#she texts like an abuela but her arguments are like

[chicago-geniza]

Just read a description of Stefania's language that I really like: "Zahorska uses impeccable Polish, somewhat antiquated [lit. "old-worldly"], but never lapsing into the archaic. Her prose is precise, rich, and expressive"

[gamerbearmira]

Can we have some more cut throat Mirabel? Or or or more deaged Mirabel? Make her like revert to a 2 year old and it happens during abuela and Mirabels argument, Abuela turns her back for one second when suddenly

A baby cried *GASP*

YEAHHHHH

I accidentally posted before typing so. One sec while I edit

UH OK FIRST. I forgot about the cut throat sillies. Uhhhh Isabela definitely gave her a million flowers. All the roses she wanted. She felt so bad after learning that all this happened because Mirabel wanted to pick flowers. And she constantly asks herself “Why did I just make some for Mirabel”. She would’ve rather had a pouty Mirabel with the flowers she wanted to picked just given to her rather then. You know her on the brink of death🌚

DEAGED 🤭 but she doesn’t retain really any memories. And immediately is so confused and cries for Alma because she’s the last person (besides Julieta and Agustín, or one of her sisters) that she can remember who can comfort her. Besides, she’s barely a toddler.

I DIDN’T MEAN TO POST WITH NO TEXT LMAOOOOOO anyway I might do more later lmfao

[wheresmynaya]

Blame it on the Mistletoe Ch. 3 | Brittana

A/N - Trying something a little different by creating mood boards for each chapter! They're like little hints before you read so they're fun to make, leveling up from playlist making which I have yet to do for this story...

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & under the cut!

It’s Market Day once again and Santana couldn’t be more thrilled. Market Days are her favorite because twice a week, she gets to go out and see what the vendors are pushing rather than just filling out an order. This Market Day is special though because once a month, the vendors put up stalls and it becomes more like a fair than an actual farmers’ market.

And maybe once upon a time, she would’ve loved to share this with Brittany. She knows she would fit in perfectly with this tight-knit community that treats everyone like family, but not anymore.

This is just for her.

Santana always makes a point to visit her favorite vendor first; Miss Maggie, the Pumpkin Queen. The name apparently comes from the title she won a few years back, biggest pumpkin grown on the East Coast, and although she hasn’t won again since – the name stuck. She grows more than pumpkins though, she offers a variety of squash, but her secret weapon is that she used to be a pastry chef. Once a month, she always surprises Santana with her own creation featuring her prized pumpkins. Miss Maggie says it’s just to keep Santana on her toes in case she decides to come out of retirement and go for her job.

“I’m no pastry chef so the job is as good as yours!” Santana would joke in return.

This day is special for another reason though. In the past few days, Santana finally completed the new menu and the last dish that rounds it all out happens to draw inspiration from a galette Miss Maggie once made for her. Today, she gets to tell Miss Maggie that she named that dish after her.

It’s meant to be a joyous occasion, filled with appreciation she often has a hard time giving, but she skids to a stop when she finds Miss Maggie swept up in conversation with someone else. That someone else happens to be pouring over what is undoubtedly a delectable dessert Miss Maggie has cooked up – a dessert that was meant to be for Santana and Santana alone!

Technically, Miss Maggie is big on sharing but still. The last person Santana wants to share her goodies with right now is Brittany!

“Santana! You’ve made it,” Miss Maggie beams as she welcomes Santana to her stall. They exchange pleasantries, but Santana glares at Brittany from over the old woman’s head. “I was just telling Brittany about our little tradition. She’s new to the area. Brittany, this is Santana. She’s the Executive Chef over at the – ”

“We’ve met,” Santana interrupts. She keeps the smile plastered on her face in front of Miss Maggie. She doesn’t know what it is about the woman, but she reminds her of her abuela. The last thing she wants to do is get on her bad side by seeming rude. “We go way back.”

Brittany grins. “It’s true. Santana and I used to – “

“Work together,” Santana says. Brittany gives her a confused look, but Santana ignores it. “Back when I used to live in the city.”

“Really now? What a small world!” Miss Maggie replies. “Who knew you’d both end up out here?”

“I sure didn’t,” Santana quips.  

“Well, it was always part of the plan for me.”

Santana scoffs. “What would you know about sticking to a plan?”  

“Well if you’d return a phone call or text, maybe I could tell you?”

Miss Maggie then interrupts the bickering with a plate of pie she had set aside for Santana. “Enough of whatever that is, try this. What did you think, Brittany? Five stars?”

“Absolutely! That was delicious,” Brittany compliments. “You’ll love it, Santana.”

Santana forgoes a reply and instead takes a bite to keep from starting another argument with Miss Maggie present. But Brittany’s right, the pie is delicious. So velvety and rich, the crust is delicately flakey and cooked to perfection. It reminds her of why she was so excited to come to Market Day in the first place!

But the moment is kind of ruined with Brittany standing there, awaiting a reaction as if she baked the damn pie herself.  

Nevertheless, Santana smiles warmly at the woman. “Miss Maggie, you’ve outdone yourself. This is amazing.”

“Oh good! I’m glad you like it,” Miss Maggie beams before toddling to the back of her stall. “I baked another for you to take back, let me get it. Share with Quinn this time!”

“I won’t make any promises,” Santana calls out to her.

Meanwhile, Brittany frowns. “Who’s Quinn?”

“My new lady lover,” Santana lies. “We’re very serious. Might even open up a restaurant together once we’re done unpacking our Uhauls.”

Brittany’s eyes widen but Miss Maggie ruins the fun by returning with another pie.

“Quinn is Santana’s Sous Chef,” She tells Brittany as she passes it off to Santana. “She’s a sweet girl with pink hair. She actually grew up here, her family owns the lemon orchard.”

Santana didn’t actually know that about Quinn but it totally makes sense now. The girl knows her way around a preserved lemon.

Brittany seems to be intrigued too. “So you’re dating your Sous Chef?”

Miss Maggie is equally surprised. “You’re dating Quinn?”

Of course, that’s the perfect moment for said Sous Chef to return from picking up the turnip order. She stares at the three women with a perplexed look, the produce box weighing heavily in her arms. “Who’s dating me?”

“Apparently Santana.”

“We’re dating?” Quinn asks her. She glances at Brittany and purses her lips. “And you are?”

“I’m – “

“No one,” Santana quickly interrupts. “No one is dating anyone, especially not Quinn.”

“Uh rude. People date me,” Quinn mutters. “You know what, I’m going to put this in the truck.”

“Take your pie too,” Santana grumbles and sets the pie on top of her box.

 This is what Santana was worried about; Brittany coming back and inserting herself into this life she’s made without her. She came here today to have a moment with Miss Maggie, but instead she’s doing this!

“So I’m going to go,” Brittany says, possibly getting the point that she has outstayed her welcome. “I have a few things to pick up for service but it was lovely meeting you, Miss Maggie.”

“You too, Brittany! If you need any help finding things, go to that little building with the red roof. Sam will sort it out.”

Brittany thanks her then looks at Santana one last time. “I’ll see you around, San.”

Santana fights the way the old nickname causes her stomach to flip. She even fights the way her fingers twitch to reach out when Brittany brushes past. It’s such an odd feeling; being so overcome with frustration and yet still longing to just shove their differences aside and kiss her.

Love is so weird.

“She’s a sweetheart,” Miss Maggie mentions with a knowing smirk on her face.

“Don’t let the sweetness fool you, she can be such a little shit.”

“What’d she do to get on your bad side? Put too many sprinkles on your ice cream cone?”

“Ugh, I hate sprinkles.” Santana dismisses as she looks over her shoulder, wondering if she can spot Brittany at a nearby stall. She swears she can still hear her voice. No, she’s mad at her and there will be no looking!

“Some sprinkles would probably do you good,” Miss Maggie tells her.

“Well I don’t want any of Brittany’s.”  

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Miss Maggie laughs. “What’s this about you not returning her calls?”  

“That’s too long of a story and I’m not here to talk about that.” Santana goes rummaging through her bag for the new menu in hopes of deflecting. “I’ve got something for you.”

At first, Miss Maggie only admires the dishes’ descriptions, pointing out which she can’t wait to try. It’s not until she reaches the very last line that she realizes what makes this menu so unique.

“My galette?”

“Yeah. I thought I’d test my baking skills. Couldn’t be that hard,” Santana jokes. “I’d love for you to come in on opening night. I saved a table just for you.”

“Of course, I’d love to! I’ll put it in my calendar right now,” Miss Maggie tells her happily as she gets her phone. “I’m so honored!”

“I’m pretty sure I nailed it, but I’m open to feedback,” Santana says. “Only if it comes from you.”

Miss Maggie laughs along with Santana before going off to put the menu someplace safe, telling her how she can’t wait to show it off to her husband once she gets home.

“Hey Chef! Turnips are away. Ready to get the rest?” Quinn asks as she returns.

Santana nods and bids her goodbyes to Miss Maggie while Quinn does the same, mentioning she can’t wait to try the pie once they get back to the restaurant. The pair continue moving through the market, shopping for the rest of the produce on the list. They make quick work crossing items off and sampling vendors special offerings as they go.

They’re onto the last two items of their list so they might as well divide and conquer. Quinn heads down to have a look at the heirloom tomatoes while Santana follows up on the carrots – except there seems to be an issue when Santana arrives to see her usual vendor’s display of Dutch rainbow carrots has been wiped clean.

“Hey Santana!” Scott greets from over his shoulder. He’s busy packing away what looks to be the last of his stock. Since when did she have to pre-order? Nevermind, surely something can be arranged for her.

“Hey Scott, busy morning?”

“Surprisingly, yes!” Scott grins when he turns around to face her. “Went through everything I brought.”

“Of course you would. They’re the best, grown by the best too,” Santana flirts. It’s not her best work but it’s Scott. The guy blushes whenever Santana’s around, he just about faints when she makes eye contact.

“Thanks Santana. That really means a lot!” He starts to fidget, growing embarrassingly shy. “This here is the last of the rainbow.”

“So those wouldn’t happen to be for me,” Santana asks, smiling devilishly sweet. “Would they?”

Scott’s smile droops into a frown. “Sorry Santana. These are spoken for already. I have the regular Dutch carrots though?”

“No, that won’t do,” Santana replies. Honestly, she could probably work with it. It’s not ideal since solely orange would throw off the whole plating of the dish. She combs her fingers through her hair in a seemingly panicked way. “That won’t do at all, Scott. Your rainbow carrots are the star of my dish. You sure there’s nothing you can do for me?”

Scott’s gripping the box tightly, looking conflicted as ever. “I mean I could see I could split it? The customer hasn’t paid yet, she just needed to take out some cash.”

“Perfect,” Santana flashes him a pretty smile. “If she hasn’t paid for it then how about I – “

“What do you think you’re doing, Santana?” Santana whips around to find Brittany with her arms crossed. “Those are mine.”

“Uh no, you haven’t paid for them so technically they’re not.”

“Are you joking?” Brittany can’t help but laugh. “I just had to get some cash. I didn’t know no one takes card here.”

“Sounds like a personal problem to me. You should’ve been more prepared.” Santana reaches in her bag and takes out a few bills. “How much do I owe you, Scott?”

“Oh well,” Scott looks awkwardly between the two. “Brittany was sort of here first.”

“And then she left without paying.”

“I have the money now though.”

“I’ve been had the money,” Santana argues. “You never had to wait on me, Scott.”

“Come on, Santana.” Brittany drops her arms to her sides and pouts. “Are you really trying to steal my carrots?”

Once upon a time, that pout rendered Santana helpless. Every. Damn. Time. And honestly, the longer she stares at those blue eyes and how her bottom lip is just slightly jutted out, trembling a little for a dramatic touch…she could cave. Hell, she could pay for the damn carrots herself and gift them to Brittany at this rate!

“No.” Santana squeezes her eyes shut and only opens them again when she’s sure she’s only looking at Scott. “How much did she pay?”

Scott still looks unsure as he rubs the back of his neck. “Well, thirty for the rest of these bunches.”

“I’ll give you forty.”

“Really, Santana?”

“Yup! I’ve got forty dollars right here,” Santana fans herself with the bills. “I didn’t even have to make you wait, Scott.”

“That’s not really how this works,” He says.

“Okay. You drive a hard bargain. I’ll make it forty-five.”

“Santana!” Brittany chastises. “Seriously?”

“Fifty then.”

“Sixty!”

Santana’s eyes widen but Brittany only stands her ground. “You started this.”

“Ladies, please. I can always make a separate delivery later in the week?”

“Sixty-five!”

“Seventy!”

“Eighty!”

“One hun–“

“Chef!” Quinn arrives in the nick of time. She looks between her and Brittany with a puzzled look on her face. “You’re not actually going to blow our budget on this? Scott, let’s talk.”

With Quinn there to mediate, Santana decides she’ll just stick with the regular Dutch carrots and Scott will set aside the rainbow for next delivery. Brittany wins this round, but that’s the only one she’ll be forfeiting!

“We’ll need to establish some ground rules if you’re going to be here,” Santana tells Brittany as they head back to the parking lot with their produce. Quinn walks in the middle of them acting as a barrier, still struggling to catch onto why there seems to be beef between them.

“Like sharing?”

“Like get your own suppliers,” Santana corrects.

“How? We’re in the middle of nowhere. There aren’t many to choose from.”

“Maybe you should leave.”

“You don’t mean that,” Brittany says so softly Santana almost didn’t hear it. When she suddenly stops walking, so does Santana and Quinn but Brittany looks at Quinn with uncertainty. “Do you mind?”

“Anything you have to say to me, you can say to her.”

“So you are dating then?”

“No!” Santana and Quinn say in unison.

“Awesome, then could we have some privacy, Quinn?” Brittany asks politely although Santana knows her patience is running thin. “Please.”

Quinn doesn’t move though, just shifts her calculated gaze between the two until something seems to click and a knowing grin starts to spread. “Yeah, okay. I’ll load this into the truck.”  

Santana waits until Quinn’s in the truck before she attempts addressing this mess, but Brittany beats her to it.

 “Santana…” Brittany says her name tiredly. “I’m not going anywhere so we’re going to have to come to an agreement or something. You know we’ll have to share vendors and I don’t want to make things hard for us.”

Santana can’t help but laugh at the irony. “Really now?”

“Yes, really. So maybe you can finally take me up on my dinner offer and we can talk about it?”

“I’m not talking with you about this over dinner. This is business, you need to schedule a meeting.”

“Okay. When are you free?”

“Never.”

“Never?”

“I’m a very busy woman. Who knows when I’ll have a free day.”

“Okay. So you’re too mad at me to have dinner and now you’re too busy for me to discuss business?” Brittany recounts, “Sounds like you’re avoiding me and that’s not fair.”

Santana arches her brow at that. “Fair? What isn’t fair is that you popped up out of the blue, opened a restaurant down the road from me and you expect me to be okay with it! Britt, you did this.”

“I know that which is why I’m trying to fix it but you aren’t letting me because you love a grudge.”

“I do not.”

“You so do. All of this would’ve been cleared up weeks ago if you didn’t,” Brittany tells her.

Santana huffs as she crosses her arms protectively over her chest. She doesn’t hold grudges. She learns from the lessons life teaches her and she adapts so she never gets fucked over again. That’s not a grudge.

Brittany watches her for a moment, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’re still cute when you’re grumpy though so I will keep trying.”

Santana grits her teeth hard to keep from reacting to Brittany’s little comment. She doesn’t need that reassurance; she knows she’s a catch but it’s Brittany at the end of the day and she’ll always have a soft spot for her.

Which is exactly why she needs to go.

“I’ll see you around,” She says over her shoulder as she beelines it for the truck. She doesn’t chance looking back, she knows it’ll just make her want to stay.

\\

Quinn badgers her with questions the entire ride back to the restaurant, thankfully it’s a short drive. Most of it was Quinn replaying the moment she realized who Brittany was while Santana drove in silence anyway.

“Oh good, you’re back!” Rachel says just as she and Quinn return to the kitchen. “We need to talk.”

“Again?” Santana groans. “Can it wait? I’m a little over talking to people I don’t want to.”

“It definitely cannot wait, Santana.” Rachel tells her gravely. “Please join Kurt and I in our office for a little…business discussion.”

Santana lets out an exasperated sigh but does as she is told. After her run in with them about her disruptive music choices, she’d rather not dig herself into a deeper hole. When she enters the office, she finds Kurt waiting while Rachel moves around the desk to sit next to him.

“Please have a seat, Santana.”

Okay, now she’s starting to feel a little uneasy. The sudden professionalism is so off-putting coming from those two, but she takes a seat in front of them and holds her head high.

“What’s this about?” She asks.

“There are rumors circulating and we thought we would go straight to you before entertaining them,” Rachel says seriously.

Santana frowns. “What kind of rumors?”  

“Well – “

“Did you start a bidding war at the market?” Kurt asks, going right to the point.

“Oh.” Santana’s oddly relieved but unsure how news traveled so fast. “I don’t know if you would call that a bidding war but yes – I did try to pay a higher price than someone else in order to secure stock that I need to ensure your business keeps on running.”

Rachel facepalms while Kurt only shakes his head.

“What?” Santana asks, “I don’t see a problem.”

“That’s not how things are done here,” Rachel explains. “This is a small town, we’re all about community, togetherness…sharing.”

“Oh please, this is a cutthroat industry.”

“Santana, we’re serious,” Kurt tells her. “Scott was really shaken up by the whole ordeal.”

“So this is Scott’s fault?” Santana asks. “I should’ve known he was a snitch.”

“He’s a concerned citizen,” Rachel insists. “And rightly so considering what happened.”

“What exactly has he said because you’re making it sound like I got into a brawl? I went out there looking for the best stuff, built relationships, networked – all the things that I need to do in order for things to run smoothly here. But when I offer a little extra money because the vendor didn’t come prepared for the extra business, you guys get mad about it?” Santana asks, “Make it make sense to me.”

“It’s not about the money. It’s the way you went about it. We just need you respect the way things are done here, just like you always have,” Kurt says.

“Right. You can’t march on in there and act crazy like that,” Rachel replies. “They’re just carrots!”

“They’re not just carrots. I created the entire dish to highlight those carrots because I’ve spent months listening to Scott go on and on about how this is his best crop yet. I wanted to honor that, that’s what this whole menu is about! I’m supposed to just let someone take them all because what? It’s the neighborly thing to do?” Santana shakes her head. “Nope, screw that. She should’ve ordered in advance or something because those carrots were mine.”

“The extra business is great for the community especially during the holidays,” Rachel says. “These are tough times. We have to support our locals by any means necessary, but that also means spreading a little Christmas cheer while we do it.”

“You don’t even celebrate Christmas.”

“And yet, I know more about it than you do,” Rachel retorts. “We’ll see more tourists coming out this way because of that and because of the recent award. Now, promise us you’ll be welcoming and pleasant to the newcomers.”

“I’m always pleasant,” Santana grumbles.

“Usually you are but you’ve been off your game for weeks,” Kurt replies. “Whatever it is, work it out. The only things we want to hear about you are how amazing the new menu is.”

“Well I don’t know about that now since I’m out of carrots…”

“Santana.”

Santana lets out one last huff before pasting on a smile. “I’ll be as nice as I can be.”

\\

The following week, Santana arrives to Market Day bright and early as she usually does. She’s alone this time, Quinn choosing to hang back in order to organize the walk-in. Really, Santana thinks it’s an excuse to avoid getting caught in the middle of another spat. Not that there will be one this time because Santana’s being…nice.

At least, she’s trying to be.

The universe decides to test that theory when she crosses paths with Brittany again about halfway through her shopping. She looks a little less chipper than the last time she saw her, but she perks up the instant she spots Santana looking her way.

“Hi!” Brittany greets happily. “Cold one this morning, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I don’t remember winters being like this in the city,” Santana replies. She notes Brittany’s knit beanie and smiles. “I can’t believe you still have that.”

“What do you mean? It’s my favorite,” Brittany says. “Well, all the things your abuela knitted for me are my favorite. It’s so warm!”

Santana nods. She tries to avoid walking down memory lane, remembering how her abuela was so excited to meet Brittany and how they spent hours bonding over telenovelas. It’s tough remembering how well Brittany fit into her life back then. It was as if there was a spot for her there all along.

“You okay?” Brittany asks. “I’m almost done here so there’s no need to get grumpy. I’ve left you lots of carrots this time.”

“Thank you,” Santana replies. “I guess it’s important that we work together.”

“We don’t really have a choice but to work something out,” Brittany shrugs. “You know I can’t go anywhere else. We’ll have to share.”

“I know, so I suggest a compromise.”

“Oh,” Brittany looks taken aback. “I was anticipating some pushback.”

“I’m trying something different,” Santana explains. “I’m trying to be nice.”

“Because Santa’s coming to town?”

“Because it’s Christmas,” Santana corrects her. “And because my bosses said I have to.”

Brittany laughs. “Okay. What’s this compromise?”

“We can share vendors and what not,” Santana replies. “But I get first pick.”

Brittany ponders that for a moment before nodding. “I can work with that.”

“That means no sneaky dealings behind each other’s backs. No more bidding wars. When it comes to Market Days, I’ll go first and you go after me.”

“Deal.” Brittany juts out her gloved hand. Santana takes her offered hand and they shake on it, but Brittany hangs on just a little longer. “So does you being nice mean you’re open to having dinner with me?”

Santana shakes her head although she feels a smile forming on her lips. “It’s probably best we keep this strictly business for now. I haven’t even begun to unpack what you being back means for us.”

“We could always unpack that together?”

“I need to get started on this list,” Santana says instead.

“Totally. I’ve got to get this stuff back to the restaurant anyway,” Brittany replies. For once, she actually looks a little dejected. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

And for once, Santana actually feels guilty for brushing her off again.

\\

The next time Santana attends Market Day, it’s at the crack of dawn. She regrets declining Quinn’s offer to attend in her place now that she’s shivering to death in the frigid cold. To make matters worse, she has apparently arrived earlier than the vendor she’s waiting to see.

Everything’s achingly numb. The tip of her nose is probably frostbitten. She wiggles her toes to generate some type of warmth but she can’t even tell if they’re moving. Her thick jacket seems to be doing nothing to help fight off the winter chill.

But then, she spots Brittany and suddenly it doesn’t seem so cold.

“We made one rule and you’re already breaking it,” Santana says as Brittany come to stand beside her. She is holding two Christmasy themed takeaway cups and Santana remembers what she has forgotten.

“I’m not breaking it. You still get first pick,” Brittany chuckles. “I’m here to keep you warm.”

Santana lets out a laugh. “I don’t need you for that.”

“Well, I’m here to keep you company.”

“I don’t need you for that either.”

“Come on, San.” Brittany grins as she passes her one of the cups. “Humor me.”

Santana sighs as she takes the cup. “Only because I’m too cold to think straight.”

“I’ll take it!”

She doesn’t protest when Brittany loops an arm through hers and huddles in close. Santana keeps her hands wrapped around the cup, she can smell the rich chocolatey goodness and takes a sip. With Brittany on her arm and a hot chocolate in her hands, she’s unsure which does a better job of warming her up.

[scribeoffate]

“Do you speak Spanish, daddy?” 

“A few words,” he answers, tugging her closer. 

“Oba-san Noshiko speaks Japanese. Do you speak Japanese?” 

“Only a few words, too.” 

“Is Gigi Melissa from Colombia? Like in the movie?”  Her eyes are glued to the screen now. Mirabel is singing about her family.

This passage is from Familia Especial which is part of my dad!Scott series. In this series, Scott is married to Kira and they have three children together- baby/toddler twins and five-year-old Ally.

This fic was written for the cultural heritage square for scottuary.

I was also a little obsessed with Encanto at the time- so I thought it would be fun to have Scott and Ally watching that movie together.

In the first story of that universe, we learn that Grandma or Oba-san Noshiko is a fan favorite of all of the children. I realized early on that the pack children would have a lot of complicated relationships and used a variety of familiar terms. So Lydia became Aunt Lydia, Ken is Oba-san Ken, the Sheriff is Papa Sheriff (though I don't recall if that made it into the fic), etc.

I had sort of missed an opportunity for Abuela Melissa and was excited to explore the idea in this fic. (In a later bit, Ally asks if she can call Gigi Melissa Abuela Melissa and Scott very sweetly agrees to ask if she would be okay with that.)

Scott not being fluent in either Spanish or Japanese is probably the heaviest part of a very light fic. And is really a callout in my heart to the people claiming "Scott can't be Latine" because he is never shown speaking Spanish. Which a bullshit argument. That is addressed in the text of the show in a scene with Mason and Kira, even. So despite that not necessarily being my headcanon, I put it in like that.

Ally's heritage is very complex when I sat down to think about it, but I think Scott deals with her questions very sensitively and age-appropriately in the story. And I contend that Scott would make the best dad!

Thank you for asking!

game

[aamircoeur]

random valorant hcs part tres

jett called reyna abuela (grandma) once. reyna was frowning the entire week.

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raze has a specific playlist that fits their type well for each agent that she's alone with.

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raze also listens to paramore, Ain't It Fun being her favorite song

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neon occasionally calls jett, "ganda." (beautiful)

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omen rarely interacts with other agents unless necessary. he's not childish.. though on extremely rare occasions, omen takes phoenix's food that he's been announcing to the whole protocol that he'll eat later.

"don't eat my food in the fridge, aight? i wrote my name there!" phoenix announces multiple times in a day.

omen ate it. knowing damn well that it'll get phoenix riled up and blame jett or yoru. hence, an argument. hence, noise and chaos in the protocol. it's amusing to him to see them fight like chickens. (his words, not mine.)

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sage gets startled easily (tested and proven by reyna, for some reason)

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once every/two weeks everyone eats dinner together, no excuses. this was arranged by brimstone

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fade ties her hair into a ponytail when she's alone

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cypher likes soft served ice cream

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yoru called jett 'bunny' once.

it was on accident; he meant to ask her why she liked bunnies to tease her but just when yoru held her shoulder and she's already turned around and noticed his presence, he had a brain fart and just said, "bunny." they stared at each other for a solid minute before he nodded and walked away. dear lord jett was so confused

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oh and jett likes bunnies

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killjoy once caught a glace of breach's text messages to people that he flirts with thru chat. her face was 😨 all week

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fade and astra are good friends.

"the girl has this.. positive aura that lingers around her, as if she had nothing to hide," fade said.

she made it her mission to find astra's fear, and astra's only reply was a laugh

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neon randomly (and safely) zaps other members

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brimstone plays candy crush

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sova once had a knuckle tattoo but had it removed 'cause he thought it looked unprofessional

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viper doesn't know how to ride a bike

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sage sleeps with 6 pillows

one under her head, two on each side of her bed, one under her hips, one on her leg and the last one at her feet

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the other agents saw reyna pull a tooth out of her mouth without any signs of pain. "it was aching, i had no choice." she said.

ㅤ

chamber asks sova if he could pet his owl sometimes

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kay/o can make a toast with his body alone

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the whole protocol once was divided into two groups: deciding if apple juice or orange juice was better

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breach broke the fight between juices.. by saying pineapple juice was the best

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all eighteen agents looked at him weirdly (or just seventeen. can kay/o even drink anything?)

ㅤ

ㅤㅤ

[dikanamai]

“In our darkest moment”, an Encanto fic

Some days ago, I was talking a bit about Bruno's backstory in this post, and how it would've been better if the movie had focused on his own struggles, instead on reduce his departure to "I hid to protect Mirabel". I like to think he hid to protect the whole family, because his last vision could have triggered the destruction of Casita (as it does indeed in the movie). There's more, of course; with these fics I've been writing lately, I've tried to set up a more complex scenario for that fateful night of Mirabel's ceremony and fleshed out the family's problems, while also respecting the canon. In this one about this turning point in Casa Madrigal, there’s no big arguments, just fear and tension, and Alma begging for a vision. But you know how the opening scene of the movie is a light version of Dos Oruguitas? Well, this is the dos oruguitas version of Bruno’s flashback in the movie 8D

I've put a lot of love in it, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

Title: In our darkest moment Characters: the triplets, Alma, and the whole family. Word Count: 12.572 Rating: G Warnings/Spoilers: none, if you've watched the movie. This one ties with my previous ones, so you can find them here, if you don't know them and want to check them first. Since this night was actually one of the darkest moments of the family, this fic is SAD, you're warned. Summary: The triplets knew perfectly the story of the miracle's origin. But even so, Bruno had wondered many times how would it be to live through something so extreme. Losing everything in a blink, turning around and discovering your life had radically changed forever in a matter of seconds. It was something that had given him nightmares when he was younger, and he had concluded he didn't want to fully understand it. It was too much. The night Mirabel didn't get her gift, however, he had no choice but to finally understand.

(Friendly reminder that English is not my mother tongue, and I'm not used to write fiction in this language. So this text is probably closer to Spanglish. Anyway, I hope it's readable enough and you can enjoy it. Thanks for your time!)

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"What gift do you think she'll get, tío?"

Luisa's voice was barely a whisper, almost muffled by the rumor of the waiting crowd gathered around them in Casita's courtyard. But she was leaning her back on his chest while Bruno hugged her from behind, his arms around her shoulders, so he could hear her clearly. His middle niece was almost as tall as Isa already, and he just needed to bow slightly to rest his chin on her head.

"I have no idea," he answered, with a soft smile. "But knowing Mira, it'll probably be something spectacular. Maybe her gift is setting things on fire."

At his side, Félix coughed to cover a chuckle. "Abuela would love it."

"She doesn't need a gift to do that," Isa joked playfully, "just to be left alone in the kitchen for five minutes. Ah, Milo?"

The little boy, held by his mother, growled and complained, and made them all laugh with his reaction. But there was something else in their voices, especially in the adult's ones but also perceptible in the tone of the older girls: anticipation. Tense, eager anticipation.

It couldn't be helped, now that the day had finally reached its climax, after all the stress and preparations. In fact, it was the climax of a situation that had been stretching for months. All of them were hoping desperately a happy outcome for Mirabel's ceremony, something that could ease once and for all abuela's distress and let things back to normal— whatever that 'normal' meant. Isa and Dolores, clung to each other in a side hug, seemed to believe that good news tonight could erase some of their own pains somehow, and Bruno hadn't had the guts to remind them that the pains of growing up would never disappear. Pepa, Félix and he, however, knew better; they were just longing for another truce, to mamá to calm down and put her worries to rest at last, till the girls became adults and she could start fretting again about her great-grandkids' gifts. It wasn't perfect, but it would certainly be a relief after all those months of troubled instability. Two gift ceremonies so close to each other had been something too stressful, and this year was already feeling longer than ever.

So yes, all of them hoped, all of them remained expectant. The only one young enough to be immune to all that was Camilo, God bless him.

"I think she will fly!" he exclaimed, and then put his hands on his head with an exaggerate gasp, eyes wide open. "Oh, wait, wait! She will move things with her mind!"

"That would be awesome!" Isabela agreed.

"Great guess, mi vida," Pepa chuckled, nuzzling her little boy's cheek and pressing a loud kiss on it that made him giggle.

"I think she will be able to read people's minds," Dolores declared quietly, and the three adults exchanged an alarmed look and a tense smile.

"I reeeally hope she doesn't get that one," Bruno tittered nervously. "It would be too… traumatic."

"She's always humming," Isabela added, excited, "maybe her gift is making people sing randomly when she talks with them. That would be funny!"

"What a nonsense!" Camilo rolled his eyes dramatically, and Bruno had to bite back a wide smile when Pepa shot him a meaningful look. Lately, his nephew had started copying a lot of his exaggerate mannerisms for unknown reasons, and his sister used to feign that got on her nerves— though both triplets found it absolutely hilarious. "Singing is useless. She should spit fire!"

Félix cracked up laughing. "Camilo, mijo, you should relax."

"I just want her to get her room." Camilo rested his head on Pepa's shoulder, cuddling her mother lovingly. "Mami, can I sleep with Mira when she gets her room?"

"Of course you can, mi amor, she would love it. Oh! What about a sleepover night with all the cousins as celebration? That will be fun! Tía Juli, tío Bruno and I used to do it veeery often, you know?"

"Really?"

"¡Sí! They would come to my room all the time when we were little."

"And when you were teens," Isabela chuckled, giving her tía an amused smile. "Mami told me."

"Actually," Bruno raised a finger, "we kept doing it every now and then until they got married and kicked me out of the bed. Tragic."

Pepa rolled her eyes. "We stopped doing it because your awful room is the only one available now and we can't sleep there together," she grumbled, but he ignored her remark, adopting a dramatic pose for his niblings, who were already giggling.

"Abandoned by my sisters. How heartbreaking. Now I always have to sleep all alone. I miss the company."

"Get yourself a wife, bro," Félix joked, elbowing him.

"I don't miss the company that much," he retorted, and his brother-in-law let out a belly laugh.

All of them laughed, actually; and relaxed by the chatter and jokes, the kids kept talking cheerfully about Mirabel's hypothetical room and hypothetical gift. Bruno suppressed a sigh and smiled, glad to see them a bit less anxious, even if he still felt unable to calm down completely. He would never say it out loud, but he was feeling terrible since morning, and he couldn't tell if it was just because of the nerves or if it was an actual foreboding. More than once along that day, he had found himself turning to look at his back, not sure of what he was expecting, or staring into the void, suddenly paralyzed for no reason. He could feel something odd in the house too, filling the air, like the smell of rain before a storm. The nameless glowing door in the upper corridor seemed more ominous than ever. It was something so unsettling, so unnerving, but also so unexplainable, that Julieta had caught him standing like a statue before papá's painting after meal, and he hadn't had time to conceal his concern.

"You can feel it too, right?" she had whispered, hugging him from behind and burying her face on his shoulder. "I've got a bad feeling, hermano."

Bruno had patted her arms softly, trying to be comforting but strangled by the lump in his throat. "Don't worry, Juli. We'll be fine."

But not even he had believed his own words, and both had stayed there, looking into papá's eyes, till Julieta sighed quietly, "Help us, papi".

Right now, she and Agustín were already upstairs, beside Mirabel's door, hugging each other and talking in whispers. Bruno glanced at them, gulped and then turned his gaze to Pepa, who had just done exactly the same. When his eyes met his sister's, he knew it was also taking her a great deal to show a light mood.

Luisa shifted in his arms and Bruno came back to reality, realizing she hadn't said a word during the whole chat. Looking down at her, he gave her a little smile and mumbled, "Nervous?"

Luisa let out an abrupt, weak laugh, as if she had been holding her breath. "Yeah, hm, I think so. I'm more nervous than the night I got my gift. I'm dumb."

"You're not dumb. You just care about your lil sis."

"I've been thinking it would be…" Her words faded, and she glanced at her parents too.

"It would be…?" he repeated, encouraging her to finish.

Luisa took a deep breath and look up at him with an embarrassed, apologetic smile. "It would be great if we could work together as a team, right?"

Bruno felt his smile wavering, but made an effort to keep it in place for her. "Sí, hormiguita. It would be great. I'm sure you'd be an awesome team."

Luisa's smile grew wider and she snuggled a bit more in his embrace. "Mira's really eager to make the family proud. I bet Casita will give her a very special gift. I wish she could move things with her mind, as Camilo said; it'd be amazing." She chuckled, though a sad shadow tinted her expression and she lowered her voice even more to add, "My gift is— My gift is very different from the others, don't you think, tío? It's a— It feels a bit lonely, sometimes. Is it wrong to wish Mira's gift could be more similar to mine?"

Her words made his heart sink. He had been so worried about Isabela and Dolores, already walking the path that leaded them away from childhood, that he hadn't paid enough attention to the growing pressure Luisa had started to feel too. He had thought they would have more time before this. She was only nine, after all. But she was right: her gift was different and probably the most demanding of the whole family. It was awful she had had to find it out so soon.

"Of course not, Luisa," he answered softly. "I feel you. There's nothing wrong in that wish. But remember it doesn't matter what gift Mirabel gets tonight, you don't have to feel lonely. We all are here to lend a hand. And maybe we can't lift a building, but— we still can hold you!" And he squeezed her tightly, till Luisa burst out giggling cheerfully, her mood lightening up almost right away. Bruno smiled in relief and rested a cheek on her head, glad that she was still young enough to be reassured with a simple hug. "Just stop growing up so quickly," he joked then. "Two years more at this pace and you'll be taller than me. How would I hug you then?"

Luisa laughed again. "You can keep hugging even if I'm taller! You know I love hugs."

"Oh, yeah? Won't you be ashamed of you super short uncle?"

"Nah, never!"

"Thank goodness, because I love your hugs too."

With a soft chuckle, his niece looked up again, now giving him a warm, grateful smile. "Thanks, tío Bruno."

"Anytime, hormiguita."

Isabela, Dolores, now also Luisa… Bruno suppressed a sigh. Things were getting more and more complicated, too quickly for his taste. When they were little, they hadn't been able to afford obliviousness, but they had wished it for their children, a chance to growing up without being crushed by the heavy weight of the Madrigals duty. Were they protecting their kids properly? Were they failing spectacularly without even notice, after all? Even if they tried and tried, it never seemed to be enough.

Of course they had put their hopes on tonight. The whole family needed something good to happen, some good omen to be revealed.

A few minutes later, mamá finally stepped into the courtyard holding the magic candle, her long, private chat with Mirabel concluded. She walked the path the crowd had cleared, reached the curved stairs that leaded to the new door and stopped halfway to the top to face them all and deliver her usual speech, as she had always done since Isabela's ceremony.

"Almost forty years ago, in our darkest moment, this candle blessed us with a miracle…"

All of them stared and waited. Even Camilo had gone still, his big eyes fixed on his grandma. Félix put an arm around Pepa's waist and the other around the girls' shoulders. He felt Luisa grabbing his arms to snuggle against him again, holding her breath. And, when mamá finished, the crowd cheered, the curtain opened and Mirabel stood under the spotlights.

The little girl made her way to the stairs slowly, twisting her hands nervously. When she passed before them, Luisa gave her a thumbs-up gesture, Isa whispered an encouraging 'go, go, sis!' clenching a fist, Dolores smiled reassuringly and Camilo waved an arm with a muffled squeak of excitement. Mirabel looked at them with shiny eyes and covered her mouth to hide a soft chuckle.

Bruno would treasure that moment for years, after this night. Because it was the last time he could see his youngest niece smiling, face to face.

Mamá had told them the story of the miracle many times. As some sort of fairytale, when they were little. The rawer version, when they got old enough to hear it. The triplets knew perfectly what had happened at the river, and before that. But even so, Bruno had wondered many times how would it be to live through something so extreme. One minute, you're standing in your house, surrounded by your loved ones, making plans for your future; and the next one, you're on the road, running away with nothing but the clothes on your back. He couldn't grasp the notion of losing everything in a blink, or turning around and discovering your life had radically changed forever in a matter of seconds. It was something that had given him shivers and nightmares and a suffocating anxiety when he was younger, and he had concluded he didn't want to fully understand it. It was too much.

This night, however, he understood.

He finally started to understand when Mirabel's door vanished before their eyes and everything seemed to freeze for a heartbeat.

There was a moment of dreadful quietness. Then, Mirabel turned to mamá, shocked, and she just could look back at her, even more shocked. The candle's flame wavered. A collective gasp shook the crowd. Everybody stopped breathing and stared, petrified. And, in the sudden, dense silence, Camilo's tiny voice sounded like a shot.

"Where's her door? Mami! Where's her door?!"

The chaos was released right away.

"Everybody, please, calm down!" mamá exclaimed from the gallery, facing the crowd again.

But her voice had wavered too, and everyone freaked out, talking, asking, moving. Someone bumped into Bruno's back, and that made them all react at last. Isabela and Luisa looked at each other with wide eyes, and then bolted to the side stairs, followed by Dolores. Camilo shifted in Pepa's arms till she put him down on the floor, and the kid ran after his sister and cousins. And Bruno had to thank Pepa for grabbing his wrist and dragging him to the stairs too, because his mind was so blank he could barely think.

When they reached the gallery, Julieta and Agustín was squatted beside Mirabel, trying to calm down the stunned girl. Isabela slid to a stop at their side and kneeled at her sister's feet to cup her face on her hands. Luisa joined them immediately, Camilo almost jumped to them too, and suddenly the lil Mira was trapped in a group hug. Then, she finally reacted too. And she cracked up crying.

It was a terrible scene to witness. Mamá was talking to the town's people, but he couldn't understand a word, he could just hear his niece bawling. Dolores stepped back, covering her ears, and Félix wrapped her in his arms protectively. Pepa was talking frantically with Julieta in whispers, both of them waving their hands and looking strained. And he could do nothing. He just stood there like a dummy, paralyzed, staring at them but feeling worlds away, unable to wrap his head around what had just happened.

Was the floor trembling or it was just him?

"Bruno!" someone hissed, and he jumped and turned to mamá, who was looking at him intently from the stairs. "Don't slip away. We need to talk."

He gulped and nodded, rubbing his arm nervously, and saw her handing the candle to Julieta and rushing downstairs to join Arturo, Margarita and the rest of the town's leaders. Isabela took Mirabel in her arms and strode to the nursery, followed by all the children, while Julieta headed to mamá's room to leave the candle there before joining them and Pepa trotted downstairs too to deal with the guests. In a blink, they took the reins of the situation; and he knew he had to help them, he had to, but he couldn't manage the unexpected, he couldn't manage the stress, he couldn't, he was useless, he was on the verge of a panic and he really felt like slipping away. And he had probably done it if his brothers-in-law hadn't lunged at him suddenly to drag him to a quite side of the gallery and corner him there.

"What's happening?!" they hissed in unison.

"W-what?" he gasped, raising his hands. "I-I don't know! W-why would— H-how could I know? I don't know, don't look at me like that! My gift is clairvoyance, not omniscience!"

"This is not the best time for your jokes!" Agustín complained.

"I'm not joking! W-why— w-why everyone's always assuming I'm joking?! Do I look like joking? I'm panicking right now, ok?!"

"Easy there, bro!" Félix grabbed one of his shoulders and shook him slightly to bring him to his senses. "Don't shit your pants and pull yourself together, we need some answers here."

"Has this happened before?"

"No! O-of course not, this is not— t-this is… I-I don't know how…" Bruno trailed off, looking at the magic doors beyond the worried faces of his brothers-in-law. Was their glow… twinkling? He almost choked and blinked frantically, wondering if he was about to faint or something.

"Bruno?" Félix took his arm to keep him steady, and only then Bruno noticed he was wobbling.

He looked at his sister's husband, eyes wide open. "I think I'm gonna puke up dinner."

But Agustín had pretty worse worries, of course.

"Bruno, por amor de Dios," he growled, sliding his fingers under his glasses to press them against his eyes. "Could you focus on the matter at hand? Mirabel's life has been revolving around this moment since she can remember. The life of the whole family revolves around your gifts! What's gonna happen now? What am I gonna tell my daughter?"

He looked really desperate. Bruno held his gaze, trembling, and bit by bit, with every heartbeat, he fought to recompose himself. Because this was his job, wasn't it? This was the reason people asked him for help, to soothe their worries. Even if his visions were a mess, even if he was a mess. For his family, he was still the wise uncle, the wise brother, with his wise words. He could do it. He had been doing it his entire life.

So he gulped, gritted his teeth and put a hand on Agustín's shoulder. "Agus, just— A-are you hearing yourself? Calm down. You're like some… super papá or something. You don't need to ask me what are you gonna say to your daughter, you already know perfectly what you have to say, don't you?"

Agustín looked at him intently, and Bruno could see how he was recomposing himself too. "Yes. Yes, yes, yes, this is— this is not a punishment. It's not her fault. She's not broken. She's just as wonderful as ever. She is a Madrigal, she's loved, she has nothing to prove. This changes nothing."

Bruno nodded. "This changes nothing. We all are here to support her. Whatever this means, we— w-we will figure it out. We'll be fine."

"We'll be fine," Agustín repeated, like a prayer. "We'll be fine, we'll be fine, we'll be fine." He turned to run to the nursery, but stopped abruptly halfway, almost slipping, and came back to pat his shoulder in gratitude. "Thank you, brother."

Bruno took a deep breath as he watched him go and then faced Félix. "I-I hope you don't need some parenting advices from the single uncle too."

Félix chuckled, with a hint of sad irony very unusual in him. "Don't worry. I'm very sorry for poor Mira, but she won't be the only one affected by this. There will be consequences for the whole family. I know Camilo's gonna feel miserable because of this, as it happens, and that's what we'll have to handle."

"This is not his fault either. It's not like— I-it's not like if he has wasted all the magic of the miracle or ruined the candle or something like that."

"I know. But he has spent months hearing his gift is a joke, Bruno. He was really hopping something better for Mira, and the kid's just five, it's insane. And now this happens. How didn't you see it coming?"

"Y-you know that's not how my gift works, Félix."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But what are we gonna do with this?"

I have no idea, he wanted to answer, but he gulped again and forced himself to repeat, "W-we'll be fine."

"Will we?" Félix shook his head and patted his brother-in-law's back. "I'll go to help Pepi with the guests; she's probably drizzling by now."

"Félix," Bruno grabbed his arm to stop him before leaving, "please, help her— h-help her to let it out, ok? Mamá wants to talk, and I suppose— I-I suppose we'll have a family reunion in a while, the three of us with mamá, and… I-I don't want mamá to vent on her or whatever if she's anxious and thundering and— you know."

Félix nodded and, with a last pat, trotted downstairs too to find his wife.

The gallery went silent. Bruno stayed there, slouched in the shadows of that quiet corner between the courtyard's side stairs and the stairs of his tower, pressing his knuckles to his mouth and holding back the urge to bite them. From the balcony at his left, he could hear the rumor of the people talking outside, a tint of deep concern in their voices. Sometimes, he could tell apart mamá's voice, though she was far enough to not get any of her words. He didn't want to know what she was saying to the town, anyway. He could hear the distant, muffled crying of Mirabel too, and he couldn't tell if his niece was still in tears or her voice had kept stuck to his brain.

How didn't you see it coming?

That was scratching his mind. Of course he could've never known, how on earth he would be able to predict something like this, there was no way he could… But he knew something was coming, right? He had felt it. He had been feeling it for months, trying to convince himself it was just his exhaustion playing with his perception. He had kept quiet, he had tried to brush it under the rug, telling everyone —even himself— that they were fine, they would be fine. But they weren't. They hadn't been fine for a long time, and he had failed them. He had failed them all, he had failed everybody again, he—

He was quivering. But it wasn't him, it was the house.

Bruno held his breath and looked down. He could feel it under his feet; a soft tremor was making the floor vibrate. Was it an earthquake? Right now? Alarmed, he looked around, but no one came out from the nursery, no one screamed in the patio, no one else seemed to notice. He was there alone and he was the only one that felt, saw and heard Casita shuddering.

The first CRACK sounded so loud he almost screamed.

Bruno rushed to the gallery, almost tripping, and leaned over its railing to see the courtyard's floor cracking like glass. The fissures were born from the very core of the house, as if its heart was breaking, and spread all along the floor, splintering, reaching the walls, climbing them up like a spider web. He ran along the gallery, his eyes fixed in them, following their path, till they gathered around mamá's window, where the candle was burning. And then, its flame dimmed again.

He gasped, breathless. He stared, overwhelmed by that paralyzing dread, for a lapse of time that could be minutes or hours. He lost track of time so hard that he jumped when he heard voices at his back. Bruno turned sharply and saw Pepa and mamá climbing the front stairs to the gallery. Away from the town folks at last, the strong Madrigal matriarch could barely stand on her feet. Pepa was holding her to keep her steady, and that was so scary, so shocking, that his panic blew up and he had to muffle a yelp before running towards them, his heart beating frantically in his chest.

"¡Mamá!"

She was panting and looked at him with her poised mask totally broken, her forehead wrinkled in distress. She stretched out an arm to him and he took it immediately, gripping her hand and helping his sister to hold their mother.

"Come on," mamá mumbled huskily. "Come on, I— I need to sit down."

Bruno tried to speak, scream, ask, all at once. He had to warn her about the cracks; but when he looked back at her window, there was nothing in the walls or the floor. There was nothing anywhere, and he froze and went mute. What had all that been? Some hallucination induced by the stress? Some unrequired prophecy creeping into his brain while he was still awake? Sometimes, his mind would do strange things, especially after the reckless use he made of his gift when he was young, but this was—

"JULIETA!" Pepa shouted, and he jumped again and mamá flinched as if she had been hit.

"Pepa, por Dios…"

"S-sorry, sorry," she stuttered quickly, her nerves betrayed by her high pitched tone. "S-sorry, I-I didn't mean to— I-I'm a bit—"

"Go call your sister," mamá interrupted her. "Check on Mirabel, poor thing. What a disaster. What a…"

Her voice faded and she staggered again. Bruno nodded at Pepa and she flew to the nursery while he took mamá to her room. His mother kept her eyes wide open fixed on the candle as they approached it, her free hand gripping her black shawl, and he was glad she wasn't able to pay attention to anything else, because that gave him some room to shake his head and pull himself together as much as he could. He was surely looking anything but reassuring right now, and he didn't want to worsen mamá's turmoil even more. Though focusing in what was happening and getting rid of the image of the cracks took him a massive effort.

Pepa and Julieta joined them when they were reaching the glowing door, and the four of them rushed into mamá's room, as if desperate to find some shelter. It had always been like that when they were younger, every time any uncertain danger seemed to hover over the family. Like an instinctive mechanism of defense. All of them felt safer there, near the candle, in that magic space that mirrored the original house they had lost so many years ago. No one else in the family felt that deep necessity of gather together to steel themselves for a blow, not like they did; no one else could fully understand but no one would ever question it either. It was just their thing, even if they were already grownups almost in their forties and their mother was an elder.

None of them could breathe again till they reached the upper floor of mamá's room and met the candle. Only then, mamá let his hand go —Bruno felt it numb— and rushed to the window to check on it. They stared intently, holding their breath. No one dared to move a muscle, fearing its light could go out any moment. But seconds passed, and nothing happened. The flame, the whole candle, looked like always.

"What on earth has happened?" mamá mumbled absently. "Why— What has happened?"

Unconsciously, the triplets drew closer to each other. Bruno gulped once again, but he hadn't recovered his voice yet, so he couldn't say a word. Pepa was as rigid as a board, sweating and trembling, biting her lip and stroking her braid to not lose control. Julieta was the only one able to step forward, but even her hands were shaking and her voice quavered.

"Mamá, you should— y-you should sit down."

But mamá didn't sit down, as if suddenly she considered she wasn't allowed to. She started pacing up and down, slightly slouched and still gripping her shawl so tightly she almost looked like trying to enfold herself in it.

"Why— W-what's the meaning of this?" she kept mumbling under her breath. "What's the meaning of this? We have— We have dedicated our lives to— I-I don't understand. Have we failed? Have we done something wrong? Are we— Are we not doing enough for the Encanto?"

The triplets inhaled abruptly and exchanged alarmed glances, and Bruno knew his sisters were thinking exactly the same as him. Not doing enough? Quite the opposite. But mamá didn't notice their reaction; her eyes were still fixed on the candle.

"Is… is our miracle… dying?" Her voice cracked at the word and she covered her mouth with a shaking hand. "Ay, Pedro…"

Mamá staggered again and they moved immediately, as performing a choreography they knew by heart. Bruno ran to hold her, Julieta grabbed a chair and Pepa leaded her to sit down on it. She didn't refuse or protest, and seeing her so helpless, so lost, was terrifying. It was so terrifying that the smell of rain filled the room and a dark cloud started to form over their heads.

Mamá looked up. "Pepa…"

"I-I know, I know!" she screeched, trying to step back. "I-I'm sorry, I'm—"

But she couldn't finish. Mamá gripped her hand and pulled her closer with such a force that Pepa stumbled and kneeled at her side, suddenly wrapped on her arm. Bruno felt the pull on his own hand even before processing what was happening and, in a blink, he found himself also kneeling beside mamá, with her arm around him, as shocked as his sister. Mamá reached for Julieta and she joined them right away. And then she hugged them tightly, so, so tightly that they snuggled together like the petals of a closed flower bud.

She was holding them to her chest as she had held them almost forty years ago, in their darkest moment, to keep them safe and sound by the river. Bruno knew it, but the simple thought of it made him feel like crying. Pepa's chin was trembling and she buried her face on mamá's shoulder. Julieta sniffed, touched. And he just shut his eyes and melted in their arms, while all of them tightened their grip on each other. There was so much pain in that embrace, so much fear and desperation, that it felt suffocating but also warm, because they were together after all, holding each other. It hurt and comforted at the same time. It was terribly bittersweet. But they could breathe together, matching their rhythm, until their pulse calmed down and their nerves were soothed.

He wished that moment had lasted forever.

"Don't worry, mijos," mamá whispered after a while. "Don't worry, I'm here. I will— I will protect you all at any cost, I'll do anything, whatever is needed, I… I will…"

She trailed off, and Bruno couldn't help a shudder, struck by the feeling that she had forgotten they weren't her newborn triplets anymore. The grip they shared loosened up and they straightened up to look at their mother, his sisters as stunned as him. But mamá was staring blankly at the candle, her moisty eyes wide open, as if she was seeing something they couldn't see.

"We need to move," she added in a quavering mumble. "We need to move and get ready, we have to warn the children and… and…"

"Mamá," Pepa babbled, "what are you— Getting ready for what?"

She faced them and seemed surprised for a second, as if she couldn't recognize them. Bruno froze, but Julieta put a hand on her shoulder and said softly, "Mamá, nothing's coming. Don't worry. Loli said there's nothing beyond our mountains, not a single peep. There's nothing off in town either. Nothing's coming. We're safe."

Mamá held her gaze for what it felt like an eternity, and then turned again to the window, looking as if she was expecting to find the Encanto already set on fire. Bruno pressed his lips together. The expression on her face was heartbreaking.

But, an instant later, she blinked and finally seemed to be brought to her senses. She took a deep breath, straightening up too, and it was like witnessed a transformation, as she pushed her vulnerability deep down inside, put on her matriarch mask again and clenched her jaw in determination.

"We're not safe," she declared. "This ceremony has been a failure. Everybody was counting on us, and Mirabel hasn't been given a gift. Something's threatening our miracle, and we have to find out what it is and fix it, or we all are doomed. The whole Encanto will be doomed."

Julieta hesitated at her words and leaned back slightly to sit on her ankles, looking helpless too for the first time. Pepa glanced at her with her lips pursed and then met Bruno's eyes in a knowing look. Julieta had always been the strongest, the most stable and reliable of the triplets. She had been the perfect daughter since they were children, the one that never disappointed mamá and always managed to success in whatever she set out to; and that was a heavy responsibility, but also the reason she wasn't used to fail, unlike them both. Bruno and Pepa were a mess. If any of them messed things up, nobody would be too surprised. If Camilo had been the one who remained giftless, probably no one would've been so shocked. It was a bitter thought, but that didn't make it any less true. Now, however, the perfect Juli with her perfect older daughters was the one facing the biggest family failure of the last forty years, and he had the feeling it hadn't totally sunk in her yet. She seemed clueless about what to do. Seeing her baby girl going through something like this had had to be the hardest blow ever.

"M-maybe this isn't— m-maybe this isn't a big deal, after all?" Pepa suggested, sitting on the floor too, and she started twisting her braid when mamá looked at her, aghast. "I-I mean, Mira didn't get a gift, so what? We've freaked out because it was unexpected, but everything else seems normal, maybe— m-maybe she just wasn't meant to get a gift and that's all."

"What are you talking about?" mamá gasped. "Why on earth would something like this ever happen?"

"I-I don't know, mamá! Sometimes things just happen and that doesn't mean—"

"It has no sense." Mamá shook her head stubbornly. "The miracle created this refuge for all of us to be safe, and it chose our family to protect it. This is our duty, for the sake of the entire community. The whole town relies on us; the more gifts we have to help, the better. Why would the miracle deny us another gift now?"

"There's no new gift, ok, but we still have our own gifts and—"

"The miracle is as strong as the flame of the candle, Pepa," mamá cut her off, recovering her sternness every second. "It could be getting weaker. If it fades, all the gifts will fade with it. The magic that protects us all would be gone, ¿entiendes? It has no sense that suddenly one of us doesn't get a gift without any reason, it has to mean something, something is wrong, the miracle is trying to say us something."

It's telling us to stop, Bruno thought right away, and the sight of the fissures spread all over the walls hit him hard again. It's telling us to stop and open our eyes and change our route, or all of us will crack and crumble and there'll be nothing left of the Madrigal family but debris. He saw it crystal clear. He knew it. That was the answer: no more truces, no more patches. A change in their lives and mindset was mandatory. But he wasn't going to say it out loud, he couldn't say it out loud, not now, with everyone on edge. He had to keep quiet, think about it and figure out the best way to make them understand. He had to shut up.

It would've been easier if he hadn't remained still, staring into the void with round eyes full of dread. Before he could conceal the effects of his sudden realization, three pairs of eyes were fixed on him, as sharp as daggers. Bruno shifted at their scrutiny, sweating. "W-what— What?" He tried to speak, only to discover he could barely utter the words. "W-w-why are you looking at me like that?"

"Do you have anything to say?" mamá asked carefully. He shook his head with more energy than necessary, like a child caught red-handed. But it didn't work, anyway; mamá could see perfectly through him, and Bruno noticed how the look on her eyes hardened. "Ok. Let's go, then."

She tried to get on her feet and the triplets leaped up, rushing to stop her.

"Whoa, whoa, waitwaitwait," he stuttered in trepidation. "W-what? Where?"

"To the cave, of course," mamá answered plainly, and she sounded frustrated at their attempts to slow her down and at her own weakness. "You have to look into the future and see what this means."

He felt a horrified scream creeping up his throat and tried to swallow it in desperation. "T-that's— t-that's not a good idea."

"What do you mean?" Mamá frowned at him, confused. "We need to. We have to know what's happening, Bruno. Isn't this exactly the meaning of your gift? Isn't it meant to warn us about any danger? We need it now more than ever, we need to know, we need to get ready."

He wished he could be able to explain her that getting ready was very different from getting paranoid, but he couldn't. He just could shake his head and hands vigorously in a gesture of utter refusal. "N-no way, I-I'm not gonna do a vision about this, we just—"

"Bruno," mamá's frown deepened, "the town, the family, needs your help, are you—"

"And since when does my gift help the family?" he snapped abruptly.

It was the wrong thing to say. He knew it, he shouldn't have said it, he should have bit it back. But he was unable to. He could feel the anxiety crawling under his skin, swirling in his chest, gripping his throat. It got worse when he saw their faces, especially mamá's and Julieta's, looking at him with wide eyes and lips parted, as if he had just slapped them. He could barely hold the urge to press his knuckles to his mouth to shut up forever, so he stepped back and crossed his arms instead, digging his hands under his elbows to hide his fingers tightly crossed.

"Bruno…" Julieta's weak whisper made him feel sick. "You know I've always— I've always supported you, but I… I don't think this is the right time for this. We're talking about my daughter's safety."

"Isabela's your daughter too and we all know what happened when I looked into her future."

Could the words just stop leaving his mouth? No, they couldn't. He was too nervous, too nervous. He was shaking again, feeling cornered.

"It's not the same at all—"

"This is not just about Mirabel," mamá interrupted Julieta, looking dumbfounded at his reaction. "This is about the miracle itself, it's about the safety of our home. The home of all of us. We can't just sit here and wait for this menace to destroy everything we've worked so hard for—"

"There's no menace knocking at the door, mamá," Bruno cut her off quickly, as he tried to shake off the certainty that the menace was already there, inside them. "We need time to process all this before doing something we could regret later and—"

"We will regret not doing anything if something bad—"

"A vision won't help right now, we're too upset to think clearly, I know you'll just assume the—"

"Are you seriously refusing to use your gift in a moment like—"

"I'm not gonna do anything till we calm down and—"

"We're fine!"

"WE'RE NOT FINE, MAMÁ!" he finally exploded, and his shout petrified them in pure shock. Bruno bit his lips, covered his mouth with his fists, tried very, very hard to stop talking. But he couldn't restrain himself anymore. "We're not fine, that's the point! Are you kidding? Am I the only one that noticed we all just had a breakdown five minutes ago?! Look at us, look at yourself! Pepa seems about to faint, Juli is barely holding the tears, I'm panicking! And you— y-you're pale and sweating, and I-I'm still afraid you'll have a heart attack any moment! What if this is too much, what if this overcomes you? You're not a machine, we're not machines, so don't tell me we're fine, because we're freaking out, and I'm not gonna do any vision right now to worsen it all even more!"

A deep silence fell over them, filling the room. He felt deaf for a moment, only able to hear his agitated breath and his frantic heartbeats rumbling on his own ears. Those had been too many words, too many, released after so much self-imposed silence that now he felt hollow. He was so scared he could barely recall what the hell he had just said. Had he gone too far? His stomach twisted, and he had to grit his teeth to hold a wave of nausea. He needed to touch wood, he needed it, his hands were aching to touch wood, but the only wooden thing near enough to knock on was mamá's chair, and he couldn't get closer to her, not now, not while she was looking at him with that expression, totally thunderstruck. So he just crossed his fingers again at his back till they hurt and waited and waited and waited.

Then, Pepa spoke, tearing him out of that awful spiral of fretting.

"M-mamá, Bruno's right," she said, and he almost collapsed in relief at her backup. "He's right, t-this isn't the best time to— t-to make big decisions. It's been a crazy night, you're exhausted, I-I'm worried about you too. We need to calm down to handle this properly. W-we should take some rest a-and talk it out tomorrow, right?" She gave him a tense look, eyes almost as round as Dolores', and Bruno nodded desperately.

"Tomorrow," he agreed, though he really wished all this was a simple nightmare that could be vanished by morning. "W-we'll talk it out tomorrow."

Mamá looked at them, still speechless, and then faced Julieta. Bruno glanced at her too, holding his breath. But she remained quiet for a while, staring at her feet, and it was obvious she was feeling torn. Of course Julieta had to know perfectly that relying on Bruno's gift right now was a terrible idea; whatever the vision was, mamá would assume the worst anyway. That wasn't going to help anyone. But Mira was her daughter, and of course Juli needed to know if she was in danger, if something bad was happening to her. She was so worried she probably wouldn't sleep a wink, and the guilt crushed him. But she took a deep breath and looked up, her hands clenched in fists grabbing her skirt.

"They… they're right, mamá," she finally said, though her voice sounded so dull Bruno gulped. "I don't think there's anything we can do for now. Mira's ceremony is over and what has happened can't be changed, as far as we know. If there's something wrong with the miracle, we'll find out, but… it doesn't have to be now. It can wait. Maybe tomorrow we'll be able to see this with… new eyes."

Mamá's mouth twitched, but the very proof of her own exhaustion was she didn't insist. She just lowered her gaze, brow frown, and nodded slowly. "Alright. Tomorrow."

Bruno exhaled deeply, but Julieta glanced at him and the shadow he saw in her eyes made his heart dropped.

"I have to go," she mumbled. "Agustín and the kids are with Mira, but I want to be with her too, she's my priority now. She's heartbroken." Julieta avoided their eyes in a very unusual way, and Bruno wished he could say something to comfort her, even if he had no idea of what. "Mamá, are you ok? Want me to bring you something to eat or drink? You should—"

"Don't worry, mija." Mamá shook her head, without looking her in the eye either. "Go take care of your daughter, she needs you."

Julieta nodded briefly, glanced one last time at her siblings and at the candle and turned to go back down. Pepa watched her go with her hands over her heart and, when they heard the room's door closing, she faced Bruno with lips pressed and eyes full of worry. The guilt scratched his insides again. He gulped, moved round mamá and joined his sister, anxious to get to her side and feel some more contact to steady himself. Pepa noticed, because she fumbled for his hand once he reached her and they intertwined their fingers so tightly it almost hurt. That was enough; enough to calm his nerves and to thank her, as always. It was a childish habit, perhaps, but he would have never been able to handle this by his own without ending it up in a catastrophe, so any gesture of support was vastly appreciated.

"Are you sure you don't need anything else, mami?" Pepa asked softly, as afraid of breaking that sudden quietness. Mamá just shook her head again, and Pepa stepped backwards, dragging him with her. "Y-you should rest. If you need us anytime, just—"

"Bruno," mamá whispered. "Please, stay."

They froze. Pepa looked down at him and he looked up at her. With a last squeeze he hoped to be reassuring, Bruno let her hand go and Pepa bit her lip, glancing at mamá.

"I— I'll go to check on the kids too," she muttered, before giving him her 'we'll talk later' look and leave the room, reluctantly.

Bruno inhaled and turned to mamá, trying to steel himself for whatever could come now. But she remained still, sit there like a forgotten ragdoll, her gaze as lost as herself in her thoughts. The silence grew so thick it got almost suffocating.

"M-mamá," he began, awkwardly, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't— I didn't mean to—"

She raised a hand and he stopped. Then, she beckoned to him tiredly and Bruno rushed to her side, taking her arm to help her stand up. Together, they went back to the window, near the candle. Its glow glimmered in her moisty eyes. Holding her, he could feel her quivering slightly.

"I never thought this could happen," she admitted in a voice so tiny it almost didn't sound as herself. "I've done everything I could, and still…" Her words faded and she sighed. "What does this mean, Bruno?"

He tensed up again. "I-I don't know, I told you, I don't know, tomorrow we'll see what—"

"I'm not asking the fortuneteller," mamá said, finally meeting his eyes. "I'm asking my son. What do you think?"

His shoulders dropped and he held her gaze, crumbling at that unexpected sign of trust. He shook his head, still undecided, but let his guard down and answered, "I… I-I'm not sure. I don't think we're exactly in danger. At least, not a physical danger, I suppose. But there's something… there's something off that I can't explain…" He paused and pressed his lips together in a last attempt to keep quiet, but then sighed and confessed, "Tonight, I-I… I saw cracks in the house." Mamá took a sharp breath and gritted her teeth; but otherwise she didn't even blink, and Bruno gaped at her, stunned. "W-wait, did you already know? Have you seen them too?"

To his surprise, she nodded. "I've seen them in my dreams. Sometimes, when I'm walking across the hallway, I can hear that snap in the walls, as if they're breaking apart. But when I turn around, I see nothing." She made a pause, her lips trembling, and her voice lowered even more. "I'm getting old, mijo. And I'm afraid. I want to know you all will be safe when I'm not here anymore. I need to know the miracle will keep burning, protecting our home. I put my hopes on Mirabel, thinking her gift would stabilize this, but… There's something wrong with our Casita, and I don't know what it is. I can feel it, as if our magic was… rotting."

It was a shocking word to choose. Rotting, like a corpse. It made him think of death, and Bruno felt suddenly strangled by that blurred imagine of papá standing in the middle of the river that he had tried to picture a thousand times. Mamá had to be thinking the same, because her legs wavered and she gasped, "The chair, please."

Bruno reacted immediately and drew it towards them. She sat down again beside the window, with a deep sigh. And, for a while, neither of them could say anything.

"Bruno," she began then, her voice firmer but also full of… something he couldn't identify, "I know you hate your gift. I'm your mother, I'm not blind. I've tried to make you understand that you weren't given this gift as a punishment, but I suppose… it hasn't been enough. So if you think you're not helping the family, if you rather step aside, I… I won't stop you."

It looked like those words were like acid on her tongue, and Bruno stared at her with wide eyes, paralyzed. He had spent many months, many years, yearning for a break, but now— why did it sound as if she was giving up on him?

"What… what do you mean?"

But she just shook her head again. "All I ask you for is this last favor. I beg you. Don't leave us on tenterhooks, give us some answer."

"M-mamá, what— D-do you think I am the problem?" He felt breathless. "Do you think the magic is dying because I'm frustrated with my gift? Because I'm tired?"

"No," she groaned, but buried her face on her hands for a moment and he saw her shoulders shaking. "I don't know what the problem is. I don't know. That's why I need your help." She looked up at him, eyes full of distress. "Help me understand what's wrong. Please, mijo. I beg you to look into the future to see what this means. And then, if you don't want to do visions anymore, just… do as you wish. If that brings you peace, maybe it brings peace for all of us as well."

His mind was racing, overwhelmed. There were so many words crowding in his mouth, fighting to leave it all at once, and he tried to swallow them and looked at the candle to remain focused. But it didn't work, and finally he found himself babbling, "M-mamá, you should know my visions aren't the problem, you— I-I don't hate my gift, that's not true, I just— I just don't know how to—" He stopped and pressed a palm against his forehead, counting to ten. "You know better than anyone why I swore to not look into the future of any member of the family. I can't hurt our family. I couldn't bare it."

"Your father gave his life to protect us and that's the most hurtful thing I've had to endure ever." He froze at her remark and stood there stiffly, as she watched the candle with a blank expression. When she kept talking, her voice sounded absent. "Sometimes I wonder if you all can grasp how much we sacrificed to get here. You don't understand how many dangers surround our paradise and how vulnerable we actually are. I'm not complaining, I'm glad you can't understand; this is what we wanted for you. Your father and I. A safe place where you all could grow up and have a good life and be happy, without worries. But I know what's out there, threatening us. I know we must never take our safety for granted. We must keep moving, we can't stop. If we stop, we could lose everything again." She blinked, like waking up, and took a deep breath. "Protecting this place requires sacrifices; you're old enough to understand that much at least. You don't want to have a vision that could hurt the family, but in this case the family could get even hurter if you don't do it. It's up to you to decide what sacrifice you prefer."

What could he answer to that? There was no possible answer. He saw now clearer than ever that mamá wasn't actually there. Her body was there, of course, but not her mind. Her heart was still on the road, her soul was still on the run. She had never stopped fleeing, not for a second, over the last forty years. She had kept moving forward without looking back, feeling chased, dragging the whole family, the whole town, with her for decades, as she had carried her three babies in the past, holding them tightly to keep them safe. She was firmly convinced she was doing the right thing, she would make whatever sacrifice was needed and she would never stop.

And he had no idea of how to fight that.

He felt utterly useless.

"Mamá, I…" Bruno tried, but his voice vanished, muffled by the sadness and that burning feeling of helplessness.

She closed her eyes and sighed again. "Go take some sleep, mijo. We'll talk tomorrow."

Perhaps he should have insisted. Perhaps everything could've been different if he had stayed and spoken up and tried to explain himself. But he felt totally overcome, and when Bruno felt overcome, there was only one possible reaction.

He fled.

The gallery felt almost chilly when he left mamá's room and a shudder shook him from head to toe. He stumbled, as disoriented as if his brain had got stuck, and strode blindly to his tower, feeling on the verge of another panic.

"Bruno!"

The hissed call was about to make him shriek, and he tripped to a stop and turned to see Pepa running towards him from the opposite corner of the gallery, as if she had been pacing around since she left.

"What happened?" she whispered frantically, when she was almost over him. "What did she say?"

Bruno staggered and kept stepping backwards, to the safety of the dark corner that leaded to his room and away from mamá's window. "What else? She wanted me to understand how important is to do that damn vision!"

"You have to refuse!"

He choked on a hysteric titter. "Are you insane? I can't refuse!"

"But you must!" Pepa hissed again, looking at him so intensely he could barely hold her gaze. "Remember our last talk, ah? About mamá fumbling in the dark to find her answers, instead of looking at us? About what she really needs? You can't have a vision about this, she's gonna lose her mind no matter what you see! It'll be a nightmare!"

"And you think I don't know? B-but I can't— I-I just can't—" He was stuttering so much that the words tangled in his mouth and he had to stop with a desperate groan, gesturing to mamá's room. "S-she's there, looking as— looking as if all her worst fears had come true tonight, Pepa. She looks like— She looks so desperate, s-she thinks the miracle is dying, she thinks papá is dying again!"

Those words seemed to take her aback and she tensed up and hesitated for a second, before shaking her head again and frowning. "And how would a vision help to calm her down? What if you look into Mira's future and see something as horrible as always?" Bruno whimpered in frustration, pressing his palms to his forehead, and she seemed to fret. "As it always seems," she corrected herself quickly. "Seems, Bruno. You know how mamá is!"

"B-but what if— what if Mira's actually in danger or— What about Juli?" He couldn't breathe, dammit, he couldn't breathe. "I can't let her down, she looked so disappointed in me—"

"She's not disappointed in you, por Dios, she's just worried! We'll talk with her and—"

"What if this is—"

"Listen to me! We have to talk with Juli and calm her down first, and then the three of us can go to—"

"Could you just—"

"We must stick together to face mamá tomorrow and I'm sure she—"

"COULD YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?"

Pepa jolted and gaped at him, goggle-eyed, and Bruno himself felt startled by his own loud outburst. That wasn't what he wanted to say, that wasn't what he should have said, but she had been talking and talking, and the headache was killing him, and now she was frowning, and then he panicked and raised his hands, stuttering again. "S-sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry, I didn't mean— I-I just n-need to be alone to think, ok? I need space, I need…"

Pepa's expression told him what he actually needed was to shut up.

"You need space," she spat bitterly, her lips trembling. "This is one of our darkest moments, we should be together comforting the kids, comforting our sister, figuring this out, but you… y-you need space. Ok, take all the space!"

She turned to leave, and he reached out to grab her arm. "Pepa, wait, I—"

"You're always like this, Bruno!" she exclaimed quietly through gritted teeth, facing him sharply again and shrugging off his hand. "What's wrong with you? Do you think Julieta and I aren't tired or scared or worried? Do you think we don't need space sometimes? We do, but we're here dealing with this mess, because it's what we have to do! We have always dealt with problems together, the three of us, remember?! But lately you just shut yourself in your room and stay away from us! What the hell are you doing? You don't care anymore or what? Is that so?"

"No!" he cried, aghast. "Of course not! I just… I just…"

He couldn't find the words, and Pepa's mouth twitched in a hurt grimace. "Ya, of course. Go hide with your rats and enjoy your space!"

"P-Pepa, p-please…"

But she was gone, walking away furiously while the strong smell of rain filled the courtyard one more time.

He should have gone after her. Everything would've been different if he had gone after her and talk with his sisters and explain himself once and for all. He knew it, and he would have plenty of time to regret it. But in that very moment, he was feeling overcome. And when Bruno felt overcome…

He staggered to the stairs and tripped at least twice climbing to his room, almost hyperventilating, grabbing tightly the wooden handrail (knock, knock, knock). He threw himself to the door and closed it at his back (knock, knock, knock). He fumbled for the wardrobe (knock, knock), the shelves (knock, knock), the chair (knock, knock), the desk (knock, knock, knock, knock). He felt around for his bowls, in a shelf hung over the desk, and took a pinch from each one to throw it over his shoulder, first salt (one, two, three), then sugar (one, two, three). He repeated everything again, losing the count of how many times, pacing up and down stumbling, while his mind raced faster than ever in his life.

What was wrong with him?

Yeah, what?

What the hell was he doing?

Yeah, what?

What if it was true, after all? What if he had something to do with that debacle somehow? Always complaining about the drawbacks of his gift, always frustrated and tired, always trying to shun his responsibilities with the town, always letting everybody down. He had failed so many times, too many. If work and dedication were what kept the miracle burning, with how much work and dedication had he contributed? How many sacrifices had he actually done? His sisters were more and more burnt out every day, he knew it, and nevertheless they kept going. But he was too weak. He had always been too weak, hiding behind Juli and Pepa and trusting them to resolve everything, while he stayed in the shadows, unable to deal with people, unable to confront mamá, unable to do anything right. What if his weakness was some kind of infection that had been affecting the miracle? What if he had been ruining everything encouraging the others to slow down too, and being a bad example for his nieces, and projecting his issues on them, and—

He felt like throwing up.

Bruno bent over the desk, pressing his hands against the wood till the wave of nausea eased off. He focused just on breathing in and breathing out for a long moment, trying to soothe his nerves. But his brain was aching so much it was almost blinding. He knew what that meant; the vision was already there, knocking at the back of his mind. He needed to know, too, and that necessity was so strong that holding it back would just overcome his senses, and it would take over his mind, and would vomit on his brain a chaos of senseless, useless images of the future. Panting, he squinted at the sand clock door, his sight already starting to blur. He needed to know now, before anyone else, to get ready. He needed it. So he headed to the cave.

There was a rumor filling the tower, making the stone vibrate, as if responding one more time to his emotions. The sound of a mechanism forced to the extreme of almost breaking. Bruno could hear the flow of sand louder than ever, sliding slowly inside the walls in its never-ending cycle, like the sand of an actual hourglass. It hit him with an ominous feeling, but he strode to the stairs anyway, and touched the rock to use his shortcut, and his room took him to the top with a low screech that sounded like a cry of pain. He crossed the bridge, now visible, all the tricks and jokes melted by the heat of his worry. The hall was already lit by the clay lanterns lined along the stone benches, and the candlelight twinkled as he passed, projecting dancing shadows in the walls. The rats raised their heads and watch him, but whatever they felt around him was enough to make them slip away, as if they were fleeing from a sinking boat. And when Bruno reached the chamber's door and knock on it before stepping in, the sound echoed around the whole cave. As the slam of the door closing after him.

Mamá was wrong. He didn't hate his gift; not really, when he could use it on his own terms to look into what he chose, free to analyze his predictions without pushy visitors demanding answers or making misguided assumptions. Having visions for others forced him to make the ritual with them; but when he could do it all alone, it was soothing and pleasant, like applying cold to a fever. He was caught by the memorized steps, setting the fire, smashing the herbs, measuring the oil, focusing on the textures, the scents and the silence to empty his mind and calm his heart. Sometimes, he just set the logs on fire and sat there for minutes, hours, watching the flames till they got consumed and his frame of mind was the best possible.

That was what he did that night. He sat, breathed and waited. So, when he finally used his power to summon the sand whirlwind, he had completely lost track of time.

Bruno had dared to hope, as always. He had hoped their fears were unfounded, and everything was just as simple as Pepa had said, and there was nothing wrong with the house or the magic or the family. But, also as always, his hopes got crushed under the destruction displayed in his sight. He saw the candle falling, the Encanto cracking, the mountains breaking apart. Breathless, he saw his family running and screaming in fear. He turned around, searching frantically in the sand. And then their house, their home, took form before him and cracked, just as the cracked walls he had seen in the courtyard after the failed ceremony.

"No," Bruno gasped. "No, no, please…"

He pushed his power a bit more, desperate, and a flash of light created another shape of sand: a girl with the curls and glasses of his youngest niece. Mirabel stood upright before the house, and the cracks started pulsing like a heartbeat, opening and closing. Bruno frowned, but the anxiety was bubbling inside him again, too distracting, and he felt the heat that preceded the end of the vision. The imagen glowed and turned into light, and he raised his hands to take the green plate as it turned solid. And, when the swirl dissolved and the sand fell, he stayed there, holding the vision so tightly that his hands shook slightly.

From one angle, Mirabel was standing before a broken house.

From the other, the house behind her was safe and sound.

Miércoles.

Bruno looked up at the dome and bit his lip to suppress a groan. Variables! Always, always variables! Of course! That future was too complex to be sealed, anything was possible. But undecided futures were the most difficult to explain. People always wanted concrete answers, most of them didn't understand there was a wide range of possibilities. When they were indeed presented with a wide range of possibilities, they usually chose to focus on the worst.

And he was holding a vision of his niece with Casita destroyed behind her.

He started pacing around, trembling. "Ok," he mumbled to himself, "ok, ok, ok, calm down, calm down, let's think… W-what does this mean, what, what…"

But the more he thought about it, the more he understood it didn't matter what it meant. Mirabel could be both the cause of Casita's destruction or reconstruction, both in a direct or an indirect way, she could be both an angel of doom or salvation, and it didn't matter in the slightest, because she was there with the crumbling house, and everyone was just going to assume the worst.

Mamá was going to assume the worst.

Something really, really cold twisted inside him, making him feel sick. Mamá couldn't see that vision, he couldn't show her that vision under any circumstance. But she wanted to know. She had begged him. And she would never accept a refusal, she would keep pushing, she would want to be present during the ritual and see it with her own eyes, and she would climb all the stairs up to there on foot if necessary, because she was Alma Madrigal, and she never stopped, she always did whatever was needed to protect the Encanto. There was no way he could avoid it.

But he couldn't show her. Bruno was old and experienced enough to know perfectly what a self-fulfilling prophecy was. If mamá saw Casita crumbling, her reaction would inevitably lead to the destruction of the house. He knew it, he didn't need to use his gift for that. That plate was a picture of her worst fears actually confirmed. The situation they had been dragging along would blow up if she saw it, and she would lose her mind, she would blame the poor child, she would quarrel with Juli and Agustín, and the family would break apart as well as the house. And then what? What would all of them do? What would he do, after destroying everything he loved with one of his damn visions?

The key was Mirabel. Maybe she was meant to do something big in the future to fix that mess once and for all. Maybe she hadn't been given a gift for a reason, to make the family open their eyes. She looked like a teenager in the plate, maybe she just needed time to grow up and… and…

And she wouldn't have any time if he was there.

That realization stroke him like a lightning, and Bruno froze, standing in the middle of his chamber as still as a rock. All paths leaded to the same conclusion, and his pulse speeded up, strangling him.

He couldn't be there. He had to go.

"No," he choked, shaking his head desperately. "N-no, no, no way, t-there has to be another…"

But there wasn't. He kept shaking his head till his neck hurt, but there wasn't any other solution. If he stayed, he would trigger the fracture of the family one way or another. Nothing would be the same anymore. That was a turning point for the Madrigals and he had to choose, move, do anything. He had to. What would've papá done?

Sacrificing himself.

Bruno bit his lips, bending over in an attempt to hold himself together. A sacrifice, that was what papá would've done, that was what papá had done, hadn't he? At the river. Sacrificing himself to buy them some time and keep them safe. Wasn't that exactly what the family needed now again?

Protecting this place requires sacrifices. It's up to you to decide what sacrifice you prefer.

He whimpered helplessly, but his mind kept racing. He had to go, he had to go now, right now, before anyone could stop him, and stay away and protect them from his own prophecies. He had to go, but his mind got flooded with all his plans and worries and projects, and what about his niblings? They were struggling with a lot of things, they needed him, he needed to be there for them, he needed— he needed them, he needed to be needed, but they didn't need him that much, right? If he wasn't there, everything would be fine anyway, it didn't matter, because he was the dispensable one, he had always been and he knew it, and they would be fine, they would, because Isabela, Luisa and Mirabel had their caring parents and Juli and Agustín would keep them safe and loved, and Félix would take care of Pepa and their kids, and Pepa would protect Camilo at any cost, and… a-and… and what about his Loli? What about his girl?

He could barely hold back a sob.

What about his sisters?

What about him?

He was nothing without them. He hadn't spent a single day in his whole damn life away from Juli and Pepa, he couldn't live without them, even if Juli was disappointed, even if Pepa was angry. They had been through a lot together, they had always existed together. It was supposed to be always the three of them. Always.

"I can't do it," he babbled, his voice quavering in the silence of the chamber. "Please, I can't do this…"

But papá had kissed them goodbye and faced death for them. He had loved them so much he had sacrificed everything, leaving his heart behind with his wife and children. And Bruno loved his family as much as him, they were his everything. He was sick of being weak. He was tired of failing.

He wasn't going to fail them now.

He would do anything for them.

A loud rumble shook the chamber and its stone walls cracked and dislocated, growing rawer rocks, distorting its round, smooth shape. Like a core that was getting squeezed. Bruno could feel the tremor inside his own chest, and he knew his heart had already made his decision before his head could catch up. So he gritted his teeth till his jaw hurt, looked at the green plate one last time and dropped it. It crashed against the stones, shattering, and the sand seemed to swallow its pieces, like a pond of quicksand.

Hide it. Hide it forever. No one must see it.

The rumble increased, around the cave and inside his skull. As Bruno headed to the door with wide strides, the sand followed him, swirling at his feet. A wild whirlwind slammed the door open to clear his way, and swept the lanterns of the hall as he passed, and suddenly there was nothing there but the noise of broken clay, darkness and cold. The moonlight coming from the tower's window lit his way when he crossed the arched entrance to the hall, and then he saw all his room was shaking in pain, as well as his soul. It seemed about to crumble as much as he. So he ran mindlessly.

Hide it, hide it, hide it, hide it.

Bruno crossed the bridge running and heard it cracking at his back, falling apart, destroying the platform that Isa had covered with flowers not so long ago. He punched the wall to activate his shortcut and the stairs tried to get him down, but everything was already malfunctioning. The stone steps jerked and threw him forwards in a crazy descent that almost stopped his heart. They spun along the tower's walls so fast that some wooden posts of the roped railing were ripped away by the force of the movement. At a sharp curve, he was literally ejected into the air and, for a dreadful second, Bruno thought everything was really over for him.

But his room roared. A massive wave of sand rose, as huge as a dune, to catch him in his fall. And he rolled and rolled down, curling up to protect his head and holding his breathe, till his body hit hard the floor and he lay there, sore, coughing sand. With a horrible screech, the whole tower sank several meters into the ground and rumbled again, and the walls waved and turned rougher, like the raw flesh of an open wound. For a few seconds, all was chaos, sand falling, rocks crumbling. And then, suddenly, a deep silence.

Bruno sat up slowly, panting heavily, blinded by the shock. His heart seemed about to escape his chest. There was a loud buzz filling his ears, from both his frantic pulse and the crash of the place that had been his refuge and his prison for the last thirty five years. He looked around with wide eyes, unable to process it. It looked so… wrong. So lifeless and wild. Like a broken hourglass, full of leaks that bled sand. Like a broken heart, rugged and jagged. A ruined room, now uninhabitable, pushing him away.

Something deep inside him broke in that moment. The last thread that connected him with his gift, with his miracle. He felt so hollow, so empty, so lost. There was nothing in his future but dense darkness. Trying to breathe and failing miserably, he started trembling again.

Bruno had wondered many times how would it be to live through something as extreme as mamá did. Losing everything in a blink; turning around and discovering your life had radically changed forever in a matter of seconds and would never be the same. He hadn't wanted to understand. He had hoped and prayed to never find himself forced to understand.

But now, he understood. Sitting on the sand, surrounded by the debris of his whole life and looking into the eyes of his darkest moment, he fully understood.

And then, he cried.

[danniburgh]

All my Christmases (Marcus Moreno x f!reader) Christmas #3

3: I've got my love to keep me warm.

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x f!reader

Summary: Twenty-five years, three Christmases, two people. It all ended with the one who was there first and never really left.

Word count: +6.6k

Warnings: slight mentions of death, mentions of injuries and fear, food, a tween being a tween, a little angst bc why not, everyone hates marcus moreno, smut, sex in a kitchen.

A/N: and now, for the last time, we jump to 2021, this is the last part of this little christmas fic i wrote on a daze, thanks to everyone who read this, merry christmas! happy holidays! the whole deal, i love u! ♥

chapter list // Masterlist // AO3 // ko-fi

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓

You checked your wrist watch again while you stirred the small pot of fruit punch you had helped Anita put together; it was already late and Marcus hadn’t arrived yet.

“The clock is not going any faster if you stare at it, mi niña.” Anita muttered behind you, you turned to look at her with a resigned smile as she lifted the lid off the big pot you two had filled with tamales –some of turkey, some of chicken and some others of beans– for steaming and let the vapor get out.

“He’s late.” you replied, your mother in law walked to you and stood in front of you, one hand on her waist over the checkered apron she had on and the other stretched towards you.

“I know,” she said, you took her hand and she gripped it, “just like his papá.” she gave you a sympathetic smile and you let out in a sigh all the air of your lungs.

“How did you do it?” you asked, “I can’t get used to it.” you shrunk your nose, Anita’s smile widened and she dropped your hand, moving to take the ladle from your hand and stirring the fruit punch herself.

“I really don’t know,” she shrugged, “I had Marcus there, he took all my time,” you gave her a knowing smile, “you have Missy now, you’re not alone.”

“I know,” you rushed to said, turning towards the big living room where Missy was sitting watching some lifetime christmas movie, the two of you had had quite an argument before riding from the house you had been living in for the past year with Marcus and her to her abuela’s house, Missy wanted to wait for Marcus even when he had told the two of you to go by yourselves if he didn’t come home by two. She might’ve saved the world from an alien invasion, –even if it was staged, she had done her part– became an official heroic in training, but she was still twelve years old, and entering teenagehood was hard and not at all kind, which made her moody and snappy at everyone, “I still feel like it sometimes.”

“Well,” Anita muttered, turning around and looking at her only grandchild, “we didn’t know he would go back to the team,” she shrugged again, you looked at her with a nostalgic smile, “or that she would become part of it so young, that I understand.”

“I know you do, Anita,” you tried to give her a reassuring smile, instead, she gave it to you, “thank you.”

“Me?” she waved you off, shaking her head, “I’m just saying what I know, niña.”

Your phone beeped, you gasped and turned to the counter to take it; it was another text from Marcus, and like the previous seven he had sent, it only had the word complicated written on it.

“Shit.” you whispered, blocking the phone and letting it fall back on the counter.

“Another hour?” Anita asked, not bothering to take her eyes off the punch.

“Another hour.” you replied.

“Well,” she said, turning off the stove and pointing at three red mugs decorated like a Santa Claus attire that sat next to you, you handed them to her, “let’s start eating.”

“Where’s dad?” Missy’s voice arrived in the kitchen before her, you sighed again, not wanting to argue for a second time in the day and turned around to start serving some tamales on a tray, “we can’t have dinner without him.”

“The mission got complicated.” Anita let out solemnly, as if Missy wouldn’t brush her words away and nag for some other explanation. Missy frowned at the reply she got.

“Why does he even have to be there?” she asked, putting her hands on her waist, just like Marcus would, “he’s the boss!”

“Right,” Anita said, handing Missy a steaming mug of punch, “he’s the leader, mija, he has to show the othe–”

“Stop it, grandma!” Missy snapped again, leaving the mug on the counter, you closed your eyes, already tired and already knowing what she would say, “that leading by example crap!”

“Missy!” you turned to look at her.

“It’s true! it’s not meant for Holidays!” she let out, her face contorted in anger, something you hadn’t seen in her since the first time you met her two years prior, “someone else can do it! why does he have to be fighting on christmas eve? this is bullcrap!”

“Stop it,” you kept yourself from yelling, you left the half-filled tray on the counter and walked past Anita, who was standing in front of Missy, just looking at her. “I know it’s now fair, Missy, I know.”

“You don’t!” she snapped again, folding her arms on her chest.

“I do, and you have to stop talking to us like that,” you felt yourself shaking, everything around you was happening so fast and you didn’t know if you were doing good by trying to correct her, “you being angry is not gonna bring your dad home earlier.”

“I’m not eating without him.” she let out, dropping her eyes to the floor.

“Then don’t,” you shrugged, trying to regulate your breathing, that had become shaky, “you don’t wanna eat then don’t eat, you’ll eat when you’re hungry, but stop talking to your grandma like that, it’s not doing any good.”

“What do you know?” she whispered, her frown deep and her mouth curled back.

“Trust me, Missy,” you let out, feeling a treacherous knot settle right in the middle of your throat, “I too want your dad to be here, but he can’t, and that’s it, now either settle down or go be angry somewhere else.”

“Stop talking to me like that!” she pressed, looking at you with her brown eyes lit in something you didn’t even want to recognize, “grandma tell her to stop talking to me like that! she’s not my mom!”

“That’s enough.” Anita said, finally stepping in the middle of the two of you while you looked at Missy and Missy looked at Anita. You felt that knot in your throat snap and you covered your mouth to stop your lower lip from trembling.

“I know,” you whispered against your hand, your sight getting blurred by the emerging of tears that filled your eyes, Missy looked at you and that anger flattered a bit in her eyes, “I never said I was.”

“I–” Missy opened her mouth, you shook your head and turned around to resume your serving task.

“That’s enough, Missy.” Anita said, stepping to the side to block Missy’s view of you, you leaned on the counter, trying to keep your feelings inside because no one likes to cry at christmas.

“Grandma I–” Missy whispered.

“Set the table, please,” Anita told her, you heard Missy trying to say something else, “leave a place for your dad.”

“Yes.” Missy let out.

“Mi niña.” you heard Anita’s voice behind you, and then her hand on your shoulder; you turned around to face her and let out a broken sob as she hugged you.

“I don’t want her to hate me,” you let out, your voice was thin as a string and you felt her nod, “I don’t wanna be her.”

“I know, mi niña,” she whispered, soothing you with a hand on your back “and she knows too,” you sniffed and leaned back from her hug, grabbing a paper towel to dry your tears, “she just forgets because Mariela has been gone for so long.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” you whispered, Anita snorted next to you, finishing serving the last tamales on the tray.

“In that you’re wrong,” she told you, not looking at you, “you didn’t tell her anything she didn’t know already,” she shrugged, “sometimes people need to remind us.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, taking the tray on both hands, “but correcting her is Marcus’s job.”

Anita looked at you, a hard stare you had met in another time and another place and that Marcus had inherited too, and she narrowed her eyes after a moment of silence, telling you without telling you something you didn’t know how to read or react to.

“It’s becoming your job too.” she said simply, taking a bowl of salsa verde and another tray with buñuelos she had made earlier and walked towards the dining table.

___

“Put that phone down, niña,” Anita’s voice caught your attention from the head of the table, “we didn’t spend five hours making these for you to let them cool down on your plate.” she said, pointing at the three tamales you had grabbed.

“I know, sorry,” you whispered, leaving the phone on the edge of the table and taking your fork, “I’m just worried.”

“He’s fine,” Anita let out, “he’ll come when he does.”

“That’s not fair.” Missy grunted from her chair in front of you.

“No, it’s not,” her grandma said, “but we let him return to the field.” you and Missy snorted at the same time.

“Abue,” Missy looked at you and then at her, “we told him not to, but he still did.”

“Yeah,” you cleaned your mouth with a napkin, “after that alien thing? there was no way he’d return to the desk.”

“Well, I’m sure he kn–”

“He likes his swords too much.” Missy let out in a silent laugh, you looked at her as she gazed at you.

“Katanas.” you both said at the same time, Missy rolled her eyes.

“So old fashioned.” Missy grunted.

“Really the worst weapon.” you agreed.

“Never tell him that!” she pointed at you with her fork.

“And get him all crazy? no way.” you shook your head.

“Telling us about the history of those things.” Missy laughed.

“In the fifth century Japan.” you retorted.

“Niñas…” Anita interrupted. Missy and you turned to look at her, “at least he doesn’t run with them around the house,” she said, making Missy laugh, “he did when he was little.”

“That was the first thing he showed me,” you let out, “the first time I went to your house,” you looked at Anita, “he ran to his room, got his first pair of katanas and started explaining to me everything about them.”

“You didn’t tell me that!” Missy let out with a smile and widened eyes, you smiled at her and nodded, “he’s such a nerd.” she shook her head and you laughed.

___

You sat on the couch nursing a cup of hot chocolate –mexican, freshly made, as Anita made sure you knew– while Missy got the gifts from under the tree sorted and Anita finished cleaning the kitchen –alone, because she never let you help– it was almost midnight, and it was almost time to give out the christmas hugs and open the presents.

You kept checking your phone in case you had missed any texts from Marcus but he hadn’t sent any since the last one before dinner and you were starting to get actually worried; a hundred scenarios ran through your mind and flashbacks of the time you saw him on the news, back in action and getting swallowed by a swarm of odd-looking aliens were haunting your mind.

You trusted him, always, with everything in your life and with your life itself, but you couldn't just not worry about him; he had been out of the field for almost four years when he was forced back into it and only you were aware of the aftermath, even if it was a staged invasion meant to hand over the world or whatever it was; you had seen him get taken, you had thought you had lost him, lost the love of your life for a second time, and when Missy went after him in what at the time appeared like a futile attempt and an assured death, you were sure you’d gonna stay alone for the rest of your life. And that fear of losing him, them… that hadn’t left.

Anita had told you, the first time you dared to express that fear, that it was normal. A normal feeling from a person who loved those who fought for others, but you hated to fear all the time; and in that moment, sitting in front of a lit fire, with a twelve year old girl on the floor, a huge decorated tree next to her and the muffled sounds of kitchen ware being placed where it belonged, you felt like you were made of nothing but fear.

“He’s gonna be fine, you know?” Missy whispered, standing from the floor and sitting next to you.

“I really hope so.” you tried to give her a reassuring smile as she grabbed your cup of chocolate and left it on the end table next to hers.

“I’m really sorry for what I said.” she whispered to you, biting her lip and looking at her lap.

“It’s fine, Missy.” you waved it off.

“No,” she shook her head, “it’s not,” Missy tutted and you opened your arms for her, she fell on you and wrapped herself with your arms, “I miss mom sometimes,” she muttered, looking at the fire, “and I know you told me you don’t wanna replace her but…”

“Yeah,” you kept her from saying the words you already assumed she was gonna say, “I act like it.” Missy nodded.

“I like that my dad has someone, so he’s not a nerd all by himself,” she shrugged, looking up at you when you snorted, “and I like that you were together in highschool, that’s super romantic,” you chuckled, “but it’s still kinda weird.”

“I know…”

“I’m sorry I dropped ballet, too.” Missy said, her voice lower, like she was pondering what else to say.

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” you told her with a smile, “heroic training must be demanding,” she nodded, “we miss you, though.”

“I miss it too.”

“Are we opening gifts or what?” Anita said, walking into the living room, you gave Missy a kiss on the temple before she stood up to sit next to the tree. You looked at your mother in law and she winked at you.

“This one’s for you, abuela,” Missy gave her a small box, “is mine.” Anita opened it slowly, taking out a dark brown wooden box.

“Is a jewelry box?” she asked. Missy shook her head.

“Is a box that blocks any signals so you can put your comms there when you’re not using them and they can’t be intercepted.” Missy let out, turning to take another.

“Thanks.” Anita let out, exploring the box further.

“This is yours.” Missy handed you another box, smaller than the one she gave her grandma, and you took it with a smile. You opened it and let out a gasp, it was a gold necklace with a small charm in the form of a ballet slipper.

“Missy, this is gorgeous.” you told her.

“My dad helped pick it up.” she let out, looking proud of what she gave you, you smiled to her.

“Well you two did an amazing job.” you told her. Missy grabbed a bag with a snowman in it and put it on the side.

“This one’s dad’s.” she muttered to herself as she grabbed another, a pretty wrapped big box.

“That’s from me, mija.” Anita said, nodding to Missy, who unwrapped the box eagerly and gasped when she saw the brand, it was a set of case and accessories for her to store her nintendo switch.

“¡Abuela, gracias!” she let out in that little accent she had whenever she spoke spanish, and made Anita chuckle, “this is awesome!”

“Missy, give grandma that big blue box, please,” you told her, she did and then got distracted opening the box of her case, “that’s from me and Marcus.” you told Anita.

“Ay, mi niña,” Anita let out when she took the lid off and took what was inside, a long rebozo in bougainvillaea color with some embroidered flowers in different shades of purple and white and a short fringe, “this looks a lot like one my mamá had when I was little.”

“We know,” you told her, smiling as she wrapped herself in it, “Marcus told me and I pulled some strings to get a hold of the contact of some mexican artisans.”

“You brought this from México?” she gasped, you nodded in response and Anita rushed to grab your hand. “thank you, mi niña.”

You finished exchanging gifts, and Missy had made sure to leave to the side the ones that were for Marcus, as well as leaving the one her dad had gotten for her unopened, claiming she would open it when her dad was there to see it.

The night went on without hearing from him, and by the time it was two in the morning, with Missy sleeping soundly next to you on the couch with her head on your lap, two mugs of hot chocolate down each and a very heated but silent conversation with Anita about staying there instead of driving home, you had lost all hopes on him even making it to his mom’s house, and a mix of both sadness and anger had settled inside your stomach, churning along with the food and drink and the good time you had even if Marcus wasn’t there.

___

Marcus knew he had fucked up.

As he walked into his mom’s house at five in the morning, only wearing a black sweatshirt under a long coat after having left his tac gear and his katanas in the headquarters, he saw you sleeping against the backrest of the couch and Missy curled in a ball on your lap, both of you still dressed. And he knew he wouldn’t hear the end of it in a long time.

His mom walked into the living room and saw him standing there, just looking at the both of you surrounded with wrapping paper, opened boxes and some wrapping plastic, Marcus hung his shoulders when Anita shook her head and he walked towards the kitchen.

“Are they angry?” he whispered, sitting on one of the barstools near the counter, Anita shrugged, warming up some leftover tamales, “are you?”

“I’m not angry,” she replied, handing him a mug of hot chocolate, “what happened?”

Marcus proceeded to tell her everything, how the mission went sideways twice because of the impertinence of some of his team mates –that remained unnamed even when Anita knew exactly who he meant– and how they had to arrest the evil guy three times because he kept escaping the normal handcuffs.

“And that took you eighteen hours?” his mother asked, Marcus huffed.

“Yeah, well…” Marcus took the last sip of his chocolate and received a plate of tamales, “we weren’t exactly here…”

Anita didn’t say another word and left him to eat in peace and in silence. Marcus finished rather quickly, and he moved to the living room, kneeling in front of you.

He took your hand and left a kiss there, and lingered his touch to your arm until he reached your shoulder.

“Wake up.” he whispered in your ear, startling you slightly

“Marcus?” you asked, your voice was deep with sleep and you let out a groan when he kissed your cheek. “did you just get here?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, “baby, I’m so sorry.”

“No,” you let out, pushing his hand away gently, “stop, let’s go home.”

Marcus nodded as you stirred on the couch, feeling like the worst man ever. You stretched and rubbed your eyes carefully, and Marcus leaned down to wake up Missy.

“Dad?” Missy groaned too, opening her eyes and sitting up from your lap.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispered, trying to hug her. Missy pushed him too and Marcus swore he could start crying right there, “I’m sorry, kiddo, I’m so–”

“You didn’t come.” she said, pushing herself towards you.

“I know, I fee–”

“I wanna stay here,” Missy said, turning to you, “can I stay here?” Marcus looked at you as you hugged Missy, wrapping your arms around her shoulders. He sat down on the other end of the couch, you looked at him, the same question in your own eyes.

Marcus looked at his daughter, who had sought refuge in you after waiting an entire night for him; he thought of how each of you must have felt. Your relationship with him, even if it was two years old, was still kind of new, and it was your first christmas spending it as a family, and he, the one who had brought you and his daughter together, wasn’t there. With any of you.

Marcus returned his gaze to you and he nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Ask grandma.” you whispered into Missy’s hair, she stood up from the couch and walked out of the living room.

“Baby…” he started, you raised your hand to make him stop.

“She left your gifts there,” you pointed at a small pile of boxes and wrapped stuff near the three, “and she didn’t open yours to her.”

“Why?” he whispered.

“She wanted you to be here, Marcus…” you let out, searching for your shoes, “we wanted you to be here.”

Marcus wanted to tell you the same thing he told his mom, how things had gotten repetitive and complicated, how the bad guy had made things worse for him and how his frustration made the whole thing be unhelpful; but he knew it wouldn’t be fair of him to think that you’d understand him. You weren’t his mom, you weren’t aware of the procedures the Heroics followed, you hadn’t been close enough in your life like your mom had been or like he or Missy had.

For you, as he saw it, he was a man who promised to be there with his family for a very important holiday and then wasn’t. And he understood why you didn’t want to hear any explanations or excuses he had to give. –despite him knowing he had a right to tell them and he wasn’t exactly wrong–

“I’m sorry.”

“I know, you can stop apologizing.” you whispered, finishing putting your shoes on. Marcus saw you stand from the couch and walk out and his eyes fell on the pile of boxes that were his gifts.

He had fucked up.

___

The drive home was silent and somewhat tense; you had insisted on driving and Marcus had reluctantly accepted, sitting on the co-pilot’s seat and falling asleep as soon as you got on the highway.

The streets were all but empty, christmas day made almost everyone stay inside and the people who were outside looked relaxed and cheery.

You huffed to yourself when you stopped at a red light and turned to look at Marcus, he looked shattered; he had dirt on his hair and around his neck, and his hands, that rested on his lap while he slept, were also dirty, his knuckles looked bloody and scrapped and you knew you couldn’t stay angry at him any longer because after all, it wasn’t his choice to not be there for a dinner and some gift exchanging.

He woke up as soon as you pulled over on the driveway and he let you unbuckle his seatbelt; he didn’t say a word as he walked into the house behind you.

“Marcus,” you called, he hummed as you left the bag with leftovers and gifts Anita had packed for you on the counter, “why don’t you go to sleep? you must be exhausted.”

He didn’t answer, and as you turned around you saw him walk towards you; his hands, hurt as they were, held you by the waist and he leaned to leave a kiss on your cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

“I told you to stop apologizing.” you whispered, cupping his face and leaving a soft kiss on his lips.

“You’re not angry?” he asked, looking for your eyes, you shook your head.

“I’m sad,” you told him, your words made him groan, “but it’s gonna go away once you wash up and go to bed.”

“I–”

“Do it.” you pointed towards the hallway.

“But you’re not angry?” he asked again, you gave him a small smile.

“I told you I’m not,” you shook your head again, “I wanted to be there with you,” you whispered, Marcus nodded, “I wanted to celebrate, too.”

“Celebrate?” he frowned, “our anniversary was last week, baby,” he whispered, gripping you tighter and bringing you closer to him, he smelled like sweat, leather and metal, “and we celebrated.” you chuckled, swatting his shoulder softly.

“Our other anniversary,” you said, Marcus frowned at you and leaned back slowly to look at your face, “the first time we were together?” you whispered.

Marcus’s face went two shades lighter when you mentioned it, you smiled sheepishly as he seemingly went back in time inside his head and caught on to your idea.

“When was it?” he asked you softly, moving his hands to cradle your face gently.

“Marcus, your hands.” you bit your lip, looking down at his knuckles.

“Tell me.” he whispered, you shook your head at him and his eagerness.

“Three days ago,” you told him, “but you were so busy planning this mission I didn’t want to bot–”

“How many years?” he asked, leaving a soft kiss on each of your cheeks.

You tried for hide your smile from him, –not knowing exactly why– and looked at him, really looked; he was dirty all over, under the dirt of his hair some grey hairs that you had discovered almost one by one over the past two years were still showing, his eyes were right on yours when you gazed down to them, behind the exhaustion, you saw the same eyes you had dreamed for more than half your life, and that you got to wake up next to almost everyday, and you tried to commit them all over again to your memory, just in case.

He was there, he was in front of you, in one piece, because, as you already knew, he knew what he was doing and he was good at his job.

And he was there, with you. Like you had wanted when you were alone in New York all those years ago and you felt lonely and the only memory of a happy time was with him. Like you had wished for when you got married with someone that wasn’t him and didn’t even try to be. Like you had craved for when you were alone again and had no one to share your little successes.

You had him, you had kept him. He was yours and you were his. Despite everything.

“Twenty five years.” you whispered.

“Shit,” Marcus let out, his eyes widening as well as his smile, you bit your lip and nodded, “we’re so old.” you chuckled.

“Speak for yourself, old man, I feel like I’m twenty seven all the time.” Marcus laughed and tugged you to him, he embraced you and you did the same.

“I love you.”

“You smell bad.”

Both spoke at the same time, and Marcus chuckled lowly.

“I’m gonna take that shower.” he whispered, kissing you again. He unwrapped himself from you and walked towards the hall.

“And then to bed.” you called out.

“Maybe.”

___

Marcus walked out of the bathroom with a clean body, a fresh change of clothes, and some bandages for the tiny open wounds he could find around his body, he was thankful for having changed his tac gear for something more protective like you had suggested, he didn’t want to imagine the other kind of wounds he’d have to clean up if he hadn’t.

He found you in the kitchen, sitting on a barstool, nursing a cup of something. You had put away the leftovers and changed to a pajama set he had gotten you the previous christmas and you were reading something in a notepad.

Marcus sneaked behind you, he narrowed his eyes, focusing on you and reached for your waist, wrapping his arms around your body as you straightened on the stool and left your cup on the counter to cover your ears.

“I told you to go to bed.” you muttered, Marcus kissed your shoulder and turned you on the stool for you to face him.

“I’m not sleepy,” he whispered, you frowned and looked at a small band aid he had placed on his forehead, you reached it and traced your fingers over, “it doesn’t hurt.” he assured, you nodded at him.

He stared into your eyes as you inspected his injuries, they were small, and most of them would fade away within the next week, but Marcus knew you worried. He knew he made you worry all the time.

He knew what it was like, Mariela had been also a heroic, and anytime she went on a mission he felt the dread of not knowing if she would be back, and his fear had become his reality when he least expected it; he knew how it felt, and he didn’t want you to feel it too. The least he wanted to do is give you that kind of pain.

But he also knew you’d never ask him to stop doing it; not after he had started again back when he got thrown in the field, you never asked him and he knew you wouldn’t do it. And he didn’t know what to do with the feelings inside him.

Marcus knew, as he had known when he was eighteen years old, and then again two years prior, that he wanted you in his life, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, next to you, always by your side. Sharing his life with you and Missy. Of that he was sure.

But he knew, too, that if he died, there would be no life to share.

It didn’t matter to him that it was going to cost him what he was trained to do since he was a child. He had been retired before, he could do it again.

“I’m gonna resign from the team,” he whispered. You gasped, “after the holidays, I’m gonna ask to be back on the desk.”

“Are you sure?” you asked him, covering your mouth with your hands. Marcus took your wrists and uncovered your lips, leaning to kiss them.

“I haven’t been this sure of anything since I asked you to move in,” he whispered, returning his hands to your hips. You smiled at him and kissed him, Marcus’s grip on your waist tightened and he saw you lean back and realize what he was doing, you shook your head, “come on, baby,” he pleaded, stepping closer to you and kissing your cheek, you shook your head again, “I have a little adrenaline left to burn out.”

“Marcus…” you warned, he trailed his lips down to your chin and then your neck, and he felt your hands grip his biceps, “really?”

“Yeah, really.” he whispered against your neck and he felt you shudder.

“Just one.” you said, opening your legs on the stool for him to stand between them, Marcus smiled and nibbled on your skin, making you moan into your throat, he loved how aware you were of his desire for you, and how if you didn’t placed any boundaries about the amount of times you could have sex in one night, he could keep going until all the muscles in his body burned.

“Two.” he teased.

“Just one!” you swatted him gently on the back and Marcus’s hands snuck inside your sweater, you shivered again and Marcus kept kissing your neck as his hands traced your skin and looked for two of his favorite parts of your body.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he kept tasting yours, his hands found your bare breasts and he kneaded them under your sweater, hardening your nipples and making you mewl in his ear.

Marcus leaned back from your neck to take off the sweater and you took advantage of the distance to take off his shirt as well, he had some bruises marking the skin of his chest; some on his pectorals were already deep purple and green and one, right in the middle of his chest, under the black ring that hung on a silver chain around his neck, looked almost yellow, you traced your fingers softly over them too, looking at him.

“I promise I’ll sleep all day after this,” he whispered, cupping your face with a hand, “I just need to make love to you once.”

“Just once.” you repeated, kissing him.

Your lips felt like they were molded for his, you tasted like peppermint tea, sugar and you, and Marcus couldn’t get enough of that taste of yours that even when it differed somewhat from the one he remembered you had, it felt like it was the same.

You buried your nails on his shoulder blades when his hands fell on your thighs, his hands knew them already but something inside him told him that maybe there was something new on them, and he kneaded at your flesh and made you moan again.

He felt your hands falling to his waist and you snuck one inside his sweatpants, he hadn’t worn any underwear and you found his half-hard cock easily, you wrapped your hand around it and pumped him a few times, making him groan and bite your lip. He felt hot all over and he knew he needed to have you.

“Stand up,” he grunted, lifting you himself from the stool, “turn around.”

“Here?” you gasped, taking your hand out of his pants and doing what he had told you, Marcus nodded, not caring if you saw him or not, his hands gripped your waist and one of them trailed to your back, he pushed you down on the counter and you hissed.

“It’s cold.” you whispered, Marcus reached for your discarded sweater and put it on the counter, you chuckled at him, but leaned down anyway to lie your chest on it.

He hooked his fingers on the hem of your pants and tugged them down along with your panties, leaving you bare and exposed to him. You shuddered –maybe at the cold feeling of the house, Marcus thought– but arched your back down for him.

Marcus’s hands fell on your ass and he kneaded at the flesh of your butt cheeks, he let his hand fall once and you yelped, wiggling back your ass at him, Marcus chuckled and leaned to leave a kiss on your shoulder.

His hand traced down to your slit and he found you wet and warm; he slid two fingers inside your entrance and you moaned when he curled them inside you.

“Baby,” he whispered behind you, you turned to look at him, “put your leg up.”

You nodded at him and he once more thanked whichever gen gave you the power of flexibility, as he fucked you slowly with his fingers, you lifted your leg and rested your knee next to your shoulder on the counter, opening yourself to him. He slid out his fingers and pushed down his sweatpants to take out his hard, aching cock, he smeared the slick he had around his fingers on his tip and played it on your folds.

You moaned and pushed back towards him and his cock slid right inside you like you were only made for him.

Marcus started fucking you slowly, he grabbed your hips to both support himself and keep you in place as he thrusted in and out almost methodicaly, he felt you throbbing, gripping him tight already inside your cunt.

“Faster, baby, more.” you gasped, extending your arm to grab the edge of the counter, Marcus grabbed it too, his hand resting next to your knee as he started rising the velocity of his thrusts. The sound of his skin clashing with yours inundated the kitchen and he felt his balls hitting your clit.

You were moaning his name, first it was like a gasp, a whisper; as he fucked you harder it grew to a moan and then a grunt; he didn’t know exactly were he was pulling all that energy from but he was pounding into you like a hungry man eating for the first time in weeks, he felt the tip of his cock hitting something inside you that made the moans of his name become a scream and he knew you were close.

He felt your cunt gripping him like a vice and he wrapped his arm around you to find your clit and rub it at the same pace as he was fucking you, you stopped making any sounds, Marcus turned up from the sight of your pussy swallowing his cock to your face and you were biting your sweater to stop you from screaming.

Marcus felt his mouth curl up as he kept fucking you, sliding his cock out almost entirely and thrusting it in with force, pushing your body against the counter as he took you from behind.

His fingers circled your clit and you reached back to grab his arm, he felt you trembling and he held you, you were throbbing, mouthing his name and sweet words he didn’t understand, and you gripped his cock inside you, he slowed down his thrusts as he fucked you through your high and you gasped his name when your orgasm faded away.

Marcus felt the last wave of arousal coat him and he felt himself tightening, he fucked into you slowly, dragging his cock in and out and feeling every ridge and muscle of you as that knot inside him snapped and he poured himself inside you with a groan, pushing his cock all the way into you, closing his eyes as the air returned to his lungs.

“I can’t feel my legs.” you let out, panting after a few moments of the two of you just standing there, connected. Marcus huffed and he helped you put down your leg, sliding out of you. You moaned when he left you and Marcus rushed to grab a paper towel from above the sink to wipe the cum that was oozing out of you.

“You want me to carry you?” he asked, helping you stand up straight, you shook your head and saw the paper towel he had cleaned you with.

“Ew, throw that away.” you teased, Marcus frowned.

“Ew? you eat this at least once a week.” he retorted. You laughed.

“You’re so nasty!” you let out, letting him wrap his arm around your waist and walk you out of the kitchen.

“You do!”

“Straight from the source, thank you very much.” you let out, making him laugh.

“I guess there’s a difference.”

“There is,” you assured him, as you walked into the room. You threw yourself on the bed and opened your legs, extending your arms to him. “sleep on me, please.”

Marcus smiled and he drew out the covers, kneeling between your open legs and settling himself on top of you carefully; nestling himself on your chest. You sighed and reached to cover him and you and he hugged you from the waist.

“Merry christmas, you crazy, crazy man.” you whispered, leaning to kiss the crown of his head.

Marcus chuckled, feeling the way you embraced him and let him cover you like your personal blanket; he loved the closeness of your bodies, he loved to feel you like that. There wasn’t another person he rathered having there, in his bed that had become yours, in his house that had become shared, in his life, that had turned upside down for a second time thanks to you. There was no one else but you.

He smiled to himself when he felt your breaths evening, he kissed the swell of your breast and closed his eyes.

“Merry christmas, love of my life.”

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[extasiswings]

How we feeling clowns?  Wrecked?  Anyway, here, have an episode tag for both the crossover and Buck Begins.  Also on ao3.

Eddie’s driving nearly on autopilot, the roads familiar as they get closer and closer to El Paso. Part of him almost wishes he hadn’t taken the driving shift to get them to his childhood home, even if it made the most sense—he can feel the tension in his jaw and shoulders creeping in, curling tighter with every mile they come closer, and his fingers itch for his phone, for the commiserating sympathies of his sisters who understand what he’s likely to walk into much more than Buck or Hen. 

Technically they could have skipped the detour. Eddie hadn’t even planned on telling his parents he was coming to Texas at all—it was Christopher who let it slip, and then Eddie had been immediately put on the spot and he hadn’t been able to come up with a good way out of stopping by after his weak deflection that it wasn’t a social trip was met with well, you have to stop and eat somewhere, don’t you. 

Sophia told him to lie and say the department said no. But she’s always been much better at lying to their parents outright than he is. Adriana shrugged and said if he didn’t want to go he didn’t need to give them a reason and should just say he wouldn’t be coming. But then, that’s her tactic as well and always has been—putting her foot down to establish hard boundaries, forging her own path and bucking all expectations.  Eddie’s always fallen somewhere in the middle, which he supposes is fitting—struggling to set boundaries, often getting there only when pushed, wanting approval but lacking Sophia’s talent for gentle manipulation that usually leads people to think that whatever she wants was their idea. 

So. Here he sits. Driving to El Paso. 

“Eddie?”

He blinks and clears his throat as he registers Buck’s voice, the edge of concern that says it’s not the first time Buck has called his name. 

“Yeah?”

“I was going to ask if you could pass back the aux cord,” Buck says. “But now I think I should ask if you’re okay.”

Eddie glances over his shoulder—Hen is in the back of the truck, head pillowed against the window, dozing with her eyes closed.  He swallows. 

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen my parents is all,” he replies. “And usually when they call it’s to talk to Christopher so...it might be uncomfortable.”

Buck’s voice drops. “Have you talked to them since the thing? Other than about this I guess.”

The Thing, also known as the huge fight they got into when Eddie decided that if he was going to keep working he couldn’t live at home for awhile and they tried to once again insist that he take Chris back to live with them. Like some terrible combination of the arguments they had before he moved to LA and after Shannon’s funeral, only even worse because Eddie had been raw enough over the decision to move in with Buck and let his abuela take care of Chris for awhile and really didn’t need to hear anyone tell him that choice made him a bad parent—

Sophia had been spitting mad when he told her and while he doesn’t know what she said in her own subsequent call to their parents, he knows that the next time they called him, the subject didn’t come up again.  Which, he supposes is as close to an apology as he’s ever likely to get.  

He probably could have used that as an excuse to not visit.  But then, that’s not really how they are.  Don’t apologize, pretend you don’t hold grudges, act like everything is fine, and repress until it feels like it is—the Diaz family way.  

Eddie sighs as he focuses on the road.

“Not really,” he replies.  “They’ve called Christopher every few weeks, but we’ve only talked directly...three times maybe since then?  Things seem to go south more quickly when we’re in person though so I guess I’m…”

“Bracing for impact,” Buck fills in quietly.  “I get that.”

“Yeah?”

Buck shrugs.  “I don’t talk about my parents,” he points out.  “Don’t talk to them either if I can avoid it because they always have a way of managing to just—anyway.  The last time I even called was after everything with Maddie and Doug.  Haven’t seen them since...since before I started with the 118 at least. So.  Yeah.  I get it.”

He hesitates, then adds, “You know I have your back, right?  You’re my best friend and you’re an amazing father.  I’m not going to let anybody get away with talking badly about you in front of me, even if they are your parents.”

Eddie glances back and manages a faint smile, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.  

“I’m glad you’re here,” he admits.  “Even if you did try to steal a fire truck in the middle of the night without me.”

Buck laughs and shoves at his shoulder.  “At least it wasn’t this truck.  Besides—you caught up before I did it anyway.”    

“Yeah, my Buck’s about to do something dangerous senses were tingling, couldn’t let that slide,” Eddie teases.

“Just give me the damn aux cord,” Buck shoots back, but he’s grinning.

And as they pass the next exit, Eddie feels like maybe things won’t be quite so bad.

***

Buck hates Eddie’s parents.  

It’s not the most charitable thing to think about someone you’ve only just officially met—he saw them at the ceremony when Eddie passed his probationary period, but he’d been on pretty strong painkillers at the time and Maddie had shuffled him back home as soon as possible—but he really does.

He hates the tense, anxious set of Eddie’s shoulders, hates the way his smile looks forced—it triggers the same fierce, protective instinct that rears its head whenever he gets between his parents and Maddie, and, well, he did promise, so—

He really doesn’t feel bad for interrupting the very first digs about how seeing Christopher over video isn’t the same as in person, but it’s nice to have the option and technology really is wonderful, Zoom calls must have been a great improvement from your army days, right son with—

“You know, it is wonderful isn’t it?  Did Eddie tell you how amazing Christopher is handling hybrid learning?  It’s really so great how his teachers have adapted, I can’t imagine he would have kept up so well anywhere else.”

Buck smiles brightly as Eddie’s mother’s lips thin.  Hen coughs and takes a long sip of lemonade.  Eddie blinks in surprise from across the table and clears his throat, grasping at the lifeline.

“Yeah, top of his class,” Eddie says.  

“He even has a reading group once a week with some of the other kids in his class that Eddie started to help them stay social.  I know a lot of the other parents appreciate it,” Buck adds, and Eddie rubs at the back of his neck.

“We definitely do,” Hen says, glancing at Eddie’s father as she clarifies, “I have a son Christopher’s age.  They used to play together all the time before all of this.”

“His therapist said kids are resilient, but I wanted to at least try and give him something normal,” Eddie replies, and his mother’s brows raise.

“Christopher is in therapy?”  There’s a note in her tone that makes Eddie tense and Buck’s hackles raise.

“I took him to see someone for a few sessions after Shannon died, mom,” Eddie says evenly.  After the tsunami, Buck fills in for himself.  “It didn’t seem like a bad idea to go back again to make sure he’s okay during a time that’s pretty unprecedented for just about everyone.” 

“Really, I think more parents should send their kids to therapy,” Buck interjects.  “If it’s a feasible option, I can’t see that it’s anything other than great parenting to make sure your kid has the best tools they can to take care of their mental health.”

God knows if he’d gone to therapy a hell of a lot sooner, he might not be struggling through sessions with Dr. Copeland now that he’s nearly thirty, but that’s not really the point.

“Well, some people feel those sorts of things are best taken care of within the family,” Eddie’s mother replies.

“With all due respect, sometimes the family’s way of handling problems just makes things worse,” Buck replies, his smile dropping briefly before he forces it back again.

“This lemonade really is delicious, Mrs. Diaz,” Hen jumps in as Eddie pushes his chair back and starts collecting empty plates.  “I would love to get the recipe before we leave.  If you don’t mind.” 

Startled, the older woman blinks.  “Oh.  Yes, of course.  I’ll write it down for you.”

Buck pushes back his own chair as Hen continues redirecting the conversation and follows Eddie into the kitchen where he finds his best friend gripping the edge of the sink.

“Hey,” he says quietly.  

Eddie looks over his shoulder and exhales heavily.  “Hey.”

“Sorry if I overstepped.”

“You didn’t,” Eddie assures.  “I’m just...exhausted.  And ready to get back on the road and home to my kid.”

He hesitates, then adds, “you know, my sisters would be impressed.  I haven’t seen someone manage our parents like that since they left.  I—thank you.”

“I meant what I said in the truck, Eddie,” Buck replies.  “You’re an amazing father and a great man and—it’s not right that anyone should pretend any different.  So.  I won’t let them.”   

Eddie glances at the hallway.  “Guess we have to go back eventually.  I didn’t quite think this escape plan through.”  

“Once more unto the breach?”  Buck offers.  The smile he gives Eddie is far different from the fake one he’s had up since they arrived, and when Eddie returns it, a spark returning to his eyes, it makes Buck’s stomach flip and his pulse race.

He tries not to think too hard about that.  They still have a long drive ahead of them—plenty of time to save it for later.    

“Yeah.  Yeah, okay.”

***

When they get home, Eddie barely manages to shower and plug in his phone to charge before falling into bed and immediately going to sleep.  When he wakes up, he finally checks his messages and sees several missed calls and texts from his sisters.

So? Sophia asks.  How was it?

<em>You were right</em>, Eddie taps out, and then waits. His phone rings a few seconds later. 

“I’ll save the I told you so in favor of asking if I should get Adriana on the line for an emergency Diaz sibling parental grievance vent session or if I’ll suffice,” Sophia greets. 

“It’s not that serious,” Eddie replies. “I’m okay—a little annoyed still, but...I’m okay.”

He’s not quite sure what compels him to add, “Buck was there. He, uh, he told them off about it a little actually. Politely, but that kind of polite...you know the one.”

“The one that’s basically go fuck yourself with a smile and/or plausible deniability?” Sophia fills in, and Eddie laughs. 

“Yeah, that.” He rubs at the back of his neck and leans back in his chair. “It was—he kept pointing out things about what a great dad I am.”

There’s something about the feeling in his gut that he can’t name. Something he wants to poke at, to explore, but that also makes him wary. Like a yellow caution light—it’s not a do not enter but it’s not risk free either—and he’s not sure whether it’s a risk he can take yet. 

Sophia is quiet for a moment. Then she says, “You are a great dad, Eddie. In spite of them. I’m glad you have other people in your life who recognize that too.  You deserve that.  You deserve to trust that you’re good at things, even if mom and dad say you aren’t.  You deserve to be happy, so...”

The silence that follows feels weighty.  

“What?”  Eddie asks.

“Is Buck—?”  Sophia cuts herself off.  “—nevermind.  Hey, the twins are calling, so I’ll call back again later, okay?  Love you.”

Is Buck what? Eddie wants to ask.  But he swallows it back.

“Love you, too,” he says instead.  “Talk to you later.”

As he hangs up and tosses his phone aside, his mind wanders back to that feeling.  Right up to the edge of warning lights and caution tape.  And Eddie wonders for a moment if he should—

There’s a knock at his door.  

“Dad?  You awake?”

“Yeah, buddy,” he calls back.  “Be right there.”

Later.  He can think about it later.  

***

Eddie figures it out at the worst possible time—in the middle of a five-alarm fire when Buck’s trapped inside and he doesn’t know if—

What do you do when you realize you might be in love with your best friend and they could die?

“We have to go back in there,” he says, before he can think of any reason why he shouldn’t.  “We can’t just leave him, we have to—”

“You’re right,” Bobby interrupts, and the other captain makes a noise of frustration.  

“Captain Nash—”

“You’re right,” Bobby repeats, holding Eddie’s gaze.  “We’re going to get him back.”

Maybe it’s stupid, four trained firefighters diving back into an active blaze in an unstable building with unclear direction, but Eddie can’t regret it when he sees the desperation on Buck’s face.  The relief.  The impending breakdown.

After, he’s assigned to take care of the victim and Buck’s carted off to the hospital to get checked, and Eddie thinks maybe that’s better.  It gives him time, at least.  Time to figure out what to say, what to do, whether he should say or do anything at all.  Part of him doesn’t know.  The rest is screaming I love him, I love him, I love him, wants to get his hands on Buck to verify for himself that he’s fine.  That he’s alive.  That he’s going to stay that way.

But when he gets back to the station, Buck’s parents are there, sitting at the table, and Eddie just—

He thinks about the look on Buck’s face earlier in the shift when he spilled everything, when he explained how he was apparently born just for parts and how he used to throw himself into bad situations because it was the only way to get their attention.

He could ignore them.  But he doesn’t.

“He saved my son, you know,” Eddie says, gripping the top of the staircase as the Buckleys look up.  And it’s probably somewhat insane to keep talking because he knows they don’t even know who he is, but he can’t help it because he just needs them to understand—  “Buck.  He wasn’t even working at the time, he was on medical leave and didn’t know if he would ever be able to be a firefighter again.  But he saved my son in the middle of a tsunami—my then eight-year-old son, and god knows I can’t imagine losing him, I think that would be the worst thing I could possibly go through, and I’m not sure I would survive it, but I didn’t have to because Buck saved him.  And probably twenty other people as well.  That’s just the kind of person he is.  The kind who saves people.”

They don’t say a word, so he keeps going.  “He could have died today.  Because he didn’t want to leave anyone behind.  Because he is a good man, even if he doesn’t ever feel like he’s good enough.  And he hasn’t said a lot about you, but he’s said enough for me to know that while he’s gotten the latter impression from you, he learned the former himself.  He built his life here himself.  So...I don’t know why you’re here, if you want to explain yourselves or just want him to forgive you because you feel guilty, but I just wanted you to know that.  That he’s a good man.  The best man that I know.  And if you’re proud of him for that, he deserves to hear it.  That’s all.”

Eddie walks away then, heart beating too fast, blood rushing in his ears.  

The best man that I know.  And I’m in love with him.

That wasn’t for their ears though.  

It thrums in his veins, the words caught in his throat as he showers, changes, waits for Buck to return to the station.  And when he does, Eddie almost—

But something stops him.  

“You have visitors,” he says instead.  And leaves Buck to it.

Buck finds him in the locker room after.

“So, my parents said they heard stories about me while they were waiting,” he says.  “When I asked them who from, they said they didn’t know, but that I saved their son in a tsunami—and trust me, that got a hell of a lot of questions.”      

Eddie is grateful for the open locker, the excuse to hide his face as he pulls out his street clothes.

“Yeah, well—just because they’re not going to appreciate you doesn’t mean that nobody else does.”

“Eddie.”

Eddie pulls back and takes a breath before looking over at Buck.  There’s a look in Buck’s eyes like he’s trying to piece Eddie together like a puzzle, to work out all the things he hasn’t said.  And Eddie suddenly feels exposed, far more than he had when Buck was sitting in his childhood dining room staring down his own parents.  

“You’re a good man,” Eddie says quietly.  “They should hear that.  And...someone should be willing to defend it.”  

Buck’s quiet for a moment.

“I have to go see Maddie,” he says finally.  “But maybe I could come by later?  And we could...talk?”

“You don’t have to ask, Buck,” Eddie replies.  “You know I—”  I always want you.  “—you’re always welcome.”

Buck watches him in silence for another long moment, then nods.  “Okay.  Okay, I’ll see you later then.”

It’s hours before there’s a knock on the door.  Hours in which Eddie burns dinner and then orders takeout because he’s too busy thinking, hours that he spends trapped in his own head, thinking through all the worst case scenarios, through every what if of how things could go wrong.

But also how they could go right.

And by the time he opens the door, he’s almost ready to just let the words trip off his tongue, but before he can, Buck says—

“Please don’t tell me I’m wrong about this.”

—and kisses him.

Eddie freezes, but before Buck can pull back, he slides a hand around the back of Buck’s neck and kisses him back with everything in him—every bit of thank god you’re alive and I was so afraid and I can’t lose you that he can muster.  By the time Buck pulls away, they’re both breathless. 

“I’m in love with you,” Buck admits.  “I’ve been—”

“Me too,” Eddie replies.  “I thought—I thought you were—”

Buck kisses him again.

“I can’t believe you told off my parents.”

“Well, you told off mine, so—”

Eddie pulls Buck through the door.

“Chris is in his room,” he says quietly.  “But...you should stay for dinner.  And…”

You should stay.  Just stay.

Buck does.  

[i-am-sassy-rogue]

Like two hours ago I read this dumb take and I’m gonna prove it was not only dumb but also incorrect. I fought with myself not to text back, so now I’m posting it here. Take: “Mirabel hated Isabela not because she was jealous of her being perfect, but because Isa was dumb, elitist bitch.”

Let’s put it in order:

First, according to Oxford Languages, elitist mean: relating to or supporting the view that a society or system should be led by an elite. Whole family is “elite”, so if Isa really was elitist she would hate townies, not her sister.

Second and main argument: have this person heard the “What else can I do”? Mainly Mirabel verses:

You just seem like your life's been a dream Since the moment you opened your eyes All I know are the blossoms you grow Mirabel knows about Isa only what she only let out. She sees her perfect image of Abuela favourite grandkid. The flowers she grow. How she’s adored by almost everyone. Her powers. Her being Golden Child of family. How Isa is everything what Mirabel would want to be.

But it's awesome to see how you rise This is the moment when Mirabel wants to embrace real Isabela, that she didn’t know. She’s showing her support, basically saying: “I see whats underneath your mask and this is beautiful.” She sees Isa is also suffering, just as she and Luisa. (And whole freakin’ family)

And, excuse le mot, if only reason why Mirabel disliked (hate is too strong word, like what the hell) Isa cause of her mean comments, why would Mirabel even mentioned how she was fooled by her perfect (and, yes, sometimes mean) exterior? Why would she squint with disbelief at the sight of cactus, (watch scene carefully, Isa starts singing praises about her non-perfect outcome and Mirabel is in background with WTF face) if not for not recognizing WHY Isabela loves this gremlin so much?

And even if their relationship was so strained because of Isa behaviour, how is this in the way of also jealousy playing role? Like, let character have substance, goddamnit. Mirabel can be at once kind, cute character, treated poorly by Abuela and feeling less special than rest of family AND have wrong visuals of her family (not seeing that she isn’t the only one with emotional turmoil) AND being jealous of older sister position, at the same time not erasing her being very positive person.

[tinyboxxtink]

“My Fairy Abogado” *Part 2*

I’m really shocked people like this as much as they do, this was literally a dream I had one night and decided to write about. 😁

PART 1

Part 3

Tag List

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@objection-argumentative

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@dumauier

------------

“Sooooooo, what was that?” Marisol immediately grilled you.

“What was what?” 

“He slipped you a card! I saw it!”

“Oh,” you handed her the card. “He said he might be able to help my parents,”

“Can he even do that? Don’t you have to be like a special immigration lawyer or something?” 

“He can do whatever he wants, he’s the ADA,” a voice came from behind you.

“Ah! Ash! Don’t DO that!” You spun around to see her sitting on a bar stool. 

“Why? Afraid I’ll hear you talking bad about my abogado? Or….good, even?” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh shut up,” You hit her. “Did you need something?” 

“Yeah I just wanted to tell you Raf and I will have two number 23’s, mine with green chile sauce his with red and extra extra jalapenos, and a dozen tortillas,” 

“That’s a lot of food for two people,”

“He’s buying,” She shrugged with a smile before walking back to their table. 

“I swear to God that girl is like a cat,” 

“Yeah, thank god she came up before we actually got to the juicy stuff!” Mari giggled.

“What ‘juicy stuff’?” 

“Oh please, I saw the way you looked at him when he came in, and while you were talking to them. 

“And how exactly was I looking at him?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Like a popsicle on a summer day,”  She poked her tongue to the side of her mouth, moving her hand to the other side in a pumping to the side motion. 

“OH MY GOD, Marisol!!!” You grabbed her hands and moved them away, looking around frantically. 

“What’s that mean?”

“Ah!” You yelped again, this time it was your seven year old sister Chloe.

“Chloe, you can’t just sneak up on people,” 

“I was sitting right here,”

“Right,” “Did you need something Chlo?” 

“Yeah, I need a refill,” She held out her soda cup to you, which you leaned over the bar to fill up. 

“Who’s that guy with Ash?” She pointed at Rafael and Ash’s table.

“He’s her…'Tio,” You lied.

“I thought it was just her and her abuela,” 

“He’s a….long lost Tio,” 

“Oh, why’d he give you his number?” 

“Who gave Y/N his number?” Your fifteen year old brother Beto came up behind Chloe.

“Now what do you need?”

“Mas chips,” he held out the empty chip basket. You sighed and handed it Marisol to fill up from the kitchen.

“Now who gave you his number?”

“Ash’s Tio,” Chloe informed him, pointing at Rafael.

“Ash doesn’t have any family, they were all ki--” he started, but you made a slicing hand motion across your neck. 

“...Kicked out of America,” 

“Like mami and papi?” 

“...Yeah, sure. But Ash doesn’t have anybody else,” 

“Yes, she does. And he’s her--” you started to tell Chloe, but she was gone. Your eyes darted to Raf and Ash’s table, where Chloe had run off to. 

“Are you Ash’s tio?” You could hear her ask, as you practically leapt over the bar and ran over to the table.

“I am so sorry, she’s…” You clamped a hand over Chloe’s mouth.

“Nosy,” Ash finished for you. She stuck her tongue out at Chloe, who did the same back. Sometimes you didn’t know who was older.

“It’s fine,” Rafael smiled, then held out his hand to Chloe. “I’m Rafael,” 

“Chloe,” She took his hand very regally. “Very nice to meet you,” she said in a very proper accent. 

“So why did you give my sister your number?” Beto once again came trailing up behind the group. 

“Are you kidding me-- BETO,” You turned around and smacked him. “Don’t you have chips to refill? And homework to do?”

“Well if a guy papi’s age is hitting on my sister, I’d like to know about it,” he glared at Rafael, who smirked in amusement back.

“That’s it,”  You took them both by their shirts and escorted them away, back to their table.

“Yasmine,” You hit your twelve year old sister, who was listening to her iPod. She took out her ear pods when you hit her. 

“What?” She exclaimed angrily.

“You just let them run around, bothering customers?!” You gestured to the two of them.

“Beto’s fifteen, and he can watch Chloe. I have a science quiz tomorrow, I’m trying to study! Or do you WANT me to fail Bio? I’m sure that’ll look really awesome on the progress report that gets sent to Child Services!” She scoffed. 

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes then looked at your brother and sister.

“Look-- Rafael is a nice man, who offered to help mami and papi, okay? NOBODY is hitting on anybody, it’s just a business thing. Okay?” 

“He’s going to help mami and papi?!” Chloe’s eyes lit up. You probably shouldn’t have made that kind of promise, seeing as you didn’t even know if he could help you.

“Try, Chlo,” you shushed her. “Try. I don’t know if he can,” 

“Yeah well, that better be all he’s doing,” Beto narrowed his eyes at their table. “I saw the way he was looking at you,” 

“Beto! Jesus…” You grabbed the full chip basket off the bar and shoved it in his hands, gesturing for them both to get back in the booth. 

“Now you three finish up and go upstairs, shower, and you two help Chloe to bed,” You instructed the three of them.

“And NOBODY bother Mr. Rafael again, si?” you eyed them. 

“Alright fine,” Beto grabbed a chip and went back to his homework. 

“I wasn’t bothering him-- but fine,” Chloe sipped her soda.

“Great,” you sighed, turning back and heading to the kitchen to grab Rafael and Ash’s food. 

This was gonna be a long night.

------

You walked back across the restaurant and saw Marisol handing them their food.

“Um, Mari-- I got it,” You came up behind her.

“Oh! Hey, Y/N,” She grinned. “You know, I was just thinking, maybe you sit here and chat with Rafael. I can cover the tables,” 

“....And why, would I do that?” 

“Because I asked her to,” Rafael poked his head around her. You glanced at Mari, who gave you a suggestive look. 

“I...Um...Yeah, okay,” You shook your head and took your apron off, sitting next to Ash in the booth across from Rafael. 

“I’ll be right back, margarita for the lady?” She winked. 

“Use the cheap tequila, Mari!” you called after her. “It’s easier to mark off!” 

“Oh I’ll pay for it,” Rafael assured you. 

“What? No, that’s-- no no no, that’s fine,” You waved your hands in dismissal. You hated being a charity case.

“Oh God do I have to sit here and be a third wheel on your date,” Ash groaned.

“It’s not a date!” You blushed. “It’s an...interview,” 

“An interview?” 

“Well yeah, don’t you interview people you want to hire? I assume you do that with lawyers, right?” 

“Oh! Yeah, sure sure,” He nodded, sipping his scotch. “Works both ways,” he winked. 

“Lord Jesus kill me now,” Ash faked a gagging noise.

“If I give you the weekend off will you shut up for the rest of the meal?” You offered.

“You won’t even know I’m here,” She smiled, popping ear buds in her ears and pulling up Netflix on her phone.

“Excellent negotiating skills,” Rafael smiled. “I might have a formidable client,” 

“I try,” you smiled back.

------

The rest of the night went by so fast, you couldn’t believe it.

You and Rafael talked about literally everything. You told him about how you had moved into the city to pursue acting, but when your parents were deported you came back home to take care of your siblings. He told you about growing up in the Barrio, how hard he worked to pull himself up and out of it. You admired that so much, especially because it’s exactly what you were trying to do. You talked about likes, and dislikes. Favorite things, pet peeves, everything under the sun. Before you knew it, the restaurant was empty and Marisol was locking the doors.

“Oh my god,” You noticed her.  “Oh my GOD, what time is it?!” You glanced at your phone.

“Oh Jesus, it’s 11:30,” Rafael noticed his watch. 

“I am so sorry, Ash--” you turned next to you to see Ash asleep against the wall. 

“Wow,” You half laughed. “She’s so sweet when she’s sleeping,” 

“And only then,” Raf added with a laugh himself. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Barba,” Marisol finally dropped off the check. 

“Rafael, please Marisol,” He told her as he handed him his credit card. 

“I am so sorry, I must have talked your ear off,” You apologized, nudging Ash to wake up. She slowly opened her eyes and stretched, then looked at her phone with wide eyes.

“Holy SHIT, Rafa!” She jumped up. “Abuela is gonna think the Diablo’s came for me!” 

“I texted her, she knows you’re with me,” He assured her. 

“Right...did you also tell her you were trying to sleep with my boss?” She raised an eyebrow.

“ASH-- Door, now.” He pointed to the front door. She rolled her eyes but went and waited outside.

“I really am sorry,” You nervously apologized again.

“Don’t be, I haven’t had someone to talk to like that in a very, very long time. It was nice,” He took your hand. 

“Yeah, it was,” You could feel yourself blushing.

“Okay Rafael, there you go. And thank you for stopping in,” Mari handed him his check back. 

“Thanks Mari,” He scribbled a tip and signed it, nodding to the both of you. 

“Holy shit,” Mari whispered, handing you the check. Your eyes grew three sizes, you practically sprinted after Rafael.

“Wait!” You caught him as he walked halfway out the door. 

“What’s up?” He turned back towards you.

“I’m, I’m sorry-- I think you might have accidentally written an extra zero, I didn’t want you to be shocked tomorrow,” You sheepishly smiled, handing him the check back. In the tip area it read “$1000”.

“Oh um...no, that’s right,” He muttered.

“...Excuse me?” 

“I just, I wanted to help you out,” He gave you a soft smile. 

“So...So that’s what this was,” Your voice softened. 

“What?”

“This whole night,” your voice became angrier. “This whole time, you were being nice to me because you felt sorry for me?!”

“What? No! I--”

“Well thank you, Mr. Barba. But I am nobody’s charity case,” You took the check and ripped it up, tossing the confetti on the ground. 

“Y/N come on, that’s not what I was--” He started to explain, but you wouldn’t hear any of it. 

“Ash I’ll see you Monday,” You called to her, then shut the door and locked it, leaving Rafael standing outside, dumbfounded. 

“What the hell was that?” Marisol walked towards you from the kitchen.

“The NERVE of that--” you pulled out his card from your apron and ripped it up angrily.

“What the hell did you do?” She gestured outside.

“What did I do?! Mari he just tried to give me a thousand dollars! To be ‘nice’!” You almost screamed.

“So? That is pretty damn nice!”

“I’m not a charity case!” You did your best to calm down, trying not to wake the kids. But your blood was boiling. 

“Y/N look around,” Marisol gestured around the restaurant. “You are the DEFINITION of a charity case,” 

“Oh screw you,” you rolled your eyes and started walking towards the back to count your 

“I’m serious!” She followed you. 

“You’re drowning, and you know it. You have zero idea how to run this place, let alone take care of your brother and sisters,” She gestured upstairs. 

“My parents opened and kept this place running for 25 years, with nobody’s charity,” you mumbled angrily.

“Yeah and they started with just the two of them, not three extra mouths to feed,” She stopped you from counting and made you look at her.

“What are you gonna do when Child Services shows up and they see the shape this place is in? They’ll take them, and then you’ll really have no one.” She pushed a finger on your chest.

“This perfectly nice, amazingly attractive guy shows up and offers not only to help you get your parents back but graciously gives you some extra money? And you yelled at him?!” 

“You yelled at Rafael?!” Chloe’s voice came from the stairs.

“Oh my god, Chloe!” You turned to see her sitting on the bottom stair.  “You are supposed to be in bed!” 

“I couldn’t sleep, you weren’t upstairs,” She shrugged. “Why did you yell at Rafael?! Now he’ll never help mami and papi!” 

“Chlo, come on he--” 

“No! He wanted to help, and you yelled at him. Now he’ll never come back, and we’ll never see mami and papi again! I hate you!” She stomped back up the stairs in tears. 

“...Great,” You sighed, looking at Marisol who had a look. “What?” 

“I’m just saying--” 

“And I’M just saying, I thought he really liked me, okay?” You had tears in your own eyes. 

“How do you know he didn’t?!” 

“He tried to give me A THOUSAND DOLLARS, Marisol! For a $50 dollar meal. He must think I’m pathetic! He probably sat there all night just…” You trailed off, imagining all the bad things he could’ve been thinking. 

“Babe, I don’t think he would’ve talked to you all night if he thought you were pathetic,” She raised an eyebrow. 

“....Whatever, I have to take care of Chloe-- can you finish down here?” 

“Yeah. I’ll lock up, night babe,” 

It took you a while, but you finally got Chloe back to bed. Then you went into your own room and laid down, now beating yourself up. 

What if he did like you? What if he was just being nice? You weren’t used to people just being nice. Was that even a thing? There was nothing you could do now, you ripped up his card. 

How were you going to fix it??

[artificialqueens]

nobody knows where we might end up, chapter nine (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr) | word count: 4417

AN: Thank you for all the wonderful feedback on the last chapter! I appreciate it so, so, much, comments make my heart incredibly full. Thank you writ for being a wonderful beta as always <3

(then)

“Gonna miss you.” Vanessa’s voice is soft from where her head is resting on Brooke’s lap, and it makes Brooke absolutely melt.

“I’m gonna miss you too, Ness.” Brooke runs her fingers through Vanessa’s hair, an action that makes Vanessa snuggle into her and let out a contented sigh. She wishes that she didn’t have to let her go.

“Just a long weekend, though. Then you’ll be back.” Vanessa beams up at her. “I’m excited for it already.”

Brooke can’t help but grin back, because Vanessa’s smile remains the cutest thing in the world to her. “You sap. Me neither. My cousin’s wedding will be over and done with before we know it.”

“Send me hot pictures of you in your fancy dress for the wedding.”

Brooke wrinkles her nose. “Are you kidding? My mom’s probably picked something out already that’ll be appropriate for a church wedding. It’s not going to be hot in the least.”

“You’re always hot to me. Even in your little church dress.” Vanessa wiggles her eyebrows at her and Brooke can’t help but poke her shoulder.

“Shut up.”

Vanessa sticks her tongue out at her. “Make me.”

“Have you forgotten I know exactly where you’re ticklish?” Vanessa’s off of Brooke’s lap the second that the words leave her lips.

“Don’t you even think about it!” Vanessa shrieks and moves to Detox’s side of the room, flopping onto her bed.

Brooke rolls off of her bed too, wrapping Vanessa in a hug instead. “I won’t use my powers for evil for now, at least.”

Vanessa pouts up at her from her position. “I still can’t believe you don’t get ticklish.”

“My superpower.” Brooke grins, though it quickly turns into a frown when her alarm clock goes. “Shit. That was the alarm I set to catch my bus.”

Vanessa’s arms tighten around her waist. “Don’t leave.”

“I wish you could come with me, somehow.” Brooke sighs, hugging Vanessa tighter too. Vanessa’s so good at calming her down by just being in her presence, making her feel like things are going to always be okay.

“Me too. Shut that damn beeping off, though.” Vanessa’s voice is muffled into her sweater, face buried in the hug, and Brooke snorts. She lets go, tugs Vanessa along so she can turn off the alarm on her bedside table.

“I gotta go.”

Vanessa stretches on her tiptoes, kisses her. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Brooke snorts. “Please. You’ll miss me more.” Though she can’t deny that she will, even if it’s just for four days. God, they’re already too codependent on each other. Brooke would consider it a problem if she didn’t enjoy it so much.

The bus ride is simultaneously too long and not long enough, knowing that the destination is just bringing her closer to the weekend. Brooke wishes she could just fast forward to Monday, when she’s going to be back at uni and back in her dorm. With Vanessa, with the rest of their friends.

She stumbles off of the bus with suitcase in tow, intent on walking the rest of the way home. She hadn’t wanted to ask anyone from her family to pick her up - it would just have been an awkward car ride, anyway. She’s going to get enough uncomfortable family moments this weekend as it is.

The front door opens when she reaches the entrance, making her raised hand fall down on its own before she can even knock.

“Mom?”

“You’re late. Come set the table, it’s almost dinner.” Her mom snaps the words at her, turning on her heel.

Welcome home, indeed.

The four pale pink walls of Brooke’s childhood bedroom had once acted as her getaway. She would lie on her bed as a kid, her mind dreaming up different scenarios of being a famous ballerina, a knight with a pet dragon, an astronaut. Somewhere where she was powerful, in control of everything around her and also loved. She’d always have her happy ending, get to kiss the princess before her young brain even knew it was considered wrong by some.

The walls are suffocating her now, two days into her stay. The room is a memory of the way she’d try to cry as softly as she could as a kid, trying not to make any noise into her pillow. The way she’d pop painkillers to numb the ache in her muscles from overuse, ballet wearing down her body too fast for someone who hadn’t been fully grown. The way she’d squeeze her eyes shut tight, ignoring the arguments that she could still hear no matter how hard she tried to block them with her dreams of prettier stories than her own.

Being back here feels like the walls are pushing down on her, closing her up in a box that had succeeded in containing her for eighteen years. Except now she’s had a taste of life outside of the box, and she never ever wants to come back.

Her Blackberry beeps and she picks it up from its spot on her pillow, and can’t help but smile when she sees that it’s a text from Vanessa. She can almost imagine the other girl lying on her bed, pink Motorola RAZR phone in both hands as she types faster than Brooke ever could.

VM: my mom got the pics from Christmas developed!!!!

VM: look at my wack ass fam

The picture is absolutely chaotic, everyone in the group smiling, laughing, or, in Vanessa’s case, yelling at the person taking the photo. They’re all in colourful ugly Christmas sweaters, some with Santa hats, some with reindeer ears.

VM: my mami’s the one wearing the fake Santa beard LOL

BLH: Oh my god. You look just like her.

The woman beside Vanessa in the photo really does look like an adult Vanessa, though with hair that is a few shades lighter. She has an arm around Vanessa who looks tiny beside her, their oversized sweaters nearly taking them over.

BLH: Who else is who?

VM: well, there’s julio, my brother, he’s the one wearing the dumbass elf hat. my abuela, then my tía rosa, her husband enrique, my tío pablo and his husband luis, my tía carmen, my cousins maria and isaac and isabella and daniela and alex. and riley my pup!!!

BLH: Your family is huge, omg.

VM: not even all of them. these are just the ones who could make it to christmas dinner

The photo makes Vanessa’s house look so fun, so welcome, so opening and inviting. Brooke zooms in on the photo, looks at their individual faces that look like they’re having a blast.

BLH: Wait, did you say your uncle and his husband?

VM: yeah they’re married!! caused a big drama when tío pablo brought him home the first time but now everyone loves him and their wedding was the best. and my mami wasn’t as mad when i came out to her lol  

BLH: you’re out to her?

VM: yeah!!! a couple years ago i came out she cried for two days then got over it lol

Wow. Brooke’s wondering why they’ve never had this conversation before. Brooke knows that Vanessa senses her discomfort around talking about her own family, and tactfully doesn’t ask her much. Vanessa always talks about her own, though, recounting her constant bickering with her brother and her mom’s trash talking at the wheel.

BLH: Wow. That’s great, though.

VM: ya, she still wants grandkids tho

VM: says riley doesn’t count >:(

BLH: LOL. He is the biggest furriest baby there is.

Brooke pets Henry absentmindedly, burying her fingers into his soft fur as he purrs. He’s curled up on the pillow beside her, Apollo resting on her desk chair. Henry and Apollo are the two things that she doesn’t mind about visiting home. She opens the picture from Vanessa again, looking at all of the happy and smiling faces. Looks at her married uncles. It’s a contrast from the family portraits that line the walls in Brooke’s house, ones of her and her parents sitting stone faced, looking poised. Nothing short of practiced and perfect, matching their vibes during the holidays. Quiet, tense dinners, a cloak for the screaming arguments in the late evenings that her parents would get into after having too much to drink and needing to release their pent up resentment towards each other, only to go back to clipped tones the next day, as if nothing had happened.

The longing in her chest is tangible, a woven rope that makes her want to jump into the picture and have a family like Vanessa’s, one so big and full of life.

Brooke looks at the way that Vanessa’s grandmother’s arm is wrapped around her uncle’s waist and hugging her son close, and the way that Vanessa is curled into her mom’s side. Brooke wonders if Vanessa has mentioned her to her mom, talked about them at Christmas break. If Vanessa used to mention her past girlfriends, giggle about her dates with her mom.

Would her parents be the same way, if she came out to them, equally supportive and loving? Does she have to? Is she fake if she doesn’t?

She doesn’t want to. Facing their inevitable disappointed expressions, echoing the homilies they’ve heard at Mass about how being gay is wrong, how it means you’re a sinner. How you can’t go to heaven and thus can’t be a good person, if you’re gay.

Do her parents believe that? Would her parents hate her?

How could they, though? Would they hate Vanessa too, someone so sweet and funny and smart and utterly wonderful, just because of preconceptions that they have about her?

She wants a family like Vanessa’s, wants it so, so bad. Wants a house that is loud and full of laughter and ugly Christmas sweaters and one where she can bring her girlfriend home to. One where she’d be able to talk to her mom about anything and everything, where her mom would give her advice and actually give her the time of day.

Brooke’s fine on her own, in her room. She is. She just wants more. Wishes that she had it more than anything in the world.

(now)

“Vanessa. Please.”

Brooke bangs her fist on the door one, two, three times, the door an unmoving barrier that won’t budge as she ignores the patients, nurses, doctors, and technicians that pass by in the hall, because nothing else matters right now. She needs to talk and explain things, find out what made Vanessa push her away and look at her with an expression of horror and confusion alike, because she doesn’t know. It’s replaying in her brain a million times over, chipping away at her insides and she can feel her foundations start to crack, on the route to crumbling if she doesn’t find out.

Maybe it was the nickname.

Who was Brooke to even call her ‘Nessa’? A pet name that’s so laden with softness and memories of them from when they were so much younger. Of course Vanessa hadn’t wanted to hear it, they’re different now and they don’t do this and they’ve both moved on. They’re adults, two adults having sex. Nothing more.

She’s so stupid. She’s slipped up and ruined everything.

“Please, just talk to me.” Brooke never begs, she doesn’t. But right now she can’t help it as the words leave her lips sounding desperate and broken, ruining any illusion she’s ever wanted to portray of having her shit together. Any semblance of a carefully constructed persona that she carries around with her around the hospital is melting away, because all she can think of is Vanessa on the other side of the door.

The door doesn’t open.

Maybe it had been the way she’d pulled Vanessa in for a kiss after the consultation meeting. Maybe Vanessa had wanted to tell her that they were done, that she wanted to end whatever she fuck they were doing. And then Brooke had gone and kissed her, made everything worse. Made Vanessa firm in her decision.

She’s a fucking idiot.

Vanessa could probably sense it, all of it. The way that Brooke still fucking feels it, wants more than just sex no matter how much she tries to convince herself that she doesn’t. She hates it.  

Brooke’s tried, the last few days. Attempted to hide her disappointment when Vanessa had to cancel meetings with her when the cardiac units got busy. Held her face back from displaying too much when Yvie had asked her about Vanessa and how they hadn’t seemed to be fighting for the first time in awhile. Brooke’s tried to forget the feeling of Vanessa’s face buried in the crook of her neck, arms gripping onto her like she’s a precious metal, because she’s not Brooke’s to cherish.

This is why she never does these…things. Doesn’t date anymore, stays far away from anyone that could make her feel more than she should. She doesn’t need it, doesn’t need the connection that feels so good, so right in the moment before shattering her into pieces when it ends. It ruins everything.

And now here she is, hung up over an ex from more than a decade ago, someone who’s been happily over it for just as long, leaving Brooke a fucking mess and banging on a door that she knows won’t open.

Stupid.

Brooke watches as her own fist drops from the door, slides down the smooth surface until it’s resting at her side. The telltale numbness that is activated by her brain when she’s feeling too much begins to spread over her heart, her soul. It glazes over the shame, the embarrassment, the rejection, the longing for someone who she shouldn’t be hung up over in the first place. The grey cloud is enough to numb everything, leaving a bulletproof blank slate that is impossible to get through from the outside.

She doesn’t need anything, or anyone. She’s learned that enough.  

And so she turns on her heel, and she leaves.

Brooke does the only thing that she knows how to do when she needs to drown out her thoughts, shut her brain off to avoid the feelings that she doesn’t want to feel - she turns to her work. She takes on more patient referrals than she usually would, filling up her schedule with procedures that require her full attention for hours upon hours.

The work is methodical, routines that she’s followed a thousand times in her career. Cuts from her scalpel, the buzz of the bone saw, beeps sounding throughout the OR as she directs her team, working together like a miniature ecosystem. Patients that survive, others on the brink of death who pull back because Brooke refuses to sit down until they’re stable.

Other patients that die on the table and take a piece of Brooke with them when they go.

If her team notices any changes, they say nothing. She doesn’t care, she’s not here for them.

She’s here for work.

The interns piss her off more than usual, making stupid mistakes that are reflective of any medical student, but right now they’re so careless and messing with Brooke’s work, and so what if she yells at them more than she normally does? It makes her feel better afterwards.

It doesn’t stop her from escaping Nina’s scrutinizing gaze, though, her best friend looking equal parts done and worried as they sit in her office at the end of the day.

“I’ve had three interns email me today about how they can’t work in, and I quote, ‘unsafe work practices’.” Nina looks as if she’s staving off approximately three headaches at once, and Brooke would feel bad if they interns didn’t deserve it.

Brooke takes a sip of the wine that Nina’s poured for her. “Not my fault that they can’t handle the rigorous workload of being on the neuro units.” If they want to work with the best, they need to be the best.

She doesn’t need to put up with interns that forget simple suture techniques, or ones that don’t come prepared with answers to the questions that Brooke throws at them. How else are they going to become surgeons?

“Except this is new, Brooke, and you know it. You’re normally a bitch, but a fair one, which is how you’re good with the interns most of the time. But from what they’ve told me now, it sounds like you’re just being plain mean to them.” Nina tugs her glasses off, puts them on the desk before rubbing her temples.

Brooke shrugs. “They shouldn’t be in surgery if they can’t handle it.”

“No, you’re taking your frustrations out on them. Which I get, but also you’re going to scare all of them away, and the teaching component of this hospital is incredibly vital, and so we need to keep all of these baby doctors without you making them run with their tails between their legs before they can even reach residency.”

Brooke crosses her arms. “They’re shit baby doctors.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it.” Nina looks up at her, really looks up at her, and it makes Brooke shrink in her seat. Nina’s the only one in the hospital who can actually make her do so. “What on earth is up with you?”

Brooke shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.” It doesn’t, she’s dealing. She’s not going to let Vanessa affect her.

Nina sighs. “Brooke…”

“Anyway.” Brooke leans forward in her seat, rests her elbows on Nina’s desk. Ignores Nina’s pointed look at her. “You still haven’t told me about the date with Ryan you had last week. You promised me the details.”

It’s a distraction tactic, a flimsy one at best, but it does the job, Nina’s face lighting up at the mention of her new boyfriend. “Well, he said to dress fancy, but not too fancy, right?”

Brooke nods as she listens to Nina’s excited rambling, the woman at times as easy to redirect as a four year old. The subject is much more palatable than her own fucked up love life - not that she even has one.

The shot of tequila creates a smooth burn down the back of Brooke’s throat, the subsequent salt and lime not enough to drown out the overbearing noise that is forever present at Ralph’s. Brooke gestures to the bartender for another shot as Yvie, Scarlet and other members of the neurosurgery team toast to Plastique.

“Happy birthday, bitch!” Yvie yells the words as she slams down her empty shot glass. “May this be the year that you’re finally not carded.”

“That’ll probably be never. Everyone thinks I’m twelve years old anyway.” Plastique sighs. “Last week an attending asked me if I needed help finding my family - he thought I was a patient’s kid or something.”

Brooke can’t help the laugh that bubbles in her throat, something that Plastique immediately catches. “Don’t you start.”

Brooke has to cover her mouth. “Sorry, it’s just hilarious. We have a tween on the neuro team.” She cant help but fully crack up after making eye contact with Yvie.

Plastique pouts. “That’s Dr. Edwards to you. I’m a resident, damn it.”

“A twelve year old resident? Child prodigies are truly so impressive.” Yvie grins, patting Plastique’s arm.

“You’re all the worst. The absolute worst.”

“And yet,” Yvie shrugs, “you love us.”

Plastique grins. “Can’t deny that. Even if you all are pretty much considered elderly at this point.”

“Careful, or I’m gonna run you over with my walker.” Yvie pokes Plastique’s side, which makes her yelp and poke Yvie right back.

Brooke snorts. She loves her team, or at least, parts of it. She didn’t want to come out tonight, before being dragged out of her apartment by Yvie and Scarlet (a running theme recently, the two of them refusing to let her rest for even five seconds), but now she’s not so upset that she has.

Plastique, the newest member of neurosurgery who had started as a resident only a few months ago, already fits in well with the group. Brooke’s glad that she has friends that are at her level - or rather, close to her level, since she does outrank them all as the head of neurosurgery. Ones who she can discuss difficult cases and current research with, topics that someone who doesn’t work in a hospital would be utterly confused about. It reminds her of undergrad, when her and Vanessa would-

No. Not happening. She’s not thinking about that.

The bartender slides over the other shot that she’s ordered, and Brooke downs it without so much as a wince. The tequila and lime and salt are tangible, existing sensations that help to draw her out of her head, from the clutches of memories and regrets that never seem to leave her alone anymore.

“Slow down, B.” Yvie tilts her head, brow furrowed. “We got here like, ten minutes ago.”

Brooke shrugs. “Getting a head start, that’s all.” She’s gonna need all the alcohol that she can get on her first night out in awhile.

She’s been coming in early, staying late, overworking herself to shut off her mind, though it hasn’t been working as well as she wants it to. Vanessa’s smile. Vanessa’s moans underneath her. The furrow in Vanessa’s brow ever present in their past meetings. The way Vanessa had pushed her away the last time in the conference room. The way Vanessa hadn’t opened the door, effectively letting her know that she wasn’t interested. Wanted it to end.

Brooke gets it, really does. Though her heart fucking doesn’t, replaying the moment over and over again since it happened, the knife in her heart twisting more and more every time.

She needs to get a grip.

The alcohol flowing in her system is no help, making the conversations that are happening around her louder, the lights brighter, sensations that are exacerbating the very thoughts that she wants to drown out.

Scarlet pulls out a cupcake, because, being Scarlet, she had picked one up earlier for Plastique’s birthday. Plastique squeals (‘you got double chocolate!’) , pulling Scarlet into a hug. Brooke lets out a surprised yelp when she tugs the rest of them in, too, nearly falling off of her stool.

She peeks over Yvie’s shoulder while still in the hug before her heart drops in her chest, and she wants to close her eyes so that she doesn’t have to register who has just sit down at the other end of the bar.

Vanessa.

It seems that Brooke can’t come to Ralph’s without seeing her anymore.

Brooke can’t tear her eyes away, unable to pull her gaze from the other surgeon in a tan jumpsuit and with waves cascading down her back. She’s laughing, making enough noise with the cardiothoracic surgeons that Brooke has to wonder how she didn’t spot her as soon as she had walked in.

Vanessa flags down the bartender, batting her eyelids and tilting her head and from the way that the female bartender leans on the counter, flirts back, Brooke knows that it’s going to be on the house.  

The knife in her chest twists a little bit more, hitting a few more veins, making a few more cuts. Not that it matters.

Brooke is a sucker for punishment, a real lover of making herself feel like shit because she can’t help the way that her eyes drag back towards Vanessa every couple minutes. She looks so carefree and happy, joking around with the other cardiac doctors and does she have her arm around the waist of one of them?

Vanessa’s so good at making herself at home, no matter the situation that she’s in. She’d been the same way back when they were in school, and Brooke can see that nothing’s changed. She’s like a flame burning bright, drawing everyone in towards her like moths that are mesmerized by her light. Her smiles light up her entire face, and Brooke has to ignore the incessant pangs in her stomach reminding her that she’s not the one who is causing them.

Vanessa’s fine. Vanessa gets through things, Brooke can see that. She can emerge unscathed and continue to shine, continue to climb up, up, up. She’s not haunted by regrets or things from her past. She knows when to cut off thorns that wrap around her limbs and try to bring her down. Ones like Brooke.

Brooke gets it. Maybe she deserves it. Because Vanessa clearly knows what she wants, and knows that she deserves better. Someone more than Brooke, who can give her love and light and not dysfunction and vicious cycles that only seem to end in destruction.  

Brooke can’t hold Vanessa back anymore. Maybe she’s not meant for it, for anything that can crack her heart open. She had been doing so well, keeping things casual with a few women. No strings attached, no possibility of feelings being developed if she never learned their full names or anything about them. No attachments had meant no chance of those attachments being ripped from her.

Maybe that’s what she should go back to. Maybe it’s the only thing that she deserves now.

There’s no angel whispering in Brooke’s ear to stop her from going to chat up a girl (a nurse? a unit clerk?) towards the end of the night a few hours later, one whom she’s fucked before and is always willing for some time in the on call room. Perhaps there’s a little tug in her chest whispering that this girl isn’t Vanessa, won’t ever live up to Vanessa, but she ignores it. Because Vanessa isn’t hers, never will be hers, not anymore. Not for the last eleven years.

Maybe some quick fucks are all that Brooke is going to get now. She used to be happy with it, encouraged it even, before Vanessa walked into the hospital on her first day and disrupted her carefully crafted life and left her to salvage the broken pieces.

And salvage she will. Brooke can go back to it, because it’s what worked, it’s what she deserves. She doesn’t have Vanessa anymore.

Brooke doesn’t look up as she leaves to see if Vanessa notices her walk by, her hand on the girl’s back guiding her outside to a waiting Uber. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t. She can go back to her routine, back to not caring, not getting invested. Vanessa isn’t her problem anymore.

[wheresmynaya]

Two Ghosts Ch. 27 | Brittana

I must’ve been in a Soft!Riz mood when writing this so enjoy that. 

 Also available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & below the cut! 

Everyone – mainly Quinn – said she wouldn’t last a day, but here she is a whole week later still going strong! Well technically, she’s starting to slowly lose her mind but with all things considered, she thinks lasting this long without spontaneously booking a flight to San Francisco is actually pretty good! She has done well by keeping her mind busy and revisiting some old hobbies.

Surprisingly, one of those hobbies involves the old piano she inherited from her Abuelo that’s been left untouched for months now. She kept it and the record player he left to her here at Maribel’s until she was ready to settle down somewhere permanent and move them properly but she hasn’t felt like settling down anywhere yet. It felt weird to do it alone, but things are changing now that she has found Brittany again.

It’s a surprise she even remembers how to play the thing, but there’s something about it that makes her feel a little closer to her Abuelo. Maybe it’s the holiday season and Brittany’s absence and the loneliness settling in, but Santana finds herself reminiscing a lot lately.

As a little girl, she use to sit on this very bench next to her Abuelo and watch him play. Always so captivated by him and the way his fingers danced along the keys so effortlessly, Santana would watch with a child-like curiosity and try to mimic his movements. He would smile proudly and encourage her to sing along, even when she didn’t know how to control her voice just yet.

They were quite the pair and sometimes Santana thinks that maybe she got her musical genes from him too. He cultivated her passion for music without even trying. When he introduced her to the glorious sounds of Fleetwood Mac, it was like an awakening. She loved her Abuelo dearly; he would always be first in line to congratulate her after a performance, a giant bouquet of flowers in hand and a proud smile on his face.  

Santana finds herself wishing her Abuela could look at her like that again before she shoves the thought away. She doesn’t want to think about her, about someone so quick to judge. Her Abuelo only met Brittany in passing once the night Santana performed Valerie, but Santana’s convinced he would’ve loved her if there was more time to get to know her.

He would’ve loved that Santana was loved by Brittany too.

It’s that thought that causes a tear to roll down her cheek. With everything that happened with her Abuela and her dad, Santana just wishes her Abuelo was still around. She just needs one other person from her family to be happy for her and what she has found in Brittany, because that’s what family is supposed to do. They’re supposed to love you and celebrate with you and when she marries Brittany one day, she doesn’t want Maribel to sit alone at the Lopez table.

If her Abuelo was still around, he would make sure Maribel wasn’t alone. Santana is certain of that.

She misses him and a part of her will always regret not visiting more before his health started to turn. She regrets not talking to him about her feelings for Brittany before –

Santana wipes away another tear and continues to play. She can almost hear his voice telling her how beautiful she sounds and that she should play for him more often.

She thinks now is the perfect time to do just that.

\\

It’s a couple hours later and Santana has maxed out on watching reality tv. She has now ventured into the Hallmark movie territory which is nothing but straight people doing holiday things and all the sappy, cheesy love stories that have been set to Christmas music play on all of Santana’s feelings.

Like if she wasn’t a little emotional before, she is now. But like, don’t tell anyone.

She just really misses Brittany, okay? They’ve done a pretty good job of keeping in touch through phone calls and texts and the occasional video chat, but Santana has been trying to limit how often they talk. She doesn’t want to intrude on the time Brittany is meant to be spending with her family, but it gets hard sometimes. Especially when she keeps subjecting herself to watching hetero couples fall in love over and over again.

Honestly, it’s so cringe-worthy but she can’t take her eyes off of the screen. Though, she’s certain of one thing: her and Brittany’s love story is so much better than the crap Hallmark churns out!

Santana’s already camped out on the couch with a cozy blanket and she’s having an entire carton of coffee ice cream for lunch while she watches re-runs of Chopped: The Holiday Edition. She’s really into it to be honest – it’s way better than A Christmas Prince – and even starts shouting at the tv when a chef forgets to include a basket ingredient.

“See? Didn’t I say?” Santana shakes her head after another spoonful of ice cream. She listens as Alex Guarnaschelli points out a contestant’s technical error then starts to nod along with her, “Exactly, Alex, I completely agree with you. Marcus is such a dumbass for that.”

Another ten minutes go by and it’s time for tasting. Santana eagerly awaits the judge’s criticism, it’s her favorite part of the whole show. Sometimes she thinks she could do this one day for a living – she wasn’t gifted with impeccable wit for nothing – but she’s sure she’d probably get fired pretty quickly for making a contestant cry.

Aarón Sánchez starts to complain about lack of spice and Santana shakes her head disappointedly, “You should’ve used the gingerbread in the stuffing like I told you. Maybe it would’ve helped out your bland ass dish! Pathetic. Where did you even go to culinary school?”

“Like you even cook,” Quinn smirks which causes Santana to nearly jump out of her blanket burrito.

“What the fuck, Q? How’d you get in here?” Santana gasps at the sight of Quinn dressed in her soft grey peacoat standing near the front door.

“The door was wide open?” Quinn quirked her brow as she untied her scarf, “I literally said ‘Hey Santana!’ did you really not hear me?”

Santana tried to backtrack but ended up shaking her head, “Does it look like I heard you? Jesus…can’t just roll up on a girl during a Chopped marathon. Have you no respect?”

“A what marathon?” Quinn glances at the tv then to Santana’s set up on the couch and frowns, “Uh…when’s the last time you’ve left the house?”

Santana ponders, “How long has it been since Britt’s left?”

“Oh my God...” Quinn laughs, “Seriously?”

Santana rolls her eyes, “No. I went out to get this ice cream.”

Quinn shakes her head as she rounds the couch to swipe the remote off the coffee table and turns off the tv.

“Excuse me, I was watching that!” Santana huffs, “I needz to know if Cecile makes it to the next round, she’s the underdog!”

“Get up, we’re going out.” Quinn says with no room for argument, but Santana tries anyway.

“I don’t feel like going out, hence the pjs and ice cream.”

“Right,” Quinn smirks, “And this is why Brittany wanted me to check up on you.”

Santana rounds on her, “She did not.”

“She totally did,” Quinn assures her, “So go get dressed, we’re going out. I know just what you need.”

Santana snorted, “I highly doubt that.”

Quinn rolled her eyes and ripped the blankets from Santana, “Move it, Lopez. I don’t have all day.”

Santana let out a heavy sigh and thrust her carton of ice cream into Quinn’s hands before stomping up the stairs to her room. Through the echo of the staircase, Santana yelled out, “You suck!”

“Drama Queen!” Quinn smirked then she stole a spoonful of ice cream.

\\

“I’m…oddly impressed,” Santana comments as she and Quinn sit on a bench in front of Old Navy with their lattes in hand. They had been people-watching for awhile now, alternating with what shops they wanted to observe.

It was Christmas Eve in Lima and people were stressed the fuck out.

It was great.

“Yeah, I thought you’d like this,” Quinn says before taking a sip, “You love watching people suffer.”

“In theory,” Santana grins. They had seen about three instances now where a fight nearly broke out over something ridiculous like a scarf or the last cable knit sweater that was on sale. Santana was loving every minute of it but she didn’t want the compliment to boost Quinn’s ego.

“Uh-oh, check that one out,” Quinn nods over to another argument breaking out.

“This is awesome,” Santana smirks, “I wouldn’t fight over anything Old Navy has to offer, but if it were like Gucci or Prada then I could understand. I’d cut a bitch for some Burberry.”

“Of course you would,” Quinn chuckles and they knock their coffee cups together in one swift motion. They sit there captivated by all the action for a moment longer before Quinn turns to Santana, “So how are you holding up while Britt’s away?”

Santana’s smile falters slightly before she shrugs, “It’s hard and it brings back some shitty memories of when we did long distance once, but I’m okay. We’re okay. We talk often so it’s fine.”

“That’s good. She’ll be back soon enough.”

“Yeah, it’s only temporary,” Santana agrees, “I don’t want to make it about me. I know she has missed being near her family so I’m just keeping busy.”

Quinn just nods and they go back to watching the drama unfold before them.

It totally beats sitting on the couch and watching it through a tv screen, that’s for sure! And although Brittany can’t be here for this, Quinn isn’t so bad to be around. In fact, it’s kind of nice to hang out with her. Maribel’s been so busy with work lately, Santana’s had to spend a lot of time alone and we’ve seen what happens when she’s left alone with her thoughts for too long.

\\

“Oh look who it is!” Quinn jabs her pointy elbow into Santana’s bicep.

“Ow! Watch where you shove that thing,” Santana grumbles and looks to the direction of where Quinn’s pointing. Her eyes widen at a familiar face and watch as the blonde makes his way over to the pretzel stand. Santana almost forgot how much of a small town Lima was and how it’s almost impossible to go out anywhere without running into someone you know.

“Is this weird? Do you want to leave?” Quinn asks when Santana doesn’t say anything more.

She shakes her head, “No, it’s okay. He’s Britt’s best friend.”

Just as she said that, another familiar face joins his side and her jaw drops.

“Is that,” Quinn gasps and she’s on her feet before she’s finished her sentence.

Santana scrambles after, also happily surprised by the other Glee Club alumni.

“Mercedes!” Quinn squeals and it makes her and Sam jump at the sound, but soon their faces fill with delight as they see who it is.

“Quinn! Hey girl!” Mercedes beams and pulls her into a tight hug, “Is that Satan with you too?”

Santana smirks, “Hey ‘Cedes.” And then she’s pulled into a bone-crushing hug along with Quinn. It’s nice, she secretly kind of likes hugs like these.

“Hey guys,” Sam chuckles as he holds a pretzel in each hand, “I’d get in on that group hug too but…pretzels.”

For some reason that makes Santana laugh and she’s reminded of a time before everything happened where she actually didn’t mind Sam too much. Afterall, they sort of dated once but it was purely to hide the fact that she was brokenhearted. He was a dork and a nerd but he was alright in her book for the most part. She also remembers the time he and Quinn dated and it makes her smirk, to think she was the reason they broke up in the first place. Yikes!

They’re all just funny memories now though.

“Hey Sam,” Santana greets as Mercedes finally pulls away.

“Sorry! Hi Sam,” Quinn waves too before looking to them both, “What are you guys doing here? Last minute shopping?”

“Yeah,” Mercedes’ rolls her eyes, “Someone didn’t get his own mother a gift yet so we’ve had to brave the crowds which is exactly how I want to spend my Christmas Eve.”

“Hey,” Sam frowned, “How am I supposed to figure out what to get a woman that deserves everything? It’s hard.”

“Trouty has a point,” Santana nods and thinks about her own gift for her mother. It’s not nearly enough for what she actually deserves but she hopes she’ll like it anyway.

“I’m just messing with you,” Mercedes teases and presses a kiss to his cheek which makes Santana and Quinn’s brows rise.

They didn’t know they were a thing still, it kind of makes Santana swell with pride. She always liked those two together and genuinely hoped that they’d work it out at some point. Mercedes was her Troubletones home girl and Santana remembered how she use to light up around him.

She’d never admit it aloud, but it was kind of cute or whatever.

“Is Brittany with you somewhere too?” Mercedes asks Santana while Quinn talks to Sam about some jewelry store sale that he might find luck in.

“No, she’s visiting her family in San Francisco for the holidays this year,” Santana tells her with a shrug.

Mercedes looks surprised, “And you didn’t go with? I’m shocked.”

Santana chuckles at that and wonders if Mercedes thinks she and Brittany have been together all this time. She can’t remember the last time she even spoke to Mercedes, maybe the last time she was back in Lima for Thanksgiving? She isn’t sure, maybe Sam told her something. Either way, she likes the fact that Mercedes still thinks they’re joined at the hip.

“Couldn’t leave my mom alone for Christmas,” Santana replies and quickly changes the subject, “How about you? Have you been living here this whole time or are you just visiting?”

Mercedes sends her a look of disbelief, “Girl no, I’m only here visiting my family and my man. L.A. is my home now. I’ve been trying to get Sam to move out there with me for awhile but it really is a different pace out there.”

“That’s awesome,” Santana says and she’s genuinely happy for her, “You know, Nationals are in L.A. this year. Might see you around!”

“Nationals? You take over the Glee Club?” Mercedes asks.

“No way, Mr. Schue is still all over that,” Santana laughs, “Britt, Quinn and I coach the Cheerios now. It’s a long story.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Mercedes nods, “Sam did mention something about it. I couldn’t make it to Sue’s funeral. How are you liking it? The coaching thing? Make anyone cry yet?”

“Maybe,” Santana smirks devilishly, “You know me.”

“Unfortunately I do,” Mercedes chuckles, “Well, when you guys make it to L.A. let me know! I’ll show you around or something.”

“Deal!” Santana grins before Quinn’s interjecting about scheduling a day to catch up before Mercedes heads home. Of all the people that Santana could possibly run into at the Lima Mall, she’s happy that it was Mercedes and Sam. Well, mostly Mercedes.

“So Trouty, hitting up a jewelry store for your mom?” Santana asks once Quinn and Mercedes get to talking about some church service they want to attend together. Sam looks a little surprised that Santana’s making small talk with him, but he just wipes away the pretzel salt with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, Quinn was telling me about it. I hadn’t even thought about jewelry,” Sam answers, “How about you? Got all your shopping done already?”

Santana nods, “My list of people I needed to shop for was pretty short. Just needed to get things for my mom, Q and Britt.”

“Awh, you got me a present?” Quinn teases and reaches around Mercedes to poke at Santana’s shoulder.

“Yeah so you better have gotten me one too,” Santana quips making Sam and Mercedes chuckle.

“Well, we better get going. Don’t want be here when all hell breaks loose,” Mercedes says and hooks her arm with Sam’s.

They all exchange hugs again and bid each other a Merry Christmas. Santana even hugs Sam in the end which she’s sure would make Brittany so proud if she was around to see it. She’s just chalking it up to the Christmas Spirit though.

“I can’t believe they’re still together!” Quinn gasps once they’re far enough from the couple, “I wonder if Britt has known this whole time and just didn’t tell us?”

“Look, probably…she’s sneaky like that,” Santana replies, a small smile creeping up at the mention of her name, “She’d probably say well you guys didn’t ask so…”

“Ugh, she so would!” Quinn groans playfully.

\\

They spend another hour or so people-watching before Quinn drops Santana home again and tells her she’ll be checking up on her in a few days.

“Yeah okay, whatever,” Santana brushes her off but then they both go in for a hug, “Merry Christmas, Q.”

“Merry Christmas, Santana,” Quinn says with a pat on her back before Santana heads inside.

She’s surprised to see Maribel home relatively early and calls out to her, “Hey Mami!”

“Hi mija!” Maribel greets and her voice is coming from the kitchen. Santana follows after it and finds a collection of various Chinese takeout boxes.

Santana is in awe, “Woah, did you order everything on the menu?”

“We have to keep our tradition alive, right?” Maribel laughs.

“Oh yeah!” Santana beams and they both dive in and pile their plates high before wandering into the living room to watch Love, Actually. It’s something that they usually do when Maribel visits Santana in New York, but she’s glad that the tradition has carried over to Lima too. It’s something that’s just for them and Santana sits contently through the movie with her mom at her side.

\\

Maribel had said goodnight awhile ago, but Santana decided to finish the movie in the living room while she awaited Brittany’s nightly phone call. She doesn’t realize she has fallen asleep on the couch until she feels something vibrating at her side. When she blinks her tired eyes open, she finds the fleece throw draped over her and the tv turned low. The Christmas tree lights cast a warm glow around the room and she feels so comfy cozy that Santana almost forgets why she woke up in the first place.

She reaches for her phone tucked under her hip and quickly swipes the screen before the call goes to voicemail.

“Hey Britt,” Santana chuckles with her voice a little raspy from just waking up.

“Hi Santana,” Brittany’s cheery voice greets down the line. There’s a soft gasp, “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

Santana stretches and cranes her neck back to rest against the decorative pillow, “No, I was just resting my eyes.”

“Are you sure? I can call back in the morning?”

Santana smiles softly, “Talk to me. How was your day?”

“Well, my day…it was so much fun. I got to hang out with my cousins – who aren’t as mean as when we were younger – and we helped my grandma bake cookies for tomorrow,” Brittany tells her excitedly, “Did you see the pictures I sent?”

Santana smiles and remembers Brittany’s text she received while she was out with Quinn. It was a picture of a very colorful pair of gingerbread women that she was holding up proudly by either side of her head, a great big smile rounding out the adorableness.

“Yeah I saw it,” Santana tells her, “It was very cute. Sounds like you’re having a great time over there.”

“Yeah, but it’s not all that great since you’re not here too,” Brittany answers without missing a beat, “How about your day? Did…you have any visitors?”

“Ah so you did enlist Quinn to kidnap me,” Santana smirks.

“What? No. Wait, did she kidnap you because that’s not what I asked her to do?”

Santana laughs at that, “No she didn’t, but she did interrupt my Chopped marathon. I never did find out who won the dessert round…” She could hear Brittany snort as she continues, “But it wasn’t so bad hanging out with her. We actually ran into Sam and Mercedes at the mall.”

“No way! I thought Mercedes was only going to be in Lima for New Years?”

“Well I didn’t know she was going to be in Lima at all,” Santana jokes, “Have you known they’ve been dating this whole time?”

“I wouldn’t say whole time…they’re on and off. You know how tough long distance is, but they always end up back together.”

Santana ponders her words, “Huh, sounds familiar. Can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me all this time.”

Brittany chuckles, “Honestly I didn’t think you’d care, but I don’t want to talk about them. What are you doing right now?”

Santana notices a shift in Brittany’s tone – something mischievous – and it makes Santana sit up a little straighter, “Uhh…I’m just lying on the couch watching tv.”

“Right…” Brittany drawls out and suddenly Santana’s intrigued to see where this goes because she might have an idea, “Same couch we made out on on Thanksgiving?”

Santana’s suspicions are confirmed when she hears that, “We’ve made out many times on this couch, Britt, not just Thanksgiving.”

“Mmm, and we’ve done a lot more than make out there too.”

Santana feels a flush cover her cheeks at the memory but she presses further, “You should see what I’ve got on right now too.”

She thinks she can hear Brittany audibly gulp which is hilarious because in reality, she’s just dressed in leggings and Brittany’s sweater from Homecoming. It’s nothing too risqué, but who is she if she doesn’t play along and paint Britt a lovely picture?

Brittany’s voice is husky when she says, “Tell me.”

“I don’t know, Britt, Santa’s coming to town any minute now,” Santana teases, loving how easy it is for them to turn their conversations flirtatious, “Wouldn’t want to get a free show and risk missing out on my presents. I’ve been a very good girl this year.”

“Fuck a present, I can give you something better.”

Santana has to bite her lip to keep from snorting at the sound of Brittany cursing. It’s rare but when it happens, it’s the greatest thing ever because Britt kind of has a potty mouth during certain situations.

It’s kind of hot actually.

“Hmm…I’ll hold you to that, Britt-Britt,” Santana says just as the grandfather clock chimes from the other room, signaling midnight. At least, for Santana it is. Brittany still has a few more hours to go with the time difference.

“It’s officially Christmas!” Brittany cheers excitedly – the huskiness completely gone – and she’s so loud about it that it nearly deafens Santana. The lusty tone has been replaced with a child-like delight as a familiar ringtone replaces static.

When Santana looks down at her phone, she sees Brittany requesting a video call. She swipes at it and soon her screen is filled with a rosy-cheeked Brittany wearing an elf hat.

“Merry Christmas!” Brittany sings accompanied with this cute shoulder shimmy that would put Kurt Hummel to shame. She’s all kinds of adorable and Santana really can’t help but feel smitten.

“Merry Christmas!” Santana replies breathlessly and watches as Brittany’s eyes scan her up and down. She tilts her head at the way Brittany is not-so-subtly checking her out and asks, “Uhm, can I help you?”

“You’re wearing my sweater again,” Brittany points out through a smirk, “Not as risky as what I was imagining you wearing, but I’m not mad at it. You’re cute.”

“Do I even want to know what you were imagining?” Santana asks and watches Brittany wiggle her brows.

“Let’s just say it didn’t involve a sweater…or any clothing for that matter.”

“You’re a horny mess,” Santana giggles.

“Can you blame me?” Brittany jokes, “My girlfriend is hot and all I want for Christmas is to put my – ”

“Hey, don’t start something you can’t finish,” Santana cuts in and suddenly her eyes feel heavy again.

“You’re right. You look tired,” Brittany comments through a soft smile, “You should head up to bed.”

“I will, just wanted to talk to you for a bit more before I did. I’ve missed you today,” Santana says shyly as she picks at the fabric of the blanket across her lap, “Well, I’ve missed you everyday but a little more so today.”

“Awh, look at you,” Brittany coos and Santana’s cheeks instantly flush.

“I’ve been playing the piano again,” Santana tells her then suddenly she feels a kind of sadness, “It reminds me of things and makes me miss people.”

She knows she’s being really vague but she also knows Brittany gets it.

“Oh honey,” Brittany says tenderly and there’s this apologetic smile on her face, “I’ll be home before you know it, only one more week left now. Maybe you can play something for me?”

Santana melts at the sound of home and wonders if Brittany considers that to be Lima or her or both. It’s a silly thought because she thinks she knows the answer to that already. It’s just nice to hear her say it out loud and it makes Santana rethink who or where she considers home too.

“Maybe I will,” Santana beams but just as she was about to continue, a yawn escapes her.

“San, go to bed…” Brittany says and she’s giving her this cross between a smile and a pout so of course Santana has to listen.

She rubs at her eye and nods, “Yeah okay, I’m going. You think…we can stay on the phone tonight?”

There’s something familiar about the request and it seems like they both pick up on it because Brittany nods and soon she’s up too. A moment later and they’re both doing their nightly routine together.

It’s something they use to do when they were doing long distance just to make them feel a little closer together although it was never as good as the real thing. Back then, Santana hated that feeling but now she doesn’t mind it so much. She knows it’s only temporary and soon Brittany will be here in person trying to leave toothpaste-coated kisses on her cheek again.

A moment later, Santana is tucked away in bed with her phone propped up next to her. She watches Brittany through half-lidded eyes as she tells her more about the day she has had with her family. There’s this warmth or softness or something that surrounds Santana while she listens to Brittany gush over her cousin’s two year old daughter. Santana’s really biting her cheek, hoping nothing slips out like it did with Maribel but imagining Brittany with this toddler does something to Santana’s fluttery insides.

She’s blaming the lack of sleep for this one.

“You should’ve seen it, San. She was so cute! Sprinkles were going everywhere,” Brittany giggles, “Then I had to clean up after her which was a little less exciting, but I didn’t mind. It was her first time decorating cookies, it was bound to get messy.”

“Sounds like fun,” Santana replies. She’s shocked that she’s managed to say just that although her head fills with images of what their family would look like a little ways down the line. She imagines a little blonde with Santana’s complexion and Brittany’s smile toddling around their living room. She imagines coming home from work to that same little blonde head curled up at Brittany’s side as they nap on the couch. She imagines the first words and first steps and she realizes something: she can’t wait to have a family with Brittany.

She also realizes that she’s about to be caught in her daydreaming.

“What are you smiling about over there?” Brittany asks, her smile matching Santana’s

Santana feels like a deer caught in the headlights, but she manages recover before her truth comes tumbling out on her again. Letting her thoughts on marriage slip out is one thing, but talking about a family? Way too soon, Lopez!

“Just thinking about how cute you would’ve looked decorating cookies,” Santana says, “There’s this face you pull when you’re concentrating really hard…just adorable.”

Brittany rolls her eyes as she smiles bashfully, “I don’t know how anyone thinks you’re so big and bad when you’re actually the gushiest and mushiest person I know.”

“You take that back,” Santana narrows her eyes playfully. She ends softening a moment later, “You bring it out of me, I can’t help myself around you.”

“I know,” Brittany replies as she tucks her hand under her pillow, mirroring Santana’s position, “It’s my favorite thing.”

Santana sighs and snuggles deep against her pillow as their conversation lulls. She’s really feeling the heaviness in her eyelids now, but she finds herself trying to fight to stay awake. She just wants to be present and listen to any and every story Brittany has to tell, she doesn’t want to miss anything.

“You wanna know something?” Brittany whispers a bit later and the sudden sound of her voice has Santana struggling to look up. She finds Brittany’s eyes closed and if she didn’t know any better, she would’ve assumed she had fallen asleep already.

Santana’s not sure she’s coherent enough herself to form actual words, so she just hums out in response.

There’s a long pause and Santana almost falls asleep while waiting when Brittany begins to mumble sleepily, “We’re gonna make some cute babies.”

Santana’s eyes go wide at that.

Here she was, forcing herself to stay quiet in fear that she was going to scare Brittany off or something. She looks back to her and finds she’s still lying there with her eyes closed which makes her wonder if that was the sleep talking or if it was Brittany? She doesn’t know, but she finds comfort in at least being on the same page about something like this. She wants to laugh, but stifles it so she doesn’t wake Brittany. It makes her heart swell and nearly burst free from her chest though, because if Brittany’s thinking about what their family could look like then maybe Santana’s on to something here.

She hadn’t considered proposing anytime soon, but if Brittany keeps this up she doesn’t know how long she’ll actually last. If anything, she can at least be a little prepared. Right?

“One day, Britt-Britt.” Santana says and it’s the last thing she does before she falls into a deep sleep.

\\

Maybe it has something to do with the New Year just around the corner, but in the days leading up to Brittany’s return, Santana does a lot of thinking.

She thinks about the conversation she had with Maribel the night before Brittany left for San Francisco. She thinks about her family, her Abuela and Abuelo, and the difference in the ways they showed their love for her. She thinks about her father and how easy it was for him to vanish from her life. She thinks about the people in her life at this very moment who love her unconditionally and have repeatedly come through for her, whether it has been all of her life or again in only the last year.

She thinks a lot about love and remembers a time long, long ago when she didn’t think she was worthy of it. She was harsh and tore people down with her vicious words without a second thought so she didn’t think anyone would ever break through that and attempt to understand the real Santana Lopez.

Then Brittany came into her life and everything started to change.

She was still harsh and tore people down with her vicious words, but with Brittany it was different. Brittany accepted all of the parts that Santana was made of and she never shied away, she only ever wanted Santana to be herself and embrace all of her awesome.

It makes her think about something her Abuelo once said to her a long time ago. She was only in middle school when she first experienced heartbreak, her boyfriend of three weeks had broken up with her for someone more popular and Santana was wrecked. Maybe not so much because a boy broke up with her, but more so because he didn’t want her anymore. She felt replaceable and it sucked.

She had cried with her Abuelo during their weekly piano lesson and he said, “Santana, the easy part of life is finding someone to love. The hard part is finding someone to love you back.” He reminded her of how she still had so much time and that she was better off without that stupid boy. Those words always stuck with her throughout her life.

Little did they both know, Santana would find her person just a couple years later.

She remembered standing in the hall in front of her locker, tears in her eyes, begging Brittany to love her back. She had been so sure this time, she had found her person, but things didn’t come easy for them at first. She thought she had made a mistake again and gave her heart to the wrong one, but then something crazy happened…

“I do love you! Clearly you don’t love you as much as I do or you'd put this shirt on and dance with me!”

Brittany was pissed – probably the most pissed she had ever seen – but it was in that moment that Santana realized something: Brittany just wanted Santana to love herself first. She could see straight through Santana’s bullshit and even after that she wasn’t afraid to call her out on it. Even more importantly, Brittany still loved her anyway.

A lot of their relationship had been full of moments like that, like sudden clarity where all the drama and hurt suddenly made sense because on the other side of that was this…happiness.

She wouldn’t trade it for the world.  

\\

It’s New Year’s Eve and Santana’s desperately trying to ghost Quinn.

A couple days ago, Quinn got word of a New Year’s Eve party being hosted at Breadstix and has been trying to convince Santana to go ever since.

“Come on, it’ll be fun! Mercedes is going and she’ll perform at midnight, you have to go.” Quinn had urged but Santana wasn’t budging. She didn’t feel like celebrating when her person wasn’t going to be there to celebrate with. She didn’t have to say that for Quinn to pick up on it though, “You can’t ring in the New Year alone, San. I know Maribel will be working.”

“What? How do you know that?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just come! There’s a dress code and everything, since when do you turn down any excuse to paint on one of your hooker dresses?”

Santana rolled her eyes, “I have no one to impress so there’s no point.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but, you can always take pictures and send them to Brittany.”

“Please, as if a picture could capture all this hotness.”

“Well it’s all you can eat breadsticks – “

“It’s always all you can eat breadsticks if you talk to the right person.”

“Ugh, why are you like this? Can’t you just go with me? I don’t want to third-wheel with Mercedes and Sam…”

“You really aren’t going to drop this, are you?”

“No. So you’ll go?”

Santana stewed on the question for awhile until she ultimately gave up and agreed to go. It would be a little depressing being stuck home alone on New Year’s Eve and she knew Brittany wouldn’t want her to miss out on a chance to party with her friends.

\\

And it’s that kind of thinking that has landed her in the current situation she’s in, wedged between Quinn and Sam in a booth in Breadstix while they watch Mercedes sing. All in all, it’s not the worst situation she’s ever been in – she’s totally being dramatic – but it does feel off to hang out with everyone without Brittany there.

“She’s so good,” Sam compliments as Mercedes belts out a high note. Santana looks to him from the corner of her eye and he’s completely fixated on the woman on stage. There’s this dopey smile on his face and love hearts beaming from his eyes and for the first time maybe ever, she knows exactly how Sam feels. To be so enamored by someone, so filled with love for them, that you can’t help but to stare in awe.

“Amazing,” Quinn adds breathlessly as the final note rings out.

The entire place stands as they applaud Mercedes. She bows graciously and waves, even blows a kiss to Sam before she makes her way down the steps and rejoins her friends at their booth. A jazzy cover band takes over while dinner is served.

“You killed it up there,” Santana says as the salads come out.

“Thank you,” Mercedes replies with a flip of her hair, “I’m glad you made it out tonight, would’ve missed the surprise.”

“Surprise?” Santana wonders before she catches her usual waitress’s eye. She sends her a look and soon an additional basket of breadsticks appear on the table. She slaps away Sam’s hand as he goes for a stick and the girls all laugh.

“You’ll see later,” Quinn says, “I’ve been practicing my runs so I can keep up with this one.”

“You’re going up there?” Santana asks then glares at Mercedes, “And you didn’t ask me?”

“It was a last minute thing,” Mercedes explains, “And I was already talking to Quinn at the time.”

“I’m deeply offended that I wasn’t your first choice,” Santana quips in between bites of her breadstick, “Could’ve brought back River Deep, Mountain High.”

“Girl, you know this place couldn’t handle all that..” Mercedes laughs.

\\

Dinner goes on without a hitch. It actually is kind of nice chatting with her old friends and she’s glad she made it out of the house for this. She couldn’t imagine spending the night at home getting wine drunk alone while watching the ball drop, if she even stayed up that late to catch it. She has an alarm set for midnight in Brittany’s time zone just incase she did end up falling asleep early though.

“When’s Britt back again?” Mercedes asks as the last course came around, “I hope I can catch her before I go back to L.A.”

“Two more days,” Santana replies and just uttering the words aloud make her heart race, “This has been the longest two weeks of my life.”

“I’m sure,” Mercedes chuckles.

“When are you heading back?” Santana asks.

“Thursday,” Mercedes replies, “So I might be able to see her before I go. We’ll see.”

Santana nods and looks to Quinn who has been oddly quiet all of a sudden, “You’re quiet. What are you plotting?”

Quinn cracks a smile, “Plotting? Can’t a girl eat in peace?”

“I guess,” Santana chuckles and they return to their meals while listening to the band.

\\

Sam’s in the middle of telling a story about this guy he was working with at the gym he works at part-time when Santana checked her phone. She hadn’t received a new text for a few hours now, not since she was modeling different outfits she had been considering to wear tonight for Brittany earlier. It was getting closer to midnight now – just thirty minutes away – but Santana was getting anxious. She kind of missed Brittany and just wanted to hear her voice.

“I’m gonna go call Britt,” She whispers to Quinn.

Quinn nods and slides so that she could let Santana out of the booth.

Santana made her way to the bathroom, opting that it was warmer than outside and quieter than the lobby, and made the call.

At least, she tried to but the call went unanswered. Santana checked the time again and converted it to what it would be for Brittany and it started to make sense. This was usually game night time and the Pierces were probably deep in a very competitive game of Monopoly. Brittany was always pretty serious when it came to that particular game so Santana didn’t think too much of it and instead sent her a selfie and a text.

Santana L. – Thinking about you xo

\\

Santana rejoins the gang just as Mercedes is getting up to perform again. She looks to Quinn who moves to sit back down and asks, “You’re not going up too?”

“Not my time yet,” Quinn shrugs and scoots in so that she’s the one sitting in Mercedes spot next to Sam now.

Santana slides in too and goes for her wine glass as Mercedes greets the audience again. She’s such a natural up there and Santana is actually really proud of how successful she has become and still manages to stay true to herself.

She thinks about her future career and what she wants but it’s all so spotty. She loves to sing, but she doesn’t know if she’d ever do it professionally. She has this business degree yet she’s not putting it to use and before she randomly took over a co-coaching position, she was a singing waitress.

She’s young but seeing Mercedes up there really gets her thinking about getting serious when it comes to her future. Afterall, it’s not only affecting her, it’ll affect Brittany too. She wants to make something of herself, maybe make a difference in people’s lives, but she doesn’t know where to start.

Those thoughts are cut short when suddenly Mercedes is speaking to the audience again, more specifically to her. Santana was kind of zoned out so she only catches Mercedes saying, “Let’s end the year with this little throwback since I’m surrounded by such talented friends.”

Before Santana knows it a familiar tune begins to play, the God Squad’s version of Cherish/Cherish. Santana starts to laugh as Quinn and Sam pull out their hidden mics and sing to Santana as they accompany Mercedes on the number. They slowly emerge from the booth and join Mercedes on stage, leaving Santana behind in nothing but smiles.

She claps her hands and dances along to the beat from where she sits while memories of the first time they sung the song came to her.

She remembers it from her high school days and how Brittany lit up when their friends began to serenade them. Brittany had been so surprised that Santana would gift her something like that, something so public which she was still struggling with at the time. When it came to Brittany though, Santana endured a lot to make sure Brittany knew she was loved.

Santana felt so carefree that night, she barely even noticed any of the talks or looks. She doubted Sugar would’ve allowed anyone in if that were the case, but hearing the song being performed now is a little bittersweet without Brittany here to experience it.

\\

Santana goes to grab her phone in hopes that Brittany will answer this time just so she can hear this awesome performance. She’s about to press call when someone stops before their table.

A familiar voice asks, “Is this seat taken?”

Santana snaps up to find Brittany – her Brittany – standing there before her with her long blonde hair cascading off her shoulders, blue eyes twinkling, and the smuggest grin on her face.

“Oh my God, Brittany!” Santana just about squeals as she scrambles out of the booth and launches herself into Brittany’s arms, “You’re home early!”

Brittany’s angelic giggles fill her ears as she wraps Santana up in a tight hug, “Missed you too much so I caught an early flight home. Came straight here from the airport.”

“What?”

Brittany shrugs casually, “I figured we’ve had such an awesome year, I didn’t want to spend the last moments of it apart.”

Santana stares back almost speechless and instead leans in for a much-needed kiss. It’s like her body has been on pause ever since the last one they shared at the airport and when their lips touch it’s like she’s finally herself again.

“You like my surprise?” Brittany asks when they pull apart and glances to the side.

Santana’s jaw drops as she follows Brittany’s eyes to where she looks. Santana sees her wave to their friends on stage. Mercedes and Sam wave back while Quinn sends them a wink.

“You did this?” Santana’s wide eyed, “I…how did you – “

Brittany leans down and cuts her off with another kiss before saying, “I’ll tell you later. Come dance with me.”

Santana doesn’t even respond, just gets whisked away to the makeshift dancefloor. It’s all so reminiscent but new at the same time to be dancing with Brittany in almost the exact same spot to the exact same song. Santana thinks she might just be the luckiest girl in the whole world, to be loved by Brittany and their friends, it’s so much.

And the feeling only intensifies when Brittany whispers out an, “I love you.”

It makes the question begging to be asked so much harder for Santana to conceal, especially when Brittany smiles down at her the way that she does while they sway to the music.

“I love you too,” Santana says but it’s filled with so much more, so much promise.

Maybe Brittany doesn’t pick up on it, Santana hopes she doesn’t, but that I love you means more this time. It’s a vow that she’s never going to stop loving her and one day she’ll have a ring to prove that.

For now though, she’s content with dancing the night away with Brittany but only until the clock strikes twelve. She’ll ring in the new year with her girl, surrounded by their friends, but after that she’s taking Brittany home to spend all night making good on a different promise.

A promise that doesn’t involve quite so many people and a lot less clothes.

The heated look Santana earns when Brittany catches her eye tells her that she and Brittany are definitely on the same page. It’s barely 12:03am when the two are hurriedly telling their friends goodbye and rushing to the car with their hands already starting to wander.

[carebear102279]

payback is a bitch

People get even for a number of reasons. What these people do to get even, depends on the the person. But for the intelligence unit, the criminals and deranged people they deal with on a daily basis. Sometimes these people go after their families. Antonio's so diego was kidnapped. Voight's son justin was murdered. Trudy's dad was murdered. Al's daughter lexi was one of many young people killed by an arnonist. In the Kimball warehouse fire. The team lost Nadia, who was murdered by a serial killer. The intelligence unit has suffered alot of loss. But they continue to do the job they love. Putting criminals behind bars and getting justice for victims. The sacrifices intelligence makes, makes the endless hours worth it. Another day at intelligence, they were all sitting at their desks. Doing paperwork, which always seemed to never ever end. Antonio was at his desk. He looked at the pictures on his desk of people he loves. His parents, his sister gaby, his kids eva and diego. Another picture of his and sylvie's twin 2yr old girls Isabella and Selena. The picture frame he held in his hands was of his wife Sylvie. He loved this amazing woman. Sylvie was an amazing wife and mother. Plus eva and diego loved her. They've definitely have had their ups and downs. But they always seemed to find their way back to each other. He texted sylvie, who was at work. Sylvie got the text "hey baby, just wanted to check and see how your day is going. I love you babe." Sylvie had a big smile on her face. Gabby was sitting next to her "I know your married to my brother, the mother of his twin girls. But seriously can you two not act so disgustingly in love all the time." Sylvie "you know you love us." Sylvie texted antonio back. Antonio read her text "hi baby. I hope your day is going ok. I'm not going to jinx it, by saying work has been easy. I miss you and I love you. PS....we succeeded grossing your sister out again." Antonio chuckled to himself. Getting on his sisters nerves was definitely an highlight to his day. Kim "so antonio what's so funny?" Antonio "oh nothing, just having fun at the expense of my sister's expense. I don't think she'll ever get used to sylvie being my wife." Kim "well do you blame her, sylvie is her ambo partner and best friend. So how are the girls doing?" Antonio "Isabella and Selena are doing good. They are getting into everything. Potty training hasn't been fun. But they love spending the day with their abuela's house. My mom spoils those girls rotten. They have their abuela wrapped around their little fingers." Kim "They also have their daddy wrapped around their little fingers. But they are so adorable. They have sylvie's big blue eyes and her curly hair. But they got your brown hair. Wait until they get old enough to date." Antonio "I don't think so kim. They still have to master potty training. Boys are definitely out of the question." Meanwhile at firehouse 51, a group of armed men stormed the firehouse. "Alright everyone do what you're told and no one gets hurt." Sylvie managed to text antonio before the perps took their phone. Of course she erased it right away. After all she was married to a detective. Antonio heard his phone beeped again, saw it was sylvie again "51 house taken hostage. 3 Armed men. Erase message before phone taken away. Love you." Antonio "holy shit!!!" Kim "what?' Antonio rushed into voight's office "hank, got a text from my wife. Firehouse 51 has been taken hostage. They are armed, that's all I know." Hank went out to his unit "ok, we need to go now. Armed men have taken 51 hostage. Let's go now!" Rushing downstairs, hank "Trudy, 51 taken hostage. Let's go." At the firehouse. The entire house was in the break room. With guns aimed at them. The ring leader of the group spoke "so I'm going to ask this right now. Voight's intelligence unit had family in this firehouse. I want to know who you are." Gabby looked at sylvie to keep quiet. Matt gave his wife that look she better not go all gabby dawson on this. Ring leader "so no one wants to talk. Well sooner or later you'll talk." Intellegence had arrived at 51. Voight "get me a line into the firehouse. We want to know who we are dealing with." The phone rang in the break room. The ring leader answered "so I'm guessing intelligence has arrived." Voight "this is sergeant hank voight. Who am I speaking to?" Ring leader "your unit took my brother from me. Payback is a bitch. You took my family, so now I take yours. If my brother is released from prison, no one will get harmed. You have an hour to comply." Hank "I need to know who you are and who your brother is." Ring leader "Alberto is my name. You figure out who my brother is. Question sergeant, is detective dawson out there?" Voight "why?" Alberto "give him the phone now!" Antonio "this is detective antonio dawson." Alberto "so it's good to hear your voice. You took my brother away from me. I know your wife and sister work here. Payback is a bitch detective dawson. One hour." The line went dead. Antonio "sergeant my wife and sister are in there!!" Voight "we have to be smart about this. His brother is serving life without parole for a double homicide." Antonio "we let Javier out, we let a monster out." Voight "exactly. Do you know a way in dawson? Since you've been here more than anyone." Antonio "I'd have to think. But I'll do whatever I have to get my family out." Voight "I know. But we have to do things smart." Inside the firehouse everyone was still in the break room. The 3 armed men were talking amongst each other. Alberto "where are your lockers?" Alberto pointed the gun at stella. "You show me." He left with stella, gun pointed to her head. Gabby "don't you have a picture of antonio with your girls in your locker?" Sylvie "yes." Gabby "we need to get you out of here." She looked at matt. Matt knew what was at stake. Gabby, sylvie and mouch need to get out of here before Alberto came back. He motioned to kelly. Kelly understood what needed to happen. Gabby, sylvie and mouch needed to get out of here. Hermann acted like he was having a heart attack. Which got the attention of the two armed men in the break room. Everyone surrounded hermann and the armed men. That's when gabby, sylvie and mouch had the chance to sneak out. Mouch had the girls backs, he would risk his life for his firehouse family. From a bit of distance, intelligence saw the side door open. Then gabby, sylvie and mouch ran towards to the intelligence unit. Antonio saw his wife and sister, he brought them safely out of view. Trudy did the same mouch. Hank went over to talk to the three of them. Antonio "baby, you're ok. God I was so scared. Gabby please tell me you're ok." Trudy "did they let the 3 of you go?" Gabby "no. Alberto wanted to know who antonio's wife and sister were. He then took stella to search the lockers. Well I still have dawson on my locker. Brett has a picture of you and the twins, antonio. Mouch of course has a wedding photo in his locker of him and trudy. We were the only leverage they had." Antonio kissed his wife's head. But they still had to rescue everyone else. Then all of a sudden a gunshot echoed through the air. That's when swat swarmed inside, followed by intelligence. Storming into the break room. They saw that the 51 crew had overtook the 3 armed men. A gun shot through the wall. They were taken into custody. Voight "you've messed with the wrong family." The 51 firehouse family were the best in Chicago. This family took care of each other. Doing what they needed to do to save one another. Matt went to find gabby. Voight "Antonio, take your wife home. Pick up your twin girls. Give them a hug from uncle hank." Antonio "thanks boss. Sylvie let's go get our girls." Sylvie "no argument from me." After picking up Isabella and Selena from antonio's mom's house. They arrived home and Sylvie and antonio put their girls down for the night. Sitting on the couch, antonio pulled sylvie close. Antonio "I thought I was going to lose you today. When I figured out that he was after family of intelligence. I thought the worst." Sylvie "I'm ok, antonio. I'm right here, with you. I love you so much. I love your devotion to me and our 4 kids. You are a wonderful husband and father. Antonio "I love you so much. I'm just so thankful I have you in my arms right now. I love you sylvie dawson." Sylvie "I love you too antonio dawson. Ok antonio what are you thinking?" Antonio "Marry me again. I want to renew our vows. Isabella and Selena can be the flower girls." Sylvie "you're amazing. Of course I'll marry you again, renew our vows. Now carry me to our bedroom. Eva and diego are gone, the twins are asleep." Antonio didn't need to be told twice to show his wife how much he loves her. With her legs wrapped around his waist. Both of them kissed each other passionately. Making it to their bedroom, falling onto the bed into each other's arms. Letting the night take them to ecstasy. Or at least until their twin girls woke up.

[borgesbourgignon]

Yesterday my youngest brother informed us that our abuela forwarded us a really long message with an extensive quote from Michael Richards, culminating in a paragraph that reads "Be Proud to Be White!" He was furious, calling it out for the White supremacist garbage that it is. My middle brother tried to rationalize it, saying our mostly Spanish-speaking grandparent probably isn't aware enough of the "subtext" and likely saw it as saying "It's okay to be white" (still iffy, but not as alarming?). The youngest, who is engaged to a Black woman and acutely aware of our elderly relatives' racism, was displeased - indeed, " greatly disturbed" - by what he interpreted as defenses of our abuela sending that message.

I didn't really get into it because I'm kinda on both their sides here. The youngest is right to be outraged. If my abuela missed the real meaning of white pride in America, she must've sent it to everyone she knows because she agreed with enough of the rest of the text (which is also extremely racist). With that said, I'm also already exhausted by the thought of addressing it. First off, I'm so much worse at communicating complex ideas in Spanish than in English. She speaks plenty of English, but I don't know if it's enough that she'll understand what I'm saying or just understand that I'm upset with her over a race thing. Second, I've approached her about her rancid messages before, and it's gone the same way each time, only with more exaggerated emotions. She and my abuelo will get sad that they’re being accused of racism, my parents will be more hostile and upset with me for browsing the subject than with her for sending white supremacy propaganda to her grandkids, and my relatives will crack jokes about how we can't change these people.

Once, this wouldn't have stopped me. In the past, I've been like, "So what? I'll just keep at it because I love these people, and I refuse to believe that we can't grow and unlearn toxic stuff as we get older." It's been six years since Trump dragged us down with him on that piss-colored escalator, which means six years of arguments with the people I love that were only resolved when I learned that you can't make people change, and you can't expect them to change just because the views that they've held for nearly 80 years (or over 50, in the case of my parents) make you sad. My abuelos are content to be prejudiced as fuck and believe that they're saintly, and my parents and relatives are content to let them continue unimpeded (I wonder if they've had their own share of long conversations with them that went nowhere). I won't be content, but I don't feel good about starting the cycle again.

But now that I've written all this out, I wonder: what if I could persuade my parents that they should be part of the conversation, instead of just leaving it to my brothers and me? I've had my own difficulties persuading them (their go-to move is just trying me to stop reading their messages, which I did until Adrian mentioned this one). Maybe ...

[welcometophu]

Not Your Destiny: Chapter 37

Marked Book 1: Not Your Destiny

Chapter 37

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Ángel sleeps through most of Saturday, waking only to eat lunch and watch a few hours of TV with Hayley before he falls asleep again. He sleeps through dinner and into Sunday morning. By the time he wakes again, breakfast is done, but Joey offers to warm up some leftover waffles and make eggs.

It feels as if Ángel’s limbs are made of rubber, so he sits in the chair and lets Joey serve him breakfast. He makes his way through a half box of waffles and a half dozen eggs, along with several rounds of brown & serve sausage, plus an entire quart of juice. When he finally slows down, his stomach is achingly full, but he feels as if he has a chance to improve once he digests it all.

“Papi, I—”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Papi sits at the kitchen table, a cold mug of coffee in front of him. He hasn’t touched it since Ángel sat down, just quietly keeping him company while he ate. “Going back to the shop on Monday is fine, but right now, you’re going to stay home and rest. Hayley’s at Tanner’s house. I’ll let them know that you’re up.”

“I can text them myself.” Ángel waves his phone. He wants to protest that Papi doesn’t need to baby him, but he also suspects that the feeling of being too weak to move might come back. He overextended himself magically, and that takes time to recoup.

He hopes someone thought to bring Helga home for him.

Ángel grabs a bag of chips before he head upstairs, so he doesn’t have to come back down in an hour when he has the munchies. He makes his bed, pulls the comforter up over the pillows to keep the crumbs away from the sheets, then leans back against the wall with his laptop on his knees. He sets up to stream a movie for background noise before he sends out a series of texts: to Hayley & Tanner, to the Mollicone group chat, and to Tony.

Are you okay? Tony’s message comes back first, and on the heels of that a message from Hayley saying that she’s coming over.

Yeah, I’m fine, Ángel replies. Papi’s keeping me here, today, though.

Zita wants us to clean up around the house. You should rest. We’re getting everything ready for the wedding before Maritsa complains more about the smoke.

Ángel smiles slightly. Is she doing better? She seemed pretty scared.

He gets back a picture of Tony looking unimpressed. You scared the shit out of all of us, Tony texts. But yes. She’s doing better. Now that I’ve heard from you, so am I. You going to rest today?

Ángel’s door creaks, and he doesn’t want to think about whether Hayley and Tanner ran from Tanner’s house to get here this quickly. They both come in, moving Ángel’s laptop and rearranging things so they all fit on the bed. Tanner takes over the stream and pumps up the volume before placing the laptop where they can all see it.

I am surrounded, Ángel sends back, along with a picture of the three of them. If I need anything, I’ll make them get it for me. I’ll be taken care of, don’t worry. And I’ll see you at the shop tomorrow.

Stay safe.

Ángel touches the screen lightly, then texts back. You, too.

“That wasn’t sappy.” Hayley giggles, burrowing against him on one side. She cuddles his arm like a stuffed animal. “Soooooo… you and Tony….”

“It’s working out?” Tanner asks.

Ángel grins, because he can talk about it. It’s a real thing, it was a date, and there’s definitely something happening. “I think so.” It’s nice to lie there with his two best friends and just relax, talking about his first date, about the movie that he saw, and the one he mostly missed.

He dozes on and off throughout the day. When he needs something, either Tanner or Hayley gets it for him, and when he finally slips into sleep in the middle of a movie, they stay with him through the night. Ángel doesn’t remember anything past mid-afternoon on Sunday, but he assumes he slept the rest of the day and night away after he’d packed away a lunch twice the size of his breakfast.

When he wakes on Monday morning, the sun is still low in the sky. Hayley is curled between him and Tanner, her head on Ángel’s shoulder with Tanner curled in tight behind her, his hand resting on Ángel’s chest.

Ángel carefully disengages, slips from the bed without waking either of them.

He showers, finally, washing out the remains of the soot and smoke smell from Friday night. Joey is waiting outside the bathroom when he finishes, arms crossed as she stands where he can’t avoid her.

“Marcos left for work already, to deal with some loose ends,” she says, and he knows she means Ronnie Hamilton and the investigation. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Ángel says. “Much better. I have energy. Not drained just walking down the hall to pee. Made it through a whole shower, and that’s a good thing since it’s been a while. I don’t think I’ve ever been that drained.”

“I can’t say I know exactly what it’s like,” Joey admits, “not being Talented myself. But I can make a good guess. If you’re okay, then you can head out today. But you should check in with us later—Abuela wants you home for dinner. And you should check in with your Papi, too.”

“I will.” Ángel hugs her, kisses her on the cheek. “I’ll be home for dinner, and I’ll text during the day. But right now I want to get to the shop. With Ronnie in custody, that means we should be able to start rebuilding today. And I want to be a part of that.”

“It’s become your shop, too,” Joey says quietly. She touches his cheek, and he’s reminded of being a young teen and a little lost when she came into their lives. How she helped settle them into being a family again. So he hugs her all over again, squeezing when she laughs.

“It’s become my shop, too,” he agrees. “And my family. Apparently I like cats.”

He grabs breakfast to go, and is glad to see that Helga sits outside. For a moment, Ángel thinks about texting to make sure they’re at the shop, that work is getting done today, but he doesn’t want to wait on a reply. So he tucks his travel mug into the cup holder and starts Helga up so he can head to Mollicone’s.

The place is busy when he arrives. Ángel parks on the street rather than trying to get around back, avoiding the two big, unfamiliar trucks out front. The dumpster is gone, and a crew is unloading furniture from one of the trucks, carrying it inside.

Ángel trails in after them, but Zita stops him and points to the back door, so he goes straight through, into the back lot. He pauses as soon as he gets out of the door, gestures at the two shining new tow trucks in the lot. “You got them!”

“Picked them up this morning.” Maritsa sits cross-legged on top of the cab for one truck. It’s a standard tow, while the other is a flat bed. Neither has the name of the shop on the side yet, but Gabi sits to one side with a knife and film, working on a stencil.

Cleto sorts through tools, splitting them between the boxes on the sides of the truck. Everything’s brand new. Luca avoids helping by leaning against the flat bed, his arms crossed, gesturing and directing traffic.

Tony unfolds himself from where he sits with Gabi, gets up to immediately come over and meet Ángel at the door. “You better?” he asks, palms flat against Ángel’s face, forehead leaning against his.

“Slept for most of two days and ate enough for several humans,” Ángel admits, “but yes, much better. I swear I’m still hungry.”

“Luca will go get you food,” Gabi says.

“Luca’s staying right here,” Luca counters. “Why am I the delivery boy?”

“Because you’re not doing anything.” She jabs the knife in the air. “You should make yourself useful. Feed Ángel.”

“I’m fine, I don’t need food yet.” Now that he’s here, and it’s not the middle of the night, Ángel feels awkward in front of everyone. He carefully sets one hand at the small of Tony’s back, slowly relaxing when Tony’s arm drops across his shoulder.

“It’s good to see that you two got your shit worked out,” Maritsa calls out. She throws something that looks like confetti; it rains down on the tow truck. “Ángel, I need you at the house on Thursday before the wedding. Be there by early afternoon, okay?”

“You need another usher for the wedding?” Ángel asks.

Cleto snorts softly, mutters something under his breath that only the tools hear.

Maritsa grins. “Something like that.”

“I recommend showing up before lunch,” Gabi says idly. “Maritsa’s the kind of cat who snaps and scratches when she gets anxious.” When Maritsa raises a middle finger, Gabi does the same, pressing her lips to it before she puts it in the air. “Right back at you.”

“You go back after the wedding, right?” Luca asks.

Tony’s arm tightens on his shoulders, and Ángel thinks maybe they should walk away. Talk privately. Instead, Tony leads them both back to where Gabi sits, and Ángel realizes that he’s about to get pulled into arts and crafts that leave a permanent mark on the side of these tow trucks.

When Gabi asks him to pass the smaller knife, he does. As long as she’s the one in charge; he’s already proven he’s no artist.

“We’ll start driving back on Saturday,” Ángel says. “Classes start a week after we get back, but we both have things we were supposed to do over break that we didn’t do yet.”

“Do they let you back in your dorms?” Gabi doesn’t look up from her work.

“We already signed up to be there over break, working, so yeah.” Ángel draws his knees up, loops his arms around them. He leans slightly to the side, feeling the warmth and weight of Tony sitting silently beside him. “It’s going to be weird being back at PHU after this.”

“Cold,” Luca says, and Ángel laughs.

“Yeah, definitely cold.” Last he knew it was freezing up north, and that’s what he’s come to expect. Maybe some snow. Hopefully not another major ice storm.

“You were fine the last time you walked away.” Cleto’s voice is low. Dark. It doesn’t hold any of the teasing that the others do, and feels like the tail end of the argument they never quite had that first day after Helga broke down.

“I’m not leaving forever,” Ángel says. “I’ll be back in the summer. Gabi already plans to put me on the schedule.”

“We’re going to need help then, considering.” Gabi puts the finishing touches on the stencil, holds it up. The lettering looks perfect, to Ángel’s untrained eyes. She hands it to Tony, who takes it over to the truck and carefully starts taping it in place on the door.

“Considering what?” Ángel looks up at Maritsa, frowning. “You aren’t planning on getting pregnant, Maritsa, are you?”

Her mouth drops open, and she mimes throwing something at him. “No, God no. Don’t even say that where God can hear it, Ángel. I’m not planning on having kids for a long time.”

“Eventually,” Cleto says. “We’ve got things to do first.”

“Like Cleto getting his degree in business and maybe opening up another shop for Mollicone’s. We could split body work and repair,” Gabi says idly. She spins the knife in her hand, stabs it into the roll of tape that sits near her knee. “There are cousins coming up who’ll be ready to work here, soon. They’ve been learning. And if we get them trained up, by the time Cleto and I open up the other shop, they’ll take over here with Luca and Tony. But it’s two years if all we want is an associate’s degree, and four years for a bachelor’s. So. We’re starting this summer.”

“That’s awesome.” Ángel’s grinning, and he wants to get up and hug them both, but Cleto raises an eyebrow like he knows what Ángel’s thinking, so he stays put. He does poke Gabi with his toe, and she grins back at him, her eyes crinkling.

When he leans forward and rubs the top of her head, she closes her eyebrows and purrs.

A soft growl, and Luca coughs.

“It’s not like I could steal him from you anyway,” Gabi mutters, pushing good-naturedly at Ángel.

“I thought you didn’t want to go to school,” Ángel says, looking over at Cleto, who shrugs one shoulder in response.

“Didn’t. But I want the shop, and I want to know how to do the books right, and how to stay on track,” Cleto says. “I’ve got some ideas, things I want to look into. Things I can learn, not just business, so I figure I’ll go.”

“It sounds… useful.” Ángel makes a small, rueful sound. “What I’m majoring in probably isn’t as useful. I mean, it’s not hands on, not like this.” He pats the ground. “It’s like having two different lives. There’s this, where I get covered in oil and help rebuild engines, and then there’s PHU, where I’m majoring Magical Studies, and minoring in Chemistry, and I might learn how not to blow things up.” He glances around at them: five cats at work and play. “I’m thinking I should do my thesis on rare and unique Talents, like Emerson, or the Lince. Or maybe the way some Talents intersect.”

Luca wiggles his eyebrows, smirks. “If you want to write about us, you’re going to have to spend a lot of time studying us.”

Ángel licks his lips, glances over at where Tony is taping neatly around the stencil to protect the door. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Not exactly a hardship.”

The backdoor opens, and Tony freezes, nostrils flaring. Ángel already knows what he’ll see, but he turns around anyway, pushing to his feet so he can get in front of Tony before Tony stalks over. He gets an arm around his center, knows he only stops him because Tony is willing to be stopped.

“What are you doing here?” Tony asks, a low growl underlining his words.

“Ronnie’s been fired,” Daphne says. Her arms are crossed, her eye makeup smudged. Her cheeks are rosy red, flushed, while her eyes are rimmed and swollen. Her blouse is tucked in, but not neat, and her heels have been replaced by simple flats. She uncrosses her arms, tugs her skirt and smoothes it while Ángel looks at her, then crosses her arms again as if that can be a barrier against them.

“Good,” Gabi hisses. “He deserved it.”

Daphne swallows hard, her shoulders shaking. “I know.” She inhales, holds it while she rubs at her eyes, then lowers her hand again. Her fingers are curled into a fist, her body tense. “We could have been good, Tony,” she says sadly.

There’s a soft growl, and when Luca snorts, Ángel realizes it’s him. He cuts off the sound, face heating.

“We haven’t been good for a long time, Daphne.”

“My brother doesn’t dictate my beliefs,” Daphne insists. “I’m not like him. I don’t think you’re a demon, and I don’t want to see you dead.”

“But you don’t want to be a cat, either,” Luca points out. Cleto knocks into him, and Luca goes silent.

“You don’t want to be a cat,” Tony says flatly, and Daphne’s gaze drops. “I mean it, we haven’t been good for a long time, Daph. Your brother’s an asshole, and I hope he’s going away for the rest of his life for what he did to us, and what he did to our parents.” When Daphne raises her gaze, startled and wide-eyed, Tony nods. “The investigation is reopened, and your brother’s a suspect.”

She licks her lips, looks at a point past Tony. “I’m sorry.”

The words fall flat between them, and no one responds.

Daphne lets out a slow, shuddering breath. “This is it, then, Tony. We’re done. For good.”

A small sound from Luca, stopped when Cleto claps a hand over his mouth.

Tony takes a step, and Ángel tugs, trying to stop him. “It’s okay,” Tony says quietly. Ángel lets him go, watches as he crosses the distance to Daphne and stands there, just beyond her reach.

“It’s not just that Ronnie hurt us,” Tony says quietly. His arms are crossed, his stance broad. It’s not armor for him, it’s standing there like a tank, ready to roll if she gives offense. “You hurt me, Daphne. We’ve been over. You can’t break up with me, when I’ve already broken up with you. All you can do is deal with it. Move on.” He lets the words sit there for a moment, and just as she’s about to respond, he repeats, “Move on. I already have.”

Her mouth opens slightly, then snaps closed. Chin lifting, she takes a step back. “Fine. We’re done,” she says, as if she has any control over the situation. She turns on her heel, stalks off, stride stiff and proud.

Sounds of a scuffle, and Luca elbows Cleto roughly to get free of his hold. “So,” Luca says. “Now that you’ve both broken up with each other officially, does that mean we don’t have to see her anymore?”

She left the door open, and Tony closes it with a soft thunk. “It’s definitely over. More than over. Ángel, do you want to—” He cuts off as the door opens again, slamming into him. “Zita!”

“I’ve got smocks,” she says, and motions inside. “Come on, there’s work to do. The furniture is loaded in the office, the framing and drywall are finished in the new locker room—they worked hard this weekend. I’ve got the paint and a ton of brushes, and you all have a lot of work to do. So get in here and start working.”

“What if we’re hungry?” Luca asks. “Because Ángel was hungry.”

Luca manages to look like innocent as he says it, but he smirks when Ángel shoots him a look.

Zita swats at Luca on his way by. “Then I’ll feed you dinner, but it doesn’t get you out of work right now. Come on, we’ve got a lot to do to get this place ready by the time we go home Wednesday night, because we all know none of us are going to be here Thursday or Friday. Which means, we have to be good to go before then. Let’s get to work.”

Tony lingers, and Ángel waits until everyone else is inside. Tony holds the door open, but Ángel steps up to him instead, moves Tony’s hand so the door swings shut. He doubts that it’s actual privacy, not with cat ears likely pricked to hear their conversation, but it’s at least a statement asking for it.

“Were you going to ask me on another date?” Ángel asks.

“Before my sister got in the way?” Tony asks dryly, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I was.”

“I think you’ll just have to save that thought until after the wedding.”

“The wedding will be a date,” Tony points out. “You’ll be there, I’ll be there. It should count.”

Ángel thinks about the fact that it’s a wedding, and that there’s a complicated ceremony later in which Emerson’s going to somehow Emerge a second time and become Lince. “I think it’s more than just a date.”

“It can still be a date for us,” Tony says, and honestly, why should Ángel stand in his way?

Ángel nods, gets his arms around Tony. “Fine. It’ll be a date.” And he seals the problem with a kiss.

Zita’s voice is distant, echoing off of the empty walls inside the shop. “Get to work!”

Ángel laughs, flushes. Tony opens the door, and they go in.

[ Previous | First | Next ]

[theslayover]

A typical day at MIA

After a hectic 48 hours back in Miami to visit a sick relative, I have a 6:21 p.m. flight back to San Francisco. At 4pm my mother- who is stressed from work and having her mother-in-law in the hospital for a myriad of symptoms that could only make sense in an episode of House- decides the dishes in the sink need to be cleaned. And the counter cleaned. And the magazines arranged. I help where I can but try not to push the woman, whose (and I preface this with my mom is the best mom ever) fuse is so short when she’s stressed it’s almost mythical. 

We finally leave around 4:25pm.  The normally 20 minute journey is now between 30 and 40 minutes, apparently because they’ve closed one highway, there’s going to be a basketball game, and because Miami cannot go a day without at least 57 accidents. I wouldn’t generally care but in the back of my mind I’m slightly concerned as my roll-aboard is full of precious cargo: malanga and calabaza that I need for my abuela’s famous caldo recipe and that I cannot get in San Francisco. I can’t imagine I’m violating some random agricultural rule but #Florida. 

Using a combination of Waze, Google maps, my mother’s incorrect intuition and prayers we finally make it to the airport after 5:00pm and my flight boards at 5:40pm. On top of it all, I really wanted to get a cup of coffee before the flight. This sounds like a 1st world problem, however: 

1) I had a lot of work to do and needed to make the most of the 6-hour flight. 

2) Airplane coffee tastes like a young coffee who had all his hopes and dreams in front of him until his parents died and he ended up in the foster system, bounced around house to house cared for by people who only saw him as a paycheck, and then eventually turned to a life of gang violence and drugs. 

I try not to be too stressed, reminding myself that I have both CLEAR and TSA pre-check. 

I run to the security checkpoint and wiz through with CLEAR. No problem. Then the associate informs me that pre-check is closed. It’s 5 goddam pm. The airport is mobbed, why? I’m handed a blue card that allows me to keep my shoes on through security but for the most part I’m stuck in the long, regular security line with throngs of people, all whom from their behavior I can only assume have never flown before. I feel rage surge inside me and think how Miami is a 3rd world country when it comes to logistics. But no, Lauren. You meditated today. You practice A Course in Miracles. How can you judge this way? I breathe deeply and repeat today’s mantra and tell myself it’ll be ok. 

The gentleman next to go through the metal detector steps through. BEEP BEEP BEEP goes the machine. He forgot to take off his belt. For fuck’s sake. He strips it and steps through and BEEP BEEP BEEP I hear again. His wallet. Blessed be. He steps through once more and BEEP BEEP BEEP. The security guard lets him through. Wait what. A mixture of relief and alarm rush over me at once. Please tell me what they missed wasn’t a concealed weapon in his boxers. It’s 5:20pm.

The next gentleman goes through and BEEP BEEP BEEP. My metaphysical ears bleed. 

I finally make it past all the First Time Flying Club’s members and a Portuguese family of 4 who have every iPad and child electronic imaginable, set my bags on the x-ray, tear out my laptop- one of the cons of Diet Pre-check- and I go through the metal detector. I set the fucking thing off. Thanks Cartier Love bracelet. I tell the confused TSA associate the bracelet is literally screwed onto my wrist (I feel so stupid saying this aloud...this is why women make less) and make my way to the higher security machine. I make it through without a hitch and run to the conveyor with my bags in time to see the man running the X-Ray pull my roll-aboard to the side for a bag check. Of course. It’s just before 5:30pm and I stand in silent horror as the man who is to perform bag searches decides to pick up every bin off of the conveyors before conducting the search. But I know better than to rush him, as then he’ll also decide to go back to school and get a medical degree before helping me. 

He finally decides it’s time to actually make sure my bag doesn’t have a bomb in it. I walk over to the examination area and anxiously wait as he open my suitcase. He unzips the side area inside my Away bag and he pulls out a bag of coffee. Oh. That’s what set off the alarm. Of course. But as he’s pulling it out he sees the calabaza. I explain to him in Spanish “It’s calabaza and I need it for my grandmother’s caldo recipe,” have laughing half pleaing (please God not the calabaza). He seems pretty un-phased. He goes to search the other side of my bag, saying the machine saw something else solid. “Pan?” (bread) he asks. But then he finds the malanga. “You’re taking all of Miami back with you!” he says. “It’s for my grandmother’s recipe, I can’t find this in San Francisco, Mexicans don’t really cook with malanga!” I exclaim. He places the malanga back in my suitcase, looks at me seriously and says “I bet Mexicans have never seen a malanga.” I didn’t have time to contemplate the strange cultural burn. I thanked him profusely and dashed to my next stop. 5:35pm.

I get to the Starbucks line, which is blessedly short. Three people head of my and about 5 minutes till boarding. The next person approaches the register and places an order, and the cashier gives them the total. The person looks at the cashier, seemingly surprised that they have to pay and only then starts to rifle through their bags looking for a wallet. 

It’s always been pet peeve for my father and I when a person will stand in and go through an entire line and only after ordering do they start to look for money. I can’t stand wasting people’s time and you think at an airport this would be less common but this is MIA, and it’s clearly everyone’s first time flying. 

I make it to the gate just at the start of pre-boarding (because nothing is on time in Miami), at about 5:45. I walk onto the plane panting, coffee and bags in hand. I think of all those photos of celebrities and influencers who travel through airports looking so adorable. Do they actually look like that, or do they take stock photos at various airports and just load them when they go on a trip? 

The pilot’s voice on the PA interrupts my #lifehack idea: “Ladies and gentlemen, we are already to take off here but we’ve just been alerted that someone must have removed one of the covers of the floor emergency exit signs, and the bulb has also been destroyed. We are contacting Maintenance now and will be back to you shortly with a fix update. As you know with the latest airline incidents (thank Boeing) we are all being extra cautious.”

I’m overtaken by mixture of laughter and disbelief; thoughts raced through my head: 

“Of course after all that, we ‘d be delayed anyway.”

“This has got to be the craziest reason for a delay I’ve experienced”

“I’m pretty sure if we are going down, my inability to find one of the 40 emergency exit signs will not save us.”

“This might be the first time I could understand anything the pilot said over the PA.”

Passengers start to deplane, anxious to get on a different flight in hopes of making connections or at least to yell at gate agents, who will undoubtedly out IDGAF them 10:1. 

After texting and sharing a few laughs with family and friends via text, I decide I might as well start working so I can get most of it out of the way before I get too tired. I reach for my backpack to take out my laptop- and realize I’ve left it at security. 

Being a veteran of pre-check I NEVER take my laptop out of my bag anymore. With the scare of getting my roll-aboard searched, I forgot to replace it after it came out of the X-Ray. I run to the front of the plane and tell the flight attendants I don’t want to cancel this flight but only need to grab my laptop. Thankfully since people were deplaning anyway, I was able to get off.

I raced down the terminal, the sound of my flip flops drawing stares and snickers as they watched a small woman in a maxi dress race across a terminal. Of course my gate was the farthest. I got to security gasping for air. Through my lungs loudly fighting for life, I explained to the TSA agents my plight. They had my laptop and let it go before I managed to log into it, I suppose they figured no one would purposely steal a 12 pound, soiled HP. 

I raced back down the terminal and gasping even more loudly, got back onto the plane. My seatmate saw me and gave me a silent “yay!” as I walked down the aisle. I plopped myself ever so gracelessly onto the seat, breathing (panting) a sigh of relief. The pilot’s voice comes back over the PA: “ladies and gentlemen, I really apologize but we don’t know how long it’s going to be, so we are going to go ahead and deplane.” Motherfuck.

The rest of the evening consisted of other fun things like finding out that all the other United planes at the airport were some other type of Boeing, and our plane had a slightly different size of emergency exit cover, finally bumming one off an American Airlines plane (the one good thing that airline has ever done for me), and then taking off 2 and 1/2 hours later. 

This sounds like a crazy, stressful day and it kind of was. But in situations like these I’ve found that when you find yourself stressing and adamant that something has to work a certain way, and your actions become reactive, anxious and impatient, that’s when things really go wrong. Being worked up has made me forget things (like my laptop), gotten me into fender benders, arguments and in the end, nowhere. Even in times when I’ve gotten what I wanted after seemingly swimming against the universe’s current, it’s never been as good as I thought.

When you think of it, if the plane hadn’t been delayed, I would’ve realized the laptop was missing when we are already in the air. There was no WiFi on that flight (ah United), so I would’ve been fit to be tied for SIX HOURS not being able to work on the presentation for the next day, not being able to tell anyone, wondering if it was stolen etc. My mom’s and my drive to the airport was stressful navigating and we didn’t really get to enjoy our last moments together.

So if my crazy/ funny story can help you take a step back before your brain Hulk’s out, my job here is done. And when you feel ready to see how enlightened you are, make sure you fly out of Miami.