. Alex is going to be dressed like this too.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“And I present to you,” Emma shouts from the bathroom so that Killian can turn his head to look, “Miss Sutton James all dressed up in her very pretty red dress that she helped to pick out.”

Sutton and Emma walk out of the bathroom, Sutton running in first with her hair pulled back into a short braid, a silver bow resting on the top of her head, and Emma follows behind her in his personal favorite emerald dress that she’s worn several times in the past few years. He’ll never quite get over the way it dips down to show her cleavage, and even if they’re spending the night with their families, he’s absolutely thrilled with the fact that she’s wearing it tonight.

He can always simply enjoy the view.

“Wow,” Andy mutters, smiling up at Emma. “Mummy, you are beautiful.”

He smiles a bit to himself at his son and his manners that he sometimes likes to let out. Plus, he’s definitely right, especially as Emma’s cheeks flush and her lips stretch into a soft smile. “Thank you, my handsome little man. What about Sutton? Don’t you think she’s beautiful?”

“Sure.”

He almost chokes on his own saliva as he tries to hold in his laugh, Andy’s manners going away to be replaced by indifference at his little sister. There’s only so much they can hope for when it comes to him. Last week at the Christmas party they always host for military families, Andy told everyone there that his parents were cuddling with no clothes and the room went silent for a moment before Liam lost his mind and barked out a laugh so loud that everyone else joined in, the mood lightening and the jolliness coming back. He’s still not sure why Andy said that, especially since he has not walked in on them when they’re in their bedroom, but the kid still somehow knows that.

It was mostly likely Ruby. And if it wasn’t, he’d bet that Andy saw it on a movie Mary Margaret was watching when she and David babysit. Man does he hope that Andy did not walk in on his grandparents cuddling without clothes. That would be scarring. It’s scarring to think about, and they’re not even his parents. That would be so much worse.

Sometimes he wonders if he really is thirty-six or if he’s actually still about sixteen.

“Sutton, darling,” he smiles, wiping away the few stray tears that escaped him, “you look so pretty. I like your dress.”

“Thank you,” she sighs while she does a little twirl so that the skirt of her dress flares up. “It’s red.”

“It is indeed,” he agrees before walking over to Emma and kissing the skin of her shoulder so as not to mess up her makeup before they take pictures downstairs. “You are one hot mum,” he whispers into her ear, his hands resting on her hips and tugging her closer even if he can’t kiss her right now, “and I like your dress so much more than Button’s.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Emma chuckles as she runs her hands over her shoulders, nails digging through his shirt. “I also think you look much better than Andy in your suit.” “If he hears you say that, he’ll rip it off and run around the dining room without anything on.”

“It’s a good thing they’re too busy turning around in circles to pay any attention to you flirting with me.” Emma pulls back and adjusts his shirt collar, her eyes slanted in concentration until she fixes it to her satisfaction and pats his chest. “I like when you flirt with me even though it’ll get you absolutely nowhere tonight.”

“All these years, and you still think I only flirt with you to get you to sleep with me.” “No, sometimes you flirt with me because you’ve done something that you know is going to piss me off, and you’re trying to butter me up.”

“Like bread.”

Emma tilts her head to the side, her lips ticking up even though he can tell she’s trying not to smile as she looks at him. “Did you just compare me to bread?”

“In a roundabout way.”

“You literally said the words ‘like bread.’ You compared me to bread.”

“Well, bread is a wonderful thing,” he promises, flashing her his brightest smile while he squeezes her waist. God, he loves her a ridiculous amount, and he’d like to flirt with her forever, even if he can do better than comparing her to bread. In a roundabout way, though. “It was not at all an insult.”

“I know.”

“Mummy,” Andy whines, and the both of them turn their heads to look at their children who have stopped turning in circles and are laid out on the floor spread out like starfish, “if I don’t have some cake right now, I’m going to die.”

“Woah boy,” Emma laughs, moving away from him even with his grip on her hips as she walks over to them and picks Sutton up from the floor, placing her on her hip while she tries to get Andy to stand too, “you are being dramatic. If you eat all of your dinner, you can eat one of the biscuits we made for Santa.”

“Will Santa still come if I eat them?” he cries, standing from the ground and wrapping his arms around Emma’s leg as much as he can and shaking his head back and forth.

The biscuit thing was definitely not the thing to say, especially because they’ve convinced their entire family to open presents on Christmas Day for the kids, so everyone has been hyping up Santa and all of the legends and myths of Christmas’s great imaginary friend as well as all of the traditions of the holiday. Abigail went on and on about the biscuits when they were baking them after the football match this afternoon, and he imagines that it’s that which caused the meltdown that’s about to occur.

“Santa is still going to come if you eat a biscuit. I promise. You have both been very good kids all year.” “What about when Sutton broke the lamp?”

“That was an accident, and it’s not nice to talk about things Sutton’s done wrong.” “Sorry.” “It’s okay,” Emma promises, balancing Andy’s conversation while he hears Sutton babble in her ears, the sentences far less structured but still likely important. “Now let’s go take some pictures and get some food.”

“Because it’s Christmas,” Andy yells, running out of the room with his sister trailing right behind him.

He and Emma are never going to catch up, but that’s okay with him as he twines together their fingers and slowly walks with her out the door, laughter on both of their lips and lightness in their chests.

-/-

-/-

Clothes litter the floor, reds and blue, maybe a few green polos too. Andy’s going to his first day of kindergarten…or reception. She’s pretty sure it’s called reception, but she’s always called it kindergarten. Some things simply aren’t going to change. The point is that Andy is going to school that’s more than just a few days a week or a few hours a day, and she is not at all emotionally prepared for it. She’s completely torn apart his room and his closet even though they make him clean it up with their help at least once a week, and she can’t find something for him to wear. She thought she wanted him to wear these khaki pants and a white shirt, but she decided that was far too boring and that his baby blue shorts and a little checked shirt would work better.

But then again, there’s also green.

She’s very possibly losing her mind, but if she keeps focusing on the clothes, she won’t cry.

Being pregnant and sending her firstborn off to kindergarten is most definitely not a good combination. It most likely might be the worst combination, but it’s not like she can just not send Andy off to school. That would be a horrible thing to do, and Killian would definitely take him without her if she tried.

He needs to go to school. Andy loves his nursery classes and all of his friends, and he’s so dang excited about it that it makes her feel bad that she’s so upset about him leaving. Plus education or whatever. He needs that, and she’ll get over it. She has to get over it.

What the hell is he going to wear?

Why isn’t there a uniform?

Actually, no. She would have hated having to wear a uniform, and that just does not seem like a good idea for Andy right now. He would probably rip off the jacket or something. And she knows that Sutton would once she gets there.

Nope. Not going to think about that. That’s far too much for her.

But Killian looked so damn adorable in his school uniforms as a child, and she’s sure that Andy would look like an exact replica.

She kind of wants that.

“The blue will bring out his eyes,” Killian says softly, walking into the room and picking up some of the clothes on the floor and folding them up. She’s not sure if it’s because he’s being sweet or if he simply can’t deal with her mess. “That’s what you always tell me, and it’s true for him too. So why don’t we dress him in this?” he asks, holding out the exact outfit she’d picked out…well, one of them. She picked out a lot. “He’ll wear this, and then you can stop worrying about it.”

“Killian – ”

“Okay, okay, so I know you’re not going to stop worrying, but you can stop worrying about this and move on to worrying if he and Oliver are going to get up to no good tomorrow.” “Oh God,” she laughs, walking over to Killian and wrapping her arms around his waist while he does the same, his hands moving up and down the length of her back in a motion that is always soothing, “they so are. I can’t believe they’re in the same class.” “I can. Those two would riot if they weren’t.” She feels his lips against her forehead and her heart flutters for a moment while she nuzzles herself into his chest. He’s always so solid for her, and she can’t thank him enough for it. “I can feel your bump, my love.”

“Yeah?” “Yeah. I’m still so thankful for our little surprise baby, even if the thought of being in charge of three people makes me nervous. I’ll probably go gray soon because of it.” “You’ll be a good gray, though. Salt and pepper. Distinguished, handsome, debonair.” She kisses just below the base of his neck over the hair that’s peeking out over his shirt, and she wonders if he would let her work her lips against his collarbone despite her parents being outside. “Also, this baby is most definitely the last one. We have two who got here on accident and one who made our lives a living hell trying to conceive her. And after that too. I don’t want to deal all of that again. Plus, you know, labor sucks.” “I do know that, having been through it myself.” “Hush.” “You’re the one who said it. three is a nice number, by the way. I like it.” “You better.” She can feel him tracing indistinguishable patterns on her back while she focuses on the sound and feel of his heartbeat, the very real confirmation that he’s here and with her every step of the way. “I can’t believe our baby is going to school tomorrow.”

“Me either.”

“When in the world did we allow him to grow up?”

“Well, on September twenty-third – ”

“Shut up. I remember his birth. I did most of the work there.”

“Aye, you did. Emma, it’s going to be fine. He’s going to have a great day, and at the end of it, he’s going to come home and tell us all about how much he loved his new friends and his teacher. And then he’ll probably say something ridiculous about how he’s glad he doesn’t have to go back again. Man, that will be a harsh blow.”

She laughs against his chest, her entire body shaking at Killian’s words, and she leans back, tilting her chin up to look at Killian as he smiles down at her, his eyes very obviously scanning her face. “It’ll probably only get worse when we tell him he has to go until he’s, like, twenty-two if he goes to university.”

“Maybe we leave that part out, yeah?”

“That’s probably a good idea.” She presses up on her toes to quickly brush her lips over Killian’s, letting his scruff rub into her skin, a pleasant burn if she’s ever felt one. “Are my parents still watching the kids?”

“Yeah, they’re out by the pool. Why don’t you change into a suit and we’ll go out there?”

“I like that plan.”

She changes into an old swimsuit, one that covers a little more of her body than she usually prefers, but after a few times swimming this summer, she’s discovered that her bikinis are prone to fall off when the kids grab onto her while swimming. So those are reserved for special times and when she’s tanning a bit. It’s not particularly hot out or anything now, so she’d likely be fine walking out there in some leggings and a t-shirt.

When she slides open the kitchen door and walks out onto the stones, Indy gets up from her spot in the shade and comes to greet her, wagging her tail as Emma scratches her head. Before she can close the door, though, Indy shoots inside, and Emma shakes her head at the fact that the dog is just using her for her door opening capabilities. She can hear her kids before she can see them, the splashing and screaming obvious to anyone with ears, and as she moves along the path and through the blooming flowers, everyone comes into view.

Her mom is in the pool floating with Sutton and helping her swim even with her floaties, and Andy is leaping from float to float before sticking his head underneath the fountain that they have to replenish the water supply. Killian’s putting on lotion, slathering it down his arms and his chest, making his skin and his muscles glisten, and she has a brief thought that views like that are probably the thing that’s helped to make her pregnant three times.

It’s also probably the way he looks at her.

The way he still looks at her, like she’s been in charge of making the sun shine down on them or something. They’ve been together for nearly half of her life, and sometimes when he looks at her, she swears it’s like it’s the first time. Well, if the first time had involved affection and awe and not a tiny bit of animosity as she told him to get his wet ass out of their booth. How they got this life from that moment, she has absolutely no idea. How the greatest man she’s ever known looks at her in a way that makes her stomach still flutter, she’ll likely never know either.

There are some thoughts she’s going to keep to herself. She can share the first part, though, wolf whistling at Killian and waiting for him to wink back before she joins her dad sitting on a patio swing that’s under a bit of shade.

“Hey, sweetheart,” her dad greets, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and tugging her to him so that he can kiss her temple. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay today. My nausea is calming down, but the acid reflux sucks. And I’m still exhausted half the time, but it’s getting better.” “Good. I hate that you have to go through all of that to give me my precious grandbabies.”

“I mean, if I could change biology, I totally would, but since that’s not an option, I feel like I can deal with this for a little while. Besides, look at those lovable idiots.”

Andy is now on top of Killian’s shoulders, pulling at his father’s hair despite the fact that Killian has been in the pool for less than a minute, and Sutton is wrapped around his neck while Killian’s eyes practically bug out. They’re going to kill him, but he loves them. He’s a damn good dad. Probably super dad or something.

“Or I can look at you since you’re still my little girl.”

“Dad,” she sighs, resting her head on his shoulder while her cheeks flush. “I’m hormonal. I will cry, and you’ll have to clean up the snot.” “Nothing I’ve never done before.” “True. How did you…how did you deal with me going to kindergarten for the first time?”

“Eh, it wasn’t a big deal. We got you dressed and sent you off.”

“Really?”

“God, no. I cried like a baby the moment I got back in the car and drove to work after dropping your mother off. I didn’t think it was going to be that bad, but it was so much worse.”

“That is not at all reassuring.” “I know,” he chuckles, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. “Just telling you the truth, Ems. But you’ll be fine. It’ll hurt for a little while, but then you see your kid in his element and suddenly you’re not so sad. You’re happy that he’s becoming his own little person.”

“Yeah?”

“Most definitely. Plus, he’s going to make you all of these awful crafts and gifts for every holiday, and you’re going to display a tissue paper flower pot next to a vase you got from the King of Spain.”

“So normal people stuff then?” “Yeah, exactly.”

“Papa,” Sutton yells as Killian wades their brood toward the edge of the pool, carefully placing her on the ground and telling her to be careful as she quickly walks over to the two of them. “Papa, I can swim.”

“I know,” David gasps, picking her up despite the fact that she’s soaking wet. “I saw you. You did so good, honey.”

She watches her dad play with his granddaughter, the joy on his face so obvious, and it makes her smile to herself as she listens to them have a spirited conversation. Her dad is one of her best friends, and he’s as good with her children as he’s always been with her.

So, really, he’s the best, and she’s thankful that he’s supported her since day one.

He’s a super dad too.

They spend most of their day outside until the kids tire themselves out and go to bed early, Andy’s outfit and backpack all laid out for him in the morning. When she wakes up, Killian’s not in bed, the sheets cool to the touch, and after she vomits (so it still happens in the mornings or after she naps), she takes a shower and starts getting ready for the day. It’s still dark outside, crickets chirping, but she can see the dark blue fading into something lighter as she blows her hair dry.

She’s got absolutely no idea what Killian’s doing up as early as he is, and when she walks downstairs dressed for the day in everything but her loafers, she finds him sitting in his office flipping through a book. A photobook.

Her sweet, sweet husband.

“How long have you been looking through his baby pictures?”

“About an hour.”

“Killian,” she murmurs, walking toward him and running her hands through his hair, pushing it back off of his head and scratching his scalp because she knows that it calms him, “let’s go get breakfast ready.”

“Just a moment, love. I’m almost finished with the book.”

She sighs but nods her head, nudging him back so that she can sit down on Killian’s lap, his arm immediately wrapping around her stomach and holding her to him as his free hand ghosts over the pictures. He’s looking at one of the three of them from Ruby’s wedding weekend. They’re on the beach, Andy dressed in those adorable little anchor swim trunks that she still has in a box somewhere, and he’s got this little gummy smile on his face and Killian holds onto his fat rolls as they sit in the sand. She remembers that weekend so well, and she remembers her weird obsession with those fat rolls.

“Killian, look at that munchkin.” “I know. That’s what I’m doing down here.”

She twists her head and presses her lips against her temple, the scent of his shampoo lingering. Sometimes he tries to hide his feelings when she’s extra emotional, but she always knows that he feels it too. Finding him looking at pictures is a prime example, and her heart swells for a moment, her stomach twisting.

“I’ll tell you what,” she mumbles into his skin, running her hand over his bicep, “why don’t we go get him ready, and then after it’s all over, you and I can come back here and go through all of these memories, okay?” He nods into her hair, nose pressed against her scalp. “I like this plan.”

“Good.” Killian starts on breakfast while she runs upstairs to get Andy ready for school, waking him up more easily than she ever has as he shoots up out of bed already blabbering about how excited he is to go to school today. He’s so excited that he insists on dressing himself only for his short to go on backwards and for Emma to have to struggle to get him to fix it because he likes the way that it looks. His hair is an entirely different story. He likes to keep it wild because that’s what his dad does, and it doesn’t matter how many times they show him that Killian sometimes styles his, Andy refuses.

He refuses until Killian does it for him. Kids are so weird.

“I’m going to school,” he announces, sliding into the kitchen and scrambling onto a stool while she holds Sutton on her hip. Sutton is still half asleep, rubbing her eyes with her hair still all over the place from her sleep. “Dad, Dad, Dad. Did you know that I’m going to school? Are these waffles? Do they have chocolate chips in them?”

“Blueberries,” Killian laughs, sliding him a plate with an already cut up waffle and a glass of water. “You cannot have sugar before your first big day at school.”

Andy shrugs before he starts scarfing the food down at lightning speed, and Killian has to slow him down while she settles down on a stool and picks off of the plate that Killian hands her for she and Sutton to share.

Sutton hums as she takes her bites, stuffing them in her mouth nearly as fast as Andy does, and while Killian goes to get ready, she has to keep the both of them from choking on their food while they talk to her and to each other. They don’t know that she’s having another kid yet, and she can only imagine how the reactions are going to be.

Or what it’s going to be like to keep three kids from choking on blueberry waffles all at once.

Elsa shows up to watch Sutton while they take Andy to school, and for the short ride over, Killian interlaces his free hand with hers as they listen to Andy talk all about what he and Oliver are going to do today only for Killian to tell him that no, he cannot climb a tree on the playground.

“Alright, bud,” Emma sighs as she gets out of the car and unbuckles Andy’s booster seat, her heart beating quickly in her chest while she tries to push back the nausea that’s coming back a bit, “are you ready to go inside?”

“I get to take my Andy backpack inside?”

“Yep,” she promises, grabbing his little red bag with his name monogrammed across it. It’s actually got Andrew Killian written on it because once Andy found out his middle name was the same as his dad’s first, he’s really liked saying his full name. “You get to carry it with you and put it in your cubby.”

“Good. It’s got my crayons in it.”

She takes his hand and holds on as they walk to the school entrance with Killian holding onto Andy’s other hand and Thomas discreetly walking behind them despite the fact that they wanted this to be as low key as possible.

“Those picture people are here,” Andy points out, glancing over to the photographers that are posed outside of the school. She didn’t want them here today, but she didn’t have any way to keep them away since they’re not on school grounds.

“Yeah, Andy, they are,” she whispers, tugging him closer to her side and ignoring all of the photographers until they’re inside the school doors where the three of them can have a moment to themselves just outside of his classroom door. “Alright, baby,” she sighs, squatting down to his level and brushing his hair back again while she looks into those baby blue eyes, “you’re going to be on your best behavior today, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you’re going to listen to Mrs. Murray?”

“Mhm.”

He’s obviously anxious to go inside, his eyes glancing toward the door while he fidgets, so she pulls him into an embrace and cups the back of his head while she kisses his forehead. “I love you, Andy.”

“I love you, Mummy.”

She laughs into his hair and pulls back so Killian can give Andy a hug too.

“I love you, lad.”

“I love you too. Can I go now?”

“Yes,” Killian sighs, glancing up at her with those identical baby blue eyes, “you can go. Just don’t run.”

“We’re so getting a call about misbehavior before the day is over,” she chuckles even as she wipes the tears from her eyes.

“Yeah,” Killian sighs, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and kissing her temple, “we definitely are. I’m kind of looking forward to it.”

-/-

-/-

Her hair smells like peppermint, which is unfamiliar and yet no less pleasant than the usual smell of vanilla or flowers from her perfume that often mixes in, and he wonders if he can convince her to take home this shampoo that she bought six days ago when she realized that she forgot to pack anything other than the kids’ bath products. He’s sure that he could, that he could get her to invest in something that makes her smell like hot chocolate and Christmas, something that makes her smell like this house with the snow falling down outside at such a pace that they’ll be buried in it sooner rather than later.

Emma twitches in her sleep, a small puff of air passing through her lips and falling on the skin of his neck, warm breath tickling along his flesh that causes bumps to rise and a chill to cover him that has nothing to do with the weather. For the briefest of moments he believes that she’s about to wake from her slumber, but then she’s burying her face further into his neck, into the thick sweater he has on, and her face disappears only for it to be replaced with her hair, silky blonde waves falling down her back, the tips ending in the middle of her waist just over where her own sweater has risen up to expose the smooth skin of the small of her back and the way that her waist dips in the slightest bit right at her hips.

It’s been awhile since they’ve had a quiet morning like this where he can trail his fingers through her hair while she sleeps, his other hand free to trace along her arm from where it’s wrapped around his waist. Usually they have Andy to get to primary school, Sutton to nursery, and Collins, well, they simply have to keep her alive and well. They’ve both made efforts not to work in the mornings so they can be there for their children as much as they can. He doesn’t often like to take too much advantage of his position in life, but he does when it comes to making decisions on their schedules. His main focuses in his life are his wife and his children, and if he can, he schedules himself to be away from them as little as possible.

Back in November he’d traveled to Canada for a week with his mother since his father wasn’t feeling like traveling to North America, and it had been one of the most difficult weeks of his life. He loved not having to deal with his kids for a little while, loved sleeping in a bed by himself, but he missed them all so damn much. And he could tell how difficult it was for Emma to not have his help. She had all kinds of help, but it’s different when it’s not someone who you work with and live with on a daily basis.

Now, though, they’re resting in a house in Switzerland, he and Emma cocooned in a bedroom on the top floor of the house that’s pretty much made up of windows that allow them to see the mountaintops and the snow falling, landing on the ground and covering it in a soft white blanket that the sun likes to glisten off of in the mornings when the it rises, covering everything in a soft yellow glow that brings him more comfort than snow usually does. He usually thinks it’s a cold, wet mess, but he’ll enjoy it from the comfort of his bed.

Andy and Sutton are downstairs sharing a room, the two of them practically bouncing off of the walls to get to be on winter holiday and to sleep in a room with bunkbeds, the both of them claiming a top bunk. Collins is resting in her bassinet in the sitting room just next door to them, and she’s been sleeping since around nine last night. Of all of their children, she’s the calmest. It’s a bit of whiplash after Sutton and the whirlwind that she consistently is, but he likes the calm of Collins and the way that unless someone makes far too loud of a noise, she quietly sits by herself and plays with her toys or babbles to he and Emma. She’s almost ready to speak. He can just feel it somewhere deep in his bones.

She’s got blonde hair, too. They thought that was going to be Sutton, but no, her hair has officially morphed into a light brown. Andy’s still got a black mop of hair, that never really changed, but he thinks he’s got another Emma on his hands from the blonde wisps that continue to grow on his Linnie’s head. She’s got his eyes, though, and while he knows Emma loves that, he is so partial to Emma’s eyes over his.

He won’t ever tell Andy and Collins that, though. He loves their eyes just the same.

“You’re thinking really loudly,” Emma mumbles into his chest before he can feel her lips against his throat, softness and warmth consuming him all at once.

“I can promise you I’m not,” he whispers, his hand continuing to play with her hair. She’s barely coherent, her words slurred, and sometimes it’s like they’re still two kids who are on a trip to Switzerland drinking far too much cheap wine and eating too much junk food without a care or responsibility in the world. “You should go back to sleep.”

“Probably,” she huffs, looping her leg over his hip and resting it on the other side of him. If he wanted to, he could shift his body the slightest bit and urge them into a slide of skin against skin, but he’s okay resting like this for a little while longer. He’s watching a snowflake melt on the window anyways. “What time is it?”

“Little after six thirty.”

She groans into his skin before flopping her entire body down with all of the grace of a swan and turning her head to the side so that he can see her profile, freckles on sun-kissed cheeks and blonde lashes resting against the freckles. Goodness, does he love her. More than anything.

“Why are you awake?”

“The sky’s awake, so I’m awake.” “Nope, no, nope. It’s far too early to be quoting children’s movies,” she huffs, tightening her grip around his stomach and pressing her head up so that he can feel her lips against his chin, the softness contrasting with the harshness of his scruff. Sometimes he wonders if that’s how he and Emma are, a contrast of light and dark, of soft curves and hard edges, but he knows that somewhere along the way they managed to morph together into a blurred mixture, the softness and light staying and the harsh darkness peeking out when it’s needed.

“Whatever shall I quote then? The opera? More mature films? And no, not the dirty ones, love. Let’s see, let’s see,” he hums, tapping his fingers against the skin of her back. “Songs? Are we thinking classical or modern? Television shows? Authors? Your mother?”

“Shut up,” she laughs, gently slapping his shoulder and nuzzling into his chest again. “It’s so pretty outside.”

“Aye, beautiful. You think our old bodies will hold up again out there today?”

“Don’t you know never to call your wife’s body old?”

“I’ve never been one for following rules.”

“True. I was thinking that since it’s our last day here that we kind of have a chill day inside, eat some food, watch some movies, and then we can take the kids out to play in the snow for a little while, maybe finally get the family photo we’ve been trying to get since the first day.” “Thomas is not a great photographer.”

“Or we’re not photogenic.”

“So I can’t call your body old, but you can say I’m not photogenic.”

“Double standards, babe. I only disagree with them when it benefits me.”

He gently slaps her ass in retaliation, enjoying the yelp that she lets out, before she unwraps herself from him and sits up next to him, tucking herself into his side. It’s such a good fit, the two of them, and he often likes to think of how she can curl herself into him without there being limbs in awkward places, just her arms around his stomach and her feet tucked into his calves searching for the warmth that she’s always lacking there.

“I think I could do for a lazy day. A holiday while on our holiday so that we can recover from everything. I took a pretty nasty fall yesterday, and I would bet my bum is bruising.”

“I’m not checking out your ass right now if that’s what you’re hinting at me to do.”

“I was being serious, but it’s nice to know where your mind goes.” “My mind is always in the gutter. It’s got a nice little home set up there.”

“Do you have a place for all of your sweaters?”

“Right next to the place where you can keep your socks when you come to visit.”

“So sweet,” he snickers, rolling his eyes and twisting his head to the side to press his lips against the corner of Emma’s until he can get her upper lip between both of his, teasingly biting down for a minute before pulling back and smattering kisses against her cheek while her fingers twist the hair on his chest, a shiver running down his spine with each curl of her fingers. “You’re always thinking of me, and I appreciate that.”

“Well, sometimes I’m not. You know, I like to think about food and the ending of Game of Thrones that I’m still not over and then sometimes about the spawn we made with our genitals.”

He sputters out a laugh, tears forming behind his eyes, and he has to tuck his face into her hair, smelling the peppermint again and reveling in it. “I love you so goddamn much.”

He feels her hand in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp, and he swears he can feel her lips against his head even though he knows that he cannot. “I love you, baby daddy. Speaking of our genital spawn, I’m going to go get Linnie so we can cuddle with her for a bit.”

“She could be asleep.”

“Trust me. She’s not. I also know that she needs to eat. My boobs are full.”

“Don’t I know it?”

“You’re a child,” she sighs, kissing his cheek and pulling back from him as she gets out of bed, her feet pounding against the floor when she hops off the tall frame, and walks through the doorway to the sitting room.

While she’s gone, he takes the opportunity to use the restroom and grab a new pair of socks for both he and Emma, the cool ground reminding him of the chill that’s been seeping through the crevices of the home. It doesn’t take long before Emma has returned, Collins changed into a new set of pajamas with her hair combed through, and Emma settles into bed with her, pulling the blankets up over the two of them, completely ignoring the socks that he left out.

“Hello, Linnie,” he whispers, leaning forward and kissing the crown of her head while she smiles at him, her nickname always making her smile for some reason. “Did you sleep well? Mummy didn’t keep you up with her snoring?”

“No,” she answers, and his lips fall open as his stomach flips.

“Did she just speak?”

“Did you just say that I snore?”

“That is so not what’s important here, love,” he laughs, looking up at her before he takes Collins out of Emma’s arms and places her in his lap while he tries to convince her to say no again. She doesn’t, but that doesn’t mean he can’t at least try.

His last little lady just said her first word, and he’s so damn proud.

It’s not long before Andy and Sutton join them, quietly opening the door to see that he and Emma are awake before they barge in, jumping on the bed as quickly as they can, even with Sutton’s struggle to climb up on her own, her legs nowhere near as long as Andy’s. They’re all a mess, filling every second of silence with talking about what they want to eat for breakfast and what kind of snowmen they’re going to build outside or what movies to watch. Andy and Sutton get into a bit of a row about using carrots for the nose (“Noses aren’t orange, Andy.”), but eventually they calm down and he and Emma get everyone downstairs, fed, and dressed to go outside so that they can build snowmen with whatever kind of nose that they want.

“Andy, you have to stop squirming so we can get this picture.”

“Why do you need a picture of me when you can see me right now?”

“So I can see you later.”

“Where am I going to be that you can’t see me?” “Yeah, where’s Andy going to be?” Sutton cries, the tears obviously in her voice.

“Andy isn’t going anywhere,” Emma explains, looking over at Killian and rolling her eyes while the pom pom on her head moves and snow continues to fall down around them. “You guys are being silly, and the faster you stop and smile for Thomas to take our picture, the faster we can get back to playing.” “I was kind of hoping I could go to Hogwarts,” Andy huffs under his breath.

Okay, so maybe they shouldn’t have started reading Harry Potter to their seven-year-old quite yet, but he’ll figure it out eventually.

They eventually get their family photo before letting the kids scramble off into the snow, only making them come inside so that their non-carrot noses don’t turn blue. Emma’s been making them grilled cheese and hot chocolate, and his mind replays with decade old memories of her making him try one of those blasted sandwiches for the first time as she sat on a countertop not too far from here. He still hates them, but his kids like them.

And the hot chocolate isn’t too bad.

Neither is the company.

“Marshmallows look like snow,” Sutton sighs, poking her drink. “Can I eat snow?”

“If it’s not yellow.”

“Killian,” Emma gasps, twisting around with her mouth gaping open, “you have to also warn about green snow too. And purple. If you eat purple snow, phew, I think your stomach will explode.”

“What?”

“Cool.”

“Gross.”

“Where is the purple snow?” Andy questions, running his fingers over his chin in contemplation while Sutton continues to eat her marshmallows one by one and Linnie wanders around the kitchen hooked into her jumper so that they can keep track of where she wanders.

“On the other side of the mountain, I think,” Emma mutters under her breath as she walks over to him and hands him his mug of hot chocolate with a sweet smile. “Or we can get some grape juice and pour it on the snow outside.”

“If purple snow tastes like grape juice, why can’t we eat it?”

“They raise a good question, love.”

“They do, don’t they?” she hums, closing her eyes and taking sip of her chocolate, obviously to buy more time. “Well, I think it goes like this. If Mommy helps you make the colorful snow, we can eat it. If I don’t, that’s a no go.”

“Why would we even want to eat snow, Sutton?” Andy wonders, turning his head and propping his face up on his hand as he talks to his sister.

She shrugs, taking another sip of her drink and coming away with a line of chocolate on her lips. “Cause marshmallows are yummy, and I can’t reach where Mummy hides them.”

“I can,” he whispers, but it’s loud enough that both he and Emma can hear it. “I’ll get you some later.”

And that explains why Emma keeps blaming him for eating the chocolate candy she hides at the top of the kitchen cabinet. Andy is obviously pilfering it, and they’re going to have to start locking down their cabinets. Or find a new hiding place. The locks might be easier.

They never do end up making purple or any other colored snow. Instead they curl up under blankets and pillows and watch their forever favorite of Finding Nemo (“Why doesn’t my fish talk, Dad?”) despite his insistence that they try something else out. His kids love repetition, and he swears that if all of their movies lost sound, he could act out all of the scenes for all the words that he knows. He’s almost excited when new ones come out and he sees them for the first time, but then he realizes that this one is going to go into the memory banks as well.

Next time he’s in Australia he’s definitely going to P. Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney. Well, he doesn’t think that’s a real address, but if it were, he’d definitely buy the keychain.

One by one, they fall asleep, Collins breathing a steady rhythm against his chest far before Sutton spreads out on an armchair and Andy falls asleep with his nose pressed into the couch cushions. They can’t leave them that way, so in a continual team effort, he and Emma move them all to their resting places before finally getting to fall asleep themselves.

When they get back to England the next day, it’s a mess of carrying in suitcases and children, trying to balance unpacking with Indy dragging clothes and undergarments all over the house out of her excitement to have them home after being away from her for a week. He’s sure that sometime tomorrow he’ll find Emma’s bra resting next to the pool or one of Sutton’s bows resting atop his toothbrush. But they get it mostly done, especially after the kids all go to bed, and after he’s brushed his teeth and showered, he heads downstairs to the kitchen and finds Emma standing behind the island eating a spoonful of yogurt.

Her hair is unwashed and unruly, tendrils falling down from her bun, even more escaping the band that’s holding it up as she sways back and forth to the music in her head that only she can hear. She’s still got on her clothes from the plane ride, an unknown stain just over her right breast and, and he’s sure if he were to look in her back pocket, there’d be a packet of crushed crackers that she had for Sutton and forgot about before she sat down. She’s ridiculous and beautiful, and he loves her, stained t-shirt and all.

“Hey, handsome,” she teases, leaning over the kitchen counter as he walks further into the room, settling down on a barstool like he did so many times before in a completely different setting, one that lacked their children’s photos on the shelves and their wedding portraits on the walls. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Give me my entire life, he thinks to himself, knowing Emma would affectionately mutter something about him being cheesy if he were to say it out loud.

“No,” he says instead, reaching over and twining his fingers together with Emma’s over the countertop, his thumb tapping over her knuckles while he smiles at her simply because he can, simply because she makes him happy, “I’m good just like this.”